Africa vs. the USA?

LaRae and her husband are missionaries in a Muslim country in West Africa, where they are developing a public health clinic to serve the medical needs of the people in their village. They live with occasional electricity and running water, and have a son who is 3 years old.

Reasons I’m thankful I live in Africa:

1. I’m reminded to take time for relationships on a daily basis
2. Life has that “back to the basics” feel
3. My worldview is constantly challenged and broadened
4. Going home for visits is so much sweeter
5. I'm actually getting to know the people where I shop, they're not just another face at the store
6. My son gets to learn that there is more to life than toys
7. I see a million things to be thankful for that usually I take for granted, such as:
1. Oatmeal
2. Brown rice
3. Whole wheat flour
4. Raisins without worms
5. Jam
6. Outlets that work
7. Fans
8. Running water
9. Internet
10. Health
11. Balls in the States that don’t go flat the same day you buy them
12. A healthy baby
13. Justice
8. Death is a part of life, so when its time for someone to go, the people here let go and don’t try to hang on for hours/days/months/years.
9. Fruits and veggies are family grown and taste so much better
10. The opportunity to see how the 10 commandments really do keep us happier. There is no hope for a people who do not abide by God's basic moral principles.

Reasons I wish I lived in a developed country:

1. Sugar is clean (and bug-free) when I buy it
2. Beans are more or less bug-free when I buy them
3. The salt is actually salty
4. There are relatively few insects in the house
5. I can just up and go to the store or a friend’s house with out much prior planning
6. I can expect good internet and phone service
7. No one is going to scam me on the price of veggies (or anything else) just because my skin is a different color
8. I can find pretty much anything I want or need without much trouble or too much money
9. Health care is accessible (I suppose this is debatable depending on the country)
10. There are many spiritual resources in my language

As I look back over my two lists I notice a striking trend. The first list is teaching me a lot about life and giving, and less about receiving. The second list is more about what I want to get.

Hmmm.

Maybe this is why I’m in Africa. I have a lot to learn.

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when a baby dies...

LaRae and her husband are missionaries in a Muslim country in West Africa, where they are developing a public health clinic to serve the medical needs of the people in their village. They live with occasional electricity and running water, and have a son who is 3 years old.

NOTE: LaRae wrote in January (read it here) about caring for Aishatu, a beautiful baby orphan girl with AIDS. By the time that was posted on CLUTCH, LaRae and her husband had successfully initiated adoption proceedings and were looking forward to bringing baby Aishatu home with them on furlough to the USA later this year.

Sadly, Aishatu got sick and died on February 17th. She passed away in LaRae's arms. This is LaRae's first post since Aishatu's loss.

Two people.

That is how I feel sometimes. The person everyone sees, and then the person inside whom only I know. This bipolarity*, split personality*, drives me nuts. Thankfully, it isn’t there all the time. But times of crisis, emotional stress, spiritual depression, change in physical location and the like bring out my second person.

I ask myself "Which one is actually my second person? Who am I really?" This battle has been going on since I was 10 or 11 years old and I often describe it as my prison. Its intensity varies. Now it has again surfaced as I deal with the grief of losing a baby.

I watched a baby die and yet the world goes on like normal! My mind tells me it is no big deal, lots of people have seen someone die. Just because it was my first time doesn’t mean the world should stop. But that last breath, that feeling of utter helplessness is forever burned into my memory, a memory that cannot be put into words. And still everyone goes on like normal and I am forced, merely by being alive, into that flow as well.

My inner person is distraught.

I am dealing with sorrow; wishing time could rewind to try something else; feeling guilt; arguing with myself that I did all I could while I didn’t do enough at the same time.

Meanwhile, my outer person goes on dragging myself out of bed, cooking, cleaning, helping the kids, smiling, visiting people, helping people, and all the other millions of things that come my way. It becomes surreal. A normal life, and a haunting memory of something horrible.

“That would be just like the devil to make you feel guilt at a time like this,” were my mother’s words. Don’t give in, she intoned. I thought about that and realized she was right. There's what I know to be true, and there's the things I keep thinking in my head.

Okay. But how am I to keep going like all is well, when my heart is so heavy I don’t want to get out of bed?

Back up a little. One night my three year old son and I were talking about heaven. I was describing heaven and what God has told us in the Bible -- how we can live close to our family and friends and never have to say good-bye.

“We can also have baby again and she will be healthy!” His little face lit up and then he looked thoughtful. He looked at me and said, “We aren’t sad then any more!” Just this week, when someone asked when he'd have a baby of his own, he answered, “When we go to heaven!”

Watching his matter-of-fact, simple faith, I begin to understand why God said we must become like little children. For them life is simple, straight-forward. Their faith is fresh. But my grief is burdening me. This guilt I am laden with, blinding me to the hope I know.

So how does this change things with my two persons? Neither one is who God made me to be. The outer one is who I think others want me to be, and the inner one fluctuates between being my best friend and worst enemy.

God has asked me to look to Him, not others, as to whom I should be and how I should act. If I go to Him daily, He will write His will so deeply in me that it will become as natural as my DNA. That will take care of the outer person while providing the anchor to my inner person. Who I am inside is made up of my thoughts and what I choose to believe.

By believing God’s word and hiding it in my heart, I will have an anchor when the devil comes with his doubts, fears, complaints, guilt, critiques and anger.

Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” (John 14:6) And, “If you continue in my word, then you are my disciples indeed; and you shall know the truth, and the truth whall make you free.” (John 8:31,32)

By hiding God’s word in my heart I do experience freedom. Freedom from the devil, from myself,  from others’ expectations.

PS: I still have moments. I still cry. I still ache and feel empty without this little baby girl who was ours for such a short time. But I am encouraged and find strength in the simple faith of my son. Heaven will bring all things new and I can hardly wait for that day.

*Spoken figuratively - not literally! :)

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unsuspecting...

LaRae and her husband are missionaries in a Muslim country in West Africa, where they are developing a public health clinic to serve the medical needs of the people in their village. They live with occasional electricity and running water, and have a son who is 3 years old.

The trees are lushes and healthy, beautiful to the eye. Their fruit ripens into either brilliant crimson red or a cheery yellow.

...cashew fruit & nut...

When you bite into it, a light, sugary sweet water fills your mouth. Something about it makes you crave more and eat as much as you can eat.

Yet this delicate fruit has a dark side. When you eat too much, your mouth and throat become dry, inflamed and sore. If the watery juice drips on your clothes, a dark brown stain will appear after you wash it and nothing will take out the stain. If left for a day after picking, the fruit will ferment.

The tree also has a root system that spreads under the ground and pops up as new trees, making it difficult to completely remove them from your property.

Another yummy aspect to this tree is the hard green c-shaped lobe at the end of the fruit. Inside this bomb-proof shell is a fine quality nut.

...LaRae's African home and garden...

But again, there's a negative aspect. The green shell contains a vicious oil that causes blisters on your skin. It's a tedious process to harvest the nut -- and thus, the expensiveness of cashews.

As I have been experiencing the cashew season here, I've been fascinated at its bi-polar properties. I'd been told once upon a time that the fruit was poisonous. But here in Africa people pick it and eat it freely.

One day as I pondered this, I realized that sin is very much like the cashew tree, fruit and nut. Beautiful, delicious, tantalizing, addictive and poisonous.

And in the end, there is always a price to pay.

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fish bowl...

LaRae and her husband are missionaries in a Muslim country in West Africa, where they are developing a public health clinic to serve the medical needs of the people in their village. They live with occasional electricity and running water, and have a son who is 3 years old.

I suspect that most all of you reading this blog can understand the fish bowl experience. You know, where everyone watches everything you do and discusses it, sometimes giving you their unsolicited opinion?  

There were times growing up that I remember being angry that my parents were asking me to submit my feelings and desires to the example that I should live as a Christian. My parents were very wise and made it clear that this example was asked of me by God, not just because I was the pastor’s daughter. Somehow, they were able to get this point across to me without me being angry or bitter at God. 

It made sense and I knew that God would provide the strength I needed. Even though I'm human and I often have my “poor me, I have to be responsible” attitude. Yet, the experiences made me a better person and in many ways more able to submit to God’s calling on my life than I would be naturally. (I  still need to learn to submit without having my pouting spell first, though!)

The fish bowl experience has become very literal here in Africa where we live now. There are bars on the windows of our house, but no screens yet. 

The kids here are very curious and like to climb up the bars and peer into the house to see what we have or what we are doing. It took a while to get curtain rods and make curtains, and there are still some windows and doors that are not covered. There is no end to the kids climbing and looking. 

I feel like a broken record sometimes: “Don’t climb the window!” I say it over and over to the same kids day in and day out. Some are starting to learn, but not all.

Some days I get so impatient and angry. There have been times when I haven't treated the kids as I believe Jesus would treat them. Then I feel guilty and I reflect on my example. Why do I get so upset? Why can’t I be more creative in dealing with this situation? When I lose my temper and lose my focus on Jesus -- my example is also lost.

Jesus lived day in and day out with 12 men, and to a great degree in front of the eyes of anyone who  chose to follow Him and “look into His windows.” Yes, he took time to be alone and pray, but for the most part He lived in a fish bowl.

LaRae's African house and garden

Today I realized that there are others who watch my every move, even if they aren't climbing my windows. I choose to teach my 3 year old son to sit with me during church, sit still (for the most part) and be quiet. He is required to kneel when we kneel, stand when we stand, show reverence during prayer and whisper if he must say something.


Sometimes I feel overly strict, especially since most kids here are allowed to wander in and out of church and don't show any respect for prayer or the worshipers. But in church today I noticed another mother being more attentive to how her 4 year old was acting.

Somehow her action struck me hard. This wasn’t the only thing the church members have changed since we came. Mind you, this is a very small church so it's easy to watch each other. :) 

Without ever saying a word about how to parent, how to behave in church, how to... I was seeing others start to mimic my behaviors and ask my advice. It made me ask myself some tough questions. What example am I setting? Is the way I live leaving a mark that will bless and enhance life here or will it have a negative effect? What perception of God and faith am I giving?

Not only are church members and children watching, but the whole village AND my own son.  God, help me surrender my selfishness to You and live to You!

“You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.” Matthew 5:14

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it's the inside that counts...

LaRae and her husband are missionaries in a Muslim country in West Africa, where they are developing a public health clinic to serve the medical needs of the people in their village. They live with occasional electricity and running water, and have a son who is 3 years old.

One morning we sat down to a yummy breakfast of cornbread. We all salivated to sink our teeth into the soft, warm moistness.

But when we took a bite, what a disappointment! The outside was tough and almost too hard to chew!

What? I make cornbread all the time. What went wrong? Then it hit me, I forgot the oil. We all had a good laugh.

But hey, I thought, being a Christian is like that too. We can "have it all together", look perfect on the outside, and have a good "fragrance"... But at the end of the day, if we don't have the oil of the Holy Spirit in our lives, we end up being tough and not so enjoyable for those who want to "taste" the realness of our connection with God.

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deadly killers...

LaRae and her husband are missionaries in a Muslim country in West Africa, where they are developing a public health clinic to serve the medical needs of the people in their village. They live with occasional electricity and running water, and have a son who is 3 years old.

Our latest time-taker has been a certain little girl. She is very cute, so easily forgiven. :) It really tugs my heart because she is so small, fragile and possibly has no life in front of her.

Born to an HIV+ mother, more likely than not she has it too. We still don't know the real status of her HIV. It could be just the antibodies of her mother, or it could be the real thing. Its hard to look into her face and remember there is a silent, deadly killer in her. It is so easy to forget that her life may be abbreviated before it even gets started.

LaRae & the baby girl

Yesterday we went to talk to someone in town about legal adoption. It appears that it will not be too hard to adopt her. So this week we hope to get all our papers in order and go again to make an appointment with the judge. Once that is done, we can work on getting her USA paperwork in order.

We hope to send some of her blood up to Dakar (the capital city) by the middle of February to be tested for the real virus. In some ways I don't want to know, but it is necessary for her health and ours.

Here where we live, HIV is a fearful and hushed topic. At first it doesn't appear that HIV is very common here, unlike other African countries. But as we are here longer, we get the idea that it is definitely here, killing just the same, but no one is really facing it.

When people in our clinic are tested (this is the procedure for all clinics/hospitals here in Senegal) and they test positive, it is not recorded. All that is shows on the record is that they were tested. So, obviously you know they were positive because there is no result in their chart.

It reflects the mentality here though, "if we don't say it, don't acknowledge it - then it can't hurt us". At the same time, if a man here has HIV and continues to sleep around without informing others that he has it, he can go to prison. I'm not sure who enforces that, but it is the local law.

With all these thoughts and observations going around in my head I can't help but think of another deadly killer - SIN. We don't talk about it much, we don't like it, in some ways we are afraid of it (at least of its effects), but we also tend to act like if we just don't acknowledge it, it won't hurt us.

Crazy huh?

Sin works just like HIV, too. HIV slowly, silently kills off the immune system, opening the body to other illnesses that will eventually kill us. Sin does the same thing. It slowly, silently kills our spiritual immune system of faith, opening us up to diseases like doubt and disobedience, which eventually can kills us eternally.

And the whole time, with both killers, we can look okay on the outside or take enough medicine to fool everyone that we are healthy. Neither disease sticks to just one person, either. Both are passed from one to another, killing en masse.

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letting go of dreams...

Tears squished their way out of my eyes as I tried to hang out the clothes on the portable drying rack. I stifled my sobs with the damp clothing. The cold felt good on my hot face. My heart ached.

“What am I doing here in Africa?” I asked myself.

My husband and I had just finished watching Man from Snowy River. Now I know this is an old movie, I first saw it probably 18 years ago or more. But as I watched it, memories came flooding back. Memories of days spent grooming my horse, riding, shoveling poop, or just hugging my horse and taking in his smell.

My brother first introduced me to the love of horses. He taught me to ride, and he first recommended the movie. There had been a whole section of my life when I lived and breathed horses. It can't be put into words what happens to the soul when you mount your horse and take off wherever the road leads.

I'd been wanting a horse of my own ever since my brother got one. The day my dad finally brought home my horse is forever burned into my memory. It was a foggy day in Arizona. I was on the phone when I heard him drive up with the trailer. We lived on a section of property that was full of citrus trees. With the trees, the green grass, and the fog -- the setting was perfect. I watched through our large living room windows as my dad led a prancing silver Arabian through the yard. 

My heart was gone.

He was the perfect combination of wild and submissive. A horse who might rear with you on him because he didn’t want to obey, and yet when given the final word would follow commands precisely. Day in and day out brought us to a place where I could ride him bareback without a bridle, and he would obey my body language. 

Wow! 

His speed surpassed any of my friends’ horses or our later ones. When I let him out to almost full gait it was a speed that brought tears to my squinted eyes and amazed fear to my heart. I can’t say I ever let him go as fast as he could when I was on him.

My dream was to be a veterinarian and have a horse ranch that doubled as a refuge for troubled boys. Later when one of my good friends convinced me to aim for medicine, I planned to do rural medicine, own a ranch and continue with those early plans.

Yet here I am, neither a veterinarian nor a doctor, living in Africa married to a man who knows little about horses. What happened to those dreams? 

I think of my closest equine-loving cohorts, my two cousins and one of my best friends. They all are still involved with horses to some degree, much more than I. While my parents still keep my horse and my dad faithfully cares for him every day, I have no more connection with horses except my annual visit home when I take over the care of this old friend of mine, who can’t even hear my whistle anymore.

What happened to me?

Done with hanging the wet clothes, I prepared for my shower and the tears kept flowing.

I don’t feel bitter, just lost. The hot water flowed over me as I thought of my crazy struggles over the last 15 years. What would life have been like if I had stuck to my passions of horses and piano? Maybe it would have been easier? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so worn out, with nothing to offer this suffering world of need around me?

“Why God?” I ask.

Then I start thinking of Bible heroes. Was Moses passionate about leading his people out of Egypt and to the promised land? Joseph probably was not passionate about being a slave and in prison for almost 13 years before called to fulfill his own advice to the Pharaoh! Was Abraham passionate about being a nomad? Was peaceful, sheep-watching David passionate about being a military man? Was Daniel passionate about being a prisoner of war and studying pagan wisdom?

I kept thinking. I highly doubt any of these people dreamed up this kind of life for themselves. Yet they were passionate about obeying God and humbly trusting Him to the fullest. In fact, it isn’t until the New Testament that I find the Bible heroes choosing their lot in life due to a passion, which was born of an encounter with Jesus.

“Okay, I’m starting to get it!” I think. “When we ask God to lead us, and we have an encounter with Him, there has to be a death of our dreams when they are not born out of a passion for obedience and surrender.”

For some, this happens easily, early on and almost instinctively. Others plow through life trying to make it go our way, a way that can be perfectly justified for good or God’s glory. Yet, that is the problem. We try to steer the plow instead of just being the plow, guided by God.

By now I finished my shower and realized that I have to write this down. As I wait for the computer (we have one that we share), I pick up the Bible and read Isaiah 55.

“‘Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat...Incline your ear, and come to Me. Hear, and your soul shall live...Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near… For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways’ says the Lord. ‘For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways., and My thoughts than your thoughts. For as the rain comes down, and the snow from heaven, and do not return there, but water the earth and make it bring forth and bud...so shall My word be that goes froth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me void, but it shall accomplish what I please. And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it…’” (emphasis mine)

So, my prayer and heart song continues to be:

Give me ears to hear Your Spirit
Give me feet to follow through
Give me hands to touch the hurting
And the faith to follow You

Give me grace to be a servant
Give me mercy for the lost
Give me passion for Your glory
Give me passion for the cross

And I will go where there are no easy roads
Leave the comforts that I know
I will go and let this journey be my home
I will go
I will go

I'll let go of my ambition
Cut the roots that run too deep
I will learn to give away
What I cannot really keep
What I cannot really keep

Help me see with eyes of faith
Give me strength to run this race


I will go Lord where Your glory is unknown
I will live for You alone
I will go because my life is not my own
I will go
I will go
I will go

Words and music by Steve Green and Douglas McKelvey © 2002.

© CLUTCH, 2010 unless otherwise sourced.
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bon voyage (part 3)

(Read part 1 and part 2 here.)

lessons from the bus
life revolves around waiting 

“Wait on the Lord; Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord!” Ps. 27:14

When I hear the word "wait", and half a dozen Bible verses come to mind along with a dozen Bible stories.

It was a word I heard often growing up in regards to vacation, holidays, visitors coming, getting some desired item, learning to drive, etc. It is now a word I say over and over to my 2 1/2 year old son.

And yet, I find it incredibly hard to follow the command myself. In the Western culture of get-it-now, it is increasingly hard to comprehend this small word. Not only are we, as adults, given little reason to practice waiting, but we are encouraged to meet every need and desire of our children, almost to the point of removing the lesson of waiting.

One day recently, needing to run several errands down town before lunch time, our Western cultural mindset about waiting had a head-on collision with the cultural mindset where we serve as missionaries. My husband and I headed out to find a bus. We decided to go to a different bus stop than our usual because we'd discovered that this new bus would get us downtown without all the traffic problems of our regular route.

Proud of our new knowledge, we sat down at the bus stop to wait. And wait we did. No one else on the street was waiting for the bus. We watched up and down the street for the bus, but there was none to be seen. It seemed that when we did not need the bus, it was on this street, and now we needed it and it was missing in action.

My husband finally said to me, “It is a whole different mentality here isn’t it? For most of the people here, there is no jumping in your car and getting stuff done on your time frame. Life revolves around waiting…”

Life revolves around waiting. Isn’t this one of the many themes in the Bible? 

God wants our life to revolve around waiting on Him. When we wait, we have to let go of our time frame and our priorities, and just chill out.
Wait, watch, enjoy the process.
Life is a journey.
Today is not my destination.
God’s desires for me are my destination.
Now is the journey, and that means now is the time to develop the art of waiting on God.

Amazingly enough, about the same time as our bus adventure, we received a book entitled “Waiting on God” by Andrew Murray. What a blessing this book has been to me! The author bases each chapter off of a Bible verse that relates to waiting. How easy it is to wait on God and how hard I makes it sometimes! Yet, God sends rain in the right season and He causes all things to grow.

I am thankful for a convoluted bus system and a language barrier to remind me to wait on God, connect with my community, and open my arms to one more.

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bon voyage (part 2)

Lessons From the Bus: there's always room for more

“That bus is too full to bother stopping for more people!” I exclaimed as I watched the crowded to overflowing bus slow down at the bus stop. The doors can barely close around those already on the bus. As we walked the city streets, we would look at these buses in wonder. Even when temperatures are boiling, walking seemed a better option.

Yet we found that going downtown is the easiest bus system to figure out from our house and in the middle of the day, there are not too many people. Anyway, once you pay 25 cents per person on the bus it is hard to take a taxi and pay three dollars.

One day we were invited to some friends’ house on the other side of town, we thought we would try a bus instead of our usual taxi ride to their house. We needed blue bus #8. After waiting by the road awhile where we thought this bus would pass, we asked a nearby vendor when that bus would pass. He told us it did not pass on that road, but gladly told us which white bus would take us to where we were going.

So, along came white bus #34 and we were faced with a dilemma. It was shock full of people. I was convinced that there was absolutely no room for us on there. But, we had already waited a long time and we needed to get going. We bravely stepped up into the bus with faith that we would fit. Sure enough, with a little wiggling and pushing we got on.

It was so full you didn’t really need to hang on, everyone held each other up by just being there. A grandma who was sitting near me offered to hold our son for me. That was a relief, but a bit disconcerting to him. The lady jabbered to me in her dialect about our son.

Suddenly I realized a man three or four people over was talking to me, wait, he was translating into French what this lady was saying. Warmth flooded over me as I realized how kind people were being. Here we had squeezed in, for sure making it a bit more uncomfortable for some, and yet kindness was extended. As soon as a seat was empty, others pointed to it and offered it to me so I could have my son with me.

It was at that moment, as I contemplated the kindness on this overflowing bus and reminisced over past bus experiences, that I got the idea of writing about lessons learned from the bus.

How often do I get overwhelmed if there are more people needing to be invited for dinner than I prepared food for? What about a kids program that I must run and 10 visitors show up and I don’t have enough materials for everyone?

I realized there on the bus that as daughter of the King, I have all the resources I need by just spending time with Him. After that, there will always be room for one more in my class, in my car, in my house, at my table or in my friendships. Not only is He my bus driver, but He is also my bus walls and doors and tires. And just like in the bus, there may be times when it feels like there are too many and yet it is only uncomfortable for a bit, and then someone gets off the bus.

“And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.” 2 Cor. 12:9,10 [Emphasis added]

“And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.” Eph. 4:32 [Emphasis added]

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bon voyage!

lessons from the bus (part 1)
mapping = community connection

Four months after arrival in this French-speaking country, we finally had enough French up our sleeve that we were ready to try the city bus system.

This may sound a little strange, but there is absolutely no bus map and limited information on where the buses go, except for the bus windows and some limited information on the bus website. Each bus has a number and a sign saying where its final destination will be, so you would think that was helpful. Yet, our city map did not have those destinations and what if we wanted to get off at a different place?

We explained our plight to a few people, but they only told us “Oh, just take the Car Rapide on that street and get off at…” Okay, so there are four types of buses here: The regular blue city bus, a smaller white city bus and two other buses that would be a hybrid system of city bus and taxi, one of which is called Car Rapide. So, their responses didn’t help because the Car Rapides are not marked and go wandering all over the place.

The easiest thing was just keep trekking all over the city on foot, as we had been doing, or take a taxi. The first is not always time efficient and the latter is expensive.

One day, our French professor gave us a few of the main blue bus numbers and their general route. Wonderful! Armed with this information we headed out for a new adventure. All too soon we found out that it wasn’t as easy as our professor made it out to be. Was this because of the system? Or was it because of our Western mindset?

I wanted a neatly mapped-out set of routes that told me where all the stops were. As I looked around I began see that maybe I was the only one who needed a neat map that fed my individualistic culture.

As our experiences (more of those later) on the bus system have broadened, over and over I see the need to get out of my shell and ask the people. Everyone here knows something about the bus system and with each person talked to, a more complete map is created. Not on paper, but in our minds.

I cannot help but think of our lives as Christians, and even as PWs. How often do we prefer a neat map for our lives or our roles in ministry? A map that clearly defines what, when, and how we should do something while also setting some boundaries for others on our time and space?

Yet life in ministry is more akin to African culture. It flourishes best with community. When the time is taken to stop, listen and talk with our parishioners and learn from their experiences and observations, we soon find we have a much better working map in our minds of the church congregation and our role.

I am drawn to John 14:1-9. Here Jesus builds up to the verse “I am the way...no one comes to the Father except through Me.” And then he delineates further. Clearly the map to heaven is a relationship. Is it possible that the map of ministry is relationship as well?

If this is the case, this is good news indeed! No need to be intimidated by what a congregation will think of us, our husbands or our ministry. Build a relationship with Jesus, build a relationship with the people and the map will be made clear.

It is not easy and will require getting out of our comfort zone. Yet that is what we have been called to do: serve others through relationship.

This is only one application of my experience. I am interested to hear other applications that you may see from this mapping = community connection idea. Let me know what you think and how this can apply to our everyday life.

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guest blog: preconceived notions, surrender and peace (part 4)

(...continued... start from the beginning)

I’m sure I’m not the only one to have high hopes about a situation, only to come crashing down into despair. So if you are there, you are not alone.

Take it to God.

Surrender again.

He said that He would not leave us comfortless and that He would never leave or forsake us. He is faithful to fulfill His promises, I assure you.

‘Father, I pray today for all those who are finding themselves in situations they never dreamed they would be in. I pray that your sweet peace would wrap around their hearts at this very hour. Help them, Lord, to trust your heart and not their own. Hold them in your lap and dry their tears. Thank you, Father, for your faithfulness to hear our every prayer. Amen.’

***

As a PK, Carrie had many dreams--to make it big in Nashville, marry a tall, dark and handsome prince, own a metallic green Chevy Beretta, be a missionary, and wear a pair of jeans. 3 of her dreams came true.

Today you will find her supporting her high school sweetheart on the mission field of Eastern Europe. You will also find her homeschooling, gardening, canning, cleaning (oh, the laundry!), reading, writing, or singing.

She enjoys long walks, date night, talking with friends, listening to singing and preaching in English, and uninterrupted sleep. Other than Jesus and family, Carrie is most thankful for chocolate, good books, internet, and indoor plumbing.

Her heart is to serve. She has a burden for the Gypsy children in her area and wants to make sure they are fed and clothed. She also has a burden for women—women who feel that they are carrying their burdens alone. Her desire is to show the love of God in both word and deed.

You can find her musings at Perfectly Imperfect.

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guest blog: preconceived notions (part 3)

....continued....

After a few years on the mission field, apartment life had finally gotten to me. My gaggle of children was growing as fast as the apartment was shrinking. We didn’t have much room to turn around and felt like sardines in a can.

I dreamed of a home. A house with room to spread out and a yard for the kids to play.

My dreams came true in the summer of 2007. The house was in pretty good shape, though it would need indoor plumbing and a fresh coat of paint. The land was a perfect size, full of fruit trees of all kinds. I fell in love with it.

But before we could take possession, the former owner gutted the house. In the place of the cabinets, flooring, and electrical outlets she took, she left a huge mess, bare wires, and a plain unlivable house. It didn’t even look like the same house.

We were aghast.

We quickly composed ourselves and went to work trying to make our new home livable. I kept my chin up most days, though the work on the house, the needs of the children, and the ministry weighed on me heavily.

Ready or not, our apartment lease was up and we moved into the “new” house. For a while we had to shower in the mud brick barn (Did you know that it takes two to shower? One to hold the watering can and one to stand under it and wash up.).

I held up fairly well until mid October when the fall winds blew in. I remember one night taking a shower in the barn and the wind was so cold that I shook with chills. I cried. Then I felt badly for crying. What a big baby I had turned out to be.

But God worked things out. No, things didn’t work out like in my dreams. Instead I got to experience what life is like for the many people in the villages here—people who live in run down houses, people who sit on the floor instead of furniture, people who wonder if their roof will fall in on them. From my own hardships I developed a deeper love and appreciation for the people.

What I have learned (and am still learning) is that God’s plans don’t usually go the way we think they should. But they are always right and always for our good.

Stay tuned for Part 4 on Friday!

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guest blog: preconceived notions (part 2)

continued from yesterday.

With all the packing and farewells behind me, I climbed aboard a plane for the first time in my life, with 4 small children in tow, a newborn on my chest, and my Love by my side.

Twenty-four hours into the trip, our last plane about to land, my Love and I looked into each other’s eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked. With tears of joy I told him I was ready. I had dreamed for so long of all those we would meet, the children we would feed, and the people we would clothe. Together we would tell the world of Christ’s love.

But all my plans and wishes quickly crumbled before my very eyes. Dogs everywhere, crowded, busy streets, terrible traffic with no personal vehicle—all of it was so dangerous for small children. My Love was able to join another missionary and work among the people, but I stayed in the apartment with the children.

The already tiny apartment felt smaller and smaller by the day.

I was once again spiraling into despair. Had I not been called? Had I not surrendered to work among the people? Was I to spend my days inside a small apartment forever? Why did God call me just to leave me sit?

What a silly, stubborn child I was (am).

Somehow knowing what I was going through, a fellow missionary wife stopped by one day. We talked for a while and as she was getting up to leave, she hugged me and said, “Carrie, surrender again. God knows what He is doing and knows what is best for both you and the ministry. Surrender again.”

“Surrender again. And again and again. God’s way and not mine.” Those were the thoughts I meditated on.

Soon I found myself on my knees telling God that if He wanted me to be the best peanut butter cookie baker, then that’s what I wanted to be.

Surrender didn’t change my situation. It didn’t make the apartment larger. It didn’t make the dogs go away.

Surrender gave me peace. Sweet, sweet peace.

Check out Part 3, tomorrow.

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guest blog: preconceived notions (part 1)

Today we begin a series by Carrie, who alongside her husband, serves as a missionary in Eastern Europe.


I am a die-hard optimist, seeing the world through my own designer rose-colored glasses. So when my husband surrendered to the mission field and we began to talk about deputation, I had very high hopes.


Of course all the churches we visited would want to support us because my husband is a great preacher, the kids and I could sing and play instruments and the five-year-old could quote scripture like no one I had ever seen. People would embrace us with open arms.


Well, after several months of visiting churches to fill a quota and never receiving support, I became discouraged. No, I became bitter. I started just going through the motions. A fake smile. A forced song. I lost sight of what really mattered.


One night at a missions conference in TN, I was particularly unpleasant of heart. I didn’t want to be there. I hated feeling like I was on display along side the other families where the one with the best behaved children and the nicest song would be picked for support.

Then it happened. A young woman from the church walked up to me, holding a baby in her arms. She spoke to me with such admiration. She told me how much she loved missions conferences and how challenged she was by them. She thanked me for giving up my home to tell the world of Christ’s love.

Her words smote my heart. I had once been that young woman.

Just then I heard the tender voice of my Heavenly Father, speaking to my cold, hard heart, “Remember the Carrie who used to love missions conferences? Remember her tears? Remember her heart for others? Remember the night she surrendered to go with me, come what may? What happened to that Carrie?”

I cried out to my Father and asked Him to draw me closer so that I could see His plan and not my own preconceived notions about how things were supposed to be. I surrendered again to His will.

I went back the next night, full of zeal and ready to follow Christ wherever He may lead. I found the young woman and hugged her. Later that night, her husband surrendered to the mission field. She ran back to where I was at our display table and hugged me like she’d never let go. She thanked me for being there and letting the Lord use me to help her.


But I didn’t help her. She helped me.

****

As a PK, Carrie had many dreams---to make it big in Nashville, marry a tall, dark and handsome prince, own a metallic green Chevy Beretta, be a missionary, and wear a pair of jeans. 3 of her dreams came true.
Today you will find her supporting her high school sweetheart on the mission field of Eastern Europe. You will also find her homeschooling, gardening, canning, cleaning (oh, the laundry!), reading, writing, or singing.
You can find her musings at Perfectly Imperfect.

Read more...