Butterfly in February--and Hope from Ashes

Last Sunday we had a picnic--yes, in February-- after church service up along a creek nearby.

And while we were waiting for the friends we'd invited, we were astonished to see

this butterfly fluttering by.
Yes, in February.

It lit here and there and then fluttered away and we thought it was gone.

But then it came back again, landing on one rock after another,

or on the ground, right by our feet.

It's not very often you see a butterfly in February. 

It was like a promise of hope--

like a rainbow on a rainy day,

a little promise of hope after hearing that morning of my brother losing his home to a fire.

Our friends and we sat eating at the table, discussing the fire situation,

and a fire that our friend had also experienced earlier in life. 

And the sun shone while coats hung in the bushes and I wandered along the creek a bit,

restless with the shocking news and my heart going out to my brother and his wife

and family.

But that butterfly was a token of hope, 

it seemed to me.
And then I read yesterday evening this clip from a guest post of Ann Voskamp's blog:

"We tremble.

God says, “Do not fear.”

We wander.

Grace calls out to us by name.

We wane in the heat of firestorms.

Love shields us from the flames.
[Below is an area near our friends' house that had a grass fire a few weeks ago.]
 

"We struggle in the streams and are swayed by the currents.

God reaches for shaky hands, grips us with comfort, and assures us that we are not alone.

He holds on tight and keeps our heads above the water.

I know this in my heart. I know this is true. I know His presence is real and His rescues are promised, but when the waves keep crashing on the shore one after another, I find myself exhausted from the strain … and I wonder if God might have taken a day off...

But no! I know better.

God doesn’t even take naps. Only my faith does.

"Wake up, sleepy soul. Wake up!

In order to have a faith so strong it can withstand whatever life brings our way—the hurricanes, cancer treatments, eating disorders, hard conversations with hardened hearts, joblessness, broken relationships, doubts that seek to drown us—our hands must raise in surrender to the things He allows. And our eyes must constantly search for His.

While a life purposed for Christ is chock-full of blessings—many of which are completely incredible and comfortable—each surrendered life is also filled with struggles that God uses to help us become mature and complete.
 

The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat this. It says that we are promised challenges and trials.

That when we choose to follow Christ, some things will actually get worse or become more difficult.

That the world is fallen—broken—and it will hate us as it hated Christ.

That we have to take up our crosses and follow Him.

Love as He loves.

Be holy as He is holy.

Forgive as He forgives.

Endure as He endures.
 

If we really want it all—all that God has for us—we must search for the blessings in the blisterings as well as in the bliss.

The good news is that there are always blessings in the blisterings. We just need to look for them.

When our eyes are open to seeing the beauty in our brokenness, blessings flow, even in the bloodiest of blisters.

Because trials are trials with all their pain and ache, but hidden in the dark corner of every challenge is an intimate, intensely personal invitation

 for us to meet face-to-face, heart to heart,

with our Comforter,

our Head Lifter,

our Healer,

our Tear Catcher,

our Provider,

our Counselor,

our Refuge,

our Lord.

If I want all the faith God has for me, I have to want all the depth, all the growth, all the profundity that comes from knowing Jesus.

I need to want maturity and intimacy with Him more than I want comfort. 
 

And when God calls me out into the deep waters of a trial, I want to be a woman who doesn’t run.
 

Yes. I want to grow in faith, and if one way to do that is to go through trials and challenges, then bring them on.

I want it all."

Wow!

I don't know if I could say that. But it was challenging to read that. 

[These are a few pictures taken at a friend's place where Rose and Timmy did chores for them and where I was so thankful to enjoy trees!]

An Amish family and some other friends and relatives were helping my brother and his wife clean up the fire damage Saturday back there in Pennsylvania.
 Anita was breathless when I called on the phone.
Anything salvageable was being saved and washed up by the ladies and girls
while the men were tearing down the burned walls and getting the place ready
for a skid loader that a neighbor had,
to scrape up the mess and fill the dumpster.
And the day after the fire, Elon's family was out collecting maple sap just like ever.
Elon's, Fain's and Dorcas's families are all collecting sap and boiling down maple syrup this year.
These are pictures Dorcas sent of her children collecting sap in Vermont. 

 There aren't pictures of Elon's doing it, so I'm substituting these!

I was so amazed at Elon's family--all at the same time they were painfully sorting through charcoal to see if anything could be salvaged, they were also continuing to collect sap.

 Life goes on, and you face it glumly--

or bravely.

 You deal with the charcoal of your life's losses.

And then you gather sap to make maple syrup.

Because He has said, "You shall walk through the fire, and shall not be burned."

In the middle of every suffering,

God provides a special mercy or blessing---

like maple syrup!

Dear God, I'm No Double-Yoker Egg-Laying Hen

"Those who compare themselves among themselves are not wise," 

says the good book.

And so it's easy for a pretty ordinary mom to compare herself to other moms who, for example, can get along on five or six hours sleep at night,

 home school ten kids, grind their own flour, grow their own gardens, can 3000 quarts of fruits and vegetables a year, have a music ministry, travel to exotic places, write umpteen books,

and run family businesses--all at the same time

while your're proud if your kids raise a few bunnies to sell,

 and keep struggling along with piano lessons,

train puppies,

and actually start learning to pick up behind themselves.

Others write books that actually get published, 

and you stumble around on a little blog because

you're no double-yoker egg-laying hen!

I cannot do everything that needs to be done anymore than Elijah couldn't.

I can't save all the people who need saved.

I can't answer everyone's questions or get them to ask better ones that I could answer.

Maybe I'm not even a common, ordinary hen anymore--

or yet. 

Maybe your contribution to the morning breakfast is an egg so tiny it gets showed all around to the 

rest of the gang.

"Look how small this egg is!"

But just be patient.

In time, your contribution will add up. 

It might just be a little bit a day, here a little, there a little,

precept upon precept, line upon line. 

Your contribution to breakfast,

or home,

or church,

or school,

or the mission field, 

or the charity or the volunteer work

will add up and count someday.

 Your little bitty egg is still an egg.

Your little bitty contribution is still a contribution. 

And He who multiplied the five loaves and two fishes

loves to be given the little that we have.

He's the One that grows it and multiplies it. 

It's up to Him to make something wonderful out of it. 

"He Who Has Clean Hands"--Must Get Them Dirty First

"Who shall stand in His holy place?

He who has clean hands and a pure heart."

But before we can have clean hands we must be willing to get them dirty.

Somebody has to do the dirty work.

When the church needs painted and remodeled, somebody has to peel the wall paper and take down the coat rack and bulletin board and move the pews and sweep the debris.

It would be more fun to arrange flowers.

Or take naps with your pets.

Or stand outside the church watching snow blow off the Peak.

But someone has to cover things with plastic and tear down old parts behind the platform that need to be remodeled.

Somebody (like Justin Stanton) has to cover the ceiling fans before the paint gets sprayed.

Someone (like Rose and Timmy) has to tape off the window so the trim can be painted.

Someone has to tape plastic and work behind the scenes...

where no one notices or rings bells or blows trumpets.

Someone has to shovel up the sawdust and insulation and old slats and mess and trash that collects in the remodeling,

all those boards with nails sticking out of them

and all the pile of choking dust--

without even a picture getting taken of them.
Would that person be you?

Or would you rather just stand by your window dreaming about the good old days

or the days you hope to have in the future where you don't have to do

humble, menial drudgery like that?

Being a white collar worker is nice.

Having lily white hands is nice.
No dirty finger nails. No callouses. No scrapes and cuts.

But what about the dirty work?

God called in the temple, "Who will go for us? Who will speak to this people?"

And Isaiah bemoaned his unclean lips which God then made clean. 

But sometimes God calls, "Who will stay for us? Who will stay and help

 in your own home 

and in your own church

and in your own difficult place?
Who will get your hands dirty?"

When He thus calls, do we bemoan our lily white hands?

  hands that are too clean to tape protective plastic,

 too persnickety to scrub toilets or empty garbage or move ladders,

to stoop and pick up trash,

 or wrestle with the issues created by a decision to remodel and paint?

 Too clean to work the dough,

or clean the stables or do the chores of a friend,

or clean out the corners of our own basements or garages?
Too selfish to sacrifice our own pleasure for meeting the needs of God's kingdom?
Too classy to put on gloves and take care of the mess that no one else wants to pick up?
Are our hands too clean for God to use?

I admit I don't like dirty work.

But there is dignity in dirty work.
Someone has to do it.

So I have found a solution.

Wear gloves.

Missionaries and Friends Recently

About three weeks ago we had a home school gathering at our place. 

The girls prepared fabric and notions to sew patchwork pot holders.

Amanda had brought their sewing machine, too.

Rosie sewing on hers.

And Amanda on hers.

And Carrie on hers.

The children lining up for snacks.

Carrie and Rose practicing a piano duet.

Daniel Melton from Honduras spoke at our church about 3 or 4 weeks ago.

I've had these pictures uploaded for quite a while and haven't gotten around to posting them.

Jonathan and Daniel Melton.

We enjoyed his talk so much. He had and still has a very unique ministry of training Honduran Christians to be self-governing and self-supporting in their churches, clinic, etc. 

Below is the Russian salad that Irina contributed to the potluck after service.