More Prayers, Please!

Today my roommate and service teammate ruptured one and a half ligaments in his ankles; he has to stay off his foot for three weeks. This morning, my other roommate and service teammate left for a prior commitment. Our four person team is now down to two for the last two days of camp; the injuries continue. Please pray!

On a positive note, feast your eyes on the dozens of new pictures I uploaded on the Picasa site--see the link to the right. I will write more later, but I have work to do! Thanks for your prayers!

Breath-Taking

Location: Balcony outside my bedroom at the camp, near Grenoble, France (9:30pm on the 29th of July).

Time flies when you are having fun. Or when you are working around the clock! As you can see, Alfred (my backpack) and me when hiking this week. In fact, I went twice.

The first day was a day-trip without packs that was approximately a six-mile loop covering a couple of thousand vertical feet. About halfway we enjoyed an hour or so at a frigid mountain lake, diving off the rocks to swim out of the sweat we had earned scaling a rock wall during the last part of the ascent. As we descended, we saw some ibex, a type of mountain antelope. That was a wonderful day, with a wonderful picnic and wonderful conversation. However, it was not easy.

That trip seemed easy, though, when we tackled our two-day hike this week. Again scrambling to get my chores done before the trip, I packed up Alfred and joined nearly thirty of my companions as we trekked into the Alps, carrying everything we would need for the next days. Our meals of pasta and sausage and granola, our water straight out of mountain springs, our primative bathroom facilities (meaning a bush or tree if you were lucky) all contributed to an atmosphere of rugged teamwork. The packs were heavy, the days hot, the nights cold, the marches long. The middle day, we helped a lady who runs a mountain refuge; along the bottom of a glacier we marked an old trail that had become run down, using stakes and stone piles (cairns). At night, my sleeping bag was transformed into a slide that shot me into the downhill corner of my tent. In the morning, we would wake to fog that covered the snow-capped peaks. I have many pictures that I hope to upload, from both of these hikes, but I assure you they fail to do any justice to God's magnificent work! It was breath-taking in more ways than one!

As soon as we returned today, it was time for lunch and back to work scrubbing pots. Now dinner is finished, too, and everything starts over tomorrow. The shower and the shave felt nice, as did a spaghetti meal; I am guessing that my body will be grateful for the mattress in my room tonight, too.

I think I have many profound things to tell you, but my brain is a bit foggy at the moment and they are not coming. I know I am praying about my plans for next week (when I have a few days' break), as well as the month of September (I have not scheduled anything then, yet, and I am debating about whether or not to extend my stay in Europe). I have to admit that I feel like my work is unfinished right now, and everything seems to be going very well here.

I am also very in tune with the lives of the people I care about all over the world right now. Some of my friends just had new babies or are expecting one soon. Others are seeking jobs. Here we are being assailed by sickness and injury, it seems. I know of some who are trying to mend broken hearts. Some are celebrating blessings and victories. Others are praying for healing or growth in human bodies or communities of people. I learned the other day of the sudden death of a former coworker. All of this is related to the spiritual realm, and I ache and rejoice with you.

Set your mind on things above, my friends. There is more to life than what we see at first glance. There is more to my life than wanderings in Europe. There is more to your life than reading my blog, going to work or class, or vegetating in front of a television. If you do not see that "more" yet, ask God to give you His eyes, His perspective.

I bless you in the Name of His Son, Jesus.

Time with Alfred

Location: Back at Camp (outside Grenoble, France) a little before supper on the 29th of July.

Alfred (my heavy pack) and I made it through the hike and back safe and sound. We climbed and descended thousands of vertical feet, lost and gained several degrees of temperature, and basically roughed it with 25 other people for a couple of days. I should have many pictures (once I see what my blind camera captured), and I hope to post more soon. For now, I'm back in the swing of washing dishes and the like. I did take a moment to shower and shave, though after a couple of days on the trail, simply a clean pair of underwear felt good like a hot shower!

Please continue to pray for us as we have had more physical problems. One young man did not go on the hike because of a migraine, one girl had flu-like symptoms, and another had severe stomach pain and had to return early from the hike.

Thanks for your prayers! God was doing amazing things during the hike, and He continues to glorify His name here at camp!

Hitting the Trail

Location: Still outside Grenoble, France; 7:30 am on July 27.

Things are still going well, and we are headed into the mountains for a two-day hike, beginning in a few hours. Yesterday morning's talk went very well, and last night we had James Bond night, which was pretty neat--costumes and bombs to disarm, etc. I need to make sure to find some sleep because I have been cutting corners a little, but otherwise, everything is excellent. People are healing from their injuries and sicknesses, though we learned that S. is back in the hospital in Texas with a lot of pain; thanks for your prayers.

Remember N. the Grill-Meister? And remember my sudden trial-by-fire upon arrival in Nancy to grill for several guests. Two nights ago, I was the Grill-Meister again, grilling on a wood flame for 45 people!

Wish you were here! Thanks for joining me virtually, I hope to upload pictures when I can! Get ready for the hike!

This is What's Up

Location: Same room, same camp, still outside of Grenoble, France (almost 11:00pm on July 25).

Sorry, it is very difficult for me to find time to update the blog or return emails right now. We went on an amazing hike in the Alps yesterday, and I hope to tell about it and post the photos soon. But for now, I am preparing to speak again tomorrow.

Thanks to you who have been praying for me; my last talk (on Luke 14) went very well, and I had a super response as person after person engaged me for more dialogue later in the day. Because of that, I have been asked to speak again tomorrow, and I will probably speak on 1 Timothy 2. Please pray for me. The last talk was successful because I let the Holy Spirit do it; may the same be true tomorrow, that God our Father might be glorified! Again, I have to fit in my full work load in addition to preparation and speaking; thankfully, I have a great team who tries to help me out!

Also, please pray against anything coming against us at the camp to distract us from the Lord's design for this time. S., I assume, is safely home in the care of her mother. However, since then, we had one young man sprain his ankle, and today another young man broke his collar bone. I am bothered by back pain, which is the first time in a long time for those of you who know that on-going struggle. Yes, I am doing everything I can to take care of it, but leaning over a sink is taking its toll.

Thank you for your prayers! Camp is going well, and God is powerfully at work here. The conversations we are having are amazing! May you, too, go deeper this week, as you think about your life and how it fits into the world around you!

Praying and Riding a Bull

Location: Barn bedroom at camp near Grenoble, France, nearing midnight on July the 23rd.

Tonight was "Western Night." If you had asked me what I would be doing in Europe this summer, I would have told you that I did not know. But never would I have guessed that I would be doing the Texas Two-Step or the Boot Scoot 'n' Boogie! But sure enought, we did tonight; and yes, I did ride the "bull" (the barrel pictured above--sorry I do not have a photo of me on it!).

But before I go to bed, a couple of quick things regarding prayer.

First, please keep me in prayer. I will be speaking tomorrow, which means I have to juggle my normal work, prepare a message, and speak with a translator (because it is awkward to translate for oneself). Please pray for me as custodian and dishwasher becomes preacher for twenty-minutes on less than twenty-four hour notice.

Second, I wanted to update you on S. Our Texas belle is returning home tomorrow for a couple of weeks, only a little earlier than planned. God-willing, she will be back here soon. Thanks for your prayers; she seemed quite a bit better this evening after a full day of rest and nursing from vigilant friends.

Okay, I need some sleep. Life is good here; I hope that you, too, are seeing many blessings!

Mountains, Hate, and Prayer

Location: Camp outside of Grenoble France, in a little room I found trying to find a quiet corner on July 23, a little before 8:00am.

It will soon be breakfast time, and my work will begin. Often I have to help set up breakfast, but today others are doing it. My day will include washing dishes for all three meals, cleaning bathrooms, any other service chores necessary, laundry, watering flowers, and when I have some free time, joining in the activities with the campers in order that they may have the best camp possible. My day begins when the rooster wakes me up, and only ends when the next day is about to start. There are four of us on the service team, and three of us share the sleeping quarters.

Tucked in the Alps, this camp is beautiful. Build on very old ruins outside of an athletic vacation town, the temperatures are comfortable and the weather varies nicely. The camp facilities are what you would expect from a camp, but with more than adequate space and resources, thanks to a God who provides. I think this camp has been here some thirty or fourty years, maybe longer. You can look out over the mountains, listen to the creek, or enjoy the wind blowing in the trees.

The first day I was here was between camps, and thus pretty much a free day. I took a long hike up a mountainside, and if I remember, I will include a photo of a ruined house or dam I found that had a large tree fallen through it. The staff are mostly young people from the United States, though we also have France and Australia and Canada and maybe some other nations represented. There are around 20 young adults here as campers working on their Engish, and they will be here for another week-and-a-half or so.

I understand that God has done some pretty neat things in this place. I must say I am not surprised, for at least two reasons. One, God is amazing, so He usually wows me! Two, I can tell that He brings big-heared, specially-gifted people to this camp, who He then uses for His glory. I am looking forward to see what He will do in the next month or two!

That said, He and I have been having intimite time together. As you know, it is very hard for me when my personal time and space is constricted, and with two roommates and a long "To Do" list, it certainly is here. But as situations get tougher, I have learned to lean more heavily upon my God, which is resulting in our time together.

It has been a pleasure to watch Him work in the situation with S.'s health, and I praise Him. However, I cannot help but think that He is teaching us more about prayer. How often do we turn to every human solution possible (doctors, pain medication, ice packs, internet research, etc.) before we ever turn to God in prayer? I am striving to go first to God, then respond with everything He gives me. Prayer is a powerful tool in a humble posture, and I have never regretted making it a priority.

I was reading this morning in the Bible's Book of Luke. In Chapter 14, there is a tough passage about what is necessary to follow Christ Jesus. He says that unless you hate your father and mother and wife and children and sister and brother, then we cannot be His disciples. I was pondering that as I read further. He goes on to say that we cannot be His disciples unless we take up our crosses and follow Him. Then He tells an anecdote about calculating resources before a building project or a battle, and He sums it all up by saying that we cannot be His disciples unless we renouce everything. Tacked onto the end is a pithy saying about salt losing its saltiness.

I do not think our God of love wants us to act hatefully toward our families. I do not think He intends for us to drag large wooden perpendiculars through the streets. I do think that He is trying to warn us that whenever we try to mix our faith with our own desires, we are bound to make ourselves miserable and unsuccessful. Like salt, our faith is only useful when it stands out in stark contrast to the things around it. Only when we let God's amazing love for us season our lives so strongly that it encompasses all familial love will we truly be able to love our families. Only when we surrender ourselves with our desires and plans and possessions will we truly be prepared to follow Jesus as He leads us.

Your surrender may not take you to a camp in the French Alps, but I hope it takes you to the foot of the cross where you can let the mercy and love of Jesus Christ wash over you. It is with that love that I am able to wash towers of dishes and loads of laundry and damp showers and oft-used toilets. It is with that love that I write to you, thanking the Lord for having made you to be part of His perfect plan, His good Creation!

Good Tired

Location: The top floor of a maybe two-hundred-year-old barn that has been converted to living quarters in a camp not far from Grenoble, France. It is too late (11:15pm) on Wednesday night.

I have a lot to write, but not the energy to do it. Hopefully I will write more tomorrow. But here are the priorities.

1. S. arrived back at camp this evening, walking gingerly after her nightmarish stay at the hospital. Evidentally she was already planning a visit home to Texas, so she hopes to head there soon, maybe even sooner if her plane ticket can get changed. She is happily on the mend, but still with occasionally great pain, as well as some sort of tube-type insert that has to be taken out in a month. More than anything, she needs rest, and maybe a good dose of her "mommy" when she returns home. Thank you for your prayers for her and her family; if she knew about them, she would certainly appreciate them!

2. Here are some pictures from camp to hold you over. I am alive and well and busy. Today we made plaster masks of each other, among other activities. For instance, we played some American football and some volleyball, as well as soccer. Though my volleyball skills were not as sharp as usual, I did well in the others, even scoring two goals in soccer! How about that, my former soccer team? You will not be surprised that I meant for the second one to be a pass! (For those of you who do not know, I am certainly no soccer player!)

3. God has been helping me a lot this week, which is nothing new, I suppose. But I am acutely aware of it as I make the adjustments to camp life with two roommates, limited outside contact, and solid days of hard work in a bilingual setting. I find myself withdrawing a bit from here and taking refuge in Him. Again, more on that later. But I am happy, and I have had a few good days since I arrived (today was our first full day of camp programming).

4. I have good internet access most of the time, but I rarely have time to get online because of my responsibilities here. If you have emailed me, thanks for your patience in response. If you try to call my cell, probably the same story, because I do not always have it on me. Just know I am enjoying a special time in the midst of the mountains of France, that I am eating well, working hard, and praying a lot for you! I will do my best to be in contact when I can.

I bless you all, and I encourage you to make today a special day, either for you or for the people around you! Celebrate the life God has given you, and use it for His glory!

Thanks, but don't stop praying!

Thanks for your prayers for S. When the surgeon went in, he had trouble finding the kidney stone because it was so tiny! I understand that they did not have to make an incision, which I suppose means they used some sort of scope. Anyway, S. was doing well at last report, and not in any more pain. She is due to come home tomorrow or the day after, assuming all continues to go well. Thank you for kneeling in the trenches, and please give thanks to God while you continue to pray for S. during her recovery.

More Prayer

Please continue to pray for S. She is going into surgery as I type. There is in fact a kidney stone, but now something has ruptured in her abdomen. Her mother is a doctor in the US and is quite concerned as you can imagine. Please pray for all involved, and may God get the glory!

Intercession Update (for S.)

Intercessors, please continue to pray for S. Best we know, she still was not admitted to a hospital room by midnight. They think now she may have a kidney stone, but she is all alone (until some staff go see her later this morning), she has no book, no phone, nothing. Except a lot of pain, at least before they finally gave her some meds. By the way, she may have my phone for the next few days (FYI to anyone who might try to call and find a girl answering...). Thanks for your prayers, she may be scared and/or bored, likely in pain, and most certainly lonely and uncomfortable.

I bless you in the Name of our Jesus, the Healer!

Appendicitis

You who are willing, please stop now and pray for S. She showed us some of our tasks this afternoon, and then a sudden attack of pain took her to the hospital and they think it may be appendicitis. Thanks for interceding with the Spirit's help before the throne of God, where Jesus is interceding for us at the right hand of the Father. May the Father be glorified in this situation! I bless you in the Name of Jesus!

Safe at Camp

Location: At a little camp tucked among the majestic Alps, Sunday evening the 19th of July, just after 9:30pm.

I am here safe and sound after a long day of travel, travel that included a lot of wonderful time with the LORD. Do not get so jealous of the photos that you miss the post I wrote just before this one! The picture of the balcony with the geraniums is where my bedroom is. There are a couple of shots I took from the camp. (Actually, I somehow posted the same photo twice; I will have to figure out how to fix it later--sorry!) The other two I took from the bus window on the way here. There is snow on some of the peaks, and my buddy K. in Utah would love the snowboarding; my buddy J. in Indiana would love the biking. Evidentally, except for this year, I am right about where Lance Armstrong normally shows off his prowess in the mountains...

Thinking Outside the Box!

Location: A corner of a train compartment, en route to Lyon-Part-Dieu and eventually Grenoble; it is 2:15pm on the 19th of July.

I am sandwiched between the wall and window to my left and an-ever-further-leaning lady on my right. In front of me a man does his best keep his legs pointed in a different direction to give my own long stilts a little space. Originally, it seemed like a good idea to reserve a seat in a compartment: more peaceful, fewer people, etc. And when I found my place a little while ago, I was excited; my new neighbors were responding to my jokes, and I managed to tie Alfred to the cargo rack above, giving us space. But now, a couple hours into the French countryside with five of us in this eight-person cage, I keep asking myself how it is that the longest human in this box is stuck in the smallest corner!

Matters could certainly be worse, and they have been before. For example, the temperature and noise level are just about right, and we are five instead of eight--for that I am thankful. It is funny how quickly our emotions change (you will remember that I maintain they are unreliable).

This morning, I was ecstatic! I spent time with the Lord, showered and loaded up Alfred (my man-eating backpack, for you new readers). My host mom drove me to the church early, and I arrived at the same time as my friend: perfect! We moved Alfred into his car and entered the building. As folks prepared for worship, my anticipation grew, and I even had tears come to my eyes. This was the first time in three or four weeks I was able to join the Body in worship! How I have missed it!

Do you ever just go to church (or mass or wherever you go) simply out of habit? I have been guilty of that before! But today I had such a thirst! It was more than like-minded people listening to some speech in a half-filled room. Rather, I was finally among family again, family who personally know the God who I know, who loves me, who loves you.

For many weeks, I have been surrounded by nice people. But since I left Romania, I have found very few people who display evidence of a relationship with the Lord. How I have longed for the fellowship and support of such brothers and sisters! How I have needed sharpening by others wizened by life with the LORD. After a while, not seeing them is a bit like being stranded in the desert.

So this morning, I drank deeply of the living water Jesus talked about in John 4. As I worshipped, I realized that this was "just another Sunday" for some of the folks around me, but for me, it was intense! My soul danced with the Spirit of the Lord during worship, and my mind savored a new idea from the book of Job during the message. All around me seemed a display of God's great beauty, His splendor. I was encouraged to see life in the small church I had known six years ago, encouraged by the strong men and women who grew out of it. I had only moments of conversation with my friend, yet how wonderful they seemed! What a privilege that time of worship turned out to be! I even found that one of my friends from there is now a missionary in Romania--I hope to contact him as soon as possible to find out more!

Certainly, perspective makes a difference. There may have been some in the church building this morning who never knew they were in the presence of God. The girl in the opposite corner of the compartment may think that this is the most comfortable ride she has ever had on a train. (In fact, as I finished that sentence, both people on the opposite side of the compartment left to descend here at Dijon, and at least until someone new arrives, I can stretch my legs! Thank you, Father! Now the leaning-lady moved, too, and my right arm is free! Hallelujah!) Thus, as I head into six weeks of camp after a terrific beginning this morning, I am looking for blessings. I am watching for opportunities. I am optimistic. I am expecting friendships and edifying conversations. I know I will grow. I am anticipating joy and grace and life. These six weeks may well be a pivotal time in my summer, possibly in my life. Therefore, I am going to be ready to living them in the presence of a holy God. These six weeks are going to be six weeks of worship. May God get the glory!

The Labyrinth of Life

Location: A petite maison (house) in which I have been sleeping in Nancy, France, next door to my hosts' house. It is 7:30am on Sunday, the 19th of July.

I gaze into the morning, eager to face the day. In a couple of hours, I hope to attend church for the first time in too many weeks, as well as meet a few friends their whom I have not seen in six years. Then I intend to catch the train that will take me to the camp that will be my home for the next several weeks. In many ways, I do not know what to expect, but I know that the Spirit of the Lord goes before me.

Have you ever hurried through a dark labyrinth filling with smoke, frantically watching for movement as you crouch in a corner to keep yourself hidden? It is kill or be killed.

Unfortunately, some of you have probably had that all-to-real experience during some part of your life that you will never forget. For me, it was merely a couple of games of intense Laser Tag. As much as I enjoy the adrenaline rush in the moment, I do not enjoy war games, because my imagination is assured by my reason that for all to many people, the game will not stop after twenty minutes, and death will be something more serious than scars on a scorecard.

Friday culminated in a 24-person dinner in our living room that was a birthday celebration, having included Laser Tag as an appetizer. But the best part of my day happened during the long walk I took to the church I hope to visit today. As I neared my destination, I saw a tattered old man with a white beard digging in the trash and pulling out pizza boxes. Immediately I knew I should speak with him, but like so many other people, I tried making excuses to myself and walked by with a muffled "bonjour." Yet God often speaks to me through my conscience, and none of my excuses held water. Each step became more difficult as I fought turning around. This is what I call "drive-by obedience"--when I only obey the LORD after first driving-by and arguing with myself, only to eventually turn around and do what I should have done in the first place.

So, yes, I returned to invite the monsieur to join me for a sandwich. He politely declined, then asked me a harmless question that led to a conversation that probably lasted an half hour. J., my new friend, was at least in his mid-seventies, because he was from a family of nine children and was recounting what it was like to welcome the American forces who arrived in 1944. We had a wonderful exchange about the way things are versus how they were, and about what is important in life. Ignoring the glances I got from passersby as we conversed next to the trash cans, I could not help but think that J. looked a lot like God. It took me no reflection to honor those moments as the favorite of my day.

Long conversations also characterized my Saturday, providing bookends on another large meal, this time with 9 persons. In the morning, I spoke internationally via Skype with two friends of mine. One was from the tiny French village that had been my haven the past two weeks; I also received a note from there telling me that my young friends had cried when they received my goodbye notes. That village had quickly adopted me into their family, and I have to admit that I greatly miss them already.

Nonetheless, here in Nancy I have been adopted, too. The love is merely expressed differently. I failed to meet with a couple who wanted to see me before they left on vacation; we were unable to match schedules at the last minute. And I told you that one lady came by train so we could catch up on six-year-old memories. My host family here, too, pleads with me to return when I leave, and tries to keep me from leaving whenever possible. What a privilege it is to be cared for by so many people; people like you! Thank you!

It was with my host parents that I discussed last night. I had planned to go to the park, but God had other plans. The house emptied and suddenly I was alone with my host parents--a perfect recipe for nearly four hours of discussion about life and God and how those relate. Entering the dialogue, I sat meekly uncomfortable, knowing that we shared a similar religious culture and background, but very aware of the differences in our faith. The conversation was wonderful; it helps that we all know and care about one another--thus otherwise offensive direct comments do not become inflammatory.

Much more science-minded than I am, I think they became frustrated with my more artistic, philosophical perspective. I was impressed with their big-picture thinking of the Bible, faith, and life. Discussions such as these are good reminders that people cannot be put into boxes with labels based on nationality or denomination or age or career.

That said, my heart cries for the people of Europe! I am "zooming out" if you will from a private discussion last night to two month's worth of listening to and watching people's lifestyles of faith. I want to sob as I meet and re-meet person after person in nation after nation that has a good understanding of who God is, who lives a life of benevolence toward the people around him, but who cannot begin to imagine that the Almighty God who transcends all human understanding has revealed Himself in a way that is comprehensible to us, in order that we be in relationship with Him.

As much as J. looked like God on Friday, God is not some white-bearded man governing the heavens from a marble throne, ready to reward our goodness and punish our sins! He is not an impersonal idea of universal love or mysterious truth! He is not an icon or a statue or an idea that we worship once a week through stale rituals! He is not a catalyst of frenzied emotion! He is a Father! He is a Friend! He is a Savior! He is a King! He is a Bridegroom! He is a Shepherd! He is a Comforter! He is a Person--One God in Three Persons, in fact!

All of these names and terms fall far short of defining our indescribable God. But if you never listen to any other thing I say, listen to this: God vehemently desires to lavish His love upon each of us, to be in personal relationship with you, specifically! Do you see? Yes, He is the Creator of the heavens and the earth! Yes, He is the just Judge of humankind! But none of that matters if you do not know Him. He is knowable like a spouse, like a family member, like a buddy! No, I dare not belittle His majesty by inadequate metaphors, but this is the most important Truth in the whole world, in all of life!

This is why Jesus is important... Jesus came to embody the "who God is" in human flesh, in a way that we could understand. He came to serve as a bridge between our Father's perfection and our corruption. He came to translate the Word of God to a species who babbled confusing languages. He came to show us not how to love God (although He did that!) but how to be loved by our Father!

God does not care if I serve Him if I do not know Him personally!
Our Creator does not care if I believe in Him if I do not know Him intimately!
Our Father does not care if I understand Him if I do not let Him love me!

Friend, I am out of time, and you may be out of patience after a long soap-box like this. But I plead with you, no matter where you are in whatever faith or religion you have, ponder and pray about these things! There are Christian churches of every kind filled with people who know everything about God but do not know Him at all! Do you know that there exists an all-powerful, undefinable God? Do you know Him? Do you let Him love you? Do you see why the world kills and heals because of a Jew named Jesus who walked in Israel for thirty-some-odd years?

Do not let your life of faith or religion be like a pretty cemetery whose insides rot while the tombstones boast flowers and decorations!

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Location: On my way to bed; Nancy, France; after 11:00pm on July 18.

It has been a long couple of days since I last posted, and I hope to post the details before I catch a train tomorrow, but no promises. The short version is that I returned to Nancy for a few days and found myself caught up in the swing of parties and social activities, one after another! This afternoon rolled to a stop as the sun peeked out, and I ended up having some great conversations with my hosts.

For now though, I am headed to bed, because I have a long day of packing, worship, and traveling tomorrow. I am supposed to have Internet access at the camp where I am headed, but I do not know how regular it will be. Assume you will not hear from me, and when you do, it will be a (hopefully pleasant!) surprise! Thanks for your prayers! These couple of days have seemed to be a rapid chute that will fling me into the next six weeks in central France, but assuming I get some sleep and catch my train, I think I see light at the end of the tunnel!

A Wild Boar? Or Just a Wild Blur?

Starting Location: Computer room in my hostess' house with seven-year-old L, 10:00am on my last day in the little French village, 16 July.
Ending Location: Living room of my former host-family in Nancy, France, at little after 12:00pm on the 17th of July. (I got interrupted and never made it back yesterday!)

It is sad to pack my things up this morning, but I have to say that I am not sad. Several of you have suggested that my recent posts "sound" worried or homesick or unhappy. I am guessing that is because I have spent much time thinking and praying these past days, but au contraire, I am quite happy. As I metaphorically turn my face into to salty ocean wind and set sail, I am eager to see what lies ahead. I carry with me fond memories of recent correspondence with many of you who have encouraged and blessed me while keeping me in prayer--thank you!

That said, yesterday was another day filled with thoughts and musings and prayer. I spent an hour on a bench by the small river yesterday morning, just enjoying the Lord's love. I spent quite a bit of time with my American neighbors, too, talking about life, looking at photos, and laughing over some old British comedy re-runs.

The bulk of my day, though, consisted of a three-hour hike in the woods. I was never really lost, but I was glad you were not with me--I often did not really know where I was! I though of my friend, V., from Romania, knowing that she was glad she was not on this adventure with me.

You see, I wanted to see some of the wild pigs that live around here, but from a distance, because especially the boars can be dangerous. So the adventure began when I finally found a place I could leap the creek, but then I found myself having to ford my way through stinging nettles with the help of a stick I picked up and name "Pork Skewer." I do not know if you are familiar with stinging nettles, but "fun" is nowhere in their definition!

Having passed the first test, I traveled and eventually began my ascent into the woods. The trail I was on merged abruptly with another. I crossed another small creek and some mud bogs, then wound my way across grassy paths and through old forest. When I found myself waist-deep in a clearing of ferns, I began to despise their beauty as I imagined them shaking wildly above a charging beast--but I made it through with out mishap, trusty Pork Skewer by my side.

My hike continued uphill, as I always prefer to ascend when I am fresh and to descend when I am tired. After climbing forever, I was startled to find myself on a road at the top of the ridge! But when I followed it to a sign, it seemed to point in the wrong direction, so I retraced my steps. I tried a couple of side trails to take me back down, but they were dead-ends, to my frustration. Several threw me into raspberry patches, which might seem like a good thing until you imagine wading through the tangle of thorns. As I was beseiged by the innocent-looking plants, I debated with myself whether it was better to find oneself amid wild raspberries or stinging nettles--in the end, I decided that neither were a very good option, especially with my ankle-high "single" socks!

Once, when I escaped a raspberry patch, it dropped my onto a steep descent that Pork Skewer helped me follow safely. However, it dumped me into a basin with lots of mud bogs where hogs had wallowed, and the forest somehow seemed darker, the underbrush making visibility lower. I had followed some pig trails earlier, and I am here to tell you that they are not as tall as I am. Nevertheless, when I heard an angry pig shouting not too far from me, I decided to quickly grow some more courage. So I put Pork Skewer in my other hand and picked up a fist-sized rock that would be my first line of defense, should the need arise. Moments later, I kicked up a deer that had waited until I was quite close to burst out of the undergrowth. I was glad Alfred the backpack was not with me; he would have been very scared!

Faster now, and singing, I pushed my way in the direction I was sure was right, through thorns and weeds and mud, over hills and around turns and down banks, twisting and turning and ducking and leaping, finally breathing more easily when I found myself in a cow pasture I recognized! Back on track, I snuck up on a muskrat that was sitting in the middle of the lane, and enjoyed watching a blue heron and a large hawk wing through the air. I hustled home, and I made it back before E. the American called the police. We had practiced orienteering a little bit before I left, and I assured him that I always knew where North was, but that it had not always helped me!

To take up where I left off typing, yesterday was a blur. I spent a couple of hours babysitting (see photo), and then another hour de-stemming red currents for a tarte for lunch. In the afternoon I packed up and said my goodbyes, and N.'s husband drove me to Nancy. (Alfred was very sad!) I arrived in Nancy in time to grill out for 8 people or so, including a lady that caught a train into town just because she heard I was here, and after helping to clean up around 11:30 last night, I enjoyed a Skype call with a good friend in Indiana.

I slept in this morning, and I plan to dodge wind and raindrops to head into town a little later. This evening a lasar-tag game awaits me with some of the young people. I have been catching up on emails, photos, blog posts, and other computer stuff this morning, and I enjoyed another good Skype conversation with a friend in the UK. If you enjoy old European church architecture or the pavement where the Tour de France passed several years ago, check out the newest Picasa albums (the link is to the right).

Thanks for traveling with me! I know it gets hectic, but I assure you, it is worth it! God is at work here, among the family with whom I am staying, friends and neighbors, and in the Church. Take a deep breath and praise Him while we rest in His presence a couple of days--soon we will be headed toward Grenoble!

I am praying for you; let me know if you have any specific needs. I bless you in the Name of Jesus, and I thank you for your prayers and company!

To Be Like Daniel

Location: The tiny French village; midday on the 15 July.

Early this morning, I woke up with the strong desire to immerse myself in God's Word. I also had the name "Nebuchadnezzar" in my head; thus, I turned to a familiar text in the Book of Daniel and read about the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar in the first two chapters.

I have been thinking and praying about some choices, decisions, and opportunities in the coming months, and I found this text to be helpful in that area. Maybe you will, too.

You will recall that Daniel and his friends are devout Jews brought to Babylon as prisoners when their homeland was conquered. Carefully groomed to be government officials, they are known for their wisdom and their faithfulness to God. Their lives are threatened, however, when the king makes a seemingly impossible request: describe to him a dream that he alone had, and then interpret it. All such officials and wisemen are then sentenced to death when the kings advisors politely tell him that his request is not only absurd, but unheard of and impossible.

Here is where I learned some wisdom from Daniel. This is not a formula to have prayer answered, but rather guidelines to respond prudently to difficult situations.

(Before we begin, it is important to note that Daniel had used his integrity to cultivate relationships and his reputation before the crisis situation.)

First, Daniel sought the facts (Chapter 2, verse 15).

Second, Daniel asked for more time (verse 16), taking time to respond rather than to react.

Third, Daniel sought prayerful intercession from wise men he knew and trusted (verses 17 and 18).

Fourth, God answered the prayer, and revealed the dream (verse 19) during the night, which means Daniel had waited for a time.

Fifth, Daniel blessed, praised, and thanked the Lord (verses 19 through 23).

Sixth, Daniel explained everything to the king, giving God all the glory (verses 27 and 28).

So you see, these seem prudent steps to take when we face difficult situations or decisions. Simple enough, right? But here is what struck me: Daniel did not assume he knew the dream, he asked the Lord to reveal it to him.

If you are like me, often when you come before the Lord, you think you know what to ask for, and you begin straining your ears for an answer almost before you finish asking. Yet what if when we come before the Lord, we ask Him to first reveal to us the right question, the best petition, the most appropriate topic of prayer before we ever begin seeking answers?

To be transparent, in my life there seem to be several different paths I could take during the next months, and I am inclined to be praying about them. A wise friend of mine reminded me of a more foundational decision that needs to be made first, and it seemed wise that perhaps I begin my prayers there. But after the Lord taught me through Daniel this morning, I realize that I need to first ask the Lord what I need to be praying about: is it in fact one of these decisions I have been considering, or is it something altogether different? In fact, when I spent some time in prayer later this morning, He showed me that I should first pray about some other things, and those would greatly influence the decisions later.

I want to be like Daniel; I want to be humble and wise among men, I want to be used by the Lord to glorify His Name.

How about you?

3 Posts Today--don't miss the two below!

Location: Under a tree on the side of a hill overlooking the small French village where I have been staying. It is a little after 4:30pm on the French Independence Day, July 14.

Weather-wise, today has been one of the most beautiful since I arrived here; it is hot in the sun and perfect with the breeze in the shade. The plump clouds are reminders of the this morning's sprinkles; such overcast demeanor and showers in cool temperatures have been more the norm here this past week.

Not long ago, I would have fallen asleep here in the peace, except for the cow-bell tinkling below me, gravity pulling me down the hill, and a few ants in the pants. I am near some beehives, and sure enough, the beekeeper came to check on them while I was here! However, I know him, and he would not have noticed me had I not hailed him; he told me to make myself at home in this little spot under the tree. I have found that my poncho was a great purchase before I left! It has kept me dry more than once, and it makes a good seat on dirty or wet ground.

Before I walked out into the countryside, I spent some time in the church. I have found it to be a great place to sing (the echoes are really cool!), and I confess that I like to play the keyboard in there since there are no other instruments around. Today, though, I got caught! But it turned out to be good. The young man who found me, F., is the organist, and he let me play the old pipe organ! Just like everyone else in town, he is super nice, and it was a joy to converse with him.

I met another new friend this morning. My buddy, E., has been trying to convince me to take a bike out, and I have wanted to do so, but I never remember until I am halfway out into the countryside. Today Nelly suggested a bike, so off I went, not planning to ride far, but to go somewhere to write a story that was ready to burst out of my head. I had just peddled off when I crossed paths with a Belgian man who joined me. Unfortunately, the result of that was a terrible uphill climb that left us gasping for breath! It made me think of my mentor, J., back in Indiana. He is obsessed with cycling; he is jealous that I am here during the Tour de France, and he has roped me into not a few cycling endeavors. He says that the amateurs are weeded out from the veterans by the hills--a true cyclist can maintain his pace uphill. I am not a true cyclist!

Nevertheless, I enjoyed speaking with the man until I thought I was going to get sick from exertion after a full breakfast, then I could not get him to leave fast enough! But as soon as I felt better, I continued into the forest to a French military cemetery I knew of: there I found a bench and spit out my story, until the rain chased me home!

As I rode back down the hill I had crawled up, I was flying! How great it was to go downhill, my only thoughts being "watch for oncoming traffic" and "I hope my cap doesn't fly off!"

But I realized that the past week has been a beautiful downhill ride for me. I have caught up on rest and laundry and food and joy and prayer and housekeeping items. I have been blessed and cared for, far beyond normal hospitality. So it is with mixed feelings that I consider leaving this place in a couple of days. I realize there will be more uphill climbs and rain, and I will have to peddle steadily. Instead of being found out in my refuges of peace (i.e. the church building or under this tree), I will have to take the peace with me.

I used to have a professor who said that tension is necessary for growth. I believe that is true not only for me, but for God's Kingdom. Most people who are terribly oppressed by the things of this world cannot imagine that there is a good God who loves them. Most people who have a relatively good life cannot imagine a need for a relationship with that loving God--life seems fine without Him. Maybe it is only when there is tension between the seemingly good things of this world and the storms of life that people are willing to consider God and His love.

It pleased me to learn that thirty or forty people gather in the empty church here once a month for mass. It is virtually dead the rest of the time, but there is a glimmer of life inside occasionally. Like when F. was playing the organ: I could imaging people dancing and leaping with joy! That is what life is like when you realize that the God of the Universe has been asking you to join Him in His holy life since before you can remember!

Life is not always easy or fun. Do you know that I bought bread from the baker that drove through town this morning? In the same way, doctors still make house-calls in France. Why? I think it is because the sickly parts of life hit us in the midst of our normal routines, when we least expect it, even in our homes! What would happen if your routine was interrupted today? What if it was interrupted drastically? What if tragedy suddenly struck? Would you be able to keep your pace as you peddled up the mountain? Or would your voice merely echo back to you in an empty church?

As I look out over this quaint village that seems so peaceful, I remember that all but two of its houses were destroyed during the first World War. It has since been rebuilt.

Our lives can be rebuilt, too. It is naive to think that nothing bad will ever happen to us. We live in a corrupted world, among a crooked and twisted generation. Bad things happen. So let's use the downhill ride to prepare. Let's rest up and pray in advance. Let's take shelter under the protective "wing" of our loving God; let's get know Him personally long before we have to run to Him in an emergency. Because when it is time to climb that hill, a cross will not help you. Neither will a panicked recitation of the Lord's Prayer, nor a fish sticker on your car, nor the fact that you dropped change in the Salvation Army's Christmas bucket. When the storms of life come, it is the Name of the Lord that is the strong tower, the refuge and shelter from the storm. It is the Calmer of the Storms who walks on water and pulls you out when you are drowning. And as His Kingdom grows in you, it will be almost impossible to keep from dancing and leaping in joy!

In the Breeze

If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear her humming as the melody peeks out from behind the steady percussion of her garden hoe. It is the same melody she hummed this morning as she left her sleeping family in the dim hut; it is the same melody she sang as a lullaby to her grandchildren when she nestled them under their blankets last night. Her daughter would join her in the garden soon, but for now she would be tending the fire and making breakfast before taking the laundry to the river. Thus, in the clear morning sun, she hummed to herself as she enjoyed the solitude of her travail.

Had you asked her, you would not have learned much. She spoke only a few local languages; thus she would not have been able to tell you in which African country she lived. But like her kin, she displayed her native beauty. Her maternal frame was not heavy, but toughened from long days and years of labor. Her strength revealed itself in her proud neck as she balanced enormous bundles on her head, and in her swaying hips when she held them between her hunched shoulder blades. Her stamina and power rivaled that of many men, yet she displayed it in a gentle grace that could only be described with words that define a woman: full of feeling, lovely, delicate, nurturing, mysterious, quiet, wise. Her Maker had sculpted her beauty masterfully; it was a simple beauty, practical but exquisite and matchless.

She leaned on her hoe, not feeling her years but rather the sun's warm touch on her perspiring brow. She smiled into the gentle breeze that cooled her, then turned, as if watching to see where it went.

If her eyes could have followed that invisible stream of air, they would have seen it curl and dance across the northern part of the continent, through jungle and over desert, teasing the waves of the Mediterranean before sightseeing among the ruins of Ancient Greece and Rome, and trying to lose itself in the deep woods of Europe. It tickled pine needles and deciduous leaves alike, making the trees and flowers ripple with laughter. As the tallest trees swayed like a choir high above the carpeted turf, there stood one tree unlike the others. Tucked into the shadows of the magnificent conifers, it stood humbly, unnoticed by any passerby who found his way so far into the wood. Even an expert would have struggled to identify this specimen. Gorgeous, with softly colored jewels for buds that never blossomed into arrogant flowers, it seemed somehow very simple and appropriate to its environs. Nothing proclaimed its richness, yet its leaves were inviting and branches healthy. Its roots had carefully laced themselves into the soil, spreading like a skirt in circular pattern beneath the garden of rocks and moss. Bees and other winged creatures hummed around it, echoing an almost African melody. What gentle grace it exuded, not caring if any came to marvel at it!

The swirling zephyr suddenly upset the sailing clouds, driving them into a churning mass. The treetops whipped in agony, feeling sharp pain in the air. It could be traced back to that garden, where the grandmother had just felt inside her a stab of tragedy, confirmed all to soon by a young boy who ran to summon her back to her mourning family. As she raced across uneven ground, the hoe forgotten, she recalled the many other unexpected storms of life she had weathered. Her hum turned to a wail as she arrived home, joining in the grief of her loved ones.

In the forest, the storm wailed in full force now. The winding winds had become straight-blasting gales, streaming mercilessly toward the helpless trees, rooted in panic. The tall trees with stout girths bent until they snapped, sheared as though a meteor had crashed through them. Logs tumbled from above like hailstones, ripping into the undergrowth and sending squealing creatures to hurriedly find better cover. A few moments of such wind devastated the mighty forest!

Yet amid the falling splinters and foliage, the roots of a nameless tree clung to her earth. Her supple trunk stretched in the wind; half her leaves blew free, several of her branches torn off. She writhed in pain as only a tree can do, dizzy amid the horrendous confusion. Her brethren, slaughtered by the storm, no longer seemed so mighty, so haughty.

Suddenly it became still; the storm had passed. Amid the wrecked stood a tough little tree, beaten and weathered, but no less alive; no less beautiful. The weeks passed, the tree flourished. On another continent, a woman returned to her garden, to her work. She, too, lived vibrantly, bending in the storms of life and often crying as the wind tore at her and those she loved, bending in the garden or under a heavy load when there was work to be done, but not breaking. The tear stains would dry and crinkle into laugh lines. When the sun rose again, she would stand tall, scarred perhaps, scared sometimes, but welcoming with a smile the new day and the joy that comes with the morning.

And in the stillness of the forest, a wanderer pausing beneath a lovely little tree in a sunlit clearing faintly heard a woman humming . . . .

Ephesians 6:19--My Prayer Request for the Next Few Days

Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel...

72 New Photos!

Location: Living Room Couch, a little after 7pm on the 13th of July (which marks 2 months in Europe!)

Thanks to E., there are now 72 photos of this village for you to enjoy on my picasa site! I spent the day with him and his wife yesterday, going to a couple of "brocands," which are basically whole-village yardsales. I also spent a good part of today and yesterday with them, working on getting their computer working the way we want it to. Then last night, I had the privilege of speaking with a friend of my who told me some things I needed to hear. I hope you have a friend like that! Today was a lot of "housekeeping" work for me, a haircut, train-tickets, backing up my computer, etc. I plan to do more of it tonight instead of writing on the blog; enjoy the photos!

In the Morning...

Location: In my bedroom overlooking the quiet French village just before 5:00am on the 12 of July.

It is my favorite time of day. I love these wee morning hours when the world is still, the birds are finishing their dreams before they begin their songs, and the sun is stretching and warming up before rising for its daily race across the sky.

I am thankful for last night's headache, because it sent me to bed early so I could enjoy this morning. Yet I am grateful that the headache is gone; I have had two in the last few days after having none for quite some time. Thank you for your prayers.

There are many things I could tell you, but I have nothing to say, really. Friday was a fun day of hanging out with the American couple across the street. E. and I worked on his computer a little (we have more work to do!), and in the afternoon they took me along when they went to pick cherries! (By the way, E. really wants me to post this picture of the woodpile near the cherry trees, overlooking the village. That should be enough fuel for the winter, woodn't you think?!) That evening, my hostess, N., and I went to Verdun to have dinner with the octogenarian whose yard I had worked in last week. While N. ran some errands before dinner, I sat and watched the locals play "boules," a tradional French game of lawn bowling. Then we stopped by the house of N.'s aunt--she is 101 year old! When I told her I wanted to take a picture of me with a century of France, she said I was too tall and hurried to grab a stool and climb up on it so we would be the same size! Later that evening, I also managed to use the Bluetooth function on my laptop to transfer N.'s photos from her cell phone to her computer. You know this is a small village when I am the computer expert!!!

Yesterday was fine, too. I visited with the Americans a little before heading to the town of Vauquois for a two-hour tour of the four-year battle zone from World War I (in fact, most of the big-name Americans in WWII found themselves there during WWI, such as Patton and Truman). The majority of the tour is underground, as both the Germans and the French dug tunnels and galleries under the town on the hill, setting explosives there. The Germans had an entire town underground and actually lived there. It was certainly interesting, and hopefully the one photo I took turns out so I can post it. However, I could not take more, because there is a certain oppressive horror that settled around me as I thought about all the ways we come up with to kill each other. I hate it. Later in the afternoon, I spent several hours playing with my hostess' seven-year-old grandniece and some neighborhood kids, and I had to chide one of them who was playing dangerously with a knife. Why are we humans so fascinated with violence?

The over-arching theme for yesterday, then, was a siege of thinking. Even before I visited the historical site, I was extremely pensive and prayerful. In fact, I wanted to get away from everyone so I could think, but I also wanted to get away from my thoughts. I did spend a time in the empty church yesterday, playing the old keyboard in there and singing praises. The echo is magnificent!

What was I thinking about? I was thinking about the people for whom I have been praying, interceding. Many people I know and love--many of you--are going through great struggles and growth. I was thinking about the rest of this summer as I prepare to move on soon, wondering what the LORD has in store for me. I was thinking about what God is doing in Romania and what my friends there have been doing and feeling. I was thinking about my friendships from the past several years that have both sustained me and challenged me, sometimes hurting a lot, sometimes bringing great joy--sometimes both simultaneously. I was thinking further into the future, about the end of my European summer, what that might mean, when that might be, the different opportunities I have. I was imagining different lifestyles, depending on where I end up residing, whether I have a family or not, what "home" might mean for a free-spirit like me.

Even as I type, knowing that this barely uncovers a glimpse of my musings, tears come to my eyes and a little light comes to the morning skies. I love the LORD Jesus. That is all there is to it.

Most people here cannot begin to understand that, because they think so much in terms of religion and tradition that they cannot imagine relationship when it comes to God. But most people in the States do not get it either. I know that because things would be a lot different if they did. I can assure you from my experience that a life of living full-throttle with the LORD, of following Him no matter the cost, of adventuring with Him at every moment, of surrendering to His Spirit daily...that life is matchless! Pain, burdens, responsibilities, obstacles, lessons, and goodbyes come with it. But so do countless blessings, joys, rewards, love, and a parent-child intimacy with the Living God! Oh, how I wish the people here knew Him! Oh, how I hope you know Him! Look beyond this world's broken Church, through the denominations and doctrines, past the traditions and religious histories and seek the LORD while He may be found--call upon Him while He was near! You will find Him when you seek Him with your whole heart! He is so merciful that He has even allowed Himself to be found by those that did not seek Him!

Friend, you may think me a fool. You may look with disdain upon my spontaenous wanderings across a European continent that often end up with me washing dishes. You may consider me some sort of religious fanatic who vomits his writing onto a long-winded blog. But, Friend, look at the world around you. Look at the things the world esteems to be of value, to be holy. Look at our fixation with violence and death and evil. Look at the lifestyles that hold us prisoner, forcing so many people to pretend they are happy during year upon year of misery. Look at all that and ask yourself if it may not be worth looking into what this fool is talking about . . .

Eat, Sleep, Think and Pray

Location: Near the bedroom window overlooking the small French village (a little before 8:00am on Friday, July 10)

Certainly the past weeks of my journey have been exhausting; I can tell because I rested well for a long time last night, yet I could easily return to dreamland for a little while. I am catching up from all the busy adventures. What a respite this week has been! Yes, I did get to help with firewood yesterday, and I have helped make dinner and weed flower beds, not to mention several opportunities of nice kitchen pace (now kitchen paix). But I have been able to rest, to catch up on emails and laundry, to walk in the countryside, to visit area monuments, and to converse with neighbors over meals. It has been a much needed period of recovery, and I am very happy here.

For example, yesterday morning I meandered through the village and sat in the empty church while it rained. After lunch and some kitchen paix, I took a long walk in the countryside among the cows and beehives. Then my hostess, N., took me to see the World War I American Cemetery (the largest in Europe), as well as a couple other American war memorials. Then I helped load and unload firewood, and I had dinner next door, getting beat in Connect 4 by a seven-year-old. (Check out the photos--more to come--not bad for a broken camera, eh?)

This has given me lots of time to pray and to think. Here are some of my thoughts:

While I am being blessed with peace, I dare not lessen my intercession for those near and dear to me. Please join me in praying for M., the nephew of my hostess who was suddenly admitted to the hospital yesterday with an odd inflammation of a gland in his abdomen. Please pray for T., a young boy and friend of mine in Indiana who had beat cancer a year or two ago, only to have a brain tumor found last week and surgery on the 4th of July. Please continue to pray for God's work in Romania as this week's wheelchair distribution wraps up having gone well, but also having exhausting the team's energy, patience, and resources.

Just before I came to this village, I stained my light-khaki shorts with yellow curry. We have tried and tried to remove the stain, with no success. Soon I think we are going to try dying them. It makes me think about the little sins that we so often let creep into our lives. We do not think too much of them, and at some point we try to remove them ourselves. We only make things worse, and the stains remain. Finally, we decide that since we cannot remove them, we should try to cover them up. Concerning short pants, that might be okay. Concerning sins, I am glad we have a Savior who died that we might be forgiven.

The Lord not only provides, but He protects. He is a shield about me. How can I be afraid?

I love this village, and except for a couple things, I really think I could live here. We will see what the LORD has in store. Whatever His plans, they will be wonderful! I am praying about the coming months, because I am guessing that if I decide to change my September plane ticket, I should do so soon; there are some other things I would like to do here. Yet without a visa, I would be unable to legally stay in this part of Europe much longer. Soon I will be working at a camp, and I have been making some tentative plans to meet up with friends during some free weeks.

Just as I was surprised at how well I was able to communicate in Romanian, I am pleased with how quickly my French has returned, and how easy it is to switch back and forth between that and English.

Produce straight from the garden, eggs straight from the chickens, cherries straight from the trees always taste better than any other kind of food, especially when the former is prepared in a French village kitchen!

Would you be amazed if I told you that the baker comes through each day to sell bread in this village? That gives a new meaning to "Give us this day our daily bread..." Other services are sold here, too, like the butcher or the milkman. The school meets in the same building as the courthouse and has probably twenty kids through fifth grade. Though most people in town have cars, there is a bus that comes through, and the neighbors help each other out when they do not have transportation. I discovered yesterday that the population here is technically 199--so for now, I am number 200!

I bless you in the Name of Jesus, the Bread of Life who gives us our daily bread and removes our stains!

A Short Piece of Fiction

I am sitting behind a church graveyard in a small village in France, a village that was rebuilt after the war. The bird songs decorate the general peace that grows here, covering the heartaches and tears that visit every life now and then.

The setting reminds me of a conversation I had with two elderly French mesdames not so long ago. Seated side-by-side on a bench outside their residence, one obviously enjoyed the dancing aromas while the other glared at the shadows and the insects. Needing to rest my wear feet, I approached with a soft smile and bid them "Bonjour, Mesdames." Soon I was seated cross-legged before them on the grassy carpet, our conversation half lost in the tangle of breeze that drifted past.

When I say "our" conversation, I refer to my exchange with the lady on my right, the one whose face glowed with the embers of a life well-lived. The other apparently ignored us, her frown sculpted permanently where she had set it. Silence. Or at least, until it happened.

What happened? I am not sure I know. But all of a sudden, the lady to my left cracked her plaster mask and, with no less frown, began speaking, almost continuing the conversation that had recently died out into a pleasant calm. Her words took no note of us, softly and sadly rippling down like a steam crashing into rocks on the side of a mountain. But she knew we were listening.

Evidently, painful years ago, the lady had been a young girl, recently moved into a new town with her sister and their family, a town in which they were lost, not speaking the local language. One fateful day, the sisters and their beloved mother took a train to the nearest city; their father stayed behind, needing to bring in the harvest. Less than an hour into their trip, she had become angry with her mother; no longer could she even recall the reason. Impulsively, she stomped to the back of the train, hardly arriving their before she was flung against the wall. The train had derailed after hitting a tractor! Screeches and cries disappeared into black smoke and sobs. Naturally, she sought her mother's protective arms, but, alas, she was pinned beneath some hulk of metal.

She tried so hard to forget the nightmare that followed that she succeeded in large part and can no longer describe the events that followed. Somehow, she ended up in a hospital bed, her grieving father next to her, beginning a recovery that never healed the deep wound inside, left there when her mother was wrenched from her life. Her father was not a bad man, but he never clearly conveyed his love through his rough exterior. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to her an angel, seemed to her perfect, seemed to her the original definition of mother.

They carried her to the funeral of her mother and sister, and thus began her weekly tradition. As soon as she could again walk, she would hike up the rise to the cloistered churchyard, bringing flowers she carefully gathered along the way. Every Sunday she came, tending the grave site. Were their no flowers, she would decorated it in any way she could, with ribbons and lace or icicles or buttons and beads. She would cry, or occasionally chuckle in memories that eventually led to more sobs, as she relived the cherished moments of their life that ended in her mother's death.

As they had only just relocated to the town, they knew no one well. As she lay recovering in the home of a gentle neighbor, her father ranged the countryside, unwilling to accept his bride's death. He was gone three month, searching every village, but loosing hope everyday. He finally returned to find his daughter suffering, as he was, from their traumatic loss.

Her father remarried, driving a wedge into their already aloof rapport. Now she had no one, and she had refused to learn the language, instead choosing to seclude herself from the threatening world around her. The turning seasons found her in the same routine. Each day she would say prayers for the deceased, each Sunday she trekked to the tombstone, easily remarked among those left untended.

If someone had asked, she would have told them she was happy; she thought she was. She knew no different. She told herself that everyone carries such burdens, and her sister, and especially her mother, deserved it. They would have done the same for her. She carried her chin set proudly. She would have been beautiful if the look in her eye had not been so dull and exhausted. She would have been pleasant company if she ever allowed her emotions out of the box in which she had locked them. But instead of courting a handsome young man, she appeased Death, living in the loss of her mother, growing old before ever letting her youth live. All who saw her knew her, that holy woman who dressed in rigid garb and pious look, shuffling toward the church each Sunday to honor one who had died.

As she told this tale, I watched her face. Her demeanor leaked regret, and I noticed her companion sink into a borrowed sadness.

The years had passed like this. Nearly seventy years. I dare not say that life passed, for she was not living, it seemed. She was writhing in the rut of her lifeless, joyless traditions.

One snowy Sunday as she hobbled upward, she was noticed by a beautiful lady in the street. This lady, in fact, had lived as many years or even more than she, but somehow was youthful and alive. This beauty had a tender heart, and watching the shuddering silhouette before her, she moved to aid the woman in her ascent. Only then looking up, the gnarled woman gave a cry, seeing a face not so different from her own; she recognized her sister!

For a moment at least, it was a happy reunion. But her sister confirmed that their mother was dead. Our storyteller than began her tale, labouring to spin the yarn of their father's second marriage and eventual death, of her many faithful years tending the grave and praying to a God that seemed oblivious to her tears. As she spoke, she led her vibrant sister to the site, proudly showing how much she cared for their mother. The sister watched in awe as she pointed out decorations and candles, as she explained the weekly treks, the blisters, the inclement weather, the work needed to clean the stone, the prayers, and the rest of her ritual.
Suddenly, she who listened, who displayed such a joy and beauty about her, burst into muffled sobs. Unable to listen anymore, she interrupted her sister, who had not given her a chance to say much of anything, so great was her pride in her years of holy labour.

"My dear Sister!" she cried. "But if you only knew! It is true that Mother died, and oh! I miss her! But neither did she die on that train! She died only one month ago! For decades you have honored her as a dead saint, as a dimming memory. You have been faithful to her, you have loved who she was when you lost her! But, alas! If only you had known her! For those same decades, I lived with her! Everyday we spoke, sometimes even singing together. She smiled over my wedding! She helped me raise children! She gave me advice when I needed it, comfort when I lacked it, encouragement when I was ready to give up! She rejoiced with me when I rejoiced, wanting to here from me the slightest of details! Yes, she often thought wistfully of you, wishing you were close, hoping you would find her! You loved her, and her memory . . . but I was blessed to love her and be loved by her!"

At this, I remembered where we were. As I leapt back into reality, I noticed that the gloom of regret had once more quenched the words of the lady. Her sister, with sad eyes, finished the tale. She explained that they had been taken to a hospital further away for special treatment and were unable to get word to their family. When they were able to return finally to the town, they were too late, it seemed. The house was empty, and with the language barrier, they had been unable to locate their husband and father, or their daughter and sister. Having no other choice, they returned to their former home, among a people they knew, and rebuilt their life. Now, finally reunited with her sister, her only remaining family member, it grieved her to watch her sister churn the regret of missing years of life with their beloved mother.

I could tell that both woman had lived through much turmoil, but how different the result! One lived forever in hellish guilt, reliving the days of dogmatic conversation with a tombstone that could have been instead warm embraces of a loving mother. The other could not contain the contagious joy of a happy life, and it was only shrouded now and then by her empathetic, endless love for her sister beside her. She would never leave her now that she had found her! Their relationship was more important than anything else life had to offer! It had been the same with her mother. Now her mother lived in her, loving the faithful sister who had been dead for so many years . . . .

Resting in Peace

Location: Sitting in bed in the small French village, across the street from the house where the Americans live (7:30am on July the 9th)

So where did I leave off?

Oh yeah, the unloading of the wood never happened--maybe today?

I told you I am in paradise. I was told that it would be peaceful--just me and the cows! There was even a gigantic doilie (how do you spell the fancy lace-like decorations that polka-dot the parlors in grandmothers houses?) covering my bed! I am being hosted by a retired lady; in the other half of the house lives her retired brother and his wife, and for the moment, their seven year old granddaughter. There is a barn between the two halves. Two retired Americans live across the street.

The village was in the middle of the war zone in World War II. All but two houses were destroyed. There are still trenches in the forests, and it is illegal to have fires in the forests because of bombs that may be laying around. There are craters the remain from the aerial attacks, and they keep finding new tunnels that were dug by both the Germans and the French. There are also little stone buildings that were used to provide cover for the soldiers.

Two nights ago, we went for a drive looking for deer (we saw several, and a fox). But we passed many of the war monuments, cemetaries, trenches, tunnels, and so on. It is a bizarre feeling and sobering to be surround by such sad history while observing such beauty in God's creation. We passed through several neighboring villages, and in the last we stopped, entered a cow pasture, and ate cherries straight off the tree. They told me that they always taste best right off the tree! But even there, with the cattle standing as sentries, there is a French graveyard full of military crosses right next to the cherry trees. You cannot escape the history here.
I already mentioned the helicopter that made me feel a bit like James Bond... Two fighter jets streaked past us later that day, too; there is a military base not far from here. We passed one yesterday, too, which might have been it or a different one.

You know, last time I was here, it was not very popular to be American, because the USA was invading Iraq. Surely you remember the "Freedom Fries" the Americans were eating in order to insult the French. The Americans and the French have an interesting relationship. As I spoke with a French man the other day, we were joking around about what we thought of each other. When I told him what Americans thought of the French, he joked back, saying that it was not true, because Americans do not even know where France is! (Sadly, there is a lot of truth in that statement.) But he sobered up quickly, and he said something I will never forget. He said, "Wait a minute. I will speak frankly. During the war, Americans came here and died so that I could still be French. They did not know where France was even then, but I have the utmost respect and appreciation for them. We must never forget that! But now, they still do not know where France is!"

Yes, things are certainly different between the two cultures. For example, you probably have no idea how much the French loved Michael Jackson. We joked about it last time I lived here, that the French could name all of his relatives and songs and more! So this week, they have been amazed that I did not care to watch the funeral (which was live on at least two channels!). It has been the talk of the country, and I was even in Romania when he initially died!

So now, I am truly in France. One lady told me that everyone thinks "Paris" when they think France, but Paris is just like any other big city, in most ways! Now I am seeing France, and I have to admit I love it. I have always struggled to enjoy France, but this small village is changing my mind!

Yesterday, we took a trip to Reims to see the famous cathedral there. It actually turned into a shopping spree, as I was with three women and a little lady! But I survived and was consoled by the cat we brought back with us; it chose my lap as the first-class seat for the hour and a half car ride back!

Have you seen the animated film "Ratatouille"? We had ratatouille for lunch yesterday!

Before I wrap up and go find some breakfast, you are probably wondering why God has me here. I do not know all the reasons, but I know that God is a God of relationship. This town has no Church; it has a church, but so few people come to the local mass here and in the neighboring villages that the priests must rotate. And there is no other Church. Unfortunately, like in the United States, most people in France do not understand that God is relational.

In Romania, must people were Greek Orthodox. In France, most are Catholic. But very few in either place know God. They go on Sundays to try to find Him hiding in an ornate building that is hideous the rest of the week. (Yesterday, my hostess said I was welcome to pray in the cathedral, and I told her thanks anyway, because God is hard to find in cathedrals. He does not dwell in houses built by men, but in the hearts of men.) Very recently, a French woman staunchly argued religion with me. She explained how it was insane to believe that Adam and Eve were more than a metaphor to explain the problem of evil, that surely the loaves and fishes miracle never happened. But she agreed that the definition of Christianity rested in the incarnation of God, becoming man to dwell among our sufferings and to offer us a living hope.

Tragically, even the demons believe that, and shudder. If you know that God revealed Himself to us in the form of a man through His Son, Jesus, who died on a cross and rose again to give us eternal life, you know the textbook definition of Christianity. But if you do not KNOW that Jesus, nothing else matters.

Perhaps you have millons of prayers memorized and you offer alms or keep the Sabbath holy. If you do not KNOW the God who is our Father, our Abba, our Papa, it does not matter.

Maybe you know that God loves us. Great! But if you do not love and KNOW that God, your knowledge is useless.

Yes! God loves you!

Yes! God clothed Himself as a man (Jesus) who died on a cross for your sins!

Yes! Jesus conquered death and offers us eternal life!

Yes! The Spirit has been sent into our world to help us!

BUT ALL THIS IS FUTILE, USELESS, WORTHLESS, IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THAT GOD. He is a person with whom we can be in relationship, like our father, mother, brother, friend, teacher, etc. What is more: that is what He wants! That is WHY Jesus came to die--to make that possible.

Friend, I have written a lot today. Do not take my word for it. If you want to argue about metaphors with me, I will not be insulted--just email me. But take a look at the Bible. Read it through the eyes of relationship. Look at how, since the beginning of time, God has intended for His people to be in relationship with Him.
But do not just read; enter into that relationship with Him. It is so much better than any church service of any kind. It is so much better than memorized prayers or Easter clothes.

A relationship with the living God--now that is adventure!