CHILDREN CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

Whatever channel you watch, I’m sure you’ve watched the unending flow of illegal immigrants over our southern borders. My husband and I live in Texas and I can assure you this is a real and troubling problem for all Americans. But, as a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the principles and precepts of God’s Word, I’ve struggled aligning my feelings against the plumb line of the Word.

‘Til our LifeSavers Edit group last Saturday.

Thomas Jefferson said, “A nation without borders, is not a nation.” We must pray for our leaders. These are difficult issues. And without God’s help we will not make righteous decisions.

Author and friend, Kathie Melville, wrote the following article of her journey and has agreed to share with us. Kathie and her husband are volunteers with Texas Baptist Men. Please welcome my friend to the blog this week.

CHILDREN CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

The disaster relief organization called “Texas Baptist Men” sent an email to me, a TBM volunteer, in May 2014 describing an unusual job assignment or call-out. Homeland Security requested assistance from TBM with a crisis not yet known by the general public. Overwhelmed with the influx of young children who had crossed the Texas border without parents, the border personnel needed a way to provide showers, clean clothes and oral hygiene essentials for hundreds of children.

TBM assignments normally come in response to a natural disaster–something no one could have prevented. But these children? Away from mothers and fathers? Couldn’t this have been avoided? When the call-out came, I didn’t want to go. Please leave me out of such a mess!

But visions of tired, dirty and frightened children invaded my mind. The communication noted a preference for women to serve. Many of the girls suffered sexual abuse by men during their travels and needed a woman’s gentle touch. Reports of preschool children wrenched my heart as I pictured young children sent from their homes to travel without parental protection or comfort.

Politics and questionable parenting ceased to matter when I thought about the children. They needed to know Jesus loves them just as I know He loves me. Isn’t that what Jesus commanded? As James 1:27 states: “religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress” (NIV). Although, possibly not literal orphans, these children were essentially parentless and in distress. I knew in my heart I had to go.

Our TBM van entered through a gate and passed brick walls topped with curls of barbed wire. Reminders these children lived in a jail facility because they had broken the law. Two TBM shower unit trailers sat in the hot sun on the grassy grounds outside the buildings. Little tents provided shade over the line of white plastic chairs where the children would wait for their turn to take a shower and brush their teeth.

A group of girls walking in line, soldier fashion, followed a female border guard out of the building and sat down in the row of chairs by the shower unit as the interpreter gave them instructions. My limited Spanish became a source of frustration as I wanted so much to converse with them. Our smiles and quick responses to their needs helped them relax and smile back. Many said “thank you” and smiled their appreciation as we assisted them. One girl told the interpreter she had been traveling for nine months. Another said she hadn’t bathed or brushed her teeth in fifteen days.

As the day progressed, groups of boys came out. One little boy could barely reach over the sink to brush his teeth and sprouted a white toothpaste beard. Our laughter brought smiles to otherwise somber faces. Others came out of the shower stall holding up pants too big for them. We had to go back to the piles of clothes and hope to find smaller pants.

The dirty clothes on their back comprised the total of each child’s personal belongings, although, one small child had a couple of tiny dinosaur toys in his pocket. Those clothes had to be washed, but surrendering them to us after they showered and dressed in donated clothes sometimes brought tears. We promised to give them back after they were washed and dried, but the children often left for another location before they received back their own clothes.

My fellow workers and I wondered how parents could release their beautiful children to travel so far without them, risking disease and danger on their way. What kind of situation would move a parent to such desperate measures?

We were not allowed to take pictures and only our leaders saw the children in their crowded cells. I pictured around twenty children in a small jail cell and didn’t like what I visualized.
Lice and scabies are almost impossible to control in such tight quarters. Our job expanded to include lice and scabies treatments. The TBM volunteer nurse sobbed when she told us the girls with lice must have their hair cut short. Sheared locks of thick, ebony hair added to the growing loss of personal possessions and home.

On the last day we worked, I watched the final group of children walk away toward the border guards. Tears filled my eyes as I remembered combing out some of the girls’ hair and telling them “Jesus te ama.” I remembered how my heart filled with a joyful sadness seeing their tears when they opened their hearts to God’s love. I remembered when I heard their sweet “gracias,” and felt their hugs.

Though exhausted from the long, hot work and anxious to return home, I thought, what now? What will happen to them now? What are they going to do without us?

We worked long hours for several days in over 90-degree heat and slept on the floor of a small church. Did it matter? Yes, it matters for eternity to children who responded to the Gospel shared with them by our interpreters.

Is the control of our borders a crisis? Yes, it is. Should the flow of illegal border crossings be stopped? Yes.

But there must be compassion for children caught in the middle. God allowed the flow of alien children to happen. Maybe our fears of going to Central America, because of dangerous criminal activity in those countries, resulted in God sending them to us? Could it be that He knows it’s an opportunity for some of these children to meet Jesus and become members of His family? During the eighteen days TBM provided aid to these children, ninety-three of these precious ones accepted Christ as their Savior and became my little brothers and sisters in Him.

Whether the children go back to Central America or stay, we must choose how to relate to them while they are here. Will it be with anger or compassionate love? Which response has God extended to you?

“The Lord watches over the alien and sustains the fatherless and the widow…” (Psalm 146:9 NIV).

“From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live” (Acts 17:26 NIV).

Kathie Melville is a teacher, writer, mother, and grandmother. She is an active member of North Texas Christian Writers and The LifeSavers, an adult edit group. Her devotionals appear in the Secret Place.

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LOST TREASURE

My husband and I celebrated my birthday this past Saturday with a trip to Cleburne, the theatre, and dinner with friends. Relaxed and content, Dick and I climbed into the car, ready to enjoy our long ride home.

About fifteen miles out of Cleburne I reached to adjust my glasses. My hand brushed the side of my ear and panic swept through me like a down-draft. “It’s gone.” I shouted and rubbed my ear lobe.

“What’s gone?” Dick jammed on brakes, swerved, and pulled to the side of the road.

“My new earring.” I wailed. “I’ve lost my earring.”

“How? Where?” Dick glared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“If I knew where it wouldn’t be lost.” My mind raced back to Cleburne and I mentally retraced my steps. I had the earrings on at dinner. One friend had voiced how lovely they were. How would I ever be able to tell Lisa and Michael.

Our daughter-in-law is the best gift-picker-outer ever. She and my son had sent two pair of unique, creative silver earrings from the Kennedy Center in Washington for my birthday, just last week. This was the first time I had worn my beautiful gift.

“Dear God,” I breathed. “Please help me find my earring.”

“Why don’t you call the restaurant and see if anyone found them,” Dick said.

A short phone call brought discouraging news—no earring found.

“Honey, would you mind going back?” I knew my request meant we would be late arriving home. Too late to watch Dick’s Nascar race. And, it might be a useless trip. Still, I had to return to search for my treasured gift of love.

We parked in the same spot we left forty-five minutes earlier and retraced our steps between the car and the restaurant. I walked through the parking lot, my eyes scanning every inch of black asphalt. Remembering I had hugged a friend goodbye before we walked to our car, I stepped onto the sidewalk right where we had left the couple. I looked down.

The earring lay on the cement, right where it must have fallen.

Relief and joy replaced the weight of despair as I snatched and held up the recovered treasure for my sweet husband to see.

His eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. “DiAne, you have got to be one of the most…”

I interrupted, “…blessed.” I said.

He hugged me. “Yes, dear, blessed.”

As we drove home, an enormous moon topped the horizon and I thought of the scripture where Jesus tells of the Shepherd who loved His sheep so much He left the ninety-nine obedient sheep to go search for one lost lamb.

The earrings were gorgeous and a wonderful gift, but the givers of my gift are the objects of my love. She loved me enough to pick out jewelry she knew I would enjoy and my love for my son and daughter-in-law caused me to search for my lost present.

In just that way, the Greatest Gift-Giver of the Universe offers each one of us His mercy, His grace, and His forgiveness. Forever. A priceless gift of love purchased with the blood of His only Son. And we risk losing that priceless treasure when we run from His amazing love. Why?

I rehearsed the scripture again. And remembered a time when I strayed because I was rebellious and lost. Lost in the false thrill of doing my own thing. But Jesus sought and found me. Forgave me. Restored me to a relationship with Him, because He loved me enough to take my punishment—death. And give me life—new life in Him.

How about you? How long have you been running? Lost and alone, running from the Father who loves you? The Shepherd is searching.

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You are His treasure and He takes pleasure hearing the sound of your voice. Why not cry out for His help today and come home? His arms are open wide. Waiting just for you.

“I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. He who is a hireling, and not a shepherd, who is not the owner of the sheep, beholds the wolf coming, and leaves the sheep, and flees, and the wolf snatches them, and scatters them. He flees because he is a hireling, and is not concerned about the sheep. I am the good shepherd; and I know My own, and My own know Me, even as the Father knows Me and I know the Father; and I lay down My life for the sheep” (John 10:11-15 NAS).

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WORLD BLOG TOUR

In this enormous Cyberspace World it’s increasingly obvious we are but wisps in the wind. I pound the keyboards each week and fling my words into the airwaves of the universe to land where they may.

Last week I received an exciting invitation from friend and author, Julie B. Cosgrove, to join this blog tour of recommended artists, writers, creative Christian minds. The purpose? To help you find authors whose words tickle a lasting harmony along the chords of your heart.

Each one of us is to answer four questions for you, so here goes:

1. What am I working on?
Always on the ADHD side, I’m never working on one thing. Brain’s just not wired that way. Arnold, the Ant Who Didn’t Want to Be an Ant, I’ve written and illustrated for elementary ages or is the perfect book to read with your grandchildren. Arnold is a mischievous ant I met some years back. He learns to be content being just what God created him to be—an ant. But is was a rough ride to get there. And he will be coming to a bookstore near you soon.

I am finishing the last set of edits (notice I didn’t say the final edits) on my middle-grade manuscript Roped and will be seeking an agent and publisher. Roped is action/adventure about two Texas rodeo teens. Their unusual sport reveals all pre-teens face the same problems. Plus a few horrors hiding in life’s murky shadows.

Three weeks ago I typed the first few chapters of my WIP The Scarlet Cord. These words have been playing ping pong in my head for four years and will be the stories of folks who’ve been through the loss of a loved one and found the comfort of God at GriefShare.

2. How does my work differ from others of my genre?
Well, I’m an artist, as well as a writer, and tend to look at stories like a painting—in shades and hues of brilliant colors and deep, dark blacks. The fact I’m older than dirt gives me a different perspective on life’s issues. My husband just calls me different. Very, very different. Hmmm.

3. Why do I write what I do?
When I was fifteen I won a writing contest with a short article entitled The Basis of a Great Nation Is A Christian Home. And these years later I’ve come to realize how profound my topic was—then and now. You can’t teach what you don’t know. That’s why so many of our young people have no clue about God’s Word—Mom and Dad don’t know. My purpose is to teach both, one spoonful at a time. One life lesson at a time. One hardship and loss at a time.

4. How does my writing process work?
I’m what is fondly referred to as a seat-of-the-pants writer. And that’s my modes operandi for life—God gives the idea, I shift into gear and push the pedal to the floor. Yeehaaa! I make organized and sane people crazy. Having been a legal secretary for years, my fingers fly as fast as my thoughts. Then the real work begins—editing. And editing. And more editing. But that first draft is sheer delight. At least for me. My edit group? Not so much.

Julie B. Cosgrove’s blogsite, Where Did You Find God Today?— will help you focus on the many ways God is constantly involved in our lives, constantly teaching, constantly loving each one of us. I invite you to visit her site. And, if you like her writing as much as I do, click on “follow” to automatically receive her posts each week. You will also find a list of her books now available at your local bookstore.

Please meet my friend and author, John Tourney.
Author and CAD Technician for a pharmaceutical, John Turney graduated from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio with a Bachelors in Fine Arts. While attending college, he took several writing classes. After graduation, he entered the Engineering field as a drafter when pencils and paper were still used. As a writer, he has published articles in eZines, devotionals, and several stories in the Splickety Magazines. His first novel, Innocent Blood: Equinox of Reckoning, came out in 2013. In August, his second novel Whiskey Sunrise, will be in a bookstore near you.

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SLICED AND DICED

Peach time in Texas and the trees are loaded! Friday the 4th I picked twenty pounds, took them home and sliced and diced them for the freezer. And yesterday evening I took two friends back with me and we picked fifty pounds of yummy, organically grown, reddish delights.

I selected each peach and carefully plucked and placed the fuzzy fruit in my bag. But, in spite of careful handling, some peaches arrived in my kitchen blemished and bruised.

Grabbing my soup pot I brought water to a boil, filled the sink with ice water, preparing to slip the skins off and slice the fragrant beauties. To my horror, the peaches were wormy. Little white, yucky worms had burrowed holes clear to the seed, leaving portions of the flesh brown and mushy.

Now my Mama was never into canning and freezing or gardening—the food kind. So I learned from the cooking channel, recipe books, and trial and error. And in my younger, stupid years, I would have pitched the whole lot of peaches in the garbage.

But as I stood at the sink this afternoon, I recalled a memorable lady who taught me to value food God provided.

Her name was Mildred McWhorter and she operated two mission centers in Houston’s inner-city. Along with several friends, I worked at the missions a day or two a week. We picked up bread from a local grocery store and transported it to the missions to be given away. When the lady in charge of store donations learned where the bread was going we found much, much more than bread in our baskets—detergent, rice, beans, and even an occasional toy or doll. The donations grew until we needed two cars to haul this marvelous provision from God.

One morning Kathy and I were unloading a super-sized car-full of goodies when I heard Mildred’s voice bellowing above the sounds of the city. “Well, you certainly don’t love your baby if you can’t take thirty-minutes to listen to God’s Word.”

I turned toward the mission entrance where she stood with this enormous man. Now Mildred was no small woman, but he dwarfed her. The man shook his head and mumbled something we couldn’t hear, but by the expression on his face we knew he was angry. Very angry.

In her booming out-door voice Mildred retorted, “No. No lesson from the Word—No diapers or formula.” She didn’t flinch.

The man turned in a rage, jumped in his car, and screamed insults at her all the way down the street.

Kathy and I were frightened, but when he left we questioned Mildred about the wisdom of sending him away empty-handed. “Should we feed the body and ignore the soul?” With her hands firmly planted on her hips, she glared first at me then at Kathy.

“No ma’am,” we whispered.

“If your child was hungry would you do everything in your power to get them food?” Her glare demanded an answer.

“Yes ma’am,” we replied in unison.

“And anyone with a hungry, messy baby would too. He didn’t want the food for a baby. He was going to sell it on the corner. How could I stand before God to answer why I fed his body, but not his soul?”

She turned abruptly as one of the volunteers dumped several huge bags of potatoes in a can to be taken to the dumpster. And in the same verbose voice bellowed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

The woman froze. Kathy and I were grateful we were not the object of attention of this courageous woman of God.

Mildred took the can and turned to all the helpers. “God provides everything we give others at this mission,” she said. “How arrogant we would be to throw food He provided in the garbage when it’s perfectly good—just because we’re lazy?” She reached down and picked out several potatoes and held them up for us to see. “Yes, there are a few bad spots.” She twisted them in her hand then handed them to the woman. “Cut out the bad spots,” she ordered.

I’ve never forgotten her words.

Those who came to the Mildred McWhorter Mission Centers knew they were going to receive spiritual as well as physical food. And those who came heard the Word of God. Many became brothers and sisters in Christ and God turned their lives around.

As I stood slicing wormy peaches this afternoon, I heard Mildred’s voice and remembered the lesson. And I determined once again, not to be lazy. I cut out the bad spots and preserved the good fruit.

And that’s what the Lord Jesus gives us the strength to do in our lives when we receive Him as Savior and Lord. He gives us the power of the Holy Spirit to cut the bad spots out of our lives—blemishes of addictions, adultery, divorce. Worm holes of pride, idol worship, greed, and covetousness. And bruises caused by lack of forgiveness, rebellion, and anger. Any and all sins of our flesh and our spirit. So our lives can produce good fruit to the glory of God.

Church, we are required to be a holy bride, without spot or blemish. A bride set apart for Christ.

My beautiful bags of delicious, de-wormed peaches wait in the freezer to be transformed into ice cream, pies, cobblers, and smoothies. And they will be gone before next year’s crop. But my de-wormed heart and soul will survive for all eternity.

“The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life, but the mouth of the wicked conceals violence. Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all transgressions” (Proverbs 10:11-12 NAS).

“…from the same mouth come both blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not to be this way. Does a fountain send out from the same opening both fresh and bitter water? Can a fig tree, my brethren, produce olives, or a vine produce figs? Neither can salt water produce fresh. Who among you is wise and understanding? Let him show by his good behavior his deeds in the gentleness of wisdom” (James 3:10-13 NAS).

 

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AND I WONDERED

Last year around the 4th of July I wrote this blog post, and as I read through it this morning, I wondered if God put a mark on the head of everyone in America who sighed and groaned over the abominations which are being committed in our nation how many would be spared by the mark? And how many would be slaughtered? And notice where the judgment begins. This past year has seen us slip further down, down into the chasm of chaos.  America is upside down. Only God can save us, and He will only do that if we cry out to Him. Just like Judah in 605 B.C. ,  are we beyond repair.?

“As the deer pants for the water brooks, so my soul pants for Thee, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; when shall I come and appear before God?” (Psalm 42:1-2 NAS).

 

Have you ever been working in the yard, forgetting about everything but the task at hand, and suddenly realize you are thirsty? So thirsty you drop everything and flee to the fridge or water faucet for a refreshing, cool drink of water?

As I read this Psalm today, I wondered, do I become that thirsty for God?

Does my soul pant for God like the deer pants for the water brooks? Or does my soul pant for the things God has given me?

Do I become so distracted by the abundance of His blessings, I shove Him to the end of my I-love-You line?

Oh, I get up and go to church every Sunday, and I wonder, is worshiping God number one on my list, or am I wondering what the choir director has planned and will I like it.  Or what the preacher will talk about? Perhaps the central thought on my mind—where am I going to have lunch and who is going to come with me?

Last Sunday we celebrated the 4^th of July at First Baptist Dallas. And I knew there would be special music. One of our Texas Senators  delivered the morning message. (This year we were blessed to hear Todd Starnes).  It was a time of joy-filled, flag-waving worship.

I got up early, knowing church would be crowded, and considered wearing red, white, and blue. But, in light of the shameful events in America and in Texas the past weeks, (doubly true in 2014), my heart mourned.

Senator Ted Cruz delivered a powerful message, recalling the founding fathers, principles, and legacy of this nation under God. He called us to prayer and to action. To stand up and speak up. (And a year later Americans are as apathetic as ever, or more so. Where will it end?)

And I wept.

Our forefathers gave their lives so we could have the freedom to worship God; and, I have to ask myself, have I allowed Sunday morning to become entertainment rather than a time for repentance and confession and true worship of my Lord Jesus Christ?

The choir sang The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

And I wept.

God has blessed this nation. Prospered us and built up the walls of America as our founding fathers placed their faith and trust in Him, but I’ve sat silent while those who mock God tossed His Word and prayer out of public schools, murder generations of  this nation’s babies, and are determined to force us to accept a deviate culture God identified as unnatural and wrong since the beginning.

 And I wonder, have I grown accustomed to the violation of God’s laws, shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head, while approving and feeding the coffers of movies and TV shows that revile righteousness and worship at the feet of false gods?

And I wept.

Did I say no to my children and grandchildren when they patterned their dress and behavior after sports figures and teen idols who thumb their noses at the Lord God Almighty?

No, this 4^th of July will not be a time of celebration for me, but one of remembering, cherishing, and repenting. Remembering and cherishing the sacrifice of those who’ve gone before me. Remembering and repenting for my silence and my failure to proclaim the whole truth of The Word. And remembering and repenting for allowing my soul to be satiated with the things of the world, rather than thirsting for the living God.

How about you?

In Ezekiel 9:4 God said about ancient Israel:

“Go through the midst of the city, even through the midst of Jerusalem, and put a mark on the foreheads of the men who sigh and groan over all the abominations which are being committed in its midst. But to the others He said in my hearing, ‘Go through the city after him and strike; do not let your eye have pity, and do not spare. Utterly slay old men, young men, maidens, little children, and women, but do not touch any on whom is the mark; and you shall start from My sanctuary.’ So they started with the elders who were before the temple” (Ezekiel 9:4-6 NAS).

 

Where will God find you this 4^th of July, 2014?  Will you join me? Sighing, groaning, and praying for God’s mercy and healing for me and you and the rest of His rebellious children.

 

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