Christians in an age of blogging

I just spent some time reading the news on the internet. We have always been newspaper addicts and I guess the habit has crossed over into the cyber world. I don`t usually do more than read the main news articles, but today I followed a story from one thing to another and ended up on a New York Times Blog. It started out as a kind of introductory article by a woman named Amy who I suppose is famous, but not in Santa Barbara, Honduras, so I hadn`t ever heard of her before. Apparently she is a believer who is going to be writing on this blog about religion among other things. As far as I could tell it was her first time writing on this particular blog.

In this article, she wrote about hula hoops. I guess the future first lady is a great hula hooper. I never was very good at it, but I remember the great hula hoop competition downtown in Muscatine, Iowa when I was in grade school. The article had no great intellectual purpose--she just wrote it for fun, I suppose. I started reading through the responses, thinking they would be about hula hoops, or slinkies, or jumprope. Not at all. It was, for the most part, one hateful comment after another about Christianity/religion/faith in general. The original article wasn`t even about this lady's faith. Just the fact that she is a person of faith seemed to be enough.

I wondered--is that how Christians sound to unbeliever's ears? I wondered what had happened to these people, somewhere along the road, that their immediate reaction to a believer, even when she talks about hula hoops, is so intensely negative. I don't envy Amy. I suppose she is required to read the responses to what she writes.

Lord, help all of us who are Yours, to speak (or blog) truth to one another and to the world around us, but may the truth we speak be saturated in Your love for those who hear it. We will probably not always be understood, but may our words honor You, and be filled with compassion. While we need to use the intellect you have given us, it is not our arguments that will convince others. Help us, Lord, to point people to Jesus.

Christmas

The preparations for Christmas have always been my favorite part of the holiday. The Day itself is over so quickly. Packages unwrapped, food eaten, games played and the day is gone... But the preparations..that's the thing. Decorating the house while listening to old Andy Williams records (now on DVDs, of course). We even loved the songs whose theology we questioned. Baking cookies and inviting the neighbor's kids to come help decorate them. We have never had much money to spend on fancy presents, so the emphasis was always on creativity in wrapping. Lots of fun. Usually we invite someone to share the day with us who doesn't have family close. Concerts, programs, lights. I love all of it. That is why this Christmas seemed so...strange. Since we will only be at home a couple of days during the Christmas season, I didn`t even get out the decorations, I didn't bake cookies, I didn't even get out the Christmas music. We will be spending Christmas Day with friends, so no special meal to prepare for me.
But at the same time, I have felt like the Lord has encouraged me in what could have been a pretty melancholy Christmas for me. Christmas has found me. He has allowed us to have Hannah with us, even though we've spent more time on the road than at home...we've been together. Even in our travels, we just "happened" to be some place on the day of "the Christmas program" and have enjoyed not one, but three Christmas programs, with one more to come on Christmas Eve. None of the traditional decorations, but Mirza, who was living with us for the school year, made a Christmas decoration in one of her classes and proudly left it on my kitchen table. No home made cookies, but the bank where we change our money gave us metal tin of sugar cookies. Little things, but they have kept my spirits "Christmasy" in spite of not doing the ordinary things that I love so much. So much so, that I decided to listen to Andy Williams. Silver Bells......
Next year, I think I will decorate even if we are home for just one day, and bake cookies, even if I have to do it in October. I will not make Christmas come to me, but I am thankful that it has this year.

Matters of the heart

This morning I read a devotional by Spurgeon. He talked about Lydia, in Acts 16:14, where Scripture says that God "opened her heart". A few days ago I read a meditation on I Samuel 10:26 by John Piper that emphasized God "touching the hearts" of valiant men. The coincidence of reading two different meditations about God's relating to hearts got me curious. How else does God work in hearts?

What I discovered was really interesting: In I Samuel 16:7 God "looks at the heart", Psalms 44:21 says he "knows the secrets of my heart". God "creates a clean heart" in Psalm 51:10. God "pierces" hearts (Acts 2:37), "searches" hearts "Romanos 8:27". Christ "dwells" in my heart (Eph 3:17) and "directs" hearts (II Thessalonians 3:5)

Mostly, it seems God does all those things through His Word. Hebrews 4:12 says "For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And there is no creature hidden from His sights, but all things are open and laid bare to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do."(NAS)

I wonder how often I "harden" my heart to God's searching, piercing presence, and why in the world I do that? I can not hide from Him. He looks at it, knows it, examines it. The God who is there-- dwelling in my heart-- wants to open it to His touch. I find that amazing.

Hope

I have been trying to make good use of this quiet morning to work on some neglected projects. We are on the road again. John is in a meeting and I have some time to read, study or write without even the possibility of a sink of dirty dishes to distract me. But I am distracted. Just before we left the house, I mean like 10 seconds before I went out the door, I grabbed a book off the self to look at on the way. I am one of those blessed people who can read in the car (when I am not sleeping, which I also do a lot in a car).

The book I pulled off the shelf was Beyond Hunger, by Art Beals. I don’t agree with everything he says in the book, but he does make some very good points about the importance of compassion vs pity. He says, for example “Hope springs from a heart of compassion; despair is the product of a heart full of pity.” He quotes A LOT of scripture supporting the idea that we who are followers of Christ are supposed to be interested and involved in acts of compassion.

Add to that an internet link about Christian involvement in working for justice, esp. about the conditions RIGHT NOW in Burma that I received from the Trinity Forum (where Hannah lived and studied last year). (www.ttf.org/index/conversations/detail/human-rights-activisim)

Add to that the emails that we have received from our own mission and other Christian groups explaining how recent economic developments have created serious financial problems for them.

Add to that the fact that Hannah, who I consider a tremendously gifted person, is still without a paying job.

Add to that the people I saw sleeping on the street as we drove through Tegucigalpa on a Sunday afternoon.

I am feeling thoughtful and distracted.

What is supposed to be our Christian response to needs in the world, needs in our own backyard when economic times are not so good? I know that I (the champion worrier in our family) am concerned about how we can manage to not be a burden on our children when we retire. I wish I could buy those cool gifts I see in the stores for my nieces and nephews. I want to go see my first grandchild when he or she is born next year (Yeah, I get to be a Grandma). And then, there are Darfur and Burma, and hurting people in my own community.

I am not depressed, just thoughtful. I want to use wisely the resources God gives me. I don’t want to close my fist to those in need because maybe I don’t have as much extra this year as I had last year. I want to live with a spirit of hope. As I used to say so often to my kids, “No one can help everyone, but everybody can help somebody.”

Bare bones and adornments

I just finished preparing 25 picture frames to take on our next pastor/wives seminar. The seminar isn't until the first week of January, but I won't have time later. It takes me two or three days to get everything ready. Each lady will get a "bare bones" picture frame which they cover with a pretty piece of cloth. Then they can choose lace, ribbon, flowers and doodads to decorate it. We take a picture of the couple on the first day of the event, so they have a nice picture to put in the frame when they are done. It makes me happy to watch them, and they have so much fun adorning their creations. A friend just sent me all kinds of pretty buttons and ribbon and "doodads" and I can hardly wait to watch the ladies go to work. For some of them, it will be the only picture they have with their husbands, so it is very significant.

Most of the couples that we work with in these seminars live with a bare bones budget. A lot of churches can either not afford to pay their pastor much, or think poverty is a sign of spirituality in a pastor. (There might be a touch of sarcasm in the comment, but more truth than you would want to believe.) One pastor told John that he had been saving for years to buy a Bible dictionary, but always ended up spending the money on doctor bills. As I talked with the wives, the subject of finances comes up rather tentatively. They really don't want to talk about it much. I did have a moment of insight, though. What would you do if you want to feel pretty, or dressed up and don't have a lot of money? You do your nails!!! I had never thought about it this way before. A bottle of nail polish doesn't cost much, and with a bit of artistic effort, your fingers and toes blossom with tiny flowers. One gal showed me a whole page of designs that she uses to paint nails. That little bit of adornment is easy to do (for them, I don't think I could manage it), cheap, and beautiful!!!

I've been thinking a lot lately about the bare bones of my faith. What would my faith look like, if everything that is secondary was stripped away. What are the very most important parts of what I believe? Do I live like those are the very most important things in my life? (You notice I am not telling you what I decided. Think about it for yourself.) God has told us to "adorn" our faith, so what is the best way to do that? I looked up the word in my concordance and it was quite interesting the things are associated with the word adornment: the way I speak , seeking justice, being faithful, a friendly peaceful spirit, listening to counsel, a happy heart. I think we can make God's heart happy as he watches us adorn our faith with those things.

In the midst of the storm

Usually when we travel to Nicaragua, the weather is oppressively hot.
Around noon, you can hardly breathe, let alone think. This trip, however, was different.
It rained almost every day. Not a hard downpour, just a steady light drizzly rain that kept it cool enough to appreciate a sweater. In spite of a greater than anticipated teaching load, we didn't feel exhausted before the day was over. I can remember days, particularly in Panama, when a storm would come through in the midst of a meeting and overwhelm whatever was going on with the force of the rain and wind.

Some of the people we were with last week were overwhelmed by a storm, just not the ordinary rainy season sort of storm.

"I'd like to talk. Do you have a minute?"

We seek out a quiet bench at the back of the church and she pours out her story. When their daughter was twelve or thirteen, she caught the attention of a young man in their community who started sending her secret notes. When she was fourteen, he kidnapped her (apparently against her will) and left town. Frantic, they searched for her, only to discover that the fellow was a known theif, murderer and drug dealer. He had lots of money and as a result, the police were either unwilling or unable to help them. There was nothing they could do to get her back.


At some point, he killed someone and fled to Costa Rica. Their daughter (and now granddaughter) came home. The fellow hired someone to watch her, and eventually grabbed her, and took her to Costa Rica.

Time passed.

Their daughter called.

She had been able to escape and was now at the border. What could she do to get home? Even now, they are not sure how, but their daughter, now 17, made it home with a sweet spirit, wanting to make a new start, wanting to serve the Lord with her life. Twice, they have recieved threatening phone calls. He will come for the baby and there is nothing they can do to stop him.

This lovely pastor's wife looks at me.

What do I say? How do I know what to say to this lady? How can I even imagine what she has been through? What she is going through. What she faces when she goes home.

"I thought I was going to die, she says, It hurt so much."

We cry. We pray. We pray for an army of God's angels to encamp around their home. We pray for wisdom and peace and strength. We thank God for the miracle of a daughter restored to them.

Tomasa

Actually, the blog before this one was supposed to be about Tomasa, but I kept getting a bit sidetracked, and then the blog seemed too long. We met Tomasa after church on Sunday night. A fellow came up to me after church and said, "Please come and meet my mother. She lives quite close and I know she would love to meet you."

As it turned out, Tomasa (this gentleman's mother) was one of the founding members of the church in El Coral. She had recently fallen and broken her ankle and couldn't get out of bed. She really did live quite close, just a couple of houses down from the church. Her house was a small, aged, unpainted wooden structure. I felt the wood planks in the floor sag a bit as we entered the front door.There was no furniture to speak of in the front room, just piles of boxes and sacks.

Tomasa's bedroom was crowded with sacks (of corn maybe?) The bed was a wooden shelf with a thin mattress. Her hair was a just a bit mussed from laying in bed, but her smile was radiant. I sat down on a little, low stool next to the bed. It didn't have a complete cushion on the top of it, so I had to kind of balance on the edge of the seat. Someone brought in a plastic chair for John.

After we were introduced, I asked her if she had known any of the missionaries that used to work in that part of Nicaragua. As it turned out, she had been baptised by Malon Collins, a CAM missionary who later was vice president of the mission in Dallas, where we met him. To really appreciate the rest of the story, you need to understand that Malon Collins, who is now in the presence of the Lord, was one of the most gentlemanly, Godly men that I have ever met. He exuded kindness and courtesy. The ultimate Southern gentleman.

Tomasa was the first of about 20 people who were baptized on that particular Sunday, more than 50 years ago. The whole congregation had walked some distance to the river. She was very pregnant. She told us that everyone else stayed after the baptism to celebrate the Lord's supper together, but she wasn't feeling very well, so after she was baptized she told the others that she was going to start back toward town. The story was just a bit confused to me, but apparently at some point, someone offered her a ride on a mule, which was not a good idea, as it turned out.

She rode a short distance, and then decided she really needed to get off than animal. The baby was coming right there on the road. By that time, the group from church, including the missionary, had caught up with Tomasa. The situation was a bit disconcerting, but there was a house not too far down the road. They got a hammock, put Tomasa and baby son in it, and carried her to the house. The son, who was the gentleman who had met us after church to ask us to meet his mother, she named, of course, John the Baptist. The biggest issue in Tomasa's mind, after so many years, was not that the baby was born on the side of the road on the way home from being baptized, but that she missed taking part in that first communion service.

I have heard a lot of stories about baptisms, but never one quite like Tomasa's. I tried to imagine that utterly polite young missionary trying to cope with the fact that his newly baptized church member was having a baby right there on the road in front of him. I could feel his astonishment. Was he completely flummoxed, or did he know just exactly what a gentleman would do in such a situation? Somehow, I guess he handled it beautifully.

El Coral

We arrived in Nueva Guinea, Nicaragua on Sunday afternoon, and that evening we went to church in a little town called El Coral. The name of the town refers to the coral snake. There is even a statue of a coral snake in the town's park. I guess they are famous for having a lot of coral snakes in their area. Not anything I would particularly want to proclaim to the world. But then, I also know of a town called Dirty Water. Caldwell, Idaho, where John grew up, was originally known as Bugtown, for its adundance of bedbugs, but I am getting sidetracked.

We got to church just a few minutes before the service was to begin. The pastor turned out to be a young man that had been in a meeting where John had spoken last year. He also turned out to be the recipient of one of the bicycles that we had had the privilege of providing through the kindness of someone we don't know. (At one point last year, we were handed some money. "This is for bicycles for pastors." We in turn had given the money to the leadership of the churches in that part of Nicaragua. "This is money for bicycles for pastors." Since there were quite a few pastors that could have made really good use of a bicycle, they had put the names of all the potential bicycle-needers in a hat, and this pastor's name was one of those drawn.)He was very proud of how well he has taken care of his bike.

We arrived just a few minutes before church started. It was obvious that this was one of those churches where men sit on one side and women on the other. I glanced at John and then headed into the back row on the ladies side, next to the pastor's wife. John sat in the front row with the pastor.

The service was led by a group of young people. They had obviously put a lot of effort into planning and preparing the music. Everyone sang with a lot of enthusiasm and I enjoyed it immensely (especially since I sat in the back away from the squeaky loudspeaker. I noticed that John was trying to plug one ear.). I didn't recognize all the songs, but a lot of them were the very traditional choruses that I remember singing when we were new to Central America and just learning Spanish. Brought back a lot of memories.

One older lady (probably about my age, but oh well) sang a special number. She sang with much joy. I leaned forward, trying to catch the words (which also reminded me of when we were new in Central America and I was just learning Spanish). Most of the words were lost in a combination of the drum and keyboard accompaniment and the squeaky loudspeaker, but I got the last line. It impressed me so much that I looked around for something to write on. The only thing that I could find was my son Luke's business card that I had tucked into my Bible. There was a little space under I John 1:11-12 which was written on the back of the card, so I wrote the phrase from the song there: "Que nada en el mundo me aparte de ti" (That nothing in the world turn me from you.")

Trip to Nicaragua

We got home yesterday from a ministry trip to Nicaragua. We trust we ministered to the pastors and their wives who attended. I know they ministered to me. In fact, the overall effect may be one of the most transforming in my spiritual walk in a long time. The accumulation of what has been going on in my personal life, blending with what is going on in the lives of these precious ladies, bathed in prayer and time in the Word.

Some people have the blessing of having a small group of Christian friends with whom they consistently spend time, sharing their hearts and love for the Lord, challenging each other, crying with each other, laughing with each other. It is not something that I have had the privilege of enjoying on a regular basis and something some of these ladies never have.

We were supposed to have shared the teaching with Abel and Betty Reyes, a very special Honduran couple. Problems with Betty's papers (very long story) stopped them at the border, so we had to go on alone. Betty was supposed to have done more than half the teaching and teach the ladies one of the crafts we were going to do, so I really wondered how things were going to go without her. As it turned out, the time seemed to fly. I would look up in surprise to see that the men were already out of their class, ready for break time, and we were still going strong.

There are a lot of stories I could tell (and probably will in another blog). On our last day together, I was sharing a lesson on worry. (The same lesson, more or less, that I had shared in my "missing-button-radio appearance" the week before.) I was talking about the reasons that a person might be plagued by a tendency to worry and mentioned that sometimes some kind of trauma or abuse that a person experiences as a child tends to cause her to approach life with fear, to shut down emotionally in self defense. Immediately, I saw several faces blanch in reaction, eyes fill with tears, heads lower as though busily studying their notes. We talked about Philippians 4:6-7, and the peace that results when we take our needs to the Lord. It was a precious moment.

Gonna be gone

We are headed to Nicaragua tomorrow morning and I am not going to even take my computer with me, so I won't be "blogging" for a while. I hope you won't give up on me and will come back in a couple of weeks.
We are going to do a pastor/wives seminar. I have no way of knowing if the ladies who will come can even read (usually there are one or two who can't), so it is a challenge to know how to prepare. This time, Betty Reyes is going to share the teaching with me. She is really a sweet, Godly woman and I am looking forward to spending the time with her. We have a couple of crafts, since women always love that kind of thing. We may study intensely, or we may forget the notes and pray. Whatever it seems like these ladies need.
I am reading the book The Trauma of Transparency, which is about communication. Very good book. Do you ever have the experience of meditating on some idea, coming to a conclusion, and then have it confirmed in someone else's words? Almost like someone heard you thinking that thought and wrote it down? That is what this book has done several times in the last couple of days. One of the things he has talked about is how sometimes we think we have to have it all together in order to help someone else. I know I feel that way sometimes. This quote was like he expressed in words what I had just said to myself the day before: "...Instead of taking a vow of silence, take a vow of saturation. Vow to saturate yourself with the Word of God. Then when you respond with words that others need to hear, they will be words from your mouth, springing from the meditations of your heart, all of which will be acceptable in God's sight. Then later he says: "On occasion, the most appropriate word you could share, the truth they need to hear from you--will be a word of apology. "
So, anyway, I'm gonna be gone for about ten days, but I'm gonna be working on that saturation thing. Hope you are, too.

A button and a shoe

If you know me really well, you know that I am extraordinarily introspective and it is easy for me to let it slip into melancholy. I also tend to be very hard on myself--a habit from childhood. I am a naturally introverted person, but it is not really good for me to spend lots and lots of time alone, as I have recently. My particular besetting sins. Lots of things can set me off, and before I know it I can find myself in a dark hole. Sleep doesn't come, I look at my Bible rather than read it, I stop seeing the wonder of life in Christ.Everyone has one, I suppose, some tendency in the course of facing life's challenges that plagues you with its persistence.

Sometimes God uses my sense of the ridiculous to come to my rescue. The other day I was on the bus, going into town to do a radio program. Add to the absurdity of my imperfect Spanish going out over the airwaves, the subject I was going to speak on was "worry" and at that moment I was experiencing an abundance of it. Not good. So, there I was on the bus, coming into town. I reached down for some reason I can't remember and into my hand popped a button from the worse possible spot on my blouse. I looked at the button in my hand, thought about how now I really had something to worry about and how good it was that it was going to be radio. I started to laugh. Thank you for that loose button, Lord.

Recently, a variety of things have been combining to set me down a slippery path toward a dark hole. I was working on a project I need to have ready in the next couple of days, thinking about my life, how I respond to things, why it always seems to me that I respond to things wrong, how I got this way, all really introspective questions. Mostly, I was thinking about trusting God, and why I was having trouble doing that. Into my head came a sports shoe commercial "Just do it." I kind of giggled. Rescued by a shoe. It came into my head again "Just do it." Trust God--just do it. All of the valid reasons that I gave other people on the radio weren't doing me any good. I needed to take all of those good things, gather them up into my heart, and "just do it." Decide to trust. So, I did.

Visiting San Marcos

The last time we tried to visit the church in San Marcos they had just had an all night prayer meeting and had canceled Sunday School. The funny thing about it was that we tried going to three different churches that particular Sunday and each one had done something unusual (either in time or place). Yesterday, we didn't have any trouble.
San Marcos appears to be a wide spot in the road. It is like a lot of little towns in Honduras in that it seems like it was cut out of rock. Not much soil, so just a few straggly little plants stick up, usually along fence lines. We pulled into town on a road that was mostly holes. I held my breath a couple of times, though John said the road wasn't really that bad. You had to go down kind of steep hill to get to the church. From up above, you could see the structure--the windows were deep-set which meant it was probably adobe, though where they would have found enough mud to make adobes with I have no idea. It turned out to have made with a lot of stone, too which made more sense. I couldn't see anyone in the yard outside the front door, so thought maybe we had chosen the wrong Sunday to come again.

We walked down the hill, around a corner and toward where we saw some people standing.
A couple of faces brightened as they recognized John and several people came forward to lead us into the church. What I had thought was the front door, was the back door, since the congregation had recently built a new auditorium, leaving the old church as a SS classroom. We were greeted at the door, and stepped inside. It was really a beautiful room. Nicely finished, lots of space, pretty tile on the floor. Not many people there yet, I thought, and hardly any children.
Some churches divide men and women into different sides of the aisle (think I wrote about that before) so I didn't want to sit down until someone told me where to sit. A few people were milling around, but no one was seated yet.

Then the pastor approached me to ask if I had come prepared to teach a children's class. I had. This way, he said. I walked toward the door that led to the old building. I stepped inside to discover close to 40 children waiting to start class (there was another classroom with another 40 smaller children next door). Counting the kids that sat in the window and watched, but wouldn't come in, I probably had 50 in my class.

After church, someone brought us a glass of Sprite and a package of soda crackers.

My first impressions were totally wrong. As it turns out, San Marcos may just look like a wide spot in the road, but it has a church with vision and a huge heart.. No one in the service looked like they had much individually. Together, they were pretty impressive.

The 200% person

I have been doing a lot of reading for the materials I am trying to prepare on creating a culture of peace. One book (Ministering Cross-culturally, by Sherwood Lingengelter and Marvin Mayers) has been very helpful in looking at relationships through the filter of culture. The authors quote someone else who called Jesus the 200% person--truly 100% God and yet 100% man. He was able to do that by being born into the "human culture". The book went on to say that whenever, in love, we "put on someone else's shoes" and try to see things from their perspective, we are imitating what Jesus did for us. I thought that was a very helpful insight.

The authors were talking about people who want to minister cross-culturally, but, it certainly applies in any relationship. If we want to learn to live in peace with another person, we need to be willing to look at things from their perspective, even if we don't agree.

That in itself wasn't a new idea for me --the importance of trying to understand how the other person sees a particular situation--but I hadn't thought about it in the sense that doing that is doing something that Jesus did. It cost Jesus so much to do that for me. It doesn't cost me very much to do that for someone else.

Oh to be artistic

I am not artistic. I can draw a pretty good box, and like, Saint-Exupery in The Little Prince, I can do a pretty good elephant under a hat, but that is about it. So, when it comes to illustrations for things that I am trying to write or teach, I have to be dependent on the kindness of people who are artistic to let me use their work. That means that sometimes I have to write to publishers to ask for permission to use a picture or activity.

Right now, I am attempting to write materials on living in peace, to make it my own rather than a translation of the Young Peacemaker. I am not sure why I feel so compelled to do this, but I do. That means I have to find something to replace the wonderful illustrations.

The other day, going through a file, I found a great activity for kids that I had gotten from a magazine and that been sitting there since 1991. I searched through the internet to find the publisher and asked for permission to translate and use it. I got a very nice, short reply from a lady saying they would be happy to allow me to copy it--twenty copies for use in a classroom. TWENTY COPIES?

I wrote the lady again, a long explanation of how I wanted to use the activity, and that I would need more like 500 copies than twenty. She replied that their copyright regulations didn't allow them to let me make that many copies.

Question in reply--Could I purchase them? Answer--the picture is out of print and unavailable for purchase.

Sigh.

Actually, I didn't sigh. It struck me so funny, I had to laugh out loud.

I would love to be artistic, and if I were, I would want people to respect my intellectual property. So, I won't use the lovely little activity that is out of print, and therefore someone's creativity is not going to be appreciated and used by anyone. That's okay. I'm just trying to figure out how to fit an elephant under a hat into my lesson plan.

So, what would you do?

There are supposed to be pictures with this, but they won't load, so you have to imagine. I hope I can maybe get them to load if I do it this evening when less people are on line, so check back later if you can.

You have just spent three or four nights with 50-60 other families crammed in a church building that has one, rather inadequate bathroom. You haven't been able to let your kids outside because the church property is right next to the highway and there isn't a fence. Besides, it's pretty muddy out there. You have one single mattress to share with your whole family, which might include three or four children. You have one change of clothes each, maybe. You probably saved the TV, maybe the stove. Yesterday, the pastor of the church told you that you have to move to a high school because there is a danger that the water will rise again and the church will be flooded. You aren't too happy about it, because you are afraid that it means that the church will stop taking care of you. Not true, but you wonder. So, late in the afternoon, you get on a bus with your kids and a bundle of belongings and find yourself one of four or five families sharing a classroom.

The next morning. You can`t go home yet, if you happen to still have a house to go back to. The sun is shining. There is abundant clean water in the outside faucets. So, what do you do?

You do laundry.

You get cleaned up, not forgetting to play with a friend at any opportunity.

Play checkers--Didn't bring the checkers? Lots of pop bottle caps around.

If you are a member of the church in el Progreso, you:
keep on serving the people from your neighborhood, even though you don't have a house to go home to either.
Get all the kids together to play games.
Have a baby. Have a baby? Well, not one of the ladies who had been at the church, but one lady came in from La Chumbas, a little village tucked in the banana plantation, and gave birth at the school.
On Saturday, John and I spend the day with the church in El Progreso, hoping to encourage and help the helpers. As usual, we came away feeling very blessed.

And the rain came down

It rained all night last night, and all night the night before that. It hasn't affected us all that much, but a lot of places have been devastated by floods and landslides. I saw a picture in the paper the other day that showed how the ground under a roadway had been completely eaten away by the water. From above, I don't suppose you could even tell, until you tried to drive on it. There are a couple of spots like that on the road between here and Siguatepeque. They are well marked, fortunately. In a place we visited not too long ago, the whole side of a mountain has come down, forming a dam of mud and rock, forming, in turn, a lake. If this natural dam suddenly breaks, the water from this new lake could wipe out a town down river. People are comparing the damage in some areas to the damage done by Mitch, the hurricane that devastated Honduras ten years ago. Every day the paper has shown pictures of neighbors helping neighbors, of people reaching out to save somebody else's stuff.

I've been thinking how troubles in general are like this rainy season. A bit of trouble or difficulty, like a night of rain, is something we expect and accept as part of life. When troubles keep coming, like night after night of rain, we really can't handle it without a little help from friends. The difference is that when it comes to a flooded house or a mudslide, the need for help is pretty obvious. People with a flood of troubles sometimes look pretty much like they always do-- kind of like the road surface that looks fine from above, but eaten away underneath. It is a lot easier to hide a mudslide in your heart than a mudslide on a mountain.

We don't always sense the importance of an encouraging word or act of kindness. It is easy to let moments of opportunity pass to build someone up. We shouldn't. We just never know when someone needs a little help from a friend.

I think that was me.

Last week I wrote about the kids in the Saturday afternoon class I am teaching. My sister, Becky, commented "Kids are the same the world over. I heard a story about a SS teacher who asked her class, "Kids, what is small, brown, furry, with a fuzzy tail, that runs around in your back yard." One child said, "It sounds like a squirrel, but I'll say 'Jesus.' " Oh my, yes.
I went back to the kid's class last Saturday with what I thought was an absolutely cool object lesson. It involved a raw egg and a hammer. The egg arrived safely to the class, but somehow got broken before my turn came to teach (a real mess in the basket), so I had to borrow another one. I did the object lesson, gave the application and then asked, "Did you understand?" Expecting these wonderful responses, I got, "No." sigh. Cool isn't always the same as communicating, I guess.
Anyway, during the game time, I was watching a particular boy. He was obviously in a bad mood, but I appreciated the way he kept participating and didn't take his unhappiness out on anyone else. I wanted to congratulate him, but didn't want to single him out, because it was a bad mood I was recognizing and I thought it might embarress him (maybe it wouldn't have, I don't know). So, I explained that I had noticed that someone on one of the teams that didn't win many games that day had really had a good attitude. This person had kept on trying and and participating, even though this person was frustrated. I didn`t want to say the name of the person, but I thought that person would know who he or she was. Not the best way to give a complement maybe, but it was what occurred to me. The boy I had been watching didn't react, but I heard two or three other voices whispering to someone close to them: "I think that was me."

The emergency room

Mirza has lived with us for several months to facilitate her going to high school. She lives too far to commute. One day this week we got a call saying she had gotten sick at school, and was in the emergency room of the hospital. The doctor said it was from the heat, which didn't make sense, since it was cool and rainy, but he had ordered an intravenous something or other and we had to wait until she had finished that treatment before we could take her home. So, we spent an hour or so waiting in the waiting room just outside of emergency.

The room had three wooden benches against the walls. One of the benches was mostly taken up by a very elderly gentlemen who was also getting an intravenous something or other, but since there was no bed available in the emergency room, he was lying on a bench in the waiting room. He didn't move or make a sound the whole time he was there. When a space became available, his sons picked him up and carried him in, ignoring the wheelchair that was sitting right beside them.

The bench across from the elderly gentleman seemed to be occupied by members of one family. There were four adults and an active little girl about two. The little girl kept trying to peel the black plastic that was already coming off of the glass door. They just sat there for a long time. On the same bench was a woman who was complaining of a very sore throat. She kept getting up and pacing and sitting down again. The lady and the family finally left. I didn't see any of them talk to a doctor or nurse.

We sat down on one end of the third bench. At the other end was a very pregnant young woman with a small diaper bag on one side of her and a nervous looking young man on the other. I didn't see them talk to a doctor either. Between John and I and the nervous young man and his wife, a large suggestion box stuck out from the wall. I kept hitting my head on it.

My guess is that it was a relatively quiet night in the emergency room. No sirens, no frantic people, no rushing around. At one point, a young boy about seven years old came in, carried on the shoulders of his father (I suppose). His foot was wrapped in what used to be a white cloth, which was soaked in blood. The blood dripped on the floor of the waiting room. No one mopped it up. The boy was extraordinarily calm, I thought. I think riding on his father's shoulders was a bigger deal than having cut his foot. Mirza said later that it turned out to be less than it looked like. It was just a piece of glass.

Mirza also said later that the doctor on duty had had quite a conversation with one of the patients. The doctor had said, "We can't help you here. You need to go to the hospital in San Pedro."
"I won't go," the woman answered.
.....(continued conversation).....
"Who do you think is in charge here," the doctor demanded, rather irritated.
"I am," the woman responded.
"No," the doctor continued "...I am the doctor, I am in charge."

I don't know which of the two was correct. I was just glad it wasn`t me.

The Blue Team

A few weeks ago, I was asked to give a lesson to kids on Saturday afternoons. I hesitated. I didn't quite understand why there wasn`t someone from the congregation who could do this. For a variety of reasons, I decided to say yes, at least for the next month or so while our schedule doesn't have us traveling weekends.

I decided I wanted to do two things. I wanted to encourage the kids to really think about Spiritual issues and not just parrot answers to me. (kids seem to think the words God, Jesus or the Bible will answer any possible question a teacher asks) and I wanted to find something positive to say every week. Most of the kids tend to play the way they play in the streets--a good deal of pushing, shoving and complaining. This week I congratulated the girl who smiled when she ran.

Last week, I complimented the Blue Team. There are four teams, Red, Yellow, Blue and Green. The Blue team happened to have the very smallest child of all, which meant that they didn't win many of the relay races. This "smallest child" didn't like to lose and would cross his arms and scowl when he came in last. Then, I noticed that the team members started congratulating "the smallest child" everytime he participated, whether they won or lost. High fives, hugs, hoorays...he started smiling, and the whole team seemed to be having a much better time than the other teams. I don't how it happened (except that I saw the leader do it first), it is certainly not the way that I usually see teams of children play together, but it was very beautiful...hooray for the Blue team.

Being distracted

I am taking a break from house cleaning. One room to go (this one) and piles of things to put away. I am not a great housekeeper (I tend to be easily distracted... like now), but I do find that taking the time to give the house a good cleaning also tends to clear my mind to take on the next project. This week I am hoping to make a lot of progress on several projects, so cleaning the house today was a good way to start. I am close to done, so I need to get un-distracted and back to work.

Just to make your having made the effort to look at my blog today worth the effort...

A couple of people asked me to include an update on the kids in the blog, so this seems like a good moment to do it...before I get back to cleaning the house, which I will do....
Luke and Tabitha and still in Ohio. Tabitha should be finished with her seminary studies this December. Luke has changed his major to counseling, which is as close as he could get to studying discipleship. He seems a lot happier going this route. It will take him a while to finish, since he can only go part time, but that's okay. Life is like that. He'll get there.

Nathan is still with the Navy. He has to travel a lot with his job, but he seems to enjoy it.

Hannah is in El Salvador for three months, working as kind of a consultant to an NGO. It is not a paying job, but she seems to be thoroughly enjoying it.

Andrew is studying at BSU in Idaho. Just got a job to help pay expenses, so that is good.

That is just about as brief an update as a person can give, but if you want to know more, let me know.

Back to work. .

Just as I am

I have been feeling quite nostalgic in the last couple of weeks. It all started with some meetings we had with the other CAM missionaries in Honduras and some of the folks from the main office in Dallas. The outcome of the meetings is still a work in progress, but times are changing and missions changes, too.

Among other things, John and I were given a plaque to commemorate our 30 years with the mission. That is what actually got me feeling nostalgic (that, and Wally--see the previous blog). 30 years. I would have thought I would be farther along on the journey by now, in terms of being more Christ-like, more of everything that makes one Christ-like. I still have questions I can't answer, sins that still plague me, things I know I should do that I have trouble being consistent in doing. I guess I am still a work in progress, too. Part of the problem with wanting to be Christ-like is what Christ is like.

The sermon on the mount, for example...incredibly awesome.

The more I understand what He is really like, the more I long to be like that, and the more I realize how far short I come.

Way back, more like 40-50 years than 30, we used to sing "Just as I am" in church... a lot. When I think about walking along the path of life in Christ, as Eugene Peterson puts it, "a long obedience in the same direction," it still expresses very beautifully how I feel...

1. Just as I am, without one plea,
 but that thy blood was shed for me,
 and that thou bidst me come to thee,
 O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

2. Just as I am, and waiting not
 to rid my soul of one dark blot,
 to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
 O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

3. Just as I am, though tossed about
 with many a conflict, many a doubt,
 fightings and fears within, without,
 O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

4. Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;
 sight, riches, healing of the mind,
 yea, all I need in thee to find,
 O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

5. Just as I am, thou wilt receive,
 wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
 because thy promise I believe,
 O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

6. Just as I am, thy love unknown
 hath broken every barrier down;
 now, to be thine, yea thine alone,
 O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Saying goodbye to some friends (sort of)

I don't know if the closing of Yankee Stadium was on your radar screen the other day, but it caught our attention when we saw it in the newspaper because Mariano Rivera, the Panamanian pitcher for the Yankees, pitched the last out in the last game ever to be played there. Mariano Rivera is part of our family story. We don't know him personally, of course, though Hannah has his autograph that a friend got for her. Our family enjoyed watching the rising fame of Mariano-- a nice guy, an active believer with a rags to riches story. When the Yankees played, or, rather, when there was a chance that Mariano would play, we watched the World Series with all the fervor of real fans (even though the World Series was about all the baseball we ever watched). Mariano is still around, obviously, though Honduran papers rarely give news about anything except soccer, so it was fun to see his name in the paper the other day. Saying goodbye to Yankee Stadium is like saying goodbye to a friend (sort of). I thought it was worth mentioning.

We get the alumni magazine from Western Baptist (now Corban College) where John went to school. The issue we received recently had the pictures of four alumni that had been honored for something or other. (I think it was for living 50 years past the time they graduated.) One of the four, Paul Everett, passed away two weeks after he received his gold medal. As I read the obituary, the line "Pastor Paul and Wally" jumped out at me. Pastor Paul and Wally! Our pastor Paul and Wally? Wally was the vent figure used by Pastor Paul, the ventriloguist, on a much beloved cassette tape that my kids grew up with. We never knew Pastor Paul or Wally personally, though, in a way, "Wally" was practically a member of our family (sort of). He accompanied us on various car trips; provided laughs (at the same jokes) on many a rainy day. I'm glad "Pastor Paul" got a gold medal, though I am sure it is nothing compared to what he has received from the Lord. Saying goodbye to "Pastor Paul and Wally" is like saying goodbye to a friend. I thought it was worth mentioning.

Oops

Today (the last Sunday in September) is the Day of the Bible in Honduras. I don't know if such a day exists in other countries, but it is a recognized holiday here. Sometimes churches go all out and have parades, etc., but some years the celebration is quieter. This year, John was asked to speak at a little country church, and he was happy to do that. We arrived in time to admire the new building they are in the process of finishing and have some supper (beans, cheese, tortillas and eggs for those of you who might be interested in such things). We were asked to bring along some Bibles and hymn books to sell, and had set them out beside the pulpit. We were kind of early, so I was sitting in the front row, reading and being close to the books in case someone had a question. I got up once or twice to greet some people as they came in, but then I got involved in a conversation with the person sitting next to me and the service began. During the first song, I happened to glance behind me and oops, I realized that I was sitting on the wrong side of the church. I was the only woman on the left (or right, depending on how you look at it) side. A lot of country churches in Honduras still segregate the men and women. I have no problem respecting their tradition, no big deal to me, I just never think about it until it is too late to ask which side I'm supposed to sit on. You would think I'd have a 50/50 chance of being right. I could write about what I think of this particular tradition, but really I am more impressed with the fact even though sit on the "wrong" side of the church and who knows what else I do that isn't the way they do things and at the end of the service, they still hug me and bless me and hope I come back real soon.

An ordinary day?

Friday started out as an ordinary day. No classes to teach, no traveling. Catch up on laundry...that kind of thing. I was actually thinking about writing a blog ( Do you write a blog or in a blog?) about how nice it was to have an ordinary day. And then, the electricity started hiccuping. A power surge in one part of house while in another part of the house the lights dimmed. ( We do not live in a very big house, so it was a pretty weird feeling.) The microwave started and stopped half a dozen times, until I unplugged it. In fact, I unplugged everything I could think of to unplug and have been cautious about turning any two things on at once for the last couple of days. We emptied the refrigerator and freezer and put everything in two coolers with ice. I finished the load of laundry I was doing by hand, since the washer quit working completely and the having the refrigerator on make the rest of the house go dim. Not good. Just now I had to turn off the fan so that I could use the internet. So much for an ordinary day. Being a teacher by inclination, I tend to see object lessons in everything, and I guess what I saw in my crazy weekend was that they have been ordinary days. We are fine, our lives barely touched. The food is in coolers, but we have food. Ordinary days have lots of inconvenient things happen. Thank God for ordinary days. Days to give thanks for what we have and for the ways that life reminds us of our blessings.

The Flood

We rent space under a hardware store as an office, library, classroom. Among other things, it is where we have the once a month class for pastors. Today was the first day of classes for the second group of pastors (Wednesday/Thursday). We parked up by the hardware store and I noticed a stream of water flowing beside the car. I mentioned to John that I hoped that water didn't mean anything in particular. It did. We walked down the hill to the entrance to the office, opened the door and discovered water everywhere. Someone in the hardware store had forgotten to turn off a water valve the night before and water had overflowed a storage tank, leaked down the walls, and dripped off the beams into out office below, probably most of the night. We had learned, from a similar event earlier the importance of not having any bookshelves against walls, so most of the books were okay. A lot of things got wet but few things were ruined. If it had happened a week ago, when we had been out of town, things would have been sitting in water all that time, so we are counting our blessings. We are also thinking that this is not a safe place to have a lot of books, and are going to see if we can find any other place to move the office.
Basically, we mopped the floor, wiped off what we could, set things out to dry and went on with class. The men were having a ball learning to use a Vine's Dictionary and Strong's Concordance. Three ladies came this week. We studied the doctrine of Christ in the morning (though somehow we got sidetracked into talking about marriage relationships), baked a cake in the afternoon and decorated it as we had in the first group. This evening we shared the cake and talked as couples about issues affecting marriages in their churches. Tomorrow we will finish up, pray together, and they will leave about 10am to get home. Then John and I will take a better look at what to do about the flood.

My students

The last full week of every month, John meets with two groups of pastors. One group on Monday and Tuesday and the other group on Wednesday and Thursday. They study together, share burdens, laugh (a lot) and encourage one another in ministry. Once every three months, their wives are invited to join them. It is really hard for the ladies to come--kids, work, money- but we try. We are studying through a book, one chapter every three months, pray together, study some other topic (hopefully of interest and/or usefulness). After lunch, it is usually really hot and hard to concentrate. I started doing a craft of some kind, not because I am good at them, because I am not, but because it interests them, is useful and is a good way to use that hard-to-concentrate time slot. This week, only two ladies came for the first session. Instead of a craft, we came to the house, baked a cake and played around with cake decorating. We laughed a lot.This is Emerita. She has four children, the oldest is studying nursing. She has never had the opportunity to learn to read, but her husband studies her lesson with her and she always comes with her assignment done and lots of wisdom that she shares with us. I also have a picture of Rosie and her son Jafet, but my internet connection is a bit iffy and I will maybe try to send you her picture another time. Tomorrow we expect the second group of pastors, we will see if any of the wives come.

5 cents

This afternoon John and I were walking toward the church where we were going to have supper with the students we had been with all day. A little boy ran up to John and asked him for a lempira, which is worth about 5 cents. It is not at all unusual for little boys to come up to us and ask for a lempira, but this little boy didn't seem like he was used to asking strangers for money. We looked up, and on the other side of the street was the little boy's mother, a little sister and baby brother. "I have to take the baby to the hospital," she said, "the bus costs 2 lempiras, and I only have 1. Could you help me?" It isn't all that far to the hospital, but would certainly have seemed like it to me if I had had two little kids and a sick baby to take with me.
Like I said, a lot of little boys ask us for a lempira. I should say demand a lempira. A lot of people tell us they have a mother, sister, brother, etc. in the hospital. We have one little lady, whose breath often has a mysteriously alcoholic scent to it, who has been on her way to or from the hospital every time we have met her for the last year and a half. In fact, we had just talked with her this morning. (In her case, we did give her a cup of coffee and a cookie). It is easy to get sort of hard and indifferent. It is easy to think of all kinds of reasons why it is not a good idea to give people money. Even 5 cents. I didn't even have a pocket to have a lempira hidden away, but John opened his wallet and gave the boy 10 lempiras. The mother showered thanks on us for half a block as we parted ways. Real need? Pretend need? No way to know for sure without following her to the hospital. I do know that it is worth a lot more than 5 cents to keep a compassionate heart.

Honduras is a very pretty country

If you love mountains and clouds, then you would love Honduras. When we leave home, I always feel like we are driving into a postcard.
I did not grow up with mountains, so I also love rolling hills and fields of grain. John loves the desert, and I have to admit that a desert sunset is really beautiful, too.

The bird in the window

I have heard stories about birds flying into windows, but I had never seen anything quite like the two birds I observed recently. I was walking by a newly finished, unoccupied house and saw them sitting side by side on the protective bars in front of a large window. One of the them was pecking angrily at his (or her) reflection in the glass as the other one watched intently. What in the world were they doing? They flew away as I walked by. About an hour later I walked by again and there they were, still at it. One of them banging his beak (that had to hurt) against the glass and the other observing. I think I have spent a lot of emotional energy on things just about that profitable, hurting myself in the process, and have watched others do the same thing.

First try

I remember my first years of living very, very far from family, and how much I would have enjoyed the opportunity to do something like this. Internet wasn't around, we didn´t even have a phone for a several years and mail seemed to take forever. How can I not give this a try? So, here I go, my first try at blogging. I don't even understand all of the options on the configuration and design pages. I just tried to upload a picture, for example, which didn't work. Little by little I hope to improve, this is just my first try.
Nancy