Parachutes & paracaidas

Parachutes and Bibles.  How do they relate?  It’s an exciting story.  In March, I attended a Voice of the Martyrs event that told about Bibles being delivered into Colombian jungles via parachute.  I came home to research the idea a bit and came across info for crafting these parachutes.  Matthew 28 and Mark 16 both talk about us taking the Gospel to all nations, the latter giving the words of Jesus in verse 15, “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.”  That includes the guerrillas in the Colombian jungles.  That’s why we’re talking parachutes, because sometimes you can hardly reach an area by any other means.  And in this case, there happens to be a tangible way for us all to help in the effort.  A kit of materials for making 10 parachutes is available from VOM, and this past Friday our church group was immensely blessed to construct our first set of 10.  Even for people like me who aren’t too craftsy, it’s quite a manageable task, and having the camaraderie of friends makes it altogether fun.  A pilot named Russell drops these parachutes from his airplane, and each parachute carries a Bible and other Christian literature and a solar-powered radio that tunes to either of 2 Christian stations, one being music and the other being the spoken word.  If the parachute catches in the trees on the way down, a station on the radio will trigger, and the sound will attract the people.  The canopy on these paracaidas (Spanish for parachutes) reads “Dios es amor,” which translates “God is love.”  Perhaps Russell will speak at a Voice of the Martyrs event near you; maybe check the speaker schedule at persecution.com.  Thank you, Lord, for giving the ingenuity to devise these paracaidas, and may Your light shine through them.

A Luke 14 pizza feast

Put the Food Network and HGTV together, and you’ve got a pretty good set of ideas for your home.  They talk about meals and events I’ve never thought of before, and they make DIY tasks look possible and even fun.  But I’m unaware of them ever telling how to host a feast quite like Luke 14 does.  In this chapter, verses 12-14 in particular, Jesus says, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid.  But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed...”  In verse 13 where the NIV says banquet, the KJV says feast, which is how I first read it last week.  The verses rang in my ear for several days, and I figured the Lord had a feast in mind for me.  But how do I do this?  Whom do I invite?  On Sunday, I sat in church with these verses still floating in my head, and the idea hit me to invite a guy who was sitting across the aisle.  I explained to my husband about Luke 14 this week and ran the lunch idea by him.  I offered the invitation to our church-mate on the aisle and was so happy for him to accept, but then I wondered, “Lord, is this a feast for just the 3 of us?”  I walked into the hallway and found my husband talking to someone, whom he promptly told me he had invited to lunch as well.  Now our feast was for 4.  And so we agreed upon pizza and proceeded in our separate cars to the nearby Pizza Hut.  My husband drove, and my heart danced the whole way to recount how this occasion was developing.  It was a case of literally living out the Bible.  Blessings poured amidst our afternoon conversation, and we learned about some business concerns for our first guest.  Time to pray with him fit wonderfully atop our empty Meat Lover’s Pizza tray.  We had the added blessing too of looking forward to seeing our new friends again the next week.  It was as if watching each separate link, each separate event, adding one by one into God's perfect chain of events.  Almost effortless on my part it seemed, having simply begun one ordinary day while sitting on an ordinary couch to open the pages of the Bible, which is forever extraordinary. 

The juror's stunning phone call

Most people dread jury duty.  Most of us dread going to court.  To defend a traffic ticket or even to prosecute, it’s a hassle.  It’s tense.  But last Sunday I heard an inspiring story about a juror.  This would be someone who didn’t wriggle out of her civic duty.  It was a custody case involving a mom, her ex-husband, and their 2 children.  The mom told the story, and she’s a friend for whom I have been blessed to pray.  I had seen her in agony through the ups and downs of this trial, and now almost a year after its conclusion, my friend receives a stunning phone call.  It’s a weekday, the phone rings at work, any number of co-workers could have answered, but curiously she’s the one who reaches for this call.  The caller had seen the name of my friend’s company on a vehicle just driving around town.  She didn’t remember my friend’s name, but she remembered the company name from being mentioned in court, and she chanced the call.  She explained her role as a juror and how the Lord compelled her to pray throughout the trial and even into the months that followed.  She wanted my friend to know she was prayed for.  Often people change jobs in a year’s time, or companies are so big or privacy issues so tight that there’s no way of figuring out who somebody is.  Yet the Lord connected these 2 people.  He gave uninterrupted time amidst a busy office to convey some huge encouragement, and today we sat in awe to hear about it.  It was evidence of the Lord's love having no limit.  That's for you, for me, and for each of His children.  May you be encouraged.

Flags of the world

I love seeing the flags of the world.  Sometimes it’s at theme parks or at historical sites where they’re flying in the wind.  Sometimes it’s in a sanctuary where they hang neatly from the ceiling or they’re carried on poles in a processional.  They remind me of how small I am in this world and yet how intimately God loves His creations.  We can be the lone ranger on the remotest of islands, and God knows our exact spot.  We can be one in a million in the most crowded of cities, and He reaches us with ease.  I visited San Francisco one time and saw how every nook and cranny had someone living in it.  Deep into one building, past the apartments visible to the outside, I realized there were layers and layers of living spaces more obscure.  How does a realtor even know what’s available to rent when they’re layered so densely?  But no matter our surroundings, God is there.  And so for the sake of our different territories, we call to God and wait on Him and thank Him for saving us from our own human nature.  To the many in 19 different countries who visited this blog since May, I welcome you.  Matthew 28:19-20 says, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.  And surely I am with you always to the very end of the age.”  To Argentina, Australia, Canada, China, Colombia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Indonesia, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russia, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, USA, Vietnam—we are in this together.  May you know the Lord's presence today within the uniqueness of where you serve. 

Chronicle of an inexperienced tiler

I had never tiled a floor.  The idea was close to defeating me emotionally, and I saw no real reason for it to be that way.  Over the weekend, we laid out the whole roomful of tiles, including the specially-cut ones to fit around the tub and the toilet and up against the walls.  Next would be the messy part with the mortar.  Should I wait for my husband or go it alone?  I prayed.  And I prayed.  And I prayed.  “Lord, am I supposed to tile this bathroom?”  I gathered supplies:  sponge, bucket, rubber mallet, gloves.  I double-checked my Youtube sites, and momentum was gaining.  I figured if I read the instructions carefully for mixing the mortar, that would be the very same thing my husband would do, so why not proceed on my own?  Surely I could calculate proportions for liquid and dry, though I couldn’t stop imagining the magnitude of gloppy, gooey gunk this could be if I measured wrong.  I found the dolly to carry my 50-lb. bag to the back porch.  I took the bathroom scale out there to weigh everything for mixing since I wouldn’t use the 50 lbs. all at once.  I grabbed an old wooden fork for stirring; it was one I could throw away afterward.  Momentum continued to build, and I was ready to mix my first batch of mortar.  Hours passed, and certainly it was sticky work.  By the time my husband came home, I had a good case of leg pain from all the squatting and kneeling and standing back up, but it all seemed to be working.  The Slowest Tiler in the West appeared to actually be putting together a tile floor.  At 10 PM, we closed up shop.  Experienced friends who spurred us onward and a friend who loaned us his wet saw had all taken part, and we had made it.  But this isn't just a DIY how-to story, because beyond Home Depot videos and beyond Lowe’s, it was the Lord who kept me in the game.  He answered my continuous prayers and kept me from panic and fear and wanting to quit.  This tiling became a confidence-builder for me.  And I thank the Lord for His presence, for when we experience Him in one place, we grow to rely on Him for the next.  In Isaiah 41:10, the Lord says, "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Halfway Herbert & the lady at New Life

“Do you know if Brady Boyd’s new book is out?”  I replied to her, “I’m sorry I don’t.”  My husband and I had entered New Life that Sunday as visitors.  Not knowing exactly what was behind any of the many doors from the parking lot, we found ourselves at the church bookstore.  The word discount on a sign pulled me across the room, and 10 minutes of extra time allowed me to start scanning the front table.  The lady who asked about the book explained that Brady Boyd is a pastor who walked alongside New Life in their years of healing from scandal.  I thought of the shootings in Columbine and Aurora and last year’s grass fires and a whole depth of injury that Colorado has endured.  She asked, “Where are you from?”  “San Antonio,” I said.  I spent a minute sharing about blessings that have come in visiting churches and witnessing the Lord at work away from home.  In fact, a large part of today’s blessings came through this new friend at the book table.  She was my first acquaintance with New Life and the welcoming voice of the church for me.  She was the personal connection that stepped out from the large congregation.  Her casual conversation spoke of real-life Christianity that let me see again how Jesus-followers are scattered all throughout our world, and the Lord uses us to encourage each other.  Yet many yearn for a church home, and I think of friends who've become disenchanted by the imperfections of the people inside the churches, and I pondered what it is actually we seek on Sunday mornings.  If we don’t identify with the pastor, that’s not necessarily bad.  If we don’t connect with every song, that doesn’t have to be reason to leave.  Maybe there’s a book table where we’re supposed to stand and talk with visitors about Christ and how He delivers us from the trials of everyday life.  I didn't sense the role of the book lady was even a formal role, as she simply was a book scanner like me, yet she was ready to share life with whomever.  This Sunday the teaching from the pulpit proved to be thought-provoking and wonderful, as did the music, though it was through the gentle manner of my friend at the table that the Lord first ushered blessing.  The fact that I had fun in finding a half-price copy of Halfway Herbert for my nephew was a bonus.  May the Lord give us joy for the circumstances He creates.

Hurricanes of Santo Domingo

Did I hear her right?  “I can handle hurricanes,” she said.  But is that possible?  I looked back over my shoulder to watch her lips reiterate the words.  In my mind, hurricanes are these ominously powerful things that only God can tame.  Yet my friend explained her childhood in the Dominican Republic.  Pointing midway up on the calf of her leg, she talked about the water level in her house.  Such was common occurrence after hurricanes in her city of Santo Domingo.  She remembers making paper boats with her brother and floating them inside the house, as her parents engaged the children in games to stave off any fear.  And it was at that point in her story that my brain froze because I couldn’t fathom playing games in the midst of a hurricane.  How would the emotions relax enough to actually play a game?  But then the idea translated in my head, and I remembered how the Lord calmed me one day in the midst of a dangerously heated argument.  Witnessing the abusive nature of one particular person, my body began to tremble, yet the Lord directed me and gave presence of mind to lead people away from the danger.  Though I trembled, I didn’t fear.  So perhaps I can imagine games and toys after all.  My friend said hurricanes come with warning, whereas tornadoes may not, and that's why she can “handle” hurricanes.  She's familiar with their approach and the aftermath for those living in concrete houses.  Still for me, I contemplated issues of contentment in this world.  In Philippians 4:12-13, Paul correlates contentment with finding strength in the Lord, regardless of situation, whether hungry or well-fed, whether living in plenty or in want.  Given Paul’s many shipwrecks and imprisonments and all the stones, rods, and lashings he withstood, surely he knows about finding strength in the Lord.  And I ask the Lord to give you peace today, that in contentment we may float paper boats amidst our storms.

Abandoned, but not by God

Wrong again.  Actually glad again.  I’ve had an unusual patch of negativity lately, and I was happy to be dissuaded.  Sundays have been a long-time source of inspiration, yet lately the aura of a certain 2-hour span has infected my thinking to the point of dread.  And directly into the core of this dread on one particular morning, the Lord inserted a wonderful dose of inspiration.  His creativity was in full bloom.  He walked my feet into what’s becoming my favorite breakfast nook, and there sat a friend with whom I hadn’t talked in a while.  My friend mentioned recently praying in a new way for his family, including for his wife who abandoned him.  In his mind, he and his wife are still married, though she took their daughters and has been moving them from house to house, all across town, staying with different people often far away.  My friend’s been exhausted in the constant effort to track them down and stay in touch, and in desperation he threw his hands up, pleading for the Lord to show him what to do.  And blessing did come.  News arrived that his wife had found yet another house, and to his amazement, this one appeared to be longer-term, and it was near him and near the church.  No longer would he drive all the miles that had stretched him even beyond the city limits.  Perhaps no longer would his daughters cry to think of him far away.  In the telling of the story, I witnessed his eyes moistening to talk of the magnitude of the blessing and the depth of his gratitude to the Lord.  The story triggered memories of mountaintop experiences the Lord has graciously granted me, even after I’ve felt on the brink of some deep despair that I stirred up myself.  This Sunday morning, the Lord reminded me to never dread because He can always breathe life into what seems dead and gone.  I ask you as the reader today, “Are you like me?  Do you have something you’re dreading?  Something setting you up for a negative attitude?”  Ephesians 2:4 says, “But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.”  And may you and I both remember to ask Him to lift us out of the muck and mire. 

Pizza & the man alone

Pizza is good.  The buffet at Double Dave’s is craaaaaazy good!  The particular location near us seems to flourish, and it must have something to do with the guy who bakes the cinnamon sticks.  His mix of cinnamon, sugar, and butter ranks way high in my book.  Put that next to Dave’s salad bar, and anytime my husband consents to going, I’m fast into the car.  The salad bar has sunflower seeds, boiled eggs, ham, green peppers, and lots more, and we have all those ingredients at home, but it tastes different at Dave’s and it’s fun.  The cashier asks if we want a certain type of pizza, and with great glee I request the barbecue chicken that quickly appears on the buffet line.  And to top it all off, they post a 2-for-1 coupon where you can buy 2 buffets and 2 drinks for $11 total.  For San Antonio prices, that’s pretty good.  Yet as fabulous as Dave’s is, something I witnessed there a couple of weeks ago bears greater praise than all their good food.  Dave’s hosts lots of baseball parties and all kinds of team events, and on this Saturday a young girls’ team entered.  One of the dads chose an empty table next to ours while most of the girls stayed to themselves.  For maybe 5 minutes, this dad sat alone and quiet until another dad asked, “May I join you here?”  The first dad looked up, seeming refreshed and quite open to the idea of company.  I'd seen the second dad change his mind on where to sit after noticing the first dad sitting solo.  It was a simple gesture yielding the grandest effect, and suddenly a memory triggered for me.  I’ve sat in that same seat of loneliness.  I remember how it can creep in and exhaust and debilitate without warning.  Even today as my husband and I sat at the kitchen table to sort through some papers, we saw an ad for an ice cream social and entertained the idea of attending until we realized we might not know anyone there.  Yet I thought of the dads at Double Dave's and have asked the Lord to lead us as to whether we should go after all to this event and share some ice cream and some conversation.  Perhaps He will connect us with someone in need, just as He has rescued me in my loneliness and desperation many times.  According to 2 Corinthians 1:4, the Lord is the one “who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."

Gosnell & the fallen bird

 

I saw a strange white spot in the front yard grass, and it was an odd shape.  I bent down for a closer look and realized this spot was a bird.  Was he alive?  What could I use to softly nudge him?  I found a gray-and-white feather lying nearby, and it would serve to allow me to check on him gently, yet soon I realized he couldn’t move.  I wondered if he had a sibling anywhere, and a couple of feet away I saw his brother.  Nudging him with the same feather, I was intrigued to see this brother was still alive.  I called my mom because she loves birds and studies them and possibly she’d know what to do, yet she said sometimes there’s not a lot you can do except hope that the parent bird will come.  Years ago I rescued a fallen bird and put him in a box that I tied to a tree branch near his nest, and it seemed that he lived.  My predicament today, though, was different because this bird was younger, and the mountain laurel branches that held his nest looked too flimsy to support a box, and for me to put him back in his actual nest was impossible because it was too high.  I did use a cloth to gently move him into the shade.  I took him a little plastic lid of water and kept trying to touch it to his beak.  One time I stepped away from him and heard the telephone ringing in the house.  It was my husband calling to say the jury in the Gosnell trial had just now declared him guilty of murdering 3 babies and “involuntarily slaughtering” an adult life.  All morning the whole issue of life had been running through my head with these little birds.  Life is precious.  It’s fragile.  And as plainly as the latter verses of Deuteronomy 30 tell us to choose life, somehow our society has come to dispose of it rather flippantly.  This little bird today stretches his neck and squirms with his wings to try and find his way.  He fights to live in a world he can’t even see because he’s too young for his eyes to open.  He doesn’t know why he’s struggling to survive, but his nature is to not quit, even already having suffered the terror of a 10-foot fall from a tree, which especially for a tiny bird is a thought that makes me shudder.  Into the afternoon and now the evening, I’ve kept checking on my little bird, and I tip his plastic lid of water, seeing his mouth open to sample more moisture.  I prayed early on for the life of this young one, yet in the beginning I had to honestly address the issue of how much effort I would put into trying to save him.  I concluded that whether this bird lives minutes, hours, or days, the Lord has used him to illustrate the beauty of life.  Even the youngest have a desire to live that compels them to fight.  How I thank the Lord for giving me a day unconstrained that I would find this bird and work to provide for his life. Yet the question remains:  To what extent do we stand up for life?  We have opportunity daily to encourage our world to uphold it.  Ultimately Jesus Christ is our way and truth for all that lives.