"I Can't Believe in a God Who..."

                            

     

     

    I'm sure you've heard the sentence," I can't believe in a God who would send people to Hell who haven't ever heard of Him". I've thought about that sentence long and hard, plenty of times. In fact, I made my roommate ask me this question while I was getting my tattoo ( philosophical questions distract me from pain ). 

   I was at church Wednesday night sitting with my friends. I had thought the message    was going to be about prayer, but, by the time I realized it was about evangelism it was too late to run out! 

Prayer- O.K
Reading the Bible- O.K
Spreading the "Good News"- Uhhh...I'll just slip out the back...
      When It comes down to it, I just suck at evangelism! It's not really that I suck, I just care too much about what people think (Hey, I said this was honesty year). Fear literally overwhelms me. Instead of the powerful news of the Gospel coming out, a weak, apologetic, ho-hum, mumble of a suggestion seeps through.
 Sad. I know. 
Back to the story.
     So, while I'm sitting in church service the pastor addresses the lingering question " How can we believe in a God that sends people to Hell who have never heard His name?" 
Well, let me rephrase it to give you a clearer perspective on this question. It should sound like this :
 "I can't believe that the church would let people who have never heard Jesus' name, go to Hell without ever hearing the Gospel."
      That should punch you right in the guts. I know it punches me in the guts! Why don't we let it for a second if that's what we need.  Wow. 
    No one likes to talk about Hell. No one wants to believe that people will actually go there one day. But, the fact is that no one is blameless. Even the nicest of people have hurt others and themselves. Its our nature. 
If I am to call myself a Christian, then I cannot ignore that there is a real Heaven and a real Hell. Therefore, I don't get off on shrugging off the Gospel. I don't get to say "that's not my job"...because it is.
     As you can imagine, I needed a confidence booster after that service. So I dusted off my Bible  (it didn't have dust, but lets just say I haven't opened it enough lately) and turned to Ezekiel 33. I turned there because there is a story that relates directly to the message.Most of the chapter can be boiled down to this verse:

"If the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet to warn the people and the sword comes and takes someone’s life, that person’s life will be taken because of their sin, but I will hold the watchman accountable for their blood."

      What a sad day it will be when we see people that we know going to Hell and we could have saved them by just opening our mouths?  The Gospel requires word and deed. Our words are what separate humanitarians and Christians. I do not want to be accountable for not sounding the trumpet just because I cared too much about what people thought. 
Ezekiel 34 even goes further in saying,
" My sheep were scattered over the whole earth and no one searched or looked for them.... because my shepherds cared for themselves rather than my flock" 
OUCH! That was a pimp slap in the face! 
If God is serious about the lost, then so should I be. The urgency is greater now than ever. I need to get a fire under my tail like, 5 minutes ago! I hope this post ,if anything, is sobering. Pray for courage. I guess I can't chicken out now that I posted this blog! 
(sorry for the rough ending...)

The Best Whoopin' Story Never Told Part II: The Whoopin'

            

       It was a typical evening in the Hollis household. My mom and dad were watching TV in the living room, and my brother and I were playing games. If you have a brother or sister around your age, you probably know that playing and fighting are kind of mixed in to the same activity. That night, my brother and I were fighting more than usual. We were 8 and 9 years old, so you can imagine how annoying it must have been for my parents. 
Unbeknown to us, while all of our fighting and tattling was going on, my father had had enough! He issued the ultimatum.  He said " If I hear you guys yelling again, I'm whoopin' you both!". 


          My brother and I took this warning to heart. In fact, we let it settle there and make a nice home. Daddy's whoopin's were borderline child abuse. My dad is a short stocky man with arms the size of Popeye's (No, it's not because he likes spinach). Once that belt got to swingin', it wasn't stoppin'. Needless to say, an encounter with the belt was undesirable. 
     We continued playing quietly, until brother had to go and do something (I can't even remember what) that made me mad! I let out a drawn out "Mooooooooommy!" and It was too late to put the words back in my mouth. The words were spilled out on the floor like a glass of water running too fast to sop back up. My daddy got up and asked " Alright, who's first?". Now you already know, it WASN'T me. What do I look like volunteering myself to get the first whoopin'? I wasn't going down like that! I was waaaaay too clever. So I sent my brother to the slaughter. It was wrong, I know, but up until that point I had never been whooped by my dad. 
I listened to my brother through the door. For some reason it used to be HILARIOUS to hear my brother get a whoopin'! I never knew what went on in there, but it sounded like my dad was whoopin' Spider Man or somethin'! I'm even laughing now. 
      
          Anyways, after he was finished with my brother, my number was up. My heart sank. I was crying before the belt even touched me! I was a softy. The door closed behind me. I was so scared! I begged him not to whoop me! He showed no mercy. He raised up the belt strap to swing and as it came down,something magical happened! I caught the belt strap with my very hands! Yes, with my hands. This was my last hope. There was no going back. 
     My dad yanked the belt from me. I kept holding on. He yanked again, harder this time. I did not surrender that belt. By then he had enough. He pulled the belt strap so hard that I thought I would release it, but I did not. He was obviously stronger than me, so as he was pulling the belt, he was pulling me along with it. All of a sudden, he began pulling up! I found myself lifted off the floor while still clinging on to the belt strap. Yes, I was hanging in the air, holding to my father's belt strap, which was being held by my father....with one hand.... 
       
        Then, to my surprise, he chuckled. It was the miracle I had been waiting for. He put me back on the ground and struck a bargain with me. He said "If you walk out of here, get in the tub and go straight to bed, then I won't whoop you.".....And that's exactly what I did. Even as a young sprout I could recognize a deal too great to walk away from. 
To this day, I pride myself on the fact that I never got whooped with that belt strap. Not once. And for that reason, this is the greatest whoopin' story never told. 

The Best Whoopin' Story Never Told: Part I (Whoopins 101)

                       

          The other day I was having a conversation with my older brother about a time when we both got whoopins. Now, I believe that everyone should have a good whoopin' story, especially if you're black! Call it child abuse if you want to, but a parent should never hesitate to "spare the rod". I'll start this one off with some foundations in whoopin' etiquette. Let's call it "Whoopins 101".

1. There are a few differences between a "spanking" and a "whoopin'". A whoopin' evokes large rain drop sized tears along with deep feelings of guilt and physical pain. A spanking may produce some crocodile tears with thoughts like, "That was it?" or "Whew! Glad that's over...Quick! Remember to look sad...." A spanking is what most clever kids aim for.


2. You know you're getting a whoopin' when the parent is yelling with you. It may sound sort of like a, "Didn't. I. Tell. You. Not. To. Do (insert punishable action here) "


3. A Spanking is done with a small to average sized leather/pleather belt or a hand. A whoopin' is conducted with either a LARGE mens leather belt strap, a switch or anything within arms length of your parent. 


As a child I got plenty of spankings, but I was so terrified of that belt strap that I made sure we would never encounter each other! I am sad to say that we did encounter each other, two times actually. This brings me to the start of:
The Best Whoopin' Story Never Told.....

...So the World Didn't End.

                                           

      As I slipped on my jeans and shoes last Saturday morning, I realized that for many people, today was the end of the world. I'm sure you know by now that an 89 year-old man by the name of Herbert Camping predicted that the world would end on May 21, 2011. First of all.... He couldn't have given everyone an earlier notice? I mean, a one month notice isn't much time at all. In fact, it's just rude. I feel a little bad for the man though. As an (almost) ninety year-old man, all his dignity was lost because of a wrong prediction. He was wrong, yes, but it makes it a little sadder because he seemed sincere. Granted, he did make Christians look even crazier than everyone already thinks we are. Though the media does a darn good job too (our last chance was with Touched by an Angel, but then it got cancelled... After that there was no hope.).  Personally, I am convinced that we are indeed living in the  End Times; however, I was pretty sure it wouldn't be last Saturday. 

          Although I was mostly sure that the world wouldn't end last Saturday, It got me thinking: At some point it will. We all have to face what is on the other side of life, whether it be by the world ending or by death. Every one of us will have to account for our lives. 

      Honestly, if the world ended on last Saturday, I would have regretted not doing more with my life. There aren't any excuses I can use, though I am sure I could give you 20 right off the top of my head. The fact is that there is so much more that I aspire to spiritually and personally. Mr. Camping's "Dooms Day Prediction" (I refuse to call it a prophecy) at best, served as a reminder that everyone will have to account for their lives one day. What will we do to change the things that we fear judgement of ? 

                                                                              

                                                                                 Let's start now.

Artists of the Week

This week's Recording Artist of the week is Jeremy Messersmith
Genre: Folk/Acoustic
Why I like him: His sound is soft and sweet. His music is both refreshing and relaxing! His voice is beautiful!

Dorothea Lange

Image of a migrant Mother by Dorothea Lange

     Visual Artist of the week is photographer Dorothea Lange. Lange was a photojournalist who documented the reality of poverty during the Great Depression. I like her work because there is strong emotion attached to it as well as a story to be told. If you like her work I encourage you to look for more!

The Haircut

      I can't keep it a secret any longer! This week, I had to go through one of the most depressing and heartbreaking experiences that ,hopefully, I'll ever have to go through. I...had to get my hair cut off. This may be an exaggeration, but it's exactly how I felt. 
    Now usually, people get their hair cut because they want a fresh new style or because they're donating it. They get their hair cut for probably any other reason other than my own . However,  I had to get my hair cut because it died....yes....it died. Cause of death: The Perm (curse you!).  I spent so many months trying to revive it only to surrender it to the hands of my ghetto hair stylist.
      It was a cold, dark day. I felt  that the weather was also mourning the loss of my hair.
 As I was sitting in the chair, the ghetto hair stylist took the clippers to the back of my head and shaved it all off.  There was a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach....it was gone, yes, all of it (well at least the back). 
      I keep getting reassuring comments from my family and friends, but they don't understand...It's not the hair that was lost- it was the battle. The battle for new growth.     
Anyways, I'm still trying to cope. Here's what it looks like.

....At least I can put all the headbands I make to good use.

Did Somebody Say Horchata???

 Let me just say this,


"I LOVE Mexican food!"


 It's all my mother's fault! She exposed me to it at a very young age. As a result, I convulsively search for great Mexican recipes that need to be shared! Today's special recipe is Horchata!  Horchata is a rice-based beverage. There are actually many different ways to make it, from Rum to Hibiscus  flavored! Today, I'm going to keep it simple! 

Ingredients

• 1 cup long grain white rice
• 2 cups skinless almonds
• 1-inch piece cinnamon bark
• 1 cup milk
• 8 cups water
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Ice cubes

Directions

     Wash and drain the rice. Using a spice grinder (an electric coffee grinder works well too), grind the rice until fine. Add almonds and cinnamon bark. Grind. Pour into a bowl, then  add 3 1/2 cups of hot water and let sit overnight, covered. Add milk, then blend rice mixture until smooth using a blender. Add 2 1/2 cups of water and continue blending. Add sugar and vanilla extract. Strain Horchata into a bowl first using a very fine metal strainer (or a cheese cloth if you have one). Finish with up to an additional 2 cups of water until it achieves a milky consistency. Enjoy over ice!