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.   

Humbled, Always.

I have several blog posts appropriately named, "humbled."  Truth be told, I think the majority of them could be so labeled.  God continually challenges me by my lack of generosity or lack of faith, or lack, but in a good, kind way.  I need him, always.

I have had the privilege of participating in a monthly pastors' wive's meeting.  It is a sweet time of fellowship and learning more about the Word, what God calls us to as women, health issues, and more.  All of these dear women live in surrounding villages and it is a blessing to have them all come into town to gather together.

Two months ago, about halfway through the morning, the women with babies decided it was time for baths.  At 10:30 in the morning.  Decided, as in, "where is the hot water and basin?"   Ok, let me go grab those things.  I struggled.  That's how rich I am in generosity.  It's not easy to admit!  And I love these sweet little babies!

Last month I was ready, as God, in His great mercy, had prepared me to be a little more welcoming and kind and actually have the basin ready ahead of time, whether I think babies need a bath in the middle of the morning or not.  I was not reluctant, and proud of myself for it! (wow.)   I do find that it isn't the big cultural differences that get to me, but the little ones, usually when I wonder if I'm being taken advantage of.

I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't give a second thought to whether or not he was being taken advantage of, since "everywhere he went, they brought the sick out..."  Worrying about being taken advantage of is in stark contrast to true service.

Take two.

Last Sunday a vehicle was stuck after the service and Dave was busy working to get it unstuck.  We have been at the village church in the village we used to live in, so we know the people of that congregation well.  Most of the kids went home in another car, and I tried to get a very tired, unhappy Ben to sleep in my arms in our car.  He was screaming his head off--he just needs his bed.

A mama from church came to the car and said, "Oh Mama Hannah!  He's crying because he needs a bath!"

Well, that was not the first thing that had come to mind.  "Come with me to my house."  At that point, I was up for anything.  Lauren, Ben and I followed Mama Baraka through some little mud houses, past some sunflowers and into the little dirt clearing between her two mud rooms.  She pulled out a small wooden chair for me and filled a basin with plenty of water, then plopped Ben into it.

He grinned, pleased with this effort.   He splashed around, flinging his hands out with droplets of water onto the packed dirt: a small, chubby pope bestowing wild blessings from his sacred bath.

While he lingered, Mama Baraka brought a fresh bar of soap, retrieved a clean, folded kanga (material for a wrap) to dry him off, and then produced two kinds of baby body lotion for me to choose from.

I'm sure you can see where I'm headed with this.  Or where God was headed.

How humbling.  To receive such sweet, eager, wholehearted generosity from a mama who had to carry the water from the well herself, use her little money to buy soap and lotion...my heart was greatly instructed.  Jesus, forgive me.  I am so not like you.  I learn from your people in this place every day. I still have so much to learn about generosity.

 But God has chosen the things which the world regards as foolish, in order to put its wise men to shame; and God has chosen the things which the world regards as destitute of influence, in order to put its powerful things to shame...I Cor. 1:27

Mama Emma (short for Emmanuel, a boy who used to come play at our house) saw me and called to me to come visit her house, too, "We have been waiting for months for you to visit!"  We headed down the path: a humbled mama, a barefoot Lauren and a very clean and good-smelling Ben.  Offered a chair again, we greeted everyone and had a little chat about Mama Emma's youngest who has Down's Syndrome.  She is a gorgeous little pumpkin of a 4-year-old who just recently learned to walk.  "Emma!  Go run after that chicken and give it to Mama Hannah!"

                                                          

Emma ran around the yard furiously, chasing a world-class runner of a chicken, grabbed it recklessly, and brought it to Lauren.  She held it delicately, and seizing its opportunity for escape, it flapped desperately and let out a series of loud squawks right in Ben's face.  Ben loves chickens as much as I do, but he loves them from a distance.  He let out his own series of loud squawks and clung to me.  Mama Emma and the children roared with laughter, and then Mama Emma promptly advised:

"He needs a bath!"

She was only dissuaded when she found out that he had just had a bath.

Five minutes ago.

She sent us on our way with our speckled hen and a heart full of the good medicine of laughter.  My heart is always full when I leave the village.  Full, and humbled.

Truly, "those who walk in pride, He is able to humble" Dan. 4:37

The hidden reason for poverty...

To catch a thief

This post has been a long time coming. It keeps having little postscripts added to it.  I'm still not sure the story has actually ended!

I used to think, in my pride, that I was a pretty good judge of character.  Someone lying?  I thought I could see right through that.  Who was really needy, who was kind of faking it.  At least once I knew them for any amount of time.

Living in Africa, drenched in another culture, language and innuendos, has knocked my self-confident feet right out from under me.  From the street boys who say they are starving, then scoff at the offered banana, to the people who come to the gate who don't seem so desperate but I find out actually are....I find myself constantly asking the Lord for wisdom.  Which is good, because only God really knows our hearts to begin with and I would hate to remain in my lofty state of Mrs. Know-it-all.

The first time a thief was caught on our block, we found out what it was like to watch a mob that was blood-thirsty to the core.  It made me feel sick for the rest of the day.  In the end, after they had beat the simple man mercilessly and tried to stone him, they decided to run him over with a motorcycle and driving him away in our car was the only thing that saved his life.  One young man in particular was gleeful about hitting him with his grass slasher, "Islam says if you steal, you can lose your hand.  You can go home with one hand today."  When we begged for mercy, they said, "next time it will be you who gets robbed."

The second thief was caught in the afternoon, three guys having taken money and a phone at four in  the afternoon at knifepoint, only one guy having been caught.  Again, the mob arrived within      minutes, and Hannah heard the man saying his last prayers as they sharpened blades and made him      
lay down.  A minute later they dispersed and she was sure they had beheaded him and left him in    front of our gate, but by some miracle they had decided to take him to the police station instead.  Not only would that have been horrifically sad, but evidently his body would have been our responsibility since it was outside our house.

The third thief was our thief.  We had been robbed the day after Stephanie arrived, and had a couple nice chunks out of the concrete to show for it, outside the metal grate and locked door.  Two in the afternoon on a Sunday was evidently not intimidating for these bold guys that hopped into the mango tree, pried the metal door and bashed the other one in.  They relieved us of all the electronics they could find and hopped the back fence when they heard us coming home.

Praise the Lord for nursing babies.  Two weeks later, Lauren, Stephanie and I stayed home from youth group when the rest left, as they weren't feeling well.  I was sitting in the living room with Ben,  
when I noticed some guys outside our fence that were just standing and staring at it.  I got up, looked out the window and to my amazement they were lifting one guy up into the mango tree again.  I told         Lauren to take the baby to the back room and we hurried to the hallway and locked it, as the outside door was already locked.  I whispered to Stephanie who kept her wits about her and asked if I had any kind of weapon besides the pepper spray gun in my hand.  "Well, Dave has a crossbow, but I don't know how to use it."  Practical Steph--"it's ok, I'll just hold it!"  Bless her.  I had already called Dave, who was on his way, and we looked for the thieves on the other side of the house....and waited, and saw one guy on the street, and as best as we can figure, the thieves must have gotten spooked by someone walking on the street and were waiting for a clear road again when Dave and the kids and our night guard showed up along with Bill in another car.  After a chase, our guard caught one guy who had a story that didn't add up, and dragged him back to our gate.  Of course, the mob gathered again, mostly due to the abundance of cell phones and people looking for something to do.    

And the beatings commenced, while Dave called the police and asked them to come before he was beat to death.  And when we thought he was done for, face shoved in a puddle to drown him and sticks breaking over his bloody body, the police did show up, threw his body in the back of the truck and told him to start talking, or they would give him back to the mob and haul him out, dead.  He did   say he had stolen a computer at our house two weeks earlier.

 After the police walked through our house, they went to the station with Dave, where they told him that he had, "made a big mistake."  He should have dragged the guy into our house and put a "little something" in his hand and said that he stole that, so there would be something to charge him for. We didn't feel better after hearing the police say we should have framed the guy.  This was right after our discussion about what the best way is to deal with thieves.  We should use the authority that is in place, right?  That is what we came up with, and I do think that is the best we can do.  So what about    when the police say to just kill the thief, as they often do?   And as horrible as it is to see the mob  beat thieves, what hope of justice can you offer them?  What reason do they have to not handle it themselves when often the police are just paid off? For those of us from the west, we really can't imagine living in a land with little justice. "You white people love to give mercy and  you need to stop!" they said as they beat him mercilessly.

Back to thinking I could spot crooked character....one youth who was present at the beatings, and particularly vicious, really made me angry.  He was out for blood, intent on killing.  He was happy for a chance to beat someone.

And he was the first one to show up when our neighbor's baby died.  Long, too-painful story short, little Junior died in the night and his daddy showed up early in the morning asking Dave for help.  We attended the funeral later on that day, and the youth who delighted in bloodying the thieves worked   just as hard to dig out a grave for this little baby.  He was respectful at the funeral, compassionate, the  first one to help hold the tiny coffin.  If I would have just seen him on that day, I would have said that he was a decent young man, kind.  Getting my head around the contrast of those two scenarios was impossible.

But one thing I do know:  Jesus came for us all.  For the ones who look good, and the ones who look bad, and sometimes the ones who look good have the greater need.  As we often tell our children, we should not be surprised when people who don't know Jesus act like....people who don't know Jesus.  We should make sure that our lives match up with our words that we do know Jesus, that we are the Christ-followers.  We need mercy as much as anyone.  He could just as easily have thrown the first stone at us as at the woman caught in adultery.  We all need this Savior and His mercy.  Every day.

Faith puts its flip flops on and gets to work

Sometimes I wonder how long it will take me to get a grip on some spiritual truth.  Walking by faith is just one of those things.  For about two years now, I have been diving again and again into the deep waters of faith which are Hebrews 11 and 12.  It seems like every time I do, I'm challenged in new ways. 

Unrelated, it had seemed, to my study of faith, is my increasing battle with my thoughts about feeling like I have "too much" to do.  How can I be everything to everybody?  How can I do all I should when I feel like the list replenishes itself as soon as I complete something? 

 I'm not used to feeling this way.  I like to have my life under some kind of control (even if, to some of you, it appears to be chaotic....it is my own, controlled, happy chaos!). :)  I am not used to feeling like just throwing in the proverbial towel.  My battle with my thoughts feels so constant. 

"Here's the question: how wholesome, faith-driven, and Christ-centered is the conversation that you have with yourself every day?  Do you remind yourself of your need?  Do you point yourself once again to the beauty and practicality of God's grace?  Do you tell yourself to run toward him in those moments when you feel like running from him?

No one is more influential in your life than you are, because no one talks to you as much as you talk to yourself."

Hanging up the clothes, while gazing into the blue sky, palm trees swishing in the breeze and birds flying effortlessly overhead, I asked God, "Why?  Why does my life feel so chaotic?  I want peace, abundant life.  I feel noisy and muddled in my head.  I want freedom; not freedom from demands, but freedom from striving.  Your yoke is easy and your burden is light.  It doesn't feel light.  Do I need a better system, or is this just how it's going to be?"

And He reminds me that not only is Hebrews 11 not irrelevent to this moment, but in fact Hebrews 11 was made for this moment.  Isn't this what I have wanted and, in fact, prayed for?  A life that cannot be explained by anything other than the fact that Jesus is alive in me?  A life that clings to Him? 

 I don't want a life that can be boiled down to an organized method, as tempting as that sounds.  I have thought many times that my goal for my home was to run it like a "well-oiled machine."  That's a great goal, but most days it just isn't reality.  A well-oiled machine doesn't leave room for people at the door and peace-making opportunities over the dishes and plans that change and mis-communication :) with the man I adore.  Not to mention amoebas and a baby's new sleep habits and interruptions at every level.  The faith of Hebrews 11 gets up, puts its shoes on, grabs several cups of coffee and gets to work, trusting that the GOD who leads will also provide everything that is needed for the journey.  

I loved a sermon I heard on the practicalities of Hebrews 11.  One morning, he reminded us,  Noah actually got up, ate some toast and eggs, and headed out to start cutting down trees.  He is not just some foggy character with a big, white beard.  This man chose to start out one morning by faith and do the craziest thing anyone could imagine.  

James 2:17 "so then, faith, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead." 

Oh, Jesus, could it be that this crazy is what a life of faith will feel like the second I take my eyes off of you?  I think so...there are times of peace, even rest in the midst of it all, but only when I have my mind and heart set on you.  When I do set my eyes on you, it doesn't matter what happens, because I know what to preach to myself.  I know You will, in fact, give me more than I can handle so that I can't handle it on my own.  You hear my cry, you come to my rescue.  You want to be my strength, and I can't do this life without you.  

"Nothing without joy," has become my battle cry.  That eliminates a lot of extraneous, and the things that remain demand joy.  I remember when I had three little ones and the baby had spilled cheerios and milk all over the kitchen floor.  I was so tired, and worn out, and I was on my hands and knees cleaning it all up with tears streaming down my face.  Tears!  Over spilled milk!  But by God's grace, it was a dying-to-self moment.  "I'll do what you want me to do, even if it means spending my time cleaning up milk and cereal."  It seems like a waste, so insignificant.  But it isn't wasted, and its significance for growth is determined by my response.  

"You're always preaching some kind of gospel to yourself.  It's a gospel of aloneness and partiality and injustice and a graceless world--or it's the true gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that orients you in these moments where everything seems like sinking sand."

This was meant to be a post about something else entirely, but it's what is on my heart.  God, help us to live lives of FAITH, with ACTION, for Your glory.

"...that your faith should not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God." I Cor. 2:5

All quotes are from Paul Tripp.