After a long day of flights and getting our bearings in the town, we were pleased to see how nice and clean our hotel was. It was beautiful with French doors to a balcony and many windows, but a quick inspection showed that the balcony was one continuous platform with only a very low wall separating it from the other four rooms on that side of the hotel. Not only that, the lock on the French doors popped open when wiggled and the window in the bathroom (which also opened out to the balcony) didn’t have a lock. Alrighty, then. First, we placed the only chair in the room in front of the French doors and then we propped one of Coy’s shoes on the windowsill to jam the window closed. We’re not usually that cautious, but it was our first night in a foreign country and the front office was closed for the night with no one on call. Might as well be careful.

I was sleeping hard, I know that much. With the air conditioner and fan going, outside noises were muted into a soothing drone…that was until I heard screaming. Someone was screaming bloody murder. I sat up in bed and that’s when I realized that the person screaming was me.

Why was I screaming? Then I saw him. There was a man standing in the dark at the foot of our bed.

Now, let’s analyze this –

Waking up to find a stranger in your dark room has to be on the top of every “scenario-you-don’t-want-to-face” list. In my part of the world, when this happens, it’s either the Grim Reaper or someone is fixing to meet the Grim Reaper. To be honest, I didn’t even know where I was, but I knew I was facing pure evil and somehow I was going to defeat it by shrieking at the top of my lungs.

Immediately, I heard a roaring next to me. Coy bellowed like Braveheart and threw a pillow at the figure while he simultaneously rolled out of bed and charged. The intruder turned and dashed into the hall. Coy disappeared around the corner and I started hearing a very apologetic voice fading as it ran away, “Sorry. Wrong room. Wrong room.”

I can only imagine what people in the neighboring rooms thought hearing this ruckus. Had there been room phones, I’m sure they would’ve lit up the front desk. Coy came back to the room twitching with adrenaline-fueled jet lag and locked the door behind him. (Did I mention there was no latch on the inside of the door?) Then we just looked at each other.

Wrong room? How did his key work? Were all the keys the same? Who else was coming through the door? We put the one chair in front of the hallway door and moved a nightstand in front of the French door. Then we piled suitcases up on both pieces of furniture so we’d have a little more warning before someone could make it to the bed.

Needless to say, every noise that night had me jumping up to see if the door was opening, because we still didn’t know how that had happened. It wasn’t until the next morning that we got a reasonable explanation from the hotel staff. The men (there were two, one didn’t make it into the room before we unloaded on them) were the nephews of the owner. They’d been staying in our room, but when our reservation came up the staff moved their things to another room and had forgotten to tell them and take their keys away.

It was as good of an explanation as any. The staff was appropriately horrified and the hapless nephews claimed to have been as scared as I was. All in all, we were able to rest well for the rest of the trip. Hopefully the only consequences to our scary night was the sore throat I got from yelling. As long as no one uploads the film from the hallway security camera, all will be forgiven.

The post The Last Thing You Want to See in Your Hotel Room appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

True, this group was meeting primarily to discuss evangelism and mission projects. In another venue, the conversation could’ve pivoted on a different point. And I agree that we desperately want seekers to brave a visit to our church, especially at Christmas. Every effort should be made to welcome new visitors to any event.

But is the value of every church activity judged by the attendance of non-believers? Is this our principal concern when planning our celebration of Christ’s birth? If a cantata leads church members to grow in gratitude for the incarnation would the work be worth it? If visitors from a sister-church are inspired, is that beneficial? Leading people to worship, sharing joy, teaching eternal truths through creative means…can that only edify if someone who doesn’t know Christ is sitting in the pew?

True, our most beautiful art, our best literature and our most stirring music should present truth in such a winsome manner that it draws all people to Christ, but the creation and presentation is for God’s glory whether there are any to evangelize or not.

We should do missions. We should collect alms, pass out the loaves and fishes, carry the gospel abroad—definitely. But there are also times that great preparation is needed to make a fitting celebration for our King. There are times when we need to break that alabaster jar and pour an extravagant gift of our best workmanship for our Master. Offering the commonplace doesn’t satisfy when we remember the perfection of our true audience.

And once revived by a glimpse of His Majesty, the beauty of His Holiness, and the fellowship of His church then we are qualified to talk of the richness of communion with God. Then we leave equipped to tell a parched world where to find the Living Water.

The post Who is Our Audience? appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

This was one of those moments when you wonder…when you hope…that something is lost in translation.

“I’m sorry. In English the word prison means jail, a place where criminals go. There’s some mistake.”

The translator consults Jesús and continues, “No mistake. He leads a church inside the prison. They have forty believers and meet on Saturday.”

Now before you get distracted when you see the name Jesús – he’s a church planter in Mexico, not Nazareth. I’ve never laid claim to maturity so I’ll admit I giggle when I get an email telling me that Jesús’ phone is out of minutes so no one has been able to talk to him for a few days. Still, we trusted that we’d be all right as long as Jesús was with us, so we agreed.

Making Hammocks

Me in front wearing blue with "El Toro" beside me

I felt a little claustrophobic. Back home my husband is what we call “a big ol’ boy”. In Guerrero he’s known in the basketball community as ‘El Toro’, but even he’d have trouble getting out of that crowded room should something go down.

But when the music began, my worries vanished. I understand it’s easy to make church services when you are in prison, there’s not a lot on your schedule, but the men who had decided to align themselves with the Christians had taken a risk. They had turned their backs on gangs that expect loyalty-even from prison. While we did draw some curious first-timers, it was obvious that there was a strong core of believers. Even without a song book they knew all the songs and sang with gusto, especially when singing about the liberty and freedom found in Christ.

No one wants to be in jail, but for some of these men, this is the rest of their life. They can’t postpone living for Christ until they are released. They will spend more of their adult years behind bars than they will free and living long enough to serve their sentence isn’t a guarantee, either. Just last December six men were hanged to death by the mafia in this very courtyard. How the guards didn’t notice…well, I don’t want to think about it.

The Curious Listening In

What I do want to think about is how I always imagine that easier circumstances are just around the corner. When the kids are bigger… When we have more time… More money… But what if this is as good as it’s going to get? What if I won’t ever have the opportunities that I have right now?

We all have limits that we live with. Some of us are limited by our health and finances. Some are limited by our family obligations. God knows that. He knows these prisoners are limited by their location, and He has a plan for them. He knows what duties you can’t ignore. His will fits perfectly with your circumstances. If something’s unbearable ask Him to change it, but then remember there are people behind bars who have found a way to praise Him.

The post Once when I was in jail in Mexico… appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

A Fortunate Affliction?

Sunday evening Mary’s 7-year-old son developed an earache. They tried eardrops and ibuprofen, but nothing worked. About 8:30 p.m. she took him to a tiny 24-hour clinic, trying to get him some relief for the night. While she sat in the empty waiting room and filled out paperwork, a teenage couple entered. Mary couldn’t help but overhear their discussion with the nurse. The girl wanted a pregnancy test. The nurse told her that she couldn’t give her one because she was underage, but she could give her Planned Parenthood’s phone number.

It was at this point that Mary got involved. “Did you know there’s a Crisis Pregnancy Center here in town?” she asked. Yes, they’d walked by it on their way to the clinic, but it was closed. Mary happened to know the director and called her. She didn’t answer, so Mary volunteered to take the couple to the pharmacy where she’d buy them a pregnancy test if that was their only need. They were happy to wait until her son’s appointment was over to go with her.

By the time they finished at the pharmacy the Crisis Pregnancy Center’s director returned her call and offered to meet them at her office. Before the night was over Mary had connected with two very scared teenagers and put them in touch with godly counsel and compassionate care.

A Chance for Reflection

I had to stop and thank God for His magnificent orchestration. A Sunday night earache led to a relationship that Mary has continued to have with this young lady through texting over the week. And how about the CPC director who made her phone number available and was willing to leave her family late on a Sunday night?

It made me wonder, who has my phone number? Am I available when someone needs help? Do I have a reputation of being reliable in an emergency? Can God trust me to get involved or do I pretend I can’t hear the needs around me?

I’m proud of Mary and of brave soldiers like her.

The post Hero Tales appeared first on Author Regina Jennings.

“In Africa, there are bathrooms everywhere.” He motioned out the window of the jeep.

Sure enough. I’d have to be careful where I looked. And stepped.

Although my mind was still whirling from the ACFW conference, I was excited about this trip. My husband and I, along with three friends, were scouting out a ministry for a possible church partnership.

Bathrooms might be plentiful, but bedrooms were hard to come by. Exhausted from our flights, we were discouraged that the rooms we’d leased were unsanitary, even by mission trip standards. They had had running water at one time because there was a toilet, but the water was cut off and the toilet was full. After a few more attempts at accommodations the decision was made that we would sleep on the roof of the missionary’s house. Air mattresses were scarce so my husband and I got the trampoline with the mandatory mosquito net hung over us.

The breeze was refreshing on the roof. It would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the 5:00 a.m. call to prayer blaring on the mosque’s loud speakers one street over. It would’ve been quieter to sleep in the village where there was no electricity, but at least we could check in with our families via email at the missionary’s house in the evening.

That’s what I was doing when I saw the email from Bethany House in my inbox. My heart stopped. So he got my submission? I thought about carrying my laptop somewhere more private, but I knew what it was going to say. I wouldn’t be surprised or upset, so I opened it.

It was a request for the complete manuscript. That’s all. One sentence. I scratched my head.

“What’d you get?” my husband asked.

“A request for the complete manuscript.” There was some excitement in the room, so I clarified. “It’s good, but it’s one step in a million- step process. They’re probably just being polite.”

“I don’t think they’re polite. They like the book.” My husband, the optimist.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “They give bonus points if you go to conference. They almost always ask to see pages.”

“But you sent pages, and now they want more.”

Some people don’t know when to stop. “I’ll send the complete when we get home, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

And in the meantime, I would take some friends up on their offers to critique the whole book for me. I’d declined offers before because I didn’t want to waste their time – we’re talking 350-some pages – but now, despite my refusal to admit it, I was hoping for the impossible.

The Miracle – Publication Story, Part 7

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