Am I foolish?

Loving Jesus Christ can make me seem a fool...and I’m okay with that. It’s actually what the Bible talks about in I Corinthians 3 and 4. Paul was talking to some of the early believers in Corinth when he wrote about his frustration that he can’t talk to them as he would to spiritual people, but rather he must talk to them as he would talk to people of this world. Why? Because they were still being controlled by their sinful nature...

Does that mean spiritual talk sounds like foolishness? Well, of course it can. We generally put high value on what we can see, so approaching Christianity – following Jesus Christ – from a physical, only what we can see point of view, can seem fairy-tale-ish, and certainly not like talk for thinking, reasoning people.

And when does spirtual talk sound wise? Well, like many things, it’s a paradox. When you begin to receive the wisdom of God - when it begins to sound wise to you - that's the time you begin to sound foolish to “the world,” at least from one perspective. Paul says (chapter 2) that “people who aren’t spiritual can’t receive these truths from God’s Spirit. It all sounds foolish to them and they can’t understand it, for only those who are spiritual can understand what the Spirit means.” (vs. 14 NLT)

We just celebrated Christmas. And to many it’s simply a tale…like Santa Claus…a tradition that seems to enhance our otherwise rather cold, physical life. Yet to those who believe in Jesus, Christmas celebrates a beautiful, true story of redemption. A story that begins with hearing the facts about Jesus’ life, and, when eyes are opened by the grace of God, a story which ends with belief in an empty tomb and life eternal in a perfect place. A perfect place, which I can't help but suggest, each of our hearts longs for no matter what we believe...

Is this foolishness? To hearts and minds that have not been opened by God’s Spirit and grace – I would think so. But there are many wise people who have examined the case for belief in Jesus Christ from intellectual and historical perspectives and come away from that examination following Him. The evidence is convincing. Yet at some point during the examination of facts, spiritual eyes must be opened.

So this season I encourage you to know what you believe and live it. (I’m encouraging myself, as well...) If you believe in Christ, fully believe and take God at His Word. See with spiritual eyes and let His Spirit fill you each day. Follow Him.

And if you don’t believe, then fully disbelieve. Don’t let yourself think that you can accept the pieces that are most palatable to you, and leave the rest behind. Don’t be double minded, serving both this world, and yet trying to have a foot in the spiritual world, as well. An option like that isn’t ours to create/choose. If you disagree with this…I respect your choice to do so, but please don’t disagree without investigation and a prayer for spiritual truth (even an “if there is one true God...” sort of prayer).

As we head into a new year, it is my hope that your heart be drawn to Jesus. That your spiritual eyes will be opened, and you will experience the joy (notably not the same as “trouble-free life”) that will be yours in Him.

Always,
-annie

Go out and...

…stand. That’s essentially what Jahaziel told the people of Judah and Jerusalem when they heard that a vast army was marching toward them. He said God told him to tell them…

…to not be afraid.
…to not be discouraged.
…that the battle is God’s.
…to march out against them.
…to not fight, but to take their positions.
…to believe in the Lord your God, and you will be able to stand firm.
…to watch the Lord’s victory.

How did that work for them, I wondered? Well, I read that they did march out the next morning, and they went out singing. Here’s what they sang:

“Give thanks to the Lord; his faithful love endures forever!” (2 Chron. 20:21 NIV)

At the moment their singing began, the opposing allied (at least previously) armies, began fighting against each other so that by the time the army of Judah arrived to the wilderness battle site, all they saw were the dead bodies of their enemies. And all they had done was go out prepared to stand! (I did notice they had to put on courage enough to go out... He didn't tell them to remain in the coziness of camp, did he?)

Before I read this yesterday, I was rather discouraged. There seems to be a lot of spiritual warfare going on around me these days...and I was feeling intimidated and rather worn out, and discouraged about how to live a life of meaning when it feels so difficult to simply live with prioritized purpose each day. And when my destiny seems undefined and most elusive…

But after the Holy Spirit led me to this passage and I’ve had time to dwell on it a bit, I’ve got a new stance I’m trying out. It’s a stance that doesn’t require fighting. In fact fighting isn’t even allowed. Instead, at least figuratively, I’m going out into the world each morning, and my standing looks something like this: My left hand is raised slightly in a fist at the evil in this world, and my right arm is lifted high in praise to my God, swaying to the melody coming from my lips as I sing toward the heavens:

“His love endures forever.”

It’s my victory stance. And I don’t even have to fight. The battle is the Lord’s.

And while the stance is meant to be figurative, I was repeating the praise phrase in many forms today: silently, whispered out loud, and yes, even a little in song. There is peace; there is power; there is victory. Just go out singing and stand...

What I believe

Contrary to what many people think, Jesus wasn’t killed, even though He died on a cross. He gave up His life, or the cross never would have happened. His accusers, His enemies, were not able to take His life, though many think they did. This is a really crucial distinction...one not to miss.

You see if Jesus was truly God’s Son, He must have power. And if He’s not God’s Son, then He’s a liar and I, for one, wouldn’t want to follow Him. In fact, I would be a fool to follow Jesus unless He is the Son of God. Without His deity, He’s a lunatic, and I prefer not to follow lunatics. So He had to have the power not to die...not to be killed, and He did have that power (read John 19). Not only did He powerfully die, but He’s powerfully alive. The tomb, and all the natural laws of biological science, could not contain His death.

But how do I know He’s alive? I know because He lives in and with me. His Spirit is my Comforter and my Counselor. His Word gives me daily food to sustain me, and His joy will not be traded for anything. Can I understand how all this spiritual stuff can be? No. But there are lots of things I don’t understand, which I believe in, such as love, hope, elaborate mathematical equations, astronomical facts, etc. The proof, for me, is His presence with me. A presence which cannot be understood unless it is experienced... And it cannot be experienced without belief.

Therefore, I hope that many will come to believe and follow Him – for their benefit. It’s the best decision one could ever make in life, and it’s the only decision that will ever matter in death. And despite what some people think, it’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of power – of faith in the power of God.

There is a weak sort of Christianity going around. A Christianity that has become a religion more than belief in a powerful, merciful God… I despise that religion for diminishing my Lord. Jesus was not killed on a cross; He went to the cross intentionally (for my sake), and powerfully gave up His life, and powerfully got it back again, and powerfully lives in me. Belief, with the very power of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, is not any old belief. It’s not just another religion. It’s a truthful, powerful way of life and death...with joy that will not be traded for anything.

If you can find someone better to believe in and follow, let me know. For of course there’s no box to check that says “I don’t believe in anything.” Choose this day who you will serve.

Who is Jesus?

Lately, I’ve been reading through the book of John, and I’ve found myself wondering how many people in the U.S. really know who Jesus is? Do they realize the names He was called? Do they know the things He was accused of, ridiculed for, and eventually crucified because of? Here are a few things He did, and was called, according to John:

• Jesus talked to a particular woman, when it was politically incorrect to do so, much to the surprise of His disciples.
• Jesus broke the Sabbath law several times.
• Jesus talked about God as His Father even though it was dangerous to do so.
• Jesus was deserted by many followers because His message was too hard to accept.
• Jesus was called a fraud, a deceiver.
• Jesus was declared demon possessed.
• Jesus was called a Samaritan devil.

Do people really pause, consider, and determine to follow this Jesus? This one who was hated by religious leaders so much that He was called a devil?

Jesus said: “Why should you be angry with me for healing a man on the Sabbath? Look beneath the surface so you can judge correctly.” John 7:23 & 24 (NLT) Maybe we should try to look beneath the surface a little more… When I look beneath the surface of my own heart, it’s pretty ugly. Then I read the truth about me in Isaiah 49:16 (NLT):

“See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands.”

Jesus wore my name on the palms of His hands - on a cross. He purchased my freedom from all the ugly things in my heart. My heart has been made new! This is who I follow. This is who gives my life meaning.

I’m incredibly honored to be a follower of Jesus Christ and all that He stands for. Who are you following?

God is stronger

Why would a conference begin with preaching about our “galactic God” and end by inviting certain people to stand and be prayed for and others to sit and be prayed for. I mean, isn’t that just like us humans? And why does this particular exercise bug me so? Perhaps because I was in the sitting group, and once again I felt like I was not one of the “good Christians.” Nevertheless, even so, why do I really care, I ask myself? If I don’t agree with the “exercise,” which I ended up sitting through, who really cares, and why should I? It’s not that big of a deal, right?

I can only answer this by saying that I think it was the tipping point for me… It was one too many restrictive boxes that people, and not God, have tried to put me into my entire life. It was the final human-built straw that broke my very spirit and sent me into the ladies room to have a good cry.

The pastor who conducted this final prayer “exercise” had good intentions, I hope…and I really do think he did. And perhaps it was a strategic exercise for some in a positive way. All I know is that evil tried to use it for my harm. It wagged its ugly finger at me one more time to try to get me to give up and shut up. And I refuse.

I may be a woman, and a divorced one at that… I may not be perfect; I've had to confess many wrongdoings in my life. And at the final resurrection I absolutely will be unable to claim any merit of salvation but by the blood of Jesus Christ. And I declare that I refuse to let the blood of my Lord be wasted! I am free from sin; I’m a slave of Jesus Christ and no one else. People can try to keep me in my “place,” and preachers may be able to keep me in my chair, but Jesus has elevated me to a status that no one can take away: redeemed! I am His treasured daughter, who can and does approach the throne of grace boldly to receive grace to help in my time of need.

I’m really, really tired of human structures and human exercises. Even though I hope and trust no ill intent was in play, I also know that ill intent was in play by forces unseen. Forces which wanted to derail me once and for all…which wanted me to give up and accept shame as my cloak. And I renounce those forces. My God is stronger. He’s galactic!

Strength and kindness

I’ve sought to embody strength and kindness for at least ten years now... While I don’t remember what initially got me thinking about strength and kindness – no doubt something I read or heard – I do know that the concept has helped me, and been reinforced to me over and over in God’s Word.

Recently I finished the book, Power and Love, by Adam Kahane, which got me thinking again about "strength and kindness." He says in the introduction:

“Power and love stand at right angles and delineate the space of social change. If we want to get unstuck and to move around this space – if we want to address our toughest challenges – we must understand and work with both of these drives.”

He discusses the two sides of power: generative (power-to) and degenerative (power-over). He also writes about the two sides of love: generative (when love is empowering) and degenerative (when love suffocates power). It's a good read if you like reading about how to facilitate social change. What it caused me to think most about, however, was the "strength and kindness" motto I embraced years ago.

So the principle of strength and kindness (similar to power and love), is that strength alone results in bully-type behavior and kindness alone results in sappy, ineffective behavior. The two must work together. Jesus was both, of course. He stood up to the religious leaders of the times with incredible pluck, and He was incredibly kind to the weak, the broken-hearted, and many people that the religious regularly judged.

Jesus illustrated that love is strong, which sometimes means being obstinate in standing up for the unpopular belief or person, and that love is also kind, which can mean withholding judgment, offering respect, and extending mercy. And who can deny the strength and kindness He displayed as he walked to the cross for me, when He could have used His power to call it all off?

When do we stand up for our rights with people…with organizations? And when do we thoughtfully remain silent? When do we tow a tough line upholding our religious beliefs (ever? depends on one's definition of religious, I guess...), and when do we sync our beliefs with the life and teachings of Jesus? I find that the day to day scenarios that raise these questions don’t often have obvious, easy answers, yet it’s in the wrestling with these situations that God’s Spirit…God’s Word speaks words of wisdom, words of comfort and words of action, or inaction.

I’ve cried out to Him several times recently when I didn’t know whether to wield some strength through countering argument, or whether to be strongly silent. Both of these particular times He led me to silence. And should anyone think silence is weakness, try being silent when your natural self wants to argue! Those are times I’m very aware of my need for God’s strength.

And it doesn’t end there. For just as soon as I temporarily master silence, He typically leads me to speak up about something, and I find myself once again in need of His strength - this time to act in His power. And on and on it goes...

So following Christ isn’t easy. And yet it is. It isn’t, because it requires continuous seeking and wrestling with conventional wisdom in order to discern and follow truth. It is, because truth is found through the power of the Holy Spirit, and in the power of Jesus - The Word. It involves a lot of calling out to God for wisdom and help, but with sure results: He always answers. This makes following Jesus easy, and enables us to be both strong and kind.

"Let me lead..."

You never know when God is going to speak to you... Two weeks ago, the setup for His voice began while I was dancing a Brazilian dance with a random man in Chicago’s Grant Park.

I can’t believe I just typed that. This is because: a) I’m not much of a dancer. I do love music, and can keep a pretty good beat, yet Norwegian-blooded people aren’t typically known for their dancing exhibitions... And, b) I’m not one to hang out with random men in Chicago – or anywhere.

This was a special night, however, as the family girls had gathered for a weekend in Chicago and we were excited about having some dancing fun together. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but I do know that I ended up moving to the beat (sort of), on the huge wooden dance floor, under the sky-scraper-studded Chicago night sky. Well, the next thing I knew, I was paired with this stranger, who actually knew this hip-swinging, partner-twirling, Brazilian dance, which, clearly, I did not.

There was no dancing (or other) chemistry between us, but he did kindly try to lead me through the steps and twirls, and in the short while we danced, I bet he smiled and said at least four or five times: “Just let me lead.” One of the last times he said it I wondered if he actually thought I had control issues. And then I wondered if I did...

Well, later that night – while fast asleep, safely back at the condo – I had a dream. I dreamed that I was again dancing with this guy, and after hearing over and over, “Just let me lead,” I suddenly and totally released myself to his lead, and…..twirled around and around, dancing perfectly, like I had never danced before in my life! It was so much fun. And I couldn’t believe how well I was dancing! It really worked when I let him lead.

Then, still in my dream, I thought, “Hmm, this must be what God wants me to do. He wants me to simply, and totally, let Him lead. And…I wonder what that would be like? Would I be able to do things that I’ve never been able to do before?” And the final thought, still in my dream: “I should blog about this.”

I’m not too surprised that since that night in Chicago I have heard God’s voice over and over say to me, “Just let me lead.” And as I, more and more, release myself to His leading – release my fretting and my seeking to control things – it becomes more and more fun, and things seem to go better and better. I’m not saying that all is lovely, and that everything is turning out perfectly, but relaxing and allowing my Lord to lead is bringing me new peace and confidence in the day to day steps and struggles of life.

I’ve told a few friends this story, and they said they were blessed by it. I decided it was time to agree with the thought in my dream and blog about it.

A beautiful ending

What do we do when we feel like the pre-prince Cinderella? What if we – the protagonists in our respective stories – feel under-appreciated, forgotten, underemployed, tired, hopeless, or unimportant? (Or am I the only one who has these moments, these days…these seasons?)

As I struggle with places in my storyline that are less than inspiring to me, and as one who seems to want and need significance, in relationships and vocation, almost more than anything else, I cry out to God for His wisdom and His reassurance that I’m not off the path of His good pleasure and His providence for my life.

This week, and always, He reassures me with Himself. With His loving heart toward me…because all my sins have been forgiven by the blood of Jesus Christ. That’s all that really matters. I don’t have to strive or worry or be afraid. I’m in His will if I’m resting in His sovereignty, and in my forgiven place, as a redeemed, loved child of my Maker.

Yet, what about my story? What if I screw it up? Well, I already have, and continue to at times, despite the fact that I earnestly don’t want to. But this is an amazing piece of what God does... He takes the things we, and others, mess up, and redeems them, crafting them into exquisitely beautiful stories – despite our mistakes and despite the harm from this world. But the best is yet to come...

Barlow Girl has a gorgeous song called Beautiful Ending which asks: “So tell me, what is our ending? Will it be beautiful, so beautiful?” The sister trio sings: “At the end of it all I wanna be in Your arms.” That’s the ending of my story. I’ll be safely in His arms!

When your story – when my story – feels ordinary, is a lot of work, or is filled with seemingly unbearable grief, as some of you are experiencing, take heart: the ending will be glorious. We are not forgotten or lost or hopelessly off-track in the mess of this life. In fact He is using the sad, lonely, harmful stuff of our lives to write a more beautiful ending. An ending which will make our hearts soar as never before.

My story on this earth is still being written. Some times are remarkable, like my trip to Cameroon in January and February. Some times are ordinary and my destiny feels forgotten, like this week. But the ending is known. It is glorious. If I abide in Christ, He has already written the end of my story on this earth, and it will be beautiful. I will be in His arms.

This protagonist reflects

People have asked me lately how my blog writing is going, and, “have you started a book?” My answer has generally been that I’m in a bit of a pause… a sort of unplanned writing break which has no predetermined length (by me), and will likely contain spurts of writing within. I’ve been asking God a lot about the next steps of my story, including the next steps of writing my grandparents’ stories. Friends are praying with me about this, and I know He will lead…

This week, however, I’ve been thinking about characters in good stories. Like me, have you ever wished you were a character in a favorite story? I remember as a young girl wishing I was the real-life version of the girl in one of my picture books. This girl had found a sick little duck. She put a soft blanket in her wagon and hauled the duck home where her mother helped her take care of it and nurse it back to health – when of course she brought the duck back to the wild and freed it. I remember earnestly looking around my land-locked neighborhood for any sick little duck that may need me. Surprisingly, none were found.

I then thought about the popular Cinderella fairy tale. What little girl hasn’t at some point in her childhood dreamed of being a real life Cinderella? (I’m sure there are a few who haven’t, but I wasn’t one of those few.) Dreamed of being discovered by a prince who would rescue her from her misery? A prince who would relieve her from a life where she’s taken for granted and not considered anyone special? A kind, handsome prince who wants to be with her so much that he would search an entire kingdom to find and marry her?

Well, I’m wondering this week how often, with a happy story or movie ending, do I quickly forget about the stress or strife during the story? For example, I have never dwelled for long on the fact that Cinderella was emotionally, if not physically, abused by her stepmother or stepsisters. All the troubles she encountered, all the dull, sad moments of the story I have quickly and virtually forgotten with the stunningly beautiful ending. The ugly parts of the story were there to make the ending soar with joyful emotion. But who dwells on them once the story has ended - once the beautiful ending is known?

Did I ever once think about the duck poop the little girl must have encountered? Or the lost playtime as she cared for the duck? No, what I remember is the victory she gave the duck, by helping him back to health and setting him free. The selfless care she gave him looked like complete fun and passion, on the pages of this book which I was sure would have a happy ending.

Which brings me to the point I’ve been thinking about: A great story, while in the midst of it, may feel dull, sad, disconnected, or even wrong, to the protagonist who trusts there will be a happy ending, but feels far from it.

This week, about an hour into some spur of the moment babysitting for a friend, I discovered that the three-year old had a case of the “runs.” I immediately found that I did not particularly like this storyline of my day. While I felt badly for the ill child and sought to reassure her and care for her lovingly, I was also feeling badly for me, and was not particularly pleased with my “calling” for that evening, especially after a tiring day at the office. It did not feel exciting, like the story I want to be part of. I was disappointed, not only in the un-pleasantries of the evening, but in my responding attitude...

I sensed God’s Spirit gently reminding me, “Annie, it will not always be fun. Did you remember to count the cost of not living for yourself when you told me you wanted your life to be a better story? And remember, just because it’s not fun right now, this does not mean you’ve stepped out of the story we are writing together.”

But oh how I love the fun times, God! Yet not more than You… I do want to bring glory to you through my life. I do want a beautiful ending.

Stories affect people

Today I had a conversation about foreign missions with the car dealership driver, who was bringing me back to pick up my car which had been serviced. It began as a travel conversation, which led me to mention my two trips to Papua New Guinea to visit my sister, who is a missionary with Wycliffe. (My sister and her husband led a translation team, translating many books of the Bible into the Bola language of PNG. The completion of this work is being dedicated and celebrated this month!)

The driver, a Vietnam Veteran, seemed genuinely impressed by my sister and brother-in-law’s accomplishment, and asked, “Are the people in Papua New Guinea literate enough to be able to read the results of their work?” I explained that a component of Bible translation often involves some literacy effort, and it varies by people group and person. Then I went on to explain how mission organizations are talking a lot about orality these days. I mentioned that some efforts, such as Wycliffe’s OneStory are focusing on getting the stories of God’s Word accurately introduced, orally, to people groups who: 1) don’t have the Bible in their first language, and 2) are primarily part of an oral society.

The driver got excited about this, saying, “Yes that really makes a lot of sense!” (I don’t know if he’s a follower of Christ or not; it was a brief, five-mile ride.) He quickly grasped how the stories would be told and shared – and likely, much quicker than they might be read. I went on to explain that getting the written Bible into people’s first language, is still very important, but this particular method begins with planting and spreading the stories by word-of-mouth first.

God seems to be showing me more and more, the effect stories have on people. The stories in His Word, of course...but also the story He's writing with my life. For example, at a wedding this past weekend, the guests at my table heard me say I had been to Africa. I did not feel in the mood to tell my whole story about what brought me over there, or the details of my call to write, so I was answering their questions politely, but with very brief answers, thinking they probably didn’t want more than that anyway.

However, the couple across from me kept prodding... They wanted details, and pretty soon I was telling the entire long version and we almost missed the buffet line! They listened, engrossed, to how God brought the trip about, and to my description of the various “coincidences” that were part of a higher plan, leading me to Cameroon, where my grandparents had lived and worked.

And here’s what keeps surprising me. I thought this whole thing – this blog, the call to write, the trip to Africa, etc. – was about my grandparents’ stories. And it is, for sure, to some important degree. Yet the intersection of my story with my grandparents’ stories seems to have a powerful effect on the people I talk with. The woman across from me, even though I had just met her, was literally moved to tears as she listened to how God had worked in my life to bring all of this about. With glistening eyes she exclaimed, “Ann, your story about all of this could be a book!”

I wonder why God chose to place Cameroon on my heart these past 14 months? And why He sent my grandparents to that country in the first place? And furthermore, I even wonder why is He having you read this right now?

God doesn’t waste anything. He has purposes. He tells stories. He transforms lives. I told Him in December 2009 that I wanted my life to tell a better story. One that He could use to bring glory to His name… So it seems He’s giving me such a story. I’ll continue to write and tell my grandparents' stories, and my story, to whoever will listen - in a dealership van, at a wedding, in this blog...and perhaps even in a book sometime. For my story is not really my own. It’s a story of God’s plan to give me a future and a hope through Jesus Christ, my Lord.

Going for no

Do you welcome rejection? Silly question, right? I mean, who does? Who would? Well, I’m not there yet, but I am working to become more comfortable with rejection, and yes, even to welcome it. I’m trying to go so far as to desire it. Let me explain…

Recently I read a book titled Go for No, by Richard Fenton and Andrea Waltz. It’s basically a book on selling, but clearly has implications for many. I was intrigued by the premise of it: that “the most empowering word in the world is not yes…it’s no.”

It’s a story of a salesman who turns around his career by seeking a target number of rejections, rather than a target number of sales. In the story, he comes to realize that failure is his pathway to success, and that, by becoming not only tolerant of failure, but desirous of it – his success track is actually accelerated, and greatly accomplished.

While I found it a quick, entertaining read, I wasn’t sure if/how the concept fit into my life. And, of course, I considered: Is there truth in this concept? For God is the author of all truth. Or is the concept simply one man’s fabrication to sell a book?

Here’s what I’ve been finding related to this in my life.

1) If I come upon a roadblock – however large or small – I tend to both accept it, and get frustrated and discouraged. One small illustration:

Last Sunday I was to share my story (Africa trip, writing about my grandparents, etc.) with an adult fellowship class at Bethesda church. I will spare you all the details, but…I had major technological difficulties as I was setting up my PowerPoint picture presentation. There were four separate times as I tried to connect when I encountered failure of some sort.

By the third time, after two runs down a very long hallway to get help, I was wondering if I should give up and go without pictures. By the fourth failure, I was almost certain this was what I would need to do – and maybe this is even what God wants? I was definitely frustrated and discouraged. But last Sunday, something prevented me from accepting a final “no.”

2) Temporary rejection or failure doesn’t necessarily mean I am to accept that as a “no” from God.

So I was praying as I struggled, of course, and no doubt a few attendees who were observing my struggles were praying, too. And I remembered the prayers of a few friends the evening before, as we dedicated my morning presentation to God, and prayed that all would go smoothly for His glory. These prayers did not let me give up.

Well, the solution following the fourth snag brought victory; it brought the “yes,” and I was good to go – to deliver what God had laid on my heart – with pictures! And looking back one week later, I’m amazed that I persevered through four picture-stopping snags. That’s not necessarily my style…

3) It’s time to become comfortable with rejection, as a mature step in faith.

So today I’m wondering… How often do I see a present rejection or failure as the final decree on an idea or a hope for the future? And, do I have the tenacity to welcome a present “no” as a step toward a future “yes” about something God has laid on my heart? Or do I most often accept a “no” as final, when He may want me to have faith to keep on for the “yes”?

I’m in the process, by God’s grace, of reframing my thinking. I’m seeking to welcome the victory in each “no” as a step in the process toward a future “yes.” When we pray that God will guide us, He will. So when we pray for a seemingly God-guided desire for “yes,” are we willing to persevere through a “no” or two or ten - to get to the ultimate yes? God may say “no,” of course, but let’s not jump to that final conclusion too quickly.

God loves, therefore...

This week I would like to challenge anyone who reads this with a fun, little exercise. So here it is: Open a blank electronic file, or get out a piece of paper and a pen, and finish this sentence: “God loves me, therefore…”

This is to be a list – a brain dump, if you will. Don’t stop until you’ve captured every thought that comes to mind. There are no wrong answers...just let it flow from your heart and soul.

God loves me, therefore…

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Once you’ve done the initial brain dump – stop. You can always go back and add more items later. For now, though, go back to the top of your list and read every item. What do you think? Are you living in the reality of the truth that you are dearly loved by God?

I can tell you I found that I wasn’t. Not completely, anyway… In fact, just reading my list changed the way I was thinking. And, I recently read that when thinking changes, feelings change. And when feelings change, actions and behaviors change. And when our actions and behaviors change? Well, provided it's for the better - that's when we change the world! And to think it all starts with a change in thinking... In this case, it started with a list.

So, here's my brain dump, in the order it spilled out.

God loves me, therefore...

I am whole.
I am complete.
I can love others, selflessly.
My needs are met.
My future is in His capable hands.
I will ultimately be okay, and in the interim, I have divine help.
It is irrelevant whether or not others love me.
I am ultimately unharmed by the evil around me - even the evil directed toward me.
Life is not about my good works, although those may, and hopefully will, result; it's about His love for me, and my love for Him.
I'm secure.
The future is safe.
I love Him.
This is not about me; it's about Him and His love, and His plan.
I can be vulnerable with people; they cannot harm me.
I can love others without being loved in return, because I have the Eternal, Creator God in love with me.
I cannot fall - only stumble - because He holds me by the hand.
My results are not what it's about.
My day's work is not where I get my significance.
I do not get my significance from others - I get it from God Himself.
I am free.
I can be who I'm created to be.
I don't have to live in worry or fear.
I can trust Him.
I can fail - He works it into a plan for good.
I can die, yet live forever.
I'm safe in His arms.
Evil cannot overpower me.
I can live outside of my comfort zone, yet be completely comfortable.

I'm wondering if my list looks anything like yours? And I'm wondering if your list began to change your thinking like my list began to change mine? This helps me see why it's so important to read God's Word, and to let the truths from it sink in and change our thinking...which changes our feelings...which changes our actions...which changes our world.

Regarding closed doors...

How significant is an open or closed door to a follower of Christ? I’ve heard many stories about how God opens and closes doors for people. And I recall one personal experience, in particular... I had a door of opportunity literally slam shut in my face about eight years ago. I was unemployed and living alone with no other income to rely on when I received a job offer from an organization which had put me through several grueling interviews. I was delighted to finally, and successfully, have the offer. Or did I?

Unfortunately, the offered salary was quite a bit lower than I was expecting, so I respectfully asked for an increase. I asked for a salary more in line with the regional market value for that role – a reasonable request, it seemed. Well, for some reason they must not have liked the fact that I thought my work was worth market value, and before I knew it the offer was rescinded. I was crushed by the evaporation of an opportunity, and could not understand why it had happened.

A few years later I shared my story, in confidence, over a business lunch with a man who had previously worked for that organization. He said, “Ann, God saved you…” Though our conversation had not touched on anything spiritual, he immediately and sincerely gave credit to God for keeping me from accepting that position. I knew then, without a doubt, that God had protected me, and shut that door with good reason. (Which I had trusted, at the time, but it was still difficult...)

Today as I was reading through some of Grandpa’s brief, handwritten notes, as typed by my Dad, I couldn’t help but note the number of open and closed doors. Take a look, below-- (My notes are in parenthesis.)

My interest was drawn toward China and I planned to attend the missionary school at Framnes (Norway), but for lack of funds, that schooling had to be postponed for two years. (closed door) While waiting for the opening of that mission school I came to America for the purpose of learning English. (open door) I made arrangements that I would go back to Norway if the number of applicants for entering this mission school were too few. Otherwise, I would continue my studies in America. It turned out there were more applications than the school could accept. (closed door) And so I continued my studies for two years at Augsburg… (open door)

Later, the greatest struggle came when we had to choose between going to China, where the way was open, or to continue to trust the Lord to open the way for us to Africa – which seemed closed.

So, first Grandpa’s interest was drawn to China while he was still in Norway. However, the education path which would lead there was not open, so he went to America to learn English – to study and wait. The school in Norway remained closed for him, but later when the door to China was wide open through the church synod in America, he and Grandma decided to trust the Lord to open the door which was then closed – the door to Africa. How about that for a sequence of open and closed doors?

It appears, from Grandpa’s notes and history, that a closed door was sometimes, but not always, a “no” from God. Do we agree? If the Lord puts a place, a people, an occupation, etc. in our hearts, and it settles in, and remains there...do we trust Him to open a door which might currently be closed? Or do we see a different door, which is open, and think, “That must be the door I’m supposed to go through, because, look - it’s open!”

Following Christ may lead us to stand for a length of time in front of a closed door. And, at the same time we may also need to resist an open, even honorable, alternate door. Is it just me who wonders: “Who trusts like this in 2011?” I definitely want to be one who trusts like this... I want to be one who trusts that when God speaks to my heart about something, I'm willing to wait by a closed door, and not abandoned it for another, albeit open and admirable, door.

What late snows?

It’s April 19 and it’s snowing outside. I want spring to be here so badly I could spit. Yet, I looked out my bedroom window a few minutes ago, and actually smiled - broadly. I smiled because I know that winter is about to end. Its demise is surely just around the corner, and that certainty makes me happy.

Even though right now winter is trying to taunt me... It’s trying to tell me that spring is not coming – that winter will never end. But I know it’s wrong. It’s lying. Because winter will end, and spring will come – and it will be soon.

Do you ever look around and see all indications of something contrary to what you believe and know to be true? Maybe you see something opposite of what you want, and there is no evidence of what you are praying for? And does it ever occur to you that evil wants you to think God is not listening? That it wants you to think that the winter of your heart will never end? That spring will never come? It occurred to me this very evening…

My grandparents were faced with circumstances that may have led them to feel like this many times. They felt God calling them to take the good news of Jesus to Africa. But they had many “snowy spring days” to get through before they would arrive and begin ministering. First of all, the church synod they were associated with – Lutheran Brethren – didn’t even have an African mission option. My grandparents’ proposal that the church begin a mission in Africa was denied when first suggested; there was no money to start a mission in another country, and the church already had a mission in China. However, the church leaders agreed to pray about it, and a year later they voted to begin a work in Africa and my grandparents were the first to go.

Their “spring snows” continued, however, as they waited for passage on a ship, and then waited a few years after arriving in Africa, for the Cameroon government to give them permission to begin mission work in that country. And this was all after God called them…after He said yes to their asking, “Is this what you would like us to do?” My grandparents’ lives showed that they trusted God. They were far from perfect, but they stayed the course and waited, prayed, and trusted.

What is faith, if not believing in the unseen? Can’t anyone believe spring will come when it’s sunny and 60 degrees outside? It is a snowy, mid-April evening like this when faith is tested, when faith must be exercised, and when truth must be clung to.

Shortly after I stepped away from the bedroom window I heard a slight noise in that direction and turned to see a robin on my window sill. It perched there a minute and then flew off. In another minute it was back. This time I noticed it had something in its beak and after it flew off again I moved closer and saw the early beginnings of a nest on my sill. The robin was disregarding the snowflakes filling the sky and was building a nest as if spring was imminent. He was not going to be derailed by a long winter...by late snows. He acted like he didn’t even notice. And I took a lesson from him.

I don’t know when spring is coming this year, but I do know it will come. And I don’t know when certain things I’m trusting God for will take shape, but I do believe they will. And by God’s grace I am going to keep trusting, keep building, and will hardly notice the late snows. Spring is imminent.

“And it is impossible to please God without faith. Anyone who wants to come to him must believe that God exists and that he rewards those who sincerely seek him.” Hebrews 11:6 NLT

Ideas to options

The previous post referenced toilet paper choices, actually as an introduction to these thoughts about selections of much greater significance. Having now visited Cameroon, where my grandparents spent the majority of their lives, I have been thinking about their choice to live and work in that country so far from their homeland. They felt called by God, there is no question, and, I wonder: did the call come out of an idea they had, which they then sought God’s input about?
Thinking about this in terms of my recent trip, I remember back when:

- The trip idea was first conceived
- I thought more about it and wondered
- I prayed and asked God to show me if this trip was His will
- I began exploring
- I waited, and finally…
- I received His confirmation, blessing and answer

I am noticing that it all started with an idea.

This is most often the case, isn’t it? If a batch of “monster” cookies is going to be enjoyed by my grandkids and me, I’ve got to come up with the idea to bake some cookies. If I’m going to invite a group of friends over for some good conversation and fellowship, I need to first think about inviting them over. And if I want to live a life to bring glory to God, I need to spend some time thinking about ways to do that. I need to consider what ideas are in my heart and mind that I may need to talk with Him about?

After this Africa trip I’m finding some dissatisfaction, even disillusionment with the “menu” options I see around me. These options concern a variety of items – big and small, significant and insignificant – yet they all seem to offer at least one of two things: more comfort and/or less pain.

I better quickly say that I don’t think it’s wrong to be comfortable or to be pain-free. I’m sitting in my comfortable home right now and am very thankful for it. I’m recently over a painful illness and am so grateful to be pain-free again. These are blessings from God. What I am telling myself is that I need to remember that this isn’t my home. This country isn’t even my home. Not even this earth. I’m passing through this place. And it’s so ridiculously easy to get sucked into believing this life is what it’s all about. We need to fight against that, continually.

So I plan to do a little rebelling against the choices around me. At least I’m going to seek to vet them, and not just grab an option because it’s there. I’m going to remind myself that with every option I select, I lose some current or future opportunity to choose. That’s the way options and choices work, isn't it? No matter who we are on this earth – we can’t have it all. Time, money, opportunities, relationships… They all have limits; we must be choosy.

My grandparents’ deviated significantly from the typical life option menu. And it seems it may have started when the idea was first conceived in my Grandpa’s mind. It resulted in a big choice to invest in another place, an everlasting place. I wonder what our lives would look like if we spent more time conceiving and praying about ideas than we did appraising existing menu options. I’m not sure, but I’m hoping to find out.

Rationing toilet paper

Here in the U.S. many of us have been blessed with an amazing number of choices. Consider the toilet paper aisle in the grocery store, for example. It has more than a dozen options. Ply, quilted or non-quilted, four-roll or bulk, lotion or non-lotion, and so forth… Well, I brought a roll of TP with me to Africa. Had been informed it was a good thing to have along for stops along the road, etc. As it turns out, I never actually had to use it for its intended purpose – yet, use every square, I did. And every time I ripped one or two squares off the roll, I thought of my dad.

You see my dad was a saver – a fairly extensive saver. Not like those shows on TV where people are almost buried in their stuff, but he had difficulty throwing things away. And he told us that it was due to growing up in Africa, where “you never knew when you might have a need for something.” He and his parents invented recycling, I think. And he was faithful to remind us that they couldn’t simply go to the store and buy things like we do here.

I always thought he had a pretty good excuse for hanging onto things, even though I never admitted that to him. A few times I wanted to remind him (and probably did, although it would have been a disrespectful thing to do) that he lived in America now, and had since he was eight years old.

When I found myself in Africa this year, treasuring each square of TP, for amazing numerous uses, such as: ant killings, small nose wipes, edge of sink cleanings, erasing make-up smudges, coasters, etc. – I knew my dad was having a good laugh from the heights. I could hear him lovingly say, “Now do you get it? Do you see why various odd items seemed so precious to me?”

And I smiled with each square I tore off...seldom more than one square at a time, because I didn’t know how many I would need before the trip was up. This silly thing made me remember and miss my dad. It made me appreciate what daily life out of one’s comfort zone can look like. And how joy can be found in realizing on the last day of a two-week trip that - you still have three squares of TP left!

(For the record, I did see toilet paper for sale at the market... One per package, one brand…)

The crazy truth

It was my last night in Cameroon and I was enjoying dinner under the stars, and listening to a lot of conversation in French... At one point late in the meal, our host, whose father worked with my Grandpa, recalled when my father visited Cameroon 20 years ago. This man told me, through his son, who was translating for me into English: “When your dad, Harold, visited, he told my dad as they parted, ‘I will most likely not see you again here, but I’ll see you next time in heaven!'”

Both his dad and mine have now died… In fact, we figured out that recent February night that they died within a year of each other – about seven years ago. And as we sat there, it occurred to us that at this very moment they might be enjoying fellowship together in heaven, just as my dad had said! We smiled and chuckled at this fun realization, and then our host said, “Who’s going to come back and tell us if it’s so?” He had a big smile on his face, as he waited for the translation to reach me. When it did, I smiled too, and there was some laughter around the table and I remember hoping that there was not a measure of disbelief in this comment.

I’ve thought about this more since that evening, and here’s where my thoughts have gone:

1) I hated to say good-bye to my new family in Cameroon; it was especially hard not knowing if I’ll ever see them again. I feel very connected to them, even a little protective of them, and especially regarding their relationship with Christ. Perhaps because my grandparents first brought the Good News to them, there seems to be a burden on my heart that the truth not be lost or diluted all these years later. I don’t know that it is being lost or diluted, but I desperately don’t want it to be.

Therefore, my dad’s good-bye with this man’s dad resonates with me... If I don’t get to see my Cameroon family again on this earth, I trust with all my heart that I will get to see them in heaven. That we will all safely arrive, and have fellowship together, there…

2) Is it really true that my Cameroon host and I don’t know with certainty that our respective dads are in heaven? He is right, after all, there is no one who can come back and tell us. Part of me wants to absolutely prove to the world that trusting in Jesus is the only way to live and die. It is true, I believe, and there should be no doubt about it. I even remember feeling a teeny bit of frustration that this new brother would cast that doubtful comment out into the open, even in fun. I mean, why voice that possibility – even jokingly – if you earnestly believe?

Well, I’m fairly certain my Cameroon friend does believe. Moreover, he’s likely confident enough in his belief to acknowledge unashamedly that eternal life through Jesus requires faith. It does look like foolishness to many. And, it’s the very foolishness that becomes our salvation. Life through Christ involves a heart change that can only happen by the grace of God. If it were any other way – if it required my logical and perfect obedience to a set of laws – I would not be saved from the slavery to sin I was even born with. I would not have the amazing hope that I have.

Yes, I think there is a craziness to what we believe. And couldn’t one say there is a craziness to all things worthwhile? Think of love…sex…human birth, as examples. When you first grasped the truth of these things, wasn’t there a wonder and craziness to them? Is it any surprise, then, that the most beautiful, saving truth that exists, should also have a craziness about it? If it didn’t, wouldn’t it be all the more ordinary, far less beautiful, and – constrained by mortal life?

To those of us who believe and have chosen to place our trust in this belief, we can smile at the craziness. We can even acknowledge this aspect as an expression of joy in, rather than a fear of, offending our Savior. Jesus came back from the dead and told us this is truth. His Spirit lives in us, and verifies it too.

I trust I will see you in heaven, my Cameroon host, if not before!

Julie's no-fear week

When my friend Julie shared my “No fear week” blog with her mom and sister, her mom said, “You should write a response about your week, Julie.” So I invited her to be a special guest blog author. Here’s what she sent, regarding her week – the week she and I decided to have freedom from fear.

Ann is a dear friend who challenges me in my faith and walk with the Lord. I actually feel a spiritual high as we talk about the Lord and how we can grow deeper in our relationship with Him. Yes, the past week has been quite a test for both of us. However, Ann and I believe the Lord prepared us for what He knew was coming by engaging us in this challenge – by enlightening our minds with this idea of choosing not to fear for one week. Of course, we both plan on continuing the challenge, but we both also need to take this one day at a time... We struggle with fear and anxiety – not to a level where either of us would consider medication, but to a more common level, a level I hear many people describe when sharing their own struggles.

So, here’s our freedom from fear week challenge: As soon as we feel fearful or are worried about something, we will stop, recite a verse like, "God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power, love and a sound mind." And then we will pray and apologize to our Heavenly Father for not trusting, and ask Him to help us trust. Finally, we will make a conscious, decisive decision not to fear!

My week started with an early morning call from my mother that my father had "escaped" again. He has Alzheimer's and we have been waiting to move him into a new memory care facility when it opens April 1st. I jumped in the car and took off on the search. Thankfully, he was found a couple of hours later. Then at 11:15 p.m. that same day my mother called me and asked me to come over and help her take care of him. I politely asked my guests to leave the party I was hosting for them, gathered my items for the night and headed over. My mother and I finally landed in bed at 2:00 a.m.

So I started the search for a memory care facility that could take my father right away. God directed me to a niece of a good friend who is a director of nursing for a memory care facility. She not only found a wonderful place for him, she also found nursing care for the nights before he could be admitted. She even took one of those nights herself! My mother has been staying with me most of the time. After 62 years of marriage she’s trying to adjust to living alone.

The Lord has provided at every turn. .. My father was a Gideon, passing out Bibles to students at schools for many years. He also placed many small banks in restaurants for the orphans ministered to by World Vision. As one of my dearest friends says, "The Lord takes good care of His own, especially when they have ministered for Him during their lives."

Along with the trauma in my family, my business has been especially difficult over the past week. I have been a realtor and real estate broker for more than 21 years, and have enjoyed successful years, but have also had challenging times. This past week has been one of those challenging times with various transactions appearing to work out...then evaporating into thin air.

So, during this week I decided it was time let go of the fear associated with my business and to sell my business. I sold it to Jesus Christ. Now I work for Him. He decides who we work with and who we don't. He determines the path of the transactions and the outcome. I felt quite a burden lifted after "selling" Christ the business. After all, He owns it anyway. (By the way, He is a great boss!)

Needless to say, our respective no-fear weeks were not the easiest of weeks... But then, who of us have been promised easy weeks? Knowing we’ve got a God who knows all, and loves perfectly – and commands us not to fear – is certainly a comfort for the troubles we experience in this life. Thanks for sharing your week’s story, Julie! I’m thankful for your friendship and for your encouragement in my walk with the Lord.

No fear week

Last Wednesday evening I was driving home from a Bible study when my phone rang. My friend Julie from Minneapolis was calling to catch up a bit, and after discussing a few things together she said, “Ann, what if we decide tonight, that for the next week we will commit to not have fear about anything? We could pick a verse from the Bible to help us fight off fear any time it threatens us, and we will hold each other accountable and pray for each other. Wouldn’t it be great to experience a week without any fear?”

Well, how could this not be a good thing to try? “Sure, I’ll commit to that with you!” We picked a verse and talked about how we would battle any spirit of fear that tried to enter us – no matter how great or small – and then I said with a little laugh, “This isn’t going to be like praying for patience is it?” And, “Whoops – I’m off to a bad start if I’m already afraid of praying against fear.” We laughed a little, then prayed, as we kicked off the week. (We noted that a certain variety of fear protects us and we wouldn’t fight that fear... )

So that was last Wednesday - one week ago. By Thursday night, the cold sores I thought I had on Wednesday had become a diagnosed case of shingles. My battle with fear was about it begin… Now many people get shingles – even many young people, I’ve heard. And what do most people say about this illness? “It’s so painful!” Nevertheless, it was not the impending pain that most threatened my no-fear pact. It was the fact that the outbreak was attacking my face, which meant it could possibly charge right up and into my eye. (I should say, while people’s eyes apparently usually recover from shingles with assistance from modern medicine, one does not want a shingle's lesion on one’s eyeball, and in the worst cases, it can cause blindness.) But wait…I had only two lesions so far and they were both near my lips, not anywhere near my eyes.

But by Friday afternoon I had a lesion as close to my eye as it could possibly be without entering it. It was on the skin just above my lower eyelashes. It seemed like an evil taunt: “Now will you be afraid?” While my loving God seemed to be reassuring me: “Remember your prayer! It wasn’t happenstance. I want you to know that you should not be afraid through this. Even if the worst happens and it goes into your eye, I will be with you and take care of you. I don’t want you to fear.”

Many people were praying for my eye’s protection and for my recovery… Yet, by Saturday morning, my eyeball was tingling and I was crying on the phone to my sister. By Saturday night my upper eyelid was swollen and my eye was in pain. By Sunday night I had a lot of eye pain. But all through, I could still see… The eye doctor and I had been in contact, and he was optimistic since my vision did not seem to be affected and I couldn’t see a lesion on my eyeball when I looked in the mirror.

So here I am at the end of my week without fear. My eye and face still hurt; I’m still on pain medication. But I have a checkup with the doc tomorrow and I think I’ll get a good report.

I confess that I didn’t make it perfectly through the week without fear… But while many things are getting back to normal, I never want to go back to a normal where fear is okay.

In a few minutes I’m going to call Julie and ask about her week...

Trusting isn't passive

For much of 2010 the recurring question I felt God asking me was: “What do you want?” As I’ve answered Him more and more about this, it seems that particular question has faded, as answered questions often do. But there’s a new question that I now seem to be faced with, and fairly often: “Do you trust me?”

As I wrestled with the specifics of what I would like the story of my life to be about, it seemed I was in an active role: the activity of figuring out what I want. I took that action seriously. It seemed the ball was in my court. It seemed God was waiting, even as He was actively helping me figure out the answer to that question.

Now my answer has taken form and I’ve been speaking with God about it. And now I’ve noticed things have turned a bit… The focus has gone from my action, to God’s action. Or should I say, to God’s seeming inaction.

Now, I’m not necessarily expecting Him to drop circumstances and action from heaven. But I kind of am, for He can do anything that pleases Him. And, I wouldn’t mind at all if a curtain was pulled back revealing a whole new path that was exactly in sync with what He and I have been discussing. Yet, I realize I’m in a partnership with my God. I’m to act, for sure, but in His timing, and as He leads and opens doors.

Right now I’m being asked to do something that is at the core of what I believe: trust Him. Not fret. Not pull all-nighters (like I can even do them anymore) to make my destiny happen according to my plan. Not stress endlessly about how this may play out, or about “what if it doesn’t play out?” But, rather: trust Him.

God wants me to trust and deserves my trust. As I talk with Him each day, and level with Him about what I’m struggling with, the Holy Spirit encourages me and reminds me of the many reasons to trust Him. Reasons threaded all through the Bible…reasons found in my grandparents’ stories…and reasons from my own life’s history.

I don’t know if what I want will come to be in the way I think it might in this life. But I do think it will come to be. My main activity regarding this right now, however, is to trust Him. It can sound and feel so passive, but believe me when I say it’s not.

No snakes, but...

I’ve been asked a few times since returning from Africa, “Did you see any snakes?” Before I left on my trip in January, it’s true that I did worry slightly about snakes and spiders. And not about simply seeing some. But more importantly, if I should see any, would they be a safe distance away?

My grandpa had a couple of trepidatious encounters with snakes in Africa (see early blog stories), and I remember my dad telling me about gigantic spiders in Africa. (He usually mentioned these when he thought I was carrying on ridiculously about some tiny house spider.) Well, the good news is that I didn’t see even one snake or scary-looking spider during the entire trip! The bad news is: there were a couple of stressful encounters with big, black, ugly bugs.

One of these bug meetings was on Tuesday night in Yagoua. I had already had two nights in my room at the Catholic mission with virtually no bug sightings. But on this particular evening, when I entered my room to settle in for the night, I saw a large, black, nasty looking, twelve-inch - I mean two-inch - thing near the wall by my bed. I momentarily froze and thought “This is it…my moment of truth. Will I be brave, trusting God for victory over this enemy? Or will I behave as expected from my, mostly ridiculous, life-long fear of insects?” I knew it was time to rise to a new place. I would conquer this fear!

I grabbed the broom that was sitting in the corner of the room, surely for such a time as this, and was thankful for the long handle. My mind quickly approximated how distant I could remain and still be able to clobber the thing, and I moved to that distance and prepared to assault. I took a swing with the broom and…just as it was about to hit my victim, the victim moved. He didn’t just move though, he jumped. Now, Wisconsin has grasshoppers, but he didn’t look like those – they are green, for one thing. But he could have passed for a larger, distant, higher-jumping cousin, perhaps. A cousin who had now, safely (for him, anyway), jumped out of sight.

I remained calm... He must have jumped under the bed (because he could jump so high, of course). No worries, I’ll just look under there and hit him again. (With this thinking, I was completely overlooking the fact that I had missed him the first time.) Well, it appeared there was to be no “next time” because he was nowhere to be found. This was extremely disconcerting to me, but I willed myself to remain calm and to continue getting ready for bed, while praying fervently that he hadn’t snuck into my bed.

When I was finally ready to hop (word choice intended) into bed, I carefully checked under the top sheet, and then decided to read a bit from the Bible that was on the small table next to my bed. Now the Bible was sitting sort of sideways on top of another book, and when I picked it up from that pile of two, I almost screamed. There on the table right next to the head of my bed, sat the awful, high-jumping black monster bug!

I had only a fraction of a second to think, as he was certain to jump when he realized his cover was blown. I calmly, steadily, raised the Bible over my head, and...SMACKED HIM DEAD WITH THE WORD OF GOD!

Oh sweet victory... His death was instant – no suffering involved on his part. And me? Well, let's just say I had discovered a whole new reason to love God’s Word.

Stories really matter

There is a story happening right now and you are in it. There’s another story happening right now and I’m in it. At times stories intersect (like yours and mine at this moment), and at times they diverge - sometimes never to converge again. Well, two weeks out of Africa I’m convinced more than ever about one thing: stories matter. They really matter.

Whenever you want to discover what does really matter in life, hang out with kids for a while. Last weekend, while hanging with my three and four year old grandkids, they begged me to tell a story about when I was a little girl. Then, about their dad...and then, my son and daughter-in-law suggested I tell them stories about my grandpa and grandma. (Why didn’t I think of that?)

So I did all of the above and the kids were enthralled, even though I’m really not a very good verbal story teller. When one story wrapped up they were begging for another. (Thankfully we got distracted before we resorted to the “bat in my house” stories, which they wanted to hear over and over again a few months ago. At that time they voted for their favorite out of the following: the swooping bat story, the dead bat story, or the bat hanging on the living room shade story. Sadly, I have all of those... And, for what it’s worth, the dead bat and the swooping bat stories tied for first place with one vote a piece.)

Later, my thoughts scrolled back to my last full day in Chad... Our hosts at the Chad mission welcome center invited a missionary couple working with the OneStory Partnership to have lunch with us.

Our conversation that noon focused on the power of storytelling and the importance of orality around the world. As we chatted, I thought back to how considering my life as a story - more than a year ago - had caused me to pray and think, so that my mind and heart were prepared and ready when the call came to write about my grandparents' stories. This call then led me to plan a trip to Africa and start a blog. Which all led me to be in Chad on a recent February Sunday where we just happened to be talking about - the power of a story!

The missionaries discussed the power of translating true stories from the Bible into languages that don’t have the Bible yet. These stories get told and retold over and over again, and the truth of God’s word gets introduced and spreads.

People are hungry to hear good stories. Good stories have conflict, and they have triumph. They are important, and will be retold. We are each in a story that matters and we have responsibility regarding the plot. I no longer take that lightly, and I’m contemplating the next chapter…

Yagoua's unforgettable night

It was our last night in Yagoua and we were invited out for dinner. Our driver was to pick us up at 7:15 p.m. and we were to arrive at Jacque's house around 7:30. Well, our driver was a little late and we had one quick last stop to make, to greet a woman who hadn’t been home when we tried to visit her earlier. So it was nearly 8 p.m. when we finally arrived at our host’s home.

As our jeep approached, the only light I could see was a small beam coming from beyond an outdoor wall. We parked by the wall as Jacque, Augustine and Marcos came around to greet us and usher us to the other side. There, on a nice brick patio were two tables. One had a lantern on it and the other, nearby, appeared as simply a shadow in the darkness. The lantern-illuminated table was nicely set, confirming that this was to be our dining room for the evening.

Augustine directed: “Annie” – pointing to a middle chair on one side of the table. I sat down and he sat to my left, after directing Solveig to sit on my right. (This meant I had English speakers on either side of me…thoughtful details.) Solveig and I looked at each other, wistfully mentioning something about our last night in Yagoua. It was feeling bittersweet… We were eager to get home, yet still not excited about leaving.

While our host gathered sodas for us, I leaned back in my chair and looked up at the sky. What I saw literally took my breath away. It was stunningly gorgeous: the night sky of Yagoua.

While I’m basically a city girl, I did grow up in a camping family so have sat around many an American campfire, gazing at night skies far removed from city lights. But I had never seen anything like this. It was truly captivating. The sky was charcoal black and there layers upon layers of stars – thousands of sizes and intensities... I did not want to look away. The expanse above me had so many dimensions; I could have stared at it forever! Then Augustine brushed his hand against my arm and said, “There was a bug,” and suddenly I was back.

We were served beverages, talked a little, and then it was time to wash our hands and visit the nearby, shadow-in-the-dark food table. I was to go first, and wondered how I would find and view the food in order to make my selections. Augustine came to the rescue with a small flashlight he shone over each serving dish so I could see to fill my plate. It was a lovely spread, which had been generously and beautifully prepared by Jacque’s wife. Yet I confess I was slightly distracted worrying about how I would get through this meal without accidentally eating a bug. It was nighttime in Africa, after all. And was so dark I could hardly see my plate or its contents...

Conversation over dinner was mostly in French, although Augustine and Solveig tried to keep me in the loop with their translations. At an early point in the dinner the lantern was moved closer to me so I could see my food, but when I felt a bug in my hair and asked Solveig to remove it, our attentive host quickly moved the lantern, and it’s following of bugs, to the other end of the table. I decided at that point that I preferred the ignorance of darkness, anyway.

After the meal, I asked Augustine – an attorney by education, a businessman by trade – what he liked about living in Africa. He thought a moment, and said, “I love our solidarity. I would miss that very much.”

Solidarity is a concept that seems rather foreign in the U.S. We are all about independence here. And while independence isn’t all that bad, it’s not all good, either. We really do need each other… But do we acknowledge it? And furthermore, do we value it?

There are many things I liked about Africa. Along with the hospitable, dear people…the unforgettable night sky will always be near the top of my list.

Ordinary, normal life

Who knew that it could be so difficult to adjust to life back in America? Solveig and I compared notes today and discovered we’re both struggling a bit to settle back in... We acknowledged that we did get a bit of attention in Africa, and now of course we’re nobodies again. But I think there’s something else going on.

God so clearly led us to Cameroon and we felt totally dependent on Him while we were there. While God also clearly brought us back home and we are totally dependent on Him here…it doesn’t feel quite the same. I feel like I should be more independent here, more capable, more worthy... And perhaps I shouldn’t even bother God so much, because after all, I’m back in the States. I should be able to take care of everyday life here without relying so heavily on Him - right?

Well, the truth is, I don’t want to go back to normal life. I like life much better when I’m totally relying on Him. Maybe I’m not such a big fan of ordinary after all. Or maybe I need to redefine my life here. Maybe this trip is a catalyst to a different life, or maybe simply to a different way of living my current life.

I really don’t know what this all means, but I'm convinced I need to rely heavily on Him – right here in Wisconsin. I clearly do need to "bother" Him a lot, and I cannot simply make it through everyday life here without Him. Nor do I want to. I need His touch, His guidance and His leading. I’m desperate for it.

Hope I settle in soon... But not too much...

Home and thankful

Tuesday, 2/8/11 -- I'm on the plane headed home from Africa, via a stop at the Paris airport… Actually only a couple of hours of flight time left, and I’m excited to get home, and I want to post a quick update of praise because I’m in awe of how God has blessed this trip and I know many of you have continued to pray faithfully – thank you!

So many times over the last two weeks, Solveig and I have simply looked at each other and been virtually speechless about the wonderful way God was working out the details of our trip. One of those topic areas – and one I specifically asked many to pray for – was my health: that I would not get sick in Africa.

When we arrived back in N’Djamena a couple of days ago and were talking with Kjersten (she and her husband run the guest house), she asked if either of us had become ill in Yagoua. When we told her that “no, we remained well the whole time,” her eyes got big, and she said, “Wow, you must really have strong stomachs!” At that moment I realized just how much God had been answering the health prayers, for Kjersten sees and talks with a lot of visitors in Chad and Cameroon; evidently many of them experience at least one episode of sickness.

There were times when I started to worry about the possibility of becoming sick, but then I remembered how God had opened up this trip in a definite way. With His help I determined that worry is an insult to Him, and His Spirit helped me claim His promises and rebuke the spirit of worry I was fighting. I also remembered all the people who were praying, and knew that He was listening. He definitely answered those prayers!

I will have more trip stories to share in the days and weeks ahead… And I’m excited to see what God has planned next. I'll not doubt that He will show me, and I won't worry about what the next step/s regarding this call to write may be. For now, I will simply rest a bit and re-acclimate to life in Wisconsin, where it is 100 degrees cooler...

[With some difficulty in N’Djamena, I did find out that the Packers won the Super Bowl on Sunday, which pleased me greatly. A handful of flashy Green Bay Packer bookmarks were distributed in Yagoua last week. If the bookmark recipients had heard of the Packers, or even the Super Bowl, I bet they would be prizing these little trinkets right now. But alas, most hadn’t... Yet it does make me smile to know that some green and gold exists in Yagoua...during this very appropriate week.]

Herborg Revne remembered

Friday, 2/4/11 -- Today I stood at my grandma’s grave and cried. I have absolutely no memories of her, as she died when I was two, yet today I feel like I know her. I’ve been in her Africa, her Cameroon, and her Yagoua.

We left Yagoua around 9 a.m. and arrived in Kaele by 10:30. A group of pastors met us in a car along the road and led us to the church, where about thirty people gathered under shade trees where some chairs had been set up for us. Pastor Dieudonne Djoubairou – the man I met in Wisconsin last Easter Sunday – worked to organize this reception, even though he’s away at school. It was very special. First, the women – in their matching, brightly colored dresses and head scarves – sang for us. It was a song was about the Revnes bringing the gospel to Cameroon. Then they led me to her grave, which was fenced in by wire. A pastor opened the fence for me and I stood over the gravestone, and read:

Mrs. Herborg Revne
May 9, 1884 to Feb. 18, 1960
Romans 8:28

Emotions washed over me and tears flowed. I was standing in Africa at my grandma’s grave. It didn’t seem possible. Yet here I was, finally honoring the woman who died so far away from her son and daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Being the first grandchild to make it over here, I felt the responsibility of these moments also, as I was representing my sisters, too.

The people gathered around me got very quiet and I heard some sympathetic murmurs from the women as they watched me weep and dig tissues out of my bag. Then one of the pastors who was standing close to me, kindly put his hand on my shoulder and led us all in a prayer – in Moundang, the language of Kaele. After that, we took some pictures, I took a final moment at her body’s resting place, and we walked back to the chairs under the trees.

Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory? My Grandma lives because Jesus died and rose again. She humbled herself and accepted the free gift of salvation, from God, her Heavenly Father.

The people thanked me for coming. They said it was a good thing for me to do. I greeted them with some words and a pastor who spoke English translated for me. One of the pastors greeted us with some words – Solveig translated for me. Then they sang more songs for us – one about another pioneer missionary couple, the Kaardals. We prayed, ate a delicious meal, had a tour, and then we left, with many handshakes, smiles, thank yous and goodbyes.

I’m extremely tired tonight. I’m emotionally drained, yet content. Tomorrow we begin our trek back to N’Djamena, then two days later – our first of two flights home. Grandma’s Africa will not be forgotten, however. I told my new family in Kaele that I would keep them in my prayers.

Solveig told me today, “I think you’ll be back sometime.” I don’t know for sure about that. But I do think part of me has been here for a long time…

The neem tree

Wednesday, 2/2/11 -- Since arriving in Yagoua last Saturday, I’ve been admiring the beautiful neem trees that are so plentiful here. They are majestic and lovely to look at – I can’t imagine anyone visiting Yagoua without noticing their beauty. They line the road leading up to the mission, their branches spreading over it to make an inviting green tunnel of shade. And they can be found all through Yagoua, where they not only supply natural beauty to this sand-colored community, but provide necessary and soothing relief from the intense Africa sun. Neither are small roles.

This morning, while visiting with Daboy – a man who faithfully worked with, and for, my Grandpa for many years – I learned that Grandpa brought the neem tree to Yagoua. I looked at Solveig and Jonas in disbelief and asked them if this was really true: “Were there no neem trees in Yagoua until my grandpa brought them here from Nigeria?” They nodded and smiled, and confirmed it was true. These trees which I had been admiring and thinking Yagoua special for having, only exist here because Grandpa thought Yagoua needed them. This endearing piece of news to me was more than I could handle. I cried…

My love and admiration for my grandpa and grandma peaked as I realized in a new way how much they cared for the people of Yagoua and wanted them to have a better life on this earth, as well as in the eternity ahead. How many people have been cooled from the scorching sun over the years by these trees? How many have leaned their tired bodies against the wide trunks for a shady break? How many have cooked food over fires from the neem’s branches? This tree is no small contribution. But there is more…

Jonas told me to ask Daboy about the gardens too. These are the well-designed, beautifully-kept gardens throughout the community, which I had been admiring, as well. I had seen women selling beautiful vegetables from them at the side of the road, and have been eating some delicious, safely-prepared produce from them at mealtime. Well, evidently the gardens were brought here by Grandpa and Grandma too.

And as if that wasn’t enough for me to take in and process…so were the brick huts and buildings. No one knew how to make bricks and build with them in Yagoua before Grandpa taught them how. While I did know this fact before, I didn’t comprehend all that it meant. There is a lot of brick in Yagoua today.

Now I see Grandpa and Grandma everywhere I go. I see a shady neem tree in front of a brick hut, with an expansive garden nearby – and I see them. In fact, this greater Yagoua community of about 150,000 people seems to be full of Grandpa and Grandma! Praise God for what He accomplished through them.

If my grandparents – imperfect people – can love and help others like this, how great is our almighty God’s ability to love and help us? Is it not endless?
And, if God used my willing Grandpa and Grandma to spread His love and care, I have no doubt He can use willing you and me, too. No loving accomplishment is too insignificant or too great when God is in it. Find a tree that’s needed and plant it in Jesus’ name!

“It is the same with my word. I send it out, and it always produces fruit. It will accomplish all I want it to, and it will prosper everywhere I send it… Where once there were thorns, cypress trees will grow…” (Isaiah 55:11&13 NLT)

Jesus and hope

Monday, 1/31/11 -- Like every day of this trip, God again was so faithful to Solveig and me today. Solveig, as main coordinator and translator is going between three different languages and doing very well…but it’s a lot of work for her, and I fear it can drain almost as much energy as the heat. She’s reminded me a few times that she’s older than me, but I think she’s doing wonderfully with it all.

I, on the other hand, feel like a needy consumer. I consume Solveig’s linguistic knowledge and generosity, as she patiently translates for me, and I also consume many people’s kindnesses along the way. No one is complaining, gratefully. Solveig is so gracious and patient, and the people we are meeting seem genuinely eager and pleased to see and meet with us. Yet, I’m often asking God to please make sure this trip accomplishes His purposes – both in me and in others. I have to trust Him to bring this about, and pray that I won’t miss the reason I’m here, because the needs I see all around me are overwhelming, and I didn’t come to simply consume others’ hospitality and kindnesses.

We sat in a home (round, dirt floor, with thatched roof) today, huddled in chairs and on stools around a sick woman who was lying on the floor on a mattress. We were conversing with this group of people who knew Solveig and knew my dad and grandparents – along with a few younger people who didn’t know them. These were believers in Jesus Christ, and our fellowship with them was sweet, and my heart was aching for the woman on the mattress who almost shares my name – Anna. I am praying for her earnestly…that God would heal her quickly or take her home to be with Him very soon. That is her prayer, also.

I wondered a lot today about how the good news of freedom from sin by faith in Jesus has helped these people. It’s the reason my grandparents spent forty years here. Were those worthwhile years, in light of the difficult living conditions (that is how I will phrase it – they did not complain one bit to us) that I saw today? God’s power is awesome…He could certainly intervene so that this woman does not have to suffer with flies swarming around her. Yet there she lies…

The verse I kept hearing in my mind as I wrestled with this, goes something like, “In this world you will have trouble, but fear not; I have overcome the world.” Without heaven ahead of us, where there will be no sin or sickness or death, I’m pretty sure I should discard my beliefs. And without promises of life eternal with things like gold streets and things so good I can’t imagine, I should likely just live for today and not care much about anything or anyone else. And most of all, without heaven…without being with my Savior who I love so much, this life doesn’t make much sense and there is not enough justice.

My grandparents brought people in Yagoua something called hope through the knowledge of, and by entering into a relationship with, Jesus Christ. And while life is extremely difficult for many people around the world; once individuals know Jesus personally, they have His presence with them always – even if lying sick on a thin mattress in a very hot, dusty place. Individuals like Anna can look forward, with confidence, to eternal life in heaven, where wrongs and inequities will finally be righted, for good.

Before we gave a few small gifts and took “family” pictures of this group, the oldest, Anna’s husband, Foutisou – a man of about 80, who knew my grandpa – prayed with us, at our request. We all bowed our heads and he stood up...

I couldn’t understand anything he said, except for the beginning, when he started by praying “to the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob – and the God of Yagoua…” Solveig and my tears began flowing at that point, and continued through his lengthy prayer in Masana – the language my grandpa wrote down, and translated the Word of God into. My grandpa did this to share Jesus and hope with the people of Yagoua.

Grandchildren become friends

Sunday, 1/30/11-- So I’ve not been able to publish any posts yet (no personal internet connectivity found, though I’m asking nearly everyone I meet). And I’m actually sitting in the dark right now, but for the light of this computer. The electricity in all of Yagoua has been off for the past 12 or so hours. I was laying here in the dark, sweating and praying it would come back on – when much to my excitement it did, so I turned on my computer, as it’s only 8:30 p.m… But it just went off again, so I’m thinking I may have to shut this down and finish later. My computer fan is working too hard to keep the computer cool…

I keep quoting that “God delights in every detail of our lives.” (Ps. 37: 23), and I’m asking Him if this hot darkness is delighting Him… He is a big God and has the big picture in mind. Yet I’m a small person and would love for the lights and fan to come back on.

Today was a God-blessed day. We arrived for church late, but they were waiting for us and rang the bell just after our driver got us there. (The lights and fan just went back on – thank you God. I almost longed for the cold of Wisconsin a little while ago but the fan may have had to be off all night for that to happen. And, I better not joke about this just yet…) It was all I could do to not cry through the whole church service, as I worshipped in spirit with people (mostly children of people) my grandparents had spent their lives trying to reach with the good news of Jesus. I so wanted to stop the service and ask if they are staying close to the Lord, and not simply attending church, but I didn’t think that would be appropriate. (And I wouldn’t know how to ask it in Masana or French, anyway.) I’m pretty sure the answer would vary by person, like it does in the US.

The children were the ones I connected with most, as they quickly, shyly, and genuinely returned my smiles. Adults gathered around us after the service to shake our hands and greet us, and it was then that Jonas, reached out to me in English and mentioned my grandparents’ house, and was pointing to a building just behind the church.

This caught me by surprise so I asked him if he was sure that was the house and he said, “Yes. Come and see!” As I approached the building, so famous to me from pictures, tears welled up and I couldn’t speak. Jonas simply smiled at me and nodded. It is a pretty dilapidated building but it was beautiful to me. I walked up on the veranda, as little iguanas (or similar) scattered, and pictured my grandma pouring mid-day tea. Two older men were sitting nearby on a bench so I pulled out my pictures of the house from years ago and showed them, as well as Jonas. Then Jonas pointed to a picture I had of the Model T and said, “You want to see the car?”

I just laughed, thinking it was a joke. And then he asked again… He took me to a grassy spot about 100 feet away. There, low to the ground sat a lovely rusted chunk of chassis – my grandpa’s Model T Ford! (For more about this Model T, see this post.) I handed him my camera and sat on the remnants of the car, laughing at this unexpected historical encounter. But the best part of the day was yet to come…

Sunday afternoon found Solveig and I resting in our separate rooms at the Catholic mission – our beautiful, peaceful “hotel” on the outskirts of Yagoua. We were hot and tired and wanted to rest before Jonas was arriving at 3 p.m. to talk about a project he’s working on which may intersect somehow with my writing project.

Around 3:15 Jonas and Augustine arrived and by the time they left at 6 p.m. I had two brand new, awesome brothers. Jonas and Augustine are not related to each other or to me, but get this: our grandfathers all knew each other and worked together! Their grandfathers were two of the first three pastors that graduated from the Cameroon seminary. And since both Jonas and Augustine speak English quite well (they say not so well, but I disagree), we had so much to talk about. They are followers of Christ and share many of the same concerns that Solveig and I share. The hours flew by and when they left, I was praising God for bringing all of us together. We took pictures and exchanged contact information. We will try to stay connected for sure, but whether that happens or not, I’m looking forward to hanging out with these brothers in heaven some day.

93 years later

Friday…1/28/11--Yesterday I landed on African soil, 93 years after my grandparents arrived here. Seeing the lights of N’Djamena as our plane approached made me wonder what they saw as their ship drew near their port of arrival. I wondered at their sense of excitement and wonder, knowing that they were somewhat stuck here for a few years in this new-to-them land, while I know I’m planning to fly back home in two weeks…

So now it’s 8:30 Saturday night – my first night in Yagoua. I won’t be able to post this until tomorrow (well that didn’t happen) but I cannot go to bed tonight without corralling a few thoughts from the day. I know many of you have been praying faithfully for Solveig and me, and those prayers have been noticed in a big way. Items of praise from today’s critical travel day (from N’Djamena, Chad to Yagoua, Cameroon) include:
• A fender bender before we even got out of N’Djamena – which could have been ugly, but wasn’t.
• Four smooth highway toll stops…none were the least bit scary…simply needed to pay the standard fee for traveling the paved, yet pot-holed road.
• Enough gas in the tank for the last 12 kilometers to Bongor, even though the low gas indicator light was on, and we hadn’t figured out how to access the second tank yet.
• Four passport checks – two in Chad, and two in Cameroon. Officials patiently copied our information into their lined, legal sized notebooks; they had no concerns.
• No potty stop needed. This is critical since there are no “rest areas” along this route. When I asked our missionary host in N’Djamena if there would be any rest areas, he smiled and said “there are lots of bushes.” Borderline dehydration worked well, and God blessed. (In fact I didn’t need a “rest area” for seven hours, which may be a new, post-child-bearing record for me. )
• The nicest people have been driving us, directing us and helping us…the entire trip. May God bless them all!

And speaking of God…our Heavenly Father truly went ahead of us to prepare the details – prayers are being answered. I’ve not been afraid, though I must say the driving of vehicles and motorbikes here is beyond description, and at some early point I determined, beyond fear.

The most surreal part of today for me was crossing the Lagone River into Cameroon. We walked in sand the length of a football field (U.S. football, that is) to get to the edge of the river – with young boys carrying our bags on top of their heads! The poor boy who flung mine up on his head… We paid him for sure, but I can’t imagine it was enough to compensate for the shock to his head. And I hate to admit it, but these boys were half the sandy field ahead of us in no time at all. Perhaps it was because of my long skirt and scarf-tied head, but for whatever reason I found myself thinking about Meryl Streep in Out of Africa. We were creating a bit of a scene in these increasingly remote places. School children would come up to us and smile and shake our hands. Adults would simply stare, as I would have, wondering who these silly, white women are, no doubt…

Our actual time on the river was under 15 minutes...dry season. I climbed out of the canoe (not easy with my long skirt, now dusty and wet on the edge) and entered Cameroon. Cameroon, the land of my grandparents... There was enough moisture left in me for a few tears, and I wondered if God was allowing my grandparents in heaven to see me enter their country.