Too Much Homework is Overwhelming!

I haven’t forgotten that I need to write Part 2 of my last post, Blessed Reassurance.  But here’s the thing: I’ve just got too much writing to do at the moment.  I need to write:

  1. The script for a film about the missionary guesthouse that my apartment in Milan has become,
  2. The script for a PowerPoint about the ministry,
  3. A new post for the website’s blog, and
  4. Part 2 of my last blog post, mentioned above)

In addition to those writing tasks, I have 2 very big translation jobs:

  1. A book from Italian into English (due by the end of the summer) and
  2. Our corporate paperwork from English into Italian (due as soon as possible)

All this is just overwhelming me almost to the point of paralysis.

So, instead of putting off the blog altogether, I thought I would take a pleasant little detour today, and take you on a little guided tour into a writer’s mind—mine!  I have written 3 complete books (nonfiction), and 2 that I never completely finished (fiction—I lost interest ¾ of the way through), and several plays (3-5 acts) and skits, the majority of which have been produced in schools and/or churches.  That’s not bragging, it’s just establishing that I know a thing or 2 about writing.

my books2 of the 3–the only ones I own copies of!

Sometimes people tell me that they feel that urge to write, but writing a book just seems like too big a task.  It’s funny but, I found books to be the easiest thing to write.  Although by word count my plays are about a 10th the size of my books, they were much harder to write.  It was rewarding when they were done, especially when I saw my plays acted on the stage.  But writing, especially dialogue, was like do-it-yourself dentistry: painful and difficult.  Pulling the words out of my characters’ mouths was like trying to extract my own teeth with a rusty pair of pliers.  (How’s that for a colorful image?)

Books are not so hard to write if you break the task into small pieces.  The blog has helped with that—something I hadn’t imagined when I first started blogging just 3 years ago.  In addition, writing becomes easier if you make a regular appointment with yourself.  I try to write daily, but sometimes my heavy travel schedule makes it impossible to keep up with every single day.  One thing I found is that if you start to treat your writing time as an important appointment, you’ll find that your creative self will meet you at your desk, ready to write.  But you must treat your writing task as something important.  Turn off the phone, don’t answer the door, and close your web browser (unless you need to do research on the internet).

Beginning writers might find more success if they write things out with pencil and paper.  My first book was entirely handwritten before a word of it was put on the computer.  There is something about the sound of the pencil scratching across the page that unblocks the creative wells.  And, yes, even writing nonfiction is creative.  You have an incident that happened, but you choose how to shade it and frame it.

If you want to write, but don’t know what to write about, then take a look at what you like to read.  I have always preferred true life stories, how people overcame their circumstances by faith.  I think that’s why I lost interest in writing those 2 novels.  I just find real life so much more interesting, bizarre, and unpredictable.  Many of the things that have happened in my life are so strange that you simply could never make them up.  And the fact that they are true gives them a meaning that mere fiction could never attain.

It is extremely helpful to be a part of a writing group, that is, a group of writers that get together to support each other’s work.  The key word is support.  If the group you find is only interested in tearing each other’s work apart, then find or form another group.  The most helpful writing group I’ve been in was one in which each of us read what we had worked on that week.  Sometimes it’s only by hearing yourself read it aloud that you can notice things like run-on sentences and nonsensical phrasings.  The others then critiqued the writing, but always in kind and helpful ways.

In general, it’s not a good idea to share your writing with non-writers—at least not at first.  Non-writers usually don’t know how to tell you what works and what doesn’t.  Sometimes their comments will be a sweeping statement of disapproval, when in reality there is just a misplaced word or an awkward phrase.  The writing process has been likened to pregnancy and birth.  You wouldn’t give your newborn baby to an inexperienced and clumsy teenager, so you need to treat your newborn writing project with as much care and tenderness.

Editing is way more difficult than writing.  The most important ingredient for editing is time.  Put your writing aside for several weeks or even months.  That will give you fresh eyes to edit with.  So after reading your work to a writing group, making the changes suggested by your “midwives,” put it aside and work on something else or a different part of the project.  Then when you come back to it, you will be much more objective about what you’ve written.  Sometimes you’ll even be surprised by how good it is.

During the editing process, I like to add the sensory imagery that is missing from the first draft.  Sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste all add a dimension to the writing that will help your reader become engrossed in your writing.  Since my writing is nonfiction, this means going back in my mind to remember these missing elements.  Sometimes these come back to me in Technicolor, Dolby surround sound, and Odorama (does anyone else remember Polyester?).  Other times, I have to imagine what is missing.  But this is such an important element that I dare not skip this step, even if it’s difficult to remember.

So, there you have it: my writing process.  Oh, and one last thing: while praying the other day, the Lord showed me that this year I have been working on 2 books simultaneously—hallelujah!  God is good!

A Bad Translation and a Couple of Prophetic Words

“Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come unless the falling away comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition,” (2 Thessalonians 2:3, emphasis mine).  I heard read an interesting study saying that the word apostasy, meaning heresy and often translated as falling away or departure from the faith is a bad translation.  The Greek word apostasia means departure, as in physically leaving a place.  Nowhere in any ancient Greek text is the word apostasia used in the sense of heresy.  It always means departure.  Also, elsewhere in the New Testament the word is used only in the sense of departure.

In light of the true meaning of the word, 2 Thessalonians 2:3 should read: “Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come unless the departure comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition,” (emphasis mine).  The departure is when we leave earth—the Rapture.

The Rapture makes sense of verse 7, which says: “For the secret power of lawlessness is already at work; but the One who now holds it back will continue to do so till He is taken out of the way.”  Right now the Holy Spirit present on earth in the bodies of Christians is what is restraining evil from having full reign.  When we are raptured away, evil will run rampant in the earth unrestrained.  That’s when the antichrist will be revealed.

Here’s a link to read in more depth about the mis-translation of the word apostasia and the pre-tribulation rapture: The Rapture in 2 Thessalonians 2:3.  And of course, you should read that whole passage to understand everything in context.  In fact, go ahead and read the whole book of 2nd Thessalonians.  It’s short.  Read both books of Thessalonians.  I’ll wait here until you get back.  ☺

I’ve been visiting missionaries, Suki and Dave, in Tuscany, and together we visited a couple of churches.  Last night I received a prophetic word.  The prophet said that I have a strong character—said twice.  And that I am at a crossroads where I need to make a decision, that I already know the right choice.  Suki was also given a prophetic word that encouraged her.

It’s true, I was presented with an interesting choice—one that I didn’t tell anyone about.  Potentially, the choice could make me a nice little profit, but I felt that it wasn’t the right choice.  So I prayed about it.  I didn’t get an answer per se, but just continued to feel that chasing the money wasn’t what God wanted me to do.  This prophetic word confirmed what I had already felt.

This morning Suki told me that she had a word for me, Isaiah 45:1-3, which says: “This is what the Lord says to his anointed, to [Alisa—she inserted my name in place of Cyrus], whose right hand I take hold of to subdue nations before [her] and to strip kings of their armor, to open doors before [her] so that gates will not be shut: I will go before you and will level the mountains; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron.  I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.”  Amen!  Hallelujah!  This is not the first time I’ve received a word like this, but I never get tired of hearing about hidden treasures, the full inheritance, the table full of whatever I want (all of which have been prophesied over me).  I know that God loves me and that He provides everything I could ever want or need.

Suki went on to say that as she was praying for me, the Lord showed her that my life has been a very solitary one, despite the fact that I’m a cheerful, friendly person.  She didn’t have any way of knowing that about my past life (having only known me for a year), but she’s exactly right.  Even during my marriage I was alone much of the time.

And my present life is very solitary.  There are a lot of people who come and go, and I come and go, visiting missionaries all over Europe.  But I am mostly alone, traveling from place to place.  I don’t often write about loneliness because to be perfectly honest, I don’t often feel lonely.  There is a big difference between being alone and being lonely.  Although I am often alone, I rarely feel lonely.  Plus, there are worse things than being lonely—and an unhappy marriage is one of them.  But loneliness is something that most people fear, so they think that maybe I am unhappy when they realize how alone I am.  I think this is what Suki thought when God revealed to her about my solitary life.  I assured her that I am alone a lot, but very content, and living a very full life in the midst of solitude.  I don’t know if I convinced her, but it’s the truth.

I have a ring that is twisted into a Mobius strip with Jeremiah 29:11 inscribed on it: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”  I wear this ring on the finger where a wedding ring goes.  It’s not that I hate men—not at all!—but I just don’t know how I would ever fit one into my life and ministry.  I know that it’s easy to say no to the man I’ve never met, but to be honest, I now consider myself married to Jesus.  I am anxiously waiting for the day when He comes to catch me up into the air for our wedding feast in Heaven.  So if a man meets me and sees the ring on my finger, it tells the story: I’m already spoken for.  And I keep myself busy, doing the work He has given me to do until that day comes—alone, but not lonely.  God is good!

ringI know the plans He has for me are all good!

Granny’s Eyes and the Little Lost Bird

I returned from the Budapest, Bratislava, and Vienna trip feeling very tired and ready for a rest from traveling.  We had stayed in hostels the whole 2 weeks, so having a bedroom all to myself with a door feels like unbelievable luxury.  Of course, my hostel roommates were all very considerate—even those who were strangers—and I had no trouble sleeping.  But still, there is something about having space all to yourself.

When my plane landed at Milan Malpensa Airport and I turned on my phone, I received a voicemail message from a cousin that I had never met.  His mother had contacted me some weeks ago, asking if he could come stay with me.  He arrived in Milan the very same day that I did: Sunday.

My cousin is a big, sweet guy from Texas who goes by BC.  That’s very Texan to go by initials instead of a name.  This is his first trip to Italy, and he travels very light.  BC is 28 years old, very adventurous and open-minded.  When we wandered around a bit, looking for the tram stop in an unfamiliar area, it didn’t faze him one bit.  BC just takes things as they come.  He’s also a kindred spirit, with a big wanderlust and love for Europe.

He started out in Portugal, where he has friends.  After a few days there, he made his way down the coast to Spain, saw the Rock of Gibraltar, and back up the Mediterranean coast to France, then Turin, Italy where he spent the night Saturday night before coming to see his missionary cousin in Milan.  He showed me pictures of his trip, and they included some pictures of his mom, my dad’s cousin.  I saw a resemblance to my great-grandmother.  She looked like I would imagine that Granny had looked as a younger woman.  Her eyes were especially like Granny’s.  BC might look like his dad, who I never knew, but the family resemblance in his mom is unmistakable.

I took BC around the center and showed him the castle, the cathedral, the galleria, and La Scala opera house.  It’s amazing to be with someone who isn’t tired of seeing churches and castles.  It’s almost like seeing these things for the first time again.

Milan’s cathedral, the Duomo, is beautiful and a real wonder.  It is the 3rd largest cathedral in the world, after St. Peter’s in Rome and Notre Dame in Paris.  It was under construction for over 500 years, and has over 3000 life-sized statues built into its façade.  Although we didn’t go up there, it is possible to go explore the roof of the cathedral.  From the roof of the cathedral, you can really grasp just how enormous it is.  And from there, a whole lot more of the cathedral is still far over your head—all of it very intricately carved.

Inside the cathedral, BC and I went into the crypt that is behind and under the altar.  There lay the mummified remains of San Carlo (St. Charles), who had been bishop of Milan a few hundred years ago.  I had seen it before, and it still creeps me out.  BC was also creeped-out.  I also pointed out the statue of St. Bartholomew.  I had seen pictures of it, but had never spotted it before.  The saints are always depicted in the way that they were martyred.  According to legend, Bartholomew was skinned alive.  So the statue (which stands inside the cathedral near the side exit) shows him standing skinless with his skin draped over his shoulders—also very creepy.  Creepy religious art seems to be an Italian thing because I can’t remember even once seeing anything like this in any church in any other country.

When BC had spent 2 nights here, he declared himself to be rested and restless.  He said that he wanted to go by train to Como and on into Switzerland from there.  So I took him to the train station, helped him buy his ticket from the machine, and we said our goodbyes.  Yes, he is kin and a kindred spirit!

Today as I was finishing writing about BC’s visit a bird hit my window.  I was surprised to see that it was a parakeet.  It wasn’t afraid of me, and let me pick it up.  I took it downstairs to the custodian.  “Does anyone in our building keep birds?” I asked.  She said no, but advised me to ask the custodian of the building across the street.

I carried my little friend across the street and asked the custodian there.  She keeps birds, but both of her parakeets were still in their cage, which is enormous.  I asked if anyone in her building keeps birds, but she said no.  She opened the cage and told me to put it in.  At first the bird was reluctant to let go of my finger, but finally went into the cage.  It proceeded to investigate its new surroundings, while the other birds came closer for a good look at the newcomer.  There was a moment of tension while one of the birds fluttered at the newcomer, but soon they seemed to settle into a posture of guardedly watching each other.

“Thank you for taking the bird,” I said.  “Of course,” she chuckled.  “The cage is big enough for all 3, and I think they will get along.  I’m glad you brought it.  Left outside, he would surely starve to death.”

As I crossed back to my apartment building I felt grateful that I had been home when the bird hit the window.  Otherwise the poor thing would have died sooner or later.  I realized that it feels really good to have helped the little bird, and also to help the people who pass through my apartment.  Not that the people are in danger, but it’s good to help them on their way.  This is what I do.  God is good!

Six Hours Late

What kind of business people are frequently late?

What kind of business people never let you know that they’re running late?

What kind of business people are absolutely unforgiving if you’re late?

What kind of business people never apologize for being late?

What kind of business people claim that they are “on time” if they are under 6 hours late?

Airlines, that’s who!  I’m not sure why we put up with it, but we do.  Honestly, their behavior is outrageous.

Today I am at Milan Malpensa Airport.  I was here on time for my flight, but the plane is 6 hours late.  No apology, no explanation, besides “technical problem” was given.  I was lucky enough to find one of the 3 plugs in this part of the airport.  Thus the ability to write a bit as I wait.

I have to say that I am glad not to be stuck on the plane for 6 hours.  A friend was on her plane for 5 ½ hours before the start of a transatlantic flight.  So add 7 or 8 hours to that 5 ½.  The airline can maintain a good “on time” record if they manage to take off within 6 hours of their scheduled time.  Being stuck in the airport is far better than being stuck on the plane for all that time.

Of course it’s always wise to travel with something to read, but 6 hours in an uncomfortable airline waiting room chair is still too much.  I feel especially sorry for one of my companions.  She’s a young mother with a 2 year old.  She told me that they had left the house at 5:00 this morning, and now our flight (originally scheduled for 12:50) is scheduled for 7:00 this evening.  Her little boy is cute, and a very happy child, but how do you keep a 2 year old entertained for 6 hours in an airport?  I don’t envy her at all!  Every once in a while I see him dash past me with her in pursuit.  She had asked the airline to put her on a flight to somewhere near Budapest, but they refused because it would mean putting her with another airline.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIf you can see a pink Z next to this notice, you might know which airline I was flying!

I had missionaries who were coming to meet me at the airport in Budapest from about an hour away.  They were going to take me to a gypsy Bible study group, but I will have to miss that.  I checked into the possibility of being compensated in some way for missing the meeting.  But that’s not happening.  I guess I’m glad it’s not actually costing me money to miss the meeting.  But I imagine that some of these people might lose money over being late.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAYou can pass the time playing silly games with your friends.

Anyway, that’s enough griping for now.  No matter how incompetent or inconsiderate the airline is, God is always good.  Maybe I’ll go see if that young mother could use a hand keeping the boy entertained.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe young mother and her little boy take a rest.

—The Next Day—

I found the young mother with tears in her eyes.  She said that she had a terrible headache, so I offered to go get her some aspirin.  However, the airport newsstand that sells all sorts of other travel aids doesn’t sell aspirin.  They told me that I would have to exit security and go to the airport pharmacy.  By this point, it was too close to our 7PM takeoff time to do that, so I got her a bottle of water instead.

She refused the water, but told me that she managed to find someone with aspirin.  And she pointed to the signboard for our gate, which now had takeoff time at 7:50.  She was planning on taking a train to her town about 2 hours away.  She wouldn’t get home until about midnight now.  I wanted to talk with my missionary friends to see if there was any way that we could help her, but the really odd thing is that she vanished into the crowd.  I never saw her again.  I looked for her on the bus on the plane, at baggage claim, but she was just not there.  I have no idea what happened to her.

Some people might be discouraged by not having been able to help the young mother, and I felt that way at first.  But there are some people who are very closed and unwilling to accept help.  I suspect that is the case with her.  She told me that she is Hungarian, but her son and his father are Italian.  She said that she is a believer.

But although she may believe, she doesn’t appear to have a personal relationship with Jesus.  She didn’t refer to the boy’s father as her husband.  Also, I think she’s probably not Hungarian, but Romanian.  Many Romanians from Transylvania (Hungarian-speaking Romania) claim to be Hungarian because of the extreme prejudice of the Italians against Romanians.  Northern Romania is about 2 hours by train from Budapest.  I also got the sense that she was running away.  Perhaps the boy’s father is abusive.  Who knows.  One possible explanation for her disappearance could be the father discovering where she was and blocking her from taking his son out of Italy.  And being abused could be a reason for refusing help—abuse victims don’t feel worthy of help.  That tends to keep the cycle repeating on them.

Whatever the reason, she disappeared, and I never saw her again.  Nevertheless, I feel a peace about her.  I did what I could for her, but there is only so much that some people will accept before the burden of kindness becomes more than they can bear.  I think you call that a guilty conscience.  I prayed for her, and will continue to pray for her.  She didn’t allow me to do much of anything for her, but God can do what I can’t—and more.  God is good!

Encouragement from Above

A Facebook Friend, A Powerful Testimony, A New Brother in Christ

Recently, I have suffered some very hard blows.  These attacks really hit me where I live, and were difficult to take because they came from dear, trusted friends.  And they caused one of my closest friends to suffer, which is even harder to take than my own suffering.  Initially, I saw only the people involved.  I reacted as I usually do, with my Texas-style bluntness—speaking the truth without tact.  But after prayer, I began to discern the enemy who had used these friends against my friend and me.  Can those relationships be restored?

That was my question to God Tuesday morning.  Immediately, I got several encouraging messages through e-mail and on Facebook.  These friends and their messages so encouraged me that I began to believe that these relationships can, indeed, be restored.

One person who encouraged me greatly is Angelica, a missionary who lives very close to Milan.  I was so moved by her kind words that I felt an immediate and deep desire to meet her in person.  She was very enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting me, too.  So I started making plans to go visit Angelica immediately.

No sooner did I make that decision, than I heard from another friend, Casey, who lives in a small city in Tuscany.  Casey invited me to come hear Tony Anthony speak at a church in Modena that evening.  Since Angelica’s town is halfway to Modena, and since Casey told me that we had accommodations for the night, I said yes.

Tony’s testimony is powerful and very moving, and I encourage you to follow that link to his website.  On the train to Modena, Casey met an African man from Ivory Coast.  She talked to him about Jesus, and invited him to come hear Tony speak, too.  And he did.  He asked Jesus into his heart!  That’s what it’s all about: sharing the Gospel!

Between trains, I’d only had a moment to hug and greet Angelica on Tuesday, but Casey and I returned to Angelica’s home for a proper visit yesterday.  We had that immediate intimacy—a meeting of the hearts—that only comes from sisterhood in Christ.  We laughed, we cried, we prayed, we praised God.  We had a marvelous visit.  Now that I know how close she is, I can go visit her whenever I’m home in Milan.

Anyway, God used all of these things to encourage me after the difficulties and disappointments of recent events.  But more than encourage me, God has strengthened me to believe that the relationships can and will be restored—if I can let Him speak more tactfully through me.  Please pray for me to speak the truth in love, but also with delicacy and tact that can mend bruised relationships.  God is good!

Take a Walk

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“Take a walk,” the Lord told me.  So I put on a light jacket and headed out.  It was a nice, sunny day, and much warmer than it has been in months.  When I got to the piazza near my house, I took out my camera and took some pictures of the flowering trees—straight overhead shots so that they were against that background of clear blue.  I took another picture of petal litter because the trees are raining petals.  Petals make a much prettier fall than leaves in autumn, and they smell a lot better, too.

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Yesterday was a miserable day.  It is always difficult eating again after a 3 week fast.  Your stomach has to re-learn how to digest solids, and the size has shrunken.  I know this, and had eaten only a very small meal, but it was still too much.  I woke up with severe stomach cramps (not abdominal, these were localized to the organ, itself).  Then about 12 hours after eating it, the meal came back up, untouched by digestive acids.  The Lord told me to lay on my left side, and I was able to sleep.  But when I rolled onto my right side, my stomach immediately cramped again.  It felt like a rock a little bigger than my fist, just under my heart.  You can’t even imagine the pain.

Now, some people will read that and say, “Why fast, then?”  Fasting is an important spiritual practice.  I just haven’t gotten very good at getting back into eating again.  But there are things that you must fast and pray to get to a deeper level.  Am I going to quit fasting just because I go through some physical pain?  (Really excruciating pain!)  No!  Because it is more important to me to have that time of closeness with God.  Besides, He did help me through it.

About mid-afternoon I began to feel better, but still not 100%.  I went to bed about 7:30 and slept 8 hours straight through—something I haven’t done in decades.  This morning, although I woke early, I felt really good.  I had some business to take care of (printer problems and a dishwasher that sometimes wouldn’t drain), but those things that had seemed enormous when I was feeling so bad turned out to be very easily and cheaply fixed.  And that’s when the Lord told me to take a walk.

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But flowering trees and petal litter, although nice, were not why He had me get out.  My spirit’s attention was called to 3 things:

  1. A notice about a missing cat
  2. A street vendor hawking his wares
  3. A massage parlor

You don’t see this so much in the US, but here in Italy there are people who set up tables outside the subway entrances or the grocery stores and sell belts, hats, sunglasses, umbrellas, cellphone covers, or purses.  Many of them have their spot and will return there daily to set up shop.  These people do not have a license and do not pay VAT (or in Italy the Partita IVA).  They are illegal.  The laws are not enforced rigorously enough to prevent them from their activities.

I knew this already.  But the Lord showed me that these vendors are modern day slaves.  They came here based on the promise of a better life, and many actually risked their lives to get here.  Now they work for a boss who supplies their goods and takes their profits.  They live in wretched conditions without legal documents, afraid of what will happen to them and to their families if they don’t sell enough.

The massage parlor is also a place of slavery, and there are massage parlors every few blocks throughout Milan.  At first I innocently believed that the Milanese were just a very stressed-out bunch of people.  But then I began to notice that the massage parlors had names like Desiderio (desire), and had pictures of beautiful women either draped as when receiving a massage or scantily clad and giving a massage.  One even had a picture of one of the rooms which had a double bed.  My older son is a massage therapist and he uses a massage table.  The massage table is high enough not to hurt the back of the massage therapist.  It is very firm, though padded, and is actually less wide than a single bed.  There is no legitimate reason for a double bed in a massage parlor.

Traditionally, the police have arrested or chased away both of these kinds of slaves, succeeding only in scattering them briefly.  The only country that has had any effect upon stopping prostitution is Sweden (see Nefarious Merchant of Souls for more information).  The US doesn’t see much of the street vendors because the laws are enforces, but that only drives the vendors indoors, where they set up sweatshops to do tailoring or manufacturing of cheap goods, or nail salons.  I would be very interested to see what we find if we investigated all the people who work in the nail salons.

There are 27 million slaves in the world today—more than in all history combined.  And this is despite the fact that slavery is illegal in virtually every country of the world.  We can’t afford to ignore this any longer.  Money paid to sweatshops or street vendors goes right back to the traffickers.  Hit them where it hurts: in the wallet.  Make a decision today.

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Oh, yes, and the cat?  Just like that lost kitty, there are families that have lost their loved ones into the black hole of slavery, never to hear of them again.  Take a walk.

Lost cat

Putting Your House in Order

Day Nineteen

I am very excited because I am close to the end of my 21 day fast, and I know that my answer is coming soon!  My question, as regular followers of my blog know, is this being the End Times (everyone agrees): what comes next, and how do we prepare for it?  And I’ve been asking not only for an answer for myself, but for a spirit of revelation so that the whole Body of Christ can know.  What good would it do, if only I know and it’s not confirmed by others?

So, with my answer pending in just 2 more days, one thing has been on my mind lately: the Rapture of the Church.  Oh, the unspeakable joy of being carried away (that’s what “rapture” means) to the wedding chamber with Jesus!

But something has been dampening my joyful anticipation: my sons are not walking with the Lord.  Both of them made decisions for Jesus, but have been seduced away by the world’s pleasures.  I know from my own experience that Jesus really does leave the 99 and go looking for the lost sheep because I was that lost sheep.  He came looking for me when I was not looking for Him.  He knew that I was ready to come back before I ever imagined that I was.  (If you didn’t read that story, here’s the links: Gotcha! And Gotcha! Part 2.)  So I have real reason to hope that they will have a similar experience.

But will they have it in time for the Rapture?  I certainly hope so.  If not, then they will have to go through some really terrible stuff, with no guarantee that they will survive.  So I have done what I can to help them through those days, if they remain here.  I have written them a letter, which I will print out and put with my important papers.  They will know where to look for it.  In the letter, I have explained what has happened with all the disappearances.  But I feel certain that they will already know what’s up.  I made them beneficiaries on my bank and investment accounts.  That will save them from having to go through the long waiting process of Probate Court.  I wrote a list of those accounts so that they will know where to go.  I also included instructions for getting through the next seven years, which are going to be really tough.

Some people think that we have already entered the Tribulation, but we have not.  The Tribulation starts with a peace agreement with Israel in which they will be allowed to rebuild the Temple.  As of this writing, that hasn’t happened yet.  That peace agreement will be put forth by the Antichrist, a world political leader.  There is no single world political leader yet.

Some people think that the Rapture won’t happen until the last trumpet of Revelation.  But that’s just not right.  I’ve been studying this, well, OK, studied on You Tube, but with some discernment, it’s easy to tell what’s right and what’s unsupported conjecture and pure nonsense.  Here is a link to the best Rapture explanation I’ve heard: Rapture Video.  And here is a link to another really great Rapture explanation: Rapture and the Church.

The world after the Rapture is not going to be nice at all because up to now, the Holy Spirit has been restraining the evil.  Look at the news!  If this is what restrained evil looks like, just imagine when we are taken out of the world.  With us goes the Holy Spirit, too.  But not forever.  I believe that Joel’s prophecy is for the Tribulation saints:

I will pour out My Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions. Even on My servants, both men and women, I will pour out My Spirit in those days. I will show wonders in the heavens and on the earth, blood and fire and billows of smoke. The sun will be turned to darkness and the moon to blood before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord. And everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved; for on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there will be deliverance, as the Lord has said, even among the survivors whom the Lord calls, (Joel 2:28-32).

Peter used this verse on the day of Pentecost to describe what was happening, but the “wonders in the heavens” didn’t happen at that time.  This has got to be a dispensation for the Tribulation saints, as well as a last chance for the rest of humanity.

If they have to go through the Tribulation, then I know that God will help them.  One way or the other, I’ll see them when it’s all over.  But as for me, my bags are packed, I’ve got extra oil for my lamp, and when that trumpet sounds, I’m gone!  God is good!

Easter Monday

Day Sixteen

Easter Monday is a more important holiday than Easter Sunday here in Italy.  Why?  I haven’t got a clue.  Maybe somebody out there knows and can enlighten me.  Anyway, Easter Monday this year falls on the most important kid holiday of the year: April Fools Day.  I always loved the idea of April Fools Day.  On this day you get full license to say or do something completely outrageous and silly, and then avoid any consequences just by saying, “April Fool!”

By the same token, you’ve got to be on your guard because someone else can make an April Fool out of you.  I always hated being caught off-guard by an April Fool joke.  I liked to come up with something from school: “Hey, Mom!  I need to take an extra cookie in my lunch tomorrow.  It’s Bring a Cookie for the Teacher Day.”  Really, I just wanted to see if I could get an extra cookie out of her.  She never fell for it.

My family was very competitive.  We played for glory to the winner and humiliation to the loser.  To fool a friend was fun, but to fool a family member was something to celebrate.  To be taken-in by my little brother was the ultimate humiliation.

Being older, I had the advantage of experience, but once my brother figured out my Achilles Heel, I was forever doomed to be the butt of his April Fool pranks.  That weakness: spiders.  Sometime around age 9 he learned that all he had to do was scream “SPIDER!!!” and I would jump up, screaming.  A couple of times he backed it up with a plastic spider saved from last Halloween.

No April Fool joke of mine ever even approached the success of the spider prank.  Mom even got in on it, pinning a fake spider to her shirt, then pretending to try and brush it off right over me.  I nearly overturned the table trying to get away.  Daddy would focus his eyes on my shoulder and simply whisper, “Don’t move.”  Of course that sent me screaming from the room.

I Skyped with Mom today, and while we were talking my brother called.  I wish I could say that I’m no longer afraid of spiders, but that’s just not true.  But from the safe distance of a few thousand miles, the spider prank has lost all of its power.  Neither of them even mentioned April Fools Day.  In some aspects growing up stinks, but at least there are no more fake spiders to deal with.

Finding My Place

Day Thirteen

“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it. . . . How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven,” (Genesis 28:16-17).

This past year has been a time of finding my place.  From the time I arrived back in Milan a year ago, I started praying for, looking for, and fasting for an apartment—the very apartment that I am now sitting in.  The work on the apartment and its furnishings has gone forward very quickly after a long winter pause.  Soon I should be able to have a grand opening party.  I hope that my website will be up by then.

I sold my house in Texas (and most of the stuff in it) since I spend most of my time in Italy nowadays.  I returned to Texas in August to help my mom move to North Carolina, where my brother had relocated after the wildfire took virtually everything he owned.  Now when I return to the US, I live with my mom in a retirement complex in North Carolina.  In her apartment I have my own room, but couldn’t find a comfortable place to pray.  One day I discovered that the chapel benches are just the right height for praying on your knees.  Plus, you are assured of privacy virtually any time of the day, since the chapel is only used a few times a week.

Back here in Milan, my bed is also a good height for kneeling to pray.  But during this fast, I spend so much time in prayer that even a comfortable position eventually becomes uncomfortable.  The other day I saw an Ikea catalog, and remembered fondly my bouncy Poang easy chair.  After abdominal surgery I bounced myself to recovery in that chair.  And, well, hey!  I like to rock and bounce, it’s relaxing.  So I ordered a Poang for the apartment.  It arrived today, and all other activity stopped while Manuel and I assembled it, and Nina looked on.  Once assembled, we each took a turn sitting and bouncing in the chair.  Manuel quizzed me about the price, and decided that he had to have one, also.

One thing that a nice bouncy (or rocking) chair is good for is praying.  Back at Mom’s apartment, I have an easy chair that rocks.  It is a great place to pray when the dogs are asleep (Mom has 3) and Mom is reading or doing something else that is quiet.

This afternoon I had a prayer session in the new chair and found myself, um, “resting in the Lord.”  Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.  God is not a father that would ever push a sleeping child out of His lap.  I’m not recommending sleeping over prayer, either.  But on those occasions when sleep does overtake you, enjoy a nice nap in the Father’s arms.  I feel like I’ve truly found my place at last!  God is good!

This is Your Chance to Shine!

Day Ten

As I was praying, the Lord reminded me of my Jesus dream.  I am certain that I have written about it, but maybe I didn’t because I can’t find it anywhere (very strange!).  If I haven’t ever written about it, then it’s time for me to write about my Jesus dream—especially now that I’ve written about those devil dreams.

It was winter/spring 2006, and I was living in Italy with my husband and younger son, Kevin, who was in his senior year of high school at the American School of Milan.  I dreamed that I entered a crowded Italian coffee shop.  Across the room there was a young man.  He was nice looking, with wavy dark hair, sturdy build, average height.  He smiled at me, and that smile changed him from average looking to someone I could hardly take my eyes off of.  His smile lit up his face and the room.  He crossed the room and spoke to me in English, which surprised me.  Actually, both things surprised me: crossing the room to talk to me and speaking to me in English.

He said, “What do you do?” and I told him that I teach English.  At the time I was teaching English to children, earning money so that I could tithe to the work of God.  So I said, “And what do you do?”  He said, “Come, I’ll show you.”

We left the coffee shop and went to an apartment nearby.  In real life, I would never, ever go into an apartment with someone I’ve just met, but there was something about him that told me I could trust him.  In all honesty, it didn’t even enter my mind to wonder if I should go in with him.

The apartment had wood paneled walls—and such wood as I had never seen before.  The wood had deep, well-defined grain and was luminous.  It was the most alive wood I had ever seen, and it was beautiful, warm, and inviting.  Three of the walls were wooden and fourth was stucco, and by contrast seemed cold and dead.  I said, “You did this?”  He smiled and said, “Yes.  What do you call this kind of work in Italian?”  I answered: “Restaurazione” (restoration)—pronouncing the word perfectly for the first and only time in my life (with practice I taught myself to roll my r’s, but my tongue can’t or won’t to roll that second one).

I pointed to the stucco wall and said, “And what about this one?”  He reached up and pulled away a chunk of stucco.  Behind it was wood, but it was dirty, dried-out, and badly in need of care.  He looked at me and smiled, “It’s a work in progress.”

That’s when I woke up, knowing: It’s Jesus, the Carpenter!  And I realized that I was that work in progress.

That dream helped me a lot because in a few months I had several things happen that sent me into the worst depression of my life, lasting over 3 years—not the least of which was my failing marriage.

While writing about the devil dreams, I thought about this Jesus dream, but like I said, I thought that I had already written about it.  In fact, I was sure of it because I remember adding the link to show what Jesus looks like.  But maybe that was only a dream, too.  Who knows?  Anyway, now that you’re curious, here’s the link: Jesus.  In my dream, Jesus had dark brown eyes and was clean-shaven, but otherwise, it is recognizably Him.

While praying this morning, I felt like God was smiling at me.  I didn’t really ask why, but just wondered, and then I remembered the dream, and especially that funny part where He asked me what His work was called in Italian.  Jesus is in the restoration business!  But why did He ask me what it’s called in Italian?  He told me: “To give you a chance to shine.”  Spoken like a proud parent!  God is good!  And Jesus is our handsome bridegroom!