Spitting Llamas & This Son of Ours

 

            Min, our lives-in-with-us son with challenges, accompanied us to a medical appointment on a day we couldn’t provide him with a caregiver locally.

            We told him, “We’ll make it worth your while and take you to the Crazy Llama Café.”

            “What do they sell there?”

            “All kinds of coffee specialties,” I said, “but I’m sure they’ll have something you like. I think they have baked goodies. We’ve only been through the drive-thru, but we’ll go inside today because we’ve got extra time before my appointment.”

            “Do they really have llamas?” he asked, being an avid lover of all-things-animal.

            “Well, I suppose they’d have at least one.” I smiled. “A crazy one maybe?”

            Brian pulled into the café lot and parked the car. We hugged our coats around us on this bitter, cold day.

            “Llamas spit, you know,” Min said as he carefully treaded up the icy walkway to the door. “Do you think they spit on the floor?”

            I laughed. “Hmm, maybe. Better watch where you walk in there.”

            Inside he looked down and about, surmising it was safe.

            It was a quaint shop, streamlined and stylish with hand-thrown ceramic Crazy Llama mugs lined up for sale.

            “May I help you,” a coffee barista called from behind the counter.

            Min turned to me, looking a bit confused. “I thought monks worked here.”

            “What gave you that idea?” I asked, knowing full well Min can come up with rather unusual and often creative (ahem) ideas.

            “Don’t they have something to do with llamas?”

            “You’re confusing llamas with dalai lama, I guess,” I said in a hushed tone.

            “Oh. Maybe monks just run coffee shops in Asia.”

            “I doubt they have jobs outside their…”

            “…monastaries?” Min interrupted.

            “Right.”

            Brian and I ordered an uncomplicated coffee and decided we’d split a cinnamon bun.

            Min chose a large chocolate chip cookie. Not noticing a beverage choice he liked, he passed on that.

            We sat at a small café-style table and noted the you-can’t-miss-those large, artsy photographed images on canvas of llamas, spaced on the walls surrounding us.

            “I like the llama pictures,” Min said between bites of his cookie with crumbs about his lips. “Do those llamas spit?”

            “Only in the drinks,” I said with a snicker. I looked over the menu board again. “Oh, they have hot cocoa. Want one of those?”

            Min scrunched his eyebrows and glared. “No thank you!”

            Softish ’80’s music played, setting the mood even more.

            I commented, “Nice music. Not blaring or foul.”

            “It’s nor,” Min said.

            I bobbed my head back, “It’s what?”

            “Nor.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            Brian chimed in. “He means noir. A style.”

            “That’s actually a ‘thing?’”

            “Yes,” said my husband, shaking his head a bit over this bizarre conversation, then going back to his llama-spit-free coffee.

            (I may be the writer in the family, but he’s the speller and wordsmith, with a larger vocabulary than mine any day of the week. Apparently, our son is in his dad’s league too with his addition of “noir.”)

            Min chimed in. “Noir is like a guy playing saxophone in a window and the whole thing is black and white. You know, like movies made from black and white film and very serious. Dah-dah-dah,” he sang monotoned in a low, saxaphony way.

            I couldn’t help but laugh! “Oh my! You just know so much about so many things. You’re a wonder!”

            “It’s what makes me special.” He said, smiled, and finished eating his cookie in his very dry mouth.

             Oh, Min, there’s so much about you that makes you special! Okay. You have a special needs label, but you’re more than what education and society have placed on you. And, even though you are child-like in almost all your ways, you’re funny, good (MOST of the time), helpful, kind. You have the heart of a servant, and perhaps that’s what makes us most proud.

            So, here we are in your birthday month! The big 31! Another birthday we never dreamed you’d reach with the physical challenges your body carries. Yet God has granted you these days and ordained them for His purpose as you’ve given your heart and life to Him.

            You’re a jewel in God’s Crown, a gem showing forth His Glory—in your own special way. Yes, that’s so very special too!

            Blessed happy birthday to you, you “crazy non-spitting (at least we hope not), very classy, noir (maybe—maybe not) llama-and-every-other-type-animal lover—except maybe geese! (But that’s another story.)

                                                                      With love always,

                                                                       Dad & Mom

 

When He cometh, when He cometh to make up His jewels,

All His jewels, precious jewels, His loved and His own.

 

(Refrain) Like the stars of the morning, His bright crown adorning,

They shall shine in their beauty, bright gems for His crown.

 

He will gather, He will gather the gems for His kingdom;

All the pure ones, all the bright ones, His loved and His own. (Refrain)

 

Little children, little children, who love their Redeemer,

Are the jewels, precious jewels, His loved and His own.

 

(Refrain) Like the stars of the morning, His bright crown adorning,

They shall shine in their beauty, bright gems for His crown.

 

(from the hymn When He Cometh by William O. Cushing, 1856, public domain)

#llamas #coffee #specialneeds #birthday #purpose #Godsgem

"God, Have We Made a Mistake?"

            Tears ran down my cheeks as I drove the distance to take our adult disabled son to his final dental appointment in Kentucky—he in the passenger seat, sound asleep.

            God, have we made a mistake? This just doesn’t make sense. Michael’s right.

            Two weeks prior, our son, Michael, came to talk with us. “I’m not sure how to say this, but are you SURE this is really what God wants you to do? You’re leaving all us family, and you’re the age parents are when they usually move closer for help. Not farther away.”

            Who could argue with that? We were aging and not doing well, yet my husband’s medical team said, “You need to move away from this area for your health’s sake. You’re allergic to almost everything here.”

            So, we began to pray and ask God, if we went, WHERE should we go? We had no clue. No leading…

            …except one thought. Missouri. Southwestern corner, to be more precise. But why?

            Yes, we lived in Missouri early in our marriage. Hubby attended Bible School in Kansas City, so Missouri was formerly “home” for a short stint. But southwestern? Strange territory. We did have ancestors who settled in that region 100+ years earlier, including Brian’s grandfather when he was in his youth.

            But now? No one. Nothing familiar.

            Yet God kept nudging us. So, we began looking at maps, possibilities, thoughts of what ministry might be viable there. Healthcare in the region too.

            Then I found a camp for special-needs kids and adults! Wow! It’d been a long time since our son attended camp, and he always loved it so! I told my husband, and we enrolled our son in this Missouri camp and planned a little get-away for ourselves not too far from where he’d be while we visited “unknown-to-us land.”

            Come the time, we delivered our son to camp and began our exploration days.

            We visited Fair Grove, some miles north of Springfield, where our ancestors settled—locating their homestead, walking a portion of the land they ranched, learning about the annual picnic they held for the community, and knowing they clung to God through the death of 2 of their 3 children and raised their grandsons (one being Brian’s grandpa).

            Then a trip to the cemetery where we scrubbed uncared-for markers of 10 family members and placed flowers in their memory and honor.

            We hopped about Springfield to “get a feel” of that city—delightful, friendly, and with ample medical facilities. And no one had to twist our arms to visit Branson, down the road a spell, where we enjoyed a visit (and lightened our wallets) at the Cedar Creek Dulcimer Shop!

            We also experienced a take-cover storm in which multiple people perished.

            Yes, people died! Souls lost!

            We packed our bags at the end of the week with the “feel” God might open the door for us to come this direction. Then we picked up our son at camp.

            Once home, we continued to pray and talk for a few more weeks before calling our regional mission director to run the idea of a ministry move to Missouri.

            He immediately gave his blessing and said he’d present it to the mission board for us.

            A green light! God seemed to be saying, “Go!”

            We held a “family meeting”—the 3 of us. Our son gave this idea 2-thumbs up! Next step? Talk with our other sons—three of them—who lived in the same city as did we. After all, we’d moved there to be NEAR them. Now? Move away?

            Over our then 41 years of marriage, God often moved us—12 times, to be exact. We were no strangers to it all and became pros at packing boxes, etc.

            That talk with our other sons was now 6 months behind us. During those months, we asked God WHERE our next home would be. Over the course of studying maps, what was where, and researching all we knew to research, we sensed Him saying, “AURORA.”

            We’d never been to Aurora. We didn’t KNOW Aurora. We had NO CLUE about Aurora!

            We readied our home to sell and had a buyer within days, left our son with one of his brothers, drove to Aurora, looked at homes with an agent, put an offer on one, and headed home.

            We still knew nothing about Aurora. Kind people, though, as we popped into a few stores during our overnight there. One night, and then home to finish packing, complete doctor’s appointments, close on our current home in time to move, and close on the other.

            Now we were in the final days, and our son needed a last-minute dental visit. So here we were—he and I—driving there, me crying out to God inside myself.

            We must’ve misunderstood. Why would God do this? Why were we leaving family? Why start over? Again! How would we manage with age and health weighing on us all by ourselves?

            We checked in for the dental appointment, and the dentist took our son right in to get his teeth “all ready to move” while I made a what’s-left-to-do list in the waiting room.

            Why did Min have to have so many cavities NOW? I don’t need this, and my back hurts beyond-bad! It’s only days till this all happens. I should be home packing. Not here!

            I felt broken. Like this was too much. Like it all could be…

            Wrong.

            Back in the car, we headed down the road. It was cold, dusky too. I pulled into a fast-food line to order a coffee for the trip home. I was EXHAUSTED. My head and heart cried out, God, have we made a mistake? This all really doesn’t make sense. Please confirm Your Plan with us!

            At that very moment, a church bell rang out the answer. Not just any message. The ONE I NEEDED TO HEAR. To know.

            O Zion, Haste!

             I’d not heard that hymn in years—maybe decades. I’d learned it in Bible Club and church as a child, so I knew the words well.

 

O Zion*, haste, your mission high fulfilling,

To tell to all the world that God is light,

That He who made all nations is not willing

One soul should perish, lost in shades of night.

 

(Refrain) Publish glad tidings, tidings of peace,

Tidings of Jesus, redemption and release.

 

Behold how many thousands still are lying

Bound in the dreary prison-house of sin

With none to tell them of the Savior’s dying

Or of the life He died for them to win. (Refrain)

 

Proclaim to ev’ry people, tongue, and nation

That God, in Whom they live and move, is love;

Tell how He stooped to save His lost creation

And died on earth that they might live above. (Refrain)

 

Send heralds forth to bear the message glorious,

Give of your wealth to speed them on their way;

Pour out your soul for them in prayer victorious;

O Zion*, haste to bring the brighter day! (Refrain)

 

O Zion, Haste (youtube.com)

 

            The church rang those bells for the town every evening, but God rang them this time for me. I reckon most in that town had no idea what that hymn was, but I did. God knew that. He planned it…

            For me! The answer I needed to hear. The assurance I needed so dearly.

            My tears flowed more now—this time, in awe. God, thank You for this clear, resounding confirmation—Your answer. We’re to go. No mistake. Even if it doesn’t seem to make sense.

            SOMEONE in Auora needed us. Maybe only one person. Worth all this? Yes. Why? Because God said so. Confirmed it.

            So, here we are 5 years later—celebrating our arrival in Aurora where, we pray, our lives have and will make a difference.

            God’s plan for your life may or may not always seem to make sense from this side of Glory; but rest assured, dear reader, He ALWAYS has the best plan for you, He never makes a mistake. He will accomplish His plan. And as for us? We just need to obey and serve Him.

            So, as we 3 enter our 6^th year in the southwestern corner of Missouri, may God continue to use these aging vessels to…

 

Publish glad tidings, tidings of peace,

Tidings of Jesus, redemption and release.

 

#Godswill&plan #moving #missions #Missouri #family #startingover

#lifechange #theunknown #lostsouls #evangelism

 

*O Zion Haste by Mary Ann Thomson, 1868, public domain—some hymnbooks replace the word “Zion” with “Christian.”

This Is What Love Looks Like

           How I would’ve loved being a fly on the wall during this grandpa/grandboy outing!* (Actually, I’ve never aspired to be a fly in any location, but for sake of this post? I’ll get germy and grow wings.) 

            Note the delight in both as they share sips from their sweet treat! It isn’t hard to imagine the depth of the love this grandpa has for this tot. We’ve known him numerous years now and witnessed a man who loves the Lord with all his heart and his family to the moon and back.

            Yep. This is what love looks like.

            Oh, how deeply I see the exchange of love between this elderly couple,** married as long as I’ve been alive. This moment captured by their granddaughter tells it all.

            These precious ones not only loved each other as they reached this near end of their union. They shared it 7 decades—both on USA soil and overseas in the roughest of existences.

            Yes, this is what love looks like.

            Soon after this photo was captured, the sweet lady, glancing into the eyes of her groom, entered Heaven’s Glory, but the love still lingers in the eyes and on the lips of her widower.

            Oh, my heart!

            I cannot imagine this scenario—where a father bends low to “touch” his baby daughter’s memorial stone*** because, well, it just didn’t all go as the couple thought it would. No baby to bring home. No nursery beautifully decorated. No memories taking root beyond the hospital walls where the family said good-bye.

            And, even in this deepest of grief in a plan tossed from joy to sorrow, this is what love

sometimes looks like.

            Love encompasses the length, depth, and breadth of all emotions and vast experiences. The height of love in the good moments equals the depth of grief with which it holds hands. And, like it or not—ready or not—this scenario hits us all.

            Life does.

            Love does too.

            Real love stretches, reaches, bends; but it’s hard to break. And in the 3 images I’ve shared with you today, you can see none would have chosen not to love, no matter what.    

            Even when it hurt…

            To the core.

            Jesus knows this kind of love. Proof? This Bible verse says it all:

“But God demonstrated His own love toward us,

in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8-9 NKJV

            Reached—while we were dirty and unlovely.

            Stretched—nailed to a cross.

            Bent—broken for us. Loving us in every situation of our humanness.

            The good, the bad, the ugly.

            Thank God we have His example of deep, deep love to teach us the way to love—even in the toughest times when, for us, it seems impossible.

            But Jesus isn’t just what love looks like…

            HE IS LOVE!

 

“O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me.

Underneath me, all around me, is the current of Thy love;

Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above.

 

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, spread His praise from shore to shore!

How He loveth, ever loveth, changeth never, nevermore!

How He watcheth o’er His loved ones, died to call them all His own;

How for them He intercedeth, watcheth o’ver them from the throne.

 

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, love of every love the best;

’Tis an ocean vast of blessing, ’tis a haven sweet of rest.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, ’tis heav’n of heav’ns to me;

And it lifts me up to glory, for it lifts me up to Thee.”

 

(from the Hymn, O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus by S. Trevor Francis, 1875, public domain)

 

A beautiful rendition of this hymn for you to give a listen:

Oh, The Deep Love of Jesus - Epic Version! - YouTube

 

#love #Valentine #Jesuslove #life&death

 

Photo credits (all used with permission):

      *Debbie Sisk

                  **Amber Stewart

                              ***Jill Chatfield

A Nickel-What??? Nyckelharpa!

            Over the last 20 years, my husband Brian has had a stroking condition. And, over those years as each one hit, it would steal a little more from him. The accumulative effect left him nearly unable to speak except in a raspy whisper.

            Can you imagine a missionary preacher/teacher unable to speak?

            Not only that, but the stupid strokes stole some use of his hands. Brian’s an avid musician and music lover. He played guitar beautifully. Singing and playing had been his joys—that and ministering.

            So, when not only his voice diminished but the use of his ability to play guitar, we wondered what to do. First, we tried guitars with a narrower neck. Then less strings. But the time came when Brian despaired that his guitar-playing days were over.

            Brian enjoys listening to all types of instruments—historical ones intriguing him always.    

            One day, as he browsed the internet and listened to some ancient examples on YouTube, he announced, “I’ve found an instrument I think I could play!”

            “Oh, wow!” I exclaimed as he turned his laptop for me to see. I bobbed my head in surprise and wondered at this thing he discovered. “What in the world is THAT?”

            “A nyckelharpa.”

            “A nickel-what???” I raised an eyebrow.

            He slowly repeated, “Ny-ckel-harp-a. It’s a Swedish instrument, nicknamed keyed-fiddle!”

            I could see the joy flow into his expression as he explained further.

            “All I’d need to do to play it is press the keys and bow with my other hand. I could do that.”

            “Then I think we should get you one,” I said, hesitating before asking, “but how much are they?”

            “That’s the problem. They’re really expensive. In the thousands.”

            “Yikes!” I exclaimed.

            We were quiet a bit while we continued to listen to the broadcasted nyckelharpa. The player was amazing, as were his songs.

            When the music ended, I said, “I think you should get one. I don’t know how, but it seems a need—not just a want.”

            “We can’t afford it.” Brian turned his laptop back toward himself and muted it.

            “Well, we’ve asked God for big things before, and He’s done them for us,” I said.

            “We’ll see.”

            Not long after this conversation, our mission board’s regional director visited for our annual review. As Ken asked Brian about ministry then health, Brian shared how playing the guitar had become more difficult.

            I chimed in. “Tell him about your discovery!”

            Ken glanced my way then looked back at Brian. “Discovery?”

            “I’ve found an instrument I think I could play.”

            “What’s it like?” Ken asked.

            Brian picked up his laptop from the side table and fired it up. In minutes he located the nyckelharpa and turned the laptop to show Ken. “It’s a nyckelharpa.”

            “A nickel-what???” Ken exclaimed. “Never heard of such a thing. What’s it sound like?”

            Brian shared a brief sample then explained how he thought this would work for him with his damaged hands.

            Ken smiled and moved to the edge of his seat. “Then you should get one.”

            “It’s not in our budget right now,” Brian said a bit quieter.

            “Then we need to pray. RIGHT NOW! Let’s ask God to give you a nyckelharpa!”

            And he meant it. Ken prayed with conviction of one asking and expecting God to provide.

            What did God do? He answered.

            Long story short, in about 3 weeks a nyckelharpa arrived at our front door, and Brian began learning how to play it.

            Since June of 2018, this trusty instrument has been used for the Lord and now, every Sunday in church.

            The first time Brian brought it to church, our pastor told the congregation, “You need to come up after the service and see this instrument Brian’s got.”

            Folks gathered afterward, and Brian explained, “This is a nyckelharpa.”

            “A nickel-what???” some asked.

            And so the story goes each time we bring this answer-to-prayer to a new place!

            God never failed to meet our needs—ever. He even went so far as to gift my hurting husband with something as strange as a nyckelharpa, which restored some of the joy he’d lost.

            I’m writing this on hubby’s birthday! This memory—one of so many over the years.

            So, to you, hubby dear, you are now entering another year of life—and have added even more chapters of God’s faithfulness to you. I’m so thankful He expressed such love and great care to you through the gift of a…nickel-what???

            “Ny-ckel-harp-a!”

 

“Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my father;

there is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;

as Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.

(Refrain) Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning new mercies I see;

all I have needed Thy hand hath provided:

Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”

 

(from the hymn GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS by Thomas O. Chisholm, 1923, public domain)

 

And before you go—Here’s a nyckelharpa duet by two excellent players:

Bach Double on nyckelharpa (youtube.com)

         

#answeredprayer #music #strokes #nyckelharpa #bcminternational #Godsfaithfulness

To You Who Love & Follow the Lord—A Blessing

 

“The LORD bless you and keep you;

The LORD make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you;

The LORD lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

Numbers 6:24-26

 

            These verses bring back treasured memories of my growing up years. You see, when I was the ripe ol’ age of 7, my parents helped Wilmos & Gladys Csehy (pronounced Shay-Hee) who founded a Christian summer music camp.

            The first year the Csehys needed a brochure photo to advertise. “Aunt” Gladys asked our family to meet them at Montrose Bible Conference in Pennsylvania. They were traveling evangelistic musicians, and they’d be there a date we could mutually meet.

 

           We drove from New Jersey. My sister brought along her Sunday dress and viola, and she met “Uncle” Wilmos up on the 2^nd floor balcony of the old Montrose dining hall building, where he also donned his best. They struck this having-a-lesson-with-the-master-violinist pose*, and it became "history!"

            That evening, when the business of music camp was accomplished, we enjoyed a Csehy concert at the tent meeting sight—sawdust trail and all. I sat on a bench by Adi Cierpke, the Csehy’s long-time soloist, and drew Flintstone cartoons. Yes, I really did. (Adi remembered that a long time later. We laughed about it.)

            When the next summer arrived, this Csehy dream had its new beginning with just a handful of students and faculty. Mom was secretary and registrar for decades, and Dad came along as maintenance with his only claim to musical talent being he “played the radio.”

            I biked my way around the Cedar Lake Bible Conference grounds that first summer and did errands between the office and faculty, fished with “Uncle” Wilmos and Dad some early mornings, played shuffleboard, and sat in on some of the teaching times. I wouldn’t start violin lessons until the following summer, but then I was still way too young to become a music camper. You had to be 12. I couldn’t wait!

            Those summers spent at music camp (first in Indiana and later in Pennsylvania) were pivotal in my life. The training received, the friends made, the foundations in faith we were taught—life changers. Direction givers. And, when I look back at what most mattered in my life overall, it was time spent at what became known as Csehy Summer School of Music.

            Oh, the stories I could share! The memories! And of all the men in my life besides my dad and now husband, I most valued the love shared with “Uncle” Wilmos. He instructed me in more than violin. He taught me life.

            So, why do the Bible verses at the top of this post remind me of music camp? At the end of every evening, we sang those in resounding, beautiful harmony. At the end of each weekly concert too.

            Now, as we too have a new beginning—this year 2024—I share with you this blessing, you who love and honor the Lord:

“The LORD bless you and keep you…”

            He will as you have committed your life to Him. And He will keep you. Keep! No matter what befalls you as you love, honor, and serve Him, He KEEPS. Even when it looks like there’s no hope. He cannot fail.

“…The LORD make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you…”

            He delights in you, not only because you’ve committed to serve Him but because He loves you so completely, looking at you and upon you as the proud-of-you Father He is. And He’s gracious, kind, loving, caring, tender, compassionate. Everything that’s rolled into grace, including all He did on Calvary to bring you to this place and time. And to your commitment.

“…The LORD lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

            Countenance! God looks upon you with joy and caring and supports you on your journey, which He knows will be rough. And, even when it turns the hardest of hard, He is able and ready to give you peace—the kind that we can’t always comprehend because it’s beyond our realm of understanding but are assured it’s there.

Amen.

(So be it.)

            Soldiers of the Cross, continue on—never quitting! The LORD is on your side, watching over you, delighting in you, filling you with His Peace, loving you always, and carrying you when you need it. We’ll need Him for sure in this coming year!

            In closing, may I bless you with the Csehy Summer School of Music anniversary rendition of Lutkin’s The LORD Bless You & Keep You—sung as we did every evening and at concerts. You will be lifted up, but you’ll also likely shed tears—so keep your tissues handy.

 

Lutkin Benediction Virtual Choir - YouTube

(Used with permission by CSSM.)

#dreamcometrue #musiccamp #CsehySummerSchoolofMusic #CSSM #MontroseBibleConference 

#benediction #blessing #newyear #Lord #blessing #PeterLutkin

 

*“Uncle” Wilmos Csehy & Carolyn Burns (personally owned photo). 

This blog post I wish to dedicate to my sister, one of the first-year music campers!