A Father's Love

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory.

This past week I got an up close and personal view of the compelling love a father. A love that consumes and drives. A love that is desperate. A small boy, four years old was missing in San Benito Poite, the remote village where we go to teach Bible study. I was not in the village at the time, but my co-worker, Clifford, was, as well as my other co-worker’s husband, Rick. The whole village joined the search, combing the bushes around the village, searching each home, running up jungle paths. Even young people dove into the river which runs along the village, searching the depths. A year or so ago, two children from another village disappeared and have not been seen since. This family knew this. They were desperate to find that boy. I received a call, telling me of the situation. The boy had already been missing five hours. I shuddered at the thought of what could have happened. The jungle is so close, the river… right there. I prayed and cried out to God. I spread the word and others joined in prayer.

A police report had to be made by the father, which required leaving the village and travelling more than two hours to the police station in town. I can’t imagine the pain he felt when he tore himself away from the search and left to make the report. Why did he go? Because he felt it was best for his son. Maybe it would help him be found. He was desperate. Even though he would have rather kept searching, he went. My pickup was used to take him. After he went to town, they arrived briefly at my house. I saw an anguished father. Only one thought filled his mind as he twisted his ball cap in his hands: his son. I got in the pickup to join the trip back to the village, crying out to God for this man’s son as darkness closed in around the land. It gets darker sooner in the jungle. 

Before we had traveled far, we received a call: the boy had been found! I watched the waves of emotion rush through that man, that father. I watched as his shoulders shook. The look of anguish gave way, but it was not sheer joy that filled his face, instead it was desperation… a desperate wish that he was there with his child right then, he wanted to see him, touch him, know that he was okay. He wanted to keep him safe; hold him tight and never let him face such fear again. We finally arrived in the village and went inside to see the boy sleeping in the arms of his mother. Relief and joy swept across the father’s face then. We stayed only long enough to make sure all was well, then slipped away to let the family rejoice together.

We were fairly quiet as we traveled back, each absorbed in the thoughts and emotions of the situation. It wasn’t until the next day that Clifford voiced what had been tugging the edges of my thoughts: that father’s desperate love showed us a little glimpse of our heavenly Father’s desperate love for His children, and the anguish He must feel when one goes astray. Oh, He never has to wonder where they are, and He knows the outcome, but that desperate willingness to do anything to bring His children back is the same. After all, His love drove Him to give His Son to bring us back to Him. What amazing love!

Which brings me to 2 Corinthians 5:14: “For the love of Christ controls us…” Depending on the version you read, you will find that the love of Christ constrains, compels, and controls us. It is to be the driving force of our life, that thing that constrains us from doing certain things, but compels us to do others. Controlled by the love of Christ. I thought of this as I sat in the home of a pastor. He was speaking of the difficulties another church was facing, and said he wished he could help, but he had tried before and it seemed they didn’t want help. “I think,” he said, “it is better I just stay to myself and let them see what they will do.” My heart cringed inside. I could feel where he was coming from, I could understand the feeling of trying to help and having that help rejected… but God… Oh, how God loves us. He never gives up because we rejected His help. He woos us when we refuse to be wooed. He loves us when we are unlovely. And it is His love that is to control us. How then, Lord, am I to love those that don’t seem to want it? Teach me Your love. 

Friday as we traveled along the highway, we came across a man passed out on the road, clearly very drunk and beyond ability to move around. Knowing how vehicles fly along that highway, we realized he could be run over there on the road, we have heard of it happening. We stopped and as I watched Clifford help the man off the road, dirty, smelly, and stuff coming out of his mouth, I thought of people who are in a condition like that spiritually. It is hard to love them. Maybe they are clean and nice on the outside, but spiritually they are as repulsive to us as that man was on the outside. Whether through their judgmental pride, their rejection of us, or hurtful things they have said, they have become hard for us to love. How Lord? How can I love them? I want to be controlled by Your love, fill me. Help me.

So very thankful

I know this is not a post about Belize, but I just had to share the thankfulness that has been running through my heart since yesterday. I woke up this morning with the same thoughts and just had to share.

Somehow, I have come across several blogs by people adopting children with Down's Syndrome from other countries. Yesterday another one came into my path, and I sat and read through the old posts with a mixture of emotions and thoughts. Terrible pain and sorrow for children in the conditions I saw described, and thankfulness and joy for the family who was opening their home up to one of these children.

The blog is here, and I linked to a post with a little information about children in a similar state. This precious girl was born with Down's Syndrome and place in a government home in Bulgaria immediately after birth. At nine years of age she looked like this:

She weighed a little over 10 pounds and measured 29 inches long. Her upper thigh was a mere 5 inches around.





She reacted to being touched or held, because she had never known that. She had spent the nine years of her life in a crib.


There are many Down's Syndrome children like her. It breaks my heart, and at the same time makes me sooooo thankful that God put my sister Rachel in our family. 26 years ago she was born with Down's Syndrome. She weighed 8 pounds. She was 21 inches long. This 9 year old child was only slightly larger than that. Rachel thrived and grew. She loved being touched and held. She still loves to give hugs. She has always brought great joy to our lives. I have had many reasons to be thankful for her life, but today I add this bit of thankfulness, the fact that she had the opportunity to thrive in an atmosphere of love and kindness, and not spend her life as the child above. Thank you Lord!


Rachel and I this past Christmas:













 I am also thankful the sweet little girl pictured above finally has a loving family to grow and thrive in. Here she is not long after her adoption:

Thanks for bearing with this deviation from news about Belize, I just had to share how thankful I am for the opportunity to love on and be blessed by my sweet Rachel, as well as give thanks for those who are giving the opportunity of love to sweet children around the world.

Thoughts from a Wednesday service

Yesterday evening, after I called a halt to my work for the day, I sank into my hammock to relax a little, trying to ease the pain of a raging headache. It being Wednesday, I thought of church service in less than two hours, and considered how the rather loud Caribbean beat often accompanying church singing would effect my head. The thought was not a pleasant one, and tempted me to stay at home instead. However, I asked the Lord for strength and drove off, having chosen to go to a church a little further than the one across my backyard.

I arrived at the church only to discover the musician not present, and the entire sound system left covered for the night. Ah, God cares for little details like pounding headaches and booming rhythms! :) The pastor stepped up and called one of the church members to come and lead the service. I smiled as the designated service leader took his place behind the podium. I have known the man for most of my years here in Belize, and have always appreciated his exuberant attitude, he is not a halfway sort of person. Neither is he a man  in need of a PA system, having been blessed with a wonderful set of lungs, and the ability to project his voice quite well, so well in fact, that even without the sound system, his was the only voice I could hear singing last night besides my own. I have always wondered how his powerful voice would sound with a little bit of training. As it is, he has not been blessed with the ability to stay in the same key as the musicians, another reason to be thankful for the lack of musicians last night.

As I watched this man joyfully bounce to an unheard rhythm as he sang, I thought of the tales I have heard through the rumor mill of his struggle to remain in the ways of the Lord. I really cannot remember the details, and I have no need to, but I know that things have changed in his life as a result. I have heard that he has left his former profession (humble as it was) because of the constant temptation he found there. He now chops yards to make a living. I suspect he does so by swinging a machete rather than running a lawn mower. He mentioned how singing songs to the Lord in his mind helps a discouragingly long job fly past in no time. He talked of wanting to please Jesus. Simple and slightly uneducated, his words began to pierce through the foggy pain in my brain and speak to my heart. Here is a man with incredible zeal. He desperately wants to live for the Lord. He does not want to go back to his former way of life. And yet... he has been handed a tough course to follow, for sadly, he has been handed religion without relationship. He has zeal without knowledge. Crying out desperately for God's mercy, he hasn't been taught the path to victory in a moment by moment relationship with Jesus Christ. Am I making wrong assumptions? I sincerely hope so, yet hearing his words, knowing some background, and interacting with the same scenario on a regular basis, I think I am not mistaken.

And thus my heart is burdened today. How to help people like him see the truth and experience the delight of Christ in us, the hope of glory? How to get them to understand that salvation is not just a hope of making it to heaven some day, but is the reality of being saved from ourselves today and living a new life in Christ? That is the challenge on my mind this morning, and I ask you to join me in praying for God's truth to be revealed, not just to people like the man last night, but to the people around you and I each and every day. May our lives be useable as instruments of truth to those God places around us, and may He receive all the glory.

A Secret...

It was dusk when I arrived at her home, and I spotted smoke filtering up through her thatch roof. I ducked under the thatch to go in the doorway. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, I saw her smiling radiantly at me from behind the low table behind which she sat. A bowl of masa sat beside her as her hands deftly worked some of it into a perfectly round tortilla which she placed on her comal over the fire. Minutes after I walked in, her two oldest daughters came in from high school and I watched the three of them sit by the fire and chat, catching up on the latest news, as fresh, hot tortillas kept coming off the comal. Soon her hands were joined by those of her daughters and I, and the tortilla production moved faster. I shared in the stories and laughter, mostly in Maya, with a little English mixed in every once in a while to clarify something for me. Mother and daughters’ fellowship was sweet, light, and beautiful to behold. One of her girls, Sandra, lives with me most of the time, so this was “catch-up” time. She told Sandra stories of the latest antics of the children, spiced with interjections from the next oldest girl. Sandra laughed merrily. Everyone’s eyes sparkled in the firelight. Then we swapped “Sandra” stories, me telling some of the funny things Sandra has done at my house, and her launching into stories from when Sandra was young.

Presently the other children appeared from outside, fresh faced and breathless from their play and helping with chores. One carried a tub of dishes they had just washed at the creek. Most had just bathed there as well. The weather was cool, in the low 60’s, and the children’s hands felt cold as they wrapped them around my neck. Soon her husband came in and we all quickly gathered around the low table upon which she had just made tortillas, it now served as our dining table, even though it was only about 3’ x3’. Hot tortillas were plunged into the warm broth in our dishes, spiked with flavorful but spicy peppers, and containing a piece of venison. Conversation mellowed as I chatted with her husband about the church (he is the pastor).  Steaming cups of tea finished off our meal.

I relaxed in the hammock briefly before we walked over to the church. As the hammock rocked back and forth, the youngest, a three year old boy, nestled beside me and told me stories with his precious lisp. This challenged my Maya skills and he giggled over the English word I used: “what.” He loved the word, and would promptly say it whenever anyone called his name, though I am not sure he really knew what it meant.

Church service was by candle light. She was there, of course, as the pastor’s wife, and I smiled at her on the front bench with her children gathered around her. She was still smiling, a radiant smile that made you feel that all was well. She and most of her children were barefoot, but hair was neatly combed and clothes freshly changed. After we joyfully sang a number of Maya songs without accompaniment, it was time for prayer. I listened to her prayer, and I was humbled. Hers was not full of prayers for herself and her needs. It was an outpouring of thanks for blessings God had given her, followed by sincere prayers for people she knew in need. Then she prayed for me, thanking God for me, praying for my safety, that I would have food to eat the next day, and strength for what God called me to do. She prayed for her daughter that lives with me. Finally she prayed that God would give her faith to love Him more. I couldn’t resist peeping over while she prayed, and as the candlelight danced around her, it lit her face up beautifully, dancing off her prominent cheekbones and accentuating her lovely features. In her sincere thankfulness, the joy in her spirit combined with the glow of the candle made it seem as if I had been given a glimpse into heaven and those gathered before the throne of God.

After service, we went to the house, and I was given a bed. It was the only bed in the house, the one she and her husband usually sleep on; that night they slept on the cement floor surrounded by their children. Temperatures dipped into the upper 50’s that night, inside and out, the floor was cold, and they were all dressed in short sleeves and bare feet.

Early the next morning, sometime after four, I heard her stir the fire. I got up shortly, along with the two high school girls. We all huddled around the fire and chattered a little before the two girls dashed to the creek to take a quick bath. Soon I was sipping something warm and thinking about the day before me. All too soon the school buses were heard in the distance. I said a quick goodbye and slipped out the door with the girls, leaving the rest of the family still asleep. The bus driver had agreed to take me along, so I was thankful for the transportation.

I arrived back at my house, and thought on the contrast. As simple as my home is compared to many in the States, I have so many more things than she does. I have running water, a small stove and refrigerator. She goes to get water in buckets and cooks over a fire. No refrigerator. I have lights; she has gas lamps made out of empty glass jars. I have a shower and a toilet; she has a creek and a tumble-down outhouse, two people live in my house (Sandra and I) and I have two beds; she has nine people in her house and one bed. The list goes on.

Later I find time to do some writing for a company I have been doing some work on the side for to provide a little extra income. Today the task is writing descriptions for a furniture company. Although writing usually comes easy for me, today I struggle to find words to describe a chair that costs $500.00 or $1,000.00 in our Belizean currency. I write: “Though sleek and modern, this chair flirts with tradition, just like you do. Clean, smooth lines are paired with the surprising touch of nail heads, usually associated with a more traditional look. But nothing about your home is usual, so the chair fits right in. So go ahead, flirt with tradition a little, whether in your entry, living room, or bedroom, the creamy linen of this chair will quietly add a fresh look.” I think of her. I think of her obvious happiness. I think of her home… furniture list includes: one homemade bed, three narrow, regular height tables which serve as cabinets, the low table for making tortillas, three 8-inch high stools each made of three rough pieces of 2 x 6, a hammock, and two cheap plastic lawn chairs. That’s it. Probably all that is in her house didn’t cost more than that 500.00 chair. And yet, I would imagine whoever buys that chair has never been as happy as she is. That person chooses exposed nail heads as a fashion statement; she has nothing else out of sheer necessity. And while the furniture I wrote about was way out of my league both in price and style, I wondered if her happiness with the simple things was within my reach. She has a secret… 

What to write??

“What to write?” I asked the Lord as I stared at my computer screen.

 I know there are those who want to hear what’s happening in these jungles oh so green.

 They’ve given to the work,

And at the blog they often look.

Yet, what to say?

 The question torments day by day.

They want to hear of Bible studies in Poite, how the truck is still carrying us there in spite of its improvised parts. They want to know how the new Saturday discipleship program is going, if people’s lives are being touched. They expect to hear great tales of exploits for the Lord. But what to tell them?

Who would be excited to know that the pickup has sat for the last four weeks at two different mechanic shops waiting to be fixed? Is it thrilling to know that the Bible studies have not been resumed because we don’t have transportation, that the Saturday discipleship hasn’t started because we don’t have a way to bring people here from the junction, or even to go and invite them in the first place? Lord, what do I say?

Who wants to know that the man who was supposed to know if land was available for the pig project was out of the country on the week I had been told to go and see him? What excitement does it bring to say that even now, he still says I must wait another month to hear?

Is anyone interested in the fact that I was able to purchase a lawnmower to keep my yard mowed? Do they care that the new lawnmower is such a relief after the old one that was held together with I don’t know how many wires? I am blessed to have a lawnmower that doesn’t always have the gas tank falling off or a wheel, but will others see that as a blessing?

Would it impress anyone to know that I am perfecting the art of knowing when the approaching clouds will just give a light sprinkle that won’t affect the laundry much, or when it will be a downpour and I better bring the clothes in?

Does it give pleasure to say that I nearly cried in frustration when I called the mechanic last week when the pickup was finally supposed to be ready, only to find out that they wouldn’t even start working on it until this week? Or that right in the middle of writing this update, I heard of more delays on the truck, and I did shed a few tears?

Should I tell them of all these little things and more?

Or should I tell them of all the “little” blessings You have brought in my life?

• That the refrigerator is still working, even though I thought it was dead.
• That I was able to coordinate transportation to get one of our dear pastors to the hospital late in the night, even though I didn’t have transportation myself.
• That the family of the girl who lives with me offered to provide local foods from their farm anytime I want – a relief to the budget and a blessing to the palate!
• That a man from another mission working here in Belize has taken my pickup under his arm, bringing in parts from the States, towing the truck, dealing with the mechanics… what a blessing he is to us!
• That I was able to get a water purifier, so that I don’t have to buy water every week – which would be a challenge right now without a vehicle. God’s timing is perfect!
• That I can walk across my yard, step over the fence, go around the parsonage, and arrive at a church – a blessing since I don’t have wheels to take me further.
• That even though this close by church speaks K’ekchi and I only understand Maya, I can still worship with other believers.
• That others who have vehicles think of me and take me to service in other villages on occasion.
• That my almost three year old godson came and spent four days with me and gave me lots of snuggles.
• That I have been able to visit my dear friends several times in Belmopan, attend church with them, and have some wonderful fellowship.
• That some other dear friends of mine saved the very last of their young corn (before it got too mature) to fix a special meal for me when I returned from the States.

Should I continue with this list of blessings? Or should I tell of the things you have been working in my heart and the opportunities You have given me to share with others?

• In spite of all the delays in what I think should be happening, I can trust Your plan. I can let You instruct me and change me and equip me.
• For the time You gave me to speak in Pueblo Viejo when the pastor was away. How the story of Zaccheus spoke to my heart. Just because Jesus was present, Zaccheus’ life was transformed. Not because of a message, not because Jesus rebuked him, but simply the presence of Jesus Christ brought conviction to his heart and he took action. If the presence of God is not changing my life, perhaps I’ve left Your presence. Lord, may Your life transform mine!
• That You give me times to be Christ to those around me – the person next to me on the bus whose wild children keep banging into me and running up and down screaming, to the mechanic who suggested I put some old fuel injectors in my pickup, to the people who gave me a ride the other day, saving my steps.
• For the two opportunities I had to speak truth into the same person’s life; long, deep conversations that challenged that person to greater depths in his walk with God.

The list goes on… truly Lord You have blessed with opportunities. They may not be great and amazing to man’s eyes, but they are Your work nonetheless.

Thank You, Lord, for those who speak to my soul, like the man who is helping with the pickup. When he told of the news of more repairs, he told me, “Do not be discouraged.  God is on your side.  This too shall pass.” I needed to hear that. Thank You, Lord, for Your truth.

And to those who have made it this far in my post… I think you get a little picture of what has been happening here in Belize. No, it hasn’t been as I planned, but God continues to hold my hand and guide my steps. I am so thankful to be His child! He alone is faithful and true! He is the One that gives us breath, Who gives a reason to sing and rejoice, Who gives a smile for those around us, and offers to shine His abundant life through our fleshly bodies, if we only let Him. To Him alone be praise!

A different season

Ecclesiastes 3:1 states, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." How quickly life passes through its seasons! Some changes are hailed with great joy, while other seasons bring tears as they depart. What great peace and joy is there for those who trust the Master of the Universe to change the seasons as He sees fit - He does it for the great glory of His kingdom and the joy of His dear ones. He can be absolutely trusted!

Season changes have been the order of the day for T.E.A.M. lately! One we are very grateful for - a break in the intense dry season we endured for what seemed like forever! March - May are usually hot here, but oh my, we had quite the dry season this year! However, God has graciously sent rain to the land and we are very grateful.

The other change is almost as predictable as the dry season and rainy season: my annual summer trip to the States. I think by now I would have realized the fact that I experience the hottest season in Belize only to follow it up with the hottest time in Oklahoma! Well, I HAVE realized it, but you would think I would make a change in my schedule to hit some better seasons! Ah well, what can I say?

This season change brought both tears and happiness. I have been so blessed to have my very dear friends living in the house adjacent to me since January, and it was sad to break up our little "family." There were seven of us in all, Sandra and I in my house, William, Irma, their two precious boys, and Clifford in the other. What a blessing this time was! We gardened, mowed lawns, celebrated birthdays, traveled, had devotions, and generally kept each other company. I was blessed by their presence, and the way they helped me in so many ways. It was a precious time that I am sorry to have come to a close. However, I am always grateful for an opportunity to see my family here in the States. Thus the reason for the mix of emotions at the change of seasons.

I miss these bright eyes!

I left Belize on the 17th, after spending the 16th in Spanish Lookout doing some pricing for the pig project. We are making great progress on plans - streamlining efficient models for the pastors' pig raising facilities, looking at property, and finalizing equipment lists for the processing plant. Of course the most important preparation for the project is prayer. We know it is far bigger than we can handle, and we do not have funds to move forward, but we know that our Father is not limited by our inabilities or lack of funds, and if He wants to be glorified through this project, He can certainly provide the funds for it! We pray that we keep in step with His leading, so that His will might be done!

One of the properties we are looking at.

The same evening I left, Clifford, Magdalena, and at least six others (I forgot to get the exact count) headed out to Poite for Bible study again. We are thankful that the Lord had His hand on the truck and allowed them to arrive safely. I heard good reports of their time. This was the last study for a while until I get back. The truck is still not running well, and we felt it best to hold off until I can bring the part from the States. Also, it takes some pressure off the gas budget for the time being. While continuity in the studies would have been a good thing, we trust the Lord's leading and that He will continue the work He is doing. After all, it is His work and not our own!

I would appreciate your prayers for me while in the States. I am trying to make progress on a website, continue with research on the pig project, as well as prepare for some intensive discipleship we are planning for the beginning of September. I also hope to have some speaking opportunities as the Lord gives opportunity.

I would also appreciate your prayers for Magdalena and Clifford while I am away. Magdalena continues to work with her husband in their small vegetable shop, and Clifford is seeking a job to make some extra money in the interim. Pray for God's hand of blessing on both of them!

Cooler weather, and still rolling...

Greetings once again!

Last Monday brought welcome relief... it was the first morning in probably two months that I woke up to a temperature of less than 80 degrees in the house! I was excited to finally see a break from all the heat we have been having. It was such a hot dry season!!! Most of the country only received 20-25% of its usual rainfall. Everything was dry, fires were burning, and crops were not growing. But God mercifully sent rain last Monday, and it has continued since then. We are all so blessed and thankful for the rain, in spite of the muddy roads and the difficulty getting clothes dry!

We appreciate your prayers for the truck. We ended up not going to Poite that Friday after all... it was still in the same shape as the previous week when we didn't make it all the way there. Since then we have found out it MAY be the air flow sensor. We haven't been able to get a new part yet, but modifying the existing part with a phone card and a sieve has helped a great deal!! All six cylinders actually kick in, which is a far cry better than three!

So... we made it to Poite this past Friday. It was wonderful. Pastor Martin was soooo thrilled to see us. They had been worried. We had no way to call them, but had passed on a message with someone on the school bus. However, as is typical in these areas that lack good means of communications, there were several versions floating around of how far we had made it when we attempted to go, that we had arrived in the village at midnight that night, etc. Poor Pastor Martin did not know what to believe! He was greatly relieved to see our little white pickup pull up to his house.

Bible study went well, although the crowd was understandably a little smaller due to the fact that they didn't know if we were coming or not. We talked about God calling Abram to leave his family and familiar surroundings and go to a land... that God would tell him. I am always blown away by the faith this required. Abram believed God, and because he believed, the very next verse said that he went out as God had said. Faith and obedience... and it was counted to him for righteousness.

As I brought the lesson to a close, I talked briefly about the different things that God might be calling us to do that seem impossible, unreasonable, scary, overwhelming, etc. For some of the people present, it might mean giving their lives to Christ for the first time, for others it might mean forgiving someone that has hurt them, for others, making a difficult stand for Christ. Whatever the situation, I encouraged all of us to be as Abram, to believe and obey, and suggested taking a moment to pray at the altar before we closed. The Lord was at work, and most everyone came up to pray. Please join us in praying for a continued work in all of our hearts!