Keep Running

A few weeks ago, before the rush of the school year began, and while the majority of Bulgarians were still lying in the sand by the sea, we set out to take in one of Bulgaria's wonders, Rila's Seven Lakes. After a short ride half way up the mountain and a chair-lift ride another part of the way up, armed with water, granola bars, sandwiches, and gumption, we started our trek up to the peak to see the famous 7 lakes. The hike was much more difficult than I expected. I wasn't ready for it. Isaiah wasn't ready for it. However, we were out-numbered. Thomas and Kate, with Brian at the helm, were full of energy and drive and because of their ambition, fortitude, and never-give-up attitude, all five of us kept trekking all....day....long.

By lake #1, 45 minutes in, Isaiah could have been done. The rocky terrain and nearly straight up incline was enough to do in any 5 year old, even more so the five year who really just wanted to "go home and eat candy." I don't know in what world he thought he was going to get candy, but I guess when you're wishing for deliverance, you might as well dream big. We let him take a little break. Fact was, we all kind of needed it. The first part of the hike was intense. It wasn't the worst of it, but our hearts were pumping, legs screaming, conscience reminding us, we really should work out more. 

The hike continued through a large beautiful field, and we took in all the beautiful views around us. Mountains reaching into the sky and our heart's beat returning to a normal metronomic rhythm. This was the easy part. We walked past two more lakes and sat down to have some lunch by one them. While the kids played by the water and Brian explored the sights with his Canon DSLR, I caught my breath and took in the grandeur of it all. Creation most certainly declares the glory of our great God and King!

After a rest, we set out to find the remaining 4 lakes. We weaved up more rocky terrain, and because my family can't ever seem to just follow the crowd, we ended up bouldering across a small creek, and crawling on our hands and knees to get to another resting place. Why can't we just follow the trail like all the normal people??? We came upon lakes 4 and 5 and had another rest. If Isaiah wasn't done before, he was most certainly done now. I kept reminding him, and myself, that we would be so happy when we finally made it to the top. He didn't care. I wasn't sure I did either.  

Brian took the two oldest and started the final part of the hike. Isaiah and I started our trek as well, but at the pace of a very exhausted 5 year old, who still just wanted to go home, eat candy, and play video games. I made him a deal that for every 50 steps we took, we would take a break. We counted every step and sat down on nature's benches, slanted rocks, to rest. At this point in the day, many hikers were on their way back down from the peak, and cheered us on with words, like "You're almost there!" and "It's just around the corner." and "Only a little further." Some people, still on their journey up, rested near us and pointed to Isaiah saying, "If he can do it, we can do it." Well, I wasn't sure he was going to do it, but whatever they needed to make themselves feel better. 

After a few 50-feet-pushes, Brian came tearing back down to meet us where we were resting and said, "You're so close, it's really right here" pointing around a bend. He picked up Isaiah, hoisted him on his back and shuffled with strength and grace up the mountain to the top. Who was going to carry me? I was happy to rest every 50 feet with Isaiah, but now I had lost the excuse of the 5 year-old's little legs and the need to rest was a pure and unadulterated reflection of my own conditioning and strength--or lack thereof.

Brian kept turning around and checking on me. Isaiah was a little less grumpy now that he had a human chair lift. I kept breathing and kept putting one foot in front of the other. And then, there it was. The view, the gorgeous panorama, with all the seven lakes in sight. It was beautiful. We sat with many other Bulgarians, some Germans and some French and took it all in. It was wonderful, and while we were so tired at the end of it all, we were all so thrilled that we did it. 

There were rock towers like this all over the place at the top. I suppose people built them to signify that they had made to the peak. Isaiah, Kate and Thomas worked on one to mark our family's arrival. 

The Lord often uses days like these to remind me of my spiritual walk with Him. He takes me up on these hikes to teach me so much about his glory, his majesty, his grandeur, and also about his strength in me, the journey, and my natural tendencies and bent towards sin. Most days I'm happy enjoying the view from the foot of the mountain where things are comfortable. But He takes us to high places to teach us, to grow and refine us, to give us more. More often than not the journey there is difficult. It's sometimes more dramatic in our own minds than in reality, but it's difficult all the same--there are always things to overcome, be they the physically rocky and steep terrain or be they the fight to walk solely in His strength, peace, and grace with gladness and joy of heart. 

On this particular beautiful day on one of Bulgaria's many beautiful mountains, I was reminded of one of my favorite passages of scripture, Hebrews 12:1-2:

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God."

The journey is long. It is often hard. Some days, I'm so exhausted that I barely have the strength to look up and around to see the gorgeous view around me. I have to fight to be thankful for all of the beauty--my wonderful family, my comfortable home, the beautiful parks, but above all, His Word and my miraculous salvation. The fight for joy, for contentment and for a thankful heart is hard when one is gasping for breath just trying to put one foot in front of the other. And then He sends people to encourage and to remind me, "You're almost there. It's around the corner. Don't give up. You can make it." The encouragement of the saints, of His Word, of His church that say "Run with endurance. RUN! Don't give up. Don't lose heart in doing good. Run. Run. His grace is sufficient. His strength made perfect in your weakness." His Word is life! And we must live in it, preach it to ourselves, and preach it to each other every day but especially on these hard mountain climbing days.

At the top!

There were mounds upon mounds of lessons for me that day as I watched my husband and all three of my kids take on this hike in different ways. Thomas who ran 100 meters in front of all us just wishing we would hurry up. He was running with endurance devoted to making it to the top. Kate bopping along, looking around without seemingly a care in the world. She was enjoying the view, full of joy, not even seeming to notice the tough inclines. Brian who was trying to make sure we were all ok and all together, but inwardly just wished to be 100 meters ahead with Thomas taking the hike by storm. He was encouraging us, pulling us along, and sometimes literally carrying one of us. He didn't have to hang back with the weaker ones. He did it out of love. Isaiah who would have never made it if it hadn't been for many moments of rest and his daddy's shoulders. He kept going mainly because we rested with him, carried him and cheered him on, but he made it. And me, who wanted so much to see all seven lakes in view, who really wasn't physically prepared for the hike but who kept going because of what I knew, though I had never seen, lay ahead. I am so thankful I didn't give up. It was worth the journey.

So, sweet friends, keep running and while you're at it, look up and enjoy the view. The reward will be great, and you'll be so glad you did. 

What I Want For My Kids

There is so much I want for my kids. The list could be infinite. I could name a gazillion things that I want them to know, do, learn. I could write a million words on how I want them to behave, respect their elders, strive for greatness, walk in integrity.  I want so many things for my kids. Good things.  Maybe even Godly things. But all of that good stuff doesn't amount to anything valuable without Christ.

In talking with seasoned mommies and mommies in the same phase of chaos as me, I have realized this mess doesn't get easier. These little years of chaos aren't even necessarily the hardest work. These little years are the grunt work, to be sure. "The World's Dirtiest Jobs" really should do a piece on stay at home moms (and also preschools workers because, bless). I have to bust my tail to make sure all these blonde heads are fed something beside ketchup as their only vegetable and strawberry ice cream as their only dairy with a little fruit. I work hard to make sure they go through their day with clean tushies and clean noses. I regularly pick up the brown thing off the floor and smell it in hopes that it is just chocolate, or, at worst, a hardened raisin. I step in puddles of yuck in the bathroom. I constantly answer questions. Constantly! I take little boys to play golf, a game for which I have very little interest.  I paint toenails and brush hair. I help with homework. I break up fights. And maybe I get a shower. At the end of the day when this introverted momma wants to crawl in a hole and hibernate for the winter (read: next 18 years), I finish up the dishes, tuck my little ones in bed, lay my hands on them and beg God to move in their lives.

Full blown 2 year old temper tantrum.

This season is hard. As the saying goes: The days are long, but the years are short. God has blessed me with women in my life who have older children, women who have just shipped their babies across the world for college, women who have walked a mile in my shoes. They have raised kids in literal war zones while their husbands were out ministering to mis-placed war refugees. They have shepherded their kids as they walked through learning a new language and living in a new culture far away from grandparents, a strong local church (with child care! Hello!) and the latest video games. I have had the immense privilege of watching them raise amazing kids who love Jesus with their whole hearts. And they have earned every right to say to me, "Cherish your time with your little ones. It goes by fast." Those words are not only a tender reminder that I only have a little while to hold my babies as they fall asleep and to play hide and seek with them around the house but they are also a reminder that I only have a little while to tell them all the things I want them to know. To teach them to be kind and respectful. To make sure they know that I love them, that I am for them. To teach them to obey the One who made them. To teach them to throw their hands in the air and dance in worship and hit their knees in prayer on the good days and the bad days. 

And so the conversations when we all get together and agree that this mothering thing is way harder than we could have ever dreamed when we were pushing around plastic strollers filled with Cabbage Patch Kids are good and helpful. I have no doubt that the conversations about diapers, potty training, temper tantrums, and sleepless nights will turn into conversations about puberty (bleh!), dating, curfews and colleges. We will go from being physically exhausted to being emotionally spent. It's what moms do, I suppose, on account of all the love--the sweet, deep, painful, terrifying love. Because I love them so deeply, I want to instill in them all the good things. But every night when I pray for them, sometimes the only thing I can muster the strength to ask is Lord, let them be found in You. Abide in them. Get ahold of their hearts and don't let go. And don't let them let go of You.  

Amen.

The end. 

Because all the knowledge and musical talent, all the golf and soccer practices, all the kindness to siblings and good grades will pass away. But Jesus remains forever. So, I will do my hardy best to instill in them all the good things and try not lose my temper when I step in the yellow puddles. And I will pray that down the road when I am looking at the young momma who is has no make-up on and whose hair is a mess, I can know that my big grown-up babies are walking in the power of the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus  O that they may taste and see that He is good. That they will be made alive together with Him. Oh that He will be their all in all! Let them gain Christ and be found in Him. That's all I really want for my kids.

No Matter How Small

I had a dream last night. In my dream, we were in the states meeting family for lunch, and planes were literally falling from the sky. It was said that politicians had turned off air-traffic control because they could, we guessed. Brian and I were appalled. People were dying right before our very eyes, and no one in the restaurant seemed to care. They all knew it was happening, but most said, 

“We can't really do anything about it.” 

“Eh, politics.” 

“I don't know anyone flying today, so it doesn't affect me or my family.”

“It's too hard to look at. I'm just here for lunch” 

Their responses went on, and Brian and I were out of our mind frustrated at the response. I normally don't remember my dreams, but this one is as vivid as the blue colored sky. I could apply it to various areas of my heart aches right now, but how perfectly does it fit into this ongoing 40 year old battle for the life of babies?! 

We can't just call it politics and look away. We must look it square in the face even though it hurts our hearts and makes us ache. It does affect you. And we can do something about it. We must! 

One of my heroes, Corrie Ten Boom, helped Jews escape from concentration camps in Nazi Germany. She ended up becoming a prisoner in one of those very camps. She lost almost her entire family to this evil. She suffered immensely. She and her family certainly knew the cost when they started hiding Jews in a secret wall of their home. They knew they could be caught, imprisoned, killed. They didn't turn their face away from what was happening, and they could have easily ignored it because they weren't Jewish. It didn't affect them. Instead they engaged in the fight head on. They showed love that has courage, strength, and sacrifice. 

We can engage in this fight, this holocaust, in love with courage and strength. Love DOES. And so I am promising to do something more than just shake my head and say America's going to pot. A couple of years ago I wrote THIS, but it needs so much more. So, here are some of my thoughts and action steps:

1. Women, I love you. I am one of you. We are strong. We are intelligent, capable, fierce. We love hard. We go for our goals. Some of us are genius scientists, some CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. Some of us are phenomenal, world altering cooks. We can lead conference meetings, change diapers while reading to a two year old, write novels and teach children. We can manage a home like a boss. We can fight in wars and work construction. We are amazing. And we need to stay healthy, but allowing for abortions to remain legal in our country does not keep us safe and healthy. We might think it makes us happy, but cutting a life out of your body will not make you happier. More successful, maybe? More in tune with your own desires? But happier and healthier is just a lie you have been fed. You are smart. Intelligent. Do some research. Ask some questions. Dig deeper. Don't turn your eyes away for the sake of “women's health.” And yes, think about women's health. But think about all the little baby girls who could have been amazing successful women if only it hadn't been an inconvenience to the women carrying them. Yes, those little girls matter too. 

2. To those of you who mourned Cecil, the beloved lion. You are precious. Do not read that as sarcasm. I mean it. It is good to care about Cecil. It is good to care about animals. I, myself, am not the biggest lover of animals. I'm not even really a pet person, but bless those beautiful, amazing, hairy or scaly or jumpy little creatures. And bless those of you who love them so much that you cry big elephant tears when they are hurt. You are kind and merciful. And because I believe you are kind, I am asking you to, just for a minute or two, consider the babies, the human ones, too. They matter like Cecil matters. All life matters. Little, big, hairy or covered in skin. But let me add this: humans, these little babies, they are different than Cecil because they are made in the image of God, and the Bible says they are being knit together in their mother's womb by that very God. I realize that some of you don't believe that either, but it doesn't make it any less true and it doesn't make that baby that our country is deeming a product for research any less precious. Let's fight to protect it, each one. Let's cry big fat elephant tears over every one lost. Let's mourn that they were brutalized and destroyed. Let's honor each one like we would honor any life.

3. There are people fighting the fight in real ways. You can fight with them.

• First Choice Pregnancy Solutions  and pregnancy care centers all across the country are fighting to care for women who are in need of good health care, who don't have the resources to financially support a child, who were abused, or who have been abandoned by the father. They are fighting for the women by offering practical support, ultrasounds, counseling, adoption resources, groceries, even baby showers. Good, loving, sacrificial things are happening within and without of the walls of these centers. Women are feeling valued, cared for, loved. And they are choosing life because they are given practical ways in which they can. Women are hearing heart beats and falling in love with life. Give of your money, time and talents to support these great places. Life transforming, good things are happening here. It would be worth your investment. Google it and find one in your area.
• Loving amazing people who are willing to adopt children, including those with Downs or other handicaps, are raising money to take sweet babies home. This is a big part of the fight. If we truly value life, we must offer our lives, our home, our family to one (or many) of these sweet babies who need a family. Sign up for a foster class in your state. Host one in your church. Look into adoption agencies. Pray. And if you can't adopt, give to someone who can, like this lady and her husband who already have five and are bringing home number six in the near future. LOVE!
• We also need to offer our lives, our home, our family to that brave girl who chose life but may have lost everything in the process. Church, you need to get this better. Get involved in your local pregnancy care center. Volunteer to help these women. Give them a bed to sleep in. Help pay the rent on their apartment. There are real ways you can help these ladies. We must.
• And that teenage girl who got pregnant out of wedlock from your church's youth group. Love the mess out of her. Don't ever, for even a split second, let her feel judged, shunned or alone. 
• And that girl who chose abortion, let her know you love her wildly. Take her for coffee, invite her into your home, make her up a bed if she got kicked out of her house for making this decision. Walk with her, listen to her, laugh with her. Love her. Because y'all Jesus loved you and me and our hearts were fiercely dark and full of sin, but God.... Be her grace-stepped-in person. Point her to the lover of her soul. And love her deeply and genuinely—no strings attached.
• Call your senators. Yes, you can do that. They supposedly work for us, right? Let them know, kindly, what you think about Planned Parenthood and that you thoroughly dislike your tax dollars going to support it. It's time it stops. We can do better at offering women good health options while not killing babies. And after the last 24 hours, it is clear we are going to have to be loud to make our voices heard. Money speaks louder than morals, and most of us aren't rolling in the dough like Planned Parenthood. So y'all pray for them to be haunted by the decisions they are making (or not making) in the name of freedom. 

4. Take this seriously. Read THIS and tell me they aren't babies we are killing?! These are babies. I carried four in my womb, and three to term, and I know they are as real and as human as I am sitting here right now. Fight for them like you would your own child. Fight for them harder than you would a lion or sea turtles. Because “a person is a person no matter how small.”

Y'all really, I know this fb trend of videos and articles will blow over. We will stop looking at it and thinking about it every day. Some of you already have because it is too heavy. We will go back to our day-to-day and forget that somewhere there is a young woman who thinks this is her only option, somewhere there is a baby being torn to pieces because of science or convenience or career or college. So please, please don't look away. We can fight in a loving way. We can hold the hands of scared women. We can pray. We can have good, productive conversations on the issue. But we can't look away and say it isn't our issue. 

It's heavy. I don't like the weight and I can't bear it. But somebody must because these are babies, little tiny humans who barely weigh anything, and their lives are worth the weight of my time, my energy, my prayers, my fight. I can't look away when planes are falling from the sky in my dream and I won't look away now. It's been said on the social media world, and I will say it again, “This is our Wilberforce moment.” And as he, the abolitionist, said, 

“You may choose to look away, but you may never again say that you did not know.”

Refining Through Culture Shock

There is a little thing that we expats all know about. If you have lived in a foreign country for any amount of time, you know all about it.  It's our thing. We own it. We claim it. We yell it out when we are having a awful day. We use it as a crutch when we have been really mean to someone who lives in our home or helps clean our toilets. It's culture shock! And somehow we can't seem to explain it to volunteer teams, people visiting for two weeks or the people we reunite with in the states.  They couldn't understand if they tried. There is a possibility that that time they went on a trip to Mexico for two weeks, they had a slight bit of culture shock. Sure, confronted with the fact that we as an American people are grossly independent and wildly materialistic will smack anyone in the face during their two weeks in the slums of a foreign country, but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about how the days drag on, language class is producing in you nothing but a babbling two year old, you can't figure out why the people on the mopeds seem to have a death threat and why on earth they don't just drive on the sidewalk, and for the life of you, you can't figure out what that awful smell is that meets you every single time you walk into the grocery store. You don't like picking up hand-fulls of meat and shoving it into a bag. And for the love, why is it so doggone hot?! And the people that you should understand and relate to the most, your fellow expats, well, some days you just think they are weird, and while you truly want to understand them and live in fellowship with them, it is a battle. Yes, I am probably being too candid here, but I guarantee if you put a group of us all on a panel and made us drink truth juice, we would all say the same thing about what is going on during culture shock.

Culture shock. We use it to justify all of our junk those first few months and even year of overseas living! We don't feel worthy of what we are being asked to do. We feel completely, overwhelmingly inadequate. We can't share Jesus. We can barely say 'How are you?' without accidentally offending someone. We are being radically stripped of everything we held on to. We thought that the 'emptying of self' was over when we gave away most of our belongings and said heart-wrenching goodbyes to people that we love dearly. Turns out, that was only the beginning. We got gut-punched, again, about two weeks after we got off the plane and realized this is our new reality and we are just not built for this life.

So then we try and fix it. We throw ourselves into activities that we think we can control, and then reality hits again, and we are faced with the fact that we can't control anything. Nothing! Every single thing that we held onto is pried from our dying hands.

Yep, I said dying. Dramatic? Perhaps. Reality? Maybe. Because if we have not completely and totally died to self and surrendered every solitary thing, it will be stripped away for us. We call this culture shock. It's lovely really. I can't hold on to or boast in anything. This out-of-control-ness produces different things in different people depending on the day. Somedays it makes me want to cry all day (which then produces a wretched migraine). Somedays it produces anger. I'm talking rage, and I really just need to punch something. It produces loneliness and self-insecurities that you didn't know were there. And you realize how very much you suck (sorry dad, but that's really the only appropriate word). You are the noble person who committed her life to proclaiming good news and love and hope to a lost world, and you can barely manage to get dinner on the table without crying because you can't figure out your tiny oven or you had a moment of thinking about how amazing your mom's chicken pot pie is and you don't know when you will get to eat it again.

You experience loss and pain over and over again. It's full on war against your heart and mind.  It's war on your family and every other relationship in your life. And we call it culture shock.

But God. I think what we call culture shock, He calls refining. He uses these first months in a new country and in a new place for His glory, because He makes all things good, even beautiful. He keeps showing me over and over, so kindly and patiently, that all these horrible things that are bursting out of me lately are really just the sin that I had in me all along. Sin that I was able to cover up a little easier when I could hold things in my hands. Sin that I so easily covered up when I was living in a place that had become comfortable and easy.  He has been bringing me to repentance, showing me the ugly so that I can confess it and He can cleanse it. He's been reminding me daily that the same gospel that saved me, sustains me every day. And I find that if I don't constantly preach the gospel to myself, I am a wreck, and I will wreck others with the excuse of "culture shock."

So that's me right now, totally completely uncomfortably honest with whoever is reading this. I'm a mess. I was a mess before, but I have no strength or capacity to cover it up now. It's out there for the world (and my poor children) to see.  I am that wretch. I need Jesus. Oh! I need Jesus!!!  Because without Him I just can't do this life! I just can't. Good news, He has overcome the world, even this really hot and humid one. He is for me. In me. Working in ways I can't see and moving mountains in me to make me look more like Himself. He is refining me in the fire. And it took moving me to SE Asia to do it. He goes to wild and crazy lengths to get our attention and to show us how deeply He loves us.  He is faithful and kind. And I need all of that, all of Him, even more than I ever knew.


There are things we can do to get through our little bouts of culture shock. A few things that I used to recommend those who joined our team to do and things I am trying to do now:

1. Embrace the Constant. With all the change, embrace the One who hasn't changed, ever! Our Lord is constant, steady, sure. We can run into him. Stay in His Word. You can't get by with out it! Dig into Jesus. Listen to sermons when you don't have the focus to read on your own. Turn on worship music. Put scripture verses all over your new home.  Remember that our Lord knows our pain. He has walked a mile in our shoes and can sympathize with us in every pain. Because of His great love for us, He left his home to pursue us, to die for us, to save us. He was misunderstood, mocked, hated and even murdered. But because he overcame when he conquered the grave, we can and will too.

2. Be thankful.  Make a list of at least 10 things you can be thankful for in your new homeland. Write it down and on the really hard days, look back at it and even add to it.

3. If there are expats in your town or your country, try and get together with them every once and awhile. You may find they have gone through, or are going through, the same struggle you are and can help you walk through it. If nothing else, maybe they can be a sounding board. Someone who finally understands you.

4. Get some perspective. On the days when it seems like there is no light at the end of the tunnel, and you just can't remember why you moved your family to this new place, get out! Go walk around your neighborhood and just take in the faces of those you now live among. Go visit one of their spiritual buildings and just let your heart be open and softened. Pray that the Lord will give you more compassion for those around you than concern for your own comforts.

5. Exercise. Sweat it out.

6. Make sure you are getting enough sleep. You will be more exhausted than you were in your homeland. By 3 PM, you will feel completely and totally drained. With the language learning and all. the. new. your brain is on overload. You need to rest. It's ok.

This is not a comprehensive list, but it's a start. Most of all, see number one.

All of this is just a reminder for me. "Culture shock" is normal, completely common, but it doesn't have to break me. The Lord is faithful. He will sustain me and my family through this time. His strength is made perfect in our weakness. He is sharpening me, growing me, refining me. He is making me look more like Himself, and He is lovely. The process is painful, but the product is pure and beautiful.

Every Nation, Tribe and Tongue

One of my favorite things in the whole world is being able to worship with people from all over the world. I have had the immense privilege of being able to worship with many different peoples in many different languages. From Spanish, to Macedonian, different African languages to Thai. It's amazing and beautiful to hear God's people from all over the world singing their songs to him, the one who has saved us and made us His own. Some of my favorite memories have been joining with other believers, my brothers and sisters as we sing old classics like “I Surrender All” and "How Great Thou Art" and newer songs like "Our God is Greater" in their native tongue. There's a magic in the moment. One that can't be explained. But it's power. This is what we were made to do. People from every nation and tribe and tongue gathered together in one voice with one heart declaring the glory of the Lord. It's sweet music to His hears.

I remember the first time I stood in a Macedonian church in the capital city and heard the sounds of praise ring from the lips of Macedonians. I didn't know the words in Macedonian yet. I couldn't sing along. But that didn't stop me from worshipping as I reflected on the goodness of God that spans languages, continents, oceans and even musical preferences. Tears filled my eyes, and I stood silent just taking in the sound of God's children worshipping in their own tongue. Beautiful doesn't begin to describe it. I will never forget that moment.

And the moment that I sat in my living room in the town we served and heard, for the first time, people from that city worshipping their Creator, tears filled my eyes. It was a moment that I had longed for and prayed for. It was powerful. Beautiful. 

Here in this new country where though I might know the tune, I don't understand all the words, I can only sit and listen (and whisper the words in English). And as I listen to about 20 of my Thai brothers and sisters in Christ worship the one who has saved us, my eyes fill with tears. It is powerful. Beautiful. It makes me long for heaven when we together with our Macedonian, Thai, American, Indian, Kenyan, Ugandan, Czech, Bulgarian, Russian, …, brothers and sisters will gather together around the throne of the Lamb in worship. We will all sing the same song in a loud voice as we stand in awe of His greatness and glory. And it will be beautiful. Powerful! 

"And when he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb, each holding a harp, and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. And they sang a new song, saying, 

“Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation,and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth.” 

Then I looked, and I heard around the throne and the living creatures and the elders the voice of many angels, numbering myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, saying with a loud voice, 

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,to receive power and wealth and wisdom and mightand honor and glory and blessing!” 

And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, 

“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”

And the four living creatures said, “Amen!” and the elders fell down and worshiped."

Revelation  5:8-14 ESV

Made to Worship

A move around the world changes a lot of things. I have focused a lot on the changes--the new and different that have invaded our life.  It is easy and even comical (because it's better to laugh than to cry) to write home about the newness. But there is one thing that remains the same. One thing that encompasses people from all sides of the globe. Wherever you are, you will find yourself surrounded by worshippers. From America, to Africa, to Europe, to Asia, the soul of every person on every continent is worshiping something. The secular religion professor at any liberal arts university will claim people created religion to make them feel better, to ease the pain of life, to create some sort of ethics system, to be at the center of their cultural workings.  If you have read any manner of Christian apologetics, most scholars agree that we were made, created to worship.  I would agree. We've all heard it described different ways: There is a hole inside each person that they are searching to fill. There is a longing and yearning for more, for higher, for bigger in each person--a longing we live our lives to satisfy whether we are aware of it or not. We are all drawn to things bigger than we are--the depth of the sea, the grandeur of the mountains, the beauty of rolling hills, the mystery of caves and caverns, the vastness of outer space. I have seen it play out in two different cultures and two different religions, and I am convinced now, more than ever, that all beings will find something to put weight in, something to worship. They must. 

I have observed, in silent brokenness, as my two host cultures bow to things that are not big enough, nor great enough, nor worthy enough to bear their worship. On the outside, the worship could seem beautiful and enchanting.  In Europe there are sounds of bells and scents of incense. There is holy water, beautiful churches painted with ornate pictures of holy gatherings. There is the glow of candles. Kissing of icons. Gifts laid at altars. Bows of humility and money given to saints past. Prayers for healing. Men in robes and people who kiss their ring and ask that they pray to God on their behalf. A room where only those men can go. There are people crossing themselves and hoping all that they have done will be enough. There is great reverence for things sacred. There is great fear of God. He is far off, distant and terrifying.  

In this part of Asia, it really doesn't look that different.  There are ornate buildings, temples, with beautiful banners, pillars, and giant golden or even jade statues. There is a glow of candles, smells of incense, bows to metal carvings, and offerings of food and flowers. The holy men of this religion wear clothes of orange or white--clothes that have no stitch. They have shaven heads and live a simple life hoping to gain some favor for their families and themselves for the next life. And here, there is also great respect, great reverence, great fear for the gods and spirits they worship.  

Like the people we worked among in Europe, the people here can't be sure if they will make it out of this world in right standing with the one they worship. They all admit it. In both places, there are good luck charms and acts of desperation just in case their system of worship fails them. In Macedonia, it was a horseshoe nailed to the front of a car or the door post of a house. It was a tree branch that had been blessed by a priest hung over an entry way. It was fasting from meat and oils to cleanse oneself. It was water, blessed by the priests, placed on their childrens' feet and foreheads to ward off the evil spirits. They read their horoscopes, see fortunes in leftover coffee grounds, and visit witch doctors when healing doesn't come through the church. Peace is foreign. Hope nonexistent. True love unknown.

Here in Asia, there are spirit houses in the yards of most homes and businesses. Candles are lit and food offered every new day to those spirits in hopes that it will appease them. They are terrified of being haunted by loved ones that have gone on before them, and ghosts are a reality to them. Reincarnation is imminent if they are not good enough in this life. They send their sons off to be monks in hopes that it will gain them favor in the next life. 

Peace is foreign. Hope nonexistent. True love, unknown. 

There is still much I don't understand about this new world and its religion. I may never grasp the history and reasons for why they do what they do.  But I have a sweet message for them, the same message I carried to Macedonia. Peace has come. Hope is here. There is true love for the taking. 

I, like all of them, am a worshipper.  I find that some days I battle to worship the one true God. I'd rather focus on myself and my rights. I put weight in things, other than God. Some days my family and our happiness becomes my god. The way I spend my money, the house we live in being exactly the way I want it, my reaction to others when they revile me, laugh at me, or even cheat me; the worry that occurs when the house is quiet and fear rolls through my heart and mind--all of these things show the position of my heart as it bows to self instead of bowing to the one who Created me. Even the very work I do in these foreign lands, which most people would call good work, can become my god, and there have been times it has. My heart is prone to wander.  But my Father speaks to me, to the nations, saying, 

"I am the Lord, that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to carved idols... And I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them. They are turned back and utterly put to shame, who trust in carved idols, who say to the metal images, 'You are our gods.'" Isaiah 42:8; 16-17

It is God alone, that can carry the weight of our worship because He is transcendent and immanent. He is holy, set apart, bigger than us, far above us. He is the Creator of it all. But He is also with us. Big enough to create me, sustain me, and hold me together and small enough to live in me, strengthening me, loving me, abiding in me. He's the only god who has ever made such a beautiful extraordinary claim. Therefore He is the only god that can bear the weight of our worship, adoration, and love. We can trust Him. He is immovable, and at His Name every knee will bow in Macedonia, in Asia and around the world.

We were made to worship the God of the universe who is a God of love and forgiveness. He is the God who accepts us as we are. He is the God who makes us into something more beautiful than we could ever be on our own. He is the God who promises eternal life as joint heirs with His Son, Jesus, who He sent to die the death that we deserved because we could never be good enough. He doesn't makes us work for our salvation. He already did it all. It is finished. 

He is holy, but oh! He is approachable, kind, full of mercy and grace. He is a God who says, I love YOU, all of you and I want best for you.  He is a God who hears our prayers and who answers when His children call on Him. He is the Great I Am, and He is the only one deserving of man's worship and adoration. Oh how my heart longs to see the worshipers of Macedonia bow only to the One True God. I long to see those in Europe and across this new country where I now live worship the one true and good God in spirit and in truth. 

Perhaps the secular religion professor is partly right. All religions are created to make us feel good, to help us hope.  But my friends, the Christian scholars are on point. You were made to worship the one who made you. It's in you. What you choose to worship can make or break you. And whether you call yourself religious or not, I promise you, you are worshiping something. So today as I beg you to pray for the lost of this world and for those working among them, I also ask that before you do, you examine your heart to see if you, too, have become a worshipper of something other than our great God. Maybe you are worshiping something alongside God, but it is He alone who is worthy of our worship.

A Goodbye, A Hello and Some Stuff In Between

We did it. We got on the plane and made our way all the way to warm and sunny SE Asia. The last few days in cold and cloudy Ohrid were every bit of cold and cloudy. It was tough.  We spent every minute we could with the people we love there. It was precious and sweet. Hard, but sweet.

We packed and packed and packed. And this is our junk that we felt like had to come with us.  It's no joke leaving a place you have lived for 9 years and having no where, like your parents' attic, to store anything. EVERYthing had to either be given away or get packed in our 3 cubic meters (100 cubic feet).  It was tedious, and I'm telling you, if you are looking for a good way to organize and downsize your life, this is the way. Just move to another continent. That'll do it. And we did it. We got 9 years worth of baby blankets and sweet baby clothes and souvenirs from Europe and books and toys and toys and toys and shoes and purses and more junk than I ever thought we could possibly own... down to this. It was every bit as icky and awful as it sounds. Praise God it is over!!!

Five days before we left, we threw a massive party and invited nearly everyone we had ever gotten semi-close to. 

We danced the Oro, shared our hearts, and gave out a lot of Bibles and giant hugs.  

We spoke words of truth and words of love, words that probably offended many, but words that give life to all.  It was good.

Brian told stories of our early days there when we learning language and culture, and he had the crowd laughing over some of our early mistakes.  

Bless this child who by some miracle made it through the whole party but only because lots of people who adore him took turns chasing him and feeding him and giving him lots of attention. 

Kate and Thomas had lots of friends to dance and run around with.  

 They had a blast. 

 We all had a blast.  It was sweet. 

We said goodbye to some of our favorite people and places in the world and to a view like this. We cried with our sweet Kate who asked if we could stop saving money for Disney World and start saving money to come back to Ohrid for vacation.  Bless her heart.

We drew closer as a family as all our hearts broke together.  

We said goodbye to these precious people and many more like them--people who took us in as their own, people who loved us and laughed with us and cried with us. People who taught us about their culture, people who let us in, people we did life with day in and day out. We're gonna miss them!

Our sweet church in Ohrid had a special service for us with words of encouragement and thankfulness from its members and members from other churches in Macedonia.  We sang our favorite songs to Jesus in the heart language of those precious people and I praised God for allowing me to hear that sweet sound in Ohrid, a place that didn't ring with His praises when we arrived. 

I kept telling Brian "I don't think I can do this." And we both felt like we were walking through some sort of awful dream for days, but we did it.  We felt the presence of our Lord in very real ways.  As we drove out of Ohrid, there was peace in the pain.  It was a peace that can only come from God.  Sweet all-surpassing peace knowing that He was with us. The One who called us is indeed faithful! I checked my fb on the trip out of Ohrid, and realized that our good and kind God was waking people in America up, out of sleep, to pray for us, to intercede for us and to battle for us. Y'all He is SO GOOD! And some of you got up and prayed, and then let me know you were praying. It was balm to my heart! Thank you!!!    

We made it through a delicious lunch with our team--our second family--with laughter. We didn't touch the topic that it would probably be the last lunch all together at the same table before heaven. We just enjoyed one another around a beautiful feast.  And then we cried as we held hands and prayed together.  Tight hugs and bitter tears, but tears that I am so thankful for. OH! I am thankful for the deep love we have for one another.  I am thankful that it was hard to say goodbye. It is only proof of our bond and anchored love in Christ. To God be the glory for those deep relationships that taught me so much about the Body or Christ and that reflected Him to others in Macedonia.  

And we did the thing I didn't think we could do because His grace is sufficient, His power perfected in our weakness. With smiles and excited hearts, we got on the plane--in our snow boots. The kids did great on the plane.  They slept good on the 10-plus hour flight and sat like little angels on the shorter flights. Some of you were praying, weren't you?! Thank you!

From snow boots to flip-flops and goosebumps to beads of sweat, we arrived in our new home.

There was a stocked fridge and cabinets, a goody basket and a homemade cake waiting for us. The people here have loved on us and fed us delicious meals and spent time showing us around.  B is doing a great job of driving on the left-hand side of the road, and I am doing a good job of keeping my mouth shut as he drives. The kids are loving their new summer wardrobe. K starts school in two days. She met her teacher today and she can't wait to get started.  

I have learned so much through this process. I could write a novel (I guess I kinda have), but the one thing that remains here or there is that He is good, and He knows how to give good gifts to his children. 

On the Move

The furniture is out, the suitcases are packed-ish, the goodbyes have started. We leave Ohrid in less than a week. It is surreal, so much like a dream. A wild and crazy unbelievable, painful, wonderful, beautiful, ugly, scary, exciting dream. Every emotion that could be felt is being or has been felt.

We are so excited to hit the ground in SE Asia. It's slightly terrifying, but it's gonna be wild and wonderful in its own way.

This girl loves her purple SE Asia get-up. 

I think she is adorable!

We know life there is gonna be different. So-beyond-anything-we-are-used-to-different. People keep telling us about all the things that are going to be different. For example, 

"You know it's hot there, right?!" Um, yes. God and I had a long talk about this one, but thank you for bringing it back up so that I would have to rehash it. 

"You are really going to stand out." We're tall, lanky, blonde, loud, and slightly weird. Suffice it to say, we stand out everywhere. If you're gonna stand out, you might as well stand way out. Am I right? 

"The food is so different." Again, y'all, I already hashed this one out with God. My taste buds are going on an adventure. 

"It's so far away... from everything." We know. We are, quite literally, going to the other side of the world... in every way. It'll be ok.

We love that people have taken interest in what we are doing and where we are going, and we take every one of these comments as a token of love and concern for us. It is so funny how some of the very battles I had over this move are some of the things people keep bringing up. Funny. Funny. 

Ha!

Ha!

We are all going to have our freak-out moments, and I fully expect my hair to go on a rampage, too.

But I know that He was faithful to show me over and over that this was it--the next step. And He gave me a promise, a promise He has really given to all NT believers even though it is a verse from the OT.  

"My presence will go with you and I will give you rest." Exodus 33:14 

He goes with me, before me and He will give me rest. He already has and is and will. And my hair and taste buds??? They'll be ok too. :)

So while we wait to board the plane, we only have a few measly hours left with our people here and it's not enough. It's NOT enough! But it is what we have, and we are going to cherish every solitary second. We are going to be spending the next week running hard to see, love on and speak bold loving, truthful words to every person we can... one more time. We are thankful this is very much a coffee drinking culture.  We are going to need every drop of that glorious liquid caffeine this week.  And I say with desperation... Prayers are appreciated!!!

Tis the Season

"Tis the season to be jolly and joyous." 

It's a line from one of our favorite Christmas movies. We had it going the other day, but I was doing other things while the movie played in the background of my new busy.  I heard those words over the screams of a very loud and stubborn one year old as he cried for more juice. Jolly and joyous?  I am barely hanging on here, people. Jolly and joyous have left the building. I think they started packing their bags when we put packing into overdrive. They got a ticket to ride on out of here about the time I got a phone call and a few messages delivering news of health issues about people I love who are a million miles away. I'm pretty sure jolly and joyous finally busted out of here with half of our stuff the other day as we wrapped up a yard sale, and if there was any jolly or joyous still hanging around, they climbed into my microwave and walked out with the man who insisted he had to have it right then. Jolly and joyous left the building, and bless their hearts, they really didn't have a fighting chance this year. 

We did everything right. We put up our tree 1.2 seconds after Thanksgiving ended. Twinkling lights. Ornaments that carry memories of babies' first Christmases and baby's obsession with Elmo. Stockings hung by the glow of the tv with care. A nativity scene that is supposed to bring our eyes back into focus. The movies. The Advent stories. The packages from America. It was all lost on me this year and the air in here got heavier and heavier. 

It's the season to be jolly and joyous but it didn't feel that way. I don't want to be packing to say goodbye to this home and these people I love. I don't want to watch my oldest babies break apart over losing their people here. I don't want to live one minute without my microwave in it's place in my kitchen. I don't want to be a million miles from my family right now. It was supposed to be easier than this.

Then there's the manger over there in the window sill with a little plastic Jesus lying in its little plastic hay. Plastic Mary is looking over her babe with care and awe. And the others, well one wise man and his camel have gone missing, but the other plastics are all huddled around the Baby King. They are bowed down. In a plastic stable, with a plastic star glued to its roof, they are worshipping Him, in their own plastic way. 

And if it were all just plastic, it would be ok to be kind of like the mean one, Mr. Grinch, all year long. Or maybe we could be like the missing plastic wise man and just run away. What reason would there be to let jolly and joyous back in? They can be kind of annoying. But it isn't plastic. It is real. He really came. He really left His throne to enter a womb, to be born into a dark, damp and stinky barn filled with animals, into a poor home, in a humble town, to be wanted for dead by a king who was threatened by him as a small child, to be raised as the son of a carpenter, feeling the same pains we feel and being able to sympathize with us in all things. He really became God incarnate. God made flesh. Because God so loved the world...

For a minute or two, I took my eyes off of it--the glory of it all. It had become plastic. But even when jolly and joyous left, He didn't. He knows what it means to say, "Father, take this cup from me." And because He said it, I am free to say it, but the most freedom comes in saying with my whole heart, "Not my will, but yours be done." 

You want me packing my bags by the glow of the twinkling lights? Your will be done.

You want me here instead of there by their sides? Your will be done.

You want me to say some of the hardest goodbyes of my life? Your will be done.

You want me to move to a place that I never thought I'd go in a million years? Your will be done.

You want to strip me bare--my stuff, my people, my heart? Your will be done.

You want to refine me in the fire to make me look more like you? Your will be done.

He never said it would be easy. He didn't promise me that I would frolic around with glee at every turn. He didn't promise jolly and joyous would stick around all the time. In fact, he promised it would be hard. He modeled walking through the hardest fight ever fought on this earth. He was hated and mocked and misunderstood. They spat on Him and beat Him beyond recognizability. He carried the weight of a tree in the form of a cross up a hill. He was nailed to it. He took the wrath and punishment of God that I deserved upon Himself. He let them murder Him and He suffered hours alone without His Father. He was bruised, crushed, crucified. His body was broken and I believe His heart was, too. Fullness of pain so that I could have fullness of Him. 

"Count it all joy..." He has overcome the world. He has come to dwell among us... IN us.  Good news of GREAT JOY! 

And they're back, joyous, and even a little jolly, because He has done great things for me. He is here, dwelling richly in me, conforming me to look more like Himself. And I can say, even if there is nothing else, even if all else is lost, I have Him, the one who loves my soul and died to make me His own. Christmas trees and big fat dudes dressed in red with long white beards ain't got nothing on that kind of jolly. It's a jolly and joyous that hang around all year.

We're a rough looking crew this year, with runny mascara and bags under our eyes (ok, that's just me), but we are all hanging on to our Jesus.

So may you and yours have a jolly and joyous season, not because everything is ok, but because He has come. He is here and He loves you!

Merry Christmas!