Blurry Past You Haunt Me No More

They are the whispers of what we thought last night.  They're the constant stabbing thought of what we did two months ago, two years ago, and two hundred years ago.

Then once and while we decide to replace them with thoughts of precious times, times when we laughed, when we sang, when we ate pumpkin pie and shared secrets with our friends.  Those are the times that we like to remember...not the blurry, fuzzy past of our regrets.

What if there were a way I could be free from my blurry, fuzzy, ugly, mounting past; and be able to breathe through a day without that constant little voice grinding me down more and more.

What if there were a way I could be free from the sins of my past? the choices I made that I'm not proud of, the things I did in the spur of the moment.  What if?

Up to the age of 13, I was haunted with the blurry reminders of yesterday's sin.  I knew I was a sinner.  I knew I was sinning, and it bothered me to where I was almost sick.  Was there a way I could be relieved from my past, and simply live each and every day focusing on my future?

My past sins kept haunting me, and I knew I deserved to be punished for them.  In fact, I longed to be saved from my sin so much so that I would cry out to the Lord on hard wood floor, hoping that my helpless-looking estate would draw God's attention.  As if trying to act broken over my sin on the outside would make it so God would overlook my soul.  Ha!  Was I a fool to think I could hide my true estate from the Lord.

Below I'm going to give you my testimony on how He ground me to a powder, and then how He built me back up again.  How He cast my past as far away from me as the East is from the West because of what He did for me on the cross.  And He can cast away your past, too.  If you trust Him to deliver you.

My Testimony:

I grew up thinking I was right with God.  After all, I hadn’t done any major sins.  I had never murdered, or stolen anything, at least not anything bigger than a paperclip, and tried to be pretty sweet when I was around everyone but my own family.  I thought I was a Christian because I had taped up some cute little fruits on my dead, disconnected branch, and thought that was sufficient. 

I was a lie.  In my heart, I was as far from God as I could be.  I would sin, then promise that “next time” I would do better.  Because I was raised in a Biblical home, I had the intellectual knowledge of a theologian, while my heart was a rock solid as Judas Iscariot’s.  What changed?

Well, around 12 years old I felt a yearning to know that I was saved.  Now up to that point I hadn’t tried to think about it much, but as I approached the verge of womanhood, I began to doubt whether my six-year-old profession of faith had meant anything at all.  How could I know that the moment I died, I was going to Heaven with God?  I didn’t know the answer to that question.

So I sought after God so hard that it felt terrible.  Upon my Dad’s wise advise, I re-read 1 John about 7-8 times in a matter of a few months.  But they were still just words to me.  Words without meaning or value to my heart.

Oh but God!  The sweetest words I can ever know.  November 13^th, 2010, in the middle of one of Pastor Adam’s sermons on God’s holiness, God gripped my heart fully.  It was then that I realized how I had, just as Luther climbed the stone steps on his knees thinking that with each step he was a step closer to God, been thinking the same thing.  Oh the mercy of God to show me that I was, just as a branch cut off from the Vine, dead without Him!

I poured out my sin and asked God to save me, trusting only in Jesus alone.  Jesus suddenly tasted so sweet to me!  His name now had meaning in my heart!  That Christmas I truly knew what Christmas was supposed to mean. 

God saved me from my sin and He connected me to the Vine, Jesus Christ!  Before I was helpless, dead and shriveled, good for only the fire, whereas now I was saved, redeemed and connected to my source of Life, Jesus!

John 15

‘I am the vine, you are the branches.  He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.  If anyone does not abide in Me, he is cast out as a branch and is withered; and they gather them and throw them into the fire, and they are burned.  If you abide in Me, and My words abide you, you will ask what you desire, and it shall be done for you.  By this My Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit; so you will be My disciples.

As the Father loved Me, I also have loved you; abide in My love.

If you keep My commandments, you will abide in My love, just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and abide in His love.

These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full.’

I am so thankful that God plucked me out of the miry clay and placed me in His love.  I abide in my Deliverer with joy.

Amen.

How the Lord saved me from my sin is the same way He saves everybody else from their sins.  

First, He broke me, ground me into a fine powder, in the process showing me that I was nothing,

Then He brought me in close to Himself, that I might see Him for Who He truly is, and in the process my crumbled heart was healed like new,

And last but certainly not the last of it, He works on me every single day that He might see Himself through my thoughts, actions and all.

Don't get me wrong.  Every day I still seek the Lord because every day I still sometimes struggle with tough, yucky stuff that I'd really rather skip.  But how else does a pearl get created?  Through the clam getting a little, annoying piece of grain stuck 'neath it's shell.  Yeah I bet that little grain of sand stings, it probably itches and isn't real comfortable...

But if that clam accepts the grain of sand, and it stays inside it's shell long enough, the result is a beautiful, piece of priceless beauty...the pearl.

Is it all right to break the news to ya''ll that I'm simply God's "pearl-in-process"?  But through it all, this I know, 

That my past is no longer my past, but it's Jesus Christ's past.  Because He took the blame for my stupid, and ugly sin, what was once my past is no longer mine to claim but His to claim! 

Jesus has already claimed my past as His!  Praise Him for taking my place!
 

Therefore, I can truly thank Him, and tell the sins I committed long ago, and the ones even today, "Blurry past, you haunt me no more."

Praise the Lord!

 

Love His 'pearl-in-process',

Sam:-)

 

 

The Why & Greatness isn't Free

Today I was reading in my old World Studies book when I flipped to the pages where it spoke about World War II Russion history.  I know I've probably read it before, but do you know how when you are actually hungry to learn?  You take every little piece and chew it a little before swallowing. 
And so that is what I did as I read this from the World Studies by Bob Jones...

"The troubles of Christians in the Soviet Union are illustrated by the story of the Russian Baptists.  In the 1800's the czars had allowed some German Mennonites to settle in Russia.  These were the descendants of the Anabaptists of the Reformation.  To attract these farmers to his country, the cxar allowed them to practice their own religion instead of Russian Orthodoxy.  In the mid-1800's some of these Mennonites were influcenced by the Stundist revival.  The name of this revival comes from the German word stunde, meaning "hour."  Much of the revival took the form of special hours of Bible study and prayer. 

Many people were converted and many Christians spiritually strengthened through these hours of study and prayer.  The czar also allowed some German Baptist missionaries and English missionaries to work among the immigrants.  These believers often considered themselves both Mennonites and Baptists...communists began to crack down on all Baptists and other Protestants. Many Baptist leaders died in prison camps..."

"During WWII, when he was trying to win over the churches to his side, Stalin encouraged these different Protestant groups to form the Union of Evangelical Christians--Baptists(1944). 
Later Khrushchev's government demanded that this group follow certain guidelines.  They were to limit evangelism, for example, and not to baptize anyone under the age of thirty.  These requirements split the Baptists.  One portion wanted to go along with the government.  The Communists recognized their organization, and they became known as the "registered churches". 

"Others would not sacrafice their beliefs in this way. They became known as the "unregistered churches" and began to meet illegally.  The Communists treated the unregistered churches harshly.  Their leaders were arrested and imprisoned.  Ministers found themselves in jail cells with murderers and rapists. 

"The registered churches did not suffer so harshly.  Yet even they faced constant government regulation and interference with their churches..."

What were your feelings as you read this snippet of history?  Interst?  Disgust?  Surprise?  I felt all of the above and more.  As I read this, I kept wondering what it would be like to be persecuted like that for my faith.  We don't have to meet in the woods to worship, or I wasn't taken to jail for being baptized for being under 30.

And yet, the persecution still exists even in America, doesn't it?  If I was to think of the worst persecution I have suffered yet, I wouldn't say phyiscal persecution, but I would say spiritual persecution. 

You see, anytime anyone in the entire world decides, "I give my life up to the Lord for Him to use me for Great Things", then automatically this huge target appears on your back. Yes, it's true!  It's like it's hanging there, begging people to pull out their arrows and shoot you.  That sounds fun, right?  But I should know, whenever I beg God to use me, I never asked for fun, I asked for greatness. 

And greatness isn't free, it doesn't just come to the wimpy, but it has a high pricetag, and only those willing to pay for it get it. 

Those Russian Christians had a lot to loose.  They could have worried about all the pleasures they might loose if they defy the Communist government and stay true to their faith.  They could have given in and decided the result of being free, of doing great things, wasn't worth the price, and that they were "going to give in anyway".

But that isn't what they did.  They threw their short-term pleasure in the trash and grasped for the Greater Thing.  They remembered why they were in prison, and that was because they were simply paying the price for a very, very great thing.  To be able to know the Truth about God, the freedom to know Him so that they might be saved!!  Is there any Greater Thing?

 
So when you struggle this week with pursuing the Great Thing that God is calling you to, remind yourself of the Why. 
The Why never did change...and never will.

A Winter Tea Party!:0

Taking time for a "sip ah tea--aah" (if you're from down south) is a sweet winter treat.  Especially when it's with your Mom and sister!  Enjoy, and have your own tea time.

Yours Truly,

Samantha

Chapter One of my book "As the Galloping of the Horse"

Chapter 1

Magdalyn Zeporah Alliga was just like any other regular Homeschool girl down the street.  She was two months into her freshman year. Maggie was almost five foot six with long legs, no braces yet, and thick glasses.  She dreaded her glasses and wished she didn’t have to wear them even though no one made fun of her for wearing them.  She was fifteen and the oldest of six children. 

Cody Z, for Zechariah, was the oldest boy of the family and 12 years old.  The next oldest was Heidi, a petite quiet girl of nine years who loved to read and ride her horse, Paul Revere. 

Lucine Francis was 7 years old, but everyone called her “Frucy.”  When she was a baby, Heidi couldn’t say “Lucy,” and the name stuck! Melody Ann, nicknamed Anna-Le’, was four years old and loved playing with her dollies.  And, last but not least, the youngest was two-year-old Quincy.

Maggie was affectionately known as ‘Mag’ or ‘Maggie’ by her friends and family and didn’t mind it one bit. In fact, it was one of the few things she did like about herself.  

However, she didn’t like her looks, her habits, and most everything else about herself.  She wished she could say a magic word and transform herself into someone prettier… someone more intelligent perhaps! Then, when she was studying Biology, she wouldn’t feel so dumb when she tried hopelessly to answer the Review Questions after each section. 

She wished she was more graceful when she attempted a forte in Ballet Class and not clumsy and ridiculous.  And Maggie didn’t even want to think about the time that her bloomers fell down in class in front of everybody! How embarrassing!!

She didn’t want to grow too much taller.  Maggie wished she would grow exactly one more inch and a quarter to hit 5’7”.  She was unhappy with her face and unhappy with her arms. She told herself they were too skinny and that she was too skinny.  Certainly like all good mothers say, Mrs. Alliga would tell her, “You’re beautiful, honey.  Stop doubting yourself.  God made you perfect the way you are!” 

But every time Maggie went to the mirror in her bathroom, she saw anything…but perfect.  How could anyone love her for who she was when she grew up?  Wouldn’t she have to put on eyeliner and mascara and straighten her hair and get contacts to be anyone even worth noticing? 

Should she wear shorter skirts or the latest fashion?  Never mind that her mom and dad had certain rules about wearing conservative clothing that honored God.  And what about her teeth?  They weren’t perfect either.  Maggie smiled self-consciously, thinking that others saw her as flawed, as imperfect.  But really…there was a feeling of inadequacy that she just couldn’t put her finger on.

Truly, it was a struggle on the inside.  Was she worthy?  Where should she find her worth?!  She felt like her heart was sometimes too sensitive to what other girls said about Jesus.  The world was all around her, bombarding her with the wrong thoughts, images, and perfection expected.

Maggie knew she must not be conformed to the world, but she must be transformed…but she couldn’t transform herself.  She needed help. She was going to stay the way she was made, and she had to live with herself knowing that…unless God continued the work He had started.

“Anna-Le, stop throwing your M&Ms at my new bedspread Grandma gave me and go out of my room!  You too, Frucy!  Mom won’t let you have your fifty cents for doing all your school and chores if you keep it up.”  Maggie blew the eraser bits and brushed them aside from her Algebra page.

            “Heidi!  Stop encouraging them, and make them go out!  I have to get this done before Dad gets home for Bible time tonight.”  It was Wednesday night, Family Bible Time. Already, it was 5:30 and Maggie still had ten problems to do in her Algebra.  It was her last subject of the day.   From downstairs a new aroma floated deliciously into her room. Her nostrils filled and she inhaled deeply and sighed.  Smells like hollandaise sauce with bread sticks and butter.  Arms crossed, Frucy snorted from behind her. 

“I don’t have to go out because Mom said to come and tell you its time to eat.  Dad got here two minutes ago,” Maggie panicked.  Oh great!  He’s here already!  I should have gotten this done before I e-mailed Alena this morning.  I knew better than to waste time!  Maggie slammed her book shut and hurried to her bathroom to wash her hands and change into a new shirt before dinner.  She didn’t want her dad to see her in her old shirt because it had a few chicken feathers and some cat hair on it from playing outside with the animals earlier.

              “Maggie!”  Her dad called. 

            “Yes sir!  Coming!”   Maggie darted a fed-up glare toward Frucy, but melted when she saw Anna-Le’s pudgy little lips and big, gleaming blue eyes imploring hers in a pleading way.

            “Oh, okay sisters…lets eat.”  Maggie took Anna-Le’ by the hand as Frucy trotted like a haughty little stallion behind them.  Her little horsy hat fit her well.

            “You found the circumference on #15?”  Mrs. Alliga questioned.  Maggie heaped her plate with hollandaise sauce and green beans and laid a buttered breadstick beside the hot steaming goodness. 

            “Yes, ma’am, I finished that one twenty minutes ago.  I’m working on #27.”

“You’re close then,” Mr. Alliga commented, daring a lopsided smile at his eldest daughter.  “You’ll finish it, Mag!  I know you will.” 

Maggie nodded and felt her face growing warm beneath her father’s exhortation.  Her father had always been her biggest encourager, a fact that was plainly shown every day.  Ever since she was a little girl of perhaps three or four, he had softly called her ‘Mag.’ It was almost as if she shared a special bond with her dad.  She knew that her father loved all the kids just the same, but she was the oldest!  Perhaps she felt the closest to him because there was fewer years between them…less space to separate them. 

            “Pass the apples, please!”  Cody repeated in a sharp tone to Maggie.  Maggie jolted awake into her real world of family mealtime life and handed him the bowl of apples.

            “Sorry, Cee-bo…” She mumbled.

            “Let’s say a prayer first,” Mr. Alliga broke in, and all the children froze in mid-action as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Uh, oh!  Maggie paused in mid-sip of her icy, banana-chocolate-cinnamon shake.  Mrs. Alliga’s had to strain herself not to smile as she caught Maggie’s flushed face from the corner of her eye. 

Mr. Alliga cleared his throat and began, “Dear Heavenly God, we love You.  Thank You for our food that You’ve blessed us with.  Please guide our hearts with love and let this day be filled with Your Spirit of Truth.  Let Your Name be lifted through us.  In Jesus name, Amen.”  Choruses of ‘Amen’ rang out from all sides and corners of the cherry wooden table. 

From all sides and corners… Maggie thought.  She groaned...  Geometry.  It seemed to her as though everything now involved calculations and thinking.  Hard thinking. Deep thinking.

            “Mag, could you get two more ice trays?”  Maggie closed her eyes and pinned her lips tight to keep from crying out.  Two!  Numbers, numbers, numbers!  Is there nothing else in this world?  Heidi, Maggie’s younger sister and next in line, watched Maggie closely, her face looking concerned.  Ignoring her little sister’s suspicion, Maggie rose from her chair and thumped to the freezer to find two ice trays.  Because they used them so much, there were a few cracks on the sides as they had seen better days.

            “Heidi is learning about dividing by threes and fours in her math now…isn’t that right, Heidi?”  Mrs. Alliga smiled proudly over at her daughter and fourth-grade school student. Heidi nodded wordlessly through her mouthful of breadstick. 

Frucy pouted, “I’m only learning ‘bout four plus four and six plus one and stuff.”  She glared over at Heidi.  “I wanna learn ‘bout di---divi—di....”

“Di-VI-sion,” Maggie clarified. 

            “Yeah.  Dis-vis---oh whatever that thing is!” Frucy huffed.  Mr. Alliga grinned slightly as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

            “And what about American History?  Cody Z, what’s up in History?”  Cody had been absolutely silent the entire time thus far, save for the occasional ‘Please pass the peas!’, ‘Please pass the breadsticks!’  When Mr. Alliga called on him, he was in mid-chew of a gi-normous spoonful of fresh buttered peas from the garden.  He nearly choked on them in sudden surprise.

              “Abraham—“ His eyes watered and his face was reddened like a beet as he pounded his fist into his chest, coughing and choking all at once on his peas.  “Lincoln.  He—was—the—president—in—World War—II.” 

            Mrs. Alliga held up her hands. “Hold your hands above your head and stop talking.  You’re going to choke.”

             “I – am – choking!”

“Civil War,” Mr. Alliga commented, correcting his son’s error in history. “The Civil War was eighty years before World War II.” 

            “Right, dad. Yes, sir!”  Cody gasped as he chugged down the rest of his shake.  Maggie had been wiping her plate as clean as a napkin would allow during all the conversing between her parents and siblings to pass the time, and now it was shredding into little bits.  Mrs. Alliga finally noticed her and nodded. 

            “You may be excused to finish your math, Maggie.  Then come down for Bible Time at eight o’clock.”
            “Me wanna do ma--ss!”  Quincy piped up randomly from his wooden highchair as he threw his spoon toward Maggie’s head.  The spoon projectile sailed through the air in a perfect arc until it hit its destination with excellent accuracy.

              “Ouch!”  Maggie shrieked and winced as she rubbed her forehead.  Little Quincy giggled and wiggled and giggled and wiggled.  Suddenly, Quincy and his chair rocked over backwards.  Thankfully, Mrs. Alliga caught the chair before it hit the tile and splintered into a million pieces with baby and all. 

Holding a frozen water bottle to her forehead, Maggie trudged up the carpeted stairs to her bedroom to finish her last three equations.  My last subject for tonight…I have to get done fast! 

She opened the door to her room and her eyes fell to a fallen, green M&M that had bounced off her bedspread from her sister’s throwing spasms earlier and had hidden itself under the corner of the pink rug.  She plucked it up and slid the tiny colorful chocolate into her mouth, then flopped onto her bed to finish the rest of her math. 

            “I can scarcely wait till tomorrow,” she breathed aloud, and laughed at herself.  She would go to ballet class tomorrow at two o’clock and not get back home till about five thirty, after three grueling classes of blood, sweat, and tears. 

But it was worth it!  Oh… so worth it, for she loved dancing as much as she loathed algebra and biology.  She would survive these last three problems in math, then dream about the beautiful ballerina that she wished she was, and pray that she would one day  become. 

She wanted to star as the main character in the next show, one year from now.  One year.  Was one year enough to transform herself into a magnificent, picturesque dancer without a single flaw; no glasses, no scratches on her legs from those nasty blackberry bushes from walks in the woods.  No acne, no clumsy attempts at pirouettes, no low leaps or sad-looking arm coordination… 

She knew she had exactly one year to impress her teachers, to prove to her classmates and everyone watching that she was now becoming a swan.  No longer the ugly duckling.  She knew that she had exactly one year to prove to herself that she was worth something…that she was worthy of being the star of the show…that she was valuable at something in her life. 

One year.  One year.  Maggie sighed, the number one reminding her of the numbers that waited for her within the equations on her math page. 

            “All right, I’m done with you!”  She grumbled, staring at the big, fat ugly math book.  “But only because I want to get done so I can practice on my ballet barre downstairs.”  One year. 

Give it up to the Lord, and He will Be Your Deliverer in 2014 and forevermore

Hey there! to all my friends scattered abroad...
To those in the US,
To those in Russia,
To those in Malaysia,
To those in Germany,
To those in France,
To those in Ukraine,
To those in the United Kingdom,
To those in China,
To those in Poland
and last but not least, Canada!!

	Just had a thought that I wanted to share with ya'll today, and that is that recently I've really been pondering on God's faithfulness to me even through many trials and tribulations.  The year 2013 was thee most trying year of my entire life.  And not exactly because a ton of physical things happened, (though there was the wart surgery...ick, TMI:) and probably some sprained ankles from ballet in there somewhere too...but the thing that made 2013 the most trying year for me was because during the entire year the Lord was consistently letting tests come my way so He could make me stronger.  Like the silversmith does when he purifies the silver, He was burning off the yucky little excess pieces of my heart and giving me a deep cleaning.  Through all my doubts that I went through (and don't get me wrong it's not like I still don't sometimes doubt), through all the spiritual attacks that I endured, and still am enduring by the grace of God, He saw me through.  Something that I have been CONSTANTLY reminding myself is that the Lord alone is my Deliverer, He sees me through, He scoops me up from the gooey pit, the terrible place where there is no hope, and He has set and continues to set me upon a rock that will never crumble.  There had been times in 2013 that people disappointed me (go figure), people that I really thought were my good friends, or maybe I had placed my hope too solidly upon some people only to be utterly disappointed. But He is faithful!  I must say, one Sunday probably in October sometime, I was watching some of my friends play the guitar, and one of them had written something in pen on his arm.  (Probably a reminder to do something).  I didn't know what it said, but ever since I had seen that I thought maybe that was a good way to remind myself of God's faithfulness whenever I would struggle with anything.  So I tried it out, just by writing something that seems so simple but that means so much to my heart.  The first thing I wrote on my left arm was "Abide in My Deliverer".  Now, my mother has a slightly different view about me writing (I must say it's in tiny print and only in pen, and it's not all the time) on my arm, but we have come to the compromise that as long as I don't write an entire verse on my arm that she won't mind so much.
	So today when your mind starts to worry...start your year off in greatness and decide to simply "Give it up to the Lord."
	That's the best you can do...give it all up to Him for Him to hold.
	Have the best 2014,
	Yours truly,
Samantha

Find Yours....I Got Mine.

Father/Daughter Purity Dance.  Hosted by Pro-Life By Pure Life Drive in partnership with Grace Bible Church.

The Pro-Life By Pure Life Drive was founded by myself, that has a heart to help save babies, and put an end to the abortions going on every day in our country.
But how did abortion start?  How can we truly cut the issue of abortion at its roots?  There's plenty of programs that are trying to put band aids on the already swelling wound....isn't there a way to prevent the babies from being aborted in the first place?

Glad you asked!  Because actually, there is!  What Highschool student Samantha (me) found out was that the way to put a STOP to abortion is to FIRST show young adults what PURITY looks like. 
If even just one lady chose to stay pure for her future husband and saved sex until her wedding day...and because of her decision, she saves the life of even just one would-be-aborted-baby...isn't that worth it?  You can't put a price on it!
The goal of this event is not to lecture girls with a long list of "not to do's", but instead the goal is to show them where true purity comes from...and that is the heart.
:-)

Date: Saturday, March 22nd, 5-9pm
Location: at the Abundant Life Baptist Church in Lee's Summit, Missouri.


...............
By supporting purity, you automatically support life. By encouraging young ladies to get married and stay married...it lowers the abortion rate in our community, and makes it a safer enviroment for young ladies.

Abortion is harmful to our community.  According to Rachel House crisis pregnancy center statistics,
"Abortion is a big problem. In Kansas City alone more than 9,500 babies are lost to abortion every single year...
"More than 50% of all those abortions happen in the lives of teenage girls and women under 25. And for each young woman – there’s a man who experiences the loss of fatherhood and there’s a child never born...
"In fact, 43% of all pregnancies in African American women are aborted, a sobering statistic that’s slowly shrinking the African American population into eventual extinction..."
By you supporting this event, 100 percent of the proceeds will go towards funding the Father/Daughter Purity Dance,

All above and beyond will be donated to Rachel House, local crisis pregnancy center to help stop the abortion disaster; and also an adoption fund to help give a little orphan a loving home.


This is my holy ambition!!!  What's yours??? 
Check out the details, and how you can be involved with the Purity Ball at prolifebypurelife.blogspot.com
Yours truly,
Samantha:-)