Norris Family News

Happily Ever After

The one thing that most consistently fuels my faith is the hope of Heaven. The simple gospel is that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him would not perish but have eternal life. It doesn’t say that we might have forgiveness, peace, happiness, or prosperity, though we may have all of those things. The promise is eternal life. Can that be? It is so hard to fathom in the midst of the pressing reality of our very real, tangible, and often painful lives here on earth. And yet, that is the promise. The gospels describe Jesus after He rose from the dead as having a new kind of existence; solid and yet able to pass through walls, and that He is the first of this new kind of man. Paul describes the glory of the resurrected body that is to be ours one day. C.S. Lewis, in his essay The Weight of Glory, eloquently expressed the fact that one day this world will be forgotten dust and we will be in the presence of our Father in His place (Heaven) and He will turn His face toward us with the only approval that will ever matter. The universe we live in now is so staggeringly awesome, daily revealing greater and deeper testimonies to the genius and love of our Creator. If this is the temporal, then imagine what the eternal universe will be like! Indeed, no eye has seen nor ear heard.

The critic, indeed the critic in my own self, says, “What a pretty fairy tale you believe in.” Certainly in light of the here and now of flesh and blood, of earth, wind and fire, of health and sickness, of joys and sorrows, of war, hunger, and injustice, Heaven seems like the greatest fairy tale ever devised. Well, in a sense that is really what it is! It is the pattern for all fairy tales. It is the archetype of all stories where the underdogs are rescued and live happily ever after. It is The Story of all stories to which our hearts constantly yearn! Every “good” story is good because it contains elements that resonate with this blessed hope God has built into each one of us. So while Heaven often seems so far away and so imaginary, every thought, desire, and purpose of my existence validates its reality. In The Weight of Glory, Lewis says that my hunger does not prove that I will have bread to satisfy it, but it does prove that I am a being whose existence requires food to live. The nature of my fleshly being requires food. More abstractly the nature of my soul being requires love and acceptance, and even more abstractly, the nature of my being yearns for redemption (of both soul and flesh) and that someday, I will live happily ever after. The only alternative is atheism/materialism/existentialism which, in its gloom, sees all good stories (even true ones) as fairy tales because it cannot and it must not acknowledge any higher purpose or target for our existence.

In another C. S. Lewis book called The Magician’s Nephew, Aslan (the book’s Creator/Christ figure) has created a new world called Narnia. In this world he made all the plants and animals that we know and love here on Earth. But in Narnia, he chose some of the creatures to become “talking beasts.” He gave them language and set them apart from the rest of the animals. Not long after this event, one of the creatures does something funny and everyone laughs. He has the honor of having made (or being) the first joke. Aslan joins in their laughter and encourages them saying, “Laugh and fear not, creatures. Now that you are no longer dumb and witless, you need not always be grave. For jokes as well as justice come in with speech.” The mountain lion here above us in the Colorado mountains, beautiful as he is, he is always grave. He only exists. There is no such thing as a good story to him. He does not laugh or cry or hope. Justice does not exist for him. He does not laugh because to him there are no ironies. There are no ironies because there is no way things ought to be. Things just are. This is the reality that the atheist worldview says is true for humans as well. The gray, hopeless, purposeless existence of George Orwell’s 1984 is the nature of the atheist reality. And yet, we have been given language. With language we can create, we can love, we can laugh! With language we can express the yearnings and the oughts, in our hearts. Even the book 1984 expresses the constant human yearning for purpose and life beyond the “grave” with the protagonist’s forbidden desire to write his own thoughts on a clean, white page. With language we tell stories. With language we see beyond the simple existence of day to day life and yearn for that story in which we will ultimately see justice, have genuine approval, and live happily ever after.

--Thaine

What I Learned On The Border

After 3 outreach seasons (2 years and a pinch) the Norris family is taking steps to return to Colorado as our home base. When we moved down, we figured it was for a few years, and it seems that those years are completed. I think Thaine and I would be happy to stay here at the HOC for the rest of our lives, but we have had difficulty working out some details as a family which causes the time to draw to a close. We are very (very) impressed with how much time the raising and training of children takes, and find that we are unable to delve into the various wonderful opportunities to help and serve without jeopardizing our obligations to them. Also, it has been  difficult to maintain a rich learning experience when we adults are so few and stretched, our kids are so varied in ages and interests, and most resources are an hour away in El Paso. We are convinced that for all families, the first mission is the raising and training of children, and we have desired certain opportunities for our kids which are not practically accessible here. We go with the utmost respect, love and concern for the hard working staff of IFM/HOC. Altho’ it’s important not to make promises and not keep them, we certainly intend to stay involved over time and return regularly.

Whenever someone leaves a missions-related situation, it raises questions of "What happened? Are you done being a missionary?" As above, there are completely non-IFM/House of Cornelius  reasons for the move. However, it is a great opportunity to reflect on what a missionary is, anyway.  There are some unique opportunities here on the border to reach out, help, and minister in every respect to the needy or to people who might be interested in hearing from someone from another culture. However, life is largely life, sometimes larger than life. When it came right down to it, our opportunities to be missionaries were to friends and neighbors and in our own home, just as it would be anywhere. We encourage all reading to review from our experiences that "you'll never be a better missionary than you've been at home!" Maybe that has a scolding sound to it, but I think it's great encouragement. We should all live life like it counts, because it does!

When we first moved down to the HOC, with my head in the clouds, I rewrote a favorite bit of prose from Thoreau to fit my hopes.

I went to the border because I wished to live purposefully, to front only the essential facts of faith, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Christ-like as to put to rout all that was not true, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its truest terms, and if it proved to be  hard, why then to get the whole and genuine difficulty of it, or if it were beautiful, to know it by experience, and able to give an account of the hope that is within me.  (The original is to be found in On Walden Pond “I went to the woods…” –Thoreau)

As we prepare to move back to Colorado at the end of August, it is tempting to be very reflective and sentimental. I think the rereading of this prose fits my mood well. I’m thankful to the Lord that the time here has been just that…a great time to dig into the Faith, definitely a time to see the extreme difficulties of life and its beauty too. Sometimes my memories of the HOC itself are crowded with images of myself either pregnant or attached to one or another dear barnacle hindering my efforts to do laundry or inventory a few ministry or housekeeping items. Or, I see myself cynically weathering one more noisy meal in Muzzy, trying to make sure my people under the age of 8 eat enough dinner  and get to bed somewhat on time in the midst of the excitement, hoping to avoid midnight starvation and next-day-irritability. However, the co-workers are so wonderful and full of variety, and we met so many inspiring people on various teams, and heard so many wonderful testimonies. My year at the little clinic in San Elizario was quite literally a chunk of heaven smacked down in the middle of my life, from which I hope to never quite recover.  We’ve learned so much as a family, and I personally am so thankful for all of it.

Having said all that reflective stuff, I wish to add that poverty stinks. I confess to being subject to romantic thinking. I looked forward to roughing it even when our finances were unstable when we first moved down. I’ve always liked trying to make a meal with whatever was available, etc. etc. However, having tasted just a little of being poor, mostly through the experiences of others we’ve known, I wish to clarify that poverty is a yawning depressing chasm not to be taken lightly.  It is not an excuse for sin, but I think our selfish flesh thrives in the gnawing absence of stability and basic needs. People do even more awful, crazy things egged on by the searing knowledge that they lack so much, and have no other source of “happiness.” God has better solutions, but without that hope and strength from Him, people succumb to awful lives sometimes. So why does Jesus say, “Blessed are the poor”? Because they have the opportunity to be nose to nose with who they really are. Most of us have the privilege, or trap, of plastering over who we really are underneath with comforts, leisure time, and distractions. But if you are poor you don’t have that façade, and you know you’re just a sinner that needs to be saved by grace. We’ve seen awesome examples of people who still don’t know where their next meal is coming from but they are hopeful, living by God’s principles, wise, kind, and reaching out to those around them. Those people are blessed, and often understand a whole lot more of life than we who have been comfortable most all the time. Blessed are the poor…who seek Him.

-- Erika

The Ukranian Blessing

...six Russian speaking men

...dangerous contraband

...international borders

...flashing police lights

...interrogation and searches

What do these things bring to mind? A cold war border incident? A post cold war enriched uranium smuggling operation? Although we intimately identified with each of the above phrases last week, I must remind you that I am writing from the House of Cornelius on the US / Mexico border! I will give you the account as it unfolded.

The Truck

Last Sunday at 7am a 48-foot tractor-trailer arrived here at the House of Cornelius weighing 79,440 pounds, a mere 560 pounds shy of the truck's legal gross vehicle weight. We had heard rumors over the past month from Georgia Baca of a possible "donation" but we weren't expecting a deluge! The driver was the most delightful, bright-faced, joy-overflowing Ukranian named Dmitriy. As he opened the truck and began handing things out to us, he explained that everything was from various Russian-speaking churches and ministries. The truck had been filled and sent under the direction of a brother "Nikolay" with whom Dmitriy worked. Dmitriy said brightly, "We do this because we love Jesus! And he has given us a burden for the poor in Mexico."

At first Dmitriy just handed things out to us and we took them into our old school building for storage. Gradually it dawned on us that the truck was 48 feet long and that we had only made a tiny dent! We thought we had a large crew with nine of us, but three of those were under 12 years old. We unloaded for several hours and thought we had made a significant dent when we came upon 26 55-gallon barrels full of pre-packaked soup mix. At 300 pounds each, they were quite an obstacle. Val Mojica drew my attention to the vent holes on the side of the truck near the barrels, then outside to see where those holes were in relation to the truck's length. We were only 1/3 of the way through! Val came up with a brilliant idea to put boards out the back of the truck and roll the barrels down and then move them with a hand truck. This worked beautifully and we were back in production. We unloaded for about 4 hours when we stopped for brunch, after which we finished the job in a few more hours. Just to give you some idea of what an incredible blessing came to us, there were 26 55-gallon barrels of soup mix, about 500 5-gallon buckets and some boxes of dried peaches, two palettes of trail mix, 3 palettes of ready-mixed bread flour, and countless boxes of various canned items, pasta, cereal, dried milk, etc., and Thai-Kitchen brand Thai food! Along with the food came boxes and bags of clothing. At first we put the clothing in a large room in the school until it was full, then we just put the bags on the ground to deal with later. The resulting pile was huge!

All the while, we got to know Dmitriy, who proved to be a man of uncommon quality and love for God. It was refreshing to our souls to talk with him. After the truck was unloaded and we all showered and power-napped, our family took Dmitriy into Mexico to take some goods to a women's shelter and to Agua Viva. Dmitriy pounced on the idea of going to Mexico when I suggested it to him. He is a commercial truck driver and was planning to put his truck to work the next day, but it was clear his heart was over the border. We had a glorious time of fellowship with him in the car and with the brothers at Agua Viva and then over Mexican food at Taco Cabana. What a heavenly day! During our time with Dmitriy he spoke often of Nikolay and gradually the pieces of the puzzle came together in our minds. The largest piece was that Nicolay and four other Ukranian brothers were on their way, driving from Sacramento, California. They would arrive the next day!

Nicolay

On Monday afternoon a new, bright white, International Sprinter cargo van arrived followed by a sedan. The Sprinter was completely full of food and contained a cheerful, Godly, and very driven man named Nikolay who speaks only Russian. There were four young men with him as helpers and translators. So here were six, delightful Ukranian brothers (in the Lord), five of them exhausted from driving over 20 hours non-stop, sitting in the dining room at the House of Cornelius, eager and ready to keep going. From my perspective, they were at the end of their long journey and were welcome and expected to stay with us at the House of Cornelius. All further plans could start tomorrow. From their perspective, this is where they were to meet Dmitriy and then continue their journey which ended in Mexico, and this stop was taking too long. Nikolai was all business, he had a cargo van packed full of food and he wanted to take that across the border to meet his friends...right now! But that gleaming van might as well have "Stop and inspect me!" written on the side in ten langauges. We talked for a while. I told him of our adventures last year with getting flood relief supplies accross the border (Click here to read about that), and expressed my doubts that they would get that van across. Strangely, ironically, sadly, the Mexican government treats donated food and clothing crossing the border almost like the US treats drugs. I'm sure there are myriad reasons for it; from the desire to make money (through duties or bribes or both) to injured national pride. After much discussion and advice giving, we all concluded that if God wanted those goods across the border, then nothing was going to stop them.

I was speaking to Nikolai, who only speaks Russian, through Dmitriy. Nikolay had friends he had previously arranged to meet in Juarez and wanted to take his van full of goods over right away. After much discussion back and forth, Nikolai and Dmitriy conferred seriously. Then Dmitriy announced that they would like to try taking the van across the little bridge near to the House of Cornelius. Just two of them, Dmitriy and his 19-yr-old friend Daniel, would go and they would call if they made it across. If they got turned around, then not too much driving time would be wasted. If they got across then they would call and wait for us to cross and meet them. I was very skeptical, but hey, it was certainly worth a try. Twenty minutes later Nicolay shouted with joy and said (in Russian) that they had called and had made it across and were waiting for us! Praise God!

We loaded up more things into our own van and then drove over to meet Dmitriy and Daniel. We made it over without incident and drove about five miles toward Juarez when we saw flashing police lights! Nikolay had swapped with Daniel in the Sprinter van when we got across and was now driving. He pulled the Sprinter over. I was one vehicle ahead of him and pulled over too in case I could help. Then something inside me told me to drive on and let them deal with it alone. I, and the other car with us, drove on and around a bend in the road. We turned around and parked on the side of the road so we could watch. My sons Jeremy and Daniel were with me in our van. Jeremy had his little spotting scope so we could watch the action. All the doors were open on the Sprinter and people were walking around it. After what seemed to be about ten minutes, they started driving and we all resumed our journey to Juarez. A while later we stopped for fuel and I got the whole story. As it turned out, the police had been telling them something about papers and making motions for them to turn around and leave the country. In truth, the police had no juristiction. They were really looking for a bribe. Nikolay paid them a trifle and they were on their way. But what had ultimately saved them was the fact that they only spoke Russian and English and the police only spoke Spanish. Finally, in frustration, they just asked for some money (using universal language I assume) and then waved them on. Praise God I had kept driving! Otherwise, with my nearly functional Spanish, the police may have pressed the issue further.

The Big Top

After the briefly unnerving police stop, our trip into Juarez continued fairly smoothly, but late; it was starting to get dark. We were still over 20 miles east of Juarez on a very slow road through the Mexican countryside. We made phone contact with Nikolay's friend, pastor David, and his group several times along the way. Eventually we were instructed to drive through Juarez to the west side and keep going until the road stopped. It was a long drive! We arrived at the edge of a neighborhood and the end of the road near 10pm. We called and within minutes pastor David and a bi-lingual friend came and met us and led us back to the Big Tent.

In a high, bare place in the neighborhood stood an enormous tent, lit brightly from the inside. Going in, we found it empty (the activities were over for the day) and a group of 6 to 8 men sitting around a table, clearly enjoying each other's company. They turned out to be pastors from the area, some having churches within block of each other. It was striking and so encouraging to see them there in unity. There was a sweetness hanging in the air, as if it had been an awesome day and they were still there, savoring it.

There were many bear hugs and greetings between Nikolay, David, and the other pastors. Then we all greeted one another and set about making plans. How could we get this truckload of supplies across the border? Where were the Ukranians brother going to stay tonight? What were we going to do right now? Since Nikolay speaks only Russian, and Dmitriy only speaks Russian and English, we had to have all our conversations in three languages! I spoke Spanish with the pastors, then English to Dmitriy, who then spoke Russian to Nikolay. My Spanish is pretty basic, but the Lord seemed to give me extra understanding that night. Praise God! Meanwhile Daniel and Jeremy, who were very happy to be on their feet, set about pacing off the interior of the tent and counting all the chairs. Pastor David noticed what they were doing and gave me the actual specifications. The boys actually got pretty close in their calculations! It was decided that we would go from the tent back to a neighborhood church where the revival team was staying. We would unload the cargo van there.

The Ukranian Connection

The story of how this truck and these glorious brothers came to be at the House of Cornelius in the first place is amazing, and it begins with a 25 year old Ukranian woman named Galena. Five years ago or so, Galena met the Savior and was transferred from the dominion of death to the Kingdom of eternal life. As she grew in her faith she felt the call to missions, specifically in Mexico! She became aware of a wonderful, travelling revival ministry in Mexico that moves from city to city with a giant, 200' by 70' tent that holds a stage and 1200 seats. They set up in a city for 3 to 8 weeks and hold nightly revival meetings in partnership with local pastors. Seven months ago she came to Mexico, speaking only Russian, and joined the ministry team. Now, a mere seven months later, she is practically fluent in Spanish! I had a chance to sit and hear Galena's testimony (in Spanish) and tell her about IFM. Later, I had a long conversation with Nikolay through Galena. Needless to say, my Spanish-speaking skills got a good workout. Praise God!

Nikolay knew of Galena from the Ukraine, and through her got to know pastor David who leads the revival ministry. Nikolay and Dmitriy had visited them on the Gulf Coast of Mexico several months ago, learned that they would be setting up the revival meetings in Juarez, and made plans to meet them there...with a giant truck of food and clothing! The revival tent was set up in Rancho Anapra, which is the extreme, western neighborhood of Juarez. It so happens that Jose Luis Torres and his family go to church there. (For those readers who don't know, Jose Luis is the head of IFM's Mexican non-profit organization.) So their pastor learned of the coming truck and started to ask around to find a way to unload it in Texas for storage and eventual transfer accross the border. Jose Luis suggested Georgia and in a short time Nikolay (through his English-speaking daughter) made arrangements with her to bring the truck to the House of Cornelius.

We unloaded the cargo van, visited with Galena and Nikolay, and ate an 11:30pm dinner with the Ukranians and various church workers. It was decided that the best place for the Ukranians to stay was with us at the House of Cornelius since they had not brought any bedding with them. I was so glad, as I was looking forward to more time to get to know them! The Ukranians got into the cargovan and their car. Daniel, Jeremy and I headed home in our van. With the long border crossing and drive, we got home at 2am! The boys were no worse for wear though. They seemed to thoroughly enjoy an "adventure with dad" almost as much as I enjoyed an adventure with my sons. May God bless us with many more adventures together in His Kingdom.

Disappointments

The next day we all got going slowly. Those poor Ukranians, after all they had been through in the last 48 hours, slept very well. Georgia came over to the House of Cornelius and made them all breakfast. Jose Luis' pastor's wife and a helper came over from Mexico with a van to try to bring some of the truckload over the border. Before noon, Nikolay and the brothers had loaded the cargo van and the Mexican van and were ready to make another delivery. They were cheerful and encouraged by the previous day's successes. Off they went about noon. But within an hour, I got a call from Dmitriy. He said they had been turned around and that they were coming back. He sounded very disappointed.

At about 4pm they all rolled into the House of Cornelius and we all went into the dining room. Over a snack and drinks, I talked with the sobered Nikolay and Dmitriy. I encouraged them. I said, "Brother, if God wants those things across the border, they will get across. Be encouraged!" I then went on to tell him more details of our harrowing experience with the flood relief supplies and how we had exhausted everything from diplomacy to the mercy of every border guard until, at the very last possible official, we begged for mercy and God granted it. Nikolay listened and had an expression that said, "I know what you're saying but..." Dmitriy then turned to me and said, "We know what you're saying and we believe it, but we're a bit tired. Let me tell you why we are back so late." He then went on to explain that they had crossed at the little crossing just five minutes from the House of Cornelius, yet it had taken more than four hours to get back!

What had happened was that they immediately got turned around on the Mexican side and when they got to the US side two minutes later, they were six Ukranians and a large cargo van of unknown contents. Not only were they inspected, but the customs officers unloaded every box and every barrel, down to the bottom. Then they took the six men, all resident aliens of the US, into a room and put them through an intense interrogation. It was a grueling and unpleasant experience that they were not eager to repeat! But it seemed taht telling the story gave them courage because only moments after, Nikolay stood up and said (in Russian), "Let's go!" Dmitriy explained that they had decided to take a smaller load over a different border. Praise God! They made it over this time.

Ministry Partners

The next few days were uneventful as they visited in Mexico, took small loads across the border, and tried to connect with local ministries with which they could partner for future shipments. God has burdened Nikolay and Dmitriy, and a large number of Ukranian churches around the United States, with the needs of the poor in Mexico, and the desire to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ while they demonstrate His love in a true James 2:14-26 fashion. On the last day, Nikolay was able to make an extremely valuable connection in El Paso. Hopefully God will bless the House of Cornelius with another visit and ministry opportunity from these dear brothers! Their visit greatly blessed those of us at the House of Cornelius. We were in the midst of preparing for a pair of back-to-back outreaches when they arrived, but their genuine love for Jesus and passion for those He loves (enough to die on a cross), was like cool water to our thirsty souls! And with the goods that remain with us, we will be able to bless thousands of people in the name of Jesus over the coming months. Praise God!

Lost in Translation...

Apparently it is traditional to eat tamales and pozole at Christmas time in Hispanic communities. We took many dozen tamales to Agua Viva men’s rehab to eat with them at their Christmas party on Christmas eve eve (that’s the evening before Christmas eve), so for our own Christmas at home we made pozole. I had this simple stew at my work Christmas party, and was eager to try my hand at it. It has meat and hominy in a nice broth, and you can eat it with shredded cabbage, radishes, onions, cilantro etc. rolled in a tortilla or out of a bowl. I found a recipe on the internet which looked authentic due to the picture of a little abuelita (grandma).

I thought I could understand the Spanish recipe fine, but to make sure I accepted the service of an automatic translator. The results were rather breathtaking. The top of the page reassured me in my native language “You Prescribe Pozole.” (The word for prescription and recipe are the same in Spanish.) The first ingredient was described as chicken “itched in pieces,” and the broth was mostly “cold water rooms in barracks.” At one point, I was instructed to “tape partially” the cooking ingredients. The crowning blow was the last set of instructions, and I quote, ”Carefully it removes to the chicken and the pig and lets cool. When they are the sufficiently cold thing, it clears pellejo, it bones the chicken and later in crumbles the chicken and the pig using two possesors.” I don’t think this automatic translator can be recommended as very  sensitive to Spanish grammar or phraseology. It is interesting that it translates “tenedor” as “possessor”…”tener” is the verb for “to have,” and I’m sure that’s the source of this poetic term for the common fork. Anyway, the pozole turned out fine in spite of the language barrier.

--Erika

Invasion of the Hydrophilic Animals and a Carnival of Errors

There are these really neat plastic animals which expand to 600% of their original size when soaked in water. They are only a dollar, look very charming and life-like, and are difficult to resist. Three of them came home with us the other day….a sting ray, an octopus, and a sea turtle. With great expectation, they were placed in the tub, and noted to grow a little by evening. Unfortunately, the faucet in the kids’ bathroom drips something fierce, and the blip, blip was more than Thaine and I could stand after the bedlam…er, cheerful noises of the day were done. Thaine drained the tub and respectfully placed the animals in the sink until morning.

Concerned children promptly filled the tub in the morning, and the growing recommenced. Ian kept carrying his sea turtle around half grown and was reprimanded by various siblings, but in the end it was this behavior which spared the turtles very life. By nighttime, they were pretty big but not fully grown. Blip, blip, blip. Thaine firmly wrenched those hot and cold knobs one more time (we both do this several times a day with no effect), drained the tub and placed the animals in the sink.

In the morning, Jeremy dutifully placed the animals in the tub and ran water over them. Ian shortly thereafter brought his sea turtle out, and he was pretty big and beautiful. After  while, I had a solemn report from Heather that the growing animals had “exploded.” As she is known for exaggeration and drama, I only raised my eyebrows at her and said something along the lines of “That’s nice, dear.” and went about my business. Someone else mentioned exploded animals, so I thought I’d better go see. Heather added that it was “very awful, they have no eyes, no mouths.” A grim observation.

In fact, the two remaining animals had disintegrated into stringy masses of gelatinous ooze. Jeremy had used hot water in the tub, because he couldn’t turn the cold water knob, Thaine’s nightly twist having been more effective than average. The hot water was more than the  substance of these creatures could resist. It turns out they grow because they are made of that weird gel-granule stuff that’s in diapers.

I put a sieve over the drain and told everyone not to remove it, so the water would drain out and we could clean out the gel blobs. Ian was right there and within 3 minutes had removed the sieve to see what would happen. The drain was choked with octopus substance sure enough. After some efforts and some more hot water, the tub seemed to be draining normally. Within a few hours the surviving turtle suffered an arm amputation and required re-attachment surgery. If you’ve ever tried to sew up a damp diaper you have some feeling for the procedure and the quality of the results.

Think twice before buying plastic animals that grow.

--Erika

Momentarily Disabled

(Written just before Christmas 2006)

A form came to my desk recently, seeking someone to fill it out. A statement was needed as to whether a patient was disabled or not. The lady had not been to our clinic for over one year, so I did not feel I could fill out the form without seeing her. Disability applications always raise red flags in doctors’ minds, anyway, and I certainly wanted the chance to meet the lady and review her situation.

She came shortly thereafter. One look from the doorway let me know there was a real disease afoot. Her hands lay oddly in her lap, with mild deformity and muscle wasting obvious. This lady, only a few years older than I,  really didn’t want to be called disabled, but was hoping the form would help her access training so she could get a job. The present crisis was that her husband just had surgery, was unable to work, and they have a number of children at home. They can get help from the state, I just needed to fill out this form so the state of Texas knew how to help them best. My pen hovered uncertainly over the boxes that could aid or devastate their situation. I got one of the nurses to help translate to make sure I understood everything well and marked the right box!

One look at the chart and the body riddled with pain and abnormal joints made me doubt this Spanish-speaking only patient would find employment possible. However, we left that possibility open in the future, hoping access to specialists might help her that much. To date, she hadn’t followed up with specialists nor filled presciptions from 10/05 because it was all so expensive and she had no insurance. Now with Medicaid, she hopes to be able to control her disease.

She told me how hard it is to run her house, and repeatedly stated that her husband helps her so much. She often has to sit in a chair and explain the housework to the children, and they do almost everything themselves. Her life sounded so very difficult I kept expecting tears to come. But, she related all this very matter-of-factly. She either had come to terms with it, or knew so much difficulty that telling the story just wasn’t worthy of emotion. She seemed like such a sweet, lovely lady. As I helped her stiff, oddly shaped arms into her sweater sleeves I felt myself weak from this insight into her world.

At the door I searched for what words would be appropriate linguistically and culturally to express my warmth and best wishes for their family. I asked her to greet her family for me and wished them a happy Christmas together. She turned and looked me cheerfully in the eye and said, ”Thank you. My children don’t want any other gift for Christmas than that I get better.”

Oh, my. May we all be so gracious with the lesser burdens we have to bear.

--Erika

Thank you!

We want to thank our Heavenly Father for providing for our financial needs! We also want to thank two, anonymous channels of His blessing through whom came two large gifts at the end of last year. Thank you whoever you are! God has blessed Erika and me with part-time work that fits well with our involvements here at the House of Cornelius, and those gifts brought us into the black, took care of things like tune-ups and cracked windshields, and have also made us into channels of blessing to others.

Thank you also to the Christian Home Fellowship of Boulder and to those, anonymous persons that have given gifts regularly over time! We wanted to let you know that our family's needs while we are living here at the House of Cornelius are now met by our part time work. So if there are other needs that God makes you aware of, praise God and feel free to redirect your gifts. But if you continue to feel led to give to our family, praise God! We will use those gifts for needs at the HOC and in Mexico as the Spirit directs.

--Thaine

Don Quixote

And now gay-plumaged birds of all sorts began to warble in the trees, and with their varied and gladsome notes seemed to welcome and salute the fresh morn that was beginning to show the beauty of her countenance at the gates and balconies of the east, shaking from her locks a profusion of liquid pearls; in which dulcet moisture bathed, the plants, too, seemed to shed and shower down a pearly spray, the willows distilled sweet manna, the fountains laughed, the brooks babbled, the woods rejoiced, and the meadows arrayed themselves in all their glory at her coming.

Thus begins the morning that Don Quixote and his faithful squire, Sancho Panza, are awakened from their slumber and vigorously attacked by a mysterious knight and his squire.

After the outreach season last year we went to Colorado for a wedding and to visit family and friends. We spent many days with my (Thaine's) parents at their house and in the mountains, so there was time to read. On a whim, since I had heard it was an iconic piece of Spanish literature and culture, I picked up Don Quixote and began to read. The first pages of the book were hilarious with humorous quotes from books of chivalry such as, "the reason of the unreason with which my reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I murmur at your beauty." The whole book is essentially a satire on books and stories of chivalry. It is extremely well written, with rich language. I read it in English–a translation from the 1800's–and continually marvelled that the poetry rhymed so well and at the richness of the vocabulary. The character of Don Quixote is introduced immediately and most of his well-known adventures such as jousting with the windmills occur within the first 50 pages of the book. But the book is over 1,000 pages long! The rest of the book contains myriad sub-plots and adventures, and sheds autobiographical light on the life of the author Miguel Cervantes. Cervantes was, among many other things, a soldier fighting against the Moors (Muslims), was wounded, was captured and held as a slave for ransom, and spent much of his life in financial distress. He weaves these very serious, non-comical things into the book in sub-plots with incredible detail and gravity, all while maintaining an overall light-hearted and comedic tone.

After reading the book I began to see names and influences from Don Quixote all over Juarez. There is a neighborhood we often go to that looks like any other urban colonia, except that many of the tiny yards house horses and donkeys! It seems that all the families on a certain street drive horse carts; making deliveries and collecting junk. Of course the street is appropriately named "Calle Rosinante." Rosinante is Don Quixote's horse and is as much a character in the story as any of the humans. In fact, the book opens with ballads and poems sung by Sancho Panza the Squire and Rosinante the horse. The picture to the right is from the front of one of the houses on Rosinante street.

I have since thought a lot about the significance of the book. Of course it is significant historically as a literary pioneer and masterpiece of prose and language. But its greatest significance for me is the theme of a man who chose to live out his ideals in spite of the stark "realities" around him. Don Quixote strives to live the ideal of chivalry while all those around him are self serving. (Don Quixote even preaches an amazingly biblical sermonette about loving your enemies versus revenge, only to be showered with stones after Sancho Panza followed the entirely sensible sermon with a very silly statement saying essentially, "See how Godly my master is, and how Godly I am by associating with him?" The scene is the age-old picture of those who are content to let others be righteous on their behalf.) Don Quixote sees things in black and white, and though he lacks discernment, strives to do right because it is right. This inspires me! In many ways I am like Don Quixote. I believe the Bible. I believe that Jesus Christ came in the flesh and died for my sins. I believe I have new life in Him, and I believe that Heaven is a real place. I believe that His yoke is easy. In the world's eyes, the teachings of Jesus are idealistic and not compatible with the "realities" of life. So like Don Quixote, my family and I have chosen to live a life that is driven by ideals and, like Don Quixote, we are often seen as fools for doing so.

--Thaine

A Day at Agua Viva

(This was mostly written July 31, 2006)

Over the last year IFM has taken probably a dozen outreach teams to the Agua Viva men's drug rehab facility. We have also visited as a family many times; to visit the animals on the ranch and to deliver gifts from various teams. Agua Viva "El Rancho" is an awesome place. It's an oasis in the desert with trees and shade, animals, and spacious grounds for outdoor games. But the greatest thing about it is that it is filled with men who are eager to talk about the Lord Jesus. Of course the interest varies from man to man according to their circumstances. There are always some new men who have just detoxed or are in the process. Generally they don't know the Master, but they know that He is all about the place and so they are willing to talk about Him anyway. But at the core, there are dozens of men who have met Jesus, or are close to doing so. So what more blessed place is there than one in which people have a palpable hunger for the Words of Life?

For many months I had wanted to spend some focused time at the place, not bounded by the time and activity constraints of the larger groups. Also over the months, many of us have been impressed with the zeal of the men, but also struck with some gaps in their understanding. I hesitate to say that because it is certainly not my intention to come in as the Big White Educated Know It All, but rather God showed me several men who had basic questions about the bible such as, "Is it trustworthy?" "Why should I spend time reading it?" and "Is it relevant?" There are a few brothers there who have discovered the wealth of the Scriptures and have developed a hunger for it, spending their spare moments getting to know His Word like a good friend. A typical day at Agua Viva has five chapel services, chores, meals, and a small amount of free time in which some read, some play soccer or handball, and others visit. After an awesome conversation in which a skeptical man was asking those questions about the bible, I became burdened with the desire to spend some time teaching them about the bible itself and the privilege they have of being able to devote large amounts of time studying it.

So in late July I spent the entire day with my brothers at Agua Viva. Their first chapel service, the first of five, is at 7am so I had to leave our house at 5:30am to get there in time! I had prepared three "lessons" about the bible which I was able to share in three of their chapel services. The first was a study of the bible itself through a series of statements all starting with "If God wrote a book, it would..." For example, if God wrote a book, we would expect it to be supernatural, and so we looked at the gloriously fulfilled prophecies about history and the Messiah. We covered many topics such as the authorship of the various bible books, their transmission and preservation through the centuries, archaeology, history, science, and the timeless and culture-neutral nature of the message. The lesson was long but I only noticed one man in his late 50's who seemed to doze once. The rest were attentive and focused. At the end of the time, we had established that the Scriptures are the awesome Word of God. Praise God!

The next lesson was entitled, "Every Christian Must Study the Bible." This lesson was the sweetest since it was mostly reading from the Word itself. I was working through a translator so I asked the men to read the portions of scripture out loud in Spanish. It was so refreshing to feed together on Words of Life. There was a new believer there named Antonio (please pray for Antonio!) who was clearly struggling. During the worship time God impressed upon me the parable of the sower in relation to the delicate position of this particular new believer. So we started the lesson by reading the entire passage from Matthew 13. From there we went to Psalm 1 which says that we will be firmly planted if we meditate on His law day and night. Clearly the man who devotes himself seriously to the Scripture will be good soil in which an unshakable tree will grow. Antonio was greatly affected by the message, so I know it was God who prompted me to add that at the last minute.

The last lesson was very short and was about forms of literature. It is based on some ideas from some dear friends of ours who are bible translators. I had examples of many different things such as a hand-written letter, a history book, a song book, an auto repair manual, etc. Many of the men looked at me funny at first, but they got the point quickly as I explained how differently we would read each of those kinds of literature, and how each piece of literature presents immediate clues to us about audience, intent, etc. We then went through the various books of the bible to see how they are distinct works that are grouped into various forms of literature. Simple examples would be to contrast the gospels with the psalms, or the letters to Timothy with Leviticus. By the end of the time, I think the men had a much clearer picture of the bible and how to read it.

We had hours of great discussion and fellowship afterwards. It was an incredible privilege to talk with them. For example, one young man came to me and asked, "Sometimes I don't feel like praying. What's wrong with me?" The Lord gave me a cool analogy on the spur of the moment. I asked him what 2 + 2 is. He said, "Four." I asked him if the answer was the same when he was happy and sad. He said, "Of course it is." I said, "That's right, because it's true. Truth is not affected by our emotions or our circumstances." (As an aside, I love the discussion between Aragorn and Eomer in Tolkein's The Two Towers where Eomer asks Aragorn how he should make decisions in such a perilous time with so many strange things going on. Aragorn answers that Eomer should choose as he always would because right and wrong are the same for men, dwarves, elves, etc. and peril does not change truth.) I went on to encourage him that our need to pray and read the scriptures is true no matter how we may feel at the moment. Our emotions will often follow if we will simply obey.

At the end of the evening one brother asked me, "Why do you come here? Why would you want to spend time with guys (i.e. losers) like us?" Wow, what an opportunity that was to express the love of God! Blinking back my own tears I explained how he (and I by implication) is precious in God's sight, created on purpose and for eternity. I explained how great God's love is for him and for me and how that love motivates me to do anything. It was a perfect opportunity to explain the essence of the gospel. Praise God! Praise Him!

--Thaine

Evolution of a Diagnosis

Recently I saw a 39 year old man as my last patient of the day. It had been a busy morning and my thoughts were drifting toward wrapping up. His complaint was swollen ankles. In the back of my head a bell was ringing very quietly....swollen ankles is not a complaint of relatively young men. But, I was ready to go home, so I ignored the bell for the moment.

He was a good looking guy, neatly dressed and groomed with a decorative big belt buckle and some discreet gold jewelry. He wore no expression in particular. He was very muscular with bulging veins showing over his tidy collar. He wedged off his pointed boots (alligator skin? I see them often) and showed me swollen ankles...the real thing. They had been that way several weeks. He thought in his manual labor he had been working in a field and maybe a spider bit him. This didn’t fit with what I was seeing, so I was curious to consider other possibilities. His head and neck exam were unremarkable; normal thyroid, lots of lean muscle, those bulging veins, remarkable dark skin and even darker lips. His heart exam was very remarkable with a fairly loud murmur. I have seen this fairly often also, in healthy active people without complaints, probably the remains of an untreated strep throat in childhood....rheumatic heart disease. That is a non-urgent finding that needs to be studied eventually, but a young man with his complaints (oh, yes, now he was mentioning some shortness of breath if he worked hard...) and a murmur raises red flags.

Since he now had an abnormal heart exam, I did an EKG for further clues as to what was going on with his heart. If he had a problem since childhood I would expect a reasonably normal EKG maybe with part of the heart enlarged from pumping with an abnormal valve for years. However, it was really worrisome, with signs that his heart may have had damage as from a heart attack, possibly still going on. Suddenly those bulging veins and dark lips didn’t seem so handsome and healthy anymore. This man was in trouble.

I suspect he knew something serious was going on. When I returned to the room to begin to negotiate the bad news and what needs to be done about it (with no insurance and no money), he eyed me gravely. I broached the subject as I usually do with sensitive topics..."I need to ask you some personal questions to help me understand what is going on with your body, and I need you to tell me everything. Have you used cocaine?" Yes, he had a history of cocaine and relapsed into it a few weeks ago. He even had some chest pain three weeks ago but he had a "cold" at the same time, and the pain went away with the cold. Still the same flat expression and cool reaction.

He probably had a heart attack 3 weeks ago when he returned to his cocaine habit, and has been experiencing right sided heart failure over these weeks, where the part of the heart that pushes blood forward into the lungs for more oxygen can’t keep up with its job. Blood backs up into the legs more than anywhere because of gravity, and the jugular veins because they are easy to fill up, low resistance. The murmur is probably because heart muscle attached to a valve is dead and so the valve is ineffective and leaking. The EKG shows that a lot of muscle is injured, dead or dying.

We sent him to the emergency room to start down a long road of getting his heart studied and his situation under control as best as possible. With no insurance and no money, this is doubly unpleasant, altho’ because in this country we have support and solutions for his situation I suspect he’ll get what he needs urgently. However, long term follow-up and medical care might be tricky, especially if he isn’t here legally. I’m sure the pressures of poverty and the unpleasant idea that he has already ruined his body and shortened his life will make drugs tempting in the future. Of course, he didn’t come to his follow-up appointment, but we hope to track him down and make sure he is OK. They don’t answer the phone.

People abuse cocaine and other drugs in high- as well as low-income situations. This is not a judgmental look at how hardened young men on the border deal with their poverty. All kinds of people do all kinds of crazy damaging things to their bodies, families, and marriages trying to make themselves feel better, with no regard for others and for what is right. There is a body of literature written by those who knew the Lord personally which tells us how to resist these awful temptations and cruel solutions, and how to live the way we were intended. Our family is praying this man can know what his Creator wants for him, and you can too.

--Erika

Balancing on the Border

Life seems to always be a balancing act no matter who and where you are. Living here at the House of Cornelius for 1.5 years I have wrestled particularly with how to keep poverty in perspective. It is so gripping and shocking to see how many people live, and heart-wrenching to have a glimpse of the simple needs that they have. I ask myself, what do I do about this? How do I come to terms with it? The letter written by James makes it clear that we are not to say "Go! I wish you well; be warmed and be filled..." to someone without clothes and daily food. Jesus also said the poor would always be with us. Obviously there is a delicate balance here of doing what you can for whatever situation is under your nose and not going crazy trying to solve the problems of the world in one day.

Should I feel guilty about my comfortable daily life and functioning cars? Do I sell everything I have and spread the small sum around the Juarez area? Do we live on rice and beans forever so a few more can eat? I've tried pontificating to the family if we lacked or craved some relative indulgence..."think of our friends and neighbors across the border who live in homes made of scraps and the wind blows dust through the cracks..." but somehow the words ring hollow after a while. Rightly or not, no one seems too excited to eat oatmeal three times a day for the benefit of some nebulous concept Mom is flapping about. It's just hard to reconcile the two worlds. They just don't even overlap.

For  a while I felt guilty. Then I tried being sacrificial and didn't appreciate anyone else who wasn't doing the same. Then I just was hard-hearted for a while because it was too much to sort out. Suddenly, recently, I see a glimmer of perspective. I don't need to feel guilty unless I'm guilty of something! If God gave me something to share, I'd better share it. If my family needs something, that's OK. It isn't shameful that we tend to our daily needs comfortably; it's what we need to wish and hope for everyone, and be a part of that when we are able.

That's part of why I love my new job so much. I can't buy everyone's medicines, and I can't solve all the problems that come up for these dear indigent people that come to the clinic. I can tend to their organ systems and laboratory data and help them access medications through special programs. I can genuinely be concerned for their welfare and make a little dent in their distress. Guilt free, I am able to do this because of my own good health, functioning car, marriage and family, by the grace of God. There is a lot that has to be in place for us to pour out for the sake of others, and I'm thankful for it now, instead of conflicted.

--Erika

Erika's new job - A blessing from the Lord!

Thank the Lord, after 16.5 months of tiny steps toward employment, I did work my first day on my own in a tiny local rural clinic. I had hoped to be employed right here in Fabens, but that process seemed to have stalled, and I’m so thankful that I have this other situation instead. The clinic is essentially a short single wide trailer with 4 exam rooms, a small lab, pharmacy and several other trailers for an employee break room, medical records and space for community educators to work with patients. It is simple but appears to be effective. It is a lovely blend of third world medicine and reasonable access to….well, MOST basics you might need. This clinic is one of three which never turns anyone away, regardless of ability to pay, and they never ask questions about legal status. Medicines aren’t free, but at $3.00 a prescription on average, most patients seem to be able to hold themselves together. A small percentage of the patients speak English.

My first day on my own was Tuesday. I arrived early with various things organized that I thought would help me work more efficiently. I was concerned that the language challenge would slow me down so I organized my understanding of labs, charts and available meds (talk about a restricted formulary!). The medical assistant who knows all was slightly late (which she never is, the staff assured me). I noticed that the waiting room was absolutely jam packed (that would be about 25 people) at 8:00AM and tried not to think about how I was the only provider around. I knew some of them were there to refill meds and some for the lab, and hopefully just a few of them for me. Once the charts started coming, they came steadily. I marveled at how many “WIs” there were (walk-ins) and reflected on the fact that people wrestling with poverty have unpredictable lives, and the scheduled visits were often “no-shows”, so the staff were filling the slots with walk-ins. I soon figured out that my printed schedule had nothing to do with what I was actually seeing, so disregarded it and had no idea if I was way behind or keeping up OK. I decided not to ask, as I couldn’t move any faster. Kindly the staff informed me that the stack of refill requests should also be tended to promptly; as poor people don’t have rides very often, and they would just wait in the waiting room until the refill was tended to. At the end of the day they apologized profusely for how many patients I had seen (16 including 2 physicals) and explained that the computer and scheduling were all fouled up and I normally would not see so many in a half day. Wow! That was music to my ears, and gave me hope for keeping up in the future.

God is gracious, and somehow the language barrier was almost a non-issue. There were a very few patients whom I realized I wasn’t understanding half the time, but I could get direct answers to my questions and they weren’t very ill, so I didn’t call for translator help. A lot of language acquisition seems to be a matter of squelching anxiety. By the end of the morning I was having a conversation with a lady about her almost 90 year old father having a stomach infection underlying his ulcer history and probably prostate cancer as well. We discussed various options they might pursue and I felt like we were understanding each other just fine. I thought that was pretty good! However, I can’t discuss theology, politics or recipes very well, just medicine.

By far most of the people were extremely polite, gracious and thankful for the little clinic and the good care there. Most of the people were there for hours due to the nature of simple clinics and many walk-ins, but they were as pleasant as could be. I met several people with good awareness of their chronic health issues which were either well-controlled or the people seemed to know what to be concerned about. A few of them were quite frustrated with the fact that the last doctor quit rather suddenly (for a higher-paying job, I understand). I tried very hard to remember to greet each patient appropriately and close every visit formally. Hispanic people almost always have impeccable manners in these matters, and I do not. I’m sure I slipped up a few times.

We’re surely thankful for a job situation which seems perfectly suited to the needs of our family and the ministry here. My boss didn’t even blink an eye when I mentioned what schedule I would prefer, and I have the freedom to work more if I want to. My boss, an intense, passionate activist for the poor, is always saying dramatic and encouraging things about my presence in the tiny clinic. I think he is being supportive and genuinely enthusiastic also. Since I work only AMs, we hope that when Thaine is co-leading a team he will still be able to slide over the border and join them for their afternoon activities, which is the bulk of the day, usually. Meanwhile, it’s good for the kids to have Dad as supervising parent sometimes, too. The morning school is getting done fine, and I think they get better lunches when Dad is in charge!

--Erika

It's all worth it

This summer has been a challenge. We have had an outreach every other week pretty much since January, and in May we lost a foundational family for the rest of the outreach season. All of us remaining at The House of Cornelius were pressed hard as we pushed through the season. We were either leading a team or in some kind of all-consuming support role. (Praise God. In the midst of it we were able to catch moments of family time and I even had some special times with the older kids as we travelled back and forth to Colorado in support of an outreach team.)

Added to this was the worst flash flood disaster the cities of Juarez and El Paso had experienced in many years. As God would have it, we had our last two, back-to-back outreaches right during the time when Juarez had evacuated people into shelters. Churches and individuals close to IFM poured out supplies, clothing and support for food and we were able, with both of the outreach teams to bring relief in Jesus' name to those in need.

God raised up so much that, the week after the last outreach team, we were able to return to a washed-out colonia with another huge load of food, clothing and supplies. We, as the House of Cornelius staff, with Joe and Kathy Hart, and a brother named Daniel from Arkansas, did a mini-outreach. But it was during this time when I was ready to give up.

The day before our planned outreach Daniel (who is Puerto Rican and bi-lingual) and I went to the Mexican customs office at the border to secure permission for bringing the goods into Mexico. We did not get permission, but were assured that it was possible if we returned the following morning and spoke to a higher official. From the border we went to meet Andy Wolcott at a wholesale food supplier in El Paso where we loaded two vans with probably 1.5 tons of food to give out the next day. That night we sorted food and clothing and bagged beans into the wee hours.

The following day we loaded four vans full of supplies and I went back to the Mexican customs office with Jose Luis, the head of IFM Mexico. We met with the official for some time. Essentially he explained that everything in the city was fine and that the Mexican government was no longer accepting donations for the flood victims. He even said that there were many displaced in El Paso (which was true) and that we should take our donations there. As a last appeal I explained that God had raised up these things specifically for the people in Juarez and that we needed to find a way to get them into the country. He looked at our appeal letter again and thumbed through our stack of reference letters from orphanages, churches, and other ministries in the city of Juarez and seemed to soften a little. He promised to appeal to his superior and told us to return at 1pm; two hours away. We went to the local Burritos El Padrino (they make a burrito you can't refuse...truly!) and then killed time until the meeting. Meanwhile the four vans were waiting in El Paso at Starbucks and then at Taco Cabana, eating, waiting, and praying.

At one o'clock we met with the official again. He was very polite and amiable, but said that our request had been denied. He said that Mexico may begin "accepting more donations" in October. I smiled and said politely that the food we have would probably spoil by then. He smiled back and shrugged his shoulders. We were denied. I called Joe Hart and with him Jose Luis and I discussed our options. We decided to go to a different bridge where there is a small customs office and see if they would have mercy on us. Meanwhile, Georgia Baca went to the little bridge near the House of Cornelius to talk with the officials there. In both cases, we were told that we had to go over the bridge with the main customs office; which was where we had just spent the morning in disappointment.

I was so tired. I wasn't thinking about the situation at all. I was just thinking about how ready I was to go home and let down. It had been a long year. The outreaches were over, and clearly we weren't going to be let into the country anyway. But the rest of the team was eager, ready, and faithful. Everyone was simply wondering how, not if, we would get these things into Mexico. There was one more bridge we could try and Joe Hart said we should go and rely on God's mercy. Again, I was just ready to go home. It was with some effort that I took the exit off the highway to the bridge instead of just continuing home.

We had four vehicles. The first two got through without a hitch, while the last two, mine being the last, were pulled aside for inspection. We were not trying to hide anything and told the Mexican customs officials what we had and who it was for. They were polite but also said that we needed to go back to the bridge with main customs office. "Okay," I thought, "we've tried it all. Now we'll have to go home."

While I was talking with the official I could see Kathy Hart walking toward us from where the first two vehicles had pulled over to wait. Shortly she arrived and I explained what had happened. She pleaded with the official in simple Spanish, asking for mercy and telling him how much we have been praying. But as she was talking, a second official walked up and began talking in the other ear of the first official. In a moment they turned to Kathy and said we could all go. As we turned to go, the second official gestered upward with his eyes and pointed to the sky!

When we reached the first two vehicles waiting in a nearby parking lot, we all stopped, got on our knees and gave thanks to God. We also, me included, had a keen sense that God was going to use this day mightily for His Kingdom, which warranted extraordinary opposition from the enemy. Although we were going primarily to give out relief supplies, we all prayed for the Gospel to be preached and for the supplies to be used to save souls. I didn't know at the time, but Kathy Hart had been burdened this way since we had left the colonia the previous week. She had been praying since for an opportunity to go back to those same people and share the message of salvation through the cross.

As God has clearly planned it, we got to the colonia in the early evening; close to five o'clock. As soon as we parked and started to make logistical plans, people began to come from all over the neighborhood. Within minutes, a hundred people had gathered; mostly women and children but because of the hour, many more men than usual.

We worked for a short time settings up canopies and unloading the vans. In the meantime close to 200 people had gathered. Then the Harts, Daniel, and Jose Luis went to address the crowd. Joe welcomed them all and then told the story of the day and how God had given us favor after many hours of frustration. (Later we heard some men say, "Do you know why the customs officials would not let you bring these things to us? It is because their bellies are full.") Then, after an inexorable rise of passion, Kathy Hart preached the message of salvation. She is not normally a preacher, but God had clearly answered her prayers and gave her the ability to express the facts of God's mercy in light of our sin with such clarity and force that we all stood back, prayed, and cheered her on in our hearts! What an awesome way to begin our time of handing out food and clothing! I was standing at an edge of the crowd taking pictures and I noticed a woman in tears. The message was hitting home.

For the rest of the evening, until it was almost too dark to see, we handed out fruits, vegetables, beans, rice, soap, toothpaste, diapers, shoes, and clothing. The food was arranged along tables and as the people came by with Wal Mart plastic shopping bags, we put a small quantity of each type. They then picked out toiletries and lined up again to go "shopping" in another tent with the clothes and shoes. It all went extremely well and in order, and we packed up the tents and tables before it was pitch dark and while people were picking over the last few items of clothing. In the end, every scrap of food and clothing was gone.

At the very end, a group of about a dozen women gathered around to talk with Kathy Hart who, with joy and love, explained the Good News of Jesus once again. Afterwards the women, two especially, prayed to receive the gift of salvation.

Nothing of value comes for free. The very full year, the intense weeks of outreach and flood relief, and the two days of failed diplomacy culminated in one of the most precious and glorious evenings I have experienced yet; and we will be able to share Him in Eternity with those ladies as a result.

It was all worth it.

--Thaine

Two incredibly packed weeks

A few posts ago, Erika talked about how I am the one who does most of the the going out while she holds down the home and churns out the French Toast. Thankfully, we do get to spend a lot of time as a family here, spending most mornings and evenings together. Occasionally we are able to go into Mexico or join an outreach team together, and we do get to do a lot of work around the campus together. But the first two weeks of June I was essentially gone; greeting Erika as my head hit the pillow. I had the privilege of co-leading, with Kathy Hart, an outreach team from south Denver and went to Colorado ahead of time so I could spend the getting-to-know-each-other time with the team on the bus ride to Texas. Then, following the outreach, I rode the bus back to Colorado to do the debriefing training. Kathy would normally have done that part of the trip since she lives in Colorado. But this time she needed to stay at the House of Cornelius, so I did both ends of the trip.

Many years ago we read a biographical, romanticized, children's book about the 18th century evangelist, Jonathan Edwards. He and his wife had about a dozen children and were both involved in public speaking. Jonathan did most of the traveling, but his wife traveled sometimes too. The thing that stuck in my mind about the biography is how both of them always took one or more children with them on their travels. They did not want to waste all that travel time that could be spent building relationships with their children. So in that spirit I was able to rent a car and take Rosemary and Heather with me to Colorado a few days ahead of the outreach. We had a delightful drive, visited grandparents, hiked, and Rosemary and I colluded on a surprise, mountain tea party for Heather. What a delight!

That Saturday the girls and I joined the Mission Hills Church outreach and rode the bus from Denver to the House of Cornelius. Although not "required" it is so great to be able to spend the time with the team on the bus for a day. We do some training, play a great name game, and generally get to know one another. By the end of the day I know everyone's name and a bit about their lives. Our family really hit it off with the members of this team. Every team is unique and there are deep bonds of friendship that result. But in so many ways this team was like-minded with us. I felt like I was on a bus full of old friends. Of course there is always the factor of common suffering. The bus was an old one with a tired AC unit that could not keep up with the 105 degree El Paso/Juarez heat!

The week of ministry was awesome, and the family was able to join the team twice; once at Agua Viva and once at the Vino, Trigo, y Aciete Hogar de Niños orphanage. Being the team co-leader is a big responsibility and a great honor. We went to a new (to IFM) colonia and had many, complex activities that went very well. The team set up a hair washing station in a courtyard which at first seems odd. But it is really a wonderful way for the team women to interact with the neighborhood women in a Christ-like-foot-washing way. The operation takes a few minutes and feels really good. Meanwhile they get to talk and then pray afterwards. Meanwhile the team men had a well-attended men's bible study in a nearby room. The next day we went to Agua Viva where we had a glorious day hanging out with the men, playing games, and talking about the Kingdom. That place is such a delight. Then followed two days at the orphanage which were, in retrospect, overstuffed with activities; but glorious none-the-less. The team brought "speed stacks" cups for the game of cup stacking. We had never heard of it before, but apparently it's quite wide-spread. I'm sure it's on the way to becoming an Olympic event. It's far less obscure than curling! What a hit that was. Especially the older kids at the orphange really got into it and were really fast.

After the outreach I had the blessing of riding back to Colorado with the team and Daniel and Jeremy! On the return trip I did the debriefing training which is an extremely important part of the outreach; giving perspective to and advice for dealing with the team's coming reverse culture shock. The IFM leadership has put together many wise things over the years. The boys and I then spent the following day hiking for six hours in the Indian Peaks wilderness with my parents. Praise God for His awesome creation! The next day we rented another car from the Denver International Airport and drove to El Paso. Again, it was a delight to spend a relaxing day driving with and relating to my boys. Praise God!

--Thaine

Borderland Communication

On the 4th of July, we had the opportunity to drive to Granjas del Desierto to deliver some practical items and money to the Agua Viva men’s rehab. The men there are always very thankful for such help, and receive such gifts with typical quiet, respectful graciousness and prayer. This time, one of the pastors was laid up on the couch in the office, his suspicious looking foot wrapped in antiquated gauze, with fluid seeping out. One of the resident translators explained he had been bitten 3 days previous by a scorpion, black widow, or something else. Somehow they didn’t know what it was. He had been taken to the doctor and treated with some anti-venom, and was supposed to return for daily follow up. However, they were out of fuel, and he hadn’t made it to any other visits. He was in some pain, but explained that the swelling that had been up to his knee had receded. He did say the foot was turning darker colors, and was a little worried. On inspection, he had a two centimeter ulceration on the back of his foot, with some red-purple discoloration, swelling and warmth involving the whole forefoot. I marked the edge of the discoloration with a pen, so at his next doctor visit they would know if the signs of possible infection were increasing or decreasing, we gave him some Advil (the nearest pharmacy had only 12 pills!), Thaine prayed with him and spread the word to some individuals who knew him so they could pray, too. We supplemented the financial part of the gift as best we could, and hoped it would facilitate his medical care. Although it was tempting to get more involved in his medical care, that is often unwise unless one is going to be around on an ongoing basis. It was better that he follow up with his Juarez doc than for me to “put my oar in” and not be available. What a strange feeling, however, to drive away and feel so concerned that if things did not go well, this man could lose his foot. In America, we just don’t very often have to grapple with such a possibility.

Back at home, I continued to be concerned, and our family and others were praying for this pastor. After 48 hours, I just had to know if he got to the doctor and was improving, or continuing to go without medication he might need. We have some donated antibiotics that would be ideal. The only phone number Thaine had was for the Agua Viva organization in general. He told me to call it and ask for the number of “el rancho.” Making long distance phone calls to strangers in a foreign language is not very fun. I offered the opportunity to Thaine, who declined and left me the honor. It actually went pretty well, but the number I received (all 13 digits) was for a cell phone. For some reason it is very difficult to call cell phones in Juarez from this side of the border. I tried everything I could think of, and called two long term residents of the area for tips with no success. One friend proposed a bilingual Mexican pastor as an intermediary, but of course he couldn’t be reached. Finally we called our friends in Colonia San Francisco. If we call them on our internet based phone (an accursedly difficult service to use but cheap) it doesn’t cost them, then they could call Agua Viva for us, and we could call them back later for the update. They, of course, cannot call us. It was an exercise in logic. Both phone calls to our friends left me sweating and grasping for chocolate when it was all over; even though they are the kindest people imaginable, they speak only Spanish. Eventually we did get word that the man was definitely improving! We were so thankful for this news.

--Erika