Category: Inspiration (Page 7 of 7)

Today we’d like to introduce you to our friend, Chris Simning. The only better gift than reading his story would be to sit across the table and hear him tell it. As a teenager, Chris’ life took a dramatic shift when he woke up unable to lift his head. God has done some tremendous work in his life and now he travels as a speaker of God’s faithfulness.

My heart raced while beads of sweat formed across my brow. Three-ring binders popped opened while about a hundred medical students from the University of San Francisco sat mesmerized in an amphitheater-style lecture hall.  They began to write feverishly between notebook paper lines, concentrating meticulously upon jotting down every terminology used, then glancing upwards in sporadic intervals at the neurologist explaining to them a diagnosis that they had only read about in textbooks.

They diverted their eyes to a terrified eighth grader before them.  Me!

Where was God? And did he love me?

If so, why was I so alone with a rare muscle and nerve disease not all too common for humanity?

Why did I have to stand in front of a crowd of white smocks being on display for them to study a hot new specimen with a condition that seemed to become my epidemic and nobody else’s problem?  Yes, I suppose I was one of kind but for reasons where I thought I no longer mattered because now I looked awkward and could not function the way that I used to in a society so apt to judge a book by its mere cover.

My life was changed somewhere in the course of one lone night in the year of 1983. The next day on Easter morning I awoke to discover that my world was rattled and somehow I turned up bruised.  Everything turned to chaos from the moment I stood from my bed and I found my chin touching my chest.  My head was lumped over so far for no apparent reason and it spun my life into pandemonium.  Going from your average, run of the mill kid, an obscure muscle and nerve disease immediately gripped my life forever from that day forward and pulverized me for the ensuing years.  Scars from brokenness made a mark that reeked havoc upon my soul.

I didn’t have a choice but to embark upon an unwelcome adventure. The cutesy, psychological sentiment of “one of a kind” emerged from others, although in this case I did not want to be labeled as such.  My body had twisted, contorting itself into something like a pretzel.  The back of my neck had a muscular bulge that might as well have been the size of Mount Rushmore that caused me to be self-conscious of my appearance.  I suddenly became sensitive to any comment or snide smirk that came from a wandering eye who feasted their eyes upon me and in turn lashed their tongue to form words that pierced me with jagged arrows.

I didn’t fit in anymore and my confidence was shattered. As a junior high student, I felt utterly alone as if I was left to scrape up the discombobulated pieces that were once my life to try to retrieve the normalcy of childhood innocence once again but it was met without success.  Instead to my dismay, I grieved a death to the whimsical charms of youth not knowing how or even if I wanted to move ahead into the mystery of the unknown.

I was forced to grow up, and yet to the scrutiny of being judged for how I looked and for a lie that for many years I would come to believe about who I was.

Did I somehow fall through the cracks? Did the Lord forget me?  Then, why was I cheated, robbed of my youth?   My life became an existential quandary as I grappled with my reality, envisioning a life similar to paralysis that from its onset would worsen initially.  The prognosis of my muscle and nerve disease each and every day for the next five years after waking up with it eventually put me into the confines of a wheelchair with a speech that was slurred.

My mom was planning out the music she was going to play at my memorial service at the age of 18.

Needless to say, I’m not your typical Christian because I can’t afford to be. To be frank, I do not even like the term “Christian” due to its misrepresentations of church services being transformed into what is the cultural norm.  I rather prefer to be called a follower of Christ.

I started going to counseling, but in a rather kind of a holistic manner.  My sister babysat for a family of three daughters.  The mom was busy like most, and the dad was a pilot in the United States Air Force and on the side did some counseling for others.  One night before coming back home, my sister asked the dad if he would be willing to see me due to the difficult transition in my life of dealing with the rarity of a newfound muscle and nerve disease. This began a six-year relationship with a man that the Lord used to change my life, and I did not go to an office, but he came to me when he wasn’t flying on a mission and his payment was sitting with us and having dinner with my family.  After time around the table with all of us, my family would leave and this dear man would simply open the Bible and talk to me about God’s love, how I was created in His image, and how His faithfulness would show itself true in the most difficult of circumstances.  Tuesday evenings became sacred to me!

Years later, I stumbled upon a couple of verses that have since become my life’s ambition, the essence to what drives my passion, and the calling that I wasn’t looking for but somehow found me.

“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him” (1 Corinthians 1:27-29, NIV).

The disease I have is known as torsional dystonia, or today it may be referred to as torsion dystonia. At first, it overwhelmed and taunted the very fabric of my being, poisoning me by the power to believe things about myself with society lending to that reinforcement.  I eventually made a conscious decision to choose to serve the Lord Jesus regardless of where this debilitating disease would take me, which possibly meant death and certainly confinement to a wheelchair for the rest of my days.

No, I never envisioned ever being able to walk again and now I have been miraculously doing so for years (through the tool of water therapy that the Lord used) and I have gone on to do things such as drive, live on my own, and earn a Master’s degree in clinical psychology.

I declare myself to be healed though to the outsider a disability is still obvious in how I walk, look, and talk.

I was working on summer staff at Hume Lake Christian Camps when the Lord provided me with an opportunity to speak my story to a group of high school students every week of that particular summer. One opportunity turned into other opportunities and the snowball effect happened.  Before long, I was speaking more regularly about how God’s economy does not depend upon our definition of success or upon our prescription to what heals.  Rather, he chooses to use what we deem to be foolish, weak, lowly, and despised, because He nullifies what we assign as wealth and prestige to make us look so small in His winnowing power that leaves us breathless.

I have since been given the unheard privilege to speak to those who get lost in the crowd and to those in church parking lots who experience heartache feeling that they have to put on a happy face in order to enter the doors of a sanctuary to garner an acceptance. My heart aches for them and for the disillusion of what has become protocol.  I proudly tell people that I am a missionary to Christians, which seems counterintuitive, yet believers are desperate for Him without even knowing.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is about finding meaning in our brokenness, knowing we are redeemed through a Savior. This amazing grace allows us to live out a purpose in the imperfect world of our trials instead of stifling ourselves by its distractions, stuck in that unending façade in how we think we rid ourselves from those “ugly” things about us when all the while they still remain.

I am living a dream that I once believed to be a nightmare.

I started Chris Simning Ministries (a.k.a. OBSCURE Ministries) in 2000 based from 1 Corinthians 1:27-29.  It is a non-profit organization that is an evangelical speaking entity whose mission it is to validate pain, restore hope, and to build resiliency out from the clouds of seemingly impossible hardships.  The aim is to promote growth in those who are wounded whether emotionally, physically, or spiritually, and to enhance their faith amid the difficult questions of why.   I want people to see Jesus in the reflection of their pain and to live out the blessing of being comfortable in their own skin.  God uses the OBSCURE things of life to bring about a CURE for our souls.

Today, I span the country, sometimes the globe speaking about the power of story and the Lord’s faithfulness in the trying times of brokenness that is often used to lead us to an abundant life in Jesus Christ.  My life is a thematic expression that attests to His faithfulness . I have been granted this life as a gift.  To the Lord Jesus be the glory that He would choose somebody like me to declare to others to never underestimate the power by which God silences the masses by His miraculous hand to all who believe!

I praise God for my family and a few close friends who were influential in the way that they loved me when I couldn’t see Jesus in the midst of the dark days of my soul and a life that I certainly did not sign up for.

We are loved. We are worth it.  It’s why He paid the ultimate sacrifice by dying for our sins on the cross and having victory over death by rising again.  Stand restored! “For in him we live and move and have our being…” (Acts 17:28, NIV).

–Chris

Today’s guest writer is a dear friend of ours. Coree Keenan  is one of the most giving people on the planet. An accomplished photographer, she captures the beautiful and candid moments of life best through her camera lens. She has begun a new journey with God – asking Him to reveal Himself through signs. Look how it played out right before her eyes.

God gifted me with a strong sense of independence.

My husband and I have been married for 12 years and I’ve always felt that I am not his; rather we are each other’s.

I love my husband but I am not a doting wife.  He is very deserving of that …but it is not me.

The strengths of all great super heroes become their ultimate weakness, right? God is funny like that.

So little by little I can see that my husband deserves more; more attention, more sensitivity, more tenderness…and I don’t know how to offer that to him without insulting my independence.

So…I pray for signs. I don’t pray for God to change my heart. My heart is there with my husband.

I pray to be taught how to love serving him. (I shiver typing that, it is so not what I want to pray for. It is on my heart and I did not want it there. God put it there because there is no other way that *it* got in *there*.)   So here is the lesson that He put before me:

My grandfather had been taken to the hospital by ambulance in the middle of the night. He had a blood clot. He was stable and receiving good treatment. He was likely to go home the next day but he is 90 years old and it was a scary time to be his loving granddaughter.

The nurse served him his lunch, a plate covered with one of those metal serving dishes.

He opened it up and asked what was inside. I forget that he is now legally blind.

I watched my Gram describe it to him in detail and remove all of the stuff that he doesn’t like. She removed all of the broccoli and the mushrooms.

She cut up his chicken as his hand had an IV in it. She opened his milk and stuck in the straw. “Harvey, this is vanilla pudding, may I open it for you? Or would you like to save it?”

I am not a doting wife. I like to serve. I am a champion volunteer…but I don’t do *that*.

She was so attentive to him. It was NOTHING that I have in me as a wife.

I have it in me as a mom. Towards the kids? Yes. Towards my husband? Nope. Not there. Nor would I receive that. I am too independent for that; too much feminism for that; too strong for that; too prideful for that.

Yet I admired it in them that day. It was a beautiful exchange and I admired it and it stirred something in me…and it felt weird.

I saw my Gram as a powerful caretaker with a very well defined supportive role. I didn’t see her as subservient to him. I saw her love for him.  It didn’t insult her. It wasn’t her job or her duty. It was her kind gift to him.

And I learned something from God that day; a little lesson that He put literally two feet in front of me. It was my sign. And it teensy weensy changed my stubborn independent heart a little tiny bit.

–Coree

“Firefighters have almost completely contained The King Fire, Cal Fire said Friday night. ” The wildfire that was  sparked 20 days ago reeked havoc on 151 miles of mountain terrain . The effects of the fire and smoke spanned for hundreds of miles. The landscape of the area has been forever changed. For those of us in NorCal, the King fire  affected the weather patterns and air quality in our area.   Even here at home, children were brought indoors for recesses, soccer practices were cancelled, and asthmatics were given breathing treatments.

I wrote this entry last week….

“Here at home….it’s an eery kind of overcast. The smell of smoke is thick in the air. The air quality reports are measuring dangerous to sensitive people.

And my family- we are sensitive. Not to breathing the smoky air but to the memories the smell triggers for us. There has been so much healing, but the memories are still fresh from our own fire.

Two years ago- that pungent smoke smell accompanied the horrific sight of watching our home burn down.

Flames of FIRE only burned a few of our belongings, the attic, and the wall frames of half of our house. SMOKE, however permeated everything that could be salvaged. For months, that smell would make my throat ache and my stomach churn. SMOKE and Fire: destructive accomplices  working  hand-in-hand to destroy.

AND YET, as I breathe that smoky air and remember our house fire, I remember the devastation, yes. I remember the loss and the trauma my family experienced but more than that I remember GOD’S PRESENCE.

The thick smoke smell brings it all back.

God in fire.

Literally.

He was with us.

I think about the devastation fire brings. I remember how it took my kids’ toys, and my childhood piano, our furniture, and some nostalgic objects. I remember the trauma of being “homeless” for a bit. But more than that I remember how GOD was SO very present in it all. It was like He was right there with us. Everyday we saw miracles. We needed and He provided. We were scared and He comforted. We were traumatized and fearful and He restored our courage and hope. We lost almost every tangible THING, but we gained the KINGDOM.

“Though you walk through the fire, I will be there. And through the flames. You’ll not, be burned. For I am with you.” Isaiah 43:2

And here’s the weirdest and coolest thing. In studying the Bible , I learned that God used FIRE and SMOKE to represent his God’s presence again and again. One commentary said “God’s revelation of Himself and His will was often accompanied by FIRE.”

Think about it:

• The voice of God spoke to Moses in a “burning” bush
• When Moses went up to meet God at Mt. Sinai, the mountain top was consumed with FIRE (the very presence of God)
• When Baal and Elijah chose to sacrifice at the altars, they both prayed for their gods to bring down a FIRE from heaven to show which one was REAL. Guess who won?
• Shadrack, Meshack, and Abednego were thrown in the FIRE when they refused to bow down to another god.  The image of a fourth man was also seen in the fire (Jesus)
• God led the Israelites to the Promised land through a cloud of smoke in the day and  a pillar of FIRE by night.

The year anniversary of our house fire, we sat around the table and talked about what we remembered, what we had learned. My six year old son said it best: “I learned GOD was REAL.”

Yep, and He did that through the fire.  So from this day forward, when I smell that pungeant smoke smell, or I see flames burning, or hear news reports of land set ablaze, my heart will ache for those who will experience loss through that fire. I know how devastating that can be. But part of me will smirk a bit and think.”just wait – God is gonna reveal Himself through that fire.”

“Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.” Hebrews 12:28-29

Alyssa

Hi! It’s such a privilege to introduce you all to our guest author today as she shares a page of her story! Jenny Blanco is a busy mom of 2 boys, co-founder and leader of a local mom’s ministry, and successful personal trainer. Her passion for others and for fitness is inspirational…and we love what God is doing in her life!

Sometimes God asks us to do things we would never imagine GOD would ask us to do. Sometimes it’s not as complicated as we expect. Sometimes He simply asks us to put one foot in front of the other.

It was early in the morning on the day of my oldest son’s birthday party. The house was silent and I woke and I lay there knowing that soon enough my 6 month old baby would be crying for me, but for now I could just lay in the peace of the early morning. Then a voice spoke to me,  a soft whisper: ‘get up and run.’ I couldn’t help but smirk. Just 6 months out from back to back pregnancies where I gained well over the suggested 30 lbs per baby. I was significantly out of shape and over weight and hadn’t done more then walk in 2 years. So I laid there, and tried to quiet the voice. Again it spoke to me: ‘Get up and run.’ I couldn’t ignore it this time so instead I argued with it. I went through my list of reasons why I shouldn’t run today: I had guests coming over today, a birthday party to prep for, and a very full day. But God was relentless, “Get up and run!” With a huge sigh I was out of bed, digging through my drawers for appropriate clothing, huffing my shoes on, fixing my hair and all the while exasperated that I was up so early on this silent, dark morning to do the one thing I hated and was so terrible at. I opened the door to the brisk, dark morning. Talking to myself about what I was going to do, how far I was going to go, how long could I last at this crazy run God had asked me to do.  And He spoke to me again but this time he put a verse on my heart: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me- Philippians 4:13 and I began to run. Now I’m not kidding- it was horrible and lasted about 30 seconds! I went through several run/walk circuits that morning. Just running as long as I could before walking again.

But the actual run didn’t matter.  That first morning God met me right where I was. He asked me so sweetly to join Him that morning when he woke me from my sleep. He prompted me to meet him in the darkness and to do something I never would have done on my own. He was on my heart and in my mind giving me strength I never thought was possible through my very first early morning run. We spoke that morning. We shared that run/walk. He was prompting my heart, mind and body to do something greater. He had a plan for me that started that very morning, a plan that would become apparent months and months later that only my obedience that first day would unlock.

Sometimes God asks us to join him in a place you never think is possible. Sometimes it’s a voice asking you to do something so unusual but, if you are obedient, it may be the start of an amazing journey and it all starts with putting one foot in front of the other.

-Jenny

I’m a go-a-million-miles-a-minute kinda girl. In college, I was told that ‘no man is an island’ (the person had probably read the book by that title). Back then I had many friends but rarely let anyone in. I was hiding an eating disorder and full authenticity was just too risky.

I’ve come to think of God as my ‘Good Dad’. Like a good dad he saw the weight I was carrying alone. He patiently wore down my defenses and taught me about true, deep friendship.

In this process there have certainly been times when I’ve shared too much or not enough, but overall I’ve learned how to be real and present with the people I’m given in the seasons in which they’re given to me.

A dear friend shared this quote from Momastery. Ironically it’s a friend I had in college but didn’t experience real depth with until years later. I think this quote perfectly summarizes the lesson my Good Dad taught me.

There is a term in carpentry called Sistering. Sometimes an existing joist, which was designed to handle a certain load can no longer handle its load alone. Maybe it was damaged by water or fire. Maybe it still has structural integrity but an addition is being constructed and the new load is going to be a lot heavier than before. Either way, now it is not as sturdy as it needs to be.

January 22, 2011 began as a great day. I hosted a party for my daughter, spent time with family, and went for a long run. An hour after my run I felt a familiar pain, one that had haunted me over the years without clear cause. I went through the regular motions of response but it only grew worse. All night I paced, vomited, clutched my abdomen. By Sunday morning my skin was yellow. I barely remember the drive to the hospital or my time in the ER. I do, however, have strong memories of my first night in the ICU – loneliness, fear, intense pain, an ache for my family…

Those initial days were characterized by pain and silence. There were tubes everywhere. I was burning up. Liters of fluid were drained from my abdomen. Oxygen was required. I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink and I couldn’t walk. Speaking was a struggle.

The greater questions (how did this happen? when will I see my kids?) were overshadowed by the heavy weight of each breath, each movement.

God met me in that heavy place. I began to experience peace in the midst of the pain. It was a bizarre dual relationship; I would feel overwhelming pain and longing along with deep comfort and rest.

It was as if, Psalm 91:4 sprang to life right there in that deep, dark place: “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge”

To this day I occasionally close my eyes and remember what it felt like when my only comfort and rest came nestled under His wing. As hard and awful as it was I still miss the intense comfort and connectedness I felt back then.

There are so many stories I could tell (and probably will) about the ‘hospital’. God used that experience to forever change my life and the course for my family. You’ll find that I often refer to the nurturing aspect of God’s character. As in this story, his care for me was incredibly personal, like a mother caring for her child (Isaiah 66:13).

Laura

The story is familiar. We’re going along on our merry way when suddenly, one day,  life takes an unexpected turn: a turn that leaves us injured, wounded and  feeling paralyzed.   We find ourselves in desperate need of help . I’m sure you have been there.

The Bible tells the story of the paralyzed man who couldn’t get to Jesus on his own. There were no wheelchairs, no hospital bed. He laid on a mat….Until his friends enter the scene.  God and man connected for a moment because his friends cared.   It was ultimately THEIR FAITH, not his own, that  healed him.  With compassion and great determination, four of them surrounded the paralyzed man and lifted the mat he lay on, carrying him to the house where Jesus was. And they didn’t stop there.  Through the crowds, the paralyzed man still couldn’t get to Jesus on his own. So the friends found a way- together. They distributed and shouldered his weight. They strategized, stumbled, leaned on each other, and creatively decided to just break the roof off the house. (Whose idea was that? Those are pretty determined friends,  if you ask me). Through that hole, they lowered their friend on the mat all the way down to Jesus’ feet.  “Pay attention to this one, Lord!” And BECAUSE OF THEIR FAITH, Jesus healed the man.

Can you relate to this story? I sure can. Two years ago, I was that girl on the mat. A series of painful events including the death of my grandmother and a devastating house fire left me broken, emotionally and physically exhausted, and paralyzed with fear.  It was in that time that the God who sees me and knows our needs came in the form of friends. Many, many folks jumped on board to help us, but 4 key people, in particular, chose the messy job of carrying my mat. Each one grabbed an end and carried me to Jesus.  They mobilized the community to provide food for our family, a roof over our heads, toys for our kids, care for my little ones when I couldn’t be a mother, and offered tons of emotional support.  Through THEM I knew God was real. God was caring for me through the hands and feet of friends.  Left on my own, I wouldn’t have been able to get off my mat and out of my pit. It was their love in action, their FAITH that God used to heal me.

Gradually I regained my strength. Then recently, one of my 4  mat- holder friends went down. She was the strongest of us all…none of us saw it coming.  She had been my “rock” in my ugliest and darkest days. It was time to carry her. With renewed vision I assumed the role of mat- holder, gladly sacrificing myself so this time my friend could be whole again.

” Comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (2 Corithians 1:2)

I watched my friend paralyzed from the pain of watching two loved ones pass away within the span of a couple weeks. And so…it was time for the mat-holders, those who were carried by her before, to be the hands and feet of Jesus, to provide for her tangible needs, clean her house, care for her kids, cry with her ,pray for Jesus to do a miracle. We assume new positions around the mat and carry our friend to Jesus begging Him to pay attention.

And I’m learning that this, my friends,  is community. RICH, deep, MESSY community. God did not create us to be alone. He comes in mysterious, supernatural ways. And sometimes he shows Himself through people.  They carried me on my mat when I couldn’t survive life alone, He healed me because of their faith. And now that I’m stronger it is a joy to carry them when life leaves them paralyzed.

Who in your life is “paralyzed” and can’t get to Jesus alone? Let’s be  mat-holders.

And when we find ourselves in those dark places  lying paralyzed on a mat- let us lay aside our pride and be willing to let God become real through our friends who know the way to the healer and will stop at no end to get us there.

“Carry each other’s burdens and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ” Galatians 6:2

Grateful,

Alyssa