In Memory of Sis. Anita Brechbill

On Thursday of this week we said goodbye to a godly prayer warrior, 

founder of Rope Holders,

Sis. Anita Brechbill,

who died at age 91 after many years of Christian service, especially, in her later years, the service of prayer.

All of my family who live in Pennsylvania attended the funeral, where Bro. Arlen Kratz officiated, and Bro. Harry Plank gave the message. 

Bro. Will Byler gave some outstanding memoirs, and Bro. James Plank and others spoke in her memory. 

Yesterday afternoon when I was down physically again and not able to do much of anything, I watched the archived service online at

http://www.newcolumbiagmc.com/live-stream/

Of course the children and I eagerly scanned the congregation at the beginning of the service when the camera moved from side to side to show who was there, and we found Elon's, Fain's, Gabriel's and Joella's family as well as my mom and dad in the back. 

My favorite part was when my sister Joella played a simple but beautiful arrangement of "Under His Wings" on the violin (or viola), with her husband Craig accompanying her on the organ.

I listened to the memoirs of those who loved this saintly lady and those who knew her as a woman of constant prayer, as well as someone with a twinkle in her eye.

It was a blessing. 

It was a blessing to have known this lady, to have visited with her only a couple years ago,

and to hear her pray for us as we prepared to fly back to CO after attending the Penn View Mission Convention that year.

But it was also a little bit intimidating to a mom who has been struggling to pray much more than

"Dear God, it's Anna."

How many hours a day did Sis. Brechbill pray for missionaries and all sorts of other people?

And how is a busy wife

and mom of seven children

who home schools

and tries to help her husband in his occasional Mission Helps ministry

supposed to step up to the shoes of such a saint gone on before?

I want so much to help fill her shoes in the place of prayer.

But I reminded myself that there are seasons to life.

Right now I am being poured out for my family.

I have to pray on my feet--and in short, sometimes desperate, spurts.

 I have to keep my own and my children's feet firmly on the ground--

and hopefully our heads out of the clouds.

I have to swallow my aching desire for a Pennsylvania springtime

with trees and woods and streams and flowers and lilacs and daffodils and roses

and replace it with a little walk with my youngest daughter who wants to show me a few spring prairie flowers

and a few cactuses blooming

in a few spots in our weedy pasture.

Being mom of a big family is not exactly conducive to a rich prayer life.

Unless it's the kind of prayer that breathes a deep "Thank You!" when the older children have left for the evening, and the younger ones are finally in bed, and the house is quiet and ready for company, two girls who are coming to stay with Carrie for her birthday.

Ready, that is, except for an apple core on the lampstand...

and crayons on the floor,

and clothes a little boy left slopped on the bathroom floor,

and things like that.

About the time you find a quiet place to pray...
(what is that?)

you remember something you need to do, the phone rings, or you can't find your prayer list.
You feel guilty for working instead of praying,
but then you feel guilty for praying instead of working. 

And of course, the enemy is always there to remind you of all the things you've done wrong so that 

you couldn't possibly get your prayers through even if you tried.

It's a struggle to start.

It's a struggle to get to where you can say a respectful, "Amen."

And everything in between is sort of a jumble.

And it's in the secret place that Satan loves to blow things out of proportion--

until you decide that from now on you are not going to bury your head kneeling at your recliner,

but go to a sunny window and lift your eyes to the blue sky--

or go to your little nook where there is lots and lots of sunshine

and the birds are singing all around

and insects are buzzing

and you can choose to rest in this quiet place with God--

and get His perspective on life.

(That's our cat finding a place to sleep inside a tile saw on the deck.)

And then, every once in a while, like today, 

the children are all outside and suddenly you realize you can pray out loud and no one would be the wiser.

And so you do.

And for a few delicious moments, you pour your heart out to God--

interceding for ones you love.

and it's just God and you.