Five Minute Friday ~ ...and the bearers stood still

Soon afterward he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a great crowd went with him. As he drew near to the gate of the town, behold, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow, and a considerable crowd from the town was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came up and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, arise.” And the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized them all, and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has arisen among us!” and “God has visited his people!” And this report about him spread through the whole of Judea and all the surrounding country. (from Luke 7)

I've always thought of her as the Widow of Nain.

There are a lot of nameless widows in the Bible - at least that is my general impression. To tell the truth though, I've never taken the time to work my way through the Bible and actually make a thorough count.

This Bible miracle story (there are a lot of those as well... a lot more than I can count) that stands out to me. I'm not particularly sure why except that I immediately feel for a poor woman who has lost her husband and now her only son. In the past, I've always focused on the widow... the woman... as I've read this story. And Jesus.

But today, as my eyes skips across familiar words, one particular phrase literally leaps off the page:  "...and the bearers stood still." That's happened a few times before. One time, in particular, was as I was studying Jesus' miracle at the wedding in Cana. There was something about one phrase, "but the servants knew," that captured my mind, my heart, my soul - and didn't let go until God communicated a message I needed to hear, take to heart and then apply in my life.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I'm learning to still myself ...and listen ...and hear. When a phrase pops off the very pages God has inspired and preserved, it is always worth it to take the time to prayerfully consider, study, meditate... to literally breathe those words He breathed into others... at least for a time.

Resurrection of the Widow's son from Nain, altar panel by Lucas Cranach the Younger, c. 1569, in the Stadtkirche Wittenberg.

Jesus is heading into the city at the same time a funeral procession is leaving. What would that procession have looked like? Sounded like? Smelled like? Felt like? According to the Jewish Encyclopedia, the women walked before the bier, or funeral bed. Traditionally, it's said that that was because Eve invited death into this world. In reality, it probably had more to do with the women weeping and/or chanting a mournful dirge as they led the procession. Next in line would be the "kattafim," or shoulderers, who carried the bier. Friends and relatives would then follow the body-laden litter held high - and any stranger who saw the procession typically joined in, and this joining in was expected, for it showed respect and honor to the deceased and to those bereft by the death.

Just who were those bearers? 

Well, they were the ones carrying the bier, and there were likely several sets of them, all typically walking barefoot, all taking turns. They would change places frequently, thus allowing many the opportunity to honor the one who had died as well as to share the burden among many. Those bearers might be family members. But they might also be others who wanted to encourage the family... or others who desired to tangibly demonstrate the value they placed on the dead person, his family, his life, his contribution to their own life - anyone who wanted to announce his appreciation for one whose earthly life was now ended.

Here's how I picture these events, in my mind.

Jesus' group approaches the city, a large number of people celebrating miracles Jesus has done, recent teaching and truth He has shared. Maybe they are asking questions of the Lord. Most of them are, quite possibly, so involved in their own conversations and ruminations of earlier things ...their own albeit good, worlds... they do not take note of the very large funeral procession crossing the perimeter of the city and heading their way. 

Jesus, however, takes note.

He walks into the first group in this procession: the women. There, He sees the widowed, grieving mother? He speaks to her. Did He walk right up to her and say something softly? Did He speak with a commanding voice that pierced right through the weeping and wailing of the women? Did He breathe audible words of assurance deep into her heart? Any of those could be possible, but I tend to believe it was the first, and in that case, I would guess that the bearers did not hear Him address her. The other women continuing their sorrowful song and weeping would have droned much louder than His gentle command. We aren't told the widow's first moment response to Jesus' directive. We are only given what Jesus does next.

Jesus continues deeper into the procession moving right up to the bier, the dead (and profaned) body and the bearers. Jesus touches the bier. Most commentators I've read do not believe this touch was a touch of healing. Rather, it was a touch of communication, telling the bearers to stop. The bearers stopped because He touched that which they were bearing. I'm guessing that their stopping... their stilling... their standing without removing the bier from their shoulders where it rested... prompted a similar reaction from the rest of the funeral procession. Others would have looked to see what had happened, to determine why. As all eyes turned toward the bearers bearing the body on a bier from their downward glances of sorrow, pity and pain - they would have seen that Jesus said something to the dead young man... who promptly sat up and began to talk.

As I've read these words describing this miraculous event several times over the past two days, I keep thinking about those burdens I'm bearing, some of which I'd love to be carrying out of town to entomb or to bury in a deep place. They may be  burdens that are deeply personal to me... or ones that I'm willingly trying to help carry for someone I love. But still, that's my trajectory, and when I'm on a "mission," I can easily miss the quiet touch of Jesus telling me to stop, to still. 

I noted that Jesus didn't say anything to the bearers - not a word to still them, no command telling them to lower the bier off their shoulders. So let's say I do catch on to Jesus' quiet indication to cease moving. Sometimes, I'll want to jump right ahead of him and toss some proverbial burdensome monkey off my back and hope He'll catch it. If I was one of those bearers, that bier would have immediately dropped low to the ground. But if I toss off my burden, then all people see is me tossing that burden. If I allow Jesus to speak, then others can see Jesus taking that burden... taking something which seemed dead weight and bringing it back to life. 

And He's the One getting the glory.

I ask myself today, "Is Jesus stilling me with a quiet touch to the litter of some burden I'm carrying?

How about you?

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A much longer than 5 minute write that just sort of exploded out of 

today's Five Minute Friday prompt.

Head on over to Kate's, if you want to join us.

“You don’t have to find out you’re dying to start living…” ~ Zach Sobiech

There are a probably as many ways to say goodbye as there are people actually bidding those farewells. It's an experience that is as universal as death. Death... the ultimate goodbye.

Fly a Little Higher, by Laura Sobiech chronicles the story of her son, Zach, and their family, after receiving the news that Zach has osteosarcoma. At first, hopes are high that Zach, with the help of his doctors and the support of his family and friends, will beat the disease. Cure rates tend to hover around 70%. But when the disease came back, first attacking his lungs and then spreading from his hip (the original site) to his pelvis, Zach and his family confronted the reality that in the remaining six to 12 months God had gifted them, they needed to live in the moment, for the moment, intentionally, doing things that really counted... particularly investing in people by using the talents God had given them to bring hope, courage and healing to others. And according to his mother, Zach really is the one who leads this crusade.

He is challenged by his mother to write letters, saying goodbye to those who love him... to those who he loved. Only instead of letters, Zach wrote songs. That's why our family knows about him. My kids and teens are among the millions who've listened to his most well-known song, Clouds. My children weren't saying goodbye to a dying friend - but when this song began making internet waves, it certainly spoke to their hearts as they were saying many permanent goodbyes to friends and precious people from our 15 years in W. Africa.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, reading with laughter and through tears. Zach's girlfriend, Amy, intrigued me. She seemed to be a wonderful young woman who loved Zach with her whole heart, as painful and costly as it was. I hope and pray my own girls would demonstrate this same sort of faithful friendship, love and strength.

Zach's raw lyrics that capture the frustration, fear and and sad brokenness that overwhelms after receiving a terminal diagnosis; yet there's still a tender hopeful quality, a confidence of more to come exuding from the music itself that leaves the listener looking up and forward. 

Well I fell down, down, down

Into this dark and lonely hole

There was no one there to care about me anymore

And I needed a way to climb and grab a hold of the edge

You were sitting there holding a rope.

And we'll go up, up, up

But I'll fly a little higher

We'll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer

Up here my dear

It won't be long now, it won't be long now.

When I get back on land

Well I'll never get my chance

Be ready to live and it'll be ripped right out of my hands

Maybe someday we'll take a little ride

We'll go up, up, up and everything will be just fine.

And we'll go up, up, up

But I'll fly a little higher

We'll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer

Up here my dear.

It won't be long now, it won't be long now

If only I had a little bit more time

If only I had a little bit more time with you.

We could go up, up, up

And take that little ride

And sit there holding hands

And everything would be just right

And maybe someday I'll see you again

We'll float up in the clouds and we'll never see the end.

And we'll go up, up, up

But I'll fly a little higher

We'll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer

Up here my dear

It won't be long now, it won't be long now.

The song is certainly a beautiful legacy. 

The greater legacy, what is more remarkable, is how by dying well, Zach not only encouraged but taught so many to live today well.

This review was published as a part of Book Look Bloggers Review program. I received a free copy of this book in exchange for reviewing it. All opinions expressed are my own.

CW Ragle ~ March 20, 1923 - November 15, 2013

My grandfather is with Jesus. 

I'm so thankful we took the opportunity to visit him last summer and again last month (when my grandmother had surgery) since we've been back from Niger.

In fact, I'd planned to be driving down today to hopefully see him one more time.

But the Lord came to get him first.

I'm going to miss him... a lot...

After all, how many octogenarians learn how to use Yahoo Messenger and other bits and pieces of the internet just to keep tabs on their off-to-Africa-with-their-great-grandkids granddaughter?

Pop pop was one of our ever-faithful prayer warriors and ministry partners - even though the fact that we were "over there" worried and sometimes scared him. He always encouraged, had such a fun smile, loved people, had the best steal-able pj shirts ever... and that Nana-made quilt from his old carhartts, work clothes and hunting shirts will ever be one of my treasures.

Mom says he was so happy here... He was leaving the hospital, going home... 

and he knew he'd be headed for heaven soon as well.

But this is how I'll best remember him...

smiling and loving on Nana!

If you don't mind praying for Nana, I know she'd appreciate it.

I think this January would have been their 67th anniversary.

I can't even imagine.

31 days... of dinner chez les Wrightlings... Bacon, Eggs, Buttery Toast and Watermelon {day 7}

...cause it was a fast food night.

(Notice how I'm not mentioning that we'd been to a Baptist church potluck for lunch and none of us were really super hungry anyways?)

After lots of traveling last week (a couple of hours south of St. Louis and back... then to a meeting with a partner church and back on Sunday) and the beginning of a week of revival meetings at our home church this week, we were pretty wiped out Sunday night. When Tim volunteered to make bacon and eggs as well as slice up the huge watermelon left for us, I took him up on it. That was pretty much a no brainer.

While Tim was cooking, the girls had to clear their pet tanks off the table (left there to make it easier for Grandpa Gene to come in and feed the critters while we were gone). There were two betta fish (still doing well) and one preying mantis (recently deceased - but it is that time of the year... if you were a mantis).

Anna took her mantis out and buried him... marking the tiny garden grave with a leaf. Thankfully, she wasn't as devastated by his demise as some of the other unfortunates we've had in the past. And her betta inherited the larger mantis aquarium... now Nadia is lobbying heavily to buy herself a betta as well!

While this drama was taking place, our favorite short-order cook was busily taking requests and cooking as requested. Each one was called as his/her order was ready - and tried to find a place along the edge of the table while our mini zoo was being returned to its proper location. Sadly, the watermelon was on the old side and most of the moisture was already gone. We ate some... but it was disappointing when it looked so yummy from the outside.

Dinner was a hurried affair last night... so that we could get back to homework, showers, and sending tired ones off to bed in preparation for a very, very, very busy week!

PREVIOUS POSTS

Squirrel Soup {day 1}

Chimichangas {day 2}

in which I start conniving... {day 3}

in which I have absolutely NO IDEA... {day 4}

when the Taco Bell cooks decide... {day 5}

 Cheese Quesadillas... {day 6}

Challenging thoughts (from another blogger) about Uzzah

"Uzzah’s fatal mistake was thinking that his hands were less filthy than the mud on the ground. What is mud but dirt and water doing the will of God? Mud has never sinned; it has never disobeyed God or hated God or tried to raise itself up in the place of God. Mud has never committed adultery or hated anyone or taken God’s name in vain. But Uzzah was a sinner in rebellion against his Maker. His hands were filthy because his heart was filthy with sin. And when his sinful hands touched that holy ark, God responded with just wrath."

To read the rest of this blog post, "The Just Wrath of a Holy God," click on over to Challies.com, Informing the Reforming.

And... just wondering...

Do any of you find this post as powerful as I do?

A Link I Think You'll Find Worth the Time it Takes to Read...

A Grief Interruption

Go ahead. Head on over to read it.
You really won't even need to come back here after you do.

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I've only spoken with Deb, the author of this blog, a few times.

I appreciate her blog; she's a gifted writer and

she experiences a slice of Niger life that I really don't.

This particular story broke my heart - maybe because I have seen glimpses

of this sort of tragic slice...

Woman not able, not allowed, discouraged to express any emotion when they lose.
And they do lose.
Often.
Lots.

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...listening to Mamata talk about burying five of her eleven babies, before they turned 2 ~

...watching my friend Tina going through the pain of an abusive, broken marriage to lose legally what little say she did have in the lives of her beautiful children ~

...sitting with Issoufou's widow and little boy - she couldn't have been more than 18 ~

...seeing our guard Amadou lose his first baby boy just weeks ago; then today the body of his little brother was returned to the family. He was killed when the UN forces with whom he served were ambushed down along the Liberian/Ivory Coast border ~

...little Zeinabou, our neighbor girl, severly handicapped after her encounter with cerebral malaria and meningitis, yet her family choosing life for her ~

...Elsie Mae's friend from church, Salamatou - who has recently lost fingers due to infections from simple cuts and scrapes while living out in the village and no access to medical care. She's not lost her sweet smile and delight in hugs and holding hands ~

And that list could go on and on and on...

Life in Niger is hard, so desperately hard, for her people.

I'm spoiled.

We Americans are selfish and spoiled...

I've seen.

I've no excuse.

Yet as I look at the priorities in my heart,

I'm still pleading,

"Lord, open my eyes...

...and change the priorities of my heart."

The type of news we really never want to get...

My Uncle Carl died suddenly Saturday night.

This is a photo of him with his daughter, Gabrielle.

Please pray for my Aunt Donna and cousins, Gabrielle and Jared.

They've always been wonderful encouragers, prayers and partners with us in this ministry.

In fact, they were among the first to dive right in with us, head first.

We love him and we will miss Uncle Carl...

We love you too - Aunt Donna, Jared and Gabbie -

(and the rest of the family).

You are much in our thoughts and prayers.

Resurrection

"If a man dies, will he live again?

All the days of my hard service

I will wait for my renewal to come."

Job 14:14

Job... poses the ultimate question: "If a man dies, will he live again?" It is worth noting that the question is not "If a man dies, will he go to Heaven?" or "Will death turn out to be a doorway into something wonderful?" No, Job's question is a more unusual one than that, for it concerns whether or not a human being, once dead and doomed to Sheol, might possibly live again. What is remarkable in this approach (and that of the Bible as a whole) is that it neither sidesteps nor soft-pedals the harsh reality of death. Instead, making to attempt to belittle death's undoubted finality, Job looks its horror straight in the face. He accepts this dark destiny as his due and so becomes, like Jesus Himself, obedient to death" (Phil 2.8).

In the face of such absolute gloom Job's prophetic eye nevertheless discerns a quickening ray, in the form of the strange hypothesis that even those long dead in the grave might one day be brought back to life. It is important to grasp that this notion had no place whatsoever in the orthodox theological doctrine of Job's day. Later Old Testament writers, from David on, were to deliver startling prophecies of bodily resurrection (see, for example, Ps 16.10, Isa 26.19; Dan 12.2). But in the more primitive Biblical literature there is no such teaching. As commentator Norman Habel writes, "The resurrection terminology employed in Job's speech seems to reflect a popular tradition against which standard Israelite teaching was directed" (italics added). To the ears of Job's friends, in other words, all his fine eschatological conjectures would have been heresy, and Eliphaz says as much in his ensuing rebuttal (see Chapter 15).

There is a funny thing about heresy, however, which is that in the odd case where the heretic turns out to be right, he is no longer a heretic but a prophet. And Job's solution to the intolerable question mark of death just happens to be God's own solution, as proclaimed by Jesus in John 5.25: "I tell you the truth, a time is coming and has now come where the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God and those who hear will live." With what heartrending tenderness Job pictures the enactment o this very event when he predicts, "You will call and I will answer You; You will long for the creature Your hands have made" (14.15). Moreover, he declares that however long it might take, "I will wait for my renewal to come" (v. 14). Surely Job's attitude is the very epitome of New Testament faith, as Christians too "wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved" (Rom 8.23-24). Having posed the question, "If a man dies, will he live again?" Job places so much weight on an affirmative answer that he as much as states with Paul, "If the dead are not raised... your faith is futile, you are still in your sins" (1 Cor 15.16-17).

In the light of all this Job must certainly be seen as a very early (and perhaps the earliest) Christian prophet of the resurrection. In Chapter 14, his thinking on this subject is still groping and tentative. But in subsequent speeches, as he continues to probe the open wound of death, his statements row increasingly bold to the point where in 19.25-26 he will attain to the great climactic confession "I know that my Redeemer lives... And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God." Surely this is the essential Christian hope and promise, so much so that the earthly life of the Christian may be said to consist in practicing for this moment of resurrection: "Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you" (Eph 5.14). Other religions may be quite happy to let the old body rot in the ground, so long as the soul journeys onward or is reincarnated. But to the Christian this is a horrifying evasion of reality -- as it is to all those who have grappled hard and honestly with this issue (including, oddly enough, many a pagan culture like that of the ancient Egyptians, who could not conceive of the hereafter except in bodily terms, and so loaded their tombs with hordes of worldly effects). In the final analysis it is not so much the salvation of our souls that we human creatures are primarily concerned about, as the salvaging of our poor, dear, bedraggled hides. For we do not just have bodies -- we are bodies. And so what we really long for is not to become pure disembodied souls, but rather to have our souls harmoniously reunited with our bodies in order that our bodies can work the way they are meant to without ever wearing out. And lo! -- this very dream turns out to be exactly what our Savior Jesus Christ has for us up His amazing sleeve.

(from pp 163-164, The Gospel According to Job, by Mike Mason)

"Aching visionaries"

“ 'Blessed are those who mourn.'

What can it mean?

One can understand
why Jesus hails those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
why he hails the merciful,
why he hails the pure in heart,
why he hails the peacemakers,
why he hails those who endure under persecution.

These are qualities of character which belong to the life of the kingdom.

But why does he hail the mourners of the world? Why cheer tears?

It must be that mourning is also a quality of character that belongs to the life of his realm. Who then are the mourners? The mourners are those who have caught a glimpse of God’s new day, who ache with all their being for that day’s coming, and who break out into tears when confronted with its absence.

…The mourners are aching visionaries."

from Nicholas Wolterstorff’s Lament for a Son:

17 or 18, years old, maybe?

Actually, young enough to be my daughter...

And?

She is

an orphan,

a widow

with a 2 year old son;

no one in her family knows Jesus ~

the only one who can give eternal hope.

Can you imagine?

Anyone else have a hard time wrapping their mind around that one?

I do... I am... I am giving up trying...

because I can't.

And I want to fix it, but I can't.

Someone said something to me the other day about God giving us God-sized tasks so that we commence, continue and complete His works entirely dependent upon Him.

I can't even speak enough of her heart language to share His message of hope with her.

Tim and I went to sit with Issoufou's widow for a bit a few days after he died. It is a cultural thing. Thankfully, you aren't really expected to talk much - what can you say? Except "Fonda tilas..." I also usually ask if I can pray for them. We asked about the baby's age. And then about his health (Issoufou had been to our home less that a week before he died, looking for medications to treat the baby's high fever.) We found out that she had lived all of her life in our neighborhood, but would be moving that night to her big sister's home. And then we just sat together for several silent minutes, smiling and sorrowing, before finally getting up to leave. On our way out, we asked Issoufou's mother if they'd like a copy of this photo one of several we have of Issoufou - to someday show little Ismael who his daddy was. They seemed delighted and genuinely thankful. 

Is the attitude one of gentle acceptance or fatalism? I don't know?

I'm praying a new prayer...

In the past, I've easily resented it when people only show up at our doorstep because they want something... they never stop in just to say hi and ask about the family... there is always motive - usually a need they want us to meet: money... medicines... more... of something. I resent it because I hate feeling used.

But isn't that part of my prayer: "Lord, use me!" My fickleness so blatantly pointed out! So I'm confessing and asking forgiveness. I'm praying for God to fashion kind consistency out of that ficklenss. I'm praying this time that need - and in her position, she has so many needs - pushes her to seek us for help, freely and joyfully given, all the while pointing her towards the One and Only - because it could open the door to continued relationship, and the Lord has placed this young woman, widow, mother, on my heart.

I'm praying that new prayer... several times a day... every time I think of sitting in that hot, dark little hut with her for those 20 or 30 minutes...

Will you pray with me?

Pray that God reveals to her the message of today... that the tomb is empty... that the price has been paid and sins can be forgiven... that Jesus is risen...

He is risen, indeed!

Withering Grass... Fading Flowers...

Life is short.

Very short.

We were drastically reminded of that yesterday when we found out that Issoufou, our friend, a former family employee and most recently working for the mission as a guard, had died suddenly in the night, maybe of complications due to meningitis. He leaves behind a young wife and baby.

A young man... a loving family... strong... as our kids like to say, "very buff..." friendly and well-liked by many, many people... capable... with a hodgepodge of skills in several areas... a decent job with a reliable and steady source of income... a decent home... connections with people who might have been able to help him...

But no guarantee that any of that would ensure another day...

He didn't know Jesus...

(Click here to read more.)

Multitude Monday - 1000 Gifts: Phenomenal Family, Friends and Heavenly Father

"Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future."
~Gail Lumet Buckley

This last week has been a hard week that has just gone on and on... The Lord decided it was time for Tim's precious mama, our kids' grandma, a dear woman who was so much more than just a mother-in-law - I truly consider her godly example, mentor and a wonderful friend - to celebrate this Christmas with Him in heaven.

We do rejoice for her,  but our hearts ache for us: we will miss her... we were, in fact, already missing her...

We aren't the first missionaries who've walked this road: losing a loved one while far from home and not able to return for the funeral or memorial service. I'm quite sure we aren't even the only ones for whom God has ordained this path this Christmas season. As we watched her health deteriorate from afar, as Tim made the trip home to spend a few weeks with his parents just last month, we had to contemplate this possiblity. A fellow missionary friend told me how valuable it is, if you an make the trip home to be with your family during those initial days of grieving... maybe because I knew it wasn't possible for us, I somewhat dismissed her comments and figured we'd be okay... we'd figure it out.. or something...

Now that this time is upon us, I understand the wisdom of those words. For our extended family, grieving together back home - they have the privilege of being together, of stepping outside their normal routine to take that time to grieve, to remember, to laugh and cry, to share hugs. It is much harder to do that here - people don't as easily understand why you aren't fulfilling obligations if you haven't left to attend the funeral; it is hard to feel a part of what we want (even need) so badly to be a part of when there is an ocean and several time zones between us. It is hard to find time in busy routines to be still, remember, mourn and celebrate the life of an amazing woman when there is no gathering of family and friends, no one coming to pay their respects, no funeral, no special meals. We know it is real... yet it all feels so surreal...

And then a still, small voice deep within reminded me that my Lord and my God does know all about this... He's walked this road in a much deeper, more intense sense. God sent Jesus... His perfect missionary... to this world. Christ became sin for us and then died, a profound separation for those who'd always enjoyed perfect unity. They sorrowed alone, apart from the one they loved most.

It isn't that bad for us. We do have each other. We have a beautiful famiy who's loved and prayed for us from afar. We have amazing folks here who've loved us. We also have this privilege of knowing that God has allowed us to glimpse, to know just a little bit, the loneliness of sorrwoing apart, a path He chose to know for our sakes ~

#662 lots of pictures and treasured memories

#663 one of those images, forever etched on my heart: shortly before we left the States, we tried to go see the local team play baseball... the game ended up being rained out. And we had so much fun. As the kids and their friends ran like wild ones all over the grass waiting for the game to be called, Grandma and Grandpa sat snuggled together under a tarp and umbrellas, watching, laughing and enjoying. We called it the night we had more fun because the game was rained out... and I'm so thankful that is such a vivid picture of Mom and Dad together...

#664 the example of a dad who loved so very well, taking such good care of Mom, watching over her and protecting her the very best he could

#665 big brothers

#666 good advice

#667 tears shed by strong men

#668 realizing once again just what a beautiful young woman she's become and why we wanted our little one to share her name

#669 the sound of a Menonite choir

#670 the knowledge that death has been swallowed up in victory, and that its sting, while sharp, is only temporary

#671 the promise of a future and a hope

#672 film projections where many experience the story of Jesus and His message for the first time in their heart language

#673 Christmas Eve Sunday School programs and remembering the miracle of His incarnation

#674 Christmas morning praise and worship, followed by potluck and fellowship

#675 Reconfirmation from heaven that even though we aren't necessarily physically where we wish we were, God has placed us here and we are part of His plan to reach this land with His Gospel.

Finding her faithful and in that, Finding HIM Faithful

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted." (from Heb 12)

I've recently discovered I. Lilias Trotter, a godly example of a woman after God's heart who served as a missionary to Algeria, North Africa. God gifted her as an artist, in the ability to craft words, and with a heart desiring to love and minister to people. The following is from her book, Parables from the Cross:

Death to Lawful Things is the Way Out into a Life of Surrender

"Look at this buttercup as it begins to learn its new lesson. The little hands of the calyx clasp tightly in the bud, round the beautiful petals; in the young flower their grasp grows more elastic-loosening somewhat in the daytime, but keeping the power of contracting, able to close in again during a rainstorm, or when night comes on. But see the central flower, which has reached its maturity. The calyx hands have unclasped utterly now - they have folded themselves back, past all power of closing again upon the petals, leaving the golden crown free to float away when God's time comes.

Have we learned the buttercup's lesson yet? Are our hands off the very blossom of our life? Are all things -- even the treasures that He has sanctified -- held loosely, ready to be parted with, without struggle, when He asks for them?

It is not in the partial relaxing of grasp, with power to take back again, that this fresh victory of death is won: it is won when that very power of taking back is yeilded; when our hands, like the little calyx hands of God's buttercups, are not only taken off, but folded behind our back in utter abandonment. Death means a loosened grasp -- loosened beyone all power of grasping again.

And it is no strange thing that happens to us, if God takes us at our word, and strips us for a while of all that made life beautiful. It may be outward things -- bodily comfort, leisure, culture, repuation, friendships -- that have to drift away as our hands refuse to clasp on anything but God's will for us. Or it may be on our inner life that the stripping falls, and we have to leave the sunny lands of spiritual enjoyment for one after another of temptations's battlefields, where every inch of our foothold has to be tested, where even, it may seem to give way -- till no experience, no resting-place remains to us in haven or earth but God Himself -- till we are "wrecked upon God."

Have faith, like the flowers, to let the old things go. Earn His beatitude, His "Blessed is he, whoseoever shall not be offended in Me" - "the beatitude of the trusting," as it has been called -- even when you have to earn it like John the Baptist in an hour of desolation. You have told Him that you want Him only. Are you ready to ratify the words when His emptying begins to come? Is God enough? Is it still "My God" that you cry, even as Jesus cried when nothing else was left Him?

Yes, practical death with Him to lawful things is just letting go, even as He on the Cross let go all but God It is not to be reached by struggling for it, but simply by yielding as the body yields at last to the physical death that lays hold on it -- as the dying calyx yields to its flower. Only to no iron law with its merciless grasp do we let ourselves go, but into the hands of the Father: it is there that our spirit falls, as we are made conformable unto the death of Jesus....

For here again death is the gate of life: it is an entering in, not a going forth only; it means a liberating of new powers as the former treasures float away like the dying petals..."

One of my plans over the Christmas holiday is to read her biography...

and to find out more about this very interesting and gifted lady!