MY 1ST JULY 4TH...

      I wrote most of this a few years ago.  BUT every time of this stretch of 4th of July has always entered my attention.  It was a very strong and different time in and for me when I was a young kid.  As I often say, I would be 5 years old on July 9th, in spite of the fighting situation.  WELL, next July 9th, next Saturday, I will be 71.  I can't be on here often b/c of my dementia and body issues and how I can't read or write.  BUT many of you are special to me in my heart, if nothing else.  So, I'll share it again! [AND my Dad came to the Lord officially when he was 59 and went to Heaven when he was 65.  Mom officially came to the Lord when she was 82 and went to Heaven when she was 90-1/2.  SO, when I'm there, I sure hope to see them.  Can hardly wait!!!]
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 MY 1ST JULY 4TH...

     I was NOT only 1 year old at the time, but it's the first main one I remember.  I was turning 5 years old near the 4th of July, because my birthday is on the 9th.
     My Dad hadn't been in my life on a regular basis until about a year before that. 

     In April, 1950, we moved into Kenton, Washington, near Vancouver, which was a slummy area and we lived in an ugly little house with brown asbestos siding.  The neighborhood had pigs and chickens running loose, and rats, and lots of dirt.  The kids were mean, too, and I was littler than most of them, having been born as a preemie.

      One day, shortly before the 4th, a 7-year old boy, a bully, came up to me and poked me under my chin with a firecracker punk and burned me.   When he took off, I ran to my parents and told them, crying, of course.
     My Dad made a decision.  The best thing that could be done was to teach me how to fight.  So, he spent time coaching me on the "old one-two" boxing punch.  He worked me hard, believe me.
     Then, a few days later, between the 4th and my birthday, the 9th, "Bully" came to the fence in front of our house and stared at me with a kind of mean look on his face.  My Dad happened to be in the front yard with me.  Dad nodded at me to go outside the fence.  He backed under a tree and watched.
     I walked out, looked at the boy, walked up to him, and took my right arm and swung it at him the way my Dad had said to do it.  I hit him in his stomach with swing number 1 and immediately hit his chin with number 2.  I said each number as I was swinging my arm.
     What did he do?  He ran away.  The bully had been bullied by a skinny, short, young GIRL.  Don't think he could ever have imagined that.  [And I bet he didn't ever tell anyone about it!]

Now, the results.

#1 -- Dad was pleased with how I did it.  Despite the fact that in our present day, a dad usually would approach the bully's family, back then my Dad handled it differently.  He had been raised as a fighter, period.  Family battles were constant in his life.  He didn't see a better way to deal with these tough situations.  So training me fit right into his view.  Seemed the safest thing to do for me.

#2 -- The portion of Satan planted thoughts in my heart that stayed there until I was 20 years old and came to the Lord.  And even then, it did not change immediately; it took some time.  The thoughts/lies were:  You're on your own.  You fight for yourself.  Can't trust anyone else to take care of you.

     And, this was the beginning of a life-style for me.  Yes, as you would see on some of my posts, I was a fighter, physically, from that point on.  [Some parents and kids considered me a bully!... Hmm!]
     The good result?  Now I am a "fighter" for our Lord and constantly focused on the spiritual warfare.  Fighting is not uncomfortable for me any more.  Why? Because my Spiritual Dad is now my Heavenly Father and when I obey Him, moving into a battle, fighting spiritual "bullies" for the sake of other struggling people, the results will be eternal.

                               Happy 4th of July!

NEED MY HEAVENLY FATHER NEAR ME!!!

IN JULY, 1950, AS I WAS JUST TURNING FIVE YEARS OLD,

 IN A BAD AREA OF VANCOUVER, WA.,

I WAS HEADED FOR SERIOUS TROUBLE THEN

AND NEARLY FOREVER.  THE LORD, IN SPITE OF WHAT WAS TRULY GOING ON IN MY LIFE, HE PROTECTED ME. HE HELD OTHERS BACK FROM WOUNDING ME MUCH WORSE, AND ABOUT 15 YEARS LATER, HE TRULY BROUGHT ME TO HIMSELF.  I WAS NOT SAFE MANY TIMES, EVEN AFTER I ACCEPTED HIM OFFICIALLY, APRIL 15, 1966.  NO MATTER WHAT HAS BEEN GOING ON IN MY LIFE, HE HAS ALWAYS PROTECTED OR SPOKEN CLEARLY TO ME--- PROBABLY THROUGH AN ANGEL---TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO AND WHERE TO GO.  I'VE BEEN SIGNIFICANTLY PROTECTED.  I'M STILL ALIVE, OBVIOUSLY, AND WORKING FOR HIM.  GOING TO HEAVEN IS TRULY A REJOICING EXPERIENCE THAT ALL OF US WILL HAVE.  AS BADLY AS OUR WORLD IS OFTEN NOW, HE IS THE ONLY ONE I CAN COUNT ON AND I CAN "LOOK" ON, 

THROUGH MY HEART, SOUL, AND SPIRIT.

BLESS HIM, HONOR HIM, SERVE HIM.

THAT'S WHAT WE CAN DO AND BE FILLED WITH JOY!

PROTECTION, JOY, WISDOM, LIGHT

EAST ST. LOUISE PROTECTOR

A year and a half ago, I saw this building for the first time since March, 1967, when I had had to hit the bus to get to Tacoma, WA.  In April, 2012, I had taken a Bhutanese family to St. Louis for the weekend, so I had alone time, and I decided to go to that area and see what it was like. I was overwhelmed when I saw the Lessie Bates Davis Neighborhood House in East St. Louis.  And, after reaching home, I posted about it on my blog, and they, at the "House" found it and found me.  We've talked and it's been a blessing.

She began this ministry 104 years ago.

Built in 1939

When I was working there, age of 21 to 22, back in April, '67 to March, '68, I learned much about the challenging situation... mostly connected to poverty, serious fighting, rioting, working things out for them, and planting the seed of God in them as often as possible.

I was still a Tough Cookie, based on my background, and worked helpfully sometimes and "fightfully" other times, out of anger or to protect kids.  I wasn't perfect.  BUT I truly grew more and more in the Lord during that year.

Something else that's very important.  I lived in the building and was sometimes out and about at night, only because I wanted to. I  was supposed to stay in the building after dark. Period. WELL, I often broke the rule. I would go down the fire escape on the back wall and hit the street. When I first started doing it, kids going past in cars would lean out the window and holler, "Miss Jo, Whacha doin'?" They were concerned about my safety. I was 21, and looked younger, so really put myself in some less-than-bright situations, and all my fault, of course.

Not long after, I'd gained a reputation for being out after dark. When I began walking, a couple minutes later a tough-looking 20-ish guy would step out from under a tree or out of a local doorway. "Hey, Miss Jo. Where're ya goin'?" I'd just smile and say hi and he'd keep walking with me. These guys were friends of mine. Arzell,  John, and James, and 2 others, whose names I don't remember. Four were Black; one was White. What finally dawned on me, a week or so later, was that these good buddies had set themselves up as my Protection Guards. They always stayed near the House, during certain hours, and watched in case I would hit the street.

OK.  One of the blessing that just hit my heart was being invited to attend the Lessie Bates Davis Neighborhood House event, for the 104th time of rejoicing.  That is about 500 miles from my home, but I couldn't NOT go!  The event occurred several miles east from East St. Louis at a gorgeous building in Collinsville.  About 500 to 600 people were there.  Many from churches, many connected to the "House" in one way or another. 

Saturday evening I had several amazing events.  Met many wonderful people, and a lot of them had already heard of me.  WOW!

Early in my arrival, a man was brought up to me, and introduced.  I read his name, I stared at his face, and I said, "John, you were my protector."  He looked at me, kinda funny.  But we talked for a few minutes of the different people and situations and he knew!  He is about 1-1/2 years younger than I am.  Well, we had photos taken of and for us. And we spent several times together during that 4 hours. Meeting in the middle, going aside a bit, talking and sharing, really hit my heart.

I'll be blogging about many of the evening events there... and other events in other places that were miraculous, but not connected to the "House". 

Through him and the other guys, it is one of the main reasons I am still alive.  Murder was not an unusual event. John and the others protected me, because God laid me on their hearts. They are still on mine after all these years.  

So here's John and I this past Saturday.  What a blessing.  [And now we won't lose each other, because we shared emails, phone numbers, and addresses.  I want John and my dear husband to meet someday.]

HEBREWS 13... GLORY

WHILE IN SOROTI, AND AT THIS LARGE TENT WITH HUNDREDS OF KIDS IN IT, I HAD THE BLESSING OF WALKING THROUGH AND AROUND THEM AND JUST OFFERING PRAYER AND PRAISE TO THEM.  IT WAS ONE OF THE MOST WONDERFUL TIMES I HAD WITH THEM.  PARTLY BECAUSE A FEW DAYS LATER THE INTERVIEWING BEGAN AND MY CRYING INCREASED AS I HEARD MORE AND MORE OF THE PHYSICAL, EMOTIONAL, AND FAMILY LOSSES THEY HAD IN THEIR LIVES AT THAT TIME.

I SO WOULD LOVE TO BE THERE AGAIN, TO GO OUT AND ABOUT AND SEE THE ONES ON MY HEART.  
HERE ARE A FEW OF THOSE PHOTOS TAKEN THAT DAY 
THAT SO DEEPLY TOUCHED ME.

AND, YES, NEARLY 10 YEARS LATER, 

THEY ARE STILL IN MY HEART.

AND THIS IS THE ONLY [OF MANY TAKEN] THAT MADE ME SMILE WHEN PRAYER WAS TAKING PLACE.

AND THIS WAS MY PARTNER, NOW MY FRIEND, MY SISTER.

AND SHE IS STILL WORKING/MINISTERING IN UGANDA.

9/11 ... THE CHILDREN...

    
10,000 ...

    children,

        lost one or both parents at one time and place.

10,000 ...
   
    children

      saw, or will see, played or replayed,

10,000 ...

    times,

        the time and place their parents died.

How many will hear
    the commentators –
        voices filled with horror --
               speak of the
   “scores leaping/falling/flying to their deaths" --
                      and wonder --
                              was “that” mine?

How many nightmares are ahead for those children --
         and the many thousands of others --
             who no longer are innocents?

We can no longer protect our children --
    could we ever? – or was that, too, an illusion? --
         from the horrible realities of life. 

 Innocence was blown away --
              collapsed --
                     with the “icon” in New York.

And now we wait
            -- who will win? 
                            Can anyone win?

Terrorists don’t care;
    willing to lose all 
-- their lives, countrymen, women, children --
        chattel and chaff to a war
             won only in heaven.

Yes,
     the ones who know God,
        who have trusted Jesus --
                   are in His presence.

Maybe,
     -- we can hope and pray --
        many had a moment
               to seek and hear
                and speak truth 
              in those last minutes,
                      or seconds.
           No “fox hole atheists”. 

Maybe,
     God’s grace covered the destruction --
         like a feather curtain, a mist --
    and provided just that moment of reality --
         before the end --

         For the Beginning.

The terrorists? 
       Feel sorriest for them.
                   They were sold up the river,
                                     sold a bill of goods,
                  hoodwinked by the Master Deceiver --
                     and promised a piece of Paradise
                        if they’d destroy the Infidels.

And,
     in the same instant they destroyed all those lives,
                    they discovered the truth.

      Jesus said to the thief, 
           “Today you will be with me in Paradise;

     The Counterfeiter said,
           “Today you will be with me” --
                and neglected to tell them
                    how quickly their 
                          Paradise
                     would become
                           hell.
     ===========================================
Depression had hit me over this whole national/world-wide event, and I needed to "run away from home."  Dave and I decided I could go to the North Shore of Lake Superior, drive the van so I could sleep in it, find a campground, and stay as long as needed.  I reached there at October 1, and I was only there for four days. It truly became a spiritual healing time.

I've posted a number of my poems, etc., before, but never one of the very intense and filled-with-fright poems/proses.  Decided this should be added today  -- I couldn't yesterday b/c of the Bhutanese baby's birth and my exhaustion.

Transferring it from my North Shore book, I lost most of the line set-up I had... had to adjust.  Sorry if it's not organized, but I tried.

MY PHURBA CRISIS

Just warning you ahead of time:  this is LONG.  And serious. 

At the zoo last year.  A fun and joyful day.

In nearly 2 years, I have been involved with Phurba and his family.  He has been my dear Bhutanese "grandson" and going through so much through his brain tumors and surgery.  As I stated before on other posts, he began to have seizures when he was 8; he is now 26.  He has so welcomed me into his life that I've been highly blessed.  [The rest of his family, too.  Such dear ones!]

For some reason, he has been striking at family members.  I hear it occurred even in Nepal since the seizures began, but no one had told me that until yesterday.  A few weeks ago, he had struck his father and was going at his brothers and the police were contacted by an outside family member and he was taken to a mental area of a hospital, then moved for several days to another one.

He was released and, a few days later, I went to the psychiatrist appointments for him with his brothers and his mom... not as an interpreter, but an "explainer". [When they are asked a question that doesn't seem understandable, I re-speak it, dropped down to a clearer version.]

I had told them that if and when he begins to strike the family members again, they can call me, day or night, and I will rush to them.

Yesterday morning, about 10:40, the phone rang and it was Bijay, Phurba's younger brother.  Bijay began with, "Hello, Grandma.  How are you?"

I said I was a little tired, but that was fine.  And asked what was going on.

He said, "Phurba is hitting us...."

I told him I'd be there in a few minutes and I'd call 911 when I was on my way.  So that's what happened.  First, I called my husband and told him what was up.  THEN I called the police, gave the info and the address.  And, sorry to admit this, for that 3 miles, I DID NOT drive the speed limit through those neighborhoods.

When I reached their place and his dad opened the door, my first sight was that Jamal's undershirt shoulder portion was ripped off.  Phurba was standing across the room with a leather belt wrapped around his hand and wrist to swing it at others and hit them.  As soon as I was in that living room, the Lord laid it on my heart to say to him, firmly and not quietly, over and over, "In the name of Jesus, you sit on the couch."  At first he said, "No." But, as I kept repeating myself, for a fairly short time he sat there, starting several times to jump to his feet and kick and swing, but then sitting back.  I kept in his face as much as possible.  [Took my glasses off and handed them to his aunt just in case I'd be struck; I didn't want them broken.]

Then I went outside to call 911 again, and Sai, his older brother, pointed at the police cars parked down the street.  I ran to the middle of the street and started waving at them and they came forward.  Guess they might not have had the address clearly enough.  I explained the basic situation and, at first, they didn't seem to take it very seriously. WELL, after a few minutes in the house, they seemed to.

When the police were looking around and dealing with the basics, I looked at Phurba's mom, Nima.  She is one of the smiliest people I've ever known, and when I touched her shoulder, she burst into tears.  I just sat on a chair and held her. 

Then the police, after Phurba continued to kick and scream, pushed him to the floor and handcuffed him.  One of the policemen, after a 3rd had arrived to hold Phurba's other arm, started asking more questions and that's when I heard it all.  I almost began crying then.

That morning at 7:00 when his grandparents had come down to the living room and he had been sleeping on the floor [no understood reason for that], and it woke him up, he struck them.  They are about 80 years old.  His grandma a very small lady.  Somehow, Phurba's family woke up and came running down and the fighting continued.  [I have no idea why they waited so long to call, but I think it's because his Mom really didn't want him taken away.] 

After all that time of kicking and hitting and "belting" so many family members [a total of 12 live in that house], the final thing occurred that caused them to call me.  Phurba threatened to kill his 10-month-old niece, Sneha, my "great-granddaughter" that I had helped deliver last October during a very tough pregnancy time.

The police were still holding him in the dining room and he kicked at me [missed me, of course] and Bijay was not far away and would say something and Phurba kept spitting on the carpet and trying to kick Bijay.  Finally, he spit harder at Bijay and the spit hit his face.  THAT'S when the police took him outside to the car and said they would take him to an ER about a mile away and I could bring Bijay and mom so we could give all the info.

While they were taking him past my car, Phurba kicked it and broke the passenger-side tail light cover.  [Both Sai and Bijay, separately, have said that they would pay for the repair.  How sweet to be so automatically giving in the midst of all this intensity.]

We got down to the ER, answered all the police and ER leader and nurse questions.  After nearly an hour, Phurba was sedated.  He will be there for a couple more days, then shifted to another location.  The family is brokenhearted on both sides of the fence.  They love him, but they can't risk him in the family until true healing takes place.

I left messages for the psychiatrists, because they had both told me that if anything happened I should let them know...  Sai and Bijay could, of course, but couldn't be understood as easily with their accent.  If I don't hear back early tomorrow, I'll be bugging the psychiatric folks.

The possibilities aren't good, no matter how this plays out.  But we have to protect the grandparents and the baby.

Now, how am I today?  Intense, tired, heavy-hearted.  Why?  Because, unless things change, I have lost a dear one.  He has loved me and known how much I loved him.  But, after this battle yesterday, unless the Lord heals him inside and out, he will reject me.  The good part?  My sweet family loves me even more, because I came just as I had told them I would if anything serious ever happened.  I was hugged a number of times yesterday.  Thanked often.

So, my friends, who have read about Phurba in the past, and now I've taken a million seconds of your time, just please lift him before our Lord for healing, deliverance, protection.  And I'll answer any questions.

The blessing for me?  It fits into a motto the Lord dropped into my life some years ago:  Right place, right time.

Thanks much for putting up with me.

EAST ST. LOUIS... MY LIFE, 1967-68

I never could have imagined what God was going to drop into my life, through this House, and why, and how.

In February, 1967, I moved from Tacoma to East St. Louis. I stayed with the roommate I had in Tacoma whose spiritual insight had opened the "God-door" and through whom I met a leader who led me to the Lord. A few months later, she moved back to her family in Belleville, not far from E. St. L., and when we agreed to have me come, they found an apartment for us. It wasn't fancy, by any means, but sufficient. She had a job and I found one and, between us, we could pay the bills.

I can't remember how it happened, but in April, I became involved at the Neighborhood House. On Friday evenings there were dancing and skating activities in the basement level and I helped prep and clean. In June, I quit my job and moved into the House to work full time. The income was extremely limited, but I was a Boarder, and that met the basic needs.

I have written a number of stories about what I faced through it. You see, E. St. L. was at least 90% Black and most of that race was poverty stricken, partly because of the lack of work that could meet their needs and the White controllers that they faced. Believe me, I saw horrible housing conditions, and it sure wasn't their fault! Consequently, angry and fighting people lived in the surrounding area. It was a very good thing that I came from a poor and angry and fighting background. I was not frightened very often, and when attacked, I fought back -- maybe not godly, but protective reaction. I gained wonderful friends and fit in with them better than I had for years anywhere else.

A funny one: I was walking down the street and a toddler ran away from his Mom and was headed my direction. She hollered and he kept running. I stepped in front of him and told him "go back to your Mommy." He stopped suddenly and I reached for him. He froze. He looked at my hand, then his hand, then my hand... and started running back to Mom, screaming. The Mom and I laughed. He hadn't seen a "white" hand before.

A heavy-sigh one: I met a 25 year old woman, very pretty, very sweet. She had just become a grandmother. She was 12 when she had her first baby and her 13 year old daughter had had her first child. I was horrified. I couldn't have imagined anything like that, even with my tough background.

A sad one: I was walking through the neighborhood with a list of House survey questions. I saw a little 8-year old girl that I had in one of my classes. I asked her how she was. She said she was fine. Then she said, casually, "My Ma died yesterday." No stress on her face; lots on mine. When I ran back to the House and talked to the lady who ran the whole program, Miss Provence, she wasn't surprised or shocked. She just nodded at me and truly understood.

I could go on for MUCH time, believe me. However, frequently I have to think of this one and laugh -- and be grateful.

We were supposed to stay in the building after dark. Period. WELL, I often broke the rule. I would go down the fire escape on the back wall and hit the street. When I first started doing it, kids going past in cars would lean out the window and holler, "Miss Jo, Whacha doin'?" They were concerned about my safety. I was 21, and looked a bit younger, so really put myself in some less-than-bright situations, and all my fault, of course.

Not long after, I'd gained a reputation for being out after dark. When I began walking, a couple minutes later a tough-looking mid-20s guy would step out from under a tree or out of a local doorway. "Hey, Miss Jo. Where're ya goin'?" I'd just smile and say hi and he'd keep walking with me. These guys were friends of mine. Arzell, Steve, James and others. Four were Black; one was White. What finally dawned on me was that these good buddies had set themselves up as my Protection Guards. They always stayed near the House, during certain hours, and watched in case I would hit the street.

Talk about being blessed and loved. They were good to me -- always good to me.

I left E. St. L. in late-March, 1968. Had walked through the result of riots, the Black Power movement -- someone right under my face once, and not being nice, believe me, and Arzell protected me then, too -- and a group of teen girls had attempted to kill me and the boys threw themselves between us and stopped them. Even with those events, I felt loved by so many. Appreciated. Comfortable. But I knew I needed to leave or I'd be in real trouble. I wasn't sure why, but I knew I was to leave NOW!

A few days after I had reached Tacoma, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. Fighting, anger, and danger increased in many locations of our nation, of course. It is quite possible, because of the danger of that surrounding neighborhood, God was taking me out for safety.

I hadn't seen this building for 44 years until last Saturday. I had been following the instructions from my GPS voice telling me to "turn" and "turn" again, and I glanced up and saw the House. Unexpectedly. Nothing leading to it looked familiar. Everything has changed... large housing project built across the street, all the former houses gone.

My glance flooded me with joy and love. Yes, that House connection had sadness and sorrow and deep difficulty at times; but it had love and warmth and appreciation in a level I'd never known before, and, in some ways, have never known again.
============

My friend Susie's comment when she knew I had left in '68 ... the angels that had been taking care of me had pleaded for an R and R after having to work so hard.

CITY OF REFUGE

I was fleeing for my life
I could see the city gates
Open to enfold and bring me in.
Behind me, on the pathway,
My enemy pursued me,
Intending to destroy me for my sin.

Oh, Blessed place of Refuge
I Cried, Oh, Refuge City,
My only hope was found
within your walls.
Before the priest I trembled
and pled my case for mercy
I knew before this judge I’d stand or fall.

I was fleeing for my life,
Fleeing to the Blood of Refuge
Shed by Jesus Christ,
-- it drew me in.
Behind me on the pathway
My Enemy pursued me,
Accusing and condemning me for sin.

Oh, Blessed Man of Refuge,
I cried, Oh, Blessed Savior,
My only hope is
through Your cleansing Blood.
Before my Priest I worshiped
He pled my case for mercy
Freedom came through
His Redeeming Love.

And now I walk in Freedom,
I daily walk in Freedom,
Rejoicing as I look upon His face.
The Refuge I once cried for,
The Refuge Jesus died for,
Enfolded me within the walls of Grace.