Never Say Never

You never miss what you've never had. Or do you?

Growing up I never missed having aunts, uncles, or cousins, because both my parents were only children. I never knew what I was missing.

Living the past 25 years outside the U.S. without a Starbucks close by has not been a sacrifice, because Starbucks didn’t even exist when I left, and besides, I almost never drink coffee.

Likewise I never knew of such things as memory foam and sleep number mattresses, so I’ve never missed them. We’ve never had anything larger than a full size bed, so it never feels like a sacrifice to not have a queen or king-size bed.

The things I grew up having, like automatic washing machines and clothes dryers, dishwashers, Kitchen Aid mixers, and all sorts of convenience foods at the grocery store – these I did miss.

Many years ago a pedicurist came on a short-term team, insisting that the delight of her week would be to give me a pedicure. “How lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news….” This was her obsession. Up until then I had never missed such luxuries, having never splurged on a pedicure in my life.

It was ticklish and embarrassing to have someone touch my grungy feet after years of wearing sandals year-round on dusty unpaved roads. I tried every way possible to postpone this “treat” – hoping she would just forget the whole thing. The last night, though, she would not be deterred, and I experienced my first pedicure.

Maybe some of you received your first (free!) pedicure at a Women of the Harvest Retreat, and you know what an amazing feeling it is to have your feet pampered. After that, I was hooked. I don’t actually pay for a pedicure very often, but I find myself wishing I could.

Thanks to the internet (Pinterest), visits to the U.S. every year or so, and talking to new missionaries and short-termers, I now know about many other things I have never experienced, and if I’m not careful I can begin to covet and crave things I have never even seen.

Then came Easter. Sunday morning I gathered with family and friends at sunrise, worshipping and remembering the Resurrection, and out of nowhere I got a blast of longing for something I have never seen except in tiny glimpses.

Heaven.

Do you ever find yourself feeling so homesick for your real home that it brings tears to your eyes? I’ve never seen heaven, but I sure do miss it.

My current must-read book is Heaven, by Randy Alcorn. I recommend it to each of you. It makes me strangely content with my life on earth, knowing there is much more to come. Any small sacrifices I make to serve the Lord now will be worth it in the end.

It’s always good to be reminded that this life is short, and eternity is long.

IRL* Sacrifice does not always feel rewarding, and it’s not always pleasant, but to quote an old favorite song, “It will be worth it all when we see Jesus.”

Transformational Sweat

Since no one shot me down last week, I had planned to continue the mini-series on acceptable sins, thinking I would have the perfect post on either laziness or grumbling and complaining. It turns out, I have been strangely industrious and – miracle of all miracles – haven’t had any complaints yet!

This is Holy Week – slash - spring break for our teens, but instead of hanging out, sleeping in, and being lazy all week, we are helping some coworkers who are hosting a team from the U.S. Unlike the rugged teams we normally send to suffer in a remote mountain location, this group is staying in Puerto Escondido, overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

While most people would jump at the opportunity to serve in such a beautiful place, I had to struggle get my heart straight before agreeing to come. Going to the beach, as I’ve mentioned before, is not my favorite thing. It requires a nasty long drive down a winding road up and down from 5000 feet down to sea level. And then being hot and sweaty is something I generally avoid like manual labor.

Considering the prospect of being in a non-air conditioned kitchen preparing dinner for 22 people, I imagined writing about a whole slew of other besetting sins. It turns out, however, that I have found great delight in doing this. The work the rest of the team (including my husband and kids) do each day is much more grueling than my going to market, shopping, disinfecting produce, chopping, cooking, and cleaning up.

Turns out I have the best job around – plus I get to sneak in an afternoon swim (while I pray, of course) before they get back. Plus we will eat in restaurants a couple of the seven nights, making my work even lighter. It’s as though God, knowing what a wimp I am, tests me to see if I am willing, and then He carries my load.

So we’ll gladly skip the post I thought I would have to write, and just praise the Lord that His mercies are new every morning, and that His grace is sufficient for all our needs. You know what? Even sweating isn’t such an awful plight to be dreaded. Joy has been my constant daily companion. I am so thankful I didn’t allow my flesh to talk me out of this opportunity.

Meanwhile our friends in Mali are going through terribly unsettling times following the coup last week, having had to evacuate before the borders closed on Sunday. There are few situations as dreaded or stressful than to be forced out of a country on short notice. My heart goes out to each of you who were affected, and especially your children leaving behind friends, pets, and toys that didn’t make the cut when the bags were quickly packed.

Sweating over a hot stove and being a servant is a privilege. Even if it were a struggle for me, I would not want to trivialize it in light of these serious times for so many of you. I have spent time each day interceding, not just for this work team, but also for each of you in your current struggles.

No one said this life was going to be easy, but I feel for those of you who are sweating these days of uncertainty. May you find comfort and encouragement as we anticipate Resurrection Sunday, as we keep busy at our tasks of reaching the lost before the coming of the Lord.

IRL*It's a privilege to serve up what He offers.

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

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?

The Discomfort of Comfort

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]

I'm Grateful

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.