This summer, we have been catching up with SEBTS women as they serve the Lord all over the world. Today, we have the privilege of hearing from Kiersten Griffith, a C@SE student who had the opportunity to travel for her first over-seas mission experience. Read on to hear just a few of the ways that God moved!

In May I had the opportunity to travel with a professor and three other SEBTS students to the beautiful country of Indonesia for two weeks.  The first few days, we spent time with the church planters we were partnering with and did some snorkeling, cliff jumping and scuba diving!! These are things that were on my bucket list, so that was a highlight of the trip for me! 

In Indonesia, I also saw some of the most gorgeous sunsets I’ve ever seen!  To see the heavens declare the breathtaking glory of our God each night in a different way was incredible. It makes me sad that even after witnessing something like this, people still think that this world just evolved into being.  There is no doubt in my mind that these sunsets were the work of His hands.  A friend told me when I returned that he thought God was showing off for me.  Since God knows how much I love sunsets, I think my friend was right. J

We spent a week of the trip backpacking on two smaller islands.  During this time, we were able to study Indonesian culture, build relationships with unreached people groups, and share the Good News of Jesus.  This part of the trip stretched me in ways I never thought possible.  Had I known beforehand how strenuous and stretching the trip would be, I never would have signed up for it.  I would have said, “There is NO way I could do that.  I’m not cut out for something like that.”  Sure I like to spend time outdoors and try new things, but this was way out of my comfort zone.  However, now I know everything I did on that trip was not done in my strength, but Christ’s strength within me.  I was able to live out 2 Corinthians 12:9, “…for my power is made perfect in weakness…” I truly learned to do “all things through Christ who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13).  Even things that to others may not seem like that big of a deal were only done by God's strength: eating a meal where the entire fish is plopped on the plate, taking a bath by throwing freezing cold water from a small bucket on yourself, and the lack of Western bathroom facilities!!! J These are just a few of the many ways I was challenged on this trip.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was seeing Scripture come to life.  I was reading through the Gospel of Luke while I was there, and almost every day, what I was reading were the very things we were doing.  It was amazing to read about how the crowds of people followed Jesus everywhere and then to go out into a village and have a crowd of people follow us.  Jesus told his disciples “whatever house you enter, stay there until you leave that town.”  We found a “house of peace” and stayed there until we moved to the next village.  Jesus’ disciples shared the truth about him with others. In turn, we shared the Gospel with the people we were building relationships with.  Over and over, I was able to experience emotionally, physically, and spiritually just a sliver of what it may have been like for Christ and his disciples. 

On Sunday, our team was able to have a worship service together (my all-time favorite church service EVER!) and we discussed the passage where Jesus calms the storm (Luke 8). The very next day, we were in a small boat crossing the ocean from one island to the next.  There was a few times where I thought the boat would flip if one more person moved.  It was a choppy, but nothing like the storm the disciples would have been in.  Having been afraid myself, I can see how they would have freaked out in a raging storm with Jesus sleeping in the boat!  It was so cool, though, to continually remind myself that he is the “one who commands the wind and waves.”  One of the other girls on the team pointed out that the boat would only flip if Jesus wanted it to.  To continually be able to put into practice what I read each day was awesome.  

We also spent lots of time with the children.  We taught them games, songs, and even a few dances. The guys on the team played Frisbee with the kids.  We were also able to minister by helping some middle school and high school girls practice their English by having conversations with them at a library.  Oh, and I must not forget taking pictures with them!! They acted like we were movie stars wanting to take video and pictures of us. 

I could write a short book on all the other things I learned on this trip.  I saw God answer so many prayers.  I’ve been reading back through my journal, and I’m still seeing him answer them.  About a month before going on this trip, I started asking the Lord for boldness in sharing my faith.  I had two opportunities while in Indonesia to share with others about Christ, but I have seen this prayer answered more in my life since I have come home.  Things I would have shied away from saying before, even in everyday conversation, I want to say now.  I’m looking for ways to be intentional in meeting new people and stepping out of my comfort zone to speak to strangers, in hopes of being able to share the Gospel.  I am hoping for more opportunities to share the Good News with my unsaved friends when I go home to Florida next month. This trip changed my life, and I am so grateful for SEBTS’ commitment to the Great Commission and teaching students to live this out day by day.

Kiersten and the team in one city where they stayed

For 2 years, 3 months and 9 days I have been an alien.

A legal alien, but an alien none the less.  At least, that's the local word that's used to refer to foreigners here, and, let me tell you, given some of the looks I get, I often feel like I really am from Mars.  Granted, most of those looks are totally deserved.  I'm a blonde haired, blue eyed girl in a sea of Asians.  I DEFINITELY speak with an American accent.  I wear sandals in April.  And I have been known to take my baby out in 75 degree weather without a snow-suit.  Gasp!

I knew before we came here that I was going to have to learn really fast how to laugh at things and let them roll off my shoulders.  And most of the things I look back and laugh about now have to do with my inability to speak.  I sound like a 2 year old, for sure.

Picture from http://www.sxc.hu/photo/457578

But, how could you not make mistakes when words sound so similar.  Like the word for bread and man: just one small difference. Ekmek…. Erkek…. they just sound so similar!  What new language learner wouldn't walk into a bakery and ask for a fresh man, please?  

Or when someone is talking so fast you can't understand them, why not just default to the easy words, like "yes" or "ok."  That's what I do.  And I end up leaving the electronics store with two distinct curly cues in my stick straight hair because I unknowingly agreed to be the guinea pig for the new curling iron they're trying to sell.  Or, with the same "yes" and "ok" responses, end up getting my makeup done at the pharmacy right after working out when all I needed was medicine for the baby.  

Then there's the pazar.  There are people everywhere and all I want to do is navigate my big, foreigner stroller through the sea of people and get home with my fruits and veggies while the boy is still happy.  So, when some sweet lady tells me my son is eating his shoe, I just smile and say, "Thank you" and realize 5 minutes later what she was telling me.

Picture from http://www.sxc.hu/photo/646119

Yep, this is my life.  Maybe one day I'll be able to communicate effectively here.  But until then, at least I get to laugh a lot!

Today's guest post comes from our own Larry and Stephanie Lyon. We just celebrated that Christ was raised from the dead. Now we will ask,
 
"What does it mean to trust Him each day?" 

Enjoy a wonderful post from an incredible couple!

Let's Hear From Stephanie:

“It is the genius of God to keep us trusting in Him.”

This short little sentence, whose author is unknown, is one of the only statements that’s ever been so bold as to merit a place within the cover of my Bible.

Just stop and think about those words for a second. Actually, think on the Truth that they speak of our Great God. Rich Truth. They’re not Scripture itself, but we all know that the whole counsel of God’s Word makes this cry to Trust God; Trust Jesus; Trust in His Word, from cover to cover.

Just because Proverbs 3:5-6 has been on coffee cups, bookmarks, and cute little stationary sets for as long as one can remember, let’s not overlook the profound command within the words, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” (ESV)

This verse hit me square between the eyes again this very week, as it has many times over my nearly eighteen year journey with Christ. Wow, that sounds like I’m old! I’m only 33! Here I sit, all poised and ready for this huge adventure and really exciting calling from the Lord, to go with my husband and some of our very best friends to plant a church in North Raleigh. We’ve been praying, preparing, and seeking Christ for nearly a year and a half in this whole process, and we’re so moved at the evidence of His work among us. I can see his hand all over it. Yet, everyday, and I mean every single day, He quickly, and mercifully,  traces back any given worry, or wondering, or questioning that I have in my heart to the stone cold reality that I am not trusting in Him for the said topic at hand.

Convicting.

His Spirit whispers something along these lines to me, “Stephanie, YOU want control of this area, my love. You want your will in this matter. But you know this is not about you.  And you know this is not really so much about this issue itself, as it is about your heart.  Where is your faith? Are you genuinely trusting me in this matter? You know that it is impossible to please me without faith, and I know that’s really what you want. So, repent. Repent of not trusting in ME with ALL of your heart. Repent for trying so tirelessly to lean on your own understanding instead of mine. Acknowledge me in the littlest of details in all of these areas. And now OBEY these commands: Trust me. Don’t even try to lean on your own understanding. Acknowledge me.”

So, into His grace I willingly fall, full of thankfulness and praise that He would pursue my wavering heart again. And I smile at the thought that in His genius, He’s orchestrated yet another set of circumstances that are perfectly tailored by Him to keep me trusting in Him.

Let's Hear From Larry:

One of the most cited stories for trusting God is the story of Abraham and God’s call for him to sacrifice Isaac. The question seems to be, “How could Abraham follow the command of the Lord like that?” While this question is most fitting, I believe that it is not quite the right one to ask. Here’s why: Abraham already could and would follow because of previous experience with the leading and command of God in his life and the life of others. The very first interaction we encounter in Genesis 16 between Abraham (Abram) and God is the command to leave Ur and his home to go to a land he had never seen. When Abraham obeyed; God was faithful. When God promised a kingdom to Abraham and his descendants, and Abraham responded by not confessing Sarah as his wife before kings; God was faithful. When land was divided with Lot, Abraham’s nephew, and Abraham had to ultimately plead to have Lot saved from a city’s destruction; God was faithful. When promised a heritage of children in old age and followed the word of his wife rather than God; God was faithful.

So when the time came to overcome his potential fear of not seeing the promise of God fulfilled through Isaac, he was faithful. And this is trusting the Lord. I need not fear that God will come through and be faithful to what he has commanded and called me to, I have a bank of evidences that prove that faithfulness. Even when I fail to be faithful; God is faithful.

But this is difficult. When Stephanie and I faced some difficult times with having children, a close friend would spend time with me and ask me a simple, straightforward, and hard question: 

“Where is your faith?”

Simple because this is the Christian life; faith and trust in Christ’s work alone. Straightforward because it really boils down to, “Do I trust God at His Word and deed?” Hard because, well, it’s hard to trust sometimes. Perhaps all the time.

Trusting Jesus is just the same as Abraham trusting God. It requires that we stake our obedience and faith, in things present and future, on the wealth of evidences provided by Christ, namely His death and resurrection. And we can have trust and faith, even when we fail, because, as a friend of mine recently said, “Death and resurrection do not provide me with a string of successes, rather it keeps me from collapsing under my string of failures.” This is our hope and faith, that Christ is trustworthy for He has proved Himself time and time again

Christmas has passed and we are all gearing up to make resolutions for the new year, but beneath all of the crumpled wrapping paper and wrinkled stockings lurks the one thing that no one made it through Christmas without...  

THE WORST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER!

 

Source: Uploaded by user via Megan on Pinterest

Perhaps you opened a box expecting jewelry only to find:

 

Source: perpetualkid.com via Megan on Pinterest

Bacon candy? Really?

Or perhaps that nice pine-scented candle that you were hoping for turned into this:

 

Source: thinkgeek.com via Megan on Pinterest

I hope it doesn't smell like formaldehyde...

I remember the year I received  

THE WORST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER 

like it was yesterday. 

My grandparents had sent me a big 'ol box, so you know I was excited to open it.  Yet as I tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box, you will never believe what greeted my eager eyes.  On the very top of the box was a magazine article about menopause.  I'm pretty sure I was 16 or 17 years old at the time, so I assumed that they had just used the article for packing purposes and passed it over to my mom.  Directly under the article, however, I discovered a pair of my dad's underwear that he had left behind on our last visit to the grandparents' house.  At this point, I'm not even sure that I am opening a gift that was meant for me. But after double-checking the tag, I kept digging.  After all of the trauma that I had endured getting to the bottom of this box, I was sure that the gift would be amazing!  My teenage mind was hoping for all kinds of things: cool geodes from Colorado (where they live), DVDs and books that I would truly enjoy, jewelry, a new attachment for the mixer they had given me for my birthday...  And yet when I got the the bottom of the box, I found two place-mats.  Not four, so that I could set a matched table.  Nothing electronic or shiny.  Two place-mats, each quilted by my grandma with care with my name stitched in the back, so that I could be sure this box really was meant for me.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my grandmother's quilting, but these particular place-mats came after an article about menopause and a pair of my dad's underwear.  I remembered to write a "Thank You" note that year, and I will never forget the laughter that we all got out of that box.

So how about you?  What is the worst gift you have ever received?

 At least you will always know it was better than

Source: furby.com via Megan on Pinterest

We all thought they were cute once, but after 2 days, you'll never let it out of the closet again!


Belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, y'all!

Something that I have learned being a Hispanic, raised in Miami, is that people love stories. They love to tell them and they love to hear them. I have to admit, my husband, Leonard, is the best storyteller I have ever met in my entire life. He has this incredible ability to tell a story, whether fact or fiction, with impeccable detail and imagery that usually leaves a person begging for more. The only problem is, after knowing my husband for only six short years I have heard every…single…one of his stories at least twenty times each. And, oh how I wish that were an exaggeration. But in his defense, there are a few stories that I wish I could hear him repeat over and over again for the rest of my life. These are usually the stories that focus on salvation, grace and the immense power of the gospel. Those key concepts are the focus of my story and it is a story that I hope my husband and my children wish and hope that I too would share with them for the rest of my life.

From as far back as I can remember I have always been a “daddy’s girl”; therefore it would come as no surprise that when my father suffered a brain aneurism and then a stroke it would change our lives forever. My father survived his aneurism, but soon had to undergo the process of relearning everyday functions, such as walking, talking, reading and writing. His personality was so drastically different to the point that even his laugh had changed. He had become this person that barely resembled the man I grew to know and love. Therefore as my father spent the next few years adjusting to his new life, I spent those same years trying to figure out how to get by without the deep relationship I was longing to have with him. 

Even though my family and I were actively involved in a local Catholic Church I found myself drifting further and further away from God. As more and more time had passed I became bitter and angry with Him as I blamed Him for all that had happened. I began to search for companionship in all the wrong places. I dated as many guys as I possibly could and shut my parents out of my life as much as possible. By the age of fourteen, I had gotten into my first what I would have considered back them to be a “serious relationship” and became sexually active. It was around this time that I began to experience various symptoms of depression. I began to eat less, I continuously felt fatigued, I was constantly getting headaches and having digestive problems, I would sleep excessively, I always wanted to be left alone, and I was overwhelmingly consumed with suicidal thoughts. 

The depression began as sadness and soon grew to grief until it reached utter despair. I couldn’t explain the source because most days I didn’t know where it came from. I remember feeling so consumed with anger and sadness that all I could do was release the pain in any way possible. It was around this time that I began to self-mutilate. It started off small, as simple scratch marks on my arms, but would eventually lead to hundreds of cuts that would cover my legs, arms and torso. 

It was in the middle of my freshman year of high school when my mother took me to my first visit with a psychiatrist. Within a week, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and severe anxiety. And just a few weeks later my first “serious relationship” ended when my boyfriend decided to break things off with me. Just a few weeks later, I attempted suicide. I consumed over fifty capsules of Tylenol mixed with alcohol and just about any other medication I could find in my parents medicine cabinet. As I rested in a hospital bed later that evening I overheard the doctor tell my parents that after everything I consumed that evening there was no reason why I should still be alive. And in my bitterness and rage I found myself asking “Why?! Why am I still alive?!” I then spent the next two weeks in the psychiatric ward at the local children’s hospital where I was diagnosed with clinical depression and was quickly put on medication and given nothing more than mere coping mechanisms. 

Upon returning to school the anxiety began to set in to the point where I could not get through a day without having several panic attacks. Each one began to feel more unbearable than the last. It felt as if someone had cut off my ability to breathe and I was left gasping for just the smallest amount of air. I was told that the medications were meant to help alleviate those feelings, but most days they only increased the symptoms. Needless to say, my depression only worsened as I began to realize that no one could sympathize with the “psycho girl,” which is what I soon became known as at school. So I searched again for love, but yet again in all the wrong places. 

I became more sexually active than I was before and dated several guys, but with each let down I spiraled deeper and deeper into hopelessness. I began taking razor blades to school so that I could cut myself in between classes and I would often come to class with blood seeping through my clothing. About three months after my first suicide attempt, I attempted suicide again when I tried to cut my heart out with a razor blade. It was not long after this that I was admitted yet again to the psychiatric ward. At this point I was more sad than angry. I could not understand why this darkness was not lifting and I felt like no one could see, feel or understand this immense pain. I was longing for attention and desperate for love. 

By the end of freshman year I had started dating someone new. This relationship would last four and a half years and although it was a good relationship, it still did not fill the void of loneliness. For the last three years of high school I still struggled with self-mutilation and depression and I carried these things with me into my college years. In my sophomore year of college my boyfriend ended our relationship and it was almost as if I had gone back to being that lost and broken little fourteen-year-old girl again. The depression and anxiety came back with a vengeance. I was more angry and bitter than I had ever been before. So of course, yet again, I went looking for love in all the wrong places. I dated as many men as I could and just bounced from one relationship to the next hoping to fill the void that so desperately needed to be filled. 

At the age of nineteen I met a man who was different from the rest. His name was Leonard. We met at a college party and became friends instantly. At that point in time, Leonard had only been a Christian for one year, but he was visibly and passionately on fire for the Lord. We began dating and within a few weeks I began attending church with him. Although I was receptive to what I was hearing and learning from the pastor I was not ready to change my lifestyle. I was consumed by my fleshly habits and was afraid to drift away from those parts of my life that had become a source of comfort. I continued to self-mutilate and my depression continued to manifest itself through my words and actions. At a time when most people would have run away out of fear, disgust or confusion, Leonard stayed. Not only did he stay, but as I would find out years later he spent almost every day those first few months of knowing me praying for me and for my salvation. This is why I can say that in that time of helplessness, Leonard was the best earthly representation of Christ that I could have ever encountered. 

I spent the next month and a half struggling to let go of my sin. My self-mutilation had become a source of pleasure and relief, yet every time I sat through a sermon I was burdened by the pangs of conviction. I knew that I needed to let go of those things and put my faith in something steady and strong. It only took two months for the Lord to get a hold of me and shake my heart to the point of confession and repentance. I do not know the exact moment that I was “saved” or the exact time that I put my faith in the Lord, but I do remember the day that I was baptized. When the pastor put me under the water and recited these words: “Buried with Him in baptism, and raised to walk in newness of life.” On that day, something inside of me changed and the Lord began to do a miraculous work in me. By his grace, I spent the next two years consuming and learning from His Word. I became actively involved in our church and was given the opportunity to minister to children and their families. I fell in love with and married the amazing man who demonstrated Christ-likeness to me when most people were too afraid to even try. And I learned how to bow down in reverence to the God who extended his grace and mercy when I least deserved it. I struggled with depression, anxiety and self-mutilation for seven years, but that is nothing compared to the eternity I will spend with my precious Lord and Savior.  

1 John 5:9-13 says, “If we receive the testimony of men, the testimony of God is greater, for this is the testimony of God that he has borne concerning his Son. Whoever believes in the Son of God has the testimony in himself. Whoever does not believe God has made him a liar, because he has not believed in the testimony that God has borne concerning his Son. And this is the testimony, that God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life.”  

This is the message of my testimony, that through the Son of God I have been given life. We, who were once dead in our sins, can come before the throne of grace in complete humility and receive forgiveness; therefore it is on the saving work of Christ that my story is built. 

The impact of my story has nothing to do with anything that I have done, but everything to do with what God has done through His work on the cross. Therefore my testimony is not merely my story; it is ultimately God’s story. My story is all about Him. He creates. He restores. He redeems. He is the story!

Over the years there have been several times when I have heard the words of that doctor ring in my ear, “There is no reason why she should still be alive.” I understand now why I lived and I believe that part of that reason is happening right now, in this very moment. I believe that I lived in order that I might share my story with all who are willing to hear in order to bring glory and honor to the One who saved me and gave me new life.