The Conchshell Chronicles - Our Newsletter

Craig is the one who modeled Relational Discipleship to me from the first time I met him at my cousin’s home in Kihei in September 1981. He conveniently lived right next door. I was a very self-centered, arrogant, fun loving guy then, but Craig and his wife Kathy treated me as if I was an old friend. They invited me into their home, shared meals with me, and Craig picked me up every Wednesday night and took me to Bible study at Diane Daniel’s home. Once I was locked into this group, Craig told me to drive myself- he was picking up the next new guy….

Craig, along with his assistant Jake Spence, along with my cousin Kean Salzer, taught me the Bible. But they also taught me many life lessons just by being around them. As a new follower of Jesus, I had many bad habits, and my friends never played the Holy Spirit for me, but rather they patiently allowed THE Holy Spirit to speak to me.

I’ll tell you one of the first, and then the most recent.

Good Relationships take time, energy and lots of hard work.  The really special ones take well thought out intention.  Some relationships have a little more “magic” and natural mutual enjoyment, but humanness always has a way of creeping in and the amusement of relating to other humans gets tiring.  Our bad behavior, Issues and attitudes has a way of hitting the forefront in especially close relationships.

In marriage, the constant challenge of becoming one is part of the relational battle. The person I love the most, who I know God gave to me as my greatest gift is at times my greatest frustration.  I am normally a sane, calm, joyful and light hearted person, but I have had moments of extreme irrational crazy lady , so mad creative words spew … the action of slamming a door feels oh so fitting and other general unbecoming behavior emerge and my emotions get the best of me.
Then the awful wondering and contemplating how I can be that way and not pull myself out of the huge hole I just dug emotionally where I became a useless black hole of ugliness and ineffective lame behavior.

In 1994, I was getting restless. For 10 years had  been working with Miskito Indian refugees in a most remote corner of Central America, where I felt very cut off from civilization. I was enjoying the flying in our Seneca, making trips from Florida to Honduras, and throughout the Miskitia. It was very exciting, but I was getting stale in other areas of my life.

I had earned a degree in History from Miami University in 1973, and felt a stirring to continue my education to learn how to teach the Bible in a culturally relevant manner. As I looked at my options, I discovered a school in Jerusalem which offered a Master’s Degree in three summer sessions. “This would be perfect,” I thought, “as it would allow me to continue working with Truman and our Miskito leaders and teachers.”

I wrote to the school and received their application for the Masters program. Then a strange thing happened. When I began to fill out the form, I sensed that the Lord was saying “No”. “But Lord, this is my profession and I need education to teach the Bible”.

“No.” I heard him say. “No.”

Our driver Luca stopped by the “Three coins in the fountain” Trevi where it was wall to wall people. It was then that Michael took out his phone to take some family photos in front of the fountain.  Moments later Michael noticed the zipper of his waist bag had been opened and this important black leather holder containing about a $1000 plus five passports was not there.  Lukas had his in his pocket.

Few are the moments we have ever seen this much horror, anxiety and disbelief cross my husband’s face.  Luca told us all to fan out and check all the trash cans to see if the passports had been discarded. I talked to a few policemen who indicated that this was a very common occurrence and that the metro train station is right below and they usually just go underground very quickly.  I also was told that passports, especially American ones, are sold for thousands of dollars…