Lonely Pumpkin

Lest you think I work someplace magical, I am here to attest to the fact that it is indeed wonderful, but the same thing happens here as in every other office/workplace on the planet.

No one wants to be the last to finish any food, so they don't have to clean up :)


We love our snacks and treats, yes, we do. And we love to share our treats with people. If you want to share, you put it on the counter in the kitchen. I munched with some friends on some more of my Halloween Peeps, and knew there would be people pleased to see a few of them in the kitchen for a snack. I dropped off the last three or four (double pumpkins, mind you; they come as little jack-o-lanterns attached to each other like a two-tier totem pole).

I walked into the kitchen three and half hours later to find the above. I cracked up.

Happy trick-or-snacking!

So Cute It's Scary

I started wondering if I had any scary pictures to post for Halloween. I was flipping through some and my first thought when I saw this was, "I love this pic--I love these girls!" This was immediately followed by, "Yikes! This is our 20-year reunion shot! Scary!"

So here you have it--three old friends who are so hot we're cool, and so cute we're scary :)

Happy Halloween!

Kathie, Beth and Holly...any guesses what the 30-year pic will look like?
Even better, I predict!

And, actually, here's the scary thing: how can I stand with two very fair women and STILL be the whitest one? For cryin' out loud. Apparently my DNA is incapable of handling melanin...

Hearse Corn

I had an interesting experience one afternoon in September. Two things led to this interesting experience.

• A very kind person in Nampa emailed the staff at headquarters to let us know that they had free sweet corn available to MAF families as a way of thanking us for our missions work.
  
• A friend invited me to a big barbecue at her house.

Said friend added me to the guest list the very afternoon of said barbecue. Wanting to be helpful, I asked what I could do to help.

"I was hoping to pick up some of that corn that was mentioned in the email, but it turns out I won't have time to get over to that side of town. Would you be able to pick some up?" asked said friend.

"Sure!" said Sluss. "How much should I get? How many people are coming?"

"Well, there will be about 12 people, but I was hoping for about 50 ears so I can freeze some."

Sluss makes mental note: "Remember to expect missionary-like answers from missionaries. They prep for winter, you know."

Obedient, helpful Sluss says again, "Sure! Fifty ears. You got directions to the place? Ah, I drive to a funeral home, you say? Hmmm. A...funeral... home."

Have you ever seen Children of the Corn?

A few hours later, I follow the directions and come to a lovely family-owned funeral services home, with a very kind-looking elderly man standing in front of an open garage. He comes out to the car, greets me warmly and asks how he can help. I flash my MAF name tag and my best sweet corn smile, and say I would like 50 ears of corn, please. He ponders a moment, is thrilled to hear I will be joining a barbecue that evening with other MAFers, and says to follow him. Back to the garage we go.

Two sights fill my eyes:

AND

All the corn was neatly bagged into dozens next to the shiny white hearse. We chat for a moment while a few people come out of the inner garage door to the home, men in nice suits who greet me. My nice corn man tells me how two brothers own this home, and they also own corn fields just south of there, and raise their corn specifically to give away as an offering to God's servants. He generously grabs four bags, carries them out to my car, and wishes God's blessings on me.

Um, yeah. Amazingly generous, stunningly incongruent moment. And how was your summer?

Not Looking At The Sky So Much

I figured out this past week that it doesn't help me a ton to always look at the sky when I pray, when I seek God. I am not doing it as often, and I found myself a few times glancing up when I wanted to talk to God, and feeling a little pull on my chin from something in my chest. It was like a little tug from my heart, with a reminder, "I am not up THERE. I am right HERE. Talk to me HERE."

Flashback to June: A British woman I met in Spain asked me an unsolicited question after a Spanish church service. I was sitting quietly, with my heart aching within me after hearing testimonies that week from people who had come to Christ out of Islam and found this amazingly loving, personal God. What should have been celebration in my heart (and a little was) was far more jealousy. There was a clarity, a joy, a spark, a hope in them that was so far from what I felt. It looked exactly like what they say non-believers should see in Christians, drawing them to the love and hope of Christ. Instead, here I was, a believer of 30 years, a missionary, realizing I was missing out on something amazing that I should know about, that I should have. I wanted it and I was a failure because I didn't have it and I didn't get it. I was a phony.

This dear woman came and sat next to me. I could barely speak. She asked me if I ever just held my hands open and received from God. Did I ever just sit in a chair, hands spread wide, telling Him I was willing to receive, not grasp, not clutch, not wrestle to receive more of Him? Did I ever just open my heart and receive?

No.

After that trip, where I had experienced the most significant spiritual warfare I had known to date (terrible, condemning voices all night during my last night in Spain, telling me what a failure I had been, what an embarrassment to my organization I was, that I had no business being at these meetings, that I never should have come--I didn't know it was a spiritual attack until someone pointed it out later), I came home and tried to ask God if I could just receive from Him. I felt so beat up, so battered, so confused, and so needy.

I discovered there were some things I had to drop out of my hands before I could receive. I thought I was holding my empty hands out flat, even cupped a little to catch whatever He wanted to bring. But it took a bit of time to discover I was holding some views and beliefs about God that were preventing more than a trickle of grace or love from pooling in my hands, much less pouring powerfully over my heart.

It's October, my favorite season is here, and I am learning to let go of what I think I know about God, and what he feels for me and expects of me, for what I can't help but find over and again in Scripture is the truth of his nearness and love. He isn't pouring out His love and peace from some distant corner of sky, from stone tablets, from behind the thick, heavy curtain of the Holy of Holies.

He's got His hands cupped under and around mine, sitting across from me, held up close to His face where His breath fills and warms my fingers and palms and stirs new things in my heart and spirit and soul.

Hebrews 8:8b-13, The Message (emph. mine)

Heads up! The days are coming
when I'll set up a new plan
for dealing with Israel and Judah.
I'll throw out the old plan
I set up with their ancestors
when I led them by the hand out of Egypt.
They didn't keep their part of the bargain,
so I looked away and let it go.
This new plan I'm making with Israel
isn't going to be written on paper,
isn't going to be chiseled in stone;
This time I'm writing out the plan in them,
carving it on the lining of their hearts.
I'll be their God,
they'll be my people.
They won't go to school to learn about me,
or buy a book called God in Five Easy Lessons.
They'll all get to know me firsthand,
the little and the big, the small and the great.
They'll get to know me by being kindly forgiven,
with the slate of their sins forever wiped clean.

By coming up with a new plan, a new covenant between God and his people, God put the old plan on the shelf. And there it stays, gathering dust.

The Fun From Friday

Friday afternoon for folks at MAF headquarters was spent dedicating a new airstrip that will be used for training our pilots. We have lots of great strips in the mountains here and wonderful folks who let us use them, but they are all more than an hour away. This one is only 13 miles south of our hangar so it's a great spot to have the pilots practice.

There was an opportunity for people in the office to submit their names for one of the seats on the three planes that flew out for the dedication: two of our training Cessnas, and one Kodiak, which is the type of plane we will be renewing our fleet with starting next year.

I was awarded a seat on one of the Cessnas on the flight back to the hangar after the dedication. The time leading up to the actual ceremony was a great chance to get up close to a Kodiak, which is what I am sitting in with my friend Becky in the previous post. The Kodiaks use jet fuel, which is less expensive and more widely available than aviation gas (as those of you on my mailing list who have been getting news from MAF about the worldwide av gas shortage are well aware). Kodiaks are also specifically outfitted for bush and missions and humanitarian flying, so there is stunningly little refitting that has to happen when we start to acquire them, unlike the great workhorse but refit-necessary Cessnas.

Here are some shots from the afternoon.

Pics of the Kodiak (ours will have a proper MAF red and white paint job, of course!), and Kathie and Karin and Becky outside and climbin' around inside.

Looking up the strip from about midwday. There is a flat area at the top which is where the planes are parked. The land was donated by a very generous family and many volunteers helped complete every phase, from grading to the legal work. What would normally cost about $50,000 to complete cost us about $5000 since so many volunteers and donations were part of acheiving this.

Looking down the strip from about midway. They built it with a 10% grade. No point in having people practice on flat strips for MAF flying :)

The Kodiak cresting the rise as it came in.

One of our Cessnas.

Becky and I were on the same flight home. Nice and cozy, those planes are! If you think you overflow a regular airline seat, try one of these on for size.

From the air. I circled the strip. Looks like a stick of gum, don't it? Try landing when it's got a 15% grade, it's cut into the side of a mountain, and it has a dog-leg or something else crazy in it :)

Just a pretty shot of Nampa from the air.

I thought Mom might like this one. That's the back of the pilot's seat in front, Becky behind him, and the window and tops of towers on the way into landing in between. We can see the tops so well because we are almost sideways :) I didn't lean over to the take the picture from the seat on the right; it was just my view!

Quick Peek

Know what the next post will be about? What I got to do Friday afternoon! Here's a quick peek; more later!


Notice my non-mangled left hand. Whew. Stupidity known only to those who read the blog, not the whole building or any Treasure Valley newspapers :)

Two-Track Brain

Ever have those moments where your brain is running two tracks, with full sound and images, processing one event two completely different ways at exactly the same time? Like, while you are chewing your favorite treat: "Man, these Ding Dongs are just what the doctor ordered for my attitude, all silvery-foil wrapped and cream-filled just for me!" and "Holy cow, does that box seriously say there are 368 calories in two Ding Dongs? Well, I guess 552 calories are almost down my gullet by now. Probably shouldn't proceed to Ding Dong number four as planned. But, oh, the silvery-foil allure!"

Two even more recent examples:

I was getting ready to present in a lovely church in Turlock weekend before last, and the worship music got me completely choked up, very unexpectedly. I am crying and snarfling my way through, "Jesus Messiah," and two tracks are running in my brain:

• Track 1--"Oh, man, this is so beautiful--Jesus is Messiah, Jesus is my Deliverer. Oh my gosh--You can't be my real Deliverer unless I have something real to be delivered from. Oh, I do, I do! Come deliver me from me! Deliver the people I love from themselves! Deliver us all! You are my all!"
• Track 2--"The pastor is going to introduce me in like two minutes! Yikes--I have to present and talk and I am crying like a baby! Tears, red eyes, makeup, runny nose--help, help, help! No tissue with me--help, help, help! Stop crying, you gotta talk!"

Blissfully, the pastor announced a few minutes of "meet and greet" and I got the chance to at least drag my sleeve across my face and walk for a minute. Maesie came and found me, and I went and got a hug from Sarah, who asked if I was nervous. When the pastor introduced me, I smiled and took the mic, and announced to the congregation, "A friend just asked me if I was nervous about talking with you, and I said no, but that I started crying during worship, and I was thinking I need somewhere for my snot to go. So, yeah, that's me this morning." Nice way to start a share time about your ministry work, eh? I told the story to a supporter later and she cracked up. "Kathie, you are so real!" I hope that's good, 'cause my mom is shakin' her head again after reading this :)

Another two-track moment happened one evening this week at work. It was a little after 7:00 PM and the office is pretty empty then...sometimes just me and the cleaning ladies. I went to grab one last thing off the giant printer-copier-scanner beast before going home and discovered that only the first page of my doc had printed; there was some kind of paper jam. I opened the giant paper drawer that the screen told me to and couldn't see anything messed up in the drawer itself, so I stuck my hand up behind the drawer, inside the machine. I was checking to see if there was scrunched paper hiding there, but since there turned out to be nothing, I bumped whatever little mechanism makes the machine think the drawer is closed and it should grab paper. Well, at least it was the "drawer closed paper grabbing" noise I have heard before when the drawer is shut and the machine is working right. Any guess at my two tracks? It's not hard:

• Track 1--As I am desperately trying to yank my hand out from between the back of the drawer and the innards of the machine, and my hand is a little chubby and my watch is getting stuck, "Oh, dear God, please don't let my hand get mangled. Oh my gosh, please, please, I just gotta get my hand out, please don't let it get pulled up into something. Out, out, out!"
• Track 2--"I will be so humiliated if I get hurt in this thing. Oh, geez, the embarrassment, the mocking, the 'What where you doing with your hand in the machine, Slusser?', the having to explain I was a moron. The Base Ops crew will put out some reminder message to the entire headquarters staff about copy machine safety with a picture of my mangled hand and stupid face on it. God, please don't let me be caught being this stupid! Out, out, out!"

I know you have all wondered how special it is to be me. Well, I have given you a glimpse into the depths. Flee, I say. Flee. Or own up to your own insanity and then we can be friends :)

And a couple unrelated-to-the-above thoughts from today:

• My mom sent me a nice note this week to tell me how pretty my tree picture looks and that she can't wait to see it in person for Thanksgiving. Enjoy the colors in the picture, Mom...this morning, I opened the blinds and found a tree with completely brown leaves and lots and lots of them on the grass around the trunk. Night, night, tree!
• It must also be the end of tomato season, even the green ones. As I sliced the last green tomato I had in the house, I also sliced my finger with my spiffy serrated knife. Ouch! At least the slice is covered in Neosporin and a Hello Kitty bandage from Lisa's care package kit last summer :) Night, night, tomatoes!

Deep Cost and Deep Joy

Michael asked me in a comment the other day why I have been posting so much. Part of the answer is that, for me, this is a new season with God and an experience of some things that I have doubted or been afraid of, I think, for years, coming to life. There are things that people have told me before, reassurances about God's goodness and faithfulness that sounded like placating platitudes, that, frankly, I have often wondered if they were true.

How, exactly, does God show up in deep, piercing pain, in what feels like betrayal, like suffering beyond what our hearts and bodies can bear? I have heard He does, and that He does it in extraordinary ways. In ways that we cannot fully explain to someone not personally experiencing his direct outpouring of comfort and grace in that moment, in ways that not only sustain us but actually bring a better, deeper intimacy with Him, and a joy beyond the comfort anything else on the planet could provide.

Quite honestly, even a little embarrassingly so for someone who goes around and talks to people about "missions and serving God", I have harbored deep doubts about the reality of that type of presence, that type of comfort or joy. Enough doubt that in fact I lived in fear of any real kind of testing, real suffering or sacrifice. I imagine we all live with that to some extent; we are flesh and blood after all, and pain is pain. But I hated how this fear infiltrated my entire picture of God, making me reluctant even to truly trust and willingly open all of myself, all I love and care for, to all of Him with every part of my life and heart.

I am Lucy in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.

"Then he isn't safe?", said Lucy.

"Safe?", said Mr.Beaver. "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? Course he isn't safe.....but he's good. He's the King I tell you."

Truth be told, I have spent my walk with God not buying Mr. Beaver's answer. Mr. Beaver just knows the "right" answer, says I. In my heart of hearts, I carried the questions, "Are You good? Can You be trusted?"

My ministry trip in Northern California was...I don't know the right word. What captures "deeply amazing" and "deeply painful"? What word captures those ideas with the connotation landing heavier on the "good and wouldn't trade it for anything" side of the coin, but still communicates "painful and almost broke me in two"?

On this trip, in almost every conversation, whether phone or face-to-face, whether meeting with potential supporters, whether sharing meals with friends, there was an element of pain. Almost always more than an element; there was a deep hurt, a wrenching ache, a failure, a betrayal, a dream crushed. These conversations were among the most transparent I have been privileged to have; from a long-time friend I drove 7 hours to visit, to a new, instant, kindred spirit and exceptional woman I met after my presentation to a small group, to beautifully deepening relationships with people I have known at a distance, to soul-questioning phone calls, to dozens of other moments in between, it was a completely different time in my faith than I have experienced before. I was privileged to hear people share some of their most terrible pain and doubts, their soul's longings for more of God, and I was able to share some of mine, in situations of complete trust and confidence and love.

And...it...was...good. I have more to ponder on and share regarding the stunning healing that exists in the kind of transparent relationships I believe God wants us to have with people, especially other believers, as opposed to what I think we have created in most of our churches and Christian relationships, but that's for later. Oh, our broken, broken, Body of Christ. Later.

For now, I want to say that He is good. He has come to my heart, come to my house, come to my prayer, come to my imagination, my mind, my soul, my strength, with intimacy and grace I have longed for but not been able to believe before. In my heart's most confused and aching moments during this trip and after, He has come. He has given others words of love to speak over me. He has reminded me of the words of love and promise He has spoken to me for years through friends and family, but that I am just now hearing. And He has given himself, in more presence and power than ever before. And I have been able to take that goodness, that trust, that transparency to prayer for the ones I met with, the ones I love, and for myself. There has been deep cost, but there has been deep joy.

For a season? I don't know, and I don't care. This is now. He is here. He is good.

For now, in both praise and prayer request, I just want to capture a moment of deep cost and deep joy. We lost an MAF pilot last week.

In the days before the news, a friend in Germany posted this on her blog:

"No healthy saint willingly chooses suffering... He chooses God's will whether it means suffering or not."- Oswald Chambers

News came last Thursday morning of a young pilot, beloved by his parents, 3 siblings, and a girlfriend, and with the kind of smile that evidences a love not of this world, not returning as expected after a departure from an MAF base in Arnhem Land, Australia.

After extensive search and rescue operations, airplane and cargo debris were found on the shorline of a bay not far from his point of departure. Neither the pilot nor the plane have been recovered to date, but all evidence suggests a high-force impact in the water. Extreme tides and sea activity are making deeper recovery efforts impossible at this point, but the reality that Hadleigh would not have survived this has changed the landscape of this world for his family, his fellow MAFers on the Arnhem Land team, and our MAF family worldwide.

From our International CEO, within a day after the accident, came these words as he comforted our MAF family, tailing for me on those from Oswald Chambers:

Sacrifice is suffering chosen. Many people in the world suffer. But what distinguishes suffering from sacrifice is that sacrifice is suffering chosen by the one who will have to actually endure it. This is exactly what our Savior did for us. He chose to “make Himself nothing . . . and (become) obedient to death – even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:7-8).

At Masha's house, my precious Russian friend had just before this accident spoken of "the cost, the honor" of being a Christian, of belonging to and committing to follow Jesus. She knows of what she speaks, growing up in Central Asia under heavy religious persecution. There is a cost, but He is there, He provides.

From a song called Aslan, by Kendall Payne, whom both Michael and Marilyn have mentioned.

Don't stop your crying on my account
A frightening lion, no doubt
He's not safe, no he's not safe
Are you tempted now to run away?
The King above all Kings is coming down

But He won't say the words you wish that he would
Oh, he don't do the deeds you know that He could
He won't think the thoughts you think He should
But He is good, He is good

I know you're thirsty, the water is free
But I should warn you, it costs everything
Well, He's not fair, no He's not fair
When He fixes what's beyond repair
And graces everyone that don't deserve

No one knows Him whom eyes never seen
No, I don't know Him but He knows me
He knows me, He knows me

Lay down your layers, shed off your skin
But without His incision, you can't enter in
He cuts deep, yeah He cuts deep
When the risk is great and the talk is cheap
But never leaves a wounded one behind

In the words of our International CEO, "God’s unfailing love has come in the form of [our friend] resting in the arms of his Lord, a wonderful place for him but a great loss for those dear to him that are left behind." In a place where MAF pilots are the only missionaries permitted on Aboriginal land, where they provide a "service", our pilot's father went to visit after the accident, expecting to be greeted by perhaps a few community elders under a tree. Instead, he was met by a huge crowd of Aboriginal people who embraced him, wept with him, sang with him, and expressed their love and thanks for "their pilot". They said they knew that all the MAF pilots and families came to serve them out of obedience to God, not a desire to make money or anything else, and that this young man had been committed to them.

God, your cost is deep. Your joy is deep. Thank you for paying the deepest, deepest cost to recover us, to make sure a wounded one is never left behind. My tears this morning for this family, for us, are yours to count.

Oh, Yeah...I meant to tell you...

...that new banner at the top of my blog is my tree in my backyard! Purty, huh?

Also, I am glad I took a picture of my Halloween treats when I did. People have been stopping by to "Trick or Treat". It's been hilarious...grown-ups in office attire, knocking on my cubicle wall, seeking chocolate and Peeps. Growing up is way overrated :)

What? Me, it? No, you don't say?

If you wait long enough to play, you can have six people tag you and you can feel all special. Never mind that it's a math thing and people were running out of people to tag. I AM special! Leave me in my happy place, will ya?

Here are the rules:
1. Post the rules on your blog
2. Write 6 random things about yourself
3. Tag 6 people at the end of your post
4. If you are tagged, just do it, and pass the tag along!


1) I have a complete weakness for fried green tomatoes. I have been in heaven up here all summer having beautiful, red tomatoes given to me from people's gardens (I joked that I have put myself in a sub-category of widows and orphans: "old maid who doesn't know how to grow stuff and you should let me glean your fields"--ha!). It's been a delicious summer, but the best part is getting GREEN tomatoes, and I got a big bag from my Idaho Nancy last Friday (yes, I have an Idaho Nancy and a California Nancy; everyone should).

I have gotten decent at frying them with bread crumbs (I can't get the cornmeal to work out well for some reason), and the house smells all bacony and wonderful. What I am really eating is memories of my Grandma Quack-Quack making breakfast in the trailer on camping trips when I was kid. Eggs, bacon, biscuits, gravy, and fried green tomatoes. I am not crazy; I am just a nostalgia foodie.

2) Some folks know this, but I churn out one sigh of contentment after another when I have two beverages at a meal: one hot, one cold. Breakfast should always have coffee AND water or juice. Even a new heavenly Starbucks Salted Caramel Signature Hot Chocolate should have a bottle of water nearby. (If you click the link, just read the delectable description of the drink; do NOT read the nutritional info--weeping will ensue.)

3) I am horrified at the amount of clothing I own. When I moved into this house, I had a moment when I was elated: "Hey, all my stuff fit in that walk-in closet in the master bedroom! Cool!" Two seconds later I wrinkled my nose and said, "Oh. Normally two people would have stuff in there. Ugh."

4) I have noticed several moments in the last couple months when I can no longer either interpret or read my own handwritten notes. I will jot some short-hand note for myself, and look at it later and have NO idea what I intended to remember when I wrote it. I actually showed something on my notepad to a guy next to me in a meeting the other day: "You know what I wanted to talk about? What does this sentence mean?" Or, I will write something that I simply can't read--it's swirls and loops, but darned if I can tell what word it was supposed to be. "I know the goat is a roady tart..."

5) I have come to despise mints and gum. I can't stand the ultra-overpowering mint flavor in my mouth, and gum loses its flavor after like 20 chews, I swear. I will chomp a Peppermint Lifesaver as fast as I can, or tolerate a stick of cinnamon gum for a bit for the sake of those around me, but it's not fun at all. I have noticed, though, that keeping the gum in the same pocket in my purse as my wallet makes for a nice cinnamony-leather scent when I grab my ATM card...

6) Though I love the place where I grew up, I confess to a level of giddiness that when I go to the grocery store in a town bigger than 12 people, I rarely run into anyone I know. Over two years into Idaho time, I just saw a person I knew for the first time last month. It's easier to hang out and check out every single ice cream flavor when you are pretty confident that one of your students, one of their parents, your elementary school teacher, your neighbor, or the nurse who took the "sample" you had to give at the doctor's office, isn't going to jump in and help you decide :)


Sorry if you find this ridiculous, but it's very necessary to pass the responsibility on :) And though I am not the first to tag any of you, you needn't put doing this on the level of importance of, say, filing your taxes or taking your vitamins. Participate if you wish!

Tagged by: Me bro, Marilyn, Beth, Matt, Christina, Risa

Tagging:
1. Holly
2. Rebekah
3. Corrina
4. Kristin
5. Liann
6. Mrs. Miller

Perks!

I can't remember who gave it to me (Joelle, I think), but I wound up several years ago with a recording of Luci Swindoll telling some great stories about singleness and her relationship with God. One of the stories was about her being alone after moving out to the L.A. area, not having her familiar relationships and things around, and feeling a bit blue. She was on her way to a meeting, didn't want to go, and asked God to just make her laugh a little, for a "perk". You know, like, "Come on, God. I could just really use a little something to pick me up. Do you hear me? And I wanna know it's from you." (In Luci's version, God calls her "Toots", like, "Here ya go, Toots." Excellent!).

In Luci's true story, she got off the freeway at her exit, and there, parked on the side of the road, was a pick-up truck with two fully dressed clowns in the cab, red noses, bad teeth, crazy hair and all, saying, "Da-dah!". She says, "I mean out of nowhere and it was like God said, 'That's it, Toots, right there.'"

That tape got passed to several friends, and ever since then, we love looking for "perks", God's reminders that he loves us on even the silliest, tiniest scale of personal attention and likes to bring us moments of joy.

For some reason this morning as I was getting ready for work, not because I was blue or anything, it dawned on me that I had two perks waiting for me at the office. One arrived last week in the aforementioned box of seasonal fun from Mom and Dad. I had set up just a few of the goodies at work to make people smile and invite them to snack!


Notice how the Ghostie and Pumpkin Peeps are open to reach the perfect level of staleness? Yum! And that's my Bunny Peep pen on the left, peeking out from my pencil holder, wondering where his holiday buddies are :) And, yesterday I found some of my candy corn note paper in my desk--fun! It's left over from a perk-full bucket of goodness from Corrina last year. I found the last of it again just in time for this fall.

And Perk #2: Terrific buddies God has provided in Idaho. This morning I was just struck with the goodness of these friends, God's provision of four very different personalities who have made the intentional effort to deepen our relationships with one another. I thought about them this morning because another pal, a Chilean national friend of Danielle's, will be here Friday and we are headed out to a great Mexican restaurant. The little surge of joy at having that to look forward to this week was just such a sweet reminder of how God has continued to care for me in Idaho, it made me want to rush to work and snap their picture. So I made 'em hold still before our afternoon walk around the campus :)

Danielle, Kathie, Becky, Karin

There was no big rush of homesick to quell this morning, or any sadness to cure...just a natural moment of remembering and appreciating God's joy and fun. Thanks for laughter, God, and for all the people you put in my life who pour out your perks on me--my big, smiley smile today is just for you, Jesus :)

Back In The Closet

Guess who's back in the closet? My suitcase!

She's been busy the last couple months (I don't think I knew until I typed it just now that my suitcase was a girl...hmmm). A visit to the mountain in late August, my reunion in late September, eleven days on a ministry support trip in October. Truth be told, she hadn't been back in the closet since I came home in August (my mom just got a shiver...Kathie's not putting things away...eek). When I come home from a trip, she usually gets parked at the foot of my bed (suitcase; not Mom) in front of a wooden chest my grandfather made. Full of a mix of stuff I need right away and some stuff that I never need unless I travel, items get kind of spewn out as necessary and it can take a bit for me to get everything back in place. And, yes, Mom, that's because I don't make it a priority, I know.

She's seen a lot, this sturdy brown girl. She might need a name. Any thoughts? If I remember right, Liann picked her out (and the little guy that accompanies her) for me when I realized how I needed really sturdy luggage for traveling overseas so often, and something that did not stand out but was a bit different so I could pick it out as mine. I felt incapable of making a final decision (sound familiar?) and I think Liann trotted off to the Galleria at Riverside to their luggage store or something. It wasn't cheap, but she has been the tough thing I needed. She's a little worse for the wear these days; a zipper pull missing, serious scratches, a little shredding at the corners, and the handle-pull-thingy doesn't like going up and down so much anymore--you gotta really tug and push. So, she only travels Stateside these days, but she's my faithful pal!

A friend bought me the luggage tag below for Christmas one year. It's an excellent deterrent to the TSA guards, I am sure :)


Blessings on all the people who have hauled, shoved, pulled, and lugged this thing when I have come to visit and she is loaded to the hilt. Up stairs, down stairs, up driveways, down driveways, in and out of cars of people nice enough to fetch me at the airport over and over. She's back in the closet for the moment (no travel until Christmas, I think!), but the memories stay out here with me :)

I know, I just did a whole blog post about my suitcase. Deal ;)

From Surprising Places

The stilling and quieting of my heart comes from unusual spots sometimes. At this moment, in the office, in ways that seem obvious and others not so much, it is from Hebrews 10:32-39 (The Message--emph. mine).

Remember those early days after you first saw the light? Those were the hard times! Kicked around in public, targets of every kind of abuse--some days it was you, other days your friends. If some friends went to prison, you stuck by them. If some enemies broke in and seized your personal goods, you let them go with a smile, knowing they couldn't touch your real treasure. Nothing they did bothered you, nothing set you back. So don't throw it all away now. You were sure of yourselves then. It's still a sure thing! But you need to stick it out, staying with God's plan so you'll be there for the promised completion.

It won't be long now, he's on the way;
he'll show up most any minute.
But anyone who is right with me thrives on loyal trust;
if he cuts and runs, I won't be very happy.

But we're not quitters who lose out. Oh, no! We'll stay with it and survive, trusting all the way.

Thriving on trust, trusting all the way. All the way. Amen!

He's Talking To Me

From God this morning, over our breakfast together. More on that later. But before bed, or to start your day, here's what encouraged my heart about my increasing relationship with Him, not so much my asking Him what the rules are so I can "get it right" anymore.

Hebrews 8:18, 19 (emph. mine)

The former way of doing things, a system of commandments that never worked out the way it was supposed to, was set aside; the law brought nothing to maturity. Another way—Jesus!—a way that does work, that brings us right into the presence of God, is put in its place.

And, yeah, I'll post more later, but people are going to start thinking I am looney. God is talking to me. It's subtle and sweet and tender and reassuring and confident and stunningly loving and right. It's making me think of Elijah's gentle whisper from God. It may well be a season, but I am loving it. Thank you, Father, thank you.

Thanks Before Night-Night

It was a good day here. It was a lonely day here. Good and lonely are not mutually exclusive. But, sometimes I find that the lonely makes knots in my stomach. I had some tonight.

God brought three phone calls. Friend, Mom, Friend. Each one so very necessary.

There was some sobbing between Friend and Mom. It was some of the good, releasing kind that I am always reluctant to do. Makes me lay my heart bare before God, lay down "my strength" (yeah, whatever, as if I have any...ha!). My friend makes me bare my heart. She never expects me to be more than I am, even when I expect it. I love her for it.

Mom is Mom. Oh, we need our mommies no matter how old we are, don't we? Mom is awesome. Mom shoots straight. Mom giggles with me. I love her for it.

Last friend call. Medicine I needed for my heart, but this medicine is better than medicine, so it must be joy. We laughed. She checked on me. She lights me up. I love her for it.

Thanks, God. You bring yourself in so many ways. You make phones ring. You pour out goodness on me. You break me down to build me up better than I was. And I love You for it.

Fall Is Here!

My favorite season. Man, I love it. It seems easier to take a deep breath, to stop and linger over beauty, to celebrate. I don't know what it is really, besides the colors and the leaves and pumpkins and cool air and a faint smoke smell and great sunsets. There's something else. I wonder if there is something of rest in it? Things slow a bit, we are inside more, families get a little more time together, coffee tastes better, there is pie in the evening. Idyllic view, sure, but it makes me smile.

I received an autumn gift this week in the mail--a box packed with Halloween and fall goodies from my parents, currently functioning as Ghosts and Goblins Headquarters if the return mailing label is to be trusted :) Boxes from the mail are so fun to unpack, especially in front of your admiring office friends who can't believe, along with you, how much stuff your parents fit into this cube of cardboard! Along with many yummy treats, including pumpkin and ghostie Peeps of course, were these cute dish towels...autumn in my kitchen...fun!


The turkey cracks me up. He clearly has no fear of being in my kitchen, no concept of what has happened to the turkeys welcomed for years into the kitchen where I grew up, every one dubbed "Marley" ("Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail."), my dad reciting lines from A Christmas Carol while it plays on a tape or CD, as he cackles a bit and stuffs the bird with gusto. Yep, turkey prep in our house was never a subtle, quiet affair.

This year, the affair comes to Boise! It's Mike and Jo's year for Thanksgiving with her folks, so Mom and Dad are headed this way. My Granny Mel and Bud are over in Oregon these days, and I have a dream that they will make it here, but I know one snowflake will keep them off the road. That, and my grandmother's conviction that my house will be crowded with me and my parents and she and my grandpa here. Heavens, yes, Granny, we will overfill my 1580 sq. foot house with 5 of us.

Speaking of house, I realized I never posted pictures. So, for those still carrying a moderate interest, here is the tour.

Front door entry area, decorated almost entirely with pieces Liann expertly picked out when I felt helpless about any more decorating decisions. Whew! Bonus room is up the stairs, over the garage.

Living area. The walls were already painted when I moved in and I loved the colors.

Kitchen directly behind the living area. It's all one big room, along with the dining area below.

Master bedroom.

Guest room.

Study. This, I did paint. It was a little girl's room, pink on the top half, yellow on the bottom half, with a nice, wide, well-glued flower border running the length of the room mid-wall. Oh my.

The front o' the house.


Mumsey and Popsey in April!


Me, after my Dad showed me how to mow with my new rechargeable battery mower. Can you believe they actually sell versions of lawn mowers that you leave plugged in while you mow? I can't even keep from running over the vacuum cord...how in the world would I not kill myself with a corded mower? Yes, siree, rechargable cordless for me...

I now understand the excitement of fall around here...your lawn goes to sleep...no watering, no mowing, no hedge trimming. Those round hedges behind me grow like weeds in the summer and get HUGE! There are four of them, and I have to keep them trimmed down or you can't see my front door, which freaks me out for all kinds of reasons.

No mowing for Thanksgiving, Daddy, I promise! Come and christen my house with its first turkey...it's time for the house to meet Marley :)

Young@Heart

I know, I know, I already mentioned it. But it was SUCH fun...good laughs, smiles, a few tears, but the good kind. C'm'on, you know you wanna rent it...

Eyeballs and Tootsie Rolls

I don't remember that my Lake Arrowhead eye doctor dilated my eyes every year during my annual exam...maybe he did. Anyway, my eye doctor in Boise certainly does! When will I learn to bring someone with me to drive me home? I stuck to the side streets so I wouldn't have to go fast on the freeway, and pondered how I would be able to convince any officer who pulled me over that I was not on some kind of drug. I made it home in one piece, praise God, but here is a shot of my eyes about 5 hours after they were originally dilated. Good heavens!


This would be my eyes back to normal this morning, thank goodness, and me showing off a gift I found on my desk yesterday afternoon!

Our president's executive assistant keeps the big Lifesaver mints on her desk all the time. But when I passed her desk on Wednesday, she had a bowl of little Snickers and Milky Ways and stuff...and Tootsie Rolls! I had to tell her that there are three things that are Kryptonite for me: brownies, doughnuts, Tootsie Rolls. I can't walk past them. Cookies can sit; I love pie but I can control myself. Those other three things have a gravitational pull that is ridiculous.

So what do I find on my desk yesterday afternoon? A Tootsie Roll car! With little people in it! The little orange guys remind me of the French Peas, Phillipe and Jean-Claude; I think these are their candy cousins. What a happy perk on my desk!

When we last saw our hero...

she was sobbing her eyes out on a dark, windy road.

The pictures that God brought rushing to my mind, in one piercing moment after another, follow. They are interwoven with the truth that He gave me in the moment also, overwhelming me with the wretchedness of myself and the unbelievable restoration HE IS.

• Me, with that same swollen belly of false food and false loves, things that don't stay and don't fill me. Times when I have tried to achieve what I saw in others, what I thought I must take in via all things I saw missionaries doing, all the things I believed I needed to live up to in my own power and strength, that I must get "right for God", anything other than His Spirit and His Word. All the times I filled myself with any "water" that makes me thirsty again and again, instead of His living water and never thirsting again. So many things I have thought I needed to be and do to be like Him, to be loved by Him, or even things just for me to fill the emptiness.

• Sometimes my belly is just swollen with the emptiness, the blackness, the void, of not allowing Him in, of letting nothing of Him fill me.

• That mother's battered, wretched appearance was me, who I really am in my soul. The shambles I am without Christ. In that moment in the camp, I felt no shame for this mother, no embarrassment for her that she could not dress better, smell better, eat better, provide better. I felt pity, I felt compassion, I saw her humanity longing to come out in its fullness, in all the beauty and health and life she was truly designed for. Why, then, do I act shocked and embarrassed and ashamed to find I am filthier in my soul than this woman could ever be on the outside of her skin? Why am I stunned to find in my heart dark places, lonely places, stubborn places, arrogant places, angry places, selfish places, resentful places...dung? And I act as though my Glorious Father in Heaven is SHOCKED to find such filth in me and will accordingly cast me down, make me pay, reel at the sight of me, touch me with only the longest stretch of His arm to barely brush me enough to make me just barely improved enough to enter His presence? And this entry I picture him allowing grudgingly, because he must because he made a promise to those he truly loves, and because of the technicality of me accepting His Son, he must let me in also? WHY AM I SURPRISED when this reality of my soul leaks out and I hurt people or spend my time in less than worthy pursuits? This is the TRUTH of my being and my Father knows it! And the tremendous, amazing, beyond-words glory of the universe is that He LOVES me anyway, has NO desire for me to hide it, just as this woman could never hide her poverty. He asks me to bring it all to Him, all this soul horror, and let Him embrace me, drawing these things like poison from my heart every time I am willing to come near. Every moment I flee and try to hide it, clean it, shape it, scour it, remedy it, I make myself filthier in soul. I must come to Him in a full embrace, accepting what ONLY He can do, and let Him love me, hold me, envelope all of me. Not because He must, but because He created me, planned me, bought me, owns me, adores me, is far from disappointed in me, and longs for me.

• Why do I pretend I do not smell? Why do I pretend I am clean and healthy? For my Father's benefit? For other filthy, broken humans, my entire species? I will no longer waste my time being shocked and embarrassed by what does NOT shock and embarrass my Father. He has stunningly made provision for me to be cleansed and I will run to Him! I will yell at the top of my lungs, "It's me, me here who needs you desperately! I NEED YOU!"

• And the land...the disastrous camp, just safe enough to keep rebels from hacking the limbs off the adults, stealing the sons for drug-induced soldiers, and gang-raping the daughters. The camp that cannot be farmed, cannot be grazed, has nothing to offer its children, forces the men to ride, dozens to a truck, miles away to work, breeds disease. This is home. This is also my home. I live in a fallen world. The good that exists, the food that grows, the pockets of safety and calm are by the grace of God bestowed on believer and unbeliever unlike. Every moment that I spend expecting this to be Eden, every moment I spend attempting to make this broken side of Heaven into Eden is a squander of truth. I was not born into an idyllic garden; I was born into a battleground. I was born into a world where spirits battle, where an Enemy and his legions are in pursuit of my kind, and I am called into this war with weapons of prayer and words and faith. In the camp, the government was supposed to come to the rescue and make things right so people could go home. Instead, an entire generation has been born, is growing, and is likely to die in internment. In my camp, in my world, MY KING IS COMING! There is rescue, there is a New Earth, and there is intervention even now with outpourings of His love and provision. I rely on no government to restore my world and my part in it; I rely on my King.

I will no longer pretend that I have it within my power to choose for myself good food and water; I will no longer pretend that I am pure; I will no longer attempt to create for myself an Eden. When this is my life's goal, I am miserable, I am wretched, I am impotent for Christ and the God I profess to love and live for. I AM IMPERFECT. I WILL NOT BE ASHAMED. The only true humiliation ever suffered was at the cross, where the only Perfect One to ever breathe air was punished for what He did not commit. HE SUFFERED SHAME THAT I MIGHT NOT! And He did it with joy, taking his place next to the Father.

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:2

I kept the car on the road. I was too stunned, my arms too frozen to pull over; my hands were too busy covering my wide-open, wailing mouth. Tears literally streamed, my nose ran, I mourned aloud. I apologized for my lostness, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY!" It was not anger; it was abject horror, the tiniest God-glimpse into the reality of my sinful heart. It was immediately followed by unspeakable comfort, an exceptional presence. In my mind, I saw His Hand reach for my soaked cheek; it rested there, and in my car I put my hand over His, on my own cheek. He moved his Hand and mine to my shoulder and upper arm, across my chest, where I could kiss His hand and rest my head on our hands together while my tears and sobs settled sweetly to sniffles and hiccups. I remembered babysitting Born-Dancin' one of the only times I had to put her to bed, and she fought, cried, screamed, yelled for help, and finally settled into tiny, snuffly, chokey whispers of, "It's okay, it's okay." Indeed, I whispered the same. "It's okay. You are here. Thank you, thank you. You are here."

It's Not a Lens; It's a Helmet

People talk about seeing things the way God does, through his lens, not our human one.

I don't need just a Jesus lens. I need a Jesus helmet with full head protection and a Jesus lens on the faceshield.

This morning is an MAF 1/2 Day of Prayer. We spend four hours praying for our ministry and people worldwide. Due to a conference call, I only got in on the last two hours today, but man, what a difference to be that immersed in prayer, surrounded by people praying, knowing out families overseas prayed in their time zones as well.

I went in heavy and with angst, despite intellectual knowledge of God's mighty hand. But my view is still of my life, my cares, through my lens, my receptors, my processing, my perspective. What is God doing about my cares?

Immersion in prayer brought a new lens, and an image of not just a shift in perspective, but a need for more protection, for my head and heart to stay within Him, not watching Him from where I sit to see what He is doing. I came out with His calm and confidence and view. And I want it to stay.

I got a little image in my mind of a new lens at first, then realized I need more. I saw a whole helmet, with the right lens on the front, but protection around my whole head from the enemy and from my own, useless, wallowing thought processes. I don't want my thoughts; I want His. And I am definitely in His thoughts; I don't disappear, but I see me in HIS TRUTH! Not my version of me and my circumstances, but HIS VERSION. HIS STORY! HALLELUJAH!

Hey, Devin...if you get bored, I'd love a drawing of whatever image you are picking up here. I want it pasted to my office wall :)

The Last 40 Minutes Home

Yes, I am home! Yesterday was long but good. I was up at 5 AM, ready with the car packed by 6 AM, and heading to meet a friend for breakfast. We had a really wonderful time together; remember that wonderful can include lots of tears, too. Man, why is good, honest, sharing conversation so good for our hearts?

Two and a half hours later we were red-eyed but lighter in heart for having talked about our walks with God through the past year and even sharing some things from long ago that God is using to minster to us today. Hard but good.

During the chat, part of my sharing was about how many things I wrestled with in my relationship with God during the first seven months of this year. It's a long ol' list of things that I frankly wound up being mad, sometimes angry, about, and not understanding. Lots of hard things happened in the first few months of 2008, and I think there were some lingering questions from 2007.

One of the lingering things was poverty. The poverty I had seen in Uganda. The suffering. The pain. The stench. The filth. The hunger. My tidy theology of suffering and my apologetics training broke down. I felt broken. These were people suffering as a result of extraordinary misery inflicted upon them. It was not laziness, it was not disinterest. They had been striped of any means to rescue a life of decency out of their days, trapped in government camps. They were left impotent.

I came home and talked to missionaries who had spent most of their living and serving in areas of deep poverty. They had seen things just like this. What did they do to cope? How does this picture of the world reside within, or anywhere near, my picture of God and his goodness? From people who had lived on almost every continent, the answer was the same: "We don't know why Jesus said, 'The poor you will always have with you.' But once you're broken, you're broken."

I mentioned this deep poverty to my friend (she's about my folk's age) yesterday morning as one of the things I don't think I had resolved, so it added to my anger and struggle this year. I have more trust in God about it now, but I am still overwhelmed with sorrow at the memories of it. My first walk through an AIDS hospice, touching and praying for the patients. My first walk through an internally displaced persons camp. My first eye-to-eye experience with a rail-thin mother, holding her baby boy, his stomach bloated from malnutrition and lack of food. She talked and told me her story while Tony translated. My first walk near over-filled latrines, the stench invading the camp, that immediately made me stop breathing and walk faster, until I made myself slow down and breathe it in, reminding myself, "This is what humanity smells like. You will not forget that these are people."

As I relayed these images to my friend yesterday morning, she raised her eyebrows slightly. "I wonder what that says about our spiritual poverty." I said I had never heard that before. She said she had never thought it before; it had just come to her. I told her I was really intrigued by the thought, and would chew on it during my 11+ hour drive home.

I asked God about it when I got on the road, "Lord is there something in there you want me to see? Something to know about you? About us?" Quiet.

I checked again in the middle of the drive, thinking He might give me something to think about for the hours ahead. Still quiet.

Forty minutes from home, on the winding curves through a dark Jordan Valley, full moon above giving light to the fields and rocks and walls of the canyon, He sprung it on me. Pierced. I yelped out and cried at the same time. The crying became sobbing, gasping, blubbering. And cries of, "That's me, that's me! Oh my God, that's me!"

To be continued...

Up too late, but...

Philippians 4:8

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

I am confident some will find this too trivial to be inspired by the above verse, but it feels apropos tonight. Want to know some lovely things from today?

• Masha and Matthew always know the best restaurants. Last night was Cafe Pro Bono, and an order of Susan's Downfall, which are cheese and herb raviolis with Gorgonzola and toasted almond sauce. Oh...my...goodness. If there had not been bread to mop up the extra sauce, I swear I would have licked the plate clean right there in the middle of this lovely, homey, Italian restaurant. Tonight was dinner at Shiva's, an Indian restaurant, and the loveliest Chicken Tikka Masala I have every tasted. I always eat too much at Indian, Mediterranean and Indonesian places...happy misery.
  
• We had Masha's homemade blini (like crepes) for breakfast this morning. Yes, I do come home 8 pounds heavier after being at their place.
• I got Masha completely hooked on DRY Soda Lavender. She calls it lemonade and whines now when she isn't holding a bottle in her hand.
• She and I took a lovely walk today through Shoreline Park and Lake, and watched a brave squirrel try to stare down a huge Canadian Goose. Hilarious.
• A trip to Trader Joe's for Kathie to sotck up before driving home to Idaho! And since I was driving and not flying, I could buy fun, liquidy things.
• The three of us watched "Young@Heart". Soooo good. Inspiring, funny, touching, cheer-inducing. If you liked "Mad Hot Ballroom" one bit, you have to see this. Even if not, see it. It'll make you love or miss your grandparents in a wonderful, goofy-smile, teary-eyed way.
  

It's not all fun and games, though.

Even as I typed this, Masha brought me some mochi ice cream to try. Apparently her brother-in-law calls it "ice cream with skin". I heartily agree...oh, the shivers of gelatinous goo I tried to keep in my mouth without screaming. My poor mouth...it was trying to find it's way to the yummy ice cream but there is this barrier that bounces like thick pudding skin slinking its way around. Oy.

Now, remember, Masha is also the one who gave me horse milk (3-day fermented mare's milk) to drink in Kazakhstan...she can be dangerous. But the blini always makes me forget this. Darn. I guess I shouldn't feel badly that she was making me laugh and I almost splattered it at her.

There were actually many precious things to think on this past week as I visited with supporters and friends. Just a few more tonight before trying to sleep:

• Sitting at the counter in the Slaters' kitchen, eating just-baked, warm cookies and drinking a cold glass of milk. It's even a sweeter picture since the invite came delivered to me out at the guest room by Maesie, who stood in the doorway in a little apron, half a cookie in each hand, some chocolate on her face, announcing, "The cookies are here, the cookies are ready!" as if this happens in my world every afternoon at this time, and I was missing it!
  
• Visiting friends who live in a cottage behind people who own a rescued donkey. The donkey, "Consuelo" (to protect the innocent), has "adopted" my friends as though they are her pack. The slightest movement from them that she can hear, or the glimpse of one of them, brings the loudest bray I have ever heard, and the most hysterical "hee-haw" noise for at least 20 seconds, slowly diminshing in volume. I loved it! I also loved my friend's delicious lunch and heart-to-heart talk. Good soul food.
  
• Visiting other friends who used to live on the mountain but have moved to Cool, and reminiscing with them about their kids and laughing much. It was a good, long evening of sharing and learning, laughing at ourselves and being grateful for God's never-ending variety of people around the world.
• Sharing with new churches and a home fellowship, and finding unique, humbling, gracious kindred hearts to talk with. You would think I might be used to it by now, but I am always amazed at how God can weave the hearts and stories of people who have just met into something immediately special.
  

It's after midnight. Gotta be up at 5. Got lots to drive. Night, night!