Days of My Life

The issue of the Syrian migration has been in the news, as it should be. I’ve seen the faces of the babies crying, their concerned moms holding them close. I’ve heard nightmares of their plight as they’ve made their way into Europe. I’ve also heard the nightmares they leave in their path, as they invade country after country.

Maybe that’s why I dreamed about it the other night.  In my dream I answered the door (of course it was not this house, but still let’s go with it) and three Middle-Eastern men stood there with forlorn expressions on their faces. One of them said in broken English, “We are forever hungry. Can you help us?” Knowing I’d just cooked a full meal, I asked them to wait there. When I returned with a platter of food for them, I was surprised that instead of the three hungry men I’d seen earlier, there were now fifty or sixty. They grabbed the platter of food and angrily pushed past me into my house knocking down lamps, tearing up everything in their path, shouting, pushing, shoving, breaking everything. I woke up breathing hard in full panic mode.

Though I’m thankful that was just a dream, I know that, for some, it’s only too real. I’m torn thinking of the children, then afraid remembering how strong the crowd was, and how powerless I was to stop them from coming into my house.

I realized that my dream captured both my fear and my compassion. One of my more liberal friends was astonished when I told her I supported our governor’s decision not to bring refugees here to Arkansas. She tried to shame me a little saying, “You’re one of the most compassionate people I know. I can’t believe you’re taking this stand. What if people shared this attitude with the Jews when they tried to escape Nazi Germany? What about your obligation to do unto others as you would have done unto you?”

Honestly, I see this as very different, an unfair comparison.

Yes, it’s true I’m conflicted. My heart wants to help. But I do not want what has happened in Europe to happen here in the United States. And I think we’re at a watershed moment in our history when this is a real possibility. It is proven that ISIS has infiltrated the refugee hordes. And that’s a shame. The masses are a huge Trojan horse, and within its throngs are people dedicated to the annihilation of all people and cultures but its own. It is possible then that in bringing the masses to America, we pave the way for uprisings and terrorism here on our own soil on a scale we never thought possible.

Let me make this very clear. I hate no one. I believe people should be allowed to practice their religion as long as it does not oppress others. But I do not want to be overrun by those who refuse to allow us to live in our own country with faith in God and patriotism for this nation.

We don’t know God’s plan for our country, or our own lives. So I thank GOD that I can rest in His sovereignty, knowing nothing happens outside His perfect plan and His divine will. That’s the only thing that keeps me from despair.

We may lose the world as we know it.  We will never lose the God that we love.  And in the end, we will dwell with Him in peace for all eternity.  I don’t know of a more important time to dwell upon heavenly things than now.

Sometimes God brings issues to the forefront of our minds. Then, in case we push them to the back, He brings them to us again.

This week has been like that. A number of events have led me to think long and hard about the persecution and murder of Christians around the world.

In the cocoon this great country provides for us it’s hard to comprehend what great cost our faith has to those far away. We tend to think of the martyrs of the church as long-ago, greater than life figures in history. Yet I hear that never has there been a time when more people are losing their lives for the sake of the gospel than now.

This somber issue was recently brought to mind as our church celebrated Reformation Day last weekend. Not only were we reminded of the sacrifice our forefathers made to bring us the spiritual and biblical freedoms we enjoy today, but we were told about those faced with the ultimatum, “Deny your faith or die.” And they chose to die. And I’m not talking about our forefathers. I’m talking about what is going on right now!

The culmination of the several ways God has brought this issue to mind was when I received an email earlier this week with this link:

http://videos.cbn.com/services/player/bcpid1697316436001?bckey=AQ~~,AAAAqwZdoRk~,5p3D8wQwoZ8oJO3MI2xIgOgYVJVg2DJk&bctid=4567985102001

A courageous, bold German pastor proclaims the truth of scripture in a world that wants to shut him up any way it can. I do not know this brave man personally, but I wish I did. I sent the link to several people because it touched me so deeply.

And I almost wrote, “I guess all we can do is pray for him.” It hit me that I was viewing prayer as a last resort, after helplessly throwing my hands up. No. Prayer should be the first resort, accompanied by faith that it is also the most effective, powerful means we have to meet this or any other need.

I have a sneaking suspicion this man may have a target on him. Some lunatic may find a permanent way to shut him up—but even if that happens, his message will soar to new heights, will impact more people, and will reach who God intends to hear it.

I pray for this man. I pray that God protects him and gives him continued passion and perseverance to stay the course. But if He chooses to bring him home, I pray God equips him with the kind of courage, faith and strength that will enable him to die as bravely as he’s living.

If I could reach out to him, and to the many whose very lives are in jeopardy, I’d want to say to them what God told His people repeatedly in His word—“Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go,” Joshua 1:9.

When it’s our turn to be faithful when it costs us everything, will we stand strong? Will we be counted among those who are privileged to die for faith in our blessed Lord? In our own strength, we would fall. But God’s people do not have to rely on their own abilities. We stand completely dependent on our God to uphold us to the end. As Psalm 63:7-8 beautiful states, “For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” If He’s holding onto us, falling is not possible.

Please join me in prayer for our brothers and sisters who stand for something greater than their lives. They stand for Jesus Christ, our Savior and King. May we bolster them with our prayers as they, and we, continue in Him.

We watch them daily—because if we don’t they stack up like cords of wood in our DVR queue. If you record them, you must stay on top of them. I’m talking, of course, about episodes of House Hunters and House Hunters International.

I can identify some positive elements about these shows. They provide perspective on what the dollar buys in different parts of the country and world. Examining the way others live is interesting—the good, the bad and the ugly. We can vicariously involve ourselves in choosing properties we simply could not dream of living in.

However, I have to admit that perhaps the elements that bug me about these shows keep me watching. And I could write a thesis about those!

Realtors. Do realtors have ears? Can they hear the words coming out of their clients’ mouths? The client will say, “It is imperative we stay near the city center because we don’t have a car; we need 3 bedrooms at a minimum for our family of seven—with one on the way; no stairs; move-in ready; and some outdoor space for our dog. The absolute top of our budget is $200,000.” So the realtor immediately takes them to a 2-bedroom townhome fixer-upper in the burbs, with steep, winding stairs, a tiny patch of AstroTurf outside, on a busy street, and listed for $380,000. “Were you even listening?,” I scream at the TV. And then that ends up being the house the buyers choose.  I throw my arms up in disgust!

The Buyers. That brings me to the buyers. I get that the show chooses a couple with completely different requirements. One wants city center, the other wants country; one wants beach, the other wants mountains; one wants modern, the other wants vintage. Conflict sells, right? But it’s buyer ignorance that makes me scream.

I especially love the ones overseas. Normally a mild-mannered person, I find myself wanting to choke the chick who continually says, “There’s no tub,” or “I was hoping for stainless steel appliances,” or “This is so tiny!,” or “In Kansas, our master was three times this size.” I scream, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, you idiot!” (I’m really unkind to these people.)

And these shows have determined society’s expectations. Now, every home must have stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops. Even if the kitchen has been newly remodeled, how can anyone hope to ever cook on a black stove? Or an electric one? No, no. You must have a gas stove–and only stainless steel.

And first time house buyers are the worst, aren’t they? Expecting everything for almost nothing. “We really wanted a pool,” they whine, pouting. I scream, “You can’t afford a pool, you morons!”

It’s enough to make you crazy. When I think of all the years I’ve cooked in a tiny kitchen, on an electric stove, with laminate countertops, and popcorn on the ceiling, I wonder how I could possibly have turned out so many delicious meals.

And believe it or not, I’m still so thankful for what we’ve got. In some parts of the world, my house would be worth millions! Maybe it’s that realization that causes me to remain such a faithful viewer of these shows. They remain the shows I absolutely love to hate.

Got to go. I think my DVR is recording another one as we speak!

Hubby and I have traveled 13 days in October, so far. Nine of those days we were getting to and from and going on a glorious cruise to the Caribbean with my son and his family.  Our job was primarily that of babysitters for our 3-year old grandson, Xander.  But we loved that part of it, too.

Being on or near water is a spiritual experience for me. I think I’m more attracted to the beach than the sea.  It’s the power of the waves that seems to remind me the most of the greatness and power of the Lord.  I see their constancy, which soothes me; I watch the bulge of the wave form out from the shore and watch its progress until it finally crests, then breaks as it folds onto the beach, then recedes quietly back into the depths again.  Such power!  Such beauty!

The sea is great, too. Its expanse is the main element that causes me to glorify the Creator, when I can see nothing but water, then recognize that all of it is a tiny drop in the palm of God’s hand.  Then consider all that lies in its depths, and the Lord’s brilliant imagination in that underwater creation.

We got home and barely had time to unpack when we heard the news that Theron’s brother had died. So we packed again and took off on the long drive to St. Charles, MO, where we spent the next four days. Theron’s brother, Claud, has a large, loving family and it did us good to see them again, to see how they respected and loved their father, grandfather, and husband.

My husband and Claud’s five grown grandsons served as pallbearers. There were those tall, dark and handsome young men—and then there was my husband, all 5’7” of him, in his nice suit, with his silvery hair, and the sweetest expression on his face—of pain mixed with strength.  When I saw him like that, my heart exploded with love for him, and once again, I thanked the Lord for bringing us together.

When we made it home again, I saw my humble abode as the haven it’s come to be for us. It was like a giant “aaahhhhh.”  Our house is old and out of style.  It has the problems associated with old houses.  But problems and all, it seemed to wrap its arms around us when we walked in the door.  We’re home again.  I think I’ll stay a while, Lord willing. The old adage is so true—“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”