Any Place, Any Time, Any Manner - A Personal Invitation

I have so very much to tell you. I'd better start at the beginning. Last November, I participated in a coat drive with my church at a local apartment complex with a very large refugee community. I watched in astonishment as women and children from all over the world streamed to the World Relief clubhouse inside the complex, forming a line the length of a city block; I'd had no idea all of these people lived in my own city. Most of the women wore head coverings, and few of them spoke English.

Only a couple of women were allowed entry at a time, and they could only take coats for children who were present with them. No matter how ill-fitting a coat might be, or whether a boy had to take a pink coat, the children and their mothers were overwhelmingly grateful. Within an hour or two, we were completely out of coats, and I cried in frustration. Why had I not purchased more coats myself? 

Sometime during my brief shift that day, I felt a strong tug in my heart. I wanted not only to help these women, but to know them, to be a friend to them. Before I left, I spoke with a World Relief volunteer and picked up a brochure with the application information. 

I fully intended to fill it out and start assisting newly arrived families with adapting to their new surroundings, but I could never seem to find the time between working full time, cooking for my special dietary needs, and trying to keep my house somewhat clean. 

Around January, I started a Priscilla Shirer Bible study called Discerning the Voice of God with the women in my family. At the beginning of the study, Priscilla asked us to start praying about a specific situation in our life where we needed to hear God's direction. I decided to pray about whether to volunteer with World Relief. If I couldn't even find time to fill out the application, I wondered, how could I find time to volunteer? Still, I couldn't stop thinking about those beautiful women and their children. So I continued to pray as I did my homework each week.

"Is this the right time for me to volunteer?" I asked. "Or am I too busy? What can I do to make more time in my life? Would you please give me a sign about what you want me to do?"

One Saturday morning in early March, less than a week after I prayed for a sign, I had a burning desire to return a little drain cover to Ace Hardware. That part had been sitting under my kitchen sink for a year, maybe two. I'd run across it when my niece, Savannah, helped me organize the cabinets and pantry. 

When I walked into the hardware, a vaguely familiar woman in the checkout line out waved at me. "I know you!" she said. 

"Yes!" I agreed, as we both searched our memory for the connection. After a few moments, I said, "You were the table leader at some of my Bible studies." 

"Yes, that's right!" she said. "How long has it been since we've seen each other? Maybe 10 years?"

"That's about right," I said. "Man, I miss those Bible study days. We did so many great studies at that church." 

"Yes, the Bible studies were great," she agreed. "But there comes a time when you have to stop just studying the Bible and start doing what it says." 

"Yes!" I agreed, thinking of my discontentment with life as usual over the last several years.

We stood for an obnoxiously long time at the head of the line, catching up. Angie told me she'd recently retired and started a nonprofit organization benefiting Afghan refugees.

"Really??" I asked incredulously. "That's very interesting, because I've been praying about volunteering with refugees." I told her about the coat drive at the apartment complex.

"Oh, I go there all the time," she said. I know lots of families there."

"Wow!" 

We exchanged numbers, and I figured that would be the end of it. But within a few minutes, she had sent me a text:

"So good to see you again! I would love to take you with me to meet some of the families. I'm planning to go on Wednesday from 11-3 if that would possibly work for you."

I shook my head in amazement. Here was a personal invitation to participate in refugee ministry. I'd call that a sign, wouldn't you? 

Over the next few weeks, I visited an Afghan lady with Angie and helped a couple women with online applications. I wanted to do more, but work was very busy, and I couldn't take any time off. 

In frustration, I asked God, "Why would you connect me with a refugee ministry when I don't have any time to volunteer right now?"

The next evening, Angie sent a text asking if I'd like to do a prayer walk at the apartment complex that Thursday... at 6:40 a.m.!

If you know me very well, you know that I utterly despise getting up before dawn. I started to say that it wouldn't work for me, but then I heard a voice in my head asking, Didn't you say you wanted opportunities to participate in refugee ministry? This is outside work hours. What's stopping you from going? 

I confessed to Angie that my flesh didn't want to do it, but I told her I would do my best to be there. 

In the early-morning darkness that Thursday, Angie and walked around the parking lot and prayed with one of her friends from a discipleship class she was taking. His name was Caleb, and I learned that he lived at the complex. He planned to become a missionary in the near future, and he would stay there for nine months to acclimate himself to the culture of his chosen people group. 

"How does the program work?" I asked. "Does the organization have units here?"

"You just rent an apartment," he said. "You can have roommates if you want to." 

As the inky blue sky gradually became suffused with pink, an absolutely crazy desire steadily grew in my heart. After we'd said goodbye to Caleb, I told Angie, "I'd like to live here. I don't have to go overseas to be a missionary. The nations are gathered right here." As I talked, a plan began to take shape. "I could rent out my house. If I lived here, I could get involved with the ministry efforts without having to drive anywhere. I could meet with the women in their homes and invite them into to mine." 

She urged me to pray about it. 

The more I prayed over the next few days, the more excited I felt. As I contemplated the sacrifices I would need to make, though, two things hit me hard: not having a washing machine, and giving up my giant, light-filled kitchen with its wall of windows and many cabinets full of various beloved but seldom-used kitchen gadgets. Could I really be happy cooking in a tiny apartment kitchen? 

On Saturday morning, two days after the prayer walk, I read a passage of scripture for my Bible study homework that cut me to the heart: the familiar story in Matthew 19 about the rich young ruler who most likely decided not to follow Jesus because he was unwilling to part with his wealth. For the first time, I looked beyond what I always thought was the main point: that the man was greedy. No, the most tragic part was that this young man had the opportunity to walk with Jesus in the flesh, and he passed on that! He could have seen Jesus raise Lazarus and open blind eyes and feed the 5,000. Instead, he settled for enjoying his money. 

My eyes filled with tears as I applied the story to my own life. Would I seriously consider missing out on all the amazing plans Jesus had for me just because I wanted to keep my kitchen? My mind went back to a moment in the middle of the night in July, 2019, when I felt the call to evangelism. My response had been to fall to my knees in my prayer closet, saying, "Cualquier lugar, cualquier tiempo, cualquier manera" (any place, any time, any manner). 

Now, as I relaxed in my quiet time chair, I said aloud, "Yes, Lord. Yes, I will do this. If you open the door, I will live in that refugee community." 

TO BE CONTINUED

My First Spanish Sacred Echo

It was hard to get out of bed yesterday after a four-day weekend that I packed entirely too full of cooking and cleaning and driving all over creation. Still, I managed to move quickly enough for a short quiet time before departing for my weekly office day.

Sweet Riggy, My Faithful Quiet-Time Buddy

The entry in my Jesus Listens devotional encouraged me, as always. I especially enjoyed a beloved verse in Isaiah 41, which felt new because I was reading in Spanish. I always read the Bible in Spanish so that I can avoid the complacency that comes with familiarity, and also so that I can practice my pronunciation. 

"Do not be afraid," I read. "Don't be dis... couraged? For I am with you. I am your God. I will... strengthen you. I will sustain you with my right hand." 

Eternal Beauty

Recently I was reflecting on how dry I have felt spiritually, wondering why I don't seem to hear God's voice as much as I did in the past. It must be because because I'm always so busy with day-to-day responsibilities that I don't have much time to be still, let alone think about anything eternal.

This morning, God reminded me that He still speaks. 

After sleeping in until nearly nine, I fed the pets--four of them now; I'll have to tell you about that another day. I poured my sister Amy a bowl of cereal, put in a load of laundry, and walked across the park to meditate on my scripture memory cards. By now it was nearly ten, and it was shockingly hot. I hadn't even made it out of the cul-de-sac before the sun beating on my back nearly made me rethink my decision. The house was a wreck, and there was plenty I could be doing in the air conditioning, but I pressed on. 

When I reached the big circle in the middle of the park, I hesitated in the shade on the path. I looked to my right, where I'd planned to go. That way leads to my favorite part of the park, where the path ends in a little loop overhung with giant trees. I'd had a lovely time studying my scriptures at a picnic table there the week before. Surveying the path, I realized there were zero trees shading the path as far as I could see.

To my left, the other picnic table where I've often meditated on my scriptures was sitting in full sun. That would not be an option. Then I gazed across the soccer field to the playground, half full of energetic children. Next to that was the basketball court, where a few teenagers were shooting baskets. The picnic tables over there were in full shade, but I craved silence. I sighed, poised to return home. 

No! I wanted to study my scriptures, and I wanted to do it surrounded by green trees and grass and blue skies, not dirty laundry. As soon as I set foot on the big circular sidewalk leading to the playground, the sun beat down on me mercilessly. The soccer field was empty at this hour, so I made a sudden left and cut across the grass.

Sweat was just beginning to trickle down my back when I reached the shade next to the playground. I settled onto one of the picnic table benches and pulled out a stack of cards. Immediately, a little red spider crawled onto my hand. I crushed it without a thought, then felt bad. Keeping my eyes on the little business cards where I have copied perhaps 20 precious memory passages that God has given me over the last couple of decades, I tried to imagine that I was alone.

I whispered verse after verse to myself, marveling that I hardly needed to glance at the cards even though I often go months without pulling them out to refresh my memory. The familiar, beloved words filled my mind and heart as the voices of children and teenagers receded out of my consciousness. A cool breeze lifted my hair, and I smiled. "Thank you," I whispered.

One thing that I couldn't block out was the parade of spiders that crawled over my hands, my legs, my phone, and the little black bag where I keep the scripture cards. I carefully knocked each one away. The only other thing that I smashed was a fire ant that bit my calf. 

After about 20 minutes, I'd had all of the spiders I could take, so I stacked my cards and stowed them in the bag, inspecting for wayward critters before I fastened the Velcro. Considering my options for returning home, I decided to walk away from the big circle and over the other bridge, hoping there might be more shade on that path. 

As I crossed the bridge, I noticed two hand-painted plaques leaning against the low concrete wall, each decorated with random embellishments such as angels and rainbows. "Add a painted stone," the first said. The second said, "To see how long I can get." What on earth was that supposed to mean?

Then my eyes moved lower, to a line of painted stones that extended all the way down the wall and partway down the path. There were humble colored rocks in every color, along with elaborately decorated stones with googly eyes and glitter. How wonderful, I thought. I don't know why, but that crooked line of painted stones really moved me. One person, probably a child, had made a sweet gesture and invited others to do the same... and they had answered the call. 

I looked back and forth down the line of stones and took it all into my heart, a smile stretching across my face, the hot sun momentarily forgotten.

As I cut across the Frisbee golf course under the shade of two giant trees, I opened my mouth and let the joy bubble out. "Thank you for putting beauty in the heart of man," I whispered. A Bible verse tickled the back of my mind, just out of reach. Beauty in the heart of man.... Or was it eternity in the heart of man? Maybe it was both, I decided. God set the beauty of eternity in the heart of man, so that we could look up from the darkness around us and the tedium of everyday life and take pleasure in all the little joys around us, so that we could find beauty and make beauty, and we could do it together. 

On the short walk home, I thanked God for the painted rocks, the shade, the breeze, the scriptures, and even for the labor unions who gifted us with weekends. Back at the house, I measured out 12 grams of coffee beans and poured them in my little hand grinder, mixing in some vanilla flavored chicory. I only drink one cup of coffee a week, which is one cup more than my doctor wants me to have. That makes it extra special. I let the coffee steep for four minutes in the French press and then pressed the plunger down.

Turning my back on the dirty dishes, I carried the coffee to my room and plunked down in my favorite easy chair. I read my Jesus Calling devotional, which never gets old even though I'm now on my third year of daily readings. Next, I wrote three pages of increasingly messy cursive in my gratitude journal; I've been making myself write in cursive for the last several weeks because I don't like to think that cursive is a dying art, and also because I've read that it's good for the brain. In any case, I don't like my sloppy writing, but it does get easier the more I do it. 

After all that gratitude, my chores were calling to me, but then I remembered that I'd been unable to complete an entry in my latest Write the Word journal a couple of days before because my pen had run out of ink. My work could wait a few more minutes, I decided. I flipped to the page marked with a ribbon and then wrinkled my forehead in confusion. The date of the entry was May 8, 2021. Oh, this was the wrong journal. It was the first of my three Write the Word journals, a gift from my boss a couple of years ago. 

Since the book was in my hands, I decided to read an old entry. I love looking back on old journal entries, like stepping back in time. I riffled through the pages, wondering where I should read. I finally settled on the second entry, from May 5, 2021. My eyes widened when I read the verse I had copied in neat, crisp print. You can probably guess what verse it was, but I was flabbergasted!

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom the work that God has done from beginning to end.

I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and do good while they live, and also that every man should eat and drink and find satisfaction in all his labor—this is the gift of God. (Ecclesiastes 3:11-13) 

Below the passage, I had written, "How can God make everything beautiful? I know He does it in His time, in its time. It takes time to build beauty, and in time that beauty becomes visible.... I love it that God thinks the best thing we can do is rejoice. He wants us to have joy and do good, and to enjoy doing good. He wants us to eat and drink and enjoy the fruit of our labor. That feeling of 'job well done' is God's gift to us." 

I left that other journal entry unfinished so I could revel in this sacred echo. I'd been right. The passage was about both eternity and beauty. Also, it showed me that God had enjoyed hearing my list of everyday joys just a few minutes before.

I set the journal back in the bin tenderly and set about my weekend chores with a light heart. Oh yes! God still speaks to me. But only when I take the time to listen.

More beauty in my day:

Allyson's Last Homecoming Dance

Best Friends

Precious in Our Sight

On Monday morning, I started my day the way I usually do, with prayers for my children. 

Ethan and His Fiancée, Sumer

Allyson - Dec 2021

In the last minutes between my daily mini trampoline workout and logging on to my laptop, I continued the prayer I'd been saying aloud for Allyson. "Help me love her like You do," I concluded. "I know you love her even more than I do. She is precious in your sight."

Never Forget

Over the last year or so, my physical, mental, and spiritual health has steadily improved. Despite all the challenges with Covid-19 and the resulting isolation, in recent weeks I've recognized hope and joy blossoming in my heart again.

Against this bright backdrop, the shocking events in our capitol last Wednesday seemed even darker. For the first time in months, anxiety squeezed my chest, and a heaviness weighed me down as I struggled to put together something for dinner. A familiar question that had plagued me for months last year resumed its oppression: "What is the point?" 

Now it was not only my life that was falling apart, but apparently my country also. And all I could do was watch it crumble.

These bleak thoughts wrapped my mind and heart in darkness until bedtime, when I finally spent a few minutes in prayer. Following advice from a recent entry in Jesus Calling, the devotional that has been so instrumental in rebuilding my faith, I pondered the power of Jesus and His infinite love and said, "I trust you, Jesus." Quieted, I sank gratefully into sleep.

On Thursday, though, I couldn't resist the pull of news stories and videos that portrayed the horror more vividly. Tears rolled down my cheeks when I saw a "Jesus Saves" flag waving amidst scenes of violence. What made my heart most sick was the intensified divisiveness I observed on social media. How could it be that the terrorist attacks on 9/11 had drawn our country together so poignantly, yet this attack from within had driven the wedge between opposing groups even deeper? Where would it all end?

Satisfied

Right after I published my last post, I spent a couple of minutes on Facebook before turning in for the night. I ran across a post from a friend, about a conversation with a colleague at the school where she works. The teacher told her that the only way to get through all the stress of this crazy year is to focus on being thankful for something every day. He also said it's important to make ourselves vulnerable so that we don't miss out on meaningful relationships.

I fell asleep thinking about both of those ideas. As I mentioned in my previous entry, I'd already been thinking about all the reasons to be thankful for the most important people in my life. Now I considered something I'd written several times on my inventory, in the column about the long-term effects of others' actions: "mistrustful... I built a wall." 

I don't like having walls up. I spent too many years hiding behind them, a prisoner to my perfectionism. How disheartening it was to find myself ensconced inside what feels like a fortress, to be lonely, yet afraid to open myself up for more hurt. I probably prayed about my feelings, but I soon lost consciousness because it had been such an emotionally draining day.

When the light woke me, I stretched luxuriously and then reached for my Jesus Calling devotional. Within moments, my eyes widened as I recognized one sacred echo after another, as if the entire entry had been written in response to my spoken and unspoken questions about how to let my walls down and how to open up and receive the unconditional love that I crave.

A Better Sweater

I started this entry on 9/27/20, and tonight I will finish it at last.

Over the last 15 years or so, my faith has carried me through anxiety, health issues, severe stress, heartbreak, and loneliness. The tougher the battles, the deeper my roots grew, and the more precious my Beloved became to me. I'm not saying I didn't struggle; if you've been reading long, you know that isn't true. But through it all, I always leaned on a deep trust in God's faithfulness, and what a comfort that was.

Last July, a combination of prolonged work stress and a drug interaction triggered a severe flare-up of Hashimoto's thyroiditis, an autoimmune disorder that I've had since my twenties. The flare-up led to chronic pain, inflammation, digestive problems, weight loss, and mania due to prolonged insomnia. I was out of work for five months, and a slew of other problems ensued which I won't burden you with. 

Somewhere along the way, I felt so alone and so broken that my faith suffered a grievous injury. I felt betrayed and abandoned by even my Beloved. Although God continued to take care of me in beautiful ways, and although He restored my physical, mental, and financial health, the nagging fear that He couldn't be trusted drove a wedge between us.

I never turned my back on Him. I continued to pray, read my Bible, and meditate on scripture, yet nothing seemed to penetrate the sadness that overshadowed me. On a walk in the park a couple of weeks ago, I told Jesus, "In the past, I used to feel like there was a veil between me and you. I felt that you were near, but I couldn't get close to you. Back then, you helped me cross that veil. But now, it's worse. I feel..."

I paused on the trail as I searched for an apt comparison. "I feel like I'm in a tomb." Tears slipped down my cheeks, and the darkness was so heavy that I could feel its weight. "Please, Jesus. Please help me," I prayed. 

Sonlight Shining Through the Cracks

Last Friday, a blog reader I didn’t know I had reached out to check on me. I told him I’ve been writing a blog entry in my head for weeks, and I knew it was time to write it down and share it with you.

I wrote most of this entry on my lunch break that day, sitting at my cluttered kitchen table next to the window. The sky was a dull gray, and I felt too chilly to venture out for a much-needed walk in the park. Even so, I didn't feel as down as I might have felt a week or two before.

Over these last weeks of forced isolation, God has been working a transformation in me. Actually, it started before COVID-19 locked us all in our homes.

Ever since I started working again in early January, I’d gradually been feeling better in mind and body. The daily warm greetings from my friend Laura, and the repartee between her, myself, and our colleagues gave me a reason to get out of bed and pack up all my meals, drinks, and snacks each day.

One area of my recovery lagged behind, though. I missed my old closeness with Jesus dreadfully, and I often cried when I prayed about it. Because of all the struggles I’d been through over the preceding six months, I often found myself listening, if only for a moment, to my enemy’s constant refrain: “Maybe He really isn’t good. Maybe He can’t be trusted.” 

Just Plain Beautiful

Today on the way to the park, I reflected on the morning's sermon, centered on the resurrection of Lazarus. Pastor Stephen pointed out the difference between the resurrection of our bodies in the last day, and the resurrection of our spirits while we are alive. "You can have salvation and eternal life, but not be really alive," he explained.

"Father, what do you need to resurrect in me in 2020?" I whispered as I approached some Frisbee golfers intent on their game.

"Would you resurrect my joy? How about laughter? Oh, I love laughter. I really want to live this year, to enjoy that abundant life that you-"

At that moment, a butterfly captured my attention as it flitted across my path, practically grazing my knees. "Oh, Lord!" I breathed as I followed its progress.

How can I describe the beauty of this butterfly? There was nothing imposing about it, nothing flashy. It had a wingspan of perhaps one inch, and a simple wing structure similar to a moth's, with no intricate color patterns. Still, the flutters of solid yellow fading into the distance over the grass made me think of summer sun warm on my back.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" I exclaimed. "Thank you!"

An answering thought filled my mind. It's beautiful like you. Simple, not flashy. Just doing what God made it to do. Not worrying. Just riding on the breeze.

Tears filled my eyes. "Help me see myself as you do," I prayed. "I know I am beautiful to you. Just the way you made me."

I thought of the butterfly that a student drew for me last year, and the connection I made with a verse that God had given me during that difficult time: "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see him as He is." (1 John 3:2)

I thought of a caterpilar's metamorphosis, and my own, over my lifetime. "I can't wait to see you as you are, face to face," I said. "And then I will be so beautiful like you."

But then I whispered the words that flowed from my heart. "I am already beautiful, like that simple butterfly. I am not yet what I will be, but I'm beautiful just as I am."

A desire filled my heart then, to follow the butterfly's example by doing what God made me to do, what feels to me like flying. I wanted to write.

So there you go. Thank you for reading.

Good Medicine: Joy, Gratitude, and Sisters

I am posting this at 2:41 a.m. after another horrible immune reaction, this time to tea tree oil. That is a crazy, crazy story, and I promise to tell it tomorrow. It involves a new friend named Courtney. I'm going to be just fine, but if I'm going to be awake with tachycardia again, I might as well use my time for a good purpose. I've been praising Jesus and listening to scripture meditations on Youtube for a couple of hours, but my heart rate is still too fast to sleep. 

I was tempted to clean up this entry a bit because I wrote it during brain fog this afternoon, from something I ate; have to figure that out if possible. It took me about 3 hours to write because I knew it was all in the wrong order. Ana can tell us if I got it right.  But I don't want to clean it up because I want you to see my progress. It doesn't matter whether this is my best writing or not.


I had just finished my last blog entry and was making myself a smoothie (banana, a bit of plum--new today, so low and slow--, yogurt, honey, turmeric drop, iceberg lettuce, cantaloupe), when I saw a woman coming to the door. I ignored her, figuring this was another of the many deliveries of unusual food items and kitchen gadgets that arrive by the day.

When I answered the doorbell, I was shocked to find my sweet neighbor, Ana, with a bouquet of pink roses.

This morning I'd had another of my panic attacks, brought on by immune reactions to my food, and after I'd meditated on half the scriptures on my kitchen sticky note collection, God had directed me to go outside.

2 Timothy 1:7, Isaiah 12:2-3, Romans 8:15, Psalm 23:4, Matthew 11:28, Romans 5:2-5, Psalm 23:2-3, Genesis 21:6, Joyce Meyer quote, Romans 8:24-25, Habakkuk 1:5 

 

 

Outdoors, I breathed deeply in the warm morning air and feasted my eyes on the mature trees in my neighborhood.

"I am like a tree planted by the water," I prayed aloud. "My roots go down deep to the life-giving water. You are the water. The water of life."

I felt the wind and saw it moving the leaves in the tree.

"The wind is like your Holy Spirit,"  I said. "No one knows where it comes from or where it is going, but we know that it is there. I have your Holy Spirit inside of me, carrying me wherever you want me to go..... I am Dust in the Wind. You are the wind."

I felt my breathing slowing down, though the headache that had brought the panic continued to throb in the back of my head. Something I had eaten, surely. But what? I focused myself on my breathing, the green leaves, and the wind.

Just then, I saw Ana getting into her truck, dressed in cute gym clothes. I called out to her and then just ran across the street.

"A hug," I said. "I need a hug." I'd been at her house the night before, so she knew about my panic attacks when I get autoimmune symptoms.

She wrapped me in a tight hug and held me.

"It's medicine," I whispered into her hair as tears streamed down my face. "Your hug is medicine."

"Yes, it is," she said.

I told her about how God had told me to come outside while I was meditating on my scriptures like I usually do for anxiety.

"Yes, you need to go outside," she said. "The sun on your skin, the vitamin D. You need that."

"Yes, I do!" I said. "I can read my Bible outside. That's what I was about to do."

"Yes. Get a chair and bring it outside. Do your reading out here. Sit in the shade, though."

"I will," I promised. And I did. I had the most amazing quiet time in.... ever, I guess. God really spoke to me and did a great work in my heart. But I will share that another time.

Back to the Doorbell and Sweet Ana

"Oh, Ana!" I exclaimed as I threw my arms around her.

"Be careful. There are thorns," she warned.

I carefully took the little bouquet and breathed deeply. "This is aromatherapy," I said.

"Yes, it is!"

"And it reminds me of how much you love me and how much God loves me."

"I just want you to be happy," Ana said.

"Oh, I am. I am. I am so happy right now."

She hugged me again and laughed aloud. "You've got to focus on being happy so you can get better."

"Yes, but it's hard," I said. "I focus to much on this..." I pointed at all the food strewn around my kitchen. "But I have to. I can't eat the things that make me sick. I've been so isolated here," I said. "I do need to focus on things that make me happy."

"Yes!"

"You have to remind me," I said. "I can't remember things right now. When you're at work you can send me texts."

"I will," she said. "You have to do little things for yourself to make yourself happy."

I sniffed the roses again.

"You can put them in your room so Arwen won't eat them."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot about that. Arwen ate Juan's roses, remember?"

She laughed. "Yes, she did."

"I'll keep them in my room, and I can look at them and smell them there."

"You need to focus on being grateful," Ana added.

"Oh, I am. That's what my dietitian suggested. I've been making a gratitude list at bedtime every day. That's why I sleep so well. Last night I had the best sleep in years. Eight hours in a row!! You're going to be on the top of my list today."

"Yes, you need to focus on being happy and grateful."

"Not just at night, but at the start of the day, too," I interjected.

"And whenever you feel sad," Ana agreed. "Focus on being happy and grateful. My mom used to pray and thank God every day. I don't know how to pray, but I-"

"You know how to pray," I said. "God loves us so much. All you do is talk to him."

"Focus on being grateful," she repeated.

"I will," I promised, making a mental note to add a gratitude list to my morning routine and hoping that I would not forget that.

"Hey, can we pose for a selfie?" I asked. "This is going to be in my book for sure," I said.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm all sweaty from the gym."

"All of my selfies are ugly, trust me," I said. "You're going to look beautiful next to me."

"Okay," she said.

"Can you help me find my phone?" I asked. "It's part of this Hashimoto's thing [the brain fog]. I lose everything. Constantly. It drives me crazy."

We both scoured the kitchen to no avail.

"Did you bring your phone?"

"No, I didn't."

I thought back to my last blog entry and how I had emailed the photos from my phone while I was on the toilet. (Yes, I use my phone on the toilet. So do you. You just don't admit it.)

"Oh, I think it's in the bathroom," I said. Sure enough, there it was next to the sink. (Yes, I washed my hands. Of course!)

I then proceeded to take an ugly selfie of us both. [Out of respect for Ana, I am withholding that photo. You're welcome, dearest.]

"I can't see it," Ana said; I think she uses readers.

"You look great," I lied.

"I take selfies all the time now for my book, but I don't know how to do it," I said. "Selfies help me remember things, so it's great.... If Allyson were here she would know how."

"Let me try," she said. "I think people usually hold the phone out farther like this." She extended her arm high above us.

Her picture was a little better. She looked gorgeous but my nose still looked gargantuan. I guess that's because it really is gargantuan. Anyway, I hope you can see our joy.

That's Ana on the right. Aren't the flowers lovely? Like Ana.

I told her about a short message from Levi Lusko that I had just heard on the radio, right before she knocked.

"It was a message for me," I said. "Really specifically for me. It was about how when we lose so much, God always gives us something better."

"Yes, when you go through a hard time you can really appreciate the good things more," she said.

"That is true. And God loves us so much. He gave me you as a heart sister."

Ana hugged me again, squeezing me tighter.

"I love you, Sarah," she said, and she held me while I cried.

"God gave me you as a sister. Also, he gave me an Egyptian tax driver for a brother, a new Christian."

"Really?"

"Yes, and a Christian Uber driver from Rwanda [Africa]."

"Really?"

"Yes. The Egyptian man asked if he could hug me because I am his sister. And he did. He held me while I cried." Also he prayed for me, but I forgot to tell her that part.

"And the African man prayed for me in his car. He has only been in Texas for one month, and he barely speaks English."

"Really?"

"Well he's been in America for 8 years but he just moved to Texas a month ago. They are both my brothers."

"Wow!"

"So you see that even though I have lost so much in this battle with Hashimoto's, God is giving me new stuff, better stuff."

"Yes, he is! I love you so much, Sarah."

"Me too, sister."

"You look really beautiful in the selfie," I said when she was on the way out my door.

She grinned. "You think?"

"Oh yes, everyone who sees you always says you're gorgeous."

"They do?"

"Yes, like my roommate Kim." I gestured behind me to her bedroom. "The first time she saw you she sent me a text saying that you were so gorgeous."

Ana flushed with pleasure.

"It's true," I said.

"Stay in touch," Ana said. "And do things to make yourself happy."

I will. Oh, I will.

My life is like these roses. The thorns make the beauty all the sweeter when God gives me eyes to focus on it. I could barely see them through my happy tears.

God Moved the Mountain.... en ingles

I am back in Texas after the most incredible month of my life, absolutely full of real-live miracles. The Friday before last, I shared in broken Spanish the story of my experiences during the 6.7 magnitude earthquake that occurred in Panama on Tuesday, June 25, 2019.

God has told me to rest right now, and I am. I slept beautifully last night but still need more rest. However, this morning He told me that it is important to go ahead and translate the story to English because of a woman I met yesterday named Rushanda. She is going to be looking on this blog. Very soon I will post a video of our conversation yesterday. It is a message for all people who struggle with anxiety.... 

Anyway, here is the translation, done mostly by Google translate. It is sloppy, but no importa. I am no longer a perfectionist, and this story needs to be told.


Do you know how people say "literally" when, in truth, they mean figuratively? For example, "I was literally at the end of my rope"? This is not such a time.

On Tuesday, three days ago, God literally moved a mountain for me, to move another mountain out of my life.

For many weeks before my trip to Costa Rica,  my boyfriend Juan had been praying about my fears. He told me, "It is not God's will that you be afraid."

I told him, "My insecurities are a part of my personality, I always struggle with anxiety when stressful things happen, but all is well, God helps me every time, I meditate on the promises in His Word, and God calms me down."

Juan did not agree. Although I was too proud to admit it, I knew Juan was right. Secretly, I asked myself, "How could God free me from my fear?"

One day, this verse touched my heart: "Truly I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, be removed into the sea, and will not doubt in his heart, but believe that what he says will be done, whatever he says. It will be done." (Mark 11:23)

I said, "My mountain is fear, please, Father, move the fear mountain of my life."

Still, I thought, "How is that possible?"

Dios Movió La Montaña

¿Sabe cómo la gente dice "literalmente" cuando, en verdad, dice figuradamente? ¿Por ejemplo, "Yo era literalmente al final de mi cuerda"? Este no es un tiempo así.

El martes, tres días atrás, Dios literalmente movió una montaña para mí, para mover otra montaña fuera de mi vida.

Por muchas semanas antes de mi viaje a Costa Rica, Juan había sido orando sobre mis temores. Él me dijo, "No es la voluntad de Dios que tengas miedo."

Yo le dije, "Mis inseguridades son un parte de mi personalidad. Siempre lucho con ansiedad cuando cosas estresantes ocurren, pero todo está bien. Dios me ayuda cada vez. Yo medito en las promesas en su Palabra, y Dios me calma."

Juan no acordaba. Aunque yo estaba demasiado orgullosa que lo admita, sabía que Juan tenía razón. En secreto, me pregunté, "¿Cómo podría Dios me libere de mi miedo? "

Un día, este versículo tocó mi corazón: "Porque de cierto os digo que cualquier que dijere a este monte: Quítate y échate en el mar, y no dudare en su corazón, sino creyere que será hecho lo que dice, lo que diga le será hecho." (Marcos 11:23)

Yo dije, "Mi montaña es miedo. Por favor, Padre, mueve la montaña de miedo de mi vida."

Aún así, pensé, "¿Cómo es posible?"

Why Would I Want to Be Normal?

I've been living out a crazy adventure the last few days that I never could have predicted. It started on Saturday morning, when I was watching a playlist that God had queued up for me on YouTube. For the last several Saturdays, I've been multitasking by listening to various preachers to redeem the time spent on dishes and laundry.

The first video was a teaching from one of my favorite Bible study teachers, Priscilla Shirer. As always, God had arranged just the messages I needed to hear, rather like an extension of our earlier conversation in my prayer closet. Through the familiar story of Jesus feeding the 5000, Priscilla taught these truths:

• When Jesus told his exhausted disciples to come away with him, they didn't just go on vacation. On their quiet getaway with their teacher, they encountered a multitude waiting for them. So they continued to work alongside Him, and that shared ministry is where they found their rest.
  
  This echoed what God has been telling me about how I can find rest in the middle of all the stresses of my very demanding teaching job. Though I don't always have time for physical repose, I can always come to Him with my heavy burdens and find rest for my soul  (Matthew 11:28).
• When the disciples saw the hunger of the multitude, they asked Jesus to send them away so that they could find something to eat. Instead, Jesus told them, "They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat."
  
  Priscilla invited me to think about the multitude around me, the ones who make me feel overwhelmed with their impossible needs. Of course, I thought of my 97 students. She suggested that though I may be tempted to ask God to take away my personal multitude, God has sent me into this impossible situation because I am His plan for them, and His provision and glory will be revealed through me.
  
  The disciples' response was remarkably similar to my own: "We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish." How could they feed such a crowd with those meager resources? And how can I even begin to address all the spiritual and physical needs represented in my classroom... when I feel so inadequate?
• Priscilla's next point addressed that concern. In Jesus's hands, the impossibly tiny supply was more than enough to meet the needs. Not only did they feed the 5000 men, along with their women and children, but they even took home 12 baskets full--one basket per disciple! 

To sum it up, Priscilla said that Jesus's plan for the disciples, and for us is:

1. He called them to a purpose only they could fulfill.
2. He gave them power and authority to accomplish what they could not do through their own abilities.
3. He sent them out to do His work.

For me, the most moving part of the message was a story she shared about the sudden death of her cousin, at age 38. She said that we may think we have lots of time to fulfill God's calling, when actually we could have very little. Life is too short to waste time, she said. Whatever God has given us to do, we should feel an urgency to do it now, and even if fear tells us the job is too hard for us, we can't let that stop us. If we say yes to God's call, we can be certain that He will equip us. 

A Seed of Light

I don't have time to write tonight, but I feel that I must. 

The last three or four weeks have been exceedingly difficult for me. We are implementing a new instructional model that I believe in, but actually putting it into practice has been rough. In theory, most of the class will be reading independently and responding in their journals while I focus on guided reading with a small group.

The reading part is getting better, for the most part. We started several weeks ago with 20 minutes of reading followed by whole-group instruction. That was a battle because over half of my students profess to hate reading. Every day, they'd say, "We're reading again? Why do we have to read every day?"

Each day, I calmly repeated, "This is reading class. That's what we do. You can't get better at reading without reading."

Un Tipo Diferente de Aventura / A Different Kind of Adventure

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO...

[This is not your typical travelogue, but an important part of my story in Costa Rica. For this bilingual series, I compose the story in Spanish and then translate into English so that we can see my progress in learning the language. (By the way, I'm back home now. It was a difficult adjustment.) Disclaimer: All grammar errors in the dialogue are my responsibility.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS.

[Todos errores gramatical en el diágolo son mios.]

¿Se preguntaba sobre que pasó con Walter? Me preguntaba tambien; pensaba sobre esto mucho. 

El domingo siguiente mi tour de su campo, Zeidy y yo debíamos tener una cita en su casa. Recordé el consejo de mi amiga Kim el día antes mi viaje: “Pinta sus uñas. Quizás tú vas a conocer al amor de su vida.”

“No tengo tiempo,” he contestado. 

“Si conoces a un hombre guapo, vas a desear que había pintado sus uñas.”

Decidí que corro el riesgo.

El Peor... y El Mejor

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO.

[In this series of blog entries, I am writing about my experiences in a Spanish Immersion program in Costa Rica. I write first in Spanish, and then I translate it as faithfully as possible into English. This way, we can see my progress. You may notice that I am now using past tense. I must confess that the Spanish portion alone took me about five hours to write.  This is great practice for me. I can write much better than I can speak. In conversation, I typically move back and forth between present and past tense, and my speech is painfully slow. I am having the time of my life! I have three more stories to tell you so far.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS

En mi segundo día en Costa Rica me llevanté muy temprano porque la luz comienza que brillar antes las cinco. Antes desayuno,  me senté en el porche y leí mi nueva Biblia bilingüe. Fue mi primera vez que leer la Biblia en español, y ahora yo me di cuenta como glorioso es que escuchar la voz de Dios en otra idioma. Esto versículo tocó mi corazón:

Te alabaré, oh Jehová, entre los pueblos; a ti cantaré salmos entre las naciones.

"¡Es cierto!" yo pensé. " Hoy, voy a cantar con mis hermanos Ticos."

Corrí a Macha y la mostré el versículo. Ella me abrazó.

A las 9:30, fuimos para autobús a la iglesia.  Debemos caminar en una colina y en una calle con muchas rocas. Con la humedad, me sentí muy caliente.

En la iglesia, me tomé mi segundo taza de café y me comí unos postres. ¡Que rico!

Mientras nosotros cantamos, comprendí casi todo porque hay palabras en una pantalla. La primera canción tiene una oración sobre la gente cantando ante las naciones.

Toque hombro de macha y señale a la pantalla. Pienso que ella tenía lágrimas en sus ojos, como yo. ¡Dios estaba hablando conmigo!

A mí me parací que Dios eligió todas las canciones para mí. Una tenió frases de mi favorito capítulo: Salma 139. El mensaje era que Dios me conoce mejor que cualquier otro, y Él está conmigo en cada lugar. No estaba sola aquí, donde la idioma es diferente. Yo estaba tan feliz. !Que bueno, esto día!

Cuánto el sermon comienzó, no comprendí nada. Hay no palabras que leer. El pastor decía muchas cosas, y después unos pocos minutos no traté de comprender. Sólo pensé sobre necesitando agua. Me sentí caliente y fría, y también más y más mareada.

Fui al baño y oré, "Por favor, no me permite que vomitar. Aquí no, en esta iglesia desconocida."

Me senté en el piso por un tiempo muy largo, hasta Macha vino a la puerta con su hija Vicky.

Ella dijo "¿Sarah, está enferma? Abre la puerta, por favor."

¡Ay! No quierí ver nadie, solo quizás mi mamá. ¡Que malo, esto día!

Fuí en mis rodillas al puerto. Macha me da manzanilla, un té por ayudar de digestión.

"¿Me causar vomito?" yo pregunté.

"Quizás," ella contestó.

"Necesito vomitar, pero no puedo."

Tomé un poquito. Entonces dije, "¡Go!" (No podía recordar cómo hablar español en ese momento.) Moví mi mano hacia la puerta.

Ellos cerraron la puerta.

Mi cuerpo tratío y tratío de vomitar, pero nada. Gemí, y agua llenó mis ojos. "Esto día no puede ser peor," yo pensé.

Por supuesto, podria ser peor.

¡El pastor, Hector, entró el baño! Con papel de baño, suavemente limpió el maquillaje aldredor mis ojos - cómo la máscara de un mapache. Habló conmigo en inglés.

"Voy a manajarla a la casa. Su va a ser más cómoda allí.

Hector en la iglesia (y escuela)

"No puedo ir," contesté en español. "Estoy muy inferma."

Él continuó hablar en inglés. "Voy a darla algo que se sienta mejor."

"Necesito una bolsa porque quizás vomito en su carro."

Él me dio una bolsa de plástico.  Me senté en una silla.

Él puso unos aceites esenciales en mis manos. "Huela profundamente."

Inhalé unas veces. Después cerca 30 segundos, corrí al baño. Vomité y vomité hasta no quedó nada.

Después unos minutos, salimos. La calle fue tan áspero, pero no vomité más.

Muchas vezes durante la tarde, dormí y entonces me desperté. Me llevanté unas veces, pero me sentí náuseas de nuevo.

A las siete, tuve hambre pero tuve miedo que comer. Quieré galletas de soda, pero no sabía cómo describirlos.

¡En la cocina, Macha me ofreció galletas de soda! También me da agua de gelatina. Cuando era una niña, mi mamá me da estos dos cosas por enfermedad.

Dios es muy bueno. Él me dio otra madre cuando más la necesitaba.

Sí, era un buen día.

Yo y Mateo, nieto de Macha.
Su fiesta fue en misma noche

On my second day in Costa Rica I got up very early because the light starts to shine before 5. Before breakfast I sat on the porch and read my new bilingual Bible. It was my first time to read the Bible in Spanish, and now I realized how glorious it is to hear the voice of God in another language.

This verse touched my heart:

I will praise you, oh Jehovah, among the peoples;  I will sing praises to you among the nations.

"It is true," I thought. Today I'm going to sing with my Tico brothers and sisters. [Costa Ricans are called Ticos and Ticas.]

I ran to Macha and showed her the verse. She hugged me.

At 9:30 we went by bus to church. We had to walk on a hill and on a road with many rocks. With the humidity, I felt very hot.

At the church I drank my second cup of coffee and ate some pastries. How wonderful!

While we sang, I could understand almost everything because there were words on a screen. The first song had a sentence about the people singing among the Nations.

I touched Macha's shoulder and pointed at the screen. I think she had tears in her eyes, like me.

It seemed to me that God chose all of the songs for me. One had phrases from my favorite chapter: Psalm 139. The message was that God knows me better than anyone else, and he is with me in every place. I was not here alone, where the language is different. I was so happy. How good, this day!

When the sermon began, I comprehended nothing.  There were no words to read. The Pastor said many things, and after a few minutes I did not try to understand. I only thought about needing water. I felt hot and cold, and also more and more dizzy. I went to the bathroom and prayed, "Please, don't let me vomit. Not here in this unfamiliar church."

I sat on the floor for a long time, until Macha came to the door with her daughter Vicky.

She said, "Sarah are you sick? Open the door, please."

Aiyee!  I didn't want to see anyone, except maybe my mama. How bad, this day!

I went to the door on my knees. Macha gives me manzanilla, a tea that helps digestion.

"To cause me vomit?" I asked [in broken Spanish.]

"Maybe," she answered.

"I need to vomit, but I can't."

I drank a little. And then I said, "Go!" ( I could not remember how to speak Spanish in that moment.)  I moved my hand toward the door.

They closed the door.

My body tried and tried to vomit, but nothing. I moaned, and water filled my eyes.

"This day cannot be worse," I thought.

Of course, it could be worse.

The pastor, Hector, entered the bathroom! He knelt beside me. With toilet paper, he gently washed the makeup from around my eyes--like a racoon's mask.

He talked with me in English. "I will drive you home. You will be more comfortable there."

"I cannot go," I answered in Spanish. "I am very sick."

He continued to talk in English. "I will give you something to make you feel better."

"I need a bag because maybe I vomit in your car."

He gave me a plastic bag. I sat in a chair. He put some essential oils in my hands. "Breathe deeply," he said.

I inhaled a few times. After about 30 seconds, I ran to the bathroom. I vomited and vomited, until nothing remained.

After a few minutes, we left. The road was very rough, but I did not vomit more.

Many times during the afternoon, I slept and then I woke up. I got up a few times, but I felt nauseated again.

At seven, I was hungry, but I had fear to eat.  I wanted soda crackers, but I did not know how to describe them.

In the kitchen, Macha offered me soda crackers! Also gelatin water. When I was a girl, my Mama gave me these two things for sickness.

God is very good. He gave me another Mother when I needed her most.

Yes, it was a good day.

Magnificent

I just finished the 11th week of the first semester. Time goes by so fast that it makes me dizzy. Of course I have stacks of stories to tell you about teaching, but I think I will save most of them for Thanksgiving week--only two weeks away! Tonight I want to tell you what God's been teaching me lately. 

During one of our frequent nighttime prayers a few weeks back, my Chinese roommate, Sophie, asked me to pray that God would give me laughter. (It's a struggle for her to pray in English, so she usually asks me to pray for us both.)

"Oh, yes," I agreed. "Laughter is exactly what I need. I'm always so serious, especially with so many responsibilities as a teacher."

So we prayed for laughter, and I thanked God that I would surely be seeing the funny side of life in the coming weeks.

[Oh goodness, just realized I only thought about telling you about Sophie. Will have to save that story for another night, though.]

There certainly have been funny moments at school, like the time I asked my toughest class if they'd laugh at me for wearing exactly the same outfit two days in a row. It would be Black-Out day the next day, but I'd inadvertently worn all black on this day; a sweet colleague had brought me a black T-shirt with a wolf on it that morning so that we could be twins for Twin Day. My students admitted that they might laugh a little, but they said I should go ahead and wear the same clothes as long as I went home and washed them first.

Hope That Doesn't Disappoint

I've missed you guys so much! I've had even more stories stacked up in my head than usual, but lacked the time or energy to write them....

I finished my 12-week teaching assignment on May 8. Overall, it was a very positive experience, though I did get discouraged and overwhelmed in the middle of it. Ultimately I learned to relax and accept my students--and myself--for who they were rather than expecting them to adhere to unrealistic standards. I tried to model grace and then to ask for grace when I made my own mistakes. I formed strong bonds with many of my students, and they are my biggest cheerleaders when it comes to the prospect of working at their school in the fall. I did interview for the single open position, but then they got a new principal and then a new assistant principal, so everything is still up in the air.

I spent the last three weeks of school doing one-day sub jobs at various middle schools and high schools across two districts. I had a few adventures that I never had time to tell you about, and mostly enjoyed myself. I was surprised to find that I quite enjoy middle schoolers, and I think I would be just as happy teaching them as I would be teaching high schoolers. I also found that there are many, many schools where I'd feel honored to work and where I would be welcomed warmly by the students and staff.

A One Hundred Percent Chance

So I'm going to tell you something that I think might go against the rules of etiquette, though I don't know why that should be the case. If this is in poor taste or inconsiderate, please forgive me. I don't want to cause you concern, but I do need to share my heart with you. Here goes...

Tomorrow I go for a needle biopsy of an abnormality in my breast. When I was called back after a recent screening mammogram, I was only a little concerned. I'd been called back after my first one six years previously, and all had been well. Like many of the women on my mom's side of the family, I have very dense, lumpy breast tissue, so it's not uncommon to have problems with mammography.

Still, I was pretty nervous when I went on December 8 for my diagnostic bilateral (two-sided) mammogram. Everyone at the center was exceptionally kind, which gave me great comfort. After a very thorough, somewhat uncomfortable exam, the technician told me I needed to wait for the radiologist to review my images in case he might want more views.

As I waited, I sort of prayed with my whole being, not with my thoughts, but rather with a leaning in toward my Father. When I felt my palms getting sweaty, I thought, "Quiet me with your love. I trust you. I trust you."

Until the Day I Die

On Saturday night, I came across a very moving video on Facebook. If you have 3 minutes and 29 seconds, I hope you will watch it: Man Sings to 93-Year-Old Dying Wife. Just make sure to have some Kleenex handy.

I watched it with tears streaming down my face. The woman is blind, and her husband is nearly deaf, but they can still communicate their love beautifully.

"You're my sweetheart," she says.

"I was your best lover..." he replies.

"Oh, I know it," she agrees.

When he starts singing, she murmurs, "Behave yourself."

After their granddaughter repeats her words, he laughs heartily. "I'm always good."

As I reflected on this example of the truest romance, I thought of my own grandparents, Verna and Paul. Now if Grandpa ever serenaded Grandma, no one ever told me about it, but their love was apparent in other ways. Example: When Grandpa had to go into the nursing home for care around the clock, Grandma visited him every day. Although he could no longer speak, his face lit up each time he saw his true love, and I'm told that on those rare days when she could not come, he was downcast.

My cousin Jolinda captured these beautiful pictures a few years back:

I love that last one of their aged, tender hands, their golden rings sparkling with the promise they kept to one another for over 70 years. I know from transcribing their autobiography that their marriage took them through times for "the worse" as well as for "the better." Through it all, their commitment held strong.