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.