The Pilgrimage

March 22^nd, 2012, heralded an adventure known as the Walk to Emmaus. It began as a two hour trek to Sierra Vista, Arizona where I was taken to a restaurant by my ‘sponsor’ and treated to dinner. I was then dropped off at the church where I would spend the next three days in close communion with the ladies and spiritual advisors for Walk #216. We were divided up into tables of five or six and each table was named for a woman of faith. My table was Queen Esther and for those of us there for the first time, we were Pilgrims on a spiritual pilgrimage.

Three days… in the belly of a great fish? Three days… in a tomb? Three days to reflect on where I am and where does God want me to be. Fittingly, Thursday evening culminated in a vow of silence for the remainder of the evening.

There are no secrets in the Walk to Emmaus, but oh there are surprises! And some of those surprises are most humbling, indeed. To date, I haven’t written about this experience only due to it being so fresh, so spiritually encompassing. Often when I try to share with someone about how meaningful this pilgrimage was, I find my eyes welling up with tears of gratitude.

A series of fifteen talks are presented. Every talk shared in some manner on the subject of grace.

Prevenient grace draws us from conception to conversion. Simply put, it is

·       the love of God wooing us

·       the will of God drawing us

·       the desire of God pursuing us

·       the gift of God freeing us

·       the activity of God empowering us.

Justifying grace is the grace of God’s covenant love. Again, simply put, it is God is calling us back into the relationship for which we were created. Further,

·       responding to grace is an act of faith

·       we cannot do anything to merit a relationship with God

Sanctifying grace is God’s active love – to me! It is God’s love in action to others and to the world. Therefore, it stands to reason that our response to Sanctifying grace involves both love and action. It is the desire to grow spiritually and provides the divine energy that transforms our hearts, our lives and through that, our communities. It is

·       Restoring our relationship with God and that of others

·       Imparting new life, new light, new strength and a new heart

·       Perfecting us in the image of God and the likeness of Jesus Christ

·       Equipping us to do the work of Christ in the world; to be Christ’s hands and feet

The three legs of the proverbial stool, shall we say?  Oh, I’ve always believed grace was more than amazing, but learning and knowing the different aspects of grace was quite clarifying. It helped me to understand where I was, where I am and where the Lord is leading me. One Grace experienced in three ways and doesn’t this remind us of the Trinity?

On day two, there was a wonderfully prepared banquet that we were led to from campus site to campus site holding hands. We entered into an area where we had not previously had access to. It was dimly lit and our “Cookies” were dressed formally. We were invited to share the cup and the bread with them. I cannot begin to tell you the joy I felt as I shared with the “Cookies” in some measure giving back to them what they had been so lovingly sharing with us throughout these days. The “Cookies” were the ‘servants’ of our pilgrimage and you could sense the love and attention to detail they put into their work, their labor of love. They served us as if they were serving Christ. I was humbled beyond measure by their actions.

After perhaps one of the most memorable meals I have ever been served, we went back to our tables and continued with talks.

Then we were roused again for another trek, holding hands and snaking from campus to campus… how could anything exceed the banquet we had been served? We reached our destination, the Sanctuary that was darkened but glowing with candle light and the most wonderful music I had ever heard. When we entered, tears were steaming down my face and I turned to one of the spiritual leaders and asked, “Is this what heaven will be like?” People’s voices were raised in songs of praise and worship, waving candles and welcoming the new pilgrims… even now as I type this, the tears are flowing.

When finally your eyes became accustomed to the light you began to see pilgrims greeted by members of their own family and members of their home church. Wonder of wonders, Husband (who went on the Walk the week before) was there to greet me and present me with a rose. When our processions had snaked through the sanctuary several times and we were all sufficiently in awe, the lights began to brighten and the persons who welcomed the pilgrims slowly and quietly exited the sanctuary. I cannot believe how far some of these persons drove to shower us with agape love!

Looking back on what I’ve written doesn’t even come close to describing what I experienced during this three day event. I am looking forward to is being able to do this for other pilgrims during upcoming walks.

Every day after the Three Day Emmaus Walk is Day Four! Day four is where our feet hit the ground. I’m sure the event and the effects of the pilgrimage will fade, but it is now my job to continue on through spiritual disciplines of study, prayer, gathering together and grouping with like minded women to keep the flame alive! I need to nurture the vision God has placed upon my heart.

I had been asked for years to go on The Walk but I always declined. I am the woman who goes to seminars and women's gatherings and comes home saying, "God? Am I yours? Do you love me? Why am I leaving so much emptier than when I came?" I would feel like the program, seminar was meant for everyone but me. The Walk to Emmaus touched me deeply. I knew I was  am God's, that Christ was is my Savior, and that I was am called to a higher purpose!

Every part of this event was God ordained and had been bathed in prayer for months. The Esther table was divinely selected with just the women I needed to be surrounded by. Not all women at the tables were pilgrims. Some were leaders who helped us to stay on track and gently guide us back to the subject at hand. Some were women of God who helped us to see our God given talents and where God might be directing us. Even so... Amen!

…to be continued!

Tamara

PS 

Luke 24:

²⁸ Then they drew near to the village where they were going, and He indicated that He would have gone farther. ²⁹ But they constrained Him, saying, “Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.” And He went in to stay with them.

³⁰ Now it came to pass, as He sat at the table with them, that He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. ³¹ Then their eyes were opened and they knew Him; and He vanished from their sight.

³² And they said to one another, “Did not our heart burn within us while He talked with us on the road, and while He opened the Scriptures to us?” ³³ So they rose up that very hour and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven and those who were with them gathered together, ³⁴ saying, “The Lord is risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!” ³⁵ And they told about the things that had happened on the road, and how He was known to them in the breaking of bread.

 

Silent Sunday

~Silent Sunday

Go Ye Therefore!

We moved to that 20 acre farm to begin serving a mission. The Hubs was sure God was calling him to be in aviation ministry. Me? Not so much. I could not fathom traversing to the remotest part of the earth, walking though the jungles and marshes, picking leeches off my legs to let the peoples know that Jesus loves them. I’m not making light of missionary endeavors, I’m simply telling you where I was at that point in time.

One Sunday our church hosted a couple to come and speak to the congregation about their missionary work. I felt safe as their missionary work was in France! I could do France! A romantic language, good food, fashion, and croissants! Yes… I felt safe with this couple making a presentation.

Approximately five slides (yes… it was that long ago) into their presentation they stopped at a picture of a four seater Cessna plane. The couple began expounding upon the virtue of those in mission aviation. I was only three rows (pews) from them and I’m sure the look of horror upon my face spoke volumes to them.

If that didn’t then perhaps it was the low, guttural sounds and sobbing that did it. It could have been either, I don’t recall. I was wailing, weeping and rocking in my seat. Persons from rows ahead were turning to look at me as if I were possessed by an evil spirit!

What I do recall was it was at that precise moment that I knew the Lord wanted my attention. More than that, He wanted my willingness to follow Him in obedience.

We visited and applied to become missionaries at Missionary Maintenance Service (MMS). MMS prepares aircraft for missions while training aircraft mechanics for mission service. This isn't the normal training someone in a technical school would receive, meaning you don’t take a part off the shelf and replace the inoperable on, often you have to fabricate the part or repair it so it will work.

A large part of this endeavor was to raise our own support by visiting churches and finding those who would contribute on a monthly basis. I learned a lot from these treks. We would attend the church service to give a small “tickler” about mission aviation and then return for the evening service where we had the entire service.

I learned that small rural, struggling churches were the most generous as were the ‘widows’ who lived on a fixed income. They would either have a pot-luck to honor us or the Pastor and his wife would have us in for a home cooked dinner.

I learned that being invited to large metropolitan churches was a sometimes empty endeavor. One such occasion when we were invited to a large church in Akron Ohio, I had a feeling, just a nudge and told the Hubs to be sure we had enough money for fuel and for meals, should it be necessary. It was. There was no pot-luck, there was no one who offered to take us and break bread with us and there was no “love offering” to help with the travel expenses. We had to spend the hours between services in our vehicle on a hot, muggy summer’s day.

I am ever so glad that “nudge” was from the Holy Spirit! I want you to know that I’m not sharing this out of spite or meanness but only because I want to grow up to become like those widow women!

I also don’t mean for the “empty endeavor” phrase to sound opportunistic or self-serving. What I hope this post will do is stir you into action or service should a missionary every visit your church. If possible ask before hand if you can host a pot-luck for them. Or ask them to dinner; slip them some cash to help with travel expenses.

Just open yourselves to the gentle whispering of the Holy Spirit. 

We never were able to raise our support to a level that would sustain a four member family and Hubs health issues also precluded that. But such a learning experience it was. I also learned that our mission may be in our own backyard.

Tamara

PS 

Isaiah 6:8

Then I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?” Then I said, “Here am I. Send me!” 

PSS

What I was really thinking at that time was, "Here am I. Send Dennis!"

Silent Sunday

Purging the Dross

A repeat arsonist set 21 fires in the local area during late January and early February. It was difficult traveling to work and seeing the smoldering, blackened land. It smelled like a giant campfire had been burning. I began to wonder what had happened in that person’s life to cause them to want to destroy such an area, as this was the second year in a row this had happened.

Now in April those areas of arson are alive with growth and green. Those charred areas look even better than the other surrounding areas that were untouched by fire. The difference is striking.

Living in the southwest, wildfires are a very real and present danger. I recall one run-away controlled burn on our mountain that got out of hand. During the darkness of night it was surreal. The fire appeared to be in a canyon and glowed with an ominous and foreboding doom. It looked like an evil dragon’s lair.

Large fires create their own weather challenges by producing their own winds and strength. They are dangerous and unpredictable. Many have lost their homes. Some have lost their lives in such fires.

Have you every felt the heat in your life when the fire of God is attempting to purge something from you? I have. It hasn’t been pleasant either. Comparatively, it is similar to the Bureau of Land Management setting a Controlled Burn however, in an instance like this it is God who is in control.

I recall an email that was being circulated years ago that went like this:

Some time ago, a few ladies met in a certain city to read the scriptures and make them the subject of conversation. While reading the third chapter of Malachi they came upon a remarkable expression in the third verse, "And He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

One lady's opinion was that it was intended to convey the view of the sanctifying influence of the grace of Christ. Then she proposed to visit a silversmith and report to them what he said on the subject. She went accordingly and without telling the object of her errand, begged to know the process of refining silver, which he fully described to her.

"But Sir," she said, "do you sit while the work of refining is going on?" "Oh, yes madam, "replied the silversmith, "I must sit with my eye steadily fixed on the furnace, for if the time necessary for refining be exceeded in the slightest degree, the silver will be injured."

The lady at once saw the beauty and comfort of the expression, "He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

Christ sees it needful to put His children into a furnace. His eye is steadily intent on the work of purifying, and His wisdom and love are both engaged in the best manner for them. Their trials do not come at random; "the very hairs of your head are all numbered."

As the lady was leaving the shop, the silversmith called her back and said he had still further to mention that he only knows when the process of purifying is complete and that is by seeing his own image reflected in the silver.   

~ Author Unknown

Isn’t this a beautiful example? When Christ shall see His own image in His people, His work of purifying will be accomplished.

…and so I pray

Abba, Father - thank You for loving me enough to purge the dross of my life. May I reflect your image to those with whom I come into contact with. In Jesus’ name ~Amen!

When, my friends have you felt the fires of affliction in your life?

Like me, do you argue with God about it or are you more compliant and allow the dross to be purged from your life?

…until next time,

Tamara

Isaiah 48:10

New King James Version

¹⁰ Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver;
I have tested you in the furnace of affliction.

Silent Sunday

Finding God in Trees

The old Ohio farm and surrounding areas were covered with old apple trees. Local legend implied they had been planted by John Chapman a.k.a. Johnny Appleseed. I cannot verify this as truth although Johnny Appleseed's travels did take him through the state. We had a lovely old apple tree on the edge of our property. I would watch this tree from the kitchen window while having a cuppa coffee and daily bread (morning devotions). 

One autumn morning as the sunrise began to dispel the fog a doe and her twin fawns were eating apples from that tree. How good is the Lord to allow us a glimpse of His creation and provision? Moments such as that often serve as “eye spy” blessings in my daily life. Events such as this have become my little blessings of serendipitous opportunity. 

Watching that tree through the seasons was also a reminder that life changes and yet continues on even through the harshness of the seasons. Seasons of drought, searing heat, the time of flood, the lightening strikes and the ice storms that often seek to annihilate and sometimes do destroy. 

I love trees that produce fruits, flowers, colorful leaves, and wonderful scents. I miss trees that lose their multihued leaves in the autumn. I find it irresistible to view the bare branched trees during the winter months. Trees that have a dusting of snow that contrasts so wonderfully against their desolate unprotected bark. 

When the winter doldrums hit – those days of grey skies and indescribable grey moods, I would look to those naked trees with their upturned branches. It often appeared that the branches were raised in symbolic praise and prayer. Almost as if they were beckoning to God to be touched with life once again. Eventually they would be. The snow would melt, the scent of newness (spring) would be in the air and seemingly overnight buds would appear. It was always so miraculous and yet so anticipated. 

Weeping willows trees are a favorite. They are almost poetic when brushed by the wind. It is as if they are brooms that gently sweep the earth, cleansing the area in which they inhabit. Their flowing branches move in the form of a graceful ballet; bending, bending, ever bending and extending their branches to the birds of the air. Lord, do I help to cleanse the area I inhabit rather than pollute it or contaminate those with whom I come into contact with?

When we moved into our home in Arizona, there was a huge Mulberry tree growing from the side of the canal behind our house. It was well over 100 years old and displayed the scars of lightening strikes. Because it is the southwest and rampant with not too long ago history, I called it the ‘hanging tree.’ (It probably wasn't, I just called it that…) It housed a family of owls. I found it comforting when I heard them calling out in the evening. Sometimes in the morning I would find remnants of small animals they had caught and were taking back to the nest, only to drop them in the yard. As disgusting as those finds were, I hoped the baby owls didn't have to go without food during the night.

That century old tree was strongly rooted next to that canal. That’s how I want to be – strongly rooted in my faith – like a tree firmly planted by streams of water. And just like the ‘hanging tree,’ that takes time and seasons and even the storms of life as evidenced through the scars of life. Growth often seems slow but it is happening as long as we pursue it. We must faithfully pursue the Lord, study His Word, and fellowship with like minded believers. We must also talk to Him and allow Him time to speak to us. 

…and so I pray

Abba, Father - thank You for trees and nature that speak to my heart! Help me to slow down and admire Your creation. Through Your grace, may I grow into an oak of righteousness. May I not become so rigid that I break, but retain qualities of the willow, that of being pliable and malleable. May I have the joy of watching my loved ones and my community benefit in the shadow of my shade due only to Your goodness. In Jesus’ name ~Amen!

In what events do you “spy” God in your life?

Have the harsh seasons of life drawn you to God? Or have they served to turn you away?

When, my friends, do you feel the closest to God? When do you feel Him tugging at your heart?

…until next time,

Tamara

P.S.  He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in its season and its leaf does not wither; and in whatever he does, he prospers. ~Psalm 1:3

Alleluiah!

Meanwhile, back at the farm...

People seem to believe that farms need animals. Generally they do. Some persons are wont for driving to a farm, opening the door to their vehicle and speeding away after depositing, oh say, unwanted puppies or a litter of kittens. That’s probably where the term “letting the cat out of the bag” came from. 

Having barn cats is nice. Having a house cat is even more comforting. Thus we ended up with a ball of fur named Jasper. He was just a bit of a thing when we first got him but had this fur that made him appear full and lush. Utilizing my favorite reference source, the public library, I believe Jasper was a Maine Coon Cat. We had a myriad of other cats in the barn, too. 

Some friends of ours were going on a mission trip to Africa and brought us their black Labrador Retriever. They wanted to find a new home for her as she had killed all their ducks. That didn't faze me. She was a Lab and that is their nature – they are hunting dogs for persons who kill birds, generally ducks. It was her inherent nature to do so. The family who gave us the dog was named Schwartz, an old German name that means ‘black’. So I named the dog Ebony Schwartz (Blackie Black!). 

Ebony became the ‘protector of the property’. She learned the entire 20 acres of the land and protected it well for us. Some mornings she would greet us at the door with huge groundhogs she had found and killed, then brought them home for us to admire. She would be sitting at attention and when we opened the door, she began this slow dance, wiggle that would build to a crescendo with her quivering in anticipation of us saying, “Good Girl, Ebony! You saved the farm from destruction of the evil Ground Hogs!” She would then pick up the dead ground hog and take it to her quarters and ‘coddle’ it! Getting it away from her was a difficult and stinking job! Whew!!! We would have to chain her to the corn crib, then take the dead thing out of her sight to bury it. 

We finally figured out what the issue was. She was approximately three years old and had never had a litter of pups. She was trying to quell her maternal instincts by coddling and nurturing a dead ground hog! One spring day, during her throes of estrus, the Beagle Boys from a nearby farm came to call. I wasn't too worried, she was chained and inside the corn crib. She was a ‘tall’ Labrador and they were short and stubby Beagles. 

That afternoon when our son came in from the school bus, he loudly proclaimed, “Ebony is going to have puppies!” I, in a rather smug fashion said, “I don’t think so, she’s in the corn crib.” He said, “Not any more.” This first grader led me outside to the corn crib where Ebony had dug under the building to get out, then dug the opening deep enough where the short, stubby Beagle Boys could… well, I’m sure you can put the rest together. 

Our son was right. Later that summer, Ebony gave birth to her first litter of 13 pups! Oh my goodness! My husband and the kids fixed up a spot on in the old summer kitchen and helped to usher those puppies into the world. One didn't appear to be going to make it, but I took a towel and massaged the little guy until he was a wiggling mass and gave him back to Mamma Ebony. I don’t know how she did it, but all the pups survived even though there were not enough teats. When the time came, we were able to find homes for all the puppies, too. I learned that farms are a wonderful way of teaching children the facts of life. 

That summer kitchen was also the place our daughter fed the cats during the winter months. I recall one evening after our dinner when she went out to the summer kitchen, calling “kitty, kitty, kitty” then a shrill scream after she turned on the light. We went running! Poor girl was as white as a sheet. We asked what was wrong and she told us an opossum had been sitting there, eyes glowing in the dark waiting for a meal. We still laugh about that excursion of hers. 

We had another set of missionary friends who had a wonderful, highly trained Golden Retriever name Tyler. Highly trained that was, except for chasing cars. One caught him and he was… well, a bit brain damaged. They asked us to take him, so we did. Ebony tried to teach Tyler the ropes of living on the farm. She expected him to be able to traverse the 20 acres and help rid the land of evil ground hogs. Her method was to quietly sneak upon them, grab them by the throat and then shake them until their neck’s broke, at which point she would bring them home to us to admire… Tyler wasn't a quick learner. 

One evening when setting down to dinner, prayer offered and the plates passed, I happened to glance out the window. There was Tyler, practicing his “grab them by the throat and shake them until their dead” maneuver with one of the very small kittens. I must have turned white as Husband asked what was wrong. I motioned for him to follow me and we went outside to separate the dog and kitten. Fortunately, it wasn't lethal and the kitten lived. My daughter would have been damaged for all time and eternity had she witnessed that event! 

Ebony grew weary of Tyler and did what she had done to other dogs left on our property. She took him for a 3-day hike and lost him. When she returned she acted as if nothing had changed. And life continued on at the farm. 

As we lived in one of the most remote locations in the state of Ohio the first two week of November were challenging. It was deer hunting season. The first week for bucks and the second week for both genders. Let me preface this section of the story by saying emphatically “I don’t eat Bambi!” Nor do I eat Thumper or any other critter that Disney could possibly use as subject matter on a feature length cartoon. In fact, had I never tasted steak, I probably could have been a vegetarian – not a full fledged Vegan, but a vegetarian. 

Sorry for the interruption, now back to the story… So during those first two weeks of November, it literally sounded like the Civil War around our farm. Men would travel to the area from the big city with all their camping gear, their weapons of mass destruction and ammunition and loaded six-packs. It was frightening. Really. We had to take florescent paint and mark the animals; “PIG” “HORSE” “GOAT”. We’d heard the stories about field dressed goats being taken to the weigh station. 

By now you are probably laughing, but I’m serious. A jeep sped past our house and two guys were sitting on the hood with their rifles pointing towards our pond. I looked out the window and saw a young doe shaking and quivering and probably thinking, “I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die!” All our property was posted “NO HUNTING” so I went outside with a clipboard and pen and placed my fingers between my teeth and whistled loud enough they stopped the jeep and looked at me as I was writing down their license plate number. They left. (If they couldn't read the posted signs you know they didn’t read the hunting license manual.) 

I think I mentioned that we were… financially challenged during that period of our lives. I refer to that time as ‘the poverty years’. So, it was hunting season and Husband fancied himself the ‘great white hunter’ so off he went to the corner of our property that was by a rather steep ravine. He had to chase Ebony off so she wouldn't scare off any deer that might approach. He settled in with his hunting rifle and devotional book. When he finished he offered a prayer. Now, he sat there for quite awhile, but eventually he heard a noise and when he looked up it was a doe, a deer, a female deer and he took aim and shot. Over she went head down into the ravine where she bled out. Soon he heard a voice saying, “What’d you get?” Husband was sure it was the voice of God and thought, “Don’t you know, Lord? It’s a deer!” Fortunately, he didn't utter that out loud and soon realized it was the voice of our neighbor, who said, “I kicked it up over on our property and she ran through here.” Husband (you recall… the great white hunter) asked the neighbor, “So… how do I gut this thing?” Neighbor helped him out. 

He somehow got the deer home and then strung her up by her back legs from the tree. When Farmer Bumpus (the original family of owners of our property) came to take a look, Husband asked, how long do you let them hang before taking them to the butcher’s? Mr. Bumpus informed Husband that part of the hunt is just for show. What did we know? We were amateurs, after all. She hung in the tree until the school bus backed into the drive. Then Husband removed her and took her to the butcher’s. And still… I don’t “do” Bambi even though God did indeed provide! 

Until the next installment… I remain as ever,

Tamara

PS  Isaiah 58

¹¹ The Lord will guide you continually
and provide for you,
even in parched places.
He will rescue your bones.
You will be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water
that won’t run dry.