Today i went to Mt. Vernon Baptist Church (where i'm a member) up in Boone, NC, and was "Commissioned." It was was a special event, getting to speak from the pulpit about my mission trip for a few minutes. Friends laid hands on me and prayed for my physical healing (as i'm 2 days out of surgery) and for the ministry in Peru, and for souls to be saved there. I got to speak in front of the college sunday school class seperately as well (about 200 people). I shared John 9, of how Jesus healed the blind man with spit and dirt and how ironic that was. The i told them that God was sending me, a broken (physically and spiritually) person, to go backpacking in the Amazon Jungle and how ironic that was. I asked for prayer that this clay vessel would hold together long enough for those indigenous people in Peru to hear the Gospel.
On the way home, i got to thinking about what it meant to be "commissioned" by Mt. Vernon. I got commissioned 2000 years ago by Jesus (Matthew 28:19-20). I think that was sufficient, but i think that rather than a commissioning at Mt. Vernon today, something else happened. My home church committed to pray for me, and that is something that i can always use more of.
Interestingly enough, i was greeted by a tall, elderly man in the foyer i'd never seen before. He just shook my hand. Feeling something in his hand, i asked, "What's this?" He said, 'That's for you," and he turned and walked away. Opening my hand, i found a $100 bill. I tried to catch up to him but a friend stopped me, unbeknownst to the situation that had just happened, to engage conversation. I didn't see him again. PTL.
On a lighter note, i heard my grandpa, Alvin, use a phrase that deserves repeating. "She was as happy as a june bug in a pile of dooky."
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