6.21.12

"I sought the Lord, and He heard me, And delivered me from all my fears...."

I sat in the hall with all the other patients and their drips. We line the wall in the ER. IV analgesics I could not understand the names of tapped into my right arm at the elbow; the worst rebound migraine in the history of migraines. One man in a neck brace on a stretcher, a boy in a wheelchair peeking out of the next room, a woman in labor sitting next to me; she had been there for hours, still waiting... Waiting, waiting, waiting. That's what we do here.

It is well past midnight, this first day of winter. I sit, the drugs beginning to work their magic and ease the pain, and put me to sleep in a sitting position. My eyes fling open, slower than usual, as I hear the commotion - a man being brought in on a stretcher. He collapsed outside, the men who drove him to the hospital unable to hold him up. Blood is streaming from his chest: a gunshot wound.

I think that because I am in hospital he will be saved.

He dies several minutes later. I watch as the doctor comes out, his body language says everything. He points to his chest, He received a shot HERE. He shakes his head, takes off his glasses. We did everything we could...

It was like a horrible movie, the next scene predictable. The son buries his head in his hands and starts to sob, "My father, my father..."

The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous,

and his ears are open unto their cry.

The face of the Lord is against those who do evil,

To cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.

Was he a bad man?, I think to myself. Are these the consequences of a life lived wrongly??

I wonder.

Sometimes I feel as desolate as things appear.

{...none of them that trust in him shall be desolate...}

Perhaps it is good that we are here, I try to console myself. Yes, very good that we are here, I tell myself again. I squint at the scene, breathe out, shake my head slow.

No, a voice says, Go home.

Why are you here? - the voice whispers. You could be next, you know... It's dangerous here. Don't you know that?

Fear, a constant companion, comes to visit again. Why can't fear just leave me alone?

 The angel of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him, And delivers them.

Death. Need. Loss. It is too much to bear some days, many days, most days. Nine months and I feel like I already need a big, long, stress-free furlough.

 

Many are the afflictions of the righteous.
The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears.

Today there is no gas in town. No gas at the gas stations. There's just no gas. Lines of cars are three blocks long. Tony says, I'll go after midnight tonight, maybe there won't be any lines then. He tells me of the strike that is supposed to last into next week, which probably means no trucks making deliveries. I say we should go to the store today and stock up just in case.

We are on our knees, praying for peace. The anxiety overwhelms, driving us down. Tony gets ready to go to the older boy's home, the opposition begins.

I need to pray, he says standing at the kitchen sink. I don't want to go. I can feel it.

Sometimes I get tired of these desparate prayers.

It's the first day of winter, June 21. My mom's 65th birthday. Sixty-five. Where has the time gone?

She buries her father. He died on Father's Day.

Death, like a Gypsy, comes to steal what I love.  Again.

Sometimes I feel grey. As grey as these winter skies. I cry. Cry until three in the morning and I just can't stop.

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good;

Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!

Oh, fear the Lord, you His saints!

There is no want to those who fear Him.

I think of regret. Pain so deep, sorrow so great, I will never be the same again. I have an epiphany. And I'm mad it takes me forty years to come to it. I will never allow anyone to influence me again when I know what God is telling me to do. When I know what is right. But I don't do it. It's too late, it's too late. I can't go back.

Only ahead.

I think of this forgiveness that I have been given. This wonderful, unbelievable, undeserved forgiveness. I know I don't deserve it. I know it now more than ever. Do any of us deserve it? 

I think of him, lying in the ICU, the ventilator pushing air into his lungs, the phone up to his ear. Is he under the wrath of God or under His wings? He can hear me, but he can't speak. I grope to speak words of Truth, of Love. Something. Lord, give me something - the right words to say.

You need to get ready. Are you ready? I love you.

At my words he begins to flail his arms wildly. Fiesty, strong, German stock. Whether in agreement or in anger I do not know - I will never know, not in this life. We have to hang up. They call the nurse. He dies five days later.

The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart;

and saves such as be of a contrite spirit.

This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him,

And saved him out of all his troubles....

The Lord redeems the soul of his servants.

I groan within myself, waiting for this redemption.

~Scripture quoted from Psalm 34

Bees, a four letter word

Our whole yard is a blanket of clover right now.

And therefore, one big blanket of BEES.

I hate bees. I don't care if they give us honey. They are evil, as far as I'm concerned. But, then again, I'm allergic. So that probably affects my opinion somewhat.

This spring I was sitting outside, watching the kids play in the cool of the day, Epipen by my side, when I saw it. The first bee of the season. My heart sunk. They ruin everything, those bees. So I began praying, yet again, what I pray every spring. "Oh, LORD, please don't let me get stung, ever again, for as long as I shall live. InJesusName. Amen."

Now, I've only ever been stung once, when I was 6 or 7, but once was enough. When my arm swelled up to four times its normal size, we realized I may have a slight allergy.

This year I began to pray a special prayer, "Oh, LORD, please, please, please don't let my kids get stung by any bees this summer. Unless they are not allergic. Then, please do let them be stung, but just once, so I'll know that they are not."

Then I tried to forget about the prayer and just trust and rest in God's protection. All the while continuing to bark at the kids to "put flip-flops on if you're going to go outside!".

But do they listen... NOoooooo! So, I chose to shrug my worries off and just let them run over fields of clover in bare feet if they so chose.

"Alright," I would say, "you may get stung by a beeeeee. Just so you knooowww..."

So guess who stepped on a bee this weekend?

Big A has been stung several times, so I know he is not allergic, but the two younger girls haven't ever been stung. There was a while there that I was just gripped by the fear of bees and dying by bee-sting (I know, I can be somewhat neurotic - I'm working on it, okay?). I was so afraid of hitting the mission field, walking along some deserted mountain road, and stepping on a hornets nest or something. Dead. By bee sting. That, and drowning, or being eaten by sharks, are my greatest fears. Oh, and heights.

Don't you feel better about yourself now? Chris is completely neurotic. Take heart - you're most likely not as bad as me.

Anway, I am so glad God answers prayer. Especially when you are least expecting it.

Little M stepped on a bee this weekend. And, boy, was she LOUD about it! Good thing I was not obsessing about bees at the moment, because I was able to go over to her, completely and miraculously CALM, and see what she was crying about (although I could guess, since she was bent over her foot and screaming bloody murder). The stinger and attached venom sack were still sticking out of her big toe. I had Tony pull out the stinger - 'cause you know, what if it sticks me or something? I watched her closely for the next five or ten minutes.

Fortunately, she does not seem to be allergic like her Mommy. Yay for answered prayer!

Whew. Glad that one's over. Now baby. I pray she gets doesn't get stung for at least another year or two...

I have a whole list of other prayer requests I'm waiting on the Lord to answer before we are able to take off for lands unknown. Maybe bees don't sound important to you, but the Lord knows I just need peace of mind in certain areas. If I am the only one allergic, then that's one less Epipen we have to carry around (if you can indeed get them there) and one less Mommy-worry for Mommy.

"Be anxious for nothing; but in everything by prayer and petition with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds through Christ Jesus." Phil. 4:5

:)

On Angels and God's Protection

This story sent chills up my spine and gave Tony goosebumps! The following excerpt is from my latest $0.75 find at the local Library Book Sale. Well worth the read.

Light in the Jungle by Leo B. Halliwell, pp 10-13

setting: Amazon River, Brazil, 1930s

"It was our first trip up the river in our own boat, heading west from Belém. I was new to navigation, unused to the river, and unaware of the location of shoals and dangerous rock that could destroy us. A river guide could have guided us safely through, but a pilot is a professional man and earns a good deal more than we or any missionary could afford to pay. As neophytes on the river, we had no choice but to feel our way along and trust we would be guided.

In some areas the river is fairly well populated along the banks. This is particularly so in the tidal areas within a few hundred miles of the mouth.  There canoes come and go frequently, and at times we could see dozens of them going upstream close to the banks or downstream farther out in the river. Often the occupants would ask us to tow them along behind our boat; but because there were frequently so many and we couldn't take them all, we established from the start a policy of no hitchhiking.

Yet on this very first trip we broke our rule. We had reached a desolate area where the jungle closed in deep and green along the banks and there was no sign at all of habitation, only a kind of forlorn tropic hush, when suddenly we noticed, not too far from our boat, three men in a canoe. They were respectably dressed and when they called to us and asked us if we could tow them along behind us upstream, something impressed me. Something I did not understand led me almost involuntarily to reach out to the throttle and stop the boat.

"Jack," I called to my son, who was then about fifteen years old, "throw them a line." They came alongside and we made the canoe fast. One of them stayed in the canoe. The other two came aboard our boat and stood with Jessie and Jack and me near the wheel while we talked about the jute crop and the weather and the hazards of the shifting currents. They were friendly and we were having a pleasant chat when suddenly one of them said, "Which side of the rocks are you going on?"

I saw no rocks at all - only the green bank with its lovely Pan Rosa trees off the port side and the gray-yellow water of the Amazon. "What rocks?" I asked.

Without answering, the man grabbed the steering wheel out of my hands and turned it completely around. Our boat wheeled giddily and shot out away from the bank into the river. Then I looked back and saw, not twenty feet in front of where we had been heading, the jagged points of hundreds of rocks just beneath the surface of the water. One second more and we would have plowed into them and ripped our boat to shreds. We had no idea that these rocks were there and without our hitchhiking friends we would have lost our boat and, in all likelihood, our lives.

Our visitors seemed to take our expressions of gratitude almost casually, however; and a few moments after we had passed this dangerous section of the river, one of them said, "Sir, thank you for the ride. If you don't mind stopping here, we'll get out."

It seemed strange, for there were still no houses or any other sign of human habitation to be seen along the banks. But I stopped, and the men climbed into the canoe and pushed off into the current.

"Look out and see where those men go," I said to Jack. "There's no house around here."

It had been only a moment since they had left us. There were no bends in the river. But after scanning the river in all directions, my boy turned to me. "Dad, they've disappeared."

I turned from the wheel in amazement. There were no rocks, no debris, no sign of struggle or overturned canoe, no cry for help. Only the emptiness of the river and the mute green banks a hundred yards away - too far for them to have reached in that time. Yet the three men and their boat were nowhere to be seen.

We have always believed, Jessie and I, that these men, whoever and whatever they were, were sent to us, the protecting angels of Providence. Man's extremity - and sometimes even his ignorance - is God's opportunity."


*photo credit to my friend Leti, on our trip to the Amazon, 1998*

...more pics from the boat...