Andi Heminger

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Sinners, Sojourners, And A Whole Lot Of Grace

What does the word fake mean?

Earlier today I was talking to someone when they brought up the topic of fake people. When I hear the word fake, my brain immediately sends a message to my feet that says, "Run!" and I have to plant my feet to the ground so as not to look like a crazy person. I just hate that word. I hate hearing the gossip. I hate the fact that someone is being labeled 'fake' without even knowing it. I hate it.

As Christians, we are a part of the body of Christ. We have a bond with people that we hardly know simply because we both share in the joy of knowing Jesus.

We are called to stand alongside our brothers and sisters in their hardships, to fight with them the battles of this world, and to encourage one another in our faith. This world is a battlefield on which there is a daily fight for our hearts. On our own, it is a battle we cannot win. We need Christ. And just because He is so good, He gives us fellow believers to stand with us in this fight.

"...so that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it." 1 Corinthians 12:25-26

I hear friends of mine, mostly believers, call others fake almost daily. Someone is called fake because they wear lots of makeup, or because they have expensive clothes, or just because they posted a selfie with a bible verse. But the very worst one that I hear is that someone is fake because they pretend to be better than they are. I would hope that we are all trying to be better than we are. This isn't pretending. This is effort on our part to rise up from our sinful nature and change who we have been! We are sinners, living in a very fallen world, and because of this, we struggle to be who we are called to be in Christ. We wake up every day starting fresh and then the next thing we know, we are flat on our faces again, crawling back to the cross in search of forgiveness. And when we ask for it, we are wiped clean.

God, the perfect judge, faultless, holy and seated in glory, is gracious to forgive, so please, someone tell me why it seems to be everyones job to point out flaws in everyone else? What makes it okay to call someone who is trying so hard to be like Jesus fake?

Allow me to suggest that people do indeed know that they are screwed up, and that by trying to be better, by sometimes even seemingly putting on a different face, it is not for your benefit but for the benefit of their own personal relationship with the Lord. If they were to walk around all the time being the non perfect human that they are, flaunting their sins, and allowing that to resonate within their lives, then their hearts would be hard and it would be something much more serious to talk about. But the truth is, everyone is struggling. Everyone is falling. Everyone is hurting and seeking and hoping for someone to come alongside them and say, "You are my brother/sister, let me walk with you." The path that we journey on is narrow. The road is rough and along the way, there are those who will try to knock us off. Alone, we are helpless. With God, we are conquerers. And with our brothers and sisters in the Lord, we are an army for Christ -- a force that is not to be reckoned with.

Stand with those God has put in your life as the body of Christ, and give grace to those who need it. We all do. You included.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

To all you other country kids

Today I walked into class and as I sat down, the girl that I sit next to said, "That camo hat makes you look intimidating."
I'll come back to that.
My writing professor is the kind of lady that I wish I didn't know. The first essay we were told to write was supposed to be about a defining moment. Something that we do or something that happened in our life that makes us who we are. Right off we were told we couldn't write about our faith or sports. Coming to know Jesus is the biggest defining moment in my life and my faith in Him makes me who I am, but that was tossed out the window. Sports. I have been playing sports since I was 4 years old. I have played basketball, volleyball, tennis, softball, but, of course, have stuck with soccer for 14 years now. Sports mean a lot to me. But that was shut down as well. Okay, that's fine. I live on a farm. That's unique. Moving out to the country was something I could definitely consider a defining moment. It has changed me in many ways. This is what I decided my topic would be. I wrote about the moment when my dream of living on a farm came true and I then transferred to what it is like. I talked about taking care of animals, and what I have learned about hard work. I took it to the writing center and the lady I worked with told me it was a terrific and inspiring essay and I was pleased and feeling good about it.
Well, that feeling was a mistake. Today in class, my professor told me that my essay was one that she had no interest it. She said that she does not care about farms and therefore, it is unattractive to her. She found my comments about learning to work hard rude because, as she admitted, she is overweight, and manual labor turns her off. She pointed out that most farms are mega farms and therefore, "don't need physical work to be done", because everything is controlled by machine's. Excuse me? I think some of those mega farmers would beg to differ.
On a side note, she dissed my mother. (Rage.)
In essence, because my article did not relate to her, it was unappealing in her eyes. As I walked out of class, I was boiling. I got in my car and starting driving home through Lansing. At the first stoplight, I pull up next to a little car that was blaring perverted music, windows all the way down, and a guy shouting/singing along with it. I kid you not, I had my music fairly loud and I couldn't hear it beneath his. He turned to look at me and started throwing winks and kisses and I nearly lost in. I was driving on a road with four lanes of cars next to me, it smelled like smoke and McDonald's, there were billboards of half naked models, and there was not a tree in sight. I just thought to myself, get me out of here.
As I got closer to home, I started seeing trees everywhere, their leaves changing to beautiful oranges and red and yellows. Instead of rows of cars next to me, there were rows of corn. The air was fresh and crisp and all I wanted to do was stick my head out the window and smell everything around me. I pulled up behind a truck and I could faintly hear the country music coming from it. I drove past D&G and there were tractors outside -
- a site I would take any day to disgusting billboards. I stopped at the gas station and there was an older man in a truck next to my pump who tipped his hat at me. Walking in, a young guy held the door for me and said, "Good afternoon."
I pulled into my driveway heated and saw my dad walking out of the barn with a bucket. He was whistling to himself. I saw my little brother on the deck with his airsoft gun. I heard the cows and smelled manure. My dog ran up to me and immediately got my pants dirty. There were chickens roaming the yard and, walking in the door, I saw that there was sweat tea on the counter. This time I thought to myself, "This is my little piece of heaven. I love this place."
I love the country. I love the animals and the fresh air and the constant work. I love Saturday afternoon cider making with my family. I love watching my brothers learn to shoot guns. I love the sound of trucks rolling coal. I love country music and cows mooing. I love the almost southern-like way of the people in my small town. I love the rows and rows of corn and apple trees and sunflowers and fields that I can get lost in. I love wearing hats and boots and jeans that were ripped from many hours of labor, not because I bought them that way. I love driving down the road at 10 mph because I'm behind a tractor. I love playing with the new piglets and ending up covered in mud. I love standing out in the middle of my yard at night and seeing billions of stars. I love that there's always a pitcher of sweat tea in our fridge. I love that I can go outside and pick grapes and raspberries and apples and peaches for a snack and when it's time for dinner, we're eating our own meat and potatoes and vegetables. I love raising animals and then selling them and yes, butchering chickens is one of my hobbies.
I seriously love the country.
Back to the hat. Why does wearing a hat and boots and a belt buckle make someone look intimidating? I would have to assume it's because country kids are tough. They work hard -- they're strong. They can spend hours a day bailing hay, chopping and hauling wood, wrestling pigs, and so on. Country kids should be intimidating. They're awesome.
Maybe you love the city. You may love loud, crazy, music and rows of cars and guys that throw kisses to flirt and billboards and the smell of fast food and no trees or fields in sight. Maybe you hate the smell of manure or think guys in hats and boots are weird and you think sweet tea is gross and stars aren't something you even miss. That's okay. That's what you love.
I still love the country. After today, I think maybe I love it more than ever.
So to all you other country kids,
Merica.