Kahalu'u Prayer Walk: Letting the Locals Lead Us

We were asked to come do a prayer walk last spring at Kahalu'u Housing Project.  My friend Lilo, a resident there who understands spiritual warfare, told me of three suicides that had happened with young people in the last six months at that very housing area.  She asked if I could gather people from the community and Univ. of Nations to come alongside them and to pray.  

That morning in prayer, I sensed I was to “let them speak.”  I was to start by asking the people of Kahalu’u what they had noticed was going on in their community.  What patterns had been happening, and what would they like to see change?  We were to ask them to lead us in the praying, and the children and their completed art projects (from the art therapy time on Monday) were to start us off.

So when we got there, we simply did this.  I walked forward in this simple, clear path the Lord had shown me.  And it worked!   This is what we found when we arrived: 

  People from town had arrived and were already calling out to the Lord for this place. 

I noticed that one gentleman from the community was on the other side of the stone wall, and the children were about 20 feet away, hunched down together on the sidewalk.   When I walked up, I called the man over.  His name is Ikaika, and he told me he was from Kosrae, another island in Micronesia.  He was happy to be there.  I told him we were glad to have him.   We called the children over, and asked that they sing one of the songs that Tonyson used to sing.  (Tonyson was the boy who had most recently died, right next to the property.) They did. The kids sang enthusiastically, and I joined in as I knew the song from one of the Salvation Army gospel songs that Tonyson used to be part of.

“I’ve got my mind made up, and there’s no turning back.  Cause I’m going to see my Jesus, one day!  I’ve got my mind made up, and there’s no turning back.  I’m going to see my Jesus one day.”

With Betty (Auntie Be) the art therapist assisting, we gathered the children and their butterfly-shaped paintings, and let them lead us up to the area where Tonyson had taken his life.  They staked their pictures in the ground, or tied them in the trees.  Our friend Kalani, a skilled canoe carver, found ways to set them into the rock wall and into the branches. 

I asked Kalani to pray over the keiki.  It was important to have a Hawaiian brother or sister—from this land—to bless these people. It was a long while before Kalani could speak.  This humble grandfather wept as he prayed over the children.  He prayed for hope in them, and then we all prayed against fear from this suicide.  Merlitha, the youngest sister of Tonyson, was there, receiving these prayers and blessings from this loving man.

Listening to the locals of Kahalu'u as to how to pray for their land

From the top of the property, we asked the people to tell us how to pray.  One lady shared of the need for order and wisdom for the parents.  She shared of how the kids run all over the parking lot and how they are in danger of being hit by cars pulling in.  The gentleman shared that he’d love to see better behavior in the families, of watching their children. 

Equipped with these prayers from the people of this place, we began to pray.  We walked around the project, and met one of the women who lost her husband to suicide a few months earlier.  Shyly, she let us pray for her and her children.  

Other people emerged from their apartments, and—with translation from our friend Lilo—asked us to pray for them as well.  A couple people began to pick up litter, prompted to beautify physically as they asked God for order spiritually.  

Later, Lilo told us that at the churches of this culture group, the regular people do not have a voice—just the pastors and deacons. The women are never asked for their opinions on how to pray.  So that nudge earlier in the day from the Lord to “let them speak” was powerful!  I remember as the time neared an end, Kapuna Fay Williams, long-term YWAM intercessor for this island telling me, “This was right.  You let these people lead you in this.  That’s just how it should be.”  I love it when I don’t know how to do something, but God shows us how to go!  

SIDELINED

SIDELINED.  Out of commission.  That’s what I’ve felt like the last five weeks.  Sidelined from teaching, from going out in the community doing things I love, and from exercising.  It hasn’t been easy. 

I think I’ve left our condo six or seven times since my ankle surgery Jan. 2^nd other than for doctor appointments.  Each time entails having to be carried down three flights of stairs to the elevator, where I’m put in a wheel chair or manage crutches til I get to the car.  I saw my first sunset at the beach a few nights ago.  It was heavenly.  I keep thanking my husband for that.

You know how when you are camping how you miss certain foods so much that when you taste anything close to them it’s so much better?   The sunset was superb the other night.  I sat on a picnic table perched above the sand and drank in every second of it. I watched the way the sun illumined  the waves, and how the people and the  palm trees were colored gold.  As the red orb  sank below the horizon, I lifted up both hands, worshiping God.   Just to be at the beach, to hear the waves, to smell the salt, to watch my boys playing with my husband as he knelt down for the thousandth time to get just the right angle on his camera...priceless.

I’ve been discovering layers of benefits during this SIDELINED season.  

I see more clearly.  I usually sit out on our lanai each morning with my coffee and a bowl of cereal.  I read some of the Word, pray over my boys, and look out at the surf.   But now I do this differently.  It’s sweeter out there in that fresh air.  I no longer take it for granted.  I can’t carry my coffee or my cereal to the table, so usually rely on my younger son to do this as Evan and Randy have already left for school.   That’s hard.  Jo Jo has been on it though. So what have I seen from my lanai?  I use the binoculars daily.  I notice colors in the waves that I haven’t perceived before.  Today I watched a mother whale and her calf surface and play in the bay at Queen’s Bath.  I watched ten different boats circle up, like me, taking in every spout, every fluke, every magnificent breech.  It was fabulous. I quietly observed them for a half hour, sipping my coffee, and exclaiming aloud to nobody. 

I dig more deeply.  Like I said, I usually read some part of the Bible each day.  Usually there is no order to it, other than maybe following a little devotional  I’m on.  It’s usually pretty quick as I’m grabbing something to stand on before heading out the door to teach.  Not now. I can read the Word for hours if I want.  Sometimes I have.  After a while I decided to read a Proverb a day.  It’s perfect as there are 31 chapters in Proverbs.  I read through it slowly because I can.  Then, I cull a handful of verses that jump out at me.  They may be completely different ones than I’ve underlined in the past.  Sometimes it’s stuff I’ve been praying for my boys, sometimes it’s just what strikes me that day.  But it’s all good.  I ponder it, write it, think or jot a few thoughts down, and then turn it  into a prayer.   I’m digging deeper than I have in a long time.  I’m finding scriptures  on wisdom and understanding are spilling out of me.  They kind of hafta.  They’re piling up in there.  Here’s a new favorite:  

                “The purposes of a man’s heart are deep waters, but a [person] of understanding, draws them out.”  Proverbs 20:5

I’m resting. Like most Americans, I’m probably guilty of not keeping the Sabbath . Now I do.  I usually collapse onto my bed about 10:30 each morning, as it is so exhausting just eating breakfast, hopping around the house, making my bed, attempting to put away clothes from the night before.  My mind says I should not be tired, but my body begs to differ.  I rest.  I lie there in my fleecy blanket  and doze.  Or I read a chapter in one of three books I’m reading.  It’s heavenly.    I know I’m gaining weight from not being able to get up and out.  My doctor has commanded me to be a good patient.  “Thou shalt not do stairs.”  So, I am and I don’t.  Pounds are being put on, but it’s not that bad.   I joke with my husband how I’m getting one of those curvy figures like the classical artists used to paint.   He seems to be enjoying this new curvy model of his previously-slim Kris.   J

Layers are coming off.  Though pounds aren’t coming off, layers are.  Last night I scraped off layers of dead skin from my foot, now freed from its cast.  I could see there was so much more to come.  I took a bath this morning, and used a rough wash cloth to scrape and scrape and scrape.  My orange-tinted toes from the hospital antiseptic became pink again.  I swear I lost a pound of flesh into the tub and waste basket as I scraped all that gross stuff away.  I couldn’t help thinking of Aslan and Eustace in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, when that selfish boy-turned-dragon allows the lion to scrape off his old self and bring out the tender boy underneath.  A symbol of baptism, Eustace cringes but allows for the scraping, the removing of the binding for that which is free underneath.  I want to be like Eustace.  I know there are many more layers of pride and selfishness still to go. 

I welcome the season.  Hey, I’m in good company.  My hero Heidi Baker had the break-through in her ministry in Mozambique when she was sidelined for health reasons.  I realized this morning how Paul was sidelined when he was tossed in prison, or tossed on a remote island after a shipwreck.  Yet, he still plugged into God.  He still wrote letters of encouragement to people in his life.  I want to be like that.  I wrote one letter today, and know I have more to write, thanking people and speaking into their lives. 

One old friend called from Portland the other day.  She and her family were having a hard time adjusting in their new church.  It struck me that they are a unique couple, and need to find just the right niche for their giftings.  I reminded her of her gifts of evangelism and extra grace for people on the streets.  She had a talk that evening with her pastor, and found out they did have a whole department for street ministry.  They’d plug in the next week.    Even though I was stuck at home doing nothing, even on crutches and SIDELINED, I could still listen and draw out the purposes in her heart. 

INUNDATED WITH BLESSINGS--EVEN ON CRUTCHES

Something cool happened last night, Night #3 after surgery, as I got up in the dark and grabbed my crutches to use the bathroom.  I was in a fair amount of pain and didn’t want to wake my hubby who had served me so much since the surgery. 

As I hobbled out of the bathroom, grimacing in pain, I suddenly had a realization.  It was like a landslide of recollections of where everything came from—like one of those back-to-basics talks we often have around the holidays about how every good gift we have comes from God.

Starting with those crutches that held me up.  I recalled Alison, the campus nurse, meeting me after hours in the health clinic to secure those for me, having already positioned them to my height.  She got me the wheelchair as well, even though I didn’t have my checkbook on me for the $100 deposit.  It would have been OK if that hadn’t worked out because my neighbor, Ralph, called to offer his wheelchair, having seen Randy’s post on our in-house website. When I pondered how many people had gone out of their way just for my equipment, I  pictured the text that had arrived that day from David, a guy on our campus who had had a foot procedure days earlier from the same podiatrist.  He was just checking in with me, making sure I was recovering OK. 

Speaking of that podiatrist… Dr. Mark Senft, is a renowned foot doctor, who happened to have gone to the same high school as my dad and who was recommended by two other friends.  That’s not normal to have an excellent specialist in any medical area on this island.   Other than an occasional cast or baby delivery, most people go to Oahu for advanced health care.  But I didn’t have to.  God provided that.   As I rounded the corner on my crutches I glanced at the huge tropical bouquet that my sister in-law and mom had picked out, full of my favorite flowers. There was also a basket on the floor of  fresh fruit and chocolates from my friend Ingrid who’d stopped by hours earlier to show some Aloha. 

I resolved to shift my perspective from how-hard-this-is to how-good-God-is. 

It is He that provides all that I need in the easy times and through the hard times.  It is He that has given grace to my husband and boys to tirelessly serve Mom, bringing me water and pills, my phone for the hundredth time, or a blanket. 

A common phrase today is, “You got this!”  I say it to myself as I balance my cast on the waste basket each time I lower myself onto the toilet.  But I need to change my chant to “He’s got this!”  He has it, like cattle on a thousand hills, hand-picking just what I need from the hand-picked Bird of Paradise my mom got me, or the hand-picked muscle ointment my friend Dee delivered on Day 1.  God’s got this!

While I’m writing this, I am interrupted by a knock at the door.  Ingrid, my Norwegian downstairs neighbor, decided to deliver some freshly-baked raisin rolls.  Just what my queasy tummy needed from this pain medication!  God is good!  It occurs to me that He doesn’t just have it, he has it in the perfect timing! 

“My God shall supply all of your needs, according to His riches in heaven.”  Riches like steamy-warm rolls, and lovingly-scrawled cards, and hugs, and chick-flick movies from my hubby who would never watch “Moms’ Night Out.”  God has it. 

It reminded me of what happened when I was pregnant with Evan and needed to transform our office into a baby nursery after my brother in-law moved out when I was seven months along.  Only, Randy wouldn’t let his pregnant wife wield a paintbrush with strong paints that we were using to seal up the paneling. So, I had to trust God as he prompted friends to step up to get the job done.  I realized just before the baby arrived that something like 17 friends and family members had pitched in to help get the room completely ready.  It was a wild recollection!

Last week when I was preparing for surgery and really had no idea what to expect, a girlfriend from Portland called to fill me in on the O.R.  “It will be really cold, ‘cause they have to keep the machinery cool.  Oh yes, you don’t have to leave right away.  If you aren’t ready or feel  sick, request to stay longer.”  So I did.  These perfectly-placed pointers landed in my ears hours before surgery-time. 

Another insight came before surgery.  It was a “still small voice” over a couple days reminding me that my husband is absolutely worthy of my trust.  He is so strong in the laid-back and taking-care-of dept., that I can trust him when my own life seems out of control.  I just needed to recognize those little reminders from my Father, that Randy’s got this.  That God’s got it, working through my husband, and neighbors, and girlfriends, and family x a thousand hills. 

I WANT TO BE AN HERB

I WANT TO BE AN HERB                                Written in November, 2014                                          

           No, I’m not touting reincarnation, but I just wonder how I would do as an herb.  

This morning I was on “kitchen duty” in our cafeteria.  That meant getting up quite early to scan ID cards of breakfast-goers by 6:15.  I found myself enjoying the morning.  I hadn’t been to breakfast before in the new cafeteria.  The view was splendid.  There was a cool breeze.  I watched the sun approach Hualalai volcano, pause and stretch the edges of its rays over to the south and north, and then climb over, inch by glorious inch.  The expansive floor and round tables were bathed in golden light, causing the green plants in the centerpieces to pop with color. 

I tried to be cheerful for the bedraggled college students and families as I took their meal cards and scanned them.  I thought, “If I’m cheerful in staff meetings and while teaching, why shouldn't I be cheerful here right now—even if I’m not a morning person?” 

When my shift was over, I strolled by bush after bush of fresh herbs, intentionally placed by the landscapers of the Aloha Lanai Cafeteria.  I plucked off a couple favorites:  fresh basil and lemon balm.  I rubbed them in my fingers and breathed in their fragrance as I climbed in my car.  It occurred to me that whichever leaf I pulled off that basil bush would smell like basil. Each tiny or large scalloped-leaf on the lemon balm tree would smell like minty-lemon.

 

I got thinking about those herbs.  They had multiple uses:  they were attractive greenery.  They embellished our meals, and they were healing agents.  Recently I invested in some essential oils, and I know their healing effects: oregano helps with foot fungus.  Lavender minimizes stress.  Lemon oil increases a sense of well-being and can clean up gunk and residue on the arms of my wooden chairs. 

I’d like to be one who whatever way you catch me, or rub up against me, you get a fragrance.   You get Kris all the time as one who is helpful and cheerful and enthusiastic.  You don’t smell complaining or whining, you smell Jesus. I’m not saying I’m there yet, but I don’t want to be someone who hides my face when things aren’t going well.  

David Hamilton, one of the Bible scholars in our ministry, talks about integrity.  He says it’s an unbroken line from the very roots of what someone believes to the fruit that yields from those beliefs.  They are consistently the way they are, not sometimes on, sometimes off.   But like a mint leaf which emits its smell more strongly when crushed, I believe my fragrance will come through those difficult circumstances.

Paul and David talk about similar concepts:  “…For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances: whether well-fed or hungry, whether in plenty or in want. For I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Phil. 3: 11b-13) I don’t think it’s just doing the all-things, it’s being able to be content whatever the circumstances.  “Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of Christ.” (Phil 1:27) Even if you have morning kitchen duty.  Even if you work with people who are not doing well and you have to wade into their issues a bit before you get through.  “He shall be like a tree  planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither.  Whatever he does prospers.” (Psalms 1:3)

GOD, HELP ME TO BE AN HERB.  

Inspired by Robert Louis Stevenson

Everything in its place--in the puzzle we just completed and in (most of) our condo!

                                                                                                                                     Inspired by a Poet's Mother                                                                          

At the birth of our first child, I received a classic book from an old friend:  A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.  As I pored over those beloved poems, like “The Land of Nod” and “My Little Shadow,” I discovered a sweet poem that reminded me of myself.   The title of the poem escapes me now, but not its substance.  Stevenson was ill as a child and often bed-bound.  No doubt that was the catalyst for much of his imaginative journeys.  But he wrote about his mother quietly moving about in the evening time, straightening things that were out of line, and re-setting order each night. 

That’s what I want to be about.  That first-born son is now 14. As a mom on the go raising kids on the mission field, I want to be that person who sets things in order.  In our house back on the mainland, that would have been loading the dishwasher and starting it each night.  In our small condo in Hawaii, that would mean washing a few dishes by hand and re-ordering our glass table.   When we lived in Tonga it meant reading the favorite chapter book to our boys each night, keeping an element of consistency despite natural disasters and crowded bus rides to different villages. 

(Reading to Evan on the bus in Tonga,
en route to a village for outreach)

But there’s something else about that nightly ordering.  Today as I softly step about our small condo, I pray.  My mind runs through a check-list of loose ends.  I make notes for the next day, and I pray for things left undone.  Concerns that push their way to the front of my mind I gently push up toward heaven.  Like pieces of laundry that I shake out and carefully fold, I present each request—hopefully with thanksgiving—to my Father who sees all and knows the end from the beginning.  That’s more truly what I want to be about.  If I can faithfully remember to pray at the end of my day, I can go to bed knowing He who never sleeps will perfect that which concerns me. 

My sons can awaken each morning to see a home—and our lives—in order.

These pictures are infrequent glimpses  of our condo looking very much neat and in order.  

Evan's Easter Essay: Peter's Perspective

Peter’s Perspective

4/19/14

            Anxiety hung in the air like criminals on the cross. No one spoke. No one moved. Peter was leaning in the corner, blending with the shadows. The ten other disciples along with a handful of Jesus’ followers, were scattered around the dimly-lit room as the lone candle flickered back and forth, casting eerie shadows throughout the windowless room.

          Each loomed silently, contemplating, and comprehending the horrific series of tragedies that had occurred in the past few days. Peter mentally recalled the arrest of Jesus and slicing the soldier’s ear. He recalled the words he spoke denying the Son of God, followed by the rooster’s crow and Jesus’ countenance as he stumbled by, shrouded in disappointment and splattered with blood. And he thought of the Lord’s limp body maimed and lacerated, dripping with warm crimson as he hung in agony on the  cross, along with the blood- stained wrappings on his body as he was gracefully placed into the tomb. He realized that he wanted revenge on the Romans, on the Pharisees, on anyone for what they did to his teacher. But he thought of what Jesus would say, to “forgive and bless them who have wounded us.”

           Suddenly they were all jolted out of their self- brooding sessions by a hurried pound on the wooden door. John stood and cautiously opened the door. Half a dozen frantic women came bustling into the room, chattering and crying out in a hurried confusion. They were shouting and crying something about the tomb being empty and Jesus being gone, and men in white robes appearing out of nowhere. But it was hard to tell in all the confusion and chatter.

          Yet, a thought flashed through Peter’s mind while everyone was arguing that the women were hallucinating. Peter spoke up, “I will go and see the fabled empty tomb,” And go he did. Before anyone could argue he leapt out into the dusty, crowded streets and sprinted to the tomb. Leaping over carts and dodging crowds, scenarios, ideas, and memories rushed through his mind faster than he ran. The crowded streets whizzed by and became the near-deserted country roads.

          Then the elated Peter finally arrived, winded, yet excited near the mouth of the tomb. He slowed his pace as the mammoth boulder which was covering the entrance of the cave came into view. He noted that the large stone was off to the side; the tomb was gaping open like the mouth of a waiting lion.

          Peter slowly stepped out of the already warm morning sun into the cool, musty interior of the cave. He rushed to the spot where Jesus was left lying when they entombed him, only to find nothing but stained burial shrouds.

          His first thought was grave robbers. But then something clicked in the back of Peter’s mind and he remembered Jesus saying that he would be killed but rise in three days’ time. Now Peter understood it! Jesus had risen, and is alive. He leapt from the tomb and sprinted to his fellow followers of Christ to spread the good news.

          He jogged back through the dusty country roads, to the crowded city, then back into the house where his fellow disciples were waiting. He bounded into the house and told his story to his companions. Some believed him and others didn’t; but they would all believe soon enough…

By Evan Richards

FALL IS COMING!

Fall is in the air.  I can feel it in my bones.  No, I don’t see it, and—aside from a faint sense of days cooling—I don’t feel it.  But it’s there.  It’s coming.  Maybe it’s the fact that the heat is less intense these days.  I’m down to one shower a day now here in Kona, Hawaii.  Like the tail end of an Indian Summer in the Northwest, we are lingering between summer and fall.   We pull the blanket on us earlier in the evening when Randy and I fall into bed. 

My husband thinks I’m crazy for saying that fall is beginning, or that it’s even cooler.  But I know it’s just around the corner.  It’s more than outward appearances. It’s a knowing of a season, of an imprint in my soul, like some kind of genetic cycle as sure as the maple leaves turning yellow in my native Forest Park in Portland. 

When I got home today after a missions celebration, the culmination of our first unit of study at our boys’ school, I made motions towards my bed.  I needed a nap.  But it would have to wait.  There was a fall lighting that filled up my room, squeezing between the flickering blinds on my window. I couldn't pass it up.  It was lower in the sky and softer than normal.  It drew me out onto the lanai from my nap.

What was that?

An edge to the heat.  A sense of expectation.  Newness to come. 

As a school teacher, fall has always brought a sense of a fresh start. It’s a new school year here in Kona, and new families are coming in to our co-op school community.  But there’s an on-the-edgeness in my spirit as well.  Strong enough to come see, to look and wait and pray, to see what God might be up to in this new season.

I find it interesting that I just submitted an article to the local paper about a ship coming in this Saturday.  Yet I find myself in my mind’s eye standing on a dock, waiting.  Waiting for a ship—a new thing and rare treat—to come in.   How could my soul sense fall when my body scarcely senses any freedom at all? 

I've seen glimpses of that new ship.  In my heart she’s called Hope.  When people cannot find her, they yell out for Hope found, for expectations met.   I must have a ride on that ship.   “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”  Proverbs 13:12

Let’s not defer hope any longer.

As I got up from my nap and cooked up some zucchini, green beans, and sweet onions from the market, I relished every bit of the fall meal preparation.  I sensed the ship was already coming in.   There were things that we didn't expect to happen in this season in our lives, but they are happening.  Randy has been asked to preach at our church once a month.  Friends who take the services at the chapel at Waikaloa Hilton asked if we would give the message and lead worship there monthly as well. 

Out on the lanai, I asked the Lord why this favor.  He reminded me that we have been faithfully working, patiently plowing. 

I wondered if it was another reason as well.  I have been asked to re-join our worship team at church, something I occasionally did a year ago.  I had been feeling like music was missing in my life, and our pastor just asked me if I’d start playing keys and singing again, starting this Sunday. 

 The university where I work has asked me to write articles for the paper.  Other than one earlier press release, I wondered if this would actually happen.But when I was  asked to write this piece about the ship coming in, I began to have hope.  I co-authored it with a gentleman in the community, and then was asked to come to the advance interview with the YWAM Ships director and the reporter to help navigate this whole paper-publicity stuff.  I didn't see that coming. 

But it is coming.

I believe I had to lay down my desire to help lead worship.  I had to let go of my hankering to write regularly for the paper.  I went through a season of being humbled over some things.  These desires went into the ground and have now sprung back up.  

Jo Jo, age two, peeks into our dining room from next to our Japanese Maple bush, moving into full color.

A fall memory I have of back home was how our Japanese lace maple tree would turn bright red in October.  It stood just outside our dining room, where we had one single painting on the wall:  it was a large print by Raoul Dufy called The Harvest.  We would enjoy it with our little boys as we looked out onto the world, the trees turning in Forest Park, and as we welcomed the seasons of our lives.

               I welcome this fall season now here in Hawaii, even if I only feel it in my bones.

Evan's kindergarten field trip to the pumpkin patch.

Multnomah Falls  is one of our favorite places to visit in the fall  when home in Portland. 

A huge smile for a boy who found a HUGE leaf pile! 

Turbulence!

                             

                                     

                                                                                                                   March 19, 2013

                “I don’t normally get drunk,” the yellow-eyed, missing-toothed older man said as he sat next to me on the plane.  “But oh, boy, did I ever get drunk last night!”  I believed him.  As I heard his story and that of his grieving daughter with him, I felt only compassion.   As soon as Tim and Kristi sat down, I knew they weren’t doing well.  The last to board the plane, they reeked of cigarettes.  I could tell that they needed those last minutes to suck down their smokes in order to last the trip from San Jose to Seattle.   I was going to see my sister who was going through some real shaking with her health.  Tim and his daughter were going through their own shaking. 

                “We’re here to remember her mother, who died a year ago this week.  It’s been hard.”  He didn’t need to tell me. Her silent, hurting eyes that stared far away, and her father’s frequent kisses told me they were still in the thick of grieving.  “We needed to go back to Morro Bay to be where she last lived.”

Morro Bay.  How did I know that town?  It hit me: the landlord of our condo in Kona had just died of a sudden heart attack at his home in Morro Bay.  What are the chances?  I asked myself.  Two sets of families grieving at the same time in the same small town, coincidentally both intersecting our lives.   

Or was it coincidence? When Tim plopped down next to me on the plane, a friend immediately came to mind.  She died a few years ago of liver failure.   I remembered how this friend couldn’t go more than 30 minutes without a smoke.  When some of us took a road trip and were jammed into a hotel room, it was more than she could handle.   She had to step out often for a stiff drink.  I remembered her pain and the relief she turned to during that time.  It helped me understand Tim’s actions as he remembered the death of his ex-wife. 

“We went to the shell shop she loved to frequent.  I put my feet all over the mat on the floor.  I wanted to step where her feet had walked.” 

Shaking.  Suffering. Loss remembered.  

As the flight continued, I tried to give these two the space they needed. Tim pulled out a movie player and put on a flick from the 80’s for comfort food:  Dirty Dancing.    I stared out my window and listened to my ipod.  Snow capped volcanoes formed a line with Mt. Shasta.  One peak went directly under our plane.  I marveled at the pure white top and radial pattern of powdered sugar that ran down the pine ravines. 

“ I will open up my heart,

Search me in the deepest part,

And I will stand in cleansing fire

Of you my Purifier,

Of you my Purifier.”

                Thus sang Michael W. Smith from his Worship album. 

Man, can I do that?  Can I stand and let my heart be purified like the snow below me?  My sister was doing it.  This hurting man and his daughter were doing it.  Whether or not we welcome it, shaking comes.

“Turbulence,” Tim informed me.  “More turbulence.”  The plane jolted a few times.  “Ping!”  The light lit above our heads. Confidence came with the captain’s voice over the intercom:  “Please return to your seats.    We are experiencing turbulence.  The seatbelt light is turned on.  Please make sure you are strapped in.” 

Tim hastily closed up his movie in anticipation.  I was strapped in.  Was I ready to face the turbulence in my sister’s life?  I wondered what I would see when I got to her home.  She had been very ill--so ill that she had been flown to the Mayo Clinic by our father to try and get answers a couple weeks before.  She found none, and in fact encountered more hardship from reactions to meds-mixed-with-meds.  Jo had lost 30 pounds and ended up in the E.R.  

She was thrilled that I was coming though, and happily met me at Sea-Tac, a warm coat ready to be shared with her Pacific Island sister. In the week that followed, I would follow my sister to wherever a life-with-shaking would take her:  to doctor appointments, sitting by her on the bed while she rocked back and forth in pain, learning just the right spot to rub up under her skull, super hard, to bring her pain down a notch. 

It was not easy. When her pain   reached Level Nine after she took a bath, she cried out for me to bring in her clothes from the bathroom, and then kept crying while her husband prepared to give her the pain-killing shot.  Many people were offering suggestions for help and treatments---some welcomed and not-so-welcomed.  Shakily, exhausted from three years of three-four hour stints of sleep per night, Jo and her husband move forward, clinging to each other, their close family, and to the hope that God is good and that this “will not be unto death.” 

I do what I can, bringing cold wash cloths, cleaning a bit, gardening some, and just being with Jo in her shaking.  She is suffering, driving errands that need to happen, but with her hand pressed tightly over her right eye.  She tirelessly teaches her youngest son his math, and helps Jacob with his paper for Bellevue College.  She teams up with Rich to make the killer-scratch mac and cheese our mom used to make, and then asks if I want to join her in bed to write and read while Rich sets  up Caleb’s new sound system.  “It will be fun!” She says with a twinkle in her eye.  I join her, until she turns over and sleeps, exhausted.  Glad to see her drift off asleep, I turn the light off, happy to see an end—however short-lived--to the turbulence.   

Having Church at Walmart

                                                               Feb. 17, 2013

Today I had church at Walmart. Mind you there was no singing, nor did we bow down to the god of materialism, but there were elements of real church happening. 

It started in the make-up aisle.  Actually, a bunch of stuff happened in that section.  I noticed a woman had a great collection of herbs in her shopping cart.  I complimented her on her healthy purchases. “Thanks!” she said, “They are a birthday gift for my neighbor.”  What a cool idea, I thought.  I would love to try that some time to cheer up my neighbor. 

While I was pondering this, that very neighbor walked by!  She is a sweet, older lady who works at Walmart.  “Sarah, is that you?” 

          “Hi Kris, I thought that was you!  How are you?” 

I found out Sarah (name changed) wasn't doing so great.   “I’m really suffering from anxiety.”  Sarah is suffering from more than that.  Cancer has taken her hair in the last year, and has left her on meds that make her shaky. 

I listened and tried to sympathize, though inwardly I was thinking if I had cancer I could be anxious as well.  When she said, “It just seems there’s no kicking this anxiety,” I decided there was something we could do.

Right there in front of the L’oreal section, Sarah and I had ministry time.  We bowed our heads and prayed one of my sixty-second prayers.  “Thank you sooo much, Sarah smiled.”  I asked if she was drinking coffee.  I found out that she drinks de-caf regularly, and suggested that if she is having anxiety attacks to maybe just do herbal stuff.  De-caf still has a percentage of caffeine in it. 

As Sarah went on to stocking her shelf, I got about five feet away and ran into Jo.  Because I champion for the local school where her sons attended, she always has a big smile for me. I told her how we’d attended the Robotics Club’s demo yesterday at Kealakehe High.    I also mentioned that this plus the speech and debate club, and the United Nations club just might woo our son Evan there in a couple years.     Jo pointed out that the public high school has so many Advanced Placement classes and unique offerings that the smaller private school simply does not have.  “God will make it clear to you, though, what you are to do.  It can be different for each child.  If you really seek Him on where your sons attend school, you can’t lose.”

Wow.  Major encouragement for me right there next to the cotton balls.  

Before Jo could move on, Phillip and his son Daniel stopped for a chat.  Kindergartner Daniel was happily scrolling through a game on his new Kindle while his papa added things around him in the cart.  “I’m happy that he has this Kindle and can do all of these computer things, but I don’t like how he downloads games without asking me.”

“Ah,” the elder Jo piped up.  “Like anything, the Kindle is just another opportunity for parents to be the parents.  It’s ultimately up to us what they watch and play.”  OK.  A word of exhortation and parenting message right there near the mascara section.

I gathered my boys from the toy section and picked out a birthday card with Jo Jo  for a classmate.  We ran into a few more friends with whom we smiled or high-fived or hugged. 

As we got in line at the check stand, Daniel and his family were in front of us.  “We’re making a smoothie,” Daniel told me.  He pointed to a bag of carrots.  “My sweetheart makes especially healthy ones.  You know the lawyer on campus?”

“You mean Diane, who does the all the VISA stuff?”

“Yeah, he said in his Brazilian accent. “She is ill.  We are making her a special drink.”

There’s body ministry.  I could tell by Daniel’s face that this was serious.  I made a mental note to pray for this woman as well.    My boys unloaded our shopping cart and cheerfully carried out my heavy bags to the car.  Youth were now serving as we rounded out the end of our “Walmart church service.”   

I climbed in the car next to my sleeping husband (Is that another parallel?  Sleeping husbands in church??)  and told him I felt refreshed and encouraged.  I’d just come from church inside Walmart.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we filed out of the sanctuary of our Living Hope Church a couple Sundays ago, our pastor called out, “Now it’s time for real church!  Let’s go get some refreshments in the garden!”   At the “real church,” we ate snacks, hugged on friends, prayed with people if we felt led, and received encouragement from each other.   Aside from the eating part, that’s pretty much what happened in the make-up section at Walmart.

CLOTHED IN KINDNESS

                                                                                Jan. 27, 2013   

Wonderful time with Jo and Rich  at a great Thai restaurant

When I returned from three exceptional weeks with family and friends in the Northwest this Christmas, I felt cloaked in the love of my family.  Their smiles and words were fresh in my mind, their hugs still impressed on my shoulders, and their prayers were etched in my spirit.       

I don’t think the benefits of a trip out of town to visit family—even when the town you’re leaving is a desirable spot in Hawaii—can be accurately portrayed.  As I read some scriptures about “clothing yourself,” I want to share my reflections.

In Colossians 3:12-14, Paul says, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”  This is talking about clothing myself, which I yearn to do.  However, on this time back home, I feel as if I’ve been draped by others’ kindness, gentleness, and love.   I felt it in:

 My sister cheerfully making room for us “to play with cousins” for a week despite her intense headaches. 

We love John!  

·        

Lots of good play time with "the cousins" at the Family Fun Ctr in Tukwila

·         My dad and step-mom, Beth, scouring closets to clothe our boys with winter clothes when an unexpected snow storm (and power outage) hit.    Beth found warmer gear for Jo Jo and all of us.  Dad cranked up the generator, served hot drinks, and took us out to dinner and a movie.  

Great fun with Grandpa and Grandma Beth, eating well, catching up, playing Scrabble, going out for snowball fights and walks in the snow!

Look out, Ev!!

·         The special breakfast my friend, Tani, made for me, draping me with a soft blanket as we sat on the couch and pored over pictures.  I am so blessed by Tani's long-term friendship!

     The apple crisp my college roommate, Julie cooked up for our family on a cold night at her Greenlake Guest House.

How fun to see Julie and Blayne's B and B, the only one on Greenlake! Reminisced about sharing January b.days 1 day apart as former roomies.

·          At my mother’s, I felt clothed in love when she served up fabulous candle-lit meals for us despite only days from leaving herself for another trip to Uganda.   This Hawaii-acclimatized daughter lived in Mom’s fleece sweats while home for the holidays in 2 feet of snow at the Methow Valley Ranch See the ranch here.  

What a treat to join Pete, Tammy, Claire , and Bobo for a longer visit at Grandma's!

Alaskan Uncle Pete shows da boyz how sledding is done in the "balmy weather" of 32 degrees!

I     I cannot forget Fetta and Jackie Johnson, who as usual, said, "Mi casa es su casa" while we were home in Portland.  What a break it is for us to stay with these dear friends, for our boys to have down time, and just to have our own space to relax.

Jackie  demonstrates his new recliner in the basement they recently remodeled.  Fetta, as usual, is cracking a joke in the background.

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·         I also felt kindness in the full spread of food prepared by my old waitressing/teacher buddy Jennifer Arns as she hosted a gathering of our friends in the Portland area. 

Sooo wonderful connecting to old college friends and church friends from when we were "young adults." Thank you, Jennifer and Craig Arns!

  It was more than hospitality.  Leaving was a gathering-up of things and bringing with.  Like some overflowing cornucopia from Thanksgiving, my luggage and arms were stuffed with love.

·         

•     My dad and step-mom’s birthday gift was far beyond what I’d expected.  I asked for a bottle of light refreshing perfume from L’Occitane See link to the Citrus Verbena fragrance. .  Instead I received the delux set with the body cream and the shower gel.  (I don’t do perfume.  Due to having a husband with scent allergies, I haven’t worn perfume for years.  But here was a scent that he can handle, so I’m drenching myself in it, and smothering my skin in it as I bathe!)
•       My sister decided she didn’t need a beautiful sleeveless dress anymore, which would be perfect for nicer events in Hawaii.  I wore it to church my first Sunday home, along with the Bolo leather shoes that didn’t quite fit my sister. 

•         My mom decided to not just give me one beaded necklace from Uganda, but another matching set of beautifully carved necklace and bracelet.  

•         My friend Gayle Nelson gave me “just some earrings,” which turned out to be about a dozen hand-made pairs and a necklace she had created. 

Old Portland buddies Robin Clark, Julie Pietila, and Gayle Nelson outside of the Alameda Brew Pub, where we caught up with our hubbies over lunch.

 Gayle suggested I give some earrings away. I ended up giving some to some Salvation Army friends who later gave me cultural earrings for my birthday. 

Sooo great to run into Freddy and Kiko in town, to visit a Marshallese store with them, and then receive this special gift of traditional earrings from Kiko for my b.day

I carry this love with me. I am wrapped in it (literally now in January, we sleep under a gorgeous hand-made quilt from my step-mom, Beth).  I want to reflect this love to those around me.  I want to be quick to offer a meal, or some earrings, or a hug or a real-time prayer. 

I love the context of the passage in Colossians:  “Bear with each other…. Forgive whatever grievance you have against one another… Forgive as the Lord forgave you, and above all of these virtues, PUT ON love.” 

God, show me how to put you on.  Show me how to individualize gifts or cards or acts of service for each person in my path that needs an extra touch from you.  Help me to bear with one another and to be bound in unity in the community in which I work.  “Over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”(v. 14)

Now, as my friends and family go back to their jobs in the freezing NW half an ocean away,  

(See photo of teachers and students gathered around flag/courtyard for early morning singing at Cedar Tree Classical Christian School where I used to teach and our kids attended.) and as I come back to “the rock,” and swimming outdoors and gaining my color back—I smile.  

Back home, on a "high surf" day at End of the World Beach

 I am warmed again, by the gifts from home, from the tangible markers of my Father’s love for me. 

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.  And be thankful” (v. 15). 

Gladly.