He Is God

Something was really bothering me this morning, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I prayed. I prayed hard. And then I prayed some more. I kept asking God — what are you trying to remind me of, what are you saying to me, what do you want me to do? After hours of pondering, praying and considering what God was doing in my heart--I finally got some answers. And with those answers, a humility like I've never known before.

I was reminded this morning of a couple of sayings that were continually said in my home while I was growing up. I wonder now if I was taught them for a reason, or if they were just used to stop the arguing between my sister and me.  What was the true intent of these quotes that were so often used in my childhood home?  

One quote went something like this--If you don't have something nice to say about someone, don't say anything at all. That sounds like good advice to me. Have I heeded that advice? Hardly.  When someone makes me mad, angry, upset, jealous, etc, well, I just might say something not very nice. I don't like that about myself. I wish I could be that person who keeps their mouth shut and just doesn't say anything at all.  I could tell you.  I could be that person--if I wanted to. I could just plain shut up and only say good things about people. My flesh gets in the way, though, and that truly bothers me. I was raised better than that.

Another quote went like this--believe half of what you see and none of what you hear. Great advice! Great! Now why, oh why, can't I abide by that wisdom? I have no excuses. I read about people--in the newspapers, on the internet, in magazines, and without even knowing them, without ever having met them, I judge them. Why do I do that?

I can honestly say that this flaw in myself is bothering me the most today. I was raised with these 2 sayings used in my home almost daily, and yet I fail to live by them in my own life. God has laid this heavily on my heart. As I sit here in my nice little home, surrounded by my nice little neighborhood, my friends, my church, etc., I sit here judging those in positions of leadership over me, people whom I have never even met! And today I have been convicted by the Holy Spirit. Judge not. That is what I am hearing from God today. Judge not.

So what do I do with this? How do I pray? What do I say to God? I have asked Him to forgive me; I have asked Him for wisdom; I have asked Him to help me speak only of the good in people, and to please help me not to judge them. I know that I live in a world where bad people are doing bad things, where there is corruption and violence, where there is evil roaming around like a lion. How then do I keep from judging that?

And then I got my answer--judge that. Not them. It was profound for me. That simple thought. Yes, I've heard the saying--judge the sin, not the sinner. But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about something that was buried deep down in my heart. I am judging everything and everyone. And God wants it to stop. He wants me to understand something that goes way beyond anything I've ever considered before. Judge the evilness in this world. Just don't dare judge His creation--He will do that. Don't judge His people. He will do that. Don't judge those He has put in authority. He will do that. For He is God. And I am not. He is the God of the universe. He has control — completely and forever.

I will heed this warning from my God. I will listen to His voice. I will not judge. I will let Him do the judging. For He is God. And I am not. And that to me is the best word of knowledge that I have received in a very long time.
Sela

Bookmobile

I was giddy with excitement in those days. The day when the bookmobile would pull up in front of the school. It was always one of my favorite days during my elementary school years. Grade by grade, class by class, we were lined up and allowed — just a few students at a time —to enter and browse.

Some of you might wonder just what in the world I am talking about. A book, what? Mobile what?  I thought they were the thing back in the 60's; however, after a discussion with friends, I soon found out that those little libraries on wheels did not exist across this nation of ours.

No, in fact, I was the only one of us who had experienced this life-changing event. I'm not exaggerating, not at all. For I truly believe that the bookmobile changed my life. I can remember climbing the steep bus stairs, holding onto the metal rail, eyes wide, trying hard to peer inside. It had been turned into a mobile library for children, and as I finally made my way onto that most wonderful of wonders, I knew, I knew that I was just where I was meant to be in a bus full of books. There were no windows in this bus--only 3 tall walls of children's books. Two very long sides and the back wall of the bus were lined with books.  Books about dogs and horses, books of mystery and travel.  I couldn't get enough of the smell and the feel of each book.  I never wanted to leave.

Yes, I loved Bookmobile Day.  I can't remember how often it came, but I do know those days were the best.  Leaving class early, standing in line, waiting my turn, and then--books, all sorts of books. Books galore!

I lived in the Los Angeles area at the time. I'm wondering if those libraries on wheels were more for inner-city kids. No matter--I still loved watching that big bus pull up alongside the school. I loved waiting in line for my turn. I loved letting my eyes wander over each and every cover. I was mostly looking for anything Lassie related. I was in love with Lassie and often pretended that she was lying right next to me while I read. I later (via one of those books) found out that there was also a dog named Laddie, another collie. I loved reading about horses, too. Black Beauty, Flicka--any kind of horse would do, I just loved reading about them all.

So just how did going into that bookmobile change my life — well, later, as a teenager, I ended up riding, showing, and owning 2 of my own horses.  I've also owned 2 collies and 3 Shelties — thus far, and my life isn't over yet. Those books from my childhood also sparked my interest in travel, as I read about Heidi and her adventures.  Books — I believe they changed my life.  I didn't become an "I can't do anything" type of person; instead, I became an "I can do anything" type of person.

If you ever want to do something really great for a child, buy them a book. It just might play a huge factor in who they one day become. You just never know.

She Calls Me Martha

My sister and I have what some might call--a complicated relationship. I am 2 years older than she. Therefore, by birthright, I am the boss. At least that's what I'd like her to think. Yes, I am the bossy older sister. And don't tell her, but I like it that way.

Really, though, just what is our relationship like? I know one thing--we are complete opposites in just about every way. I'm a brunette with brown eyes; she's a blond with green eyes. I look like our father, she looks like our mother. Our personalities are different, too.  I'm quieter; she's rather loud. Introvert, extrovert. Yes, there are so many differences between us, and yet, we are sisters.

And so our relationship is sometimes complicated by the fact that we are so very different, yet we are related. At times, it's amusing to watch her get so frustrated with me. I think she'd secretly (or not so secretly) like for me to be a little more like her. A little more bohemian, more hippyish, freer--and yet, that is not me at all. Hence, she regularly calls me Martha (as in Stewert). For me, like Martha, I am a little Suzy Homemaker. I love to cook, bake, clean, and decorate my home. I love planting little container gardens, taking pictures, and traveling.  I love to sit in quaint little cafes, ponder craft ideas, and have coffee with friends. I am the more refined of the two of us.

That's not to detract from her qualities, though--she's just different from me.  She likes many of the same things I do, only in a slightly different venue. Rather than a cafe, she prefers a hippy-style coffee house. And where I love antique dishes, she'd just as soon eat quickly via a paper plate and get on with the day. Even our shopping habits differ. I love designer anything, and she'd just as soon go to the local thrift shop. Yes, we are very different.

She was here this past week, visiting for a few days for the first time since I moved to the Midwest 14 years ago. I see her maybe once a year or so since moving. At first, it was a little hard for me to find my way around her. I didn't want her to be uncomfortable in my home, and yet, I had to be myself. So I compromised a lot. I didn't get out the fine china; I kept it casual. Martha style. Instead of using my dining room for dinner, we sat out on the deck while eating off my cute Italian patio dishes. I worked hard, and I believe it went well. I refrained from baking or cooking too much. I didn't do any crafty projects, and most of all, I didn't clean around her. I waited until she went to bed to pull out my swifter. Yes, I was quite proud of myself. I was able to contain Martha for the most part.

I'm wondering now what she thought of her visit. Will she want to come back? Did she notice my attempt to keep Martha at bay? Or, in all my efforts--did I fall flat? These are my questions. Was her trip here an epic fail, or did she enjoy her visit with Martha?   I'll wait and see. Or just ask myself one more question — what would Martha do?

Half Of Me

I did something that I rarely do, in fact, what I did is very much out of character for me. I allowed myself to imagine my life without him. Without the person that I have been married to for 2/3 of my life. I try very hard not to ever let my imagination run away with me; however, this time, for a very short time, I allowed it. It ran wild and made me cry; most of all, it made me think.  Think about life--with and without him.

He was gone--in Africa. I was home--alone. No one was around, and it was late at night. I put on some music, sat in my rocking chair, and began to ponder life--alone. Now don't get me wrong here, I don't mean life alone without God or friends or family, I just mean life alone without my spouse-- without him. We've been a couple for almost 42 years now. So, you have to agree with me that with him gone, my life would be different. Completely different. And that was the thought I pondered. What would my life be like--alone?

He had been gone for several days by then, and I had established a routine of sorts. I went through the motions of everyday life, and as I mentioned above, this time around, I actually thought about it... what if this were to become my forever routine?

I am not going to sugarcoat this for you; no, I am going to be as honest as I can be here. I do not ever want to experience what I experienced in those very few moments. I do not ever want to be without him, 2 weeks alone is one thing, but life? The rest of my life? Well, that would be quite another. As I sat there crying and allowing myself a short time of grieving for my perceived loss, I felt so incredibly lonely. So very alone that, in fact, I felt a chill descend upon me. I sat there rocking, crying, cold, and alone. I felt right then and there as though I, too, had died. And it was then that I realized that all there would be left of me if anything were to ever happen to him--is half of me.

Yes, I could go on, go on living. I am a very independent person. I am strong. I am brave--kind of. I know that God would comfort me, help me, and never leave me — I know these things. I would learn over time to go through the motions of life. However, nothing would ever be the same for me again. We've been together too long for that now. We've never been apart for more than 2 weeks at a time, and even when we're apart, we are in constant contact.  We are what some of my friends call "attached at the hip," and we are OK with that. We like being together. So, how could I possibly function without him? This is the question that I pondered that night, for just a few short minutes, for just a small increment of time--yes, I indulged myself in some pretty morbid thoughts.

That was a while ago--and I'm over it now. I won't do that again. The experience was a little too real for me. It was too hard to handle, to think about, to contemplate. However, now I know. That if or when anything ever happens to him, if or when he is taken from me--well, no matter how I look or seem or act...you will only ever really be getting half of me. That's all that will remain. Because the day he is gone, the day he dies, the day we are separated in this life together--that will be the day that there is only half of me. I see that now.  I will carry on with only half of my heart. I will always honor my husband. And I will lean hard into Christ and trust him. I will make it through the rest of my life with only half of me.

Ephesians 5:31

The Message (MSG)

^29-33 No one abuses his own body, does he? No, he feeds and pampers it. That's how Christ treats us, the church, since we are part of his body. And this is why a man leaves father and mother and cherishes his wife. No longer two, they become “one flesh.” This is a complex mystery, and I don't have a complete understanding. What is clearest to me is the way Christ treats the church. And this provides a good picture of how each husband is to treat his wife, loving himself in loving her, and how each wife is to honor her husband.

The Art of Compromise

My husband does not like to man the grill, nor does he like to dance. Me? Well, I don't do toilets or sports. We let each other in on these little secrets of ours early on in our marriage. We both agreed — let's compromise on these particular areas of our relationship and not put pressure on each other to do what we don't like doing. So far, it's worked out just fine for us. I do the grilling, and I don't bug him to take me dancing. He cleans the toilets, and he doesn't bug me to go to sports games or watch them on television.  It works--for us. We are a match made in heaven.

There have been times when some people have said to me, "You make him clean the toilets?"  That's terrible, that should be your job! Really? And, once in a while, some well-meaning visiting male will comment on me manning the grill. Really? Is it that big of a deal--these gender specific roles that have been placed upon us by society? Because they aren't that big of a deal to us. However, some areas of compromise have been a bit harder for us. And that's what I want to talk about today. Compromise.   Or lack thereof.

I am wondering if, given that we met and married young — well, maybe just maybe that fact has played such a big role in our ability to compromise. I'm not for one minute saying that it's all been easy because it hasn't. We may have learned this art a little earlier or more quickly than some.  We had no choice, really.  It was either compromise or argue, and I hate arguing, but I also hate giving in.  So, there you have problem number one. Who caves and when? For us, it was all about talking it out, giving our reasons as to why we felt a certain way, and then actually hearing each other. When we took the time to share our hearts, when we didn't ridicule each other, when we listened, really listened — we were able to come to terms with each other's requests and compromise. And yes, sometimes that took longer than at other times.  Much longer!

I have witnessed couples that do not wish to compromise at all. It is their way or the highway--so to speak. And I believe that is why the divorce rate is what it is today.  My husband and I made a promise to each other many years ago, when we were just starting out, that we would never use the D-word.  Also known as divorce. We decided that we would strike it from our vocabulary and that even if it killed us, we'd talk it out, come hell or high water. And boy did we. Some of those talks lasted until the wee hours of the morning. I think sometimes we would eventually compromise just so we could finally get some sleep! Yes, a compromise was that important to us. We have been a couple for almost 42 years now. Dated for 2, married for almost 40. Was it all easy? No. Did we always come to a place of compromise? Yes. And that is how one avoids divorce--in my humble opinion.

It is an art form; it is a marriage dance; it is letting go of "I'm always right"; and it is bending and becoming flexible. It can be something as simple as cleaning the toilets or something as life-changing as moving across the nation for your spouse's job. I remind myself daily that I love my husband, that God brought him into my life, that I have been blessed abundantly, and that by compromising just a little, I receive a lot. And that getting along makes for a better friendship. I have noticed that as we grow older together, and I see him trying hard to compromise, it makes me want to compromise right back — just to make him happy. Yes, I can see all that now. That for all these many years we have been, for the most part, dancing a dance of compromise to our own rhythm. It works for us, this art of compromise. The very idea of not being together, the idea of divorce or being separated, or not having each other is a foreign concept to us. We made a vow before God almost 40 years ago, and we will keep that vow — we will compromise.

Yes, compromise, in my opinion, is an art form--it is hard, and at times it can feel like we might be losing a part of ourselves in the process. It isn't easy giving in, not one little bit. It is give-and-take; it is putting someone else above yourself; however, I believe that is what we are supposed to be doing in the first place. Putting others above ourselves. That's the art of compromise.

Biking with Rocks

I had a dream last night —this is what I saw: a picture (mental snapshot) of me riding a bike in a foreign country. I was riding along, very happy, smiling, content. Not a care in the world. Most likely, I was in France since that's my favorite country. And then I noticed something. Others were riding with me, but they were struggling. When I looked over at them, I saw that they had big rocks tied from ropes hanging off the backs of their bikes. They weren't smiling. They looked very serious. Their foreheads were scrunched up, they were sweating, and they were tired. My first inclination was to stop them and tell them what I was seeing. Instead, I paused. I'm not here to change their culture. This is their way, this is how they do things here. And I am here to learn from them. Embrace them. Enjoy them. Be a part of them.  

However, as I was still riding my bike, my smile faded into concern. I questioned God. I asked him — What should I do? Should I stop them? Should I tell them what I am noticing? Should I show them how to cut the rope? Should I let them know how much faster, how much easier, how much more freeing it is to ride a bike without dragging rocks behind it? I began to slow down a bit — what should I do? What? For I did not want to offend them.

A conundrum for sure. This all came to me in the blink of an eye. I am still praying about this. What is God saying to me? No. The real question is — do I share what God is saying to me, or do I just wait? Do I sit back and patiently pray? That is the real question. What would you have me do? Would you want to know? If you were dragging those rocks behind your bike--would you want someone to help you cut that rope? Or would you rather continue to do it — your way?

Each person is different. I understand that. And I am not here to change your culture; however, I am here to proclaim peace. To teach, to preach, to share, to pray--to cut ropes. Yes, I am here to cut ropes. To show others how to leave those rocks behind. Am I brave enough to do that? And if I am not brave enough, then why, oh why, did God put that picture in my mind, in my heart, and in my prayers?  

This was my morning. And now for the afternoon, I think I shall go ride my bike--and pray.

The Oldest

He received his first cell phone the other day. Yes, for graduating from the 5th grade and going into "middle school," his gift from his parents (my daughter) was his very own cell phone. Not a smartphone, just a regular one, but a phone nonetheless. And I was his first call. My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number — I said hello and heard the sweetest words ever. Hi, Grandma!

He was so excited. Guess what I got? My own phone! We talked for a few minutes and then hung up. The next day, I received a text message from an unknown number. It read — hi grandma, what are you doing? And thus started our texting throughout the rest of the day, and then on to the next day. He also sent a text last night — good night, gma. And first thing this morning--good morning, gma. I have to tell you something — there is no better way to feel loved and thought about than a text from your grandson. I'll tell you that right now! Nothing can compare to the feeling of love that I feel for that boy as it floods through my heart.

He is my oldest grandchild, our very first, and he turns 12 years old this October. It is hard for me to fathom this bit of information. You see, it seems as though my own children were just this age not too long ago. And now? Well, now I am conversing with my oldest grandchild via his own cell phone! It's amazing, awesome, wonderful, and scary all at the same time. And that's just the point--time. It goes by so fast now that there is no stopping it.  One month it's Christmas, then it's summer, and then we are planning for the holidays again.  Yes, that quickly. So, it is my desire to enjoy every second of every day. Especially when it comes to taking, playing with, or visiting my grandchildren. I want them to remember me. I want them to know me. Really know me. And I want to know them; I want to understand their likes and dislikes; I want to know their hearts; I want to spend that quality time with each one of them. And if I can't live in the same cities as they do, well, I'll leave them this blog, to one day read and remember when. I'll do my best to document the fun times. I'll take lots of pictures of us together, and I'll share as many stories as I can. I don't want them to ever wonder — what was she really like? They will read this and know. They'll know me.

I want to share a cute little conversation that took place yesterday between my grandson and me via text — it went something like this.
Him--Hi, Grandma--how was grandpa's trip? Did he like it?
Me--Hi, yes he loved it, did your mom show you the pictures?
Him--Yes, she did, I loved looking at them, the kids were adorable.
Me--Yes, I thought so too. They reminded me of your cousin.
Him--Me too, she is so cute, just like them. :)

I could almost see him smiling through the phone; we were talking about his newest cousin, who was adopted from an African American family. She is part of our family now, and I knew he was probably wondering about his grandpa's trip to Congo and the resemblance between her and the children there.  I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable about it, so I thought I'd bring it up first.
It's important for me that my grandchildren learn to be accepting, kind, loving, and inclusive. Their parents are doing an awesome job of teaching them. And it's a good thing too, as I am hoping and praying for even more grandchildren. You just never know — we have 6 so far; however, I do wonder how many more we might end up with. And we never know what their heritage might be. But we know one thing for sure--the minute they become part of our family, they are ours forever.

For now, I will look forward to those little text messages, those short phone calls, and that sweet little voice. I will cherish each call and remember this time in my little grandson's life, for one day soon he'll be too busy for grandma, but right now, well — we're phone buddies, and I love it.

A Mother's Heart

I love being a mom, and even though my children are all grown up now with kids of their own, there are times when they are still my little ones. My three little chicks, whom I want to scoop up underneath my wings and protect. However, they are bigger, taller, and most likely smarter than I am now. So, I let them be. I do not push my values on them, judge them, or try to manipulate them. At least I try. I try really hard. I have already had my mom time to mother them. Now, it's time for me to be quiet. To pray that they continue on with their lives, being productive citizens and kind-hearted people, who serve their God with their whole hearts. And they are. I am blessed beyond measure.

I raised my children with my own value system based on Biblical concepts. My values, my way. I taught them as best I could.  I believe my parenting style would be called authoritative. One who sets rules and boundaries, one who listens and loves, and one who teaches through example. I tried hard to stay the course and give my children a feeling of stability. And if you do this or that--these are the consequences of your actions--good or bad type of parenting style. I was firm but loving.

As a Christian family, we went to church regularly and were very involved in all types of ministries, as well as group and family activities. I loved our little family. We were happy. We loved God and each other. We have lots of family memories, and I will always cherish those times. I am now watching my children create those same types of memories with their own children.

However, now the truth — I still have that mother's heart that sometimes, only sometimes, wants to step in and say something. A word to encourage, or a word to mildly correct. Any yet. And yet, I stop myself. I had my turn, and my turn is now over. I stay quiet, I pray, and most of all I trust. Yes, that's it. I trust. I have complete and total trust in my God. He will take up where my mother's heart has left off. He will now take over the teaching, training, and making of trials and tribulations that will come their way to gently (or sometimes not so gently) correct their course. And that is where my faith will have to kick in. I will walk by faith, that he will parent them for the rest of their lives, just as he has always done for me.

It's that act of walking out of my faith when it comes to my children that might be the hardest for me. I'm not sure. It's something that I will have to think and pray about now. Do I fully trust him when it comes to them? I hope so. I really do.

So here I am with a mother's heart — waiting oh so patiently to see what my father's heart will do for my children. He has promised me that he will take care of them, protect them, and love them more than I ever could. He will lead them and guide them; he will walk with them in all their ways; he will provide for them, heal them, comfort them — he will be the closest friend they'll ever know. And how do I know this? I've learned from experience — he has always done that in my life. And for that reason alone, I have and will continue to lay my love and concern for them at his feet, right along with my mother's heart. I will bow before my God, lay my family at his feet, and trust with my mother's heart. Yes, I will. I will do that. I promise.

Praying Them Home

I have been up for several hours now. Praying. Praying them home. Today, the team that left almost 2 weeks ago returns home. I must admit something here — I've prayed a lot these last 2 weeks. I've prayed to the point of almost being no good for anything else. Yes, it's true —I've gone through the motions of everyday life — so to speak. Get up, get ready, pray. Repeat. In between, I've met with friends, gone to lunch, had coffee, done a little shopping, gone on walks, and even out to dinner. Yet after each outing, I've come home and once again prayed. Sometimes during the night, I would wake and pray some more for the team and for my husband. Going through the motions of life, but really just wanting to pray for their safety--our team.

Over the past 2 weeks, my husband has been great about calling and texting me almost every day. So yes, I've known all along just what their needs have been. I've done as I was asked, though, and kept all that pertinent information to myself. I've been good. However, I didn't feel too good about keeping quiet. I wanted to shout out to everyone — are you praying? Really praying? Because they need you! They need you now!

They needed prayer when they got their first flat tire, and again as they drove through one city, with police banging on the doors of their vans with billy clubs — they needed prayer. They needed prayer when one got so sick that he needed IV's--yes, they needed prayer. And the day they visited the hospital--well, that day, they really needed prayer--for what they saw, for what they heard, and for how they felt. They needed prayer.

It is very interesting to me how, for the past 2 months, I've been facilitating a small group where we went through the book Love To Pray. We've learned about prayer, we've prayed together, and we've seen the way God answers prayer. God's timing is amazing! Because the last 2 weeks we've had something really important to pray about. Our Congo team. They needed us. However, other things were also happening during the last couple of months--one person's mother passed away, another went through cancer treatment, another is preparing for a mission trip to Honduras, another is grieving for the salvation of their child, and another needed prayer while caring for their elderly parents. Yes, we all had needs; we all needed God to meet us just where we were. And He did. He met us as we prayed. He showed us things we never imagined. Because we prayed. We learned we listened, we prayed.

So now we are praying them home. We pray for their safety on their last leg in the air — from Brussels to Chicago. They will also need us when they get home--to process, to share, to try their hardest to get across to us, who've stayed home--just what it was really like in Africa.

I am praying. Praying them home. And you know what? I am praying for them to go back to Africa. Back to minister to a people whom I am sure have grown to love.

Reverend

Reverend--that's what they called him. When he preached. In the Congo. To 2,321 people--Africans. From all over, they came. It was a quarterly church meeting, where they gather 4 times per year to worship together. 20 local congregations, 3 hours long. Singing, praising, worshiping.

But that's not the real story. The real story happened at the same time, on the same day, here and abroad. A miracle. I call it that because that is what it was. It was something that only God could do. When I wrote my last blog, the one about my husband and his "come to Jesus" meeting, well, little did I know that God was also speaking to my husband about sharing that exact same story with the congregations in the Congo. When he was able to make contact with me later that same day, he told me how God had been dealing with him about sharing his "testimony". He had been unsure, and when I asked him if he had read my blog from that morning, he said no. I was stunned. He hadn't yet read it. That meant, in my mind anyway, that he should read it right away, and then pray about just what it was that God wanted him to talk about that following Sunday.

He told me later that as he read my blog, he cried. He knew then that he needed to try to somehow share "his story" with the African people. I told him I'd be praying, and pray I did. For hours and hours, I prayed. For God to give him boldness and strength, and for him to have wisdom and discernment.

I really do not think he was prepared for the turnout. Over 2,000 people showed up. His was to be the only sermon, he was the only speaker, the only reverend, for that is how they introduced him. Reverend. It embarrassed him, but he'll get over it.

He spoke for 40 minutes, thankfully there was a translator. He said he could feel our prayers. Those of his friends and family. The local pastors later told him that he had spoken on key subjects that they needed to hear. He was told that over 20 pastors were there and they will now go home and retell his story and preach on the subjects for weeks to come. His story. The one I thought he had forgotten about. Until God reminded us--him and me at the same exact time--of that night so long ago.

Isn't God amazing? If anyone had told us that night, sitting in that little church in California, that one day my husband would be speaking to over 2, 000 people in Africa--well, I'm sure we would have thought they were nuts. But God had a plan. He always has a plan. It's just up to us to obey, to walk in His ways, to listen, to do, and to go. Go where He tells us to go.

My husband will have so many stories to share when he gets home. One more week. I miss him terribly, but you know what? I would not change one bit of what God is doing in his life (or mine) for anything. No, I would not change one thing.

The team left for Karawa today. In fact, he just called from there. He was so happy to find that they had installed a 1st generation cell tower. No email available, but he could call me. I was so happy just to hear his voice. The team toured a hospital this morning, and when he tried to tell me about their visit, his voice broke. He just said, please pray, pray for these people, this breaks my heart. So, I will pray for the people of Africa, for the team, and, most of all, for my husband, for he will never be the same.

I can't wait for him to share all that God is doing. He has so many things to say, so much has happened, good things.   God things.   Things that only God can do.

A Calling Fulfilled

As I sat praying this morning, the Lord reminded me of something. A time way back when. A time when my children were still small, and we were still young. A time when I wondered--have I made a mistake? Yes, I wondered — for a short time — if I had married the wrong person. Are you shocked? So was I.

You know that portion of Scripture (Phil 2:12) where it says that we work out our own salvation with fear and trembling? Yeah, that one. Only it wasn't my salvation that I was trying hard to work out. It was my husband's. And although he had been raised in a Christian home, I found out after a few years of marriage that he was grappling with his own salvation. He had questions, many questions, and honestly, it scared me to death. What in the world, I wondered, had I gotten myself into? How had I not seen this coming? Was I so totally blinded that I missed this seemingly huge hole? And what about the fact that I thought, no, I had been sure, that I had heard from God about marrying him? He was the one, my true love, my soul mate--but, what about now? What about this? What about his relationship with my God? My heart was breaking as reality was setting in.

It seemed that after almost 10 years of marriage and 3 children later, my husband had come to the conclusion that he wasn't quite as sold on this whole religion stuff (his words) as I was. As he sat there confessing his disillusionment with the church, with God, and with all of religion in general, I sat there with tears spilling down my face, wondering--what now? Just what do I do now?

So what did I do? I prayed. I prayed probably harder during those few months than I had ever prayed in my life. And now that I think about it, I don't know if I've ever prayed as hard since--for several reasons--one being that now, through the trials and tribulations of my life, I have learned to pray and then leave it at the feet of Jesus. At that time, though, I fell completely apart. I had no one to talk to about this new development, and really no one to trust. And two is that I was afraid of being judged and condemned, and also very afraid for my husband. So, praying about it was my only release and also my only solution.

Months passed, and then one day, one of my closest friends called and asked if we wanted to go to a service at a local church that evening. It seemed they were having a guest speaker who was pretty interesting to listen to. I knew my husband would laugh it off and not want to go, but I prayed about it and asked him anyway. And much to my surprise, he said yes. So much for my faith! We all got babysitters, went to dinner first, and then off to the service--all 6 of us. 3 couples in all, 5 witnesses to later be able to share what happened that night. For that night was a night to remember, that's for sure. That night, my husband met God in a way he had never encountered God before.

Really, this is his story. I'll switch modes now and present my viewpoint. One day, he might want to share it in his own words. However, this is what I saw. This is what happened on that fateful night almost 30 years ago.

I was sitting next to a man (my man) with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He had a look on his face that said, "There is no way I will believe anything you have to say."  He actually was scowling. And I was embarrassed. So very embarrassed. However, this man of God — preaching, teaching, and sharing the Lord —was looking at my husband the entire time, and the look on his face was one of love; he even smiled a couple of times. In other words, he knew in his heart what was going on in my husband's heart. And after he was done speaking, he looked over at my husband and asked if he could pray for him. After swallowing my heart and wiping the sweat from my brow, I began to pray. Please God, let this man get through to my husband. And surprisingly, my husband said, " Sure, you can pray for me, however, he didn't say it in a very nice way. More embarrassment for me. Much more.

When my husband walked up to the front of that little church, something began to happen. The pastor began to pray for my husband. He never laid a hand on him, he never prayed loudly; all he did was stand there and quietly pray. Minutes ticked by, and he still prayed, and then all of a sudden, my husband's hands reached into the air. Actually, both arms shot into the air like arrows. I almost fainted. I couldn't believe my eyes. What was happening? He then asked me to come up front, too. I went up there, and instead of praying for me, he gently took my hands and began to speak to me softly — saying, "Something new is happening."  Your husband is going to begin to grow in Christ, like you've never seen before. His growth will be so rapid that it will shock everyone who knows him. You won't be able to keep up with him.  You will have to be very understanding and patient with him. Let him work out this new relationship with the Lord at his own pace. And most of all, be kind.

When the pastor was done praying for us and with us, we walked back to our seats and sat down. I don't know exactly what my husband was thinking, but I can tell you what I was thinking. What the heck just happened? Is my husband a real Christian now? Did he just get saved? Am I dreaming this? Yes, those questions and a million more flitted through my brain faster than a speeding bullet.

That was 30 years ago. And guess what? Everything that happened that night, every word that was spoken, every prayer that was prayed--happened just the way it was told to us. Every single thing.
My husband grew in his new relationship with his God. He began to study the Bible like nothing I had ever seen before. He changed so completely that within 6 months, he was no longer the same person I had married.

And today? Well, today he is in Africa on a mission trip — just him and his God. Ministering to whoever God calls him to minister to. And me? Well, I am home, praying and blogging my heart out. And thanking my God every step of the way. God is good. God is faithful.

Congo Part 2

I'm not used to this. The part where there might be danger. I am used to my husband traveling, however, to Europe, to Asia, to South America, and all over the US. He has traveled for his company all our married life, so I am used to that. But Africa? No. And every so often--I'll admit, my stomach clenches a little when I think that he might be in harm's way. I am not a worrier by nature. I am a warrior by nature. A prayer warrior, an intercessor, a prayer.  So I am surprised when, suddenly, out of nowhere, a feeling descends upon me that at times takes my breath away. Emotions wash over me, thoughts invade my brain, and I find myself momentarily paralyzed.

It's over quickly, however, as I immediately begin to pray.  My first thought is that God will protect them wherever they are — He is there. I begin to relax, take a deep breath, and am ready for phase 2 — trust. Complete trust that God is in control of this endeavor of theirs.  Excitement slowly builds as I realize they are most likely having the time of their lives. They are functioning in their calling. And believe me--there is nothing better. To be walking in complete obedience to God--well, nothing compares to that.

I am so thankful for my friends here. I can feel them praying as I am praying. I know they are praying not only for him and the team but for us who have been left behind. One of my friends actually set up a schedule for people to pray at specific times. Yes, that little team is covered by our prayers.

My husband has been able to keep me up to date periodically.  For example, I know that at one airport, they sat on the tarmac for a couple of hours while their plane had to return to the gate twice for mechanical repairs. I know that they barely made their connection in Brussels. He was also able to video chat with me for a couple of minutes on the plane, after landing in their first African city. He and his team had the biggest smiles I've ever seen. They were in their element. They were giddy with excitement — they were in Africa.

I received one more phone call once they were at their destination. They had just finished packing up the caravan of cars with the trunks and goods they had brought from the States when guess what happened? A flat tire! Oh well, that was easily repaired.

We said our goodbyes, again. We said our I love yous, again, and then we hung up. I don't know when I'll hear from him next. So I will pray. And pray. And pray. For him, for his team, and for the people of Africa.

Congo Part 1

I'm not too sure how these new few blogs will develop. I will write about some things that are most likely not very blog-worthy.  And yet, they will be important for me to remember. Yes, at some time in the future, I will want to look back on these few pages and reminisce. So, I shall begin with Day 1 of being and feeling utterly and completely alone. No, that's not true, not at all. I am not alone. For my God, my savior has moved me into a little town, a little church, and a little community that takes care of its own. For example, guess how many emails, text messages, invitations, and so on, that I have received? Just guess! I know one thing for sure — I will be so busy these next 2 weeks that I will fall into bed each night, tired and ready to peacefully sleep.

Back to the beginning — I drove my husband and one of his team members to the airport yesterday. I was supposed to be going alone.  I knew in my heart, though, that I would cry the minute I dropped my husband off--I knew there would be many tears. Funny, though, how God works--as it turned out, the other wife wanted to ride along.  Ride along? Then how would I cry? How would I be sad? It posed a conundrum. I had no choice; I had to be strong. I had to act like I was perfectly fine with the Congo team flying for more than 24 hours, making several flight changes, and landing in a dangerous country — yes, I had to "act" completely OK with that. But was I acting?

Out to the airport, we drove all 4 of us. The guys are talking excitedly about their trip, the women sitting rather silently listening to them, our thoughts running wild.  We dropped them off, said our goodbyes, and then headed back home. To live without them for the next 2 weeks. Both of us, it turns out, are used to our traveling husbands — they travel for business. However, we are not used to them traveling to Africa, to danger, and to the poorest of the poor.  No, we are not used to that.

When I returned home, I had some cooking to do — fortunately.  I was invited over to some friends' house for a lovely barbecue.  We ate, we laughed, and I was wonderfully distracted from how badly I missed my husband.  Yes, it was a great afternoon with friends. By the time I returned home, I was tired and spent the evening curled up with my dog in front of the TV.

That was day one. I will write more as the trip progresses. Hopefully, our friends and family are praying for this team. I know I am.

Humble My Heart

My song to God in prayer this morning--I found myself singing this over and over and decided to write it down...


Oh, hear the cries of my heart, oh my Lord
Oh, hear the prayers of your daughter

My heart cries out for you, oh my God
My heart breaks for your people

Oh, hear their cries, their pleas, oh my God
Oh, heal the hearts of your people

I give you praise because you are my God
My heart belongs to you, oh Lord

O,h hear me, Father, hear my call
Hear the voice of your daughter

Hear my cries and answer all my prayers
Humble my heart before you, oh my God

OH,h please humble my heart before you...

Your Time Starts Now

I keep thinking about college testing. Little blue books, number 2 pencils, and silence. I would look up at the clock in the room, divide my time based on how many questions I had to answer, and then, after double-checking the time, it would begin.  The professor's voice would speak out--your time starts now. Usually, I would have about 50 minutes to complete the test to the best of my ability. Being an A chaser by nature, I found those 50 minutes, divided equally among my questions, extremely important to me. I had to know — just how long would this test take? How much time did I have?

Which is why I have been thinking of those tests now. You see, the countdown has begun. In a few short days, he leaves. He goes to Africa, to the poorest nation on earth, to a dangerous place, to a place where I am not. So, as I was praying this morning, it hit me. I have so many days left to pray, only so much time left--and my time starts now. I must pray for the Congo team, for my husband, for their safety, for their well-being — emotionally, physically, and spiritually. They will need my prayers. They will need your prayers. For their lives are about to be changed forever.

This is a test — for me, for him, and for them. I am an A chaser, are you? I will pray. My time starts now. Hopefully, prayerfully, yours does too. Our time starts now.

Rough Weekend

I rode a roller coaster this past weekend. No, not a real one. Never a real one. An emotional one. That's about as real as I get when it comes to roller coasters. Yes, this weekend was a true ride of emotions for me. It really started on Thursday night. We had our bi-monthly Stephen Ministries meeting. While there, our group leader asked if we might all share just how we came to know Christ. And of course, I cried as I shared just a short, very condensed version of how I came to know Jesus. I left feeling a little spent.

Friday wasn't too bad a day. Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, it was. I had my normal Friday morning coffee with friends. We laughed, we shared, we figured out the world's problems, and then my husband and I met with our attorney. I honestly didn't think this little meeting would bother me. I was wrong. It bothered me — only I didn't know it at the time. We met her to set up a trust. Yep, a "just in case"--you know, just in case one of us kicks the bucket. With my husband leaving for Africa soon, he was eager to get this little appointment over with. We talked about a lot of things that afternoon, sitting there with our new lawyer, discussing houses, cars, jewelry, handbags (hey, don't judge), and other items. Who to leave what to, who should be the trustee--yes, I learned a lot that afternoon, more than I ever wanted to know. We're all set now. If something happens to one of us--we are as ready as we'll ever be. I left feeling a little spent.

Saturday was a fun day. We went to a little town recommended to me by a friend. It was awesome. Quaint little shops full of vintage treasures, and a cute little tea house for lunch to finish off the day. We had fun. I needed that day. A day with my husband--wandering, exploring, daydreaming, planning, coffee, lunch, and memories. I think I was storing up. For what? I don't know yet. I left feeling a little spent.

When Sunday morning rolled around, I was done. It was Mother's Day. Can I admit something here? I kind of hate Mother's Day. I have for the last couple of years, anyway. You know how I am by now. Honest. Especially with my thoughts and feelings. I am not a fan of Mother's Day.  I no longer live in the same city as my mother or my children.  So, for me, the day is a complete bust. I wake up depressed and have to do a ton of praying to even get motivated enough to get ready for church. However, being the tough cookie that I am, I do it. I suck it up, and I go. And, after a bit, just standing in the presence of my God and worshipping, I relax.

My husband always takes good care of me. He knows how these holidays affect me when I'm not with my kids, so he pampers me.  He took me to lunch, and then when we got home, we went for a bike ride.  Not just any bike ride. Nope, this one was quite special. Why? Well, let me tell you why. This year, for Mother's Day, my husband turned my cute little teal-colored Dutch bike into an electric bike. He bought a new wheel with a motor for the back tire, along with a battery pack. It's awesome. He did all the work himself and spent hours working on it several nights a week. It can go for about 25 miles on a charge. It just purrs right along with barely a whisper. We decided to ride to our little downtown, we stopped for coffee and did a little shopping, and then motored on home. He was "a huffin and a puffin" while I motored on by--not the least bit sweaty. I hate sweat, by the way. So for me to get home feeling not one bit sore or tired or sweaty was nice, very nice. He had spent weeks working on that cute little bike of mine. It was my mother's gift for Mother's Day.  He knew it would be a hard day for me, without my children. So, he turned it all around and put a huge smile on my face. We had fun. Still, after the long day of trying hard to not think about Mother's Day--I left our little downtown feeling a little spent.

Yes, this was a rough weekend for me. I miss my kids. I miss my mom. I miss my grandchildren. However, I am very thankful for an understanding, patient God and a kind, loving husband. I am glad that Mother's Day is over. I don't have to think about it for another year. I can now relax and move forward. I can ride my bike, look at my cards and flowers, and live a thankful, grateful, fearless life — no longer spent. I woke up this morning feeling fine, looking forward to the day — lunch with a new friend, dinner later with my husband. Yes, glad that this weekend is over, glad that a new year is ahead of me.

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.

bloglovin--blog claiming!

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Low Carb Spice Muffins

Oh, my goodness--I've been playing around with low-carb baked everything. And I've come up with a go-to breakfast muffin.  I used apple pie spice in this recipe, but you could use pumpkin pie spice, too, I'm sure.  Also, you could add some chopped fruit or pureed pumpkin, which, of course, would add more carbs--so it's up to you.  Here's my recipe...

1/2 cup flax meal
1/2 cup coconut flour
1 cup almond flour
1/4 t salt
1 T baking powder
1 1/2 t nutmeg
2 t cinnamon
1 t apple pie spice
1 cup Splenda
1 stick (1/2 cup) melted butter
4 beaten eggs
3/4 cup water

Makes 12 muffins

Mix all dry ingredients well, add everything else, and mix well. Fill muffin tin.
I use parchment paper muffin cups — they are amazing to bake with. Bake for about 20 minutes.
Use the toothpick test for doneness.

Eat them up for breakfast or an afternoon snack! PS--they freeze great! Microwave for 30 seconds or so.  :)

Impatiently Patient

Maybe it was a good thing that I didn't have time to delve into my bible study book this past week. Maybe God was protecting my heart. I think so anyway. I believe that about Him. He's always there, always protecting me, always shielding me from experiencing overload or too much pain at one time. There was something in that particular study that He wanted me to learn, alright, but the timing of it had to be just perfect. I had barely cracked open my book when my phone rang.

It was one of those scary calls. My mom was in the hospital and in serious condition. Fortunately, I didn't have anything really important on my calendar, so as I waited by the phone for more information on her prognosis, I prayed--all day. I'm going to step out on a ledge a little bit here. I hope my sister reads this blog post and understands why I am sharing this little story. It really isn't about her at all, but more about what God has taught me about myself in these last couple of days.

As my sister explained the details about our mother to me over the phone, she kept bugging me. She used profanity, spoke disrespectfully, and misunderstood some of my most basic questions.  In my opinion, we did not have a good conversation.  So the next day, when we spoke on the phone again, I let her know what my phone boundaries were.  I think she was a little shocked at first, but as time went on, she began to understand, and we ended up having a really good talk.  We spoke civilly to each other, clearly and without judgment.  It was nice to be heard rather than to be talked at.

Today, unbeknownst to me, God had a plan for my time at bible study. He was going to show me some things. He was going to give me some very clear insight into this little personality of mine. And boy, did He ever. I learned today that I do not have patience with others. That I am not merciful. And that I don't like to put up with people who irritate me. And, as I said earlier, my sister was plain old irritating me. Like sandpaper against sandpaper--was she ever going to smooth out? I really did wonder this!

I also realized this morning that God has been nothing but patient with me! He gently broke it to me that I was the one who needed smoothing out. I was the one who needed to change, not her. God is working out something in me; He is slowly changing me. Ever so gently. Had I started reading this Bible study chapter last week, had I seen the video before talking with my sister over the phone about our mother, I really don't think I would have understood this most important teaching from God. This life lesson would have been lost on me. I think I would have missed it. Yes, I am that hard-headed. I was thinking a little too highly of myself. I was living a lie.

So there you have it, my confession. I am impatiently patient. I prayed for quite a while this afternoon, and I caught myself asking God to hurry and make me more patient.  Have I not learned anything? I am happy that He loves me, I could almost hear Him chuckle at my nonsense.  I have much to learn, and I thank Him every day that He is my father, who is so very patient with me.  And when my sister called back this afternoon with some good news concerning our mom, we had a very good conversation. We talked for a long time. We shared some things. And I was patient. And God was gracious.

Galatians 5:22-23

New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

The Fruit of the Spirit

²² By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things.

What You Do Next

To quote someone whom I deeply admire--what you do next says what you really believe about God.
I remember years ago, my women's Bible study at church started a new book.  It was Henry Blackaby's study called Experiencing God. I thought it sounded pretty interesting. Experiencing God--sounds good, right? I was anxious to see what this Bible study was all about. Very long story short, it changed my life.

I'll be honest with you here--at first, I didn't care for it at all. Not at all. It was a little too basic for me. It was the 1 2 3's and the A B C's of Christianity, and after all, I had been a Christian for years! I thought to myself--I am beyond this--I need something deeper, something meatier, something that I can really sink my teeth into. However, even though I was a little more than delusional about my walk with God, I was a good little girl, I went with the flow, and with eyes rolled up to the sky, I endured. I began the study with a closed heart and closed ears. But, at least I went, right? I didn't complain or speak with anyone; I completed my first lesson and attended class.

It's so funny and interesting to me how God works in our lives. We see ourselves one way, and yet He sees us in quite another. By week three, I was a complete mess. For although this was a basic study--in the sense that it began at the beginning of how God wants us to live for Him, it was also one of the most challenging studies I've ever endured. Notice I've said I — maybe not everyone who has ever gone through this study was impacted the way I was. I just realized, while writing this, that I'm using words like endure, challenge, and impacted. Yes, it was all those things for me and more. And when I had finished with that book, that study, that basic body of work--God had changed my heart forever. He took me back to the basics that I somehow had missed.

I wonder now, all these years later, what my life in Christ would be like had I not gone through that study.  I think that God would have worked it into my life somehow, someway, at some other time. I needed it. I needed a different perspective on who God really is and how God really works. Many quotes stood out to me during that study. Many of which I have drawn upon throughout these last couple of decades. I have at times been stopped dead in my tracks because God will bring to my mind one of these life-changing one-liners that Blackaby is so famous for. One being--what you do next says what you really believe about God.  

So, what do I really believe about God? I guess that depends on what I do next! Do I listen to God? Do I pray? Do I trust Him? Do I serve Him with my whole heart? Do I have faith in Him? Do I walk with Him daily? Is he my everything? Or, do I waver in my faith and walk in fear? Do I put prayer off for a more convenient time? And after praying, do I get up and take those burdens with me rather than leave them at His feet for Him to deal with?

During that study, God illuminated areas in my life that he wanted to clean up. Yes, that's exactly what He wanted from me, He wanted me, with His help, to clean up my act. He wanted me to actually walk with Him rather than just say I did. He has taught me over these last decades to trust Him completely, to spend hours praying, to get up trusting, to lean into Him, to hang on to Him, and to never, ever stop. For me--it was all about faith, all about prayer, all about service, all about worship. It's all about taking life one day at a time, and sometimes 1 hour at a time. It's all about keeping my eyes fixed on Him, it's all about knowing--knowing that He is the great I AM, He is my Father, He loves me, He walks with me! And, I will never be alone. Whatever comes my way, I will have my God by my side.  He is mine, and I am His, and what I do next in this sweet life of mine--says what I really believe about Him.