One day after the church service, when we were all standing around talking, our little two-year-old suddenly dashed up to the platform, laboriously lugged a big chair over to the pulpit, climbed onto the chair, stood up on it and began "preaching"! As we laughed, someone remarked that this little boy would become either a minister or a politician! That was one of the few light moments we had in a deteriorating atmosphere.
Things started going downhill with the pastor. (I'll call him DD.) It seemed harder to get things done, as at times he tried to stifle us. His interests didn't always seem appropriate for a church that wants to "get things done". For example, our small congregation had $500 earmarked for outreach ministry...and he wanted to take money from that account to buy a big, industrial-sized coffee machine for our after-church gathering in the fellowship hall. His duties as a pastor in more than one area were being neglected to some degree, and it showed.
We (the larger part of the congregation) felt the atmosphere of the services getting more and more tense. DD had always been rather formal. (Once I asked him quickly before the service if the choir could sing at some point, and he said No, because it wasn't in the bulletin!) Emotions ran high. We couldn't continue this way. I remember once I stayed home on a communion Sunday, because the Lord's Supper is supposed to be something that is done in a spirit of unity, and "united" we weren't!
It is NOT my wish to make DD look terrible. In fact, there were good things about him. Before things got really bad, we once had a new young man come to the service, an unbeliever. I was sitting at the back of the church at the organ (I could see everyone), and it was communion Sunday. Now, DD had his patterns, and one was that he never gave an "invitation" on communion Sunday. NEVER. But I suddenly was absolutely positive that if he gave an invitation, the new young man would respond and open his heart to Jesus. So I prayed hard, asking God to give DD a big nudge and have him alter his pattern and do what he never did. At the close of the sermon, DD stepped down to the communion table and...gave an invitation! And the young man DID respond. I was SOOO amazed! God had heard me, and DD had heard and obeyed God.
It IS my wish to have you see why we proceeded the way we did. Some of our group wanted to oust the pastor and get a new one. Germán wisely cautioned them, using the example of David and Saul. (Even when David had a fabulous chance of killing Saul and taking the kingship that God had already promised him, he refused. God had put Saul there, God would be the one to remove him.) We prayed and talked and dialogued and tried so hard to work things out with DD, but it all failed. He wouldn't budge. It was painful for us all. I'd never been snubbed in the supermarket by a friend (ex-friend!) before! It really shook us up.
We (tellingly, our group was made up of just about all of the people that actually did things in the church - like musicians, deacons, Sunday School teachers, etc.) were determined to depend on God to move us in the right direction. This poem captures God's answer to us.
Let Me Be Your Guide
Don't let your doubts push Me off to the side.
Now, more than ever, let Me be your guide
to Love overwhelming; I need you to see
that, knowing all that you are, you're still precious to Me;
to increasing Peace, as my mercies toward you
again and again prove my promises true;
to Joy, spilling free from my Smile to your heart,
drowning the pain that would pull you apart;
to Faith that can steady your unsettled soul,
refocus your vision, re-anchor your goal.
My passionate Grace drew you in from the wild.
Since then I have held you and called you my child.
I'm your Strength! and I do what no other god does.
Remember, my Name is "I AM'...not "I WAS".
-Becky Rhon
So we followed I AM into His future...and found all that He promised!
*********************************************************************************
(Note: the poem wasn't written at the time this occurred, but it "fits", doesn't it?)
(If it also "fits" your situation or that of someone you know, please feel free to use this poem, BUT PLEASE let me know! Thanks.)
**********************************************************************************
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
A Little Oasis...
The church we attended first was like a little oasis...for about 3 years or so. We met with people from Spain, Chile, Argentina, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Cuba, etc. We got so we could identify all the different accents! Especially we younger adults formed close bonds, and we were friends...both in and out of church. God did awesome things...both in and out of church! So even if something happened to only one of us, we could share it with the rest, and be encouraged.
Sometimes He did fun things for us, too! We met an Ecuadorian family who had immigrated as we had, although earlier. One day when they were at our house, Yolanda told us that when she was a teenager, she had babysat for an American family in Quito. There were three little kids, she said, two boys and a girl. She couldn't remember the last name, but it was something like Morris or Morrison...or Mor-something...I asked if it was "Moore" (my maiden name) and she said yes,she thought that sounded right. So I went to get a picture I had of me with my two brothers when very young (my sister hadn't arrived yet). When she saw it she got so excited! "Those are the kids I took care of!" She recognized us immediately. We could hardly believe it. I didn't remember being babysat by Yolanda at all, so it was a shock to find that we had met again 2/3 of the way around the world, in Australia, 20 years after the fact!
Yolanda started coming to the ladies' meetings, but warned us not to try to convert her! So we didn't. We just told her WE don't do the converting anyway... God does! Then one night, she dreamt that Jesus came to her and told her, "Make your heart ready for Me; I want to come in." And she did just that...
When I was pregnant with Dan, I once asked Jesus to not come back quite yet, because I wanted to know what it was like to have a baby, and be a mother first. Soon after that rather impertinent request, I had a dream: I was up in the air over the houses of the city, gently drifting upwards. Other people were also floating higher and higher. I heard someone say something about the four corners of the earth. Everything below me got dimmer and simply less and less important. Our houses, cars, everything on earth simply didn't matter anymore. Their value faded away. And I felt the most incredible JOY! I had never felt anything as intense, sweet, and all-encompassing. When I woke up, I said, "As far as I'm concerned, You can come back anytime You want!" Becoming a mother seemed so inconsequential when compared to the heavenly joy of going to meet Him in the air!
One evening I went to the church's mid-week meeting (Germán stayed home with the baby), but slipped out early because of something that was said unkindly about another person, from the pulpit. As I was driving home, I was suddenly hit with an intense urge to go see Conchita, a woman from the church. Since I still had time before I was expected at home, I went to her house. When I knocked on the door, she called out to come in. I said, "Conchita, it could have been anybody at the door! You should see who it is first!" And she replied, "I asked God to send someone to help me, and I figured whoever was at the door was that person."
Her 12-year-old daughter Sira was at an evening event at school, and her 2-year-old daughter Dina was fast asleep. Her husband worked the afternoon shift, and they didn't drive. The school was within walking distance, but the streets were dark, and Conchita wouldn't let Sira walk home alone. She would have to pick up Dina and walk, carrying her, asleep, down to the school to escort Sira back. That's why she asked for help. The situation was easily remedied. I drove down to the school and picked up Sira, delivered her to Conchita, who didn't have to disturb Dina...and I realized just why I had had the sudden urge to go to her. God had heard her simple prayer of faith.
I will share more on the next post! God bless you all.
Sometimes He did fun things for us, too! We met an Ecuadorian family who had immigrated as we had, although earlier. One day when they were at our house, Yolanda told us that when she was a teenager, she had babysat for an American family in Quito. There were three little kids, she said, two boys and a girl. She couldn't remember the last name, but it was something like Morris or Morrison...or Mor-something...I asked if it was "Moore" (my maiden name) and she said yes,she thought that sounded right. So I went to get a picture I had of me with my two brothers when very young (my sister hadn't arrived yet). When she saw it she got so excited! "Those are the kids I took care of!" She recognized us immediately. We could hardly believe it. I didn't remember being babysat by Yolanda at all, so it was a shock to find that we had met again 2/3 of the way around the world, in Australia, 20 years after the fact!
Yolanda started coming to the ladies' meetings, but warned us not to try to convert her! So we didn't. We just told her WE don't do the converting anyway... God does! Then one night, she dreamt that Jesus came to her and told her, "Make your heart ready for Me; I want to come in." And she did just that...
When I was pregnant with Dan, I once asked Jesus to not come back quite yet, because I wanted to know what it was like to have a baby, and be a mother first. Soon after that rather impertinent request, I had a dream: I was up in the air over the houses of the city, gently drifting upwards. Other people were also floating higher and higher. I heard someone say something about the four corners of the earth. Everything below me got dimmer and simply less and less important. Our houses, cars, everything on earth simply didn't matter anymore. Their value faded away. And I felt the most incredible JOY! I had never felt anything as intense, sweet, and all-encompassing. When I woke up, I said, "As far as I'm concerned, You can come back anytime You want!" Becoming a mother seemed so inconsequential when compared to the heavenly joy of going to meet Him in the air!
One evening I went to the church's mid-week meeting (Germán stayed home with the baby), but slipped out early because of something that was said unkindly about another person, from the pulpit. As I was driving home, I was suddenly hit with an intense urge to go see Conchita, a woman from the church. Since I still had time before I was expected at home, I went to her house. When I knocked on the door, she called out to come in. I said, "Conchita, it could have been anybody at the door! You should see who it is first!" And she replied, "I asked God to send someone to help me, and I figured whoever was at the door was that person."
Her 12-year-old daughter Sira was at an evening event at school, and her 2-year-old daughter Dina was fast asleep. Her husband worked the afternoon shift, and they didn't drive. The school was within walking distance, but the streets were dark, and Conchita wouldn't let Sira walk home alone. She would have to pick up Dina and walk, carrying her, asleep, down to the school to escort Sira back. That's why she asked for help. The situation was easily remedied. I drove down to the school and picked up Sira, delivered her to Conchita, who didn't have to disturb Dina...and I realized just why I had had the sudden urge to go to her. God had heard her simple prayer of faith.
I will share more on the next post! God bless you all.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Two Special Requests Granted
Back to Australia...an "in-between" detail. (It's hard to put absolutely everything in precise order of occurrence! Chronological un-order! So I apologize for rambling. I'll try to at least keep things coherent!)
When we were first married, we had already asked God for a girl and a boy, and named them Daniel Isaac and Débora Noemí.
When I was expecting Dan, three other women in the church were also pregnant. There were a number of little girls in the congregation, so all four of us wanted a boy. The first one had a girl...then I had a boy...then the third one had a girl...and then the fourth one had a girl. They jokingly asked me what I had done to ensure having a boy. Tongue-in-cheek, I answered, "All of you said you preferred a boy, but would be fine with either sex, as long as the baby was healthy; whereas I was specific and said 'We're having a boy.'" (Period. )
Six years later, Debbie was born in Ecuador, in Shell, a small town on the edge of the eastern jungle. (I know, this didn't happen in Australia, but it sort of interlaces with other events in our journey.) We didn't want that big an age gap between the two, but nothing happened. I almost cried whenever my body told me I wasn't pregnant. Then I had a dream...
I dreamt that I had a baby in November. Great!...except that this was in July, and I was pretty sure babies take longer than four months to make their appearance! I thought, "Maybe it means I'll get pregnant in November."
We decided we'd seek some medical advice. But before we could, I got a horribly bad infection, for which I had to take a super-strong antibiotic. The doctor told me to not even think about getting pregnant! Then some friends asked us to fill in for them for a couple of months at a Christian camp outside of Quito. So we moved out there and I put the whole fertility question on hold. While we were there, I started feeling...pregnant! Yes, I was pregnant...while working in a camp called "New Life"...and in November!
During the pregnancy, we always spoke of Débora. When Dan was asked if he wanted a sister or a brother, he always told people, "We're having a girl." They all thought his faith was amazing for an almost-six-year old. Actually, he told us later that he just figured there was some way one could tell for certain ( though this was before ultrasounds, in a jungle hospital). Besides, at six, kids still believe their parents know everything!
See you again soon!
When we were first married, we had already asked God for a girl and a boy, and named them Daniel Isaac and Débora Noemí.
When I was expecting Dan, three other women in the church were also pregnant. There were a number of little girls in the congregation, so all four of us wanted a boy. The first one had a girl...then I had a boy...then the third one had a girl...and then the fourth one had a girl. They jokingly asked me what I had done to ensure having a boy. Tongue-in-cheek, I answered, "All of you said you preferred a boy, but would be fine with either sex, as long as the baby was healthy; whereas I was specific and said 'We're having a boy.'" (Period. )
Six years later, Debbie was born in Ecuador, in Shell, a small town on the edge of the eastern jungle. (I know, this didn't happen in Australia, but it sort of interlaces with other events in our journey.) We didn't want that big an age gap between the two, but nothing happened. I almost cried whenever my body told me I wasn't pregnant. Then I had a dream...
I dreamt that I had a baby in November. Great!...except that this was in July, and I was pretty sure babies take longer than four months to make their appearance! I thought, "Maybe it means I'll get pregnant in November."
We decided we'd seek some medical advice. But before we could, I got a horribly bad infection, for which I had to take a super-strong antibiotic. The doctor told me to not even think about getting pregnant! Then some friends asked us to fill in for them for a couple of months at a Christian camp outside of Quito. So we moved out there and I put the whole fertility question on hold. While we were there, I started feeling...pregnant! Yes, I was pregnant...while working in a camp called "New Life"...and in November!
During the pregnancy, we always spoke of Débora. When Dan was asked if he wanted a sister or a brother, he always told people, "We're having a girl." They all thought his faith was amazing for an almost-six-year old. Actually, he told us later that he just figured there was some way one could tell for certain ( though this was before ultrasounds, in a jungle hospital). Besides, at six, kids still believe their parents know everything!
See you again soon!
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Don't Wear Black! Sing Joyous Songs!
These words were among the instructions my father had written down some time ago for whenever his funeral were to be held.
We all went to the funeral home yesterday afternoon, to the "viewing", none of us wearing pure black. As soon as we walked into the parlor, my mom and I started crying. I'm sure others did, too. Our family had an hour to pull itself together and prepare to receive other family members, friends, and acquaintances who had come to pay their respects. A lovely slide show was played continually, in a loop, showing us sides of our father we hadn't thought of in a long time, like of when he was in the Air Force (Corps) in WW II; as a little boy; in his wedding to my mom; holding his children; working with the Indians.
When I looked at my father's body, I kept expecting to see his chest rise and fall. It didn't seem real...almost like a sculpture. That special essence that pervades a living being was gone...because my father was gone! That wasn't him anymore, just a reminder of who we had lost...and a reflection on what he had gained!
It was also a time to re-meet a number of my cousins, some of whom I hadn't seen for 25-30 years. There was one whom I hadn't seen for more like 50 years!
Then this morning...the funeral service. "How Great Thou Art"! Joyous music indeed! My father's favorite hymn. An open time for family members to share our thoughts about our father's life... half of us having to ask someone else to read what we had to say! No way we could make it through without bawling.
A friend read the poem that I included here in the last post, "Your Hand".
Then my PRAYER:
Jesus,
You once asked your best friend to take care of your mother.
I'm doing the same.
You are my best Friend.
Please grant my mother
- grace in her grieving
- faith in her fears
- strength in her struggles
- love in her loneliness
- and joy in her journey towards her own heavenly Home.
As you know, all my parents' children are here; and every one of their grandchildren, from different parts of the country, and from as far away as the Middle East, made it to the funeral. (There are even 4 great-grandchildren here!)
The mass exodus has begun, as everyone heads back to his/her home to resume a life put on hold for the
poignant,
precious time of tribute
to a great man...
a man much loved...
a man who now talks face-to-face with his Lord.
**********************************************************************************
I will continue taking you on an overview of our Journey together once we get back to Quito and settled in. Thank you for your support and prayers!
We all went to the funeral home yesterday afternoon, to the "viewing", none of us wearing pure black. As soon as we walked into the parlor, my mom and I started crying. I'm sure others did, too. Our family had an hour to pull itself together and prepare to receive other family members, friends, and acquaintances who had come to pay their respects. A lovely slide show was played continually, in a loop, showing us sides of our father we hadn't thought of in a long time, like of when he was in the Air Force (Corps) in WW II; as a little boy; in his wedding to my mom; holding his children; working with the Indians.
When I looked at my father's body, I kept expecting to see his chest rise and fall. It didn't seem real...almost like a sculpture. That special essence that pervades a living being was gone...because my father was gone! That wasn't him anymore, just a reminder of who we had lost...and a reflection on what he had gained!
It was also a time to re-meet a number of my cousins, some of whom I hadn't seen for 25-30 years. There was one whom I hadn't seen for more like 50 years!
Then this morning...the funeral service. "How Great Thou Art"! Joyous music indeed! My father's favorite hymn. An open time for family members to share our thoughts about our father's life... half of us having to ask someone else to read what we had to say! No way we could make it through without bawling.
A friend read the poem that I included here in the last post, "Your Hand".
Then my PRAYER:
Jesus,
You once asked your best friend to take care of your mother.
I'm doing the same.
You are my best Friend.
Please grant my mother
- grace in her grieving
- faith in her fears
- strength in her struggles
- love in her loneliness
- and joy in her journey towards her own heavenly Home.
As you know, all my parents' children are here; and every one of their grandchildren, from different parts of the country, and from as far away as the Middle East, made it to the funeral. (There are even 4 great-grandchildren here!)
The mass exodus has begun, as everyone heads back to his/her home to resume a life put on hold for the
poignant,
precious time of tribute
to a great man...
a man much loved...
a man who now talks face-to-face with his Lord.
**********************************************************************************
I will continue taking you on an overview of our Journey together once we get back to Quito and settled in. Thank you for your support and prayers!
Saturday, June 1, 2013
He's in the High King's Hall
(If you haven't read my previous post, you might want to do that before you read this.)
My warrior father has gone to serve in the Hall of the High King. He left us today (June 1) in the very early morning...silently and peacefully.
Some of you may have already heard this, but for those who haven't: my sister texted Debbie as soon as Dad died, and Debbie told us that, although there had been thunder and lightning for some time, right when she received the news, there was a huge, bright flash, much brighter than any other. And she thought, "He died humbly, but he arrived in Heaven majestically."
YOUR HAND
Your Hand took a lump of clay
to birth the essence of this man.
As the wheel spun beneath your foot,
Your Hands moved in perfect rhythm,
shaping each detail, forming each part of him.
As You worked, You added all he'd need to carry out your plans
through his loyal heart and warrior spirit.
Your Hand placed him in the time-frame You crafted,
with the people You chose to walk with him
in the settings You prepared.
Your Hand guided him,
guarded him,
gave him hope and strength
and granted him grace.
Then Your Hand reached gently down,
scooped him up
and set him down in your Father's Presence.
You looked at my dad,
at who You had made,
at what You had done...
and smiled.
You had finished Your design!
--Becky Rhon
My father's life isn't "over". It has simply been completed.
We miss him terribly, but just imagine where he is now! He's in the only Hands that we can completely trust him to be in. It was hard to see his body removed from the house; we knew he wasn't in it anymore, but it was the last tangible part of him that we could see.
Our son-in-law Steve (Debbie's husband), over in the Middle East, was telling their two little girls that great-Grandpa Bruce had died. Miriam prayed that he'd get better, so Steve asked them to think about it...would that happen, since he'd already died? Liliana said, "No..." then her face lit up, "Yeah! God's gonna give him a new body!", then after a pause, "But he won't be a baby, will he?"
Thank you for all your condolences and prayers. The funeral won't be until next week, giving some of my parents' other grandchildren time to arrive. Both of our kids, Dan and Debbie, are here since before he passed away, and one granddaughter lives here; but the others are working out flights, etc. We will return to Quito the 9th of the month. Again, thanks for your supportive messages!
My warrior father has gone to serve in the Hall of the High King. He left us today (June 1) in the very early morning...silently and peacefully.
Some of you may have already heard this, but for those who haven't: my sister texted Debbie as soon as Dad died, and Debbie told us that, although there had been thunder and lightning for some time, right when she received the news, there was a huge, bright flash, much brighter than any other. And she thought, "He died humbly, but he arrived in Heaven majestically."
YOUR HAND
Your Hand took a lump of clay
to birth the essence of this man.
As the wheel spun beneath your foot,
Your Hands moved in perfect rhythm,
shaping each detail, forming each part of him.
As You worked, You added all he'd need to carry out your plans
through his loyal heart and warrior spirit.
Your Hand placed him in the time-frame You crafted,
with the people You chose to walk with him
in the settings You prepared.
Your Hand guided him,
guarded him,
gave him hope and strength
and granted him grace.
Then Your Hand reached gently down,
scooped him up
and set him down in your Father's Presence.
You looked at my dad,
at who You had made,
at what You had done...
and smiled.
You had finished Your design!
--Becky Rhon
My father's life isn't "over". It has simply been completed.
We miss him terribly, but just imagine where he is now! He's in the only Hands that we can completely trust him to be in. It was hard to see his body removed from the house; we knew he wasn't in it anymore, but it was the last tangible part of him that we could see.
Our son-in-law Steve (Debbie's husband), over in the Middle East, was telling their two little girls that great-Grandpa Bruce had died. Miriam prayed that he'd get better, so Steve asked them to think about it...would that happen, since he'd already died? Liliana said, "No..." then her face lit up, "Yeah! God's gonna give him a new body!", then after a pause, "But he won't be a baby, will he?"
Thank you for all your condolences and prayers. The funeral won't be until next week, giving some of my parents' other grandchildren time to arrive. Both of our kids, Dan and Debbie, are here since before he passed away, and one granddaughter lives here; but the others are working out flights, etc. We will return to Quito the 9th of the month. Again, thanks for your supportive messages!
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