The last day of school before break, I was having a mentor meeting with one of my teachers. By five o’clock, she and I were both ready to close the door on the school term. As I was leaving, I noticed a K-W-L chart on Christmas. Her local first grade students had posted what they Know, Want to know, and Learned about a study on Christmas.

“How did it go?” I inquired of the unusual occurrence in our closed context.

Her weary face lit-up with joy. “Look at their questions! ‘Why is Jesus important?’ ‘Is Jesus God’s son?’ ‘Why did God send Jesus?’ ‘Why are gifts given on Christmas?’ Can you believe this?”

I marveled at the sharing opportunity. “How did you respond?”

“I couldn’t believe, after being sick all week and not wanting to be here, I was given this opening. I thought for a few moments and decided to tell the Good News story. For the first time in the whole year, my 22 first graders were mesmerized and I was uninterrupted for twenty-five minutes. Their faces were glued to mine the WHOLE time!”

She pointed to notes that were on the Learned section of the chart. “God loves me.” And, “God gave a Gift.”

We both wiped our eyes and the fatigue of months of work proved itself in ways we hadn’t imagined.

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.” Isaiah 40:28

Do all things without complaining and disputing, that you may become blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation,”

As we creep through traffic in this crowded foreign city on a weekend afternoon, it’s all too easy to complain about the lack of rules or direction; not to mention the absurdity of what may be crossing the road at any given moment. When we get to the turn we are supposed to make and the road is blocked, causing another 20 minutes of creeping through traffic, logic is the only thing left to dispute, but we laugh because it feels better than grumbling.

Pulling up to the “used” bazaar, which holds treasures such as fruit cups and American cereal and sometimes grade AAA ground beef, we push through the trash in the lot to find a spot to stop. My husband negotiates with the carwash boys, and a friend and I head across the dirt to begin the hunt.

I am amused by the buckets of ice cream that line the sidewalk, which is divided by an open sewer down the center; quite ripe with spring weather. Today, I overlook it as I am eager to see what’s new. Last time we were here, we found cheese at quite a good price! After loading up two wheelbarrows full of American goodness, including root beer, we decide we have had enough raw sewage and sun-baked meat.

In good spirits, (We even purchase fries from a cart and eat them outside in the chill!) I wondered at the difference in my disposition since the last time we came here. Then, I couldn’t wait to leave; I hated that I had to sift through dirt-crusted expired food for my family. I was disgusted with the men who stared. I was worn out with bartering for every last item and impatient when a shop keeper didn’t even have 40 cents worth of change.

Maybe it was the lifting of security after a time of confinement. Maybe we were so tired of making breakfast we’d do anything for cereal. Or maybe, just maybe, God was filling us with grace to make us blameless and harmless so that we could shine for Him, even in the middle of all that trash and sewage and despite our human tendencies to complain.

…among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding fast the word of life….” Philippians 2:14-16

Words on the screen blurred through tears as I fumbled encouragement through the keyboard of my computer. The streams from my eyes quickened and dripped at my chin as my constricted heart longed to be there, sitting on the edge of my daughter’s bed in an understanding embrace.

These situations for which the answers must be learned, trust in faith built, and perception of God’s plan gained through experience would not be any different were I on this side of the ocean or that one. But our tears could pool together, my comfort be tangible, and sincerity not mocked through strokes of the keyboard.

This. A painful sacrifice. My greatest weakness. Leaving my daughter for her first year at college. 7,456 miles away.

This. Where power is made perfect? Where can I boast? How do I delight in this hardship? Where is the strength from this weakness proven?

I took my makeup to work with me three days this week because troubled sleep had its way, but not its victory. Prayer proved its power each day. I made dinner, served guests, attended Bible study. Bedtime stories and nighttime cuddles with my youngest soothed this mamma’s heart.

But the ache remains. This weakness. This longing. No great tragedy. No big event. No persecution. Just separation. Just. Missing part of my heart.

But His grace got me through (gets me through) each day—even with tears threatening to spill over at inopportune times. His power helped me to wrestle out of bed seven mornings since. Christ’s power even in these small things.

Lord, help me to delight in your power in my weakness. Not in the face of insurmountable odds, but in the daily obedience to your call. You care so much in my small hardship that I can boast of your grace and power in the act of carrying out your calling through these difficulties.

“That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” – 2 Corinthians 12:10

Called to be an apostle. Called to share the Hope of the nations. Called to a new administrative role in a desperate desert land. Called. To Kindergarten lunch duty?

“You need to eat your cookies last.”

“You have to sit down and eat.”

“Keep your food out of her ketchup.”

A new youngster in a striped shirt puts his lunch back in his pack.

“You have to eat before you can play.”

Tears.

“No. You have to eat before you can play.” I wrestle out his lunch through his protective grip.
The other children are dismissed. He goes too. I guide his striped-shirt-clad shoulders back to his seat.

“No. You have to eat before you can play.”

I go break up a dispute over a swing, “Count to 15 and you can have your turn.”

I spot my striped-shirt charge sneaking off to the playground.

“Back to the bench until you have three bites of your sandwich.”

He pulls out his cookies.

“Three bites of your sandwich.”

I have my eye on his progress as I teach three girls how to swing the jump rope and hop over on my way back to Stripes.

I do an internal fist-pump of victory as I confirm he has eaten more than three bites. I teach him to high-five and a grin tries to break through his pout.

He runs to grab up the Tonka truck just in time for the whistle to line up. I hoped he would receive more reward for his delayed obedience. I motion for him to line up, but he goes to the swing. Great.
“It’s time to line up. Next time you have to eat your food.” I peel his fingers from the swing and point him to line.
The next day, I ready for battle with Stripes and wonder if we will have another test of wills. To my surprise, he pulls out his lunch and begins eating away at his sandwich. Is it that easy?

Easy? His crying kept the teacher from teaching all morning. He refused to take off his backpack. He tried to leave. He wouldn’t listen. Not from misunderstanding, but from obstinacy. We went ten rounds at the lunch table. Yet today, there he is. Eating. He looks at me for approval and I reach out for a high-five. He lifts his hand to receive it. His face transforms from a pout to a grin.

How many times has my heavenly Father guided my obstinate shoulders back to the table to eat my sandwich before my cookies? To encourage my obedience through loving, but firm discipline? How many times have I missed out on His blessings because I resisted His call? How long does it take before I release the things in my hands to grab hold of His?
This day, I’ve got both hands open.

“Through Him we have received grace and apostleship for obedience to the faith among all nations for His name, among whom you also are the called of Jesus Christ.” Romans 1:5

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” Luke 10:25-27

Gripping the grab handle, my arm tenses along with the rest of my body against the lurching and jerking of our borrowed pickup truck.

“I think my guts are coming loose!” I complain.

“I’ll never understand,” my husband replies. (Not about my guts, but about the habit of locals to put all of their construction rubbish into the street).

Shards of bricks and broken tiles fill “potholes.” Bits of run-over glass sparkle in the sun. Ruts carved in the road during a long-ago rain trap our tires and even a gentle coaxing results in the whole vehicle swaying and jumping. Spurts and puffs of silty dust eek into the vents and door cracks.

“I’m glad it’s our last trip today; it will be nice to get settled,” I say, looking for the positive.

“The houses on this road have changed over the last seven years, but the road has not gotten any better. I’m not looking forward to winter on this road,” my husband reflects.

We reach the gate and honk “shave and a haircut” for our guard-doorman-gardener-yard-keeper to let us in. We’re moving into a new-to-us home, but a few other families on our team have lived in it before us.

“This is a great house. Lots of memories.”

“It is a great house,” my husband says, smiling now.

Since it is the month of fasting, I will not be able to visit the women on either side of our home, but look forward to doing that before winter comes. I often wonder where relationships will lead and how God will use us.

“I got into it with the guards across the street today. They were yelling at me for making dust on the road,” confesses my husband.

“For making dust? How is that NOT possible?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s fasting month, so maybe they’re a little grumpy. I have to figure out how to make it up to them.”

The next day, my husband picks me up from school and reports what he has learned about the armed guards across the street.

“They told our guy to get their relative a job at our organization. When our guy told him that there weren’t jobs, the guards demanded that we pay them.”

“What? Why should we pay them?”

“They say that they watch our house.”

“That’s a little scary.” I wondered how to make things right with a whole set of guards.

“Is that our water hose?” I ask as we approach the house and spot a group of children surrounding tea kettles, old oil containers, plastic jugs, and buckets waiting to be filled. The hose has been pulled through our gate.

“Yes it is! I told “Dear Uncle” (one of our ‘guards’) that he could give water to the neighbors. Wells are going dry all over the neighborhood.”

“That’s AWESOME.” I’m delighted that we can share in this way.

“They’re so little. Look how cute!” Love, sadness, relief and guilt mingle in that normal everyday sentiment. How cute? A boy and a girl smaller than my own tug and pull at a full container to get it to their gate across the street.

But they have water now, and they didn’t have to take that container two blocks to the public well in 94-degree heat, stand in line, and pump it.

As we carefully halt-lurch-halt up to our gate, I see that Dear Uncle has also sprayed down the road in front of our house to keep the dust down. My pleasure at his attempt to appease the guards conflicts with a touch of anxiety at the extravagant use of precious water.

We say our greetings and wave at the children getting water, and nobody yells at us about dust.

It’s a good day.

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.” Luke 10:28

Exhausted and encouraged by a weekend of visiting and sharing, I inched the seat back to recline just a teeny bit more– not too much, as I would surely fall asleep, but just enough to take the edge off.

“I see what you’re doing over there,” my husband chided. There was no expectation for me to stay awake, but I tried to be supportive by at least maintaining consciousness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sank into the passenger seat a little further and let my thoughts drift over the weekend’s events.

Saturday, we were hosted at an open house gathering of friends and supporters. Laughter filled the backyard as connections were rekindled and the fruits of friendship, faithful prayer and financial support celebrated.

On Sunday, we visited a Church that we met just weeks before entering the Desert Land across the ocean six years ago. Years of stories burst in anticipation of being told. Tales of triumph and hardship leapt forth in and out of turn as we shared in adult Sunday school and Church Service. Finally, our stories settled in during a generous potluck with dozens of brothers and sisters in Christ. Familiar and unfamiliar faces housed prayers, encouragements and questions:

“Your newsletters are vivid and real. The writing really helps me know how to pray.”

“Is it safe there; are you okay?”

“Our family prays for you every day. We try hard not to worry about you. How are the children doing?”

“I remember your son in the baby carrier! How has the time gone by so quickly?”

“The bookmark you gave me is still in my Bible and I pray for you each time I see it.”

Faces and comments hovered in my thoughts and settled in my heart; I relished God’s grace and provision through His people.

As we exited onto the highway, my mood was captured by dozens of wind mills standing sentry along the freeway. Their cadence remained steady despite turbulent winds blasting sand through the valley. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Three powerful arms peacefully turned in time; graceful replies to an invisible force that rattled our sturdy Suburban off course. Serene steady blades in gale-force winds earned my respect and admiration.

I followed the strong arms to the heart of the turbine, which channeled the harnessed energy of the wind and supplied 600,000 residents of the Coachella Valley with alternate power. I followed it to the thousands of homes receiving that energy and wondered if the residents considered the powerful arms and faithful hearts of those turbines that supplied them daily. I followed it to lights, hot water heaters, blessed air conditioning, stoves, refrigerators, televisions, computers, and coffee pots. I followed it to CPAP equipment, heart monitors, and life-support machines.

Breathe in. Whoosh. Breathe out. Whoosh . . .

My imaginary life-support machine matched the cadence of my breath to the powerful turbines.

Breathe in. Whoosh. I closed my eyes in prayer, “Father God, your ways are too wonderful for me. Thank you for this image of how you use your people together for your glory. Thank you for the Holy Spirit who supplies power to prayer. For your powerful hands that hold us. No matter the gale forces that try to drive us off course, you remain firm and your people steadfast. Your provision flows through your people, providing ALL that is needed to serve you. Thank you, Lord, for your unfailing love and your unmatched splendor. Thank you, Lord, for.…”

“Hey! You sleeping over there?”

“Nope. Just resting.”

“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.” Psalm 139:1-6

“The first leg of our trip is 1,231 miles. That’s 19 hours 36 minutes without stopping.” I traced the blue line on Mapquest and mused over our appetite for travel.

“That’s just the first leg?” Discouragement in his tone said what I knew my husband wasn’t verbalizing. We’re driving a 1993 Suburban … Do you realize what gas will cost?

“3,792 miles. Add potty stops, food, a couple hours of sleep on the roadside, four days of driving on an eight day trip? One car and four kids? You sure?”

“Absolutely.” My heart lifted at the thought of reconnecting with friends and ministry partners.

What would possess us to attempt such an adventure in just eight days? Some formula of sharing life combined with the genetic makeup in our Christian DNA? A longing to connect as the Body of Christ? Serving overseas is an oxymoron of triumph and heartbreak. Triumph in unique dependence both on the field and with those ‘back home’ by sharing each other’s burdens and garnering strength in the journey. Triumph in sharing answered prayer, met needs, and the expansion of the Kingdom. Heartbreak in saying goodbye and being vulnerable as friends come and go and as we come and go.

I ached to reconnect with friends departed. I wearied of the uncertainty of ever seeing them again this side of heaven. Memories flooded back of cherished times:

Praying through loss, uncertainty, and difficult decisions; sharing Christmas and Thanksgiving (Canadian and American), pizza nights, Superbowl parties, meals, our first tortillas from scratch, pranks, Easter egg hunts, babysitting; being “Aunt and Uncle” to so many “nieces and nephews” and celebrating the call that we each received to that time and place.

What a good and perfect gift it has been this furlough to visit families we’ve toiled with on very rocky ground. We are blessed tenfold to process our experiences through sweet sharing and fellowship with our partners in ministry. Celebration, tears, prayers and tangible hugs as we reconnected all around; fellowship for which we were designed has built us up for the next season on the field.

Yes. The drive was worth it. We found healing, restoration and encouragement as we slipped into familiar ways of friendship like those who have lived, loved, lost, laughed, worshiped, questioned, prayed, cried, and celebrated together can.

“By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:35

My mouth is swollen upper lip to eyeballs, plumping up my face like a beaver. My six-year-old son asked me this morning, “Mommy, are you going to stay in your jammies and not go anywhere today?”

“Um, why? Should I stay home today?”

“YES. You should NOT go anywhere today.”

Gee, thanks. I’m still not too sure I am thankful (yet) for finally getting some dental work done. My dental graces were pretty worn out from that pesky number 13 which endured seven dentists in four countries, months of infection, and two root canals before resulting in a jaw-bone infection and eventual extraction. My post-field check-up in September resulted in recommendation for about $4,000 more in dental work for my tragic mouth.

I hemmed and hawed about the cost. I wondered about the wisdom of spending that kind of money on teeth, especially when we had other needs. My husband needed dental work, and the kids had a few things done, which would all cap our insurance. So I waited. December came and went, and our insurance started over. I decided I should at least take care of the missing filling and the cracked tooth that needed a crown.

As the rest of my needed work nagged at me, and with our departure for the field looming in two months, I began to feel convicted. I trusted God in quitting my job, selling all we had and moving to a desert land. I trust God to protect our kids and our family. I trust God for provision in our support needs. I trust God for needed prayer. I trust Him for our home, food, and clothing. So, why have I not trusted Him for my dental work? Doesn’t He care even to my last tooth and replacement? And nothing is too small for Him. What is the cost of dental work to the Creator of the universe?

“… Are you not of more value than they?” Matthew 6:26b

My crown was finished up, and I went to pay my portion, “How much do I owe?”

“You have a credit on your account.”

“What?” My eyebrows shot up as I clutched my checkbook.

“Your last payment was before insurance was billed. You have a $21 balance, but insurance hasn’t been billed for this one yet, so you should have a bigger credit when that clears.”

Thank you, God, that you care enough to convict me in my unbelief. Forgive me for thinking anything is too small to bring to You. I can’t wait to see how You will meet the rest of healing and restoration to my tragic mouth. For with You, God, ALL things are possible.

Love,
Beaver Face

Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? – Matthew 6:30

“Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. The one who sows to please his sinful nature, from that nature will reap destruction; the one who sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.” Galatians 6:7-8

My high school boys were spread out around my basement classroom like poolside loungers on holiday. Thankful for the cool damp in the warming spring weather, they were engaged in reading despite their demeanor. Spring was doing its work in me and inspired a longing to be somewhere else. The end of a long stretch of work, I eyed my stack of grading that promised less weekend and more workend. Again. I struggled to return my inward attention to the student reading next to me.

Spilling out of his desk with a book propped out in front, a curious student interrupted the focus of the class, “Miss, what is AD and BC?”

“What are you reading about?” I looked up from my clipboard.
“It’s a history of ships.”

Wondering how detailed I should be in our restricted context, I explained that BC was before the birth of Jesus Christ and AD was sometimes known as after his death, but also as the year of our Lord in Latin.

Another student chimed in, “It’s true; I’ve heard that before.”

Seemingly satisfied, my student went back to his book on ships. A few minutes later, it was obvious his mind was not on the ships.

“Miss. What is the name of the place where people are buried?”
“A cemetery? Grave?” My heart jumped at where this was headed.
“Yes. That place. Where is that place for Jesus?”
“Well. That’s a great story. I’ll tell you what followers of Jesus believe.”

Weighing the context against the teachable moment, I trusted the Spirit and went on to share the story of the good news with sixteen Muslim teenagers. It took all of three or four minutes, but they were surprised and intrigued at the news I had to share.

“Wow. I have never heard that before. I didn’t know that story.”
“It’s so interesting.”
“I haven’t heard that before.”

Silence filled the room as this information settled into thoughts and formulated into further questions.

“BRRRIINNNG” The bell drove a wedge into our conversation and I hoped that new ideas weren’t swept away with transition to the next class.

My heart was lifted knowing that God had used me in that place at that time to plant a seed of information on new ground. I said a prayer of protection and for the future of that seed in each of the hearts that heard it.

I scooped up my stack of papers with renewed interest in battling the lure of Spring and armed myself with a promise from God, “And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” Galatians 6:9