You! Under The Rubble

YOU Under the Rubble

       "Look at this!" Who isn't excited when, digging through things at a second hand shop or a yard sale we find a treasure---something we've longed to find? We all love treasures, especially when they're found in unexpected places.

       If we look through the yard sale that is our life we start to realize that those randomly placed circumstances have been carefully hiding a treasure that is your life!

       "Why me!"  Oh, who hasn't said that when disaster strikes? The pat statement now is, "Why not me?" But really, do we really feel terrific that we were the one selected for the tornado to hit or the dryer to break or the, God forbid, middle of the night phone call?

       If we really look at our lives---REALLY look, we'll see that the character traits that matter most, that pull us through, that minister to others, that inspire others to keep going were developed under heaps of pain, heaps of rubble. The dictionary defines rubble as coming from the word rubbish and it originally meant broken bits of stone.

       Stone. Does your heart feel like stone when disaster strikes? I can still feel that ice that seemed to run through my veins at sudden shocking news. The thesaurus gives synonyms for rubble:  debris, ruins, and wreckage. RUBBLE. It's over. It's finished.

      

       In 1956 Nate Saint, Jim Elliott and three other American missionaries when to Ecuador to bring the gospel to the Auka Indians. There were the wives at the mission station when the word came; the Indians had killed their husbands. The missionaries had desired to develop friendships with the violent tribesmen and were killed shortly after their mission had begun. Can you imagine? All the men were slaughtered and here were the wives in a country where they were hated. The End of the Spear  and Through Gates of Splendor  are movies about the surprise ending; the jewel beneath the rubble. Rather than ending in bitterness the rubble has become an inspiring story of true love. Two of the wives ended up going back  to live among the savages several and won the tribe to Christ. Five generations of slaughtering even each other ended when the love of Christ swept over the men. One woman stayed with her children two years, but the other lived there the rest of her life there.

       I have read that occasional  failure leads to resiliency. The person who has many opportunities to stumble and get up seems to be more  resilient than the one who has had smooth sailing. Consider Job. Job 29 sees him was remembering the past. There was no sign of wreckage in his life and no hint that any was coming. He  had never suffered and triumphed over adversity. He did not have the opportunity to learn that when we're beneath the rubble God is there as the Master of the Search Team, the Excavator who can search beneath the rubble and lift us up. Who didn't cheer in the recent Haiti earthquake when on day 2, day 3, 4,5,6,7,8 a survivor was found and brought out alive?  God will always bring us out alive--because even when we are absent from the body we are present with the Lord. (2 Corinthians 5:8) Job 29:2--just because Job didn't sense God's presence doesn't mean He wasn't watching over him. To this point Job had judged God's presence and blessing by the circumstances in his life that were favorable.  But the fact is: difficult circumstances may very well be part of that training in that season of our lives. The woman who is pregnant one minute is just as pregnant as she is in the 9th month. But in that first minute, hour, week the work is done in secret. Oh! A great work of God is done in secret beneath those pebbles, stones, rocks and boulders that make up the rubble of our lives.

       In Job 29:4 Job spoke of those times of victory, respect and adulation as being in his prime. But, oh! if we could only begin to see that we are always in our prime! God's eyes are always on us! (2 Chronicles 7:16.) His eyes and heart are fixed on us perpetually! 2 Chronicles 16:9 says that God's eyes are on us when we are perfect. That does not mean that we dot every i and cross every t. It means that we are continually acknowledging God as the  one that can help us. We cry out to God and His help comes. God LOVES showing Himself strong to the one who knows he is weak without Him. God looks for us in that rubble and He doesn't have to depend on luck, or dogs, or any special instrument. There is nothing that can block God's eye from seeing you and loving you. As we continue to read Job 29 we see that he was a man of excellent deeds and character. (12) He considered and did something about poverty. (17) He fought cruelty of those who oppressed the poor and needy. But (16) He thought things would always go this way. He thought he would be honored and revered all his days.( 21) No one would dare interrupt him.( 22) He always had the last word. 24 When he encouraged someone he made that person feel that she could walk on air. His smile lit up anyone's life that it landed on. (25) He helped people make crucial decisions in their lives.

       But then came the day--the very first day of adversity for Job when EVERYTHING came crashing down around him. He was at the bottom of a heap of rubble. He lost his family, his finances, and his reputation in a day. His friends could not see Job--the child of God, the apple of God's eye. They saw the rubble.

       What is our rubble? What is your rubble? Are you buried under the pain of grief?  anxiety at work, infidelity of a spouse?  rebellion of children? What is your rubble? What makes up those pebbles, stones, and boulders that are burying you? They may be burying you from eyes of so-called friends who think they're better than you are. They may be burying you from your family who sees you as the black sheep, the odd-ball. They may even be burying you from yourself. But they don't bury you from the eyes of God. God's grace will go down the tiniest hair fracture and will smash the strongest blockage. He will lift you out.

       What of our heart? Can our heart TRULY cry out to God for help and  also hold resentment, jealousy, hatred? We are limited. God is unlimited. He can hold every person in the earth in His hand and heart. But we are limited. I cannot hold unforgiveness and the love of God in my hand at the same time. In fact Mark 11:25 tells us that when we pray we have to forgive every single person against whom we have any grievance in order for God to forgive us. 1 Peter 3:7 tells men that they need to honor their wives or their prayers will be hindered. They must see them as equals in partnership and treat them with respect. Does it say their prayers will go unanswered? No. It says their prayers will be hindered. Holding anyone in disdain creates a hindrance between--not us and God--but us and that desired answer to a prayer.

       God is sovereign. What does that mean? It means He-- not some test score, not some human relations evaluation, not the scale, not a diagnosis-- will determine the end and scope of your life. The second scripture I ever memorized--and I don't even remember the version or the book and verse---but I remember the concept; (you see it doesn't matter if we can recite the Bible. It matters how much of it we believe.) The scripture concept was, "Nothing can thwart God's plan for my life." He holds the keys to the outcome. That was the second scripture I ever memorized. The first was "I am safe as if I were in God's pocket, and my enemies fall like stones from a sling." Both of those concepts are concepts of God's sovereignty. You cannot determine if I succeed or fail. That is entirely in God's hands...and His hands LOVE me.

       Psalm 13 is the heart cry of the man or woman under the rubble. Maybe it is  your heart cry. What was the psalmist's comfort? His comfort was in remembering the steadfast love that he had EXPERIENCED before this time of trial. Because he had experienced it before, the psalmist could say with great conviction, "My God DEALS (present tense) bountifully with me."

       Dear one, our consciously remembering times that God showed His lovingkindness toward us in the past will give us the ability to say today, beneath the rubble of our lives, rubble so thick and hard, rubble that hides all light, rubble that is suffocating--it will give us the ability to say, "My Father will find me here and bring me out." The truth is, His eyes never left us. God never left YOU under the rubble.

When I took the Teenage Girls to Europe

I graduated in 3 ½ years from college, well, actually 4 ½ because I took off a year and went to Israel to work with Sherut La’am, a service organization after my sophomore year.  I graduated in January and got a job the following September at the age of 22  teaching French to 9^th graders. I saw a brochure about taking a group to Europe for 6 weeks so I went for it. My superintendent called me in; NOT the principal—the superintendent! He said, “Cheryl I think you’re a little young and inexperienced for this.” What’s wrong with this next sentence. “Dr. Smith I really respect you but I’m going to do what I want to. I’m going to take a group to Europe.”

               CHUTZPA!  I ended up with a group of six young ladies who were all fifteen years old. They were to spend four weeks studying French in St. Malo and the rest of the time touring France, Switzerland and Italy.  Five of the girls could pay their way, but one could not.  Arla was what we used to call, ‘fast’. She smoked, used fake ID’s and wore way too much black smudgy make up on her eyes. To further complicate matters Arla’s mother had married a man only 7 years older than Arla. Arla was derided and I was ridiculed in the teachers’ lounge.

 “Why would you even THINK of taking Arla! She’s no good. She’s going to amount to nothing! She’s a waste of time and money.” But I saw something in Arla. I saw something worth saving. The parents gave her permission to go, paid a little   money and I set to raising  the rest. I put on a school-wide dance where all the money went to her ticket. We had a car wash and popcorn sales. We got it! We got all the money so Arla could go.

               I was determined to be absolutely responsible and show Dr. Smith that I could  do a fine job. I wanted to bring home 6 healthy, intact, enriched young ladies. My first concern was not to lose any girls. None of these girls had traveled. What a goofy thing I did. I had them all wear yellow dresses so they would  stick out in the airport. They received major eye-rolls from all the sophisticated travelers from all over the US when we joined the other students-- all dressed in jeans of course.

               We got to our destination and it seemed that I was the only chaperone  taking my job seriously. No girl got out of my sight! I was a mother hen, an eagle eye, an elephant mom. Now, I was 22 years old.  The other chaperones were older, some much older. The average was about 45 which I thought was ANCIENT. Those chaperones were there for a GOOD TIME!  They  let their kids go wild! They had huge groups---some 30 students in a group (very lucrative because for every student over 20 they received money)---while I had only six girls.

               I am a kid-magnet. One by one the neglected teens from the free-at-last-forties chaperones found their way to my room. My room was PACKED! I had girls sleeping everywhere. Some wanted to smoke which was totally forbidden in their dorm so I said, “You’ll get in trouble in there. If you’re going to smoke, smoke in my room.” One by one I heard the stories of their lives. Molly’s father was a dentist. She had a dental problem and her dad had given her a douche bag to hook up to the door and run water and antibiotics into her mouth!  Madeline was from a very wealthy family. She said, “My parents sent me here just to get away from them. They dump me somewhere each summer.”

               The organization had made all the arrangements for our activities. One activity that horrified me was to be a visit to the Moulin Rouge where the girls were to see a show and each get a half  bottle of champagne. I told the leaders that I felt it was totally inappropriate and that in the US these girls weren’t old enough to drink. My concern was ignored…like an annoying gnat; we went.

               We arrived at the Moulin rouge and sat down. The sets were amazing. There was a huge water tanks with large fish..maybe porpoises that rose out from the stage floor It was grand. The girls were given their champagne. My eagle eyes were in every direction. The other students from the east and west coasts seemed to be seasoned drinkers. My girls from Indiana were naive.  The women who were dancing all had things in common. They were exactly the same height, their wigs which varied with every number were the same color. They were all topless. TOPLESS. Even their breasts were the same size and shape.  I was aghast. It was worst than I thought. I had no idea that the women were going to be topless! Oh! The stories these girls were going to take home....along with their full-color programs!  We left the Moulin Rouge very late and walked toward the subway. Oh no!  Two of my girls (not Arla) were totally drunk! They were stumbling and could barely walk.  The others seemed to be able to  hold their liquor but not mine. They were sick as dogs. And on top of that they were punished by the organization. Tell me this is fair: because they got drunk they were told they weren’t allowed to go on a side trip to Italy! I argued with the leaders. They were inebriated because they were innocent! They were naive. The rest of the students had  tossed down their champagne with gusto and no symptoms of drunkenness!  Oh! This was ridiculous! I think I managed to talk them into letting my girls go on the tour.

               After the tour to the Italian Alps we went on to the study leg of the journey: St. Malo where we stayed in a monastery. Did you know that in monasteries the pillows are attached to the beds?  The bathtubs were immense. I could easily float in one.  The only thing I remember about the meals in the monastery-converted-to-dorms were café au lait in huge mugs in the mornings, and endless meals of mussels which had tiny little bitty spiders in the shells with the fleshy, squishy mussel.

               I made a couple of young women close to my age among the chaperones.  One is even a friend of mine on FB to this day! She is an amazing artist and I have a piece of her work on my wall that she gave us when we got married. She and I were given the opportunity to study along with the kids but oh PULEEEEZ. We were in France! So while our studets were working away, we would wander around the stone paths, sit down, have delicious, strong coffee and pastries.  We found an amazing creperie! Tiny little place with every possible crepe.

 One evening the artist and I decided to hitchhike into town. A man picked us up and asked, “Would you two like to go to a bar?”  We were all for it and he took us to a bar. We sat down and after while I noticed something very strange. Men were kissing men, and women were kissing women and they were touching each other intimately and…..where was that guy who brought us? NO WHERE to be found. He dumped us at a gay bar!  We must have looked a little bewildered because someone else asked us if we needed a ride somewhere and they took us back to the dorm.

                              My girls all got back in one piece. All names have been changed except for Dr. A.K. Smith, Superintendent of Michigan City Area School.  Oh! Arla! After Arla returned from Europe suddenly  all the teachers wanted to be her best friend. She went on to college and got a double masters’ degree: French and international business.

Things that go Clop in the NIght

While ministering in Scotland we would stay in bed and breakfasts we passed. There was one we loved that was owned by Davy and Ella who breed Clydesdales. It was delightful seeing Star, the colt, every day. The little guy was kept by himself because the females were all foaling and Mr. Frisky would have driven them nuts.

Davy and Ella owned several Border Collies, and one of the jobs of their son was to comb them. He took mounds of hair off each dog and placed it next to him so that each mound seemed bigger than the dog itself. We had such a lovely time. Relaxing and gorgeous. Scotland!

One evening after dark my friend and I decided to take a walk.  We went out the door and walked through the country lanes.   Since it was so late we decided not to go back the way we came, but rather to pass through the fields to return to the house. We were walking, comfortable in the silence between us when suddenly I heard a sound. Clop. Clop. Clop. Then clopclopclopclopclopclop. The clops multiplied in number.

We were being followed…by a herd of Clydesdales!  Now—I like horses when they are on one side of the fence and I’m on the other.  But—it’s night! There are no streetlamps in rural Scotland…and we can see nothing. We can only hear the louder and louder and faster and faster clopclopclopclops behind us.  Have you SEEN the size of Clydesdale’s hooves?

“Just keep walking but don’t run. Just go. GO!”

Somehow I got out of the enclosure and into the yard of the house. How in the world we got in the horse yard, I don’t know. Why weren’t they sleeping in their stable?

Fortunately for every one of my crazy stories I have a witness! This one is my traveling companion and driver, Ms. Dorothe Kauffmann, of Edinburgh.

Does the Heart Draw Whom It Loves?

I don’t know which came first: my love of people of color or the awareness of how much they were despised by some. It was in the 1950s. My family was visiting in Louisiana and another young girl and I were taking the bus back toward her house. We got on the bus, me first, and I went running  down the aisle. “Let’s sit in back!” I yelled over my shoulder.

“No! That’s where the niggers sit.” I stopped, shocked, horrified.

“What! How can you say that word! They are just as good as we are.”

“They may be as good as you, but they’re not as good as me.” And my friend took a seat.

 I don’t remember the ride back.  All I know is that a pain in my heart that traveled to my gut was making me sick. I ran off the bus when we got to her house, ran inside where my mother was waiting, flung myself into the bathroom, leaned against the toilet and retched.

I don’t remember whether my mother spoke to me about it, whether the girl said anything. I remember nothing but horror that people, PEOPLE were treated in such  a way, disrespected, despised, ignored.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to become a FLAG WAVER (an indictment against me that brought the  teaching agency from Indiana's capital  to confront me years later when I was accused of caring too much about the black students).

I just developed such a love in my heart for people who are black. I don’t know why. I love them.

Incidentally, we started our Forty Days of the Word as a small group in our mega-church this past Wednesday evening. The church members were handed a list of 100 names of people hosting meetings. No one who signed up to be in our group knew us.  But at 7:00 the people who had chosen to join our small group walked in the door. They were all black. Did my heart draw them?