A Fragile Balance ~Fiction Friday

Welcome to Fiction Friday! Today's host is Vonnie, over at her Back Door. Be sure to visit us there for links to more great fiction. We'd love to have you join us every week, the more the merrier, and everyone is welcome to participate! Also, today I'm a guest blogger at the Internet Cafe. Come visit me and say 'hi'!

A Fragile Balance

Shattering glass in the kitchen jerked Lauren's head up.

“What just broke?” she called, doing a mental inventory of what had been on the counters. The sudden silence guaranteed heartache. “Do I want to know?”

“Um, I don't think so, Mom,” came the quavery reply.

Lauren's eyes clenched shut. The reigning silence easily carried her voice, “My china mug?”

“Ah, yeah.”

Looking up at the ceiling Lauren groaned. Lord, that was my favorite gift from Mom...

Taking a deep breath she stepped into the kitchen and encountered two pairs of wide eyes.

“We weren't horsing around, Mom, honest.”

“I'm so sorry, Mom. I tossed the pot holders to Brad to put away, but I threw too hard and they knocked your cup.” Tears edged his voice.

Holding up her hand for silence Lauren hunkered down and observed the damage. Scattered across the linoleum were the remains of the china mug her mother had given her after returning from England. It was the prettiest thing she owned and she treasured it.

Promise me you'll use it and not just leave it sitting on a shelf, her mother demanded when the tissue paper had revealed the roses nestled in baby's breath painted on the delicate china. It's made for service, Lauren, just like we're made for service to our Lord.

But it'll get broken if I use it, Mom. Growing kids are killers on glass and fragile things; have you forgotten how many glasses I broke when I was a kid?

Being broken is part of being used. Don't fear it...

A few short years later her mom was completely dependant on others for her basic needs: she was physically broken, yet she was still being greatly used by God.

“Don't move. Let me get these pieces first, then we can take care of the splinters.” She gathered them all onto a plate and carefully set it aside. Looking at the boys she saw trembling chins.

“I'm sorry, Mom.”

Lauren pulled them into a hug. “I know you weren't horsing around, you were working together and getting your jobs done quickly. It's ok.”

“But it was your favorite, Mom.”

“Yes,” she sighed, blinking fast. “It was my favorite, but what's done is done; there's no going back. Besides, there's more to life than a pretty china mug. C'mon, let's finish taking care of this mess.”

Later she picked up the plate of shards and went to her desk, finally allowing a few tears to fall. Lord, my mother is in a broken body yet she's still beautiful and You're using her, just not as You used to. This cup has been special to me for so many years and I 'm not ready to let go of it yet. Can I have it for a little while longer?

Wiping her eyes, Lauren pulled out the super glue and painstakingly pieced it back together, her mom's words echoing in her heart. Being broken is part of being used. Don't fear it...

When she was done, the mug was laced with glue lines and had several chips on the rim and the footed base. There was no way it would ever be used as a drinking cup again, but to Lauren it was beautiful.

“Mom?”

“Come see, guys,” she said, turning to them with an exhausted smile.

Disappointment filled their eyes when they saw it.

“It's ok, boys.”

“How? It's still all busted up, even though you glued it.”

Lauren smiled. “True, but its life isn't over, it just has a new purpose.”

The boys looked dubiously from the china mug to their mother.

“It's going to sit on my dresser and remind me to always get on with life and let God use me and work through me, even when there are pieces missing.”

“Kinda like Granma?”

“Yes, son, like Granma.”

********
This is my dad's favorite story, which makes it pretty special to me, in addition to being one of my favorites. I'm happy to say that the china mug my parents brought home from England for me is in one piece...so far. When Mom gave me the mug, she did tell me to use it and not just set it on a shelf (thank you, Mom, I've learned a lot from that bit of wisdom!!) and I listened to her. I'm also happy to say that the rest of the story is purely fiction!

On October 24th Shirley Jump will be a guest blogger here for Fiction Friday. She's a great author and she'll be blogging about keeping doubt from stealing our dreams. You won't want to miss her! But for today, don't forget to join us at Vonnie's Back Door for links to more fiction!

Also, be sure to check out the bloggy giveaway I'm hosting--it has a special missions emphasis, and Sunday is "Face Your If and Say..."

Missions Matter! ~Blog Giveaway coming November 12th!

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The Tale of a Missionary Car

A Missions Matter! blog giveaway post!

Here's the first entry of my birthday celebration and blog giveaway! I'm so excited! Sometime this week end I'll be posting another Missions Matter! blog, so stay tuned. Also, Mr. Linky is now set up to leave links to your posts, which will enter you in the giveaway--just click the button to the right. Be sure to join us!

Lynda Schultz is a friend I met at faithwriters. At the moment she's doing resource development for Venezuela and for her mission's other Latin American fields. It consists, right now, of a one-year-through-the-Bible-Study program which she's working on publishing, and the writing and publishing of some Bible Studies and a couple of kid's curriculums. She also helps out at her local church in the areas of Bible teaching (youth, kids and adults). Lynda has a great sense of humor and is one of my favorite Faithwriters. She's given me permission to reprint this article—for which I'm so thankful for.

Missionary vehicles are a testimony, one that I've personally seen many times—and yes, I have stories, too, but I'm hoping that Martha and Linda will jump in here and help me out, especially since my stories all involve them and Martha's old bronco. Vehicles are an important tool of the missionary. Without them, getting to the where they need to be is a major hassle, not to mention transporting the million and one people and things they're always hauling around. Praying for their vehicle may sound funny, but it's often needed!

This may be an older story, but it's a great one that's still relevant!

The Tale of a Missionary Car

By Lynda Schultz

A single candle flickered in the room, threatening to leave us in darkness as we prepared for bed. Chilling drafts crept in through cracks in the wall, the roof, and the partially opened door. Rain pounded down outside.

I lay shivering on a straw-filled mattress. What we had come to this community to do was not going to be easy. Fear and superstition in rural Colombia, South America made it difficult to explain the Gospel. How could an inexperienced team of Bible students break through years of deep-seated tradition?

It was during summer vacation in 1978, and I doing children’s ministry with some of my students from our Bible Institute. We had planned to offer the program in six churches—three in Medellin, a highly industrialized city of over a million people, and then three more in our rural churches.

My coworker Maria and I—plus Gustavo, our lone male team member, and two other students, headed out to a farming community about an hour outside of Medellin. Once we got off the main highway, the going got very rough. The path was filled with craters and jagged rocks that seemed destined to rip something vital off the bottom of my small car. We finally decided to get out and walk, leaving Maria to drive, in the hopes of lightening the load and avoiding any major damage.

When the path ran out, we were still some distance from the home where we would hold our program. Maria parked the car by a small schoolhouse on a hill just off the path. The school yard was about 10 feet above where the road ended. The car was out of sight. I was sure it would be safe enough parked away from the embankment with the doors locked and the brake on.

Our hostess Guillermina and her husband Efrain were poor tenant farmers. They entertained us royally with what little they had and they were so excited that we had come to tell their friends and neighbors about God’s love and forgiveness.

That afternoon we rounded up children from the neighboring farms and began our first kid’s meeting. It was late when we escorted them back to their homes. A house meeting was planned for the evening. The church people began to drift in one by one. Some had walked a long way. Because it was beginning to rain, the return trip home promised to be a wet one.

By the light of gas lanterns and with every bed and bench occupied, Gustavo delivered a stirring message from the Bible. Outside, the storm grew worse.

After the meeting, all us girls were glad to climb into our beds to escape the cold. The bedroom door wouldn’t shut, so I propped it closed with a box to keep out the worst of the draft. At last, Maria blew out the flickering candle and we settled in, seeking a little warmth against the dampness of the night.

I could hear someone talking on the porch outside. Suddenly the door flew open, sending the box crashing against the wall.

“Señoritas, señoritas!” Guillermina cried hysterically as she burst into the room and threw herself at the foot of the bed. “Forgive us!” It took some to get her calmed down enough to find out what we were supposed to forgive her for.

On the way back to their homes after the meeting, the Christians had found my car upside down in the middle of the path. Two tires had been slashed. The other two were flat. The gas line had been ripped out and some damage attempted to the motor. Earlier Gustavo had offered to sleep in the car for the sake of security, but it was too late for that now. What will we do? I wondered.

“Señorita,” our hostess continued, “we know who did this. Efrain is going out with his machete to punish them.”

Efrain, a new Christian, had once been notorious for his temper. Once again, anger had taken control. As our avenging angel he was now prepared to do battle.

“No”, I begged, “tell him to stay here. Murder is not God’s way of dealing with this.” Guillermina scurried out of the room after her husband.

Voices rose and fell outside the door. The four of us prayed that somehow God would prevent Efrain from this evil mission. Gustavo talked and prayed with him all through the night and our prayers were answered.

I shook uncontrollably as questions raced through my mind. How bad was the damage? How will we get back to Medellin? Why did this happen on the first night of six weeks of ministry? How will we do all the other clubs without the car? Was there worse to come?

Just hours before, I had congratulated myself that we had gotten the car this far without any damage. Now it was ruined.

As I lay there, God began to minister to me. Verses of His care and protection flashed through my mind. He reminded me that where the Spirit of God is, there is no room for fear, for “the angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them” (Psalm 34:7). There on that prickly mattress, peace returned. The car was His. Hadn’t I given it back to him when He first provided it? It was no longer mine, but HIS to do with as He pleased.

I fell asleep, thanking God and asking His forgiveness for my worry and fear.

The next morning, before we went back up the road to see the car, we had devotions together as a team. We prayed that God would glorify Himself through this situation. By the time we reached the school yard, a small crowd had already gathered. News travels fast, even in the remote, telephone-less hills of Colombia.

We answered the questions of all who passed, telling them about God and explaining to them why we had come here in the first place.

Our efforts at getting the car on its “feet” and back to town, accomplished with the help of La Unión’s battered fire truck, were closely watched and reported. As a team we resolved that we would stay, finish out our week, and not only talk about God’s love and forgiveness but prove it.

The meeting that night gave us the first glimpse of what the Lord was doing with His car. We were invited to hold our service in the home of a neighbor who wasn’t a believer. Strangers appeared at the door and the house was full to the rafters with people who had never heard the Gospel before. Curiosity had overcome fear. This amazing blessing would repeat itself every night during that week.

Colombians are very careful with their cars. Damage is swiftly repaired and keeping the car looking good is a “must”. But even after we returned to the city, I was reluctant to fix the car. Apart from the tires and the damage to the motor, both passenger and driver’s sides were crushed from being rolled down the embankment. This external damage provided us with endless opportunities to witness. At gas stations, stop signs and parking spots, people always asked what had happened. And when they asked, they received far more than just a “tale of a missionary car.”

With my limited understanding, I thought of the car as only a means of transportation from one place to another. But in God’s hands the car was to become an invaluable part of the missionary team, proving once again that He is always creative, always right and always faithful.
********
To learn more about Lynda visit her blog HERE.

Missions Matter! ~Blog Giveaway coming November 12th!

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The Right Name

Getting the right name attached to the right person isn't always an easy thing to do. Many times I've found myself stuttering over my kid's names which makes me sound real smart (not) because their names all start with a vowel. My favorite, though, is when my dad called me 'Salchi', who was our dog--and had died ten years before! I still get a good laugh out of that! (LoL --Sorry, Dad...kinda.)

As parents, many of us stumble over names. But we always know who we're meaning, even if the kids don't, or they roll their eyes at us, or pretend they don't know who we're talking about. I think it's just part of human nature to stumble over names and to even forget them.

But you know, it's not part of God's nature. He gets the right name with the right person every single time.

I have called you by name; you are Mine! ~Isaiah 43:1

How often has your brain had a power flicker and you haven't been able to remember someone's name? That never happens to God! Of all the many millions of people throughout history, He knows your name. He knows my name. Wow!

Not only does He know our names, (and get the correct name the first time around), but He knows all the minute details about us that we don't know ourselves.

But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Therefore do not fear; you are of more value than many sparrows. ~Matthew 10:30-31

That number is always fluctuating, yet God knows it. He cares about knowing it, and we don't have to worry about Him forgetting.

How many times have you written a note to yourself on your hand? Maybe not recently, but I see teens do it all the time. When I roll my eyes at them, they just shrug and remind me that it'll wash off. When Jesus rose from the dead, He kept His nail scars. Those scars won't wash off.

Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands; ~Isaiah 46:16

In our humanness, we constantly forget things, even important things that we've written down and made note of. God's given us a physical reminder that He won't ever forget us: He's inscribed us on the palm of His hand. He won't grow old and forget what He's told us or where He's placed us. He won't develop Alzheimer's. He won't forget us. Ever.

Heavenly Father, thank You so much for inscribing us on Your hands. For knowing every little detail about us and yet still loving us. Thank You for knowing our names! What an awesome God You are!

Missions Matter! ~Blog Giveaway coming November 12th!

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Holding Elijah

For Monday Manna, Kristen gave us Psalm 139 and let us chose the verse to write about...one verse led to another, which led to another—all in Psalm 139. Join us at Exemplify for links to more thoughts on this wonderful Psalm.
~~~~~~~~
Fourteen weeks after conception, and my precious baby was perfectly formed. Minuscule hands and feet, a face the size of a man's thumb print. A bittersweet miracle. I held him in the palm of my hand and wept for the years I would never have with this child. We named him Elijah because he was caught up early to be with the Lord.

For You formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother's womb.
~Psalm 139:13

How people can say that an unborn child is anything less than a person, is beyond my imagination. Elijah, and his brother after him, were perfectly formed. God had woven them together in my womb, and had they been given the time, they would have been able to live apart from me. They would have run and played with their older brothers and sisters and added to our joy. But instead, they're safe in the arms of Jesus.

Even the darkness is not dark to You,
and the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You.
~Psalm 139:12

A second miscarriage is not necessarily easier than the first one, it just means that you have an idea of how things will go, but only an idea. After my first one, I needed time to heal physically, but the second one sent me into a spiritual cave. God, in His mercy and grace, allowed me a few moments of holding those babies. They are imprinted on my heart, cherished. They also pointed me to the Creator and helped me see that my darkness was not dark to Him--the Holy One, my God and my Father. He shined into my darkness, and led me out of the cave one step at a time. I learned that grief without blackness is bearable, and the Light of God dispelled the blackness, helping me bear the grief. What a great and mighty God!

I will give thanks to You,
for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
wonderful are Your works,
and my soul knows it very well.
~Psalm 139:14

Read more about Elijah here.

Don't forget:

Blog giveaway on November 12th!
Missions Matter!

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40 till 40

Forty is a special number in the Bible, although its exact meaning isn't ever made perfectly clear. A quick walk through the Bible shows us:

Noah—40 days and 40 nights of rain.

Moses—his whole life went by 40 year increments--starting with being 40 when he fled from Pharaoh and started a new life, then also on Mount Sinai.

Israel—ate manna for 40 years while wandering in the desert.

Spies that Moses sent out—in Canaan for 40 days.

Elijah—in the wilderness for 40 days.

Jonah—warned Nineveh they had 40 days to repent.

Jesus—fasted and was tempted for 40 days in the wilderness, appeared for 40 days after His resurrection.

In 40 days is my 40th birthday, and I plan on taking these days between now and then to prepare. One of my dear friends, (who shall remain nameless so as not to incriminate her!) turned 19 this year (see what I mean? 19!! Sheesh!) and she did something special each day to celebrate--one day for each year, giving her 19 days of celebration. Boy, have I got it good! According to my young, imaginative friend, I have 40 days to celebrate and I plan on celebrating by preparing so God can use me as He wants. I want to be available and ready for whatever this 40th year holds for me, and I'm willing to put in some extra preparation.

Patterings will be celebrating by putting a spotlight on missions and then giving away birthday gifts on my birthday, which is November 12th. So, stay tuned because Missions Matter! I'll post updates of my celebration as the days go by.

Okay, so here's the details of my 40th birthday giveaway. Because missions has played such a big role in my life, and especially because missions is so incredibly important, I want to spend time in these next 40 days thinking about that ministry. I've been wanting to reread a few of my favorite missions stories, and this is the perfect time to do that. I'll be reading and posting about those books. Also, I have a few surprises up my sleeve, but you'll have to stay tuned for those (because they're not 'finalized' yet). *wink*

To help me celebrate, and to enter your name into the hat, simply blog about a missions book you've read, or even missionaries you know or have heard speak about their ministry. If you haven't read a missions book—hey, there's plenty of time to read one and blog about it before November 12th!

If you do not have a blog but would like to join in, use the 'Email Me' button on the right and send me your post and I will post it—either here or on another site especially for Missions Matter! So now, everyone can join in! And please do—missions is such an important aspect of the body of God, and there are so many personal stories out there, let's pull them out and tell others about them!

Gifts! For each blog you post (or send for me to post), come here and leave the url in a comment and I'll stick your name in the hat once for each blog post. And yes, multiple submissions are more than welcome! IF you tell someone about this giveaway, and they blog about missions and leave their url, your name gets thrown in an extra time—just make sure they tell me who referred them here! ;)

So, what are the gifts? So far, two of the books that have had a big impact on my life: By Searching and Green Leaf in Drought both by Isobel Kuhn. They are diamonds! Like diamonds, they're small, but they pack a punch. There may be more gifts, I'm not sure yet, but those two at least—and I'll be blogging about those in the next 40 days.

I love hearing about how missionaries have impacted other's lives, and I truly believe they should get more hugs than they do. We may not be able to get our arms around them physically at this moment, but we can send them cyber hugs and pray for them. Let's do it!

Don't forget:

Blog giveaway on November 12th!
Missions Matter!

To enter the giveaway, blog about a missions book, missionaries, a missions trip, or how missions has impacted your life. Then come here and leave your name and the url to that specific post. Multiple entries are possible (and welcome) that way! I'm looking forward to these posts! Thanks for helping me celebrate!

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River Rapids ~Fiction Friday

Today's is hosted by Betsy at Just Another Clay Pot. Be sure to join us there for more links to great fiction!

Oh! And today is a special day, but I'll tell you about it tomorrow, even though I'm excited about it enough that it'll be tough waiting. But, I'll manage somehow. LoL
********

Torie stood on the river bank and looked at the rapids. Her stomach churned at the thought of junior high kids canoing down them to their next campsite. She turned to the big blond man standing beside her, “Surfer Boy, I thought we paddled an extra two hours to avoid this.”

“These aren’t real rapids; close, but not quite, and, yes, we bypassed the real ones.” Seth turned to glare at his canoe partner, “And I told you not to call me ‘Surfer Boy.’” That’s when he saw her worry. “The kids will do fine; they’re so light they’ll skim across the top without much problem.”

“What about us?” Torie asked.

“This isn’t bad, even loaded as heavily as we are with the extra gear. Maneuvering will be slower and more difficult, but I’ve shot worse without a problem.”

Later, after sending off the team leaders and kids, Seth and Torie settled into their canoe. They were bringing up the rear to help any stragglers. Seth looked at the independent, single mom he’d been teamed with at the last minute and said, “Follow my lead. If you fight me we could end up in deep trouble.”

Torie’s gaze didn’t waver from his. “I’m not a fool.”

“No, you’re not, but this isn’t something you can handle on your own.”

“Lead on, Surfer Boy,” Torie said.

Seth dug his paddle in and Torie felt the current grab them.

“Rock on the right!” She hollered as they gained speed. Seth switched sides and steered clear of it, only to push them into the path of another rock. Torie dug hard and got their nose away at the last second.

“Good save!” Seth called out just as a hidden current pulled them across another rock. Torie winced as the canoe scraped, her paddle pausing mid-air.

“Dig!” Seth hollered as he dug deep and added a twist in an effort to get clear of the rock.

Torie felt like her arms were being pulled out as the current pulled them first one way and then the other. Always into rocks. She lost count of the times they scraped: sometimes on the sides, sometimes on the bottom.

They rounded the bend and the breath caught in Torie’s throat. Ahead was a maze of rocks and white water with no apparent way through.

“Oh, no!” she said.

“Don’t let fear paralyze you and don’t watch the rocks slide past. Once our nose is past it, forget it. Just keep paddling and don’t look back.”

Torie felt like a pin-ball as they bounced from one rock to another. They were pushed toward a rock and she watched it slide past.

“Dig!” Seth’s voice cut like a whip. “Don’t look back!”

Torie’s head whipped around. Frantically she dug in, but it was too little, too late. They slammed into a boulder. The canoe shuddered and groaned. Torie held her breath, sure they would capsize, or worse, crack-up.

“Lean right!” Seth hollered as he reached out and pushed. He groaned with effort but managed to get them away just enough that they stayed in one piece and upright.

Just as suddenly as the rapids had started they ended and they were shooting along calm water.

********
Later that evening Torie slipped into the deep shadows near the river. Her mind swirled and raced just as the river had. Another shadow materialized nearby.

“You did good today.” Seth said quietly.

“I choked and we almost bought it. That’s not good.”

“Life’s a lot like shooting rapids. You can’t go through life without hitting rocks; you just can’t keep looking back once you’re past them. You have let go and get ready for the next run. If you look back you’ll crack up on the next boulder without even knowing it was coming.”

Torie sat and listened to the river for a long while, thinking. Eventually she blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you for keeping us in one piece and dry today. And thank you for sharing what you just did.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “You’re right. I’ve gone through life always looking back at my mistakes and I’ve run into countless boulders as a result. It’s time to turn around and get paddling again.” She turned her head toward him, “Thank you, Seth.”

“You called me ‘Seth.’” Amazement laced his voice.

Torie laughed. “Don’t get used to it, Surfer Boy, and don’t get a fat head because I said you’re right.”

********
Today's piece is responsible for the full length story I'm working on now--My goal is 60k words by the end of November, and I'm a little behind schedule--but that's okay because I've been busy with other writing. I'm hoping that posting this today will help get me back in the groove. LoL. We'll see.

Thanks for joining us for Fiction Friday, and be sure to join us at Just Another Clay Pot where Betsy is hosting and has Mr. Linky for us. The more the merrier!

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Oh, Deer!

Okay, I'll admit it. Sometimes I'm not the most patient of drivers—especially when I feel like I'm running late, which is quite often. Living in the country means we get to enjoy the local wildlife, and at this time of year, it's more local then we'd like.

I was stuck behind an out-of-state SUV, who was stuck behind a work van that was enjoying his coffee as he putzed along our rural highway. We rounded a bend, and knowing the road as I do, I was ready to let my heavy foot fall and zoom past the slow pokes. But another feature of autumn out in the country, is the abundance of grain trucks. So, instead of stomping on the gas, I gnashed my teeth—for all of five seconds. Why only five seconds? Because a doe and her fawn darted out from the woods and raced across the road. Well, let me rephrase that. The doe trotted while the fawn slipped and slid along behind her.

Mr. Coffee drinker probably ended up wearing some of his coffee, but if I had been passing him, as I planned, there would've been a nasty wreck. As it was, all four of us laid on our brakes and the deer crossed safely. It served as a reminder to me to me that it's time to wake up and watch for deer.

As I (slowly) cruised along, thanking God, I realized I that I needed to change how I drive through life. Racing, trying to get ahead, or to make up for lost time, may end up costing me more time in the long run, and it could jeopardize my family and those around me.

Some stretches of the road are notorious deer crossings, and being aware of them gives drivers an edge by being alert and prepared. That preparation may well make a huge difference in our lives. Hitting a deer isn't always damaging—we've hit many over the years, but we know the damage they can do. Just like sin can damage lives.

Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil prowls about like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. ~1 Peter 5:8

Not being aware of my surroundings leaves me unprepared for those sudden surprises that pop out at me—like deer crossing the road, and sin lurking in the bushes. What do you do when sin jumps out of the trees and starts running into your path? Are we sitting ducks? No! Here's Paul's advice:

Put on the full armor of God, that your may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil.
~Ephesians 6:11

Being equipped with God's armor gives us an edge, enabling us to deal with sin that runs at us. We're not sitting ducks unless we're unprepared. Being alert and prepared can save us from mishaps and accidents, not to mention out of sin.

Buckle on God's armor and drive safely!

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