Tapestry

I have a friend named Mark. He is a really cool guy. He says he's an accountant and that he goes to church. He enjoys reading the paper and talking. The cool thing about Mark is that he is always available. He doesn't have a cell phone but he doesn't need one because if you want him, he is always at the same place. I've talked to Mark a handfull of times and each time I learn something new. Rarely does he remember me but that's ok because he meets a lot of people everyday. There was one time I went to see Mark and it started to rain, and believe it or not, Mark didn't get up he just sat there and talked to me like it was nothing. Mark has a way of making you fill like you are worth a million dollors. Actually the day I met Mark, I went up to him because I wanted to see what it would be like to be him for just a minute. Sometimes if the wind blows right I get a wiff of something that reminds me of Mark. It's weird how that happens. If you ever get the chance to meet Mark I recomend that you take it. I doubt that you will ever be the same. But then again Mark probably lives much closer to you than you know. Don't worry about knocking on his door, he's never home anyways. He lives on the park bench near the hospital. If you go by he'll talk even if it is to his invisible friend. You'll know it's Mark because he smells like filth. Each day tons of people walk by him but no one ever talks. You may have walked by him before but it's likely that you didn't see him. But if you ever have a minute, when you are not doing anything, and you are board out of your mind, just try to see the world through Marks eyes. Ask him if you can sit on his bench for a minute. I garuntee he won't mind. But if you do, be ready, because you might just see that there's something to Mark.

The world is made up of every size, color, type, and thought. We make up a tapestry designed by God, Almighty. This tapestry is a portrate of the glory of God, but understand this portrate would be lacking if Mark wasn't woven into the fibers. God made you, me and the Mark next door to be a testimony of his glory. Yet what are we saying if we say nothing?

TrUtH

The smile of your eyes. That is the song that you sing. Even when all around you is dry. He is you and I could have been too but you are here because I need to see the smile within your eyes.


tired toes tell the tale that torment this teacher. though thanks to thy tennisshoes this teacher takes time to think. that to touch thy troubles this teacher too treks through thy life.

Manure

Talk about getting out of your comfort zone. I have learned that my spiritual gift is not going door to door, even if I'm doing it on the mission field. But there we were, in Honduras, going door to door telling people about Jesus. Our team was made up of Jeff Webster, Pastor Augustine, Recardo and myself. I was relieved because I wasn't doing any of the talking; I was just nodding my head as if to I understood what they were saying.
As we walked up to this one house we found out the family was working in the field, so we walked on a small dirt path, which led to an open threshing floor. The dirt had been swept smooth and there were tree trunks lining the edge. There was also a very large pile of... something... very dark brown and wet... it sure looked like a five foot high pile of manure. We walked around the very large pile of... very fresh... manure and as we greeted the father of this family he warmly greeted us back by saying, "we greet you as friends and we treat you as family." This was an unusual greeting but then again we were probably the only white people he had seen in quite awhile so I can understand some uncertainties.
Come to find out this family was working on re shingling their little house. They were making clay shingles that looked like a pipe cut in half, about two foot long and six inches wide. I had grown accustom to seeing these shingles because every house in Honduras was covered with them but never had I known, never, in my wildest dreams did I ever think that those shingles would be made of... manure. But sure enough I stood there and watched them dry out the manure and then beat it with a stick to get all the clumps busted up. They would put it in a hole and pour water and dirt in on it and then they would get in that hole and stomp around in it mixing it up. Finally they would make manure flavored mud pies out of it so they could form shingles and let them sun bake for two days.
The problem here was the form this family was using to shape the shingles had broken. Pastor Augustine and Recardo jumped into high gear, helping this family to make a new form. Jeff and I were left standing to the side fascinated at such a large pile of... Well anyways, I began watching a man beat the dried out manure with a stick. There was quite a massive dust cloud being formed from the flying particles of manure. We tried to hold our breath so as not to breath it in but eventually we had to just inhale a lung full. This had become a very sober moment, standing in Honduras, surrounded by manure and hard working strangers, I felt like God was telling me something but I wasn't sure what. Then I remembered something I had learned in school, "people won't care what you know until they know that you care." I did want to share Christ with this family but surly God wasn't calling me to go beat that... Surly God wouldn't call me to go stand in the middle of that pile of... No, God knew it was about 90 degrees and we were surrounded by flies and... but sure as the world God said, "Go."
I began walking over to the man beating the manure with a stick, when all of a sudden he dropped the stick and bent down and started grabbing hand fulls of manure and working it in his hands! I stepped back and began actively consulting with God. Lord I'll go to Honduras for You and I'll even beat manure with a stick but if You think I'm going to get down on my knees and work manure over with my hands, You had better think again! But sure as the world God said, "Go."
The man looked at me as I bent down and timidly grabbed a handful of grass filled, dry, dusty manure. I was grateful the manure was dry but it didn't take long for my arms and shirt to be covered in dust. My lungs had been adequately covered as well. I began working the manure in my hands just like my new friend, whom I'm sure was laughing at the white man playing in cow dung, but we worked together for twenty minutes, getting the clumps out. Finally to my relief he began putting the manure in a bucket to be transported to the stomping pit.
Jeff had been put to work sawing wood. I looked at him, clean and just barely sweating and then I looked at myself, soaking wet with sweat, which caused my manure-covered arms to streak brown. Then the wife of the family came out of the house with some grape Cool-Aid. She handed Jeff and me a glass which we accepted but then turned to Recardo to see if he thought we should drink this all natural Honduran water based drink. He smiled and said, "I think it make you sick, but I drink it anyways, I know where the bathroom is." Jeff looked at me and I looked at the Cool-Aid. With a silent pray we turned our glasses bottoms up and down the hatch it went. Finally we finished the form and talked to the family a little and then it was time to go.
A few days later we were talking to Pastor Augustine who began telling us about the conversation he had, had with the father of that house. Augustine told us the father had said, "He saw God in us because we were willing to come to Honduras and work with them." Who knew God would have had manure-covered arms? It makes me wonder why most days my arms are so clean.