Jasmine

Hanging from the beams, forming the roof and covering the wall of our back patio there was a jasmine plant. It was a special kind of jasmine that only had a scent in the evening and through the dark hours of the night. Frequently its fragrance called me to the bench situated under the uncut branches that I let grow wild. Drifting into another world in the freshness of the outside air after a long day I closed my eyes so that the sensation of the strong scent of these tiny white flowers would wrap around me and carry me as captive by its beauty. Even today I miss those evenings.

We live in another city now. But every time I pass a jasmine plant its fragrance grabs me and reminds me of the numerous nights I found renovation out on my small patio.

I think that this white flower could show us how God wants us to behave in the dark, difficult times of the lives of other people. Our fragrance of compassion and understanding can be like fresh air to help another make it through something hard. Sometimes during a painful time all we want to do is sit and not say anything while we are wrapped in the presence of someone who loves us unconditionally. The next time that you see someone worn down do not try to explain why, or tell them what they are obligated to do or even try to give them superficial platitudes. It is better to simply be with the person; maybe with a hug, or maybe with nothing more than silence.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation.” (Romans 12:15 – 16)

Basement Beginnings - 4

Part 4 – Santa Cruz, Bolivia
(Maids quarters)

Youth is marked by three outstanding characteristics: invincibility, omniscience and hope. Without these one would never risk it all in pursuit of a passion. The Neverlands and Narnias, Wonderlands and Lands of Oz would never be discovered were it not for these three magical spells that have been spoken over all wide-eyed girls and boys.

DaRonn and I were enchanted and our mysterious land yet to be discovered was Bolivia. After a 10 day trip with a group from church to help with a crusade in the spring of 2001 we were ever so much more convinced that we were to spend our internship time in Santa Cruz, Bolivia with a missionary couple that were connected with Tulsa’s Victory Christian Center. They graciously extended the invitation for us to come and we spent the summer months in preparation.

A few significant things took place. In July we decided that if we were really going to live overseas fully supported by donations then we must practice now; so DaRonn stopped working his temp jobs that he might dedicate his full attention to the fund-raising process. August brought us our third child; she was 10 weeks old when we moved to Bolivia. In September the twin towers were hit; thus changing airport procedures forever.

We were red-flagged because of the five one way tickets we had purchased for our family. Our bags and babies were searched at every checkpoint. I landed in humid Santa Cruz exhausted and hoarse after the journey that took close to 24 hours. Trying to make use of all our carry-on and check-on privileges we had checked 13 duct-taped rubber tubs and had 10 hand bags. Three-year-old Raimy and two-year-old Timothy each had a little rolling bag to tote around. I had the baby on a front pack and a back-pack on the back keeping my hands free for my toddlers. DaRonn carried the rest.

We left October 31 and landed November 1, Bolivia’s “Day of the Dead” on which they celebrate their dead ancestors by visiting the grave sites and sharing a meal together, leaving the leftovers for the spirits to enjoy. How odd it was as we drove into the city to look around and see every person dressed in black. Due to the fact that I had completely lost my voice I was unable to carry on a conversation with the missionary that had kindly picked us up from the airport. I was left to my thoughts. The main theme running through my mind was, “These people need Jesus.”

The missionaries had benevolently offered for us to stay with them until we could find our own place. The home they lived in, along with their four children, was in a neighborhood with dirt roads and high walls around all the houses. We were directed to a room behind their small place in the maid’s quarters. There was a bathroom attached to it. A double bed and a small table took up three fourths of the room. There was a closet and some wicker furniture as well. This was to be our home for the next six weeks. We shared it with the mosquitoes, spiders, quite an impressive variety of ants, biting flies, lizards, and scorpions.

Our next two years in that city were filled with adventures and challenges that could cover many pages. We were placed over the bible school operations, a public school outreach program and the children and nursery at the church. This couple had founded all of this work in the seven years they had been there at the time of our arrival. All the while we were learning Spanish and learning the Bolivian culture. Our internship was useful and I am grateful for it.

We knew that eventually we were going to launch out with a separate work. The instances that led to this breaking away will be saved for a later date. Suffice it to say that I am happy that we left the “maid’ quarters” stage of our missionary career. Cochabamba was the next destination as we packed up to move in November of 2003.

Basement Beginnings - 3

Part 3 – Tulsa, Oklahoma
(Garage)

“You make your choices and your choices make you.” This is a saying that holds much truth. There are other things that form us and shape our being beyond our control; thank God for it! Yet many of the outcomes of our life can be traced back to decisions that we have made. I read another quote just the other day, “If I succeed, I will give thanks. If Ifail, I will seek His Grace.” Choices are powerful things.

In our thoughts of grandeur we narrowed our choice of mission schools down to two: Ulf Ekman’s training center connected to Word of Life Church in Uppsala, Sweden or Billy Joe Daugherty’s Victory World Mission Training Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma. We opted for the latter. Off we went again making our way southward; a couple more inches closer on that map.

Fall was quickly approaching in the year 2000. Everything was packed in the truck down by the street, including DaRonn’s diploma. He finished his Business Administration degree with an emphasis in Marketing. I am so proud of him! We are standing together alone in an empty apartment and he decides that now would be a good time to tell me, “We have money for gas to get us down there, and that is it.” I knew that we did not have much; but somehow I knew that it was going to be ok. I looked at him, smiled, and said, “Ok, let’s go.” We turned to walk out and heard a knock.

There standing at the door was a friend from church breathing heavily from running up the three flights of stairs. The door had been left open; Shane Daniels popped his head in smiling and said, “I wanted to catch you before you left. Don’t open it ‘til you get to Tulsa.” He handed DaRonn a plain white envelope. The contents of that envelope were exactly enough for the deposit and first months rent!

God provided miraculously for us during that time. Once DaRonn was in his “office” (half of the garage of the duplex where we lived he had painted, put down a rug, and set up his desk) and his prayers turned to the financial needs we were facing. He sensed that God told him, “Look what you have in your hands.” And all of a sudden he remembered a check that had been given to him a few weeks ago that was just sitting on his desk.

Our spiritual preparation took place in Saint Joseph; the mud was being worked into formable clay. Tulsa is where we learned the technical ins-and-outs of this precarious career we had chosen; the hands of a skilled Potter were shaping us and then we were set out to dry. Santa Cruz, Bolivia is where it all would be put to the fiery test.

Angiesita

This is a little girl named Angie who lives in Santa Cruz. She is the daughter of Limbert and Claudia; we did their wedding for them during the time that we lived in Santa Cruz. They stopped by here at the house for a visit because they were in town. What an honor to have such a precious little girl named after me.