Jesus Said, "Why Did You Doubt Me?"

About three o'clock in the morning, Jesus came toward them, walking on the water. When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. In their fear, they cried out, "It's a ghost!"

But Jesus spoke to them at once. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Take courage. I am here!"

Then Peter called to him, "Lord, if it's really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water."

"Yes, come," Jesus said.

So Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw the strong wind and the waves, he was terrified and began to sink, "Save me, Lord!" he shouted.

Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. "You have so little faith," Jesus said. 

"Why did you doubt me?"

Matthew 14: 25-31

One year ago in May, I finished my final chemotherapy treatment for breast cancer. I am blessed to be able to look back on those months as a memory, albeit a somewhat fuzzy memory at times. The journey through those stormy months make these peaceful months all the more pleasant. Looking back now, I find that I, like Peter, had many doubts and fears as I stepped into the unknown of cancer treatment, but Jesus took my hand and walked with me each step of the way, especially when the waves looked so large and  threatening. 

I know the words "Jesus walked with me each step of the way" can sound cliche and a even a little cheesy. But they are the best words that I know to describe God's faithfulness through tough times. It may not be a physical hand holding yours, but it is a profound confidence that He keeps his promise to never leave us. In fact, He is close to the broken hearted. In the Gospels, He often had compassion or pity on those who sought his help. His heart was moved by their suffering and pain. He is still moved today by our suffering and pain.

After my one-year checkup with my oncologist in May, I was feeling a little down in the dumps. My post-cancer medicine, a hormone blocker, which I take for a total of five years, is causing my bones to thin quickly. This is a side-effect caused by the drug’s ability to block 95 percent of estrogen production. Estrogen is important to keep bones strong and healthy, which is why bones get weaker and more brittle as women age and estrogen levels drop. 

I have osteopenia, a precursor to osteoporosis. It has gotten significantly worse after only one year of hormone blockers. My doctor wants me to have a twice-a-year bone-building bisphosphonate treatment. Bones have two kinds of cells. Some cells build new bone; other cells destroy old bone. In osteoporosis the bone-destroying cells become more active than the bone-building cells. The bisphosphonate drugs inhibit the bone-destroying cells so the bone-building cells can catch up, resulting in thicker bones. It sounds simple enough, but these drugs can cause a host of side-effects, some very serious, such as kidney failure and necrosis of the the jaw bone (basically your jaw bone dies.)

Jesus Said, "Why Do You Doubt?"

As I was bemoaning the need to make more decisions about scary medicine, Dave said, “I’m surprised you’re worried about this after doing chemo. God took care of you then. He’ll take care of you now.” 

What a good reminder that God is totally in control. Although we live with the illusion that we can “manage” everything in our lives, from finances to health, we completely depend on God for every aspect of our existence, whether we acknowledge it or not. When we do acknowledge our total need, we can walk through hard times and storms with endurance and faith, as we pin our hopes on Jesus.

“Let me hear of your unfailing love

each morning,

for I am trusting you.

Show me where to walk,

for I give myself to you.

Rescue me from my enemies, Lord; 

I run to you to hide me.

Teach me to do your will,

for you are my God.

May your gracious Spirit lead me forward

on a firm footing.

For the glory of your name, O Lord,

preserve my life.”

Psalm 143: 8-11a

Occasionally, I look back at my chemo journal just to remind myself what life was like during those months. I don’t want to forget how God came close to me and my family when we were in desperate need of His comfort. Sometimes people ask me if I worry about the cancer reoccurring. And, I always say, “Of course.” But I don’t dwell on it. We have asked God for complete, permanent healing from cancer, and now we must leave it in the hands of a loving Father. 

“Let the past sleep. Do not let it stir nightmares. Let it rest in deep places and do not allow it to pull you there. Let it sleep with Jesus carrying the failures and losses. The future beckons, calling toward the next moment, hour, day ... ripe with potential, full of expectancy. Let the past impart wisdom, as you grow gray with memories as your halo. The past pulls on the present--a constant tension--stretching like an elastic band. But never go back, only forward to the place where Jesus calls you. He holds out his hand to you. It fits your’s perfectly. He’s been waiting. It’s all familiar and full of loveliness--you’re home.”  Journal, August 10, 2013

John the Baptist, “ He must become greater and greater, 

and I must become less and less.” 

John 3: 30

Pass the Colorado Kool-Aid

One day I ask my mother why she called ordinary white potatoes “arch” potatoes. Growing up I often remember being sent to the basement to fetch either sweet potatoes or “arch” potatoes. Now as a mother myself, I realized I had no idea what "arch" meant, although I  considered it might have to do with starch.

My mother didn’t look up from stirring something in a big skillet on the stove, “I don’t call them arch potatoes,” she said simply.

“Yes, you do,” I said. “You say there are sweet potatoes and arch potatoes.”

Patiently stirring, she answered, “Well, I guess you would say “Irish” potatoes.” She emphasized the long ‘’i” sound, and said the word very slowly.

“You’re kidding me,” I exclaimed. All these years I had mistaken the word “Irish” for “arch.” To even vaguely understand how this happened, you have to understand Appalachian English, which can be unintelligible to outsiders, and apparently occasionally to some insider’s children.

A Way of Speaking

Some people claim that Appalachian English is related to Elizabethan English. That settlers, isolated in small family groups in the mountains, never saw their language evolve from outside contact. Other people say the language reflects English used in the American colonies, and still others point to Scotland and Ireland, motherland to many Appalachian settlers. Either way, it is a distinct and colorful dialect. 

For example, my mother often scolded us for “gauming” (messing) up her house.  And when we were slow to obey her words, we were “as slow as Magoosly.”

 “I’ll skin you alive,” meant we were in big trouble, and if we were hyperactive, we were “like a hen on a hot rock.” It was “untelling” (impossible to know) how long until supper, but most likely we would eat “dreckly” (directly.)

 We “shaved” out between garden rows and “raked” out leftover scraps from dinner. Sometimes we were “heedless” (refused to listen to advice.) Our milk went “blinky” (sour.) We liked our bacon “brickle,” (brittle), and rotten meat smelled like pure kyarn (road kill.) 

In the winter, we had a “skift” (dusting) of snow. In the summer, we were “work-brickle” (hard working,) but enjoyed quiet evenings listening to the “jar flies” (cicadas.)

“The” was pronounced “thee,” as in “thee sun is about to set.” We had no word for afternoon, but like the book of Genesis, morning and evening made one day. 

When Dave and I visited my grandparents home in Kentucky a few years back, I spent a good amount time translating for him. Especially the elderly, who had very little formal education, could be hard to understand. To complicate matters, my dad had a habit of making up his own words for things, like "Colorado Kool-Aid" for Gator-Aid and "cucumber storm" for a big thunderstorm. On the other hand, my mother often complained that she couldn’t understand Dave’s Wisconsin accent, and noted how often he asked, “What’s that?”

Word from the Heart

People often talk about a heart language, usually the one spoken by our family when we are born. In this language, we are best able to communicate our thoughts, feelings, desires, fears, etc. Messages spoken in this language touch us in a profound way. Nelson Mandela said, “If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.”

I don’t know if Appalachian English is my heart language. I understand it well, but I don’t speak it. Since I attended public school in Indiana, I speak more like a Hoosier, with some occasional Chicago “a” thrown into words like “dad” and “flag.”

I am blessed to have grown up in an environment with such a rich verbal history. I am equally blessed now to daily hear Native American, German, Norwegian, and Mexican dialects. What a fabulous glimpse of the vast crowd from every nation, tribe, people and language worshipping before the throne of God. God may have scattered the peoples with diverse languages way back in Babel, but reunites them with the language of love, shown most vividly through Jesus. “God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.” Romans 5:8

God speaks our heart language, no matter what earthly language we call our own. We need only to listen. “Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.” Revelations 3: 20

Snow Is Just Frozen Water

This past summer, I took a ride across the reservation with an elder. "Uncle" was showing me a new wreath-making facility that he was starting in the area. He
pays others to pick balsam boughs in the fall to be made into Christmas wreaths at his factory in a nearby town. We have been a collection point for bough pickers for some years now.

As I climbed into his rusty old pickup, I knew I was going to hear some stories. Uncle always has stories. And, they're good ones from a long, full life of living. This day, Uncle wanted to complain about young people who don't understand about taking care of the next generation. They cut the balsam boughs, instead of snapping them; they get greedy and take too many, and the tree can't recover; they take boughs from trees along roadsides that should be left for everyone to see and enjoy; they forget that these trees will produce boughs for generations to come if properly cared for. "That is not the Indian way," he says. "The Indian way is to think about the next generation."

Like many elders, Uncle remembers how things used to be--ought to be. He has strong ties to the land and enjoys spending his days in the woods. Now his forest rambles are hindered by trespassing restrictions. He told me about a lake he likes to visit by snowshoe, but now there is a piece of privately-owned land preventing him from reaching it. But he's been thinking about this.

According the Department of Natural Resources, land can be privately owned, but water can't. Uncle explains, if a man is ricing in a lake, as long as he sits in the canoe on the water, he is not trespassing. The moment he puts a pole onto the ground or puts one foot on the lake bottom, he is, because the land under the lake is privately-owned.

Back to the lake Uncle wants to snowshoe: "So I was telling this DNR fellow," he says, "that if I snowshoe across this private land to the lake, what am I walking on? Snow! And what is snow--frozen water! So, I'm not legally trespassing because I'm not touching the ground. And when I get to the lake, what am I walking on. Ice! And what is ice--frozen water! You see." The DNR fellow told Uncle he might have to argue that one all the way to Madison. I don't know if he's put it to the test.

No Easy Answers
I recently watched the movie "Captain Phillips." It is the story of an American ship that is boarded and taken over by Somali pirates. It weaves the story of the captain trying to save his crew, and a Somali man under pressure by local warlords to return with money or alternatively, a hostage that can be traded for money. As the story progresses, you begin to realize that there will be no feel-good resolution to this story. Either way the plot line goes, you feel the loss.

That's sometimes the way life goes. Many times we sit around our dining room table and listen to heartbreaking stories of lives gone awry. Most of the time there are no pat answers. There are no platitudes or "feel-good" verses that will make these situations suddenly get better. Usually, the answers take commitment and hard work over a long period of time. And, ultimately choosing to surrender individual wills to the lordship of Jesus Christ. Not an easy thing, but one that ultimately breaks the power of death and leads to the fullness of life.

Looking back at my own life, I see a journey filled with struggle. On one-side is a great desire to serve Jesus and bring him glory; on the other is a great desire to chose my own way, and bring myself glory. The tension is always present in hidden motives, thoughts and insincere actions. Mercifully, God patiently keeps nudging me back to his plan and speaks plainly so I understand what he wants from me. This is no hidden code that needs to be deciphered or mysterious level of spirituality that I have to reach. Jesus spoke to the common man (or woman) in very understandable ways. To sum it up: I love you. Believe in Me. Live Forever.

"So We praise God for the glorious grace He has poured out on us who belong to his dear son. He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding." Ephesians 1: 6-8

The Dark at the Top of the Stairs ...

When my daughter was small, we read hundreds of books. We spent hours at local libraries, thrift stores and garage sales, amassing a huge collection of children's books. And we read them all. Still an avid book collector, my fourteen-year-old has more books in her room than clothes (although she has plenty of those as well.) Books are stacked in corners and on desks and the empty loft that she never slept on because there might be a spider on the ceiling. They are all arranged in a mysterious, elusive system that one dare not disturb--even slightly.

We have boxed away a few of our favorite children's books, and once in a while drag them down from the dusty heights of the wardrobe in our bedroom to reconnect with familiar characters like Frog and Toad, Mr. Putter and Tabby, Amelia Bedelia, Little Bear, Ferdinand, and Ping, the beautiful young duck who lived with his mother and father and two sisters and three brothers and eleven aunts and seven uncles and forty-two cousins on a boat with two wise eyes on the Yangtze River.

One of my favorite books is The Dark at the Top of the Stairs by Sam McBratney. It is a

Published by Candlewick Press in 1998;
www.candlewick.com

story of an old mouse who lives in a corner of the cellar with some young mice. It is just a simple picture book, but the story speaks to me as a parent. Here is an excerpt:

   "What should we do tomorrow?" he (the old mouse) said one bedtime, for the young mice were getting ready to sleep, and he wanted them to look forward to the morning.
   "I would like to see the dark at the top of the stairs," said a young mouse, whose name was Cobb.
   "Me too," said his sister Hazel, snuggling into the warmth. "I want to see the dark at the top of the stairs."
   "And so do I," said little Berry-Berry, the youngest of the three. "We've never been to the top of the big dark stairs where the monster lives."
   The old mouse thought for a while. It was true that he had not taken his young mice up the cellar stairs. Then he said, "What about a walk to the acorn tree in the garden? Or a visit to your cousins in the cornfield? We could even have a swing on the seedheads of the long grass."
   "No," said Cobb. "We want to see the dark at the top of the stairs."
   "Or we'll climb up there on our own," said Hazel.
   "And see the monster by ourselves!" cried little Berry-Berry.
   The old mouse nodded as he made his mice very comfortable in their beds. "Very well then, we will go there in the morning," he said.
   He spoke as if he knew that sooner or later all young mice will try to see the dark at the top of the stairs.

Of course, the "monster" at the top of the stairs breathes one "meow," and the mice come scurrying home to the cellar corner, their curiosity satisfied. As young people, who grew up to be parents of young people, we can all relate perfectly well to the temptation of the unknown, the forbidden, the dangerous. It seems to be a built-in part of human nature--at least in our younger years--to push boundaries and duck under safety nets. It can be thrilling to live on the edge of what our parents consider acceptable.

Photo by Jaynee Innerebner

But sometimes we have to get "burned" to really understand that fire is dangerous. The power of first-hand experience may not change our choices, but we know where those choices will lead us. Sometimes, God in his mercy allows us to experience pain to bring us to a place of surrender, so that "we will no longer be like children, forever changing our minds about what we believe because someone has told us something different or because someone has cleverly lied to us and made the lie sound like the truth." Ephesians 4:14

Youth is a perilous time. It is like standing on a precipice looking over the edge of a
consuming gulf called adulthood. It brings with it a roller coaster of emotions and contradictions--despair and delight, vanity and insecurity, passion and indifference, clinging and rejecting. Youth thinks little of counting costs. It flies boldly in the face of danger, because, after all, we're going to live forever, right?

A Tidal Wave of Grief
It was a bitterly cold, but sunny February day last week, when we attended the funeral of a 21-year-old young man. We arrived late at the small, standing-room only Catholic church, and waited in the unheated foyer, stamping our numb, cold feet. The service ended and a line of honorary casketbearers threaded out the doors to line either side of the outside sidewalk. I watched the men walk out the door single-file, all of them young (really still boys,) all of them friends or relatives of the deceased, some of them weeping opening, some ducking their heads to hide their red-rimmed eyes, others presenting the clenched-fist, stoic look of too many bottled-up emotions. They waited, shivering in their t-shirts and hoodies, for the casket to pass.

It was a sad day to lose another young person. Since we moved to the rez 14 years ago, I have kept a "memory box" on my dresser that is stuffed with funeral cards. Too many of them are memories of young people, lost to alcohol, drugs, suicide and related accidents. We have seen the entire community grieve these loses. It seems the grieving never really ends, but like the tide ebbs and flows.

Unfortunately, we have seen that the death of one friend rarely changes the future for the ones left behind. Grief is buried in more destructive behavior, and like circles rippling on a pond, the pain multiplies.

But there is one death that makes a difference. Jesus died to bring life to everyone. And the life he brings is a good one. He offers hope in hopeless situations, healing in the midst of pain, and rest from the many burdens of life.

"Don't you know that the Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth? He never grows faint or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding. He gives power to those who are tired and worn out; he offers strength to the weak. Even youths will become exhausted, and young men will give up. But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint." Psalm 40:28-31

So many young people slowly climb a stairway that leaves them trapped in their own personal darkness. They stumble; they fall; they lose all hope. But Jesus is able to illuminate every dark corner for those who chose life. "God is light; in him there is no darkness at all." I John 1:5

Photo by Jaynee Innerebner

Please join me today in praying for the young people on the Lac Courte Oreilles Ojibway Reservation. That "the people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine." Isaiah 9:2

Who Wants to Be a Pet Owl?

Photo by Tony Hisgett, Fotopedia; Eurasian Eagle Owl

I was born in the Appalachian mountains of eastern Kentucky where the mists linger for long hours in the mountain hollows and sunlight doesn't reach the bottoms until ten o'clock.  Or so I am told. I don't remember any of it. My family followed work to Indiana, and I grew up there.

But the small Indiana town where I grew up was a pocket of transplanted Kentuckians. The land was flat, but mountain culture flourished in the speech, the food (some restaurants have fried bologna sandwiches on the menu) and traditions. And, of course, the feuding.

My ancestors were Scott-Irish immigrants who settled in Eastern Kentucky's Breathitt County, at one time known as "Bloody Breathitt," because of the untamed wild-west-like history of bloodshed. During World War I, Breathitt county gained national prominence for filling its quota of men completely through volunteers. There was no need for a draft. Maybe these young men were just really patriotic. Or maybe children who grew up with blood stains on the schoolroom floor saw "war" as a way of life.

These were a clannish people, fiercely loyal and highly suspicious. They had names with prefixes like "Bad" and labeled their rifles "He Who Kills Many." They were gunned down by revenuers, buried under coal mine explosions, shot for budging in the commodity line, and survived prison escape attempts with bullets lodged in their brains until old age. They rarely cried, always prepared for the worst, and made the most of what they had.

Published by the University Press of
Kentucky; Kentuckypress.com

They were stubborn, tough as nails, and prideful. Those characteristics led to a great deal of small offenses that turned into all-out feuds. Those feuds simmered down in recent years, but old animosities die hard, and there are still sometimes clan-related scuffles down at the local bar on a Friday night.

The men of two large clans in my hometown still have a longstanding ritual when they meet at the tavern. One will ask the other: "Are you a pet owl or a watch-a-me-die?" There is only one acceptable response. As any proud highlander will tell you, it is much better to be a "watch-a-me-die," someone who never gives up, even to the point of death, than a "pet owl," a wild thing that has been tamed and caged.

The Persistant Life

Thinking about this, I was reminded of one man in the Bible who was a "watch-a-me-die." Paul willingly poured out his life as an offering to show the world faith at work. Though he was beaten, imprisoned, starved and shipwrecked, he took a bold stand to demonstrate the inestimable value of Jesus. He was not willing to die to revenge some generations old family offense. He was willing to die to bring glory to his Lord, the one who deserves all things. Because of his unshakable faith in the reality and goodness of God, he "set his face like flint" and withstood present-day trials.

"We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies." 
2 Corinthians 4: 8-10

Recently, news report say 80 people were publicly executed in North Korea. Some were charged with possessing western films (pornography) and prostitution. Others were killed for owning a Bible. They were taken in small groups to seven different cities, where residents were forced to watch the executions as a public statement of the government's total control over all aspects of life.  Those Christians who died publicly for their faith were "watch-a-me-dies" for Jesus. Their story was shared around the world.

This story is all too familiar around the world today.  Christians die every day because they refuse to deny faith in Jesus. A day may come when sharing the gospel will require us to make the same choice-- to be a pet owl, caged, wings clipped, on a tether; or ready to follow despite the consequences.

Paul encourages us: "Don't be intimidated in any way by your enemies. This will be a sign to them that they are going to be destroyed, but that you are going to be saved, even by God himself. For you have been given not only the privilege of trusting in Christ, but also the privilege of suffering for him. We are in this struggle together...." Phillipians 1:28-30

Beware, for I am Fearless ...

Today I was moving an old vanity that had been in our daughter’s room when she was younger. When I began taking out the drawers to make the move easier, I found a folded piece of paper. Written on it in bold black marker was a quote from Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein: “Beware, for I am fearless, and therefore, powerful.” Apparently, this quote had struck a note with our middle-school-aged daughter, who may have been feeling anything but powerful in those emotionally turbulent years.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be brave. I suppose some people would equate “fearless” and “brave.” But I have come to learn that being brave doesn’t mean being without fear. Rather, it means not letting fear control your choices. Dave once told me that he admired my bravery. I told him I didn’t think I was very brave, because sometimes I was afraid to do something--I just did it anyway. He said, “That’s what makes you brave. If you weren’t afraid, you wouldn’t need to be brave.”

One day while driving, I was thinking about what makes us brave. I immediately thought about a scene in the beginning of the movie “Dances with Wolves.” Lt. John J. Dunbar has been injured and a doctor is getting ready to amputate his leg. While the doctor’s back is turned, he slips away, finds a horse and begins to ride into the face of the enemy. His fellow soldiers are awed by this “fearless” man. But he is not fearless. He is suicidal. He would rather die there on the battlefield than face a life of disability. He has nothing to lose. In his own comments, Dunbar remarks on the irony of this situation: “The strangeness of this life cannot be measured; in trying to produce my own death, I was elevated to the status of a living hero.” 

So does “having nothing to lose” make you brave? I could make a case for that. Ultimately, as believers in Jesus, we have nothing to lose. “So we are always confident, even though we are not at home with the Lord. For we live by believing and not by seeing. Yes, we are fully confident, and we would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then, we will be at home with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5: 6-8.

We have an assurance that life is eternal, and home waiting. When our daughter went to camp for the very first time, she said she would lie on her bunk bed in the dark and stare at the crack of light under the door until she went to sleep. Life is kind of like that. We see just a little bit of God’s glory, like a crack of light under a door, that brings us comfort in the dark times. Sometimes situations--like suffering and grief--push that door open a little bit wider, and the light shines brighter, revealing to us the glory waiting on the other side. We know one day that door will open fully, and we will be home.

Until then, we fear. And, by necessity, we are brave. Living takes a certain amount of bravery.  As Tolkien’s Bilbo Baggins of the Lord of the Rings said it: “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” 

Most of us feel we have a lot to lose. We don’t want to ride into the face of the enemy. We want to live and live well, while the days are long. So, we trust in the one who is perfectly faithful, completely good and loving, able and willing to give us the courage we need for every situation.

“But blessed are those who trust in the Lord

and have made the Lord their hope and

confidence.

They are like trees planted along a 

riverbank,

with roots that reach deep into the water.

Such trees are not bothered by

the heat

or worried by long months of drought.

Their leaves stay green,

And they never stop producing fruit.”

Jeremiah 17:7-8

Personally, I would rewrite this Mary Shelley's quote: “Behold, for I am fearful, but trusting in the Lord, and therefore, powerful.” 

I Fix My Eyes on Jesus

I Fix My Eyes on Jesus .....

Pastor Juan and his wife, Veronica, at their home in Muzquiz

On a recent trip to Mexico, I heard a simple, yet moving message that I will always remember. In a small church in the town of Muzquiz, Coahuila, pastor Juan Antonio stood in front of his church "El Gran Commision" (The Great Commission) and encouraged the congregation to be "overcomers," to have victory in this life, with confidence and assurance of the life to come. This is a pretty commonplace message, but the poignancy lay in the the knowledge that this pastor, in his mid 40s, is dying. Severe diabetes has left him with end-stage kidney failure, and in the past two years, he has gone almost completely blind from glaucoma.

Yet on this night, New Year's Eve, 2013, he stood before his "family," a little wobbly and seeing them as only shadows, and encouraged them to persevere, admitting that he himself might not be there to celebrate the next New Year's with them. Our American translator was in tears as she repeated his message for our benefit. 

After the message, Pastor Juan, humble and broken, but trusting God for the final chapter, lead the congregation in lifting their hands in worship. The Holy Spirit was present in a profound way, and many people were moved to tears by this beautiful picture of vulnerability and strength. 

For Better or for Worse:

Thinking about that night brings to mind some very familiar words: " ...for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, faithful only to him ...." The words repeated in a traditional wedding ceremony are covenant words. Words  that represent a promise between two people before God. But these words can also apply to our relationship with Jesus, our steadfast determination to commit ourselves for a lifetime to be faithful to him, no matter what the circumstances.

Most people enter into a marriage covenant without really thinking too much about the "worse." When I was undergoing chemotherapy for cancer, Dave remarked that  you don't really think about days like this when you are getting married. No one really plans for cancer or other trials. They just happen. Yet in the midst of that happening, God links his arm in ours and walks with us, like a father walking his beloved child down the aisle, till we reach that place of ultimate joy and relationship.

Pastor Juan is a little farther down that aisle today, and his inner eyes are firmly fixed on what lies ahead. That doesn't mean there aren't difficult days ahead--he spoke honestly about dark nights of crying out to God for mercy, asking God for more time to see his children (ages 15 and 12) grow up, wanting to see the trees he had planted in his yard grow tall. He faces that terrible tension that Paul wrote about: wanting to live, yet wanting to die.

"For to me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don't know which is better. I'm torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me. But for your sakes, it is better that I continue to live." Philippians 1: 21-24

This inspires me to keep a steady pace moving forward and not dwelling on the past. Looking ahead to a new year, I remember a not so good last year, but understand on a new level what it means when God says, "this is for my glory."

Making New Friends/Visiting Old Friends:

On December 26, exactly one year to the day after receiving my cancer diagnosis, I left for a one-week mission trip to Mexico. Our group of 28 traveled to the city of Muzquiz in Coahuila, Mexico, about 90 miles south of Eagle Pass, Texas. We worked primarily with children in two impoverished neighborhoods where drugs, alcohol and prostitution are the norm. This is a ministry that Pastor Juan and his wife,Veronica, have established along with Christ the Rock church of Appleton, WI.

In Morelos with Marta's family

A small group of us also visited the tiny village of Morelos, right outside the Kickapoo village. This is the village we visited several times with our Native Ministry School.  This past August we heard that our friend, Marta, who hosted many of us over the years, had passed away. We visited with her family, drank coffee, ate tamales at that familiar kitchen table, shared photographs, tears and prayers, as we remembered a truly remarkable woman of God. 

This coming year, Dave and I hope to fly down to Mexico, visit with Pastor Juan and his family, and visit Morelos. Perhaps God will open doors for us to reconnect in some way with the Kickapoo once again. Several of our former students still have a heart to return to the village.

"You do not HAVE a soul. You ARE a soul. You have a body." C.S. Lewis