Bringing in the sheets?

Joe, Eric (number 2), and I attended Deeper a Bible conference that actually teaches the Bible this past weekend. It was in a word...deep. No fluffy marshmallows here. Instead of having baby formula poured down our throats as the trendy worship team sang the same sappy lyrics over and over, we actually got to knaw on a big side of meat while listening to some meaty hyms. It was refreshing and convicting all at once and I hope to post some of the awesome truths I gleaned from the conference in the future. But for now I want to talk about sheets.

What I loved about this conference is that they didn't just talk about evangelism and how great and neccessary it is, they actually provided a way for us attendees to go out and evangelize. Gasp! Actually do what we were taught? But, but, but....I'm scared. I don't want to talk to complete strangers about Jesus. They might look at me funny or ignore me or make fun of me. Me. Me. Me. That is what it comes down to, isn't it? I'm a selfish-prideful thing who doesn't want to inconvenience the great and powerful ME.

But, alas, somehow I managed to shut the ME up for a while and headed for the streets of Atlanta with an army of other tract-toting evangelist. Now, here's where the sheets come in. Before we jumped on the Marta (Atlanta's spotless subway system) one of the team leaders exhorted us by quoting Psalm 126:6. It goes like this, "He who goes to and fro weeping, carrying his bag of seeds, Shall indeed come again with a shout of joy, bringing his sheaves with him."

This propelled me back to the early days of my Christianity when Joe and I were newlyweds living in a tiny condominium on the southside of Chicago. The washer and dryer were located in the basement, so I would have to trudge up and down three flights of stairs to do our laundry. It was during this time of house-wifery that I would sing that famous hymn of old, Bringing in the Sheets, until one day Joe overheard me. "Did you just say sheets?," he inquired with a laugh. Proudly, I told him I was singing a hymn I had heard on the Christian radio station. "I think it's about missionaries," I replied. Images of dedicated missionary wives, pulling billowing sheets off the clothes-line strung across the barren backyard of her African hut filled my mind. She like most missionaries, I reasoned had to hang and then subsequently, "bring in the sheets" because they didn't have access to modern conveniences such as a clothes dryer. Of course, my husband burst into racious laughter. "Sheaves!" he managed to say through bouts of laughter. "It's sheaves, honey, not sheets!"

I am ashamed to admitt I did not know what a sheave was at that point in my life or why on earth you would want to bring one in. After a few hours of sharing Jesus and His gift of salvation with the wayward folks outside of the B.E.T. hip-hop awards, I was reminded that the sheaves are the harvest we are promised when we spread the seeds of God's truth--sometimes weeping, sometimes in fear, but never for naught.

Pray for Leon who wreeked of alcohol, but yet carried a worn Gideon's New Testament around in his pocket. He wept as he heard the gospel, a message that the enemy has snatched away many times. Pray that this time he would hear and obey the Saviors words. Pray for Ronda, who seemed to be milling outside the award ceremony in the hopes of "being discovered." She knew the gospel well, even when tested, but her behavior was not in keeping with the Bible. Pray the two men Joe witnessed to outside of the B.E.T. awards. One, again, knew much about Jesus, but was not living the life of a converted man. As soon as we started talking with him, you could see conviction setting in. Pray that he would be convicted all the way to the cross. And finally, pray for Marcel (I think that was his name), who couldn't get past his feelings on the subject. Pray that the Lord would use our 45-minute conversation that we had with him, to drive him to stop relying on his heart and seek the truth in God's word.