Staples are not for fruit

II Cor. 3:18 "And we all...beholding the glory of the Lord...are being changed into the same image..."

My 42-ness recently started to rear its ugly head.  All of a sudden I felt, well, old.  Every person in my close proximity was doing everything they could to really get on my nerves, I told myself.  I would just snap in a second over the littlest thing.  I felt passionate about how wrong something was one day and couldn't remember what it was the next.  When I added up the things in my life, they equaled too much.  There are too many interruptions.  There are too many things to train in the two-year-old.  There is too much food that has to come out of this kitchen.  I can't handle life on my own on a good day.  Much less an I-might-be-going-crazy day. 

Ben just stopped screaming at nap time.  He has turned a major obedience corner, and it is a blessing to all of us.  Most notably, he himself is happier.  He would get so out of control when he was tired, kicking and screaming and generally extremely frustrated.  "Just go to sleep!"  I wanted to yell back at him.  Why is it so hard to convince him that it will be best for him to rest and be refreshed?  It sounded like torture just putting him in his bed for a nap.

I am so much like my son.  I might not throw an outward fit, but my inward ones are quite the demonstration of immaturity!  I can't see anything clearly, and I certainly can't see that what I need to do is stop and be quiet.

God reminded me, "apart from me you can do nothing {on any day}." I didn't realize how much I actually did think I could do.  Up until this time I felt fairly self-sufficient.  My "sufficiency" is so completely inadequate.  I told God that He was proving His point, and I wanted to learn my lesson.  

I have always loved John 15.  It is beautifully poetic and goes against everything in me.  I have realized in the last several weeks how much I value strength, especially emotional strength.  I have parented like that, and I have dealt with myself like that.  "For Pete's sake, put on a smile and you would feel a lot better." Which whispers truth, but also lacks compassion for the days when putting on a smile doesn't make everything sparkles and rainbows.  I have to press into Christ in new ways.  I have to rely on His joy and His strength.  I have to deliberately think about what is true more often, more carefully.  "No one lies to you more than you do,*" reminds me to evaluate what I am thinking about, to "take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ."(II Cor. 10:5)

"You did not choose me, but I chose you to go and bear fruit--fruit that will last." (John 15:5).  I can bear some fake fruit, and it can look pretty good, in my own strength.  It gets stapled onto my pathetic, wilting tree and looks attractive, for a while. * Then it starts to rot because it was just faked on and had no Source.  It smells a lot like whitewashed tombs.  

"This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples." v. 8.  It is to the Father's glory.  It comes from remaining in the Vine, the true Source.  All the other pasted-on fruit gets me some glory.  It feeds my sense of self-worth and importance.  It makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something.  Sitting at the feet of Jesus and begging him for wisdom and joy doesn't get me anything except humility and a renewed acknowledgement that I can't do anything without him.  It doesn't look strong.  It looks pretty weak, actually.

Which is what I am: weak, and messy, and stubborn.  I rebel at the thought of submitting myself to anyone and take pride in my pride.  On my worst days, I am in desperate need of saving.  And on my best days, I am  in desperate need of saving.

There is freedom in acknowledging my messiness.  If I don't claim to be anything significant, repentance really isn't difficult and acknowledging my need for Christ is pretty simple, too.  Spending time with Christ produces fruit that I could never muster up.  Overflow of time with Him enables me to have joy.  Taking in the stream of His grace and drinking deeply of His love will  have an effect on my life, only I won't have to strive to "paste" it on.  And when others see it, I probably won't even be aware it's happening.

It's so counter-intuitive: to stop doing more things when everything feels crazy, and to spend time not doing.  Just sitting.  Quiet.  Not getting anything done, but being changed.  It takes faith to believe that it is the best way to spend my time, that doing more will not produce better results.

It's the only way to joy.  "Be still (literally, cease striving).  Know that I am God.  I will be exalted in the heavens, and I will be exalted in the earth."( Ps. 46:10)  

God, my Provider,  be exalted in my life as I get quiet before you

 and change because I have been beholding Your glory.

*Illustration of stapling on fruit belongs to Paul Tripp.  To read more from a section of his book, "Instruments in the Redeemer's Hands," about heart change, click here.

Claustrophobia on aisle 6

We have a new, fancy mall in town.  It is rather incredible, with dozens and dozens of shop spaces....and several shops actually up and running....mostly phone shops right next to each other.  We have been waiting for the new supermarket to open its shiny glass doors since Christmas, when they put their sign up and sold several items in the main lobby.
So when Dave visited TSN on Monday, which he has affectionately called 'The Super Narket' (actual name Tanzania Sisi Nyumbani), he told me that the prices were great and there were a lot of customer service people (think "How Can I Help You" blue shirts at Walmart).  In fact, he said the customer service people were rather intent on their jobs.

I grasped on to the idea of cheap prices and chalked up the 'service people' thing to the fact that he is an introvert and might not like talking to everyone in the store.

Later in the afternoon, when I went to check it out with the kids, I called Dave within two minutes of entering that air-conditioned paradise and told him I had found my new favorite place.  Cheap chocolate?!  What else could a woman wish for?!  He said he was glad for me, that yes, it was nice.

Five minutes later I told him I had changed my mind.  Five minutes of telling red-shirted customer service people that I was just looking, thank you.  Five minutes of trying to push my own cart with Ben in it, because they each wanted to push it for me.  Five minutes of continuing to put on a smile that was rapidly fading.  Truly, they were trying to be helpful, and Tanzanians are notably kind and patient (more patient than I am, obviously) and their idea of service is to make sure you know they are there for you.  So most of the time I couldn't see what I was trying to look at because someone was standing between me and the product,  asking if I wanted to buy the product I was trying to look at.  Frustrated at my independence, finally one just decided to follow right behind me through the rest of the aisles.  By this time I was cracking up laughing because I didn't know how else to say that I just wanted a little space for me and Ben.  And I found myself racing through the aisles, away from help.

In addition to wanting to help, there were also not any price tags on the products, and the prices had not been entered in the computers yet, so if someone saw something in your cart that didn't have a sticker on it, they would tell you to wait while they ran back to find out the price, wrote it on a pad of stickers they all had in their hands, and label it for you.

Some sections of the store had a stockpile of one product with a sign that said SALE SALE SALE SALE but there was no price, and people were not quite sure how much it actually was until they asked around.

I ended on the cheese aisle, and stared wide-eyed at mozzarella and cheddar and even specialty cheeses.  Funny--there were three customer service people in this aisle and not one of them approached me.  In fact, when I caught their eye, they looked away.  Finally I tapped one of them and asked how much the cheese was.

"It's not for sale."

"No one knows how much it is, so you can't buy it yet."

"But we have little bottles of chocolate and strawberry milk?"

It's OK, I don't love chocolate milk on my pizza. :)

Somehow I had missed the stickers for some of my items, so at the checkout counter with fancy computers that were all turned off, I had to tell the lady writing every item down in a special book how much certain things were, and then another lady added it on a little calculator.

Until heaven, things will not be what we think they should be.  Progress takes time!  And that is right and good.  Let me not put my hope in cheeses and peaceful shopping experiences. :)

Buy it up

Psalm 90:12 "So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom."

 When we get an unusual product in our local grocery store, you would think we won the lottery.  “HEY MOM!  U-turn has Werther’s candies again!”  When something special hits the shelves, it doesn’t last long.  We know that if we don’t buy it up, it might not be there again any time soon (or ever!).  There is an ever-so-fine line between spotting it and getting some for later and being an absolute hoarder, uninterested in someone else’s desire to maybe have a little bit of it too. :)  

So it made perfect sense to me when I was reading in Ephesians 5:15-16 “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of time because the days are evil.”  Literally, “Look, hear, perceive how you are passing your life, not as foolish people (wasting their days) but as wise, skilled people who make the most of opportunities.  Buy up your moments, because the days are evil.”  Buy up, like at the market, like at U-turn.  These moments are flying off the shelves, never to be had again.  Hoard them!  Grab them and squeeze out all their worth, for you won’t get the chance again!  And then I saw something else.  Isn’t God’s Word a treasure, worth digging for?!  “…the days are evil.”  But the word evil also means “full of labors, annoyances, hardships” or the evil causing such things.  Wow, God.  I can’t really think of one person who doesn’t think that the days are filled with labors, annoyances and hardships.  This evil world overflows with frustrations every day.  No wonder it is so hard to buy back the time—I am too busy with my labors and annoyances to notice when the time I am meant to redeem 

is slipping right out from under me.  

We headed to the village with Kate and Ben to visit old friends.  We hadn’t seen this dear couple for about seven months.  We treasure their friendship and cultural wisdom.  We saw them coming toward us through the field by their house, welcoming us.  

They invited us into their house.  

They are simple, by the world’s standard extremely poor.  I noticed that day that I didn’t see them that way anymore.  They are rich in spirit.  They exude generosity and kindness.  Prepared before us on a simple, small wooden table was mandazi (local donuts) and chai.  Eagerly praying over our snack, mama hobbled to her chair and told us, “Eat, eat!”  Ben gulped his chai eagerly; he doesn’t usually drink super sweet tea at home. They thought it strange that Americans don’t usually give their children tea.  Even tiny children here drink it every day!  We shared life together, talked about their struggling health, how many pieces of tin they needed to finish their house.  “Buy back this time,” kept running through my mind.  How, God?  How do I make the most of this opportunity?  By being fully engaged, thankful, talking of You.  By learning.  By soaking in these sun-dried fields while we walk back to the car, a promise of a chicken from these dear people the next time we come around.  

We headed to greet another Mama whom we have known for a long time.  Coming up the path towards her, I could see through her thin dress and the sun shone on her very thin body, much thinner than the last time I visited with her.  “Mama Hannah!  I have had a baby!”  Just six weeks previous, and she looked like she was wasting away.  I held her beautiful girl, her fourth child, and she showed me that her baby had been “born with a problem.  No anus.”  So she just had a colostomy they had made in her abdomen that should have had a bag over it, but instead was just open and she wipes it constantly throughout the day as waste seeps out.  “It has been a trouble for me!”  Maybe a bit of an understatement…she is trying to carry water, cook food, get firewood, work, do laundry, nurse a baby, wipe the opening all day long.  My heart ached for her.  Having a child like that in America would be challenging.  Having a child like that in the village, almost impossible.  “Redeem this time.  Don’t leave her without giving hope.”  Yes, Mama, this is difficult but God has given you a blessing!  I will pray for you!  And I don’t tell her, but I will  go home and see what I can do for her.  God, help me to help her.  

Help her know that you are El Roi, the God who Sees and may she,

 like Hagar, see the one who has seen her.  

We end at our Bible study with a dear couple, Ben throwing corn cobs around that have been stripped of their yellowish glory, Katie helping to get all the kernels off into the massive pile that is food for the future.  We marvel through Ephesians 2—after the devastating state we were wallowing in, complete darkness, actually dead in our own sin, this astonishing clause, “But God…!”  But GOD, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, made us alive, by grace!  And prepared good works in advance.  Not so that we could get to heaven by them, or earn His blessings,  but so that (v.7) we might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in His kindness to us in Christ Jesus!   

It comes full circle!  We don’t buy back the time because we have to, to earn His favor.  We don’t even buy back the time because we don’t have much time left, which is true.  We buy back the time because we want to show the storehouse of His mercy and grace has enabled us to walk in these good works that He prepared for us.  The glory is not meant for us.  The glory of a life well lived only goes to Christ and His great mercy!  Oh Christ, have mercy!  My days are harried and sometimes feel frantic.  Give me eyes to see people, to take in this moment, not be so preoccupied that I miss it.  I want to get every opportunity and not miss a moment.  In the end, all of life is only made of many such moments!

II Cor. 5:15  “[and Christ] died for all so that those who live should no longer live for themselves, but for him who for their sake died and was raised.”

Culture: Confusing Conclusions

Vague bits of this blog have been floating around my mind for months now.  I don’t know why I’m surprised when I find out something totally new about this culture—I am really only ten years old here—but I remain shocked to find out things that I have never heard of, and they catch me off guard. 

Quite a while back, a local friend told a missionary that she had seen another missionary “eating at the place where you buy the food, right on the street.”   This is not the mecca of street food, but we do have a donut of sorts and cooked corn over the coals and the occasional sweet potato.  This man had bought his donut and eaten it right there, and the local was shocked at the uncouthness of the whole thing.  “Well,” said the other missionary, “what should he have done instead?”  Taken it home, of course!  No one eats right there where you buy it.  What about ice cream, she persisted?  Thankfully enough, ice cream is an exception.  And we wonder why people think we are strange?  If I missed this one small cultural reality, imagine how many others I am missing!

Or the African who saw a white woman out running for exercise and concluded, “That person is very lazy.”  Lazy???  “No one who actually goes out to run has enough work to do!”  

And with each new revelation, our cultural glasses get bent again, refashioned, turned upside-down sometimes.  Sometimes with laughter, sometimes not quite as much laughter.

Several months back I went to the funeral of a little boy who was related to my friend Esther.  Her little nephew, Isaac, had died two days earlier in the hospital.  He had had pneumonia for about a month.  After three courses of antibiotics and his lungs still not clearing, his tiny body, two weeks from one year old, gave up the fight.  Telling people what is actually wrong with them in the hospital is not a cultural value, and I might be able to count on one hand the number of people who have told me what their child, or spouse, or parent actually died of.  No one asks and they are not usually told.  But this time the doctor did tell Isaac’s family, “maybe he was poisoned.” Even though there was no evidence for poisoning.    

The web of superstition, witchcraft, ignorance, poverty, lack of education and blame-shifting is interwoven and intricate.  It makes me so angry some days that I just want to scream.  In addition to grieving the loss of their baby, now the family wonders who poisoned him, and for what reason.  

Isaac’s funeral was the first time I felt so comfortable being out of place.  Funerals have to be some of the most awkward occasions.  I always feel self-conscious just attending most of them, as attendance is expected if you live near the person who died, whether you actually ever even said ‘hi’ to them or not.  The men and women sit in different places and children don’t attend.  Funerals are long, three days if you are really committed, and neighbors will usually spend one night at least sleeping on the ground outside the home.  I am not so committed, but still they can take the better part of a day.   In addition to all this, everyone is expected to pass by the body to verify that the person is actually dead, and that it is the person that they said is dead.  Then when you sit around outside with other members of your gender, talk quickly turns to the weather, the latest gossip, politics, babies, really anything that comes to mind.  There is laughter and chatting and texting on phones, and it doesn’t feel very funeral-like.  But I do know it is important to attend.  And it is a great opportunity to get to know people, even if it doesn’t come at a time that is convenient for me, and there isn't a time that it is convenient to be interrupted for the better part of a day.  Since when was it important for people to die on my timetable?  

During Isaac’s funeral, there were loudspeakers literally BLARING music.  They were about four feet from the front door, and it would have been distorted and brash with heavy-duty earplugs in.  When I was escorted indoor to say “sorry” to the women of the family, whom I had never met, they moved people around so that I could sit next to the grieving mother, who didn’t know me anymore than I knew her.  “Please let me sit down at the end by her feet (she was lying down).”  No, no, sit right next to her head.  They kept shoving people over so that I could have this seat.  So I settled in and just sat quietly along with the other women in this special room for the particularly-grieving ones.  Mama Isaac started really weeping, just shaking as she lay next to me.  Other women reached over me, telling her to be quiet, it was okay, Isaac was in heaven.  I just put my hand on her, at a loss.  I prayed. 

When the body arrived from the morgue, the men at the funeral run to the van to get it and run with it inside to the wailing women.  Then it is brought out and the official funeral begins.  The pastor, in this case, got up and preached and told the plan of salvation to all of those who were there.  He reminded the Christian family that they would see Isaac again, that we do not grieve “as those without hope.”  Then Baba Isaac began to wail and called out for Grandpa, and an old man came to him and comforted him.  

There was much more to the funeral, more wailing and Isaac’s aunty just passing out completely, the burial where half of the people there were listening to political speeches on someone’s phone right next to the open grave, so much so that others asked them to move farther away.  Every funeral leaves me baffled in new ways.

About two months before Isaac’s funeral, a little baby down our road had died of sickness.  Don’t think this is an uncommon occurrence.  In fact, it might be one of the greatest griefs of living here, and it wears me down at times.  At this funeral for little Junior, who was just a little over a year, his mama cried out to Grandpa as well, and an older man came and comforted her.  So when I saw Esther next, I asked her about it.  Are the men who came to comfort them really their Grandpas, or is it a superstition or custom, or what?  She said that if the baby is a boy, they call for Grandpa and if it’s a girl, for Grandma.  And both of the grandpas that I heard called for have already died.  I tried to get deeper behind the meaning—usually there is a lot more to it than meets the eye—but that seemed to be it.  “But you know, right, that for every tribe there is an opposing tribe, their “joking/teasing tribe.”  

Nope.  Never heard of it.

They tease each other. 

But only at funerals.

And if you don’t want them to do that at a funeral, you tie a piece of grass on your door and they will know it’s not a time for a joke.  

“What kind of jokes do they play?” I asked hesitatingly.

“Well, sometimes they even just run off with the body.”

By this time I was more than wide-eyed.  “How do they get the body back?”

“The family collects as much money as they can, and they pay the other tribe’s people to bring the body back.”  

Ok.  Still processing.

“And then the tribe that took the body will take the money that the family gave them, add their own money, lots of it, and then they will go to the market and buy more food than anyone for the funeral.

Hmmm.  Not really getting it.  So they give to the funeral?
“Yes, more than anyone else.  So at first it is joking and doesn’t seem very nice, but then in the end it’s nicer than anyone else!”  Esther finishes her explanation confidently, happily, a little amused at my confusion. 

I asked the Swahili teacher who was here that day teaching the boys.

“Oh yes,” he says, “my tribe will have a huge party on the grave all night long after the person is buried.”

Then Esther adds, “At the last funeral, a man from the opposing tribe jumped down in the hole with the coffin and just told them to bury him there with the person, until they raised enough money to make him get out.

Wow.  I am in WAY over my head.  And all of it serves as a glaring reminder of how little I really understand!  Come to find out later, these tribes do use other occasions to tease one another.  Things like, “You are going to have lots of children….and they are all going to be dwarves!”  And everyone finds it very funny.  ☺

God, help me be a learner. Thank you that in seeing other cultures, my eyes are opened to my own culture and its own set of crazy ideas and pursuits.  

May my eyes be open to see what You are doing in this place.  May my mouth be open to speak what is true of You.  May my ears be listening for your voice.  May my feet be fitted with the Gospel of peace.

 You never change, and You came for all peoples, and all times, in all places.  Nothing escapes your great power and love.  This whole diverse, shockingly beautiful world is orchestrated with care and precision so that men may know that there is a God who loves them desperately.  Thank you for the dependence that you call me to, that you push me into, especially when I don’t have the first clue.  Thank you that when I do depend on you instead of having to have everything under my own pathetic control, that you teach me and grow me in faith.  I want to say, with Hudson Taylor:

"I am no longer anxious about anything, as I realize the Lord is able to carry out His will, and His will is mine.  It makes no matter where He places me, or how.  That is rather for Him to consider than for me; for in the easiest positions He must give me His grace, and in the most difficult, His grace is sufficient." 

Discipleship is not a program

I'm not really sure when I got my first glimpse of "community."  I mean, besides that of my own family, I lived in a missionary community that was fantastic.  I had "aunts" and "uncles" galore, one nurse aunt in particular that took me under her wing when I was a teenager, had tea with me.  My mom always said it was important to have more than just your parents telling you the same thing.  I had so many people who loved me, I don't think I could count them all.  I took it for granted that children grew up with a whole sideline full of cheerleaders.  I know some people who are desperate for a kind word from just one person.

Then we made community happen as newlyweds, and God put the most incredible people in our path as we watched them discipline their little children, love each other, reach out to those around them.  I have had the opportunity to watch the most incredible mothers in action.  I remember one friend going to another younger friend's house to help her learn how to train her struggling little girl.  "Help," meaning, showing her exactly how to train her as they walked through a disobedience issue right there.  Talk about hands-on.  Talk about vulnerable!

It was during this time that I most missed having my own parents around, as they still served overseas.  They were grandpa and grandma to a whole host of missionary children.  And God put a whole host of grandpas and grandmas into our lives, just when our children needed them.  I remember Hannah holding up eight fingers one day, "Mom!  I have EIGHT grandmas!"  And none of them was her actual grandma. :)  

I watched my parents live in authentic relationship with others without comparing or being critical.  I heard my mom tell dozens of other mothers what a great job they were doing.  What a gift to me!  There was a complete lack of competition in her friendships.  I thought about it the other day--

Competition kills community.

 I have seen it in my own life and watched it in the lives of others.  Competition is all about ME.  How do I measure up, how do I look better than you.  Or how can I grasp at looking as good as I think other people think of you?  How can I strive to be YOU, when I am not you.  Instead of doing my own work excellently, I try and do YOUR work excellently.  And I miss my own work, and the point, entirely.  

We are all one body!  Truly, how can the eye look at the foot and say 'I don't need you'?  Or vice versa?  Has God not put all the parts of the body together to work in unison?  Shouldn't we be amazed at the role and placement and design of the other parts of the body?  I am amazed.  I could never live the life that you live.  I was not called to your life.  I am set free to love you and pray for you and appreciate you when I focus on stewarding my own life well.  And I am set free from judging the job you are doing--to your own Master you will stand or fall, and God is able to make you stand! (Rom.14:4).  And I pray that you do!

When my joy and assurance is waiting for your approval, I am no longer at peace with my Maker.  He alone knows what my life should look like.  He alone knows what secret things I have to be obedient to that are not outwardly apparent.  

When the kids were little and we would have people over, I struggled with having the house picked up.  But it dawned on me one day, that as much as I want to honor my guests, in reality I could spend all day getting it in perfect shape and miss out on time with my children.  And people will come in and compliment your clean house and wonder how you do it all, but they will not come in and see your disaster of a house and compliment you on spending time with your children!  And that is not a license for laziness, but an appeal to always be asking God to search our hearts and doing things for the right reasons.  

Community means that we act like members of one another, because that is what we are.  Community, discipleship is not a program.  It is not meant to happen in a vacuum.  It happens naturally as we dig into each other's lives.  It is meant to be a natural outflow of, "I love watching you! You look like Jesus, and I want to look like Him too!  Show me how practically."  I have many people in my life to imitate.  One, who recently said to me, "As I always tell my children, until your last breath you can look people in the eye, and smile, and be kind."  That kind of wisdom can keep me thinking for a long time! :)  

Mopping the floors last week, Jake was playing Seeds Family Worship and commented, "Isn't it amazing that Paul could say that?"  

"Whatever you have learned or received, or heard from me, or seen in me--do these things." (Phil. 4:9)  Yes, truly amazing.  It should be commonplace, but I for one have some reservations about saying that.  Which should be a big red flag!  Maybe there are any number of things in my life not worth copying.  Discipleship says "Follow me!"  Wholeheartedly.  And invites correction when something is not worth imitating.

When we find the freedom that comes from peace with God as our Creator, accepting who He made us to be, we can rejoice and celebrate one another in deeper ways.  We no longer have to boast in what we have and do, for that "wisdom" is from the world.  (I Jn. 2:16)  But "the man who does the will of God will live forever," and that includes recognizing that "everything comes from Him and exists by His power and is intended for His glory" (Rom. 11:36) and not for mine.

My friend and I sat on the porch and asked for brutal constructive criticism.  "How do I look as a wife?  How am I doing as a mom?"  And kindly, ever so gently, shared with one another.  "Sometimes this one child is unkind, maybe just in small ways, and you don't see it."  "Sometimes you are disrespectful to your husband in this small, but important way." 

Ouch.  

Oh, blessed pain.  

We had a discussion like this about ten years ago and it bore much fruit in my life and the life of one of my children whose disobedience I had completely been oblivious to.  It is not easy to speak those words, and rarely does anyone ask for them.  But we need each other.  We are members of one another.  I am for you!  I am for your children, and I love them deeply, which is the only reason I will speak those words.  And I want to hear your words to me more than flattery, as that is infinitely more instructive and useful and fruit-producing.  

Now if I could always hear my husband in that same way.  And my children.  But I long to!

Psalm 139:24 asks God to see if there is any offensive way in me.  As my sister or brother in Christ, can you also help me see those offensive ways in me that I am most likely blinded to or making excuses for?  

Next time you see me irritated or unkind or gossipy or rude, please call me on it.  I might not like it, but I want it.  And I need it, desperately!

"Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together!" Ps. 34:3

Margaret Sanger, I wish you could get a slobbery hug from our "infant member" who you think would be better off not born

I had a whole blog written about a funeral I attended last week of a baby boy, two weeks away from his first birthday.  I was almost to the end of writing it when I had to lay down to take a nap with Ben.  

I love sleeping with toddlers, and I always have.  Once they finally get to sleep (!), it is pure joy.  This time it was out of necessity, as Ben had, for the fifth time in three days, been laid down for his nap and smeared poo all over the crib, the guestbed, himself, and anything else he could get his smeary hands on.  He had just done it about an hour earlier after lunch, sitting in his little portable seat.  “UH!” he had yelled at me, holding up a handful.  Ugh.  

The boys took the pack-n-play out to scrub it, I scrubbed Little Wild Man, and then I plopped him down on the bed and told him we were taking a nap.  As this is a fairly new event, he was unconvinced.  After several impressive wrestling moves on my part, he finally calmed down.  

Ben loves singing.  He always has a little tune going, whether he is waiting to eat or walking around in the dirt or sitting in the stroller.  Sometimes he sings himself to sleep.  So it was no surprise that he settled into a song.  “Memooooooomeeeee” as he explored my face with his little finger and concluded by sticking his tiny, chubby finger in my nose.  I controlled my laughter and watched his face from my squinty, pretending-to-be-asleep eyes.  

I thought of mothers in Syria and Iraq, having to choose which children to take with them as they flee from ISIS.  How they couldn’t imagine the luxury of laying in a comfortable bed in safety with their child.  DId you know a Syrian child becomes a refugee every thirty seconds?  And over half the country has been displaced as of this very moment.  

The UN states the wretchedly obvious this past week: "In the shadow of ISIS, women and girls are at risk and under assault at every point of their lives."

I thought of the current politics over abortion, the blindness that remains when 887 babies are murdered daily by Planned Parenthood alone, every 97 seconds. Half of all black babies are aborted.  I thought about those lives as I stared at Ben’s eyelashes, slowly drooping.  The lives and potential of over 320 THOUSAND lives last year.  How did we come to this?  

I hate telling my children about the current state of the world.  I hate telling them that these things actually happen.  As much as I hate hearing another thief being beat to a pulp again yesterday at our neighbor’s house, calling the police so that they didn’t kill him, and he only about 14 years old, as much as I hate them hearing those horrible sounds of human agony, I can tell them that these people have not seen a better way, that justice and safety are part of their reality.  But my compassion falls short when I tell them what we do in our own country because it defies logic.  I feel compassion that these people are blind to the very science they espouse, but my compassion falters after that.  Did you know that the US is among only six nations that allows elective abortion after 20 weeks?  And those nations include North Korea and China?  Is this what we call progress?

I pray for Allistaire, still fighting for her little life, most of it having been spent in children's cancer wards.  Her leukemia showed up when she was just a little bit older than Ben is now.  My girls rarely miss a day of praying for her.  

I know I cannot fix all the world’s problems.  So I just ask you, God, what should I do?  What should be my response?  If you are sovereign over all things, including where I am from and the abundance you have blessed us with, what kind of steward do you want me to be?  I know I cannot save everyone.  My part feels so small.  But faithfulness and obedience are not small.  I want to be faithful with what you have entrusted to me.

I think of the lie that led us to our current state of abortion—the lie that I have a right to my body and my life.  It is about me, after all.  The lie that I will waste my life with these children, when in fact God’s truth that children are a blessing has set me free from just pursuing self.  I marvel at the founder of Planned Parenthood’s quote,

 "The most merciful thing that a large family does to one of its infant members is to kill it." 

Margaret Sanger, Women and the New Race 

(Eugenics Publ. Co., 1920, 1923)

Well, I suppose if it’s all about us and life is valued or devalued solely based on how much of a bother it is to the rest of us, then you would be right, Margaret Sanger.   Fortunately, such is simply not the case!  You need to see my older kids fighting over who gets to hold the "infant member!"  Jake has said twice in the last days, "Ben, what would we do without you?!  We can't imagine you not in our family!"  Yes, agrees Carter, "What would we do with all our free time?!"  :) 

God, in His kindness, has allowed us to live among the poor.  I can still get calloused, even after this long.  But praise God for renewed enthusiasm to embrace our current situation and the people who do come for help.  It is a privilege to have enough to be asked for help. 

A lady came to our gate whom I had met about eight years earlier, when we lived in this town before moving to the village.  She had come with a baby who had cerebral palsy and was stiff and unable to do much of anything.  At that time, I had admired this mama so much for taking care of this little one in the village with no support.  Even in America, anyone would see this as a difficult life.  Last week when she came, she was carrying a now-10-year-old Neema, still stiff and barely able to do anything.  She was asking me for a stroller, as she said her back hurt from carrying Neema around.  Well, yes, I should say so—I tried to picture hauling Megan around everywhere.  Impossible.  Praise GOD, we had an umbrella stroller that she could have to push her in.  

That is not generosity, by the way.  That is simply giving what I didn’t need anymore.  Generosity implies parting with something you would rather keep.  But God cares for that mama and Neema, whose name means “Grace,” and I want to be Jesus with skin on for her.  

My conclusion, as I laid in bed with my gorgeous tiny boy, thinking about little Isaac who we buried just a couple days earlier, was just to be joyfully faithful right where he has put me.  Always be asking what He would have me do.  Always remember that being a wife and mother is the most glorious of occupations, and one that literally can change the world.  Always make room for others.  There is enough.  

Enough to share.

Enough time for what He’s given me.

Enough wisdom from His treasury full.

Enough grace for our days.

Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!  

How unsearchable are His judgements and decisions and how 

unfathomable and untraceable are His ways!  

For who has known the mind of the Lord, 

or who has been His counselor?  

Or who has first given to Him that it would be paid back to him? 

  For from Him all things originate 

and through Him 

all things live and exist

 and to Him are all things directed. 

  To Him be glory and honor forever!

Romans 11:33-36, Amplified Bible

God meant 20 years to make us holy, and happiness is just a bonus, not a guarantee :)

Dave and I celebrated 20 years together, I weaned the baby, and the rest of the family said goodbye to leaving-the-house Hannah and I all on the same day. It was a day for grace.

The kids brought us breakfast in the guesthouse outside, coffee cake made especially for us, tea and coffee just the way we like it. It felt different, knowing I would get on a plane with Hannah and fly far away from this man that afternoon...wave goodbye to everyone, even the still-nursing 15-month-old who we decided would be better off with daddy than traveling the world in six short days.

I'm not good at goodbyes. I have said so many in my life, and my life-long strategy has been to think of the next happy thing. I'm sad, but I try and make myself feel better. I hate being sad. It doesn't feel good. I hate my children being sad. I don't think I know how to be sad for long enough without being sad for too long.

Those last days with Hannah were like a dream...I kept looking at her, at the way her hair blew in the breeze, at the way her eyes shone when she was happy, and I kept wondering how 18 years could go by so fast. I know they do....people always tell you that they do....but to actually arrive at the day when I had to let her go was hard to imagine. It didn't feel like a gradual letting go, gap year or not. It felt like a grasping for last moments and days. I'm still trying to get my head around it. And speak truth to my heart:

This girl was never yours. None of them are. They are pure gift, and now you get to give one back.

You thought while you were with her that you could protect or provide for her, but her Father is the One who has been doing that all along. Now you both get to see Him do that even more.

God, in His sweet and infinite wisdom, has other people and experiences and plans for her that He is unfolding before her. I would never want her to miss out on any of them.

So, after serious reflection, I let it sink down deep: all of this is blessing. He reminds me of how I want to be that Proverbs 31 woman who “laughs at the future.” This is one of those times that I'm sure that lady had some choosing to do: to laugh, or to gnash and wail and ask that it wouldn't be so. I will choose laughter, and joy.  

Joy: a choice, but not an option. Always a choice, always necessary, sometimes more of a battle than other times. “As for me, I will always have hope. I will praise you more and more.” Psalm 71:14

And Hannah, God has done such a great work in you. We could not be more grateful that He gave you to us as a daughter and friend!  You are such a treasure.

Last night Kate and I were making dinner and singing. I said, “that song makes me sad.” She said, “It makes me sad, too, and I don't know why, but it makes me think about Hannah not being here.” My thoughts exactly. You are always close in our thoughts and hearts.

So, not bemoaning the fact, but choosing with hope to see: this is the beginning of a new phase, one where we are excited when we're all together! Because that is what will be unique, not the usual. And even as we say goodbye to one, we see the lineup already marking out each two or three years ahead, praying for grace. As Dave reminds me when I am downhearted: this is what they were made for! They were not made to live with us until they are 30. :) Not that he doesn't grieve, but not the same way.

As a matter of fact, while I'm on that subject, do men and women do anything the same? I am amazed at God's design to put two such different genders together.

The mission psychologist walked in the room, plopped our personality tests down and declared, “Well, it's true: opposites DO attract.”

Surely you see this all the time, I say. Not to this extreme, he responds, and not when they still like eachother so much.

It's true: we are almost completely opposite, not just on the test, but in real life. Maybe twenty years together has made us even more so. He says my drug of choice is people. I can hardly hear him say it over the clattering of the party that I've invited. :) I like spontanaity. He likes to hold down a job. He plans, he saves, he purposes, he is faithful as the rising sun when it comes to a commitment, so he isn't quick to commit. He actually thinks things through before saying yes. I think about it two weeks after the yes when I realize what it actually means for me. I love change. Moving houses is my idea of fun, along with having another baby or moving to Africa. 12 years in one spot was just what I needed to deal with my lack of contentment. Of course, we did have five babies and move three times in those years, but even still....

I think it would be fun to live near the beach and ride vespas together and eat icecream and meet people (of course). This worries him.

My idea of a good time is staying up late until the babies are naughty and we're all falling apart because we had no self-control. He actually likes getting people to bed on time and making sure we stay sane.

It took me about fifteen years to figure out that 1. He wasn't going to wake up one day and realize my way was better, like I had always thought he would (wouldn't anybody?!). 2. I might not be a very suitable helper to my man while I sat around waiting for such an occurrence to happen.

I had a very specific picture in my head of what I wanted our family to look like, and I actually made it more important than dying to myself and my desires and letting God decide what our family should look like.

And come to find out, it really isn't all that fun to keep everybody up until they're all falling apart. It is actually nice to put people to bed on time and have a sense of order in our lives, no thanks to me. :)

And what the man said at the end is true too: we do like eachother an awful lot. There is a lot of laughter that happens in our home. We crack eachother up. I hope we're growing into that old couple with a thousand private jokes and permanent laugh wrinkles. We're on our way, not that the way isn't punctuated with lots of “growth sessions” and hair pulling.

Recently, we were able to go snorkeling in the Indian Ocean. Chugging out in the glass bottom boat, we could see some of the fish through the glass. Sunshine reflected on beautiful, spilling waves, and salty breeze blew.

I sat on the boat, thinking about the cold of the sea, the mask filling with water, the cumbersome flippers...I almost thought I didn't need to see down below. And anyways, I could see the fish gathering at the bread in the water. It was beautiful up above.

Thankfully, I made myself jump in and get a glimpse underneath the water. The second I went under, it was a different world. Bright fish darted in and out of stunning coral. The sounds were all muted by the quiet of being under the water. I held Dave's hand and swam along, reaching out to feel with my other hand. I was in awe over the variety and beauty of the fish, each with a unique and spectacular design.

Marriage has been just such an experience. Of course it is easier to not have true intimacy. Of course it feels more comfortable not to expose your desires, your body, your soul to another human being, and one so different than yourself. Of course it's easier to cover sin than to confess, repent, bare all. It's easier, but then we miss out. We miss out on the depths of intimacy and oneness that are waiting. We miss God's design for our holiness and transformation that comes through the melding of our life to our beloved's. We may miss laying in bed with a kicking baby belly in between us. :)

And when we do risk all, we marvel that we thought that easier was better.

"A heavyweight boxing champion who dodges all serious contenders to consistently fight marshmallows is derided and ridiculed--and rightly so.  Christians who dodge all serious struggle and consciously seek to put themselves in whatever situations and relationships are easiest are doing the same thing--they are coasting, and eventually that coasting will define them and--even worse--shape them." --Gary Thomas, Sacred Marriage

If you have had it with your marriage, there is always hope.  As long as there is breath in your lungs, there is hope.  Our God, He's making all things new.  Nothing is impossible for Him!  If you do nothing else, fight this battle for your marriage!  You don't have to save the world or live in a mud hut or sacrifice your body to the flames.  All you have to do is love this one person.  Sometimes it feels a lot easier to save the world.  But this is your battle; this is where you show who you really are!  Actually, this is where you get to see who God really is.  He is ready to show Himself strong on your behalf.