Praise and Pasteur

One of my favorite praise songs is "Better is One Day." I love to sing that song, always cranking up the sound when it comes on my radio or ipod. I like that it is based on Scripture, specifically Psalm 84:10, "Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked." While we may not sing the second half of the verse, it still has a great image attached to it.

When I was first studying French (and barely knew anything), I heard a devotional study given by one of the advanced students in my language program. Part of our language study included these devotional studies presented in the mornings, and the young missionary that taught on this verse was a medical doctor heading to Niger, West Africa. He had prepared rudimentary drawings to illustrate his presentation, which greatly helped me to follow along, since I didn't understand the French words he was using. But I got enough of the story that day to look it up later in English on the internet.

Louis Pasteur is perhaps most recognized as the creator of "pasteurized" milk, a process which bears his name due to his microbiological breakthroughs that purified milk and wine from the bacteria that once caused sickness. But did you know that he was the first person to use a rabies vaccine to save a human life? Another French scientist developed the vaccine itself, which had only been tested on 11 dogs, when a 9 year old boy was mauled by a rabid dog and was facing death. Pasteur, not a medical doctor, chose to try the vaccine on the little boy, Joseph Meister, in spite of the prosecution he would face, in a wild attempt to save the boy's life. The vaccine was a success, and Pasteur was hailed as a hero (avoiding the charges he would have faced for practicing medicine without a license).

Here's the best part of the story: Joseph Meister, surely out of a sense of gratitude, became the caretaker and doorman of the Pasteur Institute, which opened just a few years after Joseph was saved by the new vaccine. He remained in the employ of the Pasteur Institute until his death. He chose to serve the man who had saved him!

Psalm 84:10, "Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.

Passing the Baton

The theme of Family Camp this year was "Passing the Baton" to the next generation of ministers. To make the theme all the more effective, the sermon time was split between two ministers: fathers and sons (and one daughter in the faith). I heard some great messages on variations of that theme, and I enjoyed the inter-generational dynamic of the ministers, as well. I chose not to write about the sermons last week, because I wanted more time to digest them.

My favorite night was the Tuesday service on "passing the mantle of the Holy Spirit" to the next generation. Sullivan McGraw preached an "old school" message on Elisha picking up the Elijah's mantle that was powerful; everyone got fired up when he preached on the need to use what God provides. The first thing Elisha did with the mantle was to strike the river and dry up the water. Pastor McGraw challenged us that the gift of the Holy Spirit we've been given is not something merely to carry around and claim to possess. It had better be something we are prepared to use to change the world!

His son, Michael McGraw, took the idea of "passing the mantle of the Holy Spirit" in a different direction. He was a track runner in high school; intrigued by the coverage of the Olympic preparations, he preached about the 4x100 relay runners. He made some great points about passing on a baton to the ones who come behind; to pass and/or receive the baton, it takes four things: sacrifice, humility, timing, and proximity. On a 4x100 team, each runner is clearly talented enough to run each leg. These are all fast guys, but only one of them gets to cross that finish lane--it took all four to get there, but only one has that single moment of victory. The other three runners have to sacrifice that glory to the one who finishes. It takes humility to recognize that, in spite of your work and desire, it may be another who actually crosses the finish line. Timing is involved to pass the baton to another, and there are things that cannot be passed on until the moment of maturity in the next generation. In a race, passing off the baton too early or too late will cost the entire race. Proximity (or closeness) is also necessary to hand off the baton; that implies a relationship between both parties in the baton pass. Younger ministers need to move closer to their older brothers, in order to be mentored and be in a position to receive from them. Older ministers need to welcome younger ministers into their midst, knowing that they will must pass their knowledge and wisdom to the next crop of laborers in God's Kingdom.

Good stuff.

Let Them Eat Cake!

My niece, Ellie Rainey, turned one year old on Wednesday! We had the party last night, and as you can see, a good time was had by all!

A Story of Survival

I hear water running. That's odd, I think. I'm in the bedroom of a little cottage on the district campground, getting ready to go run some errands. I didn't leave the sink running, did I? I step out to check the kitchen faucet, which does leak, but its firmly shut off now. I can still hear the steady stream, so I glance at the bathroom. Nope, not there, either. On my second trip to the kitchen, I discover the source. Outside the window, I'm literally inches from another cottage, and a gushing stream of water is coming over the roof. It's raining.

It's been gray all morning, but it figures that just as I'm ready to go out with a list of stores to go to, it will pour. My "emergency" sweatshirt and my umbrella are in the trunk of my car, so I make a quick stop there on the way to the driver's side. UGGGHH! My window was down an inch, and I feel the wet seat of the car become the wet seat of my jeans. As I reach for the seatbelt, I discover I'm not alone. Some bugs have taken refuge from the storm, and one is sitting on the window. It's . . . . not quite a moth, not quite a wasp. Perhaps is it some yet- undiscovered West Virginian insect. We stare at each other; I weigh rolling down the window to shoo him out with the amount of rain that will come in while I do that. Comfort wins, so I let him stay. He flies to the backseat.

On the highway, the relentless rain slows down all the drivers, and I avoid the semis that throw up a blinding spray behind their tires. I find the exit I want for the Valley Mall, and I head for Target. Just as I reach the intersection, my insect friend flies in my face. He flits from the dash to the steering wheel to my bare hand to my hair, faster than I can catch him (while driving!) I squeal and shudder him out of my hair, and I brake harder than I mean to, which sends me hydroplaning through the intersection. Once the wheels grab the ground again, I try to turn into the parking lot, and as I slide my hand up the steering wheel to turn right, my fingers grip not the wheel but something sort of hairy. The insect was hiding on the back side of the steering wheel! I let go of the wheel with that hand, careen like a stunt driver around the parking lot, and squeal again as he starts flying with a vengeance around the front of the car. I can't get parked and out of the car fast enough. I don't know if this thing has a stinger, but I don't intend to find out.

I'm not afraid of bugs per se; (indeed, blog readers may remember my fierce spider battles in France). When I was a child and was scared of any bug in the house, my mother would simply say, "He won't eat much," in a very bored tone. (Job's comforters, meet my mother. Mom, meet Job's comforters; you guys have a lot in common.) So, having been trained to ignore bugs, I claim to be very rational, EXCEPT if they fly at my face. Then I have a tendency to throw everything in my hands and squeal like a little girl.

Now, I'm getting drenched in a Target parking lot, peering in to my car windows for the insect, because I was in such a hurry to exit, I didn't see him fly out. He may be gone; he may be marshaling his strength for our next round. I go in Target, wading through puddles that are deeper than most novels. The heavens have opened above me; rain is coming down so hard, I'm getting soaked from the splash up as it lands. All the joy has gone out of shopping, so I grab the two things on my list and a pair of shoes on clearance--at this rate, I might need them.

I'm hesitant as I approach the car, but no insects are visible. I sit inside, contemplating the sheets of rain hitting my windshield. I no longer have the will to shop anywhere else in this weather, but through the fogged up windshield, in the gray horizon I spot Olive Garden. Soup, salad, and breadsticks! Suddenly, I am restored.

Summer of the Snowball

In the soaring temperatures of a Baltimore summer, the locals complain, "It's not the heat; it's the humidity!" The haze that settles over coastal Maryland is only broken by the occasional storm, and those are all too short. The locals found a better way to beat the heat: the snowball.

Some people call this concoction "shave ice" or "snowcone" but in Maryland, it's always a "snowball." In May, snowball stands start popping up like dandelions all over the state. You have your choice of flavors, and toppings like marshmallow creme or chocolate sauce. They are a favorite among the young and old alike. For myself, I confess that I love the idea of snowballs more than the iced treat itself. I almost never finish one. In fact, if I get two snowballs in a summer, I'm satisfied.

This summer has been unique, though. One day I got a hankering, and I came home eating my watermelon flavored snowball. My dad got inspired to start eating snowballs after his dialysis three days a week. Typically, when he leaves dialysis, he needs both hydration and a blood-sugar boost. The perfect solution: a snowball!

However, the first couple of times that he went to the snowball stand, he was too light-headed to stand in line. One day, he mentioned to the lady running the stand that he was weak from dialysis; the next time his truck pulled up outside her stand, she took his order and payment from the truck window and delivered his snowball "curbside." She has continued to deliver his order straight to the truck when he stops by a few times a week.

I was very touched by her compassion. I don't know her religious background, but I think that this lady has embodied the golden rule: treating someone else as you would wish to be treated.

Church Yard Sale

Now that my home church has a beautiful multi-purpose building, we try to use it for everything. A die-hard flea marketer suggested hosting periodic flea markets in the gymnasium; today was the fourth such event, and with each one, everyone gets a little shrewder about how to buy and sell effectively.

I like to people watch. I find it intriguing to see what people buy, but even more so, what they reject. For example, the first thing that caught me eye was a set of Ronald McDonald resin plates from the early 80’s. It was a “collect all four” deal from when I was a child, and just seeing those cartoon plates brought back so many memories of family meals around our old cramped kitchen table; I wanted to buy them instantly. I told myself no, but of all the nice home décor, furniture, clothing, and jewelry that was on display today, those plates were the most desirable thing to me.

What motivates everyone else? I watch people shuffle past my table, their eyes darting by in a quick once-over. There comes a flash of disappointment in their eyes, something so quick I can’t define it, but in that split second, I know they’ve thought, “Nothing good here.” They don’t actually sneer or scoff, but I know this look. I’ve done it myself at other yard sales. My nose wrinkles over so slightly as I realize, “Ahh, it’s just junk.”

What amazes me, though, is that these same people will light up at the next table, when they see a ceramic statuette of a horse lying down. Not a horse standing, mind you, in its artistic glory—a horse lying down! It’s only a dollar, and they exclaim over it, call their aged mother over to see it, examine the detailing, and congratulate themselves on the “deal-of-the-day.” It’s only a knick-knack, but you’d think they’d found the Holy Grail.

I’ve come to view the crowds as the following stereotypes:

• “Miss Green Jean” – Recycle is her middle name. Everything she sees has possibilities for reuse somewhere. With some cleaning, she can even give all these knick-knacks as birthday gifts to everyone she knows. She can find multiple uses for an ordinary bowl: a mail gatherer perfect for that table in her foyer; a fruit bowl for the kitchen counter; a centerpiece for the coffee table (Is anyone here selling floating candles or silk flowers? I’ll use those!). She gathers objects like a farmer bringing in the wheat crop—no corner gets overlooked.

• “Mr. Investment Banker” – His motto: Buy low, sell high. He’s only looking for pieces that will return a 600% profit. He does ebay or owns a local store, specializing in rare books, toys, trains, stamps, coins, collectibles, and more. He knows that the seller (poor sap) has no idea of the true value of his Great-Aunt Myrtle’s teapot, and he’s more than willing to spend a quarter on this hidden gold mine. Flea market—Ha, more like “bull” market for this sharp-eyed shopper.

• “Mr. and Mrs. Vulture”— You can always spot these people, because they circle the tables at the end. Just as you’re ready to pack up and call it a day, they appear, beedy eyes gleaming for the kill. They’ve already seen the goods, but now that you’re exhausted, they’ll pick over the bones. “You want $35 for that armchair? Will you take two bucks?” You don’t want to load all this heavy stuff back in your car, and they know it. Can you summon up the will to fight them off, or do you give up in desperation?

• “Mr. Touchy-Feeler”—He has never heard that old saw “Look with your eyes, not with your hands.” He likes to touch everything on the table, holding up the clothes to judge size, flicking through every video in your collection. He checks the flyleaf of each title in your yard sale library, and inspects the wear-and-tear. That old camera you’re selling has to be focused, batteries checked, a few snaps of the button, the lens changed—all while you agonize that he might drop it, break it, and walk away. Here’s the kicker: he’s going to walk away anyway! He doesn’t actually want to buy your stuff; he just wants to play with it all, ask you twelve questions, raise your hopes about selling your stuff, and then go rifle through someone else’s stuff.

Naturally, there are discerning people who search responsibly for things they need, would actually use, and maybe impulse buy a few items for dollar or two here and there. But at a flea market, a “rational shopper” is like “quality junk”: both oxymorons, and both almost impossible to find!

Ahh, the Tropics!

Next week, I'm going away to a tropical paradise! Well, in a manner of speaking . . .

I've been asked to come up to the district campground for Family Camp and "host" one of the missionary cabins for an "open house" afternoon. I'm going to be in the "tropical" cabin, which is decorated with a palm tree theme, pictures of sandy beaches, and silk birds-of-paradise flowers. I'm looking forward to the rest and relaxation of being on the quiet campground; I hope to get a lot of work done while I'm there. I've been told that I'm even allowed to use the camp pool, which will be an unexpected treat. Even though the open house is only on Tuesday, I'll be up at the camp most of the week to hear the speakers at Family Camp. Who knows, I may be even be able to make some good contacts with pastors there, too!

One Way Bridges

As I drove through Lancaster County, PA yesterday after church, I passed cornfields and cows in the countryside, and I appreciated the beauty of that area. Rounding a turn, I came up on a little one lane bridge (not the one pictured here), and I noticed the large yellow "Yield" sign as I entered. The thought came to me, "I bet there is another yield sign on the other side." I glanced back in my rear-view mirror, and sure enough, there it was! Both sides of the road were expected to yield to the other.

It reminded me of a little blind alley in France that I used to cut through from a grocery store parking lot to the major road that ran behind it. Everyone used that little alley to avoid the overcrowded intersection nearby. Eventually, the transportation authorities had to put up signs at both ends. In French, they don't say "yield," nor does "right of way" really translate. Their signs have double arrows (exactly like the picture above) and often the sentence, "You do not have the priority." It used to amuse me, though, that the same sign was on both sides. Neither of us had "the priority." But it worked, though! I often observed people who indeed did yield to the other, generally the car that was there first.

Memories of that little alley blended in with thoughts about yield signs in different languages, and I thought suddenly of Romans 12:10, "Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another." (NKJV) A one-lane bridge is the perfect picture of giving preference to another, at the expense of ourselves.

The world is a selfish place. Sometimes I'm shocked by the emphasis on self in our culture. One pet peeve of mine: that every news article on the internet can be commented on, so that any person (informed or just idiotic) can spout off their opinion about the news article. They don't want to be left out, so within seconds they can get their two cents in to the discussion. That is just one example of the "me, me, me" trend in our society. It's not natural for us to think of another person more highly than ourselves, to give them honor, or to give them preference. I'm guessing that the Romans had a pretty selfish culture, too. Paul spent much of the chapter dealing with human relations, and a good way to start is in verse 3, "Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace, . . . the only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what he does for us, not by what we are and what we do for him." (The Message)

That's a great way to put ourselves in perspective. I can't insist on my own way, because I don't have the priority. God does, and He chose to humble himself into human form and be like me, in order to extend His grace to me personally. In giving someone else honor or preference, I am following the example of God Himself and extending grace to someone else.

Sam

Can you believe we are already at the middle of July? Months ago, I made a booking with an old friend from college, Sam, who is now a pastor in southern Pennsylvania. At the time, the 13th of July seemed like it was very far away. Now all the sudden, this is the weekend to visit a friend that I haven't seen since I graduated from college.

Sam played point guard for the men's basketball team, and I kept stats for the team, so I guess over a few years of traveling to away games we got to be friends. One time, he made a half-court buzzer shot that won us a game in Lanham, MD; my family had come to the game to see me, and Dad says that every time he sees someone heave up a basketball from mid-court, he remembers Sam's miracle shot. I remember Sam for lots of things, and I have pictures of him hugging me at my college graduation. Now he has a wife, four kids, and a growing ministry east of Lancaster. I'm really looking forward to this weekend.

Book Review

I just finished a great book, Did I Kiss Marriage Goodbye? In that typical fashion we all have of sharing what we liked, I would love to tell you about this book. Unfortunately, it's a subject that only interests me. I don't want to subject you to my own particular interests, like annoying people with their slide show of their Grand Canyon trip ad nauseum.

Suffice it to say that this book, written for women over 30, addresses the idea of what happens when you realize that you may never get married. While not ruling out hope that God will still answer your prayer, the book deals with many practical issues like finding a "place" in churches, investment and retirement issues, responsibilities to parents and siblings, choosing the right attitude toward God and man, and more. I thought that this book was honest and encouraging, and I was glad that I'd found it (by accident on a clearance table). I would recommend it to many of my single girlfriends. This book has found a permanent place on my shelf with a few other books on the same subject, including A Table for One and the always hilarious, Even God is Single that my friend Cindy bought me years ago.

It's not my desire to continue living single, but I can choose to make the best of it, and this book was a great encouragement.

Precious Memories

I have lived with a pack-rat for most of my life, so I try to avoid the tendency myself. However, I do tend to put away little things that are meaningful to me. As I was moving some stuff around my room today, I was ready to stack some stuff on top of an old plastic filing container. On a whim, I figured I'd better check what was inside before I blocked it off. Inside I found a treasure trove of things I had saved: sentimental greeting cards, photos from college, and some artwork from my students in Israel from 1995. I was teaching first grade that year, and I saved some of their Christmas projects, as well as their drawings of their favorite Bible stories.

They are very precious memories for me, and I take encouragement from them, as well. I hope that the Word I taught to the children then still has an effect on their hearts.

The holiday weekend

I hope my American readers all enjoyed a nice holiday weekend. On the Fourth, I kept hearing people say that they were glad to have Saturday off as well to catch up after exhausting themselves cooking, hosting parties, and all the playing we do on the holiday itself. I know I needed it myself, because I was pretty tired on Friday.

This year was a unique holiday for me. My mother's parents have always hosted our entire family at their pool and screened-in patio for an all-day cookout and pool party. We eat, talk, play games, sometimes pick crabs, and generally catch up on each other's lives, since we only gather like that twice a year. This summer, however, my grandmother's house is in limbo; my brother is trying to sell his home and buy hers. My father's health this year has been a stress on the whole family, and we decided that none of us had the energy or resources it would take to host an event like that. Instead we were invited to Marilyn and Dave Stevens' home--my brother's in-laws--who are wonderful hosts with a real gift of hospitality, and we had a great time there, in spite of being called "scum" on more than one occasion! (Just kidding--they have a card game they play where one person is the "scum" in the game).

But before the party, I got a chance to do something different, as well. Since we were breaking from tradition anyway, I signed up to do community outreach with my brother's church in the morning. Severn River Church is trying to have contact with the local community by building connections with people. We set up a booth at a local parade and fair, and we did 10-question surveys about community needs. In order to draw crowds, we did two drawings for $50 gas cards. Our results were surprising: many people were totally unimpressed by the idea of gas cards. I thought, "Do these people have so much extra money or are they finding gas a lot cheaper than I am?" I did the surveys for a while, but I preferred to be a "crier"--mingling in the crowds, saying "Anybody interested in a free gas card? Enter to win at the blue gazebo!" over and over.

Saturday's highlight--I was able to pick up the box spring I'd ordered for my new mattress. A few weeks ago, I decided I couldn't stand the single bed I've had forever here at my parent's house. I wanted to get a full (only thing that will fit up the attic stairs), so I bought a barely-used mattress off www.craigslist.com. I still needed the box spring; however, so I've been sleeping on the floor for weeks. I'm not that old yet, but sleeping on the floor was getting tiresome! Being able to get the box spring and set the bed up right made a huge difference in a night's sleep.

I had double services yesterday morning on Maryland's Eastern Shore (probably one of my favorite spots in the world). The folks in Chestertown were wonderful, and I am thrilled at the idea of partnering with them in the future. I always enjoying spending time with Josh and Amy Rendulic, the pastor there, since we are of similar age and background. They have done a great job with that church, and I'm always impressed when I visit them.

A Survivor

If you are like me, you can't resist reading the comments left at the end of these blog posts; you may have noticed in the past few months, only one person comments. (I know that there are many people who actually read the blog, so I'm not complaining--although by all means, I would love to hear from more of you :)

"MomaBeam," or Janice in real life, is a good friend of mine. She grew up with my mother, and they have a lot in common. Over the years, life's experiences have forged in Janice a backbone of steel, so when she encourages me on this blog, I know it comes from someone who has been through way worse situations than I've ever had to face. And yet, if you are like me reading those comments, you can see that she is still full of victory, still full of determination. She is a "survivor."

Recently Janice was diagnosed with breast cancer, and today is her surgery. I've promised to pray for her today (even survivors get nervous), for her husband and children (who are nervous, as well). Following this surgery today, she has days of recuperation at the hospital, then weeks of recovery at home, then follow-up procedures. I know that all of you who read this blog may not know "MomaBeam," but I hope that you will add her to your prayer list.

Final thoughts on Galatians

I'm going to "get 'er done" today. I've got notes stashed in with receipts and bills here in my filing system; as I read through some this morning, I realized that I still had some thoughts on Galatians I never posted.

Here goes: We left off in Gal. 5, with the theme of freedom in the Spirit. Rather than being weighted down with difficult and unnecessary Judaic law, the Galatian believers were set free in Christ. They were redeemed from their sin by His sacrifice, and Paul warned them against being dragged into a "slavery" to law when freedom in Christ was available.

Of course, there will always be people looking for a loophole! My niece Olivia is not quite two years old, and she has cleverly discovered a few tricks: she is not supposed to feed her lunch to the dogs, but if she "drops" her sandwich--whoops!--and then the dogs get it, she doesn't have to eat her sandwich anymore. If she is put down for her nap, but doesn't want to go to sleep, she can claim to have to "go potty" and since we are trying to toilet-train her, it's a sure-fire way to get up out of bed. If a 21-month old child can figure out the loopholes in the rules, anyone can.

Paul knew that some people would say, "Okay, if I'm free in Christ, that means I have no law at all." So he was quick to close the loopholes in verse 16 of chapter 5. "Live by the Spirit." If you are truly being guided by God's Holy Spirit, you won't need a law to tell you what is right or wrong. You won't be indulging in sin, or as Paul says here, gratifying "the desires of a sinful nature."

He contrasts the sinful nature with the Spirit, both in definition and in literal action (or the "fruit" of what is in your heart). The scary part is that the sinful nature doesn't just produce morally shocking deeds like orgies and witchcraft, but the much more common (and often tolerated) sins of jealousy, envy, gossip, back-biting, and even (gulp) selfish ambition. If we feel those things in our heart or do them by our speech and actions, we are indulging that sinful nature. But the fruit of the Spirit (the product of our heart) is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. There is no law that limits these emotions or actions! There is no restriction to what the Spirit can produce in us.

Paul warns in chapter six that people can become judgmental about everyone else's sinful nature. Verses 1-5 give instruction on caring for sinful brothers without being caught up in sin ourselves. But in verse 7, he goes back to the comparison the sinful and spiritual natures. One of the baldest statements about judgment is contained in this verse: "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows." (Reminds me of Numbers 32:23, "Be sure your sin will find you out!") Paul gives the example of sowing seeds either out of our sinful nature (which will produce the fruit previously mentioned in chapter 5) or our spiritual nature.

Have you ever thought that you are constantly sowing seed? I picture a man with two bags slung over his shoulders. He walks along and dips into one bag or the other, choosing which seeds he will sow as he goes. By my speech, by my deeds, by my thoughts, I am choosing to dip into my spiritual nature or my sinful nature and scatter out the results wherever it may land. I would rather sow "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control" so that I be sure that is what I will reap back when the harvest comes.

Cabin Fever

I was away in West Virginia and Pennsylvania this weekend for services. I had heard of both churches often before, but wasn't familiar with their locations, so I was very surprised to find out how far away I would have to travel. I made a quick reservation at the district campground for Saturday and Sunday nights, hoping to break my journey into more manageable travel.

I have friends who live on the campground, Bobi and Nancy Arsenovic, who are retired missionaries now filling a role as the missionary representatives/liasons to the district. It's a long job title that is even more puzzling when you add their job description: they pick us up at the airport, host going-away parties, organize the housing of missionaries on the campground, listen to our complaints and fight for our rights when we need an advocate. They're doing a marvelous job!

I'd been invited to visit their cabin on the campground months ago, without ever really having a chance. This weekend, we finally got our schedules together. I had breakfast with them yesterday morning on the lovely deck they've added to their cabin. Bobi gave me a tour of the cabin, including all the improvements he's made--Bobi is a genius! He did things in that small cabin that I could never have imagined! Nancy made a great pancake breakfast that I thoroughly enjoyed and then we toured the campground to see the other missionary cabins.

There are many cabins at camp; some are in disrepair and others are tiny mansions. In the past few years, people have gifted the camp four cabins to be used solely for missionary housing. Nancy and Bobi have headed up the renovation projects. I got to see three of them: the Americana cabin (decorated by a Manassas, VA couple in red, white, and blue), the Tropical cabin (decorated mainly by the gifts of Rodney and Aida Stine, missionaries to the Phillippines), and the Asian cabin (still being renovated and decorated).

Each cabin had its unique positive features, but each cabin could use more work! In the Tropical cabin, the kitchen linoleum needs to be replaced; the windows are poorly designed and need replacing. In the Asian cabin, the bathroom needs a total overhaul (paint, fixtures, cabinets, etc) and it needs furniture for the office and the living/dining area.

Only two churches in our district have sent any money toward the "Cabin Project" but I'm proud to say my home church, Pasadena AG, was one of them! In fact, the gift that they sent is still being used as Bobi does cosmetic work in each cabin, including adding closets and other necessary features. One church sent their ladies group to paint, plant flowers, and help tear up flooring. In addition to their physical labor, they left enough money to put in laminate floors in the Asian cabin that Bobi finished this past weekend. I got to walk on that beautiful floor and I could appreciate how much work is being done to offer missionaries a furlough house that can be a true home for the year we're raising support.

I'd love to see more people donate money or time to this worthy project. As a missionary, I'm allowed to live in one of the cabins if I choose, and I found out yesterday that it's not such a bad choice. The rent is extremely cheap; a pool is available two days a week in the summer; the atmosphere is one of prayer; and the accommodations are improving constantly as Bobi and Nancy keep working on these cute little cottages.