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.

Stifling ... Contradictions

Ah, the satisfaction of a good healthy sneeze.  My mom, bless her heart,  tends to sneeze embarrassingly loud with a lusty WA-HOO! And consequently I've spent a lifetime trying to stifle mine. 

In case you’ve never tried this, it’s painful to swallow a sneeze, and inevitably it results in a high-pitched hiccuppy squeak that sound more like "tee-ew" than "kerchoo," which is equally embarrassing to offspring.  (Ask how I know.)

One day not so long ago, I was home alone when I felt that urge to sneeze.  Instead of my usual attempt at a silent execution, I let it out.  I mean, I gave a  big ugly ol’ kabptlowzhooy that would put my mama to shame.  And you know what?  It felt good.  I never knew a sneeze could be so satisfying.

In her defense, Mom had no clue she was inadvertently teaching me that sneezes were bad, no clue that her unladylike blasts had turned me off to the point of permanent avoidance of sneezing and the perpetual pursuit of a dainty sneeze when absolutely unavoidable.  

Now - again - I am on the other side of the equation.  Having older children highlights many interesting revelations.  I pray that each child will find ways to overcome personal oddities caused by overreactions to what they perceived to be truth when they were younger.  In the meantime may they own up to their misunderstandings and not blame them all on me.

Any way you look at it, kids jump to the wrong conclusions.  Case in point: if you and your husband kiss and show affection in front of them, one child might say “Ew, gross” and vow to never do that when he grows up.  If you choose to only embrace in the privacy of your bedroom, another child may battle an irrational fear that his parents are on the verge of divorce.  You cannot win.

Contradictions abound.  Based on what they see and hear,  I fear my children might grow up to be stingy and selfish.  I mean, what are we teaching our kids when we say things like...  “...don’t share your hairbrush or baseball cap; you might get head lice,”  “...don’t let friends eat after you or drink out of your water bottle; you might get the flu or hepatitis, ” and “...don’t give to (that) beggar or he will just use it for drugs or alcohol.” It sounds so ungenerous and un-Christian.

Oh, the conflicting messages of childhood. 

Then there are the many cultural contradictions we convey.  At times I hear my own voice planting negative seeds with exclamations like “Hurry up!  You don’t have to be so Mexican that we are always late.” 

Okay, it's your turn now.  Which of your oddities do you contend are your parents' fault?  For those of you with children, do you feel like confessing how your kids have come to mistaken conclusions from lessons you never meant to teach?

Can we undo the damage we've already caused?  More importantly, is it worth hashing it out with our grown kids, at the risk of letting the proverbially suppressed sneezes explode?  I wonder....

IRL*  Is there any such thing as a happy balance between kerchoo and kabptlowzhooy?  

**************************************************

Just for fun, I've compiled a list of sneezy sounds from other languages that I found on the internet.  Feel free to add to the list.
 

ah-choo (English)
ap chkii (Russian)
atchim (Brazilian Portuguese)
hatschi (German)
hakushon (Japanese)
achís (Spanish)
aak-chheen or aak-chhoon (Hindi)
a-psik (Polish)
Han-chee (Chinese)
Itush (Hebrew)
Kychnut (Czech)
Wa-hing (Indonesian)
A-tchouin (French)

ha tsjoe (Dutch)

Hatsing," pronounced "hut-CHEENG" (Tagalog)

Ecciù (Italian)

Atsjo! (Norwegian)

 

Drastic Shift in Perspective

The party’s over.  A sensational week with my granddaughter and all my children has come to a close.  All I’ve got to say (well, not exactly all I have to say, but with every attempt to keep this post brief) is that things sure look different waving bye-bye from this side of the security gate at the airport.

When we used to kiss my parents goodbye, taking precious grandchildren far away, I never fully understood the anguish I was causing.  Now I get it.  (I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again.)  Boy, do I get it.

Another thing I want to add is how much easier it is to trust God for protection and provision in my own life than in the life of my adult children.  Back when we were driving around the Guatemalan countryside in the midst of a civil war, was I concerned?  Not much.  We were all together, and God was there to protect and provide.

Now that my kids are the ones driving through Mexico on their way to serve as teachers at the MK school close to us, it looks a bit different.  Are you sure that’s a good idea to drive instead of fly just so you’ll have a vehicle once you get there?  Okay.  (Never mind that we used to drive all the way to Guatemala through Mexico with quite a few children.)

Suddenly I’ve had this drastic shift in perspective, and it’s making me think and trust on a whole new level.  I guess that’s a good thing.  Come what may, I have chosen to simply trust God.  Just because I’ve started gaining victory over some pesky sins doesn’t mean I have to make way for new ones.  Worry is a sin.  I hereby vow not to go there, at least not regularly.

Ugh.  Either I can trust my kids in His hands or I can’t.  It seems so ironic to start worrying now after all we’ve been through.

How about you?  Have you found certain things you used to take in stride are suddenly triggers for serious concern or even alarm?

This summer while in the States I watched an old rerun of Leave it to Beaver.  It’s funny how I used to identify with the kids on that show, but now I watch it as a mother and grandmother, and it’s a different show entirely.  Those dumb kids.  What are they thinking?

When it comes right down to it, I’m more comfortable reading the seemingly-dumb-kid side of the script than the reasonable-adult role. 

Either way, I think it’s much easier to be the one boarding the plane than the one waving good-bye from the other side.  That’s my opinion, and I’m sticking with it. 

IRL* Thanks, Mom, for loving us long-distance all these years.

An Unforgettable Week

We used to tease my dad about his obsession with reading the Dallas Morning News obituaries first thing every day during breakfast.  His reply was always the same:  “Just checking to see if I have to go to work today.”  Being self-employed, he seldom took the luxury of a day off.  Dad went to work almost every single day until the day he didn’t.  (It’s been almost ten years, and I still miss him.)

The truth is that my dad looked at the paper to see which of his friends and acquaintances had passed away so he could pay his respects.  The older he got, he more funerals he attended.  That’s just how it goes.  My grandmother used to say that one of the worst part about growing old was outliving all your friends.

This past week I felt like my dad, only I was checking Facebook  (instead of a newspaper) each day to see if different friends and loved ones on my prayer list “had to go to work” again, or if they had been promoted to glory.  Happily for them, but sadly for those left behind, several died last week.

First was the death of my friend’s mother, whom I had been praying for since she suffered a stroke that weekend.  Then the team leader from a short-term group who came down a few years ago lost his battle against cancer, passing away that same day. 

A couple of days later, a car accident in Paraguay took the lives of a woman some of you may have met at the WOTH retreat last fall, Julie Kurrle, and her six-year-old son.  Then without any Facebook warning at all, a neighbor across the road passed away.  Finally on Sunday a Sonlight forum friend lost her precious little daughter, Megan, to leukemia.

Of all of these, the most tragic are the ones involving the little children whose lives on earth seemed cut short.  I cannot imagine the pain and emptiness felt by the parents.  But then again, those are bittersweet when we picture Jesus welcoming them directly into his arms.

What was truly heart wrenching was the reaction of unsaved loved ones when my neighbor, Joel, died.  My husband and I were in their home when the first responder finally gave up on CPR.  I have never heard such despairing cries of agony and loss.  The wife and daughters were wailing out of sheer hopelessness, not understanding the implications of Joel’s profession of faith in Jesus.

Such an unforgettable week points me again to the reason we are here, the reason we make such sacrifices (like being thousands of miles away when my little granddaughter was taken to the emergency room earlier this week), and the reason we have hope even in the midst of terrible tragedy and loss.

So many have yet to hear the reason for the hope we have.  Here is a sermon that reminded me why we are here, why we do what we do, by  David Platt, author of Radical; it reminds me again of God’s sovereignty.

Here’s a song to minister to your heart, in case you’ve had a week like mine full of sad surprises. 

IRL* If you're reading this, then I guess you have to go to work.

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.

Potty Humor

In light of what I shared last week, you can appreciate why more than ever I need a good laugh. Is there anyone who doesn’t? “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine….”

Please forgive me for shifting gears now and resorting to potty humor. Yes, you read that right. Potty humor. Don’t tell me you haven’t had your share of laughs regarding the diverse and interesting bathroom facilities in the country where you serve. In fact,IRL I am counting on you to regale us with some stories in the comment section.

One memorable funny of mine dates back to my first overseas assignment as a young single woman in Thailand. My mother and grandmother came to visit, and I attempted to demonstrate the squatty potty technique to them. What made it impossible for Nana was that she refused to dispense with the control top pantyhose. (I want to say girdle, too, but my mom is out of town and I can’t verify this fact before being guilty of exaggerating again!) Besides that, her American feet were too big to fit in the stall once the door was shut, forcing her to perch on top of the potty to yank her undergarments back up.

Now that I am more “mature” (downright old depending on your vantage point), I pity both my mom and Nana with their shaky leg muscles trying to balance themselves on a moving train, using a non-western WC. And to think I laughed. I should be ashamed. Bless their hearts! (snicker)

Another incident on that same visit happened at my host family’s house. Nana’s southern sensibilities could not comprehend why the bathrooms were not stocked with toilet paper. Instead they only had a bucket of water with a scooper. When it was time for supper the first night, I was mortified to hear her loudly proclaim in her east Texas accent, “Well, say, HERE’S the toilet paper!” and to see her pick it up off the dining room table and haul it to the wash room.

I don’t know which was more embarrassing, explaining the bucket of water to my grandmother in Thailand, or explaining the purpose of a bidet to my preschool boys in Guatemala. Of course, being the prude I am, I told them it was a foot washer. Later they discovered a box of big white poofy “stickers” under the sink, which they used to make a mural across the bathroom wall. Talk about an expensive art project… but I digress.

Here in Mexico we live in a desert, so our house is outfitted with an “ecological” or “composting” toilet to preserve water. I can’t imagine what my prim and proper grandmother would have thought about having an outhouse INSIDE the house, but hey, at least we have toilet paper! (And a toilet seat, too, I might boast.)

Others are not so fortunate, as you can see by these photos of other Mexican commodes.

Now it’s your turn. Do tell.

IRL*the photo says it all.