Like the Women Who Watched from Afar

Like the women who watched what was happening with Jesus from afar, we in our household (men included at times) watched many of the services, pre-services, post-services, and in-between services at the Interchurch Holiness Convention where several of my nieces, nephews, friends, and even a sister's family were in attendance or in the various Bible College choirs represented there. 

The fact that my sister Joella's family traveled over to Gatlinburg, TN, convention center to spend time with two of their oldest children who were in the Penn View choir and PR groups may or may not have sparked my interest in watching as much as possible--to say nothing of my niece Krissy Miller, Iva's daughter, being in the God's Bible School choir. And we'd spot a good many other young people that we knew or recognized as well. 

It was fantastic when the camera zoomed in on the violinists of the Penn View orchestra more than once, and we were able to snap this photo of my niece, first violinist Charity Bradford. 

I guess I should have taken notes, because I'd love to share the speakers and musicians I especially enjoyed. 

I think the message of Andrew Stroud Tuesday evening was my favorite, hands down, as far as being a superb, high quality message about holiness, accompanied by some of the most captivating illustrations and stories I've ever heard in my life. 

Another favorite speaker was Lyndel Howard from (originally South Dakota) now Missouri, who had the Thursday morning Bible Study. His humility, tenderness, and gentleness while broaching the subject of the beauty of holiness, touched my heart greatly. I knew he had lived what he talked about, as we know him personally and some of the heartaches he's been through, to say nothing of the years he has spent caring first for a very aged father (who died at age 103) and then for his wife.

Among my favorite singers were the men's group from Papua New Guinea--just beautiful. 

The music was simple, profound, and heartfelt, and truly inspiring.  

Wednesday we watched as I made an extra big batch of bread. I got in on the end of Eric Kuhns' address about reaching out to the lost around us, and asking if the big fancy dramas churches and Bible Colleges put on that cost tens of thousands of dollars and hundreds of man hours have seen many if any conversions as a result? He said he wasn't saying to stop doing any dramas, but to ask where we should be prioritizing our time and money. He named one simple way after another for a person to actually go and reach out to people right around us! 

Little did I know that one of those loaves of bread I made would be going that very evening to a dear native lady who had fled to my friend Lila's home for refuge since the lady's mother had died and her sister was drinking and violent. God gave me the opportunity to share my bread and pray with this precious lady--to put my arm around her, to ask about her mother, and to just love her. Crystal had accompanied me up to Swift Bear Community where she was for the night, for I have been warned not to go there alone after dark. 

Watching service after service at a huge convention center complete with screens and cameras and offerings of over a quarter million dollars for the cost of the convention seemed overwhelming to me. 

I felt more at home baking bread in my own kitchen and then sharing it with a lady needing refuge--and Jesus' love. 

I am not a perfect missionary, but I just pray, oh dear Jesus, as we share our bread with the hungry and needy of soul around us, do what we cannot do, and transform lives around us!

I couldn't travel across the country to attend a convention, but I could go up to the care center yesterday with a wee jar of pansies and purple pericallis from our potted plants to share with Bonnie--who wasn't there. I ended up giving it to her roommate who spends her time asking me for clothing articles and yesterday asking also for a pink bunny! 

No conversions to brag about!

No, I don't feel as effective after a visit like that as the Papua New Guinea men at IHC who, in PNG, are out preaching on the streets and leading to people to Christ on the streets. 

I just say, "I wish!" 

But who knows?

If we would get out on the streets, who knows? 

This lady who died, she was on the street recently, our pastor's wife told me, in a wheel chair, 

drinking. 

I did not get to preach to her and lead her to Christ before she died, but I could reach out to her daughter

with my loaf of bread and my little heartfelt prayer with my arm around her. 

Oh, Jesus, Who took the loaves and fish and fed the multitude, take our small loaves and multiply the love they are given with until it is felt and responded to in the hearts of those around us!

Pelicans in the Sky and Hugs in the Street

 We never know what a Sunday in White River will bring forth, and yesterday was no exception. 

First there were pelicans.

They were flapping luxuriously in the sky over White River, and we couldn't help wondering where they were going. Jonathan and I went looking for them after service at the different ponds and lakes near White River, but we didn't find them. 

Instead, indoors, Jonathan led service, led singing, and preached--all three. And the Sunday School children did not show up--but we ended up finding them accidentally in the afternoon. 

Here is what happened. 

I had prepared a story, flannelgraph figures, craft, and game for the children with the theme of Jesus calling Peter to follow him after Peter and other disciples had gone fishing. I had a fish matching game--and so we had fish but no children for Sunday School. 

That afternoon, I remembered that I've been trying to pray for an extra hour on Sunday--for whatever is laid on my heart that week, but especially for unsaved people in our communities and for our own children's needs and others that are heavy on my heart.  

You try it. See if it is easy. 

It is not, even if you are super spiritual, which I am not. 

I go to my room and I start to pray--out of sheer choice and duty and not because I just love to do this thing. 

But within minutes, obedience is softening my unfeeling heart, and my heart is feeling things that I didn't know I would feel. I am shedding tears and God is working on me even if my prayers aren't doing great things like Elijah's prayers. 

I sit outdoors in the sunshine, praying for a while, and then peeking at my watch, hoping that half an hour has gone by. 

My goodness, how slow time crawls when you are trying to fill up an hour praying!

You try it. See if you peek at your watch or not. Then tell me. 

Of course, I am also thinking to myself that it is not about praying exactly 60 minutes, but giving that hour to God in obedient prayer, because prayer is what it takes to see God work. 

Prayer is what bridges the gap between our helplessness and powerlessness and need--and God--like this bridge Tim built at Ranch Haven the day before. Do I want to see God work and save souls and help people in our community? Am I willing to dedicate time to pray for this?

What about the man yesterday who helped Jonathan and Danny change out the transfer case in Jonathan's "new" truck (which keeps breaking down)? Am I willing to pray for his salvation beyond a trite little one-sentence prayer?

But to be terribly honest, it's hard to just keep praying beyond that one-or-two-sentence prayer. So yesterday, for the second half hour, I got creative--and that ended up purely delightful!!!

A few years ago in Colorado, friends of ours invited us with them and another couple for a prayer drive in rural Yoder area. The friends of our friends had mapped the area and were challenging themselves and others to pray down every road in the country. We spent an hour and a half with them on Colorado streets and roads, and I absolutely LOVED it. As we felt led, one or the other of us would pray out loud for each home we passed, or for the school or businesses we passed. Such a creative and bright way to pray for our communities! 

So this was not my original idea yesterday--it came from that time in Colorado. Jonathan was willing to go with me, and we grabbed water and a key and sallied forth--driving along Little White River Road and then deciding to putter through Swift Bear Community and Lower Swift Bear Community. We asked God to accept our drive as a prayer, and we also prayed out loud for the people at every house we passed--some whom we knew, and others whom we didn't know. 

Down at Lower Swift Bear is where we accidentally ran across the children I missed in Sunday School. As we drove slowly along,  we passed three of those children out near the street in the shade of some trees. Turning around at the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, we came back, stopped, and I got out. The boy was the first to run across the street to surprise me with an excited hug, and then another girl, and I went to give a third girl a hug. I told them we missed them at church today, and they were surprised it was Sunday.

    "I thought it was Saturday," the boy said. I told them what we were doing--driving the streets praying for people. I told them to come to church next Sunday! 

    As I got back into the car to go on with our prayer drive, I sat there in unbelief that in just a few times of having Sunday School with these children, they were running across the street to hug their teacher! I could not have felt more delighted!

    We went on our way, at Jonathan's suggestion, down 1st Street and Investment Avenue where very spiritually needy native acquaintances lived, and another street where we knew a lady had lost her man a couple years ago and so badly needs the Lord. We passed the care center and prayed for residents there--and it reminded me I need to go visit there this week now that I'm feeling better after chemo. We passed the cemetery and I prayed for the next person who would be buried there, that they would get right with God in time. As we passed homes, we prayed for unsaved neighbors, and as we passed the Nazarene Church, we prayed for the ministry and outreach of the church and the pastor.

    Isaiah the prophet instructs God's people to consider the sabbath day a delight, and to use it for His pleasure and not our own. I've always, literally always, struggled over that passage. Until yesterday, I'm not sure I totally understood how delightful it becomes to choose to delight in the Lord instead of in our own pleasure. I am still learning, baby steps, I'm afraid. It does help to get creative if one wants to delight! Praying by our bed is not the only way to pray.

 How about a prayer drive, down different streets and roads, next Sunday, too?

When Plans Not Working Out Becomes Very Old--and Then it Gets Worse

You would think along the highway of life a person would get used to some difficult things that happen over and over, 

and they would not be so difficult anymore. 

This can be true and not true all at the same time, which is a perfect conundrum. 

Yesterday I had decided that I would like a little outing as I was getting a bit of cabin fever with being down with chemo side effects, and I thought I might go along either with Crystal who had an appointment in Pierre or with Jonathan who had to go to Pierre for a load of materials. I hoped we could take a walk at the lake by the capitol building, and I also said I was hankering for Arbys fries which I know doesn't fit in my cancer protocol, but I am allowing myself a few exceptions especially after chemo. 

This was kind of big for me--especially the Arbys fries, but mostly the walk by the lake at the capitol. I'd been hankering for that a long time, too. I wanted to see the artesian fountain that used to be called the Flaming Fountain because of a natural gas pipe there that used to have a flame that was lit for decades without going out.

It ended up that Jonathan and I decided we'd go together and, granted, I'd have to put up with hours of travel and waiting at Menards just for Arbys fries and a little time walking around a lake, but it would be time together, hopefully, and we'd stop somewhere to eat lunch too. (That is the part Jonathan looks forward to most.)

But first. 

Always there is the "but first." First Jonathan had paperwork. Then he had to go out to a ranch ten miles away to replace a propane wall heater. It was supposed to take around 45 minutes. Then we were supposed to head off to Pierre and lunch together.

Well, hours crept by and the hands on the clock moved well past noon. I kept checking my phone unsuccessfully for texts while working on projects of my own and wearing out more and more. Waiting till afternoon to leave on an outing was going to make it difficult to enjoy time away since I become very fatigued by afternoon. Also it meant I had to pull leftovers out of the fridge and eat my lunch all by myself because I needed something to eat so I wouldn't be so weak (or nauseous). 

Besides, at the rate we've been having vehicle breakdowns or flat tires, I was also wondering if we'd even make it to Pierre. Who knows?

And oh!!! Who knew!!!! 

But we did not know.

Blissfully ignorant, and less than blissfully bothered, I went to the mudroom to put on old shoes and take the egg basket to gather eggs I'd missed gathering the day before.

I had really hoped to leave long ago for Pierre before I wore out totally and in time to eat lunch together up there. 

I had hoped that maybe just this once we could have a plan for a date together and it would work out, and I wouldn't have to spend ten or twelve hours traveling and sitting in a vehicle just to have half an hour walk around a lake. 

I knew the chemo was making my emotions more raw than usual.

Finally a text came that Jonathan would soon be on his way home, and finally about 1:15 we were on our way to Pierre, a bowl of heated up left-over enchilada in Jonathan's lap and him explaining that not only had he replaced the rancher's wall heater but had to help Danny with the water filter issues in the well, and then the rancher wanted to talk about more projects for my guys to fix or build for him.

Also out there it's hard to get even a text message through because of poor signal. 

All while I waited, I thought later, like Mrs. Turtle on a rock in the Capitol Lake!! :):)

But now the waiting was over, and though it was hours later than planned, we were on our way--despite all the things outside of our control. 

We first went out of our way to check out an area near Oahe Dam where bald eagles are supposed to nest and roost, but we didn't see a single eagle. Then we headed to Menards and I went to Walmart nearby and checked clothing markdowns and came back and waited longer for Jonathan. Then we had to stop at Runnings for coffee for Jonathan and a Chinese Buffet to check prices for another time and finally, finally, about 5 o'clock we found that Arbys was having a $7.99 deal with a sandwich, small fries, and two other sides plus drink. 

We were both too hungry to wait to get to the Capitol grounds to eat and we thanked God for our food and started into it like hungry pigs. We sat in the van licking our lips and I ate Arbys fries for maybe only the second or third time in years. I just kept saying yum yum. 

I would have liked to have seen more geese and ducks at the lake, but for some reason, none were in sight when we arrived. Just a lone gull swooped around as if waiting for the stopped van to produce people who might throw crumbs. 

When we were done with our wonderfully delicious little meal, we strolled to the fountain which ended up surrounded by caution tape because of construction work, so that was a bit of a disappointment. 

But here was the "Flaming Fountain" that Jonathan told about in a recent message at church titled, "Are You a Fountain or a Drain?"

We also spent time tossing a few crumbs to the few geese and ducks that did finally show up, and for a few minutes, we just enjoyed the unbelievably quiet peace there at our state capitol grounds. Probably one of the most peaceful capitol grounds in the nation, but that is just my opinion. It was a small, very small break from the normal routines of our days. 

Then we started off toward home, long boards piled between Jonathan and me over the tops of the seats of the van, and maybe half a ton of flooring for Monday's job in White River weighing down the back of the van.

The van--which, fifteen miles from Pierre, suddenly began to lose power. Jonathan coaxed it along as we crawled halfway on the highway and halfway on the shoulder. 

Then it started squealing. We had never had a vehicle sound and act quite like this. To make a long story short, after a short time, the van completely gave up the ghost and we were left on the side of the road beside these cows and calves calling State Farm for a tow. 

Thankfully someone was able to come right away from Ft. Pierre, and our van ended up on a flatbed trailer with Jonathan and me in the cab of the big pickup with the driver heading for the nearest mechanic shop in Ft. Pierre. 

Crystal came to fetch us from home, and we unloaded as much as we could from the van into the Honda, including the half ton of flooring.

And we did, finally, make it home about 10:15 in the evening. 

Somehow in the middle of everything, I got my walk by a peaceful lake and a small Arbys fries.

And we counted our blessings that the weather was not too hot or too cold. 

It was just right for sitting in a dead van by the highway by a cattle ranch.

And we still had another vehicle at home to come rescue us.

And even though our plans went to pot all over again,

we knew God was watching over us. 

And already today, much to my amazement, somebody up town handed me an envelope saying it was for the van--and God has already started providing for either the van's repair or related expenses. Depending if the mechanic on Monday thinks the engine is shot, we may junk the van. 

It has 280,000 miles on it, and maybe it is time for it to retire.

But we don't know.

Monday will be an interesting day--even if it doesn't go according to plan!

x

Cancer and Comparison--When the Waves Roll

 It's almost 11:30 at night, and I am up licking spoonfuls of delightfully silky homemade yogurt. This is in contrast to how I felt an hour ago in bed. Perfectly awful and weak, I was feeling grouchy and bothered, comparing my cancer to other people's cancer (or lack of cancer, bless their healthy buttons). It seems quite unfair that this person or that one doesn't have cancer and I do, or that this or that person's cancer responded well to natural or less invasive treatments than mine. They must be more faultless and worthy than I am. Perhaps I'm being punished for being an awful person. 

I had to catch myself. 

This was not good, this momentary comparison, this feeling unhappy and bothered about my lot. I had to catch myself, but I also had to not just condemn myself, because the last thing a person needs who is already feeling awful is to have to feel even worse because of something that came into their mind and made them feel unholy!

I had to turn to the Lord as waves of emotion washed over me, waves that I had to try to stop because if I let them go too far, I'll get a severe headache and my kidneys will scream like our guinea hens (and you should hear our guinea hens!)

 I remembered that even if I felt absolutely, unbearably awful, I had a comfortable bed. Millions of women tonight have no such bed. I am going to sleep beside a supportive and loving husband--and others sleep alone, some full of bitterness and hatred and unforgiveness while I have the joy of forgiving and loving an imperfect but perfect-for-me husband. I hope to sleep after a while, and others can't sleep for the barrage of missiles and warning sirens in their cities. I am prostrated with chemo weakness, but there are those who are in indescribable pain from injuries on front lines or from religious persecution or from other diseases or injuries. 

An hour ago my emotions were unusually every which way, which is especially difficult to manage. My husband probably thinks having them every which way is perfectly normal, but I know better. This post chemo emotional stuff is worse than usual--and I have to bring that under control--not an easy task without the Lord's help.

If the waves must roll, may they bring me seashells of goodness and mercy. If I must compare, let me compare my blessings and my joys. 

And so, the silky white yogurt is long down my gizzard, the clock is ticking nervously close toward midnight, and I need to go get my hot feet back into my cool bed and hope I can sleep--

because no matter how I feel, how my emotions convolute, and how the waves roll, 

God is watching over me, He isn't going to fail me, and there's no comparison to His care!

The Kind Voice of an Interrupted Husband

 Today about three o'clock in the afternoon I called my dear husband about something. I wasn't thinking very well because most likely he was in the middle of something. He usually is, of course, at that time of day working with the crew. 

Yesterday he and the crew worked at pulling and pushing and winching this house back onto the corner of its foundation after a drunk driver ran into it several weeks ago. Jonathan hadn't known how this project would turn out, or what might go wrong, but thankfully it turned out well and the house is settled back where it belongs. I was so relieved when I found out this project went well!

Today the crew is busy scraping the peeling paint and who-knows-what on the two sides of the house now, and Jonathan was out somewhere with Danny when I called. 

Yesterday I did the same thing about 5 o'clock before he told me that he was in an executive meeting. 

Oh, yes! Why hadn't I remembered that?

Jonathan rarely answers my phone calls with impatience, and today was not an exception. 

I stumbled over myself feeling bad for stupidly calling him about something that, after I dialed his number, I realized could easily have waited until this evening. 

Still, he treated me kindly, and I hung up with gentle words sounding in my ears--the kind of words God speaks to moms and wives like me who just want to talk to Him

in the middle of our day. 

Today God's kind voice spoke through a husband who didn't become impatient with a thoughtless wife. 

Resurrection Day Delights!

First there was the rising sun pouring through the stained glass windows of the church up in town where worshipers had gathered for an Easter sunrise service. 

Then the songs of a meadowlark and robin outside our open window as Jonathan and I prayed together for each of our children and their respective churches as well as the churches of our fellow missionaries, and our own. 

A woodpecker drummed as well, along with our crazy guinea hens that out-cackle them all! Which reminds me of a man Mrs. Ambrose told us about at dinner today, who had a speech impediment here in America speaking English. He ended up going as a missionary to India and people wondered how on earth he could possibly be effective there with his speech impediment. To their amazement, God gave him the gift of languages, and while there, he learned to speak fluently in several Indian dialects! What an amazing God we serve and what a miracle! The same God Who created each bird or hen with its own respective voice can give a yielded soul the gift of languages! 

While our goats munched their Easter brunch on the greening hill, Hannah made omelets for our breakfast and Jonathan helped me with washing dishes and mashing potatoes to put in a crockpot.

We had decor to take for the front of the church, creations of Danny, and food for the meal. 

I loved seeing this picture of this edible creation, but mine didn't look this good. 

This Easter season I ended up too busy (or too tired) to come up with anything creative to eat for Easter season, but my sister Dorcas sent me a picture of her little creation!

Sunday School teaching and craft items had to be remembered, church bulletins we printed yesterday,  the hyacinth and tulips (since Jonathan is allergic to Easter lilies) and Danny's wood-burned "He Is Risen" creations for decor, and taking mashed potatoes, veggie platter and bread, etc.  Crystal has been sick so we had to kick in for her, except for music which she practiced with Hannah. 

After unloading all the paraphernalia at church, I noticed our pastor, with it already being past eleven o'clock, about to carry the communion set downstairs in his shaking hand to try to prepare. I got Danny to come help me, and for the first time in his life he poured grape juice into communion cups! I missed out on the communion because I was telling the resurrection story downstairs to three precious children who came with a Lakota grandma. I got so weak at one point, I thought I might have to turn it over to Hannah, but I got through it, and Hannah watched and helped.  It can be so fun--especially when bright-eyed children like the ones today enjoy the story and craft so much. 

"It was a wonderful Resurrection Day!" a visiting church guest exclaimed after the service and meal today. That made all the work worth it.  I had made bread and rolls yesterday, enough to share, and when I was so worn out by afternoon that I wasn't sure I could handle going to call on this grandma, Jonathan offered to drop the bread there. 

And today she came to church! She said that bread was so good! She and the children take plates home piled with leftovers from Sunday lunch. People are all precious, and God starts working one person at a time. 

"I would call my missionary work 'friendship evangelism,'" Ward French texted me last night when I was discussing details about the book I'm writing of his and Naomi's stories. 

"Others give out tracts and I respect them doing that," Ward said, but he focused on building friendships. 

 We could go door to door till we are blue in the face, and not get anyone to come, but if we focus on just one or two families and create friendships one at a time, that is sometimes more effectual.  

Hannah sang a special song this morning, after she and Crystal played "Were You There?" as a piano duet. 

And Resurrection Day is still not over yet. My heart was pounding so hard I couldn't rest well, so I came out to write, and so here you have some of what I wrote on this beautiful Easter day. Maybe tomorrow there will be more!

Horseshoe Boot Rack--Trash to Treasure

 While we were in Colorado, Danny did some welding jobs, including making this horseshoe boot rack for his big sister Rose. 

How this rack did dress up the entrance area in their home where boots and shoes--especially when company came--lay crowded up against the wall! 

Now boots and shoes could be set neatly on a rack and it could look lovely!

We all gathered around to ooh and ahh. 

And to catch Danny being silly!

Rose had made the first part by herself, out of old horseshoes she had saved from when she worked as a farrier, and then Danny used new shoes leftover from her farrier business that gave up when she became a mother. 

What beautiful, useful things can be made from salvaged parts and pieces!