All Eyes on Iran--While Moms Cook

My husband told me the news as soon as he saw it this morning--the US and Israel together had attacked Iran--but the whole world is in God's Hands. 

 For being the very last day of a blah Februrary, this spectacular news had me hovering over my husband's shoulder a bit, but the morning must go on. The last week and a half has been super yucky, about the worst I've ever had after chemo. I'm just trying to survive, like this pigeon that had nested in a house my husband and son were plumbing Thursday and Friday near Wounded Knee. It flew into a window or door and sat stunned long enough for Danny to pick it up and set it free outside. 

But the nest was left indoors. I wondered if it would build a new one. My heart goes out to helpless creatures--like this pigeon, and all the moms in Iran and Ukraine and Mexico and wherever there is oppression and grief and pain and sadness. 

Especially this week I've been struggling myself with how awful I feel and the long trip to Rapid City for the CT scan, and losing more than one cabinet off the trailer, and having my guys gone overnight on a work project, and just depression in general. 

It feels like there's nothing to look forward to. It's been a super mild winter with almost no snow, meaning little green grass will be showing up anytime soon. Even birds are super scarce--although as soon as I mentioned how I've been missing birds, a junco appeared on the deck rail this morning. 

There's been the daily grind for months--a lot of hard things and hardly any fun. I sat at the table today remembering my sister Dorcas being here in January and wishing it could happen again. 

Because that was actually fun. We couldn't go anywhere or do much outside the house, but we still had fun. We love each other and she played the piano and we played scrabble during one meal when it was just her and me. 

But, Kahmenei or not, chemo or not, moms must keep food on the table--even if I can't eat most of it. I could insist the girls do it, and they actually do a lot, but they've been working or doing a sewing project I can't do, and they do the piles of dishes. 

Puttering around the kitchen making food is one thing I can weakly do. I still love to provide good meals for my family and we shared a lot this week with pastor whose wife was gone all week. We make extra food and find someone to give some to. It's the spice of life!

This week Hannah made two big plum cakes with pureed plums we'd canned after gathering them from our pastor's plum tree this summer. 

Pastor's wife had gotten all she wanted, and we must have canned about 20 quarts which turned out so tart that they are inedible except for making into plum cake. So we make plum cake! 

I have tried to sit in the sun over and over this week, just soaking in the warmth as I make myself sit down and rest. I don't know what the future holds, but I know who needs meals, and that's everyone in the world. And so moms, whether in America or Israel or Iran or Saudi Arabia or Ukraine, get out our pots and skillets and potatoes or corn or beans or fruit or whatever we have--and make food for our family.

And in the middle of the hard, there are still rainbows like this one Hannah saw up at the parking lot of the Dollar General store, and like the rainbow of good news from my CT scan--that there is no evidence of progression of disease. Some disease still there, but regressing, and no further progression.

That is a rainbow in our dreary skies and a reason for which to give thanks and praise God. He must still have a purpose for me being here!

Cramps, Chokes, Cats, and Angels

This morning, after hearing me tell about our day yesterday on the phone, our pastor's wife Mathel told me I should spend my time today resting. She herself, twenty years my senior and also about to start treatment for cancer, has been having a blast back in Illinois for her birthday with her 80-year-old twin sister and other relatives and friends. While I was dragging around the house, Mathel was doing swimming aerobics at a pool with her sister and about 20 other women--celebrating joy before heading into what she knows will be a valley. 

The ducks of these unuusal 80-year-old twins seemed to be lined up in a very nice row, and mine, as the wall-hanging we have above insinuates, had wandered off somewhere in Moses' bulrushes. I was just amazed at these 80-year-olds who have chosen love and joy and companionship and even gentle water aerobics to help them celebrate their birthdays--even in the wake of difficult diagnosis. 

I was thankful for something as simple (or profound) as a good night of rest last night finally, after a late half hour or so doctoring Jonathan's leg again after a very, very long and full and heavy day. 

While I was at the CT scan, Jonathan was picking up orders of mission or business material at Lowes and/or Menards and strapping the stuff onto the big trailer. 

Between wind and bumps, we lost one of the cabinets along the way, and not even the one on top but the one on the bottom! It somehow slipped out and crashed along the interstate.

Jonathan needed my help with holding straps, but as I shiveringly stood there, all I could do was pull a strap through the gizmo and then go back inside the van while he finished. Eight days post chemo, I was just too weak to help.

The night before it had been my job to dress the back of his upper leg where he could neither see nor reach because he'd had what he believed was a spider bite that quickly turned into something serious over a matter of a few days. Cellulitis, the doctor decided, though it wasn't weeping enough to derive a sample. He must take antibiotics and have the lesion washed and plastered with antibiotic ointment prescription twice a day.

That means, chemo and all, I must be the nurse. Which means, I must doctor with gloves and disinfect  umpteen loads of bedding, jeans, and other clothing (two or three loads waiting right now in the laundry room). 

After dressing the awful looking, 25-inch-square lesion Tuesday night, we crawled into bed, only to have Jonathan soon be thrashing around with a terrible leg cramp. I turned on the lamp and reached for a bottle of magnesium lotion which happened to be on the windowsill. He rubbed a bunch on his leg, settling back into bed. I started to drift off to sleep only to wake up suddenly choking. 

I sat up fast in bed, caught my breath, and prayed out loud, "Jesus, if the devil is attacking us, send him packing!"

We went back to bed, and Jesus sent the devil packing. I thoroughly believe the devil is not happy with what God is doing here in White River, and he is afflicting and attacking us, but Jesus is Victor!

Last night was a wonderful service with people from several churches at our Lakota church's turn to host the community Lent service. Our sweet native friend Lila made a huge bowl of frybread and the church ladies served three kinds of soup before the service. Jonathan led the service and gave the message and our girls shared special music.

At home afterward, Jonathan and I finally sat down to eat our own soup--borsch leftover from the meal. I had made it the day before while watching the State of the Union address. 

Exhausted, we headed toward bed only to have to repeat the skin lesion dressing, this time plastering it with activated charcoal to draw out infection, something relatives recommended as having been successful in helping someone they knew. The only trouble being that charcoal is black, and now my sink, sheet, and other things have charcoal on them despite my efforts to wrap the black-plastered leg in gauze. 

And

last night if it wasn't cramps or chokes, it was the cat coming meowing at our bedroom door JUST as I was drifting off to sleep. She belongs in the garage or outdoors at night.

Just one thing after another to keep us exhausted and stressed. 

But we went back to sleep and slept well all night, thank You, Jesus!

God knows how to send His angels, and how to encourage us even with stories--even from a nurse.

Tuesday morning had found Jonathan at an urgent care with a nurse whose accent revealed that she hailed from the country where we used to be missionaries thirty years ago. As she took care of Jonathan and the doctor prescribed antibiotics and gave instructions, the nurse told of a time when she was trying to get through customs to take significant aid such as insulin in to her people. The customs officials were not cooperating with her, hateful of Americans, even though she used to be from her own country and spoke the language flawlessly. 

At that point, a big dude in a tank top from the opposite border suddenly appeared. 

"I'll help you," he said. 

"But you're from the other side!" the lady sputtered in shock.

The tank-topped dude was unfazed. Whatever he did, he did well, and she got inside her country again with tens of thousands of dollars of aid. 

"I wondered if he was an angel," the lady told my husband. 

And somehow, we would like to agree. 

In the Presence of Alcohol--and Jesus

This morning found me at the hospital again, this time for a CT scan. 

"With metastatic cancer," my oncologist told me, "we order a CT every three months." So, like it or not, here I was--after packing lunches and popcorn, leaving early in snow, getting through some slick roads, and waiting on Jonathan in Menards before he dropped me at the hospital. 

I made a mistake as to which entrance, and a volunteer took me meandering quite a ways to my proper place, passing the cafe. I passed another cafe on my way out the other direction, and noticed the good smells. It was hard to carry my coat and my bags full of things to keep myself busy--my journal, stack of newsletters to stick addresses on, laptop, and purse. I didn't know how long I'd have to wait for Jonathan and I like to keep busy. 

For a few moments, in the prep room, there was the usual needle poke into my port and the usual scent of alcohol. The nurse left, and I sat with my head bowed, alcohol breathing up my nose and an unsettled hawthorne berry vitamin capsule sitting partway down my esophagus. 

"Jesus," I breathed, "I come into Your presence."

It's not fun, these trips after trip to the cancer care center and hospital two and a quarter hours away in Rapid City, but to fuss and whine would only make it worse. I've learned to bear the needle pokes and the scent of alcohol and instead focus on being kind to my nurses. They don't have much to look forward to either, every day, coming in to poke people with needles and scrub tube ends with alcohol and try to sound cheerful until their 12-hour shift is over. 

"In acceptance lieth peace," is a quote I've long been impressed with. 

And so there in the hospital room, just like at home or at church, Jesus was there. He was there as I lay on the narrow gurney that slid into the CT tunnel, the hawthorn capsule still sitting in my esophagus ready to pop at any inopportune moment. 

No drama, no goosebumps, no feeling of a hand on mine. 

But just Jesus. 

Now I'm blogging across from a cafe that looks inviting, a group of three ladies sitting at a little table with their drinks they bought. The idea of buying something hot to eat or drink sounded inviting, but I already drank enough coffee for the day and most drinks have way too much sugar. I had packed both breakfasts and lunches today and must satisfy myself with getting out my little glass jar of Juice Plus vanilla powder drink and shaking it up with bottled water offered to me by the kind nurse on the way out. 

Juice Plus and Jesus.

Hospital and cancer and CT scans and Jesus. 

Someday--

it will be heaven, and Jesus!

Cobra Head Cane--Christ Has Crushed the Cobra

 Yesterday it was the once-a-month-turn for our son Danny to share the message at church, especially since Pastor Ambrose had to be gone to the funeral of his last and oldest sibling, age 95. Despite being up most of the night with a big, bad fire in Mission that burned down an entire abandoned apartment complex, Danny spoke well. His topic was that "Christ Has Crushed the Serpent's Head," looking forward to the Resurrection season. 

Bringing along the cobra-headed cane Pastor Ambrose loaned him, Danny shared a recent true story we had read about a young woman in an African nation whom God delivered from her family's worship of a cobra. Over and over in her life, Jesus crushed the old devil, the serpent and took care of her, even when people left cursed food on her doorstep. The young woman ate it with thanks to God, did not die as expected, and her family was fully alive and on their way to church the next day, to the neighbors' surprise. 

Danny also took along one of his own dried rattlesnake skins that he'd filled with rice. Let me tell you, I don't believe anyone fell asleep in church yesterday, not even the hard-working rancher who tends to nod off, nor hard-working Jonathan. 

Danny told about working alone on Scott's ranch last summer and coming upon a rattlesnake. He had to smash the head with a t-post, hoping he would not accidentally miss. 

He hit his target!

Danny explained a little about the curse God placed upon the serpent after it had deceived Eve, and used some details from Answers in Genesis to explain that while evolutionist scientists believe that fossilized snakes with legs are a proof of evolution, creationists believe they are proof of the curse. They believe the "information" or "genome" is there for the short legs snakes used to have before the curse. 

Danny also shared spiritual analogies using the South Dakota blue racer that likes to chase people until they turn around and resist it--just as we are to do when the devil comes after us. 

During the meal afterward, we regaled our table friends with more snake stories, especially our rancher friend who hates snakes and has the greatest squawks and screeches as we tell about gathering nearly a whole 5-gallon bucketful of garter snakes one time from a foundation wall in Colorado, and how a Haitian worker took the biggest ones home to eat!

Don't you know that the best part of telling a story is getting responses like that?

The Mushroom Mystery--God's Ways Are Above Ours

A few days ago, two mystery mushrooms suddenly appeared in a potted plant in our mudroom window. We could not find a picture anything like it in our Rocky Mountain Mushroom book, probably because it was not growing in Colorado but in a plant pot in South Dakota with probably some sort of peat moss from Canada!

Dripping with some sort of gel-like liquid, it seemed to have popped up overnight--a mystery. 

 

There are other mysteries--some delightful, some confounding, some tragic. Today there was a mixture. 

This morning we heard of another passing--Myrtle Adams, wife of late Leroy Adams, long time missionaries to Eritrea, Ethiopia, Ukraine, and other countries. For a short time, we were fellow missionaries in Ukraine. She was mom to six and had just been diagnosed with leukemia. We heard the news as we watched, as usual, the Sunday morning service at Beavertown God's Missionary Church before attending our own service here. Myrtle had been thrilled to discover that an old friend, Doug Hoffman, ended up being the EMT when she had to be taken to the hospital, and Beavertown's senior pastor's wife also accidentally met Myrtle on her way into the hospital--like two angels sent to bless and comfort this dear lady.

And only a short time afterward, on the very same day, the real angels came.

She only had a few days from diagnosis to her heavenly reward. 

I was comforted at the mercy of the Lord, how gently and quickly He took her. She did not have to go through months or years longer of suffering. Once again God is good! As I face my own battle with cancer, I cling to the fact that God is merciful, and I delight to watch His tender mercies to myself and my fellow pilgrims who also are making their way through a fallen world to a heavenly Home without pain or sorrow.

 

Sometimes they are taken quickly or even suddenly with little or no pain or suffering. Sometimes they are taken quickly but with a lot of suffering. Some linger and linger, suffering and suffering. 

And then there is the baby that had just been born to a couple in a family we've been acquainted with for years. Just after birth, its heart stopped, Pastor Plank at Beavertown told his church, and they were grieving this morning. 

In our fallen world, where one baby is healthy and delightful and others die at birth, such things are haunting mysteries. 

One of my mom's favorite verses is found in Deuteronomy 29:29.

"The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law. "

We may not know why God allows one thing or another to happen to us or to people we love or know. But we do know that we have a God that loves us and whom we must reverence and obey.

When our evening church cancelled due to sickness and local fire, Jonathan and I watched the beautiful service that Glen Gault posted of his father-in-law, Dale Stratton, who had gone to heaven about a week ago as well. We had known the Stratton family all our married life, his five children all serving the Lord, along with all the grandchildren as well. It was a powerful testimony, softened with their acknowledgements that their dad was not perfect, but he had always sought to seek first the kingdom of God. 

When he was at a State Fair on a Sunday judging cattle (his family was dairy farming) he realized he was putting judging cows ahead of God. Nothing wrong with dairy farming or becoming a good judger of cows, but his heart was on the cows. 

That night in family worship, Dale came face to face with a decision between cows and Christ.

He chose Christ. 

He chose to seek first God's kingdom, and God gave him so much satisfaction in doing that, besides adding many, many things he just really liked to do such as being a salesman, elk hunting, and other things. 

We may not understand God's ways, but we can understand that we are to obey His commands and His leading in our lives--no matter the cost. 

Someday we shall know as we are known, we shall see Him face to face, and we'll understand it better by and by. 

My Sister Dorcas with my Mom

 This weekend my dear mother, who had taken a serious fall a couple weeks ago and is only now somewhat mended, ended up with lots of company. 

Ben and my sister Dorcas and a couple of their youngest children were able to go spend the weekend with her and the relatives.

They happened to cross paths for just a bit with Rose and Tom and baby who were traveling through from the east on their way home to Colorado after visiting Tom's grands. 

I love the pictures Dorcas sends, such as this one of her and my younger sister Joella accidentally matching! 

Meanwhile, Rose sends photos several times a week of little Ellie. This one was taken a couple weekends ago when business took their little family to Crawford, CO, where they stayed with our Tim, who was very happy for some company! (Sorry for such a long sentence you have to stop and get a breath to finish reading it!) Every time I see this photo above of our granddaughter Ellie, it brings a smile to my heart!

She had found her uncle Tim's lunch box and it was obvious she was having such a good time!

Having more of a good time!

 

This time she's with her uncle Rob on a trip to visit her great grands back east. They were having breakfast for supper with great Granddad making waffles. 

 

She got to meet Mrs. (or Mr.) Duckie. 

Here in South Dakota, Jonathan and Danny finally installed railing on the stairs so that when little Ellie arrives, having learned to crawl and almost walk, it will be safe for her. 

It was such a relief to get that technical job done. I am so thankful for each step taken toward finishing our house. My guys get called to so many things--not just the mission and business, but the church, neighbors, and local ranchers. Danny is right now at a rancher friend building a door to a shed for him, after Jonathan helped Danny install the microwave above the stove in our basement.

I am so grateful for family!

Greet the Day with Song

"No matter what happened yesterday, birds always start a new day with a song."

I read that quote recently and thought it was a good one to mediate on. 

Not every song is set to music. When my hubby and I greet each other each morning with a friendly "Good morning," that is a song. 

When my hubby opens the door to our wood stove in the morning, rakes the coals smooth, and shoves in another log or two to keep us all warm, that is a song.
"I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have my being." Psalm 104  

Down in Arizona where I had cancer treatments for nearly a year, doves cooed to each other every morning. Doves coo up at the church here in White River, at our pastor's home, and across the road at the White River cemetery. 

Their coos are songs. 

On my way to chemo treatment Wednesday, we made one stop at a rest stop for a break. There a flock of sparrows greeted us with their chirping. I rejoiced to hear their friendly song.

It lifted my spirits on my way to the same old cancer clinic where I must endure more needle pokes though the ones that day were minor compared with other days. I never know how bad or good they will be, and sometimes they are not as bad as others. This week when I was feeling extra low, the pokes were easier than usual, and for that I thanked God.

And isn't thanks a song to God?

"When fear whispers about the future, I remember Who holds tomorrow."

And isn't that a song?

January is for Decluttering--oops, February Almost Gone!

January is my month for decluttering. While the days dawn late and darken early, I throw away old papers, file last year's receipts in the shoebox containing three years' worth of personal receipts, go through collections of magazines, and pack away Christmas decor. 

But there are some things I keep--like this chipped, broken-and-glued-back-together mug from my friend Mary, who also happens to be my daughter's mother-in-law. It says, "Good morning, Anna. I'll be handling all your problems today. --God"

(See why I keep it?) 

Problems and clutter, like tumbleweeds, collect along the fences of our lives. Lord, declutter my corners and my closets, my magazine racks and my time,

so that what is left is best, not just the better things of life. 

Not Everything Happening in the World is Bad

As one looks at the wars in our world, the corruption in governments worldwide, the deaths and accidents and disease around us, the poverty and hopelessness, the greed and addictions, the pain and suffering--it is easy to be crushed like dirt beneath a workman's boot or at the least unnerved. 

It is good then to make special note of the ordinary--and extraordinary--good things happening. 

One of those things is people helping out in a Pennsylvania town of Shenandoah where two of my nieces teach at a Mennonite mission school. The unusually cold weather froze some of the city mains, as I understand it, and people had neither drinking water nor water to flush toilets or shower.

People came to the rescue, bringing pond water for people to come scoop up with buckets to flush their toilets, and others came with loads of bottled water for drinking!

What beautiful news to read of helping hands for those who are struggling until city mains are fixed! 

She said a person can read more about these efforts on the Facebook page of Shenandoah, PA. 

I think of our own beloved Ukraine where people are struggling just to survive with so many energy plants hit by the Russians, and where even pastors are being drafted into the army to serve. Yet even three, much good is happening. Churches are growing, humanitarian relief is being sent in, people's hearts are opening to the gospel once again.  

Not everything good is big. Two Sundays ago, Jonathan replaced a broken vehicle mirror for our friend and neighbor. More than once she has needed Hannah to take her to appointments in Pierre, and driving without that side mirror is not safe. He had ordered the mirror online, and it just needed to be clipped into the frame--a little easier said than done, but he got it clipped in that morning. Just a small good deed in a rough world.  

When a handicapped granddaughter of our pastor's wife passed away recently, her sister said that her handicapped sister reminded her of a butterfly. She had been a caterpillar until the fever that crippled her in every way turned her into a cocoon, and now 50 years later, God had given perfect healing as she turned into a "butterfly" in heaven. I thought of my own niece, Amaris, who has been an invalid for years but is making vast improvements. She has been sewing various projects and loves to make them with specific people in mind, especially other sufferers. I suggested she make a butterfly pot holder to send to the handicapped girl's sister, Amanda, who happens to live in Colorado Springs!

Amaris and her mom did just that! The patchwork butterfly potholder is shown above in a picture S

--another small goodness in a world of bad. 

Four days a week, Building Hope Enterprises workmen make small and big differences in the run-down shambles of our world. 

One of our most faithful Lakota workmen.

One of the missionaries willing to do the scooping of trash and construction mess.

BHE workers replaced the worn-out wooden deck and ramp at Martin Lakota Chapel, and what a difference it made!

Today Crystal did some cleaning for the great-grandma of one of her former piano students. That lady not only paid her well but gave her some goodies--a jar of honey from their own beehives, a box of Bible verses, and a goodie bag with more honey and other things! Another splash of goodness in a difficult world. (Although Hannah was a bit bad and photobombed the picture!)

And last but not least, the amaryllis Jonathan bought me in December sent up a second quadruple bloom to cheer our February!