Meeting Missionaries in Texas

In a few minutes, I will be meeting Nadia and Buck, who I stayed with in Sofia this past winter.  In the meantime, they have moved to Texas.  I will give them this year’s two books, since they figure in four chapters in one book (Dancing in My Dreams), and the entire first part of the other book (more than 50 pages of Graceful Flight) was written at The Promised Land, owned by Nadia’s brother-in-law, Bobby.

It will be interesting to see how they are adapting to life in the US.  They met at seminary here, but since marriage (more than 20 years ago), they have lived in Bulgaria.

–        Later     –

Joe T. Garcia’s–a Fort Worth experience!

They were going to pick me up at my hotel, which is close to their apartment, but they went to a different location of the same hotel brand from where I’m staying.  That little snafu was typically American, and sort of indicative of how they’re managing in the US.  Instead, we met at the restaurant that I had suggested: Joe T. Garcia’s.  I discovered Joe T’s before it became the hotspot that it is today.  Back in about 1980, when I was working as a law office runner (messenger girl), a co-worker told me about Joe T. Garcia’s.  Her husband was a cop in Fort Worth, so he got around a lot and knew all the really good places.  In those days, it was a tiny restaurant in a clapboard house in the neighborhood of the Fort Worth Stockyards (not the nicest part of town).  There was no menu, you just ate whatever they were serving, but that was always excellent.  And you had to walk through the kitchen, past the cooks stirring steaming loads of beans in big frying pans, to get to the dining room.  Now they have added on and added on, and have taken over the next couple of blocks for parking, and it went from funky to fancy.  Now Joe T. Garcia’s is very popular, and has photos of celebrities from all over the US who ate there on their visit to Fort Worth.

I can report that their food is still excellent.  On this, my first day back to Texas in over a year, I was suffering from a severe Mexican food deficit.  My fellow Texan agreed that it had been hard, living in Bulgaria without a Mexican food fix.

So over a great meal, we caught up on all the happenings in their lives and mine.  We commiserated about sensory overload at the grocery store and avoiding the mall at all costs.  Nothing good can come from the American culture of consumerism.  It creates a perceived need that develops dissatisfaction in people, whereas, I’ve noticed that I’m happiest when I remember to be grateful.  Plus, they had moved from a really nice apartment in a nice part of Sofia, where they were paying a lot less for a lot more than they are paying here.  They were surprised that Fort Worth is as pricey as it is.

But despite all that, they and their family are getting along fine.  Now all they need is to get that green card so that they can both work.  It will take both salaries to make it in the US.  But God provides for His children, and they have enjoyed some very wonderful and miraculous provision—praise His wonderful Name!  God is good!

Take it Personally!

God has been meeting us here in very personal ways, providing just what we need (or want!) at just the right time.  For me, there were 4 things that people either did for me, gave to me, or that were simply there for me, and nobody knew where they had come from.

Scarf

The day before I left for Rome I was given a scarf.  I put it in my backpack and really forgot about it until the first morning in Rome.  We had a pre-breakfast prayer meeting by the swimming pool each morning.  Rome was hot, but not at 6:30AM.  So having that scarf to throw over my shoulders was just perfect.  It felt like a smile from God.  I have also needed the scarf on the buses here in Malta because they are hyper-uber-air-conditioned and freezing cold.  After a roasting hot day, getting on a freezing bus when you’re all sweaty feels really good—at first.  But our bus ride is about 25 minutes, which is plenty of time to get frozen.  So again, having the scarf to throw over my shoulders has been a real blessing and a life-saver.

Pearl

In the Malta airport I found a pearl on the ground.  As many of you know, I have recently opened my apartment in Milan as a missionary guesthouse.  What you might not know is that I named it Pearl House because of a dream that God gave me while I was fasting and praying.  In the dream I saw people lined up on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building.  Each person had a bag overflowing with pearls in their hands.  When I woke up, I realized that these were missionaries taking the Pearl of Great Price (the Gospel) to people in Europe.  So finding that pearl was significant in a very personal way.

Chicken Dinner

Yesterday I took a day off from the Prayer Center to rest, get some laundry done, and work on the computer.  We have had all our meals provided for us, but they have been brought to the Prayer Center.  I had spied a can of tuna and figured that I would just put tuna on crackers, and that would be fine for dinner.  But then the dance team woke up from their nap and made a delicious chicken dinner, and they invited me to share it with them.  They were going to do the overnight shift at the Prayer Center, and opted to get a good nap and arrive too late for dinner.  So instead of cold tuna on crackers, I got a lovely chicken dinner with oven fried potatoes and a delicious fresh fruit salad.

Yogurt

This morning I got up early and caught the first morning bus to the Prayer Center.  I had a cup of coffee before leaving, but I usually don’t wake up hungry.  As I walked into the Prayer Center I wanted a second cup of coffee and something to eat.  My favorite breakfast is a crunchy granola cereal with plain yogurt over it.  On the kitchen counter sat a cup of plain yogurt.  There were 3 people in the Prayer Room, so I asked if the yogurt belonged to anyone.  They all said that they didn’t know anything about it.  But I know: it was a breakfast treat from my Father, who loves me personally and intimately.  God is good!

Europe’s Most Hopeless People

Europe is a hopeless place, filled with hopeless people.  That’s something that most tourists have no clue about.  They come from places where there are jobs and plenty of money.  They see the majestic Eiffel Tower, the famous tower of Big Ben, the historical Colosseum in Rome, and the romantic canals of Venice.  They take pictures and go home thinking that they have seen Europe.

Trivia: Few have actually seen Big Ben because it’s the name of the clock’s bell

Trivia: Christians were fed to the lions in the Circus Maximus, not the Colosseum because it was a bigger venue and open to all, so it served as a warning not to join the Christians.  The Colosseum was only open to the nobility and was where the Gladiators fought to the death.

The tourists might have had their pockets picked or seen (or most likely tried not to see) beggars in these beautiful places.  If they were brave enough to ride the buses, trains, trams, or subway, they may have smelled someone near them who doesn’t use deodorant.  These tourists go home thinking that they have seen Europe, too.

But the reality of Europe (or any place for that matter) can only be truly known by living here.  Life in Europe is hard, and it’s hardest on immigrants.  Americans must learn how to navigate ancient bureaucracies that are full of rules that make no sense—that’s just the way it’s done.

The Europeans have a love/hate relationship with America.  They love our movies and TV shows, and the fact that we come in and spend money here, which boosts the economy.  But they hate our loud and often obnoxious presence.  America is the land of comfort and convenience, the land of efficiency and practicality.  Most of Europe is none of those things.  So when Americans come and complain loudly about the realities of Europe, it angers Europeans, who may wish that you would just quietly spend your money and go back to America.

The biggest difference between America and Europe is that Americans are an optimistic bunch.  Even the most pessimistic and negative American is more optimistic than the average European.  In a word, Americans have hope.  Europeans have mostly given up hope.  This hopelessness is what makes Europe “by far the most secular, least Christian” continent on earth, (Operation World, page 79).  Europeans love our optimism, love the fact that we smile a lot, but they consider Americans naïve.

Here are some of the most hopeless groups of people in Europe (and probably in the world):

The Roma

There are Roma (gypsies) throughout Europe, and they are the most universally hated group of people by far.  The Roma are not all lazy beggars and thieves, as most people think.  In fact, they are quite industrious.  However, because the majority of them have no legal documents, they cannot materially participate in European society.  They can’t get jobs, so they create their own work.  Some Roma are business owners, employing their family members.  Others pick and sell flowers, wash windshields at traffic lights, or play music on the subway—all of which are forms of begging.  Some of the gypsy girls visit the alley door of restaurants and shops, begging for food or money in exchange for sex.  Some sit outside of churches, grocery stores, and cafes, begging.  Some have broken and set their legs in crazy ways or amputated their legs, giving themselves a “beggar’s pay raise.”  And, yes, some of them break into houses and steal whatever they can carry away.

Most of the Roma could not integrate into the rest of European society even if they wanted to.  Their lack of legal documents also means that even if they have the money, they can’t buy or rent property.  So they live in camps at the edge of town.  Some camps are worse than others, but none of the camps are a place you would want to go, much less to live.  Roma hygiene is practically nonexistent, even if the facilities are available to them—and often they are not available.  Every Roma camp is the third world.  Just outside the beautiful European cities that attract so many tourists are Roma camps: Paris, London, Rome, and Venice all have their Roma camps.

But the biggest barrier to integration is the Roma family, itself.  At the head of every Roma family are the patriarchs, the grandparents.  All family issues are decided by the patriarchs, and all money is brought to the patriarchs to administer.  Roma family values are so foreign to the rest of us that it makes them a frightening mystery to most people.  Understanding Roma family values will help you understand the Roma.  In a nutshell, the family is everything to the Roma, and you serve the family, the patriarchs, by bringing them money.  You might think, well my family is important to me, too.  But here’s some examples of Roma family values at work:

• Sending your daughter (or son or wife) out to sell herself as a prostitute brings money to the family, so that’s a good thing.
• Paying to ride the bus, train, or subway takes money away from the family, so that’s a bad thing.
• Passing your children around among the adults of the family to be used like sex toys trains them for prostitution, which will bring in money, so that’s a good thing.
• Passing up an opportunity to steal something when no one is looking won’t bring money to help the family, so that’s a bad thing.
• Selling your child either to traffickers or to black market human organ dealers brings money to the family, so that’s a good thing.

On that last point, the Roma are always happy with pregnancies because one way or another, they will find a way to bring money in to the family through that child.  Do they love their children?  Love doesn’t really enter into Roma family values.  Money is really everything for them.

The Homeless of Budapest

When I was in Budapest, I wrote about the homeless in my book Look, Listen, Love.  Budapest has an estimated 30,000 homeless people (Operation World, page 403).  The homeless people that I saw didn’t beg for money.  All over Europe, and indeed the world, homeless people beg for money.  But not the homeless of Budapest.  They have lost hope.  They sleep in doorways and in the entrances to the subway.  There are so many of them that the city seems to have given up hope of helping them.  So the police don’t chase them away when they camp in a doorway, in the park, or in the subway entrance.  I guess that’s help of some sort, but not much.

The Orphans

But the Roma and the homeless of Budapest, although hopeless, are not the most hopeless group of people in Europe.  The most hopeless people are the orphans of formerly Communist Central and Eastern Europe.  I met 1 just this week.

Mary came with a missionary family from Romania that stayed with me.  She is the nanny to their 4 children.  They are discipling her even though she hasn’t yet made a decision for Christ.  They had to be very careful talking about her because although Mary doesn’t understand English, the children are bilingual.  Little pitchers have big ears, and they also have big mouths!

What I understood between the lines is that Mary grew up in an orphanage.  Most orphanages in the formerly Communist countries keep the children under very tight control.  So they grow up sheltered, but not loved.  Mary had never seen an elevator before.  She had no idea how the thing worked, and preferred to take the stairs instead.  When I was introduced to Mary, I did as with any introduction:  I smiled and offered my hand to shake.  Mary turned her gaze from my smiling face and reluctantly took the hand.

Mary clearly loves the children, especially the oldest, Sally, who is 7.  She told the mother that Sally loved and accepted her when nobody else would.  I suspect that Mary feels safer with someone who is younger and still quite small.  Because she had never experienced love, she found it very hard to believe that anybody, the family, me, or even God could love her, only Sally.  It is very much an issue of trust.

What I know about orphanages in the formerly Communist countries is what I learned from Stella’s Voice, a missions organization that goes to Moldova and rescues orphans, and Nefarious, a documentary about human trafficking, and from talking with missionaries who work with prostitutes.  Orphans, particularly girls, need rescuing because when they reach their 18^th birthday, the orphanage gives them a bus ticket and a little money, and they are left on a bench at the bus stop.  The traffickers know this and come by to take the girls and set them up into a life of prostitution, usually in Western Europe.  Since they have no skills and no life experience, the girls go along without a thought.  Sometimes the orphanage directors will encourage the girls to “be friendly” with the traffickers even before they must leave the orphanage.  In this way they learn that their only value is sexual.

With the ever-present children, I never was able to learn very much specifically about Mary’s life.  All I know is that she is 29 years old, though emotionally I would put her more at 12.  She has been with the family for 4 years.  She has heard the Gospel and attends church with the family, but has never made a declaration of faith.  The mother, who is also Romanian, told me that Mary’s inability to trust has at times made her so difficult to live with that she almost gave up on her.  But the Lord told her that he put Mary into her home for a reason.

When you think of Europe, please remember that the beautiful places you’ve seen in pictures are only a small part of the reality.  Europe is desperately in need of missionaries.  There are some countries with almost no Christian presence—and that presence is hardly Christian, being either steeped in worship of the Madonna or loaded up with traditions that include curses for sale from the priest.  Please pray for missionaries to answer the call to serve in Europe.  Pray for the missionaries and pastors of Europe who have been laboring for years to bring in the final harvest.  And if the Lord is calling you to come serve Him in Europe, please be obedient and answer that call!  God is good, but there is no time to waste.  The Day of the Lord is upon us.

Hopelessly Devoted to Him

I know it seems like I go on and on about the Rapture, but the thing is that I know it’s coming soon, and like a young bride, I can hardly wait for that day.

I don’t listen to anything but Christian music, and without a TV, I spend my downtime watching sermons of my favorite preachers on YouTube.  I hardly go to movies at all these days because I’ve found that I am very easily upset by violence or offended by bad language or people acting like sin is an acceptable way to live.  Understand that I’m not judging anyone (they will have to stand before the Judge of us all someday), but since I don’t hang around those kind of people in real life, I find it impossible to be entertained by them without my heart being offended.

So it’s funny, but today I was thinking about the Rapture again.  And a song came to me, but not a Christian song.  It’s not even a song that I particularly like: Hopelessly Devoted to You from the musical, Grease.  I like the musical, but that song!  Let’s face it: that song is sappy—it defines sappy.  Olivia Newton John as Sandy goes into the backyard in her nightgown and sings about how lovesick she is despite the bad treatment she’s gotten from Danny (John Travolta’s character).  Really, it’s enough to make Pollyanna throw up.

But despite all that, it really describes my state of mind.  Just like Sandy I’m “out of my head, hopelessly devoted” to Jesus.  I constantly think about the day that He will come and take me away.  And that’s not because my life is so bad, it’s not.  In fact, I couldn’t be happier or in a better place.  Well, not on earth, that is.  I guess Heaven is the only thing missing.  So I go on, doing my work for Him, dreaming of the day that we’ll be together forever.

Today’s Word from the Lord is John 14:12-14: “Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in Me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.  And I will do whatever you ask in My name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son.  You may ask Me for anything in My name, and I will do it.”  That’s an awesome promise!  And it happens to be in the same chapter as a Rapture passage.  In verses 2-3, Jesus says: “My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am.”

I’ve moved a lot in my life (every 5 years on average), and most of them have been long distance moves.  Most of the time I was happy where I was living, but looking forward to the next place.  Now I have broken the lifelong pattern with my move back to Milan in 2010.  This is the first place where I have ever moved back to, and it’s the first time that I’ve lived for more than 7 years in one place.  I love Milan.  I love my friends here.  I love my apartment.  I love my neighborhood.  I love my ministry.  I love my life.  I’m very happy here.  But I’m looking forward to the next place.

So with moony sighs and lovesick tears, I resemble a teenager in love as I wait for my wedding day when I’ll fly away.  God is good!

A Delightful Day Trip

My houseguests came to Italy from Czech Republic to attend a prophetic prayer conference, but they made use of their free time to do a bit of tourism.  I generally help guests get oriented and figure out how to find what they’re looking for, but mostly I leave them to go visit the castle, the cathedral and other tourist sites without me.  However, my friends Rose and Piotr invited me to come with them to visit Como.  I hadn’t been to Como for several years, and it is a very nice place to visit, so we packed a picnic lunch and I went with them.

We arrived at Como’s San Giovanni station.  Como has 4 or 5 train stations.  I picked San Giovanni because it is above the city, and from it you enter the city through a nice park.  From there we walked to the lakeside park where the monument to Alexander Volta stands, looking very much like a giant Duracell battery.  Ducks approached us quacking for a handout, but we had come empty-handed.

We walked back toward the marina under a canopy of trees so thick that it was like walking in the shade of an arcade gallery.  As we passed the marina, I pointed out that it is possible to take a boat tour of Lake Como.  They decided that it was going to take too much of our time, and so declined—much to my relief.  If they had wanted to do the boat tour, I would have waited for them on solid ground in a coffee shop.  It’s true, I’m not a big fan of boats.  I will ride boats when necessary, but it’s really not my idea of a fun time.  I know that lots of people love sailing, love boating, kayaking, canoeing, but they can have it.

From there we walked to the cathedral where we enjoyed the naturally cool interior, and then we went for a coffee.  The waiter spoke English and entertained us with his shtick for foreign visitors.

Then we went up the funicular railway to the top of the hill overlooking the lake and the city of Como.  The view going up was spectacular.  At the top we found a shady bench and ate our picnic lunch, enjoying the beautiful view and the lovely day.  Piotr pointed across the lake and asked me if the city in the valley was Chiasso, Switzerland.  I said, “I don’t know.  It could be.”  When we found a detailed satellite map, we discovered that it was, indeed Chiasso.  I asked him how he could possibly have known that that was Chiasso.  He shrugged and said, “It was a train to Chiasso, and that looked like it must be the next stop for the train.”

We walked along the narrow street to the scenic overlook at Fonte Pissarottino, which means fountain of Pissarottino.  The fountain did not have drinkable water, and had a marble sign reading “Porta fortuna,” meaning that the water brings good luck.  I translated the sign for them and said, “Of course, we’re blessed, so we don’t need luck.”  The views over Lake Como are all stunning, and this was certainly beautiful.  Then Rose and Piotr wanted to climb even farther up the hill to the lighthouse, Faro Voltiano.  I decided that they could do the climb in the full sun of the afternoon without my help.  So I waited for them at the coffee shop by the Funicular and did one of my favorite activities, people watching.  A tortoise-shell cat came to me, looking for some love.  Since I can’t resist cats, I naturally complied.  With a satisfied meow, he sauntered off to look for a good spot to nap.  Soon after that a big puppy that had slipped off his leash came wagging over to me.  I petted him with one hand and grabbed his collar with the other.  When a girl about 9-10 years old came running up, I handed him over to her.  She was very relieved to have him back.  The rest of the family came running, and made a big fuss over the dog, putting him back onto the leash.  The puppy just continued to wag, enjoying the chaos he had caused.

When Rose and Piotr found me in the shade of the café umbrella they confirmed what I had suspected: that it was a hard climb to the lighthouse in the full sun for very little payoff.  I smiled, thinking that with age (experience) comes wisdom.

We took the train back to Milan from the Como Nord station, which is not far from the bottom of the funicular.  It had been a beautiful day, and a pleasant day trip.  I called it an early night (about 9:30), and we all slept very well.  God is good!

Too Much Homework is Overwhelming!

I haven’t forgotten that I need to write Part 2 of my last post, Blessed Reassurance.  But here’s the thing: I’ve just got too much writing to do at the moment.  I need to write:

1. The script for a film about the missionary guesthouse that my apartment in Milan has become,
2. The script for a PowerPoint about the ministry,
3. A new post for the website’s blog, and
4. Part 2 of my last blog post, mentioned above)

In addition to those writing tasks, I have 2 very big translation jobs:

1. A book from Italian into English (due by the end of the summer) and
2. Our corporate paperwork from English into Italian (due as soon as possible)

All this is just overwhelming me almost to the point of paralysis.

So, instead of putting off the blog altogether, I thought I would take a pleasant little detour today, and take you on a little guided tour into a writer’s mind—mine!  I have written 3 complete books (nonfiction), and 2 that I never completely finished (fiction—I lost interest ¾ of the way through), and several plays (3-5 acts) and skits, the majority of which have been produced in schools and/or churches.  That’s not bragging, it’s just establishing that I know a thing or 2 about writing.

2 of the 3–the only ones I own copies of!

Sometimes people tell me that they feel that urge to write, but writing a book just seems like too big a task.  It’s funny but, I found books to be the easiest thing to write.  Although by word count my plays are about a 10^th the size of my books, they were much harder to write.  It was rewarding when they were done, especially when I saw my plays acted on the stage.  But writing, especially dialogue, was like do-it-yourself dentistry: painful and difficult.  Pulling the words out of my characters’ mouths was like trying to extract my own teeth with a rusty pair of pliers.  (How’s that for a colorful image?)

Books are not so hard to write if you break the task into small pieces.  The blog has helped with that—something I hadn’t imagined when I first started blogging just 3 years ago.  In addition, writing becomes easier if you make a regular appointment with yourself.  I try to write daily, but sometimes my heavy travel schedule makes it impossible to keep up with every single day.  One thing I found is that if you start to treat your writing time as an important appointment, you’ll find that your creative self will meet you at your desk, ready to write.  But you must treat your writing task as something important.  Turn off the phone, don’t answer the door, and close your web browser (unless you need to do research on the internet).

Beginning writers might find more success if they write things out with pencil and paper.  My first book was entirely handwritten before a word of it was put on the computer.  There is something about the sound of the pencil scratching across the page that unblocks the creative wells.  And, yes, even writing nonfiction is creative.  You have an incident that happened, but you choose how to shade it and frame it.

If you want to write, but don’t know what to write about, then take a look at what you like to read.  I have always preferred true life stories, how people overcame their circumstances by faith.  I think that’s why I lost interest in writing those 2 novels.  I just find real life so much more interesting, bizarre, and unpredictable.  Many of the things that have happened in my life are so strange that you simply could never make them up.  And the fact that they are true gives them a meaning that mere fiction could never attain.

It is extremely helpful to be a part of a writing group, that is, a group of writers that get together to support each other’s work.  The key word is support.  If the group you find is only interested in tearing each other’s work apart, then find or form another group.  The most helpful writing group I’ve been in was one in which each of us read what we had worked on that week.  Sometimes it’s only by hearing yourself read it aloud that you can notice things like run-on sentences and nonsensical phrasings.  The others then critiqued the writing, but always in kind and helpful ways.

In general, it’s not a good idea to share your writing with non-writers—at least not at first.  Non-writers usually don’t know how to tell you what works and what doesn’t.  Sometimes their comments will be a sweeping statement of disapproval, when in reality there is just a misplaced word or an awkward phrase.  The writing process has been likened to pregnancy and birth.  You wouldn’t give your newborn baby to an inexperienced and clumsy teenager, so you need to treat your newborn writing project with as much care and tenderness.

Editing is way more difficult than writing.  The most important ingredient for editing is time.  Put your writing aside for several weeks or even months.  That will give you fresh eyes to edit with.  So after reading your work to a writing group, making the changes suggested by your “midwives,” put it aside and work on something else or a different part of the project.  Then when you come back to it, you will be much more objective about what you’ve written.  Sometimes you’ll even be surprised by how good it is.

During the editing process, I like to add the sensory imagery that is missing from the first draft.  Sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste all add a dimension to the writing that will help your reader become engrossed in your writing.  Since my writing is nonfiction, this means going back in my mind to remember these missing elements.  Sometimes these come back to me in Technicolor, Dolby surround sound, and Odorama (does anyone else remember Polyester?).  Other times, I have to imagine what is missing.  But this is such an important element that I dare not skip this step, even if it’s difficult to remember.

So, there you have it: my writing process.  Oh, and one last thing: while praying the other day, the Lord showed me that this year I have been working on 2 books simultaneously—hallelujah!  God is good!

Take a Walk

“Take a walk,” the Lord told me.  So I put on a light jacket and headed out.  It was a nice, sunny day, and much warmer than it has been in months.  When I got to the piazza near my house, I took out my camera and took some pictures of the flowering trees—straight overhead shots so that they were against that background of clear blue.  I took another picture of petal litter because the trees are raining petals.  Petals make a much prettier fall than leaves in autumn, and they smell a lot better, too.

Yesterday was a miserable day.  It is always difficult eating again after a 3 week fast.  Your stomach has to re-learn how to digest solids, and the size has shrunken.  I know this, and had eaten only a very small meal, but it was still too much.  I woke up with severe stomach cramps (not abdominal, these were localized to the organ, itself).  Then about 12 hours after eating it, the meal came back up, untouched by digestive acids.  The Lord told me to lay on my left side, and I was able to sleep.  But when I rolled onto my right side, my stomach immediately cramped again.  It felt like a rock a little bigger than my fist, just under my heart.  You can’t even imagine the pain.

Now, some people will read that and say, “Why fast, then?”  Fasting is an important spiritual practice.  I just haven’t gotten very good at getting back into eating again.  But there are things that you must fast and pray to get to a deeper level.  Am I going to quit fasting just because I go through some physical pain?  (Really excruciating pain!)  No!  Because it is more important to me to have that time of closeness with God.  Besides, He did help me through it.

About mid-afternoon I began to feel better, but still not 100%.  I went to bed about 7:30 and slept 8 hours straight through—something I haven’t done in decades.  This morning, although I woke early, I felt really good.  I had some business to take care of (printer problems and a dishwasher that sometimes wouldn’t drain), but those things that had seemed enormous when I was feeling so bad turned out to be very easily and cheaply fixed.  And that’s when the Lord told me to take a walk.

But flowering trees and petal litter, although nice, were not why He had me get out.  My spirit’s attention was called to 3 things:

1. A notice about a missing cat
2. A street vendor hawking his wares
3. A massage parlor

You don’t see this so much in the US, but here in Italy there are people who set up tables outside the subway entrances or the grocery stores and sell belts, hats, sunglasses, umbrellas, cellphone covers, or purses.  Many of them have their spot and will return there daily to set up shop.  These people do not have a license and do not pay VAT (or in Italy the Partita IVA).  They are illegal.  The laws are not enforced rigorously enough to prevent them from their activities.

I knew this already.  But the Lord showed me that these vendors are modern day slaves.  They came here based on the promise of a better life, and many actually risked their lives to get here.  Now they work for a boss who supplies their goods and takes their profits.  They live in wretched conditions without legal documents, afraid of what will happen to them and to their families if they don’t sell enough.

The massage parlor is also a place of slavery, and there are massage parlors every few blocks throughout Milan.  At first I innocently believed that the Milanese were just a very stressed-out bunch of people.  But then I began to notice that the massage parlors had names like Desiderio (desire), and had pictures of beautiful women either draped as when receiving a massage or scantily clad and giving a massage.  One even had a picture of one of the rooms which had a double bed.  My older son is a massage therapist and he uses a massage table.  The massage table is high enough not to hurt the back of the massage therapist.  It is very firm, though padded, and is actually less wide than a single bed.  There is no legitimate reason for a double bed in a massage parlor.

Traditionally, the police have arrested or chased away both of these kinds of slaves, succeeding only in scattering them briefly.  The only country that has had any effect upon stopping prostitution is Sweden (see Nefarious Merchant of Souls for more information).  The US doesn’t see much of the street vendors because the laws are enforces, but that only drives the vendors indoors, where they set up sweatshops to do tailoring or manufacturing of cheap goods, or nail salons.  I would be very interested to see what we find if we investigated all the people who work in the nail salons.

There are 27 million slaves in the world today—more than in all history combined.  And this is despite the fact that slavery is illegal in virtually every country of the world.  We can’t afford to ignore this any longer.  Money paid to sweatshops or street vendors goes right back to the traffickers.  Hit them where it hurts: in the wallet.  Make a decision today.

Oh, yes, and the cat?  Just like that lost kitty, there are families that have lost their loved ones into the black hole of slavery, never to hear of them again.  Take a walk.

Finding My Place

Day Thirteen

“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it. . . . How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven,” (Genesis 28:16-17).

This past year has been a time of finding my place.  From the time I arrived back in Milan a year ago, I started praying for, looking for, and fasting for an apartment—the very apartment that I am now sitting in.  The work on the apartment and its furnishings has gone forward very quickly after a long winter pause.  Soon I should be able to have a grand opening party.  I hope that my website will be up by then.

I sold my house in Texas (and most of the stuff in it) since I spend most of my time in Italy nowadays.  I returned to Texas in August to help my mom move to North Carolina, where my brother had relocated after the wildfire took virtually everything he owned.  Now when I return to the US, I live with my mom in a retirement complex in North Carolina.  In her apartment I have my own room, but couldn’t find a comfortable place to pray.  One day I discovered that the chapel benches are just the right height for praying on your knees.  Plus, you are assured of privacy virtually any time of the day, since the chapel is only used a few times a week.

Back here in Milan, my bed is also a good height for kneeling to pray.  But during this fast, I spend so much time in prayer that even a comfortable position eventually becomes uncomfortable.  The other day I saw an Ikea catalog, and remembered fondly my bouncy Poang easy chair.  After abdominal surgery I bounced myself to recovery in that chair.  And, well, hey!  I like to rock and bounce, it’s relaxing.  So I ordered a Poang for the apartment.  It arrived today, and all other activity stopped while Manuel and I assembled it, and Nina looked on.  Once assembled, we each took a turn sitting and bouncing in the chair.  Manuel quizzed me about the price, and decided that he had to have one, also.

One thing that a nice bouncy (or rocking) chair is good for is praying.  Back at Mom’s apartment, I have an easy chair that rocks.  It is a great place to pray when the dogs are asleep (Mom has 3) and Mom is reading or doing something else that is quiet.

This afternoon I had a prayer session in the new chair and found myself, um, “resting in the Lord.”  Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.  God is not a father that would ever push a sleeping child out of His lap.  I’m not recommending sleeping over prayer, either.  But on those occasions when sleep does overtake you, enjoy a nice nap in the Father’s arms.  I feel like I’ve truly found my place at last!  God is good!

This is Your Chance to Shine!

Day Ten

As I was praying, the Lord reminded me of my Jesus dream.  I am certain that I have written about it, but maybe I didn’t because I can’t find it anywhere (very strange!).  If I haven’t ever written about it, then it’s time for me to write about my Jesus dream—especially now that I’ve written about those devil dreams.

It was winter/spring 2006, and I was living in Italy with my husband and younger son, Kevin, who was in his senior year of high school at the American School of Milan.  I dreamed that I entered a crowded Italian coffee shop.  Across the room there was a young man.  He was nice looking, with wavy dark hair, sturdy build, average height.  He smiled at me, and that smile changed him from average looking to someone I could hardly take my eyes off of.  His smile lit up his face and the room.  He crossed the room and spoke to me in English, which surprised me.  Actually, both things surprised me: crossing the room to talk to me and speaking to me in English.

He said, “What do you do?” and I told him that I teach English.  At the time I was teaching English to children, earning money so that I could tithe to the work of God.  So I said, “And what do you do?”  He said, “Come, I’ll show you.”

We left the coffee shop and went to an apartment nearby.  In real life, I would never, ever go into an apartment with someone I’ve just met, but there was something about him that told me I could trust him.  In all honesty, it didn’t even enter my mind to wonder if I should go in with him.

The apartment had wood paneled walls—and such wood as I had never seen before.  The wood had deep, well-defined grain and was luminous.  It was the most alive wood I had ever seen, and it was beautiful, warm, and inviting.  Three of the walls were wooden and fourth was stucco, and by contrast seemed cold and dead.  I said, “You did this?”  He smiled and said, “Yes.  What do you call this kind of work in Italian?”  I answered: “Restaurazione” (restoration)—pronouncing the word perfectly for the first and only time in my life (with practice I taught myself to roll my r’s, but my tongue can’t or won’t to roll that second one).

I pointed to the stucco wall and said, “And what about this one?”  He reached up and pulled away a chunk of stucco.  Behind it was wood, but it was dirty, dried-out, and badly in need of care.  He looked at me and smiled, “It’s a work in progress.”

That’s when I woke up, knowing: It’s Jesus, the Carpenter!  And I realized that I was that work in progress.

That dream helped me a lot because in a few months I had several things happen that sent me into the worst depression of my life, lasting over 3 years—not the least of which was my failing marriage.

While writing about the devil dreams, I thought about this Jesus dream, but like I said, I thought that I had already written about it.  In fact, I was sure of it because I remember adding the link to show what Jesus looks like.  But maybe that was only a dream, too.  Who knows?  Anyway, now that you’re curious, here’s the link: Jesus.  In my dream, Jesus had dark brown eyes and was clean-shaven, but otherwise, it is recognizably Him.

While praying this morning, I felt like God was smiling at me.  I didn’t really ask why, but just wondered, and then I remembered the dream, and especially that funny part where He asked me what His work was called in Italian.  Jesus is in the restoration business!  But why did He ask me what it’s called in Italian?  He told me: “To give you a chance to shine.”  Spoken like a proud parent!  God is good!  And Jesus is our handsome bridegroom!

Enthusiastic Encouragement

Day Nine

There is a lot of work going on at my house in the last couple of weeks.  I have given my friend Nina the job of finishing the work of furnishing the apartment.  She has been out of work for about 6 months, so was thrilled at the opportunity—especially since it means that we see each other every day until the work finishes, and weekly after that.  There are many handyman jobs to be done here as well.  Nina’s brother, Manuel, is a handyman who is also currently without work, due to the seasonal nature of his work (which is usually outdoor handyman work).

It is really nice to be able to bless these 2 friends, and ministry always moves ahead because the apartment is more and more ready to host missionary guests.  Every day the apartment looks better and better.  I can even begin to look forward to the day when I can have a grand opening party.

So, with all this work going on, I have also been emptying those remaining boxes, and finding all sorts of treasure.  Here’s one from a Women of the Harvest retreat that I attended (By the way, Bethany hates the term retreat.  She says that we’re Christians, and we should always be advancing.  We should call them Advances, not Retreats):

15 Ideas to Encourage and Empower Missionary Women

5 Needs of Missionary Women

1. To be spiritually mentored
2. Feel connected
3. To be known, understood, and prayed for
4. To have a close friend
5. Time away from ministry/life responsibilities

5 Simple Ways to Meet Their Needs

1. Take 60 seconds to reply to their newsletter so they know you read it!  Better yet, ask for more information regarding one of their prayer requests.
2. Take 5-10 minutes to ask an intentional question about their personal/spiritual lives.
3. Surprise them with a cash gift for a night out (or a weekend away)!
4. Send cards via postal mail—a rare treasure in the day of electronic communication!
5. Introduce them to the free resources of Women of the Harvest.

5 Ways to Advocate for Missionary Women

1. Share with your church and friends what you’ve learned about the needs of missionary women.
2. Ask your Missions Committee how they keep in touch with your missionaries.  Do they Skype regularly?
3. Ask if each of your missionary women have a spiritual mentor in their lives.
4. Encourage your Missions Committee to take the Member Care quiz.
5. Contact the parents or extended family of you missionaries to understand their needs.

These are all really good suggestions, and I have done most of them in my ministry of encouraging missionaries.  In fact, I would add that for missionaries serving in Europe: educate people that Europe is a mission field.  Whenever I return to the US, I bang that drum long and loud.  I am tired of having my ministry minimized just because I live in Italy.  It happens every time I return to the States.  I hate to think of the missionaries who desperately need support, and their Christian brothers and sisters put their ministry down just because they’ve got indoor plumbing.

(Sorry, can you tell that it gets under my skin?!)

Speaking of encouraging missionaries, this came in my inbox this morning from Guideposts online:  Be Enthusiastic! Be Full of God.  The Greek root of the word enthusiastic means full of God.  The mark of the Gift of Encouragement is enthusiasm.  I can’t help it!  It just comes bubbling up out of me.  And my genuine enthusiasm often helps people see their ministry in a whole new light.  I love having the Gift of Encouragement!

And finally, as most of you know, this is day 9 of my fast for understanding of these times—End Times, to know what’s ahead and how to prepare for it.  So with that in mind, here’s an excerpt from a prophecy newsletter that I received this morning:

Follow Me, and I will lead you to the wells of life.  I will give the living water to you abundantly.  And, I will also feed you with the hidden manna.  Not only will I feed you with that which has not been revealed, for it shall indeed become revelation to you, but I shall also walk with you in fellowship.  You will know Me even more intimately than you know Me today and understand by way of revelation My purposes for this season.  I am about to bring you higher than ever you have been before.  Come to Me, walk with Me, be one with Me, and drink the waters that I give to you and eat the manna that I feed you.  In the days ahead, you will realize what a great treasure is given to you at this time.  Follow Me now.  Come on, let’s go on a journey, you and I together; a journey of joy in which you will experience the power of the kingdom of God; a journey in which your righteousness will be elevated and thus the power of it shall flow out before you; a journey in which you will have victory over all the works of the enemy, says the Lord Almighty.  (Emphasis mine.)

Well, who can help but be enthusiastic with encouragement like that straight from my Father?  God is good!