Bible College failed to prepare me for the year of the hurdle. The games began in February, 2008. Within the year I faced hurdles of physical illness, family challenge, and ministry attack. As with all hurdle competitions the runner can either jump the hurdle or knock it aside and be disqualified. Though my foot clipped a hurdle a few times, God's grace carried me to the end, a fully qualified victor.

Out of the starting blocks, I encountered the hurdle of physical pain. I was having trouble with so much pain in one heel that at the end of the day I could hardly walk.  The foot doctor took x-rays and found part of my heel bone had chipped and was pushing into my tendon.  Corrective surgery and nine weeks in an orthopedic boot and on crutches, got me over the first hurdle

In May, the Thursday before Memorial Day set in motion a saga of high hurdles that would last many months.

We arrived home from a church softball game to a call from our middle daughter.

"Mom, I've just be in a head-on crash. Please come." Anxiety shook her voice.

"Brian, come on." I ran for the car calling to my husband and youngest daughter. "Amber's been in a wreck."

We got to the accident scene but, though traffic was backed up, I could see Amber's car in the ditch.  I jumped out of the car and RAN all the way, without regard to my convalescent foot. I just wanted to get to my daughter. 

She wasn't in the car.......but I heard her yell MOM, the sweetest sound to a mother's ears. I found her up on the bank and ran to her side.  She sustained injuries and looking at the car, I could only praise God for sparing her life. The car looked like a death trap for sure.

During the first couple of hours at the hospital Amber was examined, tested and sutured.  Back from an ultra sound test, Amber pulled a picture from under her pillow. It was then I realized my daughter was pregnant. There in the picture I saw my grandson at six months gestation. I cried. God gave me two miracles, the life of my daughter and the life of my grandson.  Two days later, we brought Amber home and the healing process began; healing from physical injuries and healing the relationships surrounding a secret pregnancy.

Pregnancy, the product of a relationship that no longer existed, precipitated a series of difficult hurdles. In the months that followed we informed the father and his family, and the board of our church. The board did not want the resignation my husband offered. They embraced us and prayed with us.  I felt grateful to have cleared a substantial hurdle. We could now finish this race with dignity. However, more hurdles lay between me and the finish line.

The paternal grandmother called a "family" meeting and insisted my husband have our daughter stand before the church, confess her sin and apologize. No mention was made of the child's father. Our decision to handle the situation differently put our family in an adversarial position.  With my name and reputation maligned, I resigned from two ministries I headed. I faced public confrontation at church. I was glad for my own little office at the church because it became my refuge where I would cry, journal, and pray. On August 14, 2008 God gave us "a little warrior from God, named Todd."  Little did I know God sent him to be our sunshine through some very dark and stormy days ahead. I not only had hurdles to jump but had to run through the fire to do it.

                The tension at church grew; however, my husband and I couldn't put our finger on the problem or its source. In September a former evangelist returned. His following in the church began to disrupt. Words of prophecy claimed my husband was the enemy. We received hateful phone calls, emails, letters, and threats. My husband was attacked in board meetings; the worship time felt like a contest to see who was in charge. One Sunday morning in December we found our congregation decreased by 40%. One of our deacons told us what he heard.  The evangelist kept in contact with some of our people following his 2006 services in our church. He and the missing members of our congregation were meeting in the community center in the neighboring town.  Following the exodus, the group spread rumors in the community that seemed aimed at running us out of town.

                It was the year of the hurdle. In the end we cleared the final hurdle.  We stood firm and fought to save our church. We stayed, picked up the pieces, and moved forward with those who chose to stand with us. By the end of February 2009, everyone that was leaving had gone

We are healing.  Our church body is getting stronger and healthier everyday as we encourage one another.  The first Sunday in March when we walked into church, I could actually feel this strong peace; everyone noticed it. We started crying, laughing, and hugging each other.  By God's grace I was a victor in the year of the hurdle. We had cleared the hurdles and come through the fire, and we didn't even smell of smoke.

I used to enjoy being the new girl.  When I was young and my missionary/pastor parents would announce a family move, I felt the thrill of a fresh start and imagined myself as the star of a brand-new adventure.  Whether Brussels or Kansas City, I knew life would be great (obviously, I was a firm optimist).  Each culture or town has a magic of its own, and the sadness of leaving friends was balanced by the hope of what my new life might be like "over there."  I also looked forward to leaving behind my younger self (awkward braces or bad habits).  With a new haircut to boost my confidence, I would step off the plane into a different stage and place of life.

Well, 17 moves later, with a husband and 3 kids of my own, moving has lost a lot of its glamour.  Instead of happily and freely re-inventing myself among strangers, I arrive in a new place aware that my "baggage" has already defined me: she's a mom, a wife, a missionary, an American, etc.  I struggle to remember my true self and to communicate that self to others. I don't want to discard memories or friendships anymore; I cherish them and fight to weave them into my new life.   Among adults, new friendships take a lot more time and effort, and patience has never been my best virtue.  And my worldly belongings don't fit into 2 suitcases anymore, so packing and unpacking is no longer fun.  For all these reasons, I now feel a strong desire to put down roots (anywhere!) and "grow where I'm planted."  Thanks be to God, that place currently happens to be Granada, Spain.

I'm grateful for the early years that gave me important coping skills: flexibility, adaptability, tolerance, and the ability to nail a few pictures to the wall and feel "at home." I still have a strong conviction that new haircuts can lead to new adventures.  Digging deeper, I know that my early dependence on God as a faithful friend has produced fruit in my present circumstances.  I recognize that my unshakeable, rock-bottom sense of home, my security, comes from believing that ultimately we are "strangers and aliens" on earth, and God has promised us "a better country" (Hebrews 11).  I keep in my heart the peace of that kingdom which is our true home, present now though invisible, where my name is already known, and where I won't have to say goodbye.

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