| Hey, It is about 2:00AM Sunday Morning. I was just now looking at my WOW 1999 c.d., and a thought crossed my mind that I had to scream to the world. However, being this late I would most likely be arrested. So I have decided to pour a little piece of my soul into the form of an e-mail. The part of the c.d. cover that I was reading was the tribute to Rich Mullins. If you do not have this CD, it reads: Rich Mullins October 21,1955 - September 19, 1997 There is a ragamuffin loose On the streets of gold He is barefoot He is laughing... And he is home What a thought... I have heard many Christians raise the question, "What is the first thing you want to do when you get to heaven?" Many people come up with a list of questions that they want answered and others want to sit and talk with their favorite bible characters. Until I read what is write above, I really was not sure what I wanted to do first, but now I know... When I bust through those jaded, pearl gates not one glance will I give old St. Peter. I'll brush right by the tree of life and splash right through it's river. The sparkling streets of gold won't catch my eye. With my child like faith will fling open that throne room door. I will crawl up into my daddy's lap, throw my undeserving arms around his majestic neck,... and I will finally be home... I can't wait to see my heavenly father......... thanks for listening, Kipp McDonald Holy Ground Date: Sun, 19 Mar 2000 05:42:39 GMT Shortly after my first heartache, I found a place that would soon become the focal point of my most intimate conversations with my Lord. This sacred ground that I have discovered is with in the walls of the church that I grew up in. In my church, back behind the baptistery there is one of the biggest crosses that I have ever seen. The lighting of the sanctuary is such that you can turn all the other lights off except the cross spot lights. And there at the foot of the illuminated cross the presence of God can lift the hair on the back of your neck straight up. I have recently acquired a key to my church and I often take advantage of it to consult my Lord late at night without any distractions. I remember one of my visit to my fathers house better than the others. I was working late in my brother-in-laws office printing out a sign-up sheet for an event that we were preparing for. I was on my way out, when I felt the mountain moving power of the spirit telling me it was time for one of those father/son moments. So with my book bag slung around my shoulder I altered my course towards the cross. Realizing that I was still carrying all my stuff, I dropped my book bag and coat on a table near the sanctuary entrance. I then proceeded to enter my father throne room. As I started to walk down the aisle my hand wondered into my pockets. Much to my surprise I found an unusual item, that I had tucked away and forgotten. I pulled it out and found myself looking at two unfamiliar bills, both with the number "50" printed neatly in the corners. Remembering that my mother had slipped so money to me earlier I dismissed it, and tried to pull my attention back to the cross. With a flare of theatrical dramatics and the assurance that no one else was around, I flung the bills behind me and continued on my way. As I walked on my hands quickly found there way back down to rest in the pocket of my cargo pants. As they settled into place I found a new object to distract me from my lord. I slowly pulled a small cylindrical object from my pocket. It was a small tube of chap stick. I started to think of how rich I was to have such a cosmetic convenience at my disposal. Rolling my eyes with a little chuckle I tossed the second distraction behind me, and continued on. Quickly growing accustomed to this drill I grabbed the comb from my pocket and rid myself of it before the problem arose. While approaching the communion table I made one final sweep of my pockets and found yet another item. It was a small piece of yellow paper. I had to laugh at myself as I remembered the "importance" of this object. It was (brace yourself for this) a girls phone number. (No, it is not OK if that made you laugh) Quickly banishing this "treasure" from my hands I continued. As I stepped up to the cross, with my relics scattered behind me, I bowed my head to begin my conversation with the father. However, before I could begin I found one last hindrance to my spirit. My eyes came to rest on that little polo player on his tiny hoarse. I remembered all the money that I had spent buying myself a wardrobe big enough to cloth my entire family. It took very little time for me to get the message that was clearly being shoved in my face. There at the foot of the cross I checked my life for all the things that had created barriers between my lord and I. I found within my life there was much house cleaning that had not been done in a while. I vowed to rid myself of all the hindrances in my life and finally spoke to my lord. As I walked away that night I had that nerve wrenching feeling that I was being followed. Only this time the feeling was comforting. I left the church that day feeling much lighter than before. Colossians 3:1-12 1 Corinthians 5:6-7 My mother use to sing a song, that talked about a Christian that was constantly in motion. From this Christian point of view the song tells of how he was flying past his Lord one day and then it goes, "I swear I heard you say 'I miss my time with you, those moment together, and I hurts me when you say your to busy, busy trying to serve me. But how can you serve me, when your spirits empty? There is a longing in my heart, wanting more than just a part of you. It's true, I miss my time with you." Jesus set the example. Luke 5:17 Have you had your quiet time today??? Fri, 24 Mar 2000 00:55:12 CST ...the "other" times There are times when all I want to do is just curl up in my father�s lap and be. Then there are the other times� Then there are the other times when my LORD is the last living thing that I would want to see. These are the times that I don�t like to write about. These are the times that I never what to speak of. These are the times when I fall flat on my face. AND IT HURTS!!! I had spent the last few weeks planning for an event that I had been so pleased to be in charge of. It was one of those Kipp things, those select tasks that bring more enjoyment to my life than any secular college student could ever understand. I felt like I was real serving the LORD with all my heart. I felt important. I felt alive. I felt useful. I felt good. �I felt� �Proud??? Pride??? I have been fighting this form of evil all my life. How could it finally slip its slithery grasp around my life? I could not believe it. After pushing back the battle lines of that war for years, I find my self surrounded. Smothered by its filthy stench. I needed to get it away from me, and fast. It was crashing my spirit into the ground. It hurt. This was one of those other times. �It was confession time� Knowing that I needed to go talk to my KING in private I waited for as long as my soul could bare and then finally headed for that holy ground we call church. I took my time in finding the perfect parking place in the completely empty parking place. Then I unlocked the door and made sure that I locked it back after I went in. I took my time and turned on all the church lights. I walked down to my brother-in-laws office. It was locked so I �had� to find the key. Then I went to use the restroom. While I was there I blew my noise and even washed my face. Passing back by the office I realized, I did not have my car keys with me and you never know when you might need them. So I went back in to the office to find my keys. After taking all that time, I finally headed for the sanctuary. I paused with my hand on the brass handle that opened that old, thrown room door. I took a deep breath. I did not want to open it. If I opened it he would see me, and if he saw me I would have to go in. This was one of those other times. This is one of the other times that I don�t like to write about. This is one of the other times that I never want to speak of. Gathering my courage, as I am doing right now, I slowly pulled open the door that I often run in and out of. Only as a matter of custom I walked through. My head hung low, so that I could see my feet dragging the floor. I turned only the cross spot lights on and moped ahead. Realizing my posture I paused to check my self and with out thinking my eyes glanced crosswards (upwards). Caught in the headlights, I stood in the dead center of the church. AND IT HURT� I no longer felt worthy to take another step towards the cross that I have often run to. Hearing my LORD beckon, I continued. Seeing some equipment along side the stage provided another distraction from this �other� time. I stopped one step shy of the foot of the cross, gathered my strength and took one more militant step forward. I stood at the foot of the cross� �AND IT HURT� Not having the strength to lift my eyes to those pieces of wood, I stared down into the baptistery. My hands dangled in the waters as I looked at the reflection of the cross in the familiar water. The reflection only showed the vertical board of the symbol and it stretched to the edges of the water. It looked so distant, so far from me. I wanted to see the rest of it� My eyes wondered upwards, slowly climbing the latticework that outlined the cross. When my eyes finally reached there destination I knew it was time to bare my soul� �AND IT HURT� It was one of those other times, when the potter begins to pound on the clay. It was one of those other times, when you are unaware of the tears dripping at your feet. It was one of those other times, when your life hits a brick wall. It was one of those other times, when the load was heavy. It was one of those other times, when the flesh was made to wait on the spirit. It was one of those other times, when the roller coaster dropped fifty feet into a corkscrew and smashed in to the ground. It was one of those other times, when CHRIST�s loving hands showed their firmness. It was one of those times, when his love could be seen the most� As I walked away from the cross that night, I had to say three of the easiest and hardest words in any language. With my spirit broken and my wounds open, I uttered, �I love you.� I could think of nothing harder to say in that moment. I could thing of nothing that I needed to say more� �AND IT HURT� Beaten, bruised, but better, I left my fathers house. 1John 1:9 �If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.� 2Corinthians 7:9-11 �yet now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance. For you became sorrowful as God intended and so were not harmed in any way by us. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. See what godly sorrow has produced in you: what earnestness, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what concern, what readiness to see justice done�� Then there are the other times, when we are called to confess in the highest court� �AND IT HURTS� |
| The following is a copy of three e-mails that I sent out to all my friends a while back. |