Pray for Our Troops

Though my life is lived out on Bolivian soil my heart is still American. I love the fact that God permitted me to be born in the United States. For that reason I wanted to take the opportunity to ask you to pray for our troops. No matter your political views. Our sons, husbands, fathers, friends and brothers are laying down their life for the freedom that we enjoy. Pray that God would be with them.

Excerpt "Breathe Easy"

This is the first chapter in my book Breathe Easy. I wrote it with the mind to connect Latin women with their Heavenly Father in a relationship that provides freedom from vice, addiction and sin.

CHAPTER ONE

The Woman

Intrepid she quietly made her way into the room. Many years of intimate interaction with human baseness had given her an austere and detached demeanor. Yet the group in the lofty hall noted a contrasting contentment on her face that did not coincide with her seductive stride. Unannounced a less observant participant may have easily mistaken her for one of the servants serving the meal. Yet all eyes were quickly drawn to the woman as she fearlessly approached the guest of honor.

But why would anyone have feared the great teacher? Surely he commanded attention by the authoritative way he spoke. Even children were drawn to the attractive way that he looked into the eyes of those he spoke to. In the past this woman did have reason to fear. Her former profession had gained for her the well known reputation of a popular but despised member of society. Her ungodliness had separated her from his deity. But those were things of the past; a not so distant past that seemed like ages ago. Things were going to be different now. She approached the teacher with her head drooping down causing her long hair to cover her face. She ducked away from his line of sight and positioned herself just behind the reclining figure. Now her gaze met his and she saw the same captivating eyes that were calling her from captivity; those eyes that poured forth such a mix of justice and welcome.

As she bowed low the clank and chatter of the meal slowed and finally stopped. Everyone watched in a solemn hush what this woman did to Jesus. The only sound to be heard were repressed sobs emitted from deep within the woman’s soul. She wept at his feet. The soul could not contain the emotion and it came spilling out in the form of warm salty tears. Her inclined posture causing the flow to run down on the master’s feet. If her eyes had not been clouded over by her tears she would have noticed that his feet were uncommonly dirty from waking around the dusty city. Little did she know that it was her own soul that was being cleansed as the filth dripped away from his feet to the plush cushions on which they rested. The crying subsided as this worshipful woman knelt. Not yet lifting her head she realized that she had wetted his feet and thus began to wipe them with her dark locks that hung down. As if to apologize and show her submitted heart she repeatedly kissed the now clean feet. Drawing from the folds of her robe the object of her intent in coming to this private gathering she began to pour precious ointment on the wearied feet.

She had known that he would be there. The gossip had traveled fast. Jesus would be dining with Simon the Pharisee. Her heart skipped to know that he would be in her town. She had heard of him, of the great miracles and wonderful teaching he brought. She had even heard his message personally. She had heard the words he spoke and they were like cool rain after a long dry summer. And now he was so close to her! Could it be her opportunity? Could this be the chance she had longed for? So long she had suffered under the weight of her affliction. So long had she heard the jeering and hissing as she walked through the market. She was known for her sin. There was no denying it. But now there might be just that small glimmer of hope to put that past behind her. Maybe this man brought the answer that would calm the torment that raged within her, maybe, just maybe. She had to act fast. Seeking out the most valuable thing she could she enclosed it in her robes and headed for the prominent home of the Pharisee. Possibly the precious ointment had been given to her by one of the wealthy dinner guests as payment for an intimate encounter. Nonetheless it was the best she had to give.

Her hands trembled slightly as she took the top from the box of alabaster. The ointment inside now seemed trite next to the magnificence of the man. But she had to express some kind of sacrifice of honor and respect. As the glistening liquid poured forth from the box and began to cover his feet the woman felt a deep sensation of release from her soul. Yes, this was the right thing to do, the only thing she could do; and more than that the best thing she could do.

The silence was broken when Jesus opened his mouth to speak. She had heard him before and now listened intently. Yet his words were not directed to her but to their host, Simon. Simon had been surveying the scene with mixed emotions. He had been so proud to have a renowned prophet grace his presence by accepting the invitation to dine with him. And now he was embarrassed and indignant that such a renowned sinner had also chosen to intrude. But then his pharisaical mind began to fixate on the validity of his guest. Was he really a prophet? If he really was who he said he was then he would know that this woman was a sinner. Why would he continue to allow her to touch him so? If he knew the truth then he would never allow it. This logical reasoning racing through his head was stopped abruptly by the calm yet commanding voice of the prophet on trial in his mind. Leadingly Jesus said, “Simon I have something to say to you.” Simon might have thought that Jesus was going to ask him to have the woman removed. He did not know that Jesus had been weighing the matters of the heart of the woman and the heart of his host. In his intellectual yet simple way Jesus presents a sort of riddle or enigma.

“Two men were in debt to a banker. One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty. Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker canceled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?” Jesus asked.

Simon answered, “I suppose the one who was forgiven the most.”

“That’s right,” said Jesus. Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, “Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn’t quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive isn’t it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal.”

Then he spoke to her: “I forgive your sins.”

That set the dinner guests talking behind his back: “Who does he think he is, forgiving sins!”

He ignored them and said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”[1]

Thrilled her heart began to sing. The shame dropped away, just as a heavy cloak slides off the shoulders when the constricting tie is loosened from the neck. She was forgiven! Everything was wiped clean. Jesus himself had spoken directly to her telling her that her sins were forgiven. Then, what a compliment he gave her, this honored teacher; he commended her faith! Her faith, seemingly insignificant, was expressed in her solemn act of reverence. Yes, this is what she had hoped for. And it had been granted: salvation. Saved from the sin. Saved from the guilt. Saved from the heavy load. Saved, really, from herself. She could finally breathe easy.

First forgiveness, then salvation and finally peace were bestowed upon a once despised life. Go indeed. Yes, she would go and be in peace. Her whole existence submerged in that peace.

~

This story is true. It was true for the precious woman that had come to the end of her own self and found her only hope in Jesus. And it continues to be true for anyone who would choose to believe that Jesus can set them free from any and all oppression. Freedom is extended to the hopeful heart. Whatever it is that is pressing down upon you can be removed and forgiven. Jesus can forgive you. Faith in Jesus can save you. Jesus can give you peace.

“A woman in the city brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment.”

“Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.”

---

[1] Portions of this story were taken from The Message by Eugene Peterson.

Killing Taste Buds

A theory that I have been testing was proven last night by my eight-year-old son when he said, “Mom, it’s just that the food is too tasty,” as an explanation as to why he was unable to eat his dinner.

Here is my theory: one of the purposes of parenthood is to successfully kill as many taste buds as possible.

This task should be completed before the child reaches the age that he or she can completely embarrass the parents in the presence of guests or hosts with a rude squishing up of the nose, the disgusted shudder, the eyes widened by terror and the phrase of doom, “Ew! What is that? I don’t like it!” Followed by a reddened face, a nervous giggle and the strained smile on the part of the parent as he or she says to the child with a flash of a death threat and then back to the clenched, forced grin, “How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t even tried it?” The sing-songy fakey tone that the parent has employed confuses the child at first and then they quickly realize that no command has been given and the game has begun. This is nothing more than a fun test of wits like in checkers or battleship. A retort is given; unchecked. Child 2, parent 0. The counterattack is a sharp squeeze to the thigh of the child from the parent under the table as a plea for silence. Usually the issue is dropped at this point and another person at the table excuses the child and changes the subject. The parent tries to regain composure and wonders where they went wrong.

All disciplinary discussions aside the problem lies in the fact that these parents did not kill enough of their child’s taste buds when they had the chance. It is a scientific fact that a newborn baby has taste buds covering the whole inside of their mouth: the tongue, the roof, and the sides; everywhere. As the child grows little by little the buds slough off. It is also a fact that our taste buds can die and lose the ability to sense a taste. Once that bud dies there is no regeneration. That is why when you burn your mouth on a cup of hot drink it takes the whole day, if not two days to get complete feeling back to your tongue. They are sensitive little buds. (These facts also lead me to believe the reason Starbucks is so successful is that they are strategically killing their client’s taste buds so there is no diminishing return factor to deal with, but that is another post.)

So as parents we must bombard our children’s tongues with as many different flavors and varieties of foods as we possibly can. Don’t be so fanatical in this venture that you damage the child’s mouth. But do put forth the energy to make your children eat their food. Do not settle for a graham cracker and cheerio diet. No! You have some taste buds to kill!

Happenings

Just some bullets to let you know what has been going on:

Finished writing my book Breathe Easy

DaRonn returned from Chile on Saturday

Hired a Christian house help gal

Trying to figure out Tyler’s new affinity to licking deodorant

Gabrielle taught Tyler how to say, “Hello-wah”

What odd thing did you eat when you were a kid?

One Chapter More

My wonderful husband bought a book for me about writing fiction called “The Lie that Tells a Truth” by John Dufresne. So I am finally in the last chapter. In his chapter about writing dialogue he addresses the motives behind why we communicate. Do any of these apply to why you post or read blogs?

Now, we all know there is no comfort in small talk, no solace in chitchat, no substance to idle jabber about the weather or mutual acquaintances. So why do we do it? We talk with each other for various reasons: to inform, to compare, to seduce, to clarify, to cloud, to charm, to deceive, to alarm, to evade, to demur, to bedevil, to reassure, to offend, to warn, to befuddle, to flatter, to belittle, to thank, to bluster, to rattle, to arouse, to soothe, to illuminate, to apologize, to inquire, to amuse, to brag, to inspire, to order, to explain, to encourage, to dissuade, to convert, to argue, to process, to instruct, to vent, to accost, to excuse, to call attention to ourselves, to hear the sound of our own voices, to be polite, to pass the time. But when we talk to understand, to understand ourselves and what we’re doing or what we think we’re doing and why we’re doing it, then we tell each other stories. Stories are how we remind ourselves who we are and how we’re connected. Stories are sacred and communal like a burial and the gathering after it.

While we are on the topic of chapters… Thanks to two marvelous women from the church I had four completely uninterrupted hours of time at my home to myself today. I cannot remember the last time that this happened. So I decided to get some heavy work done on the book I am writing. Can you believe I wrote four chapters and have just one left to write? Then the final tweaking and it is done. I am so excited.

Re-birthday

Twenty-three years ago today a smiley eight-year-old girl searched for her children’s bible a notebook and a pencil. Upon arriving at church for the service with a special guest speaker she ran over to where her cousin, who was also her best friend, was seated. As the sermon commenced the girl would start to write down the things the preacher said that she thought were important. Not being able to write as fast as her companion, who was older by one year, she nudged with her elbow and whispered for her to write it down.

The message seemed to end quickly and the man up front posed a sincere and penetrating question: do you need something from Jesus? He explained that he wanted to pray with those who felt they had needs and invited them forward. The girls looked at each other and without a word headed down front. The man approached and asked the girls what they needed from Jesus. Both responded with confidence their need to be saved. He prayed with them. As the eight-year-old repeated those simple words she knew for sure that she was saved. Though the words have long been forgotten the truth of eternal salvation that was planted in her heart that day has never once been lost.

This is my story. The little eight-year-old girl was me March 28, 1985.

With clear understanding that the word always should be used sparingly I am going to use it today. I have always known the love of God in my life. From the first caresses of my mothers hand on my cheek until this day that I was wiping tears from my son’s face there has been a real presence of my Heavenly Father’s love with me. For this I am grateful.

Not once have I doubted, questioned, wandered away from or rebelled against the message of the gospel. Assurance, confidence and faithfulness have been the marks of my life with Christ. His truth is real to me. For this I am grateful.

Since the moment I first laid eyes on these words as a teenager they have been my own.

“And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord who has enabled me, because He counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry” (1 Timothy 1:12)

If you haven’t done so then you need to give your life to Christ. God loves you. Jesus paid the price for our salvation with his own life. He rose from the dead with the power to forgive you of the sin separating you from God. Tell him today that you believe and ask him for his help. He will hear you and give you the gift of eternal life. Let me know if you do decide to dedicate your life to Jesus so that I can congratulate you for making the best decision ever.

What wonderful gift from the Lord are you celebrating today?

Video Tour of House of Dreams Orphanage, Cochabamba Bolivia

The video is 8 min 40 sec long. If you can, I would encourage you to watch. You will see the facilities of our House of Dreams Orphanage and some of the kids who live here. For privacy purposes we do not disclose the specifics of individual histories. You will hear my husband explain in general some of the histories.

Common FAQs:

1. How many kids you have? We are caring for 21 children now

2. What is your capacity? We are licensed for 42 children; economically we have ceased receiving children until our funds increase

3. How many workers do you have? On paid staff we have 8 people. Aside from that we have a team of about 5 faithful volunteers.

4. Where do the kids come from? We work closely with the equivalent of Social Services here in Bolivia. They bring us children that have been abused, abandoned, left under park benches, found in public bathroom stalls, and even those that have been left in garbage cans.

5. Can you do foreign adoptions? Spain and Portugal, yes. We are in the process of investigating the possibilities for other nations.

6. When did you start the orphanage? June 2006

7. What ages of kids live here? Our boys and girls are newborn to 5 years old

8. How many adoptions have you had? Three of our children in the last year and a half have been adopted into Bolivian homes.

9. How are you finances? Good people from the willingness of their heart support us on a monthly basis. We are at about half of our budget and always looking for new supporters.

10. How can I get involved? You can pray, give financially, come and volunteer, and you can get the word out by passing along this link or asking people to visit our web site:

www.christnationministries.org

Orphanages in Bolivia play the part that foster homes do in the States as well as the typical caring for orphans. Some of the parents of the kids are being trained and taught on how to be better parents. If they are unable to meet the state’s expectations then the immediate family if the child is investigated to see if any of them could take the child in. If all family situations are unsuitable then the process for adoption begins. It usually takes six months from the time a child enters our home until they are available to be adopted, unless they are no family ties found, then the process is usually three months. Just recently the United States has agreed to allow Bolivian adoptions. We are still looking into the requirements; but that option is now open.

Click here to watch the video.

Or copy and paste this link in your browser: http://christnationministries.org/English/videoblogdaronn.html

As you see the images please say a prayer for the work here. Thank you for taking the time to read and watch.

Video Tour of Ministry Office

Have you got 7 ½ minutes to spare? My husband made a video tour of the ministry office and posted it on our web site. Later he will have the tour of the orphanage and the church up but he started with this one because this is where we start our real life tours. You get to see a glimpse of the busy street called America out front. See if you can guess what the lady carrying the tall pastel colored thing is selling. Also you can see that right by the gate there seems to be a pile of vegetables. There is a little old lady who sells her wares there every day. The tour is pretty cool if you ask me.

Click here to watch: http://christnationministries.org/English/videoblogdaronn.html

Cock-a-Doodle-Squeak

We don’t have roosters, we have guinea pigs. My oldest tells me that they wake her in the morning so that she feeds them. She might just end up being the wife of a blond American pig farmer who has a weekend job as a pastor like she keeps telling me.

My childhood wanna-be-when-you-grow-up dream was tri-fold: a famous farmer’s wife who travels the world. Hm. Travel the world: check. Famous: enough to my satisfaction. Farmer’s wife: yep, if you count sowing the word of God in the hearts of people, plowing up hard ground to plant new works, and the harvest of souls that is so ripe in this land.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Six of One Half a Dozen of the Other

This saying implies the futility of an argument due to the semantics of the issue. It also is the resolution one makes when trying to decide between two options that have similar outcomes. But today it serves as nothing more than a cute title for my blog. (smile!)

Today the Washington family celebrates 6 years as full-time, career, cross-cultural, take-up-your-cross, leave-it-all-on-the-field, go-all-out, in-it-to-win-it, no-turning-back, living-by-faith, living-it-up, radical, real-life missionaries.

Looking back over the last six years I can see all that God accomplished with our lives. But I can’t look that direction for very long, because it puts a crick in my neck. Also because I know that there is so much more before us. This is just the beginning!

Thank you to everyone who has helped us reach this mark by praying, giving, visiting, encouraging, emailing, calling, instant messaging, laughing, crying, baby sitting, teaching, preaching, prodding and loving my family and me. It would have been absolutely impossible without you.

Basement Beginnings - 5

Part 5 – Cochabamba, Bolivia
(The end?)

A friend once said that in real life “happily ever after” is not the end; rather it is a beginning. This little series ends here. But as the title implies, the events that led up to our move to Cochabamba in 2003 were just the starting of what is happening now. The day of small beginnings is not despised.

Sometimes I walk around on the grounds here and I marvel at what has been established. What began in a basement and moved through various other small-room stages is now anything but little. Yet there is in me anticipation for greater things to come. We are not through. We have only just begun.

I could not finish this series without expressing in written form my deep gratitude to the Lord God for all that He has done. His hands have formed, led, corrected, applauded, and consoled us. My heart swells with thanks to Him.

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.

Basement Beginnings - 1

Part 1 – Omaha, Nebraska
(Basement)

The birthing of big dreams conceived in the heart of man oftentimes takes place in the most obscure locations. Two famous examples are Bill Gates’ Microsoft and Steve Jobs’ Pixar Studios; both men began by building computers in a garage. Many scientists, inventors and artists have utilized garages, basements, and other such rooms relegated for nothing more than storage as a maternity ward in which visions that have only existed in their imagination come forth through the pangs of trial and error. If you think about it, even our Lord, King Jesus, was born in nothing more than a poor stable.

The beginning of Christ Nation Ministries is no exception. Upon graduating from high school DaRonn Washington was passionate about God; and he was homeless. His mother decided that it was time for him to get out on his own. The transition months were spent in a room in his pastor’s basement in Omaha, Nebraska. Amongst the college applications, job applications and scholarship applications he found time for applying himself to time with the Lord receiving strategies and dreaming about ministry.

His best friend at the time was none other than yours truly. He asked me to pray about what part I should take in the commencement of this newly named operation. It seemed that it was all that we talked about. He was especially convinced about the urgency of doing something multi-faceted on a grand scale. I felt that my part was to be his “right hand man”. I didn’t know that meant filing, spell checking, and running to the copy center all from the make shift office of that damp basement. Actually, I didn’t know a frazzling thing what it meant. I was just happy to be around such energy and decidedness.

During Thanksgiving break of his sophomore year at U.N.O. (the University of Nebraska at Omaha) we were married and moved all ministry operations to the confines of a tiny corner in our home: an 800 square foot apartment with walls that seemed to be made of cardboard and plumbing that was always backed up. The fundraising efforts for our first trip overseas together with Teen Mania to Costa Rica were realized during our first months of marriage at our wobbly kitchen table. Returning from that trip with the anticipation of our first child we moved to a slightly larger place on the third floor of an old apartment building. The place had character and there was even a little area that we turned into a study. DaRonn was working full time and going to school full time. I was a mommy.

Life was good, fun, and new. By this time we knew that we needed to prepare to be missionaries. The big question was: where? Our walls were papered with maps. Russia? India? China? Africa? While sitting in a geology class DaRonn’s teacher showed a video about Bolivia. When the faces of the people flashed on the screen a burning sensation burst in my husband’s heart and he felt that these words impressed on him, “That is where you start.” Infused with a sure direction we began to take steps towards this mysterious land. And then the phone call came, “Ang’ they just fired me.”

(to be continued…)

I feel loved!

Three people found the lyrics I was loking for; I feel loved!

Larnelle Harris:The Strength Of The Lord
From LyricWiki

Sometimes life seems like words and music
That can't quite become a song.
So we cry inside, and we try it again
And wonder what could be wrong.
But, when we turn to the Lord at the end of ourselves
Like we've done a time or two before
We find His truth is the same
As it has always been
We'll never need more

Chorus:It's not in trying But in trusting
It's not in running But in resting
Not in wondering But in praying
That we find the strength of the Lord
(2 times)

He's all we need
For our every need
We never need be alone
Still He'll let us go if we choose to
To live life on our own
Then the only good
That will ever be said
Of the pains we find ourselves in
There are places to gain
The wisdom to say
I'll never leave Him again

Chorus (2 times)

Not in wondering
But in praying
That we find the strength of the Lord

Word Passion

Words are one of my passions. I absolutely love that I am able to express myself in two languages; the possibilities are multiplied. My hunger for words never seems to be satiated. Growing up playing anagrams, scrabble, and boggle with my grandma, sister and mother addicted me to the wonderful world of words. I love reading, writing, hearing, speaking and typing all because I enter into the fanciful world of mixing up letters and phrases to arrive at a meaning beyond just lines on a page or bits of sound waves floating in the air. In a very mysterious way we are set above all creation as God’s prize by the ability to breathe out words that have the power to form, edify, communicate, destroy, inspire and worship; these are all things belonging to the miraculous.

So, because I love words so much I have added a few widgets to my blog. You will see them on the right hand side bar. Four new things have been added: English word of the day, Spanish word of the day, Spanish idiom of the day, and some Spanish pronunciation tips. I put them there for my own personal enjoyment - a couple special surprises just for me every day – but you can pop in and partake if you want to.

It just dawned on me that this is probably the reason that I love to see comments on my blogs so much; words are valuable and precious to me. Hint, hint (smile). Do you have a favorite word? One of mine is: kaleidoscope.