Pause. Rest. Worship.

This was originally written shortly after I moved to Yuma. This little church got destroyed during that really bad storm a month or two ago–I really hope they are able to rebuild it.

I didn’t expect to find any beauty here in Yuma. I knew that living here was the right thing to do, and I never questioned my decision to come here from “America’s Finest City,” but the truth is, I never thought to see anything but cactus and dust, especially at work.

The funny thing is, it actually ended up being beautiful here. Driving to work in the springtime or just before a harvest is incredible. There are huge verdant fields on either side of 95, and they extend for acres. I have no idea what some of the crops are, but there is no denying the beauty of the fields.

Right in the middle of one a few miles down from KFR where I work, there’s a narrow dirt road that leads to a tiny church in the middle of the field. It makes no sense that it’s there, but it is. And when I say tiny, I mean that this building is about the size of a very small house. But it’s complete with a steeple and a clean white paint job. I have not yet stopped there, but I plan to soon. There’s a sign near the road that entreats the reader to

Worship Sign

That sounds good to me. It’s a very long day here. Ten hours for now, but depending on where I am eventually assigned, it could be as many as six ten hour days, and possibly twelve or fourteen hour days on occasion.

Pause. Rest. Worship.  I believe I will, at least I plan to as soon as I get the chance.

It turned out that my chance came just a couple of weeks later, when I got off work early. I drove slowly down the dirt road and parked just in front of the little church. I half expected the door to be locked, but it swung wide at my touch.

It was extremely hot in the little sanctuary, but the air was thick with both promise, and the Holy Spirit.

altar 1

Article 1

Article 2

outside 1

outside 2

pews 1

pews 2

I didn’t spend a lot of time in the church–just enough to read the clippings on the wall, and sit in one of the small pews and pray for a couple minutes. I’d like to bring Jenny and David there at some point. There was just something about that place that struck a chord in me–something about the devotion of the man that built it. I think he would have been a good person to know. He may even still be alive for all I know.

Anyway, if you’re going down 95, and you have a few minutes to spare, I encourage you to

Pause. Rest. Worship.

Question of the day

What length will God go to rescue even one lost sheep? 

I thought I knew.  Or maybe I did know, but I didn’t realize–didn’t feel the truth of it in my heart.  But now, today, I think of Easter.  I think of Good Friday, and that it wasn’t very good.  I think of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, in fulfillment of prophecy.  I think of him surveying the temple of His Father, and throwing the moneychangers out on their collective behinds.  He could have left after that, his mission partially accomplished.  He’d stirred the pot, and gotten people thinking.

But He’d also gotten himself noticed by the Romans, and the Sanhedrin.  This, too, was in fulfillment of prophecy.  He got himself beaten, whipped, spat on, mocked, and killed.

He had a sheep to rescue–lots of sheep to rescue.

He did that for me.


When I think about how little I think of myself, or when I look in the mirror and am disgusted, I need to remind myself that the face I see looking at me was created in the image of God, and that same God sent his

only son

down to a filthy, disgusting world to die on my behalf.  But this world, filthy as it is, also has a rough beauty about it.  There are things about it that are enthralling. 


It’s easy to get lost.

And the question remains:  what length will God go to rescue even one lost sheep?  Search your heart for that answer.  See yourself as that lost sheep.

What length?