A's mother D. has arrived! Her visa allows her to stay 6 months. She is a warm, delightful woman who has not seen her daughter in four years, and who is just now meeting her two-year old grandson for the first time. I cannot imagine the emotions that she must be having. I wish I could speak her language, instead of having to have A. or H. translate, but it is wonderful how much we can communicate despite that barrier. She brought me a beautiful orchid and lavender print silk scarf, thanking me repeatedly for caring for her daughter. I wish I could find words, even in English, to tell her what A. has meant to me.
D. brought A. a very special, very costly, very black-market gift: a small, finely woven, handmade Persian rug showing Jesus next to a cross. It is a work of art which H. and D. will frame. The other night A. was having lots of pain, and H. was frantic, unable to do anything. Then he lit on an idea. He got the carpet and laid it over her, saying, "He has helped you before; He will help you again." A was comforted and relaxed, and was able to fall asleep.
Today when Steve and I visited, she proudly showed us the carpet, explaining the risks D. took acquiring it and the dangers of transporting it in her suitcase. Then she turned very solemnly to Steve and said, "Pastor, I make confession to you. When it is time for me to die and go up there I want this rug on me." She laid it across her tiny frame. "Not this way," she said, pulling it up over her face. "Promise me this way," she insisted, pulling it down so that Jesus' head rested over her heart.
It is moments like that that make up for all the ------- in ministry.
Next Wednesday H's mother and father arrive. It will be a full house. H. has told A. that he wants his parents to know that she has become a Christian, and that he is prepared to tell them himself. He has promised to defend her against any criticism they might make. A. is relieved but also nervous, I think, worrying about what might happen when her husband is gone. It is probably good her mother is there at the same time.
A. finished her final chemo last week. She made it through all eight rounds this time. She will never, ever have to have another round as long as she lives. Tomorrow they remove a kidney stent that has been giving her tremendous pain for the past year. As long as she was on chemo, they wouldn't touch it. We praise God for the gift of each day, and ask that she might have strength to enjoy these days with her family.
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
D. brought A. a very special, very costly, very black-market gift: a small, finely woven, handmade Persian rug showing Jesus next to a cross. It is a work of art which H. and D. will frame. The other night A. was having lots of pain, and H. was frantic, unable to do anything. Then he lit on an idea. He got the carpet and laid it over her, saying, "He has helped you before; He will help you again." A was comforted and relaxed, and was able to fall asleep.
Today when Steve and I visited, she proudly showed us the carpet, explaining the risks D. took acquiring it and the dangers of transporting it in her suitcase. Then she turned very solemnly to Steve and said, "Pastor, I make confession to you. When it is time for me to die and go up there I want this rug on me." She laid it across her tiny frame. "Not this way," she said, pulling it up over her face. "Promise me this way," she insisted, pulling it down so that Jesus' head rested over her heart.
It is moments like that that make up for all the ------- in ministry.
Next Wednesday H's mother and father arrive. It will be a full house. H. has told A. that he wants his parents to know that she has become a Christian, and that he is prepared to tell them himself. He has promised to defend her against any criticism they might make. A. is relieved but also nervous, I think, worrying about what might happen when her husband is gone. It is probably good her mother is there at the same time.
A. finished her final chemo last week. She made it through all eight rounds this time. She will never, ever have to have another round as long as she lives. Tomorrow they remove a kidney stent that has been giving her tremendous pain for the past year. As long as she was on chemo, they wouldn't touch it. We praise God for the gift of each day, and ask that she might have strength to enjoy these days with her family.
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
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