Resurrection Meditation

Spring is probably our favorite time of year in Ireland. The winter chill is absent and so are the tourist crowds. The yellow whin is blossoming anew and smells like coconut as the sun’s warmth draws out its scent, the heather is coming on painting the hills purple again, new lambs and calves are dotting the fields and verdant shoots of green life are all the more vibrant and seemingly greener than anywhere else in God’s green earth - and all this slow growth is set to the joyous soundtrack of celebratory birdsong. The people, places and things we’ll miss when we return to the States are too numerous to mention here, but as I write this I’m listening to the song of a simple robin out my window. I’ll miss Ireland’s robins. They are smaller and rounder than their North American cousins - like golfballs given wings to fly - transfigured into the dictionary definition of the word ‘cute’.

Good Things Come in Small Packages was the song Christy spontaneously sang out to our Josiah moments after he was born and before he was placed in his incubator. “You are welcome here!” we cried out through terrified and tear streaked faces, over and over to him as the doctors rushed him across the room and deliberated whether or not this one pound baby really was welcome and deserving of a fighting chance at life. Seventeen weeks early, his skin was so transparent he was red as a robin and not cute the way a bird or newborn baby is. Our baby bird with eyes fused shut was soon covered in tubes and wires and remained that way for months. These days he’s cute enough, alright. Perhaps all the more so that he carries the battle scars of a survivor of micro-prematurity.

With Easter in mind, the resurrected and glorified body of Jesus must have been something to look at; for the shear wonder and glory of him, yes - but all the more that he chose to keep his wounds. Imagine God himself holding his own ‘weakness’ and areas of vulnerability out to be seen and touched by the weak and vulnerable themselves. By us. He may have been the unblemished and spotless lamb before he was crucified, but not anymore. This is hard to grasp, but one thing the apostles creed basically states is that the Good Shepherd went down to the muck - to hell itself - to lift the lost sheep out of it. He has the scars to prove it. Is that okay with us? Like the temple priests during Passover, do we not approve of the look of a sacrificial lamb with imperfections? We want to say, “Sorry Jesus, but those scars won’t do. Our Messiah is the conquering Lion of Judah and quite impenetrable, thank you very much. Heroes don’t get hurt, have chinks in their armor - holes in their plot - hands, feet and side...humanity.”

Darwin was right. Survival of the fittest is both a primary law of nature and the law of the jungle we are constantly tempted to be governed by; but it is not the law of the Kingdom of God. Presidents, mega-church pastors, pop stars and those at the top of their game are at the top of the ladder in the Jungle. We worship success stories and are drawn to them as moths to flame while ‘losers’ are ushered away from our line of sight. We chew ‘em up for entertainment and spit ‘em out the other end when they fail to meet our immediate gratifications. We don’t like to see or smell what has passed out the other end and fallen through our cracks (pun intended). The lepers are hidden away in their colonies, the dying in hospices (if they are lucky), the elderly in old folks homes, ‘special people’ in their special schools and workplaces and the insane in their asylums. If we who have it together are in first class, the rest are in coach. If they so much as appear infectious, they are placed in the cargo hold.

Meanwhile we count our blessings or do whatever else it takes to maintain our illusions. Among these illusions are (sadly) often enough our false pictures of God as “the man upstairs,” an emotionally distant ‘higher-up’ CEO of the big company with his big, clean manicured hands gripping his big office chair/throne arms behind his big shiny desk on the very top floor of his biggest office building with the biggest, baddest, bestest view of the big city he also happens to own. Doesn’t that sound just like the devil? Speaking of hands, on Easter we imagine the trembling hands of Thomas inspecting the perfectly healed, shiny scars of Jesus’ hands after his resurrected self appeared to him. Have you ever seen (or imagined) a three-day old, unstitched railroad spike of a gash? What John’s firsthand Gospel account actually says is this: “...reach here your hand and put it into my side.” Have you ever actually imagined Thomas reaching his hand into the open spear wound in Jesus’ side? I wonder if he had the nerve or stomach to do so. I didn’t see that version in the illustrated Bible stories of my childhood. If you ask for proof, you might just bite off more than you can chew. Perhaps that is why we are more blessed who haven’t seen and yet believe. Seeing him could (and always should) be more than we can handle.

He was wounded for our transgressions, the psalmist says. The prophet Isaiah said this about him: “For He grew up before Him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of parched ground; He has no stately form or majesty that we should look upon Him, nor appearance that we should be attracted to Him.”  That actually sounds an awful lot like our son Josiah in his early months.

In the early days of his life, I was almost afraid to look him in the face - not because I feared bonding in case he didn’t make it (I did) and seeing his suffering was too much to handle (it was), but because looking on him was the nearest I’ve come - or most likely will come - to looking on the face of the Suffering Servant from Isaiah himself - the face of the wounded God who is found in the face of the vulnerable, broken and bedraggled. The face of holiness isn’t easy to look upon. If we can’t get away from the faces of Jesus, we often choose to confine him to the places reserved for such faces - out of our line of sight.

Although he was resurrected from the dead of all things, God chose not to heal and erase the wounds in his very own person. We, like most of the faithful - often pray and ask for healing and most often don’t receive, like St. Paul. Not only for Josiah, but for Christy who has suffered from intense chronic pain, depression and poor sleep for nearly fourteen years. Some cups just taste bitter; but those cups are so often of the greatest worth to our greater good; and if not the salvation of the world, then certainly that of the broken and lonely world around us. Perhaps the greatest miracle isn’t the body healed of all hurts after all, but the heart that continues to glorify and put trust in it’s God while the body or mind walks with a limp: the caged bird that sings the healing song of freedom: “Oh my soul, why are you cast down within me? Put your hope in God...I will yet praise him!” (Psalm 42)

The image of God in heaven with crucifixion wounds still smarting from time to time brings me great comfort. Call me crazy, but as long as there’s one person whose hurts haven’t healed in this world, how could the identifying and empathizing God of love not wince from the pain himself? What if, millennia later, he is to be the last one left in Glory who has yet to be glorified? The last shall be first after all... How else could God identify with the suffering than (in some way) presently suffer himself?

According to scripture, we were all dead in our transgressions. When Christ redeemed our lost souls, he didn’t cover up our past wounds and mistakes or hide them away for shame. We may have tried that act, but he hasn’t. It is true that he physically heals some and not others (a mystery we must try to accept for the present), but he doesn’t stick the rest: the broken, poor, sick, mentally ill and physically handicapped and plain “different” in the back of the church, school or a different bus for shame because they haven’t been “healed” yet and the sight of them is an affront to the particular group or congregation’s bogus ideology or theology. He holds those who can’t hide their gaping wounds and obvious scars out to be seen, empowered to love and be loved as they are, just as he holds his own torn body out to be touched by the doubting Thomas’s of this world, saying “See me. Touch me. Feel me. Believe in me. ‘Put your hand in my side.’ Love me as I am. Let me love you as you are.” God helps those who, like Peter are led where they don’t want to go - the silenced lambs led to the slaughter - those who can’t help themselves.

A world where those broken and stained by the fall aren’t lifted up for God’s light to shine through (the way they are) like precious stained glass - isn’t God’s world. He uses the broken cisterns, bleeding hearts and Weeping Mary’s of this world to water the flowers along the dry garden path. He repurposes the pain - transfiguring golf balls into robins that sprout wings, sing and eventually soar on their own. Why did God heal my son Josiah of some things and not others? Was it his sin or his parent’s fault that he has cerebral palsy? It’s hard to understand how some people can actually believe that crap. I guess in our anguish of heart and constant calls to prayer on Facebook of all things, we and the thousands of others who prayed faithfully for him just didn’t pray or believe hard enough? All together, was our faith smaller than a mustard seed? After all, God gave me his name in a dream and his name even means ‘healed by God’ of all things. For that matter, why did he let him get born so early into a fight for his very life?

All I know is that if God had anything to do with it, we must believe He was in the aftermath more than in the event itself. He was and remains in the miracle of love as we’ve been surrounded and upheld by the prayers and encouragement of thousands - most of whom we’ll never meet. He is also in the miracle of life - imperfect as it is - as we’ve watched this frail spring flower - this tender shoot - pushing his way up as a root through parched ground, rock and the concrete of Dublin 8 - to shine his own beautiful and broken light of life out to a world that longs to and needs to believe in miracles.

I am repeatedly floored by my son Josiah Caleb Rauwolf. He was brought back from the point of death more times than I care to recall. Because of all he’s fought for and worked towards, the floor he plays on, rolls on, farts on and drools upon is holy ground. He and the Resurrected Son of God have a few things in common. They each have wounds that persuade: it is not those untouched by grief, but those acquainted with suffering - the “embarrassing,” small, weak, slow, humble and downright unlucky and unlikely that cause the earth to quake around them, divisions to be rent top to bottom, and mountains of pride and unbelief to be cast into the sea. In short it is they, the meek ones, who will inherit the earth. The mustard seed of faith found through rocky soil and desperate beginnings (or endings) becomes the most unlikely tree of welcome to both birds and sojourners alike who are worn out from their long migration south and just happy to have a safe place to land and rest a while. We are invited through the sacred door of suffering into a world of resurrection and a new life bursting with hope we never dreamed of - for this purpose: to join this ministry of Jesus (who is both the Resurrection and the Life and has the scars to prove it): “Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Enjoy It While You Can

Yesterday was messy. Christy and I were scrambling to help her and Josiah get out the door in time for Josiah’s first dentist appointment (this scrambling to go to appointments has become one of our many routines). His third outfit of the day and his hearing aids had just got covered in tuna fish and reeked. While Christy made herself a tuna sandwich for the road I gave Josiah a last-minute change before they left. His teeth are coming in yellow and crooked and perhaps without enamel. Naturally, at first this came as a shock but is among the least of our concerns. Turns out the heavy cocktail of antibiotics that helped keep him alive in his tumultuous early months had this effect on his baby teeth and could be a cause of his hearing loss as well. We still think he has the best smile ever. Ever.

As we were checking everything off the diaper bag checklist (D.B.C.), I rattled a few lyrics off to Christy for her feedback. Songwriting is a big hobby of mine and these were from a new song I’m working on, tentatively titled The Prodigal Prodigal. I normally wouldn’t publicly share much about my songs, but feel it relevant to yesterdays events. Bare with me.

Whether you’re a believer or not, you probably know the story of the Prodigal Son. If you don’t, it’s a good’n. Perhaps the most affectingly popular of Jesus’ many parables, I wanted to examine - in song form - a (fictional?) follow up to this tale of grace that I feel is personal for all believers (whether they know it or not). In the song, the restored prodigal son, like one still suffering from drug/sin addiction, leaves his father's house and squanders his second chance and second inheritance on prostitutes; pawns his father’s purple robe and signet ring for a fix and finds himself in a hot mess. Like every honest ragamuffin on this sojourn, he needs yet more grace and healing and finds his redemption like a car wreck, racing like hell for home again, trying to outrun a volcanic eruption and the hounds of hell itself. A funny twist of irony comes as we find the very alarms threatening his life are in fact agents of grace in the guise of dangers to lead him back to his home and ever loving father. The road behind is burned up in the lava flow that he’s trying to outrun. He’s tried every road there is, but the only road left is the road running ‘home’. Like a sheep scared stupid, the hound of hell at his heels turns out not to be the big bad wolf, but his guide, the sheepdog. The nips of fire and lava at his tail are the honest wounds of a friend, sending him running back to the Shepherd’s arms and his source of life and safety.

In the lyric I shared with Christy yesterday morning, I likened this to driving down a hill in the ice and snow. Growing up in northern Idaho, Montana and Alaska, Christy knows what to do in this situation better than most. If you hit the brakes, you’re gonna slide out of control. Perhaps the only thing you can do is downshift and say a prayer that you won’t slide into traffic at the bottom of the hill. I shared my lyrical analogy with her:

“It’s a slippery slope,
if you press the brakes
on your way down,
you’re gonna skid.

On the slippery slope,
if you try to slow
you’re gonna wish
you never did...”

“For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” - Matthew 16:25

With only two weeks left in this house we’ve called home since September, I chose to stay back to clean and pack while Christy and Josiah began their two-hour journey to Galway, the nearest pediatric dentist in Ireland. I had a not-so-funny feeling, so tucked Josiah into his rear-facing car seat w/ isofix base extra snug and prayed for their journey while keeping my phone on me. No cleaning or packing happened. Half an hour later, while finishing my own tuna sandwich, Christy called to say her and Josiah had been in a car accident. She was in shock. They were both Okay. No one else was involved. Freak accident. Somewhere in there was also a tuna sandwich. Somehow, on dry roads and a straight stretch going under the speed limit, the car started fish-tailing out of control. Somehow (miraculously?) the front two wheels had landed perpendicular to the road, across a deep ditch while the back wheels stayed balanced on the road-side of the ditch (see attached picture). Several spectators said you couldn’t have replicated that ‘landing’ if you tried a million times. There were no skid marks. Like my song lyrics, she didn’t slam on the brakes. Sean’s the name of the man who gave her and Josiah a lift back to Westport. He also comforted her and sat with Josiah to make sure he was okay. He was a driving instructor for thirty-five years and said she did just the right thing by not doing slamming on the brakes. How she didn’t roll, flip or slide into the deep mote-like ditch is a complete mystery. Any faster and she’d have rolled, any slower and she’d have taken a nosedive several feet below. It’s as if the car was physically lifted and set down the way it landed.

I scrambled to make a few calls. With no friends or family nearby I called our landlord, who put me in touch with a mechanic who tows cars and our friend Tomas in Dublin to ask for prayer. My neighbor let me borrow her car to go get Christy and J and take them to the A&E (ER). Josiah didn’t even cry, the jolt just woke him from his nap. He remained his happy self with no sign of discomfort. Christy got some whiplash and is feeling quite sore in her back and abdomen, but otherwise seems fine (appreciate prayers for her full recovery). The A&E waiting area was full of 50 sick people who are a greater risk to Josiah than anything he may have experienced in the accident. Rather than hang out with them in an airtight space with nowhere to sit for six hours till we were seen (and probably just to be told to take some advil), we decided to leave and return later if anything seemed fishy.

The mechanic called back. He’d been to see the car, said you’d have to airlift it out of there and recommended selling it for scrap for 60 euros. He said it wasn’t worth it. Let it melt into the bog. Josiah was hungry. While we still had access to our neighbor’s car, we drove to the nearest Tesco (grocery store) with attached cafe to feed Josiah and have a rest. Christy was still in a bit of shock and needed a latte. The report from the mechanic actually set her laughing hysterically. Anyone who knows Christy well shouldn’t be surprised at this. While a wrecked car with no coverage or money in the bank is no fun, it’s nothing compared with two precious lives. We are beyond thankful Josiah and Christy are okay. I got some shopping done while C started feeding J his blended spaghetti bolognese and nursed her coffee. Who knows when we’d be able to drive to the store again? What does it matter that we’re living in the middle of nowhere, isolated without a car to move house and get Josiah to appointments as long as we’re alive?

Returning with groceries, I give C a break and take over Josiah’s feeding. Looking up, an elderly man is waving and smiling. AT us. He has few hairs left, each going it’s own way. His huge smile betrays crooked, discolored teeth with several missing. It may be the third best smile I’ve ever seen (behind Christy and Josiah’s, respectively). I wave back and turn Josiah’s attention to him as he gives us the thumbs up. “See the nice man, Josiah?” I lift one of his messy spaghetti hands in a waving gesture back to him. He stands up and walks over to us. All he says are these five words: “Enjoy it while you can!” I thank him and say I will, his joyful smile and kind words carrying a solemn weight as though he were a prophet of God. I grin knowingly as the smiley man walks away. They couldn’t have been more timely in light that my wife and son had just narrowly escaped bad injury or worse. What was it about his voice - so scratchy, so much effort to get those few important words out? Enjoy it while you can.

Josiah cried when he was born at 23 weeks. It really was a miracle. This impossibly small, red, one pound baby let out a little cry. A moment later, a breathing tube was hurried down his throat and his next frail cries weren’t heard until the 104th day of his life, the first full day without a ventilation tube down his throat. If he’d been able to speak, he would’ve sounded something like that man. Being ventilated can make one rather hoarse, to say the least. With their big, crooked, yellow, life-affirming smiles they both exhort us to enjoy it while we can.

Of all those in that cafe yesterday, Josiah and Mr. Smiley Man were the only two that took any interest in those around them and seemed to be the only two who tried to interact with and encourage the strangers they were surrounded by. The healthy, shiny, perfect teenagers nearby were clustered eight to a three person table. For such a large group, it was sad that for the most part they looked down at their smart phones. My son will probably never look like them. He may be developmentally delayed with disabilities from extreme prematurity all his life, but one thing that is not disabled is his joy and ability to carry that joy and hope to hundreds (if not thousands) of people. With no words, he shouts that life and love are both miracles and to enjoy them while we can.

“...but God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.” 1 Cor. 1:27

It all felt a bit like a dream, to be honest. Over the years we’ve had a few run-ins with those who we later wondered whether or not they were angels. Ask us sometime. None of whom have had smooth complexions, figures, ruddy arms or perfect teeth. In fact, they’ve all been elderly and frail. Perhaps they were just kind old people who’ve learned a thing or two about the secret of Life. If not angelic messengers sent to us in times of need, they were messengers no less. “Enjoy it while you can,” they say.

We gathered up our things and decided to drive our neighbor’s car to the scene of the crash to clean out our car and say our goodbyes before the grim car-reaper came to collect his prize. A couple miles down the same road on our way home, a huge truck had just gone into the ditch and a crew was trying to get it out (what is it about this road?). C suggested we ask them to look at our car. Meet Sean #2. If you recall, Sean #1 was the driving instructor who stopped to help Christy earlier and brought her and J back to town. We were told that Sean #2 was the man in charge. Turns out he’s just a heck of a nice guy with towing gear who ‘just so happened’ to be in the right place at the right time. We give him our number, he says he’ll look at the car when he’s done and call us. By this time, Josiah’s fussing, hungry and tired of sitting in a car seat for most of the day. Can't blame him - at least he doesn't know he was in a car wreck. We were nearing home when Sean #2 called us. Apparently, he and a few guys had got our car out in mostly one piece and were driving it back to Westport. Say what?! Dumbfounded, we turned around.

We meet Sean #2 at his shop, who had just pulled up in our car. A mechanic had given it a once over and decided it was okay enough to drive slowly back to town. Sean hurriedly pressure-washed the bog from our front fender and radiator as though he was embarrassed to have not done so before we’d arrived. Honestly, it was like he was ashamed he hadn’t gift wrapped it for us. Another angel, perhaps. Expecting an insurmountable bill, we asked him how we could repay him. “Pray for me!” he said... Enjoy it while you can. We tell him if we weren’t praying people before our son was born, we have certainly become so since and shared a bit of Josiah’s story with him before shaking hands and parting ways. We will remember to pray for Sean #2. And Sean #1 for that matter. As I write this, I wonder what name 'Sean' means. I bet it means grace or something. Honestly! Let's try Google...yep, even better - Sean means God is gracious; gift from God.

We inched our way home in two cars with the hazards on and made it safely for a late dinner and bedtime routine. No tuna fish. Had a few group hugs, tears and prayers of thanksgiving, even for traumatic and untimely events like this that serve as a means of grace: telling us not take the gifts of life and our loved ones for granted. We still don’t know what we’re gonna do with our car for our last two months in Ireland, but are quite sure we’ll be looked after (however that looks) and most importantly, try to enjoy it while we can.     

Trust in Transition

Dear friends and family,

Here is an update from us Rauwolfs. We’d love to reconnect and hear from you as well! There’s a lot of ground to cover - you may want to settle in with a hot drink!

First, we are thankful: for your love, prayers and generosity that has kept us afloat through both calm and stormy seas. We couldn’t have made it without you! We found ourselves shipwrecked this year, but thanks to God (working through you and others) the desert island became an oasis - full of life and treasures - not only for us, but those around us as well. We have been so blessed in this land and so amazed to see how far Josiah has come - he is a joy beyond measure! Even so, our sails and nets, mast and rudder are a bit banged up and in need of repair. It has been a hard season. The difficulties of having a micro-preemie, and living in an emergency situation in a degree of isolation have taken a toll on us spiritually, physically, emotionally and mentally. We'd really appreciate your prayers! We’ve found it difficult to move past the trauma of the last year and into a new season while living in the shadow of the hospitals where Josiah had spent so much time.

After a year of much intensity (punctuated with regular Josiah prayer updates on Facebook), we needed to ‘unplug’ a bit - so (once Josiah was well enough to leave the city), a year to the day of our arrival via ambulance to Dublin, we packed up our car and said goodbye to those at the Coombe Hospital and the neighborhood we had come to know as ‘Hospitalville,’ and drove north to spend the summer reconnecting with friends and YWAM co-workers in Rostrevor.  It was just before Josiah turned 1 and just in time for a very special and memorable birthday celebration with dear friends at An Cuan (The Harbour) - the YWAM centre we had helped to pioneer. What a day!

1-Year BIRTHDAY celebration for Josiah Caleb Rauwolf!

The lovely Jones family whom we got to house-sit for

Friends graciously opened their doors to us in the area and we were able to housesit for much of the summer, which allowed us a place for the residual adrenaline to dissipate and to be in closer proximity to YWAM Rostrevor and friends and fellowship - with ministry opportunities as well. One of the highlights was getting to play some of our songs and share Josiah’s testimony with 200 people at a local music festival. We continue to be in awe of the number of lives The Lord has reached through Josiah. We are so honored to be his parents!

Worship time at YWAM Rostrevor

Another highlight of the summer was when Mariette Louw, a seasoned leader in YWAM (and a spiritual powerhouse), came all the way by ferry and car from Scotland just to spend a few days praying with, ministering to and debriefing us. While Josiah (and we) have survived the ‘battlefield’ and have known and felt the strong arms of our Shepherd and dwelt under the shadow of His great wings, we have not altogether escaped the ‘shell-shock’ of such an experience. We (along with many other parents with experience in the NICU) have come out of this time with some PTSD symptoms and have needed some outside input. Our time with Mariette was better, went deeper and brought more healing than we could’ve possibly imagined. Not only did she debrief the past season with Josiah, but she debriefed our years in ministry and with YWAM - as well as providing some guidance for the future - which couldn’t have come at a better time.

Mariette - a Godsend!

Perhaps you are wondering what’s next for us. There are a few details we are certain of that we are excited to share with you and appreciate your prayers for: first, we are hoping to return to the USA next May (2015)! Josiah’s doctor expects him to be able to fly by then and we are anxious to be surrounded by family and friends (most have not yet met - and held - our dear Josiah) for the first time in 2 1/2 years.

Until then, it’s important that we are in a place where Josiah’s needs are met and we see to our own physical/mental/spiritual health as well. For legal and medical reasons, we can’t remain in Northern Ireland. After much prayer and leading, the Lord has lit up a path for us to a house near Westport, County Mayo - in the West of Ireland - not far from where a number of friends live and some of my (Joey’s) ancestors are from and some distant cousins still live. Tomorrow (September 17), we will leave Rostrevor and drive to our new place, where for the next 6 months we will be in the shadow of Croagh Patrick - the mountain where, 1500 years ago, Saint Patrick fasted and prayed for 40 days and nights for the people of Ireland. We hope to carry on in the place and spirit of his prayers. First and foremost, our desire is that the Lord’s purposes be done in us and through us. Please pray for a safe journey and smooth transition to what may be the last place we live in Ireland. We are excited and expectant and want to make our time count.

Enjoying some rays at Tollymore Forest Park

To fully embrace the next season, we have decided - through much counsel and confirmation - to shift our position from YWAM Ireland staff to being YWAM associates living in Ireland, technically on sabbatical. Our calling and the means of reaching this land have shifted with the situation and surroundings we’ve found ourselves in: through Josiah, The Lord is doing something broader and farther reaching than we’d anticipated or currently understand.

While we and so many were fighting for our “non-viable” 23 weeker’s life in Dublin, around the corner the politicians were forcing Ireland’s first bill to legalize abortion through Parliament. Josiah is a great witness to the beautiful miracle of Life in this land. He has touched so many lives in the medical community of Ireland, let alone through social media, where his story has reached thousands around the world. Perhaps he’s accomplished more in the spirit and the natural just by being alive and smiling than thousands marching with placards in a pro-Life rally through the center of Dublin...God knows.

Good Little King Josiah

New adventures

The twenty-third Psalm has always been special to us, but especially so since Josiah was born at twenty-three weeks gestation. We would pray those power-filled words over him in his incubator day and night. Lately, the third verse has been standing apart: “He restores my soul...” We know The Lord is leading us into a season of soul-restoration, and we want to allow Him the space and time. Our friend Mariette (from South Africa) shared a story that really made sense to us: when going on long journeys, the early Afrikaner settlers of South Africa would use the indigenous people as servants to carry them through the jungles. Every so often, the servants would stop in their tracks, set their ‘loads’ down, and sit. Nothing or no one could make them get back up. “What are you doing?” Their masters would shout. “We have outrun our souls,” they’d reply. “We'll wait here 'til they catch up!"

Josiah continues to thrive and has been accepted to an early intervention program, where he will receive the physical and occupational therapy he needs, as well as speech and language therapy - and regular visits to the audiologist for new hearing aid moulds and help from the visiting teacher for the hard of hearing. While he’s almost 15 months old, they’d like for his development to be around his ‘corrected’ age of 11 months. He’s currently a bright, happy boy at about a 5 month old’s development and can still use a lot of prayer and help along the way. Our days and weeks are quite full just seeing to his needs, but we are reveling in the joy of simple (perhaps still not normal?) parenthood - something that has come on slowly and was hard to attain to for so long - which is why we’re so thankful!

"Thanks for praying for me!"

Last but not least, a week after we get settled in County Mayo, we will be driving to the Crumlin Hospital in Dublin. Josiah will be having another operation on September 30th. Please remember him and us in your prayers again. He has undescended testes, and to protect his future chances of fertility, it’s important that they are brought down soon. The surgeon may only bring one down and wait until March to bring down the other. He may need to insert a camera into his abdomen to find one of them. We are praying that this more invasive procedure won’t be required and that Josiah will have a quick and easy recovery. Although it's considered a minor operation, the thought of passing through those doors again and our Josiah going under general anesthesia and being opened up once more is extremely difficult for us to bare. We will be leaning hard into the Comforter for this one.

Thank you once more for your prayers and encouraging support. Please let us know how you and your family are doing and how we can pray for you. We look forward to seeing each other once again and sharing the many, mighty good things our Lord has done.

The grace and peace of Jesus be yours.

Love and Hugs,

Joey, Christy and Josiah Rauwolf

Sligo - The Land of Heart's Desire

Sligo is a small county with incredible amounts of beauty! We've just been here a month and a half, but are surprised at how much treasure there is here. We are just getting settled into our flat now, feeling more at home. We had black water for the first month but the plumber has been round to fix it and get things sorted...everything on Irish time...

We live in a noisy area downtown within walking distance of everything which is fab. We're blessed with an open fire in the flat which makes it feel quite cozy.

We've been enjoying getting to know our fellow YWAMers here - a couple, one Irish, one American. We have shared many meals since we arrived and it's a joy to be working with them. We've also been thankful for a warm welcome from a few locals we've started to get to know.

Keeping true to our traveler hearts, we've been away a lot of weekends to other parts of Ireland since we arrived. Just back from an amazing weekend of connecting with friends and ministry in Co. Mayo, and on our way to Cork in a couple days.

Then we will be able to spend a good month in Sligo before the next faith journey - France!

Photos of Summer in Ireland: Mobile Ministry Trips, Lots of Music & Beauty!

Getting ready for outreach!

We've begun a small ministry which is mobile and the heart of it is to connect with people around Ireland, learn what needs there are and go serve whether we do it ourselves or connect people who we think will be a good fit - NETWORKING! So we have done four circuits of Ireland in the last few years and then lots of little trips to get to know people, play music, worship, pray and get more of God's good heart for this place.

The cafe we ran for Fiddler's Green - good fun!

                             Music workshop our team ran at Summer Madness Youth Festival
                                           Special Guest: Aaron Weiss of mewithoutYou

                                                                      Exploring the West...

We're so blessed to be building relationship with the Benedictine nuns at Kylemore Abbey, and had a great opportunity to do some garden work for them in exchange for an incredible place to stay for the weekend. Here's a taste of Connemara:

           
                                              Beautiful Connemara, County Galway

Salmon Festival music outreach trip - Ballina, County Mayo in the west of Ireland, where Joey and our friend Nathanael's ancestors were from.

Bert and Val - great hosts to the team

Prayer in Rosserk Friary

                                   Downpatrick Head - Ballycastle, with Sean and Nathanael...

                       
                                              Sometimes you can't resist the chase.

Our friend Nathanael has joined us for a few of the mobile team trips around Ireland. We've had great times together and have been a doing a lot of worship together- a great blessing!!

                                                 Ceide Fields - Ballycastle, Co. Mayo

Hedge torn out, 36 tons of soil in, let the planting begin!

Sowing and reaping...

                                         Recording one of Joey's songs in our 'summer flat'

Cooking community meal for 30-40 people, which we have every Friday, inviting people from the area into our lives. This was almost all from the garden - A stir fry, a garden-salad and then chocolate beet-root cake!

Christy singing "Pressing On" with Liam O'Maonlai of Hothouse Flowers at The Music of Healing in An Cuan. There's a real story here! Click here for the full video!

  

A peaceful stroll in the land of many castles

"The Beard!"

The "Mourne Wall" - County Down where we live...