On This Journey

Lots of news

2010-03-19T15:31:00.002-05:00

First of all, I've been remiss in letting you know what's happened with Boy since December. In short, he had a full lung collapse at the beginning of February, followed by emergency surgeries (yes, the ones we'd hoped to avoid) and 8 days in the hospital. The doctors have given him a thumbs up and he's regaining his energy and previous activity levels. And the 6 new scars are way cool. :)

Secondly, I'm excited to share the news of my contract for CHILDREN OF LIGHT, due out in November from Written World Communications. CHILDREN is an historical that begins in 13th century Europe and ends a decade later on a sprawling estate in Egypt.

I'd love for you to visit my new website and then let me know what you think.

The Low-Down

2009-12-18T21:45:00.003-06:00

We're home and unpacked and very weary, but so thankful to God for his blessings and his answers to many prayers.

Here's where things stand with the Boy. After three days of appointments and lots of tests including an echocardiogram and lung function, the Mayo Clinic pulmonologist determined that our son's otherwise good health and the positive outcomes of his previous lung collapses (pneumothoraxes) bode well for him in the future.

The surgeries being considered--fusing the lining of the lung to the lung itself and removing small cysts on the lungs--would be very painful for Boy and perhaps ultimately unnecessary. Yes, he might continue to have lung collapses, but the doctor expects they will be relatively minor and that he might even grow out of them. Very specific genetic tests have been done, including a skin biopsy netting two sutures (battle wounds ;-). The results, due in several weeks, will guide doctors in reconsidering surgery. In other words, if the Boy isn't going to outgrow these collapses, then we'll know so and will have better information to decide the best course of action. In the meantime, if he has a significant lung collapse, we'll know beyond doubt that we need to move forward. The pulmonologist suspects the previous pneumos might be the result of rapid height gain outpacing lung development.

We feel great about the results of our trip. And while we love our doctors here, we feel things were heading too fast toward a decision for surgery before all the facts were in. It is a tremendous blessing to have worked with a team of doctors (here and at the Mayo), who were willing to consult together for our Boy's long term best interest.

All that being said, I will not and cannot downplay the power of prayer--many faith-filled people have prayed for healing and for a positive outcome without surgery. In one way or another, God has answered those prayers.

Thank you for keeping up with us and for your love and support.

Home!!

2009-12-17T11:05:00.002-06:00

Quick update. Docs have decided surgery would not be in Caleb's best interest at this time. We will wait for genetic testing results which will take several weeks, but current tests look really good. We're trying to hit the road asap and get to Kansas tonight in the hopes of beating the icy roads due from here through Iowa tomorrow.

Thank you for your prayers--God is good all the time!

More later.

Good Gifts

2009-12-16T22:35:00.003-06:00

We found out this afternoon that we have an early appointment on Thursday with the pulmonologist who will review Caleb's tests with us and make a final determination regarding surgery. We're praying for wisdom and, if everything seems good, quick action and a trip home. The earliest surgery we can hope for seems to be Friday.

Thank you for the many expressions of love and concern. Thank you especially for your prayers. All good gifts come from God.

We're very blessed to be staying in the Ronald McDonald House--another gift. It often takes days or weeks to get in; we got in the day we arrived. We've met a couple of families and find everyone here to be rooting for each other and for one another's kids. There are many sad stories, many heartwarming. We had dinner in the community room tonight, enjoying a meal brought in by one of the local grocery stores. The Mayo Clinic itself is a fascinating small city worthy of its own blogpost. But we're tired and the alarm will go off early, so I'll close out here.

Love and hugs.

Hurry Up and Wait

2009-12-16T13:05:00.003-06:00

Boy had an echocardiogram, blood tests, and a skin biopsy this morning . . . the last two for genetic testing. We're just hanging out now, waiting to hear about the surgeries. Waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

:)

Adventure Boy

2009-12-15T18:18:00.002-06:00

I haven't written on this blogsite in quite a while, but if this isn't a journey, I don't know what is.

First of all, I must say that we are so grateful for our situation. We know that many deal with much more difficult medical issues. Nevertheless, I've definitely invoked God's promise in Philippians 4:6-7--"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." And I have to say, He has been more than faithful.

To recap, our 15-year-old son has had three lung collapses in the past 4 months for no apparent reason. The last collapse just over a week ago convinced his doctors he needed one or two procedures to prevent future and more life-threatening lung collapses. Easy, except that Adventure Boy has also been diagnosed with a genetic connective tissue disorder that could impact healing. Hence, we are at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN where they specialize in dealing with kids like him (you know . . . the superhero variety ;-).

Today we had appointments with a pulmonologist, a surgeon, and a geneticist. The short version is that we have more questions than we started with regarding Boy's connective tissue disorder (more genetic tests have been ordered), but positive news that he is a good candidate for the lung surgeries he needs. We are also glad to report that he feels good and healthy--except when his lung pops. :)

He's scheduled for an echocardiogram on Wednesday morning. If his heart looks healthy, then he is to have two procedures done on each lung later this week (we hope). Fairly simple, though we're promised recovery will be painful. These procedures should eliminate the risk of the very bad kind of lung collapse and diminish the risk for other collapses in general. After a night in the hospital, he should be free to leave. The 1,000-mile car trip home will be interesting. Praise God our daughter arrived here today after moving all her finals to yesterday and depleting her savings to buy an airline ticket. Of course she did these things before telling us, but we're so thankful for her help and her generous, sweet heart.

We appreciate your prayers, concerns, advice and encouragement far more than you can possibly know. Thank you, loved ones. I'll update as often as possible.

Touching Them: Zimbabwe

2008-09-16T21:49:00.007-05:00

It's been nearly a year since my last trip to Zimbabwe. I must admit I'm really feeling quite sad that I'm not going this fall as I have for the past two years. Though the trip is a hard one, my heart is so enmeshed there . . . and the situation so much worse for the people now . . . that I'd love to hug on them and encourage them at present.

This month Action!--a bi-monthly published by World Bible School--published an excerpt of my article below. Keep scrolling down to read the full story that highlights, in part, the incredible feeding work managed by Alvaro and Debbie Dos Santos.

And please pray for the men, women, and children of Zimbabwe.

***

TOUCHING THEM: ZIMBABWE by Caron Guillo

The aged man with sunken cheeks and rheumy eyes was too weak to walk into the church building. He sat in the dirt, sun glistening on his chocolate skin. My friend Justin Nash, an American photographer and Christian, snapped photos of the man while the old fellow muttered something in Shona, the native language of most Zimbabweans. Another interpreted.

“I am just waiting to die,” the man mumbled. “I am so tired of being hungry.”

Compassion twisted Nash’s stomach as he and his traveling companion, Alvaro Dos Santos, were led inside to a scanty feast prepared especially for them. Zimbabwean Christians surrounded the perimeter of the one-room structure, faces pressed to the windows to watch their honored guests.

“I can’t eat this,” Nash whispered, his throat tight.

Dos Santos understood. For years he and his wife, Debbie, have lived the compassion of Jesus among the starving people of Zimbabwe. “Take a bite to show your gratitude,” he instructed in the strong accent of a man who learned English late in life, “then pick up your plate and come with me.”

Nash did as he was told, following Dos Santos into the midday heat. The photographer stooped down, offering his meal to the elderly African.

The man dipped his head in thanks. Immediately, he passed the plate to a small girl beside him. They shared a few handfuls together then passed the dish to the next child. And so it went. The man who longed for his suffering to end did not think to hoard his rare meal.

Alvaro Dos Santos says that’s the African way. “If you have one apple and twenty people, the apple will be passed around, and each person will take one bite. Not a big bite—not more than their share—then it will go to the next person.”

Dos Santos, Portuguese by birth, a shoemaker by trade, and a passionate man of God by faith operates a network of feeding centers throughout Zimbabwe, his home for many years until August 2005 when government threats forced his family to flee the country. Officially, the centers provide more than a 100,000 meals a month.

“But it isn’t enough,” Dos Santos says, running a hand through his hair.

Indeed, practicing true religion among the widows and orphans in Zimbabwe is a daunting task. The country, situated on the northern border of South Africa, is ruled by a dictator condemned by the international community for his crimes against humanity. The people live under the burden of a violent and oppressive government, a collapsed economy, and rampant HIV/Aids. They are starving, diseased, and often homeless.

I first met the Dos Santos family (the author with Debbie and Alvaro Dos Santos in 2008, at right) through World Bible School teacher Paula Leverett and her husband Lynn. In 2006, and again in 2007, I accompanied the Leveretts to Zimbabwe to witness the incredible and selfless work being done to touch the lives of hurting people in the Name of Jesus Christ.

Dusty gravel crunched beneath my sandaled feet when I stepped out of the truck at the Rukweza church and orphan feeding station in the heart of Zimbabwe, but I hardly noticed for the pounding of my heart. Joy and deep compassion crowded around me along with 117 children who, one-by-one, offered their hands in greeting (photo below). It was my first visit to a feeding center.

And it took my breath away.

The sweet young ones wore ragged clothes and tattered shoes—many wore no shoes at all. I was struck by how calloused and rough their little hands and feet were. Though they smiled, their eyes were somber, holding too much heartache at such tender ages.

A woman named Loveness oversaw the work there. We were officially introduced to the children under a fig tree, then they prayed and lined up to have their hands rinsed with cool water. They bowed their heads and clapped their hands in appreciation before receiving a plate of sadza—the cornmeal staple of Zimbabwe.

After they ate, the children served the men and women—several area preachers and a town official had joined us. We shared, too, eating rice, sadza, and a small portion of chicken with our fingers. The children sang for us and put on a humorous play about the importance of education. Apparently we will end up dead on the side of the road if we don’t do well in school! One boy in particular was quite an actor. His strong, bold voice made it easy to imagine him as a preacher some day.

To be honest, I’ve been enchanted by this land of beautiful scenery, beautiful people, and beautiful spirits. Every bit of it is fascinating to me—from the eucalyptus gum trees and flat-topped acacias, to the monkeys darting across the road, to the precious dark-eyed children outrunning our vehicle over rough terrain.

But everywhere, there is need.

And the church is responding.

Not only do the Dos Santoses oversee the feeding stations, but their ministry provides blankets during winter months and medicines in a country lacking even basic health care resources. The Leveretts have also mobilized WBS workers and other compassionate Christians to generously answer the pleas coming from our Zimbabwean brothers and sisters.

Every time the Leveretts visit the country, church leaders come to them with requests on behalf of the neediest in their congregations. School fees for orphans. Medicine for epileptics and asthmatics and a man with meningitis. Glasses for a legally blind boy and his sister. Wheelchairs for the disabled so they don’t have to drag themselves along the ground as I’ve seen so many do. A thatched roof for a widow who lost her home in a fire.

Through the coordination of the Leveretts, HIV testing and medications have been provided in one region to more than fifty infected Christians. Bibles and songbooks in the Shona language have been purchased for a dozen churches. Zimbabwean Christians have received shipments of cornmeal, training and equipment for drip-irrigation, and bales of clothing for distribution.
In 2002 the Leveretts initiated a correspondence-course for training vocational preachers. Thousands have been converted to Christ through the efforts of the nearly one hundred men who have been trained. These evangelists have planted churches in scores of villages far out in the bush, so bicycles have been provided to assist them in their ministries.

The Leveretts don’t meet these needs on their own—they simply share the stories with caring Christians, many of whom take it upon themselves to help in big and small ways.

Two years ago I met a young orphan at a feeding center who boldly approached to tell me he was an artist and needed supplies. He proved his claim by sketching in
my notebook. I think Joseph touched my heart because he dares to dream in a place where dreaming is impractical. Because he yearns to create in a time when priority is placed on simply surviving. I provided a modest amount of money to meet his request—and last year joyfully hand-delivered a box of supplies donated by an artist friend. It doesn’t take much to become the hands and feet of Jesus, touching the lost and hurting with His love and compassion.

Please pray for Zimbabwe and her people. God is already at work intervening—I see it in the many Christians stepping in to feed and clothe the people and treat the sick. I see it in the faith expressed by Zimbabwean men and women who have little more than faith to live on. I see it in the smile of an orphan who's treated with gentleness by an old woman dishing up sadza.

If you would like to touch those served by the ministry of the Zimbabwe feeding centers, you may send a check earmarked “Zimbabwe Feeding Fund” to the Southwest Church of Christ, 4515 Cornell, Amarillo, TX 79109. For more information on how you can help, call (806) 352-5647.

What Dad Taught Me: Walt Cassady, 1933-2008

2008-07-22T07:27:00.002-05:00

Believe it or not, one of my earliest memories of Dad was him coming into my room in the morning when I still young enough to sleep in the crib; he teased me because I’d ended up at the opposite end from where I started. That seemed funny to both of us. That day, I learned what it was like to share laughter with my father.

When I was five, Dad drove our family to California for vacation. We ran out of fuel somewhere along a barren highway because Dad was not about to pay $0.32 a gallon for gasoline. That day, I learned that sometimes it’s prudent to pay top dollar because your family will never let you live it down if frugality sends you walking back up the road with a gas can.

In 1969 Dad gathered his children around the television to watch Neil Armstrong walk on the moon. Even though I was very young, he told me to watch carefully and to remember what I was seeing, because history was being made. That day, I learned that if I approached the world with open eyes, I might witness great events and make them part of my own personal history.

Dad instilled in me a love of travel. He took our family on long road trips each summer, usually in conjunction with his National Guard two-week drills. But one of the biggest road trips I ever made was the first time he sent me off on an errand by myself behind the wheel of a Ford Gran Torino with six inches of snow on the ground. I was petrified because I was sixteen and had never driven on such roads, but he had every confidence in me. That day, I learned that I could do most anything if someone I admired believed in me.

Years later, when I was married and having my third child, Dad and Starr came to visit when the baby was due. I soon went into labor, and just before my husband took me to the hospital, Dad put both hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. In pain, already breathing through contractions, I expected words of wisdom from my father. Instead, he gazed at me with great sympathy, and simply said, “Honey, I’m so sorry.” That day I learned that sometimes laughter and compassion go hand-in-hand.

In early September 2005, Dad phoned to tell me he and Starr were loading up the motor home and heading down to Slidell, LA to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina. They ended up staying for several weeks and spear-heading plans to help rebuild a local church building, and by all accounts, even when he wasn’t in charge, he made sure everyone knew the right way to take care of the cleanup efforts. But that day in September, I learned that there’s a big difference between feeling sorry for people in need, and actually being like Christ by altering your life and plans and finances to help them.

I’ve always been proud to be Walt Cassady’s daughter. He was far from perfect, but he lived a life of passion, service, and adventure. And on July 5th, I learned what a privilege it is to stand beside someone you love and admire deeply as they’re birthed into True Life.

I’m thankful to Dad for teaching me so much. For talking my mother into having one more baby. For corny jokes that my children have deemed “Cassady’s,” for sending my children and me on missions trips because he wanted us to have those kinds of hearts, and for a lifetime of love.

Dad’s legacy will not be forgotten.

Call to Prayer

2008-06-26T17:34:00.003-05:00

Friends,

It's been nearly three months since I've posted--not because life has been dull, but because it has been very full, blessed, and trying all at once.

There is time to write on other matters later, but now I'm coming with two very special requests.

Please pray for my father who suffers a rare cancer and faces surgery next Tuesday, July 1. The procedure is complicated and my father is in a weakened condition. Simultaneously, we've learned that my mother suffers from advanced Alzheimer's and vascular dementia. She knows my father, but is often confused about the rest of us.

My siblings and I are spread across the USA and Europe, but we are taking turns going home to help care for them during these crises. It is a joy and a privilege to serve our parents in this way, though heartbreaking all the same.

I also ask that you please join me in signing a petition to the leaders of several southern African countries to intervene in the travesty taking place in Zimbabwe. You may sign online at
http://www.avaaz.org/en/save_zimbabwe/98.php?cl_tf_sign=1

Most of you know that I have personally traveled to Zimbabwe twice in the past two years to witness first-hand the suffering of men, women, and children under the dictatorship of Robert Mugabe. In recent weeks, a number of my Zimbabwean friends have confirmed the fear, danger, and turmoil that they live with daily as reported in the news coming out of their land. They are hungry, without medical resources, intimidated, harassed, and oppressed.

If you are unfamiliar with the situation in Zimbabwe, you will find good coverage at www.cnn.com. Check out this particular story:

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/africa/06/25/zimbabwe.voices/index.html

Please consider signing the petition. It only takes a moment.

And thank you in advance for your prayers.

Let The People Pray

2008-04-04T06:24:00.004-05:00

Please join me in praying for the people of Zimbabwe. Not for some nameless mass of humanity, but for my friends. My loved ones. For Washington, Alice, Keith, Bryan, Si, Kennedy, Godwin, Kuda, Peter, Dorcas, Penelope, Tendai, Emilee, Witness, Chipo, Chris, Pauline, Philip, Assan, Richard, Campion, Freddie, Joyce, and many others.

I've been closely following whatever news manages to trickle out of Zimbabwe prior to and since the presidential elections last Saturday, March 29. Mugabe, who twenty-eight years ago led a revolution and has remained in power with an ever-tightening, slowly-crushing grip, seems to have encountered an upset.

However, forbidding most foreign journalists (arresting some yesterday), delaying election results for nearly a week, and sending paramilitary to ransack opposition headquarters gives evidence to the rumors that Mugabe is once again up to his dirty tricks, trying to stay in power by whatever means he thinks will work. He's used violence and intimidation many times before.

That inflation is at 100,000 percent, unemployment is officially at 80 percent (much higher by more realistic estimates), life expectancy has dropped to 35 years, people are starving, nearly a third of the population has fled, and hope has nearly faded, he's convinced he's been good for the country. Or maybe being good for the country is the least of his goals.

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,346068,00.html

Breakable

2008-03-16T20:15:00.002-05:00

(*Song lyrics by Indie-pop artist Ingrid Michaelson)

Sometimes I’m astonished by how very fragile I am. How fragile we all are. How easily a word wounds, a look hurts, a cold shoulder upsets.

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.

I’ve vowed not to be overly sensitive, and for good reason. Hyper-sensitivity is the curse of self-centeredness. But still . . . we’re each so fragile.

So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,
And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.

I have the power to build up and the power to tear down. And sometimes I wield that power carelessly. Thoughtlessly. Selfishly.

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

Is it any wonder Jesus tells us to love one another? To put one another’s interests above our own? To bear with each other, forgive one another, strengthen one another. To be devoted to one another, honor one another, accept one another. To be kind and compassionate to one another. Encourage one another. Love one another deeply.

Did I mention “love one another” more than once? Yes. So did He. Why? Because . . .

. . . we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

(To listen to “Breakable,” go to http://cdbaby.com/cd/michaelson3/from/ingridmichaelson)

A Work in Progress

2008-03-08T14:33:00.002-06:00

A WORK IN PROGRESS is not only the name of my new writing blog, but the title of the novel I'm currently working on, and an accurate description of my writing journey.

You can find my writing blog at: http://caronguilloswriting.blogspot.com/

I hope you'll check in often for updates, excerpts, behind-the-scenes glimpses into my stories and characters, thoughts on writing, and "First line I wrote today" posts.

There's also a survey on the new blog (below the "About Me" section on the right sidebar), so let me know what you think. You can leave comments on my posts over there, too, so I'd love to hear from you whether you're an established writer, a beginner, an avid reader, one of my faithful cheerleaders, or simply a curious bystander.

Of course, I'll still be sharing my heart here at On This Journey, so don't go away!

I'm Out

2008-03-03T18:46:00.002-06:00

Well, I didn't make the Top 10 Finalist cut in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award competition, but I'm thrilled for the ones who did and eager to see what happens next.

To see the finalist entries, go to http://www.amazon.com/b/ref=gw_cto_abna?ie=UTF8&node=332264011&pf_rd_p=369140101&pf_rd_s=left-nav-2&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_i=507846&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=0JX82YDT4R39TR7FEZKC

I can't wait to read and review their excerpts!

By the way, you can view an extended excerpt of my entry at the independent ABNAbooks.com site.

http://abnabooks.com/page6/page11/page11.html

You can also rate and review it. No awards in the offing, but I'd love to hear what you think.

Our Privilege

2008-02-24T09:41:00.002-06:00

Several days ago I passed one of my 117 students as I drove home from school. We both pulled to a stop light—I in my Toyota, he on his bicycle—and waited our turn to cross the busy intersection. I guessed from the dashboard clock that he’d gone to tutorials or served detention or stopped over at a friend’s house before heading home. The student didn’t realize it was me, or at least pretended not to, but I couldn’t help watching him while we waited.

This particular boy is the sort of freckle-faced kid who’s pretty good in math, but more interested in being a clown in the classroom. From time to time, I grind my teeth over him, but we get on all right for despite his efforts, he’s not a very successful comedian.

Seeing him there cast him in a different light. Daylight, actually, for I teach in a windowless, basement classroom. But more than that. I’d forgotten how small he is until I saw him in contrast to the cars rushing by, buildings and trees and lampposts dwarfing him, wide blue sky curving overhead. I thought about how hard he tries to gain attention and acceptance from his peers—not unusual in middle school—and about how often I raise one eyebrow at him.

My heart was overwhelmed by compassion for this kid trying to find himself and his way in the world. I regretted the times I’ve felt frustrated by him; felt anything less than the love of Jesus for him.

I said out loud, “He deserves to be loved. Everyone deserves to be loved.”

Just then, two men with backpacks and dirty clothes crossed the street in front of us, and as clearly as if He’d spoken out loud, God reminded me, “Everyone is.”

Now I have no way of judging whether the three people in my line of vision know the love of man or God, but tears gathered in my eyes because for a split second, I felt the crushing grief of all the people in this world who feel unloved. Had it lasted longer than a heartbeat, the pain would have been unbearable. At the same time, my heart was pierced deeply by how many men, women, and children have yet to experience the overwhelming and unconditional love of their Father.

It’s our job, you know, to tell them. To show them. To live the love of God in Christ Jesus among them. To experience it fully in our own lives.

It’s our privilege, but we forget that. We forget to see people the way Jesus sees them. Forget that our loving relationship with the Creator of heaven and earth is something most people can't fathom. That it comes with a responsibility to every living person.

But I'm glad He reminded me.

Press Release

2008-02-19T19:51:00.002-06:00

Some of you might be interested in today's press release about the ABNA contest on Forbes.com

http://www.forbes.com/prnewswire/feeds/prnewswire/2008/02/19/prnewswire200802191514PR_NEWS_USPR_____NYTU122.html

. . . or that might be just me. :)

I MADE TOP 100!!!

2008-02-19T06:09:00.001-06:00

Just discovered my novel "Children of Light" made the top 100 cut in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest (out of 5,000 world wide entries)! If you could possibly help me out by posting a review (or commenting on someone else's review), I'd appreciate it. You must be an Amazon customer to review or comment, but anyone can visit my profile and download an excerpt (for free) at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00124COPM

Thanks friends!

An Invitation

2008-02-16T11:02:00.001-06:00

Hey friends,

Want to know why I wrote "Children of Light," an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award semifinalist? Go to http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00124COPM and scroll down to my latest blog post.

Haggling Over the Cost

2008-02-10T08:07:00.000-06:00

I was reading about the cost of discipleship in the gospel of Luke this morning, and I feel foolish.

Just the other day I felt a bit sorry for myself, enumerating in my mind what this mission of ours has cost in terms of relationships, primarily. I actually said to God, "I had no idea it would cost this much." The financial aspect I can live with, money being such a fickle part of life anyway. But by calling and choice we’ve stepped outside the comfort of our established relationships and started over.

Yet even as I whined, I couldn’t help seeing God’s wisdom in putting us through this specific training module. What in the world did I think would happen when we move to a large metropolitan area in another eighteen months and instead of joining an established church with a ready-made family, we start living the life of Christ in the midst of those who don’t yet know him?

Jesus said, "Anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple." That particular cross is not simply some trial or tribulation—we all have plenty of those forced on us by the nature of things—it’s the cross on which we voluntarily crucify our own plans, desires, and self-will for that of God’s.

In a reading last week, Oswald Chambers questioned, " . . .do you say, 'I am not willing to be poured out right now, and I don’t want God to tell me how to serve Him. I want to choose the place of my own sacrifice. And I want to have certain people watching me and saying, Well done.'"

Well, yes. Sometimes I do.

But here’s another truth: there is nothing I must give up that compares to knowing Jesus and being transformed into his likeness. Nothing so sweet as volunteering to be sent and having Jesus push me out of the nest and into the hearts of people who need him.

I’m stronger now for my wrestling with discipleship self-pity. Wrestling with it and winning by the power of the Spirit at work in me. If this is what it costs, so be it. I’m not haggling anymore, for I’ve gotten the better end of the deal no matter how you slice it.

Self-Esteem, Schmelf-esteem

2008-02-02T16:15:00.000-06:00

I’ve decided that self-esteem isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, seriously, look at how fragile it is. How quickly it dissolves into an insecure mess, giving up its strength at the smallest hint of criticism. Felled like the giant-above-the-beanstalk by the absence of just one hoped-for affirmation. One phone call that never comes. One ignored email. One day of obscurity.

Or maybe that’s just my self-esteem.

I recently entered a novel of mine in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest and made it to the semi-finals. Okay, so did 846 other people, but it’s a move in the right direction. Anyway, I received very nice reviews by Publisher’s Weekly and two of Amazon’s top reviewers as well as some others. But two or three mediocre reviews really got under my skin. I went to bed early after reading one of them, convinced I’m a terrible writer with no business letting anybody read my stuff. Good-bye self-esteem; you’ve been edited.

I have a friend that was twice supposed to let me know when we could meet for lunch. I never heard from her again. Ciao self-esteem; you’ve been dropped.

I shared some exciting news with someone. They replied with a lukewarm “how nice.” Au revoir, self-esteem; you’ve been boring.

I had something important to say in a conversation in which it was impossible to get a word in edgewise. Adios, self-esteem; you’ve been silenced.

I know better. I really do. I spent a couple of years wrestling with adolescent-style insecurity and finally realized the only ticket out of that mud pit was to put my confidence not in myself or in the favor of others, but in God alone. Call it God-esteem. But every now and then I forget.

So, I’ve decided I want to get rid of my self-esteem entirely. It’s a fickle, demanding, mean-hearted lover with serious control issues. Enough navel-gazing. Enough hurt feelings. Enough measuring myself against people who appear to be more successful, more beautiful, more interesting.

Sayonara self-esteem. You’ve been kamikaze-ed.

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Semi-Finalist!

2008-01-15T22:34:00.000-06:00

Out of 5,000 world-wide entrants, my historical novel "Children of Light" is among fewer than 1,000 semi-finalists as judged by Publisher's Weekly! The farther along I move in the contest, the more professional feedback I get. Of course, if I actually win first place, my novel will be published by Penguin Books. But the exposure and feedback will be very valuable for me. You can help me by reading and reviewing a 5,000 word excerpt of my novel at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00124COPM.

PLEASE HELP ME BY PASSING THIS ALONG TO YOUR FRIENDS!

You'll need an Amazon account (free) before you download the excerpt (for free).

Here are a few points to remember:

* When you read excerpts from the semifinalists and post reviews, you’ll be in the running to win a prize package (including an Amazon Kindle, a $2,000 Amazon.com gift certificate, and an HP photo printer) for providing the most--and the most high-quality--reviews.

* Read and review by mid-February so I can make it to the next round.

* On the link above, my novel is listed as "Romance" but can be found elsewhere as "Historical." I'm not going to squabble over the mixed labeling issue. :)

(Tips for reviewers from Amazon:)

• Be persuasive. Experts at Penguin will be relying on customer reviews as they prepare to select the finalists, so don't hesitate to tell us what you really think. The reviews that provide the most thorough, thoughtful feedback are the ones that will help Penguin choose the Top Ten.

• Quantity and quality help. The more reviews you write, and the more helpful each review is, the more likely you are to win one of our three prize packages.

• Discuss. As with customer reviews for all our products, you can comment on others' excerpt reviews and rate them. Any discussion and activity we see around specific titles will only keep us coming back for more, so feel free to speak up and banter with your peers.

• One quick heads-up: Per the contest rules, every excerpt is a maximum of 5,000 words in length. As a result, you may find that excerpts vary in length or end unexpectedly. Consider yourself warned--and happy reading!

Thanks friends! Caron

Charlie Brown Christmas

2007-12-25T14:55:00.000-06:00

Our family follows my husband's tradition of decorating our Christmas tree on Christmas eve. We usually purchase a live tree just a day or two before Christmas. In recent years, we've managed to find great buys on full, gorgeous, 10-11 foot trees that would normally be far out of our price range earlier in the season.

But this year we sold our home with its spacious and vaulted living room and moved into a small duplex while my husband's back in school full time. We knew we would have to go with a much smaller tree this holiday.

As timing would have it, our first-born son was married in a city ten hours away ten days ago, and the past week was hectic with end of semester demands on my time as a teacher, and we still had most of our Christmas shopping to do, and then we had a bitterly cold and snowy Saturday, and well . . . we forgot to shop for the tree until Christmas eve day. Our local nurseries were closed. By the time we found a dead tree at WalMart and another pitiful casualty at Lowes Hardware, we had decided to finish our other shopping and just pull out the old artificial standby from the garage later.

Of course, that would be the single-car-garage-turned-storage-unit that holds everything we didn't sell or give away during the down-sizing last August. Turns out the Christmas tree box is THE foundation upon which sits every other box, mattress, or piece of furniture in our garage. If we could somehow manage to pull it out--most likely a physical impossibility--the whole Jenga tower would come crashing down.

We discovered this at 6 pm. My husband and youngest son made a mad dash to the stores for another artificial tree. They were all closed except for a grocery store with a small floral department--and they were pulling the gates shut on even that. Bob grabbed a holiday decoration that most closely resembles a two-by-four with green fuzzies on it, but--for the uneducated--is really a four-foot-tall Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

Our college-aged daughter laughed/cried when she got home from her job at the mall. Then she and our sulking thirteen-year-old Caleb strung it with a very short strand of lights. We apologized profusely to the kids--the tree playing such a key role in our Christmas eve tradition. Then we turned on the Christmas music, poured up the non-alcoholic eggnog, began to laugh together, decked the thing out with this year's ornaments and Caleb's keepsakes, loaded it with tinsel, and realized it didn't matter too much after all. Took us two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, total.

Family, love, laughter, and forgiveness triumphed. And, therefore, so did the spirit of this holiday season.

God bless you, loved ones!

The Unlearning Curve

2007-12-24T08:47:00.000-06:00

For those of you who don’t know it, Bob and I have moved. We’re living in a foreign country, learning a new language, immersing ourselves in an unfamiliar culture, dealing with culture-shock at times, starting from scratch as we build relationships with the strangers that surround us, trying to find our way among a people whose mores and unwritten rules are confusing and awkward for us at best.

Oh, we’re still in Amarillo. We’ve simply stepped out of traditional Christian culture and fulltime ministry, and into the realm of the unreached. At the very least, it’s been mindboggling. In fact, one of my friends who’s experiencing something similar calls it the “unlearning curve.”

In essence, God has stripped away what I thought I knew about ministry, my own heart, those outside of Christ, Christian culture and its place in the world, missions, and church. Just yesterday I told our small home fellowship that I feel like I have nothing to hold onto anymore except God.

I suspect that’s where He wants me.

And to be sure, one of the only things He hasn’t “undone” has been the truths I know about Him.

Yes, the weak, human side of me would love to tell my family and friends about the wild success the Lord has given us in reaching the lost for Christ. But the truth of the matter is that while we still feel confident we’ve been called to serve as missionaries in our own culture, we’re realizing that the Father has some serious work to do in our own hearts and minds first. Honestly, we had no idea what He was calling us to and the depth to which He would ask us to invest in His mission. We just knew there was a fire in our bones, and that we had to answer the call.

Don’t get me wrong--we’re not miserable or even unhappy. We’re certainly humbled. Impatient. Stretched. Oddly experiencing a level of peace in the midst of all this. Constantly asking the Lord, “Well, okay. If not this or that, then what? If not yet, when? If not them, who? If not here, where?” We probably just need to shut up and listen.

Please pray we’ll keep our hearts and minds open to what God wants to tear down and build up in us. Pray that we’ll not grow weary or discouraged before His work is finished. That we’ll pursue Him single-mindedly, not worrying about what people think of us or “where we should be by now.” That we’ll trust Him whether He moves us forward or back; whether we’re in the process of learning or unlearning.

Seeking the Heart of Jesus

2007-11-18T08:30:00.000-06:00

I’ve been blessed to be in fellowship with some Christian brothers who’ve taught me a lot about reading Scripture to find Christ, rather than reading Scripture to find rules or church structure. While we can certainly discern how to live and organize our corporate gatherings by reading the Bible, we don’t find eternal life in those things. We find life in Christ alone. I’m learning to read Scripture to discover who Jesus is, who I’m to become, and what God wants to do in me. And somehow—as I’m shaped more and more into the image of Christ—a lot of those other questions are answered as well.

So this morning when I was reading Luke’s version about Jesus sending out the Twelve and afterward feeding the five thousand, I was struck by Jesus’ heart. He sent the Twelve out to preach the kingdom of God and heal the sick. When they came back, he took them and withdrew to Bethsaida. Word got out and they were overrun by the crowds. So Jesus welcomed the masses, likewise speaking to them about the kingdom of God and healing the sick. When the Twelve told him to send the people away to get something to eat, he told them to feed the people themselves. You know what happens next.

Here’s what hit me: To Jesus, healing the sick and feeding the hungry was an integral part of preaching the kingdom of God. No big surprise there, but I wondered if the apostles were more interested in preaching than in ministering. I wondered why there seemed to be a disconnect between their ability to cure diseases (and drive out demons) and their willingness to feed the people. Maybe they were tired. Maybe they never considered that they could—through Jesus—multiply food. I wondered if after preaching from village to village they were ready for a break and a bit resentful that they didn’t get one.

All those questions, but I really couldn’t find strong evidence in this passage to support my line of thinking.

And then it occurred to me that my questions had revealed the weakness of my own heart. That maybe sometimes I’m more interested in “preaching” than in ministering. That there’s a disconnect between what God has empowered me to do and what I’m willing to do. That sometimes I let my energy level dictate my ministry. Or that I can't even imagine what God wants to do through me. That sometimes I’m ready for a break and a bit resentful when I don’t get one.

I confessed all this to God, and now I’m confessing it to you. I want to have a heart that can’t separate the message from the ministry. A heart that always welcomes the people around me. A heart that isn't too timid to entertain the possibilities of God's redemptive power. I want to have the heart of Jesus.

Authentic Parenting in a Postmodern Culture

2007-11-14T20:49:00.000-06:00

You might be interested in a radio interview with my new Shoutlife.com friend, author Mary DeMuth, on the subject of parenting in a postmodern culture. The interview and her recent book are largely based on her church planting experiences in southern France--a generally secular and atheistic culture. You can tune in online at Moody Midday Connection (http://www.mbn.org/GenMoody/default.asp?SectionID=BF789E22FCAE4F7EBEFACD2AC725BDA2). Click the link for Nov. 13, Authentic Parenting in a Postmodern Culture.

You can also order Mary's book at:
http://www.amazon.com/Authentic-Parenting-Postmodern-Culture-Practical/dp/0736918620/ref=sr_1_1/103-7898786-1018205?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1176385630&sr=8-1

Some Days

2007-11-14T19:25:00.000-06:00

Some days what we are doing feels so slow-going . . . even insignificant. —church planter Jared Looney of the Bronx Fellowship, from an email I received this morning

I needed to read that today. Needed to discern a little bit of the melancholy in Jared’s full email. Not because I want this friend and mentor of ours to ever be the least bit discouraged, but because I find myself a wee bit discouraged this week.

Of course my discouragement is not quite so noble as the feeling I might get because we're not seeing rapid progress in the network of home churches we’ve planted . . . because we haven’t planted a network of home churches, though God-willing we’ll do so in his timing.

I suppose what I’m feeling is rooted in loneliness. Right now, we’re between two worlds: not fully enjoying the familiar comforts of our Christian culture, and not yet established enough in the kinds of relationships that make the sacrifice seem worthwhile. In Jared’s words, we’re intent on being the kind of missionaries that move “into the high rise in Tokyo or into the village in Kenya, that [live] among the people and incarnate the Gospel there through relationships. But in this case . . . [we’re] simply moving out into relationship in a lost world right here among the broken and the blind in the U.S.A.”

I can live with that. In fact, we’ve chosen to obey God’s call to do this very thing. Some days I’m giddy with the possibilities of what God’s asked of us. And some days I’m lonely in this calling.

Some days, I need emails like Jared’s. Emails that remind me that no matter how I feel . . .

. . . We are following a missionary Lord and participating with Him in the work of redemption.

. . . Mission and incarnation is certainly not a place of comfort or safety, but the impact of a missionary people is immeasurable.

. . . Generations will be set free as we persist in serving the cause of Christ in our city.

Some days I need more prayers than other days.

www.shoutlife.com/caronguillo

2007-11-06T21:06:00.001-06:00

Hey, loved ones . . . It's not exactly a website, but I'd love for you to visit my profile on Shoutlife. Shoutlife is a networking site that anyone can join, however, it caters to Christian authors, musicians, comedians, etc. I stumbled upon it through my agent, Terry Burns. You have to sign up if you want to view my photos or make comments, but if you do, be sure to leave a message in my guestbook. I'd love to hear from you there!

Loving Much

2007-11-06T20:56:00.000-06:00

Lately I've been pondering the story in Luke of the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears. In my heart of hearts, I both admire and am shocked by her humility. Seriously, can you picture anyone doing such a thing today? I want to have that kind of attitude toward Jesus, but I'm more like the Pharisee than I want to admit.

You see, I was probably in my mid-thirties before I really believed I had all that much to be forgiven of. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but I was pretty sure I must have been one of God’s favorites. After all, I was a compliant kid. I’d never lived a wild life. I was nice.

But then I started asking God to reveal my sin to me. Ouch.

To be honest, though, I can’t thank him enough for humbling me by doing so. When I finally began to realize the extent of my hopelessness without him, I began to truly belong to him. I mean, right there in that same passage in Luke, Jesus said, “He who has been forgiven little, loves little. He who has been forgiven much, loves much.”

Of course the truth is that we are all hopelessly sinful without Christ. We just don’t always realize it. And until we realize it, we love little.

It’s that simple.

Spirituality

2007-10-23T21:22:00.000-05:00

You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. —Eph. 4:22-24

In the context of our conversation yesterday, my husband asked me a question that really started me thinking. He asked, “Who is the most spiritual person you know?”

After some deliberation, I offered two names. Then he told me who he considered the most spiritual. To be honest, at first I was a bit taken back with his choice.

You see, my husband and I were using different criteria to answer the question. My response was based on two people who, by their language and demeanor, communicate a deep spirituality. Whether or not their lives truly measure up—and they really seem to—is another matter and one only our perfect and grace-giving God can judge. Despite the direction of our conversation, I really don’t want to try to discern that.

But my husband’s answer was based on who he knows that most exhibits transformation.

I was still thinking about that conversation as I got ready for work this morning. And as I put my plate in the dishwasher after the great dinner my husband made tonight. No, I didn’t continue to ponder who, indeed, is the most spiritual person I know. Those kinds of questions are really rather dangerous if dwelled on too long, leading to all sorts of judgments and comparisons and other foolishness.

What really stirred my thoughts and chastised my heart was the fact that I didn’t link transformation to spirituality. Maybe I would have gotten there eventually, but the point is that I didn’t get there immediately.

And me, with all my talk about transformation.

I love that my husband quite confidently and simply boiled spirituality down to a transformed life. There’s something to be argued about that. I mean, what’s the difference if I read all the right books or know how to pray good prayers or can teach publically or visit orphan feeding centers or manage to win people to Christ if I’m not putting off my old self and becoming like Jesus?

How much more spiritual can you be than to become like God in true righteousness and holiness?

Using that criteria alone, I pray that someday I’ll be able to answer my husband’s question: “Who’s the most spiritual person you know?” with one short, truthful answer and in absolute humility: “Me.”

WalMart Did Me In

2007-10-15T05:06:00.000-05:00

I ran into WalMart last night on my way to meet with the SW Life Group that has adopted us and felt bowled over by the carnival atmosphere. My footstep slowed as the lights and music and color and food, food, food crowded 'round me. A vision of empty store shelves in a shop lit only by daylight from the window at a gas station with no fuel slammed my mind and stole my breath. I took a cart and headed down the aisle fighting back tears.

It's not that I felt guilty for our abundance; I felt compassion and powerlessness in light of the enormous poverty I've recently witnessed.

I had only a few things to purchase, but didn't think I'd make it. How strange would it be to see a middle-aged woman sobbing in the salad dressing aisle? I swiped at the tears threatening my cheeks, allowed my mind to linger only a moment on the faces in the hut where fifty-five of us crowded in to sing Shona praise, swallowed the lump in my throat, took care of business, and fled the store, forgetting one of the four things I intended to buy. I let a few tears escape on my way to the Bible study then wept at home later when I told Bob about it.

I know it'll be like that. When I'm in Zimbabwe I mostly function as the situation demands. Once home, I deal with the emotions of the experience. Often at all the wrong times and when I least expect it.

I see this morning that my one missing post written on Wednesday from Imire Game Park arrived at last. If it wasn't emailed directly to you, it's located between "Our hearts are full" and "We are SO in Africa." Ironically, it's titled "Better Late Than Never."

Pray for me today if you read this early: I've been awake since 2 am and finally gave up and got out of bed at 4:45. It's off to school in a little over an hour now, and I don't want to be a bear or a zombie for my students. It will likely take divine intervention.

Pray mostly for Zimbabwe and her people. I take great comfort in knowing that God is already at work intervening--I see it in the many Christians and other organizations stepping in to feed and clothe the people and treat the sick. I see it in the faith expressed by Zimbabwean men and women who have little more than faith to live on. I see it in the smile of an orphan who's treated with compassion by an old woman dishing up sadza.

Yes, WalMart did me in, but God binds me up. His compassion is far greater than mine and he comforts and intercedes in a way I am powerless to do. I rest in his faithfulness.

On The Way Home

2007-10-14T15:41:00.000-05:00

I know it's Sunday and I'm home now, but I wanted to share with you the blog post I began in a little spiral notebook on the way home Friday. I was delighted that we flew from Zimbabwe during the daytime--so often on overseas flights one travels at night when you can't see anything. Loving geography as I do, I kept my nose plastered to the window during most of our ten-hour flight from Harare to London. I can't tell you how short those ten hours seemed!

I most anticipated flying over the Sahara Desert and it didn't disappoint. Every glance out my window revealed a different Sahara--a sort of topographical schizophrenia. There were great sand storms, dust rising for miles above the earth. I saw mountains, plateaus, massive black rocks, and curious white pockmarks. There were a multitude of designs in the sand, like a child's finger drawings: straight furrows like plowed fields, round bubble clouds, diamond-shaped ridges that reminded me of the pattern on my grandmother's worn couch, and lunar-style surfaces.

From my vantage point I could see ancient riverbeds as brown, cracked, and dry as the heels of a Zimbabwean bushwoman. Apricot mists of dust hanging low over barren valleys. A stray wisp of cloud. A road, needle thin and orange, notable only because of its inflexibility. Dunes the shape of continents and the size of small countries, vast carmel canyons and dramatic cliffs, deceptively smooth peach-colored expanses like frozen lakes in a Michigan winter. Brown fingers clawing toward the western horizon. Giant chicken scratches from a land beyond the beanstalk. Papaya-colored waves on a stormy sea of sand, the veins on an old woman's hands, broccoli floweretts of stone.

The seatbelt light came on with a ding as a blanket of taupe clouds muted the landscape below to a boring putty. Before long, the clouds thinned and the seatbelt light popped off. I'm quite certain I spied a plateau the shape of a stegasaurus--the jolly kind, round and friendly like an illustration from a toddler's book.

At last we popped out over a sheet metal gulf on our way to the Tunisian coastline. A large frighter below looked no bigger than the smallest Battleship gamepiece.

Within minutes we were back over land again, a patchwork of browns crisscrossed by etch-a-sketch roads. At long last, cities and villages became visible. We flew over dotted fields and terraced farms. Milk chocolate terrain gave way to a startling dark chocolate canyon. A green lake nestled among rugged hills, its tributaries wandering off to become lost in the valleys, its surface turning white as frosting in the changing sunlight as we passed by.

And then we were over the sandy beaches of the African coast, the Mediterranean waters close to shore a vivid blue-green. October is typically a stormy time in the Mediterranean, and though the clouds were thin, turbulence forced us to 40,000 feet.

Soon we reached the island of Sardinia, water filling in the gaps of its fringed coastline. It's a rugged land, dark as potting soil, smoothing out to a gentle northern coast.

We crossed the European border at Nice on the French Riviera, its beach barely discernable though I know it to be rocky from the afternoon I spent lounging there twenty-six years ago this month, I believe. I've not had a glimpse of France since my semester in Italy with Harding University.

Like a blanket tossed in a heap on the floor, the French Alps mounded below us. I spotted a rainbow among the thin clouds and a mountain peak pushing through the mist. A smaller airplane left its jet trail as it crossed our path far below.

Eventually, jagged treeless peaks rose high above green river valleys, their rocky crags packed with last winter's snow. Finally, low thick clouds hugged the earth like a mantle and only occassionally did a mountain top peek its head out.

The clouds refused to part so that I could see Grenoble, Lyon, Macon, Auxerre, Vaux-le-Vicomte, or even Paris and the English Channel as the onflight map indicated. I couldn't even view London until we dove through the cloud cover just before landing.

Five hours at Heathrow--including a three-hour flight delay--allowed us to reacclimate to Western culture as we enjoyed Starbucks drinks, piped-in contemporary music, a purchased USA Today newspaper, Dr. Pepper for Adrian and Brian, and pizza at an Italian restaurant near our gate.

We were gratefully, brilliantly, amazingly, definitely on our way home.

Home

2007-10-14T14:59:00.000-05:00

Brian and I arrived home safely yesterday afternoon; Jerry and Adrian caught an earlier flight out of Boston. The Leveretts are due in today. I've slept a lot, trying to be rested for work this week, and have shared many stories with my husband and son. Our little rental seems so luxurious; our simple Sunday lunch so rich and elaborate.

In Zimbabwe these days, one can hardly find bread or milk or sugar or salt or cokes or matches or fuel. Grocery shelves are largely empty. The electricity is off perhaps more than it's on. If you're lucky enough to have a borehole, then you only need to boil your water. If, as in Harare, you're forced to use untreated city water, then you must freeze, boil, and freeze the water again in hopes of killing all the microbes that pollute it. That's if the water's running at all. And you're fortunate if you don't live in the neighborhoods where raw sewage floods the streets.

I spoke with a young Zimbabwean man who dreams of coming to America where he can live a comfortable life. I admitted to him that he would likely be able to do so, but warned him of the spiritual poverty that plagues our culture. At least in Zimbabwe, people are drawing near to God, for He is their only hope. Here, we hope in many lesser things.

So, as much as I'm delighted to be home--where I can love on my family and use a real toilet that I fully expect will flush and open a refrigerator filled with anything I want and ride in a car that doesn't rattle my teeth--I'm returning with a sharpened focus on what's most important: Jesus, and the hope he gives. Jesus, and the relationship he offers. Jesus, and the love and compassion he models. Jesus, and the tranformation he works in us.

For without him, we're all in poverty.

Finishing up

2007-10-11T18:33:00.000-05:00

It's nearly two weeks now since we left home and we're eager to return, but I won't say it'll be easy to leave Zimbabwe. I'm not sure it's possible to take you're whole heart home with you once you've been here. We must be at the airport by daybreak tomorrow--which is quite early here--to catch our 7:30 flight to London. Jerry, Adrian, Brian and I will continue on to Boston from there while the Leveretts stay overnight. The four of us will arrive late in Boston and must stay less than 12 hours before our flights to Dallas and home. Fortunately, we have hotel rooms booked. The Leveretts will fly to Chicago on Saturday, stay the night, and then home on Sunday.

Today we drove about an hour to Marewa and then another 20-30 minutes down a dirt road to Rapenga school where a church and several area schools met us. The children sang and recited Bible verses. The older women requested their pictures taken and the younger asked us to help them get to America. The area around Marewa actually seemed to be slightly better off than many areas where we've travelled, though that is by far a relative term. Southwest church in Amarillo has several new World Bible School students in this area, and a former WBS student is evangelizing there. His name is Peter Marumba, and he lives with the village head. He introduced us to his girlfriend whom he'd like to marry, but he doesn't have the bride price and hasn't yet persuaded us to donate it to him, though he has tried. We did purchase a bicycle for him with funds given to Brian by friends from Southwest; he was very excited to receive it today. We made it very clear that we only had an hour to spend in Marewa, but the introductions and messages and mingling ran long and then Peter took us to the home of a family who'd prepared rice and chicken for us. The mother and one of the adult daughters knelt on the floor and poured water over our hands into a basis to rinse them before dishing up our plates. We were very fortunate to have spoons to eat with. The family had a pen with turkeys and washbins full of chicks which are hard to come by these days. We are on Africa time, of course, so it was no surprise that our one hour in Marewa stretched to four. And that was with the itinerary Peter made for us quite unfinished!

Upon our return to Harare, Washington took us to the market where the guys and I purchased some souveniers. We spent nearly $25 million Zim--every $100,000 note we had on us. :) The exchange rate has changed since last week, so that is not even $50 worth, but we made some craftsmen very, very happy.

I'm sorry to say that we brought Brian to Zimbabwe and he took a turn for the worse--literally. But his driving improved once he got us out of the middle of the intersection and back on the correct side of the road. Actually, Brian and Jerry did a fantastic job of driving us down single lane roads, dirt roads, oxcart paths, and around (and occassionally through) large potholes. Paula says Jerry has earned his PhD here--he's now a certified pot-hole dodger.

Soon we're taking the Mhlangas to dinner and will meet Alvaro Dos Santos's brother, Chris, as well has his son, Phillip, there. We're looking forward to seeing Phillip whom the Leveretts and I have known for some time now. The Mhlanga's have no water today, but fortunately they've stored some up; nevertheless, I'm really rooting for a shower before heading to the airport in the morning. I rented a shower at Heathrow in London on the way, but our layover will be short tomorrow. Adrian received his dufflebag only yesterday, but he's looking forward to wearing clean clothes home. We're looking forward to him doing so, too!

It's doubtful I'll be able to write before Boston at least, so I will give you all my love and ask you to continue praying for us. Our souls are good.

Our hearts are full

2007-10-10T21:09:00.000-05:00

Today, Wednesday, we drove up and down hills, past goats and cows along the roadside, around curves that gave gorgeous views of mountains and craggy valleys to Dorowa to visit the church there and Assan, our native missionary. Assan and his wife also run a feeding center in the front yard of the home he built himself. He even made the bricks, digging the dirt from an anthill and mixing it with water to bake in a homemade kiln. Last year when we were there he'd completed the walls, but had no roof and only thorn branches at the windows to protect the structure from intruders. Today it was finished--a diminuitive small three-room home for a family of seven now that he's raising his brother's children who lost their parents to AIDS. He'd plastered the inside walls and the outside were plastered and painted a light pink. The children sleep on a reed mat on the concrete floor and a live hen nests in a bowl on the floor in the corner.

I say the feeding center is in the front "yard," but it's nothing more than dirt. They feed many children there and have constructed a canopy of small tree trunks or limbs for support and scraps of tarps overhead. It provides a welcome bit of shade as there is not one tree. The vat of sadza--a large barrel or drum--was so deep, and the mixture so thick, that it had to be stirred by men using four-inch diameter, five-feet long tree branches stripped of their bark. The children ate only sadza and beans. We were served rice, chicken and goat meat, but I was much too hot to be hungry for more than a little rice. Assan and the men have dug a well by hand on the property. They've reached water at 29 meters, but need to go to 50 for better quality, so we left some money for them to buy dynamite to blast the rest. They will need concrete to line it so that it does not collapse, though that is a commodity hard to come by as it's being bartered for grain.

We drove back to Wedza and past Imire on our way to Marondera where we met Kennedy at his home. He was able to provide us with more diesel for the Land Rover--we were nearly through the second tank that's been added to the vehicle. Fuel is very difficult to obtain in Zimbabwe, but Kennedy owns busses and was able to assist. We had a great visit with Kennedy who helped us get soccer balls as gifts for Wedza area schools and the police who made a request we can't afford to refuse if we want their continued friendship. He also obtained five bicycles for us to provide for three local preachers and two others who are dear to our hearts. We also met and visited with Clyde, the preacher in Marondera who has gone through SEMP training in the USA, for those of you familiar with the material Brian, Doyle, Bob and I have edited and re-written and elaborated on (with permission, of course) to become the "Line of Departure" seminar. Kennedy bought us cokes, which is almost as difficult to come by as fuel, so we felt very refreshed and pampered before heading on to Harare.

Alice and Washington were on their way to their Wednesday small group meeting when they saw us driving into town, so they followed us home and made sure we knew where to find the dinner she'd left for us. We're relaxing now and so glad to be back in the comfort of the Mhlanga's gracious hospitality.

We are so weary, but our hearts are full. I wish everyone could visit this place, even those who have no interest in it whatsoever, for it only takes a moment to love these people, to appreciate the beauty of this land, and to feel your heart break for the great needs that define this place and time. I'm convinced that our hearts must learn to break so that God can show us the extent of his great love, mercy, compassion, and comfort.

We continue to miss you all and are looking forward to returning this coming weekend, Lord willing. Thank you for your prayers and for taking care of our families!

Better Late Than Never

2007-10-10T00:33:00.000-05:00

It's Wednesday morning, and I'm just now able to write of Tuesday because the lodge computer was having difficulties last night. It's another beautiful day . . . it seems each one is more precious than the previous, but that's because we continue to meet many amazing people.

Yesterday Brian, Jerry, Adrian, and I arose early to go with Edmore on a ride through the park. We were off just after sunrise around 5:30. Along the way we saw in the wild our giraffe friends from Monday, zebra, eland, sable, warthog, reedbuck, rhino, and elephants. We stopped for tea and shortbread that Edmore had brought with us before heading off to find the cape buffalo and the infamous Zoe. Zoe is Shona for elephant, and indeed they named this elephant "elephant" because they are trying to convince her she is truly an elephant and not one of the cape buffalo she's been living with for 34 years. She is the leader of the cape buffalo herd and has an heroic past which I think I must share later since this office is busy this morning, and I am graciously being allowed to intrude.

After the ride, we met Godwin and others in Wedza for the trip to Zana school where Adrian and Brian spoke to the students and the church that meets there. We visited with one of the teachers, a man named Witness, whom we met last year and with whom we've contracted for a Shona translation of World Bible School. Paula and I had a spontaneous interlude with the women. We asked them to share their stories with us of how God has answered their prayers and encouraged them to pray together when they meet and to continue to share their stories of God's faithfulness with one another.

From Zana we went back to Mukondwa school, to the new feeding center there. We snapped photos of the sweet children getting one of their three meals a week that the center provides. As this work is established and well-managed, the feedings may increase.

We drove to Wedza high school where we spent but a few minutes. Some students sang for us--what beautiful, soulful voices! Brian told a modern-day story about a father and son. When he concluded by saying this is the story of Jesus, the students made the connection immediately--even before Brian could make the analogies--and they broke into spontaneous applause!

We also returned to the hut church at Maruta. Fifty-five of us crowded into the hut we'd visited the day before--a structure perhaps 20 feet in diameter. It was very warm, but the fellowship was sweet. They gave us gifts of handmade pottery and needlework. And I'm pretty certain I managed to gracefully remove the roaches that crawled onto me. :)

At last we met with the Wedza church that meets in the home of a preacher named Farai. Farai is supported by the 29th & Yale church in Tulsa where I attended as a teenager. We had sweet fellowship there as well and after Adrian's message, many came asking for us to pray that God would heal them.

We came home weary and worn, but were refreshed by showers and a good meal. Though we took snacks along for our lunch, we gave most of it away, save for perhaps a miniature box of raisins or a small granola bar each. At Imire we met a group of four that are here from South Africa and London, including the director of an organization called ZimKids that also feeds orphans in the name of Jesus. I've visited their website before.

Must close and join the others for breakfast. This morning we leave Imire and head to Dorowa, Rusape, Marandara, and back to Harare. Please keep praying for us. We are grateful to God for his many mercies--we have been safe and well-treated at all times. Love you all!

We are SO in Africa

2007-10-08T14:59:00.000-05:00

I've decided the electricity in the rural areas is only on from about 10 pm to 2 am each day. Praise God for generators. Because the email doesn't always go through promptly, I'll try to be clear about what day it is. This time I'm writing on Monday night.

Today has been a very full and heart-lifting day. We began at the Mukondwa Secondary School where Adrian, and then Brian, spoke briefly to the students. I asked the deputy headmaster first of all if he would invite his students to write to mine, and then if we might mingle with the young people for a while before they headed back to their classes. As always, the children loved to have their pictures taken and would laugh and cheer when we shook their hands. Someone interpreted for me as I invited questions from the boys about schools in America. Naturally, their greatest curiosity revolved around sports. When I told them Brian was a very good soccer player and that they should ask him to play with them, they reported they had no soccer ball. As it turned out, Jerry and Adrian had brought one for their school, so it was a delight to see that given to them.

We crossed the road to the primary school where Alvaro Dos Santos has just initiated a new feeding center only two weeks ago. We met some fifty orphans being fed there three days a week and were privileged to speak with them for several minutes. The school--glass missing or in jagged pieces in the windows, no desks, mottled blackboards barely readable--sits amid the vivid purple jacaranda trees on a hill above a valley, hazy blue mountains rising in the distance.

Next we drove to meet with a church in Maruta. After driving down an oxcart path, we parked and hiked about half a kilometer down a footpath through tall, brown grasses, past cows munching on the dry vegetation, through a gate in a bramble fence to a small grouping of huts. We were invited into the round hut which traditionally serves as the kitchen. It was neat and tidy, save the roaches skuttling up and down the walls and across the dung floor. The same painted material formed benches around the perimeter of the interior as well as a set of shelves on one section of the wall. Chipped and dented, but brightly colored plates and bowls lined the cabinet of sorts, and cooking utensils hung on nails nearby. Gourds and a homemade whisk broom were tucked into the smoke-blackened thatch roof. An old tarp, a woven reed mat, and a fraying crocheted blanket covered the floor surrounding the fire pit which was cold and clean-swept. There had been a communication problem about the time of our meeting, so we were two hours early, though word quickly spread that we'd arrived. People began to join us and the family that had provided the meeting place. They sang in Shona and Jerry spoke briefly, but we had other business to tend to, so we made arrangements to return tomorrow afternoon.

Later this afternoon we returned to Imire for appetizers at a viewing station and then a braai, with is an Afrikaans word for barbeque. Edmore piled us into the back of a pickup fitted with viewing seats and drove us out to see the newest member of the family: a baby black rhino born Sep. 20th (also Adrian's birthday, it turns out). Imire has run a black rhino breeding project for several years. Baby Tatendai (which means, "we are grateful") and his mother, DJ, were penned. On the way we saw eland and giraffes. Then we headed to the viewing platform near a lake where we saw hippos last year. There were no hippos this evening as the sun went down in a blaze of glory, but we did see several nyala and kudu as well as warthogs. We returned the lodge for a visit with Kennedy who has come to see us. The manager barbequed for us, and I must say wildebeast fillets are quite tender and tasty.

It's nearly ten pm now. Jerry, Brian, Adrian, and I will leave with Edmore at 5:30 am for a game ride where we hope to see many more of the park's animals as well as its famous elephant, Zoe, before we head back to Godwin's at 8:30. Goodnight loved ones! We miss you even as our hearts are full of pain for these hurting ones, joy at God's goodness, and awe at the amazing handiwork of our beloved Creator.

A Very Good Day

2007-10-07T14:16:00.000-05:00

We reached the Imire game park at sundown yesterday. What a treat! We stay here while visiting the Wedza area because it is a safe place for us. There was no electricity when we arrived, but we were provided candles for our rooms. A generator lights the main lodge. We enjoyed dinner outside on a patio by candlelight with a fire in the pit. Edmore, one of our hosts, sat talking with Brian, Jerry, Adrian, and me at the fire pit long after the Leveretts retired for the evening. At last the generator was shut off, along with the outside lights, leaving us gasping at the star-filled sky. Edmore pointed out the Southern Cross constellation before we scooted off to our thatched-roof rondavels. I was delighted to find only one small spider in my bed this year, which I quickly had words with. Words, and an interlude with a WalMart fly-swatter I brought for that very purpose. :)

No electricity this morning either, but awoke to a fine day with wildebeasts just beyond the fence outside my window. We breakfasted by the pond before heading into Wedza to pick up Godwin, his wife Kuda, and several others meeting us there before going to meet the town authorities. Once that necessary task was complete, we drove on to Mukondwa school where we saw several old acquaintances. I was so glad to see Tendai, dear Pamela's husband, and to give him my condolences in person. Brian preached twice and some young women sang for us including a mother/daughter duet which was incredibly beautiful. We ate granola bars and crackers from home, leaving the church to enjoy their sadza together while we drove more than an hour into the bush to Chigondo. A baboon crossed the narrow dirt road ahead of us on our way.

We met that church last year, though this time they were meeting 2 km farther on under the trees outside a school. There were many, many AIDS orphans and widows in that place. The people asked us to provide food, school fees, and clothing for the children. That is a huge task that I'm unsure can be addressed. Adrian and I snapped several photos of the children, who laughed when they saw their faces on our cameras then waved their hands and asked us to do it again and again. The school headmaster had joined us, and so he took my school mailing address when I asked that his students write to mine. He said he would do so, so perhaps we may get a correspondence going. I was also happy to recognize a young man I'd photographed last year next to the nearly life-sized statue he'd carved of himself. He recognized me also, so we embraced as he told me he was still carving. We exchanged addresses.

The road to the school was so rough and rocky the last kilometer that Brian had to ferry Godwin's carload down in the Land Rover. Afterward, some of the men decided to walk back to Godwin's borrowed vehicle. I did likewise, and Isnot, who'd traveled with us from the game park, joined me along with another woman and three young girls walking our way. The girls were precious, and one of them held hands with me all the way back. When we arrived at the truck, I fished out a nutri-grain bar and split it between them to receive the sweetest bend of the knee and hugs in return.

Again, no electricity at Imire, though I'm typing on the office computer run by the generator. We just finished a good dinner that we were certainly hungry for. We're very tired, but looking forward to our rest and another day. We love and miss you all. Please keep praying for us. The requests for assistance and the greatness of the needs are overwhelming. We need wisdom, patience, and continued sensitivity, which is sometimes hard to maintain amid the numbing desperation. We remain healthy, though admittedly stiff from the bumpy, crowded ride today. Eleven of us in a six-seater today because we take on passengers as we can. It's after nine here, so I need to brave the very dark bathtub, where I hope to find hot water and no creepy crawlies. Love and hugs!

Friday Seminar

2007-10-05T21:05:00.000-05:00

Woke at 4:45 this morning for a trip to the airport, hoping to catch our luggage as it came off the 5:30 am flight. No electricity, so I cleaned up by flashlight, though I heard roosters crowing shortly after 5.

Praise God, we got 4 of our 5 missing bags, including the one with seminar materials. Poor Adrian is still out his clothes, but he's thrilled to have fresh contacts and solution! Maybe his suitcase will be in on Sunday . . .

Seminar went great today. The messages are fresh and true and challenging, so while they seem to be generally accepted, they are creating a lot of great dialogue. Tomorrow Paula and I will have special time set aside with the women, though I've used our mealtimes under the trees to pursue conversations on the subject.

Some of you know of Kennedy who walked away from his faith some years back. Today he rededicated himself to the Lord with a lengthy confession to his peers in ministry leadership. There was great rejoicing.

We continued to meet up with many past acquaintences and friends today and enjoyed building upon those relationships. Likewise, we're making new friends, among them Zoling and Peter and (another) Pamela. We're all a bit worn out at this point, however.

It's time to repack for the Wedza area, sorting our gifts and deciding how otherwise to travel lightly. We will leave for that rural region and the Imire Game Park after the seminar ends around 1 pm tomorrow, which--knowing what Africa time means--we'll be lucky to get out of Harare by 4 pm. :)

Last year I was given great license by the Imire management to post messages from their office computer after hours. Hope they're as accomodating this year, or I may not be able to write until Wednesday.

As we were driving back to the Mhlanga's home tonight, I rode alone with Jerry, Brian, and Adrian so I took the opportunity to ask for their reactions to Africa on this, their first visits. Like me, they are struck by how much the people are the same as us with their hearts and concerns and even many habits. The guys are overwhelmed by compassion and the oddly simultaneous admiration of these resourceful, strong, and gracious people. Africa impacts and changes her visitors. You cannot lay a foot in this land without some shift in your perspective on people, wealth, blessings, and suffering.

And I think that's a good thing.

I Cried Good Tears Today

2007-10-04T22:24:00.000-05:00

Today we scattered, Brian searching for fuel and running errands with Washington; Jerry, Lynn, and Adrian golfing with Chris DosSantos, Paula and I going to the World Bible School offices with Alice. There we met several who were arriving for the seminar. We three walked to a cafe to lunch with Si who will be coming on as Alice's assistant. I use the term "lunch" loosely: I had a scone and tea. The cafe had no jam for the scone which was actually only a biscuit dusted with flour. :)

A student minister at the Avondale church walked Paula and me to an outdoor market so we could buy chitenges--traditional hand painted fabric to wrap around our skirts and sit upon to protect them from the dust and dirt when we visit the rural areas beginning Saturday. We paid $5 million for the three pieces we bought. Washington says my husband will not let me come to Zimbabwe again if I'm going to spend money like that. Of course, that only amounted to about $15 US. The ladies selling them said if we purchased more than one, they'd make us a deal. In typical Paula fashion, she insisted we not barter, for whatever we paid would be helping those sweet women. I want to be Paula when I grow up.

The seminar began tonight with introductions all around--from those who came in from Dorowa, Mutare, Bulawayo (sp?), Murewa, and many other locations. Brian and Jerry spoke brief messages--only a taste of the sessions to come tomorrow and Saturday.

I cried as I sat there listening to Peter Madondo, whom I met last year, translating as passionately as Brian can speak. We praise God Peter was able to answer our request to translate, for he is sharp and quick and very accurate. I cried because the message of focusing only on Jesus is the message of hope for these people I have come to love with so much affection. I cried because Timothy and Dorcus and Campion were there. I cried because we were introduced to two very young men who were World Bible School students and are now pillars of their church and great evangelists.

Afterward we all shared a traditional meal, eating with our hands a plateful of sadza, greens, gravy, and a funny smelling piece of meat that was only explained to me as, "something inside the cow." Most of you will not be surprised to learn Brian skipped the greens.

Washington, Adrian, and I will venture to the airport around 5:30 tomorrow morning, hoping to find our luggage arriving on the morning flight from London. All of our seminar materials are in one of those suitcases. With God's blessing, we'll be at the church with them by the time the first session begins. And if not, then we'll trust that we don't need them first thing.

We love and miss you all. We continue to be in good health and spirits. Thank you for your prayers.

Here and Healthy

2007-10-03T22:23:00.000-05:00

After two days and nights of travel we've made it safely to Zimbabwe, praise God! We left London last night, barrelling above France at 600 miles per hour. Then we cut across the tip of Sardinia, glanced off Tunisia, and plunged south through Lybia and the Sahara, straight down the middle of the continent.

Unfortunately, several pieces of our luggage are apparently stranded in London. Our only hope is that they arrive on the next flight into the country on Friday. I'm missing but one piece, and though I can certainly do without the few personal items it contains, I'm disappointed to think that the children's clothing I packed might not make it here. Poor Brian and Adrian who are missing all their luggage, including the handouts for the seminar this weekend. Please pray those bags arrive.

We rested today after our morning arrival though we're all ready for bed again. Met with the church in Harare tonight where Brian spoke and we got to see Assan and several others who've come from Dorowa. It is a great delight to be here again, to hug these precious people and rejoice in our common faith.

I find myself still fascinated by this place, by the women walking with tall baskets on their heads and babies tied to their backs. The purple jacaranda trees are in full bloom as are the myriad other brightly colored flowers and bushes. The white-frocked apostolics walk the roadside, their light clothing a blessing for them and us as we drive past on the dark, narrow streets.

Alice and I enjoyed a girl visit, riding to and from the church alone while the others piled into Alvaro's loaner--an ancient Land Rover--risking Brian's driving as he steered
British-style from the right side of the vehicle down the opposite side of the road. :) I admire Alice tremendously--her wit and intelligence, her compassion, and her godly gentleness.

Tomorrow we prepare for the seminar--doing what, I don't know. I'll just follow orders. Most likely preparing food and helping people settle in on borrowed mattresses. The seminar will be introduced in the evening and then we'll share a meal. The sessions will begin on Friday morning.

Everyone on the team is well and enjoying one another's company. Keep praying for us! We miss you.

Your Prayers

2007-10-01T06:30:00.001-05:00

I got up early this morning; much too early for an 11:15 am flight, but I don't like to rush. We'll be flying from Amarillo to Dallas to Detroit to London to Harare, Zimbabwe. It'll take the better part of two days. The Leveretts left yesterday and will meet us in London after a day of rest from travel. Doctor's orders--Lynn had back surgery last spring.

Thank you for your many prayers. As I've asked many to do, please pray for the health and safety of the entire team: Paula & Lynn, Jerry, Adrian, Brian, and myself. Pray for our families. Pray for the Zimbabwean church leaders and their spouses who will travel to the capital city of Harare for the special seminar taught by Jerry and Brian, that transportation will flow smoothly for participants, and that the people's hearts will be receptive to the pure but challenging truths that will be shared. Pray for our wisdom, stamina, and Christ-likeness as we visit schools, churches, and feeding centers throughout rural areas, facing many heart-wrenching situations and trying to decide who most needs help in a country where everyone is desperate. Pray that the translators will understand and accurately communicate our words. Pray for the Holy Spirit to guide our actions, words, and time. Pray that our presence will bless and encourage every person we encounter, from the officials who will monitor our activities to the smallest child with nothing but hunger in her belly.

If you're interested, Wikipedia, as usual, has a good article on Zimbabwe with both history and up-to-date information about the country. You can find it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zimbabwe or just Google "Zimbabwe." The Wikipedia link will be close to the top of the list.

Blessings, family, friends, students and parents! I'll post at every opportunity.

Well-connected

2007-09-29T17:42:00.000-05:00

I received a forwarded report from a Zimbabwean man just yesterday, corresponding on behalf of a preaching school. He writes, in part:

“We are grateful for the Lord’s grace that showers our lives as we are going through difficult times in this country. Our beautiful country is going through turbulent economic difficulties with people failing to get enough to eat. However, this does not discourage us to continue preaching and teaching the message of Jesus Christ . . .

“During the past three and half years, our school took a deliberate shift towards producing as much food as we can for our own consumption . . . we now have six head of cattle and we are already using the ox as draught power in our rented field . . . . During the last agricultural season, we managed to produce two tonnes of maize (corn). . . . During the first half of this year, we had 500 [laying hens] producing an average of 450 eggs every day. These were slaughtered in July after reaching the end of their laying period. Unfortunately, we have not been able to replace these layers because of the unavailability of chicks. . . . Our vegetable garden that was thriving during the first half of the year is now under moisture stress because of the unavailability of water. As we are writing this report, we have not had any running water in our [taps] during the first two weeks of September. Fortunately, most of our greens are under drip irrigation; therefore, the beds retain moisture for at least a week. We are now ferrying water from other sources to sustain this project.

“The economic situation in Zimbabwe is difficult to comprehend because fundamentals have been twisted. In July 2007, the government decided to control the rate of inflation by slashing the price of all goods resulting in producers failing to produce at the government given prices. This tinkering resulted in acute shortage of nearly all products and services. Literally most of our shops are empty even clothing stores. Queues are a common sight. [We have] managed to source nearly all our basic groceries from South Africa and Botswana . . . . These days one will be considered a connected person if found drinking a soft drink like coke or having bread for breakfast. Please pray for our country because only a divine intervention will save us from this economic quagmire.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but never, in my wildest imagination, would I consider a Coke or bread for breakfast a symbol of my success.

Our team of six—we’ve added one to our group just this week—is about to embark on a journey that pales in comparison to that which the gracious, dignified people of Zimbabwe are living each day. Sure, in this oppressed nation there are plenty of thieves, violent men, corrupt leaders, and people who stir up strife, but the men and women I know are resourceful, strong, hopeful, and generous even in their poverty.

And knowing them makes me feel very well-connected.

Zimbabwe '07 minus Nine

2007-09-22T10:17:00.001-05:00

Well, in nine days I begin the journey back to Zimbabwe. What different emotions I'm experiencing this year! Last year I was traveling to a foreign country to meet strangers. This year, I'm on my way to a beloved land to visit precious friends.

To be sure, our small group will meet many new souls and make friends out of more strangers, but today joy has replaced uncertainty, affection has replaced apprehension.

I certainly know better how to pack! My suitcase will be filled with even less of my own belongings and more things to leave behind for a people who go without so many necessities and luxuries. I'll be taking donated art supplies for young Joseph who stole my heart last year with his artist's passion (see "All the Same" posted about Sep. 23, 2006). I'll take more practical shoes this year. And shoes for children. I found a pair of old eyeglasses in a drawer when we moved that I can give away. I'll stock up on allergy medication, toilet paper, and granola bars. I've already been to the benevolence center at the Southwest church to pick out long, polyester dresses to wear and then share. Dear Paula taught me that trick; keeps us from wasting space with our own clothing.

To be honest, part of me dreads this trip. I'm exhausted. I have too many other things to do. The journey is challenging and there are so many inconveniences. I don't want to go without my husband, but though we'd planned to go together this time and take our youngest son, our recently changed circumstances prevent this. I don't want to leave my students with a substitute for two weeks. The orphans, the starving, the sick, the oppressed all leave me emotionally weary.

But my heart is another matter. My heart is ready, my passion for the purpose of our journey is at its peak. I can't wait to hug Alice and Chipo and Kuda and Si. To meet Pamela's sister who has corresponded with me since Pamela's death (see "God Blesses Zimbabwe . . . ," Sep. 17, 2006; "Pamela Farayi Mutambirwa's story," June 4, 2007; "Grief & Glory," July 31, 2007). I can't wait to grasp the rough and dusty hands of those sweet children who've lost so much. To take their pictures with my digital camera and laugh with them when they see their faces on the screen. To visit the schools and churches. To discuss challenging truths with church leaders and their spouses. To sing with believers under the shade of a fig tree. To hear goats bleeting as they pass through the schoolyard. And, yes, even to eat sadza with my fingers from a plate that's probably never been properly washed.

On second thought, my journey back to Zimbabwe doesn't begin in nine days. It began the moment I came to love its gracious, beautiful people.

***

You can keep up with Paula, Lynn, Brian, Jerry, and myself by visiting this blog while we're away. I'll post as often as time and Internet access allow. You may also contact me to request that my blog be sent directly to you via email. At any time, you can email blogposts to friends from the blog site by clicking on the small envelope icon at the end of a post.

Squeeze Me, Lord

2007-09-02T07:33:00.000-05:00

His purpose is not the development of a person—His purpose is to make a person exactly like Himself, and the Son of God is characterized by self-expenditure.—Oswald Chambers

So I’m reading these words from My Utmost for His Highest this morning, and I’m struck by the sentences I underlined a year ago. They impressed me then, and no less today.

In the past few years I’ve really been torn between the desire to fully express who I am and fully express who God is in me. I believe He gives us all things: our talents, our holy desires, our passions.

But Chambers is right: . . . it is not what we gain (my thoughts: success, outlets for our creativity, satisfaction in being fully ourselves) but what He pours through us that really counts.

So I’m going to keep pursuing the dreams I believe He's given me—staying “fully alive”—but I’m going to remember: God’s purpose is not simply to make us beautiful, plump grapes, but to make us grapes so that He may squeeze the sweetness out of us.

For His purpose. His glory. Amen.

Heart Improvement

2007-08-18T08:53:00.000-05:00

Over the years Bob and I have been able to afford most of our home improvement projects only by doing the work ourselves. We’ve painted, wallpapered, and sheet-rocked. Laid sod, sub-flooring, and tile. Installed ceiling fans, toilets, and countertops. We’ve worked hard and come away with pride at our efforts. Which is all well and good when it comes to home improvement.

But heart improvement is another matter.

This week we settled our daughter into a freshman dorm room two states away. At one point during the ten-hour drive home, I had time to pray at the wheel while the guys slept. Instead of asking (again) why God didn’t space out the events stressing our lives in the span of three weeks—moving a daughter, selling our home, making our own move, going back to work fulltime, etc., etc.—I finally began to praise him for heaping all those things on us at once.

Don’t ask me why. I guess I just knew it was time to stop whining and start praising. You see, even though I’ve recognized these many events as blessings, I've had serious issues with the timing . . .

Not anymore.

As soon as I began thanking the Lord for the crazy, compacted nature of our schedule, my heart exploded with gratitude. Why?

Because his strength is made perfect in my weakness.

Circumstances have forced me to be utterly and desperately reliant on the Father. Or rather, they’ve forced me to admit my utter and desperate reliance on him. It is humbling and freeing and deliciously sweet.

Had things worked out differently this summer, I know for a fact I would have handled them on my own, thank you very much. And I would have been proud of myself for doing so.

But instead, there’s absolutely no way I can accomplish what must be done in a day. On top of that, there’s no reason I should be patient with my family, grow even closer to my husband, and have time to draw near to Jesus. Or confess all this in a blog. Somehow, though, it’s happening.

So there you have it. I’m stinkin’ excited that I can’t manage any of this on my own. That I’m as wobbly as a newborn colt. That I’ve had to abandon any pride I might have salvaged through this transition.

Because the only thing I need is God’s strength. I can definitely live with that.

Update

2007-08-05T19:20:00.000-05:00

This journey we’re on is thrilling, scary, awesome, and challenging, and we are wholly convinced it is Spirit-led. Time and again this summer, the Spirit has spoken clearly past the confusion and insecurity and discouragement our hearts have experienced.

As you may know, we are in an intense period of significant transition: job, school, family, income, ministry, and housing changes. Despite our busyness and worries and distractions, the Father has allowed us to encourage and impact the planting of two simple fellowships in the past few weeks: a home church in Taos, NM and a fast-evolving Bible study group of unchurched and dechurched people in an Amarillo apartment community. We are not the planters in either case, but we praise God for allowing us to actively speak into both groups. Just this week, a young Christian woman invited us to plant a church in her apartment. We are approaching this prayerfully, along with her, and will move forward as God leads.

The Lord continues to refine and focus his call on our lives. He’s nurtured within us a specific vision for simple churches and has actively placed us in relationship with a number of passionate Christ-followers who are similarly called and presently pursuing this kind of ministry. They are patient tutors, enthusiastic encouragers, and wise leaders. We are humbled that God’s faithfulness would be so rich.

Our church planting friends are scattered far and wide, but, praise God, we meet monthly with two other couples in our area who share our hearts. One of them has arranged for our local group of “missional friends” to be closely mentored by a visiting church planter working specifically with house church networks and other multiplying movements in China. We look forward to the coaching he will provide and invite any interested Amarillo-area friends to join us.

I mentioned worries earlier, and I do so to my shame. Please pray that we will trust our Lord completely. He knows that our house still needs selling and exactly what bills need paying with our reduced income and how we’re going to manage all the stressful adjustments August alone will bring.

In everything, we just want to focus on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, and on the Father, who is over all and through all and in all.

Grief and Glory

2007-07-31T22:32:00.000-05:00

For those of you who read Pamela Mutambirwa's story I posted on June 4, please join me in prayer for her husband and daughters, for sweet and faithful Pamela passed on to glory yesterday. Below is Brother Godwin's email notifying us. I am in tears, even as I rejoice. --Caron
***
l am sad to inform you that Pamela Mutambirwa died today . . . she passed away this morning in Harare so they want the body to be carried from Harare to burry her in wedza this has really saddened many christians since she was a very strong saint however we are happy that she will be in the Lord's arms as she was faithful before God. Her husband Farayi does not work so it is going to be a big problem in buying the cooffin ,transportation for the body from Harare and also food to be eaten on the funeral. God willing l am going to help on food to be eaten at the funeral we are happy because Pamela and her husband are faithful in the Lord at the time of her death she was now worshpping with Mukondwa church of Christ she was also a commitee member for the ladies at Mukondwa the whole church will miss her a lot. As l writting l am praying that God will open the avenues for her body to be transpoted to wedza and also help in buying the coffin and the food at the funeral pray for the 2 kids who were left behind, otherwise our good work is going on well here May the good Lord bless you and pray for this hard time we have we are really morning our beloved sister to us at Mukondwa we are taking Pamella and Farayi as Priscilla and Aquilla in the bible they were lovers of God pray for thje husband and the kids we love you ln His name Godwin

Did You Know?

2007-07-28T13:46:00.000-05:00

I realize I've been pretty sporadic on the blog this summer, but it's only because God has been so busy in my life and heart that I've moved into a phase of intense listening. About the time I think I've learned something worth sharing, He says to me, "Be quiet. I'm not done teaching you yet."

Nevetheless, I do want to point you toward a fascinating video on YouTube that you might not have seen yet. I first encountered it at a teacher training earlier this summer, then came across it again today in an email sent by another simple church planter. Invest just 8 minutes to watch Did You Know? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMcfrLYDm2U), and it may very well open your eyes to the task set before us.

Many of us are finally paying attention to how dramatically the world has changed in the past few years. How dramatically it's changing day-by-day. We're beginning to figure out that if the world is changing, then so must our presentation of the gospel.

Don't get me wrong: the gospel of Jesus is timeless and perfect, but it must be presented in a variety of ways to the diverse listeners out there. In fact, as we say in Line of Departure (see the link to the right), we're going to have to scramble if we're serious about building the kind of relationships that earn an audience for the Good News.

Diversity is exactly the reason I believe there's a place for traditional churches, megachurches, rural churches, urban churches, simple churches, etc. By simple, I mean those that meet in houses, neighborhood parks, coffeeshops, pubs, work places, or parking lots.

You see, the world thinks it has Christianity figured out. That it's outmoded. Outdated. Out of step with reality. Shame on us for giving them reason to think so. To be honest, too many Christians reinforce that misperception by the lackluster way they live their faith. The hateful way they live it. The untransformed way they live it. Or the bubble way they live it, isolating themselves in Christian enclaves with little outside influence or value. Can't deny I've been there.

Bob and I have been exploring our city with new eyes lately. Asking the Lord to help us really see where people are, who people are, how they're hurting, and how we can better connect them to the salvation of God in Christ Jesus. Pretty eye-opening to a couple of folks who, just a few months ago, were convinced this is an unusually "Christianized" community.

It's our own little version of Did You Know?

Enough and Never Enough

2007-06-30T12:57:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I find it easy to become discouraged with myself. I strive to live by faith, and then in a moment of faithlessness I take it all back and worry or live in fear or question what God’s up to or try to control the outcome of a situation. Some days I’m a faith-filled woman, a powerful witness to the refining work of God. Other days I’m a sniveling coward, angry with myself for wondering where in the world God disappeared to.

We’re all like that, aren’t we? We want to operate out of faith, but we just can’t seem to sustain it to the extent we think we’re supposed to. We become uncertain, confused, bewildered, impatient, frustrated.

But let me tell you, from my vantage point, that’s nothing to beat ourselves up about, and here’s why: most of us don’t consider that God is always offering us progressively more challenging faith tests. We’ll never “arrive.” But each test causes our faith to grow, each failure teaches us the intended lesson. And every effort on our part is valued by God.

Some people, in their attempts to encourage us toward faith, would have us believe we barely live by faith at all. That we’re constantly disappointing God. They imply that if we were really pillars of the faith community, we’d never doubt. Never question. Never have a moment of dullness in our lives. Never need a nap or cry or yell at our kids or take antidepressants.

I don’t believe it. Some of the most extraordinary examples of faith come from people who struggled the most to live by it.

Remember those “heroes of the faith” in Hebrews 11? Abraham, for example, gets a whopping six verses dedicated to his faith, but think of all the times he didn't live by it. Like when he lied about Sarah being his wife because he was afraid someone would kill him in order to have her. Or when he impregnated his slave girl instead of waiting for God to open Sarah’s barren womb.

Good grief, the Israelites are lauded as examples of faith when we know full well that most of those who passed through the Red Sea by faith never entered the Promised Land because of their unbelief.

Don’t even get me started on the apostles who left everything to follow Jesus then spent the next three years arguing with him about what his ministry should look like, who he should talk to at Samaritan wells, and how in the world could they possibly feed all those people with five loaves and two fish.

The point is that for every step of faith we take, there are six more ahead that would not be steps of faith if they didn’t require . . . well, more faith than we have now. Praise God that we will encounter faith challenges at every turn, for it is through them that we are being transformed into the image of Jesus. And faith isn’t faith unless it involves the potential for doubt.

My friend Jerome Daley sent out a great newsletter today that touches on what I’m saying (you can sign up for Jerome's newsletter at http://www.purposecoach.net/wb/pages/coaching-column.php). He wrote, “God's deep yearning is for us to live in utter reliance upon and unprecedented partnership with Him. Yet despite this mind-boggling invitation, we hesitate. Our craving for control pulls at us relentlessly. And into this quandary, the gift He extends is . . . uncertainty.”

Uncertainty is a gift?

Absolutely! It’s only our enemy when we allow it to rule our faith-walk. And even then, God can redeem it. C.S. Lewis, in the Screwtape Letters, writes as the demon Screwtape: “He [God] wants them [believers] to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles.”

The faith we have today is likely not sufficient for tomorrow. But God is. And He is able to challenge and nurture our faith if only we do not grow weary or discouraged and give up on ourselves. Because He doesn’t.

To Him, our faith is enough, but never enough that He will stop providing opportunities to grow in it.

And that’s the beauty of this journey.

Going Back

2007-06-11T11:19:00.000-05:00

Last night my sweet sister Paula and I spent four hours booking flights for 5 of us to travel to Zimbabwe next October on a budget.

We are passionate about teaching the Zimbabwean church leaders and their wives more about authentic, simple, and transforming discipleship, the anti movements and a legalistic expression of faith being the norm there. And so the Leveretts and I will return, along with our shepherd Jerry Morgan and our brother Brian Mashburn who speaks so articulately on the subject--his life being the most powerful sermon of all.

Please pray for the Lord's will in these plans, that the doors into Zimbabwe will remain open, for the hearts of the leaders and their spouses, that the true and life-giving message of Christ will seep into the cracks and crevices of this oppressed nation. I offer a more personal prayer request as well: that God will provide the money I need to make up for my lost wages in October. I will be docked for virtually every day of the trip, and as the sole breadwinner for the family at that time, we will be acutely dependent on his promises for care and provision.

I pray to always live acutely dependent upon them.

I am eager to tell you how the Lord has worked in the Dos Santoses lives recently, particularly with their visa needs. But that story--while mind-boggling and one only God could write--isn't finished yet. Keep praying for them and check back periodically for an update.

Pamela Farayi Mutambirwa’s story

2007-06-04T21:41:00.001-05:00

Nearly two weeks ago I felt inspired to type up the word-for-word story written down and handed to me by a precious sister in Christ while I was in Zimbabwe last fall. Pamela is married to her second husband—the first died from AIDS, as it turns out. She and her current husband have two little girls. I chronicled part of her story in my September 17, 2006 post.

God’s nature being what it is, just two or three days later I received a letter from Pamela, prompting more fervent prayers, thoughts, and action on her behalf. I’d like to share some of her writings with you here. May they inspire you, encourage you, and embolden you as they do me. I am sharing them largely as she wrote them, complete with grammar, punctuation, and spelling oddities.
***
Isaiah 43:1-3

December 5 2005 marked a very important day in our lives. Weeks before, I had been coughing my lungs out, I had lost weight (from 68 kgs to 40 kgs) my skin was looking terrible, I scratched and had a terrible rash, thrush, terrible temper, I was just on edge most [of] the time. I was experiencing a geographic process. I was peeling like a rock under intense heat and cold. No matter how much cream or what kind, it never worked for me. I was a living geography chapter under “CHEMICAL WEATHERING.” That day I cried “Lord help” and to my husband “I am falling apart piece by piece.” I needed help and it came with a drunken woman while I sat scratching myself, much like Job.

With a strange smile she greeted me. I replied.

[She said,] “You too are having problems with this rash, lets see your tongue, well, well, welcome to the club.”

I was taken back. “Welcome to the club?”

“If anyone asks you tell them you have heat rash but in actual fact, this is H.I.V. related—you are sick young woman, now go for tests and confirm and be given drugs—make sure you join a support group.”

I was terrified—these were deep waters I was in, what if my husband decided to leave after confirmation. I had to face the results. Without second thoughts I ran straight to where my husband was, in a little shop that we were renting (I am a caterer), I told him what had happened outside and without any hesitation, he simply said, “When?”

My answer was—“tommorrow very early.”

In the meantime business was not [on] our side. We couldn’t understand what was happening. We were seriously stuck. With all this on our plate, we prayed “God whatever the results are going to be, prepare us.”

You know, some people live a weird Christian life—weird because they do not believe in miracles, their definition of miracles is totally wacked. We received our miracle in a very beautiful way. Jesus said “Peace I give unto you, not as the world gives.” That was our miracle—PEACE and assurance that we had not been cursed. I told my husband that if the results were to come “positive” we should give it over to God so He can use the results positively for His Glory—which we did. We dedicated our results to God and He is faithful—we have started to talk to people, sharing God’s word as it has applied in our lives.

It was such a relief getting our results though they were positive, I felt a burden had been removed from me [Note: Pamela’s husband was also H.I.V. positive]. Much to the counsellor’s surprise we looked at each other with hope and relief, instead of being counselled, we seemed to now be counselling the counsellor—only God CAN we told her.

Back home, the landlord had come—disconnected our power, and left. The next day he [came] back and kicked us out at noon while everyone was watching, no income, no shelter, no food—just plenty of God, we were driven closer to the cross. Though he was defeated two thousand years ago, the devil brought hell in our faces by the second. It was too much for me to handle—I cried in front of our local pastor. “It’s far better to be H.I.V. positive than to be humiliated in public” I cried.

We finally got accommodation at a place that can only be described as “a place to put your head.” It was raining, room was too small, but why need a bigger one, when we had sold some of our belongings to start the business and buy food, and rent. We started again our confectionery work, we sold our wares to a local businessman who ended up cheating us—we stopped. We left the little room we were renting for a cheaper one, it was like moving from Sodom to Gomorah. This time we had not even [one] cent to start anything—people who we owed money started claiming their monies—up till now, we haven’t paid them. Like I said “only God can,” this time we lived as the children of Israel in the desert under the words of the new testament verse “Therefore do not worry about what you shall eat or drink . . . ”

We had our daily bread and manna, in the form of mushroom. It was so plentiful we had enough to sell and buy soap, meali-meal, pay rent. No matter whether other[s] went before us, our 5kg allowance always was there, same place, same time. We started again, doing confectionary—it was short lived, every sale had something it needed to buy, either soap, food, rent or refilling of ingredients. We smiled a little when we were offered to look after a deceased couple’s property, it’s a payless job but we thank God every day we have a place a bit more permanent. My body felt strange sleeping on a bed for the first time since 2003, my brain must have worked over time adjusting my system so as not to get dizzy and fall (laughing).

2006 March this year we got a job at $1500,00 salary rate [Note: Zim dollars. At that time, I’m guessing it had the value of about $3.75 US]—life has eased a little, we can buy food though most of the time it is the wrong food, for our health, we can take our drugs, but winter came it was our worst enemy, with 3 blankets and 3 thin jerseys [we] were at the mercy of the cold. Flu ruled, and coughing was as regular as breathing but we survived. Our job is not really able to give us security as we can spend one month without meat for sale, we fear we could fall back to the days of hunger. But God says in Isaiah 43:1-3, “I am with you always” . . . and in Psalm 91 lies a beautiful promise, so yes in the material sense we are faced with a tough time, but, hey, where is God, He doesn’t go on vacation, if He can feed ants, bugs, birds and water the trees etc., what about us, who were bought and redeemed by the precious blood of His Son—Jesus Christ. He will surely breathe a life saving idea to provide food and clothing. God is not going to come and drop a basket of goodies or a trunk full of clothes—He gives an idea, but only if you seek His face.

He will provide because He is Jehovah Jire.
He will heal because He is Jehova Rapha.
He will give peace/protection because He is Jehovah Nissi.
He will arise and fight for me because He is Jehova El Shaddai.

So as I close this first story all I can say is “For I know whom I have believed in, and I am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.” Being H.I.V. positive is not a death sentence it’s an opportunity to share God’s power of grace to the lost.

Give yourself to Christ whatever your ailment is, could it be cancer, kidney failure, heart problems, paralysis. God is very good at using what we call “right offs.” You feel like a right off? God can do anything. Do not grumble “Oh why me.” Who did you want it on? God allows sickness to come to us because He just wants to be glorified. Give Him the ailment and see Him work with it after He used a donkey to speak. Everything is His—try Him. Keep the disease between you and your doctor/s and you are inviting the devil to use you, and he will ride you until you are worn out like a tireless rim, but God will bring peace. Try my Jehova “taste and see that the Lord is good.”
***
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

My name is Pamela Farayi (meaning rejoice). I am 35 years old, born in 1971 on August 8. I am married to Tendai Mahachi (Tendai means thanks). We have two daughters, both H.I.V. negative, the first is Dion Esther, the last is Chelsea Chiedza (Chiedza means Dawn/Light). I am a caterer, hairdresser, decorator, typist, tailor/designer.

It is my hope that you had pleasure reading this first article as much as I had pleasure writing it. Do not have a pity party for me, just simply hand this to the next person in distress. May the Lord God whose name is Jehovah, the Lord of Hosts, Al Shadaai, Prince of Peace, the great I AM, the Rock, the Living Water, (the Greatest Cook) keep you and in a world so confused may He give you the greatest miracle He gave us, PEACE, to dwell in your lives. Remember, He is Jehovah Rapha, the cure no matter how you feel, and by His stripes we have been healed. When taking your medication, pray over it as you pray over food. Do not forget to quoting God’s promises.

“Arise and shine for your light has come.”

What About Bob?

2007-05-20T20:57:00.000-05:00

(Below is an edited version of a letter we will share with the Southwest church next Sunday. I hope it serves to answer questions my blog friends might also have. Thanks for checking in!)

So . . . What About Bob?

A lot of people have asked similar questions since the announcement was made that we would be moving out of paid ministry at Southwest. The confusion is understandable—our plans at that time of last month’s announcement were undefined—but the Lord’s been answering our prayers for clarity and direction. We’d like to share where we believe he’s leading us.

First, let us briefly explain again why Bob will be transitioning out of his staff position by the end of the summer after more than a decade in fulltime ministry, nearly seven of them here. Our hearts have always been for the harvest. As students of culture, we’ve observed a shift in how and where people seek answers to their spiritual questions. Because of this, we’ve developed some core values for the ministry to which we’ve been called. Three of them are as follows:
· We must be missional. We are compelled to discover fresh ways to communicate the gospel to those outside of our traditional church culture, much like a foreign missionary must learn how to communicate the good news in ways that make sense to those in his mission field. We must go where not-yet-Christians are.
· We must be incarnational. We must fully enter culture as Christ’s representatives. It’s critical that we are a legitimate part of culture, doing our best to remove all barriers to the gospel other than the gospel itself.
· We must become church-planters. We must plant churches among people groups who are not currently being reached. Specifically, we are passionate about reaching people who might never consider walking through the doors of a traditional church.

That said, we are excited to see how the Lord is orchestrating this transition for us. We’re prayerfully pursuing Bob's entrance into the nursing program at West Texas A & M University in order to become self-supporting. He is already enrolled in summer classes, and we expect it to take just over two years to earn this second bachelor’s degree which is very much in line with his lifelong interests and background. It will also give us greater flexibility to move wherever God leads in the future. Caron will be working fulltime in order to support us during this transition, and we are thankful that she’s already been hired to teach math at the middle school next year where she previously taught social studies. Our home is on the market, and we're downsizing as fast as we can.

In the meantime, we hope to begin planting churches wherever the fields are ripe. We envision starting simple, easily reproducible churches in homes, for instance. We trust that God will show us how and when and where—we will follow His lead.

We appreciate the love and support we’ve received from so many of you. Thank you in advance for your continued prayers and friendship. We are also immensely grateful to the elders, ministers, and staff at Southwest for their love and shepherding. It is an honor to be their friends. And mostly, we are thankful to the Lord for His transforming work in us and in His church.

With the Love and Affection of Christ, the Guillos

Risky Business

2007-05-09T20:02:00.000-05:00

Risks are not to be evaluated in terms of the probability of success, but in terms of the value of the goal. – Ralph Winter

At this moment I’m sitting in my favorite local coffee shop listening to music by artists I’m unfamiliar with, sipping on a Cape Town Red Tea, and surrounded by young people working on their laptops, studying, iPods plugged in, or hands moving in expressive American Sign Language. Meanwhile our exceptionally pristine home with its freshly washed windows, cleaned out closets, uncluttered shelves, and gleaming faucets is entertaining potential buyers.

But I’m not here because the house is being shown. It’s Wednesday night, and I intended on coming here anyway. Selling our home and going to places where people hang out are just two aspects of this phase of my journey. Organic (natural, simple, reproducible) church planter Neil Cole points out that most Christians are trying hard to figure out how to bring lost people to Jesus, but instead we should be bringing Jesus to lost people. I’m still learning what that looks like, but am pretty sure it means less time in a comfortable church environment and more time in culture.

But that’s only the intro to where I’m going with this particular post. This whole journey God’s leading me on feels dadgum risky. I mean, honestly, I’m about as traditional as a middle aged mom/school teacher/Okie born and raised in the Bible-belt can be. For crying out loud, I say “dadgum.” And “for crying out loud.”

To make matters worse, Bob’s giving up his ministry job to go back to school fulltime in order to re-enter the general workforce where people who don’t know Jesus are. We’re downsizing as fast as we can, but my human eyes still can’t see how our finances are going to work out.

And we know nothing but traditional church culture. Sundays at 9:30. Potlucks. Sermons. Roll the Gospel Chariot Along.

Frankly, this whole deal is absolutely crazy. We’re likely to fail. Miserably. Go down in a firey, bankrupt, spiritually-isolated crash.

But that’s only the human me talking. The part that walks by sight.

The part that walks by faith knows it doesn’t matter. The goal is worth it. God’s called us to reach people for the cause of Christ. For salvation. For the best way to live. Because he loves them. Because he knows we love them, too.

So while my mind sometimes thinks too much, my heart leaps at the thought of what God’s called us to do. All the learning, and failures, and lifestyle changes, and painful personal transformation ahead of us are nothing compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord and sharing in his mission to the world.

Honestly, I'm fairly sure everything we think he's going to do will look completely different than what we're thinking right now. People may very well say with a great deal of head-shaking, "Oh, those foolish Guillo's. They went off half-cocked, jumping into something they knew nothing about. And look at them now."

And that's okay, too. Because the goal is worth every bit of the risk.

How to Vote

2007-05-04T18:10:00.000-05:00

Concerning the Dos Santos family, please go to www.cbsnews.com. Click on "Assignment America" on the left sidebar. Choose story #2, "Old-school Cobbler." You may vote only once, so please send these instructions to folks who will help. Votes must be registered by midnight (Eastern time) Saturday night, May 5.

Thanks, friends!

Please help the Dos Santos family with your vote

2007-05-04T08:55:00.000-05:00

Loved Ones,

Alvaro Dos Santos is the man who began the orphan feeding centers in Zimbabwe that I visited last fall. As you may recall, I'm establishing an overseeing board to monitor the collection of funds here in the US and distribution in Zimbabwe, as well as writing to help raise awareness and support of the feeding network Alvaro funded from his own pocket for many years. I know Alvaro and his family personally. He is trying to obtain a US Green Card/Visa and will be featured briefly on the CBS evening news tonight, Friday May 4th. Please read below for more information and instructions on how to "vote" for his story to receive more national news.
Thanks! Caron

From Alvaro:
Please forward to all the people you know and ask them to please watch vote for us.--Alvaro and Debbie Dos Santos

The following was written by another friend of the Dos Santos family:
Alvaro Lima Dos Santos is currently trying to get a visa/Green Card so that he can stay in the United States. He was forced to leave his adopted home country of Zimbabwe by the current government there. Since he is a white person who owned property and a successful shoe making business he is no longer allowed to live in Zimbabwe. With help from members of a church in Amarillo Texas, Alvaro was able to come to the United States on a temporary work visa. Currently he and his family are living in Abilene Texas. He has been able to put his skills a custom shoemaker to good use making custom shoes for people who cannot find shoes to fit their uniquely shaped feet. He is one of a very few making medical grade custom shoes in Texas. Friday May 4th on the CBS evening news (5.30pm CSDT) there will be a short clip about Alvaro and his problems with obtaining a visa. It will be one of three human interest type clips. The audience will be given a chance to vote on which of the three clips they would like to know more about and have a national reporter interview. Please watch the evening news Friday May 4th 2007 and then vote for Alvaro.

What We Know

2007-04-27T09:28:00.000-05:00

Each of us has a mission in life . . . we were sent into the world by God, just as Jesus was. Once we start living our lives with that conviction, we will soon know what we were sent to do. –Henri Nouwen

If you’ve kept up with my blog at all, you most likely know that God has been stirring transformation in my heart and my husband’s heart for a long time. The process has been long and confusing and exhilarating and painful and life-giving.

The Lord has had to work hard, stripping us of our insecurities and the things we feel secure in, but shouldn’t. He’s brought failure when we were sure of success; success when we expected nothing but failure. He’s torn down our thoughts about what ministry looks like for us and built us back up with a greater sensitivity to his definition of what ministry looks like for us.

Largely, this has been a terrifying experience. We’ve questioned our sanity, our faith—and, in retrospect, what seems a bit maudlin even to us—our place in the whole scheme of things. But keep in mind, we often felt desperate. We weren’t sure of anything anymore, except, of course, God himself.

Late last year, when the questions were still swirling, but the answers were beginning to take shape, we came up with a document that began like this:

Things we know about us:

We must be missional. We must recognize that North America is a mission field because of its cultural and spiritual diversity and its distance from Christian foundations. We must learn to interpret and engage popular culture. We are compelled to discover fresh ways to communicate the gospel to those outside of our traditional church culture, much like a foreign missionary must learn how to communicate the good news in ways that make sense to those in his mission field. We must go where not-yet-Christians are rather than finding refuge within our church culture and comfort zones.

We must be incarnational. We must enter culture as Christ’s representatives. It’s critical that we are a legitimate part of culture, doing our best to remove all barriers to the gospel other than the gospel itself. Some of these barriers would be the language, habits, practices, and “culture” of Christendom. The message of Christ will present a barrier that cannot be removed.

We must pray. We must ask the Lord to show us where he is already working on the hearts of people. We must ask him to lead us to men and women “of peace.” We must pray that the Lord will send out harvesters into his harvest field (Luke 10:2b). We must ask him to reveal the work he is calling us to do.

We must be constantly transforming, submitting ourselves to the work of the Holy Spirit in us as he fashions us into the image of Christ. This work is founded upon our knowing Christ through the Scriptures, prayer, and personal experience.

We must become church-planters. We must evangelize through multiplication, not addition. Our culture requires saturation church planting in differing contexts and to differing groups. House or “simple” churches may be a cost-efficient and effective strategy, depending upon the local cultural climate.

I will spare you the rest of the four-page document because it gets thick with research and statistics and mumbo-jumbo terminology, eventually devolving (or evolving?) into more questions.

Suffice it to say, as I worded in a recent email some of you may have received, the most profound result of God’s work in us has been in the clarity of His call to church planting. Specifically, we are passionate about reaching people who might never consider walking through the doors of a traditional church.

With the blessing, shepherding, and encouragement of the ministry staff and elders of our congregation, we’re embarking on a journey that appears to be taking us out of fulltime paid ministry and into self-supporting church planting. We see that most likely taking place in the context of establishing house church networks, though we are open to the Lord's leading in this regard.

While we don't know exactly how this will play out, we know that we’ll be phasing out of Bob's staff position at Southwest by the end of the summer. We’re praying for God’s continued guidance and clarity as he directs us into this next stage of ministry, preparing us to engage a segment of culture that may be asking spiritual questions, but can’t yet imagine Christ is the answer.

We have a mission in life . . . like every Christ-follower, we were sent into the world by God, just as Jesus was. We’ve started banking everything on that conviction. We know what we were sent to do.

I wonder . . .

2007-04-09T21:49:00.000-05:00

I spent the better part of today in a jury pool for a criminal felony trial. I’d never been called to serve on a jury, and while the process was not exactly exciting, I felt the potential weight of sitting in judgment over someone’s future. The defendant was present in the courtroom during the entire selection process. A real person. A real life.

In the end, I was dismissed. Nineteen possible jurors before me were struck from the jury. The man in line immediately before me, so to speak, was the last of twelve jurors chosen. Mostly, I felt relieved that my week wasn’t to be spent in the courtroom judging someone to be guilty or not guilty. But I also felt a bit disappointed that God’s commission to me as a truth-seeker would not be used in this quest for a fair and just decision.

The alleged victim wasn’t in the courtroom today. But his/her life, his/her future, is--in a sense--just as real and in the balance.

Truth. Justice. Guilt. Judgment.

Today I sat in that courtroom hurting for the victims in this world. And I hurt for the true criminals who are victims of the rulers, the authorities, the powers of this dark world and the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. I grieved that so few know Truth. Life. Freedom.

And I couldn’t help thinking how liberally we dish out judgment every day regarding people or events we really know nothing about. Oftentimes, we’re so far removed from what’s actually happening in people’s lives and in their hearts, that we have no problem assigning guilt. Or leaving them to face the consequences they’ve reaped for themselves. Or turning our backs on the cries of a world soaked in sin and despair. The people simply aren’t real to us.

I wonder how different our days, our passions, our efforts would look if we took the time to consider that every bit of strife and suffering around us is happening to real people. Not to headlines or tidbits on the evening news. Real people. And I wonder what God might do with a community of believers truly devoted to bringing the Christ-life to the world around them.

I wonder what that looks like for me. How my life will have to change. How costly that will be. How meaningful.

I wonder . . .

Moments

2007-03-26T17:19:00.000-05:00

Last week one of my coworkers found her husband collapsed on the floor. She buried him two days ago . . .

A few days back our youngest son broke his arm trying to do a good deed. He’ll have surgery tomorrow to fix it . . .

In January, one of my sisters-in-law found a lump in her breast. She’s now facing reconstructive surgery after a mastectomy ten days ago . . .

A week and a half ago my neighbor’s daughter died . . .

Last Monday I discovered water soaking the wall and floor in my laundry room. On Tuesday, the kitchen sink backed up. On Wednesday, the plumber took our check . . .

I got a phone call today from our health care provider. The amount not covered by our insurance is obscene . . .

Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by how dramatically things can change in a single moment. A birth. A death. An accident. A bill. Bad news. We go tootling along, thinking everything’s just hunky-dory, and then something happens. Just like that.

Funny how often we see those unexpected moments as interruptions to our lives. We moan and complain and begrudge them. But our lives are made up of these moments. They remind us of the value of life, give depth to our joys, and fine tune our hearts for something beyond today.

Abundance is not nearly so satisfying without having experienced poverty. Health is largely unappreciated unless we have known sickness. Peace is not as sweet to the soul unless we have lived through turmoil. Pleasure is dulled without pain. Gladness weakened without sorrow.

We struggle and strain against the tough moments of our lives, and yet they are the very instances that refine us. I pray that God will empower me to receive the moments he’s ordained for me in faith and with thanksgiving. One of my favorite songs is Blessed Be Your Name, a beautiful reminder that in plenty or in want, God is to be praised. In sunshine or in darkness, I can still choose to trust Him.

When we remember to trust Him, then these moments will not win, for they will have been swallowed up in Christ’s victory. They will not defeat, but instead make us stronger. They will not crush us, but be held lightly by us—a vapor, a mist, a fleeting thing in the span of eternity.

With peace in our hearts, faith in our souls, and a light in our eyes we can face these moments. We can walk gracefully and bravely and purposefully through them. And we can treasure every easy moment with the kind of gratitude and joy that gives God the greatest glory.

Un-tired

2007-03-10T09:55:00.000-06:00

For several days I’ve been trying to gather my thoughts in order to write about how tired I am. How tired all the women are that I’ve talked to lately. How we seem to just run ourselves ragged, and for what?

But then a strange thing happened. I began to feel un-tired.

Partly, that’s because I took half the day off yesterday. Many of you know I’m employed by the school district to work four mornings a week, but if you’re a woman, then you realize that’s only a drop in the bucket of my responsibilities.

Yesterday, after preparing bruschetta for the international food festival in Caleb’s social studies class, helping to serve/clean up, then having an early lunch with one of my former coworkers at the school, I took the rest of the day off. Well, except for using the wet-vac to suction the water out of the toilet bowl so it could be removed (we’re tiling the bathroom this weekend) and making a light dinner and taking care of some Line of Departure business. You know how it goes. But I spent most of the day and evening reading or spending time with my family. I even took a 45-minute walk by myself (deep, contented sigh here).

But the main reason I began to feel un-tired, is because I took time to really think about how I spend my days. Let me back up.

Two years ago I put myself on a 6-month sabbatical from almost all outside responsibilities. I focused on taking care of my home and family and working through some personal and spiritual matters. In many ways it was excruciating, but at the end of the six months, I knew I wasn’t going back to the trap I’d fallen into before—saying yes, because I should, rather than saying yes because I was passionate about something.

Sounds good, right? But as a result, a year ago I found myself without much direction. I felt rather purposeless and, well, alone. I seemed to have discovered that there wasn’t much use for what I was passionate about . . . or at least very little outlet for me to use my particular gifts. I apparently saw the world with different glasses and had passions and interests that weren’t very practical. I felt pretty low and insignificant until I realized that God, alone, was enough for me (see my October 17, 18 & 21, 2006 posts for more on that).

So this week, as I considered complaining about why I’m so tired, I realized that I’m worn out with blessings. God has given me outlets for my passions. Yes, I need balance. Yes, I need regular solitude that I don’t often make time for. Yes, there are deadlines—deadlines I’ve usually imposed on myself. But the truth is that I’m deeply satisfied. And I’m thriving. I’m living intentionally, and it’s making a difference in people’s lives.

And you know what? I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s good for a woman to collapse in bed at the end of the day because she’s been living outside herself. It’s good when she’s exhausted because she’s been tending her family the best way she knows how. It’s good when she’s bone weary because she’s been working her job as if she was working for the Lord.

All these things are good and pure and noble and praiseworthy.

However, I highly recommend the occasional day off.

Swirling

2007-02-24T22:27:00.000-06:00

Lately my mind has been filled with tons of thoughts on love, redemption, forgiveness, and transformation. So much so, in fact, that my mind has been swirling, and I’m having trouble settling on one topic to post.

I’m halfway through the final book in Ted Dekker’s Circle trilogy, a mind-boggling, thought-provoking, adrenaline-inducing series of what-ifs. What if this earth isn’t the only reality? What if Jesus is the groom who romances every living soul? What if we are to become like those around us in order to help woo them into this Great Romance? Solid Bible concepts all around, though a little startling, perhaps, if taken out of context.

And here are a few of my own what-ifs, part of my swirling thoughts that somehow have nothing to do with, and everything to do with, the notions highlighted in the Circle trilogy.

What if there are times God intends for us to feel peaceful and tumultuous all at once?
What if the things that seem to discourage us are ultimately meant to give us courage?
What if most of the things we’ve thought made sense actually make no sense at all?
What if the things we think make no sense, make more sense than anything else?
What if Jesus really means we must die to ourselves, take up our crosses, and follow him?
What if we are to live that lifestyle out in more literal ways than we’ve ever considered?
What if, above all else, Jesus really meant it when he said that everything we do and believe and teach should be summed up in loving God and loving others?

So there you have it. A few of my thoughts as they’ve been tumbling around in my own brain, swirling down to my heart, toying with my conscience and imagination.

Catching Turtles

2007-02-14T18:27:00.000-06:00

Almost two years ago I sat on a deck overlooking the Sabinal River in the Texas Hill Country and watched platter-sized turtles swimming at the surface of the pea green water then diving out of sight. I was contemplative and introspective and for some strange reason I suddenly felt compelled to jump in and catch one.

I didn’t. That would’ve been ridiculous. I was fully dressed. I’d curled my hair. I was forty-two.

And what would I have done with a turtle had I caught it?

Instead, I tried to figure out why doing so seemed an act of faith. I came up with this short list:

Catching a turtle . . .
. . . made no sense in human terms.
. . . was something I was ill-equipped to do on my own.
. . . was like trying to grasp hold of an elusive dream. Or reaching a far-off goal. Or being faithful to a calling that no one else can discern.

Then I remembered that the church youth group would soon be going on a float trip near San Antonio. And they were planning to catch turtles.

So two weeks later I stood chest-high in the Guadalupe River, water dripping down my face, a turtle grasped in my upraised hands. The four men and teenage boys in my raft were almost as surprised as I was that I actually dove in, scrambled among tree roots at the bank of a snake-infested river, and came up with my very own turtle.

That day I learned that catching turtles . . .
. . . takes a willingness to learn from others who’ve gone before you. My buddy Brian gave me the low-down on the strategy he’d perfected. I listened to every word.
. . . requires team work. Someone has to paddle, someone has to stand up at the front of the raft to scout out the hard-to-spot opportunities, and someone has to dive.
. . . demands patience. Our group caught four turtles that day. We gave up on the spot where a later group caught twenty-three.
. . . tests your courage. Remember the part about snake-infested waters?
. . . calls for determination. Turtles do not want to be caught and are more agile under water than you are. They’re also slippery. The only thing you really have going for you is perseverance.
. . . is exhilarating, if for no other reason than because you’ve proven to yourself that somewhere deep inside you, you have what it takes.
. . . forces you to dive into uncertain territory. You have to feel your way along, risking what's safe and sure to gain what you believe is there.
. . . will probably seem silly to everyone else. Except to those who know what it’s like to catch a turtle.
. . . means that once you’ve caught one, you have to be willing to give it up. River turtles aren’t yours to keep. When the trip is over, you release them.

Those lessons have meant a lot to me since then. And I’m not just talking about turtles. However, if you’re ever interested in catching one, I can share the strategies passed on to me by those who've gone before.

Interested?

Spiritual Metabolism

2007-02-06T22:05:00.000-06:00

Okay. So I’ve put on weight in the past few years. Something about turning 37. That was a while back. I did finally put our free membership at the gym to use a year and a half ago and got toned up, but the scales never budged. I watched my diet, but still the scales didn’t budge.

I’m not an idiot, so I figured out that what I need to do is boost my metabolism. It’s gotten slow in its old age. Shortly thereafter I was on the computer and saw an article that caught my eye: “10 Ways to Boost Your Metabolism.” I clicked on over.

Turns out, I’m doing almost everything right, except that I don’t drink green tea, and I haven’t cut out the sugar. I contemplated my shortcomings over half a dozen miniature white powdered donuts. Then I went out and bought some green tea. I had one cup and remembered why I’ve never cared for it: it tastes like grass. I’ve kept at the other eight ways to boost my metabolism, but I still can’t drop the pounds. You’d think eight out of ten would suffice. That’s four-fifths. I know this because I tutor elementary school math students, and I have to understand these kinds of complicated calculations.

Honestly, though, I realize that sugar is my downfall. That, and cheese, gravies, and biscuits. Plus, I’m a little sketchy on the exercise. I keep thinking that maybe the extra weight isn’t so bad, but I’m only kidding myself.

Funny, how this subject reminds me of my spiritual life sometimes. I think that being too busy to read my Bible or spend significant time in prayer isn’t so bad. That my “close relationship” with God is enough to get me through the week until things slow down. That I can do four-fifths, and that will suffice.

It’s not that I’m into a works-oriented faith, but I do know there are certain choices I can make to boost my spiritual metabolism, so to speak. Things that can optimize my walk of faith. Build spiritual muscle. Burn off the fat that’s accumulated around my mid-section, clogging my arteries, and slowing down the life-giving blood flow to my heart, mind, and soul.

The past six months or so have been pretty intense for me. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually. In fact, my reserves are pretty low. While on the one hand I feel extremely satisfied and content, on the other, I’m worn out. I’m not quite sure how that’s possible, but there you go. Maybe you know what I mean.

I just figure that if physical exercise and discipline can go a long way toward building my physical health—like going to the gym even when I don’t think I have the energy, but feeling much better for having been there—then spiritual exercise and discipline can do the same thing for my soul.

I guess it’s time for a workout. And maybe some green tea.

A Point of Clarification

2007-02-05T20:00:00.000-06:00

I've had so many comments on the blog and privately about my synesthesia, that I feel compelled to clarify a couple of things.

In my opinion--and there will be many synesthetes (apparently the current lingo) who disagree, probably because we humans tend to need something to "make us special"--I don't think this peculiar little thing makes me more creative than anyone else. I've seen online lists of "famous" synesthetes, and I've never heard of them. How famous can they be? There are many wildly famous artists, writers, composers, etc. who aren't synesthetes. I don't think synesthesia necessarily gives us an edge.

Secondly, novel plots aside, I don't think synesthesia is something someone has to learn to "cope with." It's not a handicap.

In my lifelong experience, this way of looking at the world neither hinders me nor gives me an advantage. And who in the world cares that "hinders" is a black word and "advantage" is blue? I mean, really.

I'm not sorry I brought it up because, frankly, I think the response it illicits is kind of funny. How delightfully creative God is! But try to remember my point is that we ALL see the world differently from each other in one regard or another.

Thank goodness.

My Life as a Synesthetist

2007-02-02T10:00:00.001-06:00

I am a synesthetist.

There, I said it. Actually, I’ve been saying it ever since I read an article in Smithsonian Magazine a few years ago and discovered that most people don’t see things the way I do and that there’s a word for the way people like me perceive the world: synesthesia.

It’s very difficult to explain, and if you’re like most folks, you’re going to think I’m nuts, but here goes. Borrowing from a scholarly article, “The word synesthesia, meaning ‘joined sensation,’ shares a root with anaesthesia, meaning ‘no sensation.’ It denotes the rare capacity to hear colours, taste shapes, or experience other equally startling sensory blendings whose quality seems difficult for most of us to imagine. A synesthete might describe the colour, shape, and flavour of someone’s voice, or music whose sound looks like ‘shards of glass,’ a scintillation of jagged, coloured triangles moving in the visual field. Or, seeing the colour red, a synesthete might detect the ‘scent’ of red as well.”

There you have it. My synesthesia is mostly connected to letters and numbers—I see them as certain colors. Time is influenced, too. Time has a particular shape for me, playing out something like an enormous game board that you move through, taking definite twists and turns. Sometimes when I’m trying to remember a date, I just “peek around the corner” of that game board and there it is.

I’m digging myself in deep, aren’t I?

I bring this phenomenon up from time to time because someone will say something that makes me think they just might be a synesthetist, too. In all honesty, I find it hard to comprehend that everyone doesn’t see the world this way.

Until I read that article, I never, ever discussed these things with anyone. Not because I was embarrassed or thought it was weird, but because I assumed everyone experienced things my way. My oldest son is a synesthetist, too. I knew this because a decade before I read that magazine, he once asked me in preface to something he wanted to comment on, “Mom, you know how “a” is red?”

“It’s blue, honey,” I corrected. “But go ahead . . . .”

See, that’s just it. Synesthetism is different for every person.

I have to confess I feel irritated when I hear the song by Christian artist Chris Rice entitled “Smell the Color Nine.” It’s all about the complexities of God, and the chorus goes something like: “But sometimes finding you is just like trying to smell the color nine. But nine's not a color. And even if it were you can't smell a color."

It’s purple. Duh. And I guarantee some people can smell it.

I could go on and on about why I choose certain words to express certain things. Grey with an “e” is that kind of sick tornado sky color, “e” being green. Gray with an “a” is the color of a storm at sea, “a” being blue. Do not ask me to spell it one way consistently. It totally depends on the actual shade I’m writing about. Why is the word “excruciating” the best word in some instances and “agonizing” the best in others? Or how do I choose to use "delighted" over "joyful"? It often depends on what color looks best in the sentence. “U” changes everything, by the way.

Laugh if you will, but I really have a point to all this.

As we journey through life, every person we meet—synesthetist or otherwise—has their own perspective on things. Right or wrong, they see things from a vantage point that feels as real as our own. While I believe that all truth is found in God, much of what we judge each other on or argue with each other about is simply our own perception of what is true or important. Maybe that's why He tells us to show His grace toward one another and let Him do the judging.

And just so you know, “s” is red. At least to me.

Pictures of Joseph

2007-01-31T17:58:00.000-06:00

Hey, friends. Thought you might like to see a couple of photos of Joseph, mentioned in my "Dreaming" post below. If you haven't read it yet, check it out and let me know what thoughts it prompts in you. The photos have been inserted into the post, so just scroll down.

:) Caron

Dreaming

2007-01-27T08:11:00.000-06:00

One of the most impacting experiences of my trip to Zimbabwe last September was meeting a boy named Joseph at the Tsvingwe orphan feeding center. I stood slightly apart from the children crowding the area, talking to a gracious young woman named Chipo who helps run the feeding station, when 11-year-old Joseph approached. I expected him to speak to Chipo, so I was surpised when he looked me straight in the eyes and spoke in Shona with boldness and passion, never blinking, showing no fear or timidity as most of the children did--just deep yearning.

"I am an artist," he told me through Chipo's translation. "I need paper and pencils. Can you help me?"

I looked at the boy, his eyes dark and determined. I've hardly seen such a look. It gave me chills. And made me want to hand him all my pens and spirals and whatever money I had on me.

But I couldn't. There were 150 children there that day. I couldn't provide what each one wanted. I couldn't create the strife that singling one child out in front of all others would do in this desperate and impoverished region.

I met his gaze as Chipo translated for me. "I have friends who are artists," I said. "I will tell them about you, Joseph. Perhaps one of them can help."

He nodded solemnly.

I felt like I'd given him little hope. "Would you help me?" I asked. "Would you draw something for my friends using my paper and pen? That way, I can show them you are truly an artist."

His eyes lit up, and he spoke rapidly. Chipo hurried to translate. "What do you want me to draw?" He motioned with his arm. "I can draw anything you see."

"You decide," I told him.

He took the paper and pen, sat on the ground, and sketched one of the men eating sadza on a nearby bench. A very good rendition, I might add. His oversized, hand-me-down coat and frayed tennis shoes seemed irrelevant in that moment as I watched the artist work. The other children swarmed him, pushing and shoving each other and him, curious to know what he and I were doing together. In fact, he started drawing a second man--I suspect he hardly paid attention to the chaos around him--but I stopped him, concerned the other children would soon be out of control.

Joseph’s drawing is still in my notebook. A friend of mine--an art teacher at a local school--has recently gathered some extra supplies for Joseph. It will take months before the package will reach him. It’s been months already, so I will send money ahead for a few supplies to be purchased locally.

I tell you this because I can’t think of Joseph without tears gathering in my eyes. Because when I saw that box of art supplies, I wanted to cry. I certainly praised God.

I think Joseph touches my heart because he dares to dream in a place where dreaming is impractical. Because he yearns to create in a time when priority is placed on simply surviving. Because he probably suspects his request has been forgotten by me and by God, though it hasn’t.

So often, we dream and wait and get discouraged and give up before God has orchestrated all that is necessary to give birth to our hopes. Or we become intimidated and unsure of our ability to reach our goals, so we back off. We quit dreaming. Quit trying. Quit growing toward them.

I spoke to a young woman just the other day who shared her adventuresome and purposeful dreams with me. Dreams that made my own heart soar with the possibilities. “Sometimes though,” she finished, “I think my dreams will never happen.”

But I believe that the right and holy things we long for are planted in us by God. That we must never give up striving to be ready for what he wants to express to the world through us. Beauty. Mission. Adventure. Sacrifice. Wisdom. Love. Laughter. Life.

The words below came to me third-hand. But they’re first-rate, and so I want to pass them along. My heart skips a beat when I read them.

RISK more than others think is safe.

CARE more than others think is wise.

DREAM more than others think is practical.

EXPECT more than others think is possible.

Let's journey on together, entrusting our hopes and longings to the Father of heaven and earth. Let us not be afraid or discouraged. Let's dream. And let's see what he will do in unexpected ways at unexpected times.

He's like that, you know.

Fearlessness

2007-01-20T13:25:00.000-06:00

By nature, I am a fearful person. For instance, years ago I sat up crying most of one night when my husband was off somewhere for military training because I thought I heard someone in the back of the house. I wouldn’t leave the bedroom to go check, call the police, or evacuate the house. I just sat there terrified and paralyzed, imagining all sorts of horrible endings to that night. In those days I often operated—or failed to operate—out of fear.

Do you remember the Star Wars spoof, Space Balls? (My daughter tells me this is wrong--it's not Space Balls, but Austin Powers. However, I've not seen Austin Powers, so I must have seen a clip of this somewhere.) There’s a scene where a steam roller is heading toward one of the minor characters. The man stands screaming in terror for ages while the machine creeps forward and eventually flattens him. When I think back to some of my less-than-shining moments, I realize I was a lot like that silly character who could have controlled the panic and simply taken five steps to safety.

The Spirit has really done some work on me, praise God, though from time to time my initial impulse is to react in fear.

I often encounter people who are reacting in fear to some aspect of life. I recognize this sort of thing when I see it, mind you. And two things stand out.

First of all, it seems to me that the greatest fear most people have is that of being truly known (paradoxically, it is also our greatest desire). We plaster on a smile or a sweet tone or stay incredibly busy or talk the religious talk in an effort to hide how we’re really feeling or what we’re really struggling with. We’re simply terrified that people will judge us and reject us. (See my October posts “Facing the Truth,” “Funny, isn’t it . . . ,” and “God is Enough” for related thoughts on this topic.)

Secondly, I’ve intentionally used the phrase “react in fear” rather than “act in fear” because that’s what we fearful types do. When we let fear overwhelm us, we don’t take positive, strong action. We react in anger, weakness, or temporary insanity. We let whatever we’re afraid of control us.

In recent years it has become very important to me to live fearlessly. Not because I want to be strong, but because I want to live like I believe God is strong. And if I believe he is—if I believe he is all-powerful, and all-good, and all-loving—then I cannot be fearful. Fear and belief do not go hand-in-hand.

It’s true that sometimes people do judge and reject us when they know our deepest heart or darkest secrets. And sometimes what we fear does, in fact, come to pass. But shrugging off the bonds of fear is one of the most liberating, life-giving experiences available to us.

I will be praying today that you release your grip on fear, whatever you fear.

By the Spirit, I am not a fearful person.

Chaos

2007-01-12T12:13:00.000-06:00

Through the years I have consistently been described by others as calm or peaceful.

Ha.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote to a relatively new friend saying, “I wonder sometimes if you think I'm only content when experiencing personal chaos, but the truth is that our friendship germinated during a period of my life that is best characterized as extreme spiritual upheaval.”

This made my friend laugh, which tells me I wasn’t far off the mark.

Of course, I do enjoy a deep and abiding peace in Christ, but His Spirit has been stirring my soul in ways that are neither calm nor peaceful. And I’m profoundly grateful. I don’t want to make it sound like everything previous was a waste—God has always been molding and shaping me, I’ve long recognized His call on my life, and have focused on knowing Him for years—but this thing He’s been doing in me these past four or five years has been . . . well, like a rebirth.

Messy, to be sure.

Oswald Chambers wrote: “Before we choose to follow God’s will, a crisis must develop in our lives. This happens because we tend to be unresponsive to God’s gentler nudges. He brings us to the place where He asks us to be our utmost for Him . . . He then providentially produces a crisis where we have to decide—for or against. That moment becomes a great crossroads in our lives.”

Admittedly, my crisis has been longer than a “moment”—a lengthy wrestling with my own concept of God, self, ministry, community, faith, sacrifice. But it’s been intense. Refreshingly intense. I can only say that now, though, when I’m finally gaining a little perspective on it.

What about you? What kind of crisis or chaos has God brought into your life? And how are you managing in the midst of it? If you’re like me, most days you probably feel like you’re barely hanging on. But as long as you’re hanging on to Him, you’re exactly where you need to be.

I imagine the chaos in my life is pretty much just getting started. That there's more He wants to do in and through me. You should see the smile on my face at that thought. Remind me of that later, okay?

Idols

2007-01-01T11:24:00.000-06:00

I drove through the WalMart parking lot on my way to the tire and lube bays. I’d just hit the seek button on the radio when I heard some (I’m sure famous) Christian speaker on the radio quote another (I’m sure famous) Christian speaker. I lowered the volume and repeated the quote over and over in my head until I could park and write it down on a scrap of paper. I think I still got it wrong—WalMart parking lots are immensely distracting to me—but this is close:

“When I’m discouraged, God is shattering the idols of my heart so He can make room to move in there.” (I hope the probably-famous-Christian speaker will forgive me for not assigning proper credit.)

My first thought in reaction to this quote was, “Lord, just how many idols have I set up in place of you?” My second thought was, “Please finish the job and take possession of me!”

Consider this: we’re discouraged when life doesn’t turn out the way we want. When things don’t happen as we hope. When people disappoint us. Or hurt us. Or frustrate us. When agents and editors turn us down. Or friends turn their backs on us. When people misunderstand us. When we can’t be the superwoman (or man) we want everyone to think we are. When we don’t get the promotion or recognition or appreciation we feel we deserve. When God doesn’t answer our prayers or heal us or bail us out.

Or maybe that’s just me.

But think about this: if those things discourage me so easily—and they do—then I’ve set my hope on the object of my discouragement. Circumstances. Other people. Success. Praise. Myself. A “make-a-wish-god” instead of the Creator and Sustainer of heaven and earth.

I used to teach history and cultures and world religions. One of the most notable things to me about idol worship is how worshippers often make great sacrifices to the idol, yet receive nothing in return.

And I don’t want to live like that anymore, sacrificing my joy, time, relationships, and heart to idols that offer nothing in return. It’s powerless. Fruitless. Careless.

So, Lord, break the idols. Move in. Make me wholly Yours. And holy Yours.

Though I’m certain even then WalMart parking lots will be a challenge.

Of Ships and Lions

2006-12-26T08:24:00.000-06:00

“The ship is safest when it’s in port. But that’s not what ships were made for.”—Paulo Coelho

I had a much-needed tranquil Christmas day. Never got dressed to the point of being presentable. Didn’t even make a Christmas dinner—just heated up leftovers. Napped twice, watched a couple of movies, finished a book. And now look at me: I’m finally in a proper frame of mind for blogging. It’s been weeks.

The problem has not been a matter of nothing to say; it’s that my brain’s been running in too many directions, like my oldest son’s puppy who can’t seem to settle with one bit of mischief over another.

I have to admit the past few months have been tumultuous. Well, maybe the past year or two. Okay, the last four years, at least. And the chaos has had little to do with physical circumstances or relationships, though the Lord has drawn those into the picture from time to time. But the core of what I’m talking about is an inward and spiritual revolution going on in the midst of my normally serene heart.

I used to be afraid of it. Then I hated it. Then I embraced it. Now I’m on a wild expedition through personally uncharted territory. And having the time of my life. Not that it isn’t still scary at times or that I don’t long for peaceful waters occasionally, but this . . . . This is living.

And I only bring it up because many of you know exactly what I’m talking about. Not that you know specifically what Jesus is doing in my heart and mind, but you sense what he’s trying to do in yours.

It’s not safe, you know. It never is. But I don’t believe any thinking person could argue that Jesus is safe. When one of the children in C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia asks if Aslan the Lion—the Christ-figure in the story—is safe, she gets this answer: “Who said anything about safe? ’Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

So I’m praying for you now. Praying that you’ll let the Lord of heaven and earth lead a rebellion in you. That he’ll turn upside down whatever is comfortable and complacent in your life. That he’ll start at the fringe of what you know—really know—to be good and true and noble and perfect and use it to upset the rest of your life. Don’t be shocked. Or frightened. Or resistant.

It’s what you were made for.

So . . . share with me. What is he doing in you just now, or calling you to, or making you question?

Bigger and Better

2006-12-09T21:16:00.000-06:00

My cheeks are still cold from playing “Bigger and Better” with a group of middle school students. I got the easy part—with my windows down so I could monitor things, I drove four 6th grade boys house-to-house as they asked strangers to trade them for something bigger and better. They started with a paper clip and ended up with a pair of snow skis. They actually made one trade too many and lost the skis for an old shadeless lamp. They traded the lamp for a big purple Barney. When they got back in the car, I told them they had ten minutes left in the game and a big decision to make. They got my meaning and headed back to trade for the skis again.

Almost every homeowner joined in on the fun, except for the lady that yelled at them to go away. When our time was up, I dropped the guys back off at their youth group party. I haven’t heard whether or not their skis were voted best trade, but I thought they did terrific. Now I’m sitting by the fire in my living room enjoying a quiet evening after the hour of competitive excitement.

And I just read these words in The Shaping of Things to Come by Michael Frost & Alan Hirsch: “. . . faith . . . [means] we stake our lives upon a conviction: It is far closer to raw courage than it is to mere belief. A missional church is as imaginative as it is bold. And missional leadership is courageous and willing to try new things and risk all if necessary to see the kingdom come.”

Bob and I have been thinking a lot about being missional lately. About what it means to minister in America today where the culture is rapidly changing, growing more diverse and global and spiritual while at the same time giving less and less credence to faith in Jesus Christ. We see so many people who are discouraged, depressed, de-spirited, and demoralized. They’re frustrated with churches, with politicians, with the status quo. They’re too busy, they’re worried about the environment, they’re skeptical of institutional anything.

In a big way, my husband and I want to do the hard work of figuring out how to enter our culture as missionaries. It’s simply not the environment we grew up in. And let’s be honest—too often, churches and ministries and Christians are so far removed from the world as it really is today that we’ve become ineffective in it. Bob and I are striving to become incarnational Christians—to actually enter into the lives of not-yet-Christians in a way that connects to them where they are so that they might know God and participate in his kingdom. Though the task is daunting and even confounding at times, the ideas we’ve tossed around are exciting. And scary. And risky.

But somehow I sense we’re trading up for something bigger and better.

Closets

2006-12-05T19:34:00.000-06:00

We had a leaking pipe under the slab of our house. You know, the kind where you end up with strangers in your closet when you only thought they were going to be in your bathroom.

It started about a week ago with a warm wet spot on the carpet in front of my sink. I rubbed our schnauzer’s nose in it, sprayed it with disinfectant, and blotted it up. It came back. The dog was outside.

It took five days for a plumber to get here, break the slab, and fix the leak. Now there’s a hole in the cabinet floor, no carpet on my side of the bathroom, and huge turbo fans pointed at the bare concrete.

I didn’t know the carpet in the closet got wet, too. Actually, just sort of in the doorway of the closet. But I didn’t clean the closet out like I did the bathroom cabinet. Which means the two very nice young men who worked for us today got a glimpse of what my life is really like.

Shelves sagging with old tax returns and boxes of keepsakes. A huge, impractical bag from Mexico. Tons and tons of old photos in shoeboxes. A basket of dirty laundry. A half dozen turtlenecks that I can’t tolerate wearing anymore, but am afraid to throw out. In case, you know, I change my mind about strangling. A pile of pajamas and workout clothes and swimsuits and stuff that I really don’t have a place for. At least they were on a shelf and not on the floor.

Don’t misunderstand. The floor is a cluttered mess, too. The whole thing looks like a tornado struck. Frankly, it’s a place where I can throw everything I’m indecisive about. A place where I can tell myself I’ll deal with it later. A private place to keep my dirty and not so dirty secrets.

It embarrassed me that these kindly carpet strangers saw my closet today. But they were professional about it, and we all acted like it didn’t matter.

I’m often just as embarrassed when kindly friends see what’s really inside my own heart. There’s a lot of clutter there. And maybe that’s normal and maybe it’s not, but I can tell you, it’s often not pretty. Thankfully, I have help in cleaning it out—God help, that is.

I’m kind of starting to like the whole transparency thing—blogging, for example—for a couple of reasons. First of all, it means I have to do something about the mess inside (accountability). Secondly, I’m discovering that there are a lot of others who’re hanging on to some of the same things in their heart-closets, and somehow we find mutual encouragement in the sharing.

And we’re all being wonderfully unprofessional about it and acting like it matters.

Paradox

2006-11-24T09:19:00.000-06:00

I met a young friend at a coffee shop last week and our conversation turned to some of the many paradoxes of our faith. Specifically, we spoke of how married couples often turn on each other, becoming bitter and mean-spirited, always trying to “win” in any particular conflict. But Jesus says that we must humble ourselves, and I’ve discovered in my marriage that when I do so, we both “win.” And when my husband humbles himself, I love him more, not less. I don’t want to take advantage of his humility, but match it with my own.

Sometimes I wonder how these kinds of “backward” thinking work. When Jesus says to love my enemies and bless those who curse me, it really is the best way to live. When he says to trust that he will provide for me—despite what my bank account looks like—I can trust him. When he says I’m strongest when I’m weak, I can believe it’s true.

God’s paradoxes don’t make sense to us, and they don’t have to. They just have to be true. And the thing is, we won’t know if they’re true unless we believe they are and live them out.

Rob Bell writes in his thought-provoking book Velvet Elvis, that “It’s not so much that the Christian faith has a lot of paradoxes. It’s that it is a lot of paradoxes. And we cannot resolve a paradox. We have to let it be what it is.”

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people, but love your neighbor as yourself.

If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.

. . . do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love.

If [someone] sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, “I repent,” forgive him.

In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.

A paradox is a seeming contradiction, an illogical thought, an absurdity. And, frankly, so much of what God asks of us is absurd. By human standards, that is. We’re all about self-preservation, getting ahead, winning. He’s all about transforming us into his likeness. And we can’t keep on functioning by human standards and expect to become like our Father.

That would be absurd.

The Hard Work

2006-11-21T06:56:00.000-06:00

I had a good conversation with some folks the other night, including my friend and brother Brian Mashburn. I began to connect the dots between our discussion, my previous posts, and some prior teaching from Brian, and came up with a simple answer for those who’ve recently asked questions that begin with “but HOW do you . . . ?” Questions like:

“How do you let God be enough?”

“How do you feel the presence of God in your life?”

“How do you think in terms of being on a spiritual journey?”

“How do you surrender to God?”

Granted, my answer is only a first step and will probably be frustrating to a number of people. But it really does begin to explain my experience on this faith journey.

In a sense, this simple answer requires hard work. Very hard, sometimes. But, praise God, it’s the only work truly required of a disciple. So, what is it?

To believe.

In John 6:28-29, John records an interesting and often-overlooked exchange between Jesus and his disciples: “Then they asked him, ‘What must we do to do the works God requires?’ Jesus answered, ‘The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.’”

When I read that, I almost want to say, "Are you kidding me?" I mean, seriously, I've put an awful lot of effort into works during this life of mine. What about the whole "faith without deeds is dead" argument proposed in James 2?

But, honestly, my first step toward growth in any spiritual concern has been to believe it is true or possible or the best way to live. To believe God really is enough, no matter how I feel. Or to believe that He is present at all times in my life. To believe that I am on a spiritual journey that He’s constantly speaking into if only I will listen. To believe that surrendering anything and everything to God will produce peace, joy, completeness, and satisfaction in the deepest places of my soul.

When I choose to believe these things are true, then I consciously decide to try them out through practical experience. I know everyone’s used the example of Indiana Jones in the “Last Crusade,” but I can’t help it. You most likely know the scene where, in order to save his father’s life, Indiana has to cross an invisible bridge spanning a deep and deadly chasm. He agonizes between the desire to save his father’s life and his fear of stepping off a cliff onto nothingness. In fact, he can’t even imagine an invisible bridge is there; he seems to have no idea what will happen when he takes his first step. But he knows this: his father’s life will be saved only if he’s willing to step out in faith. So, he swallows, closes his eyes, and moves forward.

And even though I’d like to tell you it’s different for me, oftentimes it’s not. I’m just as nervous about what my life will look like—what ground I’ll lose or what pain I’ll suffer—when I choose to act upon my belief. Because really believing can be hard work.

But I can testify to this: believing and moving forward in faith really is the best way to live.

Relationship

2006-11-11T19:17:00.000-06:00

I learned this week that I let down some of the people I respect and love most in this world. That I didn’t mean to and didn’t realize I had done so is irrelevant. That I truly made mistakes that led to their disappointment only worsens my pain and regret. I spent three days crying--my eyes turning purple and plump as grapes--before we could meet, and I could ask their forgiveness.

I hate being wrong. I hate being wrong to be complicated by being misunderstood. But, mostly, I hate being out of a right relationship with someone.

I have to admit that during those three days I got progressively more irritable with my family. I even snapped at Bob one night—something ridiculously absurd like "I'll think less of you as a person if you don't turn out the light," even though I was the last one in bed and had just walked past the lamp.

I had to apologize to him, too.

So, I couldn’t help wondering if I really meant what I’ve said about God being enough. If I believed it, why was this circumstance so painful? And then I realized it was because I craved forgiveness. Or, at least, I craved the opportunity to apologize, to do my part in restoring the relationship, human forgiveness never being something we can secure for ourselves.

Staying connected is what I crave with God, too. When my relationship with him is damaged or distant—and that’s ALWAYS my fault, never his—I’m all out of sorts. I can try to ignore the issue by pretending something else is bothering me, but there are few things that truly get me worked up when I’m in a right relationship with my Heavenly Father.

And the glorious thing is that his forgiveness is guaranteed. He draws me close, soothes my troubled heart, and lets me know that we’re going to be just fine. That’s good news for the journey.

Surrender

2006-11-03T16:16:00.000-06:00

I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to finally let God be enough for me. But the truth is that I simply gave up on all those other things I unwittingly wanted to take His place.

When I say I simply gave up, I don’t mean it was easy. It was like giving birth—painful, difficult, exhausting. Agonizing, even. And then it was over, and I held this precious new thing in my arms: peace.

I see people who are so fretful and unhappy and agitated and angry. They’re disappointed, depressed, and discouraged because, frankly, no one around them is cooperating with their idea of what life was supposed to be. Not even God.

It doesn’t seem to matter how hard they try, how desperately they pray, how unwavering their commitments to their goals and dreams are, things just aren’t going as planned. Their jobs are unfulfilling, their kids are screwing up, their spouses are disappointments, their friends are lukewarm, and they never seem to get ahead. And then they realize they’re blessed in every regard, so the problem must be rooted inside themselves. Perhaps if they were just more talented, lovable, organized, spiritual, diligent, worthy of respect, wise, attractive, things would be better.

I know, because I felt all those things. At any rate, I grew tired of being unhappy for no good reason, so I finally told the Lord, “Forget it. I don’t even want to want those things anymore. I give up. I’m weak, I’m incredibly imperfect, and I’m going nowhere, anyway. I surrender.”

“Now, you’re getting it.”

“I am?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” I had my doubts. “Okay, so will You be enough for me?”

“Just watch Me.”

As I said in my previous post, at first I begged God to be enough for me every time I felt discouraged or disappointed or hurt or insignificant or incompetent. Which was often. Sometimes, when I take my eyes off Him, I have to ask again.

But mostly, I’m just learning to trust that He is enough. That no day has to look like what I expected. As a result, I’ve had some amazing days.

I’m learning that no person has to act or react the way I want them to. And you know what? That’s removed a lot of unfair expectations, frustration, and disappointment because I know the people in my life are ultimately in God’s hands anyway. Not mine. They never have been.

I’m seeing that God’s use of the gifts He’s given me is more creative, more rewarding, more true—or “truer” as my brother Brian Mashburn would say—and more effective than anything I had in mind. Besides, it’s simpler to let God use my gifts as He sees fit . . . I was working awfully hard trying to be impressive with them.

Surrender. People ask me all the time how to do it. It’s hard for us to really get our minds—our wills—around this concept. We’re just so dadgum sure we know what we or our loved ones or our church needs, and we’re so dadgum afraid God won’t agree. And He probably won’t. Because what He has in mind is so much better.

Letting God be enough is like living on the wild side: wonderfully unpredictable, delightfully challenging, deliciously satisfying, and unexplainably peaceful.

That’s enough for me.

God Is Enough

2006-10-21T12:29:00.000-05:00

Everything’s changed since I came to this conclusion. The transforming work God’s been doing in me has been tough in some respects, but not nearly as tough as it was on the other side.

Once I quit pursuing happiness and fulfillment and started pursuing the heart of God, my outlook and perspective shifted dramatically. And, oddly enough, I began feeling content and fulfilled, even though my circumstances hadn’t changed at all.

It wasn’t easy. In those first weeks it seemed I prayed a kazillion times a day, “Lord, be enough for me.” Every time I felt frustrated, hurt, ignored, attacked, disappointed, I prayed. And almost immediately my heart would still, my mind would center on the truth that He is enough, and His peace would replace my turmoil.

And He began doing things. Using my writing for His purpose, as I’d always said I wanted. Leading me into deeper relationships with people who, if they don’t always get me, at least respect and love and support me. He challenged me with my recent trip to Africa, and then removed the fears I would normally have had about our travel, the political conditions, and my own shortcomings.

Let me reiterate, nothing outward has really changed. It’s all been inner transformation. It doesn’t matter that one of the judges of the writing contest I entered last spring hated my novel. God is enough. It doesn’t matter that I don’t quite fit into women’s ministry the way I used to. God is enough. It doesn’t matter that I can’t see the specific direction God’s taking me in ministry. He is enough. It doesn’t matter that I find refreshment in solitude, and I had little of it in Zimbabwe. God is enough. It doesn’t matter that my job requires me to defer rather than take charge as I’m inclined to do. God is enough. It doesn’t matter that my kids are growing up and making their own choices without my input. God is enough. It doesn’t matter when an expected invitation—or praise—doesn’t come. God is enough. It doesn’t matter when I can tell I’ve under-impressed someone. God is enough.

I’m still learning what it means to really believe God is enough. But I know that He is.

Funny, isn't it . . .

2006-10-18T13:36:00.000-05:00

. . . how faith is so multi-layered? How understanding, comprehending (at least a little), and experiencing God comes in bits and pieces. How understanding our own hearts can sometimes be almost as daunting a prospect.

The above paragraph and those that follow are thoughts I shared with a few friends last April after my introspective question: “Is God Enough?” Looking back, I can see what God was doing in my heart. It just gets better. But for now, I’ll let you pick up where I left off on my last post . . .

I don't know how much further along I am in understanding how to let God be enough for me, but I've had an interesting week. A more satisfying week. A more settled week. Of course, I know God IS enough, but to really feel it when your emotions tell you differently is another matter.

I suppose the greatest and most difficult insight I've had over the past several days has been how juvenile my expectations of Him have become. I want, want, want. Guess that'd be great if it was all about wanting, wanting, wanting God. But usually it's more along the line of wanting things to work out my way. Because, of course, "I only want what best serves His Kingdom." Oh, brother.

I've been pondering how low I must have sunk that he has had to teach me so patiently (read that as "so long"). I now see that during the past year God has removed most of my usual props--the things I normally rely on to feel significant, useful, approved of, or applauded. Not exactly Job revisited, but I'm pretty much standing alone right now, just learning to let the Lord be enough for me. As if I could handle anything more.

I know I'm not alone, though. Besides God, I'm discovering a few brave souls willing to truly love and support me just the way I am. Even if I do test their ability to sort out my ramblings.

And about significance. Well, maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be. At least not when your significance lies in the value others ascribe to you rather than the value God gives you.

Dadgum, I'm embarrassed that these things are so basic. I used to KNOW them. Not sure what happened other than that it's the same old deceptions just prancing around in makeup and high heels.

Facing the Truth

2006-10-17T13:25:00.000-05:00

I attended a ladies retreat at a YMCA camp in Winter Park, Colorado last weekend, enjoying fun and fellowship and challenge with both new and old friends. There was a YMCA poster on the wall of our meeting room that spoke these profound words: “You never find yourself until you face the truth.”

Wow.

Most of you have no idea how accurate this statement has proved to be in my life this year. While I’m not proud of where I’ve been, the conclusions I’ve come to since—by God’s grace—have changed everything. The remainder of this post is taken from my journal entry last March. It’s not important that you understand exactly where I was. And I ask that you be patient to read my next few posts describing some of what God’s been doing in my heart since—it’s been awesome. But for now, just read. And maybe consider what truth you need to face on this journey of yours.

***
Is God enough?

I know in my mind that he is, and I sense in my heart that he is, but somewhere—at my core—I'm wrestling with that question. Maybe it's disappointment speaking. Maybe it's disillusionment clouding my thoughts.

Funny. Disillusionment means the illusion has been removed. Was the illusion that God is enough? Or was the illusion that things will work out, that he will remove my hurt, that when he's on my side he'll bring me success, acceptance, and honor?

I've been troubled lately--afraid the former is true. Afraid that no matter what everyone says, no matter what the songwriters pen, no matter what I've written, taught, and assured people of in the past, God isn't enough. How trite the DJ's have sounded on the Christian radio stations, purring that "The Lord is the answer for every heartache." Well, I have the Lord, and my heart still aches.

But despite my doubts, in my gut, I'm sure the latter is true. I'm ashamed that I've been deluded into thinking like the immature think on these matters—like Christianity is some sort of happy pill—but it's the first thing that's really made sense to me in months. No wonder I've felt so isolated, inadequate, ugly, rejected. No wonder I haven't understood the pain, the loneliness, the tears, the sense of loss. I know better.

It forces me to ask—what now? Am I willing to let God be enough? I'd better be, for he is abundant in his giving, whether it's love, mercy, grace, or comfort.

But can I pursue God alone? Can that be enough for me? Can I really let him do what he will with my talents, desires, and passions? Can I be all right with being ignored, forgotten, undervalued by man? Can I accept furrowed brows, puzzled faces, changed topics of conversation, and outright disagreement when I share my ideas and heart?

Is God enough?

I know I want my answer to be a resounding, Yes! I sense that if I can get my mind around this concept, grasp hold of it with all the passion inside me, then I will be one of the most blessed and content women on the face of the earth.

So, here's what I think: I believe God's inviting me into deep intimacy with him like I've never even imagined. That he wants to be my food, my drink, my very breath. St. Ignacious said, "The glory of God is man fully alive," but I haven't really been living. I've been yearning, not for bad things, but for lesser things. I've been searching for purpose, meaning, significance. I've wanted my life to matter--but it can never matter like I want it to unless I get this one thing: God, alone, is enough.

Until he is enough for me, he will never be fully formed in me. I'll never be fully alive. Fully glorifying him. Writing, ministering, encouraging, praying, leading, teaching--none of it will matter unless it glorifies him.

God help me . . . I want to believe it. To get it. To live it.

Can I let God be enough for me?

Zimbabwe Looks Like . . .

2006-10-11T15:24:00.000-05:00

In September Zimbabwe looks like a land waking up from winter. Like the purple flowers of the jacaranda tree and bright red bougainvillea. Like green popo fruit trying to turn ripe and yellow. Like small gardens filled with kale and tomatoes. Like baobab trees stripped of their bark, a sacrifice to woven mats.

It looks like the dusty, cracked feet of a twenty-year-old village woman. Like mothers nursing babies. Like the tattered clothing of an orphan. It looks like women carrying every manner of thing on their heads—baskets, suitcases, bags of mealy-meal, bundles of thatch, firewood, tall buckets. It looks like women and children carrying their little ones or siblings strapped to their backs with beach towels.

It looks like coffee colored skin, dark and glistening. Like young eyes that have seen too much. Like curious glances and warm smiles. Like twisted feet and untreated tumors. Like the sallow complexion of HIV.

It looks like bricks made from the soil of termite hills. Like round huts with thatched roofs. Like ox carts driven by small boys or young men. Like old preachers in faded suits. Like people walking or sitting or bicycling along the road. Like a pitch black countryside at night. Like hopeful vendors rushing to your car windows with hands full of bright orange carrots or baskets of oranges, lemons, apples.

It looks like prayerful dependence in the midst of pain and suffering.

Zimbabwe Tastes Like . . .

2006-10-10T16:29:00.000-05:00

In September Zimbabwe tastes like grit in your teeth. Like orange Fanta gliding cold and sweet over your tongue.

Like salty kapenta which moments beforehand were staring from your plate with sightless eyes.

It tastes like sadza, bland and thick.

Like sugary telephone pudding at the game park lodge. It tastes like the apples you eat in the backseat of a small extended cab pickup while bumping down a cratered single lane road.

It tastes like trail mix and granola bars you brought from home, a makeshift and welcomed lunch. It tastes like water you made sure came from a safe source.

It tastes like chicken fried so hard you cannot break or bend it. It tastes like pork and beans every morning for breakfast and strange sausages you pass along to someone hungry enough to appreciate them.

It tastes like pure spiritual milk in the midst of oppression.

Zimbabwe sounds like . . .

2006-10-09T22:20:00.000-05:00

In September Zimbabwe sounds like singing. Loud, warbling tones that somehow blend into the sweetest music. It sounds like young people clapping, keeping time with the rhythm of their voices.

It sounds like the delighted laughter or shy giggles of orphans.

Like widows ululating in thanksgiving. Like a hotel maid humming as she bends low, raking leaves with a small homemade whisk.

It sounds like the bleating of goats in the school yard and bells clanging around the necks of oxen pulling a cart or cattle meandering past the church gathered on a wide rock.

Like the crack of the masasa tree as its seed pods burst open. Like the squawk of guinea fowl.

It sounds like children along the roadside yelling, “Hello!” as your vehicle passes. Like fussy babies cradled in the arms of their grandmothers, for their mothers have died of AIDS.

It sounds like songs of praise drifting down a footpath through brittle grass in the midst of a barren land.

Zimbabwe Feels . . .

2006-10-08T08:18:00.000-05:00

In September Zimbabwe feels dry. Dry and dusty. Dust that covers your clothing, plasters your neck and arms, coats your hair until you feel like you’ve become as hard and worn as the dirt roads that carry you into the bush.

It feels like calloused hands grasping yours. Like the strong arms of a wizened old woman hugging you roughly. Like a young woman who embraces you, burying her face in your shoulder, reluctant to let you go. Like children crowding around, jostling you, trying to glimpse their faces on your digital camera.

It feels like the unrelenting firmness of timber spanning two boulders, an improvised church pew protected from the sun’s heat by the shade of a scraggly tree. Like cool water poured over your hands before you eat.

It feels like the surprising satisfaction of the Bread of Life in the midst of hunger.

What It's Like

2006-10-07T09:23:00.000-05:00

Since my return from Zimbabwe, one question has been asked predominantly: "What was it like?" I'll spend the next few days trying to respond.

Others who traveled before me kept saying, "I'll never forget the way Africa smells," so naturally, I wondered.

Well, maybe I went at the right time of year--early spring. Or maybe I was congested from too much dust in the air. At any rate, I struggled to put it into words.

But I was struck by this:

In September Zimbabwe smells like smoke. Smoke from a million cooking fires. From fields being burned in preparation for the planting season. From grass fires raging through the parched countryside. From vendors roasting maize on the street corners.

It smells of sweet blooming trees, climbing vines, and bushes. Of unwashed bodies and henhouses and boiled chicken.

It smells of fresh laundry washed in a tub outside and draped over fences or bushes to dry. Of dank shops and crowded classrooms-turned-churches, earthy breeze blowing in through open windows.

It smells of hard-to-explain hope in the midst of hopelessness.

What I saw

2006-10-02T05:58:00.000-05:00

I arrived home Friday and spent the weekend cocooned with my family, sleeping a lot and letting the stories begin to trickle out.

Loved worshiping with the church at Southwest on Sunday, though the tears flowed as we sang. I'm not entirely sure why, but maybe it was the fact that it was the first time I'd worshiped with these brothers and sisters after so many times of worship with my African spiritual family. And then there was the video.

Not a real video, of course. Just an imagined one playing through my mind. I saw old women carrying their grandbabies on their backs--the young parents dead from AIDS. I saw Chipo and Kuda and Lillian and Sihle--preacher's wives, all of them. I saw faith-filled Pamela balancing a Bible on her head and telling me what God has done in her life. I saw the women's prayer group in Harare, the Sanganai and Chigondo churches meeting under trees, the Christian women at St. Clemence standing by their huts singing us into their fellowship.

I saw orphans playing soccer with rolled plastic bags for a ball, the little boy who carried his small sister because she had a bad cut on her leg. I saw the feeding center at Dorowa, and heard the laughter of the children when they saw their photos on my digital camera. I listened as Precious read Hebrews 12:1-2 from a borrowed Shona Bible.

I saw timber laid across cinder blocks for pews, tattered Shona songbooks, and beautiful ebony faces. I heard the lively Shona song that every congregation seemed to know. I saw Freddie leading worship with the passion of King David. Saw the Sakubva widows--some very young and some very old--collecting their bags of mealy-meal with much rejoicing and thanksgiving. I saw hope and prayer and perseverance and faith and suffering.

I saw all these things, and I felt humbled. Connected. Inspired. Grateful. In awe of our great and loving Father. Thankful for Jesus.

And so the tears dripped from my chin as I wept through a song and a half and Bob put a tender hand on my knee.

Then I found my voice and joined in.

Things I've Learned

2006-09-27T13:51:00.000-05:00

We leave Africa tomorrow morning, Thursday. I won't arrive home for some 40+ hours; the Leveretts not until Saturday since they're flying to Dallas before driving back to Amarillo.

So, on this eve before our departure, I'm reflecting back on the many things I've learned in the past few weeks. Here are a few:

1. Yahweh Sabboath--The Lord goes before us
2. There are no heaters or air conditioners in most Zimbabwean and South African homes
3. The people of Zimbabwe are beautiful
4. I can actually go to sleep in a spider-infested bed . . . but not until I'm past exhausted
5. The laugh of a starving orphan is one of the sweetest sounds in the world
6. Orange Fanta is my friend in a dry and weary land, but incomparably so compared to Jesus
7. Lynn Leverett thinks God has made only one mistake: warthogs
8. I had many friends in this part of the world that I simply hadn't met yet
9. The seeds from Zimbabwe's indigenous popping masasa trees sting like the dickens when they hit you
10. I cannot pronounce Mhlanga (Washington & Alice's surname) correctly, no matter how hard I try
11. I can use a pit toilet proficiently
12. I don't like pit toilets
13. You can get more people in a truck than you think
14. There are perfect songs, and then there are PERFECT songs (thanks, Saint Doyle) :)
15. I love Indian cuisine, but will always pass up the squid when they're pointing at me
16. There's a calm little outdoor cafe on the mountainside overlooking the ocean, Cape Town, and the mountains beyond
17. Missionary grandmothers are some of the bravest and most sacrificial women in the world
18. Hope is an anchor for the soul and prayer is the chain that keeps it connected
19. When they talk about taxi wars in Cape Town--that is, between competing taxi companies--they mean the actual shooting kind
20. I've been in Africa long enough that when I read a headline that says "10 Nasty Money Habits," I think it says "10 Nasty Monkey Habits"
21. Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world

Can't wait to get home, see my family and other loved ones, and process all of the wonderful, heartbreaking, soul reviving experiences God's given me.

Love, Caron

Play Day

2006-09-25T16:30:00.000-05:00

Praise the Lord, we had our first day off in 16 grueling days! This morning we and the Swartzes started off at the Century City Mall--an over-the-top shopping and dining venue that rivals Barra Brassa in Rio de Janeiro, if I'm remembering the name of the largest mall in South America correctly. Breakfasted there before driving to False Bay, home to large numbers of Great White sharks. Didn't see any of those, but we did see African penguins at the Boulders and whales and surfers enjoying the blue-green waters.

Though the morning started off rainy, we enjoyed a good bit of sunshine today, as well as some moody clouds and mist throughout. We drove to the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. The cape was first spotted by the Portuguese explorer Bartholomew Dias in 1488 and named the Cape of Storms. Headed directly out to Cape Point--the symbolic convergence of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, though in truth, they merge farther southeast. Lots of baboons along the roadside as well as ostriches and some sort of antelope which we thought were blazebok, but after some reading, I'm not so sure. Hardly makes any difference to you, does it?

Lynn and I rode the Flying Dutchman Funicular up to the lighthouse, snapping photos and watching another whale before joining the others at Two Oceans Restaurant for hake and chips, which, for those of us who speak plain English, is a type of fish and fries. Excellent late lunch.

Back down the mountain to wind along the ocean road past windsurfers and the seaside village of Kommetjie (pronounced comma-key), up and over Chapman's Peak as the sun sank low on the western horizon, around Hout Bay where the houses hug the shoreline, past a series of mountain peaks called the Twelve Apostles, along Victoria Drive to ritzy-glitzy Camps Bay, and finally to the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront--a "shopping and entertainment complex within a working harbour." Shared tea and coffee and scones and a mound of chocolate cake at the Mugg & Bean, a popular South African coffee house/restaurant.

They say this is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I must confess, they've got a good thing going. Stunning scenery all day.

Didn't get home until 9:30 and now it's almost midnight so I must sign off. Trying to email my family, but am having trouble sending from hotmail and the Swartzes have taken their email password to bed. Don't give up on me.

Love you all. Eager to be home. Really.

:) Caron

Incarnational

2006-09-24T15:00:00.000-05:00

This morning we worshiped with a house church in the Delft area of Cape Town. Delft is largely populated by "coloreds"--those of mixed heritage. Mark Swartz, our host, told us that many of them find their roots in Malaysia and Java; their ancestors were brought to Africa as slaves. Delft is a very poor section of the city. The homes are no bigger than most sheds and are made of corrugated tin or cinderblock or asbestos, which is cheap and readily available here.

The church met at Richard and Sharmain's home; 14 of us with two beautiful little girls. The purity and simplicity of this gathering touched my heart. Lynn spoke on hope. A rich discussion followed, based on the depth of their poverty and the abundance of God's faithfulness. Richard is an Indian cuisine vendor; his new trailer is situated at a busy intersection and he hopes to once again support his family--his previous trailer burned to the ground. This man is a beautiful picture of what incarnational and missional ministry is like--he sees his business as a door to sharing the gospel, and he is building relationships with the doctors at the clinic he's parked in front of, with the librarians across the street, with the people who come and go on a daily basis.

This afternoon we went to the Vineyard, the inner city outreach begun by the Swartz and Kendall-Ball families. They began a soup kitchen and other services with the simple goal of loving people like Jesus does. Several of those people have begun a spiritual search and have asked for worship services to be held on Sundays. What sweet fellowship. Several searchers were there. Twenty-five-year-old Graham, who fought tears through much of our time together. Victor, who is trying to overcome his addictions. Samil, who has been disowned by his family for exploring Christianity. We all spoke together long after the service ended.

We drove to the ocean afterward. I scooped up plenty of beautiful seashells for my international collection. Lynn went for the smooth and colorful rocks. Snapped a digital photo of the Leveretts near the water's edge. "Hmm," I said to myself. "That's a great wave in the background." Then suddenly it dawned on me. "Watch out," I cried. We ran, but too late to escape the water swirling around our ankles. Of course, I was barefoot as I always am on the sand, but Lynn and Paula's shoes are still drying. :)

Please pray--I think I have a sinus infection as a result of the allergies stirred up by the continual dust and smoke in Zimbabwe. I'm on an antibiotic, but not finding much relief yet. I don't feel bad, really, just cannot breath or hear as my head is entirely stopped up. Of course, that's not necessarily a bad thing--we drove past some kind of feed yard this evening and I was the only one who didn't suffer through it!

Thought I should explain something I wrote awhile back about "thumbs up." In Zimbabwe, the sign of the opposition party is a wave. Pretty ingenious, since you can always claim you were "just waving." But since some local elections were coming up around the Wedza area, we were cautioned against our continuous waving to everyone we passed--we're Amarilloans, after all. Instead, we were to give a thumbs up sign, though we hardly ever remembered. Washington told us that one time the president's wife accidently waved to a crowd instead of offering the ruling party's raised fist as her husband did. Newspaper headlines over the picture of the two of them the next day said, "MIXED SIGNALS." :)

To living missionally, Caron

All the same

2006-09-24T02:31:00.000-05:00

Now that we're in South Africa, I can access the Internet and actually visit my own blog. What a delight to read your comments. There were so many times we have especially felt your prayers on our behalf as God has opened doors, protected us, changed people's hearts, and strengthened us in our weaknesses. Keep praying!

I see that some of my posts never made it out of Zimbabwe. There were a couple of days at least when all email/Internet servers were shut down because Zimbabwe had not paid their bills. There were also some days in which we simply didn't have access to an online computer. And then there's always a chance I wrote something that innocently triggered the strict government filters and prevented my emails going through. They do that there, and tap phone lines. No telling.

In Zvishavane, Lynn spoke to some 300 high school students who warmly received his message before he spent the morning with the leaders of several area congregations. Paula, Alice, and I had time with the preachers' young wives. I'll tell you, at the core we are all the same.

Afterward, they served us lunch--sadza, kale, and capenta, which are, in essence, minnows. A whole pile of them on our plates, full-bodied with their siteless eyes. I have to confess I bit off the body and left the heads and could not finish my plateful, but they are always willing to finish off what you leave. They were going to seat us inside around a small table in a small room while they ate outside by their cooking fire. I asked the ladies if we could sit outside with them. They were confused, because this is how they honor guests. "You don't want to eat here?" they asked.

"We want to eat with you," I replied.

They shrugged. "Okay."

So they proceeded to move everything outside--the table, low chairs, our dishes--and then they ate on the ground around the corner from us! Must have thought we were crazy.

After two days in Zvishavane, we made the 6-hour drive to Mutare to stay with Campion Mugweni and his family. Thanksgiving must come on September 20th in Zimbabwe, for after Wednesday service with some 450 people of the Sakubva church and rousing worship led by 82-year-old Freddie, Campion's wife treated us and several others to a grand feast. Two sons of one of the elders are composers, and in English they harmonized a beautiful song they'd written so that cried. At the core we are all the same.

On Thursday we divided up and talked about abstinence and faith with the young men and women at the Commercial College--an outreach of the financially destitute, but spiritually rich, Sakubva church. Wonderful interactions there, and as I said in a later post, 8 or 9 young men and women were baptized afterward.

From there we went to the Tsvingwe feeding center in nearby Penhalonga. I spent most of my time alongside the preacher's wife, gracious Chipo, whose name means "gift" or "talent." She showed me her 20 hens she keeps in one of the small rooms off the meeting room, translated for me, and graciously answered my many questions. Tsvingwe feeds 150 children 6 days a week. As is the custom, when I greeted an older man there, I asked, "How are you?" which I admit seems a silly formality considering their obvious condition. He spoke rough English, and responded, "I'm fine. How are you?" Once I'd replied, he corrected himself. "No, we are not fine." He motioned to the children swarming the yard. "We are hungry. We have no jobs. Our young people finish school, but there are no jobs. We are not fine, and we cannot say we are."

Soon 11-year-old Joseph approached me and spoke through Chipo. He impressed me with his artist's passion and his boldness, for most of the children were timid around us. I believe it was his passion that emboldened him, in fact. "I'm an artist," he said in Shona. "I need paper and pencils." Oh, the earnestness in his eyes. I couldn't provide the money or promises unless I wanted to cause great division among the children, so I asked Chipo to write down his name and his request. Then I asked Joseph to draw a picture in my notebook so that I could show my artist friends. "I can draw anything you see," he assured me. He took the paper and pen and sketched one of the men eating sadza on a nearby bench. A very good rendition, I might add. I'm hoping some of you artists out there will want to help him. We can send funds to Campion so that he can purchase what the boy needs.

These people--every single one of them--are real, and we are all the same at the core. God forgive us when we forget that.

Time to leave to meet with a house church here in Cape Town. May God bless your time in worship and fellowship with the saints wherever you are.

Love, Caron

In Cape Town

2006-09-23T15:17:00.000-05:00

I met a chief yesterday. I traveled to Chivero Mission with Lynn and Washington and others who caught a ride--the lack of available fuel means everyone shares their vehicles with anyone going their direction. I was uncertain whether or not I should go as I was tired and needed to prepare my thoughts for a women's group I was scheduled to speak to in Harare at 5:30 pm. But Washington assured me we'd leave at 10 am and be back by 1 pm. I should have known he was on Africa time. We didn't leave until after noon because we had to search for fuel. And, of course, we had to go through the polite formalities with everyone we met on our errands in the Chivero area. And then, while driving through the crude grouping of four or five run down buildings that make up the village center of Chivero, we heard a whistle through our open windows--the only air conditioning there is. We stopped, and a man ran to our vehicle to tell us the chief wanted to see us.

Now, Washington knows the chief. The man's late wife was a godly Christian woman. Chief Chivero, as he's named, simply wanted to greet us and palm a little money off Washington for a village function, which, of course, Washington paid. Chivero seemed a gracious man in his dapper straw hat and purple satin shirt. I inquired of Washington if I might ask to take the chief's picture--it wouldn't have been appropriate for me to ask directly. But, alas, the man declined because he was not wearing his chief's medallion and other "chiefly" garb. Washington told me that Chivero--who is chief over 50 lesser chiefs--has expressed an interest in Christianity, but has protested, saying, "If I become chief of the church of Christ, I will have to become chief over all the other churches." I asked Washington if he told Chivero we already have a Chief. ;-)

By the way, I was delivered to the ladies' meeting at 5:30, dust-covered and windblown, without a Bible, unable to gather my thoughts on the way to Harare while crammed between the doorframe and a man and woman who rode back to the city with us. But I prayed, and the Lord provided the words for our meeting. I will not forget Africa time from now on.

Well, on to Cape Town. We arrived about 3 pm today, local time, and ate dinner at Mustards Grill with the a number of missionary families--the Dicksons, Swartzes, Hydes, and Kendall-Balls. We're staying in the Swartz's modest but very comfortable home. Unfortunately for Paula, who is a light sleeper, the Swartz's neighbors are also good hosts--their techno music and strobe lights are making a good backyard party for their many guests.

The flight into Cape Town gave beautiful views of rugged brown mountains, the South African coastline, domineering Table Mountain, and green, green, green unlike what we saw in Zimbabwe. The breeze is soft from ocean saltwater. The drive from the airport on wide highways took us past an odd mix of new homes, malls, and shanty towns. Obviously the people here are as resourceful as the Zimbabweans--we passed an old pickup frame set on thick tires being pulled by a horse. That's what you call horse power!

We're very exhausted. We left the Mhlanga's home early this morning with not nearly enough sleep after the wearying (but awesome) ten days we've had. We love you all!

With much joy, Caron

Back in Harare

2006-09-22T11:39:00.000-05:00

Just a quick note to update you that we are in Harare. We'll be here until early tomorrow morning when we fly to Cape Town via Jo'burg. I have only a moment to write, as Lynn, Washington, and I are headed to Chivero Mission to visit orphans and see the new work the church at Avondale and others are starting.

We are well, and glad to be done with the rough travel we've experienced over the past week. But how sweet was the reward at the end of those dusty roads.

Must mention that 8 or 9 students were baptized yesterday from the Commercial College. We also enjoyed watching the distribution of mealy-meal (sadza) to the widows and needy at the Sakubva church. The women danced and ululated to express their joy at receiving this gift from the Southwest church. Some of them really put on a show for us--there was much laughing and hooting to go along.

Met Alvaro's brother, Chris, last night. They joined us at W & A's home. Nice visit; he seems much like Alvaro.

Must go. Much love, Caron

God Blesses Zimbabwe Through Southwest

2006-09-17T17:53:00.000-05:00

Today we worshiped with four congregations in two different locations. At one time we met in a school, the other in a building that Southwest funded a few years ago. They have a precious custom--after their services, they exit the building to form a circle for a closing prayer, but they do it in a unique way. The first person out the door shakes the hand of the second person who comes to stand beside her. The third person shakes both hands before standing beside the other two, and so on it goes until every person has shaken the hand of every other person--man, woman, and child. When the process is completed, they have a circle and everyone has been greeted.

A beautiful young woman named Pamela told us a wonderful story. A few months ago she and her husband and children had been starving and homeless. They had very little to eat, and no mealy-meal, the staple of Zimbabwe also known as sadza. Pamela had lost several pounds. They decided to fast 1/2 of every day for a week. Really fast--praying instead of complaining or worrying. On the last day they had not one morsel of food to eat. Pamela knows the Scriptures well, and knew that if God could feed the birds of the air, he could feed her family. The next morning was Sunday. She arose, built a fire, and boiled water--all without any food, mind you.

Then someone came to her. "Go to the church," they said. "There is mealy-meal there."

Brothers and sisters, God provided that food through the Southwest church! He saved that family and answered their prayers long before they lost everything. And through your generosity we have also begun to help a few of the very many who need assistance. School tuition for a deaf-mute girl to board in Harare. Medicine for epileptics and asthmatics and a man with meningitis. Glasses for a legally blind brother and sister. A thatched roof for a widow who lost her home in a fire. There are many more needs and many people still to meet, but God-willing, we will continue to be faithful with the funds some of you have provided.

This afternoon, we were blessed with a much-needed time of refreshing. The Leveretts, Alice, and I were treated to a ride through the game park. Washington went in search of fuel for our vehicle. While on the ride through the park, we saw elephants, warthogs, hippos, giraffes, blazeboks, elands, sable, zebras, sesseby, waterbucks, enclosed lions and hyenaes (it is a populated area, after all) and black rhinos. Imire Game Park is a black rhino conservatory. Behind our thatched cottages (and outside the fence) we've seen a small herd of wildebeasts, ostriches, and sessebys on more than one occassion. Truly awesome.

I must close now. I don't know when I'll be able to write next--we'll be heading off to another location tomorrow. We may be unable to communicate, however I will do so if the Lord wills. Many blessings and much love. We miss you.

Caron

The Lord is My Seatbelt

2006-09-16T17:14:00.000-05:00

This morning, Saturday, we met with the Sanganai church on a wide rock under hillside trees. They warmly received Lynn's message before sharing their own needs and requests with us. Everywhere the people are hungry and suffering, but we see signs of hope as well. Many homes have gardens and guinea fowl or goats; the Leveretts tell me that was not so in 2003.

We went on to Gumbonzvanda--trust me, I can write these names but not pronounce them--where Lynn spoke again. The congregation asked us to eat a meal with them afterward in order to seal our friendship, so we sat for perhaps an hour and a half while the women killed and fried the chickens and cooked the sadza and kale for a tasty, although heavy-on-the-sadza meal. We three Americans were honored with forks. Everyone else ate with their fingers as is the custom.

Leaving that place, we took a winding, sandy shortcut through the brush to arrive at the Makwarimba church which meets at a school. There were well over 100 people crowded into a small classroom. This is a church the Leveretts visited three years ago; it's much bigger now, plus a small sister congregation was there to join us.

Though we hoped to be some encouragement to the brothers and sisters in this land, we have continually been refreshed by their perseverance and faith.

And now my note for the women: some of you will be curious to know just how things are here, really. It is much like camping, only better. Yes, there are bugs, a tremendous spider near the roof of my thatched cottage that I pretend is not there, and every now and then the electricity goes off. We've used the pit toilets a few times, snuck our hand sanitizer after greeting the brethren, and avoided certain water. But I've bathed every day, used the hairdryer (the curling iron gave up the ghost--the converter was too much for it), and enjoyed more food than I can eat. I have at all times felt safe, though to be sure, that is because of our great God. Yes, the Lord is my seatbelt, and though I must occassionally hold on to keep from bouncing into the front seat, I have not feared the cattle, goats, potholes, slow moving trucks, pedestrians, oncoming traffic, or ox-carts that hug our lane. Which is on the left side of the road, by the way. If there's more than one lane at all.

This is a land of beautiful scenery, beautiful people, and a beautiful spirit. Every bit of it is fascinating to me--from the eucalyptus gum trees and flat-topped acacias, to the monkeys darting across the road, to the precious dark-eyed children outrunning our vehicle over rough terrain.

And now I'm very tired. Blessings to you. Thank you for your prayers. God is good.

Love and hugs, Caron

Overflowing

2006-09-15T23:16:00.000-05:00

Today, Friday, we began at the Mukondwa Secondary School. Lynn spoke outside for the first of six times today to the students who were called not with a bell, but by a girl using a stick to hit a bucket hanging from a tree. Then he spoke to the church that meets there, and we were delighted to see they were using Bibles printed by Roger Dickson at African Christian Press in Cape Town.

We went on to Magamba School. The children, poor things, stood facing the sun as their headmaster instructed while Lynn preached and goats wandered through the school yard carrying on in their noisy way. Cows grazed nearby under an almost cloudless sky, and a dog knawed at his rangy hindquarters. The headmaster invited us in afterward and spoke these gracious words: "It is our custom not to host our guests outside. You must bring your shadow (your presence) inside so that we will know you and the memory of you will stay with us. We are a small school--only 320 students, 14 teachers, 6 student teachers. We are poor as you can see, but we are proud of our school. We want you to know that you are always welcome. We need your words of spiritual and moral encouragement--they are the hope of our people."

From there we drove many, many miles (1-1.5 hours) over dirt roads farther into the countryside than the Leverettts had previously travelled. Past huts and ox-plowed fields and stick fences and mountains and avacado and wild orange trees. We arrived late, finding the 4-month-old Chigondo church waiting for us under a tree. A flat metal post between two rocks served as our seat because we were guests; others sat in the dirt or on rocks. An elderly Christian man we had picked up to travel in the back of the pickup led the singing and spoke words of encouragement to the people before and after Lynn's message. A young man showed me a very good, almost life-size statue of himself that he'd carved and I snapped a photo of him beside it. Three women decided to place their hope in Christ, confessed him as Lord, and were entrusted to one of the brothers for baptism. To my sorrow, we could not stay to witness it--we had to go on to another church; they had to walk into the mountains to find a stream.

Our truck struggled down an ox-path to take us to the St. Clements church an hour or so away. When we finally arrived--very late--the women stood by their huts at the end of a narrow foot path through the grass, singing us in like angels welcoming us home to heaven. The men wanted them to come sit under the trees near our truck, but I couldn't wait to greet these sisters of mine. I felt so joyful that I scurried down the path, my arms opened wide. We greeted with hugs and laughter, like long-lost friends. I know the Spirit of God is among them and He delighted my soul in their company. Again Lynn spoke and the old man lifted our hearts--and their voices--in Shona praise. Three more came to express their faith and request baptism.

Too soon, we made our way back through the rugged creek-bed-of-a-road and on to the Maruta church. There are many widows there, and they pleaded for our help. Brother Godwin will collect all requests so that we can prayerfully discern where and how to spend our Lord's money. Two little girls sat near me while Lynn preached and could not seem to take their eyes from me--no shyness in them; they met my gaze measure for measure. Afterward I hugged them and spoke to them and asked to take our picture together. Another six girls hurried to our side to be included before the photo was taken.

So, this is what it's like, I said to God. Later, when I am not on a borrowed computer, I will take time to better express my heart. But this feeling I have is what it's like to meet a people who suffer greatly, who put their faith and hope in God, who will accept us gladly as their brothers and sisters in Christ, who yearn to know more of our Lord, who walk miles and miles to share the gospel or receive it. I thank the Father for showing me these things and for filling my heart to overflowing.

Continue your prayers. God has been with us in mighty ways that I will be able to share when I return home.

Love and thumbs up, Caron [it will make more sense later :)

Imire Game Park

2006-09-15T23:14:00.000-05:00

I can hardly express how good and pure and fascinating this day has been. Good, because we have met many godly sacrificial people--in Rukweza, Dorowa, and Wedza. Pure, because we have seen the heart of God at work among his people and the orphans who are so sweet and vulnerable. Fascinating, because the African countryside is such a beautiful sight, dotted with thatched huts, mango, lemon, popo, and fig trees, and always the people walking with bundles on their heads or babies on their backs.

We began at Rukweza after a 2-3 hour drive. There is a church and a feeding center where a graceful and gracious young woman named Loveness oversees the 6-days of feeding each week. They fed 117 orphans today, plus a man in a wheelchair whom Alvaro taught to repair shoes. The children and women surrounded our vehicle when we arrived, each one shaking or touching our hands. I could not hide the tears behind my sunglasses, though I tried. After their lunch--we were given a plate of rice and sadza (a thick, flavorless porridge of cornmeal) and a small piece of chicken after all the children had eaten--the little ones sang for us and put on a short humorous play about the importance of education. Apparently, if we make failing grades, we will all end up dead on the side of the road! :)

After Rukweza, we went to Dorowa where I met Assan and his family. Assan began a church under a tree after he became a Christian about 6 years ago and has started a number of other churches since. Assan traveled with us to Wedza to stay with Godwin and his family for a few days.

Godwin has arranged for 11 or 14 or 15 churches (I can't remember which number I heard) to gather in their respective locations in the vicinity so that Lynn can preach to them over the next 3 days. I think Lynn will speak 5 or 6 times tomorrow.

We are now at the beautiful Imire Game Park near Wedza. Getting in was a small adventure because they thought we were to arrive this morning, so they had long since given up on us and closed the gates. The roads are pitch black in the countryside, we had no cell service, and had forgotten the phone number anyway. We honked ineffectively a few times, but the Lord knew our need and sent a young employee peddling along the road on a bicycle. He managed to get us in, and we soon found our cottages--African style thatched huts. We just finished a delicious dinner of Chakalaka soup (spicy!), sweet and sour chicken, and a delicious pudding with authentic rich cream. I was delighted when they said I could email from here. We will be here through Sunday night, Lord willing, so I hope to continue posting. I'm looking forward to seeing the park and it's animals in the daylight--and rather glad I couldn't see them in the dark!

I must tell you this brief story--not a tear-jerker, but one that made us laugh for some time. As we were driving to Wedza in the setting sun, many school children walking miles to their homes for the night, waving often to those who were glad to see a passing vehicle, one little boy turned and excitedly yelled something in Shona at the top of his lungs. Washington, Alice, and Assan laughed heartily.

"Could you understand him?" I asked.

Alice nodded.

"What did he say?"

She looked at Assan next to her then back at me. "White people!" :)

Much love, joy, and peace to you as we are experiencing it here, Caron

Settling-in In Zimbabwe

2006-09-13T10:02:00.000-05:00

God has been blessing us abundantly, answering so many prayers by making our travel easy. Our flight arrived 10 minutes early in Harare. We were the last flight into the airport last night, so there were only the passengers on our plane who needed visas and to go through customs. Our friend Justin had a long wait last February, but things moved quickly for us.

Because we were bringing many Bibles and World Bible School materials with us to give away, we were concerned about delays. I was waiting in line for my visa while Paula and Lynn were paying for their's, when a young airport employee approached me. "Are you Caron?" he asked, pointing to the WBS name badge Paula had made for me.

"Yes," I replied.

"And you are with World Bible School?"

"I am."

He smiled and pointed to his chest. "I am a member of World Bible School!"

I sent him to Paula, knowing she'd want to visit with him. By the time I got my visa, they had our bags, he'd waived us through customs, and Paula had 3 new WBS students--our baggage handlers! Praise God for answering our and your prayers in such a delightful manner.

Alice and Washington, our guides, are a wonderful couple. We slept comfortably in their sprawling, gated home. We bathed in very cool, very shallow baths, but our hair dryers worked, so Paula and I were happy. :) I even got to phone Bob and talk to Caleb, too. This morning we repacked for our trip throughout eastern Zimbabwe, registered at the embassy, and are now at the Avondale church of Christ and World Bible School offices.

We waited for W & A outside the embassy while they ran an errand. We sat across from a park, and I enjoyed snapping a few photos of the flowering vines and beautiful people. Since we've been at the church, the Leveretts have been reunited with a number of old friends--even as I am making new ones. Timothy--the young man many of us prayed for and helped travel to South Africa for heart surgery a few years ago--is here now, visiting with them. He is doing so well. His mother also stopped by, as has Si, a woman who helped start churches near Wedza. It is a good day.

Tomorrow we head to Wedza (Hwedza) via the Rukweza feeding center in Rusape. At least that's what Alice tells me. :) She knows everything.

I feel so blessed and am fascinated by everything, making lots of journal entries, and enjoying meeting the good people of this country.

Love you all! I will post as I can.

In Johannesburg

2006-09-12T14:24:00.000-05:00

Praise God we've completed the longest leg of our journey--the almost 18 hours from DC to Johannesburg, South Africa. We had a great flight. The Lord was kind to us as it turns out the flight was not full and we each had an empty seat beside us to allow us to lay down for some rest. We don't know yet if our luggage made it since it is checked all the way to Harare, but we have every reason to suspect it is at least here in South Africa with us.

We are at the home of Al & Donna Horn, African missionaries for nearly fifty years. Al is a native South African. They graciously picked us up from the airport and have provided lunch and lively conversation during our seven hour layover. We will return to the airport soon for our flight into Zimbabwe.

Our plane circled Dakar, Senegal for nearly 45 minutes last night before we could land to refuel. The problem? According to the pilot there were three: Dakar airport has no radar, there was a bit of a "traffic jam," and there was a "comedy of errors" on the ground. We were very thankful for your prayers! Another interesting note: in DC and in Dakar, the cabin of the airplane was "sprayed." Yes, sprayed with a strong smelling aerosol as required by the World Health Organization. Pesticides. No kidding.

I have to admit the computer screen seems to be swaying. We're pretty worn out and have been moving for so long I have that roadtrip syndrom--I feel like I'm still moving. One more 2-hour flight to go!

We love you all. Hugs to our families. More later as we get email access.

God is hearing your prayers and surrounding us with your love and His!

En Route

2006-09-12T13:38:00.000-05:00

Hey Guys, Caron has asked if I would post to her blog since she did not have internet access before she left.

Lynn and Paula arrived in Washington around mid-night on the 10th after visiting family in Abilene and Dallas. They rendezvoued with Caron at breakfast before heading to the airport.

The plane took off on time and was not very full according to Caron. She called me from the plane and was excited that the seat next to her was empty. I guess if I was flying for 20+ hours I would be excited about the seat being empty too. They should land in Johannesburg for re-fueling and a 7 hour layover before heading on to Zimbabwe. They should arrive around 9 P.M. local time in Harare. Please pray that they will get through customs fairly quickly. Last February Justin Nash was in line for 4 hours just to get his entry visa.

I'm not as good at blogging as Caron; she asked if I would share this information since she didn't have internet access before leaving to the airport yesterday. I'll try to keep the news flowing as I hear what's going on.

May God bless you, and your's.

Humbly,

Bob

In DC

2006-09-10T15:25:00.000-05:00

Well, I made it to DC safe and sound--except for two broken fingernails. That, I can handle. My luggage is HEAVY, filled as it is with World Bible School materials, Bibles, etc. Wrestling both pieces off the carousel and loading them onto a $3.00 cart no doubt provided comic relief for passersby. That $3.00 was worth every penny. Frankly, I thanked the Lord my baggage made it: Continental, Houston, and my suitcases have had issues. Remember that final scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark--the one where the ark disappears in a cavernous warehouse? Kind of like that.

There's nothing but closed office buildings, trees, and a lone Burger King outside the hotel. Fortunately, I'm fine with a cheeseburger and fries. Now I'm just relaxing, waiting for the Leveretts, and already missing my family. Exciting, huh?

Keep those prayers going!

:) Caron

This is It!

2006-09-09T22:53:00.000-05:00

It's almost 11 pm. I have to be at the airport around 6 tomorrow morning, but since I don't know when my next opportunity to post will come along, I thought I'd better do so.

I'm a little keyed up, I think. Just cleaned the bathroom. :) It was either the search for my missing credit card that got me going--which I didn't find, by the way--or the first two episodes of Lost, Season 2 that I watched with my guys.

That said, I really do feel God's peace and presence and am eager to head off on this journey. Thank you for your continued prayers. The Father is responding.

Please pray for the Leveretts. One of their flights tomorrow has been cancelled, so they're going to be delayed getting into DC. While I arrive mid-afternoon, they won't get in until after 11 pm.

But all is well.

Many blessings, Caron

Prayer Requests

2006-09-03T19:55:00.000-05:00

Paula, Lynn, and I met with the shepherds of the Southwest church today at their request so that they could pray for our upcoming journey. What a blessing to be under the loving, supportive oversight of these passionate, godly, prayerful disciples.

I thought you might want to know some of the specific prayer requests that the Leveretts and I shared to help guide your prayers as well.

Paula asks that God ease her back pain during our travels and that the Lord be with Alice, our guide, who has high blood pressure. The trip will be very rigorous. She also asks that God will allow us to accomplish what we need to in our short time there and that we will trust him when unexpected things come up.

Lynn asks that we be granted wisdom in every situation so that we might meet the needs of the people and build up the body of Christ. It breaks his heart to have to walk away knowing people are still suffering.

I ask that I might not be undone by what I see, and that God will give me a holy gift to write the stories he would have me tell on behalf of the Zimbabwean people.

Please pray for our families, too. We are so thankful for their love. I am humbled and grateful that Bob and my children are so supportive of this endeavor. Praise God.

Mark and Flora Swartz, of Cape Town and the Vinyard inner city mission, were at Southwest today. We were blessed and excited to hear of that effective incarnational work. God is doing amazing things there. We enjoyed lunch with the Swartzes—I fell in love with Flora—and we look forward to staying with them in their home later this month, Lord willing.

The journey begins in one week.