Lost in Ecuador

The last few days I’ve been crying out to God for direction.  His Word and the Holy Spirit seem to be telling me what to do, but it’s one of my least favorite activities, especially in situations begging for a different response.  Well, this morning as I talked to my Heavenly Father about this and asked for clarity regarding my next steps, He brought to mind a story from a mission trip to Ecuador about a dozen or so years ago.

When my middle son was in high school, I was one of three leader chaperones on a church youth mission trip to Quito, Ecuador.  We were helping the locals mix mortar and stack bricks to put up walls of a church, just outside the city.  The story God brought to my mind this morning, however, took place on our day off.  The mission organization had arranged for a bus and driver to take us, and a partner group from Michigan, to the large, South American market in the village of Otavalo.

We parked on a side street and had a delightful couple of hours shopping in a place overflowing with beautiful sweaters, jewelry, pottery, and with people visiting from all over the world.  Our instructions were to return to the bus at a certain time for departure.  I noted the time, noted the place we were parked, and set off – alone – on my shopping adventure.

As I walked up and down the streets of the village lined with tables of beautiful wares, I kept track of where I was in relation to our bus.  As the final thirty minutes prior to departure approached, I ran into a couple from the Michigan group who asked my advice for getting back to the bus.  I correctly directed them, saying I was almost ready to head back myself.  And then I turned down one final street to visit one final table of sweaters…

On my journey back to the bus, I had been deliberately going down side streets only to the right, and this time, I selected a side street to the left.  So what I know now is: when I got back to the main street after this final excursion, and granted, now in a bit of a hurry, I headed in the opposite – wrong – direction from the bus, yet completely sure I was still on track.

Looking down every side street in the approximate area I knew the bus to be, from having counted the number of blocks I traveled down the main avenue, I saw a bus down every street…but not my bus.  It wasn’t long before all the streets, buses and people looked exactly alike.  I began to get nervous, but maintained an external calm.  We had no cell phones with us, so there was no one I could call.  Our bus had no name, nor did the street, so there were no facts to direct...  And almost everyone spoke only Spanish, so even if I could accurately describe my predicament, who would understand my English?

Time rolled on as I nervously paced up and down streets looking for my bus…  I became more frantic as I realized one hour had gone by, and I kept telling myself, “They won’t leave Otavalo without me.”  I had been praying for God’s help, and yet I continued to be lost.  The tears were being held back by less and less resolve, and a few started to well up as I approached despair.  Then I heard a little voice in my head say: Go to the middle of the street and just stand still.  They will find you.

I recognized this was a voice of wisdom, likely from God, so I followed it.  Surely by now they were looking for me; maybe this will help.  I stood in the middle of the street (full of pedestrians and only a very seldom vehicle) for about five seconds.  It seemed like five hours.  And then I instinctively began to walk...  But something inside me commanded me to go back – to just stand still.  Every bit of strength left in me was needed as I literally forced myself to stand in the middle of that foreign street.

Have you ever tried to stand in one place when you’re lost?  If panic is settling in, I will tell you it can take an act of God to do this.  Every cell in your being wants to move.  You desperately want to squirm out of your circumstance, determined to find your answer…your hope.  Standing still feels wrong.  It feels scary and vulnerable.  It feels defeating.

But it worked!  After no more than three minutes of standing still, I heard a voice from heaven, I mean from another mission trip leader (at that point, one and the same), yelling, “Ann!”  He was running down the middle of the street toward me.  I was never so happy to see anyone in my life.

When I asked him how he found me, he said, “I figured out you must have gotten turned around." (A super kind understatement...)  "I decided you were probably wandering the streets exactly diagonal from where we were.”  He was right: I was on the opposite side of the main street, on the opposite end of town.  And when I finally stood still, I was no longer a moving “target.”  I could be found.

So what is it that God is saying to me today?  I believe He’s saying, “Stand still, dear Annie.  Wait.  Your destiny will find you.”  Standing still is one of the most difficult things to do...

Walls are identified

So I’ve discovered what the walls are – the ones I’m “praying down.”  (And likely, the walls you encounter, as well?)  You see, one day I decided it might be good to identify what the walls in my life actually are.  What am I truly seeking to remove in Jesus’ name?  (It might even have been desirable to know this ahead of time...)  Granted, I had no doubt that I was running into barriers of some sort…into something keeping me from a “promised land.”  But I hadn’t actually figured out what the walls were; I just felt confident they existed.

Well, now I know.  The walls are fear - every single one of them.

And identifying these walls has helped me recognize them more quickly, so that I can take appropriate action.  Now when a wall is detected, I command a “no fear” response in myself, enlisting the name of Jesus for the power to knock it down.  And do you know what has been happening almost every time?  The momentum turns.  Whatever “enemy” may have been cowering behind the wall either runs for cover or is caught in the light of truth.  Peace and strength move forward in Jesus’ name and for God’s glory.

I can tell God is using this particular truth in my life.  A wave of God’s unstoppable mercy, grace and power is being unleashed…  The walls of fear are crumbling.

Jericho prayer walks

Lately I’ve been involved in some warfare of the spiritual kind.  I feel like I don’t often know who my "enemies" are, yet I do know there’s an unseen world where battles for hearts are raging.  If I want my life story to count for the Lord’s glory, then I cannot shrink from battle.

So one tactic a friend and I have been using this spring and summer was inspired by the Biblical story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho…  My friend and I have been practicing what we call: Jericho prayer walks.

Whenever we can – usually once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less – she and I march around our "walls" and pray them down in Jesus’ name.  Now if you’re not a follower of Christ, this may seem odd to you; I understand, and assure you we’re really not weird. J  And if you are a follower of Christ, it may also seem a bit extreme to you, but I don’t think it should…  Because let me tell you: there are "walls," there are "enemies" behind them, and there is victory for all who believe and “march” and pray in faith in Jesus’ name!  We’ve experienced this...

So what does a Jericho prayer walk – our version – look like?  Well, I live a mile from downtown, so my friend comes to my house and we walk the mile downtown.  First, we chat and catch up on our lives and what the Lord’s been doing.  Usually that’s the first half-mile or so…  Then we take turns praying, inviting the Spirit of Jesus to guide our prayers.  Well, before we know it we’re downtown, where we have coffee or an iced tea at the local coffee shop, sometimes with food, and continue our catching up as friends.  And then we start the walk home – usually a mile full of praise and requests and heart “battle cries,” if you will.

By the time we get back to my house we’re so full of God’s peace and presence that I think we are both glowing.  A sweat enhanced glow, perhaps...

Okay, so the bottom line that I believe is intended for anyone who reads this is: do you have faith in the one true God?  And if you do: do you take Him at His Word?  You might want to consider gathering with a fellow follower of Christ, and pray down some walls in your individual lives.  You never know, until you try something like this in faith, what it might please Him to do.

And, for the record, these walks are not about our faithfulness (mine is flawed) - or about the glory of this particular tactic.  They are about the glory of our Heavenly Father, and the power we have through Jesus Christ and His Spirit working in us.  They are about His faithfulness and His desire to be in a relationship with us.  They are about His working beyond what we could even ask or think...  Praise Him!

God and enemies

This week God is showing me something new about enemies.  First, He gets to decide who they are; and second, He chooses to bring Himself glory through them.

There have been, and continue to be, times in my life when I simply can’t believe that someone, or some organization, is treating me a certain way.  Yet very rarely do I think to myself, “Well, I guess that person/organization is my enemy.”  More often I will think, “What more could I be doing to get that person/organization to like me?”  Or: “How could I facilitate this situation with them in such a way that will bring about a reasonable and palatable result for both of us?  There must be something God will help me do to turn this nasty thing around.  Or perhaps my prayers are not yet adequate for this difficult situation?”

This thinking comes from a place of believing that God can work anything out for good.  Yet, it also can come from an arrogant (sinful) place of thinking I also know how He should do it.  You see, my way doesn’t require evil to be crushed; it requires evil to be changed into good.  It's the feel-good ending where everyone wins, and no one or thing needs to be defeated.  (It certainly doesn't require a cross, or my Savior's agony and pain on that cross...)

This week, I’m seeing this as defective thinking on my part.  It became clear to me when I read in Exodus 14, in two different places, that God was the one who was planning to harden Pharaoh’s heart - not Pharaoh himself.  And this would cause Pharaoh (and his army) to chase after Moses and the Israelites.  Now if I had been Moses, I would have been inclined to think my prayerful, carefully executed discussion with Pharaoh had failed when Pharaoh's heart became hard.  That I had not said enough of the right thing in an effective enough way…or that maybe I didn’t pray enough before I requested that Pharaoh once and for all let me and my people go.  Wouldn't God surely want Pharaoh to become a believer and send the Israelites out with a prayer service that the reformed king would lead?

Until now, I had never really let this truth sink into my mind and heart:  God wanted Pharaoh’s heart to be hard; he wanted him to chase after the Israelites and scare them half to death.  And why?  To display His glory and show people that He’s the Lord!

“I have planned this to display my great glory through Pharaoh and his whole army.  After this the Egyptians will know that I am the Lord!”  (Ex. 14:4 NLT)

God, being God, gets to pick His enemies (which, as His children, become our enemies, and vice versa) and He chooses to harden their hearts, even when it might make things very difficult for us for awhile.  But then, oh then - He stops them cold, and in doing so, displays His great glory.

Our tactics may seem more reasonable to us, and we are called to be peacemakers in this world, so I don’t even think our collaboration efforts are usually misguided, and often He works through them to bring resolution.  I’ve just come to realize that I need to acknowledge, respect and praise Him for His right to declare and defeat my enemies in His way – for His great glory...and who doubts - for the benefit of His grateful daughter.

Faith's unchanging dad

This Friday will be the ninth anniversary of the day my dad, Harold Revne, passed to the other side of eternity; so it seems like a really appropriate week for this guest post about a special dad, from one of my BFFs: Faith Tasker. She and I have been great friends since we were two years old. She spoke this tribute about her dad on Father’s Day, in the church he served as pastor of, for many years. It’s more than just stories about her earthly father, however...

(Oh, and yes, the Ann in the story is Yours Truly. And I still don’t like to touch frogs!)

My Dad’s name is David Peterson. Dad was a Wesleyan Pastor for 50 years in the Wisconsin District including over 21 years as pastor of this church (Wesleyan Church in Spooner, WI), and he was “Dad” to three kids: two boys and one girl. It’s a difficult task to select the stories to share with you, as there are so many throughout a lifetime, but I think of a time when I was 12 or 13 years old.

My parents used to let me practice driving in the church parking lot and I would practice pulling into all the stalls between the lines. When I was done one day I headed over to the parsonage to watch Hogan’s Heroes and later Dad came over from his office at the church. Very calmly, without raising his voice he said, “Faith, you need to remember to put the car in park when you get out.” In those days you could turn a car off and take the keys out without putting it in park. The car had rolled across the parking lot, ran into the cement bumper at the edge, pushed the bumper OFF the lot and then amazingly stopped just before going all the way over the steep drop off into the gully below. Dad was consummately patient with me. A trait of the Heavenly Father.

Earlier, when I was 10 or 11, my best friend, Ann, had come to visit me from Eau Claire for a week. The County Fair was there at that time and we wanted to earn some extra money to spend on rides. We got the brilliant idea that if we could catch frogs, there would be lots of people who would love to buy them to use for fishing bait. Of course we were afraid to touch frogs, so we enlisted Dad to catch them all. We ventured down into the swamp right behind the church. Dad got down on his knee in his overalls in that swamp and had an amazing way of moving his hand in circles: getting smaller and smaller to mesmerize the frog, and then he would grab it and put it in our bucket.

We painted a sign that said “FROGS FOR SALE” and stuck it in the ground right next to Hwy 70 and stood waiting for the masses to appear in dire need of frogs. To our surprise, no one stopped. Finally my oldest brother’s best friend and wife showed up and gladly bought all our frogs. We couldn’t believe our luck! Only years later did I learn that my dad had asked John to buy the frogs and even gave him the money to do so! Just as our Father in Heaven, Dad longed to fulfill my dreams and bring delight and pleasure to my heart.

Many years later, came a time that I was willful and made some bad decisions. The kind of decisions that affect you for the rest of your life… I broke my parent’s hearts and the heart of God. I know this was so difficult for Dad, but I remember what he said to me. He assured me of his love forever, and said that although this path was not the perfect will of God – “Plan A” if you will – there was now “Plan B” and God was not done with my life and would not throw me away because I had done wrong. God still had a purpose for me and could do great things in and through me. Dad did not give me the judgment and punishment I deserved, but rather showed me unconditional love, just like God does.

Dad steadfastly extended patience to me. He did his best to fulfill dreams, hopes and desires in all his children. And he showed mercy and love in the face of great disappointment. Put all of these traits together in the consistent way that Dad lived, and I would say the one that most reminds me of God is that Dad was unchanging.

James 1:17 (ESV) says: “Every good gift and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”

When I reach heaven I want to see my Savior, Jesus, first of all, but then I want to run to find my earthly dad. Love you, Dad! --Faith

Thank you, Faith, for your friendship, and for sharing these fun, and inspiring, memories of your dear dad.

I'm a witness

It seems incredibly close-minded, even arrogant, to believe that there is truth and that I know what it is. People – and I’m one of those people – get furious with such philosophical arrogance, and can hardly believe that individuals dare to speak of their own opinionated knowledge so highly. Yet, when it comes to knowing and believing in one true God, I willingly take such a stand, myself. And not because I think I’m so great (I really don’t), but because of who I am through Jesus.

Honestly, this has not been easy for me to reconcile... As I said, on the one hand, I am a person who quite easily disrespects people who take these very “I know the truth, and the truth is what I believe” stances. These stands are often of a political nature, and usually polarize. I much prefer collaboration, often believing the most workable – and long-term, the most palatable – answer is somewhere in the middle. (And not that one should alter what they believe is the absolute best, but one should be willing to work toward reasonable compromises, recognizing there are respectful views, and people, on most sides of most issues.)

Yet, if you asked me if there is one true God and not “many gods, all of whom are likely worthy belief choices” I would answer, “No, I believe there is one, true God, and this is the God I know and trust.” Now, granted, I would say it kindly, not at all disrespecting another’s free choice to disagree, and to worship any god she or he chooses. Nevertheless, I believe I have the truth in this matter, and with good reason…

What I call my “good reason,” others may say is “completely circumstantial.” And, in a way, they would be absolutely right. Yet, that’s exactly what I implore is good reason to investigate my God as the true God: the circumstance of who He is and what He has done in my life. His influence in me cannot be denied, or argued with, if you get to know me, and see what that influence has been.

Should we not compare gods by the lives of their true believers? Not by simply looking at those who attend services, or visit temples or go through rituals, but the actual lives – before and after – of those who place their trust in these gods. Not, “Are they perfect?” (Who is?) But, “What comes out of their hearts?” And, “Is the power of their God’s spirit in their daily lives?”

I’m a witness to the truth that it is possible to have a current, active relationship with God, through Jesus Christ. And that witness, flawed and imperfect as it is, is still a powerful reason to believe. This not because of who I am...or what I have done...because frankly, on my own – without His Spirit working in me – my life takes a disgusting turn. But when I allow Him to reign in me, He does, and my life becomes a convincing witness of the reason to believe.

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...