Jennifer Marshall Bleakley's Blog, page 6

What’s with all the Latin??

You may have received some posts from me today in Latin.

No, I have not taken up a new language. And no, I am not I am not taking up wood working or app design!

But I am working on something……

Stay tuned for a big announcement coming Monday!

Thanks for your patience and understanding

No Fear Friday (Good Friday edition)

Today, No Fear Friday is all about the truly fearless One!

Happy Resurrection Weekend! Go be fearless in His Name.

Much love,

Jen

No Fear Friday

Several weeks ago I accidentally started a thing. A movement of sorts. Although in full disclosure it’s really just a movement of one, maybe two…possibly as many as three. But still…it’s kind of become a thing for me. And it’s called No Fear Friday.

You see, several weeks ago I had to send out advanced digital copies of  JOEY to my launch team. My launch team, comprised of people I actually know! I was terrified. I mean up until that point the only people I knew personally who had read my book were my parents. And well, they kinda have to love it, right??

So that day I sat at my kitchen table, my finger poised over the send button, completely frozen in fear.

What if they hate it?

What if they love it?

What if no one reviews it?

What if someone does review it?

Up to that point, JOEY had been my own little secret. (well, mine and Tyndale’s, and my agents, and collaborator’s….but you know what I mean! MY people hadn’t read it)

The fear was crippling. And that’s when I first felt God whisper to my heart the words, “no fear.” And because it was a Friday I added the Friday part

Maybe it’s time to consider a different platform…

I am a writer.

I make sense of my world by turning feelings into words—experiences into sentences.

Written words are as much a part of my daily life as eating and sleeping. And while some of my writing is private, and some only for a select audience, much of my writing involves words I long to share. Not because I am an expert or have it all figured out, but simply because I enjoy recording lessons and words God gives me, and I long to share them with others—just as a chef longs to share a new dish with patrons, or a composer longs to share a new melody with an audience.

God has nestled within each of us a desire to share our gifts with others. It is how we were created. And how he intends to bless and provide for his people. And yet, sadly, that innate desire to share our gifts can get twisted and tainted by selfish ambition, jealousy, insecurity and pride.

It is a desire that needs constant monitoring and guarding.

It is also a desire that—in order to be used as God intended it—needs to be surrendered to him daily.

Surrender. One of the two dreaded “S” words of the Bible. (the other of course is that most dreaded word: submit! But we will save that one for another day.)

Have you ever thought about what could happen if you surrendered your talent and gifts to the Giver of those gifts? Even if that means giving up dreams of a big platform, a book deal or thousands of followers?

We are living at a time when anyone can post a blog, self-publish a book, throw a video on YouTube and potentially reach thousands, if not millions, of people. And yet, the reality is the number of those who reach that level of fame or followers is tiny. Teeny-tiny.

But giant platforms are the standard, right? If you are a writer and want to have a book published with traditional publishing houses, most won’t even consider you unless you have 10,000+ likes, followers, comments etc. And so you write and follow and share and tweet and retweet and post and—unless you are one of the chosen few—you eventually give up because it’s exhausting!

All you want is to share a story God laid on your heart! All you want is to share with others the words he’s given you! But now, you feel beat-up, less than and defeated.

What’s the point?

Why is this so hard?

Why isn’t my platform growing? (by the way I vote that we erase the word platform from our lexicon!)

But what if we stop for just a minute, take a step back and consider something:

What if you are meant to share your story? What if the words God gave you are meant to be shared. BUT….what if they are simply meant to be shared in a different way?

A different venue? To a different audience—maybe even much smaller audience?

Would you be ok with that?

Would you surrender to God, your words, your story, and even your audience?

Consider this scenario:

You have lived through something tragic and know that your survival was the direct result of God’s presence and plan at work in your life. You have seen the light of hope and were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. You are living proof that God can redeem the worst life has to offer. And now, more than anything, you want to share your story with the world. You want to tell everyone what God did for you and encourage them, in the midst of their darkness, to look for his light. And so you write your thoughts down in the form of a book proposal. You write the first few chapters. You start a blog to begin building an audience. You schedule some facebook live videos to generate buzz. All so that you can share this amazing story. Because clearly God wants you to share this right? This was all him and you simply want to give him glory and help others. But weeks pass, months pass, and your platform has barely grown. You only have a handful of likes on your videos, a few comments on your blog from your aunt Sally, and an inbox full of rejection emails. “Lord, I just want to share my story,” you cry out, your passion beginning to wane. Feeling dejected and unnecessary, you are about to delete every word on your manuscript when you feel a whisper to your heart that says, “Then share it.”

“But they won’t listen, they don’t care,” you shoot back, convinced you are talking to yourself.

“Then share it with just one.”

The command is unmistakable and yet it goes against everything you have been taught.

“Just one? But this story needs to be told to millions Lord! It is so much bigger than just one! It’s a book! It needs to be a book! It needs a big platform. It needs to become a movement!”

You pretend the divine conversation didn’t happen. You don’t delete your manuscript but you do close your computer and decide to take some time away from building your platform. Then one day, needing a mid-day pick-me-up, you enter a coffee shop. and notice an old friend. She looks tired and far away. You smile and engage her in conversation. She confesses that life has gotten hard and things feel dark. You scoot in front of her in line and buy her coffee and then ask her to sit with you. You share your story with her. All of it. She is riveted.

“How did you survive that?” she asks, weary eyes fixed on yours as if they are a life-line.

You share how God held you through each painful moment. You cry with her. You pray with her. And she leaves. Lighter. And for the first time in a long time, full of hope.

You linger over your coffee, processing what just happened.

And though you will never know the impact your story had on that woman—or how the light of hope cast a glow over her that day that would grow into a flame which would allow her to shine the light of hope into the lives of many others—you suddenly see clearly the power of sharing with just one.

So what if today we erased the word “platform” from our vocabulary and write for just one?

What if we speak to just one?

What if we invest our time into just one?

And what if—just for today—one is just the right number?

If God has placed a story in your heart then share it! And don’t let anyone tell you that your story only has value if it’s bound in a book or shared a million times! Your story matters. Your voice matters. And maybe today there is one who desperately needs to hear your story. So share it, however God leads you to share it—knowing that, believing that, one truly does matter!

Much love,

Jen

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Confessions of a first time author (part 1)

T-minus 7 weeks till book launch…

I honestly thought writing the book would be the hardest part. But dear Lord, let me write a million more books instead of promoting just one! I am an introverted introvert. I crave quiet and order; anonymity and alone time; jammies and soft pillows. And I am terrified of public speaking; answering on-the-spot questions; and small talk. Oh, and I have horrible handwriting. So basically I have no natural skill-set for what is to come over the next few months.

And yet even just writing those words makes me feel guilty. I mean, I know there are so many people who would trade places with me in a millisecond. Many waiting to hear back from publishers. Many who have been told “no” more times than they can count and are dangerously close to giving up on their dream.

So why the heck am I whining about seeing mine come true?

But maybe that’s part of the issue. For the fact is, my dream was just to write a book. And to touch people’s lives with the fingerprints of hope.

My dream was not to stand on a stage and talk about the book. Or walk into a bookstore and tell them about my book. Or build a social media platform to promote my book.

My dream was to wear fuzzy slippers and type on my laptop. My dream was observe the world around me and turn those observations into stories. My dream was simply to craft stories of hope.

And yet…what good would those stories be if no one ever read them? Or how would anyone ever read them if they didn’t know about them? And how are they supposed to hear about them if I don’t share about them?

And so, here I am. Less than two months away from the release of my first book—and smack dab in the middle of marketing and promoting said book.

And it’s hard.

And glorious.

Overwhelming and humbling.

Confusing and exciting.

It is all the feelings, tossed together and shaken until they come flying out in a torrent of laughter or tears.

I have never felt more vulnerable or more exposed in my entire life. I have never been more nervous or more excited. Or experienced such rapid-cycling emotions.

And at least once a day I fantasize about telling everyone “never-mind,” pulling the covers over my head, and hiding for a week. But that is simply not an option.

Nor is it really what I want.

Because while this part is indeed uncomfortable, it is important. And I am slowly accepting that. And while I will have to speak from a stage, make small talk with strangers, sign books, and post and comment on social media, I am finally starting to realize (slowly but surely) that this entire uncomfortable process really isn’t about me at all.

Let me write that again so it soaks into my thick head: This is not about me.

None of this is about me.

It’s about Him.

It’s about writing what God laid on my heart to write.

It’s about sharing the message of hope—a message He led me to see.

It’s about getting over myself so I can love people in His name.

It is all about Him.

And so I put on my big-girl pants. 

And I pray for strength and peace and endurance.

And I trust Him to speak through me.

And I depend on Him to provide answers and give me words.

And I even surrender my horrible penmanship to Him.

Then I let Him lead me away from my comfort zone—reminding myself that He is bigger than my inadequacies, stronger than my insecurities, and more powerful than my fear.

And I commit to taking time to ponder and treasure every moment of this beautiful, amazing journey.

Which I will remind myself daily—hourly if need be—really isn’t about me anyway.

It is, in fact, all about Him.

Much love,

Jen

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The antidote

There are moments when God clearly speaks to your heart. Not audibly or from burning bush or anything, but gently and quietly and straight to your heart.

Today was one of those days.

You see, I have been plagued with fear. Shocker right! If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time you know fear and I go way back.

But this fear hasn’t been like the others. This fear doesn’t have anything to do with me not feeling adequate or capable or strong enough. No, this fear has been more insidious. Its tentacles wrapping around every good and gracious gift God has been giving me. This fear has been sinister in its taunts. Relentless in its pursuit.

This fear also plays dirty. Throwing past mistakes in my face. Manipulating and parading past struggles toward my present; making me feel trapped, and destined to repeat the same patterns.

This fear likes to ride the coattails of pride while it mocks, “You better not enjoy this ride too much or you’re going to get prideful!” Then it jabs with a right hook, “You know your heart. You know your past struggles. You don’t stand a chance!”

Ouch. Fear is a such a bully!

For the truth is pride is something I have struggled with for years. Although it didn’t always announce itself as pride (but really what sin does? What sin stands up and says, “hello, my name is sin!”) Sometimes it will show up as feelings of unworthiness, other times it sneaks in as self-sufficiency. Still other times it enters through the door of ambivalence. And then of course there are the times that it just struts through the front door as the ugly ol’ pride that it is.

And so I have been hypersensitive to my pride-o-meter as of late. Praying diligently for help in kicking pride—in all of its many forms—to the curb. Asking God to guard my heart. To convict me quickly. And to show me some kind of antidote to pride.

And He’s been quiet for weeks. 

“Surely you want me to figure this out Lord!” I would often mutter.

Silence.

And so I would pray some more. And I would read verses and write verses and memorize verses about fear and humility and surrender and remembering the Lord.

I even reached out to our pastor and sought his counsel.

And yet something was still missing. My joy had been hampered. And my spirit has been restless.

Recently, my husband saw me skimming over an early review of JOEY . It was positive and precious and normally would have made me weep tears of joy. But I just skimmed it.

“Sweetheart, that’s incredible,” he beamed, reading the review over my shoulder. “That must feel so good,” he added.

But then he looked at my face, “Wait, what’s wrong?”

The tears fell before the words came, “I….I’m afraid to read them. What if…Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t want to become….”

“Hey,” he said getting me to look at him, “don’t let your fear steal your joy.”

We talked, I cried (I’ve been doing a lot of that lately!), and then he left. But his words remained. Swirling around my heart. Shining light into the depths of my soul.

And then today while spending time in prayer for the people on my launch team (something I felt God prompt me to do this morning), I started really praying for each one, by name. I prayed that they would feel loved by God and by me.

As I was praying I began to feel convicted. But is wan’t a taunting conviction like I am used to from the enemy. This was a soft, gentle, leading away from one thing and towards another. Like a parent pulling their child away from the edge of a cliff and into their arms.

Love. I felt the word settle into my heart.

Love my people. The words echoed through my mind.

The sweet conviction hit its mark. I need to love people better. I need to see people not as distractions, interruptions or potential connections. But as people. Beloved by God. Made in his image. And worthy just because they are.

And so I prayed. A lot. Asking God to forgive my ambivalence and to help me love his people just like he would—like he does.

And then as I prayed and pondered, I again felt a stirring in my heart. And like bubbles floating to the surface came a phrase: Love covers a multitude of sins.

“Wait! I know that verse!” I exclaimed rousing my dog from her nap. “Where is that verse?”

A quick google search revealed its location in 1 Peter 4:8.

A laugh escaped my throat. Not a haha laugh but a God-induced laugh of sheer joy.

For there, right beside me on the table was my Bible, already lying open to, of all places, 1 Peter chapter 4. I have been studying that passage in my weekly Bible study. I have read that verse countless times and yet today…today at my table with my sleepyhead dog beside me, it jumped off the page as if seeing it for the first time.

Love covers a multitude of sins.

That means love covers fear.

It means that love covers pride!

All of a sudden my vision cleared and I could see the truth:

Love is the antidote I’ve been seeking!!

But our all-knowing God, who knows I’m a little slow at times, again whispered through the pages of His Word:

Love my people Jen and pride will flee.

Love my people Jen and your fear will vanish.

Commit to loving my people from the stage and from the page and you will be free to enjoy the gifts I am giving you.

Don’t let your fear—especially your fear of sin—steal your joy. Don’t allow it to enslave you. You are free. Live free. Love free. Speak free. Be free.

And with those beautiful, powerful words I felt the chains that have gripped my heart for months finally break free. And I smiled. Then I laughed. And then I read every word people have written about JOEY and I gave God praise and I smiled more. And I delighted in my good, good Father who, for some reason only He can understand, delights in giving his undeserving children precious gifts—gifts that are not meant to be hoarded or fretted over, but shared and enjoyed and smiled over.

And so now, here I am breaking every blog rule I know! This post is WAY too long, too rambling and it is not sprinkled with cute graphics. But I don’t even care! Because I am free! and this long, rambling post is my stone of remembrance and my public declaration of praise to the God I simply adore! And my way of thanking him for every single gift (the delightful ones and the difficult ones) that he has given me.

I love you Father. And YOU are the greatest gift of all!

Much love,

Jen

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Sometimes you just have to get out of the car

His body tensed, “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Doubts and fears were wreaking havoc on his mind. “I’m not ready. I’m gonna fail.”

Hormones were wreaking havoc on his self-esteem. “I look hideous. Everyone’s going to stare at me.”

It wasn’t just one thing, it was a culmination of many: being overtired, hormone surges, hunger, two tests, and the-ready-for-spring-break-blues. He was hurting, and nothing I said was helping.

We sat in the car and waited for the tide to ebb. Yet his distress only escalated. His fear paralyzed him. He didn’t think he could do it. He didn’t feel able to face his peers, didn’t feel ready to take his tests. He wanted to go home, put his pajamas back on, and retreat to his comfort zone.

I knew that could not happen—not if he was going to grow.

Realizing he was already late, I drove out of the parking lot and headed up the road to the donut shop. He stayed in the car while I went inside and got him some breakfast. He had forgotten to eat, which was certainly not helping his current mood. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to eat something. You will feel a little better, I promise.”

He looked at me with the skeptical eyes of a teenager, but his stomach won the internal fight and he ate. “Why can’t I just go home?”

“Because you have to face this. And you can face this. This is not as bad as it feels right now. You can’t always go by your feelings. Sometimes you just have to trust God to walk with you and know He’s got this.”

His body tensed, “But what if I fail?”

“Well, then you fail. But while you may fail by the school’s standards, but you will have succeeded to me and your dad because you tried. You will have trusted God to get you through this day. Let’s just say that for today, getting out of the car is more important than getting a good grade.”

He took a steadying breath, confusion etched on his face. “Why am I getting so upset?”

“Because you’ve held so much in for so long. Middle school is hard. Everything feels bigger and harder. You are changing from kid to grown-up and that process hurts sometimes. It’s ok to cry. In fact, every once in awhile it’s good to cry and let it out.”

He was breathing normally as we turned back into the school. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Oh my sweet boy, I love you too.”

I stopped the car, put it in park, and turned to face him. “Now…it’s time to just get out of the car and know that God is going with you. You are not alone. You are never alone. God’s got this. He’s got you.”

I watched with pride as little boy merged into young man right before my eyes. He walked into the school, prepared to face his fears.

Tears began to well up in my own eyes as I put the car into drive.

“My sweet daughter,” I heard in my heart, “Now it is your turn. Those fears you have, those doubts that are keeping you frozen in place. You need to give them to me. I am now asking you to just get out of the car and walk with me.”

“But Lord,” I replied, “What if I can’t? What if I fail?”

“You may fail by the world’s standards, but you will have succeeded to me because you tried. Trust me, hold my hand, and go where I lead you. But first, you need to get out of the car, and trust me to go with you.”

“Lord, why am I so scared and upset?”

“Because my precious daughter, you’ve held so much in for so long. This life is hard. Somedays everything just feels bigger and harder. You’re changing from self-focused to Me-focused, and at times that process hurts. It’s ok to cry out to Me. It is good to cry out to Me. I am here for you.”

“I love You,” I whispered through my own tears.

“Oh how I love you my sweet child. Now, it is time to get out of the car and walk with me. Know that you are not alone. You are never alone. I AM with you. I’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”

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Once upon a time a girl had a teeny tiny dream….

Once upon a time there was a girl (ok, so she’s really a grown woman who still thinks of herself as a girl) who had a dream. It was a nice dream. A good dream. A safe dream. Her dream was to write a book about a blind horse whose story had touched her heart. Her dream was to self-publish the book, selling it for $5 to the 25 or so family members she could convince to buy it, and then donate the proceeds to the ranch where the horse had lived. She loved her dream and kept it close to her heart, partly so that it wouldn’t float away, and partly because she was scared to share it with anyone. For the girl had never written a book before. In fact, the girl didn’t even know anything about horses!

“Surely my dream is just….a dream,” the girl thought.

And so she held her dream close, hiding it from those around her. Only pulling it out when the urge to write became stronger than fear of discovery.

She wrote and wrote, even though she didn’t know what she was writing.

Was it fiction? Or a true story? Was it for children? Or adults? Was it an animal story? Or a memoir?

So many questions, so few answers.

“Surely this is silly,” the girl thought. “Surely I should stop this nonsense,” she mumbled.

But the words wouldn’t stop coming. The thoughts tumbled out of her faster than her fear could hold them back. And so she wrote and wrote and wrote some more.

One day, the girl came across a literary agent offering phone consultations to help writers who had questions and needed answers. And although the girl knew she was not a real writer, she did indeed have a question. A question that refused to go unanswered. A question that grew louder and bolder than the girl’s fear could contain. And so one October day the girl bravely picked up her phone and spoke to the kind agent. The agent listened to the girl’s story. She listened to the girl’s question. And then she spoke.

“This is a powerful story,” the agent said.

The girl exhaled a breath she had been holding for years. Could it be true? She dared to believe. Feeling emboldened by the agent’s words, the girl was about to ask for recommendations on self-publishing. But the agent silenced her with her next words.

“This for sure is a book,” the agent said. “But it’s also a film.”

The girl had no words.

None.

The agent kept talking, and planning and dreaming. Big dreams. Giant dreams. Dreams that the girl didn’t know she could dream. Dreams she would never dare to dream.

But the agent did. She dreamed and she dreamed. And within months the girl had a book contract. She felt dizzy. She often thought someone was going to realize their mistake and come and take it all away. But they didn’t. Instead they helped the girl to rewrite her story. They taught the girl. Encouraged the girl. Brought words from the girl’s heart. They helped the girl dream bigger dreams. They continually pointed the girl to the Author of every good dream. They reminded her often that when she pursues His dreams that anything is possible. The girl was still scared but she was beginning to believe them. And she was trusting the Giver of her dream. Her now much bigger dream.

And then one day the girl was given her dream, in the form of pages of a book. Her little dream was there in black and white print. Her dream was now a reality. Her dream was now ready to go and shine light onto other people’s dreams.

But the Giver of her dream wasn’t done, not yet. No, His dream was still bigger. There were more people He wanted to reach.

And so one day, as the girl was scrolling through her newsfeed, she saw a post. A post from a woman who was going to take her dream in a different direction. Who was going to give her dream new dimensions and brighter colors. The woman, a film producer, had posted about the girl’s book. The girl’s book that is now in development to become a movie.

The girl just stared at her screen. For she had known the producer had acquired the rights to make her book a film. She had signed the papers after all. But the girl had been too afraid to dream that big. Too afraid to believe it was real. And so she had tucked that dream safely away where the disappointment couldn’t hurt.

But as the girl stared at the post, she could no longer keep anything contained. Every dream. Every hope. Every prayer came pouring out of her. Dreams she had dared to dream now floated heavenward with her praise.

Tears of gratitude, humility and joy fell from the girl’s eyes.

How had she gotten here? Who was she to experience this?

She looked up from her screen. Her face bathed in the warmth of the sun.

“It’s all you,” she whispered through her tears. “It’s always been you,” she spoke aloud. The Giver of dreams, the Author of hope, the Grantor of grace was the One who had called her to write. He was the one who gave her just enough of a glimpse of His calling at each step of the journey. For He knew that if He showed her too much too soon He would have overwhelmed her, sent her scurrying away. And so He slowly, carefully led her along each and every step. Bringing just the right person at just the right time to advance her steps and reveal more of the dream He was growing in her heart.

His dream.

His calling,

His horse…His story….His girl.

His grateful, humbled, grace-saturated girl.

Much love,

Jen

ps-sorry it took me all those words to tell you that JOEY the book is in development to become JOEY the movie!!!! (what?!?!? Only God you guys, only GOD) Stay tuned for more details…..

[image error]The post I saw that day on facebook

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Want to learn more about JOEY and the writing process? See First Joey Interview: On Writing, Horses, and Hope, News I can finally share, Starting Over, JOEY (Available May 8th, 2018)

 

A lesson from Billy Graham: No ministry is too small

In honor of Billy Graham and the unmeasurable impact his life has had on our culture, this post is an excerpt from one I wrote two years ago after visiting a Billy Graham exhibit at the NC Museum of History. You can read the entire post Here

Yesterday I took my kids to a special Billy Graham exhibit at the NC Museum of History. It was moving and powerful. And somewhat intimidating as we stood in front of a wall that was illuminated with pinpoint lights.

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Each light represented 2,000 decisions made for Christ as a result of one of Billy’s crusades. All together the lights represented more than 3 million decisions!

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As I took in the breath and depth of his ministry I started to feel so small—so unimportant. (Isn’t it interesting how the accuser can accuse even in the middle of a deeply spiritual moment!)

My heart whispered, “God, I’ll never have this kind of impact. I’ll never be able to do anything like this for You.” My shoulders slumped. “Does my teeny tiny little ministry even matter?”

Yet, before the accuser could get another word in, the voice of Truth called out, “Look up.”

 My head raised on its accord. And what I saw brought tears to my eyes.

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My two babies were standing in front of the wall of lights. Two souls standing in the Light. Two lives changed by the light of the Gospel. Two souls entrusted into mine and my husband’s care. Two children given to us to instruct in the way of God’s Word. Two little ones we had the joy and privilege to escort to the foot of the cross where they surrendered their lives to Him. Two souls who will live eternally with Jesus.

It was then God allowed me to see a very important truth:

Every single soul matters. Every. Single. One. Whether 3 million or just 1 person. Every heart won. Every soul saved. Every life changed by the blood of Jesus matters.

No ministry is too small for Him to use. No act of obedience is too mundane if done by a willing eager heart.

I do not have to worry or fret over numbers or stats because none of that really matters. I just have to walk in obedience, remain in His Word, bask in His Truth and then speak and write what He tells me to speak and write so that I can shine His light into this dark world.

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I pray that today we might all find freedom from measuring ourselves by earthly standards and with earthly measures by instead looking to the One who loves us and has called us to simply serve Him. The results are not our concern.

Results, like glory and honor, all belong to God.

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Much love,

Jen

Billy Graham

As a little girl, I used to preach to my stuffed animals.

I would line them up and then passionately preach the Good News of Jesus to them, just like Billy Graham. As a shy girl who loved Jesus, I was fascinated by the dynamic man who taught the Bible to thousands. As a teenager, I attended one of Billy’s crusades. And whenever anyone would ask the question “what person, alive or dead, would you want to have dinner with” I would always say, “Billy Graham.”

Maybe it was the secret evangelist in me who longed to step into the light and boldly share my faith. Or maybe it was me simply wanting to be near someone who was so near to God. Or maybe it was his humility and simple upbringing that made this friend of world leaders somehow seem approachable.

I find myself reflecting on all of this today. This day when Billy breathed his last on this earth and opened his eyes to the Home he has spent a lifetime leading people towards.

And I grieve. I cry. I mourn our loss.

But then….

But then I realized that even in his death, Billy is pointing us to hope. Pointing us to truth. Pointing us toward Home.

In a time when our country is heartbroken, when the darkness seems too strong and hope seems like a fantasy, Billy’s life stands as a beacon for hope, for light. Today his message is being broadcast on every news station. His words, the words God ordained him to speak during his lifetime, are once again going forth among the nations.

Only God could bring life from death.

Today, someone is going to hear Billy’s message replayed on their tv.

Today, someone is going to hear the message of hope.

Today, someone is going to fall to their knees and surrender their life to God.

Today, someone will begin their eternity with Jesus.

Today, life will come from death.

And that is the power of the Gospel. The Gospel Billy Graham gave his life to preach.

What if today, as a way to honor the man who dedicated his life to sharing the Gospel, every single one of us who claims the name of Jesus, shared the hope of the Gospel with just one person. What a final Billy Graham crusade that would be!!!

Thank you Billy for always leading us to truth and always pointing us to hope. And now, even in death, you are still pointing people to truth and hope. You reflected the heart of the Father and now you are in His arms. And yet your message, God’s message, will remain. Continually pointing people to Jesus. 

Much love,

Jen

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“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.” I Thessalonians 4:13-14