The Beach Party
Yesterday I opened the sermon talking about a vision that Chelsea Douce (daughter of friends and New-Hope-supported missionaries, Phil and Debbie Douce). I love the beautiful picture she paints of how we, along with Jesus, absorb the pain of the world as we go and reach out to those who so desperately need hope and help. I wanted to share the fuller version of Chelsea's vision in her own words here since I did not get all the details just right as I spoke of it yesterday. It is a vivid picture of what we are to be doing in this world--walking hand-in-hand with Jesus as he goes to hurting people and leads us toward our real home. Here's what Chelsea wrote:
On October 23, 2006, I was at a Navigator conference. During a worship and prayer time I experienced what I can only describe as a vivid word picture. I attempted to record what I heard/saw that night:
I put my hand in Jesus' and we contentedly walked together alone down a beautiful beach, the tide tickling our barefoot toes. In the distance I could see a beach party. Even from afar I could see, or maybe sense, the joy of the celebration. While I could not distinguish faces or see clearly what was going on, I knew they were waiting for 
Jesus and me to arrive. My eyes strained and my heart beat excitedly within me. I couldn’t wait to reach the party. Jesus grinned at my enthusiasm, and I wondered in that moment if perhaps this meant that he was calling me to my true home, my heavenly home.
But then something caught my eye from the periphery. I looked to my left. Along the beachfront were hundreds of shacks, dirty and broken, without electricity or running water. Peering through uncovered windows stared snot-nosed children. On the front steps sat sullen-looking fathers desperately clinging to almost empty bottles. Stressed mothers swept dirt floors and chickens ran among their feet. The celebration further down the beach was hidden from their view. They could not see past where they were. Jesus and I stood looking at them. I looked again at the party in the distance. I looked back at Jesus and he smiled gently. My hand still in his, we began to walk toward the closest shack. To my dismay, I realized that I had to walk through all the beach trash to reach them. Broken glass cut into my feet and I clung tightly to Jesus' hand. Feet bleeding, we approached the first unhappy home. They stared at me.
I held my free hand out to them and said, “Hi, my name is Chelsea and I want to introduce you to my best friend. He saved my life and he wants to save yours.”
In the dirty sand, surrounded by dirty faces and clucking chickens, Jesus and I were invited to sit. We simply hung out and chatted about everyday life, the seasons, and poultry prices. Ultimately, we discussed the open invitation they also had to the beach party toward which Jesus and I were traveling. Sometimes the pain of my feet was distracting, but I could still see the party in the distance, and I knew they were still waiting for us.
Back through the broken glass and the trash we walked toward the ocean, pressing on to the celebration in the distance. Again the waves hit my feet, but this time the sea salt filled my open cuts and the burning was intense. I continued to hold tightly to Jesus' hand and was reassured by the steady pressure of his grip. Almost against my will (such was my yearning to reach the beach party), more faces to my left caught my eye. More dirty precious baby faces. More staring eyes. Here I was walking along with Jesus and they had no idea who he was.
Again and again Jesus and I would cut through the beach trash. I couldn't get over how amazing it was to simply introduce Jesus to people. It was worth the pain of my bleeding feet and worth the delay of reaching the party. The entire way to the party, Jesus and I made trips from the ocean tide to the beach shacks clustered at the beach edge. The party always seemed the same distance away no matter how far we journeyed, so I was surprised when suddenly I could distinguish figures on the party’s edge.
Standing with Jesus, my breath caught in my chest. Angels waiting closest to us could not contain their enthusiasm any more. They came rushing, dancing, bouncing toward us and began to hug and kiss us and pat us on the back, all the while exclaiming, “We are so glad you are here. We have been waiting for you. You have no idea how eagerly we have watched for your arrival.” They took my hands and pulled me into the circle of people. The group was large but felt somehow intimate, strange and yet somehow familiar.
“Oh, Chelsea,” one of the angels exclaimed, “we are just so excited you are here! We have your seat of honor saved and prepared for you.” I began to recognize people at the party as I was led deeper into the circle. The joy was so much that I began to weep. I heard myself saying, “I wasn't expecting this. I had no idea it would look like this. No idea it would be this wonderful.” Tears continued to drip down my face unheeded in my joy and awe.
Then someone gently took me to the edge of the party and pointed out where I had come from. “Look at who you brought with you, Chelsea. Look at who comes behind you.” I watched in complete amazement as people began to walk away from the broken clusters of beach shacks toward the healing of the salt water. They began to walk toward us. They could not distinguish any figures, but they knew, just as I had known, that we were waiting for them.
Jesus and me to arrive. My eyes strained and my heart beat excitedly within me. I couldn’t wait to reach the party. Jesus grinned at my enthusiasm, and I wondered in that moment if perhaps this meant that he was calling me to my true home, my heavenly home.
But then something caught my eye from the periphery. I looked to my left. Along the beachfront were hundreds of shacks, dirty and broken, without electricity or running water. Peering through uncovered windows stared snot-nosed children. On the front steps sat sullen-looking fathers desperately clinging to almost empty bottles. Stressed mothers swept dirt floors and chickens ran among their feet. The celebration further down the beach was hidden from their view. They could not see past where they were. Jesus and I stood looking at them. I looked again at the party in the distance. I looked back at Jesus and he smiled gently. My hand still in his, we began to walk toward the closest shack. To my dismay, I realized that I had to walk through all the beach trash to reach them. Broken glass cut into my feet and I clung tightly to Jesus' hand. Feet bleeding, we approached the first unhappy home. They stared at me.
I held my free hand out to them and said, “Hi, my name is Chelsea and I want to introduce you to my best friend. He saved my life and he wants to save yours.”
In the dirty sand, surrounded by dirty faces and clucking chickens, Jesus and I were invited to sit. We simply hung out and chatted about everyday life, the seasons, and poultry prices. Ultimately, we discussed the open invitation they also had to the beach party toward which Jesus and I were traveling. Sometimes the pain of my feet was distracting, but I could still see the party in the distance, and I knew they were still waiting for us.
Back through the broken glass and the trash we walked toward the ocean, pressing on to the celebration in the distance. Again the waves hit my feet, but this time the sea salt filled my open cuts and the burning was intense. I continued to hold tightly to Jesus' hand and was reassured by the steady pressure of his grip. Almost against my will (such was my yearning to reach the beach party), more faces to my left caught my eye. More dirty precious baby faces. More staring eyes. Here I was walking along with Jesus and they had no idea who he was.
Again and again Jesus and I would cut through the beach trash. I couldn't get over how amazing it was to simply introduce Jesus to people. It was worth the pain of my bleeding feet and worth the delay of reaching the party. The entire way to the party, Jesus and I made trips from the ocean tide to the beach shacks clustered at the beach edge. The party always seemed the same distance away no matter how far we journeyed, so I was surprised when suddenly I could distinguish figures on the party’s edge.
Standing with Jesus, my breath caught in my chest. Angels waiting closest to us could not contain their enthusiasm any more. They came rushing, dancing, bouncing toward us and began to hug and kiss us and pat us on the back, all the while exclaiming, “We are so glad you are here. We have been waiting for you. You have no idea how eagerly we have watched for your arrival.” They took my hands and pulled me into the circle of people. The group was large but felt somehow intimate, strange and yet somehow familiar.
“Oh, Chelsea,” one of the angels exclaimed, “we are just so excited you are here! We have your seat of honor saved and prepared for you.” I began to recognize people at the party as I was led deeper into the circle. The joy was so much that I began to weep. I heard myself saying, “I wasn't expecting this. I had no idea it would look like this. No idea it would be this wonderful.” Tears continued to drip down my face unheeded in my joy and awe.
Then someone gently took me to the edge of the party and pointed out where I had come from. “Look at who you brought with you, Chelsea. Look at who comes behind you.” I watched in complete amazement as people began to walk away from the broken clusters of beach shacks toward the healing of the salt water. They began to walk toward us. They could not distinguish any figures, but they knew, just as I had known, that we were waiting for them.
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