On Assignment Part 3

Hi Dad,
I spent about 2 hours talking to Ink tonight. Things have evolved so much since I wrote the last post about this.  I am amazed by the transformation in her.  Truly amazed.  I told her tonight that I was posting this story and that I told people she had been mean to me and that I was worried about it because I didn't want to hurt her.  She was so great.  "But I WAS mean to you Becky," she said.  And I told her, "I know, but the Lord has also given me eyes to see how much oppression you were under.  And since that time you have been so amazing."  I told her that I didn't want to hurt her by pointing out her failures. I told her how much I admire her because every thing the Lord has asked of her to make situations right she has been obedient in.  She's been doing all the hard and humbling things.  She's poured herself into becoming a Godly woman full of the Spirit and is making hard and good choices over and over.  I told her she was making the choices that lead to people seeing a new depth of character, allowing her to build trust, and growing her in influence--which is true authority.  I've never seen such a 180 degree turn in a person.  It's truly a blessing to see.
So I'll share with you quickly that the e-mail I received from Ink that morning was a request to pray, and a request that I would let her know if the Lord gave me a word for her.  She and her family were under an enormous assault, circumstantially and spiritually, and she needed help.
I went to prayer for two hours.  The Lord did not give me one word, but four pages of notes.  Along with some specific directions.  I called Rev. Mary because I've never really been in the position where someone has ASKED me for this type of thing.  Often the Lord gives me words or insight or shows up when I am with others, but no one had ever had an expectation of me like this before.  And many of the things the Lord told me were quite personal.  So I didn't know if I should just pray about them or if I was to tell her. 
Rev. Mary said to me, "Becky, what did she ask you for?"  I said, "She asked me for a word from the Lord."  She replied, "Well then she asked for the prophet." 
Something in my universe sort of groaned at that point.  I knew she was right.  And I knew that was what the Lord had given her in me.  But I wasn't sure if I was ready to call it that.  I know, Dad, you don't like word.  It comes with so much baggage. 
But in its simplest form, the prophet is simply someone who speaks to people on behalf of God. 
Actually, Ink had asked me for the priest (someone who speaks to God on behalf of people) AND the prophet.  And I was given the task of ministering to her in both capacities. 
We talked  the next day and she told me that the Lord had told her to call me on Sunday night and she hadn't, and that later, she woke up in the middle of the night and in her words, "You were in my room." 
Of course, I wasn't, but God was making His point.  So she e-mailed me on Monday morning.  I met with her and her mother on Wednesday.  The Lord had directed me that I was to pray for her Spiritual Healing.  We talked for about two hours, and I knew when I was supposed to pray over her.  It happened very naturally and I knelt at her feet and held her hand.  As I prayed I could see the wounds in her spirit.  As I saw them, they opened up and she began crying these wrenching sobs, and then as I continued to pray I saw healing oil being poured into each wound.  And as I saw this her sobs subsided and she became calm.  We prayed for various things over quite some time, and then when we were done she looked at me with eyes wide and exclamed, "I want to be able to do that for people!"  I wasn't exactly sure what she was referring to, but she said, "At first when you began to pray for me I thought you were squeezing my hand really tight, but then I realized it was like a burning tingling sensation.  It traveled all the way up my arm and into my head.  Then I realized it was the Holy Spirit.  It was so amazing and healing and....I want to be able to do that for people!!!"
I had not felt the tingling or anything other than a firm grasp of her hand, but I knew that the Lord had answered the prayer I had prayed before I went in.  "Lord--Ink needs to know that these words are not from me, but from You.  So Your Spirit needs to bear witness to her.  Your Spirit must go with me so that my words do not come with human wisdom but with divine power.  And I told Ink that I hadn't done that for her that it was a work of the Holy Spirit through me, but that it WAS a blessing to be used by God to do such a beautiful work of healing in her life. 
Then I told her to be careful what she asked for.  She might think twice if she knew my path to this place.
A few days ago we had another conversation and she gave me a very comforting compliment. "You know," she said, "what you did the other day--it was different from a lot of other people who sort of have "prophetic" gifts.  It was so gentle and soothing.  A lot of people who seem have these gifts are well, arrogant, and abrasive." 
I nodded. "I know what you mean."  I told her.  "When I first started to understand what God was doing with me I fought it tooth and nail.  First of all, I didn't even believe in it.  Second, I had this picture in my head of what a person with these gifts was like and I was determined I would NEVER become that kind of a person.  It wasn't who I was."  It wasn't until two years ago, when I was out in Seattle with Ted that Ted said to me, "Maybe who you are becoming doesn't look like anybody you've ever seen."  Why don't you just take one day at a time and figure out with God what it should look like." 
It seems a simple thing to say, but it gave me the freedom to have this gift and still be me.  To see it as something that would manifest itself through who God had already made me to be.  Something that fit me.  That was a true expression of God in me.  Much like a work of art. 
So perhaps I've finally found my paintbrush. 
So there it is, Dad. 
This is who I am becoming.
And no it isn't a once in a life time occurance.  A woman who has blessed my life greatly came back into my path with difficult in her own journey.  I went to prayer for her and we met this week.  I was able to bless her with some words from the Lord as well.  They were confirmation and clarity to what the Lord had already been showing her.  And it was so wonderful to bless her in that way.  And we talked about what a good God He is to bless our lives with others in the body who can minister to us in this way. 
And here's the thing.  I have peace.  I have such gratitude toward God that He has brought me to this place.  And I am so thankful that He has taken me to His school to shape me into the minister He wants me to become.  I hope that I can continue to minister in a way that is deeply pleasing to my God, and of great help to those He calls me to.  And I hope to always speak to them in the voice of the Shepherd.
You know what?  I wouldn't trade it for an MDIV.
B

On Assignment, Part 2

I'm tired, but if I don't keep up with this story, I'm never gonna finish because stuff keeps happening and things are getting better and better. 
So when I got back from Brazil I stopped in to pick up my check and let them know I wasn't anxious for hours and would love to hold off until the summer.  I really wasn't sure if I wanted to go back, and really didn't think I could handle being around Ink.  Before I went to Brazil, she was just so demeaning and I was beginning to feel the tension rise in me whenever I knew I needed to go into work. The money wasn't worth the stress.  But again, I felt a stay on my spirit not to quit.  Then sometime in March, Ink called me and let me know they had restructured things.  Her sister-in-law would be running the weddings and Ink would only be in the restaurant.  She wanted to know if I would be the assistant manager for the weddings--that way I wouldn't be working directly with Ink.  I would only be working the weddings and they would pay me a comparable rate to what I would have made working in the restaurant.  AND I would get to work with her sister-in-law who I knew was really struggling and could use the encouragement.  I said yes, knowing this felt like God's way of keeping me there, and protecting me. 
I began working in May and things started off poorly.  Ink seemed to always be changing things and frustrating her sister in law and I always got stuck in the middle.  One morning I was very discouraged and made my way over to Rev. Mary's for our weekly time.  I was so down we just ended up talking and then she prayed over me.  It was amazing the insight the Lord gave her about the situation.  It was like she was pulling the arrows right out of my back.  She said I got caught in the crossfire.  She had a few words from the Lord for me about the situation.  One I found of great comfort, she said that the Lord put a limit on my time there, and if things did not change He was going to pull me out.  She also said that the Lord said that at times my tongue could be "biting" and that He was just going to remove that completely from me.  I hadn't even told her about my struggle of being caught in the middle of the gossip--but from that time on I found it was never an issue.  Then she also said the Lord showed her a picture of me walking into the reception hall and that she could see the demons screaming because of the glory of God upon me as I was walking in.  I never walked through that door without thinking about that and wishing I could see it myself.  It was of great encouragement to me. 
There were several more situations over the weeks that were trying, but each time the Lord showed me He was using me, and reminded me that He would yank me out if my assignment was over. 
Then, about three weeks ago I was at work and picked up my pay check before heading up to the wedding.  I checked it because sometimes they forgot to sign my check, and noticed that it was significantly lower than it should have been.  I looked at my rate, and realized that they had docked my pay by 1/3 for a full two weeks worth of work.  I was not happy, and it's a good thing I had to walk all the way across the parking lot to find Ink.  I had time to remind myself of a number of important things. 
So by the time I found Ink I was quite civil and said, "I think there's been a mistake, at least I hope there's been a mistake.  I've been paid the wrong rate." 
She looked at me and said, "Look, I'm not the one who writes the paycheck, but if that is what the owner has decided to pay you, there is nothing I can do."  "I know I agreed to pay you more, but I have no power to make that right with you." 
I looked at her and quietly and with a bit of disbelief I said, "It's just so wrong." 
"This is what I deal with all the time," she said. "I have no power to honor the agreements I've made with people."  "And these guys love a fight, so I don't know if you want to get into a fight with evil."
As she said it, this little thought went through my head that was something like a question, "Well isn't that exactly what we are supposed to be doing?"
I took a deep breath and said, "Look, I don't know what I'm going to do, but I will pray about it before I do anything drastic.  What I would like for you to do is ask them to adjust my pay for what I have already worked.  IF they want to adjust my salary from here on out, then I have a choice to make if I want to stay at the adjusted rate."
So at this point, every blood cell in my entire body wanted to quit.  And I went home that night and just felt awful.  The money really wasn't a big deal.  It was the idea that someone would be that unfair--to decide without telling an employee that they were going to pay them less than had been agreed upon and then basically say, if you don't like it you can leave.  It's just so wrong.  Who treats people like that?  I knew Ink was between a rock and a hard place, and I knew I had to wait and see what happened. 
Well, two days later I got an e-mail.  They would adjust my paycheck for the hours I worked, but from that point forward, my position was no longer available.  However, if I wanted to be a server at the adjusted rate, I was welcome to stay and serve at the weddings.  So now I  find Igot a pay cut, and I got demoted. 
I wanted to quit even more.  But every spiritual piece of me knew God didn't want me to.  It was so clear that I knew for me to do that would be a direct act of disobedience. 
So two weeks ago, I pulled my white server shirt out of the closet and showed up at work to serve.  Of course everyone working there knew I got demoted, they just didn't know why.  The Lord gave me a lot of grace though, and I just kept thinking, the only thing that is hurting right now is my pride, and I know that being humiliated right now is an act of worship.  This is an act of worship.  Eventually I was able to enjoy myself and the routines of the night.  Another interesting thing that happened that night is that before I went to work, the Lord reminded me that I had several dishes that I had borrowed from the kitchen to bring home food in.  He said very clearly, "I want you to take those back tonight."  I found two of the three and made sure I returned them, because He seemed very serious about it.  It wasn't a big deal that I had taken them home, but I kept them so long that I had begun to worry that they would use it as an excuse to yell at me so I had avoided returning them.  It was as if He was saying it was important there wasn't anything on my part that needed to be made right. 
As I left work that night, I remember being glad it was over, and being glad that I had been obedient.  I even thought, I like being a server better than being in charge of anything.  It's a lot less pressure.  I thought that would pretty much be the end of the story, but it was actually a new beginning. 
Monday morning, I got an e-mail...

On Assignment

Good Morning, Dad.

I know you've been up for quite some time this morning. I'm guessing you have a few miles under your belt, you've had a couple cups of coffee and have been to the padaria for some fresh bread. (I'm so jealous.) I've awake since about six but didn't want to admit it. But I finally made some coffee and have been thinking about what to say and what not to say about this past week to you.
It's funny, I know it's going to be hard to tell you about this week because I know that it is going to rub up against so much of your theology. And yet your the person I most want to share this all with right now. I want to tell you because I want to share it with you but I don't because I don't want to feel rejected. But the truth is, I know it's important for me to share it BECAUSE I need to own my journey even if you don't approve or agree. It's part of me not allowing your approval to become idolatrous to me. It's part of me not being afraid to acknowledge God's calling on my life. Funny how sometimes it's the people we love the most that are the hardest to share with.
Now see...I've judged your reaction and set you up so that your all defensive before I even begin and that's not fair. I'll try to give you the benefit of the doubt that you will be open minded. (Just letting you inside my head, dear Daddy.)
Where to begin...well Julie Andrews says the very beginning is a very good place to start. Last year when we were planning to come to Brazil--I needed a way to earn some money. I had been praying about it, and one day picked up the Merchandiser and saw an add for a serving position. I remembered the restaurant...Matt and I had been there twice, once for our anniversary and once for Valentine's Day. It was a beautiful restaurant on a beautiful piece of property. It was part time and I just decided to call. I had served the summer before college in a restaurant, and so wasn't completely inexperienced, but it had been a long time. I got a call back that same day and ended up going in for an interview that same afternoon. The woman who was hiring was a Christian and we talked very openly about our faith. I let her know how little experience I had and she said that she wasn't unwilling to train someone if they were the right person for the job. She said she and her husband were going to pray over the decision and get back to me within a week.
It was interesting how things sort of developed. Now I know that the Lord spoke to them and they knew that God had placed me there and they were to hire me. (I didn't know that at the time.) I just knew that God was providing a job for me when I didn't have to hire a sitter and I wasn't away from the kids for large chunks of my week. And I loved the beauty of the grounds. The restaurant was beautiful.
It was sometime after that I learned more about the situation I had walked into. The Inn was owned by two men. The Christian couple that hired me were the Inn Keepers, and were living at the Inn and managing the business. (I'll call her Ink here forward.) They have sort of a work to own agreement with the owners.
The more I worked there, the more I began to see evidence that all was not well with the situation. And as I learned more I realized there was a reason the Lord sent me there, but I was not exactly sure what it was. I began to see that a lot of what was happening behind the scenes was not above board, and I felt the pressure the couple was under to follow unethical practices. As I prayed for them the Lord told me very clearly that He wanted them to have this land, but that they needed to do things His way. I also saw that there was an enormous amount of oppression coming at them and the importance of spiritual warfare in the situation. I knew it was a "word" but I honestly wasn't sure what to do with it.
One afternoon, I was working a weekend wedding, which I did when the restaurant closed. (I usually got assigned to the demanding bridezillas because they discovered that my presence seemed to be soothing.) In a lull, Ink took me out back and out of the blue she looked at me straight in the eye and accused me, "You know something, don't you?" I felt a bit uncomfortable, because since I had been working there we didn't seem to be on the best of terms and there's nothing like telling your boss the sort of message I had, but I sensed a "go" from the Lord and began to tell her something pretty close to this. "Well, I'm telling you this because you are asking me, but I know the Lord wants you to have this land. But it seems that you are trying to get it unethically and justifying the means by the end. The Lord is saying to me that you need to do it His way in order to receive His blessing." Then I told her what I saw. "Every time you go into the presence of the owners, it's almost like they paint you in black tar (spiritually). It's like they are rubbing off on you, covering you in oppression, and it is incredibly important that you cover and cleanse yourself in the blood of Christ when you interact with them."
Ink softened visibly and acknowledged everything I said was true and very helpful. I assured her I would continue to pray and I was so encouraged, because I thought for sure now things between us would be much better. Instead, everything got worse. Ink and her husband were showing signs of cracking under all the pressure. It began to be evident there were some real struggles in Ink's life. To put it in her words to me this week, she was very angry and was being really mean. I did not escape her wrath and many times I would come home in tears to Matt. It was as if I could do nothing right no matter how hard I tried. If I was great with my customers and they loved me and complimented me and gave me a great tip I got in trouble for spending too much time with them and letting them "rot by the windowsill". If I tried to be friendly with the chef in the kitchen then we obviously didn't have enough to do so we were given extra chores. And eventually we were sent an e-mail that there was to be no talking in the kitchen. It was on the verge of ridiculous and I was sorely tried. To make matters worse, Ink's sister in law is a baby Christian and works at the Inn. She was in tears most days because she was cracking under the way Ink was treating her and trying to understand how this was Christan behavior. "If that's how a Christian is supposed to be than I don't want to be like that," she would say to me. I felt torn. I tried to help her see the truth about God and herself, but it was hard not to do that without calling out Ink's behavior as wrong. I constantly felt like I was on a tightrope between being a light and enabling gossip. It was such a struggle. I was so relieved when I went to Brazil in December. I asked them if they would agree to not working until the busy season began in May/June of the following year, and was secretly hoping the Lord would release me from the job completely.
(OK, Dad, we are off to church. I did tell you the Lord gave me a Church, right? He told me where to go. I love it when He makes it clear like that. I had gone to pray with Rev. Mary for a mission's team that is going to Africa from the church and when I walked in the Sanctuary the Lord told me that was where I was to go to church. It's where Mary and Steve go. You'll like it. It's BIC (think Messiah) and one of the teaching Pastor's--Josh--graduated from Biblical Seminary--I really enjoy his teaching--finally feels like home. The girls like the Children's program, which is important too.)

The Walking Bridge

On Sunday night I was preaching on 1 Timothy chapter 4 verses 12-16 about Paul’s exhortation to this young man going into the ministry. Well, the first of 5 things he mentions is about “words and that includes doctrine” and how we use them. Right off the top of my head (and this of course can get preachers in trouble) in pops this “story” of me crossing that bridge in Porto Alegre on my way to the train station.
“Walking bridges” are quite common here in the big cities, built to cross over busy highways. Some are even rather high off the ground. I was heading back to Sao Leopoldo after doing business in the big city. It is normally a 45 minute commute this way since the train stops about 8 times to drop off passengers on the way. I remember waking up the rather long ramp to get to steps that would take me up to the bridge. There were lots of people heading in the same direction. I had a black briefcase in my left hand and I was in no hurry. It would probably take a whole 3 minutes to cross this bridge. People were walking in both directions. I briefly looked down to the busy highway below and was thankful for at least a small guardrail on either side.
All of a sudden there was a young man by my side talking to me. He said, "Do you see that man up there in the red shirt? He is watching your every step and he is helping me rob you. Just don’t get any ideas of running away from me. I want your money. If you don’t give it to me I will push you over the guard rail and you will die."
I do believe that my pace slowed, however I did not immediately go for my wallet. I was angry, but “thank God” not to the point of sinning or doing something crazy. I did what I usually do in difficult situations like these. I start talking. I asked a question. “What are you needing money for?"
He said, "Never mind, just give me your wallet."
I said, "I can’t just give anybody money without knowing what they are needing it for so give me a good reason."
He told me that he needed money for him and his buddy to buy train tickets. Well, by then we were already past the highest point of the bridge and into a gradual decent. At that point I told him I would give him some money to help him and his buddy out. I felt less threatened at that moment since there were people all around and so I asked him another question.
I said, "Do you and your buddy do this on a regular basis? This is dangerous stuff. I am a pastor and I spend all my time helping young boys like you find their way though life without this kind of behavior."  I actually think that he believed me. He probably hadn’t met anyone quit like me before and I think he knew he was going to get my money. He just didn’t know how much.
Once across the bridge his buddy stopped, we stopped and I reached for my wallet. There were people all around. I said, with a smile on my face, "Let me invite you two to our service at First Baptist Church in Sao Leopoldo." I told them where the church was located. I really was sincere and they knew it. I gave them passage money and a bit extra but not by much. I think they left shaking their heads but still happy they got something.
I have often wondered what life would be like for all of us if we would on a regular basis, “live the gospel daily” by how we speak, the tone of our voice, our facial expressions, by our behavior, faith, love and purity and use words only when necessary. Joseph in the book of Genesis said very little but his example was powerful.
I plan to go on a rabbit trail from the book of 1 Timothy this Wednesday evening just to share from the Bible about a person who spoke little but carried a powerful testimony that to this day affects you and me. The power of example vs. the example of power is something Bill Clinton gave a speech on recently. It was regarded as one of his best. Not so sure too many who know the life of Joseph would be all that impressed. Love you! Dad.

Stories

Photo by Bgrace

This morning Emily hopped up on my bed while the rest of the children were still sleeping and said excitedly, "Mom! Can we have Bible time?"  "I already prayed to God a couple of times today.  I've been sitting out on the deck waiting for you. Will you come out and have Bible time with me?"  She asked me yesterday if I would read her the story of David and Goliath this morning.  It was a little earlier than I was expecting, but I somewhat reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and put soy milk and maple syrup in my coffee (it's not as bad as it sounds), grabbed a Bible and settled in next to Em on the deck. 

She was sitting there with her eyes closed and her hands held together in prayer, fingers pointed to the sky.  I looked at her with a raised eyebrow and she gave up trying to keep a straight face. "I was praying!!" she laughed.  

We read the story of David and Goliath together.  I added a bit of commentary and Em interrupted whenever a question popped into her mind of any sort.  She came up with all sorts of interesting ideas about why everything was happening and what was going to happen next.  I kept saying, "Em, let me read the rest of the story!!"  She was especially intrigued with the whole chopping off of Goliath's head saga.  We read Psalm 18 afterwards and I explained that David wasn't only a great warrior, he was a musician too.  I explained that Psalm 18 was a song David wrote after one of his victories in battle.   

After we were done I hauled the chairs up from the basement for stripping and she helped me paint it on.  I made her wear safety goggles and gloves and she did great.  We worked quietly together for a while and it gave me time to reflect.

I really enjoyed reading that story.  It's been a while since I've read I Samuel.  I remember how much that story shaped me as a child.  David was but a boy, but he was the only one who saw the situation for what it really was.  It wasn't Goliath and the Philistines against Israel.  It was Goliath and the Philistines against the Army of the Lord.  David knew he could defeat Goliath in the Lord's Name.  Everyone else thought he was crazy, and his brother challenged his motives/his heart.  But for whatever reason Saul gave him his blessing (and tried to give him his armour, but it just wasn't a good fit.)

As I thought about how much that story helped me to have courage to do what the Lord was calling me to do when I was growing up, I realized how to say what I wanted to say about your stories, Dad. 

They shaped me.  A lot.  Growing up I would always think about how much more effective and useful I would be for God's purposes if my life were pure.  (Sure, there were times when legalism creeped into that, but for the most part, I think it was a helpful tool.)  I would think about how God helped you save yourself and the company of men you were point man for--how he used the skills he had given you growing up as a boy and helped you to see the enemy in time to get to safety.  I think the story about how you wouldn't have killed an enemy soldier asking for asylum, even if you had been ordered to, no matter what the consequences because it went against who you were--that story probably shaped me more than any other than I remember.  I wanted to be that kind of person.  I wanted that part of your story to become mine. 

But I also wanted you to write out your stories because I wanted to show something important.  Those were your experiences and they shaped you profoundly.  They taught you something about God.  They taught you about warfare.  They taught you about yourself.  So when you believed that God was calling you to a foreign field you trusted that He would take care of you and your family. A step that for some might have seemed reckless.  You learned to trust Him and stay calm and look for guidance in very difficult situations.  When you were accosted on the bridge and threatened with your life, you didn't panic, and you used the situation to bring light into a very dark place.  When you were kidnapped  with a gun to you and forced to put your head between your knees, you decided somehow it was an appropriate time to talk to your captor about his spiritual journey.  Some might think that a bit presumptuous or on the verge of ridiculous, but your experiences have trained you otherwise.  Your experiences tell of your witness of how God has protected you and led you and used you in situations that would have paralyzed others or caused them to question their calling. 

Today I was thinking about the morning we climbed Mount Katahdin.  The night before I was actually started to sense fear creeping in.  The whole ledge portion you had talked about was starting to press in a bit.  The portion that was only a foot length wide--you couldn't cross your feet and you had to lean into the rock and it was about a mile straight down.  I remembered a Psalm where it talked about the Lord's protection, and something about rocks.  I found it and felt like the Lord wanted me to read it out loud to us.  I read Psalm 91.  I remember your words after I read it.  You said, "Becky, it's really interesting that you chose that Psalm 91.  That was my Vietnam Psalm."  Now Dad, that's the closest I've ever heard you come to saying that there was a divine connection in something.  My experiences have shaped me in a way that I believe there was something more going on than a coincidence in that.  Looking back, I think that the Lord was saying that once again, like He protected you before, He would protect us on our climb. 

The funny thing is, the ledge didn't really bother me.  I was half-way across it before I realized, to my surprise, that it was the place you had talked about.  The CHIMNEY was the deal breaker for me.  I had a to jump blind (backwards) onto two inch wide pointed rock with one foot.  I knew you were going to help me get there, but my legs were shorter than yours and I couldn't get the other one loose to even make the jump.  Those extra couple inches made a huge difference.  The closest ledge down was as good as a mile.  (I mean, when you're comparing fall lengths I think anything past a 1/4 mile is pretty much a kiss good-bye anyway.)  I really didn't think I was going to make it.  It was the first time on the whole trip I felt the panic stronger than the adrenaline.  That's when I remembered Psalm 91.  I needed God to keep more than my foot from striking a stone.  (Thankfully I had studied poetic language and I knew that often times the poet uses a portion or a part as symbolic of a whole.)  I knew the Lord had brought that Psalm to my attention.  I knew He had protected Your life in Vietnam and taught you through that passage, and I knew that He would be faithful to His Words to me that day. He would be faithful to His Psalm. 

Then you showed me how to put my elbow into the cleft in the rock and slide it all the way in so I could support almost the entire weight of my body with my arm while I loosened my leg above enough to lower my other foot below to make the jump to the rock.  I think it was the only time during the entire climb I didn't mind your hand on my butt.  (That's another story...)  Though I was pretty sure if I didn't make it we both were in for a long fall.  But then--it was a Psalm He had given to us both--so I had to trust Him for both of us. 

When I decided to write this post today, I remembered that I have your Bible because you forgot it last time you were here.  (Also not something I chalk up to coincidence.)  I looked up Psalm 91.  You wrote over top of it..."My Vietnam Psalm" and to the side "My Kidnap Psalm".  And then over verses 11-12 you wrote this, "Every time I take off on a plane I take confidence in this."  Over verse 15 you wrote, '"Airports, assaults, difficult situations."   

Dad your experiences have taught you that the Lord speaks to you through Scripture, and that you can trust His Words.  You have taught me that too.

My experiences have taught me that the Lord speaks to me through Scripture (Logos) and also through His spoken Word, (Rhema) and that I can trust His Words. 

I hope that He will continue to teach us through our stories, and I hope that we'll have many more stories of our adventures together.

Now, will you please write out the stories of your kidnapping and of the bridge for me?

Love you,

B 

Happy Father's Day

Photo by Daren Mark Richner

I was thinking about you this morning, Dad.  I'm looking forward to having you and Mom around in the fall--it's always when I miss you most.  The Richner thanksgiving was always fun...and Grandma's Turkey Rice soup the day after was always the best ever.  I tried for years to make it like she did but couldn't figure out what she put in it to give it that flavor.  I finally figured out she put some of the turkey gravy in it.
Of course your being here means we'll celebrate Emily's and my Birthday together.  (And maybe Matt and I will have babysitters for an Anniversary weekend away!)  I'm also thinking you will need to get your return tickets for after Grace's Nutcracker performance.  Oh--and did I mention we are repainting the whole house?  I'm so looking forward to being with family.
But that got me looking ahead to your retirement.  I know you keep putting it off.  Now you're saying maybe a year, maybe two.  All I know is that I can't even really imagine what it would be like to have family living near me.  I've haven't had that since I was 18.  I keep thinking how great it will be to have you guys over for churrascos and get together for Sunday dinners.  I'm thinking it's about time you disciple Grace (Lord help us!) and Emily will ask you questions that will throw you for a loop for sure.  Sarah will only want one thing--for you to swing her.  Though she may let you pull her on the bike too.  Matt will love having a golfing partner I can't say no to (there's a place across the street from Roots that's only $10.00) and I will love having a shopping buddy (I mean Mom).  And Sam...I think it would be a good idea if he spent every other weekend with you.  ;-)
Ok, so this ended up being a post about ME instead of you.  But maybe it will make you smile to know how much I'm looking forward to being with you.
Love you Dad,
Becky

PS I will write a response to your other posts.  Just haven't quite put it all together in my head yet.

Promoted

We were a recon unit with the 1st Air Cav and were made up of approximately 28 men. We normally had three squads of 8. I was the first squad's point man. I would remain so as long as I remained healthy (alive), would be on R & R for a 7 day leave, or injured. I never held another position during all my time in the field. The eight men had titles. They walked in the following order: Point man, who concentrated on his front and cleared a path well enough to allow the machine gunner get through the bush unimpeded. Next was a rifleman who carried extra machine gun ammo and had the title of machine gun assistant. He would normally carry a tri pod for the machine gunner who was one spot back. The machine gunner was normally a stronger then usual athletic type because he had to carry the M60. He was the MVP of the unit when we were in trouble. Next, another rifleman, then the commanding officer, his radio-telephone operator, a rifleman with a grenade launcher instead of an M16, and then another rifleman or possibly two. Most often the lone medic would walk up front with the squad leading. He usually was one who never even carried a weapon for most of them were “conscientious objectors”. I had the utmost respect for all of them. Squad #2 and squad #3 followed with pretty much the same order.

Squads daily rotated walking the point because the lead squad was always under extreme pressure..
On this particular day in August of 1969 I was the number 17th man. I had walked the point on the previous day and it was a “no brainer” that we were moving through dangerous territory. There were “signs” and we were all a bit edgy. We did everything to stay off the trails mostly choosing to make our own for safety sake.
For the past two weeks we had been adjusting to a new lieutenant as our company commander. He was a West Point trained leader and a bit more aggressive than the previous commander who had served his 365 days and rotated back to the USA. He was getting used to us and we him. We called him “sir” even though he didn’t wear his stripes out there in “the boonies” as we called it. Snipers were known to try to take out the people they thought to be the key players.
We were all known by our last names. We were never encouraged to develop close relationships. We were never on a first name basis. You can imagine the reason why. I have forgotten the last name of the young man walking point that day. I just knew that he was every bit as good as I thought myself to be and maybe more. Yet, on that day his life no doubt changed. He walked our company into a bunker complex which is usually “death written all over it” but this day was different. The bunkers were empty except for one. From that bunker the enemy exploded a rocket towards our unit. I could hear the metal pellets smashing the bamboo trees all around me even though I was 17th from the front . We were always very careful to observe the rule of having adequate space between each other. We were all well trained. We always seemed to be at the top of our game when “edgy”. It was so, on this day. Everyone hit the ground and those in front immediately responded with fire power. The M60 was on automatic with the assistant by his side. Squads 3 and 1 were too far back to contribute to this fight. We were all at the ready from all sides. The company commander and telephone operator were super busy at this point relaying information back to headquarters and almost immediately there were “Cobra” helicopters diving toward the bunker with “mini guns” and rockets launched for effect. I could see very little from my position as to what all was going on. I was curious though and wanted to know the whole story. The “Cobras” left. There was silence for a time and then all of a sudden there was another “laud burst” of firepower. It sounded like our weapons.. We learned to tell the difference. Then “the silence."  The “fire fight” was over. It was getting dark and we bedded down for the night.
I wanted to know what took place up front and if our point people were ok. I was relieved to see him sitting near his gear, quiet and pensive. He told me what happened. I quietly went back to my position for the evening, reflecting on the information I had received.
I was convinced that I needed to have a talk with the commanding officer. He wasn’t much older than I and I did respect him and I knew he respected me. He invited me to sit down and asked me what was on my mind. It was a quiet conversation of course, but one we might categorize as “a divine conversation”. It lasted but just minutes.
I said, “Sir, had you given me the order you gave the point man today, I would not have been able to obey you. I understand that the three injured men in the bunker were waving a white flag to surrender and you chose to have them finished off by the point man and machine gunner. They obeyed, I would not have.”
"Why not, Richner?" was his question. I told him that my conscience would not have permitted me to do so, since they were asking to be taken as prisoners. He gave me his reasoning behind the order and I respected his decision. I gave him mine. We knew where each other stood and the next day we were all out searching for the enemy. He was my commanding officer and I walked the point when my turn came up for the next 30 days.
Then, on a day I will never forget, my commander came up to me and said: “Richner, today a helicopter will be coming to drop off supplies and you are to return with the chopper for your next “very important assignment”. Congratulations, You have been selected as the 1 Cav. Brigade Commander's radio, telephone operator and driver. You will receive training for your new responsibilities as soon as you arrive. Your replacement will be arriving here today with the supplies.” He shook my hand and wished me well. Later, my fellow E company comrades shook my hand before climbing onto the supply helicopter and off we headed for Tay Ninh.
The rest of my time in Vietnam I would be working for Brigade commander Colonel Collins. I would be taking him coffee at 5 am in the morning to his command trailer, serving his meals, taking his clothes to be cleaned and picked up, shinning his shoes, handling his jeep radio and picking him up from the helicopter pad and running him to the hospital. He was the kind of leader not everyone was blessed to serve under. He taught me a ton.
I was especially impressed with how he handled injured soldiers and even those who lost their lives. Echo company lost their share including a number of “point men”. I was one of the more fortunate ones and I attribute that to Providence and that conversation with the West Point Lieutenant. Yes, we are to obey those in authority over us, and especially in the military. Opportunities do present themselves every once in a while when someone needs to step up and have a quiet conversation with their leader when he is convinced he “just must”. And leave the rest with the Lord.