A Million Miles

When your mama turns 50, you can’t be there to embrace her.  A million continent miles stand between you.   

Your heart clenches tight, your eyes leak your pain, and you’re sure a million miles just might kill you. 

You’ve counted the cost.  And you do it again.  A million miles offered up on the altar.    

But as you watch them burn up (sweet aroma to Him, you pray), you think of another million miles.  The chasm between God and man. 

Though it’s long been bridged by God Man blood,  (and by grace, through faith you’ve crossed it), still so few know that Eternal Balm came to mend the million mile tear in their hearts.  You have to stay and tell them. 

A million miles.  How strange that the thing that rends your heart is the very thing that compels you to stay.

One Year in Paraguay!

Today we celebrate one year of ministry in Paraguay!  I am so thankful to the Lord for how much this country and her precious people have worked their way into my heart already!  I can honestly say I love it here!

Three moves, learning a new culture and ministry, one major health crisis and 4 extra kiddos made this a busy and challenging year to say the least, and yet I wouldn’t trade what CHRIST has done in me through it all.  I pray that He will continue to increase in my heart and somehow use me to make Him known here in Paraguay.   

Thank you so much for your love, prayers and support over the past year!  I am so thankful for every single one of you who read my blog!   

Also, I hope to get back to blogging regularly again soon.  I have really missed it!  Thanks for your patience while I finish getting settled in house number three and also host some family visiting from Colombia and the United States.  I’ll be back soon with pictures of our new home! 

Dear Mom, I Think I Know How You Feel

Dear Mom,

I think I know how you feel. 

They left again today.  So excited to be heading towards their dream. 

New home.

New ministry.

New life.   

In my mind, I’m happy for them.  Thrilled really.  It’s so obvious that they were created for this. 

In my heart though, I’m sad.  So, so sad for all the things that I must release to wistful “Someday”.    

Daily phone calls about, “What’s for dinner?” and “They had broccoli at the supermarket.” and “El Principito said ‘I love you’!” 

Spontaneous coffee dates. 

Hugs.  The really tight kind. 

Taking way too long to figure out who’s hosting Friday night dinner. 

Now those things are lost in yesterday.  From here on out, we’ll always be playing catch up.  Trying to somehow find time to fill each other in on the important details of life.  

And the small ones, the ones that I find so comforting and familiar, their telling will be lost in that elusive 25th hour of the day. 

What’s more, I fear there’s coming a time when they’ll mention something that has become commonplace to them, and I will have absolutely no idea what they are talking about.  Their life is so different from mine now.  

Just as it should be.  They’re following hard after Jesus and I’m inspired by Him in them.      

Unfortunately, inspiration doesn’t prevent grief.   My humanity can’t escape the heart squeezing, tear falling, lonely moments.         

Up until now, I’ve always been the one leaving family behind.  My heart still ached, but then grief was tempered by firm conviction in God’s plan, excitement for dreams come true, amazement at God’s provision and care, perhaps even by mere relief to be finally settled in one place again. 

But now, I’m the one staying.  This time, I’m wearing your shoes, Mom.  And it hurts.  Oh, does it hurt to know what you’re losing. 

You never told me what tremendous resolve it takes to smile and cheer when you really want to tie a brick around their ankles and beg them to stay forever. 

I’m wondering if maybe it’s not the ones who “Go” who sacrifice most, but the ones who stay behind.

I think I know now, at least in part, how you must feel when I’m the one boarding the plane, carrying your grandbabies off to distant lands when they’ve only just began to know who you are. 

I’m so glad I have your example, Mom.  You’ve counted the cost for Jesus and it has made it easier for me to do the same.

Both in the leaving and in the loving of one leaving. 

Counting all things lost,

Shilo

Mother of Six?

As of March 1st, I will officially be mother of six!  No, I’m not pregnant with quadruplets, but we do have the joy of dorming my three nephews and niece as their parents move into a new ministry in a remote tribal location. 

We are inspired by this family and their collective desire to sacrifice for the sake of the Gospel, part of which requires them to be separated for much of the school year. 

We are also glad that we are here to do all we can to help them through this difficult adjustment.  We would really appreciate your prayers for them and for us as we head into this new reality!  They need God’s grace and strength as they say the very difficult goodbyes and adjust to their new homes!  We need wisdom to be sensitive to the needs of our new “kids” as they go through this transition.  

I have great hopes that this will be a special season for my nephews and niece, full of good memories of their time with us.  More than that though, I pray that many people will come to know the grace found in Christ our Savior because we all have willingly given our lives, preferences and comfort for His glory! 

He’s My Home

We had just moved again. Tearfully saying goodbye to a beautiful season of ministry, I was propelled into another unwelcomed one. For the first time in my life, I was somewhere I didn’t want to be. I was hanging onto my calling to missions, but only loosely. My hand limp, I cried weakly, “God, I can’t do this. It’s too much, this missionary life; this inevitable, unstoppable series of moves from one place to another.”

In the darkest and loneliest season of my life, I wanted only one thing. I wanted to go home. Except we couldn’t. So my cries of inadequacy were quieted only when I sat down with my Bible. One day in that fleeting quietness, I reached Psalm 90: 1, “Lord, through all the generations you have been our home!” Tears streaming down my face, dotting the page, I could not move my eyes from that word. Home. It wasn’t a place 3,000 miles away, it was a person. It was Him.

Slowly over the course of the next few days, I was able to identify what home meant to me, release it and delight in the perfection of my new Home.

I started out by declaring that I wanted to live in the same house on the same street for the rest of my life. No more moves. No more suitcases. 

He gently corrected me.  What I really wanted wasn’t a white house on Main Street, but Him. “Child, the stability you crave is only found in me! I am the eternal, incorruptible Lord. I do not change! I’m the same yesterday, today and forever. I am your home.”

Then I explained that I wanted to be one of the belongers, to have my name written in the collective story, the shared history of a people. No more wondering how I fit. No more being an outsider.

He spoke back, “Have you forgotten? You are already one of the belongers. I chose you before the foundation of the earth. I wrote your name in the epic of the redeemed with My own Son’s blood. You’re not an outsider! You’re accepted in the Beloved and seated at My right hand forever. I am your home.”

Finally, I confessed my longing for deep, meaningful relationships. Friendships that would allow me to barge through the front door with barely a knock, plop down on the couch and tell my truth without fear. Ties unthreatened by the brokenness of my humanity, ties unadulterated by judgment. No more being weighed in the balance. No more exhausting guardedness.

This time He whispered. “Child,” he said, “this freedom to barge into an earthly den and be met with open arms? It’s only a shadow. I am the fulfillment, the One casting that shadow. You have free access to Me through the Spirit! I welcome you to pour out your heart boldly and frankly, though you are broken and naked and lacking. There is no condemnation for you at this throne. Only grace. I am your home.”

It’s been seven years (and as many moves) since the light of Home shined hope into that dark season of my life. Still, I have much to learn about this exchange of temporal for eternal, of seen for unseen, of the shadow for the fulfillment. How thankful I am that the Spirit faithfully directs me Home to the One who satisfies my every longing.

“That something we long for, whether it be an island in the west or the other side of a mountain or perhaps a schooner yacht, long for it in the belief that it will mean joy, which it never fully does, because what we are really longing for is God.” --Sheldon VanAuken, A Severe Mercy

"I Could Never...

...do what you do," she says. It is not the first time I have heard this.  In fact, almost everywhere we go, a well-meaning woman will share with me her doubts that she could ever be a missionary. 


The truth is, sometimes I feel like telling her, "I can't do it either!"  It breaks my heart to be away from my family and friends.  It actually physically hurts when I say goodbye...again.  It is exhausting to pack up and
move so regularly. 


You see, I am the kind of girl who would love to live in the same house in some quiet town for the rest of my life, preferably just down the street from my parents.  I do not need adventure.  I crave routine and stability.  I long for a place where I am known and loved for me, where old ladies squeeze my cheek and tell me how much I look like my mother did at my age. 


If I focus on those things, I become so weak that I am frozen in a pond of pity just waiting for the enemy to come fish me out and eat me for dinner.  However, if I focus on Truth, I never give up-because I do not have to do it. He will do it in me. 


Usually when I hear that familiar phrase, "I could never. . . " I just respond, "Yes, at times it can be challenging, but God's grace is always enough for us."  I really mean that.  He really has always met us in
our moments of grief with a breath of comfort, in our hour of exhaustion with an infusion of strength.  When we are weak, He is shown strong.  Everyone can see that our glorious power is from God and is not our own, that our only power and success come from Him. 


I think that next time, though, I am going to change my byline.  I will smile and say, "You are right. You couldn't do it, and neither can I.  That is the whole point.  He wants to do it through me and through you, so that we can be mirrors that brightly reflect His glory.

Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. . . And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, Who is the Spirit. . . But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. . . 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. II Corinthians 3:5, 18; 4:7; 12:10

Who is This Person?

Vintage clip art courtesy of the Graphic Fairy

I'm sitting there, my heart's racing and I feel so anxious. Tears are pouring down my cheeks. I'm wondering, "Who is this person? Because she's not me. She's not the confident, decisive person I have always been."

It was supposed to be a fun day of shopping with my husband. But I wasn't having much fun. I felt under pressure to find the perfect gift at the best price. I picked things up and then put them back. I doubted my judgement. And I felt angry that I was having such a hard time! This was supposed to be fun. And really, it always had been in the past.

As I sat there crying and praying, I realized I was having a little bit of reverse culture shock (that means I was having a hard time processing or accepting the way things are done in my own culture). I'd evolved into someone different during my four years in South America.

I guess it's because, in some ways, my options were so limited there and choices weren't a luxury that I enjoyed (if you've never travelled overseas, you're gonna have to take my word on this). I remember shopping and shopping until I found something that would work for me. I got used to "making do" and "pinch hitting". I gladly paid whatever outrageous price was asked for an item I had been searching for because I knew I would likely never find it again. I got used to living that way. Sure there were times it was hard to deal with but on the other hand, it made me more creative and resourceful and ultimately reduced my attachment to things. And that was something to be thankful for.

But back in my own culture, I felt overwhelmed at all the options . The thrill of hunting for the best deal became cumbersome. And I suddenly began to question my ability to make good decisions. Had I really become so mush brained that I couldn't tell until I walked out of the store that $30 of merchandise for $20 was better than $20 of merchandise for $20?

I can be pretty hard on myself, and maybe that's what you're thinking I'm doing. And you're right. At first, I was. But what it's turned into for me is a chance to remember what my REAL identity is. I'm not an indecisive, anxious, insecure person (even if I feel like it).

I'm a child of God. I'm not defined by my actions or thoughts (no matter what provokes them). I'M DEFINED BY WHAT HE SAYS ABOUT ME. And He says I'm accepted in the Beloved. I'm seated in the heavenly places at His right hand. I'm loved with an everlasting love. I'm bought with a price. I'm secure for all eternity. I'm His.

And that makes all the difference. It allows me to forgive myself for thinking I should be perfect. It causes me to relax and deal graciously with myself when I see that I am having difficulty processing my own culture and appreciate that OF COURSE I am changed by four years in another culture (I would have robbed myself greatly if I had never learned from that opportunity!).

So why am I sharing this with you? I don't really know, except that I feel compelled to do so. Maybe someone will be encouraged by my testimony. Maybe someone else will understand missionary women better as a result of reading it. Ultimately, I just hope that God gets the glory somehow. Because He deserves it.