Grandma's remarkable story

Tonight, my 89-year-young mom and I had dinner together at my house. As we finished our meal of stuffed French toast and coffee, I pulled out a bunch of old notebooks and documents and we started poring over them together. I’ll share more from these documents in the days and weeks ahead, but I want to begin with the one that brought tears of pride and affection for my dad's mother - my grandma.

It’s written by my grandpa, Berge Revne, about my grandma, Herborg Revne, sometime after her death in 1960. And it confirms what I felt deeply as I stood at her grave in Kaele, Cameroon last year: she loved her Savior very much.

My Wife (by Berge Revne)
She was the first white woman to enter and to reside in North Cameroon and in the Colony of Chad.

She was the first white woman to speak Fulfulde in that whole region of Central Africa.

She was the first woman to bring the Gospel to the women of North Cameroon and Chad.

She was the first mother with her two-month old white baby to travel up the Benue River to Garoua in an African dugout canoe, and from there, ten days over land on horseback or walking.

She was the first woman to plant flowers and fruit trees on eight new mission stations which we were privileged to begin the work on, and to build the first huts or houses.

She was the first woman to witness to the women and children in these places.

In short, most of her missionary career was a “first” – in other words a “pioneer” and yet she never made mention of what she had accomplished. The love for the work and joy in doing it urged her to continue until her days were finished.

If this isn't an example of stepping out of one's comfort zone for Christ, I don't know what is. This woman made an investment in people which continues to this day and into eternity... Fifty years following her death, I observed fruits of her labor in Cameroon last year. And I know God is using her remarkable story to inspire me to write a better, God-honoring, story with my life.

Grandma Herborg died before I could speak the word Grandma to her. If she only knew how humbled and honored I am to call her My Grandma...

The ugly maple

Some people compare the seasons in nature to four seasons of a life. When you’re very young, it’s the spring of your life; when you are old it’s the winter; and summer and fall are in between. Instead, I like to think we go through many seasonal cycles in life – not just one. And right now I think I’m in an early spring...

This realization came this afternoon when I was out on the front deck, drinking in the sun’s warmth and vitamin D. It’s an unbelievably balmy Wisconsin day today – 80 degrees Fahrenheit – and spring doesn’t officially begin until Tuesday! As I leaned my head on the back of the wicker chair and looked up at the sky through the branches of the yard's lone maple tree, I noticed something: the tree looked ugly.

Okay, so maybe trees don’t have emotions, but if this tree did, I think it would be feeling sad right now, at least concerning how it looked. Its branches don’t show any signs of green. Rather, they are an ugly gray-brown color. And at the ends of the twigs that shoot out from the branches, are roundish, thorny-looking, dark gray, berry-shaped blobs – that are far from pretty, or handsome. They aren’t even the slightest bit cute. So it’s difficult to believe that beautiful green leaves will one day soon emerge from them. Except I know it’s true because I have seen it happen year after year...

Today I wanted to say to the tree, “Hang on there old maple. In a few weeks you’re going to be looking quite lovely. You know those ugly, itchy, prickly things that are annoying your twigs right now? Well, hidden inside are lovely green leaves. You’re going to be beautiful!”

I then noticed the state of the rest of my surroundings... The grass isn’t pretty right now, either. It’s still clumped down from winter’s snows, and is wearing a sprinkling of dead leaves – ugly remnants of autumn’s long-past glory. The trees in other yards are all looking gray-brown and lifeless, too. There are no beautiful flowers in planters, and the human houses and streets look neglected from winter’s cold, dark, season. Yet, it’s next to impossible to miss the incredible hope that is in the air right now. I was anything but depressed as I soaked in the sunshine and let the warm breezes whisk my cares away.

Personally, I’m identifying with the ugly parts of spring. I’m not seeing any green growth in my life today. There’s no visible, lush, shade-providing, inspiring evidence of what’s flowing through my veins. There are no apparent signs that the ugly blobs of whatever is trying to ooze from God’s work inside of me is about to emerge green and beautiful. I do hope and trust this will happen - with all of my heart...but not because I’m making something beautiful. (I can’t even control results from my very best intentions!) I can trust this only because He is making something beautiful. His glory must burst forth. The ugly tree will soon be gloriously green.

Mind vs. heart

For the past few months I’ve had an unresolved battle going on in my mind…or is it my heart? The conflict, which I haven’t quite resolved yet, is over which rules: our mind or our heart? Does our mind (which I describe as our thoughts and knowledge) direct our heart (which I describe as our feelings and passion) or does our heart direct our mind? Or is it some combination of both? And why do I seem to need to know, anyway?

As one who can over think anything, even over-thinking, I’ve got a desire to, once and for all, defend, or else reduce my analytical practice. So that answers the last question... But it wasn’t until something I heard on American Idol recently, that I finally devoted some time and conversation with a friend to begin to truly sort the first question out. More than one Idol talent contestant this season has received feedback from judges that he or she needs to “stop thinking” when they are performing, and to instead, apparently, “sing from the heart.” “This was not your best performance,” one judge said, and another followed with, “You were thinking too much…you’ve got the talent…just sing!”

I found this somewhat frightening to hear... I’ve dabbled in music my whole life, so I totally agree that mechanical perfection alone is not perfection. If music is to be great, emotion must be involved. But what about outside of the music realm? I mean, I definitely don’t want sterile, even if technically perfect, results in life. (And my results to date aren't technically perfect, anyway...) I don’t want mechanical, or strained, or boring. I do want passion, and glory to God. I do want to move people...to be a positive influence. Could I be over-thinking things and sabotaging the God-pleasing results I’m seeking to accomplish?

Well, all this thinking led me to a scary question... Is it time to trust my heart more? To act, create, and simply and generally be more out of feeling and passion? If the Spirit of Jesus is in me, and by the grace of God, He is, can I simply be, without so much striving, worrying, analyzing, and…thinking?

So, honestly, I do feel a need to think about this some more. Yet my heart is telling me I may be on to something. And I have to say it feels good...

Armor of God

I've found there's only one way to approach each day as a follower Christ... It’s to get up every morning and put on the armor of God. I visibly go through the motions, when I remember, which may seem childlike and silly, but I’m a visual person, so it helps me think about the words I’m saying and to have a little fun with it too.

When Abby was visiting a month ago I taught it to her one morning. We started by putting on the belt of truth. (I get dressed in the order I read in Ephesians 6:14-17.) Her eyes immediately lit up at this need to use our imaginations. I knew she’d love this. Then we draped ourselves from head to toe in God’s righteousness, ending that sweep of our hands flowing in the air from head to ankle, inches from our body, by putting on shoes of peace. Immediately and abruptly we then stood tall, and boldly pushed our left arms straight out from our bodies with our hands held in high-five position for the shield of faith. We finished with our hands making an upside-down “V” for the helmet of salvation, then exuberantly raised our right arms high in the air with our fingers pointing, as we yelled, “and the sword of the Spirit!”

It was fun. We did it a couple of times together that morning so she could learn it, and then went on our way... Well, a couple of weekends later she was back at my house, with her mom and brothers this time. I came downstairs after showering and dressing and saw that she and Sam were engrossed in a Clifford video. Now they, like most kids I know (including my sons, years ago), get so engrossed in videos that it practically takes an act of God to bring them out of the fantasy and back to reality. Well, I guess it likely was an act of God this day because when I walked into the room, Abby turned away from the TV, smiled, tilted her head knowingly and said, “Grandma, did you remember to put on the armor of God?” I was shocked and speechless for a second or two. Not only had she remembered, but she broke out of Clifford’s exciting story to ask me if I remembered! And she caught me. I had forgotten.

I love children. They are so genuine and eager, and not too little or too big to be awesome followers of Jesus.

This blog features stories about God’s faithfulness through generations. It began with stories of my Grandpa and Grandma Revne as they pioneered to northeast Cameroon to tell people about Jesus and His love and plan for them. And while they were serving God far away, one day a granddaughter was born and I came into this world. And even though I hardly knew my grandparents while they walked this earth, I feel I know them so well now. Yet the story continues... Now I’m the adult. Not in Africa (right now, anyway), yet walking with my Lord through this life. And now there's another granddaughter. This time it's Abby, and there are six more dear young children. And with all of this life come stories, and stories, and stories...

I continue to get up each day and, when I remember, visibly put on the armor of God. I’ve found it’s the best way to walk through these days. It begins with the belt of truth…

Each day's mission

A couple of weeks ago I scribbled something in my notebook right before I went to bed. I just reread it and decided to post it here:

I’m going to get up every day and put on the armor of God. Then I’m going to do what is in front of me to do for that day. And I’m going to earnestly pray that God will show me when it’s the right time to break out of this…to the next thing.

Meanwhile, I’ll continue to pray, seek, and do what’s in front of me – giving all for His honor and glory.

He has not forgotten me or my willingness. He will show me the way. And it won’t be too late or too early.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that my Lord is faithful and trustworthy. He is the Good Shepherd; I am one of His sheep. His sheep know His voice. I know His voice...it is loving...it protects. Thank you, my Lord.

Time for fun...

Recently, after struggling to write about some of my core beliefs - a task which I found both exhausting and clarifying - and also after taking some uncomfortable, yet courageous steps in a particular area of my life, I sensed the Lord whisper to me: “Now it’s time for fun.”

Being the analytical person I am, I thought, “But wait, is fun ever a worthy goal? I mean look at you, Lord Jesus – the one I’m following – your fun was dying on a cross? Do you really mean it's time for fun? It sounds so appealing...so desirable...but could it possibly be your voice I'm hearing? Fun is supposed to be what the weak long for - what the undisciplined accomplish, right?" And then I considered something…

When it seems I’m having the most fun is when I’m living with purpose. Whether I’m laughing-until-I-cry with family or friends, or if I'm praying with a friend while tears of sorrow are streaming down both of our faces - either could be defined as fun if fun's definition includes living a relational life of purpose.

And who in this world has ever had more relational purpose than Jesus? His death was incredibly painful – I can’t even imagine. But if having purpose brings fun, then has anyone ever had more fun than Jesus Christ?

So I’ve accepted the words from my Lord. I’m looking forward to a year of fun as I live out my purpose by His grace and through His strength.

God & Annie

After Abby and I wrote our tale (previous post) I started thinking about how there might be some similarities between our process, and the process God and I are going through in writing the story of my life.

So here’s how the process with Abby went:

- I initiated the process…supplied the computer, the blog – i.e. provided the tools.

- Some of me is in Abby. While Abby’s definitely her own individual (there’s no doubt, right?), she’s also got some of me in her as she’s my biological son’s, biological daughter. There’s some Annie blood running through her, if you will

- Abby and I both wanted to create a story. We were both excited and eager to bring something into being that wasn’t there before we created it.

- I asked her to get us started… What kind of a story should we write? How do you want to begin it?

- She thought a moment and then began. And what you couldn’t see if/when you read the post, was a sweet part of the process to me. She gave me one word at a time, because she is learning to read and wanted to see each word appear as I typed it on the screen. As she watched her words appear, she smiled – first at the computer, then up at me. My heart was brimming with love...

- Then, after she gave me a sentence or a few, she stopped talking, looked up at me and declared, “Your turn.” And this is how we continued, going back and forth with our story line.

- When the baton was passed to me, I paused, considered what Abby had put on the page, and began adding to the story. Now here’s where it got interesting... I both adored Abby’s creativity and found it somewhat challenging, because from my adult, inside-boxes perspective, I was hoping for an end result of a story I would somewhat understand and be proud of. Yet I desperately did not want to “take control,” knowing then it would be my story, and not our shared story, which is where the fun is.

- So what did I do? I lovingly accepted every word Abby gave me, only once or twice saying, “Do you mean X, instead of Y?” – to which she would nod enthusiastically, and say, “yes!” And then when it was my turn, I steered my pieces of the story toward something that I thought would bring the best end result, yet with no guarantees, because once I passed the baton back to Abby, who knew where it would go (which brought as much excitement as it did challenge)?

So how might Abby’s and my process be similar to the process of us writing our life stories with God? Doesn’t God start out by giving us life and some tools in this world? And to His believers, and Christ followers, we definitely have His Spirit within us, inherently making our story His story. And I do trust and imagine that He is delighted with us the way I was delighted with Abby. That He is eagerly waiting to see what we want to do with the story line and accepts our inputs lovingly, because clearly our goal is to write a good story together...

I don’t think I should worry as much as I do about the individual words, lines or paragraphs I give my Lord. Our all-knowing, all-powerful God has a remarkable way of weaving a glorious tale out of the pieces we eagerly offer Him.