Ingrafted branches....

Romans 11:17-24 speaks about branches being grafted into others. In other words, if you have a bad plant or tree and you want to make it healthy you somehow infuse it with a healthy one and it is nourished from this healthy one and it grows from it. This was always for me a bit of a mystery. I understood the idea and therefore the analogy of how we were broken and dying and God grafted us to Himself in order to be healthy and whole. But really, having never been one who dealt with plants or farm things, I never really understood how this worked.

That is, until today. As I am traveling in the Czech and Slovak Republics right now, it happened that I visited some family members of a dear friend of mine. These people live in a small town and have many plants and such. As I sat at their kitchen table, I noticed an unusual looking plant...you can see it here...and asked about it. My friend told me this is a Biblical plant but wasn't sure how to describe it, since ingrafting isn't an idea we talk about on a regular basis. When I understood what she meant I was amazed. Here was a small cucumber plant that had been dying and was therefore ingrafted to a small pumpkin plant. I thought, What is that!?! Can you do that? Well, I guess so because they did.

Now the plant grows healthy and will produce healthy cucumbers. It was an eye opening experience for me and I simply had to share it with all of you. What a wonderful example of God's grace, mercy and salvation that we can actually see with our eyes. I pray you will be blessed by this as was I. Have a blessed day.

You Think You've Had a Rough Day....

So, you think you've had a rough day... check out my first day at one of my missions jobs...

I was reminiscing the other day with some friends about my early days with Teen Challenge in the Czech Republic. Now for those of you who don't know, Teen Challenge is a program to help people with addictions find recovery through the best possible way out there...Jesus. You may think that is a falsehood, but look up the statics and you will find TC has a success rate of 87% last I checked which puts most others to shame (most success rates are in the 40-50 percentiles). So anyways, I was working with former junkies who may or may not be still dealing with withdrawal issues. Fun.

My duties at first were very trivial; teach an hour class in the morning, do light office work, write for the monthly newsletter. No biggie. Anyone really could do that, doesn't take a special person. But then, the director asked me to take on a "charge of the day." This means that for one day a week I would be responsible for the women at the women's center. In other words, make sure they get up on time, fix breakfast for them, they do their chores, eat lunch with them, they do their work at the general center, get them back home, make them dinner, make sure they do their daily homework and such, make sure they go to bed on time, etc. Basically, be in charge of them and make sure all goes well. That sounds pretty simple, so I was a little hesitant but agreed. Mind you, I didn't yet speak the language very well, so my translator would be with me and it was like we would do it together, so not so bad.

First day: Things are going okay, we are making sure they get ready for bed, take meds, and we are acting as mediators to a few issues that arose. But with only 6 students, really...how bad could it get? Yeah, I'm building up here 'cause it's about to get good.

There ended up all kinds of issues, but all the rest pale when compared to one. I am sitting on the floor having a chat with a fairly new student from Bulgaria who has a history with all kinds of issues; drugs, prostitution, you name it. She speaks a little broken English so we can chat a bit, and I know a little (very little) Italian, which she speaks a bit of as well as Slovenian. So, we seem to be having a nice chat, when suddenly she jumps up, goes to their bedroom crying, leaving me staring after her kinda stunned. Then I hear a strange metallic scraping sound, and I run into their room to find this girl breaking through the window, breaking out the screen and jumping out the window, running off.

By the way, I may not have mentioned she had no shoes or coat on and there was a good four inches of snow outside. I found myself staring at the window in a form of suspended shock...at least for a second which seemed like an hour. Then I looked at my friend/translator/co-captain on this titanic-esque ship and she was doing the same thing. "What do I do?" I asked her. "I don't know, you're in charge," she said. Yeah. So I ran out the door after this girl while my right-hand stayed to keep things together.

I found her across the road in a field hunched up in ball staring at the snow. It took me 30 minutes to convince her to come back inside and at least get warm; you know, get some shoes on, maybe a coat. She said she wanted to leave, and of course, we can't force them to stay, but at least let us get ya warm and get a good night sleep and we would take ya to the train in the morning.

She came in and went immediately to the bathroom where she refused to move for over an hour. 6 women, in a house with one bathroom, and someone decides to take shelter in it for over an hour; you can just imagine how many more issues that created. And don't think for a second that those other five women are just as sweet as pie and easy to deal with. Oh no! They have issues too and they seemed to all come out at once.

Did I mention this was my first day? I did? Oh, ok, just makin' sure. So, what would you do? Yeah, quitting wasn't really an option, so let's just say that after finally getting everyone into bed, I didn't get much sleep. Neither did my right-arm, as I affectionately call her. Maybe once I get permission to use her name, I will. She "slept" on the couch outside the ladies' bedroom.

The next day, my director comes to me and says, "So, I hear you had an interesting evening." He was smiling like it was the biggest joke of the year. I looked at him with daggers in my eyes and said, "You know, you could have warned me it could get like this." Then the director of the women came in, gave me a hug, and laughed. I guess this kind of event is not unusual, it just doesn't typically happen on someone's first day.

So, the next time you think you are having a rough day, think about my little story and perhaps you might realize, "Wow, my day's not so bad after all."

A dog in every port....

You know, people have always told me that I'm a bit like my dad. They say I have his magnetic personality, his warmth and kindness toward all people, his generosity with myself and material things, and also his love for animals. I, of course, agree with all of these things; it is obvious I gained his humble attitude as well. Anyway, I do love animals, especially dogs; and if you were to ask any of my fellow missionaries on the trips I've been on, they will probably tell you that I love dogs too much. So much, as to get us into trouble.

I have befriended quite a few canines over the years and througout the world. Let's see, there was Askia in Germany, Betty in Macedonia, Rufus in Scotland, Beni in Czech Republic, and a handful of homeless begging mongrols in the streets of everywhere else. And then, of course, there was Lassie and Taron in Cernuc, Czech Republic where I last hung my missions cap.

Askia was a huge white dog who came up to my waist. She didn't like men, probably because she'd been hurt by them. The only people she seemed to like were women and her masters, Wolfgang and his wife. She really liked me though. When we were leaving Germany I went out to see Askia at her tree. I pet her and said something along the lines of, "be a good girl, I will miss you terribly." I don't think she understood English but she must have known I was going to leave because she came around me so that I was between her and the tree and then she leaned against me, pinning me to the tree, unable to move. It was sweet. I think I even cried a little. That was Askia. I learned to tell her, "platz" which means "stay."

Rufus was a huge black mastiff in Scotland. He lived next door to the small castle we were renovating. One day, while his master was taking him for a walk, I ran into them outside their property. I pet him and learned his name and thought that would be the last of Rufus. But then, I began working on the roof of one of the buildings and could see into the next property. So every day, I would greet Rufus over the wall from the roof of my building. The last day we were there, Rufus came to visit. I made the mistake of patting my legs and saying, "here boy." It didn't matter that he was running uphill a good city block, Rufus slammed into me on his hind legs and took me out and down for the count. It was sweet. I think I may have cried a bit there too. That was Rufus.

Then there was Betty. She was a stray mixed mutt in Macedonia. She must have lived nearby and she obviously had puppies recently. My heart went out to her. She came by our worksite every day but never seemed to want to come near. Jonatan called her "Serbian dog" and said she was afraid of men. So, I started to throw her some scraps from my snacks and lunches. In two days, she was eating out of my hand. One day she even came down into the property looking for food. The day before we left she even brought a friend to join in the spoils. By that time, everyone was throwing her scraps. The last day we were there, Peter came and asked about the dog. I told him that even if she died after we left, I knew she had a week of happiness. He told me, "No Debbi, this dog will be our mascot, we will feed her and she will live." It was so sweet, and I really did cry then. That was Betty.

Then there was Beni; short for Ben Hur. He is a wild and crazy dog owned by Petr in Czech Republic. He likes to hunt mice and chase things. I even saw him once playing with a bunch of children; he had a stick in his mouth and he chased their ball. I said he was playing baseball, everyone laughed. Beni was my buddy on that trip. Every chance I got I would pet him and hang with him. He was a good boy.....when he wanted to be, usually if I had food for him. He is still pretty wild and crazy, still chases mice and still plays with the kids. And every now and then Beni will acknowledge you, especially if you have food. That's Beni.

And finally there was Lassie and Taron. Lassie was half wolf, I swear it must be true, and she hated EVERYONE! She and Taron lived next door to the women's center in the village of Cernuc in Czech Republic. When I moved there, I tried to be friends with her but everyone told me it was a lost cause. People had tried and failed for years, it couldn't be done. Well, that just gave me more reason to do it. I prayed every time before I went to the chain link fence that separated our property from hers, that God would go before me and help me make friends. I told everyone, give me two weeks, that dog will be my friend. I even had my translator go with me to the neighbor's home and ask if it would be ok to feed her things. The owner told me she liked bread mostly. So, I began to woo Lassie with bread rolls. She would bay and bark at everyone who came into the yard, until one day....she stopped. When I came outside into the yard that day she ran to the fence then sat there so sweetly and just looked at me. I said, "Dobry den Lassie, good morning. Chces chleba dneska, you want some bread today?" She barked once. I put the bread in one of the holes in the fence, and she ate it right from my hand. From that day on, unless she thought you were going to hurt me, she was sweet to anyone who came outside into the yard. The ladies weren't bothered to go outside anymore, and they enjoyed Lassie's presence. The day I left I almost cried. I thought I would return in a few months, but I still felt sadness for leaving my dear friend Lassie. I returned once nearly a year later, for a day. Lassie was still there, and she remembered me. She greeted me at our usual spot and licked my hand and just sat there like she didn't want this moment to end. It was so sweet, and I definitely cried a little. That was Lassie.

I expect my adventures to continue for as long as I am on this earth. I expect to travel here and there and everywhere. And as I do, I expect to meet some new friends along the way; some four-legged. For I am a missionary at heart, and I have a dog in every port.

Welcome

Hi and welcome to my blog. I figure I will start out with a few words about how I got here.

Growing up, my idea of missions and missionaries were those "kooky" guys in safari outfits who would come to your church with slide film projectors that never really worked right and stories of bush people and natives in the jungles of Africa. As I got older, my image never changed. Perhaps because of the tiny little churches I attended, or perhaps because of the naivity of having never met anyone from anywhere else and having never been anywhere else. Such a small world view I had. But then one day I started attending a new church, a missions minded church, a very big church. I took a job there and next thing I know I was to take my first airplane flight, not a short flight, but an eight hour flight to Copenhagen, Denmark. I was terrified. What would I experience? What would it be like? Would the plane have turbulence, would I be afraid the whole time? What about people. What would they be like?

The most amazing thing happened. It was like my eyes were opened to a whole new world - literally. Did you know that people on the other side of the world are just like you and me? They have the same feelings, desires, hopes. They simply speak a different language and perhaps eat foods with funny sounding names. We spent a week renovating a 5 story building into what they called "Community Center" so it wouldn't be shot down as a Christian Center. The building would house a radio station, a kindergarden, a church auditorium, a coffee shop, some offices, and so much more. It was amazing! I learned so much. I even learned that I have skills I never knew I had. I could paint, stucco, build inner walls and install inner windows into those walls. I could install a drop ceiling. I could even eat crazy food with funny names.

When we came home, I was transformed. My eyes were opened and I started catching the "fever." Missions fever. We had helped those people and I was the better for it. It was a mutual thing. The blessing poured out both ways. Wow! The next time there would be an offer to go somewhere on a missions trip, I would be way more willing to go.

That is how it all started. And just like with any addiction, if you don't get your "fix" you go through a period of withdrawal. I couldn't be away from the mission field for more than two years at a time, or I would get these crazy feelings of withdrawal. Even if it meant a mission here in the states. I had to go, I had to do SOMETHING.

And to this day, I have to do something. So, my name is Debbi Everly, and I am a missions junkie. My last "fix" was October of 2009 when I helped some friends from Slovakia during their month long stay in the US. Do I plan to go somewhere soon, absolutely. Do I think I'll ever give up the fever....Never! Not till Jesus takes me home. Stay tuned to future posts for stories of where I've been and what has happened. With at least 10 countries I've spent at least one night in, and over 2 years of accumulated time on the mission field, the stories will just keep coming. Until next time, remember the Great Commission commanded us from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ: "...Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you..." Matthew 28:18-20 NIV