Pre-Fab Worship

I was recently at a conference about a cappella music. Most of the people there were from Orthodox traditions, Church of Christ, or people just interested in the music. There was also a panel of speakers who were from various non-traditional Churches who were presenting on Church music with/without instruments and what kind of music should be played in church today, etc.... One was from a more "emergent" Church who had some good words about bad hymns and good hymns, and how we should only be teaching our children the latter kind. But he was very non-denominational praise-band worshippy. Another speaker had a nifty PowerPoint program on "Convergence Worship". He had more degrees for his age than any ought to have, and the corporate nature in which he dealt with the topic at hand was slightly unnerving to my more traditional veins.

I must be growing - I didn't get angry and I was slightly amused.

One picture kept coming to my mind: With all the discussions about how we should worship and what music should be played and who are we targeting and are we being culturally relevant, I just kept asking myself how many times we must reinvent the wheel rather than getting on a cart that already has wheels and sorting things out from there. That's not the picture though, that was a rather long rabbit-trail. The various evenagelical movements today continue to put up pre-fab buildings on a parking lot (valet parking sometimes included) when right next-door is a cathedral that is founded in the Garden of Eden. We aren't supposed to be culturally relevant in our worship - WE'RE SUPPOSED TO WORSHIP THE ETERNAL AND EVERLASTING GOD OF HEAVEN AND EARTH. Like Adam. Moses. David. The Apostles. And all the faithful departed this life in a faith sturdy enough to hand down to their great-great-grandchildren. I want to go to Church to worship God in His Cathedral, and I want to better it for generationsI will never meet.

I pray that I will have the strength to build just one brick of that cathedral that spans all time until Christ's completion rather than be concerned with the pre-fab, quick-fix nature of my culture.

A Friendly Critique of State Universities

No, the illiteracy rate has not gone down. Millions of people across the world are trying to handle unplanned illiteracy. Most are unsure and uncomfortable in social arenas, and struggle with feelings of confusion and self-doubt. Many are just plain tired of not understanding, and often times not even knowing that they don’t understand. And so many never seek a remedy for fear of not “fitting in” with the literate college class.

But the State Universities are changing all that. By using taxpayers dollars, they are able to advertise cross-country using small words that the common people can understand. They are reaching out to the illiterate by offering a place where they will fit in – where everyone has had a mediocre education. The environment is one that they will understand, for the greatest draw comes from the public schools, allowing for a common level of comprehension.

The student counselors talk to people every day that think they are too illiterate to attend college, who are afraid of not being able to keep up. The counselors tell the illiterate population of today not to worry because the State University will meet them where they’re at, allowing them to receive a degree with the least possible work.

For example, Susie went to California State University frightened to death of having an overload of homework with lots of writing and tons of books to read that were written by dead white European authors. But when she talked to her counselor, all her fears were relieved. The reading would be less than her public high school, deadlines would be flexible, and the teachers would keep lectures simple. This would leave plenty of time for getting on to the things that are important in life like hanging-out with friends, keeping in touch with those back home, sports, and finding your perfect illiterate “other”.

That’s what your State University can do for you, because they understand life’s priorities.

A fun little tidbit -

Advice For U.S Citizens Visiting France

The following advice for American travelers going to France and it is intended as a guide for American travelers only.

General Overview

France is a medium-sized foreign country situated in the continent of Europe to the left of Germany. It is an important member of the world community, though not nearly as important as it thinks it is. Among its contributions to western civilisation are champagne, camembert cheese, French fries, the guillotine and an unsanitary method of kissing.

One continuing exasperation for American visitors is that local people insist on speaking in French, but will become immediately enraged should visitors try.

The People

The French people are temperamental, argumentative, proud, arrogant, aloof and undisciplined. These are their good points.

The French are aware that they have garlic & cheese halitosis, and it has caused them to perfect the dismissive shrug instead of conversation.

Men often have girls' names like Jean, Marie are Michel, and they kiss each other when they meet.

Cuisine

Let's face it, no matter how much garlic you put on it, a snail is just a slug with a shell on its back. Croissants on the other hand, are excellent, although it is impossible for most Americans to pronounce this word.

Public Holidays

France has more holidays than any other nation on Earth. Among its 361 national holidays are: 197 Saints' days, 37 National Liberation Days, 16 Declaration of Republic Days, 54 Return of Charles de Gaulle In-triumph-as-if-he-won-the-war-single-handed Days, 18 Napoleon Sent Into Exile Days, 17 Napoleon Called Back From Exile Days, and 2 France-is-Great-and-the-Rest-of-the-World-is-Rubbish Days.

Safety

In general, France is a safe destination, although travellers must be aware that from time to time it is invaded by Germany. Traditionally, the French surrender immediately and, apart from a temporary shortage of Jack Daniels life for the American visitor generally goes on much as before.

A tunnel connecting France to Britain beneath the English channel has been opened in recent years, to make it easier for the French government to flee to London during future German invasions.

Should there be a war while visiting, don’t worry about the Germans, but the French – if you see them coming, run like hell.

Bon Voyage!

Pondering thought...

A thought struck me the other day as I was driving with some students in the car. I thought a thought I'd never thought before, and I am quite intrigued by it.

In Heaven (wherever or whatever that is) there are four earthly bodies that we know of from the Scriptures. Moses, Elijah, and Enoch were presumably assumed into heaven with their earthly bodies very much still intact. And then of course, Jesus Christ, ascended into heaven with His resurrected body. So, are there three non-resurrected bodies living in heaven? Or was their flesh discarded somewhere in the journey? And, for interest's sake, what are those three bodies doing in a world of souls? Do questions like these have any implications on our beliefs and/or thoughts about heaven?

Please, comment!!

Post Scriptum: If you are Roman you would also be including the Blessed Mary in this (?)

Earth and Altar

For all of you who haven't subscribed yet, please go to http://www.earthandaltar.org
It is a wonderful Anglican Journal of "life and worship" which has been a great source of encouragement and edification for me. The following is the article I wrote for this last Issue, though I would highly recommend you get it off of the site (which is the edited and easily-printable version). Have a blessed Lent.

"Drowned in Living Waters"

Nietzsche couldn’t understand; Hitler got it backwards; Marx forgot humanity; and the Modern Christian gets it all wrong without thinking at all.

Going against the wisdom of this world, Christianity resembles more the survival of the weakest than the survival of the fittest – making foolish the prophets of our age. In his work, The Anti-Christ, Nietzsche said, “The weak and botched shall perish: the first principle of our charity”, but St. Paul maintains that, “when I am weak, then I am strong”. The German thinker claimed that “a [man or society] is corrupt when it loses its instincts, when it chooses, when it prefers, what is injurious to it” but the world’s Savior said “take up your cross and follow Me”. The morality of Modern Man declares virtue as “whatever augments the feeling of power, the will to power, power itself” while the Son of Man requires His followers to be “clothed in humility.” With condemnation Nietzsche wrote, “The fate of the Gospels was decided by death”, with acclamation the Patristics agree. Christians are insane, or at least they should be.

Lent is the embodiment of the Christian life in a Season, and as such is a portrayal of good Christian lunacy. So, dear readers, accept for a moment (at least the duration of this article) that you must die to live.

The story of Lent is one that encompasses all the Covenants, both past and future. It is Joseph who lay bruised and beaten in the depth of a pit only to rise up and be clad in Pharaoh’s clothes. It is desert-exiled Moses, a reluctant shepherd, who led God’s people to the Promised Land. It is a very sore Abraham, cut in his old age, who would have descendents enumerating the hosts of the sky. It is a short kid named David who conquered his fear (he couldn’t have had that good of an arm) and received a Throne. It is a girl pregnant out of wedlock who denied all pride and became Theotokos. It was God in flesh, battered and crucified ascending into heaven. And it will be our eternal judgment and the eternal banquet of the faithful. Christians old and new live in a backward reality.

In this Lenten story, we have all become Adams, hiding from ourselves and God, forgetting (or trying to forget) that He sees all. And so Lent is the time when God walks through the Garden, calling our name and asking us what we have done. We wriggle and whinny ourselves in every direction, pointing fingers and passing blame as layer after layer reveals us as basely human. Once we are stripped, our nakedness in plain view, then God begins to sew clothes for us. That usually happens around Day 39.

Lent is my favorite Season (which many find quite strange). I have a devotion to Lent because it is the journey of Christ. I walk unreservedly with Him in the desert of hunger to face demons and find angels. He asks us to follow Him unconditionally as He treads upon the thorns of sin with hope, but no sight, of a rose. He gives strength to be crucified with Him, to go down into the depths of Hades with Him, to die with only rumors of a resurrection. Forty days to see my utter depravity. Do not think that it is morbidity that finds love in these things. It is thankfulness that our Lord Christ would walk this earth to kill death itself and then, having finished the race, grants us the Spirit to share with Him in His suffering. In Lent the Spirit reveals with utmost clarity who I am, and utterly disturbed by the sight, I run to Christ and cling to Him, seeking to be clothed in and with Him.

Lent is also the sequence of our baptism; in baptism, we are drowned. Our old man is left gulping down fonts of water and suffocating while our New Man is raised to the newness of life. In the depths, in the fires of hell, in the baseness of humanity we are held for forty days. One day a week we are allowed to grasp a short breath of air, a wisp of victory, then under we go again. We are left to stare up through the blurred current at the Light, and as the days pass the darkness grows darker, and yet somehow it seems that the rays of the sun penetrate clearer through the rivulet of rushing sins. We are drowned in Living Waters.

And then it’s Holy Week. Blackness and agony enfold me as the assigned Readings cast all thought of my weak faith aside in the looming greatness of the Cross and Passion. Someone thought it was a good idea to read through every account of Christ’s agony and bloody sweat – brave soul. By Holy Saturday my soul has nowhere to turn but to that Font from which it was born, and the words of St. Augustine ring through my being:
Oh that I might find my rest and peace in you! Oh that you would come into my heart and so inebriate it that I would forget my own evils and embrace my one and only good, which is you! Oh, in the name of all your mercies, O Lord my God, tell me what you are to me! Say unto my soul; I am thy salvation. Speak so that I can hear. See, Lord, the ears of my heart are in front of you. Open them and say unto my soul: I am thy salvation. At these words I shall run and I shall take hold of you. Do not hide your face from me. Let me die, lest I should die indeed; only let me see your face.

In Lent we have been drowned, buried, and burned – we have experienced the eternity of forty days. But then our shoulders are grasped by strong hands and we are raised “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” We come out of the cleansing river and we breathe truly, for we have the Breath of Life restored in our lungs. We see truly, for we are blinded by the Light which casts out darkness. Easter has come, and we are not only raised with Christ, but we ascend with Him into the heavenlies. Here we are accepted to that Heavenly Banquet in the most unshrouded glory of the year – Christos Anesti! Nietzsche was wrong, Modern Man is a liar, Reality is not as we thought it. We have died to live.

Apologies

Yes, because I have been so long in checking my blog, the horrid evil-livers of the internet world had hit my site with copious amounts of obscenities. I heartily apologize if you saw this. May they repent.

...as sheep and cows

Would that I stopped to stare.

The wind plays its symphony upon those “lifeless” things: trees, leaves, grasses. The sheep and cows hear it - it is the white noise of their days. They seem quite content with it. Do they applause, or leave that to the swaying trees?

Wake. Pray. Read. Shower (well, sometimes). Granola and Yogurt. Birkenstocks on. Sound of the pavement during my "commute". Work.

The sound of rushing streams. Night and day hold no difference for them, the stars are always there. They pass rocks and other currents, they flow on in commute to a new destination. What makes water have that sound, and why do we say they’re rushing?

People everywhere – the same people as yesterday. Chaos. Corporate Prayer. Some children dance. Some children doze. Whiteboards. Phonics. Work.

Boughs, woods, squirrels, streams – these are not the only things at which to stop and stare.

Darkness turns to light during the time I pray. It reflects across the Lake. My prayers are consummated when I kneel beside naughty little boys. Laughing eyes of learning children. Penitent eyes of punished ones. The frustrations that prove humanity. Trying, and being tried, by that band of friends called “co-workers”.

Would that I stopped to stare, to see Beauty in my neighbors. To embrace that smile that waits in my student’s eyes. Would that I stopped to stare, but not as sheep or cows – that is for special days.

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

-William Davies

Angels

Any ideas why our culture, and ones that have gone before, have portrayed angels as babies, cherubs, or little children? Is that the best we can do when thinking about purity and innocence, or is there something more? Would we like to ignore the Scriptural picture of the terror-striking angels of Isaiah's writing or the flaming sword of the cherubim that guarded in every direction? Just curious.

Interesting thought...

I lifted this from my little brother (well, little in relation to years - he looms over me in height...).

"...history is an endless tide and so it is undamnable"

Never thought about it that way. Leave it to a 13-year-old.

Seraphim in the Sunset

There were Seraphim in the Sunset yesternight. The God of the heavens had painted in a glorious array of orange majesty the expanse above me. I was on my way to a friend's house, or at least was supposed to be, when I could go no further. When I stopped, time stopped with me as I observed the handiwork of the Creator. The clouds had an absolutely amazing floating nature to them, slightly wispy and yet the thick and strong they took their time with the wind as it urged them along. They flew with leisure, so that I could not see if they were commanding the winds or if the winds were commanding them. Both seemed in perfect unity, or maybe the wind seemed a bit impatient at times. And then that orange. No manish sub-creator could ever capture the palette before me. Many would snap their shutter and many would take up brush - but none would succeed to mix the proper hues. Indeed, this masterpiece before me was born from an infinite mind.

I am convinced that these colors could capture blinded eyes with sight - like mine or maybe yours or maybe the person that pulled off the road behind me. In some way in that frozen moment I felt the part of Isaiah at the Throne. In front of me a vision of the heavens that lie beneath the Eternal's throne and I could feel the wind from the Seraphim's wings as they flew in those clouds. My knees buckled as I felt my cheeks wettening. The Eternal, Almighty, Artist-God that thought this sky into being has chosen, called, saved, and loved a vile speck of dust. With the mighty Wind He breathed on this dust and made me His.

Thankfulness rushed through me as time began again as the drivers rushing past gave a curious glance. I was late to my friend's but on the road to Hamilton I had seen the Eternal.

Family Road-Trips

It's been four years since I've had the pleasure of accompanying my young siblings and two parents for the ritual 12-hour drive to Southern California for Thanksgiving. And the only reason I have time to write this now is because I am sitting in my parent's house at 7pm waiting to hear that age-old words "all aboard that's goin' ashore" from my dad. And waiting....And waiting. Of course this morning we were not going to take the tent trailor, but as of a few hours ago we are. Of course two hours ago I had to drive thirty minutes to pick up the car we're driving because it was in the mechanics. And, of course everyone's hustling and bustling with sharpish humors about them. BUT, some of my only memories of my family all together for more than ten hours are on road trips such as these. As we drive down the road (after we turn back twice to get what was forgotten) it is as though we enter a new world. What should have been done before simply melts away and lists are forgotten and we just ARE together. I like these times, even with the all-too-predictable inconveniences and unplanned adventures (like the time my dad got pulled over and was spread eagle on the ground because the cop had put in the wrong license plate number and the vehicle had come up stolen). So, Happy Thanksgiving - enjoy the difficult times with family because they make the good times so much sweeter.

Anti-Crossers

An older piece I wrote to address those who find the crossing of one’s self to be horrific and unacceptable for Protestants

Refutation of two Anti-Crossers


The first adversary is one that screams “Rome!” in a very loud, high-pitched, and slightly annoying voice as they sprint in the other direction. The best time to approach these types is when they have not yet seen you cross yourself and are completely unsuspecting of any Romish tendencies that they might later perceive. I would recommend at this time that you calmly approach the subject, subtly saying that crossing one’s self is indeed very Catholic, but in no way Roman (this comment may take a bit of explanation, which you must be prepared for).

The second adversary is one of a Gnostic tendency, specifically the kind that think crossing is highly “liturgical”, and liturgical means structure, and structure means a severely decreased leading of the Spirit. On the first point, they are absolutely right, on the second, even more correct, and I still haven’t quite nailed down what the third accusation really means in their mind, but I sometimes wonder if it could be related to that heartburn from Saturday-night pizza that hits during the third praise song…. I gently ask them to read the Old Testament and get back to me (encouraging them to consider that it is the same Spirit in both the Old and New Testaments). Upon our next meeting I ask them as tactfully as possible how they see the leading of the Spirit in their church. The response consistently seems to boil down to emotions, a popular example being: “I felt led to raise my hands.” If they go there, I light up like with excitement and exclaim that, “I feel led to cross myself, and when I do, so does everyone else in the congregation! We must be really unified in the Spirit!”

Blessed are the peacemakers.

Ag-ed love

Sixty-year old dancin' skirts swirled around as the war veteran and his belle danced at the All American Swing concert last weekend. The dancefloor was full of such couples, the hunched man gently holding his lover's wrinkled hand as the dance slowed to a flowing breeze. How long have they been married? How many times danced these dances? Do they remember holidays when the smartly-uniformed man joined his wife in the absence-wrought fondness? Several songs went by, and it was clear that they were trying to forget the arthritis that was creeping through their bodies as they swung the moves of yesteryear. No fatalities had occurred when we hit the 45-minute mark, which I only remember because that is the time when a young, early 20's couple stood to take the dancefloor. I felt this contained scoff come from within me - who were they to take the floor with couples who had been dancing together for 60 years? They were all lovey-dovey, but do they recognize that they have not yet attained love? Will they suffer all wrongs, take no offense, sacrifice for one another - know the true passion of those who have tested it and tried it and found it has little to do with feelings? One day, I hope, they will know the beauty that through trials grows ever more lovely in the beholder's eye.

The Fragrance of Christ to God

Burn my soul, dear God above, that all dross this day may banished be. I offer here myself a sacrifice, blinded by the blemish that I have become. The sin which so easily entangles has done well its work in me, until from the depths I cry unto Thee, knowing full well that Thine is the only hand that can make me clean. Yet lingers a fear, a shame that downcasts my soul - have I the faith to touch Thy hem as a woman years ago had done? This is the fire of which I speak: a cleansing flame by Spirit driven that returns me to the dust from which I came. But in my dying I am raised, for spotless Christ proclaims, "She is in Me and I in her - My blood has made us one". The fragrance now raised before the Throne is that of mingled flesh, as all sin, shame and spot are burned. My Husband has once again presented a spotless Bride to Thee.

Oh would that it did end there! But you, my whoring soul, are so like Israel, that day after after day this same must be done. How great is my desire to be true, faithful, and pure and yet how great my shame as once again you find me selling my soul to another. How well Thou knowest Hosea's grief! I beg, therefore, that through judgement and patience Thou would teach me to be a Wife. I seek to be not a daughter of Eve but a daughter of Mary. Through the power of Christ, may the incense of this handmaiden's faithful prayers be greater than the fragrance of my sacrificed sins. And in this may I be a pleasing aroma, the Fragrance of Christ to Thee.

I'm still here!!!!

Whew! That was a close one. I received Chris' cry to return to the blogfield, and was a bit confused until I saw the dreaded "Not Found" URL page. How can this be? Could I have lost all that work? A year and an half of thoughts and discussion? Travel stories, struggles, poems, updates, laughs, and tears - all lost to the black whole of the world wide web??? And then I hit "Republish blog". I'm not sure why I had to do that, but my universe has been restored. The doctor says I'll recover.

The Altar Cross

In an homile on the Holy Cross, the Priest mentioned that the practice of putting a cross on the Altar is actually a Reformational practice. I looked into it a bit and found that there is no evidence for any altar crosses before the 13th century, and even then it was not widely employed. We know that Bede's "Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum" contains reference to a Processional Cross going before St. Augustine, so that is an ancient practice. And there are citations that later (13th-14th C.) the cross was taken off the pole and placed onto the altar during service. So there was the idea of having a cross on the altar, but no such thing as the Altar Cross we are familiar with. I am still looking at things, but it would seem that the Reformation popularized the practice of having an altar cross, and particularly in England (spreading from there to the continent). I thought this was an interesting bit of history, has anyone else heard anything about this, or maybe could find more info?

The Church: Word, Water, Feast

A trochaic poem.


The beauty captures blinded eyes with sight,
As squinting ears lean in and heed those words
That lie unfolded upon wood so white,
And yet so scarlet-dyed for words unheard.

So great the strength within the clear water,
That prove the spear was true indeed, and now
They come to us from throne and font to give
Salvation strong - forever must endure.

As mouth and heart together take the grain,
A banquet lies aright with grape and yeast.
Within the lintels peace and joy are lain,
And voice cries out, “Made ready now the feast.”

The people fast in solidarity
Make way in fear with glad and unity.

Religion of PEACE Demonstration

Look at this site. This was in London this past February. For some reason the media seemed to miss that day...
http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/Muslim-Religion-of-Peach-Demonstration.htm

If everyone had a name...

From the beginning God named that which He loved. "Adam". "Eve". He next told Adam to name the animals, and naming became part of taking dominion. There is an authority involved in placing a name on something, and we name things we care about and things that we own. We put names on our children, we give nicknames to our friends, we bestow titles like "dad" on ones we love. We are naming creatures.

When Christ came, Mary and Joseph were not allowed to name their child because He would have a greater Father. And when Jesus began His ministry, He felt free to rename those who would be his disciples, such as Simon called Peter and the sons of Zebedee called "Boanerges". He named those He loved.

When we go to buy milk it is a quick task. But what if you knew everyone in the market? And even more, what if you cared about them? Then you would have the heart of Christ. In saying that, though, Christ didn't touch everyone or stop to call every person by name - He had a particular ministry with particular people in particular areas for particular purposes. He had a calling.

I am learning to trust my Gardener to prepare the soil of some particular plots. My calling is to the poor and needy, but they are too many and I am overwhelmed. I realized this week that if everyone had a name my heart, soul, and body would break. So I asked the Name above all Names to bring to me the faces He wants to name for me in order to fulfill His purposes and ministry.

An old friend has told me a number of times (in different ways), that the things which distract holy-livers aren't Saturday-night parties or adultery, they are the needy and hopeless situations that are outside of their focus or calling. If everyone in the market had a name, the milk would never be bought. But if you remember that the milk is the focus then you might very well enjoy one or two conversations along the way.

Too True

Borrowed from Chris. Perhpas my favorite comic ever.

Prayers

I received word that the Afrikaans missionary I worked with in S.Af. had an emotional breakdown on Monday. Please pray for both her and the orphanage, which will be sustained only by Christ in her absence. Also pray for one of the HIV+ babies (6mo. old) who has caught pneumonia and is in hospital. The prayers of the righteous avail much, thanks be to God.

Movie-watching

Last night I had my parents, a friend, and my 13-yr-old brother sit down to watch "Beyond Borders" with me, and realized something about my movie-watching habits. Since I have returned to the States I have this handful of movies that I want everyone I know to watch with me - why? They are good movies, but not all excellent films....maybe it would help if I told you the titles: "Yesterday", "Tsotsi", and "Beyond Borders" are the main ones so far.

In last night's film there is a scene near the beginning when "Sarah" stops the caravan to pick up a child who is scarcely recognizable as that, and being eyed by a vulture. My friend said, "Oh come on, there can't be children like that", as he turned toward me all I could do was nod. And it clicked all of a sudden why I show the same movies to everyone - because a handufl of scenes in them show the things that I can't say. I can't explain what it's like to hold a child dying of starvation or how hard it is to tell a woman she is HIV+ or what it's like to live in a place where one block is mansions and a mile down the road is corrugated shanties. Each of these films expresses a scene, a story, or a context that I know but cannot share.

Praying....

to...errr.....for.....ummm....with Saints? Without being Roman.

The question that must be addressed first, it seems, is who is part of the Church. There have typically been two parts of the Church of Christ: the visible and the invisible, comprised of "faithful men" who have preached the Word purely and administered the Sacraments according to Christ's ordinances (BCP, Article XIX). The writer of Hebrews tells us that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses (12:1) directly after having written about the faith of our ancestors and fathers from the Old Testament. Here, as well as in other places, we are told that we live our lives before those that have gone before [not to mention the angels] and their faith should inspire us. My point here is that they are still involved in the life of the Church, in our lives. We also call them the Church victorious, those who have fought the good fight and been called faithful servants due to their adoption in Christ as sons and their participation in the Body of Christ (both at the right hand of the Father and the Bride of Christ on earth). So, they are still part of the Church Body, they are our brothers and sisters forever and ever.

Secondly, it is a very clear principle throughout the New Testament that we should be offering up prayers on behalf of the Body. Christ prays for those that would believe (Jn. 17:9; :20), Paul records what he is praying for the different churches (Col. 1:9; II Thes 1:11), and he asks for prayers on behalf of himself and other churches (I Thes 5:25; Heb. 13:18). I don't think even this much is necessary to prove, but the point is that we are supposed to be praying for one another, and for the churches around the world that we don't even personally know.

Thirdly, in Rev. 8:3 the angel gathers all the prayers of the saints together with incense and these surround the Throne. I don't believe I overstep the texts cited by thinking that the victorious saints as our witnesses are raising their prayers with ours for those things that St. Paul tells the Church to pray for (e.g. holiness, purity, perserverance, etc...). And if you grant me that, then I don't see any problem with asking St. Therese of Liseaux (patron saint of tuberculosis, which claimed her life at 24 years) to pray for my brother T____________who has tuberculosis. She knows better than I how to pray for him in his specific illness and she is our sister in the victorious battle of faith.

A couple more thoughts.
1) I don't know if I have enough of a basis to say that St. Therese will pray for T_________ in the same way my mother will if I ask her (i.e. I don't have the verbal assurance).
2) Even if you think that there is not enough of a foundation to propose this, I don't see how we can say that it is wrong or evil to ask the saints to pray for ourselves or the brethren.

That's all for now. Please give me your thoughts.

ICONS. I recently had a discussion about them with my dad, who grew up in the Roman Catholic Church during a period of time that most seem to want to forget. He, like many during the 50's-60's, left the Church with a rotten taste in his mouth. While we were talking about icons, I brought up the point that protestant evangelicals don't seem to have any problem with putting a fridge magnet of George Bush up or a calendar of the most influential people in American history, or the like. I hope they don't worship them, and doubt they do, so why do they have them? To emulate, be inspired, reminded of sacrifice or leadership, to pray for those in similar sitations, etc... No wrong there. But, put a halo above their heads and usually the stones are picked up, the torches lit.
In my conversation I was pleasantly surprised, though, that there was some reception to the idea of putting Holy Christian men and women on our walls. Perhaps the reaction period is starting to dwindle, or we are trying to get back some of the baby we threw out with the bathwater - I don't know, but I'm excited.
Why do I have a picture of Mother Teresa's hands? Her hands represent the call of her soul, the charity of her heart, and the joy of her countenance. She was called to the poor and needy, a call that I share in. Looking at her hands reminds me to live out that calling, to make ready my hands to do the work of the Lord at all times. There are many other saints of old time that have taught my mind, soul, and body - and I find it very helpful to be reminded of those lessons, of their lives, of their sacrifices.
So how about it?

Water in the Wine

Not my poem, but a very humorous poem by G.K. Chesterton, who alone could blame Noah for the teetotallers.


Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God, And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.

First Steps...

Well, here is my first attempt at posting something, just something. This is a poem that I never finished (I was actually going to put it into proper form), so it remains in free verse (I know, not very classical of me at all! Where was I trained....). Please critique and tell me if you think some of my images could be cleared up or words replaced. It might help if you paste into Word or something, because I lost the format in this small confined space, and printed it is in the shape of a font or chalice.

Cheers.

Font and Chalice

Creation’s glory ascribed to Thee Oh Lord, Who yesterday, today, forever the same.
Thy throne ushered forth the waters that at Thy command birthed the world’s first form.
The same river, four-branched, brought life to Thy sacred Garden and watered Thy flock.
When mankind to vile sins did stoop in crimes too great for Thy imparted image to endure,
The four-fingered currents faced one another in frenzied haste, all obeying Thy just command
To baptize the child that from them had sprung. Their course not finished, they freely flowed
Through the lands of Egypt, where defiled they became. So Thou didst ordain that they in
Judgement should be purified through the blood that from Thy staff flowed. Thus shamed,
Thou madest them open up as a woman in childbirth that ushers her child into a new land.
As Thou with Thy finger continued to dig the trench of faith within Thy people’s heart,
So hardened they were that Thou decreed a fragment of stone to surge forth a stream.
Still jaded their soul was unfulfilled,
Till the time when Thou begot
The Rock of Faith
Which offered
The Waters
Eternal,
Which
At the
Cross
In holy
Covenant
Married the
Water and Blood.
Israel’s faith we fulfill,
As through Thy font we pass
And life from Life, we are reborn.
Thereafter clean, graciously admitted
To Thy holy Table, partakers we become.
Now in thankful chorus we raise our hymn of joy
Because at the Father’s whim He deigned to sup with us
Being triune-joined with Son, He Himself becomes the Host, Guest, and Food.
Let the flocks upon the thousandth hill be fed, for no longer does Egypt hold captive.
The rivers return to their four-winged course and carry with them the endless Fountainhead,

To Whom creation praises aloud with glory, laud and honor to Threefold Father Son and Spirit

Blogging...A Dirty Word??

I was just reading some of my very good friends' blogs and wondering why I seem to have blogger's block. I write all the time, I love to write short essays and poems and little tidbits about the world that I find amusing or intriguing. But putting on the internet seems a strange thing still. Maybe I have not moved into the next generation yet, maybe I still like pen and paper, maybe I like to keep my writings to myself so that noone can shatter the world of Nicole's mind. I don't know really, but I thought today that I could probably benefit from having people read and comment on my writing and maybe (just maybe) someone else would benefit from reading my writings.

This being said, I am not promising words that plunge the depths or even touch the white-capped waves, but maybe a grain of sand or salt here or there. And I profer an invitation for all of you to correct me, mock me, laugh at me, challenge me, or just ignore me.

The Path of Tomorrow

I hope that the silence broken by the rapid-fire posts will bring a smile to one of you...

Over three months ago I received a phone call while I was in South Africa, it was the Headmaster of the Academy I had graduated. He asked if I would consider coming back to teach for the school this next year, something I had never planned nor expected on doing - in fact, I laughed while I was on the phone. First of all, it was in the area I grew up in, the area that has three thousand inhabitants on a good day. Second, I thought that surely I would have better things to do than teach five-year-olds Latin and Greek. Thirdly, I was going to attend Nursing School. Obviously, it wasn't going to be an option, but I agreed to consider and pray about it. I had no idea that my laugh would be a far-off echo of Sarah's, the common voice being that both of us would see our surety crumble into foolishness.

In the blur of Africa and Europe and returning to the States, the Lord (and believe me, it could only have been His working...) began to incline my heart towards staying near my family, the Academy, and my Church. However, I applied to Nursing Schools and talked to counselor's and tried to get everything together to get into a program. The same response came from each - Nursing Program closed for enrollment until Spring Semester. And then I looked at the pre-req's. I am short a couple classes, one of which is a year-long course. To cut my story short, I will be doing the pre-req's as well as all the Non-Core classes that go along side the Nursing program. This I will do at a local college (don't worry, the next town has nearly 14,000 people - a thriving metropolis), be available to teach part-time at the Academy, and most importantly, influence and watch my three younger siblings grow (13, 10, & 8 yrs) - something I've missed for quite a few years now.

That's the Path of Tomorrow as I can tell so far. I know that I can see so little of all the landmarks, faces, challenges, and joys that it will hold - but my Master has directed, and I can do none but follow.

The Course of our Lives

I have been silent for a while now, and I apologize for those of you who faithfully check for any news.
In the way of the Christian life, it seems the more you trust in our Christ, the less you "know" about the next steps in your life. Perhaps it is the overwhelming assurance that you don't have to, an assurance that conquers human fears and stumbling steps (or worse, blind ones). Or maybe it is just me that needs to be schooled in trusting and following my Lord and Husband, and being such, He gently conceals what is to come while at the same time implanting a godly desire to follow in a certain way. It has been in the past year particularly that I have rested in this, rested in His peace, rested in His guidance, rested in Wisdom itself. And how beautiful it is to follow the One Who has always seen.

Dedicated To My Children

Long ago, in the mists of time,
He fashioned you and formed you and proclaimed,
“You are mine!”
And His word proclaimed is His word fulfilled,
so it was as your Father said.

I came across you there, and I knew. The promise was mine to give.
Not an obligation, not a need, not a duty or a task I had been given –
but a desire born of love…
That great and enduring blessing, which He gave to me to give to you.

As I sat and watched you breathing, and ran my hand across your soft, dark curls,
I considered the promise.
Not to be given lightly, such a promise.
A promise, not for a day, or a week, or a year… but always.
A promise, not only for the smiles and the roses and the sunny days,
but also for the tears, and the thorns and the thunderstorms.

Through the bottles and baths, the health and the sickness,
the new lives and the fresh graves I knew our Father’s voice:
“I will share in every trouble,
I will give you each joy doubled”
In that moment your gaze fell on me, and I saw your Father reflected in your smile.
And I knew that you were mine… For as long as the journey lasts.

For as long as the journey lasts… and yet I do not know the destination.
I will carry you with me, down this path, and we will listen for His voice.
Maybe tomorrow you’ll be going away, maybe today.
It may be a good while yet… so stay.

And as He charges me, so I pledge to you:
To love in patience, knowing that this world is new to you.
To love you kindly, knowing that you have been ripped from the warmth of a womb.
To love you with joy, knowing that your face may shortly be covered with dark earth.
To love you gently, knowing that you need my mother’s touch.
To love you through prayer, knowing that in them we will be always together.
I will bear with you, believe in your purpose, and endure all things with you.
I will love you always.

Beyond this hour, beyond this day, beyond the parting of our ways.
Because you were mine… and I chose to promise… For all time.

May Update (yes, a little late)

"...He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. And when He brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow Him for they know His voice." John 10:3

God has been so gracious to provide a bit of time in the UK to meet with other missionaries, old friends, new contacts, and to sit back, meditate, read and just "be". I spent the past year almost always around people, and as every mother knows, children don't seem to understand it when you try to be alone for a while. Thus, even after I would go to my room and be in bed, there would often be a quiet knocking and someone would need a cuddle, or a tucking in, or wanted a nighttime prayer. And then, all of a sudden, there were no children, no babies, no little footsteps at my door, but, God had graciously so orchestrated that the first place I stopped in England was with a family which has been involved in orphanage work for the past couple years. This allowed me to be open about my ministry, and more importantly, they understood completely the context I was talking about, and how it was to leave the children. It was wonderful, and the next ten days were filled with people who were very encouraging and I was surrounded by the lush green landscape and beautiful sights that I had not seen in a long time. God also opened up opportunities to speak with the students at a Bible School in York as well as several missionaries, which were unexpected blessings.

Though I was a bit worn out after traveling around the UK, it was a refreshed tiredness. And I flew into Budapest on the 19th, where I met with five other missionaries and continued with them through Eastern Europe. One of them I was in Kosovo with last year, Robbie Mezger, and this time his sister and brother-in-law are also with him. It has been a wonderful time of working with them, as they are considering moving to this area as full-time missionaries. It was amazing driving down from Budapest, through Hungary, Croatia, Bosnia, and Serbia and see the contrasts between countries lately ridden with war. We went to a petrol station in Serbia where we didn't speak English and then crossed the border of Kosovo and were loved because we spoke American.

We started out from Budapest and headed South, through Serbian borders, and then stopped over at a Seminary in Usjeck, Croatia. This part of Croatia very much still holds the scars of war upon nearly every wall. Some places here look and feel ominous and ghostly, a strange an unnatural silence prevailing, in the midst of which can be heard the hardened cries of unvoiced anger, hurt, and depression. And then we entered into the land of America-lovers: Kosovo. In this beautiful land we stayed with the same missionary that hosted us last year, and were involved with many of the same people there. It was very meaningful to return to the same city, Mitrovice, because I enjoyed the culture so much last year, and began some relationships that God has allowed me to continue through this year. These are a people that have done a commendable job rebuilding their shelled out homes but have yet to look towards the Master Builder to restore the life within them.

After our time in Kosovo we had a long drive to Dubrovnik, Croatia. The journey was glorious. Montenegro was mountainous with these jagged rock snow-covered mountains behind the green ones. And as it was a sunny day, the splendor of the Lord lit upon the peaks, saturated the sparse villages that precariously hung off the mountainsides, and reached down to the ravine that lay beneath us. What a site it was! In addition to the beauty we saw, we happened to be in Montenegro about ten hours after they declared independence from Serbia. We had been assured that it would be safe enough to be in the country on the day, and it was such a laugh to come to the border where all the guards could hardly stand because they were still half-drunk from the night before. We were gladly waved through

We headed out again and went to Bosnia. Even worse than Croatia were the buildings of Mostar and Sarajevo. We stopped in Mostar and walked around skeletons of buildings and into the downtown, which would appear in any other setting a nearly-normal downtown with sellers and ice cream shops. But scattered throughout, in corners or against walls, were signs that simply said, "Don't Forget". It has been 13 years since the year of death in Mostar, but with the constant daily reminders of shell-holed buildings and bomb-potted streets it would seem impossible to forget. As we moved through the country to Sarajevo, the story was the same. Here there has been more rebuilding and repair work, but there are still many, many reminders of the war. One of which would be the city graveyard filling the rolling hills with white monuments, all with the numbers 1995. I wonder if those hills mind that they have been so aerated by these steeples of white, or if they have calmly continued to push up the grass and daisies all the same. Whichever way, the sight is tragically luminous, like an host of candles on top a chocolate cake, whose flames will never again be lit. That being said, we were able to meet and get to know missionaries there who dream for a greater Light to stand upon that hill and cover the hurts of war and suffering. And they are vigorously praying and doing in order to see that happen.

We carried on to Vukovar, Croatia where we stayed with the pastor of one of the local churches that Robbie knew. Out of everywhere we went, this city grabbed my heart. The silence of the streets and the people was uncharacteristic; the cloud of depression was heavy upon the town and its inhabitants. It seemed that even the Communist buildings had begun to feel the weight of their gray and crumbling perfectly-placed stones. In this city God established a relationship between a woman in her late twenties and me. She did me the honour of sharing her difficult story with me and asking for advice. She has been given cause to doubt everything and everyone in the world, including herself and God, but now she is at an end, a place where she will either cling to Christ, or struggle against drowning in the dark sea which surrounds her. My prayers are that she will look to Christ, and I would ask all of you to join me in praying for someone to come alongside her to encourage her and to show her the Love which is immutable.

Another move to Zagreb to meet with a missionary family there for a few days, and then off we went to Budapest to debrief with one another. Altogether we had a wonderful trip and were able to bring hope and encouragement to both the missionaries and churches in these areas, which is always such an honour and testimony to the Head of this Family which spans the nations.

Some more news is that I will be returning stateside in June. It will be wonderful to meet again with my family, Churches, and friends in the late June/July months. The thing I look forward to most is rejoining a local flock, to be in the midst of fellow sheep both to encourage and be encouraged.

Until we meet again in the flesh. In the Eternal Presence, Nicole de Martimprey

Please Proceed to your departure gate

Flight BA 2193 is now calling passengers to landing gate 54. And now since I'm sitting at a computer in the airport lounge, I will need to run to aforementioned departure gate. So, see you soon!

Greatest Apologies

I have grievously misinformed all of you in my recent posts. Sarajevo, as I have so gently been corrected, is in Bosnia. Thanks, team! Cheers.

1984 Olympics

At this very spot the Winter Olympics of 1984 were held. Now the resort is covered in bullet-holes and blackened buildings. What a change for so short a time.

War Graves in Sarajevo

Only part of a field filled with white monuments.

Man in Sarajevo, BOSNIA

Psalm 46

I just sat down in Vukovar, Croatia, and opened my Bible to Psalm 46. I am reminded how wars may come and wars may thrive and continue, but it is God Who oversees all, who makes the weapons to fall. And in the midst of war He says, "Be still and know that I am God" followed by the assurance of His exaltation throughout all the earth, within all the warring nations. Even now I am looking out among the buildings that have been poxed with shells and bombs. What would take a lifetime to see are the stories which have become the lives of these people. War-deaths, blood-feuds, depression, suicide, alcoholism, grief that is worse than death - all these lay behind the hospitable coffee-visits and cheery faces. Do not look too closely, though, because the eyes are fuller than a glass of water that has formed at tenuous dome above the rim. They have seen too much and have bourne under an hopeless situation. And yet Yawheh's word still echoes in the heavy air: Be still. God is our refuge. He Who created all the universe brought land out o sea, formed people and divided nations, made a throne of a mangerč this same God looked at the children and said, "come unto me", beheld the harlot and pronounced, "your sins are forgiven". Are not the lives of these people not only known to Him, but come near to His heart in the tears of this widowed land? Have not the screams of the orphans pierced His ears? And have not the faithful among these entered into the sanctuary of rest which is His bosom?

It would be farthest from my desires in writing this to pretend that I know the hardship of war or the ocean of grief that comes in its wake. My only desire is to extol the God Who is both merciful and just. The God who delivers His people as He did in the time of David. David cries out to God time and time again in desperation, fear, and grief but his voice can also be heard in the shout of triumph, the song of praise, and the prayers of faith. My prayer for these people of the former Yugoslavia is that they may raise their broken hearts and voices to the God Who created them and find solace under the shadow of His wings.

Please see: Psalm 57; 47; 49; 55; 56; 59; 91.

What, then, is my God?

"For who is Lord but the Lord? Or who is God save our God? O highest and best, most powerful, most all-powerful, most merciful and most just, most deeply hidden and most nearly present, most beautiful and most strong, constant yet incomprehensible, changeless, yet changing all things, never new, never old, making all things new; bringing the proud to decay and they know it not: always acting and always at rest, still gathering yet never wanting: upholding, filling, and protecting, creating, nourishing and bringing to perfection: seeking, although in need of nothing. You love, but with no storm of passion: you are jealous, but with no anxious fear: You repent, but do not grieve; in your anger calm; you change your works, but never change your plan: you take back what you find and yet have never lost: never in need, you are yet glad of gain: never greedy, yet still demanding profit on your loans: to be paid in excess, so that you may be the debtor, and yet who has anything which is not yours? You pay back debts which you never owed and cancel debts without losing anything. "

St. Augustine: The Confessions. I.4

Quickie

Just a quick note. We are currently in Croatia, but have been through Hungary, Serbia, and Kosovo in the past bit. It has been so wonderful to be working with a few other missionaries again. I am able to unload some of the memories and burdens of the past year with people who can understand on a missionary level, and that has been such a blessing. The other thing that God is allowing me to re-learn is how to laugh. To share a sense of humour with people from my culture has been very freeing in a way. Perhaps this doesn´t make sense, but know that I have been surrounded by the comforting embrace of the Lord as I have embarked on this transition.

Change of Scenery

This sign is from my pilgrimage in the UK:



This sign is from my work in Croatia-Bosnia-Serbia:

Durham, England

"I will praise thee, O Lord, among the people; I will sing unto thee among the nations. For thy mercy is great unto the heavens, and thy truth unto the clouds. Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens; let thy glory be above all the earth"
Ps. 57

The past five days have held within them some of the deepest pain and the nearest peace I can recall in my life. The day I left my South African home there were some extremely painful circumstances that I've considered writing about, but every time I sit down to do it, I can't: they are too near to me. These things have been a heavy burden to carry with me, but even my first day away I was penetrated by the peace of the Lord. I know that many of you are to be thanked for that, because you were in faithful prayers for me that day. But greater than our prayers united was the mercy and grace of our God to grant me a peace which truly passed understanding. Such peace, I found, requires ultimate trust and confidence in Him Who bestows it, which in turn offers assurance. What rest I have been granted in the Father of the nations!

For the great part that you have played in this peace and rest, I thank you. It is a blessing to serve with brothers and sisters around the world and be united in prayer before that ever-ready Helper.

For those at NSA, good luck on this graduation day. May your time with family and friends be a blessed reunion.

Saying Goodbye my loves

The Big Kids


Thulani


My dearest boy


My Lindiwe

English Air

I have arrived safely in England. I will be making a short pilgrimage around the country and then leaving for Eastern Europe on the 19th.

Yesterday I said goodbye to part of myself. It's hard with children: they are so dependent upon you for everything that it seems their very existence is linked to yours, so leaving is not possible. It was a very hard day, but our gracious Lord filled it with such thankfulness that I was quite overwhelmed by the honor I was given for the past ten months to care after these children who, though abused by the world, were created according to His good purpose. And part of that purpose involved me - in over an hundred children. Our God is truly amazing. After many tears and hugs and kisses, I saw the dust of Africa no longer beneath my feet, but beneath the clouds.

As I make this trip in the UK over the next ten days or so, I will have time to reflect and write and meditate on the good things of the Lord in my life over the past while, so I hope that shortly I can share those things with you. Until then, thank you for your continued prayers and love. I would ask that you keep Ntombifuthi also in your prayers, as she has found my leaving particularly difficult.

In Him Who created the expanse, Nicole

Annie Dillard

Perhaps I first opened the pages of "Holy the Firm" with skepticism due to whom it came from, a normally white-collared fellow who read Karl Barth's Systematic Theology for fun. With expectations of a perfectly dogmatic short novel holding with all orthodox thoughts, I began a journey into Puget Sound.

I rocked. I rolled. I listened with my whole being to the creek-like words of Annie Dillard. Rock ahead! Slight curve and gracefully she passes. She touches upon the infinite between two earthen banks. She flows but not as a river. As the creek by the house where I grew up, no easy path to take. Is she a heretic? She dodges herself back into orthodoxy. A Philosopher? No becomes my answer as nihilism flows into the current of idealism which both run into realism in some banded rush.

She becomes creation to portray creation. She is the creek outside my door.

My Moon-Face

This child is one that stopped breathing when he first came to us, and has my air in his lungs. He has become precious to me with his Moon-Face and beautiful smile. Last week he found a family to be adopted into and is now receiving the blessing of a forever-mother. But I am blessed to have taken care of him for the first four months of his precious life.

Here is the address for sending donations, thank you for your support of the Lord's work here in both finances and prayers.


ARM Ministries
PO Box 141324
Dallas TX 75214

USA

Within the envelope specify “Nicole de Martimprey”.

The other option is to go to: http://www.armmin.org/giving.htm and make a donation online. You will receive a hard copy receipt for both options.

Thank you, Nicole

The Next Step

“The path of the just is as the shining sun, shining ever brighter until the coming day”

We serve a mighty God, and the God Who created our days before time, and what a comfort that has been these past few weeks. That season has come again which serves to refocus on our crucified Lord, encourageing Lenten knees and a penitent heart. In this time I have offered up prayers for direction and guidance, and I am assured that yours have mingled with mine before the Throne. In accordance with the counsel of my parents and some wise brothers and sisters, the Lord allowed me to see the wisdom in returning to school for a Nursing degree. With this in heart and mind, I began to prepare my fellow workers that my time here was coming to an end. This decision having been made, my departure date set for 04 May, I found my heart filled with sorrow. What a struggle to leave these little ones who have been given to me when their earthly parents rejected them. And now I was to leave them, preparing other workers to care for them. I was truly heavy-laden with grieved love.

It was during this time that I began considering spending a bit of time in England before returning home, to re-acclimate and have a good time of rest. I presented it to my parents, and after praying about it, we decided that I would throw out some lines and consider some options of working there for the summer months. What we didn’t see was that God was preparing us for His plan, which would involve me not returning to the States quite yet.

On the Sat/Sun I formally presented my plans to attend Nursing school in the Spring to my brothers and sisters around TLC. On Monday and Tuesday I found much time for prayer and contemplation, and had such a peace that if the Lord desired me to work in England for a while, He would prepare the way and teach me how to walk in it. On Wednesday I received emails from the president of my Mission Org. (Alan Mezger), and from a good friend, and fellow missionary, in Ireland. The former presented me with the option of a return mission trip to Kosovo, and new mission work in Bosnia and Croatia. The latter was a request that if I was in England, would I “please, please, please [go] visit” her, and have a prayer retreat with her in Northern Ireland for the purpose of encouragement and edification. Then I looked at a calendar, and the flow of the dates was amazing: Arrive England 05 May. Ireland 07 May. Leave for Kosovo/Bosnia/Croatia with fellow missionaries 18 May. After this I would still have a bit of time to spend in England before needing to return home. According to this plan I would probably arrive Stateside in early August.

This plan was so far beyond anything I was thinking that I was just amazed when it all came together on one day, I was filled with gratefulness and excitement, and after speaking to my parents, they shared in my excitement and saw that God had given clear direction and they would be behind me all the way. The timing was perfect. First, I think that God had used the idea of me staying in England for a while to soften my heart and the hearts of my parents for me being gone a while longer. Second, I was in need of confirmation that my time at TLC was finished according to the Lord’s plan, and this gave ample confirmation. And third, having the assurance that I was and would be doing that which the Lord had prepared for me relieved some of the burden of sorrow I had in leaving, filling me with trust that He would ready me for going, and provide TLC with someone to fill my place. God is truly good and gracious to His children.

On the financial side of things, all the trips up to England will cost around $2000 (including airfare), which has not yet been covered. Once I get to England, there are a few options, and I await the Lord’s direction there. The first option is to primarily work with some ministries there (both for children and adults) at a lower intensity than at present, and the other is to get a medial job to cover expenses while I am there and work with the ministries on the side. However my path has been laid, when I arrive in England I am praying for a restful time in meditation and prayer, receiving again the blessing of being in a Church, and re-acclimating to the first world.

It seems that so much has happened since my last update only a month ago! For those of you who didn’t hear, Ntombfuti had an healthy baby girl, and they are both well. Thank you for your prayers in that situation, what a relief I felt the night she delivered, and I had a deep sleep for the first time in two weeks. As for new prayer requests:

- Someone to fill my place at TLC

- Thanks and praise to our God for His clear direction and assurances in the past couple weeks.

- For my departure: preparation for me and the children.


Thank you for your prayers, and for sending me your prayer requests. Though We are many, We are one. In expectation of our risen Lord, Nicole de Martimprey

The Birth Certificate

Ntombifuti filled out her birth certificate this week, and the name of her child is "Mbali Nicole". Mbali is a traditional African name for "flower". I am delighted.

Ntombfuti and I (obviously before birth)

Erik & I

It's a Girl!!

Ntombfuti delivered an healthy baby girl. Thank you so much for all your prayers, please continue to pray that she may have an open and soft heart to accept all that I can give her (the least of which is physical aid). Thanks be to God, the Father of the fatherless.

My godson at 3.2 pounds

HERE'S LOOKIN' AT YOU, KID

A few of my "Nesties"

One of my Littlies, Melinda

Faith (2yrs) and I

Ntombifuti and I

Autumn Update (Feb.)

The African sun is losing is exchanging it’s bite with the autumn air, which seems to go straight to the bones. The cold months are approaching around here, and the green is turning to brown, the winds are taking over, and the fires will begin to eat up the land. But inside the doors of the orphanage things are cozy, excepting the inescapable drafts that make their way through the walls. The children’s health, on the whole, has returned thanks to the hand of our Healer and the faithful prayers of His saints, both here and there. I know that the prayers we lifted up together for these little ones rose before the Throne in a sweet aroma, and God has heard our petitions.

Though the challenge of health seems to have passed for the moment, others have appeared. Lately I have felt like the large weeping willow that is outside my window: my trunk is firm planted in the strong ground of faith, but the rest of me is blown around in the winds of life. For one of these winds I request your urgent prayers:

* There is a 17 year old girl named Ntombifuti who God has allowed me to establish a relationship with, provide her with food and clothes, and taught her how to support herself. She became pregnant nine months ago, and was due somewhere around the end of February. She lives with her mother and seven siblings in a shack about fifteen minutes from where I am, and she and her mother have never had a conversation about her being pregnant. I talked to her mom about it, and she just doesn’t care and doesn’t want to know about it, she’s not bitter, it’s just no big thing in her life, so she’s not concerned about it. About six weeks ago, after much prayer, the Lord opened Ntombifuti up to me, and she asked for help. Last week she asked me if I would still come for the birth if it was in the night, and I can still hear the tremor in her voice that betrayed her hidden fear. Then on this past Friday her mother just said, “there must be something wrong, she must go see the witch doctor”. I tried to dissuade them from the idea, saying I would just take her to the hospital, but they are sure there is a “block” on the child that is keeping it from coming. With sorrow and a broken heart I left it, knowing the only way to change their minds would be on my knees. The baby has not come as of today. Please keep us in your prayers.

On a different note, I want to thank all of you who either sent things with my mother for the orphanage, or aided her in her journeys. Her visit was a blessing and a needed encouragement after nine months of not seeing a familiar face. She arrived safely and she just jumped in changing nappies and feeding bottles and holding and cuddling (the babies, not me….). Everyone here was blessed by her, and quite a few of the workers found her a good replacement for their mothers. Quite comically, a couple days after she was here I started getting these small bumps all over my arms and torso. They kept spreading over the next four days or so, and I wasn’t quite sure what it was, and then we realized that I had borrowed a mattress to lie on while she was in my bed and the mattress just happened to have fleas. So I was covered in flea bites, and we eventually just shared a twin bed – I’m sure it deepened our relationship… But overall the trip was amazing, and I know that it will continue to be a blessing as I visit my parents because they will have such a clearer picture of where and what I have been doing. Thank you so much for your support and prayers in helping her get here.

I will never be able to show all of you my gratefulness for your continued prayers, they continue to minister greatly to me. Please send me any specific prayer requests from all of you, and I will join you in them.


In the same fight & bound together in the Spirit, Nicole

Thank You

I just want to thank all of you for your constant prayers and support. I appreciate all of your comments on my updates here, and am encouraged and hopeful that God is using the words of my mouth to minister in some way. I wish I could respond to you all personally but I'm not so saavy with webpages as to respond to your comments, so bear with me! Together in the fight, Nicole

In thankfulness to the goodness of God our Father, greetings.

The crisis of the past two weeks seems to be over now as the coughing decreases and dulled eyes regain their bright (and often naughty) gleam. Though one more child has passed from this world, the others have been blessed by the hand of the Healer and are quickly recovering.

My last update has raised some questions about how we do things here, so I will try to clarify some of what I referred to.
Our hospital is about 20 km away from the orphanage, taking about 15 minutes to drive to. When taking a child in an emergency-type situation I will always take another worker with me unless I am going as a precautionary measure. What happened with the little one last week was that I took him in because he hadn’t been drinking well and was losing weight and couldn’t maintain body temperature, it hadn’t become an emergency yet, I just needed him to see the doctor. At the time when I left I didn’t think it was necessary to take anyone with me, and though I tried to find someone anyway, no one was available. Because he was premature he had breathing irregularities in general (which is why I had my hand on his chest while I was driving), but he hadn’t stopped breathing altogether until we were on our way to the hospital. Had he stopped breathing before I left I never would have gone to the hospital alone. Once at the hospital they were able to put him on oxygen and stabilize him for the time being.
At the orphanage we have all the devices to conduct safe CPR, or “resuscitation”. In this day and age it is extremely unadvised and dangerous to conduct a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation due to the possible transmission of infectious blood and mucous-borne diseases (such as HIV and TB). Therefore we have CPR infant masks throughout the Orphanage and train all of our workers on warning signs and emergency measures in young children. Alongside this training we also have classes for the workers on the ins-and-outs of HIV/AIDS, precautions that should be taken, and how to give proper care to infected children.

Hopefully that serves to clarify the picture a bit of how these situations are handled around here. Our constant prayer over these past weeks has been that wisdom would outweigh rashness and caution would outmeasure panic.

As regards my health, I assure you all that I have been as careful as possible given the circumstances. God sustained me through the worst of times, and has granted me sleep after the storm, and has fully sustained my health. For this I continue to be thankful. I am also looking forward to taking a short holiday this next week that I might be refreshed.

Thank you for all of your faithful prayers, questions, thoughts, and concerns. May you now join me in praising the God Who is the strength of those who falter, the shelter for the weary, and the health of the ill. –Nicole de Martimprey

Baby-on-the-back African style

Lindi & I yet again

Giving my godson his first solids

Feeding my godson his first proper solids

In truth, I thought it would be too boring to feed him this cereal for his first solids so I actually gave him carrot cake about fifteen minutes before this...Much more exciting

Unabella

15 January 2006

In Him Who is able to do all things, greetings from South Africa.


On the good side of things, this Holiday season was quite a joy as I found myself surrounded by the smiling faces of fifty children. I’ve never had a Christmas without snow (much less in 90+ degree weather), or had a BBQ and water fight on the day, so this year was definitely a year of new traditions. In South Africa the country basically shuts down from mid Dec. to early Jan. – government offices/buildings, shops, stores, restaurants, hospitals – everybody. This was a very strange thought compared to the typical consumerism that floods America during those times. Of course at the orphanage things never shut down, or stop, or pause, because children just keep on being children no matter the time of year. So the words “Christmas break” seem very foreign to me at the moment. But I did get to take a break from the ordinary routine and make Biscuits and Gravy for all the kids and adults. Only one other person had ever had such a thing, but it was a big hit.


Though the Christmas season passed smoothly, this new year has brought many heartaches with it. Almost two weeks ago now I felt the need to see on of my small babies, Unabella (3 months). It was about 21h30 and when I went in to see her I found her struggling to breathe. She responded to my CPR for about five minutes, but then it was apparent that she was in her last moments on earth. I pronounced her dead at 21h45. I had named her Unabella because she was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Three days before we had found out that she had a rapid-progressing form of AIDS, I just didn’t know it would be that rapid. I did a small service and viewing for the workers that night and we were able to talk a bit about her condition.


Five days after this sorrow, some of our premature babies started getting a bronchial infection which resulted in me resuscitating three of them and rushing them to hospital. One of those times I didn’t have anyone to take with me to hospital, so I had to keep my hand on his chest, drive until he would stop breathing, get him to breathe, and drive on. This week I have spent over thirty hours in the nearest hospital (which is NOT our hospital of choice) and three days without sleep. During these times I knew I was being sheltered under the wings of my Father, being supplied with the strength that only He can give. By Saturday we knew that we had viral pneumonia going through, and over twenty of our babies have it. My normal routine turned into crisis management as children needed to be put on oxygen, antibiotics, etc… and, being sick, needed twice the amount of holding and love. Sunday morning, though, God granted me sleep, 12 hours of it, and besides the flat tire I got Sunday night, Monday brings a new week, and I pray that it will hold much encouragement.


Thank you for your constant prayers, I would ask for your particular prayers for the health of the children and workers. I have two workers who have come down with the illness, and we pray that no more will go down with it. I am in continual thanks that I remain healthy amidst these times, please pray that my health continues.


In a spirit of rejoicing I look forward to a visit from my mother! God has used the generosity of some dear saints and old friends from home, and they have paid for my mom to come visit me here and see my work. She arrives on the 30th of January and will be here for about 12 days. I look forward to the encouragement that I know she will bring with her, and ask for your prayers that she may have safe travels and a blessed time.


Our God is truly the God of the Universe, still upholding men with His breath of life. He is present in our time of need, and our comfort in times of sorrow. He has given His angels charge over us to guard us in all our ways, and lights the way He would have us walk in. In my Stronghold and the Lifter of my head, peace and joy.



-Nicole de Martimprey

Lindi Loo

This is my beautiful Lindiwe, the face that lights up mine in the morning when I walk through and she just laughs with joy at the sight of her "mama".

This is a small part of my family, three of the four who are "my children". Lindiwe is my beautiful little girl, Trevor is my small 6 month old godson (baptized end of Nov.), and Thulani is my special little buddy.

The Sky-Soother

The sunsets in this country are amazing. The colors mix and morph before your eyes as light to dark the sky becomes. Sometimes it is as though a fire has been lit in heaven, as the warming glow crosses the field, consuming all in its fingertips. Then the softer tones of pink and purple and peach clothe the field and (if your lucky) the room in the soft tones of baby colors.

But today I realized that it’s not the colors of the sky alone that hold my stare. Whenever I look and really see the beauty of the sky, it grasps me because it is the same sky. Everywhere in the world it is the same. And more importantly, it is the same sky that touches my homeland. The same sun that rises and sets here is seen by my mom when she walks in the morning and my dad when he drives home from work. Yes, it is beautiful, but its beauty is enhanced tenfold because it is shared by those I love in the places only the sky can reach.

In Queue at Bara

The things that can become "normal" in this strange world sometimes hit your reality quite hard. Today I sat in Q at Baragwanath Hospital in Soweto, South Africa. Besides the now-very-often occurance of being the only white in the hospitals, today the stares went to a new level.

First, a lady walking through stopped and said that I shouldn't have a baby "that" colour (the baby I had was of mixed color) and that she would take him. I told her this was my child and she couldn't have him. I held on tight, fought for him and she eventually went away in an huff.

Then there was a sight that turned my stomach. It takes a lot to do that, but this was more than enough. A man so skin-and-bones that you thought he would break under his own frail weight was waiting in the corridor. Then he shifted himself and I saw an extremity that was gangrene, which is a difficult sight alone. But there was an organic growth coming out the bottom of his stub.

Outside the hospital I saw a man park his combie bus, get out and take off his rims. He proceeded to put them under his seat, leave and return within an half hour. He put back on the rims and took his passengers. Apparently beauty really does come before pain. I wonder how many stops he makes a day....

All in a day's work.

The Various and Sundry

Stories, that is.

* Last month some of our older children came to me, beckoning me to the kitchen where there was a woman waiting. When I had a chance to break away from the orphanage, I went to find that the older kids had opened the gate for a needy woman who now sat at our table eating our dinner. I walked in and gave the only greeting I know in her language, and without a response she greedily grabbed my sweatshirt with food-covered hands and started tugging, and then my pants. With the language barrier I wasn’t sure I was understanding her correctly, until one of our workers came in and told me that she wanted my clothes. I looked at this woman and saw no plea, no petition of any sort, just a demand for the clothes I had on. For some reason I’d never learned how to respond in like situations and was a bit baffled. We did send her away with a few sweaters and a roll, and without the slightest thanks she hurried away.

* The family that began the orphanage, as I mentioned before, has adopted 21 children themselves between the mum and two of the daughters. There isn’t one of the children that doesn’t have an amazing and encouraging story, so here are a few more of them. Murphy, 4-5yrs, was actually not born. Her mum went in to have an abortion and though she was aborted God would not allow this little one to be murdered. The doctor knew she was still alive, took the dustbin outside the room and got in touch with TLC, who immediately took in our Murphy. Reuel is twelve and a good buddy of mine. He was heard screaming from inside a sack in the gutter on the side of a road and a passerby picked him up and brought him to us. His adopted brother Joshua, who is the same age, was found in a public toilet, umbilical cord and all the rest still attached – abandoned thankfully where someone would find him.

* The Local Soap Opera. One of our premature babies, Nikita, has a white mother and who knows what for a father. The mother gave birth in an hotel room, and someone convinced her to bring the child here. She did but with the hopes of taking her back on day. Of course the mother is an alcoholic who lives in a shanty and will, therefore, never be allowed to care for the child now that social work is involved. A few weeks after we got this very pale baby a black man showed up named Frank claiming to be the father. Though obvious to all that this child was not his, he insists that she is. Then the mother came the next week, said we must feed her girl bottled water because she’s thirsty and doesn’t like milk, and left her out naked on the changing table “to air her out”. She is not going to be able to take Nikita but she also will not see her in the arms of another, so the poor child will remain family-less with us. I am the lucky one who gets to supervise the mother, Laura, which also means that I get to hear her trying to figure out who the father might be when she comes to visit. There are six options.

“Now thanks be to God Who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ.” II Cor. 2:14


South Africa in October


As your weather begins to cool, here in the Southern Hemisphere the temperature gauge is heading north. Summer has officially started, bringing with it the summer rains that give drink to this dry and thirsty land. The other night we had an amazing lightning, thunder, rain, and hail storm that was beautiful. I stood outside in it (until the hail got big enough to hurt) and as the power was out it was absolutely black except for the lightning that split the sky. Whew! I’m still excited about it.


Ministry has been going very well here. We have started a program called “Jewels of Hope” at the orphanage that is blossoming. Currently we have seven girls between 15-17 years old who come once a week to learn how to make jewelry. It is a ten week course altogether, and by the end we hope to have taught them a very basic knowledge of business (adding, multiplying, and profit/loss), how to make the actual jewelry, and in weeks 8-10 they actually begin making some money off the jewelry they make. This week will be our sixth together and it has been a wonderful outlet from the orphanage work. The seven girls are from shelters and squatter camps and are in the program so they can bring in some money for their family. As I teach them how to make jewelry they are teaching me Zulu and more importantly, they are telling me about their lives. I pray each week for an opportunity to be a beacon of light in their dark and Christless lives. With many prayers and financial support we hope to open the program up for 100 children by the end of next year.


Inside the orphanage, as I’ve very eagerly told many of you, one of my children, Lindiwe, has moved her way from being one of the precious ones to being my favourite. Every time I go into the room, her eyes light up and I'm all she wants (thankfully it's reciprocal). She is 1 ½ years old and has “the Virus” (AIDS). There should be a picture on my webpage of her shortly. She looks like a wise old grandmother to me, the kind that would sit around telling stories to her grandchildren – or an old tribal bard, keeper of the ancient stories. I think she is beautiful, many think hers is a face only a mother could love. And though I’ve never been a mother, I cannot imagine a stronger maternal attachment than the one I have for Lindi.


I have also given Lindi a sister, Faith, who has a more progressed AIDS. She is a fighter even when she has no strength to suck a bottle. Many nights I have spent syringing liquids down her every hour in the hopes that God would spare her life just one more day – and He has. She has had a week without sickness and her legs are almost able to support her weight (with a bit of aid). We continue to raise her up in our daily prayers because she can turn in the matter of six hours and lose half her body weight in three days. Needless to say, she gets a lot of my attention. It has been kind of surprising to me that I gravitate towards the sick babies, but am thankful that God has placed them so heavily on my heart.


Though I haven’t figured out how to rightly communicate this, I have found a passion in what I’m doing that I’ve not had before. It’s not just working with children or starting bible studies, driving children around, or teaching – it’s everything. Relationships, people, children, learning, just living and working in the Lord’s service, however or wherever that happens to be has become a wonderful and passionate endeavor for me. I think I owe some thanks to Natali for convincing me over the past few years that emotions are a great part of our humanness, and our Image bearing. But what I’ve found is the more I have this passion (in head and heart) for life, the more things hurt as well. The more I love Faith and give of myself for her, the deeper the pain goes when she gets sick. I’m sure that most of you already learned these things a long time ago, but it is rather new for me and makes me feel very vulnerable. But I see God using this vulnerability to build in me compassion that goes through my works, thoughts, feelings, and prayers.


This update is overdue already, so I am going to close for now. But hopefully the next one will be sooner in coming and some stories should find their way onto my webpage soon. Thank you for your care, prayers, and support of me – your emails and cards (and tape messages) are greatly appreciated. It is such a blessing to know that each day we are unified in Spirit though separated by many miles, and your correspondences always reaffirm that.

Together in the Fight,

Nicole de Martimprey



"May we learn to love Thee Whom we have not seen, by loving our brethren whom we have seen." -Henry Alford