Authors: Cindy Woodsmall
My husband and I had known Dr. Mark Rutland for a long time, so when we learned that he’d founded a new ministry, we were excited to support something we knew we could trust.
Mark founded Global Servants
4
and through that ministry opened House of Grace, a home in Thailand for tribal girls at risk of being sold into sexual slavery by their families. The goal of House of Grace is to prevent girls from being sold, because rescuing them afterward is far more difficult.
When House of Grace began, Tommy and I couldn’t give money, but we prayed for the girls and dreamed of someday becoming a sponsor. Sponsors provide redeeming love to save young girls from slavery. A destitute father or stepfather (or an uncle or a mother) who can find no other way to feed his family may sell a daughter, usually when she’s between the ages of six and nine. Sometimes another relative—typically an aunt or grandmother—has compassion on the young girl and finds a way to get word to House of Grace.
From the beginning Mark felt that it would be wrong to pay the family for the girl in order to rescue her. Instead, House of Grace offers to take her in—feed her, house her, and pay for her to attend the local school. A representative assures the father or stepfather that his daughter will be able to bring the family more money in the long run if she’s educated and can get a good, steady job. The father may spend several days wrestling with the decision, but a desire to do what’s best for the child has always prevailed. To this point House of Grace has never been turned down.
It isn’t an ideal solution. My heart would break if I had a daughter raised in a communal home rather than with loving parents. But it’s the best alternative for these girls.
About twelve years ago Tommy and I became sponsors of a girl. Our little girl has grown into a young woman and will soon graduate from school and enter college. The joy of getting to be a part of this kind of ministry is hard to define. In a country where supporting our local churches seems like a drop of water in an ocean, having the opportunity to make a tangible difference in someone’s life feels like salve to a weary heart. I hope our foster daughter and all those who have been sponsored by House of Grace are able to accept with peace and grace that what we’ve offered them is far from perfect. It’s imperfect perfection—better than what would have been but not anything like what God wants to do as they continue their journey on this planet.
I pray that we too can take our eyes off the imperfect situations that have molded our lives and instead focus on the difference God has made and will continue to make.
T
he Amish celebrate Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and birthdays with simplicity and tradition.
Easter may include fixing a basket of candy and coloring eggs and hiding them for the children, but the celebration doesn’t include the Easter bunny.
Birthdays are most often celebrated at home around the table with simple gifts, a homemade cake, and favorite songs after the evening meal. Sometimes the older teens and adults plan silly surprises for one another—like gathering friends and relatives and hiding them in a barn or small bedroom to surprise the birthday person, or waking the birthday person early in the morning to see a group of friends or relatives crowded into the bedroom to sing to the sleepy honoree. The Amish ways are structured, but they allow a lot of room for fun and laughter.
For Thanksgiving the men often bring home wild turkeys to pluck and cook. I’ve been at Miriam’s home when all the men went hunting. It’s a special time of fellowship for everyone—the men who go off hunting together and the women who have a day or two on their own to visit one another. Let me tell you, turkey from the grocery store’s freezer is nothing like a freshly prepared and cooked turkey. When I took my first bite, it was as if I’d never tasted turkey before in my life.
Christmastime is very special for the Amish. The parents look forward to the cute skits the schoolchildren will perform inside the
one-room schoolhouse. Amish children don’t get a lengthy Christmas break like public school children. They get off for only two days, possibly two and a half. Amish schools may not close for half a day on Christmas Eve, but they are always closed on Christmas Day and the day following, called
Zwedde Grischtdaag
—Second Christmas. Many Amish look forward to Zwedde Grischtdaag as much as, if not more than, Christmas Day, because it’s a special time for visiting friends and relatives.
When I first heard that, I thought,
You visit these people all the time
. But the main focus of regular visits is accomplishing work. Even church Sundays require a good bit of effort as they set up a home to seat and feed several hundred people. But Second Christmas is for kicking back and soaking in the power of Christ’s birth. There is no to-do list—just long hours of chatting while eating leftovers and watching the children play with their new toys.
The Amish Christmas doesn’t include Santa Claus, electric lights, tinsel, or decorated trees. They honor the season of Christ’s birth in simple and creative ways.
We too can make holiday celebrations more memorable by keeping them simple. Here are several ideas inspired by the Amish way of celebrating Christmas:
In the midst of a holiday, it’s always helpful to be able to prepare the breakfast entrée the night before. Here’s one that we often use when we have overnight guests.
O
VERNIGHT
B
LUEBERRY
F
RENCH
T
OAST
12 slices bread, cut into 1″ cubes
8 ounces cream cheese, cut into ¾″ cubes
1½ cups fresh or frozen blueberries (or if canned, drained)
12 eggs
⅓ cup maple syrup
2 cups milk
Place half the bread cubes in a buttered 9″ × 13″ baking dish. Top with cream-cheese cubes, blueberries, and remaining bread. Beat eggs, syrup, and milk, and pour evenly over the bread. Cover with foil and refrigerate overnight. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake, covered with foil, for 30 minutes. Remove the foil, and bake for another 10–15 minutes until the top is golden brown.
But I will sing of thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning: for thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble.
—P
SALM 59:16
My sister, Kathy, has a gorgeous singing voice. Even as a teenager, she sang at weddings, had the lead in school plays, and belted out beautiful tunes at county fairs. I longed to be able to sing. She kept assuring me I’d get there one day. I earnestly prayed to be able to sing. At sixteen, when I was home alone one day, I knelt beside the kitchen table and asked God to give me a voice. When I rose, I tested my voice and discovered it hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe it took time for that kind of a request.
I tested my voice numerous times over the next few months, but I never received a singing voice. However, at forty years old I discovered a different type of voice—a writing one. Like singers, each author has a distinct voice. When looking for a new author, editors and agents want to find one with a distinct voice. Although a writing voice is harder to explain than a singing voice, it’s part of what sets one author apart from another. In part it’s about how that author’s storytelling rhythm and beat sounds to the reader.
Our strongest desires come from deep within, but our minds can’t always grasp what the true desire is. I had a heart’s desire for a voice that could touch others. I never once thought it might be something other than a singing voice.
When we pray, we often express a deep desire. If we stop expecting a specific response, we may find the answer. And our voice, whether we’re singing, writing, or speaking, is how we communicate to God and how we share God with others.
In our one-room schoolhouse, we start each day with devotions and singing. Our teacher taught us to enjoy singing, but as a ten-year-old I never looked forward to starting a song. So when it was my turn to lead the singing, I always chose the same song, one I was sure I could lead without stalling: “In the Garden.” If my teacher grew tired of me choosing that song week after week, she never showed it.
Thirty-five years later, with a husband and six children of my own, I start my summer days in the garden. My garden, which provides fresh vegetables for my family, is also my little getaway.
With the dawning of a new day, garden hoe in hand, I slip outside for some quiet time among the corn, potatoes, tomatoes, and, of course, weeds. The weeds keep the area private, because the children have learned that an interruption could land them an unwanted job out here. So this is where I meditate.
On one particular morning, with a heavy heart regarding a certain issue in my life, I poured my heart out to God, begging Him for deliverance. I felt His presence, accompanied by a calming peace. With that peace came the memory of a song—my special song from long ago. As I sang, the words had a new meaning that touched my heart and brought tears to my eyes.
I
N THE
G
ARDEN
I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.