I know you!

The purple shades of morning had not yet cast their rays against the gray sky.
As a bustling city began to show signs of waking early on a Sunday morning, we departed for a short journey into the outskirts of a nearby village.
We must have looked like a scene from a circus as all eleven of our teammates (including four adults and seven children) poured out of our vehicle when we reached our destination.
We appeared to be at the intersection of two nondescript, dusty roads. There was a large, fairly-new looking, white building sitting in the corner of the interchange surrounded by a high cement wall along its perimeter. There were no people around and no noise to be heard except for the rare “cock-a-doodle-do” from roosters roaming somewhere beyond the nature which blocked sight of our surroundings. The morning was still and calm, and we felt the heat descending around us as the sun began to make its daily climb. The heat is one reason why this gathering group gets such an early start and why we had made our trek there before the break of day. With no air conditioning inside the gathering group’s two-story structure, it’s nearly impossible to bear the temperature later in the day.
I was struck by the serenity of the setting. Surely there was activity and life going on somewhere nearby, I thought to myself, but it was so peaceful I began to have doubts.
Then from the corner of my eye, I spotted a slender, aged man appear from the greenery beyond. He walked to small covered shelter that I had not yet noticed and pulled on a long rope hanging from above. All of a sudden, a bell began to toll. The sound produced by this single bell, hidden beneath its shelter, was loud yet ironically muted. It wasn’t the type of ringing that hurt your ears or grated on your nerves. It was the kind of sound that melts your heart emoting images of a bygone historical era.
As the bell rang, people began pouring into street one by one as they made their way to this gathering group building. I couldn’t figure out where they were all coming from. It wouldn’t be until later that day that I would discover village homes in the distance camouflaged by the greenery around the area.

The service that morning was with a tribal group known for their long-standing relationship with Americans and their fluency in English. After having only been in this country for three months and lacking any conversant skills in their language, it would be almost impossible to do any kind of “seed sowing” or training without their knowledge of OUR language. (I keep reminding myself that you can’t learn a tonal language overnight. In time, it will come.)

There’s a passage in the Good Book that Father has seen fit to put in my path continually in the last few weeks. It was on the t-shirt of a young man that we met during Water Festival (see previous blog), it was the point in a message I was recently listening to on the internet, and then, on this Sunday morning as I ascended into the interior of this gathering group building, I discovered it on some signage hanging from the rafters. I knew that, once again, He was speaking to me.
In the sixth verse of the fourteenth chapter of the book of John, the Son is answering some questions from his followers. In this passage He says, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”
You know, Father has many names, and I’ve always enjoyed studies focused on His names prior to coming to this new country. Now, I’m even more fascinated by the names used for Him here which take on completely new meanings. Because the people here believe in many gods, we have to use names to distinguish when we’re speaking of the One True God. Those titles include the Most High God, the Creator God or, my personal favorite, the Eternal God (towerah pay yah thakin).
Names are special. To call someone by their name is to say, “I know you.”
Now, I’ve never professed to be a theologian, but what I think He is saying here in this passage is huge. The Son could have expressed who He was using specific, identifiable names, yet He answered the disciples’ question using broad, generic terms.
When we call upon the name of the Lord using any of his many names to give Him glory and praise, we are saying, “We know you. We want to know you more. We recognize who you are.” But when He says, “I am the way and the truth and the life,” he is saying to Us, He – knows – US! He knows ME!
As I sat in this desolate building in, what felt like, the middle of nowhere I was struck by the thought that He knows right were I am.
When you move from a town of 5,000 to a city with more than 5 million, it’s easy to feel lost. Sometimes I’ve even wondered “what in the world am I doing here?”
I think that’s why Father keeps putting this Good Book passage in my path. I think He’s telling me that He knows where I am and why I am here. He knows my direction and my purpose. He knows my history and my future. He knows me.

When this realization dawned on me sitting in my pew, while sweltering in the morning heat, I knew I had to come home and write down this message to share with others. After all, this message is not just for me. He wants you to know that He knows you too. Wherever you are. Whatever you’re doing. Regardless of your past, your faults, or the path you’ve taken to where you are now, He wants you to know that He knows you and He loves you.

I’ve seen the Father go through unbelievable methods to get a message to someone who needs to hear it. I can’t help but wonder if everything I experienced this morning was not just for me, but maybe for someone else too.
See, you don’t even have to move to a third-world country to get the message like I did. But heed my warning, if you don’t listen to Him, He may just send you here to get your attention. :)

Surely my cup runneth over

I’ve heard “Thingyan” described as an Asian Mardi Gras, but it’s just not the same.

The Water Festival is a celebration of this country’s new year. Lasting four or five days, people of all ages stand on the sides of the street or even elaborately built stages to spray water on other people driving, biking or walking down the road.
There are little kids with plastic, colored bowls scooping water out of giant drums to toss on the passersby. There are also long hosepipes stretching out to the street from the homes nearby used to spray water. I’ve seen everything from empty cans to ornate water guns wielded to splash water.

People cram into flatbed trucks, jeeps and open top buses just to drive down the road and get sprayed. Almost every street has spray stations set up by the people who live nearby. We live on one of the main streets through our city, and I can see nearly 10 spray stations from my bedroom window.

It’s almost impossible to go anywhere because the streets are clogged and jammed with all the people and vehicles.

You’d never know it is the dry season here because the streets are puddled with water.

There’s music blaring from loud speakers, and it’s, in general, a party atmosphere.

The festival is a celebration of an ancient Buddhist holiday, but to say that Water Festival is promoted by Buddhists is about the same as saying the Easter Bunny is promoted by Christians. It’s more of a patriotic practice than religious celebration.

Thingyan can definitely be a hassle if you’re trying to get anywhere, and since every business (including grocery stores and gas stations) are closed for the week, it’s almost as if the whole country shuts down.

But there’s a blessing in disguise…

I remember after Katrina noting that without electricity and water, the residents all came out of their houses and really got to know their neighbors.

I feel the same about Thingyan. It’s been difficult to reach the people who live in our apartment building until this week. Normally they exist behind locked gates and we don’t see them, but this week, they’re all down on the street sitting, eating, chatting and having fun. It’s been a great opportunity for our family to establish connections with them and begin to share with them.

While the children are playing with the water, CJ and I have been able to sit with the parents and talk to them about their life. It’s through these connections that CJ was invited to go to a village just behind the main road where (they told him) no white person has ever visited. He was able to visit homes there and meet people, giving them Good Book tracts in their language. They invited him to come back again when he can.

Yesterday, I brought some popcorn down to the street as I watched my girls playing and sat next to a young mother and her toddler. The sweet child looked at me with curious eyes as I held out to her a handful of popcorn. Within minutes, the little girl was sitting in my lap munching from the bowl while I conversed with her mother using the little language I know. It’s just a start, I know, but a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, right?

The best part of the week though came when I encountered a young man coming out of our apartment building wearing a t-shirt that said, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life!” I asked him if he knew the meaning of his shirt.

“No,” he answered me. The shirt belonged to a friend, and he couldn’t read English.

In the limited language that I knew, I tried to explain to him where the words came from and what they meant.

It was a difficult conversation and I wished that I could speak to him from my heart using his language. I was comforted in the knowledge that this is just the beginning and in time, I will be able to do just that.

Thingyan has been quite the experience. We’ve been exposed to an event and the underlying culture that are dear to this people. We’ve been soaked to the bone by all the youngsters who love spraying the foreigners while we worked to communicate and establish relationships with their parents and the other people here. But most importantly, we have made small steps towards open doors and hopefully open hearts that Father will use to spread His message and His love.

During Thingyan, the locals spray water to commemorate their new year, but it is our hope that they will come to know the Living Water that can overflow from their soul. Would you please pray that Father would grow the relationships with our new friends and that we would be able to share with them the promise of salvation through faith in Him? It is our hope that these are people that we’ll know not just for a few years, but for an eternity!

It's a powerful story...

“Mom…. I can’t sleep,” Mia pouted as she snuck into our bedroom.
“I know baby. I know,” were my words as I tried to comfort her unsuccessfully.
You expect it to be dark at night when you go to sleep, but darkness from a power outage has a completely different feel to it.
The darkness is not just an absence of light; it’s a stillness that almost takes your breath away.

At the grocery store yesterday, I saw a friend who asked me if I had heard about the upcoming power shortages?
“Uh, no. They’re turning off the power?”
“Yep,” she replied. Another friend had told her that we could begin to expect electricity 12 hours on followed by six hours off continually beginning April 1 through July.
“Woh…” was all I could say.
I did later learn that there was a sign posted on our bulletin board in our apartment building, but as we’re not yet able to read their script, it blended in with all the other signs that we can’t understand.
We’ve experienced a loss of power a few times since we’ve been here, but most were for just short periods, and they were unexpected from some kind of situation or accident – not planned in advance by the authorities to be turned off.
I hoped that my friend was wrong. Maybe she misunderstood. Maybe it didn’t mean OUR area. It’s the hot season after all! I rationalized a multitude of reasons why this maybe wouldn’t affect our home, and as I went throughout the rest of the day, I put the thought behind me.

Monday nights, CJ teaches English at a school downtown, so it’s just the girls and me for most of the evening.
We had made dinner – homemade pepperoni pizza – and we were still sitting at the table, stuffed from our delicious meal discussing which movie we wanted to watch when the lights went off.
“Well, no movie,” Mia said matter-of-factly. “What are we going to do now?”
I love the innocence of my children. She wasn’t worried about the food in the refrigerator. They didn’t know that our apartment was about to become very warm with no a/c or fans to even circulate the air.
Zoe was the first to grab a flashlight. “Let’s light some candles!” she said.
Have you ever tried to search for a lighter or some matches in the dark?
I knew we had brought one of those long gas-grill lighters, I just couldn’t remember where we had stored it.
Ultimately we decided to go take a walk outside. We needed some exercise anyway after that big dinner. We weren’t gone long though. Before we got too far down the road, Zoe spotted a big, black rat on the sidewalk ahead of us thanks to her handy flashlight, so we unanimously decided it would be best to go the other way. Quickly!
We walked a little in the other direction, but it was just too dark, so we called it a night and headed home. Thankfully, by the time we got there, CJ was walking in the door, and he knew just were the matches were.

Sleep was impossible that night – it was just soooo hot. Your skin is sticky from perspiration and the heavy, damp air clings to your body like a wet glove. The heat presses against you in such a way that makes it hard to breathe like you’re suffocating.
It’s almost painful to move, so you recline on the bed as still as possible. You lay there with your head against your sweat-soaked pillow wondering if you will ever see the light again.
I could hear Mia whining in her room. I knew my poor baby was miserable, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even help myself. We drank lots of water and put ice-filled cloths on our foreheads and necks. I would’ve put the girls in a bathtub of cool water if we had one, but we don’t.
“Mommmmmmmyyyyyyyyy, I’m hot…” she said. The temperature had reached 103 degrees that afternoon, so I didn’t doubt her anguish.
“Just lay very still and don’t move. It’s almost 11:00. Try to get some sleep,” I called to her from my room, not wanting to get up or move around.
Eventually, the whining stopped.
But then that made me worry. At least when she was whining, I knew she was ok.
Those motherly concerns kicked in like they had when we had just brought our new baby home from the hospital. Back then, I would sneak into her room just to make sure she was still breathing.
And on this night, I did the same.
It took every ounce of energy I had in my body, but I rolled out of bed and crept to Mia’s room.
I knew Zoe was still awake… I could see the light from her flashlight making circles on the ceiling in her room.
I checked on Mia and she was fine. She was soaking wet, but she was sawing logs in her light sleep.

I crawled back to my own bed and positioned myself on top of the covers. Finally settled, I breathed out a deep sigh and closed my eyes when all of a sudden out of the blue, the power came back on.
“Thank you JESUS!” I shouted.
The first thing I did was grab the remote to the air con unit and set it to “COLD.”
Then CJ and I went about the place turning on the girls a/c units and checking the fridge.
We had survived our first real, serious power outage.
Ironically, this morning when our language teacher arrived she said, “I read you had your power out from 5:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. last night.”
“Huh? Where did you read that?” we replied.
“There’s a sign by the elevator that tells you when your power will be off. Didn’t you know?”
“Ha. NO! But can you teach us how to read those signs so we’ll know when to expect our power to be off everyday and can plan in advance?”
“Of course!” she said.
Wouldn’t that have been helpful?

Oh well, we’re still learning, but it’s all good.
There are so many things I’ve realized I didn’t appreciate back home. Like never having to worry about the power going out. Complaining about being hot as I sat in an air-conditioned room. I never valued the fact that clean water came out of the faucet. When I wanted to brush my teeth, I turned the water on and did so. If I wanted to wash my face, I turned on the water and did so.
I never considered going to get a bucket of clean water to do those things. I never thought about having to boil water before I could wash dishes or even just to have hot water.
But I have learned that for many in the world, this is everyday life.
And honestly, I’m grateful to learn these lessons, even if it is the hard way. I’m grateful that my children are learning these lessons too.

You should try it sometime. You know, just turn off the power one day or night. Try not using faucet water – only bottled water or boiled water – for a whole day. Try going one night in the summer without a/c, and when you do, be reminded to speak to Father on behalf of the millions in the world who go without these conveniences on a regular basis.

He keeps me singing

Ever since I was a little girl, I always loved to sing.
It’s no surprise really since both my parents are singers and have been active in all types of choirs. I grew up listening to classical music and some of my favorite memories of my childhood include attending the concerts of the Nashville Symphony Orchestra which my parents were a part of.
Of course, voice lessons, piano lessons and other instrument lessons filled my younger days. I wish I had been more focused on learning to play the piano back then, but all I wanted to do was sing.

As an older teenager, I sang in a rock band. Yes, I admit it. A rock band. I sang lead and there was a guitar player, pianist, drummer and bass player. The five of us practiced every afternoon at the guitar player’s grandparents’ farm out in the middle of nowhere. We had all the instruments and equipment set up in an open barn that looked out to a field of grass and cows. I sang my heart out for those animals. Then my mom and I would scour the thrift shops on the weekends looking for unique outfits that I could wear when we performed. Those were great times!

As an adult, I loved singing in the choir. LOVED! There’s just something about many people coming together to raise their voices in different vocal parts and harmonies that just soothes the soul, ya know?
At our home gathering place, you could always find me every Sunday in my seat in the choir loft. It was a special joy that I got to sit next to my mom in the choir, and I loved the way our voices blended together.
It’s also one of the things I’ve missed most about the States… choir music and singing with the group. It’s one of those things that you just don’t appreciate until you don’t have it anymore.
Even in Canada, we were in small house groups every Sunday and the music was mostly accapela. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed leading the small group in praise style music. I just missed choir.
I still do.
But Father knows the desires of our hearts, and He continually blesses us in ways that we don’t even know to ask for.

A few months before arriving in this country, I received an email from one of our teammates saying that she had written a song about the 200 year anniversary of Adoniram Judson coming to this place which will be celebrated throughout 2012 and 2013.
“How cool!” I thought when I read the words.
When we finally arrived here, I noticed right away all the many ways my teammate, Carmen,* and I are alike. We both like chocolate and peanut butter ice cream, and we both prefer being out of doors rather than being inside. We have encountered many similar experiences throughout our lives, and we both just happen to be reading through the same book of the Good Book unintentionally. Our greatest similarity though, is our tremendous love of music.
Our very first full day in country, we went to our teammates’ house and before the day was over, Carmen sat down at the piano to play for me the song she wrote about Judson.
It was so beautiful and the words were so moving that I was in near tears before the song was halfway through. I found myself harmonizing in my usual habit to her melodious, soprano voice, and when we were done, we both were struck by how well our voices blended together. Even our spouses sitting nearby commented that we sounded as if we had been singing together all our lives. It was really almost uncanny.
Carmen has an amazing talent for composing music and lyrics, and it’s been such a joy to just listen to her play her songs. But the real fun comes when we sing together, and we do that as often as we can.
We’ve become accustomed to the fact that whenever you visit a Sunday gathering somewhere, they always ask you to speak or sing for the group. It was only our second Sunday in country when Carmen and I first performed a song together. Since then, we’ve been singing almost every weekend at different Sunday gatherings.
Then, because her special song about Judson is so amazing, she was asked to record the song for publication and distribution. When she told me we were going to a recording studio to lay the track, all I could think was, “There’s a recording studio in this city?!?”
Sure enough!
The experience was a once-in-a-lifetime event. I met some amazing musicians who all exhibit rare talent. I kept thinking, “If they lived in the States, they’d surely be very rich because of their gifted abilities.”
Whenever Carmen and I had performed the song before, we had been doing it with just piano, but the track we recorded included drums, guitars, bass, strings, horns and more. After a long day of practice, all the instruments were recorded individually and then Carmen sang her part. I was the last one of the day to be recorded, and even after nearly 10 hours of working and waiting, I was so excited to walk in the booth, put on the headphones and sing.
The whole time I was singing, the same thought kept running through my mind: Father blesses us with the desires of hearts before we even know what those desires are. Thank you Father for blessing me with an amazing teammate and for giving me the opportunity to sing.

I know I keep using that word ‘amazing’ but I can’t help it. I am amazed. My cup runneth over. I had almost given up on the idea that music would be a part of my life over here. I just figured my singing days were behind me.
Oh, how little faith I exhibit.

I’ve often heard that Father is not as concerned with our happiness as He is our holiness.
That may be true, but He sure has made this girl happy.
“He keeps me singing as I go…”


* Not actual name.

A little laughter is the best medicine

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… :)

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:

“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.

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.