Who Will Kill the Spiders?

With a grateful heart I dedicate this book to the Lord our God, to our six children David, Russ, Ann, Derryk, Stephen and Krista for their love and support, not only of their dad but for me as well, then and now; and, to their spouses who were so wonderfully kind, helpful and uplifting, particularly Belinda Carr and Dr. John Julian. I am eternally grateful to the three households that stood with me through this entire journey: Alan and Sherry Cady, Charlotte and Lerence Robison and Theresa (T.T.) Schroeder. You were amazing and I love you dearly.

To Linda, my dear Israeli friend, who walked many miles that I could not walk during this time. What a blessing you have been to me.

A very special thank you to Sherry, Theresa and Ginger for diligently and quickly proofing the book and sharing your thoughts. Todah Rabah!

There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven—

A time to give birth, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot what is planted.

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to tear down, and a time to build up.

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones; a time to embrace, and a time to shun embracing.

A time to search, and a time to give up as lost; a time to keep, and a time to throw away.

A time to tear apart, and a time to sew together; a time to be silent, and a time to speak.

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

What profit is there to the worker from that in which he toils?

I have seen the task which God has given the sons of men with which to occupy themselves.

He has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-11

Prologue

This is a story about time and the changes that we face in our lives. It is a true story, written as a catharsis, as it happened to us—my beloved husband and me.

Although it is true and personal, it could be your story or that of your parents or someone else you know. As you walk through these next few pages with us, it is my prayer that you will learn and grow; but, most of all, that you will know that others have experienced what you are going through. Each story is different, but the same. There is no training for these changes we face just as there is no training for parenting. When we become parents, that baby is placed in our hands and we are parents, for the rest of our lives. When we marry, that spouse eventually becomes one with you, and, God willing, the marriage lasts through many years. Seasons change, and we grow and mature and we become old. It is the walk that is set before us and how we walk it that matters. There is no training for the road that lies ahead, and when we reach a chasm, we often don’t know how to get across to the other side. If we pull together, we might make it—we might.

Perhaps I should give you, the reader, a little background about myself so you won’t think too harshly of me, the story teller.

My siblings and I grew up on a farm with loving parents who had a stable relationship. As with all families, we had our issues, but, as a whole, our lives were very sane with the exception of one thing—our mother’s health issues. In all actuality, her health issues were extremely convenient, a vehicle she used to get her way or to manipulate Daddy, or we kids.

Mother’s abuse of health matters created trauma for all of us, leaving each of us with very little patience for illness. As we matured, we all held strong expectations toward illness which became as unrelenting as Mother’s abuse in the opposite direction.

As my children grew up, we made very rare visits to the doctor—only when there was blood or other obvious injury or illness. Our normal pattern was to try to solve the situation with the use of vitamins, herbs and my favorite standby—aspirin and prayer.

Having laid this foundation, some of my actions and re-actions to our two and three quarter years long journey will be more understanding to you, the reader. There are times when I’m not very nice, times when I’m broken, and times when I’m just out and out crazy! As I said, this is a true story. I thought about making it pretty, cleaning it up, but what was is what is. May you be blessed, encouraged and strengthened as you read this, our story of Who Will Kill the Spiders? in our lives. Truly, there is a time to give birth, and a time to die. This book is about the latter with all of its frustrations and foibles; our imperfections show up and make us ashamed, our love is expressed and grows, and our memories become more precious with each passing day.

I dedicate this book to my beloved David, to our kids and to our precious grandkids. I love you all more than you can know.

Chapter 1

The Locket in My Pocket

This part of my life began on a cold and snowy day in February 1987. I had fallen in love with Israel, the Land and the People, years before when I was still in college. After I became a Christian, that love had been nurtured by studying the Word of God and staying up on current events in Israel. Over the years, God had allowed me to come into contact with people who had taught and influenced me while He grew this love in my heart. One of these, my friend Connie, was having a Bible study and prayer fellowship in her home that Monday night with a guest speaker from Israel whom I had heard several times over the last few days. I was excited to have the opportunity to hear him again, believing he had something specific and personal from the Lord for me. I eagerly looked forward to the meeting and fellowship with longtime friends.

A native of Holland, Jan Willem Van der Hoeven, spoke heavily accented words of fire that challenged us to be willing to leave our American comfort zones to stand with the People and the Land of the Book, even if it meant personal sacrifice. It seemed God was using this spokesman for the International Christian Embassy—Jerusalem, ICEJ, to beckon us to come to Israel’s aide in a time of deep crisis.

We all loved Israel, my friends and I, even to the point of romanticizing her. Each of us had received individual calls from the Lord to serve Israel and her people as we attended our respective churches. For most of us, it began when we started searching Torah and Tanach—the Old Testament—to get a better understanding of Jesus, our Jewish Savior. Out of that personal digging came a learning that intensified our appetites to know more. Through the leading of the Holy Spirit, we found each other and began fellowshipping as like-minded friends while we remained in our home churches.

We had talked and dreamed of the days when we would be allowed to live in Israel. We wanted that. We desired that. We were a closely knit group and we were ready to respond to any message that would pull us closer to our beloved, adopted land. We were Christians with a God-given mandate to love the Jewish people, and we were doing it in the best way we knew how. We had all traveled to Israel together, and in doing so, we had blessed and been blessed. Some of us had been granted the opportunity to go more than once, but none dared to dream that God would open doors for us and push us through as He did in 1990, giving each of us a Jewish family to be friends with.

The speaker delivered his challenge, unknowingly wooing us closer to our dreams, then allowing us a time of quiet and prayer. Surrounded by hues of purple in an elegantly appointed home, each of us weighed the cost of answering the demand. Afterward, we entered into a special time of fellowship and conversation, enjoying each other and the sweet spirit.

A friend and I were sitting on a couch situated in the middle of the room, small talking about the meeting and our desire to go to Israel, when someone walked up behind me and flipped my hair. I turned to look and there stood Jan Willem, the guest speaker. I thought it was odd that he flipped my hair, but my friend and I quickly rose and joined him in conversation. Soon, others gathered around.

For no apparent reason, Jan Willem looked directly at me and asked, What do you do?

Thinking nothing of this often asked question, I answered, I’m an Administrative Assistant/Executive Secretary.

I can use you in Israel if you are any good, he said.

My exuberance for Israel was well known so it was easy for me to think someone had put him up to playing a joke on me. I responded with, I’m excellent.

He said, I’m serious, looking me in the eyes.

Shocked at his response, I felt humbled and nervous. Was this really happening? Was this a joke? If it was, why was he so determined, so pointed in his questioning?

Throughout the remainder of the evening, Jan Willem grilled me, taking away every excuse I had. Finally, he was satisfied in my competency and willingness to come to Israel to work at the ICEJ, and that I had the financial and personal freedom to do so. No excuses were left.

Later, as we were leaving the gathering, Jan Willem and his host walked to their car at the same time that my escort and I did. His parting words to me as we looked across the snow covered vehicles at each other were, I’m serious about this. I want you to stay close to the heels of God.

I was a wreck. I wanted him to back off and leave me alone. My whole life had just been turned upside down. I needed to think. I was shaking and it wasn’t from the cold.

As we drove the two miles to my home, my escort quizzed me at length, having missed out on the conversation and wanting to know what Jan Willem’s parting words meant. I told him and he laughed, as though it really were a joke and he had been in on it. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t a joke and I certainly wasn’t laughing.

I didn’t invite him in—I needed to be alone. He bade me goodbye and left me to my thoughts. I stood in my dining room, leaning against the new table I had purchased only a few weeks before, and said to the Lord, Father, if this is of you, I need you to confirm it every step of the way. If it is of you, why did you let me buy this new furniture? Then I started to cry. I determined in my heart that I would do just as Jan Willem had said. I would stick close to the heels of God. I would seek His face in this matter and He would confirm it to me, one way or another.

For the next six months, my life continued in a normal manner while the lives of those whom I loved began to fall apart. My parents were sued for the first and only time in their lives; my father’s otherwise excellent health took a turn; and, my son’s new car was broadsided by an uninsured, hit-and-run driver one morning on his way to work. He was only slightly injured but the hassle and inconvenience of it all sent us both spinning.

I asked the Lord for clear direction and continued confirmation that I was hearing Him in the call to Israel. Always, my question was, ‘How can I go off into the unknown and leave these people who need me so much?’ Concerned over the despair that my family was experiencing, on the night of April 11, 1987, I asked Him for one last assurance.

That night, in a dream vision, my friends and I were standing on a hillside looking down into a valley, at what appeared to be a ghost town. We knew someone in that ghost town needed to be rescued and I was the one to go.

In the next scene in the dream, the rescued person and I were slipping into the backs of buildings as though we were afraid of what was out front. The ghost town had turned into an abandoned dude ranch. We entered a barn through the back door and my thoughts were that this building would not be half bad, if they would clean it up and paint it. I knew I needed to go to the front of the building to see if the coast was clear, but blocking the way was a huge pile of debris, the remainder of what appeared to have been a tremendous struggle. From the midst of the debris, a gigantic cobweb stretched upwards to the rafters of the barn.

Cobwebs and spiders are things I avoid. Knowing that I needed to continue the journey, I began to look for something to break down the menacing web. There, in the pile of debris, I found a wooden kitchen spoon with the tip of the handle broken off. I picked it up and in one gigantic swoop I knocked down that cobweb. Only then did I see a beautiful golden locket suspended from the rafters. I reached up and took the locket, picked the cobwebs from it, and held it in my hands.

Etched on the front were exquisite Lilies of the Valley with the slightest of blue hues. On the back of the locket was a Star of David made of three strands of braided gold. I knew that locket had been placed there for me, and I put it in my pocket. The rescued and I got into a red convertible and drove off. My heart was full of happiness because I had the locket in my pocket.

When I awakened, the dream was as poignant as if I had actually lived it. There was no doubt in my mind that this night vision was of the Lord, and I understood that there was great significance to it. Not wanting to take any chances on a wrong interpretation, I asked Him to explain it to me. He said, Don’t you see, when you break down your fears, which are no more substantial than that cobweb which you knocked down with a broken wooden spoon, and step out in faith and follow me, you’ll have the desires of your heart.

My face turned toward Jerusalem. I was determined that I would follow the Lord. I didn’t know what the desires of my heart were, but I didn’t want to take any chances on not being there when those desires were granted. I did know one desire—to live in Jerusalem. The rest would have to be determined.

I had been in Jerusalem at the ICEJ only six weeks when he walked in, taking the place by storm. His name was David, and he and my boss were close friends, having served on many committees and boards together in Vermont where they both lived.

Where’s Bill Wolford’s office? he asked in a manner that seemed demanding to me. He wore a pale yellow shirt and Khaki pants. Thick lenses in silver frames nearly hid his hazel eyes. His dark hair was greying. There was a presence about him, an air of confidence and assuredness that was foreign to me in a man. His six foot frame and square shoulders did nothing to change that first impression, causing me to make a mental leap that he was probably an old Air Force buddy of my boss, who was retired military.

Across the hall. If you’ll tell me your name, I’ll let him know you are here. I said.

No. That’s okay. I’ll tell him myself.

I didn’t like that answer and I didn’t like him. In my mind, it was totally inappropriate for someone to go barging in on my boss without being announced. After all, this was an Embassy and there was a decorum that should be followed. But David wasn’t worried about decorum, he was on a mission and he would carry it out.

He had come to Israel for a month to volunteer for the Feast of Tabernacles that is sponsored each year by the ICEJ during the Jewish celebration of Succot. Our office was in charge of all of the volunteers for this event, swelling the usual staff of twenty six to two hundred fifty. As organized as we were, there were times when it was a nightmare trying to deal with prima donna personalities, multiple languages and cultures. This self-assured man wasn’t bringing any peace to the situation, or at least to my mind, by insisting he be allowed to enter my boss’s office without being properly announced.

I was still struggling with my anger over his abruptness and insistence when I heard a warm greeting and laughter coming from Bill’s office. Obviously, the friendship was real and Bill’s acceptance of his unannounced visitor was okay with him, no matter what I thought.

Over the next thirty days my schedule was hectic. In spite of first impressions, I quickly learned that if I could find David or his friend, Russ, and ask them to do a job, it would get done and I would never have to check on it again. That meant a lot to this harried administrative assistant and I learned to appreciate David, in spite of our initial encounter. Our days were long, with little time away from my desk let alone the office. We even ate our meals there, be that as they were. I had become so tired of turkey schnitzel that was served daily at the convention center that I had openly embraced Cup-o-Soup. Occasionally, someone would come in from Belgium or France or Switzerland, bringing food specialties from their homeland as a gift for those us who were working such long hours.

In looking back on those thirty days, we figure we had the entire sum of thirty accumulated minutes to talk. There was no time to get to know each other. We were never alone. All I knew was that this was a man who was going through a hard time. He and his wife were getting a divorce after twenty-eight years of marriage. He and his friend had come to Jerusalem to get away from it all.

We do remember one crazy conversation that the four of us—David, Russ, my assistant Jane, and I—got into though. Apparently we were talking about food because my statement was If you want to light my fire, give me chocolate covered peanuts. We all laughed. The next day, David showed up at the convention hall, where our offices were, with a small bag containing four pieces of Israel’s answer to Godiva chocolates. Again, we laughed at the joke. Jane and I hid the candies quickly, hoarding them to be enjoyed when the masses of people were not around. After that, every time we ran out of candy, we made sure he knew it and another box would arrive—larger, but not quite so expensive.

The last night of the Feast we were exhausted. The numerous fourteen hour days had taken a toll on us and we wanted to get some decent food and relax. Four of my friends from Oklahoma and I piled into my car and headed to downtown Jerusalem, to Ben Yehuda Street, where we sought out ethnic food and good conversation. As our car rounded a corner, we saw David and Russ standing in front of a pizza-by-the-piece stand waiting on their order. We honked and shouted like college kids on home coming night. I parked the car in the first spot I found and we began walking down Ben Yehuda Street toward a favorite restaurant.

David walked toward me. Would you like to come with me to get some ice cream?

No. I’m with my friends. Was my haughty reply.

We walked on, caught up in our conversation and hunt for food. Two blocks further down Ben Yehuda we turned a corner and went into the Ramon restaurant. The maître d sat us at a round table in the back dining room, completely hidden from the front entrance of the store. The five of us sat together leaning toward the center of the table, deep in conversation, when we were suddenly interrupted by a hand reaching across the table toward me with a box of chocolates.

I looked up into the face of determination as David said, Enjoy yourself. He turned and walked away leaving me with a box of candy and a spinning head.

He had my attention.

I didn’t know what to do about it. Being a wise woman, I did nothing. I knew he was leaving the next day and all I could do was hope that someday he would come back to Israel, and I would still be there.

The next morning, I was sitting at my desk at the ICEJ talking to Connie, one the Oklahomans who had been with me the night before, when the candy arrived at our table, as David passed my desk to tell my boss goodbye. Later, as he was leaving, he stopped at my desk and shook my hand. Beyond a thank you for everything, nothing was said as he walked away from my desk, pulling on my heart.

David hadn’t been back in Vermont long when he sent a silly Thanksgiving card about turkey schnitzel which he knew I disliked. He added a few lines to give me an update on his divorce. I wrote back advising him on how to live successfully as a single-again person, hoping he would maintain that status until we met again. Letters exchanged and phone calls began.

Over the next six months, a courtship developed that was conducted through daily telephone calls, letters and audio tapes. We learned about each other. We laughed. We shared. We cried. We studied together and we grew together. In the beginning, David asked me about my call to Israel. I told him it was a long story and that I would make a tape and send it to him. I did that, starting with my becoming aware of Israel in my college years and ending the story with the dream about the locket. I told him that one day I knew I would find the locket, and, when I did, something special would happen.

Less than two months into the long-distance courtship, I could see that it was getting very serious, which made me nervous. In my single-again state, I had counseled many women who rushed into second marriages, only to see their hopes and dreams come crashing down. I didn’t want that to happen to