God in the Pit

Daniel 6:16-23

Trusting God in “The Pit”

“And when Daniel was lifted from the den, no wound was found on him, because he had trusted in his God...” (v. 23 b)


Rev. John Khamis, was one of 40 students who attempted to escape from Juba to avoid the systematic killing of intellectuals by the Government of Sudan (GOS). John, who had just graduated from Bishop Gywn Theological College, thought it better to die trying to flee these ruthless henchmen than to be falsely accused of being a Sudan People’s Liberation informant and be taken to the White House - the “Auschwitz of Sudan”. Although they made a successful escape out of Juba eventually the group was ambushed by GOS soldiers. Six of the party, who tried to run for their lives, were killed. After burying their dear friends the remaining 34 were placed in an underground pit (a typical jail during the war) for two days to await death as they were told, “your cases are for the firing squad”.

Besides being subjected to the mental anguish of awaiting their deaths, conditions in this pit were terrible: it was excruciatingly hot, these prisoners were given no food and to compound the torture only two cups of water were given for them to pass around 34 parched bodies. They carefully shared it sip by sip - no one went without. John says that while he was in the pit this passage from Daniel was a great comfort to him as he knew that the same God who was able to save Daniel from death as he spent a night in a den with lions was right there with him. He was able to be an encouragement to these other students taken as Prisoners of War and they spent much of their time praying and singing.

During the time my friend John Khamis was in the pit in South Sudan the very Government of Sudan soldiers who had captured him asked John to preach to them! Amazed by this request John preached boldly from Psalm 91. The verses from this Psalm were a great encouragement to John, not only when he was in the hole but also throughout the next 3 weeks in which he lived through what sounds like a nightmare.

As they were brought out from the pit John and his colleagues were told that until their executions they were to act as servants for the soldiers as they travelled from Juba to Yei amidst very heavy onslaughts by the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement (SPLA). Under continual bombardment it took this GOS military convey 3 weeks to travel the 100 miles. One of John’s duties was to bury the remains of the 96 GOS soldiers killed in the ambushes. Conditions were terrible: these POW’s were given little food or water and their dirty, blood-soaked clothes were never washed.

The group decided that each of them should individually try to escape if they had opportunity. So, with God’s promises to be his shelter and refuge in his heart (vs.1-2) John, who also served as the commander’s cook, took the opportunity to “make a run for it“ when sent to collect firewood. Once this was discovered the GOS soldiers followed him in hot pursuit but with God’s help he was able to dodge the bullets and make his way to safety. Nevertheless, in order to intimidate the other POW’s, the soldiers reported they had killed John. Word of his “death” reached his family and friends so a funeral was held. But saved ”from the fowler’s snare”, even as his funeral was occurring John was making his way home to Yei. Three and 1/2 weeks after his capture and after one final traumatic event, of being robbed and narrowly escaping execution from SPLA soldiers, John stumbled into Yei town to the utter amazement of family and friends.

Forgiving When it Hurts

“….I tell you, not seven times but seventy times seven.” (v. 22)

After 3 weeks of continual trauma, in which his life was at stake, our friend John was emotionally, spiritually and physically spent. However, as he arrived in Yei, which had just been captured (liberated) from the Government of Sudan (GOS), he found himself in a situation in which even more was asked of him. John arrived in a very different Yei than that from which he left years earlier: virtually all permanent buildings had been bombed and destroyed, food was scarce and much of the civilian population had fled. 10,000 GOS soldiers, captured as POW”S, were crammed into a local school and, not being provided with food, were dying at the rate of six per day.

The local Catholic priest’s heart went out to these captives and he requested relief food from CEAS (the relief wing of the New Sudan Council of Churches). Just after his arrival, John was asked to join the priest in distributing rations to these POW’s. John admits his initial reaction to this request was reluctance – one can understand how difficult it would be for him to assist soldiers of the army which was exterminating his friends in Juba and which tried its best to kill him as well. However, John shared that as this passage from Matthew came to mind he knew God was calling him to not only forgive those who had inflicted him with such pain but that he was to minister to them. So for the next 2 weeks these two Christian ministers single-handedly carried out a sacrificial ministry of mercy by feeding these 10,000 prisoners who everyone else refused to help.

As John does training with us in the areas of trauma healing, human rights and reconciliation he has powerful stories to share and the people really listen. He has “walked the talk” as with God’s help he has faced situations of torture and danger, but probably what is most miraculous is how John has learned to forgive and practice reconciliation. We are blessed to count him as our friend and colleague.

Dear Lord, Help me to remember that just as there is no limit to the forgiveness you have offered to us through Christ we are called, through the power of your Spirit, to a lifestyle of forgivenes and reconciliation.

Rush Hour on Main Street, Yei, Sudan

Well, we're closing in on the end of a month in Africa. I'm preparing my heart to leave for home today. The beauty, warmth, and hunger of the continent weigh on my soul, stir it, and send sparkles around my skin when i stop to think and feel. which isn't too often as I thrash about trying to do some good. Since being in Africa I have done the Healing Trauma work and balanced that with orphanage work. On the other hand, my best laid plans to balance being and doing were mostly thwarted. Some quiet sitting, but not much. I, and you as well, perhaps would be advised and in-formed to listen to Parker Palmer in his book, A Hidden Wholeness:

The soul is like a wild animal—tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, self-sufficient. It knows how to survive in hard places. But is is also shy. Just like a wild animal, it seeks safety in the dense underbrush. If we want to see a wild animal, we know that the last thing we should do is go crashing through the woods yelling for it to come out. But if we wil walk quietly into the woods, sit patiently by the base of the tree, and fade into our surroundings, the wild animal we seek might put in an appearance. …

Later, Ruth says, “…It’s tricky to get the soul to come out. We are not very safe for ourselves, because our internal experience involves continual critique and judgment, and the tender soul does not want to risk it. Unfortunately, a lot of our religious activity is very noisy as well; oftentimes we’re just an organized group of people crashing through the woods together, making so much noise that there’s not a soul in sight. (p 33).

My own quest to hear the voice of God directing me, might in fact boil down to not taking the time to listen carefully and quietly to my own soul’s desires. Lord, quiet me so my soul is in sight. Tender my spirit to your Voice so I can hear here. Thanks!

a story of courage and suffering

Rev. Paul's story--a man of suffering and courage

I was born around 1949 in a village Lanyi in South Sudan. My father died when I was still in the womb. My first given name is Tapiako, and that means “no father.” We were born six children. All the other five children died. Then my mother died when I was nine years old. No one was there to care for me. I suffered a lot. At that time there was no church or school known by me. I was just in the bush, with the life of the bush. I was taken in by an uncle, an old man whom I helped as a boy until he died.

When I was there in the mud tukul there were goats and chickens also in that place. On one wall there was also printed in red an alphabet in English. I began to say my letters and by myself I learned to read a Moro primer without going to school. There were so many wild animals around, like leopards, hyenas, and lions. I felt danger around me.

One day the three children of my uncle, who I was sleeping with in the tukul, were taken by their mother. I was left alone again in the room that night . This big python entered the room. He ate the animals around me. I never knew that. I was sleeping. I wake up early in the morning and I scream. Many people came. When the community came they killed the python. People quarreled and asked the uncle why he had left me alone there. One community lady, a relative, took me to be with her. I was three days and then someone else came and said he wanted me. I went with him. I was eleven or twelve.

After two years another uncle came and asked me to come and live with him. I saw some school boys going to school and I wanted to join them but the uncle said for me to stay home and look after the farm animals so the wild animals wouldn’t eat them. After one year I went to school anyway. I started at grade two. I was doing women’s work since no woman was there to do the grinding of sorghum. This was humiliating for me as a boy but that was all I could do. Later, as I look back, I praise God since it was preparing me to help as a parent for my children, and do what I needed to survive.

In 1964 I passed class three. War broke out. We scattered into the bush eight years and in that time I became a Christian. The Bible became very important to me. Without that I would not be here. God revealed many things to me during that time in dreams and visions. One vision I got was that I was to cross a river balancing on a thread walking across the river. Another dream was so powerful that my left eye was blind for a very long time as a sign that God had spoken. I was also given the gifts of preaching and prayer. I was baptized in 1966 and took the name, Paul.

I grew up very risky. I faced many different things. I have no idea to marry. No one to support me for a dowry. After some time I gained courage and I asked one woman to marry, and she agreed. I went to Juba and cut grass for 3 months to earn money. I paid the dowry. We married. We have been blessed with 7children. Our first child is 21 now. She is a girl.

A main fear I have is of not having enough money to pay school fees. This year two children are in secondary school. Fees are 120 pounds/term/child. There are three terms in school year. Another child will be in secondary school in 2009. The remaining four children are in primary school where school fees are only 50 pounds/term/child. Fees go up every semester. My children want me to get another job with better money to pay for them better. I tell them that God will provide that; my calling is to be a pastor and I will remain to do that work. I want to serve my Lord until I go to heaven.

As a pastor my income is very small. Sometimes I plant maize (corn) and when I am doing my church work and return to my fields after some days it is all eaten by monkeys. I have a heavy load as a pastor. Last year my salary was 10 pounds and 24 cups of grain a month. This month they increased it to 50 pounds a month (about $25 USD). This is not enough to feed me and my family. One chicken costs that much.

Recently my church building was taken by the archbishop for his own and I was chased out of the building. My congregation meets with me under a mango tree. We are about 250, mainly children and women. We have begun to build another church. I need about $13,000 US dollars to finish my church building again. We need that for iron sheets, concrete, transport of materials. So that is my problem: children and church. When the church is finished being built I want to open a school for small children because I love them. I love children very much.

billy goat faith

September 28th 2008

This morning Dima and I are waking up in the Bakata compound to a chorus of roosters crowing, children coughing up their malaria phlegm, and the sounds of teeth being brushed. I pulled back my bed net and moved out of the tukul. Teeth brushed and a visit to “baby goat” latrine, and now I am sitting out in the front yard praying and thinking my thoughts along with an assist from John Henry Jowett.

I’m trying to admit grace into my doubting, diss-ing, and duplicity of believing unbelief. With Jowett I wonder how much grace my unbelief can withstand. Can I have the resolve to hope for the Father's ongoing nudges, conversational intimacy, and present guidance at least equal to that of a baby goat?

I’m thinking of Bakata’s story of a new baby goat that had gone missing and presumed lost. They hunted for it near and far to no avail. Then after 7 days Bakata’s mother was going to the latrine and heard a soft bleating beneath the squat spot. She looked down, shone a torch, and there it was off to the side up to it’s haunches in poop. It had survived without its mom in a dark and smelly place for a week. Bakata removed part of the top of the pit, and dropped some grass on top of the poor. The baby struggled to get to the food. At that point Bakata lowered a noose around the goat’s neck and gradually he drew it up. Restored it to its mom. Amazing. Billy goat faith.

Tending Harvesters

October 2nd 2008

It’s a new day. Roosters across the countryside chorusing together. After having watched “How Great Is Our God” last night with Chris Tomlin and Louie Giglio, my heart was warmed and perspectivized. I felt myself shrinking in that good universal shrink wrap. Down goes the pride as up goes the Lord into something miniscully approximating his true grandeur. When I think of that one galaxy 31 million light years (x 5.88 trillion miles) away from us, with the figure of the cross in its black hole core, I just shake my head and smile. Sudan in perspective. Me in perspective.

October 3, 2008

I just returned from Harvester’s Orphange where I met with about 25 teachers and their principal for a staff development meeting. The founder and CEO, Dennis, is pictured with me. Eight years ago nothing was here but bush. Now this group feeds 500 mouths a day out a a dozen or more buildings.

I spoke on stages of discipline in a classroom, some materials I had liberally lifted off different internet sites with some of my own salt and pepper. These were primarily men, teaching pre-schoolers and primary schoolers! Amazing. Warm, humble bunch, far as I could see.

What a blessing to be told I was a blessing to them all. I think I had some encouragement and information to offer them, in that order. I told them they were my heroes, that it was for such a time as this that they were called to be the body that Christ no longer has on this planet to that group of people whom Christ is particularly fond, orphans. I thanked them for Him. I said that they might be the only representative of a Father that these children might ever see that was kind and loving. God with skin on Him. Their heads were nodding, some eyes puddling. It was a holy moment. Thank you Lord for your most awesome gifting to them thru me whilst I stood by and watched.

Thunder Therapy vs Balloon Therapy

I was leaving with a few others at 5 pm today to visit Judah House orphanage. Dima was driving up as we were leaving in a group. He leaned out and said, you want me to join you? I said yes. He jumped out and began to walk with Simon and I toward town. Simon is a “lost boy” that I got to know from last year, one of 4,000 in Uganda that were orphaned and banded together as a family group to survive in the bush. He escaped from this group, was adopted by the Catholics, educated, and now works here. He walked with us along the dry, pitted Miridi Rd, well past his turn off, and pointed the further way to the orphanage. We thanked him, continued.

The skies were darkening. Dirt devils swirled the dusty road and blew leaves and twigs up in our faces, causing us to turn away and walk backwards. We walked and as we talked Dima got anxious to get back home. We continued to walk another mile or so , and the rain spitted and stopped, fat raindrops hiccupping down out of the skies.

Dima said, where are all the others? Where are we going? How long will this take. He was not overly impressed with our situation. I said, Dima, your attitude is grinding on me like steel wool on a wound. If you continue to feel like you’d not like to be with me, please turn around and go back to Reconcile. He kept walking, head down. It began raining in earnest. We kept walking. Silent. Together.

Our spirits were more miserable with each other than the weather was with us. Particularly since we have forgotten our umbrellas and rain jackets. Oh well, it was warm and sticky still from the beating heat of the 95 degree day. The rain actually was a welcome cool-down.

We arrived at the Judah House orphanage. It was still deplorable. One lonely, sour mama with ten children or so. Beer bottles empty in her bedroom but no bed-nets in evidence. Little food. Barefoot. Rags. Broke my heart. Father Simon no where to be found. Gone for two days without giving anyone an idea of where he was to be. Will be back to check later in the week.

We walked home 4 miles or so in the pouring rain side by side. Totally slammed by the storm. Weirdly enough, it was a good experience. Dima’s mood improved as we went. This is a tribute to his resilience. He bounces back from slumps quicker than mercury. We made jokes back and forth as we walked past Yei town people standing under cover: “we dumb Americans don’t have enough sense to get out of the rain….” People calling to us from their porches, laughing. Go figure. Happily hammered. Father and son recovering, working stuff out. Someone must have been praying.

October 1, 2008

Today another visit to Judah House after the morning meetings. Kirsten, from Germany, age 25, went with us. A wonderful Christian young woman. Thunder bumpers in the sky but no rain today, so far. Kirsten broke out the balloons once we got there. Children yelping with glee. Balloon therapy.

a special mission

I have to leave for Kibera in a few minutes. My task today is to tell the children a story. this is what I think I might say:

Once upon a time a baby was born to very poor parents in a dark slum. He was an unknown child of a King, his Father. He was on a special mission. He had planted inside himself a little voice from his Father that told him he was very loved, very important to his father, and on a special mission. He grew up poor, without a lot to eat sometimes. He did the right thing as he listened inside himself to a little voice that said, “this is the right thing to do. I love you. Your Father.” So he spoke the truth as he saw it in a loving way. First to this one and then to that one.

He told a lot of stories that his father had given to him to tell. He told stories about little people who loved each other even when it cost them a lot. He told stories about rich people in power to were greedy and selfish, who just wanted to make themselves feel and look very important. His life was very full and loving and he laughed a lot. Then one day the important men in charge of the slum, the rich men, decided they didn’t like his stories. He embarrassed them. They made secret plans. Bad plans. They wanted him to die. So one night when he was walking home they rushed out and attacked him. They killed him. They dumped his body below a lot of trash. His body got covered over by sewage and flies. Three days went by.

And then, on the morning of the 3rd day, he got up, alive again, out of the trash. He walked around the slum. He showed people the wounds where he was stabbed. He gave them food. He loved them.

And it wasn’t long before his Father called him back to his Home where he still is today. But his Father’s voice still is speaking if you listen very hard in the morning when you wake up, or at night right before you sleep, or in quiet moments during the day. He’s talking to you too. He’s telling you the same message, “I love you so much. You are very special. I’m especially fond of you. I will protect you and give you food in your spirit to eat that others do not see. Be faithful to me and I will be faithful to you.” The end.

I don’t know if I can remember what I just typed. We’ll see. I love you. I have to go. I’m on a special mission.

the widow's mite

This morning we again waded through open sewage in the streets to get from the edge of the slum into the orphan center. When we finally got to Risa’s Child Home in Kibera, the world’s largest slum, it was about 10 am. We wandered through the classrooms, picked up and comforted children, stirred beans that were boiling for 3 hours to be mixed with rice and a little fatback and spice, for the children’s only meal that day. Not overly balanced diet but it would fill up gnawing stomaches.

We had a little break time, devotional in nature, with some tea in Risa’s office. I asked each of the four staff about themselves. None of them are licensed teachers, but they all know more than the children. Rarely are they paid; mostly this is just giving their time. One of them in particular impressed me. I asked her, Elizabeth, in the picture, what in the world motivated her to get up each day to come here and work. She smiled about a mile wide and said, “I just looooove these children! God puts that love in me for them and I can just feel it coming out of me when I am with them.”

Later, as it turns out, after some probing, she has been married over 20 years, her husband and she have 4 children of their own and they take home another three each night who have no where else to go. He makes 1000 shillings a week doing construction jobs (about $15). They tithe that. Then they give an offering on top of that. Then they buy groceries. Tea in the mornings if they can afford it (with a teaspoon of sugar if they have extra money that week); most often a glass of water. Lunch consists of whatever at noon that the orphan care center provides; sometimes that is nothing. Then a little cooked flour paste at night, called flaa, with some beans and water, perhaps a little rice. This woman and her husband, and three children, plus four guardian children plus another teacher from the school, Anne, all sleep in one small room on empty sacks that used to contain sand or concrete. The next day they all get up and do it again.

Just the Right Recipe of Apart-Togetherness in His Master Menu of Obedience

Wednesday. Sept. 24th 2008

* Hold on. You’ll be hearing from Vance real soon now.

If you simply taste and savor the metaphoric thoughts of this caption, straight from Vance… who knows where God will draw you? Vance, you capture our attention with essentials such as these ~ once again! Thank you for your careful listening to Him and sharing with us.

September 23rd 6:58 AM “We’re well and happy. Just checking to 2 say we love u and miss u; all the while having amazing adventures.”

Provided me an opportunity to… smile!

September 23rd 10:09 PM “Thanks so much for updates…and for folks helping you. Bless them. Pool water looking ok? 4 tabs in strainer and 4 in floater? My mind floats in and out on house chores, missing the familiarity of it all. At the same time my heart is tugging away from that scene to mission fields afar. Waiting is hard even as I travel actively. I love you more each day as our Master Chef plans just the right recipe of apart-togetherness in His master menu of obedience. I am learning to listen to His starts, stops, and taste tests before I turn on the mixmaster and have mashed potatoes all over the ceiling… [smile] Right now we are well and getting closer to the Kibera slum work tomorrow. Blessings!

I really loved the “help” Kenya! [Brought more smiles].

You have to know Garrison Keillor to appreciate “mashed potatoes all over the ceiling” – the master Mark Twain of our era was ruminating in his head having a conversation with his mother – who apparently continues to mother him into his eldering years… Been here! Done that? And, to the degree you know Vance, well… it’s good, real good that he’s learning the “art of taste tests before turning on the mixmaster…”

Above all else, return thanks for all the Savior has done… and is doing… in Kenya, Sudan, all of Africa, around the world … and in the United States… “pray about everything He brings into your heart and mind.” He’s counting on us to move His hands… so He can show us HE IS GOD, Lord of Everything - It’s His Power, His Majesty, His Money… It’s even HIS election, if we call on Him earnestly! Just press into Him – into His Goodness, His Wisdom, and His Power. Require it of Him. He delights in people who are passionately in love with Him. Oh yes, He is.

I received a lengthy, wonderful, absolutely exciting post from Vance - and it's captioned - for the blog. so, ya'll will hear soon. Blessings!

O THE BEAUTY ... The Mystery of His Majesty reflecting opposites yet whole

Monday. September 22nd 2008

Perhaps you think it is Mount Kilimanjaro or the Rift Valley to which I refer in this caption. Or, Lake Baringo, which lies in the solitude of the "semi-desert area and is described as a haven of peace and beauty in harsh, rugged but majestic surroundings." Vance and Dima are experiencing these beauties on their pilgrimage. Google the areas … and we can catch a glimpse…

There is satisfaction in holding seeming contradictions together -- peace and beauty with harsh and rugged circumstances... or a desert with springs of refreshment... or one's unspoken struggles hidden in deserted aloneness and hardly anyone knows ~ except HIM, The One Who holds all things together by the power of HIS Word.


What marvelous “coincidences” are prepared by Providential grace! The Shepperson Men accepted the assignment. And, the “taste and see… The Lord, He is Good” … is beyond their description.

And, HIS majesty extends to all His Creation… including you and I. Our road is full of surprises. To quote a favorite of ours, J. H. Jowett, “We see the frowning, precipitous hill, and we fear it, but when we arrive at its base we find a refreshing spring!” “That is the surprising way of the Lord. He delights to hang great weights on apparently slender wires, to have great events turn on seeming trifles, and to make poverty the minister of “the indescribable riches of Christ.”

What joy it was for me to receive this message below just minutes before I commenced my first work day of this week.

September 22nd @ 7:55 AM. “It’s been a good day with Edgar (family to Helen) and Dima. Traveled 175 miles in E’s car through gorgeous country. Now at hotel with hot springs, pools. Swim and eat ~ with monkeys eating off table. God is good.”

Simple and true.

May God enliven your steps, catch you by surprise, to see the splendor of Him next to refreshing, yet surprising available springs. One of my surprising springs? That I’m EVEN writing in this sheppersonsblog… - no less enjoying it! This was never a conversation between Vance and I. Won’t he be surprised when he initiates his first entry since Sunday, September 14th? Oh, yes!

Two Families Meet & Create A Divine Moment for their "daughter"

Today is the day! Going by Easy Coach, Vance and Dima traveled from Nairobi to visit Helen Maritim’s family who live in the Rift Valley. You can read a “comment” by Helen in this blog just a couple entries back. Helen is a student at Hope International University, master’s program. She’s the youngest in a family of 12!

We met on a Saturday morning in 2007 at Starbucks ~ Helen, sipping tea, had just arrived from Kenya. Vance and I, enjoying coffee and breakfast, had just returned from Thailand… we struck up a “Shepperson conversation” and …boom ~ one of those “divine appointments” happened. We’ve adopted one another and she’s simply ecstatic that “Dad and Dima” are at her home.

When I called her tonight with the news from “Dad” she said, “Thank you, Mom, so much for calling and telling me. I didn’t know what happened. Nobody called me. I am soooo happy. It is so good.”

Here’s Vance’s text: 12:30 PM …most welcomed in all my life. 30 people in midst of road singing & dancing us all the way 2 the house. Dima said they felt at home with us in such short time. Fun! Much 2 tell. Baringo 2morrow. 250 miles 2 travel. Dima misses u, as do I…

The Latest: Good Apart-Together

Friday. September 19th 5:40 AM On the way down this pile of rocks. Dima with the speed grp of 3; me with the more sedate six. All good fun. Sore. Looking forward to hot bath. Nairobi 2morrow.

September 19th 5:55 AM Made it to the bottom. Good blend of apart togetherness. Off on shuttle 2morrow 2 Nairobi at BLT. Miss all of u. Dad

September 19th 6:18 AM Thanks 4 prayers. All our climb God breathed; blown higher than any chemicals could do. … Dima used the mtn as an endurance teacher.

Once again, on behalf of the Shepperson men contingency, warrior wife and mom writes: We’re thousands of miles apart. Separate continents, separated by a huge expanse of land and water. Yet… marvelously held together. Simple and profoundly amazing! Mt. Kilimanjaro to Fullerton … come in Fullerton! Vance to Bethyl? Can you hear me now? ~ Amazing technology. And, the Lord Who dwells within each of us draws us together in Himself. Amazing grace. — How sweet the sound! We are above all most privileged. "He's big enough to rule this mighty universe, yet... small enough to live within our hearts." Thank You!

SEPTEMBER 14-18, 2008... BECOMING Friends...

BECOMING Friends

On behalf of the male Shepperson contingency, warrior wife and mom, Bethyl Joy, —back at the homestead-- is reporting their current events. In Vance’s last email, Sunday, the 14th he wrote: "Will leave laptop here in hotel safe. Might be out of touch for 5 days on the mountain but will check in when we return on late Friday, the 19th. Not sure of phone reception on mountain but will take phone and turn it on occasionally to see if there is any signal strength, but not to count on it or worry if you don’t hear." An empathic wisdom to pass on to me... The times recorded are California but Tanzania and Kenya are 10 hours forward.

September 14th 2:41 AM We are getting on well.

September 16th 2:42 AM Loving life @ 11000 feet. Love you lots! V

September 16th 6:17 AM Made it happily to 2nd base camp @ 12000 feet. Dima’s little headache and hip ache fixed w ibuprofen. He’s getting on well w whole grp. I’m more than fine. Love.

September 17th 9:30 PM All is well. God’s own dear spirit is vibrant within me. Is. 40:31. [They that wait upon the lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.] The mt [mountain] is my friend, taking me closer 2 Him, one slow, scree strewn step at a time. Your #1 guy. [fyi…scree: “accumulation of small or broken stones, such as at the bottom of a steep slope].

September 17th 10:54 PM Got 2 top. Exhausted. But happy. Love u lots.

I’m dancing! Reading and rereading this last text with joy. Thank You, Lord!

We are His body. So… to each one of you who has refreshed Vance and Dima with your prayers for wonderment, health, strength, endurance, safety, protection, and simply being full of joy for them to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro together, God says “will himself be refreshed” (Proverbs 11:25). KEEP ON KEEPING ON!

These are my ponderings as Dad and son, older man and younger man, have embarked on their grand adventure together: "Because you have made the Lord your refuge, and the Most High your dwelling place, there shall no evil befall you, nor any plague or calamity come near your tent. For He will give His angels [especial] charge over you to accompany and defend, and preserve you in all your ways [of obedience and service]" ~ Psalm 91:9-11

Kilimanjaro

September 17th and 18th , 2008
6 pm. We're ready to sleep after having arrived at Kibo camp, elevation 14,700 ft. We are to get up by 11 pm and attempt the summit, climb back down to camp 3, and after an hour of sleep, return to base camp 2. All of this to be done “sowly-sowly”. Slow steps. Our group is bonding well. Thank you, Lord. I’m steeling myself for this cold while my head aches, I’m dizzy and a little nauseated, but other than being this little impaired, I’m fine.
11 pm. Group gets up for tea and crackers. We line up back of other groups ahead of us. Others start out and a little row of head-lamps stretches up at a strikingly vertical angle toward the summit at 19,890 ft. we go in little switch back trail angles, following our 61 year old native leader, Fataelli, and his four sons who are assistant guides. The one assigned to me is Harrod. He paces alongside me.
The climb itself is extremely rigorous. The symptoms of hypoxia kicked in for me at about 16,000 feet—slurred speech, hallucinations, tingling, dizziness, headache, nausea. And on top of that my head was thumping out of my chest. I would walk a few steps and then long to stop and rest. The guides encouraged me to keep going. After awhile I would stop, in spite of their encouragement, and take a short break. The rest of the group moved ahead of me and Harrod stayed with me as I rested a few minutes longer than they did at one stop. I hated to hold them up, but hated even more not listening to my rag-tag body yammering at me to slow down. I still arrived at one of the two Kibo peaks only 20 minutes behind the others, just as the dawn was breaking in the eastern sky over Mawezi, the smaller peak of the two volcano’s that form Mt Killi.

I don’t think I could have planned a better rite of passage for Dima. He did very well. I’m proud of him. He made it to the top, smiled at Fatelli, and then promptly threw up close to the guide’s boots. Others in the group had bouts of nausea and vomiting as well as hallucinations, parasthesias, dizziness, jackhammers going off in their heads while steel bands tightened back of their eyes. Anyway, dramatics aside, Cate told me later that Dima would stand at the summit and look down as each climber rounded the visual bend below, asking, “Is that my dad, is this one my dad?” His eager anticipation touched her heart, touches my heart as I remember her words now. When I got there to Gilman’s Summit I looked for him, found him, we hugged, took the required pix, and hung out for awhile before starting the climb back down. We were both too spent to hike another hour and a half to the slightly higher summit (200 meters higher) of Uhuru.
A unique experience of the climb down: slaloming thru a volcanic ash scree field of about a mile’s distance at a 60 degree angle down. Harrod took my arm in his arm and together we launched ourselves down, heels out, bent backwards against the mountain, and careened down through layers of ash and lava chunks. Fun! I had to stop often with trembling muscles, raw toes, and sheer exhaustion. By the time I made it back to Kibo base camp at 8 am, I was totally spent, crashed for a few hours, and then we set off for Horombo, another 4 hour hike winding through the mountain moorlands. This was by far the most demanding 24 hrs physically and mentally of my life. Thank you, Lord, for the "get up and go" to get up and go.
September 19, 2008
I’m laying in bed here at the Marango Hotel; 2250 hours; Dima in the bar with the other mates from our journey, laughing and living it up. Earlier in the day we sat in a circle with our porters and guides, a total of 19 support people. It was tradition for the climbers to buy these men a beer, perhaps two, before giving them their tips (the primary income from the trip), and then allowing them to return to their home. Now that they are gone, dinner is done, and I am returned to the room, I’m concerned that they are buying him beers in spite of his being under age. And he’s saying yes to that. I went in once and asked Charles not to do that; if he would like to drink more, fine; just not to buy for my family. He said ok. We’ll see. My first shower effort before dinner was short lived and lukewarm.
It’s 11:34. Dima has come back to the room. Didn’t drink further. Glad I let it go without tromping back to the bar and making an embarrassing scene. Thanks for hearing my prayer for safekeeping for my son, Father. All for tonight. I love you, El-oise, Sarayu, and Yeshua. I know you are particularly fond of me, for allowing such a splendidly rigorous experience during the past few days. A severe grace. A wonderful stress. A painful pleasure. Thanks again.

September 14th, 2008

Thus far in our journey my son and I have flown ten hours east, hung out in Heathrow for a few hours, and are now in the midst of 8 hours flying at 37,000 feet south by southeast to Nairobi. We’ve been congenial, chatting, eating, reading, looking at movies on the seatback in front of us, nodding off for naps. I feel it to be right and proper that at this season we are together, moving in a focused way toward an uncertain future.

While in Heathrow we encountered a divine appointment of sorts. We were standing in line behind a woman while waiting to get our boarding passes for Kenya Airways. Anne Cagwin, and her husband, Tim, turned out to be a career missionaries for Rafiki Foundation of Kenya (0736 925 745). He is the school principal and she an elementary school English teacher in northwest Nairobi at an orphan care center. The eight cottages of ten children each have a nanny; they work, play, live together in a walled compound. There are ten such villages in Africa, seven here in the east and three in west Africa. Founded by the same woman who started Bible Study Fellowship. I forget her name. She’s pushing 80 now and lives in Eustace, FL. Perhaps we will taxi out there and learn more while in town. Spirit led encounters like this always delight me.

September 13th, 2008

Some of my readings on this flight thru London to Nairobi on these hours of September 12th and 13th, 2008: I’m focused on establishing a Spirit led--and not need or worry driven--rhythm of rest and work. Sometimes this means I move thru a cycle known thru history as “lecturio divine”: reading, reflecting, responding, resting, and resolving to act. The cycle can be long or short. Balance in this rhythm method gives way to birth: a birth of creative thinking, feeling, and doing. In the midst of so much doing on this mission trip I remind myself: Vance, guard yourself against straight do-do. J Instead, I need to let my spirit sing that “do-be-do-be-do” rhythm (Thank you, Frank Sinatra).

If I have a hope of gaining this rhythmic goal, I need to attend to three guiding insights:

Identity, then empathy. One of the most tasking of these processes involves feeling whatever it is that I am feeling, thinking what I’m thinking, sensing what I’m sensing. My feeling, my thinking, my sensing. My little being within God’s Being. Not the thinking, feeling, sensing that another human expects or wishes or judges to be correct. Once I have located the me, I can then seek out the we. I can see you. Clearly. A legitimate bridge of warm empathy is then possible.

Consolation. As I move into this next second, is my experience one of growing consolation or desolation? Am I able to claim an attitude/feeling of absolute indifference to anything but God’s own life and love within me? If so, I am consoled, quieted, confident. If not, I am increasingly de-souled, desolate.

Gravity. Another challenge while flying high or low through complexity and uncertainty is to remind myself periodically of the truths that God is absolutely good, loving, and involved in the particulars of my life. All three of those thoughtful truths tug me down to ground. Otherwise spiritual dementia mixes with my sin of anxiety to lift me up unnaturally into a cloud. Together these enemies obscure the gravity, the moment, of God’s substance moving into and thru my own. The Spirit wants to claim my heart, invade my own time-torn tatters, and pull me into the Trinity’s own circle of absolute adoration. My little destiny creek trickles down into the ocean of Their own singular, grand designs. I resist, ignore, and occasionally yield. Ah, Lord, increase the yield of my life. Yes, increase my yield. Thank you, Lord, for both hearing and empowering.

I’ve been reviewing the last 250 pages of my journal. Quietly. Seven miles over the Sahara desert in this Boeing 777 moving southwards at 600 mph. I’m surprised by the number of dreams I’ve recorded, some with work done on them, many just dashed off and not mulled over at all. Diamonds in the rough just lying at my feet and not picked up. One dream symbolized them as checks floating un-cashed on the ocean floor. Whispers from God gone unheeded, perhaps because I’m not ready in those moments to obey. At those times He is merely Savior and not Lord. I’m reminded of this quote:

"God's voice comes to us in ways that are easy to reject. He
comes to us as a baby in a stable, when we were looking for a prince on a
white horse. He comes to us in a shadowy dream, when we were looking for a
solid text of Scripture. He only lets us prophesy in part and know in
part (I Corinthians 13:9), when we want complete understanding.

Why don't you speak more plainly?" we ask. Would it really do
any good if he were to speak more plainly? He has already said much more
than most of us want to hear. He commands us very plainly to love our
enemies, do good to those who hate us, bless those who curse us, and
pray for those who mistreat us (Luke 6:27-28). Who wants to hear these things,
let alone obey them? The church can't even stop cursing those who curse
us, much less bless them. Why should God speak more plainly to people
who ignore his clearest commands? Why should he unlock the secrets of
his kingdom to a church that seems bent on mutual destruction? " P 330, Surprised by the Voice of God.

September 14th, 2008

Here I am under a mozzie net in Nairobi. Face lit by the computer light at 4 am. Dima sleeping next to me, snoring noisily. Mozzies bouncing off the netting. Nursing a headache. Just off the plane from LAX thru London. Lord, I love you. Guide our feet and thoughts aright as we move down toward that big pile of rocks they call Mt Killimanjoro. We look for a grand adventure in following you through your own might and means. Amen.
12 hours later. Quite a bouncy trip in matatu, bus, and semi-bus through the Tanzania border ( We’re here now at Hotel Marangu. Just had our briefing for beginning the trek tomorrow. We’ll be in a group of 8-9 travelers and 18-19 guides and porters. These people here are very wise, thorough, experienced. Brits. The fellow giving the 2 hr lecture tonight was typically understated with his humor and quite kind and encouraging. Dora, the quartermaster, will arrive, goose-stepping, tomorrow to check our packing materials, clothing, boots, and so on and then give strict instructions to add or delete from our stuff before we’re allowed to set foot on the mountain. Yavol, commanandent! (sound of heels clicking).

the only good writing is re-writing.... :)

Now if I can only remember my Trainer's Word, then I can keep my balance and actually inch forward..... (vance over a barrel)...

6/28/08

Yesterday was instructive. Some stress with editing, visions, and re-visions. The work isn’t yet done. But my course is different than any of the others. The other authors are doing their opinion of evangelizing to an Arab culture and selling it to the Chinese m-worker; or theology, or missiology, with one culture’s Bible being the same as the next. I’m a non-Chinese westerner trying to peddle USA psychology to Chinese missionaries whose answer to everything is scripture. Some of my teaching parables are 20 years out of date due to source info that comes from that era. Some of the teachings on imagery, breathing, journaling, therapy for moral failure, and techniques for money management is just a little too weird for them. A different kettle of fish from the other courses.

At one point the western administrator, who speaks Chinese, had to get me to leave the room so the editors, Chinese missionaries themselves, could feel free to speak without offending me. They have been taught not to contradict "the Teacher". So, once I back in an hour, they were all smiles, nodding, happy faces--and a complete revision of many chapters needed. So once I mastered my discouragement and need for complete adulation, I set to work the rest of the day and made some progress with one of their point people. The work as it is will go to the leaders, get new examples from many of their work, and then be woven back together in the fall.

At night, after the evening meal, another author and I took a cab across town to see a local circus. During this crazy 45 minute ride among high rise this or that, between meshing traffic chaoses, my colleague unloaded to the "resident shrink". Member care shows up unannounced in the weirdest places... Anyway, this was like drinking from a fire hose: Years of mistreatment as a worker from various agencies, no recognition for his academic work, summary dismissals, autocratic pronouncements, lack of funding or retirement savings, his whole family of six living out of suitcases for 15 months, cargo containers getting lost between Africa and Europe, psychological ills among himself, his wife and children, physical disabilities, addictions, PTSD from treating AIDS victims, elder care for his mother…. The list didn’t seem to end. I prayed, was empathic, and contained. He is close to my age and sees nothing much good in mission work, God, or his fellow man. sad to see him so unraveled.

I think I could and still can hear our great Enemy laughing. If not a belly laugh, a quiet sneer of contempt. This is no fault of my friend. If in his place I’m not sure I’d be able to rise up and take nourishment. It would be a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. I told him so. In spite of all that we enjoyed the circus—really amazing; http://www.clcircus.chimelong.com/. Reminded me of Cirque du Soleil. I think this kind of resilience, this ability to shift from tragedy to amazement, is the hallmark of not just as survivor, but a thrivor. A merry heart, medicine… you get the picture.

After some further editing work today, a little shopping, and then off to the airport. I leave here at 9 pm and get home at 6:30 pm the same day. Double dipping on Saturdays! Blessings to you all for keeping track of our adventures, growth, and trials. Bye.

notes from bethyl--back in So Cal

It’s A GOOD MORNING here in Fullerton, California…though overcast in the skies above.

I watched some new life scamper along the inside of our backyard fence early today—little rabbits. Now, for whatever feasting there is from our garden that has brought them here, their zippy, intentional scampering lifted joy out of me.

I delighted in sipping my wonderful cup of coffee, writing, and enjoying the moments of just sitting and sitting, and then … sitting some more. My quieter self is relishing in times to just think and reflect…over the living I have done, alongside my husband, over the past five weeks. The piano, nearby, called to me… and I responded to the invitation to make music… how Good our Savior is!

As I sang, my heart welled with tears and joy… He lives. He lives. Yeshua lives today. He walks with me and talks with me…along my path today. He lives, He lives, salvation to impart! You ask? How do you know He lives? Well…He lives within my heart! And, I serve a risen Savior who’s in the world today; I KNOW that HE is living, whatever men may say. I SEE His hand of mercy. I hear His voice of love. And just the time, even now, He IS right here.

I glanced at the old picture that resides on the piano these days – Jonathan and I sitting side by side – as children, perhaps four and five years old. Tears came as I release Johnny and remember ~ he lives today with my saving Yeshua… The old hymn helps me form unexpressed words “…and tho’ my heart grows weary, I never will despair. I know that He is leading thro’ all the stormy blast; the day of His appearing will come at last.” … “Rejoice…Bethyl…lift up your voice and sing Eternal hallelujahs to Jesus Christ, the King! The Hope of all who seek Him, the Help of all who find, None other is so loving, so GOOD AND KIND!

So, though separated by miles and oceans and a continent…Vance and I are together in our spirits and hearts – in rejoicing – WHAT the Lord has and IS yet doing.

Working in Chinglish :)

6/25/08

here's vance considering his next chapter revisions....

I am having a great time working with my Chinese brothers and sisters here in Guangzhou. Two groups of five are working in different rooms on different floors in the hotel; I shuttle between the 48th floor and the 46th floor as they each read aloud different sections of the book, editing to fit the Chinese world. We are deleting politically inflammatory material, de-westernizing other sections, clarifying meanings, and harmonizing cultural clangs. They check with me before making any changes to make sure that this doesn’t change the essence or intent of the teaching tale.

I feel so honored to be working with these people who have so much that they can teach me of persevering in the face of persecution with holy passion. They are like Moses’ bush, afire, and not burning out because they are supplied with Holy Spirit fuel. This is a wonderful first day of editing work, after a day of touring in the city yesterday—wandering through a local bazaar and zoo, with an assigned guide from their group.

My Chinese mashed potato family is teaching me something of purity and uncomplicated sincerity. I think sometimes I as a westerner have lost touch with my heart and with it the very refuge where God’s presence resides. John Eldridge captures this well when he says: “We have learned from parents and peers, at school, at work, and even from our spiritual mentors that something else is wanted from us other than our heart... Very seldom are we ever invited to live out of our heart. If we are wanted, we are often wanted for what we can offer … If rich, we are honored for our wealth; if beautiful, for our looks; if intelligent, for our brains. So we learn to offer only those parts of us that are approved, living out a carefully crafted performance to gain acceptance… We divorce ourselves from our heart and begin to live a double life. “

I find these folks a stark contrast to this sometimes lost and divided heart I often see where I live. They know who they are and why they exist. They, better than me, keep the Main focus from getting blurred. And I am grateful to be their students even though they call me Teacher.

China!

Urumqi, China

I left Bethyl at the airport for her flight to LAX and a few hours later arrived here in Urumqi from Bishkek after about a 90 minute flight that crossed two time zones. I am now 15 hrs different than California. I got a taxi to the hotel after much ado about where it was, how to get money from an exchange, and so on. The hotel was amazing; better than any I’ve stayed in. Feels decadent. I left quickly, got a taxi again, and made my way to a coffee house about 20 minutes away along a busy street. After awhile I was led to the owner. I asked her about any God work in the town where I might join in worship. Mentioned my friend CW in Bishkek who had referred me here.

The owner smiled, said she knew CW, and led me outside. In a soft voice she said it was very tough to lead me to specific groups in this situation. She said that in this region the “crack-down” on non-registered groups was very tough, as it was in Tibet. Everyone was being very careful. Many had been imprisoned. She said this all out of the restaurant in the midst of heavy traffic sounds and then smiled and asked me to pray—that it was not possible for me to meet with such groups given the situation.

I went back inside. An English practice group of five young adults and one older English gentleman was talking in a corner of the restaurant with an older gentleman leading the discussion. He was asking if they believed the Beijing Olympics would bring peace and harmony in the country. Everyone could offer an opinion and practice speaking English. Then he led the mixed review to what else might work to bring peace. I said I thought that peace might come from inside a person and then spread to the outside, not the other way around. He nodded and asked what others thought. The talk was animated.

I said I was a foreigner and that Jesus had made a difference in bringing peace to my life. I was very happy in ways that money or politics could not bring to a person. The Englishman smiled and asked what others thought. We went around quite a bit, enjoyable talk, with most thinking that money would make people happy. I smiled, nodded, and didn’t proselytize or otherwise twist arms. I just kept playing my Jesus tune that worked for me. Eventually the scheduled “English talk hour” was up and we each went our way. It was a blessed time. I caught another cab back to my hotel, feeling a bit wiser and more blessed.

6/23/08

I’m airborne at about 1130 meters between Urumqi and Guangzhou, crossing the entire country in a four hour flight. The China Southern jet is somewhere over the middle of the southern, jagged, snow peaked Tianshan mountain range, about 1700 km long, complete with the largest glaciers in China. Perhaps over Tomur Peak, the highest of that range at 7435 meters. Magnificent, eye-popping works of God’s fingers.

I’m so blessed. Thank you, Father of mine, for allowing me to draw breath in this country, at this time, with these shy and fierce people whom you have graced with such natural beauty. Just in Xinjiang Province where I have visited, there exist over 47 ethnic nationalities. This area is furthest from any ocean of any place on the planet. It’s a historical melting pot of Chinese, Indian, Greek, and Roman cultures. It’s where Buddhist and Islam cultures fuse along the Silk Road. And less than 1% of this area knows anything about Jesus’ own life breathing indwelling.

Father of mine, Spirit of mine, Brother Yeshua of mine, give me grace to smile on these people and witness with my face and offered grace. I don’t know their language but I know they need You. Work here, Lord, in ways mysterious, to cause them to know you. Let your gospel ripple through these people and language groups, infusing, impelling, rescuing them from superstition, shame, and fear. This I pray in the life giving name of Yeshua. Amen.

June 18th 2008

Blessed in order to bless.

Bethyl and I have been aware of getting a lot from God over the years. We’ve received a bountiful blessing after blessing. But our reading this morning, here gazing at the rugged, snowy Kyrgz mountains, is frosting on that range of blessing:

II Cor 1: 3-7. “And how does the Lord comfort us? He has a 1000 different ways and no one can tell by what way the comfort will come to his soul. Sometimes it comes by the door of memory and sometimes by the door of hope. Sometimes it is borne to us with the ministry of nature and at other times through the ministry of speech and kindness but always, I think, it brings to us a sense of a Presence as though we had a great Friend in the room with us, and the troubled heart gains quietness and peace. The mist clears a little, and we have a restful assurance of our God.

Now comforted souls are to be comforters. They who have received benefits of grace are to be benefactors. They who have heard the sweet music of God’s abiding love are to sing it again to others. They who have seen the glory are to become evangelists. We must not seek to hoard spiritual treasure. As soon as we lock it up we begin to lose it. A mysterious moth and rust take it away. If we do not comfort others our own comfort will turn again to bitterness; the clouds will lower and we shall be imprisoned in the old woe. But the comfort which makes a comforter grows deeper and richer every day.—JW Jowett, My Daily Meditation. June 18th.

June 21st 2008

FROM BETHYL JOY. In several hours we will leave the north of Kyrgyzstan, be taxied four hours south to Bishkek where we’ll spend a short night before leaving each other for the first time over these last 4 ½ weeks for different destinations. Our work with m-workers here has been very rewarding. From our first day in Kyrgyzstan we have been listening to story after story. At times as we’ve counseled people married from only two months to over two decades, some of these through interpreters, my eyes flood with warm tears, to be so privileged to listen and respond with the Spirit’s tugs and nudges. Thank You, Lord, for drawing His by Your Spirit, to serve you. Different languages never are the barriers between people, family members, nor nations. I am honored to be carrying the grief of these we’ve been entrusted to care for; I’m amazed at their tenacious love for the Lord through their unique thicks and thins.

Loving is costly; it always accompanies pain and suffering. How deep is the loss when you’ve loved deeply—for years—only to deceived and denied by even governments to continue blessing, loving the people in their nations. We’ve listened to the stories of “crushed” people, who scream their pain and anger for having to leave those they’ve loved and been loved by, and who are resiliently finding a path toward forgiveness, remaining faithful to the Faithful One “through it all.” This is the story again and again. How amazing to listen to newly weds, serving the King, who have been raised in the M-belief systems, and how their families have or are yet coming to know their Savior. God is working in the hard soil – His Truth IS marching on… Glory!


Compassion fatigue.

We taught our seminar on marriage and family wellness again this week. At one point, as we were presenting, I was waiting for what I said to be translated into Russian, and I thought “never in a million years could I have imagined this moment. My words are being translated for an audience to understand – in the Russian language!” What joy. What a privilege. All around us here the mother tongue of our children is being spoken. It’s delightful to understand “very, very little” of the language and it’s fun to speak the “very, very little” Russian I know.
We took a one-hour boat ride on Lake Issykul yesterday. All around us were families from the nations surrounding, who come to this area because it is simply outstandingly beautiful…many of the nations were the previous Soviet Union. One man offered to take our picture; later he asked me “where from?” I said, “California in the United States.” He said, “very nice” (rocking his arms around him) saying “very warm.” I smiled and said “yes.” He haltingly point out “my wife, my son, my good friend, good friend’s son, and my daughter in Almaty takes examinations in college. We come here every year. Beautiful.” He smiled when I said, “you speak good English.” Though the nations are still guarded, these people are living with freedoms that were unheard of just a few years back. I am knowing inside my skin what my head has known for a while now.

The last several days have been spent from early morning, through the day, until late in night, counseling. We have been being poured out. It’s what we came for. We are tired; we are not disappointed. We are so thankful that He has blessed us like this. It’s so good to give away what we’ve been given—from our talents and skills, to our life experiences, to the particular leading the Spirit has given. I say, “praise Him…from Whom all blessings flow!”

Mashed potatoes.

Last night the Argentine speaker to our 12 nation assemblage was warm and funny. He had a one main point. Our great enemy is not enmity—though there is plenty of that—but rather, indifference and independence. To this point he brought up a little tin plate of small, separated, boiled potatoes—a common food here. He said, these are nice potatoes. In a higher voice he said, “I am a little potato that loves Jesus. I love the other little potatoes, kind of. I have my little potato jacket. I have my nice warm field that was my field. I had my little patch of dirt that grew me—my patch. I had a nice little ministry to the other potatoes around me, with my eyes on them. Me, my, mine. Independent me.”

All this while Alejandro, the speaker, was putting a little salt on them. He was getting a fork out too. He mimicked the voice of a little potato who saw the fork coming, “oh no! don’t mash me! I don’t want to be mashed potatoes! I like being an independent little potato. I have my rights. I have my own self, my identity.” The fork came down and mashed long and hard in a cross-hatch pattern. Soon nothing was left of the individual little potatoes.

His point? There is no room for independence in the Body of Christ. Interdependence is mentioned many times in the Bible. Give, receive, take and bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ. The love of Christ impels and compels us to feel the griefs, pains, and vulnerabilities of our brothers and sisters. The deepening, widening experience of God’s love for me has natural consequences where we don’t resist this empathic mashing. This warm preferring of another before myself releases me from ethnic, economic, educational, racial biases. I don’t see slope-eyed peasants or factory workers through the eyes of benevolent superiority. I don’t pat Central Asian pastors on the shoulder with “good job” accolades that hide quiet feelings of being brighter, better, more valuable than that other person is to God. God is a dancer doing the Mashed Potato. We are beneath his feet.

Being Paved Over

This same man spoke of a plant from his own home country that was and is known for being exceptionally tough, resilient. It tolerates being beaten, cut, abused, stomped on, and even paved over. There are documented cases of it breaking through concrete from below. This is us. We are the Club of the Afflicted. We are those who have crossed the desert. If this experience is not yours yet, then be glad. Your time is coming. Your initiation into maturity is just around the corner.

Our experiences this past week with the Club of the Afflicted were sobering. Some of these folks had been tortured by the police. Nails had been driven through their arms. Feet had been lacerated. Men’s children and wives had been stalked. Businesses closed. Houses taken. Visas denied. One woman described her country for the past 14 years as having “vomited” her out of its borders. Raging tears, screaming, silent tears and head shaking, feelings of having been tricked by God, doubting of one’s faith. It was all a cauldron of intensity. But thru it all I experienced good overwhelming evil, faith trumping doubt. What a privilege to work with these folks!

At the end of the week the four of us member care workers were asked to stand. The 300 or so at the conference gave us a sustained handclap. People who had been blessed by our work, either with individual counseling or workshops or trainings were asked to stand. Over half stood up. Our hearts were blessed. This work alone made the whole trip worthwhile. Paved over peoples rising to praise God and persist even when persecuted. Kinda makes you like mashed potatoes.

Central Asia--Bishkek via Moscow

Sunday the 15th of June 2008—Father’s Day

Life with a warrior woman... We happily arrived in Bishkek and were taken to CW’s apartment in town centre. She’s a single American 31 year old who has been in place here for about 5 years. She’s kinda like the connective tissue in the body of KZ believers for Y-Company. Her phone doesn’t seem to stop ringing. People come; people go; most go thru her apartment or call her to fix something, arrange something, help in some way. She’s amazing. Often lonely. Wishing for a husband. Health problems. We met another team member, M., about 50, single, very serious and dedicated to her work; she has a pretty strong overly-responsible depressive streak inside of her. I think we will talk more before the week is over.

Last night some Azerbyjani team members arrived at about 1:30—one 40 year old single woman from Montana and a national couple from that country. We had breakfast with them this morning. Wonderful people with ready smiles, eager hearts, resilient backbones that can take a licking and keep on ticking. One couple described the Muslim faith in their country as being more secular, token believism than the devout or extremist variety. R, the husband, is the youngest of nine and he was the first to convert to Christianity; now all of his family are believers. Soon they and Christy, with seven others that arrived this morning from various places, were off to the Lake Issykul about four hours from here. We will follow tomorrow with Kelly and Michelle when they arrive in the morning.

Hey folks, this is a war.... Over and over it has been impressed on me that the larger body of Christ is composed of so many braided streams; so much diversity in skills, talents, gifting. They each have something unique to give me and Bethyl. And we also to them. Eldridge’s words from Waking the Dead come to mind here:

“You awake to find yourself in the midst of a great and terrible war. It is, in fact, our most desperate hour. Your King and dearest Friend calls you forth. Awake, come fully alive, your good heart set free and blazing for him and for those yet to be rescued. You have a glory that is needed. You are given a quest, a mission that will take you deep into the heart of the kingdom of darkness, to break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron so that your people might be set free from their bleak prisons. He asks that you heal them. Of course, you will face many dangers; you will be hunted.

Would you try and do this alone?

Something stronger than fate has chosen you. Evil will hunt you. And so a fellowship must protect you. Honestly, though he is a very brave and true hobbit, Frodo hasn’t a chance without Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. He has no real idea what dangers and trials lie ahead. The dark mines of Moria; the Balrog that awaits him there; the evil orcs called the Urak-hai that will hunt him; the wastes of the Emyn Muil. He will need his friends. And you will need yours. You must cling to those you have; you must search wide and far for those you do not yet have. You must not go alone. From the beginning, right there in Eden, the Enemy’s strategy has relied upon a simple aim: divide and conquer. Get them isolated, and take them out.”

Father's Day from a mom's perspective. Yesterday, as we walked through some of the town center of Bishkek, I asked “Do you have much rain?” I was told “no, it hardly rains and we need it so badly.” Guess what it’s doing today, on Father’s Day? It’s raining…a light rain on and off…and the residents just walk along, laughing and enjoying hanging out. One young woman walked past, smiling, with her hand up over her head like a little umbrella. “Thank You, Lord. You were listening and said “yes, why not sprinkle the Bishkek earth with My reservoirs.”The wind has blown strongly throughout the afternoon, even causing a few large branches to crash to the ground. Police and army personnel are in full sight throughout the city. We’re alone for the remainder of this day until Kelly and Michele arrive in the early morning. We’ve been blessed to meet some of the conference goers as they have traveled in and out of the home where we’re staying. Stories are shared, our ears and hearts are welcomed. People are appreciating just a few questions that say “we’ll listen. We have the time.” Into the ears they pour their hearts and hurts. Thank You, Lord, for bringing us to them. Make us worthy stewards of the talents You’ve entrusted to us.

To all Dads, A gracious Happy Father’s Day! I’ll always remember a CD given to me, “The Forgotten Christmas Carols.” In one song, a woman recognizes Joseph and says, “HE was your son.”. Joseph’s message is “Who was I to father the Son of God? I made so many blunders and mistakes.” Jesus responds telling Joseph “You did just fine.” Joseph says “I was not his father, He was mine.” A beautiful message of grace and truth to Dads.

June 12th 2008 --and a picture with our son, Dima, from Mother's Day, this year

A dream from the dark side…

This morning I woke up with a dream of moving through lightning and darkness where God was living. I knew there was scripture from which this truth came. I knew I had to lead a discussion group on this topic, a group for people grieving, lamenting, groping in the dark. I knew I was not prepared, or sufficiently remembered.

I knew I needed to refresh my lapsed memory from what I had learned earlier in a training group. I searched my notes and came up with these snippets from different scriptures on the topic, partly lifted from a friend of mine, Karen de Graff, in the Healing Trauma workshop:

1. Ex 20:18-21 “…and Moses entered into the deep darkness where God was….” Different image of where God is. How can this be? God is the light!

2. Ps 18: 7-12 “…he shrouded himself in darkness and veiled himself in the clouds…” it doesn’t have to be all white and bright for God to be there. Brilliant darkness, paradoxical but true.

When we realize God can inhabit the deep darkness it is possible to not feel so abandoned by Him, possible to not be sorely depressed as we grieve.

3. Mark 9. The Transfiguration. Jesus’ divinity sizzles and pops for a moment on this mountain. Even in depression, grief, or PTSD we can move thru moments of this bright assurance.

a. And then comes the let down. Coming down from the mount, darkness calls us again in the form of a father of the demon possessed son: help me believe; help my unbelief. Obscure darkness and complete faith …. How to stand in the darkness when the lights are off and no one is there? And having done all, stand….

b. In our laments and grief we often don’t understand evil. Yet when sitting with evil in the same room-- there is still a degree of faith and hope possible, both for you and the other, even when one of you is gripped by evil. I know you don’t have hope, but I do for you. Or, I don’t have faith; hold it for me.

4. John 6 . Jesus going off on this wild description of himself as bread of heaven and drinking his blood and eating his flesh and he’s a divine meal. How pagan is that? How weird! Disciples said, this is strange; how can we accept this? Jesus asked if this offended them. They said, YEAaaahhhh. Many turned away and deserted him. Jesus said to his inner circle: You too? And Peter said, where will we go, when you alone have words of eternal life? We’re stuck here. Eat flesh, drink blood? Whatever. Ok. There is nowhere else to go.

And the Holy Spirit who stands there with me in the midst of that. Standing in the night—and having done all, stand.

5. II Chron 32:31—Hezekiah was shrouded in darkness and God’s silence so that he might know all that was within his own heart…. There is a method in the seeming madness of a purposive God. Best advice? Embrace the pain with a fierceness of joy that grows thru and against the pain, knowing that you will bring the Lord himself to you.

Hope from the bright side….

I’m not sure why I had this dream now. Or why. It just is. I tried to dismiss it repeatedly today but it kept sneaking in the back roads of my thoughts. So I came and wrote this stuff. Obedience is often a puzzling thing to the person being taught. Go figure.

Friday the 13th of June 2008... our lucky day :)

Woke up this morning with a thought. Bethyl and I are in the dark about where and when and with whom we are to minister in our future. We just know that God is in the dark with us. I guess it took me a day to get it. God’s pretty sweet that way. Gives me stuff to eat before I know I’m hungry.

We leave today for Moscow and then on after a few hours to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. We’ll get there about 5:30 am tomorrow. All for now. But it was enough.

Moments with Bethyl Joy:

Our time with Him was tenderly tearful this morning. I’m grateful for these couple of days of alone-time-together. On Monday night, Vance and I shared a DVD (with Chris Tomlin and Louie Giglio on the incredible design of our universe) with Jim and Sue, which our mutual friends, Gary and Suzanne Stubblefield, shared with us in the north of England in April. The message has reminded me of a song. I chose to sing “How Big is God?” for the talent portion of a a Jr. Miss competition I was part of when I was 17. A long time ago now… or… was it? The words keep returning… “As winter’s chill may cause the tiny seed to fall… to lie asleep ‘till wake by summer’s rain. The heart grown cold will warm and throb with life anew. The Master’s Touch will bring the glow again.--- How big is God? How big and wide His vast domain? To try to tell… these lips can only start. He’s big enough to rule this mighty universe… and small enough to live within my heart.”

Some of the winter chill of my days has been quite cold. Some not. My footing seemed stuck. As Vance has dwelt in the darkness with his dream… his dark has peace-fully collided with my alone. And, it’s made “being where I am” more peace-able. Now how sweet is that? “… lie asleep ‘till waked by summer’s rain.” “The Master’s touch?” – “Oh, yes” she said.

June 10, 2008

Peaceful beginnings of a very cool day…

I’m sitting out on the balcony of our apartment. It’s early. Roosters are crowing, the sun is peeking over the mountains behind me, the ocean is pounding away on the beaches, the air is cool, and the coffee is hot. The bells of the Greek Orthodox Church on the hill are tolling the six bells of the hour.

A local dish that fed us.

Jim and Sue de Vries left last night at midnight to pick up friends at the local Pafros airport and take them home to their house in Kiti. These friends had been at a family event in the UK. Sue’s explanation for why they accepted a sleepless night and a three hour drive was, “well, they’d do the same for us. They couldn’t afford the other options.”
Last night this missionary couple took the professional couple out to dinner. They wanted us to savour the local Greek taverna fare. When we were finished with our two plates, they offered us food off their one plate which they had shared. It was a different dish, tender, local. Just like them.
They spoke of their years in Africa, the Philippines, Costa Rica, and here. We felt like Ruth gleaning in the fields of their cross-cultural experiences, hoping to learn to be as patient and wise as we move around our planet. We hope to be as respectful of clans and families who choose severe loyalty to our more western value of “independence.” We hope to be as enduring to give from our table and home, even in the face of misuse… in other words, living out the motto: It’s more important to be related than to be right. Becoming Christ-like…giving more than we receive, blessing though cursed.
They spoke of wondering why God would plant them in Costa Rica for almost two years of language training when their three girls were little, only to be assigned to the Phillippines. They spent all that time learning Spanish so they could turn around and learn another language? No fruit; all plowing? Jim said it was only recently that it became clear to him while watching his missionary daughter, now an adult, effortlessly speaking Spanish and Portuguese and French, ministering beautifully and fruitfully, in those cultures that he saw that his time had not been wasted. It was for his children, not for him or Sue, that they had been moved to Costa Rica.

Do I want to have rights or relationship?

Their hearts are eager to serve. They don’t seem to look for reciprocity. Wuz up with this selflessness? When I give I want something back. Parity, fairness, rights, justice. I’ve got that part down. Yup, I do. Jesus didn’t. “In the same night that he was betrayed, the Lord took bread and broke it. This is my body, broken for you….” He was interested in obedience, not his rights.

I don’t think I “get” that kind of Offering without expectation of Return On Investment. My ROI radar is always on scan. Perhaps one reason for this little trip was to have the life of Christ embodied up close and personal so I could get it. So my entitled heart could be prepared with the plow of kindness. I speak of wanting to give away my time and money from now till sunset, but those hi sounding words are rooting themselves in actions here and now. Somehow that feels different. God’s mercy is fresh every morning. He’s getting me ready. He’s getting us ready.

New horizons over the oceans…

Later in the day….. We drove about an hour to meet with the personnel director for a middle sized mission agency today—he helps to administer about 800 workers with 150 support staff. They have no psychologists on staff. We talked about possible areas of common interest and left agreeing that we would each pray about the possibilities of working together, working with this agency and others as well, to further Jesus’ interests. The talk felt freeing, good, mutually respectful… indefinite.

Now I am reading a small devotional book, My Daily Meditation. On today’s date John Jowett says, in part, “Mystery is part of our appointed discipline. Uncertainty is to prepare us for a deeper assurance. The spirit of questioning is one of the ordained means of growth….. We need the mysterious, the overwhelming, the floods… If we had no endless seas to face we should never become robust. We should remain weaklings to the end of our days. That’s why God takes us out into the deeps…” Cha-Ching! You rock, John! Right now at sunset, as I sit looking at the same sea as I did at sunrise, it appears to be trackless, endless. Faith doesn’t grow in the house of certainty.

Comfort for the comforters…

Bethyl’s comments on the day…. I’ve woven some of my thoughts into Vance’s writing above. In addition, I would like to say, “thank you for praying for us.” As we drove to our luncheon today my sense of being overwhelmed bubbled to the top. Throughout the trip I would have moments of really missing my brother Jonathan. He’s been gone almost a year. So whether at home or abroad I carry an awareness of him not being in this world anymore.
I do know my heart is being enlarged. Our territory is being enlarged, by God’s hand. But I would appreciate your specific remembering of me as I continue to grow ground under my feet in this process. The Lord reminded me today from Psalm 1 that He watches over the way of the righteous. On June 2nd, in Tiberias, Psalm 25:8 was a help to me: “show me your ways, oh Lord, teach me your paths, guide me in your truths and teach me, for you are my God and Saviour, and my hope is in You all day long.

I’ve also drawn strength for Psalm 32:8—“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you.” As a counselor I find great comfort knowing that Abba counsels and watches over me. The day has ended peacefully. The sun has gone to bed and the moon is up. We’re enjoying left-over spaghetti on our balcony. Night-night. Shalom.

Getting to know you… getting to know all about you….

The last two days have been completely delightful! We’ve spent a lot of time hanging out with Jim and Sue de Vries. They in turn have introduced us to a number of other missionaries from different agencies, all of whom are collaborating together to fulfill God’s command to GO—not just stay, pay, and pray. Anglicans, YWAM, InterServe—all of those agencies have troops on the ground doing spiritual battle, evangelizing, be-friending, loving and being loved, friendship evangelism, tent-making evangelism, retreat center refreshing, professional massage—all different ways to build trust and be involved with the lives of both Greek Cypriots and the whole load of ex-patriates from many different countries.

Segregation rules!

Interestingly, the Greeks and ex-pats don’t mix much. Missionaries can live here for years and not be able to penetrate the emotional walls surrounding the native Cypriots, so most confine their out-reach to fellow ex-pats or do short mission trips into the surrounding countries. This is not entirely true, but more true than not with the insular Greeks who are cordially polite toward the “born again cult or evangelical lunatic fringe”. All the while these folks are inoculated against true faith by their dilute, perfunctory head nod toward Orthodoxy.

Hot war ices into cold war….

We did cross the border into northern Turkish Cyprus yesterday, crossed a UN no-man’s zone, and had passports checked by Turkish military on the other side of that 100 zone. We walked around the “old city” of Turkish Nikosia where evidence of war was all around. Condemned buildings, mortar shells craters, blasted walls that were crumbling, and signs warning of danger here and there were all common place. One border guard was helpful. He explained some of the history and how such hatred had developed between the Turks and Greeks. It’s not as bad as the hatred between Jew and Arab, but it’s getting up there on the Hate Meter. Bethyl and I were glad when we crossed back over, had our passports stamped again, and re-emerged into Greek Cyprus. The air was not as thick with suspicion, distrust, and wary tolerance of tourists.

Warming each other up....

We experienced a real warmth and kindness in the church meeting Sunday morning. A real collection of charismatics, more stayed Anglicans, and everything inbetweeen. Lots of oldsters and young black students from Africa. Some middle-agers, but not as many. No pastor; just teaching elders who have a go at the pulpit along with passing thru speakers now and again.

Doubting Thomas?

One of the teaching elders gave an interesting message this morning on “doubting Thomas.” A positive spin on old Tommy. The elder asked us to not make complete judgments based on incomplete information. He gave a story about Mavis and Mack. Mavis saw Mack’s car parked in front of a bar for a long time. She spread the word he was a heavy drinker. He ran across her in the grocery and she lectured him on the evils of alcoholism. He said nothing. That night he parked his car in front of her home and walking home, leaving it there for the night. :)
Anyway, back to Demanding Thomas….. Tommy wasn’t with the others when they saw Jesus. His delay in being with the body of brothers and sisters led to denials and doubts that in turn led to demands for proof. Jesus didn’t denounce him. He was kind. He showed him what he had asked for, nothing more or less. Tommy’s doubtful demands developed into determination: “my Lord and my God.”
Jesus was also kind to his cousin, John the Baptist, when he doubted and sent a note from prison to Jesus—“hey, bro, are you the real deal or did I miss the boat?” Jesus sent back a kind message that the lame were walking, the blind were seeing, and the dead were living. Make up your own mind based on the facts. I think of this often when I doubt and demand.
After the service we stood around over coffee and talked with Martin, a YWAM area leader, as well as Maggie and Judy from a local retreat center for worn out Christians. Wonderful words of mutual encouragement and hope. Such is the stuff of doubt deterrancy.

Our doubts dwindling as we move ahead....

One further word on that matter. Bethyl and I have been fretting off and on that we’d miss the boat and not see God’s opening and time and place for us. Like we doubted His sending or our receiving abilities. Jim de Vries mentioned that with our willing hearts and His great compassion this decision would appear to us, together, in concert, to be an unmistakable path in the woods. Not some clever little road less traveled that was covered over with leaves by a teasing will- of- the- wisp god who delights in fooling or tricking us. That was comforting.

Now for a few days of rest in Paphos…. Today we go to the other side of Cyprus to a time share resort that opened up for a few days. We’ll use part of the week with Jim and Sue and then leave it open for another missionary couple to get away and have a romantic weekend. Stay tuned…. J