The book was challenging and intriguing . . . but seriously, the fasts she chose would not be very sacrificial for me. I think eating is over-rated, I wear the same clothes over and over again, and shopping just doesn’t do much for me.  God has been pruning me–stripping away the love of excess–for some years now and I’ve grown pretty comfortable with simple living.

But I am sensing the Lord is getting ready to mess with my comfort zone . . .

He’s been pointing out to me lately that I spend a lot of time and energy making sure I am comfortable.  For example,  I really don’t care that much about what I eat–but I don’t want to experience the discomfort of hunger.  There’s always a granola bar or some kind of snack in my purse to ward off hunger pangs.

I don’t spend much money on stuff (or if I do, I try to buy things second-hand), but I will spend what ever it takes to get the medical care/medicine/supplements that it takes to make me comfortable.   In my worldview, pain is not an option.  Honestly, I am not afraid to die–but the thought of having to suffer scares me to death!

Concerning temperature, I have about a ten degree comfort zone.   I hate being cold.  I despise being hot.  I wear layers at all times so I won’t ever experience atmospheric discomfort.  I sleep with our windows open, the fan blowing–and a gazillion blankets on my bed to achieve temperature nirvana in our bedroom.   I am pathetic.

I don’t think God is calling me to fast from being comfortable, but I do feel like He’s asking me to embrace discomfort.  I’m  sure I’ll have lots of opportunities to do this in India, where I will  be totally out of my comfort zone.  Oppressive heat, the stench of squattie potties and poverty, amoebas, all-night train rides, lack of sleep, flies . . . not my idea of a good time.  But these are part of the uncomfortable reality of the majority of people on this planet every day of their lives.

And I know that the paltry level of discomfort I will experience on our trip can’t be compared to the incredible suffering  of the poor and oppressed.  But my prayer is that by embracing discomfort (and not spending every waking minute trying to avoid it),  I will become less concerned about my own personal comfort and more compelled by the selfless love of Christ.

Jesus is our Comforter, but He is definitely not a comfortable God.  Please pray for me as I try to follow Him out of my comfort zone!

I found out this week that there are real life super heroes among us today!  If you don’t believe me, check out one of their websites:  www.reallifesuperheroes.com.  They go by names such as Mr Xtreme, Dark Guardian, Urban Crusader and the like, dress up in costumes and do heroic things.  I’ve always loved the superhero spoof, “Mystery Men,” but now have to wonder if perhaps Mr. Furious, The Spleen and The Blue Raja are actually fighting the forces of evil somewhere . . .

So, back to Chicken Lady, (no, I don’t plan on wearing a fake beak and pecking bad guys to bits) I think would be kind of cool to help change the world, one chicken at a time.  Back in December, I blogged about several organizations who are pushing back poverty with poultry.  And ever since then, I’ve been pondering how I could do more . . .

So, if you could be a super hero, who would you be?

Chicken Grammie!

The book is about a seven month fast that the author undertakes with her family.  Each month highlights a different area of excess; clothes, spending, food, possessions, media, etc.  During the food fast, Jen and her husband only ate seven food items the entire month.  Chicken, spinach, avocado, wheat bread, apples, eggs and sweet potatoes–for 30 days straight.  For the clothes fast, Jen wore the same seven articles of clothing for an entire month; for the possessions fast, the family gave away seven things every day .

Jen’s stated goal of this exercise was to  ” . . .  journey into less . . . to create space for God’s kingdom to break through.”

7 is written with lots of self-deprecating  humor, which helped me not mind so much that my conscience was pricked on almost every page.  There’s not a hint of condemnation in the book,  but it kind of pushed my buttons.

Her book highlights many wonderful non-profit organizations and ministries;  started by amazing people to help God’s kingdom break through.  I am not amazing, I have no organizational or practical skills, I mostly wring my hands in despair and blog about chickens and injustice now and then.

Why, I asked God again, while reading 7, do you break my heart over injustice, but don’t give me the ability to do anything about it?  My puny attempts to make a difference seem so futile in the face of human suffering . . .

But I had an epiphany during the final chapter, which addresses fasting from stress.   In exploring the biblical practice of rest, Jen incorporated 7 sacred pauses (for reflection and prayer) into each day.  Each pause had a specific time and purpose–and it was the Midnight pause–the Night Watch–that resonated with me.

“The Night Watch advocates for others in a dark night of the soul; the suffering, abandoned, oppressed, lonely.  This is a deep prayer of waiting and interceding, keeping vigil with Christ who never sleeps . . .”

One thing I’m really good at is not sleeping.  The wee hours and I are intimate friends.  I use my bouts of insomnia for really useful things like worrying, playing solitaire or redecorating the family room (in my head).  As I read about the Night Watch vigil, my soul leapt for joy at the thought of redeeming those dark hours for such a glorious purpose.  Through prayer, I can keep vigil with Jesus.  I can intercede for the orphaned, the trafficked, the beaten-down ones.  I can call down the mercy of heaven to touch those whose lives are hell.

Bring it on, insomnia!  Jesus and I are waiting . . .

Hmmmm . . .

Greg is having acupuncture done on Thursday and being treated for carpal tunnel on Friday–what a crazy medical maze this has become!

Despite all the confusing/conflicting reports, he is feeling better!  And no one seems to think surgery will be needed in the near future, which is great news for us!  Thanks to all who have prayed for healing!

So our big news is that we are heading to India the end of February (Lord willing, of course!).  My visa was finally approved today and we are fairly certain that Greg is healthy enough to make the trip.  We’ll be traveling with George and Ann (senior pastor and wife) and visiting several towns and villages in India.

I can’t really say what we’ll be doing, but it will involve lots of teaching and training.   Ann and I will be working with women and children, while the guys will be with the men.  We could use prayer for safety and health and wisdom as we travel.

If you want to be part of my prayer team, message me and I will give you more details . . .

His MRI showed “moderate arthritis” in his neck/spine and no obvious signs of nerve compression.  He was told to give physical therapy a try.  There was a hefty deductible that went along with that option (with no guarantee it would help, not harm), so we are looking at more alternative routes of healing.

Greg has an appt. on Monday with a chiropractor who is skilled in treating patients with stenosis.  She works with a naturopath and an acupuncturist who are also quite familiar with that condition.

Even though Greg’s condition continues to slowly worsen, he is feeling hopeful about his Monday appointment.  He is also continuing to work with his Kaiser doc to find a way to ease his pain.  Greg got a copy of his recent MRI and made an appointment with the doc who did his first two neuro-surgeries for a second opinion.

So, still we wait.  Prayers are appreciated as a trip to India looms in our immediate future (we are supposed to leave Feb. 27).  We are praying for healing and wisdom and understanding of God’s timing in all of this . . .

My chickens, on the other hand, are getting along quite nicely.  Squiddy stopped being the “mean girl” of the flock around day four, and the three hens are now inseparable.  Lacy, the new girl, is still skittish around me, but I’m sure she’ll warm up quickly.  And best of all–they are laying again!  We are once again in egg heaven

Ramona, ruling the roost

I deeply regret not being able to video/photograph the scene I will attempt to describe for you.  I would have borrowed Dave Proehl’s headcam if I’d know what awaited me yesterday . . .

Let me back up a few days, however, to set the scene.  On Wednesday, I had chickens delivered to my doorstep.  Three, to be exact.  One for me, and two for my chicken buddy, Jill (my chickens had their sleepover at Jill’s house while their coop was being remodeled).  I’d requested a golden lace-winged Wyandotte, and she was a beauty.  I named her Lacy.

I had a breakfast appointment, so I secured the new chickens in the coop and set my two previous hens out to free range for a few hours.  When I got home, however, all the chickens were running amok in the backyard–and Lacy’s neck was bleeding!  Danielle was coming in 30 minutes to take me to Salem to visit Candyce, so I ran around like a crazy chicken lady and separated the chickens again.  I locked the injured hen in the upper coop, and enclosed Jill’s birds in the run below.  Before I shut up the coop, I noticed an egg in the egg box!

Surprised–there haven’t been eggs for weeks–I put it in my vest pocket and went inside to change my muddy jeans.  Danielle pulled up in the driveway and called to tell me to come on out.  I grabbed my purse, shoved my phone in my pocket and headed out the door . . .

About ten minutes later, I decided to text Candyce and give her our eta.  Imagine my horror when the phone I pulled from my pocked was covered with very fresh raw eggy goo!  I cleaned it off the best I could (thanks to Ramona’s diaper wipes) and put the phone and battery in a bowl of rice when I got to Candyce’s house.  The phone made a faint buzzing noise when I put the battery back in hours later . . . but was declared “dead” by a phone repair tech the next day.

“Never heard of a phone being egged,” he told me as I purchased a used blackberry to replace my dead droid.  ”I have to admit we’ve cracked a few jokes about your phone being fried . . .”

So back to the chickens . . . the new hen was adjusting nicely, except for the fact that my barred rock, squiddie, kept trying to peck her eyes out.  Chief, the mellow black astrolorp, tried to act as a chicken mediator of sorts, but squiddie was madder than a wet hen over the new kid in the coop.  The first two nights, I kept Lacy in Scout’s crate in the garage, but let them all free range during the day.  She managed to keep out of reach of squiddie’s angry beak, but when Lacy decided to check out the upper coop yesterday afternoon, all chicken hell broke loose.

Squiddie had been happily digging in the garden, but when she saw Lacy invading her territory–the coop–she pitched a royal fit.  She squawked as if the sky was falling!   As Chief stood calmly by, squiddie clucked and flapped and carried on so frantically, I fear her little heart would burst–and that the neighbors would complain.  Ramona was just up from her nap, so I brought her high chair outside and set her at a safe distance from the chicken riot, which I was determined to resolve.

My plan was to shut Lacy up in the lower coop  until squiddie calmed down.  But Lacy flew the coop before I could grab her and landed smack dab between the enraged squiddie–and Chairman (our ginormous ginger cat).  Lacy dashed away as fast as her little legs could carry her, with both enraged hen and curious cat in hot pursuit.  I joined in the chase, but then heard Ramona let out a wee yelp behind me. I turned just in time to see Chief pecking at her toes!  Add one neurotic, barking dog trying to herd all the critters into the mix, and the animal uprising was complete . . .

Realizing I was in way over my head, I brought the baby back in the house and waited for help (that would be Greg) to arrive.  By the time he got home, though, things had quieted down at bit and the chickens appeared to be warily co-existing.  Squiddie refused to let Lacy in the upper coop when they came in to roost last night.  But tonight, when I went out to shut them in for the night, all three hens were roosting in the top coop.  Chief, the peacemaker, was perched in the middle, while Lacy and squiddie hunkered down on each end.  Nobody had their eye pecked out or was bleeding, so I bid them goodnight and locked them in.

I’m sure they will all be best of friends by morning . . .

pop pop, the kiss monster

Thanks so much to those of you who have been praying for Greg’s health.  Here’s a bit of his back-story with cervical stenosis . . .

Right after we moved to Portland, nearly 10 years ago, Greg woke up one morning and said he felt like he’d been mugged.  Everything ached, he had strange muscle weakness and fatigue.  His hands bothered him the most, fluctuating between numbness and excruciating pain.

After several months of appointments with specialists, a diagnosis was made:  Greg had cervical stenosis.  Dr. Kellog showed us the MRI of his neck–his spinal cord literally looked like a tootsie roll, squished into segments by the calcium deposits and bone spurs that had formed in his spinal canal.

Since terrible diseases like MS, ALS and more had been suspected as the cause of Greg’s symptoms, we were relieved to know his condition was mechanical in origin and could be remedied by surgery.  The alarming news was that the compression of Greg’s spinal cord was so severe that he needed immediate surgery (the doctor said a fall could permanently paralyze him).

So two days after that diagnosis, Greg went under the knife . . . we didn’t even have time to worry (by “we”, I mean me) or update the will.

In layman’s terms, Dr. Kellog cracked  open Greg’s spinal column and scraped out the build-up.  Sewed him back up and sent him home the same day!  No brace or cervical collar, just instructions to avoid kick-boxing or lifting heavy objects.  After months of shuffling about in pain, Greg felt like a new man.  In fact, he felt so great I decided to take him on a little get-away just one week after his surgery.

Big mistake . . .

I don’t know if it was the hike or hauling our suitcase up three flights of stairs that did it, but our night at the Hood River Hotel didn’t go quite as we’d planned.  After supper, Greg’s neck muscles started spasming, and by the time we were in bed, he was writhing in pain.

“I feel like I ripped a stitch,” he told me, trying to get comfortable.  ”Can you check my incision?”

Everything looked fine to me, but Greg got more and more agitated.  He finally got out of bed and took a pain-killer, then sat in a chair to see if that helped.   Within minutes, he told me that he couldn’t move his right hand or leg!

I thought he must be having a stroke and called 911.  By the time I got off the phone, Greg said that he could no longer feel his left leg.  As I was getting dressed, he reported that he’d lost feeling/movement in his left side.

“Can you please come hold my head up?”  he whispered.  ”It is getting hard to breath.”

So, completely in shock, I cradled my paralyzed husband’s head in my arms and prayed for him to survive while we waited for the paramedics to arrive.  Greg said later that he was pretty sure he was dying and started singing the first praise song that came  to mind:  ”I love you Lord, and I lift my voice to worship You, O my soul rejoice . . .”

He didn’t die, although the paramedics decided he needed to be life-flighted back to Portland because he was having difficulty breathing and he was going into shock.  They got him on a back board, strapped his head down and had to maneuver down three flights of stairs (they couldn’t fit in the elevator) to get him to the ambulance.  At the Hood River ER, I filled out forms for the helicopter ride while Greg was left unattended for a few moments.

And in those few moments . . . a miracle occurred!   Still in excruciating pain, more afraid of being permanently paralyzed than of dying, Greg cried out to God for help . . . and within seconds, feeling returned to his left hand!

As he wiggled his fingers in disbelief, he realized he could feel his left foot again.  Then his right foot, and his right hand . . .

“Shawn, I can move!” he croaked weakly from the gurney.  The ER personnel and I looked over and were stunned to see Greg waving his right hand in the air.  A quick exam showed that his vital signs had stabilized, so the life-flight was cancelled.  I got to ride in the ambulance with him back to Portland, where we met up with his neurosurgeon.

An MRI revealed the source of the problem:  Greg had a 3 1/2″ blood clot pressing up against his spinal cord.  The surgeon had nicked an artery during the first surgery and stitched it up–that had been the  sensation Greg had felt earlier that evening.  he’d ripped an internal stitch.

Dr. Kellogg opened Greg back up and evacuated the blood clot.  My husband went home less than 12 hours later!

The doctor did admit that Greg should have either been paralyzed or dead.

“You should either have bled to death or been permanently paralyzed,” he told us.  ”The Big Guy Upstairs must not be finished with you yet.”

So, after nine years of reprieve, the original symptoms have returned.  Greg is having to start the process over with new doctors  running the same tests as before (we have kaiser now).  God healed him once and we trust that He can do it again . . .we just never know quite what that process will look like.  We so appreciate your continued prayers for healing and wisdom!

Can I confess that I have not been the best neighbor?  Because of my many ministry involvements over the years, I’ve kept a low profile in the neighborhoods where we’ve lived.  I pretend I don’t see my neighbors out working in their yards so I don’t have to engage in conversation after a hectic day meetings, counseling, etc.   While I’ve served meals to hundreds of folks from our church, I’ve rarely invited neighbors over to break bread.  I’ll drive across town to work with Somalian refugees, but ignore the broken lives next door . . .

But all that is changing.  As I am re-evaluating ministry “out there”, I am more aware of the needs surrounding me.  Recently, my little cul-de-sac has become a microcosm of the circle of life–and death.  On Christmas eve, my next-door neighbor suffered a massive brain aneurysm and died.  The neighbor across the street gave birth to a strapping baby boy on Christmas day.  Last week, Greg found out that yet another neighbor has been battling stage four lung cancer for months . . . and we had no idea.

So I took a few meals over to our bereaved neighbor and bought a gift for the baby boy.  I am praying for God to show me how to love on the neighbor with cancer–we’ve lived across the street for nine years and I don’t even know his last name!  I’ve repented for my indifference toward those in my own “back yard.”

I’m looking forward to seeing the Lord move in my ‘hood as I learn to love on my neighbors!  Wouldn’t Mr. Rogers be so proud?

born to be a grammie!

Speaking of grandbabies, 2011 was the year of Jubalee!  The sweetest little chunk of mocha-baby goodness made her entrance mid-July and my grammie heart was full (for now).  It has been fun watching Juba and Ramona together–they will be the best of cousin friends!

best baby burrito on the block!

2011 was also the year of the chicken.  And the egg, too, I suppose.  In my case, the chickens definitely came before the eggs, as day-old fuzzballs purchased from the Burn’s Feed Store.  As a novice chicken “rancher”, I learned some surprising things from my new feathered friends.  For starters–chickens have personalities!  My five hens morphed from skittish strangers into delightful pets as the summer wore on.  They are also great entertainment for the grandbabies.

chicken giggles

I also learned that five chickens can destroy a backyard in just a few week’s time.  For some reason, I thought the hens would be good for the yard–fertilize the grass, eat the bugs, etc.  Instead, my garden appears to have been devoured by locusts and the beautiful lawn is a muddy bog.  So this spring, my not-so-free-range chickens will have to amuse themselves in the chicken resort Adam and I are creating for them.

when chickens ruled the world . . .

I also learned the hard way that chickens don’t defend themselves well against determined predators.  The one night I didn’t latch the coop after the “girls” came in to roost, a rascally raccoon made off with Velma Lou.  That fowl play prompted a quick redesign of the coop–to better protect the hens and better utilize space.  Pics will follow when the new and improved chicken condo is finished!

Greg and I experienced missions, Italian-style, in 2011.  Italy is NOT a place I would have ever picked for a short-term mission trip–but I am so glad I went!  Fell in love with Italy, the people, the history.  Believe it or not, my least favorite part of the trip was the food!  But it was the quantity, not quality, that bothered me.  I felt like a goose being force-fed to produce foie gras!  But I would go back again, in a heartbeat.  Mi amore Italy!

amore!

I turned 55 in ’11–and proudly use my senior citizen discount!  If this past year was a taste of what “growing old” feels like, then bring it on!  Or, if 2012 really is the end of this world as we know it–I’m good to go, too.

Either way, the best is yet to come!

Why do I love Facebook?  Let me count the ways . . .

1. Connecting.  I opened a FB account in 2006, mostly to stay connected with my daughters.  At that time, they either lived out of state or were adventuring around the planet, and Facebook was a great place to meet up with them.  Then I began to connect–and reconnect–with folks from church, past ministries, college and high school, previous jobs, friends who moved away . . .  I now have around 800 “friends” on FB.  I can stay in touch with friends from remote villages on the Yukon River to orphanages in Uganda.  I can chat with my friend Stella in Sicily while I’m reading status updates from friends in the Philippines.  I find that amazing!

2.  Ministry.  Several years ago, I took an on-line course on Internet Evangelism.  It opened my eyes to the plethora of ways the Internet could be used for Kingdom purposes.  Facebook is now the 3rd largest country in the world and the possibilities for spreading the love of God in this cyber-realm are endless.  I approach my FB time with the specific intent of “Who can I encourage/pray for/comfort/make laugh today?”   I used to delete “friends” whose posts annoyed or offended me.  Now I just pray for them.  One person I unfriended years ago (I grew weary of the rounds of vodka she kept sending me) messaged me and asked why I’d deleted her.  She wrote that she was daily encouraged by my posts, blogs and comments–that I was a mentor to her.  I apologized and immediately added her back, humbled by the thought that God was using me in such a simple way.

I now just hide all the games and silly things that make the rounds on FB.   I will occasionally unsubscribe from really annoying status updates, but rarely delete friends entirely.  Who knows how God might use me to bless them?  The best thing about Facebook ministry is that I can do it in my jammies from my bed–how awesome is that?

3. Mobilization.  Facebook is a great way to get the word out about causes I’m passionate about.  This past year, I raised money, increased awareness and spurred action on behalf of several ministries/charities through Facebook.  Articles and websites I’ve shared get posted and resposted by friends and awareness grows exponentially.  At a recent social media seminar, I heard a story about a woman who raised $92,000 for charity through Facebook.  What started as a simple status update quickly snowballed into a spontaneous outpouring of goodwill–and funds.  I hope to find ways to more efficiently use social media to mobilize others to action in the coming year.

4.  Community.  I can’t even begin to recount the many ways I’ve been blessed through my Facebook friends.  I’ve received prayer, advice, encouragement, recipes, book recommendations, chicken coop designs, etc.  I now have a raccoon trap waiting patiently for it’s first victim in my backyard because a friend saw my desperate status a few weeks back.   I’ve heard so many complain that there’s no real community on Facebook, but that hasn’t been my experience.  I get quite worn out by my interactions with folks in the “real world,” (a friend recently described my house as “Grand Central station”) and find FB a safe and friendly environment where I am energized instead of drained.  I can literally catch up with a friend over a cup of tea without having to get dressed or clean my house!  That rocks my world!

So, I know Facebook isn’t for everyone, but it has been a very positive experience for me.  I view it as a tool to be used for God’s glory–so it does not use me.