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Allen Avenue Christian Reformed Church, Pastor Benjamin Oliveira 695 Allen Avenue, Muskegon, MI 49442

March/April, 2020

Special Collections

March 1 Love INC

Communion March 8

World Renew March 22

Calvin Seminary April 9

World Renew Communion

April 12 Resonate Global Mission

April 26 GEMS International

April 9 Maundy Thursday

April 12 Easter Sunday

April 5 Palm Sunday

Devoted To the Right Things 42 They devoted themselves (continuously) to the apostles’ teaching and to fel-lowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer . 43 Everyone was filled with awe (continuously) [lit. Now, fear continuously came upon every soul] at the many wonders and signs (continuously) performed by the apostles. 44 All the believers were together and had everything in common (continuously). 45 They (continuously) sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need (continuously). 46 Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts (continuously), 47 praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily (= continuously) those who were being saved. Acts 2:42-47, (NIV with some enhancements) The earliest account of the New Covenant, Spirit-filled, Resurrection blessed church is given to us in Acts 2:42-47. These brand new converts were con-tinuously devoted to some important things: the apostles teachings, fellowship, which is most likely two parts; the breaking of bread and prayer. We should also be struck by the grammar: all the ongoing, continuous things they did together. This young fledgling church was constantly studying the Apostolic teach-ings. This is the teachings of Jesus through the Apostles. They were continuously devoted to fellowship. The breaking of bread has a double-meaning. It certainly can be as simple as having a meal together-a potluck if you will. It also has some sacramental overtones (c.f. Luke 24:13-35). This early church got together contin-uously to have both meals together and the Lord's Supper together. They also nev-er stopped praying together. They were will all filled with the fear of the Lord (v. 43). Because of this devotion to God and to each other, if someone had a need they would sell their own homes or property. Would we do that? They wor-shipped continuously at the temple. They broke bread (had a meal) in each others homes and enjoyed the favor of all people. Outsiders saw their unity of faith and devotion to one another and to God. With this commitment to God and his ways, the Lord added to their number daily. I am always amazed when reading this passage. I have never seen a church like this. Why? It is hard to say exactly. Some of it was the time. To have the Apostles teaching was a unique time in redemptive history. There are no more apostles. That office existed only for a certain time. There are certainly some cul-tural issues too: eastern hospitality vs. 21st western American hospitality. They

March 1 First Sunday of Lent

April 10 Good Friday

April 26 GEMS Sunday

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are very different. They also did not have their own church buildings to gather and so on. With that said, however, we should not ignore the differences. Some questions come to mind. Are we devoted to the same things this early church was de-voted to? Are we studying the faith daily? Are we interested in gathering together to have meals weekly? Are we praying together? Professor and Pastor, Derek Thomas adds another component, "The key is found in verse 43 in the phrase, 'fear came upon every soul'—a joyful, trembling sense of awe." (Derek W. H. Thomas, Acts, Reformed Expository Commentary, p. 64-65.) Do we have the fear of the Lord like the early church did, continuously? We are devoted to a variety of things, but they are not the same as this early church. While this early church grew in immense and powerful ways in the book of Acts, the church in America is shrinking. The early church didn't have websites or live-streaming. They didn't pay for marketing firms or hire church growth experts. They grew and they grew and they grew, because they were de-voted to the right things. —Pastor Ben

Barnabas

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Coffee Schedule March 1 Sherrie & Jack Wolffis Tim Maat & Mary Patton 8 Beth & Dave VanRees Kari Verwolf 15 Melisa & Cam Vlasma Sandy Volkers 22 Sue & Jim Secord Becki & Randy Fisher 29 Marcia & Mike Breuker Val & Steve Morris April 5 Marie & Chuck Ritchard Nancy & Steve Rop 12 Peg & Stan Rop Joanne & Dave Bishop 19 Jill & Brian Schuitema Deb & Russ Vlasma 26 Toni & Scott Schuitema Charry & Phil Snyder If you are unable to serve on your designated Sunday, please try to switch with someone, otherwise, contact Deanna VanderPloeg at 231-683-3946.

Greeters March 1 Case & Judy Vaandering 8 Axel & Retha Johnson 15 Dean & Amber Johnson Family 22 Scott & Toni Schuitema Family 29 Scott & Rebecca Sytsema Family April 5 Ro VerHeul, Lois Grinwis 12 Gord & Carol Peterman 19 Bruce & Debbie Anderson 26 Greg & Amanda Stahl Family If you are unable to greet on your designated Sun-day, please try to switch with someone, otherwise, contact the secretary at aacrcsecretary@gmail.com or at 722-6411.

Nursery Schedule March 1 Karen Alphenaar, Dan Vander Ploeg 8 Toni Schuitema, Katelyn Morris 15 Charry Snyder, Addy Oliveira 22 Amber Johnson, Sydney Sytsema 29 Carol Peterman, Tekalegn Vlasma April 5 Nancy Rop, Yeabsira Vlasma 9 Sue Sytsema, Maelin Vlasma 12 Renee Vlasma, Devin Snyder 19 Faith Vlasma, Taylor Johnson

26 Laurie DeJonge, Travis Snyder If you have any questions, call Sue Sytsema 798-7619.

Note: If you exchange assignments with someone, let the secretary know so she can have it right in the bulletin. aacrcsecretary@gmail.com or 231.722.6411

Children’s Church March 1 Amber Johnson, Deb Vlasma 8 Amanda Stahl, Tekalegn Vlasma 15 Barb Malda, Travis Snyder 22 Dale Johnson, Yeabsira Vlasma 29 Rebecca Sytsema, Devin Snyder April 5 Sherrie Wolffis, Emily Snyder 12 Beth VanRees, Taylor Johnson 19 Amber Johnson, Dan Vander Ploeg 26 Sue Sytsema, Kayla Johnson If you have any questions, call Amber Johnson 670-4865. Thank you to all the teachers and helpers that serve in Children’s Church.

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Dale Johnson Tyrone

Mr. Johnson presenting trophies Cadets with their trophies and award

Accompanists Current cadets with former cadets and counselors

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Daisy’s Angel

By Taylor Johnson

Congratulations to Taylor Johnson! She wrote this story for the annual Write Michigan Short Story Contest hosted by Kent District Library in GR. Her story was selected as one of the top 10 finalists, and then winner of the popular vote, teen category. Taylor is a sophomore at Western Michigan Christian who was born and raised in Michigan. She has enjoyed writing stories since the 2nd grade. She lives with her Mom, Dad, Sister, and German shepherd, Sam. Her favorite subjects throughout her life have always been English and Creative Writing. Short stories and flash fiction are her favorite things to write be-cause they are less time consuming and allow her to be creative. Her two main interests she plans to pursue are drawing and writing. Other hobbies she takes part in are theater, painting, and volleyball.

Living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere is serene until you face a problem you can’t fix. Leaky faucets, black mold, and strange illnesses--Daisy solved all of these by driving about two hours into the nearest town. The four-plus-hour round trip made even the smallest things take a lot of time, which Daisy loathed immensely. Not only that, but the last thing she wanted to do was see and interact with people. So, most of her problems she straightened out herself or just ignored. It usually worked out fine, she was self-reliant. Until the bump appeared. Growing up, she had always been misanthropic. In a small house with a large family, Daisy craved being alone. She took drastic measures just to avoid interaction, including sitting on her roof and skipping classes at school. Her teachers and other adults usually labeled her as introverted or antisocial compared to her loud and rambunctious siblings. Her classmates thought she was stuck up. But she didn’t really mind how she was perceived by others, just so they left her alone. She had many hobbies--knitting, drawing, taking walks in forests--that she enjoyed doing in solitude. Her parents eventually got her a therapist after pressure from countless adults, and she was diagnosed with a social phobia, social anxiety disorder. Her parents refused the recom-mended treatment. In her dad’s words, “She gets along fine how it is. She doesn’t need them delusional pills. She’s a clever girl; she’ll figure it out.” Moving to a small cottage her grandparents had previously owned in Wyoming was the best decision Daisy had ever made. It was quiet and isolated, something she had always wanted. It had one story, had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. After her grandparents died, no one in the family wanted the headache. She had no problem claiming it. The first day she moved in, Daisy almost cried from happiness. She was surrounded by dense forests; tall trees and long grass sheltered her from the bothersome people that had plagued her. Her life was at ease. That was until the tenth year in her cabin, when she got the bump. It had happened when Daisy was walking in the forest. She was strolling through the trees, looking for a good place to sit and draw. She loved drawing plants in the morning when they were covered in a heavenly dew. She then noticed a particularly nice patch of grass under a tree. She started towards it, only to trip on a tree root and fall down a small ravine. She yelped as she tumbled in the mud and foliage, down the slope and into the creek nearby. Now she and her sleek black hair was soaked in cold muddy water and covered in lengths of blackberry vines.

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Near the vine, many bell shaped white flowers grew. She knew she should get back, but her curiosity got the best of her. Steadying herself, she stood up and brushed herself off. She felt a sharp pain in her left ankle, wincing. She limped over to the strange flowers and observed them. They looked like nothing Daisy had ever seen before. She picked a few and took them home. Daisy drew a warm bath as soon as she got back. She was shivering and worried that she’d get sick; it was the beginning of fall, and the winds had been bitterly cold on her trudge home. As she bathed, she pulled free many thorns that had dug into her skin and unraveled plants from her hair. It was not a pleasant experience. By the end, she had used up almost all her bandaids on her cuts and scrapes. Another trip to town I have to make, she thought in the back of her head. After the tiring experience, Daisy decided it was best to make some tea and rest. Her ankle had now swollen quite a lot and an indentation was left when she pressed on it with her finger. Any sane person would see a doctor, but Daisy was convinced a few days bedrest, an ice pack, and a good cup of tea would do just as good as any medicine. So, she put the kettle on the stovetop and shuffled through her tea packets. Chamomile, hibiscus, rose--none of the teas looked appetizing. Exhaustion plagued her thoughts, and she thought back to the flowers she had retrieved from her fall. Before she understood what she was doing, she was washing the flowers under the faucet and preparing them for the tea. Is this a good idea? She wondered. Looks like I’ll find out. They smelled horrendous, but she continued anyway. She only made one cup of tea and drank it all. Then, she tumbled into bed with a bag of frozen green beans pressed on her ankle and drifted off to sleep. A pain woke Daisy up late that night. She turned on her lamp to check on her ankle only to realize it was numb. The soreness was coming from her right wrist where a small black bump resided. The area around it was sensitive. Ew, a blackhead. Her mom had always warned her not to squeeze at any blemish, but Daisy ignored this advice now. She flinched at the urgent pain that followed these attempts. She inferred that it was a type of cyst and begrudgingly ad-mitted that she should get it examined by a doctor soon. It’s like God is urging me to go into town or something. Yeesh. She went back to sleep in a huff. Daisy slept in late the next day, not wanting to walk on her throbbing ankle. But she got hungry quickly. Having to drag herself out of bed, she hopped downstairs to make scrambled eggs. As she got out the ingredients, she discovered that the feeling in her right wrist had spread to her entire forearm. It felt strained, like it was being overexerted, almost as if something was growing inside of her. What a notion. Gruesome imagination and grogginess is not a good mix-ture, she reminded herself. Ever since Daisy was young she dealt with a vivid mind, which was both a blessing and a curse. She took her eggs, some snacks, and a few painkillers up to her room so she could minimize the use of her ankle and arm for the rest of the day. After finishing her breakfast and knitting for a while, Daisy began to feel a pain again, this time in her neck. Her breathing felt strained. She felt around and found a small bump again. She hurriedly limped to her bathroom and peered into the mirror, and alas, another small black cyst had appeared on her neck. What is this? This wasn’t here yesterday. She thought about what to do. What if just wait it out a little longer? If it worsens then I’ll drive into town and go to a doctor. And pick up more bandaids while I’m there. She sighed. She had already gone into town last week for groceries and didn’t want to leave her house again. A lingering sense of dread hung in the air when she thought about this idea. As she looked back into the mirror, she saw her face again, but something was off. She leaned in closer and saw that her skin look pale, transparent even. Dark lines were visible, trailing up her neck and to her cheeks. Roots. Roots that were coming from the bump.

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She slowly backed away from the mirror. A dizzy feeling washed over her, and her mind clouded. What is happening to me?! Oh dear God, what is wrong with me? She sank down to her bathroom floor. She was about to cover her face with her hands but then she saw them. Oh- my hands! Looking at her hands, she noticed they had turned a deep purple. They too had roots that went all the way up her arms. The bump on her wrist now had a small sprout. “What is this? What’s happening to me?!” Daisy yelled to her empty cottage. Dread took over, and she began to sob bitterly while hugging her knees to her chest. She finally under-stood. The bump appeared to be a seed. A seed had dug its way into her skin through a cut and a plant had grown, in her arm and soon in her neck. Daisy would have to go into town, rush to the emergency room, and then stay several days in a hospital awaiting surgery to remove the plants. A voice in her head chirped: Or . . . But she knew there was no other way out. It was do or die. Go into town or get strangled by a plant living in your body. She had a choice, and it shouldn’t have been hard to decide what to do next. But it was. It had always been. As Daisy lay on the bathroom floor, her tears did not slow as she came to this conclusion. Thoughts about the small town with buildings and people overwhelmed her. I know what I have to do. Why is it that it’s so hard to do it? She asked her-self. Deep down she knew the answer: the social phobia that had controlled her entire life was consuming her. It was like a beast that kept her hostage, that threatened to kill if she disobeyed it’s orders. But this time, it would actually kill her. Daisy felt herself spiraling. Sometimes when she thought about going into town, going anywhere, she felt the panic rise from deep inside of her, prickling upward to her skin. It was an impending sense of doom, a burning sensation that imprisoned her entire body. She remem-bered what her therapist said when she was ten: “Focus on breathing. Never forget, panic attacks always end. It may feel like it’ll last forever, but it won’t. Just breathe and wait.” Breathe and wait. She tried to take deep breaths. It hurt her chest, but she closed her eyes and breathed. She sat up, finally. A sudden wave of euphoric courage came over her. Daisy stood up abruptly and left her bathroom. Grabbing her purse and her keys, she made her way to her car. I won’t let it stop me. Not this time! Daisy triumphantly told herself. Her Dad’s words from years ago echoed in her mind. “She’s a clever girl, she’ll figure it out.” A strange sight instantly stopped her in her tracks. The walls in her house were moving . Eyes wide and mouth open, Daisy was frozen. Her tan walls seemed to be melting right in front of her. Then she saw faces, yelling faces in her walls. “You’ll never make it!” one jeered. “Don’t kid yourself!” another taunted. “Shut up!” Daisy yelled at them. “Shut up shut up shut up!” And she left swiftly, slam-ming the door behind her. Then she dashed to her car. As she was starting the engine, out of the corner of she saw something in her mirror. A crowd of people were standing at the end of her driveway. They had many eyes and no mouths, yet they chanted at her. “Go back inside your house. Go back inside your house.” Daisy’s breathing quickened. She honked her horn for a long time and then began to back out. She tensed, expecting to feel her car hit the crowd, but she didn’t. This isn’t real , she realized. None of this is real. Just my horribly vivid imagination playing tricks. Right? Heart beating fast and panting, a panicked Daisy accelerated to town, going 20 mph over the speed limit. Plants were now growing out of her legs and arms, in her hair and out of her nose. Gonna make a mess of my car she thought absentmindedly, then she laughed frightfully. The road was purple, the dashes were green, and the sky was a sick shade of red. But to that she paid no at-

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tention, she just needed to get to town. Daisy’s whole body trembled terribly, and she reckoned she had a fever. Finally, Daisy saw other buildings and cars. Nothing looked right--the cars were made of jelly and the buildings were wavy, but she had gotten used to that now. Instantaneously, her dad was in the passenger seat. “Daisy.” He looked at her blankly, as if he was looking through her. “Dad? What are you doing?” “Clever girl,” he remarked, “She’s such a clever girl; she’ll figure it out. Clever girl.” And then he was gone, and Daisy was in a parking spot even though hadn’t remembered parking. She opened the door, stepped out, and then went unconscious. Daisy dreamt of her fall. She was back in the woods, walking, looking for a place to draw just as she did that day. Then she would fall down the ravine. But as soon as she got up, she would be back in the woods, looking for a place to draw, only to fall again. It was an end-less loop. She woke up in a hospital room with a killer headache and an IV in her arm. A groggi-ness she had never felt before inhabited her body. She stretched out her arms in front of her. There wasn’t a plant in sight. “Plants,” she groaned, “They got rid of the plants. Thank God.” “Huh?” A man’s voice spoke. Daisy turned and saw a doctor in the room that she didn’t notice. “I see you’ve woken up from your sleep, Miss Daisy. You were out for a while.” “How long was I asleep?” she croaked. “About 3 hours. Someone found you lying on the ground outside of your car in our parking lot. The person who found you had quite a fright! She thought you were dead.” Three hours. Parking Lot. She tried to process all of this information, but what happened before she passed out was all a blur. She barely even remembered going into town. Daisy checked her arms again, then looked under her covers to check her legs. There were no bumps, no roots, and no plants. “What happened to me?” The doctor chuckled quietly. “We’re not sure yet. But from what we’ve observed, you seem to have eaten something poisonous. Either that, or you took some hardcore drugs. I personally believe it’s the prior.” This jogged her memory. The flower tea. The white bell shaped flowers. “I ate some white bell-shaped flowers. Well, I drank them in tea.” The doctor raised his eyebrows. “I certainly don’t study botany, but that sounds like an Angel’s Trumpet. Angel Trumpets are extremely poisonous and have hallucinogenic effects. I’m glad to see you got here when you did; some people die from Angel’s Trumpet. You must’ve had a heck of a trip though.” She remembered the plants growing out of her body, the nightmarish people in her wall and down her driveway, and her colorful surroundings. She shivered from the traumatic experience. All because I drank that tea. Wow, I must look stupid, Daisy thought to herself. “That was foolish of me,” she said apologetically, “I must’ve been knocked silly after my fall.” The doctor blinked. “Your fall?” She nodded. “I tripped and fell down a ravine. That’s where I found the flowers. Twist-ed my ankle pretty bad.” Daisy almost laughed until she saw that the doctor’s eyes were very wide. “And after this fall and hurting your ankle, you didn’t think to come to the doctor?” “Well, I did, but . . . ” her voice trailed. I feel so stupid. He sees me for the idiot I am. But instead of being judgmental of her, he gave her an understanding smile.

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“I checked your medical records, and noticed you had Social Anxiety Disorder. That’s probably why you didn’t come straight away, eh?” She nodded solemnly. A quiet pause occurred. “I see. Well, there’s certainly a lot to address here. First, I say we get you recovered from this Angel Trumpet pandemonium and check out your ankle. Then, we’ll look into treat-ment options for your anxiety disorder. Should improve your life quite a lot.” Daisy smiled, tears in her eyes. Oh, what an angel. She thought endearingly. Then an-other thought popped into her head. An angel! How ironic is that. One angel almost took my life, and another saved it. “My name is Dr. Conrad, I should mention. t’s nice to meet you, Daisy.” He shook her weak hand. “Oh! I just remembered, we called your parents when you were admitted in here since they were listed as your emergency contact. They’re in the waiting room right now. Do you want me to bring them in?” Daisy pondered this. On one hand she was surprised to realize she would be happy to have visitors, but on the other she hadn’t seen her parents since she moved. She felt the dread again, prickling upward to her skin. But then she had a thought. Maybe this is a new begin-ning. Maybe I can start over with them--with everyone. A new door would be opened for her. And she would let them in.

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