In one weekend the realities of the world we live in became remarkably clear. It's easy to push those truths aside, prevent them from entering our thoughts, until bad things happen to people we love.
One friend called to tell me a man she knows died suddenly. He left behind a wife and three children. This family had shared her joy of meeting their children in China. Now my friend would drive hours to share the grief. Then, a close friend much younger than me is having health problems. Spots were found on her lungs and she must undergo tests. Another young mom told me of her court date to find out if she has to send her one-year-old son to another state to stay with his vindictive father for a week each month. On Saturday night a friend called to tell me her little daughter had a raging fever from a tick bite.
I went to church Sunday morning and heard the news of another homeschooling mom, my hero with five adoptive children. She was taken to the hospital the day before with unusual symptoms. Before Sunday ended, an e-mail informed me she has invasive kidney cancer. I stared at the computer screen in disbelief, re-reading the news over and over. How can this be? Sorrow upon sorrow weighed heavily on me.
Somehow we think we might be spared horror and grief. If only we do all the right things, pray enough or have enough faith. We know that isn't true, really, but we play these games in our head. Just as God's gifts are given to all, we all suffer from living in this world. We know tragedy can strike anyone. But deep down we have this "it can't happen to me" mentality. I admit I was angry at God. How could he do this to people I love, to people who love him? Where is he in all this pain and fear?
It is a week later and my thoughts have turned around. I was talking to my friend who is partnering with us in hosting the Russian children this summer. I poured my outrage right on top of her head. She had no answers--who does? But she listened. My friend took me into her garden because she wanted to give me some roses. Several huge, old rose canes wound around beneath an arched trellis, trailing up and over it, the branches so laden with clusters of pale pink roses that they bowed over the top, ripe to be picked. Connie told me a bird had nested in the dense thicket and I searched for it. Finally I saw it, a nest so close I could reach out and touch, a small red tail peeping out. Connie handed me the roses as she cut them, the blossoms soft and delicate, the thorny stems ripping my hands. When she was finished she said simply, "God is good." My stinging cuts are a small price to pay to fill my kitchen with the heavenly scent of roses.
It seems such a contradiction. God is good? After I see the pain in all these hurt people? But I know it to be true. God did not create a world of sickness and evil. People have done that. We've polluted the air, the water, the food. Who knows where disease comes from? Self-centered people wanting only revenge don't care about a baby who needs his mother more than anything. Deer encroach on our yards, transferring disease, because we've taken their land away. We live in a world in turmoil and chaos.
My friend with cancer? Her adult daughter started a blog of prayers for her. A legion of faithful friends have stepped in with tangible help of childcare, transportation, house cleaning, and food for the family. An army of volunteers have signed on to cook for her family well into August. An avalanche of support has poured into her life. We can't fix her cancer, but we can be there for her. Jesus loves and cares for each of us through the hands of other people. She knows she is not forsaken by her friends nor by her God. Sometimes in our tragedies we see what others never will--the sacred presence of God.
If tomorrow I was diagnosed with an incurable disease would I rail against God and the unfairness of life? Maybe--for a short time. But then looking back I would see the gifts I've been given, the love I've had--my good mother, my precious children, my husband, siblings, dear friends, blessings upon blessings that have been showered upon me from the time I was a tiny child until now and I would be able to say with total honesty, "God is good."
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Deep sea fishing
Memorial Day weekend my brother came to visit. We haven't been together in two years and it was wonderful to see his face. Friends who share our daily lives refresh and encourage us. Old friends who evolve into family members are few and precious. Then there are the actual members of your family who share your memories, your parents, your history, and in the case of my brother, we also share our faith.
My brother has a deep, contagious laugh that sets everything right. He's silly and fun, but he's also caring and sensitive and generous. I so admire him and look up to him, even though he is the little brother I used to push in a stroller and pat to sleep in his crib.
We went to church together Sunday morning. The evening before we talked a little of our faith journey--where God has us now and what we are learning, each of us embarking on a new level of trust and anticipation of what God desires for our lives. The passage we studied in church was from Luke 5.
When Jesus had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch." Simon answered, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. Vs. 4-6.
The fisherman realizes he's had an encounter with the living God. When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!" Simon will never be the same. Scripture says he was astonished at the catch of fish. Another version says he was seized with amazement. Our summer venture has taken on the same quality--surreal amazement that we are in this place as we consider what the future holds.
When Jesus saw Simon Peter's reaction he says, "Don't be afraid; from now on you will catch men." And Jesus responds to me the same way when he sees my fear, my doubts, and my insecurities over my own ability to do what he's called me to do. "Don't be afraid; from now on you will..." Do what, Lord? I don't yet know, but that's okay.
Jesus says to us all, "Put out into deep water, and let down your nets for a catch." Without fully understanding, even if it might seem foolish at the time, we obey. Can we trust him for the catch of a lifetime? Can we trust him even if he leads us out to deep water where we've never gone before? What might fill our net that will change the course of our lives?
We sang a song that morning:
"Go to deep waters, deep waters, where only faith will let you go,
Go out to deep waters, deep waters,
Harvests of faith will overflow."
My brother has a deep, contagious laugh that sets everything right. He's silly and fun, but he's also caring and sensitive and generous. I so admire him and look up to him, even though he is the little brother I used to push in a stroller and pat to sleep in his crib.
We went to church together Sunday morning. The evening before we talked a little of our faith journey--where God has us now and what we are learning, each of us embarking on a new level of trust and anticipation of what God desires for our lives. The passage we studied in church was from Luke 5.
When Jesus had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch." Simon answered, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. Vs. 4-6.
The fisherman realizes he's had an encounter with the living God. When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!" Simon will never be the same. Scripture says he was astonished at the catch of fish. Another version says he was seized with amazement. Our summer venture has taken on the same quality--surreal amazement that we are in this place as we consider what the future holds.
When Jesus saw Simon Peter's reaction he says, "Don't be afraid; from now on you will catch men." And Jesus responds to me the same way when he sees my fear, my doubts, and my insecurities over my own ability to do what he's called me to do. "Don't be afraid; from now on you will..." Do what, Lord? I don't yet know, but that's okay.
Jesus says to us all, "Put out into deep water, and let down your nets for a catch." Without fully understanding, even if it might seem foolish at the time, we obey. Can we trust him for the catch of a lifetime? Can we trust him even if he leads us out to deep water where we've never gone before? What might fill our net that will change the course of our lives?
We sang a song that morning:
"Go to deep waters, deep waters, where only faith will let you go,
Go out to deep waters, deep waters,
Harvests of faith will overflow."
Sunday, May 20, 2007
A whirlwind of emotions
We have been swiftly moving along so Diana can get her visa and plane ticket. We had to request criminal record checks and child abuse clearances for Fred and me, a social worker came to prepare a homestudy, and we had to get notarized signatures and fill out forms and more forms. And money. We were told by the coordinator of our program not to let our finances prevent us from hosting a child. Our church would help, she said. We were counting on it. The families have to pay for the homestudy, a part of the plane fare, and buy clothing for the child. Then we had a most humbling experience.
Originally when I first had this vision of our small group working together to care for an orphan child, I thought we would each do our part. Some would help financially, some would provide for the physical care of the child, others would network to find a home for the child. When our friends committed to host a boy, I thought we could all chip in cover the expenses. (I haven't yet explained the breakup of our small group, but it is not there to support us or them anymore.) Then, this same family hosting Sergei gave us a very large check along with a card with these beautiful words: "We would be honored to put this in the hand that's reaching out to Russia." Their own hands are also reaching out to Russia! But they insisted on helping us. I have never known such generosity. Fred and I did not how to respond to this. It is still amazing to me and such a testimony to their faith and their character that acts on that faith.
My friend and I have been keeping each other excited by talking about "our" kids who are coming and all the fun activities we have planned and maybe even the remote possibility of these children becoming part of our families. Then one day last week I asked our coordinator about obtaining some additional information on Diana. We'd seen her video and had one picture, but that was it. Could we find out her background? Because another family had originally chosen Diana, our coordinator had forgotten she hadn't passed on the information to us. So she e-mailed me with the documents--the family circumstances that brought her to the orphanage and her medical report. I was stunned and crushed and heartbroken for this precious child when I read it. She was born into neglect and poverty and tragedy. Her medical report is so awful I feared to bring her into my home around my little girls. We cannot adopt her! Her problems are too big! I was devastated and so sad for this child.
Now that was a week ago. Since then I've been reading about Russian adoption. I've heard many horror stories and I've also learned Russia sometimes embellishes the medical reports. I'm well aware of attachment disorders and medical issues that come from alcoholism. Fred, my dear wonderful husband, is not worried. He says, "We'll just wait and see." My heart has changed too in that I just have this intense desire to wrap my arms around Diana and hug her tight. I explained some of her history to my girls so they would be compassionate and patient with Diana if they witness disturbing habits or behavior. This has brought out some discussion about their own pasts which has been good. We need to confront it from time to time and also it gave me a chance to explain vast differences in the reasons children in China and in Russia come into the orphanages.
I was cleaning clutter off our dining room table and came across a little note written in Liana's handwriting. It said simply, "I love Diana." My tender-hearted little girl, after knowing the realities of this Russian girl's life, is more than willing to give her a chance. Both of my daughters are ready to embrace her. Fred and I are too.
Originally when I first had this vision of our small group working together to care for an orphan child, I thought we would each do our part. Some would help financially, some would provide for the physical care of the child, others would network to find a home for the child. When our friends committed to host a boy, I thought we could all chip in cover the expenses. (I haven't yet explained the breakup of our small group, but it is not there to support us or them anymore.) Then, this same family hosting Sergei gave us a very large check along with a card with these beautiful words: "We would be honored to put this in the hand that's reaching out to Russia." Their own hands are also reaching out to Russia! But they insisted on helping us. I have never known such generosity. Fred and I did not how to respond to this. It is still amazing to me and such a testimony to their faith and their character that acts on that faith.
My friend and I have been keeping each other excited by talking about "our" kids who are coming and all the fun activities we have planned and maybe even the remote possibility of these children becoming part of our families. Then one day last week I asked our coordinator about obtaining some additional information on Diana. We'd seen her video and had one picture, but that was it. Could we find out her background? Because another family had originally chosen Diana, our coordinator had forgotten she hadn't passed on the information to us. So she e-mailed me with the documents--the family circumstances that brought her to the orphanage and her medical report. I was stunned and crushed and heartbroken for this precious child when I read it. She was born into neglect and poverty and tragedy. Her medical report is so awful I feared to bring her into my home around my little girls. We cannot adopt her! Her problems are too big! I was devastated and so sad for this child.
Now that was a week ago. Since then I've been reading about Russian adoption. I've heard many horror stories and I've also learned Russia sometimes embellishes the medical reports. I'm well aware of attachment disorders and medical issues that come from alcoholism. Fred, my dear wonderful husband, is not worried. He says, "We'll just wait and see." My heart has changed too in that I just have this intense desire to wrap my arms around Diana and hug her tight. I explained some of her history to my girls so they would be compassionate and patient with Diana if they witness disturbing habits or behavior. This has brought out some discussion about their own pasts which has been good. We need to confront it from time to time and also it gave me a chance to explain vast differences in the reasons children in China and in Russia come into the orphanages.
I was cleaning clutter off our dining room table and came across a little note written in Liana's handwriting. It said simply, "I love Diana." My tender-hearted little girl, after knowing the realities of this Russian girl's life, is more than willing to give her a chance. Both of my daughters are ready to embrace her. Fred and I are too.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Diana
With the Russian children coming, the main thrust these past few weeks was to find host families for them. They cannot come unless matched with a family about two months prior to their arrival. Plane tickets must be bought; visas must be obtained. We set up an information table in our church lobby but because tables are often set up for all kinds of events and ministries, people tend to just walk by. We had to use stronger tactics to get attention. When someone passed that I knew even casually, I grabbed them by the arm and drew them to our table. It was amazing to see the response. It's one thing to ask people to take some unnamed orphan into their homes and quite another for them to flip through a photo album with the faces of real children. Many people volunteered to help with humanitarian aid that will be sent back, to participate in the Vacation Bible School we have planned, or to talk to friends who might be considering adoption. We also found some host families.
As for our family personally, Fred and I also looked at the pictures. The coordinator of the program wanted families with a serious interest in adoption. We don't have the means for that. And our ages! We wanted to step aside and let other couples with more resources and more years left to volunteer. Two sisters caught my eye though. They were the same ages as our girls. But they disappeared from the album. This project is going on simultaneously in other states and pictures are shared. Children's photos would come and go and be replaced with other faces. There were many boys, several sibling groups, and only older girls. We waited, memorized their faces, prayed for them, and pondered where God was leading us.
One day our coordinator e-mailed me with a picture of an 11-year-old boy named Misha. Would we host him? She hadn't asked us about any other child. Why him? He was an impish boy with a cute smile. We can't take a boy--no room in our small house. On a whim, I sent his picture to a good friend of mine. She never mentioned adopting again, but somehow this boy seemed right for her family. To our delight and surprise, this family decided to host him. Through their example, we considered the children who were left as time was running out.
Finally I asked the coordinator if any single girls (not in sibling groups) were left. Only one, she said. An almost 13-year-old named Oksana. I remembered her from the photos. A plain, blonde girl with glasses. She reminded me of me at that age. Fred and I said yes, we will take her. We met at our friend's house one evening to see videos of the children and to sign paperwork. It turned out Misha was taken! But our friends were interested in another adorable boy named Sergei. The coordinator showed us Oksana's video and I was very drawn to this child and her unfortunate circumstances that brought her to the orphanage. We were also shown another girl's video. I thought only one girl was left. But supposedly this girl had been chosen by another couple who later changed their minds. However, we were committed to Oksana.
The next morning the coordinator called me. Oksana was gone! She was going to Texas to stay with a family that wanted to adopt her. We bond so quickly with a photo. Ask anyone who has adopted from China about how we cling to those tiny photos. I couldn't believe how this news about Oksana struck me. "Our" girl was gone. I was thrilled she would have a home but I thought it might be with us. There was still the other girl. Time was running out for these kids. We said yes again. Is this the child God intended for us all along? Her name is Diana. She is 10-years old and has big blue, sad eyes.
Please pray for her and for all these children. Negotiating over children, choosing children. The whole process makes me uneasy. But these are real kids with real lives, children without homes or families. Children loved by the same God who loves and cares for us. They will be turned out of the orphanages around age 15 when their government ceases to provide for them any longer. There are statistics on what happens to these orphans as they grow to be adults. It is horrifying.
Friends and family--we need your urgent prayers. Pray that we can discern where God is leading. Pray for Diana and for this program and all the other children.
As for our family personally, Fred and I also looked at the pictures. The coordinator of the program wanted families with a serious interest in adoption. We don't have the means for that. And our ages! We wanted to step aside and let other couples with more resources and more years left to volunteer. Two sisters caught my eye though. They were the same ages as our girls. But they disappeared from the album. This project is going on simultaneously in other states and pictures are shared. Children's photos would come and go and be replaced with other faces. There were many boys, several sibling groups, and only older girls. We waited, memorized their faces, prayed for them, and pondered where God was leading us.
One day our coordinator e-mailed me with a picture of an 11-year-old boy named Misha. Would we host him? She hadn't asked us about any other child. Why him? He was an impish boy with a cute smile. We can't take a boy--no room in our small house. On a whim, I sent his picture to a good friend of mine. She never mentioned adopting again, but somehow this boy seemed right for her family. To our delight and surprise, this family decided to host him. Through their example, we considered the children who were left as time was running out.
Finally I asked the coordinator if any single girls (not in sibling groups) were left. Only one, she said. An almost 13-year-old named Oksana. I remembered her from the photos. A plain, blonde girl with glasses. She reminded me of me at that age. Fred and I said yes, we will take her. We met at our friend's house one evening to see videos of the children and to sign paperwork. It turned out Misha was taken! But our friends were interested in another adorable boy named Sergei. The coordinator showed us Oksana's video and I was very drawn to this child and her unfortunate circumstances that brought her to the orphanage. We were also shown another girl's video. I thought only one girl was left. But supposedly this girl had been chosen by another couple who later changed their minds. However, we were committed to Oksana.
The next morning the coordinator called me. Oksana was gone! She was going to Texas to stay with a family that wanted to adopt her. We bond so quickly with a photo. Ask anyone who has adopted from China about how we cling to those tiny photos. I couldn't believe how this news about Oksana struck me. "Our" girl was gone. I was thrilled she would have a home but I thought it might be with us. There was still the other girl. Time was running out for these kids. We said yes again. Is this the child God intended for us all along? Her name is Diana. She is 10-years old and has big blue, sad eyes.
Please pray for her and for all these children. Negotiating over children, choosing children. The whole process makes me uneasy. But these are real kids with real lives, children without homes or families. Children loved by the same God who loves and cares for us. They will be turned out of the orphanages around age 15 when their government ceases to provide for them any longer. There are statistics on what happens to these orphans as they grow to be adults. It is horrifying.
Friends and family--we need your urgent prayers. Pray that we can discern where God is leading. Pray for Diana and for this program and all the other children.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Russia!
We've had major upheavals in our lives the past month, some good and some bad. So many things are swirling around in my head I can't think straight and despite these events, daily life goes on. It's time I organized my thoughts and what better forum than this blog? Besides, I want to let all you friends and family members know so you can pray for us!
As I've written about previously, these past few months I've been impressed to "prepare with prayer" for whatever God wants to do with our lives. Fred and I want to be "useful to the Master, prepared to do any good work." We want our life work to be permanent. "Give permanence to the work of our hands." I was in awe of the North Carolina woman who opened her home and her life to two boys from Liberia. Our church was offered an opportunity to host orphan children from Columbia and we saw that as a way to get our whole Bible study involved, to work together toward a common goal, some contributing financially, some with time, one with the physical care of the child. That program fizzled out. So we have been waiting. Then along came the Lighthouse Project.
When it didn't look like the Columbian program would work out, our church was given the opportunity to work with an organization that brings Russian orphans to stay with host families for 10 days. The hope is that the host family will adopt the child or else be an advocate for that child and try to find him or her permanent home. We decided we would take a girl between the ages of our girls, or younger, if one was available. With excitement we waited for the children who were selected to come. Finally we saw their pictures. Disappointment. No boys, only older girls. The only young children were in a sibling group. We decided we would not host but I offered to help promote the program and to coordinate a Vacation Bible School for the children when they are here. So how did it come about that we are now hosting an older child and considering adopting again? That can only be explained by the work of the Holy Spirit.
My window of writing time is gone, so this will have to wait. But I have much more to tell you!
Russia was not anywhere on our radar screen and yet now we are reading and preparing and submersing our lives in a new culture and a new people group, just like we did preparing for our Chinese children. Interestingly, our "theme" in our Bible study this year was the verse in Isaiah 54, "Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back..." God is surely enlarging our tent!
As I've written about previously, these past few months I've been impressed to "prepare with prayer" for whatever God wants to do with our lives. Fred and I want to be "useful to the Master, prepared to do any good work." We want our life work to be permanent. "Give permanence to the work of our hands." I was in awe of the North Carolina woman who opened her home and her life to two boys from Liberia. Our church was offered an opportunity to host orphan children from Columbia and we saw that as a way to get our whole Bible study involved, to work together toward a common goal, some contributing financially, some with time, one with the physical care of the child. That program fizzled out. So we have been waiting. Then along came the Lighthouse Project.
When it didn't look like the Columbian program would work out, our church was given the opportunity to work with an organization that brings Russian orphans to stay with host families for 10 days. The hope is that the host family will adopt the child or else be an advocate for that child and try to find him or her permanent home. We decided we would take a girl between the ages of our girls, or younger, if one was available. With excitement we waited for the children who were selected to come. Finally we saw their pictures. Disappointment. No boys, only older girls. The only young children were in a sibling group. We decided we would not host but I offered to help promote the program and to coordinate a Vacation Bible School for the children when they are here. So how did it come about that we are now hosting an older child and considering adopting again? That can only be explained by the work of the Holy Spirit.
My window of writing time is gone, so this will have to wait. But I have much more to tell you!
Russia was not anywhere on our radar screen and yet now we are reading and preparing and submersing our lives in a new culture and a new people group, just like we did preparing for our Chinese children. Interestingly, our "theme" in our Bible study this year was the verse in Isaiah 54, "Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back..." God is surely enlarging our tent!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Winter is over!
I used to hate winter. I plodded through with a cold gloom over my soul. But life becomes more wondrous the older I get, and through my daughters' eyes, every season is magical. After the hustle of Christmas, we longed for the time to hibernate. We played marathon board games and sorted through scrapbook pictures and sewed doll clothes. I loved opening the heavy iron doors of our woodstove and piling another log on the red coals. We roasted marshmallows and hot dogs and the girls cheered in delight anytime a flake of snow fell from the sky. Then we shoveled that snow until our hands and feet were numb and we built wobbly snowmen. I watched the girls disappear into the woods when Fred took them on hiking adventures and made hot chocolate for their return. These cold months Liana learned to read and Arielle studied adverbs and decimals in our cozy cave of a classroom.
The birds came back from wherever they winter to roost again in the bamboo grove, pests that they are. Spring was late in coming, but even during an unexpected ice storm we heard the birds chattering among themselves and knew warm days were coming soon. We burned the last log and celebrated our first bowl of ice cream out on the deck. The pussywillow swelled and dropped its fuzzy bundles. We carried the furniture from the shed, and the balls and bikes came out. The girls now sit high up in their fort on top of the swingset for hours, or they play hopscotch on the chalk drawings in the driveway. School is now a chore to endure until they are released to run through the grassy yard.
In comforting predictability the seasons of the year cycle around. Not so the seasons of our lives. These days will never come again. In regret, I think of years not fully lived, discounted or dismissed. Years with my little boys that passed so quickly, never to be recaptured. Fred jokingly told our ancient cat, "This may be your last summer!" Some summer will be my last--and yours. Each season, each day, is a gift. Enjoy!
"So teach us to number our days, that we may present to you a heart of wisdom...let the favor of the Lord be upon us; and give permanence to the work of our hands." Psalm 90:12, 17.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Unnamed Saturday
In the frantic pace of life, it's all too easy to push ahead, never finding time for reflection or connection, much less actual communion with God. I so much wanted to touch Jesus this week, but I seem to be in an elliptical orbit around the Son, too often at the far end.
We planned to go to church the Thursday before Easter, but it didn't work out. That whole cold, windy, snowy day, I felt as if a black cloud had descended. Maybe we would do our own little remembrance at home, to at least make the occasion meaningful to the girls. So we read scripture by candlelight, improvised communion with a rice cracker and pomegranate juice and even washed each other's feet. We tried singing a hymn, Fred and I terribly off-key. Arielle loved this particular song but had never heard it before, so she wondered what it would sound like if sung properly. She told me her brother Dominic knew how to play songs on the internet, so couldn't we try to find it?
We searched and couldn't find a good version of this song, but we found many others. For the next hour we watched youtube and joined with others in singing songs of worship. A far cry from the reverent setting of the church? Not at all. As we sat in front of the computer and I heard my daughters' lovely, sweet voices raised in praise to God, I don't think even the angels in heaven could sound more beautiful. Then it happened--peace. Quiet and gentle as a whisper, peace beyond comprehension dispersed the dark cloud. Jesus came close, like a shooting star piercing through human experience, and we all caught a glimpse of him.
Arielle earlier pointed out that we have names for particular days of this season--Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter. She said, "What about Saturday? What's that day called?" The nameless Saturday, wedged between the sorrow of death and the joy of resurrection. We live between what Jesus accomplished on the cross and the hope of heaven one day. We see the suffering in the world, the violence, wars, devastating disease and rampant evil. Like Jesus' disciples after he died, we run and hide, lock our doors and hope that evil will not find us. We long for Sunday.
Jesus could have conquered the world the day he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, but instead he chose to die. The Father watched as his son was arrested, beaten and murdered. God's restraint in such a tragic world doesn't make sense at times. Why doesn't he intervene more in this mess we humans have made? Is Jesus the kind of King we want? Wouldn't a magic genie-type be more desirable?
"We live on Saturday, the day with no name. What the disciples experienced in small scale--three days, in grief over one man who had died on a cross--we now live through on a cosmic scale. Human history grinds on, between the time of promise and fulfillment...It's Saturday on planet earth; will Sunday ever come? That dark, Golgothan Friday can only be called Good because of what happened on Easter Sunday, day which gives a tantalizing clue to the riddle of the universe. Easter opened up a crack in a universe winding down toward entropy and decay, sealing the promise that someday God will enlarge the miracle of Easter to cosmic scale." (Philip Yancey in The Jesus I Never Knew.)
In the meantime, I rejoice to know Jesus is close enough to reach out and touch. It's enough for now. I wait with unshakeable faith for the day all mysteries will be solved.
We planned to go to church the Thursday before Easter, but it didn't work out. That whole cold, windy, snowy day, I felt as if a black cloud had descended. Maybe we would do our own little remembrance at home, to at least make the occasion meaningful to the girls. So we read scripture by candlelight, improvised communion with a rice cracker and pomegranate juice and even washed each other's feet. We tried singing a hymn, Fred and I terribly off-key. Arielle loved this particular song but had never heard it before, so she wondered what it would sound like if sung properly. She told me her brother Dominic knew how to play songs on the internet, so couldn't we try to find it?
We searched and couldn't find a good version of this song, but we found many others. For the next hour we watched youtube and joined with others in singing songs of worship. A far cry from the reverent setting of the church? Not at all. As we sat in front of the computer and I heard my daughters' lovely, sweet voices raised in praise to God, I don't think even the angels in heaven could sound more beautiful. Then it happened--peace. Quiet and gentle as a whisper, peace beyond comprehension dispersed the dark cloud. Jesus came close, like a shooting star piercing through human experience, and we all caught a glimpse of him.
Arielle earlier pointed out that we have names for particular days of this season--Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter. She said, "What about Saturday? What's that day called?" The nameless Saturday, wedged between the sorrow of death and the joy of resurrection. We live between what Jesus accomplished on the cross and the hope of heaven one day. We see the suffering in the world, the violence, wars, devastating disease and rampant evil. Like Jesus' disciples after he died, we run and hide, lock our doors and hope that evil will not find us. We long for Sunday.
Jesus could have conquered the world the day he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, but instead he chose to die. The Father watched as his son was arrested, beaten and murdered. God's restraint in such a tragic world doesn't make sense at times. Why doesn't he intervene more in this mess we humans have made? Is Jesus the kind of King we want? Wouldn't a magic genie-type be more desirable?
"We live on Saturday, the day with no name. What the disciples experienced in small scale--three days, in grief over one man who had died on a cross--we now live through on a cosmic scale. Human history grinds on, between the time of promise and fulfillment...It's Saturday on planet earth; will Sunday ever come? That dark, Golgothan Friday can only be called Good because of what happened on Easter Sunday, day which gives a tantalizing clue to the riddle of the universe. Easter opened up a crack in a universe winding down toward entropy and decay, sealing the promise that someday God will enlarge the miracle of Easter to cosmic scale." (Philip Yancey in The Jesus I Never Knew.)
In the meantime, I rejoice to know Jesus is close enough to reach out and touch. It's enough for now. I wait with unshakeable faith for the day all mysteries will be solved.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Texas night
Our family was invited to a fundraiser at a small, old church attended by one of Fred's co-workers. The co-worker plays in a band that would be performing, and we would get to enjoy an all-you-can-eat chili cook-off. Admittedly, I rode to the church with Fred and the girls with an attitude of, "I can tolerate this for a few hours." I was far from excited or even interested.
We drove out of our suburban neighborhood into a much more rural area so I wasn't surprised to find country folk staring curiously at our little family when we walked into their church. The fellowship hall was decorated in a wild west theme and we lined up to accept our bowls of chili, nacho chips, and home-baked desserts, and then sat down with Fred's friends. The chili was surprisingly good, but I settled in for what I thought would be mindless small talk and amateurish entertainment. God forgive me.
The band members, about eight men and women in their fifties and sixties with a couple of younger ones thrown in the mix, gave a disclaimer at the start of their show. They normally do not play country-western or rock music but had practiced for several weeks for this event. The money raised from their Texas Night would support a youth mission trip. This musical group normally plays contemporary worship music on Sunday mornings. I gave them credit for their efforts in working hard to bring this event together. I decided to sit back, listen, and learn from these kind people.
The band started with "Long Tall Texan" to get everyone in the mood. It reminded me of our time in Mustang, Oklahoma and the Bean Suppers cooked by the local firemen on the 4th of July. We would listen to live music broadcast over loud speakers so all the people in the park could enjoy it while they ate their beans and and waited for the fireworks. I could have stayed forever in Oklahoma. That simple life suited me perfectly. As the music played, I thought back to those days when my boys were little, days as wide and endless as the rim of the earth that you can see in every direction under the vast, cloudless sky.
Next the band played "Proud Mary." I was transported back to 1969 and the Mississippi River Festivals of my teenage days, lying in the grass with thousands of other kids, listening to the classic rock bands belting out the cries of our generation. I noticed these band members here tonight seemed to really get into this music. They rattled and rolled and sang with enthusiasm and maybe even with a faraway look in their eyes. As they continued to play, each song evoked old memories that began a slide show in my mind. Amazingly, I was having fun, sharing a moment with these fellow old-timers.
Toward the end of the set the gray-haired lead guitarist came down from the stage and churned his arms in time to "Locomotion." Yes, he was inviting us to follow. Old folks, little ones, parents and teens, linked arms to waists and strutted around the fellowship hall in time to the music, laughing all the time. Our train wove in and out of corridors, into the kitchen, back and forth and around again to the hall. The girls were delighted to see Mom and Dad acting so silly. They were equally thrilled to see us slow dance to Eric Clapton's "You Look Wonderful Tonight." All my years have culminated in this place, secure in the arms of my one true love.
I watched the band the rest of the night with new respect. Each of us has traveled a long journey. Life has been good, sad, tragic and wonderful. It doesn't matter where we've been. It's where we are now that counts. But in part, the past made us who we are today. The old rockers now sing praise songs. The secrets of life, hidden from view when I was younger, have been unveiled. Relationships fail, children grow up, parents die, and God is always there to pull us up out of the muck and mire of foolish choices. The journey begins slow and steady but as we near the end it gains momentum until we are racing at breakneck speed, all the while trying desperately to slow down. All along the way, God surprises us with gifts of joy. Life is rich and full and precious because of its brevity.
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven, a time to be born and a time to die...God has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3.
We drove out of our suburban neighborhood into a much more rural area so I wasn't surprised to find country folk staring curiously at our little family when we walked into their church. The fellowship hall was decorated in a wild west theme and we lined up to accept our bowls of chili, nacho chips, and home-baked desserts, and then sat down with Fred's friends. The chili was surprisingly good, but I settled in for what I thought would be mindless small talk and amateurish entertainment. God forgive me.
The band members, about eight men and women in their fifties and sixties with a couple of younger ones thrown in the mix, gave a disclaimer at the start of their show. They normally do not play country-western or rock music but had practiced for several weeks for this event. The money raised from their Texas Night would support a youth mission trip. This musical group normally plays contemporary worship music on Sunday mornings. I gave them credit for their efforts in working hard to bring this event together. I decided to sit back, listen, and learn from these kind people.
The band started with "Long Tall Texan" to get everyone in the mood. It reminded me of our time in Mustang, Oklahoma and the Bean Suppers cooked by the local firemen on the 4th of July. We would listen to live music broadcast over loud speakers so all the people in the park could enjoy it while they ate their beans and and waited for the fireworks. I could have stayed forever in Oklahoma. That simple life suited me perfectly. As the music played, I thought back to those days when my boys were little, days as wide and endless as the rim of the earth that you can see in every direction under the vast, cloudless sky.
Next the band played "Proud Mary." I was transported back to 1969 and the Mississippi River Festivals of my teenage days, lying in the grass with thousands of other kids, listening to the classic rock bands belting out the cries of our generation. I noticed these band members here tonight seemed to really get into this music. They rattled and rolled and sang with enthusiasm and maybe even with a faraway look in their eyes. As they continued to play, each song evoked old memories that began a slide show in my mind. Amazingly, I was having fun, sharing a moment with these fellow old-timers.
Toward the end of the set the gray-haired lead guitarist came down from the stage and churned his arms in time to "Locomotion." Yes, he was inviting us to follow. Old folks, little ones, parents and teens, linked arms to waists and strutted around the fellowship hall in time to the music, laughing all the time. Our train wove in and out of corridors, into the kitchen, back and forth and around again to the hall. The girls were delighted to see Mom and Dad acting so silly. They were equally thrilled to see us slow dance to Eric Clapton's "You Look Wonderful Tonight." All my years have culminated in this place, secure in the arms of my one true love.
I watched the band the rest of the night with new respect. Each of us has traveled a long journey. Life has been good, sad, tragic and wonderful. It doesn't matter where we've been. It's where we are now that counts. But in part, the past made us who we are today. The old rockers now sing praise songs. The secrets of life, hidden from view when I was younger, have been unveiled. Relationships fail, children grow up, parents die, and God is always there to pull us up out of the muck and mire of foolish choices. The journey begins slow and steady but as we near the end it gains momentum until we are racing at breakneck speed, all the while trying desperately to slow down. All along the way, God surprises us with gifts of joy. Life is rich and full and precious because of its brevity.
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven, a time to be born and a time to die...God has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Touching the mountain
I read a story about people with dying brains. Painters can paint spectacular pictures and writers can write with unusual clarity. Not that my brain is necessarily dying, but my memories are becoming sharper the older I get. They haunt me in the dark, sleepless hours as I try to make sense of them.
.
My dad said, "I bet you can't touch that mountain." Of course I could. The massive rock jutted up vertically from the flat desert floor. I ran fast toward it, arms outstretched to touch its stone face warmed by the hot sun. But it seemed I was running in place. The mountain loomed huge in front of me, yet it stayed just inches away, taunting me. I ran faster and faster and then looked back at my dad, tiny now so far away. But the mountain got no closer. I didn't understand, and my dad was laughing at me.
.
It must have been a trick of light and landscape I still don't understand, but some mountains in southern Arizona do look close enough to touch. Still, they are so far away a child by herself could never run to reach them. I often think of that incident. Images of my childhood surface at unexpected times. The wildness of the desert was always frightening to me. Cactus threatened every step. Rattlesnakes lurked under every rock. The scorching sun itself could kill you. Once my dad left me alone in a sandy gully while he tracked some javelinas. I heard the furtive scurrying of the creatures that surrounded me and I waited fearfully for his return. Was the desert really so scary and uncertain, or was it life itself?
.
I think I remember trying to run to the mountain because I had been tricked. Over a lifetime my dad showed me I would never touch the mountain--not any mountain. He made me know I was a foolish, useless child. My dad has been gone for 20 years now. I've forgiven him, I think. But how do you really know when memories come unbidden and startling, as you re-live events from the long ago?
.
Healing has come in slow measures because of another Father who has never left me alone. Because of Him, I've touched many mountains, even His holy mountain. "...forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on..." (Philippians 3:13, 14.) Maybe forgetting once and for all means wrestling with the memories and finding purpose in the past.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
A small start
We made a quick run to the library because Arielle had ordered a book we needed to pick up. Liana immediately ran off to find all her favorite stories that we've already read a dozen times. Arielle searched the shelves for more Nancy Drew mysteries as I debated with the librarians about whether the upcoming storm would leave us with a foot of snow. (Actually, the storm brought ice that left people stranded in their cars on major highways for 24 hours.)
We checked out our books and started out the door. One of the librarians called out to me, "You homeschool, don't you?" She led me to a woman who just moved here and was looking for a homeschooling group. This woman, Gretchen, had just driven from Colorado with her four small children in order to join her husband who is working a temporary job in the area. We discussed homeschooling stuff--the lack of a local social group to join but the co-op at our church where children take P.E., art, and music. Her children gathered around, two of the girls the ages of mine and two little ones.
We talked a few minutes more and then I knew what I should do. But I hesitated. My house was a mess. We'd just finished school and had no time yet for chores. Fred was working late and I had a stress-free afternoon and evening planned--a bit of cleaning, piano practice for the girls, an easy dinner, and maybe even time to work on my quilt. It was tempting to ignore the still, small voice. My closest friends know that hospitality is very difficult for me. And what about these four kids? Were they going to run rampant through my house destroying what little order I have left?
But I followed through. "Do you want to come back to my house so we can talk more?" Gretchen did and she followed me home. We had tea and a nice conversation. She lives at the foot of the Rocky Mountains and her father-in-law hunts javelinas in southern Arizona where I was raised. She is looking for a church and activities for her children. She's eager to explore the historical sites in Philadelphia, the Art Museum, and Valley Forge. She said she and her children prayed that very morning that they would find new friends.
The children were all surprising quiet. No one was running wild. When I checked on them, Liana and the two younger girls were playing, laughing, and talking. Arielle and the oldest girl sat on Arielle's bed, all smiles, chatting away. The sweet little boy played contently with trains on the living room carpet. As they left, one of the girls, named Eliana and who also just turned 7, hugged Liana tightly with promises of future playdates. We said good-bye and I was reminded of my continuing prayer for Arielle that she would find a new friend. My obedience in that small moment answered my own prayer.
No, this was nothing as big as changing the face of a North Carolina town, just an opportunity taken, a door opened, prayers answered, friendships begun. I'm learning to listen.
We checked out our books and started out the door. One of the librarians called out to me, "You homeschool, don't you?" She led me to a woman who just moved here and was looking for a homeschooling group. This woman, Gretchen, had just driven from Colorado with her four small children in order to join her husband who is working a temporary job in the area. We discussed homeschooling stuff--the lack of a local social group to join but the co-op at our church where children take P.E., art, and music. Her children gathered around, two of the girls the ages of mine and two little ones.
We talked a few minutes more and then I knew what I should do. But I hesitated. My house was a mess. We'd just finished school and had no time yet for chores. Fred was working late and I had a stress-free afternoon and evening planned--a bit of cleaning, piano practice for the girls, an easy dinner, and maybe even time to work on my quilt. It was tempting to ignore the still, small voice. My closest friends know that hospitality is very difficult for me. And what about these four kids? Were they going to run rampant through my house destroying what little order I have left?
But I followed through. "Do you want to come back to my house so we can talk more?" Gretchen did and she followed me home. We had tea and a nice conversation. She lives at the foot of the Rocky Mountains and her father-in-law hunts javelinas in southern Arizona where I was raised. She is looking for a church and activities for her children. She's eager to explore the historical sites in Philadelphia, the Art Museum, and Valley Forge. She said she and her children prayed that very morning that they would find new friends.
The children were all surprising quiet. No one was running wild. When I checked on them, Liana and the two younger girls were playing, laughing, and talking. Arielle and the oldest girl sat on Arielle's bed, all smiles, chatting away. The sweet little boy played contently with trains on the living room carpet. As they left, one of the girls, named Eliana and who also just turned 7, hugged Liana tightly with promises of future playdates. We said good-bye and I was reminded of my continuing prayer for Arielle that she would find a new friend. My obedience in that small moment answered my own prayer.
No, this was nothing as big as changing the face of a North Carolina town, just an opportunity taken, a door opened, prayers answered, friendships begun. I'm learning to listen.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
True life example
Mid-winter frenzy has filled every corner of my life. It happens every year. I blame it on homeschooling. We're in the thick of things right now. It's the new semester scramble to make sure we're on target with everything we're doing. Arielle just took CATs. I'm taking a new teaching approach with Liana. The girls (and mom) are busy with their activities--practicing for the spring musical and for Arielle's piano exam in Princeton. Five months of surface-only cleaning of the house has taken its toll. Even so, I hold to my New Year resolution and try to keep focused and work diligently for what's really important.
A couple of weeks ago I turned on the TV to distract me while I folded a mountain of laundry. Have you heard of the Hallelujah Chorus, a group of twelve orphan boys from war-torn Liberia who had been touring in North Carolina? What an incredible story!
A woman named Lysa from the Charlotte area took her Brownie troop to see this concert. The boys were performing to raise money for their orphanage and the other 400 children who remained in Liberia. As Lysa watched the boys, she said she heard God speak to her heart and tell her, "Two of those boys are yours." This was an outrageous idea and made no sense. But after the concert two boys approached her and she spoke with them. She called her husband on his cell phone to tell him the news. The family prayed about this decision, and despite having three small daughters, decided to adopt these adolescent boys. How amazing!
The story doesn't end here. Her friends thought she was crazy, but they too attended a concert and met the boys. The results? One friend who already had two adopted children took one of the boys. Two other friends each adopted one boy. Another friend with two sons in college who was looking forward to a different stage of life ended up adopting SIX children because she found out the boys had other siblings in Liberia. In total, from this one North Carolina town, 14 families adopted 31 children from this orphanage!
What if Lysa wasn't listening when God called her to an important task? What if she'd been too caught up in her own world? What if she'd listened to all the "rational" arguments going on in her head and forgot about the boys? Her new sons wouldn't have a family and most likely those other 31 children wouldn't either. What a mighty work of God was done because of one woman's faith and obedience. She was prepared and she responded when the opportunity arose.
My own brother from Atlanta was on a business trip in New Jersey when he attended a local church and ended up ministering to a troubled boy. Our Bible study teacher, Francis, traveling for his job, noticed the man on the plane next to him in tears. Instead of averting his eyes with his face in a book, Francis responded and shared the hope of the gospel with this man. It was not a chance meeting. A couple of weeks later Francis was in the airport mid-week waiting for an entirely different flight when he heard someone call out to him. It was the same man, this time joyful and thankful. We are all called to be missionaries all the time. Where will you be and what will be your response when you hear the nudging of the Holy Spirit? I hope to be "an intrument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work." II Timothy 2:21.
Our church is considering taking on a monumental project. A local adoption agency is bringing orphans from Columbia to spent 6 weeks with host families. With the time spent preparing plus the time spent with the children, this will take up a whole summer! The hope is that most, if not all, the children will find families. This project will be at a great financial cost and a great cost of time and emotional resources. Our family signed on to do whatever is required, according to our abilities. We have a "Lysa" at our church. She is diligently researching all the options and doing one woman's best to find families for some of the children of the world. It will be a privilege to partner with her this summer.
A couple of weeks ago I turned on the TV to distract me while I folded a mountain of laundry. Have you heard of the Hallelujah Chorus, a group of twelve orphan boys from war-torn Liberia who had been touring in North Carolina? What an incredible story!
A woman named Lysa from the Charlotte area took her Brownie troop to see this concert. The boys were performing to raise money for their orphanage and the other 400 children who remained in Liberia. As Lysa watched the boys, she said she heard God speak to her heart and tell her, "Two of those boys are yours." This was an outrageous idea and made no sense. But after the concert two boys approached her and she spoke with them. She called her husband on his cell phone to tell him the news. The family prayed about this decision, and despite having three small daughters, decided to adopt these adolescent boys. How amazing!
The story doesn't end here. Her friends thought she was crazy, but they too attended a concert and met the boys. The results? One friend who already had two adopted children took one of the boys. Two other friends each adopted one boy. Another friend with two sons in college who was looking forward to a different stage of life ended up adopting SIX children because she found out the boys had other siblings in Liberia. In total, from this one North Carolina town, 14 families adopted 31 children from this orphanage!
What if Lysa wasn't listening when God called her to an important task? What if she'd been too caught up in her own world? What if she'd listened to all the "rational" arguments going on in her head and forgot about the boys? Her new sons wouldn't have a family and most likely those other 31 children wouldn't either. What a mighty work of God was done because of one woman's faith and obedience. She was prepared and she responded when the opportunity arose.
My own brother from Atlanta was on a business trip in New Jersey when he attended a local church and ended up ministering to a troubled boy. Our Bible study teacher, Francis, traveling for his job, noticed the man on the plane next to him in tears. Instead of averting his eyes with his face in a book, Francis responded and shared the hope of the gospel with this man. It was not a chance meeting. A couple of weeks later Francis was in the airport mid-week waiting for an entirely different flight when he heard someone call out to him. It was the same man, this time joyful and thankful. We are all called to be missionaries all the time. Where will you be and what will be your response when you hear the nudging of the Holy Spirit? I hope to be "an intrument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work." II Timothy 2:21.
Our church is considering taking on a monumental project. A local adoption agency is bringing orphans from Columbia to spent 6 weeks with host families. With the time spent preparing plus the time spent with the children, this will take up a whole summer! The hope is that most, if not all, the children will find families. This project will be at a great financial cost and a great cost of time and emotional resources. Our family signed on to do whatever is required, according to our abilities. We have a "Lysa" at our church. She is diligently researching all the options and doing one woman's best to find families for some of the children of the world. It will be a privilege to partner with her this summer.
Friday, January 12, 2007
New Year plans
Did you make any New Year resolutions? How will your life be different when January 2008 comes around--all too quickly? What plans do you have for the New Year?
We have plans--to see the newest show in Lancaster and also the King Tut exhibit. We want to visit my mom in North Carolina and to make our yearly trek to Ocean City. I hope to be a better wife, mom and friend as the fruit of the Spirit become more evident in my life. I want to fulfill whatever purposes God has for me this year, maybe hosting a child who has no home. In our small group we are all realizing our purpose is more than just friendship. We need to move out into the larger community and serve where God leads.
In my vast experience with plans that go awry, I tend to take the "wait and see" approach. If we can't do this or that, or go here or there, I take it in stride and just move on. Maybe I should take planning more seriously and be better prepared. I don't mean buying tickets or marking the calendar. This is the year I hope to PREPARE WITH PRAYER.
Last week we were reading Acts 1 in our study. Jesus had died and was resurrected and for the last forty days had spoken to many people and told them what they were to do after he left. He said to wait for the promise. "Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit." Acts 1:4,5
In obedience, one hundred and twenty of Jesus' faithful followers, including his own mother, gathered in an upper room in Jerusalem and waited. I was struck by the thought of Mary, an older woman, grieving the loss of her son, but sticking close with the disciples, ready for whatever was happening. It is likely neither she nor the disciples had any clue as to what this promise might mean even though Jesus had earlier said, "I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever, the Spirit of truth...he lives with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you...But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and remind you of everything I have said to you." John 14: 16-18, 26.
While they were waiting for something to happen, "They all joined together constantly in prayer." Acts 1:14. Then they realized the task at hand was to appoint a replacement for Judas. So they prayed about that and chose one. Then they waited some more. Finally, the day of Pentecost arrived and the Holy Spirit came like a violent, rushing wind and turned the whole world upside-down. As Jesus foretold, his followers received power to spread the gospel to the remotest parts of the earth and have been testifying about him ever since. Acts 1:8, John 15:26.
So what does that mean to all of us? We too have access to the same Holy Spirit that filled the first believers--the Spirit that empowers us to be bold witnesses, the Spirit that purifies and changes us, the Spirit that brings the presence of God in our lives. We access this Holy Spirit (God himself) through prayer. We are to prepare with prayer when we don't know what comes next or when we make new plans. Like Jesus' parable of the Ten Virgins, how sad if we run out of oil. We can go back for more but we might miss our chance for something wonderful God has in store for us. Or we might run in a dim light and trip and fall. That's when we do things in our own strength and get into projects and plans that God never intended for us.
"To be filled with the Holy Spirit is to be filled with the immediate presence of God himself--feeling what God feels, desiring what God desires, doing what God wants, speaking by God's power, praying and ministering in God's strength and knowing with the knowledge God gives." (Wayne Grudem from Systematic Theology)
My New Year plan is to be vigilant, attentive, focused, and Spirit-directed. I plan to make time to pray as if my life depends on it. It does.
We have plans--to see the newest show in Lancaster and also the King Tut exhibit. We want to visit my mom in North Carolina and to make our yearly trek to Ocean City. I hope to be a better wife, mom and friend as the fruit of the Spirit become more evident in my life. I want to fulfill whatever purposes God has for me this year, maybe hosting a child who has no home. In our small group we are all realizing our purpose is more than just friendship. We need to move out into the larger community and serve where God leads.
In my vast experience with plans that go awry, I tend to take the "wait and see" approach. If we can't do this or that, or go here or there, I take it in stride and just move on. Maybe I should take planning more seriously and be better prepared. I don't mean buying tickets or marking the calendar. This is the year I hope to PREPARE WITH PRAYER.
Last week we were reading Acts 1 in our study. Jesus had died and was resurrected and for the last forty days had spoken to many people and told them what they were to do after he left. He said to wait for the promise. "Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit." Acts 1:4,5
In obedience, one hundred and twenty of Jesus' faithful followers, including his own mother, gathered in an upper room in Jerusalem and waited. I was struck by the thought of Mary, an older woman, grieving the loss of her son, but sticking close with the disciples, ready for whatever was happening. It is likely neither she nor the disciples had any clue as to what this promise might mean even though Jesus had earlier said, "I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor to be with you forever, the Spirit of truth...he lives with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you...But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and remind you of everything I have said to you." John 14: 16-18, 26.
While they were waiting for something to happen, "They all joined together constantly in prayer." Acts 1:14. Then they realized the task at hand was to appoint a replacement for Judas. So they prayed about that and chose one. Then they waited some more. Finally, the day of Pentecost arrived and the Holy Spirit came like a violent, rushing wind and turned the whole world upside-down. As Jesus foretold, his followers received power to spread the gospel to the remotest parts of the earth and have been testifying about him ever since. Acts 1:8, John 15:26.
So what does that mean to all of us? We too have access to the same Holy Spirit that filled the first believers--the Spirit that empowers us to be bold witnesses, the Spirit that purifies and changes us, the Spirit that brings the presence of God in our lives. We access this Holy Spirit (God himself) through prayer. We are to prepare with prayer when we don't know what comes next or when we make new plans. Like Jesus' parable of the Ten Virgins, how sad if we run out of oil. We can go back for more but we might miss our chance for something wonderful God has in store for us. Or we might run in a dim light and trip and fall. That's when we do things in our own strength and get into projects and plans that God never intended for us.
"To be filled with the Holy Spirit is to be filled with the immediate presence of God himself--feeling what God feels, desiring what God desires, doing what God wants, speaking by God's power, praying and ministering in God's strength and knowing with the knowledge God gives." (Wayne Grudem from Systematic Theology)
My New Year plan is to be vigilant, attentive, focused, and Spirit-directed. I plan to make time to pray as if my life depends on it. It does.
Unprepared
The other day Fred was reading aloud from Matthew 25, a familiar passage, but Jesus' words struck me in a new way. I said to Fred, "We're foolish virgins!"
Now that sounds ridiculous, so let me explain. Jesus was telling the parable of the ten virgins to warn us to be ready for his return. But this story is very applicable to me and to you right now where we are.
Ten virgins take their lamps and go to meet the bridegroom. Five were foolish because they took lamps but no oil, and five were wise because they took oil in jars along with their lamps. "The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep. At midnight the cry rang out: 'Here's the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!'
Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.'
'No,' they replied, 'there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.' But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut." Matthew 25:1-13.
We're all waiting for the Lord. His return on one level, but usually we are more focused on our daily lives. Each day we're waiting for God's leading, his presence, and his answers to prayer. Every day we go here and there, make plans and decisions, interact with others. When we start our business every morning, do we take lamps with no oil?
Think of our lamps as our history with God, our knowledge of the Word, our faith built from past experiences. How far will the past carry us without refueling? All the virgins had faith. All were waiting expectantly--and all got tired and fell asleep. We're human, after all. But then something happened. He came! The opportunity arose! They needed to wake up and move quickly. Five were not prepared because they had no oil. They had nothing more to keep them going. On their way, the light began to dim as the oil burned out and then it was dark and they couldn't find their way.
When Fred was a chiropractor, he went to the office at 5:30 a.m. I used to get up then and read the Bible, work on my lessons when I was teaching, and spend time in prayer. Those precious times are gone. We are on a new schedule and I'm finding it so hard to get up early. I've been starting each day low on oil. It's not enough to get me through and my light starts to go out. Then I'm discouraged, irritable, overwhelmed, fearful and envious of others whose life is more orderly. But I can't get my oil from other people. It can't be borrowed. I have my lamp with me--my unwavering faith. But the fruit of the Spirit have withered and dropped to the ground. Running out of oil can ruin the engine of a car, and it's damaging to us and our loved ones too. But there is an even greater risk. Francis is the one who helped me see the bigger picture. I will write more on this next time. I need to head to the source of oil now.
Now that sounds ridiculous, so let me explain. Jesus was telling the parable of the ten virgins to warn us to be ready for his return. But this story is very applicable to me and to you right now where we are.
Ten virgins take their lamps and go to meet the bridegroom. Five were foolish because they took lamps but no oil, and five were wise because they took oil in jars along with their lamps. "The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep. At midnight the cry rang out: 'Here's the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!'
Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.'
'No,' they replied, 'there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.' But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut." Matthew 25:1-13.
We're all waiting for the Lord. His return on one level, but usually we are more focused on our daily lives. Each day we're waiting for God's leading, his presence, and his answers to prayer. Every day we go here and there, make plans and decisions, interact with others. When we start our business every morning, do we take lamps with no oil?
Think of our lamps as our history with God, our knowledge of the Word, our faith built from past experiences. How far will the past carry us without refueling? All the virgins had faith. All were waiting expectantly--and all got tired and fell asleep. We're human, after all. But then something happened. He came! The opportunity arose! They needed to wake up and move quickly. Five were not prepared because they had no oil. They had nothing more to keep them going. On their way, the light began to dim as the oil burned out and then it was dark and they couldn't find their way.
When Fred was a chiropractor, he went to the office at 5:30 a.m. I used to get up then and read the Bible, work on my lessons when I was teaching, and spend time in prayer. Those precious times are gone. We are on a new schedule and I'm finding it so hard to get up early. I've been starting each day low on oil. It's not enough to get me through and my light starts to go out. Then I'm discouraged, irritable, overwhelmed, fearful and envious of others whose life is more orderly. But I can't get my oil from other people. It can't be borrowed. I have my lamp with me--my unwavering faith. But the fruit of the Spirit have withered and dropped to the ground. Running out of oil can ruin the engine of a car, and it's damaging to us and our loved ones too. But there is an even greater risk. Francis is the one who helped me see the bigger picture. I will write more on this next time. I need to head to the source of oil now.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Bike adventures
I learned to ride a bike when I was seven. My parents gave me a small, beaten boy's bike and I rode like the wind on the sidewalks of our sleepy desert town. I got another bike when I was twelve after we moved to the Midwest. It was bigger, a girl's bike, also old, but I loved it! My sister and I rode the streets of suburbia long after dusk on summer nights. Leaving childhood behind, we zipped around with excitement at our newfound freedom. My mother would sometimes ride with us, but only in the dark. She thought the neighbors would think she was silly. This bike went into semi-retirement during my high school years when it wasn't cool to ride a bike. But I brought it to my first apartment, and having no car, rode it miles back and forth to work through dark and quiet neighborhoods. I pedaled hard and traveled far. I was free, living on my own.
When my boys were school-age with bikes of their own, I found another used bike at a yard sale for $5. It was big and clunky and red. No handbreaks, no speeds. Sturdy. We lived in an area perfect for biking and the boys and I rode many evenings after dinner. Unlike my mother, I didn't worry about the neighbors. But as the boys got a little older, they were embarrassed to be seen with me on my old red bike and I often rode alone with my thoughts, escaping from unfulfilled dreams. I don't know whatever happened to that bike, but I've thought of it many times through the years, looking for one similar and never finding it. At the Jersey shore every year I admire the basic, no-frill bikes and wait for the day we will rent them instead of the surreys.
This Christmas, Fred and I agreed on no gifts for each other, but he didn't follow through on his promise. He told me he ordered me "a little something for your health." No big deal. I didn't give it much thought. But then he said he needed to pick it up--in the van. What in the world? Of course, you guessed it, since I'm writing about bikes, but I had no idea. I heard the door chime announcing he was home. The girls ran to the basement as he came in and I heard their delighted squeals. Still confused I went downstairs. I admit, I shrieked with joy too! Such a childish gift for this old woman! A beautiful, brand-new, girlie-pink bike! It is shiny and flashy, with a wide white, padded seat and a thick frame. The handlebars are set far apart, safe and solid, and there are no fancy, shifting gears. Written on the frame is "Beach Cruzer" and "Classic." It has my name written all over it. My first new bike! What a dear husband who bought it for me.
It is night but I take it out to the driveway for a spin. Biking is impossible on our steep hill, but I couldn't resist crossing the street and trying it out in the church parking lot. Wow! My bike is like an old, familiar friend. The cold air whips past my ears and I still ride like the wind. But this time I'm not running away or breaking free from anything. I'm traveling eagerly, expectantly, into the new year. Oh, the adventures we will have!
I recently read Psalm 103 again, the passage my son Dominic read at our wedding. It was so fitting then, as it is now. "Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits--who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's." Vs. 2-5.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Unexpected gifts
On their 30th wedding anniversary, my friend's husband took her to a beautifully restored historical stone house and told her it was hers if she wanted it. It is her dream house. She is overwhelmed by her husband's generosity and love for her. She's experiencing God's love as well, as she said Ephesians 3:20 came to mind. "...to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine." What a wonderful gift for my friend right at Christmas! Since Fred is their realtor,what a Christmas gift for us too.
We attended an interactive Christmas program at this same couple's church. Children were invited to participate in re-creating the nativity story, and volunteers were requested for the various roles. My girls were a little too shy to participate in a new church, but my friend's daughter very much wanted to be Mary in the play and waved her hand enthusiastically. But she was not chosen. In tears, she ran to her mother's arms, hid her face and withdrew from the action around her.
After being dressed in her costume, one of the chosen girls decided she didn't want to do it anymore and pulled the gown over her head and sat down. Another angel was needed! "Who wants to be the angel?"
My friend tried to get her daughter to turn around. "Look, they need an angel! Raise your hand!" But her daughter was too upset and too disappointed to see the chance to join in. Another child took the part.
How often do we miss God's gifts or fail to recognize opportunities God holds out to us because we are looking inward, focused on losses of the past, bitter over not getting exactly what we had hoped for? Our church service often ends with the pastor saying, "Look up and receive your blessing!" Jesus said, "It is the Father's pleasure to give you the kingdom." Luke 12.32.
Sometimes, though, his gifts are not so obvious as a new house. They might come disguised in plain paper or come in a box that doesn't seem the right size for what you really wanted. But our Father knows us better than anyone and he chooses the very best gifts. Look up! What has he given you for Christmas?
We attended an interactive Christmas program at this same couple's church. Children were invited to participate in re-creating the nativity story, and volunteers were requested for the various roles. My girls were a little too shy to participate in a new church, but my friend's daughter very much wanted to be Mary in the play and waved her hand enthusiastically. But she was not chosen. In tears, she ran to her mother's arms, hid her face and withdrew from the action around her.
After being dressed in her costume, one of the chosen girls decided she didn't want to do it anymore and pulled the gown over her head and sat down. Another angel was needed! "Who wants to be the angel?"
My friend tried to get her daughter to turn around. "Look, they need an angel! Raise your hand!" But her daughter was too upset and too disappointed to see the chance to join in. Another child took the part.
How often do we miss God's gifts or fail to recognize opportunities God holds out to us because we are looking inward, focused on losses of the past, bitter over not getting exactly what we had hoped for? Our church service often ends with the pastor saying, "Look up and receive your blessing!" Jesus said, "It is the Father's pleasure to give you the kingdom." Luke 12.32.
Sometimes, though, his gifts are not so obvious as a new house. They might come disguised in plain paper or come in a box that doesn't seem the right size for what you really wanted. But our Father knows us better than anyone and he chooses the very best gifts. Look up! What has he given you for Christmas?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The deed is done
As promised, Fred took Liana to the mall. Without any hesitation she chose her earrings and climbed into the chair. A kind and careful woman marked the spot, and zap! Liana didn't even flinch. She sat stoically as her other ear was pierced, climbed down, and accepted her lollypop. Then we saw a small, satisfied smile. The rest of the day she would suddenly turn her beaming face upward, waiting for a response from us. She's a changed woman.
I sense disapproval from some of my friends. Well, maybe not that exactly, just moms who have decided to do things differently with their own children. I say no to so many things, but in this case I couldn't think of a good reason to deny her wishes. (And of course, her dad gave permission.) Does this mean I'm a wishy-washy mom, easily influenced by the whines of my children? Just ask my grown boys. I'm usually much too harsh and negative, a side of myself I don't like. It felt good to say yes for a change!
In this small incident I saw confirmed a character trait of my little daughter. She is decisive and unwavering in her decisions. Those qualities will serve her well in the future. She does not waffle back and forth between options and then second guess her choice. She is also courageous, willing to face possible pain to achieve her goal. I wish I were more like her.
Monday, December 04, 2006
My baby
Liana has been hounding me for weeks and I keep putting her off. It's not a definite "no," just not now. Weary of her questions, last night I finally said, "Ask your dad." I was sure he would understand my concerns. After all, she's my baby, even if she is almost 7.
Liana was just getting out of the tub, her hair in a little bun, her tiny hands with the shiny pink nail polish gripping the towel wrapped around her. She found Dad busy with his trains under the Christmas tree. I wanted to hear the conversation, so I hid behind the wall.
"Daddy, I need to ask you a question."
He doesn't look up. "Go ahead."
"Okay...um...I'm scared! I'm afraid of what you might say. Guess what it is."
"I don't know, just tell me."
"You'll say no, I know it!"
"Try me. Don't I give you just about anything you want?" (Except a kitten, I'm thinking.)
Liana is bouncing in her excitement. "Well...I can't say it! Mommy said it wasn't a good decision."
"What is it? You can ask me." Dad is so patient with her.
"Maybe Mommy should ask for me."
"No, you can ask me yourself."
"Well..." Deep breath. "Well...well..." Then her words rush out, "CAN I GET MY EARS PIERCED?"
Dad is calm, examining a train. "Okay."
Liana shrieks with delight and runs to look for me, towel whipping around her. "Daddy said yes!" Her big dimpled smile can melt any heart. Then she races back to Dad. "When, Daddy, when?"
"Tomorrow?"
Oh, Fred, you were supposed to agree with me. Those Romans are to blame for this. We've been studying ancient Rome and Liana learned the women wore their earrings looped over their whole ear. Awhile back Fred helped her make a few sets, beads on threads hooked on her ears. She's been wearing them ever since. Silly, but she loves them.
I thought 13 was a good age for ear piercing. Is there a spiritual lesson here?
Liana was just getting out of the tub, her hair in a little bun, her tiny hands with the shiny pink nail polish gripping the towel wrapped around her. She found Dad busy with his trains under the Christmas tree. I wanted to hear the conversation, so I hid behind the wall.
"Daddy, I need to ask you a question."
He doesn't look up. "Go ahead."
"Okay...um...I'm scared! I'm afraid of what you might say. Guess what it is."
"I don't know, just tell me."
"You'll say no, I know it!"
"Try me. Don't I give you just about anything you want?" (Except a kitten, I'm thinking.)
Liana is bouncing in her excitement. "Well...I can't say it! Mommy said it wasn't a good decision."
"What is it? You can ask me." Dad is so patient with her.
"Maybe Mommy should ask for me."
"No, you can ask me yourself."
"Well..." Deep breath. "Well...well..." Then her words rush out, "CAN I GET MY EARS PIERCED?"
Dad is calm, examining a train. "Okay."
Liana shrieks with delight and runs to look for me, towel whipping around her. "Daddy said yes!" Her big dimpled smile can melt any heart. Then she races back to Dad. "When, Daddy, when?"
"Tomorrow?"
Oh, Fred, you were supposed to agree with me. Those Romans are to blame for this. We've been studying ancient Rome and Liana learned the women wore their earrings looped over their whole ear. Awhile back Fred helped her make a few sets, beads on threads hooked on her ears. She's been wearing them ever since. Silly, but she loves them.
I thought 13 was a good age for ear piercing. Is there a spiritual lesson here?
Monday, November 27, 2006
The big idea
It's about time I explain the vision I wrote about before. Time has passed and the initial thrill has subsided due to reality setting in. Or are these just doubts to discourage me? Maybe I'm crazy. Let me know if you think this is an impossible dream.
I need to give you the background on how all this came about. Our whole church is reading a book by Rick Warren called Better Together. The book shows us how to deepen our fellowship in the church and then how to reach out in love to our surrounding community. He says participation in a small group is essential. We can't do this alone and we can't do it in the large congregation. He says, "You can attend church services your entire life and still feel lonely and disconnected." This shouldn't be.
We've always had small groups within our church, but now there was a major push for everyone to be involved with one. Many new groups formed until the number was over 140. The book confirmed to us all that the small group can be a warm, nurturing place to encourage, support and care for each other, and a good place for deeper Bible study and worship. But we learned that the small group should go beyond these confines and serve the community. Our own small group has discussed this before but somehow we never moved forward with it. But Rick Warren's book gave me the first glimpse of a bigger picture.
Not too long ago I attended an international dinner at a nearby church. The room was filled with people from all over the world, mostly immigrants who came to our country to work or to study. In touching and humorous stories, many shared their testimonies of struggles they had in a new country. Here I am, the mother of two immigrants, and sitting next to me are good friends who came from three different countries at different stages in their lives. I've heard their personal stories. This is where my heart is.
Another piece of the vision came through an e-mail. We have an adoption ministry at our church. Some of its goals are to encourage people to adopt, to help finance those who want to adopt but cannot due to income, to locate and share resources for adoptive and foster parents, and to support the children left behind in orphanages who will never be adopted. Also each year the ministry participates in the Welcome Home program for Russian orphans. These children come to the U.S. for three weeks in the summer and stay with host families with the goal that either the host family or someone who meets them during that time will adopt them.
I have been only marginally involved in this ministry due to other commitments. Fred and I did speak at a Family Life seminar in the spring so we are on an e-mail list to keep us updated on what is happening. I learned the Welcome Home program is expanding to include children from the Philippines and Guatemala. I read it with interest, but so far Fred has never expressed any desire to host a child in our home. I never mentioned this bit of news to him.
Now came the final piece of the picture that culminated with an explosion in my heart and set this idea on fire. I walked into the bedroom and heard Arielle asking her dad why we can't adopt another child since she wants another sister. So far, we have not entertained the notion of adopting again since I was sick three years ago. We realized then we were too old and we regret we don't have more years to share with more children.
So Saturday night when I heard Arielle ask this question, the whole Philippine/Guatemala project just burst from my lips. To my surprise and delight I heard Fred say, "We could host a child here and try to find her a home." Then I thought, why can't our small group sponsor a child, each of us networking with our own friends and family and acquaintances with the supreme goal of finding parents for this child? Each of us would use our own gifts and talents to minister to this child. Of course, the child would stay in one home (ours!) but we would all be involved. Then, what if each small group in our church (140 of them) took in a child and found him or her a family? The idea is huge! Homes for many, many children! Right now our church sponsors a whole village in Africa. What is every church supported one poor village? What if every small group in churches across America found a home for a child? God could move in mighty ways if only we each did a small part!
I know, I know. Orphans are not everyone's calling and ministry. (Should they be?) The small groups in our church are reaching out to the community in many other ways, all good, all needed. But what if some of them focused on the parent-less and homeless?
Sunday morning I was lit up with this idea. We sat right in front of my friend who coordinates the Welcome Home program for Russia. I rattled on and on about my plan. She is not quite so excitable, but she listened. She said that even as we spoke someone from a participating adoption agency was in Guatemala choosing children to bring to the U.S. in the spring. She then added, "You know, at our age we might not be eligible to adopt again." True. But who said anything about our family adopting? We want to host.
The first thing I did when I got home was go on-line and find out the parent qualifications for adopting from Guatemala. Guess what? There is no age limit. Parents only have to prove they are physically able to care for a small child. Well, we already have two!
"Find the intersection of God's will and your gifts." (Rick Warren)
"Each of you has been blessed with one of God's many wonderful gifts to be used in the service of others. So use your gift well." I Peter 4:10
I need to give you the background on how all this came about. Our whole church is reading a book by Rick Warren called Better Together. The book shows us how to deepen our fellowship in the church and then how to reach out in love to our surrounding community. He says participation in a small group is essential. We can't do this alone and we can't do it in the large congregation. He says, "You can attend church services your entire life and still feel lonely and disconnected." This shouldn't be.
We've always had small groups within our church, but now there was a major push for everyone to be involved with one. Many new groups formed until the number was over 140. The book confirmed to us all that the small group can be a warm, nurturing place to encourage, support and care for each other, and a good place for deeper Bible study and worship. But we learned that the small group should go beyond these confines and serve the community. Our own small group has discussed this before but somehow we never moved forward with it. But Rick Warren's book gave me the first glimpse of a bigger picture.
Not too long ago I attended an international dinner at a nearby church. The room was filled with people from all over the world, mostly immigrants who came to our country to work or to study. In touching and humorous stories, many shared their testimonies of struggles they had in a new country. Here I am, the mother of two immigrants, and sitting next to me are good friends who came from three different countries at different stages in their lives. I've heard their personal stories. This is where my heart is.
Another piece of the vision came through an e-mail. We have an adoption ministry at our church. Some of its goals are to encourage people to adopt, to help finance those who want to adopt but cannot due to income, to locate and share resources for adoptive and foster parents, and to support the children left behind in orphanages who will never be adopted. Also each year the ministry participates in the Welcome Home program for Russian orphans. These children come to the U.S. for three weeks in the summer and stay with host families with the goal that either the host family or someone who meets them during that time will adopt them.
I have been only marginally involved in this ministry due to other commitments. Fred and I did speak at a Family Life seminar in the spring so we are on an e-mail list to keep us updated on what is happening. I learned the Welcome Home program is expanding to include children from the Philippines and Guatemala. I read it with interest, but so far Fred has never expressed any desire to host a child in our home. I never mentioned this bit of news to him.
Now came the final piece of the picture that culminated with an explosion in my heart and set this idea on fire. I walked into the bedroom and heard Arielle asking her dad why we can't adopt another child since she wants another sister. So far, we have not entertained the notion of adopting again since I was sick three years ago. We realized then we were too old and we regret we don't have more years to share with more children.
So Saturday night when I heard Arielle ask this question, the whole Philippine/Guatemala project just burst from my lips. To my surprise and delight I heard Fred say, "We could host a child here and try to find her a home." Then I thought, why can't our small group sponsor a child, each of us networking with our own friends and family and acquaintances with the supreme goal of finding parents for this child? Each of us would use our own gifts and talents to minister to this child. Of course, the child would stay in one home (ours!) but we would all be involved. Then, what if each small group in our church (140 of them) took in a child and found him or her a family? The idea is huge! Homes for many, many children! Right now our church sponsors a whole village in Africa. What is every church supported one poor village? What if every small group in churches across America found a home for a child? God could move in mighty ways if only we each did a small part!
I know, I know. Orphans are not everyone's calling and ministry. (Should they be?) The small groups in our church are reaching out to the community in many other ways, all good, all needed. But what if some of them focused on the parent-less and homeless?
Sunday morning I was lit up with this idea. We sat right in front of my friend who coordinates the Welcome Home program for Russia. I rattled on and on about my plan. She is not quite so excitable, but she listened. She said that even as we spoke someone from a participating adoption agency was in Guatemala choosing children to bring to the U.S. in the spring. She then added, "You know, at our age we might not be eligible to adopt again." True. But who said anything about our family adopting? We want to host.
The first thing I did when I got home was go on-line and find out the parent qualifications for adopting from Guatemala. Guess what? There is no age limit. Parents only have to prove they are physically able to care for a small child. Well, we already have two!
"Find the intersection of God's will and your gifts." (Rick Warren)
"Each of you has been blessed with one of God's many wonderful gifts to be used in the service of others. So use your gift well." I Peter 4:10
Friday, November 17, 2006
A sad day
We Americans have a strange tradition when someone dies. The family gathers around the deceased and stands for hours greeting people, smiling, and saying, "Thank you for coming." Why do we choose to do this? It seems like torture to me. That was my first thought this day.
We attended the viewing and funeral service of an acquaintance, a 38-year old woman who died in childbirth. She left behind her husband, small son and newborn daughter, as well as many others who loved her. The casket was closed and covered with a white cloth, so it was not the prominent feature in the front of the church. As people walked down the center aisle, they were drawn to the family instead, who welcomed them warmly. Then the husband pointed out the pictures of his baby girl arranged on the top of the casket. What do you say? "Congratulations?" How can such profound joy and sorrow be contained in the same moment of time? The husband seemed so frail and vulnerable when I hugged him, like an empty shell that could easily be broken if squeezed too hard. An older woman, the mother I guessed, stood next to him. I didn't know her, but she pulled me to her, clutching me hard to to her chest. More hugs for the sister and assorted strangers as we moved down the line saying over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
We had come early so we sat in a pew and watched the friends come and go. The family standing up front reminded me of a receiving line after a wedding. Except the guests were in tears. During a lull the husband fingered the baby pictures and gazed with empty eyes into the distance. Sometimes as people passed through the line the mother broke into a wail that filled the church, her agonizing sobs ripping at us all. How can a mother survive losing a daughter? The thought is terrifying to me. My mind cannot go there. Yet, here is one living this nightmare. This mom would grab her friends passing by like a drowning person reaching for a life ring. The sister tried to be brave all morning, sometimes wiping the tears streaming down her cheeks with the palms of her hands and focusing hard to keep control. How can she endure this? Later in her eulogy she called her sister her best friend.
At one point the wind howled and rain clattered noisily on the roof of the church. I'm sure some wanted to shout up to God and ask, "Why?" As people walked back down to find a seat they shook their heads in disbelief. This shouldn't be. It's not the natural course of things. Where are you, Jesus? If only you'd done something... I thought of two sisters long ago, accusing Jesus when their brother died. Jesus hadn't come in time to be of help. But when he saw the mourning crowd, he also wept. What a miserable plight we humans have here on earth. Jesus knew the outcome--he knew Lazarus would live again. Jesus knew his own death and resurrection would bring eternal life to us all. Yet still he cried along with everyone else. Are you crying here with us today, Jesus?
Maybe it isn't such a strange custom after all. Maybe the family is comforted by the long line of people who come to show their compassion. Maybe they long to be held in the arms of other humans, to share pools of tears, and to hear the promises of help and friendship. After all, we all share this same earthly fate. If we haven't known it yet, we will surely travel this same road of pain and fear.
When the service ended and the family left their front row pew to walk back down the aisle, I couldn't help but think that not so very long ago there was a wedding, probably with many of these same people in attendance. They saw the happy couple, glowing with joy, turn to face the congregation as new husband and wife, then walking down the aisle to new life. Now, instead, an old woman staggers with grief on the arm of her son-in-law. The sister who was once a bridesmaid sobs openly, her courage spent.
I think Jesus understands grief so deep and overpowering that it cannot grasp the promises of God. Yet scripture says God does not want us to grieve like those who have no hope. Like Martha, we say to Jesus, "I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." Jesus responded, "Your brother will rise again." John 11:21-25. We encourage one another (and ourselves) with those thoughts. I Thessalonians 4:13-18.
Before we had left for the service, Liana noted my dark clothing. "Black for death, right, Mom?" I said yes. She picked up the small topaz on my necklace. "But gold for heaven."
Please pray for this family.
We attended the viewing and funeral service of an acquaintance, a 38-year old woman who died in childbirth. She left behind her husband, small son and newborn daughter, as well as many others who loved her. The casket was closed and covered with a white cloth, so it was not the prominent feature in the front of the church. As people walked down the center aisle, they were drawn to the family instead, who welcomed them warmly. Then the husband pointed out the pictures of his baby girl arranged on the top of the casket. What do you say? "Congratulations?" How can such profound joy and sorrow be contained in the same moment of time? The husband seemed so frail and vulnerable when I hugged him, like an empty shell that could easily be broken if squeezed too hard. An older woman, the mother I guessed, stood next to him. I didn't know her, but she pulled me to her, clutching me hard to to her chest. More hugs for the sister and assorted strangers as we moved down the line saying over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
We had come early so we sat in a pew and watched the friends come and go. The family standing up front reminded me of a receiving line after a wedding. Except the guests were in tears. During a lull the husband fingered the baby pictures and gazed with empty eyes into the distance. Sometimes as people passed through the line the mother broke into a wail that filled the church, her agonizing sobs ripping at us all. How can a mother survive losing a daughter? The thought is terrifying to me. My mind cannot go there. Yet, here is one living this nightmare. This mom would grab her friends passing by like a drowning person reaching for a life ring. The sister tried to be brave all morning, sometimes wiping the tears streaming down her cheeks with the palms of her hands and focusing hard to keep control. How can she endure this? Later in her eulogy she called her sister her best friend.
At one point the wind howled and rain clattered noisily on the roof of the church. I'm sure some wanted to shout up to God and ask, "Why?" As people walked back down to find a seat they shook their heads in disbelief. This shouldn't be. It's not the natural course of things. Where are you, Jesus? If only you'd done something... I thought of two sisters long ago, accusing Jesus when their brother died. Jesus hadn't come in time to be of help. But when he saw the mourning crowd, he also wept. What a miserable plight we humans have here on earth. Jesus knew the outcome--he knew Lazarus would live again. Jesus knew his own death and resurrection would bring eternal life to us all. Yet still he cried along with everyone else. Are you crying here with us today, Jesus?
Maybe it isn't such a strange custom after all. Maybe the family is comforted by the long line of people who come to show their compassion. Maybe they long to be held in the arms of other humans, to share pools of tears, and to hear the promises of help and friendship. After all, we all share this same earthly fate. If we haven't known it yet, we will surely travel this same road of pain and fear.
When the service ended and the family left their front row pew to walk back down the aisle, I couldn't help but think that not so very long ago there was a wedding, probably with many of these same people in attendance. They saw the happy couple, glowing with joy, turn to face the congregation as new husband and wife, then walking down the aisle to new life. Now, instead, an old woman staggers with grief on the arm of her son-in-law. The sister who was once a bridesmaid sobs openly, her courage spent.
I think Jesus understands grief so deep and overpowering that it cannot grasp the promises of God. Yet scripture says God does not want us to grieve like those who have no hope. Like Martha, we say to Jesus, "I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." Jesus responded, "Your brother will rise again." John 11:21-25. We encourage one another (and ourselves) with those thoughts. I Thessalonians 4:13-18.
Before we had left for the service, Liana noted my dark clothing. "Black for death, right, Mom?" I said yes. She picked up the small topaz on my necklace. "But gold for heaven."
Please pray for this family.
Friday, November 10, 2006
What now?
After many years attending and four years teaching, last spring I left women's Bible study. With homeschooling two children, it was just too much. As the summer passed and with fall coming again, I was wondering, "What now?"
In the Christian life, there is no such thing as, "now I have time for ME." As Rick Warren says, "You were put on earth to make a contribution...not just to consume resources." We are called to serve. One Sunday I read with interest that our church was hosting Alpha. Help was needed. A good friend of mine attended Alpha years ago and I knew how meaningful it was to her, so I got the "spark." You know what I mean--that nudge, that voice within that says, "Yes!"
In case you don't know what Alpha is, here is what the introduction to the course reads, "Alpha is an opportunity for anyone to explore the Christian faith in a relaxed, non-threatening setting over ten thought-provoking weekly sessions...It is low-key, friendly and fun--and is supported by all the main Christian denominations." Now if I'd just read that, I don't think I would be "sparked" but my friend showed me how life-changing this course is.
From my past experience, I thought my skills could be used as a table discussion leader. But no, what was needed was a cook, as the program offers a free meal to all attendees. Now how's that for using my gifts and talents? I've been cooking for a crowd for over 30 years! As a bonus, Fred and I could do this together. We volunteered.
The behind-the-scenes church work was new and refreshing, yet also challenging. There was the stress of keeping to a tight schedule--dinner at 6:00 sharp, the mess of large quantity meal preparation, and the mental focus needed for ordering supplies and planning the food. (The latter is not my natural talent.) But I enjoy the fact that our work is important to God. For the most part, he is the only one who sees the labor behind the food. I'm learning to find contentment and joy in that kind of service, not seeking the praise of people.
God had unexpected surprises for us. My step-daughter, who has avoided church for years, happened to call right before we left for the very first night. Instead of coming to our house for a free meal, she came to Alpha and has continued ever since. Two friends I've missed lately also came with their children. And my girls! While Fred and I work, they have the time of their lives with the children's choir preparing a musical for Christmas and then Awanas.
God is always up to something. We miss out when we confine ourselves to our own little world. Alpha will be ending soon and again I'm asking, "What now?" I'll probably continue cooking for the next session, but I believe God revealed to me another vision for our family. It's big! It's exciting! But we can't do it alone. I will need the help of friends near and far. More on this later.
A verse to keep in mind: "Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God--this is your spiritual act of worship." Romans 12:1.
In the Christian life, there is no such thing as, "now I have time for ME." As Rick Warren says, "You were put on earth to make a contribution...not just to consume resources." We are called to serve. One Sunday I read with interest that our church was hosting Alpha. Help was needed. A good friend of mine attended Alpha years ago and I knew how meaningful it was to her, so I got the "spark." You know what I mean--that nudge, that voice within that says, "Yes!"
In case you don't know what Alpha is, here is what the introduction to the course reads, "Alpha is an opportunity for anyone to explore the Christian faith in a relaxed, non-threatening setting over ten thought-provoking weekly sessions...It is low-key, friendly and fun--and is supported by all the main Christian denominations." Now if I'd just read that, I don't think I would be "sparked" but my friend showed me how life-changing this course is.
From my past experience, I thought my skills could be used as a table discussion leader. But no, what was needed was a cook, as the program offers a free meal to all attendees. Now how's that for using my gifts and talents? I've been cooking for a crowd for over 30 years! As a bonus, Fred and I could do this together. We volunteered.
The behind-the-scenes church work was new and refreshing, yet also challenging. There was the stress of keeping to a tight schedule--dinner at 6:00 sharp, the mess of large quantity meal preparation, and the mental focus needed for ordering supplies and planning the food. (The latter is not my natural talent.) But I enjoy the fact that our work is important to God. For the most part, he is the only one who sees the labor behind the food. I'm learning to find contentment and joy in that kind of service, not seeking the praise of people.
God had unexpected surprises for us. My step-daughter, who has avoided church for years, happened to call right before we left for the very first night. Instead of coming to our house for a free meal, she came to Alpha and has continued ever since. Two friends I've missed lately also came with their children. And my girls! While Fred and I work, they have the time of their lives with the children's choir preparing a musical for Christmas and then Awanas.
God is always up to something. We miss out when we confine ourselves to our own little world. Alpha will be ending soon and again I'm asking, "What now?" I'll probably continue cooking for the next session, but I believe God revealed to me another vision for our family. It's big! It's exciting! But we can't do it alone. I will need the help of friends near and far. More on this later.
A verse to keep in mind: "Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God--this is your spiritual act of worship." Romans 12:1.
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