DOES GOD HEAR US WHEN WE PRAY?
by Lygia Lovelace

 

We love apartment life! We live on the 14th floor and it is always an adventure! I remember the first time that our clothes fell from the clothesline, or when we saw the sailboats from our window moving across the river on a beautiful day. I remember the first time that the electricity went out and the elevators wouldn’t work! And, I remember when the children began asking for a special pet...a parakeet. You know this kind of bird...nervous...dirty... generally disagreeable. We were not enthusiastic about a parakeet. We tried to change their minds, “Fish are cuter, don’t you think? Fish, or maybe a little turtle?” “A parakeet!” they insisted. Even our 3 year old insisted that he wanted a parakeet, though he wasn’t sure what one was. We continued to say no. Little did we know that our oldest son, Bracken, began secretly praying for a parakeet.

It was 10:00 p.m., at least a month after our conversation about the parakeet. All the children were sleeping. We were enjoying the sounds of the night: the wind passing through the windows, people coming and going in the elevator, little snoring sounds coming from the children. Suddenly, we heard a strange noise! What could it be!? We walked into the kitchen and couldn’t believe our eyes! A parakeet?! Where did it come from? We thought that evidently it had fallen out of a neighbor’s window and desperately flown into ours. Ken asked around immediately, but no one was missing a parakeet! Hmmm...we became a little suspicious.

The next morning, when the troops were awake, we had a family meeting. “Well now,” I began, “WHO has been praying for a parakeet?”

After a moment of silence, Bracken confessed. “Me. But why?”

Upon seeing the new arrival, the children were surprised. Actually, they were shocked, especially Bracken! Since no one claimed the parakeet, what could we do? His name is Lego. And in spite of being nervous, dirty, and generally disagreeable, he is now a prominent member of the Lovelace family.

I think that many times, we are like Bracken. We ask God for something and when we receive it, we are shocked! But it is written many times in the Bible that God hears and answers our prayers. Remember Hannah? She prayed and prayed for a child. There is no doubt that God heard her. And Paul. He prayed that God would free him from some problem that he had. There is, again, no doubt that God heard. In these two different prayers, God answered in different ways, according to what was best for each person praying. Nevertheless, God heard and responded. God IS interested in our requests. And He wants the best for us. I don’t know what you are asking God for, but He knows, and He WILL respond. Don’t be shocked!

I have to finish the parakeet story. The night after Lego flew in, Ken began closing all the windows.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m closing all the windows in case someone prays for a pony!”

“A PONY?!!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KNOW WHY I’M SO HAPPY?
by Lygia Lovelace

 

She saw her for the first time in the street. Something about her touched her heart. For some reason, she felt a kind of responsibility for Carlotta. I don’t know why. There was nothing special about Carlotta. She wore a dress that was too small. Her hair was dirty and looked as if it had never been brushed. It seemed that Carlotta had never washed! And evidently, at one time or another, she had received some sort of damage to her eye—one didn’t open as widely as the other.

But she didn’t seem to mind. With a heart full of love, she gathered Carlotta in her arms and showed her the way home. Without hesitating, she washed Carlotta and gave her a new dress; she brushed her hair and gave her a clean place to rest—her own bed! Carlotta went with her to every meal. She never stopped loving her, not even when her leg fell off! She showed a kind of love that isn’t normal for a 5-year old. And Carlotta, in spite of being the oldest and most ragged of all of her dolls (of course, she lived in the street a long time!), she had the place of high distinction in the center of my daughter’s bed.

“Mommy, you know why Carlotta is so happy?” Brooklyn asked me the other day.

"Why, sweetie?”

“Because finally, she’s home.”

Know why I’m so happy? Because there was a time when I wasn’t worth anything. I was dirty inside. My soul was damaged, and my heart wouldn’t open. I didn’t have any hope.

But He didn’t seem to mind. For some reason, He felt a kind of responsibility for me. I don’t know why but...with a heart full of love, He gathered me in His arms and showed me the way home. Without hesitating, He washed me and gave me a new life. He gave me a clean place to rest in green pastures and prepared a banquet for me in the presence of my enemies. And I, in spite of being the most ragged of all His children, have His goodness and mercy.....for the rest of my life.

Know why I’m so happy? Because I will live in His house forever.

I’m home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO GIORGIANA GHERMAN
by Lygia Lovelace

“Mommy, am I a diamond in your heart?”

You were born in the mountains. Perhaps you were a child of consequence to the family who bore you, yet to us, you will always be a dream come true.

For two years you lived out a nightmare as you were passed from home to home, and then ultimately to an orphanage.

I’m sorry for that. Perhaps you felt that no one cherised you…no one saw you as the precious gift that you are. But that isn’t true.

Even before you were born, God gave us a dream that was you. He wouldn’t allow us to rest until He presented you to us.

And you are our dream come true.

“Mommy, am I a diamond in your heart?”

The first time our eyes met, you held no recognition of me. You couldn’t understand me. To you, I was a stranger.

You tolerated our hugs and kisses, but with a faint look of distrust, and with sadness. You smiled as we dressed you in sweet little girl clothes. Your eyes brightened as your hair began to grow and when you began wearing hair bows, you made sure everyone noticed. You looked on in amazement as we gave you all you could eat and all you could drink, without reserve. You gradually learned to giggle at our silliness.

You slowly began to say our strange words, in an attempt to communicate and “belong”. You loved to learn and began to ask about everything!

You learned to give hugs, and to prefer us over others.

You loved to dress up and pretend. You loved to dance to pretty music. You loved your sister’s little toy diamond necklace and wore it always.

One day, I watched you as you were holding that little plastic necklace. You were turning it over and over between your chubby fingers, looking with awe at the colors as they shone in the light. As I was watching you, I was thinking about how important that necklace was to you, that it was dear to you, something of value, something significant. Then, you looked up at me. With hope in your big brown eyes, you asked,

“Mommy…

am I a diamond in your heart?”

More than that, sweet Grayson.

You are my heart.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO JONAH AUSTIN LOVELACE
by Lygia Lovelace

It seems that with each pregnancy, I become a little bigger, a little slower, and a little more uncomfortable! This was how I was feeling at 9 months of carrying Jonah. I couldn’t WAIT to see my new little blessing, to hold my baby, to have my own newborn again!

THIS baby will have the perfect life! I will give him a PERFECT environment. We are no longer on the foreign mission field, so I don’t have to worry about medical care, he will not be attacked by anyone, and he will surely learn to speak English quickly. Because I have had lots of other children, I know what I am doing, and I will do a GREAT job of raising him. These were my thoughts as I prepared to see him for the very first time.

Labor was a little rough, but just as the evening rush hour was beginning in downtown Dallas, little Jonah peeped into the world with barely a cry. I was able to hold him for just a few moments of absolute bliss. The newborn nurse seemed a little too attentive to my baby, but I began to relax as I was wheeled to a hospital room and put to bed.

“Will my baby be coming in a moment?” I asked.

“After he’s examined.”

Although my body was screaming for sleep--due to exhaustion and medication, I refused to give in. I couldn’t wait to hold Jonah again, in private. I wanted to count his toes, to watch him sleep, to hold his little hand, to hear his little breathing noises.

However, although I didn’t know it, breathing was a problem for my little one. He never came to my room because he was quickly admitted to the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit of the hospital.

When I was finally told, I was devastated.

The pediatrician came to my room, telling us that Jonah, MY baby, the one I could barely remember holding, had about a 50/50 chance of survival. Then, he prayed with us.

No, we couldn’t see him just now, they said—maybe tomorrow.

I cried all through the prayer and into the night. Early the next morning, another pediatrician and a lung specialist visited my room. Yes, Jonah was in respiratory distress, and yes, his outcome was uncertain. He would have to stay in the NICU for awhile. Yes, I was allowed to see him, but certainly not allowed to touch him, as moving him could put Jonah further in distress. Holding my baby was out of the question.

If ever you have been a new mother, and if ever you have had a baby with a problem, you know how many tears I cried over the next few days. As I walked into the NICU and saw so many other parents bent over little beds with tiny, premature newborns inside, attached to tubes and wires, I wanted to scream. Why was this happening to ME? We had never had a baby with a major health problem at birth, and I struggled to believe it all. Jonah was the biggest baby in the NICU, so completely developed and beautiful.

After several days, reality began to set in. The IV’s in Jonah’s arms and hands had overloaded so many veins, that he was covered with bruises. Finally the nurses attached the IV to his head, and continued feeding him through a tube in his nose. I could tell that he was losing weight, and didn’t look so pink and healthy as he did before. I no longer felt indignant when I stood with so many other parents in the NICU. I felt as hopeless as many of them looked. So hopeless. And tired. I couldn’t make my baby better.

Since I was advised not to touch Jonah, and holding him was “out of the question”, I began singing to him. Leaning over his little bed and singing into his little oxygen cubicle, I made up the words meant only for his ears,

“Sweet little Jonah boy,

Mommy’s little angel.”

I sang to him over and over until my back could no longer bend, and until my voice wouldn’t sing another note. If indeed he had to go on to heaven, I wanted him to know me some day, by my song.

Sunday morning was the hardest. I knew I would have to leave Jonah at the hospital and go home. True, I had 5 more angels at home, anxious to see Mommy, but I felt as though my heart were being ripped out and left in the NICU in that little bed with all the tubes and wires. Rivers of tears were flowing as I lay in the hospital bed, thinking about the day. Would I live through it? My husband had already called before worship was to begin at our church. The people, our church family, were all praying, he said, but I just wouldn’t be comforted. How could I leave my baby?

Then God spoke. He didn’t speak to me in an earthquake or in my rushing tidal wave of tears, but in the very quiet moments of the morning, in that hospital bed.

“Have you forgotten? This is My baby. Jonah was My gift to you and Ken. You cannot control his destiny.”

How ashamed I felt! Of course this was His baby. Of course I couldn’t make Jonah better, and at this time, I couldn’t even comfort him through his sickness. Only the Father could do that.

I lay prostrate, begging His forgiveness for my selfishness and despair.

“Jonah is Yours! If You choose life on earth for him, I’ll be so thankful. But if You choose death on earth for Jonah, I accept that, Father. I know he’ll just be going home. And I will not be bitter. And I will never stop following You. You are my Father, and I love You.”

What freedom, what peace! And even though I dreaded going to the NICU to tell Jonah good-bye, even though I dreaded leaving a part of me behind, I was ready-- ready to face that frail little baby with all the tubes and needles, ready to accept reality, ready to claim victory through Christ, no matter what happened.

The moment the NICU opened late Sunday morning, I was at the door. I had finally made an attempt to dress myself, to comb my hair, to continue life as God would have it. But when I walked toward the place where Jonah’s bed had been, I stopped. The bed was gone! There was another bed, a normal newborn bed in its place with another baby there. This baby had no tubes or wires; this baby had on a little diaper and a nightshirt. He was lying on his tummy, sleeping peacefully, with his little bottom pushed up into the air. I looked at the card on the bed: “BOY LOVELACE”. In disbelief, I stared at the thin, but pink baby lying there. A nurse came up behind me.

“Look how quickly Jonah has healed!! The hole in his lung fixed itself and he’s breathing on his own! He no longer needs medicine or anything! We think he might be ready to learn to drink from a bottle…I’ll go get one. Would you like to hold your baby?”

I held my Father’s baby in my arms for what felt like the first time, and I sobbed. I knew I had been given a precious gift. God had chosen life on earth for Jonah, and He was entrusting Ken and me to be Jonah’s caregivers!

After a week’s stay, Jonah came home.

Now I look at my 7-year-old and I marvel at how healthy he is. He’s learning to read and has already accepted Christ into his heart. ! My heart is full of joy.

Sometimes when we rock together, I tell Jonah of his Father in heaven, the One to whom he really belongs. I tell him of that blessed day when I surrendered him completely to God. And then I sing,

“Sweet little Jonah boy,

Mommy’s little angel,”

Jonah just giggles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

JAKE’S STORY
(A Tribute to Jake Isaac Lovelace)
by Lygia Lovelace

 

“BRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGG”, sounded the telephone one sunny afternoon in Florida, ringing in the good news!

“Congratulations! It’s a boy!”

What music to our ears! Ken and I had already adopted one baby, and were on the waiting list to adopt one more. Then, with two biological children and two adopted children, we thought our family might be perfectly complete.

The social worker continued, “The baby is 2 days old. His mother is in prison and won’t want to keep the baby. Would you be willing to go ahead and take him, at “foster care status,” until we can get the adoption underway? These proceedings are very normal, in fact, we’ve NEVER had a mother from prison to keep her baby.

Then she hesitated, “There is something you should know. We suspect that the mother took drugs during the early part of this pregnancy, though she won’t admit it. There is a possibility that this baby could have some problems due to drugs.”

After praying and rejoicing, we agreed to accept little Jake. What a beautiful baby! He was 3 days old when he entered our home and our hearts.

Jake did have a drug problem. The tremors came often, and he had several heart murmurs and even some kidney problems. But when a health problem arose, we told our church family, and they prayed sincerely for Jake. Time after time, God healed him, and he gradually grew into a happy, healthy baby.

When Jake was four months old, I discovered that I was pregnant. We questioned the Lord’s timing, but we quickly became excited over this new arrival.

In the meantime, Jake absolutely delighted us. He giggled constantly. He brightened up and seemed to explode with excitement when we would pick him up in the church nursery after worship. Our older children loved playing chase with him, cuddling him, and kissing him. A hint of worry began to grow inside of me when the social worker seemed to avoid our questions about getting the adoption papers signed. I pushed those worries aside each time as I breathed prayers of petition for my son.

One night I awoke suddenly from a deep, pregnancy-induced sleep, and heard a still small voice. It was the voice of a loving Father, telling a child the news that He knew would break her heart.

“Jake will be leaving. You won’t be keeping him. It’s as it should be.”

I sat straight up in bed and my heart felt too heavy to continue beating. I glanced around the room, looked at my sleeping husband, and listened again to the still, small voice speaking to my heart.

“Jake will be leaving. He is not here to stay.”

I felt a hint of despair, but knew my Father was there, holding me up.

“Then help me to endure it….help Jake….go with him, Father.”

I promptly went back to sleep, knowing the Father had spoken, and was preparing me for what was to come.

“BRRRRRRNNNNNGGGGGGG”

When the telephone rang a few days later, the day didn’t seem as sunny as before. Although I wanted to scream at the social worker and take Jake and run, I knew that God was preparing a path for Jake to follow, and Jake needed my joy and blessing.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is to pack my baby’s suitcase and get him ready to leave my life, his home and security. It has taken me years to write his story, and I am barely able to push my fingers across the keys. My heart has that same heaviness, and my arms long to hold him again. I packed his baby book in the suitcase, knowing that some day Jake would wonder about his first year of life. I gave him all of the pictures I could find—pictures of the joy and love he gave us, pictures of my other children smothering him with hugs and kisses, pictures of his first bath, his first smiles, his first giggles. I gave him samples of his first little fuzzy haircut. I wrote him a letter and thanked him for the joy he brought to us. I tried to tell him how much we would miss our precious little son. Then I wrote and told him about the Son, the One who died for him, perhaps the only One who loves him more than I do. I told him how to have eternal life, and how God can carry him through all of his struggles. I tucked the letter behind one of his baby pictures, hidden from view. Then I prayed and placed my communication with him in God’s hands.

I’ll never forget the day the social worker came to get Jake. My son chose this day to call me “Mama” for the first time. Since he was only 13 months old, there was no explanation I could offer Jake to prepare him for his new life. I could only smile behind my tears as I waved goodbye to him. Our eyes met and he gave me one last smile from the car window. It was the last time I saw my son.

Only God could give me a new son just hours after my other son was taken away. I went into the hospital that evening and soon after, Chase Ethan was born into our lives and into our hearts.

Jake is my prayer child. I am privileged to pray for him in a way that only a mother can. He will always be my son, and I know that his Father will always care for him. I have never been sorry for the year God gave us with Jake. My prayer is that in some way that first year of his life will go with him, as do my prayers.

I love you, Jake. I pray daily for your salvation, that God’s purpose will be carried out in your life. You will always be…

my baby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A SON FOR A SON
Chase’s Story
by Lygia Lovelace

PSALM 124, vss 2-5
If the Lord had not been on our side—
when men attacked us,
when their anger flared against us,
they would have swallowed us alive;
the flood would have engulfed us,
the torrent would have swept over us,
the raging waters
would have swept us away…

 

Chapter 1

Chase is a gift from God: a son for a son. The day of his birth, we lost a child of our heart, a child who was in our home for 13 months, whom we were desperately trying to adopt. When Jake was 4 months old, I became pregnant with Chase. Only God could know that on the very day Jake sorrowfully left our home, I would go into the hospital to deliver little Chase.

Shortly after Chase was born, we crated our belongings and prepared to move ourselves and our then four children to Portugal, where God was calling us to be missionaries. Chase traveled through more than 10 different states and across the Atlantic Ocean to a different continent even before he was 3 months old!

Upon arriving in Lisbon, Portugal, everything seemed strange to us. We were anxious to learn the language and begin fulfilling God’s calling upon our lives. Since I would have to be in language school throughout the first year of our missionary career, we knew that Chase would need someone to care for him each weekday morning, and we began to pray seriously for a Christian nanny.

“A CHRISTIAN?” marveled our missions coordinator. “That will have to be an act of God…we’ve never been able to find a nanny who is a Christian.”

Yet, on the very first day of our life in Lisbon, Maria do Ceu Ornelas knocked on our apartment door and walked into our lives! We couldn’t understand her, nor could she understand us, but we communicated beautifully through smiles, gestures, and a translator! She swept little Chase from my arms and began “coo-ing” and “oo-ing” and “ahh-ing” in a way that only the Portuguese can. We became immediate friends. Shortly after her employment began did we realize that her name is literally translated “Mary from heaven.” She had a name and a mission only God could provide!

So, with Tia (“auntie”) Ceu, Chase thrived. Tia Ceu spoke Portuguese to him in the mornings, and we spoke English to him in the afternoons. Tia Ceu helped Chase to pray over his breakfast toast in Portuguese, while we prayed in English over his “pumpkin and garlic soup” lunch in the afternoons. Our other children were attending Portuguese schools, and they were learning the beautiful Portuguese language quickly and easily, so there was a happy mixture of both languages in our home. Hearing two languages didn’t seem strange to Chase, and he had ready smiles and hugs and words in both languages for anyone who noticed him.

During our first year in Portugal, I began to notice God’s powerful hand of protection on Chase’s life. It seemed that accidents followed little Chase. When he was one year old, he pulled a 25 pound transformer down onto his head. After a few moments, a few tears, and a bump on his head, he walked away unharmed. One night I went in to check on Chase and he was hot with fever. The thermometer read 107. I called our pediatrician in a panic. He came to our house, examined Chase, confirmed the high fever, and helped us to get the fever down. Again, Chase remained unharmed. Another day, upon returning to our apartment after language school, Tia Ceu met us at the door in tears, saying Chase had fallen off of the couch and scratched his face on the floor rug. His face appeared to be one big scab, but not big enough to cover up his ornery, two-year-old grin!

One morning, while I was doing laundry, Chase was playing happily around my feet. I leaned out of our 14th-story window to hang our clothes on the clothesline when I looked across the building at our bedroom window. Chase, in a matter of minutes, had crawled to the other side of our apartment, somehow opened the bedroom window, and was HANGING OUT THE WINDOW, waving at me.

I wanted to scream, to show horror on my face, and to throw myself out the window so that I would be there to catch him if he fell! But I knew that if I did scream and look afraid, Chase would become startled and possibly lose his balance. I waved back and slowly left the laundry room. Running full speed ahead, and with a prayer on my lips, I ran through the apartment to the bedroom, and grabbed his tiny feet to pull him back through the window.

And then it happened that one day the children and I went across the street from our apartment building to a big open area in front of the Banco do Espirito Santo, a prominent bank in the area. The children always enjoyed going there, where they could skate, ride their bikes, or bounce a ball. Two and one-half year old Chase had a riding car that he loved to sit on and push with his little legs. Very close to this open area, there was another apartment complex that housed missionaries from one of America’s cults. On this particular day, vanloads of new Mormon missionaries were arriving from the airport to begin their “ministry” in Portugal. As I watched the vans arriving and unloading the many young, misguided men, I began praying fervently against them and their particular mission. I felt indignant that they would come to God’s beloved Portugal to deceive the people and try to hide the truth of the Gospel.

It was during my prayer that I noticed a young man walking by on the other side of the open area, next to my children. His particular gait and expression caught my attention, and in my spirit I knew that Satan had control of his life. The man seemed particularly interested in my children, and was staring strangely at them. I breathed a prayer for protection and watched the man carefully. He lingered a moment; and then, gazing at me, he wandered out of sight.

After a few moments, I turned my attention back to the unloading activities and the many vans. I continued my prayer against the efforts of this particular cult as Chase rode his car back and forth in front of me. Suddenly the man I had noticed earlier appeared again, not two steps away from Chase and me. I stopped breathing as I watched him reach for Chase, as if to pat him on the head. He was mumbling something, and smiling unnaturally. Without warning, he grabbed the back of the ride-on car on which Chase was sitting and began running at full speed toward the busy street, where all the vans were unloading. I jumped up and ran after them. Chase was screaming, and the man was laughing hysterically. The car was going so fast that Chase lost his hold on the tiny toy steering wheel and fell to the pavement, right before the man would have pushed the little car under the wheels of a moving car. The man reached down and grabbed Chase by his coat, began shaking him, and turned to throw him out into the traffic. To my surprise and relief, I reached Chase just in time, and jerked him out of the man’s hands.

“Give me my baby!” I screamed at him in Portuguese. As I turned to walk away from him, he followed me, shouting and waving his arms and laughing hysterically. He was so close to me that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Chase was still screaming and the other children were walking closely beside me, not knowing what to do.

“O.K.,” I said as calmly as I could, “I want you guys to run across the parking lot back to the park bench where Mama was sitting. Gather your things and wait for me there.”

Sensing the uncertainty and danger, they obeyed immediately. I held Chase tightly and prayed, continuing to walk slowly across the parking lot. The man was screaming at me—threatening me. I could see people watching from the curbs, but why wasn’t anyone helping us?

Face him. Face the man.

This command kept running through my head. I knew that any minute he would grab me, and I was expecting him to begin hitting me.

You can do this. Face the man.

It took all the courage I had to face him. But I did it. I yelled to him in Portuguese,

“What is it you want from us?”

He stopped his ravings, and our eyes met. I gazed steadily into his eyes, refusing to look away.

He looked afraid, screamed, and ran away.

I walked to the park bench and sat down, with shaky legs and a crying baby. While I sat comforting Chase, I thought to myself, ‘I can’t believe he ran away!’

I heard that same voice speaking inside of me, “Didn’t you just pray for protection a few minutes ago? What can’t you believe?”

Relief flooded my heart, my soul, every part of me as I praised my Heavenly Father. It wasn’t me the man saw. It wasn’t MY face.

Greater is He that is in me, than He that is in the world (1 John 4:4). Praise be to the Almighty God, who frightens the demons and protects his little children from harm!

I will never forget God and His protection that day. I am forever indebted to Him for saving my son. It is a joyful indebtedness. He has my undying love. He has my life.

vss 6-7
Praise be to the Lord,
who has not let us be torn by their teeth.
We have escaped like a bird
out of the fowler’s snare;
the snare has been broken,
and we have escaped.
our help is in the name of the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO PRACHARAK TOAKERD
Caleb Ton Lovelace
by Lygia Lovelace

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lovelace, but the Thai government has refused your request for adoption of the little boy that has been assigned to you.”

With disbelief, I struggled for something to say. What?! The little boy whose picture we have all over the house, whose name we’d already chosen…he won’t be ours?

The social worker continued, “However, we do have another option. While the boy that was assigned to you will go to another family, we have another baby, a baby girl that is available for adoption. Will you accept her?”

Moments of silence passed between us.

“Excuse me, may I call you back?” I asked.

After hanging up the phone, I burst into tears. What an emotional roller coaster this adoption business was! One minute I felt like shouting for joy, while the next minute I was crying for a child I had lost—one I had never even gotten to hold or tickle or sing lullabies to. What was I supposed to do--reject a child and then accept another one in a matter of seconds?

Prayerfully, I gave Tannon to the Lord. Where would he go? Who would be his Mommy? I slowly let go of a dream that was to be someone else’s.

Later, Ken and I called the social worker. Yes, we would accept the baby girl. God must have a plan.

“It really is a miracle,” the social worker told us, “that we have another baby just waiting for a home. Otherwise, you would have had to begin the assignment process all over again.”

As the months passed, I continued to pray for Tannon as we began receiving photos and information on our new baby. What a sweetheart! As I read the reports, I kept gazing at the picture of this new little baby, with a head full of thick black hair, all dressed in pink. The reports were not always accurate, so sometimes our new little blessing was a “she” and sometimes a “he”!

In March, 1995, we traveled to Bangkok, Thailand. We marveled, and then laughed at our cute little baby, walking toward us. Was it a boy or a girl?

Dear Caleb,

I remember watching you coming toward us for the very first time. Did God ever create a cuter toddler? You were just learning to walk, and you had on little shoes with squeakers in them.

You loved chasing the bubbles we blew at you. When we gave you a little toy truck, you made “car noises!” You laughed when we turned on the TV in our hotel room. You screamed when we tried to give you a bath, and then WE laughed as you gave US a bath! You cowered in terror every time we rode the elevator, and hungrily reached for bugs you would find on the floor!

After visiting the village where you had lived, we began to understand you a little better. You loved drinking the milk out of young coconuts. You lived in a stilt hut close to the river, and played in the mud and sand, eating all the creatures you discovered while digging.

The people in your village wished you well on your new life with an American family. One by one they came and tied a string upon your wrist, saying a blessing to you as they gazed at you for the last time. Caleb, I still have those strings. It is my prayer that you have indeed been blessed in our family. We love you so much and want the best possible life for you.

We have tried to teach you everything we know about God and life. And you’ve taught us a lot about life…about unconditional love…about following God’s plan, even when it hurts so much that we sometimes wonder if we will survive the sorrow…about pursuing love and joy in the midst of pain and separation. We wouldn’t un-do our journey with you. You are our son, forever. No matter what.

Now as I see you growing into a young man, I marvel at how He brought us together, you and me--two completely different people, who lived on opposite sides of the world. You lived inside of me, even before God created you. You were a dream come true. Of all the other parents in the world, you were given to us, for awhile. But ultimately I know you belong to Him. And He is the greatest Parent.

Thank you, Father, for Pracharak Toakerd. Thank you for my Caleb Ton. He is yours. Please take good care of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BUT I’M ALREADY GROWED
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Does mealtime ever become wartime at your house? Aren’t there some days when the kitchen table becomes the battlefield, little green vegetables become the enemy, and your child the fearless warrior? How can a child be starving and five minutes later, after having seen “what’s for supper”, not want to eat?

Usually, we can persuade our little ones to eat. With magnificent victory tales of how vegetables cause little soldiers to grow strong, they will become inspired and eat…all for the purpose of becoming big and strong.

But on one such night, one little warrior would not be persuaded. After a few half-hearted bites, he sat up rebelliously tall and said, “Look, Mom, I’m alREADY growed!”

Dear Father, how many times do I buckle under the trials and temptations you send my way? I’ve read all the victory tales in the Bible, and how joyous it is to share in Your sufferings. But time and time again, when you want to strengthen me with the “vegetables,” the difficult times in life, I stiffen up and insist,

“I’m alREADY growed.”

Forgive me, Father. Help me to be always teachable, always ravenous for Your strength. Your nourishment. Your sufferings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO WORRIES
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Each morning as our family gathers around the coffee table to pray, we ask the Father for protection. In a world where our enemy seeks to destroy us, we have learned that when God stands before us, we are invincible, no matter what may come our way. Many times, my husband will literally ask God to place His shield of protection around us.

One afternoon I went looking for my son, who had been quiet for quite some time. Complete silence coming from the direction of a very active six-year-old can be quite frightening to a veteran mom! I found him intensely studying a tree outside, and at the same time, playing with something in his hand. As I approached him, I saw that what had grabbed his complete attention was a huge trail of ants coming down the tree, and that he was cradling several of those ants in his hands.

“Be careful! Those ants will bite you! You may watch them, but you mustn’t touch them!”

He looked at me calmly and smiled. “It’s ok, Mom,” he answered, “I’ve got my shield of protection on, remember?”

While I still insisted that he leave the ants alone, I marveled at his child-like faith: innocent, fearless, completely trusting.

Father, grant me a child-like faith. Allow me to approach my struggles, the trials I face day by day, with child-like courage and dependence on You, my Shield and Defender.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Josiah the Prince
A Tribute to Prince Jackson
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Who are you, Prince Josiah?

You were born in Liberia, in poverty--belly swollen with mal-nutrition. Your skin is as black as a summer night, with no moon…until

you smile!

You are beautiful!

We only met a few months ago. Your eyes held mistrust, and some sadness.

They still do at times.

We are getting to know you better, though, balancing your discipline with love. In many ways, you lived an animal’s life—scratching, foraging for food, caring nothing for cleanliness or relationship—looking out for yourself, your own survival.

We understand.

 

But who are you, Prince Josiah?

We didn’t expect you! You were a surprise, an extra, delivered along with your twin sisters…

“Can’t you take him, too?” the orphanage pleaded. “After all, he shares the same birthmother
with the girls. It would be good to keep them together. All they have are each other.”

With little hesitation, we accepted you, knowing that your bonding would be harder.

But it is our pleasure to have you as our son.

After all, you are a child of the King.

 

But who are you, Prince Josiah?

Your relationship with your twin sisters is intriguing. It’s almost as if their guardian angels assigned you to assist them. You share with them, you love them, you protect them, even over your own well-being. Though you are always hungry, you take time to pull food from your own mouth and give it to the girls.

You amaze us!

So who are you, Prince Josiah?

Though we didn’t expect you...

Though you don’t yet love or prefer us completely…

Though we know it won’t be easy…

…you are a wrapped package, presented to us by God, your Heavenly Father, created in

His image.

As time goes by…

… we know you will open up, little by little…

…and show us the gift that you are to us.

Who are you, Prince Josiah?

It doesn’t matter. We love you—and we are committed to you,

whoever you are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO C. BRACKEN LOVELACE
Senior 2008

Dear Bracken:

It is, of course, impossible to put down on paper all of our thoughts and feelings about the past 18 years. But we want to communicate, if even in a small way, how much you mean to us.

You have been our “first” in so many ways! We dreamed of you long before God gave you to us--we knew there would be a “Christopher Bracken” before you even peeked into the world! We prayed for you, talked about what life would be like with you, and imagined what you might look like. We read pregnancy books, parenting books, went to childbirth classes, and even read out loud to you from God’s Word while you were in the womb! I (Mom) remember when I got to Lamentations--I worried whether or not you would be born a depressed child!

But through all of our “firsts” and all of our mistakes, you’ve made us proud. We beamed with “parental pride” when you played at your first piano recital, played your first violin concerto, sang your first solo, and wrote your first composition piece. We admired you when you learned to speak Portuguese faster than the rest of us. We’ve rejoiced at each birthday and cried over each of your disappointments. We marveled at how quickly you learned to read, and how well you did in school. We praised God at your salvation and will forever treasure your baptism in the moat at the Promise. We’ve prayed for you, day and night, and sometimes constantly, as you’ve tried your wings again and again from the nest. Sometimes you’ve fallen, but we have prayed that you have grown stronger with each fall. We already see signs of your soaring and strengthening as God prepares you to someday fly on your own and raise your own family in the Lord.

One portion of Scripture that we have always claimed for you is Psalm 1. Since you are our firstborn, and have borne the rewards and sometimes, misgivings, of that birth order, we thought Psalm 1 to be appropriate for you. It is still our prayer for you—and our charge on this special day of graduation and accomplishment:

Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.

But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on His law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither
Whatever he does prospers.

Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff
that the wind blows away.

Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.

Bracken, we look so forward to seeing what God will do with you and through you during your lifetime. You are so gifted and fit to be used in His Kingdom! You must know that it doesn’t matter to us whether you collect garbage, sell coffee, sing on stage, or become the CEO of a big corporation. What matters to us is that you bring glory to God on a daily basis--that you take the “road less traveled by” and choose to be that tree, planted by streams of water.

We love you!
Mom & Dad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWIN BLESSINGS
by Lygia Lovelace

 

When Ken visited an orphanage in Monrovia, Liberia, we had no idea that we would receive such blessings from the Lord. He saw so many babies and children, longing to belong.

“We may not have much,” he told me over the phone, “but we have more than they do…they have nothing.”

As he discipled scores of pastors during a 2 week mission trip, Ken fell in love with the people…so eager to learn, so dependent upon God. As God began to work in our hearts to adopt an orphan, we eagerly began the process for a Liberian baby girl.

“Might you be willing to take a sibling group?” asked the orphanage liaison, “We do have twin girls.”

Eagerly, we accepted. Who could resist?

Then came the 2nd call, “These girls have a brother! Can’t you take him, too? We’re not sure of his age, but he is older…”

With little hesitation we accepted again, knowing it wouldn’t be easy. God reassured my heart that he was adding a preschool boy blessing, to fill the emptiness in my heart due to losing Jake, my African American son of 11 years ago.

It seemed like an eternity before we got our phone call, telling us to meet our new children in Washington, DC.

Ken, Brooklyn, and I prepared for the journey we had been waiting for. Questions filled our minds as we filled our suitcases…

“Will they like us?”
“Will they cry a lot?”
“Will we seem too strange to them?”

The night before, in the hotel room, I lay awake, knowing I needed my rest. I knew our new little ones were on the airplane, on a journey they didn’t understand, coming to a destination of uncertainty and insecurity.

“Oh, Father, make it an easy transition for them, please,” I prayed as I stared into the darkness. I began to pray for their salvation—and that God’s plan would be fulfilled in their lives.

The next morning, we were up before dawn, lingering at the gate, where our new family would appear. Why do minutes drag by when you most want them to hurry?

Finally, passengers from the African airlines began to trickle into the airport. I searched the faces of all the young children, all the ladies, wondering if they were our babies, our escorts.

When the passengers all filed out, our children still had not arrived. We became a little anxious. What if they missed the plane? What if something happened?

Then an airline stewardess came from behind the big double doors.

“Are you the ones waiting on those twin girls and their brother?”

We nodded eagerly.

She sighed, “Oh, they’re adorable! You’ll love them!”

Then we knew that our long-awaited miracles were here!

When they first came around the corner, I recognized them immediately! Josiah was perched on top of the luggage cart, eyeing us suspiciously. There were 2 exhausted women--our escorts--each holding one of our twin blessings. I looked from one 15-month old to the other, trying to memorize their differences so that I could tell them apart.

Quickly, our escorts placed our babies in our arms. The ladies were anxious to leave.

“Good luck on getting Emerson to eat or drink,” one of them told me. “She hasn’t had anything since we left Liberia about 20 hours ago!”

All six of us insecurely watched the ladies walk away. Josiah stood uncertainly by, while Emalee screamed and cried. Nothing we did comforted her. Emerson lay limp and silent in my arms. To get away from staring eyes, we escaped to a nearby restroom to try and calm Emalee. Emerson gratefully sat in a stroller, while we bounced, cooed, and stroked Emalee. Finally, she calmed down—but only momentarily. Every few moments, if we looked at her, she would cry. We finally realized that eye contact was upsetting her.

“OK…” I said quietly, “Nobody look at Emalee.”

We all laughed…and we tried not to look! But we couldn’t resist! These children were so precious, so magnetic, that we couldn’t stop staring at them, and cuddling them. Emalee went back and forth between crying and stopping to take breaths.

While working hard to comfort Emalee, I glanced over at Emerson, who had only been staring into the air. She had made no effort whatsoever to notice us. I began to cry as I noticed one small tear trickle down her little cheek. Still, she made no expression. Passing Emalee off to Brooklyn, I gently took Emerson and held her close. As she lay there limply, I prayed for her.

“Oh, Lord Jesus, please…just tell her she is finally home.”

In the midst of our airport chaos, Ken had to go and confirm our flights. Josiah, with a look of concern and insecurity, and in an effort to comfort Emalee and Emerson, began to dance, and sing songs in words I didn’t quite understand. All of a sudden, I got it!

“Gah eez so goo…
Gah eez so goo…
Gah eez so goo…
Heez so goo…to us.”

God worked a miracle through Josiah’s songs. The girls calmed, and began to drink a bottle.

That’s when I began to really look at them.

Emalee was a mess. She smelled—they all did. Emalee and Josiah had mucus running from every open place on their faces. Emalee had oozing sores on her head, and some of them were bleeding. I could feel the stickiness of the sores on my own skin and face, as I had cuddled and comforted her.

But I didn’t care. These 3 were answers to my prayers! They were finally with us. They were gifts from the Lord--sores, smells, tears, and all.

The flight home to Dallas was wonderful! The airline had placed us in the back, away from everyone else, anticipating lots of noise and chaos. But our 3 African blessings were happy and calm. They slept, they ate, and they played. By the time we landed in Dallas, we had even coaxed a smile from each one, which brightened our own hearts.

There has never been a family more excited than the Lovelace’s were as we all united in the airport! Hugs and kisses were everywhere! Josiah and our twin blessings stared in amazement and wonder as they were showered with love and smiles. We stopped and thanked the Lord for bringing our 3 new ones home to us. We asked Him to help us to be the best family we could be to them.

We arrived home in the evening, exhausted and ready for bed. What a joy it was to put our twin blessings in their own room—the one we had painted and lovingly decorated. Gratefully, they slept…

About 5am, I heard crying. It was Emalee again. I took bottles with me as I sleepily climbed the stairs. The girls stared at me as I entered the room. I’m sure they were wondering if they were dreaming. Eagerly they drank their bottles and watched me. I sat in the middle of the floor, between their beds, as they drank. A few times, I fell asleep…

But not for long…Emalee was fussy, and I knew that she needed a doctor. She had more mucus everywhere—even worse than before. Her sores seemed to be spreading and I even found some on Emerson. I got the girls up, cuddled them, and then, I began to cry. 5am is a hard time for me to have a positive attitude.

“God, this is hard, and I’m tired!
The girls are sick!
Emalee is even running fever.
And what are these sores? I’ve even seen some on Josiah’s head!
The least they could have done in Liberia is send us healthy kids.
I’ve wiped so much snot and pus from Emalee that I have it all over me.
This is not the way I planned it!
Josiah’s belly is so swollen, I don’t think he’s ever had a proper thing to eat!
How can I do this? These kids are so needy!
Why in the world did You call us to adopt 3 at once?
What were You thinking?!”

My complaints went on and on. I knew that my heart did not really feel what my mouth was expressing, but my exhaustion was in control. I burst into tears.

God let me cry it out. Then, a voice spoke to me—so loudly in my head that I jumped.

“I TELL YOU THE TRUTH, WHATEVER YOU DO FOR ONE OF THE LEAST OF MINE, YOU DO FOR ME…”

Immediately I cried again, and felt shame. I remembered that this calling upon our lives was to be done in His way, in His strength, and in His Name—the Name above all Names. God’s forgiveness came quickly and freely as I looked at my precious diamonds, my twin jewels. They were staring at me--both of them--with big black eyes, recognizing my tears as something serious.

“These are the GREATEST, Father. The GREATEST OF YOURS! And this is the most awesome gift! I gladly give myself, my exhaustion, my fears—all of it to You.

I smiled, and took my twin blessings in my arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Abraham Journey
(& the Generous Game)
by Lygia Lovelace

 

A few months ago, I felt drawn to a particular study on Abraham. At that time, I was heavily teaching a class on the books of Kings and the Chronicles, so I felt that it was unusual that God would also call me to study another large portion of His Word. However, I began doubling up my time, and working through the study.

At about the same time, Ken mentioned feeling led to study Abraham more deeply.

“Hmmm….You’re up to something, aren’t You?” I asked the Lord. Immediately I turned up my senses, and asked God for wisdom as I studied.

During one morning’s quiet time, after the first few chapters of my study, I got a sinking feeling. I definitively shut my Bible.

“God, you’re calling us to a life of uncertainty, aren’t You… That’s what You’re doing? Oh, please God, isn’t there any other way? I mean, if we leave our present situation and move on to the unknown, that requires…well…TRUST! You know I’m not good at that FAITH stuff.”

Then, a great inspiration flashed through my mind!

Ha!

I smiled victoriously.

“OK, Lord, since I’m the wife, I get to be Sarai, right? I don’t make the decisions. So, if you are indeed calling us to an ‘Abraham journey’, then that’s my husband’s decision, not mine! I won’t say a word about this…and I’m SURE Ken won’t come to the same conclusion as I have through these verses…”

Satisfied, I put away my worries, and my Bible study.

I suppose you can guess what happened next. My husband indeed got the same message from God.

So, the next morning, during my quiet time, I considered putting away that Abraham study for good. Before I even opened my Bible, I had a talk with the Father.

“God, listen, if we become unemployed, that’s irresponsible, isn’t it?

We have 10 kids…have you forgotten that?

Shouldn’t we wait and keep our job until you give us another one?

What will my mother say? I certainly don’t want to worry her!

Everyone will think we’ve lost our minds! Some won’t understand, and might even become angry or resentful. You don’t want us to lose our friends, do you? After all, we need friends!”

Argument after argument followed as I reminded God why we shouldn’t take an Abraham journey. I wondered…did Sarai have these same doubts? What must her family and friends have thought?

“Well…Father…SARAI didn’t have 10 kids! Abraham had prospered before she had a baby!”

I smiled at that new thought as I confidently opened my Bible and the Abraham study.

But again, the same message came to me. I knew, without a doubt, what God was calling us to do. So did my husband…my precious “Abraham.”

Several weeks later, God led us to resign one of the greatest churches I’ve ever been a part of. We said good-bye to a church that had some of our best friends there—people we thought we’d be with for a very long time. Because of sick babies, I couldn’t even attend the farewell services. If it weren’t for the assurance in our hearts—God’s assurance--we would have crumbled.

Thus began our life, unemployed, and soon, with no income, no medical insurance, no earthly security…only raw dependence on God.

In the weeks that followed, the enemy filled my mind with fear and worries, especially in the middle of the night. During my quiet times, in the mornings, I was so full of requests for our own well-being, I couldn’t even concentrate on a Holy God, the God of the universe, who deserves my undivided attention—my praise and worship. I couldn’t even intercede for others, except the Lovelace’s! I knew that this was not God’s will for my thought life or for my prayer life.

So I began a journal of fear verses. Every time I became afraid or worried or concerned, I went to the Word. I pictured myself as a newborn baby, crying to be fed every few hours, with only the tender, loving nourishment of its provider bringing satisfaction. I wrote and wrote and wrote these verses—going to the Word every few hours, longing for the nourishment of the Father, the Provider.

I put them all over the house, so that when Satan attacked, I would be like young David. I pictured myself facing Satan, as David faced Goliath. Every time Satan came at me with a reason to fear or worry, I would reach into my bag of stones, and pull out a fear verse and fling it at the enemy as I spoke it out loud and told Satan to flee…

I marveled at how God strengthened me in the battle. Satan finally decided to leave me alone in this area! Oh, occasionally he would come at me again with those fears and worries, but to no avail—I had learned to reach for that bag of stones. I also marveled at my husband--my “Abraham”—who was walking in complete faith and trust.

Over and over God provided. Just when we thought we would do without, God gave. People brought food to our door—some completely unaware of our situation. Anonymous and random money came in the mail. Churches we didn’t even know gave to us. We became so overwhelmed by His goodness!

Finally, one day we said, “OK, God, you are AMAZING! You are TRULY the great Provider! We know your Word says that we can’t outgive You, but we’re going to try! Every time someone gives us something, we’re going to give, too!

So, the game was on.

I could fill page after page of how the Lovelace’s have played the generous game with God and how He has always won! But here are a few examples…

Some friends came into town that we hadn’t seen in a long time. We decided to go on an outing together, and I began packing lunches for the kids…we didn’t have much to pack, but I was determined.

I smiled at God, and called my friend.

“Since you are staying in a hotel, let me fix lunches for all of you!” I took her order over the phone and laughing to myself I packed up most of what we had.

We had a wonderful day of friendship and fun—just what we needed (another gift from God!) As my friend was pulling away, she handed me $100.00.

“Here,” she said, “I feel like you’re supposed to have this.”

Then she drove away.

God—scored another point…Lovelace’s—O.

A few days later, we scraped enough money together to make a deposit. I took what we had, and handed it to the bank teller. She counted the money, then said,

“Ma’am, do you want to deposit this extra money, or do you want it back?”

I asked her to repeat herself several times, even arguing with her about the amount of money I had given her. Then, I thought I could see God smiling…

“Oh, you know what? You’re probably right!” I told the sweet teller. “I’ll just take that money back. Thank you!”

I put the extra money carefully into my purse. The next day was Sunday, so, smiling, I dropped it into the offering plate.

My son leaned over and said in disbelief, “You have that much? Where’d you get that? Are you giving away ALL of it?”

“Oh, yeah!” I whispered. The game was on!

God—OK, a lot of points…Lovelace’s—1? Maybe??

The next day, my husband went to see a friend on a completely different matter. He came home with our 15 passenger van so packed with food that we couldn’t even get all of it into our kitchen.

God—more points than ever….Lovelace’s—in the negative!

“OK, God,” we laughed. “You win! But we still want to play!”

We have had so much fun being generous! It’s hilarious giving! It has changed our lifestyle forever.

To this day, Ken has applied for many, many jobs, and although we’ve had a few odd jobs along the way that God has used to help sustain us, we are still waiting on our location—that Abraham destination that God has planned. We know it’s there. And we are privileged to wait on Him, as we keep looking.

And every day we are seeking--to stay in the center of God’s will in every area of our lives.

And God is still providing! It has truly been an amazing journey.

Yes, there have been doubts and fears, growing pains, and tears, and even some lost relationships along the way.

But we wouldn’t trade this Abraham journey for all the earthly security money can buy.

We’ll let you know when we finally get there.

“After this, the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision:
Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield,
Your very great reward.” Genesis 15:1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MAGIC BEANS
by Lygia Lovelace

 

When Grayson came to live with us, over 7 years ago, she didn’t trust me. She had already been abandoned by her birthmother, and then by her grandmother, and she wasn’t about to let me get close to her. I tried everything I knew to do! Nothing worked! Then, finally, through my tears, I asked the Lord to give me ideas…

I began to notice her fascination for pretty things…jewelry, hairclips, and even flowers. So, on her birthday in April, six months after she had arrived from Romania, I brought home dozens of beautiful flowers to plant. I took little 3-year-old Grayson out to the front yard and began to dig in one of our flower beds. She watched in fascination as I put one of the beautiful flower sets into the ground. I handed her a spade, and pointed to another set of flowers. She caught on immediately, and within a few moments, we were smiling together and planting row after row of beautiful bouquets. Grayson’s carefully built walls began to crumble around her emotions, and little by little, she granted me the privilege of becoming her mommy.

We have carried on that garden tradition, and every spring, the children choose their own vegetable or flower set to care for.

One particular spring season, everyone chose their “project” except Chase. He just couldn’t decide what he wanted to grow. He walked up and down the rows of the plant store, looking first at the vegetables, then the cactuses, and then the flowers. He didn’t buy anything that day, and I wondered if he would even participate that year.

Then, we read the story Jack and the Beanstalk from Chase’s reader. He was newly inspired!

“Now I know! I want to plant magic beans!” he cried.

After explaining to him that butter beans weren’t necessarily magic, I handed him a cupful. Each Lovelace had been assigned his or her own plot of dirt, and I reminded Chase where his own piece of ground was.

I smiled as he skipped merrily out the door. What I didn’t know was that he would plant beans in EVERYONE’S plot of dirt. Some of the well-manicured vegetables and flowers were already poking their heads out of the ground and even blooming! Chase planted beans down in the ground, right next to each child’s “project”.

Several days went by, accompanied by healthy spring rains. The children faithfully tended their plants, and Chase eagerly watched for his “magic beans”.

Well, “magically”, after several days, beans were popping up everywhere! We weren’t sure what they were, at first, until I looked over at Chase’s personal plot of ground and noticed the similarities…

“What did you do!?” I asked my son.

“We’ll all have our own beanstalks, Mom!”

To the other children’s dismay, the beans began creating vines all around their plants, choking out the faithfully tended vegetables and flowers. Beans were taking over! Those beans were a good choice—they were good things—but they were choking out each child’s purpose for his or her own plot of ground.

Life is sometimes like that for me. I know that I have been assigned my own plot of ground…my purpose…by my Heavenly Father. But sometimes good things get in the way, and even choke out my priority projects, my own personal responsibilities as a child of God.

If I’m not careful, and vigilant, the “beans” of life—activities, false responsibilities, busyness, distractions—can destroy the purposes that God has set before me. Too many “beans” can choke out my quiet times with God, my focus on “things above”, and my goals for what my children need to be taught.

And THAT is Satan’s goal for me…to devour me AND God’s plan for my life. (I Peter 5:8).

In those times when we are so busy, so distracted that we barely have time for God or each other, it’s time to do a little weeding. It’s time to remove those activities that keep us from the simple nourishment of the Father.

Then we can truly grow again…as God intended.

 

“As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village
where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a
a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he
had said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that
had to be made. (…and all the beans she had to cook!)

She came to him and asked, ‘Lord, don’t you care that my sister
has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!’
‘Martha, Martha,’ the Lord answered, ‘you are worried and upset
about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen
what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.’”

Luke 10:38-41

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A CALL TO PRAY
by Lygia Lovelace

 

If I could change anything about myself, it would probably be my shyness (well…I could probably come up with a few other things to change as well…). I’ve always had a hard time making friends, and I’ve always been hesitant to speak out, especially in groups. “Surface” conversations are ok, but really deep conversation is hard for me. It’s not that I don’t want to talk—I just struggle with what to say! No words come to mind. I think that’s why I love teaching God’s Word so much—now that’s something worth saying!

I have also struggled with shyness before God. Having given my life to Christ at age 9, I knew about the importance of talking to God…but I didn’t feel like I was very good at it. Though I knew and felt the presence of the Spirit in my life, many times no words of communication would come to mind.

“Teach me to pray,” I began to say to God, at least once a day. The disciples asked Jesus for help, so I figured I could too. That’s when God began the “ School of Prayer” in my life. I felt like the worst student…so I began to pray for wisdom, also. After all, James said I could (James 1:5).

God began sending verses, people, books, and experiences in my life that have taught me so much about communicating with my Daddy, my heavenly Father. I still have so much to learn! But the journey has been wonderful.

One particular lady that taught me about prayer was Mrs. Nightingale (see previous article). She was a prayer warrior—one of the strongest people I’ve ever known—even though she was elderly, weak, and crippled. When something concerned her, she would pray, right then. When something concerned one of us, she interrupted our worrying and led us in prayer. Ten, maybe fifteen times a day, she would walk down the hall of our apartment in Portugal,looking for me, calling,

“Lygia? Lygia where are you?! We need to pray! It’s time to pray!”

At first, I avoided her, even, I must admit, hiding from her as she came looking for me. Then, God reminded me of my prayer, asking Him to teach me. He was teaching me through Mrs. Nightingale!

When she found me, she would grab my hands and we would pray together.

“And pray in the Spirit on all occasions…”. Ephesians 5:18

Another teacher in prayer for me was my son. Leaving the mission field was heartbreaking for us, and we spent a lot of time on our knees before the Lord—asking “why,” praying for protection, and begging for answers.

Chase, at this same time, was desperately trying to re-learn language. After the attack (see previous article), he lost all language and only communicated in grunts and gestures.

Many times, after our family prayer time, he would run out the door, looking at the roof and pointing. I knew that when he re-gained his speech, there was much he wanted to tell us. After many months of speech therapy and counseling, he began to form sentences again.

“Mom,” he said one day, after a particularly intense day for us of prayer and seeking the Lord. I waited patiently as Chase stuttered and struggled to communicate. “Mom, did you know? There are angels on the roof!” He pulled me out the door and pointed, grinning with delight. Then he said, “Mom, when we pray, the angels come down…they fight the ‘monsters’…with swords!” He smiled happily, proud of his sentences, then ran off to play.

Some might say Chase was just telling stories—that his angels and ‘monsters’ were just images borne from a childish imagination. But God taught me some things about the importance of prayer that day that I will never forget. I will never again take prayer lightly.

“The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them…”. Psalm 34:7

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 5:12

Several years later, I attended a Christian conference. I walked into the chapel early the first morning, ready to hear something about prayer. An old man hobbled up to the podium. He didn’t look like much, and all he had with him was an old Bible.

As he began to talk about his own prayer life, the Spirit began to work in my heart. I knew that God was calling me to pray. Oh, not just to say a few forced words during my quiet time…not just to pray with my children before meals and bedtime…but to really pray, as God intended for all of His children.

Feeling this calling upon my life, I sat in the chapel, even after everyone had left and the old man had hobbled out the door, and I sobbed.

“I still don’t feel like I’m very good at it,” I told God in my heart, “but I commit myself to a life of prayer.”

Thus began my Call to Pray. I have so much to learn! But as God leads--I will continue to write about this calling, and all that God has taught me.

Why? Because I believe, with all my heart, that if you know Him…then God is also sending you…a Call to Pray.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A SACRIFICE OF PRAISE
(another lesson in prayer)
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Morning sickness was the worst part of pregnancy for me! It would overtake me for at least four months…sometimes five. Each time I became pregnant, I would pray that God would deliver me from morning sickness, just this one pregnancy…but that didn’t happen.

Then I became pregnant a couple of years after Jonah was born. I was so excited! Each pregnancy would bring new dreams and new family adventures. I prayed my usual prayer of asking relief from the morning sickness…and morning sickness never came.

So I grew concerned.

“Lord, did you decide to take away my morning sickness, or is there a problem?” I asked each morning. I felt a sense of foreboding in my spirit, and soon began to pray fervently that God would bring the morning sickness. I longed for that feeling of nausea and exhaustion.

Finally, I forced myself to see the doctor. He confirmed that there indeed was a problem. “We can wait it out, if you want…but really you ought to go ahead and end this pregnancy.” he advised.

I assured him that I would wait to see what God would do, and then I left his office. Tears blurred my eyes and I could barely find the door. I tried to call Ken, but my cell phone wouldn’t work.

I fought my way to the bathroom down the hall and locked myself in a stall. Thankfully, no one was there. I threw myself to the floor in a storm of tears. Even though the doctor had not told me it was completely hopeless, I still knew in my spirit that this baby would not survive. No words even came to mind as I cried.

As I drove home alone, my mind still searched for something to pray. Nothing came! I knew the Spirit was interceding for me (Romans 8:26-27), but I still wanted to say something to the Father, my Father. All I could think of were Job’s words: “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” (Job 1:21).

Each time I repeated that verse, God filled me with His strength. “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.”

Though my heart was broken, His Spirit was teaching me to praise Him—in the midst of my despair. I didn’t even want to praise Him. But the words kept coming.

After awhile, I pulled up in front of the house. By this time, I had given the news to Ken, and he had told our older children. My firstborn son, my precious 12 year old Bracken, came bursting out of the door. I quickly wiped my face. I wanted to be strong! I didn’t want him to see me crying.

He was crying. He grabbed me in a hug and whispered through his tears, “Romans 8:28, Mom, remember? Romans 8:28!”

I remembered. It was just a few verses away from the ones I had been thinking of—about how the Sprit was interceding for me.

He began to repeat the verse. I repeated it with him, in my mind. “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 next few weeks were full of prayers and trips to the doctor for sonograms. There was still no change and seemingly no life inside my womb.

“You can still work a miracle, Father, You know You can! Breathe life into this little one! Please, God! Don’t forsake us! We want this baby!” I constantly interceded for my little one. I looked up verse after verse on prayer, and I prayed in Jesus’ name.

“You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.” John 14:14

I claimed this verse for my baby. Still there was no change. The doctor gently recommended that we do something, but I wouldn’t listen. I wanted God to do something.

Finally, after several more weeks, my body let go and miscarried. I felt like all of my hopes and dreams, and even joy left along with the evidence of my pregnancy. It was God’s decision. It seemed so final. And I didn’t like it.

I spent the next few weeks in bed. Because of this difficult pregnancy, I also lost an ovary. The doctor said it would be possible for me to become pregnant again, but not easily. And at my age, he said, I was at greater risk of losing more babies.

While in bed, I brooded before the Lord. “Your promises must not be true!” I complained. “After all, I prayed for this baby in Your Name! Why didn’t You let the baby live? Why didn’t You work a miracle? You healed Jonah…why not this baby?”

My listlessness and depression concerned my family. Bracken was particularly attentive to my sorrow. Though he didn’t know what to say that would make me feel better, he wanted to help. I woke up one afternoon to his playing violin in our bedroom. He was playing hymns and practicing his violin songs—something he knew I loved listening to.

He wanted to be sure I heard.

As I lay there listening, my eyes fell upon a book I had placed on the shelf beside my bed. It was a small, insignificant looking book, but I reached for it and looked at the cover: Returning to Holiness. I opened the book to the first page, not intending to read it. But one page led to another and soon, I was reaching for my Bible. God did a work in my heart through Returning to Holiness, mainly because it took me back to God’s Word, where I should have been all along.

I wish I could give you a lot of easy answers. I wish I could tell you exactly why God chose not to let this baby live on earth. I wish I could explain why babies die and mothers miscarry. I wish I could even tell you that I understand everything about praying. But I can’t, and I don’t.

What I can tell you is that God is a loving, sovereign God, who cried with me throughout the short life, and then death of my baby. I know that He eagerly and gently took that little miracle in His arms when it was time.

I also know that I don’t get everything that I ask for, and that I must just trust Him in those times. Praying in Jesus’ name doesn’t mean I’ll get what I want if I speak those specific words--it means that I am willing to submit to His best, His sovereignty, and His decision. It’s an act of obedience on my part, and it takes a huge step of faith to receive His decision joyfully.

I have also learned what it means to truly give that sacrifice of praise. Though I must admit I don’t always do it, I have learned what it means to praise Him, even when I don’t feel like it. It is my privilege to offer this sacrifice to Him. He deserves everything I have to offer. As I continue to grow in Him, I pray that more and more I will praise Him—in every circumstance of my life.

Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—
the fruit of lips that confess his name. Hebrews 13:15

(Lygia mentioned how Returning to Holiness had impacted our lives. Ken & Lygia teach Returning to Holiness seminars for churches and groups and would love to teach one in your church. It's not a study about the Holiness movement or the Holiness denomination, but rather about righting relationships and understanding the impact wrong relationships have on churches and individuals. It's really a book/seminar about personal revival. Feel free to call for more information).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE PHONE RECEIVER
(another lesson in prayer)
by Lygia Lovelace

Perhaps one of the most challenging times in our ministry was when we packed our suitcases and flew to Dallas from Portugal. Because Chase had been traumatized (see previous article) and had stopped speaking coherently, it was imperative to at least have him evaluated emotionally and mentally. We came to the Dallas area for a two week vacation, during which we had appointments for Chase in speech and counseling. We had every intention of returning home, to Lisbon.

However, primarily because of his behavior, Chase was diagnosed as autistic by a child psychologist here in Dallas. Then, he had to be further evaluated by a qualified speech therapist. I’ll never forget that first awful speech appointment. Chase would not make eye contact with anyone, and the therapist could not get him to respond to her in any way. Tears filled my eyes as she kept asking him questions—about his body parts, about colors, and toys. Chase acted totally oblivious to her presence—as if he were the only one in the room. I knew that he could have spoken and given her the right answers just a few months before! I tried to explain that he knew…somewhere “in there” he knew...but every verbal attempt on my part seemed feeble. I wanted to run out of the room—I could feel the adrenalin pumping through me as I struggled to stay and endure that appointment. I silently pleaded with my son to say just one comprehensible word.

After the evaluation, the speech therapist also mentioned autism. I argued through my tears—insisting that he was fine before the attack. But apparently autism can work that way—taking a perfectly normal 3 or 4 year old, and turning his little mind inward…totally debilitating his social and verbal skills. She handed me a packet of literature explaining autism and the suggested treatment plan. Despairingly, I accepted it.

Then, she reached over and stroked Chase’s legs and arms. She touched his head and face, and even held his hands. I watched her as a glimmer of hope crossed her face.

“But look! He doesn’t mind if I touch him. That’s a good sign. Now…if I could just get him to notice me…I want to see him every day during the week.”

Our two week vacation turned into a month, and then longer. We began to realize that God was calling us back to the States, to concentrate on Chase’s well-being. We wouldn’t be going back to Portugal. For awhile, anyway, we set aside our emotions and longing for the mission field, and began the journey down Chase’s long and arduous road of healing.

After several weeks of speech and play therapy, we finally had a breakthrough! Chase not only responded and noticed the speech therapist, but he said a word she could understand…yucky. The therapist discovered that she could get Chase to participate a little by giving him candy as a reward. On this memorable day, he dropped his piece of candy. He reached for it, to eat it anyway, and the therapist said, “No, Chase, don’t eat it! Yucky!”

Chase hesitated, then, repeated over and over, “Yucky! Yucky! Yucky!”

He had heard her, and he had responded! What a joyous day!

Slowly, we began to see progress! The old Chase that we had known before wasn’t there anymore, but slowly God was initiating healing in this new little soul. We were so excited when he actually began to chatter again, as a new baby does when first learning to talk! We could understand real English words, though not in the right order.

In order to encourage Chase to talk, we gave him an old yellow phone receiver, broken off of an old toy phone. This seemed to inspire him! He would chatter into that phone receiver, saying words that we actually recognized! He stuttered a lot, but we would gratefully “hang” on every word he said—we were so excited to hear him communicating! True, the process was slow, but now…though he still silently stutters—repeating words quietly to himself—you wouldn’t know he ever had trouble speaking! We find ourselves telling him to be quiet and to stop talking at the dinner table. That brings complete joy to my heart.

When I first began asking God to teach me to pray, I felt as helpless as little Chase with that yellow phone receiver. I would make feeble attempts to communicate with my heavenly Father, but the words came out all wrong. I found I repeated myself a lot. I found that the same shyness I struggled with among people, I felt before God. I just didn’t know what to say! Oh, I could think of plenty of things to ask for…but I knew that God wanted more from me in my prayers.

That’s when God began to show me how to use His Word, in the same way that Chase used that old phone receiver. When I wanted to seek forgiveness and cleansing, I would pray the very words David used in Psalm 51 or at the end of Psalm 139. David’s words also helped me as I repeated the praises that he penned so many years ago.

I became newly inspired! Communication was easier with my receiver! If I wanted to pray for something specific for my husband, or children, or even for myself, I looked intently into His Word—my very own phone receiver—and found just the right words to say to my Father. It took time, but it was worth the journey.

I smile to think how elementary my prayers must have been at first. But what joy those first attempts must have given my heavenly Father! Just like we rejoiced over every new word Chase learned, and then every new sentence he finally put together—our Father rejoices in our attempts to communicate with Him—our first words and utterances before a Holy God.

Perhaps you have felt as I did—and still feel at times, when I stray from Him. Perhaps the words don’t come easily, and you struggle and stutter with what to say in prayer. Pick up the phone receiver, His Word. He has given us example after example of prayers in His Word, prayed by great men and women of God! Find those verses, pray them back to Him. Praying His Word honors the Lord, and teaches you so much about prayer communication. There are verses that the Spirit is just waiting to show you—verses the Spirit wants to teach you to pray back to the Father—even in a way that no one else can. His Word is so personal, so alive, so amazing.

And one more thing. There really is Someone on the other side of that receiver. And how He loves you! He is hanging on your every word.

Perhaps you are new in the faith—or perhaps you’ve never been taught how to find Bible verses. Maybe it’s been awhile since you looked into His letter of love to you. Lygia would love to help you draw closer to Him through His Word. Please write her at www.kenlovelaceministries.com.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A SCAR TO REMEMBER
by Lygia Lovelace

When we moved to Portugal, one of the things I prayed hardest for was a good pediatrician. With 4 small children—3 of them little boys—we wanted a doctor we could understand, and that we could depend on. We were delighted to meet Dr. Sandi!

He was a South African doctor with a love for kids and a heart for God. He spoke British English with an African flair. Our kids loved him, his offices were clean, and he wholeheartedly supported our calling to the Portuguese people. We felt comfortable with him immediately—he even made house calls during emergencies! Each time we left his office, he made sure we had his business card, with his personal phone number, to call, in case were got into trouble somewhere. I kept it with me wherever we went.

One evening, after we had only been in Portugal a few months, we were eating at a small café in one of the quaint suburbs of Lisbon. While we were finishing our meal, 7 year old Bracken and 5 year old Brooklyn each got an ice cream cone, and played outside the café in a little garden where we could see them. They began walking on a short, 2 foot wall, around and around a tree. Brooklyn lost her balance and fell headfirst onto the cobblestones below. Her screams were severe, and I immediately knew that she was seriously hurt!

Brooklyn was covered in blood when I approached her! I jerked her up and ran into the café. They shuffled me to the kitchen and showed me the sink. One of the cooks handed me a towel to place on her forehead, and in just a moment, the towel was soaked in blood. When I got her head clean enough to find the wound, we gasped. The skin on her forehead was torn so badly, we could see her skull! Ken took the other children and went outside to look for someone who spoke English. Where was an emergency room? A doctor? Brooklyn was losing blood so quickly, I was afraid for her life.

“Ambulancia?!” I yelled uncertainly. I didn’t know much Portuguese, but surely they could understand!

“Can somebody help us?! Ambulancia?”

In the meantime, a man approached Ken and spoke to him in broken English.

“I am a firefighter. Your daughter must receive help immediately. I know where there is a clinic. Let me have her!”

Ken brought the man over. He pulled her from my arms and took off running. In a panic, I followed him, not knowing whether to trust him or where he was going! Brooklyn had stopped crying, and I knew from her appearance that she was in shock. The man was running so quickly, I had to run hard to keep up with him. He ran down the street, into a run-down neighborhood, and through an old set of doors. Ken was following close behind with the boys.

We indeed walked into a clinic of sorts, and an old man in a white coat took Brooklyn into a small room with a gurney. He placed Brooklyn on the bed, and spoke quickly in Portuguese to several ladies in white dresses. He asked me if I spoke Portuguese.

“Only a little,” I answered unsurely.

He spoke to me in his language anyway, since he didn’t speak any English. The firefighter was nowhere to be found. I could tell by his words and gestures that this elderly man was going to sew up the wound. He began cleaning Brooklyn’s forehead and his own instruments. Ken and the boys arrived, and we all waited anxiously. I felt very uneasy about the whole thing, and breathed a quick prayer.

I watched and winced as the man sewed Brooklyn up, without anesthesia. Brooklyn barely made a sound, and soon it was done. The big white bandage he applied to Brooklyn’s head covered her entire forehead. We understood, again by words and gestures, that we were to remove the bandages occasionally and keep the wound clean.

We paid the man a small fee, and left the building.

After several days, when the swelling had gone down, I was disheartened to find that the stitches were very uneven, and the skin was bunched up on Brooklyn’s forehead. The wound looked clean, with no infection, but the work had not been skillfully done. I made an appointment with Dr. Sandi, to ask him if I should do something more.

After giving him all the information, and after he had closely inspected Brooklyn’s wound, he carefully put a clean bandage across her head. He asked seriously which clinic we took her to. When I described the location, he shook his head.

“Mrs. Lovelace, there is no clinic there. I know of no doctor in that area. Do you not have my card, with my phone number? Why didn’t you call me? I would have met you anywhere and taken care of this for you. I’ve told you I’m always here for you. Why didn’t you call?”

I stammered around and finally admitted, “I don’t know! I do have your card! It was with me, I just…didn’t think about you. I’m sorry…I wish I had called you…what can we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do now. She will be fine, but she will have a nasty scar. Maybe some day she can have plastic surgery on her forehead. Next time, you MUST remember to call me. I think you should go back to that place—go back there and show the man his work. See what he says.”

We did go back. The man in the white coat was there, and recognized us. He quickly looked at Brooklyn’s wound and then said something—a whole string of words that I couldn’t quite understand. Finally, he got right up into my face, and said the words slowly and clearly in his language.

“There…is…nothing…more…I…can…do. Now…you…must…take…her…to…a…doctor.
It…is…best…if…she…were…seen…by…a…doctor. DOC-TOR.”

That I understood.

I meekly shook my head, and left the building. I wanted to yell at him, to scream, “IF YOU’RE NOT A DOCTOR, WHAT ARE YOU!!! WHY DID YOU SEW UP MY BABY’S HEAD!!!??”

But I didn’t know how to say all of that in Portuguese.

I wasn’t really angry at him anyway. He was a sweet, old man. He had tried to help. All the Portuguese want to help, even if they don’t know how. That’s just the way they are.

But I was furious with myself!

Just a few months later, I heard the same frightening scream from Brooklyn. She was in her ballet class, and I was sitting at the side of the gym, watching her. She slipped and fell on her chin. When the ballet teacher picked her up, blood was pouring from Brooklyn’s little chin. The teacher pushed Brooklyn into my arms with horror.

Immediately, I whipped out Dr. Sandi’s business card. It was after hours, but he met me in just moments at his office. He sewed her up quickly, and without pain. When it was time to leave, he gave me a huge smile and clapped me on the back.

“I’m so proud of you! You called me! Now everything will be fine, you’ll see!”

I do see. When I look at my beautiful, almost 16-year old, daughter today, I only see one scar. She still bears the mark of my forgetfulness on her forehead, though gradually it is fading. The wound on her chin is completely gone.

That scar is a scar to remember for me. So many times, when I have gotten into trouble, or danger, I have forgotten to go, first of all, to the Great Physician, the Solver of all problems, the Deliverer—my Defender. I know how to go to Him—that’s not the problem. Sometimes, I just foolishly forget. I worry, I cry to others, I complain—instead of seeking Him first, and His perfect solutions.

Dear Father, thank You for the lessons that You give to us, in our daily lives. Forgive us when we just don’t…think of You…when we forget You are the One we need. Help us to pay attention, to truly recognize that You are the One who wants to help us, first, with all of our needs—all of our problems—all of our dangers. Bring to our minds Your everlasting promises to help us, in times of need.

God is our refuge and strength,
           an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth give way,
           and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
Though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging,
           …the Lord Almighty is with us;
                      the God of Jacob is our fortress.
                                            Psalm 46

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HEALING PRAYERS
(another lesson on prayer)
by Lygia Lovelace

 

In family class on Wednesday evenings, we’ve been studying Elijah. I’ve always admired this “hero of the faith” and the relationship he had with God. In this particular study, what drew me to Elijah the most was how God dealt with him. Perhaps you’d like to read his story again.

You see, it has struck me over the past few weeks how God answered Elijah in different ways. Sometimes, it was in a loud, powerful, instantaneous way—like when God sent fire from heaven to consume the sacrifice that Elijah had prepared. Elijah breathed just one prayer for this miracle to happen! It was quick and spectacular and life changing for many of the people watching.

At another time, God spoke to Elijah quietly. And not only did God speak in a still, small voice, but He didn’t speak right away—not until Elijah had been waiting for some time on the mountain—he waited through a shattering, strong wind, an earthquake and even a fire until he finally heard the response he had been waiting for…

Quite a few years ago, when Ken was pastoring a church, we had a really bad experience. It was one of those experiences where we felt all alone, and though we searched Scripture and prayed fervently for God’s direction in doing what was right, we felt misunderstood and ridiculed. Many times we came home on Sundays in tears. Our children did not understand the conversations they heard when we attended church. They cried on Saturday nights, when they knew we would have to go back to church on Sunday.

Despairingly, we begged God to release us from this assignment. We knew that eventually He would call us away, but over and over God would say to our hearts, “Not yet…Stand firm…Be courageous...I am made strong in your weakness…”

As a wife, I cried every time my husband left the house to go to a church meeting. I would pace the floor, and watch the clock until he returned home. I had heard the criticism he had received—the threats, and the lies. Many times, I saw my husband look into the face of powerful men in the church and tell them gently, “I’m sorry you feel that way—I love you guys.” I saw their faces contort in anger, and I knew that the enemy was in control.

One person particularly made me angry. I couldn’t shake my feelings for him. I remembered the Message of the Dove (see previous article), but frankly, because I had heard him spew such hateful words, I didn’t know how I could ever forgive him.

“Deliver me from this anger, Father,” I prayed. “Help me