the number of our days

No parents ever expect to bury their children . . .

That thought struck me, as it has so many times, as I carefully arranged pinwheels around Jonah's grave under the warm Sacramento sun.

But 25 years after putting that first pinwheel in the ground, Greg and I are at peace with God's timing. Jonah's short life served an eternal purpose that we will fully understand one day.

Although we are often left to wonder now . . .

I got an email from my friend, Lynn, last Saturday, informing me that her mother-in-law was very ill with a rare disease called aplastic anemia and that the whole family could use prayer. On Tuesday, she emailed again, explaining that Trudy had passed away during the night, surrounded by family and the peace of Christ.

Greg called Barry (Trudy's son) and found out that the funeral was scheduled for Thursday evening.

Of course we would be there, he told Barry. Barry had been part of a youth group Greg pastored in the early '80s. He and his mom, Trudy, had loved us through the loss of our son. (Barry actually wrote a paper about heaven his senior year. Much of it was a tribute to Jonah).

So we made some phone calls and last minute arrangements, jumped in the car and headed for Sacramento. We enjoyed the sunshine, took fresh pinwheels to Jonah's grave, visited with Lynn and Barry and then headed to the funeral.

Trudy's funeral was, as most are, a poignant mixture of joy and grief. Tears and laughter, sorrow and sweet memories all mingle together in a communal farewell.

The sharing was interspersed with Trudy's favorite hymns. As we sang "Be Thou My Vision," I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Not expecting to see anyone I knew at the funeral, I turned around and then gasped with surprise.

My long, lost friend, Debbie Evans was sitting directly behind me. I gasped because I was so thrilled to see her--but I was also a little surprised that she was alive!

I've written about Debbie before--she's battled full-blown AIDs for over 30 years now. She called me a few years ago and told me she'd just been released from the hospital after another brush with death.

"I just wanted to hear your voice again and tell you that I love you," she told me.

The paths of our lives have crissed and crossed over the years. We've moved a few times since I met Debbie in the mid-nineties and she'd had a few adventures of her own. For instance, about a year ago, she got hit by a car while riding to the store (Debbie didn't have a driver's license because of seizures). She barely survived and was in the hospital for months. I kept up with her progress through a Care Page some of her friends set up, but one day the page no longer existed. And Debbie's phone and email address were no longer valid.

I wondered what had happened, but was eventually swept away by the tsunami of my own life and never tracked down my friend.

Debbie came to mind this week during the 10 hour drive to California. Again, I wondered what had become of her, but realized the one person who could probably fill me in had just died. After our family moved to Oregon in 2000, Trudy befriended Debbie. And was a friend to the end.

Trudy became ill about two months before she passed away. After her condition was diagnosed, Trudy faced repeated chemo treatments and weekly transfusions to extend her life. But she grew weaker and finally announced to friends and family that the fight was over. Her strength was gone.

Trudy's family flew in from around the country to be with her. Her church family surrounded her with comfort and love. And Trudy had a special request during her last weeks of life. She wanted to say goodbye to Debbie. And Debbie Evans got to hug her dear friend one last time, both sad and shocked to have Trudy beat her to heaven.

Our days are numbered and only God knows the count. No one ever expected Debbie Evans to attend Trudy's funeral--just like Greg and I never thought we'd bury our son.

Psalm 139:16 "And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me . . ."

Danger Woman

We finally heard from Candyce. After 11 days of silence, my cell phone rang while I was walking with a friend. I could tell by the crazy number it was from Africa so I answered, leaving the amazing conversation I was having with Linda to be continued another day.

It was Candyce! She called to say they'd been kicked out of the refugee camp on the Congo/Sudan border (for Congolese people fleeing LRA attacks) and were back at the YWAM base in Yei. I didn't get all the details, Candyce talks really fast because we always have such a short time to chat, but this is what I did get:

They had a wild and crazy time at the camp. All four of them--Will, Santos (the translator), Stephen and Candyce preached and over 200 refugees came to the Lord. One woman even got miraculously healed (but I don't know the details on that). All this activity apparently ticked off the resident witch doctor, who complained to the U.N. officials who set up the camp. So the little band of believers got asked to leave because they were preaching the gospel.

As Candyce said, they are now refugees from a refugee camp!

I asked about conditions at the camp. She said it was incredibly hot, like an oven in their tent at night, and when it rained, the mud flowed like a river through the tent. She asked prayer for her health as they'd all drunk the same unfiltered water the refugees drank. She wasn't feeling that great.

She also said something about the LRA attacking people on the outskirts of the camp, and the Ugandan army launching a counter-attack--but that the Lord kept everyone safe. Reception was sketchy at that point and I didn't get the details. Which may be for he best.

So, she and Stephen are praying about what's next while they recuperate at the base.
She is scheduled to return a month from today.

A lot of people have asked how I've coped the knowledge that Candyce is in a dangerous place doing risky things. I've prayed lots, actually, and have definitely experienced a supernatural peace. I've had a few anxious moments, however--and even a few nightmares--because of my fearless child. But a few nights ago, the Lord reminded me of something He'd told me about Candyce when she was just a little girl.

And I haven't worried since.

I was at a women's Bible study at the church in Anchorage AK where we served in the early '90s. At my wit's end yet again because of my youngest daughter's strong-willed behavior, I asked the group of women to pray for me (Candyce was probably 5 or 6). An older women, who was visiting from out-of-town, prayed for me and Candyce that morning. And her prayer changed my heart toward my difficult child.

This dear saint, who'd never met Candyce, prayed--or was it prophesied?--that Candyce would have the spirit of the apostle Paul upon her and do great exploits for God. That she would be bold and courageous, walking in the fear of the Lord and not the fear of man. She prayed that God would take her iron will and bend it to His purposes. After we all said "Amen!" to her prayer, I looked at my daughter in a totally different light.

This child, who made me want to resign from parenting on a daily basis, would do great things for God! I tucked that truth into my heart and held onto it tightly from that point on. And it was this very truth the Lord brought to light recently.

"Well, of course!" was all I could say in response to His gentle reminder. "Of course she drove over land-mines, through enemy territory, to go and share the gospel with African refugees! Of course she lived in conditions that make me shudder and drank bad water and picked up who-knows-what parasites and diseases! Of course she's planning on marrying Stephen and embracing this way of life on a permanent basis. What else would God have created her to do?"

Candyce's iron will, bent and shaped to the will of God, will take her places where angels fear to tread. And keep her there, when other hearts have failed and fled.

She truly is (as she called herself as a child) "danger woman" for God!

the dress barn revisited

I just returned from my annual trip to the coast. I usually take four days and hole up in some friend's beach cabin and press into Jesus. I do lots of reading, praying, worshiping . . . and of course, Scout and I take lengthy walks on the beach.

And did I mention shopping? It's good for a girl's soul, right? Anyway, as much as I prefer a good thrift shop, I was in need of a dress for Lindsay's wedding. And just any old dress wouldn't do. So on the second day of my retreat, in-between beach strolls, I found myself irresistably drawn to The Dress Barn.

If you know me well at all, you may be thinking to yourself, "But Shawn doesn't seem like a Dress Barn sort of gal!" And you'd be right--I haven't stepped foot in the Barn for over 30 years.

But strangely enough, The Dress Barn is where I found my wedding dress!

It was the coolest dress ever! If I had a scanner, I'd show you pictures--a lovely white seersucker cotton, accented with lace and ribbons--the perfect hippie princess gown. And I rocked it as a wedding dress, with a ring of white daisies in my hair. All of my girls played dress-up with it when they were young and I think it's still tucked away in an old suitcase somewhere.

So I returned to the Dress Barn like a moth to the flame and had the best time trying on outfits. I found two that fit, complemented Lindsay's color scheme and were in my price range. Since I couldn't make up my mind, I bought them both. And while the sales clerk rang me up, I told her the story of my wedding dress.

Well, she and her co-worker got such a kick out of my tale that we started carrying on like we were old friends. We even swapped stories about our children--I told them about what a wonderful event planner Lindsay (the bride) is, how Danielle and her husband live with Somalian refugees and how my baby, Candyce, is galavanting around dangerous places in Africa doing mission work.

The sales clerk, who'd known me a grand total of 10 minutes, peered at me over her reading frames for a second and then pronounced, "What wonderful daughters you have! It sounds like they all grew up to be like you!"

Her words blessed me to my very core. Not only was that one of the best compliments I've ever gotten--I had to wonder if she'd seen Jesus in me. Even though nothing remotely spiritual had come from my mouth, this woman saw the amazing, brave-hearted faith of my children in me!

This all dove-tailed perfectly with the verse I'd been meditating on that day: "I will glory in my weakness, for then the power of Christ rests on me." I faced the fact that I am a weakling no matter how hard I train to be strong. I acknowledged how physically frail, emotionally fragile and spiritually slow I can be. I am a mess, frankly, but have come to grips with the truth that Jesus can--and does--use me in my weakness. I am a beautiful mess!

And I was feeling pretty messy when I walked into The Dress Barn. Sleep deprived, unkempt, unsure of the future and even a teensy bit out of sorts with God. I was probably using the shopping experience to "medicate" some of the anxiety I'd been experiencing.

And not only did I find two dresses for the wedding--the Lord used a complete stranger to reassure me that He was very present with me in my weakened state.

I had a great week. Didn't sleep much, didn't get answers or direction, but I received lots of affirmation that I am on the right path. And I know He will strengthen my feeble knees for the journey.

Or maybe He'll even carry me for a while . . .

The plot thickens . . .

Yesterday, my friend Val and I showed up at 8 a.m. at the community garden plot to help put up a fence around its perimeter. We met Mitch, the garden organizer, and turned in our application for a 15' x 20' plot. We opted for the biggest size available, since our two families, Danielle and Krispin and the Somalis will all be sharing this space.
We met lots of interesting folks as we cemented fence posts into the swampy ground. No kidding--the soil was so wet that we just dumped bags of dry cement into the post holes and stirred. No need to add water! We all had a ton of muddy fun . . .



It was such a gorgeous, sunny day yesterday--I think we almost hit 70 degrees--that I came home and painted the tub 'o grub red. I got excited to see the beet and radish sprouts pushing up through the dirt. The cauliflower looked a little mangy--we had freezing temps the night before last--but over all, the tub is looking good.

So, I had my sleep study on Thursday night. We showed up at the clinic at 8 and I was escorted to my room, which could have been your basic lodging at a Holiday Inn. At 9:30, the sleep technician came in and spent 20 minutes hooking me up to wires, sensors and electrode, designed to measure brain activity, heart rate, eye and limb movement, breathing, etc. I felt pretty wired when she was finished :) She told me that she'd monitor me closely for the first half of the night and would hook me up to a cpap machine around 2 a.m. if I showed any signs of apnea. If I didn't, she'd just let me sleep.



I was actually able to fall asleep without sleep aids, but woke up in some discomfort about 12:30. After 30 minutes of trying to find a position where wires weren't being smashed into my face, I gave up and took an ambien. I woke up at 5:30 and buzzed the technician, letting her know I was done with sleep. She came in and unhooked me and informed me that she'd seen no unusual activity while I'd snoozed.

When the doctor came in later that morning, he confirmed her observation.
"I don't know why you aren't sleeping, but you don't have sleep apnea," he told me.

While I was a little bummed not to have a diagnosis, I can't say I'll miss being attached to that attractive little cpap machine every night. I would have felt like Darth Vader's bride . . .