"When out on those highways and byways..." (1)

Dear faithful missionary mom readers,

Are you all celebrating that it is June and that June means summer is here, or just around the corner... if you live in the northern hemisphere, of course? We are. It has been a long and intense year and God is opening up some amazing opportunities for our family and me personally. As a result, this is my last post in this lovely space, a place that has become an online home. I will miss being here. I'd hoped to really take time to pray... to write... to maybe summarize a bit some of the things I've learned during the time I've been writing for Missionary Moms - but earlier this week we learned that my husband's dad is on the threshold of eternity. So we are leaving tonight... and in all of the busyness of arrangements, I've not had the time I would have wished to devote to this post. Instead, I've edited an older post that I wrote for a different site a few years back... all about traveling mercies and time on the road, a common summer/holiday occurrence!

Thankful for you ~ may God continue to bless you and your ministries richly!

Richelle
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I used to find it some combination of mildly amusing and slightly annoying when I’d hear people pray for “traveling mercies,” even though at the time we were crisscrossing the state of Michigan (as well as a few adjacent states) almost every weekend seeking the financial support to head to West Africa as missionaries.

Then one wintry Sunday, we literally crept on four wheels, all night through a genuine winter blizzard only to arrive home, in the wee hours of the morning, and find a man we’d never met before sleeping in our bed (a story for another time and definitely over tea and coffee). We ended up on the rickety pull-out sofa in the basement, struggling to drag ourselves out of bed and get up and around in time for the beginning of our home church’s missions conference just a few hours later. After that fiasco, I’d occasionally catch myself silently asking God for “traveling mercies,” particularly during those unexpectedly long trips.

There was also that time late one August. We drove nonstop from Lansing, Michigan to Miami, Florida. Well… nonstop except for a few hours in a Georgia Walmart escaping massive summer heat. Our car at that time was minus air conditioning and plus three little ones in car seats! Several hours later, I actually prayed spontaneously, aloud, thanking the Lord for “traveling mercies…” and then woke my husband up. He’d fallen asleep at the final stoplight, just prior to reaching our destination.

We still hadn’t even begun the adventure of international travel. Once that started, we experienced

• long airplane rides,
• sandstorms while boarding which then delayed our flight,
• close connections,
• stacks of luggage that had to be lugged through developing world airports,
• reroutings,
• long layovers with children crashed and sleeping sprawled anywhere,
• difficult fellow passengers, difficult airline personnel,
• discovering that even though we’d reserved seats together , our reality was far different – my family scattered all over the plane, the two year old sitting by herself, and no one willing to switch seats,
• hopeless searches for something both edible and affordable to eat.

One other key detail? I’m terrified of flying – like panic attack terrified! It usually lasts from the moment I climb on the plane and fasten my seat belt until we reach cruising altitude. At that point I can almost distract myself from that feeling of imminent doom. It isn’t one of those fears that has gotten better with time or experience. I pray, quite literally starting days weeks months before, that God will grant me His “mercies as I travel” and enough relief from my terror that I can at least function.

I stopped  laughing or considering those prayers for “traveling mercies” to be trivial. 

Then we began traveling in Africa

It took me two years to get brave enough to consider driving in town, on my own. The problem wasn’t the standard transmission – that was pretty much all I’d ever driven. Rather it was driving in a place where traffic laws were merely suggestions, stop lights and stop signs were optional, and four lanes of traffic regularly squeezed onto a two lane bridge. Drivers were often inexperienced, erratic, unpredictable and impulsive. Roads were shared with pedestrians, bicyclists, motorcyclists, goats, sheep, dogs, donkeys and carts, camels piled high and wide with straw, herds of cattle, food vendors, newspaper sellers, beggars and unsupervised toddlers. That axiom, “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” was the rule of the road, regardless of pre-existing traffic patterns. We discovered that walking around your car wasn’t sufficient – you had to be sure to look under it too before beginning to drive – after my husband ran over the leg of a toddler sleeping unsupervised under our car one afternoon. I found out first hand that signaling a right hand turn and then proceeding to make that right turn from the right hand lane where’d I’d been all along wouldn’t inhibit motorists from trying to pass  at that moment… on the right. I’ll never forget the day another vehicle nudged a bicyclist, knocking him over right in front of the tire of my Land Cruiser, and I felt that tire slowly roll up and over something. Fortunately, it was the bike wheel and not the bicyclist.

Every. Single. Time. we left our house in a car and nothing bad happened, it became an opportunity to thank God for His “traveling mercies.”

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), vehicular accidents result in more deaths worldwide than malaria. They are the primary cause of death for those falling in the five to 29 years old age bracket. This is particularly true in the developing world. (1)

Now, less I give a wrong impression, not all of our road experiences were bad. I’ve had more flat tires than I’d care to count – I’ve never actually changed one myself. Someone would always volunteer to do it for me… and sometimes even refused a gift of money.

We’ve also seen Africans accomplish both amazing and hilarious things while operating motor vehicles:

• A mouthy Tabaski sheep wrestled into submission between motorcycle operator and passenger, all during rush hour traffic.
• Several large cattle sleeping peacefully on the roof of a minibus. The bus was cruising at 80km/hr…
• A motorcyclist transporting a full-sized mattress balanced on his head… while driving through sand deep enough to stall other vehicles.
• Young camels loaded inside Peugeot taxis.
• Guys riding on top of huge trucks packed with fire wood. Their purpose was to lift power, phone and other lines as the trucks traveled through town.

Praying for traveling mercies, pleading with God for His protection as we were out and about, became a preoccupation. But it also served to continually remind me that safety was an illusion, often out of my control… Our complete and absolute dependence was on God and God alone. Driving in the developing world also actively cultivated a spirit of thankfulness. After all, every non-eventful vehicular outing was cause to thank God for His “traveling mercies.”

I thought things might get better after returning to the States. Except now I expect drivers to behave as was typical overseas. My younger son was riding with me on one trip when he asked, “Mama, why do you get ready to honk every time we pass by a big truck?” I hadn’t even realized I’d maintained that West African habit of driving with my hand on the horn – just in case! Additionally, it probably hasn’t helped that we’ve now reached that stage of life which includes young adult and student drivers… Yikes!

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What strange, incredible or amusing things have you seen as you have traveled the roads where you live?

Share about an everyday thing you used to take for granted, but which God now uses to make you more thankful and continually aware of your dependence on Him.

(1) First line from the hymn Make Me a Blessing
Words: Ira B Wilson, Tune: Schuler
(2) SOURCE: WHO
Original post

A Story of Three Very Different Thanksgivings

 Thoughts of Thanksgivings way past... 

• traveling to grandparents' house
• aunts and uncles and cousins and family friends 
• tearing around a small, rural southern Illinois town on bikes in jeans and sweatshirts, fingers and noses freezing, but a last hurrah before it became too wintery
• the smell of cigars
• Thanksgiving Day parades on TV - with all of those amazing floats 
• American football in the heyday of the Pittsburgh Steelers
• cousin slumber parties in the refinished basement
• tables and tables and tables full of food including Stove Top Stuffing spiked with chunks of cheese
• unlimited orange and grape pop in the basement fridge...

Magical memories...

They easily assume an almost mystical, mythological place in our minds, which then makes it all the more difficult to appreciate a present moment. As an adult, I've discovered that those delightful recollections of childhood Thanksgivings had unexpected repercussions. I'd try to recreate aspects of those bygone days, only to fail miserably because it never felt the same, at least not to me.

I was on an express path to lose my love for what had always been my most treasured holiday.

Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with remembering. But there's so much wrong with trying to recreate what has passed... Instead, we have to draw from the past to build something new.

Our first "traditional" Thanksgiving in W. Africa was a memorable one. My father-in-law had flown out to visit and to see our new home. He brought a frozen turkey in his carry-on! I learned to make mock pumpkin pie from squash, mock pecan pie using oatmeal and mock apple pie from zucchini. I made giblet gravy for the first time and stuffing from scratch - we splurged on cheese to stuff down into the chunks of bread. We borrowed VHS tapes with old football games on them, pulled out our piddly artificial Christmas tree to decorate and began playing Christmas music. We worked on puzzles and played board games and watched Swiss Family Robinson. We'd invited a few single friends to spend the day with us. We discovered that some of the best watermelon EVER came into season during November in Niger and started a new Thanksgiving tradition that involved watermelon instead of cranberries. We prayed and thanked the Lord for our new home. It was a beautiful, wonderful Saturday (since the actual US Thanksgiving day was work as usual for the rest of the world) that set the scene for many more W. African Thanksgivings to come...

After we'd been living in Niger for a few years, we realized that our brothers and sisters in the church also celebrated a time of thanksgiving. Sometime in October, after the beginning of the school year (October 1), many churches observed a "Fête de Moisson," or Harvest Celebration. Invitations were sent to sister churches. Neighborhood children were invited. The church was meticulously cleaned, sometimes even repainted and decorations were strung from the metal trusses supporting the roof. A goat or sheep was slaughtered and slow cooked in a sauce we'd smell throughout the entire service. Everyone brought some food - or at the very least, a bag of hard candies or several bagged yogurts to share. Sometimes, there was even a case of cold, glass bottled Coke - for the men. A basket was placed in the front of the church and after the time of singing and a short sermon, everyone had several opportunities to sing and dance their way down the aisle, to the front and place gifts in that basket - first the elders, then all the men, then all the women, then the choir, then the children, then families - one by one... and on and on. Often, the women would buy yards of the same material from the market several weeks ahead of time and would show up to church in mostly matching outfits. There were games during the children's Sunday School time - sometimes prizes were handed out to children who recited their verses. At the conclusion of the service, we'd eat a meal together - men served first, often in groups of 5 or 6 sitting around a large plate piled high with the rice and sauce that had been awfully distracting during the sermon. Then children would be served... and finally the women would eat together. Usually everyone ate with their hands. Sometimes - trying to be nice, they gave us - the missionary family - spoons to use. We always smiled and said thank you - and never said that it was actually more fun to eat with our hands. I can't say that I loved it... this Thanksgiving celebration... NOT the first time. But it grew on me. The past few years, I've missed watching my children dance and laugh and clap their way to the front of the church - and the offering basket - while our African family danced and laughed and clapped with them.

This year, we celebrated Thanksgiving in Canada.  Canadian Thanksgiving's beginnings are more closely identified to European traditions than to New World unity. Many decades before Europeans settled in North America, festivals of thanks and celebrations of harvest took place throughout Europe during the month of October. It is generally agreed that the first Thanksgiving celebration in North America actually took place in Canada, when English explorer Martin Frobisher landed in Newfoundland. He was thankful for safety as he traveled across the Atlantic. He arrived 43 years before the Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts... 1572. I've only ever celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving in Quebec; according to what most have told me - it isn't nearly as big of a deal in Quebec as it is in Ontario and western Canada (nobody really said anything about further east). At most, it is a three day weekend to spend time with family. More typically, it is a bit of a party weekend, with Monday as the official holiday. After our traditional Thanksgiving meal (with from-scratch cranberry sauce, for the first time ever), our daughter and her friend went out door to door in our neighborhood. They were collecting pop and other cans for recycling (it's a common way students here raise funds for school activities). Her friend said it would be a great weekend - lots of beer bottles to collect - and she was right. We filled our SUV with garbage bags full of bottles and cans. Even the passenger side front seat was packed, and the girls had to walk to the return center while I drove to meet them. Our church did have a meal after the service on Sunday, which was a fun time to fellowship, eat delicious food and visit. But we couldn't hang out all day as we rent a room and had a deadline by which we needed to be cleaned up and cleared out. The Christian school our children attend gifted families with a four-day weekend - and the last Thursday afternoon was spent watching students (dressed in "Fall" themed/colored costumes) participate in an annual competition: the Autumn Leaves Race. Many parents were at the school to cheer their kids on, and it seemed like fun was had by all - even the highschoolers who had to reluctantly run 2+ kilometers. 

We're still figuring out Thanksgiving here. We live near a First Nations/Native American reservation. I'd love to find out if they have any type of harvest celebration! Next year, maybe!

Were those Thanksgivings past better than more recent ones? No. And even though not EVERY year makes memories with the same sort of reminiscing power, Thanksgiving remains my favorite time of year...

Maybe because it isn't all about me. It is all about remembering why I'm thankful... and to quote some lyrics of a well-known song: 

The sun comes up

It's a new day dawning

It's time to sing Your song again

Whatever may pass

And whatever lies before me

Let me be singing

When the evening comes

You're rich in love

And You're slow to anger

Your name is great

And Your heart is kind

For all Your goodness

I will keep on singing

Ten thousand reasons

For my heart to find

And on that day

When my strength is failing

The end draws near

And my time has come

Still my soul will

Sing Your praise unending

Ten thousand years

And then forevermore

Forevermore

Bless the Lord oh my soul

Oh my soul

Worship His Holy name

Sing like never before

Oh my soul

I'll worship Your Holy name"

(Matt Redman - 10,000 Reasons)

Generating Gratitude

Thanksgiving is this month… unless you live in Canada (like I do now). If you do, Thanksgiving was last month.

Traditionally, Fall- or harvest-time in western cultures - includes a specified time of celebration, family and giving thanks. But that doesn't mean western cultures have the corner on this sort of celebration.

Have you already guessed? Our monthly theme for November is thankfulness... and we hope to spark a conversation about how Thanksgiving (or Action de Grâce as we say in French) is celebrated around the world. 

To start things off, I'd like to revisit something I wrote a few years back... while I was still living in West Africa... all about gratitude!

...I feel a bit stupid starting out like this – 

I REALLY can’t stand listening to a generator.

I know. You’re wondering, “What’s the big deal?”

First, I’ve listened to them an awful lot lately.

Additionally, generators are noisy, they stink, there’s usually a big puff of black smoke as they start up, I’m quite sure they can’t be good for the environment and they consume a whole lot of diesel fuel. That gets expensive. 

And while that list of five might actually be considered valid reasons for my churlishness, they aren’t the real ones behind my stronger than ambivalent dislike.

My antipathy towards those monstrosities which authorize electricity for some while everyone else has plunged into darkness is nothing short of sinful.

I detest them because I don’t have one… everyone else around me does… which repeatedly jogs my memory of something I’d rather ignore.

When the power goes out

• I’m stuck sitting in the dark trying to mark papers until I get frustrated and my head aches (candlelight is hard on these getting-older eyes of mine).
• I’m finishing looking up the Zarma words with unfamiliar symbols for Saturday’s Bible study.
• I’m washing dishes hoping they’ll look as clean in the daylight as they do under that dreamy, flickery glow. 
• I’m praying that the little ones don’t wake up because the difficulty of rejoining Mr. Sandman increases exponentially when the air seems deader than the inside of a tomb. 
• Last, but not least, I sweat literal buckets at 11:00 at night when working near even the tiniest flame.

I used to begrudge those who experienced nothing more than a blip when the current sagged or disappeared altogether. I think I’ve gotten past that. I don’t wish they didn’t have one because I don’t, and I certainly understand why they use their generators. If I had one, I’d be using it, too.

EACH time, however, I hear a generator roar into life I’m vehemently reminded of something I’d rather ignore….

I balk at the instruction to give thanks in all circumstances. 

I'm reminded of that reality in slow motion replay each time I hear those machines jolt into life and I begin to growl and complain. 

My father-in-law served for some years in Haiti and tells of visiting a local electric company. Night had fallen, the plant was elevated, located on a small mountain outside of town, and from the plant, he could see the entire lighted city. An employee began pointing out different neighborhoods and then with a sly grin told my father-in-law to watch.

Click!­

He switched a button, an entire neighborhood went dark... and the employee laughed. Out loud. 

It is easy to joke that something similar takes place each time our power goes out. But reality is that I can live and still function adequately, even with this particular frustration that is so common to the expat experience of life in an impoverished, still-developing locality.

I can also willingly choose to refuse to give thanks.

We’ve had a smattering of power outages in recent days and weeks. More than normal. Each time I hear the neighboring generators roar into life, a still small voice whispers: “I don’t want to thank the Lord that the local powers that be have once again denied me any power.” That voice doesn’t stop there, however. It continues, whispering: 

“It isn’t the electric company denying you power. You’ve done it to yourself, by not choosing gratitude.”

Not only am I stumbling and sweating it out without electricity, I’m also self-rendered powerless, spiritually, choosing to be a victim of circumstances when God offers me practice at building a practice of joy and contentment, regardless.

Just like that dude at the electric plant in Haiti, by refusing gratitude, I’m flipping a switch, laughing… and plunging myself (and sometimes those around me) into darkness.

Choosing gratitude, however?

Choosing gratitude siphons out any clout out of darkness. It leaves opportunity for vibrating voltage, exhilarating energy, and contagious current.

An electrical stream of thankfulness pulsating powerfully can provide perspective and light for me and maybe for those nearby as well.

William Faulkner noted:

“Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity: it must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all.”

Faulkner was absolutely right…

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What, in your life, reminds you of those times you reject a thankful spirit?

How can you celebrate Thanksgiving throughout the year - intentionally producing, discharging and using up gratitude?

This article, original form, first posted here.

A Prayer for "After..."

This is isn't the blog post I've been planning to write... the one I've been working on.

But as we face another imminent transition in upcoming months... this IS where my heart has been resting, where my mind has been dwelling much... 

The story starts with an evening years ago, 

hanging out around a campfire with family and friends in one of our favorite Niger spots, 

watching the sun set from a West African sand dune...

Three gals, traipsed over the sand dunes - probably heading home before dark. I captured them with my telephoto lens in not the best of light. Their picture intrigued me then. Perhaps more accurately, it haunts me, now.

I wonder about their stories.

They could be sisters. That isn't hard for me to imagine... 

I can easily picture my four oldest girls walking along through the sand~ wrapped in wild African print, draped in light weight, flowing scarves, scuffing $1 cheap flip-flops along the sand and munching on a piece of fruit. They'd chatter and meander, enjoying a reprieve from the unrelenting sun that now ducked behind the horizon. Immersed in each other's company just like these girls, mine would be mostly oblivious to any and everything else going on around them. 

Then a thought crossed my mind: I wondered if two could be keeping the third company as she'd been sent to a nearby market to buy millet which she'll then pound before preparing her family's meal. 

That second scenario isn't so much like my girls' story... 

...and not because my girls never run to a nearby shack, 

buy then bring something home, and 

prepare it for the rest of the family.

They, in fact, have often been asked to do something just like that.

They are, several times every day in fact, still asked to do something similar - something that contributes not to their fun and amusement but to the well-being of our family.

But other times they lay on their bed and watch YouTube or Fairytail videos on a Kindle... read books they've checked out from the library... walk back over to the school next door just to work, earning money they then deposit in the bank and use to fund many of the fun or frivolous things teenage girls love to do... dream of another wedding in Southern California... picture seeing friends from Niger soon... look forward to celebrating a might-as-well-be-a-brother's wedding... imagine a high school graduation and all that comes next... share war stories about working on earning that drivers' license and having to drive with Mama clutching the door and trying to appear calm just to do so...  encouraging one another for yet another round of imminent upcoming goodbyes... 

My girls loved and miss their life in Niger and are so thankful for the opportunity they have had to spend so much of their growing up time in that place, even knowing all of the things they've "missed" in the States. Now, barely shy of two years back in America, they miss Africa and their friends there something awful, but have come to terms with that because "after Niger" has always existed for them... They've always had something farther off and more away just over the metaphorical horizon.

It is not the same for those three girls growing up in a village in Niger, which, according to the 2013 United Nations Human Development report, is still ranked low... 187 out of 187... Niger is a land whose people are - particularly women, girls and children - almost ALL vulnerable.

The girls in this photo? They probably do not know how to read, even if they were permitted to attend school for 2-3 years. They may have never seen a television, much less surfed the internet. They may already be married and have children waiting for them back by their huts. Their husbands or fathers may have a cell phone... however it is unlikely that they would carry one. For them, their "after" is Niger... and mostly just as they know it.

I hope my girls never forget just how blessed they've been, how much lavish grace they've been gifted. I hope that, in my concerns and sometimes anxieties for their future, I never forget.

I pray that after Niger and that even as we transition from home assignment to a place that couldn't be more different, they never forget... and begin to feel entitled. 

I can see that danger nipping at their heels, at my heels, already. 

I hope they fight hard against their own entitlement and a culture that increasingly encourages narcissism, and that each time they start to believe and presume desires (even the worthy ones) to be needs or rights, they consciously recall and fix in their minds images like the one above... and then really remember how amazingly gifted their lives have already been...

I hope they remember that their "afters" are ALWAYS gifts to be shared, sacrificed, spent and well-stewarded... for the benefit of others and the glory of God...

...for the rest of their lives.

May it ever be so... for each one of us.

Rewrite/rework of an original post entitled

A Prayer for "After"

and published on Our Wright-ing Pad

April 5, 2013.

Giving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving! 

Days like Thanksgiving can be hard for those of us serving overseas, far away from our families and without all of the resources to make the traditional Thanksgiving meal we grew up with.  It helps me to remind myself of some of the unique blessings I have because of the life of ministry we are living here in Costa Rica.  Here are my top ten:

1. Surrounded by natural beauty

Seriously, I so often look around and think, "I can't believe I live here!"  While we live real life here (and not the resort life some may associate with Costa Rica), we are blessed with daily views of God's amazing creation.  Whether it's in the breathtaking views of mountains and volcanoes I see just driving around town, or in the intricate details of the tropical flowers and birds in my garden, the natural beauty I witness here is awe-striking.

one of our favorite views in our Costa Rican hometown

2.   Good coffee and fresh produce

I was not a coffee drinker before moving to Costa Rica.  But, we live in a coffee town here; the coffee we drink is grown, harvested, dried and roasted here in our little town.  It's really, really good... and has converted me into a coffee lover.  We are also spoiled year-round with wonderful fresh fruit and vegetables from our farmer's market.  We might not have easy access to cranberries or pecans for today's Thanksgiving dinner, but the local fruit here always tastes so much more real (does that make sense?).  One time after taking a bite of pineapple in the States, our son scrunched up his face and said, "That is NOT piña!" (piña = pineapple)

our kids watching a local farmer dry his coffee beans

3.  Small town living

While it took some adjusting, I love living in a small, Costa Rican town.  I love that whenever I'm out running errands, I almost always run into someone I know.  I love that our kids (along with pretty much every other school kid in the whole town!) are in the Independence Day parade and that our son has been part of the town's yearly musical festival.  I love being able to walk to the stores, and I love sitting in our central park and people watching.  Life in a big city appeals to me, too, but I am thankful for our little town during this stage in our lives.

our daughter in our town's Independence Day parade

4.   Worshipping in a second language

One of my dreams when we moved here was that my Spanish would improve to a point where I could truly worship and commune with God in Spanish.  It's been a long process that included a lot of Sundays of standing outside the church building in the intense tropical sun, bouncing my crying baby in a sling (can you mamas relate?), or arriving home from church completely exhausted from the mental work of staying engaged in Spanish during the worship, sermon, and conversations.  But, now I feel that I can truly worship God in Spanish, and it gives such a precious glimpse of eternity worshipping Him with people from every nation and language.

worshipping with our church here

5.  Women's ministry

I love working together with some other women from our church to build up our women's ministry and to reach out to other women in our community.  I am blessed and challenged each week as I facilitate a women's Bible study and work to encourage and strengthen other women.  This ministry strongly pulls at my heart, and sharing my heart and life with these women is one of my main highlights of our life here in Costa Rica.

this year's women's conference - an outreach event to our community

6.  Life of adventure

I'm sure that this is true for you all, too; choosing to live in another country has opened us up to a life of adventure.  Whether it's going after a snake with a machete, or maintaining the constant battle with the ants, or tackling the red tape adventures of the immigration department, life is never without a new adventure here.  We also get to enjoy the adventure of exploring new places, learning a new language, and meeting new people. 

one of our favorite Costa Rican adventures - a hike to this turquoise river

7.  Kid-loving culture

One of my first impressions when we moved here with a baby was that Costa Ricans absolutely adore children!  Babies and children are usually the recipient of admiration and love wherever they go.  Especially during this stage of parenting little children, it is such a blessing to live in a culture where kids are so highly valued and loved.  Our kids are growing up far away from our families, but they have many Costa Rican "grandparents," "aunts," and "uncles."



our kids having fun with our pastor - one of their Costa Rican "uncles"

8.  Closeness as a family

Sharing in this adventure (with both its highs and lows!) together has made us grow closer as a couple and as a family.  Building a new life in a new country has strengthened us in ways that I don't think we would have experienced elsewhere.  Our kids have a very close relationship, maybe because, as third culture kids, there are few other kids their age that understand them as fully as their sibling does.

our little family in front of our home sweet Costa Rican home

9.  Changed perspective

My perspective has changed throughout our years living here.  I find myself being thankful more often for things that I used to take for granted.  Hearing the pelting rain on our metal roof six months of the year has led me to thank God for simply the roof over our heads more than I ever did before (even if there are several persistent leaks!).  The reality of frequent power outages and having water coming into our house from the street only certain hours of the day makes me so thankful when the light does turn on with the flip of a switch, or when water pours out of the faucet in more than a trickle.  Additionally, living in a more event-focused culture, rather than my native time-oriented culture, has taught me to slow down and invest more in what is truly important: relationships.

10.  New home

Something clicked after about two years living in Costa Rica, pretty soon after our daughter was born here.  This started to feel like home.  Now, four years later, this definitely feels like home... to the extent that I feel a little strange and out of place when we are visiting the States.  I don't quite "fit" there any more, but, at the same time, I don't completely "fit" here either.  I'm kind of a foreigner in either place!  This has led me to a greater understanding that my true home is in Christ, with the hope and promise of an eternal home with Him.

with the flag of our adopted earthly home

We all probably find ourselves this Thanksgiving at different places in our thankfulness about our host countries.  Some of you may still be in the honeymoon phase of feeling like everything is wonderful!  Others may be just out of that stage and in full-on culture shock, finding it hard to like anything, really.  And, still others may be in a place where you can more realistically see both the good and the challenges of where you live.  Whichever category you fit in, I'd encourage you today to list some of what you love about your host country and culture.  Count your blessings!

Would you share with us some of your favorite things about where you live and serve?  Or, even do a similar top ten list and leave a link to your blog in the comments?  

 

Strangers in a Strange Land

 While I wrote this last November a lot of it holds true for this year which has again been full of ups and downs! We're thankful that it seems at the end of this year that ups outweigh the downs!  So today we will be sharing a meal with our Tico friends again, as a peace offering to the Lord. 

 

November.  It used to mean cold smacking your nose so hard it hurt, fires in the wood stove, sweaters, and the start of The Holidays. 

Now it means the end of rainy season, the start of the winds and a time that can be filled with a whole lot of missing family and the familiar of the Great Lakes. 

We’ve been in our host country and working with our ministry for just over a year now.  And while this won’t be our first holiday season here, this one seems harder somehow.

Maybe it’s because it’s been a hard year.  There have been many ups and downs in our family life, in the ministry we are working with, in the adjustment to living as foreigners in a strange land.  The other day as I looked at our calendar, trying to get a handle on the what the next month holds, I found myself thinking about another group of foreigners in a strange land. 

There was 102 of them, people who left everything for what they knew to obey God.  They set off on a crazy journey, way, way too late in the year (note: don’t leave England by boat in September of any year.  Not a good plan).  They didn’t get to what would become Massachusetts until November and really didn’t find a place to live until December of 1620.  No food, no shelter, diseases, no understanding of culture (note: don’t steal corn from native burial grounds, just saying.) No language to communicate with the Native Americas.  That first winter 45 of them died. Just under half. 

Then spring came. And with it Samoset, and Squanto and Massosite, all Native Americans who knew English, Squanto even had spent extended time in England.  These men helped the Pilgrims learn their new land.  They taught them what to hunt, how to grow crops that were new to them (note: Tomatoes and potatoes are good.)  And they survived.  They learned how to get along and work side by side with the people they encountered.  They grew food, and built houses, had babies and lived and thrived. 

When the harvest came around in the fall of 1621, the remaining Pilgrims had a three day party and invited their new friends, without whom they would all have been dead.  They thanked God for what He had done to get them through that year.  They also thanked the men and women who taught them how to live in the New World.

I was a bit overwhelmed by the similarities in our stories.  We left everything we knew to obey God.  We set off on our crazy journey in the fall too (note: leaving for Costa Rica in the fall is a good idea.  Ticket prices are a lot cheaper.)  We felt that weird moment somewhere over the ocean, when we realized we didn’t have a house, a car, a phone, or anything more than the suitcases in the belly of the airplane.  We’ve gotten sick this year, a lot.  We had little understanding of the culture (note: asking impatiently for a calendar with important dates for the next year doesn’t go over well.) We have stumbled over the language more times than we can count (note: año and ano are very, very different).  We haven’t died, but some days it feels like parts of us have. 

And then spring came.  And with it a group of people who are nationals, some who speak English and some have even spent extend time in the United States, but more importantly, they know Jesus.  They have shown us so much grace, teaching where to shop (note: try the crazy alien fruits at the market), what to say, how to say it, how to pass the annual car inspection.  And we have survived.  We are still learning how to get along and work side by side with our new friends.  But we are growing, and building friendships and living, and learning to thrive.

So yesterday we shared a very traditional Thanksgiving meal with our new friends.  To thank God for what He had done to get us through this last year and to thank the men and women who have let us into their lives and shown us how to navigate this new land.

I Am So Glad That Jesus Loves Me

This is often sung as a kid's song, but a few weeks ago we sang this in church, and the tune has been stuck in my mind and heart.  At our church, we put the words to the songs on an overhead.  This keeps people from singing into their songbooks!  Each week I type the words to the songs that we will be singing that Sunday morning in our worship service.  This makes me stop and think of the actual words we are singing.

Have often do we sings songs and realize at the end that we don't remember what we sang?  Our minds drift, we have kids to keep still, so and so just walked in, or whatever distractions you have in your church, and song time becomes routine and we mumble our way through it, singing empty words.

Song time is part of our worship to God, and I'm as guilty as every one else, but shame on us for allowing ourselves to just go through the motions!

Ok, enough parenting from me!  I want to share the words to this song, and hope you'll take a minute to think of the words, and that they will bless your heart today.

I am so glad that our Father in Heaven
Tells of His love in the Book He has given
Wonderful things in the Bible I see
This is the dearest, that Jesus loves me

Aren't you glad God gave us His Word?  His Word is filled with so many promises, and over and over it tells us that He loves us!  John 3:16 and Romans 5:8 are two of my favorites.

Though I forget Him and wander away

Still He doth love me wherever I stray

Back to His dear loving arms would I flee

When I remember that Jesus loves me

I love this verse.  Though I forget Him and wander away, still He doth love me wherever I stray.  Praise the Lord!  I John 1:9 - He is faithful and just to forgive us of our sin...oh, how undeserving we are of the grace and mercy of our God!

Oh, if there’s only one song I can sing
When in His beauty I see the great King
This shall my song through eternity be
“Oh, what a wonder that Jesus loves me!"

Can you imagine walking in Heaven, beholding the glory of our Savior?  We are so unworthy...oh what a wonder that Jesus loves me!  I am so glad that Jesus loves me...aren't you?

What songs have touched your heart recently?

The Lord will Fight for You

I am so thankful for all you.  Seriously, as much as I love my friends back in the States and can share some of this crazy international life with them, you people get it.  You live it, the day in and day out of this living in two worlds, feeling all the emotion that goes with it.

I've been at another low spot.  Some of it is simply being the mother of three kids under 6.  Motherhood is hard, no matter what time or place you live.  But it's compounded by living in a place where we don't have family, where the language, food, culture, transportation, tacka tacka tacka (blah blah blah in Spanish.  Yeah, there is a translation for blah blah blah!) are all different.

The night before Easter was bad folks.  Like as in I told my husband I was this close to driving to the airport and getting on a plane bad.  Some of it was sleep deprivation, our youngest at almost 10 months old still isn't sleeping through the night.  Some of it hormones, but a lot of it was real weariness.

Things looked better in the morning (sorta) and off we went to church.  That morning our pastor talked about the Resurrection and the part that hit me like a ton of bricks was when he said, "Mary Magdalen didn't realize Jesus was standing right behind her.  She was too worked up about the fact that his body was gone.  And maybe that's you.  God is right there next to you, you may not see Him, but He is."  Hummmm.

The next day I talked with a friend who is on her way to Spain.  She told me something similar, "Liz, God is fighting for you.  You may not feel it, but He is."  Hummmm.

Later that day, this verse popped into my head.

 credit: Sweet Blessings

To put this verse in context, this is what Moses told the Hebrews when Pharaoh's army was barreling down on them after they left Egypt.  I love how real the Bible words it all.  Here it is, from Exodus 14:

"They said to Moses, “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt? ¹² Is not this what we said to you in Egypt: ‘Leave us alone that we may serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” 

Ha!! I love the part, "Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you brought us out here to DIE?!"  Mooosseessssss!!"  Yeah, I can just imagine the whining  and weeping and gnashing of teeth.  And terror, really, pure terror of the entire Egyptian army coming after them.

And this is Moses' response:

 ¹³ And Moses said to the people, “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. ¹⁴ The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”

Man.  So the story goes on and you know how God parted the Red Sea, allowing all the Hebrews through and then the Egyptians went down into the path between the waters.  At this point the Bible says God " brought the army of the Egyptians into confusion."  Their wheels got all wonky, they couldn't drive their chariots correctly, all sorts of crazy things.  And get this!! This is what the Egyptians said:

“Let us flee from before Israel, for the Lord fights for them against the Egyptians.”

Yep, the Egyptians even saw it.  The Lord was fighting for the Hebrews.  Wow.

Ok, so I know I am not one of the Hebrews, but God is fighting for His kids.   So God was working this all out in me, and last Wednesday we got an email from a supporter.  They asked how things were and if my parents had been able to visit yet.  They haven't, and because of money, we really didn't know when they were going to come.  I have a brother in college right now, and a sister in high school, and well, money is just tight.  But these supporters emailed back and said, "We want to provide two tickets for your parents to come visit, sometime at the end of April or beginning of May."

Ummm, WHAT?!  The Lord is fighting for us.  We only need to be still.  We had been praying about this for so long, our middle son has been struggling with missing these particular grandparents terribly, and we had no idea how this was going to happen.  In fact, my mom had been praying that they could come visit by June.  How's that for a specific answer?

So, in just about 17 days, both my parents are coming.  My dad can stay for 9 days, and my mom will stay 18 in total!  My littlest sister will stay with my other sister and her husband  and well, God has worked all the details out, He's been fighting for me, even though I haven't felt it because I was too worked up about the fact that things were so hard.  I am grateful He is and absolutely over the moon about the fact my parents will be here so soon!

What area do you need the Lord to fight for you?  How can we pray for you?