say hello to jonah for me . . .

Not long after Jonah died, Greg and I went to say goodbye to a friend who was losing her battle with cancer. Edith had drifted into unconsciousness shortly before we arrived and didn't wake up again.

Not on this planet, anyway.

Her family had all been summoned and now gathered in her room. Some hung back, but others pressed in and patted her sallow skin, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet farewells.

I felt like I was on holy ground as I watched the family's final interactions with Edith. A solid child of God, she'd raised her own children to be followers of Christ. The fragrant aroma of their faith filled the room and the veil between heaven and earth seemed very thin indeed.

Before we left, Greg prayed for God's comfort to blanket Edith and her kin. As we said our final goodbyes, I felt compelled to whisper to my sleeping friend:

"Say hi to Jonah for me!"

It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw the faintest smile . . .

**********************************

This week, I had lunch with my friend Terry. Her husband, Ken, is dying (he's the one one the mountain I visit each Monday) and she's taking life one day at a time right now. But she is brave and strong and funny and I am blessed to call her my friend.

And she gave me a precious gift on Tuesday . . .

"I hope this doesn't hurt your heart," Terry said to me, as we finished up our gluten/msg-free meals at our favorite thai place. "But I want to tell you about a conversation I had with Ken this week."

Maybe Ken hates my cooking and I'll be banned from the kitchen!? was the only heart-rending issue that came to my mind. But I braced myself and told Terry to spill the beans.

"Well it dawned on me that Ken will get to see your son before you do--and I realized that I don't even know his name!"

"Ah, his name is Jonah," I replied, startled that she would even remember my loss in the midst of her present pain. But that's Terry.

"Do you think Ken could say hello to Jonah for me?" I asked, already seeing the answer on her face.

There was no imagining the smile this time . . .

some thoughts on healing

I've heard some differing perspectives on divine healing over the years--from "God's will is for all sickness to be healed," to "God doesn't heal people today." Somewhere in-between those extremes, I have developed my own theology of healing.

It's pretty simple: I pray for healing and leave the results to God.

I have witnessed at least two miraculous healings within my immediate family--the kind where the doctors and experts just kind of scratch their heads and go, "Huh, have no idea how this could have happened!"

Danielle is Exhibit A in the Miracle Healing department. When we took her in for her six-month-old baby check (which was not an easy task, since Greg and I were still in wheelchairs and healing from our car accident just a month earlier), the nurse discovered that the circumference of her head had expanded beyond normal bounds. After rechecking the measurements, her pediatrician ordered a CAT scan and told us that the growth could be caused by two conditions: a brain tumor or hydrocephalus (water on the brain).

To parents who had just buried their firstborn, this was not good news. Worse yet, we'd taken Danielle in on a Friday and had to wait until Monday to get the results of the scan. It was the weekend from hell, for sure, and I vaguely recall mentally planning a second funeral as we waited for the doctor to call. The phone finally rang Monday afternoon and we received the news:

Danielle's head had enlarged because of a build-up of fluid around the ventricles in her brain. She suffered from "water on the brain."

We took her to see a neurosurgeon later that week and learned more than we ever wanted to know about hydrocephalus. He wanted us to bring her in for monthly CAT scans, to monitor the levels of fluid build-up. If too much pressure was being put on Danielle's brain, a shunt could be inserted for drainage.

We made the journey to the neurosurgeon for several months, each time being met with the grim news that the fluid continued to collect around the ventricles. The doctor felt that she'd need a shunt put in by the time she turned one--and while that would help relieve the pressure, it also opened her up to infection and other complications.

Can I just confess I was pretty ticked at God by this point? I was still in a wheelchair, struggling to recover physically and emotionally from the car accident that smashed up my body and took the life of my only son . . . only to be broadsided by by Danielle's serious illness. Let's just say I wasn't a shining example of faith in Christ when the elders from our church showed up one night to pray for our sick daughter.

"Do you have any oil?" one of them asked as the six men gathered awkwardly in our family room for prayer. None of us had ever done anything like this before, but our pastor had just read James 5:14 and felt he and the elders were to anoint Danielle with oil and pray for her healing.

I rummaged through my cupboards and found some Wesson oil. It was made from corn, not olives, but we figured it would do. I held Danielle in my arms while the guys gathered around and offered up simple prayers for her healing. Nothing dramatic happened, but I think we all felt more peaceful afer the prayers. It was kind of like we'd done our part, now God could do His.

And He did! On our next visit to the neurosurgeon, he discovered that Danielle's head circumference remained unchanged. That prompted another CAT scan, which revealed a lessening of fluid surrounding her brain. Puzzled, he had us bring her in every two weeks so measurements could be taken and more tests could be run.

When Danielle was just shy of her first birthday, the doctor gave us the best present ever by pronouncing her cured of hydrocephalus! There would be no need for a shunt now--or any more trips to the neurosurgeon's office! He, of course, had no explanation for her restored health, but we did. God had healed our daughter!

(Although if you look closely, her head is still a bit larger than the average woman's . . .)

Danielle's amazing healing definitely fueled my faith to pray for the health of others through the years. And I've witnessed miraculous deliverances from disease--but I've also seen friends and family struggle with infirmities for years . . . or even die from their conditions.

But for christ-followers, isn't death the ultimate healing? And can He not be glorified and served through our sickness as much as through our health? (For all our prayers, God chose not to heal our son Jonah from the condition of autism and let his life be cut short by a terrible car accident. But I cannot begin to count the lives that were touched by Jonah's brief life, through both his disability and his death).

Like I wrote earlier, I am compelled to pray and leave the results to Him . . . He is the One who determined our life span before we ever drew our first breath:

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them. Psalm 139:16

and now a word from my daughter (candyce) . . .

Lately, I am just so tired.

It could be the fact that I am living in a dorm with 27 (count em) 27 other girls (ALL of whom wake up at the butt crack of dawn to take showers, and blow dry their hair, which ends up sounding like a steel train colliding with a van full of howler monkeys, if I'm honest.)

Or, it could be the fact that I am staffing a missions school which requires ALL my time, energy, intellect, emotion, and money (yes money. I am paying to take these people to africa after all.)

OR it could very well be the fact that I am simply not getting enough sleep (27 girls...) Whatever it is, its rough, and I am learning quickly that I need some amount of personal space. I am normally not like this actually, but I am 23 now... days aren't what they used to be, and I am finding my alone time to be a precious thing.

It struck me today that I only have 8 weeks left in this country, and then its off to africa. My team of 7 and I, in the bush of that crazy continent that I can't seem to stay away from. Just that thought alone makes me want to pee my pants. 7 other people in africa with me? thats crazy talk. I can trust God to take care of me, but now I have to take others? 18 year olds even?

But then I realize that this is where it all begins. If I am so crazy passionate about this place, why wouldn't I want to take other people there, to have them experience what I have?

Well, heres why: Africa broke me.

Plain and simple. I often find that people are mistaking my passion for africa, for enjoyment. They actually think I was having a ball over there, enjoying me time there like an extended vacation. Even when words like "malaria" are mentioned, they chuckle, thinking what a good story I have. What an adventure.

And while it was an adventure and a pretty awesome story, it also sucked really bad at times. Actually, most times. Yes, I keep galavanting off to Africa, but usually at some great expense (i.e. money, health, comfortability) and I mostly do it out of sheer obedience to what God is telling me to do! AND just because he told me to do it, and I follow through, does not always guarantee that its going to be pleasant and easy. Hardly ever, actually.

So I go. And I will go every time, because I have waited my whole life to feel this alive, or this close to God (Same thing, really) and I can't stop now. For the first time, God is letting me feel just a little of what he feels for the lost everyday. But it came at a price (see previous paragraph).

And now I am taking 7 beautiful, smart, joyful students along with me, hoping to be some sort of hope in a place I would call desperate. I definitely tried to warn them about what this trip would entail, but its not even close to what its going to be like stepping off that aircraft, onto that red dirt I call home. How can I prepare them for those babies, the ones with HIV bound for an early death, the ones whose tiny fists wrap around your finger with the strength only an african baby could have, and then cause your heart to break into a million pieces. Or for the men all carrying AK-47's in their right hands, and bottles of local brew in their right, stumbling your way and asking for things that can't be mentioned in this blog...

How can I prepare them for the food, that looks, and tastes like (and is) bugs? Or for the sound of land mines exploding in the night, and the knowledge in the back of your brain that is whispering "there goes another one."

How about the 11 hour bus rides, where if you are a woman, you are not allowed to relieve yourself outside, because its indecent... but the men can. Or the fierce 120 degree heat, and lack of clean water, not to mention malaria? Oh God, how can I do this? How can I take them?

But then I remember that God is for me. He is for us. I have been called crazy many a time for what I do, and maybe I am. Maybe we all are. But I am alive. I feel for the first time things I never thought I could! Real, staggering, painful love! For the first real time. I feel compassion, a word that is lost in my generation. I feel pain along with joy, and sorrow along with wonder. I have a desperation to see the world at large, get better. I may only be one, but now soon to be 8! This one, is now turning to a team of 8. 8 people who can change the world. 8.more.than.before.

And that is why I do it. There is hope for change. for love. life. joy. beauty.

And it started with 1.

from her blog: www.candycestrannigan.blogspot.com

feline fanatic

Our cat, Chairman Meow (affectionately dubbed Shere Khan by Candyce) has a new favorite pastime . . .

. . .watching baseball on the big-screen!

Greg and the cat will sit riveted for hours, watching the stupid game. Chairman doesn't seem to care for the Food Network, Deadliest Catch (you'd think he'd find all that seafood somewhat interesting), the evening news or even football.

Just baseball . . . and Greg swears the cat's rooting for the Dodgers.

As strange as that is, I'm relieved that Chairman now has an indoor hobby that distracts him from stalking the neighbors' chickens.

Not that I think he's actually harmed the clucks--I haven't seen any tell-tale feathers on his face or had any irate phone calls from the neighbors. But it sounds like there's a fox in the hen house whenever Chairman goes over the fence . . .

As far as I can tell, however, the cat is definitely more brawn than brains and probably not a huge threat to the poultry. His favorite prey is actually the fearsome garden slug! Chairman loves the excitement of the, uh, chase during which the slug retracts all of its body parts into a slimy lump and plays dead. I've watched him bat happily at the slug's motionless form for a good ten minutes, stopping occasionally to lick the sticky goo off his paws.

I can't tell you how many mutlilated slugs I've squished between my toes when I take Scout out to do her nightly business . . .

The chickens might stand a fighting chance after all . . . at least until baseball season's over.

dei volente

I've learned some cool concepts while visiting my friends on the mountain. A few weeks ago, K. taught me the wonderful phrase "dei volente." It means "God willing" and was often used by godly men of old to close their hand-written letters.

During this crazy, transitional season of our lives, "God willing" is becoming our signature as well. Greg and I have learned, on a daily basis, that His ways are not our ways and that if we are truly seeking His will, we'd better buckle up for a very wild ride. I've definitely experienced some emotional whiplash from trying to peer into the future--I'd feel much less bruised if I'd just kept my eyes on Him during this zig-zaggy journey.

And some of the folks around me would feel less jerked around if I'd learned the concept of dei volente a little sooner . . .

We've had more options and opportunities thrown at us the past few months than we've known how to process. With every door the Lord closes, it seems He opens several windows--and we are back to trying to discern His will. This process has been exhilarating, exhausting, frustrating and humbling. But it is training us to trust in the Lord and lean not on our own understanding on a daily basis . . .

We hit another major bend in the road yesterday and I've been asking the Lord to show us His will regarding our next steps. So I thought it providential that the "verse for the day" I found in my inbox this morning was: Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances for this is God's will for you who belong to Christ Jesus. I Thessalonians 5:16-18.

So dei volente, I will be joyful, prayerful and thankful today. And tomorrow, I may go and have that little phrase tatooed on my forehead as a daily reminder of this big lesson I'm learning . . .