tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44707747838963622452024-03-18T23:10:07.109-05:00The Adventures of Miss-o-wissaThis blog is a peek into my life as I embark on an epic journey. I want to share my joys and sorrows. But mostly, I want to share the goodness of God. To Him be the glory, great things He is doing.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-62199450650740807322019-09-19T22:51:00.002-05:002019-09-19T22:51:43.170-05:00A Lament<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where is
the God that heals? When and why does He show up, demonstrating the power of
His name to me? Why does He seem to leave me high and dry at times? The church
of Christ must grow, but how does that happen without power? If He doesn’t show
up in power, why? On the one hand, God chooses to respond to humans and their
faith, and on the other hand, God will accomplish His purposes in spite of me.
So where do these apparent failures fit in? They certainly cannot be His
failure, so what IS the failing point? Failure…. Of something. What? Maybe
failure of my faith? My failure to see the situation in the fullness that He does,
and therefore to ask for the right thing? A failure of asking according to His
will? A failure to ask with right motives? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZmd6l80CvopD1Rd6SBMUzkGErYKKbMWOev1lYkPzlyeEESBocqHKBpcgsFVHNuII33gt5gImqTKuk9Nsifx58S0b-ubb5993czUuHG0RUB7EnmvV4MAANA6WXMYjvxdcNzGt0U3uBhts/s1600/leave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZmd6l80CvopD1Rd6SBMUzkGErYKKbMWOev1lYkPzlyeEESBocqHKBpcgsFVHNuII33gt5gImqTKuk9Nsifx58S0b-ubb5993czUuHG0RUB7EnmvV4MAANA6WXMYjvxdcNzGt0U3uBhts/s320/leave.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
How do I
ask you again, God, for things you’ve promised, even when last time you didn’t
seem to answer? How do I have confidence that you will act this time, in spite
of what appears to be failure last time? And what do I do with it if/when you
don’t seem to show up, or at least not in the ways you’ve promised? I realize
you will defend your own name, but I don’t even see that happening to the
degree I think it should. Please God! Come defend Your name! Show yourself to
the world as God, the one who heals. All powerful one, conquering death,
destruction and sickness. Deliverer who sets us free from addiction, mental
illness, and depression. Come show me your finger-prints though I am too weak
to see your face.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5RsQ146DJmPb3Kc5-EmS_O5I7SYQLY9Tl5HsMIgvISbUcIBpb_QsytU2Cy90buoUlVQBLiU7LUgFsRooJECFXMcPfga_wPp6Ca91P96K-wyvlg9wTiusHS-fbnqbxBFn9iSTsvW2tvLC3/s1600/pain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5RsQ146DJmPb3Kc5-EmS_O5I7SYQLY9Tl5HsMIgvISbUcIBpb_QsytU2Cy90buoUlVQBLiU7LUgFsRooJECFXMcPfga_wPp6Ca91P96K-wyvlg9wTiusHS-fbnqbxBFn9iSTsvW2tvLC3/s320/pain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
God, don’t
forsake me! You said you won’t, that you never will. But I feel forsaken.
Emotions don’t dictate who I am or who You are, but they do still demand to be
felt. How do I feel these things in ways that honor You? How do I hold the
truth that says You will, when what I see with my eyes says You haven’t… maybe
you won’t? How do I lean into Your love, when it feels like betrayal? Maybe I
expected You to hold my hand when You chose to shadow me with Your wings? Maybe
I didn’t see, with eyes of gratitude, the prayers You did answer, because I was
so focused on getting my way in the area You were asking me to wait. Or did you
ask me to surrender it all together? Can full surrender to You include giving
over to Your way and Your plan, or am I just giving up my faith? Making You a
way of escape (as though You need help) with “if it be thy will” and “even if
You </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">don’t”?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ93o_ElpfmWVJTXqazv4Jy-XMeSCg1YhC-xKtS6V7tRA5_R6QyBL7Diem5dXDmEO6JFU_iQGorTM5nUvGfbK041qf3h8sfAjgXqo67l7kcwoW-MlcxWPBN1pT0Hc_2nhc6ZRjBSeb0NJQ/s1600/never+leave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ93o_ElpfmWVJTXqazv4Jy-XMeSCg1YhC-xKtS6V7tRA5_R6QyBL7Diem5dXDmEO6JFU_iQGorTM5nUvGfbK041qf3h8sfAjgXqo67l7kcwoW-MlcxWPBN1pT0Hc_2nhc6ZRjBSeb0NJQ/s320/never+leave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
You are not
a man-made god like Baal. You do not sleep, vacation, pause to think, or
relieve Yourself. You are a God who sees, a God who hears, a God willing to
stoop and wrestle with me as you did with Jacob. God, I trust you. I don’t even
know how, but I trust you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say with
the Centurion, and with many others through the years, “Lord I believe…help my
unbelief.” You, good God, caring, gentle, kind, just, faithful, and holy, are
my God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRiclAHT3NgLhJHNZHIrtuXnLsORRCbkUbG4WjgVk3Qj42A9O13zjC8PcR5R47c9gA6XutuQRMAhZ2p05rPtRien6DIQM10h4w5oAjxQ7OXki0yVADZLwUsrzqQqvRs05sJScyvzgTgLEC/s1600/07277c605579e99e2feea9d6fdfd391e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRiclAHT3NgLhJHNZHIrtuXnLsORRCbkUbG4WjgVk3Qj42A9O13zjC8PcR5R47c9gA6XutuQRMAhZ2p05rPtRien6DIQM10h4w5oAjxQ7OXki0yVADZLwUsrzqQqvRs05sJScyvzgTgLEC/s320/07277c605579e99e2feea9d6fdfd391e.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
</div>
Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-67696698497469407642018-09-17T09:00:00.001-05:002018-09-17T09:00:26.178-05:00Every Breath... <p dir="ltr">Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were an offering far too small. Love so amazing, so divine, demands my life my soul my all. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm learning about worship. I believe that trees and bumble bees and grapefruit and cumulonimbus clouds can bring glory to God and proclaim His majesty. Why do I think that the things I daily do are somehow <b>different</b>... <i>less</i>... insignificant? On the one hand, they are because they are acts and creations of a creature, not the creator. But on the other hand, <i>goodness</i>! What majesty that a created thing could turn and willingly give back, as an act of worship, every emanation of life whether intentional or consequential! That God could so grip and enable the fickle heart of man that breath itself <u>could</u> be praise! </p>
<p dir="ltr">How would my spiritual perspective change if I truly believed I could live out every single aspect of my day to please God? </p>
<p dir="ltr">What if I could believe that weeding my herb garden could be worship the same way I believe singing hymns can be? </p>
<p dir="ltr">What if I saw His glory, not just in tadpoles and archipelagos, but in the creative abilities and discernment He put in me? </p>
<p dir="ltr">What if I really believed that I was a masterpiece, rather than a rehabilitation project? </p>
<p dir="ltr">What would change in my life if I saw the mind of Christ in me (the hope of glory)? </p>
<p dir="ltr">How would I live differently if I saw soul work as equal to/more important than physical or mental work? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Living a life of full-time worship is a giving over of everything. Giving everything might mean letting go of my categories. It might mean living out the image of Christ, the works of Christ, and the life of Christ while brushing my teeth, walking to class, or melting plastic over a fire to repair my water jug. It might mean learning to see worship in the welcoming of a neighbor at an inconvenient time, or in closing my eyes for a few moments' rest mid-afternoon. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Why do I categorize? What is it in me that sees some things as mundane and others as holy? Is not God the creator of all things? As a spiritual being with a physical body, is it possible that washing my hair or hanging a mosquito net could be as spiritual as listening to a sermon or sharing the gospel? Can I pretend that I steward this gift of life properly if I cannot curate well mind, body, and soul alike? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Possibly, nearly any life incident describable by a verb could also be described as worship, when properly executed. Possibly the interconnectivity of mind, soul, and spirit relates to an association between the out workings of these unique parts. Maybe neglect of one aspect is neglect of all, and nurture of one is nurturing to all. Maybe I'm finally putting some practical application to the profoundly simple words, "Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God." </p>
Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-10279207636408107162018-09-09T09:05:00.001-05:002018-09-09T09:05:23.434-05:00I don't want a lamb to pee on my cereal and 7 other things I never thought I'd say... <p dir="ltr"><br>
Should I buy some green meat today at the market?</p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm not feeling so well, but don't worry, I think it's just food poisoning.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I can't do class at the normal time tomorrow, I'll be at a circumcision party</p>
<p dir="ltr">Please don't drink gasoline, it won't cure your stomach ache.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I didn't even wake up when the hyena ate a donkey about 30 yards from my tent. </p>
<p dir="ltr">No thanks, I'd rather you didn't slice my skin with a razor blade to help my wound heal. <br></p>
<p dir="ltr">Oh look! We got some kidney as an appetizer! </p>
<p dir="ltr">I think my life is about the biggest and most wonderful adventure a girl could ask for. A few months back, while I was in the capital, I realized that I had spoken 3 languages, purchased a watermelon, and negotiated for and ridden a motorcycle all before 7 am. To all who know me well, you know that adventure and I have a magnetic attraction. You know that I have dreamed most of my life of living far away and learning language and culture not my own. I'm living the dream. <br>
Sometimes, I look at one of my housemates and just express awe at where we live and what we do. I'm aware of the rare privilege I experience on a daily basis of learning the beautiful intricacies of a new culture and language: of traveling to places few others have seen or experienced: of finding myself stretched so far that God is really the only place left to turn. I remind myself that dreams really do come true. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But dreams are often vague and fuzzy. They don't always include the daily details like killing cockroaches in the bathroom at 3 am, and nearly fainting of heat exhaustion while grocery shopping. They don't detail the exhaustion of explaining 8 times in one day that you are single and childless in a culture where childlessness is a shame, and a woman's identity is her husband and children. They don't highlight that language leaning is lonely, because you cannot express yourself well in the language you're learning, and even your heart language skills begin to decline. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Someone once told me that God usually only gives us the next step of obedience because if he showed us the whole picture, we'd say 'no'. Maybe that's true. Maybe if you'd told me 10 years ago that I'd be on the verge of my 32nd birthday, living in the far-off desert regions of Africa, single, childless, halfway through my 3rd consecutive year of language learning, dealing with sickness almost weekly, and not making any significant strides toward changing the world, maybe I would have said 'no'. Maybe if I'd known how hard it is to deal with grief, loss, and tragedy from afar, and how much effort goes into maintaining long distance relationships with all but 7 people in your life I'd have shied from the challenge. But today, knowing the other side of things, I can still maintain that I'm living the dream. It's taking more grace and grit than I could've predicted, and the details are significantly different than those I would have included, but it still thrills my heart to imagine what God has in store next. Whether this journey of mine ever has much impact on the people around me, I see ways God has changed me which make everything worth it. I'm learning things about trust that I could have learned in no other way. I guess I'll continue to dream big, and then hang on for the ride!<br><br><br></p>
Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-52691174837885159882017-10-26T21:03:00.000-05:002017-10-26T21:03:15.288-05:00Becoming Human I never, ever imagined myself sitting on a mat outside my front door with my foot in a man’s lap and him pulling each of my toes until they cracked. In fact, I’ve never had so many people pull my toes in all my life together. The thing is, I stepped on my foot wrong while it was asleep, and incurred the sort of injury which caused a three-week limp. Limping isn’t my preferred method of transportation in any country, but here, it is somewhat less enjoyable.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMPkVeEAI_D0DF1HTjjIz8nmYd3YkvWWuCl0yqp4IqlwN4wER3HOP4Zr5l2nyrMWSVoPwocESwRXHEmCyJauqX3Ooy57arYnM-qdlqQOVKm9bJjf3-LIm50URqgAe9gySpc-JtOIUjIKN/s1600/received_10159607755255220.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwMPkVeEAI_D0DF1HTjjIz8nmYd3YkvWWuCl0yqp4IqlwN4wER3HOP4Zr5l2nyrMWSVoPwocESwRXHEmCyJauqX3Ooy57arYnM-qdlqQOVKm9bJjf3-LIm50URqgAe9gySpc-JtOIUjIKN/s320/received_10159607755255220.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
A man rode by on a motorcycle at one point, and began to survey me on my condition, in French. “Madame, are you injured?” For a fleeting second, I toyed with a sarcastic, “No, I just don’t get stared at enough in this country based only on my skin color, so I decided an awkward limp would help me meet my attention quota.” Believe it or not, limping on uneven ground in 95’ heat with 20 lbs of groceries and 369 people asking if and how you were hurt(in another language) is exhausting.<br />
The great news is I did receive some medical advice which I had never formerly had reason to consider. Did you know, for example, that if your foot has ‘fallen’, you should have someone pull your toes morning and night for three days, rub Chinese lotion on it, and massage it with hot water until it hurts? At the end of these magical three days, voila, your foot will be better. If you want that swelling to go down, simply get a sharp razor blade and slice parallel to the injury several times. Along with this advice, I had several offers to administer the aforementioned cures. I declined, admitting when asked, to being afraid of the proffered treatments.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalsT8rhcdMsDQ_L_JdiZI1KkBechXWgQZKks4Wls5XjzWJ95n4HoEG0b4YTRe0xmles13-vF6wR9ulu7KdnwJsWV5gvsMr0ip8RC6aXaeEjLP0uJD635RQUINE1ToLrEQnGsnGDWYEqhU/s1600/received_10159607755420220.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalsT8rhcdMsDQ_L_JdiZI1KkBechXWgQZKks4Wls5XjzWJ95n4HoEG0b4YTRe0xmles13-vF6wR9ulu7KdnwJsWV5gvsMr0ip8RC6aXaeEjLP0uJD635RQUINE1ToLrEQnGsnGDWYEqhU/s320/received_10159607755420220.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
A rather grace-filled part of this experience is the way I’ve become human in the eyes of friends and neighbors. So many helped me find motor bikes, did the chores which involved walking, or advised me to stay and rest on the mat while they let themselves out. This has been a season of weakness, and of learning just how sweet and caring is this community of which I am becoming a part.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-17398787440612577082017-08-01T22:25:00.002-05:002017-12-30T03:44:48.244-06:00<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The Beauty of Weakness…</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">If there is one thing living in this country has taught me, it’s how</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">weak I am. One of my roommates amusingly observed, “Living here is</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">like, ‘I wonder where I’ll get hives today?’” As humor often has an</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">element of truth, I will leave it to you, the reader, to draw</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">conclusions as to the effects this place has on one’s integumentary</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">system. As for the rest of my corporal systems, I think every one of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">them has rebelled at least once in my four months here. In fact, until</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">a few weeks ago, my two housemates and I hadn’t gone 5 days together</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">where we all felt well. Having always considered myself a strong,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">independent woman with a lot of ambition, the ongoing reminders of my</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">physical weakness have brought me to my knees in new ways. There are</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">days where a two hour language lesson, 105’ heat, and cooking three</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">meals seems all I can accomplish. For a girl who’s always managed to</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">pack more into her life than was probably wise, I find myself failing</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">to meet my personal ideals on an almost daily basis. Of course, there</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">are also days like yesterday.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">It began at </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_102980499" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">5:45am</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> when my alarm chirpily reminded me that Fridays are</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">ladies’ prayer at </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_102980500" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">6:15</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">. An hour later, I found myself greeting about</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">50 women at a neighbor’s wedding. Two hours, a hearty Chadian meal, a</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">myriad of dishes, and countless greetings later, I rushed back to my</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">house for two hours of language tutoring. As a rest time, I caught up</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">on email for around a half-hour. I then made lunch and baked a cake,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">preparing for three hours of meetings with teammates. I capped all</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">that off with dinner and game night. Not shabby in terms of using</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">every minute in a day productively.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RYq6ti_V7Q2nVh6EVE4SvkN_C8QRr0Q2tn7dtBahc9RpQxWjxX7eVLD9129FiHBM3iEcAOjGDsnDVJMDEts9ZXcuWP1MZuZq5o4GTk2lAgju2eiI-fjs2aS32iV7GmNAqJaZG-WisYJP/s1600/20590558_10159216294515220_1532010351_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RYq6ti_V7Q2nVh6EVE4SvkN_C8QRr0Q2tn7dtBahc9RpQxWjxX7eVLD9129FiHBM3iEcAOjGDsnDVJMDEts9ZXcuWP1MZuZq5o4GTk2lAgju2eiI-fjs2aS32iV7GmNAqJaZG-WisYJP/s320/20590558_10159216294515220_1532010351_o.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">So what’s the balance between rest and work? What does that look like</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">here, where my body needs more rest than it ever has, and still</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">struggles to keep healthy? How do I maintain ambition, push myself,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">and overcome obstacles without paying for it in exhaustion, illness,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">or vulnerability to spiritual attack? In truth, I don’t know. “Go as a</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">learner” they said, and I was eager to devour new language, culture,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">and practice, but I never imagined how much I would need to learn</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">about myself and my relationship with God. And here I find myself</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">admitting… even spiritually and emotionally, I am weak. You guys, this</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">is hard. I have surely always been in possession of these particular</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">weaknesses, yet I’ve never been in an environment which tested them to</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">this degree. Here, I learn so personally about a God who uses the weak</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">things of this world to confound the things which are mighty (I</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Corinthians </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_102980501" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204 , 204 , 204); font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">1:27</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">). I echo the Psalmist who says “Have mercy upon me,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Oh Lord, for I am weak.” And I learn about the humility required to</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">admit my susceptibility to a degree of weakness I would formerly have</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">despised.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9G0wYt2HSFRuFIfB3Ovm0ouQ-fIV7kjxcya-yTLp3pxrlYVV2uM1P0GIbLq1kPf8PB2n7WnlCVc2mAogeBHa9QE0y0wFc_WsdzuVEqaiTklfQSDbFPsuICuq1lzmd-fOcarvud5Wd0la9/s1600/20535920_10159216294530220_1343756723_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9G0wYt2HSFRuFIfB3Ovm0ouQ-fIV7kjxcya-yTLp3pxrlYVV2uM1P0GIbLq1kPf8PB2n7WnlCVc2mAogeBHa9QE0y0wFc_WsdzuVEqaiTklfQSDbFPsuICuq1lzmd-fOcarvud5Wd0la9/s320/20535920_10159216294530220_1343756723_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Now I understand a little tiny bit about another type of weakness. And</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">the humility required of God who took on human flesh and weakness that</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">He might be ‘in all ways tempted as we are’ and persevere that He</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">might redeem mankind. Oh beautiful weakness! Suddenly I see it, not as</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">a thing to be despised, but as glimpse into my mortality, incredibly</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">juxtapositioned with my immortality. I understand in a new way a bit</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">of what it took for Jesus to leave His capabilities, and the things</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">which were familiar to go and do a new work on earth. I see my</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">awareness of this weakness as a chance to draw near to God, and allow</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Him to fulfill His promise of drawing near to me. So yes, I am weak.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">In this flesh and in this context I have no hope of overcoming this</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">total weakness. However, due to a God who promises His strength in my</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">weakness, I have every hope of watching the glory of God’s strength</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">play out in my weakness. And I anticipate experiencing the beauty and</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #f3f3f3; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">power of the ugly cross covering every weakness in Strength.</span>Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-30803266884178493262017-06-05T22:29:00.000-05:002017-06-05T22:34:13.738-05:00Surprise Parties<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">In the US, when we hear “Surprise Party”, we generally think of an unexpected birthday party which begins by people jumping out from behind your furniture and shouting in unison the emotion that they’re expecting you to feel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CSiMgbCjGCzlUlXOLaq6EnMK9kSjz8gLDIdhGAVsj7oYrFiIEHB_3KBm6WrRUC9BCItAOkfsrWK6fU2td89zuozi5NPsaQ61S17VLmeaJRSZeMXU6VkGBjHz6kqgyMWn2BxytLOZuHqR/s1600/18744970_10158847862405220_1484829852_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CSiMgbCjGCzlUlXOLaq6EnMK9kSjz8gLDIdhGAVsj7oYrFiIEHB_3KBm6WrRUC9BCItAOkfsrWK6fU2td89zuozi5NPsaQ61S17VLmeaJRSZeMXU6VkGBjHz6kqgyMWn2BxytLOZuHqR/s200/18744970_10158847862405220_1484829852_o.jpg" width="150" /></a>“Surprise!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5MAbBkF7K3QEZtnZJPtx2rjro8ipfhz1GLHpOkh13cvA5zewi5J-7gACO7WxrUDuD8krAY0P8TAHjbYNqZ0WJy1eOvc4XdL-lgRZnDNG1pGx8lDeTGUhmh1voJrTys0ZvZKa_zcvg-ucU/s1600/18767240_10158847877295220_1263338885_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5MAbBkF7K3QEZtnZJPtx2rjro8ipfhz1GLHpOkh13cvA5zewi5J-7gACO7WxrUDuD8krAY0P8TAHjbYNqZ0WJy1eOvc4XdL-lgRZnDNG1pGx8lDeTGUhmh1voJrTys0ZvZKa_zcvg-ucU/s200/18767240_10158847877295220_1263338885_o.jpg" width="150" /></a>Ours began with a goat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
We were new in the town, one week, to be exact, and we’d just moved into a new and unfinished house. Between the 105’ days and the exhaustion of trying to learn a language and culture and assimilate a new team, we were pretty beat that moving day. It was that afternoon that our friends called us and announced it. In an extremely generous turn of events, their local friends had purchased us a goat, and “SURPRISE!” we were hosting a party!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97U2WhOKfc3Gm2qM_5dS5VuhgTo2q-c9LqKtcCXaqTs7o7auqHt2cfUICxGEp6drN-3TbbC6iSBa9lUHQgjF4W1K0zQel8slnrIp38WdxuugKGmDotGrYEeud2_eoEgeslcLW7qvA4R2H/s1600/18789907_10158847866680220_853884055_o+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97U2WhOKfc3Gm2qM_5dS5VuhgTo2q-c9LqKtcCXaqTs7o7auqHt2cfUICxGEp6drN-3TbbC6iSBa9lUHQgjF4W1K0zQel8slnrIp38WdxuugKGmDotGrYEeud2_eoEgeslcLW7qvA4R2H/s200/18789907_10158847866680220_853884055_o+%25281%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
One of the singular benefits of living in a place where party food is purchased live, is that when the need arises to postpone a party, it’s not all too catastrophic. They would house and feed the goat, they said, and we could put the party off two days in order to get on our feet. This included purchasing several large party platters, learning that the party would be hosted at a friend’s house, and figuring out how to explain that while we graciously accepted the goat, it was not to be killed in sacrifice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCTe2ws2QHUpWdFBscKb6Hi8tuelQ9hMrHaqkMYugqKHSXiQa3xIRt8d-1R2Yn0Uw7Urj4UY9_phR1rzSVOHYbjAEMCkHjNa-DZPsPYGC4I2b99VsWePpqwTkxm9Q7VzShYXlRXSK8UUp/s1600/18767027_10158847870730220_201451359_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCTe2ws2QHUpWdFBscKb6Hi8tuelQ9hMrHaqkMYugqKHSXiQa3xIRt8d-1R2Yn0Uw7Urj4UY9_phR1rzSVOHYbjAEMCkHjNa-DZPsPYGC4I2b99VsWePpqwTkxm9Q7VzShYXlRXSK8UUp/s200/18767027_10158847870730220_201451359_o.jpg" width="150" /></a>The day of the party arrived, as did a cute, hobbled goat, seven local friends, and the eleven on our team. We were ushered into the backyard to witness the death of the goat, in its full, gruesome glory. The custom here is to kill animals by letting them bleed out, which leads to a fairly dramatic slaughter. Once dead, the goat required every hand present for its skinning, quartering, and cleaning. <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Having some experience with the cleaning and braiding of intestines, I jumped right in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Lunch couldn’t be served until we had washed the stomachs (goats have four) and liver and cooked them as an appetizer. Adding to the surprise of my surprise party, I learned that we would consume every single part of the goat save the gall bladder, the hooves, and the skin. Pancreases, in case you’re wondering, have very much the texture you might imaging based on the diagram from your 9<sup>th</sup> grade text book. We helped make green sauce, consisting of meat, onions, and pounded okra, cucumber salad, custard, esh (millet dough), red sauce, consisting of tomatoes, all the extra innards, meat, sweet potato, and onion, and grilled goat chops. All the food was piled onto platters, separately for men, woman, and children, and served up as the afternoon faded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
I learned a few more surprising things at this surprise party. I learned that there are a few rules of etiquette to sitting on the ground around a common platter and eating off it with your right hand. I learned that you eat all the sauce out of a dish before you agree to go for the meat. And I learned just how much laughter, joy, and friendship there can be, even when there isn’t a shared language.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkQL5EEs6N2WhQIVqEb2gK77uqB8RbdU0CCeHDhQDLNcSI3yPxWFo2YE6NgbpbKWm7gsNF6Fx7rzMNUQ90CbONjyL6CEP9Mz_igIEXTDTwtzdy1fB4awBbWDzsu7e4wxjY73sKUAUi_NZ/s1600/18765474_10158847862475220_784824319_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkQL5EEs6N2WhQIVqEb2gK77uqB8RbdU0CCeHDhQDLNcSI3yPxWFo2YE6NgbpbKWm7gsNF6Fx7rzMNUQ90CbONjyL6CEP9Mz_igIEXTDTwtzdy1fB4awBbWDzsu7e4wxjY73sKUAUi_NZ/s320/18765474_10158847862475220_784824319_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-12367585201246873242017-05-07T20:07:00.001-05:002017-05-07T20:13:44.833-05:00The Pigeon Shuffle<p dir="ltr">The Pigeon Shuffle<br>
I woke up in mild terror, realizing I had just heard a really loud thud, and experiencing a second day just after the shock of consciousness. First morning light has just begun, meaning it was about 4:50 am. My first night in a new house, in a new town, in a new country, on a new continent, I was a little sensitive to the sounds I was hearing. The thudding was loud enough that you probably could have convinced me our neighbors were catapulting small dogs over the wall onto our tin roof. It turns out that our local pigeon population isn't very good with the landing gear. Having limited prior acquaintance with pigeons, I cannot say whether ours are frightfully lacking, or whether this is a fault of the pigeon population worldwide. After a series of crash landings, they began practicing the Pigeon Shuffle, which includes scratching, cooing, and lots of fluffing of the feathers. <br>
    <br>
In other news, our house/yard sightings have been fairly tame and include lizards ranging in size from 3-16 inches long, three Guinea fowl who sound like a rusty pump handle, a cat, spiders of various sizes, some mice of substantial size, toads, about 150 small birds who nest nightly in our mango tree, and a child who braved the glass-topped wall on a dare. Oh yeah, and 76,982,910 flies, less the 14 I've killed in my fly trap. That doesn't include the menagerie that awaits just outside my gate.</p>
<p dir="ltr">To accent the Pigeon Shuffle, we seem to have a neighbor cow with both morning and evening intestinal discomfort, and a chorus of roosters unwilling to be outdone by the hoarse cow noises. Occasional it's goat bleets and motorcycle horns accent in just <u>the</u> right places. Throughout days, intermittent knocking on the gate keeps us listening for friends, neighbors, and curious children. Evening noises include a <u>solid</u> hour of chirping by our little birdie friends just preceding a frenzied flutter to claim the best branches for a nighttime roost. Beyond that, a local donkey serenades us most nights with intermittent braying, and the nightly broadcasted soccer matches are just audible as darkness falls. Our neighbor baby chimes I  from time to time as the usual evening cooking sounds clang, mix, and clatter their way into our little yard. Over it all come the sounds of many little voices, gathered to recite from their Book in one of the courtyards just adjacent to our own. Along with our laughter, that about sums up our personal cacophony singing us through the rhythm of our days.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mXTiArqUi3NUBhkm6log6nY3l4oe7Qyx-ZqERkxvs3qCEEgi5u6wqAOn8zXDtO5cSEoaxwwYxUmOFCiQwtXFl3h7W_wVDnb6I08MJPfB18Y-UjLkOTXbN4j6EX2DjfadIKGv6W0dFfxL/s1600/received_10158735028675220.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mXTiArqUi3NUBhkm6log6nY3l4oe7Qyx-ZqERkxvs3qCEEgi5u6wqAOn8zXDtO5cSEoaxwwYxUmOFCiQwtXFl3h7W_wVDnb6I08MJPfB18Y-UjLkOTXbN4j6EX2DjfadIKGv6W0dFfxL/s640/received_10158735028675220.jpeg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5djch9NIqxSrFrUzuVkl_lAQKoMPIC18HhEvtJR7d17pdls-RS2fG77CXOIyYdqbi3izkwp98lhFQVFa9lfQ9J1kFwNHxs24_DhgR4J9sIcBdv9IJKFPb5xXckzZqRif9-jjFmk2YThW/s1600/received_10158735031595220.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5djch9NIqxSrFrUzuVkl_lAQKoMPIC18HhEvtJR7d17pdls-RS2fG77CXOIyYdqbi3izkwp98lhFQVFa9lfQ9J1kFwNHxs24_DhgR4J9sIcBdv9IJKFPb5xXckzZqRif9-jjFmk2YThW/s640/received_10158735031595220.jpeg"> </a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUb2MFuNo0sI7imgkIFT9IfmYbMh4FCdkoxUlDtOAKj6Ypfmw692dTWfqtUMthzjGxLsZbKk7mEySUNdoG6D0H_-b3E-aRsAB_a48FnoJVHpqZSrYfK09cUbOMI5M2Kd8RERe5LdbJLsm/s1600/received_10158735172430220.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUb2MFuNo0sI7imgkIFT9IfmYbMh4FCdkoxUlDtOAKj6Ypfmw692dTWfqtUMthzjGxLsZbKk7mEySUNdoG6D0H_-b3E-aRsAB_a48FnoJVHpqZSrYfK09cUbOMI5M2Kd8RERe5LdbJLsm/s640/received_10158735172430220.jpeg"> </a> </div>Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-69572836843951123472016-03-20T23:14:00.000-05:002016-03-20T23:14:33.690-05:00I Said Yes!!!!!!!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpQYUOcTRyvROl-oWV5fbJiQUJmG_Y6E5eernZaS6_RF5iPtl5AVUg3F0Bil5T6ZKpstzVrinr8ryg1yhOtU972Eufza4T4aTc3LL1kVwZ2bvbAri3dnIJu6fc_8SV0TvbPnqinubSY3P/s1600/IMG_0638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpQYUOcTRyvROl-oWV5fbJiQUJmG_Y6E5eernZaS6_RF5iPtl5AVUg3F0Bil5T6ZKpstzVrinr8ryg1yhOtU972Eufza4T4aTc3LL1kVwZ2bvbAri3dnIJu6fc_8SV0TvbPnqinubSY3P/s320/IMG_0638.JPG" width="320" /></a>Today was partly cloudy, with a pinch of yearning and a light sprinkle of tears. The forecast for tomorrow is mostly sunny, I'd say. Rumor has it (and Facebook confirms) that a good friend was married today. I see pictures of so many friends in one place, celebrating, happy, familiar. A little part of my heart really longed to be with friends and family and to share the plethora of emotions that accompany such a happy occasion.<br />
<br />
This probably isn't your typical idea of "I said Yes!" Someone did, for sure, but where do I come into that picture? I went for a walk to try to figure that out. God and I had a long, long talk about so many things and people, and I told Him "Yes".<br />
<br />
Yes, I will follow you to the ends of the earth.<br />
Yes, I will find my joy and satisfaction in Your love.<br />
Yes, I will do my best to please and serve and obey you.<br />
Yes, I will forsake all others.<br />
Yes, I will give my life to you.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7trGDzg9FI4kwqzR1lTX4iv3nOfOLozdKx9bI_xmfpI4oZO6C94pDKGxyeI8bNLL9nxY1cOQFF2HeHkpkW3tTG4tw525chyphenhyphennpcDPQiUT1oo0Xi9aeeyZOh0ogZJWBL9YywIjkIvmJzVc/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7trGDzg9FI4kwqzR1lTX4iv3nOfOLozdKx9bI_xmfpI4oZO6C94pDKGxyeI8bNLL9nxY1cOQFF2HeHkpkW3tTG4tw525chyphenhyphennpcDPQiUT1oo0Xi9aeeyZOh0ogZJWBL9YywIjkIvmJzVc/s320/IMG_0724.JPG" width="320" /></a>At this point, the clouds dispelled a bit, and rays of joy began to fill my heart. It has been my experience that saying 'yes' to God is a bit like sending a beam of light through a prism. Certainly, the direction of that light beam has to change, but suddenly there is a surprising and colorful array of beauty to experience. That 'yes' which originally seemed to be a sacrifice is suddenly broader, richer, and more lovely than it ever could've been before the course change.<br />
<br />
In this season, my colors have been gradually intensifying into a satisfying rainbow. I have the joy of a new church family, and so, so many of them have welcomed me into their homes. I have the joy of living with a lovely host family in whom I can daily see the work of Jesus and as an added benefit, the food is amazing! I've been given the joy of learning a new language and culture, and that gift is made sweeter because I'm able to share the experiences with a teammate. I've been incredibly amazed to watch God bring about 100% of my monthly financial needs through His people in a very tangible expression of their love. I have children in my life on a daily basis. My French teachers are delightful, and we share a common love of God and people. As a final band of color, I have the all-surpassing joy of serving a good, good God.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoBTgupHWElJnI1jV-grB_lOYNRfijKsYJFe6Nvmp5W1qaeBd6g9XnWXpMzbWk0lIg9BkbNkEN4jmwX1d07KuOD4QKvjGQbL3B8oZNTJaLL9-WfEOeW6d1REHgYZNOtd-uC5a8jN9aal2/s1600/IMG_0765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoBTgupHWElJnI1jV-grB_lOYNRfijKsYJFe6Nvmp5W1qaeBd6g9XnWXpMzbWk0lIg9BkbNkEN4jmwX1d07KuOD4QKvjGQbL3B8oZNTJaLL9-WfEOeW6d1REHgYZNOtd-uC5a8jN9aal2/s320/IMG_0765.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
So all in all, my forecast is looking pretty bright. I even learned a ton of French words for weather last week, so I'm well on my way to confusing people in French. It's days like this that I take time to read my emotional and spiritual barometer, and re-calibrate myself with a reminder of how wonderful it is to say "YES!"Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-58512681997873340502016-01-08T17:30:00.001-06:002016-01-08T17:30:07.737-06:00Hello, it's Africa Calling....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G2Ugh5m2wvSn4GEj21ePC_Do7mw7urZaNB1JRoeIPBMCghNnFJDJjmMnE-GQ9cy_hM_8BMxXc15Ugp1qjzf6dkdr45y_tWzYcaD-aGireWogBtdcE_FRAW1vPowO6iXvRROPpawqZ0YS/s1600/CIMG0633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G2Ugh5m2wvSn4GEj21ePC_Do7mw7urZaNB1JRoeIPBMCghNnFJDJjmMnE-GQ9cy_hM_8BMxXc15Ugp1qjzf6dkdr45y_tWzYcaD-aGireWogBtdcE_FRAW1vPowO6iXvRROPpawqZ0YS/s320/CIMG0633.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
It's been a while. Lots has been going on. I'm really, super close to leaving for 9-12 months of French immersion in Canada. The end goal is this place, pictured below. AFRICA. My heart is eager to get back the this hot, sandy land and start loving on people again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wgNsUshme-dYaxPo47pFJRgvl2tR4bcMCZZI8x-3iOQTv89mGXZJ0T7lVnYFmSs_Oo5rFkuZZQdjeLQaBHK01RSezEzblU0TqBdNVy_1Ax9wszKUShML8I5bWGnUsHkOqyO1EKSHtWPO/s1600/Donkey+with+grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wgNsUshme-dYaxPo47pFJRgvl2tR4bcMCZZI8x-3iOQTv89mGXZJ0T7lVnYFmSs_Oo5rFkuZZQdjeLQaBHK01RSezEzblU0TqBdNVy_1Ax9wszKUShML8I5bWGnUsHkOqyO1EKSHtWPO/s320/Donkey+with+grass.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
It will be a simple life. I'll need to generate any electricity I hope to use, and all my water will need to be filtered. I'll likely cook over a propane burner or a fire, and I may not have refrigeration. Grocery shopping will occur at an open market. Fresh fruits and veggies will be quite limited, but meat choices include goat and lamb, which are both favorites.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWazFY4WQGRWKOUhE8vxn-oMSevmpRXtivXXxg1UbaFQU9m-g-eOoRcyirpdYY_MTEu2FVlrUq87XO5XvB_ffhqe1pQhvRmvvrJJECZRn459e2mQQW5F_X4rNCt6GA1uVw28P3rw-GKfiM/s1600/IMG_0372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWazFY4WQGRWKOUhE8vxn-oMSevmpRXtivXXxg1UbaFQU9m-g-eOoRcyirpdYY_MTEu2FVlrUq87XO5XvB_ffhqe1pQhvRmvvrJJECZRn459e2mQQW5F_X4rNCt6GA1uVw28P3rw-GKfiM/s320/IMG_0372.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I'll probably spend time with plenty of the other expats and their kids. My joy will be found in the Lord, and in demonstrating love and the gospel. I'll make so many new friends and learn so many new words. The simple things of life that I learned so long ago will have to be relearned. Cooking, showering, cleaning, shopping, travel, chores.... it all looks so much different in Africa.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYf4Rfy0aJjmXeOXGMU-4p6NZwFm9bySRcIDQDNt7oiefhWQGUWx-Rg0mxXkdMBK9cgzr7OJ0PNytyxf_bBR1NhL_8w3HH1Z30RuP8lormhc2Yxl40mvn-AcyUYSpe_NEk-14WJUh-EZE/s1600/IMG_0719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYf4Rfy0aJjmXeOXGMU-4p6NZwFm9bySRcIDQDNt7oiefhWQGUWx-Rg0mxXkdMBK9cgzr7OJ0PNytyxf_bBR1NhL_8w3HH1Z30RuP8lormhc2Yxl40mvn-AcyUYSpe_NEk-14WJUh-EZE/s320/IMG_0719.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But first, St. Jerome, Canada with this girl. We'll learn French and intern at a new church there. We'll continue to prepare for Africa, and to learn helpful skills which we can teach, in turn. Life's about to change, folks. A few last details, and, Lord willing, Canada by February 1st. Change is in the air, and this girl's ready.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-76358329829211344262015-11-01T23:26:00.001-06:002015-11-01T23:26:53.078-06:00An Unlikely Fit....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMIrWuHt4XSuCJ-3Vag7hD94DFH9U3IyK3syBVApb6AQ66gCnmtZkwHcZh-sbL_UZ463aAnr1k0zSWF_1yBfyyp2ryBsyHrwmVwzbhOuUXYhdPmzFtOHUHPAnbBR1UkaLJbf_BdLg6okg/s1600/11401397_699872553492811_8331382048548140949_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmMIrWuHt4XSuCJ-3Vag7hD94DFH9U3IyK3syBVApb6AQ66gCnmtZkwHcZh-sbL_UZ463aAnr1k0zSWF_1yBfyyp2ryBsyHrwmVwzbhOuUXYhdPmzFtOHUHPAnbBR1UkaLJbf_BdLg6okg/s320/11401397_699872553492811_8331382048548140949_n.jpg" width="297" /></a>When I drove past the sign, it caught my attention.<br />
<b>The Biker Church.</b><br />
What was this place? What might God be doing there? I was on a Tuesday afternoon drive, so I disregarded the thought and continued enjoying my fall drive. Saturday night, as I prayed about where I should visit for church in the morning, that sign kept coming back to me. I was really curious, but also very intimidated. This wasn't a group I anticipated 'blending' with.<br />
<br />
Sunday morning came and I found myself wondering what a person might wear to a Biker Church. I realized that I almost certainly had nothing that would seem appropriate, based on my admittedly limited knowledge of what I was getting myself into. I just dressed in something simple and neither too casual, nor too dressy. On the way, I blasted music and let the wind whip through my car.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0p3V9MucA-bUW5ekTQrK-TgmIW3EH9vMpuKIYKw4K1ozhS93N_O_OiUUIiiv_xlT2hslgloQ27qBL9BTNuFO5Q0sZbzQBTr05kSDpq0h5enpfvMQJ3L8qg5ONxn7zfvrlx69ekPN3lSOb/s1600/12096099_767296403417092_4232227366207288991_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0p3V9MucA-bUW5ekTQrK-TgmIW3EH9vMpuKIYKw4K1ozhS93N_O_OiUUIiiv_xlT2hslgloQ27qBL9BTNuFO5Q0sZbzQBTr05kSDpq0h5enpfvMQJ3L8qg5ONxn7zfvrlx69ekPN3lSOb/s320/12096099_767296403417092_4232227366207288991_n.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
<br />
When I spotted the church's sign, I noticed two or three motorcycles in the parking lot. I also noticed that it was a garage-type building, and that the sign didn't point down a nearby road as I had initially assumed. A very brief glimpse in the door as I drove by, showed that there were just a few chairs set up, and it looked to be small. Honestly, I reconsidered. Because I was 8 minutes early, I decided to keep driving.<br />
<br />
For the next 10 minutes I drove down a road, debating between just walking into one of the many churches I passed where I'd be a 'normal' visitor and I wouldn't stand out. I tried to tell myself all the reasons that I could just go to the Baptist, Presbyterian, Evangelical Free, or Methodist church that I passed just in that short drive. But I kept thinking of what I might miss if I didn't take this opportunity. So, I took a deep breath, gave myself a pep-talk, and turned around to head back to my chosen place of worship.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1rJR9Rg3UT_xLsF6hf5w6qXjlJ7WHsO6bnlV127calz_3Fh5cSIsJyrAtAqsze1Mh-R1iLseMROet8FLHfe7nzBfOvtsHyoYmgWVXhoz0shKnznPXoMjtGcRf-PyE13L2HrpNxvWe6rJ/s1600/10644914_569131069900294_2786787480953367970_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1rJR9Rg3UT_xLsF6hf5w6qXjlJ7WHsO6bnlV127calz_3Fh5cSIsJyrAtAqsze1Mh-R1iLseMROet8FLHfe7nzBfOvtsHyoYmgWVXhoz0shKnznPXoMjtGcRf-PyE13L2HrpNxvWe6rJ/s320/10644914_569131069900294_2786787480953367970_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>I've learned a few things about visiting new churches alone in this last, nomadic year. One is that the sooner you get through the greeting committee, and into the church proper, the sooner you can find a seat, blend in, and take the opportunity to observe your surroundings. Even in a friendly church, people will usually give you a moment or two, and you can gather your wits and prepare for the onslaught of 'new' that will make your acquaintance. Acting on this theory, I pulled into the parking lot, gave a quick smile and greeting to the two men at the door, and ducked inside.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxW50V_glehwhb4MiqisEPPmj2HiCejh3d1LKWoQtfP4MRzkbZST0T7Fwd23TS0WERrwI8rGhdGKafITxQj_NvQWtkyYn3u4xifNMAUG1ipjGHlRPINbTV_SnNlCxUqtPg0nBM7Ffgr8lN/s1600/12122470_10156230039855220_4350766080243083463_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxW50V_glehwhb4MiqisEPPmj2HiCejh3d1LKWoQtfP4MRzkbZST0T7Fwd23TS0WERrwI8rGhdGKafITxQj_NvQWtkyYn3u4xifNMAUG1ipjGHlRPINbTV_SnNlCxUqtPg0nBM7Ffgr8lN/s320/12122470_10156230039855220_4350766080243083463_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Inside was no relief. It was a functional motorcycle garage with an altar, 10 chairs, and a sound booth monitored by a 13-year-old girl. Nobody else was inside. One of the greeter guys from the doorway ducked inside and introduced himself. Smokey was an ex-biker who was all smiles and friendliness. He got me some coffee and made me feel welcome. I soon met the other 8 church-goers. Worship was simple; prayer and testimonies, worship along with Youtube, and a clear, straight-forward sermon. I'd picked the perfect day to visit, my new friends told me, because we were having lunch today. As service ended, I began to feel slightly more comfortable.<br />
<br />
I joined that little church for lunch. I joined them the next Sunday as well. The little group of 10 or 20 that gathers in a Motorcycle garage has a little place in my heart now. They welcomed me well, and they joined me in my excitement about my future in Africa. It took a bit of guts to join them, but God used an unlikely fit into an unlikely group of people to encourage my heart these past two weeks. Who knew how God would bless me through a tiny gathering of saints in a small town in North Carolina.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-18452498500956025802015-10-14T12:07:00.001-05:002015-10-14T12:07:40.462-05:00I wish I were Brave...I wish I were brave.<br />
That my heart was stuffed full of courage.<br />
That it didn't hurt to make choices that are different.<br />
I wish I were free.<br />
From this need to feel everything.<br />
From the conflicting desires for comfort and control.<br />
I wish I were cool.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPgpWgm9XE3NC5dEa6rJVDcwJ66gICP4xaPFK-dxttbBuyf5aJBb9U1auDT8bNr9ADDdmnUJH3rYSpf6rQ6DYaDsNjh2J64zep9z8QXIV8RlqMAgnyCQ4KFdgc2k9FDL59qiLijOsgwPWj/s1600/Brave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPgpWgm9XE3NC5dEa6rJVDcwJ66gICP4xaPFK-dxttbBuyf5aJBb9U1auDT8bNr9ADDdmnUJH3rYSpf6rQ6DYaDsNjh2J64zep9z8QXIV8RlqMAgnyCQ4KFdgc2k9FDL59qiLijOsgwPWj/s320/Brave.jpg" width="247" /></a>So that change wouldn't phase me.<br />
So I'd know how to be when there aren't any rules.<br />
I wish I were gentle.<br />
When I speak and when I respond.<br />
When with others and toward myself.<br />
I wish it made sense.<br />
To give and forgive.<br />
To let others in, and to let them go.<br />
I wish I understood.<br />
What it means to 'cast my care'.<br />
What it looks like to 'count all but loss'.<br />
I wish, and I work, and I wait.<br />
Until the reflection of Glory is all others see.<br />
Until my heart is established in courage not my own.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-43955954113306597212015-08-17T23:02:00.002-05:002015-08-17T23:02:34.962-05:00All I ever wanted... Sometimes missions is all I want to do and all I've ever wanted to do, but occasionally I really count the cost. Sometimes I like the thought of being a well-dressed and successful business woman. But other times it feels equally right to be hand-washing laundry in the Sahara with a four-year-old. Isn't that what this life is? A series of choices? The most epic Chose Your Own Adventure book in the world? My dear, late pastor used to remind me that the good is the enemy of the best. And I feel it sometimes, in my heart. The good and the best engaged in combat. A hand-to-hand battle that is crushing my heart. The yearning to live without yearning.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1G2syFP_UIEdziQlCnvf2D4Xd3FHwpsTgEN8jKZ1AGo-nGecL741zJWnQ-xI2kZPjHyK1vHUHwbyDgokod2_PIxX7-XLCz78LKr7HzQD3xeeFbURLIyPiv61fD36gwy9H3mJnu5Q1VR7m/s1600/IMG_0821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1G2syFP_UIEdziQlCnvf2D4Xd3FHwpsTgEN8jKZ1AGo-nGecL741zJWnQ-xI2kZPjHyK1vHUHwbyDgokod2_PIxX7-XLCz78LKr7HzQD3xeeFbURLIyPiv61fD36gwy9H3mJnu5Q1VR7m/s320/IMG_0821.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washing laundry with Hadessah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">This season of life I'm in is so fluid. Some days are jam-packed with multiple jobs, church commitments, study, and communication. Other days, I feel like a schoolkid in the summer time with a chance to catch up on reading, sleep, and a social life. Each experience is shaping me and preparing me. I can see how important this time is spiritually. I'm learning to be disciplined in a schedule-free existence... something that will likely come in handy in the Sahara. I'm learning to ask God for my daily bread in a much more literal way than I ever have before. He's proving himself faithful again and again.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mtH_7DlZ_dr9IxzGIuk4T_nbGE_Z1YH_Sg-5DM5lACq-bqLs_MaaqxGdqFXoCC-mQyAzEIUrjhaenSjJ_7IMMrr0uFxM_uXxRC8d0uhABgXEX5i5WCwvjD47LIoyA5huFkMrxtqABV_v/s1600/IMG_1517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1mtH_7DlZ_dr9IxzGIuk4T_nbGE_Z1YH_Sg-5DM5lACq-bqLs_MaaqxGdqFXoCC-mQyAzEIUrjhaenSjJ_7IMMrr0uFxM_uXxRC8d0uhABgXEX5i5WCwvjD47LIoyA5huFkMrxtqABV_v/s320/IMG_1517.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men praying in the market place</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In this season where I'm pursuing training, classes, and a few other things to prepare me for the Sahara, I'm also gathering people around me who will commit to regular praying, financial giving, and spiritual/emotional support. I'm building an email list to keep people up to date, and I'm designing prayer cards. I'm learning about waiting again. I'd love to hear from any/all of you, and to reconnect before I travel again. I'd love to add you to my email list and keep you abreast of all that God is doing. Message me, eh?Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-84800739433901844152015-05-29T17:29:00.000-05:002015-11-16T16:28:48.373-06:00Africa... Visited.<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="text-align: center;">My travels in Africa look somewhat like a dot-to-dot. We were a little here, a little there, and a smidgen of time between the two. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Who is we? Laura, a friend I trained with in the Philippines, came to with me. We visited three teams in four cities in addition to catching the sweet baby for whom we were originally summoned. Timing throughout the trip was perfectly ordained by God.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRqtR5NEb50z16NO0-JaAI7XmMNP4i-pF4JGznncbG151DHIDGIBMZdvYrxS6MuF7NVMAEmI5kO6CginUTT21eJLA8QmauiKyZVX7isZHYugMybKim51Y0oDaQkeMczeDL7KRG0TFCXmG/s1600/IMG_1057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRqtR5NEb50z16NO0-JaAI7XmMNP4i-pF4JGznncbG151DHIDGIBMZdvYrxS6MuF7NVMAEmI5kO6CginUTT21eJLA8QmauiKyZVX7isZHYugMybKim51Y0oDaQkeMczeDL7KRG0TFCXmG/s320/IMG_1057.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;">Us with Sahara, the baby we caught, and her mother</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As planned, Laura and I had the privilege of attending the birth of Sahara, born in the middle of a Saharan sand storm. Her birth was perfect and beautiful, and all of the things we asked God for were granted. Because we were so far from any decent backup care, we prayed for a complication-free delivery, and God came through.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Mh50S2Xn__a4cJi7RWOH5T17laVmSPXgSEFwWYK6wqIlf1IWGbkQR2_8nOsJOtHgjnGNF02TIhO5ape5qBMZcjO9fmNBKd2dckYaczHE6U0b6HRlg7YN47zIQ9x8Mk1gCIbZwJMLFBYM/s1600/IMG_1061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Mh50S2Xn__a4cJi7RWOH5T17laVmSPXgSEFwWYK6wqIlf1IWGbkQR2_8nOsJOtHgjnGNF02TIhO5ape5qBMZcjO9fmNBKd2dckYaczHE6U0b6HRlg7YN47zIQ9x8Mk1gCIbZwJMLFBYM/s320/IMG_1061.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Laura and I painting a house</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the next town we visited, Laura and I were able to help another family get closer to settling in their new house. We painted the entire inside of the house in two long days! We were so clearly able to see God's timing there as well, because the family was unable to hire local help.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzLr_dGAbhmT1-9NtL15FaaeWYi0Ei_nQZmSt9a1VU5lE4EquIpkcShoFqMVFgLKpDTyuuyk_2kOXpfPG47vSGUt3vugODcCwoM25uA3zktA-Dx3PYaMQpvGZ1yzljNC1-nxxj6C6XINl/s1600/IMG_1289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzLr_dGAbhmT1-9NtL15FaaeWYi0Ei_nQZmSt9a1VU5lE4EquIpkcShoFqMVFgLKpDTyuuyk_2kOXpfPG47vSGUt3vugODcCwoM25uA3zktA-Dx3PYaMQpvGZ1yzljNC1-nxxj6C6XINl/s320/IMG_1289.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the families we stayed with</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Next, we stayed with a family who is doing language learning in one of the bigger cities in the area. While there, we met orphanage workers and other volunteers from several different organizations. We were also able to visit a premature baby to give additional care and support to that family. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfga8HcdNZxBr_p0RiQQRr9vEdLt95UO7FYAM9EU9oLxZ2eq-d93LPi_XeFMpcEipF_-U9clGpfUF7f-JklYqk9wjlZlOxsT1QiuoY4uCSBMR4nSTTKBHo-Sr2hfq18R8gsqsRsn4O9_g/s1600/IMG_1180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfga8HcdNZxBr_p0RiQQRr9vEdLt95UO7FYAM9EU9oLxZ2eq-d93LPi_XeFMpcEipF_-U9clGpfUF7f-JklYqk9wjlZlOxsT1QiuoY4uCSBMR4nSTTKBHo-Sr2hfq18R8gsqsRsn4O9_g/s320/IMG_1180.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Evaluating a Premature Baby</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, we spent some time in a third city further south. There, we were privileged to give a health teaching in a settled Nomad village. We taught woman about some of the common complications surrounding childbirth, and we gave them some simple solutions. At the end of this time, we shared a Bible story with them. As the team is new there, and focused mostly on language learning, this was the first time a health outreach and spiritual outreach had been combined. What joy to be there for that special 'Grand Opening'!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dvpC1J_Qc7RKdWL1IQJzSJmpe62RPDov779Ydlx-r1hUXRnKsnvKJz6i5riD2eggVrDcPqE2QUpJHkiRsEenoV7wDz-cS5_LFXvQiGdFeQb-5i6IVjtRnTh_57CQhl909s_cx1FjiUyA/s1600/IMG_1408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dvpC1J_Qc7RKdWL1IQJzSJmpe62RPDov779Ydlx-r1hUXRnKsnvKJz6i5riD2eggVrDcPqE2QUpJHkiRsEenoV7wDz-cS5_LFXvQiGdFeQb-5i6IVjtRnTh_57CQhl909s_cx1FjiUyA/s320/IMG_1408.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Introducing Women's Health and Jesus in a Nomad village</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Overall, Laura and I both came back with a desire to seek God as far as long-term work in Africa. We saw His hand of provision, protection, and planning throughout our trip, and we saw the great spiritual and physical needs that He has equipped us to address. We ask you to pray with us as we pursue a long-term </span>commitment<span style="font-family: inherit;"> to working in Africa.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span>
<br />
<div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1432935953394_2610" style="background-color: white;">
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-98269346855129872015-01-20T21:12:00.000-06:002015-01-20T21:12:13.158-06:00A Hard Job....She'd given birth to 10 children, and yet, this one was her hardest labor. She was so worried about her daughter. Was everything ok? Each time we checked heart tones, she met our eyes with a question in hers. Was that normal? Was her daughter going to be alright? Wasn't this labor too long and too hard? Shouldn't the baby be born by now? Instead of settling in and letting labor take it's course, she was anxious. She couldn't sleep. She nibbled on food. She asked hundreds of questions. Sometimes she even paced.<br />
<br />
<i>Grandmother-to-be is a hard job.</i><br />
<br />
It was 12:22 am on the coldest night of the year when we pulled down the gravel drive in rural KY. A fire kept the Amish home toasty and warm in contrast to the crunchy cold outdoors that shrink-wrapped your skin to your face every time you walked to the outhouse. Kerosene lamps stood, lit, on several surfaces in the main room, giving the house a comfortable feel like warm tea in your belly. After some relaxed conversation and laughter, things quieted down. We all tried to get some rest before the action really picked up.<br />
<br />
<i>Labor is a hard job.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
She worked so hard, resting when she needed to, and exercising to help move things along. In early afternoon things began to get more uncomfortable, and it seemed that the end was in sight. Baby's heartbeat even gave us a few decelerated readings that seemed promising. A check told us that baby was in an unfavorable position, and we still had a long way to go. She stayed strong and tried so many different tricks to encourage baby to re-position. Her pain moved to her back and became nearly unbearable as darkness visited for the second time in her labor. She begged for relief and another check showed us that things still weren't anywhere near ready for birth. She clung to her husband with each contraction as they somersaulted over her, one right behind the other.<br />
<br />
<i>Mother-to-be is a hard job.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
He looked earnestly at us as we discussed options for his wife and baby. We could try the birth pool as a last resort, or we could go to the hospital for pain relief. Positions and massage were not offering reprieve any more. He agreed to stoke the wood stove and try to heat enough water to fill an 80 gallon pool up in his kitchen. Up and down the stairs he trekked with armloads of wood. Teapots, soup pots, and canners full of water were heated on propane burners and the wood stove. Finally, the pool was full. His wife found enough relief to doze off a bit between contractions, and in his relief, he was able to crumple on the floor against the kitchen counter and nod off as well.<br />
<br />
<i>Father-to-be is a hard job.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
With daylight just beginning to show her face, the time had come for little one to make his/her grand appearance. As with the rest of labor, it was an uphill battle. Mommy, Daddy, and Midwives tried so many different positions to talk baby out of his/her timidity. The midwives took turns, because even a certified contortionist wouldn't have outdone us that day. When Mommy needed to, she would push, pull, squeeze, or lean on whomever was available. This midwife now understands the term 'head compression' and knows that when squeezed hard enough, she will see multicolored stars swirling across her field of vision. The other midwife nearly had her jaw dislocated.<br />
<br />
<i>Midwife is a hard job.</i><br />
<br />
And then, we could see the head. Slowly, slowly, and after plenty more work, it was here... and turning purple. The shoulder was stuck. But on the way to the birth, God had spoken to the heart of one of the midwives, and she knew to be prepared for this. A few proper moves and 30 seconds later, here was baby. Cord spiraled around her neck, body, and leg, which explains why she had a few incidents of sounding stressed. The focus was untangling the cord, and oops! Maybe we should get that second leg born. Then a deep breath, a snuffle, and a cry. So many lumps on that poor, misshapen head from her difficult escape from the inside.<br />
<br />
<i>New baby is a hard job.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Finally everyone was here, happy, and healthy. Grandmother was so relieved, and so proud of her daughter and granddaughter. Labor was over. Mother was curled up with her new little girl, admiring all 9 pounds and 8 ounces of her. Daddy was beaming and making sure morning chores were done. Midwives were <strike>planning to sleep</strike> cleaning up, filling out paper work, and answering questions. Baby was being cute, the way new babies should. All that to say that sometimes, it takes five people a day and a half to introduce a new baby to the world.<br />
<br />Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-36963949689578863292015-01-18T23:40:00.000-06:002015-01-18T23:40:33.564-06:00One Baby at a Time...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPpzoE3aNiXCexSd_DTeKGuBbi6DvpVgdib4f54FENnN3tkfDoL2NeYVIMbAhpemcKKMZwP1gYz6xbuFRwcO23-FFASyBc2NlxIANync7FUvLogxC0BvVsiY9wpWLkV4ug4GiARQFlj3c/s1600/see+the+world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPpzoE3aNiXCexSd_DTeKGuBbi6DvpVgdib4f54FENnN3tkfDoL2NeYVIMbAhpemcKKMZwP1gYz6xbuFRwcO23-FFASyBc2NlxIANync7FUvLogxC0BvVsiY9wpWLkV4ug4GiARQFlj3c/s1600/see+the+world.jpg" /></a></div>
That's how I'm seeing the world. One baby at a time. When I left the Philippines and entered another season of waiting, I prayed that God would provide opportunities for me to serve His people with midwifery. A week after that, I had the privilege of attending the birth of my friends' firstborn son. Three weeks later, I was in Honduras for a birth.<br />
<br />
December found me in Georgia with dear friends, welcoming their daughter, and January has had me working alongside a midwife in Kentucky. Has the Lord answered my prayers? You be the judge.<br />
<br />
<br />
I received the message below from a patient in the Philippines. These are the sentiments that make my job worth it.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20.4799995422363px; white-space: pre-wrap;">jan, 19 2013 ur my midwif of my child,, now my child is 2yrs old ,,thank u u are the 1 helping me in my labor,,</span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmayPmz-ZT3BQNw9i6H5qPR6rv17z9IAxss7Ywla-dSB56M7l4rLRFTPZjegnKvm-bGB8DOMQSjvsXDu1Sc2qz-7bReFfLe254FaHTTOUsMKg6l5wUQW5m65xIaqyImBeE9bHAQDSVcRq/s1600/DSC01449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmayPmz-ZT3BQNw9i6H5qPR6rv17z9IAxss7Ywla-dSB56M7l4rLRFTPZjegnKvm-bGB8DOMQSjvsXDu1Sc2qz-7bReFfLe254FaHTTOUsMKg6l5wUQW5m65xIaqyImBeE9bHAQDSVcRq/s1600/DSC01449.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura is the other midwife in a headband.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And now, I fly again. To a new continent and a new country. To a family in Chad, who is bringing Jesus to their neighbors. To a Momma who needs a midwife for her 6th baby. The plan is that I will travel with a good friend who worked alongside me in the Philippines. We plan to visit several other teams in the country while we're there. Both Laura and I are praying about whether God would set either or both of us in a team there.<br />
<br />
So I'm off to see another part of the world. Tour de Bebe. To see another set of prayers answered for myself, Laura, and the family to whom we are sent. 20 days from now, I will board a plane for 1.5 months of Africa. Blessed be the Lord, who fills my heart with desires, and then grants me the desires of my heart.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-64979276457387155082015-01-03T12:10:00.001-06:002015-01-03T12:10:04.436-06:00The In Betweens....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK57uuOCHP1Gkjs7eIk1fWjXABhBLwWba1iKEW4N3UJe7tUzPVBxa_CDsdXeSNnamwGnjXnjv-cgD0DR527BM8lBLo98alLSaSZQWXETFbKWBIBJHL_hkKgsuEkXaN4SWkC3vKNQ1tmeeY/s1600/10846002_957139717646991_2816460186241970390_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK57uuOCHP1Gkjs7eIk1fWjXABhBLwWba1iKEW4N3UJe7tUzPVBxa_CDsdXeSNnamwGnjXnjv-cgD0DR527BM8lBLo98alLSaSZQWXETFbKWBIBJHL_hkKgsuEkXaN4SWkC3vKNQ1tmeeY/s1600/10846002_957139717646991_2816460186241970390_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>The in betweens of life are the times we seem to want out of the most. They're the times in which we feel suspended, lost, and lacking direction. The times we spend pursuing a degree, waiting for a dream job, forming a little one within us, growing up, figuring out our next steps.... the becoming that we lose track of for always pursuing the end goal. The cliche journey vs. destination conundrum.<br />
<br />
But I think these in-between times make up most of our lives. I'm coming to believe we need to embrace these times the most closely, because they make up so much of our histories. This is the stuff lives are composed of. To find joy and contentment in the in-betweens is a delight few know and many should learn.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgC46Lna0zkeCsCi1PfmxHzLm8d59ZaSTGOwe6HRYmURuT3_hx0DwgBs3YbuGtYrBwwrNQlR-KSUhWA3CJ2lfdB5smp4XRWTiL91yomROcezCzSRGMW2nrhOCk4A4QxvZvPWzce2csKdb/s1600/DSCN9550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgC46Lna0zkeCsCi1PfmxHzLm8d59ZaSTGOwe6HRYmURuT3_hx0DwgBs3YbuGtYrBwwrNQlR-KSUhWA3CJ2lfdB5smp4XRWTiL91yomROcezCzSRGMW2nrhOCk4A4QxvZvPWzce2csKdb/s1600/DSCN9550.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
This thing called waiting is one of those lessons I keep getting. Either I've failed to learn, or I'm failing to retain, but it seems to come around at least as frequently as the purposeful, intentional, goal-focused living that is the stuff people <i>think </i>life is made of. Yet that elusive dream of a structured life so often keeps me from living well the pieces that <u>are</u> set before me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnSx124k5oESlVqRHKA6CE4AhTf2PAhp2vDAmufNGSfc244Xuc9eyQd5MsdX1eZ86puZUFZ6gsKhNmQ-gvQE-uIVMzx2wg0uM39Scl1_3v-hwSMcrq2B5yyEj6xnR5FstbZqD4SX3rsm3/s1600/10881529_815397475189186_1834822823102335008_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnSx124k5oESlVqRHKA6CE4AhTf2PAhp2vDAmufNGSfc244Xuc9eyQd5MsdX1eZ86puZUFZ6gsKhNmQ-gvQE-uIVMzx2wg0uM39Scl1_3v-hwSMcrq2B5yyEj6xnR5FstbZqD4SX3rsm3/s1600/10881529_815397475189186_1834822823102335008_n.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pastor Jerry in the striped tie, now with Jesus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm reminded to enjoy the in-betweens as I grieve the loss of one of my Philippine pastors, Pastor Jerry. He turned 50 at the beginning of December, and he is survived by his wife of 2 years, and his 1-year-old baby girl. If he'd waited for those monumental things in life, rather than living his in-betweens, there wouldn't be so much living to his life. Who knows when our time is up and our name will be called? How can we measure the importance of our lives in events, achievements, and goals?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KU7g7RB-ALvKTVDiJlVCuHMcpxFhsxw3iHwI8m8ya-aPMhHrhxqrA_zAGVOfMo0w9fIXaDwv16G88wUvuq8ydy58DYOWMZkTJAEtd5DCSefiKc2FFdY2Oxlgh1qT7K_-0ZYvl7y-6Mio/s1600/d2c292231395d11be24fc7965e3659af.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KU7g7RB-ALvKTVDiJlVCuHMcpxFhsxw3iHwI8m8ya-aPMhHrhxqrA_zAGVOfMo0w9fIXaDwv16G88wUvuq8ydy58DYOWMZkTJAEtd5DCSefiKc2FFdY2Oxlgh1qT7K_-0ZYvl7y-6Mio/s1600/d2c292231395d11be24fc7965e3659af.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a>In so many ways I find myself in a major in-between time just now. I'm striving to live each day thoughtfully, purposefully, and prayerfully. I have hopes and dreams which may develop into goals and achievements, but I'm insistent upon living the now with intention. While idealistic thoughts and dreams for the future should drive me forward, they are actually a hindrance when they interfere with a fruit-filled today. So while I plan to keep dreaming and anticipating, I'm also learning to make the most of my in-betweens.<br />
<br />
I must work the works of Him who sent me while it is day. The night cometh when no man can work. John 9:4<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-82503763034372546152014-12-18T00:43:00.002-06:002014-12-18T00:43:27.364-06:00In Which I Travel Again.....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEDYZ_OGk4CxOS1QCDbOrUI9M9JRa-25O9rocnTw3ogyaQUTEzHaRq3U_PchL3R30F4BsWW8TbGDUOqNv7xFa0s9dyqQtDzeI0wUiN-nCfGGEkjtDWpl-DTy5JjSYtZ-YW2ASVliwl3VC/s1600/2fda604e471c76a098aabb7dda03a6db.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEDYZ_OGk4CxOS1QCDbOrUI9M9JRa-25O9rocnTw3ogyaQUTEzHaRq3U_PchL3R30F4BsWW8TbGDUOqNv7xFa0s9dyqQtDzeI0wUiN-nCfGGEkjtDWpl-DTy5JjSYtZ-YW2ASVliwl3VC/s1600/2fda604e471c76a098aabb7dda03a6db.jpg" height="200" width="174" /></a>Here we go again.<br />
Ah! The life of a wayfaring stranger. I'm a wee bit gypsy, I think.<br />
Travel and new homes.<br />
New friends and new faces.<br />
<br />
I've kissed the new little face I came to see in Georgia, so this weekend will find me traveling again. Kentucky should be another month of new little people and learning.<br />
I'm sure that too, will look different than I expect it to.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxMDKMy_3PR0qTc4y96fOmrIhaKut4_tjuL9MApJ4hDv6184Zxmnk7fDBYW7rB8s81TFOvjJZK3ArOaY1n7tU7HwiUPaJS5L8TFPM5vznGzZRkVwBibWy8VEPQQycbTqO_LXwB4zzZwVu/s1600/6c917d80b0d70d87f450dcbe765f03af.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxMDKMy_3PR0qTc4y96fOmrIhaKut4_tjuL9MApJ4hDv6184Zxmnk7fDBYW7rB8s81TFOvjJZK3ArOaY1n7tU7HwiUPaJS5L8TFPM5vznGzZRkVwBibWy8VEPQQycbTqO_LXwB4zzZwVu/s1600/6c917d80b0d70d87f450dcbe765f03af.jpg" height="190" width="200" /></a><br />
This 'coming home' thing is not as simple as one might think. While I find open arms and kindness everywhere I turn, my heart doesn't feel settled anywhere. My season in the Philippines is over, yet Wisconsin, with all it's charm and beauty, is not a permanent settling place for me.<br />
<br />
And this heart wasn't made to settle. It was made to strive for more.<br />
<br />
I have a bit of a fear of 'falling into' the hustle and bustle of everything here, and forgetting to move on.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUyduYw8INC7VwgIjXodE7_7bF9ad0jVDdFB4IXGKMA6rj68gISzNZ002ywnYkXoPjzjsIfSHdfCrGw8HPytNrF4JvPohFxstmduU5xfYK-pcJPNJe8cpDPMldti7XdafA-7NpsBsjSMu/s1600/143906a8471f6939c5121cb8b3b37f7c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUyduYw8INC7VwgIjXodE7_7bF9ad0jVDdFB4IXGKMA6rj68gISzNZ002ywnYkXoPjzjsIfSHdfCrGw8HPytNrF4JvPohFxstmduU5xfYK-pcJPNJe8cpDPMldti7XdafA-7NpsBsjSMu/s1600/143906a8471f6939c5121cb8b3b37f7c.jpg" height="280" width="320" /></a><br />
My prayer at present is for purpose and vision. For clear direction and next steps.<br />
In this season I'm knocking on doors, turning over stones, and trying to find a place that God is working so I can join Him.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rKEgmONIgyZcEnEsdBE9gewo7Am7Fhxf6FelF-7RBa1vWOPfMyKGp55YtLbVJyd5Kdvlidrd8AG6Fpz5GkaUV16ubS62V84f050lNy8MNsAmrxfBggJWF53Jm7o9JyZXwvjBq1cvnI7G/s1600/0dde598ff184573149d0bb711bd55f4b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rKEgmONIgyZcEnEsdBE9gewo7Am7Fhxf6FelF-7RBa1vWOPfMyKGp55YtLbVJyd5Kdvlidrd8AG6Fpz5GkaUV16ubS62V84f050lNy8MNsAmrxfBggJWF53Jm7o9JyZXwvjBq1cvnI7G/s1600/0dde598ff184573149d0bb711bd55f4b.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a>And I'm trying to rest. Refresh. Rebuild.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As usual I have big dreams and big ideas. The difficulty now is sorting out the ones that belong to me, and the ones that come from Him.<br />
<br />
I'm striving to be prudent and diligent in the meanwhile, stewarding my time in a way that will honor Him.<br />
<br />
The God of all peace is where my heart finds home. He is my vision and my soul's true desire.<br />
May this wanderlust keep me ever cognizant that this world is not my home. May it keep me from settling for comfort over courage. May it turn my face ever toward Him.<br />
<br />
<br />Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-81980184980749101502014-10-03T20:43:00.000-05:002014-10-03T20:43:09.893-05:00Another Birthday...This isn't a post about my birthday, though I do have one of those that seems to float by once-a-year-ish. It is about the birthday of a little girl who arrived 10 days after my birthday. She has a head-full of black hair, dark grey eyes, and the most darling expressions I've ever seen.<br />
<br />
One of the benefits of being a traveling, live-in midwife, is that you really get to know your patients, and depending on when your flight is booked, you really get to know their little babies too. I've had the treat of two weeks of newborn snuggles. But now for the main event.<br />
<br />
It was not-quite-4am. Outside, the dark cloak of night still clung tightly about dawn's shoulders. My unconsciousness was interrupted by a knocking at my door. I bolted upright, fumbling for my clock. My jumbled thoughts couldn't determine whether I had overslept or if something else was afoot. I opened my door about as far as my eyes were managing to be open. Before me stood a slightly anxious/excited version of the father-to-be. Ah, this made sense. It was B-day.<br />
<br />
Thing was, contractions were still pretty spaced out. Based on what I was seeing, I anticipated a long day ahead. The whole household was awake now, making phone calls, boiling water, and giving lots of advice to the laboring mamma. Mommy, Daddy, and I decided to move the party upstairs. After a prayer, a few photos, and a little laying-out of my equipment something shifted. Contractions were announcing themselves more aggressively, and forcing a longer acquaintance. Still far enough apart to predict a few more hours of labor, but a bit obstinate now.<br />
<br />
Then came the doozy. 3 minutes of it. And oh! That would be the baby's head I can see! Then sweetly, between contractions, baby girl turned her head and pushed with her feet and birthed her own head. I want to know this girl when she's 20, she's destined to be a world-changer. Nothing like making things happen from the beginning. Then how she yelled. Strong and lusty, just as we had prayed for. Proclaiming her birthday for all the world.<br />
<br />
It was like the movies. Every time I opened the bedroom door, 15 eager pairs of eyes turned in my direction. Was she here? Was it time to see baby? Was everything ok? How much did she weigh? Was that really only 3 hours? But mamma and baby needed some time. Daddy and I had some cleaning up to do. So coffee and pastries had to fill in for first sights of a newborn. Then, finally, amid an assault of first pictures and ooohs and aaahs, little girl made her public debut. <br />
<br />
That's how it was, folks. Another whirlwind labor and birth. Another snugly, perfect newborn and another happy older brother. And then two weeks of joy, here in Honduras. Smiles, diapers, Spanish, baths, snuggles, and fellowship. And that, was another birthday.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-44083674920062900042014-09-30T15:10:00.002-05:002014-09-30T15:10:47.609-05:00This Wonderful Life....I sat there, a rooftop in Honduras. Gathered around me were brothers and sisters from Honduras, Ukraine, and the States. Spanish prayer ascended into the clear, star specked sky above us and to one side the silhouettes of mountains rose majestically in the dim night sky. In the opposite direction lightening danced through the distant layers of clouds performing an ode to the Creator. The temperature was perfect at day's end. I thought to myself, 'Who <i>lives</i> this life? How can everything be so perfect?'<br />
<br />
It is me. This is my life. I'm treasuring these moments because in this place of an uncertain future, I need perfect spaces like this where I can be indisputably reminded of God's goodness and kindness. I'm thankful for the blessing of fellowship with other believers, and the grace of a time of rest. May the God who has given me this beautiful time, be glorified.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-46952155043660079182014-09-09T19:15:00.001-05:002014-09-09T19:16:36.352-05:00Next Stop Honduras...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6B_H5bZBUg5mdabOmbM7Lkfz_JM0EcmZxe4VEUOPwUZ6S718DWcrEcL8nM5vhm-Nd1YLWEUrtSAOomc8oZGfRb5riTAIuQp-6jAnLxKKqGEGBSGTzmCg1jCeWMTvsTB3TJI-GSBDBK5tG/s1600/Sky2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6B_H5bZBUg5mdabOmbM7Lkfz_JM0EcmZxe4VEUOPwUZ6S718DWcrEcL8nM5vhm-Nd1YLWEUrtSAOomc8oZGfRb5riTAIuQp-6jAnLxKKqGEGBSGTzmCg1jCeWMTvsTB3TJI-GSBDBK5tG/s1600/Sky2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cute little white boy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There are so many ways my life could go next. This incredible, uncertain way of being is sort of frighteningly wonderful. Although I have no long term plans, I have graciously been provided another baby-catching opportunity. Monday, I fly to Honduras to assist in the birth of a little girl. Lord-willing I will stay three weeks with the family, helping them welcome their second child.<br />
<br />
A little about the birth of this little boy pictured here. He decided to initiate me into Certified Midwifery by making his entrance into the world backwards, which rather surprised me. Then, to make life even more exciting, he delayed breathing for over 5 minutes. I don't think I have to tell you that a lot of prayers went up. As I pumped air into his tiny lungs, I just remember saying, 'God, you are the creator and giver of life, I cannot give life to this child. Please let him breathe and give life now!' The mercy of God toward us was overwhelming, and God did just that, He gave life to this cute little white boy.<br />
<br />
I cannot think of a better way to attend my first independent birth. God gave wisdom and helped me remember my training, but ultimately, He was the only one who could come through for this child. I have such a poignant example of how I need Him in every birth, in every situation. Even more importantly, I can so clearly see His faithfulness in being mighty to save. These are things that can so easily be taken for granted. He is the faithful God who keeps His promises and acts mightily on behalf of His children.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsruSnpK9FbUMIMd3tgb3o5EHvam9E44IHWY1tM75XyniTDssl9otmJvnWdejh-jdv-nouN9Hic571w_JQn36PCP_T6t4IE-moDKw9t196EVK2zv9_0btZzyq3aNFlF9cJvg9jYstq1RC/s1600/Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsruSnpK9FbUMIMd3tgb3o5EHvam9E44IHWY1tM75XyniTDssl9otmJvnWdejh-jdv-nouN9Hic571w_JQn36PCP_T6t4IE-moDKw9t196EVK2zv9_0btZzyq3aNFlF9cJvg9jYstq1RC/s1600/Sky.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First white baby I ever caught</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is gracious of God to have me in this brokenly-whole sort of place. I see Him directing my every step. In some ways, coming back to the States makes me feel stripped of everything, lost, and broken. In other ways as I can look back and see where I've been, I feel so whole and confident in who He has made me and the things He is doing in me. And so I find myself both whole and broken in the same instant. While life goes on, I see how my whole story is very much a becoming-sort-of-thing rather than a being-sort-of-thing. Also, super yay for Honduras, because the thought of adjusting to another developing nation is in many ways less intimidating than adjusting back to the States.<br />
<br />
So yes, God is moving and working in my life. Questions abound, as does His grace. He is daily guiding me and purging me, and I WILL see the faithfulness of God as these next steps continue to unfold. So many decisions and so many blessings all at once. And this heart is overwhelmed on both accounts. But I know in Whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that it's all gonna be worth it.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-69063832432582094722014-09-01T00:14:00.001-05:002014-09-01T08:37:44.543-05:00It is Finished...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkoTBtrUEouflKNi6Xz6AaNqNPW3YrTp3IEB47DKa8DqZrTYsLDd9vdUF7L8WKNUJvsVBaOyKIteSiSvlKZpSDloCmG-m8R6ZlRIZ83qFfsbiHYkQOvoEce9k7ZTehCcPEmI_In6uXwaF/s1600/DSCN9190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkoTBtrUEouflKNi6Xz6AaNqNPW3YrTp3IEB47DKa8DqZrTYsLDd9vdUF7L8WKNUJvsVBaOyKIteSiSvlKZpSDloCmG-m8R6ZlRIZ83qFfsbiHYkQOvoEce9k7ZTehCcPEmI_In6uXwaF/s1600/DSCN9190.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>It is finished. This journey to become a Certified Professional Midwife (CPM). I'm trained now, though still with plenty to learn. And what a happy thing! I'm done with my huge exam, done with my Philippine training.<br />
<br />
"What's next?" You may ask. That is exactly what I'm trying to figure out. I desire to 'go into all the world'. It is merely a matter of when, where, how, and with whom. And God, in His perfect time and way, will reveal that. Until then, I'm here waiting. I'm rejoicing with my sister in her upcoming marriage, helping with wedding plans, and I caught myself a cute little white boy.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm knocking on doors, and yes, I have many huge decisions to make. And yes, I'd love to continue to have you lift me up in your prayers. Much love to all! I'll keep you updated as the next adventures begin to unfold.<br />
<br />Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-81866578873588648292014-08-13T22:27:00.002-05:002014-08-13T22:29:49.146-05:00On Final Days....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WE1Ti6m9tIHQfYSNwL7CQo8ZfHPkFVkJpBFKtE7wZ7s04lHSBfXAolaSQCBdCtXlVPXQcLpyUqukYPcM2ovfz4UyNRa-pfLnRnsddXhmZVELFOzX046KKf4WzIxQON3gu8m6bpevq_-s/s1600/301_6154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WE1Ti6m9tIHQfYSNwL7CQo8ZfHPkFVkJpBFKtE7wZ7s04lHSBfXAolaSQCBdCtXlVPXQcLpyUqukYPcM2ovfz4UyNRa-pfLnRnsddXhmZVELFOzX046KKf4WzIxQON3gu8m6bpevq_-s/s1600/301_6154.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My final days in the Philippines were filled with such sweet sorrow. 'Babies' I welcomed, now children, walking, talking, so grown up! Friends and co-workers who have become like family to me, goodbyes... some that will never be 'hello's again in this life. On my last Sunday I wrote this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EbTSseFIH944U_Ry0Uk7NHKQ5msA9x_Vz4Vz8XvX0Tdh8fsmKQU_YxGjDIEbXC6VGc1ABKG5ws03IiK06zIxIS5IyaXH2yohIN4EIMmdGAZ4OgDPUi5b5VS3YlRKPQTXXY5DNXumSaUn/s1600/DSCN9776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EbTSseFIH944U_Ry0Uk7NHKQ5msA9x_Vz4Vz8XvX0Tdh8fsmKQU_YxGjDIEbXC6VGc1ABKG5ws03IiK06zIxIS5IyaXH2yohIN4EIMmdGAZ4OgDPUi5b5VS3YlRKPQTXXY5DNXumSaUn/s1600/DSCN9776.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
Crawling to the throne of Jesus,<br />
Lying at His feet in silent plee.<br />
Surrendered, Surrendering, Empty.<br />
<br />
Empty as I should be.<br />
No plans, no control.<br />
Offering me, it's all I have.<br />
Waiting for His dreams to take root in my heart.<br />
<br />
Lying prone, the ultimate surrender.<br />
He may do what He will, I offer Him control<br />
This prison of freedom to which I've succumbed.<br />
<br />
And yes, its uncomfortable.<br />
But oh! Such peace.<br />
That His will may be my goal.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrKeNL1UCnJlwx3rO4tttieDzB_c8huKe7jYIJMpIvZA_eJukjQ5pwf9ZjZEIGDQlFG5lxLJJzWpKDOEDEJd3M47JSWoVL-WJZLRxaP3Jtm_sBqhaRDPJvFPmCBsHSbLcly3wBqeT3yt3/s1600/DSCN9861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrKeNL1UCnJlwx3rO4tttieDzB_c8huKe7jYIJMpIvZA_eJukjQ5pwf9ZjZEIGDQlFG5lxLJJzWpKDOEDEJd3M47JSWoVL-WJZLRxaP3Jtm_sBqhaRDPJvFPmCBsHSbLcly3wBqeT3yt3/s1600/DSCN9861.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYX3f_B_S8Nv2M2cyKEtO-FsSOkRT7wZgcFJuFCGyyXCX5iO_pawq3BqwFkgQoKjca63Ymy0XlLOzPSzRYtIAOG-BT7RBYdTyygAcxQefHpxWWZ0uEowiTkvHwBLkplNntrnbeWz7iRKa/s1600/DSCN9885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimYX3f_B_S8Nv2M2cyKEtO-FsSOkRT7wZgcFJuFCGyyXCX5iO_pawq3BqwFkgQoKjca63Ymy0XlLOzPSzRYtIAOG-BT7RBYdTyygAcxQefHpxWWZ0uEowiTkvHwBLkplNntrnbeWz7iRKa/s1600/DSCN9885.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
Then a wonderful visit in Manlia with these friends and their children. I jumping off point, a last, sweet farewell until the next country that brings us together. A Sunday church service. A heart's prayer in the form of a song.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp41duEcng0" target="_blank">Jesus at the Center</a> <br />
This has become my song and prayer for this next, uncertain season. Jesus, be the center of my life.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-48298341367767982822014-07-22T07:04:00.000-05:002014-08-14T22:59:03.130-05:00On The Importance of Things....I've been thinking a lot about the emphasis we place on different things vs. their actual importance. It's actually a really depressing train of thought. It doesn't take one long to encounter things in society, the church, and more alarmingly, in one's self that are really poorly prioritized. Not all of these apply to every person, and each of us have blind spots, but I just have some questions.<br />
<br />
<i>When did modesty become more important than poverty?</i><br />
<br />
It seems every week I see some new blog post from a guy, pleading with his Christian sisters to dress modestly. I see pricy swim wear, which could double as a snowmobile suit, and another link to another sermon about the importance of modesty. I think I've been to more camps and conferences that touch on modesty than ones that touch on poverty too. To go to such and such a camp, you must wear clothes within certain guidelines, but they never talk about how much of your income you should give to the poor. Modesty is important, but scripture has two verses about it, yet the gospel was DESIGNED for the poor. How does this work?<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>How does 'raising a good family' take precedence over evangelism?</i><br />
<br />
'Right now we're just focused on raising our family.' 'My ministry right now is my children.' May I make an observation? Is it possible that it is IMPOSSIBLE to raise a godly family without an emphasis on evangelism? Maybe sheltering our children is doing more harm than good. If our youth see sin as sin, in the context of reaching sinners, maybe it will look less attractive to them. If they are constantly renewed in the joy of their salvation by sharing that joy and truth with others, maybe it will sink in and stick around. Perhaps it is the wisdom of God that He commands us to make disciples. Nothing beats discipling for keeping one on one's toes spiritually.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rP57Uw9NtU-K0d2AQRWCMuRaBzWM-RjaPyctpWQlHpGs2NfOzCTqvUHytmXMF3yZRbkRcq7OICmNSuHn2prcq3OgLjZbuBlX96dOWZOEAp32bEZ7z-0aiubpA-rGA25r9UGChWLWiwsn/s1600/DSCN9775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rP57Uw9NtU-K0d2AQRWCMuRaBzWM-RjaPyctpWQlHpGs2NfOzCTqvUHytmXMF3yZRbkRcq7OICmNSuHn2prcq3OgLjZbuBlX96dOWZOEAp32bEZ7z-0aiubpA-rGA25r9UGChWLWiwsn/s1600/DSCN9775.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A baby from last March</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Why do we think it is more important to get to church on time, than to live the gospel?</i><br />
<br />
How is it that we'd rather create family discord, ignore the stranded commuter on the side of the road, and skip sharing with the gas station attendant in order to get to church on time? It might be more holy to live the gospel, than to go to church. And maybe we'll be radical and strange, but possibly that will make Christianity attractive and authentic. Maybe if we give up 'saving face' at church and focus on saving souls, the Christ will be more accurately represented. He often stopped to talk with a blind man, or paused his 'schedule' to make time for the children.<br />
<br />
<i>When did our needs become more important than the church?</i><br />
<br />
Why is it now legitimate to stay home from church because you 'didn't have the energy'? And at what point does the excuse, 'I'm just not being fed' need to be turned into the question 'Who are you feeding?" Yeah, church requires energy, and many times, may I say MOST OF THE TIME<i> </i>we will feel like we are doing more giving than receiving. But when did this become all about us? Can the hand say to the mouth,"I feel like I'm doing more giving than receiving?" Where is the concept of laying down our lives for our brethren?<br />
<br />
<i>Why is it ok to debate theology at the risk of unity?</i><br />
<br />
When did Christians get this concept of needing to be right, and to make sure everyone else is too? Maybe its time we realize that we've all got a few things right, and a lot of things wrong, and are probably completely ignorant as to which things fall into each category. Possibly it would behoove us to see that music styles, preference on alcohol intake, and handshake vs. holy kiss are not salvation issues, and don't need to be matters of division. Even 'more major' issues SHOULD NOT come between two people who believe the basics of the gospel. Maybe the diversity in beliefs and traditions is actually a beautiful statement about how big God is, and how He loves variety. Maybe different denominations each represent a different aspect of a massive God as each has understanding to do. And since people are to know us by our love one toward another, lets allow that to cross denominational boundaries.<br />
<br />
<i>Why is it ok to buy a $5 coffee, but financially irresponsible to give generously and live by faith?</i><br />
<br />
Why can people 'go out' after church events, but missionaries are ill-funded? When some people drive an old car, rent a small apartment, and spend a lot on missions work, I have heard them described as 'unstable' or 'financially irresponsible'. Yet when the next person over has a $5 per day coffee habit, is making car payments, and does not involve themselves in missions, I hear them described as 'trying to get ahead' and 'settling down'. We have this backwards. Investing in eternity is wise, no matter the cost. Investing in this life is dangerous. Where our treasure is will dictate where our heart puts down roots.<br />
<br />
Please, dear reader, do not take all of these thoughts in a wrong way. I'm asking questions. I'm processing. I'm preparing to come back to a life I once knew, but with a completely different perspective and as a result, I'm questioning values I once held and actions I once justified. Yes, there are two sides to all of these issues. And yes, I'm offering one perspective. But these are my raw thoughts based on life as I see it right now. Will they change over time? I hope so. I welcome your thoughts as part of this process. Peace out.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZ_Fryly8T4Vg1MN8raPVErhwhkRbbF-p4gWLbunefpP2dzDxTH-DT7mBTwEqfLfhKIH-yJS8Qn9SV6f49ZLG2duTX5OkyYRvc2SlPftInQTmFiT84oGY1mjBLk75DqCu41qOsWa8TKBS/s1600/DSCN9713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZ_Fryly8T4Vg1MN8raPVErhwhkRbbF-p4gWLbunefpP2dzDxTH-DT7mBTwEqfLfhKIH-yJS8Qn9SV6f49ZLG2duTX5OkyYRvc2SlPftInQTmFiT84oGY1mjBLk75DqCu41qOsWa8TKBS/s1600/DSCN9713.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-4462407195945012582014-07-11T18:16:00.001-05:002014-07-11T18:16:20.521-05:00I'm Dying........ And so are you.<br />
<br />
It's been that way since I was born.<i> Because life is a terminal diagnosis.</i> We're all dying, some just faster than others. I just wish we would live a little more that way. Like the dying people we are, savoring moments, speaking kind words, and making decisions count.<br />
<br />
Dying people tend to consider eternity in their decisions. They make choices to maximize their time and money. They take risks because risks seem less risky when nothing is sure anyways. Dying people do things now, <i>because later might not come</i>. Visits and conversations are ended with care just in case. Even to those who categorize themselves as 'living' rather than 'dying' there is nothing sure in this life... we must each realize that we're dying.<br />
<br />
Do you know what else we should realize? That everyone else is dying too. You don't tend to focus on the faults of dying people, you want to stay positive and uplifting. That habit would benefit every relationship we have. Zoom in on the good things and let the ick around it all drift out of focus. <i>The picture book of our lives would be so much more lovely. </i>As would our speech. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0g-_oBRN58WrQgNaSt94INmKLdd6QeoKhUQXd7oJMDQtlUF3ArxdfNCTEG94TCVffgUBLMtLmIpHK4SUY-XqvSm0VybXsGY5KLqyIs9cSGvN1tuk7SwAyZtTxBAyqAfwr0j8DajLytei/s1600/1797416_674858865915321_2081417797_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0g-_oBRN58WrQgNaSt94INmKLdd6QeoKhUQXd7oJMDQtlUF3ArxdfNCTEG94TCVffgUBLMtLmIpHK4SUY-XqvSm0VybXsGY5KLqyIs9cSGvN1tuk7SwAyZtTxBAyqAfwr0j8DajLytei/s1600/1797416_674858865915321_2081417797_n.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><br />
If we really understood that there is no cure for death, how would we live differently? Would we invest more in people than things? <i>Would we take time to tell the dying people around us about eternal living?</i> About LIFE and that more abundantly? Would we focus more on appearance or on character? I think we would fit more living into life.<br />
<br />
Maybe if we knew we were dying, church would become Christians loving Christians, and we would tell other people our life story in order to introduce them to the LIFE in our story. Because if we were dying, we'd realize that <i>we have a finite number of minutes to share the Joy and the Truth</i>, and that at any time our meter might be up. And we'd understand that if we ever plan to change the world or the way we interact with it, this is our chance.<br />
<br />
Would we prioritize the important over the urgent? The needs of others above our own? Would we be slower to speak unkind things and more sincere and timely in apology when we did? <i>Would we give sooner than taking</i>? If we really comprehended the inevitability of dying, which issues in our lives would we shift to the 'No Big Deal' list?<br />
<br />
We take care of dying people, and we usually cut them some slack.... <i>if we realize they're dying.</i> We cherish them and try to make their lives easier. We look after the well-being of their souls. We make sacrifices on their behalf and give up our comfort for theirs. <br />
Essentially, we give them the best of everything we have. And we listen to them too. Because they're dying, after all. And somehow the status of dying makes you more important.<br />
<br />
So guess what. You're dying. And so is everyone else. Maybe it is time we start living that way.<br />
<br />Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4470774783896362245.post-11164452479273012792014-07-10T14:45:00.001-05:002014-07-10T14:45:16.677-05:00Who am I?Who am I?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzZI0d0owOT8Yx3Ju1yohzLFvNjazrBFI6elO2M8yWJgytfgwvUYAUys_BjDpVRi4qCv1mzxi5DSejJxQ4g0dmsQPlLy2pokJQbi27fbu8-7vIb91ZeJDA9O3zzFfwEQECjlq9gTPwFnZ/s1600/DSCN9738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzZI0d0owOT8Yx3Ju1yohzLFvNjazrBFI6elO2M8yWJgytfgwvUYAUys_BjDpVRi4qCv1mzxi5DSejJxQ4g0dmsQPlLy2pokJQbi27fbu8-7vIb91ZeJDA9O3zzFfwEQECjlq9gTPwFnZ/s1600/DSCN9738.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
It's like the great question of all time. I think most people spend significant portions of their lives trying to figure this out. What people don't seem to 'get' is that in real, alive people, that is constantly changing. So is our image of who we want to become. Sometimes we don't realize how much it is shaped by our decisions as well as the influences in our lives. And how little we really do understand ourselves.<br />
<br />
Lately, I have been going through an identity crisis. I'm just putting that out there, all honest and stuff. See, my time here is wrapping up, and while I still see my life calling as one of missions, does one really identify as a missionary while between assignments? And if not a missionary, what? I have no job, no distinct social group, no permanent location.... so many of the little identifying details of my life are in limbo right now.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBh0_-PFVDY_M5eNsfjxTlcqPiVEXuIk5ub8xvOKpij9fliv6MDZq5u9Yu1eSTrEJA8J5u_W3KOSAu93_xePHpWr_Is5yFFFamO5MHEeGeLSQ-_G9714KdD8OVhH87ORZwKiB4DQ5a1Qd/s1600/DSCN9734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBh0_-PFVDY_M5eNsfjxTlcqPiVEXuIk5ub8xvOKpij9fliv6MDZq5u9Yu1eSTrEJA8J5u_W3KOSAu93_xePHpWr_Is5yFFFamO5MHEeGeLSQ-_G9714KdD8OVhH87ORZwKiB4DQ5a1Qd/s1600/DSCN9734.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>So there will be people who tell me, "your identity is in Christ". Yes. That is true, but only so helpful. Because while Christ is the core of my being, He has also made me a goal oriented person. And honestly, most of the time people say things like "You don't have to be yourself, you just have to be like Jesus" or "Your identity is in Christ" , what they are really saying is, here is my perception of Christ-like behavior, and a church you should probably identify with. That isn't a criticism. It is simply a very human trait of projecting our expectations onto other people. We all do it.<br />
<br />
Who am I and what has become of the Melissa I used to know? Sometimes I wonder. I love my life here, but it is surrounded by people. I am never alone. And the super friendly, always smiling, energetic, ready-to-meet-new-people version of me has necessarily adapted. I'm like a laptop on battery settings.... I am conserving energy. Is this who I've become, or is it just a phase? Eh.... we'll see. I still dance and sing and smile, it's all good. Life is a process of becoming. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlNT7f8vaELiygqQKNnamlfyV05UvhvnGKyqe0d-_-31o6fi6w7wSNMqCOZfjhjY0pv7gPZqa0non903esS5dN4klGlCTJgzZtWN504-OpWderH_HIF8pV0sLlCTKXgm-CBQbpm7-dtVW/s1600/DSCN9766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlNT7f8vaELiygqQKNnamlfyV05UvhvnGKyqe0d-_-31o6fi6w7wSNMqCOZfjhjY0pv7gPZqa0non903esS5dN4klGlCTJgzZtWN504-OpWderH_HIF8pV0sLlCTKXgm-CBQbpm7-dtVW/s1600/DSCN9766.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>I was reminded the other day, of when I graduated from college. I clearly remember saying, "I once again find myself in the very healthy but uncomfortable position of having absolutely no clue what is next." And I thought of the last three times I found myself at that place. As Psalms encourages us to do, I remembered the goodness of the Lord at all those times. I remember how God placed opportunities in my life that were beyond belief, and how my life just kept taking amazing turns. And it gave me hope. I should probably have this down by now, but if I'm straightforward, I still like to feel like I'm in control.<br />
<br />
Controlled, risk-free surrender. I think that is what I want. It's a total oxymoron though, so that is another thing I'm going to have to let go of. I'm actually a little afraid of coming back to the US. I'm afraid that everything will have changed, and at the same time, that nothing will have changed. I'm afraid of getting too comfortable, I'm afraid of not finding a niche, and I'm afraid of leaving somewhere that has been so wonderful and transformative. Actually, maybe those fears apply to anywhere, ya know? Because humans are humans no matter where we are. We sin, we lose focus, and we sometimes get so caught up in 'Christianity' that it is an act of habit, not an act of love.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89aZFO6bJkEXvOjtnES_5h6YaSXmrtDHT9cb1JNLBJKRNgzVHACns9gkxRAE160PgrcuEZV7nhyy394TvE2voGei5xgrEzWp-TJac0VrKLhm4KxzLpr9tQuynv4PQ1AQRRW3ZdJMENtWz/s1600/DSCN9773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89aZFO6bJkEXvOjtnES_5h6YaSXmrtDHT9cb1JNLBJKRNgzVHACns9gkxRAE160PgrcuEZV7nhyy394TvE2voGei5xgrEzWp-TJac0VrKLhm4KxzLpr9tQuynv4PQ1AQRRW3ZdJMENtWz/s1600/DSCN9773.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>So basically I've concluded that moving back to the States is outside of my comfort zone. Ah, a perfect place to be. I expect that God will shake me up a bit, and root out a few things that have settled in too deeply. I don't really know what else to expect. To date, I've had no supernatural revelations of how I should direct my steps. But oh! The mercy of the Lord as we daily rely on Him for every decision. So yeah, on a lot of levels I am trying to answer the question, "Who am I?" just like everybody else is.<br />
<br />
I revel in the fact that God is the same, no matter which country I serve Him from. It seems incredible to me that He is big enough to boggle our minds, and yet He is unchanging. And I find myself astounded at the great wisdom of a God who understood how important it would be for us to know, "I am the Lord, I change not". Maybe who I am isn't all that important as long as I'm sure of who He is.Miss-o-wissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10876850733618187453noreply@blogger.com1