"D" is for Dulce . . . Refugio

"The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." 

(Deuteronomy 33:27a)

     We had just checked into the gift of a Maui oceanfront condo when my brother called from the mainland about the tsunami that was ravaging Japan.  He put us in touch with a local friend, who said we should expect to evacuate later that evening as the huge wave raced across the Pacific. 

     With one ear to the TV and the other listening for the sirens, we found our evacuation route in the front of the phone book. We could go either to the old airport or take a road leading inland—and uphill. That route would end at the edge of a huge pineapple field, which wasn’t too appealing for people who had no clue what we were doing, nor for how long we’d be doing it! We’d been told the airport space would fill quickly, and looking over the balcony railing, we saw that traffic was already coming to gridlock stage. We thought we might have to walk out, hauling our bags, blankets and what food and water we could carry.

     Suddenly, my husband came running into the living room, pointing to his phone’s tiny screen and exclaiming, “I found it! I’ve got the perfect place to go, and it’s a lot closer than trying to make it to the airport!”

     “It” was Lahaina Christian Fellowship, no more than half a mile away, but inland from the evacuation zone. We planned to spend the night in their parking lot, although we still hadn’t solved the what-to-do-without-facilities problem. We left the condo’s underground parking lot, amazed that all the traffic had cleared out. As we turned the corner onto the main road, we saw the church—topped by a lighted cross, leading us to safe haven.

     We found that God had gone before us, ironing the wrinkles out of all the details! Not only was the parking lot well lit, but lots of people were there, complete with little ones bedded down on the sanctuary floor and family dogs tied up outside. We think the Spanish congregation worship team was practicing when word came about the tsunami warning, and the pastors opened the church for anyone seeking sanctuary.

     We were welcomed oh, so warmly by Pastor Arturo, who led everyone in prayer for both the people of Japan and whatever Hawaii would face that night. Pastor Larry from the English congregation arrived, along with more of the friendliest people we’ve ever met.

    

     I know just enough Spanish to be dangerous, but the worship time was holy and precious. Following the live music, the sound guys played some taped songs, and for the rest of my life, I will remember exactly where I was the moment I first heard one of them.

     “Dulce Refugio . . .

     “Sweet refuge in the storm is Jesus Christ, the Savior.”[1] Long after the song ended, it repeated in my mind, waiting through that very long night with my brothers and sisters in that sweet church family.  It has since taken root deep in my heart.

     Dulce Refugio . . .

 

      . . . when the tsunamis of life threaten to overwhelm our lives.

     Dulce Refugio . . .

          . . . when we have fears about the future, and anxiety about things that are completely beyond our control. When we get more aches and pains from bodies that aren’t getting any younger. When we experience unemployment, serious illness, prodigals who won’t come home.  

     Dulce Refugio . . .

     . . . for a friend who is recovering from a bone marrow transplant, wanting nothing more than to hold her children again. For one who deals with a raging, aging father who simply wants to go Home. For another who wonders how her family can possibly deal with a financial impossibility.

Dulce Refugio.  He is there. He is sweet refuge. And it is always, always enough.

---

[1] Dulce Refugio, by Frank Giraldo, copyright 1997, CanZion Producciones.

"C" Is for Camping

Camping:  The art of getting closer to nature while getting farther away from the nearest cold beverage, hot shower and flush toilet.  ~Author Unknown

In my perfect vacation world, “C” stands for cottage, cabin, condo . . . and creature comforts. However, owners of these domains seem to think it’s “reasonable” to charge exorbitant amounts to occupy their premises; in our part of the world, it’s $125 a night and up—mainly up. We’ve long abandoned hope that the Vacation Fairy will guide us to cheap lodging in a beautiful little out-of-the-way place that doesn’t cost a bazillion dollars to reach.

     Thus, if we want to escape the urban hordes more than once a year, some creative thinking seemed to be in order.  The result? Camping!           

     My preference was a tent trailer. We’d had one years ago: comfortable beds, the ability to cook inside, a place to read during a rainy day—even a little potty away from things that growl, spray and go bump in the night.

     Unfortunately, The Management still isn’t convinced that camping is the way to go. And if he turns out to be right, we’d have this large, rather expensive “thing” parked in our postage-stamp backyard, reminding us that it was a dumb idea in the first place.

     So we’ve decided to take the much cheaper, albeit hardcore, route—a tent. Sleeping on the ground. Cooking outside. Buying ice to chill the milk and meat. Bathrooms down the road.

     He caught me on a good day with this idea. We’ve both gone tent camping and even backpacking in years past, but not since becoming more “mature.” But we’d just been over to the beautiful northern California coast, seeing a historic lighthouse, watching the ocean, indulging in my newfound addiction of searching for sea glass. I would’ve agreed to almost anything to get to remote beaches in search of the stuff!

     Late that afternoon I found myself—actually excited—standing in the middle of REI, comparing different tents. We decided we wanted something that would hold more than just us in sleeping bags. But there, inside the model of our new four-person tent, I found the holy grail of camping: a self-inflatable foam pad that’s a comfortable 3 inches thick.  Score!

     Our tent is big enough for our new camp/beach chairs. And from my friends at d.light Design (www.dlightdesign.com), I have a wonderful solar-powered lantern that you, too can buy for just $15 on Amazon.com. At some point, I may find that camping in the redwoods won’t offer enough sunlight to recharge, but that gives me another excuse to hit the beach. I also insisted on a screened-in “room” to cook, without the attention of six- and eight-legged sous-chefs. We even got a cute little “camp kitchen” that has a place to store pots & hang both potholders and a lantern.            

     The one remaining fly in the ointment, so to speak, is “The Bathroom Situation.” Yes, I am older than dirt.  No, I am not going across and down the road by myself at 3:00 a.m. The Management has already been informed that he is expected to accompany me, carrying a large flashlight, along with a pot and metal spoon with which to make bear-scaring noises.

     Small price to pay for getting away from it all relatively cheaply, don’t you think? Stay tuned for Part II, sometime this summer. . . .

“B” is for So Many BOOKS . . . So Little Time!

  “She has read too many books . . . and it has addled her brain.” 

             (--Louisa May Alcott)

     When my daughter went to college 2,250 miles from home, I sent her little packages on a regular basis. I had boxes that were perfect for gently packed treats, comic strips and a funny card.

     During one phone call home, however, she asked if I could please find another type of shipping container.

     “Why?”

     “Because, Mom,” she answered with the exaggerated patience of a college-freshman-still-teenager, “my friends keep asking if you work for Amazon.com.”

Happiness is a Fully-Loaded Kindle!

     Oh.

     But I understand—truly I do. I freely admit that I’m a bookaholic, whether it’s from Amazon, a bookstore, the good folks at the public library--or, since last fall, my new BFF, Kindle. When I move to heaven, they’re going to have to pry it from my cold, dead hands!

     It’s been a forever thing, this book business. My mom was a teacher, and she started me with Dick & Jane when I begged to learn to read at age four. She was probably grateful that it kept me out of her hair while she cared for my new baby brother. (I told them I really wanted a pony, but that’s another story.) I still recall trying to figure out the “hard” words, like “these” and “those.” They were five letters long, after all.

     In grade school, I inhaled some of my favorite books of all time: anything by Marguerite Henry, who wrote Misty of Chincoteague and Brighty of the Grand Canyon. I was one of those kids who would’ve traded her entire family for a horse.

     I was also the kid who read under the covers with a flashlight.  I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible to wait until morning to find out how Nancy Drew saves the day!

     Unfortunately, my ninth-grade biology teacher didn’t feel this same sense of urgency when she caught me hiding one in front of the textbook I was supposed to be reading. Let me tell you, the shame of sitting out in the hall as a 15-year-old will put the fear of God in you pretty fast.

     It was no surprise that I majored in English in college, along with French and history. (However, there is, to this day, nothing more boring than 19^th-century English essayists!) I loved research papers, and could happily have moved into the nearest library.  I’m hoping that God will let my small corner of heaven look like the reading room in the Library of Congress.

     I have never met a bookstore I didn’t like. Whether in a new town, a mall or an airport, I seem to have a built-in homing beacon for them. My idea of a great date with my husband is dinner and a trip to Barnes & Noble . . . just “to look,” of course.

To Be Read Pile (well, part of it, anyway)

     It’s a family joke that we could move to any small town in America and open up a public library or a bookshop of our own, simply with what’s stashed on shelves in the living room . . . and the bedrooms . . . and the den . . . and the back porch . . . and the garage. 

     I can give away clothes. I can part with furniture. But keep your hands off my books!

"A" Is also for Alex

     “Life is not measured by the breaths we take . . . but by the moments that take our breath away.” (--Author Unknown)

            I had one of those “God moments” this past Sunday when I assisted with the baptism of my special friend, Alex. He’s one of only a few people on this planet for whom I would get up in front of 300 people wearing a t-shirt, shorts and 15 extra pounds!

            When I met Alex in 2009, he immediately stood out as a sharp dresser in our casual California church. He always wore a tie and his wonderful plaid fedora, the retro hat that’s popular with today’s cool young guys. But what drew me to him the most was his light-up-any-room smile and huge enthusiasm for simply being alive and present to worship each Sunday morning. His joy overflows to everyone around him.

            I always missed Alex if he wasn’t there on Sunday. I told him my week didn’t get off to a good start without one of his smiles and hugs.

            I was thus honored beyond words when I received an email saying that Alex wanted to be baptized—and had asked if I would be his sponsor. This involved meeting to help him reflect on new life in Christ and write his baptism story before the big day.

            I knew it would be a bit of a challenge, for Alex has Down Syndrome, and he can’t read or write. He may not understand words like “regeneration” and “sanctification,” but he knows without any doubt that Jesus lives in his heart and guides his life.  Anyone watching him worship each Sunday morning never has any doubts either; the light and love of Christ shine brightly through his eyes.

            I’ve never thought of Alex as being disabled; I simply consider him to be “other-abled.” He carries many more worship songs in his head than I do. He also approaches life with his arms wide open and a smile on his face—hardly the way I manage to greet each day!            

            He is gifted as an encourager, which I consider to be one of the best spiritual gifts of all. Some of us are gifted as teachers or preachers or singers. Some of us are called professionally to be builders or doctors or moms. 


       But some are created simply to be a blessing and encouragement to others, and Alex is such a person.  What a high and holy calling he has! Many are the times I have wished that I could be more like Alex, and less like me. The world would be a brighter, better place if that were true of us all.  

(Photos used with permission of David Gene Photography, www.davidgenegallery.com. Thank you, David!)

"A" Is for Adventure

Quote for this Week:

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body—but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming . . . ‘WOW, what a ride!’" (Mark Frost)

The word “Adventure” is appropriate for this, my first blog entry, because I have just embarked on a grand one. Not only is starting to blog an Adventure, but I’m also dipping my toes into the new world of writing fiction—for big people, little people and those in between.

Looking back on life, however, I see that much of it has been a Great Adventure. It has been quite different from what one might expect from growing up in a middle-class family in a middle-class suburban neighborhood in the middle of the country (Oklahoma).

The Adventure took off when I married and moved to southern California. I “just happened” to receive World Vision magazine, which I hadn’t seen for years. The organization “just happened” to be near our home, and it “just happened” to be hiring. Over the years--from shipping relief goods, to assisting with “Operation Babylift” and Vietnamese refugee resettlement, and then being Associate Editor of the magazine that started it all—it was more than I could ever have dreamed of doing!

The Adventure took another turn 25 years ago, when my husband and I got involved with international students and visiting scholars. Who would’ve thought that simply being a mom—to my own wonderful daughter and to thousands of these cross-cultural friends--would propel me into an Adventure that continues to this day! I have loved them all, and have also had the indescribable honor of leading some of them into the arms of the God who created them.

In just the last 7.5 years, I have lived and studied in China for three months and made three additional trips there. I've prayed my way through whitewater rafting trips, climbed the Great Wall (twice) and eaten things such as roasted scorpions (best with toasted walnuts), sea slug soup and congealed duck blood. I've tried to live by the motto of "Where he leads me, I will follow; what He feeds me, I will swallow." But let me tell you--"Agape" love is the only thing that has helped me enjoy boiled sheep's stomach and roasted worms!

My Life Adventure has also meant returning to school when I was 58 years old, earning an MBA in Urban/International Economic Development. I had some of the best professors God ever created, including Tony Campolo. I also got to experience Pennsylvania in its glorious autumn colors and drive through Amish country watching snow fall on horses, buggies and clothes hanging on the line.

And now this, the Great Adventure in the world of fiction. I’ve always been known as a “storyteller,” sometimes to the frustration of my linear-thinking, “get-to-the-point” MBA classmates (and computer scientist husband). But it's now time to put stories on paper and see where God takes them, all the while feeling like young David going out to meet Goliath. Look for me at the ACFW conference; I’ll be the one wearing the rock!

Sometimes I look in the mirror and ask God, "Why me?" But I once heard a pastor say that following Jesus is like riding on a bicycle built for two. You need to let Him sit on the front seat and steer, while you pedal furiously from the back . . . and hold on to Him for the ride of your life!