The Damned Cowards!

But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur.  This is the second death, (Revelation 21:8, emphasis mine).

The first few times that I read Revelation 21:8, it just didn’t sink in.  Take a good look at who leads the list of people that are destined for hell: cowards!  When it finally dawned on me that cowards are going to hell (along with murderers, idolaters, liars, and the rest of the nasty crew), I wondered why.  After all, aren’t they already scared?

Then the Lord reminded me that courage is not about not having fear.  Courage is facing down the fear and triumphing over it.  Courage is not allowing fear to stop you when you know what you should do.

Courage is something I see every day in the missionaries and pastors of Europe.  While the rest of the world treats them as irrelevant, these brave men and women—and whole families, even!—take their faith to the nations.  Many of them have sold all their possessions to enter into the mission field.  Some have suffered hardships that have cost them dearly: health, marriages, and family death.

The cowardly are the ones who go to church, but don’t obey when God calls them to ministry.  In their amazing book, Experiencing God, Henry T. Blackaby and Claude V. King wrote that God invites you to join Him in work that He’s already doing, and that God’s invitation leads to a crisis of belief.  Joining God in His work requires major adjustments in your life.  But the thing that was hardest for me when I was working my way through Experiencing God was the chapter titled “Joining God Requires Obedience,” and especially the section titled “The Cost of Obedience.”

I was fine with obedience costing me, personally, but when I got to the subsection titled “Cost to my Family for me to do God’s Will,” it stopped me cold.  This was 1997, and I was a housewife and stay-at-home mom.  My family was more important to me than anything else on earth.  How could I ask my family to suffer and sacrifice for my answer to God’s call on my life?  Of course, at the time, I didn’t know what God’s call on my life was.  And if I hadn’t counted the cost—including the cost to my family—I might never have known.  God might have deemed me unsuitable for service if I had chosen my family over serving Him.

Baby Steps

God took me along in baby steps.  I didn’t jump into missionary service right then.  Later in the book, it asks the question: What work is God inviting you to join Him in?  When I prayed about that question, I remembered that I had been asked by another mother to help put together a children’s church program.  The church had been through a very bitter split just before I moved there, and the children’s program was a casualty.  So Sunday mornings consisted of great music, great teaching and preaching, but absolutely nothing for the children.  While the adults enjoyed the sermon, the children all around me colored pictures, ate candy, and went out to the bathroom with a frequency that far exceeded the needs of even the tiniest bladder.  So I called this woman and we met to pray and plan for putting together a children’s church program.  We had so much fun, both with each other and with our own children, that really the hardest part of all had been making that initial phone call.  That phone call had taken courage.

One day as I was showering I had an idea for a children’s program.  I was living in New England at the time, and there the kids had a week off from school, usually in February, and it was called Winter Break.  Many times, winter break put a strain on working parents, who then had to scramble to find someone to watch the kids while they work.  If they didn’t find someone, they simply had to take time off work for that week.  My idea was a one day Winter Carnival at which the kids could play games, win prizes, and learn about Jesus in a fun atmosphere.  My immediate reaction was “What a fantastic idea!” and on the heels of that thought was resistance because it was going to be a huge task to put it together in just a month’s time.

Having recently been through Experiencing God, I knew that an idea that great for sharing the Gospel together with my feeling of resistance meant that this was really God’s idea.  So I called the pastor and told him the idea.  He loved it, and told the elders about the idea.  They also loved it.  Before I knew it, people were calling and volunteering time, volunteering resources, and volunteering to help.  In the end, I had only a small part to do in planning, most of the set up, implementation, and clean up was done by others.  I had so many volunteers and so many resources that in the end, I couldn’t take any credit for any of it.  The biggest thing I did was call the pastor with the idea that God had given me.  And all that the phone call took was courage.

I knew at the time that children’s church was a temporary call, but I had no idea that God had a much bigger call on my life.  Two years after Experiencing God, and having Him change my life through service in children’s church, I got the big call.  But even the big call happened in small steps for me.  That story is too long to place here, but it is recounted in detail in my book, Laughing in My Dreams.

The point is that as I showed myself to be faithful in smaller things, God gave me bigger things.  The biggest obstacle to overcome was my own resistance.  That’s not to say that there wasn’t resistance and obstacles from other quarters.  There was.  But once I made my mind up, it was easy to overcome those things.

When I moved back to Italy as a missionary, I had a strong call of God upon my life, and my own determination to follow that call.  People on both continents told me that I am a very brave woman to have moved to Italy alone.  At first I thought that they just didn’t know how scared I am at times.  But then I realized that courage is not the absence of fear.  Courage is going ahead despite the fear.  And you know what I learned?  Franklin Delano Roosevelt famously said, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”  What I learned in facing down fear is that fear flees when faced with determined action.

As many of my readers know, the End Times is on my mind a lot lately.  In reading Revelation 21:8 again, I realized that there will be a lot of people who take the Mark of the Beast, knowing that the Bible says not to.  In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Antichrist made that mark the number 666, just to snub his nose at God.  I have heard that several non-believers are reluctant to take a microchip into their hand because they recognize that it sounds like what Christians say will happen.  Those people who take the Mark knowing that they shouldn’t, will do so because they don’t want to be beheaded.  They are cowards.  They will end up in the Lake of Fire because they chose temporal comfort over eternal security.  And really, the only reason why they would do that is because they just don’t love God.

Don’t be cowardly!  Stand up for your beliefs.  We will overcome by the Blood of the Lamb and by the Word of our Testimony.  And never forget: God is good!  He will give you the strength and the joy to go through whatever you must go through.  Yes, joy!  The joy of the Lord is your strength.

A Bad Translation and a Couple of Prophetic Words

“Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come unless the falling away comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition,” (2 Thessalonians 2:3, emphasis mine).  I heard read an interesting study saying that the word apostasy, meaning heresy and often translated as falling away or departure from the faith is a bad translation.  The Greek word apostasia means departure, as in physically leaving a place.  Nowhere in any ancient Greek text is the word apostasia used in the sense of heresy.  It always means departure.  Also, elsewhere in the New Testament the word is used only in the sense of departure.

In light of the true meaning of the word, 2 Thessalonians 2:3 should read: “Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come unless the departure comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition,” (emphasis mine).  The departure is when we leave earth—the Rapture.

The Rapture makes sense of verse 7, which says: “For the secret power of lawlessness is already at work; but the One who now holds it back will continue to do so till He is taken out of the way.”  Right now the Holy Spirit present on earth in the bodies of Christians is what is restraining evil from having full reign.  When we are raptured away, evil will run rampant in the earth unrestrained.  That’s when the antichrist will be revealed.

Here’s a link to read in more depth about the mis-translation of the word apostasia and the pre-tribulation rapture: The Rapture in 2 Thessalonians 2:3.  And of course, you should read that whole passage to understand everything in context.  In fact, go ahead and read the whole book of 2^nd Thessalonians.  It’s short.  Read both books of Thessalonians.  I’ll wait here until you get back.  ☺

I’ve been visiting missionaries, Suki and Dave, in Tuscany, and together we visited a couple of churches.  Last night I received a prophetic word.  The prophet said that I have a strong character—said twice.  And that I am at a crossroads where I need to make a decision, that I already know the right choice.  Suki was also given a prophetic word that encouraged her.

It’s true, I was presented with an interesting choice—one that I didn’t tell anyone about.  Potentially, the choice could make me a nice little profit, but I felt that it wasn’t the right choice.  So I prayed about it.  I didn’t get an answer per se, but just continued to feel that chasing the money wasn’t what God wanted me to do.  This prophetic word confirmed what I had already felt.

This morning Suki told me that she had a word for me, Isaiah 45:1-3, which says: “This is what the Lord says to his anointed, to [Alisa—she inserted my name in place of Cyrus], whose right hand I take hold of to subdue nations before [her] and to strip kings of their armor, to open doors before [her] so that gates will not be shut: I will go before you and will level the mountains; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron.  I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.”  Amen!  Hallelujah!  This is not the first time I’ve received a word like this, but I never get tired of hearing about hidden treasures, the full inheritance, the table full of whatever I want (all of which have been prophesied over me).  I know that God loves me and that He provides everything I could ever want or need.

Suki went on to say that as she was praying for me, the Lord showed her that my life has been a very solitary one, despite the fact that I’m a cheerful, friendly person.  She didn’t have any way of knowing that about my past life (having only known me for a year), but she’s exactly right.  Even during my marriage I was alone much of the time.

And my present life is very solitary.  There are a lot of people who come and go, and I come and go, visiting missionaries all over Europe.  But I am mostly alone, traveling from place to place.  I don’t often write about loneliness because to be perfectly honest, I don’t often feel lonely.  There is a big difference between being alone and being lonely.  Although I am often alone, I rarely feel lonely.  Plus, there are worse things than being lonely—and an unhappy marriage is one of them.  But loneliness is something that most people fear, so they think that maybe I am unhappy when they realize how alone I am.  I think this is what Suki thought when God revealed to her about my solitary life.  I assured her that I am alone a lot, but very content, and living a very full life in the midst of solitude.  I don’t know if I convinced her, but it’s the truth.

I have a ring that is twisted into a Mobius strip with Jeremiah 29:11 inscribed on it: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”  I wear this ring on the finger where a wedding ring goes.  It’s not that I hate men—not at all!—but I just don’t know how I would ever fit one into my life and ministry.  I know that it’s easy to say no to the man I’ve never met, but to be honest, I now consider myself married to Jesus.  I am anxiously waiting for the day when He comes to catch me up into the air for our wedding feast in Heaven.  So if a man meets me and sees the ring on my finger, it tells the story: I’m already spoken for.  And I keep myself busy, doing the work He has given me to do until that day comes—alone, but not lonely.  God is good!

I know the plans He has for me are all 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!

Betrayal

The Bait of Satan by John Bevere

Day Six

This is day 6 of a 21 day fast for understanding the End Times (now), and knowing how to prepare for the perilous days ahead.  Today I heard a sermon by John Bevere based on his book The Bait of Satan.  The key scripture is Matthew 24:10-12, in which Jesus is speaking of the End Times (NKJV):

And then many will be offended, will betray one another, and will hate one another.  Then many false prophets will rise up and deceive many.  And because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold (emphasis mine).

He pointed out that the word translated as love is agape, Christian love.  So Jesus isn’t speaking of unbelievers, He’s talking about God’s people.  People in the church—Christians—will be offended, will betray one another, and will hate one another.  Lawlessness will abound in the church—among Christians.

Lawlessness means being a law unto yourself, not submitted to God’s authority.  So, not necessarily sinning, but definitely not submitted and following Jesus.  In an atmosphere of lawlessness, of course many will be offended.

Proverbs 18:19 says: “A brother offended is harder to win than a strong city, and contentions are like the bars of a castle” (NKJV).  In those days strong cities were surrounded by walls, also called strongholds.  2 Corinthians 10:3-5 says:

For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does.  The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds.  We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ (emphasis mine).

Instead of the word pretension, the Phillips translation says “every deceptive fantasy and every imposing defence that men erect. . .”.

Bevere said that an offended person’s thoughts become strongholds—arguments, deceptive fantasies, imposing defences—and that is how offense leads to betrayal.  He defines betrayal as seeking to benefit or protect one’s self at the expense of someone you have a relationship with—the ultimate abandonment of a relationship.

Betrayal leads to hatred.  Hatred is not a strong emotion like love or anger, but is the absence of love, lovelessness.

Going back to Matthew 24, verse 11 says: “Then many false prophets will rise up and deceive many.”  An offended heart is the breeding ground for deception.  They will genuinely believe that they are right, when in fact, they are wrong.

Offense and deception lead people to isolate themselves: “A man who isolates himself seeks his own desire; he rages against all wise judgment,” (NKJV, emphasis mine).  Rather than seeking God’s wisdom or the guidance and counsel of their pastor or believing friends, the offended and deceived person isolates themselves and rages against all wise judgment.  They seek only their own counsel.  Isolation happens in the thoughts.  It is very likely that the offended person still goes to church, but remains isolated in their mind, which makes them a perfect candidate for deception.

“. . . because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold,” (Matthew 24, verse 12).  The person is not seeking God, and not submitted to God’s authority, and likely they were already lawless before the offense.  When offended, their love (agape) will grow cold (hatred).

The person who can offend you the deepest is the person closest to you—your spouse, best friend, or pastor.  And it is very likely that the offended person has been genuinely mistreated.  But Bevere points out that if you want to walk with God, you don’t have the right to be offended.

This past year I have seen offense and betrayal up close and personal 4 times, in both marriages and ministries.  Twice I was a participant.  Once I was the party offended.  I had been so angry as a result of the offense that I was literally out of my mind.  It is true that this person genuinely mistreated me, and it is also true that there was no actual sin involved.  My wake-up call came when I couldn’t stop myself from raging at this person to the point of tears and fleeing from my presence.  That’s when I realized that my anger was way out of proportion with the offense.  I sought God and asked forgiveness from Him and from the person, both of whom were gracious to me, and there was a full reconciliation.

In the other incident, I had thought that only the other person was offended by something I had done.  In fact, we were both offended and we both betrayed each other.  I had been so deceived as to believe that I hadn’t been offended and that I hadn’t betrayed this person.  But in prayerful examination, I now see the truth.  The devil had been working both sides of this situation.  In this case, I’m not sure how to be reconciled to this person, but now that I can see my part in it, there’s at least the hope of reconciliation.

Be warned!  The deception is very powerful.  Verse 13 of Matthew 24 continues: “But he who endures to the end shall be saved.”  You can be right as right can be, and still go to hell because of your attitude.  We’ve got to be alert and firm in our love for one another.

To see John Bevere’s full sermon follow this link: The Bait of Satan.  God is good!  He’s also very patient with me!

Hey American Girl, Lighten Up!

Note: I started writing this on Friday, but got busy and didn’t finish it until today.

Yesterday I learned that there would be the screening of a documentary about human trafficking in Bologna: Nefarious.  Human trafficking is an issue that I have been intensely interested in ever since attending an International Justice Mission informational event at the University of Texas.

I was an usher with the Texas Performing Arts Center.  I had become an usher because a dear friend is an usher at the San Francisco Opera House.  About 6 months after my divorce, I went to visit her, and she arranged for me to work as a guest usher.  I handed out programs at one of the main doors, and got to watch La Traviata for free.  I was hooked.  Since I don’t own a television, it was a good way to get out among people and see some entertainment for free.  TPA, which is on the campus of the University of Texas, hosts operas, ballets, plays, musicals, concerts, etc.   They required that all ushers work a variety of events, and not only “entertainments.”  These included student events like commencements, workshops, and informational events like IJM, all of which we are free to choose.

When I learned that IJM was a Christian event, I signed up, even though I didn’t know what it was.  The auditorium was packed out, so I stood at the back, fascinated and horrified, and heard story after story of women kidnapped and put to work in brothels far from their homes; men who had been tricked into working off bogus debts while living captive in squalor; and even children sold into the sex trade.  There were success stories of people liberated, but clearly the vast majority had not been affected yet.  The most encouraging thing about that evening was seeing the response of the students.  I realized that only young, idealistic, committed people could ever make an impact on the trade in human trafficking.  Most people my age feel bad about the situation, but never do anything, having had our idealism beaten out of us by life.

It was only after returning to Europe as a missionary that I became aware of the prevalence of human trafficking here.  I started educating myself on the subject, reading as many books about human trafficking as I could get my hands on.  Over time, I started to notice just how many people in my city, and even in my own neighborhood, have probably been trafficked here.  It’s shocking.  A few times I have had the opportunity to talk frankly with these trafficked people, but mostly it’s not possible because they speak neither English nor Italian.  Here are a few of the different slaves I have seen:

• The girl from China who cuts hair 15 hours a day in a busy salon that charges prices so low they can’t possibly pay her a living wage
• The man from Sri Lanka who goes from restaurant to restaurant selling flowers, bringing all the proceeds back to his “boss”
• The teenaged girl from Romania standing on the street corner waiting for a man to pick her up in his car and take her away for sex
• The man from Vietnam who washes dishes in a restaurant for 12 hours a day, every day, with no day off
• The woman from Thailand who works all day sewing, weaving, and mending in the dingy room in the back of the tailor shop

If any of these people sound familiar to you, understand that their fellow slaves are in your town, too—yes, even in the United States.  Check out the Slavery Map: www.notforsalecampaign.org/slavery-map

So that is how I became interested in human trafficking, and why I’m going to Bologna to see the screening of Nefarious.  The friend who told me about the screening is Annie, a missionary from the US.  In fact, we decided to go together.  So I booked us a hotel room because our friends there all have full houses because of the screening.  In trying once again to buy train tickets on the internet, I found that the website still didn’t work right.  I don’t live terribly far from the train station, but I am busy enough that I wasn’t happy about having to go down there to do something that, in theory, I should be able to do online.

At the first opportunity, I went to buy train tickets.  Usually I buy train tickets from the machine so that I don’t have to stand in the long line.  The machine also wasn’t working, so I went into the ticket office.  One big improvement is that there is no line now, but a machine that gives you a number instead.  That’s nice.  Now if they would just give us some chairs, things would be even better.  When my number came up I went to the window and asked for my trains.  I found that the price was slightly higher than the internet price, which might be due to being closer to the date of travel or the special priced tickets having been sold out.  Still, it wasn’t much higher than expected.

As we finished the transaction, I asked the ticket seller why the train company’s website never seems to work when it comes to buying tickets online.  He said, “If everything worked as expected, then there would be no surprises.  We Italians have learned to live with these inefficiencies.”  I replied, “I’m American, and we expect things to work as they should.”  He just smiled and said, “That’s your problem.  When things don’t work as they should, it’s trouble and chaos for you.”  That’s when I realized that God was speaking to me through this man.  It’s the same lesson He’s been teaching me since I began the Faith Trip almost 2 years ago: relax, don’t worry, and remember that God is in control of it all.

How embarrassing to have to keep learning the same lesson again and again!  I was so sure that I knew it!  In fact, I have written about not being worried about missing trains, buses, or planes: A-DivineAppointment and I-missed-the-train-but-made-it-to-the-divine-appointment, and older posts.  But I do intend to make it to the train (and the film) on time.

Thank God that He’s so patient with me!  God is good!

The Prophecy Fulfilled At Last!

Waaaaaaaaay back in 1976, I received a prophecy at a prayer meeting.  Someone was kind enough to write it all down for me, which means that it must have been recorded.  In those days that means that it was probably recorded on a cassette recorder, possibly even a big reel-to-reel tape recorder, and typed on a manual typewriter.  Young people, what this means is that a lot of time and effort went into writing the prophecy for me.  I don’t remember who spoke the prophecy, but it really doesn’t matter, that person was just the instrument God used that evening, and also the person who wrote it out for me.

The prophecy is on 3 yellowed and stained pieces of paper.  There are typographical errors and ellipses to indicate where the person writing could not hear parts of the prophecy.  The paper has been folded in half and has moved with me every time that I have moved since 1976, which is 10 times.  Most of those moves are long distance (more than 500 miles), and include 3 international moves.  It is astonishing that the paper was never lost or destroyed, especially considering that I didn’t take any special care of it.

Most astonishing of all is that for most of the 1980’s I was very far from God, even considering myself an atheist for 8 years.  The prophecy hadn’t made sense to me at the time I received it, so I probably would have thrown it out  if I had come across those papers during that time.  [How God reclaimed me is a very cool story, but too long for right here.  Stay tuned, I’ll try to get to it in a day or so.]

Over the years I have come across the prophecy, sometimes I’ve searched for it.  I have read and re-read it many times, but I never, never understood it until just recently.

Part of the difficulty in understanding the prophecy was the language.  The prophet spoke in King-James-ish English.  I don’t personally have trouble with King James English.  Having grown up Episcopalian, my early church experience was all King James.  My first reading of the Bible was the King James Version.  But for some reason, the prophecy was too difficult to understand.  During my believing years I had kept it, always feeling that it was somehow important, though I didn’t understand it.  The last time I read it was about 2 years ago.  I had brought it to Milan with me.  But I still didn’t understand it.  It makes me think of Habakkuk 2:2, which says: “Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it.  For the revelation awaits an appointed time.”  I think that I didn’t understand the prophecy before the appointed time.

What it says (in part) is:

There is a truth, says the Lord, that I am leading you in; that you should be one of My true mercy, that you should be one of greater mercy, which is My love in action.  My mercy, My kindness, My tenderness upon the lives of others.  For I will send you in as a great Christian spring in a time when many are dry.  For now there shall be those of your own kindred that you should be witnessing to, that you should be speaking to and shall refresh them so that they shall receive greater, greater than that which even I promised. . . (emphasis mine).

Now I understand that this was speaking of this ministry of encouraging missionaries—decades before it started!  On Thursday night I returned home to Milan from a prayer trip to Sofia and Skopje (see my posts of the previous couple of weeks).  Yesterday the pastor from Skopje sent me a message saying (in part): “What a blessings you where in Skopje, Macedonia.  Thank you sooo much for being like fresh water in the desert,” (emphasis mine).  Wow!  This is when the encourager gets encouraged!

I had always taken “those of your own kindred” to be literal relatives, but now I realize that the prophecy speaks of brothers and sisters in Christ.  I’ve always felt called to help Christians understand and begin to really live in their calling.  That is the “truth” spoken of in the first line of the prophecy.

Another part of the prophecy says:

You will find Me in praise, as many of My people find Me in praise, for I will direct praises even now, even henceforth, that they may be praises from your hearts.  My praises, that have seemingly been by sacrifice in the past, but now shall be very real; for now I shall be pleased with you in obedience in My Word that you praise and enact truth in affixing your eyes upon Christ Jesus. . .

The “sacrificial” praise was something that wasn’t in the past when this was written, but in the future.  Now it’s in the past—how I praised God with all my heart even while I was going through the worst depression of my life in the summer of my divorce [more about that another time].

There is also a part that I believe speaks of the future.  I will not include it here.  As Daniel wrote: “The vision of the evenings and mornings that has been given you is true, but seal up the vision, for it concerns the distant future,” (Daniel 8:26).

I have spent some time today looking for the actual papers, and I can’t find them.  But I know that I will find them when the future part becomes important.  What I did find was €230!  Provision and grace are always working in my favor because I don’t limit God.  God is good!

A Divine Appointment

Yesterday was a very full day of travel.  I started from Florence, where I had stayed the night with missionary friends, and went from there to the Abruzzo region on the Adriatic coast.  By choosing the less expensive, regional trains, I had to change trains twice.  The regional trains are less expensive because they are older and they stop in all the stations along the way.  So, travel which could have taken only a few hours, took six instead.  But the nice thing about slower travel is that I can catch a nice nap on the train, which I did.  I have learned not to fight the sleepy feeling if I don’t absolutely have to, and last night was a perfect example why.

When I arrived in Pescara, I went to the bus stop for the bus that would take me to the house of Bob and his family (Bob is the missionary there who I house-sat for during the last 2 summers—which you can read about in my book “Look, Listen, Love”).  I know other missionaries there, but because of the brevity of my visit, I hadn’t planned on visiting for more than a brief coffee or at least a phone call.  But God had other things in mind for me.

Not long ago, while I was still in North Carolina, I was inspired to start praying daily for divine appointments—both for myself and for my fellow missionaries.  As soon as I arrived I got a phone call from Betty, who had heard from Bob that I was arriving.  She and her husband are the other missionaries I had hoped to see, at least briefly.  She said, “Do you know Daisy of Rebirth Ministries?”  I told her that Daisy is a missionary I pray for daily, who I met at my home church in Milan a few years ago.  She told me that Daisy is in town for a women’s conference, and that if I wanted to go, she would come pick me up.  Of course I leapt at the opportunity.  I hadn’t seen Daisy for over a year, and had heard that she had moved to Rome.  This cut short my visit to Bob & his family, but we had a nice meal together and in our brief visit he caught me up on all the things that they are doing and things to be praying about.

Then after dinner, Betty, Daisy, and I went to the women’s conference.  Daisy is the founder of Rebirth Ministries, which helps stop domestic violence.  The focus of Rebirth is not only on educating and caring for women and children, but also on helping the abusers (which are not always men) to overcome rage issues and to find better ways of interacting than using fists.  Although the conference took place in a church, there were also women there, invited by friends, who were not believers.

Daisy shared her vision for Rebirth Ministries, and her personal story.  Daisy is from Argentina, and was twice widowed—one husband was one of the famed Desaparecidos “disappeared” persons, who was arrested and then simply vanished, never to be heard from again.  Alone, she raised two daughters and was called to Italy in 1994.  However, she didn’t immediately come to Italy, but prayed for Italy first, learned the language, and finished university.  During this time, the issue of domestic violence came to her attention.  When she put the call and the issue together, she understood why God wanted her in Italy, and so she came, forming Rebirth Ministries as a non-profit that meets in churches and schools throughout Italy.  The next step will likely be to bring Rebirth to the prisons.

In Italy, the danger of violence from strangers is very low, but domestic violence is unfortunately very high.  The police in bigger cities are beginning to respond to domestic calls, but in the small towns, they are still reluctant to interfere in “family” issues.  And even when the police arrest the abuser, the victim rarely maintains the courage to press charges, preferring to continue to try and make the marriage work.  In Italy, there is still a lot of shame attached to the issue of domestic violence because of the Catholic Church’s stance on divorce.  Italian women are encouraged by their priests to stay in abusive marriages, and often feel like failures if they cannot make the marriage work, make their husband stop drinking or using drugs, or stop seeking the company of other women.  And even among Protestant churches in Italy there is a lot of shame attached to divorce because the vast majority of Protestants in Italy are former Catholics.

One thing that Daisy shared was that many times when she speaks to groups like the one last night, someone invariably says, “But why Italy?  Surely domestic violence is a problem in Argentina, too.”  She admitted that it is, but much headway has been made in Argentina by others, whereas in Italy there is still much work to do.  As she spoke, I realized (not for the first time) that Daisy does have a true call to Italy.  She is being used mightily of God.

After Daisy spoke, Betty suggested that each person from the group give Daisy a brief word of feedback.  The overwhelming response was positive, and one young woman shared her story of abuse for the first time in her life.  It was very moving to see her tears, but also to hear the relief in her voice at finally being free to speak of it.  And the most beautiful thing of all was that this young woman was not a believer, but now that she has seen the love of Jesus in action, I have no doubt that she will make a decision for Christ.  Daisy spoke and prayed with her afterward, and arranged for follow-up counseling and care with the local church.

In a private moment I told Daisy about my personal observation that following Jesus always costs you something (He spoke of it in Matthew 19:29).  I told her that for me the cost is having left my adorable grandson.  But I encouraged her, saying, “But God always compensates me in the sweetest ways.  The first time I saw my grandson, when he was two months old, he laughed for the very first time—with his grandma!  And this visit, at eighteen months, he said ‘Grandma!’ for the very first time.  He sees his other grandma almost every day, but he called me Grandma first!”  Daisy was well able to relate because both of her daughters and all four of her grandchildren are far away in South America—the most recent was born two months premature just a week ago.  He weighs only one kilo—about two and a quarter pounds.  She is going to Brazil to visit Pedro, her newest grandson, next week.

Hanukkah Heaven or Hell

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha-Olam, asher kiddeshanu b’mitzvotav, vitzivanu, lehadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha-Olam, she-asah nissim la-avotaynu bayamim ha-hem bazman hazeh.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who has sanctified us with Your commandments, and has commanded us to kindle the lights of Hanukkah.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who wrought miracles for our fathers in days of old, at this season.

On Wednesday, right in the middle of the eight days of Hanukkah, the retirement home (where I live with Mom) had a traditional Hanukkah feast and celebration during the supper hour.  The two blessings above were recited (in both Hebrew and English) as the candles were lit.  It was beautiful, and I was grateful to have been part of the celebration.  The Jewish people here have been very kind about all the Christmas decorations and music—much of which is of a religious nature.  Nan told me: “I’m surprised that you would want to be here for this,” because she knows I’m a Christian missionary, and she also knows that I usually skip the evening meal.  “Well,” I replied, “Hanukkah is the celebration of a miracle.  I believe that we should always celebrate miracles!”  She smiled her agreement.  Nan and some of the other Jewish ladies had shared their recipes with the chef.  The resulting meal was delicious, though he’d had to prepare kugel instead of latkes because he doesn’t have a frying pan.

However this happy day didn’t have a happy start.  Mom and I returned from shopping to find a fire truck, an ambulance, two police cars, and a police department truck marked “Forensic Investigation” in the driveway.  Ambulances are not an uncommon sight here, nor are fire trucks, but the police vehicles are.  When we asked what the police vehicles were about, Jan, a kitchen worker told us: “One of the residents, a young woman wheelchair-bound by MS, had died in the night of an overdose.  They suspect suicide.”  We hadn’t known her, but we were saddened all the same.  She was young (only 42) and she had a fourteen year old daughter.

MS is a terrible, cruel disease that robs the body of strength and paralyzes, leaving the mind intact, eventually killing the person.  One person here actually applauded her for taking her life, and said that when her end is near, she intends to do the same.

I wrestled with the question: if it is kind to put a suffering animal down, why not a suffering human?  When I took this question to God, however, I felt a holy anger rising up within my spirit.  And with it the thought: God is the Author of Life, so killing (even yourself) puts you in league with the author of death—the devil, himself.  And on further thought, I realized that suicide is the ultimate expression of faithlessness, cowardice, and unbelief.

This was a hard realization for me, having lost two people I love to suicide this year: my ex-father-in-law and a dear lifelong family friend.

The last two years of my marriage I suffered severe depression.  The worst symptom—far worse than only sleeping one hour a night—was constant thoughts of suicide.  From the moment I woke until I finally fell asleep, I was bombarded with suicidal thoughts.  I would be in the bathroom and wonder how much of various medications it would take to overdose.  Or I would be in the kitchen and linger over the choice of knives for chopping onions, thinking about which would be the best for cutting my throat.  Or I would look out the window at the barn and wonder if there was a rope I could hang myself with—or a hose I could duct-tape to the muffler and gas myself with.

On and on and on, all day these thoughts tormented me.  I started reading books about positive thinking, but they didn’t help.  My prayers were stillborn, having died before they even started the long journey from my brain to my mouth.  So I mutely searched for God, finding only more misery.  The most innocent and normal things would start the flow of tears: a bird flying by the window or a pretty sunset.  I read and wrote obsessively just to keep the bad thoughts at bay, but they came anyway.  Our landlady’s dog became my dearest companion.  He would sit with me for hours.  I think he sensed the trouble in my spirit.

Our apartment was over the garage, and one day I went down to the garage and put my key in the ignition of our car.  I was going to kill myself and my husband, too (he was busy working on the computer in the room above me).  But instead of turning the key, I pulled the phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.  I told the operator what I was about to do.  He said to go to the County Mental Health Office immediately, and said that they would be waiting for me.  I did, and the doctor there gave me a prescription for Prozac.

When the Prozac finally kicked in, it helped a lot.  I was still in a lot of pain, but instead of raw pain, it was manageable.  The Prozac gave me back a degree of perspective, which helped me to find the strength to leave my abusive marriage.

These memories are so painful that it has taken me nearly a week to write about all this.  In the meantime there was the shooting of twenty school children in Connecticut.  The rampage ended as many of these do, with the suicide of the shooter—proving the diabolical link with suicide.  This was difficult to write, but now that I’ve done it I feel better.  Although suicide would have instantly ended my misery, it would have just started the misery for all the people who love me.  In the midst of depression it’s difficult to see that people actually love you.

To anyone feeling depressed and/or suicidal I say: be strong and courageous.  Get help.  And no matter how bad today is, tomorrow will be better.  Hang on!  God is good!

Singing in My Dreams

Kudos to Mom for the title!

Greetings from Kalisz, Poland!  I am here for Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles, hosted by this really amazing, generous, wonderful church with an unpronounceable Polish name (well, I can’t pronounce it!).  The whole week for twenty-four hours a day over seven days they have continuous worship, dance, praise, prayer, and singing by sixteen different groups from twelve European countries, in their various languages.  Each group performs for two hours in various time periods throughout the day and night.  Twice a day there are also teaching sessions followed by people sharing what the Lord has done or shown them during this time.  It is amazing!  And the church people make these wonderful Polish dishes for lunch and dinner—and it’s all free!  They never ask for a penny from the participants!  I had such a great time, and such intimacy with God during last year’s Feast of Tabernacles that my birthday gift to myself was a return to Kalisz this year.  My birthday is tomorrow, but God gave me an early gift.

I try to go to all the English language worship periods, and the two English language groups had early morning times yesterday (two to four AM) and today (four to six AM).  After their sessions, I returned to the hotel to rest until breakfast.  Sleep was not possible because I have one of those early morning brains that won’t stop talking if it is awake any time after three in the morning, but rest was essential, especially today.

I need to give you some background: I was in a verbally abusive marriage for thirty-three years.  My husband had told me not to sing “Happy Birthday” because he hated the sound of my voice.  In fact, I was so deeply ashamed of my voice that I used to only lip-synch the words at church for fear that God would be displeased with the sound of my voice.  After the divorce, I began to use my voice in church again, and it was incredibly liberating.

So this morning when I returned to the church a German group was singing, and it was wonderful.  The Russian group was supposed to come next, but they were late.  The girl at the keyboards started to play one of my favorites—“The Revelation Song” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofNBuMdrbcg&feature=related).  I was singing along with everything inside me.  Then she said, “If you know the words, please come up to the stage.”  I looked around, but there was hardly anybody there, and she had been looking right at me.  She motioned for me to come up.  I did, feeling a bit fearful, but when we started to sing, I got completely lost in my love for Jesus.  If you don’t know the song, follow that link, it’s a wonderful song.  Then she continued playing, probably to fill the time while somebody located the Russian team.  And she started to riff (singing whatever came to her heart about Jesus), so I began to riff, too.  We were not following any particular melody, she was just tinkling on the keyboard, and we sang.  I think we went along like that for about 10 minutes, then the Russian team showed up.  When I saw them, and the sound engineer unhooked my microphone, I stepped off the stage.  But the violin player coaxed me back onto the stage.  So I just stood there worshiping Jesus silently.

Afterward, both keyboard and violin players congratulated me, saying, “You’re so brave!  Thank you so much for helping out!”  But they didn’t know about my singing issues until I shared my story a few minutes later in the morning teaching time.

When I was here last year, as the sole representative of Italy, the pastors of the church asked me if I could lead worship in Italian.  I had to say no, but I did ask some of the worship leaders I know in Italy to come.  Nobody was interested at all.  A few days ago I was singing along with a familiar song, but in Italian.  Then the thought came into my head: could I possibly lead a two hour worship session in Italian?  Immediately I dismissed the thought.  But after this morning, I’m wondering.  We’ll see!  Meanwhile, please pray that God will provide a genuine Italian worship group so that I won’t have to do that all by myself.

Mourning—The Second Time Around

Grief is a process, and not an easy one.  This morning I learned that my father-in-law died.  This is the second time I’ve mourned his loss.  And I can tell you that it hurts just as badly the second time.

Let me explain: I was divorced in 2008.  I noted at that time that divorce is like a death in the family—multiple deaths in my case, since my ex-husband’s family has been cut off from all contact with me.  We had been married 33 years—all my adult life.  I had embraced my husband’s family and loved them as my own, so losing them made divorce all the more painful.  At that time I mourned the loss of each member of his family, including my father-in-law.  Now I ache at the thought of how these people I loved (in truth still love) are suffering the loss of this sweet man.  But they are as dead to me as he is, and that makes it very hard to endure.

My sons, although grown at the time of the divorce, have been caught in the middle.  We are all doing our best to learn how to live with the fact of divorce.  They’ve been told not to talk to me about my ex or any of his family.  At first, I had also asked them not to talk to their dad or his family about me.  But when I saw the difficult position it had put them in, I relented.  It has been said that to truly love, you’ve got to be willing to be vulnerable.  For my sons, I am willing to be vulnerable.  I would rather suffer than cause my sons to suffer.  But I can’t do anything about what they’re going through now.  I can only stand by and watch them in their pain.

When my younger son called this past winter to tell me of his dad’s impending heart surgery, I could only listen sympathetically.  His voice was constricted with pain at the possibility of losing his dad.  At the same time there was another worry: he told me that he had gotten his dad’s permission to call me only after promising to make me promise not to try and contact his family.  Of course I assured him that I wouldn’t try to contact any of them, while also trying to reassure him that his dad would be fine (which he was).

But there’s more to my pain than all this: I was the one who initiated divorce proceedings.  That’s a fact that I don’t share with everyone because Christians can be very judgmental about the issue of divorce.  My sons know that I divorced their dad, and not the other way around.  No doubt his family all know that, too.  At times like this I sometimes wonder: if I had known the pain it would cause my sons, would I still have divorced their dad?  But I know the answer.  I had to divorce him.  Knowing that doesn’t make all this any easier.  This is the path I’ve got to walk, and unfortunately my sons share the suffering.

Most of the time I live my life in the present, facing the future, and busily focusing on the tasks God has for me this day.  But when something like this comes it’s an emotional blast from the past—in the explosive sense.  And the pain, self-doubt, and loss are fresh and new.  And yet in the midst of all the suffering (mine, my sons’, my ex-family’s), I know that God is good.