Hey everyone (at least those of us that live outside St. Joe), I found a link to a St. Joseph photographer's blogger. I really liked these pictures because it reminded me of living up there. Enjoy!
http://khakis-camelbak-camera.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Update from Markus
Dear Friends and Family,
"You have to help me…" I cried out to God that Tuesday afternoon. "I don't even want that kid near me." I found myself kneeling in the entry of an Orthodox Church in Uzhgorod. I needed a place to pray and thought any open church would do. It was our day off, and I was hunting for my heavenly Father, in desperate need of Repair.
I had spoken often to the camp staff about expressing unconditional love to the children. Yes, the kids are dirty, invasive, clingy. Some of them had head lice. But they're precious to God. I had prayed once that God would grant us "x-ray vision" to see through the outside and the obnoxious behaviors. Inside there was a beautiful person, created in the image of God, but it needed so much nurturing.
Now I was facing my own words. Here I was, the supposed spiritual leader of this band of mostly twenty-somethings. I was avoiding Joseph (not his real name) like an infectious disease. I caught myself praying, "God, please don't let him be there" as I left the cafeteria. That's good honest prayer for a kid. But not me, the adult, the kids pastor, the fearless leader.
Joseph might be 12 or 13 years old. When he saw me coming, he would shriek like an animal and hurl his body at me, clutching on to me with at least three appendages. His hand usually had just been in his mouth, or somewhere worse. Traces of all the meals he'd eaten in the last several days were on his purple shirt. Red shorts were pulled high up, giving him the "all-day wedgie." Any attempt toward creating personal space, would result in more noises and more desperate clutching. It was wearing.
Our relationship was my fault. One day, one of our staff was teaching about Zaccheus outdoors. Joseph had a temper tantrum and decided to race a wheelbarrow through the crowd of listening children. I saw it coming and stopped him, and decided it best to leave the group and minister to Joseph personally.
"He probably needs something cast out," I told God as we walked around the building.
"Be gentle," the Voice inside spoke to me. So I walked him with one hand on his back, and I prayed quietly in English that God would give him peace, that he would touch his mind and his heart. Oh, and by the way, if there was any foul spirits, I command you to go in Jesus' name. (I am, after all, a Charismatic)
He did calm down, and right then I think Joseph pegged me as his favorite staff member. From then on, I think he'd be outside waiting for me, to grab me and scream and to chew on my t-shirt. Aarggh! If he saw me on the balcony he'd lift his wet hand out to me, howling to come down and hold it. He used very few actual words, that boy. Not that he didn't have the ability to speak.
On this Tuesday I was praying for grace. I didn't have x-ray vision. I had frustration. Kids laughed at him and beat on him. The orphanage staff avoided him, and I… I was just like everyone else. I needed God to do something.
There was no trumpet sound in the heavens, no angelic visitation. I didn't feel a surge of the Spirit. I just gave God my dirty laundry and he accepted it. He must've washed it, because the next day, I was okay.
Wednesday morning, I opened the door to step outside. Joseph rocketed to me, squealing and grunting.
"Joseph," I said firmly, using my best Russian, "Do you want to be my friend? Or do you want to be my dog?"
"Friend," he looked up at me.
"Then you need to speak to me." There was a pause.
He looked at me and said, "Can we take a picture together?"
Something happened that day, God changed a kid's life. No, not the one in the filthy purple shirt. The other one, the guy holding his soggy hand.
Don't stop praying for me,
Markus
"You have to help me…" I cried out to God that Tuesday afternoon. "I don't even want that kid near me." I found myself kneeling in the entry of an Orthodox Church in Uzhgorod. I needed a place to pray and thought any open church would do. It was our day off, and I was hunting for my heavenly Father, in desperate need of Repair.
I had spoken often to the camp staff about expressing unconditional love to the children. Yes, the kids are dirty, invasive, clingy. Some of them had head lice. But they're precious to God. I had prayed once that God would grant us "x-ray vision" to see through the outside and the obnoxious behaviors. Inside there was a beautiful person, created in the image of God, but it needed so much nurturing.
Now I was facing my own words. Here I was, the supposed spiritual leader of this band of mostly twenty-somethings. I was avoiding Joseph (not his real name) like an infectious disease. I caught myself praying, "God, please don't let him be there" as I left the cafeteria. That's good honest prayer for a kid. But not me, the adult, the kids pastor, the fearless leader.
Joseph might be 12 or 13 years old. When he saw me coming, he would shriek like an animal and hurl his body at me, clutching on to me with at least three appendages. His hand usually had just been in his mouth, or somewhere worse. Traces of all the meals he'd eaten in the last several days were on his purple shirt. Red shorts were pulled high up, giving him the "all-day wedgie." Any attempt toward creating personal space, would result in more noises and more desperate clutching. It was wearing.
Our relationship was my fault. One day, one of our staff was teaching about Zaccheus outdoors. Joseph had a temper tantrum and decided to race a wheelbarrow through the crowd of listening children. I saw it coming and stopped him, and decided it best to leave the group and minister to Joseph personally.
"He probably needs something cast out," I told God as we walked around the building.
"Be gentle," the Voice inside spoke to me. So I walked him with one hand on his back, and I prayed quietly in English that God would give him peace, that he would touch his mind and his heart. Oh, and by the way, if there was any foul spirits, I command you to go in Jesus' name. (I am, after all, a Charismatic)
He did calm down, and right then I think Joseph pegged me as his favorite staff member. From then on, I think he'd be outside waiting for me, to grab me and scream and to chew on my t-shirt. Aarggh! If he saw me on the balcony he'd lift his wet hand out to me, howling to come down and hold it. He used very few actual words, that boy. Not that he didn't have the ability to speak.
On this Tuesday I was praying for grace. I didn't have x-ray vision. I had frustration. Kids laughed at him and beat on him. The orphanage staff avoided him, and I… I was just like everyone else. I needed God to do something.
There was no trumpet sound in the heavens, no angelic visitation. I didn't feel a surge of the Spirit. I just gave God my dirty laundry and he accepted it. He must've washed it, because the next day, I was okay.
Wednesday morning, I opened the door to step outside. Joseph rocketed to me, squealing and grunting.
"Joseph," I said firmly, using my best Russian, "Do you want to be my friend? Or do you want to be my dog?"
"Friend," he looked up at me.
"Then you need to speak to me." There was a pause.
He looked at me and said, "Can we take a picture together?"
Something happened that day, God changed a kid's life. No, not the one in the filthy purple shirt. The other one, the guy holding his soggy hand.
Don't stop praying for me,
Markus
Friday, July 18, 2008
From the Guide to Fun : Join the Palm Beach Parasail Team. Fly high above the Atlantic Ocean and the Singer Island Skyline. Enjoy incredible aerial views 800 ft. above the Palm Beaches. We did (7/8/08) and bought the t-shirt to prove it!!!! Who knows together we might jump out of a plane next... Yes, maybe this is our second childhood.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The John & Rachael Brauchler Family
Tyler was our first baby. He was born in Guatamala February 9, 2002. He was 4 1/2 months old when we adopted him. 
Zeek (Ezekiel) was born to us July 12, 2006 He just turned 2 today.
John on the back 40.
John on the back 40.
Our wedding 2-3-01
Our Bulgarian son Bozhi. Born 1-17-01.
Our Bulgarian son Bozhi. Born 1-17-01.We adopted him when he was 4 1/2 years old.
Jayden is 3 1/2 years old. We fostered him from when he was 3 months old and have now adopted him. He was born 1-5-05.
Jayden, Zeek, Bozhi, And Tyler.
Jayden is 3 1/2 years old. We fostered him from when he was 3 months old and have now adopted him. He was born 1-5-05.
Jayden, Zeek, Bozhi, And Tyler.Monday, July 7, 2008
We would love to hear from the Brauchlers
I just located a web site for Tony and Debbie Brauchler. They have a ministry in St. Peters, Mo (outside of St. Louis). Check it out: www.Kingdombootcamp.com
Tony is the first born son of Anne and Adam Brauchler. We would love to have him and his siblings participate in this blog.
Tony is the first born son of Anne and Adam Brauchler. We would love to have him and his siblings participate in this blog.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Our Family has expanded
Look what the Lord has done... We now have 3 wonderful daughter-in-"loves"(!!!) and have 2 wonderful grandchildren. Steve and I are so blessed we can hardly contain God's goodness. Just to remind you of who these amazing people are: from left to right - Ruth, Diana (Tim's wife), Timothy, Mary, Thomas (son of Paul and Tina), Steve, Stephen, Julia (Stephen's wife), Paul, Tina (Paul's wife) and Hayden (daughter of Paul and Tina). I could write much about each one of these loved ones but I'm hoping they will get on this blog and personally tell you what's going on in their lives.
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