A Father to the Fatherless

A father to the fatherless ... that is my God. There I was ... a 13 year old in a revival service desperately needing a "father" in my life. My father was an alcoholic at the time and was not there in the emotional sense that I needed. The preacher explained that God wanted to be not only my savior, but a father. My hand shot up as tears poured down my face that night in the revival service. I have known Him to be my father, my friend, my healer, my deliverer, my savior and so much more. 

We are serving in Germany, but several months prior to our arrival here we were in a Sunday morning church service. Following the service, the pastor asked the guest speaker if he would pray over us. The man prayed the he looked at my husband and told him that God would give him the insight to be able to reach the German people. He said that God wanted them to know that Germany is not the father land meaning Hitler, but it is the Father's land. It wasn't until a month ago that I realized how important this was. As my son and I were walking down the main street in Kandern, Germany we came across an ordinary light pole with an extraordinarily sobering message. 

                                

The sign translates to .... "No God, No State, No Father Land." My heart broke as the words sank in and I was reminded of the prayer and promise of that Sunday morning. In essence, the author of that short declaration is saying that the people of Germany are fatherless, unprotected and forgotten. In six short months, we have been told on two different occasions that God and church are for the old people here in Germany. The first was a young couple in their early thirties, the second was a lady in her fifties. God is wanting to wrap his arms around the people here in Germany and show them the Fathers love. He wants to do that through His people ... through me. 

Isn't it a privilege to share the love of God and to see hope in the faces of people without hope? We are blessed to be on foreign soil and I count it all joy! Let us never forget the reason we're here ... never forget the passion we once felt ... never forget the fatherless desperately needing a father. 

⁴ Sing praises to God and to his name!
    Sing loud praises to him who rides the clouds.
His name is the Lord—
    rejoice in his presence!

⁵ Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—
    this is God, whose dwelling is holy.
⁶ God places the lonely in families;
    he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy.

Psalm 68:4-6

How are you doing in your part of the world? Are the people receptive? 

Hello, I'm Heather. Beloved daughter of the King.

Ava, me, Amber and Dusty

These are my peeps.  

It was really encouraging to introduce my self after a long break from writing.  

Having moved to a Muslim country and all, the risk of blogging and 'fear of man' took over and I took a break.  It was a sad time of inner-blogging, like where one might store up a years worth of stories in their mind and one day explode!   I almost did just that, but then our Father prompted me to get back onto the blogger field.  

Whew, it was a close one! 

Dusty, a team from Russia, our girls and Khloe.  Beautifying the community by picking up trash.

I almost forgot about or 5th family member, Khloe Purple.  Our American Bulldog pup that we brought with us here.

Thanks for your questions about my journey.  

Here I go sharing with you our story, I will try to keep it PG13. 

Loving on the unlovable, the thrown away race of our city.  These 13-15yr. old girls are at a high risk of prostitution and some are known to be involved.  

How did you and your husband meet?

This is a tale for the ages.  A real cinderella story.  I was a hot mess.  Just like Cinderelly was.  Broken home, no earthly daddy, and a mama that desperately longed for a touch from God, but found it in the arms of men.  This was my model growing up.  I had a pretty face,  a great personality and a bag of hurts that I carried around from one relationship to the next starting at about 15.

At 10 yrs. old I had a vision from God that shook me after my grandfather died, at 14 yrs. I read the Pentateuch while grounded to my bed for a month.  At 15 yrs. I went to church with a friend for a few Sundays.  At 16 yrs. old I met with Mormon Missionaries at the public library, and at 17 yrs. I called a synagog to ask about who Jesus was to them, when they did not answer I drove to see them and the Rabi told me I could not come in and that I needed to consult my pastor.  

I never once as an American Teenager, seeking for truth had an adult share the gospel with me.  Never one time. The day I turned 18 yrs. old I moved out of my mom's house and into an apartment with a friend.  Together we clubbed, drank and did cocaine.  One night after the club my roommate sat on our kitchen floor and wept.  She had come from a similar home as mine, but an aunt of hers took her to church and helped her see who Jesus was a few years prior.  She called out to Jesus and asked him for forgiveness.  At 3 am, after making a lot of bad choices.  She talked to God like he was there with us in that apartment.   I could not believe it, this was the God I had been searching for since I was 10.  I began to pray to 'her' God to meet a boy that loved Jesus like she did, like I wanted to.  It was a funny process, my prayer life at first.  I was like, "God, I know your real, and I want to know about Jesus, my friends' Jesus..."   

Literally , at that same time my now hubby  was on Spring Break on an Island off the coast of Mexico.  He walked out of a bar at 3am, with no way to get back to his hotel. A man was waiting there for him to give him a ride.  A youth pastor that was asleep until  Holy Spirit woke him and told him to go to the parking lot Dusty walked out into was waiting for him.   He took Dusty back to his hotel, asked to pray for him and then left.  4 hours later the pastor returned to Dusty's hotel room and woke up the group of people and offered to take them to breakfast.  Free food could not be turned down so they all went.  They ended up in a church, for a "Spring Break Outreach".  But, there was endless pancakes so they stayed and ate.  2 weeks later the same pastor called my sweet hubby and over the phone he gave his life to Christ. 

 We met at a bar a month or so later and it was love at first sight.  I was 18 he was 21 and my mom was there in person partying with us, she approved so we decided then and there we would become a couple.  Not for real, but for the night.  I remembering asking him after the bar closed as he sat on my couch if he knew God.  He told me he did and then he LEFT.  It was nice actually.  He treated me with as much respect as could have been had, considering the circumstances we met under and called me the next day and then every day since then for 15 years or more.  

We were engaged 5 months after meeting and married a year later.  We knew no believers, not one.  Not even a granny or cousin.  It was truly a 1st generation pioneering process for us as a couple.  It was messy and raw first few years of marriage.  I gave my life to Christ somewhere along the way.  I do not have a date, just a season of exploration and Him revealing himself to me in real ways.  My prayer was answered, I did meet a Christian boy.  I believe God used that prayer to save me from possible years of drug usage or a party life at least.  Dusty was a cops kid and did not date girls' that did drugs.  I remember how easy to was to give up the party scene and be Dusty's girl.  For the first time I felt safe, loved and  protected. 

Ephesus, Turkey

 How did God call you to your country of service?

How about that!  I moved to Germany with my mom at 13 and more than half of my friends were Turkish.  As she sought after her birth parents for 1 year, I made relationships.  Years later our family went on a Missions trip to Honduras where God spoke to my hubby and told him to pursue a life of missions.  We sold everything we owned and went to be trained up.  Week one of training the 'Turkey' words of the Lord began.  One of the times we prayed as a family our youngest then 5, had a picture in her mind that she described as the exact image of Cappadocia and the persecuted early church.  We spent 3 years in and out of Turkey before moving in April of 2012.  Looking back over the events of my life it looks like a tapestry.  Woven are the parts together that I can look back on to see the path that led me here.    

 Kids camp for under privileged kiddos .

How is the adjustment phase going for you? 

We have been living here officially for almost 18m.  It was the best ever first couple of months I tell ya.  (We lived for 6 months in a different city and then went back to the States for Christmas then moved, so really we have been here for 2 years.)

Then, something happened.  I had to learn to ride a scooter with 2 kids on it and I freaked out.  My hubby left for a month and I at that point was still a none walking American so I had to learn how ride it.  This was about the time where I had the "What have I done, I have ruined my childrens' lives coming here and, so on season." It was hard to get through, and I felt really alone.  Our team mates were both MK's themselves &  could not at all relate to the major life change we had just made.   It was not a sacrifice, more like an adventure we were embarking on that Father had been waiting for us to walk into.  We now have a car and a scooter and I drive both, and I even go on the highways too.  In all honesty, I feel like I have adjusted well to living in the field.  

In your experience, are the hardest challenges the

constant mundane that weakens you, or the infrequent extreme that has potential to break you? 

Romans 8:17 Now if we are children, then we are heirs--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

I was afraid someone would ask a question like that!  Glad you did.  You know, I was the queen of challenges in my old life.  I was a Celebrate Recovery alum,  bible study leader, served all over the planet really over the years.  Challenges are what come about when dealing with relationships.  I thought I had mastered it all.  I had not really under went suffering though in the church up until now. His glory is being revealed, I will share in it! 

Then, I moved to Turkey and all my perfect little American church experience went out the window.  (Figuratively speaking) The same window that does not have a screen in it that let the mosquito in that's buzzing in my ear right now....  The day to day things have been fine here really.  Nothing comes pre made in Turkey. Not the corporate times of worship that we are used to or the food that were are used to eating.  I have become the cook I always dreamed of being.  And am on the way to having a authentic deep relationship with my Father as a result.  

I have gotten used to always having to have my house spotless incase of the random unexpected guest (that expects my house to be spotless).  Homeschooling my girl's is actually going well and I am in a 2 month season of daily commuting 2 hours to a city of 1,000,000 for language school.  Hard, yes but necessary.  The only months I can go are in the summer when the kiddos are not in school.  Mundane, I am cool with it.   

It is the infrequent extreme that has rocked us recently.  We are well known at our local church in Kansas and with our training/sending agency.  But here, we were not well known and have been miss understood.  Very. It is part our fault.  It has been really hard explaining who we are as a family.  And in the end, we are this week asking God to reveal His path for us as we were released from our team to do so.  Extreme.  A clean slate, a fresh start and one Good Father.  I am feeling rejected at times, and bummed at how unfair things seam.  I have 3 year old tantrums occasionally.  My Father comforts me and reminds me of His great sacrifice to us. In the most gentle of ways. 

After the final round table meeting was finished I wept.  Somehow this feels like a failure.  


Then, the 3 ladies on our team went to Greece together to meet with some folks that have a heart for the exploited over at  A-21.  IT was an incredible 4 days of choosing love, choosing relationship, and choosing to lay down my flesh.  The trip had been planned for 3 months, I did not want to go, but God spoke to my heart to 'go away with Him'.  So I did.  He helped me choose love.  The old me would just run.  It is easier.  Much easier.  But the reward was immediate, I got to eat pork steak for the first time in a year and a half. We ate pork pizza, pork sausage and we were blessed.  Really blessed. 

Choosing Love while enduring the Storm is not easy.  It stinks a lot.  It does not feel fair.  I imagine how our Savior might have felt as He chose love.  It was not fair, it it was not easy and He endured the storm of the ages.  We serve a humble, forgiving Father.  I am honored to be made more into His sons' likeness through this difficult time.

Pork hotdogs wrapped in Bacon in Thessaloniki, Greece

I am going to wrap 'er up.  It is a tad bit late and I have a worship set to sing at church in Turkish in the morning.  I hope this encourages someone out there dealing with what seems like extreme circumstances.  My family will recover, we will seek the Father and He will speak to us a new path.  I will not fear it, because I trust in his plans and guidance.  

New Covenant Church of Ephesus 

To wrap up.....

I was encouraged by another sister from England to talk a bit about çay, or tea.  Turkey is the worlds' largest consumer of this this tasty dark friendship potion. There is a special thing about çay. It is just plain delicious. 

Also, it is a fraction of the cost of a Starbucks peppermint mocha.  Score!  It demands a smile, a conversation and teaches hospitality.  I never ever drank it as a Kansan, ever.  (For real, I never had a glass of tea ever.)  Now I am proud to say I do and I really like it.  More than coffee even.  I am becoming Asian, and I think I like it.   If I brought you to my neighbors' house she would make us çay, and insist on us staying for dinner, at 10pm.  

This is a night culture we live in here.  

Because it is just too hot to fellowship in the heat of the day. 

And it's Ramadan...so no one is eating until then anyways right now.  

Blessings sister and fellow Heirs!  His glory will be something marvelous to behold!  Never give up the good fight.  

In His love-

Heather

Kids on the Field: Babies

So last time we talked about Kids on the Field, we talked about cloth diapering.  How 'bout we talk about having babies on the field?

Quinn wasn't born here in Costa Rica.  We say he's "casi Tico" (almost Costa Rican) but I was too chicken to have him here.  You think I am joking.  Check out our middle son's birth story.  We just felt like it was a wiser decision for our family to have him near family.  So that's what we did.  We left Costa Rica when I was somewhere around 34 weeks (still able to fly internationally.  The ticket counter guy really thought I shouldn't be flying!) We moved back when Quinn was just 3 months old.  Really, we were in the States long enough to have him and get his passport.

I did most of my prenatal care here while we were in language school. We saw a general practitioner
here who works with language school students.  He speaks perfect English and knows both the North American practices and Tico practices. He works with a lot of expats, so he was able to help maneuver the coming and going with the records and all.  When we were in Michigan for Christmas I saw the OB that I had when I was pregnant with our oldest.  That was the practice that delivered Quinn when we got back stateside.

So while I didn't personally have a baby overseas, I know plenty of women who did and had great experiences.  Sure, there were differences, some good, some bad, but all lived to tell the tale.  And isn't' that a funny thing about us women?  We love a good birth story!  I was once in a conversation with a North American, and Costa Rican and a Korean in which we were all exchanging birth stories.  It's just universal.

So, what's your overseas pregnancy or birth story?

Tuesday Topic?

I don't have anything to ask you right now.  This is my personal favorite part of this blog, where we interact with each other. Please help keep it going! If you have a “Tuesday Topic” question, email it to me at fylliska@gmail.com. Provide your blog address if you would like to be linked to, or specify if you would like to remain anonymous. Thanks!

And, actually, I'm out of town right now. This is a pre-scheduled post. If I'm not back by next week, there won't be a Tuesday Topic then, but if you send in your questions, we can start back up the week after that.

Meet Chrysti

Wouldn't it be fun if we could sit down with a 'cuppa' (British English for 'cup of tea') and chat for awhile? But seeing as we're all over the world, this space will have to do. So let's get ourselves a cup of tea (or coffee if you prefer) and have a little chat. :-) Last week, you all got to ask your questions, so I'll do my best to answer them this week!

I wanta know about this missionary dating story!

First, for those of you who may not have heard the term before, 'missionary dating' usually refers to a Christian girl who is dating a non-Christian guy with the hopes that she'll influence him to accept Jesus. Our definition of missionary dating is a bit different. I won't share the whole story here since it's kind of long, but I'll do my best to share the important stuff! We met at his brother's wedding, but didn't communicate until a year later when his brother and sister-in-law (a good friend of mine) set us up. He was in England at the time, already serving in his ministry. So after chatting through emails, a few phone calls and Skype, we started officially started dating on Thanksgiving Day in 2009. I was in the US and my husband was in Singapore on one of our organisation's ships.

When I was sharing with a friend that I was dating a guy, I mentioned that he's a missionary and that most of our relationship up until that point was over Skype. She replied with, "Well, that redefines 'missionary dating' doesn't it?"

Obviously, the rest is history, but if you'd like to read the rest of the story, you can hop over to my blog if you like. :)

How has it be been for you adjusting to a culture that your husband had already been living in for a long time?

It wasn't easy at first. My husband had his life already set up here, and it was a challenge at times to feel like I was now included in his life in England. One thing that helped me adjust was getting to know a family who didn't know us before we got married.

What do you love about England?

I love the history in this country. England has been around much longer than America so homes, castles and the like that are more than a couple hundred years old are quite impressive and it give me a new definition of 'old.' Hadrian's Wall, an old Roman wall goes through our town, and there are still parts of it remaining. How cool is that?

I also love the people. I know that might sound a little cliché, so maybe I should explain. You may be familiar with the mantra "Keep Calm and Carry On" that the British adapted during the War in order to cope with the changes and unrest that was happening around them. All these years later it's still part of their culture to remain calm and keep to themselves. It has been so neat over the past 3 years to see God working in the hearts of the people we've met here from our neighbours to my midwife to the people in our home group from church.

What are some of your ongoing challenges?

Every missionary struggles in the area of raising support. But we find that with my husband's role in IT that it's an ongoing challenge to raise support because we're not actually "on the field" doing outreaches and translating the Bible. My husband helps provide the technology side of things so that those doing the outreaches and translating can do their ministry. It's been a challenge to share with people that IT is a ministry, too.

What do you think is the biggest cultural difference?

You know, it's strange. The differences in culture are so subtle that I don't notice them until we go back to the US on home assignment. The biggest thing I've noticed is that people generally aren't as friendly here. I walk into a shop, and everyone working there more or less stares you down, not saying anything unless I ask for help. In the US, it's the opposite: I walk into a store, and everyone working there jumps at the opportunity to help me find what I'm looking for. When we were on home assignment, my husband and I would go for walks in the subdivision near my in-laws'. People working in their yards would say hello, which was really strange to us now because we just don't see that in England. My husband spent a couple of weeks asking me, "Why are they saying hello? We don't know them!"

Do you have a British accent yet? Or does your husband?

This question makes me chuckle. :-) Whenever we go back to the US, people say we have a British accent. But compared to those who actually do have one, we definitely don't. We use British words and spellings, and speak with the inflection that the British use. But I wouldn't say we have accents. My husband has been here almost 8 years and has yet to pick up an accent, except the words and inflection. People here say we have a beautiful American accent, although I don't understand what's so nice about an American accent!

And now it's my pleasure to introduce to you Heather!

Romans 8:17 Now if we are children, then we are heirs--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

Hello beautiful sister's and fellow heirs.  My name is Heather.  I am the Lord's beloved.  I have a tattoo on my wrist to prove it ;)  I am a mama of 2 very spunky tween-agers, and have been married to the 'BFF of Jesus' for 14 years next week.  That's code for, 'my man is really relational and has a friend on 6 of the 7 continents'.  I was practically a child when I was engaged, but that works out great for me now because everyone is pleasantly surprised to learn that my daughters are indeed not not my little sisters.   My hubby and I are both 'first gens', as I like to call us.  Delivered out of generations of bondage and slavery into new life in Christ Jesus.  All we knew when we got married was that we couldn't repeat the mistakes we endured as kids from broken homes and that God was real.  Radical transformations in our early 20's, was followed up by healing through Celebrate Recovery at our local church in Olathe, Kansas.  We have been ministering in modern day Ephesus for about 2 years.  If God would have said in the begining of our missions training that he was sending us to a Muslim country with a heart for the exploited I might have pretended not to hear and gone back 'life as normal'.  (I miss my minivan and Mexican food a lot, by the way. ) I love how our Father shows us what we need to know when we need to know it.  He is trust worthy.  He calls 28 year old soccer mom's that wear too much mascara to the nations.  He truly has a sence of humor too.

So what is all this talk in the 8th chapter of Romans about... 'indeed sharing in his sufferings in order that we may also share in His glory' ?  I have been truly stripped of some flesh recently.  Our Father has been patient and, oh so loving with me during our years together.  He continues to be, but today is hard even still.  I am in a season, where everything I have been taught can be applied and lived out IF I decide to.   I have been stretched to the brink of utter dependence on God.  My middle name is 'Taffy' by now.  I have been depending on 4 words,  Love God and Love people.  I am humbled and find freedom in saying, that I am suffering right now like I never have before, and despite great difficulty I can remain Christ like.

I feel like I finally have a glimpse, a fragment of understanding into the rejection that our precious Savior felt.   He told me he sees my tears today.  I was thankful.

So, can we talk about Suffering?  About how it makes us stronger, and is directly linked to endurance?   Can we remain upright in trials and have a sweet attitude knowing God permitted it?  Are we really able to give thanks in everything?  I think we are.  Let's talk about it in the comments section below.  Do you need encouragement?  Do you have a victory story to inspire others?  Got to it, people are needing to hear from God, and your typed words might be what he uses.  

 "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, LONG-SUFFERING, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." (Galatians 5:22,23) 

 What questions do you have for Heather? Please leave your questions in the comments and she will answer them next week!

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!

Tuesday Topic: Prayer requests

How can we pray for each other right now? Post your prayer requests in the comments!

We're leaving tomorrow for two weeks at a family English camp. Please pray for health and safety for us and a great time of fellowship and outreach for all involved.

(If you have a “Tuesday Topic” question, please email it to me at fylliska@gmail.com. Provide your blog address if you would like to be linked to, or specify if you would like to remain anonymous. Thanks!)