by Hannah Hanzel | Nov 1, 2017
Yesterday was October, and today is November. In one swift movement of time, literally overnight, our decorations, anticipations and calendars have changed. Scary ghosts are exchanged for felt turkeys. Candy wrappers are traded in for cranberry sauce. The scent of smoke machines gives way to the crisp smell of apple cider. Change doesn’t often come quite as evidently or as fondly, as this turn of seasons from Halloween to Thanksgiving.
Sometimes change is subtle and takes months, while other times it is abrupt and harsh. We are guaranteed change in life. Our jobs, homes, expectations, dreams, children, spouses and interests can change more swiftly and as unbeknownst as a ship in the night.
Almost two years ago a wave of change crashed against my own little tugboat. I graduated college, accepted an amazing Art Director position, moved towns to a single-bedroom apartment and began searching for a new church all within one month. As I learned to adjust to all of this change, I battled countless insecurities and lonely nights.
The Lord directed me to a Scripture passage that was seemingly irrelevant to my situation… that is until I read with the Spirit’s eyes. The King James Version of Matthew 5:18 reads, “For verily I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.”
I stepped back and examined my life. So much had come and passed away. Heartache and joy alike had taken turns in the forefront of my life for months now. I had convinced myself to become content with a life of expectant change and inconsistency. But through this passage, God realigned me with a truth I had been so quick to forget – God’s Word never changes.
In the passage, the words “jot” and “tittle” are used. Being the typography nerd that I am, I did not miss the importance of these words. A “jot” is the smallest letter of the Greek alphabet while the “tittle” is an accent mark above a letter (like the dot on an “i”). You see, even the slightest of these shall not be changed in God’s Holy Scriptures until the day they are fulfilled in the end!
You may be asking, “How does this relate to me?” I’m glad you asked. Beloved, when you change jobs and wonder how you’ll make ends meet; when you lose a loved one and wonder how your heart will ever beat the same again; when you move towns, states or even countries and wonder how you’ll ever recreate normal life; when you face sin, a struggle or pain and wonder if life is worth it… cling to God’s Holy Word.
It is a lamp for your feet, a light for your path (Psalm 119:105), the shield to extinguish the Enemy’s fiery arrows (Eph. 6:16), the profitable source of knowledge (2 Tim. 3:16), the encourager (Rom. 15:4), the piercer of souls (Heb. 4:12), the incorruptible well of guidance (Deut. 4:2), the telltale seed (Luke 8:11), the good news (1 Peter 1:25) and so much more. Blow off the dust of passivity and self-consummation and pick up that blessed arrangement of history, poetry and prophecy.
Through it, we yield, yet are subject to, the almighty power of God. Change will come and go, but the Word of God will stand forever (Isa. 40:8).
by Hannah Hanzel | Oct 4, 2017
Twisting the knob and opening the door, gliding into my older sister’s kindergarten class without a word, I collected the children around me. They sat at my feet, legs crossed with wide-eyed wonder as I opened a bright-colored children’s book to read to them. The birds twittered and cooed outside the classroom window, and the clean, white counters glistened in the sunlight. Even the class guinea pig, Skippy John Jones, sat still for the story time and appeared to listen intently.
This may all sound too good to be true for a public school setting, but as I drove down the road toward the Okmulgee Primary School, indeed, that was the picture I had imagined since being invited to read to my sister’s class. The beautifully-scripted Snow White-esque setting quickly dissipated as I stepped into the small town school.
The secretary buzzed me in, much like that time I visited a Nicaraguan prison on a mission trip, and directed me towards one of the back classrooms. Quoting Psalm 23:4, as I walked down the cinder block hallways, my fabricated image of this experience rapidly faded from Mary Poppins to The Great Escape. Finally, on one of the doors I read “Miss Hanzel’s Classroom” and walked in. The picture was indeed different.
Children with sticky hands and runny noses traded chewed-on crayons and dried up glue sticks. Little boys threw paper wads at the little girls, while the little girls doodled flowers instead of focusing on their project. There in the midst of this organized chaos was my sister.
Jess is quite possibly the most patient and compassionate person I know. She appeared to glide across the room as she put out fires (hypothetically of course), patted the focused child’s head, reclaimed sharp objects, affirmed the discouraged boy, prepared the next station, intervened before the start of WW III, cleaned the countertops and more tasks than I could ever list.
Even as I read the funny children’s book to her class of close to 30 kindergarten students, she cleaned, prepared, disciplined and patiently cared for the classroom.
I learned a few things from my sister that day, but three specific things come to mind:
- Teachers are sacrificial. I haven’t witnessed many other occupations where there is such great sacrifice of personal finances, time, effort, tears, laughter and frustration. Teachers like my sister give and give, receiving so very little in return – a small Christmas bonus or a sweet thank you card on the last day of school are about all they get.
- Teachers are the bee’s knees. I don’t know about you, but I do not like wiping kids’ noses or cleaning up after dozens of 5-year-olds, let alone attempting to teach them math! Teachers are some of the coolest people in the world, and most of the time, they LOVE what they do. Even when it’s hard, most teachers will admit they just can’t quit the amazing thrills of a kid who finally gets it, or a parent-teacher conference that ends with a positive resolution, or an exciting moment when the guinea pig teaches the kids something new about the eating habits of a mammal.
- Teachers are often forgotten. We remember to honor (and rightly so) servicemen, doctors, nurses, law enforcement, athletes and even politicians. But so often, we forget to recognize the men and women who, too, have laid down their lives for this country in the form of servitude and instruction of the next generations. Their families, spouses, personal dreams and finances are laid down, so that children in this country might receive knowledge and education. We forget this sacrifice all too often.
Tomorrow, Oct. 5, is National Teacher’s Day. Do something to show your teacher, your child’s teacher, or your grandchild’s teacher how much they are appreciated. Gift cards, notes, class volunteering and getaways are just what these leaders need to be reminded of their value. I would write a hundred checks or read a thousand kid’s books for my sister’s classroom if it meant I wouldn’t have to lead 30 kindergarteners to a potty break.
My idea of how my sister’s class would be was far different from the reality of the hardships actually faced on that mission field called “school.” Let us commit to pray for our teachers – whether it’s a Mary Poppins or a Great Escape kind of day.
by Hannah Hanzel | Sep 5, 2017
It’s 7 in the morning. The mist begins clearing outside my house as I walk to my car to head to work. I buckle in, set my coffee thermos in the cup holder and begin my commute.
Living at the back of the neighborhood, I often get to observe people’s morning routines as I drive toward the exit of our small oasis west of Council Road. People mowing before the sun rises. Parents tossing Pop tarts to their “already late” high school kids. Elderly couples getting their morning cardio in with their swooshing windbreakers.
I see a lot in the two minutes it takes to leave my neighborhood. Since the first morning’s commute from my new house, there’s always been one thing I can count on – Mr. Bus Stop Dad.
Mr. Bus Stop Dad is always there with his son, who appears to be in about second grade. On the first day of school they’re playing tag in the front yard – giddy with excitement and nerves.
On the colorful days of fall, they’re throwing leaves at each other. On the bitterly cold days they’re pressed tightly together, laughing at the sight of their breath in the crisp morning air. On the last day of school, they’re rubbing sleep from their eyes and sharing a hug as the son gets on the bus.
I’ve learned many things from Mr. Bus Stop Dad. But three essential truths come from my observations:
- My Dad was there. From awkward dance recitals to failed college presentations, from a six-cream, six-sugar McDonalds coffee kind of day to a QuikTrip whoopee pie kind of day… he’s always been there. Mr. Bus Stop Dad reminds me everyday what a gift my dad is.
- Dads shape the future. When the father of the household strives to invest in his children and wife, the home is a safe and exciting place. Discipleship happens when the dad gets off his La-Z-Boy and spends time with his family. Watching ESPN won’t teach your son to respect women. Playing Call of Duty won’t show your daughter biblical manhood. But you can, Dad! Mr. Bus Stop Dad probably isn’t perfect, but he tries. I know he tries because he’s present.
- It’s more than a cliché. We hear “God is your Heavenly Father” all the time, but do we truly consider the implications? God, Initiator, Sustainer, and Completer of our faith, sets the world’s troubles aside to sit at life’s bus stop with us. First John 3:1 says, “See what great love the Father has given us that we should be called God’s children—and we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it didn’t know him.” It is more than a cliché to call God our Father; it is a privilege!
Mr. Bus Stop Dad and all dads alike, keep going. Even when money is tight, even when relationships are strained, even when you spill your coffee at 7 in the morning… keep going! Your influence and presence displays Christ to a lost world everyday!
by Hannah Hanzel | Aug 1, 2017
The theater. Kids excitedly grasping their parent’s arm with one hand and clutching their candy in the other. Couples selfie-ing and hand holding as teen girls giggle and stare. A Lone Viewer in the middle row and middle seat so as to give the best critique after the last credit has rolled. The matted carpet reflects the excitement of occupants as its electric colors wind up and down the long hall. Small dull light bulbs line the aisle and flicker with every passerby. Oh the smell, that glorious smell! Buttered popcorn. My favorite!
I love going to the theater. Some may see a grungy, dirty place where bed bugs live, but I see a glamorous scene where cinematography history is made. People from all walks of life come here and, for a moment, have one thing in common – a movie. Crafted and labored over for years, the movie takes us to a new place. Our destination could make us scream in horror, bite our nails in suspense, cry our eyes out, or roll on the floor laughing (not recommended for those of you that only picture bed bugs in the theater).
I’ve been to the theater many, many times. I can only think of a handful of times that I didn’t get popcorn. I can think of every time that I didn’t get popcorn and regretted it. My friends tease me because I refuse to share popcorn. They know they’ve made it big with me when, in the middle of the movie, I tilt my popcorn bag over for them to grab some. I don’t know why that is, it’s just one of my many quirks.
It wasn’t until recently that a friend jokingly asked me why I don’t share my popcorn. Naturally, I answered like a toddler and said that I don’t like sharing in general! My friends and I all laughed about it, but later it got me thinking about all the other things I selfishly keep to myself. My money, my time, my house, my food; the list goes on and on. There was one specific item on this list, however, that especially disturbed me – my Faith.
I live out my faith every day. I pray, I know all the Hillsong United lyrics by heart, I’ve seen “God’s Not Dead” a hundred times (AND texted all my contacts at the end of the movie as instructed). I have done multiple Beth Moore studies and gone on several international and domestic mission trips.
With all this under my belt, why is it that when I am here in Oklahoma City, where I live, I fail to share my faith? All the things listed above are great! But when my faith falls short of lifting glory to God and proclaiming Him everywhere I go… what kind of a faith do I truly have?
The Bible is so very clear in sharing my faith. I fall short of excuses when I examine what is said in the Scriptures:
“But in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15).
“Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God” (2 Timothy 1:8).
“And that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem” (Luke 24:47).
“How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!’” (Romans 10:14-15).
The evidence is stacked against me. I’ve neglected to share my faith, despite the direct instruction from the very One who saved my life.
I often live as though my faith is a background plot unfolding while I further my own kingdom. Much like the theater setting, I sit in life amid throngs of people from all different walks of life. I know what’s going to happen at the end of the movie – a glorious return of the Prince, the Bride is rescued and the villain is destroyed. All the while, the people seated to my side are living in anticipation for the next best part of the film. They don’t know the ending. Some desperately Google in vain for the ending and for answers, while some sit carelessly, hardly even appreciating the movie.
Life may not even out as a theater experience, but the truth remains. I walk through daily life, past people who are just barely hanging on, despite their efforts, and I hold a hope that could shake up their world in a glorious way – remaining silent. No, there must be more.
God, “stir my heart with a noble theme.” Let conviction lay heavy on me, and let me not miss a moment of this amazing plot you are unfolding! Show me who is on my left and on my right that I may share your glory! From popcorn to faith, give me kindness and conviction.
by Hannah Hanzel | Jun 21, 2017
I felt the sweat gathering at my temples. We’re just 525 feet below the surface. The 120-year-old coal miner’s elevator rattled and jerked with every descending moment. “Go to Slovenia,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said.
I attempted to adjust my position in vain as the other 12 occupants of the small ‘elevator’ pressed against each other. Nervous laughs and words of affirmation fell on deaf ears as I tried to talk myself into posing a somewhat courageous smile.
It was my fourth day in Slovenia for a mission trip when our team’s hosts took us to the coal mine museum of Velenje, Slovenia. Once the rattling elevator made it to the bottom of the mine I felt as though someone had placed a 100-pound weight on my chest.
I’m not a very squeamish or cowardly person. That being said, rather than make known my fear of the dark, I chose to “tough it out.” As we followed the guide we rounded a corner where I came to face one of the greatest (and most irrational) fears of my life – wax figures.
The tour seemed to last hours as I hung toward the back and shrank against the wall. Every dark corner, every wax eyeball brought a stabbing fear to my heart. I nervously chuckled when jokes were made and nodded my head as I pretended to hear what the tour guide said.
Sweet relief finally came when we went back up the elevator, and I stepped into the middle of the museum. Sunlight flooded through the windows, filling the room. The people around me were only that of flesh and blood. I can now breathe.
About a week later, after I had returned to the United States, I read a story of well-known British missionary William Carey. “The Father of Modern Missions,” as Carey was called, was meeting with close friends before he was to move to India as a missionary when he made the following observation. He drew a beautifully-worded comparison between the commissioning of a missionary and the lowering of a miner into a mine. As I kept my experience in a coal mine, just the previous week, in mind, I eagerly read the following excerpt from one of Carey’s friend’s recollection:
“Our undertaking to India really appeared at its beginning to me somewhat like a few men, who were deliberating about the importance of penetrating a deep mine which had never before been explored. We had no one to guide us; and, whilst we were thus deliberating, Carey, as it were, said, ‘Well, I will go down, if you will hold the rope.’ But, before he descended, he, as it seemed to me, took an oath from each of us at the mouth of the pit, to this effect that ‘whilst we lived, we should never let go the rope.’”
After hearing this story from Carey’s friend and experiencing the darkness of the mine myself, I had to ask what it looks like to “hold the rope” across the world today? There are three specific objects and representations when a missionary is sent over seas, or rather being lowered into the mine as it were.
First, let’s observe the mine itself. Just like my experience in the mine, there are several fears and joys that will be experienced. As I saw glimpses of light in my travels through the tunnels, likewise a missionary will often come across fellow believers. These glimpses of hope and brotherhood bring such relief from the darkness! However, with every glimpse of light came a clear view of one of the horrendous wax figures. I have resolved that, for missionaries, the wax figures must symbolize those who are lost and without the Gospel. They are merely shells of a person. Inside they lack life, ultimate reconciliation.
Second, let us see clearly the rope being tightly grasped on each end. On one end is either a shaky and new missionary, fresh to all the responsibilities of a Salvation miner, or a seasoned, coal-darkened missionary, quite familiar and confident in the darkness of the mine. On the other end, above the surface of the mine, is anywhere from a sixth-grade boy with his Bible to an 86-year-old woman with her praying hands. While both ends may vary in age, gender, occupation and denomination, the rope stays unchanged.
The rope stands for spiritual support. It can look like daily prayer from a church in rural Arkansas lifting up a struggling missionary kid in South America. It can look like a letter from a church in Texas sent to a missionary in Florida. It can look like a care package from a couple in Montana mailed to a single missionary at Christmas time in Spain. It might even look like a college student giving up their summer to help homeschool a missionary kid in Central Asia.
The support comes in so many different forms; it would never do justice to the rope to specifically identify it. It is significantly missed when absent and life-changing when present.
Lastly, we must also observe the facet of the illustration that is not physical- the call. The call looks different for many. It may be to go. As the last chapter in Matthew commands, “Go into all the world!” You may be called to go overseas or next door in an evangelistic or disciple-making way. We are all called! The call for others may be to stay and support. There is much ministry to be had at the stationary end of the rope!
The title of this blog is to insinuate the chastisement of the called, be it to stay or go yet not obeying! To chastise is to chide. I now give a charge to two of those that are called.
I ask those of you that are called to go- who is holding your rope? Are you allowing believers to support and encourage you? Humble yourselves to ask for aid and encouragement. Are you thanking and praying for those that do already?
I ask those of you that are called to stay- whose rope are you holding? The International Mission Board alone has 3,590 workers across the globe. Each has concerns and worries, joys and celebrations! Who is holding their rope? Jump headfirst into the ministry of support. How will you get involved?
Brothers and sisters, let us answer the great call in whatever way possible, on both ends of the rope! Do not forsake the very thing for which the Lord created you.