The doorbell rings and a child waits outside and there are tears. Lots of tears. I ask if they want to sit with me and rock in the rocking chair. The answer is always yes. So I hold them in my arms And we rock.
I am not a therapist nor a counselor. I am not a psychologist or a mental health professional. All I have is a rocking chair, So I rock.
There are no words, no wisdom imparted, just the creak of the rocker as they tell me their stories and I quietly listen. And I hold them in my arms And we rock.
The stories are unbearable, they wipe their noses on my shirt collar as they cry. An unending flood of tears. I cannot stop their pain. All I know to do is hold them And we rock.
Sometimes they don’t fit in my lap, long legged teens with their arms wrapped around my neck. They don’t seem to care that I cannot fix it. So I just hold them in my arms And we rock.
Sometimes there is anger and fingers gripping into my arms until there is a bruise. Words of frustration and despair. I hold them tight And we rock.
Often they fall asleep, emotions spent, exhausted from the telling of secrets that no one should ever have to hear. So I just keep holding them And we rock.
I pray as I listen, asking our Heavenly Father who sees to heal, restore, and redeem all of the brokenness that they feel. As I hold them He is my rock.
Tossing and turning in my bed, watching the ceiling fan go around. It is so hot. Sweat is trickling down my back. So restless and so tired but sleep will not come. It has been yet another hard day and I am feeling the loneliness tonight. The night sounds in the jungle are soothing and I try to relax listening to the sounds of birds and the night creatures. The ding of my phone makes me jump and I am alert. It is a message from the girls’ house saying that they are not getting along. We get dressed and call them over one at a time. We listen around our kitchen table as they pour out their pain. Grief. Anger. Rejection. Jeff’s voice is gentle, his words soothing and wise. Where does he get the energy, the patience at this time of night. We pray for the right words. For wisdom. For strength. For Hope.
It was hurricane season in Central America. Several hurricanes had missed us, or they were downgraded to tropical storms – but not this time. We watched the weather channel closely and not only was it going to hit us, we were dead centre and not far from landfall. We already had a hurricane plan in place for the children’s home, but we gathered staff and went over the plan in detail. We had extra water, food, gas, and propane. The boys picked up wheelbarrows of coconuts and carted them away. The volleyball nets, chairs, and hammocks were tucked away, and plywood was placed over the windows. The boys brought their mattresses from their wooden house to the safety of the cement house. Jeff and I bunked in as well. We had done all that we could think to do. We lost power before the storm even made landfall. We still had cell service so our friends on the coast texted their status and our next in line friends relayed reports from their location. We watched trees fall before the storm had even arrived full force. When our friends messaged to say “it’s coming” we knew we had about 20 minutes. We soon lost cell service and could no longer communicate. Debris became airborne and there was an eerie loud roar. When it was too frightening and no longer safe to watch from our porch, we went inside.
You could still hear the storm but tucked in our cement house with plywood over the windows it was oddly quiet. The house mom calmly served up chicken, beans, and tortillas. Later I peeked out to see if the storm had slowed but was met with the full rage of the hurricane. From the doorway I watched the chicken coop peeling apart for a few moments then returned to the contrasting peacefulness of the kitchen. Eighteen people sat around the table enjoying a hot meal in the lamplight with the children chattering contently and filling their hungry bellies. It was a surreal moment.
So many times, in my life I have had hurricanes swirling around me. You too? Some of them were category 5.
My Dad was one of the few people who truly got me. He understood my extroverted personality and my high spiritedness. He said to Jeff before we were married “do not try to tame her,” meaning “do not break her spirit.” His death left a huge void. Category 5.
Our brother-in-law was in a hotel in Mali, Africa when terrorists took over the hotel and shot everyone in sight as he hid in his room and texted back to Canada. We waited the entire day and watched it unfold on television. He made it out alive. Category 5.
Another family member died of ALS in a short 18 months from diagnosis as we all watched helplessly. There was no treatment for it. Category 5.
Our brother-in-law was struck and killed by a drunk driver leaving a 2-year-old, a 5-year-old, and Jeff’s sister full term pregnancy with their third child. Category 5.
When my Mom died, a Godly woman and prayer warrior, I was a continent away and witnessed her passing on a video screen. I kept going, feeling numb. Category 5.
Our story is not unique and many of you can tell me your Category 5 stories. Not many escape them. Mine include loss of loved ones. Yours may look different with trauma and losses in other ways. How did you cope? I coped calmly with control some of the times. Other times I was numb and robotic, surviving on autopilot. With some I reacted with raw emotions that were not pretty – helplessness, anger, frustration, and grief. However, there were moments of peace sitting in the middle of the pain and feeling held by my heavenly Father, an illogical calmness that you know only comes from God, under His wings.
The hurricane raged on but by now darkness had fallen, and we could no longer see the mayhem outside. We could hear crashing of metal and the muffled roar of the storm. Jeff and I were uneasy as we felt the weight of responsibility for safety for the 16 people in our care as well concern for our staff off site in their homes. As we sat in the lamplight, we had our evening devotions. The house mom diverted from our usual readings and picked up her Bible and read, her voice strong and clear over the sound of the wind outside.
Psalm 91 – 1 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. 2 I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’ 3 Surely, he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. 4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. 5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, 6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. 7 A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. 8 You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. 9 If you say, ‘The Lord is my refuge,’ and you make the Most High your dwelling, 10 no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. 11 For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; 12 they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. 13 You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent. 14 ‘Because he loves me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. 15 He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honour him. 16 With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.’
A peace and calm came over me as I handed our situation over to our big God. Giggling and silliness along with smiles and laughter filled the room. The children were doing fine in the middle of the storm and under His feathers.
Whatever storm you are going through, whether it be a Category 5 or a tropical depression, our faithful God is not on the sidelines watching. This word picture of under His feathers gives us the strength to get through the next day and sometimes the next hour. He is in the storm with you, a refuge, shielding, sheltering, and protecting you under His wings and next to His heart, a calm quiet place where you are secure, loved and cared for in the middle of the storm.
For those who wonder what we do and for those who have asked, I will attempt to paint a picture of our life. In order for you to understand our complex story, I will have to include all of the parts, even the sad parts that bring us to where the story begins. I will have to tell you the parts that we smooth over and don’t mention – some of the realities of the work at Hopewell.
The children come through our gate at all hours of the day and evening and in various states.
-Sometimes shaking with fear from what they have just been through, every kind of horror that I find hard to put into words. Unimaginable. Unconscionable.
-Others are relieved that the nightmare ended, and they can get a reprieve from the deeds done to them.
-Others are resigned. It is not the solution they wanted but the decision was made for them. They are powerless.
-Others want both. They want their Moms or Dads back but they do not want the pain that goes with it. Their source of safety is also their source of danger.
-Some come hungry and neglected. A group of 6 came together and after a brief tour of their new home, they were asked if they had any questions. Yes, one. “There are 6 of us. Will there be enough food to feed us?” God have mercy.
-Most come with their few belongings in a plastic bag while some come with nothing, scooped quickly from their situation with the clothes on their back. Our children hate their belongings in a plastic bag. It symbolizes too much for them.
-We have had the task of dressing wounds. You don’t want to know how or why.
Sometimes the world is ugly, vile, disgraceful, shameful. This ugliness inflicted on some tiny enough to scoop up on our hips, and some still in diapers.
This is where our story begins. Allow me to introduce you to our Superheroes. Our Superheroes are the house parents, caregivers, office staff, facilities workers, cooks, and night guards. They are the scrubbers of toilets, washers of wet sheets, cookers of rice n beans, fence repairers, egg gatherers, shovelers of pig manure, chasers of escaped cows, and watchers of the property in the dark. They are the clothes washers, hair braiders, temper tantrum calmers, homework helpers, and life coaches. This is all interspersed with psychology, more paperwork than you have ever seen, huggers, head patters, nose wipers, and players of epic all staff volleyball tournaments. They all thought they signed up for a job but soon found there is not enough pay in the planet for this and settled into their mission for the sake of these children. Superheroes.
When we get word that a child is coming, the Superheroes spring to action. Clean sheets are spread and a meal at the ready just in case. All gather on the porch for the welcome if it is daylight hours. The real work begins then. Often the children will test the caregivers by acting out or pushing them away because they feel they are unlovable. They want proof that they can be loved. They want to see if you will leave them like everyone else. Eventually with patience, love and consistency, they settle and feel secure and safe. Their hypervigilance gets less, and they begin to relax and pick up the shattered pieces and settle into our family at Hopewell. They are a beautiful gift entrusted to us for a season. They are our smallest Superheroes.
When they are overwhelmed and do not know how to express their pain, they act out. Sometimes lashing out with words and verbal abuse, throwing rocks, smashing windows and screens, and knocking holes in walls. The facilities men end up being both workers and mentors as they help the always remorseful child crackfill a hole or replace a screen. Fortunately, those days are very rare now as we witness healing in their lives. The process is ongoing.
I witnessed one caregiver bear the brunt of a raging child. She stood dazed as wave after wave of harsh words crashed down on her. She looked at me for help. I offered none as I stood there immobilized. She did the only thing she could think of. Forgetting her training and risking a punch, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his face to her shoulder and stroked his hair. Soothing words came from her lips. He melted, anger spent, and the sobs came out in gasps. Did I mention our caregivers are Superheroes?
One child cocoons himself in the hammock to talk. He does not show his face as he talks to Jeff in the safety of his cocoon expressing his pain.
However, most days look like your days – school, homework, chores, baseball games and soccer, board games, crafts, movie nights, and campfires with hotdogs. We have morning and night devotions, church, and singing – lots and lots of singing. The boys chase frogs, make bows and arrows, play in the dirt pile, and hunt tarantulas and lizards. They proudly bring them to them to me to show them off. The girls plat hair, swing in the hammocks, ride bikes, and have dance parties. They escape the heat and play in the shade of the palms, and they forget their pain. We often get knocks on our door as they make a case for off site events and ice cream parties. The girls drop in to negotiate for new dresses and skirts and ask to have their nails polished. The older boys will often stop by in the evening to colour in the intricate colouring book using the special-coloured pencils that we keep on our kitchen table. They sit quietly teasing each other or sometimes just sit in silence as they colour. The older girls do the same, sitting around the table giggling and drinking King Cole Tea. I let them sit and chat and enjoy their few minutes of peace and quiet as they escape from the clamor of the little ones next door. Small moments of healing in their private storms.
What else can I tell you about our story? We take one day at a time. We pray. We pray a lot. We meet their needs as best we can. We feed them, we clothe them, we educate them, we celebrate their accomplishments and victories, and we love them. Our children want everything any other child wants. They want to be loved, to belong, to be secure, to have someone notice them and be proud of them, and they want a family to call their own.
We pray big bold prayers for miracles in their lives because our God is big.
We pray that the cycle of what brought them here in the first place will stop. Will you pray for the cycle to break?
We pray for adoptions that God will bring the perfect family for them. Will you pray for adoptions?
We pray for their future homes and families and spouses, that they will be in healthy marriages with Christ as the center. Will you pray for this?
We pray for good education and employment. Will you pray for jobs?
We picture a bright future for them. Will you pray for their future?
In the end, this is a story of redemption and healing, of strength and resilience. It is a story of hope. Only God. God has met our needs over and over again when we came up with empty hands. He has entrusted these children to us but impressed upon our hearts that He’s got this and is with us. While our staff goes about every day tasks, they are filling the roles of parents well. They deserve our respect, our encouragement, and our prayers. I have not enough words to thank them. We pray for all the Superheroes of Hopewell, both the children and their caregivers. Will you pray for our Superheroes?
I don’t know who started it for sure, but I suspect that it was my daughter. My mother gave a birthday card to my daughter. My daughter then gave a bigger card to my mother for her birthday and said, “I love you more.” My mother then got an even bigger card and said, “I love you more!” And so it began. The cards got bigger and bigger and bigger and the phrase “I love you more” became firmly established in all of our family relationships.
I asked the social worker how would we know when to move our Mom out of her own home and into care. We did not want to do it too early, and we did not want to do it too late. The social worker reassured us with a matter of fact, “you will know.” She was right. When the time for a decision came, we did it with much sadness yet confidence, knowing that the time was right and there was no other decision to be made. Over the next few months my sister and I began to go through her belongings, room by room, closet by closet, shelf by shelf, drawer by drawer, paper by paper. I found a huge 3 foot tall birthday card in her bedroom that had not been used yet. My sister and I stood there laughing because we both knew exactly who she had meant to give it too. I think we had to acknowledge that Mom won that one. “I love you more.” We met at her house day after day for weeks until at last I stood in her empty home with every last trace of her 70 years of life in her home gone – empty walls, bare cupboards, echoing rooms. A huge sense of loss enveloped me as I sat in her empty kitchen and wept. I remember thinking so this is it, I have just erased all of her life, every moment of living, all of the objects that held so many precious memories. Gone.
As I sat on the floor, I remembered the detailed prayer lists that I had found in her belongings. She had prayed for her family, her friends, her church, and her community. There were long lists on index cards representing decades of prayer. Imagine the kingdom impact of that. The longer I sat leaned up against the wall, the more I realized that the sum of a life is not contained in a drawer or a closet. It cannot be calculated in the square footage of your home or measured by the objects therein.
I thought of how she cared for her family and her children. She faithfully rounded us all up as young adults and made sure we all had celebrations for our birthdays. She made certain not a single one was missed and when she could no longer do it, we started to gather at her home and have our birthday celebrations there. She reminded us often of the importance of family and that we needed to take time for each other. The traditions continue.
As I read through poems and devotionals that she had written, I realized that time period of teaching Sunday School and Bible studies had spanned decades of her life, pouring herself out for others so that they may know and understand the God she knew and loved. She cared for people in her community often loving on people that others looked down on.
As I lingered in the silence of her kitchen, I understood that the sum of her life was not on the freshly cleared shelves or within the four walls of an empty room, but in the work that she had done that had long lasting impacts in the lives of those around her, serving her church, her community, her family, and her God. She will leave an amazing legacy for her children and her grandchildren. What really matters was all that she had done that will endure for eternity. The objects in her life have no eternal value.
I sit at my kitchen table journaling. It comforts me and helps me process my thoughts. Maybe my ramblings can help others sometimes. There is an entire continent between my mother and I at the moment, but we meet by video chat regularly. She is no longer able to speak to me, but I am able to see her face on the screen. She seems so close, but I cannot touch her. I feel that she knows the familiar sound of our voices as we visit. Over the next days, I wait for the call that will tell me that my mother has gone to meet her Lord and her Saviour. I smile when I think that God will end the contest once and for all by greeting her with “I love you more.”
Psalm 116:15,16 Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful servants. Truly I am your servant, Lord; I serve you just as my mother did; you have freed me from my chains.
It takes a village. Most of you have heard this term. Wikipedia says that “it is a proverb that means that an entire community of people must provide for and interact positively with children for those children to experience and grow in a safe and healthy environment.” Today I have many emotions, sadness, a little homesickness, joy, awe, wonder, but the one I am feeling most is gratitude. Jeff and I are far from our family and dear friends but have been transplanted into another family until God tells us that our job is complete.
Three months ago, Christmas preparations began for our 15 children here at Hopewell. I was feeling overwhelmed and more than a bit panicked. However, the ones who love Hopewell stepped in with a string of messages, conversations, guidance, and reassurance. Our village.
A complex operation of epic proportions that included Minnesota, California, Texas, Canada, and Belize began. A lot of these many helping hands were already friends of Hopewell who know and love the children. Our village.
Countless others were complete strangers, and we will never know their names. They stepped up to bless our home and our children with no chance of a thank you or recognition. Our village.
Two hams were dropped off just before Christmas. I was left standing stunned at the gate holding two very large hams. Our village.
Gifts appeared for the children. Tennis shoes which were needed for school to go with their uniforms arrived for every child. After Jeff and I had an interview with a local radio station, some were led to bless us with even more greatly needed items. Everyday footwear which we desperately needed arrived. Even our staff received well deserved gifts in beautifully wrapped boxes. Ourvillage.
The unsung heros are the houseparents who worked long hours to prepare, some missing Christmas morning and events with their own families to be here. They trimmed and decorated and the cook prepared an amazing Christmas dinner to fill little bellies. Our village.
I will attempt to paint a picture of the results on Christmas day. I was informed that Santa does not always come to Belizean children. I put on Christmas music and my Santa hat to get in the groove and filled stockings with fruit and grapes and enough sweets and sugar to keep their house parents very busy. There were squeals of delight on Christmas morning as they ate enough to wreck breakfast. They ran full speed for Christmas dinner and chirped with happiness and contentment as they quickly abandoned their spoons to eat with their fingers. Me too!! Someone spotted the soda pop being unloaded and the rumour spread like wildfire that they would get their very own soda pop on Christmas day! They were not disappointed. Our village.
On Christmas morning they were up early, showered and ready. Some were trembling with excitement. Others, although they saw a gift with their name on it under the tree, still had doubts. I asked, “who should open their gift first?” I thought they would all say “me, me, me.” Instead, they all chimed out in unison “the baby!” The baby is our just turned 3-year-old. They all hovered over her as she opened her gift. There were big smiles when they saw her excitement. Then in an orderly manner with much gratefulness and a polite thank you, they opened their gifts. There was happiness, wide eyes of surprise, laughter, and even tears. I was undone. Our village.
Thank you for blessing our children. You know who you are. We send our love and gratitude from Hopewell. We thank you for your continued support and for the many ways you have loved on us. We greatly need your prayers and we want you to know how very grateful we are for our village.
As I climbed and balanced precariously on top of piles of totes and boxes trying to reach the top shelf of the storage room, the boys chimed out in alarm “mind you fall!” I was amused by the way it was phrased. Later, as I made my way down a muddy bank behind the boys house to see the latest creature they had caught, they called out “mind you slip!” I slipped. I was carrying a wee one back from devos along a dark sidewalk and she cautioned me, “mind you trip.” Apparently this is a commonly used phrase and I was becoming accustomed to it and even found myself using it.
I was told by a local pastor that these children living in children’s homes were looked down on. The notion upset me a great deal. These little ones had committed no crime. They were innocent. They were victims and placed here through no fault of their own due to family brokenness and failures. I fussed over these thoughts. How could we ever help them carve out a future if they had an uphill battle all of the way. They had already been through so much and much of their energy had been spent on safety and survival. As I watched them play in the shade of the palms, I prayed for them by name. I prayed BIG, BOLD, CRAZY prayers for their lives, their future, their obstacles, their pain. I held nothing back as I dreamed what God could do in their hearts and in their lives.
Now to Himwho is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us. Ephesians 3:20
Jeff has spent endless hours over the last year putting plans in place to help them heal and be whole. He speaks to government officials, lobbies for them, and is an advocate for their future. It is not a pain free process. Most days are happy days and they play softball, volleyball, and soccer, board games and kite flying, and attend school. Their laughter and happy chirping echoes throughout the compound. Yet on other days we watch them struggle. They move forward with tiny baby steps towards their healing and their future. Sometimes it is with tears and frustration. Often they cannot put their emotions into words. One heads to the back of the property towards the pigpen, angry and upset. He needs to walk it off before he will be ready to talk. Another in helpless despair, cocoons himself in the hammock and hides his face in the fabric. From the safety of his cocoon, with his face covered, he expresses himself freely. Another punches yet another hole in the wall when the pain overwhelms him. Later he will be remorseful and sad as he helps the ever patient facilities man crackfill the damage. Another gentle sweet boy, who thinks he is too big to cry, says he will soon be too old to be adopted and time is running out for him as big tears roll quietly down his cheeks. He is right.
Jeff and I find ourselves on our knees pouring out our petitions to God. Our attempts seem lame and feeble when we see the huge task in front of us and the obstacles they have to overcome. Why God did you bring us here? This is big and we feel small. We empty out our hands and place them before our big God who can do the miracles that we are asking in the lives of these children. We remind ourselves that our God is BIG. Our God is POWERFUL. He is the God of healing, the God of hope, the salvager of pain and wrecked lives. He makes good of the senseless acts. He collects their tears in a bottle. If there is any hope, it is in Him. Will you pray for us? Will you pray for them? Don’t pray little prayers.
Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26
Mind you don’t look down on these little ones
Please be careful what you say
As they can rise above their circumstance
And be a teacher some day
Mind you don’t write them off without a chance
Please don’t judge them as they are
God has plans for them we cannot know
Perhaps a future pastor
Mind you never say never due to their plight
Yes, God hears us when we pray
The God of healing and the God of hope
He walks with them all the way
Mind you think for a while before you judge
For God sees the least of these
God may be preparing in His great plan
A Prime Minister of Belize
Mind you dream big dreams for these children
Spend lots of time on your knees
To be healed and whole and successful
And change the face of Belize
Matthew 25:40 And the King will answer and say to them, Assuredly I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me. by Cyndi den Otter
In the summer we lay out a 1000-piece puzzle on the table at our cabin. Our cabin is always full of people and we love it. Our children visit often, and friends drop in throughout the day and help themselves to the coffee pot. Many of the conversations are held at the puzzle table with a cup of tea on the side. We have a few regulars that drop by to put a few pieces in. We also have a few that are not “puzzle people” but will stop and put in one or two pieces as they pass by. My daughter Aneke is my main labourer at the table. In the late evenings when her children are finally tucked into bed, she will end her day patiently toiling at the puzzle. What a great feeling it is when that last piece is finally put into place and we stand back and admire all the hard work and the many hands that contributed. Everyone wants to be the one to put in that last cherished piece which signals completion. However, on occasion that last piece is missing and there is a frantic search of the cabin to find it. The broom comes out to sweep, couch cushions get pulled up, and the vacuum cleaner gets emptied just in case. Did it get kicked under the couch? Did someone snitch it to play a trick on us? Did one of the toddler’s bury it in the sand box, throw it in the lake, eat it?!
Jeff and I felt a calling to ministry in 2006. We were called to build up marriages and family. We had no idea where that calling would take us and we were uncertain and a little afraid at first. After a season of praying, wrestling with the implications, and seeking His will, we said yes. After our struggle ceased, we felt peace. That calling has led us down roads that we could never have imaged that we would go. Many times (most of the time) we feel inadequate and humbled. There is not much glamour in it. It is stinking hard work. It means writing, memorizing, studying, and giving up leisure time. There are times of discouragement, no pats on the back, and some undeserved kicks in the gut along the way. We are amazed how God can accomplish His will although we are so flawed. In spite of it all, we know that it its good because the project did not belong to us, it belonged to God.
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:10
Jeff and I have some mutual passions that we want to tackle. We are excited to the point of not being able to sleep when we think of them. Sometimes we find ourselves talking for hours, planning, thinking about possibilities, dreaming. We then have the task of laying those dreams in front of our Father and asking if they are our dreams or yours God? Make us want what you want Father. Make your dreams our dreams.
Jeff and I have had the sheer joy of placing that last long laboured for piece of the puzzle in a project and standing back to look, knowing that we did the best that we could. I like to see a project through to the end. There is great satisfaction in seeing the fruit of your labour and toil come to fruition.
However, in Kingdom work, you often do not see how your project turns out. We have come to understand that in much of our next tasks we will be only be starting the puzzle. There will be the main labourers who come along side to do the bulk of the work with us. There will be some that pass by and put in a piece and carry on their way. There may be others that are regulars that drop in to add more pieces. Even though we secretly want to see the whole puzzle complete and get to put that very last glorious piece in, the last pieces may be carried out by other hands. I feel that God is saying I am happy that you obeyed and put those first few pieces in. That was your job, the job that I asked you to do, the dream that I gave you. Oh, and don’t worry about all that jumble of unsorted pieces, I know where each and every piece goes and exactly who I would like to put it there. I try to imagine God pleased with us and standing back to admire the hard work and all the hands that contributed. In in the end, it will be beautiful and perfect and complete because the puzzle belongs to God and is not always ours to complete. To God be the glory.
1 Corinthians 3:6-8I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will be rewarded according to their own labor.
By Cyndi den Otter
Copyright 2021 January 16 Cyndi den Otter – All Rights Reserved May be used with author’s permission
I am not a person who is able to be still. I came out of the womb that way. When I am required to be still there is still some part of my body that is in motion. In school I fidgeted and wiggled in my seat. In church I crisscross my legs back and forth, wiggle my toes, and twiddle my fingers and thumbs. I was the fourth child following three introverted siblings. My parents must have suffered the worst kind of shock with I came into the world wiggling and never stopped. I was not introverted. I was not quiet. My poor mother tried to civilize me. She pulled me out of trees, and out of the haymow of the barn, and off the roof of the chicken coop. She tried to teach me to cook, and to knit, and behave. She was not successful, but truly it was not her fault. She would say to me over and over again, “be still.” My Dad would say playfully to my Mom “she cannot be tamed.” This malady has followed me all my life and even now as I type, my toes and legs are in motion. I don’t do “still.”
This year started out in a flurry of activity, not a problem, bring it on! We were writing, studying, packing, and planning our usual trip to Belize when we found out we would need to move Jeff’s Mom from one city to another. The timing was such that it was only a few days before we were to leave for Central America. We made the 10-hour drive to her home and began the unpacking process in her new apartment. We unpacked and hung pictures from sunup to sundown. It was during this trip that we discovered that Jeff’s father was dying. Shocked and stunned we debated whether to cancel our trip to Belize. Jeff’s Dad insisted that we must continue with our ministry and gave us his blessing to go. We said our goodbyes knowing that it would likely be our last and that within a few short weeks or months he may be gone. The long drive home was surreal. Our heads were swimming with the whirlwind of activity of the last few days, trying to process the reality of Jeff’s Dad’s diagnosis, and thinking forward to the work waiting for us in Belize. We arrived home to the suitcases we already had packed and feeling at peace that we should go, we continued to Belize. There was no time to be still.
Our time there was full as usual and it was a trip that took us from north to south and nearly every district in Belize. One day at the very end of our time there I felt strongly that Jeff should stop the car and call his Dad. We pulled over by the water and made our call. We knew that it was our goodbye and within the hour he was gone. We sat on a rock in the Mopan River and cried. We had one more speaking event before we went home which we completed by the grace of God. On that last day, a sweet woman painted us a sign as a gift. The sign read “Be Still and Know That I am God.” I am sorry but I don’t do “still.”
One of the miracles of these events was that our flight home had a layover near the city that Jeff’s Dad lived in. We stopped in Toronto and as the trains were not running, we were able to catch the very last bus out to attend his funeral. Our children drove from New Brunswick to attend the funeral and brought us winter clothes. We were able to cancel our last flight and drive home with them. We were not absorbing the world crisis that was already brewing.
Soon after we arrived home, the Covid 19 worldwide pandemic was declared and the world shut down. Our weeks of whirlwind activity came to a grinding abrupt halt and we sat in the quietness and stillness of our home. I don’t do “still.”
In the stillness, exhaustion and grief came over us in giant waves. Okay, God you have my full attention. I am still.
Jeff and I talked over the events of the past few weeks. We talked long hours about our mutual calling to ministry. We wondered if our purpose had been fulfilled as neither of us are young anymore. Our bibles were open, and we prayed more than ever. What now? The freshly painted sign was sitting on our china cabinet. Be still. In the pandemic, the days turned in to weeks and the weeks into months. In the stillness we counted the many ways God had taken care of us over the years including the way he had taken care of every tiny detail of our trip home from Belize. We felt assurance more than ever of our calling in marriage and family despite our age. We felt a confidence and peace that God would continue to take care of us as we proceeded. God had planted a seed in both of us that in the stillness grew into a passion that could not be mistaken. Any anxiety about who, what, where, when, and how evaporated and was replaced with a calmness, sureness, and affirmation. Without this time of stillness, we may not have had the confidence to walk through the open doors that God is leading us through. We may have had doubts due to our age, uncertainty, or perhaps missed it altogether if we had not been still and listened to what God had to say to us. Although we did not understand it, God used that stillness as a gift to teach us.
It is unlikely that I will ever do “still” well. However, I am grateful despite the circumstances that He made me be still so that I could hear Him better. I have that precious sign as a reminder and I so need reminding. These days I purposefully take time to be still and listen. God has things to say to me. How about you? Do you need to take time to be still?
He says, “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10
Copyright 2020 December 20 Cyndi den Otter – All Rights Reserved May be used with author’s permission
Nothing gives me greater joy than encouraging you in your life journey. I am a testimony of grace from my powerful God, the mender of hearts, salvager of dreams, giver of hope, and healer of those broken places. So grab a cup of tea, take a moment and relax. I hope these words meet you where you are today, encourage you, and point you to God who loves you more than you can ever imagine. God wants to be part of our lives every moment and always listens for the voices of His children.
Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us.
Ephesians 3:20
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Cyndi den Otter 