Quiet Please

Safe from Abuse

This is Heather and friends at school.

Look at all those sweet faces!

Heather has not been in school for very many years but during that time I have always taken her safety completely for granted. I have never worried that teachers at her schools would prey on her.

Yesterday as our family watched the documentary Dear Francis I was reminded that this is not the case for African school girls. Across Africa, the rape of even very young school girls by their teachers is extremely prevalent... horrifically common.

I remember a situation in our very remote location in Kenya where a young school girl was refusing to return to school. She was being told she had to return when the term began again. She was adamant that she did not want to return.

In the end, this young Maasai girl got into the strong pesticide used to keep ticks off her father's herds and drank some. She took her own life rather than return to school.

It was a huge scandal in the community. Byron and I always suspected that she was being raped by a teacher and that is why she would not return.

The fact that she made some noise was very unusual. Most commonly, these students have no voice.

Take a look at Heather and her friends again. What would our communities do if girls like these were regularly in danger of sexual abuse at school?

The continent of Africa and her extreme challenges can threaten to overwhelm and paralyze us. Still, I am convinced that many small people doing their small parts do actually make a difference.

Earache

Trevor is sacked out on the sofa for the second day in a row with a killer earache.

We were at the doctor yesterday morning and again this morning. The specialist this morning inserted a tiny sponge to help wick the medicinal drops down into the area that needs them. (The canal is swollen shut so he can't hear out of that ear, nor can the drops reach their intended area.)

Before she inserted the sponge she said, "I apologize because this is going to hurt."

"OK," Trevor said.

This from the boy who has been on codeine every four hours over the last 24 to deal with the pain. This from the boy whom I never realize is as ill as he is just because he doesn't seem to show it.

In went the sponge and Trevor yelled out quietly but with force. He looked as if he was going to punch the lady. Then he looked like he was going to pass out.

Across town this morning our little niece, Jessica, fell from her scooter and had to have six stiches put into her chin.

What a day we're having around this family!

And Now for Something Completely Different...

Everyone deals with stress in their own peculiar way. I clench my teeth in the night and get knots in my shoulders.

I wish I didn't.

Byron sighs heavy sighs and carries a panicky look about him. (He can also get kind of grumpy.)

I wish he didn't.

But lately we're turning over a new leaf in stress management.

The closer we get to departure, the more the crunch comes down on us, the more frequently we watch Nacho Libre.

Yep, it's Jack Black to the rescue. (Three times in the last five evenings!)

I think it's the missionary theme and the work with orphans that must be drawing us in.

Ha!

"It sucks to be me right now!"

No Getting Up!

I really didn't want to get up today. OK, yea, we were awakened several times in the night messaging back and forth with Trevor to find out when to pick him up where after his adventures at the prom. (Yes, he looked very cute all spiffed up!) But that wasn't it.

With three weeks till fly time I am fighting the feeling of checking out when I really cannot afford to check out. I need to stay engaged because there are details that I need to tend to.

But I told Byron I couldn't get out of bed because I was nauseated. He looked alarmed, or course, but I said:

"Not REALLY! Just figuratively. I can't get out of bed because I will continue to feel like throwing up until I know that the dog's travel arrangements are in place, that the check we posted by secure post to our bank (for $13,000!) is not lost after all, and that the shipper has finalized details and is coming for our little crate."

Byron laughed. He laughed at me!

"Don't laugh at me! I need you!" I responded.

"What do you need?" he said with his cute face on.

"I need some of your fried eggs," I answered, pulling the duvet up over my nose.

It's later now. I'm out of bed. I'm showered and dressed and ready to face the do list once again.

Beautiful isn't it how fried eggs with toast and a cup of tea give me courage for the tasks ahead :-)

(I do wonder how I would manage without the Egg Man.)

Our Broken Nation

Please pray for this nation, the United States, today as there are reports of copy-cat threats emerging since the airing of videos made by the Virginia Tech killer.

There are so many directions that I'd like to point my finger.... irresponsible media heading the list right now.

But pointing fingers never really helped anything.

We are a nation of empty souls, desperately in need of filling.

Your prayers are appreciated.

Our House.... Not in the middle of the street!

This is where we lived from 1989-1999 in the Loita Hills of southern Kenya. It's a long way from anywhere else :-) Hennie Marais in England sent us this photo yesterday. He was there recently.

I post it for Carrie because she lived here on this same clearing as a little girl before our family did. Her house sat right where this one does but it was made of wood and, sadly, it was destroyed by fire a couple of years after we moved in. We built this one out of stabilized soil blocks, which are very like adobe blocks. Byron and a crew of Maasai friends made them. It's a great house. Now our very dear friends at Walking With Maasai headquarter there.

So here's a shout out, (though they rarely have the chance to go on-line,) to our friends at Walking with Maasai: Andre, Kashu, David and Francis... We love you and pretty much think the world of you!

Wordless Prayers

32 dead on a Virginia campus today.

"The worst shooting in U.S. history."

If I could think of words I might write them, might pray them.

But words don't come. Instead, my gut aches.

I take this ache and point it toward heaven. There is One who understands how to interpret this cold, clamy pain in my stomach into prayers.

He hears. I believe this.

Johnny and June

Trevor and Heather had the chance to record their version of "It Ain't Me, Babe" this morning.

I know I'm their Mum and completely biased, but it's pretty sweet.

Have a listen here

Many thanks to Michael and Jennifer at Remba Records for their friendship and generous gift of time.

A Blessing

We received a little blessing recently. It was meaningful to me. I guessed it blessed me!

"May you not be paralyzed by an endless moving-related to-do list,

And may you remember that everything will somehow get done,

And that this stage is part of the adventure of the journey too… "


Thanks, Lisa McKay, for your words over us.

(Painting by Bernard Hoyes)

And so it Begins... Again

"I'm going to start packing now" Byron announced on his way out the door. He was using his serious "I"m warning you" voice.
"Congratulations!" I said in my cheeky voice. I like to counter "Serious Boy" with "Cheeky Girl."

He was on his way out for his Monday morning coffee with Scott but he was announcing none-too-subtly that from here on out we are in packing mode. That means that we are not stuffing our junk in the back of closests anymore. No, we are now officially either throwing out what is not going with us, or finding the appropriate piece of luggage and placing it inside. Actually, the luggage part is probably still a week or so off, but we are at least in the sorting/pre-packing phase now.

Can I tell you how much I hate packing? Have I mentioned it before?

Someone recently asked me how long we plan to be in Tanzania. With as many international moves as I have notched on my suitcases I answered somewhat wearily. "I'm not planning to move again any time soon so unless there is a Major Act of God, we're in Tanzania till kingdom come."

Ah, the fun of it all!

Joy!

Easter Joy to one and all!!

Longing Toward Sunday

I can't imagine what the disciples were feeling on Saturday after the violent death of Jesus that they had witnessed.

We know what happened next so can we really fathom what was going on for them? They didn't know that Sunday was coming.

I imagine them huddled together behind locked doors. Small groups with whispered questions, anguish, and the silence of disbelief. I imagine them with no appetite, hardly able to sleep, in shock. Maybe they would drift off to sleep from time to time only to wake up to the aching again. Possibly, in those few moments between total sleep and wakefulness, possibly in there somewhere they forgot it was true, believed it was a nightmare Maybe they experienced the fleeting relief of thinking that this was just a dream.... but then they would come back to consciousness and be hit with the cold truth. It was not a dream.

We don't want to linger here. We like to wear our crosses empty.

But Friday's executions were reality. Saturday's silent empitness, it's closed-mouthed refusal to explain, was stark, heavy and 100% real.

Bleak, cold, harsh, void, hollow.

Shock, anger, fear, grief, pain.

Saturday had to be lived through.

Good Friday

I feel so unprepared for this weekend. My heart has not been meditating toward the meaning of these days. I am distracted by the details of major transitions in several directions.

Our friends in the Matrix community in Lisbon have planned some great ways to celebrate this time. Thursday night they gathered for a little film festival. You could watch The Passion of the Christ or The Chronicles of Narnia, both depicting the story of the sacrifice paid. Today they will gather to meditate on what it would have felt like to have lost Christ. Sunday they will worship at sunrise and then make a big pancake breakfast together.

We're all wishing we were there with them!

Tonight our little family-on-the-road will follow their lead and watch The Chronicles of Narnia together. The late night second feature will be The Passion of the Christ, playing in our living room after Heather is asleep.

This is a precious day of remembrance.

I am thankful for the payment made on my behalf.

24-7 Prayer: The World on a Shoestring

I'm trying to think of the words I need to describe the 24-7 prayer movement.

You know how some things get under your skin, into your blood and then become a part of who you are? When you try to speak about them it's so difficult ! How do you explain this thing that is so integral to your breathing?

24-7 is a movement, a passion, a people... A family devoted to Christ centered, mission minded prayer--commited to encouraging Christ communities all over the world. It's a family woven together across thousands of miles through something much bigger than the internet that connects us. It's the heart of God pulsating, bringing dead ones back to life, inspiring passionate prayers that change the world, prayers that undo our hearts in the presence of our Maker, prayers that allow His heart to impact ours.

And as we are impacted and moved, prayers as we go!

Go. Yes! Go and do . Go be the church. Be the Body. Be the answer to His prayers, our prayers, His heart for the world.

Not because He needs us so very much. Just because He has chosen this mysterious way of spreading His love... through us, His followers. Nevermind that we are frail and broken.

A band of friends in England were inspired by the Moravians who prayed non-stop for a hundred years. This little band of friends wondered if they might try praying non-stop for a month.

8 years later and the prayers keep on. Prayer room to prayer room, week to week, 8 years of constant prayer! The idea of setting aside a space and consecrating it to prayer, then dividing the week into hour slots and getting friends to cover every hour was and is contagious and irresistable. Not because a prayer room is a magic place. No. Just because it seems that God is ready and available to those who set aside time with Him and when they turn up, He does too.

So here we are, 8 years later with reports of prayer rooms happening in over 65 nations. And those are just the ones we can track! An 8 year prayer meeting :-)

What makes me so excited about people praying? Well, for one thing, most of these prayer people are young. Far and away, the majority of people seeking God in 24-7prayer rooms around the world are teenagers and folks in their twenties. Of course I've seen little children entering into the experience as well, and grandparents. But there is something going on that has captivated the longing of young people all over the globe.

If you're my age, ask yourself how many teenagers you know who love and long to pray. How many speak of freedom in His presence, joy, tears, and communication like they've never known?

Here's a scenario I've experienced over and over...

We empty a room of most of its furnishings. We cover the walls entirely in huge sheets of paper. We set up a few prayer stations or prompts to help people. There might be a globe, a cast iron cooking pot where we can burn our confessions that we have scribbled on scraps of paper. There is plenty of art supplies: markers, paints, pastels, pencils, glue, paper, clay... whatever. There's always music. A cd player and some speakers and lots of music to choose from. Soft stuff. Wild stuff. Dancing, crying, intercession stuff. There might be a guitar, a djembe. It doesn't really matter.

The common thread is that we set this space aside to meet with God and we invite others to join us in covering the week. After the first few hours, the prayers are spilling all over the walls. They have poured out of hearts and now adorn the walls. You walk in and find yourself invited into the hearts of others, the heart of God.

How many times have I heard people say, "As soon as I walked in I just started to cry" ? I see it again and again, God blessing the week, the hours, the room.

People are changed.

And changed people change the world.

Brian and his family moved far from England. Among other things, they host the summer teams who walk the streets of Ibiza caring for the the party crowd. Scores of young Europeans who traveled there to blow their minds on drugs and sex and clubs find something so raw and real in these people who voluntarily clean the vomit off their faces and help them safely back to their hotels. They find love in the realest, truest sense. Much to their surprise, they find Jesus.

All over the globe, this subversive love that serves others is being lived out. The 24-7 family has given their lives over to three simple things, (the vows of the Moravians.) Let us be: True to Christ, Kind to People and Take Good News to the Nations.

I guess I could just go on and on and on but I'd rather send you to the 24-7 website and ask you to take some time to look around. As you do, please consider this: God is using 24-7prayer in crazy, huge, amazing ways all over the globe.

Incredibly, it operates in a threadbare little shoestring of a budget.

Please, this has no impact on me because we don't receive any kind of funding from the 24-7 movement, would you consider giving a gift to this group that has young people falling in love with God and reaching out to change the world? It's so easy. Just push the donate button on their site. (FYI: There's about 2 dollars to every English pound right now.)

And go check out what Nelly (former Young Life staff, current youth pastor and always wonderful friend) is saying about the movement too!

This Morning

In almost 25 years married I can't remember any time that I've actually pulled an April fool on Byron.




So this morning as we were still in bed I told him very seriously that I thought I was pregnant.

I'm 44 and our youngest is already 8. Poor sweet Byron was speechless.

I'm too much a softie to hold out for very long and so he was only in shock for about 2 minutes before I told him the truth.

That was fun, fooling him like that :-) He fell for it pretty hard.