Blessed & Renewed

Roatan Renewal Marks Transition for CbW Future

2011-03-22T11:42:00.000-07:00

Some events mark time better than the rest. High school graduation, marriage, the birth of a child, a grandchild, special birthdays-

-21, 30, 50, 65; our society as a whole marks these particular milestones.

Others you have to identify along the way.

For me one such milestone occurred at a copy machine at Brentwood Christian School in Austin, TX, where I first thought about how it might look to host a "renewal" for women in ministry in various regions all around the world. Jeanene Reese and I had longed for such spiritual renewal in

our younger years of ministry and had often spoken of some kind of retreat, but until that day in October, 1999, I had never considered going somewhere away and honoring women on a worldwide basis. Thus, that day at the copier--strange as it might seem--became one of the turning points in my life and marked the beginning of what is now Come before Winter.

The renewal for Central America at Roatan, Honduras, marked itself as such a milestone--a baton-passing exercise that has forever established a high standard for transition and Come before Winter's future. Arlene Kasselman of Amarillo and Brooke Hollingsworth of Austin led the equipping while Janie Hejl of Austin and Joyce Blake of Indianapolis directed the prayer program and Prayer Reading groups. Batons passed smoothly and with precision, yet invisibly. Not once did I witness a moment in which a receiving runner stood out above the rest; not once did a runner deliver a baton with anything other than joy. We were a team, and that is the miracle of our partnership together. Once again, the victory was not about us--any one of us, but it was supernaturally God's gift to all of us.

One particularly astute young missionary came to me near the end of the week and affirmed this feeling for me. "You know," she said, "I have been watching you while Brooke and Arlene teach." (I had not known.) "I was wondering," she went on, "how you must feel with them up there, teaching when you have done it for so long; I mean, it's your thing. But every time I looked, you were beaming! It was as if you were giving birth." Then, for the first time ever, I praised God for what Barry and my parents have called my transparency--"Honey, everything you think is written all over your face!" I really did feel like something wonderful was being born!

After the renewal, Arlene said to Jeanene and me, "I kept wondering how it all felt. I know you are proud of us, but there must have also been some sadness, wasn't there?" I searched my soul, expecting to find that piece of the puzzle that did seem likely to be there, but I could not: "Not so much," I said honestly, shaking my head in a bit of wonder. "Not so much!" Though I can hardly take credit for Brooke and Arlene's gifts, I was as proud as if they were somehow our babies! I was jubilant!

I wish I could find words to describe what I witnessed; this feeling was not uncommon among us; I think we all knew we were participating in some life-giving process. On the airplane on the way home, Lisa Gould said, " I am wondering if every CbW team is this cohesive or whether this one is unusual." I thought. "No, not unusual," I said; "All our teams have been pretty cohesive. What made this one so special is that we were witnessing something we had waited to see for a very long time, and I think we were all a bit giddy because of it." Without a doubt, we witnessed transformations we have prayed over and worked toward--all without losing the cohesion and balance we have been blessed to receive.

As a result, I continue to ponder the fluidity and celebration that marked this team and its roles. I would like to bottle it and store it in the cellar--to ensure in every way possible that what occurred during the Roatan renewal can become part and parcel of CbW's transitional tradition. Certainly the CbW stance on surrender--giving up yourself to make others look even better--contributed. Yet the excitement and celebration we all felt, seeing Arlene and Brooke at the front, leading with such grace and ease, remains in my mind's eye. It actually brings tears to my eyes now. I could not see one ounce of pride in anyone, no jealously or competition--everyone beamed and applauded and/or gushed like school girls.

At the pre-retreat for the Indonesian and Fijian renewals in 2006, I had said to the teams: "By the time we finish the next curriculum (Psalms), I do not want any member of the Leadership Team to be a required presence on any team. Now five years later with three renewals in Psalms yet to be completed, we have just finished the first renewal totally taught by Come before Winter's next generation. Lord willing, we will wrap up the Psalms curriculum next March. What makes my heart even fuller is the knowledge that CbW's next curriculum in Exodus is well on its way to completion. It is the brainchild of... Brooke and Arlene--and it is wonderful! I can hardly wait to unveil it in June, 2012, in New Zealand.

Though we have long said that our teams are so competent that any member could likely pick up another's role, given half the chance, the Central American renewal required us to live up to that "boast!" In Roatan, Mariana Long was the only one of the 12-member team who was doing a job she has regularly performed. Jeanene Reese led worship; I served as administrator. And might I just brag a little more in regard to what the Lord did? The women who stood at the front and led knocked the ball right out of the park! They were just amazing, and their presentations were balanced, insightful, companionable, personable--just fantastic--polished, in fact! As one half jokingly told the another in our post renewal processing: "You complete me!" It was so true.

Father, you are just too good! Your timing is perfect; every time!

I want to thank Janie Hejl, a behind-the-scenes guru if there ever was one, for studying registration applications long enough to become intimately acquainted with our participants before we even met, matching them with team members who might best bless their lives. I received affirmation after affirmation of her effectiveness in this task. During the renewal, she and Joyce led the prayer reading group, directing participants in lectio divina, the centuries old practice of spiritual reading.

Mariana Long directed the now popular artistic reflection class in pastels, and Sara Holland juggled duties as diverse as leading reflection in motion then video-graphing, and working as assistant worship leader and assistant administrator. New team members Lisa Gould of Coppell, Texas, Missy Gray of Amarillo, and Sandy Ferguson of Austin worked in their roles of Gifts and Celebrations Coordinator (Lisa), counselor (Missy), and director of on-site registration and assistant to art reflection (Sandy). Frankly, it was hard to remember this was their first trip. It felt as if they were not only part of this team, but had been with us a very long time. (This phenomenon is a reason Suzy Jeffrey--who could not make this trip--says that at Come before Winter renewals, we all live in dog years; that is, each day represents several weeks, at least!)

Danita Jackson of Beijing, China, picked up the leadership role of Missionary Ambassador with ease, moving back and forth between the participants and the team, providing a broad perspective of wisdom and companionship for both, and thus blessing the renewal and the ministry at large in ways no one else could.

Participants regularly make note on their evaluations regarding the team's unity; they often write that what they most learned is what it looks like for a group of strong women to submit to one another out of love and a common goal. Come before Winter has taught me that such submission is not only something to hope for, it is a hill to climb, a battle to win in each heart. We cannot measure ourselves by one another; such a practice regularly ends in disappointed hearts that require attention--and serving on a renewal team allows no space for distraction. We have a job to do, and God sends the hearts and gifts he knows we need to complete our task. All we need do is get out of the way and watch him work. And, oh my! He does!

Whirlwind

2010-11-17T15:23:00.000-08:00

Can it be November? Can it be AFTER the 15th of November? Is Thanksgiving REALLY next week? 2010 has blown by in a whirlwind--exciting but exhausting, it feels. Blessed with the trip to Israel in February, which followed the Paraguay "pretreat" in January and preceded the Paraguay renewal in March, the Thailand "pretreat" in April, Pepperdine Lectures presentations in May, then the Thailand renewal in June, I collapsed into summer. I celebrated my life as a grandmother, making cookies, going to the beach, and making multiple trips to the park and various kids' museums around the state. Come before Winter's fall fund raising campaign follows closely on summer, but so did my vacation with Barry to Alaska (heaven...), and two international development seminars--one for Spanish speakers in Cancun and the other for Portuguese speakers in Recife, Brazil. I managed to arrive in Cancun a few hours before Hurricane Paula announced her upcoming arrival. Thankfully, she must have heard I arrived; she veered off toward the islands, allowing me to sleep through whatever storm there was. The next day dawned clear and beautiful, and life proceded without incident for the many revelers who had gathered at the beach, even in the late month of October.

Cancun normally falls far short of a site choice for a Come before Winter study seminar. We prefer quiet areas out of the way of noise and traffic and crowds. In Cancun, the hotel PA system boomed with DJs by 11 a.m.--with comics and exercise classes by the pool and a different show on stage each night. "All-Inclusive" meant the liquor flowed free from morning to night for the majority of the hotel's guests. More than once an Elvis Presley movie from my childhood came to mind: "Fun in Acapulco." Unfortunately, no Elvis. Security advisors, specialists in moving people in and out of dangerous locations, had recommended Cancun, though. Unfortunately, Mexico has become a dangerous destination. We were told: Do not host along the border (duh!) or "anywhere on the Pacific coast;" really? Tuluca and Puebla were possibilities, but both required flying into and out of Mexico City (and many of us were flying alone). Even though Cancun was recommended, I received email the week before, telling me about a bombing in one of the city's restaurants.

I have never feared traveling for a CbW event before, but Mexico spooked me. We considered (as we had with Thailand a couple months earlier) calling it off or moving it to Florida. However, four women from Chile had already purchased expensive tickets; they could not get visas into the U.S. without a lot of lead time. It would be Mexico or nothing, and we decided not to cancel. Instead, we would fly in, collect our baggage, and immediately meet "authorized transportation" from the airport to the hotel. We would not leave the hotel during the week, then take the same "authorized transport" back to the airport. No touring or siteseeing--just in and out. It worked well.

Arlene Kasselman of Amarillo joined me in Cancun, as did missionary Holly Emery from Santiago, Chile, and Carla Borja Lowe of Fort Worth. Arlene was there to observe the process; I am hoping she will be able to begin teaching some of these seminars. Holly Emery, who had translated exegetical materials using our Mark and Philippian study material, joined me as a co-teacher and translator. Carla Lowe had been the impetus behind hosting the event. She had called 18 months earlier, wondering if there was any way I might be able to help her coach a group that could host something like CbW renewals for Spanish speakers. In preparation, Carla and Holly translated and we published a full-length exegetical notebook for use in the seminar. (You will be able to access that notebook online in the near future at http://www.comebeforewinter.org/).

Our participants included a group from Mexico and the United States (almost all born and reared in various Central American countries). Carla Lowe had been working with this group for several years. In addition to these, Holly Emery brought three protégés from Santiago--"the Chileans." Angelica Martinez,who works with her husband to serve The Hills Church of Christ in its Spanish speaking ministry, joined us, as well. Including Arlene and I, we were twelve.

Come before Winter now budgets for 2-3 International Development Seminars a year. The events represent the ministry's commitment to serve women in ministry around the world, including those who do not speak English. Whereas our renewals are taught in English and so intricately designed so as to prohibit translation, these seminars are simpler: smaller groups, a team of 1-3, and a program limited to study and worship: three full days of study--only study--eight hours a day. Whereas the renewals are designed with American missionaries in mind, these seminars actually cater to national women--women who serve in their own culture and speak a language other than English. At first I taught these seminars in English to ESL speakers, but by now they are translated. I have been amazed at how well they proceed, though every sentence is spoken twice.

These brief, intense studies renew my spirit. No razzle dazzle--just a serious minded group of friends joined around the table, eating a piece of biblical text. In Cancun, we devoured the gospel of Mark, my favorite.

I am humbled by the women who meet me for these days. They don't complain about the hours of study (they have been told in advance what to expect). Rather, gratitude boils over into gestures of love--hugs, notes, gifts, laughter. Before we left, we set the date for "the twelve" to reunite--perhaps with a few others--in 2011 in Costa Rica when we will study Philippians.

After four years of study, the Russians hosted their own Come before Winter renewal in Russian. The Spanish group has that goal in mind, as well. They have completed step one. From the vantage point of the CbW board, that renewal will symbolize a type graduation. We do not have a goal to "syndicate" our program. We desire to equip. Once our students become proficient enough to host a renewal (with all its bells and whistles), they will have the skills to redefine and retool what they have learned to fit another culture, to take what they have learned and reinvent new and better ways to serve. Neither have we closed the door on the idea of Spanish-speaking Come before Winter teams. Instead, we wait. In this, as in all other tasks and missions laid before us, we have only one question: What does God have in mind? When we know that, we will know what to do.

Team celebrates Thailand

2010-07-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

I hope you will read the post below that speaks to the significance of this renewal to our ministry and our understanding of our mission. However, I wanted to post a few memories, as well.

We served 36 women from six different Asian countries--Thailand, Japan, the Philippines, Viet Nam, Cambodia, and Singapore. This was our third trip to Asia, and we never serve sweeter women!

Our team of 15 functioned flawlessly. We missed Brooke Hollingsworth who made the hard but appropriate choice to remain home with her family as husband Brent made the transition to retirement. Arlene Kasselman of Amarillo debuted as our theme speaker at our opening session with a stellar lesson on God's hesed.

The week became a rising tide of God-filled appointments. Mental snapshots filled the memory banks of our minds and hearts. Pictures of worship and prayer, of sharing...laughing, crying--each one represented another angle from which to view our experiences. We greeted each day, each moment with the understanding that every one was holy, sanctified for the purpose of seeking His voice, experiencing His message.

We declared again our appreciation for the flow and ease of our "new" equipping blocks. In this format, reading groups allow us to fully explore a text in the comfort of a small group discussion. We explore Psalm 103 in regard to its structure and theology, then use its message as a guide that directs us in prayer. Women spend the hour following each of the four reading groups in a variety of reflective periods. In addition to traditional silent reflection, participants also explore the medium of pastels in artistic reflection and spend another in active reflection--walking, taking pictures, swimming, or joining an exercise group that employs stretching techniques.

We loved every moment of our journey in Thailand, every sweet face we served, and every message received. We continue to thank God for His hesed, his everlasting, steadfast love for those who seek Him. May we and all those we love continue to be women whose ears are turned toward His Word and whose faces reflect the delight of the Lord.

Still learning after 20 renewals...

2010-07-09T07:25:00.000-07:00

…as we traveled, I pondered how spiritual health impacts more than each person’s personal walk and personal witness in regard to Christ and faith. Each individual influences the will of a group, and indeed, a group’s spiritual health can, has, does, and will impact governments and social societies. Thus, the collective witness of Christ, of believers’ allegiance to God and to one another, have always tinted the pages of history; they always will.

Over the years, I have come to recognize certain moments in Come before Winter’s history as “defining.” In these times, we collide head-on with events, issues, and/or challenges that allow us an opportunity to reexamine our purpose. In short, we get to double check our clarity regarding what God might have in mind. Most often these experiences provide manna that feeds growth, allowing the skeletal phrases of our mission--“to renew, equip, honor and unite women in ministry around the world”—to build enough muscle and tendon to become practical ministry. The recent Thailand renewal, held June 14-18, in Chiang Rai presented such an opportunity. Just three weeks before departure political unrest, demonstrations, and warnings from both the United States State Department and the government in Thailand seemed to indicate that cancellation might be prudent.

By the time the travel warnings were issued, the fifteen-member team was on the “downhill slide.” Team members had already raised the funds needed to welcome and host thirty-eight women from six countries in Asia to the mountains of Northern Thailand. In fact, about 85 percent of the costs for the week had already been paid. Registered participants from Bangkok and the other Asian countries (Japan, China, Cambodia, Vietnam, and the Philippines) had also purchased non-refundable airline tickets. The long process of registration had ended, the tote bags had been monogrammed and delivered, the notebooks were printed with detailed information including home addresses and telephone numbers, room assignments at the host hotel, and small group divisions. Five team members had already taken possession of the “team bags,” those packed out to carry the needed supplies to our June 9 flight; another three were packed and ready to be delivered. For all practical purposes, were ready to go.

But there was this nagging question of safety. Everyone agreed that while we were not “afraid” to make the trip, wisdom had to prevail. As one advisor so aptly stated, “At times like these it is easy to discount one’s own safety, but are you willing to put the families of the participants and team members at risk of losing their wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters? How important is this?” By three weeks before departure I had begun to believe there was “no way” the trip could occur; I would later learn that many on the Board felt the same. Others on the Leadership Team had serious questions—in regard to going and not going. Thank the Lord for having built among us such a strong sense of unity in diversity! To a person, we all agreed that the decision could not be made in terms of lost funding; responsibility, safety, and mostly a keen listening ear had to prevail. Thus, the Leadership Team convened in Abilene to weigh issues and to pray. Never before had we come together to make a decision with such varying opinions. However, each of us also recognized the necessity of listening to the other and going to the Lord together—a united front of prayer. May I say that the time together that day was one of the sweetest days we have shared?

In preparation to meet, we sought the advice of two security advisors. Both Sam Jeffrey, son of Leadership Team member Suzy Jeffrey and Chris Hale, husband of Leadership Team member Kelliann, provided us with invaluable insights. Sam had spent a few years working for the U.S. State Department; even now his work includes ensuring the safe travel of others, often into areas where security is questionable. Chris, who works as a chaplain for firemen in the state of Texas and has often been present as a first-responder to tragedy, also worked with inner-city missions in St. Louis, MO. In addition to these two, we sought on-the-ground reports from Thailand missionaries David Allen and Robert Reagan; both missionaries live and work in the northern regions of Thailand where we would host our event. Finally, we polled a fourth of the participants, at least one woman from each of the six countries who had registered. How were they feeling about attending? What were their husbands saying? In all these communications, we asked for frank responses.

By the time we met in Abilene, less than two weeks before departure, the Thai government had regained control in Bangkok—albeit just two days earlier. No one knew how long the treuce would hold, so in addition to moving forward with last-minute details, we were all reading news reports and listening to television analyses, as well. Our security advisors warned us to be cautious, but well-prepared if we proceeded. The on-the-ground missionaries (apart from discussion with one another) strongly urged us to come—the renewal was needed now more than ever, they wrote. The women themselves assured us they were not afraid: one group told us that if we did not host, they were going to Thailand without us (they already had tickets, after all).

At the end of the day, we decided we would proceed—if we gained Board approval. Even so, we would give every team member and every parrticipant the opportunity to back out. As an extra precaution, we would write a detailed security plan that involved planned exit strategies and renting satellite phones—in case Thailand’s government decided to shut down all common communication, as their state of emergency warned they might. Only once before, when our African hotel cancelled on us just 10 days before departure, had we worked so busily up to the times our flights would take off.

We assured each team member and participant that we trusted them to listen to God and to act on His personal words to them alone. Going would not be considered a greater action of faith that remaining behind; remaining behind would not be considered “wiser” than going. We would recommit each woman, indeed the whole event, to God. In the end, we lost two participants, one whose supporting congregation had already pulled her from Bangkok for safety reason and another who discovered a work conflict that could not be avoided. One team member, after prayer and discussion with her family, remained behind, as well, serving us from stateside in prayer and communication.

You expect to learn from such situations; you are aware that you are setting precedence, writing policy as you go. What I didn’t expect was the way the process would sharpen our senses in regard to our mission. Two communications particularly initiated ripples of thought as we moved forward.

The first was a brief line from board member Donna Willbanks: “Could this possibly be God opening our eyes and hearts to a new way of using CbW? …we know this is no surprise nor glitch to Him.” The second was a comment made by a former missionary to Thailand, Larry Henderson, now a missions professor at Abilene Christian University. Larry commented that he was not as concerned for the future of the country of Thailand as he was for the church in Thailand. The political rifts so totally permeated the country’s social fabric and ran so deep that he feared division in the churches might follow.

As we pondered these questions in relation to our program, we were forced to examine not only how the unrest might affect the renewal, but how the renewal itself could possibly impact the situation. Our rule forbidding controversial discussions and comments had been written to dissuade anyone from focusing on our mutual differences in regard to faith. How would that rule play out during the current political situation? Likewise, every Come before Winter team covenants with the others: not only will she avoid controversial discussion, but she will surrender her personal will for the good of the women we serve. We even agree in advance to trust one another above all—to set aside hurt feelings and/or anger, determining to trust the good in the other, no matter how the incident may appear. We have learned that these commitments speak clearly without a word. Each time we receive a set of evaluations, someone (often many someones) mentions being blessed and instructed by the team’s witness of unity. Some have claimed that it was the most beneficial aspect of the renewal!

Thus, we came to understand that God had prepared us for “such a time as this.” We did not go to Thailand only to walk on the holy ground of confession and spiritual renewal with those who would come. Granted, that mission would never be minimized! However, as we traveled, I pondered how spiritual health impacts more than one person’s personal walk and personal witness in regard to Christ and faith. Each individual influences the will of a group, and indeed, a group’s spiritual health can, has, does, and will impact governments and social societies. Thus, the collective witness of Christ, of believers’ allegiance to God and to one another, have always tinted the pages of history; they always will. Salt seasons the whole.

We better understood this Truth as we greeted the hotel staff that would serve us; we were purposeful in recognizing that we had women from every piece of Thailand’s social cloth. We remembered what God had taught us in our first 19 renewals, and we accepted this new lesson with thanksgiving.

Come before Winter’s 20^th renewal in Chiang Rai, Thailand, was one of our sweetest to date. Not once did we feel threatened. Though we overnighted in Bangkok both on the way in and on the way home, we saw nothing but smiling, gracious Thai faces—not a hint of unrest anywhere. We noticed this, and we thanked God for what we might never have seen had it not been for the recent turmoil. Perhaps we were even more thankful for the opportunity to be there.

We cannot thank enough those who invested in these days of peace and tranquility, of meditation and reflection. Your support of our mission, your prayers and your financial investments became the foil for understanding the tragedy of division and war. May God bless all those who serve Him in Southeast Asia and the Pacific. May His Unity, His Peace, and His Pardon be evident to all.

Jesus' Individual Instances of Prayer

2010-04-26T14:00:00.000-07:00

In a recent post, I wrote that I counted nine individual instances in which Jesus was seen praying in the gospels. That bothered me. It was so few. Since this is part of one of my topics at Pepperdine next week, I have continued to look and read (you just can't find everything with a search, even if you know most of the words to look for!). Short story? I found a few more. So I thought I would publish them here in case anyone wants to add to them. I know some just came to my mind--some will likely come to you, too. My plan is to keep updating this as I think of more or change my mind about what I have already found and its meaning.

I have separated them into three categories, too--just because I am a sorter. :) You might separate them differently, and that is fine, too.

Times Jesus prays for direction or peace; times that more nearly "match" our "quiet time" prayer expectations:

At his baptism--Luke 3.21
Looking for direction after healing late in the night in Capernaum--Mk 1.35
He was praying in Luke when the disicples ask him to teach them to pray--Lk 11.1. I am not counting the "Lord's Prayer" in Matthew here, but as teaching. I am not arguing that he didn't pray as he taught, but I am looking for personal prayer.
The night before he chose his disicples--Luke 6.12
Looking for direction and peace after he feeds the 5,000. Mk 6.46. At this stressful time, he knew that a) the people were planning to come get him to make him king (John 6.15), b) John the Baptist has just been killed (Matthew 14.13), and c) the disciples have just returned from having healed in His Name; they are so busy they can hardly find time to eat (Mark 6.30-31) .
He is praying alone when his followers come and he asks, "Who do people say that I am?" It is here Peter confesses, "You are the Christ." Luke 9.18.
He is praying on the mountain when his face is changed and Elijah and Moses appear. Luke 9.28.
His longest recorded prayer for the disciples and all that will believe through their name is recorded in John 17.
Matthew, Mark and Luke record the prayers in the Garden (John does not. John's Jesus speaks to the synoptic writers' claims in John 12.28; he will not ask to be spared the cross. This prayer is listed below in the second list. Find the synoptics prayers in the garden in Mt. 26.36f; Mark 14.36f, and Luke 22.40f.

Times Jesus prays as if speaking to a person who is standing nearby: (I am having trouble articulating this one. He is always conversational and personal with God, but in these instances, it is like God is physically beside him, directly involved in the situation. I think you will see what I mean.)

Praises God for revealing the truth to little children, rather than the wise and learned. Matthew 11.25
At Lazarus' tomb, he thanks God in the hearing of the people so they will know that he has invoked God's name in this miracle that is about to occur. John 11.41
In speaking of his coming death in John, Jesus tells the disciples (who have brought Greeks to see him) that he is very troubled about what is coming. But, shall he ask to be saved from that suffering? No! Instead he says to God, "Father, do what will bring you glory!" God responds, I have; and I will again."
I would argue especially that the entire time on the cross, Jesus is praying--though it is not what we would normally term as "prayer." Three times we hear him speak directly to the Father: Luke 23.34; 46; and Matthew 27.46 record these utterances, the last of which is committing himself into God's care before he dies.

Other instances when we know Jesus prayed:

The people brought little children to him to be prayed over: Matthew 19.13
Luke says it was his custom to withdraw and pray: Luke 5.16
He tells Peter that he has prayed for him so Peter's faith will not fail: Luke 22.32
He tells the disciples that he will ask the Father and He will send them an Advocate to be with them--the Holy Spirit. John 14.16
He also blesses God for food at the two feedings and at the meal in the upper room.

One more note: Luke 5.33 records that more "religious sorts" did not think that he his disciples were men of prayer: Luke 5.33.

Oh, my!

Reflections on "Life"

2010-04-15T08:10:00.001-07:00

I had intended to write today another piece related to my post yesterday. However, an incident in the lives of my DFW children has prompted other thoughts. My daughter-in-law Jo worked after receiving her Masters in Accounting degree from ACU for one of the largest accounting firms in the world. There, she met and befriended a young woman. Though Jo has changed jobs, she and this young woman remain connected, having daughters about the same age--three-ish. In the past week, this woman's younger brother has been shot and killed during a break-in at home in Fort Worth. His "life" has ended. As one who claimed Christ, his "Life," the one he began on this earth when he chose to follow the Lord, has begun.

Reflections on "Life"

Had it been that the whole purpose of Jesus was to die for our sins, I suppose that would have been enough. But it wasn't enough for God; he had much more in mind and we can see his purpose reflected quite clearly in scripture.

Had it been the whole purpose of Jesus to come and die for our sins, that event could have occurred very early. With the exception of Matthew, who records so much of Jesus' teaching that the story of his life advances advances at a slower pace, every gospel engages the conflict that will lead to Jesus' crucifixion within three chapters of the beginning of his public ministry. (1) As theologically profound as the idea of God paying for the lives of his adopted and fallen children with the blood of his only begotten son is, one must also recognize the reality that Jesus' appearance on earth was not some heavenly shopping errand--running out to purchase the lives of humankind with own blood. He had a bigger purpose in mind. The mystery of Jesus and his presence on earth involved more than buying pardon--even more than displaying resurrection. The incarnation--God among humankind--was required, as well.

Jesus taught us how to live, and I don't mean he showed us how to follow the rules. "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full," he would say. John wrote of Jesus in his introduction: "In him was life and that life was the light of men." More significant than his death was his life--both before and after the cross.

I have often pondered what it meant to God to return to walk on the earth. Had he done so since the days in the garden? I can imagine so, but (I think) we have no record of him walking with humankind after the sin of the garden until Jesus appears. What joy was there for him in his physical presence to walk the hills of Galilee with his bride Israel? What joy and what sadness--to live amidst the fallen-ness of his people in a world created for such a different lifestyle. Here, he too experienced firsthand life, in the lower case.

As the incarnate God, he would meet and fully experience temptation. One is not tempted without desire. How did it feel for the god of the universe to desire to succumb to the wiles of the Evil One? What fellowship with humankind did God gain in the experience? Because he was tempted in every way just as we are and he did suffer when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. What ramifications might this have for judgment? Did, could God's capacity for steadfast love grow during this time? Is it because he was "made perfect" that he is able "by one sacrifice" to make "perfect forever those who are being made holy?"

Oh, the mysteries of Life!--the peeks we might gain from observing the incarnation. I ponder God on earth--the god who did not come in power, but arrived helpless and dependent, a baby born without status, without privilege, homeless. A god who was despised by those who claimed to know him best, challenged by tyrants wishing to claim his possession as their own. Jesus was a god whose chief desire was to be with and to be known by his people--to bring a picture of hope to the blind, the broken, the outcast, and the homeless, to reach out to seekers as well as to marked sinners, even those overtaken by evil.

The world was a wreck, a dump in comparison to his plan, but the creator had returned and he "wasn't done yet." Jesus' presence on earth caused the angels to sing in chorus over the shepherds. A star that rose in the sky beckoned foreign nobles. All creation was to take notice. Thousands of years after the fall in the garden, God's appearance through Jesus' life on earth heralded the godhead's shear and unwavering determination to (re)create humankind in their own image, to have it--all of it--Their Way.

Jesus lived the abundant Life on earth, but that Life didn't end on the cross. It lives on very literally in two ways: in the fullness of Life at the Father's right hand and here on earth in the lives of his people--those who have been gifted with his very nature and Spirit and take seriously his call to walk as He did--in the world for the "sake of the world."

The young man who died in Fort Worth this week had some understanding of what that meant. As a high school athlete, his coaches said he was one who "walked the walk," a young man who recognized the need for "humanitarian achievement." One can receive no higher compliment than to be described with words that match the Master. To live like Jesus is to live Life to the full. Despite His determination to walk among humankind, to do good, and to love His Father with all his heart, mind, and soul, Jesus suffered a death that was unmerited and unjust. As surely as Jesus lives, He will claim the lives of those who love Him.

Jesus' death on the cross represents one more evidence of God's steadfast, unwavering, prideless, self-sacrificing, continually forgiving love for his creation. He has called us to live as He did. Where will that lead us? It could lead anywhere--among the homeless, the poor, or the diseased, to those overwhelmed by life or the habit or sin, around the world or next door. But when the call comes, we like Him, must be ready to go.

According to all who know him, Eric Forrester, in his short life on earth, prepared for and lived as best he could Life. That Life has not ended; neither has it just begun. Every good deed he did on this earth, every testimony he made both verbally and actively, lives on--just as he does. And his life, like Christ's, beckons us to look outward, to see the world Jesus died to save and to Live here in this world for the sake of the world--as we begin to Live Life to the full.

(1) Mark 3.6; Luke 6.11 and Matthew 12.14 all record the beginning of a plot to kill him. In John, Jesus clears the temple in a rage in chapter 2. Recognizing their intentions to kill him, he challenges them to "come on..." with a statement they will use to prove his blasphemy at his trial: "Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days." Without saying it explicitly, John opens his story with the foreshadowing of Jesus' death.

Time with God: The Gospels' Truth, part I

2010-04-14T04:11:00.000-07:00

So, this is what I'm pondering this past year: where do we get (much less buy into) these ideas we claim about what defines true spirituality? And, how long must we spend chasing these pictures of holiness before we realize that once we achieve the goal, we may not yet arrived at any station, much less the one we are pursuing.

I wish I could recall right now the exact title of the lesson I was asked to teach that started me on this journey, but I can't. However, the topic erupted from a heart that desperately desired to enhance daily quiet time. Since I myself hunger for the same, the quest soon became one of my own heart. How could I help others to enhance their daily quiet time when I myself long for the same experience? The only way I knew was to spend time reflecting on the life of one man, the life I regularly dissect and inspect for Truth: Jesus. After all, wasn't he the king of quiet reflection with God? Like others, I had always claimed He was.

What I discovered launched me on this year's long journey: Jesus didn't practice daily the kind of quiet time ritual I was seeking to perfect.

Whoa!!! What????

He didn't. He couldn't. Like me and my friend, he hungered for it; he chased it; he even lived every moment of the last three years of his life, looking for any opportunity to practice it, but he rarely found the necessary, uninterrupted moment for quiet and prayer. It is true. Let me give you some facts I discovered in my study before I taught those lessons.

First, the gospels don't record a Jesus who was primarily known as a man of quiet and prayer. Instead, they record the story of Jesus' last three years of life--hectic years lived by a man who was suspect, followed, chased, pursued, harassed, invaded, and eventually arrested and killed. He was a man who accepted a mission that should have permitted him years longer to accomplish--but he was out of time. He was a man who stood in direct opposition to the powers that be, a man who had his own ideas about life and living, about a relationship with God and yes, even God himself--a man whose message was rarely heard though he preached it repeatedly in crowds of thousands. He was a man who lived at least the last months of his life knowing that he was out of time and that by every available indication, he was failing to do the job he had set out to accomplish.

Whoever said that Jesus didn't live a hectic life? Who told me that he had more to do than any man on earth, but he was never in a hurry, never felt rushed, never on edge, never near the brink of insanity? Who said that?

I know I did--more than once. But I know I was taught it, too. I believed it. But that is not the story of the gospels.

In fact, if one were merely a concordance student, content to measure the import of a topic by the number of times it occurred, Jesus and prayer might not receive much attention. I was startled that the New Revised Standard Version found no place to translate a word from the Greek of John's gospel as "prayer" or "pray." Though Jesus' longest and possibly most instructive example of prayer occurs in John, it is not named a "prayer," so a concordance for the NRSV will not pick it up. But that isn't the end of the surprising truth about Jesus' prayer life as reported by the gospel writers. All the gospel writers combined tell us of only 13 specific and individual situations in which Jesus prays.

Matthew's Jesus, the consummate teacher, instructs his disciples regarding how to pray, but he Matthew records Jesus praying only four times. In Mark, we find a Jesus who will pray all night for direction to understand his mission (twice), to select his disciples, and for strength before the crucifixion. Granted, Mark's Jesus continually seeks sanctuary, an escape from the crowds for a time of refreshing and (we assume) prayer, but he is interrupted or distracted most of the time. Luke, who gives us seven of the 13 instances, also records this charge: "The disciples of John and the Pharisees frequently fasted and prayed, but your disciples eat and drink." Truly, such an evaluation of Jesus' prayer life as noted here might leave us to wonder whether prayer were an important spiritual discipline practiced by Jesus.

Luke alone tells us of a Jesus who "would withdraw to lonely places and pray" as if his habit might have ended in some success. Matthew tells us that people brought little children to Jesus so that he could touch them and pray over them. Jesus' own teaching on prayer, that we not "pray to be seen" or heard by others, helps us to understand that this part of his life was both private and intimate--certainly not on display for the Pharisees or the world at large. Jesus prayed; he did; and some people seemed to know it. But, more than the quiet, reflective outpouring we know as prayer, I would argue that Jesus' very life, his every thought, his every action was lived as prayer, begging the fulfillment of intimacy with God. Only nine of the 13 mentioned times might be considered classic "quiet time" situations. I would dub the other four conversational moments in which Jesus recognizes the Father's presence with him and begins conversing son to Father, friend to friend. (Once, God answers, and Jesus responds back!) The "quiet times" were sought--experienced in proportion to need--to make a decision, to determine priority, to re-center life according to His purpose--but the Father was never far away. He was at hand.

“I can do nothing on my own....I seek to do not my own will but the will of him who sent me." (John 5:30)
"...the one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what is pleasing to him." (John 8.29)
"I did not speak of my own accord, but the Father who sent me commanded me what to say and how to say it.... So whatever I say is just what the father has told me to say." (John 12.49-50)

I doubt Jesus ever taught that "time with God" could be reduced to a regular, early morning ritual made up of prayer, Bible study, and meditation. I am equally convinced that he never bound that definition of spirituality on anyone. I doubt he would have termed the ritual we know as "quiet time" as the most necessary or apparent fruit of a spiritual being. To Jesus, time with God was an every minute, every thought, every word experience. That's why he looked to escape a lifestyle so hectic that he missed enough meals to prompt his family to come looking, expecting to find him insane. He hungered for time alone with God. He craved it. But he had to pursue it. He needed it; I need it...enough to keep me in His Presence every, every minute.

Jesus was a busy man, a man whose life mission often left him exhausted and spent. He took his calling--to be the presence of God in the midst of a world gone haywire--seriously. And note this: His world was not so much different than our own.

More later.

Pretreat Boosts Spirits: Onward: Thailand!

2010-04-13T14:28:00.000-07:00

Worship on Sunday morning, on a patio overlooking a small inlet on Possum Kingdom (yes, that's the name of this Texas lake) raised the bar for experiencing community, group prayer and shared mission. The last day of the "Pretreat" for a Psalm 103 renewal opens with worship (planned by partner Jeanene Reese of Abilene)--at 7:30 a.m. It is the same time and manner in which we open every day at the renewal. However, at the "Pretreat" this worship occurs on Sunday, the first day of the week, and it includes communion, as well as breakfast. What a joy!

We meet at the assigned location (this time on the patio overlooking the lake) for 15 minutes of prayer and song before we retreat to fill our plates and bowls with quiche, fruit, yogurt, muffins, and/or cereals. When we gather once more, we eat, and after a bit, we hear again Psalm 103 and begin to discuss its content theologically. On Sunday last, Arlene Kasselman of Amarillo led this rich and full discussion that mined the depths of our hearts and minds as we considered what it means to be women in covenant with Israel's God (and our own), YHWH. We reflect on the gift of being recipients of His hesed--His steadfast love. Mariana Long of Abilene and Sandy Mitchell of Fort Worth led us in meditations over the bread and wine as we shared communion. Several of us commented as we sat together at table with the Lord. An ease of fellowship and community permeated the air and continues to inspire me even today--so relaxed, so common, so breathtaking.

Then, we prayed. As Jesus had done in the upper room, we prayed for unity...as a team, as a testimony, and as a standard at the June renewal. We prayed for one another. Cara Flanders, a counselor at Abilene Christian had been called away a few minutes earlier to help deal with a campus crisis--we prayed for her, for the students, for the school. We prayed for the women (again)--those we will meet at Thailand, some as old friends, others for the first time. We prayed for them as they prepare their hearts and minds and families for their trip. Right now, women from six countries in Southeast Asia are registered: Thailand, Cambodia, Viet Nam, China, Japan and the Philippines. We prayed for more to come, for the Lord to use us up in his service June 14-18. We thanked him for the gifts he has given, for the weekend we shared, for our families, and for the ministry as a whole. And we prayed it all without a plan, speaking our hearts as we looked each other in the face, seeing each one mirroring the love of the sister on the other side of the table. Most of us had cheeks marked with tears, but regardless of the pain and struggle we might have carried, they were tears of joy and faith.

I love Come before Winter. I remain in awe that we have been called to this privileged place of service, that God provides for us as He does--teaching us how to conduct ourselves, inspiring our programs, sending us women to serve and the finances to serve them, and giving us this bond of community, this tiny model of what He intended. Here I have witnessed what can occur when women commit themselves to listen, to surrender their selfish motives for something bigger than themselves, to turn in their pride and commit to do what they can to make the others (and therefore God) "look good," to trust Him alone, to receive those He sends, and to "go" where He directs.

Hang on, Southeast Asia! We are coming your way--and we love you dearly!

Amazed (once again)

2010-03-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

Returning from Israel only two weeks before the Paraguay renewal has created some lag time in any posts regarding that amazing trip. Even now, I cannot take the time to write about it as I would like, but some things MUST be said!

In February--about six weeks after we received an unexpected invitation to accompany Dr. Randall Smith on a 12-day study tour--four of us, myself, board members Suzy Jeffrey and Linda Forrister, and leadership team member Mariana Long--departed for Israel. The trip was neatly packaged in regard to the Paraguay renewal--we would leave two weeks after the team preparation retreat (pretreat) and arrive home two weeks before the renewal itself. The very idea of making such a trip seemed ludicrous, really. But... we had been praying for an opportunity to "spy out the land," and God had offered one with the very teacher we were hoping to hear! As Suzy Jeffrey said, "When the Lord drops something this wonderful in your lap (even with a discounted rate), you need to set up and take notice." So we did!

For 12 days we raced through Israel, following a man who possesses a never-ending supply of energy, a rapid pace, and an inexhaustible and comprehensive skill set. While living in Israel for over a decade, Dr. Smith owned a business near Jericho. He also studied in Jerusalem & holds degrees in Near East Archaeology & a Doctorate in Comparative Religion from Conservative Theological Seminary. His understanding of Biblical culture, history, geography & rabbinic teachings provides him with a unique perspective and one the four of us thoroughly enjoyed.

I had no idea what to expect (other than what I pulled from the pages of the Bible). Though I feel sure that I have spent more hours in the pages of the gospels than many, every turn seemed to provide some new insight. For this post, I decided to post only four surprises--not amazing things, for sure--just observances that amazed me.

The Mount of Beatitudes was covered in wild flowers. No wonder Jesus said, "Consider the lilies of the field--how they grow! (note the picture above; that is the Sea of Galilee on the left. To the right are more hills, forming what is called a "natural amphitheater." Tests conducted using modern technology indicate that 3,000-5,000 people could hear a person speaking without amplification in that valley.
Peter's mother-in-law's house (yes, there is good archeological evidence that they have located it) was not outside Capernaum as I have always imagined, but two doors down from the synagogue! No wonder the "whole town gathered at the door." (I loved Capernaum, by the way).
I understood that Israel was small (about the size of Travis and Williamson counties I have heard--that's where I live, by the way), and I knew that virtually all the Bible occurred there. Once I even went through Genesis, drawing a tree in the margin of my Bible every time the Oak(s) at/near Mamre appeared--noting how many significant events had occurred nearby. But... for some reason I was totally unprepared to discover on one short walk: a) the source of the River Jordan, fed by the melting snows of Mount Hermon, b) the site of Jeroboam's altar--the place he built so that the Israelites could worship in the northern kingdom rather than return to Jerusalem (thus the site marking the beginning of the downfall of the kingdom at large); c) the gate attacked by Tiglath Pileser when he stormed into the country, intending to take it all in 722 BCE, and d) the city gate from 4,000 BCE--very likely the one that Abraham approached when he entered the land that God would show him.
How mountainous--yes, really--is Israel. One truly does "go up" to Jerusalem all the way from the Dead Sea. And, Mount Hermon is 9200 feet and still had snow while the wildflowers bloomed everywhere in Galilee. The mountain seems even taller in a country where a significant part of the land mass is 500 feet below sea level....

Hour of Clearing: Lessons Learned in Prayer

2010-03-23T15:04:00.000-07:00

The women in Paraguay (thank you, Benay Blume) reminded me that I have done little of anything to let everyone know about the online Bible study, "Finding Renewal in the Love of God." The study is posted on the Come before Winter website (www.comebeforewinter.org) as a resource for personal study or teaching.

The CbW team has come to believe that sanctifying a period of time to focus on the God of this universe will renew the spirit of His people. Thus, in six units (18 lessons), the study explores the personalities of God as reflected by John in his first epistle--as Father, Word, and Spirit. Students examine each manifestation of God, then explore how they might best respond to the One who has made humankind in His own image. Each unit includes three lessons which focus on hearing, exploring, and processing the text through reading, study, discussion and experience. Following is an article from unit six, "The Day of Clearing: Lessons Learned in Prayer." The article recalls a personal prayer experience on September 22, 1990. My hope is that this article, most of which is pulled from my journal of that day, will exemplify the way one might walk through a conversational prayer with God, especially in terms of hearing a personal word from the Lord in regard to a troubling situation or experience. Printed here, I also hope the candid sharing will bless others who have struggled with healing from sexual abuse and inspire them to seek healing in the love of God as they come to terms with His Power to heal and His steadfast love for all His children.

*****

In the fall of 1990, I was working hard to conclude six weeks of intensive therapy in regard to sexual abuse during my childhood and adolescence. Before I could be “released” from this intensive vein of my program, I was told that I had to address my anger in regard to authority figures in my life who would have known about the abuse, but who had done nothing to help. Though my counseling would extend over the next five years, that autumn would mark the end of the most intensive phase of my “recovery.”

Honestly, I had been reluctant to display anger of any kind in regard to those who had been “my protectors;" in my mind, it seemed unfair to blame those whose lives and suffering had equalled or exceeded my own. However, my counselors explained that they were confident the anger was there, and thus needed a release. Still, the scenarios they suggested—screaming or beating some piece of property into oblivion—too nearly resembled rage to me. How could one enter healing through such a door? I could not imagine following “rage” into healing. However their insistence matched by my commitment to heal, alongside the constant support from my husband Barry, helped me to land on a possibility. We would go to the family ranch and in Barry’s company I would select and chop down a tree…or do something physical. Mostly, I determined to very prayerfully follow God’s lead. Thus, I entered into my first deliberate prayer walk in which I fully expected God to lead and to speak.

On the morning of, Barry and I rose early before our children (13, 10, 8) and dressed in silence. The moon hung in the air and all was quiet as we exited the house. We crossed the porch and walked into the shed where I would select my “weapon.” Surprisingly, the ax we sought was not to be found. So, instead, I chose what was available: a sledge hammer and a hand-held pick ax—part ax, part grubbing hoe. They seemed right, but I did not understand why. I did like the fact that they were both tools that could be used to build as well as to destroy.

“Okay, Lord, lead me. I cannot do this without you,” I prayed again. With no small amount of determination, Barry and I set out to cross the field, down through a small dry creek bed and up on the other side into a cluster of trees—a very lovely site from the distance. “Show me, Lord. Show me what I need to do.”

My journal entry on that day, September 22, 1990, follows:

The spot looked ragged and overrun. There were dead tree limbs protruding and wild briers in abandance. Forsaken for ages, it was an overgrown heap. The dead, ugly limb that protruded from the tree caught my eye. I was looking for some symbol to represent the evil I wanted to attack. I chose this symbol to represent the destructive obsession of my abuser—the one that had haunted my life since childhood. I had only my two weapons and my Protector and observer (Barry). I was led only by prayer.

“Be with me, Lord, in my therapy with this tree. Allow that which is full of you to be brought forth. I love you.”

I approached the dead, protruding limb and stumbled on the debris beneath my feet. Rotten stumps, broken branches, entangled thorns. I could see that before I could approach the limb, I must clear myself a place to stand—a sure-footed plot that would allow me to atttack the deadened branch. How like life this was! I attacked the cluttered ground with a vengeance. I dug and pulled, depositing each bit of debris into a pile that would rise to my shoulder as the hour progressed.

The irritating briers grabbed at my hands and arms. I fought back, fiercely uprooting each as an anger seemed to emerge and revel in each blow of the hoe. Thoughts chanted through my mind: “Uproot the briers, discard the broken limbs—clear the land—sift the soil, purify the past.”

“There’s grapes on this vine.” The Protector’s voice became an unwelcome interruption from my work. “Look,” he called.

“Not now.” I winced and continued my concentrated attack. This wild abundance that reached out and tore my flesh had become my enemy. I tore at its roots which reminded me of my own—wild, painful, untamed. I chopped and pulled and dug them from the damp earth. The sky was threatening rain, but I knew God would grant me this time of release.”

“Teach me,” I prayed, “what it is that I must learn.”

The vines tore at my bare legs; their thorns bit and grabbed, yet I continued. When I had cleared an area beneath the limb, I changed weapons. Lifting the heavy hammer above my head, I swung hard at the base of the dead branch as it protruded from the tree. I missed, stumbling from the force of my swing. I raised the hammer again, striking again, hitting dead on. The limb hardly moved; my strike left only a dent in the wood. My foe was great. As in true life, my enemy was strong and I remained but a girl. My next blow struck further out on the limb, and a piece of the branch cracked and drooped. At last, I had done major damage. I began to see that beating away the dead limb would occur in stages, yet removing it would not hurt the tree. It would enhance its beauty.

Then I saw the grapes, the fruit of the vine that grew there, and I claimed this as a message from God. Good existed among the "evil." I saw a new vision in regard to my morning's labor: a healthier tree with fruit; it could become a hollow of clearing. I worked on. My Protector observed, thinking of I know not what. Standing further back, his perspective was more holistic than my own.

“This is a wonderful place for a tee-pee,” he said, as if on cue. He was imagining the fun our three sons might have in this clearing I was creating. The observance gave me joy as I also imagined the fittingness of my own offspring gathering in joy to play on ground I had cleared of the rubble that lingered from my abused past. Life could surely mirror this image. His words gave me new energy. A brier grabbed my leg, biting sharply into my skin. The clearing was not yet adequate for the work that remained before me. The "safe foundation" did not yet exist. I turned my attention once more to the ground.

The briers were thick and scattered and seemed to attack me from all sides. I realized that they caused me even more constant pain than the anger I fought. It seemed that they were too personal of an enemy to represent my abuser. They snapped at my legs and brought blood. Surely, these foes lived closer to home. "Which foe lives so actively in the soil of my life," I asked. At once I knew. They represented Satan's lies in regard to my very being; lies that had caused me to fight with desperation to become worthy of God's love. Specifically, I named these briers work salvation—my continual striving to be perfect enough that a broken, ashamed little girl could finally grow up and deserve God’s love. The declaration helped me to feel the destructive nature of such lies. With each step I saw more clearly the way such lies attack joy, entangle, and create pain. “Feel the pain involved in seeking self worthiness,” I told myself.

At that moment, a picture of Jesus wearing the crown of thorns swept into my mind. Only One has earned the salvation of many. Only One was perfect. Only One needed wear the brier. I squeezed a brier in hand, looking for some type fellowship with His pain, but as much as this green brier stung, I realized that the pain it could cause was actually minimal. In fact, it hardly represented my own pain--created from years of trying to earn a position of value.

“Show me the brier, Lord, the one that symbolizes the pain of one who seeks worthiness through deeds.” With that prayer, I dug the grubbing hoe deep into the dirt. My hoe hit upon a hard brier—long and old and brittle and harsh. I pondered it. This was a painful thorn indeed. I took it in my hand, gingerly closing my palm around it. As I held it, I prayed, “Lord let me remember this moment. Let me long consider this pain."

I fell in the dirt and prayed, “Lord, let me leave it here. Let me leave the pain of the past, not the past itself (I cannot leave my past), but the pain. I want to feel your love, your acceptance. Teach me what I can learn.” I wept and dug my hands into the dirt, sifting it to remove any unwanted thing. I sat and pondered what I had done, the picture that lay before me. I knew that not all this life I had uprooted was evil. The tender grass had co-existed with the briers. I prayed again that I might leave the torment of my past, the anger of an abused girl, behind in the debris of whatever God was directing here.

I saw the tree once more. There had been all manner of life beneath the tree—vines and briers--but most of it was stunted, overgrown and beyond use. "Lord, can any good thing have grown here in this mess?" I asked; I was thinking of my own environment, growing up. Could I be healed?

Then I saw it: the grapevine grew in the midst of it all. At first it looked as dead as the rest, but when I caught it and began to pull, I discovered life--not only leaves but grapes, as well, fruit. I became a caretaker, no longer frantic or vengeful. I worked on.

Clouds continued to gather; rain seemed more and more imminent. “Lord,” I prayed, “let me leave this day in your hands. When it begins to rain, I will cease.”

As I worked I discovered the broad vine from which the oldest of the briers had sprung. It was huge and round and consumed most of the area beneath the tree.

The Protector was not focused on the brier, though; he had claimed a more holistic perspective. “Look there," he said. “There is a pecan tree, buried in the middle. It’s been stunted by years of being shaded by those briers.” Truly, there was more life here than I had seen.

A rain drop fell on my head, and I surveyed my progress. I had not accomplished nearly enough, I thought. I continued to work, attempting to redefine my prayer. “If I must quit, rain me out. If not, I will continue.” The rain ceased.

I was seeing my life in every action and decision of the morning, yet a sneaking suspicion was arising from my work: perhaps God did not intend for me to conquer bare-handed my intrusive desire to make myself holy. Perhaps He intended to cover and conquer this sin of perfectionism, of work salvation as He did all the others--through Christ. Still, I continued to strive against the brier, working even deeper into the foliage. By now I was removing a large portion of the vine, and my legs were taking a serious lashing. The pain drew me up short. Finally, I stopped, all of a sudden convicted by the folly in my situation, and I repented.

“Father, you intended for me to stop at the first drop of rain?” I asked, really as a confession. “I manipulated your answer. I will stop now, if you will.” I waited, but the rain did not begin, so I returned to work. But this time I worked with a serious conviction to listen more intently.

I worked a bit more before a gentle rain began again. Remembering my promise, I laid down my tools and sat in the midst of the unfinished clearing, resting from my work and examining the mystery that lay before me.

The beauty of the spot was emerging. The bent tree rose out of the ground, laden with vines and clusters of fruit—both green and ripened; the young pecan grew straight and tall nearby; the ground—some recently turned soil, some rid of its briers, some with grass, green and soft. The stages of my conquest lay before me. Like this plot of ground, I had changed that morning—from angry attacker to visionary husbandman, from blindness to vision, from confusion to understanding, from the fruits of sorrow to the seeds of joy.

Yet the grandaddy brier remained—cut back for sure, but firmly grounded. “Why, Lord? Why must he remain?” My effort seemed (was?) so incomplete, so imperfect! Yet, my soul seemed to accept this ending with peace. The rain fell slowly around me as I sat, seemingly alone with only my thoughts in the presence of my God.

“Mind if I work?” the Protector asked, and he picked up a large grubbing hoe he had brought on one of his trips back to the shed. He stepped into the thicket and began to work, methodically hammering at Grandaddy Brier as I watched with interest and prayed.

The rain slowed but did not stop. Gradually the thicket began to be cleared as I watched with keen interest. When the majority of the briers were gone, he paused. Examining his efforts he seemed pleased. The persistence of the rain was dampening his appetite for work. We were getting wet. He was done. I rose, and without speaking, we gathered our tools.

Before we left, I turned once more to the clearing and examined the pile of rubble. Though most of the briers had been removed, the thicket remained a mystery. After all our work, briers remained. It had not been His will that we would perfect the clearing to celebrate our efforts. Yet, I rested in His Will.

“Zach’s awake,” the Protector shared. I noted the Lord’s timing; the morning’s work was done, uninterrupted and in silence before our "baby" awakened. The rain pelted now, sprinkling my face in a baptism of new assurance. I had gone out angry and confused, needing to complete an assignment, to find a release, yet hating the idea of destroying anything.

In His wisdom and by His power, the morning's work had not been destructive at all, but a creataive beginning, a lesson by the Spirit so personally and lovingly delivered that it will forever remain a highlight in my walk, a milestone to be remembered. I need never again doubt the leading of His Spirit, nor the ability of Him to teach through His indwelling. The celebration of my soul, the far-reaching consequences of the encounter will remain above my understanding. Yet, from this day on, I will remember the Hour of Clearing, the freedom of hearing, and the reality of being.

Nearing the house, I clutched my momento—a green pecan—a gift from the Protector, found in the midst of the clearing as he had worked. Like me, the tall, thin pecan tree had struggled from its seedling years. In the midst of briers, with little sunlight (sonlight in my case), it had grown above the darkness of its birth. Like me, its struggle had been rewarded with fruit. And like me, through some freak turn of events, it had been chosen for an hour of clearing, of pruning, and of beauty.

What would happen to the clearing? It could become a playground for little boy forts or a garden spot with flowers and a bench. It could become an annual pilgrimage for the Protector and me or a place to gather fruit each fall, a vine to prune each spring. It might return to what it was, yet nonetheless, its position in my heart will remain unchanged. Other briers may appear, but those removed today have been cleared forever. These briers cannot return. I know I will never pass there that I do not remember the miracle of today and thank God for lessons learned in the Hour of Clearing.

Paraguay Marks Return to Our Beginning

2010-03-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Returning to South America with a new Come before Winter curriculum always brings back particularly sweet memories—memories of July, 2001, almost nine years ago, when we hosted our first-ever CbW renewal. Perhaps because this is where it all began, the anticipation of reconnecting with some of our original participants builds continually prior to the event and culminates in thanksgiving and celebration. We have never failed to receive a warm welcome and decided affirmation. This year’s Paraguayan renewal, held March 15-19 near Asuncion, was no exception.About one-third of the women participating in the ministry’s nineteenth renewal had attended the ministry’s first event in 2001. Seven of the original 24 participants from 2001 and four members of that 12-member team showed up. Similarly, 19 of this year’s 28 participants attended the 2005 renewal, while seven of this year’s 12-member team also served in 2005. Representatives from five South American countries (Paraguay, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, and Ecuador) attended; team members came from three U.S. states (Texas, New Mexico, and Tennessee). Missionary Ambassador Eunice Herchenroeder serves Pioneer Bible Translators in Papua New Guinea.

Since no group can better measure our maturation as a ministry, we found particular gratification in hearing this group’s evaluation of our Psalm 103 curriculum. All the groups we serve appreciate the new pace—slower and more fluid than our Mark and Philippian studies. But to date no group has responded with such enthusiasm as the women in South America. The daily showing of the theme video on the hesed of God –His steadfast love—touched this group deeply from the first viewing, and they anticipated it with expectation. Worship was incredible, the singing and prayer erupting from the depths of faithful hearts struggling as we do with life. Yet, a simple comfort existed among us—the joy of community—team with participants, participants among participants, and team member alongside team member—the sharing has never been sweeter. Faces that reflected heavy burdens on Monday began to relax by mid-week; on Friday unburdened hearts carried away a new resolve to better represent God’s grace and forgiveness to a hurting world.

Nine years of experience had prepared us to anticipate the depth of struggles we might find. No renewal to date has faced as many challenges as this one. Technical changes in the ministry’s websight followed by miscommunication caused registration to open two months late. Then Paraguayan visas proved difficult; some, including our original Missionary Ambassador, never acquired these necessary papers. Every step of the way seemed fraught with difficulty including, and maybe especially, the team’s final travel day. With only a two-hour time change, the day we left managed to extend over 40 hours from the time we rose on Friday, March 12, until we reclined our heads on Saturday, March 13, at midnight. The extended trip literally swallowed our normal Saturday preparation time at the hotel, forcing our normal spiritual preparation day of Sunday into a creative mix of rest, worship, and work. A tired, but determined team met challenge after challenge with flexiblity and grace—including intense thunder storms all day Sunday which resulted in the need to transport our many suitcases of registration materials to the conference room in a steady downpour along muddy, slippery paths in a steady downpour marked with lightning and deafening bursts of thunder.

As sometimes happens, the team grew to love the whole hotel staff, a group of young Paraguayans the Texan-born manager lovingly refered to as “her children.” It seemed they took as many pictures of us as we did of each other—and that is saying something. They met our every need before we could even anticipate our desire—often following us at meals to deliever a necessary spoon or fork they noted we had forgotten or to exchange our water—whether sparkling or still—having memorized our preference and noting our own mistake. The staff and facility at Casa del Monte near Atyra, outside Asuncion, was exceptional for our needs, and we all relished the distant beauty of this hillside resort.

All in all, the experience reminded me that we have become (by God’s grace) a mature ministry—flexible, able, and faithful, having established rich relationships during nearly a decade of service. Our love for South America and those who serve there continues to multiply. We left that southern continent once again, praising God for the amazing women who walk there, supporting, teaching, and loving not only those they serve but the land to which they have been called. We can never thank God enough for His steadfast love in bringing us to this point and for giving us these remarkable opportunities to stand with Him on the holy ground of His presence.

May the One who is forever faithful bless those we love there and in every place of His dominion. Amen and amen.

More than all we ask or imagine...

2009-10-28T10:17:00.000-07:00

Back in 2001, the vision for Come before Winter hardly exceeded the completion of our first event: an equipping and spiritual renewal for women in ministry serving in Brazil. The team of eight agreed to raise the money and serve based on little more than the calling in each woman's heart. We planned carefully, but when we arrived, we had to admit to the 26 women attending that we hardly knew why we had come. Our own anticipation of witnessing what God would do overshadowed any hope that our own plans would succeed. "Thus," we said, "if at any time we discover that the ministry plan we have brought will not provide what is needed, we promise to toss it out and begin anew!"

For the most part, Come before Winter's business plan has been one of planning, preparation and service, then watching and listening to discover what God has in mind. In response, He has regularly unfolded a ministry that delivers more than we ever asked or imagined. We began, hoping not only to renew hearts, but to infect women in minstry everywhere with a love and commitment to serious Bible study. However, because of our limited language abilities, we knew our first obligation would be to English-speaking women.

As years have passed, God has shown us His amazing penchant for creation, offering us opportunities to serve women who do speak "foreign" languages--even English. Since 2003, I have been blessed to study with groups of women in Russia, Brazil, and Albania, helping nationals to practice the art of biblical study. In 2007, after four years of dedicated study, one such group of Russian women hosted the first Come before Winter renewal in a language other than English. Still, every training event was taught in English.

Germana Downing of Recife, Brazil, attended the first CbW renewal in 2001. She remains one of the ministry's most ardent disciples, having studied with me as she taught Mark, Matthew, Philippians, 2 Corinthians, and 1 John to her own small groups. Married to American-born missionary Dennis Downing, Germana's grasp of the English language, her continual commitment to teaching small groups, and her experience with our approach to the exegetical process inspired my pursuit to teach a four-day study in Mark to a group of Brazilians, half of whom did not speak English.

We met together outside Recife at a small but lovely hotel in the country: ten of us--eight Brazilians, CbW board member Linda Forrister, and myself. As I looked around the group, I could hardly believe what God had done. Of the eight Brazilians, He had given me a personal history with half. Besides Germana, Marisa Signoretti and Marta Braga serve our home congregation as missionaries from Southern Brazil to Natal (in the north). Westover's work in Natal dates back over a decade, and Barry and I have visited Natal multiple times, even hosting the Signorettis in our home while they visited Texas. I know only a few whose gifts for teaching, pastoring, and service equal those of Marisa and Marta. I was even more amazed by the presence of Cida Amazon, a native of Recife who received the gospel while living in Austin, TX, and later attended a small group study in my home before moving back to Brazil. She and her husband Giacamo and their three children now attend church with the Downings, and Cida attends Germana's small group weekly.

I did not know what to expect; I had never taught for four days, stopping after each phrase to wait for translation. Once again, I had to go on faith, admitting (again) that if God failed to show up, the entire effort would fail. I have taught women biblical exegesis for over a decade now, and the process never fails to challenge. I often hear student complaints. "Who cares?" they ask. "Need Bible study be so challenging?"

What an amazing experience we had in Brazil! Despite hearing everything twice due to translation, these women literally ate the Word and the concept. They engaged the book and the process with questions that revealed sincere commitments to hear, understand and see Mark's Jesus. By the morning of the fourth day, they sat around a table together, sharing in tears what they had learned and how these lessons would be put to work at specific points in their lives the next week. They also committed to complete their study of Mark by early next year and to host a study for women, sharing what they learned. Since our departure, they have already met twice to begin working toward these goals. If all goes well, and I have every confidence it will, Linda and I plan to return next fall to continue our study in another book.

Wow, God! Wow!

Winging our way home on the winds of prayer

2009-10-28T08:57:00.000-07:00

One week ago today, I was on an airplane, returning from Brazil on one of the most convoluted journeys to date. The trip itself (time spent in Brazil with Germana Downing of Recife and seven other Brazilian women sandwiched between short visits with Germana's family) had been a total delight. God blessed the four-day seminar, engaging the book of Mark in ways I could never have planned. Traveling buddy Linda Forrister and I agreed that our time in Brazil had been time well spent.

The trip home was something else. We began our day in Germana and Dennis's kitchen, praying for her family, particularly her two beautiful daughters Paulina and Victoria who faced a round of significant tests later in the week. I remembered off and on all day and night that Dennis prayed for us and our trip, as well--a trip that would be riddled with mechanical difficulties.

Within 30 minutes of our prayer, the transmission in Dennis's car gave way in the middle of a six-lane divided thoroughfare on the way to the airport--but praise the Lord! The car immediately following proved to be an empty taxi; we were able to offload our luggage (in the middle of the street!) from the Downing's trunk to the taxi and continue on!

Since we were trying to check in two hours before takeoff, we thought time was tight. But no, the plane from Salvador, Brazil, was delayed for undisclosed reasons. I am guessing that delay was rooted in mechanical issues, as well. I say this because of the announcement that greeted the passengers on AA 980 about two hours before our anticipated arrival in Miami: the deicer on one of the wings was not working. "Though it is nothing to worry about, federal law requires that we set down at the next nearest airport--San Juan, Puerto Rico." So, we did.

Instead of arriving in Miami at 5:55 p.m., per our original itinerary, we arrived at 2 a.m.--only a slight variation in plans. The bad news: the AA attendant in San Juan had scheduled us for a 7:30 a.m. departure the next morning. Including travel time to and from the Doubletree (where American was picking up the bill) and an hour lead time for check-in, we could sleep about three and a half hours after our 20-hour travel day--maybe. Thankfully, the representative at the end of yet another line in Miami found us a later departure, affording us six hours of sleep. More lines for flight changes in Dallas, and we arrived in Austin early afternoon, thankful for a safe, if unbelievably difficult, journey.

In spite of it all, we were remarkably blessed. We did land safely! We never waited hours in line, though some did. The shuttles were waiting, both to and from the Miami hotel (which had wonderful soft linens on luxurious queen beds!). AA picked up the tabs for all our meals. Even elevator doors opened on our approach. I am not sure I ever remember so many little things going absolutely perfect! Blind luck? Blessing?

Thank you, God! And thank you, Dennis (and everyone else!), for your prayers.

Three-Year-Old Angel, Bearbarry's Swingin', Dancin' Delight

2009-10-09T12:13:00.000-07:00

I never thought I’d understand when my husband “fell in love” with another woman, but I do.

In truth, he’s “in love” with two (to date)—our granddaughters Eleanor Abigail and Elizabeth Lenna. This post is in honor of Eleanor, our second oldest grandchild who turned three on September 24. The flu, a bad back, and preparations for a trip to Brazil have delayed this post.

Still, NO ONE makes you feel more special than this little lady—Bearbarry’s (her rendition of “Granbarry”) and Dranna’s (same story for “Granna”) precious princess. She has a laugh that can supply enough energy to light up the world and a spirit that calls for everyone to step in line.

Eleanor entered our lives softly. She was born four weeks early—tiny and beautiful. Her mom said that from the beginning she held her hands around her face in the traditional “princess pose” (see picture at right), and we thought that was appropriate. She was a perfect lady, after all—easily pacified in daylight hours, at least. She slept and ate and smiled and cooed at all the appropriate times. Her gentle spirit drew us in as she claimed her space in our hearts.

She has the prettiest red lips any of us had ever seen. Jo's mom accused her of putting lipstick on her to take her picture...but no! It's all natural.
I want to share a few meories:

First Chrstmas in New Mexico: A little bewildered, but all bundled up for a sleigh ride in the snow.

Granna's model: Is there anything better than taking pictures of your grandkids? And look, what great material!

Daddy's girl: This little one has melted and molded her Daddy's heart. One of my all-time favorite "store-it-away-in-my-heart" memories is of Brent, looking at his daughter and sitting by Jo at the hospital on the day Eleanor was born. The look on his face said it all. The lights had come on, and this man was just beginning to envision the delights life would hold as a father.

Second birthday: Since we couldn't be there on her special day (we went a few days after), we sent balloons! I didn't know if she would be old enough to enjoy! But oh my, she LOVED IT! It made my day!

Granbarry's girl: On the weekend of the Bosnia team's training retreat, we thought Jo had gone into labor. Since I was at the pretreat, as we call it, Barry went alone to DFW. The house was a hive of activity, and he spent the weekend crawling on the floor with Eleanor. From that day forward, no one, and I mean no one, has held a candle to "Bearbarry." Eleanor's love for her Granbarry (who I also called "Bear" while we were dating) has delighted her grandfather's heart like nothing I have ever seen. My eyes get misty just typing the words. While I may gain some ground occasionally (coloring, baking cookies, playing in the playhouse under the stairs), Granbarry is not to be displaced. She loves him so well! Hats off to you, Eleanor! Happy third birthday (a couple weeks late)! I love you so much!

Preparing for Brazilian Study Seminar

2009-09-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

The emails keep coming: translation, "more" translation, translation "again," and "still more" translation. I open each one, read the sweet note from my Brazilian partner, then crack open the attachment and start copying and pasting.

I'm publishing--in Portuguese. Technology is amazing! Using the latest version of two English Come before Winter notebooks, I managed to pull together the text for a new 23-page study guide on the exegesis of Mark.

My precious Brazilian friend and study buddy (turned Portuguese translator) Germana Downing translated every word and continues to send it back as she finishes specific pages. I only need copy paragraphs of Portuguese over the corresponding English in the publishing file's various text boxes--and voila! I (who can read not one word of Portuguese) am publishing in an unknown tongue! Move over, Pentecost! (Okay, so that's tongue in cheek.)

Having taught journalism for ten years while sponsoring literally hundreds of student newspapers and too many yearbooks, I am keenly aware that it shouldn't be so easy. There are issues in dealing with type! A story rewrite will rarely fit into the same template box as the first draft--even when they are both in English! I don't know why that is true, but it's a rule--similar in nature to trying to put a man's dress shirt back into the wrapper once it has been unpinned and unfolded. Good luck!

Yet these 23 pages have almost fallen into place, and I am so thankful. Thank you, God! I'm a believer in current day miracles!

I think it's a good sign: God is already blessing the four-day seminar we will host in Brazil week after next. Linda Forrister (CbW board member, friend, and traveling/ministry buddy) and I will join Germana to host a teaching seminar on the book of Mark in Portuguese.

Germana, who attended the first-ever Come before Winter renewal (Brazil, 2001), was one of the first to fall in love with the ministry's approach to study. Since that time, she and a group of women in and around Recife have studied with me the books of Mark, Matthew, 2 Corinthians, Philippians, and 1 John. Our goal in Recife later this month will be to further enhance this group's exegetical skills to the point that they soon will be able to teach the approach to others. We have hosted similar seminars in Russia and Albania. The Russians (after three consecutive years of study seminars) hosted their own renewal in Russian in October, 2007. May the Brazilians be so blessed!

Linda and I will depart (Lord willing) Sunday, October 11. Please join us as we pray for God to allow for the presence of each woman who has planned to attend. Pray that the translation/teaching will be rich, despite the language differences. Pray for hearts to open to one another in prayer and encouragement and pray for each woman to be blessed and renewed.

Fall: Preparing to Claim the Growth of Another Year

2009-09-14T14:13:00.000-07:00

I continue to marvel at the order of this world. September rolled around, and automatically the days became cooler, the air a bit clearer, and my energy levels began to rebound. Amazing!

I once read that everyone has a cycle of energy and efficiency, a time when the stars align (not literally), resulting in greater productivity, more emotional stability, even happiness. Somewhere back in the day, I discovered that my clock reads “fall.” I am unsure whether I developed this rhythm from so many years returning to school--as a child, in college, then as a mother and a teacher--or whether I liked school because it rolled around every year at the time when I felt the best, but I love it. I love the colors, the air, the temperatures, Longhorn football,--and seeing my boys (all four) love Longhorn football--sweaters, boots, and fires in the fireplaces. Okay, so now I am into a Texas winter, but I like it all.

Come before Winter has blessed my fall several times. We were in Italy and Germany and Russia in the falls of 02, 05, and 07; last fall we hosted our first stateside renewal in Texas. Three October trips to Siberia rank high on my list, not to mention my favorite fall experiences—three fall vacations with my hubby.

A part of me thinks that's odd—rather out-of-sync, likely fall, that is. I mean, really, things begin to die in fall, don’t they? Or is it just shedding the past year’s growth in preparation for the promise of what’s to come? Isn't it all part of renewal?

I get excited when I think about what God might have in mind for 2010. My calendar is already marked with things I am praying occur: My youngest will leave (Lord willing) for a six-month mission to Swaziland in January. Shane and Kara will be revving up their ministries in Mexia, and Brent just might put the entirety of the CPA exam behind him in 2010—hope, hope! Come before Winter will be traveling to Paraguay in March and to Thailand in June. Our younger protégé teachers, Brooke Hollingsworth and Arlene Kasselman will take over all the lead teaching in Thailand, and Jeanene and I will turn our sights toward developing what we hope becomes an advanced seminar—a pilgrimage, of sorts.

As last year’s growth prepares to drop off, I am hopeful that something about it looks half as beautiful to others as the fall leaves look to me. I am feeling a sense of fulfillment, a testimony from within that declares that God has not only carried me through another year but that somehow, He has allowed me to participate with Him in His Work. And I am looking forward to 2010 and what will surely emerge, clearly autographed as the sanctified art of YHWH.

Chinese Excursion

2009-08-15T20:06:00.000-07:00

We returned home from Beijing Tuesday morning--early; we were in bed and turning out the lights just as the Lord was raising one very large one to begin a clear blue central Texas day outside our bedroom window: 5 a.m. Today is Saturday, my birthday, actually, and I was hoping that tonight might be the night I went to sleep before midnight and didn't awaken until the next morning--not just a couple hours later. It is now after midnight! I am not so good at uploading these pictures!

China was full of surprises. One minor surprise was the fact that Facebook and all blogs are blocked in the People's Republic. Thus, it was impossible to post. I hope to write more about various thoughts and impressions, but tonight I want to post a few of the surprises that awaited us on the other side of the globe:

We rarely saw the sun--and NOT because it rained every day. The air was extraordinarily polluted. We were blessed with one day (in 14) when we could see blue sky through the haze. Thankfully, it was the day we went to the Great Wall (an amazing sight!). On another day, we could "see" the sun. Check out the picture at the right. We are told that once upon a time residents of Beijing could see that the city lay at the foot of mountains. No longer. The view from our 18th floor hotel room did not always allow a view more than 5-6 blocks away.

We worshiped in a government building on our last Sunday. I had to pinch myself throughout the days of the Asian Missions Forum to remind myself that I was in Communist China.

The food:

We ate Tex-Mex twice! Maybe it wasn't the best, but I have had MUCH worse in the Lone Star State! And, oh, what a treat in China!

We learned we could eat with chopsticks. Barry thought that if we stayed long enough, we would have definitely lost weight, though. Check out the size of his bite in this picture!

Additionally, KFC appeared to be a Chinese staple--every 100-200 yards in some places and always crowded.

Unless I have missed something, today's Chinese architecture is far more advanced than in the U.S. This building was built for the Olympics, representing the "flame." Barry and I wondered whether the lack of such diversity in the U.S. was strictly due to the artistic passions in China or whether labor costs here might prohibit such daring design? Whatever it is, I loved it, and I have heard that Shanghai is even more amazing.

No gray hair! Well, almost none. I was told by someone that gray hair is disgraceful. (Is that true?) We did see this older, and I think rather distinguished looking gentleman, on the street, but otherwise among hundreds, even thousands of heads of all ages--almost everyone had dark black hair.

Many love their pet birds, taking them out for walks, carrying them along the street, and to outings in the park. (It is a bird in the older gentleman's cage on the left).

My experience at the Asian Missions Forum was a total blessing--one of the most positive teaching experiences to date and a spiritually uplifting time personally. Thanks to Gary and Danita Jackson, Beijing missionaries, and the other teams of missionaries in Beijing who played host to all of us, and thanks to Monte Cox and Dan Rodriguez for inspiring and challenging messages and to everyone who attended from various areas of China, Japan, the Philippines, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Russia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, the United States and I know others I am forgetting--only because of my feeble mind.
A special thanks, to Timur and Irena Rahimov from Tomsk, Russia, who met Barry and I at AMF (and to everyone who helped make that possible); you are (all) a blessing to my life.

Since I lost the camera I had taken before the conference began), I am greatly indebted to Timur Rahimov for most of these photos. Longtime friend Ron Green took the one of us on the Wall.

Happy Birthday, Princess!

2009-07-15T20:26:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth turned four on July 12. That is, four YEARS old. I can hardly believe we have had her for so long; only one short year and she begins school! Can that be? I already grieve the disappearance of that little baby that could laugh out loud with me for five minutes at a time from the age of 6 months—no kidding. I never knew what could be so funny to her; she was the item that kept me laughing. She had/has the most contagious laugh I have ever heard. We were (I was, definitely) silly, maybe because our emotional ages seemed to be perfectly aligned!

My mother died when I was 21. As a young girl, she had told me over and over that she wanted more than to be my mother; she wanted to be my best friend. She didn’t mean that she wanted to act juvenile or that she refused to be a disciplinarian—she was never the former and always the latter. She meant that she wanted to be close; she wanted me to want to spend time with her. She wanted to matter in my life, and she did. I married at age 19 (I can hardly believe it myself by now), and though I dearly loved my husband and believed then and until this day that he was the best choice I ever made, I missed my mom. We had just gotten to know one another again—after the requisite years of tension known as my teens (and even then we never had the kind of volatile relationships some of my friends had with their moms). So, when Mother died only two years after I married, I was devastated; truly I had lost my best friend. One of the things that sustained me through those months was my hope that one day I would have a daughter with whom I might rekindle the deep, emotional fellowship I shared with my mom.

Well, I didn’t have a daughter. God blessed my life with three sons, three marvelously diverse, incredibly handsome young men. I honestly believe that from the moment of their births, I celebrated each of them with as much vigor as any mother could, and I worked hard to build a personal relationship with each one. I tried with a good measure of success to reserve time every week to be alone with each one—until they outgrew the experience…and, of course, they did. When they became men, their dad began receiving more phone calls (as well should be); watching their relationships with him blossom blessed me, too. I could see some of my relationship with my mom in their interaction with him. As a mom, my children have blessed me extraordinarily. They have treated me far better than any daughter ever treated her mom; mothers of sons get the kind of honor every woman craves, and I love every minute of it! But I always wondered what God had in mind when I didn’t have a daughter. Well, I think I have an idea, but this is not the place for that topic.

When our eldest Shane and his beautiful wife Kara announced they were expecting, we all anticipated a boy. Why not? The Alexanders have boys! But God had unfinished business.

Elizabeth Lenna Alexander (My mother’s first name was Lenna) was born July 12, 2005. She has blessed us all with more joy than we could ever anticipate. A friend of mine told me before she was born: “You will be totally unprepared for how totally overwhelmingly wonderful it is to be a grandmother.” She was so right! I have never been the same since.

I now have two granddaughters (delights in every way) and two grandsons (also delightful, these guys bring home such amazing memories). Elizabeth and Eleanor. Peyton and Asa. Thank you, God.

On Sunday, July 12, we worshiped on the ranch—at its highest peek. Some of the time, I held Elizabeth in my lap (when she wasn’t loitering far too near the edge of the cliff). As I held her, my mind retraced some the journey of these past four years:

• Her first birthday party (thrown by Granna): she was two weeks old (isn’t that crazy?)

• Our first “giggle fit,” reading the little book, “Here we go round the mulberry bush,” and all those that followed. –six months

• Listening as she argued with herself about whether she really needed the milk she so badly wanted: “I want miiiiilk…. No, no, I don’t-want miiilk…. “I WANT MIIILK!”

• Hearing her call up from the bottom of the stairs when she thought it was time for me to get out of bed and join her and her Granbarry downstairs—“Gran-aaaahhh!”—18 months

• Her first Easter dress after she could walk…sliding out like a princess to show off for Daddy. 20 months

• Waiting (impatiently) on Peyton, then being totally surprised and infatuated when he arrived!—2 years

• Playing “I ‘py” (I spy) with Granna all the way home from Colorado—three years

• A never-ending cue for laughter and silliness: “Granna, let’s just talk about puppy dogs and kitty cats, okay? –three years

• Loving (and, well hating is far too strong a word) Shiloh, her puppy.—3.5 years

• Loving the repetition: “Granna,” she has often said, “You’re my best friend.”

Happy birthday, Princess! You make my life so rich!

Thoughts from the Sea

2009-06-25T07:37:00.001-07:00

Last week, I had opportunity to sit in the warm waves of the Gulf of Mexico with my granddaughter Elizabeth. Every morning Elizabeth swore to each of us that while she was “going to the beach,” she was not going to “swim at the beach.” Actually, Elizabeth doesn’t yet swim anywhere. She meant she was not planning to get in the water; she would play in the sand, but the water hurt her eyes. Each morning we agreed: don’t get in the water if you don’t want, but certainly come to the beach. She would nod. Yet, each morning before the carloads of supplies were fully unloaded onto the sand, Elizabeth ran into the water. The allure of the waves seemed to call her name, and she couldn’t resist their beckoning.

Elizabeth is only three, however; she will be four in a couple of weeks. And even if she were a swimmer, she would not be strong enough to deal with the waves of the sea. So each morning when she ventured out toward the surf, one of us followed. It was often me. I would take her hand and together we would walk into the water until the waves reached just above her knees (not very far) and we would sit together, tossed and turned, talking and laughing, both of us pondering in our own ways the motion of the sea.

As I sat in the water, holding little Elizabeth tightly in my lap, our backs to the waves, the variety in the swells caught my attention. Certainly some of the ocean’s waves merely roll past, a rise and fall of water. Yet even on the calmest shore, waves gather momentum. Some cap, others do not; but even those that cap bear variety. In my attempts to protect her eyes, I tried to keep at least one of my own focused on the waves, an attempt to anticipate their force. But I was tricked at first. Some that had capped with vigor just a few feet behind us seemed only to wash over us, devoid of the anticipated force. Others that capped in exactly the same fashion crashed into us with such strength that only the most determined concentration allowed us to remain in our place.

That’s when I began to understand the power of the undertow—the force that pulls the waves back out to sea thus acting in obedience to God’s command: “You may come this far, but no further.” Like the waves, the undertow moves in and out. When it moved in, the waves could crash into my back with seemingly unrestrained force—as if even in the shallow waters on the beach, all the power of the sea were moving in one direction. But when the tide changed, the deepest water—that nearest the ocean floor—began to revert, moving against the incoming wave with enough authority to suck the water back out to sea; the wave’s crashing power overcome.

Truly, life is not a beach. But perhaps life under the power and authority of God is not so different. The one who commands the waves will also orchestrate life. In the seemingly unpredictable tides of life, there remains an undertow of control, a force strong enough to not only tame the waves, but to design them. Life jerks us out of any attempt to control our own destiny. Life’s surges can offer mornings sitting in the surf with a child tucked protectively under one’s arm or thrilling moments when one might ride the waves, but they also produce hurricanes and tsunamis when the power of the sea seems to reign unrestrained and uncontrollable. How might we justify such a disparity?

Perhaps we miss the point. Left to human power and understanding, the waves and the sea are uncontrollable! But there is One whose authority dominates creation, One who imagined it all and formed it all. What if the only response is to rest there, in the power and authority of God, allowing the undertow of Will to reign? What if a connection to that safe place is the only answer?

Yes, the waves can be dangerous! But without the crashing waves, the beach would be only a scorching and unproductive dessert. Barry’s mom even noted the similarity as we neared the coast—the barren landscape stretching out before us with only little and low vegetation. The water, uncontrollable as it may be, calls us to the beach, cooling the coastal breezes and evaporating just above the horizon, blurring the definition between the water and sky, the earth and the heavens. And life is like that, too, a veritable smorgasbord of experience.

When I am near the beach, just the sound of the ocean, that audible struggle between the crashing waves and the authoritative undertow, possesses a power to still my last frayed nerve, to calm my spirit. Thus despite the heat I will open windows and doors, sit outside on patios and decks, walk along shore, or build sand castles all morning in the relentless sun to partake of its therapeutic offering. Like Elizabeth I too awoke each morning, thinking that perhaps I might skip the beach that day. But like Elizabeth I also went there each morning—along with Eleanor, Asa, and Peyton, their parents Shane and Kara and Jo and Brent, their Uncle Zach and Granbarry and great-grandmother Granbe—and the three carloads of things we would need to exist there. Why? Because anything that calms the spirit so effectively eventually wins me over.

And so it is with the Lord. Existing on the beach of life requires camping near the Maker. So I look for the moments when I might come to know Him better. Like a trip to the beach, not everything about arranging those moments seems enjoyable. There are any number of packages that must come along, be carried over the dunes of everyday life toward the water in order to enjoy the soothing ebb and flow of its tides. But I go, and when I don’t, I miss the unspoken instruction of the waves, God’s claim that only Authority will rule chaos.

Aussi, Aussi, Oi, Oi, Oi!

2009-06-11T08:13:00.000-07:00

"This one has to rank somewhere at the very top!" said Suzy Jeffrey as she and I walked to the elevator after closing the Australian renewal--our 17th. I agreed. What an amazing week with such touching, beautiful, godly women!

The Gold Coast Renewal, held May 25-29 at Surfer's Paradise Hotel Watermark, went off without a hitch. The women arrived early, we never heard a word of complaint about the schedule, which opens each day with a 7:30 a.m. worship before breakfast and ends each night at 10 p.m., following 15 minutes of evening prayer. They arrived on time, engaged the process wholeheartedly, tackled their assignments with expectation, saved us places at dinner, and laughed at our facial hair on Thursday night! It doesn't get any better than that!

The food was out of this world, beautifully presented and sumptuous. The Waves Restaurant offered daily an omelet chef for breakfast (and/or you could have eggs, sausages, pancakes, yogurt, fruit, cereals, pastries, toasts...almost anything you could imagine). Lunch menus included pizza, burger plates, stir fry, fish and chips, and the evenings...yum. The dinner delivery included a stir fry station, an Indian station, a pasta station, plus all variety of steamed seafood--prawns, oysters, crab, and even several dessert bars. It was delightful and certainly a highlight of this particular renewal. The food has never been better (though Germany in '05 could be a rival).
The women won our hearts with their sweet and stoic presentations and their vulnerable, surrendered hearts. One-on-one prayer times blessed and challenged us as much as them. I am unsure whether I have ever met a sweeter group of God's servants: unassuming, genuine, and fun. The reading groups were lively and interactive, and these women engaged the artistic reflection with a joy that made all of us want to run in for another try. Their work was outstanding--beautiful. As a group, they crafted the most artistic pieces ever. Our newest lead teachers, Brooke Hollingsworth and Arlene Kasselman, delivered inspiring, mature, and instructive presentations. The sharing was open and honest, confessional and full of love and prayer. Sweet! So sweet! Our youngest "Aussi girl," little Ella, daughter of Nicole Whaley, blessed us with her guarded smiles and sweet cheeks, just right for kissing! She served as a reminder all week that God's hesed, his steadfast love, endures to our children's children.

And the Thursday night celebration? The waiter commented to Mariana: "I have never seen people have this much fun without alcohol!" As we wrapped it up that night, he added, "Best night's work ever!" To be honest, the party was exceptional. Jocelyn Reese Wiebe and Georgia Freitas of Dallas set the celebration bar even higher with their rendition of our Texas Country Party, complete with our silly dances (line, cotton-eyed Joe, even the chicken dance). This time, though, she surprised the team with mustaches and wanted posters. Each woman received a bandanna and a sherriff's star in order to be able to deal with the 12 banditos that roamed the room. The hotel served up what they called a Texas barbecue. Though it wasn't very Texas, it was even better since it contained not only steaks but that great seafood we had been getting all week.

On Friday, our closing worship was the one of the sweetest I can remember, full of expressions of love and praise from the women of New Zealand, Fiji, and Australia. The closing ceremony rang out with personal exclamations that proclaimed how well we had grown to love and understand one another in a week's time. Then we said goodbye to 40 new friends and ended the renewal tired, but with enough energy to look forward to the next week. We left Surfer's Paradise early Saturday morning, May 29, to fly to stifling hot Papua New Guinea where we would begin our work again with 41 new women two days later, June 1.

During our sharing, Maxine Klingenberg had told of taking her little granddaughter to the Special Olympics a few years earlier. The particular race of which she spoke began without much fanfare. The lethargic audience remained quiet as the athletes made their way with much effort around the track. However, Maxine's granddaughter knew that one of her countrymen was running. "Where is he? Where's the Aussi," she would ask. Then on each lap as the young disabled runner would approach her side of the track, one small voice in the crowd began to yell the country's chant: "Aussi, Aussi, Aussi, Oi, Oi, Oi!" At first no one paid much attention to the voice, but as the race advanced and the runner tired, one voice became a few, then more, then grew to encompass the whole crowd. One voice had made all the difference as the young runner finished his race, head held high.

The Australian missionaries serve a difficult field. Though the food is scrumptious and the land is beautiful, the people remain godless to a great extent, certainly "Post Christian." Though two-thirds of the population claim at least a "nominal" faith in God, fully one-third claim no faith in anything whatsoever. I sat next to a couple on my overseas flight home; the two women seemed truly curious about my reasons for having been in Australia and Papua New Guinea. They asked several questions throughout the "night." At breakfast the barrage began as they tag-teamed to instruct me regarding aspects of biblical inconsistency and opinion. Though they were asking questions, they rarely waited to hear an answer. Instead, they spoke more to one another.

"I think religion is for those a bit daft, don't you?"

"I think God would much rather have me help my mum in the garden on a Sunday morning than go to church with a group of do-gooders who only want to tell me I am going to hell; I don't believe that!"

They were nice enough girls; they had been polite throughout the night; they had wanted to engage me in conversation, but they had no desire to hear anyone who might point out that they had totally mistaken Christianity and Christ as voices intent on condemning souls to hell. They had made up their minds already. In the stadium of life's race, one significant runner remained unseen; Christ had become just another part of the drabness in life.

That was when I thought of Maxine Klingenberg, Mary Hobbs, Marina Gray, Stacey Power, and Little Ella Whaley in Australia, of Anna, Va, Nancy and Nilu from Fiji, of Bernadine, Helen Mary, Melinda and the others from New Zealand. Lord multiply their lone voices so they can lead the chant directing others to see you! Aussi, Aussi, Aussi, Oi, Oi, Oi! to all Christians in the South Pacific, whether they be in Australia, New Zealand, or Fiji or elsewhere! Aussi, Aussi, Aussi, Oi, Oi, Oi!

Or something just like it!

More pictures and comments about PNG

2009-06-10T21:50:00.001-07:00

Our luggage which contains not only our personal items but an entire renewal's materials, appears legendary. When we travel, we look like Victorian women on a cross-Atlantic journey. We have difficulty expressing the volume to those who plan to transport us from the airport to the hotel. Thus we often find ourselves in what could be embarrassing situations had we not had to surrender our pride years ago. Can you see the tire deflating as the heavy suitcases are loaded into the small truck?

The potholes in the roads (it was rainy season, to be fair) could swallow whole vehicles. Drivers darted back and forth across the roads, missing as many as possible while team members rocked and rolled along, taking pictures and marveling at the ride!

The beautiful paradise we visited boasted more natural inhabitants--those that flew. The hotel staff warned some of us upon arrival on that fruit bats lived in the trees and had been known to occasionally swoop down on an unprepared visitor. We kept the knowledge to ourselves, however, to protect team members whose phobias might not have permitted them a moment's rest had they known what could happen. Only at the end of the week did Mariana snap this shot, telling us that these bats were not the 6-12 inch variety we had envisioned, but had a wing span more like that of an eagle--almost 3 feet in diameter. Oh, my. With or without phobias, my stomach began to roll as I looked at the picture! Sorry, AK, the secrecy was out of love!

Heads UP!

The coconut trees were gorgeous and the fruit literally dropped to the ground around us... with such veracity that we didn't need the warning from the locals: "Beware!" Though the fastest way to the meeting room was through the groves, you went at your own risk. A falling coconut to the head would cause concussions...or worse!

Safe and Sound!
Although there were many hazards, we were well protected. The resort grounds were guarded all night by (I believe) eight native men, seriously armed with bows and arrows.

PNG finds sweet spot in memory bank

2009-06-10T15:03:00.001-07:00

Each renewal spreads its own blanket on the lawn of my memory. They invite me over to feast on picnics lovingly packed, enjoyed with good friends on autumn afternoons or spring mornings. No matter the actual temperature at a renewal, whether a blustering snow storm in Russia (2003) or the sweltering temps of Thailand (2003), Benin (2004), Indonesia (2006), Kenya (2007) or Papua New Guinea (last week), the memory eventually records the days as more than pleasant--they are extraordinarily sweet, always enjoyable.

The fact that the team has threatened me if I post our pictures, the ones that show exactly how bad we actually looked last week, remains beside the point. For even today, only three days after my return, the memories have begun to shift away from the stifling, thick, and humid air and the perspiration- (make that sweat-) covered limbs to matters of more importance. I recall the precious, godly servants who attended, women weary and worn from life in such an extreme environment, women whose hearts long to serve God as if every day could be lived in the energy of fall afternoons or spring mornings.

Though we grow amused with our repititions, we again admit that we have never hosted a renewal like this one. Then again, we have never before visited Papua New Guinea, home of the largest mission post in the world--Ukarumpa. By now, we long to see this "city," this one square mile of something that must be similar to a military outpost, built for the safety of the troops. About 80 percent of our 41 participants serve there. We are told that the fence bears barbed wire coils across the top, that it is guarded night and day and that the tribes that inhabit the area are at war; the children can count the armed guards and hear the gunshots from the battles outside the walls. Inside the walls live about 1500 who support Wycliffe's work to translate the Bible into the 800-odd languages that inhabit this small South Pacific country. They are linguists who enter the villages to learn those languages, sometimes even developing the written language and teaching it to the natives; they are translators going back and forth between the village and "city," busily exegeting the current text, translating and preparing to translate the Bible into the natives' languages; they are teachers, assigned to the area's school where about 250 students from more than a dozen nationalities receive their educations; they are workers who assign housing, receive goods, and generally work in support of one another. Those who must go out into the villages do so for stints averaging 4-6 weeks at a time. Children younger than seventh grade can go with their parents. After seventh grade, their timely education demands that they remain behind in a hostel with loving care-givers, but separated from their parents, nonetheless.

These are women who believe in the sacrifice they are making, but that does not make the sacrifice any less difficult. They are not complainers; they are disciplined and decided and determined. Most live in the "Highlands," that is in the mountains of the country where it is cooler, but also more remote than the resort where we stayed. They have limited Internet access, limited food options, and limited medical care. An injury or illness of any consequence requires an air-lift to Caines, Australia, an expensive endeavor that leaves families in debt. Because they move to and from the various villages, they rarely lodge in the same place more than a group of months. Each time they go to the village, most must move out--lock, stock, and barrel--to make room for the next. When they return, they usually move into different lodging. Each of these missionaries raise their own support but work, nevertheless, within long-established rules and disciplines. Wycliffe missionaries founded the city in the mid-to-late 50s. More than one of those we served had parents or friends who had served there a generation earlier. Like all places, it is a place to love and a place of challenge, but it is life.

We can blame that life for the fact that we had more cancellations (all for good cause) than ever before; it is also the reason we filled every slot as fast as it came open. In the last week before the renewal, we had four cancellations and six additions--four new names surfaced after we left home. Whereas Monday morning (the day we open) is normally reserved for mental preparations and putting together last minute details, the Monday in PNG was full of decisions and just plain hard work. Someone who has never seen our program cannot truly appreciate all that had to be done for one addition--much less four! We had to rearrange our rooming lists which had been "finalized" a couple weeks earlier. The hotel had no more vacancies, but they were willing to add beds to rooms we had already reserved. Rearranging rooms meant switching roommates, a prayerful effort requiring lots of attention to age, ministry, interests and requests. And of course, we had to locate more gifts, more notebooks and materials, name tags--well everything. For the first time ever, we had to improvise because the number had outgrown our provision. I was so proud of the team; we adjusted, bringing to bear all of our creativity and flexiblitly; each one stepped up to fill the gap as we set about to mirror our God and bring order out of chaos. Even so, we were (almost) ready when the women began arriving a few hours before registration officially opened. That is, we were ready except for showers, our team picture and our final prayer time.

Once a renewal begins, the experience is like slipping off the side of a mountain crevice in snow skis--a free fall of exhilaration and excitement. Once you touch the ground, you depend on each turn to provide the necessary control to maintain balance and progress down the hill. My friend Mariana Long sighed in Australia on Monday morning a few hours before opening, "It is almost over," she said. She was right. That is exactly how it feels. We have worked years on a renewal to get to Monday, but once the opening ceremony begins, any old hand knows that the time is already drawing to a close, so quickly one stage follows the next.

And so it was in PNG. Clusters began after Monday's dinner, a nightly time of sharing and prayer in a small group. Reading groups, times for examining the text, begin on Tuesday morning, as do three different "brands" of reflection--silent, active and artistic. One-on-one personal prayer appointments begin Tuesday afternoon. By Wednesday night, all the scheduled "classes," reflective periods, and individual prayer sessions are complete. Thursday becomes a day of sharing what God has done, a day of celebration! Friday awakens with the closing ceremony, lunch and departure.

The time slips by in a mist, but such a beautiful haze it is, airbrushing the horizons of each picture with a vignette that somehow captures the sweetness of the Christian experience. Each one can be framed in joy and thanksgiving. We loved our time in PNG, meeting some of God's most diligent and sacrificial servants, and when we left, it was if the island demanded that we leave a part of our hearts behind. So we did; it seemed only appropriate.

Photos by the FABULOUS Mariana Long.

The long journey home

2009-06-09T20:34:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to suffer from jetlag after two nights sleep? I imagine, but I hope not. However, it is 11 p.m. and I am not sleepy. Our trip home keeps rolling over me like waves on a beach--or is that the jet lag that is making me dizzy?

I arrived in Austin about 6 p.m. Sunday night, June 7. The trip was long and arduous and not a little difficult (that is, "it was hard"). What else is new?

We had suffered (yes, that is not an exaggeration) through a delayed departure in Madang on Saturday morning (three HOT hours on wooden benches, after realizing I had lost my wallet and six debit and credit cards). I had already called Barry to inform him so that he could check the accounts and cancel whatever was needed. He sighed, and I laughed: "I'm baaaacccckkkk." He laughed. Thank you, God, for my precious husband.

The delay was just the beginning of our long journey home. Leaving Madang three hours late meant a "tense time" in Port Moresby. We landed with only 18 minutes to make our connection to Brisbane, but Air Niugini (pronounce that Air New Guinea, we learned) was determined. They picked us up at the baggage claim, took all our baggage tickets away from us so they could collect our luggage, then because it started coming off so quickly, let us pick them out ourselves. Then they hustled us off in three or four groups to our flight. The first group was led astray .... somewhere; we almost lost them entirely. The incredibly kind woman behind the counter issued our boarding passes so quickly, we were amazed. Then we found they were a mass of confusion (Jeanene's said "Jocelyn Reese." Jocelyn, Jeanene's daughtger whose name is now Wiebe, had a boarding pass--"Jeanene Reese." That is easy enough to understand if you know that Jocelyn's name has only been amended on her passport's last page, so the first page still says "Reese." But tell me why my boarding pass read, Mariana Long?" It was crazy! Still, you have to hand it to Air Niugini, they did get us on the plane, assuring us that our luggage was with us! But how could that be?

Landing in Brisbane, none of twelve bags had arrived. That was a bigger problem for teammate Jeanene Reese, who was flying on to New Zealand for time with hubby Jack, followed by teaching a two-week class. The rest of us were "overnighting" in a nice Brisbane hotel where I had found a bargain before departure (the hours would allow the luggage at least a bit of time to catch up). Still, filling out the lost luggage claims (after having turned over our tickets to Air Niugini) took time--lots of it. And just as we finished, a new plane landed, dumping hundreds of people into the customs line. So, I did what any unashamed leader might try: I begged the Qantas rep. "We have waited all this time with no line; now look how long the line is. Could you please see us to the front?" He looked doubtful: "Pleeeassee. After all, it was your fault we had to stand here." He looked a bit put off: I smiled: "Pleeeassee, we are so tired. I know it is not your fault personally, but the airline did lose all of our bags," and I smiled again. He broke. "Follow me." (Thank you, God!). The team had audibly gasped when I told him it was his fault, and even I thought I might have overdone my "but, sir" routine. But our escort helped us to make quick work of Australian customs, which had been relentless on the way in.

Somehow, the bus company I had hired for our transport from hotel to airport, made no big deal out of our late arrival--just catch the next shuttle, they said. (Thank you, God!) When we arrived at the Oaks Aurora Hotel--two hours late, no one was surprised by the blank look on reception's face when I told her we needed three two-bedroom apartments, not one. After some confusion, however, she realized that she did have the rooms, and we checked in. Tired and HOT all day, we were also blessed to find that though we did not have luggage, our rooms all had washers and dryers! (Thank you, God!) I won't go into the way we all had to sleep in order to wash our clothes (but we Come before Winter girls are nothing if not flexible and thankful, so take it from there!).

We held our "unpacking meeting--that is, details of the renewal, not our clothes" while we munched on delivered pizza and bottled water and drinks from the 7-Eleven just outside the lobby door. We worshipped the God who had brought us through two amazing renewals and a long day's journey from PNG.

The bus picked us up again at 8 a.m. on Sunday, June 7. Our flight would take off at 11:05 a.m.; that would be about four hours after we would land in Los Angeles, thanks to adjustments in time. (Is this what they call time travel?) The fourteen-hour flight passed fairly quickly, I guess, as we each pondered the days gone by and the reunions ahead. In LA, we found eleven suitcases! It would have been perfect, except one belonged to Jeanene--now in New Zealand. We were missing one small, but empty, team bag, and my own personal bag. Sooooo more waiting in line to fill out paper work.

We departed in groups--the first three off to Abilene at 9:30 a.m. (two hours before we took off in Brisbane), then four for DFW at 12:30, and I was last--on the way to Austin at 1:15 (or something similar). In Austin, I walked onto the escalator and looked down; my precious husband and good friend Cynthia were smiling up at me; I was home. As far as I knew everyone (who was supposed to be home) had arrived. A call from Mariana before we left the terminal verified it. Trip 18 was done.

I will write more soon about the PNG experience. It may take two or three posts! Thank you, God! And, by the way, I found the lost wallet. It had been with me all along--not in my lost luggage, as I had been hoping, but in the camera bag that never left my side. That's right, honey, I'm baaaackkk!

2009-05-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

We are tired. Oh wait, we started tired. We are really tired.

Last night I met a smartly attired Asian business man as I was exiting the restroom—the men’s restroom. “Aw,” he said, “I believe you made mistake!” Well, yes! Until I saw him, I didn’t see the urinals. By the way, just as a bit of news, the men’s restroom downstairs is fancier than any I have ever seen, actually—two rooms! (So okay, it wasn’t my first experience with a men’s restroom.) One room contained the “telling” urinals (why couldn’t they have been more obvious?); the other room was lined with stalls opposite lavatories. Do you call that a restroom suite? I would like to report that the women don’t have such a fancy floor plan, though.

The experience seemed more embarrassing than usual, since I had formed the opinion that the Aussies care more about bathroom privacy than the Europeans or even the Americans for that matter. They all have two doors—like a windbreak (okay, well, I won’t go there). But what is most interesting was the size of the windbreak—so small that the large outer door that swings inward almost hits the inner door, which for some reason swings outward. I had been trying to figure out its purpose since it seems that there was hardly room for such a contraption in the hotel’s floor plan and also because I was contemplating what I would do if I keep gaining weight from all this food they are feeding us (does one fit in the windbreak if one continues to grow?). I had guessed the purpose was to ensure that in a busy hotel one could not just “see into” the restroom—thus, for privacy’s sake. Well, forget that! Just walk in and have a look! Now that I have seen, I own a different possibility. Maybe it is so that the women won’t see that the men have a fancier floor plan!

But I digress…again. (Did I mention I am tired?)

The renewal is going well—very well. Another thing about the Aussies: they must own a better “work ethic” than any group we have served. They arrived (all but four) three hours early on Monday—the other four arrived well in time to begin. They arrive to sessions on time, they do their assignments, they stay on task and on schedule. (It’s really challenging us as a team.)

Jeanene’s opening message on God’s “steadfast love” was better than ever; Arlene did an outstanding job with her morning presentation yesterday—excellent material, insight, delivery. The session was wonderful! The reading groups have been going off without a hitch. I am looking forward to Brooke’s morning presentation today. Yesterday I prayed with a young woman who had been in the art room earlier. I mentioned Mariana’s name (Mariana directs our art sessions). The woman said with exuberance, “That woman! I went back to my room and told my roommate that the session was worthwhile if for no other reason than to be in the presence of that woman! She is amazing; she just carries a sense of peace and maturity that is so comforting!” Well, yes! The team agrees, but most participants don’t pick up on the fact so quickly! Did I say, we are blessed?

Today (It is 6 a.m. now) will be our final day of classes; tomorrow we hear their reflections and applications. We are excited. Exhausted but excited about all that being done here. Thanks to all who helped to make it possible!

Bless the Lord with us. That’s our focus this week as we study Psalm 103.

Sanctified for Service

2009-05-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

The renewal begins for me on Sunday morning.

The women have not arrived, but we have (even with jet lag, we seem to be present by Sunday. We reserve the day for spiritually centering our hearts and minds on our own relationships with God and our coming mission, sanctifying all of ourselves to God for the task ahead. My sweet friend Jeanene Reese always plans these services, and they are rich--filled with praise, self-examination, confession, affirming one another, scripture, song, and prayer. We commune with one another and the Lord. This time, as we prayed to close our time together, Jeanene suggested we circle up and hold hands--facing outward, a physical symbol of our stance in the week to come--joined, united, looking outward at this country, this place, these women, all those He might put in our paths.

Team Daze

2009-05-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

Skipping a day of your life can be disorienting, especially when your clock is upside down and you can't sleep the next night either. But when your brain is so tired it isn't functioning anyway--it's not so bad.

Since you can't do any real work, the best you can do is keep moving and wait for yourself to pass out (and hopefully sleep long enough to begin recovering). Such was the case yesterday, May 23, when we scheduled a team outing to a wildlife preserve to attempt to begin our physical recovery as we to saw, petted, fed, and marveled over Australian wildlife.
Teammate Brooke Hollingsworth did the work to arrange the day, and it was lovely--despite the fact that it rained on and off the whole time. I don't think she planned that. But if she did, it wasn't bad thinking. Actually, wearing trash bags and having wet feet and clothes blessed us all immensely (we didn't fall asleep!).

Teammate Mariana Long, the artist behind this camera lens, blesses all of our lives with her gifts.

It is now Sunday here. I awoke at a much more reasonable hour today: 4:45 a.m. This is our sabbath day--today's goal will be to center ourselves spiritually for the task ahead. Team worship, which begins at 9:00 a.m. will be one highlight of the team's week, one of the sweetest three hours you could ever experience. I hope your day of worship will be blessed, as well.

Arrival in Australia

2009-05-22T14:48:00.000-07:00

It wasn't easy.

The flight from LAX to Sydney was 14 hours; some of us didn't get our usual aisle seats; most of us didn't get as good of seat as we like (extra leg room, etc.). There was a storm on the way. Our plane missed most of it, but one team member's plane--a team member who was flying alone, using frequent flyer miles--had to land in Fiji to wait out the worst of it.

Then Australian customs....yikes. It took us two hours to get through it all. We had to clear the heat seeking camera, proving we did not have fever (no swine flu among us), then the long passport control line, then the long, long lines and searches for everything NOT Australian (very tough customs here). We missed our flight; then six of us caught the next flight and the other five of us missed that one, too. Finally, we were on the plane and arriving, getting together and going to the hotel to meet our lone traveler...who was not here. The unexpected layover in Fiji had us worried, but after three more hours, here she was, too. Finally--ALL together.

We had lost May 21 along the way. It did not exist. But we were in Australia, greeted by a very kind and accommodating hotel staff at the Hotel Watermark, Surfer's Paradise, Queensland (right on the Great Barrier Reef--which we won't see). All the suitcases: arrived.

We slept--some well, some not so well, but we are ready for our Saturday. Time to renew ourselves physically. Tomorrow we will have our team worship, a holy and honored time among us. Sunday will be a day of sabbath, spiritual preparation for the task ahead: 40 women from Fiji, New Zealand and Australia will arrive on Monday.

Keep us in your prayers.... We love you all!

The Testimony

2009-05-11T04:41:00.000-07:00

Bright lights didn’t flash from the sky nor did those around me testify that they heard thunder; still, the Lord and I shared a moment on Saturday. It was an uncommon moment whose like has been periodically chronicled in the Bible, often portrayed in movies, sometimes witnessed in relationships, and occasionally even grasped in life. For the record, it was Saturday, May 9, 2009—graduation day at Abilene Christian University.

Both Shane, our eldest, and Zach, our “baby,” received advanced degrees. Shane’s Doctor of Ministry documents 30 additional hours of study, research and writing beyond his MDiv and his now seven years of ministry. Zach’s Masters of Divinity marks the end of his seminary training—84 hours of graduate study in biblical language, text, ministry, theology and pertinent history.

Let it be duly noted that while both were eager to study and complete their study, neither of my guys wanted to walk that day. But the whole family was ready to celebrate (and I desired it) so they did. Shane was among five to receive the DMin, and Zach walked with maybe 25 or so others who received their masters. With the last name of Alexander, our sons collected their diploma boxes as numbers two (Shane) and six (Zach), then sat dutifully through the seemingly endless ceremony as hundreds of new college grads also walked the stage to collect bachelor’s degrees.

Like so many significant moments with the Lord, my moment with Lord last Saturday had opened many years before—19 to be exact, in July, 1990. Shane was 13 at the time, my “middlest” Brent was 10, and Zach was 8. I was on ACU’s campus, attending the Bible Teachers’ Workshop, and looking out the window of my temporary quarters on the second floor of Nelson Dormitory; I was crying, I was praying, and I was scared.

The early stages of a major depression had just begun to manifest themselves. They had emerged during a serious bout with post traumatic syndrome, the result of childhood abuse, and had jerked me from reality three weeks earlier. In all my life, I rarely remember a lower moment. I had yet to see a doctor, but my symptoms had become debilitating. I was in a constant state of panic; my heart raced, my body ached, and my thoughts had become dull. I was humiliated and confused.

On the morning in question, my companions had left for breakfast and classes, but I had remained behind for a few moments with the Lord. I sat on the bed, looking out the window that overlooked the campus to the north—a perfect view of the recently completed Bible building and Tower of Light. Like Hannah in the temple, I was praying for my children. Though Hannah wept and prayed to receive children, I wept and pleaded for those already born. How could I, broken as I was, rear children of faith?

Nothing humbles like depression. By its very nature, depression humiliates; it accuses, tries, and convicts. One thing was clear to me that day: I needed help—not only for myself, but moreover for those I loved more than life: my children. So I prayed: “Lord God, spare my children, and please, Lord, somehow grow them into men of great faith.”

As I sat there, continuing to look out at the campus, I pondered the blessings of a Christian education. Having grown up in a poor and highly dysfunctional family, an education at ACU had been beyond my reach. That morning, as I continued to look out across the campus, I prayed what seemed impossible. “Lord, I would love for my children to study here—all of them. I want for my children every good gift available in this place.” My eyes zoned in again to focus on the Tower of Light and the Bible building beyond: “And Lord, if it is possible, please let one—at least one—graduate from that building. Please, Lord, use these young men you have given me to your glory.”

The day I prayed that prayer, not one of my children had expressed intent to attend Abilene Christian and not one had declared an interest in ministry. The prayer was pure pie in the sky, but it rose from the depth of my soul. To be honest, the prayer had little to do with choosing for them an alma mater. Rather, it was a plea for God to recognize my lowly state and to come to my aid so that somehow a broken woman might retain and pass on faith. It was a forever prayer, prayed not only for the sake of my own children, but for generations of grand and great-grand children—children who might escape the life of generational abuse that had been part of my family for generations—the kind of life that came crashing in around you when you least expected it, leaving you broken and depressed, as I was at the time. It was a prayer about faith and a prayer for faith. I was a beggar at the gate of heaven, pleading for help and for hope.

I have thought of that morning many times in the past almost 20 years. I thought of it the day three years later when at age 16, Shane announced he would be a minister. I thought of it in the fall of 1995 when we left him, very near the Tower of Light, as a freshman Bible major, and then again on the day of his bachelor’s graduation…and his master’s. I remembered the prayer when both Brent and Zach enrolled at ACU in 1998 and 2000 and on the day they graduated with degrees in business and integrated study, respectively. The days of Zach’s study at the Graduate School of Theology have been particularly sweet; I have savored each one.

Of course, I remembered the prayer on Saturday, May 9, 2009, when once again I witnessed God’s unfailing desire to be known, to testify about himself, to hear our cries and respond, to create order from chaos, and to form things that are from that which is not. I didn’t see a flash of blinding light or hear the audible voice of God speaking from a cloud, though I did hear it: “You are my daughter and I am your God; in all of this I am well pleased.”

I am overwhelmed once more with joy, thanksgiving, and awe for my God.

Countdown

2009-05-06T19:56:00.000-07:00

Two weeks from NOW, Lord willing, I will be on my way to Paradise--Surfer's Paradise, Australia. It's one of those trips in which one day vanishes from life and another (on the return) lasts almost two--and still lands you back home a couple hours before you left! Amazing.

We depart on Wednesday, May 20, and arrive Brisbane on Friday, May 22, to begin the 17th Come before Winter Renewal on the May 25th. That renewal will end on Friday, May 29. Then on Saturday, May 30, eight of the 12 team members will go on to Madang, Papau New Guinea, to meet two other team members, and begin the 18th CbW renewal on Monday, June 1.

The notebooks and song books are finished, the name tags are being laminated, the gifts purchased and packed, the tote bags monogramed, and the luggage tags distributed. The two large print notebooks are finished, as well, and most of the costs at both hotels will soon be paid. The pretreat (the training retreat shared by both teams) remains but a fond memory from weeks ago. We are praying and fasting and waiting to witness the Lord's work in almost 80 women who live on the other side of the world.

Preparations have consumed the past two months and will extend forward through these last days before departure. There are still hundreds of details yet to be handled--cards to print--blessing cards, sharing cards, placecards--forms, name labels for materials, and many other more "trivial" supplies. Team members are seeing doctors for shot updates, investigating the best mosquito repellant and malaria meds, and going through our closets, searching for clothing appropriate for the more conservative mores of PNG. We are printing out our itineraries and contact information for loved ones, and some of us are writing cards and notes and making plans for last-minute trips to see the grandchildren. I am.

According to some who know, Surfer's Paradise is a party spot, not unlike Cancun, Mexico. That gives me pause as I prepare a program of spiritual disciplines for the 39 women from Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji who will attend. To be fair, it is winter in Surfer's Paradise (or almost); the beach will not be hopping, but still.... It does sound odd. I am trusting the recommendations of women in ministry "on the ground" on that side of the world. And to be honest, the hotel staff has been a complete dream with which to work. I am looking forward to seeing this world-reknown beach, even if wearing a sweater, and to meeting those who have become my email companions over the past year and a half.

Today, just because I could, and had time, and needed a diversion, I shopped for flippers, snorkel and mask--NOT for Surfer's Paradise, Australia, but for Madang, Papua New Guinea--on the off chance that I might squeeze in one swim in those waters, known by divers around the world as some of the prettiest anywhere (and its always summer on the equator).

Commune-ity

2009-03-02T07:01:00.000-08:00

I am recovering from the stomach flu. I was pathetic, really, or "kawawa," the Filipinos might say. I am told that when they say the word, they also fill it with a type onomatopoeia, saying it slowly in a whiny voice, dragging out each syllable for emphasis, just to make sure everyone fully understands the pathos to subscribe.

Frankly, I was also a bit lonely. It's busy season, that is tax season, so CPA Barry leaves early and returns late. When I am sick, I rarely leave my bedroom. I normally pull my computer up to the bed on my "hospital style" computer table and lean back on pillows to study, or read, or write. This time, I didn't feel like it. For the first 24 hours, I rarely moved. I moaned a little, but no one was here to hear, so the effort proved highly unsatisfying. I finally turned on the TV (which is not like me) and vegetated.

I had agreed to teach a women's retreat beginning on Friday, but Friday was that first day, so I lined up a sub, ever so thankful that God has blessed me with such gifted and kind friends. We had also planned to serve communion Saturday night during a special worship time for Westover's younger set, and I had been looking forward it. But, I didn't feel like it. Another missed opportunity.

Sunday morning, I was better...but so weak that we decided not to risk going to Bible class. Entering the building for worship felt odd; I had rarely spoken in the past 72 hours. I had morphed into a cocoon of introspection. I went directly to the auditorium and sat down. Prayer prompts scrolled across the screens, and my mind turned to reflect on the names, the needs, the stories, and I began to pray. Gradually, my journey out began--out of myself and back to community.

When it came time to commune, we took our places among the other shepherds and their wives. We were to pray with any who might desire before they took the emblems. The congregation began singing, and I watched them come. Tears formed in my eyes. These were God's people, putting marriages back together, celebrating births, returning from weekend trips, newly engaged, and on their first "church date"--ripe with life. They were also unemployed, dealing with sin that seemed unforgiveable and marriages that had fallen apart; they were watching their husbands in deteriorating health, dealing with depression and tired from life. But they were all coming, and together, we sought Him in the midst of our circumstances.

Community does that. It calls out of ourselves and reminds us of who we are--a part of humanity, gifted with life, challenged by life, and in need of Him. No matter what life throws our direction, our presence together testifies to the power of resurrection--his and ours.

Accept the bread~it is His body, both in the plate and in the pew.

Drink the cup~it is His blood, a reminder that I might also sacrifice for you.

Reunion

2009-02-14T11:34:00.000-08:00

I received a blessing yesterday morning as I sat for the second time in a week among family during a memorial/funeral service. The blessing was an analogy, and I liked it. Credit for this picture/analogy goes to longtime friend Mark Howell, pulpit minister at Sugar Grove Church of Christ in Houston. Mark studied accounting with Barry in the 70s, and we shared together our ministry with young people: Mark and Karen worked with the youth at then North Side Church of Christ here in Austin, and Barry and I worked with the youth at Round Rock Church of Christ. We saw each other regularly and have remained loosely connected through the years.
Standing on the beach, a man looked out to sea at just the right moment to catch sight of a tall ship, sitting only a few hundred yards offshore, her bow and stern equally visible as she seemed to rule the horizon of the setting sun. The sight took the man’s breath, so perfect was the canvas before him. Though her sails were at rest, he could see the crew scurrying about the deck, preparing to sail. For the moment, however, all was still. In an instant, he felt the moisture of the cool ocean breeze gust against his face, and at just that moment the sails caught and furled fully open. The stark white sails expanded against the burning sky, and the ship turned and began to drift out to sea.

The man stood silently, watching her dignity as she slipped away, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Seemingly, within moments he saw her reach the distant horizon, white sails like a small wispy cloud at the edge of the earth. Then she disappeared.

“She is gone,” he said.

As the words left his lips, however, he seemed to hear another voice from the other side, and that voice was calling expectantly: “Here she is! Do you see her? She's coming!”

She was not gone; she had merely gone from his sight.

I like this picture. The story reminded me of Phyllis, my kids’ adopted grandmother in San Antonio. When she learned of her lung cancer and received the poor prognosis that she would likely die within the year, she said to me: “I am not sad. As we live our lives, we say goodbye to one we love and then another. Soon we realize there are so many we love on the other side. Death will be a great reunion.”

The Remnant

2009-02-12T06:35:00.000-08:00

On New Year's Day, 2009, I heard a good friend of about my age say that he lived life on purpose by “numbering his years.” As a young man Albert determined, given his family history, etc., that he could likely live until he was 77--Lord willing, of course. As a young man in his twenties the time seemed far distant. By 2009 the day draws nearer, so he announced on New Year’s Day that he would prioritize his activities in 2009 based on the assumption that he had 19 years to live.

I have tried without success to articulate the effect of these words as they seemed to bounce and echo around me. 19 years? nineteen YEARS? NINETEEN years? To a young man or woman, nineteen years may seem long enough. They have yet to pack their eldest off to college at 18, then attempt to hang on as life becomes one rapid succession of graduations and departures, marriages, and births…then graduations, marriages, and births. My children have yet to bury a parent (praise God), but they could any day—or maybe in 19 years.

It was only nineteen years ago in 1990 that our family returned to Austin, TX, after a 14-year absence. I tend to think of this period as recent life. Although my youngest and soon-to-be 27-year-old son was a third grader at the time, it seems like yesterday. Could it be that I have 19 years to live? In truth, life could end much sooner or it could last longer, but Albert's point bears significance. Life on earth will not continue forever, and that fact should impact this day's events.

Albert’s New Years announcement did not stun me because of its import regarding a purposeful approach to life. Like Albert, that idea was not new to me. For the most part, I have lived a life of purpose since a very young age. Within the last ten years I have seen (and misplaced) a copy of my "Life Mission," written around age 30--the suggested assignment from some seminar, class or friend--I can't remember. In it I dedicated my life's work to ministry and to doing all I could to help other women do the same. Thus the mission statement for the non-profit I originated and now direct evolved out of early life convictions: Come before Winter exists to renew, equip, honor and unite women in ministry around the world.

Albert’s words did not speak to me for the first time regarding the need to discriminate between opportunities. Though I may lack skill in this area, I do purposefully make such decisions. I very resolutely decided not to pursue a career in journalism as I had planned when I earned my degree from the University of Texas--and it had nothing to do with any lack of respect for the profession. I truly appreciate the men and women who do their best to report life as they find it in this world. I believe with Thomas Jefferson that given the choice between a country without a free press and a free press without a free country, I would choose the latter. However, I valued the pursuit of my mission, and that pursuit required laying aside early goals.

Albert’s plan did not tutor me regarding the need to move forward or to mentor others who might one day carry the baton through the next leg of the race. I take mentoring seriously; I have had many excellent mentors and attempt to mentor protégés along the way. After all, I can see my face in the mirror; I know that I am aging, that I am a grandmother, that my husband has lost his hair (sorry, honey), and that life should transition once more. Just last year, I dedicated 2008 to positioning Come before Winter so that the ministry might endure through a leadership transfer.

No, Albert’s words did not begin to skip and bounce around the room because they represented ideas I had never considered. What captured my consciousness on the day of Albert’s announcement was the time. A specific, calculable number of years that I could easily imagine--even remember. The concrete brevity of life caught me off guard. Only nineteen years. The specificity touched off alarms as if reality had only at that moment come into focus. How long had it been since I had examined the remaining fabric to determine how it might best be used—to adorn or repair, to accent or reconstruct, to craft or to give away? If I died tomorrow, I would have already received a beautiful garment called life—one commissioned, purchased, and well worn. But what should become of the remnant? Beautiful and useful fabric should not lay disregarded, unapprised, and undervalued. I must be purposeful about that piece, as well. Thus, Albert’s words have spawned all degree of evaluative thought.

Time is precious and time is limited, but life is precious and life is limited. Just last week, we said goodbye to "Dad," my father-in-law and a man of great influence in my family's lives. He left a legacy of love and integrity, of hard work and simple living. Dad was a wise man that will influence generations through the time he invested in us all—great grandchildren included. He knew for years that his time was limited, and I know he thought about it, but he didn't change much. He didn’t decide that he had better hurry or he wouldn’t leave his mark on the world. He didn’t return to school to earn the degree he never started. He didn’t write a “bucket list” and set off to see the world or experience various encounters. He got up every morning and had breakfast with his wife, then he headed out the door for coffee with his friends. He deliberated the cost of hay and laughed about the mess he found when he returned home after the cows got locked in the garage. He worshipped God and he worked hard, feeding the cattle on two ranches; but he also took naps and watched “Judge Judy.” He loved God and the church. He adored his wife and told her so often. He talked to his children, treasured his grandchildren, and got to know his great-grandchildren. He laughed and cried and celebrated his full and happy life.

I don’t know if I have 19 years to live or two weeks or 29 years, and I haven’t decided what to do with the scraps of life, but I remember Dad, and perhaps my plans for those pieces of cloth may not be so grandiose as they might have been at one time. Like Dad, I hope I honor those who love me—my Lord, my husband and family--my friends. In the end, our most enduring legacy will live on through those we know, love and influence. I still have a beautiful swatch of fabric left. Thanks to Albert, I am pondering how best to use it.