BUY AND READ THIS BOOK NOW!!

Just picked up my friend Andy Dietz's new book "Kidnapped in Budapest: The chilling, true story of a missionary" and read it in one night.  I couldn't put it down!  I've heard Andy tell this story first hand and it was just like that night on the Mexico mission trip when he took the time to tell me.  I really recommend you buy and read this book.  God stirred my heart to think about my relationship with Him and to ask myself if He really does come first.  Andy not only tells his encounter with wicked men but also his encounter with a God who is in control when everything seems to be in complete and utter chaos.  Do yourself a favor and get this book.  It's an easy read but will challenge and stretch you beyond the comfort you may find yourself in.  May God mark our lives with suffering and not the easy way out!  God, remind us to experience life and not just live it...

Yikes...4 years since my last post

Is blogging still cool? Is saying cool still cool?  I was looking over my blogs and my last one was 4 years ago...yikes.  I thought maybe I'd see if people were interested in seeing what we were up to.  Maybe you care, maybe you don't...but here it goes.

The last time I wrote, we were a family of 4.  Now, we are a family of 5.  We added Annabella Joy to the mix in 2011.  She's 3 now and the light of my life.  She is smart and adventurous but scared of her own shadow.  Literally, her own shadow.  She reminds me quite a bit of my mom.  Clear about what she wants and doesn't know a stranger.  Elijah is 9 now and Kyle is 6.  Both of my boys are super smart.  Elijah, my little need-boy, loves video games, the trampoline and reading.  Kyle loves life, laughing and...girls...and girls love him.  Yes, I know, a little young.

Kallie and I have been through our up's and down's but are rock-solid.  She's my best friend and I can't imagine life without her.  I always say, if Kallie wasn't around I'd be walking around the walmart parking lot in my pajamas all day, clueless and virtually lost.  She's the apple of my eye and the hope I see for humanity that people still care, love and have a soul.

My life, as of lately, has been rocked by God's grace.  I have been set free of many of my cynical views, jaded stances on theology and have just been set free to live under, as Pastor Tullian says, "the banner that says 'it is finished'".  I have been prepping for a camp I will be preaching at soon and I will leave you with this story of how God's grace had changed my life:

When I was in college, I worked at a church, I'd say at the time the most popular church in that town amongst all us christian men and women.  It was where all the cool christians went to church and hung out and dated each other.  I somehow managed to score a job in the youth department as the youth intern the summer I was dating one of the deacons daughters.  She went to work for the camp we would soon attend that summer and I stayed behind to assist the youth minister.  As our time came near to leave for camp I was short on funds.  I lived about an hour and 15 minutes from my hometown so taking a trip to get money from my padres was not easy either, or cheap for that matter.
I called my mom, as I usually did, and asked her if I could meet them halfway and get some money.  She said the words I still dread to hear sometimes even now, "let me ask your dad".  After a few short seconds of silence my dad came on the phone.  "Why do you need the money?" he asked me.  I explained to him that I had to pay rent and buy stuff for the trip and had ran short after all of that.  He pushed a little further and asked if I had stuck to my budget and not spent money on Wendy's.  Ummmm...Wendy's.  I lied and said yes.  He asked a few more questions that revealed the truth and I was enraged.  I actually think I remember yelling at him and saying a cuss word under my breath and not just a christian cuss word like "dang" or "shut the front door".  He listened and continued to offer some wisdom but said it was hard to help when I had dug my own finical hole.  I hung up on him.  I was mad.  How dare him.  A few hours later I heard a knock on my apartment door.  I opened it and saw my parents standing there.  They asked if I had eaten yet and when I said no, they persuaded me to eat with them.  They paid for the meal and before they left they handed me two crisp hundred dollar bills.  We said our goodbyes that night and nothing was said about the prior conversation on the phone.

You may say to yourself, "how dare him do that after you had yelled at him".  The truth is it did not create in me a sense of shame or guilt but of freedom.  Not freedom to take advantage of my parents but freedom to love because I was loved.  They did not say anything about, you don't deserve this money or when you get back come do dishes for two weeks.  Nothing was said, ever again.  I had sinned against my parents and they loved e and showed me grace.  This creates a long obedience in the same direction rather than a begrudging obedience.  I love my parents for this and I love Jesus even more in the face that, "while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me."

A letter from a father's heart.

My sweet baby girl,

I hope you are reading this on a beach somewhere as the sand holds your feet in it's grip and you feel the sea wash away the day's work and worries. I hope tears fill your eyes as you hear my voice whisper these words into your ear and you look up to see my smile in the setting sun as it paints you with it's fading glory.

You see, I saw you today for the first time. Your black and white "nest" on the monitor in front of me made you seem close yet a million miles away. As your mommy lay on that bed, hope for your future filled my heart. I knew you weren't just a picture but a somebody and not just a somebody but my daughter. You always will be. I will always be your daddy.

I will be the happiest man to hand you over to the man who will one day hand you over to our creator as you pass from this life to the next. I hope I am a good dad. My fulfillment will never be in you telling me so, but seeing some of my attributes in you shine through. It will be more than trophies or plaques on the wall for you to come in and say, "Daddy, will you dance with me?"

I write this letter with one purpose: To tell you that God exists. Even more than Him existing, He loves you. Look up for a second and watch the sun set into the sea. He did that because He loves you. The picture He is panting now is telling you a story. A story of old, that man rebelled against Him and separated man and God. God solved this separation by sending His son, Jesus into the world. Jesus died on a sinner's cross and beat death three days later. This is the reason for my letter.

God the Father loves you more than I ever could. He is singing a song over you as you read this now. Whether I am here with you or if I've passed on I want you to know, I love you. If your life was asked of you, I would beg to lay my life down in your place. If you were lost, I would search the deepest sea. If you were cold, I would wrap the summer around you. If you were lonely, I would sit by you and breathe. I love you my sweet princess.

From the heart of your father...

"I dont know what to tell them..."

That's what my dad said about 3 weeks ago. We had a pretty important conversation about the Gospel on the phone. A conversation that I will hold dear to my heart for years to come. I was telling him about my passion to preach and teach the gospel. He was not impressed but encouraged.

I'll let you in on a little bit of our conversation.

"It's all I think about." I breathe and it makes me think about the gospel."

"That's good, son." "I'm excited for you." It's the only story worth telling."

PAUSE

"Sometimes I think...what else can I say?" What else can I tell them?" " I teach and preach and try to make it as easy to understand for them but they continue to live their lives with such mediocrity." "Like Jesus never opened the mouth of the grave."

"Wow. I wish I knew how to counsel you or encourage you."

"I don't expect you to." "I expect you to preach." "Until cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without people, and the land is a desolate waste." (Isaiah 6) "Preach even when no one listens..."

This confirms everything I've experienced in the last year. I am going to take up the cross my dad carried and hope my sons do the same.

Our conversation was over as quickly as it started. It usually ends with questions about my family and how work is going. Not this time. It ended with two simple phrases.

"I just don't know what to say." "I don't know what to tell them..."

The old days

This is a picture of my Dad. I am proud to be his son. I NEVER thought I would say that. I just felt like he never understood me. Now, I know he does. He did all the while. I think I've been thinking about him a lot lately (see last post) because, as terrible as this sounds, I think his time here with us is slowly fading. I know none of us know the time of our passing from glory to glory but he talks about it a lot, so I'm ok with it. Maybe this is a way for me to cope for after he leaves. The thing that gives me hope is that I will see him again. I will get to worship with him. I will enjoy Jesus with him, forever.

I think back to when I was a kid and remember when my dad would hold me and rock me to sleep in an old wooden rocking chair that sat in our living room. He would pat my back and sing an old spanish lullaby that I sing to my boys to this very day. I remember that when I was scared or couldn't sleep, he would grab his old, withered Bible, sit next to my bed and read from the Psalms and comb my hair with his fingers until I fell asleep. I remember the times he would take us on dates, my sister and I. He would ask about school, friends and share wisdom, whether we wanted to hear it or not.

I miss these days. I know my Dad is still alive but this is what I want for my children. I can honestly say, I will never be like my Dad. I will try, but success will be out of reach. He loves my Mom. I think, if his life was asked in place of hers, he would gladly lay it down. I only hope I can fill his proverbial shoes one day.

The thing I will miss most about him is his preaching. This, I hold dear to my heart. Outside of the Bible, my dad is my spiritual hero. He led me to Jesus. He taught me about Jesus and he knows and loves me like no other man could. This post echos my last, that my parents were godly, holy examples and I would not want it any other way. The fights we had, times of trial and silence are places I look back to and think of their patience with me and the hope they had in a gospel that would change me one day.

I love my Dad. I want to mirror him in every way. In that mirror, I see Jesus, one who understands, feels what I feel, has seen the world through my eyes and loves me, despite who I am. When I stand before Jesus, I am going to thank Him for giving me my Dad. Then, my Dad and I will step aside and make way for the King...

The hopes and fears of father preacher

I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. His hands shake and he is now slouching a bit in his old age. His memory is fleeing him but his head is adorned with wisdom and grey hair. If you didn't know, my dad is a preacher. I would have never, ever expected to think that I would follow in his footsteps. In fact, I remember thinking how I never wanted to go into ministry. Not just because of the beat downs my dad received but it just didn't interest me in the least. I would watch my dad preach on Sundays and at times I would be filled with hope and on other, with much conviction over sin. On some Sundays, his sermons filled me with much fear and trembling as he would talk about hell and what awaited for those who were not in relationship with Jesus.

My dad never exchanged truth to make anyone feel good. He had a graceful way of telling you that he cared through his harsh and horrifically true analogies. I remember in one particular instance, my dad was preaching a "revival" at a church in the Dallas area. The church was full and the majority were people who only came to big events. My dad came out of a meeting with the Pastor and some of the deacons ready to preach. Something was different about his "readiness". There was a fire in his eye and passion in his words as he challenged and charged the church with the truth of Revelation 2. He warned them of losing their Pastor because they had lost their first love (Jesus). People wept and flooded the alter that night. They embraced their Pastor after that day. My dad did not walk on egg shells that night. He smashed any proverbial ice in the room with a warning: "Jesus will come and close these doors. For He is the one who starts churches and He is the one who closes them!".

I would over hear my parents talk at night after my sister and I went to bed. I would creep to the edge of their room and sit and listen awhile. They would unpack the day, talk about their love for us and the love for the ministry. My dad would share stories about people in the church who would come and try to start fights or ask questions about the sermon on Sundays and he never seemed to bat an eye. It was part of his calling. His hopes and fears for the flock he was shepherding were of great joy to him and my mom. He saw that people were growing, asking questions, being offended by the truth of God's word, and that excited him.

I am writing this filled with 2 great hopes. One being that God chose me and called me into salvation and into the ministry. The second being that my parents loved me so much that they never did give up on me. They saw through all the pain and misery I brought as a child and teenager knowing that God would use me as His own one day. I don't think my dad ever expected me to follow in his footsteps, he just wanted to see me in heaven one day. I knew that he prayed for me. I would hear him late at night or early mornings in the living room laboring in prayer for my sister and me and the people of the church. At times you would hear him weeping over the lost of the city. My dad cared. He cared more than I ever could. He still cares. He cares for people.

I want to be like my dad. My heart is slowly changing into the heart of a Pastor. I want to Pastor people. Struggle with people. Show people folly and weep with them as they repent of sin. My dad's ministry might never be noticed by anyone "important". I don't think he cares about that. My dad didn't give his life to a call of being noticed. He gave his life to a murdered and resurrected savior. One that loved him so much that he laid down his life for him. This fills me with much hope that I may one day be like my dad. Giving my life to a purpose that might not get me noticed on earth, but that I may receive a crown in heaven.

I long for the day when we join the hosts of heaven and the myriads of angels and cry out to the lamb that was slain. As our eyes see the King, God almighty seated on His throne. I long for the day that He will call the faithful forward and they will lay down their crowns at His feet and worship Him. I know I will see my dad in that crowd. As Jesus takes my dad's face in his nail-scarred hands, looks deep into his eyes and says, "You did great. Welcome home.".

Christ crucified, Christ glorified,

- rg

"I told you so!"

So...I'm writing this blog with red cheeks (embarrassment) and excitement in my heart. I'm going to give a little back story so if you didn't know why I am writing this blog, you will be in the loop.

This past August Kallie, the boys and I loaded up our stuff and moved in with my parents here in Taylor, Texas (east of Austin). We have been here since August 20 something. We are so indebted to my parents for them allowing us to invade their space for a few months. To make a long story short, central Texas is not for the Garzon family. It definitely has it's perks but we love and miss Amarillo.

We came down here with a mission to help plant a church north of San Antonio. We have high hopes for the church and know they will do great because they have great leadership in place. Church planting, like central Texas, is not for the Garzon family either. We have some financial responsibilities that we felt would be irresponsible to ask people to pay for with their financial support, so we backed out.

With all this said, WE ARE MOVING BACK TO AMARILLO. We miss our house, we miss our friends, we miss our church. We miss it all. This will be the 3rd time we will be moving back to Amarillo and the last. It is where our children will come visit us when we are old. We will make Amarillo our home for many years to come.

Do me a favor if you are reading this and you live in Amarillo. Next time you see me, punch me in the gut and say "I told you so!"

See you all soon! We hope to be back by the middle of December.

-the garzon's