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Tuesday,
September 5,
2006 - Susan
The OneThing
Decatur, Georgia. Not a real happening spot if you ask me. Not
much to do except eat at Mrs. Winner's Fried Chicken & Biscuits,
or hang at the local Walgreens. Whohoooo!Although, I did have a
pretty good pecan waffle at Waffle House.
The OneThing conference was in Decatur, Georgia. Ahhhhh, OneThing.
It takes my mind away from Decatur--land
of jaywalkers galore.
OneThing was a true spiritual awakening. I am so convinced that
much of Christianity today is filled with walking zombies who
have been transfixed by the enemy to not walk the way Jesus
walked 2000 years ago. The enemy came to kill, steal, and
destroy--and he does it, oh, so subtly. So subtly that we don't
even realize it. We don't realize when normal actions and
thoughts become habitual and the norm.
My post today is not to promote
IHOP/OneThing, it's to promote a lifestyle that is
congruent to the life of Jesus. I have not made it there yet.
I have a long ways to go, but I truly believe that as God's
people, we can and should be greatly used to heal the sick,
prophesy, cast out demonic forces,
witness miracles upon miracles, raise the dead, move mountains, and impact people for
Christ--but, we've been conned by satan himself. Our vision
has moved to something less eternal, and more physical,
superficial, and mundane.
The time I spent in Decatur impacted me in such a way that there is
no turning back. If I turn back now, I know for sure my life
yesterday will grieve God, and no doubt, bore me to death over
time. I know that if I turn back now, I will be living the
life I was not meant to live. I'm at a crossroads, you can
say. One way leads to life, the other way leads to
destruction. Now, most of you will wonder what Susan did that
was so destructive??? Well, I didn't choose Christ in EVERY
aspect of my life. I did it half the time--not going after
it ALL of the time. It's as simple as not doing anything
about it.
From what I gathered, here were people who lived for one thing.
They understood their purpose. They knew their calling. It was
realizing that
God is rallying a group of people to walk the face of the earth shining
His light. We have to be energized by the reality of the
love of God, and love Him because He first loved us! We
have to live for massive end-time revival and the soon return of
Jesus!
What I saw there was not a group of people coming to any ol'
conference or pep rally. It was a group of people who had given
themselves over to continual prayer, fasting, and reading God's
Word in such a determined way that God gives revelation! I'm
not sure about you, but I would like a little bit of revelation
from the heavenlies. I want God to speak mysteries, secrets,
and LIFE into me.
We don't have the patience it takes to go the route of the
scriptures. Something that challenged me while I was there: "I
will lose everything before I lose my love for the Son of God!"
How can I even utter such a statement if my heart and life are
not after one thing?
It's impossible. Let not the spirit of the age--serving two masters--blur our
vision.
God put His Son on the cross because He was ravished over us, and
because of that, I am ready to go on this journey of
experiencing the supernatural love of Christ. I don't know what
that really means, but I want to go headlong into the heart of
God to figure it out.
He wouldn't be worth anything, if it didn't cost me everything.
[Shoot me an email if you are interested in hearing a really
awesome message on the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7)
teaching by IHOP's, Dwayne Roberts. I would love to mail it out
to you. Matthew 5-7 are probably THE most read chapters in
scripture in which Christ speaks about Christian life to
humanity, but these chapters are also the MOST overlooked.
Dwayne's light on these chapters are eye-opening and very
practical for those who desire to live a Sermon on the Mount
lifestyle--essentially the life of a follower of Christ.]
E-mail:
sak2345@aol.com.
Or leave a comment on the
Message Board.
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Tuesday, August
15,
2006 - Susan
Generational
Blessings.
Some of us are
incredibly
blind
when it comes to realizing when we’ve got something really good
in our lives. …So good that our lives would be drastically
altered if it were not for this
one good thing. From experience, I can say that
generational blessings have been overlooked. People do one of
three things: they don't realize, they realize when it is too
late, or they realize when the eyes of their understanding have
been supernaturally opened from the scales which strive to
keep them on cruise control.
“It”
hit me this past weekend in New York at a family reunion of
sorts. My mom’s cousin was making her way to the altar to get
married, and people from all over, including India, came to be a
part of the special day.
“It”
opened my eyes one of those nights after the wedding when
everyone was gathered in the home of my aunt. There were about
fifty of us crammed into one room—sitting on couches, on the
floor, on wood stairs, basically sitting in any free space you
could attempt to squeeze yourself into.
“It”
came over me when I saw young and old
bringing down the house
with their praises like
strong incense
to their Savior. It was so real and so pure that I could not
take my eyes away from the heavy beat of clapping, the sounds of
many voices raised up in a celebratory song of redemption and
thanksgiving, and even some dance.
Old folk songs
like “I’ll Fly Away” were sung with gumption and boldness to the
strum of a guitar and the melody of a piano.
I stood
in silence taking it all in like never before.
Now, I’ve been a part of great church gatherings
and an awesome college ministry, but I can truthfully say that I
have never been a part of what I would call true
generational worship in which my family—great aunts and uncles, first
and second cousins, grandparents, parents, and siblings—were
part of this generational orchestra…each one bringing beauty and
wholeness to worshipping Christ as a family. From that point
on, I knew I had taken “it” for granted.
You may be wondering what “it” is? It is a
family of believers, including in-laws, who strive to seek God’s
face. It’s this feeling you get when you know you’ve got
something really good in your life. The feeling that nothing in
that very moment can supercede the
emotion
and strangeness
of being a part of something so huge in the
spiritual realm…something so huge that even the heavens were
reverberating with song and dance! I knew I would not see this
again for a long while. As I observed everyone around the room,
I realized that none of these people could
have
reached this moment
on their own.
“I will establish my covenant as an
everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendents
after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the
God of your descendents after you.” Genesis 17:7
The blessing of salvation was given to me from
the
seeds my
ancestors sowed in past years. I reap not because I am
worthy of reaping, but because God in his grace blessed me for
the
faith and
servanthood that had been passed down through generations.
Generations of men and women who lived singly for the King and
the Kingdom He is preparing. As I looked at the elder people
before me, I was blown away by their tests of faith, and
realized even more how
inadequate I really am on my own.
I recently heard a new story about my
paternal
grandfather who died fourteen years ago. He was a farmer
who owned a rubber plantation in the south of India. In the
dead of night, he would walk to the
highest
hill in his hometown of Pooyapally, and preach the
gospel to whoever would give an ear. Usually, it was the poor
who would gather around to hear him preach the gospel, but, I
heard that even the ones sleeping in their beds, in the
neighboring towns, could hear him from those hills.
What a
heritage!
Christ has given us an inheritance worth more
than anything we could ever receive on the planet. If we decide
to trade it for
gold and
silver now, we can be sure that future generations will see
the fruit
of it. God Bless.
E-mail:
sak2345@aol.com.
Or leave a comment on the
Message Board.
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Tuesday, June 6,
2006 - Susan
Steel Pail,
Wooden Brush
As a child, I always
dreamed of working the deserts of Egypt or the jungles of Brazil, unearthing
clay vessels and uncovering old, intricate tombstones with the help of my trusty
steel pail and wooden brush with soft bristles, and possibly some bandwagon
apprentices for kicks. In my mind, I vividly saw the dry, loose dirt float up
off the ground, disturbed from my inquisitive excavations, and finally settle
back down in anticipation of being disturbed once again by the coming north
wind.
As I
think on my life, my heart for adventure has not nearly taken a
hold of me as deeply as I have desired for myself. When
adventure always seemed to be looming, then came--life, small
ambitions, a degree, the marketplace and family ties. All of
which have taken root and sprouted in a way that I sometimes
wonder if I will ever be free to just
sit and be?
Being what? Being God-crafted and molded. I’d like to think of
it as being Heaven-spun. [Side Note: All of the aforementioned
desires and responsibilities are great, but these also have the
ability and tendency to squeeze the ‘being’ out of you.]
Ravi
Zacharias puts it quite succinctly, “You see, fulfilled dreams
are not necessarily fulfilled hopes. Attainment and fulfillment
are not the same. Many dream and wish for the attainments that
would make us the envy of our world. Careers, positions,
possessions, romance…these are real goals, pursued by the vast
majority who are deluded into believing that succeeding in these
areas brings fulfillment. But
deep
within
there is some stronger longing, sometimes even hard to
pinpoint. We know there is a vacuum, a space of huge
proportions that seeks a state of mind that attainments cannot
fill. That dream of ultimate fulfillment is intangible but
recognizable, indefinable but felt, verbalized but imprecise,
visualized but blurred,
inestimable but traded in for something less, something daily.”
–Recapture the Wonder
The
question therein lies, in ALL of this, ‘Have
I found a course worth running? A pearl of great price I’d give
up everything for?’
Or, am I satisfied with the short-lived ambitions and
run-of-the-mill life? I tell you, the latter is NOT a life!
As proclaimed
Christians, do we open our eyes every morning sure that the new day will bring
forth endless possibilities of self-realization with the help of God’s Spirit,
miracles, wonders, great adventures, new lessons, and blessings upon blessings?
Something tells me that my childhood dream of being an Archeologist would not
fill this void for adventure. The enemy’s plan: to kill, to steal, to destroy.
In other words, his plan of attack is to leave us unsatisfied, drained, and
wanting more.
As I sit here at work, wrapping up my time here
and getting ready for my next gig, I am reminded of the words of
C.S. Lewis, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in
this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I
was made for another world.”
Another world! Can you wrap your mind around that one? Well,
let me help you. Each of us was created with a hunger for
something much, much more than anything in this world. Nothing
here on planet Earth will ever satisfy. IPF readers, please
correct me if I’m wrong, but I think when it comes down to it,
the question we’ll be asking ourselves as we stand knocking on
Heaven’s gates is, ‘Did I venture after the heart of God?’
Because folks, He surely ventured after us.
If
you need me, you can find me with my steel pail and wooden brush
just sitting
with my Father, waiting to hear what’s next. I know He keeps
the wonder and adventure in life more enchanting than I ever
would have dreamed.
E-mail:
sak2345@aol.com.
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Message Board.
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Tuesday, April 11,
2006 - Susan
A Matutinal
Account
I
got into work a bit early today. An aged man, whom I find
highly, highly interesting, walked into my cube this
morning. He didn't really alert me, so, to hear his scratchy
voice directly behind my chair made my heart skip about two
beats. I quickly look up from my chair to see the short, stocky
man standing intimidatingly over me. Mr. Vay, as he's called,
is someone whom I immediately categorized as an Irish
businessman. He had the whole look going for him -- scratchy
stubble, dirty fingernails (probably picking potatoes?), and
Irish beer belly. Dressed in his earth brown Dundee hat and
navy blazer with gold sailor buttons, he asked me about an
upcoming meeting, and then after noticing my last name on the
outside of my cube, questioned my origin.
I
began informing him that I am an Indian from the southern region
of India. He looked at me incredulously...I could tell he was
somehow not buying what I told him. I tested his pronunciation
skills, wondering if he could pronounce my last name, which has
been
massacred on many an occasion (Cricketshoe,
Crookedshoe, Kurika-choo). Mr. Vay said it perfectly without
mistake, smiled, thanked me, and left. Now I would think my
story ends here, but no.
Two minutes later,
he knocks on the metal rim of my cube, this time notifying me of
his entrance so not to scare me like before. "Susan," he says
in his soo Irish accent, "I can bet you anything that your name
carries alot of history." "I doubt it originated from South
India, but instead, from the north of India." I was a bit
surprised hearing this Irishman tell me more about my ancestry
than I knew myself. I actually don't know much, so
hearing it from him, whether true or not, made it all the more
interesting.
He
went on to tell me, to my surprise, that
he was Hungarian.
And that his tribe many, many moons ago lived in Northern India,
and that my surname looked nothing resembling South India, and
that my genealogy probably dated back from the north. Now, I'm
not sure if I believe him,
but it got me interested...
In
conclusion, before he left, I mentioned that I assumed he was
Irish. He responded with a scratchy laugh, "My words and
actions may seem like an Irishman's, but Hungarian I am--heart
and soul." And with that, Mr. Vay
tipped his hat, and
said, "Thank you, Miss Kurikeshu" and strolled down the aisle
chuckling.
Geez Louise.
Some people just have an aura about them. On the other hand,
I've got some research to do.
Interesting Word of the Day: rusticate
[RUHS-tih-kayt] intransitive verb:
1.
To go into or reside in the country; to pursue a rustic life. To
require or compel to reside in the country; to banish or send
away temporarily.
2.
(Chiefly British). To suspend from school or college.
3.
To build with usually rough-surfaced masonry blocks having beveled
or rebated edges producing pronounced joints.
4.
To lend
a rustic character to; to cause to become rustic.
Ezra
holds out in London, and refuses to
rusticate.
For
the longest time, we're stuck in a cabin hewn out of the ground
in a parcel of woods as the boys hide and mend; for another, we
rusticate on a farm bounded by fields that must be tilled
by the hard labor of man and beast.
Rusticate
comes from the past participle of Latin rusticari, "to live in
the country," from rusticus, "rural, rustic," from rus, "the
country."
E-mail:
sak2345@aol.com.
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Message Board.
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Tuesday, March
21,
2006 - Susan
The
Home-Church Movement
A.
It seems the home-church movement is fastly becoming the more
preferred approach. On
www.ethicsdaily.com,
an article written by Bob Allen illustrates as much.
"Lacking trappings like choirs or praise bands,
projection screens and even a sermon, house churches typically
don't have a pastor. That's because most think distinctions
between clergy and laity, even if
well-intentioned, are wrong. They view ministries described in the New
Testament--apostle, prophet, pastor, teacher and evangelist--as
functions rather than offices.
Home-churchers believe they are
closer to
the church modeled in the New Testament, as expressed by words attributed to Jesus in
Matthew 18:20, "For where two or three are gathered together in
My name,
I am there
among them," than to today's institutional church."
I consider my own church, as well as some of
yours, home-churches--where the church is not the actual
building, but instead, Christ being the center and focal point
of our being. Whether one meets in a house, a warehouse, or an
actual church with wooden pews and
beautiful
stained-glass windows, the Church remains to be, as it has been for
centuries, who we are inherently as Christ's followers.
B. In other news, last month I traveled to Vermont
for work. I stopped by the small town of St. Albans for a bite
to eat. As we scooted into a booth at the artsy-fartsy
restaurant, Chow! Bella!, I couldn't help but notice the
artwork
sprinkled throughout the restaurant. I enquired about the artist,
only to find that she was a 7th generation Vermonter! In my aim
to now find this local artist, the waitress handed me a postcard
created by the artist and told me
where I
could find her.
The artisan, Corliss Blakely, had a gallery within her own
home. Corliss was born in St. Albans, Vermont where she
presently lives. She received her formal art training in
Boston. While there she studied at both
Vesper George Art School
and The Museum School Of Fine Art. Corliss creates paintings of
a uniquely photographic nature. The homes, farms and antiques
of her ancestors in northern Vermont often are portrayed in her
paintings. Corliss is nationally recognized for her work, which
hangs on every continent in several media including watercolor,
oil, egg tempera and casein.
I can't tell you what fun it is
to investigate
and come upon such a treasure.
Interesting Word of the Day: spoony
[SPOO-nee] adjective: 1. Foolish; silly; excessively
sentimental. 2. Foolishly or sentimentally in love.
Nevertheless, because we're spoony old things at heart, we like
to believe that some showbiz marriages are different.
So when your fervor cools, you think that this suddenly familiar
and lusterless partner couldn't possibly be the one you're
destined to be with; otherwise you'd still be all
spoony, lovey-dovey and bewitched.
Spoony is from the slang term spoon, meaning "a simpleton or a
silly person."
E-mail:
sak2345@aol.com.
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Tuesday, March 7,
2006 - Susan
Travel and
Art
My family and I recently moved from our house of fifteen years
onto newer and better things,
AT LEAST my mother would say so.
Where I once occupied an entire attic to myself, quaint as it
was, I now have the smallest room in our new abode out in the
country. Although, I must say, it IS the
coziest room in the
house. It comes fully equipped with a spectacular view of
trees and verdure as far as the eye can see.
At the ripe ol’ age of 23, there is an interesting wave of
emotions involved in packing up and moving out with your entire
family.
Surely surreal. Now, my parents may disagree,
actually they do, but I think ‘the move’ had to do with them
going through a mid-life crisis (which is even more interesting,
if you ask me)...they needed to do something crazy, drastic,
spur of the moment...you know how it goes. Now, don't let me
start on my parent’s reaction if I chose to do something as
crazy, but on my own level. But no, it's not crazy, I'm
learning to enjoy the
quietness of a corn field, or a dark
starry night. I have to tell you readers that the sunlight
in the country is just amazingly pure and vibrant—great for all
you photographers out there.
Well onto the point of this post… Now that we live in a new
house filled with
blank antique ivory walls, I've decided
to start a new hobby. My new motto: ‘OUT with the old and IN
with what holds integrity and soundness.’ Let me explain. We
all hold onto things for the sake of holding on—whether it be a
couch covered in plastic (older generation), to the ugly white
(but now browning) bear we have on our shelf that we just can’t
seem to get rid of. For me, it was art. During this move, I
decided to rid myself of all the art I used to embellish my
walls—fillers you could say. These simply held no value
in my mind. So my new hobby? I have begun to collect art.
But, not just any art. I have begun to collect pieces that hold
artistic value and uprightness—not pieces that are used to just
fill a space on a wall. I decided to tie this new hobby to my
travels. ‘Local Art’, you could say. Art created by people
influenced by their specific area.
People, not places,
give an area its distinct flavor.
Two months ago I went to
Seattle, Washington
to visit a
friend, and came across a local artist by the name of Lisel
Salzer. “What gives some of Seattle's older residential
neighborhoods much of its flavor—and what distinguishes it from
other communities—are the people who live and work there, plant
its trees and tend its gardens, nurture its young and care for
its old, plan its rummage sales, raise money for its school, and
fight to
preserve its character.” Lisel Salzer was a 99
year-old artist, who stood barely 5 feet tall and was blind in
one eye. She was a native of Austria who fled the Nazis and
settled in Seattle. She was rediscovered at the age of 96 and
honored with a museum exhibition in her native country. Lisel,
a native of Seattle for 55 years, died this past December. I
was honored that I could see her artwork and even purchase one
of her pieces. As I perused the paintings of this
century
old woman,
I was amazed to see the artistic value she
brought through her bronze enamel motifs.
My own room in Maryland now contains my first official piece of
work by a local artist of Seattle, Washington. More to come…
Interesting Word of the Day:
dilettante [dil-uh-TONT; dil-uh-TON-tee] noun:
1. An amateur or dabbler; especially, one who follows an art or
a branch of knowledge sporadically, superficially, or for
amusement only.
2. An admirer or lover of the fine arts.
As he had put it, it was a matter of principle, not money:
Mistler family trusts, over which he exercised discretionary
powers, had not been established to support
dilettantes or
would-be litterateurs
waiting for inspiration.
Dilettante comes from the present participle of Italian
delittare, "to delight," from Latin delectare, "to delight,"
frequentative of delicere, "to allure," from de- + lacere, "to
entice."
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Tuesday, February
21,
2006 - Susan
A Confession
I guess I have to tell the truth being that this
IS
a
Christian forum, and
I AM
a Christian. As I hang my head
down low, I have a confession to make.
I have Writer's Block.
writ·er's block
(n).
- A usually temporary psychological inability to begin or
continue work on a piece of writing.
...A blockage of some sort in my ability to form coherent
thoughts and sentences in a readable manner. ...My brain
slowly deteriorating from lack of consistency and
integrity. A friend of mine mentioned that I had let the gift
die. So true. How can anyone get better at anything unless
they practice, experiment, and keep the dream alive? Well, I
let it go.
I let the ability dwindle down to a rat's tail.
I procrastinated and held off until I could hold off no longer.
I realized the spirit inside of me that enjoys writing is
getting smaller and smaller unless I grab it back from the
little devil trying to snatch it away. I need to regain it once
more...and hold it with a firmer grip this time. Yep, I'm going
to hold down the fort and beat this thing outta me if it takes
weeks.
I did some research on Writer's Block and concluded that my
current inability to write came down to
one of four possible
reasons:
1. No Time
2. Grief, Depression, Illness
3. Natural Rhythm
4. Something's Percolating/Brain's Recharging
The last one seems to be
the most interesting and the one that fits me best. I like
the idea of a brain recharge :) Lisa R. Cohen states that
the brain recharging has to do with two reasons: "Here are two
reasons for not writing that every writer can embrace and
celebrate, because they mean that, to quote science fiction
writer Spider Robinson, "you ARE writing, you're just not TYPING
yet."
But how to tell the difference?
Is this quiet spell the
happy silence of little gray cells puttering away or is it the
echoing silence of the void? Most writers get a feel for the
idea percolation process, but it's a subtle distinction and hard
to distinguish through a haze of writer's block panic. The
other end of the process, brain recharging, may hit in the
middle of a roll, after you've successfully completed one
project with the intention of just breezing through to another.
The sudden bout of lassitude, disinterest and the longing to be
anywhere but in front of the word processor can be very
panic-inducing, particularly when it goes on for a while.”
Lisa’s recommendation is
to take a break from writing for a while, test the waters
occasionally, work on something else, but above all, “listen to
your inner voice. If it tells you nothing's broke, don't rush
to fix it." I guess you could call this update
“testing the
waters…”
But not to worry folks!
The first step in not drinking, is realizing you’re an
alcoholic...so stay tuned for my next post on my adventures in
Travel and Art.
Interesting Word of the Day: sang-froid, also sangfroid
[sang-FRWAH]
noun: Freedom from agitation or excitement of mind; coolness in
trying circumstances; calmness.
The Treasury Secretary's
sang-froid in moments of crisis.
Both men were mightily
impressed by the calmness of the Americans on board,
particularly among the women. "I had, during my sojourn in
America," Beaumont said later, "a thousand occasions to see the
sang-froid of the American."
Sang-froid is from the French ; it literally means "cold blood" (sang,
"blood" + froid, "cold").
E-mail:
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