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About Me

El Paso, Texas, United States
Watershed Moments: Grew up in Alaska, Seattle Wash and high school years in Las Cruces NM nestled below the Organ Mountains. Married at 20 Motherhood at 21, BA at 24 Widowed at 27. Explosive encounter with Christ at 30, remarried at 37 to a very handsome Dutch missionary. Worked with indigenous peoples for 7 years. Went to seminary at 42 and applied for Ph.D at Trinity in 2009. Widowed at 63.

Friday, May 6, 2011

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.

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