Faith Restored Definition

Five days had passed this time since anyone had heard from my mother. I remember praying to God to protect her from harm and for me to find her. The next day she showed up, but not in the way we had hoped. One morning as I was getting ready for school my sophomore year in high school, my phone rang to the voice of my stepfather. My stepfather had told me he heard a call come over the dispatch scanner at his work and my mother’s name was mentioned. The sheriff had informed my stepfather that my mother had been involved in an accident. My stepfather asked me to go to the emergency room and see what condition my mother was in because he lived a half hour away from the hospital. When I arrived at the hospital I found my mother cut out of her clothes, covered in her own urine, massive amounts of blood all over her body, and lying lifeless on life support on the table. At this point, no one knew whether my mother would be okay. My mother had bleeding on the brain as well as a tear in her shoulder, a shattered face, and a chest tube draining fluid from her lung which had collapsed. All I could do was pray! My mother’s life was in God’s hands now. Three days later she woke

When I was a child, every time I saw my mother crying and hurting from all the abuse induced by her husband, the person who was supposed to protect her, I ask God, why? I never received an answer. As the abuse continued and life went on, I was never able to forgive him for the suffering that he caused not only to my mother, but to me as well. I was carrying all the miseries from my childhood and taking out on the people who love and care for me. There was no closure for the pain and suffering. The only person that I saw comfort and security from was my father, a man who never allowed me to pity myself or blame myself for other's actions. He was always there for me until my eighteenth birthday when he decided that I was “old enough to be on my own;” it was his own way to attempt making me independent. Everything became blurry at that point in my life. There was nowhere to turn except the only person who had the opportunities in her eighty years to master the meaning of true forgiveness: my grandmother, Consuelo, which her name literally means to console. Living with her and listening to her life stories allowed me to comprehend

“I am petrified. I feel as if God has abandoned me. I just sat there and watched, quietly, because I had no idea what to do. As if these kind of things are normal for a 10 year old boy to witness. Everyone tells me that “it wasn’t your fault” or that “there was nothing you could have done.” I think I believe them… but the haunting images of my 16 year old brother being beaten to death tell me otherwise. The memories tell me I should have done something to save him. But I didn’t. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened to my best friend and my brother.”

After many hours of collecting my cousin’s belongings and visiting with his grieving widow and children the day finally came to an end at around 12 midnight. As those of us who came to offer our support began to gather our things to leave and head back towards our respective homes my aunt turned to my uncle and said “Hon . . . will you please pray?” What happened next will reverberate in my ears forever as long as I live I will never forget the words I heard that night. My uncle began with “Father I thank you for this day . . .” His words shattered the silence like a clap of thunder angrily streaking across the darkened skies of night. All at once I had been jerked violently out of my dazed stupor brought on by lack of sleep and emotional rollercoaster of the events of the day. My head no longer bowed and my eyes burned with anger at this man who was thanking God for this day. Did he not know that the very God he was thanking had taken his first born son violently in an instant away from him? I was incredulous that he was too dumb to know that today of all days he should be mad at God not thanking him . . . what was wrong with this guy? To this day I cannot recall what he said after he thanked God, but I remember driving home and obsessively pouring over his words . . . “Father I thank you for this day.” Even though I did not know it at the time God had used that simple prayer to penetrate my hardened heart and

A small mission team took a trip to Haiti last summer. Over the course of the trip one man was overjoyed to be there and felt God truly moving through him. That is until he was approached by a elderly woman who told him how her son is starving. He and his group traveled to the mountain region where the old woman lived. There she showed them her house and the community’s church. The dismally depressing sight of the village was hard enough to imagine people living there. But, it was there on that mountain when the elderly woman asked the man “why does God allow his people to suffer?” How could a question so simple leave a man so bold in udder silence? He thought to himself that there must be an answer. That night, at the camp they stayed at the

I did not know my grandpa until I was sixteen years old, sitting in a dim hospital room staring at his massive hands. I studied their calloused tips, beefy palms, and oil stained nails. I knew what crimes those hands had committed. I knew they had beaten my grandmother, cheated her, and abandoned my mother’s family. What I didn’t know, is that those blundering, graceless hands would change the course of my life and guide me on my path to becoming who I am today. For a reason unknown, I would find myself at his bedside every day after school, watching him slowing recover from a stroke that caused extensive damage to part of his brain. Brushing his teeth, playing memory games, and observing his team of healthcare providers moved me to want to pursue a career doing the same thing; caring for others.

This memo is in response to Prison Fellowship’s Board of Directors request to define what is meant by references to “justice that restores” and other terms within the revised statement of faith.

I had a stroke about 2 years ago, I could not see, walk or talk. I almost gave up on being a productive citizen. I was sent to a rehab facility and started therapy. I knew that I have to do something to be gain to astablish my health, I knew that I could not do it alone. However, I always believed that God makes no mistakes, but I would have to put forth some efford in rehabliting myself. God have placed me in a place where I had to take charge of my life. I have always believed in Gods great work, but I would have to do his will. I started praying more than ever, studying my Bible more and establishing a relationship with him! He began healing my body, my mind and my soul. Now, I'm very Spiritual, Healthy, and I'm always finding time to not

The thought of death and my grandfather colliding with each other had troubled and depressed me. All of us were rolling through life just fine. Then, I was stunned that the ball might stop rolling for him. His life took a very sharp turn and all of ours had done so too. My day had been perfectly well until my happiness went to an utter discontinuation. My mother had received the call. His heart was immensely affecting him.

In 2011, I loss my closest family member, my uncle, the most perfect father figure. The call was devastating. He had been battling cancer all of his life. One year it was gone and then back again. He was going through a war with his body, this illness. He was 47 when he passed. I never will understand why God will take the most joyous, heart felt, loving people. But I could never question God. It was simply his time. Now who would I look up too? That was my war. Watching my Uncle Ernie have to go to treatment after treatment was tiring not for only him but for me. When he was drained I felt drained, I fed from his energy. When my uncle passed I felt my world was over. I couldn 't believe it, I didn 't want to believe it. His war was over and my war had just started.

It was March 2012 when I had a fever and this strange lump appeared. I knew my life was about to change as I was admitted into the hospital for my chemotherapy. It terrified me because I hated hospital . Hospitals remind me of blood and the dying which made them horrible. However, seeing babies and old folks who were diagnosed with diseases broke my heart. I wished I could help ease their pain. I saw a little five-year-old boy with needles around his body and a pipe in his mouth. He was diagnosed with liver cancer. “He is too small to bear that kind of pain; he should have been able to enjoy his childhood, why is this happened to him?” I muttered. His parents seemed to be alright seeing their son’s condition, and their words made me speechless. “God loves him more, He knows he can handle the pain, even if God takes him away, we’ll be more than content because we know God will take good care of him.”

This paper will be based on the reading "What is Faith," posted on blackboard. In addition, I will delineate the key outlooks and positions of the author. First of all, I have to say about the author of the book posted on Blackboard that from the beginning to the end of his writing he keeps through examples and comparison that everyone has faith in something. Terrence opens the introduction remarking that is very important that people has started more and more to familiarize with the powerful human reality (Faith), even in many times it's been disregarded in our lives, and hard to recognize the principal importance of faith in the societies. In addition to this

“Hey, just remember that I’m new here, too,” He whispered in my ear. “You don’t have to feel alone.” After the pastor introduced his parents, they came to sit with us, as well. Music started to play. I sort of zoned out until a certain song started to play-- the one I heard in the car. As I started to really pay attention to the meaning, I started to cry. For the first time in my whole life, I got on my knees, and prayed. I felt like there was this unhuman like presence surrounding me. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I asked if I could somehow have that love that every one of these people seem to have. I asked that if there was truly a God to lift all my burdens off of my chest and to forgive me. I felt like someone was speaking to me because of the next song’s second verse and chorus.

I remember the tearless man standing beside the bed where the body of his mother, my grandmother, laid. There was a silent feeling in the room even as the cries and yells that were heard outside of the room from family members and friends lingered. I was shocked to see my father not cry in the sorrowful room. I knew he was being strong for me so I wanted to be strong for him. I asked him why he never seemed to have shed a tear and he responded saying "Because she is in God's hands now". Hearing that when I was young, I did not understand at the time; however, it made me realize later how significant it is to look up to my Dad during distressing times and learn from his implicit behaviors as teachings for becoming a young man.

In 2001, I began to encounter a rather turbulent and difficult period after my father passed away because of congestive heart failure. I attempted to reduce the negative effects of the agonizing loss and began to work excessively as an escape from the painful reality. Most recently, I reevaluated this heartrending event in my life and identified the one of the poorest choices I made was the decision not approach God with this serious predicament. Unknowingly, I continued to pursue the comfort and peace that Jesus Christ alone provides to a person with grief-stricken heart.