ONE VILLAGE, TWO GIRLS

Children say the most incredible things. The Psalmist said “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise” One of the most joyful parts of my life are the moments when my children lighten my load with their childlike humor. A few weeks ago Megan asked me why I was not a normal ‘amma. When I asked her what her idea of normal was, the answer was “a normal ‘amma sits in a rocking chair, reads stories and makes cookies.” I guess she is right, I am not a normal ‘amma; although I do make cookies every once in a while.
Those who know me know that I am not fond of mornings. Many nights it takes hours for me to be able to get to sleep and the alarm rings all too early. Every morning I fight a battle of between my every weakening body and my will. Or as my dad would say my “get up and go is stuck in neutral.” My body desires to pull the covers up, stay in that bed and knows that as soon as I begin to walk the pain will start over again, my will knows that there is work to be done, a school to administrate, a house to run and I need to get my household moving and going to face the new day. It is on those mornings and when I battle and fight constant frustrations with government paperwork that changes overnight, battle with a ministry of education that specializes in inefficiency, worry trying to make ends meet, days when I rob Peter to pay Paul and then figure out how to repay Peter. Days that the kids do nothing but fight, the teachers don’t do their jobs, the tire blows out on the car, the mayor closes the road, and the bus gets stuck in the mud going around the back road to get kids to school. Days that Satan does everything in his power to discourage me, days that everything that could possibly go wrong does, it is those days that I wonder, “What am I doing?” It is on those days I am tempted to give up and be a “normal ‘amma” as Megan would say. Days when it would be so nice to turn off the lights, close the door and go to the beach.
Then God knocks on the door and life sets in and I am reminded for whom and why I live and breathe. I often tell people that Morning Glory is more than teaching children to read and write. Morning Glory is more than a classroom where children learn to add two plus two. It is more than a place where kids play soccer and the girls learn to dance, it is even more than a Bible class. Morning Glory is a place that changes tomorrow.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon going through thirty years of photographs choosing the ones to use in a special presentation. Each photo brought a memory, a smile or a tear to my heart. Photos of loved ones gone on before, pictures of houses that are no more, gardens that gave way to soccer fields, empty lots that became classrooms, toddlers who are no adolescents, pig tails and braids, freckles and toothless grins, now young ladies and young men.
Two pictures sit on my desk this morning. Each picture is of an eight year old Mayan girl from the village where Morning Glory is located, one girl lives behind the school in a tin roof shack and the other girl lives a block away up the road in an identical shack. Both girls wear the Indian dress, both girls come from poverty stricken families and uneducated parents. Both girls were in second grade in 2001 when I took over the small struggling school. Both girls come from large families. One named Dorcas and one named Vilma. Both girls were extremely bright and giggled and laughed like all little girls are prone to do. I can close my eyes and see the girls giggling and chattering in the corner of the classroom.
One year later I sat in the dirt floor kitchens of the homes of each girl trying to persuade the parents to allow the girls to continue school. In each home I met the resistance of parents who considered that education for a girl was a waste of time and energy. In both homes the parents refused to contemplate wasting money on the education of a daughter. In both homes I offered to cover all the costs, buy the books, provide the school supplies and make sure that the girls had everything they needed to continue to study. In one home I won, in one home I lost. Vilma got to stay in school; Dorcas had to stay home and make tortillas and help her mom. Dorcas would walk by with her tub of corn on her head on the way to the mill to grind it for tortillas and stand at the gate and gaze with longing at the children in class and recess. She would shyly wave when I would pass her on the road my van full of children on their way to school and tomorrow, Dorcas on the way to nowhere with little brother tied on her back.
Dorcas came back into my life two weeks ago. She came into the medical clinic to give birth to her second child. Sadly the child didn’t make it and Dorcas buried her baby in poverty and tears of want. Dorcas has known nothing but want and abuse in her short seventeen years. The giggles and chatter have long ago left her life. Old before her time, a child made into a woman she walked home with the same lost look in her eyes that I saw a short eight years ago. My heart broke; I should have insisted more, I should have fought harder for her…what if I had convinced her mom and dad…..?
Vilma? you ask, what happened to the other little girl? The battle I won. Vilma graduated from Morning Glory with honors, went on to secondary school with the help of Mary Ann Brown and others like you. Vilma was in the top of her class for three years at secondary school, won a full scholarship to teaching school in Guatemala City and is one year away from graduation as a fully certified primary school teacher. Vilma still giggles like a little girl, chatters like a parrot when she brings me her grade card to proudly show me her excellent progress.
One village, identical poverty stricken homes, uneducated parents, both girls of Indian descent, both the same age…..What made the difference?
Morning Glory….
So tomorrow morning when my body rebels, when my old bones don’t want to move, when the pain screams at me; tomorrow when I yell at the mayor about the closed road, when I rob Peter to pay Paul, when envious people make my way hard, when I am tempted to give up, when I spend long hours at the computer trying to make ridiculous government programs work. Tomorrow when I am tempted to make cookies and sit in my chair and read stories to my granddaughters and be a normal ‘amma. I will look up at two pictures and remember why.

KINGDOM WEEK

Spring break has become a North American college tradition. Most college students take advantage of the week to ski, go to the beach or just rest and relax at home “eating Cheetos and watching mtv”, as Tim would say. But Dallas Christian College has a different tradition. Students choose different activities or opportunities of service for the good of God’s Kingdom. This year was no exception. In early January, DCC professor, Mark Worley, confirmed that a group of students would be accompanying Professor Scott Spies and himself on a weeklong trip to San Raymundo. He wanted to know if we could find work for them to do. Brainstorming in my office, Tim Jenkins and I talked about different things. There is always manual labor that needs to be done, walls to be painted, etc. However looking at the incredible talent and resources of the young people who would be coming we decided to put their training and education to the best use possible. It was a given that the mornings would be occupied between the two schools, Rainbow Connection and Morning Glory. So we decided to organize and promote our first Leadership Training Seminar for leaders and pastors of the local congregations. We planned a five day activity using the talents and wealth of knowledge of those coming. God in His wisdom arranged for Saul Flores a bilingual DCC student to come along and I hired a friend from Guatemala City to help out with excellent translation. Tim got out his instruments, drums, guitar and keyboard and we borrowed a base and the “Tim Jenkins Worship Explosion” was born with vocal singers Kelly and Kasidy and my cleaning lady Hermogenes, Jon Robertson on guitar and lead singer, awesome Travis Montoya on the drums, Josh Watkins on the keyboard and Tim on the bass. They learned to sing and play several worship songs in Spanish and viola we had a praise band. Scott Spies led several workshops on praise and worship, Mark introduced Christian disciplines and the students helped with the “How to study the Bible” workshops. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday for four hours every afternoon they met with and taught local church leaders young and old, challenging and motivating them to get into the Word and study to be able to teach more effectively. On Wednesday afternoon we invited the women’s group from the newly formed Christian Church in Sacsuy along with several moms of Morning Glory students for an afternoon of worship and celebration. Mark Worley brought an excellent message titled, “Born to Fly” and encouraged the women to see themselves as victorious no matter what their circumstance.
On Tuesday night the members of the hospital committee were special guests of honor at a dinner celebration. Once again Prof. Worley brought an excellent motivational message which touched the hearts of everyone present. After the message the “worship explosion” delighted all present with an exhibition of musical talents in a jam session on the instruments ending with an impromptu rap from Ethan.
It was a wonderful week, full of activity, often going late into the night. All too soon it was Friday night and time to say goodbye for all those leaving on an early morning flight for Dallas. Profesor Worley stayed one more week to join up with the group from Carrollton Christian Academy for the next week of Spring Break.
An amazing week for all involved. Lives were touched and changed. Church leaders were challenged to delve into the Word of God, to prepare themselves to teach. We worshiped together, learned together, played together and eternal friendships were formed. Thank you DCC for sharing with us for the second year in a row. What a wonderful motivational week and rightly named, Kingdom Week. Truly the kingdom of God in our little corner of the world was blessed and enriched. Thank you all who made that possible.

A CITY THAT SITS ON A HILL CAN NOT BE HIDDEN

I never cease to wonder at the handiwork and wisdom of our awesome God. Eons ago in Greek class Romans 8:28 became one of my favorite scriptures. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” The text literally says “God works everything to the good of those….” It amazed me then and even now amazes me that God can take any situation and turn it into something for our benefit. Then the second part holds such amazing wisdom….”called according to His purpose. How often we forget or ignore that God’s purpose is not always the same as our purpose and generally His time is very different than our time and our desires. It is only when we look back we can see the handprint of God on every event in our life, shaping and molding us, working everything to our benefit according to His purpose.
For ten years Queno and I have dreamed and planned and hoped for another church. Three different times we struggled according to our purpose and things never seemed to jell or work out. For the last few years Queno’s pastor’s heart has been in limbo, waiting and serving where ever he had a chance or opportunity but never satisfied or fulfilled. In the meantime he answered the call to train leadership in independent indigenous churches in the villages around San Raymundo.
Then just about a year ago events happened that opened a window of opportunity and by faith Queno stepped through. With Bro. Eligio Pérez, Queno and a few believers began to meet at first under a pine tree on a hill side and later in a blue plastic nylon and tin shack. God’s hand began to move and we were able to buy a lot high on a hill side in the village of Sacsuy. Construction seemed years away. But God moved in the heart of Godly men and women and in January of this year a group of men from First Baptist Church of Texarkana, Texas came to put the roof on the building that would house the baby church. Amazingly the church had grown from a small group of believers to a vibrant body even while meeting in the temporary shack on the hillside.


The men worked hard for several days leveling dirt and smoothing out the rough interior of the rustic building. High cement block walls and a majestic roof gave mute testimony to the grace and provision of our Living God.
On Sunday March 15, 2009 the Christian Church “A Strong Tower” in Sacsuy, Guatemala held her first worship service in the new building. Prof. Mark Worley from Dallas Christian College preached the first sermon and on that first Sunday the building was full and the service was glorious and victorious. The chairs quickly were not enough and latecomers found themselves sitting on cement blocks that the men quickly brought in from outside.
As I translated for that first service, I found it extremely hard to concentrate. Sitting at the front of the building the view out the huge windows is astounding. The building sits high on a hill overlooking a majestic view of valleys and mountains. Words cannot describe the beauty or splendor of God´s creation. But not only was the beauty and splendor outside on the hills but the weathered faces of the brothers and sisters gathered in that Holy Place testified to the Glory of God.
My mind wandered to those men and women who had made all of this possible. If only I could have captured the moment in the palm of my hand like a firefly on a hot summer night. It was all I could do to contain my tears and translate the sermon that Mark was preaching with such dedication and inspiration. I almost lost it when I looked at Queno and the look on his face was one of such joy and happiness that I thought my heart would break.
My heart has been doing a lot of dancing lately and that Sunday afternoon was no exception. So thank you John, Bill, Ken, Aven and hundreds more. High on a hill deep in a village in Central America sits a light, a witness to the world of the Grace of God, a witness of His provision even in times of economic distress. A light that shines in the darkness because you care and you gave.

HASTA LUEGO

When my children were little there was one word they refused to say. In fact they would run off and hide rather than have to say good bye. Each time as we would leave grandma and grandpa’s house one more time to return to Guatemala, Taby and Herbert would stubbornly refuse to give good bye hugs and kisses or even say good bye. No amount of begging or bargaining could get either of them to mutter those dreaded words. In their minds good bye was forever. Even today as my man/child runs out the front door it is never bye but “later mom.”

Spring break has come and gone from Morning Glory. Two weeks of intense labor and hard work but amazing bonds of friendship were formed. We were blessed with the visit of two amazing groups of young people. The first week a group of students from Dallas Christian College came to share with the Morning Glory kids, amazing friendships were made and bonds were formed. The second week a group of high school Spanish students from Carrollton Christian Academy shared with the children of Morning Glory. Each Friday as the buses left the campus filled with children tears flowed as young people said goodbye to children who had touched their lives and filled them with joy and love. I take great joy in observing moments in time that God gives us as windows into the souls of our fellow human beings. Some moments are so special and sacred that a photo would be sacrilege. Sitting in the cafeteria looking out the huge plate glass windows I watched one young North American girl sitting on the cement sidewalk deep in conversation with a young Guatemala girl. I watched as the Guatemalan girl took a handmade bracelet from her own arm and tie it on the wrist of her North American friend. Two heads bent together, one with huge brown eyes and coal black hair, the other sky blue eyes and hair the color of bright sunrays. Then to my surprise I watched as one of the girls took the shoes, name brand running shoes, off her own feet and the brown skinned Guatemalan child placed them on her feet. Both girls were oblivious to the world around them, caught up in their friendship and loving and caring, and as they hugged and said those dreaded words, tears freely flowed down their cheeks. Two girls bound together in a moment of time united by the love of God.
As I watched in silence my mind went back in time to all the times that I have had to say good bye and I realized that my children were right all along.
Today as I write this my husband and children are saying “later” yet once again. Yesterday Uncle German, the godly man who was the only father figure that my husband ever knew went to be with Jesus. Uncle German was a carpenter who loved Jesus and children. He taught Queno how to plane a board, straighten a crooked nail and how to mend a broken piece of furniture. Not only was “Tio Man” as the entire town called him an excellent carpenter but he was the local “bone doctor.” He had an incredible talent for putting broken and dislocated bones back together and binding up wounds. Right up to a few months before his death, injured soccer players young and old would seek out his help. With the aid of his miraculous balsamic ointment and a natural healing touch Tio Man would mend the bones of those who sought his help. Uncle German loved children and always had a trail of grandchildren and neighbor children with him where ever he went. He lived ninety years fully and victoriously, always taking time to be a good neighbor and share the gospel with whomever would listen. His sharp wit and sense of humor made me laugh and giggle more than once. I remember taking him to a buffet restaurant in Guatemala City and him pulling a plastic bag out of his pocket and stuffing it for “tomorrow.” I will never forget the Thanksgiving Day that we introduced him to cranberry sauce and the laughter that caused.
As with so many friends and family who have gone on before us, we will never see Uncle German again on this earth. Perhaps there are those who believe we should say good bye. But you know what? I think Herbert is right. “Later” is better. Because in Christ we have hope, hope that tomorrow when Jesus calls us home and we walk down the golden street, right around the corner there will be a carpenter’s shop with wood shavings on the floor. An old radio will be playing in the corner and half finished shelves and cabinets will be everywhere. Uncle German will be rubbing balsamic on the wrist of a heavenly soccer player who fell while kicking around that ball with Saint Peter.
Just as those two little girls hugged and said “until later” so it is “later” Tio, we will see you on the other side.
And for all the friends and family who have gone on before we have this hope. So I vote with Taby and Herbert that we strike good bye from the English language.
Hasta Luego

I'M SINGING, I'M DANCING WITH JOY

What? You think I am kidding? I can just see the looks of incredulous doubt on your faces. Miss Lori dancing? Ya right, she can hardly walk let alone dance.
Okay so I am dancing in my heart. My rebellious body just refuses to do the jig that my heart is commanding, but if I could dance an Irish jig I would put a leprechaun to shame. God is so good!
Jennifer is home from the hospital. She has no side effects and there is no indication of the disease in any of the tests. One day she was on the respirator and life support and the prognosis was months in the hospital. The next morning she woke up starving, fussing for breakfast and all the tests came back clean. In a few weeks she will be back in school and all will be normal.
I so love it when God answers prayers so openly and unmistakingly. I love it when there can be no doubt but what the Hand of the Almighty moved and changed the physical realm. I love it because it is a life lesson that my children will never forget. God Almighty hears their prayers and answers! I love it when the doctor has that baffled look on his face, when he says, “well we really don’t know what happened but…..” I love it when the children rejoice with the knowledge that their prayers made a difference.
So here I sit on my couch, dancing a jig, in my heart but I am singing and dancing.

When Love Hurts.......

A few days ago I wrote about Love that does not hurt: love that is patient, kind and does not injure or demean. It is such love that God extends to us.
Last night as I was getting ready for an early night, I have a killer cold, three young girls knocked on my front door. Since I was in my night clothes I asked Herbert to put them off. But he came in my room: “Mom I think it is urgent, they are all crying.” So I put my clothes back on and went into the other room to see what had happened.
It was Reyna one of my dearest girls who graduated from sixth grade last year, her older sister and their little first grade sister Jesi. They had just returned from Guatemala City where they had left Jennifer the middle sister in intensive care. Jenny as we call her is the exact opposite of Reyna. Reyna is outgoing, has tons of friends, loves to dance and is a giggler by trade. Jenny is a quiet book worm. Jenny is the kind of child that goes through life without making noise. She is always obedient, always does her homework and always behaves. Jenny hides from the limelight preferring a quiet corner and a good book to read.
The girls were terrified. Jenny had awakened with intense pain in her legs and an increasing weakness. Their mother thinking it was the flu had gone on to the city to a business appointment. About noon Jenny worsened to the point that she could not move her extremities and Priscilla the fifteen year old sister in charge took her to our local doctor. He was extremely alarmed and sent the girls straight to the hospital in the fire department ambulance.
To make a long story short it appears that Jennifer has Guillian Barre syndrome an autoimmune disease that is extremely rare and causes muscular paralysis in ever increasing degree. What terrified these dear girls was that their cousin had the same disease and spent over a year in the hospital and even today still struggles with the side effects. Two different times the doctors told their aunt to prepare the funeral for their cousin because they did not expect him to make it through the night. And now their sister has the same rare disease.
My house was on their way home and they came here for me to give them hope. As I held the three girls in my arms we cried and prayed together. Forgotten was my early night as I tried to comfort and reassure three frightened little girls while at the same time my heart was breaking thinking about little Jenny lying alone and frightened in a strange hospital bed hooked up to a machine that breathed for her and countless monitors. Her brain functions perfectly but her body can’t respond.
When the children left reassured and comforted I broke down and the tears flowed freely. Recently a friend of mine said to me that she was kind of glad that she had never had children because she had seen parents suffer so much with their children’s pain. But then she has never experienced the supreme joy that loving a child brings as well.
Sometimes love hurts. It hurts when life is not fair. It hurts when sickness strikes. It hurts when those we love are in pain. It hurts when there is no answer why?
Yet without suffering we would never know the joy of the presence of God and being held in His loving arms. Without the rain flowers would not grow. Without the fire silver would not shine.
I ask your prayers for Jenny and her family.

Red Felt Hearts

Working with children has many benefits. Even though my bank account generally stays close to empty my heart is always overflowing. Children have a special way of making us laugh and keeping us young. A look, a giggle, a simple phrase can move us back decades in time to a place where we were young and full of hope and promise.

Last Friday we celebrated Valentine's Day at Morning Glory. Since most of our children come from economically challenged families (we are politically correct and do not say poor. lol) we outlawed mandatory gift exchanges for a more financially feasible sweet treat. We only allow flowers or sweets to be brought as gifts to exchange on Valentine's day. Each teacher planned a special party for their kids and brought a special treat to share with the class.

When I get to school in the mornings I like to sit in my car for a few minutes and observe the students and teachers as they go to class. This year we have hired a new PE teacher. He is a young man, very athletic, logical for a PE teacher and actually quite attractive. This morning I noticed a group of giggly fifth graders. They were all grouped together, giggling and pushing each other. I watched, fascinated, trying to figure out what they were up to. Then the new teacher walked up. As I watched the giggly little girls all went up one by one to give him their valentine's day gift, a flower, a card a little box of candy and a snickers bar. One girl had made a stuffed red felt heart. Obviously she had made it herself because it was crooked and the lace was falling off. It was then I realized, the new rock star was my PE teacher. He was totally oblivious to the undercurrents and politely thanked each child and went to teach his first class. As I watched, an unobserved intruder, the girls huddled. I could almost hear their hearts beat in youthful infatuation. As I watched those silly little fifth grade girls all of the sudden I remembered my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Santisteven, yep I still remember his name. He was so nice and kind. I dreamed everynight of growing up and marrying him. I dreamed that he would take me away to a palace where he was the prince and make me a princess. But all of the sudden I realized, I can't remember what he looked like. Was he tall? What color were his eyes? I have no idea. To be honest I hadn't thought of him in years. It was those giggly girls and the silly stuffed red felt heart.

Today as Tim walked out of his office to go to class, he caught a moment in time. Three little girls walking up the sidewalk hand in hand. As he snapped the picture the girls yelled. "Amigas para Siempre." Best friends forever.

Whether it be a girlhood crush on a new teacher or friendships forged in the classrooms and playground our childhood shapes the rest of our life. I pray that we can continue to provide a place where kids can grow safe and secure in love and free from fear of harm.