"What is unfair?"
Six of us each had to provide an answer during a round of the game "Loaded Questions" last night. Responses ranged from "a foul ball" to "if you get a rabies shot and then a dog bites you, you still have to get another shot."
Then today, we were asked to pray for a Karen man not far from MS. His wife is a patient of ours. They are refugees from Burma. The man left the safe house where he was staying to see his sister-in-law for an important reason. On the way, he was arrested for being in this country, even though it is dangerous to stay in his own. We found out that during the two days he had been in prison, he had not been given any food at all. The Thai prisoners were fed; those from Burma were not. Now the man is being deported.
That is unfair.
This morning, I read Exodus 21. Verses 23-25 say, "But if there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise." That's definitely gruesome, but it's completely fair. And it reassures me to know that I serve a God who cares about justice.
So then what do I do with "the wages of sin is death"? (Romans 6:23) That's fair. If I sin, I deserve to die. That's the way it's supposed to be. And that's the way it would be, if it wasn't for Jesus' death in my place. "...BUT the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." Thank the Lord for his infinitely generous gift!
Our team was able to give the refugee man food and some money before he was sent back to Burma. My prayer is for justice for him and for his people.
And my praise is for a God who was willing to pay the price of justice on my behalf - not to overlook the standards of his holy nature, but to satisfy them completely with the blood of his own Son.
What is most unfair of all?
Grace.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
driving lessons
Two rules:
1. Ooze. No sudden movements, no straight lines.
2. Expect the unexpected. Every living object in range will probably do something that defies the laws of self-preservation.
I am learning to drive. In Asia in rainy season on the left side of the road in a manual truck with a tailgate that doesn't shut. I should have played more video games as a college student.
Here's what I've learned so far. Motorbikes will pass me on both sides. Signal lights usually indicate, not the direction the other driver intends to go, but where he is telling me NOT to go. Head light flashes mean, not that I should go ahead, but that the other driver is going to barrel through and I need to get out of the way. When a traffic light turns green, I should not go, but WAIT - until the congregation of bicycles and motorcycles and rickshaws (that just butted in front of me) have started into the intersection...then I may slowly start to go. If I run into a cow between 6am and 6pm, it is the owner's fault (for not corralling his animal). If I run into a cow between 6pm and 6am, it's my fault (for not seeing the cow). The general mindset on the road is this: everything that happens behind you is karma; everything that happens in front of you is free will. Translation: motorbikes dart crazily in front of me all the time and it is my responsibility not to hit them.
It's a steep learning curve. With a lot of lightning prayers.
1. Ooze. No sudden movements, no straight lines.
2. Expect the unexpected. Every living object in range will probably do something that defies the laws of self-preservation.
I am learning to drive. In Asia in rainy season on the left side of the road in a manual truck with a tailgate that doesn't shut. I should have played more video games as a college student.
Here's what I've learned so far. Motorbikes will pass me on both sides. Signal lights usually indicate, not the direction the other driver intends to go, but where he is telling me NOT to go. Head light flashes mean, not that I should go ahead, but that the other driver is going to barrel through and I need to get out of the way. When a traffic light turns green, I should not go, but WAIT - until the congregation of bicycles and motorcycles and rickshaws (that just butted in front of me) have started into the intersection...then I may slowly start to go. If I run into a cow between 6am and 6pm, it is the owner's fault (for not corralling his animal). If I run into a cow between 6pm and 6am, it's my fault (for not seeing the cow). The general mindset on the road is this: everything that happens behind you is karma; everything that happens in front of you is free will. Translation: motorbikes dart crazily in front of me all the time and it is my responsibility not to hit them.
It's a steep learning curve. With a lot of lightning prayers.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
what to do with 60 hours
The journey took a total of 60 hours. Buffalo. New York. Tokyo. Bangkok. MS.
I was tempted to use the time to reflect. Material was not in short supply. There was the fresh pain of saying goodbyes and the rich times spent with family and friends in the last several weeks that made leaving even more poignant. Or there was the prospect of impending cross-cultural inundation with all its myriad challenges and adventures. In fact, this brain food is still very much on the menu if I should feel so inclined. The marathon ended a mere 16 hours ago, after all.
But honestly, I didn't have it in me to contemplate any of these things in my sixty hour transit. I was spent. I simply lived one moment at a time and began to count the blessings that met me. There were many.
Mom and Dad, Dustin and Emily, Dan and Barb, Cliff and Deb, and of course Leo and Yuki, were all at the airport the morning of the 15th to see me off. This was especially miraculous as Dustin and Emily were both given the day off without even having to request it. They gave me a freshly picked sunflower on the way out the door, which is currently being pressed in my travel document folder.
I have never had as much leg room on a plane as I did on the 13 hour trans-Pacific flight. And there was an empty seat next to me, making it convenient to remain quiet, which at that time I definitely preferred.
I had the delight of spending my Tokyo layover time with Kaori and her gracious family. Not only that, but I was able to have a shower and a hot bath and a good sleep before continuing on the next leg of my trip.
Two very cute, very active Japanese preschool brothers sat by me for part of the flight to Bangkok. We built toy airplanes together.
The taxi driver helped me find a hired luggage cart lady. The cart lady helped me find the right counter lady to buy my bus ticket from. The counter lady wisely named me "Nicole" on my bus ticket since that could be pronounced by the bus driver if the need should arise. Though it didn't.
After I had been struggling a few minutes to make a domestic phone call on an international phone, a kind Thai gentleman came up to me and asked in English if I needed assistance. He paid for the call and dialed the number for me.
It was far from practical to navigate the bus station with 140 odd pounds of luggage. A Scandinavian woman came and sat next to me, smiling in a friendly manner. She willingly watched my bags while I took a much needed field trip to the bathroom.
I couldn't manage my luggage alone when my bus arrived. Another Thai gentleman asked me in English if he could help. He valiantly lifted all my suitcases into the bus for me.
At the end of my final all-night 8 hour bus ride, KS, my current hostess, was at the station to pick me up and take me to her home. And welcome me. And make me a yummy omelet with toast.
All my take-offs, landings, train rides, bus rides, and the connections between went smoothly. My luggage and body both arrived in tact, albeit a bit worn out.
I was very aware of all these wonderful gifts, and of the dear people I knew who were praying for such things as I went along. So while I didn't have the strength to be reflective about the past or the future, I was capable of being thankful to God for the present. So that's what I was. And am.
I was tempted to use the time to reflect. Material was not in short supply. There was the fresh pain of saying goodbyes and the rich times spent with family and friends in the last several weeks that made leaving even more poignant. Or there was the prospect of impending cross-cultural inundation with all its myriad challenges and adventures. In fact, this brain food is still very much on the menu if I should feel so inclined. The marathon ended a mere 16 hours ago, after all.
But honestly, I didn't have it in me to contemplate any of these things in my sixty hour transit. I was spent. I simply lived one moment at a time and began to count the blessings that met me. There were many.
Mom and Dad, Dustin and Emily, Dan and Barb, Cliff and Deb, and of course Leo and Yuki, were all at the airport the morning of the 15th to see me off. This was especially miraculous as Dustin and Emily were both given the day off without even having to request it. They gave me a freshly picked sunflower on the way out the door, which is currently being pressed in my travel document folder.
I have never had as much leg room on a plane as I did on the 13 hour trans-Pacific flight. And there was an empty seat next to me, making it convenient to remain quiet, which at that time I definitely preferred.
I had the delight of spending my Tokyo layover time with Kaori and her gracious family. Not only that, but I was able to have a shower and a hot bath and a good sleep before continuing on the next leg of my trip.
Two very cute, very active Japanese preschool brothers sat by me for part of the flight to Bangkok. We built toy airplanes together.
The taxi driver helped me find a hired luggage cart lady. The cart lady helped me find the right counter lady to buy my bus ticket from. The counter lady wisely named me "Nicole" on my bus ticket since that could be pronounced by the bus driver if the need should arise. Though it didn't.
After I had been struggling a few minutes to make a domestic phone call on an international phone, a kind Thai gentleman came up to me and asked in English if I needed assistance. He paid for the call and dialed the number for me.
It was far from practical to navigate the bus station with 140 odd pounds of luggage. A Scandinavian woman came and sat next to me, smiling in a friendly manner. She willingly watched my bags while I took a much needed field trip to the bathroom.
I couldn't manage my luggage alone when my bus arrived. Another Thai gentleman asked me in English if he could help. He valiantly lifted all my suitcases into the bus for me.
At the end of my final all-night 8 hour bus ride, KS, my current hostess, was at the station to pick me up and take me to her home. And welcome me. And make me a yummy omelet with toast.
All my take-offs, landings, train rides, bus rides, and the connections between went smoothly. My luggage and body both arrived in tact, albeit a bit worn out.
I was very aware of all these wonderful gifts, and of the dear people I knew who were praying for such things as I went along. So while I didn't have the strength to be reflective about the past or the future, I was capable of being thankful to God for the present. So that's what I was. And am.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
last year
This is a letter I wrote May 22, 2011
Dear Ones,
I was in Thailand at the end of March and beginning of April. Stories from this two week adventure are spinning around in my heart. I am having trouble harnessing them – for both my own understanding and your possible interest. To quote Inigo Montoya: “Let me explain…no, there is too much. Let me sum up.” But even the summary is long! I’ll give it to you in chapters. Read as much or as little as you like. For security reasons, I’m not sharing the names of some people and places, and I'm not posting pictures of most of the people I met.
The Karen
The Karen are a people group who made Burma (Myanmar) their home before the Burmese even got there. All they want is to live in peace and freedom, preferably on their own land. For the last 60 years, the Burmese military dictatorship has made this impossible. The Burma Army routinely attacks, starves, enslaves, rapes, and murders people from all the ethnic minority groups in Burma. There is a small Karen resistance army. They do their best to protect the people, but they are overwhelmingly outnumbered. Surrender is not an option, so the conflict goes on. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?
I first heard of the Karen through the words of Don Richardson in his book, “Eternity in Their Hearts.” <http://www.sonlight.com/420-
The fire is still burning. There is even a Karen church of over 300 in Buffalo, NY, walking distance from my apartment. Each time I hear the story of another Karen believer, I am arrested by the frequency of miracles in his life and the reflection of Jesus in his character.
For years, I had been praying that God would “give” me to a people group, and them to me as well. I asked for a culture where I could use theatre and nursing and music in ministry. Late one night two years ago, I watched the movie “Amazing Grace” about the abolition of slavery in England. When it ended, I prayed through tears that God would show me how I could fight injustice for his sake. He led me to a volunteer opportunity with the Priscilla Project. I began mentoring pregnant refugee moms and taught a class on childbirth. Every refugee I worked with was Karen. I loved them. I asked God to provide me with a Karen language and culture teacher, if these were the people he had in mind for me. Ten minutes after that prayer, I met a Karen man who spontaneously offered to teach me his language and culture, if I happened to be interested. I was.
So my circle of Karen friends began to grow. I spent time in their homes, studied their language, and went to their worship services. Turns out that there is a desperate need for nursing care among the Karen in Thailand and Burma. They love music, especially singing. And they love doing plays.
Long-time friends of my family, MR and CR, now work with the Free Burma Rangers (FBR), a movement that brings help, hope, and love to Burma’s Internally Displaced People (IDP), including the Karen. <http://www.freeburmarangers.
Week 1
Turns out that the training was postponed for a week because the students were deterred by rain. They had to walk through the jungle for days in order to reach our training compound. The extra week was a well-placed gift for me. I got to spend an extra day in Chiang Mai. I caught up with friends I knew from living in Pakistan 15 years ago, hung out with a bunch of FBR people, and went to an international church.
MHT drove her family and me to her home a few hours from Chiang Mai on Monday. We picked up Dee (“Uncle”) half way there, and crammed him in amongst the luggage. He worked with the children’s home next to MHT’s house, but whenever he wanted a break, he would appear and help us out – with sweeping or pulling weeds or cooking bugs. The bugs weren’t too bad, once I got past the mental hurdle of sticking eyeballs and little legs into my mouth.
Staying with MHT, her Karen husband (BST), and their daughter was a delight. Parts of the walls were made of alternating wood and air, so spiders and lizards zoomed in and out at will. And different people zoomed in and out each day, along with a corresponding configuration of mats, futons, and mosquito nets. The place had running water, electricity, and two eastern toilets. I was off visiting one of these the morning of March 25 when an earthquake shook the house. No damage was done in our area, but at least 150 people were killed in Burma, we found out later.
MHT’s life is a whirlwind. She flies from one thing to the next, usually a bit late, juggling conversations in three languages, baby in tow. I got to look after her sweet 15-month-old daughter a lot. Unbelievably cute kid. We chased around the house and yard, playing with stickers and dirt and shoes. One of my favorite moments was waking up one morning to her slobbery kiss on my nose. I opened my eyes, and there she was, grinning over me.
I tried to help MHT as much as I could. We did a home nursing visit for a baby with Hirschprong’s Disease. We triaged the patients who came to the training compound. We laminated health booklets, mapped out teaching plans, gathered supplies. After MHT’s messy attempts at creating a substitute filter, and my erroneous assumption that the water was supposed to be poured directly over the grounds, we eventually mastered the coffeemaker (and had some good laughs in the process). BST made us delicious meals, ran a million errands, and conducted a training session on fish farming somewhere along the way. In fact, he and M., another Partners guy, launched a tilapia breeding project in one of the villages while I was there. MHT and her daughter and I got to come along. That day trip was, for me, profound and beautiful, full of sorrow and hope and prayer. You'll have to ask me in person if you want to hear more.
Week 2
I don’t generally like games very much. I can’t play guitar. I haven’t done anything with theatre for three years. My task in the Teacher Training was to lead games, songs, and plays. I was scared – of not having ideas, of my ideas not working, of the students not wanting to participate, of cross-cultural misunderstandings – basically of failure.
Many of you prayed with me for creativity and fearlessness on this trip. Mitch sent me Psalm 32:7 via email, which I claimed and then sang while I laminated posters and pulled weeds. “You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.”
There were 10 students, 2 translators, and 4 teachers (myself
included) by the end of the week. The task was to equip these 10
students to go into 50 Karen villages. They would train Village
Health Workers, conduct on-site School Health Days, and follow up to
make sure the villagers were on track. The topics? Malaria prevention,
nutrition, fever treatment, and the administration of paracetamol,
artesunate, and doxycycline.
A few times a day, I got the students out of their chairs and we played games – applicable games that the students could teach in the villages later. “Duck, duck, goose” became “P’tso, P’tso, Pluh” (“Mosquito, Mosquito, Bite”). In “Mosquito Tag,” you got malaria and had to fall on the ground if the mosquito touched you, and your buddies had to drag you off to the malaria net base for you to get well again. We set up a “Fever Treatment” relay where teams had to squirt each other with water guns, our approximation of a “tepid bath” in fast motion. I was amazed at the students – both men and women, ranging in age from 20 to 50 or so. They played everything with willing gusto, no holds barred. So much laughter!
I thought it would be great to have a teaching song in Karen for the students to pass on to the villages. PK, our resident rock star, wrote us not one, but two songs perfectly suited to the purpose. One was about the beauty of being well (in two part harmony), the other about mosquitoes (with actions for the kids). One of our translators was able to play guitar for us, and we practiced every day. It made me want to learn guitar properly. The Karen can sing. You should really hear them. Clear, intense, unembarrassed, passionate voices.
And then there was the play. MHT and I wrote a synopsis with input from the class. Basically, this defiant guy does nothing to prevent getting malaria, the nosey grandma next door warns him to shape up, he gets bitten by a dramatic malaria-carrying mosquito, the grandma diagnoses and treats him, he gets better, and he gives grandma due credit. After some entertaining character work and warm-ups, four teams of three actors were sent off to improvise the lines and blocking. To my consternation, most of them simply sat on the floor for 5 minutes, then announced that they were “wee lee.” Finished. Without practicing anything? I was doubtful. But the next morning, they completely blew me away. They made costumes and props made out of recycled garbage. They set up all these great conventions for introductions, space, and passage of time. They stayed in character, told the story well, included tons of information, and made everyone else laugh themselves silly. They were practically ready for performance after one run through, and here I thought they were going to need direction from me!
In the space of four days, I helped start everything that I had wanted to do with the students. This was good because I had to leave on Friday. And in the following week, the students had the opportunity to lead each other in those same games and songs and activities – good practice for the School Health Days they were to lead later.
In all of this, I was not afraid. At the Sunday service that began our week of training, Pat, a veteran in faith-living, shared a message about the feeding of the 5000 from Matthew 14. Out of that rich banquet of truth, the morsel I most needed was this: obediently, in faith, offer Jesus what you have, and he will multiply it for his glory. Okay. Faith drowns out fear. When I remembered who I was asked to believe and what he is like, faith took over. Although it’s true that none of the events I feared were ever realized, I think praise is also warranted because the fear itself was gone.
And then…
My two weeks in Thailand served as a two-way extended interview. I wanted to see where I might fit in long-term – with what organization, in what role. And the Partners team wanted to see if I was a good fit – with my skills, my personality. The result? I felt like the gradual unveiling of a calling on my life was continued and affirmed. And they extended an open invitation for me to return as a member of the team, even of the family.
Back at River Rock Church in Buffalo, I shared about my trip and the answered prayers it contains. Several brothers and sisters in Christ gathered around me to pray. Pastor Bob spoke these words over me from Psalm 32:8: “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.” Verse 7 of the same chapter was the one Mitch sent me during the training. Next step, indeed. Hopefully no one will deem me needful of verse 9!
Please let these stories lead you to prayer. For justice. Mercy. Deliverance. Comfort. Peace. Redemption. Love.
Isaiah 2:4 "He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore." Amen!
Peace,
Heidi
I was in Thailand at the end of March and beginning of April. Stories from this two week adventure are spinning around in my heart. I am having trouble harnessing them – for both my own understanding and your possible interest. To quote Inigo Montoya: “Let me explain…no, there is too much. Let me sum up.” But even the summary is long! I’ll give it to you in chapters. Read as much or as little as you like. For security reasons, I’m not sharing the names of some people and places, and I'm not posting pictures of most of the people I met.
The Karen
The Karen are a people group who made Burma (Myanmar) their home before the Burmese even got there. All they want is to live in peace and freedom, preferably on their own land. For the last 60 years, the Burmese military dictatorship has made this impossible. The Burma Army routinely attacks, starves, enslaves, rapes, and murders people from all the ethnic minority groups in Burma. There is a small Karen resistance army. They do their best to protect the people, but they are overwhelmingly outnumbered. Surrender is not an option, so the conflict goes on. <http://www.youtube.com/watch?
I first heard of the Karen through the words of Don Richardson in his book, “Eternity in Their Hearts.” <http://www.sonlight.com/420-The fire is still burning. There is even a Karen church of over 300 in Buffalo, NY, walking distance from my apartment. Each time I hear the story of another Karen believer, I am arrested by the frequency of miracles in his life and the reflection of Jesus in his character.
For years, I had been praying that God would “give” me to a people group, and them to me as well. I asked for a culture where I could use theatre and nursing and music in ministry. Late one night two years ago, I watched the movie “Amazing Grace” about the abolition of slavery in England. When it ended, I prayed through tears that God would show me how I could fight injustice for his sake. He led me to a volunteer opportunity with the Priscilla Project. I began mentoring pregnant refugee moms and taught a class on childbirth. Every refugee I worked with was Karen. I loved them. I asked God to provide me with a Karen language and culture teacher, if these were the people he had in mind for me. Ten minutes after that prayer, I met a Karen man who spontaneously offered to teach me his language and culture, if I happened to be interested. I was.
So my circle of Karen friends began to grow. I spent time in their homes, studied their language, and went to their worship services. Turns out that there is a desperate need for nursing care among the Karen in Thailand and Burma. They love music, especially singing. And they love doing plays.
Long-time friends of my family, MR and CR, now work with the Free Burma Rangers (FBR), a movement that brings help, hope, and love to Burma’s Internally Displaced People (IDP), including the Karen. <http://www.freeburmarangers.
Week 1
Turns out that the training was postponed for a week because the students were deterred by rain. They had to walk through the jungle for days in order to reach our training compound. The extra week was a well-placed gift for me. I got to spend an extra day in Chiang Mai. I caught up with friends I knew from living in Pakistan 15 years ago, hung out with a bunch of FBR people, and went to an international church.
MHT drove her family and me to her home a few hours from Chiang Mai on Monday. We picked up Dee (“Uncle”) half way there, and crammed him in amongst the luggage. He worked with the children’s home next to MHT’s house, but whenever he wanted a break, he would appear and help us out – with sweeping or pulling weeds or cooking bugs. The bugs weren’t too bad, once I got past the mental hurdle of sticking eyeballs and little legs into my mouth.
Staying with MHT, her Karen husband (BST), and their daughter was a delight. Parts of the walls were made of alternating wood and air, so spiders and lizards zoomed in and out at will. And different people zoomed in and out each day, along with a corresponding configuration of mats, futons, and mosquito nets. The place had running water, electricity, and two eastern toilets. I was off visiting one of these the morning of March 25 when an earthquake shook the house. No damage was done in our area, but at least 150 people were killed in Burma, we found out later.
MHT’s life is a whirlwind. She flies from one thing to the next, usually a bit late, juggling conversations in three languages, baby in tow. I got to look after her sweet 15-month-old daughter a lot. Unbelievably cute kid. We chased around the house and yard, playing with stickers and dirt and shoes. One of my favorite moments was waking up one morning to her slobbery kiss on my nose. I opened my eyes, and there she was, grinning over me.
I tried to help MHT as much as I could. We did a home nursing visit for a baby with Hirschprong’s Disease. We triaged the patients who came to the training compound. We laminated health booklets, mapped out teaching plans, gathered supplies. After MHT’s messy attempts at creating a substitute filter, and my erroneous assumption that the water was supposed to be poured directly over the grounds, we eventually mastered the coffeemaker (and had some good laughs in the process). BST made us delicious meals, ran a million errands, and conducted a training session on fish farming somewhere along the way. In fact, he and M., another Partners guy, launched a tilapia breeding project in one of the villages while I was there. MHT and her daughter and I got to come along. That day trip was, for me, profound and beautiful, full of sorrow and hope and prayer. You'll have to ask me in person if you want to hear more.
Week 2
I don’t generally like games very much. I can’t play guitar. I haven’t done anything with theatre for three years. My task in the Teacher Training was to lead games, songs, and plays. I was scared – of not having ideas, of my ideas not working, of the students not wanting to participate, of cross-cultural misunderstandings – basically of failure.
Many of you prayed with me for creativity and fearlessness on this trip. Mitch sent me Psalm 32:7 via email, which I claimed and then sang while I laminated posters and pulled weeds. “You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.”
A few times a day, I got the students out of their chairs and we played games – applicable games that the students could teach in the villages later. “Duck, duck, goose” became “P’tso, P’tso, Pluh” (“Mosquito, Mosquito, Bite”). In “Mosquito Tag,” you got malaria and had to fall on the ground if the mosquito touched you, and your buddies had to drag you off to the malaria net base for you to get well again. We set up a “Fever Treatment” relay where teams had to squirt each other with water guns, our approximation of a “tepid bath” in fast motion. I was amazed at the students – both men and women, ranging in age from 20 to 50 or so. They played everything with willing gusto, no holds barred. So much laughter!
I thought it would be great to have a teaching song in Karen for the students to pass on to the villages. PK, our resident rock star, wrote us not one, but two songs perfectly suited to the purpose. One was about the beauty of being well (in two part harmony), the other about mosquitoes (with actions for the kids). One of our translators was able to play guitar for us, and we practiced every day. It made me want to learn guitar properly. The Karen can sing. You should really hear them. Clear, intense, unembarrassed, passionate voices.
And then there was the play. MHT and I wrote a synopsis with input from the class. Basically, this defiant guy does nothing to prevent getting malaria, the nosey grandma next door warns him to shape up, he gets bitten by a dramatic malaria-carrying mosquito, the grandma diagnoses and treats him, he gets better, and he gives grandma due credit. After some entertaining character work and warm-ups, four teams of three actors were sent off to improvise the lines and blocking. To my consternation, most of them simply sat on the floor for 5 minutes, then announced that they were “wee lee.” Finished. Without practicing anything? I was doubtful. But the next morning, they completely blew me away. They made costumes and props made out of recycled garbage. They set up all these great conventions for introductions, space, and passage of time. They stayed in character, told the story well, included tons of information, and made everyone else laugh themselves silly. They were practically ready for performance after one run through, and here I thought they were going to need direction from me!
In the space of four days, I helped start everything that I had wanted to do with the students. This was good because I had to leave on Friday. And in the following week, the students had the opportunity to lead each other in those same games and songs and activities – good practice for the School Health Days they were to lead later.
In all of this, I was not afraid. At the Sunday service that began our week of training, Pat, a veteran in faith-living, shared a message about the feeding of the 5000 from Matthew 14. Out of that rich banquet of truth, the morsel I most needed was this: obediently, in faith, offer Jesus what you have, and he will multiply it for his glory. Okay. Faith drowns out fear. When I remembered who I was asked to believe and what he is like, faith took over. Although it’s true that none of the events I feared were ever realized, I think praise is also warranted because the fear itself was gone.
And then…
My two weeks in Thailand served as a two-way extended interview. I wanted to see where I might fit in long-term – with what organization, in what role. And the Partners team wanted to see if I was a good fit – with my skills, my personality. The result? I felt like the gradual unveiling of a calling on my life was continued and affirmed. And they extended an open invitation for me to return as a member of the team, even of the family.
Back at River Rock Church in Buffalo, I shared about my trip and the answered prayers it contains. Several brothers and sisters in Christ gathered around me to pray. Pastor Bob spoke these words over me from Psalm 32:8: “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.” Verse 7 of the same chapter was the one Mitch sent me during the training. Next step, indeed. Hopefully no one will deem me needful of verse 9!
I’m working on verse 8 right now – seeking the Lord’s instruction on
the way I should go. I know his loving eye is absolutely on me, and
that makes his guidance so sweet.
Please let these stories lead you to prayer. For justice. Mercy. Deliverance. Comfort. Peace. Redemption. Love.
Isaiah 2:4 "He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore." Amen!
Peace,
Heidi
Saturday, March 10, 2012
sunflower
When I was in first grade, my class had a Kansas Week coloring assignment. All the students who had been born in Kansas got to color in a Jayhawk. The other two of us had to color in sunflowers. I was sad about it at the time. Retrospectively, I think I was pretty lucky. Sunflowers are amazing.
Yes, sunflowers are the official state flower of Kansas, one of my homes. They also happen to be a symbol of peace, and that is what I pray for the Karen people of Southeast Asia. Best of all, sunflowers earned their name because they turn their faces toward the sun, faithfully following it across the sky.
One of my favorite verses is 2 Corinthians 3:18. "And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." I want to live like a sunflower - turning my face always towards Jesus, reflecting him to the world, and becoming more like him.
Yes, sunflowers are the official state flower of Kansas, one of my homes. They also happen to be a symbol of peace, and that is what I pray for the Karen people of Southeast Asia. Best of all, sunflowers earned their name because they turn their faces toward the sun, faithfully following it across the sky.
One of my favorite verses is 2 Corinthians 3:18. "And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." I want to live like a sunflower - turning my face always towards Jesus, reflecting him to the world, and becoming more like him.
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