One of the hardest parts about being far from family is not being able to communicate when I need to. Right now, I'm booking a place to stay for a friend's wedding. My whole family is going to the wedding because my brother will be a groomsman and the family of the groom are like family to us. Somehow I volunteered to book accommodations for the weekend since we'll be driving the 8 hours down and will need to stay 3 nights somewhere. I'm in Lebanon, my sister is in Taiwan, and my mom and brother are in California. The wedding is in California. . .
First, I did my research, looking on airbnb, hotels.com, and with a FB group that was similar to couchsurfing. Most hotel rooms were too expensive, the FB group didn't have any hosts that had large enough places to stay, and while I found a really cute cottage by the lake on airbnb, it was 45 minutes from the wedding venue so I decided not to book that. It took several chat messages in 3 different time zones to decide that we would indeed book in a hotel that was close to the wedding venue.
I realized I needed to ask the hotel a couple of questions before I booked, so I filled out the online email contact form and sent it off. Two days later I still hadn't heard back so I asked my brother, who was in the same time zone as the hotel, to call them. He got me the information and I prepared to reserve the room. Then my brother said not to worry about asking for a rollaway bed. He, comfortable with roughing it, said he could just bring his air mattress. I, on the other hand, wanted him to be comfortable and thought it wasn't a big deal to pay the extra few dollars and get the rollaway. He had called during his lunch break and even though my final argument was sent just 3 minutes after his last reply, the chat message stared up at me, no Read 1 in white letters to the left of it.
I waited. I opened another chat application and messaged a friend, my mom's coworker, to ask him to ask my mom to check her chat messages. The message delivered but the two tick marks didn't light up to blue. Frustrated, I tried to reason out whether I should go ahead and make the request for a rollaway or just leave it and then have my brother call in the request at a later date. But it had been a long day in the office and I was too tired to decide.
Then I looked at the chat messages. Now it had Read 1 by the side but no reply. Finally, 30 minutes later, my brother replied. We sorted out the dilemma and, with a sigh of relief, I booked the room. Wedding gift bought, room booked. One more thing checked off the list. Once more, we had accomplished the joint task across oceans and time zones successfully!
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
Thursday, April 20, 2017
To Laugh Once More
In all honesty, being a missionary isn't all flowers and moonlight. There are difficult days, days when I question what I'm doing here, days when I'd prefer to go back to a country that, though not my own, at least is one where I can get around easily because I know the language. Even my teenage ties to this beautiful country are not always enough to push away the frustrations when I'm trying to fit in as an adult.
The last couple of months have been particularly challenging. Interestingly enough, I have had several people come up to me and tell me that they see I am happy here, happier than when I first came more than a year ago and was figuring out life on my own. I can only attribute it to God working through my life because I know it's not because of me. Though there isn't one specific reason for my struggles, I think it primarily boils down to another bout of culture shock. I'm realizing how very little I really do know and how much I have to learn while stepping outside of what I consider to be the norm and accepting another way of life as being equally as valid as my own. I've always been a black-and-white person with an easily stricken conscience so this adapting is harder than I thought it would be.
Yesterday, I spent some time telling God how I really felt. I wrote, I cried, and I prayed out loud, thankful for a room with some privacy and that I didn't have to share a living space with a roommate so I could process the emotions. I finally went to sleep after 1 am, not having resolved my questions but too tired to work through them anymore. I reluctantly headed to work and a day filled with tasks and projects to accomplish.
After work was over, I pulled some supper things out of my mini fridge, threw them in my favourite carry bag, and trudged up the hill to my friend's place. Her house was home to me, I spent more time there than in my own room because I could play with the twins, cook, share a meal, or just enjoy drinking tea while chatting with her. My friend and her family were my family away from home and I was grateful for every moment I could spend with them.
We ate supper, the boys snacked on cucumbers, and then we bundled them up in jackets and an extra pair of pants to go watch the volleyball game. It was the second night of tournaments this week and their dad was playing on one of the teams. It was a fun evening, my friend and I had one boy each and they were generally well behaved. W sat on my lap quietly watching the ball fly across the net until he got tired and restless. My friend suggested I walk with him for a bit as it was past his bedtime and he was ready to go to sleep.
I rocked W while humming a little tune and walking up and down the court. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep, content in my arms as he held tightly to my top with his little hand. I covered him with a baby blanket and sat down to watch the rest of the game. All too soon it was over and we went home, putting the boys to bed, and then settling down with a cup of tea to chat.
When I returned to my quiet room, I realized that God had performed a miracle in my life today. He gave me two gifts to cheer my heart and remind me that even though I wasn't out there converting souls by the thousands, I was still exactly where He wanted me to be and serving Him in the best way I knew how. First, He brought a good friend and mentor by my office in the afternoon to sit and talk with me, reminiscing on how good God was to bring me here to Lebanon. The friend was the one who initiated the call for me to come and we marveled at God's perfect timing for not long after I had committed to coming, three additional calls opened up.
Then God gave me a relaxing evening spent helping with the twins, ending with the little one falling asleep while I held him. I am very thankful for the gift my friend has given me of trusting me to help her with her little ones and the time I spend with them fills my heart with joy. I don't do anything extraordinary. I just hold babies, feed them, sing songs to them, hold their hands while they take some unsteady steps, laugh with them, and hold them when they fall. I do my best to let them know they are loved, safe, and taken care of.
Maybe being a missionary isn't always about grandiose gestures. Maybe it is being faithful in the little tasks, or faithfully reflecting Jesus to the littlest ones. I don't have everything all figured out, or all the answers to my questions yet, but I'm thankful that my Father does. All He asks me to do is trust Him and wait on Him. Then even the darkest days will be filled with light because He will be there.
The last couple of months have been particularly challenging. Interestingly enough, I have had several people come up to me and tell me that they see I am happy here, happier than when I first came more than a year ago and was figuring out life on my own. I can only attribute it to God working through my life because I know it's not because of me. Though there isn't one specific reason for my struggles, I think it primarily boils down to another bout of culture shock. I'm realizing how very little I really do know and how much I have to learn while stepping outside of what I consider to be the norm and accepting another way of life as being equally as valid as my own. I've always been a black-and-white person with an easily stricken conscience so this adapting is harder than I thought it would be.
Yesterday, I spent some time telling God how I really felt. I wrote, I cried, and I prayed out loud, thankful for a room with some privacy and that I didn't have to share a living space with a roommate so I could process the emotions. I finally went to sleep after 1 am, not having resolved my questions but too tired to work through them anymore. I reluctantly headed to work and a day filled with tasks and projects to accomplish.
After work was over, I pulled some supper things out of my mini fridge, threw them in my favourite carry bag, and trudged up the hill to my friend's place. Her house was home to me, I spent more time there than in my own room because I could play with the twins, cook, share a meal, or just enjoy drinking tea while chatting with her. My friend and her family were my family away from home and I was grateful for every moment I could spend with them.
We ate supper, the boys snacked on cucumbers, and then we bundled them up in jackets and an extra pair of pants to go watch the volleyball game. It was the second night of tournaments this week and their dad was playing on one of the teams. It was a fun evening, my friend and I had one boy each and they were generally well behaved. W sat on my lap quietly watching the ball fly across the net until he got tired and restless. My friend suggested I walk with him for a bit as it was past his bedtime and he was ready to go to sleep.
I rocked W while humming a little tune and walking up and down the court. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep, content in my arms as he held tightly to my top with his little hand. I covered him with a baby blanket and sat down to watch the rest of the game. All too soon it was over and we went home, putting the boys to bed, and then settling down with a cup of tea to chat.
When I returned to my quiet room, I realized that God had performed a miracle in my life today. He gave me two gifts to cheer my heart and remind me that even though I wasn't out there converting souls by the thousands, I was still exactly where He wanted me to be and serving Him in the best way I knew how. First, He brought a good friend and mentor by my office in the afternoon to sit and talk with me, reminiscing on how good God was to bring me here to Lebanon. The friend was the one who initiated the call for me to come and we marveled at God's perfect timing for not long after I had committed to coming, three additional calls opened up.
Then God gave me a relaxing evening spent helping with the twins, ending with the little one falling asleep while I held him. I am very thankful for the gift my friend has given me of trusting me to help her with her little ones and the time I spend with them fills my heart with joy. I don't do anything extraordinary. I just hold babies, feed them, sing songs to them, hold their hands while they take some unsteady steps, laugh with them, and hold them when they fall. I do my best to let them know they are loved, safe, and taken care of.
Maybe being a missionary isn't always about grandiose gestures. Maybe it is being faithful in the little tasks, or faithfully reflecting Jesus to the littlest ones. I don't have everything all figured out, or all the answers to my questions yet, but I'm thankful that my Father does. All He asks me to do is trust Him and wait on Him. Then even the darkest days will be filled with light because He will be there.
Saturday, February 25, 2017
My Very Own Miracle
It's all wrong, I thought, as I looked at the letter the lawyer had written for my application. God, if this is Your will, You will have to work a miracle. I slipped the letter into the 2-day priority mail envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the lady behind the counter. That will be $6.65 please, she told me. The receipt included a tracking number that I checked two days later. Sure enough, it had reached its final destination. What the outcome would be, though, was yet to be determined.
Just over a year ago, I boarded the first of several planes that would carry me across the ocean to my new home. I'd agreed to come to Lebanon for a year to help the university in administration and see whether God had a plan for me to stay longer. It was also part of my personal journey of reconciling my past as a TCK (third-culture kid) with who I was now. I had longed for 17 years to return and now the opportunity presented itself. So without thinking much, I took it.
Those first few months were difficult as I learned to adapt. I always kept the thought in my mind that after the year was over, I could return to the US. Sure, I wasn't very happy where I'd been working before but I could always look for another job. In the summer, I sat across from my mother at the kitchen table and reassured her that I would be returning in just a few short months.
Then life began to shift in a different direction. Though I'd always felt peace and joy during my time in Lebanon, those feelings were starting to deepen. At the same time, the desire to settle down in a place that felt most like home began to grow stronger. I didn't want to be viewed as a tourist-missionary, even though my roots ran deep. I wanted to shed the foreigner skin and slip into one that was as close to familiar as possible.
So I began to ask how I could stay longer. I filled out paperwork and sent it off in November. It got returned just a few days later to my US address, as the fee waiver was denied. We re-sent it, this time with payment. They cashed the check but by the end of the month another letter came from immigration. This one asked for additional information to support the status I was claiming. As I was traveling to the US in a couple of weeks, I decided to wait to get the letter when I was there so I could easily mail it while stateside.
After several email and phone exchanges with the senior paralegal at the GC, I found myself looking at a letter that seemed to be all wrong for the intents and purposes of the reply I had to send to immigration. I had filed 7 applications for various visa statuses in the past 18 years and I thought I knew what should be submitted. There was more information than seemed necessary, but the paralegal assured me that it was good to send more information. I decided I would have to trust her and God and send the letter in.
Three months to the day of receipt of my initial application, my mother sent me a message through the family chat. Your application has been approved. I stared at the screen, my eyes still blearily trying to focus after a short night. Approved. Three months early.
See when the paralegal was answering my initial questions about the application, she told me that it would take about 6 months to process. I filed everything in plenty of time so I would have an answer by the summertime and know what kind of long-term plans to make. If it was denied, I would likely have to return to the US as I couldn't afford to keep flying back every 5.5 months or so. I wasn't ready to do that, and I reminded God very clearly of how I felt, but I knew it was out of my control.
As the tears came to my eyes, I realized God had given me my very own miracle. I love to hear stories about other people's miracles and I'm always thrilled to see how God is working in their lives, but it's very humbling to see God work so clearly in mine. Somehow it seems that others deserve good things but when God shows up in a God-way in my life, I am amazed at the depth of His care for me.
God knows dates are significant for me. I get nostalgic when a month ends, when my birthday and New Year's come around, and I'd been counting the months til I passed a year here. God also knows that my heart longs to stay and put down roots. I'm tired of living in limbo, being on various visa statuses for so many years. I feel comfortable here. I'm no longer struggling to find joy--it comes naturally. To top it all off, the application that will allow me to stay outside the US for more than the 6 months at a time was approved for an indefinite period of time. It's as if God is saying, Here. You can stay.
Of course I cannot see the future. A month from now I may find myself on another continent, following God's calling. But for now, I'm thankful to know that God has clearly shown me I am in His will and He has a plan for my life. The details may be fuzzy but the intent is sure.
I will make a pathway through the wilderness for my people to come home. Isaiah 43:19
Just over a year ago, I boarded the first of several planes that would carry me across the ocean to my new home. I'd agreed to come to Lebanon for a year to help the university in administration and see whether God had a plan for me to stay longer. It was also part of my personal journey of reconciling my past as a TCK (third-culture kid) with who I was now. I had longed for 17 years to return and now the opportunity presented itself. So without thinking much, I took it.
Those first few months were difficult as I learned to adapt. I always kept the thought in my mind that after the year was over, I could return to the US. Sure, I wasn't very happy where I'd been working before but I could always look for another job. In the summer, I sat across from my mother at the kitchen table and reassured her that I would be returning in just a few short months.
Then life began to shift in a different direction. Though I'd always felt peace and joy during my time in Lebanon, those feelings were starting to deepen. At the same time, the desire to settle down in a place that felt most like home began to grow stronger. I didn't want to be viewed as a tourist-missionary, even though my roots ran deep. I wanted to shed the foreigner skin and slip into one that was as close to familiar as possible.
So I began to ask how I could stay longer. I filled out paperwork and sent it off in November. It got returned just a few days later to my US address, as the fee waiver was denied. We re-sent it, this time with payment. They cashed the check but by the end of the month another letter came from immigration. This one asked for additional information to support the status I was claiming. As I was traveling to the US in a couple of weeks, I decided to wait to get the letter when I was there so I could easily mail it while stateside.
After several email and phone exchanges with the senior paralegal at the GC, I found myself looking at a letter that seemed to be all wrong for the intents and purposes of the reply I had to send to immigration. I had filed 7 applications for various visa statuses in the past 18 years and I thought I knew what should be submitted. There was more information than seemed necessary, but the paralegal assured me that it was good to send more information. I decided I would have to trust her and God and send the letter in.
Three months to the day of receipt of my initial application, my mother sent me a message through the family chat. Your application has been approved. I stared at the screen, my eyes still blearily trying to focus after a short night. Approved. Three months early.
See when the paralegal was answering my initial questions about the application, she told me that it would take about 6 months to process. I filed everything in plenty of time so I would have an answer by the summertime and know what kind of long-term plans to make. If it was denied, I would likely have to return to the US as I couldn't afford to keep flying back every 5.5 months or so. I wasn't ready to do that, and I reminded God very clearly of how I felt, but I knew it was out of my control.
As the tears came to my eyes, I realized God had given me my very own miracle. I love to hear stories about other people's miracles and I'm always thrilled to see how God is working in their lives, but it's very humbling to see God work so clearly in mine. Somehow it seems that others deserve good things but when God shows up in a God-way in my life, I am amazed at the depth of His care for me.
God knows dates are significant for me. I get nostalgic when a month ends, when my birthday and New Year's come around, and I'd been counting the months til I passed a year here. God also knows that my heart longs to stay and put down roots. I'm tired of living in limbo, being on various visa statuses for so many years. I feel comfortable here. I'm no longer struggling to find joy--it comes naturally. To top it all off, the application that will allow me to stay outside the US for more than the 6 months at a time was approved for an indefinite period of time. It's as if God is saying, Here. You can stay.
Of course I cannot see the future. A month from now I may find myself on another continent, following God's calling. But for now, I'm thankful to know that God has clearly shown me I am in His will and He has a plan for my life. The details may be fuzzy but the intent is sure.
I will make a pathway through the wilderness for my people to come home. Isaiah 43:19
Thursday, February 9, 2017
Strength in Humility
The internet has been down in my room for several days now so I haven't been able to catch up on several things that are starting to worry me. So I escaped to my office where thankfully the internet is fast and I can download some documents that I need to edit to meet a deadline. Somehow things are starting to pile up all at once and I am beginning to rethink my original strategy for service when I first came.
When I first arrived at MEU, I decided that I would willingly volunteer anytime somebody asked me to help out, whether it was playing piano for song service, tutoring a student in conversational English, or packing up someone's house to move. I quickly filled my days and got to know different people through the opportunities for service.
Now that I've settled in to life here, though, I'm realizing that being available for any request may not necessarily be the best idea for long-term service. I read in My Utmost for His Highest today that if I am feeling spiritually exhausted, it may be because I need to reconnect to the One Who gives me the strength I need to be poured out in service. This means, naturally, that I need to set aside time in order to do so.
In the next two weeks or so, I have to prepare a succinct presentation for an international conference, edit 4 articles into video script, research and put together text for a promotional site, give 2-4 hours of reading and fluency tutoring per week, buy kitchen appliances as I'll now be cooking for myself, and edit a friend's masters' thesis. This is in addition to the everyday duties I do, such as teach, work, do laundry, go grocery shopping, cook, clean my room, help babysit my best friend's twin boys, write emails or chat with my family, and go on the occasional social outing.
Coming to the mission field, I assumed it would be easy to prioritize devotional time just as I had in 2005 when I spent a summer in South Korea teaching English. Then, I'd had very short nights as my last class ended at 9 pm and my first morning class began at 7 am. I made sure that I had at least 30 minutes for personal devotions every morning, in spite of a lack of sleep, because I valued that connection with God and I saw how very necessary it was to my survival in a foreign land away from all that was familiar for the first time.
Perhaps it's because coming back has not been a mission field experience for me as much as it has been about coming home. Yes, I have made sure that I read my devotional book every morning and spent time writing in my prayer journal and reading my Bible before I went to bed. I'm not listing this as a matter of pride; I'm simply stating that devotions have been a part of my life since I arrived. But finding myself weary emotionally and spiritually is making me think that perhaps I need to shift my focus from service to servanthood.
Micah 6:8 ends by saying that what God asks is not sacrifices but to walk humbly with your God. What does it mean to walk humbly? Perhaps it's not about meeting a quota of service opportunities but rather learning to step into sync with God. Learning to match my stride to His rather than those of others. Learning to serve not out of a need to feel important or valued but out of humility because He has chosen to give me this gift. While in everything, remembering that above all, the connection with my God is what will give me the strength to serve others and Him.
When I first arrived at MEU, I decided that I would willingly volunteer anytime somebody asked me to help out, whether it was playing piano for song service, tutoring a student in conversational English, or packing up someone's house to move. I quickly filled my days and got to know different people through the opportunities for service.
Now that I've settled in to life here, though, I'm realizing that being available for any request may not necessarily be the best idea for long-term service. I read in My Utmost for His Highest today that if I am feeling spiritually exhausted, it may be because I need to reconnect to the One Who gives me the strength I need to be poured out in service. This means, naturally, that I need to set aside time in order to do so.
In the next two weeks or so, I have to prepare a succinct presentation for an international conference, edit 4 articles into video script, research and put together text for a promotional site, give 2-4 hours of reading and fluency tutoring per week, buy kitchen appliances as I'll now be cooking for myself, and edit a friend's masters' thesis. This is in addition to the everyday duties I do, such as teach, work, do laundry, go grocery shopping, cook, clean my room, help babysit my best friend's twin boys, write emails or chat with my family, and go on the occasional social outing.
Coming to the mission field, I assumed it would be easy to prioritize devotional time just as I had in 2005 when I spent a summer in South Korea teaching English. Then, I'd had very short nights as my last class ended at 9 pm and my first morning class began at 7 am. I made sure that I had at least 30 minutes for personal devotions every morning, in spite of a lack of sleep, because I valued that connection with God and I saw how very necessary it was to my survival in a foreign land away from all that was familiar for the first time.
Perhaps it's because coming back has not been a mission field experience for me as much as it has been about coming home. Yes, I have made sure that I read my devotional book every morning and spent time writing in my prayer journal and reading my Bible before I went to bed. I'm not listing this as a matter of pride; I'm simply stating that devotions have been a part of my life since I arrived. But finding myself weary emotionally and spiritually is making me think that perhaps I need to shift my focus from service to servanthood.
Micah 6:8 ends by saying that what God asks is not sacrifices but to walk humbly with your God. What does it mean to walk humbly? Perhaps it's not about meeting a quota of service opportunities but rather learning to step into sync with God. Learning to match my stride to His rather than those of others. Learning to serve not out of a need to feel important or valued but out of humility because He has chosen to give me this gift. While in everything, remembering that above all, the connection with my God is what will give me the strength to serve others and Him.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Stand Up and Be Counted
You may be wondering why I've remained silent about the travel ban, seeing as how I'm currently living in the Middle East, albeit not one of the banned countries but close enough. I am processing my thoughts but I hesitate to share them because I know there will be backlash from people who have a different opinion than me, informed or otherwise.
Today I sat in Sabbath School class with the faces of those statistics being tossed around. A woman who was born in one of the 7 banned countries, though she holds a passport from another country she has the fear that her visa to the US will be revoked because of her birthplace. A man whose birthplace is not yet on the banned list but rumour has it that it could be added soon is about to travel to the US and wonders whether he will be able to enter before any new rulings can be made.
I know these people. They are good hard-working citizens who are serving sacrificially as missionaries here. The reason to keep them out of the US is absurd to say the least. People forget, in their haste to defend the US from bomb-threatening terrorists, that this ban applies to anyone who has a connection with those specific countries. So if my friend would like to go to the US on holiday, using their valid visa, they will be denied.
I'm struggling to reconcile one man's view with the values that I believed the US was built on. Though I am not American myself, I am seen as a representative of the country because I speak the language easily and my home base is there. I'm struggling to not lump all Americans in with the president and am encouraged by the thousands who are protesting that this isn't right and are showing it through their actions.
I usually remain quiet in Sabbath School class--there are many who have things to share so I only speak if I feel strongly about something--but when the teacher asked me to share about my week, I was not as hesitant as usual. I shared a bit of the burden on my heart to somehow communicate to others that I am not speaking out of emotional reasoning but rather because I know the people these bans apply to.
I'm not going to debate the extent to which non-immigrants and immigrants should be screened before they enter the country. I know what it entails--I am an immigrant to the US myself though I still shrink from citizenship. There are so many variables that those who have followed this closely will know better than I. The statistics on internal acts of violence from Americans in the last year exceeds that of terrorist attacks from nationals from the banned countries, I'm sure. There were 49 people who died from a terrorist attack on US soil in 2016 and while the statistics on homicides are not available yet for 2016, there were 6,000 homicides in 2015 and I imagine the trend has not changed drastically. Car crashes are even more deadly with more than 30,000 road deaths in 2015 alone. Should we not ban cars then?
The world as we know it is changing. Matthew 24:10 & 12 seems to be happening right now. But I'm thankful for the promise that if we stand firm to the end, we will be saved (vs. 13). There is a calling for Christians around the world to stand up, shoulder to shoulder, and in the power of God to advance like a mighty army against this attempt by the devil to shake us to our roots. We need to be grounded in Whom we believe in and in such to show everyone that God's love is more powerful than anything else. Soon we will hear that trumpet call. I hope that day is not too far away.
Today I sat in Sabbath School class with the faces of those statistics being tossed around. A woman who was born in one of the 7 banned countries, though she holds a passport from another country she has the fear that her visa to the US will be revoked because of her birthplace. A man whose birthplace is not yet on the banned list but rumour has it that it could be added soon is about to travel to the US and wonders whether he will be able to enter before any new rulings can be made.
I know these people. They are good hard-working citizens who are serving sacrificially as missionaries here. The reason to keep them out of the US is absurd to say the least. People forget, in their haste to defend the US from bomb-threatening terrorists, that this ban applies to anyone who has a connection with those specific countries. So if my friend would like to go to the US on holiday, using their valid visa, they will be denied.
I'm struggling to reconcile one man's view with the values that I believed the US was built on. Though I am not American myself, I am seen as a representative of the country because I speak the language easily and my home base is there. I'm struggling to not lump all Americans in with the president and am encouraged by the thousands who are protesting that this isn't right and are showing it through their actions.
I usually remain quiet in Sabbath School class--there are many who have things to share so I only speak if I feel strongly about something--but when the teacher asked me to share about my week, I was not as hesitant as usual. I shared a bit of the burden on my heart to somehow communicate to others that I am not speaking out of emotional reasoning but rather because I know the people these bans apply to.
I'm not going to debate the extent to which non-immigrants and immigrants should be screened before they enter the country. I know what it entails--I am an immigrant to the US myself though I still shrink from citizenship. There are so many variables that those who have followed this closely will know better than I. The statistics on internal acts of violence from Americans in the last year exceeds that of terrorist attacks from nationals from the banned countries, I'm sure. There were 49 people who died from a terrorist attack on US soil in 2016 and while the statistics on homicides are not available yet for 2016, there were 6,000 homicides in 2015 and I imagine the trend has not changed drastically. Car crashes are even more deadly with more than 30,000 road deaths in 2015 alone. Should we not ban cars then?
The world as we know it is changing. Matthew 24:10 & 12 seems to be happening right now. But I'm thankful for the promise that if we stand firm to the end, we will be saved (vs. 13). There is a calling for Christians around the world to stand up, shoulder to shoulder, and in the power of God to advance like a mighty army against this attempt by the devil to shake us to our roots. We need to be grounded in Whom we believe in and in such to show everyone that God's love is more powerful than anything else. Soon we will hear that trumpet call. I hope that day is not too far away.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
A Hug
We sat around a long table, 14 women from North Africa, the Netherlands, the US, Brazil, Portugal, the Philippines, Armenia, Lebanon, with several of us representing more than one country as TCKs. We'd come to celebrate the moments and years spent with one of our dear friends who, after completing her studies, was returning to her home country. As we leaned in close and shared laughter and stories, a smile began to warm my heart. And I realized God was answering two of my prayers.
I keep a prayer/blessings journal and two nights ago I'd written a very specific prayer request. I'd asked God for a hug. I'd been feeling under the weather physically and emotionally for several days and I needed to feel that God was with me. I'd managed to avoid getting sick on my brief trip to the US but had picked up a bug when I returned. In addition, I was questioning my plans to stay long-term and whether I was making the right decision as I waited in uncertainty for paperwork to come through that would help me know which direction to go. I decided to leave it up to God to answer the prayer in a way that I knew He was answering me.
The next day was rather uneventful. I'd spent the evening with the twins, both of whom had fallen asleep in my arms while drinking their evening bottle. I'd sat in the midday sun and soaked up the little bit of warmth that seemed to evade me in the cold cement walls and tile floors of my room and office. I'd had a good conversation with someone about the meaning of loss in a TCK's life and we'd both identified with similar experiences. While these were pieces of my day that stood out, they didn't strike me as being particularly meaningful in representing a hug from God.
Even though I didn't know the woman who was leaving that well, I decided to join the group of ladies who were going to the restaurant for a farewell meal. It would be a nice outing and I would be able to spend time with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, I reasoned. It would also be a chance to get off campus and enjoy some food other than cafeteria fare.
As the meal drew to a close, I marveled at how beautifully God had orchestrated the evening. We listened as women shared their love stories and their testimonies of how God brought them to know Him. One woman who was in her 30s and still single was encouraged by a friend who told her God knows where you are. She headed overseas and met her husband-to-be at the airport. When we paused to pray for the food and later for the woman who was leaving, I imagined Jesus standing tall above us, arms outstretched, as He pulled us closer together as sisters, mothers, grandmothers and friends in the tight bond of friendship.
I may not have everything figured out yet but I'm confident that just as God has been working in each of these women's lives, from the stories they shared, He will clearly work in mine. I just need to learn to keep waiting and trust in His timing.
I keep a prayer/blessings journal and two nights ago I'd written a very specific prayer request. I'd asked God for a hug. I'd been feeling under the weather physically and emotionally for several days and I needed to feel that God was with me. I'd managed to avoid getting sick on my brief trip to the US but had picked up a bug when I returned. In addition, I was questioning my plans to stay long-term and whether I was making the right decision as I waited in uncertainty for paperwork to come through that would help me know which direction to go. I decided to leave it up to God to answer the prayer in a way that I knew He was answering me.
The next day was rather uneventful. I'd spent the evening with the twins, both of whom had fallen asleep in my arms while drinking their evening bottle. I'd sat in the midday sun and soaked up the little bit of warmth that seemed to evade me in the cold cement walls and tile floors of my room and office. I'd had a good conversation with someone about the meaning of loss in a TCK's life and we'd both identified with similar experiences. While these were pieces of my day that stood out, they didn't strike me as being particularly meaningful in representing a hug from God.
Even though I didn't know the woman who was leaving that well, I decided to join the group of ladies who were going to the restaurant for a farewell meal. It would be a nice outing and I would be able to spend time with some friends I hadn't seen in a while, I reasoned. It would also be a chance to get off campus and enjoy some food other than cafeteria fare.
As the meal drew to a close, I marveled at how beautifully God had orchestrated the evening. We listened as women shared their love stories and their testimonies of how God brought them to know Him. One woman who was in her 30s and still single was encouraged by a friend who told her God knows where you are. She headed overseas and met her husband-to-be at the airport. When we paused to pray for the food and later for the woman who was leaving, I imagined Jesus standing tall above us, arms outstretched, as He pulled us closer together as sisters, mothers, grandmothers and friends in the tight bond of friendship.
I may not have everything figured out yet but I'm confident that just as God has been working in each of these women's lives, from the stories they shared, He will clearly work in mine. I just need to learn to keep waiting and trust in His timing.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Following Wherever He May Lead
Kelly, an Andrews graduate who came on two mission trips previously and really wanted to return, shared her story tonight about how God worked miracles to fulfill her heart's desire and bring her here to study this semester. I smiled as I listened to her exuberance, remembering how I felt a year ago as I was planning to head this way myself. The feelings haven't changed. As I packed nearly empty suitcases with gifts for family and friends in preparation for a 10-day jaunt to the US two weeks ago, I found myself reminding God of the same request I'd pleaded with Him to fulfill for 17 long years and then, once again, in the summer. Please bring me home again.
It was a plea I sent heavenward over and over as we bounced through clear air 39,000 feet over Greenland's icy mountains and the Atlantic Ocean, caught in a jet stream whose 100+mph headwind worried me, the veteran flier yet inveterate worrier. As I prayed and watched the headwind slowly subside to less than half its strength, I repeated my mantra. Please bring me home. I still have work to do. Granted, I haven't as yet figured out exactly what that work is long-term but for now I am content to do the things that lie closest which bring that abiding joy and satisfaction in serving.
I had another of those I'm not sure whether I'm being a good enough missionary conversations with my mother at the kitchen island during my short trip home. It stemmed from years of feeling that the best kind of missionary was a charismatic personality who handed out GLOW tracts to strangers, was able to do a chair massage with no more than a chair and a rolled-up jacket as a pillow, and easily led Bible studies on prophecy. I was none of those.
My mother smiled at me and asked me if I thought she should be doing front-line evangelism. When I argued that her service to God and support of the church through being the church treasurer was enough, that God would accept her ministry and recognize it was the most she could do in addition to her full-time job, she questioned why I could validate her service and not accept mine.
This is not a post about all the wonderful things I do as a missionary. I fail, many times, I know. I skip out on sitting with students in the cafeteria and take my food to go because I just need some quiet time in my room, away from people. I forget to say hello or ask how someone's sick mother is doing because I'm focused on a work task. I shy away from using my few words of Arabic to communicate with a refugee mother because I don't know how to carry the conversation further.
My ministry is simple. Sometimes at work I weave bits of sentences and words together into a word picture of an editorial to remind the readers of the value of educating young people in ministry. Other times I use my understanding of multiple cultural contexts to communicate clearly with people who have vastly different ways of understanding life. Most of the time I help my best friend and her husband babysit their twin 10-month old boys. These are not traditionally recognized forms of evangelism yet they are ways I can serve that bring me joy.
This is why I want to be here. It's more than physically living in a place I grew up in as a teenager. It's knowing that here my Father has a space for me to serve. I have clearly seen Him orchestrate events so that I am free to do the things He has planned for me to do. Each time I see His providence at hand, I am in awe. And each time, it is to do something that brings joy.
This is proof enough for me that being a good missionary is not about fulfilling an expected role that society delineates, though those roles are very much needed and are filled by those called to such. Being a good missionary is being willing to serve. It is being willing to do the mundane knowing that God is glorified in the simple things. It is being willing to set aside earthly expectations of wealth and career achievement to rock a baby to sleep, to write an accreditation report, to drive a friend to the bank, knowing that in doing so I will find fulfillment and joy.
It was a plea I sent heavenward over and over as we bounced through clear air 39,000 feet over Greenland's icy mountains and the Atlantic Ocean, caught in a jet stream whose 100+mph headwind worried me, the veteran flier yet inveterate worrier. As I prayed and watched the headwind slowly subside to less than half its strength, I repeated my mantra. Please bring me home. I still have work to do. Granted, I haven't as yet figured out exactly what that work is long-term but for now I am content to do the things that lie closest which bring that abiding joy and satisfaction in serving.
I had another of those I'm not sure whether I'm being a good enough missionary conversations with my mother at the kitchen island during my short trip home. It stemmed from years of feeling that the best kind of missionary was a charismatic personality who handed out GLOW tracts to strangers, was able to do a chair massage with no more than a chair and a rolled-up jacket as a pillow, and easily led Bible studies on prophecy. I was none of those.
My mother smiled at me and asked me if I thought she should be doing front-line evangelism. When I argued that her service to God and support of the church through being the church treasurer was enough, that God would accept her ministry and recognize it was the most she could do in addition to her full-time job, she questioned why I could validate her service and not accept mine.
This is not a post about all the wonderful things I do as a missionary. I fail, many times, I know. I skip out on sitting with students in the cafeteria and take my food to go because I just need some quiet time in my room, away from people. I forget to say hello or ask how someone's sick mother is doing because I'm focused on a work task. I shy away from using my few words of Arabic to communicate with a refugee mother because I don't know how to carry the conversation further.
My ministry is simple. Sometimes at work I weave bits of sentences and words together into a word picture of an editorial to remind the readers of the value of educating young people in ministry. Other times I use my understanding of multiple cultural contexts to communicate clearly with people who have vastly different ways of understanding life. Most of the time I help my best friend and her husband babysit their twin 10-month old boys. These are not traditionally recognized forms of evangelism yet they are ways I can serve that bring me joy.
This is why I want to be here. It's more than physically living in a place I grew up in as a teenager. It's knowing that here my Father has a space for me to serve. I have clearly seen Him orchestrate events so that I am free to do the things He has planned for me to do. Each time I see His providence at hand, I am in awe. And each time, it is to do something that brings joy.
This is proof enough for me that being a good missionary is not about fulfilling an expected role that society delineates, though those roles are very much needed and are filled by those called to such. Being a good missionary is being willing to serve. It is being willing to do the mundane knowing that God is glorified in the simple things. It is being willing to set aside earthly expectations of wealth and career achievement to rock a baby to sleep, to write an accreditation report, to drive a friend to the bank, knowing that in doing so I will find fulfillment and joy.
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