tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69500662026-04-09T18:16:06.737-05:00pilgrimage journal<a href="http://cimarronline.blogspot.com"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh96x-iK0Hn9bT2tDqFTJjUM8X88Fih-Vn3lPTdrLImR6O5A7MYWQXu500XjWVXIjv2O6UJIneFrLTLRw_tW2c8jrQTbZrEeWit85AK2D-UWizQnjR8R5L6XGj-031kwz_LwzJJvO2WQKnGsvpxGRa4_4wL_50QoLg1vzoFQxEsIyXuIBx3TouZg/s436/degas1.png" title="pilgrimage journal home"></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1781125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-59788126723614199912026-02-09T18:33:00.002-06:002026-02-09T18:35:24.617-06:00a surrender - 74(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter ten, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/01/a-surrender-72.html">"in this moment"</a>) <div><br /></div><div><div>Now I open my eyes and look up from a hospital bed and Heather tells me it’s okay. It’s done, or at least I’m done, and we have a place to go. It sounds like, after another failure, we took the only option left to us. But it seems to be a good one. It’s not simple or easy, like I had initially hoped. It’s big, with lots of interconnected parts and many people involved. I don’t quite understand how it came together. But it’s a good situation, for all of us, including my mother. She will be joining us. We’ll be taking care of each other. Heather will have more time to write, and there’s space for a big garden. There’s also a new teen center being built nearby, for at-risk kids. They’re looking for volunteers. And I hear the family we’ll live next to has a daughter, a little younger than Ian. And a trampoline.</div><div><br /></div><div>It definitely feels like God provided this, with little or no help from me. But it also seems like a kindness that God included me in bringing it together. Maybe it’s like a mother making cookies with her kid. She doesn’t need the kid’s help. The kid is just going to make it slower and messier. But she wants to include the kid, because she wants to share the joy of the good thing that she’s making; she wants the kid to feel it and be part of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Heather tells me that, in my confusion and helplessness, she asked me if I remembered any prayers. She says I took a moment, then tears filled my eyes. And I started to pray:</div><div></div><blockquote><div>The Lord protects </div><div>the simple hearts;</div><div>I was helpless </div><div>so he saved me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Turn back, my soul, </div><div>to your rest</div><div>for the Lord has been good.</div><div>He has kept </div><div>my soul from death,</div><div>my eyes from tears,</div><div>and my feet from stumbling.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will walk </div><div>in the presence of the Lord </div><div>in the land of the living.</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>The months ahead still look like a challenge. But in this moment, I only feel relief. I feel saved. I feel loved. In this moment, I am with God. And I surrender myself into God’s hands, without reserve. </div><div><br /></div><div>And with boundless confidence.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> (Full book also available in <a href="https://archive.org/download/BabyKillerOtherStories/a%20surrender.pdf">PDF</a> or <a href="https://archive.org/download/BabyKillerOtherStories/a%20surrender.epub">ePUB</a> format)</div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-61882870093397412012026-02-02T17:48:00.003-06:002026-02-09T18:33:43.823-06:00a surrender - 73(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter ten, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/01/a-surrender-72.html">"in this moment"</a>) <div><br /></div><div><div>So we said we’d be willing to help out through the end of this growing season, if they allowed us to continue as volunteers a little longer. That way they would have time to find replacements for us. But where we would go and what we would do next wasn’t easy to see.</div><div><br /></div><div>I’d like to say that I handled it well. But, from what I remember of the weeks that followed, I don’t think I did. It felt like I was flailing around in the dark. I tried to arrange a simple and easy solution for us with friends from church, but that fell through, leaving me stunned, confused, and depressed. And overwhelmed by the many interconnected needs of all the people involved now. Not just the three of us, but Heather’s parents and my mother too. And I felt like I had nothing to offer, no way to help any of them. More than once I recalled a line from a W. H. Auden poem:</div><div></div><blockquote><div>The Pilgrim Way </div><div>has led to the Abyss</div></blockquote><div></div><div>It felt like I couldn’t turn back, but it also seemed that there was no way forward.</div><div><br /></div><div>This continued for many anguished weeks. And a big part of the anguish was that it seemed like this crisis was my fault. I was the one who felt most strongly that we needed to leave the farm now. And it was my choices that had left me without money or property at this time in my life, when usually people are most able to support their children and their aging parents. Day after day, the pressure bore down on me. It got so heavy that there were moments when I felt I couldn’t trust my own judgment any more, or my own intentions. I desperately wanted to believe that God was preparing something, something good. But I felt excluded and alone, with nowhere else to turn, trembling in the dark.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/02/a-surrender-74.html">Continued...</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-51243679202521911782026-01-26T13:38:00.001-06:002026-02-02T17:48:42.380-06:00a surrender - 72<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter ten)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfl2KSshy773-rkzEIpyajq5_YqUCNI1R222os8EppwhWRcLgxveJdqu_pjtSOMQeurytnGvRDlDmaX7ZFgZy6Zqc5BtUXAx1rBIODLdhFaNdeytPzmEa8LAxdCbqfb6GSxlJXkR-ZaKhnd1vtzJvE_u7RtUjlqYxOPkKSSjyanTj6DfLRhZmdQ/s1000/road5.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="625" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfl2KSshy773-rkzEIpyajq5_YqUCNI1R222os8EppwhWRcLgxveJdqu_pjtSOMQeurytnGvRDlDmaX7ZFgZy6Zqc5BtUXAx1rBIODLdhFaNdeytPzmEa8LAxdCbqfb6GSxlJXkR-ZaKhnd1vtzJvE_u7RtUjlqYxOPkKSSjyanTj6DfLRhZmdQ/s320/road5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">in this moment</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>'ve lost my memory. That’s what Heather tells me. I’m in the hospital and I don’t remember all that has been happening over the last few weeks. And every time she explains it to me, I immediately forget again. It’s some kind of amnesia, the doctors told her. In time, they said, my memory would come back, though probably not everything.</p><p>But I remember what came before. A worldwide pandemic put a stop to retreats on the farm for two years and, for a number of reasons, we didn’t have much hope for starting them up again. Then another family on the farm, with two children Ian’s age, who had been good playmates for him, decided to move away. And, more recently, some policy changes had been announced. There wouldn’t be any more “resident volunteers.” I hadn’t been too surprised by this, rather I was surprised it didn’t happen sooner. But that put us in another very difficult situation. </p><p>Because we’ve come too far. We’ve taken too many steps away from the boat. And the life we’ve been given has been too good. For almost thirty years, I have been free to do the work that love inspired me to do, and give it as a gift. I’ve been free to give my time to poor people, and disabled people, and old people. I’ve been free to give every day to my child, so I know him and he knows me. And to help him grow and learn, with more depth and freedom than any school can allow. I’ve been free to share work equally with Heather, so she’s free to give her time to her writing and her garden and her friends. And everything that has come to us has been free too, given by people who are also inspired by love. By God.</p><p>Jesus told his followers that God wanted to give them life, and make them free. And God has given us life and freedom. </p><p>So it doesn’t seem right to turn my back on that, to go back to being an employee, looking to an organization to tell me the value of my work. It doesn’t seem right to let my actions be driven by a job description or a manager’s priorities. Or by someone’s demands for rent. And I don’t want anyone to have to give me anything because official policy says so. I only want them to give me what they want to, inspired by love, the same love that inspires me. I know that will be enough for me, and for my family. More than enough.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/02/a-surrender-73.html">Continued...</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-27013884665448242192026-01-19T11:08:00.001-06:002026-01-26T13:38:41.639-06:00a surrender - 71(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter nine, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-67.html">"God doesn't need our help"</a>) <div><br /></div><div><div>Looking back over the years since I walked away from the Navy, I’ve noticed something strange. Again and again, when I had been narrowly rescued from disaster, it turned out that the people involved were not trying to help me at all. They weren’t the ones rescuing me. The Navy lawyers were just trying to avoid the cost and negative publicity of a trial. And I was set free. The person who called the police was just trying to get rid of a homeless guy. And I ended up in a warm bed. The board of the campground was just saying no to a project that was too costly. And Heather and I, and our three-year-old child, kept our home. The new owners just found it simpler and easier to offer free housing to dedicated volunteers. And we were able to continue to “freely give” as Jesus taught us. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I thought I had to come up with a plan to save our life on the farm, I pushed my idea feverishly. But God didn’t need my help. When the new owners were being advised to send our family away, I didn’t even know it was happening. But that didn’t matter. Because God didn’t need my help.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is said that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing. I entered the Navy with thoughts like that in mind. And burned myself out working in a homeless shelter, thinking the same thing. But, to be honest, I didn’t find the people in the fight against evil to be particularly good, myself included. What I found instead was that the fight against evil justified a lot of things that, it seemed to me, could also be called evil. But this failure also doesn’t matter. Because whether evil triumphs or not is not going to be determined by us. God stops evil, often through circumstances and people who know nothing of what they are doing, or even by turning one evil against another. God doesn’t need our help.</div><div><br /></div><div>God wants us, yes. But not for our labor. God doesn’t need a workforce. God doesn’t need an army. God doesn’t need our help. God wants us, but not for what we can do. God just wants us—for us. There is nothing we can offer God, but ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>That’s what faith is. A surrender of ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>It takes no strength at all. It is a surrender in weakness, when we despair of our strength. It takes no effort, because it is the end of effort, the end of pushing, the end of struggling. Surrender is the end of what we can do, and the beginning of what God can do.</div><div><br /></div><div>And what God can do is love. The power of God is the power of love. It is the inspiration and the energy for every good thing, every good word, every good action. It connects every person who loves, and makes them one family, one body. It owns everything and can provide anything, because, when love inspires it, any thing owned by any person can be given. As a free gift. Love is a power that cannot be bought or stolen or used for evil. It is a power without limit and without end.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it is a power that is made perfect in weakness.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/01/a-surrender-72.html">Continued...</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-38984381055249757482026-01-12T11:39:00.002-06:002026-01-19T11:08:37.272-06:00a surrender - 70(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter nine, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-67.html">"God doesn't need our help"</a>) <div><br /></div><div><div>There’s a letter by one of Jesus’ early followers, in which the writer says he prayed that a certain weakness, a “thorn in the flesh,” might be removed from his life. He prayed this again and again. But God didn’t remove it. Because, God told him, “my power is made perfect in weakness.”</div><div><br /></div><div>We human beings, though, individually and as societies, are not content with weakness. Weakness means vulnerability. Which means danger. So we work very hard to build up our strength. And we organize ourselves, to combine our strengths into something even more powerful. This power is impressive, greater than any of us, and it gives us hope. A hope we cling to. No matter how many times our organizations fail us—our governments, our corporations, our unions, our hospitals, our churches—still we cling desperately to this hope. The “power of the people” will save us. It must.</div><div><br /></div><div>But Jesus avoided this power, and he embraced weakness. He chose to be poor. He gathered no political party, led no army. Instead, he trusted that the power of God would provide for him and his followers, and protect them. He chose to be weak because God is strong. And God’s power is made perfect in weakness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite our continual pursuit of strength, sooner or later each of us must face our weakness. Maybe it’s in a monastery garden, when our life has fallen apart. Maybe it’s when we realize that we are not the hero we thought we would be. Maybe it’s when we admit that we are an alcoholic. Maybe it’s when we accept that our organization will not survive. Maybe it’s when we look in the mirror and discover that we are old. In that moment, we have a choice. Cling to our hope that our strength will always return, ever stronger—or admit that our strength, even the strength of all of us together, isn’t enough. Isn’t enough to stop the pain, the hunger, the lies, the isolation, the death. Not even within ourselves. And it will never be enough. If we can admit that, then we are close to surrender, to faith, close to embracing our weakness, and trusting God’s power instead of our own.</div><div><br /></div><div>We face that choice again and again in our lives. Each time it is more difficult. Though I had walked thousands of miles, the first step with Heather by my side was the most difficult. And the two of us losing our place to live was nothing compared to the possibility of losing our home when we had Ian with us. I often think of that story of Peter walking on the water. I’m sure his first step was frightening. But he was still close to the boat then, he could easily get back to it if he needed to. Then he took another step. And another. He was getting pretty far from the boat. A few more steps and he wasn’t sure if he could swim back in time. Each step took him further away from safety, each step made him feel more deeply how vulnerable he was. Though he had made it a long way, it didn’t get easier. Because each step was a greater risk, each step was more impossible than the last.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that it’s impossible for us. It doesn’t matter that, even if we could manage to all work together, we still wouldn’t have the strength to stop the evil and suffering in the world. It doesn’t matter. Because God never asked us to. God never put the world in our hands. God doesn’t need our help.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/01/a-surrender-71.html">Continued...</a></div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-83184348843472111402026-01-05T09:02:00.002-06:002026-01-12T11:39:53.222-06:00a surrender - 69(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter nine, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-67.html">"God doesn't need our help"</a>) <div><br /></div><div><div>Soon after I found out that the new owners were letting us stay, I learned that they had been advised not to. During the transition, some outside advisors had been brought in to help. And one of the advisors told the church group leaders that they should start fresh. None of the people who had been living on the farm should be allowed to stay. I think this was supposed to avoid complications and give the new group freedom to do things their own way. This advisor happened to know us, though, and knew our situation. I couldn’t believe it. How could he do that? I felt like confronting him, but wasn’t sure if I should. Then a few days later I was helping out in the bakery, washing dishes alone in the communal kitchen, and one of the advisory meetings ended in the next room. The man was there. I didn’t know what to do. So I decided that, if he just left, I wouldn’t say anything. I heard people walking out the front door. Then the door to the kitchen opened.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was him. He started chatting, but I turned on him and said, “I know what you did.” </div><div><br /></div><div>He stopped, confused. </div><div><br /></div><div>“You told them to get rid of us,” I continued, my voice shaky. “But God saved us.” </div><div><br /></div><div>I knew that this man had been involved with many efforts to promote justice and help needy people. “You say you care about the vulnerable,” I said. “Don’t you see that we’re the vulnerable ones here? The powerless ones? That we would lose our home and have nowhere to go?” I was so upset, I was trembling. “You sit in those meetings, with the owners, making big decisions, doing what’s best for the organization, and we’re outside waiting to know if we’ll still have somewhere to live.” I took a breath. “I understand you’re sad that the community is losing this place,” I went on, before he could say anything. “But, please, please, think about what you’ve done here. If they had listened to you, they would have pushed us—our child—out. Because of your words.” Another breath. “But they didn’t. We’re still here. Because God….” </div><div><br /></div><div>He interrupted, defending himself, but I couldn’t bear to listen to it and rushed out of the room. I wished I could have said it better. But maybe that was enough.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/01/a-surrender-70.html">Continued...</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-39654731579830452502025-12-29T09:24:00.001-06:002026-01-05T09:03:11.847-06:00a surrender - 68(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter nine, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-67.html">"God doesn't need our help"</a>) <div><br /></div><div><div>That seemed like the best decision, from a practical point of view, but it didn’t look good for Heather and Ian and me. The campground was well established and very professional. If we wanted to stay on, we would have to be hired by them. And it didn’t seem at all likely that the camp’s organizational structure would accommodate our unusual lifestyle. It seemed almost certain that we would have to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I had no idea where we could go. In the weeks that followed, while we waited for the final agreement with the campground, many ideas tumbled around in my head. But none of them inspired much hope. Our time was running out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then, two days before the paperwork was supposed to be signed, there was an unexpected announcement. The governing board of the campground had voted unanimously to not accept the farm property. Apparently the camp did not have the personnel or resources to take on the new property. It seemed that the camp director, who had made the proposal, had been acting on his own, without the support of the board. So the campground would not be taking over after all.</div><div><br /></div><div>That set off a two-day scramble in the community. They thought the decision had been made, but now there was no one to take the land. There were frantic discussions. Then another announcement. Now the property would be given to a local church group, who wanted to start an educational farm.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were stunned. That changed everything for us. Some of the local church leaders were friends of ours. And this wasn’t an established organization, so they might be flexible enough for us to fit in. As a church group, they might even be open to us continuing our retreats on the farm. It took several weeks before we would know for sure, and I sweated quite a bit during those days because we felt so helpless. We were grateful that one of the church leaders, our friend Dennis, often offered us words of support and reassurance. Then finally it was settled. We could stay. It turned out that we were the only family that did stay. The new owners were happy to have our experience with the farm, and all the skills that we had learned in our years working here. And we could keep doing our retreats, as well as helping them develop new retreat ideas. We would be “resident volunteers.” This was basically what we had been previously. We could choose the projects that we worked on and didn’t have to pay for our housing. Later I learned that this arrangement had been chosen, in those early days of planning, primarily for its ease and simplicity. But for us, it was a perfect fit.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2026/01/a-surrender-69.html">Continued...</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-18462335714262469172025-12-24T18:00:00.001-06:002025-12-24T18:00:00.124-06:00<div style="text-align: left;">I recall, as he<br />calmly teaches the teachers,<br />his cradle of straw</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(previous years' Christmas haikus <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/12/blog-post.html">begin here</a>)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-89638741087236293762025-12-16T19:50:00.003-06:002025-12-29T19:51:46.788-06:00a surrender - 67<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter nine)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfl2KSshy773-rkzEIpyajq5_YqUCNI1R222os8EppwhWRcLgxveJdqu_pjtSOMQeurytnGvRDlDmaX7ZFgZy6Zqc5BtUXAx1rBIODLdhFaNdeytPzmEa8LAxdCbqfb6GSxlJXkR-ZaKhnd1vtzJvE_u7RtUjlqYxOPkKSSjyanTj6DfLRhZmdQ/s1000/road5.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="625" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfl2KSshy773-rkzEIpyajq5_YqUCNI1R222os8EppwhWRcLgxveJdqu_pjtSOMQeurytnGvRDlDmaX7ZFgZy6Zqc5BtUXAx1rBIODLdhFaNdeytPzmEa8LAxdCbqfb6GSxlJXkR-ZaKhnd1vtzJvE_u7RtUjlqYxOPkKSSjyanTj6DfLRhZmdQ/s320/road5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">God doesn't need our help</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>hen our son was born, there were several other families with children on the farm. We didn’t think we would have any more children ourselves, but he would have playmates. Then, four years later, they were all gone.</p><p>The farm community had been having troubles for several years. Financial troubles and troubles agreeing about important decisions. They were also having a hard time getting younger people to join them. Then, over a period of a few months, several older members died, including a man who had been a trusted and beloved leader in the community for many years. All this seemed to convince most of the people that, after more than forty years, the end had come. A few families that had been pillars in the community announced that they were leaving. And then those who remained decided to disband and, as they had always planned, give their houses and land away to a charitable organization.</p><p>This came as a shock to Heather and me. We weren’t involved in the meetings or the decision-making, since we weren’t official members. So we didn’t see how dire the situation was, until the decision was announced. There didn’t seem to be any clear options for us. We didn’t have any stable income or property or family nearby. And we had a three-year-old child. The life that had seemed so stable felt now like it was collapsing under us. And we didn’t have any idea what would come next. </p><p>An important meeting was scheduled, to decide who would receive the farm. Several small charitable groups would be presenting their proposals to the remaining community members. I also frantically put together a proposal. It was to provide low cost housing to the immigrant workers who came every season to help with the picking of the berries, and train them to eventually take over management of the farm. That would allow any of us who wanted to stay on the farm to stay, and would also support poor immigrants, who were having an especially hard time in our country at the time. I made a passionate presentation. But I think it was obvious to everyone but me that the idea didn’t have the support of the remaining community or the necessary connections in the immigrant community. After the presentations, I prayed hard and hoped desperately as they deliberated. But my proposal had no chance. The decision was made to give the farm to a Christian campground a few miles away.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-68.html">Continued...</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-88359814144953677372025-12-08T10:56:00.005-06:002025-12-16T19:51:29.885-06:00a surrender - 66<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter eight, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-surrender-64.html">"where is God?"</a>) </p><p></p><blockquote><p>No.</p><p>No! I was wrong then? Then what was he? Tell me that, what was he? Was he a liar? Him? He was truth itself and no one knows it as I do. Was he a fool? Proud, hopeful, overreaching—weak? Is that what demons of hell screamed and ran from? No. He was the one, he was everything, he was the very son of God and they killed him. And now the world is dark and empty but I’ll tell you one thing—I don’t care if he’s dead, I’m his—they can kill me too if they want but I’m his.<br /></p><p>And I will always be.</p><p>That’s the sun. I can go now. I can go to him.</p></blockquote><p><br />I did wonder during that time of confusion and grieving if we were wrong about God’s help. It took us a while before we felt ready to try again, and then when we did, it didn’t work. The first time, she had gotten pregnant so quickly. But now, month after month after month the blood came, dashing our hopes. I could make no sense of it. Never give up, that’s what they say. And we didn’t give up, we kept trying. And kept trying. But each time Heather gave me the sad news, I grew more unsteady. I was feeling less and less sure about this. Did we want to start our family this way, pushing and pushing, like it was something we were going to achieve by relentless, unyielding determination? That’s not how we had made it this far. We had made it this far by the power of God, taking each step as it was set before us, a beautiful, generous gift. So when Heather finally suggested that maybe we should stop trying, it sounded right.</p><p>“Never give up” might be good practical advice in life, but it’s not faith. Faith is a surrender. It’s the farthest thing from relentless, unyielding determination. It’s a prayer you say when you’re on your knees. Like Jesus was, that dark, lonely night before he was arrested. “Not my will, but yours be done.”</p><p></p>In the days after the miscarriage, I wrote the words of a song in my journal. It was sung by Lacey Sturm, powerfully, loudly, and I remember crying as I heard her shout:<blockquote>Here you are <br />down on your knees again<br />Trying to find air to breathe again <br />Only surrender will help you now<br /><br />See<br />and believe</blockquote><p>I think it was important for me then to give up, to stop pushing. It was important for me to stop trying to decide what should or shouldn’t be happening. That wasn’t for me to decide. And it was important for me to stop trying to make sense of the loss and the pain. Because I couldn’t make sense of it, no matter how hard I tried. </p><p>But I could ask. I could ask the only one who had the answer.</p><blockquote>God, oh God—<br />why? <br /><br />Where are you?<br /></blockquote>Mary was overwhelmed with the answer when she arrived at Jesus’ tomb, and he wasn’t in it. And we were overwhelmed the following Easter with the news that Heather was pregnant again. The baby would be born right after the farm season ended. Good timing.<p>He would be named Ian. It means “God is gracious.”</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-67.html">Continued...</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-91214314781281213382025-12-01T12:10:00.004-06:002025-12-08T10:58:17.225-06:00a surrender - 65<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter eight, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-surrender-64.html">"where is God?"</a>) </p><p>In the days that followed I was miserable and confused. I remember sadly telling our friends that we wouldn’t be having a baby after all. I thought and prayed, but couldn’t make any sense of it in my mind. And it scared me. We had finally felt secure enough to bring a child into our precarious life, because it felt like God was helping us. But now that feeling was shaken. I didn’t understand it. We had had so many surprising experiences of what seemed like God’s care and support, so we had felt that it was safe enough for a child. Then it seemed that a child was given to us, and we had been so happy and hopeful. And grateful. Now that child was dead.</p><p>The miscarriage happened just after Easter. A few years earlier, we had led the Easter church service for the community on the farm. Heather had written a dramatic reading based on the Easter story. It was set in the days after Jesus’ execution, when his followers were in hiding, terrified and confused. It began with the thoughts of Mary of Magdala, as she prepared to visit Jesus’ tomb:<br /></p><blockquote><p>My eye is pressed to the crack in the shutters, looking for light. The doors and the windows are locked and barred.</p><p>The sky is growing gray in the east, I think it is, I know it is; soon it will be light enough to go. Shabbat is over now, that terrible Shabbat. Sitting in the dark, not moving, not speaking; the shuffle of someone’s foot in the darkness, then silence again. Nothing we could bear to say. I sat with the other women around the spices and the smell of the myrrh made me dizzy, and the shadows would shift and float, and I would come to myself again and again. Almost before I had time to think <i>it’s not real—it’s a nightmare</i>, I was jolted by the knowledge that it’s not. It’s true. It happened. I was there.</p><p>He’s dead.</p><p>He’s dead and the world is not what I thought it was. He’s dead, and it wasn’t true. Oh, oh I know nightmares if anybody does, they walked beside me in the living day, in the time of my demons…. I saw water turn to blood under my hands, I believed my touch would kill children; I ran from them. There were voices, they were with me when I lay down and when I got up—whispering <i>God hates you</i>… until he came.</p><p>He told me they were lies. He said to trust him. He asked me if I wanted them gone. They were flailing and screaming but I shouted over their voices, I shouted yes with all my strength—and he <i>whipped</i> them. Oh, if those men could have seen him then, those soldiers, those priests, if they could have seen the power in his hand, the light. His eyes were like the sun—terrible as an army with banners… And they really thought they could kill—<i>Him?</i></p><p>And they did. They did.</p><p>There is no doubt. I watched him die. I watched his body broken on the tree. His breaths grew shorter; farther apart; desperate, fast, inhuman gasps, with silence in between. One last one, and then—no more. There is no doubt.</p><p>He’s dead. And the world is empty now. And everything he said—</p><p>I’m like <i>them</i> now—I never thought I’d be like them. Like my uncle Matthew and the others, when Judas the Galilean was killed and his army scattered, and they came home exhausted and with bitter eyes. They thought Judas was the Messiah. And they were wrong. You believe in a man, you put all your faith in him, the very life in your body is his—who’s to say he didn’t shine in their eyes, as my Lord shone when he drove my demons away, who’s to say he didn’t pull them out of the depths and back into life? You believe in a man, you believe. And then they kill him. And you have to face the truth.</p><p>You were wrong.</p></blockquote><p></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-66.html">Continued...</a> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-60950758525432198002025-11-24T16:21:00.015-06:002026-01-14T12:16:42.635-06:00a surrender - 64<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter eight)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfl2KSshy773-rkzEIpyajq5_YqUCNI1R222os8EppwhWRcLgxveJdqu_pjtSOMQeurytnGvRDlDmaX7ZFgZy6Zqc5BtUXAx1rBIODLdhFaNdeytPzmEa8LAxdCbqfb6GSxlJXkR-ZaKhnd1vtzJvE_u7RtUjlqYxOPkKSSjyanTj6DfLRhZmdQ/s1000/road5.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="625" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfl2KSshy773-rkzEIpyajq5_YqUCNI1R222os8EppwhWRcLgxveJdqu_pjtSOMQeurytnGvRDlDmaX7ZFgZy6Zqc5BtUXAx1rBIODLdhFaNdeytPzmEa8LAxdCbqfb6GSxlJXkR-ZaKhnd1vtzJvE_u7RtUjlqYxOPkKSSjyanTj6DfLRhZmdQ/s320/road5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">where is God?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>aiting for the doctor in the brightly lit examination room, we were nervous with anticipation. This was the day we would get to see our baby. The doctor finally came in, explained how the ultrasound worked, and then started the procedure. Our eyes eagerly searched the video image. It was hard to decipher what we were seeing.</p><p>The doctor seemed puzzled also. Then she said she was sorry. It seemed that there wasn’t anything there. Sometimes, the doctor told us, early in a pregnancy, the baby stops developing for some reason. It was fairly common, she said.</p><p>But it wasn’t common for us. We were stunned. I couldn’t believe it. We walked mechanically out of the doctor’s office and drove home, not knowing what to say to each other, except I love you.</p><p>In the days that followed, I kept hoping that the doctor was somehow mistaken. She had said we should expect a miscarriage in the coming days. But I prayed for some kind of miracle. Heather’s pregnancy had seemed like such a gift that I couldn’t believe it was for nothing. I felt like I had to keep believing, that I shouldn’t let go.</p><p>But then the pain came. Heather woke up very early one morning with abdominal cramps and some sharper pains, and she couldn’t go back to sleep. She got out of bed and tried to watch a movie to take her mind off it. But after an hour the pain was much worse, so she woke me and said we should go to the hospital. We didn’t have a car. I quickly went to another family’s house, and had to go in and knock on their bedroom door to wake them and ask to borrow their car. By the time I got back, Heather’s pain was worse. Then, when I tried to get her to move, she passed out.</p><p>I didn’t know what to do.</p><p>Should I try to carry her to the car? Could I make it? Was it even safe? My mind was whirling frantically. How long had she been unconscious?</p><p>Then slowly her eyes opened.</p><p>And she said the pain was less now. We decided to wait a little while, and gradually she felt better. Relieved, I returned the car to our neighbor; but walking back home, I was angry and crying. Losing the baby wasn’t enough, we had to go through this agony too? <i>Why?</i></p><p>Where was <i>God?</i></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/12/a-surrender-65.html">Continued...<i> </i></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-5897801231965561242025-11-19T09:01:00.003-06:002025-11-24T16:22:28.456-06:00a surrender - 63<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") </p><p>Throughout these years on the farm, in our retreats and also in our other work, we remembered what Jesus had told his followers: “Freely have you received, freely give.” Jesus had helped people in many ways, and had always offered his help for free. This meant he could do the work he felt was best, for the people who needed it most, without worrying whether he would get paid for it. He could be single-minded in his work, focusing only on the needs of the people he was serving. He didn’t need to think about what he would get out of it, because God would take care of his needs. “Do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be worried,” Jesus told his followers, “for everyone seeks after these things, and your Father knows that you need them.” And God did provide all that Jesus needed, in a variety of ways. Many people welcomed him into their homes, and fed him at their tables. People sometimes gave him money, though he didn’t ask for it. Jesus cared for others, and others cared for him—not because they had to, but because they loved him. So everything he received was a gift, an act of love. And he stayed poor and humble, always dependent on that love, as God inspired it. How wondrously different this was from the way work and business are usually done! I had to find out if this was possible for me. And Heather agreed. So we didn’t ask for any payment for our work on the farm, and we tried to live on what the community, and others, offered to give us.</p><p>We knew living this way seemed unlikely to work for long. And the added needs of a family made it seem even less likely. We lived simply and kept our needs low. But we knew it would be impossible to “freely give” and still get everything we needed unless God was supporting us. People warned us that it wouldn’t work. That was scary to contemplate, especially now that Heather was dependent on this with me. But we believed God could make it work. We were also encouraged and inspired by the generosity of friends and family. And by the people who came for our retreats. If they could trust the power of God to drive away their demons, we could trust our lives to that power as well.</p><p>And, somehow, it did work. The community didn’t charge us for our housing, or for the retreat space. People shared rides in their cars. Good, fresh food came from the farm and from Heather’s own garden. A dentist friend offered his services at a generous discount. Medical care was free because our income was so low. And many different people donated money, for our use and for our retreats.</p><p>After four years on the farm, we began feeling that our life was stable enough to try to have a child. And a few weeks later, we found out that Heather was pregnant. It was good timing. The child should come soon after the farming season ended. We looked forward to that day with joy and eagerness.</p><p> </p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-surrender-64.html">Continued...</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-26338772670848417612025-11-11T17:08:00.008-06:002025-11-19T09:01:55.824-06:00a surrender - 62<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") </p><p>The men on that first retreat had very hard lives. Most of them were homeless. They had to fend for themselves every day on the streets of the city. One of the men said he identified with the man in Heather’s story, who clung to his demons because they made him strong and they made people fear him. Being feared felt better than being despised.</p><p>We were very encouraged after that first retreat. The men had been interested, and eager to talk about their lives and listen to the others. They were grateful for the good food, the rest, and the quiet. And we parted as friends. The experience was inspiring and energizing for us as well, even more than we had hoped. It felt like proclaiming good news to the poor, like Jesus did.</p><p>We made lots of new friends during the many retreats at the farm, over the next eleven years. And several of them came back again and again. It was good to see how their lives had changed, and how God was helping them.</p><p>Most of our time on the farm, though, was spent helping the community there in various ways. We planted long rows of strawberries, weeded them, picked the berries when they were ripe and sweet, and then covered them with straw for the winter. We weeded and mulched row after row of blueberry bushes, and filled buckets with the berries, plump and delicious. Heather helped tend the huge vegetable garden. And I would drive a truck to the city once a week, to take the vegetables and berries to our friends in the community there. In the winter, we would help cut and split fallen trees, so the wood could season for a year before it was needed to heat houses the following winter. And several days a week I helped make bread and cookies in the community bakery. Most of the bread and produce from the farm was sold at markets, but we also got to enjoy many of those good things ourselves.</p><p>As needs arose in the community, we learned new skills to help in other ways. When one of the older men was no longer able to get into his wheelchair by himself, I started visiting him each day to move him, and help with meals and washing and simple medical care. When another member started having trouble with memory, I learned some basic bookkeeping. I also learned to do some of the routine maintenance needed for the homes on the farm. Heather eventually took over managing the large vegetable garden, and learned how to prune the fruit trees and the vineyard. Another man’s back pain was worsening, so I started doing all the mowing. And I learned how to maintain all the shared network equipment; a complicated system was required to provide internet access to our many homes out in the country. It felt good to be able to help, and we were learning useful skills.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-surrender-63.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-52177609017177704732025-11-06T14:57:00.002-06:002025-11-11T17:09:00.737-06:00a surrender - 61<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") </p><p></p><blockquote><p>On the strangely clear horizon there is a sail, coming closer, riding before the wind. I rise to my feet and stare. Someone’s made it through the storm!</p><p>They won’t come here, though they seem to be headed for it. No boat makes landfall here. They know what sort of place it is. The boat does not turn, the sail stays steady, grows bigger by the moment. Fear starts to rise in me. Who are these men? They come here—to this cursed place—they’re headed straight for me—through the middle of the worst storm of the year, and with them comes the sun and calm; something’s not right. They are pulling into shore, reefing in the sail, it’s dripping; their boat gleams wet in the sun, the water still sloshes in the bottom of it; they’re still bailing! They were right in the middle of that—and now they’re here.</p><p>And one of them has seen me.</p><p>I stand tall. I am Legion. They will remember this day.</p><p>One of them points, shouts, jumps back in the boat; but the first one acts as if he has not heard. He is coming. As he comes he is looking at me, straight at me, he sees nothing but me.</p><p>Legion rises screaming, shrieking, thousands of voices strong; they see him, they see that he sees me—that he sees them. Who is this man? A wild fear and a wild hope rise in me like the wind and another voice drowns out the voice of Legion in my mind, a voice that cracks like a whip: <i>Come OUT of him!</i></p><p>Legion yelps like a kicked dog, then screams again and charges, takes me running, running at him as fast as I can with my tangled hair whipping, a rock still in my hand. I can feel their thousands, thousands of feet trampling me, but I look up and before I am lost to myself I see his face, his eyes, and I see the thing that I will never forget.</p><p>He is not afraid.</p></blockquote><p> </p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-surrender-62.html">Continued...</a> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-27419691667685777612025-10-30T13:31:00.002-05:002025-11-06T14:57:33.923-06:00a surrender - 60<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") </p><p></p><blockquote><p>I squat here in the rain, not moving, looking up into the angry sky. The rain comes down in fury, battering my face. Any sane man would be crouching under a rock ledge, even inside one of the caves where they bury the rich dead, to be out of this.</p><p>I am not a sane man.</p><p>I am Legion.</p><p>My demons are a legion, an army in my head, marching in step one-two one-two. Too many of them to count. One-two one-two one-two and then suddenly they scream, they shriek their battle-cry and charge, and I am trampled under their feet and I know nothing; those times are my rages, the times I’ve torn chunks out of any man that dared set foot among my tombs. Then I feel no pain. I take the rocks that lie on this hillside and run their sharp edges down my chest and bleed, and I feel no pain. Nothing at all. Just the trickling on my skin as warm as tears.</p><p>They thought at first they could bind me, they thought I was a joke, a raving screaming lunatic joke—and they found out how wrong they were. They tried to tame me, tie me like a goat to a post—I tore their ropes to shreds. They tried to chain me up and I pulled their chains in two, I chased them through the tombs whipping the broken chain around my head, big men screamed and ran from me.</p><p>No one can look me in the face and not be afraid.</p><p>No one can bind me.</p><p>I stand and shout it to the storm as the thunder booms around me: I am Legion! No one can bind me! And the rain runs down my scarred body and the wind whips my tangled hair around my face and the lightning rips the sky and the thunder cracks again—</p><p>And within the space of a breath the storm is gone.</p><p>I saw it happen, saw the clouds pull back, draw themselves in and up into blue sky. Sunlight shooting down as sudden as lightning. The waves on the lake flattening out into calm, like the raised hackles of a dog suddenly lying down again at the sound of his master’s voice—there is something out there.</p></blockquote><p></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-surrender-61.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-86222782178946603712025-10-21T15:15:00.001-05:002025-10-31T13:33:01.284-05:00a surrender - 59<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") </p><p>Later that summer we had our first retreat guests come for a weekend.
Friends had given us a dining room table and chairs just the day
before. And only a few days before that we had finished painting the
third guest room. We were still short two mattresses, two bedsprings,
and a nightstand. Two families at the farm loaned us mattresses for the
weekend, so we decided to just put the mattresses on the floor, and set
up a temporary nightstand. The two staff people with the group slept in
that room. There were fresh blueberries, green beans, potatoes, and
lettuce from our garden, and several kinds of fresh bread from the farm
bakery. I made pizza. Heather roasted two chickens. And everyone had as
much as they wanted.</p><p>We listened a lot that weekend. And we all
discussed the story of Jesus confronting a man’s demons. Heather read to
us her own version of the story, to help us get a deeper understanding
of what happened that day:<br /></p><blockquote>Bad storm today. The sky
is as black as my mind, and the wind is whipping the lake till it heaves
and groans with the pain, humps itself up into waves that are taller
than me. Lightning rips down the sky onto the water, close—very
close—the thunder cracks as soon as the light is gone, a sound of huge
stone smashing against stone, almost drowning out the voices in my head.</blockquote><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><blockquote><p>I look up to the cliff where the pigs are pastured; I can hear them when the thunder fades, grunting and screaming in fear. The pig-herders are having a bad day of it. Everyone is; except me. </p></blockquote><blockquote><p>Anyone out on that lake is a goner, but here on my hillside of rocks and caves and graves I listen to the thunder and it wraps me in sound, and the voices are stilled to a low angry mutter and I can hear myself think </p></blockquote><blockquote><p>I like storms.</p></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><p></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/10/a-surrender-60.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-76623766263017354622025-10-18T16:00:00.012-05:002025-10-21T15:16:29.041-05:00a surrender - 58<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") <br /></p><p></p><p></p><p>Over the weeks that followed, we slowly made our way south to my parents’ house. But we didn’t stay with them long. As soon as we arrived, we found out that one of the families at the farm had moved away, so there was an apartment available for us. And it was in a large community building that had a small library and several unused rooms next to the apartment, which could be made into guest bedrooms. So we took a bus back to the farm.</p><p>That winter, we started preparing our retreat house. We stripped wallpaper and painted all the rooms. We asked for donations of beds and blankets. We searched resale shops for sheets and towels and decorations, and found a pretty set of china dishes that could serve twelve. We wanted to treat the people who came for retreats as honored guests in our home, serving our best food, on our finest dishes. We wanted to show our respect for them, as Jesus did.</p><p>We were inspired by Jesus’ words, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.” So our retreats would be free. And we would invite people who normally couldn’t afford retreats, from ministries and transitional programs, often from the city, and we’d offer transportation too. We already had some money from our wedding, and family and friends on the farm offered money for the retreats as well.</p><p>In the spring we started working on the farm again. I remember riding out to the fields on our bikes, in the chilly air of dawn, to pick sweet corn before market. We had to wear raincoats because the leaves were so wet with dew. Every day at lunchtime we ate quickly and fell into bed, so we could get some sleep before we had to start work again in the afternoon. Those days were long and exhausting.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/10/a-surrender-59.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-4094768533877801292025-10-07T07:00:00.020-05:002025-10-18T16:08:41.739-05:00a surrender - 57<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") <br /></p><p></p><p></p><p>A few weeks later we visited a similar community. It had been started in the 1940s following the model of Jesus’ early followers, and was known as a place where black and white people could live and work together peacefully, as equals. Clarence Jordan wrote about their experience starting the place:</p><blockquote><p>I remember quite well that we were supposed to pay the fellow $2500 down. Martin England, who was a missionary under the American Foreign Mission Society to Burma, and I started it together. We agreed on [pooling our finances] and I had the idea that Martin was loaded. I don’t know why I should think that, he being an American Baptist missionary, but he talked about, “Let’s do this and let’s do that,” and I said, “Yeah, let’s do” and I thought he had the money. And so I said, “Let’s do this and let’s do that” and he said, “Yeah, let’s do” and when we finally pooled our common assets, we had $57.13. We were three weeks from the time we had agreed to pay $2500 down! To make a long story short, we put down that $2500. A fellow brought it to us and said God had sent him with it. I didn’t question him—we took it right quick before God changed his mind.</p><p>Years later, a newspaper reporter came out there and asked, “Who finances this project?”</p><p>Well, all along, folks who had helped us said that God had sent them, so I said to this newspaper reporter, “God does.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, “I know. But who supports it?”</p><p>I said, “God.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” he said, “but who, who, who, uh, who—you know what I’m talking about. Who’s back of it?”</p><p>I said, “God.”</p><p>He said, “But what I mean is, how do you pay your bills?”</p><p>I said, “By check.”</p><p>“But,” he said, “I mean—hell, don’t you know what I mean?”</p><p>I said, “Yeah, friend, I know what you mean. The trouble is you don’t know what I mean!”</p></blockquote><p>While we were there, I got an e-mail from the pastor of the church where we found the baby shower. Someone had showed him that I had briefly (and without naming the church) mentioned the incident online, and he had then read about our walk and our preparations to offer free retreats. He said he was sorry that they had not invited us to stay at his church that night. The next Sunday he had preached about the experience. “I would like to ask,” he wrote, “if you are ever coming through this area again, I would love for you and your wife to share with our church. If I can ever be of assistance feel free to call.”</p><p></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/10/a-surrender-58.html">Continued...</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-4010372680282398882025-09-30T16:34:00.003-05:002025-10-18T16:09:06.886-05:00a surrender - 56<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") <br /></p><p></p><p>Sara, a friend I had met online, picked us up from the library and we enjoyed being with her family for almost a week. The day after we left them, she wrote to tell us that her four-year-old daughter had seemed worried about us. “I want dem to stay all night, ‘cuz I yuv dem,” she told Sara. “If dey det a baby boy or dirl dey will need a house.” But when Sara told her that God would provide a house for us when we needed one, she seemed satisfied. “Dod a’ways helps us,” she said. </p><p>Two days later we were in a library and a man struck up a conversation with Heather. He introduced himself as a pastor, an African, from Cameroon. When Heather told him that her great-grandparents were missionaries there years ago, he got excited and began asking more about our walk. Soon we were at his house, sharing cassava dipped in a soup made from chicken and spices and greens. Quite good. And he was very impressed that Heather knew how to eat it and dug right in with her fingers. The pastor offered to drive us down the road a ways. But then, as we described our next planned visit to a rural community known for their work with international refugees, he decided he wanted to take us all the way and see the place for himself.</p><p>We were warmly welcomed and ate with the community and their summer volunteers. They were also welcoming some new refugees arriving from Burma that day. In the evening, we visited the houses of some other families staying there, from Chad and Burundi. I thought they wouldn’t appreciate a crowd appearing at their door, but they seemed quite pleased and welcomed everyone in. Then the singing started, traditional African songs in their native language, with everyone clapping along and sing-ing and ululation for applause.</p><p>Just before we left, the pastor stood up to say a few words and pray. He spoke in French so someone could translate to the African dialect, while Heather translated into English. He was very impressed by his experience here. I remember him saying before he drove away, “This is how it should be.”</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/10/a-surrender-57.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-18520872169754664672025-09-21T16:36:00.002-05:002025-09-30T16:35:23.409-05:00a surrender - 55<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") <br /></p><p>But stepping out onto the road again, after being in a warm, safe place, always brought back a cold shiver of vulnerability. Even more so this year. I sometimes tried to imagine how I would react if Heather and I were threatened, way out in some isolated place. The thought of her being attacked scared me badly. But God had protected me out on the road for years, and we both trusted God to protect us now.</p><p>I also tried to plan our path carefully. We could stop in libraries along the way and check maps online, and even see where there were places we could buy food and possibly find shelter for the night. But there were occasional surprises. The day after we left Tom’s house, a church that I thought we could stop at just wasn’t where the map said it would be.</p><p>So we had to keep walking. It was late, already dark. <i>Really</i> dark. We happened to be walking through a national forest and there was nothing around but trees and night noises and the occasional rush of a passing car. Then I heard a vehicle coming up behind us, and it sounded like it was slowing down. My heart started beating faster. It was definitely slowing down. I felt extremely isolated. The vehicle was pulling up next to us. I turned to look.</p><p>“Y’all need a ride?” The man smiled and gestured to the bed of his pickup truck. </p><p>I was so relieved I couldn’t say anything, but Heather said yes, and we climbed into the back. After a blustery ten mile ride, we were dropped off close to the next town. And right there was a church porch we could sleep on.</p><p>A couple days later we came to a church in the evening, and hoped we could stop there for the night. But there were people there, a group just leaving a baby shower. We introduced ourselves. Sometimes we told people we were on “a pilgrimage,” sometimes “a faith walk.” These women seemed like they would understand “a faith walk” better. They invited us in, and promptly put some leftover fried chicken in front of us, potato salad, and sweet tea. Heather tasted it and grinned. “Now I know I’m in the South,” she said. One of the women called someone, to ask if we could stay at the church that night, but couldn’t get permission. Undeterred, she tried again, calling her own pastor at another church. Then she took us there. The pastor showed up to make sure we were comfortable. The next morning he took us to breakfast, and drove us to a library down the road. We talked all the way. I remember smiling at Heather when his cell phone started ringing. “When The Saints Go Marching In,” Dixieland style. </p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/09/a-surrender-56.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-69295375098407721332025-09-18T12:00:00.004-05:002025-09-21T16:36:50.417-05:00a surrender - 54<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, "<a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">freely have you received, freely give</a>") <br /><br />A couple weeks later we arrived at a church Wednesday night, just as people were going in. So we joined them. After worship, since it was already dark, I asked the pastor if we could sleep outside the church. He seemed reluctant. “There’s been some problems,” he said, “and the police come around here….” When I asked if he thought we should just move on down the road, though, he grew more uncomfortable, then consulted with one of the other men. They offered us the man’s shed for the night. But then another man, who had overheard our conversation, stepped in. “I’ll take care of them tonight,” he said. We stopped by his house where his wife made us sandwiches, then he took us looking for a motel. As it turned out, a motel wasn’t easy to find. He ended up driving us all the way to the town where my friend Tom lives, where we had planned to stop for a few days.</p><p>Tom is a potter who I first visited on a walk five years earlier. He lived with his young son, Slate, who has cerebral palsy, but whose eagerness and energy make it easy to not notice the crutches. Tom’s home, his little gallery, and his workshop and kiln shed were tucked back into the woods, a comfortable place to rest for a while. And he had become quite the pizza chef since I had seen him last. The first night he served us pizza with gorgonzola and pear on handmade plates, each one beautiful and unique. And the day after that, he showed Heather how he was making some small platters, and she got her hands in the clay and shaped fifteen of them. I was happy to see her enjoying that new experience. Later, admiring the pottery, we noticed a lovely chalice and plate set that was meant for celebrating communion. When we asked about purchasing it, Tom gave it to us. He mailed it back to the farm, where we would use it to serve communion to the guests that came for retreats with us. Our bellies and our hearts were very full when we said goodbye to Tom and Slate.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/09/a-surrender-55.html">Continued... </a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-53033022216799632212025-09-09T19:53:00.003-05:002025-09-18T19:59:25.100-05:00a surrender - 53<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">"freely have you received, freely give"</a>) </p><p></p><p></p><p>About a month later, after a hard and lonely week and a half, when we talked with almost no one and slept outside every night, we were offered a ride by a couple of young guys in a red sports car, blaring music by Rage Against The Machine. Not your stereotypical good Samaritans. But Heather thought they seemed okay, so we accepted. They proceeded to drive us up and down the shores of the beautiful river there, showing us the sights. Then zipped us across a wide dam. As we rode across, I was surprised to see a sign that said pedestrians weren’t allowed on the dam—our only way across the river. They took us right to the church we were hoping to visit the next morning. There we found a cluster of tall Boxwood shrubs that formed a leafy little cave next to the very old cemetery, and we settled in for the night. </p><p>It was a Quaker meetinghouse. In the morning we first met a woman who had accidentally arrived early, and talked with her for an hour before the meeting. She then suggested to the small group that had gathered that Heather and I give a short talk before their silent prayer time, which makes up most of the worship. So we talked about our walk and answered questions. When someone asked us to lead them in a prayer, I offered the words of Charles de Foucauld: “Father, I abandon myself into your hands, do with me what you will… For I love you Lord, and so need to give myself—to surrender myself into your hands, without reserve, and with boundless confidence, for you are my father.” Then we all prayed in silence together.</p><p>The rest of the day it rained, but we were incredibly well cared for. Many people came up to us after the meeting, offering encouragement, praise, and gifts. The woman we had met first took us to her home for a lunch of fresh rainbow trout, and a warm shower. Then two other people from the meeting invited us all for dinner. We had a feast of rotisserie rosemary chicken and fresh sweet corn, wine, raspberry ice cream from a local dairy, and lots of lively conversation and encouragement. We were overwhelmed by the gift.</p><p>I was especially relieved, because I sometimes worried about Heather’s needs being met. I guess I felt responsible. It was one thing to suffer cold or hunger myself because I had taken this wild risk, but now I had led her into this risk with me. Or maybe it had been her idea, but I had encouraged it. So I was especially grateful when God provided for her needs generously. Not just good food and rest, but also friends and happy gatherings.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/09/a-surrender-54.html">Continued...</a> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-34756558200591269282025-09-02T11:28:00.005-05:002025-09-18T19:59:03.054-05:00a surrender - 52<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">"freely have you received, freely give"</a>) </p><p></p><p>We worked on the farm for a few months, then we did something that Heather had once dreamed of. We took a long walk. It started with a bus ride to the east coast, where there was a church for homeless people, that met out on the streets. We joined them for an inspiring worship time, and tried to learn from their experience and approach. It seemed similar in many ways to what we hoped for our retreat house. I was especially impressed by their respect for the spiritual lives of the people who gathered there for worship. It wasn’t about preaching at them, but being their church community. That was very unusual, in my experience. I remember a suburban church I visited once on an earlier walk, that had bussed many homeless people in for a service, preached to them about hell’s eternal flames, and then sent them back to their shelter in the city. Ironically, the preacher had used Jesus’ story about a rich man and Lazarus, but he failed to notice that in that story it was the poor, suffering Lazarus who ended up comforted in heaven, and the rich man who ended up in the flames. Jesus very much respected the spiritual lives of those who were ignored and cast out of society, and they were the ones who heard him gladly.</p><p>As we started walking south from there, Heather quickly took to life on the road. When we couldn’t find shelter one rainy night, she figured out a way to rainproof a big playground structure using our rain ponchos. And the next day when she wanted a break, she found a quiet spot in the woods, hidden from the road. There was a small clearing next to a shallow, rocky stream. We napped for while, and I woke to bird songs and the sunlight winking through the leaves overhead. With Heather beside me.</p><p>Our first big challenge came about two weeks later. Heather had developed a very sore ankle, but it was difficult to rest it when we had no place to stay for an extended time. I thought we might have to end our walk. And then the next morning, after a breakfast of bread and milk, we ran out of food. I was impressed that Heather seemed so calm about it. I didn’t feel so calm. It rained as we walked through the city that day, so we were looking for shelter, and hungry, as we approached a church that night. There were two men in the parking lot. We briefly explained our walk and asked to sleep outside the church. Then one of them, the pastor, asked for a personal reference. So we gave him the phone number of one of the leaders of the church at the farm community. We watched as the pastor called and talked with her. Then he talked with his wife. Then he invited us into their home, and his wife put supper in front of us. For dessert, she brought out a warm, homemade blueberry pie.</p><p>We had a good talk with them the next morning, over breakfast. And then they surprised us by offering a generous gift of money, too. We were so relieved and grateful. I left a thank you note behind, with Jesus’ words: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me… as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.” </p><p>The next day we used some of the money to get arch supports for Heather’s sandals. And her ankle pain went away.</p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/09/a-surrender-53.html">Continued...</a> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6950066.post-81313277544695208452025-08-27T11:21:00.005-05:002025-09-02T11:29:07.901-05:00a surrender - 51<p>(Continuing <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2024/09/a-surrender.html">"a surrender"</a>, chapter seven, <a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/08/a-surrender-50.html">"freely have you received, freely give"</a>) </p><p>We were amazed by the response to our presentation. Though some hard questions were asked, what we heard from them was almost completely positive. There was a surprising feeling of energy from the community, and the sense that we all wanted to work together to figure out a way through the difficulties. Our personal visits with a number of people in the following days confirmed that impression. We were thrilled.</p><p>“I will give you rest,” the wind had whispered in the pines. After working so hard, for months without a pause to catch our breath, and searching and struggling for two years until we were about to give up, the answer had been on a cluttered desk, in a newsletter about a retreat house for poor people. And a memory of a farm once visited. It felt like a miraculous gift.</p><p>The next morning I woke up even earlier and couldn’t sleep any more. But this time it felt like I was a kid on Christmas morning. I didn’t want to miss anything.</p><p>Three months later, we were married. A beautiful, grassy clearing in the woods was offered for the ceremony, and a simple cabin for our honeymoon. The cake was amazing, decorated with wild Sweet William blossoms, a gift made by a woman who lived on the farm. Heather’s aunt offered to arrange the flowers. Her uncle, the pastor, performed the marriage and her aunt, the music director at their church, arranged and performed the songs we had chosen, along with other musician friends. A friend gave me a beautiful Guatemalan shirt to wear. And Heather made her lovely white wedding dress. Many other people at the farm volunteered to help set up and decorate, and clean up afterwards, and also offered hospitality to many of our friends and family from out of town. And to us as well. An older couple had shared their home with us when we moved to the farm, and continued to do so through the first few months of our marriage.</p><p>During the wedding, under a towering oak, tinged with the new green of spring, Heather and I read to everyone from the psalms:<br /></p><blockquote>This poor man cried, <br />and the Lord heard him, <br />and saved him <br />out of all his troubles. <br />O taste and see <br />that the Lord is good; <br />happy are those <br />who take refuge in God. <br /><br />The sparrow <br />has found a home,<br />and the swallow <br />a nest for herself, <br />where she may lay <br />her young.<br />O magnify the Lord <br />with me,<br />let us exalt God’s name <br />together.<br />I sought the Lord, <br />and he answered me, <br />and delivered me <br />from all my fears.<br /><br />Look to God, <br />and be radiant; <br />so your faces will never <br />be ashamed. </blockquote><p></p><p><a href="https://cimarronline.blogspot.com/2025/09/a-surrender-52.html">Continued...</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com