Bubbling Over with Summer News

No one should write a blog this long, but I haven't done this in eight months (!), so--sorry--I'll just park some thoughts, whether anyone has time to read them or not. Since the Mobilization Ministry is somewhat seasonal as Perspectives classes are on a spring and fall schedule and college kids are going off having international and other adventures, it seems like summer should be a bit of a down time but, actually, it’s been quite busy and fun.

Once a year, the Walton Arts Center “makes over” the volunteers and has a reception and complimentary tickets to a show—this year complete with lei’s and Mike Rayburn, sort of a Victor Borge of guitar. One of the best parts was, of the 350 volunteers, Peter, an author—who we’ve been seeing potential for building a friendship with—ended up right next to me.

About this time, I usually get a call from my dear friend Becky from Hot Springs saying she was in the area for her nephew’s rather sophisticated baseball game. Determining they would be at Tyson Field, I took off for the only Tyson structure I knew about, south of the U of A campus. After determining they were actually in Springdale and after seeing clearly that I was at the very site where they were trying to break a record in assembling 2 million dinners for Haitian families, I decided it was providential so I teamed up with a Boy Scout at the end of an assembly line and what a team we were! I even got a t-shirt out of the deal.

I do love to plan and organize, and there’s been plenty of that. There are plenty of more weighty things I would like for those remaining behind me to put on my tombstone, but one of them has to be “she liked everything of one kind in one place”! Since we office in the former First National Bank of Fayetteville, we have a large vault with plush gold carpet that we store everything from promotional coffee mugs to Perspectives memorabilia from the ‘70’s to the new office waffle iron. John and I recently purged the vault of outdated material and those busy mobilizers are going to have to fight us if anyone messes it up.

As we shuffled, I had my friend Audra much on my mind. She was sitting on go for Baby #6, to be delivered at home. Oh me of little faith—I had been praying that the new little sweet thing of questionable gender would make its appearance before we had to leave town on Thursday, July 1, but Audra wasn’t due until the 2^nd and I really wanted to accept her invitation to come out and stay with their kids as they concentrated on the work at hand. Wednesday morning at 6 a.m., I got a phone call that this might be the day so I rushed out to Paradise Lane and spent the day playing Caribou, watching Up, and generally anticipating the big event. Home births (my third to sit in on) are amazing—the competent midwife praying over the rooms, sharing stories in the backyard, and easily exercising her trade. (Note the boxes of Little Debbie's a neighbor of my health-conscious friends brought over after unloading his freezer to make room for an abundant backyard crop of okra. ) After the chiropractress showed up about 4 p.m., things started to happen. I helped tuck kids into bed at 7:30 and made up a wild story for the restless girls. The miracle followed fifteen minutes later—no other way to describe it—and Joe was calling the kids into their bedroom to hold and admire their new little sister Madison. I slipped out feeling so blessed.

Hmmm…one problem. Wednesday evening was the time to pack for the trip to North Carolina. Oh well, I threw things together and John, Zipper, and I took off after work on Thursday for the 16-hour trip. After weaving our way through the Smokey Mountains to Burnsville, home of our dear friends Jan and Joe, we breathed in the mountain air and ate hamburgers on their porch. They blessed us with a trip to the community theater where Jan is a board member to see one of our all time favorite musicals, Annie. I know we had three boys, but I have fond memories of wearing out the cassette tape of the music when the movie came out and it was all I could do to keep from bursting out with the actors ‘you’re never fully dressed without a smile’.

The next day we drove a beautiful hour into Asheville to meet Lyle and Anne who were driving up from Atlanta for the wedding. We had a couple of hours before they arrived to visit the artist district and the downtown area where some of the artistic looking people were hawking their cool wares. After lunch at the Corner Kitchen, we settled in to play with Jack at the Sleep Inn while mom and dad took off to tour the Biltmore House (did I mention the wedding was at the Biltmore House?). After regrouping, we piled in the car to travel the long 3-mile driveway into the largest house in the US. What can I say? Our friend David and his new wife Elizabeth had a storybook wedding that we were privileged to be a part of. After a beautiful ceremony on the tennis lawn, we enjoyed the visiting and the vistas then the rest of the evening in a big white tent with great things to eat. It was quite a memory!

Late night, we changed from fancy to plain and drove the hour and half to Simpsonville where Evan had moved poor Easton out of his bedroom so we could sleep. Sunday was playing games, and visiting with all four grandchildren—heavenly for us. The next day, Evan and Emily loaded everyone up and we drove back to Asheville so that we could tour the 42 rooms of the Biltmore House and the gardens while they took the kids to the petting zoo, then alfresco dining at a great little Greek food place.

I have to admit it’s been great to have a catch-up few days at work and home before traveling to Dallas next weekend for a family wedding, but we did take advantage of Cow Appreciation Day last night at our neighborhood Chick-fil-a. We marched right up there to the counter with the rest of the kids who had downloaded cow ears and cow spots (I pinned mine to my Haiti Relief t-shirt) to stand in line for their free chicken meal. We’ll do anything for a chicken sandwich—and another Gothic picture, this time Bovine.

Staying In Touch in the Age of Information

Dave, our National Perspectives Director, graciously allowed the National Staff in the Fayetteville office to come and be a part of the annual gathering of the Regional Directors in Tulsa. We were blessed to join the roundtable discussions without the distraction of running back to the office, leaving meetings early to set up meals and snacks, run errands, etc. The end result was a lot better, more relaxed communication with them and with the dilemmas and decisions they make every day regarding Perspectives classes and the movement at large, as well as the joys and rewards. And vice versa, I suppose.

As they do, I’m sure, I have a lot of thoughts incubating in my mind. One is the use of Twitter and other social networking. For connecting with people, what we formerly relied on in e-mail is for many people now passé. Since Hayden left the country 11 years ago, I have thought that e-mail was the greatest gift I could ever have received as a parent in of an Asia-dweller, but now we have a Magic Jack computer phone which allows us to talk any time we can arrange for both of us to be awake, and if we Twittered, we could easily Tweet each other at any time of the day (at least from an internet café for Hayden at this point). Communication technology keeps marching forward, and it adds another line to our “to do” lists to stay in the ranks and not get trampled down by the soldiers behind us.

It happens fast. Being “engaging” for the kingdom requires one to consider what it might mean for us single-minded people, driven by our desire to communicate what we believe. If you want to discuss this, e-mail me. Maybe soon, I’ll be accepting Tweets.

To the Journey--is it the end or the beginning?

It’s Friday, and John and I have been reflecting all week how blessed we have been being a part of The Journey community with all its variety of descriptive words over its colorful lifetime! We know we have forever friends among you because of a deep bond we have shared in all the ups as well as the downs.

I have wanted to write about it all week, but I think I got my best idea yesterday (Thursday). We spent a most encouraging morning in the living room of a prayer retreat house on Beaver Lake listening to Avery Willis (am I name-dropping?) converse about a new book he has written with his grandson, Learning to Soar, subtitled “How to Grow Through Transitions and Trials”.

Let me back up: I know eagles are a familiar example, but it did happen that in getting ready for our Half Day of Prayer at the Center on Tuesday, John sent this out to the staff to elaborate on Isaiah 40:31:

“An eagle will perch high atop a canyon wall and wait for the thermals—warm wind currents that arise up from the canyon below. When the rising wind is just right, the eagle will fold its wings to his sides, literally cast itself into the chasm and plummet into the abyss. Isaiah would not have known this in his day, but God has equipped eagles with tiny sensors in their beaks to let the birds know when they have reached the optimal speed. When this happens, the bird will spread its wings, catch the thermals, rise up into the sky and soar.”

Avery, in his book, talks about how the mother of the little eaglets, when it is time to learn to fly, takes out all of that pillow soft lining from the nest of sticks so that they will begin to get the idea, “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t stay here forever…” and think about trying their wings. I’m sure flying takes a lot of courage—it might take a while to see the value of diving into the chasm and letting the thermals lift you up.

When John and I took Perspectives in 2001, we felt like our eyes were opened to a whole new world of possibilities. I imagine we had heard that we were “blessed to be a blessing”, but I’m not sure that thought had ever fully penetrated our cortexes! When my mom was no longer in our care after December 2004, we thought we were ready to fly off to some remote part of the world. Our All-Wise Parent God, however, had other ideas. We needed the cottony nest of the Journey to take us deeper in learning how to walk with God. In April of 2007, we jumped off the side of the nest and are still seeking to ride the thermals. The Journey encouraged us and has supported us in a big way these last 2-plus years and we are more thankful than we can say for that.

Could it be that God has taken the cottony stuff out of the Journey nest for others now? Could He have been taking care of you in this soft spot and is now urging you to embody His purposes, knowing what you now know and experiencing in a real way His nurture and His love, to be His heart, hands, and feet to the world around you?

John and I want to take courage and be spiritual “adrenaline junkies”, riding the thermals in wherever they take us. Want to ride along?

Ballast

Answers.com (that mostly reliable resource) defines “ballast” as “heavy material that is placed in the hold of a ship or the gondola of a balloon to enhance stability. Having just returned from a week in Atlanta and Greenville with the grandkids, that word surfaced in my mind as a pretty good analogy to the role of grandparents. Ballast shouldn’t determine the course of the flight, just add a little stability. Not that visible, just a sense that it is there. Or…since I spent most of the time at Lyle’s, our electrical engineer, maybe I should define it in an electrical sense: something that maintains a constant current of electricity flowing through despite variations in voltage or changes in the rest of the circuit.

Someone else may have thought of this first, but that’s my way of saying what a joy it is to be a ballast in our married children’s lives and in the lives of their children. It is our heart’s desire to see them follow their dreams, offering wisdom of years (only when asked, of course), serving as a spiritual presence and most of all prayerful cheerleaders. We pray for that Shikinah glory around them in their own worlds--that they would honor us in their spiritual heritage and grow in following their internal spiritual compasses in knowing how to navigate their own journeys so that someday they will be a ballast force themselves.

Spiritually speaking, it’s interesting that the meaning of “glory” is heavy. Hmmm…the Spirit is without a doubt a stabilizing force in high seas or a regulator in times of power surges of tough turns of event. What would any of us do without You?

Outside the Balloon

Maybe it was a vision. Or maybe it was the key lime ice cream we ate before we went to bed, I don't know. Coming out of a sound sleep, it's hard to say if it was Narnia or that time when you see the wardrobe but you're still in the Other Country. Whatever it was, I don't want to let go of it--a clear sense of a world that truly was perfect and good (that big thing we take by faith), but all of time and history being lived out in the inside of a balloon. Inside there, the air is stale. Little people like me, from the beginning of time, have been living and dying inside thinking life inside this cramped space is all there is and running around, trying to get all the stuff they can to help them make it through life in the balloon. One day, God will take His big fingers away from the neck and let out all that stale air, releasing all those who dreamed of real life outside into the expansive freshness of His perfect world. All He asks is that we pay attention to the Message He left inside the balloon before the whole thing inflated.

Breathe deeply.

Read the Book.

Look forward to better days ahead.

Funny about those mirrors...

It's Thursday night before our 4th of July holiday and I'm feeling rather free to just do what I want to do. I was just going to go to bed but decided to check the blogs I follow. What a phenomenon blogs are--a virtual mirror into what drives people's passion and reflections! I find myself reading my kids' friends blogs and wishing I could sit down and drink a Sonic cherry limeade with them and continue the conversation.

My stream of consciousness leads me to reflect on mirrors--OK. A pun intended. John and I recently accompanied Hayden to a most remarkable workshop recently where we learned to tell stories. As storytelling goes, I proved to be the least of these. In fact, my first experience with a "story" from James 1 about mirrors was a total disaster. It really wasn't much of a story--my excuse for drawing a total blank when I got up to tell it, but darned if it hasn't stuck in my mind like glue. I've probably thought of it every day for the last couple of weeks.

You likely have heard about the curbside disaster recently where John's 2002 Ford Escape decided to commit suicide, as John likes to tell it. Last Saturday, we spent the day standing in asphalt parking lots and test driving several potential replacements trying to find just the right one. By mid-afternoon, we were heading down College in one we really both liked and I made the comment: "I love this one on the inside, but I can't remember what it looks like on the outside." Oh look, those mirror thoughts are back: something like when you're inside your own skin, looking at yourself only from the inside, you can't remember what you look like from the outside. Everyone else can see what you look like as they watch you come and go but you may have forgotten. If anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks at his natural face in a mirror, for once he has looked at himself and gone away (or retreated inside), he has immediately forgotten what kind of person he was. I acknowledge this isn't a scholarly thought or maybe not even inspired, but I say this to provide evidence that those stories really do act like the velcro loops on our grey matter.

Thanks, fellow bloggers, for the reflections. Sonic happy hour is 2-4 every day. Maybe I'll see you there.

April Showers, May Flowers, June Craziness - Part 2

I—who pride myself in hardly ever getting sick—had been fighting a cold since last Thursday night pulling out my arsenal of natural remedies and being only moderately successful. Tuesday night about 3 a.m., I headed into the kitchen to get a drink of water and was surprised to see an orange glow in the window. My first thought was that the condos up the hill must be on fire, then I thought, “no, it’s my car!” Then “no, it’s John’s car!” All sorts of things ran through my mind, mainly “how can a car just catch on fire??? Did someone set it on fire???” The hood looked like a huge sparkler on the 4th of July. I gathered my thoughts then yelled to John who, of course, suddenly awoke from a deep sleep, “Can you come in here? Your car is on fire…” The front tire exploded which made me realize the gas tank could do the same thing and I threw all caution to the wind—sleeping neighbors or not—in yelling at John to “back up—that think could totally blow up!!!” We are just around the corner from the fire department who showed up in no time and put an end to the adrenaline rush. It’s the first time we’ve been thankful there is too much stuff in the garage to get the car in. It’s still slumped over on the street, waiting for its final rites, and shocks us every time we exit the house. No explanation, but since then we’ve heard that if you have a Ford Escape, you’d better sleep with one eye open. And park it on the street, whether your garage is full or not.

Thursday was fun. Hayden gave our staff a Bible storytelling demonstration in his creative way, then we all packed up and went to check out a potential place to move our office. Another one of those glorious days, none of us wanted to go back inside so we found ourselves back on the square for a while waiting for the maintenance crew to come unlock the door and we people-watched down on the square, watching a film crew and several visitors who were obviously in town for the Walmart stockholders’ annual meeting. Happily unable to do work on my still-disengaged computer, I went shopping for the grandkids and home to heat up the ginger-noodle soup. That night, it just seemed right to use the movie gift card that our dear friends the Flynn’s had given us for Christmas to go see Up, the cute 3-D Disney movie-- amazingly entertaining and we highly recommend it.

Another thing we recommend is making sure you know where the airport is when you’re flying out of a new one. It had thrilled our frugal souls to find $67 tickets to Atlanta. All we had to do was drive to Branson, of all places. The purpose of this trip was to pick up Lyle’s old faithful Maxima for Hayden to drive for the next two months. Hayden looked up the directions online and sent them to my e-mail. When I printed them off, it just didn’t look right. So…I spent quite some time online myself, filling in the gaps with missing information and reasoning why that couldn’t be the right airport. But look over here—there’s a brand new Springfield-Branson National airport in Springfield. That MUST be it! So after sharing with John’s Friday morning Band of Brothers group, we rushed off thinking we would have the full two hours early before their flight departed. Still repositioning things in the car for the ride home, here come John and Hayden rushing back out to announce that the Air Tran flight really does leave from Branson, 40 plus miles south of there. So now, the light hearted chatter on the way over turns to deep quiet thoughts of “how could I be so stupid?” and “we’re going to have to eat these tickets and we still won’t have the car” and “is it better to take a chance of getting a ticket or drive the speed limit and watch them close the gate before our very eyes?” Also, no one pointed out that you can’t make very good time on five miles of twisty mountain roads leading you through a mountainous golf community to get there. God’s grace is sufficient—and there is no other explanation—they made it.

I am a little sad about them being in Atlanta and Greenville without me. I AM the grandmother of three children in that part of the world! But, I have to admit, a three and a half day blank spot on the calendar sounds like a bit of a vacation. Maybe it’s the perfect ending to a memorable week. As the Up movie suggested, I may just go have another adventure!

April Showers, May Flowers, June Craziness--Part 1

I’ve been reading lots of other people’s blogs and asking myself, “Why don’t you rein in your thoughts a little and just write about what you’ve been doing like everyone else does?” So maybe I will. But don’t think this is a normal week.

Seven days ago, almost to the day, Hayden took to the skies and landed in NWA. Being perpetually late and going alone to XNA because John was on an office float trip, I surprisingly showed up at just about the same time Hayden did. That was great, but unfortunately, it appeared that this could not be said of his luggage. Not too shocked, as he has had several special deliveries after the fact over the years, I pulled up to wait while Hayden filled out the necessary forms as he listened to 5 other unhappy travelers in the same predicament rant and rave. Just as we were leaving, luggage carriers from the back came in announcing—yes—it did make the trip but just now they were pushing and shoving the luggage stuck in the baggage claim passageway. Thirty minutes later, it was dislodged, picked up, and we were on our way to Arby’s for a late dinner.

Saturday morning, we visited the Farmers Market on the square on what was really the first really pretty Saturday of the spring, complete with funky Fayetteville bluegrass music, the usual cute dogs and their owners, bubble machines on more than one corner, and even a new thing I hadn’t seen before—gong therapy! Saturday night, we celebrated Hayden’s birthday with our staff at Las Palmas with bottomless tortilla chips and a birthday cake with a candle for every year we have not able to sing Happy Birthday in person—12! This time, he got it sung in Spanish and English and with a little merriment in almost having a bucket of ice poured on his head! Our dear friends really blessed him. John and I gave him a ticket to see Rain!—the Beatles in concert. Maybe not like it used to be but they’re still fun to watch.

Tuesday morning, we had our final discussion on all the Perspectives articles at work. Sometimes, we catch ourselves marveling at how God has meshed our lives and passions together with Hayden’s, making it easy for him to sit on the couch with us and join right in the discussion. We are really thankful for that. On returning from the Chinese buffet and moving toward my computer, a bright blue screen awaited me. Seemed like I remembered that wasn’t a good sign. Long story short—my barely broken in hard drive chose that day to give up the ghost. But something stranger would happen that night…

Moles

We first noticed it last fall. While trying to extract weeds from the flowerbed, the ground sank under our feet. What was that??? After asking around, we discovered that moles—those cute little furry gray things—had taken up residence on Warwick. They were not invited, and we have been trying to evict them ever since. Except for the unrelated clover that is popping up, the yard doesn’t look bad but we’ve been told that the problem will not go away easily and we really don’t want to have to start over growing a new crop on our Fayetteville hillside. We are putting on our helmets and declaring war—we want to make those little varmints turn and run! We want to restore the solid integrity of our grassy patch of real estate!

All things considered, moles are fascinating animals ...
A 5 ounce mole will consume 45-50 lbs of worms and insects each year.
Moles can dig surface tunnels at approximately 18 feet/hour.
Moles travel through existing tunnels at about 80 feet/minute.
Moles contain twice as much blood and twice as much hemoglobin as other mammals of similar size. This allows moles to breathe more easily in underground environments with low oxygen.

Two main sources of action have surfaced: get a cat (Mr. Zipper voted against that one) or take away their food source. (Won’t they just go next door, we asked?) Anyway, we are considering the first but actively pursuing the latter by ridding our yard of those nasty little grub worms.

Ah, yes, the grubworms of life. Sunday, since the speaker at our Alpha class was under the weather, they showed a Louie Giglio video on hope. It didn’t start out very hopeful, maybe even considered depressing by some as he read e-mails from students from his Passion Conferences. They had stepped out on their Christian faith but the ground had been burrowed under and had collapsed beneath their feet. Louis always finds his way back to the cross of Christ, the anchor of our souls—in our case, shall we say solid ground, unvisited by doubt, fear, discouragement, or hopelessness. Those little varmints, too, must be routed.

You cute but destructive little moles—turn and run! The master gardener has provided milky spore grub control for our spiritual landscapes. No procrastination—can we decide to encourage each other to take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ? Then we can step out on any day—cloudy or sunny—on earth that will never give way.

Fresh Thoughts on Christmas

Yesterday, our staff team took off to paint the first new house of our newest staff couple, covering up the bright reds, blues, yellows and greens to make it their own. I ended up in the living room painting edges while the new owner came behind me with the roller. In the course of conversation, he began recounting his conservative heritage and his school memories of homeschooling with the Bill Gothard curriculum. He continued on to their leadership training with its unique character building program, which took him all over the world. Applying taupe paint over gold, we discussed the pros and cons.

Our conversation only added to my already turning brain about acceptance of unique approaches to our faith. We go to a great church where one of the hallmarks is that, while tenaciously holding to the Word of God, respect for differences of opinions on how the spiritual life is displayed and worked out in each life exists. (I Corinthians 14 discussed yesterday—who really has the definitive answers?) Even on our own very unified and loving team, we have differences of backgrounds and opinions on the finer points.

Just as Bill Gothard may not have gotten it all right, neither did St. Patrick with his interesting life with the Druids, Madame Guyon with her strange physical self-denial, St. Augustine with his Just War Theory, Shane Claiborne denouncing that theory today in light of the Simple Way, our very own forefather the devout Puritan Samuel Sewall with his office of presiding over the Salem Witch Trials, Martin Luther with his transubstantiation—so many more colorful characters like Jerry Falwell and Martin Luther King we have known in our lifetimes.

Include some Christians you know personally outside your own worldview. God likely has used each to lead many to the truth and it is 100% up to Him to take what He wants and vaporize (at least) the rest of it. He wants all of it He can to take into eternity with Him.

The bride of Christ will be an incomprehensibly beautiful mosaic of the best of each heartfelt view with all the quirks refined and burned out. That is why we do what we do as a team of mobilizers—there are yet colorful lives in every pocket of the world who, when they finally do embrace the gospel, will add their own still different and unique quality to the radiant church bride. Yes, there will be more strange customs and thoughts tainted by the world of injustice each one may have grown up with, but the Christ in Each of Them, the hope of glory, will be added to His complex, mysterious, dazzling, soon-to-be-revealed Bride fit for a Groom of Perfection.

That is what we celebrate at Christmas. Enjoy yours with a new expectation of what it will one day be like to share the Spirit in all of us as One!

It's Not So Bad

I love those people who say the glass is half full!

I ran across this article and he has many a good point. Here is his take on the Ten Blessings of a Recession:
1. More familes eating dinner together
2. Shorter gas lines
3. Less junk mail
4. More coupons
5. Free fitness - more walking and biking
6. Bargain SUV's
7. More entrepreneurial startups
8. Growth in the popularity of gardening and growing your own food
9. Musical inspiration - more heartfelt anthems
10. New perspectives - reflect and reassess the true meaning and goals of our lives

Read it for yourself at http://www.bankrate.com/bos/news/pf/20080625_reasons_love_recession_a3.asp

Intensely Happy

Not prone to introspection, this was an interesting weekend that ran the gamut of emotion. After two staff dinners at our house, an unexpected thaw of our freezer requiring “cook it or lose it”, a new project at work, and late night sessions watching the Olympics, my energy level was low. Still, I wanted to join in the Welcome Dinners for new international students by hosting them for dinner Saturday night. We also had an offer to join our old dinner group in Little Rock for Freddy’s famous fish fry, and that sounded really exciting to our sometimes homesick hearts. What to do?

GUILT: As is sometimes the case for us, who like to keep our options open, the options expired without taking action. First, the LR trip was checked off, then the Welcome Dinner. The consolation was that with forecast of rain, we could just stick around and work on our projects. I don’t usually work on Fridays, but last Friday was spent at the office until later than usual and I ended up sleeping on the couch during the coverage of Day 7 then sleepily slipping off to bed—no projects yet. Saturday morning, I got up early to wrap a birthday present for Tozer’s Birthday Party #2 and I was glad we could be in town for that.

FEAR: While wrapping the little package, though, an alarming thought gripped me with fear. “Where are those two (sizable) checks I swept up and stuck somewhere when cleaning up the house last Thursday?” A quick look around in the usual hiding places yielded no results and my anxiety level cranked up a notch or two, but I was due to pick Liz up for the party. I kept telling myself it didn’t make that much difference, but that occasional fear that is not only in your head and heart but also moves down to your stomach was taking hold.

DISCOURAGEMENT: Here it was already Saturday approaching noon, we had missed the opportunity to go home in order to stay home and catch up, but now I was doomed to scouring the house for the missing checks. What do John and Gloria do in circumstances such as these? We took off for an outing to the A-Z store in Alma (45 miles) for an afternoon adventure to get our minds off of the lost checks.

ANXIETY: “Should we try to get back and help our friends now with their international dinner?”
occasionally checking my watch. Another expired option—pizza special picked up from Papa Murphy’s—more watching of the Olympics with one sleepy eye open (still no projects).

ELATION: In the middle of the night, I woke up and passionately asked God to remove the distraction of the lost checks and bring to mind where they might be. (I had tried this to no avail earlier in the day.) In a few minutes, after “walking backwards in my mind” as I used to remind our guys, the thought came to me that I had put an open shoebox on the floor by my bed, so in the dark, I reached over there and immediately put my hand on the blessed box. A quiet trip to the front room confirmed that the missing checks had been there all along, so it was easy to go back to sleep.

MORE FEELING A LITTLE GUILTY: Sunday morning, John’s ongoing sinus congestions was really bothering him. We were on the schedule to greet at church, so we took our positions at the door and decided to sit on the bleachers at the side since he was afraid he might need to get up and leave. Halfway through, we decided he would be better off in the open air (always the case) and on the way out decided we ought to try to redeem the weekend by going on a Sunday afternoon outing to check out the fishing spots he knew about and try to discover new ones. Lee’s short message (to be followed by an interactive activity) was on the Beattitudes, saying “blessed” means “intensely happy”. Being a good Perspectives graduate, I know we are blessed to be a blessing, but “intensely happy” seemed a bit illusive.
INTENSELY HAPPY: The trip to Beaver Dam proved to be just that kind of experience. The weather was near a perfect 10. We sat and listened to the horn blast and watched the water start to flow and felt the cool air moving up toward us. We finished off our picnic on the rocks, laughed at Zipper doing his cute things, and took a few crazy pictures. On the way back through Eureka Springs, we stopped off at Thorncrown Chapel and took more pictures to send to Easton for his “forget me not” book with the chapel in the background. Two often unphotogenic people actually produced some great pictures in the idealic setting. We returned, energized by the day and actually set out to paint the garden benches, clean the grill and do other outside projects.

DISAPPOINTMENT: Downloading the pictures on to the computer is something I’ve never felt very confident in doing, but I wanted to surprise John and do it without asking for help. I’ll spare the details, but—long story short—I forgot to save them and uncharacteristically erased them from the camera. My dear persevering husband spent a very long time trying to retrieve them, but the images were as fleeting as the happiness of the day. After the up and down experiences of the weekend, it was quite a blow to both of us.

So…we both seemed to be processing hard the state of blessedness. This is the life laboratory where it is mixed and the holy compound is produced. I want to record this to recall later because—like fish caught below the dam--we tend to remember the big events but the little ones get away, even though they are daily building blocks of discovering the sufficiency of transformed thinking. Placing lost checks and pictures on the grid of the constancy of the joy of walking in the light is the essence of walking in the Spirit. Monday morning, we find we are a little stronger in our resolve to walk by faith, a little more familiar with our heavenly Father, with a little more insight into how blessing overflows in the most unexpected places.

Thinking about June

Staying close to home is more fun sometimes that going somewhere. This week, we've been remembering why we love Northwest Arkansas so much. Thursday night was a concert at Gulley Park, Friday night was a cookout with some of the staff here, and yesterday we drove over to Eureka Springs for the afternoon. But we've had a busy June and it's fun to remember it. Mike and Susan dropped in to help us celebrate John's birthday.

Tisha and Tozer--the next generation of Kingdom builders at our big National Conference in Dallas.

Amazing Dr. Winter--still looking forward after 35 years of Perspectives.

The "War Room"

It was fun to unite Pasadena and Northwest Arkansas USCWM staff.

Liz and Gloria--the hospitality committee

JP--my boss!

Sussi and her control central team

Kevin, our friend of many years in Little Rock, is helping bring Perspectives to Brazil

Dinner with John's brothers Bryant and Ed and wives at Spring Creek Barbeque on our way out of town.

As Good as it Gets

Normally, I catch up from the weekend on Mondays, but I have a new bullet in my job description--getting out a resource newsletter to Perspectives alumnae. What looked like a short hour or two turned into an afternoon at our office, but it is a joy-filled task and I was well aware that God had given me a great privilege. I went home and cooked the corn on the cob and tomato wraps that we had bought at a roadside vendor we just discovered, right on Crossover by our house. Life is good.

It was beautiful and cool so I went out to do a little painting and ended up priming two garden benches that had weathered over the winter. Then the phone rang. It was Evan, husband of Emily and father of our dear Ella and Easton. John pretty much did the talking as I painted but I noticed my heart kind of sinking as they talked. As much as I love what we are doing right now, there is always that ache that there are grandkids a 15-hour drive away that I would love to be taking to the park, reading to, treating to McDonald's for breakfast, having puppet shows with, playing dress up with. The threatening cloud of dispair over my head turned into a full-fledged rainstorm when I came in, checked e-mail and found out about Carolyn, free of cancer for 16 years, but now faced with it again.

Just what kind of Christianity am I on a team trying to export around the world anyway? If it isn't able to fill the gaping holes of "heart hurt"--whether it's serious like starvation in a world far away or life-threatening anywhere or loneliness and disappointment--what good is it? He tells me to test me in this and see what I will do. I'm stepping out on what looks like thin air and you are the solid rock, suddenly materializing. It's good--and--it's worth exporting.

Our Cambodian Adventure

John and I just returned from two wonderful weeks in Cambodia with Hayden. One day from my journal captures the essence of the whole experience, I think. Write me at glomom@aristotle.net if you'd like to suffer through the whole account.

Sunday, May 18:
We were up early again, expecting Vonnie, Hayden’s old roommate to pick us up at 7. It was more like 7:45 after having picked up a niece and nephew (or cousins?) spending the day with him. We headed off to his village for church (Baptist), not too far out of town. We were a little late, but they graciously brought us chairs and water. At the end, they brought out some cookies for the congregation. Hayden said snacks were traditional and he added some bananas and other unidentifiable fruit to the table which was quickly snapped up.

Someone announced that those involved in the movie to be made (teaching Cambodian to tell Bible stories, effective in a Buddhist culture) should come to Vonnie’s house so when we got there in Vonnie’s brother’s borrowed Toyota, there was already a crowd. We had to wait a while until Tharit (Samuel) and David showed up. I pulled out some Kissable candies and put them on the table and they looked at them rather warily and a few disappeared. They said our food was too strange for them. Vonnie’s father was sitting at the table reading Hayden’s Cambodian Bible and later set the candies on the Bible and carried them into the house. Tired of waiting, the guys put on the costumes and they went ahead with the scene where Samuel chooses David out of a lineup of brothers.

More cell phone conversations, more confusion as to where to meet Tharit. So in the time we drove back up to the church to meet Tharit, he had arrived with his church van (rented from the church rather than a company so they could receive the $60 rental instead) and picked up all the guys (not the plan, but who wants to tell them they can’t come now? Not Hayden). By this time, it’s getting close to lunch, so both loaded cars head up the road. This mission requires sheep, almost non-existent in Cambodia but Tharit had managed to locate some dark rough-looking ones that—for the world—looked like they belonged in David’s world. The decision is made to stop for lunch, as it’s still an hour’s drive away to the sheep. The restaurant is a big open-air affair with large tables that everyone sits around on cross-legged. Hayden orders 4 dishes for the group, but the waiters see a chance to increase the income from this large group and brings out 13 dishes. Tharit and Hayden go and complain but the damage is done and the movie budget for the day has been increased substantially. I couldn’t eat anything but the rice, but these young guys seemed to think this soup with bugs in it (really!) was great.

Without any thank-you’s for the budget-breaker lunch, we loaded up again, and eventually pulled off the roadside at a non-descript little spot where they spilled out again and ran down to the muddy flowing river. We waited for a boat to cross and ferry us back to the island, inhabited mostly by widows. We noticed the boat was taking in water and were relieved to get to the island where everyone disembarked. In the typical unorganized Cambodian way, the scene was shot and the sheep cooperated beautifully. Afterwards, Tharit told us this had been a killing field and took us across the field to look in a shed where he said the bones had been gathered but someone had buried them. No one, obviously, had baled water out of the boat, so still taking it in, we arrived at the other side and, paid up, Tharit returned the vanload of boys back to the village. We were becoming hopeful that we would be returned ourselves.

Vonnie, though, thought it seemed normal for Hayden and his parents to participate in the customary Sunday afternoon visiting of each other’s houses. Vehicles used to haul things during the week were loaded today with people riding around from place to place. We stopped at a relative’s house, thinking it was where the niece and nephew lived, but they got out and played while we sat on the table in front of their house, not talking, just drinking the water they had offered us. We walked down to the river behind their house then Hayden suggested it was time to move on. One more stop was in order and this time it was where the children lived, but we still accepted another bottle of water and visited best we could. Hayden ran back over to the office and returned with spicy tuna and bread and we all collapsed. I told John while we were sitting at Vonnie’s that I felt like I might as well be in outer space, the whole thing was so surreal and I think we will always refer to Sunday as our alien adventure.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream...

According to that great American poetry, we all scream for ice cream! This weekend, we had a staff retreat at Silver Dollar City, ate at Fuddrucker's across the street from the hotel, and then mosied over to Cold Stone Creamery afterwards on the other side of the parking lot. At CSC, if you want just a taste, order the "Like It". If that doesn't seem adequate, order "Love It". But if you want the mother lode of that frozen delight, go for the "Gotta Have It"! If life is an ice cream parlor, why do I always order "Like It"? Provider of All Life's Delights, increase my appetite for all you have, mixed with all the add in's. I want to feel like I "gotta have it".

Connoisseurs

Since we have moved to Fayetteville, we are amazed at how the junk mail producers have found us up here. In today's mail, John received a free year reservation card from a magazine called Robb Report, subtitled "for the luxury lifestyle" for a mere $65, $153 off the newstand price. This is very interesting, considering we are doing anything but pursuing a "luxury lifestyle" up here at the USCWM. Better check that target market, Robb.

It clearly states "It's a state of mind. A way of life. An attitude. It's nothing but the best." The little enclosure for hesitant recipients--they all have these, I know; I was a marketing major--says "Why you?" They think John is "someone with sophistication, style, and a self-assured sense of the finer things in life" (meaning yachts, Chateau Haut-Brion 2002, Matasa cigars, Patek Philippe Swiss watches, Lamborghini's $1.5 million Super Coupe,...). They think John is "a connoisseur of life's rewards". That one hit me--if they only knew what a connoisseur he is, well versed on the glories yet to be revealed. He knows exactly where life's rewards are and I'm guessing they're not found in the pages of Robb Report.

Clouds, smartwater, and other pure thoughts

I'm not really sure why certain shapes appeal to your sense of design more than others, but the Glaceau smartwater bottles are irresistable to this normally sales-resistant Scotch soul of mine. Coming back from a recent trip, I made my purchase at the Shell station and was dreamily watching the billowy clouds out the window in the passenger seat as we slid down I40 (sheer contentment!) and casually read the copy on the back: "Is it just us or do clouds get a bad rap? while we admit they're not as great to have around on a beach day, as say, the sun, clouds are unsung heroes because they contain nature's purest source of water...".

My mind drifted to Joni Mitchell's song, "I've looked at clouds from both sides now..." then to riding in the window seat of an airliner, dreaming about walking on the clouds, thinking how God looks down on the earth... I'm back home on a dreary rainy day, and when I got ready to write about this, I looked up the lyrics for that song--what a depressing song!

"Bows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the airAnd feather canyons everywhere, i've looked at cloud that way.But now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyone.So many things i would have done but clouds got in my way...."

"Moons and junes and ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you feelAs every fairy tale comes real; i've looked at love that way.But now it's just another show. you leave 'em laughing when you goAnd if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away."

"Tears and fears and feeling proud to say "i love you" right out loud,Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, i've looked at life that way.But now old friends are acting strange, they shake their heads, they sayI've changed.Something's lost but something's gained in living every day."

Joni, I wish I could sit down with you and give you a better perspective. There is much to be gained in living every day, knowing that the reality is the sun that is always there, regardless of the clouds we see. Enjoy the "angel hair and feather canyons"! Walking by faith and not by sight gives us "x-ray vision" to see beyond and REALLY KNOW the One who spoke it all into existence, the One who is preparing a place for us--all paradise, no clouds.

PHD in Passion and Vision

I read in the morning meeting notes from Pasadena that yesterday was the 40th anniversary of the death of Martin Luther King. That brought a marker to the forefront of my mind of the day I heard about this. It's one of those dates that remind you exactly where you were at the time; for me, it was a night in Room 408 of Hotz Hall at the University of Arkansas, reading an English assignment, In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Those were dark days of campus unrest and pessimism, largely due to the Vietnam War and a groundswell of cultural decline. I had wanted to major in art, but my family insisted that I go the business route so my upbringing and my personality allowed me to produce excellent grades as a Marketing major and acquire a BSBA but not with a lot of heart. In fact, there's not much from my college academic education that prepared me for anything I have done in my life--at least, so far. Furthermore, all of our lives and our daily education has been tainted by the likes of Ophah--not good--see http://youtube.com/watch?v=JW4LLwkgmqA.

USCWM. FMF. PSP. PCW. Everything has letters in our office. There is a move afoot to train new class coordinators in a greatly improved way (PCW)--not just how to fill out forms and conduct the class but to do all these things with passion and vision. I caught myself yesterday with my elbow on my desk and my chin in my hand, staring beyond the notes on my computer screen, thinking how every avenue of our education, unlike my college experience, should teach you how to walk through the motions but always with the ultimate goal of passion and vision.

One of the major things every good Perspectives student takes away is that the Great Commission of Jesus in Matthew 28 really means, "As you go, make disciples, teaching them identification with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and to do what He says--no matter how hard it looks or how strange. He says, "I will hold your hand through it all. You'll be really glad you did because we're the only Ones who will be around until the end of the age." Well, that's my paraphrase anyway. I feel like I've been in the under-achiever's track in my Great Commission class over many of my years, not headed for any degree really. By God's grace, though, He has put a desire in my heart for that PHD. And why does anyone want a PHD? They want to teach!

Ruined for the Ordinary: Personal Reflection

I am ruined for the ordinary. It happened after taking Perspectives on the World Christian Movement. In fact, so many of us have been ruined that, I--who now work for Perspectives, am editor of a newsletter that goes to Class Coordinators and Instructors called...yes, "Ruined for the Ordinary".

So what did "ordinary" look like for us? Going to church every Sunday, raising kids that would hopefully do the same for the rest of their days while meeting their need in every possible way to join in team sports, get the best education, be as comfortable as possible and enjoy all the American lifestyle has to offer, AND know how to get along with everyone in their world without carrying any emotional baggage into their adult lives so they could raise their children in the same way.

So what happened? Unbeknownst to us, God had had us on a collision course with the ordinary for some time. It was innocent enough--commit to read a big textbook and listen to 15 different people talk about their exotic experiences in places like tribal Indonesia and post-Christian Amsterdam. Somehow, the Spirit of God whispered to us, "Comfort and clean living put you at the starting block; now run the race!" After the first five weeks of hearing the Story of His Glory, all that has run through our minds is SIGN UP AND START RUNNING. And, by the way, prepare for a marathon, not a sprint.

So how are you doing? Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, like last night, and--I admit it--the ordinary still sounds really good. I don't know if it was going to our staff friends' daughter's soccer game and coming home feeling nostalgic about the days when our lives were busy with family activities. Thought balloons: They are ruined too, but they still have their family. I have boys and they don't keep up too well. It sure would be easy to go back to Little Rock where we had roots. I just let those thoughts roost a little too long. It's not Mile 21 where I've hit the wall. It's much more like where you slow down a little to grab the Gatorade being offered to you from the sidelines, to regroup and refresh, and to get your mind back in the game.

That's not ordinary. That's extraordinary. That's what I'm ruined for--the rush of spiritual adrenalin that comes to you in the low points and reminds you to run like the wind--a long obedience in the same direction, as Eugene Peterson calls it. I press on through sleepless nights for the upward call of Christ Jesus knowing there's a finish line. From the other side of the line, ordinary doesn't look like a very good option.