After returning from Biella, I chatted on Facebook with my dear friend, Angelica. Suki and I visited Angelica at her home last year after Tony Anthony’s visit to nearby Modena (which I wrote about in last year’s post Encouragement from Above). From that visit was born a very deep and dear friendship. Angelica is one of those people who God has put into my life to encourage me, so visiting her was one of my priorities upon returning to Italy.
Angelica is Albanian by birth, so I wanted to tell her the exciting news about going to Tirana to pray for Albania with Operation Capitals of Europe, about Bogdan (her countryman) going with us, and especially about taking Albanian worship to the Feast of Tabernacles in Poland in October (all of which I wrote about in my last post Surprises).
Here’s our Facebook chat, after we set up a day & time for me to visit:
Angelica: can you stay here till sunday afternoon ?
only, if you can
Me: No, I can only stay for the day.
Angelica: ah ok
Me: But we can plan for a longer visit sometime
Angelica: would be great !
Me: I have something exciting to tell you!
Angelica: wow ! I can’t wait.
Me: But I want to tell you in person.
Angelica: good
Me: See you tomorrow!
Angelica: I have something good for you too…
you will like it a lot
Me: We will both have to wait
Angelica: hehehe yeah
I was so excited about telling Angelica my news that her surprise for me was almost completely eclipsed. I must admit, this is also what I do with any surprise. I am like a little kid when it comes to surprises and gifts, I get very excited and can’t think about anything else (if you notice, I’m also that way about the coming Rapture!). So what I do to enable myself to function is that I deliberately make myself forget that there is a surprise coming. This time it was so effective that I literally had forgotten all about it until after the lovely meal Angelica had prepared for me. First, I told her my surprise, about going to Albania and taking Albanian worship to the Feast of Tabernacles in October. Then she told me her surprise for me: she has talked to her pastor about having me speak at the Women’s Retreat in June. The pastor countered with an invitation that I speak briefly this coming Wednesday at the Women’s Tea.
This is a fabulous opportunity to encourage a local body of believers. I have never been invited to speak to any church or church group in Italy (or anywhere in Europe) before, not even my own home church in Milan. Of course, I said that I would do it.
After I returned home, Angelica wrote to me that her pastor said she had already gotten a speaker for the Women’s Retreat. The disappointment that she felt was obvious. However, a lot can happen between now and June. I have already prayed that if God wants me to speak at the retreat that He will open the door for me. I feel peace about it. After all, it’s out of my hands now. If God wants me to speak there, then nobody can stop me. Still, I am invited to speak on Wednesday evening at the Women’s Tea. So I have been praying for the guidance of the Holy Spirit about what to speak about. I have an idea what He wants me to talk about, but I always leave room for the Holy Spirit to flow and say whatever He will through me.
It’s possible that the pastor doesn’t really have someone else, and is just putting Angelica off to take the pressure off until she’s heard me speak. But whatever the case may be, I feel at peace about it because I have put the whole matter into God’s hands. I just want to be His instrument to bring healing, hope, and encouragement to these women, whether it’s only on Wednesday or also in June. God is good!
Tag Archives: surprise
Nomadic Kindred Hearts
Yesterday at the conference I met Rosy. Right from the start she seemed to be the most interesting person in the room. I met her just before the Ladies Coffee, which was a social time built into the conference. I didn’t register for the Ladies Coffee right away just because the idea of a Ladies Coffee didn’t really appeal to me. I don’t really fit in with most of the women there. But the Holy Spirit had urged me to register for it at the last minute, so I did. I asked Rosy if she was going to the Ladies Coffee, and she said that she was. So we went off together, leaving her boyfriend, Bobby, to attend the next session without us.
Rosy is doing something that I had always dreamed of doing, but never had the freedom or the resources to do: she lives in her fully-equipped camper van and has been traveling around the country since she was laid off from her job. That’s a courageous and daring thing to do, and I admire her a lot for doing it. When I bought my camper van in 2011 (see my first book, Look, Listen, Love) I had thought of doing that, but in Europe. My camper was stolen, which put an end to that dream for me. Nevertheless, I still think about it sometimes when I’m traveling around in Europe.
Rosy also blogs. So there we have a lot in common: writers, nomadic at heart, plus we’re both attending the Pre-Tribulation Rapture Conference, so we both keep our ears open for the trumpet’s sound. I love all the new friends God has for me! God is good!
The Pre-Tribulation Rapture
Greetings from Dallas!
I am here attending the Pre-Tribulation Rapture Conference. The conference has only just started, but already God has been very merciful, helping me through what could have been a couple of bad logistical problems.
The first was the drive to the airport. I left Asheville yesterday morning to drive my son home to Chapel Hill, and then turn back and on to the airport in Charlotte. I had budgeted about seven hours, even though Google Maps had predicted that the total trip would take only a bit over five. I had added an extra hour to my driving plan so that we could have lunch together at his local sushi palace. Leaving him on his doorstep with a full stomach and sushi leftovers, I headed on toward Charlotte. Google Maps either didn’t know about the construction on Highway 85 or that it was the tail end of Thanksgiving weekend and certainly both played a part in the drive time taking every bit of seven hours. I didn’t really hit delays until about 35 miles outside of Charlotte, but I was really glad that I had decided to head straight to the airport and not take my time. In the long term parking lot, I hailed a passing bus that had just gone by the shelter before I could get there. The driver graciously stopped for me even though she was not at an official stop when she did it. On entering the airport, I was especially glad that I had my boarding pass with me and no luggage to check. The flight was delayed by nearly half an hour, but that’s not a problem when you have no connection to make. It gave me an opportunity to breathe and even get a light dinner before boarding.
In order to avoid the expense of renting a car that I would really only need twice a day, I had selected an airport hotel near the conference site, which was another airport hotel. My plan was to take the shuttle to the airport and then catch the other hotel’s shuttle. My hotel’s shuttle departs for the airport every hour on the hour starting at six AM. As I thought about this plan, the enormous hassle and potential of hours lost waiting for one shuttle or the other began to worry me. Rather than worry, I simply prayed instead. After a good night’s sleep, I had thought to catch the six AM shuttle to the airport and arrive finally at the other hotel in time for the conference start at eight. Good plan, but I missed the six AM shuttle. I decided that it would be OK if I were a bit late for the conference. And who knows? I might arrive on time for the conference anyway. So I got a quick breakfast and signed up for the seven AM shuttle. The shuttle driver was there, and he asked me what terminal I was going to. I told him about my crazy shuttle plan. He wanted to know where the other hotel was, and I told him. He said that since he had only two stops to make this morning, he would take me to the other hotel. In fact, he said that he’ll be working all week, and that he would take me every day, assuming that he doesn’t have a lot of stops to make. That is an answer to prayer, and one I would never have thought to hope for!
So once again, I’m feeling like God’s favorite kid. God is good!
Dream or Vision
On Saturday I was on a train returning to Milan from a prophetic conference. I had had to leave the conference early in order to be back in Milan to meet a missionary coming into town. I was in that twilight state between sleep and being awake and I had a dream or vision:
There was an object—a silver oblong cube, like a very small shoebox about 5-6 inches long and about 3 inches wide and 3 inches high. This object was handed to a prophet. The prophet was hugely pregnant and held the object where the baby’s foot was. And the baby pushed its foot toward the object, so that it was as though the baby was stepping on the object.
I asked the Lord, “What does this mean and who is it for?” But He remained silent.
When I returned home, I wrote the dream/vision out and sent it in an e-mail to the missionary who had driven me to the train station from the conference. Since she had been the last person I had spoken with, I thought that perhaps it was for her or she might know what it means. But she wrote back, saying that it doesn’t ring any bells, but it is a very cool vision.
Again this morning I asked the Lord, “What does the vision mean and who is it for?” He said, “You are the prophet. You are full of the gifts—all of the gifts. Step into your anointing.” And my spirit said, “WOW!!!”
A few minutes later, the missionary that is staying as a guest in my house came in and said, “The Lord gave me a word for you: Psalm 150, verse 6: ‘Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise the Lord.’ And He says that He will do it for you.”
Of course, my reaction was visible goosebumps and a dropped jaw. She shook her head, not knowing what all of it means, until I told her about the vision and what God had just told me moments before, and it was her turn to be surprised and goosebumpy.
Praise the Lord, as the Psalmist says, and stay tuned because acts of God are coming! God is good!
The Breathless Anticipation of Easter Saturday
Day Fourteen
There is something so beautiful about waiting. Hey! I can’t believe I wrote that! If you read my first book, Look, Listen, Love, I go on for several chapters lamenting the wait for my camper van to be ready. But really, when you think of it, it’s true. When you’re waiting for something good—something that is certain to happen—you start to actually enjoy it in the period of anticipation. Your imagination begins to take hold of the idea, imagining how you will have it in your hands.
Pregnancy is one of those times. You start to imagine what it will be like to finally hold that baby in your arms, to feel the softness of the baby’s skin on your cheek, to smell the fresh smell of the baby after his or her bath. I didn’t want to know the sex of my babies before they were born. That’s like peeking at your Christmas presents a week before Christmas. Once I did peek at a Christmas present that wasn’t well wrapped. On Christmas morning all the fun and surprise was gone for that particular gift. I’ve never understood people who peek or who ask the baby’s sex.
I imagine the disciples on Easter Saturday. What a sad day for them! Jesus had repeatedly assured them that He would rise on the 3rd day. They had seen Him raise people from the dead, but they were so stuck in their old mindset that they couldn’t imagine the resurrection. Instead of enjoying the anticipation of Easter Sunday, they were fixated on Crucifixion Friday and their sorrow and loss.
For me, this time of waiting, fasting, and praying for my answer is a time of breathless anticipation. Unlike the disciples, I have the sure and certain hope of getting the answer. So instead of mourning my loss (in this case, solid food), I am getting ready to receive my answer. Today begins the last week of my fast, and I am so excited that I can hardly stand it. I do feel like a child the week before Christmas or a mother in the last month of pregnancy. My answer will come, and I am thoroughly enjoying the wait. God is good!
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
- To be spiritually mentored
- Feel connected
- To be known, understood, and prayed for
- To have a close friend
- Time away from ministry/life responsibilities
5 Simple Ways to Meet Their Needs
- 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.
- Take 5-10 minutes to ask an intentional question about their personal/spiritual lives.
- Surprise them with a cash gift for a night out (or a weekend away)!
- Send cards via postal mail—a rare treasure in the day of electronic communication!
- Introduce them to the free resources of Women of the Harvest.
5 Ways to Advocate for Missionary Women
- Share with your church and friends what you’ve learned about the needs of missionary women.
- Ask your Missions Committee how they keep in touch with your missionaries. Do they Skype regularly?
- Ask if each of your missionary women have a spiritual mentor in their lives.
- Encourage your Missions Committee to take the Member Care quiz.
- 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!
Help! I’m Stewing in a Bureaucratic Caldron!
I spent my summer vacation this year much like I did last year: hosting missionaries in Bob and Jill’s beach house that I was watching for them while they took their kids back home to the UK. While others were baking their bodies in the sun all day, I finished my book, which is what I did last summer, too. At about six in the evening, when the sun was lower on the horizon, I would put on my swimsuit and go float in the sea for a while. Thus, the days passed in creative effort and relaxed play. I could never have imagined that ministry would be such a pleasure!
Then I returned to the US to help my mom move to another state. The move went very well, and as problem-free as any move can be. Moving is always an exhausting chore—and if you don’t know that, then you’re one of the fortunate few that has probably never moved house at all!
Last spring I sold my house in Texas. I figured that since I live in Italy most of the time, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to keep a house there. When I sold the house, I told Mom: “Wherever you are is my house.” She was delighted, and actually started looking for a place to live close to my brother.
My brother had moved into my house when his burnt down in a Texas wildfire. All the people and pets were saved, but they lost virtually all of their possessions. After my nephew graduated from high school, my brother moved to another state—one with a more hospitable climate—one where wildfires don’t happen. Their new home happens to be only about four hours away from my sons and my baby grandchild.
Mom found a retirement center just half an hour from my brother’s new home. They were running a special that she could have a second person live with her for free, but that person had to be at least 55 years old. Since I’m 56, Mom got a two bedroom unit, and prepared to move.
So, my new legal residence in the US is in a seniors apartment with my mom. I have to admit, it was weird at first, but most of the people there are so nice, so kind, so friendly that they have actually taught me a valuable lesson. They have taught me to stop seeing people by age or infirmity, and instead to see them by their character. Notice that I said that most of the people are nice, kind, and friendly. Seeing people by their character also means that my discernment has been sharpened, so that those people who have spent their lives chasing money or seeking esthetic beauty (instead of inner beauty) reveal themselves as the small, shriveled souls that they are. At the same time, those who have spent their lives cultivating a good character reveal a beauty that age or infirmity cannot diminish. The discovery of this marvelous truth was like finding a gold nugget in the trash, and I believe that it has actually beautified my own soul.
Before booking my flight home to help Mom move house, I prayed for guidance, and immediately I felt like three weeks was enough time to get the move done, and to get her settled-in. In fact, three weeks was exactly right, not just for Mom, but was right for me, and the things I needed to accomplish in the US before returning to Italy.
One thing I needed to do, but also wanted to do, of course, was to see my sons and my grandbaby. We had a really nice, though brief, visit. My younger son asked for my help in getting a document from Italy that he needs in order to get financial aid for university. He needs a background check from his last three places of residence. He tried to ask for it online, but for one reason and another, was unable. The difficulty of obtaining this document is only matched by the absurdity of its requirement. He was a child when he lived in Italy, and moved back to the US two months before his eighteenth birthday, so even if he was some sort of child prodigy criminal mastermind, his records would be sealed.
Dealing with the Italian bureaucracy is unfortunately unavoidable if you live in Italy, so with eleven years of experience under my belt, I prepared the requesting documents and went to the Procura (the equivalent of the District Attorney) of Milan.
First Visit to the Procura
Monday – The office of the Procura was on a street I had never heard of. I arrived just two minutes after nine in the morning. It turns out that the office is actually inside the Courthouse, not just near it. So I had to go through screening. I always carry a camera with me because you never know when you will come across something interesting that you want to remember. I was told that I cannot enter with a camera, but that there is a coffee bar across the street where they will hold it for me. So I had to exit, get rid of the camera, and go through the screening process again. Luckily there was not a line to get in. By the time I got to the right door and took a number, my number was 50. The sign showed that they were working on number four. Twenty minutes later, they were still on number four, and an officer came out and announced that they were shorthanded, and that nobody need bother to wait past 10:30. All the people there rushed her and began peppering her with questions. I left. It didn’t take a genius to see that they would never get to my number by 10:30.
Tuesday – The following morning I had an appointment at the Russian Consulate to apply for a tourist visa to visit Moscow in October. I figured that was just as well, since all the people who hadn’t gotten into the Procura this morning would be there bright and early the next morning.
My appointment at the Russian Consulate wasn’t without its challenges, too. I had requested the appointment online, and the address given was, of course, way over on the other side of town. As always, I allowed plenty of time for searching for an unfamiliar street in a part of town I hardly know. I studied the map before leaving the house, jotted directions for myself, and headed out. It did take quite a bit of searching because what the map didn’t show is that the street changes names a few times en route. I stopped a man and asked directions. He pulled a GPS out of his briefcase, put in the address, and showed me how to find the Consulate. I have never known an Italian to be so helpful to a stranger. Perhaps he was just not typical or perhaps he was an especially kind person who was put in my path by God or maybe he was an angel. Who knows?
Despite having gone slightly off-course, I still made it about fifteen minutes early. The big Russian guard that appeared at the door was rushed by people who waved papers at him, speaking in Russian. I stood nearby and waited. He brushed them aside when he saw that I had an official appointment paper. Perhaps they hadn’t had appointments, who knows? He studied my appointment paper, and conducted me inside, telling me in Italian which window to go to. I went to that window, and the woman said, “We don’t do tourist visas here.” She shoved my papers back at me and indicated a man sitting at a table with a sign that said Assicurazione (Insurance). She had already turned her back and was talking to someone else before I could ask anything. So I went to the insurance table and waited as he finished dealing with a family. Confused, I showed him my papers. He said, “You need to go to this address,” and he wrote an address on a sticky note with the name “Italconcepts” in bold print. He assured me that it was close by, “Left out the door, right at the end of the block, then right at the roundabout.”
As I walked out, I was feeling somewhat discouraged, especially after the fiasco of that visit to the Procura. But then my spirit rose up within me and said to me, “Look! If God wants me to go to Russia, then no power on earth can stop me!” And with each step I grew more and more confident that I would indeed get the visa to Russia.
I followed his directions, and found the roundabout about a kilometer away (about half a mile). Then I found the address was another 100 meters or so, but my confidence had started to fade. What remained was a sort of numbness, and that’s better than worry or fear, but falls shy of confidence’s exhilaration.
The agent was an Italian, and the first person that morning to smile at me. Don’t underestimate the reassuring power of a smile. He looked over my papers and said, “We don’t need this. We don’t need that.” Then he pointed to my invitation and said, “We can’t use this.” He explained that because it was a photograph of an invitation, they would not accept it. He interrupted himself to ask the receptionist a question. Her name was Olga. When he turned back to me and saw the disappointment on my face, he quickly added, “But we don’t need this invitation because we will invite you.” I was confused, but I figured that Italconcepts must be some kind of facilitating agency that works with the Russian Consulate.
And Facilitate he did. He explained that the online form for inviting Americans is four times longer than that for citizens of other countries, so he filled it out for me, asking me the pertinent questions. When he got to the question “Organization,” I said that I wasn’t with an organization. I told him that because as far as the Italian government is concerned, I am living here as a retired housewife, which I am. There was and is no reason to complicate things by bringing the ministry to their attention, since I earn no money in Italy. He said, “Come on, aren’t you with an organization of some kind? A church, perhaps?” I said, “Well, I do have a church here, and I told him the name of my Italian home church, which is Ministero Sabaoth. I was about to spell it for him because Italians don’t pronounce the H, but to my astonishment, he spelled it perfectly. Then he smiled at my shock and said, “I’m a Christian, too. I know your church and your wonderful female pastor.”
So I’ve been granted a visa to Russia, and as I was about to leave it started to rain buckets. He looked out the window and said, “Did you bring an umbrella?” I hadn’t, so he loaned me his umbrella—a nice big one! As I was walking to the bus stop, God said, “See? I have people in places you know nothing about.”
Second Visit to the Procura
Wednesday – This time I left the camera at home and made sure to get to the Procura about eight-thirty—half an hour before it opens. My number from the ticket machine was fifteen. About an hour after opening my number came up. The woman at the window looked at my documents, shoved them back at me and in a very harsh tone said, “You need a proxy.” And like the woman at the visa window in the Russian Consulate, she turned her back and started talking to someone else.
If this had been in English, it would not have been such a problem, but even after living in Italy for almost twelve years, it unnerves me to be spoken to in such a hostile manner in Italian. I’ve never been able to respond verbally—at least not in Italian. In fact, the last time it happened, I broke down and cried on the spot—which had no effect whatsoever upon the person who had evoked the tears. Mute, I gathered my papers and left the Procura feeling like a failure. That feeling evolved into anger as I returned home.
With nothing else to do, but get back to paperwork at the house, I turned on my computer and opened my e-mail. I subscribe to a prophecy newsletter, and it’s remarkable how many times it speaks precisely to me and to my situation. Here’s what Wednesday’s prophecy said:
When your focus is narrowed so that you obsess over things that are not going your way or working the way you desire, you lose perspective and vision. Refuse to concentrate on your worries and woes and do not allow you heart to be hardened to the point of being ungrateful. You can choose to maintain a positive outlook, which will improve your disposition and mental health, says the Lord. Do not despair.
This is not the first time that God has reminded me of the importance of remembering to be grateful. So, with my attitude properly adjusted, I went on with my work, catching up on my records-keeping and planning for travel in November.
I wrote to my son, telling him what the woman at the Procura had said, and pleading with him to try to find another way. He wrote back that one of the documents he had given me was a Proxy, authorizing me to ask for a background check. I looked the papers over carefully, and he was right.
Third Visit to the Procura
Thursday – This time I went about an hour before the Procura opened. I got ticket number one from the machine, and waited for the office to open. As I waited, I thought about the Proxy, and decided not to let anyone deny me this time. Then I began to pray for the hostile woman who had spoken so harshly to me yesterday. As I prayed for her, God showed me that she is a very unhappy person who feels trapped in her job, but dares not quit. Prayers full of compassion began to flow out of me for her. By the time they opened, I was ready to deal with her from a heart full of love and concern for her as a human being. The person at the window, however, was a man. He took my papers and looked through them, while talking to another man behind the counter. He looked very much in his element, multitasking, conversing, and reaching for things he needed without having to look. I looked for the woman from yesterday, and finally saw her at a desk on the far side of the office, immersed in her paperwork. That’s when I remembered Monday’s announcement that they were shorthanded, and realized that she must have been filling in at the counter for someone who was out sick. As I considered that, I realized that she must have used hostility as a way to cover up for not really knowing how to do the work she had been asked to do. After all, no one likes to be revealed as incompetent—even at a job they are only filling in on. I wondered how many people before me had confronted her and had made her feel bad about herself before I showed up at her window.
Meanwhile, the man at the window busily tapped at his computer, stapled documents, stamped them, and chatted merrily with his coworkers. With a final flourish he hit the Enter key and the printer whirred to life and spit out the two documents I had come for. He stamped them, signed them and gave them to me. I said, “That’s it? I don’t need to come back for them?” He said, “No, you’re done!” And he turned back to his work, filing my documents in his Out box.
As I returned home with the documents in hand, it occurred to me that perhaps God had a larger purpose in having me go through the drama with the woman on Wednesday—a purpose for me (solidifying the lesson of remaining always grateful) and a purpose for her (in my prayers for her). Then I realized that even going through the bureaucratic mess that Italian residency requires isn’t really such a bad thing. God is able to redeem even this frustrating, time-eating, often futile activity.
I’ve said it many, many times before: God is good!
Surprised by Love and Kindness
I have the best job in the world, and I can say that because I have the best Boss in the world. I’m a missionary, and my Boss is God. I have never felt like my job was thankless or the work difficult. Jesus said, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light,” (Matthew 11:29-30). And I can attest to the fact that it’s true—it’s truer than I had ever imagined possible. How can it be that I spend my days pleasantly, doing what I love to do: meet missionaries, pray for them, and help them whenever and however I’m able? It sure doesn’t seem like work, but I have a benefits program that’s unbelievable. God provides for all my needs, He’s the Great Physician of my health plan, whenever I need legal help He’s my Advocate and the Judge, and the retirement program can’t be beat.
Me teaching the children to do the “Hokey-Pokey.”
I am in southern Hungary, staying in a nice house with a sweet family. I came here at the invitation of a friend to help in a children’s summer Day Camp/Vacation Bible School. I’ve been helping this week with various aspects of their program, but honestly, I’m somewhat limited as to how much I can do because I don’t speak Hungarian. What I’ve done is teach the children some songs and games in English, help with the afternoon snacks, and basically just be available for anyone wanting to practice their English. To be honest, it has just been fun. Nothing I’ve done all week felt like work, and the family is very pleasant to stay with, despite the language difference. The oldest son speaks English fluently, while the rest of the family’s language skills vary from almost fluency to practically no English at all.
Tonight they asked me (through the oldest son): “What does Hungarian sound like to your ears?” Without hesitation I responded that it sounds like tongues. When this was translated, the family screamed with laughter. But I have noticed that after spending all week hearing Hungarian all day every day, I am beginning to be able to distinguish familiar words. OK, most of the words I recognize are the numbers (one to ten) that I learned last year. But I’ve also intuited a few words from the way they are spoken or the subject matter (when I know it). And I know that if I’m able to pick up a few Hungarian words without really trying, then my advice to students wanting to learn English is good: listen to English every day.
Today was the last day of the camp, and they wanted me to speak briefly to the audience of children and their parents, and to lead them in a simple English song (“Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes”). So I just told them how very grateful I am to have had the privilege of getting to know them and their children. I had seen firsthand how big-hearted and generous the Hungarian people are, but that didn’t prepare me for what came when my part of the program ended. The Camp Director came to the front with a basket of goodies for me, and he spoke about how much they all love me, and how they hope that I will someday return to visit their town again. That’s when I lost it. I was so touched by their kindness that my emotion flowed out of my eyes. I doubt that any queen has been treated as royally as I have been treated here.
Walking By Faith in Europe 