Speaking of Missy's OVARIES.... (a.k.a. "How Annoying is Your Fish Bowl?")

Once I heard an American complain about all the rude foreigners at Disney World who pushed right into him as he patiently waited in line for the rides.  North Americans have an enormous bubble surrounding them, which they fully expect strangers to respect. 

Touching is perceived as pushing. 

Most global workers eventually adapt our concept of “personal space” so we can survive without being so prickly with those we came to reach, where personal space is an almost non-existent concept.  However, what about emotional space?  Have any of you experienced the trauma of having a very personal issue treated rudely?

Today I am calling on the collective wisdom of our WOTH readers to address a tender subject: how do you handle infertility cross-culturally?  Short of wearing a t-shirt saying “Please stop talking about my ovaries!” what can be done to get the message across that this is a private matter American women do not want discussed publicly?

Missy (not her real name),  a global worker in her early 30’s, works here in Mexico and has been married for almost five years with no children.  She is a private person who struggles with the fishbowl effect of living in the public eye, where everyone seems preoccupied with her apparent inability to give her Mexican husband offspring.  Mind you she has never seen a doctor or had any “problem” diagnosed, but since her sister-in-law seems to be “Fertile Myrtle” it is presumed there is a “problem,” and that the "problem" is hers and not her husband’s.

The humiliation she has endured is unbelievable.  Can you imagine having people actually touch your belly and weep aloud over the death of your ovaries?  What’s worse, people say hurtful things about how Missy is selfish for not caring that her poor husband has the embarrassment of having an infertile wife.  One woman told her she should stop focusing her attention on helping other people's children (which is her ministry), and then God might consider giving her a child of her own.  Really?

Almost comical (if it weren't true), meddlers regularly offer Missy home remedies like powders in her drinking water, special teas, and fermented pineapple cores.  Once she was given a foot massage to stimulate her reproductive organs.  The very worst are men who make public prophesies and suggestions too graphic to print here, and tell of visions they have had of Missy’s birth canal.  Really!

Missy herself would be at peace with God opening and closing her womb according to His will and purposes.  She would be content to wait several more years to start a family or to adopt children if that’s what God wants.  Her husband and dmil* (see side bar) are supportive, though probably clueless as to her predicament.  If and when she does get pregnant, she would like the glory to go to God, not to the "friends" who offered advice and potions.

Her question to you is this:  How can she communicate to her adversaries that she is a private person who is quietly trusting God?  How can she be gracious, while calmly but strongly telling people to shut up stop meddling and leave her alone?

Is it possible to relay this message without offending people cross-culturally?  How would this scene play out in your part of the world?

IRL:  Living in a fish bowl can be pretty annoying sometimes.

P.S.  I voted against the "Stop Talking About My Ovaries" t-shirt, but I did find this one at www.AdoptionBug.com.
that says "mom-to-be:  Just waiting to find out WHEN." 

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.

That Disconnect with our Dearest

"The last few weeks I was blessed to have my little brother visit and experience my life here in Mexico.  Often for single missionaries the people that we love most never know what our lives are truly like.  We try to explain, send pictures and tell the stories, but it is not the same, and in reality attention spans of those listening are relatively short since they have no way to connect with the realities described. 

This is not a lack of concern or caring, but simply a reflection of an absence of shared experiences that would allow one to connect with another’s life.  It was truly a joy to share my life with my brother for those three weeks, introduce him to the people I care for, places where I live and work, and travel with him through the mountains, coasts and valleys of Oaxaca.  I should have been thankful, joyful, but when I left him at the airport for his trip home, I couldn’t stop the tears."

I would say to Chariti, the writer of this blog post excerpt, that being single has its definite challenges and unique sorrows, but the longing for loved ones to “get” our life is common to us all, newbies and old-timers, single and married alike.

This summer I once again experienced that disconnect with some of my dearest family members and friends.  How can they relate to my life when they have never seen where and how I live?  Why do I even bother rambling on about what they cannot possibly envision?  I can enter back into their lives fairly easily, but very few loved ones have imaginations that enable them to enter into mine.

What I love about short-term teams is that blessing of having people from “home” in my real home, sharing a meal around my table, gradually “connecting with the realities” that I’ve been trying to describe in blogs and prayer letters for all these years.  I love it when they reach that “aha” moment of realization that my life is not to be pitied, but envied.

When people say, “I could never do what you do, “ I suspect that they have no idea what my real life is all about.  How could they say that, when I lead such a fulfilling and happy life?  When they ask, “When are you going to retire, move ‘back home’ and settle into living in the U.S.?” I know that they are missing some vital piece of information I haven’t been able to communicate adequately.

Once again, I am thankful for my IRL (real life) friends who share my life on the field.  I’m also thankful for each of you who are living parallel lives in your dots on the map.  It brings me great cheer to be reminded continually that I am not alone.

IRL:  Chariti, you are not alone, either, and I’m sure I am not alone in saying you will be missed when you move on from this particular field of service.

The "M" Word

Now that I am home in southern Mexico again after a summer of fund raising partnership development, I’d like to continue the discussion from last week on the shift in the English language and how some words are taboo and new ones are deemed appropriate.

We used to laugh at a notorious old linguist here in Oaxaca who would purposely cling to old vocabulary no longer in use.  He would talk about visiting “the tribe” (instead of the language group) and about working with his “informant” (instead of language associate). 

All the while I was snickering at him, some of you were maybe cringing to read all the posts where I continue using the outmoded term “missionary.”

After talking with some women who frankly don’t read this IRL blog, I concede that it’s time I change my vocabulary and clean up my act if I intend to be an encouragement to women of the harvest whose internet connections are not secure, and where eyes might be snooping to see what websites you are accessing.

More and more brave souls are now branching out to work among people whose lives would be in jeopardy if they associated with people known to be (whispered) missionaries.  That alone is reason to tread softly in identifying ourselves with that word.

Another thing is that on the field, the translated equivalent of the “M” word is associated with Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons, not necessarily with evangelical “C’s.”  It’s becoming necessary to clear up any confusion there.

This has been an eye-opener for me.  What I envision when I hear the “M” word is not at all what other people see in their minds.  When I was growing up, my heart was tugged to serve God in a radical way outside the U.S. because of stories I heard from missionaries who proudly wore the label missionary.

Nowadays younger recruits are shunning the “M” word in favor of other more relevant terms that are less obvious.  In order to attract these hip new global workers, we should tread softly over the “M” word and start using language that better reflects the work they will be doing overseas.

So, what is the word you prefer?

IRL:  I’m willing to join the young folks and drop the moniker of missionary if someone will just tell me what to call myself now.

Is It Really All Good??

“It is what it is.”  (But can’t it change?)  “It’s all good.”  (I’ve mentioned this one before.  No, it’s not necessarily all good even though you tell me it is.)

These are among other weird sayings of this decade.  I can hear you replying, “I know, right?”  But what do we even call this decade?  I only recently learned that the first ten years of the 2000’s were called the “noughties.”  Really?

For that matter, these past twelve years – and longer – have been about learning English all over again.  After 26 years of gradually introducing new Spanish vocabulary to my mental dictionary, random English words have begun deleting themselves at will.

Do you tend to import words into your English vocabulary from your host country’s language?  In the middle of speaking English back home (in Oaxaca), we use words like “tope” (i.e.:  “Slow down!  There’s a tope up ahead.”) and “bodega” (like “Run out to the bodega and bring me a rake por fa.”)  Oh, and “por fa” as a slang version of por favor.

When I come to the U.S. I find myself stumbling over words I seldom need in English, words I have substituted with Spanish for too many years.  FYI, in case you are wracking your brain like I was, tope is a speed bump in English, and bodega is storeroom.

As if it isn’t enough to tax an unquestioningly aging brain, certain words and phrases I do happen to remember in English are no longer acceptable in polite society.  PC is not a personal computer, as I was once taught, but something to dread and respect.

And as if our teenaged TCKs don’t have enough to worry about “doing wrong” in American culture, now they have to watch what they say.  Just because Mom has always said it back home doesn’t mean it is okay to say in public.  We hypocrites used to tell our children, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Now we have to add, “…but for heaven’s sake, don’t say as I say; it might not be politically correct any more.”

You probably already know this, but we now call tree-huggers “environmental activists,” while waiters and waitresses are “servers,” and airline stewardesses are “flight attendants.”  Only indiscreet old folks youthfully-challenged people would say differently.

Here are some more PC terms I found on a website too noughty and naughty to recommend here:

Women no longer get PMS; they are now “hormonally homicidal.”

Women don’t gain weight; they are “metabolic underachievers.”

Did you know we must no longer refer to people who can’t read as illiterate?  No, no, no, no, no.  They are non-literate.  I was corrected back in the noughties when I accidentally, thoughtlessly, and carelessly wrote in a prayer letter that we are reaching out to illiterate people.  (If you are among the non-literate people who were offended when you read that letter, I submit my deepest regret and apologies.)

It takes time to erase terms from this worn-out memory bank, so forgive me when I lapse into old lingo no longer deemed appropriate. 

Hopefully by the time we reach the twenties, I’ll have these PC monikers mastered, even though by then we’ll have new slangy idioms like “it was what is was.”

IRL*  It’s not a matter of simply restoring the memory, but upgrading the whole system.

Losing My Moxie

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!

Jamie Hush

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.

Is 2DAY Gr8 4 U?

My big accomplishment for June was learning to send text messages. Ever the frugal missionary, I love sending a quick text for half the cost of a one-minute call. My kids have laughed at my early attempts to use this technology. I’ve finally figured out how to punctuate, but my spelling is often intrstng. It took me a while to discover why the word “can” always came out “2n” and “will” looked like “wik.” For a while I was convinced my phone was faulty. Now I love it.

For less than a nickel, I sent a text to my college daughter to pick up milk on her way home from class one day. It was cheaper than driving a separate car to the closest store. On a side note, I do miss the corner store (tienda) back home. As slowly as I thumb type, I might have walked there and back in the same time, but I digress (and exaggerate).

All this instant communication is in sharp contrast with the total lack of contact with my husband the past few weeks. He’s been in Mexico hosting short-term teams from the States. Last Wednesday I received a couple of emails from the church whose youth team was in Oaxaca, concerned about the 6.2 earthquake not far from the ministry site.

Since they were working in a secluded area lacking cell phone service and Internet access, I didn’t expect to hear back from my husband until later in the week. I’m used to that, but there wasn’t much I could do to reassure the parents back home. I was convinced the group was fine. (They were.) I later learned they had slept through the shaking; but they did not, however, miss out on the opportunity to update their Facebook status with such sensational news reports.

This incident got me thinking about the new generation of missionaries arriving on the field, both young and old. It must be difficult to adjust to the lack of reliable instant communication they are used to 24/7. What the old-timers consider a tremendous blessing, having even sporadic Internet and cell phone coverage, the new folks must perceive as a challenge.

Someone recently asked what the WORST things are about being a missionary--she wanted the nitty-gritty. The inside scoop. Before I share my response, I want to pose the question to you.

Maybe for you it is the communication issue. Maybe not.

I suspect the answers will vary depending on how long you have been on the field, so please include this in your comment.

First, I want to hear from you. Next week, I’ll answer the question more fully from my viewpoint as a (reluctant) old-timer.

IRL*Now I’m tri-lingual.

My Techy Side

Today, once again, I am thankful to be living in this particular time in history. I appreciate the blessing of modern technology. Now I can keep in touch with family and supporters, not only with email, Facebook and blogs, but also with VOIP (voice over), phone lines and Skype. It keeps the communication two-way. I love that!

When my dmil* (refer to Jamie-Jo Speak in sidebar) suffered a stroke a few months ago, we got the news right away. Dbil* was able to make a local call from Ohio to our Lingo phone here in Mexico and keep us in the loop. We can make weekly calls to dmil even though she has no Internet access.

In the fall I used Skype to connect with my daughter before visiting her in California. She had not been home for ten months and wanted me to bring some clothes and keepsakes she had left behind. Using the web cam, I walked through her room and showed her each item in her drawer and closet while she instructed me whether to pack it, store it, or donate it to the “missionary boutique.” I felt like the thoroughly modern mother.

Taking my techy side up a notch, last week I attended my first ever Cyber Bridal Shower. My ddil*-to-be (my son’s future bride) attended a bridal shower at her home church in Wisconsin. So I wouldn’t feel left out, she put a computer right on the gift table and then called me on Skype. Via web cam, I could watch her open all her presents. We chatted back and forth—almost like we were in the same room. I met some of her friends and relatives and even one of her bridesmaids. All via computer. How cool is that?

Another way we enjoy this technology is on Cyber Sundays. Each week we download sermons from our kids’ church in Simi Valley, California, where they are attending Eternity Bible College. We invite other English speakers to our house to watch podcast sermons of Francis Chan and other good preachers—the same sermons my son and daughter watched live the week before.

Lastly, we’ve also used technology to connect with supporting churches. Once we had a long-distance, live interview with a pastor who wanted to introduce us to the congregation. That was the simplest meeting we ever attended. All we did was straighten up the room, make sure the lighting was adequate, plug in the microphone and web cam, and then visit with the pastor as we were broadcast on a big screen. From Mexico. It boggles the brain.

In some of my imaginary time travels I see myself listening to “goo-goo, ga-ga” and talking baby talk with my yet unborn grandchildren sitting on their mothers’ laps watching me on a computer screen. It’s not the same as living in the same town with loved ones, but it sure is a nice consolation.

I just love the possibilities for staying in touch. Thank you, Lord, for technology!


IRL* Let's put our techy, digital side to work and participate in the contest...

______________________

“Sign of the Times” CONTEST!!!!!!!!

Win a $15 iTunes gift card by submitting a fun photo depicting the clash of living in the 21st century while living in your global community.

For example, a mental picture I have, but never caught on film, is of an indigenous man plowing his field the old way with oxen, with a cell phone on his belt and a Megavoice (audio Bible MP3) in his pocket....

Submit your photo to editor@womenoftheharvest.com by next Monday, March 29 @ 10:00 am (MST). We’ll post the photos and then vote on our favorite one!