Beauty in Chaos

We heard a good sermon a few weeks ago at a church we visited while in North Dakota. The pastor talked about how to embrace the chaos of our lives for the purposes that God allows it. This was the verse we focused on:

"...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor." (Isaiah 61:3, emphasis my own)

I gasped as I read it... backing up to the previous verse which begins this list with, "...to comfort all who mourn..." as I saw our own journey almost 9 months ago... and suddenly all of it made sense. My Love and I had different experiences/journeys through the grief of saying goodbye for now to our newborn daughter... but what was the same, was our surprise and, almost, dismay, at how fine we were after such a short time... which we could only explain as "God is so near, and we feel carried on the prayers of so many."

A crown of beauty - a few weeks into the aftermath, a new dear friend told me, when we came to the hospital that night, after she head our devastating news, just to wrap me in a strong hug before we left for home... that when she arrived and saw us, she was confused and couldn't believe that the news was right. Though we were walking out with empty arms, she said, "You were both glowing with God's glory and beauty... I felt like I was seeing a bride and groom leaving their ceremony together... not two parents who just lost their only child. You were GLOWING with His glory, and such peace... it was holy and I didn't know how to process it!" How does one respond to that!?

The oil of joy - Within two weeks, I was able to share our daughter's story and her life with friends who visited, spending hours with a sister/friend who came to stay for a while... laughing until we could laugh no more... not a masking laughter, but a deep, belly-laugh, joy-filled laughter... delighting in the fact that we were CHOSEN to be our little one's parents... for the duration of her life on this earth, and the privilege of carrying her the rest of our days until we reunite with her there! I saw the baffled and confused looks on our neighbor's faces... those we met on the street... who knew our loss, and could not understand why I was smiling and laughing SO SOON. It worried me, even... do they think I've lost my marbles? Is it a testimony or a stumbling block? (Now I have my answer.)

A garment of praise - the night we got the news she had gone, and had to make our way home... I was numb. No feeling but shock, horror, and disbelief. The next morning, however, when I woke (after finally sleeping for the first time in 4 days)... I immediately knew what I needed, more than I needed anything else... I needed, HAD TO, be surrounded with praise and worship music. I practically ran to the living room where mourning family and friends had already gathered... brushed past them almost without seeing them and certainly without greeting any of them (unthinkable in my adopted culture), and grabbed my ipod and speaker, filling the silent and tense room with the worship playlist I had used for labor and delivery. As the praise songs wafted through the sorrow-filled aura of the room... the whole atmosphere changed. I was strengthened over those next hours, with perspective, and was able to worship and praise in my heart for is obvious mercies in the whole process and the fact He was so near. Worship and praise became my haven... a tangible place of safety for me in those following days, weeks, and months.

A planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor - I don't think we get to have this one. While there were many comments and encouraging words from those in our lives of how amazed they were that we were functioning, fine, and how we were "so OK"... I don't think, ultimately, we were the "planting of the Lord" in this story... our daughter was. She was the one who was born, beloved, suffered (but only briefly, praise God!), and then had her body planted in this place... being the seed which has already been growing and bearing much fruit. And oh man, is God's splendor being SHINED through her life... in the lives of others who have been deeply affected by her (whether they will admit it or not), but also in our own, as her parents. We are marked for the rest of our days by her life, first here, and now there. She has made heaven so much closer, eternal life that much more real, the brevity of our days and importance of not wasting them that much more urgent. She was the display of His glory and splendor, planted first in my womb, then in the ground, yet forever in our hearts.

Fear: a rude and unwelcome stranger

Linking up with Velvet Ashes: The Grove today. This week's theme is "Admit."
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I've never considered myself fearless. As a child, I was actually afraid of a lot of things. Unfounded, really, but afraid nonetheless. Afraid of someone breaking into our house while we slept. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of losing a loved one to a car crash. Afraid of drowning. Afraid of animals in the woods. Afraid of swimming in natural bodies of water. While I've outgrown some of these, some still hang with me.

As an adult, anxiety, dread, a feeling of being ill at ease... I'm very familiar with these. A sense of being very vulnerable, uncomfortable (like traveling alone in my new home country... where I get far too much attention to make me feel relaxed). Shock and confusion. Yes, all of these I am intimately acquainted with.

But capital "F"-Fear? Bone-chilling, gripping fear. Fear that wrings the breath out of your lungs and makes you break out in a cold sweat? This is brand new to me. In 30+ years of my life, this new feeling is completely foreign... a rude and unwelcome stranger.

I've traveled on 4 continents. I've traveled and stayed alone in unfamiliar places, where I knew neither people nor the language. I've been in tense places with conflict brewing beneath the surface. I've even been in some unsafe situations over the years, sometimes without realizing it and other times being completely aware. I've been afraid, sure... but not like this. This... this is difficult to describe well.

Since losing our daughter, this capital "F"-Fear has snuck into my heart... taking up residence, like it owns the place. At first, I thought maybe this is a normal reaction to loss. Maybe it's simply part of the stages of grief and grief process... fearing you will lose someone else, reeling in the aftermath. After all, it was so unexpected. There was no warning. In less than 12 hours, she went from healthy and normal to gone, cold, still. Wrapped up and whisked away from me in a coffin, and then the ground... with a cruel finality, and capital "F"-Fear cackled and walked through the door and set down his bags, claiming this place as his own. Even in the NICU, I didn't notice him... because we didn't really think we would lose her, until suddenly she was already gone.

He was stealthy. Smooth. Silent. I was completely unaware of his presence, even as he was setting up house inside of me... in the shrouded corners, and shadowed places. Lurking. Leering.

Several weeks ago, my Love was meeting a friend in a multi-story business center. I got a text message a couple hours later asking me if I could call a number he sent me... as they were stuck in an elevator.  As I read the message, my blood turned to ice... freezing in my veins. Capital "F"-Fear slinked out of his hiding places and wrapped himself around my heart. My heart pounded in my ears and my head spun. I called the number... then another... then my sister in law to call and talk to them again more clearly in the local language...  then a friend to pray with me because I was struggling to breathe... my Love, calm and collected, was still texting back and forth, assuring me he was fine (Only a day or two later, did he admit that he, too, was really scared. Apparently, they had tried to resolve it themselves from inside, it was really hot and they weren't getting fresh air... until finally someone pried the doors open  slightly. But he didn't want me to worry.) My mind ran wild and free, capital "F"-Fear at the reins. I couldn't think, couldn't pray... I sobbed. I paced the floors of my house, and then I finally turned on worship music. But my heart wouldn't rest until I got the text he was out, and fine.

"F"-Fear has pranced and danced his way around other minor events recently, and yet I was still unwilling to admit his hold. I also hadn't taken the space/time to really pray through and process that this is not a healthy, normal part of grieving. Because absolutely nothing about capital "F"-Fear is healthy or "normal" for a child of the Eternal King. Period.

I was recently on a transcontinental flight, heading on a work trip. We hit some turbulence. I realize that's normal, with as many flights as I've taken in the last 12 years of my life, but this turbulence, in this season of life, put me over the edge. I broke out in a cold sweat. I felt the familiar gasping of the oxygen fleeing my lungs. Terror crept in, as my white knuckles gripped the handles of my seat. My seatmate across the empty chair between us was blissfully asleep... and through the fog, I realized /I/ was the one having an abnormal reaction. Numbly, I pawed through my bag and found my iPod and headphones, and slammed my fingers across the touchscreen to open my playlist of Scripture songs... I missed the headphone port, while trying to plug the earphones in. Finally... success... and my ears and mind flooded with His words of promise, spoken and sung directly into my ears... wrapping around my spirit. The tension eased. The jolting and dropping became gentle rocking and swaying... almost... relaxing, as Fear was forced to flee in the face of TRUTH and PRAISE.

And the Lord met me there -- gently, yet with loving rebuke. "Do you trust My love for you, daughter? Do you really trust My love for you?" You see, I no longer live in a world of "It happens to others, but it will never happen to me." How many of us no longer live there in that world of innocence and false security? Too many. You see, I do trust His love... but there is always another step further into His heart. Always a deeper level to move forward in this journey. There was a part of my heart that was shrinking back from more sacrifice. Yes, I trust You, but... what if You ask something else of me. What if that was only a practice run? What if it was simply a lesson for something even harder? I'm unwilling to ever go through that again. Again, He whispers, "Then you are not trusting My love for you will be enough, even if I ask you to sacrifice more... for My glory. You don't believe I will be there and carry you through? Perfect love casts out fear... will you choose to trust My love is perfect?" Nailed. Through the soul. I have joked with others that God just really ever gives me an out, even when I feel like I deserve it. I guess that's because we truly don't ever deserve an out, if we're honest.

When our daughter RAN into the arms of Jesus with rejoicing, and we were left behind in the aftermath of sorrow... I felt the darkness creeping in around us, almost like when you're about to blackout and your vision gets smaller and smaller, all the edges becoming dark. The next morning when I woke, I saw my Father reaching His hand down in the narrow circle of light I could still see through, "Will you still worship Me, child?" When I walked out into our living room, people had already gathered, sitting silent and somber on our couches and chairs... I didn't greet them even, in my rush to reach the speakers and plug in my iPod. I found the worship playlist I had compiled for my labor and delivery only 3 days prior... and suddenly the silent room was filled with praise music. From that moment, and in the coming weeks, worship and praise became my lifeline. My tether to my Sovereign, Loving Father, in the beating rain and relentless wind. He never let me go, and He used worship as the rope that bound us tightly.

There is a safe haven, a tower of refuge, in the place of worship. Prayer is powerful, but I am finding that worship is even more so. It takes me outside of myself, my needs, my wants... into the place of realignment and fully focused on God's face, God's heart. When I am in worship, I am... untouchable... everything else fades away. Fear is replaced by assurance. Capital "F"-fear is silenced, defeated. The enemy hates our prayers and seeks every hindrance and distraction to keep us from this place. But he CANNOT stay anywhere near us when we are given over to praise of our King. He MUST flee. And his hold is loosed. I find safety and security in a place of worship.

On the return transcontinental flight, we again hit turbulence... and I was ready. I stared capital "F"-Fear down, face to face. Standing on truth, resting in His perfect love, and armed with worship ready on my heart's tongue... capital "F"Fear was taken aback, caught unprepared. He wrapped a cloak of darkness around his shoulders and leered with unusual hesitancy, then I saw his ankles were shaking... despite the aura of authority he tried to present, there were visible cracks in his confidence. I smiled and looked over my shoulder, as my Father's LIGHT suddenly broke through and surrounded me. Turning my eyes back to capital "F"-Fear... he was nowhere to be found. He had fled, and all I could hear as evidence of his presence was a fading whimpering. He has been uprooted. Ousted. Evicted with no option to return.

This was not my battle. It was my King's all along. He was simply asking me to admit Fear's presence, admit my need for His power to bring victory, and admit my heart's need for Him to work a deeper trust in His heart.

My song this week is Laura Story's new single featuring Mac Powell, "Open Hands." I'm linking it here. How many of us can truly sing this song and MEAN it? Honestly? Not a single one of us, without the supernatural grace and love of God.

staying put

Linking up with Velvet Ashes: The Grove on the theme of "participate."
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I'm coming up on four years. Four years calling this place "home." I've been through the culture shock, then also the culture pain and culture stripping. I've come to learn, not only mentally, but experientially that the straight and narrow, well... isn't. I've not only written my name in this land, but I've also buried my heart here... literally, encapsulated in the body of my firstborn.

Last year, I was struggling, feeling like nothing I have done has really come to fruition. Partnerships I had built and handed off either went dormant or turned sour. All the effort I had poured into new teammates and staff seemed to have come to naught as, one by one, they returned to their home countries. National teams I poured into -- some broke apart, individuals fell into sin, and yet others plodded along with the patience of Job. From man's point of view... all my efforts hadn't amounted to anything of lasting value. Still, I stayed. Put down roots. By the grace of God, I am still here -- the place where He has chosen for me to be, to dwell.

And I'm beginning to see, He was still working -- not through my strivings and my efforts, but simply through my being here, my living and my staying put.

I live in local housing -- condominiums. When I talk to local people, whenever our dwelling comes up, they are surprised. "We don't know other white people who live in our condominiums," they say. I have neighbors, on both sides. Below me. I can walk nowhere without passing beautiful people who have become my community, with the obligatory greetings and well wishes that now freely flow off my tongue. Though my language learning still leaves MUCH to be desired, I can at least greet with the best of them.

A motherly neighbor, with whom I've slowly been building a sweet connection... she now comes and shares her prayer requests. We practice different religions... and it was so subtle I almost missed it. First, she was ill... I told her I would pray. Each day I greeted her in my comings and goings and asked how she was.. "I'm better now!" She said, "Thank you for praying for me!" Then she had horrible headaches from a eye problem that needed to be resolved. This time she asked me to pray, I said yes.

(When we lost our newborn daughter, this woman came daily to my home--bringing food, sharing her daily bread, serving those who came to sit with us, washing our dishes.) Soon, she went for a single eye surgery and now it is healed. She came especially and banged on my front door, gleely lifting up her glasses and saying, "See! Now I can see you!" I took her a lunchtime meal one day, a local meal which I cooked, "You are becoming one of us," she exclaims. A couple days later, she brings me a new dish I was unfamiliar with, "There is more for you to learn," she says.

Just this week, I was walking to my home (which requires me always to pass her), she grabs my hand, kisses my cheek and tells me her son has lost his job. I nod. I point to the heavens. She nods and smiles, "Thank you," she says. She doesn't ask me to pray. She already knows I will.

Other friendships which has taken these years to forge, are finally opening windows, if not doors. A former landlord has become a dear sister. A sister has become a friend. A friend has turned into the Lord's vessel to share His love better than I can, in a heart language I'm still learning, extending His heart towards my own relatives.

The local juice stand owner knows our order, and never forgets my straw. Tears fill his eyes when he asks where our baby is, and we tell him straight...he whispers, "I'm so sorry" and slips a few extra pieces of fruit into my bag. In fact our whole neighborhood was anticipating the birth of our firstborn, and they took the tragedy personally. Some passed on the news to other shopkeepers, so we wouldn't have to be the ones to break it. I know they already know, because they hold onto my hand longer than the handshake requires, and they whisper to me: "Be strong."

I see my taxi driver friend probably more frequently even than our local family... he has now appointed himself as my cultural advisor. I can ask him (almost) anything. He talks about life. We practice different religions. We send him sms well wishes on his holidays, and he sends us the same for ours. I find a sneaky way to ask him why he suddenly feels comfortable opening up (teasing him about how chatty he has become), "You have stayed," he says. "Everyone else leaves, but you are still here. You even had your child here. You have become one of us." He has learned sign language, picking up bits and pieces, and chats with my Love. I am now superfluous to their conversation. My heart smiles.

All the while I was looking towards the quantifiable. The number of partnerships. The number of people. The amount of progress. And all the while, the Lord was looking, rather, at hearts and relationships -- opening, shaping, forging, deepening. In the most unlikely ways and places... only now am I beginning to see what HE was doing all along. Not through my works, but through my participation... in normal, everyday life. Just being present. Staying put. Now that I finally know where to direct my gaze, I am excited. Anticipating. Rejoicing. I know this is only the beginning...and I have so much still to learn.

An invitation: the most costly gift I could possibly offer

Linking up with Velvet Ashes: The Grove, for this very personal post on the theme of Invitation.
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The first week of October 2016. A week permanently burned into my soul, changing my world forever.

I welcomed October on it's first warm day, chuckling ... our firstborn child, still in my womb, decided that she would finally make preparations for her long-awaited appearance. After quite the adventurous day of bumpy taxi rides, insane traffic, and unexpected relatives dropping in... my Love and I welcomed her into the world with much rejoicing in the midnight hours of the following day. Quite the spunky little one, even from the first moments of her newborn autonomy... with the lungs of a lioness. Healthy and perfect, she was everything we could have wanted.

After 48 beautiful, sleep deprived, blissful hours with her, she became mysteriously listless and started having erratic shrieking episodes and catches in her breathing. As the dawn broke, we rushed her to the hospital. It was the fastest I'd ever experienced their reception, and within 30 minutes... I heard the words: This child has sepsis. In a frenzy of activity, she was swooped out of my arms and hurriedly admitted to the NICU, leaving me standing with a handful of newborn clothing and blankets, still warm from her feverish skin.

We had named her Ayalon, after the valley of Aijalon in Joshua 10. A place of holy miracles. A place of divine intervention, through the faith-filled prayer of a mere man. A place where God brought victory for His people. We camped on these prophetic words, sitting on the coach in the NICU waiting room -- alternating between the sterile room, the doctor's office, and updating friends and family.

She took a turn for the worst. Our hearts dove, but we clung to hope. She rallied. We rejoiced. She responded to my touch, wrapping her hand around my finger as I whispered prayers over her. Then, less than an hour later, her heart stopped. There is no horror like that of watching people perform CPR on your child. I think I, too, had stopped breathing in those minutes. She responded. I finally exhaled. Test results came back. She was now showing signs of anemia, and we signed the papers for an emergency blood transfusion. We returned to that worn coach and prayed our hearts out.

We were carried on the prayers of so many, and felt supernatural peace God was working. It was touch and go. Her heart stopped again, and she fought her way back to us. She stopped breathing. They put her on a ventilator. She fought to breathe once more on her own and succeeded. We got to see her a couple more times. My Love ran to get a couple items from home, so we could stay the night at the hospital. He returned and we went together to get another update.

When we stepped into the NICU waiting area, I was acutely aware of the nurse’s face. She looked exhausted, and ... defeated. The last time I had seen this particular nurse, she had been pumping oxygen into my daughter’s lungs with a hand oxygen pump... as I was hurried away from the window and an electric ventilator was being wheeled in. Now, she stood slouched against the door frame, with sorrow and exhaustion in her eyes. I knew... it resonated through my body and my fuzzy brain. And then I immediately shoved it away. No. I would not give up hope. Divine intervention. Victory. A miracle. Ayalon. This is our fiery little daughter.

The doctor came to the doorway, as we were putting on the sterile coats to enter. I will not repeat the words he choose to use to break the news. Suffice it to say, I had to ask him in plain English if he was telling us she was gone. She was. Fifteen minutes before, after her fourth cardiac arrest, she was whisked from that little NICU bed and into the arms of Jesus... never again to face sickness, pain, or suffering. Complete. At peace. We walked in to see her little body... she had such a restful look on her face, it brought a sliver of comfort.

I want to fast forward. There are many details I could include, and may add later, but want to condense for brevity sake.

She was buried in the smallest cemetery plot I have personally ever seen. In a miniature coffin covered in red velvet with gold embroidery. I remember thinking red wasn't her color. But by the beautiful, personal hand of God... my breath was taken away when I saw the location of her grave. It was smack in the center of an enormous grove of 4.5 feet tall yellow Ethiopian meskel daisies in full bloom. The same daisies that bloom with vibrant ferocity for only a couple of weeks, marking a change in the seasons, and then quickly fade and die... until next year. Fleeting. Here and then gone. But loud and colorful, and not to be missed or ignored. Like our daughter.

We were carried supernaturally, with such peace and divine comfort, in those days and weeks. God does not take us through any grief or valley without providing His grace to empower and strengthen us. He was so near, even still IS so near. We clung to Job 1:21, quoting and singing, "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." We rejoiced and gave His glory for the very real ways He was revealing Himself to us and holding us, and for the immense privilege of being chosen to love and carry Ayalon on this earth, and the gift of our 66 hours with her here.

I was given Angie Smith's book, I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy in the weeks that followed. I underlined paragraphs on almost every page. This particular section stood out to me, as I sought His heart for His purposes in this loss, this sacrifice if you will:

“Is it possible that we are chosen to undergo something then all the while the Lord knows that it will be given to Him in sweet surrender? ... I pray that you continue to worship the Lord, keeping what He has given you until the moment you are called to give it away. ... And as the glass shatters all around you... know this... It was always meant to fall from Your hands. And He is glorified in the shattering.” (Angie Smith)

A couple of weeks later, I was making dinner listening to songs on my iPod. Sara Groves' song, "Open My Hand" came on...

“I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain
the broken find healing in love
pain is no measure of His faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us...
no good thing from us.
I will open my hands, open my heart....” (Sara Groves)

Tears poured down my face, and I recalled Psalm 84:11 - "No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly." My heart was in absolute turmoil, "How then, God?!  How could this happen? How was our Ayalon not a good thing??? That You would take her from us? It doesn't make ANY sense!!!!" The Holy Spirit wrapped me in His love as He whispered, "No, My child, she WAS a very good thing. But what I am doing through this sorrow and suffering... My purpose... is a better thing... an even greater thing."

The very next song to come on my iPod shuffle was from Keith & Kristyn Getty's new hymn, “Perfect Wisdom of our God”:

 “...Teach me humbly to receive the solid reign of Your sovereignty.
...each strand of sorrow has its place, within this tapestry of grace.
So through the trials I’ll choose to say: ‘Your perfect will in Your perfect way.’”

 On Ayalon's one month birthday, had she still been with us, I was sitting facing the early sunrise. The Lord was asking me to surrender something to him... and I immediately started arguing with Him: "Lord, I already gave you my daughter, didn't I? ..." I stopped short, as I felt a weight of conviction settle over my spirit like a blanket.  I had been speaking the words of Job, "You gave and You have taken away." And He was revealing the underlying accusation in my heart... "You... You did this... You took her."

In that moment, He extended me an invitation... He asked me if I would actively, willingly offer my sweet Ayalon back to Him in worship rather than passively "allowing Him" to have taken her. What a subtle and yet crucial shift in my heart's attitude and posture. I accepted and right there, I willingly, actively, wholeheartedly offered my precious, beautiful daughter back to Him, declaring anew: Blessed be Your Name. Peace. A holy rightness of being aligned with Him. All glory be to our loving, sovereign Father... who reminded me that He, too, is intimately acquainted with the unique grief of offering up an only child, a firstborn.

My daughter is the most valuable gift I could possibly offer to Him, and she came from Him. What a holy privilege that He would entrust us with such a costly, priceless gift to offer back in a sacrifice of praise. He is worthy beyond measure.

"Glory be to God the Father! Glory be to God the Son! Glory be to God the Spirit! The Lord is my salvation!" (Keith & Kristyn Getty, bridge from The Lord Is My Salvation)

I've had glimpses of the Lord's hand at work through our little girl's life... and I smile through tears. He doesn't owe us any explanation for His ways, but He has been measurelessly gracious to invite us to peek into His heart's purpose in all of this. There were those who had dismissed her easily with the words, "It is no matter, you will have other children." At first, those phrases brought an agonized mama bear roar from my chest... but now I almost... gloat. Because, my friends, I KNOW my daughter's value--her incomparable worth--and how God has been using her life mightily for His glory, touching souls, calling rebellious hearts home. I now UNDERSTAND that the span of our lifetime here on earth is not what matters, but rather the weight of it.

And I chuckle to myself, because Ayalon's life was not to be missed or ignored. There was NO way... our little fighter. (I mean, c'mon... who defies death and comes back from cardiac arrest THREE times, at only 2 1/2 days old...) Even as I have seen her numerous times, unbidden, in my mind's eye... freely flitting around heaven bossing around the angels, leaning over the arm rest of the throne telling Jesus her thoughts, and her opinions. In her arrival and departure, she not only left permanent stretchmarks on my body and permanent imprints on our hearts, but she created holy ripples across time and eternity... for the glory of God. I am proud and honored to say she was ours.

An invitation to knock

God deals differently with His children, His disciples. He is the ultimate cross-cultural worker, and has the cutting edge on contextualization. He has the added benefit of having created our hearts, so He knows them even better than we do... so He knows HOW to relate to us, and exactly what each of us individually needs in order to shape and refine us. And that means, it's never going to look exactly the same as someone else's journey.

Duh, right? Bear with me.

I have several very dear friends, incredible women of God, who I admire and adore... who know and love my Jesus deeply, intimately... and yet have such a different relationship with him than I do. And, (this is gonna get real)... there are times I have gotten off of calls with them, and struggled with their words and testimonies, even though I know them, in my head, to be true. True testimonies of their experiences with God of laying before Him not only their circumstances and needs, but also their desires of how they would like Him to work... down to things that really don't matter in the eternal scheme of things, but it is their wants, as well as their needs... and God responding to them personally, intimately, and saying, "Yes, I can do that... I will do that." And then He does. Not single, random events. But, repeatedly.  And the sweet, precious, childlike faith and unswerving trust of their hearts in God's personal, intimate relationship is evident. A perfume of praise to Him.

Yet, every time, when I hang up... I'm left with a lingering sweet scent, and a confused heart. WHY, God? WHY do you work this way in others, and yet never with me? Don't misunderstand me... there is not bitterness or anger in my spirit AT ALL... no, it is more bafflement. I desire to understand. (As a student of crossing cultures and the transcultural gospel of our Lord, I mentally grasp that you must always deal with this particular person in the way that reaches and speaks to them. I get that. But I suppose there are those days my heart doesn't fully grasp the methods.) See, in my life experience, I cannot say I can point to a time that I have said, "God, I would really like X..." and He said, "Great. Here you go!" No... my testimony includes a great deal of "no's" and "wait's" and "I don't think so... here, this is better..." ("But, Lord, that's not what I wanted!"). It has never been one of specific prayers of wants and desires with immediate and matching results. And I've been ok with that in the long run, because He has ALWAYS given something better (even though the means have almost always been more difficult and/or painful). 

Just last week, I opened my devotional, after another personal disappointment of God delaying something I was praying for in faith (after another conversation with a friend on things God has been graciously giving that which she had asked for) and I the topic was "Ask & Receive"... 

"Therefore I say to you, whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them." Mark 11:24

"And whatever things you ask in prayer, believing, you will receive." Matt 21:22

"If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, you will ask what you desire, and it shall be done for you." John 15:7 

"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart." Psalms 37:4

 I broke down and wept. I searched my heart for unconfessed sin. I confessed a lack of faith. I pondered whether I had been abiding in Him, if there was error between us, if I had not been delighting in Him. He showed me some things, but also whispered that this was not a matter of me not checking things off a list of having done all the proper steps... simply that He was delaying, for His own reasons, and for my growth. But it stung. I told Him I was struggling with the fact that these verses feel like slaps in the face sometimes... I KNOW them to be true, but I often don't experience them as truth. (Which probably wouldn't bother me so much if I wasn't watching it become experiential truth in lives of others around me.) He told me the reality is that He is giving me the desires of my heart... which are often buried deeper beneath the wants... to the request of being made more like Him. Often the means I would choose don't lead to that end.

A couple days ago, I was listening to the new album by the Christian band, Love & The Outcome, and their new song "Ask" started playing on my iPod. These next words destroyed me...

"Our Father knows your deepest hurt
Before you've even said a word
But He still wants to hear your voice
There is a purpose in our seeking
There is a light beyond this door
We have a promise in our knocking
He wants to give us so much more
If we just ask, ask
If we just ask, ask
~Love & The Outcome, "Ask"

 And it hit my heart like a semi truck: It's not about the answers. It's not about the receiving. It's about the conversation, the process. Prayer is not about the results, but it's an invitation to be in relationship. He already knows. And yet He still invites us to ask. Why? Because He delights in the conversation with us... and THAT changes us. We all know conversations, to be such, have to be two-way. Live. Participatory. Present.

"There is a promise in our knocking..." This line. The knocking itself. The action of reaching out. This changes me. There is purpose in it. It's not about the results on the other side of that door... because HE is the one who opens it. And in the knocking, I am grabbing onto His promise that He WILL open to me. HE will answer (not He WILL answer)... HE will answer. The God of the Universe. The Author of Salvation. The Perfecter of our Faith. HE will answer my knocking. And no matter how He chooses to answer... it will not matter as much as the fact that HE IS MY ANSWER. And all He gives and decides and chooses and replies is in HIS LOVE, and HIS Sovereignty, and for Hi glory and my good.

"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives, and he who seeks, finds, and to him who knocks, it will be opened." Matt 7:7-8

"Oh my dove, in the clefts of the rock... let me see your form, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your form is lovely." Song of Solomon 2:14

"Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!" Psalms 27:14

"I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined to me, and heard by cry." Psalm 40:1

"And My people shall be satisfied with My goodness," says the Lord. Jer 31:14b

"For He satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with goodness." Psalms 107:9 

Linking up over at Velvet Ashes: The Grove, on the theme of invitation

Minibus observations

One morning, I climb into a sardine can, squeezing in between two souls and wedging myself against the seat (actually - a fellow passenger's leg, if I'm honest). As the third person shoved into two seats, he is still gracious and apologetic for being so intimately close to me. A few kilometers, and the driver hits the brakes hard. No handholds, and I start flying. Said passenger becomes more than legs, and his arms reach out to grab me and hold me securely in my 'seat'. I'm upright again, not sprawled across laps... and he lets go immediately, allowing for some semblance of personal space/autonomy in the midst of the crowded bodies.

Another morning, I get a spot in a seat, not shared--all my own (for at least a few kilometers). An elderly man climbs into the very back, wrapped in religious robes. One our way, he starts chanting a monotone prayer loudly, his voice filling the minibus. Driver, money collector, and passengers start exchanging glances via windows, mirrors, and slightly turned heads. Driver nods, and cranks up the radio. A couple other passengers start singing along... effectively drowning out the determined old man. I chuckle lightly. Non-confrontational, as society dictates. Yet passive aggressive social control is alive and well.

Jesus is the ________ of life

Can you fill in the blank? It's rather easy in English, eh? Bread. Of course, bread. We have a nice, neat category for "bread"... and from there we can easily expand as we like. But in instances such as this, we don't need to be specific. We need to be vague.

The ESL translation team has it a bit harder. After all, what kind of bread? Is it injera (the daily flatbread everyone eats)? Dabo (white bread rolls, typically)? K'ita (the spiced unleavened bread you tend to eat in the morning)? Ambasha (special raised flatbread eaten more for celebrations or special events)? Ko'cho (the false banana stalk, fermented flat bread eaten in the south)? Or something else? When each of these had a different place and significance, how do you choose which one is actually the best concept to use for this passage?

Hmmmm...... translation isn't an easy 1:1 task... it's full of all sorts of interesting dilemmas. :)

12 American Habits I lost while living in Eastern Africa

1) Standing in cue & waiting my turn – Because, even though there may be a cue… it really doesn’t mean as much. To stand in line and wait your turn is a sure recipe to not get served at all.

2) Wearing a seatbelt – Because often there isn’t a seatbelt. Or if there is it doesn’t work. Further more. the public transport is often so full there aren’t empty seats. So I stand. Often, contorted in a variety of gymnastic-worthy positions, due to the cramped space and pressing together of humanity.

3) Speaking my mind / Sharing my opinions openly – I still have opinions, yes. I just recognize I am a visitor here. An outsider. And I don’t have the whole story from which my opinions should be formed… I only see a part. And those around me do not freely express their opinions. What right have I as the foreigner? None.

4) Standing up for myself when someone wrongs me & telling people off – When I have lewd comments yelled at me, or get called “white foreigner” for the umpteenth time, or have things thrown at me or people spit on me… I remain silent. Collected. Unfazed (on the outside). Because speaking out and showing anger is not appropriate and can even be a sign that you are “mad” (mentally unstable). I have learned the hard way that addressing such behavior directly actually only makes it worse. So silence is the best option.

5) Expecting things to happen in an efficient time frame – My African brothers and sisters are never in a hurry. Life is about people, relationships, and events… it’s not about tasks. So tasks can be extended or postponed for a variety of reasons, and it’s ok. Our relationship is more important. We have time. As one friend said recently, “Time is running towards us, not away from us.”

6) Requiring a large personal space bubble – Whether it’s in public taxis, on the train, sitting in church, on a bus, in someone’s home when there is a wedding or funeral or birthday or birth, in a supermarket aisle, in cue, in a cafe or restaurant, or even simply walking down the street… space is found or made for more souls. Personal space? What’s that? More like communal space… everywhere, at all times. No that’s not exclusively your chair, or seat, or table, or stool… for there’s always room to share with one more person.

7) Expecting stores to stock an item indefinitely – I see sesame seed oil and dill pickles at the supermarket. Counting my cash on hand, I decide to buy them next time. But a week later when I return, the entire aisle is restocked with completely different items. Those, which I have never seen before in stock, are gone for good. One week you find 2 kg bags of shredded coconut, then never again for two years. Toilet paper multi-packs are everywhere, then disappear for 6 months. Normal. Just go with it. When you see it, buy it… or resolve to live without and not mind.

8) Monthly or bi-monthly shopping trips – Very limited pre-packaged food, and fewer preservatives… means all cooking is from scratch, and much healthier. I love, love, love this, even though it takes more time. So much better for our bodies. But it also means that food doesn’t have a long shelf life. Milk & bread turn after 3-4 days. Our veggies aren’t refrigerated and last about a week. So it means more frequent shopping trips and fresher food.

9) Using a planner/schedule – I still have a planner/calendar – I just only use it for checking the date or writing down when I paid bills… because scheduling/planning things much in advance is out. Especially planning a day in any sort of hourly schedule… just ain’t happening. Ever. There are too many unknown, uncontrolled variables… your taxi breaking down, not getting a taxi. the mail not showing up, a random friend stopping by, an unexpected visit from a neighbor or landlord, the internet goes out, the water is off, the power is off… just go with it. Life is more spontaneous…and exciting.

10) Impersonal patron/client relationships – Because buying/selling is also about relationships. Going to the same cafe matter. Using the same market stalls and building relationships with your stall owners matters… it brings better prices, better quality produce, credit when you are a little cash shy of your bill, warm greetings of your welfare when you miss a week, and so much more. Greeting the guards you walk by everyday – they notice when you aren’t there or things are amiss, and they check on you. Impersonal interactions throughout the day are unheard of. Relationships – personal, friendly, growing constantly. Does it affect efficiency? Actually no, it builds it – because, when I walk up to my bread selling stall, she just looks up, smiles, and says “how many today?” Or my local supermarket, when I get ready to check out will ask me whether I am forgetting my eggs today (and I often am!).

11) Not getting to know my neighbors – The kids are always at my door when my Love gets home from work. They know it means free bananas. We share laundry lines, garbage day reminders, and huge smiles when the water comes back on after a several day absence. My adopted mom/grandma below us is always ready to make me practice my language learning phrases, teaches me the names of local spices she is pounding on whatever day, and shares tastes of her homemade treats. They watch for me when I’m away, or even when I’m home alone. They make sure I don’t miss out on any important information, as the newbie. And they are quick to help anytime. I’m learning to do the same whenever I can.

12) Relying on power/water/phone/internet systems to work all the time – because it most likely will be off at some point. Roll with it. Before I moved to East Africa, I never hoarded water and backup batteries. Now my life schedule revolves around when the water is on – and filling every possible container in my house. Washing on water days. Reading and writing snail mail letters on no power days. Always having backup everything on hand, just in case. It was baffling to my African friends… which was baffling to me. “You don’t stock up?” I ask… “Why?” they reply. “It’s just life.”

"until the LORD gives rest to your brothers..."

⁸ So we took the land at that time out of the hand of the two kings of the Amorites who were beyond the Jordan, from the Valley of the Arnon to Mount Hermon. ... ¹² “When we took possession of this land at that time, I gave to the Reubenites and the Gadites the territory beginning at Aroer, which is on the edge of the Valley of the Arnon, and half the hill country of Gilead with its cities. ¹³ The rest of Gilead, and all Bashan, the kingdom of Og, that is, all the region of Argob, I gave to the half-tribe of Manasseh. (All that portion of Bashan is called the land of Rephaim. ¹⁴ Jair the Manassite took all the region of Argob, that is, Bashan, as far as the border of the Geshurites and the Maacathites, and called the villages after his own name, Havvoth-jair, as it is to this day.) ¹⁵ To Machir I gave Gilead, ¹⁶ and to the Reubenites and the Gadites I gave the territory from Gilead as far as the Valley of the Arnon, with the middle of the valley as a border, as far over as the river Jabbok, the border of the Ammonites; ¹⁷ the Arabah also, with the Jordan as the border, from Chinnereth as far as the Sea of the Arabah, the Salt Sea, under the slopes of Pisgah on the east.

¹⁸ “And I commanded you at that time, saying, ‘The Lord your God has given you this land to possess. All your men of valor shall cross over armed before your brothers, the people of Israel. ¹⁹ Only your wives, your little ones, and your livestock (I know that you have much livestock) shall remain in the cities that I have given you, ²⁰ until the Lord gives rest to your brothers, as to you, and they also occupy the land that the Lord your God gives them beyond the Jordan. Then each of you may return to his possession which I have given you.’
²¹ And I commanded Joshua at that time, ‘Your eyes have seen all that the Lord your God has done to these two kings. So will the Lord do to all the kingdoms into which you are crossing. ²² You shall not fear them, for it is the Lord your God who fights for you.’
Deuteronomy 3:8, 12-22 (ESV)

I am struck by this passage. It hits a deep chord that resonates in my spirit. Yes. Yes. "Until the Lord gives your brothers rest." "Until they also possess the land which the Lord your God will give them."

What is the promised land? Hebrews 4 alludes to it being an analogy for entering into God's rest. Entering into His grace and rest from works of the flesh. It is a place dependence on His spirit, His power, His grace. It is the abundant life. Life IN Christ. The promised land, flowing with milk and honey, full of abundance and rest from the enemy who was defeated by His strength when they entered.

So why does this passage affect me so deeply? I've had so many conversations with so many believers from so many places. Not nearly enough as I would like... and I'm thankful for the opportunity live and interact with so many different brothers and sisters. But I see many who are new in their faith, or who are young in their faith, and are striving to understand the freedom of His grace. Who are still very much bound by rules, expectations, cultural norms, etc. Who are struggling with lies and don't have the truth in their own language. Sure, they have it in perhaps another language they try to access it in - but it is not clear, it doesn't make sense, they don't understand.

I feel the Holy Spirit nudging me to action. To taking up their struggle with prayer. To stand with them against the lies, speaking truth... maybe even standing with them to translate the truth into their own language and cultural context.

When I feel tempted to say, "I've had enough. I want to rest. Let me sit back and revel in my east-of-the-Jordan-River inheritance..." His spirit whispers, "What of your brothers and sisters... they have yet to claim their inheritance. No, My child, it is not time for rest, it is time for action. Until your brothers and sisters also receive their inheritance and their rest... the possession I have for them... then, and only then, is it the proper time to rest."

You see... there is no "fend for yourself" in His sovereign realm. There is only community, unity, and "one anothers." May I never, ever forget this, Lord. And each time I am tempted to pitch my tent, drive down stakes, and settle down in my own inheritance on this side of the Jordan... urge me out, and forward, with my brothers and sisters... until we can all together possess our inheritance of faith and rest.

¹⁰ And Joshua commanded the officers of the people, ¹¹ “Pass through the midst of the camp and command the people, ‘Prepare your provisions, for within three days you are to pass over this Jordan to go in to take possession of the land that the Lord your God is giving you to possess.’”
¹² And to the Reubenites, the Gadites, and the half-tribe of Manasseh Joshua said, ¹³ “Remember the word that Moses the servant of the Lord commanded you, saying, ‘The Lord your God is providing you a place of rest and will give you this land.’ ¹⁴ Your wives, your little ones, and your livestock shall remain in the land that Moses gave you beyond the Jordan, but all the men of valor among you shall pass over armed before your brothers and shall help them, ¹⁵ until the Lord gives rest to your brothers as he has to you, and they also take possession of the land that the Lord your God is giving them. Then you shall return to the land of your possession and shall possess it, the land that Moses the servant of the Lord gave you beyond the Jordan toward the sunrise.”

Joshua 1:10-15, ESV

on my bucket list

I've been wanting an African name for years. Or even just an African nickname would suffice. Yet, my ASL sign-name stayed even after several years and multiple Deaf language communities. After a text message yesterday, I was struck with the realization that I DO have a spoken language African nickname... and have all this time... I've just been in staunch denial of what it is. :-p "Beti."  #Bettyisanoldladyname #washopingforsomethingelse #certainlynottribal #ohwell #winsomelosesome

My Amharic name is Betaniya  - which is really not that different, but has emotional roots now when I hear it in a different context. :-)

endless transitions

To adjust --> "familiarize oneself with; to acclimate; become accustomed to; come to terms with..." And in our case, to adjust to rapid change & constant transitions.

There are some days I mentally tick off the list of major transitions in my life over the last two years, just to remind myself that I'm not losing it, and having days of just be-ing are ok... needed, even. It's not to applaud myself or give excuse for laziness. It's just the reminder that this is NOT normal life for MOST people... and to give myself some necessary grace on the days I just can't seem to tell up from down.

Just coming back from 3 months Stateside. Coming back to a sink that isn't draining, a toilet that is leaking, and feeling the squish of water that has seeped under the kitchen flooring and will need to be replaced. Coming back just to throw down our bags and run to our teammates' house to help them pack up their lives to go home... for good. Coming back just to say goodbye again.

Yet also coming back to elated neighbors... the smiling faces of the kids in our complex who have mastered the word "Chocolate??" :-) Coming back to warm wishes of "happy holiday" and "happy new year" as we rung in 2008 on the Ethiopian calendar. Coming home to the hugs of friends who pretend their eyes are not misty from missing us. Coming home to relatives who try not to call us to give us time to rest and settle back in.

Transition. Job changes. Home changes. Relationship changes. Marital status changes. Team changes. Physical social network changes.  Weather changes. Visa status changes. Yet... I am reminded I have a loving, faithful, sovereign Father who is UNCHANGING. A Rock. Yesterday morning, as I sat in my corner chair, morning sunlight peeking through the curtains, He lead me here in Isaiah 44, verse 8: "Do not tremble and do not be afraid... ... Is there any God besides me, or is there any other Rock?" No, Lord, there is not. You alone. My Rock. And then this beautiful promise in Isaiah 43, verse 15-16: "I am the LORD, your Holy One, the Creator..... who makes a way through the sea and a path through the mighty waters." My Rock. My Anchor. The Sea-ruler, Way-maker, & Storm-calmer. The Holy One, my Creator. You alone.


And I opened my laptop to find what tasks awaited me, and found hope, encouragement, affirmation, and challenge from others who walk this journey - so very different, and yet parallel my own. I am convicted to re-think ministry when local partnerships just aren't working well. I am validated and heartened by those who know the heart-rending of adjusting to constant comings and goings of teammates and friends. I am strengthened by women who understand and know the weight and indignity of harassment in our daily environments and refuse to be quiet about it.

And I am struck by how very odd it is, that those who ministered the most to me yesterday, were not even people I have ever met in person or would venture to call my friends. But they are brothers and sisters who know my journey struggles and joys, perhaps better than those who know me well. And I am reminded that I am part of something so much bigger and grander than this little chaotic world of my own. And this thrills and burns my heart to praise and rejoice. For He is the author of the story. And we serve the same Father. And He knows the end from the beginning. He is the Rock. The Anchor, in a life of endless adjusting, changing, and transition. And you, fellow bloggers and writers, have touched my life, and spoken into my story. Thank you.

Linking up with Velvet Ashes today, on the theme: "Adjust"

Will you trust Me – for today and for tomorrow?

 It was a hot July evening in 2012, sitting on the grassy bank of a stream, as the evening light began to fade and the mosquitoes started making their presence known. It was a quiet place to think. A place to get away and alone with my thoughts... which, this particular evening, was a scary prospect.

I had been away from East Africa for a year now, yet I was still awaiting the morning I would wake without a heaviness in my chest and an ache in my heart of missing Africa with every fiber of my being. I was back in the States on purpose, to further my education, and prepare for a move to SE Asia. That had been the plan all along. At least, that had been my plan. In fact, I had spent the last year reminding myself of this. And I was no further along this evening than I was the first days of arriving "home" to American soil.

My heart was in knots. My spirit in turmoil. And to add to the plot, there was also this one guy... the one I kept resolutely factoring out of the equation when his name was whispered continually through my mind. After all, we were just friends. We were of different cultural, linguistic, and social backgrounds. We lived on different continents. We came from very different communities. And yet, my mind (and my heart) were continually drawn back to him. Despite all my denial, we were skyping on a weekly basis and corresponding even more frequently.

I was a mess. All my "well laid" plans and expectations were now a complex ball of limbo. Internally, I was battling fear of being my own worst enemy and making the wrong choices and the wrong decisions and royally messing everything up. So, that night on the bank of that stream, I was too consumed with swarms of fear and confusion and questions without answers to even heed the swarming bugs.

As I poured my heart out into a journal, hoping the verbal processing would bring some sort of order to my mental chaos, I wrote until I could no longer see the page through tears. I finally dropped the journal into the grass and cried out, "Why are You silent!? I NEED answers. I need to KNOW what You want me to do. I don't know, and I need to know. Why won't You just tell me??"

As the words faded into the buzz of mosquitoes, His voice gently flooded into my agonized spirit, "B, do you trust me for today?" Still in an attitude of frustration and impatience, I irreverently snapped back at Him that since it was already night time, that was a dumb question. Unfazed and ever patient, He whispered, "Ok then, will you trust me for tomorrow?" Realization flooded through me, that this was about to be a significant decision point. Mollified, I said yes. "That is all you need to know. Trust me, love." He finished tenderly.

Each morning following that evening encounter, He whispered the same two questions to me when I woke: "Do you trust me for today? Will you trust me for tomorrow?" He was asking me to surrender my need to know, my need to plan, my need for the answers... to, rather, trust Him, and His love, and His sovereignty, and His goodness and guidance. Yes, Lord, for today and for tomorrow, I will trust You.

And I discovered that in trusting Him--one day at a time, and walking in trust and obedience THAT day, and then the next day, and then the next--I found peace in His capable hands. He shifted my focus from the problems, the confusion, the limbo, the questions, to His heart.

Today, almost 3 years later, I am amazed to see what God has done with that simple trust. You know, that guy--the one on a different continent who I kept factoring OUT of the equation. He is now my husband. And I still wake up each morning with a love and ache for Africa, as I wake up on her soil;  she is now my home.

Linking up this week with The Grove @ Velvet Ashes.

"to be a help" or just "to be"?

THIS. I have been looking for THIS quote for over a year now. It is one of those that has shaped my own view of "ministry."

"I found a very subtle snare... I sought their fellowship in order that I might minister to them, 'be a help,' you know, to these 'weaker' ones. What a rebuke came when I sensed my real motive--that 'I' might minister. Love hacks right at this, for she refuses to parade herself. I learned to recognize no 'spiritual planes,' but simply to LOVE, purely, in every group. Trying to 'be a help' even has a smell of good works in it, for it is not pure. Our motive is only to BE--do nothing, know nothing, act nothing--just to be a sinful bit of flesh, born of a Father's love. Then you see, Beloved, there can be no defeat." 

(Excerpt from "The Shadow of the Almighty: The Life and Testament of Jim Elliot")

What do you think?

how to fold the laundry (married life musings)

You know, those ingrained habits we all have? Those ones we don’t see until suddenly someone else is there and, somehow, someway, revealing all these things you were unaware of about yourself?

Like, how you fold your laundry. Or that you actually, like, had deeply rooted feelings related to how the laundry is folded. I mean, c’mon, really? Who cares? Well, apparently you did. Hah! Joke’s on you.

Thirds or quarters? Length-wise or width-wise. Put in the cabinet facing backwards or forwards? Fold out or in?

But the biggest question is: Does it really, freaking, matter? Well… No. But then again, kinda yes.

No, it doesn’t matter, ultimately. There is no right or wrong way to fold laundry. There are “more effective” ways, and “less wrinkling” ways, and “space saving” ways… but there is no law or rulebook on how laundry MUST be folded. Just as there is no law or rulebook on how you should wash laundry, or how your should take a shower (with or without water spraying against the wall or straight down or whatever), or how you should cut vegetables up, or when you should take the garbage out, or what categories your should organize your bookshelf into, or how to squeeze that infamous toothpaste tube. But sometimes… it certainly feels like there should have been a rulebook… Am I right?

Now, I had always considered myself quite flexible. I mean, seriously… I have moved over a dozen times in the last 8 years, living in multiple countries (sometimes at the same time), learning bits and pieces of multiple spoken languages, not to mention countless sign languages. Crossing cultures and adapting… All the time. I’ve had more roommates in the last decade of my life than I can count (no, really… more than I can count). So… I figured, yeah… I’m set. This whole adapting thing will be no sweat. WRONG.

My last roommate before marriage was the best and worst thing for me. Our relationship and living together was effortless. Like, we never, ever had to think or talk about it. It just meshed, and flowed, and sailed along with all the ease of a tailwind. A blessing, because she came a crucial, stressful and overwhelming season of my life and job and just picked up all the pieces and wove them into something organized, manageable, and shared. And, though we’ve traveled the world together, shared hotel rooms, shared clothes and food, and shared some crazy experiences… honestly, I have no idea how she folded the laundry. Whether she kept all her preferences in check (I doubt this, highly – nobody can do that for 2 years living with outspoken me) or we just complimented each other that well… it did not prepare me for switching to a lifemate, who isn’t even going to try to hide preferences… because this is supposed to be about middle ground and compromises and blended lives.

So back to the laundry… in this and many other things, I’m learning to let go of how I think it should be done, and just rejoice that I have a Love and Life-mate who wants and enjoys doing things like helping fold laundry, wash dishes, clean the house, cook meals, etc. I am so thankful. And yes, in some ways, it does kinda matter how you fold those towels, pillow cases, and blankets. Before, when they were thrown in the box on top of my closet, you had to fold them to fit into the box. But now that they go in that new cabinet, the old way of folding them no longer works – cause they stick out and prevent the doors from closing. So, even this girl with all her particularities, it learning how to re-train and re-fold. And, get this, all our randomly sized and shaped towels and blankets all have to be folded differently depending on their shape/size because they won’t fit into the cabinet any other way. Bahahahaha… don’t tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor. Or that He doesn’t have a vested interest in continually pushing me beyond my own personal boundaries. Smile. Cause He does.

In conclusion: I love the lessons and stretching of married life. I love my husband. I love this new journey we are on together. And yes, I will give up my unspoken rulebook all over again and again, for this beautiful adventure of compromise and blending lives.

a decade of (single) ministry: standing at the edge of what's familiar

In less than 3 weeks from now, I will stand before a gathering of witnesses and formally commit my heart and life to my long-awaited Love. Our meeting, friendship, courtship, and engagement stretched across 4 years... with great chunks of time spent in different countries, continents, and timezones. In these past 6 months especially, however, the theme of this post has been winding its way around my heart and mind.

You see, I've spent the last 29 and a half years of my life single. I didn't date in high school or college. I did have a ridiculously dramatic & immature "more than friendship" in college which ended (by God's mercy), albeit with a broken heart. I did have one courtship with a good friend after college, which was brief and successfully showed us we weren't suited for marriage to each other. Yet, the majority of the formative years of my life have been as a single woman - high school, college, career, ministry, and then moving, living, and serving in multiple countries and communities.

This past summer, as I co-taught a summer course at a Stateside University, I was asked a couple times by other faculty members (wholly unaware of my pending nuptials) if I would teach the young ladies on what it is like to live and serve overseas as a single woman. In the past, I have happily accepted; but after a draining and overwhelming year for many other reasons, I declined. Only hours after saying no, I realized... I was standing in the last window of time where I could feasibly talk to fellow single women about the struggles, joys, and challenge of living and serving overseas as a single woman. Because in less than 3 weeks, my credibility goes down to almost nil. Not because I haven't served as a single for over a decade. But because I will be married. Married at younger than 30 (just barely!).

My voice will soon be added to the dismissed voices of other married women who "don't understand," or "don't know what it's like, because you married 'young'" (which really just means younger than the person who is being "advised"). I know, because I've been there on the other side, and I've said these same things. (Examples: When I am 26 and told I should talk to another young woman who recently married about "how to wait gracefully" because "she waited so very long for the right guy too" and come to discover she is 21 years old. When I read books on how to patiently trust God to script my love story by someone who married at 18 years old. When another authoress writes on how to find the right guy and yet she is still single at 40.) Credibility, for singles, is kinda (very) important.

_________________________________

Someone once said the present is really just a thin line which is constantly translating the future into the past.

Living life as a single woman is easy for me. Singleness is familiar...comfortable even. I know its ins and outs, both Stateside and overseas. I know what to expect, what not to expect, and all that is in between. I know its joys and its sorrows. I know its versatility, its unique opportunities, its special challenges. It is safe, predictable, assuring. No, it hasn't always been easy, but it hasn't been all that terribly hard either. Yes, making decisions as a single woman can be overwhelming... finding someone to process with can be hard... but it's still just me calling the shots for, well, me.

And yet this morning, I stand on the ridge between a familiar place called singleness and an unfamiliar realm on the other side called marriage. In less than 3 weeks, I will be transferred to inside the boundary lines of that new world. So, as I stand, still on the edge of this familiar territory, I have a few things I want to say.

I am grateful, appreciative, and so thankful for the beautiful gift of singleness for the last decade of ministry. And for the blessing of un-attachment in my formative teen and early college years as well. I would not be who I am today nor in the place I am today, had the Lord not thought it good to give me this precious gift of undivided attention and focus. Thank you, Jesus. It has been an incredible, beautiful journey with You alone as my Lover, Companion, Provider, and most Intimate Friend.

I have been able to do things that only a single person can do... make spur of the moment decisions to go last minute places and meet unexpected people and do unplanned things. I have done countless back to back trips, sometimes without stopping to rest in the middle. I have met so many people and found new family in friends in far off places... people who loved me, cared for me, and took me in... because I was single, and they knew I needed them.

I have been able to pour out and spend myself, my life, my energy, my attention -- fully for Christ, and for others... that they might know Him and understand His heart better. I'm so thankful for friends, mentors, and a God who all urged me not to put my life on hold and wait... but to get out there and live it to its FULLEST with the glorious gift of singleness. I have been able to live undistracted... unattached... with a sole focus and purpose... and I am so, so, so thankful beyond words.

I love my fiance. More than any person on this planet. I am SUPER excited about the journey that lies ahead, and having him be the one at my side to walk the way with me... the ups and downs. TOGETHER.

But, for these remaining weeks, as wedding planning takes over our lives, we remind each other this too is just a season and the real deal lies on the other side of the necessary evils of invitations, clothes fittings, shoe shopping, decor choosing, and car rentals.

In the meantime... I am enjoying stretching out and having the entirety of my queen size bed all to myself. I am enjoying the remaining days of doing whatever I want whenever I want (well... within the reasonable hours of a given day and time not already eaten fully by aforementioned wedding preparations). I am enjoying cooking and eating the things I like, having the early morning hours all to myself, only washing one person's clothing, only factoring in my own movie likes/dislikes when I choose something to watch, and not feeling guilty spending a couple hours online reading facebook, email, or blogs in the evening. Because... very soon... that is all going to be a thing of the past.

Already, it sinks in. As every future decision now factors in TWO personalities, TWO plane tickets, TWO nationalities, TWO perspectives on where to live, TWO peoples likes/dislikes factored into every equation, and so much more in dual.

As I said. I am excited. It is right, and good. But it is also different. Unfamiliar territory. Anticipated. And yet... still much of an unknown learning curve, as we are ever continually woven into ONE.

I relish the journey with this incredible man holding my hand and Christ as our Faithful Guide, no matter what terrain we traverse together. Yet, this morning, and also during the last few months, I have been reminded of HOW very, deeply grateful I am to have had this beautiful, FULL, blessed, precious gift of a decade of singleness to have be given by Him, for Him, and back to Him.

God gives good gifts. May we be fully present to receive them and enjoy them in the today.

rain clouds & thunder

I was flying to Kauai, for a mental health break. Flight paid for by colleague-friends who recognized I needed some much needed breathing space before returning to my home and work overseas. We took off from Portland, the rain and the muck. And it was really coming down.

Thunder, rain, lightening... all things I don’t really mind if I’m warm, safe, and dry. In fact, I have come to truly respect and appreciate  powerful thunderstorm. But I don’t like flying through them… not so much. Because they always mean something scary: turbulence.

Now, turbulence while flying is normal. And as much as I’ve flown in my life, it is something that isn’t really all that bad anymore. I’m more likely to die in a car accident or crossing the street. But ever since a flight from Philippines to Thailand, and a very scary swing and drop turbulence moment… which forever has imprinted itself on my stomach in particular… I’m not as big a fan as I used to be. Severe turbulence these days can bring me sweaty palms, shortness of breath, and a pounding heart.

But this day… I was so overwhelmed and exhausted… it didn’t so much matter anymore. It had been a whirlwind trip to the States, home, working, and teaching at various organizational events. Things were stressful in both my personal and public life, filled with tension and stress. So Hawaii had been the answer and solution to my needing a few days … just … away.

As we started to ascend, the wind and rain and thunder and lightening pummeled us. I stared out the window, in awe of what we were courageously, stubbornly attempting… to ascend and soar in the midst of this crazy weather. The turbulence, even taking off, caused us to shimmy back and forth on the runway as we lifted off the ground. I was listening to Tenth Avenue North’s album “the Struggle” and “Worn” on my iPod again and again, repeated.

The storm, as we climbed, actually became worst. I could hardly see out my window, as rain pummeled against it – gray and wearying. The clouds became, darker, blacker. The thunder became louder. The lightning even more bright and ominous. And then, not knowing how many minutes had really passed, we came soaring out the other side… and the beautiful, unworried sunlight burst forth against a vibrant blue sky, blinding me. Once I regained my eyesight, I looked down at the other side of the clouds… and how very tame and mellow they looked from the other side.

Spiritual truth revelation: There is a place we can dwell in Him, above the storms of life. From our perspective, they can be terrifying. Looking only from the lowest point. But when we let Him lift us into the place of His love, His grace, His mercy, and His goodness… we are reminded He is Lord OVER the storms, and He is sovereign. And we are being carried in His arms.

sunrises whisper hope

For as long as I can remember, I have loved sunrise. From the time I was only 6 years old, getting up at 5:30am with my maternal grandpa – hearing him making coffee in the kitchen (though it was hot cocoa with marshmallows for me). To crawling out of bed, wiping sleep from my eyes, for early morning fishing trips leaving the house at 6am with my dad and older brother.

Sunrises… early morning… soothes my soul and whispers through my spirit of new life and hope.

In 2006, my family uprooted and moved to southern Oregon. I was only a year out of college, a year into my career as an interpreter, and a year into a new year out of an unhealthy relationship. I was also in a season of limbo, trying to figure out what exactly God was doing and where He wanted me in this big world and in life. We moved to a little map dot in the woods, just off the lake. That lake… in some ways… became a place of calm for me, a refuge. I would find myself, in the midst of roiling questions in my heart and befuddlement in my mind, sitting in my car at the lake in the wee hours of the morning… facing where I knew the sun would rise.

Because of the lake, in the cooler seasons, fog would be thick covering the lake, and the mountains just behind. It was always a gamble, whether or not I would actually get to see the sun itself. At first, this would frustrate me. To get up, brave the chill, and sit alone in the cold, gray semi-darkness… and not even get to see a sunrise, especially as that was exactly how my soul felt many of those mornings in that season of life.

Some mornings, the sun would rise in glorious might… rays shooting majestically through the fog, burning it away with ferocity… daring it to try and resist. Other days, the sun would come up softly, gently, quietly… slipping into the sky without fanfare. The fog remained, and yet the light of day still came.

The Lord spoke sure truths into my spirit through those many mornings we spent together on that lake… waiting for the sunrise together.

Whether or not I can see it — whether or not it is veiled by fog or clouds — the sun still rises. Every. Single. Morning. Whether or not I “feel” it – God’s mercies are new. Every. Single. Morning. His love is real, present, NEAR… regardless of the fog or clouds in my heart or mind. He is still there. Faithful. True. Unfailing. DAILY.

Sometimes He chooses to rush in with power and glory… pushing aside all the fog and darkness and confusion, with a triumphant authority and ferocious love. With LIGHT and TRUTH. And other times, He is content to be there, still NEAR and no less present, but without the fanfare and lights… stealing through the circumstances in my life, pulling me to TRUST and worship Him even in the mundane and unremarkable days… being faithful to praise and obey even in the grey.
He whispers through my spirit, reminding me…

“The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, that shines brighter and brighter until the full day.” (Proverbs 4:18, NASB)
and
“The Light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot comprehend or overpower it.” (John 1:5)
and
“God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all.” (1 John 1:5b)

And my soul finds itself calmed and at peace, cradled in His love, hope, and faithfulness.

Lord, give me Your heart

"In John 13, Jesus knew where He had come from and where He was going to. ... If we know where we've come from and where we're going to, we could spend the rest of our time on earth with a towel around our waist... it wouldn't matter. If we knew where we'd come from and where we are going, we could like happily in obscurity just washing a hopeless old man's feet. ... In order to understand how to minister, we need to know where we've coming from and where we're going to, and then it matters not the tiniest bit whether our ministry looks successful or not; neither do we mind... Our satisfaction is in Jesus' heart." ~Jackie Pullinger

the little girl on the minibus

She couldn’t have been older than 9 or 10, but her eyes whispered the weight of at least four times that many years of life experience.  She took my breath away, the solemness of her old soul looking out so carefully for the well being of a blind mother and a 3-4 year old younger sister.

She did not meet my gaze with her one seeing eye and another which had probably become worn and tired from having seen too much in its short life. In fact, she did not note me at all; so focused was she on the task of caretaker for those both older and younger than she, navigating the perils of public transport with her charges whom she so carefully guided and settled into their seats.

She was unflinching, attentive, and sober… sadness & sweetness mingled with the knowledge written across her unsmiling face that, yet, held no jaded bitterness with a childhood abandoned for the hard responsibilities of life. No resignation nor flickers of anger. Just resolute maturity and… something more… is it hope? Is it determination? I cannot tell, except to get a strong sense that this little girl-woman is a fighter.

Love also now spills out she watches her younger sister, intent on being sure the smallest one of them (who stares unconcerned out the window with the pure innocence of a child’s naivete with life still blessedly in tact) eats a biscuit at the late hour as they travel together under her single, watchful eye. The difference between the two sisters outlook is as striking as their resemblance to each other. 

I long to know this 9-or-10-year-olds story.  I want to greet her, to talk in the span of minutes we will share this space. Then, I am suddenly painfully aware of the world’s and cultures and languages and distance that lie as barriers between us even as we sit with knees pressed together in the crowded seats. She has a story to tell that I desperately want to hear, even as I see it resting there beneath her expressions. I know then, I must write of her… this little girl, who is actually a little woman, in the minibus this afternoon… whom I wish I could have met and known.

I alight first, leaving the little guardian angel with her cares… but have not stopped thinking of her.

building bridges of cultural understanding

"The dialogue between us and our national colleagues is important in building bridges of cultural understanding. It is also important in helping us develop a more culture-free understanding of God’s truth and moral standards as revealed in the Bible. Our colleagues can detect our cultural blind spots better than we can, just as we often see their cultural prejudgments better than they. Dialogue with Christians from other cultures helps keep us from the legalism of imposing foreign beliefs and norms on a society without taking into account its specific situations. It also helps keep us from a relativism that denies truth and reduces ethics to cultural norms."

Hiebert, G. Paul. 1999. “Cultural differences and the communication of the gospel.” In Perspectives on the world Christian movement: A reader. 3rd ed. Pasadena, CA: William Carey Library, pg 381.

One of the things I was MOST excited about when I was preparing to live and serve overseas was to have God challenge and strip away beliefs I hold which are more American values than Biblical ones. While I can't give you an itemized list of what those are, I can tell you He has been and continues to answer that prayer and reveal those blind spots... via my own time in His word and in other cultures, and via relationships with brothers and sisters of other nationalities. It's a beautiful thing.

However, I don't believe there is such thing as a "culture-free understanding of God's truth."

As believers seeking to faithfully live out the Christian life in our social context, we must be aware that our formation and formulations are not acultural.