Supertones Was His Name

Written by Pastor Rob Stevenson in 2006

¹⁰ This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." ~ 1 John 4:10

(April 12, 2006) – Supertones was his name, after a Christian band popular in the 90s.  I didn’t want this active, little Dalmatian puppy 10 years ago when he came to us, but Bev and I felt like the Lord was saying, “Take him.”  So we did.  

About a week later, he contracted parvo virus, a deadly infection that few animals recover from.  He was a deathly ill little pooch.  One night, after many days of him not eating and being extremely sluggish, I stayed up all night with him.  I cradled Supertones in my arms, and hand fed him.  To my joy, he started nibbling on some regular dog food in the wee hours of that morning ordeal.  I was thrilled!  It was the beginning of his come back.  

  He hated my neighbors though.  Over time he had bitten the two kids, and jumped on and scratched the mom.  It was too much for me to handle having a dog I so enjoyed, that could act so hostile.  I had to put him down.  This was the HARDEST decision and action I have ever made.  I didn’t realize how difficult a task until after it was done, but taking him to the vet was hard enough.

I brought him into life by my hands, and I sent him to death by my hands.  I honestly could not see it any other way.  I felt as if I had to be the one, because he was my dog.  Then, afterwards, I realized each time I walked into the laundry room that I was thinking of him.  It dawned on me that I had fed him over 3,600 times in that place. I had given him water over 3,600 times each morning when I got up, walked into the kitchen, and was greeted with his expectant stare.  No wonder it was so tough. 
 
Then, it hit me that our Father God had sacrificed His Son so that we might live.  In addition, His Son had been totally innocent.  Even though our pets are animals, we have a capacity to love them, don’t we?  And the Father, His capacity to love us and to go through the agony of seeing His Son brutalized and killed had to be a devastating experience.  He did it for us.  Jesus did it for us.  Such love has no bounds, no limits, and no equal.  Hallelujah!  Thank you Lord for such a saving sacrifice.
-Rob Stevenson

Put Down the Headphones

Running and I have such an on and off relationship.  Recently I have loved it, but I fully attributed that to me finally downloading good music and buying decent headphones.  The burning in my lungs and the fatigue of my legs somehow becomes fun while listening to "Hey Jude."

 I didn't run for most of my mission team training week because most of the days were exhausting on their own.  However on Thursday my team did not have to meet until 10 A.M.  We were stoked!  My co-leader, Adam, and I decided to have an optional time of prayer at 9 for those overachievers who were looking for a challenge.  I was exhausted.  This was the break my body was looking for.  BUT this was training week which meant my spirit had a much louder voice.

 I decided to wake up early.  I put on my running shoes, grabbed my headphones, and headed towards the door.  That was when I remembered that when I finally downloaded good music it had deleted my Kari Jobe album and I was completely devoid of Christian tunes.  "It's not a big deal," I told myself.  But it was.  I was being intentional about not only avoiding social media, secular music, and anything that could be a distraction.  So I said "Hey God, I am trying to challenge myself by running, but I can't do it without headphones.  Is it cool if I listen to this music?"

He didn't tell me that it "wasn't cool" if I listened to secular music.  Instead, He asked if I would let Him be enough.  Wow.  That was the moment I had to stop making excuses.  God wanted to be my enough.  Well, I'm not a big fan of telling the creator of the universe that He isn't enough, so I put the headphones down.  Instead of jamming to "Say Something", I prayed.  I prayed for each of the members of my team.  It was hard, definitely harder than running with music, but it felt glorious at the same time.

During the 9 A.M. prayer time my team had, I took a moment to write down what God was telling me about each of my members.  Those simple sentences were later used to speak life and prophecy into the lives of my team.  Some of what was shown to me I was privileged to tell them that day, other parts were saved for commissioning night, and some were never told at all.  That's not the important part.  What was important was that I listened.

I will always remember Thursday, May 7 as the day that I listened.  I woke up.  I put down the headphones.  I wrote down what God told me.  These were all three very small steps that set up my day to be remarkable.  In these tiny steps of obedience I learned that for each step you take, the Lord takes a mile.  God is omnipotent.  He has the power to do anything, but I believe that He often waits for us to make a move.  What better way is there for us to show faith?  And love?  And then there are those times where it feels like we keep taking more and more steps and yet we see nothing.  I believe that He is still moving.  That is where true faith comes in, the kind of faith that Jesus mentioned in John 20:29.  Faith in that which you cannot see.

 I learned something else that day.  Okay, I learned a lot of lessons that day, but one that I have to tell you.  Every hour spent with God is an hour spent in victory.  To me, God is not invisible.  I see Him in His creation, in little things like sunsets and tall trees.  These wonders are reflections of their Creator.  Man, if those are just reflections, I cannot begin to imagine the mind-blowing beauty of the Lord.  Every second spent serving this indescribable God is not deserved yet freely given.  And the enemy tries to distract and persuade us away from this!  He uses excuses like being too busy or having time later on me all the time, so I bet he uses it on others too.  He really isn't that creative.  Another way that my time of victory is robbed is when my mind and heart are not fully engaged.  It's like I'm having dinner with God but texting someone else the whole time.  Sure I still eat, but the quality and purpose is completely lost.

 Compared to the insane amount of love and sacrifice the Lord pours on us, He does not ask for much.  However, what He does ask for often seems like way too much in the moment.  Or like it's not a big deal so why even bother.  I am making it a personal goal to look for the little steps I can take, the minor moments where I can say "yes" to God so that when the bigger moments come I already know how.  On Thursday, May 7, I put down my headphones.  It was one of the best decisions I've ever made.

Unforgettable Individuals

  by Christi Sleiman

 ⁸ We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹⁰ We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.
 ~ I Corinthians 4:8-10

I'm an extrovert, so having a conversation is like breathing to me.  Yes, they are necessary to life for me, but not something that I really think about.  More of a natural thing.  I had countless conversations on my mission trip to Israel and Palestine, but like most breaths, almost all of them will be forgotten.   However, two people I spoke to left such an impression on my heart that forgetting them is impossible.

   
One woman I spoke to translated for a youth service we did in Bethlehem.  She was upbeat and positive, but upon truly getting to know her it was apparent that her life is full of pain.  She is a member of what we call the persecuted church.  She doesn't fit in with the Muslims for obvious reasons but also cannot get along with traditional Christians.  Her kids get in verbal fights at their catholic school until they finally silence themselves about their faith.  She can't let her kids play at the park because the other kids won't accept them.  Her kids aren't allowed to run two minutes away to the store for candy because the streets aren't safe for them.  I cannot imagine trying to explain to my children why they cannot live like the others around them.  She lives in fear of Isis mere hours and checkpoints away.  I had the honor of praying for her that day, and I continue to keep her and the rest of her church family in my thoughts and prayers.

   
At a block party hosted by a church, I sat down to have what turned into the most insightful conversation of my life with a 90-year-old man.  He was charming and had kind eyes and became like a father to me.  What I thought would be five minutes of chatting turned into two hours of learning about his past joys and pains.  He was originally from Jerusalem but was made into a refugee and relocated to Bethlehem after Israel was reestablished as a nation.  He went by Abu Jonny because his oldest son's name was Jonny.  My dad's name in that regard is Abu Jonny too, so we connected on that fact.  His son Jonny passed away, which he told me while holding back tears.  He has lost so much, yet his love of life and love for God shine through it all.  He taught me the value of family.  Yes, he told me about his past job as a judge and bus driver instructor, but the only thing that really mattered to him was his loved ones.  It reminded me that when everything is said and done, family will be all that is left.

I'm sorry that I could only scratch the surface on what these two showed me.  I can't fit into one blog post what was said and how it changed me.

Love, In Person

 by Bryan Stevenson

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. ~ I Corinthians 13: 7-8

My grandfather was determined to stand up for my parents’ wedding. You can see him in those photographs, standing there, leaning heavily on his cane. A few days later he was confined to a wheelchair and would never walk again. Multiple sclerosis took his ability to walk, but it never took his joy in living life. His grit, determination, and optimism was amazing, but I’ll save that story for another time. This tale is about his wife Joanna, my grandmother, and how she taught me one of the most important lessons that one person can teach another.

They didn’t know what was wrong with Granddaddy. His balance was off and he was having trouble walking. Grandmother took a job with the city and my Dad started working as well. They weren’t sure what the future held, but they were going to work hard to make sure the family survived. When they found out it was MS, Granddaddy decided to do everything he could for himself, driving, vacationing, working on cars, fixing up around the house. He had disdain for motorized wheelchairs, and fashioned all kinds of homemade tools to help him get stuff done. Still, there were things he simply couldn’t do.

Some of my earliest memories of him are when I was in elementary school and I got to push him in his wheelchair up the short ramp to the 2nd level of their house where their bedrooms were. It was only 2 steps up, but when I was old enough to help him get up the ramp myself it was a big deal. Grandmother usually did it, and I can picture her leaning forward and pushing Granddaddy up that green, wooden ramp. I also remember cross country trips my family took with them when I was a kid, pulling their trailer and camping out as we made the trek from California to Florida over the course of 5 or 6 days. Granddaddy always drove, and he always helped to set up the trailer. Grandmother was always there to help, whether it was packing up the wheelchair or leveling the trailer on the lot, she went to work and that was how it was.

As they grew older Granddaddy had to rely more and more on Grandmother’s help. He didn’t have any feeling from the waist down, and his circulation wasn’t very good. So occasionally he would get a cut or a sore of some kind and Grandmother would have to change the bandages and clean it multiple times per day. Granddaddy’s shoulders eventually wore out from all of the wheeling around and lifting himself up with his arms. Grandmother was always there to help him move from his wheelchair to his bed, or into the car for the rare trip out of the house. During the last few years of his life, multiple strokes gradually took his ability to speak or communicate, and one side of his body was partially paralyzed in addition to his MS. Still, well into her 80s, Grandmother was the primary caregiver, never wavering. I don’t think I ever noticed her fortitude until one of our final visits before Granddaddy passed away.

Grandmother shared a story with me. Shortly before we arrived she was loading Granddaddy into the van for a trip to the doctor’s office. At this point Granddaddy was unable to do much of anything for himself. He couldn’t propel his wheelchair himself and he couldn’t talk or communicate much at all. Grandmother had him on the electric lift to raise his wheelchair into the cargo van when she lost her balance and grabbed onto to him to keep herself from falling. Unfortunately they both fell out of the van from a few feet off the ground. Grandmother was OK, but Granddaddy broke both of his shins.
Grandmother had tears in her eyes as she told me about it, “I just felt so bad for him. To know that I did that to him.” Then she kind of laughed at herself and said, “But he can’t feel a thing, so I don’t know why I’m so upset. It’s just that Steve has been through so much. I don’t know how he keeps going day after day."

In that moment I realized how much Grandmother loved him. Her love blinded her to the inconveniences in her own life. She didn’t wallow in self pity, instead she felt sorry for the one she loved! She didn’t rage against God or fate, instead she used misfortune as an opportunity to show her love. Through 50+ years of marriage, and decades of care and compassion she showed love in a way that no one else I know has shown. She didn’t say “I love you” with words. Grandmother is love, in person.

Treasures in Trash

 by Christi Sleiman

For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them. ~ Matthew 13:15

 

As a kid, I had many aspirations.  I thought maybe I'd be a teacher, psychologist, or maybe even president.  I thought I'd do incredible things like climb mountains and make great speeches.  Never, ever in my life did I see myself picking up trash.

Trash is gross.  There is no way around that fact.  It stinks and has germs and is ugly.  Yet, this summer while on a mission trip to Israel and Palestine one of my team's favorite things to do was pick up trash.  Why? When we humbled ourselves to perform this job, the Lord chose to reveal Himself to us in entirely new ways.  On my team of 12, I heard stories from around half of them of what God showed them while picking up trash.  I remember being amazed by this.  Sure, I had enjoyed my time praying while cleaning our assigned location, but I wasn't having any extreme revelations.  However, on our last day picking up trash, the Lord spoke.

 There were way too many of us at this location.  At least, that's what I thought until I really got cleaning.  I started just picking up a piece of trash here and there, but then I found my spot.  It was a gap in the ground that had a very nice layering of grossness on it's surface.  I hopped in and got to work, not realizing what I had just gotten myself into.  I was at one 3 by 5 foot spot for over an hour.  Whenever I thought I had made progress, I found another stash to be picked up!  It was actually humorous how much trash there was to be picked up on this one little spot compared to what I was expecting.

When I spoke to a local woman about Isis, she said she tries every day to forgive them, but then hatred boils up again.  She told me that she doesn't even think they are human, that they are actually devils.  For a second, I agreed with her.  How can humans commit such awful sins against humans?  But while picking up trash, God showed me His answer to me.

 Underneath layers and layers of trash, there is still ground.  No matter how much trash is piled upon the ground, that does not change that it is ground.  The ground doesn't get to choose what trash is piled upon it.  That is not to say that the ground doesn't allow weeds to grow too, but trash is literally thrown upon the ground, polluting it, without any say from the ground.  How much grossness has been forced upon many hearts?  Piled until the heart is barely recognizable and a "devil" is left in its place.  Yet God still sees the heart beyond the trash.

 When God showed this to me, I said "but God, I cannot ever fully clean this ground."  It was true.  Even if I picked up every large piece of trash, the ground would still have the shriveled remains of bags that had deteriorated.  Shards of glass would have still been left untouched.  Yet God said "but I can."

 It is not my job to fix the world.  I cannot heal broken hearts or tear down barricades around them.  That will never be my job, and for that I am thankful.  However, it is my job to say yes.  Every day I have to choose to say yes to the Lord and all that He desires from me.  It is a joy to say yes, because even if I cannot melt a frozen heart I can trust that when I follow the Holy Spirit's prompting I can be used to put a stitch on a wound or a chip in a wall.  Saying yes to God is all I am responsible to do.  The rest is in His very capable hands.

My Favorite Customers

by Stephanie Burkard (2013)

It was a busy Friday night at the restaurant.  People came in and out, oblivious to the feelings of the servers that hid so well behind that plastic smile.  When you serve, nothing can get to you.  Your pay depends on how funny, helpful, and timely you are.  Some people switch out “funny” for “quietly respectful”.  It just depends.

In the back hallway, I covered my face and stood against the wall.  Just for 5 seconds.  Table 5 needs water.  Table 2 needs their check.  Table 10 needs 3 miso soups.  My brain ran as my eyes closed- and opened.  And then I ran.

“Sute-chan!  Did you get table 2’s check?!”

“I’m doing it now.”

“Did you see table 4 added extra sushi to their order?”

“No, I’ll write it down now.”

Time slowed for the customers as it raced on for us.  Then came the blow.

“Sute-chan, don’t go to the Japanese customer’s table anymore.”  “Hai.”  I didn’t ask.

“Japanese people are very particular.  If one thing is out of sorts, they get all upset about it.” “Hai.”  Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what Japanese people are like, I thought inwardly.

A few minutes later, a more detailed and painful explanation came. “One of the Japanese men, he’s allergic to foreigners.”

My heart dropped to the floor.  Pain seared through my chest as my plastic smile melted.  “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t like foreigners.  We’re not like that, but some Japanese people are very particular.  You weren’t what he was expecting.  It’s just expectations, you know?  You wouldn’t like it if you went to eat sushi expecting Japanese people and some Chinese person took your order, would you?  Don’t take it personally.”

The storm of the restaurant work became a storm in me- hot, red, fragmented.  The flames inside melted at the smile.  I only kept it up when speaking to customers.  I’m sick of the racism.  I could feel the hate- not just the prejudice of this man, but of all the Japanese people who had ever treated me the way he did.  Gaijin.  Foreign trash or novelty.  Either way, not a valuable person.

“God, I wish my favorite customers would come!” I prayed.  I wanted to smile genuinely towards people who appreciated my service- who would know my name and have a good time.

Miraculously, within 5 minutes, there they were.  Father and three year old, sushi loving, girl.  Mother was busy working that night, but the two of them were there. Two of my favorite customers! And then it occurred to me.

The kingdom of heaven is like a busy restaurant.  The customers I have go there- and Jesus, the waiter there, serves all people, racist or kind, with the same focused diligence and love.  The racist man who complained to the restaurant about my imperfect Japanese presentation is His favorite customer.  The father and daughter who thank Him with every dish and enjoy joking with Him are His favorite customers.

This blew my mind.  These people are all Jesus’ favorite customers.  Wow!  Thank God!  I am not the best customer by ANY means, and yet I’m Jesus’ favorite customer!  That’s the easy reaction to the story- and although it’s true, it’s not the only proper reaction for me.

Wow.  These people are all Jesus’ favorite customers.  Jesus has called me to follow Him.  I say I follow His example.  My religious label, “Christian” means “little Christ”.  Kinda like, “Jesus wanna-be”.  Sometimes God tells us to do things or be things because He himself is that way.  (Ex.  “Be holy as I am holy.”)  For me, all this translates to this; these people are all my favorite customers.  Even if I know table 3 will only leave a 10% tip, even if I know table 6 tips based on how much I make them laugh, even though I am foreign trash to table 1, and even though table 7 loves and appreciates my service, these people are all Jesus’ favorite customers.  These people are all my favorite customers.