God is WITH You

I actually wrote this during the first week of January, but am only now getting around to editing and posting. . .

We were full and warm from the New Year’s hot pot dinner we had just eaten, but we each wanted just a little something sweet to top off the meal. Shiguang Tian Ping dessert shop was our agreed upon destination. We could all imagine dipping into sweet and creamy, finely shaved vanilla ice topped with mango and black sticky rice. But then we realized that it was just a bit far to walk. Okay, it’s not really too far to walk. Maybe we just didn’t want to wait that long. We hailed a taxi.

The 4 of us piled in the car with Doug in the front seat, while I was wedged between our two boys in the back seat.

“Happy New Year!” I exclaimed to the driver.

“Happy New Year!” he replied as he grinned widely. He quickly followed with, “God is with you!”

We sat in stunned silence for a second. Did he just say what we thought he said?

“Do you know that God is with you?!” he repeated.

“Yes!” I replied, “I know that God is with me!”

At that exact moment I noticed the small wooden cross hanging from his rearview mirror. “Are you a Christian?” I asked.

“Yes! I believe in Jesus.”

We were only in the taxi for another few minutes, but we learned that he was from a nearby city and had heard the gospel a long time ago. He was from a family of believers who hosted a house church. He quoted John 3:16 to us and I joined in as it’s one of the few verses that I have memorized in my second language thanks to a missionary that came to my church when I was a kid and taught us the verse in song.  He spoke of the grace of God we have through Jesus Christ.  We talked about the fact that we are brothers and sisters in Christ; that we have the same Father, belong to the same family and will spend eternity with one another.

When we got out of the taxi, we were all a bit shocked and stunned at the interaction we had just had. In the span of just a few minutes, we experienced sweet fellowship and encouragement with our taxi driver and brother in Christ.

We all agreed. . .Best. Taxi. Ride. Ever.

It’s the day after our God-given encounter with our Christian taxi driver, who, from what we can tell, wants his riders to know that God is here and He is with them.

As I reflect on this encounter, I’m struck by the fact that a couple of days previous, the word I picked as a word to focus on this year is the word With. I want to be with God and with others in a significant way. I want to be awake to their presence and my own.

I want to celebrate the fact that God made me with a deep longing for with-ness. I can easily see that desire as a weakness, or feel that it somehow makes me unfit to lead. After all, leaders are pioneers who make tough decisions and don’t mind blazing a new trail. They are brave and independent, confident and charismatic. They do not mind the alone-ness that can come with leadership. That is not me. But I sense the Spirit asking me to embrace my desire and longing as a gift rather than seeing it as a failing to overcome. I am asking God to teach me to celebrate with-ness this year.

And wouldn’t you know, on the first day of 2020, I get into a taxi with my family in a country where the name of Jesus is not commonly known, and the driver greets us saying, “God is with you. Do you know that God is With you?”

I have been praying that God would help me to pay attention to the places where He is at work, and to help me listen to the things that He is saying to me, so that I can better live out a life of faith in Christ. But practicing paying attention means that I have to slow down and create space in my life to listen and reflect.

While there are seasons of life and work that are unavoidably busy, my tendency is to create busy-ness.  I run from one appointment or event to the next. I do, do, and do some more, and assume that this is the hand of God at work. More often than not, if I’m practicing an overly busy schedule, I’m noticing the things I’m doing rather than what God is doing.

This is my attempt to create a sense of significance for myself. Being busy can feel good. Being busy can feel productive. Being busy means that when someone asks what I’ve been up to, I will have a long list to rattle off that justifies my existence and makes me feel important. I have been willing to trade a worldly sense of accomplishment for the true significance found in God Himself. It’s not a good trade.

Slowing down today to reflect on the events of yesterday means that I have the time to wonder at the fact that God put the word WITH on my heart on the last day of 2019. Then, the very next day, he sent a Christian taxi driver to speak that very word to me. He’s definitely got my attention. The challenge will be to continue to listen day by day, week by week, month by month.

I’m looking forward to a year of learning to be with. To be quiet with, to have fun with, to laugh with, to cry with, to be in love with, to study with, to minister with, to be every moment. . .With.

Feasting with Friends

I woke up to the muffled groaning of my husband, and his tossing and turning in the bed. “Are you all right?” I asked, groggy from being awakened from a deep sleep. He proceeded to get up and shake some antacids from a bottle on my dresser. “My stomach hurts and I’m nauseous,” he said as he popped the tablets into his mouth and stumbled back to the bed, tumbling in and pulling the covers back over himself. Another groan escaped his lips. “Antacids probably aren’t going to help the nausea,” I murmured in my sleepy state. He grunted an affirmation, said something about acid reflux, and rolled over.

Usually empathetic, but tired and knowing that I could do nothing to solve his tummy problems, I rolled over too, trying to go back to sleep as random thoughts about food poisoning and the flu floated through my brain. It was the night before Thanksgiving and I knew he would be down and out for the coming day, but I tried to push the thoughts out of my head because it was just. . .too. . .sad. Sleep would give me an escape.

It’s our first Thanksgiving in our East Asia home without our kids. They are all in great places, with family or framily (friends who are like family) so I wasn’t worried about them. I knew that they would each have a wonderful and warm celebration, giving thanks with people who are significant to them. But how would we mark the day?

Celebrating Thanksgiving, in our particular context, living in a different culture, working on multi-cultural teams can be a complex thing. Who celebrates, who they want to celebrate with, the size of apartments, the number of participants, what makes thanksgiving FEEL like Thanksgiving, can make for a complicated dance involving dozens of people and their expectations. Sometimes toes get stepped on and shins get kicked. There have been a couple of years where we have traveled, in part, to avoid the possible chaos. Once everything settles down, the Day itself is wonderful, but getting there can feel hazardous.

We finally landed on spending Thanksgiving Day with a wonderful group of young people that live about an hour outside the city. They had invited us to join them, and it promised to be a fun, intimate day of food and fellowship. Eleven of us would share a table and feast together as we remembered the Lord’s goodness to us. But by morning, Doug’s night time nausea was joined by a low grade fever and an achy body. It was obvious that he’d be spending the day at home on the couch, leaving me to head out alone.

“Alone” is a tough word for me. I’m sure it is for a lot of people. Having grown up in a “do everything together” culture, coupled with the fact that for years, I incorrectly defined “alone” as “unwanted,” and designed with a personality that is highly inclusive of others, doing things ALONE is not high on my “favorite ways to do things” list. Navigating the roads, by myself, in a car in East Asia traffic, to a neighborhood over an hour away, to spend the day with people I love, yet don’t know very well yet, unsettled my heart in a deep way. I was sad and disappointed. This quickly morphed into a simmering anger because I thought that I wasn’t getting what I wanted or needed.

For the first time in 27 years, I would spend Thanksgiving without a single person in my family. And, for the most part, I would be spending the day with people I had known for mere months, not years. When I was going to do it with Doug by my side, it was an adventure. Without Doug, my heart labeled it tragedy. (I’m not melodramatic, you’re melodramatic.)

I got my heart and my food together, struggled to hold back my tears,  and left the house, my phone GPS declaring loudly which direction I should drive, even though I was walking down the hall to the elevator.  A number of kilometers and deep breaths later, I began to sing.

Softly, but steadily, I started. . .Give thanks with a grateful heart, give thanks to the Holy One, give thanks because He’s given Jesus Christ, His Son. . .over and over, until the Spirit could soften my heart to really hear the words I was singing. It took a little while for my angry and defiant heart to soften. I was willing, but weak. The step to sing what I knew to be true was an act of mustard seed faith. . . And now, let the weak say I am strong, let the poor say I am rich, because of what the Lord has done for us. Give Thanks. Over and over, the words and the melody washed over me, punctuated by the GPS telling me to keep going, that a camera was coming up, make sure my seatbelt was on, and abide by the speed limit.

It turned out to be a fantastic afternoon of fabulous food with new friends. What made it even more amazing was the fact that for most of these young twenty-somethings, this was the first time that they had to make Thanksgiving dinner happen on their own. And they did it with “flying colors” in a foreign country! As we shared around the table of what a “typical” Thanksgiving dinner looked like back home, many of the stories included something along the lines of, “my mom/grandmother cooks the whole meal. . .” Our meal was a literal feast, lacking nothing of the traditional American Thanksgiving bountiful spread.

But the highlight of my day happened just before we ate. We were each given a copy of A Liturgy for Feasting with Friends written by Douglas McKelvey, and we stood around the table and read it together before we ate.

Celebrant: To gather joyfully is indeed a serious affair. For feasting and all enjoyments gratefully taken are, at their hearts, acts of war. (An act of war?)

People: In celebrating this feast, we declare that evil and death, suffering and loss, sorrow and tears, will not have the final word. (Yes to this declaration!)

Celebrant: But the joy of fellowship, and the welcome and comfort of friends new and old, and the celebration of these blessings of food and drink and conversation and laughter are the true evidences of things eternal, and are the first fruits of that great glad joy that is to come and that will be unending. (cue tears. . .)

As we read, my heart quickened and my eyes filled. This day, this celebration, was not only about family and gathering to give thanks for our blessings, which are many.   Further lines of the liturgy read:

“So let our feast this day be joined to those sure victories secured by Christ. Let it be to us now a delight and a glad foretaste of His eternal kingdom. . .May this shared meal, and our pleasure in it bear witness against the artifice and deceptions of the prince of the darkness that would blind this world to hope.”

Stop and read that through again. . . aloud. . . s l o w l y. . .

I had never clearly linked the celebration of Thanksgiving to our victories secured in Christ. I had not really pondered that the feasting and fellowship we experience now is perhaps a foretaste of the eternal kingdom to come. I’d never really considered that my taking pleasure in a delicious meal, prepared and served with love and joy stood as a witness against the deceptions of darkness that blind the world to the Hope found in Christ.

Mind. Blown.

This is how I want to Feast with Friends, both now and forever.

“Now you who are loved by the Father, prepare your hearts and give yourselves wholly to this celebration of joy, to the glad company of saints, to the comforting fellowship of the Spirit, and to the abiding presence of Christ who is seated among us both as our host and as our honored guest, and still yet as our conquering King. AMEN.”

Happy Thanksgiving!

Find the full liturgy here:  https://www.everymomentholy.com/liturgies

Learning to Surrender

We stood outside the clinic in the darkness. I held him tight and rocked him while I sang softly.  He rested in my arms, relaxed, in spite of what he knew was to come.  He was the perfect picture of surrender.  Surrender to the present comfort, surrender to the love that held him and wanted what was best for him, surrender to the pain that was to come, surrender of the will.

When Drew was about 3 years old, he got sick.  An uncomfortably high fever for about 2 or 3 days.  He also had a history of febrile seizures, so I watched him carefully, taking his temperature often throughout the day, medicating as needed, giving cool baths as needed.  The fever eventually went away, but his eyes looked different; like his little body had gotten so hot, that his eyelids got red, dry, and a bit cracked.  I decided to take him to Heart to Heart clinic as soon as possible.

This was our life in 2003 living abroad, in a city of millions of people, with little western medicine available to us.  Our friend, Dr. Robinson, ran a clinic out of a local hospital in the western part of our city.  He was the only American doctor in the city at the time, and he was our family physician while our kids were growing up.

He checked Drew, and was glad to know that the fever was gone.  However, looking at his eyes, he was afraid that the fever had been indicative of an infection (orbital cellulitis).  And well, since an infection in/around the eye is so close to the brain, suffice it to say, he felt it was dangerous.  Drew would need to start on a course of oral antibiotics immediately.  On top of that, to make sure he got high doses of antibiotics into his system and to make sure we totally stamped the infection out, he would need to get shots as well.  One shot every 12 hours for the next 3-4 days.  We could start that afternoon.  I had to wrangle Drew to get that first shot.  After a short wrestling match (3-year-olds who don’t want to get shots can be unusually strong.)  I held him steady and hugged him as he screamed and cried, received the shot, then settled down.  I was going to have to do this another 6 or 7 times?  Ugh.

For the next few mornings, we would wake up, eat breakfast, get the older boys to school, then Doug and I would take Drew in a taxi to the clinic, which was about 20 minutes away.  I would hold Drew outside and sing to him, while Doug registered at the desk.  In a few minutes he would come out and we would take Drew in.  A Chinese nurse administered the shot.  I would hold Drew tight, whisper words of comfort, agonize with him over the pain, and then we would comfort him when it was all over.  Then, we’d hail a taxi and head home.

In the evening, when our other boys were home, we would have dinner, play a bit, get everyone ready to go, and all pile into a taxi for the ride to the west side of the city.  The older two boys would go in and register with Doug, while I sang to Drew and rocked him outside.  Then we’d go in, he’d get his shot like he did that morning, and we’d all pile into a taxi and head home.

This was our routine for 3 full days.  Getting a shot was one of the first things Drew did when he got up in the morning, and one of the last things he did before he went to bed at night. Holding him while he sobbed and suffered was one of the first things I did in the morning and one of the last things I did before I went to bed at night.

It was awful.  But it was necessary.  It was actually the merciful thing to do for him.  If he had not gotten those shots, the possibility of infection spreading would have multiplied.  He could have gotten sicker.  He could have experienced brain damage.  He could have died.

On occasion, when I think about those days, I often end up pondering how calm Drew was just before getting his shots.  He was definitely old enough to know what was coming and I know that he hated being there.  Yet, apart from that first day, he wasn’t squirmy, he didn’t fight me, he didn’t try to run away, he didn’t scream or tantrum.  He rested.  He rested in my arms. He clung to me while he was getting the shot, and he cried in pain during the ordeal, but then he allowed himself to be comforted (and, to be perfectly honest, bribed with lollipops).

And I think, I have a lot to learn from a 3-year-old.

So often, when any bit of suffering comes, I want to fight it or fix it.  I think it’s a pretty natural response.  But when it becomes clear that God wants me to settle into it and receive it, I don’t often lean in and rest as Drew did.  I fight, I whine, I reason/argue with God, I huff and puff, I throw tantrums.  At times I try to escape through entertainment or shopping or other forms of busyness/pleasure.

I wonder what would happen if I just rested and let the Lord hold me and sing to me.  What if I truly believed that He had my best interests at heart, and that the present suffering was actually the most merciful path possible.  My Father doesn’t take joy in my affliction, but He is fully present and comforts me in it.  Maybe the pain wouldn’t change, but maybe I would experience God in a different way.  Maybe I would experience His comfort more fully and deeply if I paid more attention to the way He was holding me and sustaining me.

Lord, teach me surrender to you as a child surrenders to her loving, merciful Father.  I want to rest in you, knowing that you are good, kind, and have my very best interest at heart. Thank you for your constant presence and your perfect comfort, and that you are ever so patient with me.  Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Good Old Days

We’re back in Asia!!  Our time Stateside was full and fun – I think we saw just about every family member and friend we wanted to see (with a few exceptions), were able to get our boys settled into their schools and lives, and even celebrated the marriage of our oldest son!  (Welcome to the family, Michelle!) But I’m ready to be home now, even if it means that all of our kids now reside on the other side of the ocean from us.  <Sigh.>

Restocking our pantry topped my to-do list this past week, so I set out for the local grocery store. It felt good to be home and in familiar surroundings. I made my way through the aisles and picked up some cleaning supplies, then I got on the travelator to go down to the ground floor, where the groceries are.  That’s when I saw her  About 20 feet ahead of me was a mom, carrying her rosy-cheeked, pig-tailed little girl.  Next to them, a uniformed employee of the store (who looked like she was about 13, but I’m sure she was more like 23) smiled and giggled with them.

Watching them ride down the travelator made me smile.  I like watching parents with their children.  I especially like watching expat parents with their children engage with local people and local culture.  I wondered what language they were speaking with each other.  Or perhaps they were just smiling at each other because that was their common language.  I remembered what it was like to have toddlers. <Double Sigh.>

To be clear, I don’t want to go back to having toddlers.  Navigating the grocery store all by myself and cooking for just two means that I have time for things I didn’t used to have time for.  I’ve exercised every day this week!  But having young children in the house was a very sweet time of life for me.  As I walked through the grocery store that day and reminisced, I even thought of those days gone by as the “good old” days.  Which is funny, because when I was going through them, I remember occasionally thinking of them as the “long, when can they be over?” days.

I have one particularly distinct memory where I am outside in the courtyard of our apartment complex with our 3 boys.  Our youngest is only about 2 years old at the time.  He’s in a blue sweatshirt and sweatpants and alternatively digging around in a patch of dirt and scooting around on a small ride-on type toy.  I’m singing songs as he plays. The other boys are either running or riding around on their scooters, circling around us every so often.  They are having a ball and I am feeling ready for a nap, but otherwise content.  They’ve had lunch, they’re happy, and they’re active.  Then I look at my watch.

Wait, what?  It’s only 1:30?  Surely I’ve been out here with the boys for more than 30 minutes.  It’s been an hour at least!  I shake my wrist and check my watch again.  I have another 4 HOURS until Doug comes home?  No adult conversation for another FOUR hours?  I have to stay awake and sing Barney songs for another FOUR HOURS?  I definitely was not feelin’ the “good old” day vibe that afternoon.

I wish I knew then what I know now.  Those days were good.  Really good. And when the boys were grown, I would miss them, but there’s no going back.

I had an inkling of it, but I think that my mommy-brain was in a fog too much of the time to embrace it.  I guess knew the days were good. . .but I didn’t always know if they were productive.  The days were spent reading and coloring, walking and talking, playing and learning, singing and watching. . . And I would fall into bed, some days more exhausted than others.  Some days wondering more than others.  Did I do enough?  Was I productive enough?  What, really, did I accomplish other than keeping three young children occupied? I did it yesterday, and I’ll do it again tomorrow. . .but sometimes I wondered. . .should I be spending my time getting something done?  Something missional?  Something that would change the world?

Truth be told, in the seeming monotony of those days, foundations were laid, lessons were learned, and character was formed.  Not just my kids’ character, but mine.  It might not have been so obvious to me then, but looking back, it’s quite clear.

Among other things, in those good old days,  my children learned to say “please” and “thank you.”  They learned how to play nicely with each other and their friends.  They learned to be kind.  They learned to say “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me” when they weren’t kind.  They learned that mommies and daddies have to use those same words often because we make mistakes too. They learned to run and jump, and climb, to ride scooters and bikes.  They learned that you can get hurt doing any and all of the above. . . but in time, you heal, and you get back up, and run and jump and climb. They learned to sing Jesus Loves Me then, so they could live out the knowledge that Jesus loves them, today and every day. They learned that life can be hard and we’re sad sometimes, but we don’t give up and we can always give thanks.

I learned to be present and surrendered.  (I learned it over and over, day after day, and I’m still learning it!) I learned that conversations with your 5-year old can be fun and trust-building. . .and if you do it enough over the years, it can lead to significant conversations with them once they grow up to be teenagers and young adults.  I learned that you can’t measure your worth as a mom by what your two-year old (or 4-year old, or 7-year old) is doing at that particular moment.  I learned that the days sometimes go by very, very slowly, but the years seem to pass at the speed of light.  I learned that while all moms are full-time moms, God’s call for me was to mostly be at home with my children, and to homeschool them for a number of years.  I learned that life can be hard and sad sometimes, but I don’t give up and I can always give thanks.

Thinking about those days fills my heart with gratitude and hope.  God graced us with many lovely moments and numerous unhurried days, even though my heart sometimes wanted to hurry to the next stage.  And the takeaway for me now?  That one day, 20 years from now, I’ll look back at these days as the good old days too.  So here’s to being present and surrendered, patient and attentive, and letting the Lord use these days to shape and form me as He wills, to His glory.

Waiting

I will not cry.  I will not cry. I will not cry.

Maybe if I keep repeating it to myself, it’ll actually happen.

I’m sitting in a waiting room as our middle son has a 6th surgical procedure performed on his neck and shoulder.  I’m always fine until they wheel him out of the pre-op room.  We had been joking with the doctors and the nurses, sharing stories, and laughing, but when they wheel him out of the room?  At that point, there’s a catch in my throat and my eyes well up with tears.  Every. Time.

I feel a little guilty.  He doesn’t have a life threatening disease.  The procedure is pretty low risk so I’m not really afraid that he’ll die in surgery (although in the back of my mind, I think it’s a remote possibility.)  I feel like I should suck it up and be strong.  After all, this is a children’s hospital and I see a lot of families here with young children, and I’m guessing that many of them have more dire diagnoses than Donovan.

But my fears and sorrows are just that.  My fears and sorrows.  They’re not there to be compared to anyone else’s.  They’re for me to experience.  They are for me to process.  They’re for me to decide how I will let them shape me and form me.  They teach me about who God is and who I am.  They also shape my parenting lens. . .my life lens, really.  As much as I’d like fear and sorrow to be banished out of my life, I realize that they’re really quite useful tools in the hand of God.  They are instruments used to press me into the arms of my loving Father.  If I’m willing to see, they open my eyes to His mercy and greatness.  And if I’m willing to surrender, they remind me that He is a good and skillful potter.  I am the clay.  Deeply beloved.  Nevertheless, clay.

So, I sit here and I wait.  I wait for news of how the surgery is going.  I wait with hope and anticipation and with a longing for healing and wholeness.  I wait with the thought that God is here and He is aware.  He is the author of our story.  Every twist and turn to the plot is not a surprise to Him, but thoughtfully and lovingly written for our good and to display His glory.

Isaiah 40:27-31 The Message

Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
    or, whine, Israel, saying,
“God has lost track of me.
    He doesn’t care what happens to me”?
Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening?
God doesn’t come and go. God lasts.
    He’s Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn’t get tired out, doesn’t pause to catch his breath.
    And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
    gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
    young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
    They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don’t get tired,
    they walk and don’t lag behind.

Post Thanksgiving Blues

Even though I would see them again in a couple of weeks, the tears kept flowing.  After a week with our two younger boys, it was time to send them back to college.  They were both nursing colds, tired (even after a week off), but ready to finish the semester.  Not so much because they felt ready and excited to head back, but rather because they were just ready for the semester to be over.  It was hard to send them off that morning.

This was probably our last Thanksgiving together for a while.  We’ll be on the other side of the world in another month or so, and the boys will continue to make a life for themselves here in the States.  Yet another marker of the end of this stage of our family life.  I find myself a little torn between sitting in the sadness and pressing in, and wanting to keep it at bay – after all, Christmas is coming and we have a family wedding on top of that.  Both wonderfully happy occasions!  I don’t want to spend time being sad.  But the tears that have flowed off and on this past week haven’t give me much of a choice.

But experience tells me that sitting in my grief and pressing in IS good for me.  I’ve also learned that wallowing IS NOT.  Finding the line; finding where my heart goes from God-dependent grief to Self-indulgent misery isn’t always easy when my emotions are topsy-turvy.  Add to that the stress of living in a temporary situation, juggling work/home leave/holidays/etc. and everything feels desperately out of control and out of the norm.

And yet, this is the place where God has called me to be.

• Present
• Engaged
• Trusting
• Open
• Vulnerable
• Tearful
• Dependent
• Hopeful

Cultivating thankfulness, living in God’s grace, seeing His new mercies every morning, depending on Him as my Rock and my Redeemer. . .none of those things are built into my life as I coast through life.  They are developed in me as I learn to let go of my (perceived) control and trust in Him.  They are cultivated as I walk by faith through my own particular sufferings, allowing the Holy Spirit to guide me into Truth and God’s comfort.

The Word of God anchors me and helps me find the line and aligns my heart more closely with His.  Romans 5:3-5  tells us, “. . .we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance,  and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,  and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

I often want to pray for the suffering to subside rather than asking for it to produce endurance, character, and hope.  But this is the life I really want for myself and my family – where we rejoice in suffering (and blessing), knowing that God is using it all to bring us to completion in Christ.

Cultivating Thankfulness

I can’t believe that it’s November.  I’m finally feeling the change of seasons.  The air is crisp, the sky is blue, and the bright, fiery reds and yellows in the foliage outside tells me that fall is definitely here.  Just a few weeks ago, I was lounging in a swimming pool in Florida, enjoying 85 degree weather.  Today I’m lounging in my flannel pajama pants.  I’m very thankful for the cooler weather and the beauty of creation.  It feels very natural to give thanks when all of nature seems to be shouting praise to the glory of God.

But that isn’t always the case.  For me, being thankful can be more of an act of the will than a natural outpouring of the heart.  And usually it’s because I’m in a situation that doesn’t lend itself to giving thanks.  Case in point: A few years back, following a work conference, we took the kids to the beach for a few days of vacation.  We were about to get on an overnight train to our destination when my husband discovered he had accidentally booked tickets for the following month.

Because of the slowness of our internet connection and the way that some countries do their dates (mm/dd/year vs. dd/mm/year) we ended up with a booking for March 2nd instead of February 3rd.  Fortunately there were train tickets still available for sale.  Unfortunately none of those tickets were for sleeper cars.  We’d have to sit up for the whole overnight train ride.  While I was very glad that we were going to get to our destination, it was wasn’t easy to give thanks through the night, with a stiff neck, and little sleep.

Being thankful can challenge us in those negative situations.  Yet, scripture reminds us that we are to give thanks in ALL things.  When we find ourselves in a place we don’t want to be, we give thanks – not in a fakey way – pretending that we love sitting up with sick kids all night, or thanking God that we didn’t get the job we wanted, or for the broken relationship we’re experiencing.  I don’t believe that’s what God is asking us to do.  “Fake it til you make it” isn’t how we grow in grace.  Thankfulness means we lift our eyes from the immediate situation, and ask God to help us see things with new eyes.

In the case of our overnight train ride, I might not be praying, “Dear God, thank you for this horrible, uncomfortable night and the pain that I’m feeling in my neck.  Thank you that I’ll be exhausted tomorrow. . .” but rather, ” Dear Lord, thank you for providing for our needs.  Thank you that there were tickets still available to get us where we need to go and we’re still able to travel with our friends.  Thank you for the flexibility that you’re building into our kids (and me!) and that they have not complained for a moment.  Thank you for my husband who has worked so hard to get us to our vacation.  Help me to be an instrument of your grace to him tonight and tomorrow – even if we’re all a bit tired.  Thank you that you are with us. . .always.”

We are thankful because God is good, He is who He says He is, and He has lavished His grace on us.  We know from His word that God is for us, not against us.  That he didn’t spare his own son for us, but gave him up for us all. (Romans 8: 31-32)  How could we doubt that He would not provide for us the good things that we need?  The Word of God also tells us that He is a sun and a shield, that He gives grace and glory, no good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.  (Psalm 84:11)   One of my favorite places to camp when I need to give thanks is Ephesians 1, which gives us reason after reason to be thankful because of who we are in Christ.

Cultivating thankfulness is good for my heart.  I’m reminded that everything I have is from the loving, caring hand of the Father.  It trains my heart to dependence and humility.  It keeps me grounded and my heart content in a world that preaches more is better and tempts me to fear that I’m somehow missing out if I don’t have everything that I want (or think I want.)  Being thankful that I have a Father in Heaven who knows what I need and provides for me allows me to cultivate the childlike faith I long for.

 

 

Why I’m in Law School

I’ve started new blogposts just about every day this week. The result? Four half-written posts. Today I received a notification that our oldest son had written a new post on his blog and it beat anything I’ve tried to write this week.

Honestly, his post brought me to tears.  Probably because I’m his mom and I still remember when he was learning to walk and talk.  Reading something like this that revealed the depth of his heart was a little overwhelming, but in the very best way.

I love how it challenged me to examine my own heart before God and to see where I’ve set up my own idols.

With his permission, I’ve reblogged it here and I hope that it encourages you in the same vein that it encouraged me.

Socrates and Friends

I used to think that law school was just for learning law; that’s all I really wanted out of it. And now, a couple months in, I’ve learned some law.  But I’ve also gotten some things that I didn’t bargain for. In particular, I’ve gotten a great deal of stress about grades and my future. And I’ve gotten this overwhelming feeling that my performance in school is what ultimately defines me as a person.

Obviously, I don’t like these things. I’ve prayed to God to take them away from me, and I still do. But whereas before I viewed them as entirely incidental to my law school experience, I’m starting to see them as an integral part of it. And that’s because, for me, law school isn’t just for learning law. It’s also about becoming a more devoted servant of Christ. God is using law school to bring my sinful…

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Making a Change

Change and transition seem to be the norm for our family.  When you choose to take your family overseas and stay for more than two decades, it’s inevitable that you learn to be flexible, roll with the punches, and expect change.  Sometimes when things are “normal” for too long, we even feel the need to create change ourselves.  After I graduated from college until I got married at 28, I moved almost every year.  When we moved to East Asia as a family with 3 young children, we actually stayed in our apartment for 4 straight years.  There were days when I felt I felt antsy, and wanted to move just for the sake of change! (My husband had the wisdom to not indulge that urge!)

I’m feeling that a little in this blog.  I am sensing a need for change;  the reasons that I began this blog are not the reasons I want to continue to write.  I want to continue to process the things I’m learning, the stage of life I’m living, and the truth that the Lord is revealing to me, but it’s less related to the sense of loss I was feeling as I was moving into the empty nesting phase, which is what I was originally writing about.

This blog began out of obedience to God.  I felt like He was asking me to trust Him and to grow in some different ways, and writing (consistently and publicly) was a way to do it.  I had sent the first “essay” I wrote to a few friends and a couple had suggested I start a blog.  Thus, The Rearview Mirror was born.

Now I want to write because I think that, 1) It helps me to slow down and internalize some of the things that the Lord is saying to me, and 2) because writing my thoughts down and publishing them in an open forum (no matter how small) is a step of faith that keeps me close to Jesus, and 3) I believe that God is teaching me how to use my voice for His glory and purposes.

From the little I’ve read about blogs, a blog needs to have a specific purpose and an audience in mind.  I confess I haven’t landed on either of those, but I have some a few thoughts and will move forward, tweaking and changing as I go.  If it’s one thing I’ve become pretty comfortable with over the years, it’s change.

I hope you will continue to stay with me as I make my way through this change and make adjustments.  Thank you for taking the time to read and send me feedback.  I’m looking forward to the next part of this writing journey!

Not a Highlight Reel

Twenty-two years ago, after hours and hours on a plane and a long layover in Japan, we stepped out of the Singapore Changi Airport a little after midnight, into a new life and a new adventure.  I carried Davis, who was just a year old at the time, and Doug pushed our luggage towards a taxi.  The humidity, even at midnight in October, was thick and heavy.  It didn’t take long for the perspiration to start dripping down the back of my neck.  I remember sitting in the taxi, tired and sweaty, thinking  that I could count the number of people I knew in the entire country on just one hand.

I was a relatively new mom, trying to figure out how to be on mission with a toddler at home.  I had no idea how to have a ministry while taking care of a one-year-old in a new country.  For the first week or so that we were there, we spent our time together, house hunting and getting settled, but in a few days, Doug would go to work with the five other people in the country that I knew.  What in the world was I supposed to do then?  I definitely had more questions than I had answers.

The first week that Doug went to work, I decided to feed Davis a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.  The books that I had read had suggested waiting until your child turned one to try peanut butter.  Davis had passed that milestone a few weeks earlier, so I figured it would be an easy meal.  Instead of ease, I discovered that Davis had a peanut allergy.  His face turned red, blotchy, and swollen and I started to panic.  Heart racing, I called Doug at the office and got advice about where to get an antihistamine for him.  I threw Davis in the stroller and ran around the corner and down the street to a pharmacy.  Fortunately, the Benadryl had a pretty immediate effect, although it took until the next day for the swelling to disappear.  This was not the kind of overseas adventure I had envisioned.

During that first week on my own, I put Davis in the stroller and went grocery shopping at the nearby wet market, fixed meals, started to get to know the neighborhood, and I wrote a couple of friends in the States.  I asked them things like, What does your day look like?  How do you do ministry without a team?  How do you do ministry with young children at home?  I was really at a loss for how to spend my days.  And I was lonely.  Really lonely.  I discovered (yet again) that following God into a new adventure isn’t a highlight reel;  it’s walking by faith through sometimes long, often ordinary days, doing the next thing that’s in front of us, and trusting that God really has prepared good works, that we would walk in them. (Ephesians 2:10)

My adjustment to Singapore took time and hard work.  It took many days of wrestling through Scripture, prayer, mini tantrums, tentative steps to make a life and a home, and daily, if not hourly surrender to God and to believe that His plans for us were indeed good.  And did I mention that I was lonely?  It takes time to make a life in a new place, and time doesn’t go any faster than it does.  You don’t just magically know how to do life once you move in, or where to find the people who will eventually become “your people.”  It takes day in and day out living and learning, initiating and exploring.  Some days it takes failing and crying.  In Singapore, it also takes a lot of sweating and even stalking (maybe I’ll write about that another time.)

I remember the day that I felt like I’d successfully made a life in Singapore.  It was about two years into our three-year term (I know this because we were in our second apartment, and we had our second child, Donovan.)  Doug was about to go on an international trip, and I wasn’t nervous about him leaving.  I knew how to get to a myriad of places – to Bible study, to friends’ homes, to church, the grocery store, the zoo, etc.  I knew which malls were the friendliest for kids and where I could easily breastfeed our new baby.  I knew who I could call if I needed help.  I knew that if I had an emergency, I had a community of people I could call who would be more than happy to come to my rescue.  I’m not sure when exactly it had happened, but Singapore had become my home.

I guess I’m remembering this story now because once again we’re stepping into a new adventure.  We’re not making an international move, but our life is changing drastically with all of the boys out of the house.  I’m needing the reminder that change takes time, adjusting to a new normal doesn’t just happen magically overnight, and I can’t make the time go any faster than it does.  I need to press on day by day, step by step, putting in the hard work of living life and walking by faith.  I need the reminder that life is not a highlight reel, but that God’s plans are indeed very, very good.