Out of the Fog and Back on My Knees

After a particularly troublesome spell, I'm finally coming out of the fog.  It's been interesting, but not too fun. 

Maybe this is what separates me from the big time writers and speakers:  I still can't reconcile my personal life with my (very limited) public life. 

How to the "real" writers do it?  How do they keep writing, talking, and encouraging others when they have dry times spiritually, when God seems silent, and when relationships are sticky?  I picture them firmly on the pedestal where I have placed them, continuing faithfully in the Word, trusting God in prayer, and finding spiritual applications to share with us average Christians who are slogging our way through life's difficulties.

Somehow as much as I want to be "real" with you here, I keep slipping into my preferred stance as an expert-wannabe, and then I groan when "being real" forces me to acknowledge that I am in the same trenches with you, fighting similar battles.  The glitch is that I can't freely share the nature of my battles, since the story involves some seriously messed up, intertwined lives.  People would be hurt if I broadcast our squabbles on a public forum like this.

With my apologies for being so vague, let me just say that after a prolonged conflict, I feel like the end is in sight.  It's been a doozy, let me tell you!  For the past few weeks, I have decided to stop making excuses for sticking my head in the sand, and I've started spending one solid hour in prayer every day, almost without fail.  As a result, I am seeing answered prayer and breakthroughs in the battle. Maybe next time I won't be so slow to return to the Power Source.

Rather than reprinting the story here, you can read about a similar lesson in prayer on my personal blog, Memories and Musings from Mexico:  Mixed-up Prayers.  It's a true story that happened in Guatemala after my third son was born in 1989.  Back then the only time I could be quiet and alone for devotions was when the baby woke up to be fed at 2:00 A.M.

That's what I'm trying to do again, meet with God for a solid hour when the rest of the family is asleep.  Nothing needs to be done in the middle of the night.  The phone isn't going to ring, no neighbors will be stopping by; the only thing I am missing is sleep.  It seems to be harder in my 50's than it was in my 20's, but it's still just as vital to sacrifice whatever it takes to have time to talk to God and listen for my daily marching orders.

Do tell, how do you carve out a private time and place to meet with the Lord each day?  Surely there's a better solution that doesn't involve crawling out of bed in the wee hours of the morning.  Please share!

IRL:  It's good to be out of the fog and back on my knees again in earnest.

What's Your [Furlough] Blessing?

People genuinely do want to “bless the missionaries” while we are stateside.  Really they do.  Okay, at least some do.  Churches who regularly pray for us are the first to find tangible ways to bless us while we are here.

Hopefully all of us could share a long list of blessings we have received, and maybe we can even rejoice with our colleagues (without jealousy) in the provision of things we have personally never received.  I  once struggled with envy when I heard of other global workers returning home to free dental work, car mechanics, restaurant and gas cards, and trips to amusement parks as a family.

It’s taken 26 years to accumulate quite a list of lovely tokens of love and appreciation from friends and partners in our work.  But let’s face it, what is a tremendous blessing to me might fall short of that objective in your case.

For example, a friend gifted me with kefir grains, fresh raw milk, subsidized nutritional supplements, and even a kombucha starter!  All of my hippy, happy, just-a-bit-out-there friends will say “Cool”!  The rest of you are scratching your heads saying, “Huh”?

With this said, let me share some “blessings” my kids have experienced in real life on summer furloughs.  My oldest daughter remembers being in a supporting church at age six or seven, and being forced to stand up in front of about fifty children she didn’t know and share about life in Oaxaca.  (Don’t your children hate that?)

To make it worse, the teacher then said, “Because you are our special guest we will let you take our offering this morning … but first you can start us off by praying in Spanish!”  Now whoever thought that would be a treat for a shy little visitor?

Another story happened to one of my boys who was too young at the time to remember it.  One of our supporting churches is a lively little church, very different from the denominations we usually attend.  We were sitting on the front row, all however-many-of-us-there-were at the time. 

The pastor had asked people to come up for special prayer. He proceeded to holler at the devil, until one person after another fell at our feet, slain in the spirit.  When the pastor ran out of standing people to pray for, he came over to pray for us. 

My youngest son began crying loudly, “Don’t let him pray for me!  Don’t let him pray for me!” until I shushed him and rushed him out as though he needed a sudden diaper change.

Sometimes blessings fall a bit shy of their goal. 

What amazes me about WOTH is how they truly minister to such a diverse group of women, touching mind, body, and soul.  They “get” our lives in a way few people do.  It was a blessing to be a co-presenter at the Writer’s Workshop last week at the WOTH Furlough Retreat in Denver, and a pleasure to introduce many new readers to this blog! 

Now it’s your turn to share.  Please share with us some of the greatest blessings of your current or past furloughs.  I promise to rejoice without (much) envy, even if your list trumps my kefir, kombucha, and raw milk.  Feel free to add your own stories of things your kids have had to endure on furlough.

No pressure to comment, but I did tell lots of the women at the retreat that the stories in the comments are the best part about this blog, so don’t let me down! 

IRL* Blessed.

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.

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

In a perfect world…

Fill in the blank. The past few days these words keep repeating themselves in my head, and I can’t decide if it’s an altogether healthy exercise to imagine such a place.

On the one hand, it’s always good to be reminded, as we said a couple of weeks ago, that this is not our home. On the other hand it’s disconcerting to realize that even among the body of Christ we are still so far from what we should be. Will the world ever know us by our love?

For the past thirteen years I have had the dubious distinction of being the mother of anywhere from one to four teens at a time. In June it went from three back down to two as my dd turned twenty. This month it goes back up to three as my youngest turns thirteen. Whoopee! (The finish line is in sight.)

Facing the teen years with the seventh is no less daunting than the first time around. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those doom-and-gloom “just wait till you have a teenager” kind of moms. The truth is that I love, enjoy, and appreciate my children more at this stage than I did when they were so little and needy.

What makes parenting older kids challenging is that their struggles are bigger and deeper, and somehow more is at stake. As a mom, I see their unique gifts and personalities when others seemingly don’t. Nothing in life pains me quite like watching my children blunder through the social maze of a supposedly Christian circle.

Seeing how they apply the Word of God (or not) in each situation, holding my breath to see if they even attempt to respond in a Christ-like manner, I don’t know - the drama is like a comedy, a mystery, and a terrifying suspense novel all wrapped up in one. So far the older four have all made it through relatively unscathed, still loving their parents, each other, and God.

The jury is still out on the youngest three. Sadly this is the time they become acutely aware that this is anything but a perfect world.

As a mom, I know what they might expect. Nothing less than what Jesus experienced – people misunderstanding him, rejecting him, pretending to be friends while plotting against him, mocking him, and using him for their own benefit. At the same time teens have a villain whispering lies in their ears that they are not smart enough, attractive enough, or good enough.

At first glance, this may not seem like a unique dilemma to raising kids on the field, but the stakes are so much higher. We’ve seen several families who have had to go back to the States for the sake of their teenagers who were making poor decisions or who had been hurt in some way. None of us would be so foolish or bold as to say that could never happen to us.

It’s a scary place out there for our teens, spiritually and emotionally if not physically. It’s enough to keep me humbly on my knees and in the Word. Our MKs don’t have to be casualties in the battle we have waged with the enemy.

IRL* Let’s keep them covered in prayer, shall we?

We All Possess This

Hard as I try to foster an attitude of gratitude by daily or at least weekly recounting all my blessings, somehow I slip into the old habit of taking things for granted until they are gone.

Time, health, and finances are the top three that tend to be overlooked until they are in short supply. Returning from my recent fog of Dengue Fever, I’m particularly aware of the blessing of good health, but this week I want to talk about time.

While each of us can claim varying degrees of youth, beauty, fame, fortune, and anything else Hollywood might deem important, the one blessing we all possess in equal quantity is time. We are guaranteed 24 hours in each day.

Whenever we run out of time, it just reveals that we are either overly ambitious, or else maybe we are slow learners, still struggling over the basics of life on the field. The trouble is that we continue filling our calendars and daily agendas to the max, forgetting that we are powerless to accomplish anything apart from the grace of God. We are dismayed and actually surprised when the unexpected happens (the electricity goes off, people stop by needing a meal, a child gets sick), and we finish none of the tasks we set out to do. List-checkers are particularly annoyed when their day doesn't play out according to the plan. Am I right?

As the years go by, if we don't go crazy first, we learn the art of sculpting our plans in Jello instead of concrete. Even still it is a struggle. Ideally I start each day in prayer, asking God to take my time and use it for His glory. When I do this, I never have that frantic feeling that time is too short. Then and only then can I view interruptions in proper perspective. People are the reason we are here. When people start becoming intrusions, I know something is wrong. It proves I'm holding my to-do list too possessively. Again.

It's ironic that I had this particular post outlined in my mind, but every time I tried to type it up, someone else was on the computer. My whole Monday was one thwarted plan after another. I wish I could say I handled it gracefully because the day belonged to God, not me. Instead I was a snarky mom all day, griping about how behind we are with school, and how I wanted to finish this post and check it off my list. Normally I love writing, but this week I was too busy fretting over lost time to ever write about time.

Two weeks ago, my daughter, Debbie, was sick for two days, and we got behind in school. Last week we lost two days due to the ministry team being here. This week is a four-day week because of Independence Day on Friday. In three weeks, we have slipped a whole week behind in our school work. With my other children, I would have pushed them to make it up, and somehow we would catch up. With Debbie, it is impossible. She has Apraxia and some language-related learning disabilities that cause her to work double or triple hard on a daily basis. Speeding up the learning process is just not an option. Apparently God has another solution. I just need to give our time to Him, not just every school year, but every week, every day, every hour.

Having a daughter who struggles with speech, reading, and anything language-related (which is just about every academic subject) should teach me patience. If only I could let go of my lesson plans when they don't work out.

On a positive note, I am no longer teaching the ladies Bible study at the local church. On a not-so-positive note, I filled the time I "found" by agreeing to teach an elective at the Christian school, where my son Jonny attends. I gave up a one-day class in town, and committed to a two-day class in the city. Does anyone else see a problem here?

IRL* I just need to give my time to Him, not just every school year, but every week, every day, every hour.

Tapering Off: Does that have to be the norm?

This summer is all about family. I am consumed with travel itineraries. Dh is attending a family reunion with his mom in Wisconsin this week. Tomorrow, 16-year-old dd is visiting her big sister in Colorado before we all meet up in Illinois. Next week I will leave with the remaining two children, ages 12 and 14, to spend a week with ds and his fiancé before the wedding (!). Ds from Canada will join us for that week, too. The following week I’ll see the eldest ds and his wife, who are expecting my first granddaughter!

With the anticipation of many joy-filled reunions coming up, I’ve been on the Lingo phone and Skype a lot more than usual. Suddenly we can’t wait to see each other, so we are chatting almost daily. After the wedding, I’m sure the visiting will continue at a higher pace than usual, until it gradually tapers off to our norm, which is a couple of weeks between communication. Eventually real life consumes us all.

It’s like going to see the dentist. Before a check-up, I tend to pay a lot of attention to my teeth, trying to get them cleaned up before getting them cleaned. (How dumb is that?) Then after they are professionally cleaned, I am super diligent to brush and floss for the first few months, but when it’s time for my next appointment, I find myself digging out the floss again.

It’s inexcusable how neglectful I get the more time that passes between visits, whether with friends, family, or dentists. I might even argue the same applies to household help. We dash around tidying up the house if a maid is coming to clean, and then we work hard to try to preserve the clean house once she leaves. That never lasts long, though, unless we are expecting company. Clutter eventually reigns (or rains?).

Unfortunately, the same principle also applies to my times with God. The more I hang out with Him, the more I want to. Then if I am not super careful, I can easily fall back into bad habits of rushing through “mandatory” conversations with Him each day, allowing clutter to take over my daily agenda.

This summer I took the 90-day challenge with one of my readers I am blessed to know IRL. (Thanks, Inky’Spot!) We’ve been reading through the whole Bible since June. It takes me over an hour most days, and even longer if I journal, pray, and think over what I have read. It’s been a fabulous experience. The more time I spend with Jesus, the more time I want to spend with Him, just like with my family and friends.

Today is day 57, and I up to Jeremiah. I have no idea how I will carve out time for this luxury once I fly up to be with my family next week, but for now I am hooked.

IRL*Keeping up with adult children, cleaning house, flossing teeth, diet, exercise, daily Bible reading, and warfare prayer…. Discipline is such a virtue worth pursuing and maintaining.

Daily Annoyances & Hidden Treasures

Wouldn’t you know it? After “only” having a cactus needle in my thumb, then real troubles started. Nothing serious, but more costly for sure. I am just glad they were all impersonal (mechanical/electronic) problems. I’d much rather replace a broken washing machine than to try to fix a relationship rift. Wouldn’t you?

This week I thought I would share with you my list of things to pray for my friends on the field. Feel free to share this with your friends and family back home. If you find something I have omitted, please add to the list in the comment section. These are in random order.

• Encouragement in God's Word daily


• Evidence of spiritual fruit being produced


• Genuine love and compassion for the people


• Satisfaction of accomplishing each task she is called to do


• Someone to call a friend, to share burdens


• Grace in family relationships


• Clear communication with supporters and home office

• Unity with coworkers


• Adequate medical care when needed

• Flexibility


• Wisdom in setting priorities and diligence in keeping them


• Finances


• To remain hidden from the enemy


• Adjustment/ continual readjustment to the culture


• Salvation for unsaved loved ones


• To not weary in well-doing


• Willingness to suffer when needed - keeping eyes on the unseen reward

• Cheerfully making necessary sacrifices


• Victory over daily annoyances (noise, dirt, unreliable amenities, lack of conveniences, etc.)


• Good relationships with local authorities (if applicable)


• Energy, endurance


• Spiritual renewal


• Awareness, repentance, and freedom from besetting sins


• To pray without ceasing


• Rejoice in all circumstances


• Sensitivity to the Holy Spirit


• Daily needs (devotional time, rest, diet, exercise, solitude, companionship, etc.)


• Discernment and diplomacy to proclaim the truth


• Passion for serving others


• Emotional stability


• Health and safety of family on the field and of grown children / aging parents in the home country

• Protection in travel


• Hidden treasures: daily reminders of God's love, mercy, and grace


• Balance of responsibilities (family and ministry outside the home)


• Provision of educational needs for children, particularly those with special needs

IRL* I’m praying for each of you today, dear Women of the Harvest.

Don’t forget to submit your "Ask Jamie Jo" questions for next week’s blog (see sidebar for details)!

Memoirs of a Bad Mother

On my favorite home school support forum (provided by Sonlight Curriculum – see the side bar for more information about SL), someone on the international forum recently asked us veteran moms how old our children were when we allowed them to leave the house by themselves.

It never occurred to me what a horribly negligent mother I was until I started typing my answer to this e-maginary friend.

The truth is that I let my oldest two boys walk to the corner to buy fresh tortillas when they were about three and four years old. Usually I went with them, but if little brother needed attention just then and I didn’t want to carry him, I would send the boys on their own. What was I thinking?

Oldest children are born half-grown-up, just because moms like me are so clueless and trusting. I am so thankful God protected them. Even with my seventh, I used to let her walk a beaten path through the desert to a friend’s house (the distance of about two city blocks) when she was only about eight years old.

Nowadays things are different. Life isn’t quite so safe in these parts any more. I had to laugh at myself when I fretted over the possibility of our single houseguest having to take a city bus by herself, when I had let my own daughter take a bus to the dentist in the city with only a little brother for a bodyguard back when she was 15. Now I am concerned about a 23-year-old?

Then there was the time I sent my 17-year-old daughter on a plane by herself to the Philippines to help out a family for seven months. What was I thinking? I never considered there could be a glitch in the scheduling, requiring her to spend one night alone in a hotel in Tokyo, that’s for sure.

I guess the bottom line is that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone my method of child-rearing. Maybe it helped the older four adjust to college in the U.S. and Canada, having been so independent for so long. But still, looking back at all the what-if’s gives me the shivers.

Our houseguest has moved into a more permanent housing situation with a roommate now, and I am trying not to smother her with my motherly counsel, but still I can’t help praying for her safety each day as she travels to the school where she teaches and back.

I hope my college kids have a mama nearby, worrying over their comings and goings. I’m thankful for ddils watching over my oldest two sons, who survived their childhoods with little help from their negligent mother. At the same time I am trying not to restrict my younger three kids beyond what is healthy, even in these uncertain times.

Last week’s brief funk sent me back to the Word. This week’s worries are sending me back to my knees. Both are good places to be.

IRL* Discovering my apparent developmental delay in the area of motherly instincts and child preservation.

My Old Restless Companion

In the early years our visas only lasted six months at a stretch. We made the dreaded border runs twice a year to renew them. The absurd thing is I actually enjoyed those journeys, especially the trips to Texas, which allowed me a visit to Stuff-Mart* to restock on things we needed and frivolous items we simply preferred.

On our last official “border run,” we were bummed to only receive sixty days instead of the usual six months on our visas. No way could we pack up however-many-kids-we-had-at-the-time and run back to the Rio Grande every eight weeks, even if the children managed to outgrow their clothes that fast! We finally switched over to more permanent resident status.

That’s when I noticed that my coping mechanisms seemed to only last about five months; after that, I became antsy and ready to plan a trip of some sort.

In fact, I would hit a downright slump twice a year right on schedule. I would wake up in a funk with no logical explanation. Once I figured it out, I just laughed over it, and then went on with living cross-culturally with no escape in sight.

Today, things are different once again. The three remaining children at home are Mexican-born, and therefore need no visas. That’s nice. I’ve learned to cope with Mexican living, the good with the bad, year-round. More or less. Some days I still get overwhelmed with the noise and stench interesting smells.

I was doing fine, pondering our lovely summer in the States—a time of blissful invisibility while some wounds healed over. I was enjoying our first week of home schooling, hosting a young teacher while she looks for housing, and honestly feeling content. Then one morning I woke up with my old restless companion, and I felt a funk coming on. This is way too soon to start feeling that again.

All I can say is that life has become too routine, too predictable. My old norm (especially when there were seven children living at home) was high-stress, crazy, and anything BUT predictable. I had no time to even think about contentment or lack of it. Now I find myself on auto pilot. Life seems too easy somehow. I’m not sure I like it this way.

How ungrateful can I be? God has blessed me with every good and perfect gift, and I am momentarily discontented. After what I said (and thought) last week in my blog post about “those” kinds of missionaries, I can honestly see the potential to become a snarky, bored missionary if I’m not careful. Yikes. Pardon me while I run back to the true Source of all contentment.

IRL*Striving to restore my old sense of adventure, minus my old restless companion.