Friday, October 25, 2013

A Vietnam Vet Found in Kathmandu

As Bill prayed during his morning quiet time in early May of 2012, a verse came to mind, “And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” (Phil 4:19) At the time, the words didn’t connect for him. He had a steady job and all bills were paid.

Within the week, however, Bill learned that a government contract had not yet been renewed, forcing cutbacks. And he was laid off. As he reeled from the news, the verse came back to him; words that came to life in a new way.

Trusting God wasn’t anything new to Bill. He committed his life to Christ at church when he was ten. His dad died two years later, however, and his mom turned to alcohol. With little parental supervision, he wandered city streets at night. After high school, he joined the Marines, hoping to make a difference in the world.

He graduated with honors from Paris Island and earned another stripe before leaving Camp Pendleton. So when he arrived in Vietnam, he was assigned to the Provost Marshal’s office in the city of De Nang.

“When I chose the Marines,” he recalled, “I went in for the right reasons. I enjoyed the freedoms we have in this country and knew that under communism, other people wouldn’t have them. I was idealistic, grateful, patriotic—and dysfunctional after years of living with an alcoholic mom.”

“War gives you a place to blame and hide,” he continued, “So I was soon influenced by the corruption around me. I became hardened as the months passed. And about ten months into my tour, almost broke.”

“I had gone to part of the city that served as a staging area for the incoming dead and wounded. Helicopters hovered overhead, waiting for a place to land. I walked among the injured and saw a friend of mine from Paris Island who had been blown to bits. I held his hand before going outside and weeping due to the ugliness of it all.”

“I cried out to God that night and know He heard me. But I still needed a lot of healing. My mom had sent me papers from back home that reported talks of a truce when people were getting killed all around us. The government reported what they wanted people to hear. And while I respect that there were those who were against the war, my life was on the line because I wanted to help.”

When he got home, Bill felt pressure—like many Vietnam Veterans—to bury the memories. He quickly abandoned his uniform and battled serious confusion. Between the societal rejection and the realities of war, the emotional baggage became too much to bear.

Bill succumbed to the hippy lifestyle and lived the next two years in a drunken blur.. When his mother died from the ravages alcoholism, he received a small inheritance and decided to leave home.

He flew to Europe and traveled slowly to Greece, Pakistan and on to Iran. He wandered the world doing drugs, sleeping in parks, living with hippies, and trying to find life.

He found it—or rather God found him—in Kathmandu, Nepal.

A short illness forced him to stay in a local hospital. While there, a man visited him who was connected with a house run by YWAM (Youth with a Mission). The visit led Bill to find a Bible in the hospital library. The familiar stories brought comfort so not long after he was released from the hospital, he visited the YWAM home. Missionaries offered him a place to stay but only after a short quarantine to rid him of lice.

While he was resting in a basement room, a couple from England arrived. They had traveled to India after following an inner nudge from God. While visiting the YWAM location, they asked if there was anyone else at the house. The locals replied, “Just the crazy American guy down stairs.”

The next day, the couple met with Bill and prayed. And when they prayed, something happened. Bill remembers them saying, “We have no power of our own. But there is power in the name of Jesus Christ. And in His name, we bind the fear and darkness that have plagued your life.”

“I felt things fall off of me,” Bill recalled. “I was different. My hardened heart began to soften.”

Bill left for England soon after and lived in community with the couple and other believers who prayed for him and spoke life as God continued a deep healing. He met his wife Rosemary there and they’ve served God together ever since.

So when Bill came home with no job last year and the two faced the financial challenge, they knew where to turn—they knew to pray. Because the same God that heard Bill’s cry in Vietnam and met him in Kathmandu was more than able to provide their every need.

And He did with a bonus—after six months, the government contract was renewed and Bill got his job back.

“My God will meet all your needs…”

Friday, October 11, 2013

Forty-Four Years and the Birthday Blahs

It's my birthday. Today. The sun shines bright. Mom's Cavalier King Charles prowls in search of shadows. And plaster and gauze cover my right leg from the knee down, six days post ankle reconstruction surgery. Again.

Yes, I'm a little down. Even on my birthday.

Last summer, we celebrated closing our store Go Fish with a party on the premises about a month after my back fusion. My right ankle was loose and held together in a brace. Hazel, my grand-daughter, asked about the ankle and I explained how my ligaments get loose. She looked at me with big, brown, sympathetic eyes and said, "You're getting old, Susu."

She's right. And I feel it today.

Forty-four years old.

I have a life list: Widowed at twenty seven; single parented for ten years; mobility issues by age 36; mitochondrial disease diagnosed in me and my son by age 40; six major orthopedic operations by my 44th birthday, four on my ankles, two on my back. And depending on how I heal, my right knee and shoulder may require reconstructions sooner than later.

It overwhelms me today.

But 2 Corinthians 4: 8 - 10 states, "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our body."

I don't often think about carrying the death of Jesus in my body so that His life may revealed in the same. But Biblical truth makes it clear, through suffering, we become more like Him. And I'm certainly not the only one with a life list to share.

My friend Paige is facing a crazy surgery to insert wires in her face in an attempt to squelch the constant trigeminal neuralgia pain that haunts her days. Referred to as the suicide nerve, Paige never dreamed she'd be fighting frightful pain, just trying to maintain in her mid-forties too.

My friend Amy is the mother eight - or seven. I forget the count. Her youngest requires a feeding tube due to the affects of mito and several of her kids now show symptoms too. Amy lives with a cyst of fluid in her spine that could leave her paralyzed at any moment. There's fancy name for it, "syringomyelia", a medical term I'm sure she never dreamed she'd be researching in her forties either.

Lorna adopted two children from China years ago, not aware that one of them had a metabolic disorder that would lead to more hospital stays than I can count in recent years. Penelope is in Scottish Right Hospital today. On my birthday. In ICU. Fighting infections the likes I've only read about.

I'm not alone. In fact, before anesthesia affected emotions and logic, I relished the fact I live in a country and maintain health insurance that allows for surgery after surgery. My niece, Jessica, spent five weeks in Kenya last summer, serving at Tenwick Hospital. She came home with stories that humbled me.

The fact I live in a day and age where they can keep fixing my joints is quite miraculous. Painful and tiring, yes. But my ankles are strong today because two deceased people donated body parts that allow me to walk with cadaver tendons.

So, I'm breathing today. Carrying the death of Jesus and two other souls in my body to keep making whatever difference I can in this world.

So I will rest. Write. And enjoy another Happy Birthday to me.