The New Roof That Almost Wasn’t

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the everyday occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

The damage to our roof seemed minor when I compared one smashed corner and a mangled gutter and drainpipe to the holes many neighbors had suffered. The insurance adjustor settled the cost to repair our battered west end with $1200. I did notice, however, when the first roofer I called to give me an estimate said, “Lady (why do all repairmen call me ‘lady’? How do they know? Maybe I am; maybe I’m not), you got three roofing surfaces up there. I don’t know if we can really fix it up. Regulations don’t allow more than two.”

I can’t remember, but we might have been the ones responsible—in fact, I’m sure we were. We’ve lived in this house for the last 35 years, buying the property when it was three years old. I can recall one roof surface overlaying the original, but I don’t have any memory of the second surface being pounded one upon another upon another.

We were almost ready to sign the contract for the $1200 roof repair, when one of those “storm-chasers” appeared at our door and wondered what kind of damage had been done above our heads. “Not much,” I replied, and pulled out the adjustor’s figures for some $7000 of various repairs, the corner of the bashed roof and the damaged drains being part of that total.

“Why don’t you let me get my guys up there and let’s see if any of the roof structure has been damaged?”

I was ready to move ahead with the first roofer, but David, being a little more forth-seeing, insisted we proceed with the stranger who appeared without warning at our front door. The storm hit us on the final days of June 2012; it is now the middle of December. Last week, after long negotiations to which the Mains had no part, the roofing company announced that our claim for a whole new roof (well, almost a whole new roof) had been approved. Two days ago the check came in the mail, as well as one of those detailed adjustor’s reports that read like Greek to the uninitiated construction-challenged homeowner. Today I drove 15 miles away to get the check endorsed by our primary mortgage-holder, then to the bank that holds our line of credit loan, then to deposit it in my own bank. Done!

Going past the house on my way to the office, I noticed that big piles of stacked roofing had been left in the driveway. The check should clear in three days, but work will begin today because we have two days of decent December weather forecasted—talk about cutting it thin.

“Well, that’s all done,” I said to my husband in relief. It seemed as though each endorsement required several phone calls for permission, record examinations, and each bank has its own particular set of rules that must be followed. “Karen,” he called. “Come into my office.”

It seems my visit to the bank that holds our mortgage had prompted a phone call from a mortgage officer. Due to the way our salary payments are structured and some other tangled legalities, we have not been able to refinance our home. At least four times, my husband has responded to the national campaigns that promise mortgage financing relief—all of them have said we can’t refinance. David explained this to the man on the other end of the line. “My goodness, none of that should be a problem. You have never missed a payment. I have your record in front of me. At 3% interest, you could save all

kinds of money.” It appears that if we refinance for a 15-year mortgage at 3%, we will pay exactly what we are paying now, but save ourselves $112,000.

Not bad for a morning spent traveling from bank to bank in order to get the appropriate endorsement on the back of our insurance checks.

If this actually goes through—and I’ll let you know—we will have a new roof (that almost wasn’t) totally unexpected, as well as refinancing on our home mortgage—again, another huge gift, totally unexpected. I see God’s hand in the myriad little gifts of my days, but I am trying to open my mind and my heart to the possibility that my Heavenly Father may be wanting to delight us through bigger venues of his love, venues we can’t see, or even fathom with our limited imaginations, but real, nevertheless.

This certainly was an amazing morning. Merry Christmas!

I spy God!

Too Many Dishes

I suppose I do have too many dishes. Over the years, a few comments have not made me defensive, I suppose, as much as self-aware. One friend in a small group, for which I fixed an almost-monthly meal, said, “You really have a lot of company settings, don’t you.” Another friend in that group, herself a dish aficionado, defended my china largess by stating, “Oh, when you have company as much as Karen does, you can’t really ever have too many place settings.”

But this last weekend, a member of another small group—different small group—looked at my Christmas table, which generally gets set the first week of Advent and stays set ready for all who seem to land in our dining room. He asked this question: “Do you have a room for all your dishes?” It seemed as though he had another woman friend who had so many place settings that when her daughter got married and moved out of the house, she turned her room into a storage room.

I don’t think I have that many dishes.

We’re at that age, David and I, where all of our parents have died and we’ve inherited a lot of their things, most of purely sentimental value, not monetary. One set of hand-painted Bavarian china I passed along to a daughter-in-law. A couple of the other sets I am saving just in case a grandchild would like them for a wedding gift. In the meantime, I do put them out in the seasonal exchange—the setting prestidigitation that delights me, keeps David from spreading out on the dining room table, and hopefully, welcomes all who come into our home.

So when I saw this stack of Japanese bowls with the traditional swooping blue brush-lines and counted them up (twenty matching bowls, some with their stickers still on the bottom), I heard my friends’ questions in my mind—You really do have a lot of dishes, don’t you Karen? Do you have a room just to store your china?

Our cereal bowls have been a collection of unmatched leftovers. I’d been looking for a set of 8-12 bowls that were the same pattern, but when I couldn’t find anything, I settled for collecting an odd bowl here and an odd cereal bowl there.

But here, lo and behold, were 20 hardly used bowls, all matching, in my favorite colors and without a chip in any of the rims. The price in The Top Hat, the high-end resale shop in Geneva, was $20. I walked out without them mainly because I found a new humidifier in its original box with instructions and extra filters. But I also agree that I probably have too many dishes.

In the parking lot, a nudge—one of those inner nudges said to me, Now you march right back in there and buy those bowls. You don’t have cereal bowls. Where are you going to find 20 matching cereal bowls in the right colors, all practically new, without any chips, for only $20? I bought the bowls, realizing—as silly as it may sound to others—that this was one of God’s gifts to me. The Heavenly Father was delighting in giving me something I had been searching for and hadn’t been able to find.

How great is that? As a parent, I love to give my children gifts that I think they’ve wanted but not purchased because they were being careful about their money. God’s delight in giving good gifts is not any less than mine—probably more because He has taken pains to orchestrate what appears to be a serendipitous event knowing that I would be wandering into that high-end resale shop I hadn’t visited in almost a year.

I don’t always know what to do personally with a Scripture like this, seeing as I am flawed more than I like to admit, but this day, at this moment, in this Advent Season, I felt as though it applied, “Truly God is good to the upright, to those who are pure in heart.” A gift in the weeks leading up Christmas to remind me that God is good (all the time).

I spy God!

Aesthetic Homeland

I am so involved in ministry, sometimes I forget that at heart I am also an artist. This quality, I’m afraid, has taken a backseat to all the other ventures I have felt called to embark upon. I look forward to Heaven and hope God will appoint me a place at the feet of those artistic greats who did pursue the aesthetic calling in their souls. Me, I have to fit in artistry when I set a table or plant a garden or put together a retail-store ensemble that I wear to church or, on rare occasion, out to dinner.

But I received an e-mail recently from Dick Ryan, the head of the InterVarsity Arts ministry. Could I possibly make a planning meeting for a gathering of arts students from all the disciplines scheduled at Wheaton College in January of 2013? He was going to try to contact a handful of various artists from the area who were professionals in their fields. The head of the Wheaton College Music Conservatory and Arts department would also be present, as he was co-sponsoring the InterVarsity event.

Within three e-mail tries, we were all committed to a 1:30 afternoon meeting in the dean’s office at the Music Conservatory. And this happened within five days’ time—rather remarkable given everyone’s busy schedule.

In gatherings like this, I am reminded how much I miss being more a part of the arts community. I always feel like I’ve been speaking a second language, but when I’m with painters and print-makers and musicians and dancers who are passionate about their fields, I remember that now, now I am speaking my native tongue. This is such an amazing thing to me, to come home again, after traveling afar, to my country of origin, to the land of my aesthetic kin.

I’m not lonely for that country any more—though I used to be filled with intense nostalgia for my artistic kinfolk and did engage in some ridiculous efforts to hang onto the coattails of those who had a dedicated trajectory into theatre, film, creative studios, or to those who even taught in those fields.

I’m happy to do what I can for InterVarsity Arts—but mostly I count it a privilege to sit in the corners and listen to the struggles and discoveries and amazing journeys of those my artistic kinfolk whom I bless these days, even though it is from afar.

At least I am content with my artistry, such as it is—last week it was putting together the Advent Communion table, which shimmered with a wonderful deep-pink cloth and rich purple draping. The idea is that it will change and grow with each Advent week leading to Christmas. Next week, for Advent Two, we are adding a wine ruffle for the tablecloth to match the wine napkins that hold the bread, adding one deep-red pomegranate (a symbol of Christ) on each of the four Communion trays, and will start to wind the colors through the Advent wreath. For Week Three, we will add Communion pieces in all these colors—blue, purple, wine, pink and brown—to symbolize the patchwork quality, the uneven radiance of our lives together as the Body of Christ.

Perhaps 100 people will see this liturgical aesthetic expression of mine—maybe 20 will notice. But I am content, far away from my native country. A little artistry is enough for me these days. In my heart, it is a gift to my heavenly King—this round table—glowing softly under the gymnasium lights in the public grade school where we gather. It is for the Father Artist who sent his Creator Child in an enormous act of love with the plan for Him to lead us all back to the place where we really belong, that consummate Beautiful Land where we all long to be, where there is one common language, and we all will understand.

I spy God!

Aesthetic Homeland

 I am so involved in ministry, sometimes I forget that at heart I am also an artist. This quality, I’m afraid, has taken a backseat to all the other ventures I have felt called to embark upon. I look forward to Heaven and hope God will appoint me a place at the feet of those artistic greats who did pursue the aesthetic calling in their souls. Me, I have to fit in artistry when I set a table or plant a garden or put together a retail-store ensemble that I wear to church or, on rare occasion, out to dinner.
But I received an e-mail recently from Dick Ryan, the head of the InterVarsity Arts ministry. Could I possibly make a planning meeting for a gathering of arts students from all the disciplines scheduled at Wheaton College in January of 2013? He was going to try to contact a handful of various artists from the area who were professionals in their fields. The head of the Wheaton College Music Conservatory and Arts department would also be present, as he was co-sponsoring the InterVarsity event.

Within three e-mail tries, we were all committed to a 1:30 afternoon meeting in the dean’s office at the Music Conservatory. And this happened within five days’ time—rather remarkable given everyone’s busy schedule.

To read more, click HERE.

Thanksgiving Turkey

Having a table full of family for Thanksgiving dinner, though joyful, even when everyone is bringing dishes to help the cooking load as well as the expense, is still a lot of work.

As is my custom, the table had been set for a couple of weeks. I change the settings according to the season, but put the dishes back on the table after when I have used them. This looks great and saves me all kinds of work.

That Monday, however, I realized I needed to pick up some frozen turkeys in order for them to thaw properly (in the fridge) by the next night, when I planned to stuff them Wednesday. I did not want to take the time to shop around and comparison shop. The nearby ALDI was selling turkeys for $1.19 a pound. I had decided to prep, stuff and bake two smaller turkeys this year instead of the larger 24-pound one. They would fit side by side on my oven shelves better, and we would have four drumsticks instead of two, for those who wanted them.

A notice caught my eye last evening when I opened my AOL homepage. The headline teased the reader about finding the cheapest turkeys and about how to prepare them without risking salmonella poisoning. Clicking on the article, I read to discover that this writer felt Walmart had the best prices.

So after rising at 3:30 a.m. (yes, I’m not sleeping well), cleaning some more in the garage, making a list of everything that needed to be accomplished today before I went out to O’Hare to pick up David at the International Terminal, I headed to Walmart at 7:00 (they’re open 24 hours). Sure enough, I found turkeys for 73 cents a pound, bought two, did the rest of my holiday shopping and had everything stored away by 8:30—the turkeys thawing for a couple hours on the just-cleaned counter in our garage.

These are divine mercies, little graces that make our lives easier. My one trip, instead of three or four, opened my day to write these blogs, get the Advent communion tablecloth cut that I am making for our church’s table, dig in the kitchen garbage while the ground is still soft during an unseasonably warm spell, and still have enough time to change clothes to look good for my returning husband and even do some final errands as I drive to meet him at O’Hare.

Believe me, as I am taking the time to write about this, a warm infusion of appreciation is flooding my being—one of those healthy effects the researchers are discovering as they look carefully at the impact of living a lifestyle of gratitude.

I sing with the psalmist:

“We give thanks to Thee, O God; we give thanks; we call on thy name and recount thy wondrous deeds.” —Psalm 75:1

Yes we do.

I spy God!

Scripture Search

It occurs to me that many people may not know how to conduct a basic Scripture survey search. This has been one of the most fruitful ways of looking into what the Bible says about any topic I employ.

Basically, I take a good concordance (which lists verses using a topical index approach) and write down, then look up, every reference on that topic that I find.

So for this week of blogs dedicated to developing the capacity of being a person of gratefulness (as opposed to being a wretched ingrate), I suggest you do the same. Take one page in a notebook (you don’t want to lose this work; I refer time and again to the reference studies I’ve conducted), and begin to write down the verses in the Old and New Testament that the concordance has organized topically.

This may take you awhile, so don’t try to do it in one sitting. Make it a month-or-so enterprise. Then savor the verses that you look up and write down. Memorize a few. In my husband’s huge concordance, borrowed from his ministerial library, I discover the first reference to the word “thank” (or thanked, thankful, thankfulness, thanking, thanks or thanksgiving) is in Leviticus 7:12, and it refers to one of the Old Testament thanks offerings. I notice that the first reference to the word “thanks” is in 1 Chronicles 16:4, “to give thanks, and to praise the Lord.”

This is going to be a fruitful and empowering study. Maybe I’ll schedule this study for the next few months, perhaps months and months—or as long as it takes.

If an attitude of appreciation is a healing factor for mind and body, I (we, if you study with me) should be in for days and days ahead of heightened well-being. So be happy, be healthy. Give thanks.

I spy God!

Prayers That Make an Extraordinary Difference

I am in one of those spiritual seasons where I find that I’m experiencing an unusual amount of activity in having prayers answered. That being so, I thought I would take this week and examine which prayers seem to be more effective as best as I can tell.
What comes to mind right away is what I have labeled the “first-thoughts prayers.” Having an active mind (my husband came to bed last night, creeping quietly into the room so as not to wake me, slipping between the covers carefully—at which point I surprised him by shouting “Boo!”), I rarely wake feeling groggy. The plans and activities of the day flood me. “What mountain are you scheming to climb now?” he asked, after we both laughed at my sleeping ruse. “The Himalayas?”
So I have imposed upon myself of turning my mind to God first thing, and no matter what time I wake, spending that first hour in prayer (as much as I am able), praising Him, trying to remember His goodness in my life, recounting His nature and character. If I don’t go back to sleep (sometimes—well, often—this first time exercise is practiced in the middle of the night), I then get up and try to keep myself from running downstairs to finish a project, clean up the kitchen or read a book I may have started.

To read more, click HERE.

Video Friday

An African saying goes, ‘Wasiyejua ya kale, yajayo watayatambua? Those who do not know their history, will they understand their future? Last Friday we had fun moments viewing our pictures and seeing videos. I pulled some video off the internet of a sewing project in Nairobi which I thought would inspire Global Bag Project ladies. Our after-video discussion revolved around, what did you see? What did you hear? and what do we learn? From this discussion we learnt the values of prayer and fellowship as we saw in AMANI YA JUU video. In Africa, story-telling is one of the most treasured tools for teaching people of all ages. Story telling involves life experiences of other people who the audiences can easily identify with. Stories therefore instill a sense of ‘can do attitude’.

We also got to watch Mary Nduta’s story and her dreams here. Having Nduta watch with us her own story made it more interesting, she paused a few times to fill in the gaps and put the story in context. After the video she took time to motivate the ladies and I could see the interest in the eyes that meant, ‘yes, I identify with this story’. My question about who among them would want to inspire others with their stories was answered with giggles and laughter. This meant it could be any of them. After all at Global Bag Project, we say ‘every bag has a story’ and we mean it. We have stories to challenge, inspire and transform! Watch this space… 

A New Drug for Health and Happiness

Did you know that the scientific community has been studying the effects of gratitude on the physiological health of humans? Since around the year 2000, social scientists began turning their focus solely from abnormal psychology to healthy emotional habits and their impact on the way we live.

Wikipedia reports: “A large body of recent work suggests that people who are more grateful have higher levels of well-being. Grateful people are happier, less stressed, and more satisfied with their lives and social relationship. Grateful people also have higher levels of control of their environments, personal growth, purpose in life, and self-acceptance. Grateful people have more positive ways of coping with the difficulties they experience in life, being less likely to try and avoid the problem, deny there is a problem, blame themselves, or cope through substance use. Grateful people sleep better, and this seems to be because they think less negative and more positive thoughts before just going to sleep.”

Yet, even with this truth, even with all the Scriptures that instruct us to give thanks, most of us fall into the ungrateful-wretch category than that of a people whose hearts are overflowing with appreciation—to God and to one another.

To read more, click here.

Dust Allergy

I have an allergy I’m pretty sure is due to dust. If I plunk down in a chair where the upholstery hasn’t been dusted, I’ll go off in paroxysms of coughing and sneezing and of semi-violent blowings of my nose. When the air circulates through the vents in the car, I experience the same thing. I keep boxes and packets of tissues handy—because sooner or later, probably sooner, I will need them.

This allergy comes and goes; usually I suffer for about three weeks to a month, then it calms itself down and I’m back to normal—such a relief, because the allergy is always accompanied by an annoying cough—hack-hack-hack—that feels unrelenting. My adult children monitor my disability—“Mom, when are you going to have that checked out?” Since I self-cure and can go for a month or so between episodes, and since a doctor who examined me when I walked into a critical-care center without an appointment proclaimed it an allergy, I don’t think much about it. If I go to bed for most of a day, do deep-breathing exercises for that bed day, pray for my body with calming prayers, I can shake the allergy, but most of the time, I don’t have a day to make myself allergy-clear.

To read more, click here.

Sabbath Practice

In Memphis at Second Presbyterian Church, I was asked to speak on my book Making Sunday Special, which deals with the topic of restoring a Jewish Sabbath-understanding to our Christian Sunday practice. I realized as I prepared that David and I have let this slip. As I re-read the chapters to remind myself of what I had written, and as I went over my speaking notes, which I haven’t used for several years, an intense longing for Shabbat, that 26-hour weekly ritual, which is both a metaphor of a divine romance—our love relationship with God—and a way to step out of purely secular time and into sacred time, began swelling in my soul.

Sometimes, those of us teach, forget that we teach as much to learn and put into practical activity the scriptural truths we are sharing, as to lead those who listen into biblical information that becomes transformative. I am often stunned when I “get” what any passage in the Bible means—this meaning hits me with force.

To read more, click here.

Sabbath Practice

In Memphis at Second Presbyterian Church, I was asked to speak on my book Making Sunday Special, which deals with the topic of restoring a Jewish Sabbath-understanding to our Christian Sunday practice. I realized as I prepared that David and I have let this slip. As I re-read the chapters to remind myself of what I had written, and as I went over my speaking notes, which I haven’t used for several years, an intense longing for Shabbat, that 26-hour weekly ritual, which is both a metaphor of a divine romance—our love relationship with God—and a way to step out of purely secular time and into sacred time, began swelling in my soul.

Sometimes, those of us teach, forget that we teach as much to learn and put into practical activity the scriptural truths we are sharing, as to lead those who listen into biblical information that becomes transformative. I am often stunned when I “get” what any passage in the Bible means—this meaning hits me with force.

To read more, click here.

The Mellow Age

“For some reason, at this biological stage of what I am calling ‘The Mellow Age,’ I am having more and more of these close encounters of the casual kind. Perhaps it is because I have finally outgrown my innate shyness. Perhaps it is because I’m finding there really is some power in being a white-haired lady—it gives me an edge no one else writes much about. I discovered I can leverage this scandalously. In crowded airplane aisles, for instance, I turn to the young men behind me and plead, ‘Do you think you could help a little white-haired old lady get this suitcase up in the bin?’ I remind them of their own grandmothers; they gladly rush to assist. It is just great. I am becoming more and more like my extraverted friends—sort of a general hostess to any passing strangers...anywhere.”

To read more, click here.

A Hospitality Emphasis

Sometime this last year, I found myself praying, “Oh, Lord, give me a chance with what life is left to me to take a shot at helping to create truly hospitable churches!” I wasn’t surprised (but I was thrilled) when a large church nearby asked me to come teach on “the theology of hospitality.” I counter-offered (embarrassed myself by begging, really) and asked them to take up the challenge of determining what a hospitable church would do and look like, and to let me work alongside the staff and their lay teams for as long as it took to determine the answer to this. They were thrilled. I was thrilled. And we’ll see what God does. This focus, consequently, will be part of the “growing season” for Hungry Souls.

I am passionate about this spiritual gift and extremely concerned by the fact that the church is apparently losing its edge with this powerful tool.

To read more, click here.

Ordering is Such a Soothing Occupation

I don’t have many days when I have a compulsion to spend a whole morning ordering, but yesterday I was waiting for a new refrigerator to be delivered (unplanned expense). Plus, it was the fourth day of a head cold, and in between draughts of Nyquil and Dayquil, I began to suspect that I was dragging.

My writing study at home is across the hall from our bedroom. The computer desk faces the window, where the warm southern sunshine fills the room on cold winter days. I bought an opaque shade that screens out the sun, blocks out most of the view, and when I am actually writing, cuts the glare on the computer screen.

Yesterday, however, a gorgeous but appropriately cool day for October, the sun felt comforting, so I sat at my desk and ordered my financial records. Business expenses were filed, I wrote out a check to pay down the SEARS credit card. I tossed old bank-deposit notices. Reminder notes were re-read and some discarded. I straightened books, added to the writing pile of the most recent project, worked on my desk calendar, called tradesmen who are still making repairs after the derecho that hit our area on June 29.

To read more, click here.

Show, Tell and Sell

We wheeled the display shelves to the ‘soko’ (market spot) to take part in the sales organized by AIU women’s fellowship. On the shelves were bags of all kinds made by global bag project ladies. We had two goals to accomplish today, to create awareness about our ministry to women and to sell bags.

At GBP Kenya, we believe that vulnerable women are resourceful and can learn and produce high quality products. So we no only use statistics and women stories but we also offer highly competitive quality products. We want the buyers to buy our products because of the quality workmanship and usefulness. Two things happen  when you buy a bag from us; you will be pleased to be part of a solution to poverty realities in our context  by providing income to women who make bags as well as walk away with a well-made-bag. Our visit to the ‘soko’ expose us to AIU community that is composed of young business studies students, seminary students, faculty and staff of the university as well as owners of small craft businesses.

To read more, click more: http://goo.gl/8oYYo

Half the Sky: Turning Oppression Into Opportunity for Women Worldwide - A Book Review By Karen Mains

Half the Sky is not recreational reading material. It is, however, a book that raises consciousness as to the condition of women the world over and asks for specific commitments to turn their oppression into opportunity.

"We became slave owners in the twenty-first century the old fashioned way: We paid cash in exchange for two slave girls and a couple of receipts," write Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, the first married couple to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize in journalism. "The girls were then ours to do with as we liked."

So begins the chapter on child-sex trafficking titled "Rescuing Girls Is the Easy Part." The writers, along with an international agency, returned the young women to their families and discovered that the journey toward rehabilitation is a long, hard road.

Traveling around the world, from Thai brothels or to China, Asia, and the Middle East, Kristoff and WuDunn accumulated information on the causes of maternal mortality (some 536,000 women perish in pregnancy or childbirth per year—although the data collection is so shoddy, this a rough estimate), on the lack of medical care, on non-existing systems of education and on the constant presence of grinding poverty and malnutrition particularly assigned to the female half of the planet. The statistics themselves build a savage indictment against the brutal treatment of women worldwide.

Read More, Click HERE.

A Perfect Match

Just as the spring of 2012 was one of the most beautiful Chicago has ever experienced—a quick burst of warmth that brought everything that blooms to full glory all at once, plenty of rain, plenty of sun so the greening earth also turned luxuriant, then cool but not freezing temperatures that kept every spring thing blooming for what seemed like weeks on end—it feels as though this is going to be a particularly beautiful fall.

The nights are cool, the days are warm but not hot, colorful maples dance in the sunlight, and somehow, in some way, it feels quintessentially fall. If you live somewhere without obvious seasonal changes, you may be wondering, Well, isn’t it that way every autumn?

No … no, it’s not. Last year’s fall was particularly dull. We kept going around wondering when it just would break all out into glory. It was not a year I would have invited friends to come to Chicago and to see the turning of the trees.

Every so often when I’m reading Scripture, the words in my Bible and the paths of my days intersect and there is a perfect match between the divine word and the ordinary world. I wrote this psalm out in my prayer journal—Psalm 65:9-13. My commentary on it was, “Lovely! Perfect harvest scripture.”

Read more...

Co-collaborators

In the morning, when I remind myself that my life goes better when I become God’s co-collaborator in creating beautifully lived days, I consequently compile lists of ways I see His help. Tonight is a little weekly prayer meeting that a small group from our church is trying to launch. The pastor called yesterday to ask whether I would substitute in leading the prayer time since the gal who has been doing so will not be in attendance.

Our pastor’s wife is in India, about two days into a 12-day journey. “Are you planning on dinner tonight?” I asked, thinking of what life must be like for him moving four kids and three dogs (two of which are Cocker Spaniel puppies) through day schedules. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll get an e-mail out so everyone is on the same page.” I note as I write this that it is 3:33 p.m. per my computer clock and nothing has come through.

So to be decent and caring and compassionate, I should contribute to this meal that is supposed to be happening (about which we have not yet received notification).

Then it occurred to me that in the stocking of my new refrigerator this morning (after tossing 2/3 of the contents when the motor died and the repairman came two days later to inform me of its permanent demise) that I had everything I needed to make a broccoli salad and baked potatoes with do-it-yourself toppings for a small crowd.

I have now finished writing five blogs and am on my way home to wash potatoes, pop them into tin foil, and stick them into the over for a baking hour. I have butter, a new 12-oz container of sour cream, grated cheese that survived a short exile on our kitchen counter, chives still fresh in the garden. I picked up a head of broccoli, not knowing that I would make it into a fresh salad—and I have sliced almonds, canned pineapple and dried cranberries. I also salvaged the Italian dressing from the dying-refrigerator incident, which is my traditional choice to dress this broccoli recipe.

And I will simply take one of the prayers out of the Book of Common Prayer and lead the group through a meditative exercise. Everything I need to help tonight is right where it should be so that I can help the crew, the pastor’s family and our small group, and to substitute for the leader who is not able to be in attendance.

When this happens, particularly after I have taken time to remind myself that I am a collaborator with God in the creation of the days of my life (we are co-authors in the existence that is Karen Mains), then I see, clearly and unshakably, that I am surrounded by His interactive, participatory love and care.

This is an unmovable conviction for me. The evidence is weighty. I am utterly convinced.

I spy God!

Tribute to the Men Who Thought I Was Beautiful: Husbands, Brothers, Fathers, Friends

When news of the death of Dr. John Stott in the fall of 2011 came our way, I remembered an incident out of the forgotten past. During the mid-1980s David and I had been invited to perform a dramatic Scripture reading for two voices, “And the Word of the Lord Came Unto…” for the Congress on Biblical Exposition (COBE) at a hotel adjacent to Disneyland in Los Angeles.

Dr. Stott and Chuck Colson were both slated to speak on the program that night. In the green room (none of these rooms are green but are the places where participants gather for debriefings and explanations before the actual program begins), Dr. Stott, quiet, punctual and charmingly English, went around greeting everyone kindly and renewing an acquaintance with David and myself. He had been at Circle Church, the plant in the Teamster’s Union Hall in Chicago, where we had experimented with contemporary forms of worship, with social action motivated out of a conservative theology, and with an open-church policy, which we encouraged through a racially integrated staff and congregation. He might even have been in our home since we generally dragged people back from church for a Sunday meal.

At some point as we were waiting to proceed to the platform in the couple-thousand-seat auditorium Dr. Stott eased quietly beside me. He smiled, a man some 20 years older than I, slender and elegant and said with total composure, “I had forgotten how beautiful you are.” My husband, standing beside me, agreed with him.

What a lovely compliment; I received it with pleasure (being a middle-aged mom at the stage of life where major amounts of my time were taken with corralling and herding four children) and promptly forgot it. Perhaps this was because it was very much like something my father frequently did when we were in groups. My father, Wilfred LaRue Burton, also would also ease up to me, place the back of his hand so it hid his mouth and whisper in my ear, “Now, sweet, I’ve looked everyone over in the room and you are the prettiest one here.”

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TIME-SENSITIVE SOULISH FOOD: OPEN TODAY

What Can I Do?

In my mind, there is no excuse but one for isolating ourselves from the suffering and horrific abuse women experience around the world. That one excuse would be for the woman who has have suffered similarly and exposure decathects their past pain. They actually re-experience, live out again, and vividly remember all the pains and sorrows of and horrors of the past.

Apart from this, I simply do not accept the excuse—“I’m really an oversensitive person. I can’t bear the thought of other women going through those terrible things.”

Christ entered into our suffering and He calls us to enter into the pain of those who are suffering around us. Paul wrote: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10a). One of the ways we share in Christ’s sufferings is to suffer with Him over the brokenness of this world.

On October 1 and 2, Monday and Tuesday, PBS is telecasting a documentary Half the Sky: Turning Oppression Into Opportunity for Women Worldwide. This is from the book by the same name written by two of our most fiercely moral voices, Pulitzer Prize winners Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. 

I strongly suggest that you save these two evenings to watch this documentary.

Sensitivities aside, every Christian, man and woman, should read this book, which has been named as one of the 12 best books written in 2011. It certainly is a stunning and comprehensive handbook chronicling the battering and abuse and sex-trafficking of women around the world. The book has become a lightning rod for raising consciousness and a clarion call for both men and women to positive action.

Read more...

TIME-SENSITIVE SOULISH FOOD: OPEN TODAY

What Can I Do?

In my mind, there is no excuse but one for isolating ourselves from the suffering and horrific abuse women experience around the world. That one excuse would be for the woman who has have suffered similarly and exposure decathects their past pain. They actually re-experience, live out again, and vividly remember all the pains and sorrows of and horrors of the past.

Apart from this, I simply do not accept the excuse—“I’m really an oversensitive person. I can’t bear the thought of other women going through those terrible things.”

Christ entered into our suffering and He calls us to enter into the pain of those who are suffering around us. Paul wrote: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings” (Philippians 3:10a). One of the ways we share in Christ’s sufferings is to suffer with Him over the brokenness of this world.

On October 1 and 2, Monday and Tuesday, PBS is telecasting a documentary Half the Sky: Turning Oppression Into Opportunity for Women Worldwide. This is from the book by the same name written by two of our most fiercely moral voices, Pulitzer Prize winners Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. 

I strongly suggest that you save these two evenings to watch this documentary.

Sensitivities aside, every Christian, man and woman, should read this book, which has been named as one of the 12 best books written in 2011. It certainly is a stunning and comprehensive handbook chronicling the battering and abuse and sex-trafficking of women around the world. The book has become a lightning rod for raising consciousness and a clarion call for both men and women to positive action.

Read more...

Nothing to Envy

Our Read & Intercede Book Group finished Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea by Barbara Demick. A National Book Award Finalist it is a study of six North Korean citizens over fifteen year. The journalist’s capacity is to take the reader into the lives of these people who slowly realize that the leaders of their country have betrayed them.

The San Francisco Chroniclereview writes, “Excellent...humanizes a downtrodden, long-suffering people whose individual lives, hopes and dreams are so little known abroad.”

John Delury remarks, “The narrow boundaries of our knowledge have expanded radically with the publication of Nothing to Envy...Elegantly structured and written, [it] is a groundbreaking work of literary nonfiction.”

“At times a page-turner, at others an intimate study in totalitarian psychology.”

–The Philadelphia Inquirer

This was a painful reading assignment, but the average American’s ignorance about most other countries, and particularly those enclosed behind the insane walls of repressive regimes, begs to be enlightened by excellent journalistic attempts such as this.

For next month we are reading, Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent by Eduardo Galieano. Our discussion will be lead by Javier Camboni, economics professor at Wheaton College.

Torschlusspanik or not, it is good to be forced to think!

To Read more, click HERE.

Dancing Lessons

How do we get to that place where our covenants to each other are also something beyond our individuals selves, where there is a recognition that life is bigger than we know, that Christ is with us in the “breaking of the bread”? 

We start where the prophet Elisha started with his servant. We begin with a prayer: “Open my eyes, Lord, that I might see …” Then we go looking; we go into the world listening. We write down the moments when the veil of non-seeing parts; when our ears recognize the higher ranges not normally heard. We look at a world far greener that we knew it to be, the skies bluer than blue, the people sweeter and more lovely than we had ever recognized. The warriors in fiery chariots surround us. The wind carries descants; the world is in a chorale of continuous antiphonal call. We are in the holy.

And God bends low, whispers to our soul, Good job, kid. You’ve earned a screen credit: Karen Mains, Assistant to the Producer.

Read more, click HERE.

A Hungry Soul

A Hungry Soul is a person who asks:

How do I connect with God in a way that satisfies my soul?

How does the Bible, written so long ago, really feed the spirit?

How do I begin to live the spiritual life I've always longed for?

How do I heal from wounds that have closed me off from God?

How do I go deeper spiritually, and not just skim across the surface?

Does Christianity let me enjoy beauty, the aesthetic, the literary, or is it just serious and severe?

Subscribe to our newsletter. Click HERE.

Positive Deviants

   I spent all of last week above Colorado Springs in intense training sessions with some of the leaders of the CHE (Community Health Evangelism) movement, which is so effective it is spreading rapidly around the world as various denominations and missions groups adopt its methods. Saddleback Church with Rick Warren, for instance, is using the CHE development program in the Peace Initiative in Rwanda.

    CHE is a unique neighborhood (or village) approach that seamlessly integrates Scriptural stories with practical preventive healthcare (or microenterprise) lessons that are advanced by trained village nationals who relate (ideally) to 10-15 households. There may be other groups that are doing this kind of integration—I’ve witnessed all kinds of relief and development initiatives around the world in my travels as a journalist—but, generally they lean toward one pole or another, development and relief on the one hand, or church planting on the other. Click here to read more: http://goo.gl/KzrcC

Crisscross Double Dutch

"I don't play very well."

How frequently I hear this lament in the Listening Groups. Not only does this seem to be a common lament for contemporary Christians, it is also a problem with which I deeply identify. I either never learned to play, or, through the decades of ministry, I have forgotten how!

So, much of this year (since Hungry Souls conducted workshops on Lucia Capacchione's Recovery of Your Inner Child: The Highly Acclaimed Method for Liberating Your Inner Self), I've been working at learning how to play. (Notice the conundrum in that sentence--it's bad when you have to work at having fun!) I am learning that it is important for me to have days in which there are NOT lists of things that MUST-BE-DONE. Click here to read more: http://goo.gl/RU8P1

Count Days, Not Calories

Several nights back, I was wakened at 1:00 A.M. by this urgent thought: You only have fifteen years left, you know.

Obviously, I didn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I slipped out of bed and went downstairs to seriously pondered what I had just heard. You only have fifteen years left, you know. This wasn’t a gloom-and-doom message; more the kind of reminder a spouse gives when you’ve lost track of time: “You know we have to be ready to leave the house in half an hour.” Or perhaps, it was more like the gentle words of a friend, “We really need to attend that meeting; it will mean so much to Julia if we are present.”

I’m suspecting the Holy Spirit was nudging me, since I’ve never really been any good at math. At least, something was prodding my subconscious in the middle of the night, after I had slept for a while and my mind was rested, and when I was not distracted with any of the “to-doings” of my daily life.

Let’s see … 15 years x 365 days equals 5475 days left to me. In 15 years, I will be 81. How much world traveling, strategic-living do I think I will be doing then? Click here to read more: http://goo.gl/QMn8F

Sleeping on the Danube

“There aren’t many Americans who can say they’ve slept on the Danube,” laughed my new friend Catherine Sevier. She is an R.N., PhD, and former Vice-President of the Diabetes Foundation. Catherine, along with her husband David, was in charge of the Health Consultation track for the Hope for Europe Congress II. Our little group of 42 folk (out of the larger 1000-plus attendees) were rooming in a “botel”—a ship-turned-hotel docked at Quay 21 on the Danube River in Budapest, Hungary. Read more here: http://goo.gl/OMk9P

Scavenger Genes

Some of us were born with a scavenger gene. I confess that I am one. I can’t resist the temptation to comment (obnoxiously) when complimented on an article of clothing or a new household item, “Goodwill—five bucks,” or “St. Vincent’s Resale Shop—three dollars.”
So when I saw the kitchen cabinet (without a hole cut in the top for a sink) discarded at the curb in front of the house of a son’s neighbors, I realized it was exactly what I had been praying for to store all the messy leftover paints and supplies that had been gathering dust on a rusting metal shelf in the garage. Click here to read more: http://goo.gl/s9o2Z

Need Some Bridesmaid Gifts?

Hannah T. put this photo on her Facebook page. She was in Nairobi when Karen Mains and Carla Boelkens visited in April. Hannah was a month away from her wedding date while working on some projects for staff at African International University. We were with her in the sewing room when she chose her gift bags. This was so much fun, and we thought Global Bag Project bags for bridal party gifts was a terrific, eco–conscious, globally–aware idea!

Last year, Ashley B. gave Global Bag Project bags as gifts to her bridal party as well. Here’s what she says,

"We loved the bags and they are often used. This is such a wonderful project. My bridesmaids were so happy to know that their gifts were not only awesome, useful bags, but that they were partnering with the women of Kenya with them. Continue the g

Tales of The Kingdom

An intriguing allegorical children's classic that takes place in the enchanted city where you will enjoy the wonderful experience of God's great deliverance. I would place this treasure on an equal with The Chronicles of Narnia. Twelve stories centering on the adventures of two orphaned brothers who escape a polluted city ruled by an evil enchanter to seek their exiled king in the place where trees grow.  

Chapter 1:

~ The Enchanted City: 
Scarboy and his brother Little Child escape from the Enchanted City and find Great Park, where they are welcomed by Caretaker and Mercie.
Chapter 2
~ The Orphan Keeper's Assistant: 
He travels to the Great Park to hunt escaped orphans and outcasts and bring them back to the Enchanted City, but as an outcast herself discovers that the Kingdom is also for her.
Chapter 3
~ The Apprentice Juggler:
The Apprentice Jugger follows the advice of a beggar, who is actually the King Himself, and discovers that when he follows the rhythm of inner timing approved by the King, he finds his own place in the Kingdom. 

Click here to get more details about this marvelous book. 

Making Prayer Your Second Language

Making Prayer Your Second Language is a complete 4-week preaching campaign that will help develop your congregation’s skill in speaking with God in four vital ways. Based on the ACTS model of prayer (Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication), your church will learn to incorporate each attitude of prayer into their daily lives, particularly so if they elect to use the Prayer Journals. Each sermon will take a closer look at a different aspect of prayer, and bring a contemporary light to communicating with God. Every message is also supported with a wealth of pre-built service elements, videos and professional graphics, allowing you to create a custom series tailored to your congregation.

The Old Guys Are Wise

A strange thing happened to us some eight years ago as we were collapsing our media ministry (The Chapel of the Air national radio broadcast, the You Need to Know national television show, our publishing arm Mainstay Church Resources and our pastoral conference ministries—137 or so per year).

David and I looked at the reel-to-reel tapes and decided that since we had no environmentally controlled storage available and since these tapes are notorious for degrading quickly, that the best thing we could do was to toss 20 years of daily broadcasts into a dumpster and salvage a few of the crucial beta-television tapes, boxes of which we moved to our garage and basement to await the time when we could purge, dump or save those. Read More here: http://goo.gl/S5CKz

The Old Guys Are Wise

A strange thing happened to us some eight years ago as we were collapsing our media ministry (The Chapel of the Air national radio broadcast, the You Need to Know national television show, our publishing arm Mainstay Church Resources and our pastoral conference ministries—137 or so per year).

David and I looked at the reel-to-reel tapes and decided that since we had no environmentally controlled storage available and since these tapes are notorious for degrading quickly, that the best thing we could do was to toss 20 years of daily broadcasts into a dumpster and salvage a few of the crucial beta-television tapes, boxes of which we moved to our garage and basement to await the time when we could purge, dump or save those. Read More here: http://goo.gl/S5CKz

The Body

The true church is more than a building or collection of people. It's a worldwide community of believers who follow Christ as King. In this thought-provoking volume, Chuck Colson challenges God's people from all races, colors, backgrounds, and nations to shake off the cultural biases we impose on the gospel and fullfill the true mission of the church. Read more here: The true church is more than a building or collection of people. It's a worldwide community of believers who follow Christ as King. In this thought-provoking volume, Chuck Colson challenges God's people from all races, colors, backgrounds, and nations to shake off the cultural biases we impose on the gospel and fullfill the true mission of the church.

About Hungry Souls

Hungry for God? Ever catch yourself pondering your spiritual state and thinking, There must be something more...?

Hungry Souls is a mentoring ministry designed to meet the needs of men and women whose souls are starving. The demands of our hyperactive, materialistic society (despite the abundance of spiritual resources) often create spiritual malnourishment. Men and women frequently find themselves famished for the reality of a personal, significant and growing relationship with God.

All our growth tools are developed and tested in the lively laboratory of thinking lay people (who understand the reality of spiritual hunger). The tools are practical and applicable. Our advisory council includes people who have spent decades in ministry dealing with spiritual formation, spiritual direction, spiritual mentoring, within the local church and in para-church ministries.

Read more here: http://goo.gl/0gVgj

The Latest From Global Bag Project

Meet Jambi, or Jane as we know her. Jane came to the Global Bag Project in 2011 through Wairimu (pronounced, Wa-r-ee-moo), a friend from church. An accomplished seamstress, Wairimu teaches sewing skills to the new GBP Africa bag sewers in the sewing room at Africa International University (AIU), our home base in Nairobi, Kenya. Once a week, or as funds allow, Wairimu gives sewing lessons to the four women who came to us in March after a voluntourism group donated 8 new sewing machines to GBP. Click HERE to read more.

Angels Unawares

Barb Henry e-mailed that she and her husband, Marv, would be in the Chicago area and wondered if would we have time to get together. The Henrys have been good friends of our ministry for decades, and we are always eager to become better acquainted with the friends we’ve met through the years or with the faithful donors who somehow keep what has become a more quiet ministry now that we are out of the public eye. Read More: http://goo.gl/Oha3X

A Fit Like Knucklebones

We spent a night out with friends this last week, introducing them to a little French restaurant in the western suburb of Lombard, Illinois. We love this little restaurant, which has eight tables at the most. It is a creperie with buckwheat savory crepes for the main course and wondrous sweet crepes for dessert. Then because the evening that we dined out was also lovely summer evening, and to continue our celebration of things French, we invited our friends to come home and watch the great French comedic caper The Dinner Game (with subtitles, of course) that David and I enjoy viewing from time to time. Read More: http://goo.gl/efNv8

The Table Is Always Set at Our House

“Don’t your dishes get dusty?” asked a friend as she watched me put the just-washed dishes back on the table.

“Probably,” I replied. “But if they do, we just swipe them. And actually David and I just eat around the table, so the settings get washed a couple times a week. However, I am always ready for company. I think a set table says, “Welcome.” It says, “We are waiting for you.” It says, “We are ready.” Read More: http://goo.gl/xHvBj

Cirilo Trenched the Back-Garden Beds

Having returned home from Africa in April, then having returned home from another trip to California the first part of June, I was behind on my spring gardening chores. So I diligently worked early every morning and in the gloaming light of early evening to catch up, concentrating on the front gardens. This has been a miracle spring—beautiful days, cool weather, NO MOSQUITOES, and long days as the earth moves on its axis toward the summer solstice. Read More: http://goo.gl/PzOkp

Sometimes We Lose Our Way

Ideally, a pilgrim (anyone who goes on a journey—across the world or just across the threshold of the front door) should prepare for the fact that when traveling, sometimes we lose our way.

The car stalls or breaks down; the GPS gives us confusing directions; a missing street-sign allows us to pass the intersection where we should have turned left. We generally have one of two reactions when we get lost—we can become confused or we can become infuriated. Frontiersman Daniel Boone was once asked if he had ever been lost. “No,” he replied slyly. “But I was bewildered once for three days.”

Read more: http://goo.gl/aFNRd

Global Bag Project

If you would like to think ahead and order document bags for your next special event, please think of our Global Bag Project seamstresses. Read More: http://goo.gl/tdSqT

Praises for a God Who Is Beyond Time Zones

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the everyday occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:



 

Most of us have agreed that going west across time zones requires minimal adjustment. Coming home, however, flying east, is a whole different matter. I have come to the conclusion that it is just going to be a full two weeks before am I really back.

The first night at home after 21 days in Africa, I kept waking up thinking I was still moving through the streets of Nairobi. In a few days, I began to catch seven to eight hours of sleep. Five days home, I didn’t need an afternoon nap, but I was still not wanting to be around ANYONE but my family. There was a displacement of my inner time zones; morning hours took forever to live through. It felt like two in the afternoon, as though I had been awake that long since morning, when it was still only 10:00 A.M.

How comforting to know that God is a God who is above all time zones and not limited by any of them. I wrote out in my prayer journal:

I praise you God of all Time Zones:

• that you neither slumber nor sleep

• that you are never jet-lagged

• that you are always here and always there

• that you are present in all the longitudes and latitudes

• that your love stretches from the North Pole to the South Pole; and that your grace tracks through the equator and the meridians.

You are my Place before all others.

This is a solace for the jet-lagged travelers.

I spy God!

Flowers for Mother’s Day

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the everyday occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:



Cirilo Leon, from Oaxaca, Mexico lives with us in the gardening season. Cirilo used to be my brother-in-law’s gardener for eleven years, and after the estate was sold and still needing to make money to support his wife and children, he picked up other clients along the estates up our road. Cirilo eventually came to live with us. After all, he was practically one of the family.

In Mexico, Mother’s Day is a big day for honoring the matriarch. Any daughters throw a big fiesta, the family gathers, gifts are given and mother is highly honored. Cirilo has concluded that my family—and since I only have one daughter, so particularly Melissa—do not do enough to make me feel special. “Why you not have fiesta?” he asked Melissa once. “Your mother a good lady.”

Actually, Melissa is a wonderful and generous (overly-generous) daughter. I have no complaints about any of my children. I figure three out of four (cards, phone calls, Hi, Moms!) each year is pretty good. Generally, one of the four forgets that it is Mother’s Day, but the rest always manage to fit something in.

So when I came downstairs early in the morning last Sunday (Mother’s Day) there was a pitcher of flowers for me on the coffee table in the living room. Cirilo had bought me flowers for Mother’s Day. I was surprised by how touched I was by this small token of remembrance. “Cirilo,” I said when he came up from his room in the basement. “You bought me flowers! How lovely of you!”

I did make a point of telling Cirilo that we had celebrated Mother’s Day the evening before by going to see The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel with my daughter and son-in-law (if you haven’t seen this film with Judy Dench, Maggie Smith, Tom Wilkinson and Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire fame, do fit it in). Then I told him that the family was gathering in the evening, but I don’t think it all quite fit the standard of a Mexican fiesta Mother’s Day. I could tell he was thinking, Well at least they are doing something for this nice lady.

I’ve passed the flowers on the dining room table several times a day since Sunday, and I always think, “Oh how lovely. Cirilo gave those to me for Mother’s Day.” It is a reminder of his kindness, a marker of a kind of goodness.

This reminds me of the Scripture verse from Psalm 103:1-2:

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy Name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”

The world this May spring is like passing Cirilo’s Mother’s Day flowers on the dining room table. Every green thing, every bee buzzing around the bee hive, the rabbit eyeing my just-planted garden, the robins waiting to bathe in the fountain when it bubbles up are a reminder of all his benefits. Bless the Lord, O my soul.

I spy God!

There’s Money in Poverty

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the everyday occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

 

 

 

For years, since we started the initial phases of the Global Bag Project in 2008, I’ve heard the name Barbara Harrison, a business gal from Canada who had trained some of the HIV/AIDS widows in Kibera Slums how to put a business plan together (selling swaths of fabric, dried fish—small enterprises). Through the years since, I’ve heard Barbara this, Barbara that; you know, the Barbara from Canada.

This time David and I got to meet Barbara Harrison, in the flesh. Barbara had actually given the money for the first two sewing machines before the Global Bag Project was even started. We invited her to come sit in our room and get acquainted. A midlife working woman, single, one of ten children herself (number eight), Barbara filled the room with her energy—truly she was one people dub “a force-of-nature”.

She’d bought eight acres of land outside of Nairobi and helped a local pastor start an orphanage for 30 children. They employ 10 workers and she had just built a hen house for laying hens, teaching the helpers to lay bricks.

“Well, how did you learn to lay bricks?” I wanted to know.

Turns out that Barbara is a steel worker and worked in the steel foundry driving a forklift for the early part of her career. “Aw I did that stuff all the time. Got so hot in there, we’d have to tear a wall down and build it again.”

Barbara uses her vacation time to come to Africa, bringing in $15,000 (Canadian I’m supposing) from a recent fund-raiser. “Yeah, I helped put up that greenhouse.” She pointed to the white canvas frame sitting beside the garden path. We could see it outside our window; it had appeared during my visit two years ago.

Determined that the orphanage would become self-sustaining, a garden and a greenhouse not to mention the hen house had gone up there as well. A contract had been obtained from the government to knit school sweaters and two looms had been constructed to fulfill that obligation. (I could hardly write fast enough to capture all this amazing women mentioned in our brief conversation.)

As far as Barbara was concerned, there was no braggadocio in all this; she was simply recounting facts in answer to my questions. A phrase kept coming up, however, one she mentioned scornfully time and again: “There’s money in poverty, you know.”

This is true. For instance, big banks that once wouldn’t consider giving a $75 loan to an impoverished signee for a microenterprise startup have discovered that since there are so many poor people (millions), even with small loans and small interest rates, they can make money. Lots of people make big money on the backs of the wretched of the earth.

 “Oh, yes, and I’ve gone into the movie business!” Barbara continued. She has been a longtime collector of antique garments. The basement, I gather, is filled with stuff. A movie company’s costume supplier fell through and someone said, “Talk with Barbara Harrison.” Sure enough. Barbara made $4,000 (Canadian again) renting her collection out to the filmmakers.

When I meet people like this—a steelworker from Sault Ste. Marie—I’m often forced to consider: What makes people do what they do? Why does a woman like this go plunging into the needy hotspots of the world, shamelessly go home and raise funds from people who would never take such a dive? And why do so many people do next to nothing with their lives? What, apart from a rare combination of indeterminate genes, makes the difference?

Frankly, I don’t know. But I’m glad I met Barbara Harrison—Barbara this and Barbara that, Barbara from Canada. I’m thinking of taking a trip up to the locks, of visiting nearby Macintosh Island. But the biggest attraction, really, is visiting Barbara Harrison.

I spy God!