Saturday's Breakfast

It wasn't an ordinary Saturday, that's for sure. Anything but. Admittedly, I was a little nervous. I get that way when I am about to meet new people. Believe it or not, I am a bit of an introvert. Stop laughing, it's the truth. I'm shy, kind of. Anyway, we had plans: a 9:00 AM breakfast with my husband, 2 other couples involved with his Congo trip, and 2 couples who were retired missionaries. I really didn't know what to expect. How old were these people anyway? Were they going to be boring, tell scary stories, or talk my husband into moving to Africa? Seriously, all these questions and much more flitted through my mind as we drove into the city. That's what we locals call Chicago--those of us in the suburbs, we're cool like that.

We got there early. I am phobic about being late. Most likely because my husband is the exact opposite. He'll be late to his own funeral. Really, I promise you! So there we were, 1/2 hour early, we parked the car and then saw that our friends had arrived early too. They were there to put our names in for a huge table of 10. We had time to kill while waiting for the others, so my friend thought it might be a good idea to give me a tour of Northpark University — for some reason, she thinks I might be attending seminary there in the near future. The campus just happened to be right across the street from the restaurant. Interesting how that worked out!  I instantly fell in love with the quaint campus, its old brick buildings, and warm, fuzzy atmosphere.  Ugg. I did not want to like it there. No, I kind of didn't like it there. More on that later, though. This is about the missionaries. Just remember this part about the university for later updates. We'll see, yes, we will see.

When we had all arrived, we were escorted upstairs to a large table where we could sit, get to know each other, and have breakfast.  First off, let me tell you, it was the cutest little Swedish restaurant, with 2 stories and also an outdoor patio. Next time I'm eating out there! There was also a Starbucks down the street. And as much as I wanted to head straight there--I knew there would be plenty of time for that later--down the road--as in, another time when I might be attending seminary. Oh brother.

We decided to split up — men on one end, women on the other. I was much more interested in hearing about the good, the bad, and the ugly of visiting an African village than hearing about water treatment facilities. Hey, just being honest here. So there I was, sitting at the table with 2 women from my church who had volunteered to go on this trip, and 2 women who had volunteered not only to go, but to live in Africa. And not on a short-term basis either. One had lived there for over 40 years, raised her children there, and would go back in a heartbeat. The other had lived there for over 30 years, had arrived in Africa with a 4-week-old baby in her arms, and wanted to go back too! It was then that God began to speak to me. Quietly, oh so softly.

I had a hard time that morning. I wanted to cry the entire time. My emotions were on the verge of spilling down my cheeks. However, I held it together. After all, I was not even going on the trip. My husband and my friends were going. I sat and listened to story after story and asked questions I thought would be relevant to my friend's trip. I smiled and nodded and talked, and I listened and found myself praying for them. Praying and thanking God.

At one point during that breakfast, more towards the end of our time together, I happened to look towards the men's end of the table. I could not see my husband because we were sitting on the same side. However, as I watched the men interact, something occurred to me--one day we will be sitting here, talking and sharing our adventures with the next group of willing volunteers. It was then that I had to swallow a huge lump in my throat. I realized that my husband's future and possibly mine would hold many stories to share with others. 20 years from now, I will not be surprised if we are sitting in this same little restaurant across the street from the seminary (that I might or might not be attending) and telling the tales of our adventures. Yes, God was present that morning, and I could feel Him there. Smiling, looking down on us, and He was saying--well done. Yes, well done to those missionaries who had given all to go where God had called them.

I'm going to step out here and sound a little melodramatic--but I want you to know that I sat with royalty that morning. I was humbled as I listened to their stories. Some were scary, some heart-wrenching, some very, very funny. I felt honored. I got to sit at the table. The table with those who walked before me. Who fought the good fight. Who ran the race with all their might? There is no way that I could ever fill their shoes. But, you know what? I just might try. I just might do something that is so far out of my comfort zone--I might surprise even myself, and certainly those around me. God is moving, God is shaking, God is calling us. All of us. Now is the time. Go have breakfast. On a Saturday. With a missionary. It will change your life.

                                                                Time for breakfast

                                                              Missionaries to Africa

                                                                     All of them!

Striking the Match

I wanted to read today. It's raining out, drizzly and cold, gray and wet. It's a good day to sit by the fire with a good book. And yet...God is speaking to me. He is reminding me of my calling. One that I rarely talk about but am constantly reminded of. All my life, I have felt it. That strike. Imagine a match, slowly (or sometimes quickly) being laid across a portion of sandpaper and igniting. That's how I feel. From the time I first met Him. From the time I was a small girl. I have felt that fire burning deep down in my soul. A burning, a longing, a yearning for my God, my Father, my everything. From the very first time I encountered Him, I knew that I would put Him above all others. I would do anything, go anywhere, serve, love, pray, honor, and worship Him all the days of my life.

And now all these years later, as I pray, as I seek, as I worship--another match has been struck. I can feel it. A new thing, a new word, a new passion--fresh, exciting, and wonderful. It's hard to explain, to put down on paper, to share with those who've never had this experience, and yet--I feel I must. This longing I feel to serve my almighty Father must be shared with others. This burning, this longing, this life of prayer that is accessible for all who follow Him. For all who believe, serve, trust, and put their lives fully into His hands--a match is being struck.

I wonder — can you feel it? That match? Is he asking you — can I strike that same match in your heart, too?

It is hard for me sometimes, walking around with this passion of mine, burning so deeply, wanting desperately to shout out--can't you feel it? I know that some can and do. I hear it in their voices, their songs, and their prayers. As we cry out to God--heal our land, humble us, and make us more like you-- we want to know you more, serve you more, worship you more, pray more--more of you, oh God, and less of us. That is our prayer. Yes, it is hard for me sometimes--this prophetic heart of mine cries out to Him and asks Him to forgive me, to humble me, to hear me as I pray.

Last week, this is what came out of my heart--a prayer to my God, my Savior, my Father--a prayer for all to know that He is whom I choose, over all others--

Do you know — if I had to choose, I would not choose you. I would choose Him every time. I wonder what you'd think if you knew, every time I'd pick Him over you. And as the song says — you can have all this world, just give me Jesus.

There isn't any person, living or dead, whom I love more than God.  He is my everything. He is my life. The match has been struck. Today, instead of reading by the fire, I have spent the day praying. Ready, waiting, willing. What's next, God? What is next?

Ministers and Africans

What a funny title. And yet, really, there is no other title that I can use. For this was the weekend I became a Stephen Minister, and also the weekend the Congo team (of which my husband is a part) held their fundraising lunch at church.

It began at 5:45 on Friday evening. As I drove to my last weekend of training for Stephen Ministries, I found myself getting a little emotional. I wondered if, after this weekend, things would be different.  There are (were) 12 of us in training. We've become rather close over these last 4 months. We've had meals together, role-played, laughed, cried, shared stories, and asked questions.  We have become a team. A team of willing followers of Christ, who are ready to listen, share, and minister to those whom God brings into our lives. We do not take this lightly. We're concerned we may fail the very ones we seek to help. However, I believe that our hearts are right before God. And I also believe that He will use us in a mighty way.

And so, after another long day on Saturday of our last 8 1/2 hours of training, with tears in our eyes, we said our goodbyes. Until Sunday morning, that was. However, my day did not end at 5:00 that Saturday. No, my day was to continue on for a few more hours. My husband needed me. He was setting up for a huge lunch to be held the next day after church. The entire congregation (all 200 of us) was invited. Three African families (from our church body) had volunteered to cook all the foods from their native countries, and all we (the team and their willing and very hard-working spouses) had to do was set up tables and chop, chop, chop. Late that afternoon, I walked into our little church kitchen and rolled up my sleeves. With a headache, sore feet, and an aching back, I began to chop cabbage. Some of you know me--I am a type A personality and quite the crazy person. I am organized and fast. I see the job/problem, and I get the job done.

Chop, chop. However, that is not the African way — as was so kindly pointed out to me. No, their way is to visit, to talk, to slice, and with every slice/chop, a prayer is said for the person who will be eating that dish. What? Slice and pray? Why will that take hours!   My brain almost exploded.  I remained calm, though — OK, calm for me.  And I sliced and chopped and talked until I thought my back would break from standing and talking and slicing and chopping; however, I learned about Africa and its ways of doing things. And I made new friends. I did it for my husband, his team, and my new African friends. And I tried hard not to think about my food processor sitting in my pantry at home. Really, I did try.

Later that night as we sat at dinner with friends (a very late dinner I might add) we laughed at my naivety. And the next day, I'm glad that we had that laugh. But first, back to Stephen Ministries.
When I got to church Sunday morning, all ready to be commissioned as a trained Stephen Minister, I noticed that I was nervous. I began to pray that God would calm my anxiety. I wanted to really enjoy the service. And He did calm me down, a calmness settled over me, and I was fine, I didn't even cry as our pastor prayed over us. It was a solemn and somewhat formal service. A reminder of the seriousness of what we are about to undertake, it was wonderful.

Right after the sermon, I scooted out to help my husband with the lunch. The tables were all set, the decorations were in place, the African women were setting out the food, the men were grilling, and there was loads of excitement in the air.  I wondered and prayed the entire time — how much in donations for this mission trip, this team of 3 — how much would they collect today?

The lunch was fabulous — if I do say so myself. For one thing, the food smelled amazing. I can't pronounce, let alone spell, the many dishes those 3 families prepared, but let me tell you something — they were delicious. There was rice, beans, chicken, and goat. Yes, I just said goat. There were soups and salads, and all types of beautiful fruits. At each table, we set out bookmarks to remind others to pray for this team. During lunch, a video was played, and afterward, the 3 team members spoke concerning their calling to the Congo. I don't know about the others in the room, but my eyes did not remain dry.

After lunch and after everyone had gone home, several of us stayed to clean up.  And do you think for one minute that those 3 families from Africa, who worked all week cooking for the Congo team, left and went home? No, they did not. There they were--cleaning, washing dishes, pots, and pans, and making up plates of leftover food for others to take home. They were scrubbing counters and floors, and all the while--just as they do while chopping and slicing--they were talking, visiting, and smiling.  I can't help it--I love them. Those sweet ladies whom I now call my friends. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have taught me, through all this, how to relax, enjoy, and savor friendship.

When I got home later that afternoon, I sat down in my chair and cried. I cried the bottled-up tears of a new Stephen Minister.  I cried the bottled-up tears of a wife whose husband is about to go on the most exciting mission trip ever.  And I thanked God for blessing us with awesome friends — who've donated time, money, skills, and prayer — so that my husband and I could be blessed by God.

It is only April. And already this is the best year of my life. I have seen God work in miraculous ways before, so this is not new to me. However, in saying that — please understand — we've only been going to this little church of ours for about one year now. And yet they have accepted us into their church family, into their hearts, and into their lives. We are two very grateful and thankful people. Yes, this new Stephen Minister, and this man bound for Congo--we are overwhelmed by the goodness of our God. Thank you for praying...

These are the 3 that did all the wonderful cooking!

African lunch

We had a lot of food!

Thank you for all your hard work!

Time to eat!

Explanation of food...

The grill masters!

Thank you to all who came!

Sharing about the Congo...

And the call on their hearts...

Stephen Ministers are being commissioned.

And a prayer over our service to our God.

Humbleness

My husband made a comment to me last night. I'm going to share it here, without permission. You know what they say--better to ask for forgiveness. If I thought he'd be upset, though, I wouldn't share it, don't worry. So anyway, the comment--he said, I've never felt so humbled in my life.

Let me explain what is going on. Since this little story affects both of us, I am taking the liberty to share. I guess I'll find out what he thinks later. We belong to a local Covenant church, and my husband is preparing to go to the Congo with several others from our denomination. They have had a presence in the Congo for 75 years now. Taking and shipping medical supplies and food goods, and investing financially. And now our denomination is working with World Vision under the name Covenant Congo Kids. I am very proud of my little church; we are small but mighty. A congregation of a little over 200, and yet we support 71 children in the Congo.   We are committed financially to send money monthly until they reach the age of 18. We send small gifts throughout the year and pray for them every day. We take this commitment very seriously.

An opportunity came up in our church a few weeks ago. Our congregation was asked if there might be a few people with the heart and passion to join a team and visit the Congo; they would also get to meet the children we support and work alongside other missionaries — doing, caring, and giving as much as possible. The minute the announcement was made, I knew that if there had been a show of hands, my husband's would have been the first to shoot up.  I knew that I knew he was going to the Congo.  I wonder now if I knew it even before he did. When we got into our car after church, I patiently waited as he gathered his thoughts. He then faced me and said, "I want to go."  God is calling me to go. All I could do was look at him, and with tears streaming down both our faces, I said--I know.

He leaves in a few short weeks. He has been preparing like a crazy person. He'll only be gone for 2 weeks; however, with his passion, heart, and intensity, one might think he was moving there for good! He watches videos, reads books, and talks to others who've been. He talks incessantly about his trip to anyone who will listen. And he cries, he tears up, and is greatly moved by anything Congo-related. I've never seen him like this before, and we have been a couple for 41 years.  This, my friends, is life-changing.  And he hasn't even left yet.

Now, for the first time in his life, my husband has had to ask for help. Normally, he's the one helping out. Whether it be financial, good ol' hard labor, or praying for others--whatever someone needs, he's one of the first to volunteer. That's just how he is. This time around, though, he's not supposed to rely on himself. He's supposed to itinerate. You know--ask for money. And then, he's supposed to pray and trust God that the money will come in and that his trip will be provided for through our church congregation and other donations. I know him. He'd rather pay for this trip on his own. He'd rather not impose on anyone. However, the truth is this — if we had to pay for it ourselves, he wouldn't be going. We couldn't swing it right now — the cost is too great. And I believe that this little trip came up at just the right time. A time when our own finances are lean, but we all know that God's finances aren't ever lean, are they?

My husband and the others wrote letters. They are letters detailing the plans for the trip, sharing their hearts and reasons for wanting to go, and, lastly, asking for support — financially and in prayer. This was a very hard thing for my husband to do — but oh, what growth! I wish you could be here to see it with me. As people commit to supporting his team, tears fall down his face, and he is humbled by the graciousness of our God. God is making a way for this little team, from this little church, to travel to the Congo.

If you are reading this--please pray for their safety. It is dangerous and scary, especially for those of us who will be waiting at home, praying that they will be brought back safely to us. Pray that they are changed, that they are humbled before their God, and that this would be the first of many more trips to the Congo. This, I know--is my husband's heart.