Breathe

Breathe.

That's it. That's the whole post:

Breathe.

Go ahead. Take a deep one. In....

...Wait for it...(I can't help it, I loooove Doogie Howser. All the cool old people will get that...)

...Out.

What a gift. What a blessing. What an inexplicable WONDER!

I'd like to tell you I know how it all works. And I do have a vague kind of sense of it all; a muddled up, highly inaccurate mishmash of all the stuff I've read or googled, watched on CSI or heard in school or pondered over and glazed over while trying to sort out those grotesquely mesmerizing posters in doctors' waiting rooms...

But really the miracle of it, for me, anyway, is that I do it without thinking about it. I've been unconsciously competent at it my whole life. And the few times I've been without this blessed ability, I'll remember forever. I bet it's the same for you.

I was running away from or chasing one of my cousins across Nanny and Granddad's front lawn and was taking the customary leap across Aunt Nellie and Uncle Hilton's flower border and front walk to get across to their lawn, when I crashed. I'm not clear on the details. It happened pretty fast. But the fall seemed to last forever. Isn't that just the way it goes with crashes? I must've not landed well on the other side and I fell backwards and slammed my back against the concrete wall that held back the earth and flowers from the cement path.

It didn't really hurt. Not at that moment.

But I couldn't breathe. I actually DID NOT KNOW how to breathe.

I found out later that I got the wind knocked out of me. At least that's the scientific term my grandparents gave it.

But the science of it, the why and how of it did not matter to me one bit. I just knew that breathing felt good when I could do it and I NEVER wanted to feel what it felt like to NOT be able to take a breath EVER AGAIN!

Fell out of a boat and crashed into the water that year too. My Grampie Doug pulled me back out of the pond by my easy-to-spot ginger mop, but that didn't matter. I felt no pain, only the all-encompassing need to breathe. And for a breathless, murky, hopeless eternity, I couldn't. And then I could.

I crashed my life once too. Found myself at work one night, staring out at the Halifax Harbour, four little ones at home with my husband, who also worked shifts and whom I wasn't sure I knew anymore, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. It took me 10 dizzy, panicked minutes, and the complete loss of everything I'd eaten in the past week to find that comforting rhythm of my breath again. But it took a solid 10 years to learn to breathe easy...

I crashed my car a few nights ago. The dark road, too casual a familiarity with the route, a bigger car than I'm used to, whatever else it was, I hit the shoulder, corrected, re-corrected, over-corrected, spun out, hit the only bit of guard rail on that entire stretch of road, then bounced back out onto the road. Felt like I was lifted out of the weird, eternal ballet spin and plopped back safely on the road. Except I'd wrecked the car.

And the first thing I did, the very first thing I did, was breathe. I felt the air come in and I felt it leave and I realized that no matter what else, I could breathe. I was deeply thankful.

The fellow who came upon my car a few minutes later and opened the door to ask if I was hurt, could clearly hear my gratitude when I replied that I was not. That I was sure I was all right.

"You're some lucky," he responded, shaking his head as he looked from the car to the rail that had caught me. "That guard rail saved your life".

"That guard rail saved my life..." I repeated, then I looked back at him and the rest of the men now crowding around, "No," I said slowly, "There was a lot of time to pray and God saved my life," I said as firmly as my shaky breathing would allow.

I may have been shaky. But I was breathing.

I'm still breathing.

And so are you.



The Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life.
-Job 33:4

Let everything that hath breath praise The Lord- Psalm 150

A Wedding and Two Funerals

Have you ever been so tired....?

What am I asking? Of course you have. Sorry.

Me too. Today, I have to admit, I'm bone tired. It's been an emotional few days, lots of pain, lots of joy. Hellos, goodbyes, tears, belly laughs, brand new encouraging friendships, reunions, wrenching separations. You know. It's been life.

But at this moment, there's none of that. I'm completely alone at home. Of course there's lots to do, but it definitely won't be getting done today. I'm having my day of rest. I didn't choose it really, I just found myself being ushered to bed by a concerned husband, and when I woke he was leaving to take the boys to youth band practice, time with his sister and nephews then his Theology course with the good Reverend Doctor. Jess is at work. Gaelle's at her home making a candle lit dinner for her husband. I've nowhere to be, no one is expecting me or needs me right now in any way. That's awesome, right? Or is it...

I managed to pull on my robe after 30 minutes of actually just staring up at the ceiling (not sure I've ever really done that before), and I went out to the kitchen. it went well at first... I simply responded to stimuli. I fed the mewling, wrapping-themselves-around-my-legs cats, filled the empty water jug and took a long swig. But then I opened the fridge and stared for a long minute, went to the bathroom and stared at the tub for about the same long minute, then wandered into the dining room and stared at the laptop. I'm pretty sure I was pleading with silent eyes for them to feed, bathe and entertain me, but didn't quite have it in me to do my part of any of those pretty basic deals.

So I laid back down on my rumpled old bed and let myself think about what I'm thinking about. Deep, huh?

Here's what I found I've been thinking. March has never worked out for me. I can go back pretty far and find some pretty horrible March days. Don't even offer me a shamrock shake. It won't be pretty. And I've been thinking this March is no different.

But that's not right. This March is VERY different! I just got back from a trip to Phoenix to visit my sister, if not in name and blood, then in bond and shared history, in mutual love, devotion and deep respect. When I came home I lost some dear family and friends, yes. But both not only knew The Lord and lived courageously for Him to the last, but lived lives that brought many others to know Him.

And I got to spend some very good moments with them my very last times I saw them. I mean really good times. We can sit and have a coffee sometime, you and I, and I'll tell you about uncle Gordie laughing and eating one of Gaelle's smooshed up wedding cup cakes or Miriam opening her mouth like a little bird to eat her chocolate chip cookie dough blizzard, chattering away, eyes big and bright and full of the peace of Christ.

And I can tell you about my beautiful cousins, Karen and Melanie, who put together the sweetest family celebration of Karen's daughter Sarah's wedding yesterday.

I can tell you about arriving at Aunt Rosalie's yet again to find her dear friends surrounding her and holding her up during the darkest time of her life.

I can tell you about my friends Bruce and Heather and Shawn and Cindy and Danielle gathering around Miriam's bed from early evening to just before dawn to sing and love on little Miriam while she slipped from this world into her Father's arms.

About Bruce sharing meal after meal with a hurting family because he's here and he can. And so he does.

I've been seeing so much of that. People who can serve and so they do. And if I look back at that first wretched March, when I lost another dear friend, my little momma, I see our family and friends camped out first on our living room floor, then at the hospital, being with us, feeding us, helping us clean up, singing to us. Because they could. Because they loved us.

I suddenly don't feel so weary any more.

So, here's the plan: I'm going to eat a yogurt, take a bath, and then spend time with someone I know really needs a friend right now. Because I'm here. And because I can.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. ~Galatians 6:9

Miriam

My heart's too full, the ache too deep right now to tell you even one thing. I have no words but these:

"Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words."

~1Thessalonians 4:13-18

See you soon, sweet Miriam. I love you.

Well Done, Well Run

Well, I may have taken him off the list, but let me tell you, Uncle Gordie is very much on my mind. He's never been far from my thoughts, always in my prayers, a part of my own soft heart. If you didn't know him, can I just tell you a little bit about him? You'd have REALLY liked him.

I'll start with what my children called him. We have two uncle Gordies in our family, so one morning, when I announced we were going to go visit Aunt Rosalie and Uncle Gordie, Jessica quickly asked, "which one... Uncle Gordie Tickle?"

He TORTURED with tickles. Didn't matter who. You got no points for disability or venerability either. He even tickled Auntie May, in her 70's and on crutches... Or he'd send her jumping up onto the couch with the threat of bringing a mouse into the house. He teased, tickled, tortured his way into every heart, whether toddler, teen or tenured.

A great lumberjack of a man, he had a deep rumbling bass voice that was equally at home in the upper registers, greeting you with a half-grin and something to the effect of, "Well here comes Ugly"... And then he'd wrap those big arms around you and squeeze you surprisingly gently against his barrel chest, blink away a tear, and then threaten you with a "whiskerin".

He was so manly. He drove an oil truck, kept livestock and an enormous garden, cut wood with his brothers and father, manly men all, and could just make anything with his hands.

He could build a barn or doll furniture.

He looked at home in coveralls, hunter orange or suit and tie.

He could sing like the bass section of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir... but he also could sound like the violin I'm learning to torture my family with...he would make up these high pitched little ditties on the spot..." Oh miss Sonya, what a redhead, a sable river bed head"..."old rusty pigtail, gonna grab it, it's that sable river rabbit..."

When he wasn't working hard he was reading... As a child, I assumed men read more than women, because that's what I remember. My own dad with shelves lined with classics, tables and floor stacked with art books, Uncle Gordie or Grandad or Uncle Hilton pouring over their well worn out, used up or marked up bibles or the newspapers, or, especially in Uncle Gordie's case, any and every imaginable genre of book, fiction or nonfiction. 

He had the soul of a poet, but he spoke in the vernacular. "Pass the squarrrsh", he'd say, after he'd bowed his head and humbly, reverently, eloquently thanked his Heavenly Father for not just the meal but all his blessings. He was a man after God's own heart, honourable, loyal, hard-working, faithful, loving, mindful...

If you knew him, you know what's happening here. Gordon Fredericks cannot be captured with words. If you didn't know him, I'm sorry. I'm doing a poor job . This is but an outline. A shadow of a cutout of the man.

But I'll tell you this. He was such a part of my childhood pattern of what makes a man, that I see much of what I loved in him in my own dear husband. He would not have called himself a leader. But ask any of his friends. Ask his wife. Ask his brothers and sisters in law. Ask his pastor, the children he raised, his grandchildren, his nieces and nephews, the men he gathered with at the coffee shop, those he worked with or for, went fishin' with, his friends and family....those who saw and felt Christ's love and peace in the way he lived his life and loved people. He ran his race. And there is not a doubt in any of our minds that he was greeted with the words he longed to hear: "Well done, good and faithful servant". He'd be the first to tell you that it was not his own efforts that made him who he was or that would earn the praise of his Heavenly Father. He'd be the first to make sure you knew it was all a gift from God. He'd let you know it was the grace of his Saviour. But he did a few simple but not easy things. He believed, he was faithful, and he ran with endurance the race that was set before him.

Well done. Well run.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.- Hebrews 12:1

See ya

With a few key strokes I deleted his name from the list today. It was a short list and his name was at the top: Uncle Gordie, Miriam, Heather, Terry, Aliya, Andrea. I stared at the place his name had been... Not the space where it had been, because the delete button leaves no such gap. At least with paper and pencil  there would have been a messy eraser mark or scribble or line through his name, but my iPhone had no memory of it. His name was simply no longer on the list.

I cried. I wept for the loss, for the finality of it, for the space that wasn't there but that gnawed at my stomach and filled my chest and throat with ache.

I have trouble staying awake when I pray. Sitting, kneeling, standing or walking I either slide into sleep or drift into distraction. So I started to write in a notebook while I prayed. When I got my new phone I realized that I could just list the people I wanted to pray for, write it all down once, and then I wouldn't forget anyone. I typed in the names of everyone I want to pray for, and each day the list would grow as more names came to mind or as I met new people. But there's a separate list at the very top, a list of people I love who are battling cancer.

By the time I was 20, cancer had taken Andrew's dad,  my mom, my aunt, and then Andrew's best friend. So I pretty much assumed cancer was the end. Always.

But then people started surviving. Kim, Laura, Janet, MaryAnn, Lisa... I started to believe that healing was possible and that's what I prayed for. In earnest.

In the last month little taps on the shoulder reminded me that sometimes, though, healing doesn't come. My dear friend and encourager, Bruce, started to talk to me about it. I heard a song on the radio about it. 3 times. The daily bread reading one morning laid it all out for me. I heard the words "palliative care" more and more. And then I went to visit Miriam one afternoon at the hospital and they redirected me to the hospital where my mom had died. To the same floor. Two doors down. I took a deep breath and headed on in and visited my very alive, inspiring, beautiful friend.

As I walked from the hospital to my car I realized something. My name's on somebody's list (at least I hope it is), and someday they'll have to take me off it. None of us gets out alive, I've heard it said.

I am an eternal being, though, designed and created by the everlasting God. Heaven waits for me.  So even as my name is scratched off of or deleted from someone's list here, it's already on another list there. THAT's what you call blessed assurance.

So when I took Uncle Gordie's name off my little list tonight, as painful as that was, and as much as I'm devastated by the loss of one of the best men I've ever known, my dear uncle, my friend, my tease and tormentor, I am reminded that his name is written in the book of life, God's list. And there's no delete button.

When I tried to teach my first daughter to say goodbye, I was always disappointed that she just made some unintelligible sound, waving her hand like mad at her own sweet face. But one day, as I encouraged her to say goodbye, heard the usual babbling, shrugged apologetically at Marce and called out my usual "See ya", I suddenly heard Gaelle very clearly say what she'd been saying for weeks: "seee-ah! Seeee-ah".

See ya, uncle Gordie. I miss you. I love you. I mourn for you. But I'll see ya.

And for those of us left behind:"So do not fear for I am with you. Do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand"-Isaiah 41:10

today

I have been looking forward to visiting my best high school pal, Marcia White, for years. Since the day she moved away, I've been telling myself that someday I was gonna go see Marcie. Every year it goes on my to do list. Paint the kitchen,  read 12 books, start family devotional time, lose 10 pounds, visit Marcie was what the first list looked like, as I recall. Since that time the list has changed. This year, for example, it said paint my bedroom,  read 12 books, start family devotional time, lose 50 pounds, visit Marcie. Someday.

Belief is a tricky thing. It's one thing to think, I'm going to lose 50 pounds someday, another thing to write it on a list, and a whole other ball of wax to BELIEVE that you will lose 50 lbs.

As it was with my goal to visit Marcie.

I'm pretty sure I didn't really believe I was going to visit... To save the money, find a flight, book the ticket and actually make the trip from Timberlea, Nova Scotia to Tempe, Arizona. It sounded so big to the little redhead from Lockeport. I think if I had written, "visit Venus", my belief level might have been about the same.

And I don't know about you, but everything in my life that I've learned, every STINKIN thing, has been a process. There have been no aha moments for me. Each good and true perspective or behaviour or belief has been slowly earned and learned over a course of time and trials and failures and overcome excuses.

So three years ago, I'd grown to be the woman who not only wrote it on the list, but then ALSO looked up how much a flight to Phoenix would cost. Two years ago I took another step in my belief and registered with a site that sent me an email every morning to tell me what the current best deal on a flight to Phoenix was. And this year, I told Marcie I was coming, booked a flight, and here I sit in Tempe Arizona in front of Jon's AWESOME mac telling y'all about my journey. I spent the morning at the gym with my best friend, and now Marcie's writing her weekly Deep Thoughts from the Gym, listening to tunes, and I'm inspired just enough to write my "deep" thoughts too. And they're not thoughts about SOMEDAY. They're about TODAY.

Today, I woke up in this magnificent sea of a bed between my two beautiful daughters, in ARIZONA! I snuck away for a shower and some of that daily devotional time I still haven't figured out how to consistently share with my family, crept down the gorgeous marble stairs, missed one of those lovely stairs, and made a great big ruckus of an ankle turning, then hobbled to the couch, made some more noise as I raised the blinds so I could see the blue sky, palm trees and orange and grapefruit trees dripping and dropping with fruit. There was nobody around but me and the birdies, and boy did we have a good time. They sang up a storm and I prayed and read and smiled and giggled a bit to myself about my inability to master stairs after 44 years of practice.

But that's just it, isn't it? We live this life, we learn stuff, we do some of the same stuff over and over, and we try out new stuff. And sometimes we miss a step and fall down and make some noise. And then we hobble over to a place we can think and rest in the moment, in the TODAY, and then we get up and take another step forward.

Today is good. And the day I left Nova Scotia was good too. I snuggled with my sweetie an extra hour after his night shift, got up and had breakfast with one awesome son, packed him off to school, then had breakfast with another amazing son, drove him to school to get a little extra time with him, searched for dried lavender to make Swiss Lavender Fudge (?!!?) for Ted's school project, met a new friend, got home and made the fudge (tastes like chocolate, but smells like something you should  hang in mesh to freshen your closet), did some laundry and some dishes, finished packing and then enjoyed our long dreamt of journey to Arizona. Dreaming, planning, ...soooo good, soooo important. But what I've learned is that BELIEVING and DOING are life-giving, self-esteem building, vital parts of living every today. Today really is a gift, isn't it? Somebody was clever enough to figure out that one of the phrases we can use to describe today is "the present". I don't think that's a mistake. I think that's awesome.

Jesus put it this way: "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." ~Matthew 6:34

Terri Brady: If I am to be Queen, I Shall be a Good One

(This first bit is from me...Sonya...)
This morning I wrote a little note on Facebook to express a little of the delight I felt when I discovered that my husband had moved the cars around, warmed mine up and cleared it off so I wouldn't get cold in the shut-down-the-schools storm in which I was to travel to work. I looked at the comment again a few hours later and found other lovely comments about him from other men and women we know. So many people "liked" the comment... People I haven't seen since elementary school in some cases ...and I quickly realized how very much we love a hero, a king. We crave such tales from earliest childhood and that longing to hear heroic stories is still within. Then, in the quiet of afternoon nap time I read a blog by one of my own heroes and was again delighted, but not surprised,for my Heavenly Father often arranges my life in this way, to find that Terri Brady had written the most densely packed and perfectly apt article about just that very issue. Here it is...enjoy, ingest, and employ it!

http://terribradyblog.com/

In 1831 in Great Britain, a little girl was studying English history. Reading through the royal lineage, she saw her own family tree and innocently realized that she was to be the next queen. The thought overwhelmed her and her tears drew the attention of her tutor. The little girl explained her plight and her tutor confirmed her destiny. It was recorded that day that the young Victoria said, “If I am to be queen, I shall be a good one.”

Of course, Queen Victoria reigned through much of the peaceful 1800’s so well, that the Victorian era is renown as a pleasant one. Furniture and architecture styles bear her name.

When talking with other wives, I am often asked questions like: How do I get my husband to be a spiritual leader? Or how can I motivate my husband to do more?

My answer is not an easy one – and I didn’t like it when I first came to this conclusion:

If I want to be married to a king, I must determine to be a good queen.

Last week, I read the book of Esther. Following aseries of sermons on Esther that my pastor did last year, it struck me how much Esther had to do to be queen!! The year’s worth of beauty treatment and selection process alone are evidence of the Almighty hand in this suspenseful, twisting, true tale of a heroine. (I highly recommend reading that little 10-chapter book of the Bible again NOW!) But the biggest thing that struck me during the book this time was the respect with which she treated the king.

I have been guilty in the past of looking at other women married to successful men and thinkingwow! It must be cool to be treated like a queen! I can’t say I ever really thought about what it would take to behave like one.

I come from the same educational background as my husband: engineering. We both had high scores on the GRE (100% in logic – I know…GEEKville), went to the same college and had companies pay tuition through our scholarships. We went to work in the automotive industry. He worked on engine components; I worked on transmission components and together, we made the car go:).

It is a blessing when a woman can use her abilities to work outside of the home, when she has her Biblical priorities in line (Proverbs 31, for example)…but I hope her husband still feels like a king.

Too often, a woman will use her God-given talents to advance her family, (Her heart is right.) but somehow end up turning her husband into a pawn instead of a king, and then wonder why her husband won’t act like a king. (Of course, I would be equally disappointed with a man treating his wife as anything less than his queen, but I digress from my point in this letter…)

Maybe there’s something to this “act-like-a-queen” stuff!

A spiritual leader will be his best when he has spiritual followers.

I am no linguisticologist (although I can make up words!), but it seems like the word, “encourage,” would break down into “in” and “courage” or, “to put courage into.” (And “discourage,” would be the opposite, or: “to take courage out.”) I don’t know about you, but I always do more when someone is pumping courage into me. What if we pumped courage into our kings? Then we would be queens!

I recently read a blog which inspired me to make my own list of ways to encourage my husband. I am sharing the first 20, but I would love if you attached comments to add more!

Look out, ladies! This past weekend, I read this list aloud to a mixed-gender crowd of a few thousand people in Louisville, KY. I was shocked by the response of the men, who shouted, “Read more! Read more!”

I guess men, like women…and kings, like queens, crave encouragement. Don’t wait to receive in order to give it.

Make your own list… And then live it.

Determine to be a good queen.

20 Ways to encourage your husband:

1. Enjoy a great time in the bedroom with him.
2. Send him an email that lists the A-Z things you love about him. (If you can’t do this, it may be part of the problem. Think harder and longer; take your time…even a letter a day.)
3. Know what his dreams are and make a scrapbook out of them for his review.
4. Ask him not what he can do for you, but what you can do for him. It is not, “Do unto others only if they do unto you,” but “Do unto others as you would like them to do unto you.”(Matthew 7:12)
5. If he is concerned about eating healthy, prepare meals that align with his desires and have them ready. If he would rather eat differently, treat him like an adult…an adult king.
6. Do “his chores” for a week, expecting nothing.
7. When he fails, forgive quickly.
8. Leave him a note in his briefcase or lunch bag, for example: “I am so glad to be YOUR queen.”
9. Write his goals on the bathroom mirror with dry-erase marker (if he likes your encouragement on his goals, and if he likes to keep his goals to himself – let him! After all, aren’t there some goals we girls like to keep to ourselves, too?).
10. Take care of yourself. Eat well, sleep well, and exercise, so you are the best queen. If you can’t live with yourself, it’s virtually impossible for anyone else to live with you either. Self-discipline helps so many more than yourself, but I could write another whole letter on that subject alone!!
11. Let him be his own boss. (Too often, I am the captain of the ship when Chris travels and it is easy to let my command-giving fall onto the king’s ears when he returns. – Not a good method of encouragement)
12. INITIATE a great time in the bedroom.
13. Buy his favorite soda.
14. Have the kids make a “Yay, Daddy!” party complete with notes why they love him.
15. Talk nicely about him to others, in front of him and behind his back.
16. Be his advocate when speaking to your kids. Stand up for him, even if you need to buy time, for e.g.. : “I am sure Daddy didn’t mean it that way. He loves you. When he gets home, you can talk to him and clear it up.” How a child talks about his dad tells me A LOT about his mom.
17. Don’t keep score. “his hours of free time” “his money spent” “his reading time”
18. Greet him at the door in lingerie (First, make sure he’s not bringing business partners home with him that night!)
19. Protect his time. Don’t invite people over, or to ride to an event with you, or stay with you, unless he agrees. Your “followership” encourages his leadership.
20. Stop what you are doing when he comes in the door. (Don’t be on the phone if you are expecting him.) GREET him as though you are happy to see him! “What you have done for the least of these, you have done unto me,” said THE King. (Matt 25:35-40)

Feel free to add more in the comments below…(and kings could anonymously give us queens some ideas, too…)

I can see the crown beginning to grow on your head!

In love,

Terri Brady

Recommended Reading

Esther, of the Bible

Sexual Intimacy within Marriage by Cutrer and Glahn (Good for marriage – with or without existing physical problems.)

Intended for Pleasure by Ed and Gaye Wheat

His Needs Her Needs by Harley, Jr.

Becoming the Woman of His Dreams
(Sharon Jaynes) – My FAVORITE marriage book: what 300 men wish they had in a wife (and it had nothing to do with chest size! Phew!)

Cherrily, Cherrily

"Mommy", he said.

I paused from kneading the bread, wiped the back of my arm across my forehead and glanced over at the now open refrigerator. I could just see a tuft of his perpetually-sticking-up red hair over the top of the fridge door, and I said, "Close the refrigerator door, Brucie, there's nothing in there for you. Go wash your hands."

I think it was a day or two ago, when he was 3 and still had that beautiful, soft, lisping voice. When did that voice change to sound so like his father's, deep and strong and confident?

"Mommy," he repeated, as if  perhaps I hadn't heard him correctly. Clearly that was the reason for my inappropriate and inadequate response to his salutation.

I smiled and shook my head."Mommy said to close the door, Bruce, and go wash your hands,|" I responded firmly, returning to my previous task of punishing the completely innocent lump of dough.

"No, no, Mommy, litten. Litten." I could see the tops of his raised eyebrows now and noted that he was fully up on his tippy-toes which peeked out from underneath said refrigerator door.

 I was littening..er...listening. Pastor Somers says that when Jesus would say "Verily, verily" or "truly, truly" it meant, "HEADS UP", so I figured a small boy's "litten, litten" probably conveyed the same urgency, and so I gave him my attention.

"Yes, Brucie, I'm listening. What is it dear?"

"Mommy, may I had a Chewwwwwy?"

"No, Bruce, no cherries right now. It's almost time for lunch."

All I could see was the tuft of copper hair again, as I heard him sigh.

"No, mommy, mommy, may I PWWWWEEEEED had a CHEWWWWY?" He hiked himself up as tall as he could and I could see his eyes wide with the possibilities...he was casting a VISION.

"No dear. No cherries." Pop went the bubble, or so I thought.

He gathered all his strength and practically propelled his head over the top of the door, meeting my eyes...I could almost see the top few freckles on his little nose. "No, no, mommy. Litten. Litten. May I PWEED, had jut ONE chewwy. And dat be it."

Now Andrew will tell you...actually, ask anyone...I'm soft, man. I try so hard to be strong, firm, a solid proverbs 31 kinda gal, but I'm a pushover.

And so I put a hand up over my big smile, choked back a chortle, swallowed a snicker, gulped back a giggle and said, "Ok, Brucie. You can have a cherry."

Not able to bring his triumphant little head up any higher over the door, he swung round the side, still gripping the door with chubby fist to anchor himself and to make sure he didn't lose any ground. He blessed me with his widest, most angelic smile and said...

"Tan I had TWO chewwied?"

I know, I know. A child needs to obey his mom when she speaks...first time, every time and with 3 possible responses:

Yes, ma'am, I'd be happy to.
Yes, ma'am, I'd be pleased to.
or, my personal favourite,
Yes, ma'am, I'd be DELIGHTED to.

And I've had plenty of time in the few days that have stretched out between age 3 and  age 15 to teach him this very important lesson.

But at that moment, I think the child was teaching the parent.

You see, up until then,  if  I encountered a no, an obstacle, a difficulty, a problem, it was in my nature to give up. It's still often my instinct and sometimes my reaction. Just to back down, give in, turn around, tuck tail and run. Lie down and cry.

But not my Brucie.

I've seen him focus and persist and strive and struggle so many times in his young life, and he continues to inspire me.

And wear me down.

Pastor Donald reminded us a few days ago (actual days, not mommy-doesn't-like to admit-her-age days like I used a few paragraphs earlier): "We don't have time to play church. We need to be about our Father's business."

We need to be about what we're ABOUT. Today.

Tomorrow is not promised and today is such a gift. Shouldn't we be at least as relentless in our pursuit of our purpose, our destiny, our mission, our vision, our values, and our dreams, as that little boy staring at his favourite treat? I think about that a lot lately. I want to be that persistent, that focused, that HUNGRY to do what I'm here to do. Them cherries are lookin' pretty good right now. And I think I can talk me into gettin' me some. I hear I'm a real pushover...

~ And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?~Luke 18:7&8

My City

He said, "Have you ever wept for your city?"

Wow. I couldn't remember ever weeping for my city. I'd heard people say they had. I'd choked up over this awesome worship song about the God of this city the first time Erin had played it on the guitar resting against her hip and had sung it slowly and beautifully, meaningfully, tearfully.

She was weeping for her city.

I was teary-eyed from the beauty of the song and the emotions it evoked, but not for my city. Not if I'm honest about the moment.

Years ago, Pastor Dean Brown had been driving through rural New Brunswick and had heard reports of murders in Halifax on the radio and had said to his wife, Rosalie, " I sure am glad we don't live in Halifax", whereupon he instantly heard that small voice in his head, "You're GOING to live there," and he looked over at Rosalie to see the tears running down her face as she said, "We're going there, aren't we?"

They wept for their city.

And when Pastor Donald asked us the question a few Sundays ago, I could hear the catch in his throat as he said, "This is my city; these are MY people".

He wept for his city.

As you know, my dear, one and only reader, (thanks, ma), I have recently wept for another city. I cried for their poor, their children, their moms, their homeless, their flooded land, their dying animals...but mostly for their children.

But I had not shed one tear for my city, my people. For our poor, our lonely, our homeless, our despairing, our broken hearted, our lost, our afraid, our hungry, our children and moms and dads who don't know how dear they are, how loved they are, how wondrously majestic they are, created for a purpose. Unique and spectacular.

When they wake, are they stretching hands up to the heavens, thankful for the warm bed, safe home full of family, full tummy, freshly brewed coffee, cozy reading chair, refreshing shower, clean clothes, new shoes, artfully planted flower beds, magnolia and lilac trees, a car with heated seats, favourite cd playing, a job to go to, friends on facebook and twitter, a church to go to where they're loved and hugged and praised and edified...?

When they look in the mirror do they see their beauty and intelligence and depth? Do they see the fingerprints of God all over their faces and the faces and places they love, all over their gifts and talents and the things they do and make? Do they see his art and science in their own? Do they hear his voice in their voices, in the birdsong, in the thunder? Do they know how much he loves them? Do they care?

These were the thoughts I was thinking as I drove to work that Monday morning looking around at the faces in the cars on either side of me on the bi-high. There were a lot of cars and a lot of faces, but there were NOT a lot of smiling, peace-filled faces. As a matter of fact, in the 73 cars I passed or watched pass me (just so you know, I passed WAY more than passed me....I may be a thinking person, but I'm very results oriented when it comes to winning in traffic...sure, I'm just about the POLITE-EST driver in the city...I let 'em all in...but I'm shrewd and calculating in picking my lane and when EXACTLY to switch lanes...but I digress)

Ahemmmm....

As a matter of fact, in the 73 cars I passed or watched pass me that Monday morning, I did not see one smile. Two or three distracted two-raised-finger waves as I let people into my line of traffic and smiled my biggest good morning smile at them. But no smiles. There were probably smiles, but I didn't see them. Because, like my friend Claude said last week, many people aren't winning in life. And me letting them into my line of traffic is not going to help them one bit with their finances or marriages or lonely, broken hearts. They need so much more.

And suddenly it happened.

I was weeping for my city. For my people. It was a groundhog day moment and the rest of the day slowed down into live-able, action-able moments as I looked for ways to help, to make a difference.

Right here in my city.

They said to me"Those who survived the exile and are back in the province are in great trouble and disgrace. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates have been burned with fire." When I heard these things, I sat down and wept. For days I mourned and fasted and prayed before the God of heaven.~Nehemiah1:3&4

an invitation

Here's what I wrote to Team Ecuador:

Hi, my BEAUTIFUL friends...

I was at church Saturday afternoon and from all the way across the room I saw Philip. It was all I could do not to just drop what I was doing and run to him for a hug. I miss Team Ecuador soooo much. 

I know you'll find it hard to believe, knowing what a cold hard rock of a woman I am, but on the second day back home...I cried. 

Me. 

I actually shed tears. 

Andrew had asked how I was feeling. He had meant my tummy troubles. 

I thought he was asking how I was FEELING. And I teared right up, then and there and wailed, "I miss Elsa and Sheila and Pam and Julia and Carito and...*sniff* EVERYONE! (i actually went through the names of EVERYONE, but you get the idea) and I miss the guaraba juice and the warm rolls in the morning and I miss the HEAT, and I miss the VAN...."

It was not pretty, my dear friends. 

And when I got the email from Carito, I couldn't even respond, I was so choked up.

You people changed my life, and I'm a better mom and wife and friend and daughter because of the time I spent with you. 

Well, at least I got to bring one of you home with me. The big guy in the yellow shirt.

If you get the chance to come meet Team Ecuador 2012 on Saturday, June 2 at 6:30 pm or Sunday, June 3 at 10:30 am, jump at it. The service at Stoneridge Fellowship is always fun, thought-provoking, life-changing and full of great people, and I know you'll be blessed by what you hear and see and by what God does among us when we gather together in his name. to find us, visit srfconnect.com


For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them~Matthew 18:20

Ecuadorian roadkill

You're driving along in Nova Scotia, and there's a dead animal on the road or the side of the road. It's bound to be a raccoon or a squirrel, a porcupine or a *gasp and hold your breath* skunk, or maybe even a dear little kitty or bunny, or on the odd occasion it's a deer. Sometimes there's a crow or two hopping around with a napkin round it's neck gettin' ready for a chow-down.

And then if you travel outside your province, it's always a little interesting to see what else there might be, but mostly it's the same laundry list, or grocery list if your name is Cletus, and you're from the mountain areas and happen to have a shovel in the back of the pickup...

But in Ecuador, it was a whole new scene. It was more likely to be a chicken or iguana or duck or cow, and so, sick as this sounds, there was some natural curiosity on everyone's part when we happened upon the scene of a critter's demise.

I know, I know, I've offended my one reader already. Sorry. But it's true. It was all just so different and fascinating, we just were compelled to look.

You woulda looked too.

So we're heading back from site numbers two and three I think, in the community of Salitre. We had seen pigs tied up by the side of the road, cattle of many different types chest deep in flooded fields, a sad lookin' old donkey limping his way along and all kinds of other strange and wonderful animals on our way into the community, and we were still eagerly looking around to see what we'd see on our way back "home".

There was the usual banter and singing and non-stop laughter that filled our van, but it all slowly trickled to a singular-themed hushed chatter as one after another of us noticed the BIG dead animal on the side of the road. The buzz worked its way around the van as we began to realize it was a donkey; probably the one we'd seen on it's last legs coming into Salitre. Poor old fella.

Not much further, we saw another dead creature on the same side of the road. This time an orange tabby cat. Another moment of silence.

But the moment of silence didn't last long. Joe took care of that.

Let me back up. Joe isn't the funny one. Tim is the funny one. Joe is our builder. He builds. Strong silent type. Builds for a living. Builds for fun.

Joe has a shirt that says, "Eat. Sleep. Build"

Joe builds.

But within SECONDS of seeing the dead cat, Joe pipes up:

WHERE'S SHREK?

We broke weak. It was just so fast, and so apt. And it came from Joe. It was awesome. We were all laughing.

Except Pastor Les.

I'll back up a bit again, though, because when we were all noticing the dead donkey, Pastor Les, often the first to notice and file away everything, was busy processing the same sight, but from his own reference point of growing up and living in Canada. So he already had determined that the dead creature was, of course, a deer, and he had moved on mentally to the next thing on his mind, not hearing us pass along the new information to each other that it was, indeed, a donkey.

So fast forward again to the laughter following Joe's well-timed quip, when we all suddenly heard Pastor say:

"What does Shrek have to do with a dead deer and a dead cat?"

And it was all over. 12 voices were all trying to explain the whole donkey, puss and ogre connection, some in great detail, assuming our pastor was probably too immersed in esoteric books about the scriptures to have understood the Shrek reference. But it totally wasn't that.

He just thought it was a deer.

So we thought we knew Joe. Had him packaged up neatly in the little box that said BUILDER.

And we thought we knew Pastor Les. Had him in a different box that said TOO DEEP AND SPIRITUAL TO KNOW ABOUT AN ANIMATED FILM.

And Pastor thought he knew roadkill.

Guess we shouldn't be too much in love with our own ideas about the way the world works, or who people are or what we think we know.

Like Chris Brady says, "Sometimes you don't know what you don't know, ya know?"

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will~ Romans 12:2

In Your Hand

My friends have been having babies lately.

It's been a weird, recurring thought of mine that over the next short span of years I could be watching my grandchildren become best friends with the children of my best friends.

Shudder.

But these new parents and the language they use with their sons and daughters has been reminding me of some things it would be easy to forget here in the land of "can I borrow the car?" and "I can't find any socks!" and "who ate all the cheese?"

They've been reminding me of the limitless possibilities planted in our children. Planted in us all. Possibilities that need to be fostered and nurtured and celebrated.

This week, I heard a new dad say, "You are the EXPERT at rolling over!"

Now, I know the reality is that most of us learn this one. Rolling over, in the scope of all things possible, may not rank very high on the skills scale. But it wasn't the act of rolling over that this dad was praising. He was praising his son. He was valuing what Wyatt had to give at that moment. And praising and valuing, lifting up and celebrating are habits that foster and build on the possible. Our children need to be nurtured in this way. And so do we. Are we nurturing ourselves and our own possibilities? Or are we focused on what we don't have, our children's shortcomings, our own weaknesses?

Back at the  beginning of this incredible year, Pastor Donald reminded me to look at what I have in my hand to use. He talked of the great Israelite leader, Moses, when he first encountered God and was told that he was going to lead his people out of oppression. Moses, shepherd's staff in hand was protesting and whining that he had nothing to give, to offer, to equip him for such a task. And God asked him what he had in his hand.


Do we see what we have in our hands?

Do I?

If I take 30 seconds and list all the amazing skills and abilities to be found just in the 6 people living here in this house, I'm astounded at the range of capabilities. If I list the blessings of circumstances, people we know and have known, where and when we are in history and geography, the things we've learned and know how to do, why it could bring you to your knees!

We've been gifted to sing, speak, write words, to prepare food, to create art, to play instruments, to set a table, arrange flowers, decorate a room, make a bed, plant a garden, mow or rake a lawn, build a fire, cut and style hair, apply makeup, make balloon animals, do magic tricks, build things, plan a budget, fix a computer, swim and dive and run and dance...

And we find ourselves standing here, staff in hand, protesting and whining that we have nothing to give, nothing to add.

And God bluntly asks us, "What's that in your hand?"

And we reply, unthinking and un-thankful, "a stick."

When it's really all that God's gifted us with; it's really everything we need to accomplish the great plans he has for us. He asks us to throw it down, as he asked Moses, thousands of years ago.

And if, after a struggle, we do throw it down, it is transformed and comes to life and becomes a miracle of creation.

But then, when he asks us to pick it up again, to have the courage and faith that it really is more than it seems, we're afraid to take it up again. Moses' staff had turned into a snake, and I can certainly appreciate his hesitation to reach out his hand and grab that snake by the tail.

I'd have wet my pants if he asked me to pick up a snake.

Think about it.

And so I'm afraid to take the snake by the tail. I'm afraid to do the great things he asks of me. And if I am afraid, so must my children be. And it's here, at this moment, that the years of what I've been saying to myself and to them will make it's impact. Have I been saying, "You're the EXPERT of...you're AMAZING at....look at the ABILITIES you have to..." Or have I been saying other things, things that don't feed possibilities, things that erode them and tear them down.

This weekend, at the LIFE leadership seminar at Mount Saint Vincent University, Jean talked about changing the things we say to ourselves, changing the things we listen to and watch and say to others, and Tammy even admonished us to change the way we THINK about each other.

In the busy-ness of the moments that whip by our eyes and ears and minds, are we seeing what we have in our hands as a stick, or as an instrument to change the world?

So I suddenly see that my friends aren't just having babies. And I don't just have teenagers. We are raising the next generation of leaders who will move and shake and change this world in ways we can't even imagine.

And it all starts with what we see when we look at them, and what we say to feed their possibilities.

What's that in your hand?





Immediately the boy's father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!~ Mark 9:24

dragon flies and vultures

I was sitting at a little table in the early morning sunshine on our last day in Guayaquil, sketching a little picture of a 3 year old child named Christe, peeking out from behind a wall next to the last house we built.  As my pencil built up her image on the paper and I remembered the way she snuggled in when I held her on my lap in the hot sun, I was aware that the colours and sounds and smells of this place were no longer an assault on my senses. They had become a part of my days, and a part of my life. I have a craving, even now, for the taste of guaraba juice, freshly squeezed each morning, for the riot of orange and pink flowers and blue sky and rich green leaves against creamy white concrete, for the sound of horns and spanish cryptoquotish chatter, for the tight hug of heat on my skin, and maybe, just maybe even for the smell of the dog.

No. Not the dog. I was growing sentimental. I do not miss the smell of that wretched dog. Tim had threatened, on more than one occasion, to tie a note to that dog's collar: "please give me a bath".

And it was Tim, that morning, who next wandered out onto the terrace, as had become his custom, to think and pray and read and write in his journal; to soak up just a little more of this city we had grown to love.

After a little while he stopped beside me and shared a little of what he was thinking, and although I don't have anything remotely like a photographic or phonographic memory, and I can't remember the exact words he said, I remember WHAT he said, if you know what I mean. And it all started with the disclaimer: "I'm not usually poetic, but..."

"I'm not usually poetic, but you know how there have been a few things we see every day? Kind of steady companions every where we go, in every community, at every building site? Dragon flies, pigs, chickens, vultures, dogs...?"

I nodded.

"Well, it's occurred to me that those dragon flies that hover beside us while we build, while we eat, while we walk and talk and visit people, and those vultures circling directly above us or just in our peripheral, all the time, every day, everywhere we go, they're kind of like the invisible armies of good and evil, one to protect and encourage and help us to focus on all that's around us, the beauty, the industry, the details, and one just waiting for us to fail, never directly in our line of vision, but intimating and suggesting hopelessness and sadness and sickness and death, inciting fear and despair. Both hovering and circling, but one displaying beauty and intricacy, reflecting light and colour, zipping around us quickly, or floating effortlessly right at our eye level, while the other moves slowly and deliberately, dark and frightening and far above us."

Deep guy, that Tim. Sounded pretty poetic to me.

He was right about the dog too. It did need a bath.

Don't we all, now and then.



"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."  ~Ephesians 6:12

despedidas

Today is our last day here.

Looking around at the team as they slowly, one by one gathered out under the porch on the chairs and sofa and hammock this morning, praying, reading, quietly talking, I was in awe of the process that took us from being 12 relative strangers, who knew a bit about each other, but did not KNOW each other, to being this tightly woven community of friends who encourage and edify and deeply love each other and who have worked so well together, laughed so hard together, cried so often, smiled so much.

We´ve come to call the daily laughing fits our ab workout...although often started by Tim, these workouts have been actually started by every member of the team on one occasion or another. Sometimes it´s deliberate quick wittiness (courtesy of Tim, Adam, Les, Sheila, Andrew, Philip, Pam or Joe), but sometimes it´s a clueless thing (called pulling a Sonya), sometimes a powerful reaction to a surprise or practical joke (pulling an Elsa), sometimes a look(pulling a Julia), and sometimes it´s an I´ve-had-it-with-you-people shake of the head(you guessed it, THAT´S a Carito).

We´re already  welling up with tears here and there as we get ready to say our goodbyes to the friends we´ll leave behind at oh-dark-thirty tomorrow morning. I´m still contemplating hiding Beto, our amazing young translator and Carito´s delightful younger brother in our suitcase, and I think Pam and Joe might actually already  have a suitcase full of Konig, our unbelievably giving, devoted driver Delia´s sunbeam of a daughter who has been with us every day between her classes, and who has stolen our hearts. Jose Fernando, another translator, won´t leave and is still lying here on the grass with us. And Tatiana, our translator, driver and encourager, industrial engineer by trade, servant of the Lord and advocate for thousands of children by calling, WILL come to Nova Scotia if we have to pay for the trip ourselves!

Goodbye Ecuador.None of us will ever be the same.

At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality. -2 Corinthians 8:14

Joyful Noise

What a greeting we received on Mount Zion!!!

As we made our way up the winding, bumpy dirt road, bordered on both sides by crowded merchants stalls and gated and barred up shops selling...well, everything and anything, we were suddenly advised from the front to put our cameras away and to keep our eyes averted so as not to draw attention to ourselves. That´s when we began to notice out of the corner of our eyes that the looks weren´t so friendly, that we were escorted ahead and behind by undercover police officers, and that there was a palpable tension in the front of the van. We were told that it would be easy for our van to be taken and for us to also be taken somewhere else and robbed. 

But when we entered the sanctuary they call Mount Zion at the top of this poorest of poor, drug centred community, we could see that things were different. 

Stoneridge, several years ago, got this place inside their hearts and donated money to build much of this beautiful structure, the largest church in square feet in the city, and it houses a school and lunch program for so many children I couldn´t count. They hugged and kissed us and one little girl just went from arms to arms until she´d explored every inch of our faces with her spectacular chocolatey chip eyes, patted our hair, kissed us, squeezed us and smiled and smiled. We danced up to the front of the assembly and clapped and jumped and did actions with the children, and cried as we were told stories about this place and the children there. 

After, while our group was gathered on the stage for a moment before we got to go see the children in their classrooms, Pastor Les tearfully told us that Stoneridge also gives alot of money weekly to the lunch program, because for many, this is the only meal they get all day. We had no idea. 

Thank you, Stoneridge.

We disrupted classes by peeking in the doors and windows, and the teachers there encouraged the children to practice their English greetings...we touched as many little hands as we could before the teachers called them all back to order, so we played a little kick ball in a circle...and it was all good until the ball rolled into the muck, at which point I put my hands up in surrender and walked off the field, followed quickly by all my sisters and brothers...

We´ve been singing all week. In the van, around the pool, on the building sites, in the pigpens. but the Joyful Noise  we heard in that school, Mount Zion, that place of the Lord that stands like a castle on a hill? Why, my friends, THAT was the sweetest sound, the highest praise we´ve heard.

Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary. Praise him in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts. Praise him according to his excellent greatness. Praise him with the sound of the trumpet. Praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise him with the timbrel and dance. Praise him with stringed instruments and organs. Praise him on the loud symbols, Praise him on the high sounding symbols. Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord. Psalm 150

Surprise!

As we approached the site where we were to build TWO houses yesterday, my heart felt something different. The closer we got, the worse conditions got.

The houses looked shakier and more patched together with whatever was around.

There was more garbage lying around.

The dogs got skinnier.

And mile after mile as conditions grew worse and worse, I felt the vastness of it all.

Each morning when I wake, I walk over to the corner of the plot of land on which our hostel rests; this beautiful  sanctuary we´ve come to call home to our family of 12+...and I pray for this city, and I sing to the God of this city, the God of this world, and I think of the vastness of it all, and I´m awed by it and thankful for it.

But this was so different.

I was accutely, painfully aware of how small I am, and how little I can do. And the tears began, and then the quiet sobs, my face turned as far from everyone as I could. And then suddenly we were there and I had to pull it together...FAST. For there, beside the van was the pastor of these two communities...the beacon of hope and light that God has placed among them, the castle on a hill. And here I was, drowning my light in tears, washing out the land under my castle with floods of fear and doubt.

And then I saw her. Bit by bit I heard the story told around me of the woman beside the van, whose face now was also streaked with tears. It was explained that one of the two lots on which we were to build was flooded out and we would not be able to build there today, but that there was another family in dire need...a family of 8 whose home was falling down around them and who had no hope of anything better...and this lady outside my window was the mother in this family and she had just been told that today we were going to tear down her home and build her a new one. TODAY. She was crying and laughing and smiling and sobbing all at once.

And because Stoneridge loves the people of Ecuador, there was enough money left over that when Carito discovered that their beds were rotten, Pastor was able to get them new beds and bedding, with which he surprised them after he presented them the new house from the church. So they had food to fill a fridge, health care for the sick baby, new beds and bedding and a new house to put them in by 4pm, and as we walked away, more tears streaking down sweaty, dirty faces, we saw one of the little boys sweeping out the area that will be where he sleeps.

And I remembered that it´s not just me, and it´s not just this team. We represent the hundreds of people at Stoneridge Fellowship who give and give and give til it hurts and pray for and deeply love the people here in Ecuador, and it´s our friends and families and colleagues who dug deep into their pockets to give some more, and who are continuing to pray even now for these our brothers and sisters in the Lord. And it´s not even just these thousands of people. It´s the God of the Universe who works in and through us and right along side us.

Maybe the small bit we were able to do yesterday was enough. Maybe, just maybe, the small things accomplished on behalf of the thousands of people we represent here today was enough. Maybe God is big enough. Maybe God really is the God of this city. Surprise.

And I was reminded again of 1Corinthians 15:58, and, yes,  I know I already used that one a few days ago, but it´s in my heart to strengthen and sustain me, and I hope it will do the same for you: Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourself, fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labour in the Lord is not in vain.

Spanish Stoneridge

We all worshipped together at Israel Baptist Church early...EARLY Sunday morning. I loved watching Carito out of the corner of my eye, praising God in her own language with the people of her own congregation, and Adam had to pat me on the shoulder a few times as the tears ran freely down my grateful, overjoyed face. The music was triumphant and joyful, the message was powerful and personal, and then I had the privilege of greeting almost every person as they streamed forward at the end, grasping my hand, kissing my cheek, hugging and patting...I learned much of the Spanish I´ve used since from that one encounter with that amazing congregation.

Before we sat down, I had asked the Lord for an open, understanding heart and ears that could hear. He blessed me greatly and I was able to understand much of what we were singing and I was able to find all of the passages of scripture so I could easily piece together what the pastor was teaching. God is AMAZING!!!

After a wonderful breakfast with the lead pastor, we all split into 3 groups to attend different community services. Some of these communities offer up to 5 services a day, there are so many people who come now.

And this time, somehow, God allowed me to understand almost everything. The words to the songs were up on the screen and it was soon very easy to sing right along. Pastor David Campos was engaging and deep and funny and clear, like a shorter, Spanish Pastor Les Somers. I know comparing isn´t good because it can keep you from being open to what you´re seeing NOW, but I couldn´t help comparing this service to our own as it was soooo much like ours in structure, in feel, in sound, in smiles!

It was like Spanish Stoneridge :)

"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty!" -Psalm 84:1

A Hope and a Future

Saturday took us to the poorest of poor areas to replace a Sunday school building that collapsed recently. All the children had been inside it...thankfully no one was hurt in any way, but it was pretty clear that the pieced together fallen building they were continuing to use was no solution at all.

The children gathered very quickly all around us, and it wasn´t long before Elsa had two little girls by the hand and several hovering around her, following her around. Their little faces were open and curious and I was once again delighted and suprised by how quickly bonds were made and communication established.

The Halifax Regional Police had donated a bunch of cardboard binoculars that everyone loved...it was so funny to see the little boys running with the little red boxes up to their eyes to go tell their friends. Even adults were coming for them, and pretty soon I was just standing in a circle of hands, putting the little cello wrapped packets into them and being patted and gracia´d and bendiga´d all around. I even saw Placido, one of  the local builders who´s been with us since day one, proudly and carefully putting his in his supply bag.

Elsa smiled at me from her little huddle of joy and suggested we should figure out something to DO with the children since there were already so many hands building and we´d already done our routine of separating the box of different nails and putting together the screws and fasteners.I drew a hopscotch in the dry dirt and the children gathered in a little group around me, giggling as I threw my stone and hopped around, counting in spanglish...they joined in and took turns hopping until the "rock" we were tossing broke into a hundred bits and we all had a good laugh. That´s when Julia suggested that it was time for the balloons...

The balloon animals were a hit, and our little assembly line of ladies was working pretty well, although it was so frantic with all the children trying to grab more balloons out of the bag. It was interesting that there was absolutely no pushing or shoving, just each child chattering and searching to make eye contact with us to let them go first. And we were moved to see that the children who finally did get their balloon animals would often take them quickly to a smaller child and then return for more. But it was also clear very quickly that many of the animals were quickly untwisted and the balloons presented again. That was when it hit us all as we looked around at the children. We could have been handing out twisted blades of grass. It wasn´t about the thing they were getting. It was 100% about the time they were getting with us, the one to one eye contact and  conversation they were having with us. We all made some pretty special connections that day.

The Sunday school program was awesome, and later that night, those who had been outside building told us that when the children started to all sing and respond to the story the work became easier and everything just came together. Those children sat and listened, jumped up and sang, and then about 12 girls and boys, with faces painted with beautiful masks performed a dance for us, set to a modern worship song. My little helper, Ruth, sang lustily along with the song...she knew every word. I squeezed her hand in appreciation as I smiled at the beauty of the sight and sounds of this gift they´d worked so hard to prepare for us. The work that went into that dance touched every heart there.

This all took place in a bamboo structure that this community uses as a church, and so Stoneridge, unknown to Victoria, the leader of that community, had sent 10 000 dollars to build a concrete building. Thank you Stoneridge!!! I wish you all could have been there to see the looks on their faces or hear the cheers. We were so honoured to be representing you all and there was not a dry eye in the place when one of the little girls reached up and kissed Pastor Les.

Making connections with these children was so moving and so vital. If we, as Christians, can have more influence over our children here than the gangs and drug communities who also offer the children comfort and prayer and a feeling of belonging, and if we can do it before they´re 6 and keep it up consistently, we have a chance of giving them hope for a future, and they have a chance at freedom. We weren´t just handing out treat bags with suckers and chips and juice and animal crackers for their tummies. We were sharing the  hope we have with their hearts and trying somehow to convey that there´s a group of people thousands of miles away who gather as they do every Sunday, who love them, who love God and his son Jesus Christ, and who care about the future he has planned for them.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." -Jeremiah 29:11