The Foot of the Mountain From the Top of the Hill

As I stood at the foot of the mammoth mountain, watching my team mates ascend the steep rocky slope, my breath caught in my throat and every muscle in my body tightened. I questioned my ability to climb the mass of earth that soared before me. Doubt immobilized me in that single timeframe and in those speeding seconds my thoughts took me back to another chapter of my life where I stood at the foot of a different mountain.

Twelve stair steps were easy to climb, but during that episode of my life they soared above me like an impossible feat. An attempt to climb even one single step exhausted me to the point of collapse. It was the illness, the severely exacerbated asthma that robbed me of my life as I used to know and enjoy it. Because I trusted in the God of miracles I had refused to enter the plastic bubble that was prescribed for me in order to prolong my life. “One day,” I said to my doctor, “I will climb a mountain.” He considered the fact that I couldn’t even climb a single stair step but he accepted my decision.

In the months and years that followed that declaration of faith, I was blessed to be gifted by the measured return of all the things I had grown allergic to. I hugged a pine tree and wept as I took pleasure in its fragrance, burying my face within its still-tied-up branches while it stood in the narthex of our church at the start of the Christmas season. The following spring, I stood under a pale blue sky in the center of a large enclosed garden of roses and breathed in their sweet perfume while praising my Heavenly Father for His grace, His goodness, and His mercy. During the summer I traveled to the Pacific Ocean and sat on a sandy slope, delighting in the sights and smells of the sea and listening to the song of sea gulls soaring overhead. Fall brought winds that hurried multicolored leaves along the way as they danced in the breeze, bounced across lawns, and twirled down every walkway and street. As I walked along a path in a local park, a large flock of sparrows flew to the sky from behind me, soaring over me and ahead of me on both sides. The child's heart in me giggled with delight to be graced with the privilege of being a participant in this magnificent and glorious panorama of birds in flight. The world was new, fresh, exciting, and exhilarating! I’d been given the opportunity of rediscovering all the thing I'd been told were lost to me forever. Tears of joy fell each time God returned a gift once-lost. As I think on these things I’m reminded of a verse from Francis Thompson’s The Hound the of Heaven which says, “All which I took from thee, I did but take, not for thy harms, but just that thou might'st seek it in My arms...”

The illness and my weakness gave God the opportunity to demonstrate His power. He used all the things I had become allergic to as teaching tools to help me grow; and then He gave them back to me again one by one. My health had been restored. Now came the test of the mountain.





The year was 1999. I’d been selected as one of three artists from the US to travel to Bethlehem Palestine to paint the Millennium Mural for the year 2000. A gifted local artist joined our team when we arrived in Bethlehem. The photograph in this entry shows the four artists with selections of the mural that was painted on the BBC campus (click on the photo to enlarge it). Looking back, I find it absolutely illogical that I’d gone before the Lord three times, reminding him of the asthma. For several long years I had not traveled anywhere without the watchful accompaniment of a family member. Traveling alone was still an area that had not been tested. Each time I went before the Lord in prayer about traveling to a foreign land with a group of strangers who knew nothing of what had gone before in my struggle with asthma, His answer was always the same: “Trust Me.” I chose to trust, and in that splendid moment the burden of uncertainty suddenly released itself so powerfully that I felt like I was floating. In complete surrender to His will, my soul fastened tightly to The Shepherd’s leading as I traveled to Bethlehem Palestine to paint a mural inspired by Psalm 23 on a concrete wall that measured 102 feet in length by 22 feet high. We finished the mural in three and a half weeks and then went on tour of the Holy Land.

The mountain towered before me like a menacing monster and its path was dusty, rocky, and void of vegetation of any kind. It was August, the hottest time of the year, and there was nothing to provide shade or shelter during the climb. Years earlier I predicted that I would climb a mountain, and now the mountain presented itself as a testing of the authenticity of my faith. We were in ancient Jericho in the Judean Dessert. The mountain was several feet high – perhaps the length of a football field – maybe less. It was a simple hill, a mound of earth easily scaled, but to me it was a massive mound of dread, an impossible attainment, and a terror filled journey of gasping for every breath. My team mates were already ahead of me by a couple of yards but my feet felt like they had bonded with the rocky soil at the base of the hill. As I looked up the dusty path I heard my Lord’s voice in my heart reminding me of His instruction to trust Him. I thought about the hill he climbed for me two thousand years ago. He brought me to his birthplace to paint a mural in honor of his faithfulness, and he was ready to climb another hill with me. Apprehension released its powerful grip and I took that first step. During the ascent, as I placed one tiny baby step in front of another, not a single breath was labored and I reached the summit of that dusty mound refreshed and energized and with triumphant rejoicing for all that God had brought me through.

Turning around to see the path I had climbed, I saw that the foot of the mountain from the top of the hill was not so vast a distance after all. Below the hill, at the place where I hesitated in trembling and fear, grew a beautiful little plant with glossy leaves and tiny white blossoms. While looking at the mountain, I'd missed seeing it there. Discovering it's existence reminded me that in every circumstance of our lives, God leaves His incredible fingerprints of love. Too often, while focusing on the problem, we miss seeing the hope, the possible, and the glory that comes with victory. I saw an impossible dusty mountain in the dessert. God saw the possible and proved it.

“Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.” Psalm 40:5

A Spring of Living Water In the Desert

Several years ago, when my husband's doctorate was nearing completion and his job search had begun, I told him I would go anywhere in the world with him -- with one exception: I would never live in the desert. I learned an important lesson about the word "never" after that.

Here came the test. An exceptional job offer presented itself in Lancaster California. That little city is located in the Mojave Desert. When my husband told me of the offer, I found myself having to trust God's wisdom. As I packed our belongings for a move to the desert I remember saying, "God must have a plan for us there."

Within a few weeks after moving to Lancaster, I became increasingly ill. Every breath was an exhausting effort. The diagnosis of asthma was made a few months later, but by then, the asthma was well out of control. Allergy tests confirmed that I was allergic to everything in the desert. Asthma weakened my system so much that I became severely allergic to every plant and flower, all trees and grasses, all fragrances - natural or man-made, and nearly all the foods I had once enjoyed. The wet earth after a rain was a very serious threat, and the atmosphere became deadly for me whenever the wind blew. Every attack was a life-threatening episode.

Because of highly sensitive lungs, my physician placed me in complete isolation. Fortunately, it was my allergy proofed home and not a hospital room where I had to remain secluded during a long and dreadful year. Visitation was strictly prohibited because of the threat of allergens or irritants that could be introduced into my protective shelter. The only two people allowed to enter my secluded area were my husband and our twelve-year-old daughter.

At first I had great difficulty finding God's plan for me through this illness and solitude. I was very active before my affliction with asthma and the confinement made me very angry. I was angry because I couldn't breathe, angry because my life as I wanted to live it had ended, and angry because I couldn't express emotions. The expressions of anger, or grief, or laughter, stressed my lungs to the point of triggering life-threatening bronchospasms. Having to suppress the expressions of grief or laughter just didn’t seem fair. Most of the time, I couldn't even speak above a whisper. Climbing stairs was such an effort that I couldn't climb more than one or two steps before collapsing in sheer exhaustion while gasping for my next breath.

Because of the severity of the illness I was forced to inactivity; and that stillness went against the nature I had grown accustomed to. I had to relearn and put into practice the disciple of quietness. It's a discipline I took take great delight in during my prayer life a couple of years prior. However, working multiple tasks in service to the church became my focus and kept me from spending time with God and time in His Word. My spirit eventually became very stale.

In the silence of my sterile and isolated world, I grew to depend completely on God. I’d forgotten what that felt like. It was marvelous! As I listened, He revealed more of His infinite love for me. In the midst of grief I found joy, in my weakness I was being strengthened, and where a multitude of questions abounded, I was given answers. I had become parched and I was being revived by a spring of Living Water. My spirit danced!

That became the year of rediscovery. At the end of that year my allergist informed me that I needed to be enclosed in a plastic bubble for the remainder of my life. He justified this prognosis by stating that the outside world had become deadly to me and I would never be able to live in it again. I thought about that for a moment and then I made my decision. I said no, affirming that God did not create me to live my life inside a plastic bubble and He was certainly not finished with me yet. My doctor's response warned that I would die without the assistance of the bubble as my protected environment; but I had great faith in The God of the Impossible and I declared with great boldness, "Watch me. Some day I will climb a mountain.”

God took me to that mountain a few years later. But that’s another story.

Faith In The Midst of Terror

I received the following plea from my friend, Paul on January 28th. Paul lives in the heart of Bethlehem Palestine. He is 22 and the youngest of five children. He was a member of our Salt and Light ministry team when we served as missionaries in Bethlehem and he is YWAM trained in discipleship. Paul is a young Palestinian Christian and has a ministry of music – working to create the first Christian praise band in all of Palestine. He and his brothers have developed the first Palestinian Christian outreach to young people -- right in the center of a Muslim community.

Having visited in his home often, we know Paul and his Christian family very well. Here is the account of Paul’s ordeal and his faith in action.

January 28, 2008 6:17 AM: I was going home from the Bible College and there were Israeli soldiers and lots of jeeps that prevented me to go in the way of my home. One person asked me to stay there for a while, until this attack finish so I am here now for almost 2 hours hearing shooting and bombs all over. I was trying to call home and there was no answer! Later, my mom called me and told me that many Israeli armed solders entered our home and they put all my family in one room and they took the whole house until they could destroy a house next to ours. At this moment one or more family will have no home in this very cold weather and we don't know when this thing going to finish. Please pray now and send this email to people you know to pray for this. I love you all. Let’s trust God for a miracle. Blessing, Paul

January 29, 2008 4:24 PM. Thank you all for your prayers. There is good and bad news too but thanks God for it all: The Israeli soldiers left after 7 hours of the attack from 2:00 PM to 9:00 PM. few cars were damaged on the roads. One person was killed, 3 families became homeless in this very cold weather, many believers were unified through praying together for the same thing, God heard all our prayers and did what is best, my family all safe but there was some damages in the house . God can use it all for His Glory. I will be sending you another full update about it all but please send this out too for the people who prayed with us, and please keep praying for comfort to the family of the guy that was killed. Bless You All. Paul

There are so many thoughts that race through my mind as I think back on these times. I can only catch a few of those thoughts right now, but maybe that’s a good thing. This missive would be too long otherwise.

We tried not to get involved in the political issues, but it was difficult not to have a personal opinion at least. We visited many Christians in many Palestinian cities who expressed an eagerness for peace, and listened as they spoke of forgiveness and healing. We listened to several Israeli soldiers and felt compassion as they shared their desire to be at peace with the Palestinians. Many of them didn’t want to serve in the army, but the choice was not theirs to make. All of them: Israelis and Palestinians, said that peace could happen one day, but they didn’t know how that would be accomplished.

While crossing the checkpoint into Bethlehem one evening, one of the soldiers expressed his wish to visit Bethlehem some day. There were tears of sadness in his eyes and a longing in his voice for an end to the violence. We will never forget that.

The economy in Palestine was so severe that many were out of work. I very vividly remember a young Muslim man, about 19 years old, who had been out of work for two years. He was asking for money to pay his bills, to buy food for his family, and to pay for a doctor’s visit. His eyes were firey red and painful looking. It was disturbing to look at them. He had an infection in his eyes and was desperately in need medical attention. Without medical attention, he would lose his vision in both eyes. He wept as he told me this. My heart broke.

I painfully remember when our Christian friend, a graduate student from the Bible College, was detained at a check point and verbally abused by an Israeli soldier who had control issues. Our friend had done nothing wrong. He was just there to escort his new wife back to their flat. We watched helplessly and our hearts broke as our friend stood silently in the midst of that terrible barrage of insults. After it was over, our friend said to his tormentor: "I forgive you."

Anguish griped my heart with a stranglehold that nearly took my breath away the first time I stood in front of the towering concrete separation wall that was being constructed around Bethlehem and the entire West Bank. I looked around and saw people standing silently with shoulders slumped in grief before this great wall. They knew they were seeing their prison walls. Faces bore the strain of hope long vanished as despair crept into their eyes and took up residence in their souls.

On the other side of the fence, whenever we’d journey into Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and other cities in Israel, we witnessed another kind of imprisonment as armed security guards blocked the entrance to every business establishment. Some of the stores had metal fences surrounding the establishment with a security guard at the gate of the fence checking everyone with a metal detector and examining handbags. Memorials with flowers marked the charred places where suicide bombings had occurred.

Many innocent people on both sides are caught in a conflict they neither started nor wanted. It stirs up feelings of sadness and anger toward the injustice that continues there. However, God has not abandoned that place. Look again at at the forgiving heargt of my friend Paul and the efforts he makes to continue the work of Jesus Christ. There are many Palestinian Christians just like Paul whose faith-in-action are having a mighty impact for God’s Kingdom in a land that is thought to be forsaken. We only hear of the battle that continues to rage there, and we are subjected to images of the horrible violence in that land. Rarely, are we given information of the efforts for peace by Palestinian Christians who are living there. They have found opportunity for God's Kingdom purpose and have equipped themselves with love, mercy, and forgiveness in the midst of chaos and persecution. These are the heroe of our time in God's mighty army, clothed in His Armor.