IRL*in real life with Jamie Jo

Magnified and Scrutinized

2012-02-08T00:00:00.001-07:00

Something weird happens whenever my grown kids visit. It’s taken me years to pinpoint the short-circuiting in my brain, so bear with me while I attempt to articulate this discovery. Even if you have no adult children, you might experience this with other visitors from the U.S. I know do.

Normally I live my life in a state of acceptance of things-as-they-are. Not everything about my marriage, family, and home is ideal—not by a long shot; but I somehow arrive at a position where I simply overlook the bad and focus on the good. It’s called survival. Or like the motto in my mom’s kitchen that sums it up in another word: “whatever!”

Then these adults-I-used-to-call-children come home, or in the old days, my dmil would come to visit. Suddenly every flaw becomes magnified. It’s not that these people are necessarily criticizing (sometimes they do), but something in my head shifts gears, and like the emperor in the fairy tale who suddenly realizes he is wearing no clothes, all of a sudden I feel ashamed of myself, the people closest to me, and most of all, my (can I say crappy on a Christian blog?) house.

This has been going on for years, but it wasn’t until I was talking to a friend who experienced the same phenomenon this Christmas that I began to see the pattern. Love overlooks a multitude of sins. Peace in the home for the long haul requires large doses of selective blindness, don’t you think?

It’s not until others are watching that it starts to bug me.

Why do I put up with this? Why have we never painted that? Why, oh why can we not fix that crazy drawer that has never opened properly? Why have we allowed this child to get away with such-and-such a habit? Why does my dh… Nope, I’m not going there. Worst of all, why do I always….

You get my drift.

Again, it’s not that our visitors necessarily say anything about anyone or anything. Just seeing things through a different lens is what I don’t like. Our marriage, family, and home are fine most of the time, as long as no one is looking too closely. I guess that’s why having guests can be so stressful. Suddenly all our oddities, imperfections, and interactions are under scrutiny.

After a month of having dd here, and two weeks with ds and ddil, we are settling back into life-as-it-was. I want to make some changes so that we don’t settle for mediocrity when we should be striving to be the kind of people and have the kind of home that can be scrutinized and found godly in most respects.

This week I splurged on four new pillows to replace the ratty ones I subjected my adult children to over the holidays, hoping that will help future guests overlook all the other quirky things about my home and family. Next we need new mattresses, some better sheets that don’t come from K-mart, and towels that aren’t all shredding and sun-rotted. And then…. Where does this all end?

IRL* Praying for grace to accept what cannot be changed (others), and strength to change what I can change (myself), also patience to accept what I cannot afford to change, and finances to pay for what needs to be changed.

The Year of the Dragon... & teeth & passports

2012-02-01T00:00:00.002-07:00

In honor of our friends in the Far East, let me wish you all a very lovely Year of the Dragon, which apparently started on January 23. (How do you keep track of New Year’s when it always falls on a different day? Chinese New Year is not always even in January. Usually it’s February, right? Just wondering….)

So far 2012 is looking more like the Year of the Teeth. This year my dc need a total of ten teeth surgically extracted. How can that be? I have no idea. Sometimes things all happen at once like that. Last week was a bugger of a week for my poor dd who had to have oral surgery just before returning to college.

2012 is also the year of passport renewals for the dc. Both American and Mexican passports are expiring this year for our three youngest dc. Between that and orthodontist and oral surgeon visits, it looks like I may spend a crazy amount of time running back and forth to the city, waiting in lines, and filling out paperwork. I’m not going to even think about the finances for all these extras.

Who knows what else this year might represent. Both our vehicles are getting up there on mileage, so 2012 might end up being the Year of the Car for all I know. 2011 was the Year of the Plumbing, among other more fun memories.

How about you? Any glimpses of what the New Year is looking like?

One annual task I failed to do in January is to type up a list of the year’s highlights. Usually I don’t know what to call a year until after it is past. Recent years are easy to recall because of weddings, and of course 2011 will be the year I became GJ. As I get older, though, I am thankful to have my handy file of yearly bullet points to help jog my memory. I can’t recommend this enough to you younger women with your minds still intact.

If I ever get around to writing my memoirs, it would be a nightmare to find stories in all my journals. Now when was that…? You think you will never forget, but trust me; it all gets jumbled together after a while. My “cheat sheet” is a folder of yearly highlights. I can flip through that pretty quickly and then find what I seek in my stack of journals. When random photos show up in a drawer or a packing box, my little file folder helps me pinpoint dates. (Why, or why did I not put dates on photos in the first place is another issue.)

Each year I make a list not only of what I did, where I went, and significant news items, but I also list new friends who have come into my life. Sometimes friends come and go so quickly, I only vaguely remember them when I look back on a particular year, but other times it is fun to look back and mentally celebrate how many years I have known a particular person.

2009 was the year I “met” WOTH. 2010 was the year I “met” many of you! Now I am enjoying my third year of blogging with WOTH.

IRL* I’m vowing to carve out more Real Life time for the people God puts before me this year (besides the orthodontist, oral surgeon and immigration agents).

Computer-induced ADD

2012-01-25T09:27:00.002-07:00

Time is another one of my obsessions. I waste more time pondering what in the world I’ve done with it. Dh says I just think too much in general. But honestly, have you taken time to analyze where it goes?

In the old days of intense mothering (where some of you currently and seemingly forever reside), one day morphed into the next as I endured those 24/7 shifts seven days a week with no clue such a thing as “free time” even existed. Back then it was a good thing to be overseas where real life was busy, and we had no such thing as telephone and junk mail, not to mention sports or other extra-curricular activities for the kids. I could focus on the little priorities I was raising.

Nowadays I find I have developed a case of adult-onset ADD. I tend to flit from one time waster to another. Having Internet has contributed to the problem. I can “quickly” check in on Facebook, mostly looking for news from my children, and find myself fully sucked in an hour later, praying for this, “liking” that, and wishing a dozen friends a happy birthday.

Then there is Pinterest. If you haven’t discovered Pinterest yet, don’t go near it unless you are highly disciplined, and can stay there only for 10 minutes of inspiration and relaxation. For me, I find way too many recipes and craft ideas that I know full well I will never try, but I file them away for a hypothetical day in the future when I might.

Being the frugal missionary, I was delighted with a link on Pinterest for painting upholstered furniture. That would be so much simpler than shopping for fabric, finding someone to do the work, hauling the furniture to the city, etc. Right? I wasted the next hour reading blog after blog about how to do this “simple” job. Then I discovered that the main ingredient I needed was something I would never be able to find in Mexico. Another good idea that will come to nothing.

One final time eater is my Kindle. I hesitate to say anything, because I honestly LOVE my Kindle. I have several versions of the Bible on it, plus several devotional books I am using for 2012. The trouble is that I fritter my time away hunting for online bargains and freebies to read. For a while I was downloading so many free books, it was a full-time job just to organize them all.

The biggest blessing I discovered this past week is that I can borrow books for free with Amazon Prime. Now that’s cool. I am only allowed one book at a time. That forces me to focus and actually finish one book before I download the next one.

Having Amazon Prime is worth it for me, since I tend to procrastinate on ordering things (another symptom of my ADD-ishness) until I am forced to pay for second day shipping or risk wasting further time writing emails to track down packages that inevitably arrive too late.

Somehow I picture the rest of you happily occupied with real people and projects, well organized and self-disciplined, ministering to others full-time. For your sake, I hope you are not in a computer-induced attention deficit mode. If you are, may 2012 be a year we both find balance between worthwhile and wasted time.

IRL* Striving to regain control over my time.

The Long and Barfy Road

2012-01-18T00:00:00.003-07:00

Don’t you just hate when someone else’s selfishness gets in the way of your own? I get so annoyed when others get to act on their fleshly impulses while I have to overcome mine. A godly saint would praise God for the opportunity to grow in godliness and to serve selflessly, but I just groan. It is downright painful to give when I prefer to receive ministry.

There. I said it.

What triggered this was a trip to the beach over the weekend. Sounds like fun, right? Well, I was the unwilling participant. After we just returned from Guatemala, my ds and ddil arrived from Canada with visions of a long weekend at the beach with us as a family. It is always fun at the beach – if only it weren’t such a long and barfy road to get there and back.

The beach is only “this” far on the map, but with all the mountains and curves, it takes a full seven hours unless you fly. It’s one thing to suffer “for the gospel” when going out to a village to do something worthwhile, but somehow I can’t make myself do it as willingly for something that should be enjoyable. Being in a vehicle with seven sunburned family members being pushed into each other for seven hours…Face it - it’s character building.

Arriving home after such a nauseating drive, there is the car to be unloaded, fishy smelling laundry to be washed and hung out on the clothesline, supper to be fixed, and of course the mandatory trip to the tienda for milk, eggs, and bread. That’s the moment when I want to collapse. Everything in me wants to give up, but I am not allowed. (Others did.)

That night I was the last one to bed, and the next morning I was almost the first one up. (Dh was the first responder to the alarm clock.) After getting ds off to school (speaking of sacrifices – poor kid!), I spent some nice quality time alone with the Lord and got my heart straightened out. It’s all good.

Again I have love, grace, and joy to conquer the challenges of having three grown kids home when it’s technically not the holidays any more, and home schooling and other responsibilities face me. My question for you: how do you continue with life while you have houseguests? Any tips? Suggestions?

IRL* "For the gospel"...it's an all-inclusive deal.

On the Streets Where I Lived

2012-01-11T00:00:00.003-07:00

Is it really almost mid-January already? I know that time speeds up as we get older, but this year in particular seems to be racing in ridiculously fast motion.

Since New Year’s we have put 1300 miles on our old Suburban, driving to Guatemala and back with our three teens plus one college daughter. This epic road trip brought back many memories of insane border trips we used to make back before we had more permanent visas. This particular trip included an excursion or two down memory lane, as we took our youngest four children to the places where we used to live with the oldest three boys many years ago.

So much has changed over the years. Our old village is now incredibly modern. The roads are paved, people still dress in native garb but can be seen talking and texting on cell phones, and our old little house has been transformed into a 2-story modern house. Now the kids will never believe our wacky tales of life without indoor plumbing and having to hand-wash cloth diapers out in the yard.

Visiting our old language tutors, coworkers, and native missionaries, we were further astonished at how much things have improved for them over the years. The whole trip was a blessing.

Now it is time for back-to-school, back to healthier eating, back to exercise, and back to writing again. After visiting some friends in Chiapas on our way back to Oaxaca, I am adopting some new health ~~gimmicks~~ habits. In case you haven’t figured this out, I am forever on a quest for better nutrition.

Some of the things I have bought into in the past that I still dabble in (look them up on the web for your amusement/education):

Neti pot - check out some hilarious videos on YouTube making fun of this natural remedy for sinus congestion.

Kombucha tea -which my kids call “Happy Tea” due to its teensy (less than 1%) alcohol content . One of my longest lasting fads, almost daily fermenting behind the coffee pot; according to the Internet it will cure whatever ails you.

Sea Salt instead of iodized table salt (okay, so what if it’s pink?).

Alpiste - canary seed “milk” – supposedly good for high blood pressure.

Nopal cactus – balances blood sugar levels, etc. Again the kids tease me about this which I am known to throw in my green smoothies along with spinach and fresh fruits.

Coconut oil which you read about in 2010 when I used it in place of commercial skin care products, resulting in a sun tan.

Oil pulling - another cheap way to detox the old body and supposedly whiten and clean teeth) – my latest craze.

Last week I brought back a 5-gallon drum of pure coconut oil, thanks to my health guru friends in Chiapas. I can’t wait to see what all I can do now that I don’t have to carefully ration my supply! I also bought a large supply of Himalayan salt.

How about you? Anything new you are dabbling in this New Year? Any new habits you want to develop? How about exercise? Found anything that works for you? What about daily devotions? I now have several free books on my Kindle, but I need to commit to one for 2012.

IRL* It may go fast, but I have a feeling this is going to be another wonderful year.

See You Next Year: January 11, 2012

2011-12-28T00:00:00.004-07:00

After writing 51 amazing posts this year,
Jamie Jo is taking a much deserved break.

You can look forward to her next post on January 11,2012.

See you then!

Losing My Moxie

2011-12-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

This whole blogging thing is catching up to me. After years of writing for a limited audience, presuming that friends who don’t comment don’t actually read my blogs, I’m gradually realizing that my words are permanently out in cyberspace for all to see, today, tomorrow, and maybe years down the road.

I think I’m losing my moxie. Maybe this makes no sense unless you are a blogger, but suddenly I am self-conscious. Not only that, but family and friends are starting to cringe when something happens, wondering how long before some family affair or mutual embarrassment hits the Internet.

In its infancy my writing was a private affair in my own room with no audience but Jesus and my journal. Now my writing has hit puberty. Hopefully that means someday I will be a real grownup writer. For now, though, I’m going through an awkward stage.

Did you ever go through this in junior high? I distinctly remember waking up one morning in the seventh grade having no clue how to walk. Honest to Pete, I had been walking since toddlerhood, but all of a sudden I couldn’t do it without looking dorky. Before a full-length mirror, I tried different ways of holding my head, swinging my arms, and trying to look natural.

As far as I know, I got it figured out eventually. Walking, I mean. At this point I’m doing the same process with my writing, looking in the mirror, and trying to figure out how to continue without compromising my family and friends’ privacy or unnecessarily exposing my own goofiness.

According to About.com, adolescents go through a phase of egocentrism that sounds strangely like what I am going through. Definition: The" imaginary audience" is a label for teens' and older tweens' belief that a group of followers exist who constantly watch and judge their every move. The belief arises from the larger concept of adolescent egocentrism. An egocentric adolescent believes that wherever he goes, everyone around him is as interested in him as he is in himself. He also believes his "audience" is continually commenting on his actions and appearance. It's like being a celebrity...except no one is actually watching.

Only I know for a fact that my e-maginary friends are watching and reading, though I usually suspect no one will be interested in what I write. I need to grow up and be bold in my writing when necessary while maintaining sensitivity to my readers and my loved ones.It’s a delicate balance for someone in the pimply stage of writing publicly.

For now I am taking a break for Christmas and New Year’s, enjoying some marriage and family time free of any writing goals or aspirations. Maybe I will hit a growth spurt during my break.We’ll see.

IRL* One thing I plan to do is spend more time reading your blogs that I have discovered on the WOTH Writer’s Blog. You inspire me!

Feeling a Bit Shy

2011-12-14T08:38:00.004-07:00

Amid some speculation that I will not be able to put a coherent sentence together without mentioning my precious grandbaby, let me just reassure you that if anything I am feeling shy about the whole thing.

Yes, the trip was glorious, and yes I am totally and completely smitten with the new family member, and yes I cried more than a few tears saying goodbye. In fact I had a mini-meltdown in Stuff Mart as I bought her Christmas present – a Hallmark book I had to read and record several times until my voice stopped cracking with emotion.

With that said, I know that others would love to be parents or grandparents and simply aren’t. For one reason or another God has not chosen to bless them in the same way. The same goes with my big family. Most people think we are nuts to have had seven children, but others are envious that God did not bless them with a healthy child for as many pregnancies.

Back when I lost a baby in my second trimester of pregnancy, the hardest thing I had to do was assist a friend in labor and childbirth. It was a bittersweet time.

My instinct is always to downplay my blessings to avoid hurting others unnecessarily. Is that weird? Maybe it’s the old people-pleasing gene coming back to haunt me. I’m not sure. All I know is that everyone I meet is facing some battle, and I hate to be the one to inflict injury by boasting of my bliss.

Meanwhile dh and I are planning to leave on Friday for three amazing days on the beach to celebrate our anniversary. We never did take a honeymoon, always intending to do that “someday.” Seven children later, someday never came. Finally we are ignoring the pocketbook and just going to seize the moment.

This, too, makes me feel a bit shy. I shared with our supporters our plan to escape on this hopefully romantic getaway, but now I worry about how people perceive it. Finances are tight, and this seems like a foolishly extravagant expense right at the end of the year.

What will people think? Just when I think I am free from this worry, it plagues me once again. What about my single friends, and those who are not-so-happily married? What about those who don’t live anywhere near a lovely but cheap vacation spot?

The world says to pursue and embrace pleasure and forget what people think. I don’t want to do that, but nor do I want to pretend it is a virtue to care too much what others think. Most friends are thinking nothing whatsoever. Probably they are rejoicing with me in my various celebrations this month.

Keeping it real, this is my story right now. I’m going from joy to bliss and back again. I am truly blessed.

My prayer is that you are experiencing God’s grace and peace, whether you are enduring heavy trials or a lovely reprieve.

IRL* My new name is GJ for Grandma Jamie, a title I am proud but shy to bear.

A Picture is Worth...

2011-12-07T09:45:00.004-07:00

Grandma.

Knock, Knock. Who's There?

2011-11-30T08:40:00.003-07:00

“Oh, no you’re not, young lady!” seems to be the theme of my week, only minus the young part. It’s not me the mother talking, but me the daughter hearing these words. Ack. Just when I thought I was grown up enough to make my own decisions and do my own thing…

Thwarted. Repeatedly. Every time I turn around, Dad seems to be saying, “Oh, no you don’t.” Again I am out of control. He’s calling the shots.

This morning at breakfast my ds told an old knock-knock joke that I once told a friend, thinking she might see herself in it, but she didn’t. Today it hit dangerously close to home.

Knock-knock.

Who’s there?

Control Freak…. Now this is the part where you say ‘Control Freak who?’

Ack. I never thought this was particularly my problem, but suddenly nothing is going my way, and I realize again that I must lay down the reins all day long, every day of my life.

And you know what? When I do, I invariably find that God’s ways are better than my original plans.

The weekend retreat was lovely, and the messages were exactly what I needed. It was only behind the scenes that any power struggles occurred between the Trail Guide and myself.

Day one, we had planned a lovely 5-plus hour drive to the retreat center, just our family and the conference speaker and his wife, who have been dear friends for over twenty years. Then dh informed me we were caravanning with another family. Then the family informed us they were taking another family in their van, and yet a third vehicle was following them with another family of six.

First stop was McDonald’s. I thought we would drive through very quickly before leaving the city and take some burgers for lunch. Thwarted. It wasn’t yet noon, so all we could get was breakfast. Then the three other families decided they would go into McDonald’s to order. Forty minutes later we were finally on the road.

My plan was to arrive in plenty of time to get registered and settled before the first session, but due to a string of complications (road work, long potty stops, etc.), our 5-plus hour trip took a full 8 hours. It wasn’t bad, mind you, just not what I had envisioned. The poor speaker had to literally climb out of the car and walk straight to the podium and start speaking.

And so it went for the rest of the weekend. It’s like we remind the newbie missionaries, “Not bad, just different.” That’s my new mantra of the week. Surely I will soon stop trying to micromanage and allow the King of the universe to dictate what each day will hold.

IRL*Meanwhile, I am awaiting the imminent birth of my first granddaughter, which I had hoped (and planned) to announce today. ...

How's Thanksgiving Looking for You This Year?

2011-11-23T00:00:00.001-07:00

How does Thanksgiving look this year in your country of service? If we were in the States, it would be all about stuffing our faces, watching football, raking or playing in the leaves, and maybe shopping for bargains on Friday. Best of all, it would be about family. That’s what I miss the most. Thanksgiving with extended family. How about you?

Normally we go through the motions of roasting a turkey with all the fixings, including imported cranberry sauce and pumpkin pies with cans we bring from the U.S. This year we are going away for a long weekend retreat with other ex-pat families from other countries, and we won’t be having a special feast tomorrow.

It’s like the Grinch who stole Christmas, only no one has maliciously taken anything from us. I’m thinking of the scene at the end of the book, where the Whos from Whoville are standing around the tree with no gifts, no Christmas lights, no roast beast. The Grinch, who had assumed they would give it all up, was shocked to hear the townspeople begin singing joyfully around the tree.

“He puzzled and puzzled till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.
Maybe Christmas, he thought...
doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas, perhaps... means a little bit more!”

That’s what Thanksgiving is really all about. Being grateful for what we do have. Tomorrow we’ll be singing praises to the Lord, each quietly remembering our long lists of blessings. This year I am blessed to spend the holiday weekend with true family, even though my flesh and blood relatives are scattered from the Pacific to the Atlantic.

I’m thankful that we’ve all been adopted into one big family, and for the blessing of calling each of you my sisters.

IRL* Happy Thanksgiving, however you choose to recognize it.

Potholes, Roadblocks, Traffic Jams and Tummy Aches

2011-11-16T00:00:00.001-07:00

Baseball, hotdogs, apple pie, and Chevrolet. How many of you remember the old Chevy commercial (circa 1975) about things that go together in the “good old USA”?

I’ve been toying with the idea of a local version that would include soccer, tacos, Mexican Coke, and VW bugs.

How would the commercial sound in your country?

To be truthful, the first four words that popped into my head were potholes, roadblocks, traffic jams, and tummy aches. Can you see what kind of week I’ve been having? Somehow these just don’t make for a very snappy jingle, though.

On Saturday we drove some guests out to a Zapotec village for the presentation of a newly printed New Testament translation that our ministry has provided in audio format. The journey only took us about three hours, but we didn’t travel as far as you might imagine in that time. Not only were there many curves in the road limiting our speed, but also in every populated area we were slowed by a series of “sleeping policemen” or speed bumps.

One of our guests sympathized with my poor dh, who forever seems to be taking vehicles to the mechanic to replace brake pads or some other problem caused by the brutal roads we have. The sad truth, though, is that without speed bumps and potholes, people simply would not honor the suggested speed limits.

A number of years ago, my eldest daughter witnessed a fatal accident when a dump truck attempted to race around a stopped bus. Normally a speed bump would have slowed the traffic, but that day it had been worn down to the point of being useless. What made the incident even more tragic was that the careless driver was the godfather of the child he killed.

As we related this story to our guests, I began to consider what a blessing certain
“inconveniences” can be, just like speed bumps, even though we don’t always appreciate them.

Not having any TV reception for all these years might be considered an unnecessary inconvenience, but because of that “speed bump” I am convinced our family is healthier and happier. I wouldn’t trade all those long evenings of reading aloud for anything. Unpaved roads that are faster to walk than drive also serve to benefit and enrich our lives, though many people might not prefer such a blessing.

Being sick is another kind of speed bump. Just since Women of the Harvest started this blog in 2010, I’ve complained of high blood pressure/headaches, an E.Coli infection, and Dengue Fever. Each time I was forced to slow down. Each time I became more empathetic of friends who truly suffer with debilitating chronic illnesses.

How about you? What speed bumps are you thankful for?

IRL* Potholes, roadblocks, traffic jams, and tummy aches ... happen.

The Teen Years: Comedy? Mystery? Or Terrifying Suspense Novel?

2011-11-09T08:58:00.008-07:00

In a perfect world…

Fill in the blank. The past few days these words keep repeating themselves in my head, and I can’t decide if it’s an altogether healthy exercise to imagine such a place.

On the one hand, it’s always good to be reminded, as we said a couple of weeks ago, that this is not our home. On the other hand it’s disconcerting to realize that even among the body of Christ we are still so far from what we should be. Will the world ever know us by our love?

For the past thirteen years I have had the dubious distinction of being the mother of anywhere from one to four teens at a time. In June it went from three back down to two as my dd turned twenty. This month it goes back up to three as my youngest turns thirteen. Whoopee! (The finish line is in sight.)

Facing the teen years with the seventh is no less daunting than the first time around. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those doom-and-gloom “just wait till you have a teenager” kind of moms. The truth is that I love, enjoy, and appreciate my children more at this stage than I did when they were so little and needy.

What makes parenting older kids challenging is that their struggles are bigger and deeper, and somehow more is at stake. As a mom, I see their unique gifts and personalities when others seemingly don’t. Nothing in life pains me quite like watching my children blunder through the social maze of a supposedly Christian circle.

Seeing how they apply the Word of God (or not) in each situation, holding my breath to see if they even attempt to respond in a Christ-like manner, I don’t know - the drama is like a comedy, a mystery, and a terrifying suspense novel all wrapped up in one. So far the older four have all made it through relatively unscathed, still loving their parents, each other, and God.

The jury is still out on the youngest three. Sadly this is the time they become acutely aware that this is anything but a perfect world.

As a mom, I know what they might expect. Nothing less than what Jesus experienced – people misunderstanding him, rejecting him, pretending to be friends while plotting against him, mocking him, and using him for their own benefit. At the same time teens have a villain whispering lies in their ears that they are not smart enough, attractive enough, or good enough.

At first glance, this may not seem like a unique dilemma to raising kids on the field, but the stakes are so much higher. We’ve seen several families who have had to go back to the States for the sake of their teenagers who were making poor decisions or who had been hurt in some way. None of us would be so foolish or bold as to say that could never happen to us.

It’s a scary place out there for our teens, spiritually and emotionally if not physically. It’s enough to keep me humbly on my knees and in the Word. Our MKs don’t have to be casualties in the battle we have waged with the enemy.

IRL* Let’s keep them covered in prayer, shall we?

Do You Have the Gift of Giving Gifts?

2011-11-02T00:00:00.004-06:00

With the holiday season coming up, but still far enough away to plan, let’s talk about gifts. I am such a hypocrite when it comes to gifts. If you are familiar with the five love languages, I’ve always said that gift giving is not my strongest love language. It is a chore for me to think up appropriate presents for even my closest friends and family members, and even worse with local Mexican friends.

However, I am extremely blessed by the amazingly perfect tokens that others have given to me. I enjoy having little reminders of loved ones scattered throughout my house. Even non-sentimental gifts like Tupperware and cars make me remember fondly the people who gave them.

This past Sunday dh and I took the kids to a pastor’s house in the city, taking a tiny edible offering (some homemade cranberry bars that took me all of ten minutes to throw together before baking). In return, we were served a lovely chicken dinner with a special “Oaxacan black mole” sauce made from seven chilies (that requires at least six hours to prepare from scratch). When we left, they gave the kids a glass candy dish full of candy, my husband a framed map of Oaxaca, and me a decorative clay vase. It was almost embarrassing.

These things happen to me on a regular basis. People love to give presents. Even when I visit a friend in the prison here, she blesses me with gorgeous painted tin art that she makes. While I may never out-give either the pastor or my inmate –not to mention all our stateside friends—their tokens of friendship do prompt me to pray for them, and I do feel loved.

With that said, I really wish I could think of a gift that would help friends back home remember me, that would trigger a smile and a prayer occasionally. While waiting for inspiration, I do nothing. That’s terrible, I know. Good intentions are worthless.

What I want to know is what you do for your family, friends, and supporters. Do you send them something at Christmas time? Take souvenirs from your host country when you visit them? Or do you order books or other things from the Internet to be shipped to them?

Have you ever given a gift that was not a hit? Dh once gave some friends a wooden tray with colorful wooden fruit, back when he was single and returned from his first mission trip to Guatemala. The recipients treated it like a gag gift and returned it to him as a joke after we got married. Ouch. That makes us want to stick with safe presents like coffee and chocolate.

However, consumable presents don’t leave a lasting reminder that says “We love you” or “Please pray for us” or “Thanks again for your support.”

What do you suggest?

IRL* I’m open to new ideas.

Ask Jamie Jo: Reverse-Reverse Culture Shocker

2011-10-26T00:00:00.005-06:00

Earlier this month a reader sent an email that deserves a serious and thoughtful response. I have written three entire posts attempting to address the issue of reverse culture shock in reverse--I kept starting over, feeling each time that it wasn't adequate. None of the three did it justice. I am counting on you to flesh it out with personal experiences in the comment section.

Nicolette spent the summer in the States after her first three years on the field. She had been warned to expect reverse culture shock back in the home country, and wasn’t surprised when it happened. What she wasn’t expecting was the wave of culture shock that hit when she returned to the field.

You can read her blog post “The Culture Shock that No One Tells You About” here. Basically she poses more questions than I can answer in one short post, but I will say truthfully that, yes, I still go through that shock of re-entry both coming and going. It does get easier, and the transition happens more quickly each time around, but muddling through the discomfort of a major change is inevitable.

My first random thought is that flying has a lot to do with it. In the early years we used to drive back and forth from Guatemala to the States. In that way, we could ease ourselves in and out of cultures gradually. Flying makes the re-entry so abrupt at both ends of the trip. That could be a factor. Think of the old-time missionaries literally taking the slow boat to China. By the time they got there, they were ready to be there. This isn’t necessarily true with air travel.

Secondly, I think we tend to idolize our adopted country while we are stateside. We paint such a rosy portrait of life overseas that we start to believe it ourselves. Returning to the nitty gritty of reality can be a bit of a shock and disappointment just as intense as the disgruntled feelings we experience in the U.S. Neither place seems quite right any more.

I could hang my head in shame having to admit that I haven’t arrived, but the truth is that I am not home yet. It is only natural that I will feel out of place both here and in the U.S. Neither place is my home. The unsettling discomfort of homesickness and culture shock is a wonderful reminder that I will always be in transition until the day I land in heaven. That’s the good news, my friends.

Meanwhile, culture and language learning is a lifelong process. It’s never finished.

And lastly, may we never be so naïve as to forget that there is still a villain in our story who wants to rob us of our joy and replace it with confusion and misunderstanding. Keeping a journal is a wonderful way to document and analyze the wild swings of emotion we experience on the field. I mention it often, but a great tool and weapon is to make a list of things that make you thankful.

IRL* I am thankful most of all that this is not my home!

Mixed Blessing

2011-10-19T00:00:00.002-06:00

“A picture is worth a thousand words, an experience is worth a thousand pictures.” Our mission sometimes uses this quote to encourage short-term missions. Another quote only whispered jokingly among those of us behind the scenes is that “All work teams are a blessing – some in their coming, and some in their leaving.”

Most of our teams have been enormous blessings to us personally, but today I share a story about one individual who was a mixed blessing. Maybe you can appreciate the ironic humor of this scene involving the poor housing coordinator of the mission base and some short-term "helpers."

A group had just arrived from an American church to minister in Guatemala for the week. One lady in particular was making demands, grumbling complaints, and firing questions at my friend Kala, who had the misfortune to be the temporary hostess at the time.

"Isn't there some other bathroom we could use? Borrow? RENT? This is absurd! Surely you can't expect all six of us to share one bathroom! And the beds... really - bunk beds for adults? You've got to be kidding... and isn't there a single box of Kleenex in this apartment?" On and on she ranted.

Kala was doing her best to conceal her exasperation with this in-your-face guest. While she was on one of her many errands, attempting to please the newcomer as much as humanly possible, I tried to calmly distract the lady with small talk: "So, what do you hope to do while you're in Guatemala?"

Instantly the furrowed brows were replaced with a saccharine sweet expression, and her tone softened to almost a whisper as she righteously declared,

"Oh, I'm just here to b-less and encourage the missionaries!"

How often have I done the same thing - attempted some worthwhile task in my own strength, on my own terms, and in the process totally sabotaged the effort? By not relying on the power and grace of the Holy Spirit, my results are no godlier than those of the snarky woman who unwittingly ran ragged the very one she came to "b-less."

With my limited energy in the wake of Dengue (are you sick of hearing about this now?), I’m finding I can do much less in my own strength, but maybe that’s a good thing.

IRL*In my weakness, He is strong.

Who's that in the Mirror?

2011-10-12T09:15:00.003-06:00

Who are you making fun of? I feel obligated to warn you that you are systematically being transformed into the very characters you used to mock. At least I am.

Back in Guatemala when I was the new kid on the block, a young 20-something with few enough children to call each one by the right name most of the time, I used to snicker at Mrs. (you-think-you-have-it-bad) Missionary Mighty Woman with her eight (what was she thinking?) children. She was notorious for publicly correcting her husband, saying, “No, dear. I’m sure you are mistaken. It couldn’t have possibly been 1950-whatever when that happened, because I distinctly remember that I was pregnant with such-and-such a baby that summer….”

Ha! How I used to laugh over that, until I stopped finding it funny. In fact now I find myself (horrors!), not saying it outright (usually), but often mentally correcting my own dh’s faulty time lines. I now calculate dates and events based on how many children we had at any time in question.

Once upon a time I vowed to never evolve into that Mighty Missionary Woman for another reason, but darn if I don’t see glimpses of “You-think-you-have-it-bad” staring at me in the mirror. Maybe it was inevitable, I don’t know, but it does seem that you fresh young 20-somethings have a much easier go of things than we did back in my day, and certainly have things easier than the generation before me. But I will keep my mouth closed and try hard not to say it out loud, though my pen might get careless at times.

When you turn into me someday (just you wait!), or worse, into your mother, which we all seem to do for better or for worse, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, and another confession, while I’m on a roll. I used to secretly and sometimes openly tease a missionary friend who suffers from something akin to narcolepsy. Poor thing. She randomly drops off to sleep whenever she is in a comfortable chair (which of course is not a daily occurrence in this prickly land of rustic and hard furniture). Ha, ha, ha. How I used to laugh, until I had Dengue, and now it’s Jamie Jo sitting in the chair falling asleep without notice.

I’m telling you, beware! Watch whom you tease. She’s lurking in your mirror even now.

IRL* Maybe if I intentionally mock all the skinny ladies….

October's Alarm

2011-10-05T00:00:00.003-06:00

October. What’s so good about it? For me, it’s a love-hate relationship. Living in the high desert, October holds no promise of autumn, but it does offer the promise of ending Daylight Savings Time.

If anyone is keeping tally of my random pet peeves, feel free to add Daylight Savings to the list. In my way of thinking, it makes no sense to enforce a time change in a region so close to the equator. The days and nights are already fairly equally distributed year-round.

As it stands, many indigenous people boycott the time change, if they even know it exists. This causes all sorts of misunderstandings, like we don’t have enough confusion as it is. We plan an event or a meeting with people, never entirely sure what time they will show up. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care? (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

These early days of October, the clock daily alarms me out of a deep and sometimes lovely dream. However last week I was relieved to hear that awful clanging on two consecutive mornings when the alarm delivered me from a newly recurring nightmare. Do you ever have those?

As a child, did you ever have that nightmare where you were out in public only to discover you were practically naked? My grown up, missionary version of this nightmare goes like this: Dh and I are hiking out to an Indian village, where I try to discretely photograph all the colorful and interesting people. No matter what I do, people gawk at me.

In this crazy dream that won’t end without the alarm clock, dh is happily engaged in conversation with the men of the village while I am being overtly shunned and ostracized by the women. Always I realize too late that I am wearing shorts – a huge cultural taboo, particularly among Christians. Then I try frantically to wrap a rebozo (Indian shawl) like Miss Wear-it-on-My-Sleeves, to make it look like a skirt of some sort.

Not to defy Miss What- to-Wear-Wednesdays, who recently condemned the use of the ugly but ever so practical granny gown (sigh), however, it seems coincidental that these nightmares only return on the nights when I sleep in shorty little PJ shorts, and never when I wear my ever so comfy, though undeniably homely, granny gown. Just saying….

So, back to October.

What do you love/hate about October in your corner of the world?

Seldom ambivalent about anything, as you have noticed, here is my short list:

I love that the countryside is still green, yet it is sunny enough to dry clothes on the line
I hate the prospect of facing another long, dry, dusty season ahead
I love that I can soon sleep that extra hour every morning
I hate Mexico’s fascination with Day of the Dead
I love that Halloween brings neighbors right to my doorstep
I hate that they are all masked and I have no idea who they are

Your turn. Do tell.

IRL* Again my past posts are coming back to haunt me – even in my sleep!

What Kind of Apology is That?

2011-09-28T00:00:00.002-06:00

Suddenly several past blog posts are returning to haunt me. Was I really the author of that ridiculous post about forgiveness?

Just last Saturday, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Again. I sinned against many, and many sinned against me. Basically it was one of my excruciating headache days where frankly no one in my family had a hope of pleasing me -- short of disappearing altogether, but no one took the hint.

The next day, one person bravely approached me and said, “I’m sorry.” (Expectant look accompanied my continued silent treatment.) “For everything,” he added. (Accusing look replaced the expectant one.) “All day yesterday.” (Disgusted look inserted.)

WHAT KIND OF APOLOGY IS THAT? Most of us would agree that a general apology of that sort just does not cut it. I want him to itemize precisely how he hurt, neglected, and offended me, and to express his sorrow and regret with evidence of a repentant heart. I mean really! Does he think I will just erase the whole day for he asking? Without making him suffer?

Thankfully guilt flooded my heart before any snarky words escaped my lips. The Holy Spirit practically shouted at me how often I do the exact same thing. I simply give a quick oops-I’m-sorry-I-sinned type confession just to maintain a position of intimacy with the Lord. It just hit me over the head that maybe God wants me to actually itemize my sin sometime, not so that I will suffer with the weight of it, but so that I will experience the relief of having it lifted. Without confessing my sin, am I really turning from it?

This past week has been a continual battle with more than a fair share of difficulties and trials. Within 24 hours, my beloved MacBook began to fail (with no handy dandy Apple store to run to for help), the car battery died while I was in the city with a granddaddy migraine, and finally my Kindle died, too (but has been resuscitated, thankfully). The only way I could possibly hope to experience victory was through warfare prayer against despair, but I didn’t dare enter that level of prayer without being fully cleansed from all sin and unrighteousness.

The problem with my MacBook is largely because I had overloaded it with too many programs without deleting all the garbage that had accumulated on the hard drive. It didn’t have nearly enough space for all the processes I was requiring of it.

Spiritually I am in the same boat as my computer, running way too many applications with way too much garbage (and sin?) cluttering my heart, mind, and daily agenda. With one simple step, I can have unlimited gigabytes of spiritual, mental, and physical power available to me. Without oversimplifying or belaboring the point, I just want to admit that I am returning to the Power source, and trying to set things right.

Meanwhile I commiserate with those of you who battle with long-term, debilitating illness. I guess you just learn to compensate for your lack of energy by doing a lot less. How you stay sweet with your loved ones I will never understand.

Oh, and I did forgive him-who-shall-not-be-named for all his many offenses. Bless his heart. Why should I expect him to remember what he did? I can’t remember myself any more.

IRL* For now I am trying to clear my foggy irrational brain and figure out where to address all my apologies.

Of Jumpers and Tennies

2011-09-21T00:00:00.003-06:00

Whether you are a Fashionista or not, you have to admit that we women of the harvest do have style! This week I want to introduce you to a couple of blogs I have recently discovered. The first is called What to Wear Wednesdays by the author of a book on my shelf titled Good Girls Don’t Have to Dress Bad.

Another is by a young, chic college student who reminds me of our own Yellow Dress Girl, Sarah. This Sarah’s blog is called Wearing it on My Sleeves and is full of fabulous thrift store finds she has made over to suit her. All I can say is that she would go nuts over the treasures in most missionary closets.

With that in mind, I have a trivial question for you. Everyone wants to know…. What is in your closet and why?

We’re not talking about skeletons in your closet or anything serious like that (unless of course there is something urgent you feel like getting off your chest, and then we’ll all politely listen), but simply your wardrobe.

‘Fess up.
What is the oldest item of clothing you still wear?
When did you get it, and
what’s the story behind it?

My daughters laughed over a photo of a missionary friend at a birthday party fifteen years ago. The woman was wearing a red dress identical to the sun-faded pink dress she still wears today. The kids thought this hilarious.

It wasn’t so funny when a lady in the US commented on my favorite Coldwater Creek jacket, saying she used to have the same one. The emphasis was on “used to” and I was embarrassed. However, I still wear that same blazer, and six more years have passed. Why? I like it, it still fits, and it’s comfortable.

I have many theories on why we women of the harvest don’t care so much about what we wear. Mostly it boils down to finances, lack of thrift stores overseas, and cultural restraints. What is acceptable and modest in one place does not cut it in a different setting. Mostly, though, I think we are far enough outside of mainstream USA and Hollywood that we simply don’t care to play the game any more.

Back in 1988, my sister and her children came to visit us in Guatemala. I’ll never forget the look on my dh’s face as we saw Marsha’s attire when she got off the plane. She was wearing a drop-waist jumper-like dress (ew!) and (are you ready for this?) tennies with bobby socks! Anyone living in the US at that particular time would have thought nothing of it; in fact she was quite stylish by American standards. We, however, had never seen such a combination in our corner of the world.

What cracks me up is the number of missionaries we see today dressed just like my sister in 1988. Why do they do that? I suppose it’s comfortable and they like it.

IRL* No kidding, I’m typing this while wearing a cozy cardigan I got from Land’s End at least ten years ago.

We All Possess This

2011-09-14T00:00:00.002-06:00

Hard as I try to foster an attitude of gratitude by daily or at least weekly recounting all my blessings, somehow I slip into the old habit of taking things for granted until they are gone.

Time, health, and finances are the top three that tend to be overlooked until they are in short supply. Returning from my recent fog of Dengue Fever, I’m particularly aware of the blessing of good health, but this week I want to talk about time.

While each of us can claim varying degrees of youth, beauty, fame, fortune, and anything else Hollywood might deem important, the one blessing we all possess in equal quantity is time. We are guaranteed 24 hours in each day.

Whenever we run out of time, it just reveals that we are either overly ambitious, or else maybe we are slow learners, still struggling over the basics of life on the field. The trouble is that we continue filling our calendars and daily agendas to the max, forgetting that we are powerless to accomplish anything apart from the grace of God. We are dismayed and actually surprised when the unexpected happens (the electricity goes off, people stop by needing a meal, a child gets sick), and we finish none of the tasks we set out to do. List-checkers are particularly annoyed when their day doesn't play out according to the plan. Am I right?

As the years go by, if we don't go crazy first, we learn the art of sculpting our plans in Jello instead of concrete. Even still it is a struggle. Ideally I start each day in prayer, asking God to take my time and use it for His glory. When I do this, I never have that frantic feeling that time is too short. Then and only then can I view interruptions in proper perspective. People are the reason we are here. When people start becoming intrusions, I know something is wrong. It proves I'm holding my to-do list too possessively. Again.

It's ironic that I had this particular post outlined in my mind, but every time I tried to type it up, someone else was on the computer. My whole Monday was one thwarted plan after another. I wish I could say I handled it gracefully because the day belonged to God, not me. Instead I was a snarky mom all day, griping about how behind we are with school, and how I wanted to finish this post and check it off my list. Normally I love writing, but this week I was too busy fretting over lost time to ever write about time.

Two weeks ago, my daughter, Debbie, was sick for two days, and we got behind in school. Last week we lost two days due to the ministry team being here. This week is a four-day week because of Independence Day on Friday. In three weeks, we have slipped a whole week behind in our school work. With my other children, I would have pushed them to make it up, and somehow we would catch up. With Debbie, it is impossible. She has Apraxia and some language-related learning disabilities that cause her to work double or triple hard on a daily basis. Speeding up the learning process is just not an option. Apparently God has another solution. I just need to give our time to Him, not just every school year, but every week, every day, every hour.

Having a daughter who struggles with speech, reading, and anything language-related (which is just about every academic subject) should teach me patience. If only I could let go of my lesson plans when they don't work out.

On a positive note, I am no longer teaching the ladies Bible study at the local church. On a not-so-positive note, I filled the time I "found" by agreeing to teach an elective at the Christian school, where my son Jonny attends. I gave up a one-day class in town, and committed to a two-day class in the city. Does anyone else see a problem here?

IRL* I just need to give my time to Him, not just every school year, but every week, every day, every hour.

Just Tapping In

2011-09-07T00:00:00.002-06:00

IRL*This is Jamie Jo's 89th blog post...amazing! Get some rest, dear friend.

Was it Something I Said?

2011-08-31T00:00:00.003-06:00

"Was it something I said? "

My “Ask Jamie Jo” question in reverse (since you have no questions for me, then I’ll ask one of you!) is: How do you live with the consequences of hurtful words once spoken but never forgotten by those who took offense?

Particularly, how do you hold your head up and continue in fellowship with loved ones and/or coworkers, who choose to hold a grudge, yet may never let you know what it was you did or said that was so unforgiveable?

The thing about being imperfect is that I can freely forgive those around me, at least for insignificant little offenses. One of my virtues is that I really truly “get” what it means to be loved unconditionally and to be completely and forever forgiven. Thank You, Jesus!

Because of that (and a very forgetful nature in general, which in other contexts is anything but a virtue), I can forgive myself when I blow it. I hate my sin, but I know where to take it for daily/hourly/ continual washing. That’s the greatest blessing in this life as a Christian – being bathed in love and forgiveness.

Being forgiven, I can then forgive myself, and being aware of my constant struggle against this sin nature (and careless tongue), I can easily extend grace to others when they sin against me. Usually.

Ironically the one sin I hate the most is the sin of unforgiveness. I just don’t get it.

How can Christian workers and family members grow old and bitter, daily revising a long and ready list of offenses people have ignorantly committed against them? Maybe they really don’t “get” it – the whole gospel message of forgiveness, redemption, setting the captives free, healing the broken-hearted and all that. In that case, what is the point of their missionary zeal?

What message are we conveying if we don’t demonstrate love and forgiveness?

Help me out here. I want to understand. You see, lately I have been convicted of my role in some broken relationships. When I’ve asked, “Was it something I said?” more often than not, I’ve discovered that yes, in fact, it was. Sometimes the offense was so long ago, I can’t even recreate the scene of my crime to possibly untangle or rectify the damage of my careless words.

All I can say is “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Mostly I just carry on, making new friends, hoping and praying that they are the forgiving type, knowing that eventually I will likely offend them in some way, too. I choose to embrace my friends’ humanity along with all their oddities, and to forgive when they fail to love like Christ.

If only I could more easily forgive when they refuse to forgive me….

Tell me honestly now: What do you do in these situations? Become a paranoid people-pleaser, and keep everyone at a pseudo-happy distance, never saying much for fear of causing offense? Or...?

IRL* Tempting though it is, this seems like a lonely road to becoming un-real.

New Obsession: Hospitality

2011-08-24T00:00:00.000-06:00

Surely there is some happy zone that lies between boredom and fatigue, but I’m having trouble locating it. Instead I am swinging from one extreme to the other. During the summer exodus, things were quiet to the point of boredom (except for 4th of July, when the English-speaking community came out of the woodwork).

Now the rest of the “family” is returning, and I am exhausted.

After a week in the U.S being spoiled with hospitality and meals by my new ddil’s family and friends, I was inspired to more fully use what I have to bless others.

Last Thursday I hosted a dinner party for a couple who recently returned from furlough. Included were the couple they are staying with while they are house hunting. Before I knew it, the kids insisted we also invite their youth leaders (plus their two babies). The husband’s mom was visiting from the States, so of course, we included her, too.

That’s how it happened that amid my 3-hour naps to conquer the effects of Dengue, we ended up with eleven plus a high chair and an infant around our table. It was great catching up with those three couples, especially since my dishwashers (aka “dc”) were working.

Two days later, my heart went out to two families who had just arrived after a summer in the U.S. and hadn’t possibly had time to drive to the city for groceries; so yes, we had another dinner party on Saturday night. Believe me, this is not typical for me, but a new obsession with hospitality.

Monday was our first day of school. Jonny (his real name, by the way), my ds, left at 7:00 AM for the MK school in the city, and I started our official year of home schooling the two remaining girls at home. All was fine until dh reminded me that Monday was the day the missions pastor from our kids’ church in California was coming with his wife and a local pastor. You guessed it. They stayed for lunch.

Be patient with me; I’m not quite done.

Then finally there is another family heading out to do their translation and linguistic work in a village, so we agreed to keep their son for six weeks since he is attending the same school as ds. Remembering how hard it was to clean and close down an apartment before going back to the village, I, of course, offered to have their family for supper before they leave.

I think I have possibly gone a wee bit overboard. What do you think?

It all goes to show how one family’s willingness to host and feed my family, extending hospitality during the week of their daughter’s wedding, has drawn out the good in me, causing me to strive to be more generous with my own heart and home. Who knows but maybe their kindness will trigger a whole movement of people blessing others even when it’s not the most optimal time?

And maybe, just maybe, moderation is overrated when it comes to hospitality.

IRL* If I can’t have my own twelve family members around my big ol’ table, it’s still fun to fill it with other people we love.

Emotional Spin Cycle

2011-08-17T00:00:00.004-06:00

The df* Darling [and Dear] Loker Family

This past week was an amazing outpouring of love and family fellowship. A year ago I was bawling my eyes out, not knowing when, if ever, my whole family would be together again after my son’s wedding. Who would have imagined that this summer another wedding would be the happy excuse for another reunion?

As my firstborn and his expectant wife drove away from the hotel on Sunday, I pointed out rather proudly that I was not crying. The simple fact is that I can handle good-byes when I know when I am going to see that person again. Just after I explained this (rather boastfully), my other son said, “Yeah, but when are you going to see Mike and Amy again?” True, the bride and groom were leaving for their honeymoon in Mexico before moving to California, with plans to go to the Middle East in the future.

On that note, it was as though the faucet was turned on. I cried for real with that one. To quote a df, I feel like I am on the emotional spin cycle this week.

One thing that really struck me was how relaxed things were at the beginning of the week, and how progressively complicated they became as more family members arrived on the scene. I had to consciously allow myself the freedom to live and talk and risk offending people.

It was crazy how I struggled to not hurt anyone’s feelings. By praising one person’s wedding, maybe the others would feel I didn’t like their ceremonies. By hanging out with my kids, maybe my dmil or dmom or dsis felt neglected. By caring for my dmil, dmom, and dsis, I ran the risk of ignoring my own children who would only be together a few short days. By doing one thing, I was forever making a conscious or subconscious choice to NOT do something else.

In the midst of all of it, I was still fatigued with the lingering effects of dengue fever, and rather wishing I could withdraw from the whole crowd and just relax for a few minutes. With prayer warriors lifting this particular need for my daily strength and energy, I just kept pushing ahead, trying to stay medicated enough with Tylenol so that I could continue to function.

When it was all said and done, I have to say that I have a deeper appreciation for the way God cares for the entire universe all at the same time. By my over-concern for each person’s feelings, you’d have thought the Creator had suddenly stepped down from the throne and delegated to me personally the responsibility of assuring the happiness of each and every loved one. Let me just say that it was a useless and exhausting experiment to try to keep everyone content when there was plenty of joy and fun to go around without my help. It was a wonderful, fabulous, beautiful, joy-filled, magical week. I am so thankful for every minute spent with my family, and getting to know our new extended family.

IRL* Once I gave up trying to make sure everyone was happy, I thoroughly enjoyed the whole event. I even danced at the reception.

Cookie-Cutter Missionary, a Tale

2011-08-10T00:00:00.004-06:00

by Ilona Hadinger, guest blogger
www.inkyspot.wordpress.com

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Then he formed man in his image; male and female he created them.

In the middle God birthed His New Testament church. Then he commissioned them to go into all the world; anointed with his Spirit he sent them.

Near the end, God hastened his task. Then he formed a cookie-cutter shaped missionary; identical he produced them, for the harvest was great and the workers were few.

And they rarely lived happily ever after.

The end.

Written by Lax N. Site for the “Myths, Lies, and Twisted Truths” anthology.

You’ve never read that? Oh, but many of us have believed it – or live surrounded by those who do.

Like me.

It began with the “I do” to a minister on my wedding day. I felt I had to be that cookie-cutter pastor’s wife. I did love people, but I couldn’t sing, wasn’t a social butterfly, and the only songs I knew on the piano were 70‘s hits like “Yes, We Have No Bananas”.

Was I the wrong cookie for that post?

In time came the call to missions. With itineration came invitations to be the engaging speaker for the women’s event in There-ville. “Come, share your vision with passion!” Except that I hated public speaking and was still recovering from the shock of the call.

Was I the wrong cookie for that plate?

On the field, most national’s have received us warmly with invitations to preach. In my case, again to women in conferences or other large gatherings. Often I sense their disappointment that I am not the Patsy Clairmont or Beth Moore they expected...or hoped for.

Am I the wrong cookie for this place?

I used to think so, but not anymore. Sweeping the crumbs aside, a dormant truth in my heart awoke to active belief: I am uniquely created by my Maker! My talents and abilities are to be used for His glory, for the calling of His choosing.

As a missionary, I can serve Him with what He’s given me, though others try rolling me, cutting me out and baking me into what they think I should be. If I like to write, paint, bake, or to raise my kids well and be the best help-meet for my husband, I can do any of those as faithful ministry, creatively using my desires, abilities and talents for God’s glory.

Have you ever read about Bezalel in Exodus 31:3,4? God uniquely used him to help build the Tabernacle: “I have filled him with the Spirit, with skill...to make artistic designs.” Or you may recall the Levites in I Chronicles 23-26 who each had a specific work to do, “...they were to serve the Lord...in the way prescribed for them...and so they carried out their responsibilites.” And let’s not forget Tabitha in Acts 9 who served the Lord by sewing for widows.

This is cookie-cutter freedom!

You know both your calling and your talents. May God continually roll you, shape you, and make you into what He wills. His house will fill with a wonderful aroma and your life will be a trail of delicious crumbs for others to taste and see how good He is.

IRL*Thank God for making you the right cookie for the right place!

Tapering Off: Does that have to be the norm?

2011-08-03T00:00:00.002-06:00

This summer is all about family. I am consumed with travel itineraries. Dh is attending a family reunion with his mom in Wisconsin this week. Tomorrow, 16-year-old dd is visiting her big sister in Colorado before we all meet up in Illinois. Next week I will leave with the remaining two children, ages 12 and 14, to spend a week with ds and his fiancé before the wedding (!). Ds from Canada will join us for that week, too. The following week I’ll see the eldest ds and his wife, who are expecting my first granddaughter!

With the anticipation of many joy-filled reunions coming up, I’ve been on the Lingo phone and Skype a lot more than usual. Suddenly we can’t wait to see each other, so we are chatting almost daily. After the wedding, I’m sure the visiting will continue at a higher pace than usual, until it gradually tapers off to our norm, which is a couple of weeks between communication. Eventually real life consumes us all.

It’s like going to see the dentist. Before a check-up, I tend to pay a lot of attention to my teeth, trying to get them cleaned up before getting them cleaned. (How dumb is that?) Then after they are professionally cleaned, I am super diligent to brush and floss for the first few months, but when it’s time for my next appointment, I find myself digging out the floss again.

It’s inexcusable how neglectful I get the more time that passes between visits, whether with friends, family, or dentists. I might even argue the same applies to household help. We dash around tidying up the house if a maid is coming to clean, and then we work hard to try to preserve the clean house once she leaves. That never lasts long, though, unless we are expecting company. Clutter eventually reigns (or rains?).

Unfortunately, the same principle also applies to my times with God. The more I hang out with Him, the more I want to. Then if I am not super careful, I can easily fall back into bad habits of rushing through “mandatory” conversations with Him each day, allowing clutter to take over my daily agenda.

This summer I took the 90-day challenge with one of my readers I am blessed to know IRL. (Thanks, Inky’Spot!) We’ve been reading through the whole Bible since June. It takes me over an hour most days, and even longer if I journal, pray, and think over what I have read. It’s been a fabulous experience. The more time I spend with Jesus, the more time I want to spend with Him, just like with my family and friends.

Today is day 57, and I up to Jeremiah. I have no idea how I will carve out time for this luxury once I fly up to be with my family next week, but for now I am hooked.

IRL*Keeping up with adult children, cleaning house, flossing teeth, diet, exercise, daily Bible reading, and warfare prayer…. Discipline is such a virtue worth pursuing and maintaining.

Canned Salmon: The Thrill of the Hunt

2011-07-27T00:00:00.001-06:00

Canned salmon for me, seedless black olives for dh, Mountain Dew for the kiddos, and we’re talking one happy family. It’s funny how little it takes to turn a simple grocery excursion to the city into a big thrill. I mean, canned salmon! Did you catch that?

Disclaimer: Let me apologize in advance to anyone suffering from a true craving that can’t be satisfied right now. Some of you have much more limited shopping than I do. Here’s a (((hug))) for you.

When we first starting living here, we were on temporary visas, requiring a “border run” to the U.S. (900 miles / 24 + hours in the car) every six months. Those were tedious, but at least I could fill the back of the van with non-essentials like cream style corn, cheddar cheese, and some American cereals.

One time I got so desperate for cheddar in between visa renewals that we piled all seven kids in the van and drove five hours - one way - to the Sam’s Club in Puebla to buy cheese. Then we got in the car and drove all the way back. In case you ever wondered if I really am nuts, this should confirm your suspicions. Other things were going on at the time, making a day trip well worth the time and expense, but still….

Nowadays there are very few things we cannot find down here. I am thankful for our very own Sam’s Club, only an hour away, with at least a few American brands and luxuries when we choose to splurge. What keeps it interesting is that the stock is forever changing. Sometimes they have an item for a very limited time, and all the gringos go overboard buying whatever it is.

Whenever I have used moderation in buying a new treasure, I have regretted it when I return a few weeks later to find it sold out, never to return. Once, for instance, I found Triscuits. Never saw them after that day. Another time they had Frosted Mini-Wheats, and having learned my lesson, I bought more than one. Now they seem to stock them regularly, and I don’t have to risk hoarding stale boxes of cereal.

The exciting bonus about the salmon and olives is that they are manufactured in Mexico, and the cans are in Spanish. Now we can add that to the long list of things to take for granted. As for the Mountain Dew? I’m afraid it will go the way of Root Beer and Dr. Pepper, just making an occasional appearance to tease us.

So, what kind of treasures have you found lately? What do you ask visitors to bring you from the U.S.? My list is shorter all the time.

Tomorrow I leave for the U.S. with plans to return August 15. My suitcase will have canned pumpkin, Triscuits, chocolate chips, schoolbooks, vitamins and nutritional supplements, and mineral makeup. The kids will each have a new pair of shoes and jeans that we can’t find to fit down here. No need to pack a pantry any more like the old days.

IRL* A few more days, and I’ll be at Stuff Mart; no big thrill there, but everything on the shelf where it belongs. (Not that I’m complaining!)

Next Week: I have invited a Guest Blogger to take my place while I too busy being a MOG to blog! Please welcome my df, visit her blog, and leave her lots of comments.

The Discomfort of Comfort

2011-07-20T00:00:00.001-06:00

Much as I like to think of myself as a woman who enjoys pleasure in moderation, a glance at my blog clearly exposes a woman of extremes. I love, love, love what I love, and I abhor, detest, hate what I don’t love. The pathetic reality is that 25 years of living without most American-style creature comforts has not cured me of my wimpy ways.

People back home have it all wrong if they think I am some rough and ready jungle woman. One phrase that makes me cringe is, “Oh, I could never do what you do….” As if I just love being uncomfortable.

Who actually enjoys discomfort?

Only by the grace of God do I occasionally do without my creature comforts. It’s one thing to serve with all my heart, but when it involves an aching back, somehow I find myself recoiling.

One quick trip to an Indian village last week and my flesh cried out like the spoiled baby apparently I am. I am addicted to being pleasantly comfortable. I am ashamed of myself. After all this time, I still want what I want, when I want it, and with a La-Z-boy recliner while you’re at it, please.

Our little adventure was an assault on my senses. About an hour into the journey, strong gas fumes started filling the inside of the Suburban, with or without open windows. That was not fun. During the showing of the Jesus film, I was thoroughly distracted by the smell of smoky clothing from cooking fires, body odors, and cloth diapers that needed to be changed. Again, the curse of an astute sniffer.

My taste buds, on the other hand, had no complaints. The children might beg to differ, but I thought even the eggs scrambled with onion and green beans were delicious. Add salsa and fresh corn tortillas—and anything is fabulous. However, my ears grumbled inwardly after hours and hours of listening to ranchero-style music on the bus for many hours on the way home. It was all I could do to not scream out “STOP! Enough already!” (How long could you handle listening to this?)

The worst assault was on my physical body. Sleeping on a hard floor, reading, trying to relax, having devotions on a wooden pew bench, and waiting on a concrete slab for the car’s problem to be diagnosed—well, let’s just say that I was not overindulged in the comfort department. It wasn’t overly comfy being banged around on the bus either, having one fellow passenger poke me with her elbow, and another stab my foot with her umbrella as we were thrashed with the twists and turns of the road.

I used to laugh at the stories short-term teams relate when they come down, but on some unconscious level I think I felt I had already paid my dues, that I was somehow entitled to take it easy from here on out. Not so.

Maybe I get some credit for not complaining (I know my three children sure won some points with me for their flexibility without grumbling!), but I know I didn’t earn high marks overall. I pity my dh, who will have to go back with a mechanic to fix and retrieve our Suburban.

From the (ridiculous) comfort of my cushy couch, I have pondered my dubious “suffering. “ Truly it was no sacrifice at all. In contrast, anyone in the village we visited who comes to Christ must pay a fine to the town, an amount equivalent to a full year’s salary. They sacrifice one year of labor (in a rather uncomfortable place, imho*) – just for choosing to follow Christ. Can you imagine?

IRL*Forsaking all to follow Jesus is more than words to an upbeat song.

[*see Jamie-Jo Speak in sidebar]

Soup for You

2011-07-13T00:00:00.001-06:00

Fully recuperated from last week’s soiree, I am now on a rare-for-me village trip, with dh and the kids, which is about eight hours from home. Next week maybe I will have some inspiring, hopefully not embarrassing, or drama-filled, yarn to spin, but for now I simply leave you a taste of Mexico.

Can you get real Mexican food where you live? If not, I honestly pity you. How can anyone live without an occasional Tex-Mex dish? This recipe may not work for you until your next furlough, unless you can figure out where to buy or how to make your own corn tortillas. Sorry about that.

It works fine with a regular blender, but I have to say that I am blessed with a Vitamix, which is my absolute best-loved appliance in the house. I use it at least once a day for grinding wheat, oats, and other grains for flour, and also for green smoothies, creamed soups, or any other chopped or pureed dishes. (Did I ever mention that I am somewhat of a health food junkie? – Not in the pathological/need-help-now kind of way, but just a wish-I-could-eat-better/cut-out-the-junk-food kind of way.)

Without further ado, then, here’s one of my favorite recipes. Enjoy!

Jamie Jo’s Sopa Azteca (Tortilla Soup)

Adapted from a recipe used at The Mansion on Turtle Creek, a Dallas Mexican restaurant
(Quadruple the recipe to feed 25 people. Believe me, I’ve done it!)

For the broth:

3 T. corn oil

1 Cup onions, pureed

2 Cups fresh tomatoes, pureed

1 T. cumin powder

1 t. chili powder

1 bay leaf

½ branch epazote (this is literally a weed that grows wild in my garden, but maybe you can find it where you live, especially if you are in Latin America)

2 quarts chicken stock

2 T. tomato puree

4 large cloves garlic, finely chopped

Salt and cayenne pepper to taste

Garnishes:

1 cooked chicken breast, cooled and cut into strips (two whole chickens for a big crowd)

1 avocado, peeled and cubed

3 oz. grated cheddar cheese (or Oaxaca cheese, if you have it!)

3 or more corn tortillas, cut into thin strips and fried

Sour cream

In a soup pot, heat the corn oil and sauté tortillas with garlic and epazote. Add onions and fresh pureed tomatoes; bring to a boil. Add cumin, tomato puree, bay leaf, chili powder, and chicken stock. Bring to a boil again. Add salt and cayenne pepper to taste and cook for ½ hour. Strain to remove all large particles. Sometimes I remove the epazote and run the broth through the blender, adding a few more tortillas that have been soaked in broth, to thicken it and give it more tortilla flavor.

Either put soup in bowls and serve garnishes on the side (for company – which dirties a lot more dishes), or just put the tortilla strips and garnishes in the bowls, and serve the soup on top of them like we do for our family. Serves 6-8.

IRL*While the soup simmers for you, I’ll be showing the Jesus film to a group who has never seen a single movie in their own language.

Star Spangled Syndrome*

2011-07-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

Before reading a word I have to say, you must bear in mind what my own mother told me on the phone last weekend: “You do not deserve any sympathy at all!” She has always suspected I am out of my mind, but this week confirmed it (again). Many times she has heard me declare adamantly that I’m not going to throw any more humongous parties at my house, but then with the slightest twist of the arm, I’m off half-cocked, planning and inviting.

Erroneously thinking we would have a smallish group this year, I sent out invitations for a 4th of July program and picnic. A friend in another town had actually agreed to host it at her house, but then friends persuaded me to have it here like we have in the past. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, we had 80 people confirmed to attend, and I was sending poor dh out to rent tables, chairs, and revival-tent-like tarps in case it rained.

Aside from immediate family (ahem!), you might say that delegating is not my strong suit. Anyway, besides organizing and hosting the event, doing most of the decorating, I also led music and became the square dance instructor. Yep. Maybe my mother is right. The next day I stayed in bed until way past 7:00 A.M. vowing not to say a word of complaint to Mom, though she would have been sympathetic in spite of herself.

In all, though, I’d have to admit it was well worth the effort. Over 100 people showed up, including several carloads of friends of a friend I was not expecting. It’s always good to have an excuse to have lots of friends over, sing patriotic songs, pray for our nation, shoot off fireworks (sweet revenge to be making all the racket for a change), and of course enjoy a taste of Americana -- KFC, baked beans, brownies, etc. For one day in the year, we can chunk the diet, be proud Americans, and not apologize for our country.

Did any of you find a way to celebrate the 4th of July? I’d love to hear about it.

I’m also curious whether any of you suffers from a certain ex-pat phenomenon where the “Star Spangled Banner” gives you goose bumps and puts a lump in your throat so big you can’t sing? Being a bit of a crybaby myself (remember the “Wedding March” and “Pomp and Circumstance”?), I actually get tears when I try to sing the national anthem or “America the Beautiful.” Even the Pledge of Allegiance sort of gets me. Anyone else?

IRL* I’m insisting to my unbelieving mom that I most definitely am (probably) NOT organizing a ladies’ retreat this summer, no matter what people say!

* I wish I could remember which of my international friends first coined this phrase [Star Spangled Syndrome], so I could give her credit. It’s not original.

Jamie Jo Picks a Winner!

2011-06-29T10:55:00.001-06:00

Utterly Defiled and Contaminated

2011-06-29T00:00:00.000-06:00

I seem to be on a roll. The toilet roll, that is. After last week’s post I had another incident. Of course I learned my lesson to check carefully which restroom I entered, but I’m figuring maybe I should give up using public facilities altogether.

On Sunday I got locked inside a nasty bathroom stall. I could NOT get out, and to my hyperactive nose, it smelled bad. Thankfully a df* was there to patiently talk me through the process of sliding backwards under the door face first. Even though she was laughing at me, her presence was nonetheless reassuring in a humiliating sort of way. Thankfully no one else witnessed my wallowing on the filthy floor.

Utterly defiled and contaminated, I rushed to the sink to wash as much of my arms as possible, only to realize why the toilet was not flushing properly: there was no water! If laughter is good medicine, surely I laughed enough to counter any icky germs I encountered on my way under and out before I found and slathered the hand sanitizer all over myself.

After all these years of meticulously instructing my children the art of flushing, opening doors, and doing all manner of business in public bathrooms without touching ANYTHING, this whole episode strikes me as extremely ironic.

Plumbing problems and bathroom scenes seem to be a recurring theme for 2011. Dh* is still pulling up muck from a hole in our bathroom floor, bucket by bucket, to clean it out every week or so. Someday soon, hopefully, it will be running and draining properly, but for now it remains a stinky issue.

Meanwhile I am occupied with a semiannual prayer letter announcing all our happy news, and trying to minimize all the pesky problems. Two biggest personal items are the grandchild we are expecting in November (yee-haw!) and the upcoming wedding in August. Yes, it looks like I am to be a MOG* again for the third time in four years. That’s another recurring theme. A future theme will hopefully involve the arrival of many grandchildren. Life is sweet.

Since no “Ask Jamie Jo” questions were submitted this month, I’ll ask one of my own. My question for you is regarding prayer updates, newsletters, and websites:

Do you ever wonder if anyone reads them?

What do people prefer, electronic letters or ones with a postage stamp?

I seem to get a lot of traffic on my Facebook page (friends wondering what silly predicament I will face next), but my ministry blog gets little to no traffic. Monthly prayer updates generate almost no response unless there is a crisis of some sort. In fact, I skipped two months of writing, and no one seemed to notice. I’m sure correspondence is important, but I wonder if people aren’t bombarded with too many emails these days. What do you think?

IRL* The times are changing, but I don’t know which way the winds are blowing.

Contest Ends Today @ 7 PM MST

2011-06-28T13:35:00.002-06:00

Jamie will be picking the winner tonight, so please get your "entries" in the comment section by 7 PM (MST) so we can count you in!

Play with Me

2011-06-22T00:00:00.002-06:00

To shake things up a bit during a sluggish time of year, I thought I’d host a summer contest to reward those who are still reading. (Thanks to some fellow bloggers who inspired this non-original idea!)

Here’s how it will work: You can have your name entered more than once by doing any or all of the following:

1. Leave a comment telling which Jamie Jo post or article is your favorite or most memorable story.

2. “Tweet” your preference.

3. Link your favorite post on Facebook.

4. “Follow” this IRL blog by Google and/or through Networked blogs.

5. We’ll also put your name in twice if you leave a comment with an embarrassing incident that happened to you in the country where you serve.

To possibly trigger a memory, here’s my most recent humiliation on the field.

Earlier this month, dh and I took the kids to a movie in the city, one of the few that was actually in English with Spanish subtitles. After it was over, dh made a trip to the restroom. Thinking that was a good idea before the drive home, I mindlessly followed him into the men's room! Two little boys started waving frantically at me before I got all the way in, and still it didn't click. I smiled, thinking they must have known me, and tried to think where I might have seen them before. Realizing they were in serious distress, I leaned down to hear what in the world was the matter.

By then they were practically jumping up and down trying to communicate non-verbally to this spacey American lady, frightening me into thinking some bad person was after them. (Remember I had just come out of a very action-packed movie.)

Eventually they resorted to speaking in Spanish to me, "You can't go in there!"

When I realized my error, I thanked them quickly and spun around to face my audience. If I had to make such a silly mistake once in my whole life, why did it have to be on a crowded Saturday in the big city?

IRL*Your prize for participating…$15 iTunes card!!

If You're Waiting for Me to Be Just Like You

2011-06-15T00:00:00.000-06:00

As some of you know, I am not the kind of person who can fully enjoy a book without savoring it orally. I simply must share it with someone to complete the experience.

Owning a Kindle and downloading/ devouring free books almost daily has proven to be a character building exercise for me. So far I have resisted the urge to regale my friends, both IRL and in Cyberland with one of my long-winded book reviews. Until now.

Letters Missionaries Never Write* is an amazing book that every one of us can appreciate. It exposes us all, from singles to marrieds, veterans to newbies, short-term to long-term, home-schoolers to boarding-schoolers. The writer managed to nail each one. What a difference it would make if we could see each other’s hearts and the underlying frustrations that cause so much hurt and misunderstandings. I highly recommend this book!

Reading these hypothetical letters spotlighted for me again how diverse we are, and how vital it is that we embrace our differing viewpoints and backgrounds rather than fighting over them. I can’t imagine how uninteresting it would be to only relate with people exactly like me, supposing there were such a thing. We are all unique, and that’s a good thing.

The trouble comes when we think we know what people are like, and we start categorizing people and putting them in their proper boxes where we assume they belong. As much as I try to put my “people-pleasing god” behind me and to only care whether my ways are pleasing to God, I’m still aware that people misconstrue my words, appearance, and convictions.

Home schooling – Oh! One of THOSE! (So, Jamie Jo, do you think ill of me for sending my children to public school or – horrors! – boarding school?)

Big family – Oh! One of those! (So you must think I’m horrible for only having two children…)

Missionary – Oh! One of those! (Don’t you know there is plenty of needs right here in the U.S.?)

Sadly, I’m just as bad.

When I’m with ladies who wear a head covering or dresses-only, or have long hair and no make-up or jewelry, I automatically assume they are judging me for not sharing their convictions. Hopefully the ladies in the ultra- not-of-this-world group think nothing of my short hairstyle, dangly coconut shell earrings, and (gasp!) shorts on a hot summer day in Texas—any more than I would judge someone choosing to not home school, not to have a big family, or not to become a missionary. We’re all just different, which is a good thing. (Oh, I said that already.)

Sometimes it’s not only appearances that cause division, but our ministry focus.

In many cases we will never see eye-to-eye, but it is so helpful to consider the other person’s perspective. Last month I posted an article on my ministry blog about the pitfalls of literacy-based evangelism in the third world. I hoped perhaps it might provide some insight for those who are struggling to reach the unreached with the standard literate approach, as well as to explain again to our supporters why we do what we do (providing audio and video evangelistic materials for non-literates).

Inevitably it caused discomfort for some who connected the dots differently, who came to a different conclusion than the author of the article. That’s okay. We have to live with the constant tension of differing vantage points on many subjects. That’s just how it is. We’re all different. (yada, yada, said that!)

For those who are uncomfortable until peace is restored, I’ve got news for you. As long as you define “peace” as everyone being in unanimous agreement, it’s never going to happen this side of heaven, so just dream on.

IRL* Embracing the differences, and agreeing to sometimes disagree while still remaining friends.

*This book was sent to me by a df, and is not yet available in digital form.

Designated [just-for-me] Gifts

2011-06-08T00:00:00.004-06:00

After last week’s negative post, let me admit today that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE designated gifts! If only everything we need or want would be provided through tangible or designated gifts, we wouldn’t have to worry about how we spend our money, or more accurately, God’s money.

For example, a dear friend (df) blessed me with a gift card to a swanky spa before my son’s wedding last summer. I never would have splurged on a manicure and pedicure at California prices without someone giving me a tangible nudge. Another df designated a gift for use on something personal for the wedding. I bought some underclothing that will last a lot longer than anything Walmart has to offer.

The best haircut I have ever gotten in my life (the one in my profile picture) was a free cut and color (ahem) by a df/supporter in Ohio. Some of my favorite clothes came directly from a df’s closet. There’s nothing like looking good free of guilt.

Maybe we could delve into the “why do I always feel guilty spending money on something personal that I want or need?” issue, but that’s no fun. Feel free to leave comments on this topic if you want. For now I just want to admit that I am a chicken when it comes to buying things, and I am thankful for friends who give me a prod when I need it.

Early in my career, I started to play that dangerous game of comparing myself to the other missionary women, and trying to make adjustments to fit the “image.” Consequently I grew my hair longer, feeling it was a waste to spend money on frequent haircuts. After a couple of years of trying to not appear excessively frumpy, I changed to a short style again. My dmil, bless her heart, advised me never to grow it out again. According to her, long hair wasn’t a good look for me with my non-prominent facial features.

Likewise I went through a phase of minimalizing cosmetics, trying to do without make-up like so many of my colleagues. My mom started discretely giving me Clinique for Christmas, and my dmil offered me Mary Kay cosmetics along with this nugget of wisdom: “Honey, some people can afford to go without make-up… but you are not one of them!”

(I’m not making this up. She honestly verbalized that. Don’t you wish you had a sweet dmil to speak the truth in love when you need it?)

So now I get my hair cut regularly and splurge on make-up to keep from embarrassing the family, but I still agonize over non-thrift store purchases, and greatly prefer when someone gives me a designated “personal” gift so I don’t have to mentally calculate how many audio Bibles that amount of money could have purchased.

Anyone else struggle with the old “Should I - or shouldn’t I?” question when it comes to spending money? Maybe all Christians have an acute sense of stewardship and responsibility, but for missionaries on a limited budget, it’s always an added challenge to spend wisely and to be accountable—without the guilt.

IRL* Clothes, toes and hair aside, all of life is a designated gift when you get right down to it.

Trust and/or Obey

2011-06-01T00:00:00.007-06:00

Trust and Obey. This is the latest song running through my head. If only it were so simple.

Sometimes I think it might be easier if we were on a regular furlough schedule with four mandatory years on the field followed by a year of “stateside ministry.” Instead, we live in a place where many families go to the US or Canada every summer. We would drive up every other summer to maintain our support base without having to set up housekeeping long term.

Our policy was always to raise support little by little before it became a dire need. However, like many of you, we have found ourselves slipping further and further behind with the economy downturn. Faithful supporters discontinued their giving just as we began to face an increase in the cost of living.

The added conflict is that it’s no longer so simple to drive up to the States from southern Mexico due to all the problems along the border. The cost of flying is prohibitive, as is purchasing or renting a car each time we make a trip. Then there are the gas prices for all the travel. We used to cover about 15,000 miles each mini-furlough.

Sorry if I’m depressing you. Many of you are in similar situations, I’m sure. Dh and I are contemplating spending a few months in the US this fall for the express purpose of raising some additional support. However we are indecisive. Can we really afford the time away? Dh would need to fly down here at least two or three times to honor prior commitments. And how would I manage to home school a 7^th, 9^th, and 11^th grader while juggling extra stateside activities for a semester?

Then again can we afford not to go?

These kinds of decisions make me nuts. The past few attempts at “support discovery”—or whatever euphemism you want to call it—were unsuccessful. We returned to the field with credit card debt, and no additional monthly support to make up for what was lost.

Meanwhile friends and acquaintances at church are all tapped out. Their mailboxes are filled with pleas for financial assistance from every ministry and missionary they know. Maybe they don’t even want to see us. I can’t say I blame them.

All I can manage now is to trust or obey, but not exactly both. I’ll go where He wants me to go, but will He really provide? Then again, I’ll gladly trust Him to provide if only He’ll let me stay home in Mexico. Do I really have to do both?

IRL* To go or not to go? That is the question.

Those Songs

2011-05-25T00:00:00.000-06:00

Is it okay if I just admit that I HATE, HATE, HATE goodbyes? Seeing it in print is no more of a consolation than saying it aloud.

Why can’t everyone just stay where they belong?

"Pomp and Circumstance" and the "Wedding March" are equally sad tunes, and for the same reason. Both signify the passing of time and the shaking up of “things as they are.” How well I remember sitting in Three Hills, Alberta crying at my ds* and ddil*-to-be’s graduation from the Explore Program at Prairie Bible, witnessing the cap and gown procession down the aisle to that dismal march.

That’s when my son’s dmil-to-be looked over at me with tears in her eyes and asked, “Isn’t this silly? We are crying because they graduated from (pause) – mountain climbing?” At that we exploded into giggles, and poor ds thought for sure we had both lost our minds.

We both understood what ds did not. “Pomp and Circumstance” was just one small step toward the inevitable “Wedding March” we would be hearing one short year later. Now ds and ddil live 2700 miles away. I knew instinctively that song would bring me sorrow.

Next week I will be at the Oaxaca Christian School playing "Pomp and Circumstance" on the piano, provided my eyes aren’t too blurred to see the notes. The added kicker is the reminder that I might have had a child in this high school graduating class of 2011. We lost two babies in Guatemala that would have been due either in January or July of 1993. Just when I thought I was over it, the memory returned with a fresh wave of grief.

Once upon a time, I grew weary of forever saying goodbye to friends who weasel their way into my heart only to leave the field and never return. My heart began to crust over that tender spot so that I no longer felt the acute pain of parting (and miscarriages). The trouble is that you cannot selectively block certain emotions. In blocking pain you inadvertently block joy.

Being alive means experiencing both the happy and the sad.

Through the years, God completed the restoration of my soft heart, and now I can freely bawl through weddings again, plus graduations, Hallmark commercials, and even animated movies like Up and Toy Story 3 (watching Andy go away to college and leave his toys behind … waa!).

The flip side is that I can now grieve with those who grieve. The best part is that I can also deeply experience the joy life brings.

While I still cry over the reality of loss in life, I am rejoicing in the news that, Lord willing, I am to become a grandmother later this year! What jubilation I might have missed if things had “stayed the same” like I thought I wished. I can’t imagine life without my two precious ddils, whether they ever give me grandbabies or not.

IRL* May future “Wedding Marches” kindle hope rather than despair.

Ask Jamie Jo: Is JJ's Response Really Hypothetical?

2011-05-18T00:00:00.004-06:00

"How do you deal with absences and returns of your husband if he frequently travels? It seems that as a family we have one routine and system while he is gone, and then we have to adjust when he returns. It is like going from a two-parent family to a one-parent one and back again. What ways have you found to handle those transitions?"

For those who have no idea what she is talking about, let me conjure up *cough* a hypothetical situation. When dh* [*see sidebar "Jamie-Jo Speak" for all starred* words] is away the wife can more fully devote herself to the Lord and the dc*. Her panache is restored without a partner by her side to witness and or point out her failings. Her new confidence may or may not be warranted, but she enjoys only serving a perfect Master, one who wipes the slate clean day by day. As bad as this sounds, and as much as she hates to admit it, dh's travels provide a break from any and all marital strife.

She begins to make daily decisions usually left up to dh. She groans under the weight of responsibility, but grows closer to the Lord through this occasional suffering. Meanwhile she carries the mantle of spiritual direction and discipline of the kids, growing in her ability and confidence to run the home on her own. For a while, she likes it, if she would be honest enough to admit it.

At the same time she does miss the daily adult companionship dh normally provides, but somehow finds alternate ways to fill that need. She sometimes chooses to be hospitable and to minister to others, but usually she turns to Facebook and online forums to fill the need, and then feels guilty for it afterward. Still other times she becomes a happy recluse, reveling in her newfound solitude in the evenings after dc are in bed.

If not extremely careful, she can become downright narcissistic while dh is gone, seeking every selfish pleasure like online bargain hunting, bubble baths, pedicures, journaling, or reading a good novel. She rationalizes by saying she needs to refuel her emotional tank, but deep down she suspects she is going overboard. (Not that she cares.)

On her good days, she spends her evenings in prayer and meditation, a luxury that pays off in the end, unless she becomes resentful of her dh when he returns and spoils her new habit of solitude.

Meanwhile the dc are enjoying more quality and quantity time with Mom, rediscovering the blessing of having only one parent fussing at them, only one parent to grant them permission, or should I say only one parent who will give in to crazy requests? The dc enjoy the simpler meals, the flexible mom who is suddenly free to read them a story, play a game with them, etc.

In comes dh at the end of his trip, weary and possibly queasy, feeling very needy for dw's* attention which the dc are not ready to share. During his time away, dh misses his dw and dc (depending on the length of the trip) until the very memory becomes distorted. What he longs for is not the family-as-they-are, but an ideal dream family of his own making, a family without faults.

By the time he returns, dw has grown tired of the added responsibilities of answering emails, phone calls, and drop-in visitors on top of caring for the house and kids. By now the dc are taking advantage of her good nature until she's sick of the whole thing. She longs for dh's return - not the return of the real flesh and blood dh, mind you, but the ideal dream man without faults.

If this were a piece of fiction, we would say dh's return is the climax of the story involving a tremendous clash in which expectations are dashed all over the place in an ungodly all-around reality check.

The children, who are no longer quite so dear, miss the subtle hint that they must stop badgering Mom who is relinquishing her push-over-ness. Meanwhile Dad wants them to consult him before going out, meals begin to include yucky things like salad and vegetables again, and everyone is out of sorts as a result of the inevitable discord between the now-two parents, and chaos reigns until the former norm is restored.

Have I come close to pegging the situation? I may or may not be speaking from personal experience, *cough* but I will share a few tips I've learned along the way.

1. First, keep routines the same whether Dad is home or not. No “Yee-haw, let's be slobs and not clean house until the last day,” and no eating ice cream and calling it dinner!

2. Spend the time dh is away listing all the reasons you appreciate him, empathizing with him for always carrying the weight of responsibility for everything financial, mechanical, electrical, spiritual, and otherwise.

3. Explain dh's plight with the dc, and plan for his return by possibly play-acting the role of the ideal dw and dc he misses -- at least for the first day or so. Delay the reality check as long as possible, or make sure it happens gradually.

4. Practice honoring Dad while he's gone.

5. Do NOT dump a list of grievances on poor dh the minute he walks in the door, no matter how many appliances broke down while he was gone.

6. Take care of as many disasters as you can before he gets back, especially things like changing the gas tank and relighting the hot water heater so he can get cleaned up before discovering any major problems.

Oh, and most importantly, pray. Pray before, during, and after dh returns. What else would y'all add to the list? Please add your comments below.

IRL* Truly ashamed that the scenario I painted was not as hypothetical as I'd like to pretend.

Mistaking a Mercedes for a Toyota

2011-05-11T00:00:00.001-06:00

In the midst of a crazy week, humor reappeared unexpectedly, providing a few laughs for unsuspecting bystanders. Last Monday while running errands in the city, I almost ran off with the wrong husband. The sidewalk was extremely narrow, and when a car pulled up close beside me, somehow I got it in my scattered brain that my dh* [see "Jamie Jo Speak" in sidebar] had arrived to pick me up.

It's a good thing the door was locked. A man in another car further up the road, who turned out to be dh, was honking to divert my attention just as I was leaning down to see why on earth my husband-who-wasn't-my-husband was refusing to unlock the passenger door. A handsome middle-aged man shrugged and smiled apologetically, instantly shaking me from my daze.

On Thursday, dh and I were telling a friend about my many episodes of not being very observant when it comes to cars, how in high school I offended a rich boy by mistaking his Mercedes for a Toyota, and how not so many years ago I drove my mom's new car to the grocery store without noticing the color or make of the car in the dark garage before leaving, only to panic in the parking lot after shopping when I realized I no clue which car was "mine."

The very next day after recounting these embarrassing stories, Friday night, I was helping the same friend with a Mother's Day outreach to pregnant moms at a Christian birth center. She lent me keys so I could get supplies from her car. Going to the street, I went straight to the car with the Texas license plate (something I do notice!), and was frustrated that the key did not fit in the lock. Figuring I only had the ignition key, I squinted (minus reading glasses) to locate the unlock icon on the key ring (a handy trick I learned when I lost my mom's car). Even that didn't work.

As I stood there obviously perplexed, an amused spectator kindly pointed out that each time I pressed the unlock button, another car—a red car nothing remotely like the one I was attempting to open—would flash its headlights. Oops. What are the odds of having two cars parked on the same street in Oaxaca with Texas plates? The man, however, looked at me like I was nuts. Who in the world doesn't notice the difference between a red and a.... I still couldn't tell you the color of the first car. It was some strikingly non-red color like blue or silver or gray.

A while back we were discussing the question "How do you keep from losing you?" We were referring to the person we used to be before going to the field. Incidents like these prove that maybe I haven't lost "me" as much as I thought. I've grown and changed through the trials and challenges life has supplied, and hopefully the essence of who I am is more Christ-like than before, but deep down I am still the same space cadet* I was as a teen. Like certain pesky sins, some traits plague us throughout our life, no matter where we live.

IRL* Then again, maybe it's a wonder I haven't lost myself; I lose enough other things!

*What we used to call scatterbrains before they invented ADD.

Blog On

2011-05-04T00:00:00.002-06:00

Normally problems go away after a few weeks, or I at least gain some spiritual insight in the midst of them. Sadly this is not one of those times. The house remains stinky, the summer heat is increasing, the flies are multiplying, and dust is everywhere. The various unsuccessful attempts to solve the plumbing problems have just made the house a wreck. Still life goes on.

Do you want to know how I spent my weekend when I wasnʼt killing flies, lighting candles, and sweeping up the dust and debris?

On Saturday I spent hours of glorious solitude (after successfully ridding my room of the kids with the old “Go ask your dad!” trick)... Are you ready for this? After watching videos of the royal wedding, I spent my weekend reading blogs.

Since apparently I am still at a loss for any personal lessons learned from my current trials (besides perseverance), I thought Iʼd share the wisdom of some fellow bloggers.

Criticizing our hosts or learning from them? From a blog called Olive Tree: Growing Green in God’s House.

Swimming in New Waters by Marilyn Yocum (... fighting procrastination … or at least thinking about it). Don’t you love her byline? Here is a poignant quote from this particular post:

TRUE ‘culture shock’ occurs -
I learned at a conference in February -
when you are in that new and unfamiliar place,
when you are there to stay
and are not returning (at least any time soon),
when it is your new dwelling place
and you must learn to swim in new waters.
There is no
holding your breath until it’s over,
so you better learn to breathe
in the midst of it.

(That’s what I’m learning about stinko houses; you can’t hold your breath forever!)

Belonging by Inky’Spot (Musings of a Missionary Mom), an IRL friend of mine here. One quote from her that sticks in my mind: Two plus years living here does not a man from the pueblo make.

Polarized Lenses, from a blog called Joy’s Graffiti (Count it all, Joy) by another IRL friend in Mexico, a mom raising a special needs adopted son on the mission field.

The could’a, would’a, should’a game from a blog called The River into Words (… a journey from safety to risk, and all places in between …). The title says a lot, doesn’t it?

We call it good by Koodaigirl (… simple thoughts from one of God’s girls).

Living a Powerful Story: Being Myself from a friend whose blog title I love: Sitting on a Cactus Smiling ... (Life… its joys, pains, pressures, blessings sometimes feels like sitting on a cactus smiling … observing life through the window of my heart.)

My Life as a Tour Guide by A Common Woman (living an uncommon life). This one cracked me up. I’ve been there, done that one many times, answering the same exact questions over and over, never knowing the real answer, but trying to sound like the expert people expect me to be.

And last, but not least, I’ve enjoyed reading the new Yellow Dress WOTH blog. I highly recommend you add her to your blog list.

In case I need a harmless diversion next week, please leave me a comment linking some helpful or humorous blog that you enjoy. If you are a blogger yourself, feel free to link a particular post you’ve written that you would be willing to share.

IRL*sharing our lives, one post at a time.

Am I Alone in This??

2011-04-27T00:00:00.003-06:00

This week I literally have nothing worth saying. I started out answering a common question we have all pondered, and in the process of answering it, became too emotionally involved and found that I need more time to search my heart for a proper response that is not silly or trite.

The question, just to get you thinking, is this:

"How do you respond when your closest friends and your own family seemingly do not support your ministry?"

Mind you, the question is not necessarily about finances, but also in prayerful support, visits, and emails. Each of these could take up a whole blog post. What I want to somehow acknowledge is that yes, it hurts when we have certain expectations that are not met. It would be easy to give some platitude about "trusting God and looking to Him alone" or to just be silly and quote a phrase I heard from a movie I never saw: "Maybe they're just not that into you." However neither of these approaches quite address the issue.

A friend just recently told me about the frustration of sending emails before a furlough asking people to let her know if they want to get together while she is home. Then no one responds. How can that not be received as a personal wound? We could explore lots of reasons why people don't call, don't write, don't offer hospitality, don't give a love offering or pledge monthly support. We could give all our friends the benefit of the doubt, saying each one has their own ministries stateside, or outside ministries they support, but does that erase the effect on our hearts?

What about when you desperately need a certain amount of money for a critical need, and you think you have plenty of friends that surely would each give a small amount until the need is met, and then no one does? How do you keep trusting God and not feel resentful that people do not respond? They don't send an email assuring you of prayers, they don't send a check, and in fact you wonder if they even read your emails. For many of us, this is reality.

We all have seen what loving supportive friends look like, and we all long for that. Some of us are blessed with a bunch of them. Others are not.

I'd like to hear from your own experience on this subject. Feel free to write your story anonymously in care of our editor, Cindy.

IRL*sometimes the closest to you can seem the most distant.

Blessed Are

2011-04-20T00:00:00.002-06:00

In contrast to the “Poor Jamie Jo” thread I’ve been weaving here, I want to shift gears and change my focus. After all, if a stinky house and backed up plumbing are my only complaints, I am truly blessed.

Or am I?

The American view of blessing is health and safety and prosperity. But is that biblical?

How easy it is to claim I trust God when I know that I always have options, no matter how dire and unbearable my circumstances become. If a medical emergency arises or disaster strikes, my family could be evacuated from Mexico. Our insurance would provide financial assistance at any specialty hospital of our choosing.

How easy it is to declare that God will take care of me when I know that friends and family around the globe have money in the bank and open hearts and homes. Homelessness is not a huge risk in my life. Being a Christian is actually to my advantage. The body of Christ is a sweet consolation during trials.

The true heroes of the faith are the modern day Hebrews 11 believers, those who pay a high price for calling themselves Christians, those who are violently persecuted for their beliefs, who have few if any material possessions, and no rich friends or American passport to aid them.

This past week I was humbled to meet one such hero. Hermano Hugo is an indigenous pastor who has been beaten, thrown in jail, and later run out of town. His crops were stolen, his home destroyed, and the church burned to the ground. Hugo and the other believers have forgiven their enemies and chosen to return to rebuild their homes to bring the Light to a very dark corner of Oaxaca.

After ten years of marriage, Hugo lost the one earthly support that remained. His beloved 27-year-old wife and partner in ministry died last week. Her memorial service was a graphic illustration of Isaiah 61:3: as they put on a garment of praise, God began giving them “beauty for ashes” and “the oil of joy for mourning.” Through their tears they sang exuberantly about heaven.

In the midst of his own sorrow, Hugo rejoiced that his unsaved neighbors could hear a clear presentation of the Gospel that day. The death of his wife provided the perfect opportunity to hold an evangelistic meeting among the very ones who had persecuted the Christians.

In my thinking, Hugo is the one who is blessed. In the words of Jim Elliot, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”

With Easter coming up, I’ve been meditating on Philippians 3:7-11, giving a lot of thought to the idea of knowing Christ in the power of His resurrection and also in His suffering.

IRL*Come what may, it will be worth it all when we see Jesus.

El Stinko

2011-04-13T00:00:00.002-06:00

Life literally stinks sometimes. Is that a revelation to you? This past week has been one of the granddaddy stinko weeks of all times for me.

After one of my earlier posts about how average I am, just one of the crowd in so many ways, I must admit one exceptional feature I possess that is not always a blessing. My sense of smell is amazingly acute. This can prove helpful when there is a gas leak or something burning. The family teases that I can predict the milk is going sour two days in advance.

This “gift” is not so welcome when diapers (obviously) need changing and baby’s mother is oblivious or smelling-impaired. My sense of smell is likewise not appreciated when rain dampens the neighbor’s barnyard within spitting distance of our carport, and the breeze sends the odor wafting in my kitchen window.

Being pregnant proved a gagful experience for me living in a foreign land with unfamiliar scents assaulting my nose daily. The worst was walking by certain walls formerly used as a public urinal. Maybe some of you can relate?

Body odors remain a challenge. Now that our hottest month has arrived I struggle to ignore the smelly people I encounter in close quarters like on buses. Sadly I have a reputation among my children’s friends who have been known to purposely shower before coming to my house for a movie night or to practice in the chime choir I direct. I’ve got to work on ignoring my nose.

This week was a nightmare with nasty plumbing disasters galore. You can see photos on my personal blog lest you think I am exaggerating. The worst was when our ecological waterless composting toilet malfunctioned, and the liquid matter had to be drained bucket by bucket. While the hatch was opened, the entire house stank to high heaven (as we say in Texas). We opened windows, turned on fans, lit candles, and sprayed air freshener, but still it was disgustingly rank.

To make matters worse, when we attempted to wash the towels and rugs that had gotten soiled in the process of handling that crisis, the washing machine didn’t drain properly, and instead of going out, somehow got rerouted and nasty water started gurgling up through the bathroom sink and tub. Gray water reeks almost as bad as black water.

Oh, I’m killing myself retelling it. What is my purpose? Partly I am shamelessly begging for sympathy. Say it all together now: “Poor Jamie Jo!” Then again, I have pledged to share the good, the bad, and the ugly here. This week it just happens to be stinky AND ugly.

IRL*Meanwhile my prayer is that my life would be a sweet aroma and not a stench in the nostrils of God.

Piecing Together Contentment

2011-04-06T00:01:00.002-06:00

On my good days I wake up with a grateful heart, pondering my rich legacy. Mom gave me a love for books and music, Dad a love for work and quality furniture, Grandmother a love of fine art, Nana a love of flowers and hospitality. From all sides I learned to love God, love family, and to love life.

With these gifts and so many more, I am content. On my good days.

Other days, not so much. On those days discontentment sneaks in with her wicked companions of jealousy and selfishness. That's when I throw (or used to throw) a royal pity party, grumbling over my lack of family heirlooms and other sacrifices related to living this cross-cultural life.

After twenty years of struggle, (at least I think) I have finally overcome this very nasty habit of wishing I lived in the U.S. so my house could be filled with antiques and loving reminders of my grandmothers. I am truly happy for my siblings who all have lovely things to stir happy memories.

Sometimes I look at the small pieces I received from my grandmothers' estates, and pray that nothing happens to them. However one day I returned home to find that an overly zealous maid had thrown a priceless pre-Civil War era family quilt into the washing machine, shredding it beyond repair. That was a liberating moment for me.

What I discovered was that losing my precious quilt did not remove a single happy memory of my grandmother. The bottom line is that I much prefer memories to things. When I want to see tangible objects that trigger memories, I can visit my mom and siblings in Texas.

However, my own children will have little of monetary value to fight over when I am gone. Hopefully I will have succeeded in passing down to my children the heritage I cannot deny having received in full: a love of God, a love of family, and a love of life itself. This past week my youngest son gave his heart and life to Jesus. The one gift I couldn't give was finally received. With that I am abundantly content. Until...

Until I consider my future grandchildren, and how they will likely be scattered all over the globe, sharing very few memories together with me. That does make me sad. My prayer is that at least they will inherit the greatest gift of adoption and salvation from their true Father. Then I would be happy….

IRL*Contentment is such an illusive possession.

CHAOS: Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome

2011-03-30T00:00:00.005-06:00

Giving people the benefit of the doubt, another viable reason people don’t have us over is that maybe, just possibly, their homes are a mess. It’s a thought. Flylady calls it CHAOS—Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. In fact I'm suffering from CHAOS myself right now.

Being married to a ~~neatnik~~ tidy husband, my ~~sloppy~~ creative approach to housekeeping had to be somewhat modified. Early on I realized that my ~~scatterbrainedness~~ temperament type was not going to work as an excuse for long. I read Side-tracked Home Executives: From Pigpen to Paradise by Pam Young and Peggy Jones, and made up my own system for tidying up the house without making Jim [dh*] insane.

I vowed to never again lose eyeglasses and keys. A huge blessing was having free radial keratotomy surgery on my eyes. After my vision was corrected, I no longer directed the daily game of “Hunt for Mommy’s Glasses.” When the computer fonts started mysteriously shrinking (once I hit forty), I succumbed to reading glasses, but I seldom lose them. I simply hide them everywhere. I leave a pair in every room of the house. That, too, makes my dh* a tad crazy, but he doesn’t complain [much].

In order to prevent lost keys, I systematically put them on a particular hook in the kitchen as soon as I walk in the house. When I am out, the keys go in my right front pocket. When I am in town using a parking garage, I always put the ticket in my back right pocket. My cell phone goes in my left front pocket. When I’m wearing a skirt without pockets, I am in trouble. At home I am almost as compulsive about where I put certain things. In fact, I never noticed this before, but I’ve become a bit obsessive compulsive to compensate for my tendency toward scatterbrainedness.

Until now, that is.

Dh* hired some guys to cover our ugly cracked cement floors with tile. This project required emptying each room and closet one by one while the men worked. We're talking seventeen years' worth of accumulated treasures. Ugh.

This month I realized how systematic I usually am. My little routines all went haywire. I’ve become a certifiable ADD scatterbrain again. No order anywhere. All my compensating techniques are out the window (while the flies and dust are coming in the doors the workers never close). How does a reformed space cadet slob keep from sliding down that slippery slope to old bad habits?

To stop the pendulum from swinging from ADD to OCD and back again, I am clinging to the Holy Spirit to again take control of my temperament. Impulsive and compulsive are both dangerous zones. Meanwhile I'm thankful for tips and encouragement from the SHEs (Sidetracked Home Executives) on their website, and from Flylady. (If only Flylady could help me get rid of all the flies in here!)

How about you?

IRL*Do you need Flylady to rescue you so you can be hospitable again?

Garbage and other Silly Games

2011-03-23T00:00:00.004-06:00

As a spin-off of last week's discussion, the following are true stories showing how false expectations might hinder selfless ministry. The only danger in giving specifics is that the offenders might be offended. I won't name any names, and if you think I am talking about you or someone you know, please be reassured that I harbor no hard feelings. It is with grace and humor that I recall these incidents.

Back in 1989, I was still in the beginning of my parenting and missionary years. My extrovert self was still alive and well, and I suffered from loneliness while living in a remote village. I took full advantage of the time we were assigned to live and work in Guatemala City. That one year, I delighted in opening our home to others, and decided that I should extend hospitality to those who might need it the most.

Whenever Jim was out of town, I would invite the single gals over for a game night. I loved putting the three babies to bed early and then setting out snacks to enjoy a frivolous evening of "garbage" with friends. One time in particular it was a riot with many hearty laughs. Jim's mom was visiting, and she is always good for a fun evening.

It didn’t bother me [much] that they never reciprocated, since of course I wasn't single. Subsequently I got a phone call about another "garbage" night at a certain apartment. To think I was being invited out! Maybe they really were accepting me as their friend.... Mentally I had already hired a sitter and was out the door. No, then the caller went on to say they were wondering if my dmil* (see sidebar: Jamie Jo Speak) could join them. Honest to Pete. (My southern mama thought surely I made this story up.) I've laughed about this ever since.

More recently a man in our small group asked if I might throw a dinner party in honor of his wife's birthday. I was more than happy to accommodate. Having no expectations that anyone should play by silly rules, I could laugh when this same couple later borrowed my folding table and chairs so they could have a dinner party at their house. You guessed it. I wasn't invited.

In that case, I was almost flattered that they could freely invite others to dinner without fearing I might take offense. I am truly thankful people don't just include me from a sense of obligation, and I am thrilled to see people showing hospitality to others I suspect need it a lot more than I do at this season of life.

The new "me" we talked about last month isn't the party animal she used to be, and if I'm ever lonely, I can certainly pick up the phone and invite someone over. I shudder to think how miserable I would be if I hadn't discovered the source of my discontent was faulty social expectations.

IRL*Inviting but not "expecting" you to socially connect with me here!

My Southern Little Mind

2011-03-16T00:00:00.029-06:00

Here is my latest epiphany: not everyone plays by the same rules.

A high value where I come from is "to not be beholden to anyone." That just means we never want to owe anyone a debt of gratitude. It's a sort of payback society in which every act of kindness or hospitality is acknowledged, if not actively reciprocated. It's not required, but somehow everyone knows that it's expected.

No one ever taught me this, but I "caught" it by observation. I watched my mom phone people to say "what a lovely time we had at your house for supper last night!" I listened when other people called her, as she responded predictably, "It was our pleasure. We sure enjoyed having you. And thanks for the thoughtful hostess gift. Y'all sure didn't have to do that!" Thus I learned the rules.

What got me into trouble was assuming that everyone had been raised accordingly and then judging each infraction as a "social blunder."

In the early years in Guatemala I drew some ugly and hasty conclusions that in retrospect I realize were inaccurate. I mistakenly thought people didn't like me because

1. They never phoned to say they enjoyed my hospitality, and

2. They never invited us back.

In my southern little mind, the game ended there, since etiquette prevented me from further initiating social interaction. Clearly it was the other person's turn.

None of this was a conscious thought on my part, but simply an invisible, unspoken factor in my fledgling friendships in the missionary community. "Doing unto others as you would have them do unto you” meant not inviting anyone over for a second time. Since I wouldn't want to be beholden to anyone, I wouldn't put others in that position either.

Once I analyzed this silly game, I gladly stopped playing it.

On further examination, I think missionaries from all cultural backgrounds get so accustomed to being on the receiving end of people's generosity that they never attempt to "even the score." Even I am guilty. I do send a thank-you note or email to acknowledge an occasional gift from a new donor, but I can't possibly keep up with all our regular supporters except with monthly updates and photos on my blog.

Some of our partners in ministry are southern-bred folks with a keen sense of what they consider good and bad manners, and surely I have offended them by not playing by the rules. For that I am truly sorry.

My only defense is that on the mission field, I receive from some (supporters in the U.S.) and give (hospitality, finances, etc.) to others. It's not a direct payback. My philosophy now is that all I receive is a gift from God, and therefore it is to God I owe the debt of gratitude. I make small payments on my account when I, in turn, bless others or simply praise and thank Him daily. Regardless of my meager attempts, I can never repay my debt to Him.

Even though I am inexcusably a slacker in the thank-you note department, my gratitude is sincere. I’m grateful to God and to the individuals and churches He uses to bless us, and through us, to bless the people of Mexico and beyond.

IRL*Grateful, always.

Too many friends?

2011-03-09T07:39:00.001-07:00

The day my first friend from prison was released, I realized something. I hate losing friends. Even though I was thrilled for Rosa to return to her family in Guatemala, I knew I would miss seeing her at our Friday Bible study together. Worse, I knew I would not likely ever see her again this side of heaven.

For those of you who grew up as global nomads, you may think it absurd to waste such needless tears over a prisoner getting released, but I grew up in a Texas neighborhood where people were not transient. In fact, I vividly recall the shock and disappointment when Susie Darby moved away after the third grade. (I still remember her name.) Good-byes were simply not part of my childhood. Even my grandparents lived locally.

At this point I have a long list of coworkers who have come and gone, first in Guatemala and later in Mexico. Many of them I have dredged back up via Facebook, not just for curiosity, but because I genuinely care what is happening in their lives. Same thing with really old-time friends from high school.

For many years I wondered whatever happened to a couple of boys who used to tease me mercilessly in Spanish class, thinking how they would laugh to imagine me living in a Spanish speaking country for the past 25 years. Now they are friends on Facebook. I love that. They were just silly classmates who made my life interesting for one hour a day for a single year in high school, but they left their mark.

My list is long. People whose lives have touched mine and then moved on. Last week we hosted a short-term team with four members who were here a couple of years ago. The one was amazed that I remembered him giving me some reading glasses. The other was impressed that I remembered she preferred tea to coffee. Is that really so odd? I just like people.

You might even say I collect friends. It's true. I am blessed with a rich, priceless collection of fascinating, unique friends. Each one has left a mark on my life, and I love each and every one.

Once the WOTH forums become a reality, I will add many of you to my list, sharing your joys and sorrows, praying for you, and honestly loving you without ever meeting in person.

Last Friday I attended a going-away party for a Dutch couple who are in their 80's. Each time they come to volunteer in Mexico, I am sad to see them leave, knowing that someday they will not return. I hate permanent good-byes most of all. Swapping stories and laughing together that night, I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude to God for this precious gift of friendship. Earlier in the day I had experienced the same feeling with the local ladies at Bible study. Finally they, too, are truly becoming my friends.

Some would counsel me to let the past go and just enjoy the people right in front of me. I certainly have plenty of friends close by. But I never can seem to do that. My earlier friends are all part of the "me" I have become. I cherish each and every one.

Back to the question in the title, is it possible to have too many friends?

IRL* If keeping friends is a spiritual gift, maybe that’s mine.

Am I lost?

2011-03-01T23:03:00.004-07:00

How do you keep from losing “you”?

This isn’t technically an “Ask Jamie Jo” question, but since no questions were submitted before our editor retreated to Dubai, I will address this very complicated issue that I’ve been mulling over for several months. An e-maginary * (refer to Jamie-Jo Speak in sidebar) friend in Africa asked this on a different online forum, but I’d like to open the discussion here as well.

Obviously many of us were formerly identified with certain occupations, roles, hobbies, and personality traits that have shifted or become hidden on the mission field. In one of my very first posts on this blog I shared about my 20-plus years of living in obscurity. Back then I did feel that the very essence of who I am had been completely stripped away. Even my southern drawl was becoming less pronounced as I mingled with a wider sampling of English speakers.

I guess what I’m saying first is that yes, it is a process of dying to self and becoming almost invisible. For years I was Jim’s wife, missionary, and “mother to many” without much of a profile to call my own. During that season, though, I was changing into a new me. Hopefully it is an improved, upgraded version, fading on the outside, but subtly shining from the inside out, with or without my old panache.

Rather than giving you a bunch of tips for how to keep from “losing yourself” (which might include helpful suggestions like digital scrapbooking, journaling, and using the creative gifts God has given you), I’d rather add a question of my own.

If you do happen to lose a bit of yourself in ministry to others, would that be such a bad thing?

It’s like when a friend helps you during a major move to another house or location. While you carefully pack the senseless junk that is neither useful nor particularly lovely, your friend - who has no sentimental attachment to your clutter - gently rebukes you: “Why would you want to keep that?”

Yes indeed. Why would you want to keep that?

Maybe it’s time to let go of who we think we are, and let the Master Potter have a go at remaking us more into His image. As my WOTH writer friend Shelley pointed out, we are actually blessed in losing ourselves. “For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

IRL* Reminded again that my real life is hidden with Christ

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Join me today in lifting up those attending the conference in Dubai, that they would be particularly encouraged as they serve under the radar, purposely hidden. We won't likely see a slide show with photos of these dear women, but let's keep them in our prayers.

Daily Annoyances & Hidden Treasures

2011-02-23T00:00:00.005-07:00

Wouldn’t you know it? After “only” having a cactus needle in my thumb, then real troubles started. Nothing serious, but more costly for sure. I am just glad they were all impersonal (mechanical/electronic) problems. I’d much rather replace a broken washing machine than to try to fix a relationship rift. Wouldn’t you?

This week I thought I would share with you my list of things to pray for my friends on the field. Feel free to share this with your friends and family back home. If you find something I have omitted, please add to the list in the comment section. These are in random order.

Encouragement in God's Word daily

Evidence of spiritual fruit being produced

Genuine love and compassion for the people

Satisfaction of accomplishing each task she is called to do

Someone to call a friend, to share burdens

Grace in family relationships

Clear communication with supporters and home office

Unity with coworkers

Adequate medical care when needed

Flexibility

Wisdom in setting priorities and diligence in keeping them

Finances

To remain hidden from the enemy

Adjustment/ continual readjustment to the culture

Salvation for unsaved loved ones

To not weary in well-doing

Willingness to suffer when needed - keeping eyes on the unseen reward

Cheerfully making necessary sacrifices

Victory over daily annoyances (noise, dirt, unreliable amenities, lack of conveniences, etc.)

Good relationships with local authorities (if applicable)

Energy, endurance

Spiritual renewal

Awareness, repentance, and freedom from besetting sins

To pray without ceasing

Rejoice in all circumstances

Sensitivity to the Holy Spirit

Daily needs (devotional time, rest, diet, exercise, solitude, companionship, etc.)

Discernment and diplomacy to proclaim the truth

Passion for serving others

Emotional stability

Health and safety of family on the field and of grown children / aging parents in the home country

Protection in travel

Hidden treasures: daily reminders of God's love, mercy, and grace

Balance of responsibilities (family and ministry outside the home)

Provision of educational needs for children, particularly those with special needs

IRL* I’m praying for each of you today, dear Women of the Harvest.

Don’t forget to submit your "Ask Jamie Jo" questions for next week’s blog (see sidebar for details)!

Paper Cuts

2011-02-16T00:00:00.005-07:00

Did you ever see the movie “The Main Event”? An unforgettable scene has replayed itself in my mind these past thirty years. Ryan O’Neal and other prizefighters are recounting past injuries, oblivious to Barbra Streisand who is trying desperately to contribute to the conversation. One is telling how his manager had to throw in the towel after he was beaten to a bloody pulp. Another embellishes a fight where part of his lip was hanging by a thread, and the manager snipped it off so the fight could continue.

Barbra’s head goes from one end of the table to the other listening to the gory tales until finally she ventures in with what she considers a humdinger. She gets their attention and then declares, “Once I was licking an envelope and I got a paper cut right on my tongue!” The guys all stop talking and stare at her dumb-founded.

That’s sort of how I felt at a Bible study in north Dallas, when someone seriously asked for prayer because the tape deck was stolen out of his fully insured BMW. It was all I could do to not laugh out loud. Generally I am cast in the opposite role. I learned early not to grumble about not having hot water, recalling how the old-timers used to haul water up from the river to heat over an open fire.

Now once again I am Barbra Streisand with the paper cut. At my weekly Bible study with the local ladies, I listen to their hair-graying experiences with evil personified. As they share about family members involved in witchcraft and drunken rages, I fall silent; humbled again by the hell on earth that is their daily existence.

Likewise my heart goes out to those of you living in sensitive countries with trials you dare not mention. I keep praying that my dream of an online forum will soon become a reality, where you can support and encourage each other more freely, comparing battle wounds (while secretly snickering at my outrageous attempts to contribute).

Again this week, my complaints are petty. Literally I have a thorn in my flesh that is miniscule but annoying. I am on a doctor-monitored diet requiring a daily green juice containing nopal, a locally grown cactus that is high in fiber, helping to balance blood sugar levels. Several weeks ago I bought some that was supposedly already stripped of spines, but one invisible hair of a thorn poked me in the thumb. I never could get it out. It pricks when I hold a pen and bugs me when I type.

Sometimes it’s the little things that cause the most distress. I handle the big crises fine, and then some tiny paper cut throws me over the edge.

IRL* No way am I asking prayer for this festering thumb, but hey, on a positive note, I’ve lost ten kilos so far!

[Editor’s note: Please send in your questions about your cross-cultural conundrums for the “ASK JAMIE JO” post.]

Paranoids are People, Too

2011-02-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

Exactly one day after sitting serenely in cap and gown with thousands of other identical Baylor graduates, I traveled to Thailand, thus beginning a career of being “different.” From the early days as a single teacher in an Asian culture where my height, skin, hair, and eye color were a novelty—to later years in Guatemala as a mother with a string of blonde children attached to me, I was destined to stand out in any crowd.

For two or more years at a time, I used to long for a brief respite in my home country of Texas where I could finally become invisible again, blending effortlessly with the culture. At one point, I confessed to a friend that I was becoming paranoid. Even in America, people seemed to be staring at me as some kind of oddity. My friend tried to conceal her amusement as she gently suggested that maybe the stares might have something to do with the now-seven children tagging along wherever we traveled, when 2.3 was the average number in a “normal” family.

By the time the kids had finally grown responsible enough to occasionally stay home and babysit the younger siblings so that I could freely roam public places, I still was not inauspicious, even in the U.S. Rather than keeping a low profile, as I had always dreamed, I was recognized as “that missionary with the big family” who had spoken here or there, particularly in Northern Ohio.

I’ll never forget one incident at a thrift store in Cleveland. After an episode of hollering at the younger ones to stay corralled in a general location and then arguing with an older child about a heavily worn item that was not a good value, a woman approached me with wonder in her eyes, exclaiming, “Why, you were the speaker at our Ladies’ Tea back when…!” I have no idea how much of my tirade she had witnessed, but I was mortified. That was just one of many times God did not vaporize me on the spot as I had wished.

During one of our summer mini-furloughs, I was tired of being recognized wherever I went and a bit weary of people in general. One of our last stops was Orlando, where our home office is located. Back then I only knew a handful of people outside of Missionary Ventures in that part of Florida. Jim graciously agreed to stay at the mission house and watch the children so I could go to the mall and “be invisible” for the evening. Coming out of a lingerie store, I heard my name being called. I couldn’t believe it! Of the six or eight people I knew in the city, one was there at the Orlando Mall, and it was none other than Steve Beam, the founder of our mission.

My lot in life is to stand out and be different. Like it or not, I must guard my words, actions, and attitudes because others are noticing. Maybe it’s just as well. Whether I am a “farang” (foreigner) in Thailand, a “gringa” in Guatemala, or now a “güera” in Oaxaca (pronounced “weda in wah-HAH-kah”), I am bound to be watched by those who know I am attempting to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.

IRL* Aiming to be a good ambassador for Christ whether I’m invisible or infamous.

My Panache: Where did it go?

2011-02-02T00:00:00.004-07:00

I miss my panache. Isn’t that a great word? It comes from a French word with the connotation of flamboyant manner and reckless courage. It stirs up images of Cyrano de Bergerac in the play of the same name. However, unlike this fictional character, I don’t seem to be keeping my panache intact.

Cyrano's last words: " ... yet there is something still that will always be mine, and when I go to God's presence, there I'll doff it and sweep the heavenly pavement with a gesture — something I'll take unstained out of this world ... my panache "

Maybe some of you imagine me to be a person who exudes confidence and flair, but you should have seen me earlier this month as I shriveled in the face of another cultural faux pas. I was anything but effervescent. Instead I was insecure and trying to shrink myself to a more acceptable size in this culture.

The occasion was a wedding in which I was to be the ring bearer. You read that right. Technically I was the “madrina” of the rings, which is supposed to be quite an honor. It means I was the sponsor for the bride and groom’s rings. In other words, I paid for the rings. That much I understood. However, I didn’t know what else that would entail.

Arriving at the church on time, I sat in an inconspicuous place and waited and waited. An hour later the bride and her family arrived, and the bride’s sister came and asked me what on earth I was doing sitting there. I was to process into the church and be seated in a place of honor on the front row.

Still in possession of the rings and uncertain what to do, I awkwardly walked into the church in solemn procession, feeling like a giant directly behind the bride’s parents who are both at least a foot shorter than I am.

Shortly into the ceremony the pastor asked the bride and groom what tokens they had, and they announced “rings.” The pastor looked over to me, and I nervously went up in front of a very packed church and handed the pastor the black velvet case from the jewelry store. He looked at me blankly, and then told me to open it. Oh, so I guess I was supposed to know that. Anyway then I went back and sat down, totally lacking in any degree of panache. I felt like a complete idiot. A rehearsal might have been helpful.

When the pastor asked for the next token, the “madrina” of the coins went up with a flourish of panache, and presented her token in a gorgeous, ornate little box. The next gift was presented in a decorative glass case, and another token was displayed on a silver platter. I soon learned that the rings were to have been presented in a similar way. Ack. How was I supposed to know? I cringe with the very memory of my publicly humiliating loss of panache.

IRL*You’d think this feeling of being an outsider would fade after 25 years, but it keeps returning.

My First "Ask Jamie Jo"

2011-01-26T00:00:00.004-07:00

My very first “Ask Jamie Jo” assignment, and I am stumped.

The general idea, of course, is that you will be able to ask your questions anonymously, and then I will post them on the forum, and people who are experienced can share their answers. Until forums become a reality, however, you are stuck with just my simple answers here on the blog.

Can I just post the question and then say “I don’t know” and then leave it to y’all to rescue me in the comment section? Nah, I will be brave and attempt a meager reply. But I trust you to help me out.

Here is the first question:

We are relatively new parents and are discovering that the parenting style in our country is very different from ours - to the point that we think it is destructive to children and families. How do we practice incarnational ministry (becoming part of the culture as much as we can) while at the same time choosing to go completely counter-culture in the way we raise our children? -- Flummoxed on the Field

Isn’t that a great question? What would you say to her, those who have been in her dilemma? Honestly this never affected me because I was fortunate to live and work in a place where my parenting style was not counter to the cultural norms. Being a stay-at-home mom for all these years was very much like the mothers in the neighborhood, except for the home schooling part.

As for practicing “incarnational” ministry, wow. What a great question.

My first response would be that it is more important to be like Jesus in everything you say and do. Whether you are like the culture you are embracing, or whether people around you understand your decisions regarding child rearing, your primary objective needs to remain obedience to God and faithfulness to His Word.

If your life exhibits love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control, you will be an inspiration to those around you, even if they think you are off your rocker the way you raise your children.

Trying to fit in sounds like a noble idea especially when you use the term “incarnational” but my advice is to be very careful that you stay close to the Lord and listen to the Holy Spirit. He will never lead you to do something destructive to your family or that would hinder the gospel message.

Now it’s your turn. Please expand upon my overly simplistic response.

IRL* Feeling a bit like a contestant on “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?” (see sidebar) where the answer isn’t necessarily yes. Can I copy someone’s answer after the fact?

"ASK JAMIE JO"

2011-01-19T14:38:00.005-07:00

Surprise unveiled! Yes, ladies, what we’ve been waiting for is this: a separate password-protected forum that will provide a more private place strictly for women serving cross-culturally, where we can get down to the nitty-gritty and discuss the things that concern us, stir our hearts, bug us, and make us laugh. [Editor's note: Although the forums are still in the research and development phase, we will keep you updated with the launch date. How could we stifle JJ's unabashed enthusiasm?]

In the meantime, I am proposing we have a monthly “Ask Jamie Jo” blog post where we post someone’s question or concern, and then have an open forum for you all to post your solutions or viewpoints. We'll use the current comment section to do that.

Don’t you love it? I sure hope you do, since I stated three times last week that you would.

The benefit of an “Ask Jamie Jo” question is to allow you to ask things you might not feel comfortable posting if you had to sign your name to it. Being in the line of work we are in does not prevent us from having occasional marital disputes or even (gasp!) personality clashes with our coworkers and conflicts within the Christian community. However we do need to be discrete in addressing these publicly. Thus, the “Ask Jamie Jo” feature. Once we get the forum up and going, "Ask Jamie Jo" will move there.

The forums will not be exclusively tied to this particular blog, but will provide a safe place for us to discuss articles from the onlineMagazine, movies and books we recommend, things we are learning from the WOTH Writer’s blog, etc. You could even “Ask Jamie Jo” about things I have written here. For instance, Cindy Blomquist was asking me last week for an update on the Friday afternoon Bible study I mentioned leading in Spanish. On the forum we can tie up loose ends like that.

Can you tell I am seriously jazzed about the potential for this new WOTH Forum?

In my spare time, I love to read the different blogs listed on Coffeegirl’s sidebar. It’s a way for me to connect with you and get to know you. The forum will make it even more personal. Blogging sometimes feels like speaking to an empty auditorium, but a forum is community. We may not always agree with each other, but we will learn to love each other better online and IRL as we see different sides of potentially hot topics.

Until the forums are up and running (pray for our dear techie guy in the WOTH office who got dumped with this great vision!), let’s start with our first “Ask Jamie Jo” blog post next week. Send your questions to Cindy (editor@womenoftheharvest.com), and she will select one for me to address next week. Let her know if it needs to be anonymous or if we can use your name. When needed, Cindy can sign your name appropriately like on Ann Landers and other columns, “Friendless in Mexico,” “Sleepless in Saigon,” “Snarky in Singapore.” Things like that.

IRL*Creating community EXCITES me!

I've Got a Secret

2011-01-12T00:00:00.004-07:00

Last week I had the pleasure of visiting my mom and family for a very brief few days in Dallas. It was wonderful to return to my roots and hear people who talk “raht” (right). The funny thing is that I spoke to two of my children on the phone while I was away, and both of them commented on my Texas accent. I slip right back into my old way of talking when I’m there.

That really has no deep spiritual application or meaning whatsoever. It’s just a trivial little confession while I am stalling and trying to hold my tongue. You see, (here comes the bigger confession), I am very, very bad at keeping secrets. That’s the truth. I’m better than I used to be, when I would insist “I can keep a secret; it’s the people I tell who can’t keep a secret!” But it’s still a struggle.

As long as I have a secret, I simply cannot keep my mind off it. I’ve started this post numerous times on a variety of topics, but everything in me is dying to blab a secret. I’m not sure the editor will let me spill the beans just yet. Darn. This is killing me. You will just love it. It’s right up there with the 35% discount off T-Tapp.

No, I will be good. I will not so much as give a hint until I’m granted official permission. Maybe for the right price…. No, not even then.

The best bribe you might have dangled would be a Kindle, since I’ve been hankering for one for quite a while. However, I got curious and opened a box my husband had ordered from Amazon that was shipped to my mom’s house, and found a Kindle inside, which I am almost certain will appear as a gift to me on my birthday next month. So don’t bother bribing me with a Kindle.

Whew. Now that I divulged the secret that I opened my birthday present before it was even wrapped, I think I can keep the other secret a little while longer. Now I’m off to pester Cindy and see if she will let me share the news next week. You will love it. Oh, I said that already.

For now I’m off to confide in my trusty journal, which is what I generally do when there is something I want to say but shouldn’t. It contains many secrets of my heart.

How about you? Any confessions you can share to keep my mind off the surprise?

IRL*You really are going to love it.

Tapping into the Future

2011-01-05T00:00:00.004-07:00

What a blessing to be able to look ahead at a mostly blank calendar year and affirm in advance that it will ALL be good. Come what may, blessings, tragedies, and petty problems alike, it can all be used to form me into the image of Christ.

If I make one New Year’s resolution each year, that’s what it is: that I might respond in a Christ-like way to every person and situation I face. Each December 31 I gladly watch the old year slip away with all my failures to accomplish my hope-filled resolution.

It’s a good thing I can’t see what lies ahead in 2011. If I knew, I would likely be tempted to fret or to manipulate events more to my liking. As it is, I can simply relax and let the story play out the way God intends, and only softly beg that it be relatively free of unwanted drama (head lice!) and suspense (financial uncertainty).

Last year I started the year like many of you with another familiar resolve, to get into better shape. I think I accomplished that, more or less, thanks to a homeopathic doctor in the city and Teresa Tapp. In spite of holiday splurging, I still weigh less today than I did a year ago.

If you haven’t heard of Teresa Tapp, go to her website for a sneak peek at the “Wellness Workout that Works.” I wouldn’t go so far as to imply you will lose two dress sizes in 4 weeks, as her book boasts, but I will agree that it is an ideal “anti-aging” workout that helps counter the daily stress of living cross-culturally. If you want one new workout idea for 2011, I can’t recommend T-Tapp highly enough.

For busy women serving cross-culturally in places where “going for a run” is frowned upon or laughed at, T-Tapp can be done in the privacy of your own bedroom. The best part is that it only takes 15 minutes a day to do the Basic Workout. There is a longer 40-minute Total Workout for the ambitious ones, but you will get results with the shorter version. Neither one requires special equipment or clothing.

Thanks to my friends on the Sonlight forum who inspired me to start “Tapping” about three and a half years ago. Since then quite a number of missionary friends here in southern Mexico have been doing this workout, too.

You may or may not see visible results, but I can guarantee that you will feel more energetic if you start Tapping in 2011. That’s my little New Year’s gift to you. See the sidebar for a special discount from Teresa Tapp and me.

IRL* Working out is only one of the ways I am being transformed.

It's Chime for Christmas!

2010-12-22T00:00:00.001-07:00

Merry Christmas from Jamie Jo and Women of the Harvest! Wherever you are, whether the weather outside is frightful or downright balmy, may you experience the true joy of the season, and may Jesus be very near and dear to your heart.

For some of you this may be your first Christmas away from extended family, and my heart goes out to you. This week may trigger more homesickness than happiness. That’s only natural. Here’s a (((cyber hug))) for those who secretly or outwardly wish you were elsewhere.

Take time to journal about your struggles this week. Later on you will be amazed to compare your current feelings with how far you have come. You might also figure out creative ways to make new Christmas traditions that will make it seem like Christmas each year, even though it’s never quite the same as Christmases of the past.

On my first Christmas overseas, I had one other single American friend who shared a summery holiday with me in Thailand. We listened to a bootlegged cassette of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” while sweat dripped on the Christmas cards we were signing. Being in a Buddhist country where there was no such celebration as Christmas was very odd. The only highlight was getting together with a small group of believers in a village church for an actual Christmas service.

I can count on one hand the number of Christmases I have spent north of the border in the past 24 years. For me, Christmas south of the border is the norm— poinsettias in full bloom in the yard, tamales and pozole served at the local church programs, fireworks, and warm weather.

Besides Christmas stockings and big parties (and all the baking involved with that), one other tradition I have maintained is directing a Christmas Chime Choir. Years ago I decided to invest a bit of inheritance money on a 3-octave set of chimes. My own children would never experience playing handbells in a big American church, but they could play chimes here in Mexico.

For about fourteen years, I have taught MKs to ring choir chimes, and now it is tradition to play for special services at Christmas time. Our signature piece is “Carol of the Bells.” For me, it literally rings in the Christmas season to fill my living room with two long banquet tables and young people making music together each week in anticipation of the holidays.

Christmas Eve will find me at a candlelight service with many other English-speaking families singing carols, ringing chimes, and watching the little kids act out the Nativity story while it is read aloud from Luke 2. Why? It’s tradition. I love tradition. I love the holidays. I hope you will, too.

IRL* Still missing my married sons and ddils*, but choosing to be joyful for all my many blessings this week, including my two college kids who are home.

Party @ Jamie Jo's : Y'all Come!

2010-12-15T00:00:00.008-07:00

As some of you have figured out, I live in a location with many missionary colleagues in close proximity. It’s my tradition to throw a big Christmas party every year. One neighbor loves to call me “the hostess with the mostest.” Sometimes I graciously thank her outwardly, while swallowing the ungracious responses that pop into my mouth. “Yeah, the most dishes to wash afterward, the most stains on my furniture, the most migraines the day afterward….”

When we were in Guatemala twenty-some-odd Christmases ago, I remember a certain hostess who fully expected young couples to hire a baby-sitter for parties at her house, which were clearly "for adults only." I used to take offense at her stance, but now I understand. I really do.

Equally clear is the memory of the family-friendly Christmas party I hosted that same year. I was aghast at one mother’s unruffled attitude as her son took a piece of chocolate cake and ground it into my rug with his little foot. She smiled innocently and said, "Boys will be boys" to which I retorted (with a less-than-genuine smile), "And mothers will be mothers and clean up after them!"

It's all well and good that children be allowed to be children as long as parents remain parents and don't leave the poor hostess such a huge disaster to clean up after the party's over. Within the missionary community, I'm afraid that isn't always the case, which is also why, I suspect, some people simply refuse to invite children into their homes. What a shame.

Now that I have no little ones of my own, I hope I have grown less peevish about spills and messes, but I admit I still need to work on my heart that cringes when children come over for parties. Too many memories.

Is it sinful pride that makes me crave a nice orderly house? Is it selfish to not want neighbor children to destroy my house? Or is it simply good stewardship to try to protect my belongings? After all, I know what agony we endured to find each and every piece of furniture and rug, which we carefully selected and brought from the city, and even the support necessary to buy them. I don’t know. There has to be a balance. All I have is a gift from the Lord, and on my good days, I acknowledge that it all belongs to Him. I want to claim none of it as my own.

Nothing challenges this resolve like a good old Christmas party. Next week I’ll have to have my ~~head examined~~ heart checked. Again. I just hope I can be gracious and not just act gracious. I hope the snarky remarks don’t even appear as a thought bubble over my head like in the cartoons.

IRL* The party is set for December 20. If you live close enough to come, you are welcome, kids and all!

Purl One, Knit Two Together

2010-12-08T08:31:00.012-07:00

Back in the early 1950's, my mom found a pattern for knitting a Christmas stocking for my older brother. That one project led to more than fifty years of Thomas family tradition as she proceeded to knit stockings for my sisters and me as we were born, and then for each of our spouses as they were added to the family. In all, my mom has lovingly created a keepsake for over thirty family members including her grandchildren, their spouses, and great-grandchildren.

My newest ddil,* Amy, received a stocking to match my son’s for a wedding present. The story I want to share is about the one stocking Mom didn't make. Jim and I had only been seeing each other a scandalously short time when it became apparent that our parallel life journeys were about to converge into one single path together.

I'll never forget the conversation we had with my parents, discussing the feasibility of a very low-key, informal wedding ceremony one week before Christmas (1984), with just the two of them as our witnesses. Dad thought this plan was greatly preferable to the alternative, which was for me to travel to Illinois with Jim to meet his family before we got married at a later date. Mom's only objection was a practical (though sentimental) one. She could not possibly knit Jim a stocking in only a few weeks, and it would be unfortunate to spend our first Christmas together without the tradition of matched stockings.

At that point, Jim innocently made a remark, obviously unaware of the significance of "the stocking" my mom was proposing to knit. "Not a problem," he declared simply. "I already have a stocking!" What I feared would turn into an unpleasant scene actually became an amazing confirmation of what we perceived to be God's confirmation of our December wedding date.It turns out that Jim's Aunt Betsy, back in 1953, had chosen the exact same stocking pattern and knitted him a Christmas stocking identical to the original Thomas family stockings from the same decade.

How's that for weird and wacky? True story!

Now it’s your turn. Care to share some Christmas memory with us in the comment section? We love stories!

IRL* Contemplating a new hobby during this next season of life as I face the reality that my 80-something-year-old mom may not live to see all my grandbabies outfitted with the family stocking.

Introspective Mini-Funk

2010-12-01T00:00:00.003-07:00

Who am I fooling? Here I had promised to be “real” with you, and then I find myself tippy-toeing around the issues I’m facing, tempted to sugarcoat them. Frankly I am feeling swamped. Too much to do, too little time….

Maybe some of you experience that this time of year. Thanksgiving is over, and the rest of the year flies in double time and ends before you’re ready. Particularly in December I become nostalgic and just want to scream at the clock to STOP, if not just slow down or even rewind a bit. At the very least I want time to stand still for an hour or so while I recover from the jet lag of zooming through seasons of life so fast.

Last week my baby turned twelve. That alone was enough to throw me into an introspective mini-funk. After 25 years of being a mother, I am beginning to see the end in sight. Just like the month of December, I know it’s going to speed by in fast motion. Meanwhile I am mourning the loss of four children who have grown up and moved on.

With so many serious crises in the world and people dying without knowing our Savior, it seems petty to complain when my life is so blessed, but that is the reality. It still hurts to face the holidays with only a partial family. I am thankful my two college kids will join us, but still, only seven of us around the table for Christmas dinner? That seems tragic somehow.

Now I understand how my own parents must have felt when I flew the coop for foreign lands. They never complained or made an issue of it, but mercy, this stinks! Back when I had four children under six years old, I used to laugh when those older missionary ladies would sigh and tell me, “Enjoy them, sweetie. They grow up so fast.” It made no sense back when my one goal was to teach them to tie their own shoes, but they were right.

Now that I have whiled away the morning whining over what can’t be changed, I really must get back to the “to do” list. The trouble with time speeding up all of a sudden is that I can’t find enough hours to properly prepare the Bible study in Spanish for Fridays. What was I thinking when I committed to do that?

Then there’s the progressive dinner for the MK teens I volunteered to help host, and the chime choir to direct for different Christmas programs, the short story I had hoped to submit for the WOTH Writer’s blog, and the prayer letter that needs to be written and sent before the end of the year. I expect some of you are in the same dilemma. Maybe you aren’t even reading this until weeks after it was posted. I understand.

IRL* Like it or not, December has begun, the fastest month of the year.

Another book suggestion for your Amazon wish list: A Lantern in Her Hand, by Bess Streeter Aldrich, my all-time favorite book. She “gets” the too-fast passage of time as well as the challenges of settling far from family and friends.

I'm Grateful

2010-11-24T00:00:00.004-07:00

First of all, thanks to Debbie Peck for the fun recipes and resources for Thanksgiving. What a fun encouragement that was. I’m assuming all of us are receiving the WOTH onlineMagazine and the subsequent email from the Editor, “In Between the Lines,” in which it appears. If not, click here.

Now to balance my more negative posts about head lice, car-sickness, and things we don’t take for granted, I want to give some serious thought to the many benefits of living exactly where we do. Your list will not necessarily look like mine, but I offer these to inspire your own. Please add yours in the comment section.

Here is a partial list I made for Thanksgiving (in random order).

I love the simplicity of life here. No junk mail, no telemarketers, and in fact, few phone calls in general. I enjoy the quality and quantity of family time without so many outside distractions. No sports practices or youth events requiring me to be a chauffeur. Cheap reliable public transportation means the kids can get around independently, even to school in the city three times a week.

Living close to our friends means even the youngest can walk back and forth to each other’s houses during daylight. After some upheaval earlier in the year, I am extremely thankful for no further incidents in our town, and that our kids are safe in their comings and goings.

One thing that remains on my list every year is my house. Being settled in my own home for almost 17 years is a tremendous blessing. I love that it is climate- controlled simply by opening and closing windows and drapes. Being adobe, it maintains the warmth or coolness without air-conditioning or heating.

Of course a huge bonus of living where we do is that it provides a meaningful purpose in life. The ministry opportunities alone are a tremendous blessing that short-term teams only glimpse. Even with the challenges and difficulties, we receive intangible benefits. Does that sound weird to say I am thankful for the very problems that cause me to grow more like Jesus?

After that horrible bout with E-coli, I am thankful for good health, which I do not take for granted. I am thankful to see the scales finally inching their way down after ten years of gradually going up. I’m thankful for affordable fresh fruits and vegetables available year-round.

As always, I am grateful for my family and friends, and for modern technology that helps us stay in touch. I love my family, and I thank the Lord daily that my children are all walking with the Lord, knowing so many heart-broken mothers who pray for this daily. I love the fact that we all still want to be together, even though we can’t.

And lastly, I adore each and every one of my very ~~odd~~ diverse friends, both near and far away. I’m thankful for my e-maginary friends on the Sonlight forums, and for my new WOTH friends (you!).

IRL*Gratitude is the gift I give to you.

Nit-Picking

2010-11-17T00:00:00.003-07:00

Nit-picking. What mental image does that conjure up? A persnickety mother nagging at her children for a job done not quite well enough? If so, I salute you! More than likely many of you see an instant play-back of a scene you never want to repeat.

Let’s talk about head lice. Makes you scratch just remembering it, doesn’t it? Sorry, but with Thanksgiving coming up, I find myself thanking the Lord for a year free from head lice. How many of you can join me in saying “Glory Hallelujah!”?

For those of you not similarly blessed in 2010, my sympathies go out to you. All I can say is that I’ve been there, done that, and DON’T want the t-shirt OR a photo. No one in my family would have dared take a picture of me looking like a Smurf with a trash bag covering my mayonnaise-slathered head.

Another memory forever stamped on my brain is of sitting with my daughter for hours at a stretch, inspecting her hair strand by strand, then tapping the comb on a white piece of paper. It was revolting to see the number of teeny lice and egg sacks that dropped from the comb, but I must admit there was something weirdly gratifying about hearing that little click when I crushed each live egg with the surface of my thumbnail.

Two vital items for every missionary’s first aid kit are tea tree oil and a good metal nit comb. Not to be superstitious or anything, but in my experience it’s like carrying an umbrella to ensure it won’t rain. Leave it at home, and you’ll wish you had it. We haven’t had a single outbreak since I bought mine.

A couple of years ago, we were (scratch, scratch) on the verge of leaving for a summer furlough when I discovered a lice infestation on my own head and my daughter’s, too. I was absolutely desperate to get rid of the little buggers to avoid sharing them with unsuspecting supporters and hosts in the U.S. There’s nothing funny about spreading head lice to friends from Texas to Ohio.

Consequently I tried every antidote known to man, first starting with the lice shampoo sold at the local pharmacy, proceeding to attempt every home remedy on the internet (to no avail), and finally resorting to something my local friends guaranteed would work. We sprayed Raid in a glass, mixed it with oil, and then slimed that on our heads until every louse and egg was dead.

It worked all right, but getting those toxins out of my system was a long expensive process. I don’t recommend it, not even to prevent head lice at the in-laws’ house. Go for tea tree oil instead.

So, what are you thankful for this year?

IRL* Itching to see the response to the “louse-iest” post I’ve ever written.

Cinnamon and Sandwiches

2010-11-10T00:00:00.008-07:00

Another true confession.

I used to try to manipulate my kids' memories of their mother by purposely doing amazing things that I was sure would win me a place in the Missionary Mom Hall of Fame. Things I could imagine my children remembering fondly after I die. Things to place me on a pedestal right up there with Edith Shaeffer, Mrs. "Art of Homemaking" herself.

One of these fabulous feats was to start every long road trip with fresh homemade cinnamon rolls. Yes, just for the sake of future glory, I began a tradition of making a big batch of cinnamon rolls the night before we would leave for a journey to the States (see sidebar for recipe). I would put them in the fridge to rise overnight, and then first thing in the morning, I would pop them in the oven to bake while Jim finished loading the car.

Then the children would experience the indescribable blessing of waking to the amazing aroma of cinnamon rolls, which would soon permeate the car as we piled in and prepared for breakfast on the road. What a wonderfully devoted mother I was, right?

Ah, it's a fond memory to me even now. I love cinnamon rolls!

Unfortunately, my kids don't see it that way. What they remember (besides the long grueling 20-plus hours in the car before reaching Texas) is regurgitating those lovely cinnamon rolls on the first stretch of barfy, curvy highway. One child in particular still cannot stand cinnamon rolls because of that negative association. Walking through a mall and smelling Cinnabon does not stir up fond memories for her, but evokes a gagging sensation instead.

Even worse, this same child cannot stand sandwiches for the same reason. Living in Mexico, we seldom eat sandwiches for a quick easy meal. Instead we tend to eat beans and rice, quesadillas, nachos, or leftovers. (Okay, and even cereal when Dad's away.) But seldom sandwiches unless they are tortas (hot submarine-type sandwich made on a bolillo--like a French roll--with smashed beans, avocado, Oaxaca cheese, tomato, jalapeno, and sometimes a slice of lunch meat or scrambled eggs with chorizo - yum!).

On a long car trip, I would make tuna or egg salad, and simply make the sandwiches as we needed them, so we wouldn't waste any uneaten sandwiches. I would also take along a few peanut butter sandwiches for the first day on the road. That's the only time they remember eating sandwiches, and the memory grosses them out.

Great. Now I have children who hate not only cinnamon rolls, but sandwiches, too.

IRL*So much for manipulating memories...

The Tie that Binds

2010-11-03T00:00:00.002-06:00

When I grow up I want to be just like … Quick, who just came to mind? Isn’t it funny that no matter how old we get, we (hopefully) always have friends a step ahead of us whom we admire, women we would love to follow as they are obviously following Jesus?

These past few weeks I have had the rare treat of having one such woman here in town, close by, to enjoy and to learn from. I first met Ann and her husband 22 years ago this very month, when they attended a conference in Guatemala. Back then I was a young mother with a baby and a toddler, expecting my third. Bob and Ann loved on me and encouraged me in a tangible way that I’ll never forget.

I’ve only seen these dear friends a total of five times in all the years following that divine appointment, but they left an indelible mark on my life. They soon left the pastorate to join a group called Barnabas International, which, like Women of the Harvest, is all about encouraging missionaries on the field. It is a perfect fit for the gifts and abilities of this precious couple. Maybe some of you even know them. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Ann first taught me about hospitality when we visited them in Texas on one of our long journeys from Guatemala to Ohio. I can still picture how she took me in her kitchen and swung wide every cabinet and pantry, showing me the contents. If there was anything we needed or wanted, we could help ourselves. It was the most welcoming home I have ever visited.

Another time Bob and Ann made a special quick trip all the way to Oaxaca simply because they read between the lines in a personal letter I had written them, and they knew I was in desperate need of encouragement. I will never forget their sacrifice that provided a healing balm for my weary soul. Our hearts are bonded permanently simply because of their love and care.

Last Saturday I had the privilege again of walking to our local market to help Ann buy fresh produce. It wasn’t a big deal, but it was a privilege just to spend time with such a woman of God. I am smiling just typing this up. It sounds almost silly to say how much I admire and adore this dear friend.

A few months back, I think some people misunderstood a comment a reader left on this blog admitting she had a “crush” on me. I was not in the least confused by her remark. I know exactly what she meant. I was, however, honored, assuming she meant the same kind of affection I have for my friend Ann.

IRL* Hoping to pave the way for other weary women just like Ann has for me.

Escape Artist

2010-10-27T00:00:00.005-06:00

It was our final Sunday in the States many summers ago. Dropping off the toddler in the nursery, I noticed one of the volunteers was a woman just like me, a tired mother with seven children still at home. I was thanking her for her dedication, and added that working in the nursery was about the last place I would prefer to be that morning. I was looking forward to one last good sermon in English before returning to Mexico. Her words are etched in my memory after all these years:

“But you would if God asked you to, right?”

As I walked away, I had to face the unwillingness in my heart. I whispered to myself, “No, maybe not even then,” wondering if I would have even hear God’s voice if he asked me to volunteer for Sunday school that morning. I was so intent on worshiping in English.

Dropping off the next child for class, I found the teacher all in a panic because she had already taught Sunday school during the earlier hour, and was really counting on going to the upcoming service. I nobly offered to stay until a replacement teacher could be found. The teacher was almost in tears as she explained that there was no substitute coming to fill in; she would simply have to stay and teach the class again.

I began to argue with the Holy Spirit, begging for the blessing of just one more live sermon in English, but I heard words coming from my mouth about how it would be a privilege to teach her class that morning. It was one of the most fun impromptu lessons I ever taught. Preschoolers are so easy to teach, especially when God Himself puts the ideas in my head.

This story came to mind because again I find myself in a situation where surely God could find other people more willing and capable of filling a need, but for reasons beyond my understanding, his hand is on me, compelling me to do the right thing. Everything fleshly in me (insecurity, selfishness, pride, etc.) begs me to say no, but again I hear the words come out of my mouth: “It would be a privilege to teach this class.”

This class is a Bible study in our local church. This will be only my second time to ever lead a class in Spanish. I know, after all these years, right? It’s shameful how I have avoided all such entanglements with the Mexican church. The time has come, and I am actually looking forward to this new challenge. Friday afternoon is our first lesson. If you think of me then, I’d appreciate some prayer.

Someone’s got to do it…. Why not me?

IRL* Over my head and way beyond my comfort zone, but right where I need to be.

A-Z Things I Took for Granted

2010-10-20T00:00:00.003-06:00

They say that misery loves company. While I don’t want to turn this into a gripe-fest, I thought you might enjoy participating in a recent discussion I had with some of my online colleagues. In some warped way, as my friend Latte Mom says, it is always encouraging to be reminded that we are not the only ones….

First, I have to tell you a funny on myself. The title of our discussion was: “I don’t take “that” for granted any more.” Here’s what my initial response was before I started reading about washing machines and things like “that.” I am still just blushing that I actually thought that “that” was, well, “that” is generally what I call, um, in my prudish way, I say "THAT" when I don't want to say... Oh, never mind.

My head is in the gutter. (*see below to join me)

Here is the compiled list of serious answers people submitted. Feel free to add to the list in the comment section.

A = availability of grocery items
B = bridges (here we drive through rivers)
C = chicken packaged nicely with no evidence that this was once a breathing, pecking, feathered, living thing
D= death not displayed for my children in newspapers and on the side of the road
E = exercise in air-conditioned house or outdoors without being stared at
F = fuel at the gas station
G = grains and flour that aren’t bug-infested
H = hot water any time I want it
I = Internet working reliably
J = just being able to drive where people respect the laws and speed limits
K = keeping the house presentable with no sand, dirt, and dust after cleaning
L = laundry without hanging, ironing, etc.
M = menu items I order at the restaurant actually being available
N = neighbors that don’t have loud music blaring all night
O = oven and stove not shutting off when the gas runs out unexpectedly
P = power
Q = quality for a price (here you pay more but it may not be better quality)
R = restaurants open before 7:00 P.M.
S = seatbelts and other safety measures
T = telephone service everywhere
U = urgent care help, ICU, emergency room facilities
V = vegetables and fruits that don’t require soaking and scrubbing
W = water
X = expiration dates being accurate and expectation that people will stand in line
Y = yucky stuff removed from the nicely packaged, already dead, meat
Z = zoos and other safe, fun places to take the kids to play

IRL* “THAT” is what you can't take for granted on furloughs when every bed in America is super squeaky and behind thin walls.

Of Leaves and Leaving

2010-10-13T00:00:00.007-06:00

Autumn is in the air. Or is it? For many of us, autumn is just a tricky spelling word we must teach our children, totally apart from any physical colors, sounds, or smells from our own childhoods.

Personally I miss that feeling of crunching through the leaves and the cooler air that smells of bonfires. Every year I reminisce, and then go back to life in perpetual springtime. We only have two seasons here: wet and dry. I love when the bougainvillea and jacaranda provide a bit of color, but it’s still not the same.

What do you do to celebrate the changing of a season that doesn’t exist? Do you drape your house with fake fall leaves like I do around Thanksgiving time? (This week for Canadians, next month for Americans) Do you put hot cider on the stove to make your house smell autumny? I would mention baking pumpkin bread, but I’ve learned that the very suggestion of canned pumpkin can make some women who can’t get it, weep.

The one thing we can do in the autumn is to look back and reminisce. I’ve spent the last week doing nothing more than to revamp my old blog full of personal stories, and to start up a new ministry blog. That has been an interesting project in itself.

Some of you may prefer to look ahead during the dreary days of fall. This brings up a question I have been mulling over for several weeks since it came up on the Sonlight international forum. My friend Kris wrote:

You know that old saying...
"Send Me, Send Me"...
we hear about it all the time, back home, everywhere.
Where's the saying "Go back, Go back"...
how come there is never any talk of that?
Is there such thing as a graceful exit strategy? Just curious.

Several readers wrote very insightful remarks, but I thought I would open it up to a wider audience. Having never done it, I’m not the one who can say. We just take it a day at a time, a year at a time, and trust God to speak clearly if He wants to redirect our steps. That sounds so overly simplistic.

I agree with one of my cyber-friends who said she wants to be as intentional about leaving as she was about going to the mission field in the first place. I don’t want to stay until one day I go berserk and miss the grandchildren (again with the imaginary grandchildren of the future), and just pack up and go home to be closer to them. Others have been forced to leave the mission field on short notice, and there was nothing graceful about their “exit” for sure.

Is there such a thing as a graceful exit strategy?

IRL* we know what clumsy looks like...how about graceful or even grace-filled?

Until Last Week

2010-10-06T00:00:00.003-06:00

Today is my dad’s birthday. It’s been eight years this week since he died unexpectedly, and I still miss him. I’ll never forget those tears of anguish when I heard the news of his death, how I cried inconsolably for hours. I haven’t cried that hard since then, until last week.

For all these years I have often lamented that I have no ministry outside the home. However one thing I take very seriously is prayer, which I can do from home. I love hosting short-term teams partly because I am more actively involved in the ministry, but mostly because I know I can recruit a few more prayer partners.

There is one unreached people group not far from where we live that has been on my prayer list for many years. I remember recruiting a prayer team back in 1999 and asking them specifically to target this group for prayer, that God would open the doors for ministry to the Mixe of Tlahuitoltepec.

That’s a hard name to pronounce, let alone remember, and I often wondered if people were still praying for Tlahui. I sent an email prayer update in September, rejoicing that we have finally found someone (an unbeliever) to help us record the Mixe New Testament for the non-literate people of Tlahui.

Tuesday, September 28, I awoke after a fitful night of attempted sleep, having had nightmares about villages being washed away by the non-stop rain of the prior few days and weeks. Later in the morning, my husband showed me the Internet news about a tragic mudslide that had washed at least 100 homes down the mountain in Tlahuitoltepec.

How can that be? After all my years of prayer, to think of 1000 souls (as the paper predicted) facing eternity without knowing the Lord, I just bawled. My family didn’t know what to think, but I would not be consoled. I wanted so badly to go back to bed and wake up to discover it was all a bad dream. Like the day my dad died.

Instead I sent an urgent email prayer request, which soon got forwarded all over the globe, especially once I posted it on my Facebook page. We even got a call from Mission Network News, who interviewed my husband and broadcast the prayer needs for Tlahui across Christian radio stations in the U.S.

Later in the evening we read updated news reporting that it had been a mistake. Only 11 lives were lost, not 500-1000. What a crazy thing! Only God could orchestrate the events, creating such media hype, to bring attention to one unreached people group in Oaxaca, Mexico.

I’m humbled, amazed, and very grateful for the hand of God preventing the destruction of people just as undeserving of His mercy as I am.

IRL* Tears for a loved one preceding me to heaven are very different than bitter tears for people who die without hope.

Jamie Hush

2010-09-29T00:00:00.003-06:00

During my week in Colorado, I had the privilege of representing you, the readers of WOTH online publications, by saying a few words at the Women of the Harvest Celebration Brunch. It was great to meet with donors who help fund these publications and the Retreats. I trust I expressed appreciation on behalf of all who enjoy the WOTH onlineMagazine, the WOTH Writer’s blog, Coffeegirl, the Weekly Word, and even this IRL blog.

The theme of the celebration was “Value Her Voice.” Check out the video in the side bar with a gripping story that was shared at the brunch. (Feel free to share it with friends who might be interested in sponsoring someone to attend the Retreat in India next month.)

It was a bit daunting to have to stand up and speak after this heart-felt testimony from our sister in India. Secretly, though, as I was watching her interview and listening to another woman who was speaking via Skype, I was thankful to be there in person so my face wouldn't be plastered across a BIG ol’ projection screen. Then as I was introduced, my new friend and visionary for this blog, our dear editor, Cindy, began a series of Photoshopped images of me that she created to liven up my sometimes otherwise “blah” posts. So much for not having ~~my big face up on the screen~~ my face on the big screen!

Well, I recovered my questionable poise and started my talk with a story of my own journey to having my voice valued. The audience laughed when I shared the family joke that until the age of six I honestly believed my name was “Jamie Hush!”

Later on I admitted to Cindy the less funny reality behind that joke, how we have a true enemy who wants nothing more than to shut us up. He knows that he is defeated by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of our testimony. Somewhere along the way, we all get discouraged trying to share a story that no one seems to want to hear.

Granted, when I was younger I gabbed non-discriminately, and I needed to learn to listen. But then somehow I took people’s admonishment to be quiet as a personal wound to my heart. John Eldredge and other authors have noted that Satan can do nothing to stamp out the glory of God, so instead he attacks us in the unique ways that we reflect God’s glory.

For me it is the gift of story telling and communication, which even as I admit this, triggers an irrational dose of shame. That’s my lifelong battle.

Can you think of areas like that in your own life, where you especially shine with God’s glory, only to have it squelched? I’d love to hear your stories about that.

IRL* Thankful for my new friends at WOTH who really do value my voice (our collective voice!) and help me (us) to shine shamelessly.

Between Honky-tonk and Steinway

2010-09-22T00:00:00.003-06:00

I’m not sure if you would consider me a has-been or a mighta-been, but piano playing used to be a central focus of my life. Nowadays I barely even listen to music. Come to think of it, there is no excuse with all the fabulous technology allowing me to make a play-list with symphonies and worship songs…if I had an iPod. Which I don’t. Gone are the days when we had to lug huge recording collections to the mission field.

For the first-however-many-years on the field, I grieved my loss of music, but counted it a worthy sacrifice for the sake of the Gospel. Then my parents bought me an electronic piano, which got hauled all over Guatemala and then up to Mexico. Later I graduated to a real piano. I enjoy playing piano sporadically, but I’ve had to endure imperfectly tuned pianos, which is the norm down here. (Sigh.)

Last week in Colorado was an interesting contrast in music standards.

My daughter and I entertained ourselves by playing old pianos along Denver’s 16th Street Mall. All were painted in fun designs, but they were badly out of tune. Not knowing any ragtime pieces by memory, I banged out “Malaguena” (my signature piece back in high school Spanish Club days). A random tourist even videotaped my “performance.” So you never know, someday maybe I’ll become a YouTube sensation.

On Sunday I had an opportunity to play the offertory for a church in Buena Vista, overlooking the Rockies. The view was amazing with aspen trees in full color, but the piano was even more beautiful (if that’s possible). After years of honky-tonk sounding instruments, it was a rare privilege to play a well-tuned Kawai baby grand. Anything I played would have sounded lovely. I wasn’t self-conscious in the least, even though I had every reason to be.

Instead I just played from the heart.

Just as the off-key pianos on the mission field or on 16th Street can’t compare to a Steinway grand, I figure the most awesome symphony on earth cannot compare to the glorious music awaiting us in heaven. Whether I’m a has-been or a coulda-been, one thing is for certain: I “will be” spending eternity making heavenly music for my Savior.

IRL* Somewhere between honky-tonk and Steinway Grand, I am finding the notes of contentment again.

When It Rains...

2010-09-15T10:08:00.005-06:00

Life comes in waves. A couple of weeks ago I was complaining about being bored. No sooner had I published that than life got interesting in a hurry. Unexpected guests showed up for meals several days straight, followed by two weeks of some out-of-towners needing breakfast, lunch and dinner. My dear husband, dh*/Methuselah*/Jim helped with breakfast each morning with a typical Mexican breakfast they would like, so I can’t complain, but it did make the pace pick up around here.

Then circumstances forced us to do the daily “Laundry Line Dance. “ Living in a desert, we come to expect sunshine almost daily, 365 days a year. Even during rainy season we can generally manage without clothes dryer, hanging clothes in the mornings and removing them in the afternoon before the rain. Not the last few weeks, though. Several hurricanes and tropical storms have sent torrential rains even to this high desert.

Oh, and then the water pump died. That made for an interesting day. And wouldn’t you know it that was the very day the sun came out? Finally I could have dried the clothes if only I could have washed. My dh* came to the rescue once again, and brought a new pump back from a trip to the city. The next sunny morning, he was off to the city for yet another ministry errand while I was gleefully washing clothes, and then I realized something was terribly wrong.

Water was pouring – and I mean pouring! –off the roof. My dear daughter [dd*] and I looked at each other dumb-founded. This had happened many times through the years, but always one of the boys took care of it, shimmying up the tree to the roof to jiggle the floater that is supposed to indicate the tanks are full. Neither dd* nor I knew how to get on the roof since the one essential branch had broken. The gardener next door saw our dilemma, and brought a ladder over to solve the problem for us. Thank you, Lord.

Finally we settled back into home schooling, taking a break to hang the laundry when the rinse cycle completed itself. Within an hour, it started to rain. No sooner had the laundry been brought inside, it stopped. The sun came out, and we had to hang it all again (this time with the help of a local girl who helps me a few hours several times a week). It was just one of those days. We’ve all had them.

Thursday was another of those days, with a near-impossible trip to the orthodontist amid another deluge, traffic, roadblocks, detours, and potholes. On our arrival home, the road was under water, and we sloshed through deep mud, slid around a bit, and well, you get the idea. Two of my friends’ houses were ankle-deep in water, so I really can’t complain.

IRL* This week I have an escape. I am in Colorado, meeting our WOTH editor. This excitement is more to my liking.

[*see sidebar, Jamie Jo Speak]

Wait for it...

2010-09-15T07:27:00.001-06:00

good morning, IRL people...come back in a couple of hours, and I promise, Jamie will be showing up in a whole new way!!!!

Memoirs of a Bad Mother

2010-09-08T00:00:00.003-06:00

On my favorite home school support forum (provided by Sonlight Curriculum – see the side bar for more information about SL), someone on the international forum recently asked us veteran moms how old our children were when we allowed them to leave the house by themselves.

It never occurred to me what a horribly negligent mother I was until I started typing my answer to this e-maginary friend.

The truth is that I let my oldest two boys walk to the corner to buy fresh tortillas when they were about three and four years old. Usually I went with them, but if little brother needed attention just then and I didn’t want to carry him, I would send the boys on their own. What was I thinking?

Oldest children are born half-grown-up, just because moms like me are so clueless and trusting. I am so thankful God protected them. Even with my seventh, I used to let her walk a beaten path through the desert to a friend’s house (the distance of about two city blocks) when she was only about eight years old.

Nowadays things are different. Life isn’t quite so safe in these parts any more. I had to laugh at myself when I fretted over the possibility of our single houseguest having to take a city bus by herself, when I had let my own daughter take a bus to the dentist in the city with only a little brother for a bodyguard back when she was 15. Now I am concerned about a 23-year-old?

Then there was the time I sent my 17-year-old daughter on a plane by herself to the Philippines to help out a family for seven months. What was I thinking? I never considered there could be a glitch in the scheduling, requiring her to spend one night alone in a hotel in Tokyo, that’s for sure.

I guess the bottom line is that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone my method of child-rearing. Maybe it helped the older four adjust to college in the U.S. and Canada, having been so independent for so long. But still, looking back at all the what-if’s gives me the shivers.

Our houseguest has moved into a more permanent housing situation with a roommate now, and I am trying not to smother her with my motherly counsel, but still I can’t help praying for her safety each day as she travels to the school where she teaches and back.

I hope my college kids have a mama nearby, worrying over their comings and goings. I’m thankful for ddils watching over my oldest two sons, who survived their childhoods with little help from their negligent mother. At the same time I am trying not to restrict my younger three kids beyond what is healthy, even in these uncertain times.

Last week’s brief funk sent me back to the Word. This week’s worries are sending me back to my knees. Both are good places to be.

IRL* Discovering my apparent developmental delay in the area of motherly instincts and child preservation.

My Old Restless Companion

2010-09-01T00:00:00.002-06:00

In the early years our visas only lasted six months at a stretch. We made the dreaded border runs twice a year to renew them. The absurd thing is I actually enjoyed those journeys, especially the trips to Texas, which allowed me a visit to Stuff-Mart* to restock on things we needed and frivolous items we simply preferred.

On our last official “border run,” we were bummed to only receive sixty days instead of the usual six months on our visas. No way could we pack up however-many-kids-we-had-at-the-time and run back to the Rio Grande every eight weeks, even if the children managed to outgrow their clothes that fast! We finally switched over to more permanent resident status.

That’s when I noticed that my coping mechanisms seemed to only last about five months; after that, I became antsy and ready to plan a trip of some sort.

In fact, I would hit a downright slump twice a year right on schedule. I would wake up in a funk with no logical explanation. Once I figured it out, I just laughed over it, and then went on with living cross-culturally with no escape in sight.

Today, things are different once again. The three remaining children at home are Mexican-born, and therefore need no visas. That’s nice. I’ve learned to cope with Mexican living, the good with the bad, year-round. More or less. Some days I still get overwhelmed with the noise and ~~stench~~ interesting smells.

I was doing fine, pondering our lovely summer in the States—a time of blissful invisibility while some wounds healed over. I was enjoying our first week of home schooling, hosting a young teacher while she looks for housing, and honestly feeling content. Then one morning I woke up with my old restless companion, and I felt a funk coming on. This is way too soon to start feeling that again.

All I can say is that life has become too routine, too predictable. My old norm (especially when there were seven children living at home) was high-stress, crazy, and anything BUT predictable. I had no time to even think about contentment or lack of it. Now I find myself on auto pilot. Life seems too easy somehow. I’m not sure I like it this way.

How ungrateful can I be? God has blessed me with every good and perfect gift, and I am momentarily discontented. After what I said (and thought) last week in my blog post about “those” kinds of missionaries, I can honestly see the potential to become a snarky, bored missionary if I’m not careful. Yikes. Pardon me while I run back to the true Source of all contentment.

IRL*Striving to restore my old sense of adventure, minus my old restless companion.

Hall of Shame

2010-08-25T09:28:00.003-06:00

Now that we have partially explored the idea of a "Missionary Hall of Fame," let’s very carefully and humbly consider the opposite. Without naming names or being too specific, let’s simply describe those we would mentally nominate for the "Missionary Hall of Shame."

Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? This one is tricky, because of course we should all look at our own shortcomings first. For me with my weird grasp of time and inability to remain entirely in the present (remember the post on time travel?), I not only face my current sins, (thankfully my past sins are washed away!), but also my potential sins in the future. Hopefully y’all will also find it fun and even beneficial to consider the missionary you don’t want to become.

I’ll start us off by nominating one I must be oh-so-careful not to resemble. Let’s call her Miss You-Think-You-Have-It-Bad. Rather than commiserating with my suffering and offering a word of wise counsel from Scripture or from her own experience, she would respond with a predictable one-upper. “You think you have it bad?! Well let me tell you how it was when we real missionaries were starting out forty years ago….” Blah, blah, blah.

Now that I have returned to Mexico, celebrating the beginning of our 25th year of being overseas, I want to follow Christ and become more like Him so that those following me will have a good example. I seriously don’t want to become a joke like Miss You-Think-You-Have-It-Bad or worse – like Penelope on the hilarious Saturday Night Live skit I saw this week on Facebook.

IRL* Strongly preferring to become like the Hall of Famers I admire, and examining my heart for bad habits that might land me in the Hall of Shame.