"Windows of Hope: Encouragement for Ordinary Women in Extraordinary Times"

 "Windows of Hope: Encouragement for Ordinary Women in Extraordinary Times" was the theme of the ladies retreat in South Dakota last weekend. 

 When I was asked about possible ideas for the retreat, I found out that the craft that was being planned was to decorate old window frames. So I suggested a windows theme, and it was accepted.

The themes for my four workshops were the following:

I. Valuing Mundane Tasks by Kitchen Windows

II. Finding Hope by Broken Windows

III. Being Candles of Encouragement in Dark Windows

IV. (a) Seeing Christ through Dusty Windows

      (b )Seeing Christ through Open Windows

***

This retreat was envisioned by a young couple, Mosheh and Vange Mitchem, who wanted to give the ladies in the church and others a break from their ordinary, hard-working lives.

Here below delicious fixings for homemade fajitas are being set out Friday night. 

Clarissa Lyon decorated the tables. The rustic wood slices were ones left over after a wedding, slices that her father, Ron Arnold, had cut only days before his sudden death. Those were very special. 

Mosheh Mitchem and his boys set up a tent on the edge of the farm where they bedded down for the night, while many of the younger ladies, girls and young babies who had to come along bedded down in various crannies and corners of the barn.  

 Had someone wanted, they could have slept in the tree house!

 The first workshop was the theme

"Valuing Mundane Tasks by Kitchen Windows." 

In between quotes from Quakers and other early sources, I shared about the value God places on the ordinary tasks that we women and girls do about our homes and with our children, comparing the routine and mundane rounds of mothering and homemaking with the routines of a mother hen.

God values our homemaking tasks with equal value to our prayer times and Bible reading and church attendance; for washing dishes, cooking meals, and doing laundry are all part of doing His will. 

Here is a link to another post I wrote several years ago along this same line, which I wish I had remembered before the retreat. 

https://prairielucasfamily.blogspot.com/2017/06/who-wants-to-do-dishes-when-you-can-be.html

Mmmm. Looks so good. This was part of supper Saturday evening, and reminds me of one of the games we played during the first workshop,

where each lady on two competing teams had to write on the dry erase board a dish or kitchen utensil she had scrubbed, along with a unique adjective. No one was allowed to use the same dish or adjective twice. 

I would tweak that game somewhat if we did it again, having only one lady at a time up front, so that all could see the board.  

Prizes went to whoever wrote certain random dishes that I had chosen ahead of time.

Another game we played was "My Favorite Job" in which I had written all sorts of different household chores on tags, one of which was placed on each lady's forehead. 

She was not allowed to see what was on her tag, but could see anyone else's.  

Each lady (including me, for I joined in) had to try to guess what her favorite job was (even if it was not really her favorite) by asking questions that could only be answered with yes or no.

This game worked like "My Secret Identity." First ones to guess correctly received prizes of scrubbies my littlest daughter had knitted. 

Another really good game was Four Corners Window Game. (I tweaked a ladies' retreat Icebreaker game I found online). Each corner had a board with a number written on it, 1, 2, 3 and 4.

Then Crystal would ask window-related questions that had a multiple choice answer, and each lady would have to choose between 1, 2, 3, and 4 and go to that respective corner. 

It was a great way to move around and get to talking to one another.  

You had to move to a corner; no standing in the middle.

I joined the ladies this time while Crystal directed the game.

There were questions like "If you had your choice of curtains for your kitchen windows, would they be 1-yellow, 2-white, 3-blue, or 4-red?" or "Is your most dreaded household chore 1-doing laundry, 2-cleaning bathrooms, 3-washing dishes, or 4-washing windows?" 

That game had ten questions and I thought it went very well, for it kept us all hopping and talking to one another about our choices, or the lack of a choice we would have preferred, which is exactly the purpose of the activity--to get to know one another in a fun way. 

We also had a couple "Have You Ever?" quizzes, one of which was window-related (Have you washed the inside of your vehicle's window in the last year? Have you ever broken a window? Can you see any natural body of water out your window? etc."

And one that was related to yucky chores women end up doing. "Have you ever cleaned up throw-up? Gotten up more than seven times in one night with sick kids? [Someone said, "How about been up ALL NIGHT with them?"] Fixed plumbing? etc.

There were prizes for the most positive responses or for certain random ones I had chosen ahead of time.

 

 I had found 8-packs of these facial tissues (below) at the grocery store on clearance for just 25 cents a pack, and my girls had helped me one day ahead of time to repack them into 3-packs for a little object lesson, and gifts for each of the ladies. Each individual pack had a little title I taped on,

Hope for your past

Hope for your present

Hope for your future

These little packs of tissues, tied up not in pretty ribbons, but in raw-edged quilting strips, (since, after all, life does not always come to us neatly wrapped in pretty ribbons) represent all those times when we are shedding tears at the kitchen sink, crying ourselves to sleep on hot pillows, and grieving over many things–regrets, sins, mistakes, hurts, other people’s issues, lost souls, worries.

T

The above photo isn't the greatest, but Crystal and Hannah were helping me package these. Crystal did such a nice job of tying the wide quilt strips into cute bows.

Friday evening for "Finding Hope by Broken Windows" I shared from these themes:

I. Hope shining for broken hearts
II. Hope stenciling new stories from broken dreams

III.V. Hope sparkling beyond a broken future

IV. Hope softening broken relationships

For point II, I shared a poem I'd written about broken dreams, and also shared about how Jonathan's and my own broken dream of spending our lives on the mission field has been redirected into a different form of missions--something we were both involved in that very weekend.
For the last point, I told a story that happened in Papua New Guinea when we were there.

In between workshops, there were crafts and activities that Joy Albertson had prepared, such as decorating a prayer journal. This below is the one I did. I do really simple things. I am not a crafty person, but I liked how it turned out.

Saturday morning the theme was "Being Candles of Encouragement in Dark Windows." Ladies had been asked to bring along their favorite quotes or clippings written by a lady author, to share with one another. I could tell there was anticipation about this activity, and the participation was good as well. We had a game with those quotes, dividing into two teams, where each team had to guess the authors of the quotes the other team shared. This was the first time I did a game like this, and I would tweak it next time, because it worked fine when the author of the quote was a well-known name such as Elisabeth Eliott, Corrie ten Boom, or Amy Carmichael, but it didn't work very well when the author's name was not well-known! So I had the ladies give the first letter or two of the first name, and we tried to guess that way. Jonathan suggested next time, to collect the clippings ahead of time and write the authors' names on the board and have them choose from those. Why didn't I have my brilliant husband along to help? Many thanks to the ladies for their patience!

Examples of quotes that were read: "...Just do the next thing..." Eliott

"The world is full of suffering; it is also full of the overcoming of it." Helen Keller

"It is okay to cry; but there comes a time when crying becomes self pity. Stop crying now." a lady from that area of SD

The team that guessed the most correct authors won postage stamps to put on their encouragement cards which I had set out in the back. Each lady was allowed to choose one to write in, using one or two of the favorite quotes if they liked, to send to someone who needed encouragement.

While I had that workshop, Crystal had organized a craft downstairs for the younger girls and young ladies--making Mother's Day cards for their mothers. When the little girls heard there was a craft, they came on the run. They had a blast. Here Crystal is holding one of the babies while three of the girls are finishing their crafts.

Saturday afternoon was the last workshop:

IV. (a) Seeing Christ through Dusty Windows 

(Some things that sometimes cloud our view or perspective of Christ)

    

I shared some poems I had written about finding God as a loving
Father instead of someone to fear.

(b )Seeing Christ through Open Windows 

For this one, I focused on how, while the devil wants us to focus on the fears, tragedies, and all kinds of negative things around us, God wants us to focus on Christ and the hope and victory He can give us over everything that comes our way. 

One way to focus on Him is to come to Him as a child, and children think in pictures rather than in written words. 

I shared about God giving both my husband and me a "picture" of Christ after going to Caring for the Heart when we were struggling over some issues in our lives. How God blessed both of us with a very real vision of Who Christ really was in our hurting places, Someone Who cared, Someone Who was a Safe Place.

For this workshop, I had collected various pictures which I discussed a bit and then passed around. 

Christ with a Light for a little girl

Christ holding a child by the hand

Christ's hand holding a little girl's hand

 A kind face looking down at a child

A lighthouse foundation in the midst of a storm

Afterward, if a picture had meant something to someone, they could come up and snap a photo of it.

Some of the ladies did, and two young girls came to me with a picture of Jesus that they had on a phone, one that they liked very much and had saved, because "his face was so kind."

That is exactly what I wanted them to think about--the kind face of our loving Savior. If all I accomplished there at the ladies' retreat was encouraging the ladies and girls to look into the kind face of our Savior, it was worth all the work and the travel and the hours of preparation. It was just a great, great time!

From Pig Stalls to Wedding Venue--Ladies' Retreat at "The Farm"

Last weekend was one of the most delightful ones I've spent in a long time.

I'd been asked about six weeks ago if I would be willing to speak at a ladies' retreat in Tripp, South Dakota, in place of a lady who had to cancel due to physical issues.  

I was willing, and when I asked Jonathan about it, he decided it was the perfect time to also go up with me to South Dakota and work on a remodel project for Society of Indian Missions in Norris while I went on to Tripp. 

This is where the retreat took place--an absolutely charming venue called simply "The Farm."

I don't know anything more charming to me than old farms that have been refurbished, but still have remnants of the old kept intact. 

Like this old plow, milk cans, bedsteads, and watering cans. 

This is the old Jerke Homestead, with the name pronounced Yerk, rather than Jerk. 

Clear back when President Lincoln signed the Homestead Act, the great, great grandfather of the grandfather who gave us ladies a virtual tour of the homestead

 obtained this land. 

It has remained in the family ever since, something the family is very proud of.

Mr. Jerke said his roots are German Russian. His ancestors were peasants in Germany when Napoleon started making peasants serve in the army. Napoleon would put the poorest peasants out front in battles so that they would be the first to take the brunt of the attack and be the ones killed.

So when Katherine the Great of Russia invited the peasants to come to Russia/Ukraine where she would give them land, they moved gladly.

Later these German Russians moved to America, homesteading throughout Iowa, South Dakota, and North Dakota. Now many are known as Amish, Hutterites, and several other names that were unfamiliar to me. 

Only four years ago, this farm was still a real farm run by Amish, complete with pigs and cows in the barn! In fact, there is a plate preserved on one of the beams in the ceiling of the first story of the barn, with the number 256 or something like that, which is the number of one of the pig pens.

Since then, the farm is being refurbished into a retreat center or wedding venue, with this old farmhouse (viewed from the deck of the second story of the barn) turned into an overnight guest house with very simple, meaningful decorations. 

Here Crystal and I are being given a quick tour of the house.

 You can see that under the eaves where a typical house would probably have a closet, this house simply has another little cubby hole with an extra bed in it!

And here Crystal is looking into yet another cubby hole under the eaves, which is another tiny room just big enough for one bed and one chair--the room I was assigned--just off this bigger bedroom. 

 

This man who is overseeing the restoration of the farm is a believer who wants this "Farm" to bring glory to God. 

At night, the cross is lit up. 

 

When guests arrive, they are given a folder with a Scavenger Hunt, if they desire to do it, 

a hunt that directs them to various Scripture plaques around the farm. If you desire, you may pause at each one, looking up the references and reflecting or meditating.

This one faces the old sheep barn and sheep pasture.

 There are about twenty of these Scripture plates all over, and I was able to locate nearly half of them while filling in my Scavenger Hunt paper. This is one of the most meaningful things I did there. 

It was precious. 

Here is the paper with the scavenger hunt items. Later, the farm director told us that one group of girls found all the plates except one! When they went to knock on his door to ask where it was, they discovered that plaque on his door--which was as it was meant to be.

"Ask and it shall be given unto you; seek and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you!"

I was completely intrigued with this idea.  

I enjoyed walking about the farm in between the workshops where I spoke and had activities for the ladies.

When I found out that the farm grandfather had visited Ukraine in recent years to see where his ancestors had lived, near Odessa, I told him I wanted to give him one of my newly published books, Roses in Kiev.  And so I did. He was so touched that he said, "I want to give you a hug!"

And he did, right in front of all the ladies in the dining hall where we were talking!

Here, in fact, is a braided loaf of bread preserved from Ukraine, about 19 years old, in the museum section of the barn, just off the dining hall area.

And here is one of those old fashioned brooms.  

A really old fashioned baby buggy that was found in a shed on the farm. 

Here are ribbons from "Germans from Russia Heritage Society."

An old cream separator in the corner, and maybe a knife sharpener? not sure. 

I was pretty sure that next to this plow which had plowed on this very farm, is a corn sheller. Maybe an old farmer could help me out.  

From pig stalls to a retreat center and wedding venue, this place has been transformed into a place that brings much glory to God!

 

More about the retreat in another post.

New Baby Calf on the Ranch--and Ye Must Be Born Again

 Recently when a happy surprise happened to me--an order coming in from my second cousin Anita Siedel for five of my recently published books--that got my sisters and my parents reminiscing. My sisters were emailing back and forth about which of my dad's cousins it was who asked him long years ago if he had ever been born again. 

"Born again? What was that?"

 Turns out it was Shirley Critchlow who asked that question of my dad. Shirley was the daughter of the youngest of thirteen Critchlow siblings, my great uncle Warren.  Shirley had gone to Asbury College, at that time a more conservative college in Wilmore, KY, where, years later there was a notable revival. But at this time, Shirley was talking to my dad, because she knew he was interested in spiritual things.  But when she asked him, "Have you ever been born again?" my dad had no clue what she was talking about.

My mom, a college graduate who secured a teaching position in Grove City, PA, had just moved into the second story apartment that my dad's mother was renting out. My dad was doing a small remodel of that apartment, and he and Mom began talking.

 Both my dad and my mom grew  up in urban Methodist churches where they were each active in their church.  My dad was even teaching an older youth Sunday school class--without ever knowing what it was to experience the gift of salvation, or knowing what it was to be born again. In my mom's final

year in college in Indiana, PA, her heart began to awaken to spiritual things, and she was searching before she arrived in Grove City.  She and my dad would discuss spiritual things, but neither of them know much of anything of a true Christian life.  My dad would suggest different churches, which my mom would try out, never finding what she was searching for.  But finally, as a last resort, my dad suggested the local Baptist church, within walking distance of their house. Another of my dad's sixty or so cousins, Bernice and her husband, lived in Harrisville and attended this Baptist church in Grove City.
 

My mom attended a morning service, feeling deeply convicted by both the message and more so by the moving special song sung by the pastor and a young lady, both with excellent voices. My mom, who is deeply touched by music, walked home deeply convicted of her sins and knowing she needed to be born again. She made her lunch, eating it alone, realizing all the while, that despite her best efforts at church attendance and doing the right things, all that, after all, was simply not the way to heaven. She was a sinner, as the preacher had shared from the Bible, a sinner who was NOT on her way to heaven, but on her way to hell if she kept on going as she was. "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God."

 

  Never had my mom felt so miserable!  Yet at the same time, as she walked back to church that night, she also felt a great hope. The Baptist preacher had not left her without hope. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (I John 1:9) "And if you will confess with your mouth and believe in your heart that Christ is risen from the dead, you shall be saved." (Romans 10:9)

 

    "I truly believe," my mom relates, about sixty years later, "that if I had been hit by a car and killed as I walked to church that night that I would have gone to heaven because I had already 'repented' in the only way I knew.  But after the evening message, I responded to the altar call and went forward and told the preacher that I had never been born again.  He motioned to one of the ladies, who came up and directed me to a prayer room just off the sanctuary."

There this lady continued to share the good news of the gospel with my mother and then prayed with my mom. This was the beginning of a new life in Christ. My mom had been born again!

"I walked home on clouds!" my mom remembers. 

So, boy oh boy, now it was Dad's turn! My mom had found peace and pardon for her sins, and my dad knew that was what he needed, too. 

Finally, in a little church revival in Harrisville, the Methodist evangelist gave the altar call and Brenton, my dad, was the first one to the altar. My mom was almost 22 when she was saved, and my dad was 26 when he was born again.

 

Having Christian parents or not makes no difference in whether or not each of us must be born again, too.  I was twelve when I began to really seek the Lord for forgiveness of my sins. I was a sinner, too. But one day I was born again, when I surrendered everything that I had and everything that I was to the Lord. 

What joy when there are newborns on the ranch! What greater joy when a sinner is born again into the family of God!

A Different Kind of Ministry--The Prayers Behind a First Responder

When I was expecting our oldest son Sam twenty-three years ago, I gave him to the Lord, every bit as much as Hannah in the Bible gave her Samuel, except that I did not give mine away to a priest. Hannah's was a unique situation that God redeemed. I told God that I could not give my baby away, that I was willing to be the one to raise him and train him for the Lord rather than expecting someone else to raise him.

I was willing for my son to go into the ministry and hoped and prayed that he would.

And he did.

It was just a different kind of ministry. It turned out to be a very real, very practical, and sometimes very grueling ministry. It is a ministry that meets people in some of the worst and most awful times of their lives. 

As a volunteer fireman and EMT, he has been called to everything from rescuing a dog in a crawl space to suicide threats to diabetics who have fallen and can't get up on their own, to fatal wrecks. 

There were five wrecks in less than 24 hours a little over two weeks ago, on a day that our family was away. Two of the wrecks were fatal. Sam was on scene where one driver had died, another was life-flighted, and another passenger refused treatment, waiting for a friend to take him to the hospital. 

Sam was on scene again the very next evening after a car went out of control on the snowy roads, resulting in the death of a child. Sam was one of three who tried to save the child's life, to no avail.

We were in this cabin near Gatlinburg, TN, just after the last service, when we got Sam's call. 

About the time of the accident, we had been in a service where a Spanish Pastor, with his  daughter as translator, exhorted us all not to fear what was going to happen ahead of us. He urged us to know that God has his angels all around us and will deliver us from all evil even if he chooses not to deliver us from death or suffering. The Stetler trio had just sung a beautiful medley of songs about heaven. This medley was all the more touching since the pianist and singer, Paul Stetler, had only recently lost his new bride in a terrible accident. 

"Just think of walking on shore, and finding it heaven!

Of touching a hand--and finding it God's!

Of breathing new air, and finding it celestial!

Of waking up in glory, and finding it Home!"

As they were singing that, I could almost feel the hand of God reaching down! How little did I know that truly it was reaching down--and taking to a Much Better Place a young child on a snowy road in Colorado only a few miles from where we live.

How little did I know that my son was involved in trying to save this child's life--but couldn't.

And how little did I know that only a few hundred feet or yards away from both accidents was another mother of a first responder, another mother who knew me and my son. As soon as she saw the first wreck, she began to pray for the responders, naming our son Sam by name! To think that God let that accident happen right in front of the home of Christian who would immediately begin to pray!

How good God is!

He is our help in time of trouble, a refuge in sorrow, a strength when our heart is broken.

 

              Yes, deep in my heart, I wanted my first boy to go into the ministry. And he did. Now I am part of that group of mothers who pray for their own son or daughter--and those of others, too--as they work in this noble ministry of being first responders in times of trouble.