“Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.”  Words of wisdom from Solomon, inspired by the Holy Spirit and written in Ecclesiastes 11:1. Words that came to me in a vision in October of 2007 as I saw manna being tossed from heaven and raining over the earth. Words that would prove to be prophetic in my life and in many others.

Dr. Woodrow Kroll shares the story of a man crossing a desert, nearly dead from thirst, when he stumbled across an empty shack that just happened to have a hand pump. At its base was a sealed water jug with a note reading, “Don’t drink this water. Use it to prime the pump. Refill it for the next person.” The man hesitated, realizing that if the well was dry, he would be pouring out his last chance for survival. But he decided to risk it and watched the life-giving water disappear down the pipe. As he manipulated the handle, suddenly a plentiful supply of fresh water gushed up. Drinking to the fullest, he received what he needed to survive. And when he departed, he left a full jug of water with the original note and a few additional words, “Try it. It worked for me.”

When I experienced the truth of God’s word in Ecc. 11:1, I was struggling with a call from God to teach to the nations but not seeing the means by which this would happen. Over the next several months, in the midst of a season of great physical pain and infirmity, God birthed a new purpose in me: to “prime the pump” for the upcoming generations. He allowed me to write a book, Glimpses: Two Stories of Hope and Healing, which shares the testimonies of the work of Jesus in my life and in that of my dear friend, Carrie Oliver, through our journeys with cancer. And He led my husband Philippe and me to ILI, a means by which we would teach to the nations.

After two years of praying and planning, History Makers USA was launched in Giddings, TX, March 18-23, 2012. With young representatives from several states and nations, upcoming leaders were steeped in the Eight Core Values of our Christian faith. From this initial conference, seven more were immediately conceived. On graduation day after the diplomas had been awarded, Kyle Phillips beckoned me to come forward and said, “Jan, take the floor. The last words are yours.”

My response, choked with tears, was:

“This is for me perhaps like giving birth, although I have never had that experience. I just see…so much potential! To God be the glory!”

The pump has been primed. God has given each of us an opportunity to cast our bread, the very Bread of Life, over the waters. And out of you will flow rivers of Living Water. As the once-thirsty man wrote, “Try it. It worked for me.”

Whisking over the glass-topped table in an attempt to displace a few dust mites, I should have realized that they only added to the authenticity of our Nativity scene. After all, what’s a little dust in the midst of a stable? Too late, I gasped in dismay as the hand-painted ceramic shepherd carrying a now-decapitated lamb met its demise on the cold, hard tile floor. Shattered into a dozen or so fragments, I thought woefully of passing by just the day before and thinking, “This one is my favorite: the shepherd carrying a lamb.” 

Picking up the pieces and gingerly transferring them to the kitchen counter where reconstructive surgery would be performed, I began to reflect on why this figure represents the essence of Christmas to me. A shepherd…The Good Shepherd. A lamb…The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. The Lord who is my Shepherd became the sacrificial Lamb to remove the blight of my sin from the record and to wash me whiter than snow. He became like me so that I could become like Him. 

Attempting to fit the pieces back together like a 3D jigsaw puzzle, I thought of the ancient legend of a shepherd who would break a wayward sheep’s leg with his rod and then carry the broken animal over his shoulders until it healed. Formerly disobedient, the sheep would grow to know its master’s voice and to respond to the sound. Once released, it would follow in obedience when called, just as Jesus said: “My sheep know my voice.” 

When we serve communion in our church, I offer the wafers to those who come forward by saying, “This is the body of Christ, broken for you in His love.” His body was broken for my sin so that I could become whole by His love. “All we like sheep have gone astray; each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” This passage from Isaiah 53 which prophesied the coming of Christ sums up the Good News. As C.S. Lewis put it, “The Son of God became a man so that men could become sons of God.” 

The greatest Sacrifice ever made. The greatest Gift ever given. For you, and for me. Thanks be to God for His indescribable Gift.

Book signings, speaking engagements for Glimpses of Hope, the completion of hospital chaplaincy training and beginning of my ministry at St. Luke’s Hospital - and word that three dear friends have been diagnosed with cancer over the past two weeks. Several others are struggling with the side effects of treatment and the ravages of the disease itself. My own need is to be so continually replenished with His living and loving Presence that I can minister out of the overflow of the love of Christ. 

Having grown accustomed to the apostle Paul’s admonition to “pray without ceasing”, I characteristically talk openly and often aloud to the Lord throughout the day and night in any and every situation or activity.  Early last week, however, that still small voice I have learned to recognize as His encouraged me to simply sit in a chair by the window and listen. I did not hear anything…but after a time, I became aware of a subtle swaying of my body. I watched in fascination as my torso moved back and forth, as if I were being rocked gently by an unseen hand. This cradling was completely involuntary and was accompanied by a sensation of deep peace and warmth. 

Our all-knowing and all-loving Father was holding me in His everlasting arms and comforting me in a way that no one and nothing else could. He was speaking to me without words. He was rocking me, His little child. 

This experience caused me to think about the word “rock” - both as a noun and as a verb. There are multiple references in the Bible to God as the Rock of Israel, our Rock and Redeemer, Rock and Fortress, Rock and Shield; certainly the connotation is one of tremendous immovability, strength, and dependability. Then there are the more subtle metaphoric implications: water gushing from a rock to quench the thirst of the Israelites; rocks flung from the shepherd boy David’s slingshot to slay Goliath. Jesus Himself spoke of Peter as the rock on which He would build His Church. 

But what about “rock” as a verb?  It can certainly imply something that completely pulls the rug out from under us. At any moment, life can be rocked by the tragedy of disease, divorce, death. Isaiah 8:14 says, “He will be a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall.” Yet Psalm 18, one of the many psalms of David, reads, “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock in whom I take refuge.” This same Rock can cause us to fall - or lift us up. It can make us stumble, or can cradle us ever so gently. We choose. 

Every day since my precious rocking time with God, I have returned to that same chair for more. He always meets me there and I feel His Presence as I sweetly sway in his arms. It makes me want to sing that old Fanny Crosby hymn:

A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord, a wonderful Savior to me;
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, where rivers of pleasure I see.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock that shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love, and covers me there with His hand.  

 Name: GLIMPSES: Two Stories of Hope and Healing
 Date of arrival: September 19, 2011, 2 pm CST
 Height: 8.5 inches; Width: 5.5 inches
 Weight: 1.05 pounds
 ISBN: 978-1-57892-064-8

The long-awaited moment at last! Three years in gestation, this “baby” has been prayed over with expectant fervor by many and I am humbled to hold it in my arms and offer it back to the Lord with great thanksgiving. Curiosly, my reaction on its delivery did not seem suited to the occasion. Having anticipated this for so long, I thought I might nearly faint with excitement, weeping and rejoicing over the beauty of my literary child. How strange, then, that I matter-of-factly received the shipment with the greatest equanimity as if it were Lowe’s delivering a new washer and dryer.

Awareness of past reactions to events of great magnitude entered into the picture slowly but surely. Flashback to age 10, arriving home from Fairview School one early spring afternoon:

MOM: “Honey, I have a great surprise for you!”
ME: (imagining a chocolate cake or maybe even a new baby doll) “What?”
MOM: “The best piano teacher in Mt. Prospect has agreed to take you!”
ME: “Oh.”

My heart’s desire ever since I had first seen a piano had been to learn to play, and my parents had sacrificed to buy me one. But to learn that I would actually be taking lessons meant…something was EXPECTED of me! I sensed that my life would never again be the same; that I was being given a tremendous gift that also carried with it a commensurate responsibility. I was fundamentally terrified. When the day of my first lesson dawned, however, I was ready to meet the challenge head-on and never look back.

The second time I experienced this bizarre oxymoronic amalgamation of blissful terror was on the day of our son Paul’s birth. At the crack of dawn on January 7, 1992, we received a phone call from Bethany Christian Services, telling us that the birthmother who had chosen us had given birth to a son and we could come and meet him. I burst into tears - but my inner child had a visceral reaction reminiscent of the one when I was ten. The magnitude of responsibility for this precious new life greeted me like a tsunami. Yet when I entered Lisa’s hospital room and she said to him, “Here’s your mom!”, my heart was one hundred percent captivated by this incredible bundle of vibrant new life and I was ready to embrace motherhood head-on and never look back.

So, for the third time in my life, I have reacted in a way that confounds even me, but I see the pattern: an amazing gift from God being presented to me to steward for Him. As in the other two instances, I will nurture this gift with practice, patience and prayer. I will expose it to those who will invest in it and help it to grow and be appreciated by others. I will allow it to go into situations where it will be challenged and criticized, but I will trust that the Lord is my defense and I will not be moved. I will permit it to speak for itself, knowing that its Author has a plan for it that far exceeds my own. I am ready to embrace the challenge head-on and never look back... and I am starting to dream about when this book-baby might have a sibling.

"I think I'll have to chew on this for a while."  I wasn't referring to the tantalizing pulled pork sandwich that was beckoning to me as I sat across from my sister-of-the-heart Lisa last night at County Line BBQ. Surrounded by the raucous strains of Chuckwagon Charlie strumming his gui-tar under the nearly-full moon over nearly-empty Lake Conroe, I felt myself "going Greek"  - needing to separate body and spirit, at least for a time - as she delivered words that would open up a new window of understanding to God's love.
     
"These are your twins on the cover, Jan!" were her words as I felt my jaw drop in astonishment. Lisa was sharing with me her reaction to the cover of GLIMPSES, which is featured on this website's homepage. While I knew that the Lord had inspired my editor, Lynn Ponder, and the cover designer, Lynette Whitesell, to come up with the idea for the book cover, I had only thought of the two little girls chasing butterflies as Carrie and myself.  But Lisa saw beyond and spoke with the authority of one who hears from God.

My journey through cancer began with pregnancy. Ironically, the twins that I was carrying but never delivered revealed the uterine cancer that would likely have remained hidden were it not for their presence. Through the grief of the loss of their unborn lives, God revealed His love to me in such a thorough and profound way that I truly became a new creation in Christ. Through the seed of those babies that died, God has brought abundant life.

In the final chapter of GLIMPSES, I share the vision God gave me of one of the twins, a little girl whose name He gave me from Romans 5:4 - HOPE. Over the years, I have asked Him to reveal more to me about the other child, but until last night, nothing was shown to me. This morning, He gave me her name - FAITH. The substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things unseen - Hebrews 11:1.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is LOVE." 

As I read these words, there is a thread of connection and it may appear as though it is one of those multiple choice “which one of these does not belong” sequences on the SAT. So, is there actually one that does not fit? 

As I launch my very first blog on my very own website with very real trepidation, I am mulling over the title of my very first book: Glimpses.

A brief glance at something - but not intentionally brief. “Glance” implies a halfhearted look that merits no further interest. “Glimpse” connotes a privileged sneak preview of something that promises so much more!

A glimpse is a moment in time snatched through a window of opportunity. 

Most windows are made of glass, although every once in a while you’ll see a Saran Wrap or plexiglass proxy  - usually when the original window has been broken. Broken glass is an inevitable fact of life, for glass is a fragile substance. Wikipedia says it is “typically brittle and optically transparent.” So it breaks…often. 

Then there is stained glass. This is glass that has been colored by adding metallic salts and is intentionally broken and then is fitted by a master artisan into lead frames. I have gazed in awe at the masterpieces in Notre Dame in Paris, the Duomo in Florence, England’s Winchester Cathedral, St. Peter’s in Rome - more than I could ever recount - and they all have something in common: they are lit from within. Their beauty is not from what is outside, but from the light that shines inside and is reflected by those broken shards of glass. 

Humanity. Perhaps the word that didn’t seem to fit in the sequence, but maybe now does. We are all what the apostle Paul refers to in 2 Corinthians 4: 7 as “jars of clay”- fragile earthen vessels that are chipped, cracked, and broken. When we allow the Master Craftsman to take those broken pieces and painstakingly mold them into His unique design, they become treasures. What’s more, He fills them with His light and they are revealed to the world as one-of-a-kind masterpieces. 

Take a glimpse with me. I want you to meet the Designer.