In The Garden

With the changing of the weather, I have been inspired to plant a fall garden. I personally know nothing about gardening. I do remember as a kid not wanting anything to do with it. I  begged "PLEASE don't make me garden....I would rather do DISHES than help you garden". I usually got my wish but I look back now and think that's weird. I would rather do dishes than to dig in the dirt??? What kind of a kid was I...? A weird one apparently.

So when I returned home a few months ago, I was ready to give it the ol' college try. My parents quickly got on the band wagon. And as it turns out, it has been one of the best things I could have done. The soil wasn't prepared at all. We had to till it up. At first, I tried using a pic ax. I would work SO hard...and then look down and see that I hadn't gotten very far. It got too hot. I wanted to give up. I got cranky. But stubbornness kept me going.

We borrowed a tiller from our neighbor and the job got easier.  We bought top soil and tilled it all together, taking out the weeds and the rocks. There is something so grounding about working IN the ground. To feel the damp soil on my hands and the sun on my back. It was how God meant it to be. God knew that man had to till the soil to survive and so He thought it good to make it enjoyable.

In the mornings I go out and check on things. I water. I pick out the weeds. I prune so that the plants will be more fruitful.  I don't say much to God. I just garden. I have noticed since being home that my quiet times are increasingly quite.  I don't seem to have much to say.  I just dig in the soil and I know that God is with me. He shows me stuff through gardening. He teaches me through the tilling up of the hard soil. He teaches me through the pruning. He teaches me through the gently caring of the baby seedlings pushing their way up through the ground. Against all odds, things still grow. In the garden there are lessons of hope, life, and perseverance. In the garden there are songs of praise as the sun makes it way across the sky. In the garden there is peace. In the garden there is healing. I don't care too much about the harvest. I planted beets for some reason and I hate beets.  But I do care about the journey. And I think God does too.

A Bunch of Weeds

This morning I had a nice long quiet time with the Lord. And I literally mean QUIET time . I barely prayed a word.  I just said “Ok God, speak for your servant is listening”. Of course  at first it was mainly just clutter in my head. Random thoughts. Emails I need to return. But slowly the noise in my head quiets down. I go outside and sit on the porch to drink my coffee. I  get up and wander over to the garden to straighten up a few things. I sit back down and let my eyes  look over the Ponderosa ( what my dad calls their property.)

 The Ponderosa-the place I grew up. The place where I would roam fields for hours, letting my imagination entertain me.  For example, one afternoon, I turned the barn into Laura Ingall’s house and pretended I was on Little House on the Prairie.  Or I would sometimes walk through the wildflowers (aka weeds) and pretend I was Anne  of Green Gables. I smiled at the memories. Thank you Lord that I grew up here. Those were the first words I had really spoken to Him in 10 minutes.

The childhood memories prompt me to take a walk in one of the fields. Oh the weeds…the allergies..the dirt. But no, I go inside, take an allergy pill, and head back outside. To be honest, it’s a bit of a ragamuffin field. It mainly consists of weeds and gravel. Anne of Green Gables would have NEVER chosen that field to walk in to write her deep poetic thoughts.

As I walked, I remembered roaming those fields as a little girl. Full of imagination. Full of wonder and hope for a good future.  I begin to cry. I cried and cried. I didn’t say anything. I just let the Lord listen to my tears. I knew that He knew- and I guess that’s all I needed to know.  I start picking the flowers that were living out among those weeds. I didn’t have a plan initially but before I knew it, I had made a bouquet.  I found a vase and set the arrangement  on the table. Something beautiful actually came out of that tick infested dirt. I cried some more. The Lord doesn’t waste our pain . He makes beauty out of ashes. And He makes flowers out of ragamuffin fields.  My quiet time this morning? I  basically cried over a bunch of weeds. And somehow it was beautifully redeeming.

Have Mercy On Me...a Sinner

I have been having right abdominal pain off and on for a few months. I had been ignoring it for awhile but it has gotten increasingly more painful. I noticed when I tried to exercise hard, it would be get bad. (Maybe I am allergic to exercising too hard).

Last week, it started getting worse so I finally saw my doctor. He did all the tests and it all came back normal. However, last Wednesday night, it got REALLY bad. I could hardly breath. I was at church but decided to go home to rest. By the time I got out to the parking lot, I knew I needed help. Because I am a dork...I call my friend who used to work in the emergency room.....just to make SURE an ER visit was necessary.

I gasp to my friend....do. you.....(argh!!! ouch)...think....gasp....I...should... go to the ER, I can't breath...."

My friend immediately responses...oh my word GO!

I get another friend who has been my friend/sister/every- thing- else- in- between out of choir practice. She rushes out and we get in my car to go. She asks me where I want to go and I tell her to go to the nearby community hospital..

Are you SURE? She asks

I snapped...YES (sorry J)

We go into an overcrowded ER and they initially turn us away because they are so busy. But I am having chest pains so I insist on going in.

I get check in and then I am told to wait. So we waited and waited and waited. The pain kept getting worse. You know how it goes, a lot of people use the ER like a clinic. And about 30 of those folks were ahead of me in line. The Cowboys were playing that night. Most of the crowd in the ER were cheering and laughing at the game. And I was in the corner writhing in pain. My sister/friend did the best that she could do. To tell you the truth, I was getting mad. Every time I heard a laugh or a cheer I got more and more angry. And the pain got more and more worse. (Hum...interesting)

These are the thoughts going in my head:

"Don't they know I REALLY am in pain..."
"I have good insurance for crying out loud"
"They should put me ahead of the line...I am having chest pain"
"I am going to have J take me back to the church and then I am going to call 911 so that I can get immediate help"

After sitting quite awhile,  I turn to my sister/friend and say "well...maybe we should pray". And so we did. It dawned on me that praying had not been my first instinct. So many times in South Asia, I immediately prayed this prayer when trouble arose... "Jesus Christ, Son of the Most High God, have mercy on me....a sinner"

But you know what? This time, I trusted in the  health system.  I felt entitled to good health care. In South Asia, I assumed I might not get good treatment so it was in God that I trusted. But that night last week? It was in America that I trusted. It was in myself that I trusted. I was home for crying out loud.  Home of the brave.  Home of freedom and rights.

 But as we know, the system breaks down. I got so frustrated with waiting, I asked J to take me out of that place. As she turned the wheelchair around, I passed by the the cheering/laughing- Cowboy- fellow- patient fans. I gave them the stink eye as we left. But I also saw the old man sitting alone in the corner. I saw the worried mom who had brought her baby in. I saw the young girl in obvious pain because she had injured her foot. My heart sank. Pain makes us selfish.  "Jesus Christ, Son of the Most High God, have mercy on me....a sinner"

 We finally went to a different ER in another town and I got immediate help. As the morphine was  being pushed through my veins I felt both worse and better at the same time. I felt worse because I was losing control. I felt better because the pain stopped throbbing.  As I drifted off to sleep I prayed, thanking the Lord that He has mercy on us.

Going Limp

For the past few weeks, I have been working out at the rec center here in town.  The first time I  ever drove to it,  I hummed 'its fun to stay at the YMCA....' to myself on the way there. And also, for some odd reason, I kept having flashbacks of an old Cosby Show episode where Theo gets in a fight at the gym (or something like that) and Heathcliff  swoops in with his basketball and sweatband  and offers Theo a pearl of fatherly wisdom.  In reality, I have been working out for a few weeks and I have yet to see Theo getting into any sort of fight and the rec center actually looks NOTHING like a YMCA.

A physical trainer has been helping me get into shape by offering wisdom in diet, exercise and GRACE (that's my favorite part). Even though I am horribly out of shape, I walk away strangely encouraged. But then that's what grace does....it strangely encourages you.

Well anyway,  last Friday, I had set down my keys and my phone on a rack for our exercise session. About an hour into our session, I noticed my phone missing. I looked around for it and we quickly discovered that it had been stolen. My immediate reaction? Oh well...is it what it is....can't do anything about it now.  I went limp. I didn't even fight.  But the guy who worked there and my physical trainer went quickly into action. We reviewed some security tapes and sure enough, we caught the young kid red handed! My trainer went running after him because he knew who the kid was.  The gym guy called the police. And I still stood there...still going limp. Its gone...its long gone. I thought to myself. The next thing I know, I hear the trainer  holler- he has my phone! I run downstairs with my eye on the prize. Of course that means I am not paying attention so I get caught up in the exit turnstile (because it is in fact an ENTRY turnstile)...but that's another story. Hehe

They caught the kid, got my phone back and saved the day. My heroes.

I was telling this story to my dear friend this afternoon who served with me in South Asia. "You know why you reacted like that?", she asked

Yes...

Its 'cause of South Asia. We are just used to going limp. We have resigned ourselves to the fact that  things happen and you can't do anything about it so you just...go limp, hoping for the best but deep down inside expecting the worst.

My friend was right. I have gotten so beat down over the past three years that my initial response is to be like a turtle and retreat into my shell. I didn't want to fight.  I had to put on my superwoman cape so many times and fight alone that I actually forgot what it was like to have someone fight for me. And yes of course the Lord was there the whole time overseas. But for me to see someone with actual skin on do something with no other motive than kindness....that's grace realized.

Some people fought an injustice for me. I didn't have to fight. For once, I didn't have to put on my Superwoman cape. It was getting too small anyway.

Changing Shape

I will always remember that Sunday morning when the world went topsy turvy. It was New Years Day and I knew that I was sick. I turned to my friend in church and said "hey, I need help". And the next thing I knew we were leaving M Town and traveling to the capital city to the hospital.

Earlier that day, I had made a veggie salad that is popular among the expats in South Asia. The recipe is simple. Its basically fresh veggies that is marinated in a sweet vinegar dressing. And it was sitting in the frig chilling during church. And there it sat for about 3 months.  I had no idea that I would be in the capital city so long. When I finally was able to return home...I remembered the salad! Oh no!  I slowly opened the refrigerator door...not knowing what to expect. And there the bowl still sat. The cucumbers, carrots, green peppers, etc had all been marinating for  months.  Their shape had changed but overall, they had been preserved. If you didn't already know that it was 3 months old...it looked almost edible. Of course... I  immediately threw it away (including the bowl...just wasn't sure what had been growing in there..)

 I have thought about that salad a few times over the years. Those veggies had marinated so long in that vinegar that their shape had literally changed. Their very composition had changed. Not just on the outside- it had soaked all the way through.  I was thinking that those veggies are a lot like our walk with the Lord. If we marinate long enough in His Word, if we put to test what we hear long enough...it soaks all the way through.. And while it can hurt at times...we still are preserved. So, my prayer is that we can marinate...soaking up His Word..in hopes that our shape can literally be changed.

You Just Never Know

"They told me to come down here but I don't know why", the small brown woman said  while standing at the bottom of the stairs in the Children's Building at church. I recognized that look in her brown eyes. The look that said...I understood the directions but don't understand why exactly...

  Of course, being American and being a member of the church, I KNEW why we were waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Every month that has a 5th Sunday in it, parents pick their kids up and take them to big church instead of leaving them for children's church. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was a sure fire way not to miss them because they sound like elephants when they get out of Sunday School.

Me, being both  the cultural and church-ural (is that a word?) insider, felt empathy for the small grandmother. Because you see... I have been in her shoes. I knew not to go into the details. I knew to look her in the eye and say with slow, gentle words "just wait here, you will meet your grandson in a few minutes". And then I waited with her. She was reunited with her grandson and I walked away.

Again, later in the week, I was shopping with my mom. The girl at the check out counter was South Asian. I use that same slow English with her and she perked up . My mom said in the car  afterwards "when you change your speech like that...they understand you"? And I said "I changed my speech"? And she said "yes". I guess I just instinctively do it.

In so many ways I am thankful for the way the Lord has changed me. I hope that I always notice small brown women waiting at the bottom of stairs. I hope that I always change the pattern of my voice so that the check out girl understands. I hope that I can always be a vessel of His grace.

Annoyed At Typhoid

Annoyed At Typhoid. My sister in law suggested that this might make a good blog title. And it sorta rhythms- which pleases the inner poet inside of me. When I was in Virginia, I asked the rhetorical question "why couldn't I just have a more straight forward case of typhoid". People erupted into laughter because I guess...one doesn't normally have sentences like that in their linguistical repertoire.

These past weeks, I have been going through an onslaught of medical exams. Yup, you guessed it. My eyes are acting up again. (Well, just mainly the right one) And I am also having some neurological problems in addition. So I am going to see some specialists and just see where all this leads. I was reluctant to even blog about it because its boring to me. There is so much more interesting things to think about. Typhoid and abnormal eye exams=boring. Mexican food + free refills of Dr Pepper+ that new cupcake place I want to try out+ laughing with old friends= little glimpses of heaven on earth. 

I am certainly grateful for the presence of the Lord. I am certainly grateful for the chance to slow down. And I am certainly grateful that we can find God in the boring too.

Underneath the Juniper Tree

 The last few months of South Asia were exhausting. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I didn't have time to process things, I just felt I had to keep going. Dead lines. Expectations.  Keep going. Ignore the tired. Its selfish to rest.

 I arrived home exhausted, depressed and on the road to burnout.  The thing that added to the struggle was the fact that I saw the same exact look in the eyes of my fellow Americans as I did walking through the slums of South Asia. That look of quite desperation. So that just goes to show, it doesn't matter what we physically have. We are hurting. We need Jesus.

Recent tragic events combined with just the daily grind of life makes my heart bleed with grief.  Where is the joy of our salvation? It seems as if God has over promised and under delivered.  Is all this worth it?  Where did God go in all of this? Where is this abundant life that He speaks of? I mean.. really? This is it?  Something is terribly terribly wrong.

This past week, some dear people wisely pointed out to me something that I had never noticed before. They talked about the life that Jesus actually lived. Over and over again in Scripture, he engages people. He healed. He provided peace to the restless. He taught. And then... He retreated. He often went to the lonely places. He withdrew to the solitude. He went up to the Mount of Olives, taking a break from the masses of people pressing in on Him. I can just imagine Him laying up there on that mountain looking at the stars. I wonder if He said to the Father "hey, you remember that time when we created Pluto? Pretty cool stuff.

In Scripture, there is no talk about Jesus living a balanced life. But there is talk of Jesus giving His ALL and then retreating. Jesus Himself needed to be in His Father's presence. Engage. Disengage. Engage again. A rhythm  to His life. For everything there is a season. He even gave us one whole day a week to rest.  But somehow that commandment gets ignored. Its like the "9 commandments with an optional activity" now.

 On a retreat in Virginia, I had the chance to just stop. I had a chance to disengage. We didn't fast from food but we fasted from technology. I had the chance to sleep. I had the chance to eat. I had the chance to be quiet. And the Lord spoke. Why? Because I actually stopped to listen. I got so busy doing His work that I forgot Him.

I sat underneath the sky. I walked. I went to the playground to swing. I was reminded that our God is awfully big and sure does love us an awfully lot.  I have been tired. And scared. And worried. But last week I stopped. I withdrew to the lonely places. And God showed up.

When I  say I want to be like Jesus... what I meant was that  wanted  to be like Him in the last three years of His life. I wanted to walk with Him on water but I didn't want to go with Him to the lonely places. He lived for 30 years in relative obscurity. Am I ok with that part of the story too?

So, just as Elijah sat under the juniper tree, I sit. I sleep. I eat. I sleep again.  In the quiet, God is showing up. Its brutal to think about the days when I ignored Him. But its beautiful actively practice the presence of God.  I don't want to live this life if I can't have Jesus. So, underneath the juniper tree I sit.

Its Nice

I am up here in Virginia at a conference. I am staying in the country surrounded by beautiful green fields, red barns and nice fat, healthy looking cows. And one random donkey.

 Its nice to look up at the blue sky and breath in clean air. The sky and sunshine is strangely comforting. I think its because I would look up in South Asia and know that it was the same sky that looked over Texas. Hey there familiar sky...good to know that you were always there

Its nice to wear my own clothes and be comfortable in my own skin. Its nice to be around fellow warriors and hear their stories. Its nice that people are JUST SO NICE to us.  Its nice to just be quite before the Lord and enjoy His presence. Its nice to enjoy things like donuts, good cereal and straws that actually work.

Slowly slowly I am starting to wake up. The fatigue is lifting. The fog is thinner. Yesterday I stood still and just took in big deep gulps of air. The Lord is healing. He is speaking. And it sure is nice.

The Walk

Today I was waiting for my mom while she went to her doctor's appointment. I had a little time to kill and was feeling thirsty. And I have been obsessed with ice lately so I decided to walk to the gas station in hopes of finding a fountain drink. Yes...I knew it was July and a 150 degrees outside. Yes, I knew it was high noon and that the sun was so bright it was burning a hole in the sky. But in South Asia, I walked. And there is something familiar about walking and so I go for it. I don't notice the heat. Instead, I notice the evenly paved sidewalk. I notice the cut green grass. I notice the window tented cars zipping by me in warp speed. My feet don't touch a bit of dirt. I don't run into one single beggar. I don't have to fight for my space.

But I also notice the empty streets. I notice that I don't interact with ONE single human being. I notice that nobody takes notice as I make my journey.  I look up at the Dallas skyline and I feel strangely alone. My overseas life seems so far away. Was I really even there? I reach into my pocket and feel a coin. I pull out the coin and I notice its from South Asia. I smile at the visible reminder. I hold it in my hand as I cross the street.  A small reassurance. Honestly, I am relieved that  my walk to get a fountain drink is stress free. I am relieved that there are no surprises.  But then, in another way, I miss the color, the life and the overwhelming humanity of my walks in South Asia. In South Asia, I went down to the store to get a drink AND I had to fight off a monkey.   How can I miss something but not miss something at the same time?

Only Jesus

I went to church for the first time yesterday. I feel like this weekend was the first time I entered into the "normal"world. I was glad to see folks. Glad to be among my own tribe. Glad that I could sing old hymns as familiar to me as the smell of bacon in the morning. Glad I could understand the lesson because its in my mother tongue- Texan.  But then, I also felt like an observer. I felt like an outsider even though in reality, I am not. I found that I didn't have as much capacity for small talk. When I asked "how are you" and the person responded with the automatic "I am fine"....I knew they really weren't. I could tell by that pained look in their eye.  I recognized that look.  I had seen it before. Cancer. A troubled child. Financial ruin.

 We can have full bellies. We can have all the gadgets in the world.  But that doesn't make us happy. Thats not the source of real joy. Only Jesus. Whether I am walking through the slums. Whether I am walking through the city. Whether I am walking through the doors of my own church. Only Jesus.

Going to Kroger's

I am missing fresh fruits and veggies. So I went to Kroger's. I was overwhelmed at the selection. And the prices. I admit I did buy some mangos, for a dollar a piece. YUMMY. Worth it  but can't do that every day. When I got home, I was thinking about how familiar yet strange that experience was. A store run overseas was very different and more stressful. I thought about the good and the bad aspects of it. For me to go to the store overseas, I would have to walk down a dirty, pig filled road. I would walk out into an hectic street and flag down a bicycle rickshaw, hoping I would get a good one. I would avoid eye contact and hope that nobody called me a bad name that day. Once I got on the rickshaw, I would hope that he could understand my Hindi. Hope that my clothes didn't get caught up in the spoke of the wheel. Hope that we didn't have a wreck. Hope that he wouldn't try to scam me or take me somewhere I didn't want to go. I would get to the store, get my purchase and then repeat the process to go back home. I often got back to my apartment exhausted. Just to get food. And of course, over time, I got used to it. It wasn't so bad. I made friends with the owner of the pigs. The insults became more annoying than hurtful. I ended up enjoying my little store and the shop keeper. I would smile when he slipped a few chocolates in my bag. It was all very old school and quaint.  I got to know the rickshaw drivers. It became routine.

But being back home gives me perspective. Wow, I got used to some hard things. What was abnormal had become normal to me. And it has left its mark. I walk into Kroger's. And I don't make eye contact. I keep my head down and hoped that nobody would call me a bad name. Oh wait...I am in Kroger's...in my home town. I stand in line, prepared to fight for my spot. And then realize that I don't have to push  and so I zone out while waiting for my turn. The guy in line behind me looks at me. My initial thought? What is he looking at? What is he going to say to me? What response will I give? Don't make eye contact...Don't make eye contact. And then I realize...oh wait...I am in Kroger's. The guy was just looking at me because I was in his line of vision.

Its my turn in the line and I smile at the check out lady. Is she going to cheat me? No, instead, she asks for my Kroger card. I don't have it so she asks for my telephone number. Why does she want my number? Is she going to use it to give to her brother who is looking for a wife? Oh wait...no...she just wants me to get my discount.

I leave and think about how its funny...but then its not really. 

Grandpa's Bible

I gave my Bible away, the one I carried in South Asia.  So I have found myself without a bible for the week. My Kindle has been filling in but no amount of technology can replace the feel and smell of a Bible pulled from a dusty shelf. There is just something about turning those thin, crinkly pages. I love it when random pieces of paper fall out, reminders of the past. A note that asks "hey where you want to go for lunch". A bookmark given.  A crushed flower. A church's program. Memories.

So this morning I went into the study and pulled a bible from the shelf. I didn't really pay attention to which one it was. But as I opened it, I quickly realized that it had belonged to my grandpa. I don't feel like I knew my grandpa really well. Growing up, he was always the silent one outside tending his garden. I know he always took care of me if I needed something. He loved animals. I remember sitting on the porch with him as he patiently pulled ticks out of a beloved dog we had growing up.  I know he occasionally slipped me a 20 dollar bill as a teenager.  I know he loved me. But I didn't know him well. As he aged, he grew grumpier and sadder and I  am ashamed to say that I found it more and more difficult to talk to him. His last few years on earth were pretty miserable for him and it was hard to watch. I found myself having a mixture of emotions when he finally passed from this world to the next.  He finally had found rest. He was finally without pain. But of course he left a hole.

As I opened the bible, I looked at the quotes that he had taped in his bible. I looked at the verses that he had underlined and the notes that he had written in the margins. And I wonder what he might have been thinking at that  moment.  I saw apart of his heart and his faith that he had never revealed to me. And I felt I got to know him better. Reason number 35466 I am looking forward to heaven.

Broken Praise

There is a beautiful CD out called the Story. The songs on it come from Scripture itself. I love it! The words are just so honest and raw. ( I also love that the London Orchestra plays in the background. It makes me feel more refined and smarter).

The Lord often uses those quite moments of just 'being' that  He speaks to me the loudest. This song came on my iTunes cycle this morning as I was laying on my bed.

Broken Praise

If one more person takes my hand

tries to say they understand

tells me there's a bigger plan

that I'm not meant to understand...

If one more person dares to jest

that I have something un-confessed

tries to make the dots connect

from righteousness to Easy Street...

I, I won't deny that I've relied

on some assumptions.

A man's honest life

entitles him to something.

Who am I to make demands

of the God of Abraham?
And who are you that you would choose

to answer me with mercy new?

How many more will wander past

to find me here among the ashes?

Will you hold me?  Will you stay?

So I can raise, this broken praise

to you...

Who else would see my suffering

as one more opportunity 

to educate, to help me see

all my flawed theology?

If one more well-intentioned friend

tries to tie up my loose ends...

Hoping to, with rug and broom,

sweep awkward moments from the room...

I, I can't forget 

that I have been just like a mad man

for my chance to die

never have to face the morning.

Who am I to make demands

of the God of Abraham?

And who are you that you would choose

to answer me with mercy new?

How many more will wander past

to find me sitting in this ash?

Will you hold me? Will you stay?

So I can raise, this broken praise

to you?

You were the one who filled my cup.

And you were the one who let it spill.

So blessed be your holy name

if you never fill it up again.

If this is where my story ends 

just give me one more breath  to say...

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

On Being Thankful

Of course its 2:30 in the morning and I am awake. I have completed the first few days of being back home and slowly adjusting to the sleep schedule. I am very thankful that I am at least SLEEPING. Its just sorta backwards.

An insightful coworker said something wise right before I left South Asia. She said "ya know, back in the old days, people had months to adjust as they got on the ships that would take them back to their motherland. Now, we just get a 24 hour plane ride". And I found myself thankful for that 24 hour holding pattern that the plane provided. I feel a bit like Alice going through the looking glass. As I stepped off the plane, everything was familiar again. I could hold my head up straight and smile. I saw my family waiting just outside the gate. It was hot...as Texas summers are.

But in the familiarity, there is also change. My insides have changed. I have to keep a lot of my thoughts to myself because I don't want to be one of THOSE people...you know those type that always has "one up ya" on stories. So, I am keeping an internal catalog of the things I am thankful for.

Yes, its hot here. But its only hot the 15 seconds it takes to go from the car to the Target, while walking on the beautifully paved parking lot sipping my Route 44 Sonic.

Yes, I had to wait  for the waiter to come take my order. But he apologized for the inconvenience of waiting the 3 1/2 minutes and the proceeded to bring me freshly baked bread, Ice tea and steak.

Every thing I could possibly ever want is at my finger tips. And people are being very very kind. Nobody is pushing me. And I am happy to be back among my own tribe. But I still feel undone.

I was in a wedding yesterday. And I was asked to sit by the Chinese mother -of -the- groom so that she wouldn't be sitting alone. And I was honored to do it. She had a red ribbon in her hair for good luck and said in her broken English "I am so lucky to have good daughter in law". I reached over and held her hand and her eyes sparkled. And I felt at home.

So, I am thankful for ice, soft sheets, clean roads, people who speak English, old friends, people who will listen, laughter, and mother's with red ribbons in their hair.

Last Night

I simply can't believe how fast the time has flown. For three years I have been thinking about this date. The day I go home. In about 6 hours I get on a plane and head across the pond. I was crazy busy up until about 2 days ago so I haven't had the chance to let it sink in. But. Now. Its. Sinking. In.

My last days in M Town were busy, sad, happy, disappointing and hot. I had the chance to have a lot of good goodbyes which was wonderful. I moved to my new place and met some new people. And then, suddenly, it was all done. I found myself headed to the Big City to fly home.

The last two days I have spent in the home of a couple who have become like parents to me. We have laughed, watched movies and had chocolate ice cream for dessert. Its been a good place to spend my final days. I also had the chance to help the wife through a medical procedure so it was nice to put on my nursing hat for awhile.

I am on a roller coaster of emotions. I am happy to be going home but also nervous. What if I don't fit anymore? What will I talk to people about?  The thought of Cosco's and IPhones and inside jokes overwhelms me.  I just finished helping with a volunteer team. And I actually found myself relating better to my South Asian friends than to my own countrymen. I found myself being annoyed that they complain a lot but then felt like an hypocrite because I complain a lot too. Oh dear...I could be in trouble. 

Last night I stayed awake worrying. Its something I have been doing since the third grade. I lay awake the night before a big event and think about all the things that will probably go wrong. I get up in the middle of the night to check the location of my passport for the billionth time. 

And so thats it. Nothing profound or funny to say. Just nervous. And wondering if there will be any good movies to watch on the plane. And looking forward to cheese.

A Dog Named Jimmy

 Something unusual happened yesterday in a village. I have been in charge of a summer volunteer and have been taking her out into the villages every day to get used to things. We ran across this one family who quickly invited us into their home

The longer we sat, the more people gathered around us. Before I knew it...someone had put a newborn puppy in my lap. He was so cute and fluffy and playful. I said 'what is his name' and they said JIMMY. It turns out, Jimmy is a miracle puppy. The lady standing behind us in the bright pink had to do a c section on Jimmy's mom to get him out. He was the only survivor of the litter. They were so proud of Jimmy and kept showing me to him. He would wander off from time and time and the villagers would ask me "where did JIMMY go'?? He would just turn back up suddenly, having gotten lost underneath a blanket, or a goat or one of the old village grandmas.

They asked me "please take Jimmy home". And in my heart, I wanted to. I was drawn to this little guy who was such a fighter. In a world where the underdog often gets ignored or outright abused, I was touched that they loved Jimmy so much. I knew he would have a rough life if I left him in the village but there would be no way I could take care of him properly. So I told them I would take a picture with him at least. So, here is us and Jimmy.

Moving Day

 This is an friend who came to help me move out my apartment. We sat on this cardboard box all afternoon and watch men pack my stuff up

 tired but happy to be almost done

 the workmen who came to pack and move

loading the truck...goodbye stuff...

God Keeps Showing Up

 Back in January, I went to the west part of the country to train some ladies in how to share their faith through stories. This group of women have been faithfully sharing in their communities since January and the harvest has been bountiful! Beyond anything I could even ask or imagine. The Lord shows up in a way where we can't even take any of the credit.

 The ladies wrote about 7-10 original songs based on the stories they were learning.  In one particular song about creation they say "where can we go from your Spirit? You were there, you were always there. You were there in the garden when Satan tricked us. You are there when the Snake still tries to get us. Where can we go from your Spirit? You are always here"

 a joyous time

 of course we had to take a nap in the middle.of the day..its exhausting... they thought I was SO funny that I rested too. I said..."what so funny? White people get tired too...." Notice they have absolutely no personal space. :)

 singing some songs and praising the Lord

training our national partners so that they don't need us anymore.

Women's Retreat

 These are the pictures from the women's conference I went to last week. I thought this was a beautiful representation of women coming from all over the country to share reports about what He is doing in their communities.

 singing some praise songs

 One of the art forms here is called "mehindi" (or henna)  Henna is a paste that women apply to their hands for special occasions like weddings, holidays or sometimes 'just because'. They make beautiful designs with the henna paste and can really be quite artistic. Someone has created designs that correspond to stories His Word. This is a picture of the women learning the design for the Bleeding Woman story

My poor friend was feeling nervous with all those women looking on!

 The completed story. This drawing tells the story of the bleeding woman being healed by JC

 hanging out with the ladies during a break

 Two Slaps....this women in red gave a testimony about how one time she was telling the Demon Possessed Man story to a lady. It turned out that the lady was demon possessed herself and started saying abusive things about God. The women in red finished the story and then gave her two slaps. "WHY did you give me two slaps", the demon possessed woman asked. The women in red said "one slap  is for the demon and one slap for abusing my Lord". I am not an advocate for slapping people...but I was amazed at this women's courage.

 They also create original songs and dances for the stories they are learning. They enjoy using all different forms of art to express His Word. This is a small snippet of a dance they made to go along with a story.

 In the afternoon, we had break out sessions. The women met in  groups to learn about different skills they can take back with them to their communities. This women was talking about the basics of health care...of course I listened in....:)

 This group was learning about literacy and ways they could teach people to read and write

 This group practiced their henna drawings.

 SWEET FAITHFUL servant of the Lord who has helped craft stories in the D dialect. She was the one who told me "don't stop doing what you are doing sister".

leaving on the train...we were exhausted but happily praising the Lord. These are my "I have been balling my eyes out" eyes.

The Lord Showed Up

I wanted to tell you about a really amazing experience I had this past week. About a year ago if you remember, we had a very big storying workshop in my city with about 50 people coming. I asked specifically for your prayers in this endeavor. Well, the workshop came and went and I have gone on with life. It was a lot of work and I did see some good that came from it. But overall, I have been wondering if it did any good at all.

Then last weakend came. I was able to go to a women's retreat in a neighboring state.  About 50 women came from all over the country to report about how God was using stories in their villages. They had these books with them and I looked closer. And it was our training books that had been translated in their own language. Women from five different language groups were represented. The women had prepared stories, songs and skits based on the stories they were learning. One morning, they had a time of testimony. 

 

One young girl from the D language group stood up and said "a man had gone to a workshop in M Town (the town I live in) to learn how to share the Truth through the use of stories.   After the workshop, he came to my village to share and me and my entire family believed because we heard stories in our own heart language.".  

 

None of the testimonies were in English so I thought I misunderstood. Did she say M Town??? I asked my neighbors. They all confirmed, yes she had said it! 

 

After the time of testimonies, I found the women in charge of the D language group for the retreat. She had come to the M Town workshop with her husband last May and so I recognized her. I was in tears as I asked her "can you tell me what happened this past year" And basically, all those folks last year really took to heart what had been taught in the crafting workshop. They have been sharing and crafting stories in their own dialects this entire past year. At least for the D group, 21 stories have been crafted and are already being distributed on cassette tapes. But this sister said that the other groups have been working hard too so there is really no way to determine the impact.

 

She said 20 people so far have gotten dunked but even more people than that have believed. Its hard to really tell the exact numbers.  All I know is that God has worked.  She said "we will never forget what we learned sister. A big work happened there in M Town. Please don't stop what you are doing.".  This sister almost seemed hurt that I would assume God wasn't using stories to bring people to Himself.  

 

Anyway, I know that you will be encouraged by this news. Its not very often that the Lord reveals what He is doing in such a dramatic way. The workshop was a lot of work and for this entire year, I didn't really see the benefit. But the Lord showed up and surprised me.

 

Thank you to all who took part. We have a bigger family now to God be the glory!

 

You Just Never Know

The majority of my time here has been spent working with sweet ladies. They come from all backgrounds and all walks of life. My most cherished friendships have come from the women who are overlooked. The women who are looked down upon. The women who have very little voice in their worlds. These are the women who have gone out into the trenches and fields to share His Story. They don't have education or credentials. They just have a story to tell.

This past week I took part in a workshop of a different variety. Its not a situation that I was fully comfortable with. But my leadership thought it would be good if I did this and so I did. A bunch of pastors brought their men to record some stories. I knew something was up when I learned I had to refer to them separately as "pastors" and "believers" I asked the guy in charge...what is this-- a caste system??

The men were nice enough. They smiled and listened. And then totally didn't follow instructions.  They had a lot of excuses. So, I went toe to toe with this one pastor. He was disruptive, argumentative and disrespectful. Miraculously, I was as calm as a cucumber. I showed no emotion. I just stood firm in our Father's Word. I looked over...and my colleague who was in charge had tears in his eyes. He looked so discouraged.

The argument escalated and I think I almost had a mutiny on my hands. I called for a break. Let em cool down. I walked outside to find my colleague. I made some dumb joke about the Cold War (this guy is from Russia) and he just looked at me with sad eyes. I think he realized that his pastors that he called for this workshop were not the best men for the job. And that's got to be discouraging.

If it had been up to me, I would just have cancelled the rest of the training. It was wasting my time. And I had no emotional involvement, I didn't know these pastors from Adam. I was just doing a job I was asked to do. But then...I had the sad Russian dude...I wanted him to be encouraged...Russians are not suppose to be sad. So...I continued on.

After the break, I walked up to the pastor. And I basically just said the equivalent of 'no hard feelings' in Hindi. And he said..sister, I am the one who should be apologizing to you. WHAT?? That's a twist...as they say in the storytelling circles. For the rest of the day, he was my helper. He volunteered when nobody else would. I don't know what happened during that break but something did. This morning, as I go back for the last day of the training, I admit, I don't want to go. I just want to throw in the towel and go back to my ladies without all the hang ups. But, I just have to sit back and watch and see what HE will do...cause I just never know how things will turn out.

God Jesus Rescue Us

I was just on a really bad plane ride. It was the scariest of my life I think. It started out normal enough  but the last 20 minutes was torture. It was filled with a tremendous amount of turbulence and bumps. We tried to land once but the pilot aborted at the last second and swung the plane back up for another few minutes of turmoil. I wondered at one point if I would ever see land again. And giving out important life saving information is not widely practiced in these parts so we were left in the dark about what was really happening. Do we brace? Do we abort? Wait..where is the nearest exit. Dang it...what do they always say in those safety talks before we take off?? I need to listen more.

 Thankfully I was with a sweet, gentle woman of God who has been through it all and has the battle scars to prove it. She eats fear for breakfast...one of those superwomen types....She kindly let me bury my face into her shoulder. She stroked my hair as if I were a little girl again. And I let her.  All I could utter was "oh God...Jesus...rescue...us..." I even started singing out loud at one point...you are my hiding place....I needed help. I needed peace. I needed Jesus. Despite my circumstances, I can say that I did have a peace that passed all earthly understanding. The same peace I felt when I was laying there in that hospital bed with the phoid. I have always known with my head that we don't have to fear death anymore. But I never really KNEW it with my heart until now

I made it... obviously. My legs wobbled off the plane. The sweet woman of God blocked the isle so I could get out of the plane slowly.  She held back the mob of South Asians so that I could have some breathing room. Her and her husband formed a human shield around me until I could catch my breath. Will.never.forget.that.kindness.

I am still a little shell shocked. I jump at loud noises. I turn inward. I long for quite. And I am sure these feelings will pass...(I hope they do,I get on another plane next week). Now that I am out of harms way, I can't help but reflect on the situation. I came to faith at a young age and I have been walking with Him a long time. But when it comes down to it...I still let my hair be stroked. I still call out to Him. Oh God..Jesus..rescue...us. And thats how its suppose to be.

The Team

I just spent this past week doing some editing work with my fabulous team. I have been blessed beyond imagine by these folks and I will miss them dearly. They have impacted my life in more ways than I can even list. I am thankful that the Lord thought it good to bring them into my life.

Thank You Ladies

thank you to these ladies who taught me about struggle and music and life and faith

Broadcasting Hope

I had the chance to meet with some lovely people today. I visited an organization that broadcast programs on the radio into rural areas of this region. They create programs that address social issues of the day. I am personally working with the women's initiatives department.

This small crew of precious ladies writes, edits and performs their own programs. They deal with a variety of issues that women in society face such as violence, abuse, female infanticide and human trafficking. The particular program I helped with today was a fictitious story based on truth about a young girl being forced to have an abortion by her family. The reason? The girl was pregnant with a girl child..not the favored boy. Sex ratios are way out of whack here and organizations like these are trying to combat the problem one radio broadcast at a time.

I went in with the plan to encourage them and train them in storytelling techniques. But actually, I was the one who walked away with a bigger blessing. State of the art technology? No. Sincere hearts wanting to impact the darkness? A million times yes. It was my honor to encourage these dear ladies who have a heart for our Father.

Please lift up these ladies as they continue in their work. If you are interested in helping them or would like to learn more, please contact me