Hey friends, happy Thanksgiving! Hope you’re having a wonderful start to a long weekend out and about with family and friends. Snacking on turkey. Sampling mashed potatoes. (Hopefully no food fights!) I usually post recipes during the week and write on the weekends, but thought I’d take a break from all the good eats to mention something that’s been on my heart for a few weeks now. Even though it’s Thursday. I’ve been wanting to tell you about Why He’s So Thankful.

Missions team in Romania last summer. Can you pick out my boys? (Jon in plaid, Jonathan in gray, Jacob in royal blue.)

So my husband Jon’s had lots of opportunities to go on missions trips through the years. He’s served in Jamaica, St. Maarten, Canada, New Orleans, Nepal and most recently in Romania with our older boys this past summer. I love it when Jon comes home at the end of a missions trip. First, because it’s so exhausting on the home-front when he’s away for an extended time. Second, because I miss him. And third, because he always has amazing stories that happen on the trip. And you know I love a good story. 

So Jon and his friend Jason traveled together to Nepal last fall (’14). Jason just returned home from another trip back to Nepal last month.

He and Jon had lunch together recently and he was telling Jon stories from the trip. And Jon came home, told them to me.

There was one that really captured my heart, thought it might capture yours too. I asked Jon to share it here, so he tells this story from Jason about Why He’s So Thankful.

Here’s Jon:

My friend Jason and a colleague of his named Chris were conducting a teaching session in Bharatpur, Nepal last month with a group of Christian leaders. Chris decided to end the session with a time of prayer for healing. Many churches here in the states are somewhat “aggressive” in regard to healing, praying for it often, even smacking people on the head and expecting miraculous healing immediately as a test of faith. Some of these people are genuine and some aren’t. Neither Chris nor Jason are in that category of “healers.” They believe God heals and pray for it, but are low-key about it.

So Chris, being an American and assuming that Nepalese Christians like many Americans might be hesitant to ask for healing, offered himself as an example first. (For the record, Nepalese Christians love to pray for healing. Chris soon found that out.) Chris explained he’s had diabetes for 25 years, relying on an insulin pump to regulate his blood sugar. The pump often causes problems when he travels or varies his schedule. So he asked them to pray that God might heal him so he wouldn’t need the pump anymore.

The group of 75 or so people came around Chris in a tight circle. With great intensity, they began praying for his healing. Imagine 75 people praying out loud in Nepalese all at the same time in a circle around you, begging God to heal you. Jason told me he’d never experienced anything like it in his entire life.

“I thought the roof was going to blow off, the energy in the room was that palpable,” said Jason.

Later, Chris said, “It almost felt like an electric current was running through my body.”

After 15-20 minutes of praying for Chris, the group prayed for healing for others, then sang for another 15-20 minutes with joy and passion.

Chris continued teaching that day and a few hours later, at the regularly scheduled time, checked his blood sugar. The level was 72—perfect. Strange, because he almost never scores a 72. That night he checked again: 72. The next day: 72. Every day since, every time he checks, his blood sugar is a perfect 72. He’s not used the insulin pump since returning from his trip. 

The church in Nepal has very few resources, and the little they had was largely destroyed in the earthquakes this past spring. With a poor medical system and few adequately trained doctors, health insurance is virtually non-existent. What they do have is an unwavering trust in God’s ability to meet their needs and tremendous gratitude when He does. We could learn a lot from them about thanksgiving.

So glad to share this amazing story with you today. Chills ran up and down my spine and I wiped a tear the first time I heard it. So much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. No dramatic healing for me, at least not recently. (Though I nearly died of spinal meningitis as an infant.) So many miracles every day: a beautiful family, freedom, dear friends, health, my next breath, nature’s beauty. Precious things and people I often take for granted. Would love to hear what you’re thankful for today.

Have a beautiful weekend!

You may also like: Near Death by Elephant (more stories from Nepal)

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There were other things I planned to write about today. My Ratty Ole Bathrobe just wasn’t in the mix. But like you, I can’t predict what’ll happen in a day. That’s the fun. Like a magnet, my pen’s attracted to the action.

When Jon returned from Nepal last fall (a poet: me!) he brought souvenirs. Good ones too. He gave me the softest blue cashmere scarf you ever saw/felt, and a beautiful pair of lapis earrings. My big guys got fun stuff too, running gloves and t-shirts. The littler boys, hand knit Nepalese ski hats, candy and cute t-shirts. Loved the hats.

Hudson’s.

Charlie’s.

The gifts were a healing salve following the stressful events while he was gone. (If you missed it, catch up here: Near Death By Elephant. )

So last night was super late at our house. We had lots going on MLK day.

No one had school. We saw the new Paddington movie, which we all (especially Hudson) thoroughly enjoyed. Errands to run, an exchange to make, basketball practice. We had a gift card from Christmas, made a day of it and ate out. Over dinner, we remembered Jon and the boys were looking at a home gym on Craig’s List. (They’re wanting to lift.) We texted, just so happened the owner was willing to show it last night. We got home, put the littles to bed, off went Jon and the boys on an hour and fifteen minute drive to check it out. They liked what they saw, then disassembled and loaded it.

Long story short, they didn’t get home ’til after 11. Then it went to the basement, piece by piece.

They were busy, and I stayed up for all the excitement too, sitting here at the kitchen counter photo editing. By the time some of us got to bed, it was nearly 1 a.m. This morning I was really lagged out, got up later than I should’ve. (So enters my Ratty Ole Bathrobe into the tale.) Pulled it on over my pj’s on the way downstairs. Please understand: at one time, this was a lovely robe. (Was being the operative word.) Baby blue flannel, ankle length L.L.Bean bathrobe. Sorry to say, I’ve abused it over the last ten years or so. Wore it nursing babies, cooking breakfast casseroles and coffee cakes. Trust me, it’s stained and ugly now, no prize. And truthfully, it embarrasses my family. (Pssst! Don’t send a new one. I’m rather attached to this old robe. Dear to my heart, comfy, it tells a story… like my stretchy orange pants. But let’s not bunny trail.)

So I wore the bathrobe downstairs, helped the bigger kids get out the door to school. Helped Charlie make his lunch, dress for the cold weather. Thought today would be a great day for him to wear that new Nepalese ski hat. (Had Paddington’s hat on the the brain.) It has cozy, warm earflaps for a frigid day like today. He loved it when he got it, but no interest today. I modeled it for him, hoping he’d change his mind. No dice. He borrowed one of my hats.

Then I got distracted working on the blog. Then mundane things like emptying the dishwasher, wiping down counters, bleaching the sink. Lo and behold, it was 9:35 and I was still at the kitchen counter in my bathrobe. We don’t get much drop-in traffic at the door, I wasn’t concerned. Until the doorbell rang. I froze, immediately recalling the monkey on my head, raccoon eyes from yesterday’s mascara…and that ugly ole’ bathrobe. I ripped off the ski hat, smoothed my hat head and tiptoed to the door, peeking behind the curtain. Thankfully (or not?) it was someone I knew, unexpectedly dropping off a CD for Jon. I cracked the door, precariously positioned myself behind it. I peered ’round, smiling small with unbrushed teeth. He was quick to go. (Wonder why?)

You’d think I’d learn my lesson, but no. I returned to the counter, quickly finishing a few more odds and ends. Ring, ring. I flinched. The doorbell. Deja vu. I peek out. Fedex with a package. Yes, I had to sign for it.

“So sorry you caught me in my bathrobe this morning.” I awkwardly signed and he was on his way.

Things happen to me in threes. You too? I sneeze in threes. So I hightailed it from the kitchen counter for a shower and street clothes, before that doorbell could even think about ringing a third time to deliver someone else to find me in my Ratty Ole Bathrobe.

People ask why unusual things always happen to me. I don’t have an answer. I think stuff happens to everyone. (Maybe I just think about it too long.)

 Related post: Orange Pants

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I know what you’re thinking.  “Why elephants?”  And I would say to you, “Why not?”

Elephants are cute. And they don’t really have pink ears that I know of. And that’s ok. Because when you hold the paintbrush, you can live in your own pink-eared elephant world if you so choose. And I do. (Better than rose-colored glasses.) I also live in a house full of men, so I have to sneak in the pink where I can. (Yup, pink toothbrush.) I also have to represent myself on a Christmas tree laden with soccer balls, basketballs and baseball bats. That’s one reason why I made pink-eared Clay Elephant Christmas Ornaments this year.

I also participate in an ornament exchange each Christmas season. So I try to choose an ornament that means something personally.

Elephants seemed the natural choice after Jon’s recent trip to Nepal and his horrific ride on a naughty elephant who was having a horrible, no good, very bad day. If you missed that saga, click here and read (or listen!) to Near Death by Elephant.   http://throughherlookingglass.com/?p=1291   That will fill you in on the sordid details.

I’m going to stop rambling so we can talk about making Clay Elephant Christmas Ornaments.

My cousin gave me these fun animal cracker cookie cutters last year. I love them. They work great for making animal crackers, and also ornaments. The little plunger imprints the top. You can buy animal cracker cookie cutters online at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Chicago-Metallic-5-Piece-Plunger-Cutters/dp/B00K2S2AEE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1418190758&sr=8-2&keywords=plastic+animal+cookie+cutters  The set on Amazon also has a cute seal and a tiger. (But beware: it doesn’t have the zebra.)

Materials:

• Clay (airdry or regular)
• Rolling pin
• Animal cracker cookie cutter
• Acrylic craft paint
• Craft paint brushes
• Mod Podge water based sealer
• Embroidery floss or twine for hanging

Directions:

• Roll out clay on a rolling mat or parchment paper. (Grease lightly with Crisco first, it helps keep the clay from sticking)
• Don’t roll too thin. They’ll be sturdier and less likely to break if they’re thicker.
• Stamp with cookie cutter.
• Punch a hole in your ornament for hanging. (The blunt end of a kitchen skewer worked well for me.)
• Transfer to parchment paper to air dry, or bake in the oven according to your clay’s directions.
• Paint with gray paint. Paint the ears pink if you want.
• When dry, shellac with Mod Podge.
• String with matching embroidery floss or twine.

 A group of elephants is called a herd or a parade!

(I sure hope you have electricity on the day you roll your clay out. I didn’t. I was doing it by candlelight on Thanksgiving Day. Thanksgiving Day (and week) was another saga, similar to an unpleasant elephant ride, but within the confines of my own house. If you don’t know about that yet, you can read my Wild and Wooly New England Thanksgiving post. http://throughherlookingglass.com/?p=1569 )

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 The Himalayas and Pokhara, Nepal – viewed from the World Peace Pagoda.

I’ve been listening and watching for more than a few decades now. And I’ve got a story to share. It’s true, every word. It takes a few hairpin turns, so hang with me.

Not long ago Jon traveled to Nepal on a missions trip.  http://www.globalmissionnepal.org  He had an incredible experience, met many wonderful people.

Near Death By Elephant by Allie Taylor

   Chitwan National Park – Bharatpur, Nepal

The scenery was amazing, the Himalayan mountain vistas breathtaking.

So transportation looks a little different in Nepal. (Butwal, Nepal)

 Chitwan National Park

One morning early early, Jon and several team members set off to experience local culture on an elephant ride. The taxi driver cheerfully dropped them off and waited.

They saw the rough-hewn sign “You ride at you risk”, but didn’t pay much attention.

If you’ve not ridden an elephant before, it’s an experience to remember. (Even if all goes well.)

You climb a very tall platform and wait for the elephant to come by for mounting. The elephant’s back holds a tiny wooden platform with rails all around. Four passengers sit on a proportionately small platform, straddling corner posts. (Let’s just say, I’m thankful we already had our children?) It is uncomfortable at best. The driver’s “seat” is the elephant’s neck.

This elephant across the way gives an idea of the tight quarters. (Note the large stick in the driver’s hand.)

Early on, Jon’s elephant halted for a significant potty break. One would think he’d be “relieved”, but it seemed to have just the opposite effect. For some reason the elephant got spooked, angrily jerking the wooden platform to the far left. Jon and the other three passengers instinctively leaned hard right. Then the elephant slid the entire platform hard to the right, so the riders nervously scrambled left. Not sure what happened next and in what order, but sadly, the elephant driver beat the elephant on the head with a stick. Understandably, the elephant didn’t care for the treatment. As velocity increased, the Nepalese driver shouted back words of comfort to his passengers: “This elephant VERY MAD!”

It was a close call, but all’s well that ends well. The elephant eventually calmed down, but the damage was done. The terrified riders were never more thankful for solid ground and vowed never again to ride an elephant.

As they got back in the taxi, the cab driver said cheerfully, “You know elephant riding very dangerous?” (Thanks buddy. Timing is everything. He’d been cheerfully mute at drop-off.)

Meanwhile, back in suburbia, the boys and I fended off wild turkeys on our way to school one morning.

The next morning was rainy, and Jon still gone. Our littlest got sick. The older boys all had early dentist appointments before school. Realizing it would take ages to reschedule three early morning appointments together, we forged on.

I stayed in the car with my little sniffly guy. While waiting, dire weather forecasts and ominous radar maps poured in on my phone. There were flood predictions and potential road closings. The boys finally came out from their appointments. Two reported they needed orthodontic work. Another noted a couple of the tires were low. VERY low. We drove at a snail’s pace in the pouring rain to the nearest gas station for air. Cars honked, frantic fingers gestured towards the tires. I grimaced, nodded and kept on rolling. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” The predicted monsoon was now in full force. Simultaneously, one child’s nose poured. Another howled of imminent death from the “hydrochloride” the hygienist had purportedly used.

The short of it is this: we made it to the gas station. We scrounged up the necessary quarters for the air infusion. We got drenched in the process. No one melted. No one died from hydrochloride poisoning. And we arrived safely home to find city workers raking leaves off the street drains out front. (Never have we seen that before.)  “When it rains, it pours.”  Morton had it right. And somehow we survived, phew. (We later discovered a screw in both tires. Suspicious.)

So here’s the uncanny twist. Just a few mornings later, I was in the car downtown, fairly close to home, running errands. Jon called in from Nepal, his time difference nine hours and forty-five minutes ahead of ours. I picked up the call and we chatted a minute. I was headed north on Maple Street, and suddenly found myself in a bad situation: police cars everywhere, lights flashing, TV cameras in abundance, folks directing traffic. There were at least twenty emergency vehicles and police cars.

So I say, “Jon, this is crazy,” and explain the situation.

“Oh yeah,” he says.  “There’s a lockdown at the high school right now. There’s a weapons threat in a nearby house.”

Excuse me? I’m here. He’s seven thousand miles away. I have no idea what’s going on. He does?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

Apparently local news of the lockdown flashed across his phone screen just prior to calling.

But this is what really gets me.  In this technological age we live in, we often don’t know what’s going on around the corner, but know what’s going on around the world. We have a boatload of overwhelming information, but lack the ability to make tangible difference in the heartbreak and tragedy we see globally. We feel numb, powerless at times. We have so much information, but often lack personal relationship. And we were created for relationship.

I hope to be around to listen and watch for a few more decades to come. But I want to be more than a mere spectator. I want to be a player. A player who poignantly cares about the needs locally and around the globe, but isn’t paralyzed by them. I’m intending to spend more time “thinking globally, acting locally.”  How ’bout you?

 Beautiful Phewa Lake – Pokhara, Nepal

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