Category Archives: Family

Faith, Family, Jesus, Travel

Love and the Body and DPB House

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With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, it seems appropriate to talk about love, that oft-illusive thing we’re all after. I do not mean romantic love, but the enduring, self-sacrificial love that many of us have yet to encounter, even within the body of Christ. This post will not flush out all that love is or all the ways it is seen. It is meant rather to spotlight some I know who have done it well and to encourage the rest of us to learn from them.

For some time, I had been asking the Lord to teach me more about His love; and in His goodness, He prepared a way for me to learn by experience. Last June, the Lord took me across the ocean to a small group of people in an unassuming house in a little European country to surround me with His love. He surrounded me with His love by surrounding me with people who knew His love and had no greater desire than to show the love that had first been shown to them by Christ.

My two teens and I traveled to Croatia to work alongside long time friends and get a close-up view of their ministry at DPB House Training Center in Severin na Kupi, near the border with Slovenia. Drustvo Prijateja Biblije (DPB) House Training Center is a place dedicated to intentional Biblical discipleship, mentoring, ministry training and retreat. Included in the programming is Leadership Lab International — preparing and equipping young adults for cross-cultural ministry and church-planting, CREW discipleship through practical servant-hood by maintaining the facility and serving campers, and a variety of summer camps.

I was given the task of capturing the heart of the ministry on camera, an impossible task, I would soon discover. I didn’t get a photo of my teenage roommate asking me every night how my day had been as we tucked into our beds and turned off the lights. No one will ever see that she asked me to tell her about the friend I’d lost that day, or how she listened and laughed at my memories of a bold, opinionated  Italian woman who kept us all on our toes. I don’t have photos of the strong hugs and parting words, “If not before, then Heaven.” There is no evidence of an evening spent with friends on a mountaintop watching the sun sink and the fog roll in as we talked about the love of Christ and how impossible it is to meet Jesus and be unchanged. There are no photos of campfire prayers under stars in the darkness as students and campers alike poured out prayers for each other. I have nothing but my memory as evidence that someone stopped in their tracks on the way to the next scheduled event to pray for my injured husband back home. There were numerous times that impromptu prayers were offered on another’s behalf simply because a need was expressed, or even more simply because they were a brother or sister in Christ.

Teamwork, unity, kindness, service, laughter, joy, worship, fellowship, encouragement, admonishment, support, prayer, peace, hospitality, and more characterized my experience at DPB House. Truly love reigned over all because “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-6). Philippians 2, the challenge for believers in Jesus to follow His example of humility by looking to others’ interests and serving them, was not only taught but exemplified in the lives of students and leaders alike.

1 John 3 opens by telling us to SEE what kind of love (!!) the Father has given us. How does He give us His love?  He gives us His love by Christ’s death on the cross and His resurrection from the dead that makes us alive with Him when we believe in Jesus (Ephesians 2:4-9, Acts 16:31). Then He gives us His love through each other (1 John 4:7-11). It is the evidence that we know Him and abide in Him (1 John 3:23-24). Love, in a nutshell, is the giving of oneself for another. All our praiseworthy deeds are nothing without it (1 Corinthians 13:1-3).

I arrived at DPB House Training Center a bit battered in spirit. I left having been ministered to in wonderfully healing ways by the love of His people, His body. I believe this is one reason we are called Christ’s body. He is the spirit that drives the action, and we are the listening ears, the praying tongues, the voices of encouragement, the arms that hug and hold, the feet that go, the hands that serve.  It is my prayer for DPB House that this would be their constant and eternal testimony. It is my prayer for the wider body of Christ wherever we are found – that all who encounter us would experience Christ’s self-sacrificing love. To Him be all the praise and glory!

 

©Erika Rice 2019

 

Faith, Family, Jesus, Marriage, Women

Too Many Women

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I know too many women who have been abused. If it was only one, it would still be too many. Unfortunately, the number of women I have personally encountered is much higher. Some of those women have lost their grip on reality and their mental stability, things that are not very easily recovered.

I am speaking primarily of emotional abuse, meant to devalue, control, manipulate, and create fear. It is shaming and contemptuous. Women who try harder do not find themselves loved better in return. Their actions only lend power to the one who is hurting them.

None of these women, or their marriages, fit the stereotypical image of abusive relationships. They appeared healthy and happy, their husbands solid, Christian men, sometimes leaders in the church.  They didn’t seem mousy and bedraggled, the doormat one would expect to find.

Seldom were their cries for help listened to or believed. They came away with the understanding that their husbands were too like-able or their marriage to valuable, that we are each our own worst enemy and must fix ourselves first, that their children’s suffering would be far greater from divorce than abuse, or that they should suck it up because marriage is hard for everyone. If only they would die to self and submit to their husbands, things would be better. Those who removed themselves to safety were often told that the first order of business was to get them back in the house, because separation is a death sentence for marriage.

This post is not meant to dissect poor handling of abuse cases. I do, however, want to promote a Godly, Biblical initial response. Please say very little to begin with when a woman talks of hardship in her marriage. Listen closely, speak little, and when you do, ask questions that will shed more light on the situation (James 1:19). Do not try to connect her stories to stories of your own. Continue to listen, for as long as it takes, not only to get a better picture but to show honor and care for a hurting individual. She may not even use the word abuse, it will feel too extreme to her, her love for her husband too great to want to hurt his reputation. But she can’t afford to be ignored.

We, as Jesus body, His hands and feet, His eyes and ears, cannot afford to ignore the hurting, destitute, devalued, and vulnerable (1 John 3:16-18). By the time a woman is crying for help, sometimes barely whispering for it, she may be at the end of her rope. You may be surprised by who it is asking for help, her countenance has never given you any hint. She may seem like a very strong woman, who knows her own mind. She may be a woman who shows no fear and never seems to worry.

But please, please listen. Pray for wisdom and discernment. Seek out both sides if safe to do so. Pray with the woman, weep with her (Romans 12:15), check in frequently, seek out reputable god-centered counselors for her, hug her, offer her a safe zone should she need an escape, and support in any way you can. Be a lifeline for a drowning person.

Please do not simply tell her to trust Jesus, to find her strength in the Lord, to wait for His deliverance, if you do not plan to assist in that deliverance (Proverbs 14:31; 24:11; Isaiah 1:17). I am not suggesting running mindlessly into the fray with no wisdom or expertise to guide. I am imploring a James 2:15-17 mindset. Prayerfully consider how you can help. Ask experts how you can help. Ask the woman how you can help.

The abused woman will need all those Bible promises, but chances are she is well aware of them and has been clinging to them for quite some time. Any strength you see is the strength she derives from the Lord Himself, her strong tower (Proverbs 18:10).  She has probably learned deep trust in Jesus already by casting all her cares on Him, over and over again (1 Peter 5:7). And her plight might seem unbelievable because she has been looking to Him all along, making her face radiant (Psalm 34:4-5).

I have been surprised by the women who have asked me for help. I wouldn’t have expected it from them or their husbands. The women are some of the most beautiful and gentle women I know, fully trusting in Jesus and ministering to everyone around them. They lend credence to Psalm 34:5, that those who look to Him are radiant. It isn’t an empty promise. But neither is the promise that when the righteous cry, the LORD hears and saves him from his troubles (Psalm 34:6-7; 17). If you learn of abuse, He has called you to be part of that deliverance, in some form. Please do not turn a deaf ear. I have yet to meet a woman in the church, claiming abuse, for whom it has not been proven true. They need love, encouragement, and support.

Too many women are suffering alone.

 

©️Erika Rice 2018

 

Daily Living, Faith, Family, Jesus, Lessons, Productivity, Pure Country

It Could Happen To Anyone

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It could happen to anyone. At least that’s what I tell myself sometimes when things unravel. I think it might be true, even if the circumstances differ.

Monday morning, I knocked a jar of banana peppers off an eye-level shelf in my basement. It landed just left of my foot, peppers in a neat little pile, vinegar splashed across the floor,  glass exploded into smithereens that embedded in my foot and flip-flops. It was not how I wanted to start my morning. I hadn’t yet made coffee or eaten breakfast. I was trying to get a jump on the day and create some order that would help me get ahead (who am I kidding? I’m so far behind, I’m just trying to catch up with the tailgate!). This little incident was not helping matters.

Tuesday morning, I discovered a package of meat between two freezers in my basement. I can’t tell you how long it had been there, but it was smelly and crawling. It was not how I wanted to start my morning. I hadn’t yet had coffee or eaten breakfast. I was all about efficiency when I set foot in the basement – in and out. This big incident was not helping matters.

I had left the safe space of my bedroom feeling pretty optimistic about the day ahead. I’d had sweet fellowship with the Lord, had a mental list going and few obstacles in the way of accomplishing that list. Monday morning left me thinking that making coffee would be a great way to start Tuesday morning; but when I noticed the empty dishwasher, I decided to put a hold on coffee until I got my canning jars loaded in to sterilize while the coffee brewed and I ate my breakfast. It seemed both smart and efficient.

Taped to the basement door was the reminder of broken glass and the need for shoes. So I stopped to get the vacuum. At this point, the vinegar would be all dry and any last glass dust easy to vacuum up. It was, but the basement was so dimly lit that even the extra lantern I’d brought to illuminate my canned goods closet was insufficient. I felt the need to explore the cause. A light bulb had been loosened in its socket, so I tightened it up, and suddenly all was exposed. The spider webs in the corners and crevices, the rotting meat between the freezers…

Let me tell you something about my basement. It isn’t really a basement. It’s more like a cellar, built out of large field rock, over 100 years ago. The rain and snow-melt run through the cracks and would fill it up if not for the sump-pump built into the low spot. The essentials are housed on concrete platforms — freezer, furnace, hot water heater, well tank. We run a dehumidifier all summer to keep the humidity down. Still, all that wet earth in the corners every time it rains can make it a little smelly at times.

This summer was hot and humid. The basement odors were unpleasant. My husband noticed, checked the dehumidifier, looked around, but couldn’t find any explanation for the scent other than wet, earthy basement. When I came home from weeks of summer travel, I found the smell offensive and did my own search, knowing that if the source didn’t easily reveal itself, I would need to find time for a thorough cleaning of the cellar. Until Tuesday morning, I had been unable to find the source of that awful smell that I’d been trying to keep hidden by a closed basement door.

I donned rubber gloves. I found heavy duty plastic sacks to scoop the mess into. I armed myself with a large putty knife.  I….was unprepared for what lurked beneath the package. I will leave that image up to your imagination. I want you to keep reading. You will undoubtedly be done if I paint that picture for you.

I scrambled for the Lysol. Bleach was out of the question because we’d used the last drop two days ago. Lysol was ineffective. I ran through the rain to the barn to find any kind of bug killers my husband had stashed there. They, too, were ineffective against the moving mass on the floor. I needed to scoop it all up, but couldn’t get the right angle with the second freezer in the way. I needed help. Kids to the rescue. Thankfully, my kids are all big now and the three still at home are used to coming to my rescue when big stuff goes down.

When the oldest came on the scene, we decided that bleach would definitely be necessary at some point. But first, we needed to shove that freezer out of the way. We two puny ladies couldn’t make it go. She woke her brother and told him to bring his muscles. I said I would pick up bleach while we waited for the muscles to fully wake, but under no circumstances should she try to clean up that mess. No way was I taking the easy job of running an errand and making someone else clean up the nasty. I said it again on my way out the door, “Do NOT try to clean that up! I’m not making anyone touch that. I’ll do it when I get back. Just spray it with more bug killer occasionally if you do anything.”

I grabbed a hat and keys and off I went. The fact that I had tackled this without ever getting to the coffee hit me as I got behind the wheel, and my neighborhood, drive-thru coffee shop jumped to mind. I was going to buy us each a specialty drink because there had to be some reward for doing a job like this one. I was off without getting properly dressed, washing my face or brushing my teeth. But I was only headed to Dollar General for one thing and would keep my head down. I figured the drive thru didn’t pose a threat, either, windows between us for the short bit of contact that would be had. I pulled in just after another car, stopped a good distance back and put my car in park.

I looked up just as the car in front of me went into reverse and started backing towards me. I tried to get mine in reverse and move, but was too slow so I just yelled “NO!” at the top of my lungs. That didn’t help. The thought of honking came after the fact. By God’s grace, there was no damage done worth caring about. But when all was said and done, I ended up inside that coffee shop in my unwashed state with 4 other ladies, wishing I could crawl under the freezer in my basement. I probably smelled bad enough to belong there.

Here is where the story takes a turn and really gets good. So don’t stop reading yet.

When I arrived home with bleach and coffees, I was greeted by 3 cheerful young adults with gloved hands who had moved that freezer, cleaned up every last bit of nastiness, and the young man with the muscles was burning the remnants. He had proved unnecessary in moving the freezer because the one puny lady did better than we two. All that was left for me was the bleaching and rinsing. Bleach and rinse I did, with a hose that sprung a leak and rinsed the upstairs as I rinsed below, completely unawares. The youngest prevented disaster and left me none the wiser till I finished.

When it was all put back together (which turned out to be no small feat, requiring four of us and a good bit of leveling), and the basement light turned off, the three laughing young adults, my children, who were gathered around my kitchen island asked if we could pray together before we moved on. As we reached for each others’ hands, one remembered a song they used to sing every morning at a camp they’d attended. So we stood in a circle and they taught me a fun version of “Bind Us Together, Lord,” complete with clapping and hugs. And then…we prayed.

All before we’d even finished our morning coffee.

Tuesday morning did not go according to plan. I thought by noon I’d be well into making pickles, if not close to done. I’d have eaten breakfast and finished my coffee and had my day in hand. But it was never my day to begin with, and the Lord had something to show me. In my quiet time during the early hours, I had been reading the opening pages of a book by Jen Wilkin where she makes the case that for the believer who wants to know God’s will for their life, instead of asking “What should I do?” we should first ask, “Who should I be?”

My prayer for my children has long been, and especially this last year, that they would be filled with the Holy Spirit, exhibit His fruit and display the character of Christ. Tuesday morning, I saw it on full display, within their home, where it is often the hardest to do, and under unpleasant circumstances. I don’t know how to answer all their questions about what they should do at any given moment, but I know who they should be, and by God’s grace they are (Romans 12:2). They are not merely rule followers who are well-behaved lovers of self, but followers of Jesus whose love has filled them to overflowing, transformed by the Holy Spirit to show the character of the God who made and loves them (1 Peter 1:14-16).

It could happen to anyone – a morning like mine. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen that way every day. But the unplanned, unexpected, and ugly sometimes pile on. As to the rest of it? The joy, the self-sacrifice, the love, and unity – those can happen to anyone, too.

They can happen to anyone, or rather within the heart of anyone, who truly knows Jesus.

 

©Erika Rice 2018

Daily Living, Family, Lessons, Productivity, Pure Country, Women

Mother and Gumption

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I’m sitting at my computer, towel wrapped around my conditioned, but unrinsed, hair; sitting here, thinking about my mother and how she gave me the gumption to do this.

By “this” I do not mean sit here and type with a towel wrapped around my head. The situation is a little more sticky than that. You see, I have no running water at my house. Except that twice a day, for 15-20 minutes, the water runs. In that time period, we wash our dishes, fill our pitchers, and try to get everyone through the shower. This has been going on for 12 days. And it led to my current predicament.

It was my turn in the shower, and the second I was covered in soap and conditioner, the water stopped. Just like that. No warning. No “Better be quick!” slowdown. It was just gone. I yelled, “NO! I’m covered in conditioner and soap, and there’s no more water!” My ever-helpful husband arrived on-scene with an immediate, and undesirable, solution.

At this point, you need to know that my bathroom is fully occupied by 5-gallon, not-so-clean pails of not-so-clean, cold water which we use to flush toilets and meet other similar water demands.

Ever-helpful Husband said, “I’m going to pour a pail of water over you and rinse it off.”

“No! No you aren’t! I will wrap a towel around my head and wait for the water to come back again.”

He just looked at me. We both knew that could be a long wait. In an effort to sound less ridiculous and more solution-minded, I told him that the water was COLD and not-so-clean. You get what I’m saying, right?! Who wants a pail of cold (not-so-clean) water dumped over their head (unless it’s a sweltering 95 degrees and you know you’re going to shower later)? He still just looked at me.

“Okay, fine, I’ll use that water, but I’m doing it MYSELF, with a pitcher, except for my hair, ” I said. “I’m still wrapping a towel around my head and waiting for the water to come back on!”

So here I am, towel-wrapped head, thinking about Mom. I know I get that stubbornness from her, but I’m really thinking about all the things she faced head-on in life. She was a do-it-yourselfer before it was trendy. Not because that’s what made her tick, but because she didn’t have an option.

My father worked hard, but we never had much money. He was a highly educated blue-collar man who lived in a little house with his wife and seven children. My creative-brained mother was always figuring out new and better ways to utilize the space and keep us all organized. She plastered and puttied, painted, sanded and varnished, sometimes late into the night, to get the job done.

She cooked on a stove that sat in the middle of the dining room for weeks while the kitchen was remodeled–a tiny closet of a kitchen in which she somehow functioned with all of her children helping by her side. For several years when money was too tight to vacation east to see our grandparents, we camped in state parks close to home while Mom cooked over the open fire, Dad read to us, we washed our hair with frigid water under pumps, and we made inexpensive but precious family memories. Mom never stopped opening her home to everyone, especially those she thought in need of friendship, family, or food, even when all she could offer was scrambled eggs.

I learned from my mom that God is sovereign–she never lets up on that theme. Both the good and the bad (our perception) come from His hand for our good and His glory. She never let me fret, but always directed me to prayer, because it’s God’s pleasure to answer the prayers of His people.

My mom taught me how to be frugal, that no job was beneath me, and that it’s better to do it yourself than complain about it not getting done. It wasn’t a can-do attitude that never accepted help, but one that was accepting of her lot in life. Many times in my adult life, I have spurred myself on by the thought that if Mom could do it, I can too. I think she always seemed fearless and strong-willed, though the perspective brought by nearly 25 years of motherhood myself leads me to believe that it was a confidence in Christ and determination to make the most of any given situation. No obstacle ever seemed too big to overcome, no person too unworthy to receive the benefit of the doubt.

That’s what I mean by gumption. All these synonyms apply–initiative, resourcefulness, ingenuity, imagination, mettle, fortitude, courage. I’m not saying that I actually have it, but I know my mother did. And watching her for years has encouraged me to be thankful in all circumstances, to make the most of every situation, to persevere whatever the difficulty, and to know that every good thing is a gift from God.

So I’m sitting here grateful for the mother I have and the water we get, with this towel growing ever-heavier, knowing that if the water doesn’t come back, I’ll be dunking my head in a bucket. Somehow that just seems better than having it dumped on me.

©Erika Rice 2017

Daily Living, Faith, Family, Lessons, Marriage, Travel

Hold My Hand

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I love to hold my husband’s hand. I have since the very beginning. But a traveling job and five children later, that hand can be hard to grab hold of at times.  So this year, I followed him around the world just trying to catch that hand. Together, we watched the sun rise and set over the Pacific, ate salmon in Alaska, climbed the Eiffel tower at night, and rode bikes through an Amsterdam rush hour. As I made my way through various cities and tried to take it all in, the overarching charm was always that I was taking it in with him, sometimes while holding his hand.

My husband is an active man and doesn’t sit still for long, which means when I’m with him I’m on the move, too. So it was, on our second day in Paris, with aching feet and tired legs, that I reached out and took hold of his hand. The evening light was magical in a city that begs one to linger and look. But we are not the lingering kind. We had a distant destination and an imminent time limit. My active man had engaged his long stride and fast pace and thrown it into high gear. My gears were winding down, and sunset over the city was exerting its magnetic force, holding my feet in place, eyes locked on the skyline. I knew I needed to move, but felt immoveable. That’s when I said it, words that have stuck in my head all year. “If you want me to keep moving, you’ll have to hold my hand.” He held on and didn’t let go. We made it across the city. We found the open market just in time. We filled our bag with good things to eat, and made it to our hotel before collapsing into chairs and relaxing.

That one sentence, “If you want me to keep moving, you’ll have to hold my hand,” gave me plenty to ponder as his hand guided me through the Paris streets to the place he had in mind. The first thought being that that’s all I really want through all my years of marriage–to know that he’s got my hand and we’re in this together. I’ll follow him anywhere, I’ll do my best to match any pace, I’ll trust he knows where he’s going, I’ll get lost with him if he doesn’t, as long as he never lets go of my hand.

And, as one thought leads to another, I came next to the thought that marriage is the earthly picture of the heavenly relationship between Christ and his bride. When He’s holding my hand, anything is possible. I’m able to keep moving wherever He wants me to go because He’s holding my hand. His leadership is trustworthy, His strength becomes mine, and His ability gives movement to my feet. Christ is the ultimate husband, in who’s hand I always want to rest.  And He’s given me this good man to help me learn and remember what it means to be His bride.

So I reach for that hand, catch and grab hold. Whether at home or away, I pray to keep moving or appropriately sit still, knowing we’re in it together, being held by an even greater hand.

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©Erika Rice 2016

Daily Living, Faith, Family, Lessons

Remembering my Father

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Yesterday was Father’s Day. When I think of fathers, I always think of my own, for obvious reasons. I remember his tenderness, tears, love and prayers. I remember the gentle way he always made it okay to be weak or wounded and needing some consolation, yet never allowed me to indulge in self-pity. I remember the way he diverted my attention from my suffering to better things or told me to pick myself up and start over when I fell or failed. He loved to infuse tense moments with humor and was quick with a smile or hug. He was always willing to listen, offer wisdom where he had it and pray for wisdom where he lacked it. He taught me to pray and search God’s Word for answers.

My father taught me Scripture instead of just telling me what to do. He would give me gentle reminders like these as befit the occasion:

James 1:19-20 “…But everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger; for the anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God.” Anger is rarely ever helpful, but being quiet long enough to hear someone else’s side can change everything.

1 John 4:20 – “If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen.” If I insist that I DO love God then I better show it by loving my brother. And what is love?

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 – “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” It’s hard not to be rude to the irritating people I live with everyday who can’t see that MY WAY is the BEST WAY…So much for love.

Proverbs 15:1 – “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” Little explanation is needed here.

Reminders such as these were words from my Heavenly Father not just my earthly father, both of whom I desired to please. In fact, there’s no one it would pain me more to hurt or disappoint. My longing to please my earthly father was greater because he did not demand that I please him, but urged me to do right and loved me in spite of myself. He loved me as nearly like my Heavenly Father as I imagine possible.

My father was safe, strong, wise and upright. He was trustworthy and compassionate. He desired good for his children and encouraged us. He modeled selflessness, hard work, generosity, hospitality, and love for God, His Word and His people. He never turned away anyone in need.

What I do not remember of my father is a harsh tone or words, anger or abuse. I do not remember him demanding work from me that he was not willing to do by my side. I do not remember him burdening me with loads too heavy for his own shoulders or too distasteful to be done by him.

I know he wasn’t perfect. He’d have been the first to admit it. He was good at recognizing his failings and also good at apologizing. What I know is that when I read in the Bible that God is patient and long-suffering, compassionate and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in love (Psalm 86:15, Joel 2:13, Nehemiah 9:17, 2 Peter 3:9), I believe it. I believe it because if an earthly father is capable of such things, how much more so a perfect God? Matthew 7:11 says, “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!”

As Father’s Day fades away for another year, I want to remember the example of my father every day, parenting as he did; and even more so because he was the visible picture of my Heavenly Father, the Heavenly Father who tells all His children to be like He is.

Colossians 3:12-14 – “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”

 

©Erika Rice 2015