The Lesson of the Tulip Bulb

It’s been good for me to garden. I am redoing the courtyard. Today’s lesson from the garden was thought provoking. I know I told you that Patty had planted tulips. Big beautiful purple tulips. There was no other color in the garden but those. She had left a big purple ribbon on them, tied, and the whole scene was lovely. Today and for quite a while now, I noticed that the tulips were long gone. The purple ribbon laying in the ground covered up by dirt. In their place stood white stringy dried up stalks. They didn’t really stand, they were laying all over the ground. Like Hans. Toward the end, he couldn’t stand up either. His vitality was reduced to a long body on a bed of white sheets. No longer to stand erect as God has made man to be. Lev 26: 13. (Man does not crawl on his belly unless he has totally given in to the snake in the garden.) I was sad when I saw these flowers. God, I prayed. Does everything have to die? “Yes. No. Look below.” I pulled up the bulbs, invisible and not seen. Roots were all over the place and strange white thick stalks were beginning to emerge from the root itself. Like Hans, laying up in the valley on a bluff overlooking El Paso. Laying below the surface but not dead.  I know that Hans is not the root, but merely a branch, who lays waiting for his body to be raised. I get the picture now. Jesus has gone ahead to prepare the place, the soil for his new existence. And he waits for me and for all of us. 

I think to myself more often than I care to admit,  “Where are you God? We used to be such friends. And now, when I think I need you the most you are clearly silent.” Not seeing or hearing the voice of God, I see that I am so dependent on these tangible visible signs to my senses. I am still such a child in the faith. Needing those immature and feeble assurances. But God bypasses those. He speaks directly to my Spirit. And He was teaching me this lesson of the tulip bulb through my eyes, and even through my disappointment. 

But even more, I realize He has given me the energy to work all morning in the hot sun, lifting and bending. He was the "wind beneath my wind" (pardon the terrible metaphor). I plant eight big red plants in the garden, having to dig holes to match. "So, You are the One doing this gardening. You also helped Hans with the garden too." 

I got on my knees without my pillow at one point and immediately touched the solid concrete walkway. I remembered Hans’ knees— dark brown from the years of bending down and pulling out dead things in his garden. I quickly got the pillow, for I am vain enough not to want the "gardeners knee". But Hans didn’t care about such things. He made things beautiful for us. And now I do it for him and for my visitors too. Everyone must see that God is for life, not death and inherent in the plant is the sign of life everlasting.

Widowhood by the Book

I am playing the widow thing by the book. Today i covered the "mechanic" syndrome. i feel totally helpless around tools, wood, screws and anything electrical. I especially feel overwhelmed with instructions. They are just too simple. If they were more complicated I would probably get it. I bought my upteenth fountain today. But I had to assemble it. I panicked. This is where widowhood gets interesting.  I struggled with part a going into part b and turning  the screw to the left. But I did not let it get to me. Viola! I got it to work. 

But everything inside me was crying, "This is a man's job!" It's been a while since I was a single mom. I got also got spoiled because H was a handyman. Ahh. little girl.Talitha Cum... My grown up self refused to buy into this image. But it sure was hard to overcome. I see what God is doing. He is taking me down the low road. I don't like it much. I have gotten too domesticated like the women of Egypt. They suffered terribly in childbirth because they were so soft, unlike the Israelite women who just popped those babies out. Yes, I am too soft now. But hey....I'm old. Look at poor old Sarah, she had a kid at 120? Something like that. I bet she learned not to laugh at God's ideas. Those of you who knew "us" know this is the truth...I was spoiled by Dr. Weerstra. It makes a great love story but it's not great when reality comes knocking. 

There is nothing new under the sun. I remember the widow across the street from us some 10 years ago. She was 88 and still climbing up on the roof to fix her air conditioner. I remember thinking "Yuck!  How awful is that?" 

Just Thinking out Loud.

May 25, 2011 Tuesday

It was light this early morning, so I decided to mow the lawn. The electric mower is so quiet I did not disturb the neighbors, if I have any. Then I fertilized the grass and watered. By 9AM I decided to remove the mulch from the courtyard and water the plants. In between a friend came by and we talked of things in the Kingdom. It was a good visit and we were refreshed. Then back to removing the mulch, bag after bag. But during this go around, I began meditating on a piece of our discussion. It became more in my mind, growing in meaning, as I continued to reflect upon it, bag after bag. 

It is no secret that the human being receives information through the senses of the body—eyes, ears, touch, sound, and smell. If not for the senses, we would be tossed into outer darkness (perhaps that is what hell is).

I think I love Emmie through my eyes, because she is a such a beauty—her fresh little face, her sparkling eyes, her mischievous grin. But then I also love her through my ears, the quality of her voice, the incredible way she says "Grandma" and her use of language that is far beyond her years.  I also love her through touch, the way she crawls into my lap, or Grandpa's lap so effortlessly, as if we were chairs. 

I hear that widows do the same thing. That when they miss their mate they miss the total person, his or her voice, touch, sight, smell, and sound. We take in people and life with our five senses. That's a total experience and all of these things addict us to their being if they are "on the mark." Hans always said he fell in love with my voice. I had a friend who has a lovely voice and when we were looking for houses and calling real estate agents I always had her do the calling. They were lulled into submission by the quality of it.  I fell in love with Hans' profile, this has been my way since a child. Every boy I ever liked, had a similar profile. Sight was important to me. But that was just a part of it. I also loved his voice, and his touch, so gentle. I knew that these are the things I would lose when he died. I didn't know how to keep those things alive. If I had them, I thought, I could endure the year of grieving. I have heard of widows going into the mate's closet and just smelling the air, the clothes and being immensely comforted. 

It was this way for me a week ago. I found a small digital recorder that I bought the last year of his life. As we traveled or sat in the backyard, I would interview him, or provoke him with a piece of Scripture. I listened to these nine or ten recordings last week. I spent the day with the recorder, just listening to his voice. The pauses, the reflection or intonation, his slight Dutch accent and my own. I sounded so peaceful and happy, poking fun at his stogy old self. I was a little bit better. I have not gone into his closet. I cannot bear it yet, though I have moved into his office and put all his hats in a case.  When I have another down day, I will enter the closet. Perhaps if there is anything that made me feel secure and safe it was his odor, his peculiar fragrance that I inhaled every day. And every day it spoke to me, that life was not only ok, but great! And so it is a huge loss for me. His fragrance still fills the closet but I cannot go near there yet. It would set me back and pull off the emerging cover of my wound. 

But my meditation didn't end with Hans. This morning's discussion had to do with church life.  I noticed it pretty much uses only one gate to the soul. The ear. We listen to the sermon, we listen to the worship, we listen to the words of the songs, we listen to Christian radio. Perhaps many of us can enjoy the sounds of other voices or our own.  But there are four other gates missing. This weekend I went to church on Saturday and Sunday and "experienced" church. I took it in with all five senses. But some were disappointing. My sniffer was dismissed. The eye was displeased or vacant. It had nothing to look at.  How can I have a total experience when all there is ....is listening. We have motion, smells, lights, sounds, bells and whistles some have called it. Even some small thing would have been appreciated. Church, let him who has an ear, hear. 

How can we learn to open these other gates? What can we do to enhance our experience of God through them? Well, just thinking out loud. 

The Promise Land

I sent a link to Talitha Cum to a friend who wanted to read it. I thought I would take a look for myself one more time, to kind of remember April and parts of March. I couldn't do it. I couldn't  bear to read those words again. I am afraid it will tear the scab just barely forming. Nor have I been to the grave in a week. I am also afraid to go into Hans' office at night, the spirit of the dead and all that. Do I dare uncover what God is making whole again? I don't know what to make of myself, that is the hilarious part of all of this. I don't know myself at all. Which is hysterically funny having mastered such hard trials of the faith and having learning how to govern my own soul under the direction of the Spirit. But today I do not know it at all. I am a stranger to myself.

For instance, I went to synagogue this morning. God was with me. My heart was like a deep running brook in the midst of God's people, I was as calm as the seas on a good day. Placid I believe the word is. Nothing disturbed me, nor did I want anything or even think anything. The rabbi was so funny, so casual with the word of God...dismissively reverent. Kind of odd but charming. I sailed out like a leaf on a wave. Huh?

But Saturday felt like Sunday and I could not shake the kodesh (holiness) of the meeting, it has lasted all day and so I won't get any work done today. Now I will have two Sundays. I have plans to clean the backyard and it feels sacrilegious now. All of which is to say that my emotions are everywhere and no where. The view ahead of me (figuretively speaking) is hugely vast, for I can do so much, I am so trained I can have five more careers if I choose. But the plain is also empty, no trees, no bushes, very much like the hinterlands of Utah, large boulders and mammoth rocks.

I am excited for I am truly following God today and I have begun my journey to the Promise Land. I have cross the Jordan (death) and now I must set up twelve pillars.

The Intimacy of Friendship

It has been two days since I posted. Perhaps because I am doing ok. I finally had the courage to move my office into Hans' room and set up my small counseling business again. My first attempt was dismal, I am rough from non use. I forgot to ask the right questions at the right times, my brain still dead from the trauma of this year. But eventually Jesus led us into the right places and wow.. a touch from God. What an awesome privilege to be with God in His ministry. I am humbled once again by the precious lives of men and women and how much He cares about everything. God is SO much love. I can feel it in these sessions and Iunderstand the pain I am dealing with is not unnoticed and I am healed myself. Caring about others is really caring about yourself. There is a blessing hidden in its midst. That's why I think the cultural narcissism of the present is truly death.

Today I am going to the synagogue for worship of the Messiah. I don't know what to do expect, but am looking forward to meeting God there. I haven't been to church in a year. Tomorrow I am going to visit again another family of God, though I don't know yet where. I want to go where the majority of my friends and family go but I know that once I do, I will lose the prophetic ability to speak into their lives. Familiarity breeds contempt and all that human stuff. So I remain a stranger among God's people to this day.

Watching high school musical last night, I realized that I never belonged in high school to any group. I was part of the group that commuted from another village. My gang became the kids on the school bus. I can't even remember their names now. We were all army brats and you know how that goes. Transitory lives, perfect training for a missionary. But later on, even my mission experience kept me from belonging to a church, I belonged to a mission. We are all located on different continents now. My best friends lives in China.

So one of the deepest needs I have is to belong and to experience the comaderie that old friends do. A sort of historical confidence that surpasses common day exchanges. It's a form of intimacy that I have never had. I found all that intimacy with my best friend Hans, and now that that been stripped from me as well. Of course, of course there is my heavenly companion...but He willed that we would double our joy with the brethren, that is what I am talking about. Now that Hans is gone, I am squeezed out like toothpaste into the body to find my intimacy, authenticity and drinks of refreshing waters with others. I was completely satisfied with Hans....needing no one. But now...it is different. To be fully alive and like God, you must share the love between you and God with someone else. . .

Passion is a Must!

Loss would be infinitely easier if I didn’t have so many losses at one time. Losing hair, losing muscle, losing flexibility in the joints, losing flock, losing teaching gig, and losing ministry center. I am losing everything but weight. I will make a point of this. Loss is part of life, the Dr. told Benjamin. I beg to disagree. Losing is part of the rottenness of the fall of man. We are on a different highway now, but we must put off mortality. Sorry it has to be like this....bit by bit. 

I do feel better today, not so sorry. I watched Camp Rock with the kids last night. Nothing like a teeny bopper movie to make me happy. Emmie was thrilled with the singing and the dancing. It was good to see so much life...and talent. A few times, I remembered Hans was not in his office. But I was able to switch tracks within a few seconds. Hans is resting. He is in the cool ground, body protected from the coyotes. 

I will visit him today. But first I must have lunch with a friend. I don’t find it this easy to do. Shock still has its side effects. One of them is a maddening desire to be alone. I don’t understand this. I am making myself move on. I will tell you the outcome later. 

Soon I will be actively seeking property on the west side toward Mesilla. I am going to build a ministry camp—a sort of healing place. It will include praise, music, prayer and teaching.  If God is willing and I am able. Please pray for me. If you want to be on staff please let me know. Or send me a letter, tell me why you think you HAVE TO be a part of this venture. The only requirement is passion, money would be helpful too. JK (just kidding).


God's word to me today is "No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Luke 9:57-62

Pain is a Fearsome Enemy

I have been sad all day. The wind is blowing and the trip has finally caught up to us.

We are tired and sad. Because my energy is low I feel the hole in my heart for the first time in days. It feels like a dry socket, unable to heal. I am wondering how I can fill it. I am not afraid of it though...I know that something has been removed...and that I will be healed someday, it just sucks all the life out of me. My heart keeps trying to cover it up and fill it in with things, ideas, nebulous visits to the fridge, the internet, the red box. I can’t think of anything that will help me. Not even prayer helps me. When this happens I know that I need to find a different way to get through to God. His silence is an invitation to explore His mountain. But I am too tired. I can go hunting or I can lay down in the shade like a wounded animal and lick my wounds and wait for the morning. 

Everything triggers me. Went to Walgreens and everything made fun of me. The shelves were lined with reminders of my companion. Tire gauges, Mucinex, portable toilets and Crest toothpaste. I browse the magazine section looking for something. I find nothing that engages my ravaged heart. I return home as sad and weary as I went. Inside I am wailing and I try to ignore the infant cries. 

Looking in the mirror I see a watery, ghostly apparition. Make up smears and stained shirt...did I go out like that? I don’t know what to do except to talk to God and tell Him how deep the pain is. But if I do, I will cry and I don’t want to cry. It’s miserable. I can feel my roots creating roots...into the tree of Christ. It is painful. I expect Benjamin to do this having just had his heart broken too, but he is only 12. How can I expect him too?

I am not alive. I used to be. Dr. says that if the remaining spouse is going to die it usually happens 9-11 months after death. It sounds very attractive. I am scared however that I will end up in a different room from my companion and then have to spend eternity on another floor. I am deranged at the moment. What I really want is to feel normal again. I used to be so happy.

This is how widows get sometimes. Strange thoughts. Pain is a fearsome enemy.

Let These Words Sink In Your Hearts

Luke 9: 43And they were all amazed at the greatness of God But while everyone was marveling at all that He was doing, He said to His disciples,

 44"Let these words sink into your ears; for the Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men."

 45But they did not understand this statement, and it was concealed from them so that they would not perceive it; and they were afraid to ask Him about this statement.

Ah... these are very hard words. But I want to live by the truth, no matter how hard it is to swallow and digest. I have often taught that the Scriptures should be held up like a mirror to our faces. They are to expose our sins and this one surely does. But when I am cleansed I will be healed, is that not the promise given us so far? 

Yes, it appears that the works of Jesus can dazzle the disciples. Even though they marveled at the works of God, they also were marveling at the wondrous working powers of God. It is easy as a disciple to get stuck on that. It is easy to get enamored of the power gifts and then to begin to build upon your own successes in wielding such power. In the verses following verses 45, we see exactly that. They argued among themselves, which would be the greatest. I don’t think Hans and I were any different from these ragtag guys either. We were not consciously doing that but it is, nonetheless, part of the waters we swim in. And so we were “very busy” in our lives, not making our own name great but certainly consumed with the “works of God.”  

And while we were marveling at these things, Jesus said to us, “Let THESE words sink into your ears, the Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men.” So while we did the “works of God” and marveled at them, for our teachings were no small matter, Jesus had hoped that we would let a different set of words sink into our hearts. He was saying to me, “while you are thinking about success, I am thinking about my suffering, and the cup that you both will also drink at the end.” Jesus was already praying for us at the beginning of our union, knowing that a deeper work would have to be done in our hearts than any earthly success could bring—a deeper death to self. The same held true for all the apostles did it not?

But these truths were also “withheld” from us. We could not have borne it. Even in the purchase of our beautiful building on Oxford, the only warning of impending doom was that we would only be there for five years. I too was afraid to seriously ask, “Why? Will one of us die? Be paralyzed?” What will happen, never entered my mind. But it was withheld from us, for we could not have borne the grief back then. We were full of plans and life and dreams and energy. Yet it is a word to the wise, that we must be taught to number our days. Our cloak will be given to someone else, so let us hold it lightly. 

The Fruits of My Labors and Ordinary Time

Luke 9:37 On the next day, when they came down from the mountain, a large crowd met Him. 38And a man from the crowd shouted, saying, "Teacher, I beg You to look at my son, for he is my only boy, 39and a spirit seizes him, and he suddenly screams, and it throws him into a convulsion with foaming at the mouth; and only with difficulty does it leave him, mauling him as it leaves. 40"I begged Your disciples to cast it out, and they could not."

41And Jesus answered and said, "You unbelieving and perverted generation, how long shall I be with you and put up with you? Bring your son here." 42While he was still approaching, the demon slammed him to the ground and threw him into a convulsion. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, and healed the boy and gave him back to his father. 43And they were all amazed at the greatness of God But while everyone was marveling at all that He was doing, He said to His disciples,

I was taken with several things in this passage. One—a child was being ravaged by a demon. How is that possible? How can a demon oppress a child? They are innocent and most likely have not sinned at this tender age. Perhaps it was a the sins of the parents? Two—the disciples had no power. Oh, I could relate to that. I have tried to do “exploits” myself to no avail. Or so it seemed.  I cynically laughed at this passage.  Three—Jesus’ rebuke. Oh my! I was shaken by it. It seemed so mean and undeserved. Why not teach them more? Why not comfort them? After all, they were trying to mimic Him, their teacher. Four—Jesus rebuked, delivered, healed and gave the boy back to his father. Wow, I thought. These are the works of Jesus in our lives. He delivers us from sin, then He heals us of our wounds, sets us upright like a man, then gives us back to the Father. This I understood experientially. But what about the rest? And what did that have to do with me and the situation I found myself in that day. I was observing a little boy being terrorized by a spirit, although I did not discern it at the time. He only looked sad. 

As I meditated on this I found that for whatever reason, the child did have a demon. It did control and oppress him, with or without his parents permission. I don’t think it was a matter of the “sin of the fathers” for the father appears to be very loving and concerned for his child. So...moving on I at first thought, the disciples were chastised for being a faithless and twisted generation. Aha...they lacked faith and their worldview were twisted. They lacked truth, they were products of their secular education. But then what about Jesus’ remarks? For this reason, the disciples lacked power! Yes! That’s it. But my soul was not satisfied. 

Then the Holy Spirit asked me? To whom is Jesus talking? He is not talking to the immediate context. He is looking to heaven and saying to the Father? How long O Lord? How long before I can go to the Cross, suffer and be buried? How long before I can send the Holy Spirit to my lads? How long must I bear with their inability to heal in my My Name when there are so many needs out here? Yes, his words were a prayer to the Father. He looked forward to his passion SO THAT we might be filled and deliver His lambs from evil. 

Then I knew that this child I had been with all day, could be delivered with a simple prayer, and that Jesus would deliver him back to his father. In the case I was looking at the child had been distant all day from his parents, uncommunicative and dull. Not the usual smiling happy boy. And now that I too was filled with the Spirit, I could ask Jesus to deliver this young man from evil and it would be done. I was not like the disciples at this stage in their training. I was a daughter of the Cross. So I prayed, very simple, very naturally asking the Father to remove the oppressor from this child. I did not have to jump or shout or scare anyone, I just asked, in His name. Sure enough, in a matter of moments the child began to smile, and a big smile!

As I prayed my voice quaked, thinking of Jesus’ faithfulness as we read the Scriptures and to apply them to our daily lives. But I also thought of Hans’ absence. Surely there must be an answer for me too somewhere in these pages. It will come, when I am ready. 

Wretched Beginnings

I am still wretched inside. As I return home from Austin, my first trip without Hans, I return to face all the old memories. They are here and there and suddenly I realize that I have to start a new life. I have no money since the insurance company is taking their time settling this tiny insignificant pay off, so I can’t do anything really. I am still reeling from everything that has happened in my life. The suddenness of losing him after a year of waiting. Then it was over. The days after his death flew by so quickly. But now I must face the music, the minor keys of life. I am deeply hurt and saddened tonight coming back and remembering every thing I left behind last Friday. In Austin, there were a swirl of activities and some culture shock. Many wonderful and real people, so much so that I wanted to bury myself in the skirts, hiding in the comfort of their warmth. But there is no womb, except the womb of Christ and tonight I must find Him or I shall surely perish as my bridegroom did.  I do wish it were morning when the light flows back in and dreams can begin to heal my life again.  

Why this waste of perfume?

It took a long time to fill my heart with love. But Hans managed to fill it. God used my husband to erase the years of widowhood and the emptiness that comes from not knowing God's love. Toward the end of our life together, I got pretty assured of love always being there. But life is about loss. For change means loss. It means letting go of all things except Christ. This is my final journey toward perfection, maturity. In reflection, I see that Hans was like a mom and dad to me. No wonder I was so content. He was nurturing like a mom and provided safety like a dad. In that environment, I could try anything. He was bedrock. Foundation. The nausea is a sign of the anxiety that comes from separation. It is to be expected. Still, I have not walked this way before and all these things trigger years of denying abandonment and rejection. I should have dealt with those issues long before this. But God is so smart, he will heal me one way or another, and long before eternity begins  for me. 

But now Hans is asleep and is not dead. I must not weep for it is unseemly to the Savior if I do. At least not weep as the lost do. For he shall be awakened from his sleep into everlasting life, roused as it were from a dream in which his body rests. Is. 26:19. 

Matthew Henry says, "The death of our relations should drive us to Christ, who is our life. But to be healed of our sorrow we must touch the hem of his garment. There is no other real cure. Sometimes when the sorrow of the world prevails, it is difficult for Christ and his comforts to enter. For this reason, he forbade them to weep or mourn." 

I think this is a matter of more will than emotion—a choosing to believe, as it were. I must continue the journey alone. For there is more to be done in my preparation for eternity. The human predicament is this: I am driven to Christ. The steeds of my mystic chariot are the triggers that cause me sorrow on a daily basis. They are the ones that drive me to Christ. Yesterday I saw them as tormentors. Today I see them as instruments which serve to bring me to his hem. The woman with the issue of blood would not have been so valiant in her search of the Christ had she not been in such straights, no money, no hope, only a sure wasting away from the loss of blood. But she was driven to Christ, as surely as my pain drives me. Yesterday I was doing more cleaning in the garage and I saw the augur that Hans used to clean out the drains. Why this item? It must have made an impression on me how he could make things work again. Then I could not walk by his office or go inside. It still remains like a museum piece to me. Yesterday was Monday, and only two weeks ago on Monday evening, he died. Every Monday has that affect on me. But I had not realized that these are my coachmen, not to the grave, but to life. To the author of life. 

Today is my birthday and after a celebratory lunch at the Sunset Brewery (of all places) I will go to the cemetery to check on the flowers. It is not the grave that causes me pain, oddly, I am comforted to be there among the dead. But it is the artifacts of his life that cause me anguish. The workmen's tools. His worn out socks and shoes that make my heart break from love. He never wore the academic collar or the Domini's (clergy) robes of which he was a part. He wore the garment of a carpenter. He could have worn them, but he chose to walk Another's path. I did not understand it then as I do now. He took his flask of oil and broke it over the feet of Jesus. His precious life's oil.  And that will surely be rewarded. In his life and in mine. 

A Thousand Kisses

It was now early June. I had only met Hans in March. In April, I received my own missionary call. Shaken, I told Hans about it. A profound change occurred in my heart as a result of this call. He was excited about it. He had also met a man who was in charge of Youth With A Mission. I didn't think about any of those things as significant. In spite of the kiss, nothing had changed in our relationship. I was still very nervous and insecure around him and had nothing to say. Interiorly I was a mess. The best that I could conclude from my condition is that I had to stop seeing him. Furthermore, I couldn't understand my own heart. Our dates would be dreadful, but mornings would find me with a completely changed attitude toward him/us. Feeling incredibly confused,  I took steps to meet with him personally and tell him that I didn't think this was going to work out between us. 

With my face set toward "Jerusalem" I proceeded to tell Hans my thoughts. When suddenly, the Holy Spirit, in the form of a physical touch descended upon me beginning with the top of my head, running his "finger" down my face, my throat, my shoulders, my chest, my stomach, my hips, my thighs, my knees, my ankles and finally my feet. I can still remember the light touch on even my eyelashes. His voice spoke clear as a bell, saying, "I AM giving you to Hans." The deed was done. I opened my eyes, which had ever so gently closed, and when I did, I was totally and completely in love. We were love sick for five years, unable to bear any kind of separation. 

But that night —gone was the insecurity, the nerves, the inability to talk, replaced with a peaceful gaiety that was divine. When I asked him years later, what he experienced that night, he said, "It was as if you had surrendered to me." I had not surrendered, I had been surrendered, by God—given in marriage to Hans. I was a gift to him. And he to me. And we to Him. And the years of pain were erased from his face, his eyes lit by love and favor from God. He literally sparkled as this picture clearly shows. We sparkled. 

And now those days are gone. The gift has now been rendered complete and finished—and we are no more. The thousand kisses are gone with his smile, and I am starting over. It was like a dream. And I can't seem to wake up and begin a new one. 

So Close to Jesus

A second date proved no better. We stared awkwardly at the walls, each of us hoping the night would end quickly. "So," he said, "You are a career woman? What career?" I said, "So you are a missionary? Where do you do your missionary stuff?" No amount of loneliness was worth this agonizing conversation. I vowed to never see him again, and he was feeling the same way. But in the morning, I found my heart had softened toward him. A third date proved just as bad as the first. Why weren't things getting any better? I longed to have a real relationship with him. I was intrigued by his line of work, but couldn't think of a single question that made any sense to ask. I was a new Christian and so missionary work appeared to be the top spot in the kingdom. Full time work was like being so close to Jesus. What was that like? I was so stupid back then, I didn't realize, of course, that being "so close" to Jesus, implied closer to suffering, closer to obscurity, closer to ridicule and mockery. The very life that Jesus lived and was still living through His body. 

There was still a veil between us and no matter how hard I tried to penetrate the veil, it would not fade. Something separated us and it was as solid as glass. My romantic relationships in the past had always been a case of me giving my heart away at my own discretion. I "fell in love" with whom I chose. But this time, my heart was frozen. I would not be having a relationship of any kind with Hans Weerstra. Perhaps that is what it means to be led by God and to belong to Him. This time there was no flirting, no exploration, no heart to heart exchange. I vowed to never see him again. 

Meanwhile our children were going crazy. They had been friends and now they were potentially going to be brothers and sisters. The unspeakable had occurred. They were to be a part of a bigger famlly. But Hans and I were doing terrible at getting along. Until one night. 

We had now been on our fifth date. Nothing fancy, just coffee or walks. He had brought me home from a truly awful evening and we decided that we would walk around the neighborhood. I happened to be standing on the curb which minimized the difference in our height when he leaned down and kissed me for the first time. It was the softest kiss I had ever experienced in my life. And then it was over. When it was over we stood perfectly still. There was complete silence in the air. I had nothing to say and neither did he. I vowed to never see him again. 

But in the morning, my head swam with the memory of that night. I must have relived that moment a hundred times.  And even today, when he is gone, I remember that kiss and a thousand more that came later.  I think we had a good life. We were blessed. There was magic for so long. It was always like that first kiss. 

God's works never lose their glory.


 To be continued.

Stepping Into Trouble

How does time fly by so quickly?  It seemed only yesterday that I was newly married and leaving for my honeymoon with a man I hardly knew. I did know God and I did trust that God was bringing us together, making us one. H. was a mystery at the beginning. A man deep with history and crevices in his face to prove it. As with all men who suffer tragedy, his eyes were opaque and withholding. He was the opposite of the teddy bear men who were so comforting to me.  I was attracted to his knowledge  and his profile. He did not care for either.  He had been wounded in the war. His life had been kidnapped by sorrow which he could not explain. He was a man in the shroud of divorce and abandonment. 

But he was new in the area and people were interested. Legends of his work in southern mexico abounded and made him an object of discovery—like a pebble thrown into a calm pond was his arrival. Legends also existed about a soon disappearing wife, who came and sang and left. But they were only distant stories to me. What did I have to do with him? 

I had been widowed 10 years—though not a clean cut case of life and death. But a messy separation and live in girlfriends—things which are better left unsaid. I had escaped two attempts on my life to kill me and finally come into the light of God's saving grace. I was delivered from evil and safe from the unknown dangers which stalked me and my little ones. Those stories we shall save for another time. 

It was another time now. I was a different person. I was filled with the Holy Spirit Who guided my steps.  On one evening in early March while walking through the living room, the Lord suddenly spoke, "Hans is lonely." I was offended and intrigued all at the same time. God assumed that I knew Hans. I only knew "of him" not him personally. Why didn't God use Hans' last name? God's intimacy of my thoughts was unnerving. I did know of Hans, having been introduced to him at a bible study he had attended once with his wife. I had been one of many that evening to be introduced to him. There was not a nod or a glance exchanged between us. Our daughters were friends, having met at a youth retreat. And I had, more than once, dropped my girl off at his house on a Sunday afternoon. Often I had wished myself a part of those days and those events, they seemed so carefree, so happy. But. . . I did not know the man who hid behind the laughter of our children. But I did technically know who he was and God knew that. Nevertheless, I felt that God was using this knowledge without my permission. A normal conversation would have gone something like this: "Hey, you know that guy that just came into town, whose daughter is a friend of your daughter?" This would have been the natural course of events. No, nothing of the sort with God. All that was "understood." That's how God is. I have grown used to it by now, but then it was a new thing.  Even now in thinking of all of this, my mind is staggered by everything that happened. It sort of happen to me—with my mind as a casual but interested observer. 

I located his number and invited him to a bible study. He was not interested in a bible study, but he said he would like to go out for coffee. I was scandalized. What kind of missionary didn't want to go to a bible study? But fools rush in where angels fear to tred and so I agreed. It was a horrible night. We had nothing in common. Furthermore his face was drawn, pinched together by grief.  He was not interested in the things of the Lord, he was a shell of a man, having lost everything on the mission field. Being as young in the Lord as I was, these were things I could not possibly have understood. His faith, his family, his work, gone in what a appeared an instant.  An elder in the church declined to counsel him because the elder said he was not equipped to handle such things. How was I do any better? I vowed to never see him again. I was a product of the sixties, half hippie, half "smart a..." completely unchurched and uneducated in the bible or the history of the church. I was stepping inside a snare. 

To be continued. 

Formal Obituary

Hans Martin Weerstra, age 75, went home to be with the Lord on Monday, April 25, 2011 at 6:30 PM. Hans died at home from lung and brain cancer.  His family worked during WWII for the allied forces in the Netherlands which was under Nazi occupied hands. His family was also part of the underground movement that provided asylum for Jewish families, hiding them in their walls and basements. Toward the end of the war, neighbors turned the Weerstra family into the Nazi officials and Mr. Weerstra and the head of the Jewish family were arrested and taken to prison. They were later released by a miraculous work of God. A Jewish child born while under their care is now a doctor in Israel. For their work with the Jewish underground, they were given a tree planted in the “Garden of the Righteous Gentiles’ in Israel. The Weerstra family was given a special citation by President Eisenhower at the end of the war which allowed them to emigrate to the United States. Hans arrived in the states at 13 years old with his eight brothers and sisters. He lived in Holland Michigan.

In 1964 Hans was ordained by the Christian Reformed Church and served as a missionary in Southern Mexico from 1964-1983. He worked in Yucatan and Oaxaca with the Mayan, Zapotecs, Mixtechs, and other indigenous peoples of Mexico planting churches and bible distribution. Currently there are over 40 churches planted in that area as a result of his efforts.  He graduated from Calvin College with an M.Div  in 1964 and in 1972 received his doctorate from Fuller Theological Seminary, Pasadena, California.  He speaks four languages and has written several books as well as serving as the editor for many years (1991-1994) of the International Journal of Frontier Missions. 

Hans worked with Youth With A Mission from 1984-1991, where he directed the Spanish Language School in El Paso Texas. His last position was as a mission pastor and church consultant with the Southwest Center for World Missions who did ministry under the name of the Oxford Street Abbey. 

He leaves behind his wife, Judy L. Weerstra, daughters, Patty Rybak of Dallas Texas, Julianne De Leon of El Paso Texas, and Jennifer Neely of Killeen, Texas. His sons, Doug Weerstra of Denver Colorado, Rick Weerstra of Schenectady, New York and Ryan Ludlow of Austin, Texas and 18 grandchildren. His brothers: Richard Weerstra, John Weerstra, Ted Weerstra of Holland Michigan, and Cecil Weerstra of Hilton Head, South Carolina. His sister: Jean Hengst of Holland Michigan. He is preceded in death by his father, Martin Weerstra, mother, Teresa Weerstra, sister Anne Gipping, brother Sam Weerstra all of Holland, Michigan. 

Funeral will be held at the Memorial Pines Cemetery, 61 Memorial Pines Lane, Sunland Park, MN 88063.  Funeral arrangements by  Crestview Funeral Home.  If you would like to send flowers, please send tulips to Memorial Pines. Please send donations you would like to give to his former mission, Youth With A Mission, 4406 Edgar Park, El Paso Texas 79904. 

The Mourning Dove

Mourning is such a mystery. One hour you are fine, the next you are crippled by sorrow. There is a physical component to the process. We have been sick all week, nausea, upset bowels, general anxiety, and headaches. Sometimes sorrow feels like an elephant sitting on my chest. I do not trust myself to be around people. What was funny one minute is not the next. Humor becomes humorless, life become dull, and anxiety replaces peace. 

Yesterday I found myself looking for clues to Hans' inner life in his desk, his notes, his wallet. There were none new. I knew Hans so well. But with knowing someone so well, to some degree, the magic is gone. Magic implies mystery and the unknown. We were so fully known to each other that we had merged into one flesh, one spirit and certainly of one mind. We were supremely comforting to one another at the end. 

On the Thursday after the family viewing, we ate together for the first time as a unit. All the kids, 6 of them and spouses were together. At the end of the meal, I ordered two coffees. One for me, one for Hans. I knew precisely what we would be experiencing—we would be savoring the quiet joy of seeing happy children getting along, only now fully grown. The shared coffee was our own personal sign of a happy moment. 

Separation is like the ripping of velcro. I am ripped. But hopeful. Hopeful that my long association with H. will bear much fruit in the days ahead and that I will not always suffer from at the memories of our life together, the restaurants we ate at, the people we ministered unto, and the events of our life. 

This picture on the left has become my screen savior. It is kinda funny. Every morning H. would bring coffee wearing these clothes. Then he would sit in front of me, and I would be in bed sitting up. We would talk about the nation, the endtimes, and the church. Now he sits inside my computer, across from me, while I am in my bed typing on this screen.  But now I am talking to you, my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, not him. Although I did reach out yesterday and touch his hand. I wanted to dust off his sweater to remove the beard dander and tell him he needs a shave. I guess you never stop being a nag. 

Yesterday we attacked the garage again. Looking at our "stuff" was vicious. Pressed into my heart were the wires, pipes, text books, reference books, furniture, dust, memories of all our life together.  I had to leave. Only a small part of the conversion has taken place. Ashes—1; Beauty—0. 


Julianne had to be picked up at the mall, legs wobbly and head swimming, she was in the middle of a panic attack. Neither one of us have taken mourning seriously. It is an anxiety disorder of the first kind. 


Today we are off to the cemetery to replace the flowers. This time with silk. I am beginning the nauseating process of writing thank you notes. It is emotionally difficult, painful but healing at the same time. I look forward to encountering God today. I have not met Him yet in this wilderness of recovery. His word to me has been silent. Outside my window, the mourning doves make their usual sound, I always thought they were morning doves, but no, they are mourning doves. Now I have become one. 

Something Beautiful for God

"Tragedy strikes." A term that I have often heard. Until now it had no emotional significance for me. But tragedy has struck "at home." I have been left dazed and confused.

I am amazed at how life is so full of unfinished things, things still "left to do." We had not counted on being prematurely cut off and now these projects, so dear to our hearts, haunt me. They mock me. The sadness is we "weren't finished"—Hans having been cut off in the prime of life, at the peak of his fruit bearing. And everywhere I look there are "things" which speak to a life that was fully engaged.

To strike: "to hit sharply as with a hand, fist or weapon", "to pierce or penetrate", "to inflict a blow", "to wound as with a bite".  That is how I feel today. As if I have been mortally wounded and death has had its sting!  I don't mean this in an eternal sense, but here on earth. Every time I see these unfinished hopes and dreams before me I am struck again, a blow to the heart. I feel the horror of unbearable sorrow for my husband's apostolic dreams. Looking into the chasm of death, I weep, and the wellspring of hope disappears for a moment.

The term, "tragedy strikes" has such an impersonal quality to its being, like a sniper's bullet. Just a random blow to the head and boom, you're dead! No person behind the senselessness. No one to get mad at, no one to blame. This is the plight of cancer victim. Cut-off, no less than than the 9-11 victims. It's hard for me to fully trust God now, it seemed so random and so out of control. It is hard for me to share these things, because every leader wants to appear strong and in constant pursuit of virtue, but today I am like Job, sitting with my blisters on my bottom and my head covered in wounds for all to see. Will I curse God and die? Has it come to this? It is only because of the confusion that despair has an opening.

Yesterday in Charisma Magazine, I read about the premature death of Billy Hornsby, age 61. He was the co-founder and president of the Association of Related Churches (ARC) who died of cancer at 61. A church planter who specialized in training leaders around the world. Hornsby helped to develop the largest church planting organization and also served as the European Coordinator for EQUIP. Like Hans, Hornsby fully believed that the Lord would heal him until the very end. Though both men believed in the real probability of death for themselves, they held out a strong belief in the power of healing. Both men died. The same week David Wilderson and Christine Francis' mother, a prayer warrior also died. Martina, an astute prophetess said, "God is removing the pillars of the church." Do we dare ask why?

A younger Hans. He really has had two
or three works as a missionary. Here is he doing
direct missions although he still is
teaching.

At this point, I can only leave that to God. Today my heart's mission is to finish the work—to bring order to the chaos and beauty to the mission. I will finish his work and mine. In making beauty out of ashes God will make the way beautiful again. And he will make Hans' life bear more fruit than ever, only I must survive this "hard teaching."

Today Dr. Brown and I worked in the garage for hours. We made a corner of the chaos beautiful. I attacked and cleaned out the old dead hornet nests. This was a symbolic action on my part. Death has had its sting, but I am removing the agents of pain from my midst. A dozen boxes of old wires and plumbing parts were brought outside to be sorted and tossed. Empty shipping boxes were stacked, mattresses were put away and stored, dust was swept and order began to creep in. Hans would be proud. The boxes of wires and "things" were part of the old WWII disorder. Poverty and missional isolation makes you keep strange items in case you "might" need them again. We don't need them anymore and I am doing what Hans was not able to do.

I have my own messes to finish— taxes, bookkeeping, writing and publishing the Genesis Touch, then his work on the End Times, Perfection, Humility and Discipleship. We have scores of summary booklets on Culture and world view transformation, virtue and devotional life issues. We have hundreds of books on incredible subjects, volumes of theological reference books jammed into boxes which must come out in order for Hans' life to be honored. He will finish well even in death. Death will not have its final sting. The Holy Spirit is into transformation of these kinds of "loose ends" and Hans' life will fully glorify God in this way. Jesus' life was cut off at the peak of His life, so many people to touch, so many institutions to overturn, yet His life was "taken" from Him. Yet today millions are working to fulfill His mission, the Holy Spirit working tirelessly to honor the Son in the lives of His disciples. I say we take this as a model and use our gifts and the knowledge that Hans imparted to make something beautiful for them.

Meanwhile, Julianne is afraid that I will die. It is not unheard of, remaining spouse dying shortly after the other. I have thought of this in these last few days. But nothing can come of this but more tragedy. No glory for God. Just more confusion and doubt. No, we will finish well and we will go out singing.

"And God said, "Let us fashion a man..."

During the war, Hans' mother's faith was severely tested. Not by the soldiers but by God. Living in Holland, in Nazi occupied lands, God would ask Theresa to do extravagant things for the family of Jews who were hiding in her house. At one point he asked her to buy a bassinet for their coming child with all of the food rations that Weerstra's possessed. But how would they eat? She was feeding her own family of 10 plus her visitors which were 5 or 6 as well. Nonetheless, she obeyed. Having stuffed her stomach with pillows to pretend pregnancy, she crossed the soldier occupied ford and bought the baby bed. My question to her one day was, doesn't God know that there is a war going on? Apparently that didn't matter to God. He wanted the baby to have a decent bed. God is extravagant at times. Extravagant in his lessons and thoughtful in their delivery. He has planned out everything in advance. 

Here in my life as well. 

I found myself restless yesterday, though we had done many things during the day. We packed the kids and a lunch and went to the cemetery to check the flowers and water the grass over our piece of property. During the day I checked my mail, answering emails and then Facebook, making responses and comments. But by five o"clock, the checking had become compulsive. What was I doing??? I questioned myself. Slowly I realized that I was looking for life. Life to replace the life I had lost. Part of me had died on April 25, 2011 and I needed to replace the missing limb with life. My wound was severe. 

Suddenly before me appeared Mary and Martha again. In their living room I saw many Jews from the neighboring village of Bethany. They were saying comforting things loving these two young women in an attempt to comfort them. And though they spoke the truth, brought food, and provided companionship, nothing could erase the bitter pain of separation. And so my friends did as well. So many incredible comments and acts of kindness have been showered upon us—Judy and Julianne. But as modern Marthas and Marys, our pain continued. 

It wasn't until Jesus personally came into the scene that they experienced their first relief. At first, there was only chastisement, "If only You had come..." I have done the same thing for several days now—lamenting and complaining, asking Why? Why? Why not? Yesterday to my God I also told Him of my broken heart. But there was no answer, and the Comforter, to whom I also appealed, was off on holiday. I was not going to be comforted today. 

It wasn't until Jesus spoke, "I am the Resurrection and the Life"  that things began to change for the sisters. "Here Jesus opened my eyes to see that I would not find life on facebook, in visitors, in the kind words of the saints, I would not even find it in Him, as He walks with me everyday and His presence is tangibly felt. No, I would only find it in the words of life.

Arrgh...my flesh recoiled. I would have to work out my healing with the Word of God? The only way He was going to restore my severed limb and chase away the shadow of death was through a penetrated and focused application of His word. Until this happened, my heart would continue to be a piece of braised meat. I was reminded instantly of the first words of creation,  "And God said, "Let us fashion a man..." In essence I was asking God to once again fashion a man, to replace and recreate the part of my heart that had died. A task no less than the fashioning of the first man, Adam. And He would do this through His spoken word again. 

But doesn't He know there is a war going on? I am caught between a rock and a hard place. I am so weak, that to open the Scriptures is hard work— waiting, praying, and most of all, focusing on something other than myself, my pain. It the hard work of the saints and the pleasure of God, to overcome my enemies, but always in the most unconventional of ways. 

So I opened the book and stared down. What word? Where? Direct my feet O Lord. As you have done so many times. Here I go again— one foot in front of the other.

The Rest of the Journey

Please follow us on :http://oxentothemark.blogspot.com/2011/05/oxen-of-god.html

My Heart Has A Mind of it's Own!

Today is Wed. 7298 days to go. I am alone again. The office is empty and the house is quiet. It was always like that, but in the background I could hear the clicking of the computer. Hans at work—writing, dreaming, talking, working. His writings are everywhere. Today I am going to read them—messages of the end times and the preparation for them. It gripped him towards the end of his life. 

But I am not there today. I am deciding what to wear and what I'm doing. The kind of rest that people are suggesting is not an option. I am a thinking person.  Although spiritually I am in "the rest."  I am not striving to do anything,  I am striving to think. To think myself out of this mess. I feel like a bear in the net—huge but impotent. 

Yesterday was the hardest day ever. I cried all day long. My heart seized control of me and cancelled all the functions of my mind (reason, judgement, self control); and cried all day. My heart is broken. I cannot say anything in its defense. It just is. And grief leaks out little by little. I will not have the big cry. It's uncharacteristic of me. So it leaks out—without being triggered by anything, my heart just cries. My eyes were puffy and rainy all day. 

I found Hans' junk drawer yesterday. These were the things I hated. Odds and ends, stuff that cluttered the beauty of his office. I cried over the box. It mocked me. For now instead of disgust I felt loss, sadness, and grief. How can this really be happening? I still can't believe it. My heart knows the truth, but my mind is confused and pitiful. 

Maybe today will be different. We prayed again last night. Had to ask Jesus to help us. Surely we looked like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, downcast and hopeless. Or like the disciples before Pentecost. We prayed for a fresh wind of the Spirit to blow upon us. We have not served out our ten days yet in prayer. Nothing of the sort has come upon us yet. 

I am leaning toward a prayer center—a place we can reflect the brilliant light of the Gospel. But right now all I can reflect is the shadowlands of Sheol. 

Last Interview with Hans Weerstra (One week before he died)

Last Interview with Hans Weerstra (1 wk  before he died) with Judy Weerstra, Courtney Brown and Julianne DeLeon

JW: What is the most important thing of the end times? 

HW: History is coming to an end. Which means that Jesus' coming is imminent. His purpose and plan in history is upon us. Hard days are coming. And if you read the Olivet Discourse, it will include hard difficult times at the end. Believers are not excluded. Do not be fooled Jesus would say. God's people in the OT weren't fooled, they knew what was coming. So don't exempt yourselves from the hard times, hide yourself in the cleft of the rock, hide yourself in the cleft of the rock, in Jesus Himself. Which means prepare yourself. Yup. Do not deceive yourself, get rid of every trace of idolatry, as God's people, get rid of it. Become like this puppy. (Pointing to Trika)  No idolatry! She is God's wonderful gift to you. That's how I see Judy. As God's gift, caretaker to me. Who else could do this except her? 

JW: How do we get rid of idolatry.

HW: Read Nouwen's book. "Downward Mobility," living totally for Jesus, the selfless way of Christ. Nouwen has given us some language. Our life is a downward spiral, not an upward one. We no longer seek anything for ourselves. It's all over for us. Thank you Henri Nouwen. And you know what? it includes giving our animals (again pointing to Trika)— everything— we have to Him.  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, blessed be the name of the Lord. If he wants to give us a wonderful pet, wonderful. But Courtney, we don't need it. No. Good stuff. Every Christian needs to know this. You can't say,  "I can't live without her." Yes you can. In the power and strength of the Holy Spirit, who gives us the power to live like that. The real question is, do we want it. 

JW: Does everyone who wants it, get it? 

HW: Yes, if they meet the condition, if they meet those requirements. 

JW: Which are what? 

HW: (Deep sigh). Paul said, I DON'T KNOW if I have a thing, but I am moving on to what the Lord wants me to do, and know And I wouldn't have it any other way, whether or not I understand it or not. When things come out of control, it seems like we are not in control, that's when we jump in the pool, and we say "You are enough, we don't need anything else." Unless your word isn't true, but it is true. From beginning to end, and it's true for us in the future. (Takes sip of coffee.) 

HW: Whether you look at it from the back end or the front end, its the same. you always find Him at the other end. "I will never abandon you or forsake you. You will never be surprised." Look how I am today. 

CB: Are you at peace today. 

HW: Yes. Are you? (Ask her, points to Judy)

CB: How do you interpret what is happening to you today, these last few weeks.

HW: The main lesson that I am learning now, is that my perfection, my weakness is made perfect in weakness. I wouldn't swtich it for anything. For all of God's people. 

I need to write a book about this. It will blow everybody out ot the water, and bring them into true sonship.

CB: Are you there?

HW: Yes. 

CB: Do you have any regrets?

HW: If it could have been something other than this? Process of what has to be endured. One has to suffer. 

CB: Have you suffered because of Judy? (chuckling)

HW: I could never have done it without her Including this last phase of this thing (cancer?) And I am not talking about physical help. I am talking about the whole nine enchiladas. (confused) What would the Lord say about my answer. He would say, "It's the whole nine enchildadas." It was all needed. You know what they say about the Dutch, you're not much if you're not Dutch.  I really thought that.

CB:  I'm not Dutch. 

HW: But you are a daughter of Adam. Read Ps. 139, 34, I could weep. I might not make it through it. 

139 and 34

139:1 O Lord, you have searched me and known me!2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from afar.3 You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.4 Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.5 You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.

7 Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!9 If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,10 even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”12 even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.

13 For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. [1]
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.15 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.16 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.

17 How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!18 If I would count them, they are more than the sand. I awake, and I am still with you.

19 Oh that you would slay the wicked, O God!
O men of blood, depart from me!20 They speak against you with malicious intent;
your enemies take your name in vain! [2]
21 Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord?
And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?22 I hate them with complete hatred;
I count them my enemies.

23 Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts! [3]
24 And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting! [4]

34:1 I will bless the Lord at all times; 
his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord; 
let the humble hear and be glad.3 Oh, magnify the Lord with me, 
and let us exalt his name together!

4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me 
and delivered me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him are radiant, 
and their faces shall never be ashamed.
6 This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him 
and saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the Lord encamps 
around those who fear him, and delivers them.

8 Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! 
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
9 Oh, fear the Lord, you his saints, 
for those who fear him have no lack!
10 The young lions suffer want and hunger; 
but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing. (no me falta nada)

11 Come, O children, listen to me; 
I will teach you the fear of the Lord.
12 What man is there who desires life 
and loves many days, that he may see good?
13 Keep your tongue from evil 
and your lips from speaking deceit.
14 Turn away from evil and do good; 
seek peace and pursue it.

15 The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous 
and his ears toward their cry.
16 The face of the Lord is against those who do evil, 
to cut off the memory of them from the earth.
17 When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears 
and delivers them out of all their troubles.
18 The Lord is near to the brokenhearted 
and saves the crushed in spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous, 
but the Lord delivers him out of them all. 
20 He keeps all his bones; 
not one of them is broken. 
21 Affliction will slay the wicked, 
and those who hate the righteous will be condemned. 
22 The Lord redeems the life of his servants; 
none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.

JW: What do you like about those two Psalms?

HW: [This is] the path that Jesus walked 24-7, the path of humility. He walked it.  You can never go wrong when you walk in that path. The weak ones, little ones, the humble will see God and be lifted up. 

CB: Anything else?

HW: Well do you want ot sign of my course "Walking in True Humility?" Read Andrew Murray on humility. You might as well be talking to Jesus on every page. 

To Julianne:  I'm really glad you're here. Such pleasant company— because wherever 2 or 3 are gathered together in My name, God blesses them beyond their wildest dreams.  Because brilliant lights are what the world needs. He is establishing in us the brilliant light of the Gospel.  That's what we should fight for everyday: this is only available in Jesus, something the world can't give.  

Hans opens eyes and doesn't see Courtney or Judy and says:  Am I preaching to the walls?  (looks around and sees Julianne and laughs)

HW: Don't forget everything I'm saying, honey. 

JD "I won't Dad!"