God's Gifts

Yesterday was officially the first day of Spring. We woke up to 7 or 8 inches of freshly fallen snow. Beautiful. One of God's gifts to us during this painful time. This is the fourth snowfall since I arrived in Iowa five weeks ago. God was good to send snow for Bethy's visit the day after she and I arrived here. During Bethy's five-day visit, she got to experience bitterly cold, 5 degree weather for the first time in her life. Then when Kimmy, my niece, visited a week and a half ago, God sent more snow -- with some of the biggest snowflakes I've ever seen. And yesterday, Bill and I marveled at the deep and fluffy white blanketing everything. We enjoyed shoveling the walks and unburying the car. A novelty for us.

Many people have been praying for us. A good friend wrote last week: "I know the last few months I spent with my mom were precious, so just take it in, the sorrow, the love, the emotional pain, the uncertainty, but most of all God's provision through it all. . . One day at a time with God." I can't tell you how much those words helped me. I've had some teary days. Somedays I wish I could pull myself together and just be a little more cheerful. But in it all I can see God's hand of goodness too. Mom has had more visitors, cards, and gifts of food and other things than I could count. The people in the community here have shown their love and appreciation for her in a myriad of tangible ways.

One of God's special gifts to us during this time is a young cat. She was a stray that some friends of my mom had taken in two weeks before I first arrived. They had her neutered and vaccinated, then loaned her to us during this time. She is a pretty little orange thing. Bethy named her Chloe. At first all she wanted to do was disappear into the basement and hide. We have been helping her become a little more civilized. In turn, she's brought us a lot of joy with her playfulness. We laugh out loud when she leaps and twists playing with one of her toys. Chloe likes to cozy up on the blanket my mom covers her legs with when she is in her recliner.

Mom's condition hasn't changed a lot. She tires very, very easily. She won't admit to being in pain, but does say she is uncomfortable. The disease in her liver and kidneys is causing fluid to leak into her abdominal cavity. Every week or two she has to go to the hospital and get it drained. Yesterday they took out more than two gallons of fluid. After that procedure she feels a little better for a few days, then the process starts again. She has told me that she doesn't know what she would do if I were not here. So I am thankful that I can be here.

Bill is here for one for one more week, then he has to return to the Philippines. We've been able to take care of some needed business matters during our time together, so that has been good. And he is cooking us some wonderful meals!

I thought you might enjoy some pictures from Palawan. It seems a bit odd that I have been to the Philippines twice since the end of October, but am now sitting in Iowa. No wonder I feel dis-connected at times.

In November, Tim and Peggy Castagna came in to visit our tribal station. Wouldn't you know, it rained all night before we arrived, and the river flooded. Here are Peggy and I crossing the flooded river. Despite the swift current, we made it safely across. What you don't see is what happened when we got to the other side. I slipped on a slick log bridge and fell flat on my back into the muck of a rice paddy. Welcome home, Donna.

This trail leads up to the village government school.

Nili is a young woman who used to play with our daughter, Elisa. Now she is a mother of five! She is also a good friend of mine, and has promised to help me improve my Palawano. I can't wait to tell you her whole story sometime. Now she's a hard-working, godly young woman, but she has a very interesting past.Karing is another old friend of our daughters. Karing cracks us up with her quirky sense of humor. Both she and Nili are great language helpers. They aren't afraid to give me correction when I say something not-quite-right. I'm really looking forward to working with them when I am able to return to Palawano-land.

A Wintery Afternoon in Iowa

It's 38 degrees and rainy outside. . . a lot warmer than the 5 degrees and snowy weather that greeted us when Bethy and I arrived here a few weeks ago. Dreary nonetheless. Winter weather leads to reflections. I was born and raised in San Diego, and spent most of my adult life in the Philippines. Neither of those places experience a full-on winter. But my mom moved to Iowa fifteen years ago when she retired, to be close to my step-father's family. Here in Ida Grove, a small town surrounded by farms, all the cliches about winter come to mind. The trees are leafless, the fields are dead and brown, the squirrels are hiding, the birds have flown south. It is a season of death, of rest, of waiting, of hiding. Yet at the same time, it is a season of hope. Even now, the trees are getting ready to bud out. The farmers are anticipating the new crops they will plant in the spring.

Somehow, it seems appropriate to be losing my mother to cancer during the winter. Her body isn't a hospitable place for her soul anymore. She gets weaker and weaker day by day. But she has hope and faith that things will get better. She is counting on the promise of God for new life, for eternal life. Inside, she is the same upbeat, peppy, friendly person she has always been. But outside, her body is failing her. She can't go and do all the things she loves to do anymore.

Just yesterday I was reading in 2 Corinthians 4:7 -- We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. I am so thankful that my mother has a relationship with that powerful God, through her faith in Jesus Christ. Her body is a fragile clay jar, but her heart loves the Lord.

And I am so thankful that God's Word addresses the questions I have in my own heart. The passage continues on in verse 8 and 9, We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. . . We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Lord, I don't understand this. Bill and I just returned to the Philippines after a very long time away, and almost immediately I lost my dad. I went back to San Diego for his funeral. I had just returned to the Philippines and was in the process of settling again back home in the tribe when the news came about my mom. Perplexed? That's me. I don't understand the timing. Couldn't God have led us to stay in the U.S. longer, or have taken my parents earlier? But as I reflect on winter, on seasons, on God's love and care and goodness, I have hope, too. This is a season in the life of our family. A season of death. I'm losing both my parents in a few months time. Elisa and Bethy are losing two grandparents. But we know there will be other seasons. Seasons of sunshine and life and birth and buds and fruit. And so, through this winter season, I will continue to walk and to wait with the God I have come to love and trust so much.