Remember how to make the origami stars I posted several days ago? (If you don't, click here.) Well, yesterday I made some out of the Sunday comics. Even my girls think these are cute. (Be extra careful if you make these out of comics, the paper is thinner and more prone to tear.)

From Kris's mom:

Kris is still in critical condition.  But Friday the Doctors finally said he had some hope.  I never gave up hope!!  He has pneumonia but that goes along with the lung condition.  His lungs were badly injured in the accident and it is a long slow process to heal.  His pelvis is crushed but surgery is not an option until he stabilizes. 

Keep us in your prayers and I will keep you posted.

...for Kris S.  He is the 16 year old son of a high school friend of mine.  He was in an auto accident with an 18 wheeler.  His mom said all they have is hope and prayer.  I don't know the extent of his injuries, but anything involving an 18 wheeler can't be good.  I have a 16 year old daughter, so this hits close to my heart.

Thank you.

Last year, around this time, I posted an entry about my then DD14, DS17, and my trip to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra in concert.  You can read that reflection by clicking here. Two days ago I repeated that wonderful experience with DD now 15 and DD11.  I was saddened that DS18 couldn't join us this year, but tickets are expensive and he had to make some difficult choices about how to spend his money.  (I made both daughters buy their own tickets.)  Would you believe that at the last minute one of DS's friends called with an extra ticket?!?!?!?  So, while he didn't sit with us, we did see him there and shared the experience.  This year's performance was every bit as awesome as last year. Maybe even better since we were seated on the 11th row instead of the 24th. 

Here are some pictures we took:

We also took some video which we uploaded at Youtube.com:

(Warning: If you have seizures from flashing lights you don't need to watch this video.)

What a wonderful kick-off to our holiday season!

In my last post I described the accident my son, Kyle, had.  A week later my mother-in-law was rear-ended and landed upside down in a ditch full of water. She is extremely sore and is having neck and back pain, but I'm so thankful she, and everyone else involved, is alive.

Since my last post

...our family has grown by one kitten. I wanted to name him Oreo simply because I'm overly fond of that delectable treat. But the name "Shadows" won out. He and the dog make quite an entertaining team.

...my 15 year old daughter, Cassie, had to see the doctor because of some enlarge lymph nodes. He said her psoriasis was infected. She is now on some medication and we are seeing improvement.

... Valerie Lopez-Robinson (a young girl of 16 who our church had been praying for) passed away. Though I know she is in a better place, my heart grieves for her family.

...I've been working hard and heavy on a writing project for Christmas. Which will be here before we know it. (I'm trying not to stress too much.)

And most importantly, since my last post I had a God given opportunity to share Christ with someone quite dear to my heart.

I consider myself blessed beyond measure, and I am thankful.  I suppose that's the most profound thing anyone can be:  Thankful.

It's a rare evening that Cassie (a.k.a.DD15) and I are home alone together. But tonight DH is at a minister's retreat, DD11 has gone to the state fair with a friend's family, and DS18 is away at college.  Cassie asked what special thing the two of us could do together.  Driving back to town to rent a movie or eat out was out of the question.  (Limited funds made that determination.)  We opted instead to watch a little television, make a simple dinner, and just hang out together.

During the course of the evening she mentioned having found a recipe for facial masks in her Brio and Beyond magazine and said she wished we had thought of doing that.  She said, "We haven't done anything like that, just the two of us, since that time..." ("That time" being about nine years ago! She was only around six, yet making a tent in the living room and doing a "make over" was a happy memory for her.)   I said, "It's not too late." So we pulled out the magazine and realized we had all the ingredients necessary for the "zit removal" recipe.  I grated an apple while Cassie turned dry oatmeal into powder using the blender.  We mixed those two things together, added some honey, and Wallah! Facial Mask!  What a site we were!  I'm thankful no one came to the door since she predetermined to rush to her room if someone did.  That would have left me with mud...uh...ur...apple/honey/oatmeal on my face.   My story was going to be I was preparing for Halloween, but since I don't celebrate Halloween that didn't seem appropriate.  (Though it did look like maggots were trying to eat away my flesh.)  I'd post a picture but for Cassie's sake (Yeah, right!) I'll spare you.  It took a good five minutes to remove our beauty ointment.  I'll have to say our faces did feel quite refreshed.  (Couldn't possibly have been those five minutes of scrubbing.)  We had a lot of fun, but most importantly, we created a memory.  

(Maybe we could pop the leftovers in the microwave, add a little, cinnamon, and wallah! Breakfast!)

(I really should have posted this earlier in the week, but life keeps zooming by.)

Of course we know God is good all the time.  (I think I can hear some of you singing that little ditty even now.) But sometimes God just sends a super-d-duper of a blessing your way and all you can do is sit back and watch your cup overflow with the bounty of His blessing. 

For example:

Suppose your 11 year-old-son's best friend is such a sweetheart and is around so much you truly love him like your own. 

And suppose the Lord calls you and your family to leave your home and that little boy behind because He has work for you to do overseas, and it breaks your heart to say good-bye. 

Suppose you have minimal contact with that child over the next six years because overseas is a long way away, and even when you move back to the States it's not the same town, and he is only a child afterall.

Suppose your heart aches to hug that child again as he remains in your prayers through the years, but it really seems that he will never be part of your life again.

Then...then suppose you discover this child is attending the area Junior College which is only 30 minutes from your house instead of the 3 hours he has been living.

Suppose that that child, who has now turned into a young man, unexpectedly shows up on your door step to say hi.

Well, then your cup is full to overflowing with gratitude to the Lord as you renew a treasured relationship and look forward to the next two years.

Such is my blessing for the week.

Note: December 14, 2001 was a bittersweet day for our family. That was the day we closed the door for the last time on our foreign home. Even now I have intense feelings as I think about the many people we met, the sights we saw, and the lessons God taught us. Outwardly, there are very few signs that we spent nearly two years in that part of the world. Inwardly, our hearts hold many reminders of what I can now call a precious time. And I just have to believe God’s promise that His Word will accomplish His purpose, and that the many prayers we and many others prayed on behalf of the people are still echoing in the corridors of heaven. Please do me a favor; please say a special prayer for the many lost souls God brought across our path and etched upon our hearts. May they one day become our brothers and sisters in Christ.

Here are some thoughts on our departure:

Drewe Llyn

Palms of His Hands

It was spring, 1991, when my grandparents buried their first born child, my aunt, claimed by lung cancer at the age of forty-nine.  My first born, age two, wiggled beside me during the service even as my second child squirmed within – her debut still six weeks away.  Maternal emotions consumed me causing heightened awareness of my grandmother’s grief. How does a mother bury a child – a part of herself?  I knew her painful loss would remain the rest of her life. 

The officiating minister, surely nudged by the Holy Spirit, read from Isaiah:

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..." (Isaiah 49:15-16NIV)

Those words flew straight to my heart.  How well I knew that no nursing mother can forget her child!  Her entire body aches and yearns for her baby making forgetting a physical impossibility.  Yet God says, even IF a nursing mother could forget, He would NEVER forget us. His love is deeper, His memory is greater, His heart strings are stronger than even the most devoted mother. He yearns for us making forgetting a spiritual impossibility (Jeremiah 31:20).  We are permanently engraved on His very hands – a part of Him.  How awesome is that!

            It was fall, 1997, when the church we were serving gave my husband and me a tremendous gift – a trip to the Holy Land!  Forever we will be grateful for that wondrous experience.  Before we ever boarded the plane I envisioned the perfect souvenir – a carving of a child in the palm of a hand.  I’d never seen such a statue, but I was on mission to find one.

Traipsing all over Israel, my eyes scanned the goods inside every little shop to no avail.  When even the Olive Wood factory in Bethlehem failed me I began losing hope.  God, however, smiled, for late in our trip my treasure was found at a small shop in Jerusalem’s King David Hotel. There it was, out of olive wood just as I pictured it, a hand with a child carved on it!  I could now return home triumphant and satisfied with my special souvenir of a remarkable experience. Little did I know that souvenir would soon become an incredible symbol of God's abiding presence.   

It was summer,1999, when my husband and I felt the call to foreign missions.  We, our three children included, applied for a two year assignment overseas. There was no doubt God said, “Go!” He just didn’t say where. The mission board invited us for a two day conference to interview and discern a location. Hours passed with no direction. "Stressful" hardly seems adequate to describe the experience. Tears prepared for overflow.  I turned toward my husband in despair and glimpsed a curio cabinet I had passed many times during the day. I stared. Why hadn't I noticed it before? Sitting on one of the shelves was a small statue of a hand with a child carved on it.  "See, I’m still holding you," God said. And He was.

It was spring, 2002, when our overseas adventure ended, and again we longed for directions that seemed slow in coming. A myriad of emotions swirled inside once more. God’s voice seemed blocked by the inner turmoil. In desperation I cried, “OK, Lord, how will you show me this time that we are still in the palm of Your hand.”  (I admit to wondering if we still were. My faith was wavering.)

Not many days later I walked into a nearby Christian bookstore.  There on a sale table just inside the door was… (Drum roll please)…an olive wood carving of a hand with a child in it.  Though it would yet be several months before we received His directions, it was a comfort knowing we were still not forgotten.

It is now Spring, 2006, and we have been in our new place of service almost four years. Life is pretty settled, at least for now, as the statue sits serenely on my desk.  I suspect though, life being what it is, a time will inevitably come when once again I will need a clear reminder God’s still there holding my family and me. I have no doubt that somehow, someway, when I least expect it but desperately need it, God will find a remarkable way to once more assure me I am still remembered and forever kept safe in the Palm of His hands.

“The eternal God is a dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms…” Deuteronomy 33:27 NASB

© Drewe Llyn Jeffcoat 2006

(Side note:  Today is the 5th anniversary of my grandfather's homegoing.  He and my aunt are together again, in Christ's other hand.)

Today Dear Daughter 10 becomes Dear Daughter 11. There are gifts under her birthday tree, and soon there will be streamers and balloons up in the kitchen.  She will eat cinnamon rolls on the red plate and not have to do school work.  She had a friend spend the night last night, and today we will go out to eat and see Narnia for the second time.

DD11 is my most thoughtful child. Always has been.  When she was five we spent eight weeks in Missionary Training  where she had her own classes to go to during the day.  Her teacher commented that the other students avoided the little girl with Downs Syndome, all except DD (then 5).  When anyone is sick she brings a trash can, a cool wet rag, crackers, and tea. (Whether you want them or not.)  She even cleaned the bathroom before her friend arrived - without being told!  When given a choice of activities today she said, "Let's ask (my friend) what she'd rather do." She adores animals. I never have to remind her to feed or take care of them.  I hope she marries a rich man some day so she can afford to feed all the "critters" I'm sure she'll have. When God sent DD11, He sent a bit of His love to hug me and say, "I'll love you forever."

Happy Birthday, Precious!!!!

I began composing this soon after a summer visit with my parents. It took me a while to complete, but better late than never, as they say.

This Old House

        Parts of the ceiling are falling in.  Mildew dots the walls filling the air with a musty aroma.  Wispy remnants of cobwebs haunt the corners, while abandoned dirt dauber nests adorn the door frames.  Floor tiles are coming loose everywhere revealing concrete underneath.  A refrigerator once guarded a family’s perishables in the kitchen, but its spot is now empty as are the cupboards, save for a deceased cockroach or two.  The once sparkling windows are dirtier than they have ever been making it hard to imagine that this old house used to be a home – my home, the place of my childhood.

        Mom and I stand at the bathroom door taking in the broken vanity, crumbling wall paper (which she so carefully put up years ago), and bathtub full of dirt and grime.  A sigh escapes her lips.  “It’s sad,” she says wistfully, “seeing the place look like this.”

        I put my arm around her shoulders and reply, “It is.”  I pause before continuing, “I think of all the times you cleaned this bathroom – now look at it.”  Mom nods.  “Makes me think you shouldn’t spend so much time cleaning things,” I end with a grin and another squeeze.”

        Turning from the bathroom doorway to face the living room, the past suddenly becomes the present as I see Dad putting lights on the Christmas tree which proudly stands by his chair. It’s a “real” tree of course, for nothing artificial will do.  Mom bustles about the kitchen making her traditional toffee square cookies; for it just isn’t Christmas without them.

        I see myself at the piano playing “Victory in Jesus” for the hundredth time.  (It’s Dad’s favorite.) And now Dad, hot and sweaty, is coming in from the garden with a bucket full of peas to shell.

        Mom cries in the hallway as we say goodbye; I’m heading to college. But there I am, back again in the living room, trying on my wedding dress which Mom painstakingly created for me.

        How many Bible discussions have we had in this living room? How many good night hugs and kisses in my bedroom?  How many visiting preachers ate at that table?  Too many to count, but each is a precious thread in the fabric of my life.

        Indeed, there are a lot of memories in this old house, and it is sad to see it well past its prime.  Its decay stands as a vivid reminder that “what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”[1] 

Things change.  My parents live in a new house not many yards from this one.  I now live in a different town with a family of my own.  I think of Dad every Christmas as I’m in charge of the tree lights at our house, though ours is an artificial tree. (Dad finally caved in and bought a “fake” one himself last year.)  I still play “Victory in Jesus”, only now it’s at the church my husband pastors.  I’m bustling about the kitchen baking the cookies. And soon my tears will fall as I send my child to college. (Though I'm counting on help with wedding dresses when the time comes.)

        The walls, ceiling, and floor of this old house may be crumbling, but the solid foundation, warm memories, and sacrificial love my parents gave me here are strong and extending well into the next generation.

        “Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain,” [2] the Bible says.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for building on the Lord and providing a sturdy home that has stood the test of time.

Black dresses and tuxedos.

“Flight of the Bumblebee”. 

Creative lighting.

Stringed instruments. 

Awesome lasers.

“Beethoven’s Fifth”. 

Intense pyrotechnics.

Electric guitars. 

Unbelievable drums.

Maestro keyboardists.

 “Carol of the Bells”. 

What could all these possibly have in common? 

These eclectic components come together brilliantly in the most incredible show I’ve ever seen.  They are Trans Siberian Orchestra (TSO), and they were in Jackson last night.  DS17, DD14, and I experienced it from the twenty-fourth row.   

“Christmas Eve in Sarajevo” (a.k.a. “Carol of the Bells”) is what grips and draws me to TSO.  Their rendition is like no other and continually gives me chill bumps.  I think it’s because I’ve walked the streets of Sarajevo and seen first hand the massive destruction of the Bosnian war on buildings and lives.  I can’t begin to describe TSO’s interpretation.  I invite you to listen for yourself. “Christmas Eve in Sarajevo”.  Hopefully this will open for you.  If not, go to http://www.trans-siberian.com/intro.html, click on “multimedia”, and scroll down to “Christmas Eve in Sarajevo”.  To discover the source of the title you must go to “Discography” and find “Christmas Eve and Other Stories”. 

You'll discover it’s a rock opera. (Is that an oxymoron??)

What a night!

     I feel certain my dd10 has some form of dyslexia which has made learning to read a struggle - to say the least. Of course, if reading is a struggle, so is most of school. I have prayed dilligently for wisdom, for everything to click in her brain, and for her to love reading. Last year I implemented copy work and notebooking into her school work with very good results. Still, she's not where I feel she needs to be.

     After more prayer for wisdom Cindy Rushton introduced us to Homeschoolblogger.com where I (obviously) set up a blog of my own. I truly felt inspired to set up one for dd. She immediately balked at the idea, but I pressed forward and forced her to make some posts. (Mean mommy! ) Well, soon she started receiving comments...that's all it took! She began posting more entries and READING other blogs and POSTING comments. At first she wanted to post "exciting" entries. Now she is posting about everyday things. At first she'd say, "I know what I want to say, I just can't put it into words." (Dyslexics often have trouble with linear thought - a definite characteristic I see in dd10.) I would start her off with something simple like, "Yesterday we...." I had to coax her along. Now she is NARRATING chronologically faster than I can type it! She is also narrating comments or writing them herself and asking me to proof read them. She's asking me to spell words and is writing down the words she uses most frequently. (I've got to teach that child how to type!) I print out every entry and we place it in a notebook decorated like her blog site. If I forget to print it out she reminds me and often goes back to look at/read what she's posted. So there you have it: narration, notebooking, reading, writing, opportunities to teach grammar, motivation, and affirmation all from blogging! I'm so excited!!!!!

     My friend Penny and I went to an AWESOME concert Saturday night right here in my town.  It was the most worshipful and beautiful one I've ever been to. Selah isn't showy or flashy, just inspiring. Allan Hall played a black baby grand piano (incredible!), while Melodie Crittenden and Todd Smith sang.  They utilized some singtraks along with the piano music.  Though some of the songs were pure fun (especially the ones in some African language), everything glorified the Lord.

     I wanted to buy a t-shirt like Penny is wearing in the photo below, but they were out of my size.  Penny and I waited in line to get autographs.  She had the foresight to bring some CD covers.  All I had on me was 1/2 a ticket stub which they graciously signed.  These three were bubbling over with the joy of the Lord and were kind and pleasant to everyone even though they must have been exhausted.

     It was a great evening!

Back row: Me and my friend Penny Rice

Front row: Selah: Todd Smith, Melodie Crittenden, and Allen Hall

Check out Selah when you get a chance.  You'll be glad you did.

          I’m grieving - a sense of loss weighing heavy on my heart.  Though pale in comparison with world hunger, aids in Africa, and the Iraqi war, it's very real to me.  My dear daughter (14) is following in her big brother's footsteps and going to public high school this year.  Classes begin today. 

          I don’t want her to go.  I feel that something precious is slipping from my grasp… a beloved chapter is coming to an end.  It makes me sad.

The homeschool journey has been difficult at times, I must confess.  We’ve had our share of frustrations, failures, quarrels, and mishaps.  “No one has what it takes to home school their children apart from the grace of God,” I say to people.  I really believe that. Though the path may have been bumpy in spots, it has also been filled with many joys, hidden surprises, precious memories, and huge successes.  If I died tomorrow I would not have one ounce of regret that our family had this priceless time together.

Eleven Augusts ago, when we first began our homeschool adventure, my husband said we’d take it year by year.  I just assumed we’d be doing it all the way through.  I wanted to do it all the way through. 

Things aren’t happening according to plan.  Things are changing. The children are growing.  First DS(17) and now DD(14)long to spread their wings and test the winds of independence.  Their father thinks we should allow them to fly this short distance from the nest so we can coach and guide their adventure into new challenges.  He says, “It’s better for them to face the world for the first time now, while they’re still at home, than allowing them to hit it head on by themselves when they go to college.”  I’m sure there is some wisdom in that; my husband has a history of being wise and discerning. Right now, though, all I can see is my nest growing emptier...and lonelier.   

I’ve been through this once already, so it should be easier - shouldn’t it?  It’s not. For some reason it’s different this time.  My firstborn has always had a will of his own – an independent air about him, a self-assurance and determination which gave me confidence he would be able to fly.  My second born seems more innocent and vulnerable somehow.  Besides that, she laughs at my jokes.

          My mind goes back two springs ago when four fledgling chickadees ventured into our yard.  The cat got two of them.  O, God, please keep the “cats” away from my fledgling.

          A realization hits me:  If I’m not careful, my grief will detract from the one “chickadee” remaining at home. Her schooling and the love and attention due her shouldn’t suffer simply because I feel disoriented and lost. She deserves my best. Might she be feeling a little lonely and empty too? 

This youngest one says she never wants to go to public school.  I sigh; I’ve heard that before.  Even if she doesn’t go, I know she will eventually venture from the security of the nest; it’s just part of growing up. Preparing them for flight has been my job all along, but…

What will I do then? 

Who will I be then? 

I’ve been “Mommy” for a very long time.

I have to remember – I must remember that though I relish the role of wife and mother, my true identity is “Princess”; I’m a daughter of the King entrusted with this precious family. While I long to prove myself a “good and faithful” servant, I cannot forget:  I was His daughter first.

I always will be.

“What marvelous love the Father has extended to us!  Just look at it – we’re called children of God!  That’s who we really are.”

1 John 1:3 The Message

One of the four chickadees sitting on my finger.

(C) Drewe Llyn Jeffcoat 2005

Ooops!  That’s more than 21!  (How blessed I am!!)

Thank you, Darling, for my beautiful, priceless, strand of "pearls".  My prayer is this:  when death parts us, may the "pearl" necklace we leave behind for our children and future generations be long, pure, and beyond earthly value.  I look forward to adding many more "pearls" with you. I love you! Happy Anniversary!

~ Drewe Llyn

(c) Drewe Llyn Jeffcoat 2005

Raymond and I twenty-one years ago today!

God has been doing some exciting things in our community!  I wrote the following article and submitted it to our state Baptist paper.  I don't know if they'll do anything with it or not, but it's too exciting not to share.

The recent Killen trial along with the controversial “Lynching” resolution proposed by the U.S. senate are painful reminders of Mississippi’s troubled past. Though the Magnolia State has come a long way in the area of race relations, old scars still run deep and prejudice continues to rear its ugly head on occasion. That’s why recent happenings in the Clear Branch Community (Florence, MS) are all the more unusual and poignant.  Picture this… 

…blacks and whites, young and old, holding hands, praying, fellowshipping, and worshipping together as they stand on common ground – their love for Jesus Christ.

…a cross racial mission team from Maryland passing out cold bottles of water and tracts as well as helping an inner city congregation with day clubs.

… families housing families sight unseen and becoming fast friends regardless of color.

…a three foot tall crippled preacher proclaiming the Gospel under a large red and white tent in 90 degree temperatures.

…souls meeting Jesus for the first time.

…believers deepening their devotion and commitment to Christ.

…former alcoholics humbly bowed before God interceding for others.

…sacrificial giving of time, energy, and money to reach a lost and troubled community with the love of God.

What has been going on here?!?!?

The answer:  Operation Love Thy Neighbor (OLTN).

Two years ago 71 year old Mary Louise Franklin, of the Clear Branch Community, had a vision.  Surrounded by drug and alcohol abuse, broken families, and racial tension, this African American woman wanted to see God move in her community in a big way.  “I wanted to see an area crusade,” Franklin says, “but I knew I just couldn’t put it together.  I told God, ‘You’ll have to do it.’”

Raymond Jeffcoat, pastor of the white congregation at Clear Branch Baptist Church, knew Franklin, but had no idea God had given them both the same vision - a joining together of area churches to reach the community for Christ.  Quickly it spread to the hearts of James Washington, Franklin’s pastor at Brown Hill Missionary Baptist Church, Don Kleeb, pastor of the white congregation at Mt. Zion Baptist Church, and then through all three congregations. June 19 – 22, 2005 saw that vision come to life in the form of Operation Love Thy Neighbor 2005. 

The tent is now down, the Marylanders have gone home, and each congregation will meet in its own building come Sunday, but OLTN is just beginning, for it is much more than an event. It’s a matter of the heart.

I'ts a desire- a desire of those in the Clear Branch Community to see lives changed, homes restored, and people sell out to God.

It's a realization - a realization that the "church" is much bigger than the four walls each congregation sees on Sunday mornings - a realization that Jesus longs to be taken outside of those walls into the surrounding areas.

It’s leaving comfort zones – trying new things, going to new places, and meeting new people for the sake of the Gospel.

And finally, it is an attitude – an attitude that says, “We know Mississippi has a racially troubled past, we know our community is riddled with broken homes and broken lives, we know that alcohol and drugs are lying in wait to devour our youth, and we’re tired of it. We will do what it takes to reclaim what Satan has stolen. United in Christ we stand – black, white, rich, poor, young, old – we stand upon God’s promise to heal our land if we will but humble ourselves and pray and seek His face.” (2 Chronicles 7:14)

May the fire never go out and may Clear Branch Community never be the same.