Madagascar

About a month ago, I found myself thinking about Madagascar (I actually wrote most of this back then) at a children's home there.  I'm not sure how much I've written about it, or even talked about it.  That time was such a whirlwind anyway.  This trip was one of the best and one of the hardest I'd ever been on.

The trip was hard because every area seemed like a battle: spiritual, mental/emotional, and physical.  Our team wasn't very connected.  I rarely have nightmares, but I had them for a few nights.  Shortly after we landed, I just felt funny, not like myself, for no apparent reason.  I took no more than 2 showers the whole time I was there, and one of them was in lukewarm water that left me chilled to the bone and shivering for about 2 hours until I asked the Lord to warm me up (which He did instantly!).  And I got sicker than I ever remember being.  My head hurt so badly for days from a cold-gone-wild (which became a sinus infection and double ear infections).  I spent 2 days praying in tongues almost continually because I didn't know what else to do to deal with the pain.  Tracking down medication was difficult because people didn't realize I was so sick -- I told them, but I was calm and didn't stay in bed.  So I didn't look sick. 

When I heard that visitors always spent time with the boys but almost never with the girls, and that they wanted us to spend time with the girls, I determined to spend every day with the girls.  And not the 2 and 3-year-olds.  The 7-13-year-olds.  I understand why the boys got more attention.  Boys are easy when you don't know the language.  You can play basketball or some other active game.  It's easier to learn each other's language because of the type of activity -- to communicate what a "ball" is and to demonstrate "throw".  There are some activities you can do with girls, but it can still end up being more of a challenge without language.  By the time I visited, the older boys could navigate through English and the younger boys had some of it down, but none of the girls knew any English!  I certainly didn't know Malagasy.

But somehow, I have no idea how, it worked.  I was with the girls every day.  One day the team planned dance lessons and another day a princess party.

But I also joined in whatever play they had going on during the day.  To spin them around.  To watch them do gymnastics or dance.  To be there with them as they just went about their day.

Or to take pictures with them.  (Non-selfie pictures that I'm in were taken by the girls.)  When I was sick, I wasn't going to let how horrible I felt keep me from those girls -- our team had just spent 2 days in the rain forest, and I didn't want to miss another day with them!  So I went to the girls' house, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, and for over an hour took silly selfies with a couple of them.  It was great!  I still have a couple hundred silly selfies.

 Early Selfie-taking

 After an hour (and 200) selfies, with increasing silliness

There were a few moments that pierced my heart -- memories that get me every time. 

They loved twirling and dancing and gymnastic moves, and would say in Malagasy, "Watch me! Watch this!"  Over and over and over, for the entire time I was there one day.  They so loved the attention.  And then thinking of God's heart for them, and how much He loved watching every move, every twirl, every attempt at doing the splits.

Another time, while watching one of the girls dancing, off to the side, during the princess party, I just sat back and watched her for a minute.  She is a naturally beautiful dancer.  Standing there watching her, I felt so much pride over her -- this amazing and beautiful girl with so much talent and potential, who could be anything and do anything.  And then having the thought: her mother should be here, watching her, thinking this, feeling this.  This little 7-year-old girl gave me a glimpse into what it is to be a mother.

The last moment was when we were leaving and saying good-bye to the kids, and I was surrounded by about five crying girls.  We were told that if they cried, we couldn't cry, because it made it harder for them.  I barely kept it together.  For the most part.  I don't know the culture or what happens after a short term team leaves.  Going to a place for 2 weeks is so different from living there.  But I do wonder what they thought, with my inability to communicate anything, about the fact that I (largely) didn't cry.  Did they think I didn't care?  And I pray that what I gave them while I was there is weightier than my leaving.

There are so many things could have kept me from spending time with those girls.  We were all tired after 3 months in Africa with no running water and a steady diet of beans and rice.  We didn't have a schedule, and I could have decided to just do my own thing.  I had some horrible days physically.  I could have stayed in bed -- and would have been absolutely justified in doing so!  But I wouldn't have 100 ridiculous selfies with these adorable girls.  During those two weeks, many people on my team began dreaming about home: their beds, hot showers, central heat or air con, comforts of the west.  It seems like it was such a little thing -- just spend some time with the girls every day.  I wasn't even there that long, just a few hours.  But if getting there was such a battle, maybe it was much more important than any of us realized.

I've learned phrases in over a dozen languages and had conversations in 4 languages that are not English, but I never did manage to remember a single word in Malagasy.  But in my mind, I can still still that little girl dance.

George the Hero and a Cup of Water

Monday I worked out after work.  It was the hottest part of the day.  We did weighted exercises in the shade.  And sprints in the sun (it was all that was available).  Did I mention it was the hottest part of the day?  I wondered if heatstroke would be my reality at one point.  Don't worry - I made it through alive and well!

George is a regular at this workout, and he always brings a huge jug of ice water.  At the end of the workout, with my water depleted, I refilled with his glorious, amazing, wonderful ice water.  It was then that I decided that if Camp Gladiator doesn't have a camper of they year, they should, and George should be it.  That water was the best thing in the world to all of us, we were so happy and thankful for it, and we may NOT have fared so well without it!  I told him he knew how to win friends and influence people.  Seriously.  I hardly know the guy, but he was a hero to me that day.

It reminded me of 15 years ago when I helped to build our senior pastor's house.  I went to help, and I was tasked with getting the guys water.

Honestly, this irritated me.  I figured if 25 people came, 10 would be girls.  Nope.  Two.  Two were girls.  I'd helped build a house with Habitat for Humanity before, so I figured I could jump into hammering and climbing on top of wall frames to pull 2nd floor trusses into place.  Nope.  Sweep.  And deliver water.  To tell you the truth, in my initial reaction, I was offended!  I'm sure many others would feel the same way -- especially today.

But I remembered that Jesus said something about giving someone a cup of water.  "Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in My Name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward."  Mark 9:41  So I decided to set aside my pride and offense and go with Jesus, who said that this "small" task was important to Him.  I decided that this must just be a cultural difference that I needed to learn to maneuver.  Yes, I was still in the United States.  But different states have different cultures.  I was a mid-western girl from Nebraska, considered a "northerner" by some, living in Texas.  Texas girls don't build houses.  I'm not a Texas girl.  And the thing is, the guys just wanted to protect us - make sure we didn't get hurt.  Step on nails (did that when I was 8), cut ourselves (do that while cooking), and so on.

Despite the disappointment in my function at the construction site, I continued to come.  Both me and that one other girl.  After a day or two of faithfully sweeping and fetching water, the guys got brave and asked us to carry the trusses (basically) from one location to another.  For those who don't know, these are wooden planks put together and held together by metal plates about the size of my hand.  The metal plates have sharp edges and spikes that dig into the wood to hold it all together.  Trusses frame the roof, and but these were the base for the 2nd floor of the house (and they may actually have a different name, but, I'm an amateur and a girl).

The point here is this: large, very sharp metal plate.  While the spikes dig into the wood, the edges and some of the spikes are also just left exposed in the space near where the boards come together.  The guys had told us, "Be careful!"  Because there are sharp edges.  Well, I picked up a board, didn't carefully look at where I was putting my hand, and grabbed an edge of the metal plate, slicing my hand.  I was mortified.  Not that I was free-flow bleeding, but that if the guys found out, I would be on sweeping and water duty forever.  I can't remember what I did to hide the fact that I was bleeding, but I managed to keep my little secret and continue carrying the dangerous trusses.

By the last time I was able to come to help, I found myself in charge of putting up the waterproofing, eh, stuff on the house.  Hey, I know how to do it, I don't know the technical name for it.  It was waterproofing.

At the time, I was immediately aware of one thing: If I wouldn't have happily helped in the "menial" tasks, I never would have been trusted with "bigger" tasks.  If I would have grumbled and complained and insisted that I could wield a hammer just like the guys and gone over my credentials, maybe they would have given me a hammer, but it wouldn't have been as pleasant an experience for any of us.  Instead, I did the thing that wasn't my first inclination to do (hand out water), and in the end they did what they weren't first inclined to do (let me touch construction things!).

But thinking about my Monday hero, George, I realized that what I thought was a menial task was probably the most important job on that work site.  My imminent death by heatstroke (I'm being dramatic) was assuaged because George provided a cup of water.  Until that moment on Monday, it never occurred to me how relieved those guys could have been for someone to come up to them and say, "Here's some water."  Sometimes things carry much more value and importance than we realize.  That's something that needs to stick in my head.

Thinking Back -- Going to Africa

One of my coworkers in particular doesn't know what to make of my life (join the club).  Recently she said I should write a blog.  This is something I've thought about often.  I mean, I do have this blog.  Which I update infrequently.  Even though I've wanted to update weekly.  The problem is, I find it difficult to sort through all the possible topics and activities and deep thoughts in order to land on something to write about.  So I told my coworker, if she gives me the topic, I'll write.  She mentioned two topics, and one was how I ended up going to Africa.  For today, we'll go with that.

I had been helping with the School of Power and Love (P&L) for several months, had made some great friends through it, and God had really just been doing a lot in my life.  I was also working full time, teaching part time, and seeking direction in a couple areas.  I'd contemplated, "now that I'm 35, let's evaluate what I've always wanted in life and which of those things are part of my life."  There was little overlap.  So basically, I decided I was either going to adopt a couple girls (I was a certified foster/adopt home) or go overseas to teach English in Asia in about a year.  You know, normal decisions that people waffle between.  (Hi Nicci!)  (Marriage is on the list, but you can't just run up to someone and force them to marry you.  And, why would you even want to?! That's just weird.  And creepy.)

Anyway, it was during this time, December 2013 actually, that one of my friends from P&L said something like, "I had a picture of you quitting your job, selling your things, buying a plane ticket and going overseas in March."  I told her there was no way.  So many other things were going on, I was so happy with everything in my life, I'd just finished decorating my house and.... well, 3 months was just too soon for all of that to transpire!  She told me to talk to Jesus about it.  So I did, and told Him all the reasons it was ridiculous: full time job, teaching job (you don't leave those mid semester), house mortgage, I liked Fresno and had vision and God's heart for the area, I liked being a part of P&L, I liked my house, I liked my dog, everything was great, I liked my life.  I had absolutely no "leads" or ideas of what could even possibly take me overseas in 3 months, and 3 months is not sufficient time to prepare.  I ended my part of the conversation with, "And I just don't want to.  But You are my Lord, and I don't want to tell You 'no', so if this is Your idea, You're welcome to change my heart."

Just over a week later, I decided to listen to Heidi Baker.  I heard people talk about her, but I'd never actually heard her.  So I picked something on YouTube.  About 15 minutes into listening, I felt like the Lord said I should see her in person sometime.  Which I thought was weird.  But I looked to see when she would be in California -- I wasn't about to make some grand trip to hear some random woman speak, I didn't care how popular she was in some Christian circles.

When I searched for "Heidi Baker schedule" Google took me to a website for Iris Global, the name of her ministry (which I hadn't known).  Rather than clicking on Events to find what I was actually looking for, I found myself clicking on "Missions."  And "Schools".  The first one that came up was Harvest School, which is a missions school in Pemba, Mozambique.  I thought, "There's no way I'm doing that."  Then I came across a discipleship school in South Africa called Father's House.  I read the description and thought, "Wow, that's exactly where I am, that's exactly what I want, I wish I could go, but there's no way.  I wonder when it starts."  It started in March.  Within about 5 minutes, I either had the answer to every one of my arguments (in particular, leaving mid-semester, which had recently been broken into quarters and we had several interns) or I had the faith that God would work the rest out.  And my heart was completely changed: I wanted to do this crazy thing.

So I began the application process.  For a 5 weeks school and the option of a 2 week outreach, with no promise that my job would be available when I returned (it wouldn't be), risking everything for 5-7 weeks.  As soon as I submitted the application, I felt like Jesus asked why I wasn't going to Pemba.  So I applied for that too.  It all felt as flippant as the word felt.  "Eh, I'm just going to put aside all these good things and do something else."  It didn't make sense, but I also knew it was God.

After that, the timeline went something like this:

2014
January 21 - Accepted to Father's House (happy anniversary, mom and dad!)
January 25 - Put my house on the market
February 5-9 - Help with P&L
February 6 - Received an offer on my house
February ?? - Accepted to Harvest School in Pemba.

February 10-19ish - Friend went through my fully furnished 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house to organize and get rid of things while I worked (I would not have been ready on time without her!)
In February - Buyer said I could leave anything I didn't want, because he didn't have any furnishings for the house, and he would buy it, just name my price.
--- Also during this time, organize not one, but TWO multi-month overseas trips: plane tickets, vaccinations, purchasing items needed, obtaining visas....

February 22 - Garage sale
February 28 - Last day of work

March 1 - Drove to Nebraska with my dog and the things I was going to keep.
--- broke down about 7 hours later.  A couple good Samaritans helped.  I had to change my route due to snow storms, so all of that added an extra day to my driving

March 3 - Arrived in Omaha.  Took the car to the shop and found out I'd driven about 1200 miles with a radiator issue, so that oil and radiator fluid where mixed in the radiator and the oil pan.  There was very little to indicate a problem for 1200 miles so I told them they may have to drive around and hit 65 to hear the very soft, random noise.  But when the mechanic turned my car on, they said it sounded horrible and they turned it off immediately.  They said it would take a week to fix.  It took a day -- replaced, uhm, almost everything.  $3600 :O

March 5 - Drive to P&L
March 9 - Drive back to Omaha
March 12ish - Fly to South Africa for Father's House
May 5ish - Fly to Germany to see my sister
May 12ish - Fly to Omaha to see the rest of the family
May 21-25 - P&L
May 28 - Fly to Pemba, Mozambique
August 5ish - Fly to Madagascar for my outreach
August 25ish - Fly to Johannesburg, South Africa and spend a week at an Iris base there -- help build portable showers
September 1 - Fly to Wisconsin
September 9 - Fly to Omaha
(I may have helped with a P&L in here... I probably did.)
October 10ish - Fly back to South Africa as Father's House staff

Which basically begins "phase 2" of my time in Africa, which I'll have to write about later, as this blog entry is already ridiculously long (although shorted by the timeline listing!).

Honestly, the only answer to, "How did you do all that??!" is Jesus.  Looking at the timeline, the schedule, how much had to happen, how much had to get done, the number of things that had to fall in place, the only possibility is that He made a way.  There is absolutely no way I could have done half of that on my own.  And honestly, there's no way I'd have the courage to do it without Him giving me His courage.  While I like to travel, there's a part of me that's very much a home-body.  But He has my heart and can take me to places I'd never dream of on my own.  And there has definitely been a lot of that in the last 3 years!

My Testimony

There are times when I've thought my testimony was a funny thing.  Partly because, in terms of, "When did you give your life to Jesus," and when I "crossed from death to life", I don't really know.  I remember when I was about 4, sitting on the little pink rug in my bedroom and talking to Jesus.  My family didn't go to church before I was 12, so I don't even know how I knew His name.  When I was about 8, my parents gave me a "children's Bible", which was really just a collection of Bible stories summarized into about 2 sentences a piece.  I read that thing over and over and over again.  After that I was a bit jealous of the kids who got to go to church -- I wanted to go to church too!  Then about a month before my 12th birthday, my mom started taking us to church.  My first Sunday school lesson was on the 10 Commandments, which I'd never heard before.  I had recently started using bad language and stealing by switching price tags on items (something you couldn't even do now), but I stopped immediately after hearing the 10 Commandments -- I didn't realize that God had standards!  A few months after that someone explained how Jesus died to pay the penalty for my sin, and if I accepted His payment, died to myself, and aligned my life with His, making Him Lord, He would wipe away all my rebellion against Him, mistakes, broken places, and make me a new creation and give me life.  I was in.  It was so easy.  I always thought of it as easy as falling off a log.

When I was about 14, as teenagers do, I started getting into boy bands and felt insecure and uncertain and far from God.  I felt like I was dying inside.  But everyone at my church thought I was fine -- I was a "good Christian".  I went to church and youth group every week.  I knew all the answers to all the Bible questions.  I was in the choir.  What could have been wrong?  But I knew better.  I started going to another church where the people were under no illusion about my apparent perfection and goodness.  But wow, they loved me.

My areas of failing have been "benign".  I was part of a group of people who started talking about what "dirt bags" they were before Jesus.  No one took me seriously as someone who needed salvation, as someone who deserved the death that Jesus died in my place.  I didn't drink or smoke or have sex or do any of those "naughty" things that teenagers and young people do, and older people.  To them, it almost seemed like my testimony was a joke.  The good little girl who always did everything right.  What did I know about needing salvation?  In a crowd, I'm not the person anyone would call on to share their testimony.  We want to hear the power testimony, of the person saved from drugs and alcohol or sex or gangs.  The REAL transformed life.  Not the "good" person who predictably gave her life to Jesus like the good girl she is.  Who doesn't even know WHEN she sealed the deal.

Yet I find myself never being more thankful for such a testimony.  But let me share the rest.

When I was about 19, I started going to a class in church called "Normal Christian Life".  Sadly, as I've been around Christian circles for 20 years since then, I've found that what we talked about is not normal in current Christian life at all, but that's another story.  One of the leaders, Linda, also started meeting with me weekly.  You might say "discipling" me.  In a way it was cool that she was meeting with me.  But she also terrified me, and there were days I dreaded going to meet her.  Honestly, it was a horrible few months.  One day, I strongly considered skipping our appointment. (I told about this recently -- she said she just would have called me and tracked me down.)  Not because she was mean or rude or judgmental or unloving.  But because she had a way of putting her finger on things I wanted to hide -- things I even hid from myself.  The deep, dark places that I wouldn't admit existed to myself or to God.  Unfortunately, the things most Christians don't think are such a big deal.

All she did was ask me questions, based on what I knew of the Bible and the (very encouraging and helpful) teachings we were going through.  And this is what I learned about myself: I was prideful (which includes insecurity) and selfish, thinking everything was all about me all the time.  I decided others motivations (something only God knows).  I was self-deceived and full of lies that I told myself and God.  I thought I knew better than God, and that He didn't know what He was talking about -- He was wrong, I was right.  When it came to my life and my world, I was on the throne, not Him.  I decided the circumstances in which I would yield authority to Him.  And I was horrifically unforgiving.  I remember when I was younger actually thinking how forgiving I was -- how arrogant!  I really just stuffed it and denied it let the poison of bitterness and resentment build.  Through this process, I repented (changed my mind and my ways), and I forgave.  And I completely understood what Paul meant when he said that he was the worst of all sinners.  That's how I felt.  There could be no one who could out-do me in the area of sin and failure.  It didn't "look" bad, I knew that those looks were deceiving.  I knew that the fact that I hadn't slept around or gotten into alcohol or drugs or anything else was just dumb luck and had nothing to do with any virtue within me.  I was capable of it all.

I find that many people, including Christians, run from this.  I get it: none of us likes facing the reality of our failure.  And especially in this culture, the idea just doesn't fit.  It's not "good for our self esteem".  But this realization didn't make me feel the way people would imagine.  It was more the opposite.  Because God. Still. Loved. Me.  I was the most horrible person to ever walk the earth (God knew the truth even if people couldn't see it), but Jesus still died for me.  He still wanted me.  I had heard about God's love before, even known a measure of it and experienced His love.  But this, THIS was different.  This was deeper, more powerful.  That stark contrast of the darkness in me and the fact that I completely and totally deserved death as an enemy of God, but He loved me and died for me and made me a new creation.  Although I still can't tell you that day, I do remember the moment of realization: everything was different.  It felt like coming out of a dark cave and seeing the sun and the ocean and sky and colors for the first time.  And it was worth those incredible difficult months to get there, and I'd do it again.

I love the love of God.  And I also love His holiness and His purity and His justice.  (And so many other qualities!)  Sometimes, I think it's easy to be afraid of these aspects of Him -- they are rather scary for us who live in a world that wars against Him.  But these characteristics are just as much a part of His character as His love is.  The angels around His throne never stop saying, "Holy, holy, holy."  Yet we don't even want to think of His holiness or the implications of His holiness.  And because we don't know these aspects of Him -- holiness, purity, righteousness, justice -- we think that we can't be that bad.  But the truth is the truth, whether or not we know it.  It's not that God is mean and judgmental and out to get us.  It's that He has certain qualities that tend to incinerate things that are dead.  Like a heat source or hot fire can set a dead twig on fire without even touching it, but one that's alive won't catch fire and burn.  God told Adam and Eve that if they ate of the tree, they would die.  And even though their bodies carried on for awhile after that, there was a part of them that died, and they passed that death on.  If we're not connected to Life, to Jesus (the Vine from John 15), and then come before Him at death, we're still a dead, dry branch that can't survive the heat.  It's just the nature of God and the nature of a person who has not been made one with Christ.

When we think of being corrected, we think of it in terms of how people correct us.  His correction is different.  It is steadfast and resolute, but so incredibly kind and gentle and freeing.  Last year, someone corrected me over some perceived failings.  The person speaks with a lot of authority, and says that it's from the Lord.  I've had many conversations with the Lord about it -- Lord, had I missed what You were saying to me?  Is there a blind spot that You wanted to point out to me?  His response was a question, "Have I ever corrected you in a way that made you feel rejected and didn't leave you feeling hopeful and free?"  No.  Absolutely no.  He never has.  His correction is wonderful. 

All of these things about Him and combined perfectly in Him fascinate me.  And they seem to amplify each other.  His holiness and justice don't diminish His love.  It amplifies it.   As does His love amplify His holiness and justice.  He is unceasingly fascinating.

We need to view ourselves against the backdrop of His character -- all aspects of His character as we grow in knowledge of Him.  Sometimes we have to take a leap of faith, in believing He's good even when we see something that we perceive as not good.  We can always ask Him for help and understanding, but there are moments when we need to just trust Him.

He is so many things to us.  I suppose that's why His name is I AM.  He is Creator.  He is Savior.  He is Lord.  He is King.  He is Ruler.  He is Judge.  He is Father.  He is Almighty God.  He is Counselor.  He is Prince of Peace.  He is Bridegroom.  I adore Him.  I want to know Him in all of these ways. 

Sight Dependency

Many may not know this, but without contacts or glasses, I'm essentially blind.  It's hard to describe just how poor my eyes are.  I can throw out numbers like "-6.75" for my prescription strength or "20/1200", but what does that even mean?  Essentially, it means that if you're 10 feet (3 meters) away (or even a little less) and ask me how many fingers you're holding up, I can't tell you.  It means I can barely see well enough to put eyeliner on without my contacts, with the end of the eyeliner pencil touching the mirror.  It means I can't read your averaged sized font in a book or on a computer screen if I'm more than about 5 inches/13 centimeters away. 

And it means I don't go a moment without my contacts (or glasses).  I prefer the contacts because they don't sit on my face, I have peripheral vision, I feel like I can just see normally, I can buy any pair of sunglasses... it just seems easier.

But it does mean that impromptu over-nighters are complicated if I haven't brought contact cases, contact solution, and glasses with me.  This happened in Mozambique when a group of us took a day trip to "the island", and the day trip turned into an over-nigher.  The biggest reason I almost said no to the over-night stay was because of my eyes.  I have to take the contacts out.  But if I take them out, I can't see.  And if I don't have somewhere to put them and they dry out, going through waking hours without vision correction would be a burden to everyone else! 

In that case, it resulted in 5 of us laughing hysterically as we tried to solve this problem.  The obvious solution, according to my friends, was that they needed to make themselves cry, collect their tears, and create homemade saline solution for my contacts.  Staring contests and onion cutting were involved, but precious few tears were produced.  (Although we did laugh so hard that we practically cried!)  In the end, I went with bottled water and a bottle cap. 

Despite all of this, I generally forget that I'm essentially blind and I need to take care of that which allows me to see.  This has led me to "over wearing" my contacts.  It's easy for me to think, "I can see with them, so they're fine."  But soft contacts collect bacteria, and since they cover your eye, they also reduce the amount of oxygen getting to your eye.  This is why you're not supposed to sleep in them.  Or wear them more than 16 hours a day.  Or 12.  16 is too much, really.  Having lived for a few months in a place where you save up water for the inevitable day that it stops running, it's also very difficult to throw away your daily contacts every day, like you're supposed to.  Or every other day.  Or every week.  Or....  You get the idea.  Because, hey, they seem fine.  I can still see!  But I was unable to perceive any problem.  The reality was, my eyes were being oxygen deprived, they were irritated, and had I continued to wear yesterday's (or last week's) contacts, and wear them too long, it would have added damaged eyes to bad eyes. 

Thankfully, my eyes are fine -- they are slightly abused, but recovering and looking good.  The eye doctor banned me from contacts for at least 2 weeks -- he preferred three.  My ban has been lifted, but he wants me to keep it to 10 hours a day.  Basically, only at work.  Or only starting at lunch time.

It all makes me think of spiritual sight, too.  We get so used to "seeing" the truth with Jesus, that we forget that the only reason we can see at all is because He's corrected our vision -- and we continually need His influence in our lives to continue to see clearly.  We can't even just rely on what we had yesterday or last week -- we need new, fresh, visual assistance every day: time in His Word, listening to Him, being with Him. 

And how easy it is to lose vision and focus and perspective for our lives.  Really, the main thing He's called me to do is represent His heart and His character wherever I go.  An area I'm definitely still growing in.  And how easy it is to lose sight of that, to lose sight of whatever "vision" we have, when circumstances or others' expectations or even our own expectations of ourselves cloud that vision.  Regular visual check-ups are so important.  Like a vision chart (which, btw, I can't even see) that tells us, "This is what your supposed to be able to see -- can you still see it?"  This is what God has said and who He is and what His promises are and His plans for our lives -- can we still see it?

The Greatest Privilege

There are a lot of things that have been on my mind and heart over the last couple of years that I've wanted to get out in writing but haven't done so.  Now, after a couple years with a lifetime's worth of experiences, where do you even start?  I suppose the specific starting point doesn't matter, just that you start.  So here we go.

On August 20, 2015, two of the most influential people in my life, Ty and Terri Schenzel, were killed in a car accident.  It still seems unreal.  Even though I hadn't seen them much, I had been reconnecting with them over the prior couple of years.  They played a pivotal role in my life when I was a teenager.  They loved and supported and prayed for me and my family.  About 4-5 years ago, I was listening to some of Pastor Ty's messages and realized that so much of my thought processes, outlook, perspective, beliefs I learned from Pastor Ty.  Terri's statement, "If you want to marry a prince, you need to be a princess," has long stuck with me, so that I've spent more time learning to be a princess rather than seeking a prince.  I even clean the bathroom floor the way she taught me (we had carpet, she had tile.  Why did we have carpet in the bathroom??!)

God used them (along with a few others) to lay a firm and solid foundation in my life as a lover and follower of Jesus.  Ty would often comment on how God has no grand children, and we couldn't ride on the coat tails of our pastors and leaders or people we looked up to in the Body of Christ.  It was part of what spurred me to apply to Hope College in Michigan and leave the safety and security of my church, my youth group, this amazing group of people I was a part of.  It was the question of: Is my faith my own when I don't have Ty and Terri and Jon and Linda and Jeff all these other people around me?  Can I stand on my own two feet, or am I just riding their wave?  Funny, when the plan was set in motion to leave Omaha and move to Holland, Michigan, the only people who weren't completely for it were my parents, and Ty and Terri -- my parents at church.  Terri cried when I left.  And I've missed them (and others) ever since, really.  Missed their influence, their wisdom, their insights, their encouragement, their hope, their joy, their "realness", and just their presence.

And now there are no more opportunities.  Of course we'll all get to see them again, but we're all deprived of them now.  When those of us who knew them all found out, we all used the same word: Devastated.  The calls were made and people were informed with words of, "You need to sit down.  I need to tell you something terrible.  And it's not made up.  It's reality."  There was denial.  There was a lot of crying.  I fell into the crying category -- sobbing in a public place for 15 minutes because my heart was too broken to care.  3200 people went to their memorial service while 13,000 watched live online.  Nearly everyone there stood in saying, "God used them to change my life."  It was a very large group of heart-broken, devastated people.  I still think of and pray for their kids and friends.

This heart-wrenching event somehow led to one of the greatest privileges I've experienced in my life.  I found out at 5pm on Friday, and at 7pm was Deep River, a monthly time of worship (and teaching) that happens in Cape Town.  And I couldn't wait to get there and just worship God.  All I wanted to do was take my broken heart and my tears and say, "You are good, You are good, You are good.  I don't blame You.  You are the same Person today that You were yesterday, and nothing is going to change my mind on this.  In the midst this horrible loss, I gladly bring to You my broken heart and say You are still good, You are still worthy, I still love You, and I still worship You."  And in the middle of probably the deepest sorrow I've ever experienced, I also experienced this unexpected joy of being grounded in Him through it all. 

I'm so thankful for His grace in my life to somehow work that response in me.  It was such a privilege to honor Him in that way, in the middle of my personal grief.  I had this awareness that these are the moments when we often turn and accuse Him of wrong doing.  The world certainly does it: "Why would a loving God do or allow this or that?  How could He?  Why would He?  How could He be good?  He couldn't be!  We want nothing to do with Him!"  But in that moment, with the spiritual world watching, I got to say, "He is still God, He is still good, I still love Him, and I still worship Him."

The enemy will do anything he can in any way he can to throw us off and get us to doubt God's goodness, kindness, and love toward us.  That's what he was trying to do with Job -- get Job to move from, "God is good," to, "curse [Him] to [His] face".  In the difficult situations around us, he'll accuse God of not loving us or caring for us or listening to us.  If that doesn't work, he'll try to increase strife in relationships.  If that doesn't work, he'll just condemn us directly on our faults or failings, real or perceived (or a mixture of both), and insist that God is disappointed or displeased with us.  If taking away the "perks" of the relationship doesn't work, he goes after the relationship itself, so that maybe because of that accusation, we'll pull back from this Wonderful One who died so He could draw us near to Himself.  Then instead we say, "You may be good, but I'm a disappointment to You," and we distance ourselves from Him.

But then we just get to dig in deeper to this privilege, "Though I am weak and have failed, You are still faithful, You are still good, You are still worthy, and I will still come to You with love and worship.  If you died for me when I was a far from You, surely You won't leave my side when I'm seeking You, no matter how I feel or any mistakes I've made."

And then, yet again, all the spiritual world, and all those around us, can see that we love and value our God and Savior, King Jesus, above it all.  Even though life is difficult and painful at times, even though we struggle and don't always see Him clearly, we still stand and say, "Our God is still good.  He is still faithful.  He has never changed and He never will.  He's still worthy, we still love Him, and we still worship Him."

Thanksgiving

For the last couple of years, there has been little opportunity for me to reflect on or really engage in the holiday season -- Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I was usually in the middle of a mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical "marathon" that ended up with me in a semi-catatonic state by the time Christmas rolled around.  I spent most of Thanksgiving last year in bed sick for 3 days!  I'm thankful to NOT be sick this year (in fact, I've only been sick ONCE since then!  Thank You, Jesus!)

When I helped to lead the Father's House discipleship school in South Africa, my friend Clare would always teach on thankfulness.  At the end of her talk, she'd loudly play music and have us all shout out to God what we were thankful for, for at least 10 minutes.  It was an "every man/woman for him/her self" kind of a thing, and you'd hear what the people around you were thanking God for.  We hit every area in life and everything we could think of.  One of my favorites is one of the students saying, "I'm thankful for my hair!" complete with actions, enthusiastically running his fingers through his hair and pulling it to stand straight up.  He did have nice hair.

Thankfulness is really an amazing thing.  Have you ever been incredibly thankful for hot, running water?  Not because you've just spent some time in Mozambique where running water and hot water are rarities, but because you just decided to thank God for it every time you took a shower, realizing that it's a privilege that most of humanity hasn't enjoyed.  And then eventually the mental reasoning of thankfulness becomes thankfulness from the heart: Wow.  I actually get to enjoy hot, running water!!

Sometimes thankfulness is hard when disappointments or trials or losses come.  (And maybe a waning of thankfulness feeds the feeling of disappointment.)  We all get hit by them in one way or another.  Mixed in with all the amazing experiences and opportunities and things God has done has also been, since March of 2015, pretty steady stream of disappointments, trials, and losses -- more than I'd ever experienced before.  The challenge has been, and my question for myself, can I find Jesus in the middle of it all?  When even a good thing feels like a consolation prize.  Can I still trust Him, know and believe that He's good, that He's with me, that He won't forsake me, that He's faithful, and thank Him for it all, even for the difficult things that I don't like, because He's greater than it all, He can (and will) use it to make me more like Him, and He'll be glorified in it? 

In the midst of seeing hopes and dreams and vision die, even things I strongly felt like He said, can I surrender it to Him, try to get a glimpse of eternity and Heaven, and trust in the One Who is the Resurrection and the Life?  And then pause to remember what He has done.  How He left the ease and comfort of Heaven for this challenging place called earth and died for me.  For His amazing mercy, grace, love, nearness, and faithfulness.  For my family and friends.  For the people He's let me see with His eyes.  For the beauty of His creation that He's allowed me to see.  For the time I told Him I needed Him to protect, defend, and provide for me, He came through in mere hours.  For how He's provided a job, a place to stay, a vehicle, food and coff... I mean water.  And hot running water.  And yes, for coffee.

Thank Daddy for being so good, for being faithful, for always pursuing me, always loving me, and for never changing or shifting in any way at all.  Thank You for the opportunity to go to Africa and my time there, and the same for South Africa specifically.  Thank You for bringing me to Waco (against my wildest imaginations).  Thank You for all the difficulties over the past year or two and for Your discipline in my life.  Thank You that nothing is wasted with You.  Thank You that You have always brought me through.  Thank You that Your word never returns void.  Thank You that You are the Yes and Amen.  Thank You for life.  Thank You for the things you will bring about.  And thank You for all the little things I so easily take for granted, from a bed and blankets and pillow, clothing, electricity, plumbing, senses that work, legs to walk, hands and fingers, "my hair"... and hot running water.

Don't Worry About What You'll Eat...What You'll Wear - Part 2

At some point in my life, I decided I needed to give some attention to what I was eating.  The college and early-20s lifestyle of eating mainly fast food, processed food, lots of sweets (I have a sweet tooth), and drinking lots of soda just wasn't working for me.  Or my waistline.  Diets come and go (and the pounds go and come with and without them), so I knew it had to be a lifestyle change.  So I started learning to eat more healthy and started learning how to cook.

There are so many, many differing ideas about diet and eating habit.  There's the super-healthy fitness crowd that tries to eat "clean", lean diets of high protein and fruits and veggies, but low carbs, fat, and sugar.  There's the vegetarian group, the pescatarian (vegetarian + fish) group, and the vegan group.  There's the revolving diet group, and then there's the group that's been blessed enough to never have to think about it.  There's banting, paleo, gluten free, Atkins, Isagenics, Juice Plus, diet pills, and I don't even know what else.  And some have landed in the camp of: Eat whatever, it's all from God, it can't make you fat, and if it does you need to stand in faith that it won't harm you and it's fine.  (This goes along with the verse, "You will drink/eat poison and it won't harm you.")

And there is probably something that is true in all of these different things, otherwise they wouldn't work for anyone at all. But there's always someone who swears by each of them.

I've landed in the camp of: If God made it, it's probably safe to eat (unless, you know, it's poisonous mushrooms in the back yard).  Eating giving at least a little consideration to what I eat falls into the realm of taking care of what God gave me.  I want to make good choices, but I don't want it to have a controlling factor in my life.  I'm free to eat anything, but I'm also free to say no to it all.  Including the ice cream I tend to over indulge in when traveling or after moving...

Most of us do worry about what we eat.  Maybe not in the way that Jesus talked about it.  That was a literal, "I wonder if I'm going to eat tomorrow.  What am I going to do?  How can I buy or find food for tomorrow??"  We worry about how it's going to make us fat.  Or sick.  Or somehow unhealthy.  So if I pay attention to what I eat, it's because I want to be a good steward of the body God has given me, and I want it to last.  If I had a car (incidentally, I don't right now), I would take it in for regular oil changes, put gas in it at appropriate times, clean it off to keep it in good working order.  That's what I want to do with my body.

When it comes to taking care of our bodies, healthcare and dealing with sickness becomes a major issue as well.  And we see every ideology from, "It's all doctors," to "God uses doctors" then "I only use what's natural" and all the way to "I don't have to take anything ever because I have God who will heal me."  The theological intricacies are above my pay grade, but I know God cares about my health, I know He doesn't want me to be sick, and I know He can do anything and use anything for my healing.  My only job is to hear His voice and follow Him.

Before I moved to Africa, I'd been sick about once in 6 years.  I lived with people who were sick every month, and in the 2 1/2 years in their house, I didn't get sick once.  My immune system was rocking it!  I went to South Africa.  During those 7 weeks, almost everyone got sick but me.  And then I went to Mozambique.  Most everyone had...bowel issues, but I was fine.  But by July I'd been eating mainly cheap pasta and rice with little nutritional value, limited amounts of fruits, veg, and protein.  Just bread, pasta, rice, repeat.  And Moz is dirty, and dusty, and the dust blows everywhere so that you breathe it.  You're around hundreds of people in less-than-clean conditions.  I started coughing.  After a week in Madagascar, I had literally the worse cold I'd ever had in my life.  It turned into full-on sinus infection, double ear infections, and coughing up stuff that shouldn't come out of your lungs.  My head was a constant, pounding drum.  The Hulk is green on the outside.  I was green on the inside.  It was horrible.  I even cried. 

Normally I try to avoid taking drugs.  Not this time.  I was trying to get a hold of some good drugs to kill everything that was trying to kill me.  This head and chest infect of doom returned every 2-3 months as an unwelcomed visitor that just wouldn't leave.  I still had the mentality of, "I do not get sick," which I'd lived in for 6 years.  But my body didn't care in the slightest about my mentality.  Sickness didn't care about my faith.  It was angry.  And it would be heard.  Every. Single. 2-3. Months.

While amazing things were happening in Africa, there was also a lot of stress and pressure around me, which can take its toll on a person's health (did you know health issues are often common place with missionaries?).  A couple friends encouraged me to take, and pushed, vitamins.  I reluctantly started taking those silly vitamins in January of this year.  And I started getting more sleep.  In addition to eating a little bit better over the last year.  And you know what?  This year, I've only been sick once for about a week.  And it wasn't that bad.  The sinus infection of doom and destruction wasn't able to sink it's nasty (really, really, super nasty!) claws into me.  A nursing friend of mine always says, "Aspirin retards the virus!"  So when I started feeling a little funny, I'd start taking an Aspirin every day, up my vitamin C, and be fine.  That's happened 3-4 times.  Woo-hoo!

Now, I'm still not a huge fan of drugs.  But you know, I'm not a huge fan of being sick 50% of the time either, and I'll use the things God has made available to give my abused immune system a boost until it's recovered again.  I don't plan to be on the vitamin and aspirin regimen forever.  But right now I have the means to purchase these things, God has made them available, and I'm thankful.

And I'll let myself enjoy some ice cream every now and then.

Don't Worry About What You'll Eat...What You'll Wear - Part 1

At times I've heard the verse on, "don't worry what you'll eat...our what you'll wear..." to be taken to mean, "You can eat whatever you want (without side effects)," and "It doesn't matter what I look like." There are elements of truth in these statements, but they don't carry the whole truth, and I encountered both in my experience in Africa. 

I've always thought of myself as a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal -- comfort is important to me.  I don't like sitting with my feet on the ground -- I'm ridiculously flexible and prefer sitting with legs crossed or somehow sitting on one of my legs, even if in a chair (recently I realized my dad does this too!  Guess that's where I got it from).  I always thought "dress clothes" were uncomfortable.  That and... (here comes the deep, dark confession) I don't have much fashion sense.  Anything concerning me that's been fashionable has generally been randomly stumbling into it or the Lord literally telling me to do something I did NOT want to do and fought against.  (Hello highlighted, yet totally natural, streaked silver/grey, blonde, brown hair that people pay $700+ to try to achieve!) 

A few years ago, the Lord in His kindness drew me to Himself again and strongly laid out my identity, penetrating my heart with it.  In that, He so radically changed me, that I'm certain all of my co-workers saw a difference after that Christmas and New Year's holiday. I know some did because they asked me if I had started dating someone! Nope.  I'd just so encountered the love and heart of God for me in how He created me and in the Person of Jesus that I just wanted to look the part, for lack of a better way to explain it.  I was (and am!) the beloved of God Most High!  His princess.  His treasure.  And I felt like it was His heart that I treat myself like His beloved princess and bride, and that He'd given me the means to do so. 

I wasn't worried about what I was going to wear.  I wasn't trying to impress anyone.  I didn't want to look good for my co-workers or catch anyone's eye.  Just His.  So I bought myself a couple new outfits and some new boots and put on the dreaded (and sometimes irritating) mascara and learned to stop itching my eyes.  And, to tread a bit deeper into the waters of vulnerability, every morning as I got ready for work, I heard Him, HIM, tell me how beautiful I was.

Then later, Africa happened.  They said there may not be running water or electricity, and that everything would get dirty, so don't bring your nice things.  So I didn't.  We also had to where skirts or dresses or things that would cover the knees, and I didn't have anything like that.  So I went to Goodwill (thrift store, all used) and bought cheap stuff.  Thrift stores exhaust me.  There no order.  It's chaos.  You have to look through every. single. article. of clothing.  It makes me want to pull out my (beautifully streaked) hair.  So I just found things that matched, not necessarily anything that looked good.  And that's how it was for over my first year in Africa.

But one day, somewhere in the middle of 2015, I snapped.  I was tired of looking like a dirt rat.  Plus, a steady diet of rice and pasta and beans and more rice and pasta, pasta and rice, and some beans plus 5-6 cups of coffee a day (with sugar!), and chocolate (because for some reason, these schools in Africa make people go chocolate crazy) had resulted in a few (many) extra pounds by the end of the first 6 months.  Bleh.  I was a woman, and I was tired of not looking like a woman. 

So I took advantage of an horrible circumstance that brought me to the States for a few weeks, pulled out my jewelry, nice clothes, boots, worked the clearance racks and sales at Kohl's like nobody's business (I paid no more than 20% of the value of what I bought!) and brought it all back to South Africa with me.  I didn't care if I was on a farm with a lot of dirt.  I would make it work.  I was going to look like a lady.  And I'd found nice and yet also comfortable clothes, so I could morph between looking nice but also be able to curl my legs under myself if need be.  Every day before going up to class with the students, I'd make sure I looked nice.

When I was a student (March 2014 in South Africa), one of the missionaries there in particular always looked nice.  She wasn't dolled up and fancy, but she just looked nice.  She looked like a lady.  So I figured, if she could do it, I could do it too.  And I also thought, maybe I could be an example to the young (and not so young) ladies in the schools, that just because you're a "missionary" in a place with a lot of dirt, doesn't mean you can't find a way to look nice and be who you are -- a woman.

In Mozambique, Heidi Baker would often encourage the students to take showers and look nice.  We always thought, and said, "Yeah right.  Have you seen where we live? That's not happening!"  But Heidi always looked nice (granted, she did live in better conditions than we did!).  At the same time, though, the Mozambiquens gave much more time and attention to their hygiene and preparation for the day than we did.  They did they best they could with what they had.  Most of us students... not so much.  Now, taking showers really may not be possible in that environment, but otherwise, I'm with Heidi now.

Of course none of these things define who I am, give me my identity, or make me a woman.  God is pretty much responsible for all of that.  This isn't about trying to keep up with fashion or trying to look as good as whomever we want to look as good as.  This is taking care of what God has given us.  It may kind of be like cleaning up the kitchen.  Yes, the kitchen still functions when it's a mess, but a clean kitchen is a wonderful thing.  And I can work with what He's given me to reflect how He's created me.  I'm not worried about it -- I'm enjoying His blessings and His provision!  (Jesus says in Matthew 6:32-33 that our Father knows we need these things and provides them.)  He has made me beautiful and I can reflect that outwardly for Him, to honor Him, and thank Him for it. 

Since I've already written a book tonight, I guess I'll need to write part 2 later.

The Value of a Thing

I don’t typically like posting about things that are controversial, but this issue has just been on my mind and heart: The gorilla that was shot and killed to rescue a 3-4 year old boy who climbed through security and fell into the gorilla habitat. 

If anyone knows anything about how I feel about my dog, you know that I love animals.  Fresly was my “baby”.  I still miss him.  Honestly, I still hope he's okay and that his new family is taking good care of him.  And in subtle was I’ve done what so many are doing now.  There was a movie that came out many years ago when some threat to earth was vaporizing life.  The trailer showed a dog being vaporized and… it bothered me.  More than when the same trailer showed the same thing happening to humans.  And then the fact that it bothered me bothered me.  How could watching the death of an animal be more disturbing than watching the death of a human?!  That is not okay!  And that’s where many people are today.

I’ve been shocked at how many counts of verbal homicide I’ve read through today.  I don’t normally read many comments because on issues like this, it’s just reading a lot of anger and hate, and I’d just rather not!  But I’ve been thinking about and listening to teachings on the death of Jesus and the cross and sin and our need for a Savior and how He is our only hope.  So reading this verbal massacre struck me.  And it struck me that a week ago, all this malice and hatred and anger and murder were in people’s hearts, hiding.  This incident only made those things come out for a segment of the population.  And apart from Jesus, that is in each of us, given the “right” conditions.  And God sees it all, has seen it all, all the time, even if it’s hidden.  It was painful to read, at best, the slander against the mother (whom it seems may have been smiling at a camera, with her son at her side, both posing for a picture, and for a few seconds was distracted from her son’s movements due to the picture taking — kids are lightening fast!), and calls for death and various forms of torture and just horrible, horrible comments at worst.  Murder, proudly streaming from the hearts of so many.  Apart from Jesus, we’re all murderers, and set ourselves up as all-knowing expert, jury, and judge, convinced that our self-righteous sentence is justice.  We are horribly deceived.

The value of human life and animal life has been a large part of this discussion, many thinking human and animal life is equal, or even that animal life is more valuable because they’re helpless.  There is a godly component to valuing the earth and animal life — one of the tasks God gave us when He created us and what we see now was to care for the animals and for the earth.  That is godly and part of God’s design.  But it was never to be at the expense of humans — of men, women, and children. 

I must say emphatically, that one human life, any one, is of more value and worth than every animal that’s ever lived for two reasons. 
1.) Men and women were created in the image of God Himself.  Animals were not.  We, astonishingly, are the only beings in all of creation that actually reflect the character and attributes of God.  Some of these things are seen in our capacity to love, experience a wide range of emotions, imagine, and create beyond what any other life on earth can.  (Part of the whole “fall” issue is that we often don’t reflect those attributes well — as in this case with all the angry comments.) 
2.) God became a human being, Jesus, and then died the death penalty that we all deserved.  We were all hateful, angry, murderers at heart, all deserving the death sentence (as so many have said this mother, and even her son, deserve), but God Himself took our death penalty upon Himself.  God values humans, you, more than He values protecting His own feelings, comfort, and life.  He didn’t become a squirrel or dog or horse or gorilla.  He became a human.  And He didn’t die for those animals either.  He died for humans.  And if there were only one human, you, that would have been enough reason for Him to die in your place — only yours.  Father God values human life at the price of His Son Jesus.  God's estimation of your value is His own life.  That is infinite value.  That is why all the animals to have ever lived will together never outweigh the value of one human life.  And when we come to Him, acknowledging the various forms of hate and violence within ourselves, accepting His death in our place, and deciding to believe what He says, He can somehow take the worst of us and make us into the most gracious, kind, joyful, patient, loving people the world has ever seen.

Finally, I would like to point out that Satan has been trying to destroy humans since we were first created.  He was the one who tempted Adam and Eve, twisting God’s words and saying death wouldn’t be the result of disobeying and eating the fruit the Lord said not to.  The Bible also says that this enemy of ours, who has wanted us all dead from the beginning, is out to steal, kill, and destroy and that his target is humans.  Not birds or fish or rhinos or elephants or zebras or gorillas — but *us*!  To in any way say that the life of an animal is more valuable than any human at all is to agree and take sides with the one who wants you dead, and to say that the One who created you created trash.

God deeply loves all of His creation.  But you, YOU, He wants to call “my child”.  He cares for everything He has created, but you, YOU, He wants to call “my beloved”.  He says of the sparrows and lilies that He feeds them and cares for them.  But for humanity He uses the language of Father to child and Husband to wife.  And He is a very, very good Father and a very, very good Husband.

And, by they way, if you know Him and love Him, when you enter into life with Him in the home He's prepared in Heaven for those who love Him, if you're not too wrapped up in experiencing the greatest love you've ever experienced, you can probably ask Him if Harambe the gorilla can be a part of life in Heaven.  I wouldn't be surprised if He says yes.  I've already told Him I want Fresly there with me.  Even though I'm pretty sure I'll be completely enamored with Him.  He's already captivated me.

A Deal's A Deal

Different life events can cause you to reflect a little bit more on life, or at least on certain aspects of it.  So having recently "officially" moved to Cape Town, I've done some reflecting related to moving.  Which... I've done a fair amount of.  It's kind of strange.  Everyone in my high school class was like, "I can't wait to graduate and leave Omaha!"  My thoughts were, "I love Omaha and all my friends and family are here.  I don't want to leave here!"  But God had other ideas.  He often does.  Ideas you'd never begin to dream of or consider on your own.  But that's another story. 
So I moved to Michigan.  Then Texas.  Then California.  Then Robertson, South Africa.  Now Cape Town.  When I moved to Texas, I went for the purpose of going to a missions training school, and I didn't know anyone.  It was rough -- I was so happy where I was in Michigan (happy where I was in Nebraska, happy where I was in Michigan, happy where I was in California... guess the Lord normally likes to move me when I'm perfectly happy and all is well where I am!)  Several months after moving to Texas, in the midst of missing my friends and adjusting, I told the Lord, "I really don't want to move again.  Ever.  But if you want me to, I'm willing.  But please, I need to know at least one person, have one friend there.  I can't move to a place if I don't know anyone."  And when I moved to California, I did have friends there. (Another long story.)

The journey to Cape Town has been another interesting adventure.  Why, when I came to South Africa, didn't I just come here straight away?  In August 2014, I started thinking about an idea to have a ministry to, well, people in ministry.  It's tough, you know.  Many missionaries quit after 2 years, I've written before about the stress that missionaries face, it's easy to feel like your job is to make everyone happy, people don't really understand, etc etc. This isn't coming from out of how I felt -- this was almost 2 years ago.  This is what I'd seen.  And from that time back almost 2 years ago, I always thought Cape Town was the logical place for it.  Always.  But I had zero interest in Cape Town.  It was too big and too cramped and the roads were too narrow and there were too many cars and I wanted to be in the mountains.  (I don't know what I was thinking.)  Then at some point I started thinking about Cape Town.  And when I was in Omaha (US) in August 2015, as I drove around Omaha, I kept thinking, "I miss driving in Cape Town."  Which was weird, first of all because I'd hardly even ever driven in Cape Town.  And second of all, for 18 years whenever I'd visited Omaha, one of my favorite things is to drive on the streets of Omaha - and I'd always think how much I loved seeing the city, getting up on a hill and being able to look over large portions of the city.  I'd never thought of another city while driving in Omaha.  Why was I thinking of this city that I'd rarely been to and didn't even like a year before?  God does change our hearts.

Also around that time, I started meeting and even getting to know people in Cape Town.  I started feeling like I had a few friends.  And just recently, as I was pondering all this, I realized: The Lord completely honored my request to know people, to have friends in the place that I move to.  I didn't have that in August 2014 (I knew one person a little).  But I did have friends in Robertson.  And by the end of 2015, I somehow had a ridiculous number of contacts, connections, and friends, considering the precious little time I'd spent here.  So amazing that He'd be so kind and faithful to remember my request from 13/14 years ago and do that for me, even when I forgot about it!

Unchanging God

Today Facebook reminded me that two years ago I packed up the trunk (boot) my 2004 Honda Civic to get ready to leave California and being my journey with God in (mainly) Africa. 

Wow.  Two years.  Has it really been that long?  It seems like less time.  But it also seems like more.  So much has happened since then.  That reminder brought back so many memories.  I'd be lying if I never second guessed myself, or had the thought cross my mind wondering if it was worth it.  I'd be lying if I said I never missed my house, or my stuff, or my car, or my dog, or a normal job.  Of course I miss my friends -- lots of times with the Pauls and amazing bbq, popcorn and cookies with Ivana, chats with Marta and Arnold's coffee.  And after a rough year, the thought does cross your mind... 

Why miss a house and furniture and things?  I asked the Lord about it -- I think part of it was the stability and familiarity.  The comfort of having my things and my way, the security of it, and the sense of control I had in "creating" that "security".  But I still know what Jesus was inviting me to.  And what I knew then is still true now -- that sense of stability and security was fleeting, and it could all be taken from me at any moment.  Changes in the economy, in conditions at work, or in my health and "stability" and "security" start to unravel.  Some of the challenges of this year have certainly brought that truth to light: a friend dies from cancer, spiritual parents killed in a car accident, another friend diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.  The families of these friends of mine have certainly been thrown unto instability, insecurity, and uncertainty.

And it really drives the point home as to how much we need Jesus.  He is the only One who doesn't change.  He is stable.  Security is in Him.  You don't need to leave everything and go to another country to know this true.  We all need to know how sure and solid God is.  We all need to be completely rooted and established in Him.  He is the only thing that cannot be shaken.  The certainty of His Kingdom and His promises need to be the greatest reality in our lives so we can security in Him when the world reminds us how fallen it is, and how we all need Him.

Your promises remain
Forever and ever
You won't fade away
You never, you never change
You're unchanging God

You're kingdom is forever
You're love will last forever
All glory, all honor
Unto our God forever

Soaking in Truth

Several years ago I went to Afghanistan.  I loved the people and it was an amazing experience.  But it is also one the of dirtiest places I've every been to.  Probably equal to Mozambique.  When I returned, my feet were brown from the dirt.  I spent 15 minutes scrubbing my feet in the showers available at the Dubai airport, but it didn't make much of a difference.  My feet were clean....ish.  They didn't smell and I wasn't going to track dirt everywhere.  But they needed some deep cleaning.  Lots of soaking.  Serious scrubbing.  Getting all traces of the dirt out of my feet wasn't a matter of just washing with soap and water -- they needed soaking in water.  It's amazing how easily dirt can get into your skin, but it doesn't come out as easily.

It's a little bit like life and our awareness of spiritual realities.  There are truths that we "know".  We've touched them and experienced a rudimentary cleaning, so to speak.  But the earthly mindset is still in us.  And we need to soak in the truths, giving them time to get into the depths of our being and remove the old "dirt from the earth".

One example of this happened with me a few days ago.  I ended up listening to a song, well, the reprise of a song that was on its own track, for about two hours.  Something struck me the first time I heard it, and I felt like I needed to just keep listening.  The words were mostly only, "Only You conquer the grave.  You are alive in us, alive in us."

I know that Jesus has conquered the grave.  I know I and those of us who know Him will never truly die, but will live with Him forever.  I know that Ken and Ty and Terri are more alive now than they ever have been.  But also knowing that their bodies have been buried, and I can't talk to them now throws me off a bit.  There's still some of that dirt from earth in me.  So I soaked in the truth for awhile.

Only You conquer the grave.
You are alive in us, alive in us.
Only You conquer the grave.
You are alive in us, alive in us.

Until the reality that the Living Christ who is in me right now and who lived in Ken, Ty, and Terri on earth is also still present and alive in Ken and Ty and Terri.

And there are so many heavenly realities that the Lord wants us to know and walk in -- our oneness with Him, eternal life with Him, that He's always with us, never leaves or forsakes us, that He is provider, His love, His faithfulness, His holiness, His goodness and kindness, His ever present help, His comfort....and on and on and on.  Sometimes we just need to soak in those truths, through meditating on Scripture, listening to someone speak about these truths, or listening to songs about the truths, and giving them time to sink deep inside of us.

Getting into the Gulf of Grief

I don't want to dwell on sadness, but I do want to be real, and real in a way that helps and encourages people, that says, "Hey, you're normal, and it's not your responsibility to have it all together."  Jesus has it all together.  And if He has us, then everything is okay. And really, it's something I've always admired and appreciated about Ty and Terri -- they were so real.  I was never under any illusions, thinking them to be perfect, because they (appropriately) shared their struggles.  It made us all feel safe around them.  Feel like we were normal.  And feel like it was okay and not a big deal to struggle -- it's just something that happens in life.  No worries.  God's still God, and He's still good.  We just need to go to Him, and He takes care of everything.

I feel like I'm just getting into the grieving and mourning process (I honestly don't even like the sound of that).  Ken, Ty, Terri.  The past few months have been too busy, I wasn't sure if I could "go there", and I didn't know that grief could make you so physically tired.  So I slept in my free moments. (See previous post.)

The reality of death is hard to grasp.  Everything about it just feels not right.  I don't know how I've completely missed it all before -- because I was far away, or everything else in life just kept moving and I kept moving with it?  I don't know.  Maybe I'd just so protected (aka: hardened) my heart in other areas that the deaths of grandparents wasn't able to penetrate the walls of self-protection.  But those defenses came down a couple years ago, and while I want to be wise, I want the Lord to be the One who protects my heart.

Several years ago another close friend of mine died -- Ruben.  I was only 27 and was so completely clueless as to how to deal with it.  It was sudden.  He'd been sick, yeah.  But he was just going in for some tests.  That day, the last day I saw him conscious, he gave me a ride to work because I didn't have a car at the time.  He went in for the tests, for some reason things went south.  We prayed and prayed and prayed, but he died about a week later. 

And what I felt was something I hadn't experienced before.  I wanted to fall on the floor and weep.  I'd only known him for 16 months, from the time I'd moved to Texas.  How could I feel such intensity when I'd barely known him for over a year?  But he and his family had invited me over for lunch after church.  Regularly.  I didn't always go.  In fact, it seems like I often didn't go -- I have no idea why!  But deep down I knew I was welcome.  Really, the invitation from him to come over for Sunday lunch was more similar to a declaration of expectation of my presence.  For various reasons, my transition to Texas was challenging.  But every Sunday at church he gave me a hug.  If I needed help with anything (which I didn't often communicate because I was used to doing things on my own), he would be there to help.  He was like my big, Mexican papa.  I didn't realize that until that last day when he gave me a ride to work...

There was a church counselor I tried to talk to about how I was feeling.  How could I be experiencing so much grief?  I mean, it wasn't actually my dad who died, and I hadn't even known him that long!  It was his wife and kids who actually had the worst of it.  And I felt guilty for feeling the way that I did.  I told the counselor... who simply encouraged me to support his wife.  That was something I wanted to be able to do, but I simply didn't know how to when I didn't know what to do about my grief, and felt guilty for it. 

So I never let myself cry.  I literally bit my lip and held my breath through the funeral to keep myself from crying.  I should have cried -- I needed to.  And 3 years later, I finally did.

When I found out about Ty and Terri, that time I let myself do exactly what I felt like doing: fall on the floor and weep.  In the middle of Snoekie's restaurant in Haut Bay (Cape Town).  I just didn't care what other people thought.  At least that much I'd learned.  And that grief is a love song.  And I love Ty and Terri.  It still baffles me how much I miss people that I hardly ever saw anyway.  But I don't even get to see Facebook posts from them any more, or see them during visits home.  There are only pictures posted during some other time, like echos of what was, but can't be touched right now.  It's just all wrong.

Ty's birthday is January 12th.  Which is in about 30 minutes (Brazilian time) from the time of my typing this.  Spent some time praying for his family today.  I know he's going to have a great birthday.  I just wish all of us here could celebrate with him.  And tease him.  He'd expect a few well-placed jokes about his balding, at the very least.  (Which at this point, has probably been corrected...!  How he'd enjoy turning that one around on us!) 

"The Lord Gives Sleep to His Beloved"

This phrase started going through my head several weeks ago, if not a couple months ago: "The Lord gives sleep to His beloved."  And I felt like the Lord was saying it to me.  I thought it was probably a verse, but I didn't know for sure, and I definitely didn't know where it was, although it sounds Psalm-like.  And it is.  Psalms 127:2b  Some versions of that verse say "rest" instead of "sleep", but the Hebrew word actually means sleep.  (Sometimes I look these things up.)

Since about September, I've daily felt like I need an afternoon nap.  This is a strange phenomenon for me, because I don't actually like naps.  I feel like they're boring and a waste of time.  I mean, there's a world to see!  People to see!  Things to do!  Books to read!  Conversations to be a part of!  Anything but....sleep.  I've sometimes wished I were one of those people who could live on 5 hours of sleep a night, but I'm not (even though I've had my moments... those seasons don't last though!).  But for the last several months I've been more of the attitude, "Whatever, I'm taking a nap.  See you later."  Every.  Day.

I started noticing that if I didn't get to the nap soon enough, I would struggle to stay awake in the middle of conversations with people, usually by 2pm.  Sooner if I got up earlier than "normal" or had been around more people than usual.  And if I didn't get a nap, I basically went through the adult version of what happens to a two-year-old if they don't get a nap.  "Come on Dina... you can smile at people, listen, and engage in conversation.  You don't need to throw things at people."  Okay, I never, normally, wanted to actually throw things at people.  I did struggle to not check out, however, and be adequately social and stuff (technical term).  I just literally could not make it past 2pm without a nap, or without adverse effects due to a lack of a nap.  What. On. Earth.

Even in Brazil, with no schedule, sleeping in, taking everything easy.... and every day, afternoon nap.  After nearly 2 weeks of this, I started getting concerned.  Am I just being lazy??!  Surely one cannot actually NEED this much sleep.  I started wondering if I should start forcing myself to stay awake all day.  After all, I'm not actually a two-year-old!  But then almost a week ago, something surprising happened.  I made it all the way through the day without needing to sleep, and without falling asleep.  And then another day.  And another.  I'm not lazy after all!  I just actually, really, seriously needed sleep in a way I didn't know one could need sleep.

"The Lord gives sleep to His beloved."  One of the things I'd been wanting to do in all these sleepy afternoons for the last several months was just spend some extra time with Jesus.  It usually amounted to nothing more than a few minutes of sleepy chatter and me passing out.  But honestly, I always felt like He was saying something like, "Don't worry about whatever you think you need to do to spend time with Me.  You need sleep.  You can just sleep, and I'll just be here with you."  And as I let myself take a nap instead of doing the million things I could have done -- things others may have wanted me to do, things I wanted to do or thought I should do, even things I wanted to do for Him -- I encountered the grace and kindness of God (God!), who would understand my weakness (that I haven't even understood), and say: It's okay if you're tired and can't do the things that you want to do.  You don't have to.  It's okay for you to just sleep.  Don't worry about everything else -- I have it under control.  You just sleep.

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want. 
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul.
~Psalms 23:1-3a

Learning God's Language

Did you know that God still speaks?
Did you know that He wants to speak to you specifically?
He really does!! 

One of the questions we always ask is (one basic question in a few forms)... How do I hear God’s voice?  How does He speak?  How do I know it’s God?  What if it’s just me?

But I’m so confident in God’s ability to speak, and in His giving us the ability to communicate with Him, that I know if you or I ask Him a question, He will answer!  The easiest question to ask Him and hear an answer for is often along the lines of, “How do you see me?  What do you think about me? How do you feel about me?”  Whatever the first encouraging thing is that comes to mind, that’s God speaking to you.  We tend to think, “Oh, I’m just trying to make myself feel good about myself.”  But if that’s not normally what you think and what you say about yourself in your head, then there’s no reason that you would start saying that to yourself now!

Learning to hear God’s voice is like learning a new language.  It takes some practice and getting familiar with the “sound” of His voice.  When you learn another language, all the sounds seem to be muddled together at first.  It’s hard to tell where one word ends and the next begins!  But it gets easier, and there are fewer and fewer instances of misunderstanding.  Even in our first language, we sometimes hear things wrong, but that doesn’t mean we don’t understand the language and can’t communicate!  So even as we grow in hearing, recognizing, and understanding God’s voice, when we mis-hear something, it doesn’t mean we don’t know His language and can’t hear Him!

Many people think learning a language is hard.  But God created us to be able to communicate and learn language.  It’s part of our basic structure.  By the time a child is 5 years old, he or she knows his language PERFECTLY.  She may still need to learn more irregulars, but the rules she has down and is solid.  She can’t add or subtract, she might still struggle with “left” vs “right” and tying her shoes, but she can take strings of words and put them together in a way that she’d never done before and had never heard before. 

And God also created us to be able to communicate with Him and understand what He’s saying.  He wants to speak to us!  He wants to speak to you!  He wants to speak to me!  In so many ways, on so many topics, He wants to speak.  He wants to have a conversation.  We just need to stop, start to listen, and practice hearing and recognizing His voice.

Having a Place - Habits and Stability

I’m learning how I’m a creature of habit.  I create habits that are generally helpful in life, to my health, to me spiritually, mentally, emotionally, physically.  Sometimes the habits are so second nature that you don’t even realize they’re there!  Simple habits of making breakfast – even what you eat for breakfast – cooking in general, cleaning, going to work, reading before bed, playing music in the house, where you put your keys…

But when you’re outside of the environment where you created your habits, it’s easy for the habits to get lost in the midst of the new environment.  And when the environment changed every couple of months (which has been my experience over the last year and a half), it makes it very difficult to reform any habits.  Where do you even start?

Habits contribute to stability (whether good or bad), but if you’re essentially always on the road or somehow on the move, how do you create that stability?  The Lord has given me the grace to connect with Him and find comfort and stability in Him, but He provides in so many ways, and I’ve recently felt the need to have physical stability, reform some habits, and feel “normal” again – He is even in those things.

A few months ago, a friend of mine had a picture of a cultivated garden where I could come for rest and refreshment so that I could then go out to others to tend to their needs and bring refreshment to them.  But for myself, always needing to go back to my own “garden” and place of refreshment.  The pictures seems to speak to two things: the more obvious secret place with the Lord and connecting with Him, receiving from Him.  But I’ve also always wanted a home, that physically beautiful, comfortable, warm, inviting place that’s refreshing and restful, and from there to go out, meeting with people and caring for them – and then being able to come back to my safe, refreshing place.

I didn’t even realize I so valued a bit of structure, order, stability, and habits until they were gone!  And I do think having a physical place that’s comfortable, beautiful, warm, inviting, in order, organized, etc can be a basis for that.  It’s just a general sigh of relief.  Sometimes I feel like I’m my own paradox – I enjoy travel and I enjoy NOT traveling and being home.  If I would have known that before, I probably would have kept my duvet, duvet cover, decorative pillows, all my bedding, more of my art and pictures, and a couple other things too!  They weren’t quite as frivolous as I assumed them to be. 

But now I have a room that’s meeting needs for a nice, comfortable place.  So now on to recreating habits that I had before - cooking, eating healthy (hello fruits and veggies!), getting up early, time with Jesus, exercise, reading before bed, having a place for my keys (I have keys!).    

It’s made me think of the transient and houseless – situations even more unstable than mine.  How do they cope?  They may need a sense of stability more than they realize.  Ultimately that stability is from God, but He may use us to help give stability in ways that are much simpler than we realize – like simply being there every week at a certain place and time.  A small example of God’s consistency and expression of the stability He wants to give.  We may have the opportunity to be that expression for a season in someone’s life.