caryjo-roadrunner

"LOST NO MORE"

2012-01-30T19:07:00.005-06:00

Verse 1:

I walked out from my Father's house,
***** tried to find my own way.
My way led to filth and shame,
***** yet I could not turn away.
Father's love shone like a light,
*****through all my days,
**********all through the nights
assuring me that I'd be welcome home.

Chorus 1:

Lost no more, for You, oh Lord have called me.
Lost no more, for You searched for me and found me.
Your loving arms enfolded me, put a robe upon my back.
Father, You poured Your grace on me.

Verse 2:

I spread my wings and flew away,
*****thinking only of my freedom.
But freedom turned to slavery,
*****I was shackled by my sin.
Then Father's love sang out my name,
*****broke through my chains and healed my pain,
and all I wanted was to fly back home.

Chorus 2:

Lost no more, for You, oh Lord have called me.
Lost no more, for You searched for me and found me.
Your loving arms enfolded me, put a ring upon my hand.
Father, Your grace has rescued me.

Final Chorus:

Lost no more, for You, oh Lord, have called me.
Lost no more, for You searched for me and found me.
Your loving arms enfolded me,
You welcomed me back to Your heart.
Father, Your grace has led me home.

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In 2004, when Dave was a Saturday evening worship leader occasionally, and the Pastor had told him the coming sermon was going to be re: Prodigal Son, Dave decided that we might write a song for that evening to encourage the pastor before his sermon. It came out well. Dave wrote Vs. 1, I wrote Vs. 2, and we wrote the choruses. We've written separately and together in the past, several times, but this came out best... creativity but no fussiness while we hashed it out. That was a miracle all by itself!

Oh, and the Pastor loved it!

MY "ABORTION" MIRACLE

2012-01-26T20:29:00.004-06:00

Every year when January 22nd hits, and the pro-choice and pro-life groups hit the news, I always want to stand up and holler, "LISTEN TO ME!!!!"

The key: My son was born on January 17th, 1973. Last week he turned 39. And it's a miracle he was born.

In the Spring, 1972, I became pregnant for the severaleth time. I had had at least two miscarriages in the previous two years, and, while driving home from church that Sunday afternoon, the pain began again; I was only 6 weeks pregnant. It was the exact feeling and timing of the other miscarriages. I went to a Doctor immediately on that Sunday afternoon, and after checking me, he suggested that I not have this baby, that I let "Nature" bring this to an end. He gave me some pills to take "whenever I felt that pain." At home, even when in pain, I didn't take any pills; I'm not a medicine-oriented person. What I discovered many months later was that the pills would not have relieved the pain, but would have caused a medical abortion.

Occasionally, during the next several months, other doctors tried to convince me to let them bring the birth to an end. I was told that this baby would be a mental and physical vegetable, that I would always have to care for "it" and would never be free OR that the baby could die very soon and I would suffer from that death; "Mother Nature" had tried to free it "now."

Well, I refused. Can't say I wasn't scared about what the results would be. In fact, I was terrified during the pregnancy, especially when I was forced to be in bed for about two months and had this fear pouring through my heart and mind constantly. But, I knew it wasn't what God would want me to do, so I simply couldn't; sometimes I felt Him hold my hand and encourage me to stand in that rocky area. The baby's Dad, my former husband, basically just told me to do what I needed to do. Except for one spiritual Mom who gave me a Word when she could, I walked through this alone.

[You must recall or know that in those days talking to a pastor about these physical issues was not reasonable, going to a counselor wasn't easy, and ultrasound wasn't a medical part of our lives. Life has most certainly changed now.]

The baby was due on January 12. On the 16th, I was rushed to Stanford University for the delivery. Labor had kicked in early that evening. When the baby was being delivered, about 6:30 AM the 17th, the nurse asked if I wanted to look in the mirror so I could watch "it" come out. I was obviously more terrified than anyone, including me, knew it. I screamed, "NO!!!"

And then the baby came. And HE was not a vegetable. He looked like his sister who had arrived about 3 years earlier, he was an ounce different in weight, and 1/2 inch different in length. That was all. Period.

I was in the hospital for a week. Didn't know anything about the abortion approval. In fact, I didn't know anything about that for some time; life was extremely stressful and my recovery took several months. Survival was my only focus then.

But to know that the Lord gave me a son at the same time that law came into being, and that He had helped me walk through those horrible times with very caring and concerned doctors, probably some of the most seriously compelled to do the best for me and the "fetus", still just fills my heart with appreciation for Him.

And for my son. And my son's son.

PRESSURE...PEACE....PURPOSE

2012-01-23T16:48:00.009-06:00

Every person, physically capable of doing so, walks. A person’s walk can be as unique as his laugh or voice or sneeze. Young “Jocks” swagger or strut, teenage girls saunter, older women mince along in staccato steps, briskly, and old men shuffle. Eight year old girls and ten year old boys have a style of their own, characterized by numerous detours and much sidewalk scuffing; adults call it dawdling.

Nicknames can stem from unusual walking styles. My mother was a tall woman, 6'2", who swayed when she walked. Due to her height, her walk was not unattractive. However, since walking is usually learned by imitation, her girls swayed, too. Being much shorter, our swaying was stiffer and more obvious to the casual onlooker. I lived uncomfortably with the nickname “Penguin” during high school as a result of my awkward gait.

With all of those various stages of walking, it's not the same as a march. Except for school marching bands or military units, we rarely do it. But marching is absolutely necessary to face forward in preparing for battles... whether coming or going.

Almost thirty years ago, most Saturdays during one stretch, I marched, by myself, stomping on sidewalks and street pavement. Life in those days was intense and filled with everyday anger and fear, and this was my "battling" mood. My fight. In Edmond, Oklahoma, I lived near an outside-of-town road, and I would hammer my way up the street.

Those marches led me from Pressure to Peace to Purpose.

Under Pressure, I knew the answers I was seeking and the help I needed, hoping they would be in my grasp by the end of the trek.

During the first two miles I released the pent-up emotions. Anger, frustration, sorrow or fear boiled freely to the surface, unhindered by the presence of family members or society’s emotional restrictions. To “stop and smell the roses” was out of the question during this portion of the walk. I prayed emphatically, “hollering” to God [and, appropriate or not, AT Him]. I shadow-boxed my Opponents, producing smiles and double-takes from passing motorists. I shouted my Enemies into submission -- Insistent bill collectors, overbearing employers, disagreeable coworkers, “impossible” family members -- and all the other demons and dragons were ejected from my life.

After the initial expenditure of emotion, my marching would switch a bit from stomping to release frustration to marching for and with the Lord. I would sing Scripture songs, such as “The Horse and Rider”, which glorified God for victory at the Red Sea. And, I would sing old-time "rejoicing" gospel choruses – loudly – so I couldn't hear my Enemies if they insisted on talking back to me.

Most importantly, I walked FAST, planting each foot solidly, focused solidly, like a Roman soldier on the way to battle the Huns.

Once the Peace began, I started the second "leg" of my journey. I walked more slowly, more leisurely. Creativeideas and solutions to the serious problems began to flow into my mind. I absorbed the Nature surrounding me, pausing to pick wild flowers, watch birds and squirrels, or have a “stare down” with a cow. The realization rose to the surface of my emotions that, no matter how disconcerting the present dilemma, when seen within the realm of our God-given Nature and the Eternal scheme, no problem is insurmountable. I gained the assurance that “even this shall pass away.”

The final phase of the walk was a victory celebration -- a Purpose. Bolstered by new resolve, refreshed and renewed by the clearing of my senses and the physical exertion, reveling in the freedom from frustration and anxiety, my steps quickened as I neared home. I was nearly always joyful – I had marched against and battled the “ghosts” of life -- and I had won.

HALLELUJAH!!!

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This is connected to the Word Carnival, the focus is Marching.

TODAY'S HEART... AND FOREVER.

2012-01-22T14:23:00.006-06:00

It's been a number of years since I've been in another country, serving the Lord, doing what I am called to do. Uganda, Costa Rica, Morocco -- in their nations; Bhutan, India, Sudan -- inside mine. Should be satisfied and content.

Right?

At church today a missions couple who are visiting from China were sharing about their "God-job" over there. They mentioned the details of their mission work and their training and helping of others. They shared how a Tibetan had come to the Lord in their school...just shy of a miraculous miracle. What was my reaction? "WHEN CAN I GO??" [Have studied Chinese missions history for over 40 years.]

Yesterday I was looking at a World Vision list of countries with photos of both missionaries and nationalists serving the Lord and helping in very strong ways... sometimes the "strong ways" being simply to hold and help warmly and caringly. What was my reaction? WHEN CAN I GO?? [One of the first books I read after my salvation was the original World Vision book written in 1960: Let My Heart Be Broken... by the things that break the heart of God.]

I read blog posts from various places in the world... most of the continents, and many nations. And even as I read them what is often my reaction or response? ... WHEN CAN I GO??

Now, I realize, reading books, hearing stories, "seeing" the results of the sharing of the Word of God with others, helping, doing.... not all of us can do it everywhere all the time. I know that. My head knows that. My heart knows it... a beat at a time. My spirit knows the Lord is the One who calls the right people to the right place at the right time.

In spite of that basic knowledge ... today, while listening to this couple share with our congregation, my heart/soul/spirit reaction was/is: WHEN...CAN...I...GO???

TRAGIC WEEK... AND BLESSED

2012-01-15T15:21:00.008-06:00

Sometimes life is frustrating and filled with anger and rage. That would describe my momentary stretches this past few days.

According to the recent report, there have been at least 15 shootings since the beginning of the month here in Omaha... the beginning of our new year. Three men died.

We had three First Responders prayer times... one on Friday evening, two this afternoon. At all of them we had family members and neighborhood folks meet with us so we could comfort, encourage, and pray the peace of God over them, AND allow them to share their hearts with us.

On Friday night, the prayer time was held at a home just down the street from where Joshua had been shot. The shooting was on Tuesday; he was on life support until Wednesday. Joshua, 22, had been part of a local Christian facility for some time. The ministry focuses on kids from the tough and poor neighborhoods and difficult family backgrounds. Many of that ministry's group members have been in gangs and on drugs. There's been more than one indication that Joshua had changed his way of life and was trying to turn a solid direction. Many of the friends and family who were at this prayer time... a cold and windy and dark time ... were Christians. Solidly walking with the Lord.

During the praying and sharing, of the 50 or so people, a bunch of small children were running in and out of the circle, the pack. Another few guys in their teens and early twenties were Joshua's friends. And, among others, his grandma, mom, aunt, and one of his young boys.

The saddest aspects this event? His dad was killed, just "accidentally", last August.

Thursday, 3 PM, a 42-year old man was shot in front of his apartment; he died shortly after arriving at a nearby hospital. A 19-year old man was arrested today.

We met at the murder site this afternoon at 2:00 for the prayer time. A number of family, neighbors, and friends came. At all the murder sites I've been at in the past 3-1/2 years, I've never seen any harder-looking faces. Especially the women. Whatever the reason for the shooting, they lost George. Forever and ever.

Then, we went to a home about a mile from my house. This was even more disastrous.

It was a domestic situation, and we rarely go to one of those places. We don't want the neighborhood or the family to be upset, thinking that we are just nosy. This description might be hard to follow, but give it a try. In this case, Antonio, father of a couple boys, became angry because their mom, Kennetta, with whom he had lived for a few years until a recent breakup, had a new man, Davarus,living with her. Antonio showed up on Friday morning and shot and killed Davarus. Then Antonio took the young boys [8, 5, and 4 years old] into his car and hit the street. He was stopped and arrested just a couple miles away. The kids were OK -- physically, at least.

Because of the children and the future of their stress and "heart" damage, we went today. Turns out that, even though we planned to not be in front of the house, but would only be together up the street, we were actually invited to the property. One family member stood by the front door, the protector ... from some source the family has been receiving threats. Another young man, Michael, a family friend in his early 20s, prayed intensely. A little later another young man was with us, looked very sad. When I glanced a couple minutes later, he had a young woman in his arm, her head on his shoulder. Someone asked who she was and he said it was his sister. And the sister was Kennetta. I would never have imagined such a young woman being the mother of those boys.

We all encircled them, and a local pastor prayed very intensely for her. Kennetta sobbed and sobbed and clung to her brother. Michael, who had prayed earlier, came back down from the house and spread his arms around our shoulders, too.

At church this morning, I was telling my pastor about this day-plan on my schedule and what Friday's F.R. was like. He said something that touched me. Basically, that we tend to read a newspaper, glance at these horrible events, skim through, and then head on to something else. [My mind was saying "comics".. my tendency.] And he was not pleased with the automatic choices people make almost constantly.

So, I'm home. I'd like to spend more time editing and re-editing and perfecting this post, but I can't adjust it much better right now; too much on my mind and heart. But, also, I can't wait to send it out to the world. Why? Three families are walking through a stretch of life the vast majority of us never have to face. For them, my heart is filled with an intense desire that the enemy lose ENTIRELY. That these wives, moms, children, lovers, dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters... and on and on... will turn to the Lord and find His kind hands touching their hearts.

And THAT is the blessing. We WILL be together; we WILL spiritually fight together; we WILL praise our Father together -- forever and ever -- AMEN.

ISAIAH 54:2,13

2012-01-09T20:32:00.004-06:00

When I saw the word for the Carnival this week and it is "Fresh", I had no idea what to present. Prayed this week, asking the Lord to lay the thought on me. And it happened!
============================================
God surprised me, in many ways, at many times, in my life.

Originally, at a young age, I assumed I would have several children. Because I was "raising" my five sisters, I had no idea it would be any different for my whole life, being always in that overly responsible realm. It was the way our families had been operating generationally. So no options. Period.

When I married, at 23, having come to the Lord about 2-1/2 years earlier, I assumed the same. My thought: Of course, the Lord would want me to have a few children now that I belong to Him and will learn how to be a good Christian mom.

And then something... actually SEVERAL things ... occurred. One: miscarriages and some dangerous physical damage connected to them. Doctors were worried, and since they were at Stanford University and treating me as a "test" person, that should be an indicator that it was pretty serious.

Two: my marriage was bad, to say the least, and I was impoverished, hardly able to feed my kids, let alone provide anything else.

When I read these verses in Isaiah 54, clear back then, in the early '70s, I was always filled with delight. The reason: the promise of the Lord that my two children would come to him. I relied on those verses ... still do.

What is Fresh? When I open the doors of my tent, while spreading further, the breezes rush through, fresh breezes. Over and over again I spread it out, lengthen my cords, strengthen my stakes. And every time the tent is spread further, breezes enter.

The reason for the expansion? More and more children... not only physical children ... but, as Isaiah's verse says in the Amplified, "spiritual" children.

During the past 40 years, young people and single parents and, now, not-so-young folks, are in my life. Various locations. Mostly in Omaha and Uganda from May, 1974 until May, 2009.

Now, life has, again, expanded. I have a pile of Bhutanese "kids"... from infancy to the 50s. Some arrived as Christians from Nepal, and a few are in my "tent". Others arrived as Buddhists or Hindus and are "seeing" Him and "hearing" His call frequently. Consequently, I never know when the tent needs to be readjusted, but my goal is to be prepared, have the cords and stakes ready for the expansion.

The "tent" life is filled with fresh wind, blowing out the sin that invades hearts and minds and spirits.

My life is blowing forth with a strong and intense desire for the freshness of our Lord to draw others closer to Him inside the "spiritual" tent that He has provided.

ADHE, MY DAUGHTER

2012-01-05T20:36:00.009-06:00

In 1999, Dave and I went to Uganda for the wedding of Sam, our Ugandan son. When he and his fiancee picked us up at Entebbe airport, Adhe walked into our hearts. She was a lovely and sweet girl, 23 years old.

During the 3 weeks we were in their area, we had a lot of time with them, except for their honeymoon days. Dave and I were involved in the wedding preparations, we planted gifts in their house where Sam had been living for some time. We brought some items from our home and bought some over there. It was very exciting for us. So happy to see Sam so blessed, so content.

When the four of us were in Kampala, walking through one of the market places for electric bits and pieces, while Sam and Dave were hitting the shops, Adhe and I stayed outside, and she always had her arms around me and her head on my shoulder.

Over time, she talked about her life, and it was a heart toucher.

She had been abandoned by her mother very shortly after birth and left with her dad's family. That grandma, her dad's Mom, loved her and took her into her place and cared for her. One day some robbing thugs came into the village and, at some point, Grandma, inside her home, was shot. When folks came to check on Grandma the next day, she was found dead... Adhe, about 2-years old, was wrapped on Grandma's back, not injured, but now deprived of that love.

After that she was shifted from family to family. When about 8, Compassion International took her on as a child. This gave Adhe schooling and helpful support. As a result, she has been a social worker in the Bush near where she lives, giving her life and time beyond belief in serving Compassion, grateful for all they did for her.

After that shopping stretch in Kampala, we were riding back to the orphanage where they lived [where Dave and I had worked when missionaries]. Dave and Sam were in the front seat. Adhe and I were in the back, and she laid down with her head in my lap and just clung to me during that long drive. Dave and I were leaving the next day.

She didn't say anything about her feelings at that moment, but wrote a letter after we came home. I still have it. In it she described what she had been sensing and going through when Dave and I entered her life. She thanked Dave for being such a good Dad and showing Sam how to treat his wife... opening doors, holding hands, helping in practical ways... not always a "Ugandan" way of life. Sam had lived with us over there, which was how we met him when he was the House and Yard Boy on the property we rented near Kampala in '94. Then, when, in '96, miraculously the Lord provided a visa for him, and he lived with us here for 2-1/2 years, while we put him at a community college. During those years, both there and here, he saw how a man should treat his wife. ANYHOW... she was one grateful young lady and very appreciative.

What she said also in the letter, buried her in my heart in a way I had never expected, ever, ever...

The reason she had clung to me at the market and in the car was because she now knew she had a Mom.

Believe me, she does.

Right now she's suffering with migraine, and my heart wants to be in Uganda so I can just hold her, be with her. I know others are caring for her, and I'm not particularly skilled with their way of cleaning and cooking, so I couldn't step up and do a lot of practical help for her ... but that doesn't mean my heart isn't there. That I don't "see" my arms around her.

She is 36 today. And I wanted to share about her. She's special... and the amazing part? She thinks I am. She respects and loves me no matter how I'm acting or what I'm doing or saying... or not.

And why?

Because I'm the Mom God has given her.

What a blessing to me.

"ASTONISHED WITH A GREAT ASTONISHMENT"

2012-01-03T21:14:00.011-06:00

For years, just like many of you, of course, I've read the story of Jairus' daughter whom Jesus healed and then told her to "Get up!" And she did and began to walk around.

Somehow, I have just skimmed past what the parents thought or said or how they reacted. I was reading it in the KJV today and just had to laugh. Their response: They were astonished with a great astonishment.

When I checked other versions, it's pretty much the same, of course, but this had jumped out at me.

Now, of course, they were astonished. This much-loved 12-year old was already dead, according to those involved in their home. Wouldn't we be crushed at the loss, and then astonished at that glorious change?

What it made me wonder today was, even though I've not walked through anything like this, has the Lord made me "astonished with a great astonishment"?

The answer is YES!!

In April, 1966, He broke into my life when there was no "logic" for it, and because of that breakthrough my whole life is different, drowned in hope instead of buried in hopelessness.

He healed my heart twice in two different churches here in Omaha -- Oct., '84 and Feb., '85. I was headed towards stroke, heart attack or death in my late 30s... and He touched it twice in 4 months and the pain and abnormal heartbeats stopped. I was very "astonished with a great astonishment". Doctors, meds, nothing made a difference. He did.

He dropped Dave into my life in May, 1985. I would never have imagined a man like him. When we were casually talking one day, even though I was very frank with him about my background, he didn't even blink. He was much younger than I -- 14+ years younger -- was a youth leader, highly respected at church, a wonderful pianist, and a giver beyond belief, both then and now. Since Day One, he has always treated me with great respect. He appreciates me, and expects nothing. He wants me to be "myself", whatever that might mean, wherever I might be in life. He wants me to serve the Lord the way He calls me, period. For nearly 27 years, these never-anticipated-in-my-life years, I am often "astonished with a great astonishment".

A major blessing: Traveling to Uganda, Morocco, Costa Rica, England, Paris, Canada...and all around the U.S. since the late 1980s. Previously, I was rarely able to travel outside the nearest locations wherever I was living, because of poverty and responsibility. But missions and serving was laid in my heart when I was 10 years old and Jim Elliot was killed in Ecuador in January, 1956... I read it in the newspaper on the floor in my living room in Tacoma, WA, and the desire to go and help piled into me then. I had very little knowledge of the Lord at that time. SO, from 10 to 42, I traveled very little... then that exploded in both time and distance. To having traveled, ministered, given, shared, loved... and been loved... I am overwhelmed with the kindness and joy that the Lord has placed in my life... "astonished with a great astonishment".

And I could place a mile-long list of wonderful friends and family the Lord has dropped into my life. The only reason I can't put too many details is if I forget someone, somehow, they might be hurt; and, if I mention someone who wants to be kept in the background they might be hurt... so I can't risk it. But, considering my former horrible behavior and my ugly lifestyle and the stresses even after the Lord broke into my life, to be blessed, loved and cared for by so many "sweethearts".... I am regularly "astonished with a great astonishment".

And how did this pour into me today?...

"Mark 5:40 ... he [Jesus] taketh the father and the mother of the damsel, and them that were with him, and entereth in where the damsel was lying. 41 And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee, arise. 42 And straightway the damsel arose, and walked; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment.

TITHING......TIME

2012-01-01T18:31:00.005-06:00

One of the first books I remember reading after coming to the Lord was The Cross and Switchblade by David Wilkerson. I don't remember how it landed in my hand, but I arrived in East St. Louis in February, 1967, and a month later would lay on the floor by the heat vent in the bathroom in the middle of the night and read this book. [The apartment didn't have any other doors, and light in the other rooms would have kept my roommate awake.]

So much of it stood out to me. I have read it many times over the years and given it away to new Christians, especially if they come from a tough background. It really is an amazing story. [Since reading the book I've been involved with Teen Challenge, a ministry developed by Wilkerson about 50 years ago.]

One of the aspects of the book that was laid on me was what the Lord laid on Pastor Wilkerson: to daily tithe his hours. This meant that, in spite of the hours serving the Lord in church, he would spend 2-1/2 hours reading the Word and praying. It usually was pushing midnight before he could finish. And, in time, through this obedience, the Lord dropped a newspaper article into his life and he felt called to go to NYC. Much of what happened seemed very insane to many people [including himself], but the door opened and his whole life changed.

Occasionally, the "tithing time" aspect is dropped onto me. Not often; just sometimes. The "call" to do so might last for a year, or only a few weeks or months. There's usually a change coming in ministry, family, lifestyle... a door opening or closing that I am not aware of or prepared for, and this always is a help.

Well, it hit me again last week. The first time in several years. The focus is to read devotionals, spiritual warfare books, prayer books, the Word, and worship and pray.

I'm not a "Resolution" person. Partly, because I'm not focused enough; easily side-tracked or drawn away from my "good intentions".

However, when this enters my life, I truly do try to be faithful in the reading and worshiping. Going beyond the "tithe" time occurs occasionally and I'm overwhelmed by the presence of the Lord in the everydayness of life.

This isn't a very exciting post. Possibly boring. But I felt led to share this with you. Not that I'm telling you to do this, too. AIN'T!! But some of you who are friends and family or "God-family" can be accountability partners for me. You are free to ask me any time regarding my commitment. And I promise to be honest.

HIS HAND... HIS LOVE

2011-12-28T22:56:00.012-06:00

He gave me His hand and led me

Across stream,
and River,
and Mountain.

He gave me His Spirit to draw me
To the Wonderful
sin-cleansing
fountain.

He gave me His Grace and Compassion
His Joy, His Righteousness, too.

He gave me His Love and Mercy
And created a life wholly new.

He gave -- I received --
........Eternal Peace.
He gave -- I received --
.............Love never to cease.

BREAKDOWN... and then...

2011-12-26T20:54:00.008-06:00

"You can wait in here." The nurse showed us into a small office, smiled cheerily, and left us alone.

For a few seconds I lost control, clung to my husband, and cried. Then I pulled away, wiped my face, sat in one of the blue vinyl chairs, and, with a heavy sigh, stared at the wall.

It seemed my whole life was spent studying walls. Counting nails or tacks, bricks, concrete block, or following the flower patterns in wall paper. Especially when I was being assaulted with no way out. And now I was studying another wall, nubby plaster painted institutional green, willing myself to be somewhere else, to not think about what was happening, to not feel.

My husband stood behind the chair and put his arms around me. "Please try to relax, Honey. It'll be OK. You'll see."

I couldn't say anything. So I didn't. But I sure thought a lot. Mostly questions. How did this happen to me? I had always been strong, surviving hell, first as a child, and then again in a disastrous first marriage. Now, for the first time, during the past couple years, life was good – really good – and I was falling apart.

The crisis reached a peak two days earlier. Dave and I were attending an outdoor concert on a hot, humid, late summer day. Suddenly my heart started racing and I had the sensation of my body separating from my "self." Never having died before, I wasn't certain, but I was pretty sure that was what was happening. My mind flooded with insane, inane thoughts. "I can't die here. It would be so embarrassing. It would ruin the concert for everyone else." I willed myself to pull back together, but the line between life and death seemed very fragile.

That evening I tenuously suggested I might need "a little outside counseling." Relief flooded Dave's face and he said quickly, "We can call and check some hospitals on Monday." Inside, I panicked! "Hospital?!" I thought, "I don't need a hospital. Just a little help."

Sunday morning started out OK. I felt rested. Half way through the church service, though, I lost control again, and ran out of the sanctuary crying. I sat outside on the steps and sobbed. Dave followed me out and held me. All I could do was ask over and over, "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?" He didn't answer because, of course, he had no answers.

And now it was Monday morning and I was staring at a wall. In a hospital.

A short rap on the door was followed by a soft "Good Afternoon." I turned to look in the direction of the voice and saw it belonged to a pleasant middle-aged black male face. He shook hands with us and slouched comfortably into his chair, sifted through some papers on his desk, and brought out a file with my name printed in the corner. All I could think was, "They're quick. Doesn't take long to become a number in the computer."

He looked at me. I tried to maintain eye contact. I wanted to at least look like I had some volition in this decision. But, seeing the compassion in his eyes, mine filled with tears and I immediately shifted my focus to a point just south of his chin. "Joanne, your intake information and evaluation conference indicate you are in the midst of a severe depressive reaction."

I shot a sharp glance up to his face and thought rather than said, "Bright deduction. I knew that much."

He continued. "We will be exploring several areas during your stay, not the least of which is the abuses of your childhood..."

I interrupted. "What possible bearing can my childhood have on this situation? I handled all that a long time ago."

He smiled indulgently and I could almost sense him patting my head. "I think you're wrong. I believe you'll discover your childhood is handling you." He paused. I clenched my teeth exhibiting the characteristic "tight jaws" defense I used when I felt backed into a wall.

"Anyhow," he said, "we'll find out in time. Two of our programs are Codependent and Adult Children of Alcoholics. As a child, the life you live in doesn’t go away just because you grow up and leave home. Even if, as you have said, you became a Christian 21 years ago, not all the needed healing was immediately poured into your life.” He paused, then continued, "Just as I went through as a child, and then when I came to the Lord as an adult. And I’m still not perfect.” He smiled. “Just ask my wife.”

I was quiet for a moment. Then asked, "How much time? My daughter is in a program at college in ten days and I need to be there."

"I'm sorry, but you need to stay with us for four weeks. Minimum."

Once again panic struck. "Four weeks?! Oh no, I can't possibly be here that long. I have a house, you know... and responsibilities." I stood up. "We'll go home and talk about it."

Dave stood then, but did not start for the door. He touched my arm. I turned to see his eyes flooded with tears and anguish in his face. "Please ... please stay. If not for yourself, do it for us."

I cried then. How could I refuse him? Dave loved me. He treated me kindly, he cared for me. "I'm so scared...so scared," I sobbed out.

Our tears mingling, he kissed me gently and said again, "It'll be OK, Honey. It'll be OK."

I stayed.

It was.

I recovered.

==========================================
When I saw the Carnival blog and "Recover" was the Word, immediately this story, previously written, fit the context. Other than being poured into one room at one time, it is all true -- believe me, I can recall every detail of that stretch of life.

Recovery did come... not immediately, but it DID... through certain people-- especially my dear husband and the counselor -- and the grace, kindness, mercy and blessing of our dear Lord.

[I was admitted to the hospital on Labor Day, 1987; our 2nd anniversary was September 21st. I was released October 7th.]

SING OF CHRISTMAS

2011-12-22T21:27:00.011-06:00

There was a star that shined the night
that Jesus Christ was born.
It shone so very 'specially bright
with twinkling, brilliant sparks of light,
The night was bright as morn.

Chorus:
O Sing, O Sing of Christmas,
The time of Jesus' birth.
The time when we recall again
God sent His Son to earth.

The Angels sang their joyous songs
on that first Christmas eve.
"Alleluia, Praise the Lord"
Rolled 'cross the fields in sweet accord
And spread the news,
"God's Holy Word has come; O please believe."

Chorus.

The shepherds in the fields by night
heard the angels sing.
They heard the songs and left the sheep,
they did not stop to eat or sleep,
They hurried on through darkness deep,
They ran as if on wings.

Chorus.

The Wise Men came from parts unknown
upon their camel's fleet.
They'd seen the star shine in the East,
they'd come to share a royal feast,
with the Baby, God's High Priest,
And worship at His feet.

Chorus.
======================================
I wrote this at Christmas, 1972. First as a poem, then while in the bathtub [as crazy as that sounds] a few days later, the melody went through my head and never left. That year, I sent out the poem as my Christmas card. Eventually, the music was written, and in the late '70s I sent it out again, this time as a song. One evening my dear friend, Susie, called. She played the song on the piano and her family sang it to me over the phone as a Christmas gift. That was truly a sweet present.

I haven't shared it for years. But wanted to post something Christmasy and decided this would be fun to do.

QUEEN FOR A DAY

2011-12-19T22:06:00.006-06:00

A couple weeks ago, my Bhutanese grandson, Sai [bottom photo], told me that someone was bringing fabric from Nepal so a dress could be made for me for Christmas. He said they wanted purple [they know it's my favorite color], but knew that was not always easy to find.

Last Tuesday, Sai took me to his home and his mom, wife, and aunt pulled the fabric out and I was just amazed at the color. And it was yards and yards and yards ... I couldn't imagine how it would become a dress. Then Sai and his aunt took me to an ESL sewing class so I could be measured. I kept telling them I needed an extra bit of sizing in case I gain any weight again. I don't think they understood English very well. They pulled the measuring tape really tight. I was told the dress would be ready by Friday.

Well, I didn't hear anything. So when I showed up at the Christmas party at their church on Sunday afternoon they were excited when they saw me and pulled a large gift bag out and handed it to me. Two ladies pulled me to a room and started dressing me.

Let me tell you, it is one difficult project. The small, and very non-roomy, short-sleeved "blouse" is well above the waist -- and I better never gain an ounce or it won't fit. Underneath, there is a full-length "slip"-oriented skirt. They made me tie it a bit below my waist, around my hips. THEN, they started taking all those yards of fabric and stuffing at the top of the slip, circling, angling, and hanging around my body. [And the front and back both show "skin"... in the middle of winter, that's not so comfortable!]

I was just amazed. Couldn't believe how lovely I came out.

OK.... now the fun begins.

I walked into the fellowship room, and everyone started laughing and clapping. Then when I went upstairs to the sanctuary for the special service, a number of teens and adults and kids all did the same. One of the Bhutanese men, a good friend of mine, non-English speaking, looked at me with a big grin, said, "Oh, NEPAL!" And did a big thumbs up.

Dave came a couple hours later, and loved how I looked.

There were a number of other ladies in these dresses, but somehow, I was the Queen of the Day. [Maybe because they saw me in jeans most of the time.]

You know, none of us ever know how the Lord is going to bless us, whether we are "missionarying" here or other places. My Bhutanese families have always blessed me, but this event was overwhelmingly glorious.

I'm planning to wear the dress to church on Christmas Eve... hope my church can handle it... but, to do so, a couple of my girls need to come here and dress me. Ain't no way I can do it myself.

If nothing else, just use this as an example of how kind our Lord is.

MY GOOD BUDDY, ROY.

2011-12-17T10:57:00.004-06:00

I'll give you the important bit before you begin: this is LONG. I would have broken it into sections and posted a couple smaller portions instead of one only, but, if you read it, I think you'll understand why that wasn't truly possible.

I wrote this 28 years ago. AND the main part of the story occurred 30 years ago today. Earlier this week, I felt the Lord lay this on me to post, so I will. I know it's a busy time of year... I haven't even had time to read some of yours for a few days and today I am going to spend HOURS to catch up with you. Fit me in when and if you can.

Thanks.
========================================
When the church hall phone rang on December 17, 1981, and it was for me, I was irritated. The women's fellowship group was running a little later than usual, and I was positive it was my husband calling to tell me to get home and put the kids to bed. As I walked toward the phone, I was thinking of a variety of retorts to toss at him.

It was my husband, but the message was entirely different than anything I had assumed. "Frankie just called from the Mission," he said. "There's been a fight and Roy was killed." A few seconds later, in a state of shock, I hung up the phone and began to cry. It was so hard to believe. I suddenly became convinced Lowell had heard wrong. After all, he hadn't met Roy, and was never very good with names.

I called the Mission. My friend, Alex, answered the phone. He was kind, but very matter-of-fact. "Yes, Joanne, it was Roy ... he was stabbed ... he is dead ... Ernie did it." At that point, I heard myself nearly screaming, "Ernie? Not Ernie! He LIKED Roy." After I hung up, I walked back to the fellowship group, stunned.

My friends prayed and cried with me. They reminded me that, since Roy had turned his life over to God, he was Home. Mentally, I agreed with them, but that didn't take away the ache in my heart.

It was unreal. It made no sense. Roy had struggled with the knotty question of God's claim on his life. He was proud of being Norwegian, proud of being Lutheran -- and totally impatient with anyone who crossed the invisible boundaries he had established. When someone inadvertently stumbled across the lines, he received the full brunt of Roy's ire. "Who does that odd ball think he is, telling me I need to change?" And then he would bellow and stomp around like a wounded bull while others scattered.

I met Roy in June, 1981. Through a series of events, a couple years earlier, I was asked to teach a weekly class to the men at this downtown street Mission. Although the residents were not as transient as the men on the street, there was a large turnover, and it was sometimes difficult to establish a trusting, solid relationship.

Roy and I became friends quickly. One August morning when it was very hot in the chapel, Roy stopped me after class. "Next week it'll be cooler, Girlie. Someone gave us this old air-conditioner and I'm fixing it."

In September, nearly blinded by cataracts, he was going to the VA Hospital for eye surgery. When I offered to visit him, he said he'd like that, so the Sunday after the operation I went to see him. He "adopted" me that day. I wasn't much older than his daughters, and he wasn't many years younger than my dad, so the arrangement was comfortable.

The anticipated stay of two weeks in the hospital, stretched into two months. Doctors discovered a spot on his lung. It threw him into a state of depression. His self-confident facade began to crack. For three weeks he waited for his eye to heal sufficiently to undergo lung surgery. During that three weeks, he talked to the Hospital chaplain often. The chaplain's initial inroad into Roy's life was based on the fact that he, too, was a Norwegian Lutheran. Roy listened to him, without the usual barriers, and liked what he heard. Before the operation was performed, Roy made his peace with God. He knew he might not survive the operation, or its diagnosis, but he was prepared.

Happily, although his lung was cancerous, the malignancy was confined to the lower portion, which was then removed. He came through beautifully. After two weeks of recuperation, he was released from the hospital. The other cataract was to be removed after Christmas. In the meantime, he had new teeth, one good eye, a repaired lung, and a "new" heart.

He still had moments of cantankerous behavior, but his changed life was definitely evident. He wasn't so quick to "con" the men in authority over him at the Mission or condemn those who had ideas that differed from his.

On December 5th, I was having a difficult time deciding what to use for the basis of our class discussion. A magazine came in the mail that morning and contained an article about the Believer's expectations after death. I decided to talk about death, using testimonies of after-life experiences and scripture. It was the first time Roy had been to class since late September, and I was a little disappointed when he took a seat in the back of the chapel instead of the front row, as he had always done. The men listened, and a few of them seemed a little nervous as the subject hit too close to home.

When class was over, Roy came up and hugged me. He flashed a big smile to show his new teeth, and said, "I sat in back because it's a different kind of chair. It doesn't hurt my incision." Then he said, "Little One, I wanted to tell them it's OK. You come to Jesus and you don't have to be afraid to die. It's going to be all right."

A few days later, in the Mission dining room during a drunken rage, his best friend, Ernie, grabbed a 16-inch carving knife out of the kitchen and stabbed Roy in the side. Within minutes he was dead.

The next few days were filled with contrasting activities. Parties, shopping, a funeral, joy of the Christmas season, sorrow for the loss of a friend. I couldn't understand "why", but somehow peace began to emerge and the knowledge that God is in control became a settled conviction once more.

Life goes on. Being a Christian, I trust that God's Word will not return void, that Roy's death was not in vain.

Ernie is in prison. He did not know at the time that he had killed Roy; he was drunk and does not remember it at all. He was, of course, arrested immediately and woke up in jail, not even knowing why he was there.

So far, he is still rejecting Christ, although he seems to be far less cocky, far less defensive, than before. Sometimes he calls me and asks me to come visit him, because no one else will. We have become friends -- a status I couldn't have imagined before the murder, and most certainly not when it occurred.

Most of the time, I don't think about the event on that cold December night. When I do, I often smile. My imagination carries me to a time when I, too, will enter heaven's gates. I fully expect a tall, burly Norwegian with a big smile to hug me and say, "Hello, Little One. Welcome Home."

"HEAVEN CAME DOWN...

2011-12-13T10:39:00.003-06:00

and Glory Filled My Soul."

When I was pondering the "Down" Word Carnival this morning, wondering what I could share, these lyrics to a hymn in my past jumped in. And I grinned again.

You see, when I came to the Lord April 15, 1966, I knew very few hymns, and the only ones I knew well were connected to the occasional Lutheran church attendance on my part, and it had been quite a while since I'd even done that. [Not complaining about Lutheran church people; they were good to me and planted lots of godly seed.]

When the Lord broke into my life, as I've shared before, I was one tough cookie. Hard-looking, hard acting. Scared some folks and they weren't sure they should step deeper into my life. Couldn't risk losing their own ground if I began a fight of some sort.

At this Baptist church, not overly populated, the choir director in her mid-30s... about 15 years older than I ... became my friend. Lorna was very much involved with me. And, consequently, I sang in the choir, which had only a few members... about a dozen, I suppose, most of the time.

In November, 7 months after my salvation, this was sung. And when we practiced, I smiled. Every time I sang it to myself during that week, my heart grinned. And then, on Sunday, I SANG it.

After the service, a teen a couple years younger than I, came up to me and said, intensely, "When you sang, you smiled."

In my usual cranky, sarcastic sounding voice I said, "I always smile." She shook her head and said, "No. Today, you really smiled."

And she was right. There were other hymns that had touched my heart in those previous months, had truly changed my every-day focus.

But this one burst forth in a way I'd never experienced. And rarely since then.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdwMzcbbN3Q

When I decided to share the song, I had a tough time on Youtube. I was amazed at the number of times this song had been added to it. As lacking in the number of people singing and the fancy environment and every word exactly right, I felt this is the one to post. The reason? It is being sung by people who resemble my Bhutanese families here in Omaha, ones who have a heart for the Lord that goes much deeper than the casual attitude so many of us just have in our hearts. As I said, it isn't fancy, but it's true.

"COME UP AND KNOW ME BETTER..."

2011-12-11T15:18:00.008-06:00

From Utmost, Jan. 2 – “Have you been asking God what He is going to do? He will never tell you. God does not tell you what He is going to do; He reveals to you Who He is."

Our so-often question: “What do you want us to do with our lives?”

The answer is from the lips of the Ghost of Christmas Present from A Muppet Christmas Carol:

“Come up and know me better, man.”

What to do with our lives? – Live for Him. Seek Him. Fill our minds with Him. Grow in Him.

How is that accomplished? Opening all of our senses, all of our selves to His Spirit – in whatever form that may take.

Does that mean hiding away from the world-at-large and becoming solitary, untouchable? Probably the opposite.

--- The Triune God gave The Spirit entity to convict, convince, comfort and counsel;

--- the Triune God gave The Father entity
to govern,
to dictate and “spread his wings over
[us] as an eagle overspreads her young. She carries them upon her wings, as does the Lord His people.” Deut. 32:10-12;
to set the boundaries, to know when and how
“enough is enough.”

--- The Triune God gave the Son -- a Holy, Loving, Father-Focused Servant -- a call opposite the life of a hermit, even a hermit
determined to focus his mental and
spiritual energies on Him.

--- The Triune God calls us to be out among
the hurting and the hopeless.
To provide refuge for the homeless –
in spirit, soul, or body.
To fulfill the cry of Matthew 25:
visit the hospitals and prisons, clothe the naked,
feed the hungry;
To fulfill the call of James 1:27-- to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.

And how is this done – individually and corporately – without becoming overwhelmed by the needs, without becoming hard and cynical when confronted with people who are hard and cynical?

By hearing and heeding His call:

“Come up and know me better, man.”

SEX TRAFFICKING...AND ME

2011-12-09T23:42:00.008-06:00

Sorry if this is too blunt, but thought I'd toss it there first, and you can choose whether to read it or not.

On FB someone mentioned the seriosity of it right now and mentioned an article about Seattle.

Well, it's been going on in various parts of our country and all around the world for many years. A ministry friend of mine is in Greece at this moment, ministering to the prostitutes in one area. These "women" are often young teens, forced into this life, and no one is stepping up to free them. Overall, sex trafficking has been one of my ministry study areas for many years.

Thought I'd share one episode involving me that occurred nearly 44 years ago. You'll certainly see that this has been a common occurrence; it's not just a "today" issue.

In March, 1968, I left East St. Louis, IL, to return to the Northwest. I had been in E. St. L. for about a year, working and involved in a street ministry. Because of some serious issues involving race rioting and street fighting that occurred there, I was, basically, forced to leave town and return to my family.

I was on a bus and it stopped for a couple hours of layover and transfer in Kansas City, MO. As soon as I was off the bus, a man came up to me and flashed his rings at me, and opened his jacket to show me more and more jewelry.

I was 22 at the time, looked about 16. I was shocked confused and, unfortunately, didn't try to find a security guard or police officer [don't even know if bus stations had them in those days]. I tried to get away from him, and he always followed me and always found me. He kept telling me that because I was such a cute girl there was a party he wanted me to go to and he would let me have a good time that night and they would make sure I was on the bus the next day so I'd reach home. Later, to try to push me closer to agreement, he said they would pay airfare for me so I could get home quickly. Once, when I was in the women's rest room and lounge, the door was hammered. I was the only one who wasn't involved with children, so I answered it, and it was the man again, trying to get me to go out with him. I quickly shut the door and hid inside. When I had to leave, I mixed in with a group that was also heading out, so he couldn't get near me.

When it was finally time to get on the bus, I DID!! FAST! He still stood outside flashing the rings and trying to convince me to get off the bus. I was very relieved when the engine started and we hit the road.

I was sitting beside a man who seemed to have a tough background, and after a while I told him what had happened and asked if he knew anything about it.

He laughed. "Yes," he said. And then he described it. The man was trying to convince me to go to a "party" but it was going to be only drugs and sex, and I would never be going home. I would either be forced into sex and do the "job" they had for me, or I would be dead. No other options.

Every once in a while, I remember this event. I know that, just a couple years earlier, before the Lord broke into my life, if this had been presented a bit differently, I might have been tricked and sucked into that world. And death would have occurred... either from their hands or my own.

If this happened to me all those years ago, in a public location, why would we think it wouldn't happen today, here and there, and all over the world? And with all the digital connections people have, the ability to flee could be more difficult. It just ain't an easy world out there.

I guess the only way to close this is to say that I love my Savior for many reasons... and His kindness and protection for that short stretch of time in that bus station should be near the top of the Love-List.

And I worship Him, day and night, and will forever and ever.

"IS IT I?"

2011-12-06T12:26:00.003-06:00

Do you ever read that phrase in the gospels and wonder why they wondered?

Been buried in Mark for about a month and this phrase keeps jumping out at me.

It used to be, in most of us, a question of "WHY would they ask that? Wouldn't they know if they were faithful or not?" ["Don't they already know it's Judas?? Come ON, give me a break."]

Well, since Mark is so blunt compared to the other gospels, this has jumped out at me, over and over.

The answer? "No!"

Several examples:

---Inner-discipleship confrontations. Fussing at each other. ...Who's the best? .... Who's the greatest?...

---Believing they will forever run the show. -- What does He mean about death when we know He's going to be KING? ... Why would He think we would scatter? Of course we won't!

--- Sometimes less than kind. ...AAKK! We don't need any kids hanging around. And we sure don't need a woman anointing Him when the money could help the poor.

Even John, later known as the deep-hearted lover of Jesus, wasn't perfect... he and James called by Jesus the "Sons of Thunder" because they had wanted fire called down from heaven for a not good reason.

And on and on. Story after story, time after time, moment after moment, where a lack of faith, a lack of understanding, an increase of anger, were expressed -- verbally and physically -- over and over again.

So... my question:

When it comes to being picky, faithless, cranky, angry, withdrawn, jealous, unable to show the love of Christ for the world, not willing to step forward to help with the globally intense issues ....

GROWING OLD

2011-12-04T20:11:00.007-06:00

GROWING OLD

Autumn leaves of gold, purple, scarlet, yellow, russet --
Their loveliest since early Spring.

Yet -- looking closely -- see edges frayed or worn,
wrinkled and creased.

From the distance, beauty --
Up close, wasting away.

I believe it’s the same with us.
As our bodies age -- where am I now? --
somewhere in mid autumn? --
My body is wrinkling, drying, creased --
frayed at the edges.

As I grow in God, hopefully,
as with the leaves,
the glow comes through.

As I watch my older mothers, sisters, friends,
turn from Autumn to Winter,
the line is drawn closer --

They pale,
fade,
gray --

And cling to the bough that no longer supports them.

====================================

I wrote this a few years ago. I know it's about Autumn -- and we're in Winter -- but the point is the same... age kicking our tails a bit, but hoping, as we grow older, we will have enough of God's character imbedded in us that we can glow in the dark.

That's my significant hope, anyhow. [Be a nice Christmas gift, wouldn't it?]

"A WARM BY THE FIRE"

2011-12-02T09:38:00.007-06:00

“A WARM BY THE FIRE”

(MRS. CRATCHIT, DICKENS' CHRISTMAS CAROL)

Today’s kids are missing
something
In their centrally-heated,
thermostatic world.

... the shock of
blasting awake in
a freezing room –
ice thick inside windows –

... of pulling cold robes
under the blankets
to body-warm
them
before undressing and
re-dressing
all while hardly moving the
blankets –
a lost talent.

... of hanging ice-frozen,
line-“dried” clothes
over the stove
water dripping
sizzling on
hot iron.

... of (sometimes) lolling
in bed
long enough to feel
heat float through
floor registers
and slowly turn the room
from ice to nice.

Campfire mornings remind me
how fortunate I am
to live in a
centrally heated
thermostatic world.

==============================================
A few years ago, Dave and I were camping for a couple nights at Tettagouche Minnesota State Park at the North Shore of Superior. In October. Forgot extra blankets. Forgot how cold it would be near the Lake in the Fall. Dave would get up earlier than I, and start a campfire. When the warmth began to penetrate the area a bit, I'd pop out of bed and rush to the fire, turning and turning to warm all sides of my body, hoping it would penetrate to the inside and release the frozen portions of my bones and muscles.

While standing there, this thought hit me, and I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote the poem. Bet some of you will truly understand this bit of reality.

"YOU MUST COME..."

2011-11-29T10:13:00.012-06:00

In 1986, our friend, Joe, from a local Bible school, brought a Ugandan pastor to our house for dinner. It was our first time to hear the Uganda history and present-day circumstances outside of the world news concerning the civil wars. A couple hours later, as they were leaving, Pastor Patrick said, casually, "Come to Uganda. You would like it." I thought, "Sure. Sometime that might be nice."

Three years later, he returned for a couple of months to attend the school. Again, Joe brought him over. Again, we ate and talked and thoroughly enjoyed each other. And, again, as they started to walk out the door, Patrick turned -- and I just knew he was going to say that we should visit Uganda. However, as he looked at us, he pointed at us very firmly and said, very strongly, very intensely, "You MUST COME to Uganda!" And as he was pointing, a God-calling arrow slammed into my heart. I was overwhelmed, and from that time forward, I followed through very seriously about when we should go, how we could go, and where we should stay. And a variety of doors opened.

Patrick made that statement in the Fall of 1989. A year later, we were nearly prepared to go, depending on passports, visas, money, and international challenges -- for instance, the day before we left in January, '91 the Gulf War began. [Two days before we returned, it ended.]

Since then, in just more than 20 years, we have been in Uganda a few times, sometimes several months, other times several weeks.

We have a son, daughter, grandchildren, many other dear ones who consider us family.

We have been thrilled to see the source of the Nile, the rolling hills covered with palm trees and banana groves, the blessing to eat fresh pineapple and the wonderful pigmy bananas and drink passion fruit juice. See giraffes, hippos, crocodiles, golden-crested cranes, yard-based monkeys.... and, thankfully, dead pythons and cobras.

Friendship with piles of missionaries from piles of different nations.

And fitting in just fine.

My husband fixing anything electricity/generator-oriented that came across his path, and teaching computer and piano and music theory.

Me? Hanging out and making friends. A secretary. Teaching. Running errands from place to place, for person after person. Shopping, cleaning, doing whatever was needed.

Can't say there weren't tough and sometimes scary times... but CAN say it was the right place to be at the right time.

The hardest one for me, especially since my husband couldn't go, was helping Ugandan pastors and others in Soroti in late 2003/early 2004 after the district had been invaded by the LRA [Lord's Resistance Army] with adults and kids abducted and forced to "steal, kill, and destroy". And I was requested to interview the kids who had escaped or been rescued, and listen to their stories. I had to keep my face "straight" while my heart, while looking at and listening to them, was exploding. It was one of the best "God-jobs" I've ever had... and more painful than I could ever have imagined.

Usually, when the Lord is giving me some instructions, He says "Go...". That has opened many amazing doors for me, especially the Bhutanese "world" where I now live on a daily basis in mid-Omaha. I'd never have guessed that nation was going to become a main focus of my life!

However, in 1989, when the word "COME" was spoken, overwhelming my heart, it opened a whole new world for me. I have rejoiced ever since.
============================
[Enjoy the "Come" carnival.]

BROTHER LAWRENCE ... AND ME

2011-11-27T14:58:00.006-06:00

In the summer of 1967, a Christian friend-mentor gave me a book, The Practice of the Presence of God. She had the book for some years and had written notes all over the pages. It was a new approach to spiritual life to me. I was just turning 22, and had a lot to learn forever and ever, believe me. I kept the book for about 30 years and then passed it along to someone I felt would be encouraged by it.

I picked up a newly published one a few years ago. Wanted it around, out of sentimentality, but hardly read it at all.

Then yesterday, while Dave and I were on a 5-hour drive to central KS, I took it along to read it again. And it proved that I have changed, life has changed, our world has changed... but God has not.

This jumped out at me:

Brother Lawrence wasn't surprised by the amount of sin and unhappiness in the world. Rather, he wondered why there wasn't more, considering the extremes to which the enemy is capable of going.

I thought and I thought about this, over and over. He had presented these bits in the 1600s, between mid-range and his death in 1691. The letters and small talks were collected by a Vicar and the book was published after Brother Lawrence's death. No TV, no computer-related world-wide connecting, no I-net goodness or garbage, no visual porn accessibility on commercials and billboards, no atomic bombs, and on and on.

In his case, only people in the Paris-area, and only life.

I become stressed and anxious and fearful and... admittedly... furious, when I see so much physical, emotional, and spiritual damage slamming those in our world. Story after story breaks my heart.

However, what did Brother Lawrence do that I fail to do?

HE FOCUSED ON THE LORD.

He laid before the Lord as often as possible. When working or traveling, he stayed centered on the Lord. But whenever he could, he prostrated before the Lord, worshiping and giving his heart to the Lord over and over again... Trusting HIM.

That is what I desire to do... really, really desire to do. And, at this phase of life and after all these years, have little proof of follow-through.

My hope is that my Father God worship will somehow break through my activities, my actions, and will occur more and more as time goes on.

FIRST RESPONDERS... 11/22/11

2011-11-23T18:38:00.008-06:00

No such thing as a pleasant evening when it involves praying at murder sites. When it's dark so early, and the cold wind is kicking in, it adds to the challenges.

This young man who had been murdered at this site was 19, and had been raised in Sudan. Since here, after being raised in a "battlefield" life, he, somehow, continued with that lifestyle here. Quite possibly was not able to set aside that intense part of his life. Consequently, he became a victim after having been a local victimizer.

He wanted to return to Africa. He didn't. And family hearts are broken. On both sides of the ocean.
===================

I did have an experience that has not occurred since I entered this ministry 3-1/2 years ago. Which happens frequently, a local TV channel sent a lady to tape the prayer time. She had seen me before, and as we left the local church to go to the murder site, she asked if she could interview me when we were finished. And that is what happened. OH, and she also stood behind me with a light so I could take the photos of the cross.

I was surprised that the interview and other aspects were ready by the time the news began a couple hours later. Thought I'd toss this your direction. [I look so much older than I ever wanted to, especially on TV, BUT, life is life. Seems to have blessed and touched some local and national hearts... that is worth it.]

http://www.kptm.com/global/story.asp?s=16106790

MOROCCO... AGAIN

2011-11-19T16:39:00.003-06:00

The last evening of our prayer-walk time in Morocco was spent in Casablanca. It was, actually, Good Friday, April, 2001. We had been in Casablanca our first couple of nights in Morocco, the end of March, before we hit the road and went to so many of those other wonderful towns.

We had not spent any time on the beach in Casablanca during that beginning stretch. Could sometimes see it, but only in the distance. On Good Friday afternoon we arrived in Casablanca on a train from Marrakesh.

THEN, we went to the beach.

I was overwhelmed. The Atlantic ocean, the gorgeous sunset, knowing the Lord had allowed me to be in that nation, meeting wonderful people -- both Moroccans and team members, seeing beautiful scenery, being blessed by the prayer and worship times.

I took photos of the ocean at that moment. What I didn't know until later was that someone had taken a photo of me praying, my heart overpowered by the Lord's grace and mercy on me. She mailed it to me some time later.

When I see this picture, on my book shelf, I am filled with desire to return to that ocean-site ... town ... nation.

Maybe that day will come ..... maybe.

FACEBOOKING

2011-11-17T21:19:00.005-06:00

I had my photo and name on there for at least 2 years. Got involved for a short time and then decided it just wasn't "my" thing. Except for the occasional whip-through, or checking on someone specific, I simply didn't do it.

A couple weeks ago, the Lord reminded me of something. In the past, I wrote hundreds of letters a year.

In fact, I have a file cabinet drawer that is filled with letters to and from Uganda from 1989 to 1996 when Dave and I were very involved. In those days, faxing and phone calling was limited over there. Long-distance calls were generally expensive over here. Writing letters was the cheap way to go.

A few years ago, when postage stamp cost increased and emailing became the least expensive way to handle communication, as much as I didn't want this to become a no-option zone, it did. Now, I rarely send a letter unless I know the person doesn't have access to a computer and I don't have their phone number.

As a consequence, I also stopped being a true communicator. I used to write really good letters, long with lots of info and lots of good stories in the mix. Emails weren't quite the same. Mostly catch-up and boring or questions; not much of what I consider "sweetness and light".

And to me, FB was MORE than the same when it came to that.

Well, when the Lord laid it on me a few days ago, the reason was because I must return to a lifestyle that is heavily involved in communication. I needed to set aside my eye-rolling attitude, to try to connect and reconnect with friends and family. To start reading FB bits and pieces several times a day, make comments and keep these people in my heart every day, not just floating in the back of my mind, since I hadn't heard from or seen them for months or years.

So, in this short time, between reading blog posts more faithfully and reading FB, I've buried myself onto my computer. The result? I've enjoyed communication, have been able to stick my own thoughts and events out, and I've gained more and more than I ever expected I'd lose.

The Lord is so kind to push buttons and move us forward when we simply haven't desired to go a certain way. I'm grateful that He did. I hope more and more doors will open and the results will reveal His purpose.

Some of the bloggers I've been paying attention to are also the reason I'm taking this FB time. I truly respect them and their life-focus. If they can see the value of FB-ing, then I most certainly should be able to "grow up" in that new phase of life -- and quit digging in my heels so I don't have to move forward.

SECULARITY EXPLODES

2011-11-15T16:13:00.004-06:00

OK. I know this will seem a bit intense, but that would describe my personality. Please just put up with it.

I have occasionally described our cultural change to people without describing it as simply a different form of secular activity.

When I was a kid, mostly back in the '50s and '60s, our family was one of the most "secular" anyone could have imagined. When, within our home, foul language and violence and other horrific behavior occurred, it did NOT fit into our society. What helped me see the other side was school. The principals and teachers usually set the rules very clearly. For instance, I couldn't hit other kids and scream, which was common at home. I couldn't cuss or tell dirty jokes. I wouldn't be accepted when acting in that fashion.

I came to the Lord when I was 20. To that point, in 1966, my lifestyle was overwhelmingly crummy, and wasn't improving. Before my salvation, I didn't fit into the normal culture.

About 20 years later, with my kids in high school in our Omaha neighborhood, the opposite had already occurred. For instance, a new teacher, with his heart for the kids, trying to help someone in a hall fight, was struck. He quit teaching. Kids and their "rights" suddenly began to rise above the former attitude. Over those few years, when kids came down our street near the high and junior high schools, I could hear the screaming, fighting, and language... words even I wouldn't have said when young, and rarely heard in my house. When my kids and their friends were coming into our house my common instruction was, "Leave your street talk outside."

So, another twenty-plus years later, it's even more opposite from what it was when I was a kid and raising my kids. My present insistence to grandkids, among others is "No, you can't watch 'R-rated movies or TV shows" ..." or "No, you can't 'text' while we're talking to each other". When I'm walking through tough neighborhoods, I'm not at all afraid of seeing the gangs hanging out. What I AM afraid of is hearing the obscene language... and having it planted in my head, constantly needing help to have my brain cleansed.

So, this might not seem very technical or politically correct or well-defined. But, I've lived through those changes ... and am struggling when I think of what might be continuing to head our direction and keep us Christians constantly on our toes, looking around, hoping to help others grow in HIM. Only Him.

Started thinking this way through the Word project. Sure got my brain spinning.

DAILY BREAD

2011-11-12T18:42:00.011-06:00

Can't even remember how this was brought up recently, but has really kept me thinking, questioning.

When we, speaking the Lord's Prayer, asked for our Daily Bread, we grew up assuming it meant we would simply have our daily food needs met. Believe me, when I, for a number of years, was living in very poor circumstances, personally trying to find enough "Daily Bread" for my kids, I was very frightened. And then, through God's care, huge blessings occurred when groceries were left by my front door, or a church gave me a gift for groceries.

Once, in early 1983, in Edmond, OK, Steve, my son, who was 10 years old at the time, and I were sitting at the table and eating supper. Each of us had a bowl of rice with milk and sugar. That was it. Period. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and a lady came in with two bags of groceries. My son put her in tears. Standing next to me, looking at the sacks, big eyed, he said, "Mom. FOOD." Bev gave me a check for $75.00 made for a grocery store and had already arranged with them that I could spend it. She stayed at the house while I went shopping. THAT gift was SUPREME "Daily Bread" -- in an extremely joyous gift!

In today's present life, "Daily Bread" could, however, mean, not just food, but the common everyday needs... when and wherever we live. Even though Nebraskans have needs, I'm highly aware that most folks on the coastal sides of our nation face far more challenging financial or material basics than we do.

In our area, besides food and housing and utilities, most of us require cars... that means that we must have gas, oil changes, insurance, repairs, new tires and on and on. Sometimes buses, or other inexpensive transportation, simply isn't available -- we don't have subways, for instance. In portions of our region, jobs and shopping locations are quite distant, or the local can-walk-to ones are expensive, i.e. convenience stores. [Yes, while working at times, and not having a car, I've bussed, walked, biked, and carpooled, so that's obviously less expensive, but also not too easily accomplished.]

Even those of us who try to live as basically as possible in our society can really be struggling, day by day, and, especially, month by month, since that's the way the bills are scheduled.

So, besides just filling some of our necessary "Caesar" requirements or everyday ones, Dave and I are rarely spending more. We've hit a phase of life that requires some heavy financial attention. Don't want to be irresponsible, to God or others.

So any thoughts? This may seem a little extreme to some folks, and I'd like it if some ideas were shared and spread so we could adjust our lifestyles.

Oh, and I DON'T think most of us should require fancy washers and dryers, any dishwashers, fragrant deodorant, tooth-whitening toothpaste, wrinkle-reducing creams, etc. There ARE "Daily" options, but I don't think things such as these count. We need to think about what's reasonable to anticipate the Lord's "Daily" touch for our lives, without which we simply can't make it.

Different locations, such as Uganda, where we lived, of course, have different requirements, different needs, different daily "Breads".

Our yard fruit on our porch in Uganda.

SORROW AND SADNESS, SWEETNESS AND LIGHT

2011-11-11T20:08:00.018-06:00

To be honest, there won't be much "sorrow", but when life is life things can't be perfect. Been thinking about the bits and pieces in Minnesota and the drive home.

One joy I always have on these trips is seeing the two longest rivers in our nation -- or what many people consider it to be one LONG river, having given the Missouri the credit.

The Mississippi photo is about 10 miles from the source site. The following one is the source.

Had a nice time walking with a little girl around her parent's land while Susie and her Dad were talking. That little one really liked this shadowful event. Pointed at my LONG legs and giggled and giggled.

One of the challenges: churches.

One is growing solidly... not poured with lots of folks, but very, very foundational. So that is joyful.

On the other hand, a few times during my drives up north through this countryside, I have seen country churches that are damaged -- paint stripped, roofs falling apart, weeds clamoring through the gravel parking lots, and even the grave sites not looking cared for. So sad. Life has changed in this hundreds-square-miled part of our nation, and it is sending a future message, a sorrowful one.

And NOW, my final JOY. Stopped to take photos on the Winnebago and Omaha Reservations. Mostly Missouri River, a few rolling hills, and autumn-colored trees. While taking other photos, and hearing all this racket overhead, I couldn't see anything for some seconds, nearly a minute. Then suddenly caught this.

[One of my main joys connected to living in the Plains portion of the country is something I rarely saw in the Northwest or California. Flocks and flocks and flocks of hundreds of birds. I'm overwhelmed when I'm driving and see them on the land, on the ponds and lakes, and floating through the sky.]

Know this isn't filled with lots of overly intellectual and challenging topics and spiritual kick-ups. But, except for one serious event, this trip truly was "sweetness and light."

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

2011-11-09T17:15:00.009-06:00

I returned home on Monday evening after 2 weeks between here and northern Minnesota, mostly at Susie's, and a time of blessing beyond belief.

When I left home, the weather in Omaha was, of course, heading towards colder stretches, and, yes, leaves falling off trees.

However, when I reached the house, it was overwhelmingly obvious that wind had been "swiffing" through here, piles of leaves all over the neighborhood, PILES in our yard.

But, besides the leaves being overwhelming and my mind struggling with how soon I can possibly do the raking and bagging and cleaning ...

even though I'm not always a "movie" person,
this one jumped into my mind...

and made me grin.

======================================

and the

A GODLY-PROTECTED EVENT

2011-11-04T16:42:00.006-05:00

Yesterday morning I drove up to the Red Lake Reservation to take Pastor Josephine to a home about 100 miles north of her, in Baudette, MN, on the Canadian border, so we could hang out with our dear friends. They had come down to her church to minister to the folks, but she had never had a chance to go up to their house. I always look forward to visiting Dave and Ducky, who I met about 7 years ago up here, and I was also excited that I would have Josephine with me privately for some hours and we'd get to know each other better. That was the whole plan.

I've often said that if I'm not driving around the reservation carefully enough, I end up in some real trouble. It's been crazy in the past, scaring the tar out of me a few times. Yesterday, however, I wasn't concerned, partly because I would have Josephine with me and partly because I wasn't just "touristing" or "prayer driving", but was doing a "God-job" and knew it was another "Right Place, Right Time" action.

We were driving along the main highway between two of the towns that were a few miles apart. A large van-style vehicle pulled in behind me and was right on my tail, pushing and prodding. The speed limit was 50 mph and that's what I was doing. No one was in front of me.

I saw a German Shepherd-ish dog on the side of the road, a bit ahead of me, wandering in a ditch. It suddenly cut up onto the highway, not running, but moving rather quickly. I had to hit the brakes, first slowing, then stopping. The dog jig-jagged in front of my car, then cut into the other lane. As it did, the van behind me swung into the other lane, not slowing even the slightest, just missed the dog, popped back and forth a bit, and hit the road in front of me, speeding, another car headed towards it in the other lane. It could have been one big mess of vehicles, people, and a dog. Of course, this whole event was very few seconds.

As I started moving forward, the crisis past, my eyes were BIG, my breathing slow. I glanced at Josephine. She was quietly, intensely staring ahead. We knew we had been protected by the Lord.

After that, all the miles up to Baudette and back, there was not one tiny road issue. It was a total of about 250 miles from Susie's to Baudette and back.

When I arrived at Susie's, after my long 9-hour visit-and- drive day, rejoicing for my blessed time with Josephine and Dave and Ducky, I was also rejoicing that my Father had protected me and mine.

My heart has been singing "Hallelujah" ever since.

PERSECUTION AS STRATEGY

2011-11-01T10:09:00.007-05:00

On Sunday morning, during my present visit in northern MN at Susie’s, I had the blessed opportunity to go to a fellowship meeting. About a dozen folks were in the house, mostly 60 to 70-plus years old... and when I walked in I knew I was at “home”... they were joyfully worshiping and praising the Lord.

I attended because a couple I met about a dozen years ago, from another portion of northern MN, was going to be there, the husband speaking. I always LOVE listening to him share.

Voice of the Martyrs is their present ministry. Between their involvement with VOM and other groups, he has been in China, Bangladesh, and Vietnam. He has smuggled Bibles, attended underground church meetings, baptized brand-new Christians –- once in mucky water right next to cobra-infested river banks. He's 70 now and still ready and willing to go.

When I left the house and was climbing into my car, something caught my eye. In the midst of a very gray day, bright red berries hanging in a tree.

And that is one of the principles most of us don’t quite understand. Before I was told about this word carnival today, I had already been thinking about the manner in which God drops His bright red color into our lives and the lives of others ... especially the persecuted, imprisoned, martyred in many locations of our world.

When Doug quoted pastors and others in persecution-oriented locations it caught my attention... and my heart. You see, they see persecution and imprisonment –- gray and dark in our perception -- as God’s colorful strategy to bring more and more people to Jesus. They know that at some point, just like us, they will be taken Home –- maybe far earlier than most of us will experience –- but before that occurs, whatever it costs here on earth, their focus is to draw people to Jesus.

The Blood of Jesus sprinkles and sparkles throughout our gray world. HE is the World-Wide Strategist.

RED LAKE REZ, PTL CHURCH

2011-10-31T14:18:00.005-05:00

Five years ago, give or take, the Lord dropped me into the church on the Red Lake Reservation, about 40 miles N/NE of Susie's. I had met a pastor in northern MN on the Canadian border and he connected me to Pastor Josephine and it's been a blessing ever since.

I have gone to the church a number of times when coming to Susie's. I've always needed to have the time available on Sunday evening, and the weather to allow me to drive up there along the swampy, deer-ridden roads. I ain't that good at seeing while driving after dark, so it's just not been a consistent stretch.

I had called P. Josephine this week and told her I was at Susie's and that I'd try to be up there this Sunday evening.

After I walked into the church, a little late, P. Josephine beckoned me up to her side-seat on the platform and said, basically, "I want you to preach."

I was not prepared for that. I didn't know exactly what to do, so during the nearly hour-long worship time, I worshiped and "danced" in the back of the church and waited for the Lord to drop the right bits in. He did, I jotted them down quickly, and it came together in a blessed way.

Now, on Sunday evening, all attendants can give testimonies and share verses or tell stories. As I mentioned, "Preaching" responsibility feels differently -- a few minutes longer, if nothing else. In the times I've been there, I've always been sharing, and, knowing me, people realize it will be "good, bad, or ugly" because of my bluntness, especially if I'm talking about my young sinful lifestyle and then sharing how the Lord broke through it and turned my life around, which story goes from "ugly" to "GOOD". I've always figured that with what they've lived through, "sweetness and light" isn't going to make a lot of sense to them, and I can easily expect they would be rolling their eyes and thinking they just aren't understood. So, I can tell them just about anything about me -- sin and abuse, received and given -- and I never see eyes shut or bodies shudder or fingers plug ears. I usually see heads nod. And big grins when I talk about God's faithful victory. They truly understand.

This time, out of all 176 verses of Psalm 119 that I've been reading for a few weeks, the Lord laid vs. 19a on me: I am a stranger and a temporary resident on the earth. I shared with them my present spiritual motto -- Right Place, Right Time -- and how we need to listen to the Lord and go and come exactly as we hear His call. No matter where or how we live [most of these people are impoverished and buried in great needs], if we listen to Him, we can make a difference to those next door or just up the street -- we won't need the money for a car, for instance, and can't use that as an excuse to not "go" somewhere. If He calls us to prayer-walk an area, we may not even have to drive to that source; it could be just around the corner. In the process, He will use us to plant seed in the hearts of others so they may come to Him in time and we may be the ones who can step up and help them grow in Him.

Of course, I shared a number of personal examples. The main one is how the Lord dropped the Bhutanese refugees into my life, and how the two family members I met in May, 2010, have now grown into about 50 extended family that are a major part of my life... and it began just 2 blocks from my house.

I also said that we simply do not always know what door is going to open, what will close, what will divert... but we CAN know that if we are listening to the voice of our dear Father, and obeying, we can simply trust that the results will be exactly what is right.

That is why Psalm 119:19 is significant. When I read it, at the beginning and the end while at the pulpit, both times they firmly said, "A-men!" And why? The vast majority of us have no idea how long we will be on the earth. God does. He will fill our lives with "coming and going" because He knows where we are and how He can use us in this "temporary" time. And, these "Rez Rezidents", living in tough places at tough times, feel blessed that they are temporary residents on earth and headed for eternal joy ... and they absolutely DO understand what it feels like to be a "stranger" here. In our "usual" culture, even though everyone "knows" that we won't be on earth forever and ever, many are hoping the "temporariness" doesn't kick in too soon.

These Ojibwa tribe members and folks from the Sioux, Apache, or other tribal backgrounds on the rez, understand in ways most of us can't even imagine.

MINNESOTA BREAK-TIME

2011-10-26T19:30:00.005-05:00

I had arrived yesterday afternoon after a good drive north and a night at the home of a pastor-couple I hadn't seen for nearly five years. We had one yammery night and morning -- me probably the yammerer, which would be no surprise to most anyone who knows me.

This morning, with workers tearing Susie's roof off, which was NOT quiet, when I got out of bed earlier than planned, I walked into the living room and the sunrise was so lovely it caught my breath. I couldn't NOT take a photo; not nearly as wonderful as it truly was, but I thought I'd share it anyway.

Even with the roof noise, which went on and on until about 3:30, it was a blessed day; ice cream, sistership, resting, sharing... not much could ever be better.

MEET MY BHUTANESE GREAT-GRANDDAUGHTER

2011-10-23T19:11:00.005-05:00

WHAT A WEEK!! I led her folks to the hospital last Sunday evening to get them settled. A few hours later I went home. The expectation, no pun intended, was that the little one would arrive on Monday.

SURPRISE!! Not Monday, not Tuesday, but, on Wednesday, she finally entered our world at 2:20 PM. 5lbs, 4 oz. 19".

I had heard the doctor and nurse [both wonderful] at about 2:00 say that if the baby didn't come quickly, the c-section would have to occur, no questions asked.

You see, besides the length of time, Wang had been pushing harder and harder for over two hours. The epidural placed the evening before had begun to fade quickly. Consequently, a new one was put in place. Somehow, the baby was simply stuck.

I had never been so involved in anything like this, being a not medically-oriented person. Both times I was holding Wang's hands during the epidural. Then, during the "pushes", I was holding her shoulders, back or legs, depending what was necessary ... I became exhausted, my muscles tense, to say the least. During the last "push", the Dr., two nurses, and I were hollering "PUSH. YES, YES!! AGAIN, AGAIN. YES, YES!!!" And when Sneha came out, I turned and looked at Sai standing by Wang's head, and I nearly burst into tears. The relief and joy were so overwhelming.

Blessings? Sai, for those 3 days, kept looking at me to be sure he was making the right decisions. He and Wang have been here nearly a year, and their "American English" is improving all the time, but he needs extra input, and I'm their chosen one. For instance, on Tuesday, at about 10 PM, the Dr. said I could leave for the night. Sai and I were sitting on the couch and Sai grabbed my leg and looked at me, big eyed, and shook his head "no" and then just sat there for a while, holding my hand. He was so worried about how Wang was doing and needed me to stay until he could handle the stress. An hour later he smiled at me and nodded. I went home.

Another blessing. Why do I call the baby my great-granddaughter? Tuesday afternoon Sai needed me to be with him for a drive. He said, "We call you 'Joanne', don't we?" [not pronounced that strongly, actually, in their accent.] I said this was true. He said, "We can not do that any more. From now on you are 'Grandma'. In our culture it is respectful to say Grandma; we will not use your name." I've been heavily involved with this large family since right after they arrived, and was never concerned that I was being called by name. From now on, however, I am Grandma. Consequently, Sai and Wang's baby is my great-granddaughter. This just amazes me.

I simply feel the blessings poured upon me by my dear Heavenly Father.

[In the morning, I am hitting the road and heading to northern MN, about 550 miles, to stay with Susie for about 2 weeks. As much as I'll miss my hubby, I'm desperate for rest and looking forward to being with my sister/friend.]

PATIENT. WHO? ME??!!

2011-10-20T13:26:00.012-05:00

Saturday evening a bunch of my Bhutanese kids were popping in and out of my house. I became a bit annoyed with the "popping" since I was trying to concentrate on a post I was working on. One of the girls, 15, who is one of Dave's piano students and one bright kid, came into the kitchen for water and said she was very hot and had a fever. My reaction? "P-u-r-n-i, GET YOUR TAIL HOME AND GO TO BED!!!"

One of their family friends, Charles, who has come to know me well this past year, had come to help Subat with a request for me, since the B. family doesn't have a computer printer. [I just handed Charles my laptop so he could get an airline ticket set for Subat -- and print the info.]

When they all were leaving, I told Charles that when I die and go to heaven I'll be a patient person ... FINALLY.

Charles laughed. He said, "No, you won't be. When you enter you'll holler at everyone to get out of the way so you can see the Throne. And you'll be jumping over all of their heads to get there as fast as you can."

I had to smile and shrug a bit. I have to admit that if God wasn't in charge... my personality would still interfere with heavenly reality and my hopeful perfection.
==================
[BTW, Sunday evening Purni was taken to an ER and has/had been very ill and weak for several days. She has a habit of taking care of everyone else, and Dave told her on Tuesday, when she came here to practice the keyboard, that she needs to take care of HERSELF for once or she could be in real trouble.... so I'm not the only "in your face" one on her behalf, although my quiet, sweet husband didn't holler at her like I did.]

"I WAS BORN FOR ROAMIN'...

2011-10-14T09:37:00.008-05:00

I guess I always will... I wonder if it's greener... on the far side of the hill."

In the Fall of 1963, having recently turned 18, I heard that song, sung by an acquaintance at college. Even though it had been around for a few years and has been sung by others since, according to its I-net history, I don’t recall ever hearing it other than that one time. However, right then, it was planted into my heart. This week, I re-discovered this song on Youtube. My eyes shot open, filled with glee, as I heard “my” song.

I always tell people that my two favorite things in life are to stay home or go away. I love to be where I can putz and rest and enjoy family and friends HERE, wherever “here” has been over these many years. OR the excitement of going and seeing and doing and being so many other places with “family and friends” – whether it’s the solid ones or ones casually met in rest areas, fast food places, motels, side roads – I never know ahead of time what the joyful experiences and "God-jobs" will be while out and about.

When I was in Uganda, walking through the "bush" areas, I was known as a “continuing-around-the-curve-to-see-what’s-next” person. Always curious. Also, couldn’t stop too soon and not see what was on the other side of a hill. Always wanting to walk just a little further, so long as the sun wasn’t going to disappear too quickly and leave me in the dark -- which did happen a couple of times -- OOPS!

So, during all these years some of the lyrics and the melody would burst into my heart.

Another proof that “Roaming” is an all-lifetime “motto”... what the Lord led me to put on my license plate a few years ago.

Even though the significant time for traveling around the country was reduced recently and may stay that way, I am now “roaming” all over Omaha to help the Bhutanese and other refugees, picking them up from the airport, taking them to hospitals, businesses, stores, and wherever is necessary. So, without being in Tibet, Bhutan, or Nepal... where I wanted to go for years, as a prayer-walker ... I am now just roaming a couple blocks up the street to help or visit my dear new families.

I’m needing to trust the Lord for His interpretation and definition of “roaming” -- just being where He calls me to be -- as opposed to what I perceived it -- going everywhere I want to, all the time, and doing, doing, doing... looking around curves and walking upward ...because I always "wonder if it's greener... on the far side of the hill."
=================
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXvo7L1dZ8A]

TIMES SQUARE CHURCH

2011-10-11T18:02:00.010-05:00

I so often say, looking at the past, "who'd a thunk it?"

In January, '91, Dave and I were going to Uganda for the first time to check it out, meet people, and see when, and if, the Lord was going to put us there as short- or long-term missionaries in the future. And, when we left home, one time after another, we were slammed.

You see, we left Omaha on Saturday, January 19th. A couple days earlier the storming Gulf War had begun. Most airline planes were off schedule, cancelled, and/or rerouted. If I passed along all the details, I'd take hours and drive you nuts and most of you wouldn't finish reading any of it... you'd just roll your eyes and hit "delete".

However, one of the most wonderful experiences I have ever had occurred on Sunday afternoon, January 20th, in NYC. We were actually supposed to be in Uganda about that time... and it wasn't happening. Our flights had been cancelled and even our airline company was refusing to move on; it took a bit of time for another one to step in.

While we were waiting, I wanted Dave to go to Manhattan so he'd see some of what I had enjoyed the previous summer, my first time in NYC.

When we were walking by the Rockefeller Center, a number of Christians were moving around, handing out tracts. When one was passed to me, I gave it back and said that, since I was a Christian, I didn't need it. The gal who took it asked me why we were there. I told her we were leaving for Uganda as short-term missionaries, and we were already late because of the travel "challenges" connected to the war.

She blessed me beyond anything I could have expected. She called the whole group over, they circled us, laid hands on us, and prayed very intensely for us.

I had been a David Wilkerson "fan" since shortly after my salvation. In early '67, a few months after I had come to the Lord, one of the first Christian books I read was The Cross and the Switchblade. To have members of his Times Square Church be the ones who had prayed for us was a true gift of God to me.

When we had left our church in Omaha -- not the one we're in now -- we hadn't been prayed for. In fact, one member had called us on Friday night and told us this was the worst thing we could do in relation to a family situation. It didn't bother Dave to hear that; he understood the person's emotional reaction. However, I was very upset. SO when we reached New York, and many plane issues were slamming us, I was beginning to wonder if "our friend" had been right. Consequently, this prayer time with Times Square Church members was a spiritually emotional miracle for me.

Our five weeks away was not easy in hardly any manner, but this one joyous episode was a bit of proof. And after meeting some caring and dedicated people, seeing a land we loved, we wanted nothing but to return. Which happened again ... and again... and again.

MOROCCO

2011-10-08T16:26:00.005-05:00

Chose a color for this post that reminds me of Morocco.

On CNN there were photos of Morocco today. And it just soared into my heart. Again, and again, again. [My photo is the Casablanca beach, sunset over Atlantic ocean.]

You see, back in April of 2001, 400+ people from various locations in the U.S. and Europe and northern Africa, arrived in Morocco to be on a prayer walk or ride. For some of us it was about 2 weeks; for others it was only a long Palm Sunday weekend. Can't say it wasn't challenging in some ways, but I could write and write for days and give so many amazing bits and pieces of joyful events and wonderful people I met from both here and there. And I could write some things that were so difficult they nearly put me over the insanity edge.

Locations: Casablanca, Fes, Marrakesh, Meknes, Bene Mallal, Ifrane, Imintanout, and the Volubilis Roman Empire archeological site. And three days in a Berber village not far from the Tour du Maroc bike race, unbelievable treat to see and meet the racers.

The assignment on the prayer tour bus was for 3 people to sit in the front praying over and blessing everything they saw as we passed – shopkeepers, shepherds, field workers, soldiers, children, and the towns, villages, and farm holdings. Every short while our team would trade the pray-ers and continue the pray-ing. Hundreds and hundreds of blessings went out from our team alone – the goal of several teams spread throughout Morocco for the first week before the Palm Sunday weekend conference/service was “a million blessings for Morocco.”

My favorite places? The Marrakesh Souk. Loved it. Didn't head for the cobra-side of things, at all, however. Also loved the Berber village filled with kindness and hospitality; I only wish we could have spoken the same language with the ladies and kids.

The Palm Sunday event – Graham Kendrick from England was worship leader; Steve Hawthorn from Texas the speaker. It was the most wonderful service I have ever experienced... more than 400 people in a hotel in Marrakech. According to what we were told, this was the first official Christian gospel public service ... ever. Some underground Christians provided small gifts for us –- I have a straw-made cross I received that is still in a nativity set of mine, Joseph carrying it.

One small miracle: I met an American man and wife when in Casablanca, and then ran into them among the thousands in the Marrakech food stalls a week later. They had been in Morocco for 20 years at that time. They were in their 70s; he a veterinarian, but both of them reaching out to the Moroccans in a godly and kind way. When in the States on vacation, they have attended Dave’s family church in St. Paul, MN – North Heights Lutheran. They gave me a bookmark from a Moroccan believer; I still have it. How amazing is that?

On the train from Marrakech to Casablanca I was in a compartment with a Moroccan lady whose husband had gone to forestry school in Moscow, Idaho, and whose son was born there. I had attended Washington State College [now University] in Pullman, WA, not very far from Moscow. Rajah was so happy to be able to talk to someone who would understand her wonderful experiences in Moscow. Rajah, Joseph,her 15 year old son, and Miriam, her 11 year old daughter, fed me and fed me and fed me... Coke, cookies, chips. So sweet to me.

Would I want to return to Morocco?? ABSOLUTELY!!! Although only a few months later 9/11 hit, and terrorism occurred in Morocco, I realize fears have risen, attitudes have changed. But, in spite of all of that, I loved it. LOVED IT!! Met so many lovely, lovely people and saw much lovely land.

BTW, I have a number of Moroccan dry-river rocks... I brought many home as gifts for my intercessors. Thought those would be keepable and enjoyable "souvenirs".

PSALM 119:105

2011-10-07T20:12:00.005-05:00

I shared this at church last week. I have posted it similarly some time ago, but I rewrote and restructured the story so decided to re-post it... and tossed in a couple of photos. As I told you recently on a post, I've been buried in Psalm 119. That is how this hit me again. Hope this blesses you... and encourages you. [BTW, the photo of Sam, includes his wife, Adhe, who is my daughter and b/c of them I have wonderful grandkids.]
===========================

In our present world of high-intensity flashlights, of smooth sidewalks, of street lights casting opaque filters against the darkness, this verse is far less meaningful than the Psalmist intended.

Over the past few years, this verse always reminded me of Uganda. At the time, our dear Sam was our houseboy and yard help, as opposed to now when he is our “son.” Sam and I needed to see our friends, Godfrey and Sara, on another hillside about half a mile away from the compound where Dave and I lived outside of Kampala. Only a narrow path led across the way, with palm trees, banana groves and small garden plots edging it.

I very rarely went outside after dark in Uganda – my eyes weren’t very adept at seeing in the dark and the various shapes and shadows were more mysterious than familiar.

Sam carried the flashlight, and as we walked single file, he aimed it at the path in front of us. Other than an occasional house off to the side with a bit of lantern light, and a few stars sparkling overhead, only the flashlight could burst through the darkness.

I would only vaguely see the light on the path as Sam led the way. I grasped the back of his shirt and kept my eyes focused on the ground. When dogs growled or barked I jerked; and when grass or bushes rustled, my fearfilled imagination immediately “saw” pythons or cobras or puff adders, I had no choice but to hold on tighter --cutting and running would have been a useless, and possibly quite dangerous, exercise in futility. [This photo ought to let you know why I'd freak out; I took this where I was staying during my last visit in '04.]

Poor Sam. He could have made much better time without me holding on, tensing up and dragging him back. Only knowing him for a few weeks, I was forced to trust him and his light. If for any reason he had abandoned me on the path, I may have been in real trouble.

So, when this Psalm points out that His Word is the light to my path, it is reiterating to a people who well understood the principle that without an oil lamp, walking in the dark, the only option was a very slow and mincing step forward – hoping there would not be a cliff to tumble over or a hole to stumble into -- or, out of fear, be frozen in their place, unable to move.

I need to remember this always. Especially when in the wide-ranging Norton’s family world, it often feels dark; it looks dark. Sometimes, while determined to follow Him, I can hardly hold the light – my hand trembling with weakness and fear – but, occasionally, just as what happened with Sam, I imagine Jesus, the Word and Light, walking before me on the path while I cling to His robe, trusting in HIM, and, blessedly and confidently, I am certain He will not abandon me on the path and leave me waiting in darkness.

WONDERFUL HEALING

2011-10-05T20:44:00.006-05:00

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the kindness and grace of our dear Father. Every once in a while, when I am cleaning house and running up and down the stairs, I remember how easy it is now... and how tough it could have been for a "time, and times, and half a time" before.

In November, 2005, I was visiting Susie. While up there, on Wednesday evening, I had connected with some pastors and teachers in a town about 50 miles from her house. I had been contacted by one of them and asked to drive up to their town's pizza parlor where they were meeting and take some time to share about my ministry focus, which involved a specific portion of spiritual warfare.

On Saturday evening, I was reaching across a room towards Susie to hand her something, and I suddenly had a tear in my lower left leg. It hurt big time. As I tried to walk, I could tiptoe or I could flat foot, but I couldn't do anything in between without the pain and weakness hitting me significantly. I made it through the night, but the leg wasn't in great condition. And, in the morning, on Sunday, I was going home.

My biggest concern? I would be driving about 550 miles and would have one leg that was truly useful. Not that the left leg would keep me from driving -- since I didn't need to use it for the gas or brake pedals-- but just climbing in and out of the car at rest areas and gas stations could be tough.

I decided to stop at a church in a very small town about 100 miles west of Susie's right before I hit the Interstate. I had met the pastors at the meeting on Wednesday. I knew they would be open to praying for my leg.

When I went into the church I was taken to a room where the pastors and other leaders were meeting. When the pastors saw me hobbling, they immediately said they would pray. They had me sit in the center of their group and laid hands on me, a couple ladies putting their hands on my leg. One especially kept rubbing the back of it from the calf to the heel. After about 10 minutes, sensing that my body had truly been touched, we just "hallelujah"ed for a short while. Then I hit the road. As I climbed in the car a small, very small, change had occurred. Even confident that the Lord had touched me, the pain wasn't gone, though, and I still struggled with some of the walking.

However, it was amazing how things changed. Every time I stopped at a rest area, my leg improved. When I filled my gas tank, walking from the pump area to pay inside, the pain reduced; the twinging was still there, but less and less as the day's travel continued.

I reached home in the late afternoon. My husband, after talking with him and describing the pain the night before, assumed it was an Achilles tendon that had been torn. [I was told the same by a number of people, even nurses, both before and after the drive.] At that time we lived on the 3rd floor at an apartment building. Dave had already assumed I'd have to be held as I hopped up the stairs and then we'd be calling our doctor. He was just as amazed as anyone could have been, because when I reached home, I could walk up the stairs without help. I could still feel some "twinginess", and, to be honest, sometimes felt a little nervous, wondering if the "healing" would somehow collapse. [My "faith" ain't perfect, even though He is.]

I was so blessed. During every one of the next few days the tightness and the "twinginess" reduced. Then it went away, entirely.

So, six years later, after that glorious healing, I am walking, and leaping, and praising God.

==============
Doesn't mean I haven't had other issues, some pretty consistent, as occurs to nearly everyone in these "tents" we live in. I've even been told by those small-town pastors, that one reason I was healed was to encourage a couple of the new leaders who needed to understand that side of God's kindness to His kids. It was hoped that they would be continually willing to pray for those in need. I was just a "training tool".

PSALM 119

2011-09-30T14:40:00.003-05:00

I find it interesting how my Scripture reading has been readjusting over the past 18 months. Almost always since I came to Him in April, 1966, the Lord has indicated where and what I was to read, but rarely re-reading the same Books over and over. However, shortly after I began blogging, Luke was a book He had me read about 13 times, all in different translations, from KJV to Amplified to Living.

The end of last October, He laid Revelation on me and didn't take it out of my reading path for 6 months, 'til this past Easter. I read it at least once a week, usually once every 4 days. Always Amplified. So, about 35 times in that six months. [A side Word added to this was John 17.]

For about the first 18 years with the Lord, I wasn't interested in Psalms. Usually buried in historical and prophetic OT. However, in the past 27 years, I've read the Book of Psalms over and over, especially when life was filled with tension or strife or overwhelming seriosity and the Psalms were a safe place to hang out. However, I rarely did more than rush through Ps. 119. Found it boring, too repetitive.

Now life has changed... again. A couple weeks ago, He led me to read that Psalm. And prodded me to do it every day. So far as I know, it is going to be my Word-reading stretch through October.

It has become amazing. Something I never would have imagined could happen. I've begun to not just read it, but pray to Him through the Psalm. For myself, my husband, my family, my friends. All as a verse or a heart-opening occurs. Reminding Him that my children and grandchildren have had much Word-seed planted in their hearts and that the healthy fruit could spring to the surface, that [for all of us] less-than-godly behaviors could be reversed.

For me: that my heart will yearn -- YEARN -- for Him and His path for me, that I'd never want to take a side-route or a side-step and somehow lose His immediate will for my life.

During the next month, I'm hoping that more and more of His message to me [and mine] will be enlarged, that I will always focus on Him and not on the everyday stuff that keeps trying to interfere with my walk with Him.

I most certainly won't have it memorized, but I will have it "heartized"...which is happening already. Now, when I finish the reading/praying time with it, and start to clean rooms, do dishes and laundry, and putz around in and outside of the house, my heart continues to seek and speak, with Him in mind.

What can be more joyful and thrilling than that?????

FIRST RESPONDERS -- DEJUAN AND ETIENNE

2011-09-26T20:36:00.007-05:00

A rough weekend; 3 injured, 2 killed.

19-year old Dejuan was killed about a mile from our house. The killer [25-year old man] was captured immediately while hiding in an apartment across the street from the shooting. This evening we spent time with the family, praying and holding them -- a whole pile of FR-ers. A church was next to the murder site and a number of their members came to let the family know they would pay for the funeral and support the family any way possible. I was able to hug and pray for his mom, Teresa. We blessed each other, kissing cheeks.

NOW, the other one. This one was a heartbreaker. It was a few miles from our house and I've been in that neighborhood 2 other times this year after killings, always guys in late teens who were shot while walking down the streets, no particular reason.

Etienne was 14-years old. The killer has not been found. When I heard about it I was both spiritually and physically furious... as a grandma with three 14-year old grandchildren, this really slapped me.

Many family members and friends were there, many FRs, and a few policemen. I actually saw a policeman touch a child, showing real concern and sympathy, another standing to the side, but looking prayerful and caring. They are not usually allowed to even consider doing these "caring" bits; they are just allowed to focus on protection ... It is obvious that Etienne touched their hearts, too.

While we were praying over the family, one of the leaders grabbed my hand and pulled me away and told me I needed to pray for a girl; she was Etienne's 12-year old sister. She was standing at the end of a car and I popped next to her and put my arm around her shoulders and cuddled her. She was teary, but I'd say even more that she was ANGRY and ready to scream. Her grandma arrived and stood by her. Then a young cousin-- a little girl about 6 years old -- ran past me to the other side of grandma and grabbed her. The girls began crying ... sobbing. A couple of other ladies came to pray for them, too, and we all just held hands and shared love. [Before I left, I asked if I could take a photo of Brooklynn so I could look at it and remember to pray for her.]

I also was able to hold Etienne's dad's neck and just tell him how much he is on our hearts. He happens to be about the same age as my son who has one of my g-kids that fits into this situation.

Sometimes I wish I could be posting "sweetness and light" bits, and it does occur, but most of the time, especially in the past few months, I'm buried in seriosity. Maybe some day ...

DREAM #2

2011-09-19T20:09:00.005-05:00

I mentioned earlier when I posted about a dream, that I would describe another life-changing one. Since then, life has become very busy and challenging; these past few weeks have been buried in Bhutanese [and other] events. Before I fill in some of the gaps about what's been going on, I'm going to tell about the dream.

It really, truly changed my life. Here's the story.
===================================
On Labor Day weekend, 2003, Dave and I went to the Cincinnati area to visit friends we had met at the orphanage in Uganda when we were there for our son Sam's wedding in September, '99. Mark was the construction manager. Kim was a "variety" lady and we spent good time laughing. The four of us got along well and always wished we could have more time together, either there or here.

At their home in Ohio, we discussed the fact that the LRA [Lord's Resistance Army], led by Joseph Kony, which was usually in the NW portion of Uganda, had invaded a more central district in June. The main town in that area, Soroti, had been overwhelmed with people fleeing from villages and "bush" areas... the town went from about 50,000 to 130,000 in a very short time, bursting -- not enough water, food, latrines -- not enough of anything.

That evening together, hashing about all the Soroti info, four of us sharing what we knew and had heard, all of us said that we would be willing to send money over to help, but no desire or ability to go to the Soroti area. Dave had his job, Mark was working, Kim was deeply involved with a variety of family needs ... and I had absolutely no desire ever to go to Soroti ... ever, ever, ever.

Labor Day night, after our return from Ohio, I had a dream.

In it, I was walking through a place that was very crowded. Dave was walking behind me, but I didn’t see him, just knew he was there. Suddenly, I was standing by a big garbage dumpster. It was filled to the top, and even overflowing a bit. And, on top of the garbage was a gray cat, sprawled on its back. It was scroungy and the fur was all matted and filthy. It appeared to be dead. However, as I was watching it, its eyes opened and it looked at me very intensely and I felt absolutely overwhelmed with the need to care for this cat. As I figured out exactly what I should do, I was saying over my shoulder to Dave, "I’m sorry to have to do this, because I know you are allergic to cats, but I do have to help it." Then I found a very large towel and carefully wrapped the cat in it so that it would not be able to scratch and bite me as it was feeling pain. My intent was to take it to a vet, since I’m not a medical person. Right after wrapping it, the dream ended.

The next day Dave and I talked about this and wondered if the Lord was asking us to step back into a ministry we had done for years. It had worn us out, in every aspect, and we had stopped. We agreed that if the Lord wanted us to receive it back into our lives, we would do it. We thoroughly see that He is the "Caller" and we are the "Followers".

The NEXT day, I turned on my computer, pulled up the emails, and read a report from our orphanage contact in Uganda, and my emotions kicked in and were exactly what I had felt in my dream. During that day, I emailed my Uganda contacts, found out the airline costs, asked my local friends what they thought about it. I didn't tell Dave. He was at work at the Base and I didn't want to lay this on his plate when he was doing his job.

By the time Dave had come home, I was convinced I was supposed to go to Uganda and help in Soroti any way the Lord asked. Period.

Dave was outside painting our house and I went out and told him that, related to this dream, I was convinced that I was supposed to go to Soroti. Within 10 seconds Dave, knowing that I would never have wanted to, said, "If this is what you believe, get prayer, get ready, and go." It was 2 months before all the details were worked out. I left on November 12.

The challenges? 1) I would be gone 3 months. Dave and I would be separated for 2-1/2 months, a real heart-breaker -- he hoped to come the last 2 weeks, and visit our dear ones and bring me home. 2) Not knowing when or where or how God was going to use me, but knowing it was the right place to go. 3) Not knowing if I would die while in a war zone; consequently, we had our wills updated. When he took me to the airport, we held each other for as long as possible, both on the verge of crying, moment by moment.

I've posted a number of events that occurred over there, people I met who changed my life, people whose lives I changed by being at the right place at the right time. When Dave arrived on January 30th, I was recovering from malaria, had been sleep deprived, malnourished, dehydrated, and was thoroughly exhausted. He definitely had to take care of me.

We returned on February 12, '04. It took months for me to recover from PTS, physically and emotionally nearly destroyed. BUT never once ever wondering if this was the right thing to do or the right place to go.

And, NO, I don't rush into dreams and I very rarely assume they are a message from the Lord. But once in a while...just once in a while... it happens. It has always been worth it.

[The links have the photos of a few of the people I met and stories that fit into this amazing experience.]

WINTER, 1979, MIRACULOUS CAR EVENT

2011-09-03T13:51:00.003-05:00

This morning I was reading one of my long-time-owned spiritually-oriented books, written in 1959, called The Blood of Jesus. The author, Rev. Whyte tells a few stories of how pleading the Blood of Jesus has brought sudden safety, healing, and spiritual understanding. I've read this book off and on over the past 35 years, whenever the Lord lays it on my "reading" plate.

I read [for the many-eth time] one of his stories of driving in snow on a country road outside of Toronto, and how both he and his wife, in separate cars, filled with youth on their way home from a retreat, were blown off the highway. Individually, as their cars were out of control, they immediately called upon the Lord, asking for protection by Him through the Blood of Jesus. Miraculously, they were all uninjured, and cars not damaged. Entirely safe.

It reminded me -- again -- of what happened to me all those years back. It doesn't simply use this same focus, such as the Blood, but it sure was an immediate touch through the power of the Lord.
=====================

I had not been driving many years at that time... either no cars or no reason to use one. However, I had begun to be a realtor in May, 1978, so that non-driving phase of life changed for me. In early 1979, I was in a bank helping some buyers apply for their loan. While there, an ice-storm hit outside. When I left, about 5:30, my car was thoroughly covered with a blanket of ice. It took me about half an hour to chip off enough ice to open the door and see through bits of the windows.

About 6, I got onto the road to head for home, which was about 10 miles away. Today, that area across from the bank is a busy part of Omaha, a 4-lane street with houses all around it. Back then, it was just a plain 2-lane road and very few houses and no street lights. Well, I was driving along, carefully, on the ice-covered road; there was no one in front or behind me. After about 2 miles, the car suddenly and instantly "swooshed" from the lane I was in across to the other lane. I was shocked and very frightened, because that change happened without anything connected to my driving style. Since the road was covered with ice, I knew I couldn’t turn the steering wheel at all without being absolutely certain sure that would throw me off the road. I couldn't hit the brakes, for risk of spinning out of control and hitting one of the roadside ditches. I could see the glare of headlights reflected off the hilly stretch of road ahead and knew there were cars coming at me and knew there could be very bad, if not deadly, accidents.

I immediately, frantically, started to pray. First, I said "Angels. Lord, send angels." Nothing happened. A couple seconds later I said, "Jesus, help me, Jesus." Again, nothing happened. For a very short time, I kept frantically praying in my heart. Suddenly my mouth opened and I shouted – very, very loudly – "Satan, in the name of Jesus, take your hand off my steering wheel!"

My car immediately swooshed back into the lane where it belonged. I hadn't touched anything. The car moved all by itself. Within seconds the other cars started to pass by in the other lane where I had been.

I had no more problems, and I reached home about 20 minutes later, although, because of the ice, I continued to move slowly and carefully, just as I had been doing before the ‘swooshing’ had occurred. When I pulled into our driveway, my body was still trembling and I was shaking my head from the miracle I had just been through.

I never wonder whether God can step in to protect me. He did it then, and He has done it so many other times over the years as I’ve driven all over the States, hundreds of thousands of miles. I have been in some very tense or dangerous situations, and I have come through those events with joy and appreciation roaring in my heart and out of my mouth, because of His faithfulness to me.

UGANDA MONEY MIRACLE

2011-08-30T14:21:00.006-05:00

If I could put a photo on this, in any way, I most certainly would. It's another one of those "only God" stories.

In December, 1995, Dave and I were worried, trying to figure out how we could return to the States as necessary in April, 1996. We were nearly out of money other than the basic living costs. Our credit cards were maxed out, savings gone. We had a few people who had been donating for our ministry needs, but we had become overwhelmed by the expenses. We weren't being extravagant, but between those basic needs and taking care of folks God had dropped in our path, we were hitting the wall. One main plan was to sell our household items, including a generator, computer, VCR, TV, and Dave's music equipment and piles of music tapes. We needed about $2,000, which would provide just enough to fly home.

In early December, we were meeting one of our main friends, Fr. Albert, for dinner in Kampala. I was in town before Dave and Fr. A. arrived and was in the Sheraton Hotel hanging out and waiting for them. A Ugandan was playing Christmas carols on an old piano in the very hot, sunny registration/reception center -- definitely didn't feel like our normal Christmas. A man was sitting on a couch, and, less than bright on my side, I assumed that, because he had my skin color he spoke my usual English. So, being me, my yammery personality, I made a comment about the heat and songs. Well, I was WRONG! He was Italian, could speak French, and indicated with that "so-so" hand motion, he could do some English. I said I could speak French. However, after we tried to communicate, he said my French wasn't good enough, so we'd have to try to make it in his English. Worked OK. We did talk for about half an hour. He said he was a cotton import/exporter and had been purchasing cotton from around Jinja, 60 miles away. He was waiting for a taxi to take him to the airport, and it was running late. In that next stretch, he asked what Dave and I did, and when I talked about being at the orphanage, he was very touched. He said he didn't believe in God and he was mad at church, but his wife would truly want to see that location when they came back to Uganda the following month.

In early January, I went to the hotel and met Paolo in the lounge and he told me his wife hadn't come because she'd had a ski accident in the Alps [they lived in Milan], and that he wouldn't take the time to go to the orphanage. BUT, then he handed me an envelope, and said, "This is for you. It is a small amount... oh, just a small amount... only a thousand dollars."

My brain exploded. " A thousand American dollars, Ugandan shillings, Italian lira? ...Was he confused?" I started to open the envelope, and he stopped me and said that I could see it later, that first we should talk. A few minutes later, he asked me to come to the hotel for lunch the next day and to bring Dave so he could meet my husband. [Dave was at the orphanage and would be coming into Kampala the next morning.]

When I left, walking across the hotel garden towards the street, I opened the envelope. I was absolutely stunned. There were 10... brand new... $100 bills.

Walking through downtown Kampala, the money buried in my backpack, I carried it across my chest instead of on my back, with my arms crossed over it. No one could slice the straps and sneak it away from me, a common theft manner. Uh, UH!!

That $1000, plus what we sold, provided exactly what we needed to get back home. If the Lord had not dropped Paolo into our lives, I have no idea what else would have occurred to give us enough money to get back to Omaha.

I have hoped that, through Paolo blessing us so amazingly, God dropped strongly into HIS life. I truly hope to see him in heaven.

EARTHQUAKE, 1965

2011-08-24T15:17:00.005-05:00

For some strange reason, when my spiritual brother Gary at Long Island, NY, FB'd re: the earthquake on the east coast, I suddenly realized that even with several earthquakes I've been involved in on the 3 West coast states, 1948 to 1974 -- I "saw" the one that blew my mind.

Here's the story.

I was 19 years old, living and working in Seattle. It was almost exactly 8:30 AM. During the spreading of the earthquake tremors, rumbles, and roars, I was on a cable car on my way to work downtown, and a few blocks from the office building. I was reading a book, Tom Jones, and not looking around at all. Then the bouncing of the cable car got my attention, and annoyed, I thought, LOUDLY, as I began to look up, "What is that driver doing??" Then I saw that he had stopped driving, was in big-eyed panic, and as I looked around I could see the street bouncing, business windows waving and weaving, people running down the middle of the street, and skyscrapers swaying back and forth, crisscrossing each other. The final result, besides piles of damage, three people were killed by falling debris; others died from heart attacks. It was one scary stretch of time, believe me.

The only funny bit? My friend/coworker Connie was being dropped off by her boyfriend in front of the building, and he was giving her a kiss goodbye, exactly when the earthquake hit. He said, "WOW, that was one exciting kiss. "

Later, my boss let me call my parents in Tacoma -- I knew Mom was terrified of earthquakes, and I was afraid she'd have jumped out of the upstairs bedroom window from a fear reaction. My Dad said he and Mom had done OK. Then he told me that my 6-year old sister, Kristan, who was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor while watching cartoons when it hit, froze in her position and started screaming. When Dad got to her to get her out of the house, and picked her up, her back against his chest, she remained in a stiff, sitting, cross-legged, screaming body as he carried her out.

Lived through a few smallish ones in California from 1969 to 1974 in the Bay Area. Got "rattled", pictures bouncing, dishes sliding, etc., but nothing, NOTHING anywhere similar to that one in 1965.

DREAMS

2011-08-23T15:54:00.004-05:00

Maybe because I have a brain that operates on full-speed most of the time, the Lord drops an occasional dream into my sleep-time, because He needs to get a point across or give me an instruction. Doesn't happen often with straight-forward results. Just sometimes.

On Sunday, our Pastor's sermon included the comment that dreams weren't a part of our usual spiritual life. And, I have to agree with that, in general. But there are the occasional ones ....

This one hit about 30 years ago. You ought to get a good chuckle out of it.

In my dream, my teeth were being broken out and my jaw pulled. [I really -- REALLY -- don't like to have my mouth messed with, so this was very intense and unnerving.] I woke up, big eyed, and glad I was awake, and after breathing heavily for a few seconds, I settled down. WELL, a few days later I had the same dream with my jaw-bone being broken and yanked out... And then again a few days later.

When I woke up I was hollering, "WHAT is going ON???" And, surprisingly, the Lord spoke very clearly to my heart: "Getting you to change is like pulling teeth."

Well, I decided I better check in with Him and find out what I wasn't doing that He wanted me to. After that, any time I started to have that dream, I would immediately say, "OK, Lord, what am I supposed to do?" I haven't had one of those dreams for a very long time. Hope it means He can get to me more easily.

========

In a while I will share about the other main dream. Through it, the Lord sent me to Uganda in 2003 for 3 months, after the Soroti area had been invaded by the Kony rebels and He wanted me there for very specific reasons. If He hadn't done it, I wouldn't have gone there, I'm quite certain sure. Soroti was pretty close to the bottom of my "willing to go" list, as much as I love Uganda. And to leave my husband for months? Risk my life by entering a war zone? But it was the right thing to do.

MY BRO-IN-LAW, FRED... SENTENCED

2011-08-20T12:24:00.005-05:00

My sister, Kristan, Fred's wife, just called a few minutes ago. She gave me the news re: Fred's trial and the potential for the sentence.

Most of you recall that, on July 28th last year, Fred' truck struck a 14-year old girl who was beginning to cross a highway in Fairbanks, AK, with her bike. Her death was instant and a heartbreaking experience for many, many people. So much has taken place between the legal and justice groups that it has taken much longer for the verdict and sentencing than was anticipated. And, besides the girl, Kirsten, who died, another girl, connected to the family, just moving into the street, was also injured, although not severely.

Basically, this is the final result. He has been sentenced to 2-1/2 years -- 2 years for Kirsten and 1/2 year for the other girl. He will not be going to jail or prison, but will be spending time in a half-way house for several months and/or will have an ankle "bracelet" for home, or a bit of a mix. He will be w/o a driver's license for the 2-1/2 years, except for driving to and from work and church. He will also be on parole for 10 years. The final decisions, breaking all these details down and putting them in total accuracy, will occur September 10th.

Kristan said that the sad part was that although about 70 people showed up in court to support and encourage Fred, the girl's parents, her brother [who witnessed this accident], and another couple of relatives were the only 5 people that came for their side. Kristan said she nearly cried for their sake, because of their "aloneness" at such a hard event. One other aspect is that, even though the parents were struggling in their marriage before their daughter was killed, and had been going to counseling and seeing if things could be worked out, they have now divorced. Kristan also said that the dad is on anxiety meds, has lost a great deal of weight, lost his hair and, overall, is just looking sad.

One thing Fred did was to read a letter he wrote for the trial. He said, and many know this, that he did not see the red light. He had been distracted -- NOT a cell phone -- glancing across the highway, and when he looked back, the girl was looking at his face as the truck hit her. He gave much appreciation for the father's forgiveness, and showed much sorrow for their loss of a daughter. [He is very evangelically "gifted" and also is a mentor for the youth at their church, so this was a real slam, in more ways than one.]

One thing Kristan told me showed such wisdom. Before the trial, she said to her sons and others that they must not show any concern about any long sentence he might be given. She told them that even if it was some years, and prison, it would be less time than what the girl's family was going through, having lost her forever.

I appreciate what some of you have indicated to me since this began, and I wanted to be sure this info was out to you before I was side-tracked by anything else.

Unless something unusual hits this finally, I won't be in contact about it. You get the main drift and that's the important part.

Thanks so much.

BHUTANESE GREAT-GRANDCHILD

2011-08-13T14:05:00.009-05:00

What a day! I took Mandira and Pemba to the hospital at 4 AM yesterday. I had slept a bit for the 3 hours before they started calling me at 2 AM to contact the hospital for them and find out what to do, since Mandira was having contractions. So, I was the inbetweener until the delivery nurse said to come in.

Well, the whole day was filled with the combination of lots and lots and next to nothing. I came home at 2 in the afternoon to take a shower and pick up Pemba's sister. I'd been told the baby would arrive between 8 and 9.

That nurse was wrong!! Mandira had really hit the extreme pain element. I have the treasure of a bruise on my hand that she was holding... I had told her much earlier she was free to hold my hand as hard as needed. [If I could, I'd take a photo of the bruise and frame it forever!]

For the first time in my life I was involved in the final few minutes before the baby came out. Mandira was gripping my hand and I was also rubbing her forehead. Then I was assigned by the doctor to count to 10 for her during the "pushing" time. Every time he nodded I did it again. So, I think I counted to 10 at least 10 times. Glad I knew how!!

And then I saw the baby's head come out. WOW!! And "baby girl" officially became Prasansa ... the Nepali word for "praise".

Details: 12:33 AM; 7 lks 9 oz.; 19 inches. Comment: considering that Mandira was very small -- starting the pregnancy at 93 lbs, 5 feet and with a very short and thin husband -- it was not at all anticipated that Prasamsa would be this large, which may have well added to the pain level!

I came home a little past 1 AM, got to bed at 2, and slept most of the time until nearly 11. Was exhausted, which should be very understandable.

Mandira and Pemba adopted me as a grandmother shortly after their arrival here last October. I've definitely adored them and they have so much respect and appreciation for me. [They feel the same about Dave, but he isn't in their faces nearly as often as I am.]

Couldn't NOT send this around and about. They and others have so changed my life this past year. God has been so gracious to me.

NEW BHUTANESE FAMILY

2011-08-11T15:36:00.006-05:00

Actually, the excitement isn't only about them. It's watching their other family members we've been "living with" for over a year to jump for joy.

It all began last night. I took two of the present family members to the airport to welcome the 3 who were coming, a young couple with a young son. When I reached the airport, just shy of 10 PM, I joined with a pile of the others who were waiting. Had so much fun just waiting. After the arrival, I took Mandira and Tshering back to the apartment. Perfectly content with the evening's activities. So enjoyed my time with my many dear ones.

Well, today it was a blast. About 2:00 I decided to go to Mandira's apt and see the family now that they had slept. The baby/toddler wasn't a happy boy last night. So, I had visited the Mom, who speaks a bit of English, and enjoyed the little one and my others.

Suddenly I heard a rowdy, noisy person jumping up the stairs to this upper apartment and when the door was opened Phurba ran into the room, overwhelmingly joyous. He hadn't been at the airport [he'd been sick last night, which is very common] and wanted to see his cousins. When he came in and saw me, he ran across the room and threw his arms around me and hugged me so hard it nearly broke my back... but I sure had no complaint. This is the first time I have seen him so extroverted. He's always been facing the brain surgery, seizures, on lots of drugs, sleepy, sick. A little open at his church sometimes, always respectful and nice to me, and sometimes affectionate. This, however, was a whole new experience. I watched while he laughed and jumped around the apt and talked a million miles a minute, with everyone laughing with [and at] him. All I could do was sit there and grin. [The photos are from last winter before and after his surgery.]

A few minutes later, his brother, Sai and his wife, Wang, came and brought more relatives. And the Nepali yammering went on and on, and, of course, I didn't understand a word.

I was getting ready to leave and all except the new ones knew when my surgery had taken place 3 weeks ago. They've all come to my house to check on me before. Well, they wanted to see my belly. So, here I am in the middle of a large living room with a large family sitting there, asked to show my stomach so they could see the incisions. I just shrugged my shoulders a bit, then I did what they wanted and lifted my shirt and showed them my gut. They were pretty amazed to see how things have improved, and they rejoiced. [The healing has really increased recently!] I never would have thought that this would be such a great impression on them.

I came home about 3:30 with real joy in my heart. New family, "old" family, love and love and more love poured around and about to their family and to me. What a treat! [I think adding these 3 new ones makes the total "family" in the 50 range now. Who would've thunk we'd be so buried in so many refugees. I love it!!]

Just thought I'd share this with you all. Couldn't be happier this afternoon. It's been wonderful. I've eaten better, walked farther, visited more, and come home with less tiredness than would have been the case just a day or so ago. YIPPEE!! [Thanks for your prayers, encouragement.]

FIRST RESPONDERS -- AGAIN

2011-08-08T20:03:00.002-05:00

If I could, without offending someone, I would take a photo of the orange police cone on the entry sidewalk in front of the apartment building where a man was killed last night. His family has now placed flowers, candles, and balloons a few feet from that spot.

The cone almost means more to me than all those pretty items. We so often hear that someone died, or that someone was killed. We rarely see where their life left our world. That orange cone marks the spot.

Last evening a birthday party was being held outside the apartment. The party was for the son of one of my F.R. friends. Barb, just a few years ago, was a gang leader here in town and amazingly brought to, and blessed by, the Lord, freed from her addictions and her several children miraculously returned to her by the social services department, a gift no one would ever have thought would come to pass because of her record and the long-time illegal actions.

Last evening, a man stopped by the bbq at her son's party to visit a friend he'd seen as he was passing the apartment building. Nearly immediately a car swung past, started shooting, up to a dozen shots, and he was killed. Steve was 54. So Barb's friend, Steve, was murdered and her son, Chris, was taken to the police station, questioned, and later released.

Can most of us even imagine this? Of course not! But when we met for prayer there this evening we were overwhelmed by Steve's family and friends. We had a blessed opportunity to pray for all of them and hold them and encourage them. I had my hands laid on the back of a young man, in his early 20s, and when the prayer time was past he thanked me. I now have that young man, Tray, in my heart.

Steve was the 18th murder victim this year, the vast number of them being shot by gang members, some related to the gangs themselves and sometimes, such as this event, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This is the first F.R. time I've attended since my surgery, and my energy level still ain't very high, but I couldn't not go. Why? I wanted to hug Barb and just let her know she is loved.

It was worth it, believe me!!

SACRIFICE

2011-08-04T21:54:00.004-05:00

When Adam and Eve sinned and God instructed them to kill animals for skins to cover them, God did not shrug off the loss of life. The animals were His creation — maybe not His PRIZE creation, but still the work of His creative voice.

Similarly, God did not, through the Law given to Moses, blithely assign the death of bulls, goats, sheep, and doves. He did not set the rules in place for covering sin and walk away. Each animal was ritually sacrificed to maintain the constant awareness of sin and sin’s resulting death. The heart of God, always viewing the sacrifices with the forward vision towards Christ and His death to redeem man from sin, experienced pain as their Creator.

The pain attached to the death of God’s Son, the ULTIMATE sacrifice, was a culmination of all the centuries – all the millennia – of representative sacrifice.

Can my head even begin to “go there”? The totality of the pain is inexpressible. It makes the sacrifice of Christ even more poignant as the Father’s extreme climactic, accumulated pain was manifest in the rending of the veil.*

@@Sacrifice –
@@@ Striking the throat
@@@ of bull, lamb, dove, or goat.

@@God –
@@@Searing pain –
@@@@A daily refrain.

@@Christ –
@@@ Accepting life’s loss,
@@@@Faced the cross.

@@Redeemed Man –
@@@VViewed Eternity’s Rift;
Received God's gift.

* A Messianic Christian friend once said that when a Jewish father heard of the death of a son, he tore his garment from top to bottom in grief; he had been taught that the temple veil was torn top to bottom to express God’s grief at the loss of His Son. I am aware of different understandings/ interpretations; however, a multifaceted God can most certainly have multifaceted meanings to these critical events.

================
Had constant trouble with my poetic marginal issues. AAKK!! Oh, well.

FRED AND JOSEPHINE UPDATE

2011-08-03T15:33:00.004-05:00

This won't be long, but I was pretty amazed, so quickly after my posts, to receive an email from Fred this morning. And it opens more understanding of what they are dealing with. [We sometimes fail to reach each other for a year or longer and suddenly that is changing. Makes me happy!]

Dear Joanne,
Josephine and I are in S Sudan and will be home this weekend.
We have been running a training program for 3 months with short breaks to go home and spend time with the girls.

We will be in a better position to communicate from next week- net bad here.

======================
My comment. It ain't one easy trip back and forth. I have no idea where they are in Southern Sudan, but, at the very least, it's 300 miles which is not easy to reach and rarely is the transportation anything most of us would ever want to ride in.

To leave their upper-teen girls home alone for most of this time is also another challenge. I'm sure someone is stepping in to help. Very recently Josephine's father died, so that added to more of the family stress.

Their work for YWAM is going to make a big difference. To be able to train the Sudanese in ways to share the gospel and build their families more strongly with all they've faced in the past, and give them hope for the future ... what a blessing on both sides. [Have desired to go to Sudan so many times, and it just hasn't worked out. But I guess "I'm" there when several of my friends who have been there over the years have bits of my heart with them.]

JOSEPHINE'S HUSBAND, FRED

2011-07-31T16:45:00.008-05:00

I consider Fred one of my brothers ... but he always calls me "Mom". The fact that he's about the same age as my husband, who is significantly younger than I am, it makes me twinge when that word hits me. He means it in the aspect of respect. And that's one thing Fred and I have for each other... a great deal of respect and appreciation. He's one bright guy, a good husband and dad, and a totally focused servant of God.

The last event we had together was important and intense and humorous, in a rather strange manner.

I had spent the night at their home outside of Jinja. Their house was partially constructed; in fact, mostly UNconstructed. I was exhausted, having left Soroti that day after several weeks of very serious work and ministry. In spite of wanting to visit them, I spent most of my time sleeping wherever there was space to put my body.

The next day I went to the home of a man, Patrick, that Dave and I had helped pay for his schooling for both senior school and college from '91 to '95. Hadn't seen him since '96. When he picked me up to take me to his house, about 20 miles up into the hills, there was a young teenaged girl in the car who looked very much like a family member. He introduced me to her, and I went into shock. She was his daughter and named after me.... but we had never heard anything about her; the pregnancy and birth occurred when he was between high school and college. I wasn't pleased to hear this, although it didn't hurt my attitude towards her, Joanne. I was hurt, because, even when Dave and I had been with him before, paying his school bills, going on a vacation together in '95, he never mentioned this "event." I felt cheated, to be honest.

I had hoped to spend the weekend in his country home to rest and recover from my work in Soroti, struggling with my health, not realizing I was heading into malaria. But had almost no rest.

Patrick was involved with a lady, Faith, and wanted to talk to me about their issues. I spent all evening Friday, most of the night, and all day Saturday counseling. Late in the day, I called Fred and see if he would meet with them in Jinja and he agreed to. One of Fred's ministries with YWAM was marriage counseling. He said he would.

Fred had suggested that he would talk to one first, and then the other, and then together. Well, the stories and opinions and expectations had been so incredibly different I said that he should only do it with them together.

When we got to a resort park area, Fred met the others and took them to a table to talk.

I wandered around for three hours, took a tour ride on Lake Victoria/Nile River source stretch. Had just a restful time to myself.

As we left, and Fred was being taken home, and was sitting next to me in the back seat, he suddenly, intensely, grabbed my leg. I glanced at him, and he just shook his head and rolled his eyes. He whispered, "You were right! Needed to listen to them together and even that was just crazy."

Patrick and Faith separated shortly thereafter and I've had no more contact with them. But Fred truly did the best he could, spent as much time as possible, gave them his number so they could contact him any time, either separately or together. Really poured himself out to their hearts. After a short time, they both disappeared, even though Faith contacted him a few times.

And that is what Fred is like. He gives and gives and gives again. As mentioned in Josephine's story, he was in Rwanda helping the young folks who had been forced through genocide. They have had businesses over the years as ways to support their family and ministries... and they have struggled almost more than anyone I ever met over there.

They are possibly coming to the States in September for a YWAM training event connected to their particular type of ministry. My huge hope is, of course, that we might somehow meet, even though their location hasn't been indicated, yet. It would be such a blessing to simply have them with us and bless them. Am hoping the Lord will open that door.

They are very much worth it.

MY UGANDAN SISTER, JOSEPHINE

2011-07-30T19:22:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I sure wish I had photos from many years ago and some good ones recently. Oh, well. Just need to do what works.

Josephine isn't my only Ugandan sister, but she's one of the most amazing people I've ever known.

Twenty years ago, in February, '91, when Dave and I were in Uganda our first time, we ended up at her church in Jinja, Dave greeting, me preaching. Their church pastor had been the original person who had connected us to Uganda; God truly laid him in our path and exploded the desire to go to Uganda into our hearts. Patrick had been in Omaha attending a local Bible school for two short sessions, in '86 and '89, and Dave and I also took the occasional class.

Shortly before we left to go to Uganda, taking 11 boxes of goods for Patrick's church members, items donated to the Bible school by various local churches, there was a problem. One of his church members wrote a long letter to our local Bible school Pastor/Leader with many complaints. As you know, communication wasn't so easy in those days, especially internationally, and Patrick wasn't available in Uganda or the U.S. [I think he was in Norway] to deal with these problems. Since nothing had been settled before we were leaving, we were told to give the items to a different group, which we did. As hard as it was to follow through with what seemed such a harsh decision, God gave me an amazing experience that wouldn't have happened otherwise.

We didn't connect to their church in Jinja for our first four weeks in Uganda, and hadn't had a chance to explain the details. The people at the church hadn't heard all of it, and when Dave and I went there, after the service, we spent an hour talking with the church leaders. That's how we met Josephine and her husband, Fred. And they were heartbroken when we read the letter to them. Their tears, their obvious caring and concern poured forth. And the four of us became family at that moment.

Fred and Josephine have been with YWAM for a number of years. One of the events they shared with me when I was in Uganda last time, February, '04, was their mission in Rwanda, several years after the genocide. Their YWAM group went from house to house, yard to yard, hut to hut, reaching out to kids taking care of other kids, all having lost their parents and never having received help or greetings from anyone in all that time. They were able to encourage and bless these young people. How many of us could have done that? My heart would have been in the right place, but my guts might not have been able to pull it off.

What brought this to my attention was a vision in my head while lying on the couch recently after surgery, buried in pain meds. It is a place in Uganda called the Bujagali Falls, not far from the source of the Nile. And I remembered a wonderful time with her and Dave in '95, all of us boda-boda-ing [bike passengers] to go visit the falls. And the lovely time sitting together on the boulders and watching the waves and listening to their thunder as they churned around the small islands. Amazed as young men dove into the rapids and "surfed" over the rocks, hoping that tourists would pour some shillings into their hands when they came out of the river. It was just a special time... easy to remember, hard to ever forget.

I have some lovely friends in so many places... all over the States, Canada, England, Uganda. So many I hear and see often; so many I see rarely and miss much -- very, very much.

One of those main "missed" ones is dear, dear Josephine.

HENRIK IBSEN

2011-07-25T15:47:00.004-05:00

"Our lives should be pure and white tablets whereon God can write."

I saw this Ibsen quote on a statue in Tacoma, WA, at Wright's Park on Mother's Day when we were having our "Mom's ashes event". The statue with its quote thoroughly impressed and filled me with questions. I had heard of this playwright, of course, and remembered some of his plays from high school and college when we had to read them. I didn't like them at all. UH, UH!!

So, as I said, when I saw his statue with this statement, I was a bit surprised. So, here 'tis.

Obviously, according to the Norwegians who had the statue placed at the park in 1918, there was a lot of respect. However, I looked him up on line, hoping there would be an indication of a character change, post-playwright ... but his known character fit right into the plays right up to his death. Nothing godly.

And, yet...

His statement is so thoughtful and creative... and just WHERE did it come from?

Thought I'd toss it out at you, too. You can "Hmmm" right along with me.

PROPHETS

2011-07-17T20:57:00.003-05:00

Wish I could put a photo on here... or some sort of artistic piece ... to make this stand out, but, at any rate, without the creative bits, it's been on my heart for a few days and I want to point something out.

The Lord had me read Jeremiah, and now I'm in Ezekiel and, of course, next is Daniel. I use a Chronological Bible to see how the events fit together and it reminded me so much of what we, as church members, worldwide, are experiencing. So much difference in our cultures and our circumstances.

You see, Jeremiah, most of the time in Jerusalem, was a well-known prophet for years and years, loved and appreciated for some time, respected, and then hated for others. Heartbroken by knowing what was coming, and so desiring to turn their lives back to the Lord.

When the first ones were taken into captivity, while Jeremiah was doing his God-job, Daniel was abducted. Within a short time, Daniel was moved into a royal position, gained strength in Nebuchadnezzar's government.

In the third group that was captured, Ezekiel was included. A couple years after he had been in the Babylonian area, when he was about 30 years old, the Lord began to say, "Tell them this..." or "show them this". And for years, that's what he did. His life was simple... not necessarily poverty-oriented, but very simple. Some people turned to the Lord; some turned further and further away.

Then, right in the midst of this, Shadrak, Meshach, and Abednego had their "fireworks" event.

So, within approximately 600 miles and, maybe, 20 years, these 3 prophets lived in entirely different regions, entirely different lifestyles, and much different responses from the people around them. Ezekiel was visionary on a regular basis. Jeremiah was heart-drawn, wanting the best, seeing the worst. Daniel, well, we know all of the Daniel stories.

Now... this is the question. Where does this put us? How do we envision each other with our various ministries, denominations, personalities, interpretations of scripture? How do we deal with the facts in our lives... when we are certain that we know the potentiality of what is coming down our national/international tracks... how we can prepare for our own future and how we can help others? Whether we are rich [Daniel] or middle class [Jeremiah] or very simple [Ezekiel], focusing on the heart of God, how can we be certain to say and do what He is calling us to do, no matter what the consequences can be when we face our cultural negative attitudes? Will we have the courage?

This isn't nearly as creative as I try to be -- and the writing and wording aren't perfect... AT ALL. But this has been buried in my heart and mind for several weeks and I thought I'd toss it off on other plates. Yours.

KHARKA'S WEDDING

2011-07-04T16:15:00.006-05:00

Saturday was the first Bhutanese Christian wedding I've ever been to and I think it's probably one of the first here in Omaha. How would I determine that? The visitors seemed confused.

However, Kharka and Usha looked wonderful and seemed to be very comfortable and relaxed, confident that this was the right step to take. Kharka has been in the States for a bit over a year; Usha has been here for a couple months. They had been in love in their refugee camp, and he was so excited when her permission to come to Omaha came through and her visa arrived. They both came to the Lord in May right after she arrived, leaving their Hindu religion.

So, here's my description of the wedding, much of which I placed in an email to Susie later that day.

===========
The wedding today was beyond belief!!! Besides the joy, of course.

Kids ran around in the sanctuary and screamed -- parents rarely discipline their kids as they've been told that, if they do, they can be put in jail if the kids complain about them.

People talked incessantly, both cell phones and face-to-face yammering.

They walked to the front to take pictures and stood in front of Kharka and Usha and the pastor and interpreter.

Lachi [Khaka's mom] who was sitting in front of me, hollered. Mandira, my "granddaughter", told me Lachi was telling the pastor and interpreter to move out of the way so she could see Kharka and Usha during their vows. Another time she hollered at kids a row or two in front of her.

A girl, about 8, would jump across the bride's white aisle cover... and then jump back across it, thumping very loudly. Another time she grabbed her dad's camera and walked up and down the aisle taking photos of all of us.

When it was over, Dave and I spent a few minutes picking up pencils and writing pads the little kids had taken from the back of the pews and had spread around on the seats. We put those bits back so the church members wouldn't be upset when they show up next week, since the Bhutanese are rarely in the sanctuary.

At the end, besides the wonderful Indian culinary buffet in the fellowship hall, we had the blessing of spending time with our many dear ones and having a photo with our very special dear ones of that special day.

RMN4GOD.... but...

2011-06-27T21:46:00.002-05:00

Heavy sigh.

Before I drove out to the Northwest in April and to mid-May, and before Jill came from England/ Uganda for six weeks and we were going to the Grand Canyon and then up to northern MN to visit Susie and other friends.... Before all of that, after nearly 20 years of "Roaming for God", being in the right place, at the right time, to help others or serve God or be helped and served ... Whichever way God would guide... He began to speak in my heart and mind and say, "When Jill leaves, when those trips are done, this ministry is finished." I drove approximately 8,500 miles during those 3 trips, April 26 to June 23. She leaves tomorrow. I'm done.

And, as my husband or others might ask, "And how does this make you feel?" I'm not sure. Sometimes I feel teary; this has become my "life". It was so exciting at times, so amazing to hear and see His instantaneous plans come to pass. However, it also was, occasionally during those times, tiring, frightening, intense.

Now, do I feel useful here in Omaha? Yep. Have a lot of the Bhutanese and others on my plate on a regular basis. Love them. In fact, will be going to the airport twice in the next 18 hours to pick up "family" members who are arriving from Nepal. What a blessing! We have our first wedding on Saturday, Kharka and Usha who left the Hindu religion and came to the Lord just recently. What a joy that will be. Some helping with my yard and rushing and hugging and kissing me every time they see me. Who could ask for anything better than that.

But... with no more "roaming", what will come? HE knows, since He's the One Who closed one door, He's the One Who will open the next one.

Suddenly... as I typed that ... I realized that whatever comes down the road -- even lacking me driving my car -- is going to be another "filled with excitement" journey.

Yep... filled with excitement by my exciting and faithful Father.

FRED

2011-06-15T16:45:00.002-05:00

Just received this info from my sister, Kristan, Fred's wife. I could probably fill in more gaps, etc., but will just send this along. Rarely hear anything, as you can see. When the final result comes, I'll be sure to tell you. Thanks for sharing, praying, etc. In this past year, Fred has gone up and down in depression, OF COURSE, [which of us wouldn't have gone through that???]. He has continued on with the Lord faithfully, however, in spite of this serious and intense event. The young gal's parents have forgiven him, so far as I've heard. [Just thought I'd fill in any gaps by placing other posts re: this event last July. Thanks for being patient. AND, please pass it along to others who will pour their caring hearts on all those connected to this.]
===================

update:...he pled guilty to Crim. neg homicide and third degree assault...the sentencing is on August 18th, the max he can get is 3 1/2 years so it is strictly up to the judge. There is a chance he could get "ankle monitoring" only, time to serve and then ankle monitoring..don't know where it will end up. Sorry that you weren't filled in, I will let you all know what happens the day we get out of court, If he has to serve time then I assume he will go straight to jail from the courtroom, I have never been through this so don't know the protocol. Love you and God Bless, Kristan

RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME-- AGAIN

2011-06-10T19:25:00.007-05:00

On the way home from the Grand Canyon, we had one of those amazing "Right Place, Right Time" events.

At a Visitor Center and Rest Area as we entered that western phase of Colorado, and Jill and I were welcomed very intensely by the center's team. Wonderful people.

In the process, our connection to Uganda entered the discussion and they said that a Ugandan worked in that center the last portion of the week. I wrote a note with my Ugandan background and interest, gave him my email and phone number. Had no expectation that he would be in touch, but hoped he might.

Last evening Mathai called, and, between Jill and I, and him and his wife, we were on the phone for one-and-a-half hours. We knew some of the same ministries, some of the same people, had the same heart, the same goals for reaching others with the gospel.

It seems we are connected in many ways and he expressed the desire to become a friend, to share spiritual warfare principles, and to let me teach him some of the aspects I'm involved with and have been for about a decade. [When we were talking about one of those intense aspects, he yelled with excitement, "YES! I've been trying to tell our pastors here and they don't understand."]

So, AGAIN, God dropped someone into my life [and Jill's] in just that short few moments at the rest area.

What a blessing!!!

BHUTANESE BAPTISM

2011-06-09T18:33:00.018-05:00

May 29, Memorial Weekend, our local Bhutanese Christian group, some of my "family", were baptized in a local lake. A COLD local lake.

I was filled with joy as I watched. I'm going to pop some photos here, names on them, and you may recognize them. I'll "link" them when it's someone I've shown or mentioned before. I'll place some comments as needed, but the exciting part was when some Hindus and Buddhists come to the Lord in the previous few weeks, months, and days [I was screaming HALLELUJAH!!! when my "boy" Kharka made that decision just a week earlier. So to see him there standing up solidly for the Lord just overwhelmed my heart.].

Here are some links. Probably could do it more practically, but don't know how, this mis-techy person.

Phurba, G-Pa, Rupa.

Here we go; thanks for your patience. I don't have all the photos I'd love, but these are pretty good, overall.

GRAND CANYON

2011-06-09T17:21:00.010-05:00

I NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER had considered going to the G. C. But, Jill was returning here from UK/Uganda and wanted to go, and offered to pay. So, I poured driving energy into it and she poured her not-wealthy-oriented funds she had saved for some time into it. We really met in the "middle."

I drove for a week, about 2500 miles. We were at the G. C. for an amazing 2-1/2 days. Saw so much, met some lovely people from so many different nations, and will be pouring and pouring and pouring some of that info your direction. For now, hope you enjoy the photos, these few compared to the hundreds taken.

AND FINALLY!!

RMN4GOD

2011-06-09T11:47:00.002-05:00

Sometimes God creates an excitement... when not at all anticipated.

About 5 years ago, I struggled to come up with a license label that would give my "life anticipated" God-job. I really wanted to have "Travlin4God", but couldn't drop enough letters to make it fit into the plate requirements.

The pic of it was my final decision. And I was OK with it.

WELL, while at the Grand Canyon last weekend, parked in a marketplace, walking to my car, I saw a young couple walking by the car and heard the gal say, "Ramming for God?" She had a very questioning look on her face, also a bit of 'that person must be crazy' side. I hollered, "No, 'Roaming for God'." They said, "OH!!", looked more casual, and walked off.

However, as I thought about it a few seconds later, I realized that her "translation" was probably more accurate. Not that I ram, and ram, and ram at people the way I heard in Seattle years ago.

Back in 1964, a man stood on a corner downtown, who I passed nearly every day as a title insurance policy-delivery job in the local buildings. In fact, as I heard him over and over, I sometimes went a block or two out of the way, just to avoid hearing him holler "If you don't know Jesus, you're gonna go to hell."

So, NO, I don't "ram" like that. But, I guess I have to admit that I "nudge" a lot of the time. I DO try to be more like another gentleman who planted seed in my heart in ways I never would have guessed.

I was delivering policies at a skyscraper, standing by the elevator, and a man approached me and asked for directions. I was able to give them and he very kindly said, "God BLESS you."

A couple years later I came to the Lord when He broke into my life. Those two men had planted seed. One was true, but scared the tar out of me. The other made me want to know God in a way of "Blessing."

So, my license plate can give either message. I just hope it's somewhere in the middle, and has good results.

LAST "MOM" EVENT

2011-05-22T19:45:00.007-05:00

The main reason I was in Tacoma at this particular time was so we could place Mom's ashes in her favorite park, in the same part of town where she had been born nearly 91 years ago.

My sisters, some nieces and nephews, and family
friends and acquaintances arrived on Mothers Day. We walked around for a bit and took photos of family and the park.

Right before the ashes were poured into the pond, one of my sisters asked if, since I hadn't been there for Mom's service, if I would like to say something or pray. "YES! I'll pray." And, I DID. I rejoiced and I thanked the Lord that Mom was with Him, that He had taken her home to Himself, and that we now how an opportunity to say "goodbye" one last time. [One of my sisters slipped up to me afterwards and said I had done good.]

I left a few minutes later, and began the drive home. The Lord has indicated that it was my last trip out there ... if nothing else as a solo driver. But, without Mom and the need to check in on her and help others who were spending their time with her, there is no more reason to assume a trip out ever year or so.

But it was a wonderful time with my family and friends.

And there's always going to be heaven... that's what I count on!!

CANADA MIRACLE

2011-05-22T18:32:00.007-05:00

A few weeks ago, while planning my trip to the NW, I received a newsletter from one of my Ugandan "guys".

I met Francis in September of '99 when Dave and I went over for our Ugandan son Sam's wedding. When we were relaxing after our arrival from the States and one of our girls came to see us and was playing her guitar and singing, a fellow showed up outside the back door. He was in a wheelchair and had one of the biggest smiles I had ever seen. He plopped out of the wheelchair onto the kitchen floor and scootched himself across the floor and grabbed a drum and started playing along with Margaret. Within a short period of time, for one reason or another, he and I were laughing with and at each other. The reason for his inability to walk: polio as a young child. When we met he was about 20. During that couple of weeks that we were in Uganda for the wedding, Francis and I had a few very nice times together and had a great deal of respect.

When I saw him next, it was a few times in November, '03 to February, '04, when I was over there for the mission oriented to helping folks who were struggling against rebel invasion in Uganda. However, we never really spoke. He was very involved with the orphans at their organization where I stayed during my two-week breaks, and when I saw him, he always had a little child on his lap and was wheeling across the compound rapidly.

My son, Sam, has been one of his dear friends, and as Francis was led to take on another ministry, Sam was usually heavily involved with his choices and helping him become settled.

I was mind-blown about 2 years ago when I was notified that he would be marrying a Canadian lady. I would never have imagined that as an option for him.

THEN a newsletter notified that they were expecting a baby. Something else I wouldn't have thought would ever have been part of Francis' life.

He had also begun a ministry involved in wheelchair distribution. And he had come to Canada and the States to make contact with various churches and others who would provide either money or short-term teams. Sam is on his board of directors.

So, the newsletter that arrived in March, as I was planning for the trip, gave me the dates they would be in Canada. Two days after they arrived, their baby did ... born several weeks early. If she had been born in Uganda, she might not have survived, since it required a long stretch of NICU care. Hannah grew and improved. After several weeks she was released from the hospital... only a week before I could try to get across the border. [They couldn't come to the States side, b/c Hannah didn't have a passport as a newborn.]

So the miracle? I was given permission to cross the border. I didn't have a passport. Mine had expired in November and it didn't seem reasonable to update it. The lady accepted my drivers license and the several questions I answered, and, for some very strange reason, gave me permission. [It must truly have been a gift of God.]

When we connected a few minutes later, we spent three hours visiting, going to lunch, walking in a park, and talking, talking, talking. Especially Francis and I.

I can't have imagined a more amazing blessing. Three hours up from Tacoma, three hours together, and three hours back. One long day. But seeing and touching and hugging my dear one, meeting a lovely wife, holding a darling baby.

Long 3-hour drive home, battling the built-up traffic through Seattle .... but lots of it covered with one big grin from ear-to-ear as I felt so blessed.

[And the agent on the US side of the border was horrified that I had been let into Canada. He also told me that an expired passport is acceptable while it is only dealing with our border nations. Would never have thought of that! He finally just rolled his eyes and said, "Go." Believe me, I DID.]

RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME

2011-05-22T15:42:00.006-05:00

When the Lord sends me on a trip, I never know what or who He is going to place in my path. And nearly always an exciting event occurs. Or fun. Or, just occasionally, something controversial. This trip had all three types, some with more than one.

The first one occurred in Nampa, Idaho, when I had to stop at a Target store to try to arrange for a prescription to be filled, since I'd left that med home for the very first time in many years. As I walked to the wide-open entry sidewalk, a red SUV pulled up next to me, a woman stepped out, and hit the ground. Her glasses flew off as her face slammed on the concrete. Her purse flew. I saw all this out of the corner of my eye, and was able to rush to her, grab her glasses, hold her while her husband got out of the car and came around. Within a few minutes much had been revealed. She had Parkinsons, had not used her cane as her husband had wanted her to, and had some physical injuries to her upper leg and lower abdomen and her husband was going to take her to an Urgent Care place nearby. A security guard and other Target employees came to help. When I saw her fall, the holler from my mouth, automatically, was "JESUS!!!" [It dawned on me later that some folks might have misinterpreted it and not realized it was a prayer and thought it was a curse, but, oh, well.] So, right place, right time. [And I did receive the prescription.]

This next one is probably in the "controversial" category.

I was leaving Baker City, Oregon, the following day after the first event. As I was pulling onto the Interstate, I just automatically knew I was to stop and check on a hitchhiker. [The 3rd time this has happened in 27 years.] Before the man got into my car I told him that he was going to hear worship music, the Word of God, and be prayed over. He said that sounded fine. I ended up taking him approximately 175 miles to Pasco, WA. I was needing to head that general direction anyhow, which has never happened before. I shared the Lord with Ron a number of ways, answered some of his confusion and needs, and prayed over him intensely before dropping him off at his location. He was a nice guy, a cowboy, just stuck in a bizarre situation that hindered his usual ability to take care of his needs. And this time he was stuck with a yammery Bible teacher.

After Pasco, I went to visit a "blog" acquaintance... met on here not long ago ... and spent about 5 hours in D.'s house, looking out over the hills and fields, and blessed beyond belief to simply enjoy our time together. She was a real treat, in many ways. I'm planning to stay in touch in any way possible. And she is an amazing photographer, as are so many of you. [I had a "dizzy" attack while at her place, the first of three serious ones on this trip, so it was a good place to have a chance to rest and have some relaxing tea. Half an hour later, I was doing OK. Shortly after, I hit the road again.]

The next day a treat was to spend time with a lady with whom Susie and I had graduated in '63... the three of us had been good friends in high school and Susie and I had lost contact with Linda until very recently, a couple weeks before I was heading out on this trip. Linda and I met at a restaurant in Vancouver, WA, and spent 4 hours catching up. Three days later, she came to my sister's, nearly 100 miles away in Oregon, and we went to the ocean together, on the Washington side, and we had a photo taken. When I left for home a week later, after being in the Tacoma area with other family, and even taking the day-trip to Canada, I spent the night with her as officially hitting the road. Talk about covering much territory. I never would have thought it would ever be like that. After 46 years of never seeing each other or knowing anything about each other, we have a number of the same interests, the same goals, the same heart-filled desires. Differences? Absolutely. But it was still pretty amazing.

The "Canada" portion will be a post of its own. It is an amazing story and I wouldn't want to shorten it. [Here's a photo "hint"...]

On the way back to Nebraska, nothing happened. Met no one, saw nothing, just kept hitting the road. Drove 1,070 miles in the last 24 hours; 740 the first day and, since I couldn't sleep that night, tired as I was, I hit the road again at 3:30 [staying right behind a semi for nearly 3 hours so I didn't have to rely on my own sight re: deer or other potential problems] and reached home mid-morning, instead of late afternoon, which was the original plan.

Overall, the trip was exactly what it was expected to be. However, there were a few of these "right place, right time" elements that shot it off the charts.

And I'm still in "recovery" and preparing to head out for the Grand Canyon on Memorial Day with my British friend, Jill... her desire after 4 years since her last visit. I think that will have shorter driving days, in general, and fewer people and much more scenery. Let's see what the Lord drops in then, huh? Never know when His surprises will hit.

I'M HOME... AGAIN!!

2011-05-22T14:47:00.010-05:00

Actually, I've been home for several days, but in various stages of recovery and activity, mostly connected to Bhutanese needs. Will be posting several differently related bits in the next day or so. Been meaning to do so, but my laptop wasn't working "normally" during the trip, so couldn't post things then and, as I said, since being home there's been one thing after another that has kept me trying to find time to do this.

Now, here we go!! Days for the trip: 17. Miles: 4,410. Main locations: Six states PLUS a very short side trip to Canada. So, this post is photos. [Could have many more, but this will give you an overview!]