In order for this to make sense, I’ll have to start at the beginning. But before I go to the beginning, let me introduce myself. You likely won’t remember me.

My name is Erin English. I live in Lenexa, Kansas and work as the Kids’ Ministry Director for Westside Family Church. I have been on staff for 8 years, 7 of them serving under our Family Ministry Pastor, John Huber. That’s not the story though…

I have told the testimony I’m going to share with you today 100 times to people from all walks of life and all in different seasons of their own walk with Christ. The last time I told it was to our Family Pastor and Directional Team leading up to the Christmas season.

This past Christmas was a challenging time for me in ministry life. People can be messy sometimes, as I’m sure you are aware. Dealing with messy people in uncomfortable situations can be challenging. And draining. And it always reflects my own messiness. On those days I’m reminded of March 25, 2002. I’m sure you don’t remember that day. I wouldn’t if I were you. In fact, I’d likely want to forget it. But God reminded me of that day during this messy season and reminded me that our worst days in ministry may still be the very day God uses us to make an eternal impact in the heart and life of the people He gives us influence with. This Christmas I was reminded of that messy day and convicted that I should find the Pastor from that small church that had made such a huge impact on my heart, but in nearly 13 years I still couldn’t remember his last name. Only Jeff. I was able to track down a friend from the church who didn’t hesitate when I asked if she remembered Pastor Jeff’s last name. I chuckled hearing it was the very same name of the only other Pastor who’s had as significant impact in my heart, life, and family. Huber.

So, we have to go back…

I grew up in a small Methodist church in Topeka, Kansas. At the age of 8 I asked Jesus into my heart, though as is typical with concrete thinking 8 year olds, I didn’t know how he’d fit. By the time I was 14 and in high school I began making choices that the enemy was quick to point out that “good Christians” don’t. Not being grounded in the truth of God’s word, I settled for the lies. Topeka is also home of an unfortunately well known church by the name of Westboro Baptist. They touted hatred and quoted scripture to do it. Again, not understanding the truth of God’s word, I settled for a lie. A God that hates was not a God I wanted anything to do with. Sin is sweet for a season, and I enjoyed this season of my life as much as a blind, broken person can, all the while hating God and the things of God.

I met my husband when I was 20. We had a drug dealer in common, and a habit that lent to us spending a lot of time together. Soon I was pregnant, and six months later we were married. Three months later our son was born and we moved to Denver, CO where my husband had grown up. We lived in the ghetto in Denver, and neighbored with people with similar bad habits. Those were rough years, and we struggled relationally. I stayed home full time with our son, which is challenging under the best circumstances. Add drug use, broken relationships, and questionable ethics and you can image the emptiness such a lifestyle leaves in its wake.

My mother would encourage me to make new friends. Different friends. She would often suggest I find a “nice Methodist church” like the one we attended when I was little. And I told her she was crazy. Where would I find a church that would have anything to do with someone like me, and why would I want to be friends with anyone that was a Christian anyway? How would that be better?

By the time our oldest was 2, I was pregnant again. I found a doctor in our insurance plan who’s office was at Wheat Ridge Lutheran Medical Center. For the first 9 months of my pregnancy, I would visit this doctor’s office once a month, each time noticing the “nice Methodist church” on the corner, down the street from the hospital. How would we ever just walk into a church though? And why would we want to?

During the last month of my pregnancy, in March of 2002, I had weekly appointments, and was driving by the church often. It was at this same time that I noticed a sign in the yard advertising Preschool enrollment for the coming fall. This got my attention. I didn’t need a Christian friend, and wasn’t interested in anything of God, but our only other option for preschool for our almost 3 year old was Head Start in Denver. This seemed like a good alternative to that… So, that Sunday we got up early and walked into Wheat Ridge United Methodist Church. The first person to greet us was the lead Pastor. Pastor Jeff. I was surprised by his kindness and that he took the time to acknowledge us and greet us. Couldn’t he see we weren’t good enough for church? He even gifted us a mug with the church’s logo on it. This was all very strange to me. Doesn’t he know God hates people like us?

Three weeks later, on March 22, our second son was born. He was delivered via scheduled C-section, and was a picture of health. He had fair skin and a head full of white hair. After a lengthy and challenging first labor and delivery with our oldest, this delivery could not have gone any smoother. Three days later, on the day we were to be released, I noticed our baby vibrating, for lack of better explanation, in his bassinet. When I asked the nurse about it, she seemed unalarmed and encouraged us to point it out if we saw him do it again.

Thirty minutes later, as my husband packed up the remainder of our things, I noticed Jack vibrating again and called the nurse. She seemed puzzled, but reassured us it was probably nothing. We agreed to allow her to take him to the nursery for observation while we loaded our car, ready to finally head home. Some time passed before I encouraged John to take our things home to unload and then come back to get us. By the time he came back, I still had heard nothing from the nurse or nursery, so John and I decided to stroll up to the nursery to pick up Jack before heading home.

When we reached the nursery, we were redirected to a room down the hall, which we later found out to be the NICU. Upon arrival, we were greeted at the door by a nurse who took us to a small waiting room just before the NICU observation room and sat us down. She wanted to warn us about the condition we would find our son. He was being closely monitored and we would likely be alarmed by the sight.

That was putting it mildly.

Our tiny son had been stripped down and placed under a warming light while also being hooked up to numerous monitors and machines, to include an IV through the top of his head. It absolutely took our breath away to see him under such alarming conditions. But the worst was to come. The doctor soon appeared and gave us the grave news. Jack had suffered several grand mal seizures and his prognosis did not look good. He would need to spend several days or weeks in the NICU under close observation, in which time several intrusive tests would need to be run to get to the bottom of what was causing such severe seizures and what damage they had or would do.

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. It was the first time I felt completely and utterly helpless. And afraid. And it left me full of rage. I couldn’t breathe. I was angry at the doctor and angry at the nurse, and looking at my husband and seeing fear on his face made me angry too. Time stood still. And I don’t remember much of what happened in the following moments.

Within the hour though, and still reeling from the prognosis, the same nurse that first warned us of Jack’s predicament came to us and said, “Your Pastor is here and would like to come back.”

Surely she had the wrong couple. We didn’t have a Pastor. “We don’t have a Pastor.”

“Are you John and Erin English?”

“Yes.”

“He says he is your Pastor and would like to come back.”

“We don’t have a Pastor.”

I was completely perplexed. We didn’t have a Pastor. And if we did how would he know where we were, what was going on and why would he show up for this?

Slightly irritated now, “He says he’s here to see you. What do you want me to tell him?”

It occurred to me in that moment this was probably the Pastor from that “nice little Methodist church” down the street with the preschool sign in their yard.

If I hadn’t already been angry enough, this just about put me over the edge. With gritted teeth I told her to allow him back. Who was this guy, and who did he think he was? He didn’t know us. He didn’t know our son. He didn’t know what we were feeling? And how in the hell was he going to help anyway? Is this just what Christian Pastors do? Show up in people’s crisis and make nice? Smile for the camera?

I realize now that when in the presence of someone so angry, it’s palpable. John did most of the talking, while I quietly fumed. It wasn’t long before Pastor Jeff said, “Well, I’m going to go, but first, can I pray for you?”

This got my attention. I had been helpless and hopeless with no idea what to do. What harm could praying do though? I hadn’t heard a single, solid other idea and immediately said, “Yes.”

I don’t remember ever hearing someone pray out loud before… And without the ritualistic or rhyme of the ones I vaguely remembered from childhood. Pastor Jeff placed his hand on my baby, covered in wires and monitors, and then took my hand. I have no idea what he said, but in that moment I heard the voice of God say directly to me, “This baby belongs to me. I love him more than you are capable of loving him. Give him back to Me.”

And I believed God. Without hesitation, I said OK. I knew Jack would be ok. I didn’t know if he would live or die, but live OR die I knew he would be ok. God loved him more than I was capable, and I believed Him. All of the fear, all of the anger, all of the anxiety, was gone in an instant. I know now that in that moment I experienced the supernatural power of God and His peace that surpasses all understanding.

Five days later, the same doctor that had pronounced death over my son just days before, looked us in the eye and told us to take our baby home; Jack was completely healthy. He said he could not explain and did not know what had happened.

But I knew…

I went home that day and dug through boxes until I found the Bible I’d received when I was 8 after asking Jesus into my heart. I opened it up and began reading. I kept reading. And reading. And God kept working. And keeps working.

Thirteen years later I have a dozen testimonies of different ways God has healed my heart by changing my mind and speaking truth into my life. But this testimony is the one that’s most dear to my heart. This was the day that I first surrendered to God. First heard his voice. God saw me that day, and in my mess reached down and spoke to me through the prayer of an obedient Believer, in a messy and difficult situation. That was the day God changed my heart and it’s changed my life.

Now in a position of leadership in a church, I look back on that day with new insight. Hospital visits aren’t always pleasant. Or easy. But very seldom are the received with anger and hatred. That would feel like a bad day of ministry to me. But it was THAT day, and in Pastor Jeff Huber’s simple and surrendered obedience, that God made himself known to a broken and lost soul, and for that I am eternally grateful.

And so I say Thank You, Pastor. Thank you.

Much love, Erin

THREE GIFTS

1. GIFT of MEANS – A store-bought gift.
2. GIFT of HEART – A hand written letter.
3. GIFT of TREASURE – A handmade gift.

As parents we work as a team to do each of these three things for each of our kids. We also do them for each other!

For our children we ask them to make a gift and write a letter for each of their siblings. With four kids we will have them rotate and do ONE of those things for each of their three siblings. For instance, Drew will buy a gift for Jack, make a gift for Eli, and write a letter to Eden. That way they each get one of the three items from a sibling, but they aren’t overwhelmed with doing all 3 gifts for all of 3 siblings and their parents. For their parent gift they pool their money for a gift, work together to make a gift, and each write a letter.

(John and I also wrap 25 different books, some about Christmas, some simple Dr. Seuss books, and number them. We make sure #24 is a book Great Gramma recorded herself reading telling about Jesus in a sweet kids book. Then #25 is the Bible – with the Jesus’ birth according to Luke is read.)

 On Christmas Eve we read the Christmas Story, the kids open their Christmas Eve gift, a book and new PJs, and we eat Ice Cream Cake and play games celebrating “Jesus’ Birthday.”

From Randi…

”Before the kids were old enough to write letters and make gifts (we waited until Kindergarten), we gave them 3 gifts that fell into something they want, something they need, and something just for fun. The “want” was our Santa gift for the kids.”

The first year John and I both wrote letters to the boys praising their accomplishments for the year and declaring our love for them each. For their gift of treasure, we made paper mache keepsake boxes that we painted and decorated to their personality, to store that years and the years to come letter. For Drew’s gift of means we purchased and put together a grow shelf. (Drew loves to grow exotic plants, like snapdragons and wild cacti.) Jack got his very first guitar. BOTH boys said it was the best Christmas ever!

We also have started letting the boys open gifts from out of town grandparents and relatives as they arrive in the mail. We found that this did a several things.

• FIRST – it took the anxiety/anticipation of “what did I GET?” off of Christmas morning and allowed them to experience the excitement and joy of what they were GIVING in the three gifts they prepared for their siblings and parents.
• SECOND – They knew who their gift was from! If a gift arrived from Grampy and Grammy on the 15th of December, they opened it! It was the only thing they opened, knowing who it was from, and enjoyed it, thankful to the sender for thinking of them.
• THIRD – They had lovely gifts and toys to enjoy during the winter break days leading up to Christmas! WIN!

So, how does your family celebrate Christmas and the Joy of Jesus – the best gift of all?

We are swamped at church right now as we plan, dream, and pray, and prepare for a new ministry model AND summer program. There is a lot to be done…

As I was in the garage tonight, painting a second coat of primary colors on closet doors for our new set, I felt myself becoming bitter. I hate painting. It’s messy, and time consuming and it hurts my back. And, I don’t have time for this. My to-do list is growing by the minute. I’m working hard to make sure this is done well… and no one is ever even going to know I was the one who worked so hard to make these doors look nice!

As soon as that last thought crossed my mind, the one about people knowing my contribution to this part of the new program, I heard that small still voice say, “So, this is about you? For your glory?” 

Yikes – I immediately insisted the enemy get behind me and began to pray. As I prayed I was reminded that if I wasn’t the one painting the doors, someone else would. And if I didn’t show up tomorrow, someone else would lead our team. God doesn’t need me. He does, however, love me enough to let me participate in HIS good works, and painted doors. And none of this is or should be for my glory. Painting these doors – it’s for HIS glory.

My thinking absolutely did a 180 in that moment.

Painting doors for God’s glory. HOW COOL IS THAT?! That I could GLORIFY God by painting doors? Shut up. That’s ridiculously AWESOME! And that He would allow someone like me to do something like that for Him. Choked me up a little bit.

I LOVE PAINTING DOORS!!! What an honor.

As each of you continue to chip away at your to-do lists in front of you, remember those doors and thank God for the opportunities, big and small, to do anything and everything for God’s glory.

“Therefore, whether you eat or drink ((or paint doors)), or whatever you do, do everything for God’s glory.” 

1 Corinthians 10:31

I had a “normal” childhood. I was raised by 2 wonderful parents who worked very hard to give my brother, sister and I a good home. We lived in a good neighborhood and went to great schools. I got along well with peers, made good grades, and loved playing sports. All in all, I had a great childhood.

My mother took us to Sunday School every Sunday where I soaked up the stories they taught. I could recite a parable like a youngster recites his ABCs. Just like the ABCs, I didn’t know at the time that put all together they told a bigger story and painted a more beautiful picture.

By the time I started high school, church had become a stigma. My “christianity” took a back seat to my desire to fit in and be accepted. It was right about the very same time I had my first serious boyfriend. I don’t remember being particularly smitten with this young man, but he was older. And he had a car, which meant a new type of freedom. He could drive us to the movies, pick me up from work, and even take me to and from school. Way cooler than having my Mom drop me off. It was awesome.

I knew what the Church said about sex; kind of. You weren’t supposed to have sex outside of marriage. It was a sin. Sin was frowned upon. It was bad. Sinners were bad. Good thing I wasn’t a “sinner.” Sex was something that in my mind was dirty and had a negative connotation. No one had ever talked to me about what the Bible said about sex or sexuality though. None of the Bible stories I learned talked about the fact that sex was designed by God and for my enjoyment inside of marriage as He defined it, one man & one woman for one lifetime.

I never learned about establishing personal boundaries or guardrails when it came to my body. I had never processed through the “what then’s?” of being alone with a boy or even considered that maybe it wasn’t wise to be alone with a boy at all. I never realized that not only were boundaries wise but that they were important, and not to keep me from having a good time, but to protect me physically and emotionally. Quite honestly, I really wasn’t thinking about sex at all, until crossed line after crossed boundary I was at its doorstep, one foot over the threshold… A line that, in hindsight, should have been an established and uncrossable boundary. Really, no one should have been on the porch. I didn’t know that my body was the vessel of the living God. Holy, sanctified, and to be used for his glory.

I began cooperating with the enemy, allowing him to use what God had set apart as holy, for unholy purposes. It was a double edged sword. I believed I had completely lost salvation and I hated myself for it. I also wasn’t sorry I did it. I believed the lie the world told me, that my body was my own. That freedom was being able to do whatever I wanted with whomever I wanted to do it. I became drunk on the lies that said there weren’t any real consequences, so long as you were “careful.” The more I drank from the cup of deception, the more distorted my views of sexuality, relationship, and love became. I started to believe what the world spoke over me, and really… I couldn’t deny the worst it would say about me. I was completely poured out, broken and empty and looked for anything or anyone to fill the vacuum my brokenness left behind. Every new relationship, new drug, new IT thing was only a temporary fix that, in the end, left me more broken until one day I woke up and found myself in the middle of a broken marriage, at the bottom of a dark pit. My brokenness was bleeding out and affecting everyone and everything around me. There I met Jesus when He stepped right into my path and lifted up my face. He called me by a new name, healed my broken heart and spoke a new word over me. He called me redeemed. Forgiven. Beloved. Righteous and remade. Accepted and worthy. These are my new name. I am new. I am whole.

Here’s what I want you to hear from me today though… He hadn’t mysteriously reappeared in my life. It took me many years to realize, He had been there all along. Grieving, I’m sure, as He watched me reject Him as I embraced the world. I had asked Him into my heart at 8, and on that day He sealed my fate as HIS. On that day he called me holy. I never fell out of his hand, even as I completely gave myself over to the world and what (I believed) it had to offer, completely cooperating with the enemy and believing his lies. Here’s the truth though … I was bought at a price (1 Corinthians 6: 20a). Non refundable. He was only waiting for me to reach out and take the gift He wanted to give me. New life. Whole life. Abundant life. John 10:10 tells us that the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy but Jesus has come that we may have life, and have it to the full. Whole.

The enemy spent far too many years condemning me and made me to believe Jesus would too. But God loved me so much, that while I was still sinning He sent Jesus. (Romans 5:8) Not to condemn me but to truly free me.

“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned.” John 3:17-18a

He has the same gift for you. He’s waiting for you to only reach out and accept it!

Cranberry Jell-o Salad

1 12oz bag of fresh, whole cranberries

Wash cranberries. Boil in (2cups) water until they pop +5 minutes. While hot, stir in sugar, jell-o, pineapple, & nuts. Pour into 9×13 pan and refrigerate overnight.

Prepare whipping cream mixture: In a separate bowl, crumble cream cheese. Add marshmallows. Pour whipping cream over all and refrigerate overnight.

Before serving, whip cream cheese mixture until it thickens and is smooth. Spread over jell-o. Serve!

About this time every year we recognize both the tragedy and the beauty of Jesus’ work on the cross, and celebrate His Resurrection on “Resurrection Sunday”. I assume that if you are reading this, you are believer and understand the implications of the cross… I’ll quickly quote one of my favorite hymns and then get to the point of this post…

“Jesus paid it all! All to Him I owe… sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.”

I noticed one day as I drove by a small church close to our home the three crosses we most often see on display in the yard of some churches at Easter, one adorned with the royal purple sash that portrays Christ’s royalty. As you know, there were three crosses at Calvary, and two men crucified next to Jesus. One man taunted Jesus, insisting that if He were really the son of God that He would take Himself down off the cross. The other man said to Jesus, “I am a sinner and my punishment is just. Forgive me, Lord, and remember me on your throne. Jesus told the man, “This day you will be with me in paradise.”

I love that! Redemption literally ON the cross! But as I drove by the small church by my house, with 3 crosses in the yard I wondered to myself… “Why would they put up all 3 crosses on display? Isn’t the one cross the one we celebrate?”

As quickly as I thought the thought, I was reminded of the truth that Jesus died for BOTH men on both of the crosses; the one who repented and the one who taunted. The only difference between the two was whether they accepted the gift of forgiveness and eternal life, or if they refused. It’s a choice we all will make. I’ve been both of these men. I have spit in the face of Jesus, yet he still died for me. While I was still sinning, He died for ME.

We all carry a cross in this life. Either the one built from our own sin, or the cross Jesus carried up to Calvary; the cross where my sin debt was paid in full. The cross I gladly pick up and follow after Jesus with. Following Jesus isn’t easy. We aren’t guaranteed a better life as a believer. We ARE offered an eternal one…

The best part of the story remains… Yes Jesus died… but the story doesn’t end there! Glory to God, 3 days later he rebuilt the temple, and walked out of the tomb! He lives today, I spoke with him just this morning…

Eli goes to Tia Choo-Choo’s twice a week now for about 5hrs each day. He LOVES Tia and LOVES going to her house. She was coming to the car to greet him, but he now runs to her door to knock and greet her. She’s pretty awesome.

I recently went to my first “Wildtree Tasting” about 3 weeks ago, BEFORE we gave organic or natural a 2nd thought. I loved everything I tried. I assumed the prices would be more than I could afford, and was really only going to support a friend. I was determined not to spend a dime though, with our family being on the Dave Ramsey “get out of debt” diet. The friend I carpooled with bought me a container of their Alfredo Extraordinaire. I loved it at the tasting, but wasn’t sold on why this would be better than what I could find at the store anyway.

Once the order cam in and I received my mix, I decided to see what I could find organically that would be similar to what I got from Wildtree and compare.  I did find an organic mix at HyVee. Now I’m only in week 2 of “going organic” and so far, HyVee has been the only store I’ve really frequented for our organic foods because of it’s location relative to our home, so there may be something else out there, but I wasn’t excited about what I found at HyVee. Price-wise it’s comparable per serving. HyVee’s Simply Organic Alfredo mix was pennies cheaper per serving, HOWEVER – it contained one ingredient I did not see on Wildtree’s version of the same thing. Silicon Dioxide (for anti-caking). From what I can tell from Wikipedia, silicon dioxide will pass through your body completely intact. Your body will not absorb it, or be affected by it, again, if it’s ingested or you eat it. However if you inhale Silicon Dioxide, you could be in trouble. So tell me if I’m off here…. Silicone Dioxide in my mixes is okay, but I should probably where a mask while preparing them. Um… I think Wildtree can have my pennies and I’ll continue to cook without wearing a mask.

Oh, and now that we’re talking about wearing mask’s in the kitchen… Dr. Oz says cooking with my non-stick pans would kill a canary if I had one. Another post on another day. That man will be the death of me for sure (if said pans don’t do me in first.)

In the meantime, if you’d like to check out this Wildtree thing, or get more information, comment below and I’ll send you my new rep’s contact info! I’m going to another “tasting” (I rock at those.) next weekend, and I’m thinking about hosting one in September sometime.

Question – What’s more important to you, Organic or All-Natural, and why? I’d love to hear what you think!