Today I am leaving the gorgeous mountains overlooking the Rift Valley and flying over to the endless hills of Uganda. Alone. I am going alone.
But that is okay because God is going with me.
There are many strangers here in Africa. But there are also many brothers and sisters. I have a brother who is picking me up at the Kampala airport tonight at 11:30. I have another brother who invited me to visit his church's ministry up in northern Uganda. I have not met either one of these brothers before. But I have no fear of them because we have the same Father.
This is one of the marvelous things about being a child of God.
No matter where I go in this world, no matter how many times I have to fly or drive or walk by myself, I am never alone. Because I am a child of God, there is a whole world out there filled to bursting with my brothers and sisters in Christ.
I met one of those children yesterday. His name is Dennis, he is twelve years old, and he lives in a tent in the IDP camp. He is the oldest of four children, and his mother has been away for nearly two weeks now. She went for a visit, but the phone number she left with her son doesn't work, so Dennis has not spoken with his mother in two weeks and doesn't know when she will come home. His father lives in a different town and only visits a couple times a year. Yesterday when Dennis saw me, he shouted hello and invited me into his house that is a tent. There are holes in the tarp ceiling and mud on the floor. Dennis covered a jerry can with a beautiful piece of fabric so I would have a clean place to sit. Immediately after that, he poured me a steaming cup of Chai tea. He showed me his book from school with drawings in it of Kenya and Africa. He told me about the food he was cooking. His eyes were bright, and he was smiling often - just because I was there.
It was perhaps the most happy, hospitable welcome I've ever been given entering someone's home. And it came from a 12-year old. Who lives in a tent. And looks after his younger siblings because his parents are gone.
Dennis is a child of God. He is my little brother, and we have the same Father. Dennis - and so many others like Dennis - is one of the reasons why I can go to Uganda by myself. It is okay because God has given me many, many siblings. And because we are brothers and sisters and we love the same Father, we also love each other. This is one of my favorite things about belonging to the family of Christ.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Revenge of the Nairobi Eyes
It's a rather nice title, don't you think? I certainly thought so. Like something you might find in the sci-fi section at Goodwill. (Does Goodwill even have a Sci-fi section?)
I am writing you from Kenya.
Remember the Mormon Tabernacle Choir? They're doing it again. The angels are singing.
It's gorgeous here. Stunning, breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous. And I'm not even talking about a horse this time. We're visiting a team situated on the side of a mountain overlooking the Rift Valley. Yeah, like The Rift Valley. Who knew?
It's pretty incredible when God decides to actually give you a visible picture of how much He loves you. I spent two hours staring at it yesterday. I'll show you a photo as soon as I get back in the States. In the meantime: Picture a panoramic, blue-mountains-in-the-distance, African trees spreading across the plains, birds-hollering-in-the-background scene. You'll be close.
God is good. He is proving again His utter faithfulness in taking care of me when I jump off a cliff without being able to see how far the drop is. I made it to the airport after the most comfortable cross-Atlantic flight I've ever taken. Marble chocolate cheesecake. Need I say more?
Clint Bokelman, Jeff Hylton, and Bill Bush (all from AIM) met me at the airport along with the two Matt's (Patch and Rupple). I stepped out of the terminal and smelled Africa . . . And this from someone who hardly ever notices smells! It was a beautiful thing.
We spent that night in a hostel with giraffes painted on the living room wall. I felt right at home. And the next morning it was off on an adventure out of the haze and concrete of Nairobi and into Kenya's breathtaking countryside. We drove to Kijabi (an hour or two away) and met the rest of the team - Courtney, Kellie, and Christianna. I'm staying with the girls in their apartment/house. We have running water (even hot!), electricity, and Internet connection. Sometimes. :-)
That all happened Tuesday. Since then - Is today Friday? - we've been down to the IDP camp twice, braved roads that I'd hesitate to ride my horse down, ridden on a motorcycle (Do you hear the angels singing again? :-)), fought off some nasty monkeys, and played a very good game of Wiffle Ball. Overall, we've been quite productive. :-)
But we're not too worried about productivity. We're learning about relationships. The relationship, daily and walking, that God desires with us. The stuff that's so much more important than the house-building, the school fees, the plans. We've been talking about it a lot. It's been inspiring to watch this team here grow and listen and pray and worship and learn together. It's been encouraging to grow and listen and pray and worship and learn with them.
God is good.
Oh, and today He also got me a driver in Uganda. This morning, I didn't have a way to get from Kampala to Gulu and Lira (where the former child soldier ministries are). Tonight, I have a way. God opened the door. Wide and glowing again. Through a pastor named Onesimous who got on his phone, called a man named Dale, and said, "There's an American girl flying into Kampala on Monday, and she needs you to drive her to Lira to Pastor Johnson. When she tells you her budget, that really is all the money she has, and you'll just have to make it work." And just like that, distance and money were no longer an issue.
Here is the Body of Christ at work in Africa. This is one of the ways God can blow open a closed door. I am so thankful.
P.S. Oh, yeah, back to the title: Did I say something about Nairobi Eyes? Nasty little ant look-alikes. (I think if you want to be scientific about it, you have to call it a beetle.) They don't bite, they don't usually fly, and they're not really that awful alive. But when they die, if they're squashed (for example, if one was crawling on your face), they explode in a mass of skin-eating acidic . . . stuff. Nice, huh? We were a little nervous when we saw our first on. Imagine our horror when we walked into Clint and Jeff's house last night, and the floor was literally crawling with them. It might have been worse than Indian Jones. Well, after jumping on the chairs and wrapping our feet in plastic wrap (not all of us did that...), we calmed down, found some Bleach and a mop, and proceeded to . . . well, I think they call it a massacre when it's not insects. Welcome to Africa.
I am writing you from Kenya.
Remember the Mormon Tabernacle Choir? They're doing it again. The angels are singing.
It's gorgeous here. Stunning, breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous. And I'm not even talking about a horse this time. We're visiting a team situated on the side of a mountain overlooking the Rift Valley. Yeah, like The Rift Valley. Who knew?
It's pretty incredible when God decides to actually give you a visible picture of how much He loves you. I spent two hours staring at it yesterday. I'll show you a photo as soon as I get back in the States. In the meantime: Picture a panoramic, blue-mountains-in-the-distance, African trees spreading across the plains, birds-hollering-in-the-background scene. You'll be close.
God is good. He is proving again His utter faithfulness in taking care of me when I jump off a cliff without being able to see how far the drop is. I made it to the airport after the most comfortable cross-Atlantic flight I've ever taken. Marble chocolate cheesecake. Need I say more?
Clint Bokelman, Jeff Hylton, and Bill Bush (all from AIM) met me at the airport along with the two Matt's (Patch and Rupple). I stepped out of the terminal and smelled Africa . . . And this from someone who hardly ever notices smells! It was a beautiful thing.
We spent that night in a hostel with giraffes painted on the living room wall. I felt right at home. And the next morning it was off on an adventure out of the haze and concrete of Nairobi and into Kenya's breathtaking countryside. We drove to Kijabi (an hour or two away) and met the rest of the team - Courtney, Kellie, and Christianna. I'm staying with the girls in their apartment/house. We have running water (even hot!), electricity, and Internet connection. Sometimes. :-)
That all happened Tuesday. Since then - Is today Friday? - we've been down to the IDP camp twice, braved roads that I'd hesitate to ride my horse down, ridden on a motorcycle (Do you hear the angels singing again? :-)), fought off some nasty monkeys, and played a very good game of Wiffle Ball. Overall, we've been quite productive. :-)
But we're not too worried about productivity. We're learning about relationships. The relationship, daily and walking, that God desires with us. The stuff that's so much more important than the house-building, the school fees, the plans. We've been talking about it a lot. It's been inspiring to watch this team here grow and listen and pray and worship and learn together. It's been encouraging to grow and listen and pray and worship and learn with them.
God is good.
Oh, and today He also got me a driver in Uganda. This morning, I didn't have a way to get from Kampala to Gulu and Lira (where the former child soldier ministries are). Tonight, I have a way. God opened the door. Wide and glowing again. Through a pastor named Onesimous who got on his phone, called a man named Dale, and said, "There's an American girl flying into Kampala on Monday, and she needs you to drive her to Lira to Pastor Johnson. When she tells you her budget, that really is all the money she has, and you'll just have to make it work." And just like that, distance and money were no longer an issue.
Here is the Body of Christ at work in Africa. This is one of the ways God can blow open a closed door. I am so thankful.
P.S. Oh, yeah, back to the title: Did I say something about Nairobi Eyes? Nasty little ant look-alikes. (I think if you want to be scientific about it, you have to call it a beetle.) They don't bite, they don't usually fly, and they're not really that awful alive. But when they die, if they're squashed (for example, if one was crawling on your face), they explode in a mass of skin-eating acidic . . . stuff. Nice, huh? We were a little nervous when we saw our first on. Imagine our horror when we walked into Clint and Jeff's house last night, and the floor was literally crawling with them. It might have been worse than Indian Jones. Well, after jumping on the chairs and wrapping our feet in plastic wrap (not all of us did that...), we calmed down, found some Bleach and a mop, and proceeded to . . . well, I think they call it a massacre when it's not insects. Welcome to Africa.
Friday, April 20, 2012
The Reason
I want to talk with you a little bit more about why I’m going to Africa. My life might seem a bit random. First Hong Kong, then the west coast, then a quick jaunt to Africa . . . Haiti, now Africa again, and I don’t think that’s even the whole list. Is there any sort of common thread - any ultimate purpose - running through this?
There is.
It started ten years ago. I was sitting in my bedroom in Hong Kong with an L.M. Montgomery book in my hands when I stumbled across my vision of the perfect home life. Orphans coming and going, game nights, music, books, sunsets, study, family, prayer.
That’s it, I thought. That’s what I want to do with my life.
Well, it was a fiction story, so I couldn’t just run over to the house and see what it looked like. And even here, ten years later, I haven’t found it. I’ve seen something close a few times, but in all my travels, I’ve never yet walked into the bright, shining Real Thing.
But, almost without exception, the things that have kept me occupied over the last ten years have been little bits and slivers of this one grand dream. Horse riding lessons with kids. Dramas and costumes and memorizing lines. Singing with a band. VBS in the Rwandan mountains. Scavenger hunts. Teaching. Art projects.
And then a few months ago, I watched one of Hollywood’s films where part of the story line followed the life of a child soldier. A boy forcibly taken from his family, drugged, indoctrinated, and taught to kill. And even all of Hollywood’s make-up and drama couldn’t disguise the truth. The truth that this young paid actor on the screen who was doing a marvelous job of acting like he was on drugs, was playing the part of a real child.
A child whose name I don’t know. A child whose face I haven’t seen. I child I want to go find.
I’ve read how the world looks at these kids. “That’s awful! Unpardonable! How dare they! Don’t they know they’re just children?” And then they do their best to free them, clothe them, psychoanalyze them, counsel them, sew them up, and send their success stories out into their communities. Still just as lost to Christ as they were while they carried a gun.
I’ve heard how Christians look at these kids. “That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard. So, this is what people do without God . . . I wonder if kids who’ve been through that can ever really get over it?” We have a hard enough time raising our own kids right. Never mind a kid whose been so traumatized, he doesn’t even think before pulling a trigger in a stranger’s face.
This trip I’m taking to Kenya and Uganda is my first chance to meet some of these kids face to face. I hope it’s not my last. If we don’t reach out to kids who have been closer to hell than we’ll ever be . . . if we don’t tell them about the love of God that casts our sins as far as the east is from the west . . . if we don’t present to them the truth of Jesus Christ . . . who will?
There is.
It started ten years ago. I was sitting in my bedroom in Hong Kong with an L.M. Montgomery book in my hands when I stumbled across my vision of the perfect home life. Orphans coming and going, game nights, music, books, sunsets, study, family, prayer.
That’s it, I thought. That’s what I want to do with my life.
Well, it was a fiction story, so I couldn’t just run over to the house and see what it looked like. And even here, ten years later, I haven’t found it. I’ve seen something close a few times, but in all my travels, I’ve never yet walked into the bright, shining Real Thing.
But, almost without exception, the things that have kept me occupied over the last ten years have been little bits and slivers of this one grand dream. Horse riding lessons with kids. Dramas and costumes and memorizing lines. Singing with a band. VBS in the Rwandan mountains. Scavenger hunts. Teaching. Art projects.
And then a few months ago, I watched one of Hollywood’s films where part of the story line followed the life of a child soldier. A boy forcibly taken from his family, drugged, indoctrinated, and taught to kill. And even all of Hollywood’s make-up and drama couldn’t disguise the truth. The truth that this young paid actor on the screen who was doing a marvelous job of acting like he was on drugs, was playing the part of a real child.
A child whose name I don’t know. A child whose face I haven’t seen. I child I want to go find.
I’ve read how the world looks at these kids. “That’s awful! Unpardonable! How dare they! Don’t they know they’re just children?” And then they do their best to free them, clothe them, psychoanalyze them, counsel them, sew them up, and send their success stories out into their communities. Still just as lost to Christ as they were while they carried a gun.
I’ve heard how Christians look at these kids. “That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard. So, this is what people do without God . . . I wonder if kids who’ve been through that can ever really get over it?” We have a hard enough time raising our own kids right. Never mind a kid whose been so traumatized, he doesn’t even think before pulling a trigger in a stranger’s face.
This trip I’m taking to Kenya and Uganda is my first chance to meet some of these kids face to face. I hope it’s not my last. If we don’t reach out to kids who have been closer to hell than we’ll ever be . . . if we don’t tell them about the love of God that casts our sins as far as the east is from the west . . . if we don’t present to them the truth of Jesus Christ . . . who will?
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
It's Only Tuesday
If you will kindly notice the new clock on the right-hand side of this page: That is the current time in Nairobi, Kenya, where I will be landing on Monday, April 23, at 9:00 p.m. That’s 9:00 p.m. Kenya time. I’m not sure what time that makes it here. Anyhow, I thought the clock might be helpful. For me possibly as much as for you.
I’m in the very beginning stages of planning. Haven’t even thought about packing yet, except for my exceptionally handy travel pillow, complete with Tomater and Lightning McQueen on the cover. (Thanks, Chris!) But it’s only Tuesday. I’ve got all sorts of time.
Here is the most recent update I can give you regarding my travel plans:
Step #1: I land in the airport in Nairobi, Kenya, at 9:00 p.m. on Monday, April 23.
(. . . Did I say that already? . . .)
Step #2: I fly out of Nairobi at 11:15 p.m. on Monday, May 14.
Step #1 1/2: Between April 23 and May 14 . . . God is going to do something amazing! I just don’t happen to know what it is.
I am hoping to spend a week at the IDP camp outside of Nairobi with the AIM team, and then take a flight over to Uganda to spend two weeks learning as much as I can about child soldiers. I’ve been given a few different contacts there who can help me learn more, and I am praying for the open doors God has in mind and closed doors everywhere else.
Oh, and it also “just so happens” that my church here in the booming metropolis of Central City is very much interested in international adoptions. In fact, they’ve already picked out an orphanage. Which is in Uganda. Kampala. Which is where I hope to be in somewhere just under two weeks.
So, if you’ve been thinking that I’m taking this whole randomness / Bohemian / spur-of-the-moment thing to an exaggerated level (Who buys a plane ticket to Africa a mere ten days before flying out?), rest assured - God had all this planned out before I was even born. I’m quite sure I am exactly where He wants me to be. I’m quite sure that in two-weeks time, the same will still be true.
I’m in the very beginning stages of planning. Haven’t even thought about packing yet, except for my exceptionally handy travel pillow, complete with Tomater and Lightning McQueen on the cover. (Thanks, Chris!) But it’s only Tuesday. I’ve got all sorts of time.
Here is the most recent update I can give you regarding my travel plans:
Step #1: I land in the airport in Nairobi, Kenya, at 9:00 p.m. on Monday, April 23.
(. . . Did I say that already? . . .)
Step #2: I fly out of Nairobi at 11:15 p.m. on Monday, May 14.
Step #1 1/2: Between April 23 and May 14 . . . God is going to do something amazing! I just don’t happen to know what it is.
I am hoping to spend a week at the IDP camp outside of Nairobi with the AIM team, and then take a flight over to Uganda to spend two weeks learning as much as I can about child soldiers. I’ve been given a few different contacts there who can help me learn more, and I am praying for the open doors God has in mind and closed doors everywhere else.
Oh, and it also “just so happens” that my church here in the booming metropolis of Central City is very much interested in international adoptions. In fact, they’ve already picked out an orphanage. Which is in Uganda. Kampala. Which is where I hope to be in somewhere just under two weeks.
So, if you’ve been thinking that I’m taking this whole randomness / Bohemian / spur-of-the-moment thing to an exaggerated level (Who buys a plane ticket to Africa a mere ten days before flying out?), rest assured - God had all this planned out before I was even born. I’m quite sure I am exactly where He wants me to be. I’m quite sure that in two-weeks time, the same will still be true.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
An Open Door
I suppose I ought to be more careful about labeling myself. Apparently when God heard me say the word “Bohemian,” He took it very literally.
I’m leaving America.
Again.
Don’t worry. I bought a round-trip ticket. I’ll be coming back after three weeks. Ish.
I’m going to Kenya. Adventures in Missions (AIM) has a two-year team working in an IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) camp over there. Clint Bokelman (head of the long-term department at AIM and the man whose family let me stay in their house while I was in Georgia last fall) is flying over to see how the team’s doing, and he said I could come along too. (Thanks, Clint!! You're worldwide invitations are always appreciated.)
I wasn’t really thinking it was feasible until I asked God about it. And He said, “See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut (Rev. 3:8).” And I could see the door all big and glowing in my mind with the angels singing around it. “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Just like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
So, that was it.
I got on the computer and looked up airplane tickets. (This all happened last night and this morning, by the way.) Plane tickets to Africa usually run around $2,500. I didn’t have half that. I decided to make things even more difficult on God’s end and search for flights out of Grand Island. In all my years, I’ve never once flown out of Grand Island before. The first ticket that popped up from Grand Island, Nebraska, to Nairobi, Kenya, was $1,300. That’s with tax.
If I didn’t know there was a God before, I most certainly do now.
I bought the plane ticket this morning. I’m visiting an IDP camp for the first time after all the stories and pictures I’ve seen from other people who have gone. And then I have a couple extra weeks, and I might take a flight over to Uganda or Rwanda, since I’m so close, and then the DRC is right next door . . . But I don’t really know. Forty-eight hours ago, I never could have told you I’d be going to Kenya. I’m alright with letting God plan the itinerary. Apparently, He’s pretty good at it.
Besides, I think this is what God’s Bohemians are supposed to do.
. . . Oh, and did I forget to mention that I’m leaving on Sunday? Not this Sunday but the one after that. Yeah, the one that’s eleven days from now. I know. Sudden, huh? I would have told you earlier, but I really didn’t know. If you want to keep track of me more than a week or two at a time, you might need to ask God about it and not me.
I’m leaving America.
Again.
Don’t worry. I bought a round-trip ticket. I’ll be coming back after three weeks. Ish.
I’m going to Kenya. Adventures in Missions (AIM) has a two-year team working in an IDP (Internally Displaced Persons) camp over there. Clint Bokelman (head of the long-term department at AIM and the man whose family let me stay in their house while I was in Georgia last fall) is flying over to see how the team’s doing, and he said I could come along too. (Thanks, Clint!! You're worldwide invitations are always appreciated.)
I wasn’t really thinking it was feasible until I asked God about it. And He said, “See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut (Rev. 3:8).” And I could see the door all big and glowing in my mind with the angels singing around it. “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Just like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
So, that was it.
I got on the computer and looked up airplane tickets. (This all happened last night and this morning, by the way.) Plane tickets to Africa usually run around $2,500. I didn’t have half that. I decided to make things even more difficult on God’s end and search for flights out of Grand Island. In all my years, I’ve never once flown out of Grand Island before. The first ticket that popped up from Grand Island, Nebraska, to Nairobi, Kenya, was $1,300. That’s with tax.
If I didn’t know there was a God before, I most certainly do now.
I bought the plane ticket this morning. I’m visiting an IDP camp for the first time after all the stories and pictures I’ve seen from other people who have gone. And then I have a couple extra weeks, and I might take a flight over to Uganda or Rwanda, since I’m so close, and then the DRC is right next door . . . But I don’t really know. Forty-eight hours ago, I never could have told you I’d be going to Kenya. I’m alright with letting God plan the itinerary. Apparently, He’s pretty good at it.
Besides, I think this is what God’s Bohemians are supposed to do.
. . . Oh, and did I forget to mention that I’m leaving on Sunday? Not this Sunday but the one after that. Yeah, the one that’s eleven days from now. I know. Sudden, huh? I would have told you earlier, but I really didn’t know. If you want to keep track of me more than a week or two at a time, you might need to ask God about it and not me.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Remembering Grandma
I haven’t written anything about Grandma yet. This last week has been a blur, and there’s been too much to simplify into mere words.
My grandma died last Tuesday. And yet, really, she’s not dead or gone at all. She’s more alive than I’ll ever know while I can still type on this blog, and she’s only lost to my finite senses, not the infinite at all.
Her last couple days with us were spent in the hospital with her kids and grandkids gathered around her. The last 24 hours, she was asleep and didn’t fully wake up at all. We spent hours in the room with her reading Scripture, praying, singing, and talking to each other. I wonder what the nurses thought of us. I wonder if they’re used to seeing dozens of people crammed into a hospital room to hold the hand of someone who’s asleep and never going to wake up.
A few hours before Grandma died, I sat in the chair next to her bed and held her hand. Grandpa had left the room for a few minutes, and I was filling in for him. I remember sitting there, looking at her face, and wondering, “Grandma, where are you?” Her body was there, but it was like her spirit was . . . hovering. That’s the only word that fits. Hovering inside her body, enjoying her kids one more time, waiting for us to leave so she could go with Jesus to the place where time is no more.
A few hours after we left the hospital, that’s exactly what she did. I’m convinced she waited until we were gone because she couldn’t bear to leave with us still in the room with her. That’s how Grandma was. She wanted to make sure her kids knew she loved them before they walked out of the room. She knew how to make you feel at peace and happy when she said goodbye.
The funeral on Friday was epic. We took a group picture, and there were something like 67 of us, and that was just family members. I’m not sure of the exact number, cause the faces keep running together every time I try to count. While we were waiting for all of us to gather for the photo, we sang “Senor Don Gato.” You might call it a family song. It was pure spontaneity. I don’t suppose I’ll ever attend another funeral where they sing “Senor Don Gato.” The best part was, it was Grandpa’s idea. I’m sure Grandma was laughing with us.
We ate and talked for hours after the funeral. We took pictures and commented on the amazing chocolate cake. Back at home, all us grandkids packed the living room for a couple rounds of Mafia and - what was it called? - Four on the Couch? We talked for hours. We braved the wind and admired Central City’s sole tourist attraction, the bridge across the Platte. At 10:00 that night, I found my mom and cousin sitting in front of the TV, racing each other in Mario Cart.
This is my family. These are the kids that Grandma and Grandpa raised. This is our heritage, and it’s a beautiful thing. It makes me wonder what Heaven will be like. How long will our conversations last there? How many songs will we sing? How many rounds of Mafia can we play? “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” I know a little bit more about the great cloud of witnesses today. For a while at least, they’re almost constantly in my thoughts. Why? Because my grandma is one of them.
My grandma died last Tuesday. And yet, really, she’s not dead or gone at all. She’s more alive than I’ll ever know while I can still type on this blog, and she’s only lost to my finite senses, not the infinite at all.
Her last couple days with us were spent in the hospital with her kids and grandkids gathered around her. The last 24 hours, she was asleep and didn’t fully wake up at all. We spent hours in the room with her reading Scripture, praying, singing, and talking to each other. I wonder what the nurses thought of us. I wonder if they’re used to seeing dozens of people crammed into a hospital room to hold the hand of someone who’s asleep and never going to wake up.
A few hours before Grandma died, I sat in the chair next to her bed and held her hand. Grandpa had left the room for a few minutes, and I was filling in for him. I remember sitting there, looking at her face, and wondering, “Grandma, where are you?” Her body was there, but it was like her spirit was . . . hovering. That’s the only word that fits. Hovering inside her body, enjoying her kids one more time, waiting for us to leave so she could go with Jesus to the place where time is no more.
A few hours after we left the hospital, that’s exactly what she did. I’m convinced she waited until we were gone because she couldn’t bear to leave with us still in the room with her. That’s how Grandma was. She wanted to make sure her kids knew she loved them before they walked out of the room. She knew how to make you feel at peace and happy when she said goodbye.
The funeral on Friday was epic. We took a group picture, and there were something like 67 of us, and that was just family members. I’m not sure of the exact number, cause the faces keep running together every time I try to count. While we were waiting for all of us to gather for the photo, we sang “Senor Don Gato.” You might call it a family song. It was pure spontaneity. I don’t suppose I’ll ever attend another funeral where they sing “Senor Don Gato.” The best part was, it was Grandpa’s idea. I’m sure Grandma was laughing with us.
We ate and talked for hours after the funeral. We took pictures and commented on the amazing chocolate cake. Back at home, all us grandkids packed the living room for a couple rounds of Mafia and - what was it called? - Four on the Couch? We talked for hours. We braved the wind and admired Central City’s sole tourist attraction, the bridge across the Platte. At 10:00 that night, I found my mom and cousin sitting in front of the TV, racing each other in Mario Cart.
This is my family. These are the kids that Grandma and Grandpa raised. This is our heritage, and it’s a beautiful thing. It makes me wonder what Heaven will be like. How long will our conversations last there? How many songs will we sing? How many rounds of Mafia can we play? “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” I know a little bit more about the great cloud of witnesses today. For a while at least, they’re almost constantly in my thoughts. Why? Because my grandma is one of them.
(As far as I know, this is one of the earliest photos we have of Grandma and Grandpa together. I love how happy Grandma looks.)
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Final Chapter: Not Merely in Theory
I’d like to close with two small verses from I John 3. I’ll use the Amplified version because we don’t often hear it put this way, and because I like words.
In verses 17 and 18, John writes, “But if anyone has this world’s goods (resources for sustaining life) and sees his brother and fellow believer in need, yet closes his heart of compassion against him, how can the love of God live and remain in him? Little children, let us not love [merely] in theory or in speech but in deed and in truth (in practice and in sincerity).”
I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of simply talking. Reading. Researching. Discussing. Debating.
I’m tired of just saying how much we have loved, how much we do love, how much we’re going to love.
I’m ready to find ways to put it into practice.
When Jesus was asked what the most important commandment was - in other words, what should we strive for? What gives our lives meaning? What is the goal? - He answered with a very brief, “Love God and love others.”
There’s the aim of the Christian life. Five little words. Who knew it could be so simple?
But those are mere words on paper. That’s just another story. This is only another speech, another nice theory.
Unless we go out and do something about it, this won’t change anything.
I’m not okay with that.
Are you?
In verses 17 and 18, John writes, “But if anyone has this world’s goods (resources for sustaining life) and sees his brother and fellow believer in need, yet closes his heart of compassion against him, how can the love of God live and remain in him? Little children, let us not love [merely] in theory or in speech but in deed and in truth (in practice and in sincerity).”
I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of simply talking. Reading. Researching. Discussing. Debating.
I’m tired of just saying how much we have loved, how much we do love, how much we’re going to love.
I’m ready to find ways to put it into practice.
When Jesus was asked what the most important commandment was - in other words, what should we strive for? What gives our lives meaning? What is the goal? - He answered with a very brief, “Love God and love others.”
There’s the aim of the Christian life. Five little words. Who knew it could be so simple?
But those are mere words on paper. That’s just another story. This is only another speech, another nice theory.
Unless we go out and do something about it, this won’t change anything.
I’m not okay with that.
Are you?
“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth,
whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of Mine,
you did for Me.’ ” (Matthew 25:40)
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