Weep With Those Who Weep
May 10, 2018 By
Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15
Forty-one hours of travel, and approximately seven hours of sleep. But the day we arrive in Paute, we hit the ground running.
Monday night, we meet with our youth group. While there hasn’t been a gathering at SIP 91 in months, those same teens & young adults have been faithful to continue the meetings. Anywhere from 12 to 20 youth read, study, and even memorize the Word of God every single week at Iglesia Renacer.
On nights like these, we thank God that it’s still legal to join together and worship in Ecuador. That our meetings aren’t held in secret, that our afflictions are few and our blessings are many.
Around 7:00pm, we are reunited at the church. Big hugs, bright smiles, and loud laughter. How has it been five months already? How will I leave them in four short weeks?
We jump into the back of Hermano Santiago’s pickup truck and drive to the top of La Loma de Paute, the highest point in our village. This is where Jenni’s family lives, miles from the school, market, and church. They make the climb down the mountain every day, like so many others in our community.
“Jenni hasn’t been to a Bible meeting in weeks,” Santiago explains. “Her family is discouraged. Their grandmother’s health is failing – fast.”
Jenni’s mother meets us at the door. She looks completely exhausted, but she beckons us inside. Some of us sit on the wooden furniture, others stand against the walls. We are quiet & still.
Cancer. They discovered it three months ago, but it was already much too late. No medicine, no treatment, no physician could make a difference now. Now it is up to God.
Everyone in the room is visibly shaken. Jenni’s grandmother is approaching eternity with each shallow breath. Our bright smiles and loud laughs are absent now. We surround the sick bed & pour out our hearts.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalms 34:18
We do not pretend to understand, because very few of us have lost a family member. Our human empathy does not scratch the surface of their pain. But what we cannot understand, God does.
So we begin to pray. Our voices quake, our cheeks glisten with tears.
May God comfort you.
May God strengthen you.
May God give you peace.
I can’t count the hours I’ve spent debating with these guys, who constantly leaf through their pages of highlights & scribbled notes, who constantly quote the scriptures. I can’t count the times I’ve heard their pray requests – asking each other to go to God on their behalf.
But I have never seen them like this. I have never witnessed such complete and utter vulnerability.
We are learning to rejoice with those who rejoice & weep with those who weep.
So All May Know,
Madeline Studebaker
Send a Kid to Camp!
April 17, 2018 By
Please consider supporting our groups opportunity to attend Bible Camp! Your donations will allow them to grow in Spirit and In truth, as JEBE and So All May Know encourage them to become future pastors, prayer warriors, and believers of their generation.
To give, go to soallmayknow.org and click on the Paypal link to give your gift now! Mark it JEBE Camp so we can make sure your donation goes where you want it to! <3
Backpack Blast Fall 2018
March 27, 2018 By
Are you ready for the Backpack Blast? It’s time to be a blessing to 3 needy communities in 3 weeks! We have three 50 lb suitcases waiting to be filled! Choose from sending drawstring backpacks, Children’s Bibles or items from the school supplies listed below. You can also send a monetary gift through Paypal that we can use to purchase additional items. Please do not send notebooks or paper, it is just not economical to ship. All items must be received by April 15th. Thank you so much for your generosity!
Guarding Space in Our Lives
January 9, 2018 By
“I have discovered that when my life and my heart get too crowded, there is not enough room for God.”
Exactly! The devotional I am reading really hit the nail on the head. Regardless of the calling that God has placed on your life (teacher, pastor, missionary, plumber) we need to guard the space in our lives that is meant for God. Personally, I struggle with balance. You?
Balancing stones
An unbalanced life is too crowded for God. It is so easy to relegate our spirituality to religious activity when all He really wants is to spend time with us. He wants to wipe away every tear. God longs to share every hurt and celebrate every victory. The Father yearns to wrap His strong arms around us, bringing the peace and balance we so desperately need. (The Simple Things, Mary Southerland)
We can find that balance when we prioritize and seek God first. He’ll enable us to sort out the rest. Begin, and end, with our Father.
Last Tuesday Was #givingtuesday, but it’s Not Too Late !
December 5, 2017 By
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Why wait for Giving Tuesday?
November 27, 2017 By
Now is a great time to give.
Why wait for Giving Tuesday?
We’ve attended our last Ecuadorian church service, we’re cleaning out the pantry and fridge, doing laundry and packing. Leaving is hard even though we are excited about coming “home” for 6 months. We leave Paute on Wednesday to head over the Andes to the airport in Quito.
Please pray for our family that we will be sensitive to the Holy Spirit and have God’s protection spiritually, emotionally, mentally and physically.
If you feel led to contribute to our airfare and transportation here’s a link to make it fast and easy (We know it’s a busy time of year!)
https://www.gofundme.com/Studebaker-Family-in-Ecuador-Help-Bring-Us-Home
It’s time for a furlough.
November 21, 2017 By
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There Is Still Work to Be Done
October 5, 2017 By
“Who knows the story of Daniel in the lions’ den?”
No one. Just like last week, and the week before that.
So I open the book and I read.
We admire the illustrations and answer questions at the end. We make crafts and memorize a Bible verse. We play games and eat snacks. We sing songs and pray.
These are our Thursday afternoons. Months have gone by and every story we tell is new to these children. David and Goliath. Jonah and the whale. All of them.
Physically, more than a few come to the program with rumbling tummies.
But spiritually? They are starving.
They do not know Jesus.
They cannot fathom a love so deep, a joy so abundant, a hope so certain.
Not until they meet Him.
So we continue in our endeavors to introduce them to Christ.
“How then shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed? And how shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard? And how shall they hear without a preacher? And how shall they preach unless they are sent? As it is written: How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the gospel of peace, who bring glad tidings of good things!” Romans 10:14-15
After five years, there is still work to be done.
Five years of outreach, bible studies, and late-night conversations about Jesus. Five years of prayer and struggle and triumph. Five years in the ministry, and it’s still growing.
From 2012, sharing Jesus with our first new friends, to 2017, spreading the Gospel from the jungle to the mountains.
Sometimes we’re overwhelmed by how many haven’t yet heard. But we rejoice in that we’re able share the precious News.
Sometimes we become terribly homesick. But we know we won’t truly shake that feeling until we reach Heaven’s pearly gates.
Sometimes we grow weary. But we must not lose heart.
Though the workers are few, the harvest is great.
So All May Know,
Madeline Studebaker
Just Like Old Times
August 26, 2017 By
I shouldn’t be here. I love her, but this is beyond what I can handle.
“I’m so happy you came,” Ximena* tells me.
I nod and force a smile. “Well, I needed to see you again, and meet Alejandra,”
She looks so old. Not like the girl I went to school with, not the girl I used to play with, not the girl I called a best friend.
She’s a mother now. An adult.
Someone living a life I cannot imagine — a life I don’t want to imagine.
One month ago, Ximena gave birth to a very premature little girl. She and her boyfriend didn’t expect the baby to live… but she did. They named her Alejandra.
We were able to visit Ximena after she was released from the hospital, but we weren’t allowed to see the baby. It was a very difficult visit, filled with a lot of tears and a lot of discomfort for all of us.
I asked Dad to bring us out here. I had promised Ximena we’d come see her. I told her we still loved her, that we still cared for her and we wouldn’t judge her.
So here we are, standing beside a group of concrete and thatch huts build nearly on top of each other. Swatting away flies and trying to act like the heat and stench don’t bother us.
This is what poverty looks like.
This is what it looks like and smells like and feels like.
This is what it is to see desperate people, hungry children, broken lives.
This is her home.
This is how she lives.
Dirt floors. Rough concrete walls. A rusty tin roof. A bed that’s falling apart. A broken dresser. No light. No bathroom.
Ximena points to a tiny bundle on the bed. “This is my daughter. Madeline… I want you to hold her,”
“Okay,” Ximena hands me the baby.
Tears press on the backs of my eyeballs. Joy, confusion, happiness, and disbelief melt together into just feeling lost.
Just sitting on a bed with my best friend, talking. Just like old times.
Except not really.
In the old times, we talked about music and boys and clothes. Now, we’re talking about food and money, and Alejandra.
Part of me wants to leave. Tell her I didn’t sign up for this heartbreak and pain and seeing her like this.
And the other part of me knows that I did sign up for this. When I said, I love you, Ximena. We’re always going to be friends…
I meant that.
I didn’t give a list of conditions. I didn’t say if. I didn’t say as long as.
And neither did Jesus.
*The names in this post have been changed in order to protect the privacy of certain individuals.