Tarnished Silver (Part 8)

Tarnished Silver is the story of Natasha’s first year on the mission field. Some names have been changed.

Tarnished Silver Part 8

After our pizza party one of the adults, Rachel, started talking to us more and more. As I walked to work each day she would say hello and then she would stop me in the afternoon for a few minutes on my way home.

My garden was producing far more than I could ever use or have time to can so I dropped off a box of tomatoes at her house and told her to come get more if she needed any.
One afternoon I was just putting the garden hose away when Rachel came and sat down on the porch. She began talking to me about her family. Her little grandson that she was raising, her daughter who never helped around the house, her hopes to buy her own home instead of renting a tiny apartment, on and on she went.

At one point I was feeling antsy. I wanted to go inside and clean the rest of my house. We were suppose to be having young adult’s group and I wanted the place to look pretty. Then God spoke, Tasha, she is why you are here. Listen to her. I don’t care about your house, I care about her soul.
I felt immediate remorse. How prideful of me to be thinking of looking good in front of my friends- when there was a hurting person right on my porch! Jesus, forgive me, I prayed, Give me your heart for these people. Even after all you’ve taught me I still fail. Help me love them the way you do.

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I began to understand that when I moved into my little house and started praying for love; I had no idea what I was asking for. My idea of “loving your neighbor” was so far from what God had commanded in the New Testament.
I already had a type of love for the people on my street before I even knew them. We all have some of that love inside us. We feel for those around us. When I began praying I thought that God would simply intensify what I already felt.
I loved them because I felt for them. I felt bad about their home life and the things that they didn’t have. I wanted to them to find Jesus.

I still had those longings but God was transforming it into something different. His words kept repeating to me, Love them as I have loved you.
As he had loved me? How had he loved me? He had chosen me. I didn’t deserve it but he did. He spoke to me and poured truth into my life. He brought light into my darkness. He gave me unconditional love. He loved me whether I ever chose him or not. He didn’t love me to get something out of me; not a confession, not a church record, not anything. He just loved me.

Was I truly capable of that type of love? Not in myself. But as I learned to love him back; he began teaching me and changing me.
And as Jesus taught me and changed me and loved me… I began to see more clearly that I ever could before. 

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One evening the three of us roommates were home at the same time. We were sitting in the living room looking through books and talking about Keturah’s upcoming wedding. During a lull in the conversation we heard angry voices and a petrified child crying, “Mama!” We glanced out our window but didn’t see anything unusual.

A few minutes later we went upstairs and when I looked out my window I saw Sarah herding her children out of her house and down to Rachel’s. Jason followed close behind, yelling.
Delite and Keturah came in my room to watch and pray with me as they continued yelling. It went on and on. The children were crying. Sarah said that Jason had slapped her. Jason said that Sarah had scratched his arm.

I wanted to do something. Anything. I wanted to be someone other than who I was. I wanted to be someone with authority so I could make them listen. But I was just a single woman left to watch on the sidelines unable to do or say anything.

He was yelling. She was hollering back. The kids were corralled behind the screen door. They were all crying.

I lay on my bed, watching out the window. I knew that there was nothing I could do. I had neither the strength nor the authority to make them stop. But I loved those children desperately.
They were the reason I was living in my little house by the river. It was for them that I gave up my free time. It was their hugs and questions that kept me home when I would normally be out with my friends or family. It was those little children that God spoke to me daily about. Love them, Tasha, show them my love. Explain it to them. Let them know that I will always love them. Always.  No matter what.

The fighting continued for over an hour. He had the baby, she had the other three kids. “No, Lord,” I prayed out loud, “He can’t take that baby. She’s not even a year old. He’s on drugs. Lord…” I prayed the prayer but I had little faith for it. He had the baby and was starting down the street. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t.

It must have been reported to them that someone had called the police because everything got quiet for a few minutes. The police showed up and told Jason and Sarah that they had to go downtown for questioning. Before they left Sarah was able to go get the baby. As I watched her wrap that little girl in her arms I was ashamed at my lack of faith. Of course, God would listen…

The older girls were standing on the porch crying, “Please Mama, don’t go. I want my Mama.” But they weren’t allowed to go with them.
It was almost one in the morning. I was tired but my heart was still breaking for the crying girls on the porch. I wanted to comfort them so desperately but I couldn’t. Lord, I want to help them. I just don’t know how. Oh, Jesus…
I was just closing my eyes when I heard them. It was soft at first, just a whispered song. “Lord, I lift your name on high… Lord, I love to sing your praises…” I looked out my window and saw Becky and Danielle sitting on Becky’s front porch singing.
They sang one song after another after another. Every song we’d ever taught them. All songs about Jesus. When they couldn’t remember the words they made them up. “I’ve got a river of life flowing… in me. Makes lame walk and blind see. Opens doors sets the captives free…” they did the motions. They started smiling and giggling. And God said, Oh, Tasha, I am their comfort.

I realized in those moments that we were making a difference. Even though it felt like we were doing nothing of real value… we were. Just teaching them simple songs about Jesus could change their lives. They were already learning where to turn in heartache. In that moment I was privileged to see my tarnished silver begin to sparkle and shine. Oh Jesus, I prayed, my faith much stronger than it had been moments before, make them yours.

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Things were quiet after that night. We didn’t see the kids for at least a week. Then one afternoon there was a soft knock on the door. I opened it to find Anna and Lillian. They were smiling shyly, almost like the first time I saw them. I pulled them inside and gave them hugs. They didn’t say anything about what was happening at home but Anna had large dark circles under her eyes.
They wanted to hear their song so Litey played it for them. Jesus will always love you, Anna, he will always love you. Jesus will always love you, Lilly, he will always love you…
Anna crawled up into my lap and within minutes was fast asleep. She slept for the rest of the afternoon and I just held her.

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 Things began to change again. School started. Keturah‘s wedding was coming up. I was looking into going overseas for a year. Delite was asked to become a nanny for a family with five children. The children’s visits petered off until just Becky was coming by once or twice a week.

I realized that even though I rarely saw my little girls anymore I still loved them. Even though some were moving away, excited to be going to a better part of town, I still loved them. Even the adults that I had little interest in when I first moved, I loved. And it wasn’t a human type of love. It wasn’t about changing anyone or their circumstances. It was about their hearts. I just plain loved them.

If Jason never stops screaming at Sarah and he continues to scare those kids for the rest of their lives, I will still love him. My heart will still break for him. I will still cry when he cries.

If Sarah never gets her act together and protects those kids like she should, if she never learns to care for her babies the way they deserve, I’ll still love her. I’ll still hurt when she hurts.

If Helen is forever rough and bitter about her past, I’ll love her. My heart will jump every time I see her out walking or driving down the road.

If Becky never stops swearing and keeps saying mean things to people when she’s angry, I’ll still love her. I will trip over myself to talk to her when I get the chance. 
 
I knew that I wouldn’t be there forever. God told me, You have this summer the moment I stepped in the door to that little house. I knew that he had other things for me and I would continue to follow him no matter where he would take me.

But those families, those precious beautiful people, will always be molded into my heart and the love I felt for them will not cease. I will keep praying until I die that somehow they might find Jesus before the end.

I will never shake the impression of Jason crying on the font porch or of Helen begging me to play another worship song or of Becky smiling at me on my doorstep or of Anna sleeping in my arms. They are my loved ones. I know I will fall in love with many more people over the years. I know that not all of them will be with me in heaven. But, I will love them all just as dearly and the pain from knowing they won’t all follow Christ will always fester.

But as clearly as I feel my love for them, I know His love for me. And the day I packed up my house and headed back out the front door, suitcases in hand, I heard His voice wash over me,
Beloved, it is with this love that I have loved you. So you must love one another. Go, love them for me.
I will, Jesus, I will love them always.

Tarnished Silver (Part 7)

Tarnished Silver is the story of Natasha’s first year on the mission field. Some names have been changed.

Tarnished Silver Part 7

My house might have been small but the lawn was not! It was hard work to keep it mowed, especially when I had to work late. Either nighttime or rain often kept me from it. I was especially blessed by one older neighbor man who often mowed the front lawn for me. Even if I couldn’t keep up with the back at least the front looked good!

One afternoon I finally had a few minutes and was out mowing the back yard. I was singing to myself as I plugged along when Becky jumped out from behind a bush! It scared me half to death and she thought it was hysterical.

Several more girls showed up and they wanted to sing a song for me that they had written. I told them that I really needed to finish the lawn so they would just have to wait. They seemed a little disappointed but said they’d be on the porch when I was done. I felt a little pricking in my conscience. Oh, Lord, I know. I just NEED to get this done! I need to be a good steward with what you’ve given me, don’t I?

Not two minutes later I ran out of gas. I shook my head toward heaven. God didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I knew.
I ran up to the front porch where the girls were waiting. They were so excited that they all were talking at once. I eventually got them settled down enough to figure out what was going on. They had made up a song, complete with motions, that they wanted to sing for me.
They lined up like cheerleaders and sang with gusto:
God is everything. God is everything….God might be glad, God might be sad, God might be mad, but God is everything!

When they finished they explained that they didn’t really think that God was mad but it was the only word they could think of to rhyme with sad.

Soon after they finished their mother’s called for them and they left as quickly as they had come. Oh, Jesus, thank you. Thank you for allowing me to hear this. You knew how much that little song would encourage me today. You chose to reward the desires of my heart over the practicality of my head. Thank you!
The girls came back over after dinner and I made them sing the song for Delite. Then I had them write it down for me. We had a lot of fun with that little jingle!

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Many times I would arrived home to freshly made cookies and I would know that Keturah or Delite had kids over that morning. Both of my roommates where priceless counterparts for our little cottage mission.

Delite was home most days and the children adored her. Even to this day whenever I see one of our girls they will ask me, “Where’s Litey? What is Litey doing? Why isn’t she with you?”

Keturah had the most relationship with the adults. While I was off playing games with the kids, she would be talking to the parents. We kept a prayer journal in our kitchen and she often wrote pages of prayers for them all.
God, in his wisdom, put the three of us together and in so many ways we worked as a perfect team.

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One Sunday, near the end of the summer, Becky and Danielle came over in the morning while we were getting ready for church. We, off handedly, invited them to come with us. They were so excited, their eyes sparkled. They ran to ask their moms and to get ready. We picked them up a half hour later and after assuring their mothers that we didn’t mind taking them at all, we were off.

I don’t think I got much out of the service. I mostly remember trying to keep Becky occupied. They loved the worship time but the sermon got a little bit long for them! As soon as the last prayer was ended they went darting off in search of kids to play with. Shyness was not a problem with our kids.

That was the only time any of the kids ever went to church with us. We often prayed about whether we should try to take them more often. One thing held us back and that was the fact that after we were gone there wouldn’t be anyone to take them and we didn’t want their idea of Jesus to be only in the context of church. Our mission there wasn’t to take them to services, it was to tell them about Jesus. And, although it seemed weird to say it, that was done better in our living room with just us than sitting in a pew with lots of distractions, listening to a sermon.

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Summer was quickly coming to a close and both Delite and I were wishing we could throw and “end of summer” party for the kids. The real problem was that neither of us had any extra money. We had managed to keep ice-pops in the freezer and Kool-aid in the refrigerator but that had stretched our pocketbooks as far as they would go.

We made it a matter of prayer and before too long I came home to see a check stuck on the fridge with a magnet. It was made out to me and had a note in the memo line that said, “for the children”. Someone had felt led to give their monthly tithe to us!
We were so excited and thankful!

We decided one Saturday to have the party. We hadn’t seen any kids all morning, which was unusual for a Saturday, so we wondered if anyone would come.  After a little prayer we decided to go for it. We went off to the grocery store to get pizzas. While we were in line, we ran into a friend. She asked what we were doing that day.

“Having a pizza party for the kids on our street.” I responded, smiling.
“Really? How many are coming?” She asked.
I started to answer, “Oh, probably three.” When Litey cut me off, “Ten.” She said.
I looked at her in surprise. We hadn’t seen ten kids at one time all summer. I kept quiet though and soon we were on our way.

We set up the pizza on the back porch and made a big pitcher of Kool-Aid. We laid blankets on the ground and brought out the guitar.

As we worked, we took turns praying out loud. “Jesus, let the children come. We just want to show them you.”
Before long a few came. There were some adults sitting on their porches, so we called for them to come eat some pizza. They came and one even stayed the entire time. Soon the yard was filling with kids. They ate their fill then begged for music.

We sang all the songs we’d taught them. We made up silly little jingles with their names in them. We played duck-duck-goose and freeze tag. We gave them stickers and ice-pops. And we told them about Jesus. How he loved each of them. How he made Danielle with dark skin and Becky with freckles and Anna with black silky hair, all because he thought they were special.

At one point, after I had rushed into the kitchen to bring out another handful of ice-pops, I counted the children… ten of them. Oh, Father, you are faithful, even when I have no faith!

Tarnished Silver (Part 6)

*Tarnished Silver is the story of Natasha’s first year on the mission field. If you’ve just started reading, these are the links   -Part 1   -Part 2   -Part 3  -Part 4   -Part 5

Tarnished Silver Part 6

Becky was the only one at our house that afternoon. She helped bake cookies and wash the dishes. As the evening wore on Litey and I decided that we needed to run to Wal-mart. I went in search of my wallet but it had strangely disappeared. I hunted through the last three purses I had used (living with two other girls can up the number of available purses in a house!) and commented out loud that I just couldn’t remember where I had it last.

Becky was  sitting on the couch swinging her feet as I talked, then commented, “Well, maybe a spirit took it.”

I looked up from my seat on the floor surprised. She continued, “We have spirits at our house. They steal things sometimes. I’m scared of them.”
For a moment I couldn’t speak, then I said slowly, “Oh, Becky, spirits aren’t allowed in this house.”
“Why not?” She asked.
“Because this house belongs to Jesus.” I explained that Jesus is stronger than any spirit and she could call on him any time she was afraid.
She left soon afterwards but as we drove to the store Litey and I kept praying, Jesus, help her learn that you are stronger than anything else…

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It soon became clear that the Sarah’s boyfriend, Jason, was dealing drugs. I often found myself praying for Danielle, Anna and Lillian’s safety since I was sure that Jason used as well as sold. I often felt myself getting angry with him. I prayed that God would give me his heart for the children but there was much more that I still needed to learn…

No one was home when I walked through the door and dropped my bag onto the recliner. The house was reasonably clean but a few items littered the living room floor. The already setting sun cast a few dancing shadows through the room. I kicked off my dress shoes and ran upstairs to change into more casual clothing.

I started cleaning up the living room then changed my mind and hurried outside to water the garden quickly before the light disappeared. Standing on the edge of the plowed ground I curled my bare feet in the thick summer grass and let the water from the hose soak the plants.

At first I didn’t notice anything unusual. The sound of the water mixed with the sound of insects and the laughter of children. Then I realized that the laughter had stopped. It was replaced by the rough sounds of a man’s angry voice.

I wound the hose back up and made my way to the front of the house. They were all on the front porch. The four kids were lined up and their mom was pressed tight against the side of the house, Jason leaning into her face, yelling. I couldn’t understand him but I could understand the fear written across the kid’s faces.

My first reaction was anger. Pure, hot, anger. I wanted to march over there and take the kids away. They were my girls. The ones I had loved and laughed with. The ones who had come traipsing into my house all winter long and played Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders. The ones who had eaten my peppermint sticks and listened to my stories and songs. The love I had prayed so desperately for had hit me hard. There girls were my loved ones, God’s children, whom he had allowed me the privilege of knowing.

I wiped my feet and went inside. I sat down on the recliner and faced the window. I felt helpless. The yelling went on and on. I prayed and prayed. Finally I got up and sat down at the piano. I played through a worship song then stopped. The yelling was still going on but it sounded different. I looked out the window and saw Sarah and the kids leaving. Jason stood on the porch yelling as they walked down the street. I was furious with him. Lord, how dare he!?! Those poor children! How dare he hurt them!
Tasha. I stopped my tirade. What?

I love him too.
I looked out the window again. He had stopped yelling and sat down on a lawn chair on the front porch. Then to my amazement he started to cry. Not soft, silent tears but deep heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through my living room. My heart broke.

In my eyes he is still a child. A hurting broken child. In those moments my view of this man changed. My anger was still there but no longer was it focused on him. God allowed me to see the child in him, the injured boy who had never found healing.

I sat back down at the piano and started playing again. A different song this time. A new song. It was fueled by anger but it was anger at unseen forces rather than people. I won’t accept the darkness here. You didn’t come for your children to live in fear. You came to save, to rescue hearts. You came to bring light to their dark.

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After that day Danielle and her sisters were at our house almost every day from the time I arrived home from work until evening and all weekend. Litey began singing a song just for them whenever they came. The chorus says, “I will always love you, I will always love…”  She would often change it to Jesus will always love you to make sure that they knew what the song was talking about. Those three girls loved that song. Especially Anna. We would often put their names right in it as we sang. Jesus will always love you, Anna, he will always love you… They begged us to sing it almost constantly.

One afternoon I arrived home a little early and no one noticed me. I was feeling especially worn out that day so I gathered my Bible, notebook and a blanket and went to hide in the back yard. I had just laid down when the girls came looking for me. I felt a bit stressed but smiled and talked to them. They stayed there, sitting on the blanket in the backyard, until their mom called them for dinner. When they left I started praying… Jesus, I need a place to recharge. I can’t just keep going and going. I need a break. I stood up and slipped on my sandals. I walked down by the creek and sat on my favorite rock. It was a big rock that jutted out into the creek. Up stream a bit there was a small waterfall. I sat there for a bit listening to the sound of the water.

There is a verse in Revelation 1 that says, “His voice was like the sound of rushing waters…” and ever since the first time I read it, I have loved the noise of water. As I sat there that afternoon I felt God say, This is your place.

I looked around and realized that even though my house was in the middle of town, at that spot I couldn’t see a single building or street. It was just water, trees and rocks. The best part was that the water covered the sound of my voice. I could sing, pray and laugh with my Jesus without anyone hearing. Sometimes Delite and I would go down there together and God never failed to meet us there.

In Isaiah 46 God is talking to Israel and he says, “I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you.”  I found this to be so true during that summer. He never failed me. He sustained me in my weakness and even in my failures I found victory in His strength. How great it our God!

Tarnished Silver (Part 5)

Tarnished Silver Part 5

Some names have been changed.

Lord, I don’t know what to do. I want to be you to them. How?
I was walking home from work when he answered, his voice rising on the breeze that swirled around me. Just be there, Tasha.
So I shouldn’t plan anything? An outreach? A Bible class?
Just be there, Tasha.
 Nothing? Nothing at all?
Just love them as I have loved you.

I made a commitment to be home every weekend so I would be available to the children if they needed me. That first Saturday I was in the kitchen getting a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. I rushed out to the living room. Becky and little Jenny were standing on my doorstep.
“Pop?” Jenny questioned, her two-year-old smile endearing.
“She wants a popsicle.” Becky explained.
I ushered them into the kitchen were I found an ice-pop in the freezer. I made a mental note to buy more the next time I was at Wal-mart.
I was hoping they would stay but both of them quickly left with their popsicles.
I stayed home all day. I worked outside for a bit, cleaned every inch of the house, waiting… hoping to see another child. No one came. They weren’t even sitting out on the porches like they usually did.
At the end of the day I was discouraged. Oh, Lord, I just wasted that whole day.
But you obeyed.
That was the only response I got and I found little comfort in it. I wanted results and I was disappointed. I just want to tell them about you. But God didn’t answer.

Monday morning dawned bright and clear. I stepped out of the house and was assaulted by voices, “Hi, Tasha! Hi, Tasha!” The kids yelled. I was halfway down the street when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and barely had time to drop my bag before Becky launched herself into my arms. Jenny was right behind her and for the first time she gave me a hug.
“We love you, Tasha.” Becky told me and hugged me again. Their mothers yelled at them to come back and they turned and went charging down the street. Tears burned my eyes as I walked the rest of the way to work.
Saturday may be have seemed useless to you but I was working despite what you saw.

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A lot of evenings Litey and I would go walking. We often talked about the children and what God had told us about them that week. Eventually we would end up singing as we walked. This led to us to changing the words to a song, making it our “theme song” for our mission there.

Let your glory fall on this street
Let it go forth from here to the nations
Let your fragrance rest in this place
Lord, we want them to see your face

Some people may have thought that we were crazy, walking along singing like that, but we found great encouragement as we turned out gaze back towards the goal; the children seeing Jesus.

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One afternoon I was weeding the patch of flowers beside my porch. Helen came by and asked if she could play the guitar. “Make sure it’s the old one and bring it out on the porch.” I told her.
I heard her walk through the living room into the music room. There was a rustling and snapping as she unhooked the case and pulled out the guitar. She was chattering to me all the while, talking about school and her old foster home. Then suddenly, she asked a random question through the window.  “Is God really like a father?”
I carefully explained how he saw each of us as his children. “You are so special to him, Helen. He loves you no matter what. It says in the Bible that he wants us to see him as our Father. Especially those of us who don’t have good fathers here on earth.”
She came out onto the porch and we chatted for about fifteen minutes about fathers and daughters and love and Jesus dying on the cross so we could be saved. She strummed at the off-key guitar through-out the whole exchange and I prayed desperately for the right words.
Her mother called and she put the guitar away and left but I stayed for quite awhile on my knees in the garden. Thank you, Jesus! Thank you! I ask that you water the seeds of truth that she now has. Water them, Jesus. Weed out the lies in her life. Help her grow in you!

Soon after our talk about fathers and daughters, Helen was placed back into foster care. Other than a few visits every couple months, we didn’t see her again. I often marveled at how God allowed her to be living with her family right when I moved across the street. It was Helen that opened the doors for the other children to come visit… She spent so many winter afternoons singing worship songs with us and would often drag along whoever she could find. Her home life wasn’t pretty and I knew she was still struggling mentally with what had happened to her.
One afternoon she came rushing into our house, shaking and crying. I asked what was wrong and she said that the man who had raped her was visiting her parents. I held her and prayed for her but felt helpless to do much more. She stayed with us until he was gone. So, when she was placed back into foster care, I was pleased that she was getting the help and protection she needed.
Yet, I thanked God often for how he orchestrated our whole arrival to the little cottage.

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I drove in the driveway and smiled at the sight before me. Litey was sitting on the front porch with the guitar and a group of little girls surrounding her. She was teaching them “I’ve got a river of life” and they were singing with gusto, if not skill. I went and sat on the railing and sang along. Next we taught them “Lord, I lift your name on high”. I showed them the motions and they caught on quickly. Song after song, they sang and laughed until their mother’s called them for dinner.

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Danielle, Anna and Lillian soon became regulars at our front door. They were sweet little girls with big smiles. Their youngest sister, Birche, was just a baby so I think their mother, Sarah,  enjoyed having them out of the house for a bit of quiet. She did, more than any of the other moms, often check and see if it was okay for them to be there. We always assured her that we didn’t mind at all.

One afternoon my nephew and Kali (a young girl that Delite took care of during the week) were playing in the kiddy pool we had set up on the side lawn. It was a bright sunny day, perfect for water play. We hooked up the sprinkler and laughed at the kid’s antics. Becky came over, running across the street in her cut off blue jeans, her hair in a side ponytail.
“Can I play too? Please?” She begged, her eyes dancing as she looked at the refreshing water.
Of course we let her. Before we knew it, Danielle and her sister’s arrived. Then Jake and John, two boys from further down the street. Soon there were eight kids running through our yard. Jenny’s mom, Jackie, came over too and talked with Keturah and Litey as the kids splashed and played.
Jackie mentioned that she was expecting and that she was wishing for some Coke. Keturah ran inside and brought out ice-cold Cola. That brought a smile to Jackie’s face!

The kids were screaming with laughter, water was everywhere, the adults were smiling and chatting. I paused for a minute to drink in the atmosphere. Litey came up behind me and whispered with a smile, “It’s kind of like God said, ‘I think you  guys should have a party today.’” I nodded. A party, that was exactly what we were having.
A soaking wet Becky came flying over and wrapped herself around me. I smiled down at her and my heart turned over with joy.
 As I have loved you, so you must love them.
 Oh, Jesus, I do love them, so very much!

Later than evening Keturah was getting ready to go with her boyfriend to Watertown. She said that Jackie had also mentioned that she had been wanting a Wendy’s Frosty so she made plans to pick one up on the way home.
It was priceless to see Jackie’s face when she opened the door and found a Frosty placed in her hands.
 As I have loved you.
 The words just kept repeating themselves to us.

Tarnished Silver (Part 4)

Tarnished Silver Part 4

Some names have been changed.

A few weeks before Christmas we were settled in. We decided to go Christmas caroling down that street with a group from our church. Knocking on doors, we sang and I watched for children. I didn’t see any until we reached the apartment directly across from my house. To my surprise, I knew her! Helen had been in Sunday School class the year before. She looked at me for a minute then said, “Miss Tasha!” She turned to her mother and said, “She was my Bible teacher.”

I pointed to my house and told her to come over any time. Before long we were moving on to sing at another place but I felt a bursting of excitement! This was definitely ordained by God. It was the introduction that I needed to make my house a safe place for kids to come visit.

Over the next few days I saw Helen often. She always waved to me and always loudly proclaimed that I was her Bible teacher. Soon everyone on the street was aware that I was a “Bible teacher” and while that didn’t make the adults eager to talk to me, it did make the kids want to know more about me. They would all wave shyly as I walked to work in the mornings and then again in the afternoon when I came home.

Winter passed quickly and the children came more and more often. They stopped coming for peppermint sticks and hot chocolate and started coming for ice-pops and Kool-aid. But one thing remained the same; they loved worship music.

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 At one point I went to Wal-Mart and bought a big blue box. I filled it with crayons, markers, paper, scissors, stickers… It was our craft box and the kids had so much fun with it. They would often sit and color pictures while we sang worship songs. Our house was soon covered with children’s drawings.

We had a painting of a rose in our living room until the hook on the back of it broke. That same day one of the girls drew a large picture of a landscape. We replaced the rose picture with it and it stayed that way until we moved out. I still have the drawing in my office today.  

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“Can I play your guitar?” Becky begged. She was standing in my living room where I was trying to clean. I bit back a tiny bit of irritation. There were things I wanted to get done but I knew that if she was over I needed to spend time with her. Oh, Lord, forgive me. You’ve given me a chance to minister and I’m irritated because I can’t get my work done.

“Of course,” I responded, “But use the old one, okay?”

She nodded and rushed to the corner of the living room where my two guitars were resting against the wall. I resumed my cleaning, now to the tune of off-key strumming. Within a few minutes the living room and office were tidied up and I stopped work for a moment to listen to my houseguest.

She was quietly singing, to her haphazard playing, a worship song that we had taught the kids a few nights before. After a moment she sighed in frustration then said, “Oh, Tasha, will you play this song for me? I can’t remember how it goes.”

I felt a rush of love for this little girl who was learning to love the things of God. As I picked up my good guitar and softly sang, “Hallelujah! Grace like rain falls down on me…Hallelujah! All my stains are washed away…”, my heart was filled. Thank you, Jesus, for using me despite my sinful nature. Continue to turn my heart toward you. Keep bringing the children, Lord, and I will lay down anything in order to tell them about you. 

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Right before school was let out for the summer, Litey and I invited our parents over for dinner and a “prayer time”. After we had cleared the dishes off the table, the four of us walked the perimeter of the property praying aloud that God would set this land apart for his kingdom.

“Lord, I pray right now that any spirit that is not of you will be cast off this place.”
“Jesus, make this a place of truth. Anything that is not of you is not welcome.”
“Oh, Father, lead and guide us as we try to tell these children about your grace.”

When we circled around to the front we prayed something that Delite and I would be privileged to see take place time and time again; “Lord, Jesus, whatever fears, hurts or heartache that is attached to these children, we pray right now, that when they step foot on this property- all those things will be left behind. We pray against any demons of any kind that are laying claim to these children- they are not welcome here. Jesus, set up an army of angels on the edges of this property and keep anything out that is not of you. Let this place be a place of freedom for these children. Give them a glimpse of what life is like when Jesus is present.”

Tarnished Silver (Part 3)

Tarnished Silver

Some names have been changed.

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Helen and Becky both were laying on the living room floor with me. Candy Land was in the center and they both were laughing hard because I had drawn the peppermint stick and had to go back to the beginning.

Delite came through and sat down at the piano. She glanced through the music and started playing This is Life by Laura Woodley. I started singing with her. Eyes can’t see the way you hold me or how I’m hidden in your heart. Minds don’t know all that you’ve told me or how I ache for where you are…

Helen jumped up from her spot on the floor and leaned over Litey’s shoulder as she continued. I come in empty and I leave filled. Bring my sickness and I leave healed. Broken hearted you mend every piece. I come in captive and I leave free…
When she finished Helen sighed. “That song makes me cry.”
 
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“Your mother and I will give you the down-payment money.” My father explained to me as we sat looking at the contract that had been drawn up. “You should be able to get the loan in just your name, especially since you work at the bank.” He laughed a little. 

Before I knew it I was signing papers and pestering my boss to get my loan application filed so a closing date could be set.
Here I was praying for someone else and all the while God was preparing this place for me! I laughed at the irony of it all. The closing date came and the house was officially mine.

My friends, Delite and Keturah, agreed to live with me to help with the mortgage and utilities.
The first day that the house officially belonged to me I stood outside staring at it for almost a half an hour. Lord, let me make a difference.

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I was just putting away my clean dishes when a knock sounded at the door. The kitchen was at the very back of the house so it took me a minute to jog down the hall and through the living room. I opened the door to a breathless Helen who was pulling behind her a trio of little dark haired girls. The oldest, Danielle, boldly introduced herself. Anna and Lillian were then pushed forward. I smiled at them all.
“They want a peppermint stick too.” Helen explained.

Just the day before I had been walking through Wal-mart and had noticed the Christmas candy. A jar of old fashioned peppermint sticks caught my eye.
This would be perfect for the kids. I thought. Now I was thankful for my impulsive buy.

The girls settled themselves in my living room while I pulled out the candy jar. Litey came downstairs then and I introduced our houseguests. Before she had a chance to sit down Helen jumped up and ran to the piano.
“Will you play that song for them, Litey? Please?” She asked.
The music and words filled our house again and I felt God speak in the beauty of the moment. This is life, this is life!

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We painted and worked, laughing at our dirty paint-speckled selves at the end of each day. Before long we began to fill the house with our belongings. My precious hope chest was emptied of it’s contents. Dishes and silverware, pots and pans, pictures, quilts, pillows…

I spent the first night there alone. I had gone home to Mom and Dad’s but felt a hungering to be at my house. I packed up a bag of clothing and walked the quarter mile to my new home. The street was quiet. I stood again at the entrance of the house and prayed.
“Jesus, help me be you to these people.” I whispered. “For however long you place me here.”
 The December air was chilly and as a cold breeze blew over my face I heard him speak. You have this next summer. Love them, Tasha, show them my love.

Tarnished Silver (part 2)

Tarnished Silver is the story of Natasha’s first year on the mission field. Some names have been changed.

Part 2

Her name was “Becky” and that gap-toothed smile stole my heart the moment I saw her. The pink jacket that was carelessly slung on her shoulders was dirty and useless against he brisk winter wind. I opened the door wider to allow her and her friend into my warm living room but they didn’t come in. “We just wanted to know if we could borrow your shovel.” She asked, nodding toward the orange plastic snow shovel leaning against the porch railing. I nodded my approval and after promising to bring it back the two disappeared around the side of the house. 

Two hours later I went outside to run to the grocery store. I noticed the shovel was back in its place and began my trek to the car. Half way there I stopped and looked around then realized what was different. My sidewalks were shoveled as well as a path from my porch to the front door of my vehicle.
“Tasha!” Tasha!” Two little voices called my name from across the street. I looked up and waved. “We shoveled your walkway!” They told me, huge smiles on their faces.
“Thank you so much!” I called back. Still grinning I climbed in my car.

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A year after my house had been given away I started working fulltime at Community Bank, N.A. Each day after work I would go for a walk. Oft times I would find myself wandering down the same street. It was known as the worst street in town. The “ghetto” of our tiny village. Every time I walked down that street I was amazed at the amount of children that were playing outside. The adults would sit on the porches and the kids would play on the side of the road. I smiled and waved whenever I went by and the kids always smiled back.

I remember walking down the street and praying, “Lord, this is a mission field. They’re all right here, sitting outside their homes. All you’d have to do is move among them. Why doesn’t the church do that?”

One day as I was walking, I saw a house that had a “for sale” sign in the lawn. I pulled out a flyer. It was an adorable little house, almost like a cottage, with beautiful gardens in the back yard that sloped down to the river. “See, Lord,” I prayed again, “This would be perfect. You should have a Christian family move in here.”

The next time I walked down that street I prayed again, “Lord, I’m serious. You should have Believers live here. Why can’t other people see this opportunity? If I had the money I would move here. But since I can’t, will you please send someone?”

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 Helen, the ten-year old girl who had been raped at eight, touched the keys on my piano and she walked by it. “Do you play?” She asked.
“Yes, I do and my roommate Delite does.” I told her, waiting for a response. She didn’t disappoint me.
 “Will you play something?”
I smiled and sat down, playing a random worship song from the stack of music.
“I love that. The music makes me happy.” She said.

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I was late for a birthday party. I was struggling into my tennis shoes when my dad called me. Biting back a groan I hurriedly finished and rushed down from my room on the third floor.  “Yes?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen.
My parents were sitting at the table. “Do you have a couple minutes to come look at something with me?” My dad asked.
“Well, I’m late already. Will it take long?”
“It shouldn’t.”
I shrugged. What was a few more minutes? My parents and I climbed into their Saube and headed out. “There’s just a house I’d like your opinion on.” My dad explained.
I had no idea where we were going so I was surprised when we turned down the same street I always walked on. I was even more surprised when we pulled up in front of the little cottage.
We climbed out and the real estate agent met us at the front door. She let us in and we wandered through the tiny house. After looking over everything my dad asked what I thought. “It’s adorable.” I told him truthfully. Maybe he was thinking of buying another rental house. I could insist that he rent it to a Christian family.
My dad was true to his word and we didn’t stay long. As we were driving back home he asked me if I’d like to buy that house. I laughed a little, “I would but I can’t. I barely have six hundred dollars in the bank.” He didn’t say anything more.

Tarnished Silver

For the month of January we are going to be running a series of posts that tell the story of my (Natasha’s) first year on “the mission field”.

Tarnished Silver

Some names have been changed.

There was something beautiful about her, even though her clothing was rough and her speech held a course undertone. She dressed and acted like a sixteen year old rather than the ten year old I knew she was. She sat on my couch, one hand tugging at her blouse, trying to get the too little material to cover her unformed chest. Her long thin legs crossed and uncrossed at the ankles as she voiced her frustrations with life.
 Her name was Helen. She cried as she talked about the man who had raped her two years before. I rubbed her back, at a loss of what else to do.

Amazingly, in the midst of this I felt a ray of light seep into the otherwise dark and burdensome atmosphere. In fact, a real light was drifting through the open blind and almost seemed to reflect of the child’s blond hair causing the once lifeless strands to shimmer in the sun’s rays. It was then, as I watched something drab and unattractive transformed into something beautiful that I realized what I was holding. The lost and hurting child in my arms was in actuality a wealth of tarnished silver. Worth much to the God I serve, although in her present state she appeared to be more work than profit.

How did I end up with a fortune in tarnished silver sitting on my couch? It was a long hard journey and I was not always the best at following directions. However, the lost treasure in my soul had once caught my God’s attention and he had sought me out. Now, I was finally in the place to help him polish another jewel for his kingdom.

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When I was sixteen I decided I wanted to go on the mission field. It wasn’t my original plan. All my life I had planned on two definite things: get married and have lots of kids. Now, suddenly, through some unexpected directions I was realizing a desire for something different. I wanted to tell children who had never heard that Jesus loved them… that he did, so very much.

By the time I was eighteen I had come to the conclusion that I wanted to support myself financially on the mission field rather than be supported by a church or organization. I focused my attention on earning a living that would basically carry itself. I decided on real estate since both my father and my eldest brother worked in that field. My first house I bought with one of my brothers. The proceeds from the sale of that house paid for a year at Bible College. When I returned home I immediately set my sights on another house. My offer was accepted and I started the dreaded paper work that is involved with buying a home.

Then it happened. I was sitting in a church service and God said, more clearly than I dared admit, to give the house away. I didn’t think it was possible that God would ask me such a thing. I was five short years away from seeing all my plans become reality and that house was the key. Every cent I owned was sitting in a down payment check. But alas, it was true. He would not be swayed from his decision. With trembling, I obeyed. A few weeks later I was signing over the house to a family in my church who didn’t own one.

At the time I assumed that the lesson God wanted to teach me was about His provision. How wrong I was! The lesson wasn’t about provision but about pride. After the house was gone I was back to square one: no savings, living in my parents house without any direction or certain plans. When someone asked what I was doing, I had no answer. I felt people’s disapproval keenly. I literally cringed when people asked me questions and went out of my way to avoid people I knew would. One night while praying I realized that the hardest part about giving my house away was not the money I no longer had, but the answers I could no longer give. My plans had crumbled at my feet but yet, in the midst of that, I felt the Lord’s promise clearly in my heart. “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from me.”