Ordinary days, aftershocks, and the Rapture

Another earthquake post — the one I promised.

In an earlier post, I had mentioned that the Nepal earthquake of April 2015 did not have such a great impact on me than the aftershocks that followed it. Yes, I still think so.

The big one came and went; it was just a memory after five minutes. But hundreds of aftershocks followed it; and they were not just memories. Knowing that they had come today, yesterday, and the day before that; and knowing that they would probably continue on for a whole year made them more than just memories.

It wouldn’t be exactly true to say that aftershocks became a part of life. But it came close.

Sometimes one would come when I was studying at my desk, helping my brother with his schoolwork, or practicing the keyboard. Just a quick shudder, a leap in my pulse — and I would be awed to think that I had not been expecting it. Then another would follow the next day when I was cooking dinner. The water inside the water-filter would tremble again.

Sometimes, they were like the first one; our house would rock and tilt and lurch as if it were a village local bus, crossing the bumpy riverbed. Once, it was more like a jump. But most of the the time, the aftershocks would gently nudge our house — north to south.

You know, our brains are wired in a particular way: it expects the earth keep still. It’s as if our little understandings are saying subconsciously, “Everything can change, but the earth will remain the same.” But that’s not true. The earth can turn to liquid in a split second; and when it does, our brain is a little confused, having its theory disproven.

Once I woke up around 3 a.m. The mattress was sliding north and south, and I was sliding with it. I think it was a being-rocked-in-a-crib-like feeling. I was sleeping with my sisters, and they were woken up by the aftershock, too. We tried to rate the aftershock, amused to think that we had become “experienced” seismologists. We checked the news that morning; and, lo and behold, we had guessed right.

The last time a significant one came (5+ on the Richter scale), I was reading Absolute Surrender by Andrew Murray. It was on a Saturday afternoon, and I was flopped on my brother’s bed, highlighting every other sentence in my ebook. When the windows began to clatter and everything jolted, my heart beat sped up. I was about to get up, but it stopped.

I resumed my reading . . . my mind wandered. The rapture — it will be like this.

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound . . . and we shall be changed . . .  For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God . . . Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.” (from 1 Cor. 15, 1 Thess. 4)

I know it will be at a time when I am not expecting it. He has said to us that He will come “at an hour when ye think not” (Luke 12:40). But I can be ready.

The rapture — perhaps, today might be the day. Are you ready? Are you saved? Is your lamp burning?

Sometime some ordinary day will come,
A busy day like this—filled to the brim
With ordinary tasks—perhaps so full
That we have little thought or care for Him.

And there will be no hint from silent skies,
No sign, no clash of cymbals, roll of drums;
And yet that ordinary day will be
The very day in which our Lord will come.
— Anonymous

7.8 on the Richter Scale — My Earthquake Experience

open.edu

Note: I really don’t know how to begin. I want to write down everything from every possible viewpoint, but that simply is not possible. So, this is more of a what-went-inside-my-head-during-the-earthquake-and-how-God-helped-me post than a critical analysis of the events.

---

“And now, we will begin our Bible lesson!” Eagerly, I flipped open my laptop and selected the picture of blind Bartimaeus sitting by the wayside. Through this lesson, I want my class to learn that Jesus is ready and able to hear us, help us, and answer our prayers. “What do you want me to do for you?” He is asking each of us. Oh, that each child would ask of Him the greatest thing possible!

But a strange noise, a strange feeling . . . my mind is clouded over, I try to think. See. I’m looking, but I really don’t see the children before me. But I can feel ten pairs of eyes staring at me. I am confused.

Just a tenth of a second . . . Oh, an earthquake. . .

My mind cleared. Still, there was no fear. I think it was like the time the 12-ton truck hit our van about a year ago. I knew I was about to die, but there hadn’t been enough time to be afraid. Maybe. Maybe not. I think God gave me the grace — He gave us all the grace, so that looking back, we can say as the Psalmist did,’

“My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed.”

But the house was still rocking. My class — I’m responsible! What shall I do? If this shaking stops and the children are all over the hall, it will be troublesome. . . Why isn’t this stopping? It’s been a while now. Should I really tell them to go outside the class? Where will we go anyway? We are three stories up, no way can we handle the steps while this is going on . . .

Eight seconds, maybe. The ground was shifting, slipping, this way and that . . . and the sound was horrifying — the building sounded something like a train’s engine at full throttle. I saw my little brother open the door, and the children starting to pouring out.

“Okay,” I resigned. “Let’s go.”

Perhaps it was better that way.

The last one slipped outside, and I looked around at the room — oh, Ashish! The two-year old was standing right where another girl had left him. The floor was rocking too hard for him to walk.

I picked him up and followed the line of kids.

Being with the adults will calm them down, I thought. At least everybody will be together. It’s still rocking . . . .

Did I expect everybody to be seated and the preaching still going on? I don’t know, really. It was all so bewildering. All I know, I wasn’t expecting to hear my father telling everybody to stand under the doorway . . . or to see 20-30 people trying to follow his instructions and trying to stand under the one and only doorway of the hall.

Oh, is this earthquake that bad? The children!

Without another thought, I started shooing my little brood toward the kitchen.

“Come on! We’re going under the table.”

Though the shaking was still going on with deadly intensity, I somehow yanked the chairs aside, shoved the kids under the big dining room table, and sat down with them.

I’d never imagined this — not even, as is said, in my wildest dreams. Sitting under the dining room table, the clean linoleum floor jerking, shuddering, quivering under me. Dozens of little fingers clutching the table’s wooden legs. Thankful for a little ‘roof’ over our heads.

30 seconds? 1 minute? I’d lost track of time. It felt like eternity. The water on the water filter looked as if a tsunami was going on. Something crashed down. Glassware shattered somewhere.

Some of the kids started whimpering, “Ke bhayeko yasto? Kasto bhayeko yo aja!” What’s going on? What’s this happening today?

Uh-oh. What if the cement starts breaking off the ceiling and the kids start screaming? I can’t just sit here. The Moravians. . . Sing. Yes, that’s it. We’ll sing. But first . . .

“It seems,” I said matter-of-factly, “that you’re all on one side of the table (there is a length of wood down its middle). Samir, you come around to my side.”

Obediently, the little boy got up (in a crouched sort of way) and began to come over to my side. I could feel the ground tilting this way and that. . .

Don’t bang your head on the wooden ‘ceiling’; don’t bash your knee on the wooden ‘beam.’ Ah, that’s the way. Is this earthquake never going to stop? Okay, which song? Maybe the people in the hall will hear . . . suppose everybody starts singing? That would be good. I’d rather die singing than —

“Come on, we’re going outside.”

I looked up to see one of the brothers in our church beckoning us.

“Oh? Where?”

“Take them out. Take the kids out and go stand in the road. In the road, hear me?”

“Okay.”

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Rather unsteadily, we headed towards the stairs. The ‘corridor’ was full of people.

Now how am I supposed to get them outside? But, Oh! It has stopped!!

It felt like getting off a boat into firm ground again. Oh, the blessed quietness when the building ceased its rumbling!

Everyone got back into the hall again, and we sang. It was an indescribable experience to sing while the aftershocks began to hit, one after another.

“You are Creator, You are all in all! Yours is the power, Yours is the glory. Yours is the majesty, You are God!”

I will treasure that moment for ever. I could feel His power in that earthquake. In a way, I was afraid. But in a way I could not explain, I was smiling.

Back to the classroom, and I had a once-in-a-life-time opportunity to share the Gospel with the children. Their eyes would dart back and forth at every aftershock, but their hearts were wide open. The uncertainty of life they had learned in a never-to-be-forgotten lesson, and I was blessed to be able to share with them the Way to settle that for ever. I pray with my whole heart that each of them will see his need for eternal life and ask of Him the greatest thing possible . . . before it is too late.

* * * * *

That day, my Omnipotent God strengthened me with His own power. Truly, He had encircled me with His arms. How else can I explain why I did not go wild with panic?

Three years ago, in another earthquake, I had been terrified for my life. But now, in an earthquake more than a 100 times greater, I had no fear of death. God was in control, and He reminded me about the Moravians that John Wesley had recounted in his journal.

And for this I thank Him.

This was an experience that I will never forget. However, in my experience, the aftershocks that followed for days, weeks, and months had a greater impact on me than the first great shaking.

I hope to share more in later posts.

Nepal Earthquake 2015: My Sister’s Experience

komotion.com

Saturday, 25 April 2015. 12 Noon. It was a typical sultry day in Narayangarh, Central Nepal. As every other Saturday, in the third story of a building in Lions Chowk, 30 to 40 people gathered for church. As always, outside the busy city hummed underneath the scorching sun, while inside, the ceiling fans whirred monotonously. Everything was normal as it could be; nothing could possibly go wrong.

Sitting cross-legged in the front row, I was listening to my Dad preach from the podium when a low frequency rumble approached from somewhere outside. Our assumption that it was just a heavy vehicle passing by proved to be wrong when the sound persisted on growing louder and coming nearer and nearer instead, gradually shaking the earth. Why! the whole house itself started vibrating, as if it had suddenly turned on its engine.

“It’s an earthquake.” The preaching stopped, “Don’t panic. Just stay calm in your places.” Baba sounded as calm as if he had known all morning that an earthquake was going to interrupt his sermon today. The windows began to clatter loudly. “Let’s pray.”

The building shuddered. The walls shook angrily. Mysterious strange noises like groans and resonating sounds seemed to rise up from the earth. Three stories high above the now frantic city, our church bowed our heads and talked with Him who was shaking us in His powerful grip. Glasses splintered in the kitchen. I found myself trying to fit under the doorpost while my sister, Sophia, had put the children under a table; one little girl rushed around crying for her aunty, “Fupu! Fupu! Mero Fupu kaha ccha?”

The building staggered. People were standing around in a daze, some still remained in their place. Everybody was waiting for the return of stable ground. As the earthquake continued on for a long time, we began realizing that this was no small earthquake. It impressed on me that today might be the day to meet Jesus. All the same, the quake stopped.

“Be still!” God seemed to command the world. “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We were all safe and sound, just shaken. Returning to our places, we sang a hymn in joyful uplifted voices.

“Almighty Father, You alone are holy.
You are my refuge, I will trust in You.
You are a tower, a mighty fortress,
You are my strength and shield.
You are God.”

The big aftershock hit then; the congregation sang on, yet the more dynamically.

“Almighty Father, You alone are holy.
You are Creator, You are all in all!
Yours is the power, Yours is the glory.
Yours is the majesty.
You are God”

I never heard our small church sing so well.

Later, in the evening at our home, our family browsed through the news. Emails pinged, the phone would be up at intervals, – in fact, so many people were checking on each other that the whole cellular network system was disrupted. What devastations the moments shaking had brought forth in our country was shocking.

“Nepal’s Historic Dharahara Tower Collapses In Kathmandu after 7.9 Earthquake.”

Photographs showed that our famous royal watchtower had been destined to lie in shambles as a mass grave today. The headline rolled out.

“Massive Earthquake Hits Nepal. At least 445 dead.”

The death toll rose higher every few minutes. Having to suffer such a setback, our impoverished small nation wept. People had lost homes, lost family members, lost friends, some lost their own lives. Timetables and plans were to be adjusted; some to be surrendered. In a matter of moments, for some people the whole world had turned black. Human life proved so fragile, knowledge so confined, power – limited.

It struck me suddenly that life never carries on as you think it will. April 25, 2013- exactly two years ago, 22 year old Sharan Dai had slipped off into eternity with Jesus unexpectedly. The notable date recollection dramatized the event yet the more for me. If I too had died today, how would I have met Jesus? What would have my speech of thanks been to Him? How familiar would He have appeared to me? Would there be anything with me to give Him, who gave His all for me?

Words etched by Martha Snell Nicholson ran through my mind:

When I stand at the judgment seat of Christ
And He shows me His plan for me;
The plan of my life as it might have been
Had He had His way, and I see
How I blocked Him here and I checked Him there
And I would not yield my will,
Shall I see grief in my Savior’s eyes;
Grief, though He loves me still?’

Oh, He’d have me rich, but I stand there poor,
Stripped of all but His grace,
While memory runs like a hunted thing
Down the paths I can’t retrace.
Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break
With tears that I cannot shed.
I’ll cover my face with my empty hands
And bow my uncrowned head.

No. Lord of the years that are left to me
I yield them to Thy hand.
Take me, make me, mould me
To the pattern Thou hast planned.

Lord, when I stand before Thee, I want to stand with no regrets. It was a dramatic day, an experience never to be forgotten and lessons branded in the heart – to be prepared to meet the Lord, anytime. As Jim Eliot once put it, “When it comes time to die, make sure that all you have to do is to die.”

Last Day of 2014

2014 was a special year for me. I know every year has been, but this was especially special . . . up until this year, I guess.

I had so many new experiences; I learned so much; and I really grew. So many things changed this year — the place where I call home, the people I call my neighbors and friends, academics, and even myself. I made a countless mistakes, but I had the opportunity to learn and grow for them, too. . .

I have many thoughts, but few words to express them with. All I can say is that these verses have grown wondrously beautiful to me:

“For if we be dead with him, we shall also live with him: If we suffer, we shall also reign with him: if we deny him, he also will deny us: If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:11-13).

Especially the last verse.

Just this week, our family received a present of the music CD Count It All Joy. I have not had time to listen to all of the songs yet, but I want to include “The Father’s Love for Me” here. Older people might find my choice amusing, and it may seem a bit ironical (because I have more than three decades remaining to turn fifty) . . . but I love the words.

“The Father’s Love for Me”

How the years have gone by as a dream
But what are they to Thee, in the light of ETERNITY.
And though the times have changed, You have ALWAYS been the same
As I look back and see, Your faithfulness to me

In Your goodness and Your grace, I have always found Your strength
You have taught my heart to see, Thy wondrous will for me
And in the joys and tears, in life’s trials with its fears
You have caused my heart to sing, neath the shelter of Your wings

How the years have gone by as a dream
And what are they to me, in the light of Thy Majesty!
And soon Christ comes for me, in Thy presence EVER to be
Then FOREVER will I sing, of Thy wondrous for me
Then FOREVER will I sing! Of my Father’s love for me

— DJP I.F

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future! And I can rest in peace, because He has proved Himself faithful. . . Come, Lord Jesus!

Last day of 2014

2014 was a special year for me. I know every year has been, but this was especially special . . . up until this year, I guess.

I had so many new experiences; I learned so much; and I really grew. So many things changed this year — the place where I call home, the people I call my neighbors and friends, academics, and even myself. I made a countless mistakes, but I had the opportunity to learn and grow for them, too. . .

I have many thoughts, but few words to express them with. All I can say is that these verses have grown wondrously beautiful to me:

“For if we be dead with him, we shall also live with him: If we suffer, we shall also reign with him: if we deny him, he also will deny us: If we believe not, yet he abideth faithful: he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:11-13).

Especially the last verse.

Just this week, our family received a present of the music CD Count It All Joy. I have not had time to listen to all of the songs yet, but I want to include “The Father’s Love for Me” here. Older people might find my choice amusing, and it may seem a bit ironical (because I have more than three decades remaining to turn fifty) . . . but I love the words.

“The Father’s Love for Me”

How the years have gone by as a dream
But what are they to Thee, in the light of ETERNITY.
And though the times have changed, You have ALWAYS been the same
As I look back and see, Your faithfulness to me

In Your goodness and Your grace, I have always found Your strength
You have taught my heart to see, Thy wondrous will for me
And in the joys and tears, in life’s trials with its fears
You have caused my heart to sing, neath the shelter of Your wings

How the years have gone by as a dream
And what are they to me, in the light of Thy Majesty!
And soon Christ comes for me, in Thy presence EVER to be
Then FOREVER will I sing, of Thy wondrous for me
Then FOREVER will I sing! Of my Father’s love for me

— DJP I.F

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future! And I can rest in peace, because He has proved Himself faithful. . . Come, Lord Jesus!

Christmas — "Christ was Sent"

votretourdumonde.com

The winter sun shone down upon our little group as we stood in a semicircle around my father.

“Now,” he began, “we will go out to the villages to invite the people to the Gospel meeting this evening.”

Heads nodded and fingers gripped the precious little booklets.

“But,” he continued, “what will you say if they ask you about it? What will you say if someone asks you what Christmas is?”

A slight rustle filled in as he paused for a breath.

“Christmas means that Christ was sent. But we are not only telling them that He was sent but whyHe was sent. To really tell someone, you need to know this from your heart. If you don’t, it will not be really effective at all.”

An earnest prayer, a reminder to be back by 3:30, another reminder to hurry and get to as many houses as possible, and a patter of feet crossing the wooden plank . . . each pair set on a mission to obey the Great Commission.

For two hours we walked the dusty roads, handed out tracts, and talked to anyone who would listen. The odd thing was, no one asked me what Christmas was; they all seemed to know it was the special day of those who had set up the tent in the field. But I told them anyway, since they did not know any more than that.

An old lady was quite remarkable. She was sitting in the sun, happy to have anyone to talk to. When I invited her to the evening program, she did not hear. I shouted (almost literally), and she responded easily, “When did this religion came to be? Is it quite new? All the 70 years of my life I had not heard anything like it!”

“But, Grandmother, the God Who made the earth and sky always was. We did not know Him, but He is the One Who made us. The stone idols you worship did not make you, now, did they?”

She tried to evade my question cleverly, “Stone? Ah, no, I worship that Tulsi tree over there, they call it Narayan.”

I tried to explain, but she would not listen. Her grandchildren came near and stared at me with wide eyes, and her daughter-in-law arrived with a great load of grass on her back.

“Oh,” she said busily, “we are folk who have to work to eat. I suppose you have a job in this religion?”

Poor woman! She had no idea of the great and beautiful news of the Sent Christ which I had in my heart but felt so inadequate to explain it to her. How could I point her to Him with a few words? How would she, who sat in utter darkness, receive such a great light in a blink of an eyelash? Being at a loss of words, I handed her the tract with a short explanation and an invitation to the meeting. She accepted it with a nod and went back to her work. . .

**********

Maybe 150 or more people attended the meeting that evening. A hymn was sung, and the Gospel message was presented. Right in front of the most venerated temple in the village, God’s truth shone forth. I didn’t realize it at that time, but it was a little ironic that no one protested when our brother repeated again and again, “Idolatry is sin. Worshipping idols is sin in God’s eyes.” But, truly, they have received nothing from that idol in order to defend it, anyhow.

The meeting was closed, the final clean-up finished, and we waited in the village while the van and jeep took the other believers home. While waiting for the van to come back, we drank tea, ate leftovers from lunch, and talked with the local believers.

And I learned some new things; one of which I will mention here: The sister mentioned that when she was married and brought into her new house, she had been given a broom to worship, serve, and bow down to. A broom.

How stark the difference! How the light dispels the darkness! In the program earlier that evening, a testimonial video of one of our brother’s life had been shown, From Drugs to Christ. I whole-heartedly agree that that was amazing; who wouldn’t?

But . . . when I think about it, being saved from idols (like that broom) to Christ is just as amazing. Too often I don’t think much of it since almost everyone is saved from a Hindu background . . . but when I do think, it is wondrous.

Oh, the beauty of the Christmas message — the Son of God sent for us!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, spread His praise from shore to shore!
How He loveth, ever loveth, changeth never, nevermore!
How He watches o’er His loved ones, died to call them all His own;
How for them He intercedeth, watcheth o’er them from the throne!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, love of every love the best!
’Tis an ocean full of blessing, ’tis a haven giving rest!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus, ’tis a heaven of heavens to me;
And it lifts me up to glory, for it lifts me up to Thee!

— S. Trevor Francis

Looking back on 12.13.14

I relished those delightful dates ever since I learned about them, one sunny homeschooling day with Saxon Math. But they are gone for the next century now. . .When I was younger, the years seemed to pass so slowly, and my birthdays were so far apart! But now, I wonder where the time went . . .

And, I  think we all tend to look back at the end of the year, at least, I do.

On January, I joined CollegePlus! It was all so new, scary, and confusing. I went through so much during the first 6 months — planning out my degree, scheduling tests to fit into my family’s schedule, testing out of Sociology and Psychology, whipping through four math courses in approximately four weeks of study, taking my first Straighterline courses, and on and on! It wasn’t easy, but I learned much from the new challenges I had to face.

After 6 months, I decided I had gotten the “hang of it.” I scheduled a hold for six months, and said goodbye to my coach. It was exciting! I was going to talk to her in January 2015. I was going to have 30 more credits by then (almost a Junior). Or so I thought — because we had planned it all out. What was God going to teach me? I started a new diary, too.

Immediately, I got stuck on Human Resource Management. I couldn’t test because of my family schedule. What should I do? I decided to leave it, took some Straighterline courses and bam! I became a Sophomore. I now understand why Sophomores are so-called. When I was a Freshman, I knew nothing. I had no experience. I was confused when people talked about “CbEs” and “PLAs.” Now, 30 credits later, I knew. But still, I didn’t know as much as I thought I did. That’s why I was a Sophomore, a “wise fool.”

Thus, I went along the journey. And there were obstacles. My siblings got ill. We had days of traveling (that turned into weeks). I just couldn’t concentrate sometimes. And unexpected things happened: because of the time scheduling, I could not take a CP course as planned; I got a notification that I had gotten a “coach transfer”; one week, we had almost 20 guests at our house (try not to imagine the mess). Then there were special programs to spur me on my way: Summer Bible Training, Ladies’ Annual Meeting, Baptism Programs, Missions Conference, and Winter Bible Training.

Now I’m nearly at the end. One month later, I will meet my new coach. I will have to tell her what I’ve accomplished during my coaching hold. It’s scary. It’s exciting, too.

So, I looked back over my diary, trying get an overall-view of the past six months. As I look back, I see where I’ve been victorious, where I’ve failed, and where I could’ve done better by trusting more, obeying more, walking closer with my Savior, being more productive. Yet, I know, through it all, whatever happened, HE WAS MY GUIDE. I couldn’t have done it without Him and His gentle guidance. I didn’t have a coach to check on me and look over my shoulder, but He was a Guide all the time. I am so glad.

When I was finishing up high school, I used to worry what I would do after 12th grade. Graduation seemed to me a dreaded doom, an unwelcome door of uncertainty that was soon to be opened for me. God’s Word had comforted me, and it still does. Psalm 48:14 is one of my favorite verses:

“For this God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our guide even unto death” (Ps 48:14).

Promises you've made to others

point-alaligne.com

Do you keep your promises? Or, in other words, can you remember any promise that you haven’t kept?

Who can’t?

We all have broken our word at one time or another. Perhaps we may have forgotten, but be assured that the person to whom you made the promise has not. That person will probably be hesitant to remind you of your promise; you might even convince yourself that he has forgotten. Though it might never be spoken of, that promise will remain.

I stare into space, not really looking at anything — I’m going backward in time, in my catalog of memories. I can see them all before me — the place where we were, the exact position we were in, the words he said. Many of them were not really promises, either. They were just small, seemingly insignificant things.

But still, I remember. When I think of that person — separated by oceans and continents — his words come back to me and make me wonder if he has forgotten.

Today, my uncle came to our “new” house for the first time; and he had lunch with us. Nine years ago (it seems like yesterday!), he had come to our village house in the mountains. I was just ten years old, then. I was helping mother with small tasks around the kitchen during mealtime when he said with a laugh, “The next time I come, I want to eat the meal that you have prepared yourself!”

I can remember my consternation with a smile today. Countless times did I remembered that little joke with fear and apprehension. I wouldn’t mind (much) if five uncles dropped in around mealtime today; but I truly worried about it when I was little. . . And, today, I wondered if he remembered.

Go back today. Remember the little promise you made to that child and make the plans to fulfill it. Don’t fool yourself. Don’t lie. Be true!

“Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3:18).

May 25-31: Children's Program

That was a busy week!

Sunday through Wednesday, I was preparing for the Children’s Program of planned for Thursday and Friday.

Most of the time, I was translating and preparing for my missionary story Ringu of India. In between, there were games, activities, crafts, memory verses, tests, coloring pictures, print-outs and a lot of other things to plan out. It was challenging, but God helped me.

Since I had a coaching call on Wednesday night, I had a chance to talk it over with my coach. Together, we made a motto for the upcoming event: “Top priority: God first.” We wanted to keep it short and simple so that at any time, I could pull it out in a second without going through all the logistics. My goal was to go through this program keeping Him —and only Him first — in each and every work or activity.

Then the program itself! God does prove Himself faithful every time! When we trust in Him, He never lets us down. I think the root problem of most of our problems is that we just don’t trust and rest.

There were lessons to learn . . .

verses to memorize — on one foot . . .

little ones to comfort . . .

 lunch to eat . . . 

games to play . . .

crafts to make . . .

and all too soon — the last group photos. . .

Was it worth it?

How can I say it wasn’t?! It was a pleasure, a joy, a blessing, a challenge  . . .  a victory!

I was working with the some of the girls and one of them asked me when the next program would be.

“Next year,” another girl answered for me.

“Oh . . . we have our program only once a year — but we have Bible Trainings 3-4 times!” she complained.

I couldn’t help smiling. It is my fervent prayer that each of them will come to know the Lord personally and love Him and serve Him.

Did I stick to my goal always?

Always — no. I remember at least one time when I didn’t keep God first — I was too excited with my lesson. And, yes, it was the worst one. But I learned. And I’m glad.

On Saturday, they presented the two verses they learned and one of the songs in the worship service. They did well!

 And this is his commandment, That we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he gave us commandment.  — 1 Jn 3:23

. . . for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart. — 1 Samuel 16:7b

GOD IS GOOD!