Archives for October 2015

I Don’t Know Whether to Be Embarrassed

October 16, 2015 by admin

Driving round in a car with 190,000 miles on the odometer, purchased in 2002, that has had to sit in the driveway for many years because our garage was needed for a Mainstay Ministries product warehouse. Were we saying that being in the ministry was equated with driving what was fast becoming a junk heap? Recently, I heard of a popular televangelist who owns two Rolls-Royces. At that point I feel like patting my little Mazda Protégé 5 and saying, “Good little car. You have served the Kingdom well. You have hauled used furniture and books and retreat supplies and provided us with traveling mercies. You, despite our neglect, have stayed sturdy for almost 14 years. You have been a good provision from the hand of our Heavenly Father.”

Sometimes authenticity in ministry can be measured by the luxuries we desire and acquire. Just to assure you, good friends, as far as the Mainses and Mainstay Ministries go, your donor dollar does not underwrite any luxuries!

I’m including a photo of the Mazda Protégé 5. This does not show how creepy the rust is as it eats away wheel frames; nor does its show the dent and the wrinkle in the hood where I turned left behind our son who was driving a rental car as we all gathered for his daughter’s college graduation. I thought he turned and was already into the highway ahead of me. I crumpled his left back light shield and crumpled our hood.

Given all this car drama, David has gone ahead and purchased another 2015 Mazda. Since I am tender about the 2002 car (it having served us so well) and tempted at the thought of having a second car just to run errands around town, we put $900—no fancy cosmetic fixes—into the first fix-up (just to keep it running for another three years). The tow cost $80; the new battery cost $204; what I hope will be the final fix-up, a new alternator (the old one had a leak and gas had seeped into the lines and exhaust), cost us another $500. That’s a total of $1,684—still better than buying a new car and making payments.

I guess I’m not so embarrassed after all.

Award-winning author Karen Mains has long had an interest in spiritual formation and the obedient Christian walk. She has written about the God Hunt in her book by the same name, The God Hunt: The Delightful Chase and the Wonder of Being Found. A hardback copy can be ordered from Mainstay Ministries for $10.00 plus $4.95 shipping and handling. Contact Karen at info@mainstayministries.org and she will be happy to autograph a copy for you.

Karen continues to write content for her Christian blog, “Thoughts-by-Karen-Mains.” In so doing, she desires to touch the lives of Christian women and men and help them find ways to walk closer with the Lord Jesus Christ. In addition, through silent retreats, spiritual teaching, women’s retreats, Christian vacation opportunities, and other ministry activities, Karen helps each Christian woman and man receive vital spiritual food.

Through her Hungry Souls ministry, Karen serves as a spiritual coach to many Christian women and men, and teaches a mentor-writing class. And, through the Global Bag Project, she is working to develop a network of African women who sew exquisite cloth reusable shopping bags, Africa bags. This micro-finance women opportunity helps provide a much-needed sustainable income for struggling African families. For more information on this critically important project, please click here.

For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. They are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Lost With a Dead Engine

October 14, 2015 by admin

Those of us who live in large metropolitan areas go to great lengths to avoid rush-hour traffic. We work hard not to travel from 6:30 to 9:00 in the mornings and from 3:30 to 6:00 in the early evening. Flights in and out of Chicago are booked not according to our convenience but in order to escape spending unnecessary time trapped in bumper-to-bumper gridlock. So I decided to leave the house at 3 p.m. to catch a 5:30 flight at O’Hare Airport. That should give me enough time to park and take the tram to the terminal.

We had our 2002 model Mazda Protégé 5 tuned up, and after I hurried away for an earlier trip out of town, I came home to discover I had left the dome light on. Naturally, we charged the dead battery; I drove it around and everything felt fine, but on my way to O’Hare, early enough to avoid rush-hour traffic and taking a highway I usually didn’t drive to the airport but that skirted late-afternoon drive patterns, I noticed there was a little hesitation in the acceleration and a puff of exhaust fumes that I could see out my rearview window.

After passing the first toll, I realized the car was hesitating, so I pulled over to the right lane, and just as I moved across oncoming traffic, the engine died completely and I coasted to the side of the road.

All the info I needed was in a folder in the glove compartment—the VIN, make/model info, and the Roadside Assistance phone number. I felt fairly calm, with my little economy car rocking slightly with each automobile that whizzed past me in the nearby lane, then rocking mightily with the SWOOSH of each passing truck.

A lady with a caring voice (all the way down in Florida, I learned) took my info as she sought to locate me so she could call the nearest Mazda dealer and order a tow truck to pick me up. Name? Make of car? Number of miles?

The problem was: I did not know my exact location. I had entered the highway on Rt. 355, but she couldn’t find that. I thought I was an exit short of Rt. 90, the turnoff to O’Hare Airport, but I was too far away to read the overhead road sign. Panic began to rise.

After instructing me not to get out of the car, my new Roadside Assistance friend asked, “What city are you in?” I had no idea. When you live in a geographic area all your life, the driving becomes automatic. You literally do not think as you toddle down a major expressway, Oh, I’m passing Arlington Heights. Oh, I’m on the edge of Barrington, Illinois.

At this point I said to her, “I have no idea where I am. I think we better pray.” And pray I did, a short bullet-point, inelegant, God-help-us kind of prayer.

Soon after this plea, my son pulled up on the shoulder ahead of me (I’d called him first thing since David was out of town). Since locating me himself, he was able to communicate our exact position to my new friend in Florida, who then found the number of the tow-department of the nearest Mazda dealer (I was in Schaumburg). On another call, Randall gave the tow-truck driver the car’s exact location. We thanked Roadside Assistance, left the key in the dead ignition for the tow and drove on to O’Hare, with me still hoping that if I’d missed the first plane, I could catch the second.

Since this little incident, I have thought about how many times we get lost in life. The job is not right, or we can’t find a job. We feel as though everything around us has collapsed. Our economics are shooting down a tube. Disasters, major or minor, waylay us. Friends or family ask of us: “Where are you? How are you doing?” Truthfully, we don’t know. That panicky feeling of not being able to say, “I am on this street, in this locality, at this very route,” while all these dangerous entities that have the potential to maim or destroy us are zooming around—this panic while being lost is a common, universal human response.

Please remember if you are getting panicky about being lost: God knows where you are. He knows where to find you. He wants to help you get to a safe place. Divine Roadside Assistance is on the way.

David has been walking beside a friend who heads an extraordinary international ministry but has been facing the unrelenting attack of critics. This unnamed person has become weary managing the expanding ministry while at the same time meeting with antagonistic enemies who have done as much damage as they could possibly do.

Yesterday, David remembered this verse from Scripture he had memorized decades ago:

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and though mountains be carried into the midst of the sea…” (and though we feel lost and don’t know where we are and wonder how to get back again —KM paraphrase) —Psalm 46:1–2.

David phoned his friend overseas and left the message on the answering machine. Early the next morning, our phone rang. It was this godly gentleman:

“I was about to give up,” he said. “But I listened to your message, then listened again and again. It was exactly the word from God I needed to hear.”

Please believe me, for all those of you who are tempted to give up: God knows exactly where you are. He is sending divine Roadside Assistance to help you.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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The Gifts Despite Neglect

October 12, 2015 by admin

After being gone for three weeks helping one of my adult kids through a life crisis, I walked through my sadly neglected garden. I could hardly bear to check it out. It has been left on its own this entire summer—few vegetables planted, no weeding done. I observed neglect rioting all over this 3/4-acre spot. A gardening friend asked me last year a question I have often asked myself: “How much garden is too much garden?”

Obviously, too much garden is the one you can’t take care of yourself after the friend who came up seasonally from Oaxaca, Mexico was unable to make this transit due to the cancer occurrence in his wife. Cirilo lived with us from March through October, and in return he did the lawn and gave me two hours of free gardening time. Then when he had extra hours, I hired him to do the rest. After his brilliant maintenance, last season, the garden looked mature and brilliantly beautiful. Due to physical problems this year and family distresses, I have done nothing—literally nothing in the yard.

Then during my sad excursion in the back yard, my eye caught the sight of a vine in the herb bed—What? Four acorn squash, spontaneously self-planted, hid under the yellowing leaves. Neglect has always been my foe, but sometimes good things burgeon in the places life prevents us from tending. Today I prayed, “Oh, God, help me to see all the gifts along the way that grow despite my inability to tend them. Help me to remember that Your life is always burgeoning despite the hard circumstances that sometimes demand my full attention.”

We’ll eat the squash when I come back from traveling again next week. In fact, there’s enough for company dinner. That’s bounty from a neglected land.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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The 26-Foot Moving Van

October 9, 2015 by admin

Certainly, it’s understandable that my son Randall, having driven a 26-foot moving van from Phoenix, AZ to Indianapolis, IN and finally to Atlanta, GA without mishap, was not eager to drive another one again. Having visited his storage locker to make a few runs to the new apartment with his Jeep hatchback filled with boxes, it was obvious that the alley leading to his unit was narrow, crowded with spaces rented out for trucks and boats. Backing a 26-footer into that had been a daunting task the first time to unload his belongings, salvaged only by the fact that one of the moving crew had some experience driving vans and navigated the narrow passage. If another renter decided to park a car while he/she gathered items from their own lockers, it would be an impossible task.

On Thursday morning, we moved eagerly out of the cheap hotel where we had stayed for five days into the never-been-lived-in apartment with its lovely and restful views of the wooded ravine between the unit and the club house toward the front of the complex. No furniture to speak of as yet, just suitcases, some clothes in boxes, computers and files. After clicking the car through the electronically controlled gate, we drove over a little bridge into a more wooded area—a little like a welcome transition point between busier and quieter worlds.

By Friday, we were ready to empty the storage locker, and Randall began looking for a moving crew and a 12-foot van. The warehouse manager of the company where Randall was beginning his new work thought he could get some helping hands rallied by 2 p.m. Saturday, but finding a 12-foot moving van in the whole Atlanta area seemed to be an impossible task. Finally, Randall located a 12-footer about twenty minutes away from the apartment and made a reservation through the central call system. Just to make sure, he phoned the local number. Indeed, there was a 12-foot truck available.

The next morning, however, as we were preparing to leave with our trusting GPS handy, the cell phone rang. A voice informed my son that the 12-footer had been double-booked; it would be a matter of first-come, first-served. “Do you not have anything else?” Randall inquired. Well, there was a 26-footer on the lot, but that was all.

My son, weary from moving, weary from all those stressors he had tallied while driving cross-country in the first 26-footer, weary from chaos and living without access to his possessions for a week in a hotel room, weary from the challenges of starting a new job, groaned most reluctantly. He guessed he could take the 26-footer if it came to that. I could tell by his tone of voice that this was the last thing he wanted to drive in busy Saturday afternoon traffic. I guessed he was also wondering about how in the world he would back that huge truck into that narrow alleyway.

While we were on the highway, not feeling great about racing to beat out another potential renter, his cell phone rang again; the first-come had been first-served and was already driving away in the truck. When we arrived, indeed, there was nothing else in the parking lot but a 26-foot yellow Penske moving van. “At least it has a hydraulic lift,” I said to my son, trying to be upbeat and positive for him; I had watched the rental employee demonstrate how to raise and lower the back platform.

Sometimes the things we don’t want are the very gifts God gives us in his love, understanding our fatigue, understanding that our limitations are enlarged when we are tired beyond words. Having driven all around these unfamiliar roads while running errands and dropping dress suits and shirts off at the cleaners, after spending many a lost hour looking for resale shops and hardware stores, I knew that Industrial Peachtree Street was not as trafficked as the major highways. Randall plugged in his GPS and we trucked without incident past Jimmy Carter Highway to where the storage lockers were located.

Randall paused the big truck at the entrance, just pulling off the street. Fortunately, no random cars were parked in front of the storage lockers and one of the boats may have been moved. Having followed in the Jeep, I maneuvered out of the way of any oncoming traffic. Randall got out to plot his parking strategy, and in that moment, the gentleman who had come out of the office (and who I learned was filling in at the last moment for his friend who owned the storage company) got into the cab and with an efficient turn and another twist, smoothly back the 26-footer into the alleyway without any scraping or any banging.

The moving guys arrived, tested the hydraulic lift, filled the back of the Jeep with one more load, and I took off to buy a bunch of cold-water bottles for the day’s duration, then made plans to meet them back at the apartment. It was soon clear to Randall that there would not have been enough room in the 12-footer for all his possessions. That would have required two trips at the end of an already exhausting moving day. I believe, theologically, that this is called prevenience—God acts ahead of man’s plans. As far as we could tell, the only available rental truck in Atlanta was 26-feet long, large enough for all the contents of the storage locker. The last-minute day worker had spent the earlier part of his life driving and backing up trucks. How provident!

How frequently at the end of the weary seasons of our lives does God evidence his care and provision and love with something we don’t want, don’t know how we will move, and are certain we can’t maneuver without disaster. But He takes care of all the details, planning ahead, making His schemes plain (at least in the looking back). A verse written out in my prayer journal perhaps needs amplification, but then again, this story may be plain enough. Psalm 119:107:

I have suffered much, O Lord. Restore my life again, just as you promised.

The 26-footer certainly was surety on the promise that was to come, that always-wanted, ever-longed-for reality of human restoration.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Hotspots

October 7, 2015 by admin

While traveling, I’ve envied those industrious workers busily clicking away on their portable computers in airports or airplanes, in coffee shops, in moving cars or in corporate meetings. What did they know that I didn’t know about connecting to Internet service? I’d click the available button on my PC, searching for Wi-Fi connections and be overwhelmed by the choices. And when I needed a Wi-Fi connection, apart from the office and our home, there was never anyone I knew whom I could ask for help.

Finally, I realized that when my son had the problem of not being able to connect on the Internet, he used what he called his cell phone’s “hotspot.” While scrolling through the commands on my own mobile phone, I realized I too had a “hotspot.” As usual, I had no ideas how to access it so that I too could use it to be busy and productive in airports or on airplanes, in coffee shops, in moving cars or in corporate meetings.

So heading back from Atlanta to Chicago, with many hours of potential airport time ahead of me—we travel standby due to the generosity of a former airline employee and just hope our names will be called for one of the flights heading home—I nailed my son for help. Sometimes you just have to get someone’s attention. He activated my “hotspot,” entered the password into my computer, and despite only being able to get a standby seat after the first flight had departed, and the next flight departure was two hours overdue, having accessed my “hotspot,” I happily pounded away at my keyboard, feeling extraordinarily productive. My name was called as there were some seats on the second flight, and I worked all the way home, not caring that my monthly data allotment was being drained. It felt so good to get work done as I traveled.

In case you don’t know, mobile hotspots are portable devices or features on smartphones that provide wireless Internet access on multiple devices. Like USB modems from wireless carriers, mobile hotspots typically use mobile broadband service from cellular providers for 3G or 4G Internet access. Unlike those mobile USB sticks, though, mobile hotspots allow multiple devices to connect at the same time.

Often, technology affords amazing metaphors for spiritual realities. In some ways, and I hope I’m not disrespectful here, God is the divine “hotspot,” the One who enables me to be productive when I plug my work devices into his wireless access. Perhaps this “Prayer Appointed for the Week” from our book, The Divine Hours, captures some of this concept of God’s ever-present enabling:

O Lord, mercifully receive the prayers of your servant who calls upon you, and grant that I may know and understand what things I ought to do and that I also may have the grace and power faithfully to accomplish them; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

There is a solution to my lack of productivity due to days interrupted by travel and consequent hours away from my desk. I just have to remember that it is always near, and then I have to access it:

…grant that I may know and understand what things I ought to do and that I also may have the grace and power faithfully to accomplish them…

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Thoughts Are Not Enough

October 5, 2015 by admin

Everything felt disconnected. I was in Atlanta, helping a son move into a new apartment and orienting myself to new highways, new street names, new directions (Which way is east? Which way is south? Where is the nearest Goodwill Store? The nearest home-goods store?) and without Internet connection. I had spent two days before our 13-hour trip through Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee, then down into Georgia, packing up computers, clothes, files and essentials so David and I could drive Randall’s jeep down to the extended stay hotel where we would rendezvous and stay for a while in order to come up with a strategy as far as finding him a permanent place to live.

Randall had driven with his share of the household belongings from Phoenix through Indianapolis, where he dropped a daughter and her belongings off at a new apartment (she has graduated from college, was starting a new job in a large accounting firm and planning a December wedding), then proceeded onto Atlanta where he found a storage locker and Penske moving employees to unload the 26-foot van until he located a permanent place to live in this new city. While driving, Randall measured his stress levels on a Web site and discovered he was experiencing stress from everything but going to jail.

David helped us find an apartment—about five minutes from Randall’s new job—then he flew back to Chicago while I stayed on to help our son get settled. This required visiting models in a new apartment compound, choosing one with a back view of wooded land, gathering papers and documents, setting up appointments when my son could leave his place of employment, signing the papers, arranging for another moving van, hiring a crew, moving in and spending a week and a half getting halfway settled.

Needless to say, I was tired in every bone in my body. My knees ached when I bent or climbed the foot-ladder. Sleeping on the floor on a very thin air mattress may be OK for a few nights, but for a week and a half, it is a trial on a 72-year-old.

I noticed that I was getting emails from members of the memoir teleconference class I’d been teaching twice a month since March. I remember explicitly explaining that the original plan of having our son take the two scheduled sessions of September to teach us about Internet marketing—blogging, Facebook posting, self-publishing and digital publishing—would have to be postponed due to his move. I made a note to send a reminder email to each member. I even composed it in my head. I just forgot to write it out before I left with a loaded Jeep headed south. Thinking about something is not enough, I realized. I had forgotten to send an actual email.

I don’t know if the symptoms I’m experiencing are the result of too much stress, or if they are the results of being really, really fatigued, but I’ve noticed a tendency to think something through, then I find myself asking, “Did I actually do that? Or did I just think about doing that?”

Yesterday, having returned from Atlanta last Thursday, five days ago, I lost my wallet, found it; then I lost my cell phone and discovered I had left it in a friend’s car. I couldn’t find my purse. David was at home during all these hunt-and-seek ventures and extended a non-judgmental hand during the frantic searches. He actually found the wallet tucked away in a cubby in our new car. “This is a perfectly logical place to put your wallet,” he explained, attempting to be soothing. “No one could possibly see it from the street.” Such a nice man.

This morning, however, he rolled over in bed and his first words were, “Lost anything yet today?” I assured him I had not, yet within the hour, while talking with my daughter on the phone, I realized my wedding ring was missing (I never take off my wedding ring!). Just to be safe, I checked the little bowl I keep on my dresser that holds jewelry I’ve removed or might be wearing the next day. Sure enough, the little gold band caught the light along with various earrings and bracelets.

OK. I get it. My mind is tired. I’ve carried too much of our son’s sorrow and distress, his panic and anxiety. I’ve made his hyper adrenalin function my own. Trying to be calm and sensible, working hard to find and name God’s intervention in every day, I’ve either permanently killed off some essential brain cells, or I am really, really, really tired myself. My adrenals are in a state of fatigue.

It is not enough to think about something. I’m going to have to make lists of everything, keep the list with me, and check them off when I complete tasks. Naps in the afternoon will help. Going to bed early. Aids to make sure I log seven to eight hours of sleep at night. Laughter. Exercise. Fresh vegetables and fruit.

Members of my memoir class were most understanding. One woman wrote, “Oh, it was so good to know that I’m not the only person who thinks I’ve done something when I’ve only thought about it. And someone even younger than myself.” She’s 78. How gracious the disabled are toward those exemplifying similar disabilities. The axiom remains, however: Thinking about something is not enough. It is not the same as doing.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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