Micah

Micah Clay Luebben was born around 10:30 in the evening on July 2, 1994.  He was our fourth child, and our third son.  I, too, was my parent’s fourth child, and third son.  Micah is the “son of my birth order”.  Sally and I were preparing to go to an evening wedding on that particular Saturday when she shared that “it was time”.  So, we gathered our three kids, shared the news with them, dropped them off with my parents who were already at the church for the wedding, asked if they could watch them as we needed to go to the hospital.  My mom said she couldn’t focus on the wedding from that point on with the excitement of knowing that her newest grandchild was on the way!

Micah, especially as a boy, but even today is a master of disguises.  It only seems fitting that I would be dressed up and wearing a tie when Micah came into our lives.  I asked the doctor if I could cut the chord with this child, as I hadn’t had this experience yet.  The doctor did me one better and allowed me to deliver Micah (with his close supervision, and Sally’s approval).  So, in my white shirt and tie, I had the privilege of delivering this third son of mine.  By the time he was born, his two brothers, big sister, and Luebben grandparents were in the waiting room eager to hear the news, and see their newest family member.

Micah was not an easy baby, in that he didn’t sleep well at night for at least 18 months, didn’t like bottles, and didn’t like being strapped to a car seat.  He also decided at about 18 months that he didn’t like being ignored when we finally tried to let him cry himself back to sleep, and figured out how to get out of the crib and storm down the hall to our room.  Always, and I mean ALWAYS very independent, and comfortable doing his own thing.   

For years he wanted to be a policeman; and collected and studied all things police.  During his 6^th grade year, his oldest brother, who helped with Jr High youth, told me he thought Micah would not be a policeman, but perhaps a preacher. Cliff saw something that we would soon see, the Lord was grabbing a hold of Micah’s heart in a big way, and taking him in a direction none of us, except Cliff, would have imagined.

Now our youngest son is about to graduate high school.  I don’t know that he will be a preacher, but his passion for the Lord is something to behold.  He is quite gifted musically, and continues to be a leader.  We will see where the Lord takes him next.  In the meantime, he is leaning toward spending some time with YWAM, unless the Lord clearly points him in a different direction.

Micah, son of my birth order, you have been a wonderful blessing from the Lord to mom and me, we love you son, and we know that as long as you place the Lord first in your life, you will be in the right place, no matter what and where that place is.

My Missionary Story Part II

      Part I -  left off on Thursday, October 21, 2010 with an inexplicable restlessness with my job.  Following is what happened next: 

• Tuesday, October 26^th, approximately 7:55 AM (just before our strategic planning meeting was to begin); our company president told me that they wanted to hire the Kennewick City Manager, and in order to fill find a spot for him in the company they would need me to step down as manager (but they still valued me!). 

• Feeling hurt, but also thinking about that growing restlessness, and my words to our Lord the previous Thursday – I laid this before the Lord that evening; Googled architectural missionary, came across the HIM page, and sent a random e-mail.  Checked out a few other items that evening; and had a very restless night.

• Not able to sleep, I got up around 3 and went to the Word, picking up where I had left off the day before; I Samuel chapters 1-3. Seeking to hear something from the Lord that will ease my hurt; 3:9 “jumps” from the page, “Speak Lord, for your servant hears.”  Pondering on this a bit, reading a few more chapters, and going to back to bed.

• E-mail message in the morning from the head of HIM design department; they have been praying for an architect, they need an architect willing to travel (for he is unable to for health reasons), who has an NCARB certificate, and with senior level experience; BUT this person needs to be able to raise their own support (faith support is how I think it is phrased).  I e-mail back, and the conversation begins…

• May, 2011, Sally and I agree to fly back to Asheville, NC to meet the staff and to go through some orientation.  We leave pretty well convinced that this is the future the Lord has for us (the double rainbow, three songs in a row with strong messages about “trusting the Lord, not what we could see” – but still want about three months to pray and think about this (not wanting to make a decision based on an emotional high).

• We send our first newsletter out in August, 2011 (hoping to receive full support right away from just sending these out!).

• A request to help the Portland Rescue Mission, the first chance to actually serve the Lord through HIM on a project (a small enough project to do on the side).

• A very intense winter; particularly December… my dad’s serious downturn in health; our company’s serious downturn in work; the warning from my boss that my job is in jepordy; and a hint of some actual opportunities to serve the Lord through HIM with architecture.  1:00 AM wake up call (from the Lord) on December 23rd; a plead to hear something from Him as I read where I left off the previous day; pondering how in the world the Lord could speak to me in Numbers?  Numbers 13 jumps out; the story of the spys, the mistake of fearing the giants over trusting the Lord… “Trust the Lord, don’t fear the giants!” really jumped out.

• Eight days later, a 3:00 AM wake-up call (I’m spending nights with my dad – he needs considerable medical attention at home); Duet 1 – the spy story recapped; that Sunday, a request from a friend at church to know if I’m interested in helping a missionary in Honduras with a school expansion design… don’t fear the giants, trust the Lord… I feel pretty compelled to say yes; minutes before this request, another friend on the missionary committee shares that the church will be throwing some support our way… hmmmm, a lot to reflect on.

• The next week I’m asked to briefly share about this new missionary venture of ours at church; 3:00 AM the that Sunday morning, woken up again!  Okay Lord, how are you going to speak to me through Deut 9?  The Israelites are about to enter the land – but fear not, God is going before them… TRUST GOD!!!.  About one week later, a request from another missionary agency to help design a safehouse in Kenya… more work request from the Portland Mission, a Honduras visit (such a powerful experience), and continual up and down series of health concerns for my dad through the month of March…

That is pretty much the story up to this point.  For some reason, the Lord hasn’t provided hardly any opportunity for me to ask people for financial support (not something I want to do anyhow); mostly due to my dad’s health and secondarily due to increased ministry work all coupled with a full time job, a candy  & gift store (mostly my wife’s time); and yet some pretty clear messages to trust Him, move toward where he is pointing, don’t fear the giants.  So that is what, with God’s help, I am doing.  I am a bit surprised to still have my job, but am grateful for this financial support.  The candy store came about as a way for my wife to contribute to our support – though this is more of a long term thing (will not provide much support for a few years until we pay off the previous owners).  Curiously, a bit hectically, but eagerly moving forward…

My Missionary Story Part I

Awhile ago I was asked what “my story” was, concerning the architectural missionary direction.  Like you might expect – there were quite a few pieces to this puzzle.  But I suppose the key events leading up to last year’s decision to pursue this architectural missionary direction are the following: 

• A prayer request to the Lord back when I was about 12, letting the Lord know that I was willing to do whatever He wanted – but please don’t send me on a mission field (meaning out of the United States), especially please don’t send me to someplace like Africa.

• A realization at age 27 that God had transformed my heart so that this was now a significant desire; a letter to a Middle East missionary organization (sent without a donation), and no further response.  Whereas my letter and conversations with this gal named Sally who lived 2,000 miles away led to marriage and many children; so the missionary thing seemed like either a closed door, or at least a “down the road” thing – maybe.

• Fast forward to 2005; the realization that after two attempts to pursue a different career path, the Lord wanted me in architecture; sort of reluctantly accepting a job as a staff architect at Meier, a company of about 42, with four in the architecture group (counting me).

• Ten days after being hired at Meier, my architectural boss was fired, and I was asked to take over the position (later realizing that this was really the reason Terry Meier hired me – he just never told me); accepting this position after thinking about it for two weeks – so now our group was down to three; I was the only licensed architect, and our intern architect was due with twins within a month.

• Fast forward to 2010, our group is up to 9 (10 if with a summer intern); the company is up to around 70.  Our architectural revenue had grown from around $400K to $2.2M; a very fulfilling architectural career, but a growing and inexplicable restlessness.  I think this was magnified with my mom’s death on March 4^th, of that year, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it.   
• On October 21^st, following a Rotary Club meeting, thinking about our upcoming annual Meier strategic planning meeting for the 26^th, I remember apologizing to the Lord for the restlessness, and wondering if perhaps I shouldn’t be the group manager since I didn’t really have a “vision” for the group – never really did; but not really wanting a change in position.... see Part II for the the HIM connection.