Divine appointments - yarn

I'm attracted by the concept of divine appointments. Encountering someone whose heart is primed to hear what you want to say. Being in the right place and time to partner with the Kingdom of God.

I have to admit that I have mixed emotions about the feel-good suggestion to practice random acts of kindness. As a believer, I want to tune my heart to the Holy Spirit, and follow his leading. In theory, I'll end up by doing uniquely targeted acts, rather than just random ones. If I'm to be perfectly honest, however, it often seems like too much trouble to be kind, in any flavor.

I try to be kind, of course, but I'm aware of missed opportunities. I go through different phases about what to do with panhandlers, for example -- whether to resort to the tried and true NYC approach of totally ignoring them, or feeling vaguely guilty, and escalating to giving them a dollar, or an impersonal smile, or a referral to an organization that can help, or bringing them a cup of soup. No solution seems to be right for long, because people are individuals rather than stereotypes or projects. This is when I really want divine leading -- what is the right thing to do right now, with this individual?

And once in a while I realize that God has set up a divine appointment. Unfortunately, I often realize this only after the fact, which can lead to kind of funny results. More on that later.

Actually, it reminds me of a study I read about the brain. They did an experiment with people who could not communicate between the different sides of their brain. They gave simple instructions (such as 'walk across the room' or 'drink a glass of water') to one side of the brain, then observed the people following the instructions, and then asked them why they had performed these actions. Because of the brain damage, they didn't know why they had done so. Here comes the fascinating part -- they made up answers. They weren't trying to lie, they were simply trying to come up with an answer that made sense.
'Why did you walk across the room?'
'I wanted to stretch my legs.'
'Why did you drink the water?'
'I was thirsty'.

A few weeks ago, on the way home from church, I suddenly went into the Yarn store. I ended up in a conversation with one of the ladies there. To make a long story short (if it's not already too late) she asked what church I go to, and then asked lots of follow-up questions about the style and beliefs of the church. She even wanted to know what the sermon was about that morning. When I told her the topic, she then wanted to know what he actually said about it. During the conversation, I was shopping for yarn. By the end, I had invited her to church, and had completed my purchase.

It was only afterwards, when wondering why in the world I had bought all that yarn, that I realized that I acted exactly like the brain damaged people in the experiment. I assumed that if I walked into the yarn store I must have done so because I wanted to buy yarn. I didn't realize that the Spirit was simply speaking to me and telling me to go into the store.

P.S. Does anyone need $42 worth of blue alpaca yarn?

know your audience

Another day at the nursing home.
As usual, I came with way too many ideas of covering way too much material. I wanted to talk about Believing God, and how many of us Believe in God, but don't always believe God. I told them the story of Abraham. They got interested when I related his travels to the modern day places -- Iraq, to Turkey, through Syria, to Israel. The recognizable place names drew them in. And when I told them that I myself had visited Haran, and related how dusty I got walking in Haran, they were really engrossed.

But the piece de resistance was when I [incorrectly] told them that Abraham was 80 years old when the Lord told him to travel to a different land (actually, the Bible says he was 75, but I remembered it wrong). Suddenly there was something they could identify with. They loved hearing that God had spoken to him at that age, and given him a big task to do.

Afterwards, they seemed more awake then usual. One lady in particular seemed excited and gleefully beckoned me over. I anticipated some comment about how inspiring my preaching was. She gestured for me to come closer, and proclaimed:

You have beautiful teeth!

All I could think of was "In the country of the blind the one eyed man is king”.

There's something on your forehead

Sitting at my desk today, I felt a real urge to celebrate Ash Wednesday. I know there are some churches near where I work, but most of them have signs in other languages. That raised the level of difficulty a little too high. I imagined myself ignorantly violating some religious custom, and not even being able to explain myself.

Lo and behold, one of my meetings was cancelled, and I suddenly realized I had time to run into New York, a daring thought, considering the fact that I usually eat at my desk. I decided to go to St. Bartholomew's, an Episcopal church I have visited before.

St. Bart's is a wonderful conglomeration of formal but friendly, and is liturgical but accessible. They reach out to the community in numerous ways, including serving breakfast to the hungry 3 days a week, and even running an 8-bed shelter. They actively encourage seekers, and have groups that meet on all different topics, some of which are explicitly Christian and some that are rather explicitly...not.

On 9/11, I was working a few blocks uptown when the news hit. At first, it was rather fragmentary. We didn't have a TV, our outgoing phone service didn't work, and the news websites had crashed. Finally a co-worker located upstate managed to call me to check on us, and he held his phone up to the TV, and that's how we heard the news. And then we started seeing people walk by on the sidewalk. Hundreds of stunned, exhausted, traumatized people. We realized as never before that Manhattan is an island, which was cut off from the rest of the world -- no bridges, tunnels or phones. So I decided to go to church.

I walked down to St Barts, wending my way through hundreds of people desperately plodding in the opposite direction. When I reached the church, I saw church members standing on the steps and sidewalk, handing out written prayers of comfort, selected for the tragedy of the day. And handing out water, I think. And there were big signs set up outside the church inviting people to come inside.

I entered the huge sanctuary (I think it seats 1200) and found that by chance I had arrived just as they were about to begin a service. People of all walks of life were there. Some were the normal celebrants, some were there like I was, looking for comfort, and some just wanted to rest their feet. All were made welcome. The priest addressed the uncertainty. He said that since no one yet understood the situation, they didn't know how to help, but that they would do whatever seemed helpful, including opening the church for people to sleep on the pews if that became necessary. I was grateful to have an option if need be. St. Bart's really came through in terms of stretching out an arm to the community.

Today, I went to get ashes, and found that I had arrived mid-way through the noon service. Even though I was peculiarly self-conscious I suddenly had an encounter with Grace. Suddenly I grasped the richness and beauty of the liturgy. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed with gratitude towards Jesus.

I'm not quite sure how this was possible, but I took a subway there and back, walked a few blocks, attended half of a service,laughed, cried, sang, prayed, received communion, went next-door to the chapel to receive my ashes, picked up some lunch at a cart next door, and took the subway back to work, in barely over an hour. And was touched by grace.

Back at work, I didn't notice anyone else with ashes. Most of the people on my floor are Hindu, a number are Jewish, and a handful are Muslim. Frankly speaking, it was my turn for forehead art. Most of my co-workers were too tactful to say anything, but M finally exclaimed: "Ann, you have something on your forehead!" I explained that it is a religious symbol, to show that God created us out of dust, and to remind us of Jesus' sacrifice for us. He was delighted to hear this, and said excitedly that they too put ashes on the forehead.

He was too polite to say that his tradition was better, but the subtext was clear. Rather than my measely once-a year ceremony, they get ashes "every time they visit the goddess". Oh well.

Pray that the true light that has come into the world would enlighten the hearts of M, and R, and A, and S, and B, and D, and H, and V, and S(another and another and another) and R(another one) and G, and K, and K(another) and N.

Mondegreens part 2 -- Assault Ministry

I was about to title this "when is a typo more than a typo", when I suddenly realized that it really wasn't a typo, it was a Mondegreen. (You remember Mondegreens, don't you?) Here's the situation.

Newsweek recently published a correction to their February 6th article, in which they had (mis)-quoted Jerry Falwell as promoting "assault ministry". Actually, Falwell was referring to Matthew 5:13 "You are the salt of the earth", and was promoting a salt ministry. I understand that the reporter might have honestly not heard or understood what he really said, but why didn't he ask? Why not check before printing something so inflammatory?

I suspect that the answer lies in expectations. Our culture expects evangelists to be offensive and confrontational, so "assault ministry" sounded plausible to them. It's hard to know what to say about this. Certainly we see prophets in the Bible who weren't overly concerned with what people thought of them, so I wouldn't want to make some sort of rule that a Christian should never offend anyone. Yet too often we see examples of Christians who are being unnecessarily confrontational, as if their purpose in life is to argue and criticize, rather than to bring light into a dark world.

It often boils down to the problem of how to speak the truth in love. I find that it is easy to do one (truth) or the other (love), but is almost impossible to speak both -- truth and love at the same time.

The mis-hearing of Jerry Falwell probably doesn't have as much to do with him personally, as it does with the general impressions people have concerning Christians (at least prominent ones). I suspect that if we tried harder to make sure our words of truth were tempered by a heart of love, the world around us might not assume that "assault ministry" is a normal Christian principle!

A Literary Game

I was just browsing on Amazon, and I made up a game. Match the first line to the appropriate book:

FIRST LINES
1) "Divine movements have their birthplace in the heart of Deity..."
2) "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it..."
3) "Marley was dead, to begin with."
4) "Call me Ishmael,"
5) "This whole strange adventure got its start late one night when I was sitting in my study reading Life magazine, and turned a page..."
6) "As I walked through the church parking lot to my car, I wanted to scream..."
7) "To be able to look backward and say, 'This has been the finest year of my live' -- that is glorious!"
8) "The guard spat into the alley, but nodded quite kindly and allowed me to pass."
9) "I am disappointed with myself..."
10) "We today yearn for prayer and hide from prayer..."
11) "In the Beginning..."

BOOK TITLES:
A) A Christmas Carol
B) Chasing the Dragon
C) Savoring God's Word
D) A Tale of Two Cities
E) The Cross and the Switchblade
F) The Life you've always wanted
G) Practicing His Presence
H) Prayer: finding the heart's true home
I) I Saw the Welsh Revival
J) Moby Dick
K) The Bible

What is a Leader?

OK, I have to admit that I delayed posting this blog because I didn't want to admit that I watched 'The Apprentice'. But here goes, anyway.

I seem to be surrounded by people talking about leadership. Not just Donald Trump and Martha Stewart, but work and church, too.

After analyzing everything that everyone says, I've come to the conclusion that the definition I heard in church is actually the best. You can tell if someone is a leader, because there are people following them. (Confidential note to Donald Trump: you could get rid of a lot of the obnoxious Apprentice candidates a lot sooner if you understood this principle).

Have you noticed that people love to talk about what great leaders they are? The more they talk, the more people want to run away. But here are some examples of leadership I have noticed from church.

Do you remember the youth group leader who shaved her head? The next week one of the kids had shaved their head. And the following week, two more had shaved their heads. We could discuss the value of this, but the topic is leadership rather than hairstyles. Admit it, it takes a real leader to get people to imitate you by shaving their heads.

Or how about another youth group leader with an affinity for flip-flops. Suddenly, half the church seems to have forgotten that shoes and socks are even a possibility. Again, it takes a leader to generate a following.

On the other hand, the gentleman who wore the reindeer antlers did not acquire any converts. Apparently, not an example of leadership in action.

You see what an easy test this is? Think how much money The Donald could save -- instead of doing weekly projects that cost tens of thousands of dollars, all he has to do is hand out a razor, a pair of sandals, and a pair of antlers, without explaining why. The following week, it would be easy to count how many candidates were participating in each.

To be honest, I would definitely flunk leadership with this type of test. I think the only thing anyone has ever copied me wearing is my wonderful pair of wool slippers from L.L.Bean. So for stylistically challenged people like me, maybe we could have another category, such as books. Do the people around you want to read the books you read?

We can even see personal influence in how people speak. My old pastor used to say that you can tell if someone is a leader by whether people quote him. Considering the fact that I haven't heard him preach for years, but I'm still quoting him, I guess that confirms that he is a leader (not that there was any question about it). Every time I'm teaching, I catch myself saying: If you haven't heard anything else that I've said...

Of course, leadership can be used for ill as well as for good. Think of the reckless teens who lead their friends into danger and sometimes tragedy. Think of hazing ringleaders. Think of the 'queen bee' type girls, who teach their followers to ostracize and mock the ones outside the charmed circle.

But whenever we see someone with a mis-used gift of leadership, consider the fact that if you can influence them for good, there is no telling what a marvelous outcome there might be, as their own leadership gifts get redirected in a more positive way. It opens up interesting prayer opportunities.

And in the meanwhile, I'm going to send Donald Trump a pair of antlers...

An alternative to the holiday wars

I have this theory that if we could get rid of political correctness and replace it with some common courtesy, things would work out a lot better.

Last week I found it ironic that the only people from my workplace who dared say 'Merry Christmas' were those from Singapore or Zurich. New York is just way too politically correct. Everyone from NY sent generic 'happy holidays' messages. It's not that I'm offended exactly -- after all, most of them aren't believers in the first place, so there's no reason they should be celebrating Christmas. But the Christians (myself among them) generally don't send anything at all, so it doesn't have to turn into an issue. That's a sad state of affairs.

This week, the office is pretty empty, since most of the managers are out. That means that there are hardly any Americans around. Most of my co-workers are Indians, and most of those are Hindu (although a few are Muslim). They greeted me this morning, and pleasantly asked me if I had spent a Merry Christmas. They were quite interested to know how I celebrated, but seemed satisfied to hear that I spend Christmas day with family, and went to church on Christmas eve, and on Christmas morning. One was eager to tell me that he himself had gone to a Christmas party. His punchline deserved a drum-roll: "It was the birthday of the baby Jesus!" Then he looked at me to see if he had said the right thing or not, and I emphatically agreed. The other gentlemen standing around the coffee maker seemed pleased that they had figured out this foreign custom.

Then a Rumanian co-worker asked me what I did for Christmas, and again I said that I spent it with family and in church. I suddenly realized that instead of being politically correct I could simply ask which holiday he celebrated. He acknowledged that he celebrates Christmas, as he is Eastern Orthodox (although non-practicing). He said that when he was young Christmas was not so overdone. Of course, some of it has to do with the fact that it was communist rather than capitalist, but it was still interesting to hear the difference. He said that children received just a few small sweets or toys. In fact, they carefully polished their shoes, because the gifts appeared inside! So now that he lives in a 'free' country, he celebrates Christmas by going to the mall instead of to church.

Bye, Barney

Barney died last week, but I wanted to honor Florence, so Barney had to wait.
For those of you who don't remember (how could you forget!), Barney was the dog that we've been praying for. His family is still hesitant to ask for prayers for themselves, but they were eager to get any help they could for their faithful friend.

I remember the first time I set eyes on him. I had already heard so much about him at work, that I finally insisted on meeting him, so a dinner was arranged, just as an excuse for me to get to know the dog. After we finished eating (spanikopita, saganaki, tatziki, scordalia, grilled octopus, pita, sangria), 'S's girlfriend went across the street to fetch Barney from the apartment. When dog noticed 'S' waiting on the sidewalk, he greeted him happily.

The picture above isn't really him - he was actually a combination beagle and basset hound, and I had never hear that kind of happy howl before. It wasn't the traditional baying at the moon crooning. It wasn't the sound of a wolf wannabe. Rather it was more like a song of great joy -- a loud song of great joy. A song that resonated up and down Broadway, and across 76th street. Pavarotti would have wept in envy to hear the resonance, sounding effortlessly above the noise of the traffic, and the taxi-cabs, and the people.
Awoooooo, Awoooooooo, Awooooo-wooooo-wooooo-woooo.
I laughed so hard I ended up sitting on the sidewalk of Manhattan, with the dog in my lap. It was one of those unforgettable moments.

But over the past few years, Barney has been accumulating illnesses. Each medication had side-effects that caused other problems. And every time he was taken to the hospital, we prayed. (You guys were praying, weren't you?). His family is still not quite comfortable with this prayer thing, and certainly weren't interested in going to church with me, but they would reach out to try anything for Barney.

They are a wonderful, thoughtful, intelligent, friendly, humorous couple from a Jewish tradition, who are respectful and patient with my beliefs. When we get together they ask me how church is, because they are good conversationalists, sort of like asking someone how their hobby is going -- it's an example of good manners and friendly courtesy rather than true interest. But Barney was the one touchpoint where they were intensely interested. When he was sick with pneumonia, I got daily hospital bulletins from them. They clearly figured that it couldn't hurt, and just maybe it might help.

As he aged, and the frequency of his illnesses accelerated, I realized that unless he was going to be some kind of miraculous Elijah-dog, he was going to die. Frankly, I worried that there would be a backlash. (To be honest, I worry about that when I pray for people too -- if the prayer doesn't 'work', will they be resentful and mad?).

But 'S' was unfailingly gracious. He called to tell me that Barney was dead, and then said that they figured that the prayers had pulled him through several times, and brought him an extra year of life.

So we won't be praying for Barney any more, but please pray that 'S' and his wife 'S' will keep reaching out for prayer for other topics.

Farewell, Florence

She had been failing for the past year, and sometimes asked to leave church early , so when I didn’t see her in the nursing home for a few weeks, I just assumed she was tired – I didn’t realize she had died. I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, but I do anyway, and I’ll really miss her.

She really epitomized my theory that as we age we simply become a more concentrated version of our own personality. She was a sweetheart. Even when she didn’t remember who someone was, she was friendly and appreciative.

I remember one morning when her niece came to see her. Florence was not having a good memory day, but her personality was intact. She smiled sweetly at her niece and confided: “I don’t remember who you are, but you are so nice to come and see me!”She loved proclaiming her age. It varied every week. Sometimes she was 84 and sometimes she was 94. Once in a while she was 96. She loved asking us to guess her age, and of course it was a surprise every time. Regardless of the number she chose, she would cock her head coyly to the side and gleefully proclaim: “Not bad for a little old lady!” I always delighted her by responding: “You’re not just any little old lady, you are a TERRIFIC little old lady! “ And each time she was thrilled, and eagerly asked: “Really? You think I’m terrific?” She beamed with a wide smile that cheerfully showed off her two remaining teeth.

Well the joke was on me. I would sometimes try to correct her and remind her that she was 94, but it turns out she was actually 100! Her goal was to be nice to everybody, and I can honestly say she was a great example. Goodbye Florence.

3 ideas for simplifying Christmas Shopping

I'm probably not unusual in getting stressed out around Christmas. It's partly a question of expectations, both on my part and from other people. And of course the issue of gifts gets increasingly complex.

So I've started a personal simplification campaign. Most of my friends are getting a copy of one of my favorite Christian books. People for whom that is not appropriate (either they are not readers, or don't have time to read, or aren't believers) get a gift basket that I make up for them with treats from Trader Joe, tailored to their personal tastes. And people for whom that won't work get the simple honor of donations made in their name to World Vision.

I know I've blogged about that before, but it's really fun. The way I look at it is that if I really can't figure out anything that the person wants, it is better to donate to a poor family who will really appreciate it, than wander the malls aimlessly, and then pay too much for a piece of overpriced junk that will simply take up space.

You may recall that last year I honored my friend 'H' with a camel donated in his name. It was the most expensive gift I gave, but I knew that the ultimate recipient would appreciate it, even if it wasn't exactly what 'H' was expecting. Luckily, he got the point, and was pleased. He did ask my why I didn't give a pig, since they are so useful, and I explained that I wasn't sure that a pig would sound like such an honor (especially since he is Jewish). But he assured me that a pig would be fine, so guess what I got him this year?

Looking back on it, I find that the camel was my very best investment last year. Did you know that the price of camels went up 30% this year? Thank goodness I purchased one when they were cheap! Some day I'll splurge on an All-Inclusive Mongolian Ger.

There are gifts for every budget, starting under $20, and ranging to the tens of thousands. Choose a category that will be meaningful to the recipient. Food, shelter, education, etc. The easiest way to 'shop' is to go to the world vision website, click on the 'ways to give' tab, and choose 'gift catalog'. You will see some of their most popular items, but you can also browse through a particular category by choosing a topic on the left. Feed a village. Prevent Malaria. Educate a child. Give a wheelchair. Donate a Llama. Drill a well. Care for a girl survivor of war. Rescue a girl from the sex trade. Plant an orchard. Raise a chicken. Separate the sheep from the goats...

Isn't that more fun than the mall?

Do you have any Mondegreens?

We are approaching Mondegreen season. Do you have a mondegreen?

The best thing about mondegreens is that we generally cannot tell if we ourselves are afflicted -- that's the fun of it.

A mondegreen occurs when we hear a poem or a song, and misunderstand the lyrics. We can go for years happily singing our own words, never realizing that they are not 'correct'. The word 'mondegreen' itself was coined by a woman who suddenly realized that she had been singing a song incorrectly since she was a child. Her version sounds plausible:
Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands
Oh where hae you been?
They hae slay the Earl of Murray,
And Lady Mondegreen.
But actually the last line was supposed to be:
And laid him on the green.

In church circles, one of the most famous mondegreens came from the child whose favorite hymn was: "Gladly the cross-eyed bear". The rest of us know this better as: "Gladly, the Cross I'd bear".
Other favorites are heard in the Lord's Prayer, which occasionally pleads "lead us not into Penn Station"
Christmas Carols always have great mondegreen possibilities. After all, we usually sing them first as a child, we are more likely to hear then first rather than reading the words, and they are only performed seasonally.
This may actually explain why Good King Wenceslas is so unpopular. I wouldn't like him either if I thought that
"Good King Wences' car backed out
On the feet of heathens"

I mentioned mondegreens to my boss, and he immediately contributed one from his wife. They attend a seasonal event where the Morris dancers sing 'Lord of the Dance'. She was looking forward to it, and mentioned that she really liked the dancing tree song. Apparently it took them a while to figure out that they were singing:
"I am the Lord of the Dance, said He"
but she was hearing:
"I am the Lord of the dancing tree".

There is a wonderful collection of Christmas mondegreens you can look up, if you are interested.

But the most fun will be if you submit comments with your own mondegreens.

Traditions

I've been thinking about traditions lately. I guess we all have our own connotations of tradition. Some people assume the word is talking about something good -- they envision a warm family scene perhaps. Others assume the word is bad, referring to attitudes and actions that are boring at best, and archaic or harmful at worst.

I went to a college that enjoyed its traditions. I was a bellringer, and we rang the bells every evening before dinner, as well as for special events (such as the first snowfall of the year). We loved sharing the traditions that had been handed down, such as afternoon tea with the professors, and the annual basketball game between the freshmen and the sophomores. Some of those traditions will probably change in the next year or two, since the college has just started admitting men, who may start their own traditions, or modify some of the existing ones. I can't really see them dancing around the sycamore tree, or kissing Minerva's toe (don't ask).

But somehow it seems that it takes a shorter period of time nowadays to create a tradition. In fact, it apparently only takes once! For example, a friend of mine noted that her husband was taken aback to find that their vacation flight was not booked on JetBlue. "We always fly JetBlue." May I note that he had only flown JetBlue once in his life.

Another incidence of an instant tradition arose at work. Last year I baked a cake, and brought it in to share with anyone who came in to work on the Friday after Thanksgiving. This year, one of my Indian co-workers felt on solid ground in her understanding of what happens on the American holiday of Thanksgiving -- Ann bakes a cake. When she reminded me of this, I felt that I really should do so again. And I inadvertently repeated a sub-tradition, when I left out one of the ingredients. Last year I left out the oil. This year I left out the lemon rind. Ironically, both times it turned out fine!

Bunnies, bugs, birds and bobcats

I am currrently visiting my parents in Arizona, and enjoying the beautiful natural scenery. A surprising variety of wildlife can be seen right from the kitchen window.

This morning, while eating breakfast, we wondered where the quail were -- usually there are up to a couple of dozen, with their little topnots bobbing as they peck at the birdseed on the patio. A few minute later the avoidance was explained when we saw a bobcat casually walk by. Actually, there were two, but I only saw the baby, barely bigger than a large housecat, but with a short tail, and an unusual patterned gray coat. After that we noticed a naive little bunny, hopping carelessly across the very path that the bobcat had crossed. Luckily nothing dire happened (at least not while we were watching). All in all, it was a most exciting breakfast. I wonder who will show up tomorrow!

And of course, there are the bugs. Fascinating, if you are into those things. Some of them are big enough that they look like characters in a scary movie. I prefer the ones that are not too sociable, and that scurry away.

The scenery is beautiful. When I get home I post a photo of the beautiful Sedona rocks.

p.s. I changed my mind. In keeping with the wildlife theme, I've attached a shot of the scorpion in the bathtub. Sorry it's so blurry -- I didn't want to get too close!

10 minutes a week

Can you guess what this is referring to?
Let's see...

• 10 minutes a week is less time than I spend brushing my teeth. Maybe it's about how long I floss.
  
• 10 minutes a week is less time than I spend paying bills.
  
• 10 minutes a week is considerably less than I spend doing laundry.
  
• Of course, it's more time than I spend putting on makeup.
  
• It's way less time than I spend reading email. It's even a little less time than I spend dealing with spam.
  
• It's more time than I spend vacuuming. (oops, the secret is out!)
  
• It's less than the amount of time I spend waiting for the elevator at work.
  
• It's way less time than I spend worrying about things I can't control
  
• It's less than the time I spend drying my hair.
  
• It's less than the time I spend eating ice cream.
  

Did you try to guess?
Open Doorsis trying to recruit 1008 people to each spend 10 minutes a week praying for the persecuted believers in North Korea. One of the most repressive countries in the world, North Korea continues to be one of the countries with the worst persecution of Christians. The goal is to blanket the country with prayer, 24 hours a day. You can sign-up for the exact 10 minute slot you prefer.
Here are some topics they suggest:

Prayer Requests: Child Beggars: There is so much poverty in North Korea, and children, in particular, suffer the most. These children who have no parents and no home try to grab every grain of rice on the ground at the local markets, but they are often driven away without having had anything to eat. Pray for these child beggars on the streets. These children have no one to care for them. Pray for good supervision of these children and that they may one day hear the Gospel. Guards/Prisoners: There are various prison camps in North Korea; their conditions are appalling. Christians are imprisoned if it becomes known that they love the Lord Jesus. Please pray that these Christians will be able to show something of the Light of Christ to their fellow prisoners and to the guards. An ex-prisoner from one of these terrible prison camps, Soon Ok Lee, said that the Christians she met in the camps never denied God and continued to be a living testimony to their faith. Underground Christians: In North Korea any expression of faith in Christ is punished and they are in great danger of being sent to a prison camp. Pray for the Christians who continue underground, despite the difficult circumstances and pray for safe and encouraging meetings.

10 Minutes a week. Go ahead. Sign-up. You can do it! Pray in faith that the power of God can cause changes we cannot even imagine. Prayer can go through a closed border, and can go behind the walls of the concentration camps. Prayer can touch hearts that don't even share our language. Prayer can cause nations to rise, and nations to fall.

Another opportunity for humility

I guess I should have expected this. Last week I taught about the life and character of David, and I stressed his humility, and the need for us to learn humility ourselves, as an aspect of maturity.

So I shouldn't have been surprised at a perfect growth opportunity that came up this morning. Imagine another morning at the nursing home. I was busy setting up the mic and the music for the hymns, and the aides were wheeling in the residents. As they bustled back and forth I mentioned that I wouldn't be there next time, since I would be visiting my parents for Thanksgiving. And the next thing I knew, one of the old ladies yells out: "I really don't care!"

Everyone in the room froze, and then tried to shush her, but I just started laughing. If David accepted it when he was cursed by Shimei, the least I can do is accept it when I'm yelled at by a little old lady. Then again, the problem with humility is that as soon as you think you've got it, you don't have it.

Anyway, after that rather inauspicious beginning, I began to speak. I sort of fixed my attention on one lady who seemed especially alert and interested. I thought I was really getting through to her. At the end, when we went around praying for each one, I was pleased to greet her, only to find out that she doesn't even speak English. She simply has a face that looks friendly and interested, but she wasn't actually listening to, or understanding anything I said.

So I figure I'll redeem myself by singing her something in Italian, and the only thing I can think of on the spot is Caro Mio Ben (an aria I learned in college). I'm halfway through that when I vaguely realize that it's not especially appropriate, but decide that I might as well end the day with a splash, as I sing:
Caro mio ben,
credimi almen,
senza di te languisce il cor.
It's even worse in English:
My dear beloved,
believe me at least,
without you my heart languishes.
Anyway, she laughed, which was actually the high point of the day.

You couldn't make this up

Recently, an Israeli prisoner, excavating a new prison ward intended to house Palestinian prisoners, in the town of Megiddo (the Biblical place of Armageddon), discovered the ruins of an ancient Christian church. I thought it was a spoof at first -- it seemed too implausible, like a badly plotted soap opera.

So far, the archeologists believe that the church dates back to the third century. If so, it would make it the oldest church in Israel, and it could shed light on Christian practices of that era. Ironically, the historic importance is so significant that even the Israeli government is excited about this.

People from all over the world come to see Megiddo, beause it is incredibly rich archeologically, dating from the Chalcolithic period, with 26 different cities built on top of each other. I visited there myself, and was astounded by the sophistication of the ancient civilizations. If you ever go, be sure to see the iron age tunnel.

But now there is a new reason to visit Megiddo -- to see the ruins of this early church. Parenthetically, we know from inscriptions found in the ruins, that it was built with money donated by a Roman officer, and a woman named Aketous. Of course, you can't really visit it yet, because they have to figure out what to do with the prison first!

Does anyone care?

I've been getting an uneasy feeling lately.

As American Christians, we claim to love the people of the world, yet we don't even seem to notice when they are dying.

There have been a lot of headlines lately when the US casualty count in Iraq hit 2000, but has anyone noticed that the civilian body count has hit an estimated 25,000?

Everywhere you turn, there are fundraisers for those impacted by Katrina. That is appropriate -- I've gladly contributed myself, and it makes sense that we should take care of our own people.

But here's my question: what about the people who are suffering from the earthquake in Pakistan? It's not even mentioned on most news programs any more. No one really knows how many have died. Some say 55,000. Some say 80,000, but no one really knows, partly because half a million people have not received ANY aid because no one has even reached them yet and the dead have not been counted.

People are dying daily from preventable diseases, such as tetanus. 3 million are without food and shelter, and winter is setting in. Due to the combined effect of the mountainous area and the roads destroyed by the earthquake, the only hope for many of these people is via helicopter, which frankly is going to require international donations both of cash and of equipment. This isn't yet a reconstruction effort, it is still a critical rescue phase. It's too late for the people who are buried, but it's not to late for many of the injured and homeless, if they are rescued before they have gangrene, and before they freeze to death, and before they starve.

Save a life today. Donate to World Vision, or to another agency that is on the scene.

But now that I've said the serious stuff, I'll mention a funny aside. In a peculiar twist of fate, I actually know the prime minister of Pakistan (not that he would remember me). Several years ago we worked together on the same computer project. I can't quite recall whether I taught him how to make his own coffee. That was before he was prime minister, of course.

Flaky Intercession

I've been reading a lot about prayer lately. I find that God knows how to work with my personality (He should, He created me!), and since I am an 'information person', he often communicates with me by causing me to want to read about something. And then somewhere down the line I start wanting to bring it into real life. So as I said, I've been reading a lot about prayer lately (and have gradually been starting to actually pray more too).

The title of this blog is from a chapter of a book by Cindy Jacobs, called Possessing the Gates of the Enemy. The subtitle is 'a training manual for militant intercession'. I like the book because it gets very practical, and moves beyond the theoretical.

For some reason, I was especially taken with the chapter Flaky Intercession, which contains warnings about things to avoid, and advice about safeguards.

The first safeguard is spiritual accountability and submission. This goes counter to the American value of independence. Cindy Jacobs stresses that intercessors (especially prophetic intercessors) need to be in relationship with a local church.

The second safeguard is having a clean heart. It is so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that we know best, that the tendency is to overstep and let our pride in hearing from God distort our prayers until they are manipulative or critical.

areodjarekput

Peter's comment about the Eskimo and the missionary reminded me of an interesting article I read online last week. Adam Jacot de Boinod has just written a book called The Meaning of Tingo. He studied hundreds of dictionaries in different languages, and found that the existence of unique words can actually imply something about the culture. As he puts it, "the culture of a country can be best summed up by its untranslatable words."

Anyone who has studied another language realizes that some words just can't be properly translated, because a true synonym doesn't exist. Sometimes it's because other languages simply don't need to support that much subtlety. As children, we used to go around impressing each other by boasting about how many words eskimos had for snow. I don't know where we got our information from, but it's probably true. Jacot de Boinod found that Hawaii has 47 separate words for banana. I can understand if there were separate terms for green, ripe and overripe, but I can't imagine needing 47 varieties, because I live in a place where it is not relevant.

Back to the Eskimo. "The Meaning of Tingo" cites the Inuit word "areodjarekput". Google news quotes the book as defining areodjarekput as the practice of exchanging wives for a few days to help pass the time in the long winter nights. A knowledge of the language might have helped the hapless missionary to understand the cultural norms, and be more sensitive in how he went about trying to teach a different way.

Similarly, perhaps missionaries to Bolivia should be aware that they have a word that means "I was rather too drunk last night and it's all their fault"?

I couldn't resist ordering the book. When I get it, I'll tell you if it is as interesting as it sounds.

The science of garbage disposal. How could I have missed that?

Have you seen this? It is a solar powered trash compactor. There's one across the street from the building where I work. I couldn't figure out what it was for a while. It had a 'Keep Queens Clean' poster on the side, which made it look like it had something to do with garbage or recycling, but the shape is more like a mailbox. And the solar cells on the top were puzzling. So I did a little research, and found out that this is the latest thing in garbage disposal.
For only $4,500, you too can purchase a solar powered trash compactor. The advantage is supposedly that the trash is compacted by a factor of 8. I have to warn you, though, that the lid and chute into which you feed the garbage gets pretty disgusting.

But while we are on the topic of garbage, at least it's better than the garbage cans on my side of the street, which have these attractive rounded tops, with cute little half-circles cut into them to deposit the garbage. The openings are cleverly just a tiny bit smaller than salad-bar take-out containers, thus forcing people to actually carry their garbage back to their desks rather than fill up the cute trash cans.

And that brings us to the trash can in the ladies room at church. I don't like the fact that you have to lift the lid with your hand. Doesn't that sort of defeat the fact that you just washed your hands? And if you take an extra paper towel to lift the lid with, it defeats the purpose of having the garbage can anyway, since you walk out still holding the extra paper towel.

Then there's the recycling notice we periodically get at work. The company wants to recycle all the computer printout. It's a goal I agree with, but the method never quite works. Basically, the problem is that in order to recycle the paper, it has to be separated from other kinds of garbage (such as the salad-bar containers that we carried back to our desks at lunch-time). For a while they actually gave us each two wastebaskets at our desks, that were color coded to separate recycling from garbage. I think that was too much work for the maids -- it's not as trivial as it sounds, because they have about 100 wastebaskets to empty just on one floor. So now they want people to throw only recycling paper into their desk wastebaskets, and to hand carry all other kinds of garbage to the receptacle in the central hallway.

There are a couple of problems with this. One is that I don't think 100 people will bother walking across the entire wing every time they want to throw out a soda can. But even if they solved that part, there is a more fundamental flaw. They haven't quite figured out that the maids empty all the garbage cans into the same big disposal bins for removal. It sort of reminds me of the story of the teen whose mother explained how to sort laundry before sending him to college. He carefully separated the lights and the darks, and then innocently dumped both piles into the same load.