Joelle and a Simple Prayer

Hi Friends,

In honor of my daughter turning 16 (wow, those years went by fast!), I wanted to post a fun story from when she was two years old. This girl has always been a deep thinker. Teachers used to call her an "old soul" because it seemed even when she was wee little she pondered those deep thoughts and asked deep questions.  And here's what happened one evening when she was two ...

Out of the Mouth of Babes

by 

Marlo Schalesky

I know how to pray.  I’ve been a praying Christian for years.  I’ve read all the books, I’ve studied all the greats - Augustine, Brother Lawrence, and a dozen others.  I’ve given talks and written seminary papers.  I’ve fasted, and prayerwalked, and read the Lord’s Prayer in Greek.  I’ve even written articles!  So, imagine my surprise when I got a lesson in prayer from a two-year-old.

It happened just the other night.  The food steamed on the table.  The silverware shone.  Our five-year-old, Bethany, squirmed in her seat.  “Who’s gonna pray so we can eat?”  She looked down at the spaghetti on her plate.  

I opened my mouth to volunteer, but before I could say a word, a little voice piped up from beside me.  

“Me do it.  I pray.” 

I glanced at our two-year-old daughter, Joelle. “Okay, you do it.  You know what to do?”  

She nodded.  

She’d never prayed out loud for a meal before, but she had heard us pray hundreds of times.  We always asked God to bless the food and thanked Him for it.  

Joelle folded her hands as we all bowed our heads. 

Then, we waited.  And waited.

I peeked at her.  “Go ahead, sweetie.  Pray.”
            She closed her eyes.  Then, came her prayer, loud and clear over the table.  “Jesus no cry.  Jesus be happy.  Amen.”

            We all looked up.  

            Bethany frowned. “That’s a funny prayer.  Can we eat now or not?”

            I tapped her hand and shushed her.  “It’s a great prayer.  You can eat.”

            Joelle stuffed her fork into her spaghetti and ignored her sister.  “I pray,” she muttered.

            I smiled as I contemplated her words.  She prayed all right.  A prayer no one had taught her, a prayer that came right from her heart, a prayer that put all my grown-up prayers to shame.  In six simple words, Joelle had gotten to the heart of God-honoring prayer - not a rote repetition about the food, but a sincere desire for Jesus to be happy.  

            As I sat there twirling spaghetti on my fork, I thought about how my prayers compared with Joelle’s. Sure, I knew all the right phrases and all the how-to’s.  Yet, as I contemplated her simple words, I saw how woefully self-centered my own prayers had become.  I asked for blessings on my family, help with my work, wisdom in dealing with people, and that all would go well.  Good things, surely, and things that God wants me to pray for.  But it wasn’t enough.  If I were to simplify my prayers down to Joelle’s language, I saw that they would sound more like “Marlo no cry.  Marlo be happy.”  

Where Joelle prays for Jesus, I pray for me.  Jesus tells us in Matthew 6:10 (NIV) to pray, “your Kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”  I’ve read those words so many times, but only through Joelle’s prayer have I seen their deeper meaning.  When we spurn God’s will, Jesus weeps.  When we do His will, Jesus is happy.  

            These days, Joelle prays that same prayer for every meal.  And as I listen to her, as I lift my heart to God with her words, my prayer life is changing.  Instead of only asking for God’s blessing, I’m focusing more on asking God to help me to be pleasing to Him.  As I ask for His help in my work and writing, I voice my desire for Him to help me to glorify Him in my life.  When I ask for wisdom, I also ask Him to help me honor Him in all I do and think.  And instead of focusing on my desire for all to go well, I ask Him what I can do to bring Him joy.  

In other words, I am learning to pray with childlike faith.  I’m learning to pray, “Jesus no cry.  Jesus be happy.”

Mommy in the Moonlight

Hi Friends,

Just a little story in honor of Mother's Day, for all you Mamas out there. You matter!

Mama in the Moonlight

by 

Marlo Schalesky

            Darkness closed in around our camper just as the crickets began to sing. It was going to be a long night.  I knew it because there was no familiar crib, no Curious George toy, no door I could close to shut my two-year-old daughter off from the strange and scary noises of the night.

            I zipped up Jayna’s jammies and kissed her forehead.  Then, I set her on the bed in the pop-up camper and pointed to a spot beside the canvas wall.   “Night night time, Jayna. Lay down.”

            Her brow wrinkled.  Her lip trembled.  “Nigh Nigh?”

            “It’s okay.  Lay down.”  I pointed again.  “Close eyes.”

            She looked down at the spot.  Her eyes stayed opened.  Too wide.  

            I cringed.  “No cry.  Go night night.”  I patted the bed.

            She sniffed and scowled some more.  Then, she rubbed her nose and pranced in a circle around the bed, her head barely skimming the canvas above.  

            “No, no, no!”  I snatched her up and plunked her down on the thin mattress.  “Night night.”

            She sprung back up.

            I bit my lip.  I knew this wasn’t going to work.  Jayna was used to her own room, her own crib, her own little Winnie the Pooh bumper to keep her head from hitting the crib’s slats.  This wide camper bed, with plain sheets, wobbly sides, and a big pillow was nothing like where she slept every night.  It was strange, different.  Weird.  I sighed. “Okay, just wait a minute.”

            I put on my pajamas and quickly brushed my teeth. Then, I crawled into the bed beside her and pulled up the covers.

            She stopped prancing and stood still.  She looked at me.

            I patted the bed beside me.  “Night night.  Lay down by Mommy.”

            She plopped down and rolled on her side, her big eyes fastened on my face.

            I blinked as a swath of moonlight trickled in to illuminate Jayna’s face.

            She smiled at me.

            I smiled back.  

            She inched closer.  Then, she sat up and patted my shoulder.  “Mama hee-a.”  The words came out as an awed whisper.

            “Yes, Mommy’s here.”

            She laid back down and snuggled up next to me. Then she began to laugh.  “Mama here.  Mama here.  Mama here,” she said between giggles.  She turned to face me.  A huge grin lit her face.  She touched my cheek.  “Mama. Here.”

            I laughed with her as I held out my arms and gathered her close.  

            She closed her eyes, the smile still evident on her little face.  She was happy, thrilled, comfortable, secure.  Despite the darkness, despite the strangeness, despite the weird sound of a hundred crickets chirping outside in the night.  None of that matter, because Mommy was here.  The joy of Mommy’s presence drove all the fear away.

            As I laid there in the moonlight, with Jayna snoring softly next to me, I marveled that for her “Mama here” was enough.  And if that was so, shouldn’t “Jesus here” be enough for me as well?

            When I enter the dark places in my life, times laced with uncertainty, scattered with strange and unfamiliar sounds, why should I fear?  Jesus is with me.  He said in Matthew 28:20 (NIV), “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age."  Always.  When I’m traveling alone, when I’m in a group of strangers, when I’m trying something new, when I’m in circumstances that are unfamiliar and difficult.  He is with me.  

            When worries chirp outside my camper walls, when I can’t see beyond the end of my bed, when it looks like life is taking a turn to places that make my brows wrinkle and my lips tremble, then God says to me, as it says in Isaiah 41:10 (NIV), “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

            And so maybe, for me too, “Jesus here” will be enough.  Maybe I don’t need to fear because God is with me, wherever I go, wherever I lay down to rest.  Maybe I, too, can just snuggle in and have a little giggle.

Is Easter About Bunnies After All?

Hi Friends,

This Easter I wanted to share a little story about my bunny, Felicia, and what she taught me about God and his love. Enjoy ...

It’s Easter time, and I hold a tiny bunny against my shoulder. I feel her soft fur on my skin, her nose twitching. She wiggles and climbs higher until her cheek is pressed into mine, her face so close that she can smell my breath. She breathes in, relaxes. Her heart beats with mine. My eyes close. I think hers do too.

            And I know, somehow, this is a divine moment. There is beauty and wonder and the presence of God himself. 

            Because this is how God loves me.

            And I think that maybe, just maybe, Easter is about bunnies after all.

            I whisper in her ear and remember where she came from. She was found cold and shivering in a tiny burrow in someone’s backyard. A little baby bunny with a few lion-hairs sticking from between her big ears and mud obscuring her white-and-brown fur. She huddled abandoned and alone, much too young to be without her mother. But her mother was no where to be found. 

            She would have died there.

            But then, a hand reached into her burrow, a hand bigger than she was. She trembled, cowered to the far side of the dirt and rock. She almost bit the hand, almost drew blood. But fingers closed gently around her, and the hand brought her out of hiding and into the light. 

The hand rescued her. 

            And now, after a trip to the rabbit rescue center, to an adoption event at the pet store, and to my home, a hand holds her close. 

            She’s not alone anymore. She’s been adopted. She has all the food she wants, a safe place to live, a clean home, and much love. She no longer cowers in the back of burrows. She doesn’t need to be afraid. Instead, she’s growing, exploring, and breathing deeply from the breath of the one who loves her.

            And as I hold her close, I am reminded of what God has done for me, and the deepest yearnings of my heart. I, too, have been rescued, and now I long to be so close that I can smell the breath of God, feel his heartbeat, and soak in his love for me. 

            I, too, was alone. I was afraid. I would have died there in my burrow, in my sin. But then hands reached out; nailed hands reached out on a wooden cross. They found me, brought me into the light. I was rescued, cared for, adopted into the family of God.

            Ephesians 2:1, 4-7 (NIV) says, “As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins... But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ ... And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that ... he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus.”

            This Easter as I hold my baby bunny in my arms, her face close to mine, I think about Jesus, his arms stretched wide. I think of his blood shed for me. I think of my sin covering me like mud from a hovel and how that scarred hand came into my dark burrow and rescued me. I soak in the truth of how it brought me into the light, surrounded me with love, and now holds me close to his heart.

            This is what he died for, this is why he rose. 

            I am the Easter bunny, rescued, adopted, and held close to the beating heart, the warm breath, of the God who loves me enough to make me his own, no matter the cost.

            Now, when I see all the stuffed rabbits in the stores, the pictures of bunnies and baskets, the chocolates shaped like rabbits with long ears, I think of my baby bunny and I am reminded anew of the amazing love of the God who died and rose again to make me his own.

            I am reminded to climb up closer, nearer, and put my cheek on his, close my eyes, and breath deeply. 

            I am loved that much.

A Big Burning

Hi Friends,

As you may have heard, our shed for our equine therapy ministry to gang-impacted, foster, homeless, and other struggling kids at Wonder Wood Ranch somehow caught fire and burned down with most of our supplies in it.

We are trying to replace some of the most vital items through an Amazon wish list. HERE is the link. 

We are also hoping for some donations to help replace the shed, which can be made via PayPal, using the email address marlo@wonderwoodranch.com, or via cash or check (mail to: 8100 Wild Horse Rd, Salinas, CA 93907. Every little bit counts!

Meanwhile, here's a fun story about Horses on the Trail that will give you a little glimpse of the wonder of Ranch (and give some food for thought too) ...

Watch Out for Poison Oak!

by 

Marlo Schalesky

            I put my hands on my hips and looked out at the sea of grinning-kid faces sitting on the stacks of hay before me. Nearly thirty big, wide smiles met my gaze. I grinned back. A few van-loads of kids had come from the local low-income apartments to spend the afternoon riding, grooming, and experiencing horse-life for the first time. 

            “Who’s been on a horse before?” I asked.

            Three hands raised.

            My smile grew. It was going to be an interesting day.

            My daughters brought our horses from their pens as I reviewed basic safety tips. After the horses were saddled and ready, I pointed toward the narrow trail that winds through the trees around our property. “Okay, this is the important part. When it’s your turn, stay on the trail!”

            A boy raised his hand in the back of the group. “Why?”

            “If you don’t, guess what will get you?”

            “Wolves?”

            “Zombies?”

            “Monsters?”

            “Snakes?”

            I raised my eyebrows. “Worse! Poison oak!”

            “Oooooh.” Their eyes widened.  

            A tiny girl tugged on the edge of my shirt. “What’s poison oak?”

            I squatted beside her. “It’s a plant that looks like other plants, but it’s not like other plants at all. See all those nice red and green leaves growing on either side of the path?”

            She nodded.

            “That’s poison oak. It looks pretty, but if you rub against it you’ll get a nasty red, itchy rash. It’s awful.”

            She wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t want that.”

            “Nobody wants that. That’s why we stay on the path.”

            In the hours that followed, I led a string of horses around and around the trail. Two loops around, and kids would dismount to allow the next group to ride. Each time, we talked about poison oak. Each time, the kids kept their horses on the path. Until about two hours in.

            I heard a yelp behind me. “Help! Smokey’s going off the trail!” Sure enough, the gelding had spotted a patch of green and was heading right toward it. I ran back and grabbed his bridle, just as he reach a bush of shiny, poison leaves. I hauled him back to the safe path and walked beside him until he stayed the course.

            Two rounds later, I heard another yelp. This time, Valentine headed off the path, back toward the barn. After two and a half hours, she was tired. She wanted to be done. done. We brought her back to her spot and encouraged her to keep walking. 

            Later that night as I thought back to the adventures of the day, I was reminded that we can stay out of the poisonous places in life if we just let God lead us on the proper path, let him dictate the boundaries and where we ought to walk. We must stay on the path God has for us. Otherwise, poison thoughts, poison actions, poison problems will rub up against us to make ugly, itchy rashes on our relationships, our work, and our witness. 

            Sometimes there are green and red, shiny leaves tempting us off the path. They look pretty. We want to take a closer look. But they’re poison.

            Sometimes, like Smokey, we get hungry for things that are not for us and we veer off course. When that happens, it’s good to have God and wise friends to bring us back to the trail. And it’s good to allow them to walk beside us to help us stay the course.

            Sometimes, like Valentine, we just get tired and want to take a shortcut back to the barn. We want to be done. In those times, God says to us, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9, NIV) 

            As I sat, soaking my feet that night, I thought about the joy we find when we trust God to lead us where we need to go. The path may be long, we may get tired and hungry, discouraged and disappointed. But God knows there’s poison off the path. He says to us, “...ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Jeremiah 6:16, NIV)

            Rest, not rashes. And maybe a good, epson salt soak for feet sore from the journey. That sounds good to me!

Mission Trip to Refugee Kids in Uganda

Friends & Family,

Do you have a special place in your heart for orphans, widows, and refugees? An amazing opportunity has come my way, and I’m hoping you’ll be a part of it. This summer I have been invited to join a short-term missions team from Salinas Valley Community Church going to the South Sudanese refugee camps in northern Uganda. Because of South Sudan’s violent civil war, thousands of people have fled and are now living in numerous camps just inside Uganda. These people, most of whom are widows and children (including many, many orphans), have lost everything they valued – their homes, family and friends, and their country. Our presence with them is a source of encouragement and hope as we partner with local missionaries who are daily helping those who have been exiled and are living in these camps scattered over the northern part of Uganda.

Why me?As you know, I’m passionate about bringing hope and wonder to the kids who need it most – who have suffered trauma, been displaced, have lost family and feel alone. This opportunity will allow me to do that in a unique way to refugee kids in Africa. How awesome is that?!?!

How will it happen?I will be part of the small team (3 of us from the larger team) who will be setting up children’s programs in the camps. These programs will be run while we’re there, but are also devised to continue to long after the team is gone. Currently, there’s very little specifically for kids in the camps. Our help in getting the programs started will allow the local missionaries to continue bringing hope and care to kids throughout the year and beyond.

When is it happening?We’ll be leaving the U.S. on Sunday, June 30 and returning two weeks later. We fly to Amsterdam, then to Entebbe in southern Uganda, then take a small plane to the camps in northern Uganda. Then we’ll be travelling from camp to camp by car. 

How Can You Help?Please pray for our trip! And if you’re able, consider supporting me financially. I need to raise approximately $4,500 before June to make this trip happen. Donations are tax deductible. Here’s how you can donate: 

1) Write a checkto SVCC and put “Marlo Schalesky – Uganda” in the memo. Send the check to the church at 368 San Juan Grade Rd., Salinas, CA 93906, or send it to me at 8100 Wild Horse Rd., Salinas, CA 93907. 

2) Donate onlineor via textat http://www.svcc.net/give(again choose my name from the online giving drop down menu, or include it in the text if giving by text).

3) Use PayPal’s“send money to friends/family” feature using marlo@marloschalesky.com(no tax deduction) or marlo@wonderwoodranch.com(for a tax deduction).  Note that it’s for Uganda.

Thank you for considering partnering with me on this adventure to Africa! Just email me at marlo@marloschalesky.comif you have any questions or want to find out more.

Reaching for Wonder … in Uganda!

Marlo Schalesky

Glimpsing Glory in Grief

Hi Friends,

As many of you know, a dear friend of mine went to heaven this week. Rhena Agostini was an amazing woman and made a huge impact on my life, and in the lives of my family. As I was reminiscing about all she taught me over the years, I remembered this little story of when our pony, Oreo, died. Rhena was with us every step of the way through Oreo's sickness, and was there when our little pony died in our arms. I look back on that day now, and I remember the glimpse of glory. And I think, even now, I can glimpse that glory again as I think of my friend who loved well, lived well, and showered the love of Christ on me and everyone.

(The picture is of Oreo with Joelle and Rhena.)

Oreo's story went like this ...

Goodbye, Oreo

by Marlo Schalesky

When our vet glanced over the back of my daughter’s horse, Oreo, and said the dreaded word, “cancer,” I knew we were in for heartbreak.  What I didn’t know was that in our sorrow we would also get a glimpse of glory.  

            For over a month, we had struggled to discover what was causing Oreo’s decline.  Exams and blood tests revealed nothing.  Prayers for healing did nothing.  She continued to lose weight.  We continued to pray. 

But that day when the vet looked at me and shook his head, I knew my prayers had to change.  “Prepare your girls,” he said, knowing that to them, Oreo was more than just a horse. She was a friend, a companion, a family member.  

Later, I walked back into the house.  Our six-year-old, Joelle, met me at the door.  “What did he say?”

“I’m sorry, honey, Oreo has cancer.”

Her eyes dampened.  “Is she going to die?”

I nodded as words stuck in my throat, refusing to be voiced.  Oreo, our perfect little horse.  She’d taught Joelle to ride.  Joelle had taught her to jump.  They were a team, and Joelle loved her.

Tears streamed down my daughter’s face.  “But we prayed!  How come God didn’t make her better?  But I want, but she …”  She couldn’t go on.  Instead, she collapsed in my arms.

I patted her hair.  “I know.” A verse whispered through my mind: “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.”  (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, NIV).   In all things give thanks?  Even in cancer?  Even in the face of death?  Really? I took a deep breath.  “I’m so thankful for the time God’s given us with Oreo,” I murmured.  “She’s been such a gift.  What a wonderful gift to us, and to her.”

Joelle sniffed.  “What do you mean?”

My voice steadied.  “I’m glad God brought her to us, a family who would love her, for her last days.  She got to teach another little girl to ride. You know she loved that.”

“I did too.”

“Let’s just keep loving her, and thanking God for her.”

And that’s what we did.  For the next weeks, as Oreo continued to waste away, we watched, we loved, we cared, and we talked about being grateful in our sorrow.  

Then one day while my husband away and my girls were at school, I found Oreo lying in her pen.  I knew she would never get up again. 

I waited, and I watched. And so did Oreo.  She held on until the girls got home from school.  

We ran to her, gathered around her, held her, petted her, and told her how much we loved her. Joelle thanked her for being such a good horse and partner. We talked about heaven and being made new. Then, we prayed. 

“Thank you, God, for Oreo,” Joelle cried.  “Thank you for giving her to us.  Thank you for every minute I had with her.”

For forty minutes we stayed with her, with Joelle at her head, talking, praying, petting, holding, and crying.

Then, Oreo gave one last shudder, stretched, and died there in our arms. As she passed, the little girls started to pray again, more prayers of thankfulness, of gratefulness to God, and requests that Oreo be taken to God's pastures in heaven. Then, they looked up into the sky and called out their final goodbyes.

The next day, we put flowers on Oreo’s grave and Joelle prayed such a sweet prayer of thankfulness that my heart broke all over again. I thought about how she had made her very serious commitment-to-God-for-a-lifetime pledge just months before and how God took her through this so soon after, deepening her faith and her vision of Him, taking her from “why” to “thank you,” teaching her the secrets of gratefulness in pain.

Now, as days pass and we continue to grieve, sometimes I see Joelle staring off with a serious look in her eye, and sometimes those eyes turn pink with tears. Then I know she's thinking of her Oreo.

And in those moments she teaches me that even in our pain, maybe especially in our pain, God also gives us a glimpse of His glory.

What are Your Valentine's Expectations?

Hi Friends,

Here's an oldie but goodie. Wrote this some time ago, but it still seems relevant. See what you think...

The Dreaded “E” Word on Valentine’s Day

"Happy Valentine's Day, Honey," my husband murmured, then scooted out the door with his usual quick kiss and bear hug. "See ya later."  Bryan winked and was gone.

That’s it? I thought.  No candy, no flowers, no delicate chocolates in the traditional bright red heart-shaped box! Just a hug, kiss, and out the door? This was supposed to be a day of passion, of romance, of chocolates!  A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth and deepened into ugly grooves.

Bryan never was much of a romantic anyway, I complained.  He just doesn't understand women.  Days like today are supposed to be special. 

I sighed and drew my brows together in a deeper scowl as I proceeded to review again all the faults I imagined in my poor, unwary spouse. By the time I was finished, I was thoroughly dissatisfied.  Valentine's Day was ruined.  And it was all his fault!  

I threw my body crosswise on the couch and swung my legs across the cushions.  Reluctantly, I picked up the Bible for my daily devotion.  I wasn't in the mood.  My eyes fell on the day's scripture, "Serve one another in love" (Galatians 5:13).  Love. There was that word.  Today was supposed to be the day of love.  I wasn't feeling much love at all.  And it was all Bryan's fault! ... Or was it?  The scripture didn't say to expect to be loved. It especially didn't say to expect chocolates just because it was Valentine's Day.

Slowly, my temper quelled and I began to examine my reactions.  Bryan had done no more or less than any other day.  He had given me the hug and kiss that I usually counted as a treasure.  So why the difference this morning?  Was it because today I had expected more?  Had I succumbed to the dreaded "E" word - Expectation?  

I began to realize that the problem with my expectations is that I can never win with them.  As soon as I expected Bryan to act a certain way, I set myself up for disappointment.  When he didn't meet my expectations, I was upset.  If he had acted as I expected, then I would have been satisfied.  But how could I have been pleasantly surprised and appreciate his kindness if I had been expecting it all along? 

February, they say, is a month for love.  And Jesus showed us what real love is all about -- Not candies, nor flowers, nor sweet chocolates wrapped in a fancy box.  No, love is about laying down our lives for one another, about serving one another in love. 

So, this year for Valentine's Day, I'm not going to worry about gifts of tantalizing chocolates. I'm not going to cling to expectations of what my husband is supposed to do for me.  Rather, I plan to give my husband one of the greatest gifts of all in a marriage -- I'm going to exchange my expectations for joy and thanksgiving. This year, I'm making Expectation a dirty word!