Duty Meets Delight

Duty, obligation, commitment, and obedience.

Don’t those sound like loathsome terms to our 21^st century ears?  We prefer delight-oriented tasks, learning, serving, and everything else we can possibly choose.  

Over the holidays, I started watching the first two seasons of Downton Abbey – a delightful time killer if ever there was one.  It’s given me fuel for thought that even enters my dreams at night.  I would love some international perspective on this whole idea of duty - and not the kind we pay to bring in our electronics at the airport or border crossing.

Downton Abbey portrays the whole idea of household help as a non-optional institution that benefits both the servant and the master.  Many of us live in third world countries where we are expected to hire local gardeners and maids in keeping with our “position in society” (as foreigners), whether we particularly need them or not.  Some of us are conversely placed in the position of serving whether we feel like it or not.

Presently I am in both positions at once.  I have a gal who has helped in our home since the children were little, and now she is like a member of the family, and my kids would never dream of letting her go.  I’d like to believe that Edith works for us with both a sense of duty and delight, but maybe not both simultaneously. 

Meanwhile I find myself serving in ways that I would never particularly choose, just because “someone has to do it.”  Sometimes there is joy in the deed, but sometimes, not so much.

Daily I struggle with the conflict between duty and delight.  So far I’ve not reconciled either.  Ideally, I think, delight should come naturally from service done “as unto the Lord.”  When I find myself begrudging the time, energy, and sometimes money required by my service, it is only because my attitude is out of whack.

As a friend, please don’t encourage me to quit.  Don’t tell me that I don’t have to live under a weight of “ought, should, and must.”  The fact is that I sometimes must obey, regardless of how I feel about it.  We do each other a huge disservice when we suggest too quickly that maybe "the grace of God is lifting" (whatever that means), and we no longer have to continue in a certain ministry.

At the same time I’ve been bingeing on Downton Abbey, I’ve been reading a biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  Bonhoeffer has inspired me to listen more to the Holy Spirit and to walk in obedience to His Word and His voice in 2013, no matter how I may feel about it on any given day. 

My goal is to seek joy in daily service and sacrifice.  Do you think that's a worthy ambition?

Sometimes we simply should do our duty, fulfill our commitments, and obediently do what we know we must.  Our generation needs to rise up and combine the old-time missionary commitment with the modern joy and delight that is only possible when we do things with a right heart.

It's a fine balance, trying to not make a god out of either duty or delight.

How about you?  How are you facing the rest of 2013?  Any resolves that might encourage the rest of us?  Any lessons learned from Downton Abbey, if you’ve seen it?

IRL*  I’m happy to be blogging again after a little break!  Hope you'll join me here every other Wednesday or so.

Earthquakes and Hurricanes and Drug Wars! Oh, My!

…And what they “think” they know, they know very little about.  Pardon me for jumping in the middle of an unfinished thought from last week’s post.  (That's a risk you take when you let a writer publish minus an editor.)  We were talking about our loved ones who cannot relate to our lives because they have never seen where and how we live.

What they do know about our host countries often has nothing to do with us personally.  How often have you gotten frantic phone calls and emails about some disaster that made the news, but that didn’t affect you in the least?

The first time I heard about an attempted coup in Guatemala was when the letters started coming (back in the pre-computer age).  We lived within a few miles of where the incident occurred, but it didn’t touch our lives at all.

Here in Oaxaca we are seldom affected by hurricanes, since we live in the high desert.  We might get a lot of rain, and some bridges might collapse, but very rarely.  Still people hear about flooding in Oaxaca and envision us floating away in a makeshift boat with our few belongings.

Most times the “earthquakes” people read about are only “tremors” in reality.  Even the earth shaking, truly frightening quakes we have experienced have never caused any personal harm or damage to our house or recording studio.  If people only understood, they would not be so impressed.*

Back in 2006 Oaxaca was in the news due to ongoing riots in the capital city.  Short-term teams saw the news and cancelled their trips even though we live an hour away from the airport.  Nowadays it’s kidnapping and drug-related violence that grab attention, even though most of the trouble is far away from our southern state.

But what does it say to people when they perceive that we live in these hotbeds of danger and unrest?  Are we fools to live and raise children in such unsafe places?

My policy is not to judge people based on the news and crime in their cities.  If I were to focus only on the Associated Press for my information, I might question anyone’s sanity for wanting to live in places like Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York City. (Shivers!)

The truth is that MOST people live in those places and are safe.  Most people can eat at a Cracker Barrel, attend public (or Amish) school or college, and visit the Empire State Building without witnessing a single shooting. 

The sad fact is that most people in the world have no option to pack up and go someplace safer even when danger is imminent and real.  I consider this when loved ones imply we should move “home” and be safe.  We are where God has placed us, and we will stay until He moves us on.

Even when the news stories affect us directly, we are better off in the will of God than in the safest town in America outside of God’s protection.

IRL:  If they only knew…..  Then again, maybe they wouldn’t pray so fervently if they knew how safe we are, so let’s leave them to assume what they want.

*On a serious note, were any of you adversely affected by the earthquakes in Costa Rica or China last week? I don't mean to make light of earthquakes just based on my limited experience.

The "Big But"

How long has it been since you cried actual tears over your sin?  Earlier this year I was writing about “acceptable sins” – the ones I must struggle to even recognize as sin.  Meanwhile all around me I see the tragic effects of sin in the lives of loved ones, neighbors, and strangers in the news.

Daily I have been preaching the gospel to myself and to my kids, trying to make it relevant in every situation that life throws my way.  I know that it is true, but I am struggling to live as though I really believe it.  In the past few years since I started this exercise, I have found it much easier to extend grace to others – in light of the gospel.

One ongoing prayer is that God would faithfully show me what’s in my heart, what sins still lurk there.  Boy howdy, let me warn you in a hurry that this is NOT something you want to pray without serious contemplation.  God is faithful and just, and He will gladly answer this one.

What I have been living through the past couple of weeks is a brutal and agonizing battle of the soul.  I’ve seen some serious stuff in my life that ‘aint purty in the least.  It’s downright UGLY, and I am not kidding.

For years I have had a nagging suspicion that there is some hidden fault that is apparent to everyone around me, but that eludes me.  After all, I can see traits in my friends that probably any mutual friends would agree “could use some work” – but I always wondered what other people were too kind to point out in my life.

Are you tracking with me here?  Do you see struggles in others’ lives that you have conquered in you own?  Or things that sort of bug you about friends you choose to love anyway?  Maybe it’s different in your corner of the world, but I fellowship with some amazing people who are loving, kind, generous, caring, fun (some of them, anyway), but….

It’s that but that always gets me.  They are still human.  They still have struggles.  They still have snarky days.  Some seriously need an attitude adjustment.  They all are bound to a flesh and blood sin nature with hormone fluctuations, mood swings, and varying degrees of selfish motivation that taints even their best efforts.  They are imperfect.

Nonetheless I love them dearly.  I know they love me, too (except the ones, of course, who don’t).  But what’s the “big but” they would add to the list of my better qualities?  I’ve just gotten a glimpse, and let me tell you, it’s huge.  It explains why I’ve unknowingly alienated myself from some people I love with all my heart.

It’s taken the greatest effort to stay at the computer and write today.  I’ve gone through such guilt and shame and self-condemnation over words I have spoken or written that I can’t take back. Words that reflected something nasty residing in my heart or sometimes just a fleeting thought I should have booted out before it hit my tongue or computer screen.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a harder time forgiving anyone as much as I have fought to forgive myself.  Like I say, it’s been a battle of the mind and heart.  I know God forgives me, and I am truly thankful.  But certain people may not choose to do likewise, and if they don’t, how can I ever forgive myself?

And to think it all started with a simple prayer.  Would I be happier to be blissfully ignorant of my failings?  Maybe so, but then how could I ever hope to change?

IRL* Beware, my friends, what you pray this week.

Furlough Boot Camp: Getting the Lil' Soldiers Ready

Getting ready for a summer furlough is so much easier with only three children who are actually not children, but teens. It's an amazing blessing that they can each pack and carry (!) their own bags, decide what books and music they need for the trip, and even go to the store on their own for whatever snacks they might want for travel days.

In the early days I used to put the little ones through "furlough boot camp." To prepare them for a season of being completely thrown out of their routines, I would make the preschoolers take naps in strange places around the house. No more comfy cribs or familiar beds. I would put a blanket and pillow somewhere on the floor and say, "Nighty-night," and leave them to figure out I meant business. This did help once we were on the road and staying in different people's homes because they were accustomed to going to sleep wherever and whenever I told them.

During boot camp, no matter what food I served them, they were not allowed to comment unless they really liked it. They were never to beg for seconds unless I specifically offered them. They had to say please and thank you with a smile on their faces. I trained them to respond to a discrete snap of my finger, wave of my hand, or lifting of an eyebrow. We'd make a game of "coming quickly when called." We even practiced walking in tight formation so we wouldn't appear to be as big a family as we really were. Each older child had a younger one they were responsible for, and the middle child was responsible for the diaper bag (or dog when we were dumb enough to travel with a pet). By the time we left for furlough, we were looking good!

With this said, I must confess that I took the "training exercises" a bit too far, and pridefully drilled into my children how to be perfect little house guests. After all, we wouldn't want unruly children destroying the houses where we would be staying. Seriously! We do need to train our children, and furlough is a good excuse to go into high gear. On a deeper level, though, God only knows my true motives were nothing short of arrogance. I didn't want to risk anyone seeing what we were really like. Instead I painstakingly taught my children to become little hypocrites, acting the part of loving, well-mannered Christians, when their hearts were not quite there yet. I am sorry for that.

It wasn't until after I read the book Shepherding a Child's Heart (which I HIGHLY recommend, by the way), that I became convicted about only working on the outer appearances rather than focusing on heart issues. From then on I vowed to discipline my children for the purpose of training their hearts to fear God, not merely to make Mom look good in front of her friends. I'll never forget the time we went up with one teen and his big ol' afro, and other teen with his long stringy hair. It was still a struggle to not consider "What will people think?" but I forced myself to look at it from God's standpoint. No sin was being committed. Their hearts were good. Why should I require a haircut just to please our conservative support base?

Ironically, it wasn't until I stopped being so paranoid about our "real selves" being revealed in the presence of our supporters that people began to connect genuinely with me. I once had a woman tell me that she used to berate her children after we passed through as house guests, saying things like, "Why can't you be more like the Loker kids? They never...." Oh, my, what damage was done due to my pretense of having well-behaved children? This same woman was quite relieved on a later trip we made to the States, when she saw my children acting like the kids they really were, and even not acting very "Christian" (read between the lines: they were fighting!). Then she began to talk to me on a deeper level. No pretense. No shame. Just honesty. It was a good thing.

With that said, I have heard some frightening tales of things missionary friends' children have done on furloughs that made me glad I had trained mine to be inhumanly perfect. (Ha! Like that's possible.)

Maybe you can flesh this out with some real life experiences of funny things your children have done on furloughs.

IRL* The flip side is that I have fewer stories to tell.

Magnified and Scrutinized

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.

Knock, Knock. Who's There?

“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. ...

Ask Jamie Jo: Reverse-Reverse Culture Shocker

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

“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.

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

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.

Garbage and other Silly Games

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!

Used To Be My Least Favorite Question

A few weeks ago, we discussed my second least favorite question, “Where do you live?” Today I will confess what used to be my least favorite question: “When are you due?”

Just before we left California, I met one of my neighbors at the mailboxes. She was shocked after asking “the question” to discover that, in fact, I am not pregnant. After all these years, I finally came up with a response to put people at ease. I told her that I really need another major surgery to repair this deformity, but I’m not willing to risk my life when it’s more fun to watch people squirm after blurting out the question.

Of all the strangers who have innocently inquired about my baby-that-isn’t, this woman had the nicest comeback. Without a blush or apology (the usual reaction), she said, “I just noticed how you are so happy and glowing, that I assumed you had been blessed with a late life surprise, and I wanted to rejoice with you.”

In case you ever make the mistake of asking a non-expectant woman this horrible question, please concoct a similarly gracious reply.

What gives me hope is that on a good day, people respond to the evident beauty of Christ reflected in my life, wrinkles and poochy stomach and all. Little by little, I am gaining victory over my sin and flesh, and learning to apply the power of the gospel even in the mundane struggles of life. The fact that I was not embarrassed helped the mailbox lady to be at ease after her “bloop.” She wasn’t even apologetic. I love that.

Rejoicing over this blow to my usual sin of vanity, it seemed a contradiction to then attend a formal social gathering where appropriate MOG* (see sidebar) attire required me to squeeze into that torture contraption known as “shapewear.” Ugh. Even then the dress did not fit properly.

My mom always says, “You can’t have looks and comfort.” In this case I achieved neither, and I have serious regrets. I enjoyed watching my husband and kids enjoy themselves and each other, but I was too physically miserable to enter into the fray at the reception. For that I am sorry.

There, I said it. Keeping it real. The dress will not be worn in Mexico or anywhere else. I’m dumping it at Goodwill this week. Next time I will wear a tent if necessary, just so I can breathe and be myself. By then, maybe I will obviously be old enough to avoid “the question.”

From my summer reading program, I recommend these for your Amazon wish list:

• Respectable Sins: Confronting the Sins We Tolerate, by Jerry Bridges


• When People are Big and God is Small: Overcoming Peer Pressure, Codependency, and the Fear of Man, by Edward T. Welch


• The Gospel Primer, Milton Vincent


• Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands: People in Need of Change Helping People in Need of Change, by Paul David Tripp

IRL* Learning the hard way that “Why aren’t you dancing?” is worse than “When are you due?”

The Dangers of De-Cluttering

After New Year’s I began a frenzy of de-cluttering. Before the weather turns hot again, I am taking advantage of a spurt of energy and motivation to clear out all the unnecessary stuff lurking in my closets, cabinets and dressers. The question is what to do with it all? I can have a garage sale, but why should I strap some other missionary with junk I have accumulated after 16 years living in the same house?

Who would want it?

In the same way, I’m attempting to start the new year straightening up things lurking in my heart and mind. Journaling is a good exercise that allows me the luxury of examining my faulty thinking and trashy attitudes without the risk of strapping someone else with them.

There’s an inherent danger in “venting” and “unloading” on husbands, older children, coworkers, and friends near and far away. When I do that, my brain is de-cluttered and my thoughts become clear, but as I am freed from baggage, my listener becomes stuck with it.

A short while back, I shamefully found myself on autopilot, rehearsing a past grievance until my listening coworker finally stopped me, saying, “This is not helpful to me. I am so sorry you were hurt like that, but what am I supposed to do with this information? It just makes me mad. Can we change the subject?”

That was a wake-up call for me. By the grace and healing touch of God, that subject is now forever closed. How I regret my sin of smearing the garbage on my unsuspecting friend.

De-cluttering, unfortunately, is like dieting. You can’t simply say, “Oh, I did that once.” It’s a life-long battle to keep the junk from accumulating in your house and life. I challenge you to check your heart for unseen or maybe more obvious messes that need a clean-up, too.

Trust me, resentment only breeds and multiplies when left alone, and it’s not a pretty sight. It hinders ministry that can only come from a clean heart.

IRL* de-cluttering junk, trashy attitudes, faulty thinking…Who would want it?