In the Middle of Nowhere

Walking Out or Walking In

2012-02-01T14:23:00.000-06:00

We sat in my living room the other day along with our team leader and another friend watching the late night news after a day of meetings. A news article came on about gay marriage and the fight for gay rights. Our team leader huffed and said that this needs to be banned, and no one can define a gay couple as a "family" since the very definition of a family is a unit to procreate, and gays cannot produce children.

I don't know what got into me, but I said it. I am not pro-gay... honestly. But then again, I am rethinking... maybe I am not either anti-gay...

I said, "Not all hetero-sexual couples can reproduce either." Our team leader and his wife adopted due to infertility. "You wouldn't classify you as not a family just because you couldn't have children. The definition of a family has to be more than that."

He just said, "oh, so now you are using our adoptions as an argument for gays!" and got up and left the room.

I don't know if the man was offended or simply disgusted with gays or what. He does abruptly leave conversations at times for reasons that are not always clear to others, so an abrupt departure was not too abnormal for him. I asked my husband if he thought he was offended, and my husband sad he didn't think so. I don't know.

My husband and I talked it over as we watched the rest of the news and worked on a puzzle spread out on our coffee table. There is such an animosity to gay people, gay marriage, gay parenting and all. Let me get it clear (I almost said let me get it straight, but that ended up looking funny in this sentence.) I strongly believe that choosing a gay lifestyle is wrong. I believe that it is not right at all. But that is not the point here.

Why do Christians react so strongly and so negatively? We wondered about that. What point does that serve? We wondered if the strength of the gay movement is fed partly in response to the heated animosity of Christians. We wondered how our hate, disgust, and vehement fighting against their desire to have the right to marry, to have children, to.... whatever.... is leading at all to them learning of the love of Christ. Has anyone been won to Christ by hate?

We work among a people in a religion that is not well loved. People also fear and can easily hate people of this belief. We believe and teach Christians not to hate - to befriend, to show love, to be kind, to see people. We believe that if we hate and fight against these people, we will never win them for Christ. It is in our love, in our acceptance, in our kindness, in our care that we are able to speak with our lives.

Didn't God says the world will know us by our love?

Then why do we hate?

I grew up in the church. I know the answer to that question. "We hate the sin, but we love the sinner."

Really?

Then why do we spit out the words when we talk about gays and lesbians? Why do we fight so hard against them.

What would happen if we showed love? I don't know what that would look like, but what would happen? If we stopped trying to restrict their rights, if we stopped giving those looks, if we stopped whispering about them... if....

What if we invited their kids over, babysat for them, or simply started by smiling at the next gay couple we saw? What if we handed out cool water or hot chocolate at one of their events - without having slogans or tracts or anything. What if we just showed love?

And - even though many Christians will be scandalized at the thought - what if we stopped fighting their attempts to be able to be married? Are we so insecure that we think marriage can be threatened by that? Do we define ourselves only by our gender or our ability to produce children?

I personally think that marriage is something greater and bigger than the definitions I've heard given in support of opposing gay marriage. I've heard that it is "one woman/one man" or this recent one "family is designed to procreate". I personally believe that marriage is intended to be a demonstration of Christ and the church - of that unity, that love that is above and beyond all else. We are a living example of Christ's love. Marriage is a example of how Christ loves us. There is nothing a gay couple can do which can threaten or destroy that. We have nothing to fear.... nothing, perhaps, other than that existence of our own hate and fear destroying the image of Christ's love in us.

It's true that we have no example of how Jesus treated gays. None. It would have been easier for us, maybe, if we did. But we don't. What we have is only the example of how He treated the two most hated groups in His society - the prostitutes (and the woman at the well who wasn't even getting paid for her "services") and the tax collectors. Both groups where the religious society drew up their robes tighter around them in horror.

But Jesus didn't.

I'm re-thinking my religion. I'm not re-thinking my stand on homosexuality. But I am re-thinking the whole "hate the sin and love the sinner" idea. I'm thinking we too often say that, but clearly communicate "hate the sin and the sinner" idea. Like when we walk out in disgust at the very mention of a gay person.

Who's going to share the good news with them if we walk out? Maybe we need to be walking in to their lives instead?

Of Wounds, Dressings, and Scars

2012-01-08T22:19:00.001-06:00

My oldest is a strange child. The boy has almost no sensation of pain. I say almost because I have seen him cry once or twice. He was deathly afraid of needles and would cry at the thought of getting a shot. He also cried the other day when someone slammed a door down on his head and left a goose egg. Other than that, he has little sensation of pain. He ripped open his arm two years ago and needed 40 stitches, but "it doesn't hurt at all, mom".

Last week, he went running and jumping across the parking lot, even though it had just been covered with ice. He was supposed to bring in our bag from the van. He came back with the bag and the first aid kit. "Why did you bring that in? We don't need it."

"You will need it, mom." was his only response. Then he turned. In his new jeans, there was a three inch tear at the knee and blood was pouring down his leg. He had run and slipped on the ice and hit the curb. I had him take off the jeans, and the skin on half the knee cap was gone and three large slices were cut under that.

Sigh...

Thankfully, it took off enough skin that the gravel that went in it came off with the layer of skin. I did need to wash it, so I sprayed it with a bottle of sterile water. The kid giggled and wiggled. "Mom! It tickles! Don't!" I dried it with a 2x2 guaze, pushing hard to see if the bleeding had settled and what was what in the cuts. "Does this hurt?" "nope! I mean, I can tell you are pushing on it, but I don't feel anything!"

Honestly, the lack of pain is not a good thing. Pain is given to us to teach us. We learn, for example, not to swing on rusty bars, not to run on ice, to pick up our feet when we walk, to use the steps when going downstairs.... but without pain, he doesn't learn these lessons.

It's been almost a week. Every day, sometimes three times a day, I have changed the dressing, washing, putting more antibiotic cream on, non-stick bandages, allowing it to heal. In a cut, I can pull the edges together, holding them either with steri-strips or stitches (yes, I own a stitch kit or two... these boys!). Then the edges seal, and the wound heals from the top in with little scarring. Healing by primary intention. Healing the way it should be.

But sometimes, there is no skin left. There is no way to pull the edges of protective skin together and allow the healing to take place deep inside with minimal scarring. When the skin is ripped away, it will heal by secondary intention - from the bottom up. With this wound, it was the best I could hope for. Still, I can care for the wound. I kept it covered. I kept it clean. Daily, I washed it. I covered it with antibiotic cream - both to kill germs and to keep the skin soft, so it would heal cleanly from the bottom up with little scarring.

Care. Gentle care. Meanwhile, my son giggled and wiggled and begged me not to wash it. He'd rather just leave it open so it scabs over and dries out. A bandage slows him down. But I insisted. I didn't want a big lump of white scar tissue to be in his way for a few years as he played and knelt.

A week later, it was looking great. Slowly healing. The open red skin turning white, the depth of the scrape lessening. I took the bandage off and sent him to go shower before I would re-dress the wound.

Pain. It is a good thing. This kid doesn't have the convenient teacher of pain. He set off running for the shower (why walk when you can run?) and tripped on the first thing he encountered - a step in our dining room.... it's been there the whole six years we've lived here! - and fell. He hit his knee on the edge of the step, and stood up. He looked down at the wound and said, "Interesting." and reached down and pulled off a flap of skin that he scraped back off. Then he turned to look at the step and picked up another piece of skin he had left there. The wound was open again, and bleeding down his leg.

Sigh...

We're back to bandaging and oiling his wound. With him, the bandages do a few things. They cover and keep it clean. They allow it to heal by secondary intention, but with little scarring. But they also remind him that he is injured, and cushion the blows that keep coming. And when the bandage is soaked, I change it once again.

Healing by primary intention is good. That is when the wound is a clean cut and we get immediate care. Failing that, the edges may never stick together, or the wound sheared off too much for there to be edges. Then we have to heal by secondary intention. That can still be done well - if care is given. If the wound is washed, oiled, and bandaged - protected and cared for. When that is not done, when a wound is just left open to air, unwashed, uncared for .... eventually it will still heal, but it will leave a bigger scar. It will be obvious for years or perhaps forever... there is a wound no one cared for.

That is how I feel about my heart right now. I'm going on. I will go on. I am surviving. I am moving into new areas of ministry and I still enjoy my work. But I have a scar. There was a wound no one cared for. It did heal, but it healed badly by secondary intention.

One thing I've learned about scar tissue is that it has consequences. Just this weekend, a friend showed me her back. She has a two and a half foot long scar curving the length of her back - a remnant of the consequences of her choice to choose Christ. She's having pain when she works hard and wonders what is wrong. I examined the scar and the muscles surrounding it. I think the wound was initially cared for well, but she was sent home, and people were frightened of her wound, so no one washed and bandaged it again. They were afraid they would faint. Afraid they could not face the pain of looking at her back. So she was left alone. She has more scar tissue than was needed. I think that now, when she has a physical job, that scar tissue is pulling, and that causes pain. My incision from surgery did for years, and still does occasionally if I lift too much, hike too far, or work too hard. I've learned that it will do that, but not to worry. Actually, as I pushed through the pain, some of the scar tissue broke up. I hope hers will, too, but I am going to do some research to see what can be done to help her.

Scar tissue can cause pain. Even after healing. That is why I work so hard to heal my son's wound. My friend's scar causes her pain. Mine cause me pain. It has healed, but it could have been healed by primary intention. It could have been healed even later by secondary intention if it had been covered and cared for. It wasn't, and when the scar tissue pulls, it reminds me... no one was there to bandage and cover with oil. That fact also hurts.

I can't fix that. Instead, I can only go on. And today, I look at my friend's wound, listen to her story, and tell her I wish I had been there to wash and dress her wound. I run my finger along its length, gently probing its depth, and marvel at her courage. I promise to do what I can to find out what has promise in decreasing scar tissue, in helping her be strong enough to push through the pain. And I dress my son's wound again and again, ignoring his wiggling and giggling, determined that he will heal with as little scar tissue as possible.

That Person... you know....

2012-01-05T23:58:00.001-06:00

Ever have to deal with that person who appears nice.... but leaves a bad taste in your mouth? It is just the little comments, the sarcasm, the rudeness, the little digs. As time goes on, it wears on you. Yet if you respond, they would say, "what is the big deal?"

We have one. It is constant. Almost daily. Little things. Never (well, seldom), an outright meanness... just constant little things. E-mails to us, to others but cc'd to us... little jabs. If we don't do things just as this person likes when this person likes, there are those little comments.

How do you deal with that? I've thought of a few tactics, but not sure the value of them.

One is blunt honesty - "I do not appreciate this type of behavior. Please quit it."

Another is more passive - ignore all messages that contain rude and sarcastically rude comments. When questioned on why something wasn't done, state that you deleted the request because it was rude and are waiting for it to be stated politely and respectfully.

Keep enduring - until we get really irritated with it, and then end up snapping at each other because we are fed up trying to endure.

I am not sure what is the wise way to deal with it. I just know that I have almost had enough. It seems like it is this person's way of "encouraging" or "degrading" you into doing things when and how this person wants. It actually has the opposite effect - we want to do less and less for this person the way they want it done. Actually, we want nothing to do with this person and strive to be away from them as much as possible. You know - the type when you see their number show up, you let it go to voice mail.

sigh... wishing Christians were more perfect.... One day, heaven. In heaven, we will be. In little day to day things of working with difficult people, this also encourages me. One day, heaven.

Until then, any ideas?

Holding My Breath

2011-12-29T20:29:00.001-06:00

I just painted my son's room. Beautiful blue with a mural of planets across all the walls.

I'm holding my breath....

Last time I painted a mural on my kid's room, we got the news we were moving in a few weeks.

A Handful of Marbles - or am I losing mine?

2011-12-27T23:52:00.000-06:00

Apparently, no one wants to discuss the thought of having to deal with homosexuality close up. :) Oh well.... we can keep pretending it only exists "out there" with "those people" for a little longer.

In the meantime, I am almost finished filling in for a coworker with a broken foot. I'm exhausted. Working two jobs is not good for me while trying to maintain ministry and family. And I hurt my back, or my hip, I think. Pulled a muscle in my hip, so lifting old people is a pain - literally. So is walking. And wearing heels. Sadly, I have no cute, warm winter shoes that don't have heels, so I keep putting beauty before pain and deeply regretting it later.

Two girls at my work are pregnant. It seems that husbands, or even steady boyfriends, before getting pregnant is a thing of the past. What is saddest for me is that one is supposedly a solid Christian, going to church, professing belief and all, and yet sees no problem living with her boyfriend. It saddens me. Perhaps because I know about marriage - which is an incredibly tough venture, but one worth doing all the same. There is something holy about marriage - and I am not just talking about the "save it until you are married" and "two virgins marrying" type of a thing. There is something holy about a commitment, about being the two of you - that fact said out loud and honored. A security - even though I am fully aware that marriages break. Despite that sad fact, there is a solidness about marriage, and as I watch these two girls struggle through decisions about babies and all, I am sad for them. Wishing they knew the delight of a husband rubbing a round tummy thrilled about his child growing. Going it alone is not easy.

I am enjoying working alongside my husband in his office. Funny thing is that I thought office work was never going to be for me. I actually like it. Well, most of it. I was trying to be perfect.... no mistakes and all... I know - I am incurably, optimistically a perfectionist. I just figured it was possibly to do things well, and that if I did things well, I would make no mistakes. That worked for a few weeks only. Anyway, now I have made mistakes. Done the wrong thing. Sent the wrong people the wrong things. I'm learning that it is ok, and that I can not fix everything or do everything right away the right way. Things happen, and I can refuse to feel the need to "fix" everything and take on everyone else's problems. I try my best. I learn. I go on. Sometimes there are glitches in systems. Life happens.

This is a totally random post. I'm tired, but awake enough to miss talking with people. I feel as if that is the one thing I have really lost in the last year or so - relationships that I had built up, people I had counted on. Why I have lost them is likely a variety of reasons... communication is a two way street that if only traveled one way tends to dry up. Like this blog.... well, if I don't write, even if people try to read, there is no communication. I am not sure what I will do with various relationships. Some I will keep. Some I will grow on from. It is the way life is as much as I try to hang on. Sometimes I think relationships are like trying to hang on to a handful of marbles. You can only hold so many at one time before they start rolling out between the cracks. So you either let that happen naturally or you spread them out in the dust and sort them into ones you keep and ones you risk. Did you ever play marbles in the dust? Shooting them into a ring, aware that you risk any you send in there, but knowing you could just win that other one, too? I think I ended up trying to hold too many marbles, and I can't. I've shot all mine into the ring now, and we will see which ones come back to me, and which ones I have lost. I've never lost all my marbles, not yet, and you always win others. Each one different, unique, with a design and beauty all their own.

But I am reasonably happy. Very busy. Sore. Sad. I think sadness would be an overwhelming emotion right now - not the sadness of the last year, that sort of fuzzy sadness of post-stress. Just a quiet sadness, likely a result of tiredness and mild loneliness. I lost a friend. She moved. Still close enough to visit, but not here daily. With that, another friend is not around as much. My core group of women I would have coffee and talk with is gone. There are other women, and I am building relationships, but there is sadness in time passing and people moving on.

Yet I am strangely ok in it all. Happy, content despite it. I think I learned early that people move on and that you can not count on people or relationships to stay static. You mourn and you keep going. And when you are sad, you tell yourself, "one day, heaven". There we will all be together with all the time in the world. No loss is ever permanent when we are believers. One day, heaven. Heaven is a place where there will be no more fractured relationships.

More random thoughts. The person in our team who I struggle with the most is arriving soon for a visit. I am strangely nonchalant about it this time, even thinking that if he needs to stay with us it would be ok. I think I have grown taller. Remember those big frightening things you saw when you were little? But then they were small when you grew? I've grown taller. I've also lived a summer with a Asperger's kid, and as I look at this team leader now, after that experience of having this child, I see with different eyes. I feel pity. Pity for him and pity for those who have to live and work with him. Pity because there is no fixing it.

I have learned ways of coping and thinking that I think are helping me. Maybe part of that is realizing that I do not need to find value in his eyes. I've always been good at whatever I've set my mind to do. Pleased others and excelled at things. People over me were always happy with me - except my parents when I was a child. But teachers, bosses, leaders... I've always done well. Even today, I enjoy doing well and being valued on a team. But when you have a leader who has perhaps a different way of seeing the world... one skewed by his own oddities that perhaps he can not fix ever.... it may be impossible to be valued by him. And you know what? That is ok. Like the mistakes I made in my new office job, it's ok. I can't do everything right. When he does not see the good I do, perhaps it is not because my good is not good enough, but because he has his own weaknesses. Perhaps he is incapable of seeing as normal people do. When he overlooks normal politeness and rudely ignores me or when he picks up absolutely no emotion or even worse, criticizes emotion that should be treated sensitively, perhaps it is not because he is rude and cruel. Perhaps he just can not pick up on emotions nor figure out how to respond. I am taller. I do not need value from him.

I still need value from people. Some people will say we need to grow to where we don't, but I think it is a good aim, but not a real possibility. We need value from people. Just that we need to learn to look for it in people that know how to give it. I do better with some words of affirmation. I also know about ten people who I can count on to give them to me. So that is where I should go when I am empty. Not to people who will not even see my need for it. Those type will hurt - likely totally unwillingly and unaware.

My kids are growing. That makes me alternatively extremely proud and deeply sad. The babies are gone. The sticky fingers are gone. So are the toddler toys and cute outfits. Here are overgrown teens with long legs with hair on them who stink non-stop despite frequent showers and liberal reminders to use deodorant. Bundles of energy who at one minute are wise and mature and at another are exploding with emotions like a two year old. You know what is funny? I've got teens, but I've got bad case of the "I wish I could have another" syndrome and miss being pregnant, newborns, and all that. I loved being a young mom. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Being a mom of teens is good, too. Different, but good.

Life changes. Relationships change. Sometimes things hurt. Sometimes you get injured. Sometimes you make mistakes. The only thing impossible to stop is the incessant ticking of time... that relentless moving on. So often I would have frozen time here or there when something is "perfect", but I can not. Time goes on, and with it comes goodbyes, changes, and growth.

One day, heaven. In the meantime, let's enjoy with grace what we have today. It doesn't always last, but it is good. Even stinky teen boys with hairy legs are good. Even when they are fighting me for independence. I smile later, glad that they are growing and wanting independence... hoping they let us guide them until they are ready for it.

A Wrong Chord at a Christmas Party

2011-12-15T20:18:00.000-06:00

I went to our church's women's study group's Christmas party today. (Yes, I survived a group!) I've not been to the study that much simply because my life has been too busy, but it was nice to go today. We had our study and then a fancy dinner. It was stunning, gorgeous, perfect food... I made an idea I got off Carrie's blog links - Santa Hat Brownies. They're simple, but really cute.

What was wrong? It was a little thing, a wrong note. And it quietly disturbed me all afternoon. I may be treading on thin ice here as I know I know people who are in the same boat, and I do not know how they deal with the situation, and I honestly know that I would be totally shaken and struggle to deal with it, too. But I am either bold or stupid and have some questions... honest questions, wanting to learn with others.... we can ignore it, but it is not going away, so why don't we start talking about it?

A woman was sharing about her daughter who is a lesbian and has been for fifteen years. This daughter had been to Bible school and all and then left it all and joined the lesbian lifestyle. The lady shared that because of her daughter's choices, they can not support her lifestyle, so they simply do not see their daughter often. Then she mentioned that last week, they were in the city (about an hour from us) and they phoned her daughter to meet them in a restaurant since they hadn't seen her in two years. She arrived with an 18mo. old baby that her partner had given birth to which had both their names.

That was about all to her story. It was just an illustration of someone they thought was a believer whose lifestyle now proves they never were.

But it disturbed me. I sat there mulling over what she told me and I was quietly disturbed.

First let me CLEARLY state that I have an immense amount of sympathy for this lady and am heartbroken over what she must face as she grapples with this situation. It is not easy. There is no easy way about it. It is awful. Embarrassing. Crushing disappointment of her expected dream of her daughter. The awfulness of a child turning their back on God. The embarrassment to say, "my child is lesbian". I grieve for her.

But I questioned her response. "I can not support her lifestyle, so we don't have them here and we don't see her often." She inferred that even when they do see her daughter, they meet elsewhere and refuse to see the daughter's partner. It was that which bothered me. I was used to it. I grew up in the same churches and would have been counseled to make a similar choice. But now I question that.

Did God turn His back on us when we were sinners? How is she to learn about God's character if we reject her? I wonder about the effect of welcoming her daughter - as she is... partner and all - into their home. Telling her loudly with actions that nothing she can do will change her love for her daughter. She will break her heart, yes, but she can not stop her love. Of letting her house be a place that is unashamedly Christian, unquestionably against the lifestyle, but whole-heartedly loving the people. What if we showed the love God had for us? What if her daughter and her partner and their baby felt comfortable to come and bake cookies with their mom and the little one grew up calling her "grandma" and loving to be at her house? No one says that I have to agree with the choices of everyone I love, do they?

Can we not as Christians deeply love even people who have chosen to walk in this awful lifestyle? Can we not hold our arms and our homes out to them too? Isn't there a difference between accepting a lifestyle and accepting a person? Do we best draw people to Christ by rejecting them or by love?

What do you think? Have you had any experience in this? I admit I have none, so I am talking without walking. I have only a brother who has made awful choices in his life. We battled with some of these questions with him, and in the end chose to continue to be in his life for many years. The complication with him was that he was not safe around children, and we also had to make the decision that our children are our first priority and were worth a "zero-risk-factor", so we limited our connections with my brother to clearly defined situations. I don't know that this is the same situation. Perhaps if there were young children in the house and the adult child was pushy or crude - perhaps that would be different. But this family had no young children. No one was at risk from choosing to love.

I'm still questioning much of how I was taught Christianity, and I am questioning this choice. To be honest, I've never heard a class taught or a sermon preached on "How to Relate to Your Homosexual Child". Perhaps we need one. Maybe we need to start talking about it. We can stick our heads in the sand and focus all our energy on reaching the lost.... but can we afford to reject the lost in our own families?

This Odd New Companion

2011-12-11T23:30:00.000-06:00

He joined me almost silently during a difficult time in my life, and he has remained. He's quiet, so I don't always notice him. He's not flashy; he doesn't make himself known or push himself forward, but he's constantly there. He is so quiet at times that I think perhaps he may have gone, but when I turn around, like my shadow, he's there.

This vague sense of disconnect. My odd new companion.

He's been in my life before, like a frequent house guest - one that you don't bother to put out a folded set of towels on the bed for since he knows where they are kept. He's shown up when I am sitting in a group of people talking and realize that my thoughts are on a world half a globe away that those I am with have no concept of. He's come to stay with me through every move as we walk around the house and mentally prepare to leave. He's been there through abuse when my eyes looked out at a world my hurting child's heart had no way to comprehend. He's come and gone as our greater missionary family has wound its way through different crisis and griefs. He moved in for a few months when my daughter died.

Almost a friend. Familiar. But even good friends eventually leave. Now he seems to have signed a lease.

It makes it difficult. I think, "I should feel/do/think/act....." but I can not. I am quieter, more reserved. I trust less. I went through trauma compounded by the startling absence of those who I thought I could count on. I find myself less willing to count on people. In my relationships, I have changed. I initiate less. I do not seek after contact, believing it to be false if I have to find it. "If you really care, you will come/write/call." seems to be my answer to the overwhelming grief of being left alone.

I struggled so hard to find a way through my lack of trust that I inherited from the abuse in my childhood. It also didn't help that I led the life of a gypsy (or an MK) and there was nothing constant. I learned to trust - to begin to. Technology is nice - not so many final goodbyes as I grew up with. I began to allow myself to believe people.... they were who they said they were, they would be dependable, they would have good intentions... I could withstand the risk.... learning trust.

Then this happened. And people, good people, our people, other missionaries... left me completely alone when they knew I needed them. Trauma compounded with a broken trust.

I'm healing. I think so. I'm not demanding of myself that I pretend to be all healed. I'm still healing. There is still pain.

And my odd new companion seems to have taken residence in my home. This odd sense of disconnect. I'm different today. I am quieter. I wait. I watch. I initiate less. I hesitate. I feel disconnected from people in groups and open up less to people one on one. (I blog less, too.) I wonder - who ever really cares? Why waste my time?

I have this disconnect with God also. I wait for Him to initiate contact, too. Thankfully, He does more than people. We talk. I ask Him to remind me that He was there. He does. I don't have my feelings back - not in my relationship with God, not like they were before. I'm different. I'm less demanding, but I am not sure that that is a good thing. I quietly watch. I watch God, too, quieter.

I fill my days with different tasks. I like routine, order, things that are repetitive. I like quietness or jobs that don't involve my heart. God is good - He's given me a job like that now. I love it. I am to keep order, count, categorize, maintain routines. It's good. I still work with old people in a home. This job, I like. Somehow, when I am there, my odd companion stays home. Perhaps it is that this was the place, here among unbelievers, that I received the most support. Here it was that people really ask, "How are you doing?" (Ok, there are some believers there, too, but it is a secular workplace.) Here, I leave my quiet disconnect outside and feel alive. There is something about caring for the dying and comforting the hurting that comforts my own heart. Then I leave again, and the quiet shadow follows me.

I wonder when his lease is up or if I have adopted him.

I think about my conversation with a friend who went through trauma right after we did - totally different - but trauma nevertheless. They are still dealing with the obvious after effects - physically. When we talked, we talked about this odd feeling of disconnect. Of wishing we had known that our normal was going to disappear. We never got to say goodbye. I liked who I was before.... before when I was learning to trust and feeling on top of the world.

Now I am quieter, watching to see who initiates contact, who really cares, not wanting to risk hurt. I miss my old self, but life is like that. There is no going back. Just like I miss who I was when I was young and believed that you get pregnant and have a baby and life is good. Before I knew that sometimes you deliver a quiet baby who has already gone. There is no going back. I am not who I was before that day.

A strange sense of disconnect. It's made for a quieter blog. It's made for a quieter me. If you are my friend, you already know, its made for long, long silences. I'm here. I'm just watching, not ready yet to commit again. Its sort of like drinking the rest of the hot chocolate after you've burned your tongue. It may have cooled, but it still hurts, so you don't.

I was listening to a song the other day and I got angry at it. It was repetitive and boring and kept singing, "I will not be shaken, I will not be shaken." I thought, "What a stupid song!" Of course we will be shaken. We so easily are. Life is not about my strength. Yet we won't be shaken.... only because we are hanging on to One who can not be shaken, and even more importantly because He is hanging on to us.

Even when we feel disconnected. Even then.

A New Job

2011-11-16T23:58:00.000-06:00

I would think that the prerequisite for getting a new job is quitting your former one, but that is not the case! I still work with old people one day a week, and will be increasing that to two days to cover when someone else has to be away for a few months. I also still volunteer in the school, and will be covering a medical leave there in two weeks - yay, I get to teach kindergarten!!!

But, my poor husband has been struggling trying to get everything done in managing the office and meeting deadlines as well as everything else involved in what we do. We had hoped for some help to arrive, but it didn't work out. We did get a very young guy as a new IT type of help, but he takes a lot of training at the moment. Then our office volunteer quit (which may have been a good thing as she was messing up more than she was helping, but God bless her heart for trying!)

So I took a look at the office and decided to jump right in. I now work three days a week doing admin. assistant type of jobs. For the first two weeks, I decluttered my workspace. The previous volunteer kept every scrap of paper we produced in the last five years! Ugh. She also kept copious hand written notes on how to do everything, but they make little sense as the technology changes so fast. This week, I've learned the basics of a few tasks and am doing them well. Now I have to organize two other rooms - a storage/stock type of room and the office where the new IT guy will be sharing with our bookkeeper. Since it had been only half used for several years, it had piled stuff in there. All sorts of stuff.

Right now, my new job is a little like Sudafed. I am a decongestant. I get rid of "stuff".

I'm enjoying making order. Now if only it could be made at my house! I'm finding this working mom thing to be a little exhausting, even though I am home in time to pick up my kids.

Walking Through the Lie

2011-11-07T01:56:00.000-06:00

I knew it as soon as I asked, but I still recoiled from it anyway. This lie goes deep. It is not one I am unfamiliar with at all. What makes it so much harder to face this time is that it wasn't a complete lie. It came true. The fact that it came true was terrifying to me. As if you woke from a horrible nightmare of being killed and found a stranger in your room at night - the fear just intensifies. I actually recoiled from the force of it.

I had been through some very traumatic things in my childhood - abuse, constant moves, a divorce in our extended family that shook us, some other things that would take too much space to explain. We had hit some trauma too as adults - our daughter's death, health issues, marriage troubles, etc. I had had to face many of these things alone. I was never given much support in coping with most of it. I built strong walls around my heart because I knew that people didn't care. People hurt. If I kept people out, I didn't have to be hurt when they didn't care because I would not know.

But I grew and I began to take my walls down. It's been good. But there was that fear - what if I take my walls down and people hurt me? What if I let people in and they abandon me? What if when I am hurting, they walk away and I know they never cared in the first place?

The thing that was so difficult in this trauma was that some people did just that. Some people knew that I was hurting and did nothing. Some people abandoned me when I was crying. Some never even cared enough to see that I was crying. Some hurt me - almost vicious attacks. (I think those came out of their own insecurities and pain - but that doesn't negate the effect it had on me.) Some people acted just like I feared. It was like waking from a nightmare to the horror of it being a reality.

That was hard to face. To look those facts in the eye and say, "yes, it did happen". To not run screaming from those facts wanting to hit out at anything or bury my head in the sand and try to numb the fear. To face them and say, "yes, it did happen." There was some truth to those lies. And it hurt.

I just sat silent with that thought in front of God waiting. I knew He wasn't done talking to me. It was as if He was saying, "pick it up, handle it, turn it around and look at it from different angles, see it". It did happen. Face it head on. I've learned that the best way to deal with pain is to deal with it. To let it be. Not to run, not to flinch, not to duck, but to handle it, to experience it, to let it be. Eventually, either you grow stronger or it subsides. So God and I looked at the pain together - the awfulness of my nightmares coming true. It hurt. Then we set it down, and I was silent, waiting some more.

Then God asked, "Where was I?" The quietest little peace began to bubble up inside me. "You were there." He was. Those closest to me who should have responded either didn't or even attacked when I had a clear, visible need. That deeply hurt. It cut deep down to my original wounds and questions, "Am I valuable? Does anyone really care? If people really knew me, would they reject me? Would anyone really want me if I was needy and had no use to them, only raw needs?" Sadly, that ended up being answered in a negative way in many key relationships. That fact has permanently altered some relationships. There is real pain in that.

But..... (I've learned that God always has a 'but' waiting.)

Where comes the redemption is this: God did not fail. He didn't, and He has been gentle, consistent, and persistent about proving that to me over this last year and a half. There is a sadness about those who failed - I think God Himself is sad over those actions, but they do not define God. He's quietly insisted, "That was not Me. That was not Me." And just as quietly, He's shown Himself through others. What I've learned is to watch for God where I least expect Him - like in the parable of the Good Samaritan - God has His hands and feet and arms. He will be there - when we hurt, when others fail, when we are left all alone in pain. He's still there.

He'll be there in the scruffy musician next door that knocks at midnight with a hug. He'll be there in the young mom who dropped everything to bring me food at nine pm on a day when no one had come. He'll be there in the strength of a young army widow who phoned late that evening when I was curled in a fetal position alone on my kitchen floor - able to speak out of her own pain to comfort me and get me to stop heaving with nausea and laugh until tears came. He'll be there in the arms of a teacher to let me lean against him and to hold my oldest son when he needed a man's arms. He'll be there in the tears in the eyes of a flight attendant and their concern for me on a long flight when my strength was wearing out. He'll be there a year later in the young mom who heard my heart in what we went through. He'll be there in the series of coincidental meetings He arranges. He'll be there is the arms of a man who knows what it is like to walk through trauma, and the ears of a woman who could hear the details and speak wisdom with gentleness.

So I looked up with that small peace bubbling up in my heart and smiled. "You were there."

I was thinking this morning as I wrote this all down about this post I had written earlier this summer. That the root of lack of trust is a fear of vulnerability. It went on to explain that actually the cure for the fear of vulnerability is actually vulnerability. (It sounds strange, but it isn't. The cure for fear of heights is to experience heights.... although I have NO desire to be cured from my fear of spiders!)

It said that we think we have to wait until something is proved trustworthy before we trust. That we have to know we won't be hurt in order to trust. The truth is that we can choose trust and risk being vulnerable because we learn something about being hurt - it is survivable. We fear hurt because we think it will destroy us, so we shrink from it. What we learn from going through hurt is that we can survive being hurt. When we've learned that, we realize that we are able to be vulnerable because we are strong enough to risk and deal with some hurt. We are strong enough to survive when people hurt us, so we can afford to risk.

Trust. Just like everything else we learn by doing it. We don't learn running by watching running. We don't learn trust by watching trust. We learn running by running, and yes, it hurts at times.

The quiet peace is growing in my heart. Peace at the realization that even when people fail, God does not. I learned two things going through this: One, that God will not fail even when some of His people do and Two, that I can survive even when people fail, primarily because of the first thing - God will not fail.

I have walked through the fear and come out alive and stronger on the other side. It is a lie - even if it had some truth mixed in it like the original lie did. It is a lie and I do not need to believe it. I will not be left alone in hurt even if some people do chose to walk on by. God has not and He always shows up - just sometimes in the arms of a stranger.

Rats Come where there is Garbage

2011-11-07T00:49:00.002-06:00

The last piece of these interesting meetings that God was arranging came just recently. The family who had to get their visas came up to stay with us. We had the typical long day drive and dealing with visas thing to do - plenty of talking time. They again asked to hear the story.

I was interested this time as I listened to my husband and I tell the story again how the telling had changed. We were getting deeper into it - able now to pull up the emotions associated with different parts. More aware of each other's emotions of different parts of the story. The facts had not changed, but we were able to express our feelings on the story as we went through it. We never did finish, but that was ok.... the day was chaotic.

Here, though, an interesting and a needed thing for me came out in my husband's story. This time, when he talked, he mentioned the actions of our director and how painful they were for him, how they had destroyed much of the relationship between them. He said he still has a relationship, but it is built more on loyalty than an actual relationship now.

I needed to hear that. That was important for me to hear. No longer was the world around me all either defending this man or silent on him. That silence and defense of him just because of who he is hurt. When you are put in a balance and come up as insignificant so that a fault against you is not worth as much as the worth of someone else, it hurts. But to hear my husband say that it hurt him, and to say that how he treated his wife was not right.... there was some healing in that. Not vindication against him, but a quiet siding with me - you are valuable enough to me that I care when you are hurt. He also was hurt and was admitting it. It is hard to explain this one, but it was critically important to me - to have my husband chose to side with me. Not to side against someone, but just to side with me, to identify with me. There has been times he hasn't especially where this man is concerned, and this felt good.

Our visitors shared in a team meeting (if you come to visit, we will make you speak to the team!) about the course that they run. They may come back and run it with our group. (Again, it shows the growth and change in my husband's thinking that he is pushing for this now. A few years ago, he would have brushed it off as "different" and "not important". Now he is pushing for it even though he says he knows our director won't be totally behind it, but will do it if my husband insists, and he is going to insist.)

Our visitor drew a picture of a house with garbage in it and rats eating the garbage. Then he asked, "What do you need to do to get the rats out of your house?" Obviously, if you set a trap and catch a rat, more will just appear. You need to clean up the garbage. He asked us what the rat were. People guessed sin or demonic influence or temptation. Then he asked what the garbage was. People scratched their heads. I knew because I had heard him talking before, and knew where he was coming from. Then he asked us what caused the first sin in the Garden of Eden. It was because of a lie. Satan told Eve a lie, and then she was tempted and sinned. Lies cause sin and lies give the devil room to work in our lives. Jesus said, "You will know the truth and the truth will make you free."

If we simply confess our sin, we are forgiven and clean, true. But we so often go right back to the same sin. It is because we are believing a lie and that lie is holding us captive to that sin. Maybe it tells us we need something, so we look for it. Maybe it is a lie that causes us to fear, so we act to defend ourselves. Maybe.... there are a lot of lies. The point is to find the garbage that attracts the rats and clean it up. Truth leads to freedom.

This was not new teaching to me, but I liked the way he presented it and backed it up with Scripture (he had a lot more in there - I just gave the Reader's Digest condensed version). I sat watching others take it in and just observing.

The next day, as I was driving in to work, I thought back over the day and all the days leading up to this one - all the little meetings God was arranging and how I was starting on the steps that led to healing of those wounds from the trauma. I was just quiet with God asking Him where He was leading, listening. Then I remembered what our visitor had been saying about the lies. I just asked God, "What is the lie that lies buried here causing all this pain?"

Almost as soon as I asked it, I knew the answer.

Step by Step

2011-11-07T00:22:00.000-06:00

I had wanted one more thing - to be able to tell someone in our mission group the basics of what happened. To alert them to the fact that we need some system that works, something so that no one faces silence in trauma again. But now I was able to say it without the weight of unshed tears. I got my chance that evening while watching a football game with one of the leaders. It only took five minutes and was said without pain behind it, but it was good to say that. To say, "hey, can we do better next time." To also be able to say, "It was special to meet this one man this afternoon."

Then we left. God still wasn't done yet. He had a few little meetings up His sleeve. On the way home, we stopped at some friends. They had to leave their country for some visa issues, so we invited them to stay with us. They work now in pre-sending member care, and what they have set up is interesting. They run a whole program of inner healing and some other things I don't know yet.... but they are in member care, having been on the front lines and realizing that we can't send wounded workers out, provide them with little support, and expect good results.

But first we had a conference with another group. This one was interesting for me... I don't know these people well at all, but hold them in respect. We were asked to come and report to the leaders of their group at a anniversary conference. We went, and it was meeting after meetings. Interesting, but I am a little shy and feel awkward, so to be surrounded by strangers can be uncomfortable. You know what the common advice is in high school speech class? "Just imagine them all in their underwear." (Why that would make me more comfortable, I never could figure out!) But late that first night, we got almost that chance. The hotel we were staying at had a fire alarm set off, so at midnight, we all assembled downstairs... most of these people who had looked so dignified earlier were in their pajamas with whatever they could grab thrown over. I had fun admiring all their different pjs, but was thankful that I am a night owl and was still dressed!

In this conference, they asked me to speak to what it was like on the family. Honestly, no one had ever asked that before, so I had to think. Later, several came up to thank me for sharing, and three wanted to hear the rest of the story. It was good to tell it to women who could relate to some degree and were willing to listen. But then, one of those sat with me later and heard the story of the difficult conflict that happened at our team debriefing. God has people He chooses for specific things, and this was His timing. It was a relief to say what had happened to someone who knew well the situation and people types involved. She was not only able to hear me, but to understand, and then at the end, she offered me a chance of something to do.

I had been feeling helpless. It is hard to solve a conflict with some people. This one is simply too busy to slow down, probably unaware of the pain he caused because he is largely unaware of people's emotions and how his actions affect others. He is single-minded and narrow-focused, so he doesn't see people at all unless he needs them. I doubt he will ever see what he did or how his action hurt both of us. So there will likely be no solving it. For my personality type, that is difficult. I like to solve conflicts - whatever it takes, let's tackle it and solve it. So I had felt helpless and frustrated. This woman who listened gave me an option of something to do. She volunteered to do it with me. It was a really good idea. I will do it. I felt immediately relieved... sort of like hitting that wall in labor where they say you can finally push (sorry, hoping mostly moms are reading this - you will know what I mean!) - where the awful pain of enduring can be changed to the pain of doing something, and that something may bring an end to it all. I didn't do it then because I still needed a few more steps, but I could see God was leading me there step by step.

Laugher, Being Heard, and Being Held

2011-11-06T00:55:00.003-05:00

It was the next meeting that I finally woke up and realized that God was setting up little appointments and working on healing the wounds inflicted during the trauma and recovery. But before that meeting, came a few small ones.

I met up with a lady who used to be our member care person. We ate lunch surrounded by her kids - one of them being a boy with ADHD. So fun. Thankfully, as a mom with slightly ADD boys of my own and having tutored ADHD kids, I am not too phased by them and managed to carry on two totally different conversations at once. We didn't talk too much, but she encouraged me to talk to one man. Yeah, right. I just don't go up to strangers, especially ones who ... well... who are sort of well known people, and talk. It just isn't me.

That evening, we went to a banquet at our organization. We ended up at a table with two other couples who are half as crazy as we are and someone started telling jokes. We were tired and the jokes were funny, and we ended up belly-laughing for most of the evenings. Seriously, we were so loud I thought we were going to get kicked out!

Laughter is good for the soul.

Then I met a woman I had met back in May of this year and had dumped a lot of questions and anger on her. She was thrilled to see me and gave me a big hug. I was happy to see her too. We didn't talk, but a hug communicates love. It also communicates that she hadn't forgotten me. She said, "I was so hoping I'd get to see you!"

But the evening ended and the next day we went to a service on Sunday morning. Interestingly, the speaker was a leader who was talking about how something happened in his life and he realized that he needed to change how he was behaving because he was going to be causing wounding to those under him. I needed to hear that that day - that there are leaders who become aware of that and care to change. He also laughed about an incident where he was in the hospital and the indignity of having to undress in front of a nurse. I smiled at that.... later I told him that we see things differently. We do not see lack of dignity at all. We have already set honor on them for being a person, and when we are invited into their embarrassment, pain, and suffering, it is intimate and a privilege. We never see a naked person, we only see a person clothed with honor, no matter what they are going through, no matter what they are or are not wearing. But I know people can be embarrassed when I have to do some things. I feel for them, but I have already decided that they have dignity and honor. It is what allows me to treat people the way I do.

But that was not the best that the day had. Later that afternoon, in the middle of a very boring wrap-up lunch, the man who my friend had suggested I talk to came and sat at our table. I had not even known he had been aware of our situation or what had happened at all. But he knew people who knew us and he sat and talked. Then most people left, and he was talking with one man. When that man left, he turned back to the table to get his things and I decided I would take a chance. I said, "Can I ask you two questions?"

I asked, "How do you recover from trauma, as in how long does it take? And the other question is, did our group take care of you afterwards?" He looked at me and said, "Groups are made of people, and people all do different things." I am not easily distracted or brushed off, so I repeated my last question again. He sat down.

Then we talked - probably for only five minutes, but we talked and it was good. I will not blog about that because it was a private conversation. Then he said he had to run. Someone was coming to pick him up to catch his plane.

I sat at the table for a few minutes thinking about what he said. There was a sense of relief and of being understood. He had told me a little of his journey through trauma, and heard some of ours. He validated some of the feelings and gave me a map.... remember I said so often going through this that I had no idea which way the path led. No one had been able to tell me. This man did. And he also heard my disappointment with what he had been offered in the way of help and said that it was not right. But he gave me most of all hope. Understanding and hope.

After a few minutes, I left the boring wrap-up meeting and went to pace in the foyer. I did not see this man, but he saw me and came back. We talked for a few more minutes while waiting for his car. When it arrived, he said, "I need to give you a hug." So he gave me a hug, held me, and talked some more. Then he let me go, and began to load his suitcases. When he was done, he came back to me and said, "I need to just give you another hug." He held me again and told me to keep going. He told me about some things that were still hard for him, and that he still cried. We both were inches away from crying, just little tears and sniffles. I said that I will survive, but he said no, you were made for more than surviving. You were made to be beautiful and to thrive... don't settle for surviving. I chuckled and said, "Well, this year we survived, this coming year, I'll work on thriving." He laughed and said that he knows what that is like. It was ok to just survive in the beginning. He had let me go, and put more stuff in the car, but then he he came back, reached out, and pulled me close again and just held me, my head resting on his shoulder. He held me until the little shuddering sniffles quit and I drew a deep relaxed breath. Then he ran to catch his flight.

I walked back in the building, sat for two minutes, but then told my husband I was going to go nap. I walked back to our housing, and on the way, I began to smile while tears fell. I got to my bed, crawled in, and sobbed myself to a deep, peaceful sleep. Something had changed. I wasn't jittery any more.

I thought about it when I woke. I pondered over it while I got cleaned up to go for supper. There was nothing major said, no big secret, no great wisdom. What had happened was that someone, while listening, had pulled me close and held me.

I just needed to be held. Heard and held.

See some things had happened in the trauma and recovery that had made it more difficult for me. My two best friends were out of town. My team never came. No one was there in the rough days to wrap their arms around me. Now my son's teacher did those first hours when he came to get my daughter. His hug calmed me enough to think and be able to pull myself together initially and care for my kids. Then I went an entire 24 hours entirely alone. No arms to hold me. No comforting person with me. I ached to be held. But I was alone.

One other time, on the Sunday, a friend came over. She only stayed two minutes since she had to go back and dress her kids, but she came only to give me a hug. I needed that hug that day to calm my nerves and give me enough strength to make it through going to church.

The next day, at midnight, my neighbor found out and he came over in the dark at midnight because he said, "I just needed to give you a hug." I needed it then to focus my attention on the getting everyone ready for me to fly out and meet my husband. Being held is a powerful way to calm me down and let me process my emotions and get on track.

Then came the week we spent with the men right when they got out. This is where things began to go really wrong. There are lots of reasons for all of that, and I won't list them all here. But nerves were on edge, and we were not given peace by our director. That first night, something happened, and I ended up sobbing. No one came... well someone did, but she just looked at me, said something, and walked away. I ended up crying alone until I ran out of tears. Earlier in the day, when my husband had arrived before I did, a friend of mine was there to give him a huge hug and let him cry on his shoulder. While I wished I could have gotten there in time to meet his plane, I was so happy that someone held him. But when I needed to be held, no one did. Later they told me that, "well, it might have been inappropriate" and "we thought you didn't like hugs".

I went the whole time, desperately needing a hug... needing arms wrapped around me so I felt safe again, so I could stop shuddering, and draw a breath and relax. But no one held me. That hurt. It hurt then. It hurt day after day. It hurt when I saw my husband being hugged by both of this couple. It hurt when no one held me. I felt like I had leprosy. How can it be inappropriate to hug someone in that situation?! It wasn't inappropriate for my friend to hug my husband. It wasn't inappropriate for others to be held. Just not me. So I never cried after that first night when I sobbed and no one even so much as put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I bottled my feelings because I wasn't allowed to be held and comforted. I felt dirty, like no one held me because of my past, and that hurt.

When we got home, it was chaos and more pain. When we went to church, people grabbed my husband and hugged him, happy to see him. I stood back and watched, smiling. I was happy to see him, too. I understood that people needed to hug him, to feel him, to know that he was really real and there. No one ever thought if it is appropriate or not to hug him - that would have been silly! They all wanted to just touch him and hold him. It was wonderful.

Except that no one held me. Not then, not later.

I can't really cry and process that load of emotions without being held. Especially after they got bottled up because of the conflict that happened during the week of recovery and the horrible, botched team "debriefing" that happened as soon as we got back.

Then life went on. Day after day, week after week, month after month. I could not unpack the pain of those bottled up emotions. I couldn't cry, but I wanted to. But time had gone by, and everyone was happy for us. We were happy for us, too. But part of my healing process got paused way back when people chose not to comfort me.... back when no one came, back when no one held me, back when no one stopped the attacks on me in the team "debriefing". And I couldn't cry. I felt abandoned, rejected, and uncared for. Dirty. Too dirty to hug.

Then came this odd meeting with this one man who understood trauma. He had lived through it himself. And he did the most interesting thing. He did not say much, like I said, there was no gem of wisdom there. He not only heard and understood the feelings of pain, confusion, abandonment that are all tied up in trauma, but he reached out and held me. He didn't just give me a quick hug, but he held me, standing there holding me and talking quietly to me. He cried with me and held me. (I still wonder what the poor guy picking him up thought!)

A hug is never inappropriate in trauma. I needed to be held. A year and a half of feeling jittery and antsy fell away as someone took time to hold me. And I slept after that, deeply.

I don't know what this post will sound like, but I am simply sorting my way through the changes that have come in the last weeks, the quiet turn of the corner towards peace. I am tracing God's hand in these strange meetings. He wasn't done yet, but this was a critical one. I had needed to be held, and I hadn't been. It was an unusual choice, but God sent someone to do just that.

Interestingly, he did not just hold me, but he talked, and what he said countered some of those awful lies that were hard to get rid of in the aftermath of the pain of people not responding when I was hurting. Instead of dealing with the crisis and any secrets to coping, he just told me that God had made me beautiful, that I was valued, and meant to be cherished. Interesting things, but what he said stood in stark contrast to the lies that the wounds of being left alone had given a place to grow.

I told my husband about the meeting, and his response was, "I'm so glad he was able to hug you!" He was so glad even that later having coffee with friends of both that man and ours, he mentioned it to them. "It was really special that he got to meet us and to give my wife a hug." It mirrored his response when I told him that my son's teacher and my neighbor had come over to hug me. "I am so glad they did! I am so glad someone gave you a hug when I couldn't."

Laughter is good for the soul, being held and being heard are critical in being healed. That is what I learned that weekend.

It was late, but late is better than never!

Still God wasn't done. He had two more chance meetings up His sleeve. But I had finally stopped carrying my bucket of tears and was more at rest.

The Ministry of Eating Chocolate

2011-11-05T00:11:00.000-05:00

Somehow, even though I should have felt better after that conversation at lunch, I didn't. I was still restless and irritated. Feeling the weight again of that bucket of tears that I had bottled up during the week of recovery where no one listened and I was left alone to carry my emotions. When I need to cry and I can't, I get really, really irritated, and I start pushing all people away. I need to be held, to be heard, and I had been told to be quiet, told I had done things wrong, left alone, and then just got caught up in all the busyness of other people's trauma, legitimately! but still being busy with that did not heal the unhealed wounds. It just set them aside for a later date.

I left the meetings because I wasn't really needed there and went to a location that had been home to me for a few years. There I had friends and planned to just rest and walk and have a few days break. I arrived just in time for a prayer meeting- these people believe in prayer! I shared one request for someone else, something urgent. After the meeting, a young woman who I did not know came over, sat behind me, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me as I rested my head on the chair. She just held me and prayed and then just held me while we talked. I began to cry and told her just of the events of the last year - all the trauma one after the other and how we are tired. It isn't easy, and even though I haven't lost faith in God, I don't have that happy-go-lucky assurance that "everything will be fine". I grew up as an MK. I know that God does not always keep harm from us. And the problem is that when bad things happen to people we love, IT HURTS!

She just held me. She held me and talked and listened. I began to relax.

The next day, I met a good friend of ours who had been through a severe illness which left him incapacitated. We talked - both of us glad to see each other for the first time, both of us having prayed often for each other. But then we began to talk about the real side of traumatic experiences... about the pressure from others to "be fine", to "be thankful", to.... It isn't that we aren't. It is just that these events changed us in a dramatic way, and it is hard to cope with that change. It happened without our permission or agreement. It happened suddenly. Even though for both of us, there were good endings (he is getting better), it has been TOUGH! And it is not always easy in a Christian setting to say that. People aren't listening for that. There are days we are just depressed - when it looks like we should be happy. Perhaps it is just that we both deal with crisis well at the time, but need to process it later. Perhaps it is a normal thing - just one people watching us aren't ready to hear. I don't know what it is, but that meeting was good for both of us. To affirm our love for each other, our prayers and our joy in seeing God answer prayers, and also to talk honestly about what going through a crisis has been like for both of our families. To feel normal about still dealing with the lingering after- effects.

The next day, I was eating lunch when an older friend walked in and stole my lunch out from under my nose. she had walked into a class I had been roped into teaching at the last minute and heard about some of the events of the last year. She said, "go change, we're going out for lunch!" I had been playing volleyball and was all sweaty and dusty! I am still a MK, and can shower and be presentable in less than five minutes! We went out to a quiet place to eat, ordered food, and she sat back and said, "So, TALK!"

Ah.... why can't we do that more often?! I shared some of our struggles - of things going on in the family, of work, of fighting through the PTSD, of the kids,.... we talked. She said, "I should have taken you to talk when I saw you over there after the crisis, but we assumed because everything turned out ok, that you would be ok." A common perception, I think. It was good to be able to talk to her and to encourage her to do exactly what she was doing now with other missionaries when she meets them. She also thanked me for telling her students to be real. I had taken a few minutes to sit down and tell them the answer to, "If I could talk to myself back where you are now and tell myself what looking back now I wish I had known, it would be....."

We talked and ate and drank glasses and glasses of tea and kept talking. She was able to hash out with me the fine line between forgiveness of what went wrong and the need to advocate for change. Both are important, and yet neither can be done well without the other. I have admired this woman and her wisdom since I was a teen, and to have those hours with her undivided attention were wonderful. Also knowing I have her prayers for what I am struggling through was huge.

That evening, I invited myself over to another house where I used to babysit as a teen. The little newborn who spent his first time away from his mom vigorously sucking on the tip of my finger now towers above me. His sister who used to stand in her crib shooting me disapproving looks as I rocked her brother biked home from her job as a chef and sat down to eat her mom's cookies and drink coffee with me late that evening. We laughed and cried and curled up and ate chocolate together. Never underestimate the ministry of eating chocolate together late at night!

The next morning, I stopped in at one last house - another good friend who happens right now to be the busy mother of many kids. We ate day old donuts and drank more coffee and talked. Here is a place, because I have lived here as a teen, and am known well, that I relax and can trust.

As I left my friend's house, she smiled at me and said, "Ellie, you are always such an encouragement to me. I know where you've come from and to see you now and see what God is doing... it encourages me never to give up on people." I smiled because she did know me. Then I grinned and said, "Well, it is because both God and I are too stubborn to give up!" She laughed and agreed that that was likely the truth.

I left comforted. Taken back in by people that are family to me, held, listened to, able to share the deeper struggles, had friends to eat chocolate with, played volleyball like I was 20 again, laughed, and heard.

Being there reminded me that no matter how much certain people had failed us, God had not failed us. He had people like these - who were intimately involved during the crisis, and who were able to comfort me and hear me later. These people are as close to a home as I will ever likely have - something consistent, stable, and available where I am known, but loved.

That side trip was a blessing of these meetings. I left there more whole than I had been in quite awhile.

That Wasn't Right

2011-11-04T23:27:00.000-05:00

We visited with many people at these meetings. It is still hard for me do walk around and greet people and smile and act friendly when I really struggle with their smiles. "If you really care about us like you say you do, where were you? Why were we left alone in crisis and alone in recovery?" I also have a burning desire to see that this does not happen again. Of course, this country was not responsible for us, so I wasn't so angry with them... just hurt and hoping they have something, anything in place so people are cared for.

But I walked and smiled through that first day. At lunch, we ate with a small group, and after lunch all the men left and I was alone with one other woman. We started to talk, and she listened. I told her that I am struggling being here with people from my mission after what happened last year. She ended up being one of the right people to talk to as she is involved in member care. She said they are supposed to have stuff set up so this doesn't happen and so people don't get left alone in a crisis. She was sad to see that it hadn't worked and said she would look into seeing what can be improved.

That was good. All I needed was for someone to admit, "that wasn't right, let's do better."

Or at least, that was all I thought I needed. God had some other plans.

A Very Long Drive

2011-11-04T23:18:00.000-05:00

When we arrived back home, we were busy with all these meetings. I stayed home and cooked for our team meetings. I have in the past managed to cook and also attend at least some of the meetings, but this year I chose not to sit in any of them. I didn't sit in any of the spring meetings, either. I just haven't been able to sit in a room of these people meeting again... not since that awful day when they verbally attacked my husband and I when we were wounded. I just haven't been able to be in a meeting with them.

This year, we had half our meetings here and half of them in a nearby country. We left for a 19 hr drive early one morning. My husband had asked me to come along just for a rest and a chance to spend some time with him. We left early one morning - me in a vehicle with two of the men who were in that awful "debriefing" meetings a year and a half ago. I have trouble being in a room with them. Our field leader is not so bad - he came back and apologized for not stopping all that had happened. He was also the only one person from our mission headquarters who phoned me during that awful four days. He was overseas, but did phone in and at least gave me a little comfort and information as to what was happening "over there" and who was working on it.

Our project director had done none of that. He had basically picked up the phone and told me, "Well, your husband is gone missing. I'll let you know if I hear anything more. Bye." That was the extent of emotional support I got from him. Later, we got scolded for not doing things the way he wanted - he didn't want me to fly to meet my husband and told me that I wasn't being a good mother for leaving my kids then. He phoned and wanted to talk to my husband at all hours of the day and night the first days together. His wife scolded my husband for "messing up her plans" - as if we WANTED this to happen. Then came the meeting where they yelled at us and told us we were not good soldiers, because "if you were in the army, you wouldn't even be allowed to see your family until you had answered ALL the questions your commanding officer had for you." I am not in the army. And if I HAD been in the army, I would have had the emotional support of other military wives and others in my husband's battalion because at least the army does not shoot its own wounded! But the final straw came with our director's wife looked at me hunched over and sobbing in my chair and threw the final arrow, "see, the devil wanted to destroy the team by what he did over there and he couldn't, but now he is using you to do what he could not do there!" All because we had said that in a future crisis, it would be good to let a family have 24hours without phone calls to heal and rest together!

Needless to say, it is hard for me to be near this man or his wife - neither of whom have apologized. Interestingly, I got to sit in the back of the vehicle watching the director working on his laptop writing a power point on how to be a good leader. It was ironic, and I wished I could simply shake him and ask him to read what he had written. As the trip went on and on, I grew more and more agitated. See, I am not a "sit back and take it" type of a person. I prefer to deal with conflict and wrongs. I can do it head-on, or more subtlety. I can do it within different context, but I much prefer to just do it - deal with it and move on. however, this man will not/can not deal with conflict. So I have to live in a team with him.....

I sat there growing more and more agitated and irritated. The biggest thing I have a problem with is hypocrisy. I hate lies and pretense. I care less what you are as long as you are what you are and do not attempt to be perfect when you aren't. Watching what he intended to teach when I knew how he had lived was difficult. I wanted to get out and run, to get away, to burn off steam. But I was trapped in the back seat. Eventually, I moved to drive instead which helped. I thought as I drove and decided I had only two options on how to think. Either this man is a out and out hypocrite or he is a man with a large blind spot. I thought those two options over for awhile while I dodged potholes. I finally came to the conclusion that despite his glaring faults and gaping blind spots, he is still a man who loves God and, I think, attempts to do right. I also think that he may suffer from something similar to Asperger's and social situations will never be his strong point. I told myself what I have told myself many times in my attempts to cope with him, "You can't ask a one legged man to run a race." Don't expect from him what is outside his capabilities. Yes, I still believe he did wrong that needs accounting for... his actions were wrong.... but his disabilities are not "wrong". They are a weakness of his - a blind spot, if you will, or a missing leg. I drove and repeated that to myself, and next time I was in the back, shut my eyes and pretended to sleep so I would not have to see a man writing words that I wish he would live by.

But it opened wounds, and I arrived at our meetings again hurting and raw. Being there among so many others in our mission was difficult. Where were they when we hurt? They knew about it, but were silent. We heard nothing. That also left me hurting. In fact, as I began to process some of this over the last weeks, that key became important to look at and face.

But God was just beginning His appointments. I think He chose to open up some of that hurt in order to prepare me for His appointments.

Small Steps

2011-11-04T01:11:00.001-05:00

The first was a meeting we were in in July. A woman I had never even dreamed of running into was there. So fun to meet her and her husband! We talked later a little, the four of us. When our husband's left, she turned to me and said, "Sometimes I think it was harder for the family at home than it was for us there." I don't usually "burst into tears" unless I am angry or frustrated. I am more of a "slow leak" person :) but I began to cry. Slowly, tears fell one after the other, running quietly down my face while we both attempted to watch a movie that didn't make sense even if we were trying to follow it. We began to talk. She asked how our debriefing went, and I told her the truth - "They only debriefed the men. I have never been debriefed yet." She was stunned. Shocked. And sad. It was the beginning. The first person that told me I was allowed to hurt, that admitted that it had been hard for us. We cried together. We told each other our stories - not only of the traumas, but of the fun things in our lives... having never met but knowing of each other for years. Quickly filling in about ten year's gap. She left that next night, but it had been good.

She gave me permission to hurt.

The next steps began at our home town with just admitting it to a few people. "We're not all better yet." What a relief to be able to say that! We have been so busy dealing with other people's trauma that we just had to set our own struggles down, and time went by.... people assumed we were fine.

Telling out story. We had before once or twice. But usually my husband's story. His was the story, his was the events.... rarely people might ask me a question or two... but his story. Our home church listened better. A few times, I got to tell parts of my story. I think this summer, too, was the time my husband began to realize that I had a story and that I had never been debriefed. That fact went into our "next time" file.

I think one of the things that I scold myself the most for during the crisis and recovery is trusting this part to others. Everything else, I did myself. I did things well. Not to be proud, but I did. This one detail, I left to another person, and to this day, I wished I hadn't. It was poorly done. I didn't object because I had assumed the person doing it was smarter than me. I regret leaving that job in another's hands, and would not do it again.

Another thing that blessed me was a friend who watched our children this summer. When we came to pick them up, she said something to me. Something about how during all the events, she thought of me more, and the pain that would have been involved in being a mother during that time. We later went out for coffee and I told her the whole story - the trauma, and the traumatic "recovery" time.

Learning to talk about it. It began to help. But it also brought fresh tears. The stark pain of those meetings where people were angry with us when we were hurting. The things they said. The total lack of any care in the weeks afterward. Being placed in a position where we, as team leaders, had to comfort and care for others for the trauma that we went through. The complete silence of our mission as if nothing more had happened than we had gotten a common cold. It is in these events that the pain lies the deepest - not the trauma itself, but the "recovery" phase that went all so wrong. Therein lies the deepest wounds. Those wounds were not addressed by our home church listening to our story because we did not tell this story... how can you tell this? But still, it was a relief to have ears for the part of the story we had words for.

And my friend over a cup of coffee outside with sparrows chirping by our feet heard the whole story.

We came back better, but not good. Able to recognize that we were still healing, that we were struggling to overcome PTSD. It was a few small steps in the right direction.

But God had more in mind... gentle steps to address what went wrong. I still maintain that I could have survived the trauma with minimal assistance.... it was the botched recovery that was is so difficult to heal from. My husband thinks the same. We both still carry the wounds of those days.

Getting to My Feet

2011-11-04T00:17:00.000-05:00

I've not blogged or even written or talked with friends much recently. Part of that reason is simply busyness, but that is only a small part. I've been busier before and managed to blog and stay connected.

Another part is that I feel a profound sense of being disconnected.

Some of this is normal for this time of year and the events going on. We melted into our "home" when we were on home assignment, and leaving again was difficult. We arrived here to some chaos (normal, isn't it?). We had our annual team meetings which are awkwardly scheduled over our first weeks home, the kid's first weeks in school, and my birthday - adding to the general sense of chaos. Our team meetings remain difficult for me as they bring me face to face with people and an organization which badly handled the trauma we've been through... furthering my sense of disconnect. I still struggle here - flashbacks, pain, and a deep sense of aloneness.

However, in and among the different meetings that we held and ones that we had to travel to were some interesting crossing of paths with people. Proof to me that God continues to care, to see, and to work towards healing.

I think this summer was the first time my husband and I had healed enough to actually state what should have been obvious to us - we're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I know, I know, I should have known that by now, but that is the whole thing about suffering from it - it numbs the mind. This summer, surrounded by the love and ears of our home church, we began to heal enough to realize that we are hurting.

For us, it is not easy. Both my husband and I have survived serious trauma as children - different things, but trauma nevertheless. PTSD, unlike chicken pox, seems easier to catch the second time around.

We focused so much on surviving that first year - surviving the day to day life with our unique team and their unique responses to the events, surviving as a family and watching our children to see how they were, surviving as a couple - knowing how much we could and couldn't talk to each other about it at any given time, surviving as members of an mission group and trying to come to terms with what did and did not happen and how we should respond to it all.

We survived. The year was not easy. It was full of other tragedies, watching others suffer, difficult things which took our energy to deal with and help in. There was no time to stop and ask, "How am I doing with this load?" It wasn't really a year to heal - just to survive wave after wave of fresh trauma.

It is over.... we hope. It seems quiet. We hope. I know there are other things going on, but as bad as this sounds, we are not paying attention to every story we hear right now. We are trying now, now that it is quiet, to recover.

Part of that was realizing that we are suffering from these lovely four letters - PTSD. It is actually a relief to be able to say that to each other, to others. To acknowledge it. To have a framework for the lingering struggles we have. To be able to look towards the steps out of it.

It is a relief, too, to see God orchestrating these special crossing of paths. A relief because it is proof that we are not invisible to Him. Proof that God is able to care even when people fail. That fact alone brings comfort and tears. Tears because there is real pain involved in much of this. Comfort because I see God beginning to work, and the relief is similar to the relief shown on a child's face when they catch sight of their parent looking for them after they were lost in a store.

He's still here. And in the middle of all the trauma that has swirled around us over these last years, He's looking for us in the mist. That brings relief.

I don't know the path out. I've never set out on this journey before. It is frightening. I'm confused. But I have confidence in the One who has come looking for me. I've walked with Him out of other pain, too. I'm not out yet by a long shot, but I am getting to my feet.

Included

2011-09-26T00:29:00.015-05:00

I'm thinking of inviting "Andrea" to my birthday party. Well, my whatever it is. She'd be my only one there who I'm inviting because I want her there. We had planned the meetings to all start on the 28th so that I could have a birthday without having to care for the team. In fact, my husband had been clear about it in his letters inviting people - come on the 28th because it is my wife's birthday on the 27th and I want to spend the day with her.

Except our myopic director decided to book his ticket for the 27th at noon. Then decided since he was coming early with another team member, that they should do a work session on the 27th while they were here. And that will run late, and the ladies will all be in it, so we need supper. With that set, then others all began to book their tickets for the 26th and 27th. Thanks. So, I decided that I will at least eat my birthday dinner with my family, and the rest of the team can drive over to my house instead of me delivering it. So I am having 33 people over to cook for for my birthday, not exactly what I had in mind. I can handle it; but it is just that I had hoped to have coffee with come friends and go out with my family for a quiet day.

So I am thinking of inviting "Andrea". She likes me and cares about me - who I am, what I am thinking, spending time with me, talking, sticking up for each other, cracking jokes. Her boyfriend walked out on her after four years with no warning. Why? No sex. But the why there was no sex is what kills me. Andrea got a needle poke injury. An angry patient stabbed her with his insulin needle. His family refused to sign consent for HIV/Hep C testing. So Andrea had to go on drugs and wait three months to see if she is clear. So no sex. None. To protect her boyfriend. Who then left her.

I told her she is worth more than that and not to take him back again even if he comes back begging.

So Andrea may come. She may swear up one side and down the other. She may tell off color jokes and laugh loudly. But I don't care. She is my friend, and I care about her. I don't care if she measures up to standards. I just like her. She grew up Catholic and being also forced to go to a fundamental Baptist church with her neighbors. She got the rules and requirements from both sides, and she threw it all off when she grew up. She moved out, experimented with drugs, slept with anyone, and ended up living in an "apartment" with other "creepy people" as she describes them. But she cleaned herself up, went to school, and became a nurse. She still hates religion, yet believes there is a God. She respects and cares for me, even knowing I believe in God. We talk. I share with her, too, how I was disappointed with religion, but that while I am throwing off the binding ties of a stuffy religion, I am finding God. Andrea believes in God. She's just tired of all His people's rules. And we are friends. And if she comes to my birthday party and swears, I will hold my head up and say, "This is my friend who I love." I am not ashamed of her.

Because I am not. Her swearing doesn't make her any less of a person than another person's quiet exterior with the critical thoughts hiding behind it. With Andrea, you know where you stand. And with her, you know that she's ok with where you stand. I feel no need to beat her over the head with "the gospel". She has a very accurate knowledge of the four spiritual laws and the verses to back them up. What she doesn't know is that God is unlike the way she was taught. That God is not judging her and finding her worthless and wrong. That God is longing to know her, for her to know Him. That He also will not slam her for her sins, but wants to accept her.

I can not teach her the gentleness of God by more strong correction. I can only teach it to her by my own gentleness, my acceptance of who she is. I was always taught that if we accepted people who were obvious sinners, people would think we accept what they do. That isn't true. Andrea has no doubt in what I believe. We've spoken of it in our long quiet evenings after people are asleep. While we fold towels, chart behavior, and discuss our dinners that we plan to cook. She knows what I believe. She's open to hearing about it, even asking me, because she knows I will never preach her a sermon or correct her behavior. See, I've learned something. God is not about changing behaviors. He's about changing hearts. If He wins her heart, she'll change her own behaviors. Love does amazing things. So I am totally unconcerned about how Andrea acts or what she says. And if she swears like a sailor at my party in front of all our "good Christian" friends and their children, I won't care.

But I doubt she will. Andrea cares about me. She knows that my friends won't talk like she does, so she will behave.

We respect each other.

She was saying tonight that what she misses most about her boyfriend moving out is losing his family, too. Her family, well.... some families are better with distance. But his family welcomed her in, and now she is alone in the world. She's lonely for family but laughs that no one would invite her to be around their kids since she is the way she is - all screwed up. We already had plans to go out on the town and celebrate my birthday when the crew is gone - do it right and go do crazy girl stuff together. But I am going to invite her to my house, in front of my friends, and with my kids. I just hope she's not working then.

Back Again

2011-09-09T09:56:00.000-05:00

We arrived safely - still sorting out all our stuff and trying to get our clothes back in our closets and dressers after the family that borrowed our house left. I have a hard time saying "we're back home" yet since we were so at home on our home leave. It's been difficult to be back, although I feel at home here in some ways that are very different that the ways I feel at home in my home town.

I even walked out of church our first Sunday back in tears. The ultimate sin of migrants - do not show grief to those who you are supposed to be happy to see; do not show them your grief at missing others who are not them. But I did. We stood to sing, and my mind flashed back to my home church and the tears began to fall. I miss them! I tried to stop, but it wouldn't stop, and I walked out. I sat down against the building outside and let the tears fall.

Through the week, we are settling in some. I still miss home with a deep ache, but routines and patterns are beginning again. The familiar takes over and we slip on the harnesses of our different jobs and roles. I train my heart again, slowly, slowly. I remind it that it doesn't matter how much it cries, we are here, and here is where we are called to, so get up, look for the little things to bring a smile to your day, and chose joy.

A bird is chirping outside my window. Roses bloom still in my garden. My apple tree is loaded with apples. There is good everywhere.

There are people I love here. We are reconnecting. It is just that here, as much as I appear to fit in, there is a slight difference about me, something difficult to put a finger on; but who I am is much closer to who people are where we call home than here. I have a hard time expressing that fact since I have good, good friends here. I guess it is just that this place does not run in my blood.

Yet, it too, is our home, and we are settling in. Just with an ache in our hearts.

Quick Thought

2011-08-26T10:00:00.000-05:00

Ok, I need to be packing up the van and driving out, but...

I read something in a book just now. Something about that the root of lack of trust is a fear of vulnerability, and that they cure for it strangely enough is vulnerability. That you learn that you can survive being hurt.

Which I thought was interesting. We always think we have to wait until someone proves they are trustworthy. Actually, we an choose trust, and risk being vulnerable because we can discover that hurt is survivable. Then our trust is based in what we are, not in what someone else is. We are able to be vulnerable, risk, and deal with some hurt.

Of course I am NOT talking about being vulnerable to people who have proven they are a danger. But there is a vast difference between being a danger and just being people who can accidentally or clumsily hurt me often.

I was thinking just now that you don't learn running by watching running. You don't learn trust by watching trust. You learn running by running, and yes, it hurts at times.

Anyway, back to packing... going home after a home leave where we were vulnerable and really enjoyed the connections and bonds that built with friends.

Validating Listening

2011-08-13T23:48:00.000-05:00

Blogging and home leave just don't mix well. After a day talking to people, the last thing I want is to talk to people... not even to blog. I run out of energy. I am a person who recharges by time alone, and home leave has little of that.

Today has a few minutes of silence. Two kids in the tub, two out at a job site with my husband. One of the benefits f having rebuilt our house around us the last several years is that we have developed skills. A few times, we are able to use those skills and our free time to help friends do projects around the house. This weekend, we've been pounding up tile, scraping cement, and laying laminate flooring in good friend's house.

But this evening, we also had a meeting. A supper meeting with people from our church. Time to again sit and tell the story of last year's adventures with friends from our church. We've told it three times this week. Once to a very good friend and a couple who are part of our mission. That went late into the night - talking as only missionaries can about the details, people we all know, and the real status of life over there. Then we had two dinner meetings with small groups.

Telling our story... I'm finding it helpful, even if it is emotional at times. To have someone listen. It validates the time, the feelings, the fears, the struggles. We didn't get that validation in the aftermath of the "adventure", but these chances to slowly tell again and again our story is healing. Each time we are able to hold more of the feelings and express them. We are able to come to grips with them.

We are here to thank those who prayed our way through that time, but something interesting is happening. In their very compassion and concern to know what was going on, they are also helping us through the healing.

To be listened to... it is a gift.

A Slow Drive to Insanity

2011-07-19T10:38:00.000-05:00

Home leave..... supposed to conjure up warm fuzzy thoughts of connecting with old friends...

what is not in the rosy picture is inbetween those times where you hug old friends and sit to eat what they offer...

hours and hours and hours in the van with five kids... a slow drive to insanity.

We've driven from one side of this great country to another. We are still not to our destination, but we are at least at rest for a week. We are with family in a vacation house for a week of a some-what family reunion.

I am at least glad that I do not have to sit in the van today. I do however, have to go out and clean it out. Somewhere are some dirty socks that smell.

A Hike Through Giant Rocks: A rough way to learn the blessing of accountability

2011-07-05T18:11:00.000-05:00

The heritage I was given never taught me how true accountability really works. Part of this, I think, lies in the teaching against transparency. If we do not want to be open with our weaknesses and struggles, we can never be truly accountable. Accountability is not a curse. It is actually a huge blessing. It is not someone watching over us to pick apart every mistake and catch us in every failing. It is a loving care of ones who want us to be successful and healthy.

A year ago, I went on a hike with my son's class to an area by a large lake. The "beach" was a hill that ended in a series of large boulders. Some of these rocks were larger than my house. The way through meant climbing up and over, down and under, and bracing ourselves precariously between two and inching along. In their excitement, everyone took off to reach the point - the goal of the hike. I set off with a group, but we did not have a leader or a set way to check on each other, and quickly became separated. Halfway though, as it began to drizzle, my foothold on a moss covered rock slipped. I fell and was tightly wedged, badly scraped between two large boulders with one arm stuck above my head. I hollered and hollered for help, but there was no one to hear. The waves drowned out all sound, the rain continued to fall, and I was out of sight.

I was not accountable to anyone.

In trouble then, I was alone. There was no one who knew I needed help. Any one of my fellow hikers would have wanted to rescue me and no doubt would have if they knew about my circumstances, but they did not know. There was no one who would have noticed until we reassembled at the bus three hours from then that I was missing. I had not been accountable to anyone.

I did manage with great difficulty to extract myself and, holding my injured arm, to finish the hike and meet up at the point with others. I had learned my lesson. For the way back, we organized ourselves in a group of five. We chose a leader. We decided to help each other, to be accountable.

It meant doing things I wouldn't have chosen. I am terrified of heights and will choose to go under rather than over large rocks. Another in our group intensely disliked going into small spaces. Crawling under boulders had her almost blacking out in fear. Both of us had to give in to go together. Our leader led through places neither of us wanted to go. When I said, "No, I can't", my team said, "yes, you will.", but they also said, "Here, hold my hand." and "Here, I'll sit here on this ledge between you and the edge. You can hang on to me." When my fellow hiker said, "I'll get squished in there, no! It will never come out!", we said, "I'll go first, and tell you each step of the way." and "Only a few more steps and it opens up to the sky again, you can make it!"

We all made it out safely. No one left behind. No injured people trapped where they couldn't get out. Together we were safe.

Exhausted, but happy, we stripped to the basics and plunged together into the ice-cold water to rinse off the grime and sweat. Then shivering in the cold wind, we dressed and began carefully picking our way over the pebbly beach to the bus.

Accountability - it is a beautiful thing. It does require some submission to each other. It requires limiting ourselves to the weaknesses of others, but the value is priceless.

I won't fall alone.

Polar Ends on Authority

2011-07-05T17:41:00.000-05:00

When I was working on sorting out what I chose to believe now as an adult, I got to the end where I left it last time, and wrote a note. "Go on to talk about authority and accountability and emotions." I just didn't have time then. We had to do the typical emptying and storing of our household enough that another missionary family could move in while we are gone. We had to get all our paperwork in order and pack for a trip. So I left it for later.

Besides, I was still puzzled over this one. I don't have it so neat and clean. What I have is a slow sorting through the things I was taught and the things I was shown and how that impacted me growing up in the middle of it all. I see storm clouds that gather in the future over some of these very issues and I wish that things were different. I've learned over a very difficult path that "having my head" is not always the best way to be. There is a place for good, Biblical authority. There is a blessing in accountability. There is also the potential for abuse of both. However, the potential for abuse is not reason enough to shun either authority or accountability. You can not throw out the baby with the bath water.

I grew up in an odd mix of complete disregard for authority and accountability, and a complete totalitarian approach to it at the same time. As children, immediate, complete, unquestioning obedience and respect was demanded of us. Seldom were we heard. Our motives or intentions were not considered. Our feelings not taken into account. We were to obey.

[There was actually a time period in my life when I just decided that whatever I did in the day, I would end up getting a spanking when I came home, so I may just as well do whatever I wanted. The end result would be the same. A spanking at the end of the day was going to be as routine as a bedtime story for some.]

Yet in the same environment that total, unquestioning obedience with respect was demanded of children, the adults were modelling a disregard not only for authority, but also for accountability. Rules were made to find an exception to. Our family sought missions and churches which exerted little to no oversight, control, or requirements of its missionaries. Our family functioned as "lone ranger" missionaries. We left groups if they had requirements that were not acceptable to my parents. Perhaps some of these disagreements with authorities were based on good thinking and choices, but the result was the same. We disagreed, and usually we left. We often would remain friendly with groups we left, but we would work alongside them, outside of their authority and not accountable to them at all.

The other example set before us was of walking away from people who attempted any confrontation or correction of thinking. We were good at leaving things. My family just functioned best as "lone rangers". I was often taught about how the way we do things was so much better than how "they" do things.

There is something I appreciate about that upbringing. I appreciate the ability to think creatively about a task. I value the skill to think outside the box, to risk doing something that no one else has attempted. That is a thing to keep.

The weakness of it was that we did not have modeled how to work together, how to set aside our views and cooperate. We were not shown how submission to authority functions in a Christian environment. We were not taught how to respond to authority and accountability. (My husband would likely agree with me here, and our marriage has suffered for it.)

Authority and submission to it was shown either as total submission of mind, body, and will to a stronger power as a child would; or it was non-existent, an evil to be thrown off and avoided. Neither are the right position that I believe God wants us to have about authority, but it would take me years to learn this.

On the Road

2011-07-05T17:05:00.000-05:00

Sorry if my blogging become sporadic and unpredictable. Right now, I am on the road with five kids visiting all our home churches. Yup, it is that time of year again for us all to head home to do the rounds. I find that as much as I like visiting friends, more and more I dread these summers. I think it has something to do with the fact that we are increasingly feeling settled into our "temporary" location, and going home is not so much going home anymore. I love home.... it is just that I have two of them.

The other reason is that stuffing four or five kids in a van and being on the road for two months is less and less appealing as my kid's energy levels increase. Two are teens, and we picked up another teen, so three teenage boys in one vehicle long term is only so delightful.

I love people. I really do. But, I also recharge by time alone in quietness. This proves hard to find on a travel summer, and by the end of the summer I am really ready to do nothing but watch the late fall birds eat seeds or take long walks alone. I struggle my way through the summer hoping against hope that every few days I can get a little time alone, but it does not always come. I love people, truly, but I also love time to recharge, and this summer will prove difficult for me.

But today, I am sitting in a quiet place. All the kids are running around a lake catching bugs or playing ping pong. My husband is in a meeting, and I am toasting my toes in the sunshine coming through a picture window, and enjoying silence. Maybe even long enough to blog.

The Blessing of Knowing and Being Known

2011-06-20T14:02:00.001-05:00

Light is an amazing thing. I grew up being taught that we deal with secret sins secretly and public sins publicly. We were never to talk about our sins. They were to remain hidden, only confessed to the person we sinned against, and then only if we were sure they knew about the sin. In fact, if no one knew of the sin, we were encouraged to keep it that way and confess it only to God. We were to keep up our appearance of being good.

I believe that this is a lie that robs us of one of the greatest blessings of being in the body of Christ - true fellowship.

God says to walk in the light as He is in the light.

I believe that in dealing with situations where someone has sinned against me, then I am to contain the sin - going to the person involved, only involving others if that person will not listen to me. And even in that, my motive is to be that person's restoration, not my vindication. That is clear. To show love to others and not to dishonor or embarrass them.

There is no such instructions regarding my own sins. Actually, we are encouraged to confess our sins to one another and pray for one another. How is someone going to pray specifically for me if I hide all my weaknesses and struggles?

Walking in the light is freeing. Not trying to conceal my weaknesses and struggles. Being transparent. Proverbs says that those who try to conceal their sins will not prosper, but those who confess them and forsakes them will find compassion. An interesting word choice. Not forgiveness. Compassion. Not judgement. Compassion.

I believe that as fellow believers we have an important role to play in each others lives. I believe that trying to appear "perfect" when we are not robs us of the blessing of others involvement in our lives. It is my fellow believers, imperfect as they may also be, who will hold me accountable, who will ask me questions, who will pray for me, and who will encourage me to walk in the Light.

I've found something else out from experience. When I have struggled with a sin in secret, confessing it to God, begging His help in not doing it again... I have failed. There is power in the hidden things. Satan can whisper his lies behind shadows. But when I take those very secret sins and bring them to the light, confessing them as James 5:16 says "to one another", that they are brought into the light. There is a tremendous power in light. Satan has no shadows to whisper behind:

If people knew what you struggled with, they would never care for you.

You think you are so good, but look at what you are like.

There is no hope for you.

There is shame in secrets and shame has immense power.

It is my fellow brothers and sisters who have been able to stand with me in the light and speak truth - God's truth. And the power of the Light is greater than any shame or fear. Perfect love casts out fear. We are to be to each other the body of Christ - showing His love to each other, His compassion for our struggles, His truth for our lies, His forgiveness for our sins, and His grace for our weaknesses.

I choose to walk in the Light. I choose to walk in the light openly and transparently with other believers. I choose to allow others to speak into my life and live a life of accountability. In that is more blessings than I can even list.

If we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin.

I choose to walk in the light. I choose fellowship with others, not simply the being with others, but the honest, transparent fellowship where I know and am known. I choose to accept the risks involved in that, because again, it is worth it!

Whatever the Risks, I Choose Truth

2011-06-20T13:59:00.000-05:00

I believe in truth and honesty. That who I am inside is more important than the image I project. That if the image I project does not match who I am on the inside, that itself is sin. So I believe in transparency.

I remember a few times in my life when the topic of transparency has come up in the circles I was raised in. Topics like accountability, honesty with others, sharing, and transparency.. There was always an immediate uproar - like throwing baking soda into vinegar. This is not right! We are to only speak of good, not of bad, so we should only speak of good in us, never the bad. I choose to speak truth, and truth is good. If there is wrong in me, let's bring it to the truth. Truth is amazing in its freedom, in its transforming power, in its purifying abilities. Truth is good. As Hebrews says, discipline is good, bringing us to holiness. I refuse to believe that me sharing a place where I struggle is going to cause another believer to begin to struggle with that temptation, too. Whenever I have heard an honest, broken confession of weakness, my response has always been an answering humbleness in my life and the searching of my own life before God. Whenever I have heard an honest confusion or struggle with God, I respond with compassion and prayer.

It was said that we should not be honest with each other because others might not be able to think highly of us after we share what we have struggled with. I can see this being a huge concern in the way I was raised... public image being so important.... but now I stand and with all that is in me say,

"SO WHAT?!"

If someone chooses to think less of me because of what they know about me - that is their problem and not mine. Their sin and not mine. I believe the truth that nothing someone else says or thinks about me can defile me. I also know that what I have been told about other's weaknesses and sins they struggle with have only made me more compassionate of them and have a higher regard for them, not a lesser. As if their very transparency and truth had a holiness and a tenderness that I would not walk on. "Take off your shoes. It is holy ground." My heart has broken for the pain they have had to endure, rejoiced for what God is doing, and honored them.

Then tacked on these arguments was a PS. It is hard to be open and trust when you know some of those people will hurt you. They may. They will. But... I still choose truth and transparency.... because I know that whatever the risks of transparency, that the lies and covering up are worse. That lies, pretense, and covering things will for sure hurt you.

Give me truth.

I'll deal with the hurt. I'll deal with it the same way - with truth, transparency, and light.

Tranparency and the Second Greatest Commandment

2011-06-20T13:54:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a culture of "project the good and hide the bad" all in the name of attracting people to Christ. There is some value in being attractive, but if that attractiveness is built largely on pretense, of what value is it? The world is fed pretense daily. It craves authenticity. So do I.

It's been hard for me to go against some of what I was taught growing up. I've battled, thought, re-thought, and re-battled my way through, but I've come to the unsettling conclusion that this is a path that I must take. There is no option.

I crave authenticity. I crave truth - ugly truth if it needs to be, but truth.

I grew up a MK. We always had to "put on a front". We had to "act nice". Whatever you felt or did... we had to put it down and put on a smile when we were with people. The lost need to see Jesus in us. The home churches need to see "a nice missionary family". My family has had serious problems, but we kept quiet and smiled.

I also grew up confused. We moved away every two years or so. Different churches, different fellowships, different groups that we belonged to. When we were in one place, we were there. We took on many of their values. This and that became right and the standard. Next move... those very "right things" changed. It puzzled me.

I also grew up isolated. This led to more confusion. Let me explain. We were so convinced we were right. We had the ultimate doctrine, the edge on truth. We were right. We were so right that we constantly pointed out how we were right and where others were wrong. Oh, we loved them, yes, but they were sadly mistaken, tragically confused, blindly misled....

But being so incredibly right is very isolating. No one else is right, too. I wondered about an isolated Christianity. It seemed contrary to how Christianity was portrayed in the Bible.

Unity was valued in my upbringing, but unity was limited to unity with those who believed the "pure truth" as we did. Few met that criteria. I learned early to detect deviations from "truth". I could reason for my particular view of end times, of spiritual gifts, of worship styles, of ministry styles, even missions theories. We were thoroughly taught to keep ourselves separated from the world. We were equally well taught to keep ourselves separated from those in the church who believed wrong doctrine.

I swallowed that without thinking. After all, "holy" meant "set apart" or "separate". I don't know how many sermons I heard on Isaiah 52:11 Depart, depart, go out from there, Touch nothing unclean; Go out of the midst of her, purify yourselves, You who carry the vessels of the LORD. We were to remain separate from anything unclean.

But then there is Jesus. He sort of threw a monkey wrench in the whole theology. I don't see Him separating from society. He hung out with sinners - I did know that. But He also taught in the temple and synagogues. He spoke with all - sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes, Samaritans, and even religious leaders who were too chicken to follow Him publicly, but sat in the very midst of those who condemned Jesus to death.

Not exactly your poster child for the remain separate from the world and from those who do not believe as we do theology.

I'm beginning to think that holiness has much more to do with what is inside of me and less with whose company I keep. That what is in my heart is more important than what people see. That I can not be defiled by other people, but only by my own sin. (This sentence is sitting in my heart with tremendous power now for more than one reason.)

Jesus answered the Pharisee correctly. The greatest commandment, the whole law, can be summed up in this commandment, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, your mind, and your soul." The second follows on its heels, "Love your neighbor as you love yourself."

I choose to believe these. I reject the lie that love is only for the good. That we only love those whose doctrine is right, whose worship is correct, and whose life meets standards. I believe that it is a far greater sin to withhold love from God's children than it is to hold a wrong view of worship, spiritual gifts, or even Biblical doctrine. I believe "the basics" are much more simple that we've been led to believe. God is. Man sinned. Jesus took the penalty for our sins and by believing in Him we have life. All those who believe that are accepted by God - who am I to reject them? My command is to love them. Love. Not judge. Not correct. Not exclude. Not set conditions for their acceptance. Love.

Even if they dance in the aisles.

Even if they raise their hands and clap.

Even if they chant prayers written out a hundred years ago.

Even if they read paraphrases.

Even if they have sin in their lives that they have not dealt with.

Even if they "hear from the Lord".

Even if they baptize their babies.

My command is to love them, not separate myself from them.

When I was young, I was pulled from pretty much the only fellowship we had with any believers because there came into the fellowship some who were dancing in the aisles. There were also some who were sharing that they thought God had told them something.

It was isolating - to the extreme. It also occurred at a time in my life that I could have most used the emotional support and comfort of the body of Christ. (We am not perfect - why do we demand it of others in order to worship with them?)

I read my Bible often in that isolating time. I saw people dancing in worship. Miriam. David. Even John the Baptist jumped for joy before he was born. I read people hearing from God - often. It seems God even has a delight in talking with people. I also read a commandment in one of my favorite books, ".... not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another and all the more as you see the day approaching..."

I choose to believe that fellowship with other believers is obedience to God - even imperfect believers with imperfect doctrine. I am to be with them as the verse says, "... encouraging one another...". Encourage. This is what God wants - encouraging one another - not judging one another.

Re-thinking MY History

2011-06-20T13:42:00.000-05:00

This blog has been silent for a long time. It is not because nothing is going on in my head, but perhaps the opposite - so much thinking that I had to think it through well first. I posted once about re-thinking history and the stories of Schindler's List and the S.S. St Louis. How it was time for me to take what I had been told, and how I had been told to feel about it and rethink it. To evaluate it in the face of facts and truth. Even when it meant we didn't come off so squeaky clean as I had previously thought. No longer were we the conquering heroes that rode in at the end of WWII and saved the day. We were the sleepy, self-absorbed people who didn't want to get involved and did not listen to the cries of millions being killed.

I've been re-thinking much of my own history, too. Who I am and what I choose to belief. I have grown up being taught by many people - my parents, missionary "aunties" and "uncles", churches, Bible schools, friends, mentors.... They've taught me many good things. They've taught me other things that I have been re-thinking. Many, many years ago, I faced a difficult situation where there was a conflict between two belief systems that two groups were teaching me. One of those sat me down and for two hours hounded me as to why what they believed was right and the other was wrong. I sat silent praying for some answer. At last, I think God gave me the words to say to respectfully extract myself from the situation. I said, "I have heard what you are saying and understand your position now. I have also heard what they say and understand their position. I would like some time to be able to search the Bible for myself and see what it has to say on the topic before I come to a conclusion." It was an answer no one could argue with.

Year later, now I think it is time to stop floating between beliefs and not declaring either.

I spent a good part of this year in a painful search. It included pushing some good friends farther away as I spent time not just accepting what we have been taught, but praying, struggling, and searching the Bible for answers to what I will believe. I'm glad I took the time to do it, even if it was years later from when I made that original request. In the middle of all that, this blog was largely silent as I wrestled. Some things can best be done alone with God.

I've thought deeply over posting the conclusions I came to or not. I've decided to do it. Why? I need to say this for my sake. I've always been honest on this blog with the good and the bad - and I want to continue that honesty. So the next few posts will be that - the conclusion that I have come to. What I now believe. Who I chose to be. Among those choices were choosing truth, light, transparency, accountability, and encouragement. Choosing to leave some things in God's hands. I chose most of all, to live in the LIGHT.

Empty Smiles

2011-06-09T20:11:00.004-05:00

A wrong committed is a wrong once done.

A wrong never corrected is a wrong twice done.

It is that time of year again. We meet again for a retreat with our organization. We pack up and drive there. Our kids excited, although honestly, it is really mostly our team's kids there. Our kids have grown together since they wore diapers and function as a group of cousins. They are excited about the chance to spend a weekend playing together with no chores.

I go along again, growing more and more silent as we near the place. Smiles and hugs await me. Excited exclamations on how good it is to see us and have we lost weight and did you get a new hair cut. Talk and laughter as if we were friends.

I get an impression of a woman with bleach dyed hair, dark tanned skin, a face lift, and heavy make up. Is there anything real in there? Or is it all show?

I don't believe them. I don't believe their smiles. I don't believe their concern. I don't believe their lives. I watch them from a distance. Automatically smile and nod when people say things. I find my hardest puzzles and sit in a chair and appear deep in thought. (I like Suduku, but have recently found Sumuko which is much more challenging and keeps me busy.) If people ask, I say I am attempting to ward off Alzheimer's by keeping my mind active. It is easier than saying I don't want to engage in superficial conversation with you and try to ignore the pain.

I walk when given the chance. I walk alone. I sleep as much as possible. Sleep is an analgesic, and my body thankfully responds to the pain by putting me instantly into a very deep sleep with comforting dreams.

I function. I look fine. I lead groups. I listen. But the irony of listening to people share how they got through a difficult thing by the support and listening and prayers and encouragement of each other... these same people who never called when I was hurting nor checked in to see if we were recovering. Actually, not a word from any of them during the whole thing. One man, who was not with them, called once. They never did. Not in the crisis of last year. Not in the struggles of years ago. Not even when I asked for help.

I don't believe their smiles and hugs.

At least four were there to witness the "debrief" session last year that ended in a violent verbal attack on us. They saw. They heard. They did nothing.

I expected after a short time for things to cool and settle that this would be brought up. Corrected. This is wrong. We don't do this, and we need to make it right. It never was. Nothing was ever done.

I walk in among them wounded and uncared for. Hurting among people who cover their eyes so they will not have to see.

I grew up with this group. I was raised with them. I thought they were the best. (I still reserve the possibility that in other countries, this group is good, but here, in this place, they are what they are.) I was loyal to them. This was my family.

And they did nothing when I was hurting.

I survived the retreat. One more year, I survived.... without going crazy and banging my head repetitively against the wall. That I count as a victory.

I'm thinking of not going next year. I'm thinking of letting my kids and husband go, but there has to be something that I am needed at besides that. I don't know that I have to keep enduring this.

I just don't do fake well.

I need some time to recover from the retreat. Days to walk, to cry, to bang my head against the wall, to pull weeds from my garden and watch life growing. Days to watch small children running and giggling in the warm summer days. Days to organize my freezer and do my ironing. Days to be silent and try to get the strength up again to go on.

I want to go yell at someone. To scream that this is not right and it is doubly not right to leave it unrighted.

It is just pointless to yell when no one is listening.

She Did It!

2011-06-01T14:35:00.000-05:00

Kayla took her final exam today in math. She took a 7th grade math final and got a grade of 76% on it.

Looking back three years ago to when I was asked to work with her in the beginning of 6th grade, I am grateful to be able to share this day with her. The first half of sixth grade, I banged my head against the wall trying to "catch her up" to the rest of the class. I went head to head then with the principal and asked for permission to pull this child off this curriculum and teach her separately from the class. I promised that if I did that, I would be there for her every day (ok, some days I traveled, but for the most part) and stick with it until she graduated or was able to be integrated.

Half way through sixth grade, I pulled her out and put her into a 3rd grade book of a totally different curriculum. She struggled, but kept trying. We went back to the basics... learning to add. For an hour and a half every day we struggled on through the simplest basics. Some days she got it. Some days she forgot everything she knew.

Last year we did a fifth grade book. Skipping up two years, we slogged through word problems, fractions, measurements, and found some delight in geometry. There were still many tears and never a test mark higher than 71%. But that second year was a milestone in another way. She lost her fear of math and began to believe that she could do it. I told her honestly that I don't believe she should chose a career in math like accounting, but that she will be perfectly capable of managing life normally with the skills she is learning.

This year, I took a risk and started the now eighth grader on a seventh grade curriculum. There is a big jump from fifth grade to seventh. She buckled down and began to learn. I took away her calculator for the first part of the year and made her slog through long division one more time. In fifth grade, she had learned fractions with the help of a scientific calculator. The focus then was simply on "how to enter the right numbers and get a right answer". When I saw how well she was grasping concepts this year, I took the calculator away for a few months and said, "You are doing well enough now to be able to understand how this works." And she did. I gave it back when we got to calculating interest again.

The assistant principal looked in on us once this year and said, "She has really overcome her emotional disability in math." That is true, and I am proud of her.

The last half of the year, she began to really believe in herself. A test score of 87% got her thinking, "I could maybe get a 100% once in my life." I backed her up. I taught her test taking skills, reasoning skills, double checking skills. I encouraged her. We practiced for tests. I showed her the test the day before, "see, this looks just like the review sheet you just did well on. It is nothing to be scared of." We reduced her anxiety. Her grades crept up. 92%, 97% Then came the day when she got 99%. She looked at that grade and groaned... she had got the last question wrong. I think she was hurrying because she was excited. She begged, "What if you give it back to me and let me try that last one again - don't tell me anything about it, just let me try?" So I did. And she got her first 100%. I'm not sure who was more proud - her or me!

She went on to get three in a row. Test after test going back home with a big red 100% marked across the top. She still needed tutoring and she will never be strong in math, but she was proving them all wrong. This kid could learn!

We did a big review over the last weeks, and she was taking her final test (which I wisely did not tell her was a final test but simply said, 'hey why don't you finish this last review sheet and then we'll move on". Big things like "final exam" would still paralyze her brain.). I watched her do well on the first half and was thrilled, but she did not finish that day. Looking back, I wish I had pulled her out of a few classes that afternoon to finish. They had a week off for a end of year trip, and she came back today to finish it up. A week later with no review right under her belt, and she made some mistakes she might not have made if she had been more prepared, but she still finished it with a mark of 76%. I suspect her final term mark will be around 85% and her year total will be around 75%.

That is a victory worth celebrating. Through three years, we've also developed a relationship, and I've spent a lot of time this year simply teaching critical thinking and preparing her for high school. I won't have her anymore, but I will still be in town. I will see her at church. I told her to call me if she gets stuck again. I'll still help when I can.

But today watching her smile as she remembers her math and works through the problems, I am reminded how much it matters not only what we teach, but how we teach it. Kayla's situation was the result of a child with learning disabilities caught in the middle between a strong parent who thought one course of action was best and a strong principal who thought another was best. Neither was willing to back down. The principal said that if the parent will not admit the child and her siblings have learning disabilities, then he won't do anything to help, and eventually the parent will be forced to see that he (the principal) was right. Great plan and it would have worked, but where was Kayla's best interest in it all? Is she just the guinea pig used to prove a point?! That was when my irritation with the matter grew to outrage and I took her on as a permanent one on one tutor.

I was nervous. I am not a teacher. I have no training in learning disabilities. I am not really that strong in math, although I do enjoy it. Math was my weakest subject on my SATs. But I had a fighting passion that this one child not be thrown to the side in a showdown between two very strong adult personalities. I was deeply concerned about the future of a child with poor logic skills who would go into high school thinking she was a failure. What would she turn to to fill that void in her that says, "you're stupid and can't do things"?

So we learned together.

And when the assistant principal said this year that it was good to see her get over her emotional handicap, the fear of math, I was irritated again. Our principal is trained in a high level of at least one way of working with kids with learning disabilities. He had all the skills to help, and he had worked with her for a few years. And she ended up with an emotional handicap.... after all that help, all she knew was that she could not do it. I think the problem was in the how not in the what he was teaching her.

She needed someone to believe in her. She didn't need to be scolded one more time. She didn't need to be asked complicated questions.

Our school has a firm belief that you should teach kids the "why" behind math. That they should thoroughly understand what is happening when you multiply or why 2/3 plus 1/2 works out to what it does. That works ok for smarter kids, but it is baffling at times. Math problems are presented a varying number of ways and the kids are to understand what was going on.

I dropped all that with Kayla. I told her my goal is that she learns to get the right answer. I couldn't care less if she understands the concepts, but that she learns to know what is being asked and what she needs to do to get the right answer.

I challenged the principal to give me this one child, who is obviously not going to survive the way things are, and let me teach her with a whole different theory. Let me teach her "how". How to do the math. Then let's see if later on if she begins to catch some of the "why". He shook his head because that is against his theory, but allowed me since "she's not learning anything anyway". She proved this year that it worked. She did understand some of the concepts once she had repeatedly been doing the problems.

But most of all today as she finished her final exam, I am proud of her. She made it from 3rd grade getting Ds to 7th grade getting As and Bs in two and a half years. That is an accomplishment! I am proud of her for sticking with it and struggling through. It is quite a commitment to ask a child to work hard on math for one and a half hours every day one on one. Just the focus needed for that is rough. She did it. She'll walk across the stage in a few days to graduate from 8th grade with her head high. She knows she has struggles in some things, but she also knows that she can overcome those struggles and she can succeed. I'll be in tears when she gets her diploma. We've come a long ways together and I've grown to love this child turning into adult.

Ankle Deep Goose

2011-05-27T14:00:00.000-05:00

I saw a goose today standing in a mud puddle. Just standing there. The puddle wasn't big enough for him to float. Just to stand ankle deep in muddy water. No larger than two times his body size.

He was in the middle of an area they are slowly doing some construction on. Just gravel and mud and one mud puddle with one goose standing ankle deep in it.

A few hundred yards down the road was a bigger open area where there was a bigger pond. True, it is only a construction pond, too, and is littered with garbage, but at least it has grass growing on the sides and three other geese floating happily on it.

Only a little farther away are quite a few little lakes. Fish swim in them, geese and ducks and the occasional swam float on their surfaces. Trees hang over them and the land around is green with thick clumps of vegetation perfect for nesting wildfowl.

But this goose stood ankle deep alone in a small mud puddle in a construction zone.

I wanted to tell him to get out of the puddle. To spread his wings. To look farther than where he is. To leave the puddle and go find a pond or lake to float majestically in. To splash and wiggle his tail and dunk himself in and let drops roll down his feathers.

He is not made for standing in mud puddles. He is made to swim and enjoy

But he just stood there looking miserable.

I don't know why.

Rethinking History

2011-05-09T23:47:00.001-05:00

When I was sick a few weeks back, I decided to do some reading. Somewhere I had gotten a copy of Schindler's List. I also read The Help. I know - light reading both of them! :)

I had never read Schindler's List. I had seen the movie when it came out and was impressed. But I had seen it as a young just married adult. I had thought that it was such a horrible thing to happen, and how could people do that and how could people sit and do nothing while it was happening? I had seen a few concentration camps different times when I was in Europe, and they left an impression on me...

... but it was always "them". How could "they" do that? How could "they" sit back and let it happen and not do much about it. I know some did, but how could the rest not? Didn't "they" see?

This year, when I read this book, a thought began to form in my head, and it was decidedly uncomfortable. We (as in Americans) read about WWII and we have this attitude of superiority. "We would never do that". "If I had been there, I would have....."

Would we? Really? Would we?

I read this story now as an adult, with some facts that I was never taught in my Christian school textbooks. Do you know that a ship full of Jews waited on the coasts of the US, Canada, Mexico, and Cuba begging for permission to land? A ship entirely full of Jewish families.... begging for safety. And we turned them down. We did. Canada did, Mexico did. Cuba did. South America did. We sent them back. Many of them died in camps. Families were broken apart. A few survived. Only a few.

[ see: Gerda's Story and Official Policies and The ship that was turned back]

WE DID THAT.

We did. This country. Our country. Our vast, largely empty country. A "Christian nation" as we so liked to call ourselves. And where was the huge outcry from the churches? Where were people writing, phoning, showing up on the White House lawn insisting that we open our doors? Demanding that we live up to the spirit of the Statue of Liberty? Signing up to take financial responsibility for a family, to guarantee that the government would have no burden on it for these Jews?

Our churches were silent. Our families were silent. We said nothing as that ship was turned away. Of course, there were a few who did... but a few?! Only a few?

This hits me hard. I have two grandfathers who were pastors. Did they speak up?

I think we have no right to judge others for their silence.

Do you know who did take in Jews? The Dominican Republic. They offered to take 50,000 to 100,000 Jews. The Dominican Republic has a land mass of 50,000 sq.km. Compare that to the US which has a land mass of over 9 million sq km. Unfortunately, only 5,000 Jews made it safely to the Dominican Republic before the war broke out. Still, they opened their doors, something we did not do.

We drive across this vast country from east to west or west to east and often north to south every few years when we visit churches. Miles and miles of emptiness. Days of empty land. As I read Schindler's List, my mind kept going back to the thousands of miles of empty land we drive through. I'm sure Canada has its share of empty land, too. As I read, tears began to fill my eyes.

Do you know what I wish? I wish we had opened not only our doors, not only to one boat, but to all... and provided assistance to get here. Would it have been easy? No. I know that. It would have been a logistical nightmare.... but a logistical nightmare is far better than a holocaust nightmare.

Six million killed. We hear that alot. Six million. That is about twice the population of Chicago. I have to believe that between the three countries in North America, we could have wiggled over a little and fit that many people in.

Can you imagine what it would have done for our country to have opened our doors? What we would have been now? These were skilled people, with strong family ties.... We mourn now that it seems God has been slowly taking away His blessing from our country.... we shut our doors to His people... have you ever thought about that?

This was an entirely new thought for me. It had always been "them". "They" were the ones who did evil. "They" were the ones who didn't do enough to stop it.

We failed, too. We failed. I read the rest of the book with a broken heart instead of my old, slightly superior American attitude that "well, if we had been there, we would have....". We didn't. My own family didn't. I can not read this book and not take responsibility for our own failings. We didn't. We didn't even so much as take in one ship load of families that could see our shore and begged us for their lives. We sent them back to die.

(I know this has nothing to do with my blog's normal entries... but it made a deep impact on me as I read it and is something I had never thought of before. I want to apologize for our failure, but I also want to apologize for my attitude in that quiet superiority... the "well, we would have....".)

Oh, the Conversations!

2011-05-09T22:25:00.000-05:00

I had to be in school this morning, so I was attempting to get my hair in a somewhat manageable state and asked #3 and my daughter to make their lunches. As they worked away, I told them to clean up as they go since I have a meeting tonight and don't need extra mess. This then was the conversation:

Mom is really busy recently.

I know. I don't know why she wants to be so busy.

Well, maybe because she has a lot of kids, so that makes you busy.

How would you chose to be a mom, I mean, how would you do that?

You have babies. That is how you become a mom!

I know, but like, why would you chose that... does everyone want to be a mom?

Well, you can't be a mom even if you want to - you're a boy!

I know that! But...

And even if you want to be a parent, it is a lot easier for you to be a dad than it is for a girl to be a mom - it doesn't take as much work! (I had to put my hand over my mouth not to giggle at this point)

Yeah... but you're a girl.. Do you want to be a mom when you grow up?

Um... I don't know... maybe... I don't want to have to decide right now...

Their conversations crack me up at times! If only I had some sort of recording device I could quietly switch on in the kitchen!!!

Then we were driving the other day and passed a school that my daughter had never seen before and she asked what type of school that was. I replied that it was a private school.

She gave me a funny look. "Private?! How private can it be when it is right there for everyone to see?!"

How to Spell Exhaustion

2011-05-06T15:53:00.000-05:00

Someone just asked me what my title was to put on a mission's conference form. Hmm... well... I am titleless. Or it really depends... cook, mom, trouble-shooter, babysitter, errand girl, tailor, secretary, writer, ... and today, I add another one...

disciplinarian. Yup, that's me. And it is wearing me out!

We've got a split third/fourth grade class. They are comprised primarily of alpha males, some with learning disabilities and some with attention disabilities and some with attitude problems. Then throw in a few passive aggressive girls and some teary-eyed ones who break down over everything, and for good measure two kids who have the solution to everyone's problems and feel free to share it even when not asked. Then do a teacher switch in the middle of the year, then once the new teacher is going well, take her out of the picture for three weeks on a sickness and then put in a rotation of subs, and then bring the new teacher back. Add to the fun that the new teacher is unexpectedly pregnant and had a previous miscarriage and this one is questionable. Just to up the stress a little, run fifth disease, which is bad for early pregnant women, through the class, too. Oh, and then there is the spring production that we have to learn our parts for, too. That is next week, and we're nowhere close to being ready.

I've been brought in with two objectives - get control of the class and mentor the new teacher to be able to maintain that control.

The first day was a constant battle. Today, we made progress, but it was still a very busy, exhausting day. Monday, we'll come in after a weekend, hopefully fresh and ready to keep going. But right now, I'm wiped!

And I work this weekend,.... so no rest for the wicked!

Good News Bad News

2011-04-27T23:10:00.000-05:00

I am slowly getting stronger. I've had a few treatments and am recovering. I just have to learn to take it easy. It is hard to do that, honestly, without feeling guilty. What wife just sleeps all morning? A lazy one, that is who. But I am not lazy - just wiped.

However, I am managing without an afternoon nap, too. I feel like a nine month old baby... I think that was about the age mine stopped napping twice in the day! :)

I've been silent on this blog for awhile. I'm thinking alot about what I will be writing here. The blog has picked up one or two readers who should not be reading it, and I'm unsure now of whether I will be able to keep posting freely on it or not. I miss blogging freely, but this has made it awkward.

I've thought of doing a blog with a password - Beautiful Feet does this for some of her blog posts... but I would lose many good readers that I have no problem with them reading my blog. I just haven't figured it out yet.

Hopefully, I will keep posting soon.... it's been a great community.

Loneliness

2011-04-14T14:45:00.000-05:00

Anemia is a lonely disease.

I have enough energy now to manage to get through a percentage of my daily tasks, but none left over. None left over to visit friends. None left over to write blogs. None left over to connect with anyone. Barely enough left over to say boo to my husband.

Sleep, eat, struggle to manage, and sleep again.

It is one of those things which you don't think of when you think of anemia... the loneliness factor.

Just not enough energy left to feed the soul.

Only on a Sunday - If You Ask.....

2011-04-10T23:28:00.001-05:00

..... he will answer.

#3 was at it again this morning. The pastor was reading from 2 Cor. where it asks, "what does righteousness have in common with lawlessness?.."

I felt a hard poke in the sides. (At least he poked me and didn't raise his hand this time.)

"I know! They both end in "-ness"!!"

I really don't think that is what Apostle Paul was meaning to ask.

Later on, the pastor when on to tell about not hitching an ox and a donkey together - not being un-equally yoked. He simply, in the course of his conversation, said, "If you did yoke a ox and a donkey together, what do you think would happen?"

#3 had the answer for this one. He not only raised his hand, but shouted out, "OOOHH, I know!!!"

I don't think the pastor was really looking for an answer, but he stopped to ask, "what?"

"They would plow circles because the ox would pull harder!"

You know? I had never thought of that possibility myself.

He's a funny kid. Just a funny kid. But.... he does listen in church.

Rip Van Winkle

2011-04-05T22:24:00.000-05:00

Yawn.... good morning.... :)

I am slowly waking up. I feel like I've been asleep forever.

Oh, I've been up here and there to do a few things, but not much. This is pretty much what my schedule has looked like the last weeks.

7:00 - the alarm rings. I decide if I can manage to wake up or not. Usually not.

7:30 - I have to get up. I wake kids and get them ready for school.

8:00 - My oldest leaves for the bus.

8:30 - I look at my husband to see if he will drive the kids. If he won't, I get dressed and drive them to school.

9:00 - Back at home, I survey the mess from breakfast and making lunches and decide to deal with it later. I head back to bed.

11:30 - Alarm rings again, and I get up to go teach math. (Kayla is doing so well - today she got a 100% on a test!!!!!)

1:00 - Back home. I think briefly about what is for dinner and maybe get it soaking/defrosting/started.

2:00 - Wiped out again, so I head to bed.

3:30 - Time to go get the kids. There is snack, homework, swim lessons, and then my husband comes home usually before dinner is cooked. I hug him, yawn, and attempt to carry on... but...

7:00 - Back to bed for a "nap" before the evening hits.

10:00 - Wake up to being undressed and tucked in by my husband, smile, yawn, fall back asleep again....

Not that exciting of a schedule.... and before you say, "wow, sounds great, how can I get that?", think about doing that for a few weeks, not just a few days. BORING!

No, I do not have mono.... been there, done that..

My iron levels are plummeting. Oh the aggravation of a medical system where individuals have little say. Despite the fact that I have had this condition for at least 20 years and a specialist figured out how to keep me healthy and has for over 10 years, my lovely doctor here (same one who did nothing for my son's ripped up arm) thinks that we should not do anything yet. It just isn't his protocol.... the treatment that has kept me healthy for ten years.... it just isn't his protocol.

It just is my life, that is all.

So, I've been spending a lot of my life sleeping. Battling a mild depression.... one which I know has most of its roots in my physical status, but nevertheless feels quite depressing all the same.

I phoned my doctor back home, got my husband to bring medicine home from his trip, got some supplies from un-named sources here, and with the help of one very nice nurse here treated myself. It involves hanging an IV of iron, but IVs can be done at home... ok, she made one blooper (she's new at IVs) and ended up with a pool of blood on her dining room table, but it worked.

Today, I am starting to wake up. I survived yesterday with only one nap. I survived today with none. I walked outside and pulled the dead leaves out of my flower garden. I made some bread. I made it to bedtime.... even made it awake after the kids went to bed. Slowly waking up.

We'll try to run some more iron into my system next week, and then see how I am doing after that. It is more difficult doing it yourself, because I have to judge by feel and not by number, but I know I am way under half of what I should have, so I know I can do three to four treatments before I even have to worry about getting close to normal again.

I am enjoying waking up though. Enjoying not feeling flat and depressed. I feel now just bewildered. A little like Rip Van Winkle.... what all has happened since I was last up? It seems like so long ago.

Until Death Do Us Part

2011-03-30T19:04:00.000-05:00

One of the old ladies died this week. She has been in our home since I began there over six years ago. What a odd situation - this death! Her family had not been in to see her for more than five minutes in at least six years. Her son worked in the building at times, and another worker would try to get him to see his mom, but all he would say is, "she doesn't know me anymore" and not go. Not even pop his head in the room.

Then she was dying, and the whole tribe appeared. Whispering in her ear, 'we love you so much! We're here with you." Yeah... fat lot of good it does her now when she is unconscious! Where were you for six years when she would make eye contact and smile and try to talk?! But we have to be nice - even to the family. So we tried. We sponged her down as she sweated and suffered those last few hours. Halfway through that, the nurse checked her blood sugars and a young boy - likely a great grandson? - said, "Oh, so is she getting better? Grandma, you're going to get better, hang in there!" The nurse turned to the family in shock - they haven't told this boy (maybe 11 years old) that grandma is dying?! She lost it then and looked at the boy and said as gently as she could, "Grandma is not going to get better. Grandma is dying, and Grandma needs to die - it is the best thing for her now because Grandma has been suffering for a very, very long time, and now she is ready to die." The boy left in tears, and then came back ten minutes later.... but still, better to tell him than to have him face death and absolute shock, too!

But then when she died, she took her last breath and breathed it out. The nurse was there. Then before she quit, one large tear rolled out of her right eye and trickled down her cheek, and she took a half breath and quit. The nurse said she looked so sad dying. The family reacted with that odd grief that is borne more of guilt than of the ache of missing someone. How could they cry for missing her? They hadn't seen her in at least six years! But guilt brings on a difficult grief and one we struggle to comfort. How do we comfort when there is reason for the guilt and we will not say "oh, it was ok to abandon her". We never abandoned their mom - not even when she choked and we had to hold her while she coughed and sputtered all over our uniforms, not even when she threw up for the third time that night, not once. We can only assure the family that it was her time to go. We can not assure them that she knew they loved her and that they had cared for her well. We had no relationship built with them on the basis of shared caring and evenings sitting by the bedside sharing stories of their lives. The family looked in the cupboard and wondered, "Where did she get these clothes from? We don't know these ones." How do you say kindly that they were donated by staff because her clothes wore out sometime in those over six years they stopped seeing her? How do you say that we staff shopped for her like she was our family because they did not? The nurse handled it the best she could and told them they were donated to which they replied, "Oh, how sweet!".

Then they leave, and we grieve together. Not so much for this lady's death as the loneliness of her last years. We loved her. We loved her. Even well unto close to the end, she would look at us and smile and say, "Thank-you". Only a few weeks ago while I was in the room, her eyes caught sight of me and I heard a distinct "How are you?" I went quickly over, looked her in her eyes, smiled, watched her responding smile, and said, "Hi sweetie! I'm fine! So nice to see you. You have beautiful eyes, you know! It is snowing outside again and the wind is blowing cold. Sleep well, sweetie, we love you!" And her eyes smiled back at me, always bright, always smiling when she caught sight of a person.

If only her family could have realized how much they missed....

This weekend, we move on. A new patient will be there. A new one to love and care for .... like they say in a wedding - "until death do us part". Odd use for that phrase, but it is very accurate for our home. We promise to love and care for each one until death comes. That is what I think when I meet each new person.

I counted recently, and I have seen around 100 people come and go. 100 deaths. It is both a privilege and a deep sadness. This last weekend was a low for me, though. It adds up - this constant watching dying.

But I go back... to chose to love the person who comes to occupy the empty bed. To chose to love, once again, until death do us part.

Nagging Complaints

2011-03-24T16:25:00.000-05:00

There are some thing we find difficult to deal with. We are getting used to the long trips. It seems that we will not ever go back "over there", but be here indefinitely. What an odd concept to my brain - having grown up as a gypsy! But here we are. It nice here, really. Our kids are settled and developing friendships that last years - something I never had as a child.

But it means that a few times a year, my husband will be gone for about a month. I get used to these trips, I guess. It is easier now with older kids who do not need so much supervision and assistance. I get lonely, but reaching out to others and asking to drop by are things I can work on. Coming home is always a struggle - fitting back into being a two parent family after being a single parent... it takes adjustment. Thankfully, in the early years of our marriage, we lived near an army base and were friends with many military families. We learned a lot from these families - lessons we value today. Some of those were about how to handle absences and then the reunions. It is still a struggle, but at least we know to expect it.

What is hard for us is other people's assumptions. When I was gone for a three week trip, those three weeks were busy. There was no weekend off, there were no evenings free. It was a full out busy time. I arrived home to stuff piled up for me and people asking, "So how was your vacation?"

My husband arrived home after four and a half weeks of hard work, and we had scheduled a family vacation. We had planned this vacation last year, but it had to be canceled after the "adventure" of last year. This year, we were determined to do it. He had been gone over four weekends, so that was eight extra days of work if you look how many days he would have been at the office if he had been here. You'd think there would be a policy to give those days back to him. Eight days of vacation are not exactly vacation days, but "given back days".

You'd think.

And he even took one morning of the vacation to deal with some office work, phoning in to talk and plan with some people. But, no. Before we even got home, we had piles of e-mails lined up. "You haven't done this." "This has been here so long and not done." "What has been happening - nothing is right." "How come you haven't answered that?"

All the various writers of these letters know why. Because he was gone, and then he was on vacation. No one will die if he is gone for a week. Did they honestly expect him to stay up late on our holiday to open his computer and deal with mundane office work?!

All that nagging... it makes us want to quit. To look elsewhere for something to do. There have to be days that people understand that he was gone four and a half weeks, and then we need some family time... which should be uninterrupted by nagging coworkers.

We're growing frustrated with this stuff. We feel that we as a family can figure out and work through the adjustments of a few long trips a year, but that the team we work with also needs to adjust their way of thinking. We've tried to fight for "family days" given as compensation for long trips.... but they need to understand that a family day does not mean that we should be sent four to five nagging e-mails each day.

We need wisdom in how to deal with this. The same problems as last year - different offenders, same problems. I think the only reason the main offender of last year did not reoffend is that I strongly warned him that we were on vacation spending time with just our family and would get back to him on such and such a date. Maybe we need to be so clear with the others. It is tiring. My husband's first week back, and it is daily complaints about what he has not done. We're back to crawling in bed as soon as the kids go to bed, emotionally exhausted. It's tiring.

Jewels Wrapped in Scotch Tape

2011-03-09T16:06:00.000-06:00

This morning, while cleaning the kid's desk, I found a piece of paper all folded up and scotch taped together. The interesting thing was that it had our address on the outside. I opened it up to find another piece of paper inside.

#3 had written a letter to Santa. Why it was behind the desk, I do not know, but I remember him all excited by hearing you could write Santa and the post office in the US would deliver it. This is the letter:

Dear, Santa

How are you feeling? You represent Jesus giving gifts, though Jesus gave one big gift, That saves us. How's Rudolf? I would like a screwdriver set by the way can you say Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas!

sincerly #3

It is cheerily decorated with a picture of Santa flying through the skies on the top and a manger scene on the bottom with a large face next to the manager scene and a speech bubble coming out saying, "Thank-you" A large gift in the top right corner holds his return address.

This one is going in the scrapbook! I don't think Santa would appreciate it as much as I do.... although I am tempted to send it next year anyway! (Or a photocopy of it)

Perhaps Now?

2011-03-04T22:07:00.000-06:00

Do you ever feel like quitting? Just giving up and walking way?

I've sort of felt that way for awhile. Work is going pretty great - just not what I do. I have really only one job. I do a lot of other things, but those are just filling holes. If something is needed, and I can do it, I do. But I have one project that is "mine". I am responsible for it.

I worked hard for two years on this. I took what was given to us that did not work for our country and worked to make it appropriate. It was designed for women, and I was excited about it. I poured my heart into it for two years and got it ready to begin.

That was when the problems started. It was handed over to a man who was supposed to coordinate getting it done. We were ready to go with it.

He did not like it.

There was no real reason. He just didn't like it, and he dragged his feet. No one was willing to force him and he was not willing to change his mind.

All my work sat. For two years. I was discouraged. Began questioning everything I did. Was there any point? Maybe I just didn't know how to do anything? Maybe I should set down the burden on my heart and stick to teaching little kids to read and making meals.

I just quit. There was no point working more on this project, even though people were asking me to for other countries. My heart was just sad.

But this year brought new hope. The work has been given to someone else - completely out of the influence of the first man. I did not hold my breath, but I did go over the plans again and wrote a new instruction letter.

Today came back the comments from this man and his wife. They like it, and are working with it. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but a quiet hope is growing. Perhaps this will start up again. Perhaps now?

A Headache

2011-02-25T15:49:00.000-06:00

Last night, we curled up with our noodles and sauce in front of the computer to watch something. The kids wanted to watch Survivorman, so we started with the first episode of the first season.

Who jumps through the ice into water - even if he was being paid?! Anyway...

He was up in the French Alps demonstrating how to survive if you are lost or stranded in the mountains. He said you have to watch for signs of altitude sickness. One of those signs was a headache.

My daughter was curled up on my lap watching. She turned to look at me totally bewildered.

"How can he get a headache up there? There is no one talking!"

Why The Story on Rejection?

2011-02-24T22:50:00.000-06:00

I work with women who are rejected. They are rejected from the moment they are born. Simply for who they are. I need to know how to reach them. I think it is harder for many of us to understand the depths of their rejection, of not being wanted. I could tell you their stories, but they would be foreign to us. We would shake our heads and say, "can not imagine". But we have to. We have to try to feel their hearts. I need to. I need to write for them, to write so that they even begin to listen.

I can't start with their stories. I can start with stories I know - closer to home. Times I have seen or experienced rejection up close and personal. The story of this one baby - a true story - shocks us and hits us in the gut. We shake our heads in horror... how could someone say that?! They did... that is what is so abysmally sad.

Now imagine a whole nation like that. I met a family who had a baby when I went to visit them. Lots of people have babies - what made this one so unusual? Well...

Their age for one. They are at least 60 years old.

How the baby came to be in the family. Talk about surprise pregnancies! At least they give you nine months, perhaps less if you didn't know your were pregnant right away. This baby was even more surprising. This is her story:

The older man went to the hospital for some tests. On his way out, he saw a woman sitting alone sobbing. Being old enough to do so without a problem, he walked up to her and asked, "Daughter, what is wrong?" She said, "I have just had a child. It is the fifth girl. My husband came and when he saw it was another girl he said, 'Don't even think about coming home with that child. If you don't leave her in the hospital, you are not welcome in the house. We do not need another girl.' What am I to do?"

The old man thought. He looked at the woman. Then he said, "I already have three grown daughters. What is one more? Give her to me." So the mother handed him the newborn, and he went home.

When he arrived, his wife was out shopping, so he lay the baby on a blanket in the one room. The baby was sleeping, so he went to the other room to rest. While he was resting, his wife walked in the house to find a newborn asleep on her living room floor. Very shocked, she woke her husband to ask, "What in the world?!"

He yawned and calmly told her, "Oh, that is your new daughter."

Once over the shock, she was happy enough to raise the child and when I met them, the baby was an adorable nine month old.

You'd think this was a happy ending, and it is a happier ending than it could have been. But there is a sadness to it, too, when the couple explain why they adopted the girl.

"We are getting old, you see, and in a few years, we will need someone to take care of us."

I smiled with them at their good deed and their good luck. I was truly thankful for the old man's actions. But my heart broke for this child, too. Rejected, ripped from her sobbing mother, now raised as a quasi-daughter, quasi-servant.

And I want to tell these women that there is a Father who loves them. Honestly, it is hard for them not to reject that news with a snort of disbelief.

Seeing the Doctor

2011-02-24T18:06:00.000-06:00

#3 is a charmer. He just is. He charms everyone he meets. Thankfully, he can even charm a lab tech into giving us a copy of lab tests right there. Now I can send them to my doctor's at home. :)

We had our visit. I am impressed with the doctor. The bad news is that #3 has a heart defect. The good news is that it doesn't seem serious. They will run more tests. It is also correctable if it is causing problems. For that I am thankful. There is another issue going on with his heart, too, and he has a battery of new tests to determine what that is.

I feel a sense of relief today - at least he is being seen to. I am also relieved to hear about this heart defect... as strange as that may seem. You see, for this child's whole life, when doctors listened to his chest, they would get a funny look on their face. Something was different - a murmur? maybe not a murmur? Didn't seem to be an issue. Maybe he will outgrow it. At least now we know what it is. We still don't know why the heart is showing signs of stress, but we will be finding out here soon.

For that I am thankful. He's such a cute creature. He took the news with little or no worry. The doctor and I were careful to use calm voices and stay away from scary words. She's a good doctor and is good with kids. He charmed her, too. :)

Pray now that the new tests reveal the cause of the stress, and that it is able to be fixed soon.

An Appointment!

2011-02-23T14:39:00.000-06:00

Yay! My third son needed an appointment with a specialist. Those are hard to get where we are. We were given one - in June. We leave here for our home leave at the end of June, so it would hardly help to have the first visit then.

I begged and pleaded. The best they could do was put me on a cancellation list. Ok.

Today my phone rang. There is an opening tomorrow!!! We've got an appointment!!! Huge sigh of relief.

It was hard to know what to do with this son for the summer. This year we had planned a long waited for hike with the family. They are all old enough to do it, but it will be grueling. #3's heart was showing signs of trouble.... do we go ahead or do we not? What do we do? What the doctors were saying was hard to absorb... he's healthy, but he could be not, too. We need a few more tests... He needs a specialist.

Tomorrow, we start the journey to find answers. Tomorrow, I take my way too talkative, over friendly, happy child in to the doctor. It is only the beginning, but it IS a beginning! I'm so thankful.

Pray for wisdom for this doctor. She is good. Pray for peace for me. Pray for answers. That what can be done about this will be done and what can't, that we will leave in God's hands. Pray for me as I talk to the doctor with him there that he would not be frightened by the questions that have to be asked and told.

But today, I'm thrilled. We have an appointment!

Rejection

2011-02-22T19:52:00.000-06:00

There are few things that stick with such absolute clarity in my mind, but this visit was one of them. I was only a teen, so kept my mouth shut, but my heart broke.

We went to visit a family on the occasion of the birth of their third child. This was not a local family, but a missionary family. We were dropping off some baby clothes we were finished with to this family.

We stood over the little bed where a small bundle slept. Above my head came the sound of adult voices.

"Well, she's here. We really didn't want another child."

I waited. I had heard that a few times. I always cringe when I hear it, but I realize that at times a pregnancy takes people by surprise. What dropped my jaw was the words that came out of her mother's mouth next.

"We still aren't that happy about it. We just did not want more kids. Two was really enough."

The adult voices moved out of the room and on to have a cup of tea, and I stood there staring down at an adorable little face sleeping. On the other side of the room, the two other children, around kindergarten ages, played with their puzzles. I stood staring at this baby.

That moment was burned in my memory. I have a deep gut reaction even now to the thought of it. Just wait until that poor child breaks her sibling's toy.... "Mom didn't even want you!" Or until she get in the way.... Or....

So often over the twenty something years since I heard that statement made over that sleeping baby have I prayed for this child. A child so wanted by God. Given to be a blessing. I continue to pray for her - that God will let her know of His delight in her.

Rejection. Sometimes it comes before we are even born. Other times it comes because of who we are. My kids will have to walk that line at times simply because of who their parents are. Sometimes it happens because of what we believe. Every time it hurts.

There is the rejection of always being on the outside. Never fitting in. Of being more like an unliked group, of belonging to the wrong family. Of being born the wrong sex.

I am aware that I work among people who have faced continual rejection for one reason or another. I want to communicate the acceptance there is in God. But I am also aware that I work alongside people who have also been wounded by rejection. Wounds are powerful.

The problem with repeated or continuous rejection is that it creates a fear, a gut fear. Fear of further rejection can push people into a corner where they try everything they can to protect themselves. Often the first line of a defense is that infamous good offense. Rejected people will often reject love. They reject people so that they themselves can not be rejected.

It does take away the risk. It removes the unknown. But it replaces it with a known - a sure loneliness and isolation. Not the best of trades.

I am growing more and more convinced that God is asking us to work on our wounded areas - that in our healing, we are able to spread healing. If we hide our weaknesses, our wounding, and pretend to be whole, we are not displaying God's healing. We are only showing our patching - perhaps better than other's patching, but still patching all the same. But there is little that is as beautiful as real healing.

It involves risk. Risking again.

Parental "Snooping"

2011-02-21T22:59:00.000-06:00

My kids are getting older. Old enough to have e-mail accounts and facebook pages. With our family's unique working situation, that has proven to be interesting, but we have somehow navigated around it without using our family name on the internet.

My oldest got his facebook account as a gift when he finished eighth grade. His brother is nagging for one now. Actually, the older one wants the next one to have one of his own so he quits using his! I started them e-mail accounts since they frequently e-mail assignments to their teachers.

But the whole issue of parental control and parental "snooping" comes up. I sat this morning having coffee with one of my friends - likely the only person who I would trust with my kids if I had to leave them long term. We have now raised these kids from little boys who had to learn to wash their faces after eating peanut butter and jam to bigger boys who compete hard, play hard, study well, ... and yes, still need to learn to wash their faces after eating!

As moms, we have retained the right to "snoop" on our kids. We hold the passwords to their accounts and their facebook. We could at any time, open them and look at what they are saying. The kids know that. (And, yes, we also know that at any time they could get around our controls since they know more than we do about computers.) But do we? Is it a good thing for a parent to be reading their kid's private stuff?

We generally do not. I do not build trust in my child by snooping into their discussions that were not meant to include me. I communicate to my child that I love them by respecting their privacy. Of course, if there was a problem, that may change. If we were seeing that our kid were rebellious or choosing wrong friends, we would look, for sure. There was a case, not with my boy, but with my friend's older children's friends a few years ago. She then read through many things carefully. She discussed the issues with a trusted teacher who also kept his eyes out. They worked to protect these kids. It worked.

But she does not read them unless there is a problem. It is an invasion of their privacy and takes away from their dignity. We actually learn just as much from our boys from being with them, listening to them play together, being there for them, and yes, having coffee occasionally with each other and seeing how things are going.

This is what I think now - with a son who talks to me, who knows I trust him and give him room to grow, but am watching him, too. Perhaps my views will change with my other kids, but I doubt it. Snooping on your kids when it is not needed does not grow trust. Without trust, there is little room for love. I would rather at this point communicate to my son that I respect him as a human being than know everything that he is thinking and talking about.

It helps when I know and trust my child's friend's parents. How have you addressed this dual issue of parental control and a growing teen's right to privacy? Do you think a child whose parents are constantly "snooping" behind a child's back are being responsible or disrespectful? I think one thing that is vitally important to me as my son grows is for him to know he can trust me. I don't think I will earn his trust by going behind his back. I think he would feel trespassed against. As it is now, I have a son who will talk to me - if I give him the opportunity and I listen. I worry that if I "snoop" in his stuff, I may lose that right. That is my feelings now. If his mood or personality changed dramatically, I would likely take a look and see if there is something we need to talk about, but until then, I want to respect his right to communicate with his friends without me standing over listening to or reading those conversations or thoughts.

But I am young at starting this journey into the teens. What have those of you who have been down this path found?

Face to Face with Racism

2011-02-19T21:28:00.000-06:00

We live in a community of immigrants. It is perfect for us, and we enjoy the different nationalities that our kids get to interact with on a daily basis.

Our kids are from a mixed marriage. At first glance, they don't look "foreign". If you take a closer look at the dark eyes on my lighter boys, or take a second look at them, you might notice. Most of the time, they could pass for white, or they could pass for my husband's nationality. They are well-blended.

In their small Christian school full of kids from all over the world, my kids never even mentioned who they were - if they did, it was just a passing, "Yeah, I'm half ______ and half ______". They were more interested in counting how many races they had in one place and learning about where people were from than anything else.

It wasn't until my oldest graduated to a high school nearby that he came home a few times with interesting comments. "That school is all from one place!" and "Besides the ten ________, I am the darkest person there." and "There is no one like me. They are all white."

I found it interesting. It was the first time my son had identified himself, and he identified as non-white. I am interested to see how they continue to identify themselves as they grow.

But it was recently, in our family's attempts to get in shape, that my kids came face to face with their first real racism. I hope they did not notice, but I did. I was shocked.

We bought a membership to a local community pool. The kids are taking swimming classes and my husband and I are doing some exercises in the workout room attached. We enjoy the times to swim as a family, but we've noticed that our kid's eyes burn and the two who have excema were itching horribly after swims. I went to the pool office to ask why the chlorine was so high. Thankfully only my two younger ones were with me, and I think they were distracted by all the noise of the pool deck.

The lady kindly explained to me that yes, this pool is a bit highly chlorinated and that it can cause problems with their skin while they are getting used to it, but that they will usually get used to it after a few weeks. I asked why it was that high. The lady turned, gestured to the pool, and said, "Well, as you can see, we get a lot of immigrants here at this pool, and well, you know.... We chlorinate it higher, but it is really for your protection since we have so many newcomers. It is to keep you safe."

I just walked away. I should have said something, but I was just stunned. My protection against what? Immigrants? Hey, I'm married to one! What are foreigner germs more dirty than white people germs? Keep me safe? From what? Foreign cooties?

I was angry. Angry that my kids had to hear that... but I said nothing. I think the two were not listening, thankfully.

We chose to still go. Not because of the pool's staff, but because of the very immigrants who swim there. I enjoy sitting in the parent's section and hearing six different languages going on around me. I smile at the chance to share with those covered in head scarves when they ask about my husband and my faith.

But there is a part of my heart that is sad as I encounter racism in the world my children are growing up in. They will meet it in a few people. I only hope that they know that it is those who look down on others who are smaller - not those who are simply from another location in the world.

Death and First Generation Believers

2011-02-18T21:59:00.001-06:00

Death. It's been a subject of conversation in our house and within our team. My husband's aunt died this year. He was never close to this aunt, as she had a tongue about as sharp as a flaying knife. He is now with his family, and they are remembering the aunt.

One of our good friends here also passed away. He was in his late eighties, and ready to go. Ready to join his wife, siblings, and parents in heaven. We went to the funeral. Later on, one of my team members questioned me about funerals. "Is it a different culture here that no one cries at funerals?"

I knew what she meant. Back there, the grieving at funerals is so intense that it was not uncommon to see people scream to the point of passing out over the dead body as they wailed in grief.

She found these funerals confusing. People did not cry.

I explained that because we have hope, we do not grieve the same. She could mentally understand this, but she could not totally grasp it. She said, "but we still cry... we miss them so!" I agreed that we missed people, but in cases like this where one has died after a long, faithful life - especially where the spouse has already died - we often do not cry. That "uncle" is so happy now. He is with Jesus. There is no grief. Even if we could, we would not want him back - his suffering is over. It would be selfish to grieve so much for our own sadness and not be thrilled for him. We are sad, yes, but we are also so happy for him.

I did tell her that she will see more tears at a younger person's funeral. Then we do cry - not so much for the one who had died, but for the pain of those left behind. Then she will see tears... but they will also be mixed in with a quiet, unshakable hope. This life is not the end.

She could understand. I could see it in her face that she mentally agreed with all we said. But her heart could not wrap around it. I told myself to be patient. She has not grown up with death as we have. We grew up knowing this life is temporary. We grew up hearing of heaven and how wonderful it was. For my friend, a first generation believer, death is a whole different thing.

She was trained to fear it. There was no happy ending. In her family, like in my husband's, there was no one who has died with hope. She has not seen that. When she thinks of her family dying, it is only without hope. While her mind understands the hope believers have, her gut reaction to death is still intense grief. Learning to approach something with a complete change of thinking takes time.

I believe she will one day view death of believers as we do... as this family did when they spoke of their grandfather's "promotion" into the next life. It will just take time. Time and the slow renewing of her mind.

I'm glad she felt free to question and bring her fears out. I'm thankful for my family who taught me both with their words and their lives not to fear death. I'm thankful that on the other side is a big reunion.

But in the middle of my peace, I need to remember to let my heart break for those first generation believers like my husband to whom a death in the family is going to mean eternal separation. I've never faced a death like that yet in my life... the thought is horrifying. And when my friend questions me because she can't understand all the joy we have, I need to hear her fears. She has to cut a new trail into the difficult confusion of dealing with death. I get to walk one already laid out for me by those who have lived and died in front of me.

What Was That Again?

2011-02-16T22:14:00.000-06:00

My oldest was very excited about something he had learned in school recently. They were talking about guide dogs and service dogs. One of his friends back home has one, so he was quite interested in the process. He came to tell me that kids get to raise these dogs sometimes as foster puppies before they go into service, and "Mom, they like kids best to raise them since some of the dogs go to kids with autopsies!"

Um... don't you mean "autism"?

Preparation

2011-02-15T14:12:00.000-06:00

There are times I look back on my life and smile when I see that God was preparing me for something before it hit.

Last week, when my husband was preparing to leave, we had our last Sunday in our church before he left. We were not stressed out about his trip, but the people in our church were. (I'm actually too busy reassuring others right now to be nervous myself!) They were very worried. I know where my husband is headed, and the difficulties he encountered last time are not going to play into this trip at all. This is no more of a danger than any normal trip... ok, so all trips carry some risk, but it is the way it is.

That Sunday in church, people were worried. A few even asked the questions that have no answers. 'How will you spend tomorrow - if you know that he is leaving and things could happen?"

Well, we spent it cleaning the house, ironing some shirts, and getting him ready to go. Not exactly what you would write home about if it were our last days. :)

I got upset at that question later in my blog and said there is no way to answer it. If you knew that tomorrow someone you loved would drop dead, how would you live? You would just live, hopefully, the way you are living now. If you wouldn't, then something is wrong with the way you are living now.

Then I went for a routine visit to the doctor. I took in #3, too, since he had been having some "nothing" symptoms.... It turns out that he is going to be tested for something that has a chance of dropping him dead at any moment. It is genetic, so if he tests positive, it means that I and any of my children have the remote chance of dropping dead at any moment in the middle of an active day.

Whew! That hit like a punch to the gut...

Over the next few days, I struggled with the question, "How then do we live?". How do we raise our kids with this knowledge? Do we restrict every minute of their lives? Do we panic? Do we.....? It was then that the question asked of me the day before came back to me: "How would you live if you knew that this was your last day?"

The answer is simple. Live normally. If I am living today with things unsaid, with things unforgiven, with things undone - there is a problem with how I am living today. Live normally.

Simple answers are not always easy battles to get to, and it took me a few days of tears before God before I was able to set it all back into His hands. In reality, all of us live like that. Tomorrow, my gas line could explode. Tonight my kid could slip on the sidewalk again and hit his head just so, and be gone. I can't live in fear of those things, and I refuse to live in fear of this, either.

God has written the days of each of my children. My first daughter's days were short, but she is not dead. She is very much alive - just not here with us. If one of my children drops dead, they will only be alive with God, not gone forever, but gone ahead of us. We can't imagine walking that path now, but I am convinced that if God calls us to walk it, He will walk it with us, with each and every one of us. I will not live in fear.

Realistically - we could all live a long happy life. It is true that #3 is showing signs of concern, but we go on. We do what can be done, we take what safety steps can be taken, and then we go on.

But as annoying as that question was last Sunday morning, God was asking me to think it over in preparation for the news of Monday afternoon. I'm sure if He brings other difficult things into our lives that He will prepare us for that also.

I am no longer annoyed at that person who asked that crazy question. God was using her weakness and fear to strengthen and comfort me for what was ahead.

The Rest of the Story

2011-02-14T00:14:00.000-06:00

I heard it last night. I heard it again tonight in a different story. I don't know why in two places I was that people were watching these stories, but I listened with interest.

The first was a story about a sailing boat that sank. There were over fifty people on the vessel at the time, and there was great confusion and chaos and a long wait for rescue. Not all knew until the rescue if all had made it off or not. In the end, all were rescued without one life lost and no serious injuries. An incredible miracle. (I missed the beginning of the show, so I don't know the details.)

What caught my attention was the people talking about what happened after - after the crisis. A few said, "It has been a year, and I am still not always sleeping. I still have dreams that I step on a boat and it immediately sinks. I still am having dreams." I nodded my head in understanding. Those dreams. It took me months to sleep without dreams of trauma. Even now, I will sometimes dream and wake up with my heart pounding. It is not completely over.

But as I listened, I heard even more interesting things. A girl said, "When I first walked back into my own house after we got back, I went to my room, and I just lay on my bed. I did not come out of my house for a week. I just lay in bed and slept a lot and just stayed in bed. I was so depressed and crying all the time."

I stopped stock still. I think if I had seen this same show a year ago, I would have been puzzled by her response. Depressed?! Crying?! She should be feeling so _________ (relieved, happy, thankful, amazed)!

The second story was a follow up on the Chilean miners. They talked about depression, about fears, about wanting to hide, about not sleeping, being on medication.

This year, I understood them all. I have been on this journey - from trauma towards recovery. It is not the trip you expect.

After the crisis, during the initial days of recovery, I mentioned that I was not sleeping, that I was having dreams. I mentioned that I was just not tired, even though I was exhausted. I mentioned a few other things, too. The people with me at the time actually handed me a piece of paper and said, "Here read this. I think you will recognize a lot of your symptoms as being on here."

It was a list of common reactions to trauma. Hmm....

Except that I was not doing a case study to present to the class for a mark. I was living it. My logical brain, usually quite capable of dissecting a list and applying it to a situation was completely frozen. My will which usually can kick in and make me focus was numb. My emotions were the only thing left, and even they were making no sense at the time.

A list did nothing for me. I stared at it and the pieces of letters broke off and formed chaos on the page. I blinked and read the words, but they made no connection to thoughts in my brain.

I didn't need a list. A list could not touch my heart. I needed a story. Stories can pass through our muddle and stick. When I hear a story, my heart responds. When I heard this girl's story of crawling in bed depressed after an amazing rescue, my heart connected to her story. I got it.

The problem is that we don't often tell the rest of the story. We tell the amazing rescues, the miraculous stepping in of God, the ability He has to carry us through the darkest days.... but we pass over the parts that don't seem to fit. We end the story at the rescue and the hugs of the family again. We just don't tell of the week in bed in a depressed fog. It doesn't show off God in a good light, we think. It doesn't really glorify God. It was a momentary weakness, we say, not really a part of the story.

So when we face our own trauma, we expect to go on like those stories we have heard. We expect the "happily ever after" ending. And when people come to us and say, "You must be feeling so incredibly happy!", we paste on a smile and nod, yet feel incredibly confused and guilty by our failure to even enjoy the miracle we were given.

No one had ever told me the rest of the story. No one ever told me what the valley between trauma and healing looked like. I was not prepared for the trip. Today, as I am climbing back out the other side, I hear others talking of that trip. It seems, though, that I don't hear it much among believers.... are we worried about appearing weak?

I'm willing to be weak. I'm even willing to be wrong, to have reacted wrongly. I'm willing to have failed at some things. I'll be all that if I can speak honestly about this valley. Others will walk it after me, and let me be weak if it means someone will hear and remember that this trip is not the one you expect.

We need to hear these stories before we hit trauma. When we face trauma, it is a bit late to begin learning. We need to hear these stories so when we go through it, we are calmed by knowing it is normal. We need to know these stories so that when our friends and coworkers go through it, we can walk with them instead of fearing that they may be losing it, having a breakdown, or not walking with God as they should be. We need to hear of the deepness, the ruggedness, and the loneliness of the ravine that has to be crossed.

Then, perhaps instead of saying "You must be feeling so __________!", we will stop to ask, "What are you feeling today? Do you want to sit on the bridge with me and throw sticks in the water and just watch them float? I'm hear to listen."

Instead of saying, "So tell me the story - I want to hear all the exciting things! I just can't believe how wonderful it all is!", we will listen to whatever is wanted to be shared that day. There is a line between wanting to hear details for our own enjoyment and interest, and wanting to hear what a person needs to share. Who are we thinking of - our interested ears or their bruised heart? Our listening will reflect that.

Most, most, most of all... if we know of that valley, we will avoid criticizing or correcting those who are down in it. That only adds guilt on top of their burden.

There is a road out. I just don't think there are any short cuts. At least, I didn't find any. But the road will lead out of the valley again, and we will be changed for our experiences struggling through it.

"You Must Feel So ________________ "

2011-02-13T23:26:00.000-06:00

Ever heard that phrase before? "You must feel so excited!" "You must feel so happy." "You must just be on cloud nine."

We say that to each other when we try to put ourselves in their shoes.

I am growing more convinced of our need for some training in dealing with trauma. I think we (ourselves, our mission agencies, our groups) think that when trauma happens, then we will deal with it and we will teach people how to recover. The problem is that in a crisis, it is very hard to learn anything. I think we need to talk about it more now - before we hit a crisis.

The problem is not that we do not share about crisis and about how God stepped in or how God carried us through them. We do that. I've read countless books about God stepping in, saving people from awful situations, carrying them through things none of us want to face. I've read centuries of biographies and autobiographies of missionaries and their stories. I've read Reader's Digest stories of people surviving cataclysmic events and horrific personal trauma.

I've pulled people out of car wrecks that no one should live through, visited someone in the hospital who not only survived his car going off a cliff and breaking into bits, but who hiked back up the cliff in the dark with a broken back in order to be able to flag down a passing car. I was the first one to be handed a flashlight and examine what I thought was was a man in paint spattered clothes with saggy cheeks and rolls under his neck. Instead it was a man covered in blood whose scalp was sliced in so many places across the top that it hung in folds around his neck. I listened the next day in the hospital to him telling his story.

I had read about trauma. I had felt prepared for it.

But I had never heard the rest of the story as Paul Harvey would say.

So when we went through a traumatic event and ended with our own miraculous ending, and people were incredibly happy and came to us and said, "You must feel so _______" (happy, excited, grateful, amazed, thrilled... ), I was not prepared for how I felt. In reality it was more a choice of one of these: confused, depressed, sad, disoriented, hurt, tired, fearful.

So I felt guilty for my feelings. For my lack of joy. For the very pain that inhabited my heart where there should be joy.

If only I had heard the rest of the story before this!

How Much Longer?

2011-02-13T23:25:00.000-06:00

The journey is longer than I thought it would be. I thought it would be a simple walk. I wasn't prepared for the twists, turns, drops, and climbs of this journey. I've struggled with guilt and confusion at the length of the journey. I've wondered at times if I had taken a wrong turn and got hopelessly lost.

I don't think I have. I think we just never had any clue what this trip entailed. No one told us. Few really like to take a good look at this path, so I had just never studied it. I thought it was a short, fairly easy trip.

It was never meant to be. I think now I am climbing out of the valley, and there are moments that I can pause and look behind me. I'm gaining some insight into it now.

This trip into trauma and out again. It is quite the journey!

Why Now?

2011-02-12T00:05:00.000-06:00

I wish my husband was home. Why do these thing happen while he is gone? I need his bulk right now - to lean against, to rest on, to share with.

Right now I don't know very much. What I do know is not easy to carry. As I look for answers to some of my questions, the answers are there staring at me. They've always been there... we just never knew the questions to ask. We just never thought to ask.

One of my kids, #3, the too talkative, cheerful, little guy is having some health issues. Something we thought was nothing... but that we should get checked. That nothing may not be nothing... and the farther we dig into our family history to answer the questions the doctor has, the more the nothing looks like something.

The problem is that if #3 has it, then #1 probably has it too. Likely I do also. We just never pieced it together. We still have testing ahead of us, lots of testing. We won't have any answers until then.

Right now.... I just want my husband to be home. To face these things with me.

Support

2011-02-08T21:38:00.000-06:00

Nope, not talking about that little number that you get every month... :) (although it IS very important!)

Support is one of those things that makes life possible. It makes the unthinkable doable.

I know that. For years, I dreamed about running, even jogging, a mile... ok, there is a dream to do a 5K, too, but let's stick to little steps. Running, however, proves difficult for, um, people who, um, well, can't run in your average elastic and cloth sports bra without it looking like they are trying to homogenize milk before it is produced. So I have never gotten much farther than the thought of running.

The last time I was in the US, I went looking to find a sports bra with real support. I found one. Ok, it takes some gymnastics to get into it, but it works! Our family gift to ourselves this year was a membership to a place where our family can workout together. There is a little track there. Fifteen laps around this track gets me to a mile.

I'm not there yet.

However, today, I ran two-thirds of the mile. I run two laps and walk one right now. When I started, I ran one lap and then walked two. I'm getting there.

Support helps. :)

Today, my husband flew out. I was thinking back to his first six week trip six years ago. I was pretty alone in a new city with four young kids. At that point, homeschooling. It meant six weeks of no break. I was pretty tired by the end of it. When my husband got home, I just wanted to go out for a long walk alone.

Today, he flew out again. Six years makes a difference in parenting. No longer am I facing diapers, carseats, tying shoes, crying babies at night. Now I can leave them alone with a list of chores and have a reasonable expectation that some of them are done when I get back. They are all in school. That helps.

But more than those things, today I have support. I have a network of friends in church, in school, and some in our team (half are traveling, too, so not too helpful) that are there for me. I have adults to talk to, friends for my kids to go play a day with, people who will come if the heater shuts off.

Support. It helps.

Like always, when my husband leaves, things happen. My oldest slipped and hit his head on concrete and has a concussion. My daughter is sick again. I fell and hurt my knees. This is just the first day...

Pray for them. I think my biggest struggle will be their memories and fears of a repeat of last year. They show stress in different ways. Some cry. Some fight with others. Some have tummy aches and headaches. I need more patience this time. Patience and creativity to keep them occupied, ordered, and safe.

Prayer support is important, too.

Hope

2011-02-07T09:26:00.000-06:00

Over the last few years, we have known that we needed something to happen in order for us to go on well. Work changes, and there are new areas to reach out into and new directions to go in. New possibilities come with new needs.

We've grown over the years, added to our team. Some of that has been good. Some of it has brought more headache. But our biggest holes remained unfilled.

Going back even before that, I have been praying for something, for a direction that I thought we should head in. When I began to pray for this, it was comical, unthinkable, impossible. The capacity of who we were was already stretched. It would not work. People would not even think about it.

There are also time that I feel strongly about people joining us or not joining us. I have no say in the matter, but I am very aware of the discussions going on in the background when we discuss these things. I prayed once for four years that one couple would join us. Now they will be, not quite yet, but soon. There are two others that I am praying for, and then another yet who I do not know, but a position that I would like to see filled. It is something that requires patience. God is not answering those prayers quickly.

I honestly think that God has been sifting, settling, and growing our team to prepare us for what is ahead. I do not know what is ahead, but I know that we needed growth first. My daughter has been crying in her bed several nights this last week because her legs hurt. Growing pains. Our team has been going through them, too.

But I feel the quiet, tingling excitement. I know one prayer of mine is being answered soon, and I am confident that another will be, too. In these people I am praying that will join us, I am praying for a few particular qualities, and these potential new people have them in abundance.

I think God is going to do great things soon. I get excited when I see that happening. Hidden inside me today is a grin that refuses to go away.

Facing Tomorrows

2011-02-06T23:41:00.000-06:00

So my husband leaves soon. It is an interesting feeling. So much the same as a year before. Winter is still here, packing suitcases are out, a family holiday (the one that got canceled last year) planned for when he arrives back. Even back to spring and the inevitable push to get in shape. Memories come trickling back.

I'm not worried. Not totally at peace either. Dreading not so much what could happen (things could always happen) as much as how well we will cope. How well will the kids cope? How much energy will I have to deal with kids who are stressed out when I am tired, too. Today it started with my daughter hearing about the trip in church - suddenly it dawned on her how long daddy is gone for and she buried her head in my tummy and cried.

Honestly, one of the more difficult things for me to deal with facing a trip or in the middle of one is all the well-meaning people. "How are you doing?" asked one too many times. "Are you worried?" "Oh my goodness, I don't think I could face that!" Enough already. It is not helpful even though I know you mean well.

There are possibilities. There always are. I just can not think about them. I chose to live today. Today only. Trust comes not in the big things, but in the quiet ability to live in today with the strength God gives for the moment. In reality, we can't live in the "what if?". What if this was the last day you would spend with a loved one? How would you act? These are questions we discuss in sociology classes, ponder when we read stories of disasters, but questions without answers.

If we live today in the small steps with God, we are ok if we face the "what ifs". There will be no regrets then. Sadness, yes, but no regrets. That is the only assurance I have right now - live today in the quiet trust and peace in all my relationships, and I can face whatever tomorrow brings - if I have lived in obedience today. I will not carry tomorrow's burden today. I can't. It is that simple.

It comes back to the question of if I know what is best for me or if God does. If I subscribe to the lie that only I know what is best for me, I will work to defend myself, to protect myself. If I refuse that lie, I will rest. Even the evil that is done - while still evil - is, in God's hands, what is best for me.

Like cocky, fearful Jacob who wrestled God and was wounded - taking away from him his cocky attitude that he could outwit, out-manipulate, and outmaneuver everything in order to get where he believed God wanted him. It was when he was wounded and limping that God changed his name from supplanter to Israel. It was through a blessing which came with a wound.

When God allows us to be deeply wounded, perhaps we are to watch for the blessing - or perhaps the character change that changes our very name.

I am not worried. I chose to live today. Only today. With no regrets. Learning trust step by painful step.

Whose Best?

2011-02-06T23:18:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking a lot recently. There is a book or two that I was handed that have been helping my thinking, but I've been thinking. I struggle to decide what to share on this blog about what I am thinking. I know some of you who read my blog and comment and nothing would make me happier than to share what I am learning with you, as you also share your lives with me. But a blog, is by nature public, and subject to many people reading it. It is those who hide who cause me to pause before I write.

But another train of thought that goes through my head is transparency. I grew up, like a few of you, as an MK, in a conservative church. The idea of constantly being on display, especially on furlough, and even when out on the field - people are always watching... it affected us. We were to project an image. I still see that in some churches and people. But over the last years, my husband and I have been mentored by some pretty great people. The biggest thing we have been both shown and taught is transparency. The ability or the choice to be honest and clear. It takes away the fear of hiding. It takes away the fear of not being accepted if we were known. It shows sins, but gives the room for grace and forgiveness. It completely removes the possibility of manipulation.

We've grown to love this new thing. Being transparent. It is something we model in our team, hoping that as we demonstrate it, that others will pick it up and show it to even others.

So part of me thinks, "Ignore those who should not be reading, and just talk." I may. I may not. I may continue to edit carefully to be able to say what I am learning without setting it into its frame. Difficult.

Anyway, let's try for today. I'll start with a small tidbit that I learned from one of these books. It is about dealing with rejection. Rejection is what hit me hardest this last spring - we felt rejected by our own, intensified by our weakness after a time of intense stress. When we should have been cared for, we were not. Rejection is not a feeling unfamiliar to my husband or I. In different degrees we have both felt it often as we grew up. Circumstances, moves, trauma, misunderstandings, people's weaknesses - all these things have left us with wounds. We struggle through those, and when trauma hits, feelings we have carried come rolling back.

I don't have this book now, but when I get it, I will write some more from it. What I want to share right now is just one piece of it. It was talking about our fear of rejection will cause us to reject the very love that God has for us. Adam and Eve did this in the garden. When they were ashamed, they hid. They lied. They did not trust God anymore. The book says it so much better than I can without it here, but it talks about from that point on, we had a new inner belief. We began to believe that "I know what is best for me". So we attempt to protect ourselves. Self-protection leads to all sorts of messes.

I don't know why that particular phrase hit me right then, except that we were in team meetings and team meeting are difficult for me. I've struggled through why God allowed some of what He allowed this last year and also during the years before that. Why He did not step in and protect me from some pain?

When I read that line about our new inner belief, I paused. I honestly struggled with that one a little. I saw the truth in it - undoubtedly. But transferring that truth into the day to day was difficult. My mind immediately popped the question, "How could what happened during the shark attack be the best for me?!" That was painful, awful, so wrong...

But truth has a way of quietly standing in the face of opposition, and I agreed with it. I've learned when my whole being butts up against truth full force to wait quietly and listen. God is not in the habit of defending Himself to my angry accusations, nor is He in the habit of railroading me down with His thinking. He sits quietly, until I have quieted myself and am ready to listen and question Him honestly. Then He speaks. In that quiet, still voice.

As I sat there questioning out the practicality of this truth... "well, if that is true, then what happened in those meetings was Your best?... How exactly does that work? It hurt me." God, I have learned, is also not one who belittles my pain. The devil does that. He will either blow up my pain so it fills my vision or berate me for pain and belittle it - or likely both at once. God does not belittle His children's pain, nor does He scold us for feeling it.

I questioned God on that point late that evening. "Tell me how that works, please. I don't get it. You know I was weak there already, a sore spot, and hurting place, and in the middle of our weakest point, You let them hurt us there!" I sat quietly thinking over those meetings, those days after the trauma and all that had gone down. There was no positive spin that could be put on them - only the very wrong actions of one or two others that caused deep pain for those already wounded.

A question for myself, "Am I willing to say that God knew what was best for me? For all my life? Even when it led places I did not want to go?" Not just that it was ok, that He would bring me through it, that He would bring good out of it... but that in His knowledge, it was the best. James that says that God's will is good, acceptable, and perfect. The first one, good, is a little struggle to get through, ok, it is good. The next, acceptable, harder. But it is when you hit "perfect" and it means that nothing else would have been better... that is a tough one to swallow!

I will not say that what people did was right. It wasn't. But can I trust that at that moment, that this was God's best for me - not the most comfortable, not the most just, but His best... for reasons I do not know... but His best for me right then?

Hmmpf, that made me take a deep breath and gather some determination before I was willing to face that one head on... but my rational mind says, "this, too, is true."

Then came the quiet, still voice that I have learned to listen to. "Would you have been pushed to deal with this issue of rejection without that hurt right in the epicenter of that wound?"

You could not have got my attention more quickly. Little chills ran down my back. I was wounded, yes. Right in the middle of a very tender spot. But it was a glimpse into a wisdom deeper than mine.

Most of my kicking against God and most of my fighting and most of my pain lies right here - I am pretty determined to hang on to the thought that God obviously does not know what is best for me - look at all that He has allowed! - and that I need to protect myself. And as I write this, another thought comes in my head... look at all the pain you cause while trying to protect yourself. I wonder if I hurt myself more than people hurt me simply by my reactions and my attempts to protect. And then, in the middle of all those attempts to keep myself safe, I ache that I feel isolated.

My thoughts went back to Jacob. He was also a an wounded by God. Yet with that wounding came a blessing.

I've been sitting on these thoughts this week, quietly listening to God's voice. My heart quiet, listening to the call to trust even deeper - to trust that God has my best in mind even in the face of man's sins against me. That even pain is what is best at times - not only that God will bring good out of it, but that there was nothing better for me than to walk the difficult road.

I would have chosen an easier one. But I have such a limited view and still prefer comfort over growth any given day.

Going on a Date

2011-02-05T21:55:00.000-06:00

My husband is going to travel again. Spring is a time he often goes. This time he will be gone a little over a month. I was hoping it would be for less time. I was hoping we'd have a few weeks after the end of the big meetings before he was going.

But mixing his plans in with other's schedules means that we can't always chose what we want. I told him that at least I want to go for a date before he leaves. Tonight we went out. Last date before he flies again.

I'm not nervous, not really. Just missing him before he leaves. It will be a long time. Trying to think of everything I need to do for him before he leaves. Trying to make sure the house, bills, and repairs are all done before he goes. Being busy.

But when we were talking about going on a date, our kids had some advice. #3 and my daughter were discussing it.

"Mom, you could sit on a date."

"Yeah, we have dates. You could sit on one and Daddy could sit on another."

Here I was thinking, "Is that what you call a double date?", but they came up with,

"It would be a little mushy, but then you would be on a date!"

We decided to go out for dinner instead. Less mushy.

Many Tongues

2011-02-04T09:26:00.000-06:00

Friday is our prayer meeting in the community my kids go to school in. We are a widely diverse group, and after a year or two of struggle to get the mothers who did not speak English well into our group, we have succeeded.

Fridays now mean a prayer meeting with many different ethnic backgrounds and languages.

Some pray quietly. Some pray all at once. Some sing songs while another prays. Others just hum. Others walk the room shouting "Hallelujah!" Still others cry every time they pray. Others, I think, are a little uncomfortable with the tears. Some kneel. Some stand. Anywhere from four to ten different languages inhabit the room at one time.

It is fun. :)

I sat there today listening to the prayer ascending from many tongues and languages - all of us praying for our kids, for each other's kids, for our teachers, for the health and safety of those out on an activity that day. Some languages flow gently. Others have an unusual clicking noise as they speak. There are the guttural, the tonal, the variety. As I listened, the age old question of what language we will speak in heaven popped into my mind.

I know what I want.

I want to sit in heaven listening to the beauty of these different languages and cultures, but completely understanding them all.

(What is the typical style of praying in your culture group?)

The Things They Say - Chose Your Language

2011-02-03T14:37:00.003-06:00

We were in a meeting recently with at least four languages involved. They asked people to pray and stated that they could pray in whichever language they chose.

Very clearly from the corner, I heard #3's exclamation to himself, "Good, I'll do it in gibberish!"

Cooking Adventures

2011-02-02T14:54:00.001-06:00

I got some questions this weekend on how I learned to cook for a crowd. For me, it is simple - I was raised that way. Being raised in many different countries, I picked up different ideas and learned to play with food. I was asked for a recipe, and I laughed! I don't think I have used a recipe for a main dish in years. Desserts, perhaps, but food? No.

I think the time I was most stumped about cooking was when I was a teen. We were back in the US for a season, and I used to babysit. I would often cook dinner for the kids I babysat. One afternoon, the mom was having a frantic day. She had some appointments and events, and then that evening she was supposed to bring a cake to a Bible study. She asked if I would mind cooking a cake for her.

No problem.

She handed me a box, and then hurriedly grabbed her keys and walked out the door.

A box?!

I was absolutely bewildered. Confused. Totally taken off guard by a cake mix. I had no idea what to do with it. A foreign concept. Turn a box into a cake?!

It took me a few minutes before I was even brave enough to read the instructions and gingerly begin. I could have whipped two different types of cake off by memory at that point in my life, but a box confused me!

I remember that confusion now and laugh. I have made some boxed cakes since then, but still prefer to make my own, just as I prefer to cook a meal without packaged ingredients. It has made living in different places simpler for me - the fact that I was raised not to be used to things you buy in a package. Home to me tastes like things I can make, not something I buy in a store.

I've love trying new dishes, new flavors from different parts of the world, and mixing them. I love cooking now. I am not, nor will ever be, and have no desire to attempt to be a fancy cook. I like to cook food that fills people up, that warms bellies, that satisfies. If you are wanting a beautifully displayed table with fancily cut vegetables, look elsewhere. That is not me.

Got any good favorites you cook for a crowd where you are? I'm always interested in trying new things.

Come and Gone

2011-02-02T12:59:00.000-06:00

The last of the guests has left. The house is returning to its original quiet. We are still eating our way through leftovers, so no need to cook for few days yet. Sleeping mats are being cleaned up, sheets washed and stored back in the linen closet. The long weekend retreat is over.

We did something that we have not been done before, and it went well. There is a sense of quiet joy about that. In a difficult people group, we gathered together mature believers from many places along with wives and some families. We gathered, not for business, but simply to be together, to worship, to learn. We started with our team's meeting for one day, and then the others arrived.

It was peaceful. There was not one fight, not one hurt feeling, not one person trying to boast at another's expense. It was a wonderful time. Connections built; friendships deepened; time for new ideas to be sown.

It was a time also for me to begin to build relationships with other women like myself: married cross-culturally in this culture. Years ago, I was one of the first, perhaps two of us existed. Now there are more. It is a something special to build relationships with them - these women who will face life as I face it with our different challenges, risks, and joys.

I was not in many of the meetings. I cooked. What was originally told to me at 15-25 people ended up to be more like 25-35 at times, but it was possible. My oldest son had some days off school and he was able to help me.

Now they are gone. I did today what I always do after a meeting that I help to organize and cook for - I slept. I slept on and off most of the day and have not written off the possibility of curling up in bed again.

Sleep is also a gift. Today, my dreams, for the first time in months, have been relaxing. Dreams of freedom and grace. Those are also a gift.

The Things They Say - Odds and Ends

2011-02-01T10:51:00.000-06:00

My husband and I have been working at getting more fit. I've been worried about getting my husband more active for several years as he has family history of too many problems like diabetes, high blood pressure and others. His job is more sedentary, and getting fit is harder to do without focusing on it. This year, we included the whole family with activities and exercising together. It has been fun.

Last week we were doing our weigh ins and discussing how much we are losing and what our goals are. We're not aiming for the moon, just for a consistent loss and getting in shape. My husband is losing about one to two pounds a week. My goal is one pound a week as I do not have as much to lose and am in slightly better shape than him to start with. So far, I have only lost two pounds in a month, but... oh well. My main goal is to get in shape and stay active. Got to keep up with those kids of mine! My other main goal is to one day be able to run a 5K with my son.... with as in on the same day, not as in at the same pace! I can now run much farther than I could at the beginning of last month and without so much stress.

Well, we were weighing in and discussing our pound a week plan, and #3 piped up. Now, #3 is the world's smallest 10 year old. He is just petite. (I was like him as a child - not now..) He actually wears a smaller size than his eight year old sister. So he was thinking about the goals and said, "Daddy, if I lose a pound a week, after a year, I will just disappear!"

On Sunday, my daughter came in the church meeting we were having doing that urgent wiggle dance that meant she needed to find a toilet. I was puzzled as she knows where it is and is big. She came over to me, turned her back to me and said, "Mom, mom, can you unbutton my dress? I need to pee!"

What? I said, "Just pull it up - you are in a dress!" She looked puzzled until I pulled her skirt up a little to show. Then it dawned on her. I just thought it was funny that she didn't know. Obviously, she doesn't wear enough skirts!

The Still, Small Voice

2011-01-29T05:28:00.000-06:00

God was not in the mighty wind; He was not in the earthquake, and He was also not in the fire. When it was quiet, He spoke in a still, small voice. In a gentle whisper.

Writing out those three things, I feel as if we have faced those this year. A powerful wind that blew things around. An earthquake that shook what seemed stable and changed the ground we stand on. A fire that burnt.

But God waited. Then in the quietness, He spoke in a gentle whisper.

Now, with my heart quietening before God, I am beginning to hear that gentle whisper, that quiet, still voice that I know is God speaking.

Let me listen and then I will share some of what I am learning.

Quietly Busy

2011-01-26T00:30:00.000-06:00

I'm still here. Doing ok, actually. I'm sitting here giggling at the thought of writing a post titled "God is not a man", but am trying to talk myself out of that. Don't want to inadvertently offend men - there are some good ones out there, you know!

But you know how sometimes you just want to say how you feel? Just to say it. And what does any man in earshot want to do? Yup, fix it. I do not want to be fixed, tinkered with, repaired, set straight, adjusted, or in any other way shape or form mucked with! I just want to be heard.

God obviously is not a man. He hasn't attempted to fix me yet.

And I am learning the simple truth: God can be trusted with my complete, unabridged, unbeautified honesty. He's big enough to handle it and not go into a snivel fit or attempt to defend Himself.

If He can be trusted with that, then perhaps He can be trusted. He is not moved or shaken by what shakes me. I still don't understand everything, but I am returning to trust with a quieter heart.

Then, I am also quiet because I am busy. In the middle of setting up for a team retreat of sorts, I got a call. Where I work with old people - well, they had a crisis. Within hours several people caught something and it went from normal to awful in the space of six hours. I worked double shifts and then went back for more. Here the medical system is not the same as back home, and we are missing some of the basic equipment I would have wanted for such an event. We had no suction machines, no beds that can turn to proper positioning, few O2 machines... I sat there watching one lady who I have grown to love go bad so fast I could hardly believe it. Finally we worried that she would go. She could not cough and she had aspirated. Her chest gurgled with every breath and her pulse soared and fever increased.

I decided to fight for her, and positioned her so I could do chest therapy. When she gathered her feeble strength to cough, I wrapped myself around her and helped her by squeezing with each cough. I don't even know if I was doing what was right or normal, but I did what I could in the absence of much else. I stayed with her, looking her in her eyes when they were open, assuring her that I was there and I was going to be with her. After working for several hours, her O2 sats began to slowly climb. By the next morning, she was resting, still sick, but no longer mottling that odd color that tells me death waits outside the door.

We worked for several days in a row, and I think now that the worst is over. My ears hurt from wearing a mask so long, and my body aches from being on my feet so many hours. But it was a good weekend, if tough. Comforting the confused is as important as caring for the sick, and it can be challenging when they do not remember that they are to stay in their rooms or to keep those O2 prongs in. Endless bed changes when they cough so hard that they gag.

I'm ok. I'm just tired. If only I had not just decided to push myself and run a mile right before I got that first urgent call!

Almost, But Not Quite

2011-01-20T23:15:00.000-06:00

I was working at the old people's home yesterday evening, and had almost finished changing a lady's diaper when her phone rang. I answered it and it was her son. She was all clean, but not quite tucked in properly. She would be fine on her own for a few minutes, so I handed her the phone and went on to clean up my area.

I heard her half of the conversation, and could imagine his side. She answered first, "Oh, hi, nice to hear from you."

"I'm fine."

Then came this, "Well, they were just in the middle of..." and she paused and wrinkled her brow... "...of.... well... I was going to say a sex change... but that doesn't seem like the right word."

The Things They Say - Rewriting History

2011-01-19T18:26:00.002-06:00

My son was commenting on the new colors that people seem to be wearing and said that maybe they want to be hippies.

My daughter asked what a hippie was. While I was trying to figure out how to answer that one, she asked, "Isn't a hippie like a person that says not to do something, but they do it themselves?"

Sorting It All Out

2011-01-19T16:28:00.000-06:00

There are two things that have helped in my sorting this whole event out. The first was our pastor's comment. That really helped me, strange as it may seem.

You see, I have had two responses to what has happened: People either sided with me - "that is awful" - or people sided with those who hurt me - "Well, you need to see it from their point of view." - Our pastor here did something so simple. He made a statement of values and of fact. "That was wrong. A marriage relationship needs to be above ministry needs and needs to be protected." He said it with a deep sadness, but without anger or harshness.

That simple statement, as annoyingly simple as it was, really helped. I can deal with being wronged, but I needed to hear that I was not being demanding - the values are simple.... marriages, then ministry. Perhaps it carried more weight since it was said by one of those in authority over us and one who is also in ministry.

The other thing that is slowly settling in the dust of the pain is the simple quiet presence of God. I noticed it yesterday on my way to work. God is still here with me. I might have kicked and stormed and said that I doubt His ability or desire to care for me right now... which you are not supposed to say... but He is still here.

That has given me a deep sense of comfort. He isn't defending the actions that hurt me nor demanding that I change my attitude. He's just there. Waiting for me to quiet down.

I quietly rested in that fact all last night and today. Then in trying to express myself in how that felt, I began to write. I said what is comforting to me is that I haven't been struck with lightening.

I have not been struck by lightening. I just got hurt, got upset, threw a fit and told God He is not doing a good job of taking care of me and that I am hurting. I am not being nice about it and not sugar coating it or even telling Him in a quiet respectful tone. I just am telling what I feel - I feel abandoned, uncared for, unimportant to God and to others. I feel upset that He does not correct people who hurt me. I feel angry. And you know what? I haven't been struck by lightening. He's not saying, "Hey you! If you can't behave better than that, I'll leave you on your own and see how you like it!" Nothing. No slap across the head, no being walked out on, nothing. Silence. Not the silence of "ok, you are all alone", but the silence of "all done? I'm still sitting here."

It tells me that God loves me enough to let me express my hurt. To not walk away if I don't keep pretending to be perfect. Even if I am honest.

Because I was hurt. It really hurt. I don't understand it and it cut deep when I was already vulnerable and hurting.

I can't just keep pretending it didn't and pretending I am ok.

Perhaps I still need to learn how to communicate more respectfully, but most importantly right now, I needed to be heard.

And God is not striking me with lightening. Even though I was pretty angry at Him. He just sat quietly, not contradicting how I was feeling. So quietly last night, I told Him, "What happened at those meetings really messed with my ability to trust You." And just as quietly, He said, "I know."

That was a huge relief - not to be judged for my doubt, but to be heard.

So our pastor helped with a simple truth: It was wrong.

And God let me say another truth without judgment for it: It hurt me.

Two things - It was wrong and it hurt me.

I can deal with those. Isn't life a lot about dealing with those two statements? But I can't deal with them covered up anymore.

I'm quieter now. Then later on today as I began to write these things out, then came another thought. God didn't strike me with lightening when I got angry and yelled at Him. hmm.. He also didn't strike them with lightening that day when they got angry and yelled at me.

Can't have too many fried bodies lying around.... singed flesh really smells bad....

It has me asking what I want of God.... I want to be protected... but I also don't want to be disciplined harshly... ah, if only we didn't live in communities, I could have both... but if I hurt someone, I want to be gently corrected later on.... not zapped with lightening... but I want people who hurt me to be hit with perhaps a taser at least...

I still want God to hold them accountable at some point and it would mean something to me if this was ever corrected. But... it may not be. Some people just don't listen well. I can't base God's actions on other people's compliance. I'd hate to be judged on what I can get my kids to do. I could force them to apologize for something, but it will not come across as genuine.

But right now, I am calmer, quieter. Not having been struck by lightening has helped. If I am loved enough to be allowed to throw a fit and not be walked away from... hmm..

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

2011-01-17T00:50:00.000-06:00

Sorting through the mess left behind after the trauma..... dusting off some treasures and setting them in a place of remembrance...... but what about the things that are not treasures?

I've come to the interesting conclusion that (for me, not speaking for all involved here), the recovery was almost more painful than the trauma. I know that sounds really strange, a little odd.... but it is true. It is not the events of this spring's adventure that keep me awake at night, that cause my heart to hurt and me to feel alone and bewildered in this place. It is the events of the recovery.... in the first weeks after and even until today.

I think I could have recovered from the initial events well enough with the littlest bit of care - a few nights to sleep, someone to listen, and a gentle re-entry to normal life along with someone to continue listening as I needed to talk. I think I would have been just fine.... this was not a trauma that took me totally by surprise, but one we had prepared for all along, a consequence we knew could happen.

What I never expected in my wildest dreams were the responses we got in the "recovery phase". I lost something there and I have not found it again. I lost a large part of my joy. I've never really laughed without pain since then. I've lost most of my trust - trust that was hard to learn in the first place. I don't know that I am even looking for that right now. I lost my confidence... nothing that should have been dependable was able to be depended on. I've lost loyalty.... used to think we were with a great group. Last week someone sat in our living room asking what mission we think they should look at. I could not recommend ours - world-wide, yes, perhaps... here in this country - no.

But I've lost some of who I was. I feel bewilderingly lost. People don't even know it - among my friends here, even, I doubt anyone knows it. I have friends that are not in missions - how do I talk to them about it? If I was to tell them what actually happened in the "recovery and debriefing", I don't think they could really believe it. What would the consequences of telling them be?

But I continue to feel lost. I don't trust enough to bring up the subject with anyone within our group. No one ever listened to me - never really did. In "debriefing", there was no time for my story... there just never was. A week and no time to listen. In team debriefing, the very people who left me alone without a visit or a call during the crisis jumped all over me for not doing enough to reassure them in the first days together. It got so bad that they all began yelling at me, ignoring the fact that I was head down sobbing, unable to even speak.

In the weeks after the so-called debriefings, we got accused of all sorts of odd things - making up stories, not obeying authority, being lazy, not telling the truth. The accusations came from primarily one place, and they were difficult, but what was harder was the silence of the majority who knew the truth but did not step in.

Then in the months after the chaos in the beginning, there came nothing. No one ever listened. No one ever said, "hey, how are you really doing? Do you need a chance to talk?" People moved on. I can understand outsiders who moved on - the event wasn't that horrible.... it was pretty bad, but it ended so well. They didn't know the trauma of the first two weeks of "recovery". But people inside our circle who knew what had happened, who had seen it or heard of it, also never asked if we were ok. Months went by with no time to listen.

Now months later, when I think I am possibly brave enough to clean out the mess that I just threw in a jumbled up heap into a closet and shut the door on, I still struggle with this - both being attacked when I was down and being completely abandoned by my mission, my coworkers, and my close friends. That deep feeling of being abandoned still lingers. And as bad as the abandonment is the deep wounding by people we work with. By people who have been charged with our care.

So, as I pull this out again to see if I can make sense of it and go on, I sit here still confused and in tears. I feel bewildered and numb. Deep, gut-wrenching pain over the simple fact that no one had the time or the care to ask if I needed to talk. What I feel about that, strangely, more than any other emotion is a deep sense of shame.... why shame, I can not explain. I feel.... not worth anything, perhaps... that no one thought I was worth hearing.... Or perhaps, because from the first week, even to now, no one inside or connected to our group has ever been able to listen to my story without feeling the great need to correct me. "No, you should not feel alone even though we did not come or phone, because we really did care." "No, you should not feel like we were intruding on your first night with your husband - you actually had an obligation to meet our need for reassurance before you met your own needs for rest." "No, you should not feel that we did not care because we were too busy, you should know we do by now." "No, you should not think....." It goes on.

Shame. Because apparently, I did not heal the "right" way.

Bewildered. Because I just am not sure who I can trust anymore or if I even want to trust anyone.

Numb. Because I am still stunned. It wasn't until this last week or two that I sat down and finally told someone - someone far away that I could walk away from if she did not listen - what actually happened in those "recovery" meetings. I'm still stunned, not really able to feel, hurting from it.

Last week, I told my pastor a small thing from those team meetings - about the calls at midnight on my first night with my husband, my first night to sleep in five nights... about the person who wanted us to put his needs above our own at almost midnight, about the anger later when I said that a lesson we could learn for next time would be to let those who have gone through trauma rest for one or two days first. I just told my pastor the tip of the iceberg - only now, nine months later. I thanked him for a message that helped me in a little way begin to deal with it.

He sighed and shook his head, "People need to understand that a marriage relationship is to be guarded and comes before work, before ministry, and that it is important to protect that."

Do you know what? That was the first time since it happened that someone had said anything like that. That anyone had validated what I had said. I began to cry, just a little bit at first, last Sunday... today, I cried all the way to work, actually crying with tears running down my face. Just that little sentence felt so wonderful... lifted some of the shame I've been feeling for not doing this healing thing right. It was ok to hurt about that.

I am still bewildered and numb from the pain of the "recovery". I likely could go through the trauma again with flying colors - it did not phase me as much... I could see God' hand in it, in protecting, in providing, in rescuing. But not in the "recovery". That was the time where God's people ripped me apart, and I'm still bruised.

I lost something there. I don't know if I will ever be the same again. That, honestly, is how I feel today.

They are all coming again soon - time for some team meetings. I will find my smile and cook and manage logistics. I will be polite. But my heart hurts - from attacks, from not being defended from attacks, from just being set aside and never listened to. I no longer truly believe people who say they care. I just don't. I believe what I see - people's actions and not their words.

I feel a deep sense of shame, similar perhaps what one would feel who has been left at an orphanage.... "What is wrong with me? Even my own do not want me."

That keeps me quiet, hushed... because, really, if I honestly told my home church and friends what went down during those weeks of recovery, their mouths would hang open in shock.

And I didn't want to tell them... they had worked so hard with us... they had prayed for days, they had given financially to make the debriefing trip a possibility, they had fasted and prayed through the night a few nights in a row - why steal their joy? I wanted them to have what I did not get to have - a few days of absolute delight in the miracle God sent to resolve this in the way He did.

Sorting through this mess, there is the good. I want to keep that, to put it in a place to remember, to cherish. There is the bad - that is the crisis itself. It is something that we can handle. Then there is the ugly - I don't honestly know how to deal with that....today no more than the day it all happened.

Now, in a few days, I have to face all these people again. They will all be smiling, hugging each other, having great fellowship. I will paste my smile on in the morning with my lipstick, but my eyeshadow will not cover the pain in my eyes, and I will serve them. But I have lost something... I no longer trust. I don't even know if I want to try again.

I should not admit to this since I am a missionary - but hey, I seem to do a lot of things that I should not do anyway :) - but I really struggle to see where God was during those times... why didn't He stop some of what happened - when His people attacked the wounded? I am really struggling with trusting God since then.

I wanted to be defended, to be cared for. No one did.

I'm this close to just wanting to go home and quit. To walk away. Not from the pain of working among difficult people - from the pain of working with difficult people!

The Things They Say - Misinformation

2011-01-14T22:55:00.000-06:00

Number three is a tiny little guy. He is always in motion, always talking, and rarely eats. Today I made him finish his plate since we were going swimming, and he would need the energy. He grumbled and grumbled about it.

Number Two tried to comfort him? Possibly? Or annoy him? He held up his fist and told Number Three, "Remember, your stomach is only this big."

Number Three moaned his little annoying whine. "How will I ever fit this in then?"

I snorted and said, "Yeah, so was my uterus, but it fit a baby this big in it. you can eat your food!" (I had a hysterectomy, so I actually got to see my uterus - quite an interesting looking thing.)

Well, that might not have been the smartest thing to say. Number Three was immediately asking, "What is a uterus?"

I told him that it is just the place where babies grow. "You mean they don't just live in your tummy?!"

"No, that would be awkward. They grow in a special place that is designed to take care of them."

He was amazed. "I thought they just swam around in your tummy eating the food you eat and then pooping what they don't want, and then when they get big and poop too much, it makes you sick so you throw up and the baby just comes out with the throw up."

Ok, besides the totally horrific thought of poop in my tummy and the impossibility of throwing up and "the baby just coming out", WHAT DOES THAT KID THINK??!! At least he had thought about it and come up with potential answers to the main questions, but um, yeah... NO!

My daughter knew better. She said, "I thought they were just in your tummy, too, but I know that they come out down there, I think..." I told her she was correct on the exit strategy, but that babies do not live in tummies - that would be a mess every way that you look at it.

Then I said it is time to get your swimming things. Nothing like swimming to take their minds off odd questions! :)

Treasures to be Kept

2011-01-09T23:18:00.000-06:00

I've wondered at times what to share from my walk through the trauma... trying this time to do what never got done before - sort out what happen and pack it away in a manner that I can live with. It sort of got jumbled like a picnic thrown in the car when the clouds overhead burst open - hurriedly, without care, a jumbled mess. Left there, it did not grow any prettier.

Now I am sorting it all out, much like my games cupboard. There are a lot of things in this mess - some useful and some which need to be ditched - but in among them are some treasures. Right now, I am washing those off and setting them where I can see them.

One of the most precious, one of those which I hold most dear was a little flagged message on my facebook. I will admit to being pretty puzzled when I saw the name. Her? I haven't really heard from her or talked to her in thirteen years. We barely know each other anymore. I only added her last year because her husband was killed in a traumatic event leaving her with four little kids the same ages as mine. I wanted to send my condolences.

So when her name popped up on a message, I was puzzled. I was not putting much on my facebook, just simple posts that did not mean much, "Waiting for news this morning, and there is none." "Sitting here watching the lone snowflakes fall. It's pretty cold." People who knew the situation were getting the news; those who didn't might have thought I was down or bored. Why was she writing?

I opened up her letter. It was simple. "Girl, you are freaking me out. What is going on?" I messaged her back, "Send me your phone number." It occurred to me that she might be just the person I needed to talk to late on that second evening. It was difficult to talk with people - they kept saying, "I can't imagine how you are feeling." or "Poor you." Honestly, that was not helpful right then. I needed to find strength - the knowledge of how to go on. So I phoned her. Brief greetings after 13 years, and I told her the situation.

"Oh, girl, I am so sorry!" came her voice on the other end. Tears filled my eyes and I drew a deep breath and blew it out. We talked for a few more minutes... and then I remembered... I had totally forgotten to give her my sympathy about her husband's death... how could I be so selfish and uncaring?!

I stopped in the middle of what we were saying and exclaimed, 'Oh honey, I forgot to tell you how sorry I am that he was killed! I'm so sorry!"

I heard a deep chuckle over the line, louder than my horrified exclamation, "Girl, I know you are sorry! But right now is not about him, it is about what you need!"

We talked that night. The very fact of her existence, of her voice sounding strong, filled with sympathy and humor, gave me strength. No matter what path I would be asked to walk, it was a path that was possible to walk and survive. We talked about the kids, and she shared with me how to deal with kids in grief. She reminded me, in the middle of all that was going on, to give them time to be kids, to laugh, to cuddle, to have joy - not to set the joy down in the middle of grief. (That gave me the strength to go to church the next day and stand and sing like always and not give up.)

Then, as our conversation wound to an end, she said, "Girl, I know what else you need. You need to laugh, too. Here, let me help you...." and she proceeded to tell me a very embarrassing story about her daughter's first friend that was a boy coming over to "go over homework together", and she had just been out working in the yard, so she popped in for a quick shower before he arrived. When she finished, she realized that there were no towels in the bathroom, but heard her daughter in the hall, so stepped out of the bathroom to ask her to grab her a towel... yup, and ran smack into this boy that was coming over! She ended it saying, "Yup, I bet that scarred him for life!"

We sat on our kitchen floors half a world away and laughed until tears ran out of our eyes. I told her about the attack of the cockroaches that had me run out of a guest house bathroom in my birthday suit hollering for my husband. We howled and held our sides as we giggled.

I needed that. She knew what I needed; and with her, I felt no guilt about laughing... no one would think I was dishonoring my husband or making light of the situation. She knew that I also just needed to laugh - so I did not forget how.

When my husband was free, she was one of the first to rejoice with me - with complete joy. Tears pooled again in my eyes as I watched her joy in me having what she does not have.

I wrote her later and told her that if I ever have to walk her road, I can only hope I will do it with as much grace and strength that she has. She still is an inspiration to me.

And somewhere, buried in there with my admiration for this friend... is another lingering question. How did this woman with whom I have not exchanged one word with since our first babies learned to crawl together know that I needed her that minute? She doesn't even know me enough to know that something was really, really off. And even if she thought something was strange, what prompted her to message me then? We hadn't talked in 13 years!

God.

When those who should have responded did not, God was not caught without people He could send in - even a young widow half a world away who I haven't talked to in thirteen years!

That is one of the jewels in the sorting out that I have dusted off and put in a place of remembrance - not only of God's abilities, but of the amazing compassion and great sense of humor of a good friend who reached out of her sorrow to be with me and then rejoiced with such unbridled joy in the miracle that returned my husband.

Gratitude for the Simplest Things

2011-01-04T22:54:00.000-06:00

I think one of the things that stuck out to me in walking through what happened this spring is the detailed care I was given by some. My mission, my home office, and people you'd think would care did not do so well, but I've learned that God is not limited by the failure of His people. God still cared for me - just from some of the most interesting places.

We all wonder when someone has something bad happen, "What can I do?" "How can I really show that I care?"

I found that those who helped me the most were some of the people who did the simplest things. Those meant the most.

A friend walking in with a box full of kid type snacks. She didn't stay long, but just put it on my counter, gave me a hug, and said, "These are so you don't have to think when your kids get home hungry and want a snack."

I hadn't even thought about hungry kids yet. I didn't have to. Someone else did.

A tap on my shoulder at church. A mom whose kids go to the same school leaned over. "Don't worry about lunches this week. Just send your kids to school. I'll send their lunches with my kids and my kids can bring back the containers and all. Then you don't have to think about it."

I hadn't even thought that far ahead to kids needing school lunches the next day. I didn't have to. Someone else did.

Then came a mom who stopped me and directly asked, "I am not busy today. Is there anything you need help with at the house?" I stopped, thought, and asked, "Would you mind cleaning my house?" I was leaving and my mom was flying in and the place was trashed. She did.

It was the little things - things that I didn't even think about. Things that were just offered, but their very offer meant that I did not have to think. Those things meant the most to me.

That is care.

Next time you wonder what to do when you see someone suffering, don't think about big gestures - think small.

It is the little things that show the most love. It is those little things that cause my eyes to moisten with tears when I remember them.

Bedbug Theology

2011-01-04T09:34:00.000-06:00

We were planning for some guests over here, and I grabbed an old notebook to take notes on who needs to be put where and what meals need done. I flipped through the pages - it is a few years old, and there are some notes from some meetings we went to.

Then I found this. I must have written it four years ago when I had run into bedbugs and was miserable. I read it today and laughed.

Bedbug Theology

Bedbugs believe in community. They eat in groups. Scattered bites do not make as much of an impact as clusters of bites.

Bedbugs believe in traveling teams. They bite on the go in some areas leaving a clear line of bites behind them on the trail.

Bedbugs believe in seizing the moment. They do not wait until they are in a strategic location. They begin to bite wherever they first contact and bite as if that moment may be their last opportunity.

Bedbugs believe in active pursuit of opportunities. They do not wait to be invited. They take the initiative against opposition. Some people may never be bitten at all if they waited for an invitation.

Bedbugs believe in working undercover. They do not make their presence obvious. They effectively hide in a ready location. They are even careful to inject and analgesic so that the bitten do not know they are being bitten until it is too late.

Bedbugs are not discouraged by their small size. They believe in small things having great impact. Despite their small size, they ensure that their bites will be long-lasting and make their presence known long after they themselves may be kicked out.

Re-Entry

2011-01-03T19:52:00.000-06:00

No - not going back home! :)

I think, tomorrow, we are going to be well enough to attempt re-entry. The only one still questionable is my husband - he still looks bad.

The rest of us still have a nasty sounding cough, but I think that is just our lungs clearing up what is left in there. Fevers are gone. People are eating again. No one has thrown up today. I think we can manage it.

This was a rough flu this year! One coworker's daughter caught it, and she spread it to the whole team at our early Christmas party. The whole crew has been down through the holidays.

We laughed about missing so much - maybe we'll just celebrate New Years at the end of January all over again!

Coloring Inside the Lines

2011-01-02T16:40:00.001-06:00

I even loved the smell of them - a fresh coloring book and a pack of new crayons. Not a dent in the tips, not a mark on the page. Rougher than normal paper. Kitty cats or princesses outlined in dark black lines.

Do you remember those thick black lines? The ones that made it easy to color? When your crayon hit the edge, those black lines helped keep it contained. Coloring inside the lines. You could do the same thing yourself if you drew a picture in black crayon, carefully outlining it before you colored it in.

What used to frighten you most as a child? I had a list: dogs, spiders, toilets flushing, scorpions, gunshots in the night, fire....

But what frightened me the most was the unknown. As bad as a dog or a spider was, they were a known enemy.

What about a noise in the night? A nightmare that woke you up but you can't quite remember? A scratch on the window? It is those unknowns that bring the most fear. Whatever that noise is, it would be better if you just knew!

Ever tried hiding under the covers? Maybe in the closet? Closing your eyes and putting your hands over your ears? Did that still the pounding of your heart?

Trauma is like fear, I've discovered. I've tried hiding from it. I've tried pretending it isn't there. I've blocked out the sound of it and closed my eyes.

But it lurked like a bogeyman in the dark, filling my imagination, making my heart pound at the slightest memory.

The unknown.

Trauma, much like a bogeyman, is more threatening in the dark, in the unknown. Do remember how that monster in the corner shrunk down to size (and was likely just your backpack on a pile of toys) once you turned on the light?

Defined.

Much like that coloring book. Clearly defined lines outlining the picture.

When I close my eyes and try to hide from trauma, it grows. The unknown aspects of it frighten me. The events pile up and grow in my thoughts.

It's scary.

As frightening as it all is, if I can turn on the light, it begins to shrink. I've learned that being able to talk about traumatic events is much like outlining them in black crayon. It doesn't change their size, but it contains them. This, here, is what it is. It is no bigger than this. As awful as it is, it is here - contained.

It takes listening. Good listening. The permission to speak what is on your mind without condemnation or judgment. Listening that is not even attempting to get you to see another side. Just to hear what you heard or saw.

That takes time. Time and patience.

Few have it. Maybe more have it than we think, but we don't ask. Maybe we aren't able to ask. Not knowing exactly what we need. Maybe not thinking we are really worth someone taking that time. Maybe it is too late. Maybe we want someone to take initiative, to show that they care. It is hard to open our hearts to someone who doesn't care. Maybe people are simply too busy to notice.

But having someone listen is like outlining in black crayon. And there is a certain satisfaction in bringing that line back around to the beginning. Sitting back and saying, "That is it." "That is what happened."

It is defined. As bad as it was, it is defined. No longer the bogeyman. No longer unspoken.

It is defined. Somehow when it is defined, it becomes outside of me. No longer the unknown under the bed.

Outlined in thick, black lines. Manageable.

What can you do to help your friend through trauma? Listen.

Not just the, "I'm here if you want to talk" type of listening.

Intentional. "I want to hear the whole story."

Purposeful. "Do you want to tell me now?"

Without correction or judgement. Asking questions to clarify or asking for expanding on something is fine, but avoid attempting to change the feeling expressed.

Just listen.

Your job - to help outline the bogeyman. We'll deal with him later, but first we need to turn on the lights and grab a new box of crayons.

To my new coloring partner - thank-you!

The Flu that Hit Hard

2011-01-01T01:09:00.000-06:00

It snuck in before Christmas and took out the two oldest of our boys, but they bounced back.

Christmas evening was on its way out while it made its appearance again and hit the only two in this house who wear pink. The men carefully cared for us, and we perked up... but on Sunday what had been mild went awful.

The second last night of the year, we spent in a hospital bed, side by side, squished into one bed since the hospital was full, and well, I needed to be with her anyway. In the ER late at night, my poor baby got a good view of exactly what drinking and fighting will do to a human body, but count it all up to a good learning experience. We've been given inhalers, but even those do not seem to be loosening the vise grip on our chests.

On this, the last night of the old year and the first morning of the new, the flu has hit again, and my husband is struggling with his breathing. One of the original sick boys is back to feeling bad.

I still breathe best when sitting up and even sitting up gets me out of breath. We're tired.

Only my cheerful third son is completely healthy still.

But - Happy New Year!

I sit here and think, "It can't be as bad as last year!", but it could. We are waiting today for news from two friends, and praying. The situation is not looking good, and we wait with bated breath... well, with whatever breath we have.... and we pray. Will you pray with us?

I am thankful that we go into this new year with God ever with us. I am also thankful that He does not tell us ahead of time the path He is putting in front of us. At times our hearts would fail us if we knew the way ahead. What we do know is that His promises to be there with us, to walk through it with us, and to give us the strength in every situation (not beforehand!) to continue to follow Him are as sure today as they were last New Years, and as they have been since the world began.

So, into this New Year, let's go together, together with each other and with God whose promises are found faithful - in life and, yes, even in death. Nothing can separate us from His love.

Christmas

2010-12-27T22:34:00.000-06:00

Everyone is reporting on their Christmases, so I guess I should too. :)

We had a quiet Christmas, a good one, but quiet. We did end up going shopping and buying a small gift for everyone. I got wool socks. You'd have to know me to know how absolutely delighted I was with them.

I made all the traditional food - in small quantities. We had a nice day. Except that my oldest two got sick. A teen who will not eat Christmas dinner is sick. We did go visit a friend in the evening for a quiet time of playing games, but nothing else.

Two days later, my daughter and I are sick. My son just came out of his bedroom to show me that he has bumps on the back of his tongue and was worried about them. I asked him to check my tongue, and sure enough, matching bumps. So I suspect he will be down tomorrow. Sigh.

But, it isn't that bad to be sick together. We are together, and we are at peace. It just means taking turns taking care of each other.

We do miss family this year. It seems odd to make the traditional family dishes, but have no family. Some things have happened in my family that means we will never have my whole family gathered at one place ever again. My youngest brother has made some choices making that impossible. Christmases are hard for me because of this. It is a horrible situation, one that can not be fixed, and there is a deep sadness in it.

So late Christmas night, after I had been a good mom and given my kids good memories, I lay in bed wrapped up in my husband's arms and cried. The choices that my brother has made are so terrible that we can not even miss him because it blows our minds what he did. But, once I had a brother, and now I do not. There is a deep, quiet sadness in that.

I am thankful for my immediate family this year, for the peace, the love, the joy in being whole. My heart hurts for two other families who do not have this.... whose father still is missing. I am thankful for friends who are like family that we can drop in to their house on Christmas day and not be guests. I am thankful for a Christmas story that includes more than we look at on Christmas day...

.... a mother not able to provide what she wanted to provide for a baby...
.... parents who were mocked and scorned for a pregnancy and chose to carry that unfair shame...
.... a family displaced because of government decisions that would not bend even in the face of their difficult timing...
.... the news coming to the stinky, despised ones first - as if God delighted in telling them before others...
.... a family becoming refugees, fleeing in the night for their lives...
.....this young family living as foreigners in a land that was not welcoming to them or their beliefs. Separated from their family and friends...
.... God's quiet acknowledgment that Rachel wept for her children and refused to be comforted. Grieving people are awkward at Christmas. People want them to "get over it some" so they don't ruin other people's happy mood. Yet how do you forget and go on? The first Christmas story contains the story of real grief that refused to be comforted. Even my tears - for my daughter, for my brother - they all have a part in the Christmas story. Grief is written in it, real grief. (It just doesn't make it into the carols or happy Christmas cards!)

In fact, Christmas was a mess. A mess of messed up plans, hardship, difficulty, hurts, pain, betrayal, and in the middle of all that, the Hope that came into the world.

We have that Hope. It is precious to us. Life this year is precious to us. Even with its tears.

A Child's Acceptence

2010-12-21T15:28:00.000-06:00

I was standing outside my daughter's class the last week of school. She was going to go to a friend's after class and I had brought her play clothes for her. I stood quietly out of the way listening to the classroom routines.

They put away their papers, they picked up garbage. They readied for lunch. Then the teacher said, "Ok, if you have a sister, you can line up first." Most of the class came tumbling over to the door, and I felt sad for my daughter, to be alone. A little wave of sadness went over me for the daughter who is alone instead of the two giggling girls I should have.

But then I saw her dark little head jostling around with those in the line up first, and I was puzzled for half a second. I thought she hadn't heard the instructions correctly.

Then I smiled. She did. My daughter is bright. She heard them.

It is just that she has always known that she does have a sister. My heart smiled. These little moments are a gift for my heart, for the quiet part that grieves my baby who died before I held her.

The world so often tells us to "get over it" or to "go on". People think about getting help for us if we continue to remember, so we learn to be quiet.

But the giggle of my daughter lining up, "I do have a sister. She just lives in heaven".

A gift. My daughter is not forgotten. She is remembered by her brothers and her sister.

I hugged my daughter and handed her her play clothes and left with a smile. Grief of a baby is often worse because it seems that there is no one to remember, that your child will slip into the mists of never being known, remembered. I smiled quietly - she has not been forgotten.

You know what else? My kids are less afraid of death than I was as a child. Death is only to them, going on in life. Heaven is not a strange place - it is where their sister is, where we will all be together one day. I am thankful that I did not keep their sister's short life and sudden death from them to sheild them. I gave them a gift with the knowledge of her existence - they know there is a reality beyond death.

And they surprise me with their matter-of-fact acceptance of the sister none of us has yet met. That makes me heart smile.

The Empty Tree

2010-12-15T22:30:00.000-06:00

Our Christmas tree is up. It is very pretty, all gold and red. It sits lit and welcoming in the corner of our living room. Underneath it... empty.

It isn't that we don't have money to buy gifts. It isn't even that we don't have friends and family who will send gifts. We have all that. I know some gifts are on the way from relatives. But we have not bought any for ourselves. We have more money this year than last year. We have more peace. But we have an empty tree.

We've talked about gifts, but no one has come up with any ideas. Not even the kids can think of anything they really want.

I think we learned a lesson this year. We have everything we want. We just can't wrap it and put it under our tree.

Years ago, our family was fractured by stress and relationship problems. This year we have peace. (We even could win the cute couple award!)

Early this year, we thought we might lose our daddy. We have him now.

We are all together, warm, happy, at peace. How do you wrap that? There is nothing more we really want. We are content.

We may not buy gifts this year. We may go to the store and jointly buy a small gift for everyone. We may chose to do something as a family instead. But it is not what is wrapped and under the tree that makes our eyes glitter and our hearts beat. It is the simple joy of curling up by the fire playing cards. Of peace and giggles through the house. A decorated tree and some Christmas cookies.

We have only bought one gift this year. We picked a patient at the old people's home and spoiled him rotten. We got him new socks, a tin of chocolate, a book to write in, some nice smelling aftershave.

We have all we want. This year, our tree is empty, but our hearts are full.

Cleaning Out Cupboards

2010-12-15T09:45:00.000-06:00

I finally did it.

I knew I needed to. That cupboard sat there a total disaster after my friend and I hurriedly threw everything back into it the morning we heard my husband was missing. I was expecting the rest of our team to arrive within an hour to sit with me, and we needed the living room cleaned up again. The kids and I had emptied it the night before with great plans to sort it all out and clean it up that day... but that day turned out so differently than we thought. People would be arriving, and the room needed to be neat.

So my friend and I hurriedly threw everything back in the cupboard and made pots of tea. When my kids came home from the park, she took them home with her, not telling then what had happened - only that they were going for a sleepover. I put the tea and cups on the coffee table and went and stood by my front window with the phone in my hand.

Expecting to hear from people. Expecting them to come. We would sit through this day together.

Except they never came. I went more than 24 hours alone before anyone came over to help me carry the news. Twenty- four hours where I stared blankly, almost not thinking, at the snow falling outside the window. Where I curled up on my kitchen floor and cried.

Alone.

Eventually, I cleared the tea things from the coffee table and drank the cold tea.

We survived, and God worked a miracle.

But the cupboard sat there unopened again. Once or twice, I have opened it with the intention to clean it out, to sort it out. But I was met with a jumbled mess of pain. I just could not do it. Memories - of laughing with my kids as we emptied it into piles, of throwing it back in with no sense of order, of being left alone.

Yesterday, my oldest son threw up. He's fine, but I kept him home from school. In the quiet day with a kid that was not that sick, I opened the cupboard. We did it together. Now it is organized - neat piles of puzzles and games ready to be played. Videos sorted into their cases ready to be watched over the holidays. Clean and organized.

It feels good. Just having the bulging mess gone feels good. Time to start a new chapter. Time to play games and do puzzles with friends. It may be with new friends this time, but it is time to laugh and play again. Time to sort out that cupboard and face the pain of cups on a coffee table that were never drunk from.

I couldn't have done it without my oldest working beside me. Children are a blessing, and I am thankful for mine. Thankful to see the others come home from school, see the organized games, and grab one to lay on their tummies in front of the fire and play. It is time to laugh and giggle again.

Some questions may never have answers, but the cupboard is cleaned out and it is time to enjoy life.

Time to make more tea and cookies for new friends.

God's Grace!

2010-12-13T11:52:00.000-06:00

We just got called "a cute couple". So cute in fact that the receptionist told her sister about how cute we were together. Ha! Looking back a year or two, and that would amaze me... God's grace.

But my husband has done a great job of caring for me. He still is since I am not totally independent yet. He's bossy, I'll tell you that. Made me sleep. Made me take my pills so I would sleep. Didn't let me shower even though I so wanted to sneak one in and not tell the doctor. He's bossy.

But he also managed the kids, the schedules, the cooking, the shopping, and even holding my head when I threw up. (Pain medication and me are NOT a good mix!) He set his alarm to wake me up to take my pills o schedule and pulled himself out of bed in the mornings to fix breakfast for the kids. He's a great husband, if a little bossy.

The good news is that four days of drug enforced sleeping did conquer the remnants of my cold and I am feeling mostly better again. I'm still dragging tired, but that may clear up once all these drugs clear from my system.

I am almost healed from surgery. Not quite yet, and that lingering "not yet" frustrates me. (I am not extremely patient.) I am a little worried. I thought I would be doing better by now and I am not yet. The doctor is pleased, so I should be too, but I will be happier when things are back to normal.

We did however, get our tree up! Slightly haphazardly as I tried to direct without being able to see it well, three boys in how to properly space ornaments around the tree. It is up. It looks like Christmas. And i even threw an apple crisp in the oven last night. (Thank God for those jars of apple pie filling we canned a few months ago!)

So, we might not have the best menu yet or the best tree, but I'll settle for being the cutest couple!

Just Not the Right Timing

2010-12-08T16:01:00.000-06:00

I'm sick. I rarely get sick and I usually shake it off when I am sick, but this year is a different story. I got a flu about a month ago, and it keeps coming back. Still coughing, still a sore throat, still when I push myself I end up running a fever. My head hurts, sinuses get plugged.

I am just not happy. I have no extra energy.

It seems that December is a month that requires extra energy. And I just don't have it.

To top that off, tomorrow I am having minor surgery. The type that a lingering cold won't hurt, but that will make me even more dependent and sap whatever energy I do have.

I should be decorating the house and doing Christmas baking. Instead, I am hanging around sleeping.

I feel like a bad mom this year. My kids "deserve" a Christmas, and honestly, right now, I just wish it would all go away and let me sleep.

A Romantic Interlude

2010-12-02T04:29:00.000-06:00

My second son is unusual. I don't really know how such normal people like ourselves gave birth to to such unusual children!

Yesterday, I told the kids that while they were going to an event, their dad and I were going on a date. (We ended up not going because I got a fever again... yucky flu keeps coming back!) #2 giggled and giggled and said I should not say we are going on a date, "Because dating is what young, unmarried, and immature people do".

I laughed and told him that people date because they like each other and what did he want me to say?

He disagreed. "You shouldn't say a date because you are not immature and silly." (little does he know!)

"So what should I say then?"

He put on his comical serious voice and said, "You should say a romantic interlude!"

"So, ok," I said, " Daddy and and I are going out for dinner and a romantic interlude. Who knows, we might even kiss and snuggle". Immediate howls and gagging noises came from the back of the car, followed with, "I feel so sorry for the other people eating dinner! To have to watch people kissing! Ugh!"

"Ok, out of respect for other diners, on our romantic interlude we may try to restrain ourselves and save the kissing for when we are back home IN FRONT OF THE KIDS!"

more screams of "ew, Mom!"

Ah, being a parent of tweens is so much fun.

Sitting Alone Watching the Rain

2010-12-01T09:48:00.000-06:00

I just did something that I think I regret. No, not exactly regret - that is too strong a word, but hesitate about perhaps.

How do you ask for something that you want someone to want to do for you? If you ask, you run the risk that they will say yes only because you ask. If you don't ask, you run the risk that they will never know that it was wanted.

There is no clear way to say, "well, only if you want to...." because there is an obligation in some requests sort of built in. "Ok, if that is what you need, I will do that, of course."

But that is not what I was asking. I want someone to want to do something, to take the initiative themselves. It hasn't happened, so now I ask. And of course, now they will do it....

but there is a emptiness to it - at least I feel that this morning. An emptiness because I had to ask. And now I don't know if they really would have ever wanted to or if my request (in a mild way) forced them into saying yes.

It is raining this morning, a cold drizzly rain. It matches my mood. Feeling alone. I can maybe get what I needed, but only by bluntly asking, not because I was seen. And there is some sadness in that fact.

I wanted to be seen. I've been feeling invisible in some pain, and I wanted to be seen. Seen not because I jumped up and down and yelled, but seen because I was loved and noticed. So I sit here watching the rain drizzling down drinking hot apple juice being quiet. Sad.

I'll only do this for an hour, and then I get up and go teach. It is an ok place to visit, but not to hang out in. Right now, I can sit quietly and listen. To look up to God and be honest about how I feel. To set it in front of Him with the unanswered questions, disappointments, hopes, and pain. And then just sit, drinking hot apple juice, watching the rain

Stuck

2010-11-29T10:31:00.000-06:00

I hate that feeling - being stuck. Due date for a newsletter hanging over me for weeks... even months over due, but stuck. Nothing to say. Oh, there are things to say, but we're not even sure we can say the things that there are to say. And then so much of my life is very, very repetitious, monotonous. Boring.

What to write about? Do I write about how we honestly feel right now - battered about, watching pain happen, struggling? People in our churches already wonder if we are chasing a hopeless task.... what will they say if I say we are struggling, discouraged, saddened?

But we are not discouraged, not exactly. We are - the situation is difficult and this year our friends are suffering. But we aren't discouraged- we are seeing people standing against persecution... difficult things are happening, but people are still standing. That brings enormous joy... along with the tears as we watch.

But can we share all that? What can be said? Difficult questions to answer. There is a lot to think about before we share much of anything.

So what do I write?

I sat there for weeks.... letter way over due... too much on my heart to write... questions about what could or could not be said...

Then there was no more delaying. I prayed desperately, and combined all the little beginnings I had made over weeks. It got done. Now I have also organized my inbox, done all my address changes, and filed all my letters. I responded to all the people who needed letters.

Aahhh... time to have a cup of hot chocolate and relax... nice not to have it hanging over me.

just don't tell me the Christmas letter is due soon....

What Is That In the Oven?!

2010-11-25T12:43:00.000-06:00

My daughter was helping me cook our Thanksgiving dinner. We only bought a turkey breast this year since we are only six and didn't need the expense of a whole turkey. She was talking on the phone to her grandpa and asking me what we were going to cook so she could tell him.

Pumpkin pie, apple pie, casseroles, and turkey breast.

She carefully repeated to her grandpa, "We're going to cook, pumpkin pie, apple pie, casseroles, and Cherokee breast."

What?!

Then she began questioning me on the history of Thanksgiving and then the Revolutionary war. I told her the Thanksgiving story - how it is a story of forgiveness and grace of a man who could easily have held a grudge and chosen not to help, but who forgave and helped. We are familiar with the thought of people who have to leave their country because of their religious beliefs, so the story made sense to my daughter.

Then she began talking about the Revolutionary War for some reason. She had read a book about the Redcoats fighting, and wanted to know who they were fighting, because the book said that the Redcoats were fighting the, "I think it said the pirates.... or maybe it was the parrots.... who were they fighting, Mom?"

The patriots, maybe?

After defining patriots for her, she stopped asking questions and is now buzzing around the kitchen singing "God Bless America."

The Gospel According to....

2010-11-24T23:40:00.000-06:00

My daughter was excited after church this week. She gets points for her memory verses, so she works hard at them. She was very excited to tell me that in two weeks they are going to learn a verse that she already learned last year in school.

I asked her which verse that was.

She replied, "I am not sure exactly, but it is that one, well, you know, that says, 'If I go to bed with my angriness, then I will help the devil climb up the mountain'."

On farther examination, she did understand what the verse meant, but her way of expressing it was something else!

Telling My Story

2010-11-20T23:19:00.000-06:00

Tonight we told our story. We had guests over, ones who wanted to hear, and because they work in similar things, in similar places, they could understand and wanted to hear.

So we told them our story. Its been several months now - not quiet months among our friends... more troubles followed more troubles followed even more. The troubles have not ended even now. I feel odd sometimes sitting here in peace and safety.... others are in trouble now, we think of them, pray for them, work for them... We are ok... it is over for us.

It is. All that is true. At times we feel odd, not guilty, but odd... why are we blessed and in comfort while others aren't?

All that is true.

But it is still a blessing to be able to tell our story. With each telling, we hear it again. We sort through it. We process it. My story is mine. My husband's is his. We went through different things. Different reactions. Different struggles. Different victories.

We never got to tell our story really. He told his once to people combing for details. I did not tell mine then - no details were needed from me. We told it again to a group - again looking for lessons and details... We both told them then. That ended in a huge conflict of people upset and angry with us.

We rarely told our story after that. Once or twice to a group - in ten minutes. My inability to tell it made it very difficult for me to process the event. I need to talk to think. I need to write to think. To put things to words. The most I told my story was on my blog. Then once we had coworkers from another organization visit, and we told our story - both his and mine. The first time that both of us in detail told our story - not just events, but some feelings too. That was good.

But then troubles began, and our story got put to the side. Time to help others. I don't for one minute regret helping others. I would do it again.

But we hadn't been able to tell our story well. To tell my story. To be heard. I still have an aching gap - something I would love to say that I haven't been able to say. Not everything can be written on my blog, and I haven't been able to tell some things. It has grown into a settled sadness, an awareness that it may never be told. I haven't been heard well, and may not be.

Tonight, though, we told our story. I know it is months later, and there are other crisis going on. But to be given the chance to tell again. This time the people listening wanted to know our stories - how we felt, how we dealt with emotions. No one has ever asked the "how did you feel?" questions before. No one.

I needed to tell my story. I needed to be heard. I will likely need it again. In letting me tell my story - not for your entertainment and curiosity, not for your lessons to be learned, but to hear me - you help me heal.

Who needs you to listen to their story today? What story do you have that needs listening to?

An Evening in the Life of..... or Why You Should Think Deeply Before Having Four Kids

2010-11-17T21:22:00.000-06:00

One evening, not too long ago, I ran out to get food. I also decided to get some dish soap for the bathroom soap dispenser. Some idiot had loosened the dish soap lid to almost off. When I put in in the van, it tipped over and spilled all over me, the carpet, and the sliding door mechanism.

It took me half an hour to get it cleaned up as best I could with towels. I had bought an extra big bottle, of course. This turned my ten minute errand into a much longer event. When I got home, #1 asked to speak to me.

Apparently, while I was gone, the following happened. (I had left them with simple instructions - please dismantle #1's bed and take it downstairs to his room, which is now repaired again.) And this happened:

1. They were taking apart #1's bed, so #1 asked #3 to go look for a tool.

2. Girlie was in the hallway and decided to block the hall so #3 could not get through.

3. So #3 kicked Girlie in the stomach.

4. Girlie ran to the bathroom and was gagging over the sink. (It remains a question if she was really sick or exaggerating.)

5. #1 was holding the bed and couldn't get free right away, so asked #2 to check on Girlie.

6. #2 looked at Girlie, but then decided he would chase after #3 instead.

7. #2 ran outside to confront #3.

8. #3 ran screeching around the house and jumped the wall.

9. #2 hotly pursued #3.

10. #1 called #3 to come in and stop screeching.

11. #3 came in, but then #1 sent him out to go get the tool - the original mission.

12. #2 meanwhile decided to hide up above where the tools are kept in the storage area.

13. #2 jumped out at and/or yelled at #3 when he came in the storage room.

14. #3 took off screeching and running again.

15. #2 pursued #3. Lap number two around the house.

16. #1 got them inside again and asked them all to come up to his room and work on the bed.

17. #2 got angry about something, so took a bolt and either did or did not scratch #1's radio. (The truth was unable to be discerned.)

18. #3 tattled to #1 that #2 scratched his radio.

19. #2 yelled at #1 that he did NOT scratch the radio.

20. #1 attempted to find out the truth by asking different people, but by this time he was pretty ticked off.

21. Girlie kept back-talking to #1 and didn't let him talk to #2 and #3.

22. #1 clamped his hand over Girlie's mouth to get her to be quiet so he could talk to #2 and #3 and find out about the radio.

23. Girlie fought and howled.

24. Somehow, #1 set her free and sent Girlie and #3 downstairs to sit on the couch.

25. #1 and #2 then took apart the bed, carried it down to his room, and put the tools away.

Then I came home. It took over half an hour of piecing together accounts and wading through such lies as "I only ran after him to make sure he was ok and was not going to run in the street and get killed." to figure out the gist of the story.

I told them all I was highly disappointed with them (not #1). I told them that every single one of them had a chance to stop the whole event with their actions, and they didn't.

Girlie could have let #3 walk down the hall.

#3 could have asked #1 to ask Girlie to move.

#2 could have checked on Girlie and stayed with her to comfort her.

But each chose to make a stupid decision which led to conflict. Poor #1 was stuck trying to sort out the mess, and he did not do it perfectly. (They all wanted me to punish #1 for clamping his hand over Girlie's mouth and for grabbing #2 once to pull him off #3.) I told them that #1 is only 14 years old, and is not a parent, so the fact that he made some mistakes in parenting in a difficult situation does not surprise me, and I will not judge him for it or punish him. Later privately, I did point out to him where he could have made a different choice. I reminded all three that none of them tried to help #1, and actually few of them obeyed him at all. He made really good decisions at first, but they did not follow them.

I told them that especially in a crisis, there needs to be a clear single leader who people follow. #1 took that role, but then #2 decided to take things into his own hands.

I told #3 that he used his God-given strength in a wrong way to hurt a girl he was supposed to defend. I told #2 that he used his God-given desire to defend women in a wrong way without wisdom.

So I showed them what I had bought for a nice evening relaxing and having treats and told them I was sorry we could not have it, sent them to shower, fed them supper, and sent them to bed.

First I made them all apologize, starting with Girlie as she had initiated the conflict. Then I disciplined #3, and told him that he is not allowed under any circumstance to kick or hit a girl. That men are far stronger in force than women (we just had earlier to ask the neighbor to help me lift something since I couldn't) and they must learn to control the desire to use that force to hurt. If he hits or kicks Girlie, I will discipline him every single time. I told him he always talks all the time, and now, in the once instance when he should have used his mouth, he didn't.

Then #1 and I set up the new bed. While we were working, he apologized for the way the evening went, but I told him that I have no expectations that he will be perfect at parenting now, and that he did pretty well. He can't control their choices, but in the future to use a "Girlie, go to your room right now" instead of being physical with her.

So that was my evening.... :( And people think missionaries are perfect and their kids should always be well-behaved... sigh...

Crowned with Many Crowns?

2010-11-16T14:00:00.000-06:00

My daughter is memorizing James 1:12 this week for school. A perfect opportunity to have some discussions about what lasts and what doesn't. There is one thing that can never be taken away from us. Ever.

Eternal life.

Anyway, she was wondering about what she heard in Revelation where it says Jesus is crowned with many crowns.

" Do they all fit on His head then, Mommy?"

I love the literal minds of kids! They are able to grasp such deep thoughts so simply, but then they also struggle over how many crowns Jesus can balance at once!

Sunday School and Why I dread what it teaches.

2010-11-15T09:56:00.000-06:00

I went to Sunday school. I even taught Sunday School for years. I was very blessed to teach under master teacher and learn how much kids are actually able to think. Most Sunday School curriculum is dumbed down. It is only a repeat of a few basic themes: we need to love each other, we need to be thankful, we need to share, followed with the good old Sunday School standard, "Don't be afraid. God will keep you safe."

While I firmly believe in the keeping power of God, this Sunday school pablum irritates me.

I lived enough of life as a child to know that God does not always keep you safe.

We live a life where God keeping us safe accompanied by a picture of a child sleeping in her bed with no nightmares does not quite cut it.

This week alone, we are waiting for news of a friend whose decision to follow Christ is likely going to cost him his life.

Then I went to chapel at my kid's school to hear some teacher do a skit with the whole idea, which she repeated several times....

If you make good choices, you will have good consequences.

If you make bad choices, you will have bad consequences.

Try telling that to my friend whose decision not to deny Christ is going to cost him his life. Try telling that to my kids a few months ago. Try telling that to..... argh!

How about the very real truth in 2 Tim. 3:12?

Indeed all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.

Sort of blows our good choices - good consequences teaching out of the water. Don't get me wrong, I think we should make good choices, and I think that good choices will ultimately have good consequences, but we need to be really careful about giving our kids false promises in God's name. God never promised them that if they make good choices only good will happen, and we are remiss as parents and teachers if we do not prepare our kids for life.

I became adamant about this early on in my kid's lives, but became even more so when I became a Sunday School teacher to a small group of kids who had been through an awful tragedy where they thought they would be safe. I glanced through all the lessons that were available to teach and grew nauseated with the pictures of kids sleeping in their beds, smiling on swing sets, and playing in sandboxes while week after week that message that God loves them and won't let anything bad happen to them was taught.

I threw it all away and started again. What do I need to say looking into the eyes of kids who have seen what we only read about, and how do I help them maintain their faith in God? We struggled through that year, learning the promises of God, reading through those Bible stories that don't always go perfectly. We read of Corrie ten Boom, and let them see the truth in the fact that while she survived, her sister and father didn't. We faced pain, acknowledged its existence in our lives. We studied the beginning of evil in the world. And we came back to the promises and power of God. We read of heaven and how we are instantly there, all pain gone, all fear gone, tears wiped away, forever all together. We healed and faced our fears together.

Yes, men can hurt us, but God is always with us, and there is nothing that can take us from His hand. Not even death. Especially not death.

But I bristled when I heard this taught again in my kid's chapel this morning. Good choices can have very bad consequences. My friend is facing those today. And if I get the chance to hold his children in my arms, I will not throw their faith into confusion and doubt by teaching them a doctrine that causes them to question their father's choice to follow Christ or their God's ability to intervene, but I will tell them of the promises of God. How He was there for their father, even in the darkest hours. How He will be there for them, to father them, to care for them through the pain He has asked them to walk through.

And I will tell them of heaven. Of the forever where tears are wiped away and relationships are restored.

Incompatibilities.... an apology?

2010-11-15T00:43:00.000-06:00

I told the person who asked me that question that I wasn't thrilled with them right them. Why ask that now? It has been a big enough step for me to get from anger at how we were wronged to knowing that my attitude in response to the wrong was also wrong.

Why ask me to apologize?

Should he apologize first? He did the wrong first, not me.

"What is that to you?" - An interesting question Jesus asks Peter when Peter asks, "What about John?"

It is really none of my business if or when that man deals with his actions in front of God. If he sees he hurt us or not. If he apologizes or not. If he corrects the lies or not.

Not. My. Business.

At least, not an excuse for me not doing what is right.

My business - my walk with God. My wrongs. My sins.

Not his.

If that means, to deal with my sins, that I need to apologize, then that is the way it is. Some people will say that we do not need to apologize, especially if the other person may not have known about our attitude. I was told that as a child, but now that I am older, I don't think I agree with it as wholeheartedly as I used to. I think we use that too often as an excuse not to deal with things "because it was a private sin". There is nothing quite so definite about dealing with a wrong attitude than confessing it and asking for forgiveness and grace.

Besides, very little with me - at least with what I am thinking and feeling, is private since my face reads like an open book! So there was no doubt that the person knew how I felt.

Sigh. So there was no excuse, no escape, no blame casting. I want to follow God, so it was time to get up and obey.

It was hard. First I had to come to the place that I was willing to forgive him for what he had done. That is hard when there is no forgiveness asked, when the very wrong that was done is justified. But forgiveness is for sin. For sin, not just for mistakes. Forgiveness can include forgiveness for not being repentant. It can forgive for the hurt of never acknowledging the hurt and the damage done. God forgave me before I "felt sorry". He asks me to forgive - no conditions included. Now, that forgiveness can be offered freely now, but there may be limits to the enjoyment of the forgiveness. Or maybe I would say to the restoration of the relationship. Restoration of the relationship would mean the receiving of the forgiveness.... just as God offers to all the world forgiveness and grace, but if we do not receive it, we do not enjoy it.

His heart is not my responsibility. Mine is to offer forgiveness, and to deal with my sins.

But how? This man is hard to catch. Like a minnow, he darts here and there. Like a house-fly, his attention flits from subject to subject. I spent two years telling him that when he comes, while he is here, I want ten minutes to talk to him.... but never got it. He always forgot. Got too busy. Just ran out of time.

hmm...

You know the delight of a great relationship with my husband now? I can ask his help. So I did, and we managed to catch the minnow.

It was awkward, but I simply apologized for my attitude while he was here last and for confronting him on that issue publicly when I should have done it privately. I think he was shocked. I think he was even more shocked that I did not confront him more. I did state that I have been aware of the things he has said over the years and that has made working with him difficult, but that I was wrong to confront him like I did.

It was over in five minutes. It was relatively painless.... the pain was in dreading it, not doing it! I think I left disappointed in a small way. If I was writing a book, it would have ended with him apologizing, too, and saying that he was wrong in the things he did. In restoring the relationship to something beautiful.

But I am not the author of this book. And this is real life, not a fantasy.

I walk away clean. How he goes on from here is really none of my business, but belongs to him and God. Maybe he has dealt with it. Maybe he hasn't. It isn't mine to carry.

So, yes, an apology. You see, I can continue where I am because I am in God's care, not this man's. I am safe, loved, and do not need to fight every one of my battles to defend me. God is capable of defending me. Why He does not seem to have done so in this case puzzles me, but I chose to trust. I am safe.

Besides, it is God who speaks my value, not man. I do not need to live the things that have been said about me, not now, not earlier.

The anger went. My relationship with my husband deepened through this. And slowly, since that time, there have been those moments where I have seen that those who were on the receiving end of some of those accusations against me do not believe them. They have gotten to know me. I am not so defensive now. Relaxed. Happier.

I think I am more free. What this man thinks does not control my thoughts as much. If he wants to think that, fine. It doesn't have to chain me down, fill my thoughts, evoke such a response in me. I am not judged by his words.

Only by God. Who has declared me loved, delighted in, whole, and beautiful.