Learning Contentment - again!

After 4 days without a proper shower

This past week I experienced one of those “fish out of water” moments at the same time I was very obviously still peering out from a very transparent fish bowl.  Ever had that happen?  Maybe I wasn’t exactly out of the water, but just in the wrong bowl.  I kept finding myself thinking, “What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this?”

I’m the girl who never enjoyed camping.  I don’t prefer sleeping on the ground – ever.  I dislike all manner of creepy crawlies.  I’ve learned to limit showers when we have water shortages, but I still expect to wash my face and brush my teeth in a proper sink.  I can navigate without a toilet seat and even manage over a squatty potty when need be, but … you get the picture. 

I’m not the rugged outdoorsy type in the least.  Hiking is not in my top ten favorite things to do.  Last week I did all of these things.  It was a stretch.

All these years people have patted me on the back for my “sacrifice” in staying home with young children while my husband got all the glory (ha!) and adventure of visiting remote Indian villages with teams from the U.S.  Now that the kids are old enough to be more or less on their own for several days at a time, my dh* has started including me in his village adventures with short-termers.

The irony is that we were never together all week.  I drove a separate car, I stayed in the women’s lodging, I took a separate visitation team out as a translator.  We more or less shared the experience, but not exactly.  This past week was one of those rugged trips where I would have enjoyed leaning on dh instead of pretending to be the strong one leading my own little group.

Do I dare admit that I killed my very first scorpion?  After all these years of relying on dh and dc (what are boys good for if not squashing scary bugs for their mothers?), I was forced to act brave and do the nasty deed myself.

That was the least of my concerns.  It was a physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting week.  No matter how much my flesh whined and tried to rebel, it was forced into submission.  I can see why short-term teams enjoy these types of adventure trips.  It’s gratifying to see what you can do when you must.

It's a shame that the effect wears off so quickly.  Now I'm back to (relative) civilization, but instead of being grateful for all the blessings, I'm just as frustrated with pesky little things like our bumpy dirt road and daily inconveniences as I was before I left.  I did fine with all the challenges last week, so why is it the little things that make me grumble?

IRL*  I'm learning again how to be content with much or little, a la Philippians 4.  

How about you?

What Kind of Apology is That?

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.

Blessed Are

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.

The Battle Rages

One of my few Facebook claims to fame was the day several e-maginary* (online acquaintances as opposed to IRL) friends quoted me in their status. For a brief moment my head swelled, and I felt like a true writer. Pretty sweet.

Considering the “light and momentary afflictions” which are multiplying in my life, I thought I would revisit and edit my statement:

"All I know is that it is so much easier to play the part of the Christian when I'm in a climate controlled room with proper lighting and familiar food and no disasters looming outside my door. But is that real? "

That’s what I said then. I have no idea what was the context. Today I can add:

“…and when I’m not dashing to the bathroom every few moments in intestinal agony. I can add, “…when my children are not suffering emotional trauma.”

A lot of situations would seemingly make it easier to be a Christian.

It’s the last line that keeps sticking in my head: “But is that real?” Let me just add that “Real sometimes hurts!” As I was suffering the violent effects of E. coli last week, I honestly had to ask myself how I would possibly endure torture. I always prided myself on the small sacrifices I have made “for the sake of the kingdom.” But when the house is hot and stuffy and my stomach is achy and rumbly, somehow I step out of my Christian character role and become unlovely from the inside out. My husband and kids will testify that this sometimes witty writer becomes snarky and impatient.

There’s a sane side of me that says I NEVER want to go through a sickness like that again, but then there is an irrational part that cries, “I’m so sorry. Try me again. I promise I won’t let you down. I can do better. Really I can!”

Really? I’m not so sure.

How can the folks back home ever think we are heroic or super-spiritual? We all know that when the heat’s on (literally and figuratively) and the battle rages, we still fall short of God’s perfect design. We still succumb to fleshly nature. I don’t know about yours, but mine prefers comfort to pain any day.

I am in a season of testing unlike anything I remember since my very first season on the field. It was intense back then. It is intense again now. As much as I’d prefer to be lighthearted and funny, this is where I am. Frankly I feel more like a wimp than a warrior. Others are sustaining me through their faithful prayers and encouragement. I am grateful.

Personally I’d rather be your comic relief for the week than to fight in the trenches with you. Apparently that isn’t an option. Meanwhile I just want to learn my lessons well. My heart goes out to those of you who serve under equally daunting circumstances, especially those with chronic health issues. Pain does reveal the true nature of the heart. Mine apparently needs some more work.

IRL*in the trenches, in the bathroom, in but not of …