Footprints

Footprints My Journey of Faith, Family, and Friends

Patt Williams

Footprints My Journey of Faith, Family, and Friends

Patt Williams

Copyright Š 2019 by Feed the Hunger. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in mechanical or electronic form without the express permission of the copyright holder.

Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International VersionÂŽ Printed in the USA

Table of Contents Preface Family Life What a Dad! A Transformed Mom One April Dawn Threads of Gold Part One J.E.W. Threads of Gold Part Two FUN Life in Missions Norma in NYC A Contented Heart Dollars and Sense A Special Woman Chairlady

i 11 15 21 27 33 37 41

47 51 55 59 63

Life Lessons Wonderful Words of Life My Bill of Rights An Attitude Upgrade Circa 1978 Just a Housewife Dessert in the Desert U-Turns From Doubt to Faith Again Life with J.L. Eve and I Fall Short Trying to Communicate Still Trying to Communicate Looking Back The Man J.L. This Thing Called Grief Acknowledgements

69 73 77 81 85 89 93 97 103 109 113 117 121 127 135

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Preface The Holy Spirit has used the spiritual footprints of many Christians to encourage me in my journey of faith. I’ve learned much and gained many practical life applications through their books, sermons, and friendships.

In her book Love Has a Price Tag, Elisabeth Elliot, author and missionary to Ecuador, described seeing a tiny footprint on the hazardous jungle trail in front of her: There is something amazingly heartening in the knowledge that somebody else has been over the same course before. . . . If he had made it, so could I.1 I, too, have been strengthened by finding markers along my journey, signs that someone had successfully gone on ahead.

Those encouragements gave me hope that progress and even victory might be possible for me as well. The names of many of those people are included in the acknowledgements at the end of this book.

But my amazing husband is first on my list and is mentioned here apart from the others. He was J.L. Williams—J.L. stood for Joseph Louis—and he urged me for years to author a book. I resisted because I was too busy editing and proofreading his books, booklets, teaching materials, PowerPoints, email reports, letters, etc., AND traveling overseas with him two and three times a year, AND taking care of the family, and so on. In other words, I had lots of really good excuses for not doing it!

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A couple of months before he died (of course, he didn’t know he was going to die in a couple of months) we had another one of those ongoing discussions. “You have so many stories to tell, babe. You have to write a book and do it before I die!” I replied as I usually did, “I know, I know, but I don’t have time right now. Of course I’ll write one before you die.”

Then, about two weeks before he went home to be with Jesus, he suddenly sat straight up in his recliner after watching the evening news and said in his booming voice, “I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to die first and then you’ll write the book.” We laughed and talked about how silly that was.

But, alas, I have done just that, writing what he always wanted me to write but with no J.L. to guide me. I watched him write many books and in some respects I’m following his footprints too, though our style and content are quite a bit different.

Writing is hard work, is all I’m sayin’! Writing requires isolation and that’s difficult for me. Surely other authors have labored over finding just the right words, staying focused, meeting deadlines, getting through the rewrites, and proofreading. They must give a huge sigh of relief when everything is sent off to the printers.

There are two major seasons of my life that I only touch on briefly, and I would like to explain why. They include the years with the wonderful New Directions singing group as well as the years with our amazing international partners. I don’t describe them in depth because . . .

J.L. wrote prolifically about those years, published booklets, and mailed and emailed volumes of detailed reports ii

and pictures on every individual and every event. He emphasized his words with multiple and dramatic uses of bold type, italics, underline, exclamation points!!, ellipses . . . , and “quotation marks.” Since his written records from almost 50 years of ministry are in his own words, it would be almost impossible to duplicate his style or his passion. Besides, a book containing everything he ever wrote on those two groups would be so big it would have to be transported by truck!

Many of my chapters were articles I wrote that corresponded with the themes in J.L.’s magazines and reports, covering topics like marriage and raising a young family. I have reworded them a little because I express myself a little differently now.

All of us Christians are composites of the Holy Spirit’s work in our lives, of our decisions and how we work through the consequences of them, and of the books, sermons, and friendships of people who influence us to follow their leadership. I imagine they prayed that eventually we followers would graduate to primarily following Christ’s steps, as Paul urged in 1 Peter 2:21.

Now I close with love, in the footprints of Jesus, Patt May 2019 1.

Elisabeth Elliot, Love Has a Price Tag, (Ann Arbor, MI: Servant Books, 1979), 59.

Used by permission from Lars Gren. Her books and other materials can be found at www.elisabethelliot.org

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Family Life

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What a Dad! Aren’t we just naturally proud of our parents? They’re bigger, stronger, smarter, and better looking than any of the neighborhood kids’ parents. For most of my adult life, my dad was a professor at Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green, Ohio. He found his niche teaching, counseling, and encouraging many in their Christian lives. He was Robert Richard Joynt, but everyone called him Bob. The first jobs I remember him having were selling feed to farmers, working as a night watchman, hauling brick, and selling cemetery plots. He had graduated from Michigan State before I was born but didn’t find a profession where he felt he fit until he started teaching. When I was a teenager he went back to school to get a master’s degree. Later he earned a doctorate in education and became a licensed child psychologist. But, I’m getting ahead of the story.

His father died when my dad was only nine. His mother raised their five children by herself by taking in laundry and baking bread. I think my dad did a pretty good job with the four of us even though he didn’t have much memory of how a father did fathering. I was the oldest child, followed by Sue and Tom (twins), and our youngest brother, Rob. Dad made

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an adventure out of most outings and vacations. We camped in our VW bus, all crowded together with our French poodle, Paris, and had many great experiences traveling throughout northern Michigan and down to Florida.

He was very patient with me as I followed him around his garage workshop. He taught me the names for (and how to use) drills, bits, wrenches, sanders, screwdrivers, band saws, jigsaws, hammers, levels, clamps, etc. Mom sometimes took us children out of town to visit her parents. Because I was the oldest, he showed me how to change a tire, add water to the radiator, check the oil, and put in an extra quart if needed.

My dad continued to show me by example and practice how to take a door off its hinges, stop a running commode, wire a light switch, build a cart, fix a bike (chain, spokes, and tires), and paint a room. The painting part probably got on his last nerve because I was so messy. But, I will always be grateful he believed, or rather hoped, I could do it. He taught me how to whistle with my fingers in my mouth so I could call the younger kids home if he was away at suppertime.

There’s a saying that a good leader is one who can sit back and watch a job be done second best. I learned to do many things because he was one of those good leaders.

When I think about my childhood way back then, whoever heard of a dad teaching his daughter such skills—a son for sure, but a girl? Yet he was part of God’s plan for my future life, one that would include marriage to a wonderful man who often left home to preach in other cities and countries.

I needed to know all those things many times over because, in J.L.’s absences, I had to be fixer and mender, repairer and builder. J.L. often said, “In God’s economy, nothing is ever 12

wasted.” That was certainly true for me.

My parents became Christians within six months of each other. He was 38. She was 37. I was 11. I secretly watched them in the following months because something had definitely changed. Our home was different . . . better.

I took in everything, how he sat in his chair near the front door and became totally absorbed in the Bible. He loved attending church, singing in the choir, and teaching Sunday school. He boldly and excitedly shared his testimony with anyone who stood still long enough to listen.

When J.L. and I started the New Directions, Dad and Mom traveled with us a couple of times, helping with the singing group in the Caribbean and again in Asia when we went with our four children and some of J.L.’s extended family. Dad and Mom celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary while we were together in Chennai, India.

J.L. and I were in Nepal when Trish called to tell me he had died. I had never felt that kind of emotional pain before, like my heart was breaking in two. I didn’t know there was a place inside me that could hurt that badly. Over time, the Holy Spirit eased the pain, but I still miss him.

Have I made him sound like the perfect dad? He wasn’t, of course, but when he chose Christ as his Savior, he was my first example of how a man who loves God lives his life and does His will. His ability to memorize Scripture, find a teaching moment in almost anything, work with his hands, not waste anything, always be on time, be spontaneous, and have a positive attitude was great preparation for my life with J.L. When people say they can almost hear their deceased loved 13

one’s voice on certain occasions, I know what they mean.

Every time Dad’s favorite hymn is played, I can almost hear him singing, “When I survey the wondrous cross.” I also hear him in the verses he memorized and quoted most often and most enthusiastically: But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

2 Corinthians 4:7–9

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A Transformed Mom Since I talked about my dad in the previous chapter, this one will be devoted to my mom. She was Mary Carolyn Harger Joynt, but everyone called her Carol.

Her parents had ten children, but only five lived past infancy. My mother was the only surviving girl and was adored by her four older brothers. They looked after her even during her college years at Albion College in Michigan. She met my dad during her first year of teaching in his hometown of East Jordan, Michigan. It was quite the whirlwind romance, and they eventually settled in a new suburb of Detroit called St. Clair Shores.

Sometime during the year I was 11, my dad and mom announced to us four children that they had become Christians.

We weren’t sure what that meant, but future events made their announcement clearer. Because my mom stayed at home with us, I observed the dramatic changes in her first.

One Saturday morning, she stood at our dining room table packing up some familiar items. Her bathing suit, her sweater, and her teacup with its saucer were among them.

When I questioned what she was doing, she said that she had recently asked Jesus into her heart. This I knew. As a Christian, she could no longer keep anything that did not belong to her. This I did not know. She explained she had “borrowed� these things from her college girlfriends years 15

ago and had deliberately kept them, never intending to return them. I tried to process the thought that she was some kind of thief, but I didn’t say anything.

Some items were to be mailed and others returned by hand.

During the days that followed, she wrote letters, made phone calls, and talked face-to-face with friends and family. She also asked their forgiveness for things she had said or done that had hurt them. Along with each apology, she included her testimony of what Jesus had done for her. I was present for some of those exchanges and found them embarrassing.

But, at the table that morning, I spoke up and asked, “What if they think you’re crazy?” She laughed and said it was important to obey God’s commands regardless of what anyone else thought. As I’ve already said, I wasn’t a Christian at the time, so it seemed rather ridiculous to me.

Not too long after our conversation, I came running into the house looking for her. After yelling “MOTHER!” several times, I raced down the hall and banged open her closed bedroom door. There she was, on her knees beside her bed.

I backed out quietly and closed the door. Wow, I had never seen that before. When she finally came out, she said she had been praying for us four children. “For me?” I asked. “Yes, for you.” In my mind, I tucked away another puzzling part of her new life.

The next incident impacted me deeply, but I need to explain the backstory. Her mother, my Grammy, was fascinated with gypsies and their lifestyle. She often dressed like them and had a crystal ball. She told fortunes, read palms and tea leaves, and held séances. I loved Grammy and wanted to participate in anything she was doing just to be with her. Gram16

my had taught my mother all these things, but Mom drew the line at letting me be a part of the séances.

The lucky life my grandmother promised was very appealing. Good luck was Grammy’s goal for herself and everyone else. I didn’t know there were any other options for happiness, least of all that God might be one. So, I did what Grammy and my mother said.

By their example and instruction, I always kept a lucky rabbit’s foot and a four-leaf clover in my possession. I never walked under a ladder or broke a mirror or let a black cat cross my path or stepped on a crack in the sidewalk or opened an umbrella indoors. If I spilled salt, I took a pinch of it and threw it over my left shoulder in case the devil was close by. I knocked on wood to keep the devil away and the good luck coming.

To keep the devil away—that was the overriding motivation that weighed on me and made me diligent in abiding by all the rules. It was oppressive. There was darkness mixed with fear whenever I forgot, because I was told that people could get sick and even die if I omitted anything. I worried a lot about how my neglect might cause someone harm.

Since Grammy lived about an hour and a half from us, our visits were limited. So my mother encouraged me with my fortune-telling as I practiced reading people’s palms and divining the tea leaves in the bottom of their teacups. By the way, I was never very good at reading tea leaves.

And then, Mom became a Christian. My goodness, you can imagine how my life was shaken up. She asked me to join her in the backyard for a bonfire. Sounded great to me . . . until I saw what she was going to burn: a Ouija board, 17

tarot cards, and amulets, among other things. This scared me because we had been using those things to help with our decision-making and discerning the future. I thought, she’d better not mess up our good luck!

“Why are you doing this?!” I demanded to know. “Because your dad and I are Christians. God commands that we go to Him alone for wisdom and guidance. We can’t believe or have faith in anything else. These items are satanic and we will not allow them to be in our house. They must be destroyed.” It was quite a fire and I was quite worried. When weeks and months went by and no one got sick, died, or had bad luck, I was shocked. How confusing.

When my faith journey started at age 15, the Light of the world began to shine into my dark past. Many years later, it was J.L. who helped me break through the lingering fears with lots of prayer.

When all four of us children were married with homes of our own, my mother took the Campus Crusade for Christ witnessing classes. Those gave her even more confidence to witness to others. She led several of her neighbors to Christ and talked to folks on airplanes, in grocery lines, and even on merry-go-rounds. Merry-go-rounds?

One summer, Mom and I got on the carousel during the county fair so we could help little Jonathan stay on a horse.

OK, we did it for the fun too. Mom began talking to a mother next to us who was holding her son on a horse. “May I share with you what Jesus Christ has done in my life?” The woman quickly but nicely said, “No, I don’t believe so, not today.” “Well, it’s been nice talking to you. I hope you have a good day at the fair.”

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As we walked away from the ride, I told her that her witnessing made me a little nervous. “Why? Talking to people about Jesus shouldn’t bother you.” “I know, but on a merrygo-round?” “Just think, what if this were the only time she would hear about Him? I had to give her the chance. Take the opportunity when you have it.”

I am grateful that the Lord redeemed my mother from a life of bondage to fear, the devil, and darkness. Because of the Holy Spirit’s work in her, she demonstrated what the transformed life looked like, and I wanted that life too. I am very grateful to have been her daughter. She was a blessing to us, to her grandchildren, and to many others.

At 82, she was diagnosed with cancer of the gallbladder and lived four more months. Even in her suffering, Mom shared the Good News with everyone who came to visit her or care for her. She had such a sweet spirit and was a great example of the transformed life, faithfully following her Lord until the very end.

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

Proverbs 31:26

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One April Dawn Parenting started as a grand adventure with the birth of our first child, Trish (short for Patricia Lynn). She was a delightful baby, cute and even-tempered, responding to correction and direction almost flawlessly. It was easy to assume, even as a first-time mom, that I had this mothering thing totally under control.

April Dawn was born 18 months later. She too was cute, but sickly, often acting like she was very uncomfortable. I had always felt that my emotional strengths were steady, reliable, and, with the Lord’s help, undefeatable. But trying to feed an infant who screamed painfully most of her waking hours was the beginning of a new awareness of my weaknesses.

When April was two weeks old, she had just been nursed and was still crying. It was late at night and I was having a difficult time knowing what to do. In my exhaustion, I put her in her bed a little too roughly and felt immediate and understandable guilt. I ran downstairs and left J.L. to comfort her. Asking the Lord’s forgiveness relieved my tortured heart, but that moment echoed in my memory for a long time.

When I took April for her six-week checkup, our wonderful doctor was impressed with her weight gain. But he looked a little puzzled when I complained about her constant 21

crying and frequent screaming. “She’ll outgrow it; about three months is usual,” he said.

Meanwhile, our even-tempered Trish was beginning to cry more and more because of April’s crying. In my fatigue, I gave up nursing April and put her on a bottle. At six months, April hadn’t let up, nor had she slept through the night or eaten anything except milk (Enfamil). One morning, about 6:30, April’s screaming awakened Trish. J.L. had already gone to work, so I stumbled down the stairs with two screaming babies and put them on the living room floor.

Then I walked out the back door.

“It would be so easy to run away,” I thought. Standing on the steps, I looked both ways, sizing up which way to run.

But that thought was crowded out by another: “Who will take care of these children?” Only I knew that Trish liked brown bread instead of white and wanted an egg every morning. And that April’s favorite toy was the turtle, and . . . and . . . Well, if I cared that much, I figured it was the Lord’s way of showing me I had to stay.

Even with the storm door closed, I could hear them screaming. I paused a few more moments to ask God for renewed strength. He gave it to me, and I was to experience His amazing care many times throughout the next months.

With each doctor’s visit, I returned home with more guilt because nothing could be found wrong with April. I blamed myself for her sickly and irritable temperament and her refusal to eat solid food. Babysitters were often reluctant to sit for a screamer. People invited us out very little; after all, who likes to talk over a crying baby? I certainly didn’t.

At one year, she was still only on milk, not sleeping all 22

night, and quite tiny. The doctor said it might be a wrong relationship between mother and child and suggested I seek professional help. I was crushed and humiliated. But, before that action was taken, he recommended another pediatrician in town, new, just out of med school. Maybe he could figure out what was wrong. Grasping for anything, we went.

After a series of tests, the results showed April was lactose intolerant, even to breast milk. We immediately switched her to Isomil. The relief was hard to explain, but oh so wonderful! What sweet joy when she started sleeping through the night after a year of catnaps. It was like someone had sneaked in and swapped babies with us—the change was that dramatic.

But, two weeks later, an ongoing cold settled in her ears and the screaming and sleeplessness began again. It was beyond bearable. Two doctors and much medication later, we took her to a third doctor, an ear specialist. His diagnosis was that she had lost hearing in one ear and had only partial hearing in the other. With this new medicine he was prescribing, her ears should clear up within five days or he would operate.

On the afternoon of the third day, she was going wild, crying and clawing at everything in her grasp. She had pulled at her ears so hard they were bleeding and she could no longer sit up. Her equilibrium was gone and by midnight the screaming was continuous. Because this drastic change had started with the medicine, I decided to stop giving it to her.

I had never been at the end of myself like this before, but I had arrived.

Standing beside April’s bed, I began crying as she clawed at me. I had failed as a mother. I put my hands on her lit23

tle shoulders and prayed, “Lord, please take this child home to be with You. Nothing the doctors or we have done has helped. I love her so much and can’t stand to see her suffer anymore.” Even though she was desperately reaching out for me, I turned away and walked out of the room.

I lay in bed beside J.L., listening to her. After a few moments, she settled down and was quiet. I told J.L. what I had prayed. The verbalizing of it shocked us both and we cried together. Through his tears, he prayed, “Lord, You know that we dedicated April to You when we first knew Patt was pregnant. She’s still Your child now, so we ask that Your will be done. If it’s Your will for her to stay, we want her very much.

But if it’s Your will to take her, then Your will be done. We love You and trust in Your divine judgment and mercy.” We eventually fell asleep.

The next morning J.L. and I awakened to the sounds of children, like the real, normal sounds of little children. We jumped out of bed (and I do mean jumped) and raced down the hall to the girls’ room. Yes, Trish was standing at April’s crib, and the two of them were “talking.” No screaming— unbelievable. April still could not sit up but she was lying there, playing with a toy, and not crying. Truly unbelievable!

All day long, I watched in amazement. J.L. called from the office every hour for a report and praised God over the continual good news. April’s equilibrium was still bad, but no screaming. We rejoiced again when she slept all that night.

It was now the fifth day after starting the medicine and we had a scheduled appointment with the specialist. He needed to evaluate how the medication was doing. He examined her ears once, paused, and examined them again. Rather sur24

prised, he said, “I can’t find anything wrong with her ears.

They are perfectly normal.” I was so excited that I leaped from my chair, clapped my hands together, and shouted, “Well, praise the Lord!”

The doctor was a little taken aback but listened patiently as we explained our journey over the past five days. He smiled slightly and mumbled something about, well, he guessed that might have happened alright. I don’t think our feet touched the ground as we left his office! The change in April was unmistakable, even though it took two weeks for her balance to return to normal.

At the writing of this article, April is now three and a half years old and there has been no screaming or crying or sleeplessness since midnight of that third day. She is still petite, with big brown eyes and beautiful red hair. She’s turning into a real character with a strong will and a temper to match. She especially likes to be in charge of her baby brother, Joseph Louis, who is like Trish in health and temperament—thank You, Lord.

What else can be said, except that our God will be with us always, in the easy times and in the really hard places. Even if April’s story had not turned out as it did, God is still good and still faithful. His grace is always sufficient and He has promised He will neither leave us nor forsake us. I am so grateful for the Lord’s continual guidance and strength in every facet of life, especially with a sick baby.

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Threads of Gold Part One Corrie ten Boom, who lived in the Netherlands, has always been a favorite author of mine. Chief among her books is The Hiding Place, a moving story of God’s provision and sustaining grace in the midst of Hitler’s pogroms during World War II. I saw her being interviewed years ago. She was seated in a high-back chair, intently working on a piece of needlepoint. The camera pulled back from her to focus on the underneath side of the sewing—full of knots, seemingly misplaced threads, and no discernable pattern. Then she began: My life is but a weaving, Betwixt my God and me.

I do not choose the colors He works so steadily.

Oft times He weaves in sorrow, And I, in foolish pride, Forget He sees the upper, And I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent And the shuttles cease to fly 27

Will God unroll the canvas and Show me the reason why, The dark threads were as needful In the Weaver’s skillful hands As the threads of gold and silver In the pattern He had planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares; Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those Who leave the choice to Him. Then, just as she was completing the last line, she turned her needlework around to reveal an exquisite gold and silver crown against a deep scarlet background. What a moment for me and what a graphic, visual example of the truth of that poem.

I don’t know who authored this poem, but it came at a very crucial point in my early mothering years. By then, anything remotely resembling gold and silver had taken on the hues of peanut butter and jelly. How else to describe toddlers with runny noses, sticky Kool-Aid mouths, fingerprints on all surfaces, and at least one sick baby. But those were the years when God commenced His work in our children’s lives, the beginnings of the golden threads that became a part of their canvases.

We decided early in our new roles as father and mother that we would expect even our very young children to understand the concept of God. So, as we pushed them in their strollers, lay down beside them in bed, or sat at the supper 28

table, we would make comments like, “Isn’t God wonderful to have made the butterfly?” “Thank You, God, for beautiful blue skies.” “Please God, bless Daddy as he tells people about You.” The New Directions singing group was well underway when Trish was born. She grew up on the ND bus, watching countless concerts that ended with Kurt Kaiser’s song “Pass It On” as people came forward to give their lives to the Lord.

Back at home, while April napped, I was giving Trish a bath as we listened to the latest New Directions album.

At three years of age she knew most of their songs by heart and also when they were sung during a concert. So when “Pass It On” began, she started to cry and said, “Where are they going? Are they leaving?” I knew she was remembering the most recent concert when her ND buddies had gone to the back of the church during that song to help with the counseling. “Yes, Trish, they’re going to tell people about Jesus so that they can ask Him into their hearts.” With the tears still coming down her sweet little face, she choked out, “I want to ask Jesus into my heart.”

My immediate thoughts? “Dear Lord, You’ve got to help this poor mother know what to say!” Among other questions, I briefly wondered if it was OK to accept Christ in a . . . bathtub?!

“Well, Trish, you know that Jesus loves you very much.”

She nodded her head; no tears now, just sniffs. “But sometimes we do bad things and have to be spanked.” She nodded again, but this time with eyes wide. “Jesus died on the cross to save us from the bad things we do.” She intently watched me as I continued, “So we need to pray and tell Jesus you are 29

sorry for doing wrong things; then He will come into your heart.” She bowed her blond head. As I said each phrase or sentence, she repeated it after me.

Dear Jesus, I know that You love me.

I’m sorry I do bad things.

Please forgive me for the bad things I have done.

Come into my heart.

Thank You, Jesus.

I love You. Amen.

She went back to the splashing and bubbles with no more remarks about the concert or her big friends. I sat on the edge of the tub marveling at this golden moment. J.L. and I know that salvation doesn’t have to be completely understood in order for a little girl to start her journey with the Lord, but she does have to begin. This seemed to be the first pull of the golden thread through her tapestry.

Her next spiritual milestone was when she was about 10 or 11. Maturity in Christ happens in stages, thank goodness, because there is so much to learn and apply. It’s a lifelong journey for all of us in obedience, disobedience, repentance, restoration, and growth in grace and wisdom.

The threads of gold and silver on a blank tapestry can begin at surprising ages and at unexpected times. Our challenge as parents is to stay alert and take advantage of those moments, intentionally directing our children’s thoughts toward Christ.

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I love the encouragement of Deuteronomy 6:1–9. Indeed, we are to impress God’s truths on our children whenever we’re with them. We are to talk it and walk it, and make those truths evident in our lives.

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J.E.W. Each of our four children has enriched our lives in a special way, and each has brought us to a new level of love and growth. Apparently, God must have thought we needed a lot of love and growth!

This chapter will focus on our youngest blessing—Jonathan Edward—who was six years old at the time I wrote this.

He’s the one who had written me a note with his best understanding of how words sounded to him: “I love you bckus you are mI muther.” But this story goes back further, to the time when Jonathan arrived in this world in 1975, three weeks early, at exactly six pounds.

He didn’t cry all that much but he didn’t seem content. I had decided not to nurse him because I was so unbelievably tired from taking care of our older three, ages two, four, and six. I knew I would need J.L. to help a lot with feeding a new baby.

When Jonathan was two weeks old, he developed a bad cough . . . really bad. I became more alarmed the worse it got. It was an unusual cough that only occurred when he stopped drinking his bottle long enough to be burped. Then he would have a hard, continuous cough, his veins standing out vividly against a purplish scalp and neck. It always ended with vomiting, projectile vomiting actually, and a pe33

riod where he stopped breathing. The time period without breathing was probably shorter than it seemed, but it was frightening.

Passing from alarmed to scared-to-death, I made an appointment with our pediatrician, who saw us that very day.

Because he needed to observe the coughing, the doctor tried to induce it by gagging Jonathan with a tongue depressor.

Nothing happened. So I took out his bottle and fed him, while the doctor (a little skeptical) and I talked. Burp time came and so did the horrible cough and projectile vomiting.

The shocked doctor jumped out of his chair and ran across the room to do whatever he thought should be done to revive such a tiny baby. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen and heard. Jonathan began breathing again on his own. After the doctor gave him a thorough examination, he diagnosed him as having a form of whooping cough. It was unusual to find it in a newborn, and no medication was safe for one so small. I inwardly blamed myself for not nursing him since he would at least have had my antibodies.

The pediatrician suggested two choices: hospitalization, or I could take him home and put him in a small room kept at 72 degrees with a vaporizer going 24/7. I opted for plan B. We agreed to try it for 12 hours at first, then for 24 hours at a time. If he got no worse, we would try for another 24 hours, until he went one way or the other. The doctor was super during this time, calling me if I didn’t report to him often enough.

Here’s how the hours progressed. He was fed, burped, and held upright while he coughed and vomited. Then I would hold him up in the air, much as the father did with his baby in 34

the miniseries Roots, praying, “Dear Jesus, Jonathan is Your child. If You want to take him, he’s Yours. But if You want him to stay here with us, please heal him. We want him to live. Thank You, Jesus, for Your perfect will.”

I would bring him back down and hold him tightly against my chest and talk to him, saying, “OK, Jonathan, breathe.

Momma and Daddy love you and so does Jesus. Go ahead and breathe.” And he would.

And so it went, every three hours, eight times a day, for five days. He still only coughed when burped. I was wearing out physically, emotionally, and spiritually, but I wouldn’t allow anyone else to feed him. He got no better but was no worse.

Then, on the sixth day, he coughed a little less and didn’t vomit quite as much . . . and recovery began. The vomiting ended, and in another three weeks, the coughing was gone.

I thought and prayed a lot during that time. To imagine that we might just have to give up our son, our tiny little guy, was something I definitely did not want to dwell on or consider.

What a costly thing it would have been. Jonathan had just begun. He had so much to give. He was so innocent.

In a small way, I realized the great cost to God in sending His Son to die. Jesus was in the beginnings of His earthly ministry.

He had so much to give. He really was innocent. And then I came to know that God more than understood what I was going through. How marvelous to know I had a God who knew and cared! I had found God’s grace sufficient when I reached the absolute end of my endurance. He had been there to be my strength. No credit goes to me for making it through—only glory and praise to the Lord God Almighty.

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Jonathan’s illness so disrupted his system that he was three years old before he (and I) slept all night. Coinciding with sleeping all night was his intense interest in eating, demanding food every few hours throughout the day. I got so excited when he began pulling out of his physical battle that I fed him six small meals a day. He thrived on it and settled down into quite a normal, happy boy.

Occasionally, I recall those scary days when I wasn’t sure if our baby boy would live, fearing the worst and trying to trust the Lord for the best. God’s grace was more than sufficient during that very difficult and trying time.

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.

Psalm 68:19

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Threads of Gold Part Two It was suppertime—a very busy and noisy event at the end of every day with four children. My voice was the only one I heard: “Trish, drink all your milk.” “J.L., help Jonathan cut up his meat.” “April, don’t play with your food.” “Joseph, wipe your mouth.” I seemed to be the self-appointed table traffic cop.

I remember being only slightly aware that Jonathan had slipped out of his chair and was headed in my direction. Barely missing a beat in my verbiage, I merely commanded, “Jonathan, you know you’re supposed to stay at the table until you are finished. Please go back and sit down.”

Jonathan kept coming until he stood next to me. I was just getting ready to pick him up and take him back to his place when he said, “Momma, am I a Christian?” I was speechless.

After all, this wasn’t exactly a “spiritual” moment. He’s only three and a half for heaven’s sake. How can he understa . . . oh that’s right, Trish was only three when she began.

So I looked pleadingly from him to J.L., who hadn’t heard what Jonathan had asked because of the ongoing table chatter. Looking back down at him, I said (not too brilliantly), “WHAT did you say?” “I want to know if I’m a Christian.” I 37

picked him up and put him on my lap so that he was facing me.

April’s curiosity could not be contained. She machine-gunned me with, “What did he say? How come he’s not eating? Tell him to talk louder. What’s going on?” Bless J.L., he took over my role as table traffic cop and kept control over Jonathan’s very curious siblings.

“Jonathan, a Christian is someone who has Jesus in his heart.” O Lord, help me not to mess this up. “Would you like to ask Jesus into your heart?” When he both nodded and said yes, I proceeded. “I’m going to say a prayer, and you repeat it after me, OK?” He nodded again but didn’t seem to want to pray in his present seated position. So, he stood up on my lap and leaned over my right shoulder, almost upside down.

I quickly wondered if you could really become a Christian upside down. I mean, I’d never read anything about this in our parenting books.

I prayed the same prayer that I had prayed with Trish and he repeated it after me. He sat back down on my lap and I said, “Now, Jonathan, you are a Christian.” He calmly walked back to his seat and finished his meal. My meal remained uneaten.

Another threading of gold through another canvas—a moment that I almost missed because I was neither ready for nor expecting the holy in the ordinary events of the day.

There wasn’t much interaction among the other children just then, but normalcy returned through the clearing of the table, etc., and then it was bath time again. In those days, I did multiple bathing, you know, two or three kids in the same tub at the same time . . . one tired mother . . . you get the picture.

Anyway, while in the tub, April had apparently been thinking about the table conversation and came out with this—in 38

one breath: “You know, Momma, I was listening to Jonathan when he asked Jesus into his heart. I don’t ever remember doing that, so after supper, when I was coloring with magic markers, I asked Jesus into my heart. And I’m going to do it again right now just in case it didn’t work the first time!”

She immediately bowed her head over the bubbles and prayed again.

As quickly as I could interrupt, I explained that she only needed to ask Jesus once to come into her heart. Jesus always answers that prayer right away. He doesn’t come in and then leave; no, He comes to stay. She seemed satisfied with my answer but Joseph, with his almost six-year-old mind, had also been pondering the events at the table.

“Yeah, I was listening to Jonathan, too, but I’ve decided I’m gonna wait till I’m real old to ask Jesus into my heart.” Before I could respond, April, with soapy water flying off fingers and forearms as she gestured dramatically for emphasis, said, “OHHHH NO! You can’t wait. You have to ask Jesus RIGHT NOW!” “No,” Joseph repeated, “I think I’m gonna wait till I’m real old.” “You’d better not, Joseph!” April resumed, “You have to do it THE MINUTE you know about it! BOW YOUR HEAD RIGHT NOW and ask Jesus to come into your heart!”

He obediently bowed his head and, although I couldn’t hear him, I could see his lips moving. I was amazed at what had just taken place with April and Joseph, but knew that J.L. and I would need more private time with Joseph away from youknow-who. My, what an evening! In retrospect, it was April’s golden moment, but only the smallest of beginnings for Joseph. Interestingly, Joseph paralleled Trish in having his next major spiritual milestone around 10 years of age, when he and 39

J.L. had a long spiritual discussion.

For those of you who are reading this and have young children or even grandchildren, never, never underestimate a child’s ability to understand God and His sacrifice for them.

They don’t have to understand every theological part of the Christian faith, but they can begin to grasp the basic truths.

The above was written in 1978, and now it’s the end of 1999. I was seated on the floor with our first grandchild, Mark and April’s son, Matthew Thomas. He was two years and nine months old that afternoon and was playing with the remnants of an ancient Lincoln Logs set that had been his uncles’ when they were his age. He arranged a few of them into shapes, like a triangle and a square, then, taking two more and putting them together like a lowercase t, he said, “This is a cross.” I replied, “Jesus died on the cross.” His response: “Jesus died on the cross for me.”

Praise God for the precious golden threads of Christ that start as tiny beginnings in tiny people.

We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, his power, and the wonders he has done . . . so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children.

Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget his deeds but would keep his commands.

Psalm 78:4, 6–7

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FUN How do I spell fun? T-e-e-n-a-g-e-r-s!

Trish was 15 when April turned 13, and we started to hear comments like, “You mean you have two of them and you’re still sane?” There are lots of one-liners out there about this age group, and some teenagers have decided to live up to the negative press.

But, knowing such stereotypes abounded, J.L. and I wanted all four of our children to believe that these years would be great in the midst of the challenges. We hoped and prayed they would fully enjoy this season.

So far, there has been an interesting mix of loveliness, anger, girl drama, kindness, competition, and either too many showers or not enough. We keep reminding ourselves that teenagers are in a huge transition, moving out of childhood and figuring out what it means to be an adult.

I do enjoy their fresh perspectives, even if they are unrealistic at times. It’s always a blessing to see a sweet sensitivity to the Holy Spirit’s work in their lives when they grasp spiritual truths well enough to share with their friends. Trish recently helped two classmates turn to the Lord for their troubled dating relationship. She came home thrilled with how God had guided her.

We have also found that some teenage craziness is normal, 41

so parents should get prepared for it. A parent’s good sense of humor is extremely important—so plan on that too. Teenage girls will talk about boys. But teenage boys will think about girls more often than they will talk about them. Both may listen to music louder than is humanly healthy, be insistent on hair and clothing styles, fuss with their siblings, and keep messy rooms. All these areas need guidance, so look to the Lord for His wisdom.

Because our goal is to rear children into responsible adults, they need to be given responsibilities progressively as they grow up so maturity is the end result. We parents need to prepare them for coming adulthood and give them as many grown-up tasks as we determine they can handle. Some of those are mowing yards, babysitting, making simple repairs, painting, helping a neighbor, cleaning house, cooking, etc.

This afternoon, April decided she wanted to be in charge of the whole evening meal and prepared a nicely balanced supper for us.

Recently, I told our four that I was going to write an article (this one) on teenagers. Did they have anything they wanted me to put in it? I thought you would be interested in eavesdropping on some of the discussion that took place around our kitchen table. Joseph and Jonathan (11 and 9) were eager to contribute their observations on the subject!

Joseph responded immediately with a smile, “They’re so boring, sometimes annoying and crazy, and are always kissing their younger brothers!” Trish enjoyed his analysis and replied, “We’re just normal people.” “Could have fooled me,” he said. Trish and April laughed and said, “That’s because you don’t understand adult life.” Everyone got a big 42

charge out of that one.

After listening to this, Jonathan humorously summed up his sisters this way: “You’re picky about what to wear and then you wear tacky clothes. You are fun, but not all the time. You think about boys, take things too seriously, and I’ll never think about girls like that or be anything like that!”

We all howled.

Mostly, teenagers need to know they are loved, respected, valued as people, and that their opinions matter. Even if we parents don’t agree with their logic, teenagers especially need to know they’ve been heard. Yes, the teenage years are emotional. So, as I said earlier, be prepared for that and make yourselves available to help them get through the tough parts. We should work at catching them in the act of doing good and praise them for it. A home should never be ruled by ridicule or harsh criticism.

All this takes a time commitment on our part. So let’s make it our goal to set aside time to sit and listen, to explain the boundaries (again), to correct, to praise. You can count on them to have academic struggles, do a job second best, or wear makeup that is too thick or have weird hair or make dating choices that are less than desirable. These instances demand we take as much time as necessary to meet the need of the moment with love, firmness, understanding, words of encouragement, boundaries, or constructive criticism.

J.L. and I will have 13 consecutive years of teenagers in our home before the last one goes off to college or to a job.

We will need nothing less than God’s wisdom and strength.

But we will also be expecting great times of just plain fun! It will be wonderful, trying, funny, exhausting, delightful, and 43

frustrating—but oh so worth the adventure!

And so, we pray for ourselves because we still have two more to get through the teenage years. J.L. and I know we will never be the perfect parents so we will need a lot of help from the Lord. We pray for our four children, that they, being rooted and established in Christ’s love, will “no longer be infants, tossed back and forth . . . blown here and there,” but instead “will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ” (Ephesians 4:14–15).

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Life in Missions

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Norma in NYC When I was about 19 and a student at Asbury College in Wilmore, Kentucky, an announcement was made asking for help ringing bells for the Salvation Army during Christmas break. Since it sounded like a wonderful way to serve the Lord, I signed up.

As it turned out, I was assigned to New York City, and not just any part of the city. I was given three places among which to rotate: the Empire State Building, Macy’s Department Store, and Saks Fifth Avenue. It’s hard to imagine it now, but those were the days when the bell ringers stood behind huge kettles and people tossed dollars and coins into the open pots. We were never robbed nor did we sense any danger nor did we have an armed guard. Money was collected before sunset and there were no problems.

On Sundays, I went sightseeing with other volunteers. We toured the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, and Marble Collegiate Church, pastored by Norman Vincent Peale. In retrospect, as terrific as it was—and it really was—it was nothing compared to what I really saw while I was there. But I’m getting ahead of my story.

All the girls who volunteered to ring bells were housed in the Salvation Army women’s shelter. We were each provided a single bed, a small table, a lamp, a chair, a pillow, sheets, and a blanket. I was separated from the women on either 47

side by tall, dark curtains that almost reached the floor. My rectangular space was just long enough for the bed and wide enough for me to walk along one side of it. Breakfast and supper were available in the dining hall for all the women, both the volunteers and the homeless.

Near the beginning of the three weeks I was there, I remember eating supper next to a homeless woman named Norma—sixtyish, very poor, sometimes sickly, and not too clean. But she was open and friendly with us girls. She looked like she wore everything she owned every day, with lots of layers of threadbare clothing, the same well-worn coat, pockets stuffed with “stuff,” old mittens, and scuffed boots. She always had a shopping bag full of other possessions. Norma was not mentally disabled, but something was amiss.

I was determined not to let anything deter me from being friendly to her as we passed each other on the way to and from meals or the bathroom. I always smiled and called her by name and she returned the same. She fussed over me, worrying that I was getting too cold or wasn’t getting enough sleep or food.

One evening just before supper, I was sitting on my bed.

It had been a bitterly cold eight-hour day and I was shivering, still in my coat, hat, and gloves. Norma pulled back the curtain and stood at the foot of my bed. “You not dressed very warm,” she said. I replied, “You’ve got that right. I hadn’t thought about how cold I’d get standing outside all day during a New York winter.”

“Here, you need this,” she said, showing me the stack of newspapers she was holding. “Tear up pages and put in shoes.

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Keep feet warm.” Then she said, “Stand up. Spread arms out.” She proceeded to show me how to fold more newspaper pages under my arms, around my body, and down my pant legs.

Since she herself roamed the streets all day long, and sometimes stayed out all night, she’d figured out a very effective way to stay warm. She was quite pleased when she finished arranging the newspapers so they wouldn’t fall out, especially if I moved around too much. “Much warmer,” she proclaimed.

She was exactly right—the layers of newspaper were much warmer. I followed her example the rest of my time in New York. Her tender heart for me was overwhelming . . . and humbling. I had an extra pair of gloves and gave them to her. It seemed like such a small thing to do for such a great display of concern but I wanted to do something.

We often sat at meals together and talked about Jesus.

Sometimes she would argue that God couldn’t possibly be interested in a poor, worn-out old woman with so many wasted years. I would gently argue back that because of Jesus’ sacrificial death for her, she was very special to God, and to me. None of us had to wait until we were perfect in our own eyes before God cared for us.

All too soon it was late afternoon on Christmas Eve. The stores were closing so the bell ringing was done. It was time for me to go back home. Norma was distressed that I was leaving, shifting back and forth on her feet, not able to speak clearly about what she was feeling. I was sad to leave her too because we had developed such a sweet friendship.

As the car pulled up, we stood outside in the falling snow 49

to say our goodbyes. I hugged her and said, “Merry Christmas, Norma, I love you. I’m so glad God let us be friends.”

Still going from foot to foot, Norma said, “I don’t have nothing for you.” I tried to assure her that her friendship and concern was just the kind of present that meant the most to me. But she continued to shift back and forth.

I can still see myself backing away from her as I waved goodbye. She sadly waved back. When I got to the car, I turned slightly to the right to open the back door and then turned to look at her again. Just as I did, Norma came hurrying toward me. In the time it took for her to get to me, she had taken off her only coat, folded it up, and pushed it into my arms. The momentum of her giving me the coat pushed me into the back seat, and the door was closed. I whipped around, attempting to protest as we pulled away. All I saw in that last glimpse of her was a great big smile spread across her whole face.

Out of my abundance, I had given her my extra pair of gloves. Norma, out of her poverty, had given me all she had.

Her gift was my first personal experience in what sacrificial giving looked like, a lesson I would observe often in our international partners over the years. But for me today, 57 years later, Norma’s generosity inspires me still. When I get to heaven, I don’t think I’ll regret any sacrifice I ever made in Jesus’ name. My regret will be that I did it so seldom . . . and so poorly.

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A Contented Heart Contentment. Each trip to Haiti challenges me. I reexamine my lifestyle, my giving, my keeping, my eating, my everything. And that’s good because I want my life to be in its proper balance before the Lord. Haiti is sort of my final exam! It is there that I find out if I have “learned the secret of being content in any and every situation” (Philippians 4:12).

Please join me as I reflect over our month’s stay in the tropics this past summer.

My initial error was that I hadn’t learned contentment and appreciation before I left. Here’s a shallow and immature example of my distress, which I reluctantly share with some shame: the color of my washer didn’t match my dryer. I was very concerned about a possible house-decorating faux pas. When I got to Haiti, I had neither washer nor dryer and would have been thrilled with purple ones! (When we returned home, I ran to my laundry room and just looked at them, profoundly grateful for my wonderfully mismatched appliances!)

We Americans take a lot for granted. I know I do. I assume I will have continuous electricity, pure water, air-conditioning or heat, smooth roads, and a variety of items available to me, from hair spray to peanut butter. I imagine my grandmothers would have been amused as I struggled through daily chores 51

in Haiti. I fumbled to make mayonnaise, keep candles and matches on hand for when the electricity went out, and use bathtubs for laundry—washing sheets, jeans, and towels was the hardest. Poor me . . .

We Americans are an instant people. We live by the clock, travel by car, fly to places far away, rush to meetings, eat frozen dinners, etc. Most of the developing world lives by the sun and travels by foot, donkey, or cart or truck, and prepares meals from scratch. For an American like me, the slower pace of life brought out the impatience in me. With no Food Lion or Walmart, grocery shopping could take all morning.

Then the raw foods had to be soaked in mild bleach to kill the parasites. Sorting rice was necessary to remove the rocks and bugs and took even more time.

Comparing my daily life at home to life in Port-au-Prince put me in a tough place emotionally because, as I said, I had not learned patience and contentment in North Carolina.

But, it was good to be shaken up like this. When I saw the joy, generosity, and friendliness of our Haitian partners who had so little, I wondered why I was dissatisfied when I had so much. Maybe, little by little, I had started to resemble the seed sown among the thorns in Matthew 13:22. Jesus said this seed was like a man who heard the Word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choked it, making it unfruitful.

I had to come to a place of repentance for my ungrateful spirit and accept the forgiveness that Christ offered. Once again, with His help, I am putting material possessions in their proper place and looking with gratitude at all He has provided. My desire is to mature into a woman with the right 52

Christlike attitude instead of stressing about just the right look. If the right look should work out, it will be because God intervened and brought it about, not because I finagled or worried or let it consume me.

This lesson has been painful but necessary. It may not be the last time I will struggle with it, either. But, struggle I must. The Lord has shown me that our children will also be the beneficiaries of J.L.’s and my balanced lives. We know that as a seed grows, it always, always matures to look like the parent plant. We have a responsibility to our children, to the Haitians, to everyone, to exemplify this fact: true contentment lies in Christ Jesus—and can be found nowhere else.

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Dollars and Sense J.L. and I began marriage with strong opinions about money. It was a tool to be used wisely to provide for our tithes, savings, gifts, and vacations, as well as housing, food, and clothing. Unfortunately, neither he nor I was gifted in the area of financial management. We struggled with a budget before we were married, and afterward too, even before we had children.

We were very open with our children about our successes as we tried to be good managers of the resources God had entrusted to us. We also wanted them to see how faith worked when we either didn’t have the money or had failed in budgeting it. We spent lots of time in prayer, and the Lord’s amazing answers to those prayers built our faith and made financial provision all the more meaningful.

J.L. was great in teaching us to believe that God would absolutely and positively take care of us. But, there were times when it was obvious that my happiness was only possible if we had enough money. But we pressed on as best we could, emphasizing basic principles of money management.

Each time our four children received money for a job well done, they immediately set aside their tithe (at least 10%) and savings (at least 10%). That didn’t mean they got to spend the remaining 80% on anything they wanted. We were 55

directly involved until he or she exemplified responsible use of their funds. Along with this came the difficult lesson of delayed gratification, which I think was made easier because we didn’t have much anyway.

J.L. recalls taking Trish shopping for “designer” jeans. After saving for a long time, she finally had $20 for this gottahave-it item. J.L. prayed with her before they got out of the car that the Lord would direct her to just the right pair if it was His will. Methodically, she combed through the racks at the front of the store. Hmm . . . nothing available for under $35. So she moved to the sales rack in the back. There they were—jeans for $20, and they fit!

While they were waiting in line to pay, New Directions member Nancy Lamm came up to greet them. Trish showed off her soon-to-be prized possession, only to hear Nancy say, “Oh, don’t buy those. My father manages a clothing store and he just gave me a stack of designer jeans. You can have whatever you need.” Could it be true? Sure enough, a couple of them were exactly the right size, and definitely the right price—free! What a wonderful lesson for God to teach a teachable young teenager.

On another occasion, the kids and I were seated on the living room floor, making a list of items that needed to be purchased for various school needs and activities. I honestly told them we didn’t have the money and we should pray, asking God to provide for them if that was His will.

When we finished our prayers, we continued talking about our dilemma. We heard the mail drop through the slot at the front door, and one of them ran to get it. The rest of us went on with our discussion. The mail was dumped on the floor in 56

front of me and I mindlessly sorted through the pile while we talked: bills . . . advertisements . . . letters addressed to “Current Resident.” Somewhere near the bottom was a smaller envelope, and in the envelope, all by itself, was $20. We whooped and hollered!

The children received payment for completing chores that J.L. had posted on the refrigerator, as well as money earned from their many Kool-Aid stands. They put their tithe in an old red tin coffee pot we had brought back from Haiti one year. After it was full, they sat around the kitchen table and counted it. They made the decision about where it should go. The money was immediately dispersed and the process began again.

I don’t remember every decision or how many times they filled up the coffee pot. But I do know that they sent one pot full to buy a little hand-pump organ for a rural church in India. Another time they sent their tithe to a needy minister and his family in our town.

We encouraged them to give secretly, based on Matthew 6:1–4. I think we all enjoyed that kind of giving the most because it strengthened our faith. If only I could tell you the wonderful stories of their stealth-like giving! But they will have to remain secret.

They had fun with their money too, especially when buying candy, one of their most frequent purchases. Each child was an individual when it came to handling money. Jonathan was super diligent in saving money. He took lots of time when buying things. When the rest of us were lean and mean because our reserves were closing in on zero, he alone had a surplus.

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April would have “given away the farm,” as they say. With her tender heart, every needy, sad, or depressed friend had to be given something to make them feel better. She often made homemade cards that always included a smiling face.

Trish was well organized and knew where every penny went.

She never rounded off to the nearest dollar like I did, and she creatively made gifts to give away. Joseph was another great organizer, a clever secret giver, and very good at knowing just the right gift and buying it at the best price.

God used money to teach us about His faithful provision and also about ourselves. These have been precious lessons.

I’m so grateful He didn’t leave us to figure this out by ourselves. God will supply every need in His way, on His timetable, according to His will. He will always be faithful to His promises and we, His children, will be blessed as we trust in Him. Here are some Scriptures I have found helpful when dealing with finances: Deuteronomy 8:17–18; Malachi 3:10; Philippians 4:11–13; 1 Timothy 6:5–12a; and Hebrews 13:5.

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A Special Woman Sometimes in our travels, J.L. and I come across Christians who have suffered greatly for their faith. Here is the story of a couple that has been especially meaningful and challenging to me.

Dil and Thulimaya Tamang lived in Kudule, a small village in Nepal. But there was a problem. Thulimaya had seizures from time to time, falling down and rolling around on the ground. Dil grew very concerned as the fits increased in frequency. He hired local witch doctors to cast spells over her, but to no avail. Even witch doctors from neighboring villages had no success.

Besides the seizures, Dil’s other concern was that the witch doctors demanded payment for casting spells. In addition to money, they required rice, alcohol, and an animal to be sacrificed on the sacred stone. The animal’s blood was also sprinkled around the hut and on the patient while the doctors spoke incantations to the spirit world. In spite of many attempts to cure Thulimaya, she was no better. In fact, her worsening state threatened her life because she sometimes rolled dangerously close to the cooking fires.

One day a neighbor came to see Dil and said he had just returned from a nearby village. He told about meeting a group of people who sang songs and prayed for the sick. And, most 59

amazingly, “the people were made well.” Dil had run out of finances to pay the witch doctors and was frightened for his wife’s deteriorating condition. He agreed to ask those people to come and pray for his wife.

And pray they did! Thulimaya was healed! Both she and her husband accepted Jesus as their Savior and Lord. She was very happy to be healed and very excited with the new freedom from fear that Christ provided. She just couldn’t keep the good news to herself and became the first evangelist in their village. Everyone could see the miraculous change in her life and it became the main topic of conversation for a long time.

Soon others came to Christ and a small group of them started meeting in their home for prayer and Bible study. On the whole, village life began to improve, especially in how they treated each other and how they dealt with demon possession and the sick.

This, however, was bad news for the witch doctors whose business—and income—had sharply dropped off. They were furious and decided this couple had to be stopped. So they hired a group of thugs to break into their home during the evening church service. Focusing their attack on the couple, the men beat them severely, stole their animals and possessions, and destroyed the home. Dil and Thulimaya were left for dead.

After the evil men were gone, their friends returned to find both of them unconscious. They put their limp bodies onto makeshift stretchers and carried them for hours to the nearest road. Then they put them on a bus for the long ride to the nearest hospital. Both of them remained in a coma for 60

many days. Their friends took turns watching over them and praying.

Dil died three weeks later from injuries sustained in the beating. Thulimaya was four months pregnant and miscarried. She was bruised on almost every part of her body. After she was released from the hospital, she was asked how she felt about what had been done to her. Was she resentful against the men who had taken so much from her? Her response was humble: “It was an honor to suffer for Christ.”

When we heard about Thulimaya, we told some of our US partners, who willingly contributed enough funds to pay for her hospital costs, rebuild a home for her in a safer area, and replenish her livestock. She still tells others about the joy of suffering for Christ and her willingness to be faithful to Him no matter the cost.

We have never been called upon to suffer like that. Yet, even today, there are thousands upon thousands of Christians who suffer and die for righteousness’ sake. A great reward awaits those who choose to follow Jesus, whether the cost is great or small. Let us pray for the persecuted Church!

Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death . . . destitute, persecuted and mistreated—the world was not worthy of them. . . . These were all commended for their faith.

Hebrews 11:36–39

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Chairlady It’s been an honor to meet some very special people in my travels with J.L., although it would seem that they and I had nothing in common. We shared neither education, culture, home life, nor economics.

In Kenya, a Samburu woman was introduced to me as “Chairlady.” Missionary Dale Beverly had explained to us that the Samburu tribe in northern Kenya believed they had been cut off from God because of the sin of one man. As the story goes, there used to be a rope that hung from heaven to earth. If anyone wanted to talk to God, all they had to do was climb the rope to get into His presence.

One of the richest men in the village climbed the rope to ask God for more cattle (a sign of wealth in this tribe). God denied him because He saw the request as greed. The man climbed back down to earth and in anger took his machete and cut down the rope. The Samburu have been separated from God ever since. So, once a year, the chief and the elders climb the highest mountain to sacrifice a spotless goat, confessing the past sins of the tribe over the blood. Through oral tradition, they know that there can be no forgiveness of sins without the shedding of blood from a perfect sacrifice.

That’s the history that brings us to Chairlady. Let me add here that no matter where in the world she had lived, she 63

would have been the boss, in charge, Chairman of the Board!

One day, Chairlady came upon a man and woman who didn’t look like anyone from her tribe or from her neighboring tribes. Their skin was bleached and the woman had hair on her head. She was not at all attractive like the Samburu women with their shaved heads. But this couple was singing (she loved to sing) and telling stories (she loved stories).

They were standing under the tree that was on the way to the river where she went to get water every day.

She sat down on a nearby log and listened to all that the different-looking people had to say. The part she was especially drawn to was that there was a God to whom she could talk—One who loved her and would help her live a better life. Over time, she learned that, yes, there was one man who had indeed sinned and cut off everyone else from God. And a perfect sacrifice had already been made by a man named Jesus; no other sacrifices were necessary.

So, she did what she did best—be in charge. Whether down at the river, out gathering wood, or just around the village, she told the other women the great news about God. Soon there was a nice-sized group of ladies gathered under the tree. After going over the plan of salvation, missionaries Dale and SuZann explained that everyone could personally know this God. Chairlady accepted Christ as her Savior.

Eventually, a church was born of women and men who came to the tree to hear about Jesus.

It was really exciting to see the good news of Jesus Christ travel through this people group. I watched as J.L. assisted Dale in baptizing Chairlady in the river, surrounded by a host of tribal people, both Christians and the curious. It was 64

a privilege to go from there to the church to participate in her first communion. A women’s choir was later formed, headed up by none other than Chairlady!

When the men began coming to Christ, whole families followed. Soon, there was a youth choir and a second church established in neighboring South Horr. The first national pastor was Stakwell, whose father had been the first man to accept Christ. The churches kept growing. Eventually, the leadership became nationalized because the children grew up and took over the preaching and evangelism—one of those children was Chairlady’s son!

The Samburu body of Christ is much like the church here in the US, struggling to stay separated from the world yet actively involved in reaching the lost. I pray for them to remain steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of Christ. May the marvelous news of God’s love continue throughout all their generations.

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Life Lessons

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Wonderful Words of Life My parents became Christians when I was 11, and a new life began for me. We started attending church on Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, and Wednesday nights. One of the songs I learned as a preteen still touches my heart: Words of life and beauty, Teach me faith and duty: Beautiful words, wonderful words, Wonderful words of life. (“Wonderful Words of Life,” Philip P. Bliss, 1874) They have truly been words of life for me since I began my Christian walk at the age of 15. But, something is happening to me during this season of life. Instead of finding the balance between rest (spending quality time with Him) and work (involved in ministry for Him), I seem to be caught up in the tyranny of the urgent.

First of all, I have road rage and I’m always in a hurry. My mother and I shared the same philosophy: “Any car in front of me is in the way!” So, weaving past drivers who, annoyingly, drive the speed limit or a little under, I maneuver my way to 69

be first in the line of cars. I must beat the yellow-turning-red light. Why? I have a lot to do for God, and faster is better, that’s why!

My devotional time with the Lord? Aha! The Lord knows how busy I am, so the past few months I’ve cut back on the time I spend in prayer and in His Word. I’m sure He understands how crazy my life is. These are the Last Days and much on the list has to be completed before He returns. There are letters to write, women’s conferences to prepare for, overseas trips to make.

How long I might have remained at this frenetic pace is hard to say, but two things happened to stop the madness. Looking back, it’s difficult to explain why this first incident sent me over the edge, but it did.

J.L. had just gotten off the telephone and was excitedly telling me about a local restaurant that was going to be remodeled. The owners were replacing their old solarium and wanted to know if he was interested in all the framing and glass.

What did I think? Oh no, I panicked, another project, another thing—and a huge thing at that—to be added to the list, my list. How could my very distressed self ever keep up? I was doomed to fail, which was always my greatest fear.

The second thing happened about 24 hours later. I was listening to Richard Swenson, MD, on the radio talking about his book Margin. It was about having a buffer zone. Without this buffer, this reserve of emotion and strength, the very next thing that demands any effort, whether big or little, good or bad, results in an inability to respond. If a person always runs to the edge of his emotional reserve, he will eventually reach a situation where he needs more, but has nothing left to draw 70

from. Yes, that’s what had happened to me.

He also reminded his listeners that nowhere in the Bible is it recorded that Jesus ran anywhere. Certainly He was very busy every day, but Scripture never says that He hurried or rushed off to do His Father’s will. Then Dr. Swenson asked, “Whatever happened to the ‘still waters’?” Yes, what had happened to mine?

There had been plenty of warning signs for me. There was the inability to relax, fitful sleep, an annoying eye infection that only occurred when I was overwhelmed, consumption of large quantities of sugared items for energy, impatience with interruptions, anger at all the stupid drivers, tears never far away, etc. My solution was to work faster, harder, longer, later.

However, at every critical point in my Christian life, when I have finally come to the end of myself, I have found such solace and strength by absorbing myself in the Word of God. So, I turned there again, to the wonderful words of life where I found the peace and rest I so desperately, desperately needed.

The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves.

He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephaniah 3:17 Thank You, Lord, for that peaceful and wonderful promise.

Please quiet me with Your love and sing those truths over me again and again.

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He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths for his name’s sake.

Psalm 23:2–3 O Lord, You desire that I lie down and You want to lead me to quiet waters that will restore my soul. Once that is completed, You will guide me in the paths You have designed for me.

Thank You that “Your Word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path” (Psalm 119:105).

It’s clear to me now that I tend to be like Martha in Luke 10:38–42, so distracted by her work for Jesus (and good work it was) and hurrying to get everything done (for Jesus) that she entirely missed the most needful items from His perspective: stillness, listening, and worship.

He promises to keep me in perfect peace in the midst of all my worthy endeavors when my mind is steadfast on Him (Isaiah 26:3). So, besides trusting the Lord to temper my driving, I’ve added a new prayer to my quiet times: “Thy list be done.”

The Lord has been faithful to continually redirect my activities, thoughts, and emotions. That’s one of His specialties. I can always count on His wonderful, wonderful Words of life to guide me through the challenges of my busy life.

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My Bill of Rights Newspapers, magazines, and TV shows tell me that I have the right to be happy, to work less, look younger, be thinner, and enjoy instant gratification. I am writing this in 1982, but I’m reminded of a time in 1972 when I was pushing hard for my rights.

J.L. and I lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment when Trish was three and a half, April was two, and I was six months pregnant with Joseph. Some of you know the emotional swings of being pregnant or having children at these ages. If you combine those with one of my tragic flaws—insecurity—it was not a pretty picture.

J.L.’s family affirmed and accepted me to a fault. His mother, Edith Crouse Williams, was especially helpful whenever she came to visit. She was very capable, flexible, and confident—all things I wanted to be but didn’t feel I was. One day, during a visit, she told us she didn’t want to live alone.

She wanted to buy a house in Burlington and live in one part, while we rented the rest from her.

Two thoughts came to mind. First, awesome! She will be a happy addition, a great help, and a source of wisdom for my busy household and for me. Second, terrible! Now my Yankee cooking will be compared to her delicious Southern cuisine, her entertaining skills to my lack of them, and her financial 73

genius to my unbalanced budget.

Insecurity and fear moved to number one as I directly and indirectly tried to explain to J.L. why living together wasn’t going to work out. My argument bordered on demanding my right to be in my own home and to be queen of the manor. In spite of my protests, we moved in with her later that year.

We each had our own kitchen, so I was surprised when I met her coming out of mine in our early days together. She said, apologetically, “I’m sorry, Patt. I was only trying to help.

I was just cleaning up and I guess I clogged up the sink.” I stormed past her to the sink. Sure enough, it was filled to the top with dirty dishwater. My hands angrily grabbed the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white.

“SEE, GOD,” I mentally spewed out to Him, “I told You this would never work! You can’t expect me to live with this the rest of my life!”

Looking at the mess in front of me, I begrudgingly reached down into the nasty water to try and determine the cause of the stoppage. “Oh . . .” I spoke almost inaudibly. “She just didn’t pull out the stopper.” I vaguely remember laughing and crying at the same time. Then, the still small voice said, “Nothing bad is going to happen that you and I can’t handle if you will just trust Me.” We lived with Edith for six years before her death. God used her in so many ways to help mature, love, and direct me. Oh, the wealth of common sense and spiritual insight that she shared with me. She helped me grow up through many difficult times. I could tell lots of stories about her keen perceptions, but here’s just one that happened early in our days together. It set such a lovely tone for the rest of our time in the 74

same house.

The details of the specific offense are not clear to me now, but Trish, almost four, had been rude to her grandmother. She needed to apologize but wouldn’t do it. I took her into her bedroom and explained again what she had done wrong and what she needed to do. When she still refused to apologize, I spanked her and left her alone, closing the door behind me.

Edith was seated on the sofa crocheting. I sat down next to her. We could hear Trish’s painful cries. After it went on for a while, I said, “I told her she’s not coming out until she apologizes. What she did was wrong and I’ll not have her treat you so disrespectfully.”

Trish continued to sob and Edith continued to crochet. Still looking down at her pattern, she said ever so softly, “Yes, she was wrong to do what she did.” Then a slight pause. “But, I’ve learned that the most spiritually mature person takes the first steps toward reconciliation.”

“But that’s me!” I said, shocked as I could be at the revelation. Edith put her work in her lap, looked kindly at me, and nodded. Oh my, I had been the one in charge of the discipline, so I had to be the one to begin the reconciliation. I jumped up, opened the bedroom door, and scooped up Trish in my arms.

She grabbed me tightly and I carried her to the sofa. By now we were all crying, Trish was apologizing, and lots of cuddling went on among the three of us.

Edith dispensed wisdom, cooked a million fantastic meals (chicken and dumplings, and homemade donuts!), rocked my babies for a million miles, and was also a blessing to her extended family and many friends. When she died on that Thanksgiving morning, I realized I had not just lost my moth75

er-in-law, but also a very good friend. My rights. What if I had won my argument with J.L. to reject Edith’s original offer to live together and had never really gotten to know her?

Christ is my example of the One who gave up all His rights and privileges in submission to His Father’s will. I thought I knew what God’s will was for me. But only He knew what would perfectly mold me into the person I was meant to be.

I’ve often wished I could die to myself once and be done with it. Ha! I have died many times to my right to be right. As the old song goes, “He’s still working on me.” All of us who love Him must lay down our rights at the foot of the cross, so we may grow into the new Christlike person He created us to become.

I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings. . . . Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.

Philippians 3:10, 12

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An Attitude Upgrade Attitudes have been on my mind lately. Webster’s defines attitude as “a mental position with regard to a fact or state.” A mental position . . . it comes down to my thinking and perception. There are some attitudes or mental positions that I think are important for Christians in determining whether or not we experience victory in our lives.

First, what is my attitude about God? Do I see Him as someone I can completely trust with my life and everything that happens to me? Is He my ultimate authority? Is He more important than the opinions of friends, the pressures of TV, or even women’s organizations? Can God be trusted? Psalm 46:1–2 tells us this: God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.

I love those verses because there have been days when I thought my world had indeed been removed and carried into the middle of the sea! But if I believe Him at His word that He is my refuge and strength, then I have a foundation upon which all the attitudes of my life can be built. Being a woman, wife, and mother is a crucial place to trust God because I need 77

strength and wisdom in those areas every day.

If we leave God out of any part of our lives, we will be defeated. We may win the battle, but the war will be lost. Another verse to keep in mind is Psalm 127:1, which says, “Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain.” I found this to be true time and time again, especially during traumatic times with our children. Trish got pneumonia in the sixth grade, with a temperature between 103 and 104 degrees for ten days straight. On the tenth evening, it went to 105.4. She weakly asked, “Am I going to die?”

April suffered from ear infections, hearing loss, and illnesses for much of her preschool years. One hot July afternoon I turned to find four-year-old Joseph face down in a swimming pool. “I kept calling you, Momma, but you didn’t hear me!”

Two-week-old Jonathan got whooping cough. It took three years before he fully recovered and started to sleep all night.

But God was faithful in supplying the strength and gentleness that I needed to get through those really difficult times with each child.

As our attitudes mature, we need to keep in mind that His concern for our lives is not casual pity. He loves us so much He gave His Son to die for our sins. He wants us to have an attitude of trust and to be confident in His sufficiency.

Another vital attitude for you and me is how we look at ourselves. Do we like who we are? Elisabeth Elliot, missionary and author, talks about accepting our givens. We all have certain things over which we have no control, like parents, birth date, and eye color.

If you could change one of your givens, what would it be? If you have one you don’t like, say your race, sex, or height, you 78

are letting God know you don’t like His work, that He’s crazy to think you could live with that, whatever that is.

It’s very comforting to come to the realization that you will be the happiest when you accept how He has made you.

Thank Him for making you unique and special. He needs you to be just the way you are to do the ministry He has prepared for you to do.

I like the little saying that ends with “. . . ‘cause God don’t make no junk.” Atrocious grammar, but clear truth! God doesn’t do any job halfway. To all of us who turn to Him, He gives the potential and the ability to be the most fulfilled we will ever be. Of course, there are things we can and should change. In those places, we need to obey when we know God wants us to improve in attitude or behavior.

My attitude toward chocolate desperately needs to change.

I LOVE it! I’m positive it is part of my DNA passed along to me by my parents, whose love for it is as intense as mine.

Besides, my guilt is eased because I have someone to blame!

I suppose you could call me a chocoholic because my attitude resembles that of an alcoholic.

For a long time, I used chocolate as a sugar boost when tired.

I had hiding places around the house. I made up rules, like no chocolate before lunch or it’s OK when used as a reward for being especially patient with the children. There were a few times when I bundled up all four of our children in our little red wagon in the pouring rain, gave each an umbrella, and walked to the store so I could get a candy bar. It seemed that the more pressure I was under, the more I had to have chocolate.

As my attitudes about God began to mature and because He 79

had proven Himself so faithful in dealing with other weaknesses and because I could clearly see my attitude had degenerated into a belief that my struggles could only be calmed by sweets, I decided to trust Him with chocolate. Was it easy?

No, no, NO! Everything had to change—my attitude, my mindset, and my coping mechanisms. It meant going to God first in a stressful situation instead of putting a Hershey bar in my mouth.

Developing into a disciplined person in this area took time, lots of prayer, determination, and, of course, God’s help. Bear with me here, but I had sown chocolate and reaped a dependency on something other than God. My new attitude was to sow faith into God’s promises so I could reap a harvest of righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit.

Many times my attitudes have needed upgrading or replacing in such areas as money, health, clothes, marriage, etc. But, I have found that God is willing to meet me at any door I am willing to open. It has not been easy, but it has been possible.

The One who is equal to any challenge is also able to get you and me to the victory lane in the areas where we struggle.

He’s big enough to give us the strength and wisdom, so let’s let Him do it!

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Circa 1978 Just when I felt that things were finally leveling out, that maybe I was doing a pretty good job as a wife and mother, circumstances brought me back to reality. Doing it on my own, without Christ as my strength, meant there would be no “success” for me.

One day last week, when Trish and April were in school, Joseph, Jonathan, and I had a normal morning of games, diaper changes, Sesame Street, reading, and snacks. Just before company was to come for lunch, J.L. came into the kitchen and wanted a haircut. I was glad to do it, and glad to have an adult with whom I could carry on an adult conversation.

But, when he sat down and started reading a Christian magazine, I felt myself getting uptight. I knew I should tell him about wanting to talk with him. But one of my many tragic flaws has been this rule: “If J.L. really loves me he will know what I need without me saying a word.” I approached this situation the same way. I started the haircut trying to talk in spite of his reading. He answered only briefly with yeses and nos.

In my agitation, I was getting a little careless with the cutting.

Since their parents were thus occupied, Joseph and Jonathan seemed to sense that this was the time to explore some heretofore forbidden areas. Jonathan pushed a chair over to the bulletin board and proceeded to pull down all the pins and 81

pictures. Putting down the scissors and comb, I calmly picked up the pins and pictures, and moved the child and the chair.

That’s when I noticed that Joseph had gotten a can of chicken noodle soup and was trying to open it with the electric can opener. Again, I calmly walked over and removed the child from the countertop, opened the can, and let him “make” the soup in a pan near the sink.

As I turned to continue J.L.’s haircut, I discovered Jonathan playing in the hair that had fallen to the floor. I not so calmly brushed him off, moved him away, and began cutting again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Joseph as he attempted to carry the full pan of soup across the room to the stove. “But, Momma, I’m so hungry!” Had he been telling me that for a while and I wasn’t paying attention? I grabbed the pan just in time!

It was now 15 minutes before the company’s arrival and I hadn’t even started lunch. In my haste to hurry up the haircut, J.L.’s earlobe got in the way. Yep, it got in the way. Needless to say, he stopped talking to me in yeses and nos! Besides having many outstanding distinctives as a preacher and teacher, he now had another one: a pierced ear.

In final exasperation, I announced to him that I was sorry but I could not continue any longer. He’d have to make do with what hair had been cut. Somewhat disappointed, he left the room for a shower. I removed Jonathan, who was now on top of the table, told Joseph not to stir the soup quite so fast (what a mess!), swept up the hair, and proceeded to the counter to make lunch.

With only minutes to spare, I prayed that our guests would be late, but I didn’t pray for the Lord to help me. At that par82

ticular moment, Jonathan accidently bumped into the broom, sending the wooden handle crashing to the floor. That was it!

The last straw! “JONATHAN!” I screamed. Poor little boy, his eyes were as big as saucers as he cowered in the corner.

My scream startled Joseph too, who slopped even more soup onto the stove. Less than a minute after that, the doorbell rang.

It’s hard to explain all that went through my mind—and heart—as I went to cheerfully (?) welcome our guests. I was completely losing it, and was definitely not the perfect woman of God I had hoped to present.

All mixed up in that moment were things I knew to be true: God is our ever-present help, His grace is sufficient, it’s not all about me, and, finally, that making friends feel at home is the main goal. Our company was very gracious to help get lunch ready, wipe up the extra soup, remove the leftover hair from Jonathan’s clothes, and play with the boys. They never drew attention to the gouges in J.L.’s haircut or his pierced ear.

The lunch was so wonderful that I exhaled soon into the meal. All of the pre-lunch activity had caught me off guard, but it hadn’t been a surprise to God. I thanked Him for a very painful lesson about leaning on Him at the start of a “situation,” rather than going to Him at the tail end when nerves are raw and patience is nil. Communicating with J.L. about my feelings would have alleviated the start of my frustrations. He would have understood and either postponed the haircut or put the magazine away.

Hindsight is one of God’s gifts to us so we can do a better job the next time around. I don’t know why it always takes me so long to turn to the Lord for strength and wisdom in the beginning. I seem to have to learn things the hard way, going 83

over the same lessons again and again. I want to learn them fast, thoroughly, and be done with them.

All of us have frustrating circumstances that threaten to derail us, whether it’s a spouse, children, classmates, sickness, in-laws, losing a job, etc. Whatever it is, God’s grace will be sufficient. Trust me on this: He will give us the victory as we surrender our pride, our rights, our plans to Him right away, and daily let Him guide and sustain us with His wisdom and strength.

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Just a Housewife “Do you work or are you just a housewife and mother?”

The next person who asks me that had better duck! Personally, I think the question should be rephrased, “Are you a housewife and mother or do you just work?” Ever since I decided to become one of those, I have been bombarded by people questioning my sanity.

“What about fulfillment?” they ask. “After all, when you work outside the home, you can arrange your home time so you spend quality time with your kid(s), instead of benign quantity time. Why be stuck at home with dishes, diapers, and dusting? Anyone as active as you were in real ministry must find it hard to be just a housewife and mother. How do you stand it?”

Well, what about fulfillment? For me, nothing is more fulfilling than being the primary influence in my preschool children’s lives. There are so many tender moments that can’t be scripted into quality time.

Quantity time is extremely important. Often in those hours the first words are spoken, the first steps taken, the spur-ofthe-moment tea parties enjoyed, bouquets of dandelions presented, and oh, the morning walks. There is plenty of time to answer questions like, “Will we ever get sick in heaven?”

“Why do bees have stingers?” “How big is God?” 85

Are there are challenges and frustrations and feelings of being stuck? Of course! Anyone who shows me a job that doesn’t have them is lying! Every vocation can be a drag and almost everyone thinks about changing jobs to something easier. Each of us has to decide where we need to focus our attention. I’m just glad that J.L. saw the importance of me focusing on our children.

And what about real ministry? It’s real ministry for me to guide the development of our four young children as they mature into Christian adults. It has been very rewarding and exciting to partner with J.L. in leading each of them to know the Lord. What a blessing to hear their keen perceptions about spiritual truths and to hear their prayers.

Actually, I did struggle with stepping away from the New Directions ministry where J.L. and I worked as a team to disciple teenagers. I received a lot of affirmation in that role, although I wasn’t aware of how much until after I had children.

No one was there as I changed the sixth diaper of the day telling me what a great job I was doing. I struggled to figure out my place and what my duties and priorities were supposed to be. It didn’t take long to realize that being a mother is the priority.

OK, OK, J.L. is my number one priority—I’m not leaving out that part. But, we had to work hard at spending time together. Some of the demands of parenting meant time together had to be rescheduled, but never deleted. We also juggled our lives to make time for outside interests and friendships. Proverbs 31 reveals an amazing woman, wife, and mom who had a wide variety of talents. But, honestly, the list of her accomplishments exhausts me!

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I don’t set myself up as the perfect mother, and I’m definitely not anywhere close to the woman in Proverbs, although I would certainly like to be. Sometimes I yell, don’t discipline enough, tune the kids out, and all that. But, I am happy that I am able to pursue the perfecting of my career, if you will, instead of giving my best energy and creativity to a job away from my children.

Through the best and the most trying of times as a mom, I have learned much about Christ’s wonderful faithfulness. He has given me the strength and sustaining power to do the daily things over and over again. Even though I will never do them perfectly, it’s my goal to serve wholeheartedly, as if I were serving the Lord (Ephesians 6:7).

For those of you who struggle with some of these same things, be sure to bathe everything in prayer and keep communications open with your husband. Parenting is a team effort—actually a triangle of team members—with God being at the highest point. The closer we move toward Him at the top, the closer we get to each other. We can do it, not just somehow, but triumphantly in Christ. After all, it’s one of His specialties!

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Dessert in the Desert The Lord is so good to provide brief respites from battles and struggles, as if He puts margins in our lives that give us a chance to breathe. Then, all too soon, normal life returns.

I know I have mentioned it a few times, but I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of choosing a less-than-spiritual approach for coping while the battles rage.

There have been frustrating tussles with computer programs that don’t work or that we don’t understand how to make work because we’re getting older. Then there’s the continual emotional struggle of having to be separated from each other, with J.L. and the ministry overseas and me staying here to manage the household.

As I recently complained to one friend, “J.L. is currently in Singapore teaching at a strategic pastors conference, and I am currently with our car in Burlington having the oil changed and the tires rotated.” Both are necessary—it’s just that one sounds a whole lot more spiritual than the other.

My list of frustrations is longer than that, but today I feel ashamed to even mention them. I spoke with a friend whose son has just been diagnosed with a stage 3 brain tumor, and another friend who is suddenly a widow. So now I carry guilt around with me because my complaints seem so trivial compared to my friends’ realities. Let’s face it, they are trivial.

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Sometimes it’s like I’m in a desert, a really dry place devoid of refreshment or encouragement. It’s a rather lonely place, too, and like the desert, uncomfortable in both the daytime and night. Figuratively speaking, there are all kinds of biting and stinging critters, thoughts that nip at my peace of mind and keep me self-focused instead of God-focused.

So that brings me back to my coping mechanism during these battles. Pasta. Macaroni and cheese. Pizza. Yeast rolls with real butter. Dessert. No, make that plural—desserts. Yes, desserts in the desert. After all, I reason with myself, with all that I am “suffering,” I deserve a break, a treat, a reward to help me feel better.

Just so you know, I really do lecture myself. “Self, make note of the fact that your wardrobe size upgrade means that choosing to medicate with food while in the desert is a poor coping mechanism to handle stress, sadness, and frustration.”

Well, are you tired of me wallowing in my sorrows and even self-pity? Yeah, so am I. Of course, I know some sorrows are valid, but I don’t like to hear whining from others and definitely don’t like to hear it in myself. I have obviously chosen the wrong delicacies for my pity party. Maybe you are asking why I don’t choose prayer or Scripture right away? Well, because there are times when I am not spiritually strong enough.

I can’t seem to find the words to pray and I stare at the Scripture but don’t see what it says.

Sometimes I ask people to pray for me, and sometimes I ask the Lord to bring me to someone’s mind, for Him to impress on them to pray for me. It’s spiritually uplifting when I hear from a friend that God did just that, like getting an extra shot of the Holy Spirit’s power to superimpose on my lack of will90

power!

Obviously, I know my food choices are an unproductive way to cope with the spiritual desert I’ve been going through.

While it does bring pleasure for the moment, it never brings victory. So I persevere, however haltingly, to make better food selections when the trials and tribulations come.

For those of you who are in the same battle as I am, I pray that we will have eyes of faith to see all the peace, joy, and strength that God has provided in advance to sustain us. Let us pray that we will trust the good Shepherd who goes ahead of us, that we will graze in the pastures already prepared for us and not fall back into making unhealthy choices. Instead, may we eat what God gives us in His Word, so that we can say with Ezekiel, “So I ate it [God’s words], and it tasted as sweet as honey in my mouth” (Ezekiel 3:3).

Let’s do this together, intentionally choosing the sweetest Name we know—and it’s not “fudge”!

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U-Turns Some days are similar to other days, with their necessary routines and activities. I was on my way to the store recently when I realized my shopping list was not in my pocket.

Hurriedly getting into the left lane at the traffic light, I made a U-turn and returned home to get what I needed so I could start over again. For whatever reason, that incident started me thinking about times when my attitude was amiss and how God got me back on track.

On the ride back home to get my list, I experienced unexpected feelings of isolation, like being on the edge of loneliness and depression. I admit it was tempting to stay in that vague sadness, except I felt guilty over feeling lonely. I have such a wonderful family and so many worthwhile things in which to be involved—why should I feel alone?

Thank the Lord He has always provided a way for me to do a U-turn on my self-centeredness and head back home to His faithful promises. Whenever I have asked for help, He has provided the way for me to move from loneliness to contentment or from anger to forgiveness or from depression to being encompassed by His peace. The way for a U-turn has always been there if I chose to take it.

The most recent U-turns have come through the rearing of our four children. On one such feelings-of-isolation day, I was 93

eating lunch with our two preschool sons. They were at the age where they had almost as much food on their faces as in their mouths. Joseph, who was now wearing his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, asked mid-bite, “If Jesus lives in your heart, does He need any furniture?”

It was definitely my opportunity to get in the turn lane because when I did, it immediately snapped me out of being so self-absorbed. Although it was not the time to tell him to chew with his mouth closed, it did turn me back to seeking God to get what I needed so I could start afresh. After all, it was obvious I couldn’t focus on poor little ol’ me and figure out an answer for this five-year-old boy at the same time.

Now that I was headed in the right direction spiritually, I answered his question with what I knew to be true. “No, Joseph, God doesn’t need any furniture when He lives in your heart.” After a few thoughtful moments, he finally swallowed his mouthful and concluded, “Oh, I guess He just sits on your bones.”

For the rest of the day, and some days to come, we talked a lot about who Jesus is and how He can live in your heart.

Joseph’s musings about God provided a smile and an escape from being so misdirected in my spirit. A heart at peace is surely what God had in mind for me when He asked all those who were weary and heavy laden to come to Him (Matthew 11:28).

All I needed was this one victory and I immediately turned to the Lord for all future struggles, right? I wish that were true. Why do I have to go over the same lessons so many times? I take some comfort in the fact that even the psalmist David had to battle his emotions. But, he knew where his 94

focus should be.

Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted.

Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish . . .

Guard my life and rescue me; do not let me be put to shame, for I take refuge in You. Psalm 25:16–17, 20 It has been humbling to realize I need God’s help so often, but that’s right where I’m supposed to be, needing Him. Maybe I’ll always struggle with being directionally challenged but, as you would expect, God never tires of showing me the right way. It’s one of His specialties! And yet, I have to practice again and again and again. Here is one more story.

J.L. was going to leave on Monday for several days of preaching and teaching, and I was missing him already. In the midst of the Sunday evening church service, the anticipated loneliness over J.L.’s absence was closing in. The sanctuary was packed with people and it was hot. I was hot. Our young children were restless—and hot. I was quickly slipping into that feeling-sorry-for-myself zone.

At just that moment, Jonathan looked up at me and whispered, “How tall is Jesus?” The U-turn! Thank You, Lord. The spontaneous reply I came up with was the truth, so I whispered in return, “I don’t know how tall Jesus is, Jonathan.”

“Well, I think Jesus is six feet tall and you know what else, Momma?” Bracing myself for another mind-boggler, I asked 95

him what else. “I’m tired.” Whew. So was I. And I am now. It’s late and I must close. Tomorrow will come soon enough with all its opportunities and choices. Life is going to happen to you and me—every day. Please learn more quickly than I have that God always provides a way to get redirected onto the right road, His road.

In the midst of anything that the world, the devil, or our own weaknesses may throw at us, we need to be on the lookout for the U-turns that the Lord will provide to get us back on track. Once we return home to Jesus and get what we need, we can head out again, empowered by His Spirit. We “will understand what is right and just and fair—every good path. For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul” (Proverbs 2:9–10).

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From Doubt to Faith Again My journey from doubt to faith has often taken me through financial stresses, due to either the lack of funds or the provision of such. God has always supplied, even though we were not as obedient or wise in our management of money as we should have been. So we’ve been through the difficult times of the Lord’s discipline. Yet, over the years, He has always taken care of every need.

This story occurred many years ago when J.L. was away on a trip with the New Directions singing group. I was getting ready to walk to our church down the street for the Wednesday evening service. But the children were fussy, the house wasn’t picked up, the babysitter looked a little overwhelmed, and—most difficult of all—we had just used up the last of the milk. I had no money until J.L. returned. My need for spiritual and emotional support pushed me out the door and on to the fellowship and comfort of worship with Christian friends.

We had no delusions that cutting our income in half would be easy when I stopped teaching and became a full-time mom to our four children. Indeed, this was not the first time we had felt the pinch, nor would it be the last. But it turned out, as it always did, to be a faith builder for me.

It was difficult to be in a situation where there was no mon97

ey in either the checking or savings account and, except for the children’s piggy banks, no cash on hand. Down the street I plodded, two warring thoughts in my mind: I’ve got to figure this out on my own versus God will supply all my needs.

Oh, the constant internal battle between self-sufficiency and trusting surrender. The Scripture that kept running through my mind was one J.L. had often quoted to keep me encouraged: “I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread” (Psalm 37:25).

“Oh, yeah,” I thought. “Well, here’s one time you just might see it!” The service that night was restorative for me and the warmth of Christian friends was equally touching. I struggled to embrace the peace instead of worrying about milk. The service ended and one of the men was shaking my hand, saying how good it was to see me and that he hoped I was doing OK. I could feel something folded up being pressed into my palm.

He didn’t know if I was in any need, he said, and he knew it wasn’t much, but he just wanted to help out a little.

This dear sweet man was God’s provision for me that night.

The folded-up dollars were just enough for the milk with some left over to replace the almost-depleted bread. God’s provision supplied all that I had been fretting over—and more. Poor man, I think I laughed and cried at the same time.

There isn’t enough space to tell of all the beautifully orchestrated ways that God has attended to the care of our family.

We had groceries left on our doorstep, anonymous letters in the mail with cash in them, and gift certificates for the local grocery store.

Maybe you have felt like I have: “I won’t accept charity.”

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I think that’s because there is less damage to the pride to be a giver than to be a receiver. For me, gracious receiving involves a lot more humility because it means dying out to self and pride. When we ask of the Father and He answers in some of these charitable ways, shall we not accept them gratefully from His hand?

As always, it has been our pleasure to share the struggles and triumphs with our children. We’ve felt that it has been vital to their growth in faith to learn that God will supply their needs as they walk in obedience to Him. Will their pilgrimage as adults with families of their own be easy? Of course not!

Will it build faith and character and continually surprise them with God’s on-timeness? Unquestionably!

Their comfort will come in ways similar to ours: encouragement from Scripture and the Holy Spirit, and faith and trust in God as experience proves Him true to His promises. And, as they walk in obedience, they will find creative ways to bless others in their time of need.

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Life with J.L.

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Eve and I Fall Short It’s a challenge to write about being a godly wife because I am seriously aware of how much I lack in this area. And yet, it’s good to do a study of what she looks like and what goals will help get me there.

This topic usually begins with the Old Testament’s First Lady of all humanity, Eve. So let’s start with her. In the beginning, she had all I could ever hope to possess—direct access to God and the pure joy of walking and talking with Him at any time. She was the perfect wife . . . no drama, mood swings, need to control, or loneliness. On top of that, she had the perfect husband. All his priorities were balanced and he loved his wife perfectly. Together, they had brilliant minds, a perfect relationship, perfect bodies, perfect health, and no arguments, frustrations, or selfishness.

They lived in the perfect place. There were no weeds in their garden, no ants in their cupboards, no sewer problems, and no Japanese beetles eating their roses. I guess I’ll have to wait until heaven to understand why the devil’s temptation was . . . well . . . a temptation. Why would Eve have even considered a plan contrary to God’s?

Regardless, as daughters of Eve, we need to seriously examine what happened there, because her sin was passed on to us.

It’s very important to consider the fact that once she sinned, 103

she immediately involved Adam. Yes, I know he was standing right next to her when the serpent was tempting her to eat the fruit. And I know that ultimately he was charged with the sin because he failed to be the leader and stop his wife. But the fact remains that she used the trust and faith that had come from their perfect oneness to entice him to be complicit in her disobedience.

As part of Eve’s punishment, Adam would now rule over her (Genesis 3:16). Apparently, this function was nonexistent prior to sin, or at least it was of no consequence. Submission—oh my, such a volatile word these days. However, I have learned that my submission is not based on how well my husband loves me or how perfectly he leads me. My only choice is to obey God and follow J.L.’s leadership. I’m not suggesting a wife submit if her husband tells her to do something unbiblical. But she’d better be sure she can back it up with Scripture and the advice of mature Christians. I hope you know that a woman should find a safe place to live if her husband is physically abusing her.

We wives are to submit to our husbands as to the Lord.

Why? Because we are an example to the watching world of how the Church submits to Christ. Husbands are an example of how Christ loved the Church and gave Himself for it. This is a heavy responsibility for both of us. A well-reasoned explanation of our roles is found in Ephesians 5:22–33.

Getting back to Eve, we women look at her because all women share a common strength and a common weakness.

Our strength is that we have direct access to our husbands’ hearts and affections and can partner with them to achieve God’s purposes. Our weakness is that we can also use that 104

access to steer them away from God’s plans.

That’s why we must take seriously our responsibility to be helpmeets, advisors, confidants, and constructive critics. We need to start by spending lots of time in prayer for the Lord to sensitize our hearts to the leading of His Holy Spirit. Then we are free to speak, not to undermine their leadership, but to make them stronger. We’re not out to prove how much insight we have compared to how wrong we think they are. Yet, sometimes we do that very thing. We should repent when that happens because God never intended marriage to be a battle of us versus them.

So many times, I have blurted out my opinion without praying first. Instead of my words being constructive in nature, my nagging, domineering, controlling, demanding attitude gives the devil an opportunity to attack J.L. I have always been shaken after seeing how much damage I do when I don’t allow God to direct me. It takes an exceptionally mature man to withstand the onslaught of a nagging wife. And when I misinterpret his lack of agreeing with me as him being proud and insensitive, it puts a wedge between us.

Our responsibility as wives is actually beyond our ability and sometimes beyond our desires. We have to surrender to the Lord. We are called to be imitators of Christ, walking in love as He loved us and gave Himself for us, as we find in Ephesians 5:1–2. For me, this call comes with the need to develop a holy sensitivity in the way I communicate with J.L. I know Christ will be my strength and wisdom, but I must choose to let Him do that for me.

I should also maintain a relationship of transparency with J.L. I’ve struggled with being honest with him because I’m 105

afraid if he ever really got to know me, he wouldn’t love me anymore. My insecurities often override my obedience. The Apostle Peter says husbands are supposed to live with their wives according to understanding (1 Peter 3:7). There’s no way J.L. can do that if I never let him know the real me.

The best marriages are built on vulnerability and openness.

This is enhanced when we see each other as a priority for our time. Jobs, parenting, helping aging parents, fatigue, etc. can all rob us of time with each other. It’s hard work but definitely worth the effort to keep the romance, spontaneity, and excitement in the marriage relationship.

From my own struggles, I know we should keep careful watch over our criticisms to make sure they don’t keep our husbands from doing the work that God has called them to do.

May it be credited to our account that because of our godly advice and Christ-motivated hearts, minds, and speech, we were instrumental in helping our husbands into a shared richness in Jesus Christ.

The above was written in 1979. As of this writing, it is forty years later and I’m glad the basic principles are still true. But, after reworking a few minor sections of this chapter, I want a do-over on some of the seasons of our marriage.

In retrospect, I can see now that God did a much better job of nagging than I ever could have when J.L., in my opinion, made a wrong decision. The work Christ did in his heart was more lasting, always for the better, and there were no hard feelings. I should have kept my mouth shut until I had sensed a clear direction from the Lord. I especially wish I hadn’t felt it was my right to correct his stories in front of others or complain about him in public. Whew, those are tough regrets.

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Fifty-two years and one day. That’s how long J.L. and I were married. It was a marriage filled with unbelievable joys, adventures, challenges, growth, frustrations, and blessings. Only God could have brought something positive out of the lives of two imperfect people.

But, that’s one of His specialties!

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Trying to Communicate Communication in marriage is absolutely necessary . . . and scary. It is necessary because it brings fulfillment and intimacy to our lives and scary because it means we must be vulnerable. When we open ourselves to our spouse, we run the risk of being misunderstood or, worse, rejected.

Most of us marry someone who is different than we are, even our opposite. They become our “other half,” which is great because we have someone who completes us and brings balance to our lives. But, marrying an opposite is also one of our greatest challenges because they won’t necessarily think or act or react the way we do. What might be perfectly simple to us may be very complex to them, and what was the obvious solution to them totally escapes us.

The key ingredient to a successful marriage is good communication. It is an art form, a discipline, and a necessity. Although it can depend on a person’s temperament, most couples find it takes an intentional commitment of time. This kind of commitment tries again and again, even when vulnerable conversations result in being misunderstood or having hurt feelings.

Let’s look at the listening side of communication first. James wrote about the challenge of communication in his first chap109

ter, verse 19: “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” There’s an old saying that reminds us, “God gave us two ears and one mouth. We should listen twice as much as we talk.” Solomon also wrote about this in Proverbs 1:5: “Let the wise listen and add to their learning.”

Genuine interest is crucial because it is a compliment to the speaker. When I listen attentively to J.L., I am communicating love, care, and respect. It’s vital that I do not interrupt him to correct his story, roll my eyes, heave great sighs, or cross my arms in defiance. My calm demeanor encourages him to reveal more and more of himself to me. Let’s face it, the safer we feel, the more vulnerable and intimate we become.

But, if J.L. has any reason to suspect impatience or ridicule from me, his conversation will be quickly reduced to the mere exchanging of “safe” information, like the weather, schedules, world news, etc. Of course, the same is true when he is listening to me. I think we both find ourselves watching to see if the other person is really listening.

So, do we communicate acceptance or rejection? We may say we want to listen, but does our non-verbal posture signal that we are closed to further discussion?

What about the speaking side of communication? Proverbs 20:5 says, “The purposes of a person’s heart are deep waters, but one who has insight draws them out.” One of our goals when it’s our turn to speak is to ask good questions for further understanding.

Early on, J.L. and I found we didn’t communicate clearly.

Here’s a maxim we continually had to remind ourselves of: “There’s what I said, and there’s what you heard.” I’m smil110

ing right now because this happened to us more times than I would like to admit. Add to that the next maxim: “There’s what I meant by what I said, and there’s what you thought I meant by what I said.” I’m actually laughing now, and maybe shedding a few tears, because this is so true.

Sometimes there has to be a break between listening and talking. A radio preacher said a good listener should listen without interruption and not give an immediate answer. If you do, it will feel like you’ve been planning your response before your spouse or friend even finishes speaking. This can be interpreted as not really having listened at all. So, he said, go make some tea, give yourself time for inward prayer and thought, and then come back to the topic at hand.

Please involve the Holy Spirit before the conversation even starts. Ask Him to come and anoint your ears, mouth—and brain! When the Lord is in control of our hearts and minds, our listening and speech will be controlled by Him as well. If it’s true that it is not until love is felt that non-verbal and verbal messages are heard, then we must get help from the Holy Spirit—often.

In Colossians 4:6, Paul teaches that our conversation is supposed to be “seasoned with salt.” That is, our words should taste good, be palatable. If our words were more tasty, we would probably be heard more willingly.

As we mature in Christ as a couple, every part of us should be maturing too. As we desire to be more like Him in our relationship with each other, He illumines our minds. He gives us humility and the right combination of respectful speech and listening, sensitivity to timing, and accuracy in expressing ourselves. There is a delicate balance between love and hones111

ty. Some people are so loving their message is obscure. Others are so honest their message is brutal. Love without honesty is hypocrisy. Honesty without love is cruelty.

Oh Lord, give us the wisdom to find the balance.

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Still Trying to Communicate A Christian marriage entails commitment and sacrifice as intimacy grows, becoming more and more fulfilling as maturity in Christ is evident. I’d like to continue with the topic of communication from the previous chapter.

Gracious communication is an important part of that intimacy. The book of Proverbs is filled with the rewards of speaking graciously: a fountain of life (10:11); nourishment (10:21); good things (12:14); healing (12:18); value (16:13); instruction (16:21); and sweetness to the soul (16:24).

It’s not that I don’t understand how to speak graciously and honestly to J.L. It’s just that my insecurities and inferiorities, my sins and my doubts, hold me back from communicating at a deeper level. I spent too many years of our marriage in fear that if he ever knew the real me, he would leave me. J.L. did a much better job of expressing his feelings. But I had built-in filters and frequently blocked his compliments and incorrectly interpreted his constructive criticisms.

My speech was masked, wanting intimacy but sounding like I wanted isolation. But, as I deepened in my relationship with God through regular times of prayer and Bible study, my ability to communicate with J.L. grew too. It became easier to talk about everything, including physical intimacy, disciplin113

ing the children, our in-laws, and how many times to eat out, just to name a few.

There were plenty of humorous times when we awkwardly struggled to have productive discourse. Of course, when we were in the middle of those times, they were not funny at all—we only laughed in retrospect. As a perfect example of just one of our miscues, I share the following with J.L.’s permission. To help with the story, I have put what we said in quotation marks and what we were actually thinking in italics.

So, there will be “what we said,” and what we meant by what we said!

We had been on the same wavelength that whole day—as soon as the children were asleep for the night, we were going to enjoy each other’s company. It was about 9 p.m., and since the kids weren’t quite settled, we decided to watch a little TV. The movie was about an old cowboy pursuing an Indian across the desert.

Around ten o’clock, I realized I was fading fast. If we were going to get on with this special evening, we’d better get on with it. The Indian was still slowly and painfully crawling across the hot and barren desert, so I interrupted with, “I think I’ll go to bed.” Let’s go! The kids are asleep and it’s getting late.

“OK.” Oh brother, she’s tired. Now what?

I went and got ready . . . and waited. The more I waited the more furious I became. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, he was wondering if he was supposed to join me or if it was a lost cause. So I went back to where he was watching the Indian crawl across the desert.

“I don’t think I’m going to sleep. I think I’ll just read a bit.”

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That’s the hint that I’m not really tired! And that is the stupidest movie we have ever watched. Why are you still sitting there after all we had planned for tonight?

“You’re going to read? Well . . . alright . . .” She’s going to “just read” looking like that? What is the deal here? I thought this was going to be our night and she’s going to READ?!

Now both of us were furious and paralyzed from our lack of open and honest communication. The movie went extra long because of all the commercials, so it was 11:20 when he finally came through the door. When he saw that I was not reading but was angry, and I saw that he was not happy but was angry, he began. It went something like this, with exclamation points denoting intensity: “I thought you were tired!”

“I wasn’t tired, but I am now!”

“I thought you were reading!”

“I wasn’t interested in reading! What were you doing watching that stupid movie?!”

“It was stupid! It was the dumbest movie I have ever seen! I can’t believe I watched the whole thing!”

“So why did you continue, for hours, to watch an Indian crawl across a desert?!”

“Why did you tell me you were going to read?!”

So, I cried and he moaned. Then we both laughed. It was all so silly and SO unnecessary. We were grownups, for heaven’s sake, but there were no grownups present for several hours due to our lack of real communication. We had talked around each other, but never directly to each other from our hearts. I had finally concluded that the movie was more interesting to him than being with me. He thought whatever I was reading 115

must be more exciting than he was. Good grief!

This story has a happy ending. We’re still married! Almost 32 years of persevering all the way from the sloughs of despair to the mountaintops of pure joy!

Please learn from our mistakes and miscues. Don’t give up talking just because you hit some major roadblocks. Talk.

Speak to each other honestly, kindly, patiently, forgiving as the Lord has forgiven you. And over all these virtues, put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity (Colossians 3:12–14).

Be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, . . . always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.

Ephesians 5:18–21

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Looking Back It might surprise you to know that J.L. and I never planned to start an organization called The New Directions. Our pre-marriage dreams and our post-wedding plans were to be foreign missionaries—the sooner, the better.

In 1968, while awaiting our mission assignment details for moving to the Philippines, we led Bible studies for teenagers through our local YMCA. At the end of that summer we took a group of them to Mexico to give them a cross-cultural mission experience and called ourselves “The Y Teen Caravan.”

On our bus ride back home, the teenagers asked, “Where do we go from here?” Some suggested we try a “new direction” in our thinking, and someone else wanted the group to visit his church so he could share what the trip had meant to him.

As J.L. and I waited for our primary dream to take place, a simple program emerged in the interim. We would travel to local churches and youth groups and sing a few of the songs we had learned on the trip—and put those who could actually sing closest to the microphones! We let several individuals share what they had seen and learned. J.L. closed with a short challenge, although his challenges were seldom short! When the door closed on our overseas plans, The New Directions was born.

Our young children boarded the bus each weekend along 117

with everyone else. They were blessed to be embedded, as it were, with such loving and energetic young people. And what an incredible privilege it was to raise children in such an ethnically diverse group of Christian teens just as integration was beginning. We stood up for each other when people threw anti-Christian barrages or racial slurs at us, just like we were one big family. Of course, we were one big family in the very best sense of the word, enjoying one big season of life together and growing in the Lord.

Many marriages resulted from friendships that had been formed in the singing groups. Some of those couples were put into leadership positions. It was rewarding to see them mature and excel. This freed J.L. to occasionally take advantage of ministry opportunities in other parts of the US and overseas.

As J.L.’s work with indigenous pastors increased, the availability of leaders for the singing group decreased. When the last of the couples moved on to ministries of their own and started their families, none were left to carry on the large singing ministry. A smaller group, Damascus Road, spun off; but still, it was a very sad goodbye for all of us.

In God’s economy, nothing is ever wasted, and that proved to be true for J.L. and me. Years of discipling and training American young people made for an easier transition to discipling and training international pastors. So many doors began to open for J.L. that it was hard to keep up with the opportunities. Over the years, J.L. visited or corresponded through email with more than 60 international partners in Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean. He was always working on an itinerary to see them soon or to answer their questions or to advise them on projects.

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J.L.’s sudden death in December of 2016 was devastating to all of us. We were left to face the future without a dearly loved man who was larger than life and had a deep passion for Christ and the Great Commission. We grieved the loss of a husband, father, grandfather, brother, and friend. His national partners were bereft of their advisor, confidant, and best friend.

Our board members and I worked diligently to place those partners with other Christian nonprofits who shared our same vision for national leadership. We praise the Lord that all of them were finally settled with new sponsors and encouragers by the spring of 2018. Some of our partners still email or come to visit me. We reminisce, laugh, pray, and tear up a bit, wishing we could still enjoy J.L.’s physical presence and his enthusiasm for Christ.

In January of 2019, I went to Bangladesh, India, and Nepal to meet with many of our Asian partners. Altogether, I was able to be with 46 of them. Two places had memorial services.

Every partner expressed his or her condolences to me over J.L.’s death, so there were tears and hugs at each stop. They loved him dearly and each expression was a comfort to me. So many sweet and tender moments.

Ministry for Christ is always dynamic, not static. So, not only do our partners continue to evangelize and disciple others, but so do we. I am active with Feed the Hunger1 and its wonderful staff. We are still located on the same property as the original New Directions offices. Our son Joseph leads the ministry that J.L. left behind. I wish J.L. were here to see how God is blessing this work to feed the spiritual and physical hunger of the needy in a very needy world.

Looking back at what has passed, I can see that what Moses 119

told the children of Israel in Deuteronomy 2:7 has been true for me, for us: “The Lord your God has blessed you. . . . He has watched over your journey. . . . [He] has been with you, and you have not lacked anything.�

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For more information, go to www.feedthehunger.org

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The Man J.L. There was something quite singular about J.L. Williams. Let me say to start with that he was not perfect and would have been the first to admit it. So, don’t see my portrayal of him as the epitome of Adam before the fall. We both had plenty of carnal moments as partners and as parents, plenty of selfishness and misunderstandings. But, thank the Lord, we also had wonderful moments of repentance, forgiveness, reconciliation, sacrifice, ministry, love, laughter, and fun!

Being pushed outside his comfort zone was one of J.L.’s New Year’s resolutions each year. I know this because I heard his prayers. He believed God would get more glory for whatever was accomplished if he did not rearrange ministry opportunities to accommodate his personal comfort. He seldom let the adversity, deprivation, or inconvenience of a situation keep him from doing something. If God had called him, his only choice was whether to obey or disobey.

As far back as I can remember, his motto was Where He leads me, I will follow.

What He feeds me, I will swallow.

Where He lays me, I will wallow.

He really lived life this way. I traveled with him many times 121

when he followed, swallowed, and wallowed. It was his ongoing theme whether he was traveling with the singing group or with his international partners.

Perhaps that’s why I was less than enthusiastic when I heard what his overseas plans were going to be. Poor J.L.—his wife wanted just a little bit more comfort and ease. I pulled back and he pushed forward. On occasion, I told him he had a blind spot when it came to his ministry partners and he should hold them more accountable. He saw his patience as being merciful and forgiving.

He always had a larger-than-life passion for Christ and for doing his part to fulfill the Great Commission. And God perfectly equipped him for accomplishing all He had planned for him to do. J.L. could teach and preach for hours in the hot sun, rain, or freezing weather—and sweated no matter what the temperature was. He flew long distances (earning a Platinum frequent-flier card!), traveled for hours over hellacious roads, forded streams, and climbed mountains. It didn’t bother him if he had to sleep on the bare ground, on cow skins, or on dirty hotel linens. “But the sheets have only been used for three days,” the baffled hotel owner said when J.L. asked for clean ones on my behalf.

He ate everything that was put before him, and I do mean everything. Many were the times I struggled to swallow the mystery food while J.L. “yummed” his way through the entire meal. When the hostess wasn’t looking, he swapped his empty plate for mine and finished it too. The cooks were always delighted when J.L. came for a meal.

He loved being what he called “a pack mule for Jesus.” He delighted in giving gifts to the needy in impoverished areas 122

and spent hours shopping for socks and sweaters, for school supplies and shirts, along with many other items. Walmart and thrift stores became his new best friends. He bought most of his personal clothing and all of his hiking shoes from such places so he could save money to buy more stuff for his partners and their families. I often helped him pack after he had been shopping and only vigorously protested once about his purchases—when J.L. bought a suit for himself from Walmart.

Yep, a suit.

Being with his international partners brought him a huge amount of joy and fulfillment. At the time of his death he was actively corresponding with dozens and dozens of partners in 17 countries. J.L. never lost his desire to help them fulfill their visions, always trying to encourage, equip, and empower them to get to the next level of fruitfulness.

But his favorite “people group� was our 11 grandchildren: Victoria, Jack, Emily Elizabeth, and Rebekah Glover; Matthew and Emma Atkins; Nathan and Abigail Williams; and Luke, Owen, and Joy Yael Williams. He loved being involved with them in outdoor activities and projects, as many as possible as often as possible. He loved to talk with them about the Lord and also loved to hear them pray.

In spite of all the things he did well, he was a terrible patient.

If particular medicines made him feel worse, or if they were too much of a bother to remember to take, he stopped. This included medicines for high blood pressure and cholesterol.

Once in a while, he had a hard-to-diagnose malaise. On one occasion he was referred to the infectious disease center at Duke University Hospital. He was yellowish, with a distended liver and a fever. Since he had just returned from one of the 123

few places where hepatitis E was believed to exist, the doctors almost hoped he had it, because they had never seen it before.

After extensive tests, the doctor gave his report: “You do not have hepatitis E or any other kind of hepatitis. We don’t know what you have, but one of you will kill the other. May the best one win.” We all laughed at that, sort of. J.L. won and that was that.

He had malaria five or six times because he wouldn’t take the antimalarial medication or the wrong kind was prescribed.

He had recurring bouts of it more frequently than he would admit. But I could always tell by looking at his skin when the beginning of malaria’s unusual fatigue presented itself. I begged him to take the antimalarial meds on each trip to an area where the disease was endemic, but he wouldn’t. When he was hospitalized with cerebral malaria, we thought he was “circling the drain.” That’s when the CDC in Atlanta got involved, and the treatment they recommended brought him back from the brink of death.

He had heart disease for years but pushed past any discomfort or doctors’ advice, keeping an intense ministry schedule.

I continuously nagged about medicines and resting and taking good care of himself. He continuously ignored me. Many times he returned from a particularly intense trip to proudly exclaim, “Cheated death one more time!”

When J.L. got an upgrade on his pacemaker, he wrote, “Since God is my Pacemaker, I want to keep pace with Him until He calls me home. At the end of Paul’s life, he said, ‘I have run the race.’ I hope to be able to say, ‘I have kept His pace.’”

He reluctantly agreed to enter the three-month cardiac rehab 124

program at our hospital, but complained every time he went.

It was a huge frustration for him because it cramped his ministry agenda, delaying his return to his beloved international partners.

Every once in a while, he would quote his dad: “When you read in the obituaries that I am dead, don’t you believe it! I’ll never be more alive.” J.L. wanted all of us to remember that.

So, when he went home to be with the Lord just three days shy of his seventy-fifth birthday and seven weeks after the new pacemaker, we remembered. And we rejoiced with him in the midst of our sadness.

Ephesians 2:4–5 states, “Because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ.” So, J.L.’s gravestone proclaims, “Alive with Christ, because of God’s great love for us.”

J.L. is gone from our sight but not from the Lord’s. One day we will be reunited with the Lord and with J.L., and together we will serve God Almighty forever. What a day of rejoicing that will be!

Found written in his own handwriting on the first page of one of his well-worn Bibles: Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body. Rather, it is to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, loudly proclaiming, “Wow! What a ride!”

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This Thing Called Grief Over the years, I’ve wanted to know God at a deeper level.

But I never would have imagined my husband’s death to be one of the ways to get there. The Holy Spirit has been more wonderful than I ever expected and the comfort He has brought to my life can hardly be described. I had never known Him like this before, but then, I had never needed Him like this before.

My new season of life began when the caller said, “Mrs. Williams, this is the chaplain at Alamance Regional Medical Center. Will you please come to the emergency room? It’s about your husband.”

J.L. was enrolled in the hospital’s cardiac rehab program three mornings a week. That morning had started out just like any other rehab morning. Now, as I paused outside the emergency entrance, I prayed, “Lord, only You know what is happening to J.L. I pray for Your perfect will to be done. Be with him, and be it to me according to whatever You desire. I know You will be with us.”

Most lists of the stages of grief start with shock. The reality of the permanence of death is an indescribable adjustment, whether the death is sudden or expected. After all, the spirit, the personality, the emanating force is gone. Only the shell re-

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mains, the familiar shell of the one I loved so much.

There were several thoughts that came into better perspective soon after J.L.’s passing. The first was the phrase “in the twinkling of an eye.” It really was that fast. The second was the Twenty-third Psalm, which I had memorized as a child.

What a marvelous promise during this very difficult time. The third thought was a new insight for me into the “valley of the shadow of death.”

J.L. had gone through the actual valley of death, passing through to the other side to be with the Lord forever. I, however, felt the shadow of death as I stood beside his body. I didn’t know that verse four could apply to ones like me who had been left behind.

J.L. was finally past the sting of death. It was still in my future. And yet, he and I had been given the same promise: “I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” Yes, our amazing God, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, promised to be with us. He promised to be with me.

I can’t compare what I have been through with anyone else’s experience. I’ve heard a lot of really heart-wrenching stories about the deaths of others’ loved ones. Many were much worse than J.L.’s. But it wasn’t productive to compare mine with theirs or to let their grief diminish my grief. My grief was my own—and only I knew how deep my pain was.

Some people made comments that comforted me and others made comments that irritated me. The most appreciated was, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll be praying for you.” The number one most-hated was, “I know exactly how you feel.”

No, you don’t know exactly how I feel. How could you?! Over time, the Lord showed me that what they were really trying to 128

say was, “I too have suffered the loss of someone I loved. I do know how that feels.”

I will always be grateful to those who didn’t let my prickly responses deter them from reaching out to me or praying for me. I must have been quite a puzzle, because I got upset if they asked me how I was doing, and I got upset if they didn’t ask me how I was doing. Although I didn’t verbalize it as well as I should have, I really needed them to stay by my side, even if they didn’t know what to say, even if they said the wrong thing or nothing at all.

In retrospect, the interchange that turned out to be one of the most amusing happened in the visitation line the night before J.L.’s funeral. A hand was extended to shake mine and I expected a comment similar to so many others, like, “I’m so sorry, I will miss him, etc.” Instead, a gruff, one-sentence complaint was all that was spoken. “J.L. was supposed to do my funeral!” My jaw dropped. With only seconds before the next person moved in to talk to me, the only response that came to mind was, “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll be praying for you to find someone else.”

For 52 years and one day, J.L. and I had been a team who experienced love, family, and ministry together. We used words like “our” and “us.” One of my most difficult adjustments was to learn to say “I” instead of “we.” It took months and months to accept the fact that the word widow applied to me because I hated the word. It meant something really bad had happened.

Well, it had.

It was such a struggle to face the reality that J.L. was gone.

He was not coming back, he was not away on another mission trip, he was dead. It was just too sad.

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What was my new normal going to look like? I had no idea.

Was I even open to a new normal? No, I wasn’t. I didn’t want it. Please tell me this is a bad dream. However, it was the new reality. I had to figure out who I was apart from J.L. In addition to the work of the Holy Spirit, close relationships shape and mold us into the people we become. I knew I would never again be the same person I was before he died. But who was I supposed to be now?

God’s Word was a treasure trove of richness and comfort. I wrote down all the verses I could find regarding widows, like Jeremiah 49:11b: “Your widows too can depend on me.” There were other verses, like Exodus 33:22: “I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with My hand.” Psalm 32:7 says, “You are my hiding place; You will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.”

Oh the songs! They came to my mind every morning, spontaneous and unplanned, just as I was awakening. Hymns, contemporary songs, and choruses were such a huge gift from the Holy Spirit.

Sometime around the fifth month after he died, I noticed a change in how I felt, as if I were coming out of a fog or out from under a heavy burden. I use the word heavy because it felt like an actual weight on me. At first, it was only for an hour or two a day. Then, ever so gradually, it lifted more and more, and I began to identify the new emotion as happiness. It was a little unsettling not knowing what to do with my transitioning emotions.

Wasn’t continued sadness a tribute to J.L. to show how much I really loved him? Now I felt happy—without him? Was that even possible? My goodness, what would people think if they 130

saw me smiling, or even laughing? No, this should not be.

So, as soon as I felt happy, I withdrew from people or pleasant situations and stayed at home to continue grieving alone. I pulled up the drawbridge, flooded the moat, and turned loose the crocodiles. I continued to be offended if people called me or came by for a visit. Then again, I was offended if they didn’t.

This thing called grief is such a strange thing.

After almost a month of that, the Lord reminded me of one of His truths, that joy was a gift from Him. I’d always known that, of course, but I’d never had to apply it quite this way before.

Ever so gradually, I stopped feeling guilty for having a good day. Enjoying the life God was providing was not a betrayal of my love for J.L., but a praise for a good life together.

Mingled in with all the emotions was a lot of advice. It is still ongoing. It mostly comes from those who so badly want everything to be OK for me. They kindly offer their opinions on how I should live my life going forward, and I seriously consider all their suggestions because I know they care for me.

Their advice includes, but is not limited to: sell your house now; no, wait a year; take in boarders; get a part-time job; move in with one of your children; you should be over “it” by now, so get away from everything and have fun; take down pictures of J.L.; leave them up; give all his stuff away; keep it all; “get your name out there” and start dating; consider remarriage; stay single. Whew. What to do?

The most life-transforming truths as a new widow were cemented in my heart through the program GriefShare.1 I learned that I didn’t have to have all the answers or a new plan or hurry through the grieving process. I should feel free to go at my own pace. I also learned that pain is a real part of grieving and not 131

something new to me. I was to accept it, live through it, and learn from it. God could use even pain as a part of my healing, and what I learned would be a part of future ministry to others.

The most important takeaway for me was this: “Nothing has been taken from me that can keep me from living the victorious Christian life.” Only God makes the victorious Christian life possible. J.L. could never have done that and I was wrong if I ever expected him to do so.

The Lord has blessed me with a terrific family and extended family, my small group from church, the staff at Feed the Hunger, and multiple friends both here and overseas. Besides the incredible and ongoing work of the Holy Spirit in my life, these people have helped me go forward with joy instead of run from it.

Joy in the midst of grief? Who knew such a thing was possible? But it certainly is. Now, two and a half years later, I have made decisions based on prayer, Scripture, and the advice of mature Christian friends. And I continue to hold tightly to a promise that has been my life verse for several years now, resting secure in God’s amazing love and faithfulness.

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

Deuteronomy 31:8

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For more information about GriefShare, go to www.griefshare.org

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Acknowledgements All Christian authors want the minds and hearts of their readers to be drawn into a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ.

Anne Graham Lotz’s final prayer in her book The Daniel Key summarizes a similar desire in me as well: As I recommit myself to following You, mold and make me into a disciple who so closely reflects You in all I say or do, that succeeding generations will be irresistibly drawn to commit their lives to follow You, too. For the glory of Your great name, Amen.1 God’s footprints have always been the most important ones to follow, of course, and if there had been no adequate human role models for me, the Holy Spirit would have been enough.

But I’m grateful He also used people—so many people who continue to bless me because of their books and sermons, as well as others who were my friends or part of my family.

In the beginning of my Christian walk, there were Rev. Roland and Alice Marie Brooks, along with my parents, Bob and Carol Joynt. There was my husband, J.L., then Dr. David Seamands, George Washington Carver, C.S. Lewis, Rev. Billy Graham, Howard Hendricks, Rev. Tommy Tyson, Corrie ten Boom, Dr. James Dobson, Major Ian Thomas, Watchman Nee, 135

Oswald Chambers, George Mueller, and Brother Lawrence.

God also used my mother-in-law, Edith Crouse Williams, along with Anne Graham Lotz, Elisabeth Elliot, Jill Briscoe, J.I. Packer, Pastor E.V. Hill, Vance Havner, John Piper, Rev. Howard Thompson, Dr. Bill and Elizabeth Wilson, Pastor Max Allman, Dr. Erwin Lutzer, Joni Eareckson Tada, Ann Voskamp, Susan Disher, Laura Kernodle, Nancy Tissiere,Vickie VanWingerden, Maribell Chittenden, and Jane Fraser.

In recent years, I have learned much from Pastor Brian Biggers, Rev. Bob Disher, and Pastor J.D. Greear.

My wonderful siblings and their spouses have added much to my life: Tom and Linda Joynt, R.J. and Lisa Joynt, and Suzanne J. Roggenkamp. I’m indebted to J.L.’s loving family as well: Barbara Miketta, Ed and Becky Williams, Keith and Hannah Thompson, and Charlie and Judy Baer.

There’s a great group of ladies originally called the Magnificent Seven who adopted me into their “club”: Sis Neese, Hallie Smith, Patricia Nicholson, Mary Evelyn Mebane, and Carol Matthews. There were many ministry board members, singing group alums, staff members, and international partners throughout our 50-plus-year history—my thanks and love to all of you. I can’t leave out my small group at The Lamb’s Chapel, who hold a special place in my heart.

Without question, God blessed J.L. and me with our four children and their spouses: Trish and Joe Glover, April and Mark Atkins, Joseph and Susannah (Morris) Williams, and Jonathan and Julie (Hambright) Williams. After all, they produced our 11 perfect grandchildren: Victoria, Jack, Emily Elizabeth, and Rebekah Glover; Matthew and Emma Atkins; Nathan and Abigail Williams; and Luke, Owen, and Joy Yael Williams.

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A huge thanks to Matthew Byrd for his expertise in proofreading and literary advice, and for the hours—weeks—he invested in this project! My special gratitude to Vincent Graves for his expertise in Cover Design and Layout Design. And finally, my thanks to Joseph, who continually pressed me to complete this book and, along with April and Jonathan, contributed constructive suggestions on subject matter and flow.

To God be the glory!

1.

Anne Graham Lotz, The Daniel Key (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2018), 164.

Used by permission from Anne Graham Lotz. Her books and other materials can be found at www.annegrahamlotz.org

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Relating timeless truths about God’s grace, faith, and provision, Footprints is Patt Williams’ personal journey down spiritual paths trod by Christian believers who have gone on before. What she learned (and hopefully you will learn too) is that we can experience joy and victory in our own lives despite the daily challenges that continually reveal our weaknesses.

In these pages, Patt recounts some of the struggles and successes in her Christian life. Her perspectives include insights into the richness of God’s grace in marriage, childrearing, and friendships, as well as how to deal with crushing grief. May you be blessed by her stories, which you may find to be much like your own experiences in life!

Patt lives in Burlington, NC, and has 4 married children and 11 grandchildren. She and her husband, J.L., were married for 52 years (and one day!) before he went to be with the Lord.

She continues her involvement in ministry with Feed the Hunger, and maintains relationships with many of J.L.’s international partners.