Thank you, Jesus

We watched the days leading up to the resurrection of Jesus acted out this year. We started in the high school with the Last Supper, then went to a city park for the Garden of Gethsemane. The next night we went to the steps of the courthouse for the trial of Jesus; then followed him carrying his cross up the hill toward the crucifixion, which was in a parking lot by the library. We watched them carry his body and lay it in a tomb in a nearby church parking lot, and on Sunday morning we watched the resurrection and ascension.

It really did make the events come alive, walking from place to place, with days in between scenes.

I missed the trial because a boy needed a rest stop. I didn't mind. I didn't want to see him beaten. We showed up at the crucifixion and found a spot near the back. It wasn't a very good view, and again I was glad.

I could not have endured what Jesus did for me. We were talking in the van with our boys later, and I mentioned that I never could have done that, and Zac says, "You could have done the Last Supper." Yes, I suppose I could have done that part.

While we were at the crucifixion, a heard a man nearby calling the police on his cellphone. He was reporting the scene. That's the reaction I would expect from the crowd. Why was the angry mob calling out "Crucify Him!" Why weren't they calling out for someone to stop this madness?
I didn't want to watch. How could this have happened?

"It is finished," He cried.
And my sin was nailed to the cross.
He was bruised for my iniquity.
By His strips I was healed.

They took him down, and my son says, "He's fine Mom. He got down."

Yes, isn't that the truth! He is fine! He got down! He is not on that cross anymore. He is not in that tomb anymore! Sunday morning, the earth shook, the stone rolled away and He is fine -- more than fine.

The Breakpoint

Yesterday I failed.

On Saturday, after 6pm my husband asks if we wanted to sleep in our new house that night. We had been staying in the basement of the camp office, where Eric is working this summer, but now the camp had a house available for us a little farther down the road.

This is when I should have used my brain and said, "NO!" First of all it was Saturday evening and the next day was Sunday. We usually leave at 8am in the morning to get to church on time, so it's nice to have things organized the night before. Not only that but Saturday was Shiloh's birthday. We had just come back from town and had played at the park and visited the library, now we were going to roast hot dogs in our wood stove and then have Shiloh's cake and presents.

But unfortunately I am not smart sometimes. I have a horrible habit of under-estimating how long a project will take. This problem seems to be hereditary. My uncle says to compensate, when you plan a project, estimate the time it will take, then double it, then double it again.

So my husband thinks we can pack up the whole house and move it to our new place in an hour. I agreed to try. At least I had the common sense to say that we should roast the hot dogs first. But then after dinner we began loading things quickly into suitcases, boxes and bags.

When our former pastor and his family moved to a different state, his wife had said, "I just want to move without sinning." That can be a challenge.
Surprisingly it only took 2 hours, which is double what Eric estimated, but it could have been a lot worse. But we didn't unpack things or put things away, so there was mess everywhere.
We had Shiloh's cake and garage-sale presents, then the boys went to bed.

The next morning, I thought maybe I could get things cleaned up before church. There was no way. What a mess! I was digging around trying to find everything the boys needed for church. No one seemed to know where things were so I had to keep helping people. There wasn't time for Eric or I to eat. At least my husband had the foresight to say we should just go to the service instead of classes an hour earlier.

On the way to church everything just seemed to hit me all at once. I don't know why. Looking back I can't see what was so bad. Sure the house was a mess, but that happens and then we clean it up. It would get cleaned up some day. I think it was just one disappointment after another. And those disappointments drawing me to focus on other issues that were troubling me.
Eric tells the story of his mother crying over spilled milk when he was a boy. Although he didn't understand as a boy, it wasn't the milk. It was what that represented to her. It was like that on Sunday.

On Saturday I wanted to get a library card because we love the library, but unfortunately we can't because this is a temporary residence. I should have know. Then we wanted to find a couple things at thrift stores for the house, but of course we couldn't find them. Then I wanted to get groceries while in town, but we didn't have time because it was Shiloh's birthday and we wanted to get home. People were meeting that evening for singing and snacks near our home in Wamic, but we took too long in town and couldn't go.

So I think it was a combination of feeling broke, alone, and out of control. Not going to people's house for singing again, (this was the second time we had to skip) made me feel like it was hopeless trying to make friends. The church we were going to was so far and it seemed when people that are closer got together we couldn't go. The presents and the groceries just reminded me that we didn't have much money. The mess and the boys just made me feel out of control.
On the way I kept spouting all these evil thoughts. Eric told me that he really thought I should just stop talking. I told him that we don't get everything we want. We stood in church beside each other, mostly staring at the music screen. I think Eric's arms were crossed the whole time.
And I looked at the words we were suppose to be singing...

"... Cause when we see You, we find strength to face the day
In Your Presence all our fears are washed away...
You are the God Who saves us, worthy of all our praises...
Come have Your way among us
We welcome You here, Lord Jesus..."

I looked at the words, but didn't sing, because I was wondering...

Where is my strength to face this day? Are my fears washed away? And did I really want God to have his way with me? Was I welcoming him in my life?

No, I wanted my own way. But more than that I wondered, where was this power we were singing about?

Where was the power to wash away my fears -- my fear of not having our needs met, my fear of always being alone in a new place, my fear of people?

Where was the strength to face this day -- to face the disaster waiting for me at our new place, to face five crazy boys?

It didn't help when during that same day people kept saying to me...wow, you're a busy mom...you have your hands full, etc... I took three of my boys into the restroom at Burger King and someone told me, with just the three "You are a brave woman." I felt defeated.

Where was the strength to get the multitude of problems and projects worked out and somehow be a help to the camp this summer, to make a difference?

Basically, where was the strength just to do the right thing?

So I began asking...
Is God real? Am I fool?

Eric ran into the grocery store after church while I sat in the van with the boys, so I asked them.

How do we know God is real?
The Bible tells us He is alive. Prophets said Jesus was coming years before and that is just how He came.

Yes, but how do you even know that the Bible is true?
The Bible tells us that there was a Flood, and remember our science. The Bristlecone pine is the oldest tree, but the oldest one is about 4700 years old and that's about the time of the Flood. If the Bible wasn't true and the earth was millions or billions of years old, there would be older Bristlecone pine trees.

Ok, what else?
Earth is the perfect place for us to live. Perfect distance from the sun. Perfect speed of rotation. Perfect gravity....

But, couldn't we have evolved to adapt to this environment and that's why it's so perfect?
No...If evolution were true, then bees would do their best to survive and they would go to the closest flower for pollen. But they don't. Instead they go to the same kind of flower each day; so if they start with a daisy, they wouldn't go to a pear blossom, even if the tree was closer, they would go to another daisy and pollinate the flowers. The bees help the plants survive even if it's harder for them.

Well, what else?
Remember Brother Andrew... (We are reading God's Smuggler together as a family) ... how he prayed for a cake and God sent one in the mail right before his meeting. (They would remember the cake.) And remember when we prayed that God would help us find your wallet, and we found it?
Then Shiloh adds, "And sometimes we don't even ask and God gives us things, like Dad does for me." (Eric had just told Shiloh that he still had another birthday present coming.)
Zac agrees and says, "Yeah, like when those people brought all that food when we didn't have very much money in the bank."
So God is real because we see Him working in people's lives?
So God helps people return good for evil?
Yes, like when Caden kept hitting Micah and Micah didn't hit him back.

My shaky, weak faith is starting to spring up again.
So the Bible is trustworthy. God is alive. We see evidence in science, in answered prayers, in people's lives, and in God's goodness to us.

Still, I desperately need His strength to face each day. I want to see His power working in my life. I want to see victory. I want to see my emotions, not being controlled by my circumstances. I want to see me not fearing what people think, but instead courageously loving others. I want to see confidence in the face of financial difficulties that God cares about my needs.

I want to see Jesus in my life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VOH476VkLs


Hear the sound of hearts returning to You...

Strange Sayings

There are some sayings that I don't understand. For example, "sleeping like a baby". Does that mean that you wake up and cry through the night? Does it mean that you sleep often? Does it mean that everyone around you wishes you would sleep more?
I remember when President Obama was first elected and Senator McCain was asked how he felt about it. He replied that he was "sleeping like a baby...sleep two hours, wake up and cry, sleep two hours, wake up and cry."
Perhaps it's a worn joke, but I still thought it was witty. So sleeping like a baby must mean you sleep well.
Another saying I have wondered about -- "It's like taking candy from a baby." I assume that means it is suppose to be easy, but have they ever actually tried to wrestle a treasured piece of candy out of chubby clenched fist? A baby can have quite the grip.
Another saying, "You can pick your nose, and you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your friend's nose."
So I think I understand this one pretty well, although my 2 year old son, Caden doesn't. He told me as we were driving in the van that he was picking his baby brother's nose. Gross. Of course he could be a little confused about proper nose-picking etiquette because Dad had to pick his nose with the tweezers.
For some reason Caden is attached to little pieces of fuzz or stuffing. He will find a piece of stuffing from a chair, or a blanket and stick it in his nose; or hold it close to his nose. He finds it at home, at church, in the van, and at Grandma's house. He is so often seen with fuzz that one of his cousins asked her mom why that fuzz was attached to Caden.
One day he went a little too far with his fuzz -- too far up his nose. Dad tilted his head back and tried to grip the fuzz with the tweezers. It hurt him, but we got it out. It didn't seem to hinder his love for fuzz.
Should I be worried?

The Oregon Trail

We are currently sitting in the van driving west on I-90, listening to a story on our CD player. The baby is sleeping. The children are quiet. It is peaceful. The scenery is beautiful. It is an illusion. To be completely truthful it is not an illusion, but only half the story. Here is the other half.

Thirty plus hours driving across the country with small children can be a challenge. My husband, Eric, told us at the start of the trip, "Today we are going to be happy because we choose to be."

First, there is the problem of getting out on the road. It is amazing how many things need to be done in the morning. Things like changing diapers three times for one child. Cleaning out the van before we get started for the day. That took me over an hour and a half one day. Not surprising considering that we have the contents of seven backpacks emptied all over the floor; as well as blankets, pillows, coats, a diaper bag, food and two book bags of mine. Yes, it's a little full.
Surely we could get started sooner if we cut out eating. Do we really need to eat? Today Eric came back to the hotel room after taking the boys to breakfast and said, "Remember those parents we've seen in the grocery store with crying kids throwing a fit? Today that was me."
I guess Caden doesn't think we should cut out eating because he had a meltdown when Eric ended his breakfast early.
I have actually had a cashier in a grocery store comment that she wanted to video tape how well-behaved my children were in the store and post it on YouTube because otherwise no one would believe her. Never put too much stock in those comments. The meltdown may be coming.
Eric remains optimistic. "We're getting out in good time today," he says. We left at 10AM, again.

Next, there is the problem of getting everyone to the bathroom in time. Seconds after the exit for the rest area Shiloh tells us he needs to go. He is immediately desperate and begins crying. He can't wait. We either have to pull over to the side of the road or have him wet his pants. We decided to do both.
Not wanting to repeat the mistake we had just made, when I saw a sign for a rest area in two miles I asked the boys if anyone needed to stop. At the rest area parking lot Eric checked on the bike rack and realized it was not secure. One of the bikes was hanging by the chain with the handle bars toward the ground. He took all the bikes off, unfastened the bike rack and began unloading our luggage into the parking lot in search of his tool box.
Seemed to me like this would be a long process, but that worked out well because it gave me plenty of time to clean up after a sick child in the bathroom. Caden started coughing and then throwing up all over the bathroom floor. I am glad it wasn't in the van like the day before. Those antibacterial wipes my mom bought for our trip sure came in handy.
I sent another child back to Dad for a diaper and Caden's pajamas (the only clean clothing of his left in the suitcase).
While I was cleaning up the mess and changing Caden the cleaning lady came into the restroom with her little arsenal of cleaning bottles. Her arsenal didn't seem strong enough to match the enemy lurking in those stalls. I watched as she quickly sprayed the sinks and toilets. In a few minutes she was done. It just didn't appear long enough to sterilize and kill all the germs. Made me wonder why we ever use public restrooms.
I emerged from the bathroom to find my six month old baby riding on a bike. Well, being pushed around on it. Never to early to start, right?
They call this place Crazy Mountains. The story says that a woman on the wagon trains went insane and ran off into the mountains. They used to call it Crazy Woman Mountains, but then shortened it to just Crazy Mountains. Maybe she wasn't crazy at all. Maybe she just had a small child vomiting in the wagon, a baby trotting off into the woods on the ox, and a husband spreading out all their belongings in a 100 foot radius around the wagon muttering, "I know I put that bundle of horse hair somewhere, then I'll fix that broken axle." The mountains started looking really good -- quiet and peaceful.

Then there's the problem of keeping five boys quiet in a hotel room after they have been in a vehicle all day. Fun.
"I'll work hard to keep them quiet," Eric promised the hesitant hotel receptionist.
Why does he make promises?
"Don't worry," Eric reassures me. "We have our secret weapon -- NyQuil."
Yes, desperate times call for desperate measures. The night before we didn't sleep much. One boy woke up wet and needed to be changed. Caden's coughing made it hard for him to sleep, and Judah, who also isn't feeling well, woke up and wouldn't be pacified. He cried and cried. He was happy if we stood up holding him. I think that must be one of the rules in the Secret Handbook of Babyhood -- Never let anyone sit while comforting you. Needless to say we didn't get much sleep.
The next day after we left the hotel at 10AM we headed to Walmart to buy some cough syrup. So many choices. Then I saw it. NyQuil! After that I could see nothing else. I couldn't stop my hand from grabbing it off the shelf. With a new skip in my tired feet I headed to the checkout.
At the van again Eric asked if that was all I got. If I was planning to give them NyQuil during the day too. I clutched my bottle of promised peace and sleep. Yes, most definitely yes -- they were going to drink it in their water bottles. Kool-aid, anyone?
It's been a long trip; and between the rest stops, the repairs, the late starts and the sick children we haven't got much driving done. But Eric, always the optimist encourages us on, "At least we are faster than the Mormons when they walked over with their hand carts."
Today is a new day. I think today we will make it to Oregon.

Something Better

My Grandma always wanted to live in Utah. She thought it was one of the most beautiful states. Smart woman. She also wanted to build her own house. But throughout her life, she never lived in Utah and she always lived in houses that wouldn't have even been considered nice by many American families. Her husband served most of their married life as a pastor in small churches and they gave sacrificially from the small income they had.

Our pastor and his family recently left our church to serve as Wycliffe Bible translators in Tanzania. It is hard to give up your friends, ministry, or the home you have know for years -- not to mention living in a different culture.

They lived their lives in faith, trusting and waiting for the promises of God. They embraced God's truth and believed that they were strangers and pilgrims on this earth. They declare plainly that they seek a homeland, but not here. They desire something better, that is, a heavenly country. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them. (Heb.11)

If my Grandma can give up Utah, so can I. If my friends can give up their church and friends, so can I. And perhaps this sounds strange, but if my friends can go, I can be willing to stay. We all give up different things. God has a different place for each of us. But ultimately, the question is... Are we seeking something better?

His Name is John

We had been giving money to Gospel for Asia, and were very interested in their native missionary program; but were hesitant to actually support a missionary because our finances are so uncertain. A native missionary is someone who is working full-time within unreached areas of his or her own culture or one very similar. Because they already know the customs and dialect of the people, they can begin working with people immediately and will not be considered an outsider. Also they can be accepted into areas where Westerners are typically not allowed to share the Gospel. I think it also helps people to know that God is not the foreigners' God, but also the God of their people.

I started to think what we could give up each month so that we could support a missionary. Then I thought, if I put aside the same amount each month that it is costing me for dental, I can give that to missions instead.
The dentist said I need to come every three months to keep the problems with my teeth under control. Is it really necessary? I don't know, but I prayed to God and said that we would give that money to missions, if He would protect my teeth. I asked my hygienist if i could try a six month schedule instead and we did. At my checkup she said my teeth were looking fine.

So now we support a national missionary. His name is John. I liked the name because I can actually pronounce it. When he became a Christian, his Hindu family kicked him out of home and he faced severe opposition. Through the urging of a pastor in his life, he eventually went on to Bible school and is now serving the Lord as a pastor and evangelist in India with his wife and three children.

Oh, Possum!

There are just some things you hope never to find in your house. (Or your garage, shed, or attic for that matter.) For me a possum would definitely be on that list.

I do not like mice. When we lived in the country, we had a big problem with mice. One time my husband saw a mouse in the kitchen. He jumped up from the table grabbed a bar stool and chased the mouse into the living room. The mouse ran behind the couch. My husband flipped the couch over and killed the mouse, who was probably holding still from shock, with the stool. Disgusting. Nothing like a mouse to make a man feel like a warrior.

Rats are even worse. Not only do they carry all the bad qualities of mice, but they also, in my mind, carry disease. Remember the Black Death of the 1300s.

Now possums are even bigger rodents than rats. If you have seen The Princess Bride you may remember when they are in the forest and are attacked by a Rodent of Unusual Size. That was a possum!

So my sister texted me a message last week, "Ahhhhhhhhhhh" was all it said. Turned out she had found a possum in her attic. She had unsuspectingly gone up into the attic to clean out some "pumpkins" the children had stored up there. I am not sure what these "pumpkins" actually were, because my son said they found these growing outside in the middle of a Michigan winter. They had brought back these valuable frozen treasures and stored them in the attic above the garage. Now the pumpkins had thawed and become a smelly mess.

Although my sister was afraid, her young children thought they could scare out a rodent that could eat them all in one delicious five course meal. Now I do admit that young, rambunctious children can be frightening, but not to this possum. When it started growling, my sister called them down.

Like little, brave soldiers, they wanted to try again another day.
"Make sure you don't hurt my car," their Grandma cautioned. Never mind that the children are going to be coming back bloody and mangled when the angry, growling rodent attacks. At least the car will be safe.

"If only you had carried it out in a box, when you first found it sleeping in the attic," Grandma told her daughter. Carry it out in a box? Yes, I can see that happening. Carefully pick up the box that the giant rodent is sleeping in, if you can lift it. Then try not to drop it as you climb down the steep attic stairs that you can't see because of the big box in front of you. Then hope not to wake it as you run screaming towards the woods. Nope. I wouldn't have picked up the box either. Though she did clean up the pumpkins, so she is a braver woman than I.

But I am still wondering, how does one rid himself of an opossum?