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March 15 An IdeaSometime this fall or winter, across the ocean, will be a girl who will likely be very young. She will not believe in God, she will have very little opportunity to hear about his love, and the plans He has for her life. She'll be very poor. She'll get pregnant. Maybe she'll be raped. The country where she lives isn't very friendly to a young girl. The months will go by and initial shock will give way to a very raw, almost panicked, fear. She'll feel she has no way out, she will be shunned by her family and anyone who will love her.
The day will draw near, and she will see one small glimmer of hope in the midst of her fear. You see, many years ago, another woman came before her, to her country and lived among her people and did everything in her power to help people just like her. That woman is gone now, off to Heaven because she was truly a friend of God. However, her work remains in that place, and in that, this woman's legacy, this scared girl will find her only hope. The day arrives, labour is difficult, and terribly frightening. When it's over, she picks up her tiny bundle, and as soon as she is able, she sets off, on a very difficult journey. It only lasts a little while, and she arrives. She walks through big iron gates, with a guard posted at them. There's a two story brick building surrounded by a large front porch. She walks across the yard without a sound and is met by another woman, this one devoted to serving the call that was placed on one who went before, who now offers hope to those with none, as her final legacy. This stranger is robed in a little white habit, with blue stipes, and she has kind eyes, and is covered not only with her robes, but with a sadness that comes from seeing too much hearbreak, every day. They stare at one another silently, and without a word, the girl passes her small bundle off to this stranger. She nods, and holds the package close to her.
As though he knows what has just happened, the baby starts to cry. It is too much for his young mother. She is desperate, terrified, and completely without hope. This is the one good thing she can do for this child. She must not stay one moment more. Without saying a word, she flees, running back across the lawn, away from that building that houses at once, such sadness and such kindness. She dissappears.
The woman in white bounces the small bundle, standing in the sunshine, and calms him. She prays. She crosses herself and prays that God would have his will in the life of this little one. She doesn't have much room for him. This is the only attention he will receive for a long time to come, other than the tending to of his most basic needs. She'd like to stand in the sun all day and hold that little boy. She doesn't have time. She takes him upstairs and enters a big room. It is literally filled with little metal cribs, cages to the inhabitants. They have small matresses, and one or two have little stips of cloth for blankets. There is the sound of crying heard here, every day, all day.
Two women similarly dressed look up from the children they are changing on the little wooden bench by the wall. The woman with the baby shrugs, and smiles sadly. This is what they are made for, these three women, and these thirty children. They remember a time when once, a group of people came from across the ocean for two short months to help them. The oldest man played the guitar, and the children, though so young, crowded around him, offering rare smiles. The older girl (though at that time, was barely more than a child herself), simply went from crib to crib, cage to cage, and held the children who were crying loudest. She cried with them and often they thought they saw her lips moving with uttered prayers for the babies she held in her arms, tears streaming down her face, until sometimes she had to look away, towards the wall, so others couldn't see the intensity of what she went through every time she came. They left too soon, and in some ways, it was hardest for the children. Every time they came, for just a brief hour or two, the crying stopped. When they left, it was the worst. Even the men among them wept at the sound of those little cries, all chorusing together in one agonizing symphony.
The newest arrival is changed and given a bottle. He's placed in a crib with another baby, just as young, there's no room for his own. He's frightened by all the changes and begins to cry again, but this time, there is simply not enough time to hold and comfort him. He cries himself to sleep for the first time is his very short life. The women get back to work. There are only three, and so many mouths to feed, clothes to change, diapers to wash.
One day, not long after, a young couple walk past the gates. The man looks strong, and a little uncertain. The woman he is with is near tears. They've been here before. They remember the sound of cries coming from upstairs as they drove away for what they thought would be the last time. They are foreign, though dressed like they are not, in order to be sensitive to the people they are with. The woman in white walks out to them. She takes the hands of the woman, and again, no words are needed. They walk upstairs together, the three of them. The woman is smiling discreetly to herself, and the couple looks anxious, and excited, and terrified. The man is carrying a soft blue blanket in his hands, and a little sleeper. They enter the same room, and the man remembers looking at the woman that one day, in this very place, as she held another nameless child and cried, and he remembers what he felt for her then, and all that he couldn't have known when he fell in love with her that day. They walk from crib to crib, cage to cage. The woman wishes she'd brought thirty blankets, and did not have to make this decision. They walk together, hands clasped tightly, to the crib holding the little baby boy, and another little baby with him. They're smallest and have been sharing this little cage for a few weeks, and it's getting a little tight for them both, but there aren't any other options. The woman takes a quick intake of breath, and squeezes her husbands hand. This is the one. He nods to her, and she leans down and very gently, as though she's afraid this little miracle will shatter, picks up the little boy. His crying slows, and then stops altogether. He stares up at these two new faces, that look so different than his, except that they too are now crying as they hold him close. The woman in white smiles larger now, as she sees the first moments of this new family. The man takes the little baby in his arms and takes him out of the little clothes he's wearing, and puts him in the little blue sleeper and wraps him in the blanket that they bought together, so many months ago while they were dreaming of this day. The baby snuggles close to the man, and the woman next to them smiles through her tears at them both.
They are escorted out by the same woman who took that baby from the scared little girl holding him just weeks ago. They stand on almost the same spot, and the woman remembers her prayers to God and her saints. She knows she's been answered. March 09 Happy News Part OneSo I read Carrie's blog today, and it just made me so very sad. I determined to finish my work a little earlier and find something good about the world I live in. I found happynews.com, which immediately was added to my bookmark list, a prestigious list to be sure. This will be the first of a regular posting on my blog - something to lift spirits, and encourage us not only that there are great people in this world, but that we can be one of those people. Today - I'm convicted. I just wanted at best, four teens who did a terrible thing to -at the very least, be thrown in prision. Preferably publically beaten themselves. This woman wants to get them saved, give them hope, and a future. Wow - what a sham of a Christian I turn out to be sometimes. I like that God doesn't mind bringing my attention to this article...
American Nun Shuns Luxury for Mexican Jail
The cell at the end of the dark hallway barely fits a cot, a desk and a folding chair. This is home for Sister Antonia Brenner, an American nun who was raised in Beverly Hills but abandoned a life of privilege to live in a notorious Mexican jail.
Her neighbors are no longer Hollywood stars, but murderers, drug runners and human smugglers. They know her as "angel de la carcel" _ the prison angel.
Brenner, 79, looks puzzled when asked what motivated her riches-to-rags choice nearly 30 years ago.
"I don't understand why people are so amazed," she says. "To give help is easy. To ask for it is hard."
Just 5-foot-2 but crackling with energy, Brenner holds counseling sessions and does countless small tasks on behalf of the 7,100 inmates at La Mesa State Penitentiary, just across the U.S. border from San Diego. In come bandages, soap and medicine; out go messages to loved ones beyond the prison's high walls.
Brenner has long been a caretaker _ she raised seven children.
Then, at 50, she traded her dresses and a spacious home for a homemade habit and a prison where conditions have led to inmate riots _ including three that she helped quell.
"I'm effective in riots because I'm not afraid, I just pray and walk into it," she said. "A woman in a white veil walks in, someone they know loves them. So silence comes, explanation comes and arms go down."
Her work has been recognized in books and, this month, she was inducted into the Washington-based Hall of Fame for Caring Americans. Her admirers include not just inmates, but wardens and guards too.
"Wardens come and go, and I will, too, but Mother Antonia will always be here," said Jose Francisco Jimenez Gomez, warden for the last 1 1/2 years. "She is like a ray of sunshine."
The only sunlight in her tiny cell filters through two small windows with a view of a guard tower and a barbed wire fence. A white sheet serves as the door to a cramped bathroom with a cold-water shower.
She walks through the prison with a beaming smile, waving at inmates and guards and kissing many on their cheeks. She address them as "mi hijo" _ "my son."
"Everyone loves her," says Jose Luis Romero, who is serving 4 1/2 years for stealing a car. "You always feel better about yourself after seeing her."
Brenner was born Mary Clarke in Los Angeles, the second of three children. Her father made a fortune selling office supplies to defense contractors during World War II. The family lived in Beverly Hills and had an 11-bedroom, ocean-view summer home in Laguna Beach, south of Los Angeles. Later, she moved to Ventura County, her last home before the prison.
After two failed marriages, Brenner immersed herself in charity work and was deeply influenced by a Los Angeles priest named Anthony Brouwers. When she became a nun in 1977, 13 years after Brouwers died, she named herself Sister Antonia in his honor.
Brenner first visited the prison in 1965 on a trip to deliver medicine and supplies to Tijuana hospitals. She moved in 12 years later, and her routine has changed little.
She rises around 5 a.m. for prayer, then distributes prayer cards to inmates who are crammed inside a boxed chain-link fence waiting for a court appearance. She speaks four days a week at the prison's new church, an orange building with five rows of wooden benches and white plastic chairs.
"Everything eventually ends _ your money, your sickness, your family, your time in jail," she tells about 20 inmates dressed in gray sweatsuits, speaking in flawless though American-accented, Spanish. "The only thing that won't end is Christ's love for you."
From there, she walks the grounds, where a guard thanks her for finding a wheelchair for his grandmother, who died that morning.
"She can talk to the prisoners in a way that the guards cannot," says Ulises Romero Rubio, a guard for 12 years. "She knows how to calm their nerves."
March 06 Soul RepairA while ago, I realized how very little I do that is just for me. I get up in the morning, I work until at least five, I go to the gym (not for me - I hate it) I make dinner, we clean up, and we watch a little TV before going to bed. Once a week, my mother in law Mary, and my new sisters Tia and Shelly and I all get together to read the book Captivating. I like it a lot. Peter and I are also reading it together, and it just helps to understand women, even for women. Now, I know that most women get caught up in this, but the other day, we worked, and while I rushed to make dinner for us before we left, Peter got some alone time - a serious need for an introvert. We ate and rushed out the door. I was a little annoyed, not at him, but at myself. I was jealous that he'd had over an hour to just relax. I felt like I had so many things to do. He asked me who it was that made me think that he needed a meal on the table every night, and why I felt like I had to rush. It got me thinking. Peter is much better than me and compartmentalizing his time. Everything runs together for me. I always feel busy. And then I sit down and wonder when the last time was that I read a good book for a couple of hours? Or wrote in my journal? I know why people get married and feel like they "lose themselves in being us". Sometimes I feel that way. So Peter, being the guy that he is, asked me who I felt put these limitations on me. Now - I don't care, I will not relax enough to read a good book next to a stack of dirty dishes. I can't. I've always been like this. But Peter would be just as happy if twice or three times a week we had cereal for dinner, or cheese and crackers, but I love cooking for us, and for other people. I just don't know how to do everything at once. So I have begun getting up an hour earlier to relax in the mornings. Make a cup of coffee (taking at least that long!) and read my bible, or one of the books I got through the bookclub I joined. I journal, and pray and take an hour before everything and just think. Be alone.
I am an introvert. I really am. However, the family I have and the life I've lived has made me rely on rather extroverted behavior just to live. You can't be an introvert in YWAM. Ask Peter. YWAM is set up for extroverts. So instead of fighting it, I just learn. In my family, if you're an introvert, you'll never get anything said. So I talk, a lot actually. But I re-charge by myself. A bubble bath with some candles and a glass of wine. A morning alone to read or scrapbook or just drink my coffee and let my brain calm down.
I miss the frantic pace of YWAM sometimes. You needed your time alone so badly there, you just made time. You got up, you stayed up, you got away. I knew in YWAM that if I didn't - I'd surely die. But here, the little everyday things wear on you until I'm upset and angry and so so tired, that I don't even realize what's happened until it's too late. I heard a quote a little while ago:
"Any idiot can handle a crisis - it's the day to day living that wears you out"
This morning was nice. I'm stressed about work and I almost started early but I made myself relax. It was wonderful. I read about a chinese missionary who found that the chinese word for a Christian quiet time, was actually translated to "soul repair". What a great way to start a day. If I could take my car in for repairs every day, I'm sure it would run forever. So that's what I am trying to do. Forced down time. Relax, take a second, have a coffee, a bath. Let Peter fend for himself, he likes it anyway. Don't talk to anyone. Don't cook, don't plan, try not to clean or tidy or re-organize. Just relax a second. Let God talk to me, instead of throwing a few "please help me's" at him before I rush on by. I'm liking it. And last night when I went to bed all stressed out, this morning, after some "soul repair", I feel a lot better. Amazing. One hour, a cup of coffee, and some things that make up me. Not Peter and me, not me as a part of my family. Just me allowing myself a little much needed luxury. And maybe that's the problem right there. Women, as a whole, think alone time is a luxury. Maybe it's a need. Maybe it's a lot more important than I've been giving it credit for. February 22 CoffeeCoffeeCoffeeI love coffee. I like very few things more than waking up with the smell of it drifting into my room from the auto set feature that allows me to tell my coffee maker when to turn on in the morning. Tim Hortons coffee is by far the best brewed coffee. Call me a snob, but I actually get my mother to mail it to me. I refuse to buy Maxwell House, or worse, Folgers (the F word of coffee). Starbucks is good, I will drink it, but their espresso is much better, so I let Peter make me lattes with Starbucks espresso beans. When Peter and I got married, we took back some pots we got (we were given 17 pots for our wedding) and deliberated in Sears for one hour (ask Carlie, she was there) over which coffee maker to get. We settled on a Black and Decker model. It was $90. We didn't care. It mounts to the underside of your cupboards, has a stainless steel caraffe that keeps my coffee hot, the all important auto start feature. I like it a lot. In the middle of making a pot, you can place your cup under the handle of the caraffe, press a button, and coffee pours from the handle, into your cup. It's brilliant. It's broken. Yep, to make a pot of coffee, we have to press the on button, approx. five times. It just shuts itself off. We don't know why. It definately kills the auto feature. I'd have to set my alarm five times to get up and hit the button again and again. We can't figure it out. I'm going to try running vinegar and hot water through it, maybe it's jammed somewhere. Either way, it's highly annoying. We get up, get dressed (although we work at home - do NOT work in jammies) and get our computers started up, and then stand in the kitchen with the Olympics on (hockey today!) and press the stupid button over and over. You'd think we'd just make tea, it's easier...but to no avail.
Peter fell in love with me over coffee. I had a little $15 coffee maker in my room, and Peter's room was right below mine. Every morning, I'd show up at 7 am to our meetings with a travel mug of delicious smelling coffee. Now, the base served the world famous Kona Coffee, but do not be fooled. It's not yummy. It's got a really funny taste, which may have been due to the ocean water they made it with. Either way, they had something resembling kids tea cups for coffee mugs, so it was a useless endeavor anyway, that base coffee. So there I am, cute little missionary girl with the fantastic coffee every morning. And he'd sit next to me, and ask me over and over, where do you get that coffee? It smells awesome. So I did the unthinkable in YWAM, and in true Young Women After Men fashion, I said, "I always make too much, if you have a mug you could come up and I'll share it with you." In YWAM with it's unspoken dating rules, this was the equivalent of someone in a normal setting flashing someone across the street and begging them to marry them. I honestly didn't quite know what I thought about Peter at the time. I just thought, hey, I could share my coffee. My mom mails it to me, I'm very blessed, this is the Christian thing to do...okay, I wanted to see him in the morning, just a little, and he was always so nice. So started my 6:50am meetings with my future husband. He'd come upstairs, quietly knock on my door, I'd peek out, take his cup, and pour him a coffee, grab my stuff and we'd walk to our meeting together. And then sit together, because why not? Then we led an outreach and the rest is history. And here we are, two and a half years later, with a busted coffee maker. You'd have to understand, coffee is an intregal part of our relationship...this is quite a crisis.
On another note, I am sold on tea lately too, in the evening usually. Adagio.com is the place to be...And because I bought tea there, they will let me refer anyone I want to them, by sending them a $5 online gift card. You don't have to spend $20 to use it, you can just buy a little tea sampler, and that's all. So let me know if you're a tea fan, I'll send you some tea money. They really are fantastic. Almost as great as a warm cup of Tim's in the morning, which my long enduring husband just spent the last 45 minutes making for me. I'm going to go have a coffee. February 13 Comfort Food.I was going to write about our anniversary, but I got started and then just started gushing about how wonderful Peter is, and no one wants to hear that, other than him. So here's the latest. I am going to write a few of my comfort foods, and tag a few people, cause I want to see other blogs about this one (plus it gives me good lunch ideas). I think most people, when grabbing a bite to eat, especially for fast food, always get the same thing. We find something we like, and stick to it. What funny creatures of habit we are. Anywhere, here are mine: Biggest Comfort Food -Pizza Sandwiches from any convenience store - though Mac's are the best. Something about roadtrips, my earliest travelling memories, and always stopping for a sandwich. Once on a plane out of Europe, they gave me a little pizza sandwich, and I was so happy I almost cried.
Favorite 3 Fast Food Places, and Order Order At Taco Bell -Chicken Quesadilla, add tomatoes. Beef Baja Chalupa. (if I feel fat, I will sub the Chalupa for a soft taco, add tomatoes) No drink, they serve Pepsi, which I won't drink. Order At Subway 1. A chicken teriyaki on Italian Herbs and Cheese. NO TERIYAKI SAUCE! Add bacon, and extra Pepper Jack cheese. Toasted. Add lettuce, tomato, cucumber, lots of pickles, pepperoncinis. Lots of Southwest sauce, lots of salt and pepper. 2. A pizza sub with ham on Parmesan Oregano, with extra Pepper Jack cheese. No veggies but those little green pepperoncinis. I love those things, they're so tangy. Add a little southwest Sauce. NOTE: I always have to get a white chocolate macedemia cookie. I love them. Their Valentines sugar cookies are good too. Order At Arby's 1. A chicken bacon sandwich, no sauce. Curly fries, and jalapeno poppers ( I almost wrote Poopers). Also a Pepsi place. No drink for me. I haven't gotten this one down exactly, but I love the fries and those little Poopers. Pizza I like Domino's, and really like Papa John's. Not a huge Pizza fan, but the best would have to be ham, pepperoni, bacon, mushrooms, pineapple. Asian I love fried rice. And beef and broccoli. That might be my two favorites. But how I love Thai food. There was this little Thai place in Kona that was 5 dollars a plate, and they had the best phad thai, and beef and broccoli. You'd have this sticky white rice with this incredible sauce that ran all under the rice. Peter and I went every single sunday. Favorite Food My Mom Makes Anything on the barbeque. I love our steak, seafood, or chicken barbeques. With grilled asparagus. I swear that woman can out-barbeque any man ever. Favorite Food My Grandma Makes Zummaborcht. My word, I love that soup. I miss perogies so much. I would love a dinner of perogies and farmer sausage with cream gravy. I don't like cottage cheese though, so with Grandma, I'll have to take the soup. Best Food I Make My shrimp and scallop canneloni with Bechemal sauce. I make really good beef vegetable soup too. I just tried cheesecake again, it is okay, but cost about 40 dollars to make. I don't do dessert. Just don't like it. Cooking it that it. I'll eat it usually, but Peter is the sweets craver in our family. I want salt, almost all the time. Now I'm hungry, and really want Subway.
I'm Tagging Becky, Travis (cause he's down), Auntie Margaret and Reagan.
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