The Cry of the Blood

My friend, Dick Rutgers who ministers in Guatemala, read my blog from yesterday and sent me the following vision written by Amy Carmichael. She was a missionary in India, who opened an orphanage and founded a mission in Dohnavur. She served in India for fifty-five years without furlough. I was so overcome by her words that I felt I needed to post them here. She says it so much better than I ever could.

The Cry of the Blood

The tom-toms thumped straight on all night and the darkness shuddered round me like a living, feeling thing. I could not go to sleep, so I lay awake and looked; and I saw, as it seemed, this: That I stood on a grassy sward, and at my feet a precipice broke sheer down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom; only cloud shapes, black and furiously coiled, and great shadow-shrouded hollows, and unfathomable depths. Back I drew, dizzy at the depth.

Then I saw forms of people moving single file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms and another little child holding on to her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step . . . it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, the cry as they went over!

Then I saw more streams of people flowing from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; all made straight for the precipice edge. There were shrieks, as they suddenly knew themselves falling, and a tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly, and fell without a sound.

Then I wondered, with a wonder that was simply agony, why no one stopped them at the edge. I could not. I was glued to the ground, and I could only call; though I strained and tried, only whisper would come.

Then I saw that along the edge there were sentries set at intervals. But the intervals were too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned; and the green grass seemed blood-red to me, and the gulf yawned like the mouth of hell.

Then I saw, like a little picture of peace, a group of people under some trees with their backs turned toward the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them and they thought it a rather vulgar noise. And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. “Why should you get so excited about it? You must wait for a definite call to go! You haven’t finished your daisy chain yet. It would be really selfish,” they said, “to leave us to finish the work alone.”

There was another group. It was made up of people whose great desire was to get more sentries out; but they found that very few wanted to go, and sometimes there were no sentries set for miles and miles of the edge.

Once a girl stood alone in her place, waving the people back; but her mother and other relations called and reminded her that her furlough was due; she must not break the rules. And being tired and needing a change, she had to go and rest for awhile; but no one was sent to guard her gap, and over and over the people fell, like a waterfall of souls.

Once a child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; it clung convulsively, and it called – but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, its two little hands still holding tight to the torn-off bunch of grass. And the girl who longed to be back in her gap thought she heard the little one cry, and she sprang up and wanted to go; at which they reproved her, reminding her that no one is necessary anywhere; the gap would be well taken care of, they knew. And then they sang a hymn.

Then through the hymn came another sound like the pain of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was upon me, for I knew what it was – the Cry of the Blood.

Then thundered a voice, the voice of the Lord. “And He said, ‘What hast thou done, The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.’”

The tom-toms still beat heavily, the darkness still shuddered and shivered about me; I heard the yells of the devil-dancers and weird, wild shriek of the devil-possessed just outside the gate.

What does it matter, after all? It has gone on for years; it will go on for years. Why make such a fuss about it?

God forgive us! God arouse us! Shame us out of our callousness! Shame us out of our sin.

- Amy Carmichael -

Too Much Time on Our Hands

Recently I have seen some serious ugliness from the church. (Not from HeartLand, my home church, but other congregations.) I don’t know how else to say it. I won’t go into details because of the circumstances, but I will simply say that I have seen true people of God vilified, gossiped about, and ostracized due to what can only be called politics…the politics of personal vendettas and the politics of fear that keeps leadership from standing up for what is right. It has left me shaken and disillusioned.

If I could say that this is a rare occurrence in an overall healthy church I would simply grieve, pray, and move on. But it is not. In fact, this kind of ugliness has become indicative of the church today. Churches split, denominations argue, and somehow the ones who are serious about the Word of God and obedience to it are the ones who take the arrows.

So why do we see this kind of ugliness in the church? The answer is simple and straightforward…we have nothing better to do. Oh, we have our programs, church growth seminars, and services, but we lack mission. We argue about music styles, services, budgets and by-laws because we have no focus or awareness beyond them. And we honestly think if we tweak here or restructure there that the world will come running and fall at our altar.

Quite honestly, the world doesn’t care what the church has to say. They have heard way too many words and seen far too little action. They don’t believe the church cares about them, and if we had the courage to be honest with ourselves we would have to agree.

There is a world dying around us both spiritually and physically, and the typical church does little or nothing about it. We continue with our services and programs and offer a brief and passing prayer for “the lost and the needy” because we have more important things with which to deal today.

I want to find a way to turn this blog entry into something positive, but I am struggling to do so. I am angry. I am disillusioned. I am ashamed. But, as a result, I want more than anything to bring about change.

Maybe that is the positive of this blog. Maybe that is the answer. Maybe if enough believers get angry, disillusioned and ashamed of this institution called the church it will drive them to action. And that action will not be to attack other believers and split churches, but will be a ground-swell movement that leads them to create a new church from the foundation up. A church that cares about the world that is spiritually dead and physically dying. A church that has a mission instead of programs. A church that doesn’t have the time to fight one another.

The world is waiting, what will we do?

Responding to Crisis

Over the last six days I have been overwhelmed by the barrage of pictures and video footage coming from Haiti. And, like many of you, my heart has been broken by the suffering of the people there. The images of the injured and grieving are haunting, and the estimates of 50,000 – 100,000 dead are staggering.

The developed world is responding with immediate relief and assistance with search, rescue, and medical care as well as promises to aid with the long term task of rebuilding. Individuals are responding with generous giving to relief organizations, and celebrities are banding together to assist with fundraising through concerts, appearances, and television specials. The world is coming together to respond to this great tragedy, as it should.

But as I see this great outpouring of love and assistance, something bothers me. Why is it that we are so ready to respond to this one tragic event while so readily ignoring an ongoing tragedy of far greater devastation? We gasp at the thought of as many as 100,000 deaths as the result of an earthquake while ignoring the reality that more than that many children in our world die every four days from poverty related issues. And these deaths are the result of the apathy of those who could make a difference.

Why do we focus on this one solitary tree of need while ignoring the forest of suffering that surrounds it? I don’t know for sure, but I have some ideas:

1. The media drives our focus. Therefore, what the news ignores we ignore. CNN, Fox News, ABC, NBC, and CBS don’t give airtime to the struggling of undeveloped nations unless it is in their interest to do so. As the saying goes, “Out of sight, out of mind.”
2. It is far easier to respond to a one time tragedy than an ongoing need. Our emotions respond readily in the short-term, and it is easy to make a one-time donation toward a recovery effort. Then, when the event is over (or, at least, the media coverage has ended) we can move on, assuring ourselves that we did our part and the need has passed. Responding to long-term needs such as malnutrition and unsafe drinking water requires ongoing commitment and sacrifice. It means giving and going, not just in this moment, but for a lifetime. So, we ease our consciences by doing our little part within a one-time event while ignoring the greater needs that requires life-change to impact.
3. It is easier to join a band wagon than to start a movement. I understand this inclination very well. When you feel like you are alone in meeting large needs, you can wonder if you are making a difference. But when you see that you are part of a multitude who is each doing their own little part, you see the result. (In the last few days millions have been raised for the Red Cross through ten dollar donations made by using the text feature on cell phones.) As a result, it is easy to make our donation and feel effective, but miss the ongoing impact we could have on individuals and families by providing some water filters or monthly sponsorship.

I don’t want you to misunderstand my words. The earthquake in Haiti is a monumental tragedy to which we need to respond. We should give, go and pray for this nation during the rescue, recovery, and rebuilding. But, when the rebuilding is done and life has resumed, we should continue to respond to this nation that is so filled with poverty and others like it. And that response should continue long after the cameras have left.

Making Sense Out of Chaos

As I write this blog, we are on our fifteenth day of Joshua’s hospital stay. If you have been keeping track, you know that Joshua had surgery on December 9th to untether his spinal cord. Then, after going home on the 14th we discovered a pocket of fluid in his lower back on the 19th that signified a leakage for spinal fluid. He had emergency surgery on Sunday, December 20th and he spent Christmas in the ICU.

What you do not yet know is that on Monday, the 28th we discovered that the surgery had failed and he was once again leaking spinal fluid into his lower back. We are currently waiting for his primary neurosurgeon to return tomorrow and perform the necessary surgery to repair the failed graft. We can expect another 10 to 14 days in the hospital following that surgery.

During this ordeal, our children have rallied and made the best of a difficult situation. They had great attitudes as we spent Christmas Day in the ICU and have been tremendous at helping out around the house. In spite of the difficulty and disappointment of spending the holidays in the hospital, we were able to have fun as a family and keep our focus on Jesus. For that, we are thankful.

At the same time, we are all very tired. Wanda spends most days here with Joshua, and I spend most nights here. The older kids have had to shoulder much of the household responsibilities and the care of the younger children. And most of our college student’s Christmas break has been spent with these challenges. And as they return to school tomorrow, we are still facing another surgery early in the week and another long recovery, even if everything goes smoothly.

And, on top of it all, Joshua has been suffering. Our normally outgoing and happy little guy has become withdrawn and sad. One night, as I was tucking him in for the night, he got huge tears in his eyes and said, “I’m never going home, am I?” I would give anything to be able to change places with him.

Normally, when I write this blog it is because I have experiences or insights to share. I confess that I’ve got nothing this time. I know that God is good and that He has a plan for all of this. I know He is faithful and will provide what we need for the days ahead. My faith is not shaken at all. But I am tired, hurting for Joshua, aching for the rest of our children and Wanda, and dreading what still lies ahead.

So, please pray for Joshua and our family. Please pray that this surgery is successful. And please pray for our girls who are heading back to college, but are leaving part of their hearts at Dayton Children’s.

Thanks.

A Very Different Christmas

Once again I find myself posting my blog from a hospital room. Only this time the stay will be much longer and the circumstances have brought me to the point of discouragement.

On Monday Joshua was able to go home from the hospital after a five day stay following his back surgery. While he had to remain flat until Wednesday, he was very happy to be home again. On Thursday and Friday we were slowly allowing him to get up and around with the use of a walker, and on Saturday we were able to go to the mall as a family with Joshua in his wheelchair.

Then, last night, we found a problem. As we were getting Joshua ready for bed we discovered a large pocket of fluid under the skin on his lower back. I suspected that he had a spinal fluid leak and called the hospital to speak with the on-call neurosurgeon. He suspected the same and had us bring him to the emergency room this morning where he was waiting for us. Our fears were confirmed and they rushed him into emergency surgery.

Over the next 5 to 6 hours they worked to repair the grafts in his back. The surgery went well and he is now in ICU recuperating. But with this unexpected series of events comes some serious changes in our Christmas plans. You see, Joshua will have to remain flat in bed and in the ICU for the next 5 to 6 days, with a few days in a regular room to follow. So this years Christmas will be very different for our family.

We had been planning to celebrate this season to the max. As you probably know, this will likely be our last Christmas in the States before our move to Guatemala, so we had numerous plans for our immediate family on Christmas Eve and Day, and travel plans to spend time with our extended family in PA and NC. Everything is now changed. Our trip is now cancelled and our time at home will be radically different. Wanda and I are currently working to find ways to make this holiday special for both Joshua and the rest of our children.

So, at the end of this whirlwind day, I find myself struggling with discouragement. Being the family-lover that I am, combined with the Christmas fanatic that I am, I am reeling from the reality that our family will be separated for most of this season. Wanda will likely spend most of the days here at the hospital while I take the night shift. We will occasionally bring the rest of the kids down for a visit and some time together, but Christmas will be very different this year.

I find myself wondering what God is up to. I have been a Christ-follower long enough to know that the ups and downs of life are not arbitrary, but a part of His divine plan. And I have found that  is especially true of the times in which I most questioned his ways. So, I wonder why God would want us to spend our last Christmas in America like this. As of now, I have no answer to that question. But I do have a few guesses:

• We have always told our kids that Christmas isn’t about family traditions, decorations, or presents, but about God becoming one of us in order to save us. We have said many times that even with all those things stripped away we could still celebrate the intended focus of it all…Jesus. Maybe God is wanting us put our money where our mouth is and find the joy of this season without the normal things that fill this time of year.
• As I look around the PICU, I realize that we are not alone in our discouragement. There are many families here who are facing similar (or far worse) situations. Some of these parents are wondering if their son or daughter will live to see Christmas Day, and many of them are facing these fears and challenges without the comfort of Jesus. Maybe God has brought us here to be a source of light and hope for them.
• There is no doubt that I often seek to find the reason and design behind everything. I guess that is a trait I inherited from my dad…always wanting to know how and why everything works. Maybe God is trying to deepen my trust in Him without knowing the reasons behind the scene.
• Or maybe it is a little or a lot of all of the above.

Lord, please help me to trust you through this time. Help our family to find the joy and depth of this season through these circumstances. And please use us to show you to those who need you the most.

The Worst Kind of Pain

I am writing this from a hospital room at Dayton Children’s Medical Center where my son, Joshua, is recuperating from surgery. In the last two years since we brought him home from China he has gone through so much. He has been hospitalized five times and undergone four major surgeries. He lived for eight weeks with a Spica cast that completely immobilized him from the chest down. And he has had more IV’s, needle sticks, tests, and painful procedures than I would care to list.

Through all these ordeals he has been a stoic little guy. He endures it all with only the occasional tear and very little complaining. In fact, he has had several experiences that would likely have left me in tears, and he has endured them with quiet dignity. But with all of this heroism, he was reduced to sobbing by an event early this morning that shows what really scares him.

After surgery he was placed into the PICU here at Children’s for close monitoring. This is a wonderful hospital that is extremely friendly to the families of their patients, but the PICU is less friendly than other areas of the hospital out of necessity. Since that ward focuses on more severe cases, the rooms are set up for monitoring equipment but very few conveniences. Refrigerators and bathrooms are not in the room, but down the hall. This is understandable, but difficult for the parents who are staying with their children.

This morning, Joshua was resting comfortably and watching TV. I explained to him that I needed to go down the hall to use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and wash my face, but I would be back in a few minutes. I left, took care of that business, and returned to the room about seven minutes after I left. When I was 30 feet away from the room I heard his cries and rushed to his side.

It turns out that he fell asleep and awoke a moment later, but in his medicated state he thought that he had been asleep for much longer. When he realized that I still wasn’t back in the room, he thought that I had left him there alone and gone home. He was sobbing and it took a little while to calm him down and assure him that I was only gone for a few moments and would never leave him alone and go home.

After he was sleeping peacefully again I had time to reflect on what had occurred. Joshua, who had endured so much pain and trauma without complaint or breakdown, was reduced to sobbing tears because he thought he had been left alone. And, once again, I realize how important family is for all children.

Children can learn to survive and endure through adversity and pain. They do it every day. But no child should have to face those things without a family. No child should have to live day after day without someone who cares about them and shares their trauma. No child should ever wake up and know they are alone. And the Church of Jesus Christ should not rest as long as there are children who are experiencing that worst kind of pain.

Jesus, please hold those children who are without a family. Comfort those who will awake alone and afraid tonight. And please awaken and empower your church to be your hands, arms, feet, and voice.

For Sale By Owner

Friday I hit a low point. As you know, we are in the midst of selling our home, and the successful completion of that task is the largest obstacle we must overcome before our move to Guatemala. You are likely also aware of the reality that the housing market is dismal these days. Due to the downturn in the economy, we have lost almost all of the equity we had in our home and we are simply praying that the house will sell and we will have at least a few thousand dollars to assist with the cost of our move.

As a way of saving money we have made the decision to sell our home ourselves instead of through a realtor. We are using ForSaleByOwner.com to list our home and are trusting that God will do a miracle and allow us to sell it quickly and for the price we need. I felt good about that until Friday afternoon.

After a very early and very long morning at the hospital where my son, Joshua, had surgery, I returned home and looked through a packet that had been sent out by a local realtor. Apparently this man is a vulture in the real estate market who gets his contacts off of sites in which owners sell their own homes. He was sending me a packet of information so that when my house failed to sell I would come to him to list my home. He went on to state the following: “Records indicate that 90% of ‘For Sale by Owner’ properties do not sell.”

At that moment, the enemy whispered in my ear and filled me with doubt and discouragement. I suddenly “realized” how foolish I was to think that I could sell my house on my own in this horrible housing market. I found myself wanting to pick up the phone and call an agent (a friend we could trust, not the vulture who sent the packet).

Then something happened. We received a delivery of the yard signs  from the listing company and I opened the box. And suddenly the words on the sign jumped out at me -- “For Sale by OWNER!” At that moment I remembered something…I remembered who owns our house. It’s not me, it never has been me.

I remember when Wanda and I received the key to this place and entered through the front door for the first time after the closing. We prayed together and told God that we knew that it was His house, and he could use it any way He chose. And He has. He has filled it with foster children, biological children, and adopted children. It has been the location of small groups and counseling and served as a playground for neighborhood kids. We have seen marriages healed in the family room and people come to Christ in the living room. This has always been God’s house.

And so, as I looked at that sign, I realized what it really said was “For Sale by God!” It is His house and He will sell it.

Now I am writing this while listening to worship music in the background. And it is no coincident that Mighty to Save is playing as I type these words…

Savior, He can move the mountains

He is mighty to save! He is mighty to save

Forever Author of salvation

He rose and conquered the grave, Jesus conquered the grave

The same God that moves the mountains and conquered the grave will sell His house and take us to still another home that will indeed be His as well!