A Tragic Secret

A long haired, young man lives in a rundown trailer with his grandmother and hordes of little cousins but hopes to become President. A teenaged girl wants to further her education but became a teenaged mother. An intelligent eleven year old was saved from suicide by her brother who found her hanging. Each one strives to escape the poverty and hopelessness of their culture.
With each story on 20/20 with Diane Sawyer, memories returned. I was there again. Though it had been a few years since my mission trip to the huge South Dakota Pine Ridge Reservation, conditions had not improved.
Excessive unemployment, rampant alcoholism, and extremely high numbers of diabetics plague Native Americans. When land was confiscated, their way of life disintegrated. The government yanked children from families and forced them into boarding schools to “civilize” them. Motivation and self respect declined. Little help was offered. Few seemed to care.
My eyes were opened during our week there. Our team was based at an isolated Christian school down a long dirt road. Part of our work included surveying families of children attending the school. The director wanted information so specific help could be given.
Some of the questions stunned me. We were in America not a third world country. Do you have electricity? Do you have running water?
Their answers appalled me. Some did not have electricity in their old trailers. Several also had no running water. How could they raise their children adequately without those necessities?
At a neatly kept home, my Native American companion and I entered the small living room. Smiling, but curious faces, welcomed us.
“How many people live here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the lady replied. Then she began counting. Finally, a large number was given.
Her home was in a well kept area but many weren’t. Scattered trailers dotted the rugged countryside. Old tires held down roofs. Government housing near Wounded Knee appeared to be in fairly good condition.
A sense of hopelessness and despair permeated much of the area. Though we met friendly, smiling people, stories abounded of unseen trials and difficulties. The recent 20/20 episode showed the country what we experienced on our church mission. Unfortunately, many other reservations have similar problems. The plight of Native Americans is a tragic secret to many Americans.
When homelessness in my county was exposed on 20/20 a few months ago, people responded. Work is being done to help. I pray that the same will happen for children on the reservations. Education, jobs, and programs for addictions will bring lasting change.
Go to www.abcnews.com and click on Diane Sawyer. There are video clips along with other information about the children, the reservation, and ways to help.
If anyone knows of groups there that are offering assistance, please let me know. I no longer have a contact in that area.

We Need a Bible Story

“Grandma, let’s play a game,” said Ashlyn.
“You have to brush your teeth and get your pajamas on first. It’s almost time for you to go to bed,” I answered.
After a song and prayer, little Molly snuggled down with her pacifier and baby. Then I concentrated on the two older girls. I knew the game had to be short since I tried to follow their parents’ instructions on bedtimes.
“As soon as the game’s over, you have to go to bed,” I reminded them. I knew there was a routine of reading a book, singing, reading the Bible and praying but hoped they would forgo it since time was slipping away.
Our Uno game began. Emily and I gathered a fist full of cards while Ashlyn’s decreased. Then she had to draw, and I saw that the game would not end for their 8:30 bedtime.
“After one more round, we have to stop. Whoever has the least cards will win.”
Reluctantly, they agreed. Ashlyn won.
I hurried them off to bed and reminded them it was past 8:30. They scrambled to bed. I prayed and leaned over to kiss Emily. Ashlyn had to stretch down from her top bunk for a kiss.
The clock was blinking from an electrical outage. I had to fix that. The fan had to be turned on. Finally, the light went off.
“Goodnight, girls. It’s past your bedtime,” I repeated a few times.
With the door closed, I sighed. We were only a little late.
As I walked away, I heard a voice.
I opened the door. “You aren’t supposed to call me after you go to bed.”
“But grandma, we didn’t read a Bible story,” Ashlyn said sadly.
“We played a game and now it is time for bed,” I reminded them.
Stubbornly, Emily added, “I won’t go to sleep until mommy comes home and reads a Bible story.”
Knowing Emily’s determination, I relented. She would not go to sleep which would be worse than being a few more minutes late.
Three Bibles laid on their bookshelf. My mind searched for a short story.
“Grandma, the little Bible has stories that are only two pages,” Ashlyn said.
Quickly, I found the story of Noah which was appropriate after two days of continuous rain. The girls could have recited by heart the story and questions that followed. After reading the accompanying prayer, they were satisfied.
Two more kisses and the light went out. Two happy girls and a grandma who received another sermon from her granddaughters.
If only adults were so adamant and faithful in reading the Bible each night.

A Modern Miracle

A handful of dirt. Spit. Mixed together a paste formed. An unsanitary, filthy concoction. The strange mess covered two sightless eyes. As it fell from the unseeing eyes, shadowy forms appeared. With another application, the world opened. The touch of a gentle hand transformed darkness into light. A healing miracle of Jesus over two thousand years ago.
Surrounded by black clad technicians, strange machinery, and the overhead lights, I lay on a table staring upward and wondering what I was doing. My doctor positioned my head and began his work and commentary.
“This will hold your eye open.”
“Stare at the green light.”
“You’ll feel some pressure.”
“One is done.”
His explanations helped. Before each step, I knew what to expect. With one finished, I knew it would not be much longer. My anxiety lessened.
“We’re done. You did great.”
Slowly I rose and walked to another room where Alan waited. In less than fifteen minutes, the procedure was over.
With blurry eyes, I scanned the room. My vision was worse than before the surgery. Would it get better?
Gradually, as the drops were absorbed, I could see more clearly.
More instructions.
“Follow the directions for the drops.”
“Wear dark glasses.”
“Put the shields on at night.”
“Come back in the morning for the follow-up.”
After an initial period of discomfort, I emerged from the blurry world. White blobs across the lake turned into ducks. Our T.V. became 3-D. Leaves appeared on faraway trees. All day I marveled at the changes.
For more than fifty years, glasses and contacts had been my constant companions. Fogged lenses, unclear, and missing contacts became part of my life. Phone calls were made. At church the story was related over and over. My new gift had to be shared.
Even though no grimy paste covered my eyes, a miracle happened. Modern inventions, capable assistants, and a competent doctor worked together to restore my sight. Some people only believe in Biblical miracles, but I believe that God still performs miracles today. The process may have changed but the results can be the same. How blessed I am for the gift of sight.

Mark 8: 22-25 and John 9: 1-12.

Heavenly Father, thank you for sight and the miracles performed in your name-even now. Amen

The Foghorn

Blarrrrrrre. Blarrrrrre.
Every few minutes the ship’s foghorn blasted through the dense fog. My world shrunk to only a few feet of ocean. From every window, a gray cloud obscured the view.
More booming. No dolphins or whales to watch. Even the sun retreated. My world closed around me.
Were other ships nearby? Would there be a collision? How could the captain maneuver safely?
Then I realized that the constant blaring alerted other ships to our location and was a source of protection. Instead of being a disturbance, the foghorn became a comfort. With the modern instruments and his knowledge, the Captain knew what to do to navigate the ship.
Sometimes lives are closed off by depression, grief, shame, guilt, rejection, or inadequacy. Stepping out into the uncertain fog of life seems too hard or even dangerous. Remaining isolated feels easier.
Like a foghorn, the Bible provides protection from the world. Jesus is the Captain who leads to make the voyage less frightening and the way more clear.

Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (NIV)

Father, guide me through the fogs of life. Thank you for your Word. Amen

A Surprising Missionary

“Amen.”
Alan and I looked up to see who joined us in prayer. A blonde server smiled shyly. “Are you Christians?” she asked.
After we answered, she said she was too. Her story unfolded. She had attended a missionary school in Ukraine, affiliated with a school in Iowa, Alan’s home state. While at home in Ukraine, she was involved in clown ministry. She also worked as a missionary with Muslim children in Lebanon. Unfortunately, because of the poor economy, her support dwindled, and she returned home to Ukraine.
Her decision to work on a cruise ship came because she wanted to help her family. Most of her money was sent home to reduce medical bills from her father’s bout with cancer. Thankfully, her father recovered.
After only a short time onboard the ship, she realized that it was not for her. Many of the other crew did not share her Christian values. She missed fellowship with other Christians and wasn’t able to attend Bible studies because of her schedule. She longed to return to her work with children.
Her story touched us. Each day we talked as long as we could without keeping her from her duties. I gave her my daily devotionals, a Guidepost magazine, and a book of Psalms that I had brought to study.
After that first meeting, she explained what an encouragement we had been to her. We noticed that she smiled more and always stopped to talk.
The last night her dinner duty was behind the dessert buffet and not working the tables. After we talked for a minute, she said she would like to give me a hug but couldn’t because of her job. I gave her my email address and asked her to write.
A few minutes later while having a cup of tea, we looked up to see her beside us. Alan said, “She wants to give you a hug.”
I jumped up, and we hugged. After final goodbyes, she returned to her position.
Maybe we will hear from her and maybe we won’t. However, we know that seeds are planted without always seeing the fruits. Meeting and encouraging the young Ukrainian girl was a surprising mission for us. Learning about her mission to her family and to children was a blessing to us.
Opportunities to minister occur everywhere. That door opened when we said a prayer for our meal. What door will open next?

Hebrews 13: 16 “And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.” NIV

Dear Lord, open my eyes to opportunities to minister each day. Thank you for the blessings of knowing people around the world. Amen

Delightful Day in Greenland

Hazy silhouettes of both pointed and rounded mountains enclosed the harbor. A pink and blue sky waited. A gigantic, yellow spotlight illuminated the pale, cloudless sky. Like partially submerged whales, dark islands protruded from the calm, frigid water joined by drifting icebergs. A lone fishing, the only sign of life, boat traveled along the rocky shoreline.

Daylight allowed a clearer view of the of the rocky cliffs, boulders, and deep ravines. Brownish vegetation filled in the gaps. Variations of brown and gray covered the mountains above bluish, gray water.

A turn of the ship brought an explosion of color. Red, blue, yellow, green, violet, and white sprinkled the area. From the sea to the mountain tops, homes, churches, stores, and other businesses clung to the rocks. Laughing at the drab countryside, colorful buildings giggled with delight.

Tenders deposited passengers into the small town of Qaqortog, doubling the population for the day. Bundled in jackets, hats, gloves, and scarves, visitors blended with residents, who entertained with a series of programs.

The largest church, overlooking the harbor with a wall of glass, provided a musical program. The choir of Innuit, many in traditional dress, blended their voices beautifully with no accompaniment.

At the community center, a slide presentation about the country's history, climate, plant and animal life, industry, and future development gave a better perspective on the isolated island.

The speaker, whose grandfather married an Innuit, was both Danish and Innuit. Native Innuit were joined by Vikings for a time, but they disappeared and probably returned to Iceland or Scandinavia. Later the Danish settled there to spread Christianity. The Lutheran Church was the only church until freedom of religion was established a few years ago. For years only Danish and Innuit inhabited the island. However, recently, people from other nations reside there.

Fishing and hunting are the primary industries with fish, shrimp, seals,whales, rabbit, and reindeer. Though shrimp have declined with the warmer waters, cod have increased. Discoveries of various minerals will probably provide a boom to the economy. Negotiations are being held with multinational countries about the rare earth minerals.

A group of kayakers performed maneuvers with their long boats. Wet suits and a second suit, which closed around the boat opening, provided insulation from the freezing water. Flipping over in the icy water, startled onlookers but seemed normal to the residents.

The nearby market displayed the day's catch. White rabbits, blotched by blood, hung rigidly and laid on the wooden table. Inside the small building, marine life waited to be bought. Remains of a seal head, flippers, and innards laid on one table. Another table held sections of four foot speckled catfish. With mouths open, cod piled on a second table. Plastic bags of blubber were also for sale. All parts of the animals are eaten.

Rows of boats, pleasure and fishing, lined the downtown area. Small boats zipped around the fiord. Two helicopters passed near the ship. One the size of a news helicopter. The other one was much larger and circled the ship at very close range like the pilot was trying to peek inside.

A parade of many types of icebergs lined the fiord offering a send off to the ship's passengers. Tiny growlers to huge icebergs. Almost flat to intricate sculptures. One resembled a gigantic igloo ready for Eskimos to enter. Ridges covered the top like someone had pulled a rake over it. A steepled chapel rested with open doors. Another form looked like a pig's head with its snout pointed skyward. Some had been smoothed by the elements while others were chopped and ragged.

Surprisingly, in the southern part of Greenland, icebergs congregate in the spring and summer but not in winter. Ice from Arctic ice fields break off in warmer weather, drift south along the east ern coast of Greenland, and move into fiords with the currents.

Mile after mile of craggy mountains, winding inlets, and sparkling icebergs led the ship back to the open sea. A few swirling, white birds followed. In the distance, hazy mountains blended with low hanging clouds forming an indistinguishable picture.

Instantly, an intense fog enclosed the ship blocking all views of the beautiful seascape. Like the closing of the final curtain, the performance was over.

Sorrowful Reminders

A maze of mostly deserted streets took Alan and me to our destination. Two long fences, one metal and one wooden, blocked the view and held us back. A security guard sat under a white tent. He acknowledged we were at the site marked on our map.
His suggestion took around the large block for a view from the back. Along the way, we pondered the extent of what we planned to see. More barriers separated us from the site. Blocked streets. More guards. Window after window covered by plywood. Offices, apartments, and shops affected.
Tears spilled from my eyes. Ten year old memories surfaced and combined with the scene before me. Words wouldn't come. Heartache and sadness filled me.
Silently we left. Both of us trying to make sense of what we had seen. There were no answers.
Spires of the city's cathedral rose stoically a few blocks away. Our trek took us there. Groups of people quietly stood on the grounds. Clustered in the gardens, piles of red, yellow,purple, and pink flowers formed memorials. Brown leaves and declining blooms showed their age.
Suspended on a line, stuffed animals hung desolately. Instead of being cuddled by young arms, they stared at the flowers below.
One ring of flowers circled a pile of gray rocks. On each stone a red heart honored a heart that had been stilled.
A couple quietly added a bouquet of flowers to the largest mound. They stopped and stared at the ground. We took their place when they left. More tears came. Pictures of smiling, young people lay on the ground. Their lives plucked from the earth like the dying flowers.
Next to us, a mother stood with her three young children. Two elementary age sons listened to her narrative. Suddenly her two year old daughter began crying and crying. As the mother hugged and kissed the little, blond girl, I felt like crying too.
The world for those children had been changed forever like the children in the United States. Innocence and security had been instantly ripped away in a cruel, merciless way.
The Oslo memorials wrung our hearts. We expressed our sadness for their losses to residents of Norway. We understood. Our grief united us.
With the anniversary of America's 9/11 tragedy, our sorrowful reminders combined with the sadness and mourning in Norway. Though we were far from home and not a part of the anniversary remembrances, our experiences in Oslo gave us a memorable tribute to both countries.
Near the church, a letter urged Norwegians to not give up and stay strong. At the end of the letter, four Arabic names were signed. Decent, kind people of all nationalities, cultures, and religions remain in our world and must unite to combat the horrible crimes a few have inflicted on others.

Psalm 107: 28-30 Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed. They were glad when it grew calm, and he guided them to their desired haven. (NIV)

Dear Lord,thank you for your comfort. Help us to remember and give comfort to others.Amen