![]() Why is it that while the minutes and hours and days often crawl by, the years seem to pass in mere blinks?Ī few years back, April 13 found my family in painful tears trying to understand an unimaginable loss-it’s the day our sweet Payton slipped far too soon from this world to eternity.įor a long time, I struggled to understand Payton’s death in light of Romans 8:28-“And we know that in all things G works for the good of those who love Him…” It’s hard to believe that it’s April 13 again. This is a story of POWER and LOVE and FAITHFULNESS This is a story that doesn’t end with death. (pictures of this wonderful man at the bottom of this post.) I wish so deeply that I could go back a year and look into his eyes and shake his shoulders and help him understand, make him understand. 85 years that he could have met his Savior. He lived a long life-he was 85 when he died. He hung them up in his house, and his family displayed them at his funeral. We took a few pictures together, and I brought them back to him each time I visited. I attended his 85th Birthday Bash (village style, of course). He killed one of his sheep and prepared a dinner in my honor. He asked if I would marry his son or his grandson. He had me over to his home, and always sent me away with an overflowing bag of nuts and lemons. He was a shepherd and sought me out every time I was visiting. Today I learned that an old man I befriended in a village that I visited many times in the two years I lived here passed away this winter.I don't even know where it's coming from, but it's filled with sorrow and pain and all I want is to find that person and hold them and cry with them. An hour ago, I could hear one of my neighbors hitting his wife. It's been hard falling asleep at night.I'm weeping even as I type this, because I know her heart is hardened toward these tiny babies whose lives are being ended as she watches. When she's lucky, she says, she gets to assist. She wants to specialize in gynecology, and spends 3 afternoons a week volunteering at a local clinic, where, for hours, she watches abortion after abortion after abortion. One in particular has decided to begin studying on the track that will bring her to medical school (she's currently 15). It's been hard hearing about the life choices my students are making.Their pain is palpable and rips at my heart and I have spent hours on my knees asking for His mercy on them. Two of them are not, and the third just lost a pregnancy, her first ever after 3 years of marriage, after 9 weeks. It's been hard hugging three of my coworkers who have been hoping beyond hope to become pregnant.I grabbed my bags and boogied right out of there. He didn't talk to me for the rest of the flight, but did give me a thumbs up and a wink at the baggage claim. Since I had a pretty good feeling that we would, in fact, land safely, I redirected that invitation quickly-maybe if we land safely, you should go celebrate with your WIFE! Point made. We each had a few languages up our sleeves, and found one we had in common…I promised him that the plane would stay in the air, and he promised to take me out for dinner if we landed safely. He white-knucked his armrests and whimpered and closed his eyes and whispered inaudible pleas to who even knows through our entire take-off, and repeated this routine at every little bump or drop or turn. Why? Because I have never, EVER met someone more terrified to be on an airplane. I slept for a good part of this flight, but while I was awake, I couldn't help but stare at Ali. ![]() is exhausting.įlight #3: Frankfurt to Far Away: I shared a row with a guy named Ali-we had an open seat between us. JC, keep me awake! DO NOT FALL ASLEEP!" Truly, it was that strong. With every breath I took in, I called on JC to be in that room with us, and called on the Spirit to be working in the hearts of the people there, and with every breath out I was telling myself, "J, you're in control of your body. The sp!r!rual atmosphere exhausted me to the point that I had to actively not fall asleep-it was one of the strangest sp!r!tual things I've experienced here. Though I chose not to participate in the motions she was leading, I did bow my head with them, though the G I was calling on was not the gd of the Qu-ran, but the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, my Father and their Father. But really, that meant that the Mullah showed up at 5pm, and then chanted from the Qu-ran for two hours, calling on the names of Mhmmd and A||h, while leading everyone there in physical room-cleansing and soul-cleansing motions. I didn't eat lunch since the dinner began at 4pm. It was an amazing and bizarre experience (two adjectives that I could use to describe nearly everything that happens here).
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