As mentioned in earlier posts, Doc and I believe God is preparing us to serve as intercessors in France—long-term. He has spoken through Scripture, given word pictures from strangers and encouragement from dear friends. He even brought a golden eagle to a lake retreat—showing us that He plans to stretch our understanding of spiritual freedom for the French people. He’s especially used two books—Radical by David Platt, and Why Pray by John DeVries.
 
Our missionary friends also recommended French or Foe, by Polly Platt. This book could discourage the strongest of heart. It contrasts American and French cultures by anecdotes from the woeful mistakes of Americans abroad. For example, the French people are put off by a smile from a stranger. Such a gesture is deemed intrusive, inappropriate until relationship has been established. In contrast, Americans’ smiles denote a range of emotion and connection, from common courtesy to deep friendship. Despite this, and a mountain of other protocols foreign to us, God’s plan to place us in France has settled deep in our hearts.
 
Meanwhile, the Lord continues to allay our fears of committing cultural faux pas. Much of our extended family lives in the Seattle area, so we’ve made countless trips across Snoqualmie Pass, from eastern to western Washington. Almost every time, coming and going, we’ve stopped in Ellensburg. Our custom has been to refuel at a gas station/convenience store, pick up a snack and be on our way.
 
On our last trip home, we modified the routine, eating instead at a family restaurant in Ellensburg. The hostess seated us next to a French family, “on holiday” in the U.S.
 
Attempting only occasional glances, we strained to hear the parents coaching their two young children. We understood only a smattering of their French; they talked so fast! Still, their lyrical instructions mesmerized us. Each member of the family ordered from the menu in excellent English, resuming French as soon as their server moved away from the table. The young father adjusted his Seattle Mariners ball cap, then traced their journey on a U.S. map. We recognized the names of American statesmen and places, sprinkled through the French.
 
Doc and I finished our meal at about the same time the French family prepared to leave the restaurant. What I did next still surprises me. While Doc paid the bill, I quickly rehearsed a greeting and approached the family in the parking lot.
 
“Excusez-moi.” I smiled. “Nous allons a Francais en octobre.” I reddened, realizing I’d spoken amiss. “Excusez-moi” should probably have been followed with “s’il vous plait.” And “Francais” means French (the language); “France” means France, the country. And—I shouldn’t have smiled so early in the conversation!
 
“Oh!” the young French woman exclaimed. A beautiful smile lit her face. “A visite?” she asked.
 
I struggled to reply.
 
“You can speak English if you like!” she assured me. “Are you coming to France for a visit?”
 
“Oh, yes, yes. In October.”

“Oui,” came her acknowledgment. Good. I said something that made sense.
 
“I wanted to apologize for my behavior in the restaurant. I tried so hard not to stare at your family, but the French you spoke was music to our ears.”
 
“Ahh. . .merci beaucoup!” She beamed.
 
“We hope you have safe travels.” I waved and made a half-turn toward our car. “Have a wonderful holiday in the states!”
 
“Merci! Bon voyage!”
 
Doc’s eyes widened as I climbed in the Camry. “What did you say?”
 
I was so thrilled I could barely answer him. Repeating my misspoken phrase, I relayed the woman’s delight at my blundered attempt at French.
 
Doc broke into praise. “Thank You Lord. Only You could encourage us like this with such a special meeting.”
 
But the fun wasn’t over yet. Three hours later, ten miles outside Spokane, two lanes of traffic crawled through a construction zone. The driver of a sedan next to us tapped his horn. Two youngsters waved wildly as they passed, smiling, shouting French greetings through the open rear window. Their parents waved demurely. Then I saw the man flash a broad grin at his wife next to him in the front seat.

Who says the French don’t smile?

Copyright 2011 - Carol Krebs

In my last post (see July 27 - Holy Ground), I shared our excitement and awe at the possibility of serving the Lord in France. I said then that the concept of surrender has taken on a new weight. Surrender is defined in Webster’s dictionary as “to give up possession of, or to yield to another on compulsion.”

           

I mentioned that Doc and I strive to live simply. Still, as we consider a possible move to France, we know from the example of our friends who preceded us that we cannot haul everything we own across the Atlantic. We must reduce our belongings here at home. Since we believe possessions are to be used rather than stored, we are faced with many decisions. When, where and to whom do we surrender these things?

 

Possessions are small potatoes, though, compared to the surrender of time with family here in the states. We made the five-hour drive to visit our grown children and grandson a few weeks ago. Our heartstrings tightened as we laughed, played and prayed together—such a mingling of sorrow and joy. I don’t believe we’ve ever taken their fellowship for granted. But the thought of a long separation from these precious loved ones brought unanticipated grief—even before our first visit to Europe. We will treasure our face-to-face time more deeply in the months ahead.

 

As I brought these thoughts and feelings to God, I heard the Words Jesus spoke to His disciples, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. (Luke 9:23-24 NIV)”

 

The Lord knows the cost of surrender, for He is its ultimate model. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus, heavy with sorrow, pleaded, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as You will. (Matthew 26:39 NIV)” After finding the disciples asleep, he prayed a second time, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may Your will be done. (Matthew 26:42 NIV)”

 

The thought of being missionaries in Europe sparks exotic imaginations. But the true cost of obedience sobers, stills our hearts. Surely, we have only a small sense of the sacrifices ahead. Will we be up to the task?

 

Holy Spirit reminds, Jesus said that we’d save our life if we lay it down. There is joy ahead. “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of our faith, Who, for the joy set before Him, (emphasis added) endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:2 NIV)”

 

Yes—joy. Beneath these unsettling emotions lies a stable certainty of our Lord’s will. He has never failed to guide us. Through years of difficult life circumstances, our King has taken us from baby steps to adolescent strides. Not only is He cognizant of our weaknesses, He’s committed to our growth. Gently, He now reveals a new leg of our journey, rejoicing as our submitted hearts continue to mature.

 

Our Sovereign has never demanded allegiance. Instead, He’s demonstrated faithfulness and love toward us. It’s hard to fathom that His love for our family far exceeds our own, but we believe that our obedience will work for good in their lives as well as in ours. The weight and compulsion we feel to follow Him is built on a lifelong joy that defies description. We are convinced that He is worth anything He asks.
 

Faithful still, God is preparing us for the trip. Along with many European sight-seeing thrills, we anticipate culture shock, homesickness, and the hard work of persevering prayer for those we serve. We do not expect to be in France overnight. But we’ve caught a glimpse of the mission God has designed us to fulfill—the mission of intercession. We know God will build our love for the French people as we connect with His passion for them—through prayer.

Today, on this leg of the journey, we joyfully surrender to Your will, our Lord and King.

Copyright 2011 Carol Krebs

There are no other words for where my husband, Doc, and I have stood for the last two  

months.

 

It started with a strong impression from the Lord. Our missionary friends in France were asking for prayer about a specific hurdle they faced, and as I meditated over their email, there was no mistaking God’s heart. Doc and I had developed a strong commitment to these friends and their ministry. Now, as I typed the beginnings of my heartfelt prayer, Holy Spirit Himself seemed to write the words.

 

The direction God gave through my written prayer affirmed and guided our friends. In fact, it compelled them to ask Doc and me to consider joining them in France. They had just completed missionary training that included Why Pray? by John DeVries. This book documents the commissioning of intercessors on various missionary teams. Results worldwide illuminate the extreme value of asking God’s direction before a work is begun and at each juncture along the way. Might we be the ones the Lord has chosen to step into such a role in France?

 

God has always used us to help send missionaries, but He’s never indicated we should go ourselves. This decades-long approach has been replaced, seemingly overnight, with the astounding thought that the Lord might trust us enough to place us on a foreign mission field.

 

Doc and I have prayed earnestly about this. To our surprise, a multitude of insecurities and questions cannot quench our love for our friends or for those to whom they minister. Instead, that love has sprouted, budded and blossomed in a few short weeks. Only God could change two hearts so radically.

 

We strive to live simply. Yet our attachment to even the few things around us is loosening. As we view our possessions, the Lord poses the question, “Could these impede the work I’ve prepared for you?

 

Holy ground.

 

We are prayerfully searching the scriptures and reading books on prayer, missions and France. We’re petitioning the Lord for direction, timing and finances; for unity of purpose with each other and the team in France; for understanding, discretion and clarity in communication with others. The concept of surrender has taken on a new weight.

 

Holy ground indeed.

 

God has confirmed that we are truly hearing His Voice. We sense His urging to travel to Europe this fall, where we’ll meet and talk with over thirty missionaries for whom we’ve been praying. What a privilege it will be to see the work there first-hand.

 

As He humbles and affirms us, we realize that our financial and spiritual needs are no surprise to the Lord. In fact, He’s been using them to mold our hearts to His will.

 

We stand barefoot on this Holy ground.

Copyright 2011 - Carol Krebs

In hard economic times we tighten our belts. In looking for ways to cut costs, here's a tip from a teacher of Biblical financial principles: It's best not to neglect fun. With this in mind, I share what I wrote nearly six weeks ago on Easter Sunday morning.

April 24, 2011

 

I woke this morning with an inexplicable urge to color eggs. Pretty silly. There’s not a single child in the household, unless we count me and my husband.

 

I’m a second-generation egg colorer. Mom would cook the eggs each year on the Saturday morning before Easter. That night, two to three dozen white oval canvasses were split evenly between those who wanted to help Mama color our world. Her brood of two sons, two daughters and an enthusiastic husband loved to decorate those eggs. We’d inspect one another’s workmanship—hand drawn or tattooed bunnies and crosses, flowers and scripture references.

 

Our normal competitive family atmosphere softened during egg coloring. Each one’s expression was encouraged and valued, with our imaginations as the only boundaries. Tomorrow would be time enough to compete.

 

On Sunday morning, we’d wake to Mama’s resurrection melodies from the piano. My older sister and I would lay in bed, humming or singing. “He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today! He walks with me and talks with me along life’s narrow way…” We knew there was no rush, since none of the goodies could be opened until all our chores were completed. So we’d soak in the words that Mama sang. “Up from the grave He arose, with a mighty triumph o’er His foes!” She knew all the verses, though she hadn’t attended church regularly since her childhood.

 

Eventually rising ourselves, we’d inspect the kitchen table, laden with colorful baskets marked with our names. The girls’ containers might be a new Easter purse or a sewing kit—the boys’ a baseball cap or a tackle box. Tucked inside the fake green grass were jelly beans, chocolate eggs, marshmallow bunnies, trinkets, and seed packets. (We knew Papa would supervise our flower and vegetable planting.) Some years there’d even be a plastic egg or two with a few coins inside.

 

While the boys finished milking and feeding the livestock, Sis and I helped fix a big breakfast—usually eggs, bacon and pancakes. Then it was time for egg-hunting. Competition was alive again—boys against girls, young against old, one-on-one; we tracked who gathered the most in every contest. Later in the day, our Easter hide-n-seek would extend to the yard, then to a picnic in the park.

 

We had to stop after our first few rounds inside, though. Everyone pitched in with the dishes, as the clock ticked toward a mid-morning church service. The whole family attended on Christmas and Easter. There was usually a special children’s program, and though Mom and Dad didn’t appear to enjoy the prospect, they felt an obligation to encourage our performances.

 

Inevitably, our parents would quarrel as they prepared to leave. Some years the tension would be so great they’d change their minds, dropping us off for pick-up later. My heart ached when this happened, sensing, even as a young girl, the spiritual battle in which we were all embroiled.

 

Jesus had won that battle on the cross, with His love, and before their deaths, Mama and Papa each acknowledged Him as their resurrected Savior. They received His forgiveness for their sins and His acceptance, with no religious pretenses.

 

Please don’t misunderstand. I’ve devoted my life to relationship with Jesus Christ, and I’m committed to His Church. Hubby and I attended an Easter worship service at our church last night, and we read the account of Jesus’ passion aloud from scripture during our Thursday Bible study meeting. These rich celebrations captured what I believe to be the essence of Easter.

 

And today is Easter Sunday. How shall I invest in this day?

 

Fifty years have passed, and I’m still singing and playing resurrection melodies on the piano. And I’m coloring eggs. Nothing fancy, since my talents tend more toward music than drawing. Hubby and I are empty-nesters, so there probably won’t be any egg hunting either. But dyeing those eggs is an important investment—in fun. I’m celebrating His creation, in and around me, His sacrifice on the cross and His resurrection, a victory over all that would bring death and decay. Gratitude swells as I consider how Jesus has lived in my little-girl heart all these years. He’s walked and talked with me about every area of my life.

 

Jesus has brought me, step by step, to this celebration today. The scriptures are filled with celebrations that God instituted.  He loves a good party.

 

Care for an egg salad sandwich?

Copyright 2011 - Carol Krebs

It’s been nearly two months since, through this blog, I launched a discussion on investment. Since that launch, not one day has passed without the Word “invest” lingering on my mind. I capitalize “Word” to signify the origin and personal import of an idea I cannot shake.

God is saying, “Invest, dear one, as I instruct you.”

 

The general implication of this Word is that of spending our resources—time, energy, money, thought—on the things of God. Isaiah 58:10 (NIV) tells us, “Spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed.”

 

Spending opportunities abound in our fast-paced, me-centered culture.  Still, a friend often reminds me that we reap what we sow. Galatians 6:7-10 illustrates this truth by urging us to invest in a spiritual crop—not to grow weary of doing good—and by reminding us that harvest will come at just the right time.

 

In God’s economy, the yield rarely comes when we expect it. Jesus invested His time, energy and thought with the woman at the well. Afterwards, He urged His disciples to open their eyes. An imminent spiritual harvest surrounds us. (See John 4:27-42.)

 

It is my sincere belief that, having been made in God’s image, we are designed for creative and productive lives. Nothing less will satisfy.

 

So I ask: are you spending time, energy, money, and thought on the things of God? If so, are you expecting a spiritual harvest from your investment? What are your next steps as a sower? As a reaper? Consider Jesus’ Words from John 4:36 (NIV). “Even now the reaper draws his wages; even now he harvests the crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together.”

Enter into the joy of investment.

Copyright 2011 - Carol Krebs