Though billows roll

I can't sleep.  Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shiny moon has again lured my kitties and me out to the deck to sleep.  I don't want to miss one of these gorgeous bright-as-day nights

Many years ago after ten years of grounding a fledgling ministry in the Word of God we were graced by a trip given us by a grateful couple.  Their generous offer to us went something like this:  "We can see that you are exhausted.  We want you to go first class anywhere in the world you want to go and stay as long as you possibly can. We have but two requests:  Go to our native country and tell our relatives about the Christ we have come to know. ...and go to Israel."  Hurriedly we secured passports;  friends and my parents willingly signed up to watch over our three beloveds. Many of our flock came to see us off at the airport.  Our own little Dee Dee was lost in the crowd and we did not even get to hug and kiss her goodbye.  I cried all the way to Lucerne, Switzerland and that's not the only time this mom has cried an ocean of tears while flying over one.

In Switzerland we rented a Fiat and drove through herds of sheep along a two-lane highway to the base of an awesome Alp. It was the traditional day the farmers move their Swiss Brown cows to upper levels for the summer where the grass is greener.   Having just left brown Kern County, the grass in the lowlands looked green enough to us.   The lead cow wore an enormous bell, the next in line wore a smaller one and the third was bedecked with an even smaller one.  The three chosen for this important assignment would convey to the farmer the whereabouts of the herd.  (I wish I could have put a bell on my three kids when they were growing up!)   The farmers wore knickers, a red vest, long woolen socks, walking shoes and a hat with a feather. These men and their herds would spend the entire summer above the 13,000 foot level,  constantly moving to virgin pasture.  The townspeople had turned out for this festive goodbye-for-the-summer ceremony. There we met Rosie Wickli, a ski instructor.  It was her day off and she was spending it .....skiing!  She invited us to accompany her on the cable car that would take us to the top of the mountain.  We stepped out into  silence.  ...except for the yodelers  yoo-hooing across the mountain tops.  Upon our descent Rosie invited us for tea to her home. ... an ancient three-storied residence that housed three generations of Wickli's.

We drove into the Tyrolean Alps of Austria where we spent an afternoon climbing up and up to watch the farmers make their many kinds of cheeses. We had bought a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese (not "Swiss" that the locals told us is "not fit to eat") and a bottle of wine.  That night we drove higher and higher to a touristy restaurant where instruments played lovely music. We travelers harmonized, singing "Edelweiss" which by the way is not the national anthem. 

We flew down to Italy, sat at night around the ancient fountain of Trevi  where Gregory and Audrey filmed "Roman Holiday".   "Three Coins in a Fountain" was written about this very fountain.   The Mediterranean countries are hot and dry. ... the reason the Parthenon and other enormous buildings, statues, mosaics  and frescoes have been preserved all these centuries. Shopkeepers close at noon, eat and nap until late afternoon, open again for shopping and gathering around the piazzas and fountains far into the night. We learned that many marketers do not have an office but carry out their businesses sitting around the tables in the piazzas.  The Vatican, the magnificent arches,  the amazing waterways,  the  Coliseum, the catacombs, the Mamertine prison,  the Appian Way were all intermingled in our minds with the sobering history surrounding the Neros and Caesars. Here, our beloved brother Paul was finally taken Home by a head-severing knife to be forever with the Saviour he loved and served.

The next week in Greece is another amazing grace story in my memory. We had spent a couple of  days in Corinth midst partially- standing statues, rows of communal bathhouses and privies,  still-colorful tiled mosaics, the Mount of Artemis where sexual orgies, the religion of the day drew thousands for "worship".   We imagined Paul, Priscilla and Aquilla,  and oh, so many others who were sent by Jesus to Corinth to break the cycle of sin and death.  We arrived at the port of Piraeus to purchase tickets for an overnight trip across the Aegean Sea to Ephesus where we were told that all ships were booked to capacity,  but "Just maybe we can squeeze you in if you are willing to sleep in the doctor's quarters".  Monies from tourism sustain many Mediterranean countries and this was August, the peak month of the travel season.  As the shoreline faded from view we realized that the ticket agent in her hurry to shove us up the gangplank had kept our passports.   We began a search for the purser and eventually someone pointed him out to us in a crowd on the third deck. ... in civilian clothes.  We had been told emphatically in Piraeus that no ships travelled from Ephesus to Patmos; therefore we purchased only two fifty dollar tickets for an overnight voyage to Ephesus. When we found the purser we asked him why he was not in his uniform but was wearing civilian clothes. ...and then the reason dawned on both of us:   "Oh.  This ship is overloaded and you are hiding from the authorities on the shore."  ...slight pause and then an affirmative nod.  Always the pastor, Ted's response went something like this:  "I'm a minister and sometimes I like to get lost in the crowd too."  That statement would usher us into the world of the rich and famous.   We settled into the doctor's quarters, then came a knock on the door. The purser, now dressed in uniform, beckoned:  "Come.  I have a stateroom for you. ...and by the way, you are on a seven-day cruise of the Mediterranean. We will drop you off at Patmos and return for you in a couple of days.  In a few minutes a steward will come and escort you to the Captain's table where you will be his guest.  Please dress for dinner." ...and then it struck us!  A "minister" in Mediterranean country means "ambassador".   ... all of this for $100 we had paid for an overnight trip when for the first and last time in our lives we were on a first-class all-expense-paid trip.   At the Captain's table were the Ambassador and his wife from Italy to Greece.  The wife got slobbering drunk immediately, laid her lolling head on Ted's shoulder, while Ted and I shared Christ with her  husband who seemed not to notice his wife's behavior. After a  sumptuous dinner that extended over many courses, the Ambassador said to us:   "If I believed what you are telling me about Jesus I would lose my job".   ...and that was that.  ...or was it? 

On to Ephesus, a once-thriving seaport city of a million people now lying in ruins.  I told you a few weeks ago about having a delightful two days visiting in the market square with retired Greek men who had returned to their beloved Patmos Island to live out their days.  One of those,  Mr.  Faraclas whom I told about our missing passport reassured me: ." My cousin is a travel agent in Piraeus.  I will wire him. He will meet you when you dock, will give you your passport and escort you to a hotel." ...and he did.

...but I must return for a moment to that night on the Aegean Sea. The ship was tossing and pitching violently.  I donned my robe and started roaming up and down the passageways looking for someone to ask if I should be as scared as I was.   Finally, I found the Captain in the pilot house and asked him: "Is this normal?" "Yes, Madame.  It is.  This stretch of the Mediterranean is the most turbulent of all.  You are safe. Go on back to your cabin and go to sleep." ...and surprisingly, I did.

Isn't it comforting to read scripture and discover that all the saints before us have been tossed about on wild seas that are "normal" for His disciples?  I am sure that on that night on the Aegean my thoughts went to Paul and the sailors who were shipwrecked on Malta for an entire winter.  Satan does not mind if we warm a church pew the rest of our lives, but when we sign up to bear fruit that remains we become not only his target, but his bulls eye!  Take heart,  you who are in the battle for souls.  Whatever the enemy means for evil,....Go ahead.  Quote the rest of it!  Waiting at the Gate is Jesus and my Ted, along with countless precious others who have fixed their eyes on Him as the tossing waves have all but washed us overboard.

               OLD HYMN:  MY HEAVENLY FATHER WATCHES OVER ME

I'll trust in God wherever I may be
Upon the land or on the stormy sea
For come what may from day to day
My Heavenly Father watches over me.

I'll trust in God; I know he cares for me
On mountain bleak or on the stormy sea;
Though billows roll He keeps my soul
MY HEAVENLY FATHER WATCHES OVER ME!

Love,  Jo