True Confessions of a Soccer Fan

God, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.
 

2014. This was our first live World Cup experience, and we were jazzed. The iconic Maracana Stadium in Rio de Janeiro was pulsating with excitement as we made our way to our seats. The teams were warming up, and the noise was escalating as we inched our way to our ground-level seats. 

Fans were dancing, clapping, swinging and swaying; owners of vuvuzela horns were blowing their piercing sounds relentlessly. Cameras were snapping and strangers were grouping for selfies as if we were all old friends. 

Suddenly…

          without warning...

               in the midst of all this...

I had the strangest sensation. “I have been here before.” It was as if The Holy Spirit gently turned my head to gaze up at the Top Tier, and a place where I, Debby, occupied a seat in this stadium in 1970.

From that top-level seat then to my ground-level seat now, was a personal journey of 44 years. The celebration around me faded as the Lord and I revisited my first trip to Brazil and this world-renowned stadium.

True Confession:
A full-blown spiritual panic attack preceded my first trip 1970. As a university student, I was in a wrestling match with God. Prior to the trip, I was reading Come Help Change the World, by Bill Bright, and I was gripped by fear of my future. I was so afraid that God wanted me to go on vacation to Brazil, because He would one day force me to return as a missionary. I was terrified of letting the Lord control my life, fearing this would mean death to the life I dreamed of. I hyperventilated contemplating the result of such surrender. 

True Confession:
I was too embarrassed to cancel the vacation trip, so I soldiered ahead, packed, and boarded the plane. 

Once on the ground of this fascinating South American nation, I lived with a gracious Brazilian family. They treated me to my first soccer match in this very same, famous Maracana stadium where we were seated on the Top Tier. We cheered as the famous Pelé, considered by many to be the greatest soccer player of all time, played before his nation. 

When the trip concluded, I kissed Brazil goodbye. I said, “Ciao” to Copacabana Beach, Sugar Loaf Mountain, black beans, soccer and Maracana Stadium. So I thought…

Upon returning to campus Fall of 1970, my life was changed forever. I met a group of students who had a smile on their face, a song in their heart, and a spring in their step. They were marching to the beat of a different drum, and I joined their ranks. I yielded my life to Christ, and traded His plan for mine. “Anything, Anytime, Anywhere” became my personal manifesto. My clarion call, along with my colleagues was, “Come Help Change the World.”

My wrestling match with God was over. The fear-gripping spiritual panic attacks ceased, and a supernatural peace was mine. 

Before long, I fell in love with a young football player. His proposal was, “Will you go with me in helping to reach the world for Christ?” My answer, “Yes,” has taken me to live in 4 countries with 4 cultures and 4 languages, seeking to bring the Good News of Jesus to an entire globe. 

True Confession:
In all of this, Brazil was not even on my RADAR…until 2014 when I found myself in the same nation, in the same city, lo even in the same stadium.  The gripping fear on the Top Tier had been replaced with a blessed peace on the Bottom Bench. What I was adamantly opposed to, so extremely afraid of, on the Top Tier, I was firmly committed to on the Bottom Bench. 

“God, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry to have wrestled with you. I was so foolish to think Your plan would ruin my life. Right here on this Bottom Bench I look up at the Top Tier and celebrate the 44-year journey from there to here, from then to now.

Thank You for patiently, lovingly drawing me to trust You. Releasing my tight-fisted grip on my life, saying to You, “Anything, Anytime, Anywhere” has led to greater blessing than I ever dreamed humanly possible. And God, Thank You for bringing me back to Brazil as a missionary.  I confess, You were right all along."

Question: Where in your life do you look back and see that God was right all along?

Davy Crockett Has Nothing on Me

At precisely 5:33 pm, Friday afternoon of June 4, 2010, my heart stopped beating. I was facing a bear, a black, shiny, healthy medium-sized live bear. And I was not at a zoo. I was in a house.

Clad in my red and black plaid flannel pajamas, I was cloistered away, alone in the lower level of our friends’ mountain home. This particular Friday afternoon, I was burrowing in for a marathon of Gunsmoke TV shows.   

Suddenly, my solitude was disrupted by a monster-sound, like an 18-wheeler driving around above me. Nothing could possibly have prepared me for the shock about to unfold. Dashing upstairs, I froze in horror when I discovered my Interruption was a B l a c k  B e a r.  There we were, just the two of us. I was frozen; he was moving. 

Propelled by adrenaline, I turned on a dime and fled downstairs. My singular aim in life was to make it to the room below before he did. Frantically, I shoved the coffee table to block the double doors, and quickly snatched up heavy iron bookends to wedge underneath the doors. I was absolutely certain he was right behind me, and I was desperately driven to build a fortress of protection. 

Like a needle stuck on an old phonograph record, the words from 2 Timothy 4:5 kept pounding in my brain: “Keep your head in all situations. Keep your head in all situations. Keep your head in all situations.” Nonstop. I needed to keep my head…Life’s Little Instruction Book never mentioned what to do when confronted with a bear in the house. I was vacillating between panic and planning. What should I do, and in what order? 

I put my ear to the door, to see if I could hear him breathing on the other side. No. Whew. Call for help. Debby, call for help. That thought was next. A bear has a way of clarifying priorities. Trembling, I reached for the phone. Call 911, call Larry, call the police, call the sheriff, call Barney Fife. Call anybody. Call anybody but your mother. This would not be a good time to call Dorothy Faye. 

I dialed Larry. Of course his phone went to voicemail. Grrrrr. “LARRY, THERE IS A BEAR IN THE HOUSE!! There is a bear in the house. COME HOME IMMEDIATELY!! I said, "There is a bear in the house!”

Ok…Call security. Beep, beep, beep. Automated recording… “You need to first enter the correct prefix.” Another Grrrrr. Call 911…No, no. Don't do that. I do not want a siren. Oh, I think there is an internal number to the office I dialed this morning. What was it?? Try 997. Yes!  A human voice. YES!

Taking a deep breath...clearing my throat...forcing myself to s. o. u. n. d. calm, I reported, “This is House #9. There is a bear in the house. Please come quickly. I am locked in the room downstairs. I said, There is a bear in the house!” For some reason I felt compelled to repeat myself.

An eternity passed before I finally heard multiple, official-sounding, human voices above me. Only when I was certain Larry was standing at my door, did I venture to make a crack in my self-made fortress.

I hated to emerge. My second worst fear, beyond my personal safety, was destruction in the house. I had the sickest of feelings in the pit of my stomach as I cautiously stepped out. If the bear had not reached me, he must have made mincemeat out of everywhere else. I dreaded seeing the destruction.

Not the case. There was no damage to the house, not even a scratch. WHEW. The garbage cans were strewn about the drive, and chaos was in the kitchen. But he was gone. Would you believe, he had opened the living room door from the inside, and let himself out?

The police, armed with high-powered pellet guns, made a thorough search of the home, and officially pronounced: "THE BEAR IS GONE." Now we could rest knowing our uninvited guest was not hiding in a dark corner of the attic or holding up in a closet in the basement. I appreciated the affirmation of the security officers which commended me for doing exactly what I should have done: closed myself in the room below, and called for help. If only they knew...

So there you have it. After all is said and done, it is just a One Act Drama played out on the stage of life. I faced a bear and lived to tell you. Davy Crockett has nothing on me. 

Tis the Season for Soup

Every tissue station in our home was empty, and this forced me to go to the grocery. Really, there was something I needed far more than aloe Kleenex. I needed a pot of soup, and not just any soup. I needed a certain, simple, and simply wonderful soup.

We are headed into the peak of flu season, and boy do I have a treat for you. Whether you are well, sick, or sick of being sick, this is a winner. I venture to say that my dear daughter-in-law’s recipe is destined to become a favorite for you as well. 

                               Blake’s Chicken Noodle Soup
 

Ingredients:
4 chicken breasts
4 celery sticks chopped
4 carrot sticks chopped
1 large onion chopped
1 family size can of cream of chicken soup (23 oz.)
1 carton of chicken broth (Swanson’s)
½ package yellow egg noodles (medium size)

Instructions:
Bake the chicken at 350 degrees for 30 minutes; dice when cooled
Sauté celery, carrots, onion in a pan with olive oil
Add diced chicken and toss for flavor
Heat broth and canned soup in a stockpot
Add all ingredients except noodles
Cook until heated through
Add noodles and simmer for 20 minutes
Enjoy!