Faithful are the wounds of a friend...

I had someone use that phrase when speaking with me the other day.

My first thought?

In the middle of a difficult conversation, throwing a Bible verse at someone is playing dirty - because how in the world can you argue with God's inspired words, especially when your whole life has been built around trying to integrate it's truth into every aspect of your life?

So due to the context, the comment was not at all appreciated.

And as a parent... as well as one who works in a Christian school with children who misbehave,...a lot... that is something I need to remember.

I also trust God that "criticism," whether offered 

contructively out of love 

or 

vengefully with a desire to hurt in retaliation, 

gives the Spirit of God opportunity to hold up a mirror where I can look long and hard to see if the criticism, or at least certain aspects, was merited.

So I'm sitting with these words for a bit, even though it also means cutting the wound a little deeper.

Interpreting and applying a proverb

According to the Bible Project, in one of their videos about the book of Proverbs: "... the purpose of this book is to help you develop a set of practical skills for living well in God's world and this gets linked with another key idea...; the fear of the Lord. Now fear here is not about terror. It's about a healthy sense of reverence and awe for God and about my place in the universe. It's a moral mindset that recognizes that I am not God and that I don't get to make up my own definitions of good and evil, of right and wrong. Rather I need to humble myself before God and embrace God's definition of right and wrong, even when that's inconvenient for me." (beginning at 1:44 in the video)

A quick search reveals all sorts of strategies for studying this book of short, pithy sayings. However, since the distinguishing fact of a proverb is its succintness, there are also a few cautions to keep in mind. Thus a proverb should generally not be considered an absolute truth or promise. Additionally, because some proverbs describe the reality of life in a fallen world, description or inclusion is not the same as a comprehensive rubber stamp.

In other words, the wounds of a friend are generally faithful, but do not assume that is always the case... unless, of course, the friend in question is God. 

Rereading the beginning verses of Proverbs 27 today, the image that keeps coming to mind is from last year's Easter program:

Adam and Eve choosing the kisses of the serpent instead of heeding the words of God. 

I wonder if, in their minds, those words seemed hard, restrictive and unfair, even though they had come from a friend - their God who walked and talked with them, from the beginning, in the garden? 

As a consequence, God then pronounced words even more wounding, the curse of sin on all mankind. 

Thankfully, he then followed with words of promise, planting a seed of hope that blossomed into fullfillment with the empty tomb. 

From the beginning of time, the wounds of the only perfect friend prove faithful, while the kisses of the eternal enemy bring catastrophy. 

Voila ~  the truth on which this proverb is based.

However, no mere human  is a perfect friend.

Three key words: wounds... friend... faithful...

Wounds

In the original language, wound refers to a bruise, or what happens when a part of the body is injured and blood from the damaged capillaries (small blood vessels) leaks out. With no place to go, the blood gets trapped under the skin, forming a red or purplish mark that's tender when you touch it. It is the result of an act that crushes or batters.

Friend

Today, friend has all sorts of meanings, including those listed as designated connections on social media. Clearly, that is not what this proverb is getting at. 

Friend, in the original Hebrew language, refers to someone who loves or is loved. There really isn't a whole lot more detail. In fact, this particular Hebrew word used for love can refer to love in any or all of its possible manifestations. 

What several of the commentators I read said was that it was more telling to look at what love was not. In particular, love is the opposite of hate. 

Most dictionaries define hate as a very strong feeling of dislike; an intense hostility. The ancient Hebrew prioritizes a very different nuance. “Sane’ ” (saw-nay’), often translated as hate, is, in pictograph letters, “thorn seed.” According to Jeff Benner in The Ancient Hebrew Lexicon of the Bible "The thorn, (the seed of a plant with small sharp points) cause one to turn directions to avoid them.” In other words, not allowing love. Hate means putting up walls, a hedge of protection, to avoid pain. This image makes me think of the Michael Card song Why?

Only a friend can betray a friend

A stranger has nothing to gain

And only a friend comes close enough

To ever cause so much pain

Faithful

Pillars of support, stable, nourishing, established and sure...

Putting it all together ~ 

Sure and stable, supporting, nourishing and buttressing are those tender to the touch contusions that result from crushing and battering when inflicted by someone who loves you, sees you for who you are and is working for your very best. 

Photo credit : Unsplash by Robert Linder

So what's my conclusion?

Ouch!

Can I trust the "friend" who has recently wounded me? I really don't know. 

We humans are so fallible, so prone to wander, so likely to sin and seek vengeance, so arrogant and sure that our own way has the holy stamp of approval. Thus, that question is impossible for me to answer.

However, I can trust my divine friend. 

We often pray for deliverance from hard things - the things that cause us pain. God, however, is more interested in delivering us from our sinful selves than He is in stopping the pain of a wound becoming a tool of redemption in His faithful, capable hands. 

Another way

The phrase "soccer mom" generally refers to a married middle-class woman who lives in the suburbs and has school age children. She is sometimes portrayed in the media as busy or overburdened and driving a minivan or SUV. She is also portrayed as putting the interests of her family, and most importantly her children, ahead of her own The phrase derives from the literal, specific description of a mother who transports and watches her children play soccer. It was also used in names of organizations of mothers who raised money to support their children's soccer teams. The first reference to the phrase soccer mom in the US national media has been traced to 1982. In that year, the husband of the treasurer of the "Soccer Moms booster club" of Ludlow, Massachusetts, stole $3,150 raised for the benefit of a local soccer league. (from Wikipedia)

I don't remember the first time I heard the term "soccer mom," but I swore I'd never become one. I also swore I'd never drive a minivan or say, "Because I told you so!" to my kids. 

Yeah, well...

Then my son played soccer... softball... my daughters discovered that they liked volleyball and cheerleading (ugh... I still sigh over that one) and I tried to be present at as many of their sporting events as I could reasonably and feasibly attend.

Basketball has been the sport this school year. Five kids, five different teams. Some weeks, in between practices and games, it felt like all we did was basketball.

I loved it, even though it was exhausting.

Anna's basketball team played for the title in the final season tournament for their division. They played hard and won the bronze medal, second year in a row. Not bad for a team that never plays a home game (the gym at the school is not a full-sized gym) and only has access to that gym for one two hour practice per week.

However, their semifinal game broke my heart, and not just because they lost: 44 - 47.

They were playing a very good team, one with more resources, lots more opportunity to train, deeper bench and generally more skilled. However, our girls play with a lot of heart and had beaten this team in regular season play, in another nail biter of a game.

This game, however, there was a scoring/record keeping mistake. 

One of the gals on Anna's team drove for a lay-up, literally threading the needle to get to the basket, and scored. The electronic scoreboard showed the score immediately. But a few seconds later, the official scorekeepers took those two points away from Anna's team and then added them to the opposing team's total.

Friends, family, parents and other spectators cheering for Anna's team started immediately asking why. The ref went over to check the score sheets. Apparently, those two points had been marked... and tallied... in the wrong place and the ref left the score as it was: instead of 14 - 15 (leaving Anna's team one point behind), the score was now 12 - 17.

When one of the parents tried to insist, he was ejected from the game.

Is it possible that the other spectators present, all of those there and cheering for the other team, did not observe what happened? 

Yes, that is a possibility.

Is it believable that the other team's coach really didn't know what had just happened? 

Yeah... I guess, although I have a harder time swallowing that. In all honesty, however, I must add that I'm not naturally inclined to think the best of said coach as I was not impressed by the "coaching" demonstrated. 

Is it possible that our entire group of EVZone (Anna's team) supporters misunderstood and/or were mistaken and that the change was a just one? I guess - but I don't really think so. That's clearly some of my own bias showing.

The score remained 12 - 17. Our girls rallied, played hard, even had the lead a couple more times in the game - but in the end lost and ended up playing in the semifinals rather than the final game. 

I guess I don't know for sure. 

However, I hope that had the shoe been on the other foot, had a similar mistake been made that would have given Anna's team the advantage, that I would have chosen a different way. That I would have been the first to approach the refs and share my memory of what had happened.

For in my mind, herein is the real tragedy.

An opportunity was lost.

Once our kids get to that later high school/young adult stage, adults (parents included) must earn the right to continue to speak into their lives. Here, the adults present had an opportunity to teach a better, most excellent way - a way that sets personal desire and brief moments of glory aside, delighting instead in what is honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, true - and sometimes very difficult to do...  by denying self and choosing the other first.

I pray that the way my daughter saw modeled by her daddy and me, as we responded to what transpired at this game, fell into that better way category.

Because it is awful easy to get caught up in a soccer mom mentality, willing do whatever it takes to see my kid succeed.

Winning the battle.

But what do I risk losing when I choose the temporary and immediate satisfaction of a less excellent way?

The Illusion of Control

There was what some have labeled "a terrorist attack" in our town last night. One or two armed men went into a mosque at the end of evening prayers and started shooting. Six dead. Several more injured, some gravely.

I spent a nice chunk of time today listening to radio commentators discuss the event, listening to some of my Quebecois friends talk about the event, listening to my daughter explain how orchestra practice today was watching a movie because the teacher was stressed and distressed by the event. Each of these conversations was characterized by disbelief that such an event had happened here, and by a trepidation of what else might happen - of what such an attack signified for their future.

People here, at least for the next few days, will feel unsettled and as though life seems out of control. Distant events and tragedies that only happen in far away places on the news just happened down the hill. It isn't supposed to happen like that - and unless you live life like a roller coaster junkie, most don't like that feeling, especially when it touches things that are valued and precious, like life. When terrorism and violence strike close to home (i.e. less than 10 miles from my house), you get a healthy glimpse of what is reality for many in this world.

It makes people used to the insulation very uncomfortable, indignant and wondering if their world is careening out of control.

It is - if they are wondering about their ability to keep "life" under control.

One of the things I learned quickly after moving overseas was that most of the control that I thought I had was, in reality, nothing more than illusion.

The first time I felt terrorist activity hit close to home, the owner of a radio station where Tim had some of our weekly radio programs broadcast drove over a bomb buried in the sand, in town, in Niamey. He died. The next day we were warned when driving on unpaved roads to make sure you followed the clear tracks of a previous vehicle and to never drive through loose sand. At first it was scary. Then it became habit, one that I didn't even realize was so ingrained until we moved back to the States and I actually drove down a dirt road. I felt uneasy and didn't know why until I realized that it was because I couldn't follow any tracks - it had been too dry and the wind quickly did away with any tracks.

The next time, two expats were kidnapped from a restaurant, literally just down the street from our doctor's office and a few blocks distant from our organization's office.

Next, it was watching helicopters fly up the river, by and over our house, fighting terrorists who'd captured several cities in the northern part of Mali.

Then it was the admonition to take a different path to any regular place so that habits and patterns weren't obvious.

Or having soldiers search through the groceries in the back of the car because we lived within the security perimeter surrounding the US Embassy.

Or having our pastor call us and tell us to stay home from church because they feared expat presence might further draw attention to their worship service.

Or being told to shelter in place the day my parents were to arrive for a visit. There'd been a prison break, and no one knew for sure what was going on in town. My biggest fear was that we wouldn't be able to get to the airport to get my mom and dad.

Or reading that almost every church in the city had been burned and looted.

Or receiving a message from one friend still serving in Niamey that another friend from a sister organization had been kidnapped by terrorists.

The nature of these sorts of events is that usually, you don't know you are in danger until it is too late. There is no way to know. You are going about life, not engaging in any sort of risky behavior and then...

I don't fear terrorism. I despise it. My heart aches for those who've lost because of it, for those touched by it, for those who feel they have to resort to using it. I don't want such violence to touch me or those I know and love. I don't want it to touch anyone, anywhere. I think there are things we can do to be wise and to minimize danger. But apart from God's protection and His decision that He still has things on this earth for me to do, I don't think I can control if such an event happens to me or not. Not by where I choose to live. Not by who I choose to allow into my life. Not by who I choose to try and keep out of my country.

What I do fear is the potential influence that such events have on those around me, those who still live with this illusion that some formula or set of procedures will give them control and keep such an event from taking place in their town, or from harming them or someone they care about. Those aren't bad desires, but decisions and procedures and policies that develop out of a spirit of fear - that is the real power given to those who choose to manipulate by terror. "God has not given us a spirit of fear, but has given us His Spirit, who fills us with power, love and sound mind." (how one back translation of 2 Timothy 2.7 - my life verse - has been rendered, but I don't remember which one any more).

I fear the me-first, sensationalistic and materialistic world - and what my children are learning as they become adults in a society that worships self, fame, money, sex and power. I fear that even with diligence, it will creep into our worldviews, and? We. Won't. Even. Notice.

As I was talking with one of my girls about the events that transpired in Quebec City last night, and the reactions she saw at school today, she made an interesting observation: "Mama, we aren't like other religions. We don't need the government protecting us because we already have an all powerful Someone protecting us." We have God on our side.

I'm not in control. It isn't a comfortable feeling. And I don't want to imply that I've figured out the right course of action to take. But what I've been reading of late makes me very, very uncomfortable...

Not being in control isn't nearly as scary as wondering what consequences there will be if we allow fear to become the motivating factor in our decisions - all to try and maintain some illusion of control.

photo credit: gmayster01 on & off 

... Ryder in the storm " via photopin (license)

photo credit: P. Marioné 

armée du salut via photopin (license)

Five Minute Friday ~ Journey that includes Physicians and dentists, Panic attacks and Pretty amazing grace... "Oh my!"

Might as well start off by saying that I'm not setting a timer, not watching a clock, not worrying about keeping this to five minutes... although in the spirit of Five Minute Friday, I will skip the overthinking and editing that is normally a part of my blog posts.

Of course, if I did watch the clock... took the time to overthink... went back to edit... 

Chances are? 

I'll never hit that post button.

So without further ado, here it goes.

This journey began 12 or 13 years ago... and if I'm honest - a season of burnout. Still not sure of the exact mechanism... the why or the how... but somehow a combination of 

• stress due to my stage of life - busy misso mama with home and ministry responsibilities...
• parenting many children in close succession and the wear and tear of successive, close pregnancies and long term nursing -physically- on my body...
• medications instrumental in preventing malaria, but that did bad things to both my mind and body...
• stress due to high expectations that I had for myself as an overseas missionary...
• through the roof stress in co-worker relationships, both perceived-by-me AND real...
• rising tensions as well as physical dangers and threats in our neck of the woods...
• a downed high tension electric line that resulted in persistent and long power outages (while living in what has, at times, been described as the hottest capital city in the world)...AND
• an out-of-the-blue tree nut allergy suddenly emerging...

plus some other things that I'm forgetting as well as a few that I'm choosing not to list...

All of these mixed made a powerful cocktail that knocked me off my feet for what felt like a long season.

I began experiencing panic attacks. 

At first it was hard to distinguish an attack from an a reaction to tree nuts - heart racing then pounding then actual palpitations, difficulty taking a deep breath or breathlessness, a numbness and feeling that both my tongue and throat were swelling, extreme nausea, a fear of being alone (in case it was a real, physical issue) but an even greater terror of anyone seeing me in said state, cold sweats, physical trembling all over. 

Getting rid of the tree nuts was an easy solution, except that it didn't stop the attacks. 

Then, I started to figure out specific triggers: an angry disagreement with my husband, a sick child, a need to take (or give to one of my kids) a new medication where I didn't know what sorts of side effects would be experienced... but I still experienced mad symptoms, feeling like a cat perched high on a tree branch and I didn't know what to do or how to let anyone help. Still, no real relief.

For out of the blue and no reason I could determine, I'd be blindsided by an attack. Although, I guess, in theory, it is hard to be blindsided when those attacks were happening on an almost daily basis.

We went to our doctor. She said cut out all caffeine and get at least eight hours of sleep at night, but that brought no improvement. I changed malaria prophylactics, but if that helped, it wasn't immediately evident due to the long half-life of the medication - or so I was told. After another major episode, an injection to reduce that fight-or-flight response and a resulting bout with cellulitis, our doc referred me to a cardiologist. (Totally parenthetical, but visiting a cardiologist in Niger was enough to bring on a panic attack all by itself as they'd have me remove my shirt in the exam room and then walk to the procedures/imaging department, through the hallway filled with other waiting patients, for the actual test. It didn't seem to bother the local women, but I wasn't a local woman.) He first did a 48 hour heart monitor/EKG and then wanted to follow up with an ultrasound of my heart. His diagnosis was pulmonary hypertension. Not encouraging - and it wreaked havoc with finding medical insurance coverage for our family, specifically me, for the next decade. He said absolutely no more pregnancies, no caffeine, lots of rest, minimal stress - and come back in six months to see if anything had changed. Not long after, we learned that Mary Michelle was on her way... I ended up going to the States for that delivery.

It was finally an expat missionary nurse who helped me take an initial step on my journey to "recovery." She recommended a medication used by psychiatric patients, at a low dosage and one that I could buy over-the-counter in Niamey. At first, I took it regularly; then I gradually weaned myself off and used on an as-needed basis when experiencing an panic attack. I carry that little bottle of pills in my purse everywhere... still... even though they are long expired.

After a decade of these attacks

• no more malaria prophylactic, 
• no longer living in the excessive heat, 
• not having been pregnant for almost several years and not having a nursing baby for almost as many, 
• a lifestyle where I try and get regular outdoor physical activity, rest and sleep (even when I'm sure I don't need it),
• avoiding excessive caffeine intake - even when I'm sure I do need it (or at least want it), 
• quiet introvert-recharge-time alone at home - without the continual come and go of visitors as was so normal during our years in Africa.

I just went through two full years without even the hint of a panic attack (literally... October marked two years) - including an international trip where I had changed handbags and didn't have my purse placebo with me.

Until I went to the dentist a little over a week ago. 

I needed work done on both sides of my mouth: a small cavity and a chipped/broken molar way in the back that I'd waited way too long to have repaired. As is typical, the dentist (a young guy, with a man bun - all of our girlies think he's really nice... and hot!) used a topical med to numb my gums before injecting the anesthesia. I must have swallowed a little because my tongue and throat lost sensation and what feeling I did have resembled the swollen feeling I'd get back before we figured out the tree nut thing, back when I had regular panic attacks. And I had a stupid attack right there in the dentist office. Thankfully, after about 10 minutes and realizing that I was able to breathe just fine, gracious, kind and concerned dentist and hygienist/helper, and finally, some water to rinse the topical out of my throat, we were able to continue with the procedure on the back tooth. I did, however, opt to return the following week for the little cavity as really, all I wanted to do was escape back to my house.

I went in yesterday for that little cavity, knowing that I needed him to look at the back tooth again. I thought I had a little morsel of glue stuck under my gum that I'd tried and tried to tease out using dental floss - but had had no success. He found that and removed it pretty quickly. But when he looked a little more closely, he saw that the repair he'd done had actually cracked and a chunk had fallen out and wedged itself under my gum line as well. No wonder I couldn't chew on that side of my mouth all week! 

So... a subsequent repair, lots of digging around already tender gums - which we decided to do without anesthesia this time because we wanted me to be able to truly feel if it had been repaired. Of course, that meant I also got to truly feel the work being done as well. I'll suffice it to say, "Ouch!" and I did come home and cry cause I couldn't even when I wanted to while in the dental office. My mouth is still sore today. But the problem now seems to be fixed and no more dental appoints scheduled until my next cleaning - in a year!

As he started to work, as we moved from discomfort to downright uncomfortable to flat out painful, my heart started to race and pound and I feared another attack. Then a small still voice deep inside whispered, "Listen to the music."

It was no longer the pop music of the local station that had been playing while I was in the waiting room. It was praise and worship music - in English - and frankly, that doesn't even exist in Quebec City! It was like I was listening to a Christian radio station back in the States. And it played for the entire time the dentist was working on my teeth.

I didn't expect that. And while my heart continued to race, my one hand was clinching the arm of the dentist chair, my mouth hurt something fierce and I had to keep reminding myself that I could breathe just fine (during the instrumental parts), I was able to lay there while he worked and concentrate on words of praise and worship.

Grace is like that, - often showing up in the most unexpected places.

I don't know?  Perhaps the dentist himself... or his hygienist... picked out some music that they thought might specifically help me this time, after the panic attack the week before? The week before, while waiting for the attack to diminish, we'd actually had a pretty incredible 10 minute conversation about our time in Africa, faith and belief in Christ, why we'd gone in the first place and how I'd found out about my allergy/started experiencing the panic attacks. Then, the dentist left the room for another 10 minutes while the anesthesia took effect and the hygienist and I continued to speak. She'd attended a parochial primary and secondary school and had friends who'd done overseas charity work, so she continued to ask specific questions about our work and life in Niger.

If it wasn't that, perhaps the Holy Spirit did some miraculous thing and I heard the music that I needed to hear instead of what was really playing (although I don't tend to lean towards that sort of explanation - a bit too mystical for my comfort). I don't know if one of the receptionists changed to an internet station instead of a local station. 

What I do know is that when I needed that calming influence, God - or God through others - provided! THAT. IS. GRACE-IN-ACTION!

Time off... together, enjoying being outside on a beautiful day. and lots of physical activity... always helps when I'm starting to feel the pressure mounting. While back in the States for a training seminar last month, Tim and I took a day to visit DC. I've included a few of my favorite photos from the day, and our 14+ mile monumental metropolis trek!

In this journey we call life, grace catches us off guard, when we least expect it. In fact, I'm pretty sure it is much more prevalent than we even begin to recognize ~ for "every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." James said that. Or, to quote Paul, "I besought the Lord [much more than] thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, 'My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.' Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong."

Five Minute Friday ~ Whole

Ever noticed there's a "hole" in the word "whole?"

I hadn't, but then I typed "w... h... o... l... e... " as a part of the title of this blog post, wondering what in the world I was going to write about...

... and I thought about a song I hadn't heard in a really, really long time.

But, first a bit of context... pieces of a conversation this past week, between myself and another mama of third culture kids... and a song this other mama shared with me about how we are all broken people who become broken parents who then break their children. I get the point, but I don't think that word picture gives the right picture.

My kids know I'm an imperfect parent. Inadvertently as well as sometimes very much by choice and out of anger - I do things that hurt, or in the above terminology, "break" my children. Afterwards, I apologize - probably need to do so more than I actually do - and ask forgiveness. So I get what this other mama, my friend, was saying, but I disagree, for there is a very large, very key, difference:

We are all BORN broken.

We live surrounded by people who were also born broken and struggle with that brokenness every single moment of every single day. My parents didn't break me... they did (occasionally still do) things that hurt me. It breaks my heart to say this, but until the day I die, I will probably continue to do things that hurt the very ones I love most, including and particularly, my children.

There's only one road to completeness, wholeness and healing, that road is the work of God in our hearts and lives - and even his work is a process that is not completed in this lifetime.

So...I don't want to "accept" myself as I am.

I DO want to see myself truly as I am...
I DO want recognize my brokenness...
I DO want to know who I was before Jesus...
I DO want to see with ever growing clarity what Christ HAS DONE...
I DO want to comprehend who I am - in Him, now and forever...
and then I DO want Him to begin His process of transformation in me.

I DO NOT believe "it" - however you want to define it: life, ministry, parenting, etc. -  is about me, my story, my voice...

but, as I heard someone somewhere last weekend say,

"It is all about His story lived in and through me."

And so, now back to that song, called "Unredeemed ~ "

The cruelest word, the coldest heart
The deepest wound, the endless dark
The lonely ache, the burning tears
The bitter nights, the wasted years

Life breaks and falls apart
But we know these are

For every choice that led to shame
And all the love that never came
For every vow that someone broke
And every life that gave up hope

We live in the shadow of the fall
But the cross says these are all

Places where grace is soon to be so amazing
It may be unfulfilled, it may be unrestored
But when anything that's shattered
Is laid before the Lord
Just watch and see, it will not be unredeemed

Oh, He will wipe every tear
Will not be, be unredeemed

Places where grace is soon to be so amazing
It may be unfulfilled, it may be unrestored
But you never know the miracle the Father has in store
Just watch and see, it will not be
Just watch and see, it will not be unredeemed


When, as God redeems, every hole will be filled and we will be made whole.

It is something He must do.

Thankfully, He promises...

(PS In case you were wondering, this post took more than 5 minutes... probably more like 8!)

of yummy breakfasts and hoping... praying...

A week ago, I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and noticed that one of my friends was giving her testimony at a Déjeuner de l'Espoir.

"What's that?" you ask.

Translated literally, it means "Breakfast of Hope..." or perhaps "Breakfast for Hope" is a better translation... but that's a bit of quibbling over details. 😊 Regardless, "for more than 23 years, Hope for Today has regularly offered these free conversational breakfasts 'chats' in restaurants throughout the region of Québec. The goal of [these breakfasts] is to present Jesus Christ and to invite those at the breakfast to become his followers. At these meetings, participants will hear powerful testimonies from men and women whose lives have been transformed by the love of Jesus, the Son of God, simply by having accepted Him as their only Savior and Lord." (translated from the web page of Aujourd'hui l'Espoir)

And so back to my story... I attended one of these this past weekend...

It was a bit of a stretch for introvert me. Tim couldn't go - he was busy recording upcoming television programs. Between school and church, the kids have usually had their fill of French and tend to like their English Saturdays at home, with the family. But I really wanted to hear my friend's testimony while experiencing first hand this ministry facilitated by the organization we've come to Quebec to partner with, so even amidst second thoughts, I dutifully drove to the restaurant. The fact that it was a breakfast meeting and we were going to a Chinese restaurant did concern me a little bit as I had no idea what might be served for breakfast. In hindsight, that needn't have been a worry at all - omelets, quiche, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes and waffles with REAL maple syrup, baked beans, lots of fruit... it was a really, REALLY good breakfast buffet!

I sat down - at the end of one of the long tables set up for the breakfast in the private room rented for the affair, and before too long, an older gentlemen walked up, asked if the seat across from me was saved. When I said it wasn't, he asked if I minded if he sat there. 

Which began a conversation that left me both brokenhearted and hopeful...

My new friend is a 79 year old bachelor. He really enjoys farming and gardening. From our conversation, I concluded that perhaps, the first part of his life was wasted... in many ways... and then he read a book that changed his life. It wasn't the Bible. This book, did, however, highly regard Jesus as the best prophet that ever walked this earth. And now, so did this man. wants to live his life modeled after Jesus. Yet as I was visiting with him, it was very clear that he believed was a really good person, one of the good guys involved in charity work and other social Gospel activities. He was convinced that God would be happy to welcome him into Heaven some day. He believes Christ died on the cross to save the world. But... I didn't understand him to say that he thought he actually needed a Savior - just a good life model/mentor. 

While we were eating, I shared my testimony. He heard my friend's testimony, which was unmistakably clear. He heard the pastor who introduced my friend summarize all men's need for a Savior and then the plan of salvation. He also heard the man who concluded the breakfast with a final clear, short and sweet, presentation of the Gospel.

He left the breakfast, thanking my friend for her testimony, but not really seeing that her words were applicable for him... to him. 

I left the breakfast, heart heavy because of a sweet older gentleman; we'd enjoyed delightful conversation for over an hour that morning, yet even when presented with the truth, he didn't recognize his need. He is blind, but claims he can see.

That morning, I came home and sat down to read my bible... I was a couple of days behind schedule - it had been a crazy busy week.

This was the passage (NLT, from John 10):

   When Jesus heard what had happened, he found the man and asked, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

   The man answered, “Who is he, sir? I want to believe in him.”

   “You have seen him,” Jesus said, “and he is speaking to you!”

   “Yes, Lord, I believe!” the man said. And he worshiped Jesus.

   Then Jesus told him, “I entered this world to render judgment—to give sight to the blind and to show those who think they see that they are blind.”

   Some Pharisees who were standing nearby heard him and asked, “Are you saying we’re blind?”

   “If you were blind, you wouldn’t be guilty,” Jesus replied. “But you remain guilty because you claim you can see.

Sometimes, it is easy to look at people like the Pharisees - and not like them or become frustrated with their stubborn blindness. 

I was reminded that Pharisees were just like this man, probably really great folks (outside of their angry conversations with Christ) - and that Jesus came for people like them "to render judgment—to give sight to the blind and to show those who think they see that they are blind.” 

Join me in praying for my friend... 

May God show him his blindness so that he can, truly, see.

And may God show each of us our areas of blindness, for we all have areas where we are Pharisaical, where we have to acknowledge our blindness before we ever have hope of truly seeing.

Not too many days ago - but the sun's shining now and I can actually see a small patch of grass in front of that tree today. M&M came home from school and wanted to know if she could go lay out in the sun on the grass!

(In the interest of full disclosure - all food pictures included in this post were prepared by me and/or my gang and were taken at our house... not at the restaurant.)

When You're Marked by Love

Today is my husband's birthday - the twenty-second one we've celebrated as a couple... and he's out of the country - a missionary on a missions trip to yet a different distant place with one of our girlies. He's far from perfect, but he's committed to his God, to me, our children, our family, friends literally scattered across the globe and to our community - and I'm so glad he's mine. But... if I wrote a sappy piece about love... it might embarrass him... 

So, in keeping with this theme of love for the month of February, I'd like to consider a slightly different perspective as it has been pinging and ponging around in my soul of recent.

While their daddy's been gone, I've been trying to do some special things with our other children, including listening to books on CD (Anne of Green Gables) and revisiting a favorite television series (Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman). We've all been loving it - I mean, who doesn't find "Anne with an e," at the very least, amusing and at least a little endearing. And, as far as family TV that provokes great discussion from curious little and not so little minds, Dr. Quinn is, perhaps, my favorite. 

“There's such a lot of different Annes in me. 

I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. 

If I was just the one Anne 

it would be ever so much more comfortable,

but then it wouldn't be half so interesting.” 

~Anne in LM Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables

I love this Anne quote because of its deeply profound veracity....

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Please join me over at Missionary Mom's Companion to read the rest!

Five Minute Friday ~ Why "When will it be my turn?" is the wrong question...

One of those "GREAT" mama moments - when not only were they taking turns nicely,
they were also thoroughly enjoying someone else's turn and not clamoring for their own...

If you have kids, if you've ever cared for nieces and nephews, if you've ever worked with children, you've probably heard one of those children, somewhere, sometime ask "When will it be my turn?"

It might be said with pure inquisitiveness and a bit of anticipation.... or with dread as eyes fill up with tears (thinking of those meningitis vaccination moments where the whole family stood in line waiting for a poke)... or maybe under the guise of tattling... or it issues as a demand, insisting on something said child is convinced should be, hands down, their right - after all sibling so-and-so played Minecraft last night for at least two hours!

Kids don't have the corner on this market, either. We adults think... try and manipulate circumstances... to achieve the same thing; perhaps the only difference is we more cleverly cache our intent.

But, "When will it be my turn?" is the wrong question... and it flies in the face of Christ-likeness or following Jesus or God-glorifying - whichever terminology you prefer. It opposes a Christ-mind: "Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others. Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus... (Philippians 2.3-5)

What are some real ways

today, 

that you can choose to

give up your turn and give it to someone else instead?

Please share in the comments!

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Linking up with Kate for Five Minute Friday! 

Today's word prompt was:  "Turn."