Fading Mississippi

Across the road from us they have begun their buldozing again a few acres out. Hmm...if we held onto this house a couple more years, the value of our land could really increase. A couple months ago someone changed our zoning to RC, restricted commercial.

Down at the end of the white folks' houses, our black neighbors have their community. Smack up against them, sandwiching them in is another big new subdivision starting where the new big road cuts through to Wal-Mart.

When we drive down our little road on these cold winter mornings, it is comforting to see the small black homes with their smoke rising up among the trees. We are glad that so far at least the developer has not approached Melvin, Jimmy, and the others about selling like they did to our elderly neighbors, Mr. Billy and Mrs. Kay.

When Melvin's parents, Edy Mae and Walter, passed away, he was so happy to move back here from the city, to inherit the woodsy acreage, the house and all the antiques in and around it.

The little leanto building on his property with its front porch and tin roof was hauled there after Walter inadvertently burned down his brother Henry's trailer that was kept for when he visited from the city. Distraught at the mishap, Walter approached the white lady who had a cabin at the top of the hill, deep in the woods across from him and asked if he could buy the little out building down near our end of the road for his brother to stay in when he came.

The horse barn she had there was more than enough for her needs, so the little sharecropper's shack was moved down the road for $500. There it sits in somewhat disrepair, but it is part of the old time Mississippi country scenery that we hope doesn't change.

Down the lane and around the corner, the new subdivision folks have approached Andrew the mechanic. Instead of asking him to erect a big privacy fence, they have kindly offered to help rid him of some of the hundreds of old cars which he has on his property, parked here and there amongst the mountains of auto parts and such.

The idea of disposing of old cars in a manner other than leaving them where they conked out is a novel one to Andrew, and they have been hauling them away to the junk yard... for money. So among his happily clucking chickens, he continues repairing cars back in the woods there for 'cash only' customers.

It wasn't but a few years ago that Mr. Billie gently suggested to Andrew that he might should be charging tax on his auto repairs. Mr. Billie showed him how, and he said, "Mr. Billie, I sho' would appreciate it if you could hep me with this at the end of the tax year. I jist caint figger it out."

So Mr. Billie did his income tax. He and Mrs. Kay have spent many a bygone evening chatting by the fireplaces down Dock Lane. Like us, they are happy to see smoke still coming up from the chimneys and the little kiddies on their bikes singing in the evening, "He's got the whole worl' in His hands."

Everyday Housewife

The 'little' boys are abed and Rob and Bob are studying chromosomes with nine weeks' exams coming up next week. Rob has an amazing list of work to make up after their trip up north for the long weekend. I must say he is very diligently checking off his list of four poems to compose, plus an essay to write on Great Expectations, and now the chromosomes.

I am pleased to see him working so hard. In addition to the amazing array of sports, our school's accademic activities are inching towards that of the Classical Christian school our kids used to attend in Michigan. Our new principal's favorite saying is, "Boys and girls, it is TIME for SCHOOL."

So they worked tonight. Then Peter had some time with Dad, when they read "The Magician's Nephew," after which he went off to bed happily enough. Next, James had his turn to ask Dad about how you swing an axe properly and something else concerning electromagnets.

Now, after arbitrating a disagreement about James having the light on, I have left them, with James curled under a wool blanket in the hall reading his Hardy Boys book. That boy has read a large number of the books in this house, and his science teacher says we just need to keep feeding him knowledge.

I suspect that under his still somewhat halting English there is a racing brain trying to express itself. A while back he was acting out in school, but I see now that any deviation from motivated hard work can mean only one thing with him. That there is something on his mind.

The thing on everyone's mind has been moving. After the initial upheaval, we have simmered back down, half wondering if it wouldn't be easier if the house didn't sell, so we and our expectant daughter in the house up north can all stay put a little longer. Bob however is commited to working there July-September, all of which leaves one somewhat up in the air scratching one's head.

We want God's plan, much as we'd like to be there for Emmy and the baby and our other dear ones. A friend who was thinking about us the other day, drove by this house looking for me. She tried calling me to say God spoke such deep peace into her heart as she drove past the place.

Meanwhile, I was wandering around Wal-Mart, quite aggitated about the whole matter and having a 'discussion' about it with God. I grabbed my cell phone and asked if I could cry on her shoulder. She said she was just trying to reach me.

So I drove to her place, and we threw ourselves into prayer about the whole thing, until suddenly the peace came down almost like a thud on top of me. That is the first time that has happened to me. I think it may be what the old-time Pentacostal ladies used to call 'praying through.' Very nice, and what a gift to have a dear friend who will lay down her life for you for half a morning to 'pray through' something with you that is heavy on your mind.

Now I know God is going to take care of it all, no matter what happens.

Little Yellow House

Amy choose yellow paint and a brightly colored WELCOME banner for her house. On the porch are orange cushioned chairs and a pretty urn blooming over with pansies. Beside the chairs is a table with a framed picture and a little book.

This small yellow house on the corner is located smack in the middle of crack alley. And the friends who joined us at the meeting there were ladies with whom crack cochaine and pain are a way of life. A couple years ago Ms. Amy's family followed Jesus down here to live, when He asked them to leave the suburbs to move closer to some of His friends, the street people.

Before anyone else arrived, we chatted and waited. Amy said she had been praying that Angel would come today. Angel's heart had been softening lately, so that now she isn't as suspicious. Others on the street are also gradually beginning to be more trusting, and laugh with their three children, who insist on being friendly to everyone just like their parents.

Angel and others in the neigborhood knock on their door for food or money, a blanket or prayers. Down the street and around the corner is another group of folks, better off than Angel and her friends. They also come to the door, but they quote scary statistics and newspaper articles. They warn Amy that this was no place to bring children. That they have attended the church down the way for twenty years, and that it is shameful that her family should live on this block.

Amy and her family are thinking that it is understandable that the fearful mouths of those who stumble up and down the block on dope, alcohol and darkness should say, "This ain't no place for y'all. This is a bad place."

But what Amy thinks is really nice is when the church down the way and the 100 other churches in town burst through their walls to penetrate the darkness along with her family, instead of worrying about them.

"Here we are in the Bible Belt, reading Guideposts and going to Sunday School," says Amy. "But, y'all, we're squandering our blessings on ourselves. We are numb to the love Jesus has for us, and that He is calling us to love others and pray till His joy breaks through the heavens over our city. Till the hopelessness up and leaves."

Amy was brought up dirt poor at the end of the end of the road. Their house was so far out that they shopped from the "rolling store," the old school bus that would come around now and then like the bookmobile and the medical mobile.

But this kind of poverty, city poverty, is different and hard to get used to, she tells us. However, God has called them, and so here she sat sharing her hopes with us, and her dreams for Mary, who has no running water, for Cat, who used to be aftraid to step across the doorsill of this holy house, for Herman, and for the girls who sell their bodies for a meal. For everyone on the street where she lives.

Just then, in walked Angel and with her a friend, Jan. Jan had lost her dearest friend the other day. She had died from the crack. The woman had been like a mother to her, when she was trying to get free of alcohol three years ago. Though her friend had her greatest wish, that is, to die sober, still Jan is feeling really depressed. It was her desperation, I think, that brought her there along with Angel to the yellow house of hope.

She looked around at us and shook her head, puzzled. "It don't make no sense you bein' here," she said, "You must be crazy. I don't understand."

"Well, said Amy, "This ain't no humanitarian thing. It is Jesus Who has the unmatched power to lift folks out of the slimy snake pit, to free us of the devil's lies and dispell all our fears."

And then she read Psalm 34. "The righteous cry and the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. Those who seek the Lord shall not want for any good thing."

"Either we believe it or we don't," she said. "And I believe it..."

"Can we pray for y'all?"

"The End of the Spear"

Mimi just couldn't motivate her group at college to go serve dinner in the soup kitchen. I suggested that if she was not sure where she was going herself, then who would follow her there?

"I know Mom, I am uncertain about the whole thing." "Well," I suggested, "Why don't the boys and I take whoever wants to go down there today?"

"Today? Oh, would you?"

Maggie was excited because this particular mission has a radio ad which quotes C.T. Studd the missionary to China: "Some wish to live within the sound of a chapel bell; I wish to run a rescue mission within a yard of hell." http://home.snu.edu/~hculbert/slogans.htm

So we all trundled on down to the mission next door to hell. There was another group already there from another local college. So between scooping out green beans and delivering trays to the guests, the young people got acquainted with each other and made plans to meet again.

Filling the water glasses were two husky, young men, with whom I struck up a conversation. Bobby told me seriously how he wants to study to be a pastor. And Stephen's eyes grew wide and his face glowed as he told me he wishes to be a missionary pilot. He already flies a plane and is studying aviation.

"Oh, wow," I said, "have you seen the movie, 'The End of the Spear?'"

I remember when those five missionaries in the film were martyred by the very natives they'd come to tell about Jesus Christ.

I was a kid in grade school. Our social studies teacher came through the door one morning with a very sober expression, and told us about the event. I'd already heard the night before, because my parents had had some contact with the families of some of the men.

The Life Magazine showed black and white images of their bodies floating in a river in the fierce jungles of Equador. They frightened and inspired me. The photograph of their wide-eyed and tearful wives saddened but inspired and amazed me.

Some of those women stayed on to reach the natives who had killed their husbands. Their life vision had not changed. The wives merely carried on without their men.

The movie is the true story, narrated by the pilot's son. In order to depict the life of these fierce tribesmen before they met Jesus Christ, the film is necessarily violent. But it is beautifully done, the message is gripping and intense to say the least and the photograhy is great. The arial feats of the pilot, Nate Saint, intrigue me.

And yes, Stephen had also seen it. "I'm gonna fly a plane in a circle like that to drop and lift supplies in a jungle," he said with a broad smile. "We have to go and tell people that God has a Son who came here to die for their sins."

You go kids. Go quickly and tell it on the mountains and jungles and inner cities that Jesus Christ is born and that He died and rose and is coming back real soon.

Nothing Shall Hurt You

As I dashed through the garage on my way to pick up the boys from school, I paused to check the little barometer Peter had set up for his science fair project. He'd constructed it from a peanut butter jar with a piece of balloon stretched across the top.

I was surprised. The plastic straw he had taped to the balloon had dipped down a tiny bit, as indicated by the marker he had set up.

Why? It was a sunny, warmish day. A few clouds were in the sky, but I hadn't noticed a hint of bad weather coming. Yet I knew that a falling barometer can mean just that; even subtle changes can be a sign of significant weather.

Driving to the school proved I was right, The sky over the city was a dirty gray, and the edge of the gray was rapidly coming our way. I hopped out of the car to herd the boys as quickly as possible, but had to go up to the school entrance looking for Peter.

As I did so, a sudden gust of wind whipped out of nowhere, and several large trash cans by the janitor's door clunked over and began rolling, blocking my path. Voices of children were rising in excited calls, and parents scurried to their cars.

A friend's voice called to me through the wind, "Big stuff is coming. Gulf ball sized hail." "Thank you," I called back, "We need to rebuke this!"

I got the boys in the car, and as we drove home we watched the sky do amazing things above the 'moor' on our country road. The clouds were rolling fast, smokey gray masses, lowering such as we'd never seen. I kept hearing in my mind the words of one of the teachers, who had said above the wind, "It's like Acts 2:19, wonders in the sky above and blood and fire and vapor of smoke."

I don't know if these scary wonders in the sky above signified something spiritual. They certainly didn't look like the majestic Coming of the Lord Jesus in His bright clouds of glory.

These were evil looking. And sons and daughters of God do not take kindly to evil. Like Gandalf raising his big staff and planting it firmly in the path of that huge fire-breathing monster, we too have authority to say, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

So, once at the house, we quickly got out of the car. Above us the sky was boiling. I shouted up at it, "We are children of God! You, weather system, you shall not harm us or our neighborhood! You shall go only as far as God Almighty allows you, no further."

I guess I tend to think, unless God impresses upon me otherwise, that things that break windshields, crack tall pines so they smash houses and start fires, are not the will of our gracious Heavenly Father.

That, indeed, even if we did sin and open our lives to such things, we can still repent. "The righteous cry and the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles," and "the blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son cleanses us from all sin." God will go out of His way to bless us, not hurt us.

Later when things calmed down, and I was jogging happily away at the fitness place, the ladies got talking about the storm. Down the highway from us it had dropped hail, but in our area it didn't amount to much. One girl I'd never seen before piped up, "When things like that come, I just say, 'Get behind me, satan!' I figure if Jesus can talk like that, we can too.'"

I agree. He said, "I give you authority over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall indeed hurt you."

Getting Nervous

I remember how I felt. I wanted to pick everyone's brains about what it would be like getting a couple orphans and bringing them into our house. A dear lady who is headed over in a few day has written me asking the same question. "Do you have any advice?"

I hope she doesn't mind my answering here. This is in some early blog entries, but it is good for me to recall the things we did that worked. So here's what comes to mind...

This past year I have experienced God's Word, the Bible, and His love for me personally on a daily basis, so that I am able to pass that on in a very real way to my boys.

Jesus' cross and resurrection for the sins of the world have become increasingly revealed to me in their immensity. As this past year has unfolded, I have been struck over and over again by it and say to myself, "Wow, Jesus' cross covers this too!" and "Jesus really is alive and well!'

This probably doesn't sound specific enough in terms of advice, but I know God has been my strength with the boys and all the challenges of life. Quite simple really. I just cling to Him and trust Him to redeem every situation that arises, and He does.

At first we had a young woman come over every day to tutor the boys in English. They loved her and it reminded them of Ukraine. It was helpful having her translate for them when they and we were frustrated by the language barrier.

The boys at first were very independent and needed reigning in. So we limited the rooms they were allowed in and we limited them to the downstairs and to using only certain things in the house. I never regretted making close boundaries. It is something I learned as a teacher. Be strict at first because it is VERY difficult to pull back later, when they begin getting presumptuous. They wanted to touch everything.

We started from square one with manners. My husband was ruthless :) I just learned to bite my tongue. But they respect him and that is the way males relate. You'd think I'd have that down after 37 years of marriage, but I had a concentration of girls for so many years, only NOW I am really seeing what makes guys tick!

Oh, yes, I was talking about limiting the boys. A couple days I recall saying, No to James every time he turned around. Once he knew his limits he was much happier. He had learned to control his environment as you can imagine. I know ALL the orphan kids do it. And they have to relinquish that control. As they see that you really love them even if you are strict, it works. Orphan kids I think all tend to be whiney and pouty at first, but that passes as we gently point it out to them. At times they were downright ugly, i.e. swearing. I said, "Nyet! You may not do that. This is a Jesus house."

I also told them both, "You cannot make me stop loving you." They were absolutely amazed by that. I even let them see me cry about how much I loved them and what we had gone through for them. They softened and softened to the point that now I get so many hugs, it's not fair :)

The other thing I did was teach them profound but simple truths that I learned in the Bible. These kids really relate to the earthy stories Jesus told about the poor and the street people, about killing, mean people, harlots, widows, kings, children and about being compassionate. I used a good Bible story book with pictures. At first they'd get up and walk around, but I would gently show them how to sit still. They loved it and would pull their chairs close to mine.

I taught them 5 word sayings. The first was "The Lord is my Shepherd," one word per finger. Then, from the words of Jesus, "I will never leave you." They loved it. I believe the Bible teachings set the tone for a house of peace. God listened to His stories too, and He approved and came into my kitchen on many occasions.

Every morning I made them kneel by their beds and we'd pray the Our Father.

This is bringing back all the memories.... I'm sure it's more than you asked for, but anyway, a year later the difference is like night and day, the changes in these boys. God has blessed us, He is the kindest Person I have ever met.

Yes, you are nervous about your big adventure, but God has been preparing you all along. Just watch and see what He does and you won't be nervous any more. You will be writing a blog because of how Big God is to you. Your faith will grow and He will come like you have never experienced before.

Great Day for Fishin'

"Just enjoy it while you can," said Bob when I mentioned that I would miss the South once we'd moved. "Soon it will be behind you."

Yes, Michigan is different, I know. Folks are more proper and reserved. Last time we went north after seven years in Texas and Florida, I realized that I take too long saying things, and they look at their watches.

Not here.

When we do go up 'ere again, I hope I don't forget conversations like the one a few minutes ago with a perfect stranger at the gas pump.

A nicely dressed woman got out of her car to fuel up next to me. Of course I said, "Beatuiful day. How ya doin'?"

She replied, "Jest fine, than-kew. It's such a nice day, Ah'm fixin' to go fishin'."

I knew enough not to ask what she'll be fishing for. Of course it's catfish. It's always catfish.

So I said, "Where ya fishin'?"

She replied, "Up 'ere on Pelahatchie Bay. The resevor is so high that the little rivers and creeks is flooded. There's lots o' floodin' up 'ere.

I had noticed crossing the spillway that at the "cork" where the dammed up water spills over into the Pearl River, there is lots of flooding, and little boats are scattered everywhere through what was woods last week.

"Usta when Ah'd fish up there when it was floodin', I'd catch some bigguns. One day I sat there, and in an hour Ah caught me 25 this size. And she stretched her hands out to show me.

"Well, yew have a great day fishing, I smiled. "And fill up yer freezer," I said as I hung up my pump.