Tempted to Tell All

“Mama, when we were at the library the other day, I was tempted to tell someone about Jesus and how He was born to save us. Is that wrong?”

I couldn’t help but smile.

Funny question for a missionary kid to be asking…

After all, isn’t that what missionaries do? Isn’t that what we teach kids that missionaries do?

Missionaries go, into ALL the world for this reason: telling ALL who have never heard or who have never believed or who just need to be reminded – ALL about Jesus.

The message is first one of confrontation – the horribly bad news that ALL, are sinners and that as sinners, we are unable – in and of ourselves – to DO ANYTHING to remedy our sin problem. Which brings us to the second part of the bad news: the required punishment for any and every sin is death.

Grasping that part of the message is necessary; thankfully it doesn’t stop there or we would ALL be without hope.

The second half of the missionary message tells of reconciliation and restoration. It’s the hopeful part… the better part.

ALL men need someone to save them. So God sent ONE, His Son.

It is what we celebrate during this holy season.

Jesus came – born as a baby, but also born to die… for ALL men.

He willingly and sacrificially took the punishment for ALL sin so that ALL men could be reconciled to God. The Good News gets even better. Jesus didn’t stay dead. God brought Him out of the tomb, alive and conquering death. Because He lives, ALL men who believe this merciful message of grace and then trust Him have the hope of ALL eternity together with Him.

So I smiled when my little one asked her question. And I told her, “Of course it’s not wrong!”

She grinned and said that next time, she’d be kind by listening to God when He was tempting her to tell…and we went on with our day… and week…

God, however, wasn’t finished with me yet. He had an additional thought with which I need to wrestle so He kept bringing my mind back around to her question.

Particularly the phrase tempted to tell.

The word tempted usually has a negative connotation. The dictionary definition, “to lure; to entice; to attempt to persuade (someone) to do or acquire something that they find attractive but know to be wrong or not beneficial,” clearly puts a negative spin on the word.

Why would anyone feeling that push or pull to share this message of hope describe it as temptation? In the case of my little one, I’m guessing it was the misapplication of a new word recently added to her vocabulary.

I don’t have that same excuse, and I’ve been convicted.

Far too often those words “tempted to tell” accurately describe my approach to sharing the Gospel message. Telling is so “in your face.” Telling implies that somehow I know best and that the way I’m describing is right. Telling doesn't skip the first part, the confrontational part, of the message. I'm naturally more comfortable with that subtle, less confrontational approach. Oft’quoted words usually attributed to Francis d’Assisi: “Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words,” hold great appeal. “Your talk talks and your walk talks but your walk talks louder than your talk talks” is another catchy phrase I’ve commonly heard.

I’m tempted to tell – but can I be telling ALL if I won’t use words?

No! The idea that we can communicate why Christ came without ever speaking a word is a forcefully magnetic ILLUSION.

Its attractiveness compels in a world that often assumes words are, at best, cheap… At worst, words are perceived as worthless and devoid of meaning. But without words, any actions and ALL good deeds I do… they point at me. And the reality is that my righteous life by itself is woefully insufficient. 

No matter how good, no matter how tempting the illusion might be, my life alone cannot ever adequately tell of the baby born to die for ALL.

A godly life cannot be the good news.

A godly life, when combined with words, can herald and proclaim the good news, just as angels did in a night sky more than 2000 years ago, just as shepherds and wise men did after worshiping Emmanuel.

In the beginning was the Word,and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

The same was in the beginning with God.

All things were made by him;

and without him was not any thing made that was made.

In him was life;

and the life was the light of men.

And the light shineth in darkness;

and the darkness comprehended it not.

…And the Word was made flesh,

and dwelt among us,

and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,

full of grace and truth.

(from John 1) 

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How are you (in your place of ministry or country of residence)

“tempted to tell all,” particularly at this time of the year?

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The mothers who write for Missionary Mom's Companion will be taking a break for the next few weeks. We are busy telling the Good News and celebrating the birth of the Savior, our Savior, with friends and family all around the world.

We look forward to returning sometime in mid-January.

Wishing our readers and members of this blog community a

Merry Christmas

and a

Blessed New Year! 

Living Nativity Photos: Dick Stewart

(This post has been slightly adapted from its original posting here.)

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)

Traditions

One of the traditions that have developed over the last 10 years in our little family is our Christmas card.   Somehow, that first year we were married, we had a silly one.

And then things went downhill...like this one

Or this one

And now, I give you this years:

So what traditions do you all have?  Silly, serious?  What has worked in both your home culture and your host culture?

Kids on the Field: Traditions with a Twist

This last weekend was Labor Day in the States (does the US have to do EVERYTHING different?  Why is our Labor Day in September and not in May like everyone else?)  Our oldest is attending a school that runs on the US schedule and so he got US Labor Day off.  Funny, I know.

So in an effort to teach our kids not only the Tico holidays (He had Costa Rican Mother's Day off two weeks ago and will have Costa Rican Independence Day off in two weeks) we thought we would try to do some traditional Labor Day things, you know with a Costa Rican Twist.

Now, Costa Rica doesn't have many lakes which figure heavily into Michigan Labor Day traditions (you are never more than 6 miles from a lake in The Mitten State).  But you still roast hot dogs over the fire and camp right?  Well...

We have had a fire in our driveway a couple of times and that was the plan...until we remembered it's rainy season and there was a impressive downpour late afternoon.  So we made pigs in a blanket (I used my pizza dough recipe and wrapped it around the hot dogs and baked them.) and had carrot sticks and chips...totally Labor Day food.

And then we went camping.  We have a great covered deck, so early that day we rigged up a tent of sorts with a tarp, a few sheets and some clothes pins.  The boys had a blast getting everything ready.  The plan was to sleep out there in our "awesome sleeping bags"!  Well...

As I was getting the boys ready for "bed" our middle guy said, "I can't wait to go in the tent!  I don't want to sleep in there. I like my bed!"  Yeah, I like how in the same breath he's excited and not excited. But we tried to talk him into it...and it worked for a whole half hour while they played. And then when it was really time to sleep, he gave up and came in.  Our oldest lasted another 5 minutes without his brother.  So much for camping!   Shhhh, don't tell them, but I was glad I didn't have to sleep out on the hard deck...just sayin.

Ok, so what Traditions do you give a Twist? 

Is It Okay to Celebrate?

I feel a little torn sometimes about patriotism. Sometimes from pressure I put on myself, sometimes from the culture I currently live in, sometimes from my home culture.  And it all leaves me a little confused about how I should feel, how I should teach my children.

It seems it's become politically incorrect to be patriotic in the U.S. except on national holidays.  Even then, there are subtle warnings and hidden messages to keep that in check and remember that we're part of a global society.  At the risk of hurting other people's feelings, we squelch the pride we feel in our home country.

This past week, I sat in on a workshop presented to Paraguayan high school students learning English language and culture.  The American woman giving the presentation was teaching about Flag Day and shared a brief history of our flag, the meaning of the stars and stripes and various designs as states were added to our number.  She then showed a few other flags from other countries and asked if the students could identify them.  The last flag was a banner with a dark background and a photo of Earth.  She ended her presentation by saying, "And this is my favorite flag of all, the world flag."  And a little red flag of my own went up inside me, causing a few days of reflection on why.

The American flag at a ceremony we attended
at the US Embassy in 2011

When we first moved to Paraguay, I almost felt embarrassed to be an American.  I quickly learned that here, the reputation of a typical American was either a young hippie into loose sexual relations and heavy drinking or a tourist/business person a few years older who threw around his dollars and his supremacy, looking down on the poor Paraguayans and talking down to those he took the time to speak with or do business with.  The local people's impression of missionaries was only slightly different--spoiled folks coming in to say how things were different (better) in "my country" and to set the poor natives straight on how they're not living the Christian life right, according to the missionary's version of American Jesus.

We worked hard to shatter those stereotypes and take the focus off where we'd come from.  When kids asked us about the lifestyles they'd seen in the movies and assumed all of America lived in mansions on cul-de-sacs with butlers, we explained carefully about Hollywood vs. real life.  When adults asked us how we could take our girls from the land of plenty, we sang the benefits of living in Paraguay and told all the reasons we were happy our children were being raised in a culture of community.

We neglected to wear those Old Navy flag tee shirts and didn't plaster our motorcycle helmets with the stars and stripes, as we'd seen others do.  We tried to fit in here, choosing a local soccer team to root for, putting out the Paraguayan flag on holidays and draping our car in national colors on the appropriate days.  And I felt a sense of pride rise up in me for this country.  I saw people celebrating their heritage, their spirit of survival, their successes and their failures.  I saw how nice it was to have a sense of belonging and I felt my own sense of pride in my home country climb.

I thought back to my high school and my college.  On game day, you'd better believe I was rooting for MY team.  I had a history there that connected me with what that team represented, and I still deck out in orange when Clemson plays Carolina.  Does that mean I don't appreciate the people of the other schools?  That I devalue the education received there?  That I look down on those who graduated from Carolina or the fans who choose to root for them?  Not at all.  It just means I am proud of my hometown, proud of my college, proud of my state.

Of course, I have to be smart about throwing around that pride, not wanting to seem "better-than" the people I've come to live with who already struggle terribly with an inferiority complex.  But I have learned from the pride I see the Paraguayans (and other Latin Americans) display in their country, that I shouldn't feel ashamed of pride in my own heritage.  I shouldn't feel like I have to include myself in the world community at the expense of denying my roots.  I can be happy about my present, hopeful about my future, and still proud of my past, and I can't imagine why that would offend anyone.

We won't be celebrating with fireworks or a cookout here (it's cold and rainy), but tomorrow when I meet with the teens and tell them about our Independence Day, I may just be wearing that tee shirt with Old Glory on top of my long sleeves.  :)

Happy Independence Day!

Easter in Color

In Latin America, everything is done in color, and Easter is no exception! Our family has started a tradition of viewing the colorful "alfombras" (carpets) which fill the streets each Good Friday. These alfombras are made of sand and sawdust which is dyed and used to create beautiful images depicting Christ's life and death. Many people get up at dawn to begin work on their space, and they spend all day in the bright sun creating a vibrant carpet where the Good Friday procession will pass on their way to evening services. We love taking the time each Good Friday to remember Christ's death, and enjoy the culture where we live.

Here is some of the color we saw in the streets yesterday:

Happy Easter to those of you who will be celebrating tomorrow! How does your family celebrate? What traditions have you incorporated from your host country to make Easter more meaningful for your family?

Overseas Friendly DIY Valentine's Ideas

All last year in language school, holidays would sneak up on me.  As in, I would wake up one morning and be like, "awwww man!  How did it get to be insert specific holiday already?"  And the kicker was, we didn't own a car and getting to the store to find insert specific holiday food/decor item we equated with specific holiday  was challenging to say the least.  Even if we did manage to get to a store, usually that specific thing, you know, jelly beans, or whatever didn't exist here.  I would wind up feeling homesick and sad and maybe just a bit grouchy too.

Well.  This year I have set out to remedy this.  I am working to plan ahead and realize long ahead of time that a holiday is coming and then to make provision for it, which is working some of the time.  But I do feel like I am at least a bit further ahead then I was last year.

I am also trying to think outside the "normal" for each holiday.  You know, embrace this living in another country and coming up with our new normal.

So in honor of Valentine's Day (do they celebrate that in your host country?)  here are a few last minute ideas that you should be able to pull off even if you can't find heart shaped boxes of chocolate for your valentines.  I am going to try to give you variations in case you can't find specialties things like heart shaped sprinkles or fancy North American ingredients like chocolate chips. 

First up, an interpretation of said heart shaped boxes of chocolate.  I made these up yesterday and I am so pleased with how they turned out.  Basically, it's a big heart shaped pocket.  I had some felt in my fabric stash that I cut into hearts, like this.  The big thing you want to do is make sure that the side with the opening has an overlap on between the top and bottom.

Then with some red yarn I did a blanket stitch around the outside.  No fabric or pretty red yarn?  A couple of pieces of paper and some glue, or tape, or staples or ribbon or whatever you have on hand, and you could accomplish the same thing.

I filled ours with some gummie worms (what boy doesn't like gummie worms?) I found here and some leftover Hersey's kisses someone sent us at Christmas time.

Now here's something you could do even today.  Heart Shaped sugar cookies.  No cookie cutter?  Use a knife and cut out a heart shape (you could even make a pattern out of paper or cardboard).  Don't have a pastry bag to write cute sayings, making them cute conversation hearts?  Use a plastic bag of some sort, fill it with frosting and cut just the tiniest part of the tip off.  Presto chango, a pastry bag you don't have to clean!  Want some cute colored sugar to sprinkle on?  I found you can dye sugar with food coloring.  Just a few drops in your sugar and now you have pink, or red or whatever color you choose!

And one last idea.  A paper heart garland. 

Cut out hearts of different sizes, and sew them together either with your machine or by hand.

 No needle and thread?  Tape them to a branch, string, whatever you have.  And remember, go for the little wonky, bohemian look and then you don't have to worry about things being perfect.

So how about you?  What helps you make holidays special?  Did you do anything for Valentine's Day?