put on prayer.

It all started because of the dress-code.

If you've ever visited the OMS Haiti field, you know what I'm talking about about.  No pants for women, ever.  No shorts.  Shirts must have sleeves, always.  Tattoos must be covered, no bikinis at the beach...the list gets pretty extensive.  

It's not so bad, once you get used to it.  To this day when Lily sees me stateside in jeans, she asks why I'm wearing "Poppy Pants."  

But, as you can imagine, teams aren't usually all that thrilled about doing construction projects in skirts, and when it's over 100 degrees all day, wearing a tank top sure sounds heavenly.  

So, every few years, as times change and dress seems to shift, inevitably it comes up at some missionary meeting that perhaps the code could, too.

Most recently, I've seen a lot more pastor's wives and women who are strongly professing their faith wearing thick strapped tank tops...not at church, heavens.  And no way at work.  But in their home, out in town, when shopping, cooking, ok.

But, before we vote to make a change (which would basically entail cutting sleeves off a few weekend shirts, since none of us really own any :), we all agreed it would be best to consult a few Christian Haitian leaders, recognizing that foreigners are watched rather closely, and desiring to be above reproach in a culture we are all seeking to represent Christ in.  

Matt was put on the "fact-finding committee" (you know the church...gotta have a committee for everything!) and so on his way to a F-O-U-R hour service Sunday (is it wrong to be semi-thankful the girls were spotty?), spoke to several of our student leaders about dress in Haiti.

He returned visibly disturbed.  (If YOU don't want to be, I'd stop reading here.)

Sometimes asking questions gets you answers that you can't live with.

Do you know how much it costs to hire a prostitute in Saccanville (where we live)?  

10 gourdes.  That. Is. 24. CENTS.  

Do you know how desperate this means people are?  

Do we know, I mean, really, what motivates someone to do this for 24 cents?

Do you know how many women and children (shudder) are in?  

The student's guess after living in Saccanville for 3-4 years was 50% or more of the women and young girls in Saccanville. 

We've been told for years that "Discos"--these little night club shacks set up along the road that blare loud party music when enough money has been assembled to run a generator--are "not for Christians.  Ever." 

What we didn't realize until Matt's fact-finding mission was that this is because they are brothels.  The men who go are looking, the women who go are selling, and the discos have bunks in the back.  

All of them?  I mean, there are 30 "Discos" between here and OMS Haiti's campus (6 miles from here).  

All of them.

And do you know how people know which 50% of women in Saccanville are available?  Because they're wearing pants.  And skinny-strapped shirts.  

"Wearing pants does NOT mean you are absolutely a prostitute," one student shared, and the others agreed.  "But it absolutely means you are not a Christian."

No question?  No question.

"It (prostitution) is," they told Matt, "what  everyone who does not know Jesus does.  You know how people are always telling us that they can't become Christians because of their lives?"

(Almost EVERYONE I tell about the Gospel says this. I always thought this just meant they were either witch-doctors profiting from the position, or sold cigarettes or lottery tickets or some cultural thing understood as something only non-Christians do.)

"It's because they're either constantly using prostitutes, or constantly using prostitution to buy food, provide for their families, send their kids to school.  They don't want to become Christians because they know they would need to change, and they are afraid of what that change would do to their income."

I felt sick as Matt shared this with me, thinking back to a young girl Belony and I used to disciple every week almost 2 years ago.

He was always harping on her about wearing different clothes, and it drove me crazy.  He was always sharing with her that she needed to dress differently, and I always thought we were talking about DRESS.  Something I've never believed God cared about.  I was always telling him to leave her alone and let her wear what she wanted...she could still follow Jesus wearing jeans!

But I realized as Matt shared the conversation with me that what Belony was telling her, and what she knew and he knew and everyone knew (except the naive foreigner) was to STOP prostituting herself.  To STOP letting her uncle sell her out for the price of her living in his home.  To STOP agreeing to provide for herself like that, and to trust the Lord to provide for her in a different way.

For years I have been frustrated that pastors often refuse to baptize people until they have jumped through a series of hoops...come through some growth process...weeks of Bible study...serious commitment and change and fruit in their lives (and again, sometimes dress being brought into the equation).   

And while there may well still be cases that I SHOULD be frustrated about, this new information makes me realize that some shepherds have been hesitant to baptize men and women who continue to be actively and willingly involved in prostitution, unwilling to leave prostitution or stop providing women for prostitution because of the financial gain.

And then of course, there is the question of "willing".  

Ah, my heart.  How many women and children, just in Saccanville alone, are "willing" because they have four starving children at home?  Are "willing" because their parents or care-givers are forcing them to contribute to the families desperate needs?  Are "willing" because they can't stand to see their kids grow up with NO education like they did, and are "willing" to, this year, send them to school no matter what.  Are "willing" because it is what everyone does...an easy way to make ends meet?

I mean, how did I really think AIDS is so common here?  Why did I really think there are so many 13 year old moms walking past the Seminary?   


What can I do?

I see now--when I've wondered myself why I can't wear pants, maybe just sometimes, when I've judged Christian leaders for their stands, when I've thought to myself, "Well, I'm sure they'll find a way to make ends meet"-- that I had NO IDEA what I was talking about.

I probably still don't.

What can I do?

I want to walk up and down the streets and give quarters to every woman and child I see.  Every single day forever.  

I want to take every young girl and lock her onto the Seminary and love her and feed her and teach her and protect her.

I want the Lord to end it...How does He stand it?  How does He see all the dark corners of all the dark villages of all the dark countries of the world and..and...STAND IT.  

How have I lived 30 years and not realized it?  And what do I do, now I have?


I know, anew, that life without Christ is the same as eternity without Christ--HELL.  

I know, anew, that there is a lot of extreme, absurd, ridiculous Christianity to be lived (by us EACH, wherever we are) if there will be a change in the world.

I know, anew, that the freedom for which He died for me is a freedom the world is in desperate need for.  That the love with which He died for me is a love desperately needed.

I know, anew, that I will not look at her the same, tomorrow, when I pass her on the street.  That my new knowledge that I DO NOT UNDERSTAND will  flower as grace, as compassion.  That my constant harping on RELATIONSHIP, not preaching and leaving, must apply to her, too...must apply to more.

I know, anew, that what stemmed from sleeves now means I'll never be the same.

When you pull on whatever you pull on in the morning...pray for our little village and the world, will you?


“Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it.”  -Henri Nouwen 

outside the gate

Living on a compound has been one of the biggest adjustments Matt and I have made over the past years.  Due to the instability and desperation of Haiti in general, OMS Haiti has three different housing/ministry compounds where all OMS Haiti missionaries live.  The compound where we live is maybe 10 acres with a block wall outlining it and a large gate at the front. 

Three homes are in the back corner, and the whole Seminary campus, dorms, etc. are in the middle, and the front gate, the only way in or out, is on the main road of Saccanville. 

Being walled in all the time, being apart from the community, living where we work and being unable to really get away, and not having other little ones within the walls for Lily make compound living difficult. 

At the same time, there have been lots of positives--letting Lily play outside and having a personal relationship with every person that she may come in contact with, living with 70 other people who all have the same focus and ministry, having literally NO security issues (we haven’t had so much as a flip-flop taken since moving to Saccanville), etc.

However, with so much ministry happening WITHIN the walls, it’s easy just to stay there. 

A few weeks ago, there was a young couple visiting EBS for a few days.  They were interacting with students, spending time in the classroom, and loving it.  It was crazy hot, we were both crazy busy, and I was crazy tired.  I found myself telling myself that because of these reasons, it was ok to just work and focus inside the walls for the last few weeks.

“We’ve got to get them out!” Matt said this couple’s second day. 

“I know, I know,” I told him, “but they’re doing lots of good stuff here, and they’re having fun, and things are so busy right now!”

“I know, babe,” he reminded me gently, “But everything good that is happening here is happening because of what’s out there.  Emmaus Biblical Seminary exists for what’s outside these walls.  What we do HERE each day is because of what is out there!  We can’t forget that.”

That afternoon, we all took a walk out in the community, introduced our new friends to Pehpay, walked through the lives of hundreds, and as always, saw Jesus, and the need for Him, all over the place.

I got my hot, tired self out there every chance I got the past few weeks before leaving Monday, each time Matt’s words reminding me why. 

Coming back to the States almost a week ago now, it seems at first that there is no real comparison.  I don’t know anyone here who lives in a walled compound, or who lives at their jobs or ministries.

But the more I think about it, the more I again realize that life is the same everywhere. 

“Outside the gate” is where Hebrews 13:13 says HE is to be found.  “Jesus, that He might sanctify the people through His own blood, suffered outside the gate.  So, let us go!  Let us go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach.  For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come.” 

How easy is it for all of us to stay inside our worlds?  How much simpler and undemanding it is to just enjoy the ministry within our gates!  We can tell ourselves that we ARE ministering!  We can tell ourselves that we are doing just what He has called us to do right where He has brought us!  Maybe we are working full-time where He’s brought us…in our church, with our family, in a certain ministry, at Emmaus Biblical Seminary. 

But no matter WHAT He has called us each to specifically and uniquely, as His followers, I have to remember that I am ALWAYS called Outside the Gate.  Always called outside of myself, of my life, of my interests, of my friends and even outside of my specific calling to take Jesus places that AREN’t comfortable, to people that AREN’t always accepting or friendly, to lives that are messy. 

What I know for sure about “outside the gate” is this: I’m NEVER sorry.  I have never arrived back home, covered in sweat and dirt and the grime of others, sorry that I went out.  I am instead always radiant, blessed to have been among His creation and fully aware of His presence, always anxious for Matt to come home so that I can tell him about sweet moments of true connection and relationship, of new friends we need to be praying for, of the many ways that He showed Himself to me through many who don’t even know Him….anxious to share with Matt how He met me when I went out to meet Him.

It was what he spent most of His time on earth doing, wasn’t it.  Just being with “outside” people.  And not just smiling at them as they passed or working on being ‘kind’, but spending TIME with people, in their lives, and making sure to tell them, directly, about Himself and Their Father. 

I am now in Ohio, and I am indeed 37 weeks pregnant with a two year old and a husband on the road.  My “compound” here in the States is very small and very comfortable.  And while He is very clearly here with me, I know that He is waiting outside, too.  I had several opportunities just today to “seek the city which is to come” and to “go out to Him”, and choose instead to be content with less.

As I continue to ponder all this, O. Chambers pushes me further…

“Worldliness is not the trap that most endangers us as Christians; nor is sin.

The trap we fall into is extravagantly desiring spiritual success; that is, success measured by, and patterned after, the form set by this religious age in which we live.

Never seek after anything other than the approval of God, and always be willing to go “outside the camp, bearing His reproach” (Hebrews 13:13).

In Luke 10:20, Jesus told the disciples not to rejoice in successful service, and yet this seems to be the one thing in which most of us DO rejoice.  We have a commercialized view—we count how many souls have been saved, we thank God, and then we think everything is all right.  We finish there. 

We wear His name, but are we going on with Him?”

As with many things, this idea is easier to see in Haiti.  There is an actual gate.  There are thousands of lost people outside.  We can stay in, or we can go out.  We can share Him where we are, and we can get a little more uncomfortable and take Him outside.

What's YOUR compound ministry?  Where's your gate?  Are we going out to Him?  What's HE doing out there that we can bear with Him?  What traps are keeping us homebound? 

I know I haven't lived a very long time.  But thus far, it seems to be that there is ALWAYS more abandonment of self, abandonment of comfort and abandonment of "inside the walls" to be done. As Matt says, we can't forget why we exist.  We may work in different ministry or give to different things.  But we exist to be in relationship: first with Him, and then with others...ALL others.  

"So, let us go!  Let us go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach.  After all, we do not have a lasting city here, but are seeking the city which is to come."

a beautiful thing

is happening in Saccanville today.  Just lots of love freely and sacrificially poured out on a community that doesn't pretend to understand it.

Seeing the students and our Sharptown friends all intermingled with Haiti, giving her smiles, attention, encouragement, medication, prayer and His Word is just...

joyful? 

 touching?

moving?

(Jose fills rum bottles with liquid cough syrup)

 overwhelming?

 mesmerizing? 

 heart-wrenching?

engaging?

heart-breaking?

emotional?

I don't know the word.


Beautiful.

my illiterate teachers

I know I just blogged this morning, but you know I write to process.

On Saturday, we have a wonderful group of family coming from our home church in Pilesgrove, NJ.  Matt's flying down to Port-au-Prince to get them, Uncle Don is leading it, his daughter is coming with him and so are 9 others from Sharptown.  Because one of them is a pediatrician, and because we wanted the team to have a chance to spend some good time in the community, on Wednesday they'll be running a medical clinic in the Saccanville Church.

The students will work alongside them to evangelize all the people seen, Dr. Rodney from the Bethesda Clinic in Vaudreil will be helping, and team members will be helping to register patients, take blood pressures/temperatures/weights, fill prescriptions, etc.

So, we've been spending a lot of time the last few days getting ready for the team, planning for the construction they'll be doing, and planning for the medical clinic.  With most everything in place, Lily and I headed out this afternoon to spread the word about the clinic.

I thought a good way to do this would be to write down the basic information in Creole about the clinic, and then take these slips of paper throughout the community.

This didn't work out at all for two reasons:  first, because everyone immediately thought they were tickets required to get into the clinic, and wanted as many as I could possibly give them.  But before I even left the gate, there was a bigger problem.

At the gate, I stood and talked for a bit with Kesner and Joseph, two of our security/gate men.  I handed Kesner the first slip, and he clutched it as if it were valuable, but looked at it as if there was nothing on it.  I quickly remembered that he signs each monthly paycheck with an "x", and it dawned on me that he couldn't read it.  Joseph was looking at the paper just as blindly.  They knew it meant something, but didn't know what.

Embarrassed that I may be making them feel uncomfortable, I quickly told them about the clinic, repeating the information on the papers, caught up on their families, answered their questions about the clinic, and headed out.

This afternoon, Lily and I visited about 25 homes...spoke with over 50 people.  Old people, young men and women, parents, children.  Everyone was anxious to have a tiny slip of paper, and as always, anxious to sit and talk.  Of everyone that I handed a paper to today, there were only four...FOUR, who were able to read it.  (none rapidly)

To everyone else, it was like I had handed them a slip of Japanese currency.  They could tell it had value, but it didn't really mean anything to them.  Once I explained what the paper said, they tucked the slips carefully away to show husbands or neighbors, but everyone quickly memorized the date, time and place that I told them so that they could translate the paper to others.

Four in 50.  I almost felt like some sort of rich snob, embarrassed to be handing something out that pointed out to everyone that they couldn't read it and that I could.

For the first time in my life today, I truly felt the weight of the fact that learning to read when I was four or five was a luxury.  An extravagance that many in the world are never afforded.  A luxury that a large majority of this community, surrounding a seminary, rarely think about not having.  When I think about all that reading and writing has given me, has done to shape me, has done to form me, encourage me, and grow me in my walk with the Lord...I feel overwhelmingly blessed.

What you and I have right now in writing and in reading this is not a merited thing.  It is yet another gift.

And yet after seeing face after face stare blankly at their small scrap of paper, glowing over the prospects of medical care they can actually afford, (62 cents a person, with medication), we still came home marveling over the beauty of those around us.

We sat with fifty people, and all fifty were thrilled to sit with us.  All fifty asked about Matt.  All fifty grinned at Lily and half offered her food.  All fifty asked about Sofie, asked how I was feeling, wanted to hear about things at the Seminary, and most asked about my dad and sister.  All fifty, all fifty offered me the chair they were sitting on.

So no one could read.  There might be a lot of voodoo in this community, but sitting in the dirt so that someone you barely know can sit in your only chair has nothing to do with Satan.  Handing a round foreign child your bread when it is all you have and your ribs show through your shirt speaks only of Jesus and nothing else.

Once again, in a poor, dirt, Satan-worshipping, illiterate rice community, I ran into Jesus all over the place and came home awed and touched...not by a young man's inability to read 10 words, but by a people's ability to show His love, despite all the circumstances that would suggest otherwise.

What am I doing with all the gifts He has given me?  What am I laying down, giving up, forking over to make sure His love, His way, is obvious to everyone around me?  And with what attitude?

Will I ever stop learning from a people who cannot read?  May it never be.

the fragrant oil of Saccanville, freely received

We have been sharing our experiences with you since we first went to language school in Canada, January of 2007.

Over these last 773 posts, we have shared a lot of beautiful things with you. We've talked about so many beautiful people, so many beautiful lessons that the Lord has brought us to. We've shared a hundred beautiful opportunities to talk to others about the Lord, and just as many beautiful moments where our hearts have been broken alongside of His.

But last night, I was speechless and floor-humbled and emotionally overwhelmed by a beautiful outpouring of sacrifice, for us, by our little community here in Haiti.

Though Don and Joe worked most of the day, previous work on the generator seems to have fried some vital systems, and they were unable to get power going. Around 4, we lost all our water and power, and expected another sticky and black evening.

Poor Don and Joe were REALLY nasty (no offense guys) after working on the generator all day, we were all glossy with sweat, and Lily was sticky with sweat, cookie and bugspray. In case you haven't been here yet, this is NOT a glamorous life we lead :)

However, everyone took good courage, and we were all happily sitting around the literal LAST light bulb still burning on the whole campus (our inverter was treating us to one final strain of power) playing Scrap-Out, when Abel and Maxi knocked on the door.

I grabbed the door for them only to see that they were laden with brimming buckets of clear water.

"What in the world is this?!" I exclaimed, scooting the buckets across the floor quickly while they returned with another load.

"Water is life!" Abel laughed, quoting a common Haitian proverb, "And we know Lily needs to bathe! We pumped it for you!"

Lily loved her bucket bath as much everyone else!

"Where did you get all these buckets?"

"Everywhere! This one is Kesner's, that one is Magloires. This is my wife's, and Sheila gave us this one."

"Enough! That's plenty of water! Let's take some to the students!" I said, my mouth beginning to feel like sandpaper as I realized what their past HOURS had looked like while we played games.

"Already done!" Maxi grinned. "Two people had huge water barrels, and they emptied and cleaned them for us, and we pumped them full, and then we borrowed the tractor and loaded them on there and put them in front of the cafeteria. Everyone is bathing now!"

With five visitors, sticky sleepy Lily and a kitchen overflowing with dirty dishes unable to be washed, I dug right into work, bathing Lily and splitting up water for our five visitors. I got Lily to bed, the house now completely dark, and cleaned up what I could in the night.

"Let's go check on everyone," I said to Matt, and we left sleeping Don, Joe and Lily and walked the few yards to the school. As soon as we left the house, we were both AMAZED by the sky. Without once ounce of electricity in all of Saccanville, the night sky was just BRILLIANT with stars, shimmering white clouds and a glowing half moon. A small breeze surrounded us as we walked, and man, I don't know if I've ever felt so blessed.

My heart wasn't the only one welling with Hallelujah. As we rounded the trees we found a whole congregation of friends, both from the community and from the seminary, flaney-ing (hanging out) on the front walk of the cafeteria.

"Hello! How are you?" I called as we approached, the light of the moon more than enough to guide our steps.

"Ah!" grinned Giselaine, arms lifting to the night sky. "I have everything that I need! That first night was hard, but now? I see that He takes care of our every need, and tonight we have all that we could ask for."

"The moon! Light!" Edlin called from his chair.

"Look!" Madame Abel said, pointing to two large barrels brimming with water, beautiful as alabaster jars. "Water!"

"Ah!" said Nicole, rapidly twisting Mona's hair into all kinds of wild braids. "The glory of God!"

We all chattered for a while, and as we walked home, blessedly reminded of what a precious and rare community of believers we have here at Emmaus, Matt said, "Uhhh. I so frequently overestimate my contribution to what God is doing here at EBS...here in Haiti. That special group of people, the way God provides for all our needs, these students and their call and their love for their people... I didn't do one thing to make that happen! We're just a tiny little fraction of all of this, aren't we? Just one speck-star in the entire space of His plan."

I realized as I lay in bed soon after, pouring out my blessed heart and overwhelmed tears to the Lord, that this might have been the first time since we moved to Haiti that the Haitian people were actually able to HELP us (in direly needed physical way.) Day in and day out, people come to us as foreigners to help them. When they need food, they ask us for help. When they need work. When they need education. When they need shelter, medicine, transportation, clothes, they ask us.

As foreigners, as Americans, we are perceived as having infinitely more resources than everyone else around us (and frankly, we do...), and so are an obvious source of aid in desperate times.

But when WE need money, we come to you! When we need food, I ask and you send us a box. When we needed baby things, you sent them. When we need transportation, you helped us buy a truck. When we needed language classes, you helped pay for them. When we need medicine, you help us buy it, or even let us call you while you're on vacation at 6 am and give us medical advice! When we needed shelter, you helped us rent our home. When our generator breaks, you send us funds and experts and prayers.

But last night? We needed buckets. And we needed water. For 50 people! And we needed light. And you couldn't help us with that! I never once thought to go to our community and ask them for help.

They have NOTHING. Never had a drop of running water from a faucet in their home. Never had a drop of water that they didn't throw themselves into pumping. Never had an ounce of electricity running through their walls, never flipped a switch and had light.

Never.

And yet last night, without anyone asking, in the inky black night, Saccanville dumped out their own precious water, scrubbed their best buckets and barrels clean, strained their backs to pump gallons of water from their sole pump, filled each container to the brim, and carried them to the Seminary. Carried them to our home. For us.

A community that we joined to serve, a community that we became a part of to die to, laid out their best, instead, for us.

I don't pretend to know why God does or allows what He does or allows. But just maybe all that this whole generator thing was for, was so that Saccanville, village of poverty and voodoo and flickering lights of Christ, could be missionaries to the missionaries.

Just as it has brought us such joy these years to give to our brothers and sisters here, Saccanville gave last night with laughter. With celebration. With joy, pouring their precious precious oil on the feet of Jesus in Emmaus Biblical Seminary.

As I lay there in the dark, sweating to sleep after my scrumptious bucket-bath, I realized that while we have given and prayed, worked and loved, preached and taught, lived and learned for three years in Haiti...we are only just now a part of this Haitian circle of life, of God's woven fabric for Haiti, because we have received.

Freely received.

how I smell : it's a matter of life and death

As Lily, Doug and I walked to the furthest end of Saccanville yesterday to visit Jil, my mind kept swirling around 2 Corinthians 2, where the Lord had challenged my heart just that morning.

Thanks be to God,

Who always leads us in triumph through Christ

Picking our way around murky puddles and heaps of smoldering garbage, weaving past bearded goats and ribby cows, I was astounded once again by the majestic backdrop of mountains and vibrant palms... touched once again by the happy beauty of brilliant blue huts and old women snoozing in straw chairs, silver braids reaching out in all directions.

And manifests through us

the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place

"Bonswa, Good afternoon" to dozens of people as we pass, almost all of whom I recognize well, recalling as we pass the days that we had talked about Lily, talked about the Seminary, prayed together over sick children, dead husbands, empty pots...remembering the sweet moments when we talked about Jesus in each tiny dirt yard.

Jil's old house

For we are a fragrance of Christ to God

among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing

...dozens of children gather along the way to grin at "Lee-Lee", and it is SO easy to see in their wide smiles and eager eyes that they were formed by the hand of God, so easy to see that they are greatly loved by Jesus.

To the one, an aroma from death to death

To the other, an aroma from life to life.

I have long since stopped thinking about the stark contrast of my wavy blond locks, stopped worrying about the accent in my chatter, the unwavering stares towards the foreigner. In the midst of the banging pots and squawking chickens, clinking dominoes and shouting children, I am only one thing: the fragrance of Christ.

As I bounce Jil's bare-butt baby and marvel at their dry and strong new home, I worry, instead, about what I smell like to God. What about when I am selfish? judgmental? irritated? short? Am I the fragrance of Christ then?

Jil's NEW house!!!

No, I guess I am the fragrance of ME, then, which we all know is not the stench that God deserves or desires to be smelling.

But if God desires to be inhaling Jesus from this world, then I guess we each might just be the ONLY hope of Jesus fragrance where we are. I might be, you might be, the ONLY sweet aroma to God in our family/workplace/community/____________.

So many that I walked past with a greeting and a grin might be that death to death person. Their life on earth without Christ, lived in death, separation and darkness, and so...their eternity, lived the same. And to them: we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are perishing.

And a few cheeks I kissed along the way yesterday were warm with the lifeblood of Jesus, living true life-abundant on earth and with joy for an eternity of life to come with their Savior. And to them: we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved.

Yet there is no mention, here, of those going from death to life...a life lived in death and darkness can't spend eternity in His glorious light! This sweet aroma that we're called to ingest through relationship with Him and emit to the world around us won't be drawing others to Him once we are before His throne. It is NOW, on earth, that the transition from death into life must be made...and it is our precious gift to be able to play a role in that for others!

We are not like many, peddling the word of God,

but as that we are from God, with sincerity,

we speak in Christ in the sight of God.

As I prayed with Jil and Milove, Wedensis and Kendia, straddling the stream of open sewage lining their yard, it was in the sight of God. I pray that He breathed deeply in the moment, savoring the sweet smell of Jesus that so abundantly has covered the sewage reek that Stacey, without Christ, has to offer.

What a huge calling we have, family, just to BE.

To be Christ's scent.

To be holy as He is.

To be His possession and no one, nothing, else's.

Thanks be to God,

who ALWAYS leads us in TRIUMPH in Christ

and manifests THROUGH us the SWEET aroma

of the knowledge of HIM in EVERY place.

Amen (may it be so).

***"Got Power?" Update***

Thank you for your generator prayers. We have been blessed with many non-coincidental hours of EDH (city power) these last 24, with many prayers, and with lots of different ideas/options/decisions/offers of help, etc. Please continue to pray for a good, glorifying, effective, efficient option, and that we would clearly know what route to take. We are grateful that most students will be going home for the weekend this afternoon, making it much easier for 10 people to survive off little power and water than 70.

As that this ministry is one that we have received by His mercy for His glory, please pray that we would not lose heart, and that we will seek for it to be fixed in His way and time. Pray for clear direction.

Thank you so much for being a praying and helping and loving and encouraging and admonishing and sacrificial family, all that the Word asks us to be unto one another!

another concrete miracle...

Jil's house two weeks ago...

remnants...

...and today. Jil (front) and his children are all helping with his new two room house, built in the exact spot of their old home.

Lily loving on little Wendy...

Jil and Mimose's 3rd looks JUST like Mimose.

Lily hanging out with some of the neighbor kids...

Just a few yards over, these three houses are being built as well, all 4-room houses. I passed 13 others between our house and Jil's, all about at this same level of construction.

It is set in stone: God continues to work and move and to bring Hope to seemingly Hopeless situations. It shouldn't be overwhelming.

But it is.

out in Sakenville

SO TINY!

new baby Wendy and Mimose

Praise the Lord for the Renner's and their seemingly unfailing internet! Here's all the photos I've been wanting to show you for the past week...

Check out Lily's blog for some great new ones there...