Blog 10: It’s Not How You Fall, It’s How you Get Up.

This is supposed to be a travel blog of sorts, but since Laurie’s stroke, traveling has been reduced to grocery shopping, church, and physical therapy. But it is what it has become, not by choice. I was thinking how much I like retirement, especially that you don’t have to kiss up to a boss in order to get paid. I just go to Mr. ATM, give him my card, and he spits out the money. He never makes me greet him in a certain way when I’m having a bad day. There is no time- clock, so I can come and go as I please. There’s no “one-down” relationship to deal with—Mr. ATM treats me as his equal. And although Mr. ATM doesn’t smile, he at least doesn’t yell and get all worked up about something he thinks I did wrong. He’s actually very even-tempered.

20180506_170519I love shopping locally, picking out fresh fruit, vegetables, eggs and milk. Makes you feel like part of the community. These people are so poor and work hard, seven days a week to make ends meet. And they so appreciate your business, much more than Walmart. And the their food is much better. There’s nothing like a sun-ripened mango.

In my down time from caregiving, I’m reading Toxic Faith by Stephen Arterburn and realizing how grateful I am that God delivered us from that type of organization.  People who know me know what group I am talking about, and if so, I apologize for any offense you might take from my post, that is not my intent. I fully realize that there are many sincere believers in this group, and that God is using their lives in wonderful ways.

For the vast majority of those who don’t know me, I don’t mention the group because God may very well want them to stay, and I don’t want to do anything that would interfere with that.

I’m just beginning to understand the anger I’ve had against them since leaving ten years ago, which is helping me let go of it. It’s this: They started out as a supernatural move of God in the “Jesus people” movement, where hundreds of hippies like myself got delivered from a life of drugs, insanity, and aimless illusions. Never thought I would ever use this word, but it was organic, (that hurt), free-spirited, and our pastor was called a “brother.” But then it slowly changed. We didn’t notice it much at first, because we were ministering either in Canada or South Africa for 15 out of 17 years. But each time we came back for furlough, we began to see things that made us more and more uncomfortable.

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In a word, it became “controlling,” even though God was still using them to bring hundreds of souls to Christ. The word “headship” was introduced, and with it came a new sense of being dominated, which over the years has led to much spiritual abuse. The problem lies in the “headship” maintaining a “one-down,” parent-child relationship with the member.  I liken it to raising a teenager until about the age of sixteen, and just as the teen slowly begins to break away from their parental influence and begins the natural and healthy process of becoming their own adult, the parent clings on to them and  demands that they stay in a child-parent relationship.

So, the organization is a good place to be converted to Christ, if you don’t mind having a false spiritual authority placed over your lives, commonly referred to as “heavy shepherding,” an authority completely foreign to New Testament leadership principles. The Bible does refer to “headship” in the church, but it is always in reference to Christ being the head of the church. And in a real sense, these leaders have replaced Christ and His authority. In our first service at our new church, the pastor addressed the small congregation and said, “what a privilege it is to be your pastor.” We knew we were in a healthy church.

Back to my anger that I’m letting go of. If they hadn’t changed, I would still be enjoying the wonderful church experience I once enjoyed, the worship, the preaching, the fellowship, not to mention my career as a preacher, none of which I have ever regained. Ronald Reagan was once criticized for leaving the Democratic party for the Republican. He responded, “I didn’t leave the Democrats, they left me.” Likewise, I didn’t leave this religious group, they left me. So, the anger I’ve had with them is over the way they became more heavy-handed and intimidating, which shattered us and our children–all they stood and gave their lives for overseas, trashed in a moment of time. Children don’t recover from that sort of thing as quickly as adults, sometimes never. And we’re just one of hundreds of such families. But knowing where this anger was actually coming from, them departing from the healthy place they came from, is helping me deal with it.

This has been day 34 of our challenging Caribbean get-away. We have unmistakingly seen the hand of God in all of this.  If Laurie had had her stroke one day earlier, in Portland, we would have never gotten to the Caribbean Sea, so our dream would have stopped right there. She loves the sea and the sun and can relax here better than anywhere.  It happened in the city of Cancun, and we ended up at a hospital where a Christian nurse named Lucy is doing the laborious work of gathering all the endless hospital documents 20728273_10210133102419387_4125664610878013531_nfor the insurance and disability claims. She is emailing them to my daughter Rachel, another wonderful nurse, and she’s sending them on to all the right places. This takes an enormous load and frustration off us so we can concentrate more on Laurie’s recovery. These two women can’t imagine the incredible blessing they have been to our lives, in spite of own their jobs and own homes to run. And finally, unable to find a place in Cancun to live, we moved down to Playa del Carmen, where I believe we found the church God has for us and a home that’s perfect for physical therapy, with a rooftop pool and a very motivating view of the sea.

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Thank you, Jesus, and all those who are praying. God is good.

 

 

 

 

Open to Change

 

I find myself as a caretaker for my wife in a wheelchair, moving at the speed of woman. Now I know why women take so much longer to get ready to go out than men—things I really didn’t want to know. And Laurie is actually low-maintenance compared to most women. For me? Put on my shorts, a shirt, and sandals and I’m out the door, but my wife, well, you married men know what that’s about. Not complaining, but I feel I’ve just solved one of the mysteries of life for men. Next, I’m tackling why men can’t find anything in their wife’s purse.

We listened to the song, “10,000 Reasons” (Bless the Lord) by Matt Redman this Sunday morning; I’m about to say something pretty sappy about it: I had goosebumps down to my heart. I warned you. I believe one of the lines speaks of praising God in heaven and goes something like, “10,000 years and then forever more.” It speaks to me of permanence. We left Portland four weeks ago with two backpacks and a suitcase full of meds for old people, like pilgrims passing through this world. Won’t it be great when our pilgrim days are over and the “forever more” begins.

Even following American politics from a distance, it’s plain to see one party is preparing for the mid-term elections with a “lights-out” surge toward naked socialism: reparations for African Americans, income handouts, guaranteed jobs, and other redistribution of wealth schemes.

I personally have had some second thoughts recently about my hardcore opposition to what I’ve seen as the “erosion of American capitalism.” Since my post-hippie days, I’ve worked hard all my life, mostly as a pastor and missionary, now defrocked, and later at a variety of low-skill jobs to make ends meet, but have little to show for it, at least on the financial side. We lost our home in the 2008 crash, but mostly because of losing my thirty-year career as a preacher, and we have never recovered financially.

Now, before you think I’m hitting you up for a “fund-me” campaign, p_20180429_174104_1.jpgI’m just trying to set you up for what I want to say next about socialism. Living now off my social security and a VA pension, and with my wife disabled from a stroke, the thought of a guaranteed living wage, universal health care, and other government handouts, not to mention the possibility of less pop-up advertisements on my laptop, well, it’s all very appealing. Those who are younger, skilled, and able to earn greater amounts of income, helping those on the other end of things, from where I’m sitting, that’s looking pretty good.

Until recent stories like twenty-three-month-old Alfie Evans from the U.K. surface from time to time. Alfie was born with an undiagnosed degenerative neurological condition and was living on life support. The doctors gave him no chance for recovery and chose to disconnect him from life support. So, the parents wanted him removed from the Liverpool hospital to a Vatican hospital in Rome, with the Pope’s blessing. The Italian government even made the extraordinary gesture of granting Alfie Italian citizenship, so he could freely fly to Rome. But the U.K. courts and the European Court of Human Rights denied Alfie’s parents the right to do so and instead have offered Alfie a “dignified and compassionate” death at their own hospital. After he was unhooked from support, he died just today.

So there’s the bait and switch. Socialism comes garbed as the ultimate solution to inequality, suffering, wants, and injustices of all natures. And who doesn’t want that? But with this “benevolent compassion” comes a hook: the loss of many basic personal freedoms.

If only socialism was the large-hearted, philanthropic system its promoters claim it is, but it isn’t, it’s a decoy. With the powers to supply all one’s needs, come the powers to dictate what is deemed unlawful speech and how many official genders exist. Swedish daycares are experimenting with boy toddlers wearing dresses and given dolls to play with, while girl toddlers are given G.I. Joes and toy trucks, in hope of breaking down the “unnatural stereotypes of the genders.” Are these the people we want imposing the limits on religious expression and what kind of car we can drive? Because these are the same people that denied little Alfie’s parents the right to remove their sick child to a religious environment, where they could find comfort, solace, and hope of a miracle.

William Shakespeare in King Richard III said it best in the words of his lead character:

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy, 

with odd old ends stolen out of holy writ,

And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

 

This was our second Sunday at the Cornerstone church. The pastor taught on Abraham being tested, when God asked him to sacrifice Isaac on Mt. Moriah, the same mountain Jesus would be sacrificed on for our sins many years later. And just as God supplied a substitute for Isaac with a ram, Jesus was the substitute for us on the Cross.

Abraham was changed forever after his experience on Mt. Moriah. God changed the world with His Son’s sacrifice on Mt. Moriah. Abraham didn’t know much about God at this point, just that He was a good God. He didn’t know how God would intervene, but he believed God’s promise that through Isaac He would multiply Abraham’s seed as numerous as the stars in the heavens.

I’ve seen a side of God I hadn’t seen before. 20180427_171144Going through this experience with my wife’s stroke and not knowing how financially, mentally, and spiritually we’re going to make it has changed me.

God spoke to me: “You take care of Laurie, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Anyone who knows me knows I’m not the caretaker type. I didn’t realize how selfish I was. It wasn’t so hard giving to people what I want to give them, which made me feel good about myself. But to give to someone what that person actually needs is another thing. He’s given me a deeper love for Laurie, and there’s a joy in serving her, which I know has to be from God.

Laurie says she never knew or felt how much God loves her since having the stroke. She was never able to receive God’s love before, not like this.

Blog # 8: Playa del Carmen

 

Laurie and I couldn’t find a decent place to stay so we moved on to Playa del Carmen, about an hour south by taxi from Cancun. A Craigslist post from a expat American from Georgia named Jason landed us in a budget-stretching one bedroom, ten minutes from the beach, with a rooftop pool overlooking the Caribbean Sea and the distant island of Cozumel. Sound like paradise? We needed the pool for Laurie’s physical therapy and the view of the Caribbean Sea to keep her spirits up, at least that’s what we tell ourselves.

But to keep this from sounding like your typical social media blog, which would normally contain the top five greatest hits of the week and  none of the flops, one of our laptops apparently picked up a virus and is rendered useless until we can find a tech. guy, (Joseph, where are you?). Laurie temporarily had her wheelchair stolen at Walmart, she caught the flu from a coughing doctor in ICU, hospital and physical therapy bills threaten to rob our nest egg unless we get reimbursed, even though we’re trying to trust God, we have fears around Laurie’s recovery.  We’re not super-saints by any stretch, just two older people learning daily to stay in the moment and trust the One who has never let us down, even when sometimes it appears that He has.

I’m reading Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, who as a five-year-old Somali girl, endured compulsory female genital mutilation, and as a teenaged girl escaped marriage to a man she barely knew by fleeing her African home and obtaining asylum in Holland. She began doubting the righteousness of her religion when she first learned what the Quran meant when it said to “wage war on the unbelievers,” that it wasn’t just referring to the seventh century battles of Uhud and Badr, but that the massacre of September 11 was also fully justified by Allah and the Prophet. She said most Muslims don’t study much theology and rarely read the Quran, which is taught to them in Arabic, which few Muslims understand. So, when the people are told Islam is a religion of peace, they take it at face value from their leaders, who are deemed infallible.

I thought of how the history of Catholicism is similar in one way. For 1,000 years, commonly referred to as the “Dark Ages,” the Bible was locked away in the Latin language where only the elite could read it. As a kid growing up in a strict Catholic home, I won’t say we were discouraged from reading our Bibles, but we were told that only the priest could properly interpret it, and so, although we had a huge family Bible, complete with full-page pictures, it was never actually read, even once. So, we also just took “truth” at face value from our leaders. And since the Pope was “infallible,” you couldn’t argue with God.

In the “heavy-shepherding” Christian cult Laurie and I were a part of for thirty years, there were also some similarities to the above. Biblical “truth” was filtered through the interpretations of the esteemed leaders. I believe for the most part, they were sincere, or is that being too kind? We used to joke about being “brainwashed,” and our response was, “well, my brain needed to be washed,” which it certainly did. Our former leaders had their own brand of “infallibility,” and you would be labeled suspect if you questioned it. Case in point: During a particular teaching session, one of the top pastors taught that Samson, since he had ultimately committed suicide, had gone to hell. When someone in the congregation timidly asked how one of the “Heroes of Faith” from Hebrews 11 could end up in hell, he was met with a reddened face and an angry “stare of death.” Contradiction was as the sin of rebellion—cross that line at your own peril. The leaders ruled liked Old Testament kings.

Laurie is able to leave our apartment, go up the elevator, climb the five steps to the roof level, and get into the pool for a swim,Jpeg all without her wheelchair. Of course, that means inching along in a tight hug with me, and more than once we’ve been told to get a room. She has always wanted me to take dance lessons with her, and so this may be her answer. People here have been extremely helpful—special mention to an expat named Paul from Ottawa, Canada, who always seems to be around when we need a little extra lift into the pool.

We also found another excellent church last Sunday here in Playa. Other than the twenty-three steps to the second floor, 20180422_102954sandwiched in between four brawny men from the congregation—these men took their jobs very seriously, no one was falling on their watch, it was good, simple worship and a biblical, well-prepared teaching with good revelation—we’ve found our church home.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

Connecting

Charlie and his beautiful wife and two teen-aged daughters picked us up for church last Sunday morning. Friends of Lucy. This was one reason we came to this tourist haven; not just to enjoy the sun, the beautiful Caribbean Sea, which we haven’t seen yet, and to escape the cold of Portland, both weather-wise and spiritually. but to find a church that believes in miracles and one we could be a part of and do something for God.

They met in a rural area, a small, chalk-white building, cut into the tangled jungle, white plastic chairs and Mexican smiles, hugs, and kisses by the dozen. During the worship, Laurie felt faint, so they transported her in her wheelchair to a car parked by the entrance, where she could rest in hear the music. The preaching was mostly in Spanish, but Cecil, a retired airline pilot with Japan Airlines, sat next to me and translated, and then I sent him out to the car to translate for Laurie.

At the end of the service, they carried her in her wheelchair up the nine stone steps back into the church and to the front to be prayed for. The worship and music was intoxicating. They pulled her up from the wheelchair, and with support, she walked for about 10 minutes. If love alone could heal, she was healed a hundred times. She definitely felt a supernatural strength flowing through her body when they prayed, and her legs noticeably strengthened from that point onward.

God heals in several ways. One: Miracles. These are instantaneous, supernatural acts of God. I believe the main reason Western Christianity has gone Laodicean is what I call “the death of Pentecost.” I’ve seen far too many miracles in my own ministry in South Africa, including a dramatic healing of my own back, that doctors said without surgery I might never walk, to ever have doubts on the subjects. Good Christians differ on this doctrine, but to me, it’s not a doctrine but a living reality.  Two: Healing. This is where God heals you quicker than the natural healing process. Three: Doctors. God uses doctors and medicines to heal people. Four: When we get to heaven.

Right now, we are believing for a supernatural healing, as Laurie is doing physical therapy and feeling a little stronger every day, but we’re still believing God for a miracle.

After church, Charlie and his family hosted a food fellowship with half of the church. Laurie was up for eight straight hours, by far her longest.

I’ve posted a video of the church praying for her, which follows:

 

 

 

 

Spiraling

So, who is this woman I married? Shy, a bouncing blonde ponytail, with her vivacious six-year-old​ daughter​, a diligent caretaker of ten ​stray ​kittens. I had no idea​ who she was, not really. ​ What man ​ever​ does​ to begin with​? She loved Jesus, she was so beautiful I wanted to weep, I had two small children left to me by my ​first ​wife’s death from cancer​;​ it was a match that had to be.

Who is she? I asked myself this when, as I was hopping her on one leg to ​her wheelchair,​ she said, cheek to cheek, “I’m glad this has happened.” I rested her against ​a ​wall, “What?” She said it brought us closer together and closer to God. It’s what we wanted. but I thought snork​eling​ on the Caribbean Sea and praying together again in the morning would be sufficient. No half measures with God. Living in Portland was like spiritual Sodom. ​Moving here, ​w​e were volunteering to make our lives available​ to God​ ​and now He is ​preparing us​ for what He has for us.​ I told a friend, jokingly, I wished my blog​ was​ “NOT changing from glory to glory ​TOO​ ​MUCH​,” but he was relentless and responded, “Nothing is too much to be conformed into God’s image.” ​I wanted to tell him to lighten up. ​

I’ve seen Mexican ​men and women​ working incredibly hard here, not always true in America​,​ where their votes are bought by food stamps. I saw a young gay man lounging by the pool. I remembered how I ​used to​ respond in my legalistic, judgmental church days​. That is,​ “If I befriend him, he will think I approve of his life​’s​ choices,” right? ​I know the Scriptures, but since my name isn’t Jesus, I treated him with respect. ​I tried to ​explain to him why Obama was not the savior of the world and why Trump was not the ​Beast of the Book of Revelations, even if he looked and acted the part many times. ​ ​After I was ​more delivered from my judgmentalism, someone​ asked ​me ​what ​I ​would do if a homosexual walked into ​my​ church? I said I would sit him with the rest of the sinners. After all, God hates religious pride above all else.
We were shunned ​by religion ​as if we were gay, Laurie and I, because our sin was equally grievous, at least in the eyes of our church leader: ​we stood on principle against a false religious movement, that was invading by a coup attempt to take over our fellowship in South Africa. ​My church leader at the time sided against us. That was ten years ago, and that didn’t have a happy ending. That is why I write novels on spiritual abuse. My novel, “The Grass that Suffers,” is being readied for publishing, hopefully within a month.

​I guess I’m getting into the habit of naming each blog. “Spiraling,” because after “launching” and “splatting,” we are now spiraling to a place of finding a new and present reality, physically, mentally, and spiritually. On the spiritual side, through our friend Lucy at the hospital, we met a group of beautiful miracle-believing Christians, and went to their church yesterday morning. That will be my next blog. ​

Splat

I’m writing this blog from the intensive care unit of Victoria Hospital in Cancun, Mexico, where my wife, Laurie, is out of the room, having multiple tests done to find out the cause and cure for her stroke. I’m sitting here alone listening to ICU machines making crickets sounds. If you read the last blog, posted in Portland, it was titled “Casting Off.” I wasn’t sure what to call this one since we don’t appear to be “casting” anymore, or at least not with the same exuberance. So, I’ll leave it untitled until one presents itself.
It happened at 2:30 in the morning on our first night here. I heard her cry out and found her on the floor, having collapsed—her entire left side of her body had turned numb as novacane. 9-11, and the ambulance rushed us to a state-run hospital. Not our choice, but it’s where the paramedics took us. State- run hospitals make the American VA hospitals look like the Mayo Clinic.
I first realized that we were in the wrong place when the wheelchair had only one usable footrest and the left wheel slanted at a perilous angle. Most of the blood was from men who obviously got the worst of it in knock-down fights. Thrashing about in the hallway on their gurneys; no one was in a hurry to clean up the splatter. Oh, I’m sorry, you’re reading a travel blog from Cancun and you were looking for hot bodies on the beach that say, “How cool are we?” You wouldn’t really want to see our bodies, anywhere, but we’ll eventually get to the beach.
So, we caught a $600 ambulance ride to a private hospital, where they not only knew how to insert a proper IV but had real equipment and medicine to meet the crisis. That was two days ago and there’s been little physical progress, as I await her return from the MRI. Lack of blood flow to the right side of her brain apparently killed some cells that operate the left side of her body. Fortunately, her face muscles were not affected and she still has a beautiful smile.
This was not the trip we planned: snorkeling in Cozumel, sunsets on the beach, but it’s what we got, and for a reason, which I will explain later when God shows me. But I already have some ideas.
They allowed me to move into her room. With the price we’re paying, it’s the least they could do, but there’s no mini-fridge or microwave and you have to wash out your laundry in the sink. But there’s good AC and I can be close to Laurie. But the next night the hospital filled up and so they accommodated me across the street at the Hacienda Hotel, and thanks to a God-send Christian nurse named Lucy, 20180406_103521 (1)the hospital paid for the first two nights. There have been other angels along the way in this crisis, who aren’t getting their proper due.

So, in order to keep this from being a depressive blog post, let me just say I already see some of God’s hand in allowing this to happen. One: Our family, back in Oregon and Arizona, are praying and texting several times a day. We have good relationships with them, but never this must loving contact. That is good. And friends we haven’t heard from for a while are texting and praying as well. Our youngest daughter, Abby, texted, “Mom, you better get out of that hospital and on the beach soon. I love you so much, and I believe you will recover. Your mind is strong.” Another daughter, Rachel said, “I love you, the kids and I are praying all the time. I’ll get on the plane in a minute and come down there if you need anything.” Being a nurse, she spoke personally to the neurosurgeon and requested all the medical records to make sure the doctors were doing everything right.
Two: Laurie and I came here for change, and there is no doubt that this will change us. Who said change was easy? especially at our age? For all the stress, panic, worry, tears, and what ifs? I know good things will come from all of this. One of my favorite scriptures: Jeremiah 29: “For I now the plans I have for you, plans to bless you, to give you a future and a hope.” And “All things work together for good for those who are called in Christ Jesus.”
I asked her, “Are you afraid of death?” She said she never thought of it. She believes it was everyone’s prayers that gave her the peace of God instead of panic. And then she said she was glad this had happened. She said this while I was hoisting her, hopping on her good foot and clinging to me on the way to the bathroom. And I will tell you why she said that in the next blog.
I can’t wait to get Laurie back, I mean all the way. God is good, many are praying, we covet yours as well.

Casting Off

My wife Laurie and I have decided to join a growing trend of people who sell everything and relocate to a warm, inexpensive country overseas and become “digital nomads.” But not so trendy is the way we’re NOT doing it. There are two basic groups of “nomads”: Young people who have little to get rid of and pack their lives into a backpack and travel the world, financing their journeys through on-line blogs. The second group consists of older people who sell their considerable possessions and house and buy condos in places like Panama or the Bahamas and live off their retirement money.
We don’t exactly belong to either group. Like the young people, we loaded up our backpacks and sold everything (or gave it away). But unlike the young people, we will be living off my Social Security. Our life’s accumulation of worldly wealth sold for a paltry $1,267, and that included two cars and my pastoral library. And unlike the older folks, we don’t have a house to sell and will be renting furnished apartments.
Years ago, I promised my wife, who was born in the Caribbean, that I would take her back there, and so we plan to settle on the Caribbean island of Cozumel, off the Mexican, Yucatan Peninsula. She will snorkel and I will write and market my first novel. And so, we leave in two days each with one back pack and one check in duffel bag full of meds and a CPAP machine.
We are not going just for the less expensive living. We also need a spiritual shakeup. After burning out on American “churchianity,” we find ourselves spiritually depleted and are hoping to attach ourselves to a Christian group that is doing something for God. Having been South African missionaries, we feel we have a lot to offer and are looking for God to open doors of opportunities for us.
And so, I will be blogging our experiences, with pictures, and perhaps paving the way for other seniors to make similar lifestyle changes. Scary, you ask? Everyone we talk to about what we’re doing is excited for us, but I can read the fear on some of their faces. Yes, if it wasn’t a little scary, it wouldn’t be an adventure. But do you know what would be scarier? Staying where we’re at and becoming spiritually, mentally, and physically comatose. Paul said in Eph.6:10, “Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might.” Fear immobilizes its victims. Faith pushes beyond and looks for God on the other side. The outcome of our battle rests on God’s performance, not on our strength and abilities.
“Everyone is a hero if you catch them at the right moment.”