This week’s post is by Brandon Adent, a deacon at Redeemer Church. He likes music, words, and words about music.

Easter morning I showed up for rehearsal feeling less than stellar, and left feeling even less so.

Exhausted, I lay on the couch, and hardly got up for a week.

I don’t get sick easily; it’d been probably seven years since I’d had the flu, and probably three since I’d had to take multiple days off from work. Maybe both of those numbers are normal, maybe they’re high, maybe they’re low. No matter, when Tuesday showed up, they both reset to zero, and the timing felt absolutely the worst.

Really, anytime is the worst, but this was bad. There wasn’t really anything of utmost importance I would miss, nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled, anyway.

But after several months of stalemate, I was at long last beginning to see progress in a couple of different areas, finally starting to feel productive, to see progress, to get back into a rhythm. I was exhausted from spinning my wheels in the sand, but at least I was moving again.

Yeah, no more. For the next week, I did nothing but toss and turn, whimper and puke. In all honestly, I didn’t probably have it that bad. But it felt bad. I felt bad.

And as I sat there wanting nothing but the Second Coming of Christ, I couldn’t help but ask God what I had done to deserve this.

Lay Down, Little Sheepy

Some time ago, someone pointed out to me the particular phrasing of the first couple verses of the well known Psalm 23:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul

He makes me lie down.

At least for my soul, that sounds a lot like this:

Okay, little sheepy, this is a good spot. Take a minute and lay down. No… stop here, don’t keep going. Stop. Okay, c’mon bud, get down. No, all the way… all the way; no, I said DOWN, not up.

LITTLE BUDDY: LAY. DOWN.

DOWN. NOW.

*sickness or injury ensue*

At first glance, this sort of thing seems a bit vindictive or something, but it's actually the opposite.

While Psalm 23 may or may not be a direct reference to the biblical concept of Sabbath rest, I can’t help but see the parallels.

Needing Rest

We need rest; it’s hardwired into creation; even before the Fall, there was rest. In fact, God Himself rested and set that day apart (Gen 2.1-3), not because He needed it, but because He knew we needed it.

Our bodies need to physically recover from the things that we do, but rest is more than sleep or lying around. It’s also allowing oneself the time to just “be”, to reflect on God’s greatness and be astounded that He somehow is mindful of us (Psalm 8).

Rest reminds us who we are, that we can’t do it all. It gives us a chance to unwind and charge up for the week or the day or the hour ahead, mindful of God’s power and our weakness apart from Him.

As Christians, we can take a break from our labor in the full knowledge that Jesus has worked tirelessly and rested perfectly, died and risen so that we can rest in His record and not our own.

Hating Rest

Regardless of any benefit, we don’t like rest. At least I don’t. When I go hiking, I am all about how much ground we cover, how many miles we need to make in a day, how far to the next camp. Don’t stop for water or take pictures in the middle of a hill, keep up the momentum. Actually, my tendency is to speed up while ascending.

I’ll rest when I’m dead, thank you very much. Right now, I’ve got somewhere to be.

I mean, I like the idea of taking a second to look around. But it takes much more effort than it should to just pick my head up for a quick breather; I really like the idea that I don’t need it.

That somehow God made me wrong, that I know what I’m capable of more than He does. I’d rather spend the night nauseous than admit I can’t do it, and it’s happened often enough.

Just Lay Down

There’s a lot of different ways to rest, or "sabbath", and the best way to rest varies so much from person-to-person.

The Sabbath was a day of rest, built into the week. God Himself “sabbathed” after He populated the earth, and written into the Ten Commandments was a weekly “rest day”, which was to be spent differently than the other days of the week, to spend time with God and His people, do good and rest from the labors of the week. Keeping the Sabbath was a big deal, and with the Jewish people today, it still is.

There’s a million ways to take a Sabbath. Take a nap, take a walk, hang out with friends, take your family to the park, play an instrument, work on a project, read a book (or three...), write a letter to your grandmother, and so on and so forth. Just take time to reflect on what God has done for you in Christ and enjoy all the good gifts He’s given you. Take some time to just “be”.

Maybe it’s just me. But I’ve found that when I am not obedient in regular rest, I get made to lay down.

Thankfully, whether we’re smart enough to see it or not, wherever we’re laid down is green pasture where, whether we want Him to or not, He restores our soul.

Current blog post written by Becca Wellan. A devoted and caring friend who loves coffee and talking about Jesus. Oh, and did I mention she loves coffee?

"Twinkle twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are."

I sing this lullaby to lull the sweet babies I nanny to sleep. I can’t sing, so this doesn’t always work. Each time I sing this song, I always think, these words are so odd. I’m no astronomer, by any stretch, but I’m pretty sure stars aren’t diamonds in the sky. I’m also quite positive they’re not little.

Have you ever laid on your back during a clear summer night in the middle of nowhere? Just to watch the stars. Just to see how small you really are. It’s amazing. You know, I tried counting all the stars, once. I believe I got to twenty-nine, then I got distracted.

1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.

One billion trillion; I was a little off. That’s the number of stars in the observable universe. That’s one billion trillion stars, in the ten billion galaxies we’ve found so far (like I can somehow take credit for this).

That’s a lot of stars.

I don’t know about you, but my view of God is very small. I mean, I know that God created the world, the universe, the one billion trillion stars, me. I know the stars are designed to show us His power and beauty. (I also believe He made them just for fun. Just to paint the sky for us. Just because He’s God, and He can). I know all these truths, but as my heart’s been breaking beneath the weight of my sin, I’ve learned that there’s a difference between “know” and “believe.” The difference between chains and freedom.

And I don’t believe that this God could truly love me. In my doubt, I’ve been drowning.

Does this God actually have a heart big enough to love all of me?
Enough power to truly forgive me?
Enough grace to rescue me?
Enough understanding to heal me?
Enough mercy to let my heart rest, filled up to overflowing with peace?

I don’t know about you, but my view of God is very small. There are days my sin takes a hold of my heart and my mind and yells so loud, with such strength, that this God who counts the countless stars seems to disappear.

Do you ever wonder if God could truly love someone like you? If being fully, totally forgiven for everything you’ve ever done or thought applies to everyone else, but certainly not you?

I don’t actually believe that God would love me enough to pour grace over the dark spaces in my mind. I don’t actually believe that I can rest in His forgiveness, without doing penance to earn His grace. I don’t actually believe Him when He said “it is finished.”

But this God, who created the universe and all its stars, will not remain silent. This morning, He broke through my doubts and spoke to me:

“He heals the brokenhearted,

And binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

He gives to all of them their names.” // Psalm 147:4.
 

Suddenly, I believed Him. If this God has enough power in His voice to tell the one billion trillion stars to shine, hanging them up like Christmas lights, then He must have enough power to heal my broken heart and bind up my wounds.

If this God is caring enough to name each and every one of the stars, then He must care enough to truly, completely, deeply, relentlessly love me.

To call me by name.

And, this God must have enough power to actually mean it when He hung on the cross and said “it is finished.”

“As far as the east is from the west,
so far does He remove our sin from us.” // Psalm 103:12.

As far as the east is from the west is pretty far, if you think about it. The edge of the observable universe is forty-six billion light years away. One light year is six trillion miles. It keeps going, and going, and going and no one knows where, or if, it ends.

When Christ died on the cross, the sin that separated us from Him is black-hole status gone. He has only grace for us, now. He is not disgusted by you. He is not ashamed of you. To endure your days as though Jesus is not powerful enough to forgive you is not just insulting, it will wreck you.

This morning, as I read these verses through my tears, I finally felt how absolutely adored I am. I could actually see myself wrapped in the arms of Jesus. Sobbing. Letting go of everything but Him. In that moment, I finally felt that I am more valuable to Him than one billion trillion stars. The weight of the guilt I’ve been carrying was lifted. All I could say was “I need you.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know,” He said. “That’s why I came down to rescue you.”  

“When Satan tempts me to despair and tells me of the guilt within, upward I look and see Him there, who made an end of all my sin.”

This blog post was written by Theresa Adams, a Redeemer member, wife and mom, who would love to have her own roller skating rink & thinks getting her kids to eat kale is a major victory!

Loving others. Serving others. Meeting needs. All of those things can seem so daunting. So overwhelming. It can be paralyzing to know even where to begin. Sometimes people do get immobilized and don't even start. They think the circumstances have to be just so. They think when their kids get older when they have more spare time when they don't have such a heavy class load when they find a cause that breaks their heart then they will begin. I get it. I was that person. I wanted to "do something." I wanted to be a drop in the bucket that would turn into an ocean of loving, compassionate acts. But I didn't even know where to begin. I didn't know what broke my heart. What would make me weep? Sometimes I didn't even want to know that a need was out there. 

When you are living in oblivion/innocence/ignorance, it is so effortless to look the other way. Once you are made aware, it makes it near impossible to go on living without doing something. There is no going back to blissful naivety once you've become acquainted with a need. It's like Nehemiah. He was a Jew, born in Persia during the exile, so he didn't know Jerusalem other than he had relatives there. When he inquired as to the conditions among the Jews there who had survived exile in Jerusalem he went from being unaware of having his heart wrecked. "They told me, "The exile survivors who are left there in the province are in bad shape. Conditions are appalling. The wall of Jerusalem is still in rubble; the city gates are still cinders." When I heard this, I sat down and wept. I mourned for days, fasting and praying before the God-of-Heaven." (NE 1:3,4) The need was not directly affecting Nehemiah, yet he wept. For days. He sought God and then he set out to meet the need.

Perhaps you think: God wouldn't use me.  Why in the world when He has his pick of all the great, kind, loving people on the planet would He ever want to use the likes of me to accomplish something for His Glory? Why would He entrust me to love others?  To serve others? With my past? With my weaknesses? With my judgmental tendencies?  With my greed? With my selfishness?  With my potty mouth? With my grades? Whatever the reason you think you aren't "good" enough to accomplish something for His purpose have you ever thought that when we say we are incapable of being used by Him that we are saying He's made some mistake?  

God made each one of us perfectly and intentionally. He doesn't make mistakes.  It's not as though He had some terrible no-good-very-bad-day when He was creating you.  He knows you from the hairs on your head to the tips of your toes.  He knows your thoughts, your words, your heartbeat and the rhythm of your soul. It's because of the exquisite detail that makes you -you- that no one else can accomplish what you can. No one else can meet a need in the specifically same way as you. No one else can love as you love. Your gifts, skills & compassion differ from mine. What breaks my heart may not break yours. 

If you find yourself longing to "do something"  to serve your neighborhood, your city, your county, your campus, but you don't know what said something is can I encourage you to pray about it? To ask God what breaks your heart? He will be faithful and reveal something to you. He did to me. Years ago it was human trafficking that first gave an awareness to the myriad of needs of our world, country, state, county. And I began small. Sending letters & cards to a shelter in Greece that housed women freed from trafficking. Then it was building an awareness of what went on in our county and connecting with local resources.

 Since that time there have been many different opportunities I've been able to take part in: from giving my credit at a consignment store to a homeless woman so she could buy clothes with dignity, to having garage sales for at-risk-teens, to providing Christmas presents to kids whose parents were unable to provide one of their own.. I don't share this with you as a "look-at-me-I've-got-it-all-figured-out" kind of pat on the back, because truly, I am pretty sure I mess up & miss opportunities on a regular basis. 

What I hope to do by sharing with you is to encourage you. I too once wanted to love others. I wanted to "do something," I wanted to help to serve to make a difference. Sometimes I wonder if that is what Jesus meant when he told his followers: "Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples." (John 13:34,35)  He didn't say people would know we were set apart because of the fish logo on the back of our cars. Nor by the verses & well-meaning quotes we share on Facebook. Not even by the in-depth knowledge of doctrine we may have. None of which are insignificant.  But by our love. Maybe it's just me, but I don't think it's by the feeling of love, but rather the action. An outpouring of activity regardless of the outcome. Regardless of what we gain in return. Love as He loved us.

 If your heart is to love others (Or you want to have that heart) and you'd like to serve alongside those in our county who are already meeting a need here are some possibilities. The list is by no means exhaustive, but it's a start. And isn't that what we need sometimes? Just a start?

http://www.engedirefuge.com/engedi_house.html

http://www.skookumkids.org/

http://www.bellinghamhopehouse.com/

http://www.amysplaceforyouth.org/

http://thewhatcomdream.org/

http://www.reboundwc.com/who-we-are

http://www.pass-the-hat.org/

-This weeks post is by Ashley Bowie, a member at Redeemer. She pours an excellent cup of coffee, and loves words the way some people love their pets, or children.

Every March my family celebrates a special holiday. On March 19, 1988, my parents adopted three children from the bad side of life. I was only four; I had a sister who was five and had taught me how to tie my shoes, and how to talk to people and a happy rowdy brother who had just turned two. We were a mess for sure. We had been through a lot in our collective short years and had all the fears and bad habits that came with it. But on that special day, we walked into a new home. We had new beds that were just for us, a big back yard with a wooden swing set, clothes, toys, and family, oh boy was there family. On our first night, there was a huge party. It sort of happened by accident. Everyone knew we were coming home, and they all wanted to stop by and say hello to the kids my parents had chosen. We met neighbors and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Everyone who had prayed and cried with my parents as they went through the soul trying process of adoption was there to celebrate. I still remember meeting our next door neighbors who had a girl my age, and proudly showing her my bed, a top bunk if you can believe it, and the first stuffed animal that was ever mine. 

After all the cake had been eaten, and the presents had been put away, I was staring up into the passionate blue eyes of my new Mom and the gentle hazel of my new Dad. They kissed me and said, "Welcome home, I love you." I don't have many memories before that day; maybe I was too young, or maybe God was protecting me, but I remember every moment of that day. To this day, we all remember and cherish March 19th. It's the day the orphans came home, the day the emptiness was made full, the day we became a family. We call it Gotcha Day because as my Mom and Dad always said, "that's the day we got-cha."

God adopted you. You were born into hardship and subjected to the neglect and abuse of this world; you carry the fears and bad habits that come with it. And then one day, God brought you home. He gave you a safe place, He cares for your needs and gives you family, so much family. Do you remember the day that God "Got-cha?" 

Easter is just around the corner. This is the time of year we remember with sober minds that God sent His only son, to die on our behalf, to bridge the gap between creator and created. This is also the day that God "got-cha." On that day, He paid the price and decided that you belonged to Him, that you would come home, and you would be His child. 

Romans 8:14-17 "For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the spirit of adoption as sons by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs - heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ..."

Maybe you think the day that God gotcha was a day that you finally gave up or a day your eyes finally opened. Maybe you were at the end of your rope or at the bottom of the pit. Maybe that's when you saw it, when you finally realized that God has adopted you. But He has wanted you from the beginning and has been calling you home to Himself since the day you were born.

Romans 8:29 "For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, in order that He might be the firstborn among many brothers."

When I was adopted, I was rescued. I was rescued from neglect, and abuse and fear. But I was also brought home. I was given care instead of neglect, compassion instead of abuse, and love instead of fear. It took a while for my little heart to understand that. I didn't realize that I would be fed, so I hid food. I didn't know that mistakes would be met with kindness, so I lied. I think sometimes we focus so much on what God has saved us from, that we forget to recognize what he has saved us to. You were pulled out of the filth of the world so that He could embrace you as His child. You have no need to hide, or cover up. You are home. You are safe. 

No one was going to send me back, this wasn't an accident, there were no regrets and no "plan B" incase this didn't pan out the way they had hoped. If you know anything about post infant adoption, you know that children who have been through a lot, take a lot of love and a lot of work. Attachment disorders, identity disorders, stunted emotional growth, and pathologically deceitful tendencies, these words were in the file of myself, my brother and sister. Imagine what would be in your file right now. Imagine the labels the world would put on you and try to convince you that you don't deserve the love of a Good Father, or that it would be too much work to make you whole again. 

Romans 8:38-39 "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Now imagine the impromptu party that happened on your gotcha day. The angels that stopped by to see the child that God had chosen, the family and friends that had prayed for you and were so proud and thrilled that you are now a member of the family. And when the lights go out, and everyone goes home, there He is, your good and great heavenly father looking at you with bright and unending love saying "Welcome home, I love you.”

This week’s post is by Brandon Adent, a deacon at Redeemer Church. He likes music, words, and words about music.

As the crow flies, baby, well I ain’t so far from you
but since I don’t have wings I can’t get home as fast as I want to

I remember the first time I tucked into a Rory Gallagher album; I’d never heard sounds like that from a guitar. Squeaks and squawks and chirps accompanied each tone, the kinds of sounds you can only get when you’re really going for it and know exactly what you’re doing. They had an urgency and a transparency to them, an odd mix of happiness and grief, and a willingness to face and embrace both of them, wherever that took him.

This was what Rory was known for: long, intense shows (over three hours long) playing his heart out.

Rory could really play, but he could write and sing, too. Particularly in his earlier records, he had joy in his voice. You could tell he was having the time of his life.

Even with so much joy, his songs talked so much of pain. particularly a song called “Too Much Alcohol”. The story is pretty simple: his lady is driving him nuts, and he medicates with pure alcohol:

Whiskey make me drowsy
And gin can make you think
Well, a common cold can kill ya
But, my baby turned me to drink

I went down on 31st Street
To pick up a jug of alcohol

Yeah, I told the guy to put in some water
But he wouldn't put in a drop at all
One hundred per cent alcohol
Well, let me have some

This kind of thing was pretty central to the blues lifestyle. Not surprisingly, a lot of these guys didn’t live to be very old (Rory himself died at 47) and those that do aren’t in great shape in later life. They lived a hard life, some by choice, others because those were the cards they were dealt.

Some may dislike the blues, but I love them. I like to be happy, but there’s no sense in faking; sometimes, happy song just won’t do. Occasionally, the biblical thing to do would be to sing the blues.

The blues have hope at their core. The big question, though, is where we put it. Do we look for comfort in God (in Whom it's perfectly found), or do we look for it in drink, sex, money, or power which can never give us the rest for which we long?

The Hope We Have

In the case of a certain psalmist, the writer of the 137th psalm, the source of the turmoil comes not from relationship trouble, but a longing for home:

By the waters of Babylon,
there we sat down and wept,
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our lyres.
For there our captors
required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”

Jerusalem has been destroyed. The psalmist is being held captive in exile, and forced to sing one of the celebratory songs of the temple, and they’re just sick of it. The psalmist would rather lose the ability to make music than to sing one more happy song from Jerusalem.

How shall we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand forget its skill!
Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth,
if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
above my highest joy!

Even the happiest songs of Zion are sad.

At the same time, though, the psalmist knows they can’t forget Jerusalem, and they don’t want to. They miss those songs and the city in which they were sung, when they could sing these songs happily and with joy, as they were meant to be.

Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
the day of Jerusalem,
how they said, “Lay it bare, lay it bare,
down to its foundations!”
O daughter of Babylon, doomed to be destroyed,
blessed shall he be who repays you
with what you have done to us!
Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones
and dashes them against the rock!

Just when we thought it wouldn’t get any darker, like Rory being willing to drink poison to numb the pain, the psalmist prays for the violent death of their oppressor’s children, and cries out for justice from the only One who can truly administer it impartially.

Being Honest

That’s pretty dark, right? What would you do if you heard someone pray that way? The more “spiritual” thing to pray for is deliverance from oppression and grace and mercy for the oppressors.

Often, that’s what we should do, but not always. The psalmist is just being honest about their feelings and desires, and they’re sick of putting on a show, both literally and figuratively.

When I’m not doing so well emotionally, I often feel that I have to put on a similar show. I have to pretend like everything is great when it’s not. I have to smile and laugh and be happy when I just want to curl up in a corner and cry.

The Bible says that sometimes a happy song just isn’t going to work. As much fun as it is to sing happy songs, there’s value in expressing sadness, too, particularly when that sadness drives you to the Savior.

I’m not saying completely remove the filter. There’s definitely a line between honesty and just spilling things, a fine line though it might be. Honesty is inviting people to see what’s troubling you, as opposed to spilling your troubles all over whether or not it’s welcomed. Spilling quickly turns to wallowing, either on one’s own or otherwise.

Look for the Light

Many blues songs “resolve” at wallowing, which is really to say they don’t resolve, at least in a way that lifts us from the mire for good. That's sort of the point, really. We hope for something better than what we have, but there seems to be no one or nothing that can save us from where we are.

However, there is hope, and the psalmist knows where to put it; in the Lord, who He is, what He's done, and what He will do.

While God waits awhile to act on the psalmist’s prayer, He does. Kingdoms rise and fall, and Edom and Babylon are no exception.

Ultimately, though, God sent his own Son to be crushed for the wickedness of the world, including sins of ours, those of Edom, and those of Babylon, so that all who trust in Him will be able in inhabit a city and world so beautiful that it makes Jerusalem look like a slum.

Even in the blues, there can be joy. Even in the blues, there is hope.

A few years ago I had a conversation with a friend about the phrase "Live like you are dying."

"What do you think?" He asked, "Is it good advice?"

I rolled my eyes. "Who could tell any more? It's so cliched that even if you told someone to live that way they wouldn't even really hear you." At the time I had no idea that the YOLO epidemic was on it's way in full force.

"I think it would make me live a little recklessly," He said with a mischievous glint in his eye, "but I don't think it would make me live any more fully."

The point he was making is that on your way to death, you behave a little selfishly. Why shouldn't you? Get in a few thrills before the end, you're on a timeline here. Say your goodbyes, make your peace and then eat whatever you want, jump off of things, run with the bulls and never look back. If your life is on a timeline with death at the end, responsibilities are not important, getting the most out of the only life you know, is.

"YOLO" came along and tried to put a positive spin on the whole idea, but the intent is still clear. You are going to die, so you might as well live while you can. While most people don't take this advice to the extreme, you can still see the evidence of a YOLO mindset all over our culture. We speed past quiet moments and that hint of true joy at 85 Miles per hour (where it's legal) in a relentless pursuit of the grand finale.

When I asked my friend what would inspire him to live more fully he launched into an excited and lengthy speech that I will spare you. The essence of what he said though is that we should live like children. Small ones. The kind that stare unashamedly and ask "why" even after you have given an exhaustive explanation of why, the kind that point at things that interest them and ask yet again "why?" The kind that don't mind having the mess of life all over their hands or running down their chins, who climb into chairs with big smiles and sticky fingers and a strong desire to sit close to daddy and whisper "I love you" and of course "why?"

The more I thought about this, the more hopeful it felt. Jesus wants us to have hearts like children. Jesus teaches us how to live, Jesus teaches us how to learn and grow and ask of our heavenly father "why?" He gave us the freedom to climb into his lap with our sticky lives and whisper close to his ear "I love you." Children aren't thinking about how to get the most out of life, they are simply fascinated with the art of living.

Christ has already ransomed us from death, to eternal life.. So, while life is not to be taken for granted, death is also not to be feared. Hebrews 9:26-28 "...But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself. And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgement, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him."

This is music to me. For those of us born to the kingdom of God, death is not the end of the line, it is not the grand finale, it is only the gateway to our second and true life. To be certain, death has no joy. I've never done it, so I don't know for sure, but it can't be comfortable to have this vessel that God designed ripped apart from the core, my soul. But the good news? I only have to do it once. The best news? When Jesus died, he conquered it, defeated it, broke its rules and made a clear pathway to everlasting life.

The life we have now, is full of joy, sorrow, delights, fears, danger, striving, love, and everything else under the sun. Sometimes it's a party and frequently it's a struggle. There is so much joy in remembering that the common rules of death do not apply to us. It brings a sense of freedom and a truly child like bounce to my step. I don't want to put the focus on death. Death is a bump in the road, a glitch in the original design, and we have been promised everlasting life. Death is inevitable, but it is certainly not a goal.

What lies ahead for us is joy without sorrow, beauty without scars, love without fear. What lies ahead for us is the world as our good Father intended it.

It's January. While you are making lists and setting goals and having such a positive intent toward 2016, maybe add something that forces you to think and feel like a child. I wanted to package up a neat little phrase that you and your friends could say to each other at ironic moments and have a good laugh. What do you think; "Live like children who only have to die once and then the real party starts." It's kind of a mouthful and I don't even know how you would say LLCWOHTDOATTRPS.

Or! With the gospel in mind and an everlasting hope to look forward to, you could say "You Only Die Once." YODO everyone, Happy New Year.
 

-This weeks post is by Ashley Bowie, a member at Redeemer. She pours an excellent cup of coffee, and loves words the way some people love their pets, or children.