Christmas in China 2011

Merry Christmas 2011 

Dear loved ones, family, and friends! ~

 We join our hearts with you …from around the world on Christmas Day 2011. Aren’t we blessed people? Nothing separates us from the love of G0d that we have through our faith in His Son! We’ve loved having our hearts stirred as we’ve sung the carols of Christmas throughout these last few weeks.  Caroling in our neighborhood on Christmas Eve, with a little marsh mellow roast over the open barbeque grill, giving the children a sweet treat as we sang…  Wonderful singing each Sunday of Advent with families of faith in our West Fellowship, even a snazzy jazz rendition on this Christmas morn…  and of all things .. a Swedish tradition for 700 years or more~ smorgasbord and Santa Lucia herself, joining the celebration.  This brought back sweet memories of singing the part of Lucia when I was a teen back in Chicago.  In the only scary moment of the program, Lucia fainted.  As she recovered, all of us in attendance, walked  around the block singing “Lucia” while we lit up the neighborhood with Light and lights of our candles.

 

We were gifted with a wonderful 4-day visit by Helen. We’ve mutually adopted one another. On her way from Tennessee, where she and her husband, Michael now live, she stopped by Central Asia to see us, en route to Kenya. In honor of our divine appointment at Starbucks in Fullerton, CA in March 2007, we stopped to sip and soak in the delicacies of the Father’s goodness and kindness to us.

As we sat near the ground, watching this young woman work ~ we were so impressed with her diligence and resourcefulness as she skillfully mended our damaged duffle bag.  She was a careful craftswoman as she used an old, hand-wound sewing machine to do her work.   We are humbled as we watch people stretch every penny and resource.  The ground we sat on felt “holy.”

Several have asked “is there really no heat?”  There is no indoor heating in our part of the country… Our portable heaters provided our heating, along with small hot-water-type bottles we can heat by electric and wear around our waists or warm our hands by. As you can see we are content; while it’s cold, He knows our frame… and supplies by teaching us how to manage. 

 He’s still providing and it looks quite different – but He’s the SAME! … and His loving kindness remains to us.  We find ourselves “following the same Star of old” and finding the trail marked by peace and joy.  Loving & being loved by Him, 

                                                                               Bethyl Joy and Vance

Dumpster Divers

Dumpster Divers

I watch out my windows here a lot.   I see a lot of oldsters taking care of napsters.   They make the circuit in our apartment courtyard, the easily led pushed along by the nearly dead.   As they walk, two or three trash bins are in view.   More often than not, the geriatric set will stop, lean over, peer down, and dig around.    Look for treasures.   Never can tell what might be in there,

Watching this Discovery Channel out my window has been instructive as well as entertaining.  The folks that are dumpster divers are also survivors of their own intense history.   They are the few who remain after forty million fellow citizens st*rved to death in their generation.   The most common greeting when meeting a friend amongst this age group is, “Hello, have you eaten yet today?”  Giving and receiving a meager bit of food often made the difference between living and dying.

My mentor mother back in the USA I’ve come to call “MM” for Mother Mine.  Harriette’s an expert is taking her little trolley down on tracks in your interior and emerging hours later triumphant with goodness.    She mines the mind with an eye for treasure; dives into apparent dumpsters and surfaces with jewels.

Makes me think:  what trash have I examined lately, looking for treasure?  When I talk with you, do I sort through your words for value, something glittering?  When I mine my own mind do I discard slag and grab the one pearl?

I joke that as a psychologist I am a waste management engineer.   I help folks get rid of stinking thinking that produces poopy feelings.   Even my name, Vance, comes from the old English for “thresher”, the device that sorted chaff from wheat.

          Jesus too came to claim his treasures from amongst great piles of evil.   He had an eye for those who had an eye for Him.   Those who received him became his treasure. He peered, dumpster dived out of heaven to earth, claimed bits of glitter for Glory.   Will you join him, and me, today?  Maybe that’s what being missi0nal is all about—not geography?      

Happy Christmas Dumpster Diving!

Vance Bethyl Joy

Living in the Lurch

          This coming week, September 3^rd, we leave the UK for China, Grasmere for Kunming.  The two worlds couldn’t be more opposite.   A sleepy village of a thousand or so folks to a big city of six million.   A little of the known for a lot of the unknown.  A familiar language and culture for the unfamiliar.   

All of this makes for a swirl of bittersweet feelings.    Leaving our time here in the UK feels a bit like a death.   It involves the loss of new friends, safety feelings, a sense of being “at home”.  Our friends here at St Mary’s prayed for us in the church meeting a few days ago, and again this morning in the service, commissioning us; I felt so warm to be a part of that body of folks.  It did, however, leave me feelings a bit like Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration wanting to throw up a few shacks and stay awhile, wearing thin my welcome, hitchhiking on and hijacking the glory of His moment for my own personal security operations.    

The better, more strenuous option is to embrace our status as exile on planet earth.   This battles with my proneness to snuggle down, feather my nest, fuel illusions of permanence.   Exiles are defined by one overwhelming characteristic—they’re not home.   So there ya have it—we live in a present but not yet kingdom of heaven.   I feel the snuggling down self and the exile self, the joy held in check with grief, the hope of Glory that waits for us and meanwhile weights us with significance.   It's a bit like this ewe on the fence, trying to stay balanced as it goes for something higher and tastier than what she has known...

The comfort is that the Father goes with us, before us, behind us.   We remember not to doubt in the dark what we’ve clearly grasped in the Light.   We remember to give thanks in all things.   Including you, now, our reader.    Thank you for following our journey.   In clear times and the misty ones.   Amen.

C2C: Fini!

      Yesterday we finished the 192 mile coast to coast walk across England from St Bees on the Irish Sea to Robin Hood Bay on the North Sea.   Bethyl, the driver, and I, the walker, learned new resilience, an ever-changing recipe of apart-togetherness, prayerful patience in the gaps.

We learned, as one does on any journey worth taking, to:

Do lost and found,

tune your inner eye to seeing sounds of alone but not lonely,

walk humbly with Guide and map in hand.

      The mingling of senses, attuning of soul to Saviour, attaching Word to walk—

all etched the experience of Sabbatical into our faith-life.  And God saw that it was very good.

Heather’s own weather

Blowy rain, fog, blazing blue—

Opens soul to moor.

The Escape Goat

I love gazing out my back windows over the sheep fields.   Today, the usually peaceful pastures had some action that got my attention!  An ewe and her black lamb were penned just outside our windows.  She had different markings than the sheep of our pastures.  And, she seemed agitated in hanging out in this pen.  She started to bang against the gate and dig below the gate, trying to escape.  Her little one just watched and followed her steps. 

She had no luck with digging, so up she went, landing on the top of the sharp edged, pointed rocks atop the six foot high wall.  Nicely balancing, she looked into the other side of her pen, looked right and saw the open, green pastures.  Whoosh! She was straight down to the green and wandering off while her abandoned lamb cried and cried and cried. 

David, the shepherd, returned and discovered her wiles.  Off he grunted, crook in hand, border collie at his side, in pursuit of the escaped ewe.

Calling out to him, I said, “she had quite a jump to get up there and out.” 

 “Yeah, she belongs to another shepherd and thinks she can come here and act like they do out there where he keeps them; they are nothing but trouble here.” 

It took a younger, more agile shepherd to capture this ewe and her lamb-- in spite of their struggles to get away.  “I don’t have time for this today,” he said.  “You are such a nuisance.  Get over here.”  Hardly in a cooperative disposition, he firmly held her neck, back legs and tail, dragging her into submission.

Right before my eyes was live-training in sheep misbehavior and correction 101.  There are sheep who make trouble and defy all the walls one puts around them to provide safety and protection.  They maneuver and struggle to “do it their own way.”  Sounds like “All we like sheep have gone astray, we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord has laid upon Him the guilt and iniquity of us all” (Isaiah 53:6).  

Sheep from another fold don’t always adapt well.  Many decide to live on their own terms.  I watched with humble empathy as our shepherds persisted in corralling this ewe and her trainee. 

Personally, I’d like the ‘lambs of the world’ to cooperate, trust their Shepherd, believe He loves them intentionally and lavishly.

But, that’s not how ‘real life’ is. Some sheep are content, some are not.  Sheep and lambs do get frightened and run away, become will-full, or sick, or are abandoned through death, accidents, or poor care.  They need tough shepherds to endure in caring for them.  Shepherding is hard work.  It’s what they do because it’s their job, their calling.

Sometimes, good shepherds give sheep a break.  They snap their leg and then carry it around for the time of healing.   During this time the scraped up scapegoat, whether ewe or me, has time to attune and attach to the Shepherd.

“Lord, break my pride, my will, and if necessary, my leg to draw me to You.  Amen.”

Bethyl Joy and Vance

Rememberings Authored by Abba

Sunday, July 17^{th, 2011} marked the 4^th anniversary since Jonathan, fondly known as Johnny, died. The “momentous” day was marked by a curious blend of “7s” as we increasingly became aware:  He died in the 7^th month, the 17^th day, the year 2007, 7 years following the death of our Mom and most in-our-face was plucking 7 large koi belly up from the pond that very morning.  Never before, nor since, did any fish die in the pond. 

I felt like Moses, noticing a bush that burned but wasn’t consumed, as I collected one 7 after another over the days and months.  I considered the work of Yahweh.  And on the seventh day God ended His work from which He had done; and He rested on the seventh day from all His work.  I dwelt in the mutual recognition moments of Moses’ noticing the unconsumed yet burning bush: the Lord seeing Moses turned aside to see, then God called to him out of the midst of the bush and said, Moses, Moses!  And he said, Here am I.” 

This particular anniversary in 2011 I was so aware Jonathan’s home-going—yet unable to click with some thought of “how can I memorably mark how important Jonathan is to me and this well-marked day when he died.”  Sadly, the day ended sans the honoring I wanted to give it.

Ever hear of Jonathan Veira?  Neither did I.  He’s a professional opera singer of 26 years, loves Jesus, who brings “laughter and joy to the party.”  Knowing nothing of this person, except he made people laugh, we bought tickets for the afternoon concert in the Keswick Conference last Thursday.  This capable 50 year old musician took us on a delightful musical journey down a memory lane of old songs, advertisements, creating joy and fun as we listened and sang together. 

In the last half of his final song, he purposefully walked off the stage, took the shoulder and hand of a downs syndrome young man and directed him back up onto the platform to join him at the microphone.  They resumed the song…together… You raise me up so I can stand on mountains. You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas.  I am strong when I am on your shoulders.  You raise me up to more than I can be --  two voices, one of broken articulation and the other clear and well trained, joyfully joined in praise to Him!  In those moments I saw “Jonathan-Johnny” singing God’s holy song together—one not greater nor lesser than the other.  This “dis”-abled young man’s face raised heavenward with joy and tears, his arm stretched out and upward, singing with his “whole” body “You raise me up…”  We were no longer an audience; we were worshipping before the King of Kings, the great I AM EVERYTHING THAT I MUST BE!  And “the temple” was filled with His Glory!

Only later did I become “conscious” that this singer’s name was “Jonathan.”  For a few moments “Jonathan was whole,” for a few minutes I was the downs syndrome young man being gathered into the arms of my big brother, for a few minutes, I was given an ornament that transformed ashes to beauty, and given a flask of oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for my heavy, burdened spirit.  For a few minutes, the body of Christ (Jonathan Viero) was helping me care for my Jonathan (Edward Midura) and letting me look on with tears of praise and pride that we, God’s holy people, do “get it right,” giving God glory and honor and making Him extremely proud of His kids!  I didn’t need to search for a way to honor Jonathan’s life and the specialness-to-my-heart of our brother-sis relationship.  The kingdom of heaven came to me-- there!  God presented a gift that could have only been scripted by His Finger.  And, once again, “God saw that it was good (fitting, pleasant) and He approved of it.  And, during this Sabbath year, we rest in His Goodness, Delight, and Faithfulness--never-forgetting-one-detail-of-His Will to be accomplished.  How right and good to turn toward the “Presence of God,” to notice Him in the ordinary, and find Him noticing our noticing and then we hear His Voice!

As I am finishing this writing, I’m observing a mum and dad each arm in arm assisting their own teen-age blind, autistic young man back to their car.  Abba, You hand-pick your servants! Fill their hearts and arms to fulfill your work and delight! 

Bethyl Joy

Shearings!

         Caterpillars have their cocoons. Snakes have their moltings. Sheep have their sheerings. It’s been sheering time here in the Lake District. Great masses of wool being rubbed off on fence posts, zoomed off with electric clippers, rolled off in the grass. All that wonderful, warming winter wool worked well for that day and time. Now the baking days require cool waters, deep shade, and thin skin.

For the first time in 30 years I sheared my beard. I guess this shearing thing is contagious. Not since the Air Force have I voluntarily de-bearded myself. Feels naked, it does. I want to slap a pair of underwear on my chin. I wander about with my hand creeping north to shield my face from others’ view. Anybody have a spare burka?

   
Failing that, it’s best perhaps to molt into a new acceptance of a new season in my life.   Time to shear off old vanities, snip off fears of a “weak chin,” peel away pride in a multi-color, designer beard—like this fanciful sheep.  

Change does bear getting used to.     In six weeks or so we’ll be in China.   I’m readying myself for this change.  This ol’ caterpillar’s getting ready to fly.  

What season is it in which you find yourself?   What personal exodus is causing you to shed an old skin, an old self?   From what Egypt are you being sheared?  
 God’s shears aren’t sadistic.   He wants his children free of dead, wooly weights that don’t fit our current season.   He wants us to get over ourselves; catch up with His purposes; and get on with the good works He’s appointed for each of us to do.   Welcome to shearing season!

Scattered

               A finale on my mom’s death 20 years ago that I mentioned in the last entry.   I brought her ashes home to California and we scattered them in Death Valley, on Independence Day.   We climbed Dante’s Peak overlooking Bad Water (the lowest point in the USA), Funeral Ridge, and Starvation Gulch—and let her go in 130 degrees of heat.   The blast furnace from below on the desert floor disappeared mom.   I didn’t just want to think her grief.  I wanted to feel it.   And so I did, so we did, Bethyl and I together.

 Did you know your body amounts to about 20 handfuls of ash and dust?  When we let go of dust, we then have empty hands to receive eternity.

Suicide

            Twenty years ago today my 68 year old mother committed suicide.   It was a hot, lonely day for her, not unlike many others in her muggy retirement park.    She sat in her tin trailer, cooking away in a slow simmer of solitude.   First one prescription pill and then another, forgetting to remember the count.   Forgetter pills.   She forgot, all right.  Her brain forgot her pain and her heart forgot to beat.   She wasn’t found for three days. 

               Like little lamb Bertie described in my last entry, she couldn’t hold on.   She was blind to hope that she could recover from her prescription drug abuse; deaf to God’s loving voice.   As for me, I too was blind and deaf in different ways.  I lived in California; she in Florida—physically and symbolically.   I didn’t have eyes to see or ears to hear how far gone she was.  

Now all that’s left is empathy and grief.  Empathy for the old who have no one to care; empathy with God’s father heart when no one sees or hears Him knocking at our doors with love, hope; grief for how Death has such free rein amongst us.   Such empathy and grief fuel my furnace for mission.

               Somehow I’m put in mind of Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem, The Eagle, with it’s focus on sunny solitude, lonely lands, and sudden falls:

He clasps the crag with crooked hands

 Close to the sun in lonely lands,

 Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls,

  He watches from his mountain walls,

  And like a thunderbolt he falls.

                                          --Vance

The Lamb Died

               We learned a few days ago that Bartie, the lamb we described in our last posting, died.  I called the shepherd and found that in spite of injections, salve, bottle feeding, the lamb just couldn’t make it.   So what is there to learn from this experience?  In two words, empathy and grief.   Empathy with the Father’s heart when we will not turn aside to see, stop to listen, respond with obedience.   Grief for sickness, dying, death.    The Devil’s job is to lie, steal, kill.   He’s at work, and generally does a hell of a job.   As long as we live on this occupied planet by this evil ruler, with his tight knit mafia, we need to cultivate empathy and grief as essential life skills. 

If you don’t have little blind sheep around to teach you this, try swans looking into their own reflections.

  Or perhaps regular people bridging rivers over rocky ground. 

Opportunities to learn empathy and grief are all around you. Look, listen, learn—without judgment, knee-jerk reactions, blinding assumptions.   I hope to see you.

Fell Falls with Blind Bartie

               I had a lovely experience two days ago.   I was fell walking up high over Dungeon Ghyll.   I was coming up from the falls and toward home past Stykle Tarn.  Off the beaten track, round a bend, and low and behold, something I’d not experienced God-smacked me in the chops.   There was a lamb lying smack in front of me.   She didn’t move.   I looked into her eyes and they were blind, not seeing; eyes totally scaled over.   She looked frail; didn’t bleat.   I stopped, sat down next to her, reached out.   Scratched behind her ears.  She moved her head toward my hand.  I poured water from my bottle into my cupped hand.  She lapped a little feebly as I continued to pour.  I looked around, no ewe; abandoned.

 I picked her up and carried her about five miles back home to Grasmere.  Coming down from the hill fells in the rain was slippery over the rocks.   Together we fell and recovered a dozen times or so in the bracken, over rocks.   Reminded me of old Chinese saying, "Fall down seven times; get up eight times."    I talked to her, “well that was a bumpy one, huh?”  The lamb had settled down after awhile and didn’t seem to mind. 

I called Bethyl from the top of the fell, setting up a meeting plan. Just before she checked with David, the shepherd who lives above us, our friend of three decades, Michele O'Donnel, visiting us with her daughter, said "let me pray before you talk to David." She prayed for wisdom for us, even if the wisdom given by David wasn't what we decided upon. Our steps were covered in prayer all the way.  All our paths converged.  We put Blind Bartamay (as I had started to call her) in the backseat with Bethyl while I drove Bartie home.  Eventually, we found her shepherd farmer.

 The farmer, Erick, said she had a case of “staut”, from eating some plant that causes a neurological disorder leading to death unless short-circuited.   He said he’d bottle feed her, give her some medicine, and she’d be fine in a couple of weeks.   A happy ending for Bartie… and me.  

 Once upon a time another Shepherd found a little blind lamb.    He was on his own track, minding his Father’s business; but He stopped to look and see.  Saw me.  Sat down.   Gave me Living Water.   Picked me up.  Shouldered my burden.   Took me to safety.  

Today He honored me with faintly walking in His footsteps, getting a sense of His journey.  He helped me jolt downwards thru mud, off cliffs to bogs, lowering my pride.   He set me to thinking about how real and repeated is the fall.   All good object lessons from the master Teacher, who arranges parables for you and me--life lessons--so we might be prepared to live well in the days in front of us.

       

Sea to Sea to See

Our last two days were spent on the first two days of the 192 mile coast to coast walk.  This walk is across the north of England--from St Bees on the Irish Sea to Robin Hood Bay on the North Sea.  I'm doing it in bits, a couple of days here and there.  Bethyl drove and dropped me off. In order to let me go she needed to drive me over to the sea and drop me off, not be driven and have me just walk off. Her focus on actively separating helped me as I look back on it. My grandfather summarized succinctly when he said there were 3 things in life: holding on, letting go, and knowing when to do which. The catch in my own throat and heart were the same as in hers. The Red Sea didn’t part, just my wife and I. Even so, the aliveness in our spirits were signs of life.

I found myself grateful for smallnesses: the power bar and apple in my pocket; the clean water in my bottle; the sun’s warmth mingling with salty breeze in my face.

The pulp of life is in the little stuff.    It's the heart of the matter.    On this topic, check this link for a cool heart-check:  Click here: Stethoscope. 

In this sea-2-sea walk God is training me to see Him in the details of life. I still tend to look for the grand event while he slips in the back door. But more often I am catching him out of the corner of my eye, smiling to myself, and saying, “hi there, Jesus; thanks for dropping by; thanks for walking with me these 18 miles today from St Bees to the far side of Ennerdale Waters; thank you for walking with me the next day for another 14 miles.  The 3 mph God and his disciple.”

The lakes, fells, rivers, sweeping pastures—all showed God’s glory on tour: “Madam Day holds class every morning; Professor Night lectures each evening. Their words aren’t heard; their voices aren’t recorded. But their silence fills the earth. Unspoken truth is spoken everywhere.” Ps 19:2.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Worrying Sheep Not Allowed

Abba, You permitted a “lamb-story” during these last few days.  Orphaned twins, mother dead a month ago, being tended by the good shepherd, David. He dug into their infected hoofs with a sharp knife, gutting out a sharp grass spike that was causing them to limp. Ouch. He administered an antiseptic spray and left them in the small fold outside our windows.  Twice wounded--abandonment and infection--they wafted between wailing and snoozing… for three days. Yesterday, he opened the gate for them to enter the big pasture – just the two of them there. They huddled close against the gate, pressing for the protected walls from which they’d just been given freedom. Wailing, maaaahhh and baaaahhh, falling off the sleep.

Today, they are venturing farther out in the field, still just the two of them, grazing with no limping. Abba and Yeshua, You also shepherd me, similarly scraping out my emotional, physical, and mental infections, sparing no tactics in order that I may be healed in the Name of Jesus. Thank You for Your generous gentleness as You create a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. Thank You, Gentle Shepherd, for Your patience to the little lamb who I am, for giving me the time to change. Thank You for being so kind! I am loved into becoming whole.

Father! Abba! You are my God! I thank You for locating me wherever I am—centered, off the path, frightened and off the path, trusting or continuing to trust. I love You and I worship You. Thank You, Jesus. You are such a loyal Son to Your Father and I love that You are loyal!

  It is not in your plan for me to worry!  Worry is a form of unbelief.   If I am in charge of my life I have good cause to worry.   But I thank you that you are my Good Shepherd.  You parent me.   You clean out my infections.   I can bleat, wail, sleep--and you remain faithful to me.

 I’m so grateful that You seek Him, lift Him up, and have shown Who He is to me … to us. You are so Kind! You share all He’s given to You… You hold nothing back! You are awesome. Thank You for welcoming me – all the time. Thank You that You creatively grow me by leading me along paths where I have the freedom to choose – I have the freedom to choose to see “the burning bush” as Moses did with You in Exodus 3… or to see it later if that’s the best I can do… but that when I see the “burning bush” You notice me seeing and turning toward it. How grateful I am that You recognize each nuance! As soon as I move to notice, You notice back. You respond, losing no time, missing no moment to speak and have relationship with me. That’s huge, Abba; simply huge. You are so Kind and Purposeful!


Thank You for calling me: my daughter! I’m safe in being Your daughter. In the midst of all the leavings: California, family, friends, my country the USA; and now in less than three months, we will leave the United Kingdom and the friends with whom we’ve become family in The Lake District. This is huge and feels overwhelming. Thank You for being the still point in the middle of life-changing circumstances.

Optimistic China!

We’re down to the last three months on our sabbatical. We’ve enjoyed the fall, winter, and spring. Now summer is upon us. It too will go quickly, exuberantly.   It will be hard to leave this vision from our backyard, but leave we will.

We leave September 3rd for Kunming, China, a city of about six million. We’ve been able to rent a place from a family who are leaving in July and won’t be back until the end of the year. This apartment is a wonderful bridge into the city; we have a place to be for a while as we situate and get our bearings. Our apartment building alone contains about 10,000 people.

We plan to connect with a social action group called The Bridge (www.dawenchina.com). They offer marital, parenting, relationship, reconciliation, and social programs beneficial to the locals in and beyond Kunming. 
 
We’ve got a language software program thru Rosetta Stone in Mandarin. One of us has begun learning with that; the other is biding her time and will start when and with the Spirit’s nudging . We’re a great blend of apart togetherness, each respecting the other’s gifts and timing. We are moving ahead, one step at a time, trusting God to open the doors He has for us and keeping closed those He doesn’t want us to enter.

I just read an article on optimism in this week’s Time Magazine (June 6th, 2011). A good article. As it turns out, we optimists tend to live longer with less stress. Compared to pessimists, we take more vitamins, exercise more, earn and save more. We also underestimate risk. As Samuel Johnson said, we’re a triumph of hope over experience :).   It might be a little like this sign from a local slate quarry:

Practiced faith fuels optimism. We see beyond the grave and live out heaven well before we die. Faithful hearts are hard wired for optimism, resiliently turning lead into gold. We cheerfully live from approval, not for approval.   Much like this lightning-struck tree, perhaps, that didn't know it was supposed to be dead already.   All it knew was that God had planted it by a gurgling stream.

The UK has been delightful. China will be outrageously adventurous--a momentary faith journey. We’re confident there will be enough light for the next step in any case; that our faithful Father will get us Home before dark.

Thank you for providing us a canopy of prayer, keeping us safe from ourselves and the Devil. We need you to remember us as we travel through time and space, even as we remember you.

Hope for Persecuted Disciples

This past weekend we went to the annual conference for www.interserve.org.uk. The theme was “When Love Hurts.” We listened to a lot of speakers who moved our hearts and minds toward oneness with people who hurt. We learned that about 20 people are martyred for their faith every hour every day, about 450/day worldwide-- http://www.wordjourney.com/news/christian-news/contemporary-martyrs-christian-brethren/


We include a heart-breaking, heart-warming music video that will join your hearts with many-- 4.5 minutes long and worth your time to sit back and enjoy it.

One of the worst offenders is North Korea, the “Hermit Kingdom”. Self reliance is the state religion. Any other religion is highly subversive. If you don’t accept the Dear Leader as your supreme value you are likely to experience punishment. Life is about survival. Kim-Jong II, since 1994, has authority over all people; there is no freedom to speak.


We watched a video of a history high school teacher in Pyongyang as he talked about two of his students dying for hunger. He hugged them as they died and cried for them. After this he threw his text books on floor. Each of them had a picture of Dear Leader on them. The Party Secretary in the school walked by his office and witnessed this. She told him he was to be killed before day's end; he believed her. He fled, was arrested, beaten severely for days, escaped by jumping out of a 2nd story window, somehow made his way to the border, and swam the river into China. He's in South Korea now, a pastor; recently he learned that four brothers and his mother have been killed by government officials (see his video interview at www.releaseinternational.org/video

As he speaks there is no sense of this man feeling sorry for himself. He asks for prayer for food for the people there. Most Christians’ teeth are rotting, falling out due to lack of nutrition. He also asks we pray for  people might continue to have hope in Jesus--that they don’t give up. Pray North Korean guards would stop shooting escapees with high power rifles using sniper scopes as they climb out of the river in Chinese territory. Pray for effective lobbying for the North Korean ambassador in London by signing a petition for human rights improvements (sign it online by clicking on www.releaseinternational.org/current).

We listened to many other stories of people who are persecuted for their faith in countries around the world—Egypt, Eritrea, Afghanistan, Sudan, Nigeria, and Pakistan. Prison, discrimination, loss of voting rights, property rights, rationing rights, death--this is the daily life of millions of Christians. We were told that among the persecuted there is a saying, “Every believer, a disciple; every disciple, a worker for Jesus”. We're reminded of our personal discipleship goals, expressed well by Ed Cole’s statement:

I am a Disciple

I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

I am part of the fellowship of the unashamed. I have Holy Spirit power.

The die has been cast. I've stepped over the line.

The love of God controls me. The decision has been made. I'm a disciple

of His. I won't look back, let up, slow down, or back away.

My past is redeemed. My present makes sense. My future is secure.

I'm finished and done with low living, sight walking, small planning,

smooth and ease, colorless dreams, mundane talking, cheap giving, and

dwarfed roles.

I no longer need prosperity, position, promotion, preeminence, or

popularity.

I don't have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded, or

rewarded.

I now live by faith, lean on His presence, walk in patience, live by

prayer, and labor with power.

My face is set. My gait is fast. My goal is the Kingdom of God. My road

is narrow. My way is rough. My companions few. My guide reliable. My

mission clear.

I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back,

deluded or delayed.

I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of

adversaries, negotiate at the pool of popularity, or meander in the maze of

mediocrity.

I won't give up, shut up, let up until I've stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, spoken up, for the cause of Christ.

I must go until He comes, give until I drop, teach until all know, run

until He stops me.

I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

        As I was thinking of posting this blog today this rainbow at the top of this page appeared in the sky over our backyard, the Good Shepherd statue from near this week's conference came to my mind, and the lambs below cuddled next to their mom outside our window. Hopeful, I’d say.