Tribute to Dixie Pechacek

She was one in a million. That’s the way I’ll always think of Dixie Pechacek.

Approximately two million people fled from Egypt all those years ago, yet only Joshua and Caleb crossed over into Canaan, God’s Promised Land. Two men in two million people, that’s one in a million. I mean no disrespect to Joshua or Caleb, but Dixie would have been one, too. She was one whose eyes didn’t leave God’s presence. She was one whose faith didn’t waver. And she was one whose actions didn’t contradict her beliefs. Dixie was faithful to God.

The last time I talked to her was at Bible study. She was feeling poorly and had yet another doctor’s appointment the following day. I remember saying, “Dixie. You’re going to have a huge mansion in heaven.” Sounds silly, really, but I didn’t have words big enough to tell Dixie how special she was to me.  

This past week at Bible study, we all prayed for her, and I’m sure the thought of her was on everyone’s heart during the lesson. God took his people out of Egypt to bring them into the Promised Land, and now God has brought Dixie out of sickness and into the dazzling beauty of His Promised Presence.  

She’s there now, anyway. With Jesus, that is. “Dancing in heaven,” as our friend Raini said. Hanging out with Moses, for crying out loud! Completely and irreversibly and joyfully free of diabetes and cancer and everything else that her fragile earthly body endured during this dot of a life on earth. 

She once told me that she thought I’d be a good Bible teacher, but I needed more life experiences. “Are you kidding me?” I thought to myself. “Do you know what I’ve been through already?” But she was right. I had a lot to learn. Several decades later, when she came to a Bible study I was teaching about heaven, I was humbled and thought once more, “Are you kidding me?” But this time for a different reason. “Oh LORD, Dixie needs to be teaching this thing, not me.” But I don’t think she would have listened to my protest. She had faith in God, not in me.

“G-R-A-C-E is God’s Righteousness at Christ’s Expense,” I hear her soft voice saying. I loved listening to her teach and talk about the LORD. If peace was a voice, it would have been Dixie’s, soothing and gentle, yet bold and sure. Somehow the voice of Jesus joined with hers when she read from His Word. I always listened, mesmerized.  

And I’m only one.

Yes, I’m only one in a million.

No doubt about it, I’m only one in a million who loved her dearly. 

Thank you, LORD, for sharing your sweet servant Dixie with us.

Amen.

God's Gift of the Praying Friend

I picked up one of my old Bibles today. It was missing its cover and “In the beginning” began instead with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 18-19. The page was crinkled, the margins were ink-stained, yet the story began, fresh as it’s been since the “two angels arrived at Sodom” and found Abraham’s nephew Lot “sitting in the gateway of the city” (19:1) that God was going to destroy.  

I texted a friend of mine yesterday. She’s a trustworthy prayer warrior of a woman who loves the Lord and lives that way, and that’s why I asked her for prayer. It was one of those times when you knew you needed someone else to pray with you, but you weren’t exactly sure why. More of a nudge, than an understanding. A time to shuck aside reason and simply ask for help. “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20 KJV).

She prayed immediately, but I knew she would. I’ve known her for over forty years. I’m not praising her, but God who is in our midst. I am, however, appreciating her. She’s God’s gift of the praying friend.

“Dear Jesus,” she prayed. “I pray for my friend who is feeling the grip of the evil one. Cover her with your love and protection. Be her mighty defender, her shelter in the story. And I ask that she see your goodness in the land of the living. Amen.”  

Her prayer rose to the throne room, but it still hovers around in my study, and it floats out of Lot’s story, too. The city of Sodom was going to explode in a fiery ball of smoke, and Lott was clueless. But Abraham had asked God to protect Lot, and God did. The gift of a praying uncle.

We don’t always know. I think that’s my point. We don’t always know why we need prayer or what we’re praying for or even how to phrase our prayer request. And that’s okay.

Lott’s life was a mess, but God was merciful, and the angels “grasped his hand and the hands of his wife and of his two daughters and led them safely out of the city” before the LORD destroyed it with burning sulfur, leaving only “dense smoke rising from the land, like smoke from a furnace” (19:16, 28).

I knew that God heard my prayer, but I also felt the Spirit’s prod to ask a friend to pray with me. And soon there was a glimmer of peace in the darkness, an answer to our prayer, but there was understanding, too, for God’s “goodness in the land of the living” that I saw included His gift of a praying friend.

Thank you, Lord, for friends.

Thank you, Lord, for prayer.

And thank you, Lord, for the gift of praying friends. 

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20 KJV).

The Partial Truth

My friends and former colleagues keep asking me how I am spending my time now that I’m retired, and I realized yesterday that I wasn’t being completely honest when I answered that question; instead, I was telling them partial truths. Yes, I’m editing my book and beginning a new one, fixing the house and gardening outside, blogging again and traveling a little -- productive, appropriate, creative activities. But these constructive projects are only part of how I’m spending my days. 

I’m also learning to be still. I’m learning to listen to the answers that are given instead of the correct answers that I’ve spent years expecting to hear in class. I’m learning to live more thoughtfully instead of thinking about all the tasks I have to do.

I’m learning to let God settle in and move around and touch everything around me instead of whispering to him a quick, “Good Morning, Lord,” and then slamming the door in his face while I’m on my way to get in my car and hurry away.

I’m learning the value of the mistake if I treat it as valuable and not become defensive. I’m learning that there is nothing quick about the work of the Word of God, only piercing, as it cuts down deep to the marrow where "it judges the thoughts and attitudes” in my heart.

And I’m learning to rest and feel good about it.

So I guess the answer to how I’ve been spending my time this past year is that I’m simply learning to be, not to do.

And if I get the being right, the doing will surely follow.

“Be still; and know that I am God;

I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth”

(Psalm 46:10).

“For the word of God is alive and active.

Sharper than any double-edge sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit,

joints and marrow;

it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart”

(Hebrews 4:12 NIV).

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.

We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son,

who came from the Father, full of grace and truth”

(John 1:14 NIV).

TADA!

I jotted and wrote, phrased and paragraphed, revised and edited and then edited some more. And more. And more and more and more. For years!

And then my book was ready -- TADA! -- a clean, pristine work of black type on white paper with perfect margins and spacing and paragraphs and pages. I was so excited!

But, I didn’t see the invisible, the hidden formats that needed to be deleted, the mistakes that were there even though no one else could see them. And before I could present my creation for publication, those unseen issues had to be addressed. Yikes! I only thought I was finished! Until I remove all the formatting problems, my manuscript isn’t finished at all. Work still to be done. Always, it seems.

And then I realized, after I hit the paragraph format key, that what I was seeing represented more than the multitude of mistakes I had once made. Those corrections and deletions also symbolized hours and days and weeks and months and years of hard work. Of striving to make my book better. Of paying careful attention to details -- to what was wrong, but also to what worked. In the unseen land of Microsoft Word, the dots and squiggly lines and arrows on my 60,000 words indicated the changes that I had made to make my writing better. TADA!

Isn’t there always more to see than what we see?

Once more, I’m back at work on my book, fixing the unseen issues that I can call up anytime on my computer. And when I don’t know understand how to fix something, all I have to do is push the help button. TADA! Yet again! 

Mmmm…. It’s possible that a pristine document won’t ever exist this side of heaven. But I think God knew that all along.

 “For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus”

(Philippians 1:6 NIV).

“And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit”

(1 Corinthians 3:18 NIV).

“These Boots are Made for Walking!” – NOT!

“Use what I have,” I thought to myself, so I did. Ian’s cast-off boots became a charming little flower arrangement that surpassed anything I saw at Round Top last weekend. Well, maybe not everything. But still, they’re pretty cute, if I don’t say so myself. And proof that boots were made for more than walking!

Most things are.

“The earth is the LORD’s,

and everything in it, the world,

and all who live in it”

 (Psalm 24:1 NIV).