I moved!

The Lord is so good to me.

I rented a house! For the first time in my life, I have space to call my own. Objectively, it's just a 500-square-foot house, but to me, it is a palace, with gold floors and sapphire trim and diamond windows.

Here are a couple of pictures of my darling sweet little home.

Kitchen

Dining Room

Living Room

Bedroom 

(and a glimpse of the tiny little bathroom & hallway between the dining room & bedroom)

The surprising story of my rejection at the Canada border (part 5)

The final saga of the events that unfolded last year around this time

Part 5: A door definitively closed, and restoration of what I had lost

It was so unexpected to have this intended plan completely not work out, but it felt to me like life from the dead. In a manner as definitive and unarguable as the Canadian Border Authorities, God closed the door.

I felt like Abraham, sacrificing his son on the altar. They were at the top of Mount Moriah. Isaac was on the altar. The knife was raised. And suddenly, God called to Abraham and said “Stop.” He let him get all the way to that point before he detained the final move. He didn’t let Abraham see that he was going to be stopped until the last minute. And God said, “Now I know that you will not withhold even your only son from me.” In Hebrews, it said that Abraham was “accounting that God was able to raise him up, even from the dead, from which also he received him in a figure.” 

In just the same way, I felt like I had been detained at the last minute. “Stop,” God declared. “Now I know that you are willing. You have not withheld your dreams, your future, your house from me. You have declared yourself to be totally available to me, and I have accepted it. Now go back to Colorado and do the work I have for you to do.”

An overwhelming sense of relief flooded over me. Life from the dead was better than life that had never died. I was not only getting my life back, I was now freed from all the thorns of merimnao that had been choking me. 

I was not misguided after all in feeling like it was the Lord who had led me to put down roots and settle in Colorado. I had given up my dreams, and they had died, and I had mourned, but what I was getting back was like a fresh new slate, a life that God could guide, a walk of newfound dependence on the Lord. It would be daily, it would be dependent, it would not count on tomorrow, but it was rooted so much more firmly in the One who is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. 

I made the comment to my mom on the phone, “I thought I couldn’t see beyond the next 3 months, but I found out I actually couldn’t see beyond the end of the day.” The Lord re-fixed my focus on Him, and not on the length of time that I could discern the future.

I got back to Colorado on Thursday evening, April 25, and wonder of wonders, in a series of events that I didn't even ask for, I got my books back, I got my kitchen stuff back, and I got my stuff back out of the yard sale pile where I had put it. It had been sacrificed, and I didn't expect to see it again, and here it was, still mine, but the tentacles of possessiveness and materialism and merimnao (the cares of this life) had been severed. Now it was just stuff. I was beyond grateful to get it back, but I was also free from the clutches that these things had over me.

On Monday (April 28), I got a call from the father of the family in Canada, saying he had talked to a member of Parliament from his district, and she had expressed surprise that I had gotten turned away at the border. “That shouldn’t have happened to her,” she said, and committed to look into it.

She later called them back after looking into my case, and they updated me on Tuesday (April 29). He said that the Parliament member had spoken to the immigration authorities at the border where I had tried to cross and had found out that I have been labeled forever as a “nanny attempter” and that there was no way to override that decision. Therefore, whenever I ever try to enter Canada for any reason in the future, I will be detained and questioned and suspected. There was nothing more that the Parliament member could do.

On Wednesday (April 30), I received a final email that said, “I also thought of more questions for our Member of Parliament, regarding...whether there was any appeal system in place for you to get your "criminal record of stealing nanny jobs from Canadians" pardoned. What my MP office said is that as far as trying to get you off the "most wanted list" there is no appeal system in place to plead your innocence. So I asked the lady if you wanted to fly from Denver, CO to Calgary, AB for a vacation you wouldn't be allowed in and she said that is right, you would not be allowed in. The lady in the office did have some suggestions for you if you wanted to still get into Canada in the near future.(wouldn't blame you if you didn't) but none the less she suggested contacting Canadian Immigration, to apply for a visitor visa, this would cost you $200.00 and some time spent dealing with gov't officials. She also suggested you could go to the Canadian Consulate in Denver (1625 Broadway street) and work through them. The lady at the office was very helpful and knowledgeable about immigration and was willing to talk to you if you had any questions about the situation you find yourself in. This is for your info only and if you wanted to know more about your situation. Like I said before, I wouldn't blame you if you wouldn't want to talk to another Canadian official ever again.”

I wrote back and replied, “I really appreciate your words of thanks and affirmation in this whole process. I also thank you for taking the time to do this research and find out these things for me. Right now I do not have any foreseeable need to visit Canada, but it is good to know the procedures and contact information should I need to go the route of getting a visa. And I am not one to hold a grudge, so it hadn't even crossed my mind to be like "I don't want to talk to another Canadian official ever again." Do you know what I feel like? I feel like I am reading a book, and the author throws in a little twist to the story in one of the characters lives that seems insignificant at the time but that will become significant later on. Right now, I'm like, "Oh my, I'm a nanny attempter. Big deal." But I have this feeling that later on down the road, there might be some reason that I urgently need to go back to Canada, and I won't be able to because of this little incident. However, this is not a cause for foreboding; this is a cause for excitedly anticipating the way the Author will work things out.”

So that closed the door definitively on all my potential for appeal, leaving me free to pursue the call of God on my life in the present moment, in the present place, and trust Him for the coming steps. I am rooted in Him, hidden in Him, and delighted to have Him back in the driver’s seat. 

To God be all the glory.

The End.

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Part 5 of 5. Start over at the beginning 

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The surprising story of my rejection at the Canada border (part 4)

The events of one year ago, continued...

Part 4: The Canadian Border Authorities' gracious boon

The next day I got on the road at 5:00 am. I drove up through the wild, vast, uninhabited stretches of North Dakota and got up to the Canada border about 4:00. The drive was a pleasant and delightful time spent with the Lord, in which I composed a song called "Wake Up the Mighty Men" as a call to the mighties of this generation to come and die (to self and the flesh) and rise up and do exploits for the kingdom of God. The refrain echoes the cry of the Moravian missionaries who called from the ship as it was pulling away from the shore, "Is not the Lamb who was slain worthy to receive the reward of his suffering?" I was very excited about the song and in a pleasant and happy frame of mind due to the joy of having spent almost two whole days alone in the car with Jesus.

Approaching the border, I had not the least nervousness. In my mind, there was no way anything could go wrong. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, so why should anything go wrong? I would just be upfront with them and explain the situation and they would understand and let me through. I drove up to the stop sign and stopped. A guard came over to my car.

“Purpose of your trip?” she said.

“Well, I guess you could call it a mission trip,” I said. “There’s a family, and the mom just died, and I’m going to stay with them for a few weeks and homeschool the girls and take care of the house for them.”

The guard asked me to go over to the side area and park. “Uh oh… this is not a good sign,” I thought.

She came over to my car and asked me a series of other questions: How long was I staying and did I have a job at home and how was I being supported and what was the name of my church and had we contacted immigration previously and what was this family’s address. I answered her questions. She left briefly and made a call. Then she asked me to step into the office. “Uh oh… this is really not a good sign,” I thought.

I stood and waited in the office for several minutes, still not really believing that anything could happen. Of course I would get through the border.

The guard came and summoned me to a back room. I followed her, thinking, “Oh, boy, we are going to the back room. This is really not good. Are they going to arrest me or something?” Another male guard accompanied us. We entered a small, bare room with a table and three plastic chairs that were bolted in place. It looked like the classic interrogation room you see in the movies. No artwork, no wallpaper, no beautifying touches. It was simple, stark, hard. The female guard motioned to me to have a seat.

“You are going to be allowed to leave Canada,” she said, as if she were granting me a gracious boon. “We cannot allow you to come into the country, because your entry would deny a potential job to a Canadian citizen. You should have contacted Immigration for a visa to do this kind of work. In order for you to come back, the family will have to get a Labor Market Opinion from Immigration, and that is practically impossible to obtain. It’s not a thing you can get in a day or a week; it’s something that takes months if you get it at all. If you should attempt to come back into Canada at another crossing, you will be banned from Canada for a year. You can make a U-turn and enter back into the American side. I will tell them that you’re coming.”

She also asked me to bring her a copy of my driver’s license and vehicle registration, so I went back out to the car to get it and brought it back to her in the main reception area of the office. She spent quite a long time entering all the details of all of my documents into the system. (I later found out, when a member of Canadian Parliament looked into my case, that she had labeled me irrevocably as a "nanny attempter" and that I will have difficulty getting into Canada for the rest of my life because of that.) As I was standing there, bewildered, surprised at the way things were progressing, the primary thought in my mind was, “Don’t be upset. This is of the Lord.”

I did, however, gently try to press for more details. “Is there anything I can do to change this?”

“No, there’s nothing you can do. The family will have to get a Labor Market Opinion. That is all.”

“So just to verity, without that document, there would be no way for me to enter the country?” I asked.

“That is correct.”

“What if the length of the trip were shorter?” I asked. “I'm going to North Carolina on May 9” (which was only two and a half weeks away).

The smallest flicker of hesitation crossed the guard’s face before she hid it behind a steely official demeanor. “Your denial is related to the purpose of your trip, not to the length of your trip,” she stated. Her posture and attitude were adamant.

Last look through my back window at the border crossing station

She gave me back my documents and made a phone call to the US side of the border crossing, letting them know I would be coming over. I drove around the building and crossed back into the US side. The guard asked me the reason for my denial. “I was going to stay with a family for a few weeks and I guess they think that is going to deny a Canadian a job,” I said with a shrug. The guard asked me to pull forward and pop my trunk. He opened it and looked in for about one second before closing it. “You’re good to go.” I drove off.

In the middle of all that, I got a text from the father of the family I was due to have visited, asking if I was close. I texted back and told him they just denied me at the border. I also tried to make a call to Ellerslie, but I didn’t have any signal. I finally made it back to the nearest town in North Dakota, where I had signal again. I called the father of the girls. “They just denied me at the border. I’m so sad,” I said. While I had remained calm at the immigration office, my voice now threatened to break. But I took a deep breath. This man didn’t need a breakdown over the telephone. We talked about the Labor Market Opinion that they had asked for, and I gave him a telephone number that they had given me to call.

Then I called Ellerslie and told them what had happened and asked them to pray. They expressed their condolences and asked what our plan was. I said I was headed for a nearby town (looking for one a bit larger than where I was), where I would have cell service and just hang out and wait to see if anything changed.

I talked to my Canadian host again after he had put in a call to the phone number I had given him. He said that the person he spoke with on the phone there was very much more sympathetic and that she had invited me to call her to see if we could get anywhere.

I called that number and spoke with the same person the man had spoken with. I started saying, “…and he said you had suggested that I call you—“ when she interrupted me with a very curt manner, saying, “No, that is not what I said to him. What I did say was that I would have no ability to override the decision that was made at the border. If they said he will have to get a Labor Market Opinion, then he will have to get a Labor Market Opinion.”

I called and told him what she had said. By then I was back in the closest town that was large enough to have a hotel, and we decided that I should get a hotel for the night and try again to cross the border in the morning. The girls' grandfather very kindly paid for the hotel. As we continued to communicate, we decided to write two letters, one from the father explaining the situation, and one from me asking that the border officials re-define the way they were labeling my proposed trip from some kind of work to a personal visit. We planned to print the letters out and bring them to the border officials the next day to see if that would change anything.

I stayed the night in the hotel, got up in the morning, checked out, and drove back up to the tiny little town that was close to the border. In the meantime, the father and his girls drove down from their home in Canada and crossed the border into the United States (which they were readily able to do). 

We met and had lunch. It was great to meet them, and we spent a couple of hours visiting. They told me that when they crossed the border, they stopped over on the Canadian side and talked with the people there. The father said they knew exactly who I was, and he said they were absolutely unwilling to work with him. They wouldn’t take the the letters or even read them. So he did not suggest that I try again.

After our lunch, the family drove back up to Canada and I drove back to Colorado.

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Part 4 of 5. Start over at the beginning | Read part 5 

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The surprising story of my rejection at the Canada border (part 3)

[A continuation of the story of Canada, with the events that happened on this day last year]

Part 3: Final preparations and setting off

The next day was Easter Sunday. Pastor Eric called me up to the front before the message and announced that I would be going to work with the family he had mentioned who needed help with their homeschooling for a few months. 

Someone in the back said, “Yaaay!” and everyone burst into applause. I felt so valued, so supported, so validated by the church. I knew they wanted me to go, not because they wanted to get rid of me, but because they felt like I would be a valuable addition the household of this family, and they believed in my capacity to do the work. 

Eric prayed for my time in Canada and I went back to my seat. After church, lots of people came up and congratulated me and expressed excitement for what I was doing. They asked when I was leaving, and I said, “Tomorrow.” I said this by faith, because I had so many things still to do, but I thought I might still be able to get it all done.

Story of my life: Sorting through the tornado

Bethany and I went home and ate Easter dinner and then went to my room and talked while I sorted through the tornado that was my room. It was a daunting, overwhelming level of disaster, but I slowly worked through it. It was still not done when I went to bed, so I let the father of the family know that I was slightly delayed and would not be able to leave early in the morning.

Monday morning, April 21, Bethany had the day off work, so she helped me again to get finished sorting through all the stuff. She packed boxes that I couldn’t bring myself to figure out what to do with, labeled things, and stacked everything that was done outside my door. Finally, I was all done. The last bit of luggage was stuffed into the trunk of my car, I had a lunch packed, and I had my directions all written out. 

I left at about 1:30 pm, drove to Mount Rushmore, snapped a couple of quick pictures of the iconic figures carved in stone (somewhat disappointed to note that they seemed much smaller than I had always expected them to be), and stayed the night at a cheap hotel I had reserved in Rapid City, SD.

Funny story about that hotel: it had to have been the worst experience I have ever had at any hotel anywhere (even worse than the cheap hostel I stayed at in Gibraltar--and that was a bad enough story already!). 

I knew it was going to be bad when I walked into the hotel and and the lobby smelled like cigarette smoke and cat pee. I would have walked right back out if it weren't for the fact that my reservation was non-refundable. The front desk clerk informed me that the continental breakfast was canceled and showed me to my "non-smoking" room, which smelled so strongly of smoke that my throat started swelling up. "Oh, well," I thought, "For one night I can stand it."

I got ready for bed early and lay down on the bed. The mattress was lumpy and sagging and sloped towards the floor, so no matter which way I lay, I felt like I would fall off. Therefore, I pulled the sheets and blanket off the bed and slept on the floor, which was infinitely more comfortable due to its consistent firmness. 

As I prepared to grin and bear it for the night, I was contemplating the bad review I was going to write about this hotel, but I said to myself, "I should look for SOMETHING positive to say. At least it's quiet." 

I was just dropping off to sleep when somebody pounded loudly on my door. So much for it being quiet. "Who's there?" I said, jumping up. No answer. I looked out the peephole. No one in sight. I lay back down on the floor. Five minutes later, BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. They were at it again, pounding as if with the flat of their hand with great force on my door. What in the world was this? I was annoyed. "Who is there?" I yelled indignantly. Again, no answer. I looked out the peephole. Again, no one in sight, but it sounded like a faint moaning sound was coming from near the floor. Now I was really awake. I called the front desk. "Someone is pounding on my door," I said. "Can you please take a look in the hallway and see what is going on?" I heard a man come up to the hallway and talk with the person on the floor. "Oh, it's you." They had a conversation that sounded like they were on a first-name basis with each other and the guy left the person there. Bizarre. 

It took me a long time to fall asleep after that. Around 4:15 in the morning, the guest in the room next to mine woke me up with incessant coughing (no doubt due to the wretched air quality) with a loud, throaty, guttural cough that literally sounded as if they must be dying. The smell in the air made it unbearable to stay in the room any longer, so I hurried to get my stuff and leave. 

And then, if it wasn't already bad enough, I found I had received one additional gift in the night: bedbug bites. Fortunately I had taken the precautions of setting my luggage up on the luggage rack, so I successfully got away without any little hidden hitchhikers, but I was never so happy to be rid of a place in my life. 

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Part 3 of 5. Start over at the beginning | Read part 4 

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The surprising story of my rejection at the Canada border (Part 2)

Part 2: Practical steps toward leaving

On Saturday, April 19, 2014, one year ago today, I was in the process of transferring up to Canada, and my friend Bethany offered to help me to figure out what to do with the rest of my stuff. We went up to the attic together and started making three piles: Yard sale, Keep in the Attic, and Bring to my Room.

Little by little, we sorted all the stuff into the three piles, and the yard sale pile was the biggest. Reluctantly, I put perfectly good items that I would have liked to use in the future into the yard sale pile, because I didn’t think I would ever have a life that would accommodate the use of those items. My antique chair, my mop bucket, my artist’s easel, more books, more odds and ends. Then with the help of Andrew (the son of the family I live with), we started an assembly line-style brigade to bring all the boxes down from the attic. I took everything down the first flight of stairs, Bethany took it down the second, and Andrew put it into the gym where the family was collecting stuff for a yard sale they were about to have.

We were on the first or second box when John (the father of the family I live with) looked up from working on his car and asked me a question in a mystified tone of voice. “Rebekah, do you have ANY long-term goals for your life?”

That hit me deep. I couldn’t answer, for I was instantly in tears. So far, I had successfully pushed away the hurt of getting rid of all this stuff, but now it descended onto me in an unstoppable flood. To John, whose logical mind processed the facts of what I was doing, but who could not see the spiritual significance of it, my actions would have been incomprehensible. Me getting rid of all this stuff didn’t make any sense. It seemed arbitrary, random. I had been talking about my goal of buying a house, and now I was getting rid of all the stuff I could put in that house. Quitting my job and going up to Canada for a 3-month stint would have seemed like insanity, especially when I had no idea what I would do after that.

I thought back over the large collection of 3-month stints I had spent my life on, and the enemy doubled up his attack in my thoughts, though at the time I didn’t recognize it as an attack. "Long-term goals? You’re not allowed to have any. You tried that. You tried settling down and putting down roots and setting long-term goals, and what good was it? They were there only to get stripped away from you. There is no long-term goal setting for you. You will never have stuff, and you will never have anything nice. Here you are, giving it all away."

I tried to give John an answer, but I didn’t want him to see me crying, and I couldn’t speak without it coming out in sobs, so I just carried the boxes down the stairs with the tears silently coursing down my cheeks. Bethany, who took the boxes from me, was the only one who noticed, and she stood up for me. “Live for Jesus!” she said. “Spend your life for eternal things! Don’t listen to the world’s version of success!” Little by little, the whole big yard sale pile made its way out to the gym, and I went back to my room, still ragged with emotion. I sat down in the corner of my closet and just dissolved into a self-pitying lump of tears. For a while I couldn’t bring myself to do anything, but Bethany came and found me and got me working again, and I made it through some of my stuff, but not all by the end of the day. (Thank the Lord for Bethany! She was a true friend in that whole process.)

To everyone else, it was just stuff, but to me, it was my stuff, and not only that, it was the only stuff I had. So to get rid of it meant stripping myself down to nothing, and that was scary. But I chose to continue walking forward in that direction anyway, trusting that it was the way God was leading me to go, and walking in the light that I had.

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Part 2 of 5. Start over at the beginning | Read part 3 

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The surprising story of my rejection at the Canada border (Part 1)

Today is the one-year anniversary of quitting my job at the bank in order to go up to Canada, and the unexpected results that followed that decision have left me in the place I am in today. I have not told the full story to very many people, but I offer it for your enjoyment here on the one-year anniversary. I have withheld names to protect the privacy of the family concerned in this story.

Part 1: Background and Preparations

On Sunday, March 30, 2014, I was at church. Pastor Eric got up before the morning message to make an announcement. He put up a woman's picture on the screen and told us that she had passed away due to lung cancer. She and her whole family (husband and four daughters, age 9-15) had attended Ellerslie previously. Ellerslie had sent a delegation, including Eric, to the funeral, and they had just gotten back from that. Eric described how he expected to go up there and find them weak, broken, and needing support and comfort, but what they found was smiling faces, strength, and the family looking for what they could do to support everyone else. He said it was an amazing picture of grace. Ellerslie had raised some money to bring up to the family, but instead, the father was handing Eric money for Ellerslie, something that had been raised at a men’s conference. All in all, the family demonstrated amazing resilience in the face of their loss. Eric asked the father if there was anything Ellerslie could do to be the body and provide help and support, and he said, “Well, our girls have been homeschooled, and it would be a big help if we could get someone to come up and homeschool them through the rest of the school year.” Eric announced this need to the body.

I was listening to this story, and immediately, as he mentioned the need for a teacher, I felt a leaping up of response in my soul. “Maybe that could be me,” I thought. At the same time, my friend Bethany, who was sitting next to me, elbowed me in the ribs. So someone else thought it could be me, too. It was food for thought, at any rate.

Over the next couple of days, I thought very hard and prayed about whether I would make any initial move towards offering my services to this family. There were a lot of factors that I had to consider in order to count the cost. I was working at a job with a regular salary and benefits. I would have to quit my job. I had a certain amount of stuff. I would have to get rid of stuff or find a place to put it. Picking up and leaving was easier when my home base was my parents’ house, because I could just leave everything the way it was in my room, but that wouldn’t be fair to anyone here in Colorado, people who weren’t my family. I couldn’t just expect other people to store my stuff. There was also the factor of my goals. Over the past year, I had been working determinedly to save up the money to buy a house. I was tired of living a nomadic, unstable life. I had decided I wasn’t going to do that any more. In fact, I had turned down a very amazing-sounding trip to Vietnam for this very reason. I was going to settle in Colorado, buy a house, and live in it. I was going to live a normal life. I had gotten some kitchen and household items at yard sales, and I was looking forward to putting these things in my house and using them. I had gotten some cookware for Christmas, and I was excitedly anticipating getting my own place and using these items to cook delicious meals and show hospitality.

During those time, I listened to two different versions of Eric’s message, “Hero Training.” In this message, he teaches the meaning of the Greek word merimnao, which means worry, cares, or anxiety. The Bible teaches to take no thought for your life. Spend yourself for the weak, the vulnerable, the orphan, but do not spend an ounce of merimnao on yourself for your own issues (what shall we eat, what shall we drink, what shall we wear). I realized that in a large measure, I had traded in the “no merimnao” life for the worldly life full of cares and worries. I had somehow allowed myself to enter into the rat race after successfully evading it for so long. I had fixed my eyes on house, food, and possessions, and little by little, this was choking me like the thorns choked the seed in the parable of the sower, causing it to become unfruitful. I wrote a blog post where I detailed the things that I was processing regarding rejecting merimnao, and I determined to reject the life of merimnao.

Two or three days after I heard Eric’s announcement, I made a call to give a simple expression of interest in the position. I also made initial inquiries to a number of different sources in order to determine whether there would be any obvious closed doors or insuperable obstacles. I talked to my parents. I talked to people around me. I had some volunteer commitments that I wanted to make sure I was not going to drop. I got an initial favorable reaction from all these sources.

The ball got rolling, slowly. I was in communication with Ellerslie, and Ellerslie was in communication with the family in Canada. 

On Saturday, April 5, Ellerslie forwarded me an email from the father, explaining his vision for the position. From that email, I gathered that the dates they wanted someone to come were April 19 through June 28, I got a brief introduction to the girls, and I heard the heart of what they was looking for (someone to manage the house as well as handle the homeschooling). I emailed Ellerslie back that same day and told them I was getting an initial yes to all of it. In the email, I mentioned that the only thing that might be a slight glitch was that I was going on vacation from May 9-19, and I wondered if the family would be okay with me leaving for that.

On Thursday, April 10, I talked to Ellerslie and asked, “Is it for sure? Should I put in my notice?” They indicated that it was not nailed down yet, but I had the gut feeling that it was going to work out, so I started taking action and doing preparations to free myself up.

In taking action, I was deliberately giving up my dream of having a house. I was stepping over a line. I was dying to my love of stuff and purposely turning away from the pursuit of my own comfort, my own provision, my own future. I was placing myself back into the sphere of depending fully and exclusively on God for my future. I was following through with the logical consequences of my belief. If I was going to live for myself, then I was going to keep my stuff, make as much money as I could, and fight to defend my own interests. On the other hand, if the Lord was showing me that I was not to have a house and just continue to be a mobile agent in His kingdom, then the most logical thing to do would be to make myself as mobile as possible, letting go of the weight of possessions that tied me down.

This was the logic of my decision, and I acted on it, but the actual outworking of it was excruciating. 

First I got rid of my books. That day (Thursday), I asked if Ellerslie would accept some books in the Ellerslie library, and they said they would. I immediately went home, loaded up my car with five boxes of my beloved Christian books, drove back to Ellerslie, and dropped them off. I loved my books. They were close to my heart. But I ruthlessly cut them off, didn’t allow myself to really look at them, shut my mind from thinking about whether or not I wanted them, gave them away, and didn’t look back. One thing that helped was that I said to myself, “I haven’t had access to my books for years anyway. They were at home in my bookshelves in Tennessee while I was overseas, and then they have been sitting in boxes ever since I have been here. They might as well be used and enjoyed by somebody. And anyway, I have already read almost all of them, and if I need to refer to them again, I can just go get them at Ellerslie.” Thus I was resigned to the departure of the books.

On Friday, April 11, I received an email from Ellerslie, stating that they had passed on my contact information to the family in Canada and that I would be hearing from them soon. I wanted to make initial contact with them right away to introduce myself and nail down a few of the details, but I felt I was supposed to wait on them to contact me first. So I waited.

On Saturday, April 12, I still had not heard from anyone. I got up and went to work, and I knew it was time to put in my notice, even though I had not heard from them. In order to make it up to Canada by the start date he was asking for, this was my last opportunity to put in my notice, and even still, it was only going to be a one-week notice. I couldn’t make it any shorter than that, knowing that we were already short-staffed at work. I went through the first hour of the morning with a pounding heart and a sense of tense anticipation, knowing I was going to have to talk to the manager to give her my notice, but not being able to work up the courage to do it. Finally I went to her office when she was not in there, took a piece of paper, and wrote down what I wanted to say. I explained that I was giving my 1-week notice and that my last day would be Friday, April 18. I left the paper on her desk. Then I watched to see when she would go in and find it. I knew it would be a devastating blow to her, because we had experienced so much turnover, and I really didn’t want to ruin her day. However, she took it pretty well and expressed positive affirmation for what I was going to do in Canada.

Now that I had put in my notice, I knew I needed to start taking drastic action if I was going to be able to get organized before my departure. I had a lot of stuff, both in my room and up in storage in the attic above the shop at the house where I was living.

On Sunday, April 13, I was talking with a friend in the evening, and I asked her about her upcoming wedding and if she was registered anywhere. I then asked if she might be able to use some kitchen stuff that I had. She said that might definitely be a blessing. I then asked her about my bedroom set, and she said she probably wouldn’t have room for that. Then it dawned on me that I had just been at the home of a family from church, and I had gone down to the basement for a tour, and I had noticed that there was no furniture in the basement bedroom, so I thought I might contact them regarding my bedroom set. I emailed them and that ended up working out perfectly.

On Monday, April 14, two guys from church came over to get my bedroom set. I was just leaving for work, so I just had to show them where it was and leave them to it, but off it went. Again, this bedroom set was something I was attached to. It had belonged to my great grandmother. I had used it ever since I was a little girl. Every time I went overseas, I told my family, “You’d better not get rid of that bedroom set.” Even though it wasn’t very pretty, it was made of solid wood and the drawers were spacious and worked well and the dresser had a large mirror. Ultimately, it was better quality than anything I could afford to buy. And now I was just sending it away on a truck.

On Tuesday, April 15, I had the day off work. I went up to the attic and started going through my stuff. Here was all my kitchen stuff. It was lovely stuff, and it was almost a comprehensive enough amount to completely cover any need I could have in the kitchen. I started initially trying to sort through it, but it was impossible. I would have to simply give the boxes away, sight unseen, or I would never get through it. They were all nicely packed and neatly labeled, so I knew what was in them. A sort of mixed joy and sorrow fought within me, joy that I was giving my friend stuff that was really nice, good quality, and useful--and sorrow that I was going to part with it. There was a Kitchenaid mixer, lovely glassware, lots of casserole dishes, my beautiful silver-plated flatware that I loved, and much, much more.

As I walked down from the attic with box after box of my kitchen stuff, I couldn’t help experiencing a flood of thoughts. An attack and counterattack raged, as doubts assailed my mind and faith replied to the challenge.

“This is all your kitchen stuff!”

“Yes, I know.”

“You have spent your lifetime collecting this stuff. You can never get it back.”

“Maybe I don’t need it back.”

“You are giving away the entire contents of your hope chest.”

“My hope is in the Lord, not in my stuff.”

“Think of the cost of replacing all this.”

“That’s ok. It will be a blessing to the person I give it to.”

Despite my persistent rebuff of the doubts, I could feel my spirits sinking, and I sensed that I was close to tears. I fought it off. “No, I will not be sad. I will rejoice. I choose to rejoice.” I loaded up the final box into my car. Fourteen boxes. My car was full: trunk, back seat, front passenger seat. I drove off.

Not two minutes down the road, the tears came. I made a verbal proclamation of my joy and rejoicing while the tears coursed down my cheeks and the sobs came in little gasps. The flesh would mourn, in spite of my best intentions, but I paid it no heed and reaffirmed my verbal declarations of joy. I would not take the flesh’s road, even if I could not override its tears.

By the time I got to Ellerslie, I was composed enough to walk in and cheerfully greet my friend. “I have some kitchen stuff in my car for you to look at.” She came out and was amazed at the amount of stuff I had brought. We ended up getting some guys to help us put it into one of the bedrooms in the dorms so that she could look at it later. Genuine rejoicing got the upper hand while I was talking to her, and I was able to say things like, “Oh, you will love this! Look at this one! Here is some silverware! AND—you have a Kitchenaid!” My friend was excited. “Oh, wow, this is like Christmas!” she said. So I left my kitchen stuff behind. I was leaving for another country, and I didn’t know if I would ever be coming back, so it just made sense.

I drove away, spent, exhausted, and still raw from the ripping away of stuff that I was attached to. I cried off and on later throughout the day. I remember driving to a local coffee shop to do some computer work, and before I went in, I got a phone call from a person I was doing some volunteer work for, and I sat in my car talking to him. I had spoken to him briefly on the phone right at the outset of my drive over to Ellerslie, and I had made a comment about how I had my car full of boxes. He asked me about what I was doing. I told him I had donated some books to Ellerslie and some kitchen stuff to my friend. He said, “I would not have gotten rid of your books if I was you.” I tried to assume an air of nonchalance in replying, “Oh, yes, I really liked my books. They were great. It was hard to get rid of them.” My books, though, were not the raw, painful sore in my soul. They were the part I could flippantly and cheerfully discuss. The caller pointed out that I could have put them in storage. He gave me the idea of having every box of my stuff labeled with a number in storage, and having an Excel document with all the contents of the boxes, and then I could go anywhere in the world and ask for box 1 and somebody could ship it to me. “That’s a brilliant idea!” I exclaimed. Somehow it had not occurred to me that I could store my stuff, or reclaim it by shipping. Ultimately, I believe it was because the cost would have been so prohibitive that it never even entered my head as an option. He offered me space in his storage unit, and I gratefully realized that God was providing everything I needed in order to sort out my stuff.

Wednesday through Friday (April 16-18), I pretty much worked full time and didn’t make any additional progress towards settling my affairs. I left my job on the 18th with not many regrets. Everything had changed over the last two months and it was not a fun place to work anymore. Nevertheless, it was a job, and now I was striking out into the unknown, with no guarantee of the future.

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Part 1 of 5. Read part 2
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Compelled by force to stop ministry - and then taking it up again

As I got ready for work on Friday morning, I just happened to choose the book of Ezra for my audio Bible to play. Someone had made an offhand comment about the book of Ezra, and I had said to myself, “Oh, Ezra. I haven’t read that book for a long time.”

Therefore, I thought I was just “refreshing my memory” on Ezra, but I was struck by the passage that talked about them building the temple (chapter 3-6). It was a mortal battle between the enemies of the Lord and the servants of the Lord regarding whether or not the temple would be built. 

Now when the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin heard that the children of the captivity builded the temple unto the LORD God of Israel; then they came to Zerubbabel, and to the chief of the fathers, and said unto them, 

“Let us build with you: for we seek your God, as ye do; and we do sacrifice unto him since the days of Esarhaddon king of Assur, which brought us up hither.”  

But Zerubbabel, and Jeshua, and the rest of the chief of the fathers of Israel, said unto them, 

“Ye have nothing to do with us to build an house unto our God; but we ourselves together will build unto the LORD God of Israel, as king Cyrus the king of Persia hath commanded us.” 

Then the people of the land weakened the hands of the people of Judah, and troubled them in building, and hired counsellors against them, to frustrate their purpose, all the days of Cyrus king of Persia, even until the reign of Darius king of Persia. (Ezra 4:1-5)

This was the first sortie. The people had been blessed by God. They had been granted the king’s permission to return. Cyrus had even sent back the vessels of gold and silver that had been taken from the temple by Nebuchadnezzar. The people were blessed with money and an official decree to go and do this work (chapter 1).

Then the enemies of the Lord’s servants came, and notice how subtle their tactic was. “Let us help you. Let us build with you.” But Zerubbabel and Jeshua saw through it and would have none of it. The malice of the initial attack was revealed, and they had to resort to direct means of opposition, since they could gain no access to corrupt the project from the inside.

In my life, I have also warded off the initial sortie. The adversaries who would oppose the edification of my life as a temple of the Lord have sought to gain access from the inside, and they have been repelled. And their opposition, though frustrating and troubling, did not cause the work to cease. 

Power changed from the hands of Cyrus to the hands of Artaxerxes, and after an exchange of letters, the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin actually got Cyrus’s decree reversed. Artaxerxes sent a cease-and-desist order, and Rehum and Shimshai and their companions gleefully went to enforce it. 

Give ye now commandment to cause these men to cease, and that this city be not builded, until another commandment shall be given from me. Take heed now that ye fail not to do this: why should damage grow to the hurt of the kings?  

Now when the copy of king Artaxerxes' letter was read before Rehum, and Shimshai the scribe, and their companions, they went up in haste to Jerusalem unto the Jews, and made them to cease by force and power.

Then ceased the work of the house of God which is at Jerusalem. So it ceased unto the second year of the reign of Darius king of Persia. (Ezra 4:21-24)

They made them to cease by force and power. 

Then ceased the work of the house of God. 

This is the same exact thing that happened in my life in at the end of May. The enemy caused the work to cease by force, and thus it ceased. 

The continuous direction that I had been going in my life, the way I had been living, the choices I had been making, were all leading up to something being built, a house of worship to God, a work of grace, a temple for the glory of God. This was the only thing I was living for. I didn’t want anything else. God was blessing it. The decrees had been given. The attacks of the enemy had been thus far repelled. 

And yet, it was brought to a screeching halt by force. 

Interestingly, I had attributed it to God. 

This was the enemy’s work. 

Who else would be interested in bringing it to cease?

Then the prophets, Haggai the prophet, and Zechariah the son of Iddo, prophesied unto the Jews that were in Judah and Jerusalem in the name of the God of Israel, even unto them. Then rose up Zerubbabel the son of Shealtiel, and Jeshua the son of Jozadak, and began to build the house of God which is at Jerusalem: and with them were the prophets of God helping them. (Ezra 5:1-2)

Haggai and Zechariah prophesied, and Zerubbabel and Jeshua promptly moved back into action with the same original direction they had taken.

After I listened to Ezra, I listened to Haggai and Zechariah on my way to work, and I was freshly struck again with how striking the similarities were to my case. 

Thus speaketh the LORD of hosts, saying, This people say, The time is not come, the time that the LORD'S house should be built.  

Then came the word of the LORD by Haggai the prophet, saying, Is it time for you, O ye, to dwell in your cieled houses, and this house lie waste? (Hag. 1:2-4)

The people said ‘The time is not come, the time that the Lord’s house should be built.” 

That is exactly what I have concluded! 

They were stopped by force, and the most natural thing in the world is to attribute the delay to the timing of the Lord. It must just not be the time. 

NO—the Lord begs to differ. He says, “Is it time for you, O ye, to dwell in your cieled houses, and this house lie waste?” This smote me to the core. What have I been doing but pursuing my own house to dwell in? 

Is it time for me to dwell in a house in America and have a comfortable life while the Lord’s work lies waste? 

I was made to stop by force—yes—and the only thing that occurred to me to do was to occupy myself with my own house. Because I incorrectly attributed the cause of stopping to “The Lord’s Time,” I had nothing else to do for Him until His “time” came back. 

In my case and in the case of the people of the land, this was not an opportunity to throw up my hands and say, “Well, the Lord allowed it to stop; guess I’ll just go do my own thing now.” Rather, it was an opportunity to recognize the spiritual attack as what it was and keep on building anyway, in the face of a decree that stopped them by force. The Lord has endorsed this work, and therefore, we will go on with it, come what may. 

After Haggai and Zechariah’s prophecy, the people had to act in direct rebellion to an order from the highest earthly authority in order to obey the Lord, but they did it, and they went on building, and this time, they were unstoppable.

But the eye of their God was upon the elders of the Jews, that they could not cause them to cease. (Ezra 5:5)

More letters went back and forth, but this time the Jews’ argument was in the ascendant, and Darius the king not only confirmed their side of the story, but prescribed curses against anyone who would hinder them. 

Let the work of this house of God alone; let the governor of the Jews and the elders of the Jews build this house of God in his place.  

Moreover I make a decree what ye shall do to the elders of these Jews for the building of this house of God: that of the king's goods, even of the tribute beyond the river, forthwith expenses be given unto these men, that they be not hindered.  

And that which they have need of, both young bullocks, and rams, and lambs, for the burnt offerings of the God of heaven, wheat, salt, wine, and oil, according to the appointment of the priests which are at Jerusalem, let it be given them day by day without fail: That they may offer sacrifices of sweet savours unto the God of heaven, and pray for the life of the king, and of his sons.  

Also I have made a decree, that whosoever shall alter this word, let timber be pulled down from his house, and being set up, let him be hanged thereon; and let his house be made a dunghill for this.  

And the God that hath caused his name to dwell there destroy all kings and people, that shall put to their hand to alter and to destroy this house of God which is at Jerusalem. I Darius have made a decree; let it be done with speed. (Ezra 6:7-13)

The next thing that happened was that they builded, prospered, and finished the temple.

And the elders of the Jews builded, and they prospered through the prophesying of Haggai the prophet and Zechariah the son of Iddo. And they builded, and finished it, according to the commandment of the God of Israel, and according to the commandment of Cyrus, and Darius, and Artaxerxes king of Persia.  

And this house was finished on the third day of the month Adar, which was in the sixth year of the reign of Darius the king. (Ezra 6:14-15) 

And they kept the feast of unleavened bread seven days with joy: for the LORD had made them joyful, and turned the heart of the king of Assyria unto them, to strengthen their hands in the work of the house of God, the God of Israel.” (Ezra 6:22)

• • • 

Therefore:

The implications for my life, given this picture, are tremendous.

The Lord said in Haggai 1:8, “Go up to the mountain, and bring wood, and build the house; and I will take pleasure in it, and I will be glorified, saith the LORD.” 

In other words, don’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, waiting to see the temple rise up out of the rubble. Go up to the mountain and bring wood. Go get the practical stuff that is necessary in order to make the work go forward. But when you do, the Lord will take pleasure in it, and He will be glorified. Is not this the cry of my heart? Is not this the yearning of my soul? OH, LORD, that You would be glorified in and through my life! But HOW does He say He will be glorified? When I sit around in my lovely house, surrounded by comforts, not lifting a finger to the work, because after all, I have been stopped by force? No. He will take pleasure in the going to the mountain to bring wood. He will be glorified by the temple going up. 

THE LORD IS NOT GLORIFIED BY A HALF-COMPLETED TEMPLE, even though even that much being accomplished is testament to His work, His favor, and His enablement. HE IS GLORIFIED BY THE WORK CONTINUING ON TO COMPLETION. And how much more is He glorified when the completion of the work involves the overcoming of massive obstacles!? 

The Israelites were allowed to go through the disorienting and disillusioning experience of having the work brought to a halt by force. And yet, they were asked to continue. Is not this the essence of faith? Is not this the evidence of grace being poured out? Will not grace always be greater than any obstacle we could encounter? Yes, since grace is the unlimited power of God, which always surpasses earthly power. 

My ministry work has been brought to a halt. I have not done anything in 6 months. I have thought I was not allowed to. I have thought that it was taken from me by force by God. 

Now I see it in a much different light. Undoubtedly, I was brought to cease by force by none other than the enemy of my soul. I will not go by this most recent decree. I will go by the original decree that I received from the Lord, and when search is made even by my most violent opponents, they will find that they must come into alignment with God’s decree rather than me coming into alignment with their decree.

This means that I am not only FREE to do ministry, I am COMMANDED to do it. 

This means that my life is NOT ABOUT getting a house. It is about building the Lord’s house. 

This means that I can go back to the way I lived before, trusting the Lord, seeing Him provide, and not living for my career or my salary or my comfort. 

This also means that I am acting in direct defiance and rebellion of the ways of the enemy. If it was the enemy who told me to stop, then for me to proceed forward again is only to incur his wrath. I can only expect him to unleash his rage in a rabid fury against me. If I was brought to cease by violent measures before, the measures will have to be only more violent next time. And yet, I expect that this time, the work will be unstoppable, no matter what trouble is unleashed against me. I expect to be able to walk in perfect peace, protected by the Hand of the Lord from the storm that rages against me. He will let nothing reach me. He allowed the adversary to test me, just as he allowed his children to be tested by the governors and opponents in their day. 

I raise my head in defiance of the enemy’s schemes. I will no longer flounder about, making excuses about it not being the Lord’s time and wondering if I had it all wrong in the way I ordered my life. 

I will go forward in boldness and persistence to do the Lord’s work, to build His temple, and to glorify His name. 

My life is an unfinished work, but it is the temple of the Holy Spirit. No longer shall it decay in neglect and disrepair. The Spirit shall have His way. His original decree shall be fulfilled. It shall be for His glory and honor and pleasure. 

Oh thou enemy, how darest thou put a stop to the work that the Lord has decreed should proceed forward? Let the curse of the Lord abide on thee forever. Let timber be pulled down from thy house, and being set up, let thou be hanged thereon; and let thy house be made a dunghill for this. 

• • •

How does that look? What does that mean?

All of a sudden, all my criteria have been reset to correspond to whether or not they foster the completion of the temple or comply with the enemy’s demand that it cease.

The Lord has raised me back up on to my feet and has given me the assurance that He does indeed have work for me to do, and I will proceed forth in victory according to His grace and enablement, in the face of the enemy's violent opposition. Great joy has come in this, and a great heaviness has lifted. 

At the same time, a soberness and stability has settled over me. No longer am I blithely waltzing forward into the work of the Lord with youthful enthusiasm and naivete. Now, I am picking myself up off the ground after the enemy's beating and deliberately moving forward in direct rebellion to his demand that I cease and desist.

• • •

"God will not look you over for medals, degrees, or diplomas, but for scars." What nobler decoration of honor can any godly man seek after than his scars of service, his losses for the crown, his reproaches for Christ's sake, his being worn out in his Master's service!
--Streams in the Desert, Dec. 12

Apples, flip flops, and Christ's love

UPDATE 12/13/14 - Two days away from starting the program, they have $1000 of the $5000 they need. I wait with bated breath to see what will happen. Yet I catch myself: the question is NOT "Will God be found to be faithful?" but rather, "How is He going to do it?"

• • •

One thousand children in the Philippines are going to experience the wonder of Christ's love this Christmas for a whole week. In a fun and powerful VBS program, they are going to receive instruction, meals, and two very special gifts. 

I would like to introduce you all to the man who is making this happen. He is someone who is walking by faith in our generation, demonstrating the power of God, and seeing great things come to pass as a result. 

Pastor Narciso Gautane (who goes by "Jong") is a missionary in the Philippines. I met him when he spoke at my church in 2009, and ever since, I have been truly blessed to receive his emails and learn about what the Lord is doing through his life.

This Christmas, he is conducting an exciting outreach from December 15-19, 2014. He is holding a Christmas Vacation Bible School (CVBS) for the children in five villages, and 1,021 kids are registered. (I don't know about you, but I've worked in VBS before where the total enrollment was about 50 kids, and that seemed like a lot. Try 1000!)

This is the fourth year they are doing this CVBS, and each time, it has opened up doors for the gospel, leading to wonderful opportunities to establish churches and mission works. 

Not only that, it has also become one of the most awaited occasions for the village kids every year. Rather than wishing and hanging stockings in the windows waiting for Santa Claus to bring gifts, these children are being raised up to learn to pray and ask in the name of Jesus for Him to meet all their needs.

Last year, the Christmas VBS had around 500 kids. This year, the registration has doubled. This was accomplished without anyone going from house to house inviting kids to come--it was all the effort of the kids who experienced the joy of the program last year, who invited their friends to come this year. God is raising them up to be little evangelists and missionaries.

Most remarkable of all, at the moment of this writing, Pastor Gautane has the provision for 70 of these kids. That leaves 951 more to go. He and his church are walking by faith, trusting God to provide the $5 per child which will allow them to accommodate all 1021 children. 

This week, I wrote to Pastor Gautane and asked his permission to share a brief interview with my readers on my blog. Be blessed as you get to know him and hear his heart.

Tell me about your family.

My name is Bro. Narciso M. Gautane Jr. I am 35 years old and a Baptist missionary to the Philippines. On November 26, 2001, I married Rodelyn I. Septimo, and our marriage is blessed with three beautiful kids, Rona Gabrielle (12 years old), Ronan Ysrael (11 years old), and Ron (6 years old).

Could you describe your ministry in the Philippines?

We started our church planting ministry as a local Pastor in 2005 and pioneered a mission work in the village of Balibago 1, Tarlac City. After years of pastoring and eventually establishing the mission work into a church, God opened a door for me to come to the U.S. to study for my Master's Degree in Pastoral Theology in 2009. I eventually had the opportunity to go on deputation for my mission support every weekend. I came home to the Philippines in August of 2011 and guided our church at Balibago village through its transition period of leadership by the men that were trained in that ministry, and I started a new mission at Nazareth village early in January of 2012. After two years of ministering in this village and establishing a church, in 2014, we started two new mission works in the village of Maluid and Calibungan. 

We are also blessed with the opportunity to exclusively handle the Department of Social Welfare development program of the government to do counseling, Bible studies, and preaching for more than 2,000 families every month. This includes evangelism to children, youth camp programs, and teaching in our Bible College.

How did you come to know Jesus as your Savior? 

At the age of 11, I came to know the Lord Jesus Christ as my Savior and Lord on July 14, 1990 through the child evangelism program of Victory Baptist Church in my hometown.

What happens in the Christmas VBS?

1. They will have different Bible programs throughout the week and will be divided in to two sessions, from 7am to 11am and 1pm to 4pm. Each class will be divided into 20 groups to ensure that every child who comes will be properly attended throughout the week-long program.
2. The event will consist of Bible classes, teaching of Christian songs and musical instruments, fun games, and team-building activities, followed by a meal at the end of every session.
3. Each child will be given a pair of flip flop and one apple at the end of the CVBS as their token and Christmas gift.

You might ask, "Why flip flops and apples?" It is because the majority of the kids that we are ministering to belong to poor families in 5 different villages that we will cater to this year. Their parents hardly earn $2-$4 for 12 hours of working in the field every day, and it is a delight and very special for these children to have a bite of apple once a year that their parents could never afford to buy them. For most of them that will come, this will be their first time to know what apples taste like at the age of 3 to 14 years old. Their families cannot afford to buy them a pair of flip flops to wear, either. They will appreciate so much having flip flops that will cool their feet from the hot ground as they come to the Bible meeting and hear about the Word of God. This ministry has been our tool in establishing good social relationships with the village people and has been the way in establishing churches and mission works in our church planting ministry.

How do you manage 1000 children?

Our Bible College Students and young people from our church at Balibago, Nazareth, Maluid Mission, and Calibungan Mission will be divided and designated to handle the programs in five villages that we will cater to this year for CVBS.

What has God been teaching you recently that could you share with us?

Missions must be the heartbeat of every church, and of every believer in Christ. It is the great commission that Christ has entrusted to us, to reach those who are lost, even unto the uttermost part of the world. It has never been an easy life to go on missions. It is characterized with tears, heartbreaks, pain, struggles, selflessness, and unending needs, and yet it is the most rewarding field you could ever be in through witnessing lives that have changed, people that have been delivered from sin, and families that have been rescued from destruction by the Word of God. Truly we have experienced God’s faithfulness and presence in this ministry. To God be all the glory.

Get involved! 

I am calling my readers to see what impact we can have on this program. At $5 per child, that is a total of $5105 to give each child an apple, a pair of flip flops, and daily meals for a week. To date, they have raised $350.

Seeing all this challenges my own thinking. Would I, with $350 in hand, be able to go ahead and register 1021 children for a program that is happening next month, and trust God to bring in the $5K? I stagger at the thought. I question whether I could. And yet, I'm working! I have a job and a regular income! I live in America, where proportionately more people have that kind of money at their disposal! So in the natural realm, it would seem more likely for me to achieve it than if I was living in the Philippines, walking by faith, and pouring out my time on ministry. Yet there they are, doing it in the Philippines, while it has never entered my head to put together an event for that many people.

Let us be the hands and feet of Jesus to these children. Let us each take this VERY ACHIEVABLE amount and ask ourselves how many children we could sponsor for $5 each.

Who is in?

This is easy!

• Forego one coffee and send $5 to sponsor one of these children for the VBS program. 
• Share this post with your friends on Facebook and Twitter. 
• Pray for the impact of this program on the children.

Send your gift by Western Union to Narciso M. Gautane, Jr, Tarlac, Philippines, and then email him at ptr_jong [@] yahoo [dot] com [dot] ph with the control number. While you're at it, ask him to add you to his email list. 

Do it today!

Is skiing meaningless?

In which I drive 200 miles and pay $126 to ski down a hill one time

At the end of last winter, I couldn't believe that I had lived in Colorado of all places and had never actually taken advantage of the opportunity to ski a single time. It has been years since I skied, because the winter before last, I was in Haiti, the winter before that, I was in Betel, and the winter before that, I don't remember whether I skied or not.

Some early cold and snow fell this week, and it occurred to me that I was free on Saturday, so I determined to go skiing. I went by a local ski rental place Thursday, where they fitted me for skis and I paid for the rental and bought goggles ($64). Then on Friday evening after work, I picked up my skis and packed a backpack for going up to the mountains early in the morning.

Saturday morning the forecast was calling for snow, and I briefly reconsidered whether I would go, but I decided to try it. After all, if the roads got really bad before I got there, I could always just turn around.

However, it wasn't just the snow that was causing me to pause in my decision to go. The snow perhaps provided an excuse, but my dilemma stemmed from a much deeper philosophical question:

Is skiing meaningless? 

What is the point, the use, the value, or the profit in skiing? What good can it possibly do me? How am I the better for having skied? Why should I ski? And by extension, what does that say about other things that I do with my time in the recreation category? Are those things meaningless, too?

So as I drove down the road toward the ski place, having rented my skis and decided to head in that direction, I was not at all sure if I would not come to the conclusion of my debate and take a random exit to turn around and go home, snow or no snow, already-paid rental and all.

I felt there were a number of possible conclusions on the table.

• Skiing is meaningless, and therefore I will not do it; I will turn around and go home and turn my back on skiing forever.
• Skiing is meaningless, but I will do it anyway because of a reason. For example:
• I don't care if I do things that are meaningless, or, 
• It's fun--and I am choosing to exempt "FUN meaningless things" from the category of what I eliminate from my life
• Skiing in and of itself is meaningless, but me deciding to go skiing today can have a higher purpose, like running into an improbable strategic personal connection that wouldn't have happened otherwise. 
• Skiing has a meaning and a purpose that I haven't figured out yet, but when I discover it, I will be able to joyfully go skiing without hesitation.
• Asking whether something like skiing is meaningless is the wrong question; it is a false and artificial mode of thinking to divide things into categories of "meaningful" and "meaningless" 

As I processed the careful consideration of these options, my thoughts progressed through the following things.

Skiing used to be one of the highest levels of exhilaration I could experience. I remember the first time I ever went skiing, around the age of 10. Before that point, the greatest experience of my life had been galloping on a horse. Skiing so far surpassed and eclipsed the enjoyment of galloping that I remained for about two weeks after our ski trip with my head in the clouds, dreaming and reliving the experience on the slopes. Subsequent ski trips proved to be no disappointment. The dizzying acceleration of speed, the adrenaline rush of pushing my skills to the limit, the sharp wind streaming the tears out of my eyes, the smooth swoosh of curving back and forth, and the constant desire to go ever faster, never failed to produce in me a satisfying and enduring thrill.

However, since the last time I went skiing, I have experienced an even greater thrill, and just like skiing eclipsed galloping, this new experience has eclipsed skiing, yet in so much higher a proportion as to be almost incomparable. If we were to place things along a continuum, galloping would be a 1, skiing would be roughly a 10, and this new discovery would rank 1000 or 10,000, it so far surpasses all other things. This has become the standard by which I judge all the experiences in my life. This one thing, crossed off my bucket list, makes crossing anything else off unnecessary. I could travel, make discoveries, learn things, acquire possessions, and have experiences throughout the entire earth and never improve upon this. I do not even need to have a bucket list, for I am not seeking anything, I have found it. I have already seen the Thing beside which all other things pale in comparison. I have found the Definition for which all other thrills are merely symbols and shadows.

I am talking about loving Jesus and being loved by Him, walking in the Spirit, dwelling in Christ, Him dwelling in me, and working according to His purpose. I saw this very clearly while I was in Haiti, and I said to myself then, "I have found a thing to live for which is so great, so glorious, so satisfying, and so right that I am never going to live for anything else." In the ensuing chaos and spiritual attack that came from the whole Haiti situation, the ministry activities themselves were stripped away from me, and the attack left me temporarily reeling and forgetful of my declaration--but my grasp on Christ himself was never loosened, and the memory of that statement came back to me as I held my little philosophical discussion with myself in the car. The contrast between the joy of skiing and the joy of being in Christ showed itself with startling clarity There is no comparison! Skiing, which formerly held out the promise of such tantalizing and incredible happiness, now revealed itself to be fundamentally empty. Skiing? I could take it or leave it. It didn't matter, though, because I had something so much better.

Another thing that seemed relevant to my discussion was an idea that I had just recently been introduced to by reading Francis Schaeffer's masterpiece of a work, How Shall We Then Live? In it, he traces, among other things, the development in Western thought of the concept of a "lower story" and an "upper story," in which we artificially divide the secular from the spiritual, or the rational from the supernatural, in our way of thinking. This is actually a relatively new concept of thought, and it is not rooted in a Christian worldview, but rather in a secular humanist worldview. I discovered, to a shocking extent, how much my own thinking has bought into a concept that is not Biblical, and I was fascinated to be informed of the main players in developing this system of thought, until by now it is diffused throughout our thought patterns so thoroughly that we don't even recognize its existence, much less that it is incorrect. I unequivocally reject the idea of dividing my thinking into an "upper story" and a "lower story," but the extent to which I have actually rooted out these patterns is yet to be determined. It is an area that bears further thinking and study.

Finally, in my debate with myself whether skiing was meaningless, I thought of Solomon's oft-repeated phrase, "vanity and vexation of spirit" in the book of Ecclesiastes, so I pulled it up on my phone and listened to the entire book of Ecclesiastes on the way up the mountain. It was almost as if I could suddenly identify with what Solomon meant when he said "vanity and vexation of spirit," whereas I had never really understood that feeling the least bit before. And what is more, Solomon pointed out that there were many more categories than the one I was turning over that turned out to be "vanity." I was merely looking at the particular idea of skiing, and, by extension, the pursuit of recreation in general, but Solomon explored a lot more categories of things, which all turned out to be vanity. Solomon was seeking for what would bring true, lasting, enduring, genuine satisfaction, and he did not find any of these in all of his pursuits until he came to the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commands, for this is the whole duty of man. There, and only there, lies meaning and purpose. Everywhere else, it is all vanity and vexation of spirit. In other words, all these pursuits that were supposed to deliver on their promise of fulfillment all turn out to be frustratingly empty and devoid of meaning and value.

So where does that leave us with regard to skiing? How does skiing fit in to fearing God and keeping His commands? Is it an incorrect mode of thinking to put skiing in the "lower story" and then reject it as meaningless? Is skiing simply a legitimate way of rejoicing in the reward of my labor?

By the time I got to the ski place, I had not reached a firm conclusion that it would be wrong to ski, so I did the thing that I had come up there to do: I bought a lift ticket ($51). Then I went into the lodge, where I rented a locker ($7) where I could store my backpack and shoes, because my car was parked in the remote lot that I could only reach by shuttle, so it didn't make sense to store it in the car and go back and forth if I wanted any of my stuff. I had also bought a water bottle ($2) and a coffee ($2) during my drive up, bringing my total of expenses to $126 (if you don't count gas, which would have been another $15-20 round trip).

My gear safely stowed, I awkwardly clumped down the stairs from the lodge to the rack where I had left my skis. This is where I made a blunder. My coat malfunctioned due to user error. I have two zippers on my coat, one for the inner liner and one for the outer shell. I mistakenly zipped one side of the inner liner with the other side of the outer shell. I actually have no idea how it worked to even begin to zip it up, but I got it zipped about two inches up, and then I was stuck. I couldn't zip up or down from there. I played with it for a few minutes and finally gave up with a shrug of the shoulders. "Oh well," I thought. "I guess I'll just have to ski with my coat unzipped."

It was then that I realized a disappointing thing: My strength was already spent.

Just the effort of carrying my skis, boots, and backpack to walk from the car to the shuttle and the shuttle to the ticket window, and then stowing my gear, putting on my ski boots, clumping down the stairs, and fighting with my zipper, I had used up my energy. It was that same spent feeling that I used to get when I was sick in Haiti in April of 2013, when I couldn't even do so much as lift a mop. I have recovered a great deal of health since then, so that I can do a lot more before I come to the end of my strength, but the fact of this weakness has become an all-too-familiar experience. And here it was again.

Determined and undaunted, with my mostly-unzipped coat, I went to stand in line for the lift. It was quite a long line because there was only one open lift, but I finally got on and had a lovely, relaxing ride up to the top.

At the top, I still hadn't recovered my strength despite the long rest sitting on the lift. I chose the green dot slope (the easiest level) and began my descent, skiing very slowly and carefully. I found that while I had the memory of the technique for how to ski, what was totally and completely missing was the excitement, the adrenaline rush, and the delicious feeling of leaping up on the inside that had always before come with skiing. I was so focused on getting down to the bottom safely, and I was skiing so cautiously, I didn't get the least little rush.

Three times on the way down, I had to come to a complete stop and sit down in the snow to rest. I pulled out my phone, took a couple of pictures, and sent a couple of texts. When my hand started to get cold, I stood up with a sigh and resumed my careful, slow, focused descent. I felt like an old, old woman. Actually, I had seen quite an elderly woman in the lodge, dressed in her ski gear and glowing with energy, and I thought she was probably vastly stronger than me.

When I got to the bottom, I briefly considered the question of whether I would stand back in line to go up to the top again. "Nope! I'm done," I realized. So I clumped back up the stairs to the lodge, removed my items from the locker, got onto the shuttle, went back to my car, and drove home.

I was even sore the next day from my one pathetic little run down the green dot slope. This was sad indeed.

What is not settled is the answer to the fundamental question.

How does a Christian think properly about something like skiing?

I have more thinking to do on this, but I would love to hear your input.