Language learning has been fun, and one month in, we officially have just enough language to do some real damage.
In other words, we don’t really know enough to communicate accurately what we’re trying to say, but we do know just enough to be able to spout out a few words usually with the wrong tone which can drastically change the whole meaning of the word.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to say, “It’s nice to meet you.” When what I’ve actually said is, “I have diarrhea.” Of course it’s always said with a smile on my face which makes the people I’m talking to think I’m completely crazy.
When all else fails, we resort to a made-up form of sign language to attempt to communicate with the local people – especially when there’s something specific we need – which is just what happened last night…
Sunday night, CJ started not feeling good. Monday morning he was no better, but we had things to do so he trudged on. Monday night he went to work to teach his English class downtown, but by the time he got home he was really sick. He felt nauseous and was having stomach cramps. We couldn’t nail down anything specific that he had eaten that would’ve made him sick. We eat all our meals together these days, so if it had been food related, we would’ve likely all been sick. But the girls and I were fine. It was just him, poor baby.
Have you ever been sick and known exactly what the problem is and exactly what medication would fix your ailments? Of course, in the states, even if you know what medicine you need you have to first see a doctor to get a prescription, right? When you’re feeling bad and just want medicine, it can be a hassle, but not so here.
In this country, you don’t need a prescription for medication. Nope, you just walk up to the pharmacy and tell them what you want, and if they have it, you buy it. Simple as that.
I’ve seen everything from Amoxicillin to Viagra on the pharmacy shelves here, and you can actually buy medicine pretty cheaply. Pretty cool, eh?
So last night when CJ got home looking green in the face, he begged me, “Would you please go down to the store and get me some medicine?”
Now I have to confess, we brought with us a good amount of over-the-counter medicines from home, but we had nearly drained our complete supply of Pepto Bismal in the month that we’ve been here. Plus, he needed something a little stronger, not to mention maybe something to help him sleep. (He had been up sick all night on Sunday and was in dire need of some rest.)
“What’s that medicine that we used to get at home to ease stomach pain and get you to sleep?” he asked groggily.
“Dramamine?” I replied.
“No, stronger than that,” he muffled while laying face down in his pillow.
“Phenergan?” I asked. That had to be it cause he didn’t answer.
“I’ll try,” I said as I put on my shoes rushing to get downstairs before the store closed.
Little Mia decided to tag along with me to provide assistance should I need it.
We were greeted by two girls and one guy at the little pharmacy section of the “superstore” downstairs. They were all young, but eager to try to help us.
I scanned the glass case holding all the medicines. They appeared to be in alphabetical order, but I wasn’t sure of the spelling in English, not to mention that most of the medicine labels were written in their local script – which is completely undecipherable at this point in our language learning.
So I attempted to ask the workers, “Phenergran?”
Their smiles waned. They obviously had no idea what I was saying.
“You write,” the male asked nicely implying that maybe if I wrote down what I wanted he might understand and could find what I needed.
To no avail though, writing it down didn’t help.
So I tried the little bit of language that I knew.
“Amu tha ma goun boo:” which translates, “Husband sick.”
“Bite naw day:” – “Stomachache.”
“Ahhhh,” the workers replied in unison with their smiles returning.
The male reached beneath the counter and handed me a package of tablets that had no English whatsoever on the package.
“Uh….” I really didn’t want to buy medicine that I didn’t know what it was or how to take it or what it would do.
“What - is - this?” I spoke super slowly thinking that maybe that might help them suddenly understand MY language. It didn’t.
I handed the medicine back to the worker.
That’s when I decided to try sign language. I gave them the universal symbol for stomach sick. I stuck my finger in my mouth and said, “aaack.”
The workers looked at me confused.
I did the sign again trying a few other words this time.
“Throw up.”
“Nauseous.”
I rubbed my stomach and said, “Yucky!”
Nothing worked.
That’s when other people in the store who happened to be shopping near the commotion we were causing joined in to try to help Mia and I.
People were huddled all around us, and we looked like a roving band of Charades players all motioning and speaking different languages.
I looked at Mia in the midst of hubbub and started to laugh. It was just too funny.
Eventually one of the female workers behind the counter handed me a box of medicine with English words.
“Excessive gas, bloating and flatulence,” was what the box read.
As I read the words out loud, Mia started laughing even harder.
Pretty soon, everyone there was passing around the box and laughing.
“Amu tha?” they were all asking and pointing at the box. “Husband?” they laughed.
I realized that these people must picture my husband walking around our apartment tooting everywhere he went and my precious daughter and I were seeking some relief.
By this point, the laughter was outrageous. Have you ever been like really stressed out, and all you can do is laugh. First a little snicker sneaks out, then it grows until you’re just laughing uncontrollably at the insanity of the situation.
Eventually I realized that we were not going to be able to buy any medicine that night. CJ would just have to make due with what we had at home.
I thanked the workers who were still laughing heartily as Mia and I walked away empty handed.
It’s a shame that what should be such an easy process – procuring medicine without any prescription needed – was so completely problematic.
Mia and I were still giggling as we returned to our apartment and I prepared to give CJ the bad news.
Ironically, we discovered CJ completely sacked out in the bed, sleeping soundly.
Even if I had bought some medicine, I don’t think I could’ve roused him to make him take it.
CJ woke up this morning feeling a little better. I haven’t had the heart yet to tell him to expect some funny faces staring at him when he goes down to the store. I guess I’ll just let him figure that out on his own… :)
Monday, March 5, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Grief overcome by love
In the work that we do here, we have often seen people who have to forsake their earthly families for their transformation into a child of Father. In other words, their families reject them for leaving the beliefs they were born into.
Here, religion is a very serious subject. It’s at the core of everything they do, how they act and even how they think. To be from this country is to be a believer in their religion, and they are enormously proud of their heritage.
Likewise, the family unit is very important. Not just a husband, wife and child, but also the grandparents, the aunts and uncles, the cousins and more. They often all live together. They play together. They work together, and they work to support each other. It goes far beyond the family ties we experience in the states.
I have always been proud of the fact that I grew up in a close-knit family.
My family including both my mother’s side and father’s side have always spent holidays together, and we went on vacations all together. We always shared Sunday lunch together, every Sunday, and we would often visit each other throughout the week. We would spend weekends going on outings and playing sports. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of joy in being together. We were all very close.
We still are, but it’s obviously different.
We’re all spread out now.
I’ve got family in Tennessee. Family in Florida. Family in Mississippi. And here I am, way out on the opposite side of the globe.
Because of our close-knit ties, most days the separation of our family into different places is bearable. We love each other deeply and we can feel that love from far away.
But then when things happen, things like sickness or trouble, that separation is very difficult.
When I received the word that my Nanny had passed away on Saturday, I felt a range of mixed emotions.
My first feelings for her were those of relief… she’s no longer in pain. She’s at peace and resting with her Savior. I have no doubt about where her soul resides, and I know that someday I will see her again. I believe that with my whole heart.
But then my heart broke for my grandfather. For 64 years my grandparents have walked step by step together, and I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for my Granddaddy.
Then I heard my mother’s tears through the muffled connection on the computer, and my heart longed to be where she is.
I want to be with my family to love on them and to cry with them. I want to remind them of all the great things about my Nanny and the wonderful memories of her life. I want to tell them that she’s in heaven, and they can see her again someday too.
In my weakness, I reached out for the Good Book to find solace and encouragement. But once again, as He so often does, my Father does not tell me what I want to hear. He tells me what I need to hear, and He led me to a passage by Matthew. In chapter 10, beginning in verse 34 the Master speaks:
But in reading the passage again, I began to understand what Father was saying to me.
He said, “It’s because you love ME more that I have given you the love of a family.”
I confess. I do love Him more than anything or anyone. He is why I exist. That love is why I am living here on the opposite side of the globe from my beloved family.
My intent is not to sound unkind during a time of great loss in my family. I miss them now more than ever! But He is in control.
Is He not the Creator of the universe?
Is He not the Redeemer of the world?
He is! And He is worthy of all my love and devotion.
I challenge you to love HIM more than anything. Lose the desire to place your own will ahead of His, and in return He will grant you the desires of your heart.
Here, religion is a very serious subject. It’s at the core of everything they do, how they act and even how they think. To be from this country is to be a believer in their religion, and they are enormously proud of their heritage.
Likewise, the family unit is very important. Not just a husband, wife and child, but also the grandparents, the aunts and uncles, the cousins and more. They often all live together. They play together. They work together, and they work to support each other. It goes far beyond the family ties we experience in the states.
I have always been proud of the fact that I grew up in a close-knit family.
My family including both my mother’s side and father’s side have always spent holidays together, and we went on vacations all together. We always shared Sunday lunch together, every Sunday, and we would often visit each other throughout the week. We would spend weekends going on outings and playing sports. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of joy in being together. We were all very close.
We still are, but it’s obviously different.
We’re all spread out now.
I’ve got family in Tennessee. Family in Florida. Family in Mississippi. And here I am, way out on the opposite side of the globe.
Because of our close-knit ties, most days the separation of our family into different places is bearable. We love each other deeply and we can feel that love from far away.
But then when things happen, things like sickness or trouble, that separation is very difficult.
When I received the word that my Nanny had passed away on Saturday, I felt a range of mixed emotions.
My first feelings for her were those of relief… she’s no longer in pain. She’s at peace and resting with her Savior. I have no doubt about where her soul resides, and I know that someday I will see her again. I believe that with my whole heart.
But then my heart broke for my grandfather. For 64 years my grandparents have walked step by step together, and I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this is for my Granddaddy.
Then I heard my mother’s tears through the muffled connection on the computer, and my heart longed to be where she is.
I want to be with my family to love on them and to cry with them. I want to remind them of all the great things about my Nanny and the wonderful memories of her life. I want to tell them that she’s in heaven, and they can see her again someday too.
In my weakness, I reached out for the Good Book to find solace and encouragement. But once again, as He so often does, my Father does not tell me what I want to hear. He tells me what I need to hear, and He led me to a passage by Matthew. In chapter 10, beginning in verse 34 the Master speaks:
“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law – a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household. Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”“That seems harsh Lord,” were the words that escaped my lips in a whisper after reading the passage.
But in reading the passage again, I began to understand what Father was saying to me.
He said, “It’s because you love ME more that I have given you the love of a family.”
I confess. I do love Him more than anything or anyone. He is why I exist. That love is why I am living here on the opposite side of the globe from my beloved family.
My intent is not to sound unkind during a time of great loss in my family. I miss them now more than ever! But He is in control.
Is He not the Creator of the universe?
Is He not the Redeemer of the world?
He is! And He is worthy of all my love and devotion.
I challenge you to love HIM more than anything. Lose the desire to place your own will ahead of His, and in return He will grant you the desires of your heart.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
An eye-opening experience
We didn’t really know where we were going or what we would be doing. Our teammates told us to show up at their house on Sunday afternoon, and we would leave from there together to go to a “gathering.”
We knew from CJ’s visit last year, that many times the “gathering groups” here will hold some type of English language-learning activity prior to their “service” that draw people to the place for attendance. Everyone here seems to want to learn English, and the gathering groups offer the education for free unlike the special school where CJ will be teaching on a regular basis where interested students must pay tuition.
So it was no surprise to us when they told us we would be teaching English before the gathering on this particular Sunday.
After driving only a short distance in the city, we pulled into an empty parking lot hidden from the main road by tall trees. There stood a plain, two-story, beige cement building that from outside appearance looked vacant. Walking through a set of darkly stained wooden doors, we discovered inside what appeared to be an empty warehouse. The interior had partitions set up to separate the open space into two halves with a hall of sorts in between. It was a little dark because there was no electricity in the building with the only light coming from windows in the exterior walls. There was an odd assortment of wooden wardrobes with padlocks on them filling the half of the room on the right where we first entered. In the room to the left-hand side of the building were rows of pastel-colored plastic chairs with some tables and a whiteboard in front. We figured this was where we must be meeting.
When we walked into the room, students (around the ages of 20 to 25) started filling in from other open doors leading into the building in the back and sides. There were about 20 students in all who greeted us with smiles on their faces. They seemed excited to meet us and hear about where we came from.
We taught English that morning using favorite verses in the Good Book. They were amazed when Zoë and Miá recited their favorite lines from memory, cheering and clapping for them when they were done. After about hour when our time was over, they asked to have a group picture made with us. For some reason, people in this part of the world don’t like to smile when they have their picture made, so we had to encourage them to smile for the camera by saying, “Say cheese!” which made them laugh uncontrollably.
They all walked us out to the car, hugging us and shaking our hands repeatedly before we were actually able to load the vehicle and leave. It was very sweet, and we felt our hearts connect to these students who seemed so anxious to want to be discipled and learn more about our Father.
Leaving the parking lot, we set out for our next adventure driving a few minutes through the city until the driver pulled over to the curb and parked the car.
“Grab some umbrellas!” our team leader instructed us.
It didn’t look like rain to me on this beautiful, sunny day, but I did what I was told.
We crossed a busy street and walked down a little path that led to a river. At the riverbank, our guide instructed our entourage including our family, our team leader, and a few others from the group we had just left, to board some boats. The students going with us on the journey were very protective of our girls putting their arms around them to shield and guard them as we crossed the street and boarded the boats. Before I realized it, the girls had walked onto a boat with the students when the boat driver said, “Too many. Only five.” And they pushed away from the dock. We were to get on another boat behind them.
I knew the girls were in good hands, and that the students would not let anything happen to the sweet angels they were protecting. I was more worried that the girls would not like being separated from their parents for their first time in this environment, but what was done, was done, and I kept my eyes glued to their boat from ours only a short distance away. I definitely did not want to have any part of me touch the dirty, brown water in the river, but if I had to, I was within swimming distance of my girls the whole five minutes it took to cross the river.
The boats we boarded were flat wooden vessels that reminded me of the ones I’ve seen in movies like the ones in Italy guided down small inlets with a driver standing on the back, pushing and steering with a long pole.
The driver of the boats we were on also stood on the back, and there were two long poles that he could use for assistance. However, these boats also had little motor engines to power us to the other side of the river, probably 200 yards or so away. There were a couple of 2x4 wooden planks that crossed the width of the boat for passengers to sit on. I felt as if the boat might topple over if I so much as leaned a little in any direction, so I tried to sit very still, while wielding my camera to catch every sight.
This is also when I discovered the need for umbrellas. The hot sun was beating down, even more so on the water, so the colorful umbrellas were let up to protect us from the penetrating rays.
As I took in the landscape around us, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes at where we were. On one side of the river, the side we had just departed from, was a bustling city. On the west side to where we were heading, I could see yellow, bamboo houses with thatched roofs on stilts. There were tall palm trees rising high above the modest structures, swaying in the breeze. The boats on the water wafting in front of the village while they waited for paying passengers were originally painted various shades of blue and green although they were faded and streaked from the sun and years of use. Protruding from all the boats on the water were the red, yellow and pink wooden umbrellas hiding the people underneath. The sun was lazily drifting downward in the afternoon sky casting a golden haze around the edges of the background.
The scene before me looked like an oil painting in an art gallery, but it was real life that I was seeing with my very eyes!
Still the most amazing views were yet to come…
We arrived on the other side and I was glad to have my girls back by my side.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“Sure! Why wouldn’t we be?” they said.
“Uh… how did you like the boat ride?” I quizzed them, trying to change the subject.
“It was AH-mazing!!” they chirped in reply.
What exactly was I worried about???
We had arrived in the middle of a thriving village. We walked down a wide dirt path through the middle of the hand-made houses. The people were going about their regular life, washing clothes in buckets, chopping vegetables and fruit, chatting with their neighbors. Of the multitude of things they were doing, they stopped frozen in their tracks the moment we passed by. The little children were making mud pies and playing with sticks in their little worn-out clothes, but they stopped playing and looked at us like aliens from a distant planet.
At first it was just a couple of ladies who approached us and said hello in their language, but then as we walked the path, everyone wanted to say hello and shake our hands.
They were smiling at us, but I was the one who felt so honored to be able to meet them. I wished more than anything that I could communicate with them so I could tell them so many things. In time, I know…
After we walked through the little town, we crossed a dried up and dusty rice field and over some grassy terrain. There were logs that we had to walk on to cross deep creek banks that will be nearly overflowing during the rainy season, but at the present were completely dry. Eventually we cleared a path and some trees to find a small one-room schoolhouse looking structure. There were no doors on the building and there were open window cutouts with chicken wire covering them on the outside.
Inside the clay and brick structure were two sections filled with rows of wooden pews for people to sit in. The cement floor was dusty and it was the first place we had been to since arriving in this country where people left their shoes on inside. The roof was tin, but there were sheets of covered plywood underneath the tin that provided a nice ceiling.
From my seat at the front of the room, I looked out the windows to view lines of fat banana trees all around us. I could also see other little village homes in the distance, with dots of people coming and going from the dwellings.
It felt almost like a dream, and all of a sudden I felt so thankful to be in this place with these people.
The people of this village who had all come for this gathering were humble by nature, yet they were filled with love and humor.
I couldn’t get over the words from their leader declaring that they had nearly 75 believers amongst their ranks with many more waiting to be discipled and dunked.
A middle-age man came forward with a small green guitar. He strummed the tune to a song that we had never heard, yet we knew immediately what the song was about by the way the people closed their eyes tightly and raised their hands high toward the heavens. They were singing with as much volume and passion as they could muster out of their thin bodies, and I began to cry.
I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, dirty from the dust of traveling there. The sight of these like-minded believers giving their whole heart in praise of Him who had saved them was more beautiful than any landscape or artist’s rendering I had ever seen.
When their leader asked if CJ and I would each share a few words with the congregation, I wracked my brain for words of encouragement. All I knew was to read from the Good Book, because there are no better words to be shared.
Our team leader translated the rest of the service to us that day, but it wasn’t really necessary because we could tell what was going on just by the looks on the people’s faces. Like dry lands thirsting for rain, the people were desperate for Good Book teachings, and you could see them being watered spirit and soul.
“Oh, how much we take for granted…” was all that I could think. In our hometown there are nearly 30 gathering places of like-minded believers, and we don’t hunger for the words of the Father as if our lives depended on them, ignorant of how much they really do.
The experience that day changed me. I’ve seen gatherings in other cities throughout Southeast Asia, but maybe it was because He has burdened my heart for THESE people, that it was as if I were seeing colors I’ve never been exposed to before. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. I wanted to swallow the experience and savor it so that it would provide some holy nutrition by the Spirit in times when I felt down or challenged or weak. Maybe it still will…
Before the day concluded, two silver trays were brought out to be distributed to the people. One tray had chunks of bread; the other had clear, tiny glasses filled with a generic cola.
About the time I understood what we were about to do, it dawned on me that this would be Miá’s first time to experience communion since she was only recently washed in the blood and went swimming thereafter.
My mind drifted back to recall our usual habit in our hometown gathering where new believers who have been recently dunked are allowed to sit on stage for their first experience taking communion. I imagined Miá sitting on that stage in our home gathering place being served the bread and drink by her daddy.
There was no pomp and circumstance for this day’s special communion, but in my mind I realized, there could have been no better place and circumstance for her to have this experience than in this rural village in Southeast Asia on a hot February Sunday, surrounded by foreigners who were yet brothers and sisters.
These people risk everything to come to this gathering – they could lose their homes, be imprisoned, possibly even killed – for standing in their newfound faith.
Yet, here they are with hands raised high and smiles on their faces.
Despite circumstances and hardships, sacrifices and sufferings, triumphs and blessings, life with purpose is a life worth living, and He is worth it all.
That day for that moment, they got it. They lived it, and so did I.
The best part is, I get to do it all over again next week!
Will you remember these village people in your petitions to Dad? Even though you don’t know their names or their location, would you ask for strength, courage and blessing for these people? Ask that their numbers multiply and for leaders to rise up amongst them. Also please lift up the students who came for English learning, that they would come to know Him personally.
We knew from CJ’s visit last year, that many times the “gathering groups” here will hold some type of English language-learning activity prior to their “service” that draw people to the place for attendance. Everyone here seems to want to learn English, and the gathering groups offer the education for free unlike the special school where CJ will be teaching on a regular basis where interested students must pay tuition.
So it was no surprise to us when they told us we would be teaching English before the gathering on this particular Sunday.
After driving only a short distance in the city, we pulled into an empty parking lot hidden from the main road by tall trees. There stood a plain, two-story, beige cement building that from outside appearance looked vacant. Walking through a set of darkly stained wooden doors, we discovered inside what appeared to be an empty warehouse. The interior had partitions set up to separate the open space into two halves with a hall of sorts in between. It was a little dark because there was no electricity in the building with the only light coming from windows in the exterior walls. There was an odd assortment of wooden wardrobes with padlocks on them filling the half of the room on the right where we first entered. In the room to the left-hand side of the building were rows of pastel-colored plastic chairs with some tables and a whiteboard in front. We figured this was where we must be meeting.
When we walked into the room, students (around the ages of 20 to 25) started filling in from other open doors leading into the building in the back and sides. There were about 20 students in all who greeted us with smiles on their faces. They seemed excited to meet us and hear about where we came from.
We taught English that morning using favorite verses in the Good Book. They were amazed when Zoë and Miá recited their favorite lines from memory, cheering and clapping for them when they were done. After about hour when our time was over, they asked to have a group picture made with us. For some reason, people in this part of the world don’t like to smile when they have their picture made, so we had to encourage them to smile for the camera by saying, “Say cheese!” which made them laugh uncontrollably.
They all walked us out to the car, hugging us and shaking our hands repeatedly before we were actually able to load the vehicle and leave. It was very sweet, and we felt our hearts connect to these students who seemed so anxious to want to be discipled and learn more about our Father.
Leaving the parking lot, we set out for our next adventure driving a few minutes through the city until the driver pulled over to the curb and parked the car.
“Grab some umbrellas!” our team leader instructed us.
It didn’t look like rain to me on this beautiful, sunny day, but I did what I was told.
We crossed a busy street and walked down a little path that led to a river. At the riverbank, our guide instructed our entourage including our family, our team leader, and a few others from the group we had just left, to board some boats. The students going with us on the journey were very protective of our girls putting their arms around them to shield and guard them as we crossed the street and boarded the boats. Before I realized it, the girls had walked onto a boat with the students when the boat driver said, “Too many. Only five.” And they pushed away from the dock. We were to get on another boat behind them.
I knew the girls were in good hands, and that the students would not let anything happen to the sweet angels they were protecting. I was more worried that the girls would not like being separated from their parents for their first time in this environment, but what was done, was done, and I kept my eyes glued to their boat from ours only a short distance away. I definitely did not want to have any part of me touch the dirty, brown water in the river, but if I had to, I was within swimming distance of my girls the whole five minutes it took to cross the river.
The boats we boarded were flat wooden vessels that reminded me of the ones I’ve seen in movies like the ones in Italy guided down small inlets with a driver standing on the back, pushing and steering with a long pole.
The driver of the boats we were on also stood on the back, and there were two long poles that he could use for assistance. However, these boats also had little motor engines to power us to the other side of the river, probably 200 yards or so away. There were a couple of 2x4 wooden planks that crossed the width of the boat for passengers to sit on. I felt as if the boat might topple over if I so much as leaned a little in any direction, so I tried to sit very still, while wielding my camera to catch every sight.
This is also when I discovered the need for umbrellas. The hot sun was beating down, even more so on the water, so the colorful umbrellas were let up to protect us from the penetrating rays.
As I took in the landscape around us, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes at where we were. On one side of the river, the side we had just departed from, was a bustling city. On the west side to where we were heading, I could see yellow, bamboo houses with thatched roofs on stilts. There were tall palm trees rising high above the modest structures, swaying in the breeze. The boats on the water wafting in front of the village while they waited for paying passengers were originally painted various shades of blue and green although they were faded and streaked from the sun and years of use. Protruding from all the boats on the water were the red, yellow and pink wooden umbrellas hiding the people underneath. The sun was lazily drifting downward in the afternoon sky casting a golden haze around the edges of the background.
The scene before me looked like an oil painting in an art gallery, but it was real life that I was seeing with my very eyes!
Still the most amazing views were yet to come…
We arrived on the other side and I was glad to have my girls back by my side.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“Sure! Why wouldn’t we be?” they said.
“Uh… how did you like the boat ride?” I quizzed them, trying to change the subject.
“It was AH-mazing!!” they chirped in reply.
What exactly was I worried about???
We had arrived in the middle of a thriving village. We walked down a wide dirt path through the middle of the hand-made houses. The people were going about their regular life, washing clothes in buckets, chopping vegetables and fruit, chatting with their neighbors. Of the multitude of things they were doing, they stopped frozen in their tracks the moment we passed by. The little children were making mud pies and playing with sticks in their little worn-out clothes, but they stopped playing and looked at us like aliens from a distant planet.
At first it was just a couple of ladies who approached us and said hello in their language, but then as we walked the path, everyone wanted to say hello and shake our hands.
They were smiling at us, but I was the one who felt so honored to be able to meet them. I wished more than anything that I could communicate with them so I could tell them so many things. In time, I know…
After we walked through the little town, we crossed a dried up and dusty rice field and over some grassy terrain. There were logs that we had to walk on to cross deep creek banks that will be nearly overflowing during the rainy season, but at the present were completely dry. Eventually we cleared a path and some trees to find a small one-room schoolhouse looking structure. There were no doors on the building and there were open window cutouts with chicken wire covering them on the outside.
Inside the clay and brick structure were two sections filled with rows of wooden pews for people to sit in. The cement floor was dusty and it was the first place we had been to since arriving in this country where people left their shoes on inside. The roof was tin, but there were sheets of covered plywood underneath the tin that provided a nice ceiling.
From my seat at the front of the room, I looked out the windows to view lines of fat banana trees all around us. I could also see other little village homes in the distance, with dots of people coming and going from the dwellings.
It felt almost like a dream, and all of a sudden I felt so thankful to be in this place with these people.
The people of this village who had all come for this gathering were humble by nature, yet they were filled with love and humor.
I couldn’t get over the words from their leader declaring that they had nearly 75 believers amongst their ranks with many more waiting to be discipled and dunked.
A middle-age man came forward with a small green guitar. He strummed the tune to a song that we had never heard, yet we knew immediately what the song was about by the way the people closed their eyes tightly and raised their hands high toward the heavens. They were singing with as much volume and passion as they could muster out of their thin bodies, and I began to cry.
I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, dirty from the dust of traveling there. The sight of these like-minded believers giving their whole heart in praise of Him who had saved them was more beautiful than any landscape or artist’s rendering I had ever seen.
When their leader asked if CJ and I would each share a few words with the congregation, I wracked my brain for words of encouragement. All I knew was to read from the Good Book, because there are no better words to be shared.
Our team leader translated the rest of the service to us that day, but it wasn’t really necessary because we could tell what was going on just by the looks on the people’s faces. Like dry lands thirsting for rain, the people were desperate for Good Book teachings, and you could see them being watered spirit and soul.
“Oh, how much we take for granted…” was all that I could think. In our hometown there are nearly 30 gathering places of like-minded believers, and we don’t hunger for the words of the Father as if our lives depended on them, ignorant of how much they really do.
The experience that day changed me. I’ve seen gatherings in other cities throughout Southeast Asia, but maybe it was because He has burdened my heart for THESE people, that it was as if I were seeing colors I’ve never been exposed to before. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough to take it all in. I wanted to swallow the experience and savor it so that it would provide some holy nutrition by the Spirit in times when I felt down or challenged or weak. Maybe it still will…
Before the day concluded, two silver trays were brought out to be distributed to the people. One tray had chunks of bread; the other had clear, tiny glasses filled with a generic cola.
About the time I understood what we were about to do, it dawned on me that this would be Miá’s first time to experience communion since she was only recently washed in the blood and went swimming thereafter.
My mind drifted back to recall our usual habit in our hometown gathering where new believers who have been recently dunked are allowed to sit on stage for their first experience taking communion. I imagined Miá sitting on that stage in our home gathering place being served the bread and drink by her daddy.
There was no pomp and circumstance for this day’s special communion, but in my mind I realized, there could have been no better place and circumstance for her to have this experience than in this rural village in Southeast Asia on a hot February Sunday, surrounded by foreigners who were yet brothers and sisters.
These people risk everything to come to this gathering – they could lose their homes, be imprisoned, possibly even killed – for standing in their newfound faith.
Yet, here they are with hands raised high and smiles on their faces.
Despite circumstances and hardships, sacrifices and sufferings, triumphs and blessings, life with purpose is a life worth living, and He is worth it all.
That day for that moment, they got it. They lived it, and so did I.
The best part is, I get to do it all over again next week!
Will you remember these village people in your petitions to Dad? Even though you don’t know their names or their location, would you ask for strength, courage and blessing for these people? Ask that their numbers multiply and for leaders to rise up amongst them. Also please lift up the students who came for English learning, that they would come to know Him personally.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Smiles and Hair Straighteners
We walk down the street, and they all turn and look at us as we walk by. The brown faces stare at the white faces. The white faces smile at the brown faces in hopes of saying, “it’s ok. We’re just people too.” Then the brown faces smile back with their response, “thank you.”
In these early days before language learning, really all we can do is non-verbal communication. So we try to do the best with what we’ve got.
Our apartment is above a market – kind of like a Southeast Asian Wal-Mart, just a lot smaller. This market carries a few groceries, a few household items, a few appliances and some clothes, so when we need something of that kind, we often walk downstairs to this market. In the last seven days, we’ve probably been there six times, looking for various items we need for our apartment.
The first day we walked downstairs, through rows of little stores and into the market, the people would stop what they were doing and stare at us as we walked by, almost as if they were mesmerized.
I kept wondering if there was some kind of silent alarm going off that we couldn’t hear that proclaimed, “There are foreigners in our midst! There are foreigners in our midst!”
Even in the market, people who were busily going about their shopping would drop whatever item they were holding and watch us (almost open-mouthed) as we walked by.
“Is my hair messed up? Do I have something on my shirt?” I asked the girls in the process, cause I just couldn’t figure out what was the big deal.
“Mommy, can we go home now?” Miá whimpered that first day we went there. It was a little too much culture shock for her, in the midst of dealing with jet lag and just pure exhaustion. So we did. We all felt the same way. We went back to our apartment that night having bought none of the things that we had originally set out to buy.
We would try again the next day after a good night’s sleep.
We expected the stares the next day when we went back to the market. This time when we walked through the aisles, as people gazed at us and our every movement, we smiled at them.
That’s when we made an amazing discovery… when we smiled at them, they would smile back at us and turn around to go back to whatever they were doing before.
Oh sure, they still would kinda glance over their shoulder or watch us with peripheral vision, but at least they weren’t standing there gawking. We did this repeatedly every day.
After we had been here about three days, I decided I just could not live with wild, humidity-frizzed out hair everyday, and I wanted to buy a much-needed hair straightener. The girls and I walked downstairs to the market on our own. This time as we walked, I noticed that the people we passed along the way would initiate the smiles. They didn’t stop and stare so much. They smiled at us first! Some even waved a little.
I realized they were getting to know us. Even though we had not had a single conversation, they had become somewhat familiar with us, and they knew we were going to smile at them.
It made me smile even more.
Once in the market, we proceeded to the aisle with the hair dryers and straighteners. They probably have about 15 girls working in every aisle, but these girls gave us a little space as we walked around. When we found what we were looking for, I turned around and asked the workers close-by, “Anyone speak English?”
The ladies started bobbling like chickens in a hen house as they looked back and forth at each other, asking, “English? English?”
I could tell that they were surprised when we spoke to them, and they wanted very much to help us.
Finally, a young girl, probably in her late teens was pushed forward, and she said, “English? Yes.”
Sidenote: We had been warned by colleagues earlier that any items made in China were probably not good quality. Apparently they only get the rejected items here in this city. Items that no one else wants.
So I pointed to a hair straightener on the shelf and asked the young lady worker, “Chinese?”
She smiled jubilantly understanding what I was asking. “Oh yes, Chinese, Chinese, Korean, Thailand,” she said as she pointed at the different straighteners on the shelf.
Thailand. That’s the one I wanted, and so I took the item off the shelf.
“You test?” she smiled and nodded, taking the straightener from me and walking towards a nearby wall outlet.
“Um. Ok. Sure,” was our response. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, but it’s only hair, right? What’s the worst that could happen?
Zoë, standing next to me whispered, “Can we try it on my hair?”
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yes, please!” she responded. She was tired of wild, humidity-frizzed out hair too.
When Zoë stepped forward and took her ponytail down for the lady to straighten her hair, the workers got so excited.
A couple of the ladies stepped forward and started feeling Zoë’s hair, they were separating strands to straighten. They looked at each other and giggled. I giggled too. Zoë looked like an animal at the petting zoo as she looked at me as if to ask, “Uh… what do I do here?”
“They’re just excited to touch your hair,” I said, trying to ease her apprehension. “Their hair is different than yours, and they’ve probably never touched a white girl’s hair.”
Then Zoë started giggling. (She reminded me later of the scene in the movie ‘Karate Kid’ where the other kids want to feel the boy’s hair which made her feel like it was ok.)
Pretty soon, we were all giggling. There were about 10 workers and my girls and me, all standing there laughing while they tried to straighten Zoë’s hair.
Before we left that day, the worker who spoke English touched me on the arm and hesitantly said, “You come back?”
“Yes!” I told her. “We’ll be back.”
With that she turned around and started whispering to the other workers. They were all smiling and nodding and waving as we left. “Come back soon,” they said in broken English.
It felt like a small victory that day. It was a first step towards developing relationships with the people that we’ll be seeing on a regular basis. More importantly, it was a first step towards us being able to share where our inner joy comes from, and the true source of hope and life.
It all starts with a smile.
Is there someone you know who might need a smile today?
Share your smile – it could change someone’s life.
Psalm 4:6-7 “Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ Let the light of your face shine upon us, O Lord. You have filled my heart with greater joy.”
In these early days before language learning, really all we can do is non-verbal communication. So we try to do the best with what we’ve got.
Our apartment is above a market – kind of like a Southeast Asian Wal-Mart, just a lot smaller. This market carries a few groceries, a few household items, a few appliances and some clothes, so when we need something of that kind, we often walk downstairs to this market. In the last seven days, we’ve probably been there six times, looking for various items we need for our apartment.
The first day we walked downstairs, through rows of little stores and into the market, the people would stop what they were doing and stare at us as we walked by, almost as if they were mesmerized.
I kept wondering if there was some kind of silent alarm going off that we couldn’t hear that proclaimed, “There are foreigners in our midst! There are foreigners in our midst!”
Even in the market, people who were busily going about their shopping would drop whatever item they were holding and watch us (almost open-mouthed) as we walked by.
“Is my hair messed up? Do I have something on my shirt?” I asked the girls in the process, cause I just couldn’t figure out what was the big deal.
“Mommy, can we go home now?” Miá whimpered that first day we went there. It was a little too much culture shock for her, in the midst of dealing with jet lag and just pure exhaustion. So we did. We all felt the same way. We went back to our apartment that night having bought none of the things that we had originally set out to buy.
We would try again the next day after a good night’s sleep.
We expected the stares the next day when we went back to the market. This time when we walked through the aisles, as people gazed at us and our every movement, we smiled at them.
That’s when we made an amazing discovery… when we smiled at them, they would smile back at us and turn around to go back to whatever they were doing before.
Oh sure, they still would kinda glance over their shoulder or watch us with peripheral vision, but at least they weren’t standing there gawking. We did this repeatedly every day.
After we had been here about three days, I decided I just could not live with wild, humidity-frizzed out hair everyday, and I wanted to buy a much-needed hair straightener. The girls and I walked downstairs to the market on our own. This time as we walked, I noticed that the people we passed along the way would initiate the smiles. They didn’t stop and stare so much. They smiled at us first! Some even waved a little.
I realized they were getting to know us. Even though we had not had a single conversation, they had become somewhat familiar with us, and they knew we were going to smile at them.
It made me smile even more.
Once in the market, we proceeded to the aisle with the hair dryers and straighteners. They probably have about 15 girls working in every aisle, but these girls gave us a little space as we walked around. When we found what we were looking for, I turned around and asked the workers close-by, “Anyone speak English?”
The ladies started bobbling like chickens in a hen house as they looked back and forth at each other, asking, “English? English?”
I could tell that they were surprised when we spoke to them, and they wanted very much to help us.
Finally, a young girl, probably in her late teens was pushed forward, and she said, “English? Yes.”
Sidenote: We had been warned by colleagues earlier that any items made in China were probably not good quality. Apparently they only get the rejected items here in this city. Items that no one else wants.
So I pointed to a hair straightener on the shelf and asked the young lady worker, “Chinese?”
She smiled jubilantly understanding what I was asking. “Oh yes, Chinese, Chinese, Korean, Thailand,” she said as she pointed at the different straighteners on the shelf.
Thailand. That’s the one I wanted, and so I took the item off the shelf.
“You test?” she smiled and nodded, taking the straightener from me and walking towards a nearby wall outlet.
“Um. Ok. Sure,” was our response. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, but it’s only hair, right? What’s the worst that could happen?
Zoë, standing next to me whispered, “Can we try it on my hair?”
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yes, please!” she responded. She was tired of wild, humidity-frizzed out hair too.
When Zoë stepped forward and took her ponytail down for the lady to straighten her hair, the workers got so excited.
A couple of the ladies stepped forward and started feeling Zoë’s hair, they were separating strands to straighten. They looked at each other and giggled. I giggled too. Zoë looked like an animal at the petting zoo as she looked at me as if to ask, “Uh… what do I do here?”
“They’re just excited to touch your hair,” I said, trying to ease her apprehension. “Their hair is different than yours, and they’ve probably never touched a white girl’s hair.”
Then Zoë started giggling. (She reminded me later of the scene in the movie ‘Karate Kid’ where the other kids want to feel the boy’s hair which made her feel like it was ok.)
Pretty soon, we were all giggling. There were about 10 workers and my girls and me, all standing there laughing while they tried to straighten Zoë’s hair.
Before we left that day, the worker who spoke English touched me on the arm and hesitantly said, “You come back?”
“Yes!” I told her. “We’ll be back.”
With that she turned around and started whispering to the other workers. They were all smiling and nodding and waving as we left. “Come back soon,” they said in broken English.
It felt like a small victory that day. It was a first step towards developing relationships with the people that we’ll be seeing on a regular basis. More importantly, it was a first step towards us being able to share where our inner joy comes from, and the true source of hope and life.
It all starts with a smile.
Is there someone you know who might need a smile today?
Share your smile – it could change someone’s life.
Psalm 4:6-7 “Many are asking, ‘Who can show us any good?’ Let the light of your face shine upon us, O Lord. You have filled my heart with greater joy.”
Saturday, January 28, 2012
There's no place like home
We arrived at the Vancouver airport late on Monday night with 19 pieces of luggage in tow.
It was cold, yet we were wearing cropped pants and flip flops which would enable us to be comfortably dressed at our final destination. (I figured we’d only be inside airports for our connecting flights, so it didn’t really matter the temperature outside in those cities.)
The most stressful part was checking in all our luggage. The weight limitation policy is stringent, and I was worried we’d end up paying through the teeth in extra fees. When you’re trying to pack for four people to live at least three years in a third world country, you need all the luggage space you can get! But “somehow” every piece was under 50lbs. and we only had to pay for three extra suitcases. We were very relieved to move past check-in and go through security.
We all breezed through security except for little Miá. We had put about 30 packages of deodorant in her carry-on, and the security people couldn’t understand why anyone would need that much sweat protection. Especially a little girl her size. Once we explained that you can’t buy deodorant in Southeast Asia, they let us go. Although they were snickering as we walked away…
We were so thankful to finally be on our flight heading west to Beijing. The flight was 10 hours and 45 minutes. We had four seats together in the middle of the plane, so Mia stretched out over all of us and slept solidly the whole flight. The rest of us, not so much. But we did enjoy watching the movies on the plane. That was pretty cool.
We arrived in Beijing around 5am their time. The first thing we noticed was – IT’S COLD! I mean it was freezing cold. Colder than Canada. I never imagined it got this cold anywhere in the world except maybe Antarctica. But we were staying inside, so no big deal, right?
Wrong!
Because it was so early, there weren’t many people around to tell us where to go or what to do. We went first to “International Transfers” since we were connecting to a flight going to another country, but the officer said to follow him – which we did – to another office for a daypass visa in China.
“Um, babe, why do we need a visa for China? We’re flying out of here in 2 hours,” was the question I posed to CJ. He was just as confused as I was.
But the nice Chinese police man who speaks no English surely is telling us the right thing to do, right?
So we filled out paperwork and went through immigration.
OK. Now what?
Anyone who looked like they worked at the airport, I asked them, “Do you speak English? Can you tell us where to go?” They would shake their heads up and down, but they continued to smile and say, “No. No.”
Then I finally got one officer to look at our boarding passes and he pointed to a train. He said, “You go that way.”
Anyway, to make a long story short, we ended up riding the train to a different building. Inside there, we went through a maze of hallways, up several elevators and when the door finally opened in the domestic terminal for China’s capital city airport, we found all the people. It was a madhouse of people everywhere!
We kept asking people along the way where to go. “Are you sure? Is this right? We go here?”
Eventually we found the place where our plane was supposed to board. We did notice that not only was the city that we were moving to listed, but it also said “Kunming.”
Huh. Wonder where that is? Little did I know we would be seeing another Chinese city first hand within a couple of hours.
The other thing we noticed was outside the door next to our gate, we had to board a tram to take us to our airplane. That tram drove us out to the tarmac and let us out about 50 yards from our plane.
Did I mention we were wearing flip flops, short pants and short sleeves? I think it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The funny thing was all the Asian people kept looking at us and laughing.
They would elbow their cohorts and point at us, surely thinking, “those crazy Americans.”
We did meet one elderly lady who grew up in the city we were moving to. She spoke a little broken English. She was traveling back to her hometown with her son and grandchildren. Because of our obvious ineptitude, she took us under her wings and guided us the rest of the way to our final destination.
Oh yeah, we flew to Kunming first and landed there, taking with us all our carry-on luggage. Once again we went through immigration and customs. More pointing. More giggling at our cluelessness.
But finally we were on a plane that would land in the city that has been stirring in our hearts for nearly two years.
We left a chilly Vancouver and an even colder China and finally arrived in our warm and sunny city. As we walked through the airport and down an escalator towards immigration, we saw our new teammates through the glass windows below. They were waving signs that read, “Welcome Johnson Family!”
It felt as if I had been holding my breath for a very long time, but at that moment, I finally exhaled. I was smiling through tears of joy.
We’re here. But not only that… we’re home.
It’s been a long time coming. It’s been months and years filled with questions, concerns and pryers. But ultimately this is where we were called to be, and we are anxious to begin the work we came here to do.
Can I just take a moment to thank all our partners who have been with us through every step of this journey? You have been lifting us up, supporting us, loving us and our families at home, you’ve remembered us in your daily petitions and you have completely filled our hearts. I don’t have the words to fully explain how crucial your role is in all this. Thank you just doesn’t feel adequate for the love and appreciation we feel for your participation in this process.
It is my goal to enable our partners to be a part of the work we do here. I’m not sure how that’s going to work because internet and technology are so limited here. (If you only knew what we had to go through just to post this blog…) But I want you to see what we see and hear what we hear. I want you to feel the burden of such immense darkness and then experience the crash of light that comes from seeing lost sheep found. I really want our partners to be able to walk this path with us side by side, even from a continent on the other side of the world. It’s something I feel strongly convicted about, so it is both a pryer and my goal.
This journey is just beginning.
Let’s do this together.
Here we go…
It was cold, yet we were wearing cropped pants and flip flops which would enable us to be comfortably dressed at our final destination. (I figured we’d only be inside airports for our connecting flights, so it didn’t really matter the temperature outside in those cities.)
The most stressful part was checking in all our luggage. The weight limitation policy is stringent, and I was worried we’d end up paying through the teeth in extra fees. When you’re trying to pack for four people to live at least three years in a third world country, you need all the luggage space you can get! But “somehow” every piece was under 50lbs. and we only had to pay for three extra suitcases. We were very relieved to move past check-in and go through security.
We all breezed through security except for little Miá. We had put about 30 packages of deodorant in her carry-on, and the security people couldn’t understand why anyone would need that much sweat protection. Especially a little girl her size. Once we explained that you can’t buy deodorant in Southeast Asia, they let us go. Although they were snickering as we walked away…
We were so thankful to finally be on our flight heading west to Beijing. The flight was 10 hours and 45 minutes. We had four seats together in the middle of the plane, so Mia stretched out over all of us and slept solidly the whole flight. The rest of us, not so much. But we did enjoy watching the movies on the plane. That was pretty cool.
We arrived in Beijing around 5am their time. The first thing we noticed was – IT’S COLD! I mean it was freezing cold. Colder than Canada. I never imagined it got this cold anywhere in the world except maybe Antarctica. But we were staying inside, so no big deal, right?
Wrong!
Because it was so early, there weren’t many people around to tell us where to go or what to do. We went first to “International Transfers” since we were connecting to a flight going to another country, but the officer said to follow him – which we did – to another office for a daypass visa in China.
“Um, babe, why do we need a visa for China? We’re flying out of here in 2 hours,” was the question I posed to CJ. He was just as confused as I was.
But the nice Chinese police man who speaks no English surely is telling us the right thing to do, right?
So we filled out paperwork and went through immigration.
OK. Now what?
Anyone who looked like they worked at the airport, I asked them, “Do you speak English? Can you tell us where to go?” They would shake their heads up and down, but they continued to smile and say, “No. No.”
Then I finally got one officer to look at our boarding passes and he pointed to a train. He said, “You go that way.”
Anyway, to make a long story short, we ended up riding the train to a different building. Inside there, we went through a maze of hallways, up several elevators and when the door finally opened in the domestic terminal for China’s capital city airport, we found all the people. It was a madhouse of people everywhere!
We kept asking people along the way where to go. “Are you sure? Is this right? We go here?”
Eventually we found the place where our plane was supposed to board. We did notice that not only was the city that we were moving to listed, but it also said “Kunming.”
Huh. Wonder where that is? Little did I know we would be seeing another Chinese city first hand within a couple of hours.
The other thing we noticed was outside the door next to our gate, we had to board a tram to take us to our airplane. That tram drove us out to the tarmac and let us out about 50 yards from our plane.
Did I mention we were wearing flip flops, short pants and short sleeves? I think it’s the coldest I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The funny thing was all the Asian people kept looking at us and laughing.
They would elbow their cohorts and point at us, surely thinking, “those crazy Americans.”
We did meet one elderly lady who grew up in the city we were moving to. She spoke a little broken English. She was traveling back to her hometown with her son and grandchildren. Because of our obvious ineptitude, she took us under her wings and guided us the rest of the way to our final destination.
Oh yeah, we flew to Kunming first and landed there, taking with us all our carry-on luggage. Once again we went through immigration and customs. More pointing. More giggling at our cluelessness.
But finally we were on a plane that would land in the city that has been stirring in our hearts for nearly two years.
We left a chilly Vancouver and an even colder China and finally arrived in our warm and sunny city. As we walked through the airport and down an escalator towards immigration, we saw our new teammates through the glass windows below. They were waving signs that read, “Welcome Johnson Family!”
It felt as if I had been holding my breath for a very long time, but at that moment, I finally exhaled. I was smiling through tears of joy.
We’re here. But not only that… we’re home.
It’s been a long time coming. It’s been months and years filled with questions, concerns and pryers. But ultimately this is where we were called to be, and we are anxious to begin the work we came here to do.
Can I just take a moment to thank all our partners who have been with us through every step of this journey? You have been lifting us up, supporting us, loving us and our families at home, you’ve remembered us in your daily petitions and you have completely filled our hearts. I don’t have the words to fully explain how crucial your role is in all this. Thank you just doesn’t feel adequate for the love and appreciation we feel for your participation in this process.
It is my goal to enable our partners to be a part of the work we do here. I’m not sure how that’s going to work because internet and technology are so limited here. (If you only knew what we had to go through just to post this blog…) But I want you to see what we see and hear what we hear. I want you to feel the burden of such immense darkness and then experience the crash of light that comes from seeing lost sheep found. I really want our partners to be able to walk this path with us side by side, even from a continent on the other side of the world. It’s something I feel strongly convicted about, so it is both a pryer and my goal.
This journey is just beginning.
Let’s do this together.
Here we go…
Friday, January 6, 2012
The cure for what ails you
All along this journey we meet people. People of all shapes, sizes, colors, nationalities, backgrounds, beliefs... you get the picture. Everyone we meet is different and no conversation is ever the same. Except what we expect to get out of that conversation.
Every conversation we hope to, in some way, share Him. Share His love. Share His truth.
Some conversations naturally transition. Others we have to work hard to do that.
Likewise, some conversations end with positive responses and we rejoice and follow up.
Others end without any sign of understanding or desire to go deeper. We deal with that and lift them up to Dad for His intervention.
Tonight we were having dinner with a bunch of colleagues - all of whom share the same convictions, calling and training. We had concluded a small work project and decided to patronize a local restaurant.
It was a delightful dinner even with a table of 13 including kids. Our waiter was great. He served our table with ease despite the many calls for refills and split checks and the like.
When I told him he was doing a great job he replied with a smile, "This is not my first rodeo."
At the end of the night, it was our waiter who initiated the conversation.
Maybe he was hoping for a bigger tip. Maybe he was just interested in who we were (we're all obviously not from Canada.) Whatever the reason, he started it.
As he spoke of his life, my heart just broke for him.
No. He didn't have any sad story. He was just lost. Completely lost.
I think all of us at that table tried in someway to turn that conversation.
We tried to get him to realize his "lostness" hoping that we could point to the right direction.
CJ even tried to simply tell him that we'd talk to Father for him if that was ok.
But he didn't want it. He was completely closed to the concept.
And that's ok. Except, it just wasn't ok.
I honestly wanted to cry. And that doesn't happen to me often.
We've experienced multitudes of this kind of closed response throughout our time in Vancouver, so I'm not sure why this particular conversation hit me so hard.
Even our trainer who is in town from Southeast Asia and having dinner with us shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's in His hands." And he is right.
I sat there as everyone else at our table got up and started putting on coats and scarves, preparing to leave. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
This very nice waiter who seems to know how to do everything right is dying. You know what I mean, right?
He's dying, lost.
Let me ask you a question. If you knew someone was dying of a disease, but you had the perfect cure that would save their life, wouldn't you give it to them?
The more and more time we spend in this city, the more my heart breaks for those who are dying. And even though we hold out to them in our hands the cure to save their life, they reject it.
"No thanks" they say.
I wonder how He must feel when they reject Him.
So we put on our happy faces and walk on. All the while we're lifting the lost up to Dad for His intervention.
I would have a page full of names if I listed every person in Vancouver who has said "no thanks" to the cure we offer them, but for some reason tonight, I feel convicted to share his name - the waiter who is lost.
His name is Shane.
Would you please talk to Dad on Shane's behalf? Ask that Shane would continue to be offered the cure for lostness and that when it's His will, Shane would accept.
It is my hope that you, also, will share the cure your carry in your heart with those who need it.
"He is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance." The ninth verse of the third chapter of the second book of Peter.
Every conversation we hope to, in some way, share Him. Share His love. Share His truth.
Some conversations naturally transition. Others we have to work hard to do that.
Likewise, some conversations end with positive responses and we rejoice and follow up.
Others end without any sign of understanding or desire to go deeper. We deal with that and lift them up to Dad for His intervention.
Tonight we were having dinner with a bunch of colleagues - all of whom share the same convictions, calling and training. We had concluded a small work project and decided to patronize a local restaurant.
It was a delightful dinner even with a table of 13 including kids. Our waiter was great. He served our table with ease despite the many calls for refills and split checks and the like.
When I told him he was doing a great job he replied with a smile, "This is not my first rodeo."
At the end of the night, it was our waiter who initiated the conversation.
Maybe he was hoping for a bigger tip. Maybe he was just interested in who we were (we're all obviously not from Canada.) Whatever the reason, he started it.
As he spoke of his life, my heart just broke for him.
No. He didn't have any sad story. He was just lost. Completely lost.
I think all of us at that table tried in someway to turn that conversation.
We tried to get him to realize his "lostness" hoping that we could point to the right direction.
CJ even tried to simply tell him that we'd talk to Father for him if that was ok.
But he didn't want it. He was completely closed to the concept.
And that's ok. Except, it just wasn't ok.
I honestly wanted to cry. And that doesn't happen to me often.
We've experienced multitudes of this kind of closed response throughout our time in Vancouver, so I'm not sure why this particular conversation hit me so hard.
Even our trainer who is in town from Southeast Asia and having dinner with us shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's in His hands." And he is right.
I sat there as everyone else at our table got up and started putting on coats and scarves, preparing to leave. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
This very nice waiter who seems to know how to do everything right is dying. You know what I mean, right?
He's dying, lost.
Let me ask you a question. If you knew someone was dying of a disease, but you had the perfect cure that would save their life, wouldn't you give it to them?
The more and more time we spend in this city, the more my heart breaks for those who are dying. And even though we hold out to them in our hands the cure to save their life, they reject it.
"No thanks" they say.
I wonder how He must feel when they reject Him.
So we put on our happy faces and walk on. All the while we're lifting the lost up to Dad for His intervention.
I would have a page full of names if I listed every person in Vancouver who has said "no thanks" to the cure we offer them, but for some reason tonight, I feel convicted to share his name - the waiter who is lost.
His name is Shane.
Would you please talk to Dad on Shane's behalf? Ask that Shane would continue to be offered the cure for lostness and that when it's His will, Shane would accept.
It is my hope that you, also, will share the cure your carry in your heart with those who need it.
"He is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance." The ninth verse of the third chapter of the second book of Peter.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Attention Partners!
We officially have confirmed flights to our new city! Yippee! Departing here at 2am (PST) - Yes, A.M. - Tuesday, Jan. 24 arriving around 1:30pm Jan. 25 in that time zone (they're 14.5 hours ahead of us here, I think?)
As I was preparing to post this as a Facebook comment, I realized this time zone, date line, flight schedule thing can be kinda complicated. And because we need you to be lifting us up, I'm going to try to explain this in a little more detail.
So here it is broken down:
We will begin our journey late on Monday night, January 23. We'll probably try to get to the airport around 11pm our time - that's like 1am (early Tuesday) for our friends in Mississippi or 2am for (EST) Tennessee & Florida folk.
Our flight is supposed to be 10 hours and 43 minutes, give or take a few.
We'll have a two and a half layover in Beijing.
From Beijing we fly directly to our final destination, arriving in our beloved city around 1:30pm on Wednesday, Jan. 25. That will be around 1am in Mississippi or 2am in the Eastern U.S. on the same day. (Central Time friends will be behind us 12 1/2 hours. EST partners will be behind us 11 1/2 hours. - Remember this for future reference as well.)
I know by the general appearance of the schedule, it looks like we're in the air for 36 hours. Actually between two flights, our airtime is really only about 14 hours. We cross over the international dateline as we fly west from Vancouver towards China.
So I know you're asking, what does this mean to me?
This means that from the time you wake up on Tuesday morning (Jan. 24) until the wee hours of the next day (Jan. 25) we'll be flying, and we desperately covet your petitions to Father on our behalf during this time.
If you've read any of my blog posts in the past, you know I'm not crazy about flying. Never have been. Also little Mia has a tendency to throw up on air planes - even short flights. I'm sorry to be so plain about that, but there's just no other way to say it. (Can you say, dramamine?)
In addition to those challenges, there's our 18 pieces of luggage, connections, jet lag, immigration/customs on the other side and so much more for you to be lifting up.
So right now, go to your calendar and circle Jan. 24 in red. Highlight the date on your iCalendar. Set an alarm on your mobile phone. Whatever! Just please be talking to Dad throughout the day for us on that special day.
We are so excited to finally be going where we feel called to be. Our training has been rigorous and challenging, yet fitting for our task.
Like a basketball player just waiting on the starting whistle to blow so that he can grab the ball and start the game, we are ready and waiting...
LET'S GO!
As I was preparing to post this as a Facebook comment, I realized this time zone, date line, flight schedule thing can be kinda complicated. And because we need you to be lifting us up, I'm going to try to explain this in a little more detail.
So here it is broken down:
We will begin our journey late on Monday night, January 23. We'll probably try to get to the airport around 11pm our time - that's like 1am (early Tuesday) for our friends in Mississippi or 2am for (EST) Tennessee & Florida folk.
Our flight is supposed to be 10 hours and 43 minutes, give or take a few.
We'll have a two and a half layover in Beijing.
From Beijing we fly directly to our final destination, arriving in our beloved city around 1:30pm on Wednesday, Jan. 25. That will be around 1am in Mississippi or 2am in the Eastern U.S. on the same day. (Central Time friends will be behind us 12 1/2 hours. EST partners will be behind us 11 1/2 hours. - Remember this for future reference as well.)
I know by the general appearance of the schedule, it looks like we're in the air for 36 hours. Actually between two flights, our airtime is really only about 14 hours. We cross over the international dateline as we fly west from Vancouver towards China.
So I know you're asking, what does this mean to me?
This means that from the time you wake up on Tuesday morning (Jan. 24) until the wee hours of the next day (Jan. 25) we'll be flying, and we desperately covet your petitions to Father on our behalf during this time.
If you've read any of my blog posts in the past, you know I'm not crazy about flying. Never have been. Also little Mia has a tendency to throw up on air planes - even short flights. I'm sorry to be so plain about that, but there's just no other way to say it. (Can you say, dramamine?)
In addition to those challenges, there's our 18 pieces of luggage, connections, jet lag, immigration/customs on the other side and so much more for you to be lifting up.
So right now, go to your calendar and circle Jan. 24 in red. Highlight the date on your iCalendar. Set an alarm on your mobile phone. Whatever! Just please be talking to Dad throughout the day for us on that special day.
We are so excited to finally be going where we feel called to be. Our training has been rigorous and challenging, yet fitting for our task.
Like a basketball player just waiting on the starting whistle to blow so that he can grab the ball and start the game, we are ready and waiting...
LET'S GO!
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