A Lovely Blog

Thanks to Sarah Bolme of Marketing Christian Books, who conferred on me the One Lovely Blog Award. This award is a moving blog award, meaning that each recipient who accepts the award passes it on to other blogs.

The rules of this award are that if the blog recipient accepts the awards she posts the One Lovely Blog Award image on her blog, includes a link back to the giver of the award’s blog, and passes the award on to other blogs.

So, now it is my turn to pass this award on. And the winner is… 110% Surrendered? – a blog by a young woman who calls herself simply His Daughter. Love the blog and I can only hope my daughter will be so committed when she reaches that age.

Testing, Testing 1…2…3…

Praise God, Daniela got her visa for Peru. There wasn’t anything miraculous about it, in the way I think of miracles, but it was one of those things that tested every fiber of persistence in her being. From dishing out almost $500 to get to Mexico City (the only place in the world a Mexican residing in Mexico can get a visa to Peru), to literally having to chase down the last bus that would get her to El Paso in time to catch her flight out to El Salvador the next morning, the ordeal was filled with one bloomin’ obstacle after another. Daniela has expressed an interest in journaling about this experience because it held some lessons for her, so I hope the in the coming weeks (after the Peru trip!) she’ll guest blog for me and let the rest of the world in on what she learned.

The Saturday night before she left for Mexico City, I attended prayer meeting and was asking for prayer for this situation when I saw a parallel with an ordeal I went through some years back when I believed God was telling me to give a truck to a man in Savannah. This humble servant in Savannah had been very kind to me and helpful in a time when I was in need. He lived on next to nothing and for many years had been driving a truck so beat up that it would only be on the road in a state without inspection laws (that’s Georgia). He could literally pull the entire steering wheel off effortlessly – it was actually quite dangerous.

I was living in Arkansas at the time and I felt God tugging me to buy this man another truck – used of course! We were going to South Carolina in July and would go on down to Savannah and drop the truck off afterwards. So we looked around with a budget of $1500 for the truck. We found a truck that seemed to be in decent shape, but the windshield was cracked. We replaced it – $250. Then a funny thing happened on the way to Savannah. Following behind in my air conditioned Cadillac, I noticed something leaking from the truck. We were in rural Tennessee, about 80 miles past Nashville. We pulled over at a rest stop and determined it was transmission fluid. We made for the nearest exit and asked around for a mechanic. It was July 4th weekend. No one was willing to look at it past being able to confirm that it was tranny fluid and it was not drivable.

I dreaded the worst while hoping for the best as we all loaded in the Cadillac and continued on to South Carolina. On the way back, we learned it was not going to be a quick fix in Po Dunk, TN. Disheartened, we went on back home and then began to negotiate with mechanics via long distance. There was a whole lotta looking for cheap parts to get the price down, but the long and short of it was another $1400 to get a rebuilt tranny for the truck. OK, this was God’s money, so I just said, “Father, if that’s how you want to spend your money, fine by me.”

Almost three weeks later, the truck was ready to be picked up. So off we went again from Arkansas, across Tennessee, to pick up the truck whose source of air conditioning was two front windows open going 60 mp. On we went to Georgia. Everything was good until Atlanta, when yet another muddy-looking substance starting leaving the truck at record speed. We pulled over and ascertained it was oil. Oh bother!! Well, we conducted a little experiment and learned we could make it about 50 miles down the road on a quart of oil, so we went to an auto store, bought a case, and headed on to Savannah. I knew my way around there better and thought if we could just get to Savannah, another repair would be easier to manage. This time, I kept the truck in my rearview because of oil it was spraying. Thank God no cop stopped us. The truck began to leak more and more oil, to the extent that we were only getting 10 miles to the quart by the time we pulled into Firestone on Martin Luther King, Jr. Street in Savannah.

At this point, I was so doggedly determined not to be beat by this thing, I didn’t care what it cost, darn it, this truck would be fixed and given to that man! Thank God, it was just a hole in the oil pan, and with a few other things we didn’t know were wrong, the total bill was about $250. The mechanic said something from the road must have flown up and punctured the oil pan – how odd.

That night, we pulled up at the man’s house and called him outside with an elaborate charade to give him the truck in a way that would really, really surprise him. It involved taking him to Wendy’s for ice cream. We had touched base with him earlier in the day while the truck was being repaired, just to make sure he would be there. When we arrived at his house (the truck was at Wendy’s), he had company and said he was very sorry and invited us in, but he didn’t feel he could leave to go to Wendy’s. That just iced the cake, that our surprise was muddled. We went to Wendy’s and picked up the truck and brought it back to him (along with Frostys for everyone) and just said “Here, have a truck,” or something anticlimactic like that.

The look on his face was priceless as he slowly understood that we were in fact giving him a truck. He started shaking and tearing and said he had been praying about the matter for some months because his truck was not safe to drive, and probably not legal to drive either. My husband was especially blessed by his reaction and I was very happy for that because all along John had just been going with this thing that he probably thought was some scarebrain idea rather than being a vehicle of blessing.

When it was all over and for months later, I thought and thought on that ordeal and wondered “why!” I believed all along that it was something God was leading me to do but everything was going wrong. It did occur to me that the devil didn’t want me to get that blessing or give it either, but I couldn’t understand why God wasn’t clearing the path a bit better. Everything was such a struggle. I’m writing this after five years and there is much I don’t recall, but I do remember enough to say that there was a lot more hassle and stress involved than I can articulate in a blog!

Back to Daniela and Peru…the following week in prayer meeting, I was able to give praise that Daniela had indeed gotten her visa amidst many trials. And again I pondered why. Of course, I know the scriptures on testing and if hope is the end result of all this testing then I’m going to have one big hope some day. But it still just leaves me with a question mark over my head. The next morning, a central tenet in the pastor’s sermon was this thought: God allows tests and trials in order to soften our hearts, not harden them. I’m still contemplating that.

And I’ve got a lot to chew on just now. We’re less than 48 hours out from the Peru trip and I just received a call that two of the participants are pulling out of their completely paid for trip. It’s mind boggling to me. The reason was too much work. Both are in full time ministry so I can’t say that they have their priorities out of order – either way they would be busy about the Lord’s work. But only one of these options is the Lord’s will. And I just don’t know which. Is this Satan distracting this couple from the view of the forest by waving trees in front of them, or is it God’s will that they don’t go? Either way, it’s a test for me because it immediately discouraged me. My husband said, “Just don’t let this discourage you.” So I guess that’s test for me – will I allow it to discourage me?

All along my prayer has been that God’s right group would go and that’s the assurance I cling to as I close this post now wondering, “Just who will be on this mission trip anyway?”

Mission Impossible

In general, I kind of like the challenge of figuring out how to do logistically difficult things. But we have a situation (Houston!) going on right now that really looks impossible, and I am exhausted from trying to sort it out with no progress. I have concluded that we need a miracle. It’s a little complicated, so hang with me.

Daniela Bermudez and I made a deal that if she would work for me for a month, I would pay her way to the mission trip in Peru on July 7. Today Daniela concluded her month of work and it was very fruitful. She deserves the trip to Peru, and indeed, the tickets have been purchased, including a two-day excursion to Machu Picchu. In our best laid plans, we forgot to factor in swine flu. Daniela is Mexican and added requirements are being put on Mexicans now because of swine flu.

In order to get a visa to enter Peru, she has to present a medical certificate of health no more than one week prior to travel. OK. One week before July 7, Daniela will be in El Salvador on a mission trip. When she inquired to the Peruvian consulate in El Salvador, she learned that they only issue visas to foreigners who live in Peru, even though the Web site clearly states it issues visas to foreigners visiting El Salvador. This seemed so unbelievable that we had to confirm it a few times, but it is true. So heads up all you Euro backpackers who think you might make your way from El Salvador to Peru – you can’t if you need a visa to get into Peru.

Next we thought about having her hold up a couple of days when she connects through Dallas on her way home. A friendly consulate employee there told her over the phone that he would issue her a visa for all her trouble with El Salvador. Apparently there is some wriggle room with this 7 day advance requirement on the health certificate so that he could issue the visa about 15 days in advance of her arrival in Peru. But when he found out that Daniela has pushed the limits of her student visa, he retracted and said he couldn’t do it because she had no legal basis for being in the United States after today.

What about Mexico? She’s gone home today and has about 10 days before the El Salvador trip. If the 7 day advance requirement for the health certificate was flexible in Dallas, maybe it’s flexible in Mexico as well. So she called the closest Peruvian consulate to her today, the one in Monterrey, to learn that people from Chihuahua have to go to Mexico City to get visas for Peru. Mexico City is 20 hours by bus from Chihuahua! Why doesn’t she just walk to Peru for Pete’s sake? And flying to Mexico City from Chihuahua costs $400. It’s literally cheaper to come back to Dallas and fly to Mexico City than to fly from within Mexico. But $400 is just the flight. It takes three working days to get the Visa, so she would have to hold up in Mexico City for three days. Is this just completely unreasonable, or is it me?

Next we were trying to call the Peruvian consulate in Guatemala City. All day, no answer. And their Web site is no longer existent, apparently. But as I was working on this blog, I came across a service that gets visas for Americans or foreigners living in the U.S. and learned that apparently Mexicans have to return to Mexico to get their visa to go to Peru. I guess she could come back to Mexico City from El Salvador, get the visa, and then go back, changing her plane ticket to leave for Lima from three days later than scheduled. We’d also have to change her Peruvian flights from Lima to Cajamarca, cutting the trip from 11 days to eight.

There are other options, but they aren’t pretty: Cancel the El Salvador trip and leave for Lima from Mexico City, but that would suck to miss El Salvador. She could cancel the Peru trip, but that would suck too. Regardless of what she does, from what we can see now, it’s unavoidable for her to lose money.

I’ve done a lot of international travel and it’s always a challenge to time everything right, but the situation Daniela is in because of this swine flu thing is insane. And this whole experience has given me a better appreciation for how easy it is for Americans to just skirt around the globe at our leisure. We don’t even need a visa for Peru. And if we wanted to stay longer than the 90 days we’re given upon arrival, all we have to do is ask once we get there.

Please pray for a miracle that all of this might work out and Daniela will be able to do both trips. And check back in July to learn how it all went down.

A High Jump

This is Gwen’s first season in track. The team was only afforded about three weeks of practice and then a short season – only two meets. So, it’s not been much of a season. In the first couple of weeks, Gwen would come home discouraged: “I tried discus and I’m bad at it because I have no upper body strength,” “I tried the pole vault and I’m bad at it,” “I’m a slow runner.” Her dad and I tried to explain to her that she can’t expect to be good at something the first time she tries it, but nonetheless, it was a pretty discouraging experience for someone who has a lot of natural abilities, but none readily apparent in track and field. Then one day she tried the high jump and she said she liked it. That ended up being one of her events.
The first track meet included about a dozen schools, most of them larger with better programs than Gwen’s school. In fact, Gwen’s school doesn’t even have a track. So at the meet, Gwen was running for the first time on a real track. Also, she didn’t have cleats (I guess that’s what track shoes are called – they have little spikes like cleats anyway). She was wearing some old Payless tennies she’s owned for two years – they probably weigh a pound a piece. To say that Gwen was at a disadvantage over some of the others who have been doing track for more than one season, or more than three weeks, who have track shoes and have actually run on a track, well, it’s stating the obvious. That meet Gwen learned a little something about the agony of defeat. But honestly, not too much, because a large part of the fun for her was getting to travel with the team and flirt with all the boys from the other schools (much to her boyfriend’s chagrin).
There was another track meet scheduled, but the school decided not to go because there was a conflict with baseball. OK, so now, a week and a half later, we’re at the end of the season, the district meet – ironically not as tough as the first meet. The district meet is made up of only schools of similar size, so our kids were a lot more competitive.
Since the last meet, Gwen got new shoes – still not track shoes because I’m not about to pop $40 on a pair of shoes that I have no assurance will be worn more than once – but we did get her some good Nike running shoes. And she had another week of practice under her belt. Yet compared to the preparation of her competition, there was no reason to expect any upsets.
But I did expect a miracle. I prayed the night before the meet that our Heavenly Father would give her the gift of placing in one of her events – just a ribbon, not a medal. I didn’t feel like it was even right to ask for her to win an event (not to mention I’m not sure I had enough faith to ask it) because she’s brand-spanking new to track and up against so many who have worked so much longer and surely want it more badly than she. So I asked our Father to give her a lift on the high jump or wings on the track, just enough to encourage her with a ribbon – provided that it could be done without edging out some young woman who had trained harder or wanted it more.
Praise God, Gwen placed 6th in the high jump. She had really improved in one week of practice. I could tell she had better technique – and an angel to keep that bar from falling off when she bumped it with her booty! You should have seen her reaction to hearing her name called over the loud speaker when they announced the results of the girls’ high jump. She jumped up and down clapping her hands and then gave her friend standing next to her a high five before resuming jumping up and down. I’m quite certain there was some supersonic squealing going on as well.

Check out the look on Gwen's face when they announced she placed in the high jump.

Fighting Fear

“…and the terror of God fell upon the towns all around them so that no one pursued them.” Gen. 35:5

Almost three weeks ago, I got a phone call, my caller ID said “private number,” from a man who identified himself as “Robert Dudley, D-u-d-l-e-y.” He said he was calling about a book he was working on, Unusual Unique Things in the United States, and he wanted to include my propane tank in the book. He had learned of it at www.Ohiobarnes.com:
This rarely happens to me, but in the first minute of conversing with Robert, I got really creeped out. My senses were on orange alert for the rest of the conversation, which is probably why I was able to remember so much of it and replay parts at random in my head over the next couple of weeks. To be honest, it could have been a very normal conversation, but because I was creeped out, some things he said or asked, threw up red flags for me – questions about my children, did my daughter ride a bus to school…
We ended the conversation with the understanding that Robert and his wife Barbara would be coming to photograph the propane tank and would call either Monday or Tuesday of the following week. After hanging up, I immediately started working on a backup for that visit. My mother was coming for the weekend – could I ask her to stay over? How about insisting he come after 4 p.m. when more people are around, but then Gwen would be here and maybe that was who he was after. I settled on getting my neighbor Jeff’s (see my hero from the last post) cell phone number and just keeping my phone handy. I told Jeff and his wife about it. I’m sure they thought I was/am paranoid!
Through the week of waiting for the Dudley’s visit to come around, I really struggled with fear and negative fantasy at night in particular. I’m no fiction writer, but when it comes to spinning worst-case scenarios, I could win a Booker Prize or something. I was having something of a relapse from the intense fear I felt for months after my baby Hunter died. I tried to keep the thoughts at bay by calling on the name of Jesus – and it worked, like it always does, but only for as long as I kept my eyes on Him. My focus kept shifting back to negative fantasy.
By Monday, I had actually calmed down quite a bit and wasn’t afraid to get the call that the Dudley’s were in town. In fact, I reasoned that if I did get the call, if a man and woman pulled up at my house, there would be no problem. Well, I didn’t get the call. The call is more than two weeks late now and I have no explanation for why I haven’t heard back.
On the last day I was expecting the call (Wednesday after the Monday-Tuesday timeframe Dudley had given me), I was still wrestling with negative fantasy. No call had spawned all kinds of new possibilities. In my devotion for that Wednesday, I prayed God to give me peace. I can’t stand being afraid. And God did. I read of the story of Jacob leaving Canaan after his son had ticked off the locals and how his clan got away without a problem because the terror of God fell upon the towns. I claimed this verse and it gave me peace. If Dudley had meant me any harm, I believed the terror of God had fallen upon him and he didn’t pursue it.
Just so no injustice is done to Dudley, I have to admit that there could be a lot of explanations as to why he never got back to me. But whether or not he was legit is not the point. The point is that God gave me peace over my negative imagination.
Well, that was sweet peace for one day.
The next day, I was taking a walk with Chaise (he was in a stroller) and a truck passed me just as I was about to go on to the no-outlet road that leads to my house. When I got about 20 feet down that road, I heard the truck come up behind me and stop at the T where my road and the county road meet. Three men without shirts and appearing to me to be drunk got out. I was down wind from them and could smell old beer mixed with body oder – gag! The driver yelled at me a question about whether the road they were on went back out to the highway. I answered a couple of questions about directions then I kept walking, civic duty done.
Another of the men yelled out, “She’s got a nigger baby! She’s got a nigger baby! Hey Bi…! Hey Bi… come back here!”
My split-second reaction was fury. I wanted to rip the cajones off that guy. But a voice loud and clear in my head said, “Just keep walking. Don’t look back.” So I did. And I didn’t hear anything else from any of them. Just the truck starting and pulling away. I pulled out my cell phone and called the police and reported them for driving drunk. They had two miles (one on gravel road) to go before they would be off that county road, so I thought if a police car happened to be in the vicinity, they might intercept them when they hit the state highway.
The incident set my mind reeling again. I had been on a no-outlet road when they saw me. They could find me again and the baby toys in the front yard would be a dead giveaway. Whereas Dudley was a big unknown, these guys were obviously not law abiding citizens and they obviously were very racist. I haven’t heard anyone say “nigger” outside of a movie or historical reference in almost two decades! I always joke with people when I’m giving them directions to my house that when they start to hear “Dueling Banjos” they’re almost there. But this was some serious back-woods stuff! And yet, if these guys were from my county, I know they weren’t from my neighborhood by the questions about directions they were asking.
Phoning the police, though I believe it to have been the right thing to do, actually worked against me later. Now I had all these revenge-related plot lines in my dark thoughts. This day was the worst. I was irrationally afraid.
The next morning, when my husband left for work, I went to the door that leads to our basement and even though it was locked, I put a chair under it. Then I brought my cell phone in the bedroom and locked that door. My actions had gone way past prudent into the realm of the ridiculous.
When I finally got up that morning, God met me at my morning devotion with another special selection. The devotion read: Don’t let your fears rule your actions.
Besides being just what I needed to hear, I had to acknowledge that a God big enough to put that sentence before my eyes on the day I most needed it must certainly care enough for me to protect me if those goons did come looking for me.
I wish I could say that was that and my mind was at peace from that point on. But the truth is that I continued to struggle. I had the verse from Genesis and the other devotion in my arsenal now and so I battled fear much more effectively. I was able to quickly redirect my thoughts when I caught myself slipping. But it wasn’t until last Sunday night that I really felt at peace.
Sunday night, I shared an abbreviated version of this post with my church family. They prayed for me – various ones prayed specifically for me – and as the words were coming from their mouths, I could feel peace coming over me. And that was that.

Just Say No to Credit Card Debt

Here it is, the day I sent my book to press. I’ve been looking forward to it and working up to it for months and what’s this? A prepayment is due? For all that anticipation, I coulda/shoulda/woulda planned better so I could lay down that money without blinking an eye. Instead, I had a merry Christmas and let the purse strings dangle throughout the season. The consequence: My choice is to either charge that prepayment or clean out my savings. I didn’t want to do either. I was sick to my stomach about the whole thing, particularly in light of the fact that I’m 15 days away from being able to pay that printing bill outright. But the job can’t wait 15 days more, it’s already 15 days overdue.

So I wrote out the check from savings, sealed it in the envelop and trudged around the house preparing myself to go to the post office to send off the security standing between me and an emergency. The easier thing to do would have been to charge it, but God has revealed to me that incurring debt for this venture is not His will. “Give it all you’ve got, but no more than you’ve actually got.”

Tax season is coming up and I’m going to owe. Between that, the rest of this printing job and just plain living, I can see that it will be some time before I can return that money to savings. Realizing this sent my shoulders to drooping. My precious savings, gone. And will I have the discipline to build it back?

I was again, so discouraged. So I asked God for some encouragement. Father, let me know I’m doing the right thing. I could put the printing off for two more weeks and miss some crucial dates for the book. Should I do that instead? At least I had clarity that I was making the right decision to not charge the printing bill.

Just before I walked out the door to take the payment to the post office, I checked my email. “Great news from Sheridan” said the subject line. My account rep was pleased to let me know that accounting had just approved me for net 30 day terms. I don’t have to send a prepayment! I have 30 days after completion of the job to pay the bill.

With a “whoop, whoop!” I pried open the envelop and took out my savings check and tore it up. The King of all the riches in glory worked out a payment plan to enable me to Just Say No to credit cards and keep my savings in its place. Thanks, Heavenly Father

Come to Me and I will give you rest

I have been looking forward to the holiday season, as I do every year, for the chance to rest a little more that it brings. My husband is home from school and the pace is just more relaxed. It’s a time to catch up on scrapbooks and photo albums, and this year, on yard work. Our yard has been so neglected all year, that I scheduled seven work days of 4 hours per day for two out of three able bodies in our household, the third being responsible for Sir Chaise, plus we have brought in help from among our daughter’s friends and the neighborhood. In addition to the yard, I also had a goal to get my book ready for press before the end of the year. Well, it’s 2009, and my book is not at press – and my yard still is pretty ragged, though much improved after so many hours of care.

In retrospect, it’s simply amazing to me that I actually entertained the idea of taking on a translation project between December 15 and January 3. The company requesting the translation said they had to have it done by January 3. It was 40 pages of text related to the trucking industry – not the easiest or the most pleasant of topics. When my colleague Devorah presented me with the idea, I really just wanted to say “no” because I knew it would mean the end of my somewhat relaxing holiday season I had been longing for. But I said “yes” anyway – with the caveat that I was paid my going rate plus a substantial bonus for rush work over the holidays.

Just as soon as I sent the email, I wondered if I had goofed. Was I being greedy, a scrooge, to exchange my holiday for a couple of thousand dollars? Or was this God’s way of helping me to meet an year-end financial goal that I was not going to make otherwise? I just didn’t know. So I said, “Father, I’m sorry I didn’t consult you before I accepted the offer. If I’ve made a bad move by accepting it, please intervene.”

Minutes later, I got an email from Devorah saying, “OK, I told them we can’t do it. … Enjoy your yard work.”

Hmmm. God must not have wanted me to take that job. My intuition about it being a temptation to rob me of my rest must have been correct. But then why did I all of the sudden really want that job? My inclination was to email Devorah back and say, “Hey wait! I said I would do it!” Instead, I made myself say, “Thank you, Father, for making me to lie down in green pastures.” But you know, I really had to reiterate that forced gratitude several times more throughout the day and even a few times the next day. I was irked that I missed out on a chance to make a nice chunk of change.

But that passed and I got peace about not getting the job and getting some well needed down time instead.

And then a day or two later, I got an email from Devorah telling me that it looks like we’re going to get the job anyway, to start after Jan. 3. Apparently they realized how unreasonable their timeline was (maybe they couldn’t get anyone else to do it). So I got my green pastures and I’m going to get my chunk of change too. I’m so glad I invited God to fix that situation for me and I’m truly grateful at how He worked it out.