God, make a way!

It's been four days since surgery on my right wrist to remove a six inch plate and six troublesome screws. I am typing ever so gingerly while wearing a cumbersome brace, but my six inch long incision is healing nicely. Looks frightfully like the arm of Frankenstein to me!

As I was praying this morning, the Holy Spirit who helps us pray gave me this thought for so many requests: when it is God's will, He always makes a way. And He welcomes our requests to make a way for us, for our families, for our friends.

Our church is seeking 13.8 million dollars to acquire a school facility for the Christian day school. If it is God's will, then He will have to make a way--we cannot. For more details, go to www.berrypassingthetorch.com . And we are asking: God, make a way.

I wanted to write and garden and work on projects this summer, but my hand is minimally functional. God, please, make a way.

I need a job for the fall. Make a way.

My friend's (Cindy) mom has cancer. So does my neighbor Kathy. God, make a way.

Mark and Marge want to serve you in Costa Rica. Make a way.

How He will or what He wills in each situation, I do not know. But I do know is that when it IS His will, He makes a way. He makes a path through the wilderness. He provides streams in the desert. Manna from heaven. Water from a rock. Resurrection out of crucifixion. Pauls are made out of Sauls. Blind men can see. And captives go free!

What is your obstacle? Your struggle? Your insurmountable circumstance? Pray, trusting in His perfect will, that God will make a way.

Mechanical Irritations: Remove the hardware!

The hardware in my right arm, consisting of a six inch steel plate and six screws, has to come out on Monday, June 26, 2006. After six years of holding my little arm together after a fracture, the plate and screws now cause more harm than good. What began as an aid to my recovery, an assistance to my renewed functioning, now hinders and limits me.

It is time to move on--without the hardware. Life is like that. When something or someone is instrumental in helping us to heal or holding us together while we heal, we tend to hang on long after the healing is complete. Perhaps we fear that without that person or thing, we will fall apart. That we are not completely healed. We forget that the aid is a tool; a tool is an instrument that assists the healing, but does not do the healing.

I used to think that the screws held my bone in place. For a time, it did. But the bone is now stable. It has grown back together, and now the plate and the screws are an impediment. They keep me from moving on and doing what God has called me to do.

If the tool that helped you heal is a person, the great news is that you can still love and be loved by that person. But for you and that relationship to grow, you have to let go. For a while, you cling to that friend for dear life. And after the crisis is over, you enjoy a close kinship. But let that friend go. The separation will be painful. Some therapy may be required. But greater healing and usefulness is ahead.

I've experienced that with friendships. I am counting on that for my arm!

Our Victor Emmanuel: Rome fallen, Rome redeemed

Throughout this summer, I want to reflect on our trip to Italy: what we saw there, what moved us, what has stayed with us since our return home. And show you some of the pictures!

Our trip began in Rome-glorious, ancient Rome! It was...expansive. Fast-paced. The people were ... elegant. Well-dressed. Proud. Rome is a large metropolis without skyscrapers. Its architecture grand, whether understated in its classicism or over-stated in its exclamation.

Our first stop in our self-guided-buy a bus ticket and hop on the #64 - tour was the Piazza Venezia. I read that if all roads lead to Rome, then this is the intersection for them all. It is overlooked by the Vittoria Monument which celebrates Victor Emmanuel II of Savoy who unified Italy in 1871, becoming Italy's first democratic king. And in a word, its redeemer.

This is a view from behind the monument, also known as The Typewriter. The area in the foreground is actually part of the ancient ruins of the Roman Forum. But before I proceed to a blog on the ancient ruins, I wanted to reflect on the magnificence of Rome and the triumph of unity that took so long to come to Italy after the Empire fell.

In its grandeur and glory, both past and present, Rome stands tall and proud. The city does not lie dormant in the shadow of its history; Rome still reaches upward to make a shadow that the rest of the world can fade into. But only in Italy, I think. I admire her spirit, her beauty. I respect her dignity and awe at the wonder of what she was and still is today.

Why did she fall? Why did it take hundreds of years to unify a country with mutual bonds of religion, cultural heritage, and hated oppressors. According to the historians, the cities warred among themselves, fueled by an insatiable lust for supremacy and power that would crush and humiliate its neighbors. Neighbors who would have been helpful allies against foreign invaders, if alliances had been sought.

The pride of Rome, of Florence, and of Siena built walls and towers of isolation that crumbled beneath enemy threats. One guide book stated that Romans are somewhat embarrassed by the Vittoriano monument, also known as the Republic Memorial. Is it because it is a reminder of the necessary humility of mutual dependency? That the Holy Roman Empire's pride became its downfall?

For me, it is a reminder not to build walls and towers of isolation from my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. That the pride that elevates my accomplishments crushes my connection with the body of believers by stifling the tender spirit of Christ within. My enemy will certainly assault me, and I am no match for him alone. I may piously state my dependence on Jesus Christ alone, but the truth is that He dwells in my fellow believers and works through them to meet my needs, strengthen my faith, and secure the victories that are promised through faith in Him.

My Victor Emmanuel is Jesus, and He secured my freedom and victory on the cross. I became a little stone in the house/kingdom He is building on July 2, 1970, when I was just five years old.

Ephesians 2: 20-21 says, "We are his house, built on the foundation of the apostles and the prophets. And the cornerstone is Christ Jesus himself. We who believe are carefully joined together, becoming a holy temple for the Lord." (NLV)

Minor Tendonitis!!!

Minor Tendonitis! That's what I have in my right wrist, I found out Monday. Well, I'm grateful that's all it is, and look forward to being pain-free soon! No more aches in my wrist after writing or typing briefly. No more shooting, burning pain up my pinkie finger if I move my hand wrong.

But to tell you the truth, I was wondering a few weeks ago if God had a real twisted sense of humor, and I nearly got depressed about it.

You see, I like to be busy and I was looking forward to my first leisurely summer in, well, years. Graduate school behind me. Two teenage children working at the church's day camp all summer. Sigh! All this time and no obligations.

Now my busy time would be optional! All the things I have put off doing or didn't have time to do that I actually enjoy. Perhaps I could really begin to write again. Resume the prose I began six years ago before the horseback riding accident that snapped the bone below my wrist and mangled my knee.

I could also finally spend some significant time in my yard, grooming...no, rescuing a neglected backyard and cultivating some new flower beds.

But then it happened: while I was in Italy, too! Beautiful, blissful Italy! Halfway into our vacation, I twisted some handwashables and something inside my wrist twisted as well. And three weeks later, I finally learn that I had aggravated my old injury, creating tendonitis in my wrist.

Anticipation, bliss, then tendonitis. What a disappointment! Half of my summer will be spent nursing an injury just annoying enough to limit my two most anticipated summer activities: gardening and writing!

Back to the inevitable question: why? What is a good God's purpose in this? His reply to me has been simply to sit and wait. Sit and wait for a instructorship position. Sit and wait for healing. Not be filled with activity. Not be consumed by replacing one busy schedule with another.

Sit and wait in quietness and solitude for His voice and His felt presence.
Sit and wait and listen.

I'll keep you posted. :)

Our first evening in Tuscany: Dinner in Certaldo Alto

Here I am sitting on the castle wall of Certaldo Alto, the medieval town that sits above the modern town of Certaldo, between Siena and Florence in Tuscany. There are still residents living inside these ancient fortified walls.

Mostly, however, the town consists of restaurants and artists, as well as a museum of the Governor's Palace.

We ate at the Ristorante Il Castello (on the far end behind me) that evening, enjoying our first bowl of Ribollita, a typical rustic Tuscan soup. I dined on a sampler platter of grilled meats: chicken, sausage, pork, and lamb. Very tasty! We also had a side of lightly fried vegetables (artichokes and zucchini). It was the best meal we had had in Italy thus far, and the first of several unforgettable dining delights in Tuscany.

Towers in Tuscany

On a recent trip to Italy, my husband and I stayed in a Tuscan villa, complete with medieval tower. Overlooking the town of Certaldo, the Villa il Pozzo vineyards and groves have produced olives and a Super Tuscan red wine named Luia.










The second tower is as viewed from our room--a watchtower. Not as old as the original medieval tower around front, but not yesterday's construction either.

Multiple towers were common sights in and around Tuscany, including Sienna and Florence. One small hill town nearby, San Gimignano, is known for its towers. Fourteen of the original sixty remain!







I learned in Florence--in Dante's house--that each family of distinction (complete with coat of arms) had its own personal tower inside the city walls. Why? Because the rivalry among families inside the city was fierce. Having a tower was having your own personal castle, your place of refuge from the attack of an enemy.

In America, we lock our doors at night and sometimes install security systems. But I know of no such refuge towers in any of the neighborhoods I have lived in growing up along the eastern coast. And yet, we sing "tower of refuge and strength" ("Shout to the Lord"). Maybe it is because towers in America are impressive--think Donald Trump or the Twin Towers attacked on 9/11.

Jesus is a tower of refuge and strength: both in the ancient medieval sense of the word and in today's contemporary rhetoric of power.

When all the world seems against me and I feel weak and small, there is a tower to run and find safety in. A place of strength for my protection. A banner above to which I belong.

Dolce Vita en Christo!