May my soap box Rest In Peace

I want to be known for something.

It's easy, as a wife and mom and homeschooling mom and lover of most things domestic to pour my time and energy into those things--which is part of my calling, but only part.

Do I really want on my tombstone, "Boy, did she ever make great wheat bread."??
Or that I was fit, or sang well, or had great kids, or was really efficient?  Is that what life boils down to?  Are the things I spend my time on the things that really matter?  Because I'm sure I can pinterest my days away right to my last fascinated breath and miss what I'm here for.  Oh God, let it not be!

It feels like the clock is ticking ever-so-quickly.  We watch in awe as Ben drags himself, army-style, across the living room.  He is learning his boundaries at the moment, "No touch."  He is learning not to scream.

 From this vantage point, unlike when our first was tiny, it literally feels like it will just be a moment and he'll be signing up for the SAT.

However, instead of being depressed over the inevitable change that comes with having children growing and leaving, I find myself increasingly motivated to use every single moment that I have with them.

There are only so many nights that you hug your child and say, "I love you."

The big kids don't make forts in the living room anymore.  I clearly remember a time when I didn't want the mess of forts.  Really--the mess of forts?  How long does that take to clean up, five minutes?  I can get the mud off the floor, but I can't get back the fun times of running in the rain.  And I don't want my children to rise and call me "Clean, and Proper."  I want my children to remember that I loved Jesus, and I loved people.  Which brings me back to my original point.

We make up what it looks like to be a "good Christian," or a good wife, or good mom, or whatever,  because we don't know how to love like God asks us to love.  Because that IS what He says will set us apart from the world.

John 13:35, "Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples."

Are you sure it isn't my wheat bread?  Because it's a lot easier to take pride in my wheat bread than to actually love, by Your grace and power, like you ask me to love.  And I think maybe being good at domestic duties and making people think I'm super woman should prove something to the world.  Yes, actually, it does prove something to the world.  It proves that I can do it by myself, that I don't really need God and neither do they.

I'm really all for domestic duties and serving in my home, don't get me wrong.  I just am tired of hearing about what we're all against to the point that it seems like we forget what we're FOR. We're against genetically modified crops and drugs and big government and loose theology.  But are we FOR Jesus, and forgiving, and loving our neighbors, and not being anxious, and learning to walk by faith and not by sight?  And am I FOR grace, and freedom, and obedience, and daily taking up the cross of service? Does my life overflow with the abundance of the Spirit?  Those are the questions I  ask myself.

And under the umbrella of loving Jesus, and loving others, I will hone in my bread making ability, to the glory of God. :)

I lift my eyes to the hills…

It keeps coming back to me lately…this persistent wondering about the final goal of parenting.  I want to work my way backwards, so to speak—beginning at a goal, figuring out how to get to that goal.  What exactly IS the goal?  And if I start with the wrong goal, then I will surely miss true priorities in the process.  And how much does culture play into what our goals are?  Do I want, as I often read in missionary material, “children that are well adjusted to their home culture”?  Well, I really don’t want children that “fit” in any culture.  But I understand the point.  However, I am fairly certain that aiming low will not produce high results.  And aiming high with standards that are not biblical will just result in the child’s frustration and feeling like they are never good enough.  Truth be told, they aren’t good enough.  And neither is their mother.  Isn’t that the point?  If I really am a Christ-follower, like I claim to be, shouldn’t His wisdom be enough for me?  And doesn’t faith grab hold of His promises and walk into the unknown, unsure, with confidence that their Maker is bound to know more than I am?! 

So in our process of figuring out “school” for the year, our goals come back to the same thing as last year and the year before.  If “he who desires to be an elder desires a good thing,” then doesn’t it go without saying that aiming for elder qualities and character traits is a safe bet….and if Titus 2 is supposed to teach women how to live in a wise way, isn’t it more than adequate to train our little daughters in those things as well?  And if “the wisdom of the world is passing away, but the man of God lives forever,” then my strategy for raising “successful” children, and even the definition of “success” should look radically different than my worldly counterpart. Every day I make a choice to listen to the “wisdom” of the world or God’s wisdom from above.  We can take these moments of frustration and anger and hard words and turn them into opportunities for grace, or we can get angry ourselves because the math lesson doesn’t get completed and someone is interrupting grammar, again.  The value of having this many personalities to learn to get along with can get lost in the ever-sharpening blade of sanctification when I resist His will for me, which happens to be that very same blade.  Lord, can’t you make me more like Jesus any other way?  But, truly, “before I was afflicted I went away, but now I heed your word. (Psalm 119:67)”   
  If my goal is that my children cry out for a Redeemer and Savior, then I will not resist the hard things for them either, wanting their lives to be always happy and without trials.  In fact, I will embrace those things for and with them, as I encourage them to pursue Someone greater than themselves.  And if my goal is that they would live more than “safe” lives, spending their time and money and resources and energy on others instead of themselves, then I have to lead them towards those ends now.  Which will come at a great cost to me, because it means I have to look at my own life and my own lack of willingness and beg God to change me first, let me lead in mercy and service.  Which is often what I don’t feel like doing.  

Oh God, use my tiny seconds of a life to raise these children in a way that honors you.  So much is at stake—if our children have seven of their own, I will be reaping what I have sown in 49 little lives in one generation.  Sobering.  To have other little ones, no matter how many, be bearing the fruit of your life is humbling.  Let me not grow weary in well doing.

  Show me what that looks like in each moment….another spilled cup of something (I think we might have the record!), a hurt, a joy, everyday conversation.  This is your idea, this business of sharing life together with little people, and ever-bigger ones.

Your words are not just empty words for me.  They are, quite literally, my very life (Deut. 32:47).

Strengthen my heart with grace (Heb.13:9). 

“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.” II Cor. 12:9

Drink Chai and Settle Down

Sometimes, from a distance, life in Africa seems quiet and serene.  I think that's when I haven't been living here for a while.  It is quiet, in its own way, not in a lack-of-noise way, or a lack-of-people-coming-to-the-gate way, but more in a relaxed way.  Quiet, as in, if you are in a hurry, you should stop it and relax and go drink a cup of chai until you get that out of your system.  Quiet, as in, why did you plan to get so many things in town on the same morning?  Because that rarely happens and you might be setting yourself up for disappointment.

As I type, I have ten neighborhood children from around the corner playing soccer in the yard, greeting me through the window.  Which can take a very long time, since greetings have to be done individually.  And that is not a problem, just a consideration when everyone gets invited in.  This morning we had electricians in the house to fix the problem of the house power shutting down when I turned the oven on.  We can make it without an oven, but it sure is nice to have one.  I'm gonna make these guys some bread first-thing. :)

The last time they came, they found a massive mound of grass in our attic that had been brought in by some over-zealous birds, along with significant amount of bat guano.  That got hauled out, down through the bathroom ceiling for the entire morning, about thirty bucket's worth.  whew.  Today they were still working around lunch time so they ate with us.  Then Esther, who blesses our socks off by helping in the house, had a toothache, so we put some medicine on it and I recommended going to the dentist but she said she might just wait until it stops hurting and then she can just pull it out. (!!)

The milk arrives at the gate on bicycle, brought by a man who wears a bright green Christmas hat.  I'm not sure why he does, but it comes in handy because I always know it's him.  The milk is brought in, boiled, skimmed, put in the fridge.  The beans are sorted, the rice is sorted, washed, and cooked.  At times I really like having the house to myself and decide that the kids and I can just do everything.  So we end up sorting beans during chai time and washing rice in the afternoon.  Or I decide, what's the big deal with washing the rice, and we all break our teeth on the rocks I didn't pick out.  Or we're doing math problems frantically while we get the laundry down because it's going to rain.  And it works, in a sense, but then when Esther is here there is a degree of sanity that arrives as well. :)

And then we have to figure out if we have a guard or not.  Can't we just live in the house with our dog and not worry about a guard?  Well, yes, but then guards are mostly just a precaution anyways, as they are usually either sleeping or trying to wake you up.  I remember our first morning in Africa, 2005, and the sun had just started to think about coming up when the guard, Emma, was standing next to our bedroom window hoeing weeds from the concrete.  6 o'clock in the morning.  Clink, clink, clink.  And, as we have come to suspect, it is a sign of a hard worker to be up early, so the guard tries to let you know that he is up early by making noise.  Like talking on the phone right outside the window a couple of days ago.  Or snipping the bushes out front into nice, smooth, round balls, Disney-style. While I'm trying to get a couple more winks in.   And all we can do is lay in bed and laugh.
Or cry.
I choose laugh.
We have collected a plethora of humorous guard stories in our repertoire of house sitting.  Like when our light finally went out at night about 11:30 and Dave's phone rang.  And it was the guard right outside the window, calling him to let him know a door was unlocked.  And the reception was bad, which was good, because we could hear him clearer through the window than on the phone.  And we had a new awareness of exactly how un-private our lives were.  And this same guard, he liked to sit right outside the living room window and wind his flashlight to recharge it.  Whirrr, whirrr, whirrrrrrrrrr.   In a similar way to knowing the wind is blowing but not being able to see it, the guard's presence is felt in so many unique ways.

When you get out on the street there is not a shred of privacy.  I mean, we get stares in America when we walk around with this many children.  Here, one white person is a novelty, much less nine of us.
Last week I walked by an evangelistic meeting that had been set up near our house.  I was trying to be nonchalant and the girls and I were walking on the other side of the road.  All of a sudden the Swahili changed to English, "We are waiting for you!!"  I'm pretty sure I was the one they were waiting for.  Blending in is ever-elusive.

And at other times the advice starts coming,
"Don't let the baby suck his thumb."
"Why are you carrying the baby that way?  That's not how to carry a baby."
They grab the baby, he starts crying, "He's crying!  You need to nurse him!"
And then another lady, "You need to wean him!"
The most hilarious time was a little kindergartner who came to my gate and I arrived, carrying the baby facing out.  "White lady!  You don't carry a baby like that!!!"  Even the little children know how to carry babies better than I do.

The main topic of conversation, if you're seeing friends you haven't seen in a while, is how you have expanded.  "Wow, Mama Hannah, you are FAT!  Where have you been?  America?  Oh wow--America has been good to you!  Because you are BIG!  You had a baby?  Oh, that's probably why you're so LARGE!"  The thing I liked most about this conversation is how it didn't faze me in the slightest.  I know, I know, bring it on.  Fat, fat, fat.  Keep talking until you get it all out.  I was just excited to be in a country where everyone thought I looked so much better large. :)  And frankly, it felt really good to not have the slightest bit of self-consciousness about the whole thing.  If I come back and tell you that you look fat, remember it's a compliment.

And finally, the "Quiet Life" is punctuated by "Hodi"'s--the Swahili equivalent of a knock on the door.  "Hodi, Hodi," and it just continues until you go to the gate.  It may be the little children looking for playmates, or the man with the chickens who wants water for them, or a mama wanting help with food or a little business or a friend stopping by for a visit or a medical need or my neighbor selling cabbage...the thing about hodi's is that you always have to be ready for anything.

Sometimes at the beginning of the day, I feel like I'm at the top of a roller coaster, looking down, down at the track.  I know I can't fall off the track, but I also anticipate a wild ride.  It's a good ride--guided by the One who prepared this course just for me.

“I have always been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I slowly discovered that my interruptions were my work.”--Henri J. Nouwen

I am poor and needy

I sliced my finger right over the knuckle a couple of weeks ago.  Had it bandaged up good, after some    super glue, since stitches aren’t the greatest option around here.  So my ring finger protruded into the air flat, while the rest of the fingers tried to compensate, and it was obvious I had injured my hand.  No big deal—it wasn’t painful and only a minor inconvenience.

I was standing outside our only main grocery store in town.  I met an old friend who usually hangs out outside, watching people’s cars for them to earn a little money.  He is a Christian and it was a nice time to catch up.  He asked about my hand, and when I told him what had happened, he was so, so sorry for me.  I could see in his eyes that he genuinely felt compassion for me and my finger. 

Which was remarkable, considering he was standing on one leg with the other pant tied up to the knee.  He lost his other leg when he was little after being bitten by a snake and getting an infection.  So for about 36 years now he has had one good leg to use. He rides a special handicap bicycle, tries to make ends meet for himself and his wife and two babies.  His compassion taught me how little I actually have.

 

I have been thinking about these bits of wisdom in Galatians 2:10 when Paul and Barnabas head to the Gentiles, the others to the Jews, “All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do.”  They were being sent out with the Gospel, and remembering the poor was of utmost importance to all of them.  In fact, Paul was eager to remember them.  I bet he even went out of his way to find them.

Before we left Africa a year and a half ago, I had been convicted to not walk by the poor without giving them something.  I don’t necessarily mean money; sometimes money is actually the easiest thing to give.  But I challenged myself to at least look them in the eyes and smile.  Or better still, give them my time.  I wanted them to know they are loved whether or not I give them money.  I wanted to get past my own arrogance of thinking I know what everyone’s “racket” is…the little street boys managed by the older street boys, who turn the money into drugs of one kind or another.  Then there are the mamas who sit on the streets,  parts of their bodies missing from leprosy or other infection.There are so many of them, and I don’t ignore them because I think they have a racket, I ignore them because my heart can’t bear to think about what kind of life they have day in and day out.  Not that my ignoring them makes their lives any better.

Peter and John, when they went into the temple and walked past the lame man, they looked at him.  And I bet if they didn’t heal him, they still would have looked, listened. 

The least I can do is look, smile.

But last week I didn’t look, and someone was coming up to the car again and I didn’t have money ready and I didn’t want them to be hopeful that I did.  Dave got some money out, handed it to me and when I opened the window to hand it to the person, I was faced with a man whose entire face had been completely burned.  He had sunglasses on, no doubt to protect and hide his eyes. His teeth came out at jagged angles and he had to take the money from my hand with both smooth stubs of what used to be arms before they were burnt off.  “God bless you,” as tears formed, was all I had time for before the line of cars moved us along, and he did his best to smile and he blessed me back.  It doesn’t seem fair that I should be so blessed, and he should be so…what looks like not blessed.

Yet I am poor and needy; may the Lord think of me.  

You are my help and my deliverer; O my God, do not delay. Ps. 40:17

Deliver me from my foolishness and from the temporary.  Fix my eyes on the eternal.

Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?

James 2:5

Yes, He has.  And if I had a proper view of poverty, I would not reduce it to material possessions and forget how impoverished my own faith and character can be.

Who is wise and understanding among you?  

Let him show it by his good life,

  by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. James 3:13

Always learning...

the end of our trip...Kate still looking chipper!

I learned something new today.  Neema came to visit, presenting me with a bright orange wrap stamped heartily with zebras.  In stark contrast to “what did you bring me from America?,” Neema used all the profit she might make on the other cloth she had with her, to buy me that special gift.  She came way out of her way to welcome us back.  We shared mutual joy over a cup of chai.

That is not what I learned.  As she was leaving, I asked her if she needed to use the bathroom before she headed back into town.  “yes,” she graciously replied.  Dave gently mentioned that maybe I shouldn’t have asked it that way.  He said it is better to ask if you want to greet your aunt and everyone would know what you meant.  This had me laughing already when we probed Neema for what might be a better way to ask that sensitive question.

“Well, you might want to ask instead if they want to dig up medicine (natural medicine; roots). 

Or visit the post office. 

Or make a phone call.”

And they would know what I meant? 

“Probably.”

My first lesson back.  How little I know!

Returning has been a sweet wonder.  I see things that I had grown accustomed to.  The streets have gotten so narrow!  The signs on the public vans are humorous.  I ache again for the man “walking” on his knees with a stick, and the street boy digging in the gutter for a treasure.  My heart is stirred by the cheerful welcome of the market ladies I love, even if it’s just because I buy so many tomatoes. J  There is so much dust, on everything, and mopping is ever so much more rewarding.  And my girls curtsy and greet the respectful greeting, and life seems rich and full as we wade again into this culture. 

“In Him we live, and move, and have our being.”

And the whole earth is full of His glory. 

I’m marveling at His glory here with fresh, thankful eyes.

A letter to my son

Dear Benjamin,

Ever since we learned you were on the way, we have been filled with anticipation.  Your birth was the culmination of months of feeling you, wondering about you, guessing who you were.  Kate has been wearing her "Big Sister" shirt since November. :)  You have been sung to, talked to, loved, kissed, and prayed for, long before you entered the world.  

Your birth is another testimony of God's hand in your still-tiny life: we planned a home birth, excited to have all the family there in your first few minutes of life, and as it turned out I didn't even get to hold you until several hours after you were born.  

In one day God changed our plans from home to hospital to C-section, for His glory and our good.  Another testimony of how "bad" things are used in His sovereign, good plan,  the midwife was too sick to make a visit and we chose to go with the doctor and hospital instead.
And that endless monitoring that I so wanted to avoid probably saved your life.  When they opened me up to get you out fast they saw the cord wrapped around your neck three times, tight, the placenta pulling away; and after they pulled you out of me, three minutes until they suctioned you out and you finally cried while daddy and I watched, wide-eyed.

I am amazed when I look back on the last year--how God used your life and the promise of you to bring hope and excitement to our family in the midst of so much change.  One might think that having another child would add to the chaos, the weight.  On the contrary!  Your life is such a sweet gift to every one of us, and cherishing your new life is our collective joy.  

I pray that you will have an insatiable desire to know your God.  I pray that your feet may be fitted with the Gospel of peace and that your hands will reach out in mercy to the needy. May your lips speak what is true and bring life to others.  

I pray that you will always know how precious you are; chosen, rejoiced in, treasured. 

I am in absolute wonder at our great GOD who came up with the idea of you, and

I love your amazing, intricate, marvelous little self.

Mommy

Life-on-life

We are so excited to head back to Tanzania in June, Lord willing!  It has been an amazing year of growth and challenge and searching and waiting...
of course, none of it wasted...
and in the meantime (which is when God seems to do most of His heart-work) we have learned much about ourselves and our God.

We left Tanzania with a desire to have more time for discipleship, life-on-life.
We had several options open to us, which quickly narrowed down in our minds to the two we thought were the best fit for us according to our gifts and desires.
We applied to and were accepted with a wonderful mission, SIM.
And in the end we are being sent out through our church again, to partner with another team of missionaries in Tanzania who are committed to discipleship of village churches and people.
We are more than thrilled to work with marriages and families.

In our debrief in CO last year, after talking through our various options, one very wise person said, "Look at what you naturally are drawn to."  That was easy.  Marriage is one thing we are always drawn to, families are what we have a heart for.  We have always been in awe at the way God has put   amazing couples and families in our lives to learn from.  We had thoroughly enjoyed being part of putting children into new families at Mavuno.

People ask what our best preparation for the mission field has been.

That's easy too.

Being discipled by Wayne and Leslie for the years we were in Bozeman before heading out was our greatest preparation.  I'm not talking about casual Bible study together, I'm talking about people who love you enough to get in your face and really challenge you.  I'm talking about people willing to tell you that "you haven't really gotten to the heart of that 2-year-old because he's still disobeying!"  And knowing that they would do anything for you and truly want the absolute best for you.  They are the people we still call when we reach a stalemate and can't figure out for the life of us what to do.  They have been used by God to RADICALLY alter the direction of our lives by their counsel and wisdom.

They were some of the first in a series of people who have taught us what it looks like to be and make disciples. And, of course, the point of discipleship is always to pass it on.

We are so excited to go back with the purpose of doing just that.

II Tim 2:2 "And the things you have heard me say in the presence of many witnesses entrust to reliable people who will be qualified to teach others."