August 2010 Prayer Letter!

Scrabble arguments, pies being thrown, and all-out mayhem! Read about it in this month's letter!

(okay, I realize it's not as dramatic as I made it sound, but still... are YOU involved?)

Full Circle

As I combed Grandma's thin white hair around the bandages where the doctor removed patches of skin cancer, I remembered her combing my white-blonde preschool-age hair, unsure what to do with this little girl she was watching while Mom and Dad were away on a week's vacation. A tomboy herself, Grandma only had one child, my dad, and all his cousins were boys.

Despite her reservations and inexperience with little girls, she never had any problem treating me as her little princess, though I think it brought her great comfort that I liked playing with Dad's old lincoln logs and was willing to run around in the yard with my brother and the neighbor kids. Even so, she bought me dolls and dresses and at the age of three or four, a beautiful little yellow coat complete with puffy balls on the end of the hood strings and a muff to keep my hands warm. Grandma took us to the zoo and the Science Center; I accompanied her to the beauty shop and the grocery store. She'd send us out to play and call us in for peanut butter and jelly or homeade soup. We licked off the cookie beaters and when I asked for the whole turkey leg at Thanksgiving dinner when I was probably 6 or 7 years old, that's what I got.

Even at a young age, I knew Grandma had arthritis. I didn't really know what it was, just that her fingers were all sorts of knobby and crooked. We were thrilled to have her walk down the aisle at our wedding four years ago - at that point she was still pretty strong. As Jason's wedding neared last fall, we weren't sure whether or not she would be able to handle the drive. But she was there, smiling through the pain and the growing discomfort from incurable incontinence. And though she desperately would have like to dance at the reception, she was overjoyed that Grandpa could dance with that little girl that she once really didn't know what to do with.

My grandpa is a good man. Having grown up in the depression, he's incredibly frugal, but also incredibly generous and charitable. He has always made it very clear how much he values solid education, proper grammar and a good book. A man who keeps a dictionary at his side when he reads the daily paper (picking out all the errors as he goes), he used to pay Jason and me each a dollar for every book report we wrote for him. Grandpa recorded educational programs and gave them to Mom and Dad. One of the first times he met Luke, he said "did you know Tiffany graduated Summa Cum Laude?" He was tickled pink when he found out that Luke had as well.

A smart man, and an honest man - and a man with a bit of an ornery streak. Especially in our regular battles on the cribbage board. And as we drove to St. Louis for the doctor appointments yesterday, everyone else on the road was either an imbecile or a cowboy.

Grandpa is a stellar golfer and quite the fisherman. Having worked for the IRS, his understanding of money and taxes baffles me. He keeps up the yard, and reads anything and everything. But other than his famous oatmeal, he's never cooked a day in his life and wouldn't have the slightest idea when it comes to starting the laundry - he's never had to because Grandma has always taken great care of him. Now Grandpa is slowing down a bit. His reaction time has slowed, and his memory is slowly fading. He beat himself up because he couldn't remember the name of one of his medications. When we play cribbage he has a harder time counting his points. And I'm not sure how many times he asked me yesterday how many miles I have on my tires on my car.

I love my grandparents. As I've spent more time with them recently - real, conversational, caring time - I've learned what truly fascinating lives they've led. Grandpa tells me stories of his time in the military. They talked of their first homes, and how their town is evolved, and as we drove past the local lakes, they talked of how they used to walk to the town swimming holes and spend the days there in their childhoods.

There is such a richness to these times, but it is oh so bittersweet. Grandpa is 87 and Grandma just turned 85. I can no longer crawl into their laps or hug them tightly. Grandma can hardly lift her arms and sends Grandpa out for most of the errands. She still cooks, but the basic chopping and lifting and moving around are getting increasingly harder. Many of their friends have long since passed, so much of their social time occurs during their trips to St. Louis to visit with doctors of every sort and variety. Time is at a minimal - although it feels as though it stands still when we begin to talk. And for the first time, Grandpa and I were able to talk in depth about my Jesus. How I wish I could say his Jesus. I wish and pray that Grandma and Grandpa would come to know the goodness, the love, the saving grace of Jesus Christ. I know God can move mountains, and His timing is perfect - and I pray He moves those mountains in due time.

Because time is fleeting, and I can't stand the idea of not seeing my Grandma and Grandpa pain free, worry free, praising God in eternity.

(Photo 1: Grandma at our rehearsal dinner in 2006; Photo 2: Grandma Sunday night as she tried on hats to find one to cover the spot where the doctors would shave part of her head and remove the skin cancer patch the next day - this is not the hat she chose!)

Latest Prayer Letter

Sometimes kids understand things so much better than we do as adults. Read about what I mean in our latest prayer letter.

A Call to Prayer

To those of you who have been following Ngankou's story on here, it's time for us to be completely honest with you. Not that we were dishonest before, but there are a few other details to the story that will better enable you to pray for him. (For those of you who didn't see the previous posts, click here.)

So the first day I Ngankou went to church with us, I asked him what he did for work. Well, it turns out his most recent work was as a warden, in a prison, where he was a prisoner. He spent seven years in Federal prison in Pennsylvania before arriving in Peoria this year. He has since been living in a sort of halfway house that is supposed to help prisoners transition back into society. There are very strict rules regarding priveleges, activities outside the house, and visitors. And apparently, when the administration there isn't happy, the rules get tougher.

Two months or so ago they were cracking down on Ngankou because he had not yet found a job. He was offered a nice position doing French to English translation for a company, but said he felt dishonest taking it and going through the training knowing it was not what he wanted to be doing long-term. So, he got in trouble because they felt he didn't want to work. Reduced priveleges meant he could no longer go to church with us, among many other things. He has now started a labor-intensive loading job, to and from which he walks an hour there and an hour back each day.

Apparently that's not enough. When we visited a few weeks ago, they were pressing on him to find his own housing. He wasn't sure where to look or what process to follow, and really didn't seem interested in finding a place to stay. Still convinced he has to atone for his sin, he thinks part of that atonement - earning grace - involves living as a homeless person for awhile. Once again, we felt God gave us the words to say to explain the free gift of grace and that there is no "degree" of sinfulness. He seems to understand it more and more, but still thinks his crime - whatever it may be - is unforgivable. When we left that day, he promised us he would pray that God would reveal Himself to him.

On our way to church today, we stopped by the halfway house to see if he might be able to join us. He is now not allowed to go anywhere other than work, and will be sent back to prison in mid-July. We don't know all the circumstances. We don't know his crime, or why exactly he's being sent back. It seems as though the inmates are given a limited amount of time to meet certain requirements, and that he has not met those requirements - but we can't be sure. We plan to visit often in the coming weeks, and if he is put in prison here, we will continue to visit him there. Our pastor plans to visit him as well. But, he needs you too.

He needs your prayers. We all need to be praying for the situation - that God will continue to work in his heart and draw Ngankou to Himself. We need to pray that God will be glorified in the whole situation and many will come to know him through this. We know God's timing and plans are perfect, but right now my heart is aching for him - with an increased urgency - and frustration at "the system."

Will you pray with us?

Crashing Down

About a week and a half ago, I crashed. Hard. Both literally and emotionally. A beautiful day, I decided to skip the gym routine and head out to the Rock Island Trail for a nice, peaceful bike ride. About eight miles out I hit some ruts in the trail and the next thing I knew everything was out of control and I was tumbling - with my bike. Crash.

A moment of shock and silence, and then I saw the bloody scrapes on my forearm and felt pain in my leg, and started into one of those whimpery turns sobbing loud, completely unfeminine cries. It didn't last long because there was no one around and therefore no one to feel sorry for me. I stood up, picked up my bike, and planned to remount, finish my ride, turn around and go back.

But, my leg wasn't bending - getting stiffer - and bigger - by the second. I wasn't getting back on that bike. Not to mention the fact that the handlebars were twisted completely sideways. I called Luke and we tried to determine where I was on the trail. Having seen a farmer on a tractor in a nearby field, I hobbled to a clearing and waved him down. He helped me into his tractor, bike on the crop tiller, and took me to the road so Luke could pick me up (we live a good 15-20 minute drive from the trailhead, and I was another 8 miles out from there, so it was going to take him awhile). Then a van drove by, and seeing me sitting on the side of the road, the woman turned around and asked if I needed help. She drove me to the trailhead where I met Luke and we went to the hospital.

Gotta put in some shout-outs to God here. We praise God for my "good samaritans" along the way, and for Luke's recent promotion to full-time that provided health insurance (we went a year without!). We also praise God that after hours of waiting, X-rays showed I did not break my femur. Just deep, deep bruising of my right thigh and seriously scraped up forearms. Follow-up X-rays a few days later showed a suspected fracture in my left radius (inner-elbow), but the doc said Friday that the best way to treat both my arm and leg are to use them. That's my kind of doctor!

There's a bit of a side story here, though. Exercise to me, is a comfort. It's a piece of me - of my identity. I work out hard and push the limits. I have this whole complex about people not possibly loving me for me and actually wanting to spend time with me. I have to either help them - i.e. be "useful" (Definitely a Martha), or impress them - make them proud - have their applause. I guess exercise meets that need for me. This, human "doing" identity prevents me from having to be too vulnerable. What am I afraid of? Me. That when people know the real me - and know my heart, they'll run away and I'll be alone.

Enter Captivating, a book I just happened to have started a few days before the crash about a woman's heart. In fact, the subtitle is "Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul." The night after I wrecked, I was sitting in bed and opened to the chapter titled "Healing the Wound." Appropriate, huh? Here's an excerpt:

"Something sent its roots down deep into her (Eve's) soul - and ours - that mistrust of God's heart, that resolution to find life on our own terms. So God has to thwart her. In love, he has to block her attempts until, wounded and aching, she turns to him and him alone for her rescue.... Jesus has to thwart us too - thwart our self-redemptive plans, our controlling and our hiding, thwart the ways we are seeking to fill the ache within us. Otherwise, we would never fully turn to him for our rescue. Oh, we might turn to him for our 'salvation,' for a ticket to heaven when we die.... But inside, our hearts remain broken and captive and far from the One who can help us."

I like to stay in control. Exercise helps me do that - to control my schedule, my body, and create just enough distance to prevent vulnerability. But as you sit in a hospital unable to put weight on your leg... as you wait to hear whether or not you will have a cast on your arm... I suddenly wasn't so much in control. Am I going to balloon up and gain 100 pounds in a week? Am I going to have extra time to fill and have to face myself and my heart and maybe even what God wants to speak to my heart? Is it going to be hard? Is it going to hurt - and not physically, because that I can handle - I mean hurt inside? Can I trust you God? Do you care about my heart here? Do you care that I'm feeling very vulnerable, exposed, helpless? Do you care that I'm scared?

You thwarted my self-redemptive plan and only to You can I truly turn for comfort - for healing. Who am I to question? As Job said, "I know that You can do all things. No plan of Yours can be thwarted... You said 'Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you and you shall answer me.'" (Job 42:2,4)

Amazing how He gets our attention sometimes. I'm working on this trust thing - and allowing myself to be just a bit vulnerable... After all, I'm writing this for the world to see - letting you see just a piece of my aching heart. Granted, old habits die hard and I'm still exercising - working with pool therapy and building strength and mobility back, but that doesn't negate the lesson... and the fact that Jesus is the only Solid Rock, the only place where we can find healing and comfort. It's in His hands - not my scraped up, weak - and constantly striving ones. Is He your Solid Rock? Have you trusted Him with your heart?

"The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God stands forever." (Isaiah 40:8)