Reflections on 9/11 - A Moment of Grace

September 11, 2001 - I think of it as the JFK assassination of our generation. Who doesn't remember where they were when they heard?

In 2001, I was a stay-at-home mom of four little ones ages 1, 3, 5 and 9. I was a part-time bookkeeper for our insurance agency and actively involved in leading women's ministry at s small church of around 200. My life was busy, but safe.

On the morning of 9/11, I was about my normal routine. Still in pajamas and robe, I was cleaning up breakfast in the kitchen when the images began to come across the tv in the living room. I remember Mark calling me to come see. At that point the first tower was smoking. I remember trying to guard my children while wanting to openly gape at the tragedy. Once the first tower fell, I'm sure I did what millions of us did - I began to make calls. I wanted to know that my own loved ones were safe.

My daddy answered the phone, which was unusual because he was normally at work around 7 am. Turns out it was his day off and he and my mom were hard at work on some project around the house. I told him about what was going on and he turned on their TV. We shared our disbelief at what was happening and spent about 20 minutes reassuring each other that all was well. At the end we said I love you and hung up.

That was the last time I spoke to my daddy. Seven days later he suffered a massive brain aneurysm and within a few hours, slipped from this earth.

9/11 holds not only a horrific memory, but also a precious one for me. I am forever grateful that in the midst of attack and tragedy, I had a moment that would grace me for years to come.

I pray with a special compassion for those who lost their loved ones on that awful day. I feel somewhat related to them, as my own loss was near to theirs. I do not imagine that my loss is as difficult, and realize that I am blessed because I do not mourn as those who have no hope.

Collectively, as the CHURCH, we weep for the work of forgiveness that must be done in each of us and pray that those who are left to pick up the pieces would find the same grace and comfort in the arms of Jesus as we rest in each day.

Journal Post from Israel - The Western Wall

May 11, 2010

Now it our time at the Western Wall. 3/4ths for men. 1/4th for women. The men are doing Bar Mitzvah's. The women stand on plastic chairs and peak over a divider to watch their sons and husbands execute a tradition at least 2,000 years old. The men sing. Take pictures. Read the scrolls. Proud daddies. Many men gather to encourage and embrace the youngest among them.

On the women's side there is mass prayer and mass chaos. As we approach the wall there is only a tiny spot for us. They have pulled their chairs to the wall and filled in all the holes. I wonder if they are offended by our "gentile" and "Christian" efforts to honor their prayer wall.

We hold back, our written prayers in hand, waiting for our turn only to find there is no "turn". No personal space here. I hesitate as the woman beside me is in travail - angst, weeping, rubbing the wall, babbling. I don't want to interfere. MJ waves me on. I step up. Tuck my prayer in a crack and place my hands and face on the wall.

I wait. I seek. No real prayer rises to my lips. I acknowledge the sanctity of this place, but don't find answers here. I step back and another steps up. When done, we back out. You don't turn your back on the wall.

I am struck again by all the effort made to come to a place to meet with Him. I am convicted of my laziness. Too tired to get on my knees, when they will trek miles for one time, or one day at the wall. Some make the journey everyday. I am impressed with their reverence, respect, diligence and effort, but saddened for them because there is no power in the wall. All the power lies in acceptance of the very one they seek...

Journal Posts From Israel - Garden of Gethsemane

Day 3 - Garden of Gethsemane

Bless the Lord who makes a way when there is no way. Who surrenders all. Suffers all. Dies for all.

The garden is the place of agony, but also the place of kingly anointing. (Jewish kings were anointed on this mountain and then taken through the Golden Gate into the temple mound where they were received by the people.) Both an olive and a wine press are here. I am reminded Christ was "pressed" here in every way.

He taught the disciples here - a place of instruction. Here became a place of submission, as he yielded to the will of the Father. Laying down his life, he sweat drops of blood. Here became a place of redemption as he drank the cup of wrath. This is the place of surrender to the cross. As the final drama unfolded, it became a place of betrayal - by a brother - through a kiss - for 30 shekels - $110 today. This became the place of "pick up your cross and follow me." From this moment on His face was set like flint. All hell broke lose here and now, today it is a place of total peace.

In this place, press me Oh God. Reveal any place that is unsubmitted or unwilling. Cause me to share in the cup of redemption and to receive His blood for my salvation and healing. Let my ears be instructed by you. Let my eyes see and know. Help me in moments of betrayal to forgive and move on. Cause my feet to be swift to obey. Fill me with your presence. Break me and restore me. Help me as I pick up my cross and follow, to experience your peace. Anoint me for your purpose.

Journal Posts from Israel - First Glimpse of the City

In May of this year, I visited the nation of Israel. I spent ten days with a group of almost 30 people on a prayer and intercession trip. I saw Jerusalem, Jericho, The Dead Sea, En Gedi, Bethleham, David and Goliath's field, Ariel, part of Judea and Samaria, Galilee, Nazareth and lots more!

I've wanted to take the time to document some of the things I saw and felt while travelling. Today I was reviewing my journal. I decided to post a few blogs from different moments on the trip - straight from my journal. It's been a life changing journey that is still being worked out in my life. So here goes something from my notes of my "First Glimpse of the City."

Day Two - May 8, 2010 (This is our first stop - even before getting to the hotel. We've been travelling for almost 24 hours.)

As we approach the city by bus I realize that you actually ascend to the city, not just to the temple. We drive through a series of rolling hills and passages. They play O Jerusalem as we approach. This is the first of many times our tour guide will take a moment to create a spiritual environment. Suddenly the view of the city opens up before us (white, gold and green) and from one foothill - we look across a large valley and see - the "mounts" or foothills of Jerusalem.

The gold dome of the Islamic temple immediately draws my eye. Rather than offended by it's presence, I am shocked to realize that it actually highlights a "portal" to heaven - a place of God's faithfulness. It is built upon the original threshing floor and is the place of the sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham - Mount Moriah. It is central to the view and to the vision. This mount is small, even lower than the other two surrounding mounts and is nestled into the foothills. To the right I see the Mount of Olives and on the left Mount Zion. It is panoramic and beautiful and large.

Suddenly, we begin to sing over the city. As Rob and Jill lead us in God of the City I am overwhelmed. I find myself crumbling. I just sit down with my back against the small viewing wall. Tears come now because I realize the truth of this song: "You're the God of this city. You're the king of these people..." I feel Jesus for maybe the first time since we boarded the plane.

Visit with a Nutritionist

Hi friends,

I just posted a "note" on my facebook page about my recent visit with an onology nutritionist. Several asked for notes from my meeting, so if you are interested in the counsel I received, simply click on the title of this post and it will take you right to my facebook page.

Caution - you'll probably learn more about me and this disease called breast cancer than you ever might want to know - so read only if you dare!

Love,
Jan