Leaving the nest

We are in the thick of it, filling out forms, reading fine print, applying for a passport.  There's so much to do in the wink of an eye and I cannot believe that it's finally come to this.  The thing I have longed for,dreaded, with all the ensuing emotions, is finally here.  My first born son is going off to college.

Older brother Mario with Noe and Mari

I can't actually claim his birth.  He slid into my life through a different channel, stealing my heart with his pathetic appearance and sweet shy smile.  He was actually four, not the three we had calculated due to his size and lack of birth records.  A big crossed out X still covers the 4 in his baby book that followed the words "Noe turns" and a big 5 is by the photo of him blowing out his first Birthday cake, ever.  That first day, another X formed by two crisscrossed bandaids  on the left side of his forehead when peeled back  revealed a large scabby wound that was struggling to heal. His abdomen protruded, his hair resembled wheat...classic signs of malnutrition. He had come to live with me and another missionary named Suzy because the mother was long gone and the father was addicted to selfish decisions.  The grandmother, crawling with numerous grandchildren, asked us, no begged us, to take, first the sister, and then Noe. Despite the obvious signs of neglect, there was a sweetness about him, a winsomeness.

Sometimes, when God is about to add or subtract something from my life, He gives me a heads up, but this one came out of the blue.   I was single and not really planning on taking on other people's children.  Mari had been with us a year already and I was still praying that God would do the sensible thing and provide a stable mother/father family.  But as time passed and no beautiful adoptive family appeared, my heart wound tighter and tighter around those two.  They became ours.

Noe was all boy from the start.  He thought he could fly, taking leaps off anything higher than the floor until  that one plunge from the upper bunk scarred him for life.  Homestitched him right on the cranium, that's what Dr. Elvia did.  He was convinced he was the next superhero.  I remember he could not remember.  In a string of directions, he could maybe remember, say, one thing.  Our visiting doctor friend from the States, post IQ test, stated that he would either grow up to be an absent minded professor with an agitated secretary trailing behind him or a very good criminal.  One can only hope.....and pray.  I remember him calling me for the umpteenth time from the bathroom because he once again forgot his towel.  While his memory languished, his ear flourished.  He picked up English in 6 months, parroting back the sounds he heard in the home.  The Korean team that came the summer of his 7th year was impressed at how he could repeat the sounds of Korea.  They say that those who are good with languages are also good with music.  That should have been my first clue that music would play a huge part in forming his life.  But there were other clues on the horizon.

Noe's graduation from 6th grade

He was in sixth grade when his teacher called me into the office.  It was Noe's best friend Eduardo who had tipped his mother off about Noe's extra-curricular activities.  So Eduardo's Mom, who happened to be my dearest friend, told me the scoops.   Noe was in possession of a number of soccer uniforms. Donated from a  visiting mission team, he was instructed to share them with the needy.  By the time I got wind of it he had already sold two uniforms at school for $25 each and had plans to sell more.  His teacher had also gotten wind of the informal soccer shop and hence the meeting.  I was livid and I know I disciplined him though I cannot recall for the life of me what it consisted of.  But a mental note was tucked away:  possible future entrepreneur.

And then there were the accidents.  One day he decided to cram his big feet into his sister's small roller skates.  As he wildly wound recklessly around the park at speeds too high for those sister skates, I called out to him to slow down.  Two seconds later he was on his back with his arm twisted behind.  Many hours and a full arm cast later, he had received instructions from the doctor to keep his arm upright all night long to prevent possible surgery.  So guess who stayed up all night keeping it upright?  Not the 10 year old.  But curiously enough, years later on a trip to Guatemala when we rented dirt bikes to tour the back roads, it was his voice I heard from behind me cautioning me to slow down just 2 seconds before I gripped the wrong brakes and went flying over the handlebars.  Thankfully there were no broken bones this time.  Just a very bruised ego.

Perhaps at 13 the music began for him.  He took free lessons from the leaders of the worship team at church. Guitar, drums, keyboard, he ate it all up.  A woman who has prophetic gifts spoke over him.  "Salmista" (one who worships and writes melodies to God) is what she spoke through the power of the Holy Spirit. Another tucking into my heart.  He lived and  breathed and took much joy in all that was worship before the King of Kings. The music wooed him into a love relationship with Jesus.  Soon he was not only playing in the band but leading worship with others at the service and then leading alone.  There was a definite anointing.  I remember thinking that most moms who have kids of this age are at odds with them over music.  By God's grace, the songs Noe would choose to play ad nauseum on his cell phone were songs I loved.  God spared us the wrath that occurs when music styles clash and the turbulent relationship that often characterizes the teenage years.


But God would test him in a different way during his last years of High School.  The testing came in the form of an illness.  Mine to be exact.  And not just an ordinary illness but a rare incurable one that brought us all to our knees.  The test was in the mind.  God spoke scriptures of healing into our situation so Noe had to learn to choose to believe the promises of life and living, and to reject those of death despite what he could see.  It was not pretty.  My body, deformed, life seeping out of it, while God made noises about it all being for His glory.  Doubts crouched at the door.  What would life without Mom be like?  Would the family which had grown to include other siblings now be broken and torn like the first family he had barely known?  How could God so full of love allow such a thing to a daughter and those under her wings if He truly loved them all?   And then in the prayer times, the times of waiting upon Jesus, he learned to believe for the impossible.   It all caused him to depend upon God not only as a Father but as a Friend who could hold his heart even in the valley of the shadow of death.  While we all awaited the signs of the promised healing, Noe took on the tasks that I could not.  He learned to make a mean spaghetti, washed and hung his siblings clothes, fixed things around the house and just served us all without complaint.  God's grace poured out through a 17 year old servant son.

Noe (center) leading worship with Dani and Eduardo

This affair with melodies sung to Jesus has gripped him hard.  He  has chosen a Bible college called Christ for the Nations.  We are applying now.  Well, actually he is applying now.  I do want him to go.  I really do.  I want him to fly, this precious scar-headed entrepreneur superhero servant son we call Noe.  This beautiful God given boy who came so lonely and ragtaggle, so futureless and scrawny.   Who would have known that he would be used by God to change so many lives... mine.  He has to start trying his wings, but this time, this time it's on the WINGS of another, the realio trulio SuperHero holding his hand.  Of course I want to be there...who is going to call out from behind to tell him to slow down and who will hold his heart upright?  Who will remind him about the things he forgets?


As if that isn't enough, the "enough" questions assault my brain.  Did I do enough?  Did I prepare him well enough?  Did I love him enough?  Did I live out Christ's life well enough before him?


The answer is the same for each question.  Trust JESUS.  The same one who took care of me when my parents let me fly off to college and then off to a foreign land for the rest of my life.  That same SAFE HAVEN will hold my boy when I cannot.  That beautiful Friend who taught him to trust even in the dark days will be with him.  He is ENOUGH.


And so we prepare for flight.  The nest will be different.  We will adjust our weight and move the feathers around a bit, perched and waiting, eyes uplifted watching to see how the soaring goes, trusting in the One who gives flight. I don't think the nest will be empty anytime soon.  There are still so many in the wings, each with their own stories of His healing and glory.  Each with their own time to fly.

'via Blog this'

Something said I had to write, to be a witness to his gifted life

The news of his death touched me deeply but instead of sadness, a deep peace flooded my soul. David Wilkerson was in glory land. There was a knowing, a total assurance that this godly man, had gone directly into the presence of Jesus. I met him years before, not up close and personal, but through the media. His life and writings had a huge impact on my life. His obedience to Christ was unrivaled in my experience.

I first became aware of his life when I saw the movie The Cross and the Switchblade. It was all about Brother David’s call to the streets of New York. Later when God called me to the streets of Tegucigalpa, I read the book many times to glean wisdom from His experiences. We were hungry to learn from other ministries and on our way back from Amsterdam (where we had visited ministries to prostitutes) Hae Young and I got stranded in Miami. She did not have a Honduran visa to get back into the country and it was Easter weekend so we booked a room at Howard Johnson’s and decided to visit the local mall. We first visited a perfume shop and God allowed us to lead two of the shopping attendants to Christ. We needed Bibles to leave with them so we went across the street to purchase them at the mall. As God would have it, Nicky Cruz was speaking at the special pavilion at the mall and he was due to speak in 20 minutes! Nicky was one of the wild gang members that David led to the Lord in his early years of ministering on the streets. Not only was he speaking there, but they were giving out free paperback Bibles. We had just enough time to take the Bibles to our perfume sisters and found our seats within spitting distance from this amazing legend in his own right. Nicky was full of fire and he told stories of how David, in his naivety, was used powerfully to bring gang members to the feet of Jesus. God used a country bumpkin preacher from Pennsylvania with no street smarts to minister powerfully to the lost and desperate gangs of NYC. He relied upon God’s power. I needed to hear that message.

Years later when a diagnosis of incurable cancer led me to NYC, I listened to Pastor David’s sermons online and visited Times Square Church where he was the main pastor. Once again God used this man and his flock to minister to me in my time of need. I was still in a wheelchair and barely able to sit for much time at all but somehow being in that theatre-turned-sanctuary with people from many tribes and nations helped me to believe in the impossible. Pastor David said something like this: “The Scriptures say that faith can move a mountain. Our mountains are not our problems. Our mountains are not illnesses, or addictions, or financial troubles, or difficult relationships. Our mountain is unbelief.” So we battled unbelief and God kept His promises.

As fate would have it, Hae Young and I just happened to be in the very state where David and his wife were traveling when their car collided into a tractor trailer. The accident claimed his life and nearly took hers. We were able to witness the reports on TV of this beloved man’s passing. Interestingly enough the entry in his blog written the morning of his death was about how there are no accidents in God. Ever a prophet, God even used his last day on earth to proclaim that which was about to come to pass. He wrote:

"To those going through the valley and shadow of death, hear this word: Weeping will last through some dark, awful nights—and in that darkness you will soon hear the Father whisper, “I am with you. I cannot tell you why right now, but one day it will all make sense. You will see it was all part of my plan. It was no accident. It was no failure on your part. Hold fast. Let me embrace you in your hour of pain. Beloved, God has never failed to act but in goodness and love. When all means fail—his love prevails. Hold fast to your faith. Stand fast in his Word. There is no other hope in this world."

The Lord gave me a gift from Brother David the night before he died. I was reading a book he had written with Nicky Cruz called The Last Warning. I was reading it in Spanish but there was no confusion as to what God was speaking to me through this prophet. In his classic, very straight forward way, he matter-of-factly stated that Christians really had no business spending time watching TV. Not a popular thing to say in this day and age and it cut me deeply. My kids and I had slowly slipped into that pattern of turning on the TV and watching…well, you know….stuff. Stuff as in having nothing to do with eternal matters. Stuff as in not making any difference in our lives. Stuff as in wasting time.

So we are back on track thanks to this gift of God’s conviction through Pastor David. We made a pact to begin our day again with prayer before the sun comes up which means going to bed earlier and keeping the black box silenced. There I said it, publically. Now you can keep us accountable if need be. But we are determined. We are on it. David made a decision to stop watching TV and instead devoted the two hours he spent before it praying for others and the world. That decision changed his life. It was in those wee hours that he read about gang members in Life Magazine and as he prayed God stirred his heart to action. The rest is history. The rest is Teen Challenge and World Challenge. The rest is thousands upon thousands of lives radically changed by Jesus.

Thank you, dear Jesus, for this amazing servant whose desire for Your Truth inspired so many even if it first caused offense. We will miss him but we are blessed to know that he is finally with You, His beloved King.

http://vimeo.com/23002650 (link to a special tribute to David Wilkerson)

Other People's Children

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would grow up to be the mother of "other people's children". Not even one of them is a biological child. They were all gifts. They were all born in my heart, not under it. The other day Hae Young and I were reflecting upon how much we enjoy our God given children and how very much their birth parent/s are missing because of extremely poor decisions. There is so much blessing in being their Moms. On most days there is much laughter and the joy of watching God do the impossible in their lives is just beyond price. But there are certainly challenges in bringing up children whose early years were filled with uncertainty, rejection, degradation, abuse and abandonment among other things. Issues like:

1. when something like chicken pox hits, you don't have any idea who will get it! Like last month when one little boy at school came down with the pox and we just kind of had to wait and see on a weekly basis who would spout the little pustules next.

2. they have scars, major ones, emotional and physical and I don't know how they got them, for the most part. Like my one son who has cigarette burns on his body and it is still too painful for him to tell me about their origin. I hate it that I don't know all of their stories and I hate it that they were so abused. Sometimes I just want to shake their parents and give them a piece of my mind instead of smiling at them on visiting day. But I don't because I know that they abused because they were abused. And they need love too. Sometimes I discover the scars of my children when I least expect it because, although the visible scars have healed, many of the underlying causes haven't, which is why there are....

3. frequent meltdowns. Like the time Helen burst into tears the first time she was served spaghetti at our home. The rest of my children all kind of looked at each other with eyebrows raised in wonder. We found out later that she had been served spaghetti everyday at the horrendous government home she had been in before coming to us. It seemed to her that she had come to the same old same old and her hope for a new life seemed dashed by a plate of spaghetti. It took her a month of Sundays to to finally be able to eat the Italian dish without associating it with her former life and to realize that it was not daily fare at our home.

4. they have more aches and pains than I can keep track of. I thank God that I am a nurse because it has become very important to discern between what is doctor worthy and what is just "needs some time with Mama".

5. it takes time for the children to believe that they are truly loved. They test at every turn to see if this divinely patched together family is the real deal. So here we are in all our glory.......on Mother's Day

Front row: Helen (12) Jency (7) Valerie (7) Middle row: Juan Carlos (15) Isabella (3) Betsy (getting up there)

Back row: Noe (19) Marlyn (she doesn't like me to say) Julio (13) Susana (10)

thanking Him for truly He sets the lonely in families and brings forth the prisoners with singing!

The Shofar

I totally forgot to share what happened during one of our devotionals this past month.

It was Candy's turn to lead. She is one of our teachers, and she started by saying, "We are just going to worship this morning because I sense that is what God wants from us." I thought to myself, "Oh good because I have tons of things to do today and it will probably be shorter if we just praise". Hmmm! Not exactly a Mary heart.

Candy chose Psalms that had been put to music so after we read a particular Psalm out loud, we then sang the corresponding Psalm. As the assigned person read out each Psalm, a hush seemed to fill the second floor room that we use as our library/meeting place. As we sang together, what started out as singing routinely changed into true worship of the King. The staff began to spontaneously weep and pour out their hearts before God. Some fell to their knees. Some had a look of bliss on their faces as they were lost in the Presence of Jesus. Heaven was breaking into earth and no one was left out. Suddenly there was a noise that sounded like the blowing of a horn. Not a car horn. Not a plastic horn. Not an ordinary horn. It was the sound of the shofar, the horn the Isrealites used. I have never heard it except in movies. I looked up and caught my son Noe's eye. He was sitting on the steps and I thought maybe he had gotten ahold of one somehow and was blowing it. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "I heard it too but don't know where it came from!" Then a very thin cloud seemed to fill the room.

Once the worship began to wind down, the questioning began. " Did you hear the sound of the shofar? About 2/3rd of the staff had heard it. The other third hadn't heard it at all. We were all touched by the way the Lord showed up so strongly in the devotional. Elvia went immediately to look up what the shofar was used for and among her discoveries were the following:

A call to gather for worship (2 Ch 29:26-28; Ps 98:6; Ps150:3, 2; Sam 6:15)
Ushers in the presence of the Lord (2 Sam 6:15; 1 Chron 15:14)
Make proclamation (1 Sam 13:3)
Symbolizing freedom and liberty (Lev 25:9 & 10)
Sounds the alarm for war (Josh 6:4 -20; Joel 2:1; Jer 4:19,21; Jer 6:1,17)
The Lord responds to our prayers (Exodus 19:19)
A Call to repentance

There was no doubt in our minds that the Presence of the Lord had been ushered in. He had showed up in a powerful way. And because of His decision to allow us to experience His presence, there was more freedom in our day, our steps were lighter, our faces more radiant, our tasks more joyfilled. It definitely bought several of our family members to repentance, including me.

His Presence is so rich. So why do I resist Him? Why is it easier for me to dwell on the doing of the thing instead of the Creator of all things? I long to be more Mary than Martha. I even have this posted on my facebook page for goodness sakes: Prayer is the Work!"

I know God has been calling me to more intimate worship. In the Old Testament, worship always involved sacrifice. That's the rub. I want to just jump in and skip to the intimacy without any sacrifice. But He bids me to come and worship, to lift up my heavy hands and in the words of Beth Moore, "to focus all I am on all He is, both personally and universally." I have to sacrifice "my" time, my sleep, my sloth, my apathy on the altar of sacrifice as I move towards the Holy of Holies. But when I do that, His Presence is so amazing. It changes the way I live out the day......there is more freedom to do His bidding, my steps are lighter, my tasks more filled with joy.

The blowing of the shofar bids us to come and worship the King. It is so worth doing simply because He is Worthy!

The prodigal sons return

Two weeks ago we received a surprise visit from one of our Jericho graduates named Neyda. We were thrilled to see her even if she had left disgruntled and angry six years earlier. The whole kerfluffle had been over the much needed discipline that her two boys had received while in our school. She yanked them out of the school and was furious with the director of the school, so furious that she showed up the next week with a court summons for Elvia. It was kind of ironic this whole yanking-them-out-of- school business because we had actually started our Jericho Christian School with her boys in mind. Kevin was 8 years old and already being lured to the streets by a local gang. And so we started the school in 2004 with Kevin and his younger brother Joshuan and a whole slew of other children whose Mum's were in our program.





The incident occured in my office. Neyda could barely look Elvia in the eye as she thrust the summons paper towards her. She was trembling from the anger that overwhelmed her heart from the perceived injustice. As I prayed I began to receive what seemed to be direction from the Lord. I sensed that I needed to bow down before her and beg her to forgive us for any way we had hurt her or her sons. My first response back to God was, "Whaaaaat? You're kidding right? SHE is the one who is at fault here and needs to be reprimanded for not supporting Elvia in trying to help her kids. Lord, please, this is so humbling. Do I have to be so dramatic? " A resounding YES echoed in my heart and in an instant the Lord allowed me to feel her pain. Suddenly what seemed totally ludicrous seemed the right and meet thing to do. So I knelt down before her and placed my two hands on her feet, my head resting on the surface of my hands. I asked her to forgive us. I was not really prepared for her reaction. The sobs seemed to start at the top of her head and ripple through her whole body. This step of faith to ask her forgiveness broke something deep within her and she no longer was filled with anger. Through her sobs she began to ask US for forgiveness. The paper that she had clutched with such vehemence lay forgotten, crumpled on the floor.

Forgiveness was offered and received by all, no one went to court, but the boys did not come back to our school. Six more years would pass before we would see Neyda and her boys again. When she did come back week before last, I noticed that her face had a wisened look about it. Her attitude bespoke humility as she asked us to take the two boys back. God alone knows what she and her children have been through in the six years that came between us. But whatever God had used, the effects on her character were clear. She was a different Neyda, much softer and much more humble. I was the one who remembered the summons incident. So I asked Elvia if she really wanted to take them in after all that had transpired before? Elvia had totally forgotten all about it. She was just so thrilled that they had come back. Just like the father in the story of the prodigal son, she was so happy to see them that a fiesta was on her mind rather than a session to recount the wrongs.

So we are rejoicing this week with Kevin now in Jr. High and Joshuan in 5th grade. Joshuan states that he doesn't remember us at all from his time in Jericho. But curiously enough, every time I see him in the halls, he comes towards me and gives me a gentle hug which bespeaks of remembrance at least on a spiritual level. The prodigal boys have come home.

Clothes for Christmas or......God hears the faintest prayer

I can't remember now which day it was before Christmas Eve but I think it was the Thursday before because I remember thinking that we had one "back up" day to finish our task of buying a new set of clothes for each and every Jericho child just in case we experienced failure in our attempts to clothe the crew in one day. This is tradition here, the buying of new clothes to be worn on Christmas Eve for the first time. It's called "estrenando" and it's very close to the word for constipation (estrenamiento). I actually have a very funny story about how I mixed up those two words once on one of our street visits but I won't go into that now. Even the poorest of families make a big effort to buy new outfits for their children at this time. It's tradition. It's actually a very practical tradition since many children spend the rest of the year in ill-fitting hand-me-downs. For many, it's the only time they will receive clothing that is purchased just for them.

That morning I was the only early riser. The holiday vacation has kind of quashed our getting up together to pray but I remember asking God to help us not only with the task of buying for so many, but to help us be alert to any divine appointments that He might have for us that day. I also thanked Him for providing so faithfully so that we could do this tradition for our Jericho kids.

It seemed good to take the girls with me so that they could try things on and to buy for the boys in absentee. I asked Noe to be our chauffer since I wasn't exactly sure how many stores we would have to visit. Driving is not one of my big joys here and the traffic in Teguc around Christmastime is atrocious. Noe likes to drive so we were both happy with the arrangement. This was our shopping tribe: From my household, Susana (9yrs) Helen (11yrs) Jency (6 yrs) Valerie (6yrs) and from the Villa, Paola (11yrs) and Michelle (17yrs). Six girls, one boy, and the queen-of-buying-cheap. That was us.

The Lord had provided for our purchases for the children through several very generous donations and with a grateful heart I had figured out exactly how much was allotted for each child. We had $34 dollars per child. I decided we would visit a store here that has new clothes on the second floor for $13 each (250 lempiras) and lightly used clothes on the first floor for $3 (50 lempiras)each. We had a plan and we were ready to go when a young boy around 13 years of age appeared at the drivers side of the car. He was holding a tin can covered in Christmas wrapping paper which had become very tattered from his travels by foot. He looked at Noe and then at me and thrust that can towards the window while asking for "Las Pascuas". This is another Christmas tradition here. I have no idea how it started but it's also very practical and can be described as "glorified begging". This young man not only wanted Las Pascuas, but he also asked for a new outfit and shoes. It didn't take much more than a glance to realize that he came from humble circumstances. Very humble. He definitely needed new duds. I looked from him to Noe and gently suggested that maybe he (Noe) could share with this young stranger about the Best Gift. Noe paused and then in what I can only describe as "language that is indecipherable to most non-adolecent Spanish speakers" , he shared the Gospel with Jason, our new found friend. God had made Jason's heart ready and he joyfully prayed with Noe to invite Jesus into his heart. We invited him to Christmas service at our church and I took down his clothing size on the paper with the sizes for my other children. Somehow instead of being irritated with the burden of buying yet another set of clothes, I felt excitement to see how God would provide for Jason too.

When we finally made it to the clothing store, the children went every which way until they made it to the dressing rooms with all kinds of clothing possibilities. Everyone, that is, except Michelle. Michelle is Susana's older sister and she is quite beautiful but her physique is atypical and her self-persception is not particularly good. She could not find anything that she thought would look good on her. To add insult to injury, Susana quickly found all kinds of clothing and she looked fabulous in every single thing she picked out for herself. I knew we were possibly in for a meltdown so I grabbed Michelle's hand and told her we just had to ask Jesus for His help in this. I am a firm believer in asking God for the smallest of needs. He is so into details when it comes to His children. He answered that prayer immediately. I began grabbing all kinds of tops and skirts off the racks for her to try on and the first blouse she tried on looked amazing on her. Then she tried a silky black skirt on which matched perfectly with the blouse, and suddenly she started sobbing. I was hoping that she was just overwhelmed by this blessing of new clothes, but no. When I asked her what was wrong, she said, "The last time I wore a skirt a boy tried to........" I didn't let her finish. I just knew we couldn't do an all out counseling session right there in the dressing rooms with all the other girls listening in, so I said, "Fine, no problem, you don't have to wear a skirt.....just go out and find some black dress pants and we'll call it a day." And she did. She miraculously found some pants that went with the shirt and then went on to find several more tops on the $3 each floor that made her look beautiful. After that prayer, she found so many things that made her shine that we had to return some of the clothes to the racks.


(Michelle is pictured here in the back row farthest to the right. I have new wraps on too. I have never really gotten into the "estreno" tradition in all my years here because I am a believer in the little black dress. I have one or two and I have worn them at every special event and am proud of it....if you get my drift. But this year while shopping for something else for the holidays, I came across a sparkly dress that was just my size and the cost: $10. It might as well have had my name on the label. (Elizabeth queen of the bargain basement Hake)

We found pants and shirts for all the boys, including Jason. God had definitely heard our prayers, not only for help with the clothing of His children, but for the privilege of sharing the real meaning of Christmas with a young street boy. Jason not only received his new Christmas clothes but he was clothed in the righteousness of Christ. Truly that is the Best Gift Jesus could have given. He allows us to trade in our filthy rags of unrighteousness for His sparkling robes of righteousness. He clothes us anew according to the Scriptures. Isaiah 61:10 says "I delight greatly in the LORD: my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness."
I pray this finds you enjoying the amazing fact of the Christ child coming to clothe us anew, to remove our sackcloth and clothe us with joy! (Psalm 30:11)

Children of Jericho

This past fall I celebrated 30 years of living and moving and having my being in Honduras. I set foot on Honduran soil on August 15, 1980 having no idea that thirty years later I would still be seeking His face on behalf of the Honduran people. What an adventure and privilege it has been to be a part of what Jesus is doing here. The Hondurans have become my people and I have become theirs. I still look like I belong in a different place but as long as I don't get too close to a mirror, I totally forget that I am blonde (well, more like blondish grey) and blue-eyed with speckled skin. To celebrate we kicked off our sponsorship program for our children. I am posting part of the sponsorship brochure here. If you are interested in sponsoring a child, please contact Gail Mellish at the address provided below!

Jericho missionary Hae Young Keoun with some of Jericho’s children

Children of Jericho

Jericho’s children need a safe place to grow, to know the healing love of God, and to receive an education. Jericho
Ministries is such a place. Many of the children have known abuse of every despicable kind. At Jericho they receive a Christ-centered education and are surrounded by the love of Jesus in their home situations. They attend Sunday school and church and participate in vacation Bible school or other opportunities for Christian growth. The
children receive counseling and are prayed with for healing for their past abuse.

Sponsoring a Child

One of the greatest joys in life is watching God do what the world deems impossible . . . He brings beauty from ashes, heals the incurable, and transforms the abused and rejected. You can be part of God’s transforming work by sponsoring a Jericho child. At the present time, Jericho has legal custody of 26 children who were orphaned or whom the courts deemed would not be safe with their parent(s). The full cost of sponsoring a child is $80 per month. This provides uniforms, school supplies, school lunches and snacks, and a portion of the tuition. Jericho also welcomes half sponsorships at $40 per month. Sponsors are encouraged to send an additional monetary gift of $10–$25 for your child for his or her birthday. You may also end a special donation for Christmas or special extra-curricularsummer activities (Jericho schools are year-round to keepchildren safe). Your extra gifts will be pooled with donations from other sponsors so all children will share in the celebrations and activities. The easiest and most consistent way to pay your sponsorship is to set up a monthly direct deposit from your bank account. This assures that your child’s needs will be taken care of. If desired, checks may be written to

STEC – Jericho Ministries

PO Box 781

Appleton, WI 54912

with your child’s name on the check. All contributions to Jericho are tax deductible. Jericho is audited to assure accountability to God and to you.

We encourage you to send a small personal or family photo and a short letter of introduction to your sponsored child. You may write as often as you wish. Your letters will be translated and delivered to your child. You can keep informed about the goings on of all Jericho Ministries through the Jericho newsletter. Sign up at the above address.

Blessings to all, especially those who helped celebrate the 30 year journey!

Home

"Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in" is a famous quote by my favorite poet, Robert Frost and I came across it this past week as I read a book entitled "The Prodigal God" by Tim Keller. The book is amazing. But I really wanted to write about home because I have been thinking about it a lot these days. My mother carefully embroidered a saying that graced the wall of our home and it said, "Home is where the heart is". There is certainly an ache in the heart to be in that place where one can be totally free to express dreams and joys and sorrows without fear of ridicule or criticism. I have felt it at times, and even if it was fleeting, it felt wonderful. One place stands out to me in a myriad a memories. We were having dinner, my dearest friend and her husband and their twin boys. I was back in the States on furlough and the two toeheads were preteen. We got to laughing about something so much that the laughter rose and rose until it just spilled out all over the place. And I felt I had come home.



It's that longing for home, that aching of the heart that I have been thinking about, not so much for me, as for my children. I worry about them sometimes. We are twelve all told. Do they feel secure enough? Do they miss their biological families? Do they truly sense they are home? They are my children and yet they are not. That is the tension we have all learned to live with on some level. They have come to live with me under a rented roof and each one has a specific story for why they are here. We are a makeshift family, born of necessity and longing rather than biological birth. I love them more than they will ever know. Last night during our family devotions (long neglected which I am not proud to report) one of my children said, "Mom, why don't you wake us up at 5:00am so we can read the Bible together like we used to?" And then the whole lot of them chimed in with, " Yeah Mom (only it was in Spanish) let's do that again!" I was kind of in shock! Who has children who beg them to wake them up at 5:00am for prayer and Bible reading? Suddenly it occured to me that God is answering my prayers for them. HE is their true Home and they have a thirst for His Presence that can only come from Him. How blessed am I to be a part of this rag taggle band of thirsty children.

How blessed am I to be a part of this, His Home.

Mangos

Yesterday I returned to my brood of 11 after spending several days in the Villa and all I have to say is it is definitely a circus out there! A wonderful circus! So much happens in the span of one day. I came home feeling like I had been in the trenches and that there had been great victory. I am not sure how it looked from God's perspective but from mine, things looked good, very good. Three women still in the program, all 9 children alive and accounted for, all the volunteers still on board, and some cards finished and ready to be sold that the women had made. This is what happened yesterday.

Tuesday July 13

I take our three new women with me to a place called Potrerios. It's where the mayor's office is situated and we go there due to a land dispute. Our land to be exact. Some of us call them "those pesky farmers" but recently they have become more than just pesky. They have become downright difficult. The whole problem stems from their properties being without access. The original owner sold off his land in parcels and was not thinking ahead so the farmers insist on entering our property to get to theirs. Not a good situation in any scenario but especially in our case since our whole purpose in having the Villa is to provide our women and children with a reasonably safe and secure environment. We simply cannot have farmers trapsing through our property on a daily basis. We arrive at the Mayor's office after transversing about 20 miles of dirt road surrounded by beautiful pine covered mountains. The tiny village of Potrerios is picture-postcard lovely and totally quiet. The Catholic Church is the most prominent building on the square and the melon colored paint only makes it stand out more. The Mayor is attending someone else so we drink refrescos (sodas) at the tiny pulperia(think seven eleven in somone's living room) in front of the municipal building. When he finally is ready to see us, I notice a stack of unmarked folders on his desk. I greet him as warmly as is culturally acceptable and state our purpose (to get a copy of the purported paper that the farmers claim to own which give them rights to a portion of our property). The Mayor starts shifting through the folders, opening them one at a time, slowly looking at each individual sheet of paper, all the while stating that he is sure he had the paper several days before but now has no idea where it might be. He begins to make noises like, "I hope this thing doesn't get ugly" and his tone almost seems threatening. I make different noises. I tell Him we are not expecting "ugly" because God has always protected us and that we don't expect Him to abandon us anytime soon. The women just look at me wide-eyed. The mayor continues to shuffle papers in a half-hearted way and I finally realize that no amount of our sitting there is going to help produce the paper. I ask him, "Are you the mayor" because it occurs to me that this extremely disorganized person might be a clerk and perhaps we need to ask to see the mayor. But no, he is indeed the mayor and stands up at my question and shakes my hand in a very political way. Finally we agree that he will leave the paper at the police post close to Jericho Villa. I pray this is not just some empty promise.

On the way back to the Villa, one of the women spots a mango tree. It's full of very ripe reddish green mangos, especially at the top. She screams for me to stop the car. I am obedient because it's a long dirtroad ride back and the women could use a diversion. They are so thrilled that we have stopped. They secure permission from the ancient looking woman who appears at the gate to use the whittled branches near the trees to knock down the mangos. They scream like children as they bat at the upper branches sending the mangos flying every which way. They come running back to the car with their loot and tell me to give the elderly woman some money for the mangos. They say 20 lempiras when I ask how much. It's just over a dollar. The woman now waving at the gate seems happy. The women are ecstatic with their stash of newly aquired mangos. I wonder to myself if there is a fruit in my life that I would get that excited over. Wild raspberries....maybe. We leave the car halfway up the road to Jericho since it is impassable due to road work. They have to carry the mangos up to the Villa by hand. Some of the mango excitement starts to wane but not much.

Back at Jericho we settle down after eating mangos to study the Scriptures. The women are very giddy and are laughing with a tone that seems tinged with more mockery than joy. As we start the class with praise songs it becomes obvious that they don't want to sing. As we pray it occurs to me that there is a spirit of derision present. We pray against that and the whole tone of the class changes. The class is on deception versus truth. We take turns sharing some of the deceptions we have been privy to. I share about how I believed that if I could just find one man who would love me more than anyone else, that I would be OK (I think I watched too many cinderella type movies). I share how I made many bad decisions based on that deception and how God's Truth set me free. He is the One person who loves me more than anyone else. And His love is safe. One of the women shares how she felt like she had really arrived when she became the girlfriend of a major gang leader. She confesses that she loved the feeling of power because she could just talk to him if she had an enemy and he would send his thugs to do her bidding. She says it was a terrible deception but there is a curl about her mouth that betrays her. She is still tempted by this untruth that anger and violence will bring her well-being and control. I will see this fully come to light later in the day. We share more and then end the class with confession and prayer.


Down in the salon, which is our big spacious multipurpose room at the Villa, we set up the tables so that we can make greeting cards. This is one of our practical workshops. I have resisted making cards with the women for some time now because many of the ministries to women coming out of prostitution make greeting cards. I've seen many pictures of rescued women from Thailand all seated around a table making cards out of some natural material. It doesn't seem to me to be a lucrative proposition, this teaching card making. The problem is, it is my pride that makes me resistant. We want to be "different". We want to make something of great quality that will sell and help us be self-sustaining. Not a bad idea but God has been providing me with free card-making supplies and giving me design ideas even when I am past exhaustion and need sleep. So we are making cards today and I am very enthusiastic about it. Two of the women really seem to enjoy this cutting and pasting and sewing on of buttons. One in particular is showing some gifts in design. The third woman is restless and does not make any bones about her disdain for this activity. She is the woman who comes from a gang member background. She excuses herself to go and get a diaper for her one year old. She does not return in the time it takes to get a diaper and come back.

We are packing up the card making supplies when she comes running back into the room. She flings her arms around me and begs me to pray for her. The other women look on while I start praying for her. The other women ask me if they can go back to the kitchen for more mangos which frees me to minister to this very agitated woman/child. She is now confessing that she overheard some of the younger girls talking about her when she went for the diaper. Her "old man", the flesh came fully to life and she shares how she almost smacked this girl to smithereens. She brags about how it was easy for her to kill in the past and I do not doubt that. She tells me something stopped her. She thinks it is the Holy Spirit. I know it is the Holy Spirit and I am so glad that He is actually the One in Charge at the ministry. She shares even more about how she used to use violence to control others. She calms down just as Katie, one of our Villa volunteers, comes to confront her because although she has not used physical violence to hurt the young girl, it comes to light that she has pelted her with profanity and lies. This asking for forgiveness does not come easily but it is finally done. Both parties ask for forgiveness and seal it with a hug. I tell them that the consequences of their actions will be that they have to find some tangible way to bless each other everyday for a week.

On my walk down to the car I spot two men walking towards the shed where we keep our construction materials. I recognize one of the men and am overjoyed to see his face since we ordered doors from him back in January and haven't been able to connect with him since. The doors are for the main gate of women's apartments and now that we have women there, we desperately need the doors. As I greet him from a distance, I suddenly see his face contort into fear. Carl, our big grey guard dog, comes bounding behind me towards the men. They suddenly disappear inside the shed closing the door tightly behind them. I have to laugh at the whole scenario. Carl is not vicious but he does take his guarding seriously. His front teeth have all fallen out so he can't do too much damage but he still scares people. After several minutes I convince our doormaker to come out of the shed and he tells me the good news that the doors are done and that he will install them on Saturday. It's been a long wait but I pray that they will actually be in place by the weekend.

Eduardo and two of our Villa boys walk me down to the busito with umbrellas as it has started to rain. Eduardo is Elvia's son and he is volunteering at the Villa for a year before he goes to college. It occurs to me how blessed we are to have this young man in our midst. He is caring for the five Jericho boys and his spiritual maturity is way beyond his years. He delights in caring for these young gents even though they are not the easiest to deal with due to their backgrounds of growing up on the streets. I make a mental note to ask him about how God is working in him and through him.

On the way back into town, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. Instead of being put off by the battles, I want more. Thoughts of staying longer the next time flood my head. I am excited to see new patterns being established in the lives of those living at the Villa even if they are only just small steps. The Holy Spirit has definitely made His Presence known to us in the living of the day.

Birth pangs

It is the second week of July 2010. Two years ago during this time I was flat on my back in an apartment in New York City taking chemo and waiting for God to fulfill His promise of complete healing for two incurable cancers. Earlier in the year(2008) we had three women come to us for help and we sensed that they were ready to enter the rehab program in the Villa. We were ecstatic to finally begin ministering to the women in a setting that seemed idyllic. The vision to help them find healing and wholeness through the power of Christ was becoming a reality and our whole ministry was abuzz with excitement. But after only a month, all three women independently of one another, chose to return to the city. One woman snuck out quietly leaving her two daughters behind, trusting that we would care for them. The inital excitement and anticipation that permeated the ministry atmosphere was replaced by a sense of failure and bewilderment. What had gone wrong? Why had we failed to help the very women we had so longed to minister to? What was God doing?

A month later I was diagnosed with amyloidosis and multiple myeloma. The whole ministry went into a state of flux. Now it seemed like God's grace that we didn't have the three women and their children in the Villa because Hae Young and Elvia, my closest co-workers in the ministry, would be able to take turns caring for me in NYC. So instead of the three women, we started the rehab center with the two young girls who were left behind and their cousin who had already been involved in prostitution at the tender age of 11.

The healing journey took time. I felt trapped in a body that seemed anything but my own. I begged God to heal me instantly but He had so much He needed to teach me in that time of walking through the valley of the shadow of death. He had so much He needed to teach all of us in that time of learning to trust Him for the impossible. The doctors said there was no hope and that death was imminent. God spoke to us over and over again that He was going to bring forth a complete healing. We chose to believe the Promises of God over the doctor's dictamen. It made all the difference.

The Lord spoke to us not only about healing, but about focusing on the children of the women. He seemed to whisper in our hearts that He was very interested in the next generation. And then He began to bring the children to us one by one until some of our households seemed so full that they would burst from the sheer number of children. It was good to be a part of the restoration of these young lives.....good and very stretching!

But I still longed for the women to come. We made visits to the streets and did all we knew to do but still the Lord seemed to restrain that part of the vision. I couldn't help but feel on some days (like when I was dealing with a little boy's tantrum) that someone had hijacked the vision and put a bunch of children in it's place. I experienced a sense of lostness that I had never before known.......It's hard for me to put it in words, but in those moments when I was alone (which were not exactly frequent in a household of many children), I would feel waves of a sentiment that I can only describe as "feeling adrift". As I cried out to God for anchorage, He led me to a verse that said, "Be Holy as I AM Holy". I knew that the word "holy" meant set apart for the Lord's use but when I looked it up in the Greek dictionary, the translation caught me off guard. It said something like this: forever ruined for ordinary life. Wow.....forever ruined for ordinary life. That made sense to me. Once we have tasted the radical wine of following Jesus all out, we are ruined for the common life. Nothing will fill us as fully as living the life He has called us to live. He began to show me that each and everyday I needed to be living out fully the purposes for which He had made me. The lostness that I was experiencing was because I am ruined now for anything except what He has called me to. Somehow through that revelation of scripture I understood that the call upon my life to minister to women lost in prostitution had not been rescinded....I just needed to wait upon His perfect timing.

We have learned over time that God's timing is often not ours. We might think we are ready for something when truly we are not. God had to get us ready for this next phase of the ministry. We needed to grow in our ability to love unconditionally, to listen more intently to His voice, and to be more dependent upon His Word and His power. We needed to decrease, He needed to increase. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death had produced much needed fruit.

Then the birth pangs began. We got news that the first woman we had met on the streets back in 1998 had come to Christ in January. We had prayed for her and visited her on a weekly basis for over 12 years. Her one and only son had committed suicide at the age of 13 and this event had plunged her into a despair that led her to Jesus. We were so thrilled to hear of her conversion and of the pastora who was discipling her in her neighborhood. I was disappointed that she didn't come to Jericho but oh so thankful that she had finally made a decision to follow Christ.

All of this is just the intro to share the exciting news that we have women in our program again! I have been timid to share this because I often compare the women's first months in the ministry to pregnacy. The first three months are the most tenuous.... and when you have experienced spontaneous abortion, as we have, you are more careful about sharing early on. It's hard enough to go through the disappointment yourself without bringing a whole slew of folks along with you. But I cannot contain the news any longer because we need your prayers. We have three women in the ministry at the Villa between the ages of 16 and 24! God is bringing in the much awaited lost lambs. Sara came to us in late April through one of our teachers. Maribel and Margarita came to us through a dear friend of mine who is a missionary here in Honduras and works with the children of these women being set free from darkness. We rejoice at this very long awaited blessing of ministering to the women whom God has placed on our hearts.

One of these guys looks just like the other

Dear Family and Friends,

I just have to write you about this amazing thing God did while the tipos (Ed, Noe and Dany) and I were in the US (or "usah" as people say here). Elvia called us during our trip and asked us to pray for two little ones who desperately needed a home. This is the story of how God touched a family in a particular way to open their hearts to receive these two very needy little children.

Someone called Jericho to ask if we would take the toddlers. The boy was 1 and 1/2 years old and the girl 2 and 1/2. Their mother is barely seventeen so if you do the math you can calculate her age at their births. Not a good age to start having children. This mother's story is another story altogether that I won't go into here, but suffice it to say she was not able to give the care to her children that they needed. Rumor had it that this young mother was on the streets and that her children were being abused. Family members intervened and asked us for help. Elvia responded as she always does. She took it to God in prayer.

She remembered Nora and George from our church. Nora has volunteered at Jericho often since they are in their thirties and childless after several miscarriages. Nora had time on her hands. A lot of it actually. Until now. She was thrilled when the call came from Elvia. Not only one child was available but two. She didn't blink an eye when Elvia told her all the extenuating circumstances. She was ready but she would have to pray and consult George. The problem arose when George did not share her enthusiasm for taking in children whom no one else wanted. George didn't yet possess the faith that consumed Nora.....that no matter what had happened in the lives of these little ones, God's love was bigger. His love could cover a multitude of sins. And truly these little ones had been sinned against.

Elvia is not one to give up easily so she came up with a plan. She invited the family to bring the two children to Jericho for an interview and invited Nora to come too. When the children entered, what they saw took their breath away. The boy resembled George right down to the expression on his face. And the girl.....well she was Nora in miniature. If you see George, which you will in the picture below, you will see that in looks he is not your run of the mill type of guy. What are the odds that this little boy would look like this man? Slim, I think. But God....well, you know how He is. Perfect in all His ways to be exact. Nora called George and told him to get his little patutee (Nora didn't say that of course.....I just like that word) over to Jericho as soon as possible, which he could since he runs his own printing business. Then Nora and Elvia set to work to shave off the little boy's head so that the lice would have no where to cling. When George walked into Jericho, he too was overwhelmed by what he saw. He knew this was God's plan for his and Nora's lives. He had a total eclipse of the heart. So in Jesus, the unwanted become the most desired, the castoffs become the beloveds. So you see why I had to share this with you......

Do pray for little Annie and Jeffrey pictured here with proud parents Nora and George!