Its that time of year again….

In the UK back in the day, Halloween was a lot more black and white. Quite literally. Where I lived, trick or treating seemed more spiteful and mean spirited than it was fun. I wasn’t opening any doors to any random strangers thank you very much, nor was I knocking on anyone’s door. Was I the only one who grew up hearing the legendary story about the guy who put razor blades in the “treats”? Maybe I was the only one who believed it… Besides it seemed to celebrate the darkness and the sinister.  The local newspaper would always have interviews with the local witch,  striking an odd pose who yes was casting spells and conducting some random prayer meeting with her coven that weekend. So we Christians had prayer meetings and worship services and fun filled parties for kids in the community so that they didn’t have to break their” don’t- talk- to- or- accept- chocolate- from- strangers ” rule that parents enforced for the other 364 days of the year. It was a fantastic thing.  Still, the best story I ever heard was of a friend whose mum didn’t pull her kids out of all the Halloween parties, but sent them in homemade costumes as the Holy Ghost. Although my friend recounted the story with horror, it was my kind of horror movie.

Then we move to the States. Halloween is a whole different vibe here. First it was the decor. Houses would be decorated with  ghosts and graveyards and cobwebs. I still find that weird to be honest. But stranger still was seeing entire families dressed up as Disney characters. They’re hanging out with their neighbors and talking to one another and relaxing. Slowing down, taking a day off together. Eating lots and lots of candy. It was like the Holiday Season Kick Off.

Still, for the first few years we just hid away. I had newborns, and I didn’t want people knocking on my door waking them up. I don’t like giving kids yucky candy etc etc.  Then one year we decided to hang out on the porch. All the neighbors were out, and we got talking and sharing, and new relationships began. I began to wonder why I sat indoors with the the doors locked and the lights on, if it was so dark outside, you know what I mean?

Truth is I’m still not Halloween’s greatest fan. I don’t dig the scare yourself senseless vibe. I’m not decorating the house with gravestones and skulls anytime soon.  I’m wondering why so many of the costumes for women are so ridiculously sexual. The Cinderella I grew up with did not reveal anywhere near that much. And  dressing up as a prostitute and her pimp doesn’t make me laugh.

But all the reasons why I locked my door are the reasons why I’m now opening it. If its as dark and twisted as we think, then we shouldn’t we be working out how to engage with our community more rather than hide away? Doesn’t light shine brightest in the dark anyway? Perhaps one day my house will be one of those homes that welcomes all, and hands outs snacks and treats and love as people as that walk around the streets. Perhaps one day they’ll know it as the home with the lights on all year round.

Tonight we’re not going to be singing carols, or screaming Scriptures at people. We’ll not be chastizing witches, and giving zombies dirty looks. But we are going to be hanging out with our friends from the school gate. Sharing time, sharing lives and conversation. Giving kids  our well- wrapped- razor- blade- free- not- that- nutritious- chocolate- and- candy. We’ll be admiring the little Buzz Lightyears and Rapunzels  and telling them how great they look as they beam with kiddie pride.We’ll be kicking off the holiday season, watching it rise with a thankful heart in November, and find transformation and hope in a manger in December. And through it all we’ll be looking for the people of peace that might want to talk a bit more, that we might want prayer, or simply need a listening ear. Looking for people to love, to bless to, befriend.

Yes its that time of year again. And no, its not my favorite celebration, but it is a missional opportunity. It’s a chance to build relationships and reach out.

And if I have to do that dressed as Cleopatra – then so be it.

Last week I bought my first very own bicycle. It’s a white beach cruiser,  complete with matching white basket.  I’d dreamt of  early morning rides along the beach bike path, stopping off for breakfast at Scotty’s in Hermosa or somewhere. Or riding to a local farmer’s market and filling by basket with fresh, local produce. There’s one little hiccup though; the riding bit. I’m still actually learning how to ride a bike. It’s been a long journey, but even as life gets away from you sometimes, certain dreams won’t leave you alone.

So I’m in the park and I’m ready to ride. Sort of. It took about 3 seconds to realize my biggest challenge to my goal was not my balance, navigating my gears, or the local uneven streets. It was  was learning how to learn. I rediscovered that whilst I love gathering information, discovering new things, stretching my intellect and dreaming,  learning is far more encompassing, far more incarnational, and dare I say it, at times far less attractive.

Learning how to learn was hard because I’ve generally relied on natural talents and preferences. I didn’t learn how to sing; I didn’t learn how to run fast, throw or catch a ball, and reading and writing came to me early and easily.Learning was about building on my strengths. So even when it was difficult, it felt like a worthwhile investment that made me even stronger.

But my talents and my perspective couldn’t help me this time. It was humbling. The quite literal twists and turns (and wobbles!) on the bike left me exposed.  I wanted to go to the park at the crack of dawn or at the end of dusk, because I didn’t want people to see me…like this. I felt angry that I’d never learned earlier, and rued the futility of having no one to blame. I felt scared, scared of failing and giving up, but scared of falling and getting bruised and bloody. Maybe I’d go out on the bike another day. Perhaps I’d go for a run ( read – something I feel very competent at) instead. I felt ashamed of my awkward incompetence.

Perhaps to rescue my rapidly spiraling confidence, I started thinking how much this reminded me of the process of discipleship. The idea of being mentored/coached – discipled sounds great, a beautiful and shiny pathway to our dream of becoming better people, suitable spouses, more effective leaders, greater influencers! But we rapidly discover that discipleship is not merely about gathering information and building upon our strengths. It’s incarnational. Its an apprenticeship that sometimes leaves you  feeling utterly exposed. You  learn things you thought you already knew but don’t; you get  frustrated because you paid $1000′s for an education that seems to have ill equipped you for leading people You feel like the strengths that brought you here are utterly inadequate to get you to where you’re called to be. You hope no one sees you. They’d only discover that you’re the person you’re most afraid you are.

It might be a really powerful word, but sometimes discipleship feels awful, because it exposes the truth that you are weak.

But then that’s also the beauty of learning, really learning. Discipleship doesn’t expect you to just know things; it assumes that you are a life long apprentice, an incarnational learner.  Discipleship isn’t only interested in information gathering;  an apprentice needs an accessible example to observe, experience and imitate, in order to really learn. Discipleship can feel weak and out of your depth – just look at the disciples. But the impact of being discipled and in doing so learning how to multiply that process. Well, just look at the disciples.

So as I cycle awkwardly around the park, I realise that my bruised ego needs times like these. Times like these remind me that I am a disciple, a learner, an apprentice. I’m learning from Him, and from the key people He’s placed in my life as disciplers. I may be weak and awkward sometimes,  but I’m also growing in Him every day.

At one point Biz (as the kids know him) came out to teach the kids some beat-boxing just like he did on TV. Saliva flew everywhere as a few thousand preschoolers demonstrated their skills.Then suddenly he changed direction, but somehow he sounded familiar. Not to the kids, but to me. And every other parent there. And he began:

You, you got what I need

Spontaneously a few thousand adults responded

But you say he’s just a friend, but you say he’s just a friend!

And for a minute or so we weren’t parents anymore: we were teenagers again, young adults again singing along to some old skool tune that was poppy hip hop and fun. So we sang and we danced and our kids saw a glimpse of something else about mommy and daddy. As I looked out at the crowd, I  thought, There you are. Here we are. We’re still here. I smiled at my Generation. X.

The moment stayed with me and I wondered , So what did happen to Generation X? Years ago our churches lamented over us; a missing generation, broken by the broken homes and untrustworthy institutions and a world that had so forgotten our name,  we were merely X. For the few of us that were Christians, there were prophecies of hope and redemption, a calling of a Generation who would be known for a different kind of Cross.

The prophecies and predictions were all so exciting, even glamorous at times…

So what did happen? Life.  Some of us got jobs, got married, had kids.  We bought, sold, even lost houses. We experienced joy; we faced tragedy. We grieved and mourned as life and death forced us to admit our mortality and our non invincibility. We became like our parents, our metabolism slowed down and we became ordinary.

Did we miss it – the call? The redemption? The impact that we could have?

In my opinion not necessarily. In fact I think the decisions we made each day,  even this day will contribute  to our legacy as a generation. We may not have realized this in our younger years, but this , life , mundane ordinary, jobs,  family, highs and lows everyday life is where it all mattered . This is what the visions and dreams pointed to;this gift called Life. That God would infuse our every day ordinary journey, so that we might affect other peoples. We may not travel the world with a life changing message, but perhaps we could befriend a colleague and a neighbor and see their lives changed. We may not speak before the masses, but the kind of friend, spouse, employee, parent  we become will speak volumes on how much Jesus shapes our lives. Our lives are probably quite ordinary, but by His grace and power we will see extraordinary things.

So to all you Gen Xer’s out there.. After the dreams and the visions…What happened next?

Because though like Biz  we arrive up in unexpected places doing unexpected things, God hasn’t finished with us yet.

Structure is important!  Think of all the routines/structure/boxes that you have going on in your life – whether they are self-appointed or imposed by others.  Some are particularly good and really helpful.  Take the example of a morning routine – shower, breakfast, cleaning teeth, some sort of devotional time.  Or traffic laws, without which there would be absolute chaos!

Sometimes however, we can get so rigid in our structures and routines that we forget the bigger picture and sometimes the aim of what that structure is there to facilitate.

Last night we hosted a discussion with some of our missional community leaders – all lovely and very capable people.  One couple in particular had got very focussed on their group and how they were trying to make it work.  The over-riding impression we got from listening to them was one of tiredness (why is this not working?) and of frustration (we have all these openings with our non-Christian friends and neighbours but no time to pursue them as we’re too busy trying to make our group work).

Another leader came up with the passage of the wine skins.  Throughout the centuries, the ‘wine’ or the essence of the gospel has not changed.  Society and individual situations, of course have!  Sometimes we need new wine skins.  Let’s be creative, think outside the box and not necessarily be a slave to the structure.  Does the structure serve us and God’s purposes or do we serve the structure?

What is God calling us to do, both individually and as a group?  Can both of those callings work together?  Do the existing structures help or constrain?  Let’s ask God to breathe His life and energy in and through us and what we are doing.  May we and the whole body be used to draw others into an ever deeper relationship with Him in as many ways as possible.  May we not lose sight of our ultimate goals.  Let’s seek to bring God’s Kingdom to those people and situations that He has placed us with/in.  Let’s ask God to reveal to us the best way of doing that.

We smile because we can’t speak. At least not in the same language, not quite, not yet. So we try with our eyes and our hands and expressions to communicate  - to show that we are interested, to welcome, to befriend. I’ve learned a couple of words, but their English is way better than my Nepali. But I’m learning.

For one hour a week I try to communicate with our new Bhutanese friends, and its sweetly awkwardly sweet. I bow and say “Namaste” by way of greeting and I can see its appreciated. We photocopy the Bible passages into Nepali – and God’s word becomes accessible.  We had this great Sunday School curriculum for the kids at church, and its utterly useless right now because we have yet to work out how to communicate.  And right now it seems that a church play set without broken glass, and scooters and trikes and toys are  God’s smile of provision that means more to these children in this strange new world. And we talk, but most of all we smile.

For me it’s one hour a week, but for them? I remember how bewildering it was when we first moved to the US, navigating the system, the roads,  the bureaucracy, even the food. And we moved a team, in a world where we speak (mostly) the same language. How bewildering must it be to move here, from a refugee camp to an unknown world? It’s as though the struggle has just begun again. And no matter whom a refugee was in their home country, now they had to start again, usually from the bottom up. I once watched a series called the New Americans which featured a number of refugees who in their former land were business leaders, entrepreneurs, journalists and political activists. Now in the US they were cleaners, kitchen porters and hotel maids. They’d learned to not hand in their resumes (UK read CV), so people wouldn’t learn quite how qualified they were. Makes you think.

We are learning new things daily, and leaning on the Lord for direction. In the meantime, our friends have practical needs. Clothes, skills, forms, language learning, and we can be His hands and feet for that. We’ve learned from Nepalese and Bhutanese Christians we’ve met that most have become Christians through encountering Jesus in dreams or a family/community member being healed in the name of Jesus.  So we’ll practice what we preach, and we’ll pray for the power of God to meet them where they are at. And we’ll smile until to find the words to communicate everything we want to say.

Matthew 25:40

He did tell us to get ready. He reminded us that the harvest was plentiful, and that as we went out – we’d reap it.

A couple of months ago, a group from our church, ( a motley crew of all ages and background if ever I saw one) connected with an apartment block near our church. Just across from our church is a sprawl of never ending apartment complexes, the most densely populated part of the state. Economically deprived communities, they house many of the forgotten, refugees, ex offenders, people relocated from the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. We were connected with one apartment block by Lutheran Social Services, and began to think of ways to serve. We started with a free BBQ and crafts for the kids, and the offer of prayer to anyone who wanted it.

I remember driving into the apartment complex for the first time, with my kids in the back. This was a complex housing refugees from many different countries. I saw the playground, broken glass in the sand, and a metal play set – impossible to play on in 100 degree heat. Next to the boundary walls of the complex ran a telephone wire, with a solitary pair of sneakers hanging from them, marking gang and drug territory. “Welcome to America” I muttered, and pulled my kids out of the car to join in with the festivities.

It was a hot day, but over the next two hours we connected with loads of families. Most were Bhutanese. We did lots of kid’s crafts and resolved to use only chicken hot dogs in future, because people looked at the meat really suspiciously. We offered prayed and tried hard to communicate with hand signals and odd words. And it doesn’t matter how loud you speak, or how slowly, another language is another language. But somehow by the end of the time – we made a connection, a God connection. And we knew we would return.

I had conflicting emotions as I drove home that day. I was angry. Where is the church I demanded, somewhat judgmentally. How are people supposed to live like this? How is this a  place for them to raise their kids. These were refugees; it’s not like is been an easy life to begin with. And now they’re dumped in the ghetto? Why aren’t we doing  something, anything? And where are these gangs and dealers anyway? What are we doing about them. I felt embarrassed at our own ineffectiveness; I felt foolish for the times I’d debated about worship songs, or how to do church, and wondered how often I am distracted from The Great Commission. I think sometimes God lets me get provoked and ask these questions and then lets me hear the silence. In the silence ( well not complete silence because the girls are chatting in the back about My Little Ponies) I remember exactly how you live like this – you just do. In the silence, I remember the impact of Christian urban missionaries who moved into our lives like an unstoppable force of love, compassion and the power of the Spirit. My heart was set on fire and my life was changed. Forever. And to His silence, I responded with my own. Which meant: I get it, I know what you’re saying . Bring it.

Yesterday, along with about 60 other women, I went on a bus tour.  I wasn’t going to see any grand tourist destination but quite the opposite.  I went on a tour of 10 ministries which are reaching out to some of the most poor and marginalised of Oklahoma City.  OKC has some depressing and perhaps surprising statistics.  For example, Oklahoma incarcerates more women per capita than any other state in the US.  However, it is probably the same as most cities world-wide in that babies are abandoned, children are abused and ignored, there are thousands of homeless each night, many young adults have no-one to turn to when they face trouble etc.  It was quite an eye-opener and an emotional rollercoaster.  We heard story after story of individuals of all ages who had experienced horrific situations, but because they had been reached out to both practically and with the love of Jesus, they had found that their life had been transformed.

One story was of a woman who had grown up with a single, drug pushing mother.  They pretty much lived their lives on the streets and were in and out of the homeless shelter.  When she was older she also got into the drug scene.  As a teenager she was given the opportunity to go on a Christian camp.  She did and there she accepted Jesus as her Lord and Saviour.  A while later a family offered to take her in, although that idea did not appeal.  However, she decided for the first time to pray and ask God what He wanted her to do.  She felt Him say to go and live with them, so she did.  She restarted her education and is now married to a guy who has continued to encourage her in life and in her relationship with God.  A while ago, she felt God ask her to reach out to other homeless and struggling families.  They now have the beginnings of a ministry of their own, offering low cost housing and other support to those needy people.

A couple of years ago, some good friends of mine left their comfortable lives in Southern California to live with their two young children on the same street as the homeless and addicted.  They are leading a radical group of young adults to transform that neighbourhood.

Unlike them, I don’t think that God has made my primary calling to be the poor.  However, I don’t think I’m let off the hook either.  Years ago I stayed in a virtual mud hut in the Philippines and the family killed one of their 3 chickens so that I could eat.  Now I’m living in my virtual palace and I have to think.  What is God asking me to do with the poor who are almost on my doorstep?

I now have various lists from the places I visited yesterday with practical suggestions of what I can do.  These ideas range from donating food or lightly used children’s clothing, to cleaning streets, to mentoring children (or even those in the juvenile detention centre) to fostering a baby.  Currently, I’m thinking about what my family and I can be engaged in.  As I’m talking about it to friends and neighbours I already have quite a group of people around me who would be interesting in helping out too, including those who we’re discipling towards faith in Christ.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.”  Luke 12:48b.

Globally speaking, God has blessed me ABUNDANTLY.  What am I going to do with the riches He has entrusted to me?

I took 15 of the students I lead. We were working with a charity seeking to see kingdom transformation in the area and country. We worked with the local gypsy communities. A people marginalised in society, scraping a living of the land.  The activities we did were fun and not you’re run of the mill activities. I don’t get to throw mud (dirt & horse poo) at houses back at home. We were helping, honest. But it wasn’t this that made the experience for me.

It was the fact that God turned up. I can’t explain it but it’s as if the gap between heaven and earth is thinner. I felt his presence in ways I hadn’t in a while. I knew his love, his affirmation, his voice with so much clarity, his faithfulness to come when I ask him to show up.

In the early hours of the morning I sat in his presence looking out over stunning mountains wondering why that was. What was it about being there? What was it about that place?

The conclusion I came to was this.  For me being there and being devoted to just 15 people, leading & discipling them through our time was one of the simplest expressions of what I’m called to do. At home this is a large part of what I do but often it appears clouded by responsibility and demands. There it was simple, clear like everything came into focus.

When I got home life hit again and for the first few days I barely new whether I was coming or going.

It seemed it would have been simpler to stay out there. But I knew I couldn’t. You see I am in training. My life in England is my training ground for the things that I am called to and I could focus on them again knowing that something in my heart had been reignited to go after what it is he made me to do. I had felt a glimpse of what it felt like to feel fully alive because you know you are doing the thing he made you to do.

So I am renewed in my direction and passion as I look forward.

So I ask what it is for you? What are the things that will speak to your soul again about how it was he created you and what for? It might catch you off guard in the unexpected places but God is the God of the unexpected. He has a habit of catching us off guard.  For me it was a mission trip and 15 special people that I get to lead. I don’t know what it will be for you, but I do know he wants to show you. He is always wanting to call out of us the destiny he has put before us and give us renewed passion to pursue it.

By Ally Proudfoot.

Six months later I came back to England, indignant and frustrated with ‘Westerners’. How dare they march round shopping centres spending their hundreds and thousands of pounds on pointless objects, when there were people who could not afford to eat?

Nevertheless, within a few months I was right back there with them. Acquiring more and more ‘stuff’ that I ‘needed’. It was all too easy for me to forget what had broken my heart a few months before when removed from it and surrounded by luxury in a materialistic culture.

I’m massively challenged by this because if what I have witnessed on mission trips does not infiltrate my day to day lifestyle then such trips become yet another form of western consumerism.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, more will be asked”. Luke 12:48b.

So how can my life reflect and acknowledge the responsibility that comes with ‘much’ when I am part of a culture that is essentially built on the exploitation of the poorest of the poor, the people closest to God’s heart? Surely a massive part this has to involve a lifestyle that stands out and refuses to support such exploitation. Yet how often do I just turn a blind eye and buy a t-shirt for £3 from high street retailers, ignoring the real cost involved, even though it completely contradicts what my faith stands for? As a Western Christian in an economically privileged country, what does it look like to live my faith intentionally in a way that reflects God’s heart for humankind, aware of the responsibility I’m going to be held accountable for?

In the midst of all this I’ve felt drawn to read about the disciples and their willingness to leave everything and go with Jesus. When Jesus called to those first disciples, “Come, follow me,” they didn’t first rationalise their decision and then come up with Plan B in case of failure. They left their nets at once and followed him (Mark 1v16-18). When Jesus sent them out in twos, he said, “Take nothing for the journey…no bread, no bag, no money in your belts” (Mark 6v8). They literally went in the clothes they had on and yet I’m upset about selling my washing machine and sofa and wondering how to take all my little home comforts to make my journey easier! When Jesus told them to “go into all the world and preach the good news” (Mark 16v15-20), they knew him so well and completely trusted his provision that they just went. What incredible faith and obedience.

The choice to go on a journey with God is ours. If we take that first step then the Bible is clear that we will see signs and wonders, healings and people saved because we go in Jesus’ authority. Ultimately what have we got to lose? Nothing! Earthly riches don’t matter because our treasure and reward are in heaven! But imagine the great adventure we could have if we are just willing to take a step and GO!