MAY / JUNE 2008

The Story Of Edith Burns

Edith Burns was a wonderful Christian who lived in San Antonio, Texas. She was the patient of a doctor by the name of Will Phillips. Dr. Phillips was a gentle doctor and his favorite patient was Edith Burns.

One morning he went to his office with a heavy heart and it was because of Edith Burns. When he walked into that waiting room, there sat Edith with her big black Bible in her lap earnestly talking to a young mother sitting beside her.

Edith Burns had a habit of introducing herself in this way: "Hello, my name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?" Then she would explain the meaning of Easter, and many times people would come to faith in Jesus.

Dr. Phillips walked into that office and there he saw the head nurse, Beverly. Beverly had first met Edith when she was taking her blood pressure. Edith began by saying, "My name is Edith Burns. Do you believe in Easter?"

Beverly said, "Why yes I do." Edith said, "Well, what do you believe about Easter?"

Beverly said, "Well, it's all about egg hunts, going to church, and dressing up." Edith kept pressing her about the real meaning of Easter, and finally led her to a saving faith in Jesus Christ.

After being called back in the doctor's office, Edith sat down and when she took a look at the doctor she said, "Dr. Will, why are you so sad today? Dr. Phillips said gently, "Edith, I'm the doctor and you're the patient." With a heavy heart he said, "Your lab report came back and it says you have cancer, and Edith, you're not going to live very long."

Edith said, "Why Will Phillips, shame on you. Why are you so sad? Do you think God makes mistakes? You have just told me I'm going to see my precious Lord Jesus, my husband, and my friends. You have just told me that I am going to celebrate Easter forever, and here you are having difficulty giving me my ticket!"

Dr. Phillips thought to himself, "What a magnificent woman this Edith Burns is!"

Edith continued coming to Dr. Phillips. Christmas came and the office was closed through January 3rd. On the day the office opened, Edith did not show up. Later that afternoon, Edith called Dr. Phillips and said she would have to be moving her story to the hospital and said, "Will, I'm very near home, so would you make sure that they put women in here next to me in my room who need to know about Easter?"

Well, they did just that and women began to come in and share that room with Edith. Through Edith, the Holy Spirit led many people to faith in Jesus. Everybody on that floor from staff to patients were so excited about Edith, that they started calling her Edith Easter; that is everyone except Phyllis Cross, the head nurse.

Phyllis made it plain that she wanted nothing to do with Edith because she was a "religious nut". She had been a nurse in an army hospital. She had seen it all and heard it all. She was the original G.I. Jane. She had been married three times, she was hard, cold, and did everything by the book.

One morning the two nurses who were to attend to Edith were sick. Edith had the flu and Phyllis Cross had to go in and give her a shot. When she walked in, Edith had a big smile on her face and said, "Phyllis, God loves you and I love you, and I have been praying for you."

Phyllis Cross said, "Well, you can quit praying for me, it won't work. I'm not interested." Edith said, "Well, I will pray and I have asked God not to let me go home until you come into the family." Phyllis Cross said, "Then you will never die because that will never happen," and curtly walked out of the room.

Every day Phyllis Cross would walk into the room and Edith would say, "God loves you, Phyllis, and I love you, and I'm praying for you."

One day Phyllis Cross said she was literally drawn to Edith's room like a magnet would draw iron. She sat down on the bed and Edith said, "I'm so glad you have come, because God told me that today is your special day"

Phyllis Cross said, "Edith, you have asked everybody here the question, "Do you believe in Easter, but you have never asked me."

Edith said, "Phyllis, I wanted to many times, but I believe the Lord wanted me to wait until you asked, and now that you have asked." Edith Burns took her Bible and shared with Phyllis Cross the Easter Story of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Edith said, "Phyllis, do you believe in Easter? Do you believe that Jesus Christ is alive and that He wants to live in your heart?"

Phyllis Cross said, "Oh, I want to believe that with all of my heart, and I do want Jesus in my life." Right there, the Holy Spirit brought Phyllis Cross to trust in Jesus as her Savior and Lord. For the first time Phyllis Cross did not walk out of a hospital room, she was carried out on the wings of angels!

Two days later, Phyllis Cross came in and Edith said, "Do you know what day it is?" Phyllis Cross said, "Why Edith, it's Good Friday." Edith said, "Oh, no, for you every day is Easter. Happy Easter, Phyllis!"

Two days later, on Easter Sunday, Phyllis Cross came into work, did some of her duties and then went down to the flower shop and got some Easter lilies because she wanted to go up to see Edith and give her some Easter lilies and wish her a Happy Easter.

When she walked into Edith's room, Edith was in bed. That big black Bible was on her lap. Her hands were in that Bible. There was a sweet smile on her face. When Phyllis Cross went to pick up Edith's hand, she realized Edith was dead. Her left hand was on John 14: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also." Her right hand was on Revelation 21:4, "And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, there shall be no more death nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away."

Phyllis Cross took one look at that dead body, and then lifted her face toward heaven, and with tears streaming down here cheeks, said, "Happy Easter, Edith - Happy Easter!"

Phyllis Cross left Edith's body, walked out of the room, and over to a table where two student nurses were sitting. She said, "My name is Phyllis Cross. Do you believe in Easter?"

received via email

The Old Man And The Dog

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car," my father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was fortunate; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody.

Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. Our pastor set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen, a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.

"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow."

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

"You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his message, choosing as his text, Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers." "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: The sympathetic voice that had just read the right article. Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. His calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father, and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Catherine Moore
received via email

A Stranger And A Pilgrim

Since you call on a Father who judges each man's work impartially, live your lives as strangers here in reverent fear. For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your forefathers, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. He was chosen before the creation of the world, but was revealed in these last times for your sake. Through Him you believe in God, who raised Him from the dead and glorified Him, and so your faith and hope are in God. (1 Peter 1:17-21)

These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of [them], and embraced [them], and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. (Hebrews 11:13)

•To be a stranger & pilgrim means that the longer we know Jesus the less attracted we are to the “things” of this life.

•To be a stranger & pilgrim means that we shift from seeing life from an earthly perspective and instead see it from an eternal perspective.

•To be a stranger & pilgrim means that we value those things that have eternal value as compared to those things that “moth and rust” can destroy.

•To be a stranger & pilgrim means that we can risk our life, our wealth, even our reputation since they are not our goal but only tools to our final destination.

Thinking of the fullness and duration of this wonderful life, W. B. Hinson, a great preacher of a past generation, spoke from his own experience just before he died. He said, "I remember a year ago when a doctor told me, 'You have an illness from which you

won't recover.' I walked out to where I live five miles from Portland, Oregon, and I looked across at that mountain that I love. I looked at the river in which I rejoice, and I looked at the stately trees that are always God's own poetry to my soul. Then in the evening I looked up into the great sky where God was lighting His lamps, and I said, ‘I may not see you many more times, but Mountain, I shall be alive when you are gone; and River, I shall be alive when you cease running toward the sea; and Stars, I shall be alive when you have fallen from your sockets in the great down pulling of the material universe!' "

selected

The Concert

When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that her child was missing. Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage. To her horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit ... Keep playing." Then, leaning over , Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child, and he added a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice transformed what could have been a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience.

The audience was so mesmerized that they couldn't recall what else the great master played. Only the classic, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

Perhaps that's the way it is with God. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren't always graceful flowing music. However, with the hand of the Master, our life's work can truly be beautiful.

The next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You may hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don't quit ... Keep playing."

May you feel His arms around you and know that His hands are there, helping you turn your feeble attempts into true masterpieces.

Remember, God doesn't call the equipped, rather, He equips the 'called.'

Life is more accurately measured by the lives you touch than by the things you acquire.

received via email

Those who want to go fast, go alone. Those who want to go far, go together. – Kenya

Did Your Know?

Among the most accomplished and fabled tribes of Africa, no tribe was considered to have warriors more fearsome or more intelligent than the Masai.

Interestingly, the traditional greeting between the Masai warriors was “kasserian ingera,” or “How are the children?” It remains their traditional greeting, demonstrating their emphasis on the children’s well being. Even warriors without children of their own would give the traditional reply, “All the children are well,” meaning that there is peace and security, that the young and powerless are protected, and that the society is functioning properly and responsibly.

“All the children are well.” Can we in America say the same?

Friendly Business

I placed an internet order for some Creation videos recently and this is the response I received:

“Thank you so much for your order! The moment we received your order we all gasped with glee.

“Bubbling with excitement we plucked your items gingerly from our crowded climate controlled shelves and leapt at the chance to find the perfect box.

“The entire office broke into song as we addressed your package with the greatest of care. The celebration continued as we danced a jig in an orderly yet expressive fashion all the way to the post office where we handed your little ‘bundle of joy’ off to the postmaster.~ Thanks for making our day. Hopefully, we can do the same for you in return.”

Would that every business transaction and personal encounter were as pleasant!

Pastor H

A Prayer For Ice Cream

A fellow by the name of Tim Bruster tells a powerful story about a mom who took her children to a crowded restaurant one day. Her six-year-old son asked if he could say the prayer. He prayed: “God is great and God is good, Let us thank Him for the food, and God I would thank you even more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And liberty and justice for all! Amen!”

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, the woman at the very next table growled loudly: “That’s what’s wrong with this country. Kids today don’t even know how to pray. The very idea… asking God for ice cream! Why I never.”

Hearing this, the little six-year-old boy burst into tears and he asked his mother: “Did I do it wrong? I’m sorry. Is God mad at me?” The little boy’s mother pulled him over into her lap. She hugged him tightly and assured him that he had done a terrific job with his prayer and God was certainly not mad at him.

Just then an elderly gentleman walked over to the table. He winked at the little boy and he said: “I know God really well. We visit every day and I happen to know that God loved your prayer. It may have been the best one He has heard all day.” Then he leaned over and whispered into the little boy’s ear. Pointing at the woman at the next table who had made the remark that started the whole thing, he said: “Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes.”

Naturally, the mom ordered ice cream for her kids at the end of the meal. The little six-year-old boy stared at his for a moment and then he did something that no one in that restaurant that day will ever forget. He picked up his sundae and without a word walked over and placed it in front of the woman at the next table. With a big smile he said to her: “Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes and my soul is good already!’

The people in the restaurant applauded. That little boy had already learned how to look at others with the eyes of sacrificial love.

received via email

Jungle Journal
(Missionary Terry Schultz, Lima, Peru)

Our Amazon brothers and sisters, along with natives from dozens of other tribal villages, are preparing to go into battle.  I’m not talking about “spiritual battle,” the usual topic of these journals.  The natives are preparing for the possibility of real bloodshed.  Right now in Yurimaguas, it’s difficult to buy a bag of shotgun shells.  Machetes are going fast. The natives are snapping up all the blades and bullets they can afford.  What is gong on??

The situation sounds like a worn-out movie plot, a ridiculous cliché, if it weren’t for the horrible fact that it’s really happening:  Indigenous tribal peoples could loose their land, their villages, and their homes, to an enormously wealthy Tarapoto businessman who has announced his intentions to obtain 8 thousand hectares of the Amazon!

What does the businessman plan to do with all that land?  (The following paragraph might make you feel sick): First, he would clear the land of all the giant rainforest trees and sell the lumber for a huge profit.  (Hardwood lumber from just one rare tree can bring tens of thousands of dollars!)  After the land is cleared of all the trees and underbrush, the man would set up a massive agribusiness operation, planting hundreds and hundreds of perfect rows of palm trees for the production of palm tree oil.  A huge swath of Amazon jungle, not only home to tribal peoples but also to endangered animals, birds, frogs, butterflies, plants and insects (some of which have not even been discovered yet and are found only in the Amazon!) would be lost forever.  Could all this really happen?  Aren’t there laws to prevent such a thing?  Isn’t the rainforest land protected? 

Only the Peruvian national reserves are really protected.  Much of the rest of the land is technically, legally, up for grabs.  Some land was supposedly set aside for indigenous tribes.  The natives certainly thought it was! They even signed land agreements with local authorities, i.e., the mayor of the closest governing mestizo town. But the mayors never properly filed the agreements (which weren’t airtight legal in the first place) with the regional government authorities. All this left massive loopholes in the Amazon land purchase system which the Tarapoto businessman can easily exploit:  Technically, much of the land has never been properly registered in anyone’s name!

In the great battle over tribal territory which has now begun, both the local and regional government officials are strongly supporting the indigenous tribes.  However, there is growing evidence that national government officials in Lima have sided with the businessman, for Peru’s president and congress have done nothing to prevent the palm tree oil project from moving forward!  So, what can the natives to do?  Through a flurry of legal maneuvers, the Amazon regional authorities were able to hold off the businessman’s land acquisition for one month, in which time the tribes must get their land legally registered.  But it won’t be easy for the natives. It is in fact, a colossal, uphill battle.  What must the tribes do to keep their land?

The natives first need to obtain the services of a registered engineer who will travel to each remote jungle village to officially survey and register the land.  Then, village elders need to sign deeds for the registered land.  However, the elders must have government-issued ID cards to sign the papers!  Many jungle-dwelling natives never bothered getting one of those!  Without an ID card, the elders cannot take legal possession of the land!  If the elder is married, he is even required to produce a legal marriage document.  I don’t know of a single native who has one of those! 

Securing the expensive services of a licensed surveyor, registering for an ID card and applying for a marriage certificate at a government office, all in less than 30 days is practically impossible.  The natives’ only alternative:  Try and hold off the invading business operation, with bullets if necessary, until all the legal documents are prepared and the elders can sign for the land.     

Such is the situation our native brothers found themselves in as they arrived in Tarapoto in February for our bimonthly Bible Institute classes. Their weariness and despondency was evident the moment I walked into the classroom.  The men fear they may lose their land, their homes, their recently-built churches, even the children’s brand new grade school in Louis Terry! 

We discussed long and hard the proper Christian response to the huge dilemma.  What would God have them do?  The natives quickly described the strategies unscrupulous businessmen often use for snatching up Amazon native lands.  (Talk about history repeating itself:  Do any of these strategies for pushing indigenous tribes off their lands sound familiar?)

There is the simple yet brutal “snatch and grab” approach, whereby a company shows up with heavy earth-clearing equipment and hard-hated workers, waving official–looking papers while simply running the frightened tribals, (who have no legal documents to counter with) right off their land. 

Then there is the “divide and conquer” strategy.  The company sends in representatives who will literally place a pile of money in a native’s hands as he agrees to sign away the rights to his personal homestead and cornfield.  This is a particularly insidious strategy, for if just a handful of natives sign the papers, the community is destroyed:  The village and surrounding fields now include parcels of land owned by the company.  Traditional tribal life cannot continue and the natives are all forced to move on.

Tribal elders throughout the Amazon are now extolling the village men to stay strong and not sell off their personal property for a pile of money and other gifts.  (Business reps have sometimes even provided liquor to help lower a native’s resistance!) Because of the success of such “divide-and conquer” operations, some village elders have placed trusted men as guards along the jungle path leading to the community.  They will intercept any outsider who tries to come in and con a native out of his land. 

A variation of this land-purchase scheme occurs when business representatives simply deal directly and exclusively with the village chiefs.  Take the example of one of our personal friends who lost his judgment:  The chief individually negotiated away the rights to all the lumber on a huge tract of his village’s land for one lump sum of money.  The chief reportedly shared some of the money with each family of the village, while keeping the lion’s share of the profits for himself.  There was nothing technically illegal about what he did.  The end result:  An enriched chief and a large swath of deep Amazon jungle stripped of every last tree, leaving the exposed underbrush to die. The land is now so bare it looks like a tornado came through and carried off every last shred of plant and animal life.)

Lastly, there is the land grab strategy I simply call the “empty shell game.”  Some businesses intent on buying up huge tracts of native land offer to construct much-needed clinics, schools, even hospitals, for the remote jungle tribe.  This finally looks like a little fair treatment for the natives, who excitedly envision great concrete-structure schools and clinics which they could otherwise never afford.  Who knows, maybe the businesses are even somewhat good intentioned in this strategy. I won’t impugn their honor wholesale.  However, who has done the homework on such an agreement?  Consider:

The promised buildings, per the legal agreements, are usually built.  Only one problem:  How do you attract qualified doctors, nurses, and teachers to live in remote, deep jungle tribal communities to operate clinics, schools, and hospitals?!  The Amazon jungle is littered with the empty, dilapidated concrete shells of abandoned clinics and schools. 

The dilemma our native brothers and sisters face could not be more real.  Living in countries like the U.S., England, or Australia, it would simply be absurd to imagine a giant business enterprise swooping in one day and somehow wresting control of your neighborhood and forcing you to leave your community and find another place to live.  That is exactly what could happen to our Amazon brothers and sisters. 

We are praying hard that the Lord protects our natives and their precious jungle communities with their churches and schools.  We have quickly helped our brothers with several hundred dollars in donations to try and hire a licensed surveyor to register their land. There is nothing left for us to do except wait and pray.  The brothers and sisters are praying.  They are also arming themselves to keep the invaders off their land.

Two weeks ago everything was in place for a huge reunion with our native friends from three of the threatened jungle villages.  Two foreign Mission Board members from the U.S., Adie Harstad and Bill Kessel were even on hand to make the jungle trip.  At the Lima airport, our bags had been checked and our flight to Tarapoto called. We stood in line with our carry-on bags to board the LAN flight, only to see the large letters on the monitor screen change from “Tarapoto” to “Iquitos.”  The flight was cancelled due to heavy rains in Tarapoto which made it impossible to land the aircraft. 

Sadly enough, a later flight would do us no good, for the highway we needed to take from Tarapoto up to the Amazon River system would be shut down at midnight and remain closed for days!  Transportation workers, protesting a new highway tax, were set to block the road by dragging huge tree trunks across the lanes, making it impossible to pass.  There was nothing for Adie, Bill, and I to do but go home.  It will be another few weeks before I can meet with our natives and find out how they are doing in the struggle to save their lands.  Until then, remember to keep our Amazon congregations in your prayers! 

Part Two:

As many of you are aware, Mary has been volunteering fulltime for a year and a half at Peru’s infamous Santa Monica Women’s Prison.  Mary works with 63 English-speaking foreign women (counseling, Bible classes) who are doing several years’ time for drug trafficking. 

Over a year ago Mary met a new inmate, a young, black South African woman named Sharon. Back in South Africa, Sharon had broken up with a really bad boyfriend and wanted a quick infusion of cash in order to get her own apartment and pay off a stack of bills.  She had a little 6 year-old boy, Tinashe, from a broken marriage to support.  Sharon was caught in the Lima airport with several kilos and sentenced to 7 years and 3 months. 

Sharon had been an orphan since an early age.  She knew only one relative plus her foster mother.  Sharon had been baptized when she was a child, but then lost her spiritual way.  At Santa Monica, she soon became a dear friend of Mary’s.  Sharon always came to the weekly Bible classes and often had long talks with Mary afterwards.  I met Sharon myself when Mary got me into the prison around Christmas to do a special church service.  Sharon came up afterwards and we had an intense, heart-to-heart conversation.  By the power of the Holy Spirit, once again Sharon had opened her heart to Jesus. 

Sharon would need all the strength the Lord had given her when she faced the worst nightmare a mother could imagine, let alone a mother living in prison thousands of miles from her only child.  The South African embassy official who met Mary at Santa Monica one day simply couldn’t face the task and asked Mary to deliver the news to Sharon:  Her little boy Tinashe, to whom she wrote every week, had died in South Africa.  Sharon lost her will to live after that.

About 3 months later, Sharon appeared very sick and began to slowly yet consistently lose weight.  Sharon was suffering from both tuberculosis and AIDS.  The prison clinic transferred Sharon to the grittiest public hospital in Lima, a facility used by the poor, the indigent, those who cannot pay.  Sharon lay handcuffed to a paint-chipped, antiquated, rusty bed, alone except for an impassive 24-hour prison guard sitting a couple feet away.

Now, you may be wondering why this story contains so much dismal, gut-wrenching detail.  The reason is simple:  We will now see the extraordinary, Spirit-transformed final chapter of Sharon’s life, which she herself described in a letter she dictated to Mary!  The letter was written to Sharon’s fellow inmates at Santa Monica prison.  In fact, Sharon wanted the letter to be heard by as many people as would listen. What becomes spectacularly obvious is that the Lord had entered Sharon’s life and taken away all the hurt in her shattered heart. 

Mary and two friends spent all Friday afternoon at Sharon’s bedside, talking with her, brushing her wild hair back, giving her juice boxes, and wiping her sweating forehead.  Gasping for breath, Sharon dictated a letter to Mary.  Sharon put such extra emphasis on certain key words that Mary capitalized them in the letter.

Mary and the two friends thought Sharon could only survive another week or two.  By now Sharon was so frail, pale, and skinny.  Saturday morning I was up early, Bible in my bag, keys in my hand, ready to visit Sharon when Mary answered the telephone.  Sharon had died in the early morning hours.

What would you say if you had one last letter to write before you died?  What follows are the simple, final words of a beautiful child of God to her friends and fellow inmates.  We honor Sharon and give all glory to our Savior Jesus, by printing her letter below. 

On Friday, February 15^th, 2008 at 12:15 PM, Sharon Bailey dictated to Mary Schultz (Janna and former inmate Jolanda were present) the following message to the Santa Monica Foreign Inmates’ Bible Study Group. 

“Sharon what would you like to say to them?” Mary asked Sharon.

“I want to tell them, life is too short.  Look after yourselves and treasure your life and live right.  To stop being selfish!  Put God first.  Even though I have this disease and I will die, I am not afraid.  I am going to a far better place!  And I have PEACE.  They need to know, I have PEACE because it is time for God to carry me home.  I ACCEPT it and understand.  There is a light for me to follow home to heaven.  I am not afraid; I have HIM to help me home.  He is JESUS.  When are you all going to realize that you need Him too?  When are you going to get right with Him?!

Please stop being selfish!  What is important to know is what is right in front of them in God’s Word, is all you need!  Open it, read it, and pray.  Pray to Him on your knees.  Pray to Him and tell Him you want Him in your life.  It’s not too late.  It was not too late for me, and it is not too late for you!

I thank my friends and family for the love they showed me.  I thank God for sending me Mary, Janna and Sally.  I thank God for those in Santa Monica who were there for me, who loved me for me.  You know who you are.  I love you and pray for you!

I have HIM back in my heart.  I recommitted myself to Him when I heard the message brought to us at Christmas. I thank God he sent Terry to me, to preach to me.  And because of that, I had God rescue me.

This disease (HIV-AIDS) is hard, very hard, but I accept it!  Why, you ask?  Because I am ready to go to Him, and to be held in His arms.  I know they are opened wide for me.  And they can be for you too and He will be ready to hold you, like He soon will hold me!  Make sure you know, God did not give me this disease, I don’t blame God, so you have no right to blame Him!  I accept it.  I am ready.  Please keep fighting for good things, and fighting to place God in your life.

Remember the good thing in life is God.  And I love Him, and so should you!”  Sharon

(Pastor Terry and Mary Schultz will be at Mt. Olive on Sunday, August 3, 2008. Terry will preach for our 9:00am worship service, and he and Mary will give a presentation of their work in Peru this past year, beginning at 10:30am. A potluck dinner will follow.)

The Lutheran Home Association Update

Kingsway Retirement Living — Dedication and Grand Opening Set for Saturday, June 21^st

We cordially invite you to attend our dedication service and grand opening of Kingsway Retirement Living at our Belle Plaine, Minnesota, campus. This newest service is a senior housing project offering independent and assisted living for seniors 55 and older. Reservations continue to increase for these apartments. For more information, please contact Karolee Coppoc or Norm Lindberg at (952) 873-2022 or 1-888-600-TLHA (8542).

Other Belle Plaine Campus News

Rehabilitative therapy department receives national award

Angela Hoff, Program Director for the Community Rehabilitation Therapy Department at The Lutheran Home Campus was awarded the National Chairman’s Bell Award. This honor recognizes individuals and teams on a national level who have achieved successful outcomes in contributing the contracted therapy company’s goals.

Angela Hoff received this award as a result of the rehabilitation therapy team’s outstanding performance, effectiveness and success in meeting therapy results. The rehabilitation therapy team’s positive, motivating and encouraging approach has been instrumental in helping individuals gain strength, mobility, coordination, increase cognitive ability, daily living skills and a broad range of personal therapy goals.

The complete remodel of The Lutheran Home: Belle Plaine’s residence and community rehabilitation center will result in an outpatient rehabilitation therapy department that will triple in size. From high school sports injuries, back and neck strains, to knee replacement surgery recovery, the rehabilitation therapy department is equipped to successfully meet the physical, speech and occupational needs of the community.

Other highlights

Hope Residence, our Intermediate Care Facility for adults with developmental disabilities, celebrates 28 years of providing Christian care this month. Residents and staff alike are enjoying some recent renovations in the living areas, kitchen and dining areas and residents’ rooms.

The new steel roofing project will begin this week. The bright aluminum roof that has been on the nursing home and Hope for more than 30 years was severely damaged last summer during a hail storm. The project also includes Faith Residence Apartments and our education building.

Recruitment continues for more than 30 new positions available at Kingsway Retirement Living in Belle Plaine. For more information, visit our Web site, www.tlha.org, and look under Employment.

Office of Mission Advancement Update

This group works with individuals and families to achieve their charitable giving goals during their lifetimes and at their deaths through estate planning. They also offer congregations the opportunities to learn about our mission and ministry through worship services, Bible classes, and other presentations to congregational groups, coordinated by Rev. Curtiss Seefeldt, Director of Church Relations.

Our team has grown and now includes the following individuals:

Brian Ewings serves as the Community Relations and Development Coordinator for The Lutheran Home Campus in River Falls, Wisconsin. His role is to build community relations in and around River Falls, as well as with WELS/ELS congregations in the area. Brian may also assist individuals in their charitable gifting and estate planning.

Mark Hoffmann, with a 22-year history in the investment and estate planning field, has recently joined our team. He serves as a full time resource development counselor in northern and eastern Minnesota and the state of Iowa.

Heidi Witz, Community Relations and Development Coordinator, serves The Lutheran Home Association and its Jesus Cares Ministries (JCM), in the greater Milwaukee area. She builds relationships within the WELS/ELS and greater community about our work. Heidi assists the department director with various projects, including the formation of the “Discover the Hidden Community Network Group,” which raises awareness about JCM.

Rev. Curtiss Seefeldt, Director of Church Relations, works with WELS/ELS pastors and congregations to offer services and build relationships with our Association congregations. He also works as a resource development counselor primarily serving southwest Minnesota and the Dakota-Montana District.

James Klein, CFP^®/Director of Mission Advancement, oversees this department while also assisting individuals and congregations in reaching their charitable and financial goals. Jim has more than 23 years of experience in charitable estate planning.

We thank you for your continued prayers, encouragement and support of our ministry.

Michael R. Klatt
President and Chief Executive Officer

A Time To Laugh

Perfect Eyesight

Arthur is 90 years old.  He's played golf every day since his retirement 25 years ago.  One day he arrives home looking downcast.  "That's it," he tells his wife. I'm giving up golf.  My eyesight has gotten so bad...once I've hit the ball, I can't see where it went."

His wife sympathizes.  As they sit down she says, "Why don't you take my brother with you, and give it one more try."

"That's no good," sighs Arthur.  "Your brother is a hundred and three. He can't help." "He may be a hundred and three," says the wife, "but his eyesight is perfect."

So the next day Arthur heads off to the golf course with his brother-in-law. He tees up, takes an almighty swing and squints down the fairway.  He turns to the brother-in-law.  "Did you see the ball"?

"Of course I did!", says the brother-in-law.  "I have perfect eyesight."

"Where did it go?", says Arthur.

"I can't remember."

Ole & Sven

Reverend Ole was the pastor of the local Norwegian Lutheran Church and Pastor Sven was the minister of the Swedish Covenant Church across the road. I saw them yesterday standing by the road, pounding a sign into the ground that reads: "Da End iss Near! Turn Yourself Aroundt Now Before It's Too Late!"

As a car sped past them, the driver leaned out his window and yelled, "Leave us alone, you religious nuts!"

From the curve up ahead we heard screeching tires and a big splash.

Rev. Ole turns to Pastor Sven and asks, "Do ya tink maybe da sign should yust say 'Bridge Out'?"

Too Much TV

The math teacher saw that little Johnny wasn't paying attention in class. She called on him and said, "Johnny! What are 2 and 4 and 28 and 44?" Little Johnny quickly replied, "NBC, FOX, ESPN and the Cartoon Network!"

Great Truths About Life That Little Children Have Learned

· “No matter how hard you try you cannot baptize a cat.”

· “When your mom is mad at your dad, don’t let her brush your hair.”

· “Never ask your 3-year-old brother to hold a tomato… or an egg.”

· “You can’t trust dogs to watch your food for you.”

· “Don’t sneeze when somebody is cutting your hair.”

· “School lunches stick to the wall.”

· “You can’t hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.”

· “Never wear polka-dot underwear under white shorts… no matter how cute the underwear is.”

World's Easiest Quiz

(4 correct answers to pass)

1) How long did the Hundred Years' War last?

2) Which country makes Panama Hats?

3) From what animal do we get catgut?

4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?

5) What is a camels' hair brush made of?

6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific are named after what animal?

7) What was King George VI's first name?

8) What color is a Purple Finch?

9) Where are Chinese Gooseberries from?

10) What color is the black box in a commercial airplane?

Remember, you need 4 correct answers to pass. (Answers on next page.)

Bad Luck

The woman’s husband had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months, yet she had stayed by his bedside every single day.

One day, when he came to, he motioned for her to come nearer. As she sat by him, he whispered, eyes full of tears, “You know what? You have been with me through all the bad times. When I got fired, you were there to support me. When my business failed, you were there. When we lost the house, you stayed right here. When my health started failing, you were by my side. When I got shot, you were still by my side. You know what?”

“What dear?” she gently asked, smiling as her heart began to fill with warmth. “I think you’re bad luck.”

For Us Left-Handed Folks

Some people think of left-handedness as a problem, but we know better! Right-handers are wired into the logical left half of the brain, which makes them sensible, reasonable and DULL.

Left-handers are wired into the artistic right hemisphere of the brain which makes them imaginative, creative, witty, obsessive, infuriating, delightful and original but NEVER DULL.

Of 12 astronauts who have walked on the moon, 4 were left-handers (including the second ever, Buzz Aldrin). That is 1 in 3 rather than the 1 in 10 you would normally expect.

Left-handers are twice as likely to qualify for MENSA, the high IQ society.

A full THIRD of all US presidents since 1945 have been left-handed. (John McCain and Barack Obama are both left-handed too.)

Your sense of humor is in the right side of the brain (left-hand dominant). It is no accident that so many of the great comics have been left-handed.

Left-handers have better 3-dimensional awareness and precision, this explains why there are so many great left-handed tennis players and why there are a lot of left-handed architects.

Left-Hand = Bad-Hand?

Over the centuries, customs, religions and habits have made sure that the left hand is almost universally damned and unwelcome. Only very recently has the use of the left hand been accepted as more 'normal'. We have picked a selection of items that make the point.

In popular folklore in many cultures around the world, the devil, or the local equivalent, is always left-handed (look at paintings and illustrations and extracts from religious texts). The custom of throwing spilled salt over the left shoulder originates here as well, it is to placate the devil to your left and avoid bad luck.

The ancient Greeks regarded the left side as inauspicious and unlucky and the Romans later took up the same view. The Greek word for left, 'skaios' came to mean 'ill-omened' and 'awkward' as well.

An account of certain African tribes in 1906 describes what they do to left-handed children. They poured boiling water into a hole in the ground then thrust the offending hand in and wedged it down with earth. This tended to damage the hand and discourage the child from using it.

Until fairly recently (and still, sometimes, today) children using their left hand to write with were strongly dissuaded, by having the left arm tied behind their back, by having the left knuckles hit with a ruler or other suitable punishments. We are probably the first generation that does not include many thousands of natural left-handers who write with their right hand!

Answers To The Quiz

1) How long did the Hundred Years War last? 116 years

2) Which country makes Panama Hats? Ecuador

3) From which animal do we get catgut? Sheep and Horses

4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution? November