Multitude Monday - 1000 Gifts ~ Wandering Somewhere in Between...

ndI was recently forced to participate in one of those "getting to know you activities," you know... the kind where you say your name and a few pertinent facts about yourself and then usually have to answer one other additional question. Thankfully, for this mostly introverted individual, that additional question wasn't too embarassing or revealing - it was:

"What is your favorite animal?"

When my kids ask me that question, it is usually part of a debate... or argument... and someone is wanting to prove their "superiority" (not sure why favorite animals count in that way, but with kids, just about anything is possible). In other words, they win if their favorite animal is closer to Mama's favorite animal. So, I usually teasingly tell them that their daddy is my favorite animal... they get all embarassed, giggle and the tensions dissipate.

Really, though, that's a pretty easy question for me - my favorite animal has been, for a very long time, the dolphin. As we were playing this get to know you game, however, I was interested -although not surprised- by the fact that many of the women chose the giraffe as their favorite animal. I guess I wasn't surprised because if I had to pick my favorite West African animal, it would be, without any doubt, the giraffe. 

Generally, giraffes don't make the top ten in favorite animal lists. Maybe they are too gentle and sedate. Perhaps they are so awkward and bizarre-looking that no one can really call them graceful or majestic, even though they really are. They spend most of their time wandering around eating acacia leaves or resting, although I'll never forget the story of a curious giraffe poking its head in the doorway of a local lady's hut early one morning. When a spat arises between two members (usually young males) of the herd, they whip each other with their necks and heads. It doesn't really seem like the best way to fight or wrestle.  Giraffes are also often the brunt of jokes- a frequent novelty, but even in parables and proverbs, they aren't taken too seriously.

W. Africa's only remaining free roaming giraffe herd lives a short drive southeast of Niamey. In the mid 1990s, it was estimated that fewer than 100 giraffes remained and since then, a significant conservation effort has been made. That latest estimates I heard from the guides put the giraffe population approaching 300. Last summer, when we took my sister and niece out to see the herd, the very first giraffe we saw was a pregnant female who'd left the herd, and according to our guide, had returned to the place of her own birth for the impending arrival of her baby giraffe.

It is sad, however. These absolutely unique and amazing creatures used to freely roam from the Atlantic Coast of modern day Senegal across the Sahel and into present day Chad (roughly 2000 miles); now, at "the dawn of the 21st century, their world [has] shrunk to a tiny zone southeast of the capital, Niamey, stretching barely 150 miles." 

The giraffes themselves cannot recognize what they've lost. They don't know anything different. But I know that they could... and I feel sad, and a little bit angry... because they are stuck, wandering somewhere in between...

Yes, I'm projecting my human emotions on an animal.

Why? Because I guess I've spent much of the past 9 months feeling just that way... wandering somewhere in between... in between possibility and potential, past and future, stuck waiting  and while striving to continue obeying and ministering... and yet knowing humanly, the future is totally in the hands of someone else.

I'm reading a book called The Land Between: Finding God in Difficult Transitions - and the following paragraph smacked me right in between the eyes!

"For many of us, the journey into the Land Between comes suddenly... with a conversation that drops into our lives like an exploding bomb.

• “Your position has been eliminated.”

• “I don’t love you anymore.” 

• "The tumor is malignant.”

• “The church elders are meeting to take a vote of confidence.”

• “Mom, Dad, I’m pregnant.”

• “I’m having second thoughts about the wedding.”

• “Dad, uh…I’m at the police station.”

• “Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”

• “We’re moving.”

• “We think Mom’s had a stroke. How soon can you get to the hospital?”

In a sentence we are ripped from normality and find ourselves in a new world, as if thrown from a moving train. We tumble into the world of the unemployed. We are hurled into the land of the suddenly single, the valley of the grieving, the new vocabulary of chemotherapy, or the weekly routine of nursing home visits. In our more confident, faith-filled moments, we know that we will regain our footing and find some kind of balance in a new normal, but for now we are simply and suddenly “between” and at a loss as to how to navigate the terrain. While some enter the land shockingly, others experience a gradual, almost imperceptible entry... A marriage suffers slow but constant erosion over the years before somebody walks out. The heart of a teenager drifts slowly away from her parents and from God. Key employees are released and assets are sold off as sales figures dip steadily quarter after quarter until the company is only a shadow of what it had been eight years earlier. A parent experiences gradual memory loss, and with it her independence fades little by little. Many of us entered the Land Between not with a sudden cataclysmic conversation but with the slow march of time. And yet regardless of how we enter this space, whether jarringly or gradually, the landscape is much the same..."

"The Land Between can be profoundly disorienting. It also provides the space for God to do some of his deepest work in our lives. Many seasoned spiritual advisers propose that this is the only space in which radical, transformational growth occurs. God intends for us to emerge from this land radically reshaped. But the process of transformational growth will not occur automatically. Our response to God while in the Land Between is what will determine whether our journey through this desert will result in deep, positive growth or spiritual decline. People often quote a common proverb in time of pain and tragedy: 'Time heals all wounds.' I do not find this statement to be necessarily true. Some people heal over time, while others become deeply embittered and acidic. The Land Between usually forces us to choose one way or the other. The conditions can prove so harsh that there seems little room for neutrality. While offering us a greenhouse for growth, the Land Between can also be a desert where our faith goes to die—if we let it. The habits of the heart that we foster in this space—our responses and reactions—will determine whether the Land Between results in spiritual life or spiritual death. We choose."

Manion, Jeff (2010-07-14). The Land Between: Finding God in Difficult Transitions, Zondervan. Kindle Edition. (Italics and bold added by me.)

this week's gratitude list

(#s 2066 - 2092)

Brendan is home!

Just in case you didn't catch it, Brendan is home!

He traveled safely with friends several hundred miles in three different countries over some terrifyingly bad roads and came through it all safe and sound

He saw the ocean - and said "It's big!"

He had the opportunity to tour one of the Mercy Ships

Listening to him talk about climbing the mountain for a private Easter morning service/devotional with the famiy he was visiting

sitting on the waterbed, kids piled all around, AC running, watching videos projected on the wall

watching m&m watch the skit at the Easter Sunrise service - and seeing her questionning looks directed back towards me

homemade poptarts

tabouleh for dinner when outdoor temps spike over 115'

lessons from Job

new books that FINALLY downloaded at least to my Kindle for PC... now just one step further to actually get them on my kindle

finding Mt Dew again in town - 'cause it make my guy happy

listening to the soundtrack from "Somewhere in Time" over and over again

tired tears

medication-induced super sound sleep

Andi's first encounter with malaria was a gentle one

almost finishing organizing the bookshelves

waiting for an expected email

sorting and piling, getting ready for upcoming garage sales

listening to old Boubacar's thanks for what most would consider a pile of junk

Easter Sunday afternoon at the pool... for several hours (thermometer read 120+ that day)

still having enough bottles of sunscreen

most recent power outage was simply a breaker blown

the beauty of wild giraffes

the fact that I've been to see those giraffes several times

this truth: it is my choice when I feel a bit lost, wandering in between- growth or bitterness

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)

Just because mornings are still at least remotely cool ~

~ well, if you consider 93'F/34'C cool...

And, just because I think these two are adorable!

It seems like hot season has decided to put in an appearance - it does every year, just usually a little earlier than the second week of April.

Yesterday, 93' cool in the living room felt delightful to the blasting dust storm furnace going on outside.

Hot season is here - along with electric cuts, lower water pressure, struggling fridges and freezers, and most seriously of all daily visits from friends and neighbors with no food, no money, many mouths to feed and desperately needing help.

Five Minute Friday - Light

These people are the friends of our friends and colleagues. We've met some of them... Some of these men have been to the studio to record... A few have even been to our home...Tim spent time with them when he was up in Timbuktu for a recording project. This doesn't feel like all of this is happening in some far-off, distant-all-the-way-to-the-ends-of-the-earth-place. It feels like it's happening right next door...

Watching our kids play, a friend and I were talking this week about current events in our part of the world, and I don't exactly remember the context, but this verse (or a similar one) came up: 

"It behoveth me

to be working

the works of Him who sent me

while it is day;

night doth come,

when no one is able to work"

 John 9.4, Young's Literal Translation

It is Easter weekend... Good Friday...

I wonder if they wonder why all of this, this, this or this is happening?

I do.

I wonder where all of this is going to lead.

Has the night come, is it descending on this part of the world?

And I wonder at my self-centered muttering over an inability to sleep (the lights - and fans - were out at our house, but on all around) instead of thanking God for the reminder... and the gift of sleepless, quiet time to fall on my face and pray.

"While ye have light, believe in the light,

that ye may be the children of light.

These things spake Jesus, and departed,

and did hide himself from them."

John 12.36

I cannot begin to speculate. Is this "the night" coming? Is Jesus "hiding Himself" for a time?

I'm thankful that my All-Knowing Father knows, that He is good all the time, that in Him is Light and no shadow of turning... and that I don't have to know all the ins and outs of this story because I try to trust completely the One writing it. 

I'm thankful I do know Resurrection Sunday is imminent.

I'm sure our Malian brothers and sisters are thankful for that truth, too.

PLEASE NOTE: If you are interested in reading up on these current events, most of the links (except in the first pararaph) are different, individual links. They do not represent our exact views of/on the situation in all cases (not that we'd claim to be experts... or even particuarly knowledgeable), however they are a place to start if the Lord should lead you to pray.

If you believe the Lord is asking you to give or to help tangibly in some way, contact me directly.

Tearing down high places (Part 1)

My mother-in-law died last year, just before Christmas. This year, we’ve walked through the one year anniversary of her promotion to glory. In some ways, it feels surreal. After all, it wasn’t our first time to celebrate the Savior’s birth without her presence. As missionaries serving far from our families, that is actually the norm. But we couldn’t call… or video Skype… and just knowing that Dad was facing a second Christmas without her? …it made my heart ache. It also reminds me of a heart-aching lesson the Lord taught me in that season, a lesson about the cost of gifting sacrificial love.

Please join me at For Missionary Moms for the rest of this post? I’d love to hear your thoughts on Tearing down high places. Thanks, ever so much!

One of those hilarious blasts from the past...

We're on Spring Break... so of course we've been doing lots of spring cleaning -

and of course that includes

 finding treasures we'd forgotten even existed.

This video is one of those treasures...

(thanks, Rebekah, for re-discovering it!)

This was taken back in 2003 - one of the first "big" lizards,

or  margouillat,

 Brendan ever managed to snag.

We've laughed and laughed while watching this video, especially since Jonathan acts exactly like this RIGHT NOW!

Brothers! What else can you say?

Hee hee!!!

Wordless Wednesday - Italian Chicken Pita... Nadia's favorite meal

Normality... Intensified...

It's vacation and I have more time than normal to browse around on the internet...

This slideshow caught my eye.

It is a style of art called "hyperrealism." I'm a bit intrigued. While I can appreciate other forms of art, photography and realistic works (particularly drawings and paintings) are my favorites.

Isn't this drawing amazing?


A drawing by Paul Cadden titled 'NVA6' (Paul Cadden / Solent News / Rex Features)



My grandpa died when I was just a little girl... but this is very much like the picture of him that I keep in my mind - maybe that is why I'm drawn to this one...

I was familiar with surrealistic art, but this was the first time I'd stumbled across anything classified as "hyperrealism," at least as far as I was aware. According to Paul Cadden (the artist who created the above picture), hyperrealism is "...meticulously detailed to create the illusion of a new reality not seen in in the original photo. The Hyperrealist style focuses much more on its emphasis on detail and the subjects depicted. Hyperreal paintings and sculptures are not strict interpretations of photographs, nor are they literal illustrations of a particular scene or subject. Instead, they utilise additional, often subtle, pictorial elements to create the illusion of a reality which in fact either does not exist or cannot be seen by the human eye. Furthermore, they may incorporate emotional, social, cultural and political thematic elements as an extension of the painted visual illusion. ...The virtual image becomes the living image, an intensification of the normal."

If I were to put that into my own words, I'd say that means that those things falling under the description of ordinary and everyday, things I might often easily overlook and pass right by, instead leap off the page to confront me. I find it quite powerful as I look at examples of this type of art.

I'm finding it quite powerful as I try to take a good look all around me.

How many of us could sometimes use a good dose of hyperrealistic perspective?

Catching up... Multitude Monday - 1000 Gifts ~ Oases Moments

One of my favorite missionary bloggers is currently doing a series on the theme of "oasis." As the thermometer climbs, the dust blows, the river shrinks and food supplies dwindle for many of our friends and neighbors... that is a very real thing to think about, at least in this desert land where I live.

   

Jaspreet Kindra/IRIN

Jaspreet Kindra/IRIN

 So I've been mentally mulling over this idea, asking myself questions like

• "Where do I go to find rest?" 
• "How do I seek respite?"
• "When is refreshment more than just something nice? When is it a true need?"
• "What does relief look like?"
• "To whom do I run when I'm seeking refuge?"

I started writing this post last week - missing my normal Monday post (hence the "catching up" in the title) because we were enjoying a spiritual retreat with one of our sister organizations. During that retreat, we were challenged with the idea that our faith in crisis means God is doing something. In other words, crisis times become periods of great growth, or as the speaker put it: "Faith either grows or it atrophies..." then asking the question: "Do I embrace recent faith challenges or retreat from them?" That is one of the very questions with which Tim and I have been wrestling - and it was so good to be reminded what God has to say on the topic!

But I was never able to finish writing the post - partly due to busyness and different priorities while the kids are on vacation - but probably mostly due to just feeling totally and completely drained:

• colleagues facing political unrest and immediate potential evacuation;
• yet another friend or neighbor asking... and knowing that saying no might mean someone going hungry (at best) while saying yes removes every last shred of margin we might still have... thus hating the consequences of whatever answer we give but still having to decide;
•  the arrival and infiltration chez nous of another one of those nasty W. African bugs; 
• consecutive sleepless nights with a sweet little one who dropped something heavy right on her big toe/toenail; 
• still waiting, wondering what our future and this ministry will look like;
• knowing we have dear ones back in the States walking through difficult times and wishing we could be there... do more than pray;
• and even the unrest and insecurity in this mama's heart, missing my boy as he travels around W. Africa without me during his Spring Break... sigh...
• friends leaving for a funeral in the States... sadness for their loss but (selfishly) also for me as I see them leave and then think of another, harder-and-weightier-for-me-goodbye coming soon;

Well, frankly, I just didn't have the gumption to finish this blog post at all last week, and that, even coming off the encouraging oasis of the retreat (which it so truly and really was). I find myself still feeling very much in need of more. How can it be that I'm not even two years into this term and already so completely and totally drained?

What do you do when you are infinitely thankful for the treasure of a God-provided oasis time, but still wonder how in the world to keep on keeping on if He doesn't give more?

It seems like I've been living this way for the past several months...

***Some might believe that is a result of bad choices on my part, and knowing those who've confronted me about this issue, it might very well be. The Holy Spirit's not yet convicted me of that - I wish He would hurry up and do so if it is the case -  otherwise I do believe I'm right where He wants me and walking in obedience, to the best of my knowledge.***

 ...and God has been teaching me much

about what it means to continue serving -even when I reached the end of me a long time ago- and aiming to do so with a joyful, thankful spirit. It is hard - and I probably fail a lot more than I succeed at the joy part in that equation. However, it is pretty powerful to see Him working through me serving, in me teaching... when I wondered how I was even going to pull myself out of bed that morning, when lesson plans are written during lunch right before class...  And yet each day, He gives grace and just enough for the moment, in the moment... and He is accomplishing so much more than I was, even while I was frantically spinning my wheels and doing my best to serve in my strength.

He's also shown me how I can hide behind Bible study and dissection of the biblical text to avoid relationship and intimacy with Him. Lately, I've found it more real and a lot scarier(at least for me)  to talk, to pray, to wait, then listen and act upon what He's teaching me - than to simply pull out the commentaries and interact with the inspired Word on my terms. I'm certainly not meaning to imply that such Bible study is not valuable - but rather that I can actually avoid listening to God by intellectually approaching the text - or striving to get something from it so I can teach my next Bible study. God is clearly showing me I need both to continue drawing closer to Him.

So, what do you do when you are infinitely thankful for the treasure of a God-provided oasis time, but still wonder how in the world to keep on keeping on if He doesn't give more?

I wonder if the answer to my question is found in finding joy and contentment in that longing for more of Jesus, in trusting that He will provide more and looking forward to that hope, and in asking Him to open our eyes to the oasis moments of each day?

Many, O LORD my God,
are thy wonderful works thy wonderful works
which thou hast done,
and thy thoughts which are to us-ward: they cannot be reckoned up
in order unto thee:
if I would declare and speak of them,
they are more than can be numbered.Psalm 40.5

this week's gratitude list:

(#s 2037 - 2065)

sister organizations that include us, just to be nice

generosity of churches in the States that don't even know us, but have ministered greatly by praying and caring tangibly for us

opportunities for transparency that aren't often taken

spiritual retreat

awesome kids' program that they not only loved and left them feeling loved on, but also challenged them

challenged to seek deeper intimacy with the Bridegroom

feeling like I've been punched on the nose by this truth: righteousness that initiates from me and not out of intimacy with that Bridegroom is nothing more than filthy rags

oasis moments...

...and the longing for more... like oasis hours and days...

faith crises challenging me to a deeper walk

seeing what God does through my fatigue and weakness

kids starting to like math

old women beginning to read God's Word on their own 

my children expressing to me truth God's teaching them, truth that I'm still grappling with

ladies in Bible study opening up a topic of discussion that Lord-willing will lead to restoration and reconciliation within that group - when on most days I can barely get them to even voice an opinion

the hope and expectation that this season too, shall pass

saturday morning meetings that leave me encouraged and hopeful

an unexpected thank you "for persevering"

visiting with Mamata after not seeing her for a few weeks

burgers, fries, baked beans and fresh veggies with friends - I'm always overwhelmed when I think of the amazing people God has blessed us with in this life

peanut butter ice cream with m&ms... served in sugar cookie bowls... and we made it all ourselves

thrift store treasures

Sunday night thunderstorm... on April 1st??? Amazing!

young adult books that challenge me... and listening to my big girl tell me she got the message, too

fb chat with my too far-away boy

laughing when I asked him what he thought when he saw the ocean: "It's big!"

the privilege of spending all (or most) of the night talking and watching TV with my sweet Elsie Mae so she didn't think about her throbbing big toe

niece and friend (a "guy"friend) who serve by doing the dishes when I don't feel so well

joy and delight spilling out of pictures of a far away baptism that encourage on a day when I'm feeling low

5 Minute Friday ~ Gift

World Lit, as a senior in high school, was a class I both loved and hated. I thoroughly enjoyed my classmates and the often lively debates resulting from philosophical discussion and the dissection of well-known works of literature, even when I often did not agree with the points of view expressed. Yet I detested the teacher - a person I considered arrogant at best and cruel - wielding words and a red ink pen as weapons - at worst. That particular instructor said some of the meanest things I ever had a teacher say to me...

I did learn a lot, though.

One of our writing assignments was an analysis of three works, in the genres of art, music and literature, that all explored the same theme... I can't remember much about my own particular project - something about bullfighting, I think - but I actually do remember a few details about a friend's project: she read the book Atlas Shrugged; for her musical piece, she chose a popular song back in the 80s... Whitney Houston singing "The Greatest Love of All."

Some loved the song... some of my peers did nothing but poke fun at it. Musically, it was lovely and Whitney Houston had an incredible voice. The first few lines are captivating, even biblical: "I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way..." But the song always left me sad, even if I wasn't clearly able to recognize why... I guess I've been thinking about her story a lot these past several weeks as her name as frequently been in the headlines or trending on Yahoo...

I now recognize that self-love isn't antibiblical - God tells me to love my neighbor as myself. Self-love is as natural as breathing. Learning to see myself as God sees me, on the other hand? Appreciating the unique and amazing creation He considers me to be? Recognizing the depth of my own depravity while at the same time accepting the lavish love and value that He has chosen to bestow upon me, for no other reasons than that He loves me and that He is kind, gracious, always good? 

Learning to love myself is not such a great gift! On the other hand, learning to see myself as God sees me - seeing both beauty and beast within, relishing His hand growing and changing me, making me more like Him... and as He works in me, beginning to discover and treasure those same jewels in others all around me...

That is an amazing gift that will never stop giving.

Nothing like starting off your vacation with a fun and simple good read!

I mean, it is hard to go wrong with a book that starts off like:

"If you went into a school nowadays and said to the children "What is a gump?" you would probably get some very silly answers.

"It's a person without a brain, like a chump," a child might say. Or:

"It's a camel whose hump has got stuck." Or even:

It's a kind of chewing gum."

But once this wasn't so. Once every child in the land coud have told you that a gump was a special mound, a grassy bump on the earth, and that in this bump was a hidden door which opened every so often to reveal a tunnel which led to a completely different world.

They would have known that every country has its own gump and that in Great Britain the gump was in a place called the Hill of the Cross of Kings not far from the river Thames. And the wise children, the ones that read the old stories and listened to the old tales, would have known more than that. They would have known that this particular gump opened for exactly 9 days every nine years, and not one second longer, and that it was no good changing your mind about coming or going because nothing would open the door once the time was up.

But the children forgot -- everyone forgot -- and perhaps you can't blame them, yet the gump is still there. It is under Platform Thirteen of King's Cross Railway Station, and the secret door is behind the wall of the old gentlemen's coakroom with its flappy posters saying "Trains Get You There" and its chipped wooden benches and the dirty ashtrays in which the old gentlemen used to stub out their smelly cigarettes.

No one uses the platform now. They have built newer, smarter platforms with rows of shiny luggage trolleys and slot machines that actually work and television screens which show you how late your train is going to be. But Platform Thirteen is different. The clock has stopped; spiders have spun their webs across the cloakroom door. There's a Left-Luggage Office with a notice saying NOT IN USE, and inside it is an umbrella covered in mold which a lady left on the 5:25 from Doncaster the year of the Queen's Silver Jubilee. The chocolate machines are rusty and lopsided, and if you were foolish enough to put your money in one, it would make a noise like "Harrumph" and swallow it, and you could wait the rest of your life for the chocolate to come out.

Yet when the people tried to pull down that part of the station and redevelop it, something always went wrong. An architect who wanted to build shops there suddenly came out in awful boils and went to live in Spain, and when they tried to relay the tracks for electricity, the surveyor said the ground wasn't suitable and muttered something about subsidence and cracks. It was as though people knew something about Platform Thirteen, but they didn't know what.

But in every city there are those who have not forgotten the old days or the old stories. The ghosts, for example . . . Ernie Hobbs, the railway porter who'd spent al his life working at King's Cross and still liked to haunt round the trains, he knew -- and so did his friend, the ghost of a cleaning lady called Mrs. Partridge who used to scrub out the parcels' office on her hands and knees. The people who plodged about in the sewers under the city and came up occasionally through the manholes beside the station, they knew. . . and so in their own way did the pigeons.

They knew that the gump was still there and they knew where it led: by a long, misty, and mysterious tunnel to a secret cove where a ship waited to take those who wished it to an island so beautiful that it took the breath away..."

For middle schoolers (and bigger-and-older-than-middle-schoolers-ers) who enjoy fun and light-hearted, wildly imaginative fantasy (even includes a sweet lesson), then I'd like to recommend The Secret of Platform 13 by Eva Ibbotson. It was a truly delightful initiation into Spring Break, 2012!

Five Minute Friday - Loud

This morning, the alarm shattered the blissful silence of sleep, seeming even louder and more obnoxious than normal. It didn't take long to figure out why. While we were sleeping, the electicity had been cut... not that that is unusual. However it does usually happen during the hottest times of the day, not first thing in the morning. As we woke the tribe and began to get ready for this last school day before Spring Break... by candlelight, of course, I  found the loudness of silence somewhat amazing... the loudness of so many other noises that most often escape notice in the continual whirring of fans, our teens' music, percolating coffee machine or budgie birds' morning cacophony just outside my bedroom window - noise that always comes with the rising sun.

Instead, the prolonged sigh of sleepy little girl reluctantly leaving her dreamland echoed while the pattering of bare feet on tile floors filtered into my bedroom. The soft pop of the lid off the peanut butter jar, the gente clanking of silverware in the drawer and the sound of brush untangling long blond hair no longer seemed off-stage whispers, but part of a key dialogue in this early morning episode of life in this home.

Bathroom doors jerking open and slamming closed... the sounds of Sasha the cat crunching a recently demised bird under the air cooler on the front porch... sounds normally lost in the loudness of every other morning were unwelcome, and obnoxious intrusions - adding to my list of little things I still need to do: move the pigeon cage to the carport (we think Sasha likes to terrorize the pet pigeons by eating his winged prey nearby) and teach these kids that they don't have to do violence to a door to simply open or close it.

Still snuggling littlest girl on the coolness of my waterbed, listening to the loudness, first of silence and then of normally unremarkable sounds, I thought maybe the Lord was reminding me that sometimes, He speaks most emphatically and loudly... shouting with a whisper... when I rest quietly in silence, undistracted by my grand dreams, busyness or just the everyday challenges of life around me. Then I can hear, appreciating and giving thanks for the gentle, soft sounds of love, care, goodness, provision and the simple, amazing benefit of His continual unchanging Presence. I can also more clearly hear echoing about those truly ugly things in me that desperately need attention, but that most often I no longer recognize, have forgotten or choose ignore, because I don't like them and don't want to admit they or there or because I have lost perspective and can no longer distinguish how obnoxious and/or abrasive those things in me can be.

Just as an unexpected silence can sometimes seem vociferous, God's still small voice whispers a deafening shout. 

Wordless Wednesday ~ Simple Joys of the MK life... See the snickers and the oreo?

Homemade Marshmallows

(Thanks to Nadia for snapping the photos

while everyone else's hands were covered in powdered sugar!)