Rattlesnakes and Packages

It is dark in here, and Joy is fast asleep in the other half of our room. A string of little lights twinkle through the mosquito net, dangling their legs over the net’s hanging wooden frame. The ceiling fan is laboring above me, and a floor fan is oscillating to the left, like two servants feverishly fanning a dainty princess. (The dainty princess feelings coincide with the electric being on right now.)

It’s a new year.

A new year for doing the same old things. Teeth brushing. Nail clipping. Breakfast making. Floor mopping. Friend forgiving. Grace receiving. Hymn singing.

A new year for doing new things. Meeting new people. Seeing new places. Learning new things. Making new habits. Finding new favorites. Reading new books. Discovering God in new ways. 

{the electric just went out}

A year for new opportunities and filled with days that we have never lived before and will never live again.

Seeing we are finishing January, I am grateful to have already discovered a few precious gems hidden in this year. 

Last week one of my friends sent me a message: I want to send you a package, what’s your address? Now, I can hardly imagine a person who wouldn't want to dance for delight upon hearing words like this. And if you’ve been living overseas even for just a few months, the thought  can be overwhelmingly exciting that someone back home has caringly put together a little pile of goodies for you. 

In the midst of that jittery “let me see how fast I can type out my address!” I began to worry. We will only remain in this location for another month. What if the package doesn’t come? What if my dear friend goes to all the laborious love of buying and writing, paying the costly price for postage, dreaming of my joy ...and then it doesn’t show up in time? The mail here tends to be quite unpredictable. Sometimes it gets here in only two weeks. Other times, it can take a ridiculous six months. How to know? I began to feel a sick feeling in my tummy. What if I have to go home knowing that there is a gloriously special package for me somewhere in the tortoise-style mail system, waiting someone’s whim to send it to where I....was? 

After numerous hours of intermittently staring at this mental Trojan horse I decided I needed to talk to my friend. “It might not get here...it’s risky...I want you to know.” 

Her response picked up the Trojan horse and transformed it into a Statue of Liberty.

“Hi Hannah! I feel like I’m to take the risk. The package should be on its way as of this morning! And I really hope it gets to you in time. But if it doesn’t, we have the happy feeling of knowing that we risked, and we tried.”

I stood stunned as I soaked in the words of my friend. Liberated! Even if the package doesn’t get there in time, she said we actually can have the happy feeling of knowing that we risked, and we tried. I wonder how many times I live imprisoned to fear of failure and loss when I could be liberated to restfully risk and try? Too many times, I’m afraid, I labeled something as a failure instead of celebrating it as something worth risking for.

Esther decided to risk and try. I wish I could hear an audio recording, or better yet, see a video of Queen Esther sitting on, perhaps, a cushion-couch on an expensive Persian rug in the Shushan palace. I can only imagine what must have gone through her head as she processed what she was about to do. “I don’t know what the end result will be. But I do know that I don’t want to live ever after this week with the sad knowledge that I didn’t even try. Fear of failure and dying shall not keep me back from risking my life to save my race. No matter what happens, I will be OK, knowing that at least I risked; at least I tried. If I die, I just die.” Lord, give me the faith of Esther! The faith that enables me to trustingly risk, with YOU.

I remember distinctly one day when we were newly married and hiking in the Smoky Mountains. The rhododendron was bouncing in the slight breeze, and fragrant pine needles covered the incline of the dirt trail. We had only been hiking for fifteen minutes when we rounded the bend and were almost plowed over by a family of hikers who could've played Timorous and Mistrust in Pilgrim's Progress. "Watch out! There's a rattlesnake sitting in the middle of the pathway ahead!" "A big one!" "If I were you I would turn around!" And with that, they continued their hasty retreat back the trail we had just hiked. A shiver of terror flitted across my backbone as I looked up into my hubby's face, glad to be holding his hand. "What should we do?" I wondered breathlessly. Rattlesnake on the trail? Of course we shouldn't proceed! He was probably sitting there, just hideously waiting for someone to walk past so he could strike in pent up anger at who-knows-what. Yes, indeed, what a dangerous rattlesnake he must be! Stalwart man my husband is, he just looked straight ahead and said, "Let's continue our hike." "But Sweetheart, what if there is a rattlesnake and he is all angry and wanting to get someone...and how would you kill it, and what if it would bite one of us?" My husband said a quick prayer and looked at his wife. "I think we should keep hiking. That rattlesnake they saw was just as scared of them as they were of him. He is long gone into the shrubbery. I don't think we will see him. Are you willing to take my hand and let me lead you past the place where they saw the snake? I believe I can handle it if we do see a rattlesnake." Trembling and scared, the girl who had never before seen a real rattlesnake followed the man who grew up in Tennessee. We walked, and I must say, I didn't notice much of the rhododendrons for a while because I was intently searching for scaly coils along the path. Thirty minutes later, we arrived safely back at our little green car. "We didn't see any rattlesnakes!" I exulted. My husband smiled. He knew I had just gained an important experience and learned a big lesson: Trust me. I can lead you straight past something you fear, all the way back to the car. You risked, and you tried. You trusted, and you survived. Ah. Thank God for how my husband teaches me to trust Him. 

We can’t know yet what will happen with that anticipated package. We can't always know when we will be trusted to see the rattlesnakes and when we will be asked to bravely hike past their haunts, overcoming fear with trust. We can’t know yet what all will happen with this year. But I would like to have this mindset: by God’s grace, I will I take up the opportunities that come this year to follow my Lord at the sake of risk. I will risk for worthy causes, in trust. And even if I fail, at least I tried. Even if I see rattlesnakes, the God of the universe is holding my hand.

May this new year be a wonderful mix for you of both new and familiar as you walk with the Lord and seek to know Him more. May the risks you take be steps of faith and obedient trust. May He guide you safely past every rattlesnake. And may you receive many wonderful surprise “packages” of grace and joy along the way!

Mama

My daughter’s vocabulary is not very extensive yet, which may be partly caused by her discovery of one little all-purpose, miracle working word: “Mama”.

The meaning varies with the tone:

“Mama!” (said with an emphatic yet singsong voice, which starts at a high pitch and lowers on the second syllable.) This one can double in meaning as a way of calling the woman she is most attached to in the world, or as a way of saying, “Look at me, so I know I’m still important to you.” Conversely, if the tone rises on the second syllable, she’s likely to be communicating, “I’m so happy with you, dear mommy!”

“Mama.” -said in a matter-of-fact manner as she goes about her play. Can boast a plethora of meanings, including:

“This book is so nice!” 

“I’m making sure I still remember how to say your name.” 

“My sock is wet.” 

“I’m ready for you to find something else for me to do!” 

Usually it is a way of staying connected and sharing her every moment with me. 

“Ma-MA.” This one is said with the all the tonal emphasis a baby can express, which is poured out upon the last syllable. “Ma-MA” means, “I am feeling disturbed/frustrated/annoyed about something, and I’m so glad to know someone I can blame.” 

“Maaama!” This one sounds like the mournful cry of one of the cute tiny goat kids outside our house who got separated from his mother. This one often means “I’m unutterably tired!” It can also mean that she can’t get the zipper open on her little bag of toys, or that she can’t reach something or can’t get down off her chair. This one (and most of the others) are often accompanied by a pitter patter of baby feet on concrete as she hurries towards me with whatever’s on her heart.

I realized one day that it’s quite astonishing how much as a mother I can understand my daughter when all she says is my name. I can often sense whether or not she’s gloriously happy, intensely frustrated, utterly scared, wounded, or tired; all in one little call of my name.

Today I felt distressed. I had dozens of emotions stuck in my heart, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the lid off so they could escape. I wanted to pray, but I felt so stuck. My words seemed garbled and my attempts at communicating with the One Who Is the Answer to my needs seemed as insufficient as the first page of a dictionary. I tried to find better words, deeper words, respectful and proper words...And at the end of it all I saw my daughter running towards me, crying in her little baby voice, “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

With all the emotions of my heart weighing heavily in my eyes, I looked up from the scene before me and released my lips to call, “Papa! Abba! Daaady!”

And somehow...my mother-heart realized that He knew exactly what I meant. He felt my
emotions with me through my tone of voice, the look in my eyes, the tiredness of my heart. He saw right into my soul with that one simple word, and what He did inside me when I cried His name, I cannot explain.

One thing I know: when I cried my Abba Father’s name, He was right there. And I knew that He is all I need.

(I am in no way trying to say that I think it is good if our vocabulary in prayer never goes beyond our Father’s name; however, I think God is showing me how much He understands when His name is all we know how to say in the midst of our neediest moments in life.)

The Life She Dreams Of

It’s Thanksgiving Day, but strangely enough there is no nip in the air, no coats in the hall. There is no roasted turkey and no candlelit meal. There are no neighbors flying cornucopias of abundance on banners outside their front doors. In fact, none of them likely know that “Thanksgiving” is even a day. You see, I’m in Africa.

But midst seeing pictures from my dear friends and family who are enjoying celebrating together without me, my heart is not filled only with sadness at missing out on this holiday.

As I’ve been settling into our little concrete apartment, hanging curtains and unpacking totes, I’ve been thinking about how an ungrateful heart steals the life from me that I really wanted to live. My dream life is always out of reach when my arms are already filled with the cumbersome clutter of ingratitude.

So, irregardless of the fact that it is Thanksgiving Day (in fact, I quite forgot about it when the thoughts on gratitude originated yesterday), I am focusing my heart on thankful wonderings. 

I’m thinking...that no matter what things I am facing and no matter where I am, there is doubtless someone somewhere out there who is dreaming of living the life that I actually live.

Don’t you think? Now, I recognize that you may be thinking, “Okay, so you’re just trying to say the timeless ‘be thankful for your dinner because someone is hungry in Africa’ in different words.” I could be. But irregardless of that, why not stop to do a little imagining with me. 

Someone tonight is dreaming of having a marriage that works and a husband who loves her. 

Someone else is dreaming of having enough food to eat, while sitting in an empty room with an empty cupboard and an empty wallet. 

“She” dreams of having a child to love, just one, matter not if the child is sick or obnoxious. She dreams of having a warm place to sleep just like mine, while huddled under a piece of cardboard, a wet refugee tent, or a bridge. 

She dreams of having a family who supports and cares about her, in the midst of humdrum, crisis, shame or success. She dreams of working a job she enjoys, satisfied as she helps other people live better lives.

She dreams of knowing teamwork in marriage, experiencing the joy of pulsating together with the Spirit of God for a life worth living and dying for. 

She dreams of going to the grocery store and buying eggs, milk, cheese, and bread, and still having money left over for bananas. 

She dreams of having enough leisure time to read a book, or to sit and think without some sadist yelling at her to never stop working. 

She dreams of having just one beautiful, elegant dress to wear for special occasions. 

She dreams of knowing a God who will speak to her and hear her prayers. She dreams of being able to have a family to have devotions with each day. 

She dreams of living in another season which is not filled with so much pain, so much weeping, so much trauma or grief. 

She dreams of the ability to walk, simply stand up and walk, go to the sink and get a drink, go to the bathroom by themselves, go scoop that cute child up and twirl them around the room.

She dreams of the luxury of being able to read and write, a world she can only imagine, as she carries water or stirs pots of steaming food for people whose belief systems have kept her from entering that world of words.

The “she” in those sentences represents the dreams of millions of women just like me living on this same planet.

Most of us are living proof that the life we live does not come without lots of challenges. Yet, how wrong it would be to live the life so many are dreaming of, without cherishing this blessed chance. 

How tragic it would be if I would not spend this life of mine content and delighted, for I am blessed beyond conceivability. And even with its hardships, disappointments and struggles, this is the life I have dreamed of too.

Look around you. Do you see the life of someone’s dreams? Do you have enough food to eat? A place to call “home”? People to love? The ability to sleep at night? A 2018 without any personal tragedies or traumas? The chance to read? The ability to talk to and learn about Jesus Christ? 

Perhaps you do not right now have every last thing on that list, but stop to think of it: if your reality includes even one of them you are living out a life someone else is longing for.

Happy Thanksgiving Day, and may you truly bless the Lord with all that is within your soul today.

Which Risk?

I self-diagnose that I haven’t come down with the “lotto fever” like millions of other Americans, seeing I haven’t bought into its folly with even one hard-earned dollar; however, I still managed to hear about the Mega Millions Jackpot going on in the last month. Like many other people within the perimeters of this country and beyond, I am curious to know what will become of the [un?]-lucky individual from South Carolina who is said to have won the $1,540,000,000 prize a couple weeks ago.

Personally, I am not willing to risk winning millions in exchange for scores or hundreds of my husband’s dollar bills (not to put down those who do play the lottery, but I just don't think it's wise). I have heard and read History’s tale revealing that money gotten in such ways has a truly unearthly propensity of vanishing before the unlucky winner’s eyes, along with relationships and dignity. However, don’t be deceived. I am definitely into big rewards and am not deterred by the fact that the Rewards are generally holding hands with Risk.

I’ve been reliably informed that there are riches to be had in a distant country. They are available to any and all who are willing to attain them. There are equal chances for every soul with a place in the human race. These riches do not have any negative side-effects. They are resistant to every sort of calamity, being simultaneously fireproof, waterproof, and thief-proof. Worms and moths are not able to get a tooth into these treasures; neither can tornados, earthquakes, tsunamis, or other disasters destroy them. Moreover, once they are yours, reliable hands will stash them into a safe place out of reach of greedy thieves. Neither do jealous people have a chance to sneak off with any of your sparkling, dazzling treasures. These treasures are beyond imagination, quite frankly, and beyond compare with the kind of treasures you can find at our country’s sparkling malls and department stores. Incredibly, these treasures will be yours to keep after you’ve gone to the grave. The millions won by the South Carolinian recently will all disappear and be lost to them eventually. However, I’ve been reading about a way to get rich and keep it all forever and ever!

Photo by Ramiro Mendes on Unsplash

If you and I are smart, upon hearing news such as this we will be curious enough to ask, “What do I need to do to put some of this treasure to my name? Stand in a line? Pay some cash? Put my name in a draw? What’s the cost, and what’s the risk?” There is a way to get these treasures, but slow down, good American heart. Your ability to wait is essential in this quest.

Jesus tells us…

“Collect for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves don’t break in and steal.” Matthew 6:20, HCSB

So, the safest place for treasures is clearly in Heaven, and there are actually people with treasures collected in that country.

How do you put treasures Heaven? One way is to give what you have here to the poor. Check it out in not just one but these three places: Matthew 19:21, Mark 10:21, Luke 18:22

“Sell what you possess and give donations to the poor; provide yourselves with purses and handbags that do not grow old, an unfailing and inexhaustible treasure in the heavens, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.” Luke 12:33 Amplified

In case you’re wondering, we are actually encouraged implored to secure money bags for ourselves that will not wear out, filled with inexhaustible riches, kept in the safest place you could dare to hope for.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.

There was a man who was digging in a field and found treasure that would exceed all he could earn in several life times. Quietly, he finished his field work, surreptitiously went home, and decided to sell everything he had in order to buy that field. I think there was a bit of time in-between when he decided to do that and actually finished selling everything when he could’ve changed his mind. He could have looked at all his precious household things gathered around him, and become overwhelmed with sadness at his loss. He could have worried that his plan wouldn’t work. Or, perhaps he could’ve “slept over it” for a night and in the dawn of morning sunshine decided that he actually had all he wanted and needed and didn’t want to sell all that he could see around him for something he couldn’t see buried in a field.

However, he flicked all those silly notions from the periphery of his wise mind, as he sold every last thing he owned in order to have enough money to be able to buy that plot of dirt. And the treasure became his.

From time to time I have “seen” heavenly treasure with my eyes of faith, and years ago already I decided to sell all I have to gain so much more. Jesus promises that what we lose for His sake, He will repay one with one hundred, if I get my math right! (See if I’m correct: Mark 10:29-31) That is tremendous. Every so often, God enables my eyes of faith to see more clearly than normal, and every sacrifice I make for Him truly feels paltry and insignificant in light of my promised future. Sometimes, He gives me tiny tastes of the future, as He rewards me here on earth in ways tangible to my dim earthly eyes.

And then there’s that space of time where I haven’t seen the eternal rewards yet, and I’m still in the process of selling all I have, and what I see here and now feels pretty real and desirable. To the physical eyes, there is an immense risk in selling all for an eternal treasure you cannot see.

Here’s what I think: what you’re willing to risk for depends on what and who you believe and what perspective you have.

The other day one of my sisters told me an anecdote from a recent Bible School experience. Sarah Grace was standing at a coffee bar, preparing herself a cup of tea. As she used a miniature ladle to scoop some thick, sweet cream into her tea, a young man getting himself some coffee piped up beside her. “That cream just makes it so good, doesn’t it?” “Sure does,” Sarah Grace replied cheerily.

Photo by Trent Erwin on Unsplash

Then the fellow realized the drink she was dipping cream into was not coffee, but tea. “Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t ruin your tea!” “I’m not ruining it, I love cream in tea!” Sarah Grace rejoined good-naturedly. “No!” The fellow repeated. “I wouldn’t try it. One time, someone told me that honey in coffee is the best. I tried it; what a mistake. Ruined a perfectly good cup of coffee.” Giving his hot drink a stir, he walked off, leaving Sarah Grace with some interesting thoughts. “He didn’t want to take the risk of ruining a cup of tea by trying cream in it; whereas I think he is actually risking never discovering the luxury of cream in tea! It’s funny how what you’re willing to risk depends on which perspective you’re looking at it from.”

I think it’s like that with heavenly treasure. Which risk will we take? Will we risk losing our earthly treasures, our safety, our comfort and security and perhaps even our lives? Or will we risk losing eternal treasure we could’ve had that will never fade, get lost, stolen, or lose its shine?

When I’m thinking straight, it’s clear to see which risk is the more risky risk.

I might never have much money.

I might never have a “permanent” home.

I might spend a lot of time looking (or in the least feeling) like a misfit.

I might never be “in style”.

I might not have some fun things I would really like.

I might invest everything by faith in heavenly “stocks” I cannot see yet.

I might be a loser...in this world.

And I might gain ever so much more than this world has to offer.

In fact, may I take the “might” out of that sentence? Because I have chosen to trust the validity of the One who has earned my heart and my faith throughout His Word and the experiences of my life thus far. I SHALL gain ever so much more than this world has to offer.

What are you willing to risk for? Who are you willing to risk for? Don’t be duped into believing that you are smart enough not to take any crazy risks. You ARE risking something at every choice you make. If you choose to open your heart to love, for example, you take a risk at rejection, loss, and misunderstanding to name a few. However, trying to bypass those risks by shutting your heart to love is to risk loneliness, emptiness, and meaninglessness. You risk by buying into the ideology of the American dream. You risk by letting it all go for something Eternal.

In these days of transition while preparing to move to Ghana for three months, I have been pondering my choices in life and evaluating the things I’m risking for. Jesus said that those who lose their lives for Him will gain them again forever. And in the winding paths of my brain, the question is turning from, “Is it worth the risk?” to “Can it even be called a risk to give my all for a promised heavenly reward worth more than all I have to give?”

Risk makes perfect sense when you believe the character of the person who’s guaranteeing you the gain your risk will bring.

9 Tips for Thriving in Transition

Our little apartment once again is sprouting totes and little growing piles in the closets of “to take on our travels” things. We are preparing ourselves, the best we’ve learned how, as we head straight for our 11th transition season from one location to another in the last four years. Eager with the aura of an archaeologist as he fingers the lock on an ancient treasure chest, I’m opening up my collection of transition tips once again. With delight, I will spend time looking at our favorites, routines and tips that have been helpful friends in the past, delighted to find them waiting and ready for another season of good use. Wouldn’t you like to have me share some of the secrets to transitioning well that we’ve been hunting down and stocking up on these last years?

Thanks to Leonardo Yip at Unsplash for the pretty photo!

(If you are someone who has done or is doing a lot of transition too, I would be thrilled for you to send me your own treasury of thriving tips!)

And my treasure box lid swings open...

1. As transition approaches, several weeks before your actual move or departure, make a little quiet space to sit as a family. (You could even add in mugs of peppermint mocha or whatever drink you love to swirl to life in your kitchen!) Talk about and make a list of important places and people that you want to visit again before you leave, and incorporate that into the days left on your calendar. Give some intentionality and forethought into making those visits meaningful. Such as:

• make or buy little meaningful gifts for people and say how special or significant they have been in your life. (Family photo? Candy for children? Something that symbolizes your relationship with that friend?)

• Think of questions to ask before a visit to a friend such as “how can I pray for you?” or “what is your biggest joy/challenge right now?” which will help give you a meaningful goodbye connection. Or you might have a specific topic that you feel led to connect on before leaving, and that’s also wonderful.

• Decide together on a favorite street vendor or food place to visit one last time, and use the time to talk about how everyone feels the transition is going and how it makes them feel to be leaving, as well as the upcoming “arriving”. Pray together. God hears and likes when we don’t try to do it on our own.

2. This tip is from a family we love and met a couple years ago while abroad. Brian and Katie told us that they found immense benefit in their organization’s requirement that they create a space of time in-between countries to take a breath emotionally. For example, if you were living abroad in Morocco but going “home” for a few months to Peru, book a flight with a 2-4 day layover in Spain. Use the time to be quiet and unwind, saying “goodbye” to the last season and taking a deep breath before planning your furlough and time back “home”. We have never tried this for several reasons, and I think we tend to start winding down a week or so before we leave, thus giving us a bit of breathing space. However, if you are unable to do that and coming home looks like a big adjustment, this might be the perfect thing to help you thrive.

3. We picked this treasure tip up at the home of a family we know and respect who have raised their family on a foreign field. One or two days before you leave, set apart two special meal times. Here’s what you will do: at one meal, you will go around the table and have everyone say things they will miss from where you have been living and the things that make them sad about the transition. At the next one, go around the table and dream together of exciting prospects about the place where you’re going. This gives an opportunity to help each one find closure, which makes space in the heart to get excited about what’s ahead. This is something that we always do as a couple and have found to be very helpful!

4. This one is holding hands with number three, so hopefully your heart will swing from the one right to the other. Here it is: After focusing on the things that are changing in your transition season, turn the page and focus on the things that will never budge. There are so many things that change in a season of transition; new location, new ministry, new season, new people. It’s so easy to be so befuddled in all of those changes that we completely forget about the things that will never change. God’s Word will always be the same. His faithfulness will last and last, never running out of date or failing to show up when we need it most. His love encompasses both the past season and the one coming up, and even bridges the space in the middle.

5. Find things to laugh about. Miss Creativity will be your sweet handmaiden  in this task! Some of the things we’ve laughed a lot over include...

• being told, “We need more people like you to leave.” (They were trying to say that they thought we were good people!)

• being told, “It’s good to see you go!” (This person must’ve been trying to say that they liked the reason we were leaving, or maybe that they were glad to know that someone in their neighborhood was stepping out for a good cause. They meant well. We just thought it was really funny how it sounded!)

• being told, “HOW did your daughter get so cute??” (Obviously not from me!)

• the fun of seeing God providing when He promised He would but we didn’t know how it would happen.

• The jar of smooth peanut butter in a foreign store which sits beside the “crunchy” jar, and bears the label, “smoothy”.

6. Realize that transitions will be messy. (For elaboration on this and so much more, read Looming Transitions by Amy Young.) Simply knowing that transitions cause stress and that everything won’t happen perfectly can really help. You will probably forget something in your packing, miss doing something you meant to do, and get upset at someone when you didn’t mean to. Knowing that there’s a 99.9% chance that there will be some sort of “messy moments” can help in letting go of your drivenness to “do it perfectly”. Letting yourself have some grace can also help you realize that the people around you aren’t trying to be irritating or aggravating, but rather you’re dealing with a lot emotionally and physically. Take a deep breath and relax. Transition is just another season.

7. As a practical tip, choose a few meaningful decor items along with you from place to place to give a sense of continuity and “home” wherever you go. I like to bring lightweight, bright and cheery items that can easily make any room feel attractive to me. A little wooden or metal book stand can hold many kinds of different decorations and display a photo, a pretty goodbye card from a friend, a family photo book, a plate, or any other number of things you may wish to display as simple, easy decor! Colorful scarves can double as cushioning for odd shaped items in your suitcase as well as elegant attire for windows, dressers, or anything else that needs some help in the color department. Now that I have a daughter, I am trying to keep some things the same wherever we go. Favorite board books and a familiar lullaby at night are two of the things I’ve done so far.

8. Say “good goodbyes”. Cry if you feel like it. Help your children say goodbye to things and places that they will miss. Many times we like to say “goodbye” to rooms in a house, remembering like a video on fast-forward all the many memories made in each room, in a sense “wrapping them up” and carefully packing them away for future enjoyment, enshrouded in the grace of God.

9. Celebrate the freshness that a transition can bring! When life is exactly the same for too long, one can start to lose perspective; whereas a change can help you see things differently, with "new eyes". I suppose I could also mention that waters of transition can be so choppy and rough that you will not be able to stagnate very easily! I find that as I follow Christ in obedience through transitions I am kept spiritually “on my toes” and actively pursuing God. There are many challenges in times of transition; but the good side is that at least amidst your transitions, you don’t have to struggle with monotony and a boring life!

Can you add anything to my list? Please share, for it might be something that I need in this season!

They Thought it Was Gold

Photo: thanks to Pixabay

You know how it is at the airport TSA. You wait in line for a long time, and finally you get to the tables and stacks of empty plastic bins where you can start readying you and your things for security screening. A collective feeling of “let’s get over with this” permeates the air like Jodhpur smog. Peel off your shoes, your jacket. Make a sweet effort to follow the instructions as you place your belongings on the TSA belt. Locate the bag holding your toothpaste and soap and all those goodies and place it in a plastic bin. If they ask you to display your snacks in a tray as well, try to dig them out of all the nooks and crannies between books, baby toys, diapers and baby blankets. Recall fondly the times when you missed something and nobody cared, and the times when they pulled you over and you had a good laugh with them over your massive bag of salted almonds prepared to last you for the next three months.

Okay now. It’s time to take a deep breath, and walk right on through the metal detector. No beeps? So far so good! Wait with all the other haggard, shoeless travelers beside the conveyer belt as bags slowly roll through the machine, past the watchful eyes of the security guy. The brain part of you is happy that he is pulling off so many bags to be checked; after all, we do want them to catch the bad guys, don’t we! But the lung part of you holds her breath, hoping there was nothing you forgot in your packing which will be labeled suspicious and call you out for special attention.

That was exactly where I was late Monday afternoon. I had tried so hard to make sure my bags would pass through TSA without a glitch and land me happily at our gate to relax. Jonathan and I love the feeling of getting past check-in and security and settling down beside majestic, tall windows where we can watch the planes and the many colorfully interesting people you can see in such places.

We weren’t there yet, however.

I saw with chagrin that although my bag had come through without a beep, Jonathan’s backpack had been pulled aside and was sitting there with a dejected-looking row of other people’s bags. While Jonathan slipped back into his shoes and belt, jingling his coins back into his change pocket along with the nail clippers, I grabbed Joy and my bulging handbag and found a seat where I could re-organize things and wait for the backpack.

We watched among other interesting scenes, two guys waiting as their five to ten large bags of M&Ms were swiped with a drug-detecting wipe while the guard chatted amiably about disgusting new flavors of candy.

After about ten minutes of waiting on the other bags, it was our turn. “Do you have any idea what this is about?” Jonathan whispered to me. “Not a clue!” Without giving us any more suspense, the detective unzipped the front pocket and proceeded to pull out Jonathan’s black Bible. Holding it with both hands, he flipped through the pages and gave it a careful look.

We glanced at his face for an explanation.

“The gold.” He stated. “It showed up as gold. I guess it was the gold edged pages.” The uniformed man returned the Book and zipped the worn black and green backpack back up. “Bye now.”

Photo: thanks to Pixabay

As I lugged my precious daughter and handbag up the corridor towards gate A-2, my heart felt warm at the memory of that precious Book making the machine blink respectfully. “Yes, it is gold,” I thought. “Pure, tested, tried, solid gold! Not just gilded, but gold the whole way through.”

And so, as the hundreds of people milled around us, lazily charging their phones or racing in high heels and flapping bags to try not to miss their flights, I pulled out Jonathan’s Bible and put some of its gold deep into the treasure bank of my heart.

Are you stocking up on the purest of pure gold this week? Hide those golden Words of Life  in the depths of your heart, where it has the power to make you radiant from the inside out. 

Vignettes from Jordan

Warm desert sunshine is streaming through the kitchen window as I sit in the kitchen of our friends who have ever so graciously allowed us to inhabit their home with them for the twelve days we are here in Jordan. I know that some of you very much would like to get some peeks into our time here, so I picked seven moments to share with you.

✨

Chicken sandwich rolls scented the dry cabin air as the plane sped 500 miles per hour towards a very special place. The warm breathing and snoozing wiggles of Baby Joy on my lap felt cuddly and close. As I tried to sleep, my mind drifted behind my eyelids to the last time I flew to Jordan. There had been warm wiggles of a baby who was “in my lap”, so to speak, on that other flight. He had been snoozing and wiggling, but not on the outside. 

My eyelids fluttered open, to gaze out the oval portal into the wide, free blue heavens streaked with a few misty clouds far below. “Somehow this journey, even the first few hours of it, is bringing so much remembering to me,” I mused. And although not audible I heard my Heavenly Daddy say, “I remember, too.” 

✨

The dawn still struggled with the night sky as my daughter tumbled around on the bed, hot with a fever. My mind took me helplessly back to that night with my other baby, when I realized something was wrong and the next day I laid him in a shallow desert tomb. “This will always be the outcome of bringing your children to this place,” the tempter whispered slyly. “Lord, not again! Lord, how should I feel?” My prayers breathed out while her stuffy little nose breathed in. Then, the realization: He remembers, too. He remembers the pain, the shock, the trauma, the grief. He was here with me. He knows my weakness for fear. And He is The Overcomer. He is our Shield. In Him I have put my trust. He is All Powerful. He is able to heal and to cast out the wicked one. He is excited when I lean the weight of my faith completely into Him around the hairpin switchbacks of life when I can’t see ahead, and want to close my eyes to avoid looking at the chasm to the right. He remembers the past with me, and He also holds the keys to the future. A good future, with Him.

✨

The gate swung open to reveal a girl I recognized - barely. Two years had blossomed her from a young teen to a young woman leaving in a week for Germany to finish high school. With a flourish of her arm as her loose three-quarter-length sleeve swished in the breeze, we were welcomed in to her family’s courtyard and house. The very place where we had lived our lives in   two and a half intensely formative months, learning language and learning life with loss and grief and Jesus in a new culture.

As I lifted my foot to cross the memorable, odd metal threshold of the doorway where so much of our life had passed through, I remembered. As I looked around the redecorated living space, I remembered. As I walked in shock out to the kitchen where magnets still held up papers displaying cherished verses in my handwriting, I remembered.

The grace. The grief. The weeping. The wondering. The struggling with Arabic phrases and culture with a tired brain and weary body. The quarts of bright purple fresh grape juice we pressed ourselves from the vines outside. The tea and coffee made in the kitchen. That one very unsightly cracked tile in the floor by the stove. The bathroom, where it seemed I spent so much time after the day when I realized within its walls that my baby and I were in for some trauma. The bedroom, where I lay weak and exhausted after birth, then with an intense intestinal infection, and where I came to collapse after language classes. And I felt a Presence with me. “Hannah, my daughter, I remember too.”

✨

Thoughtfully, I fingered a scarf in preparation for tying it over my hair. Without asking for permission, my mind took me right back to the weeks where I deliberated over which scarf to buy in remembrance of Seth. The day of his birth and burial, I had longed to be able to clothe him with something boyish, babyish and delicate. My dreams were ended in the reality that all I had was a scarf of bright, garish teal, bought generously by a woman I barely knew. True, at least I had something. But to try to ease my longing to have been able to wrap his body with my motherly caress in a gentle cloth of baby blue, Jonathan said I could buy myself a headscarf of that color. So this scarf had become the much-deliberated-over, chosen memento. Bought from the land where he was carried and born and buried. How I treasured this tangible item that I could wear, something I could touch every day and remember how proudly grateful I am for my little son. Fondly, I gazed at the worn fabric, then looped and tied it around my brown hair. Remembering.

✨

Through the glass sliding doors I could see into the sanctuary, where people were gathered to pray and share stories. The rise and fall of South-African-accented-English and the Arabic translation filled the tile room, as I rocked my little girl to sleep. Like a dream, I realized that now I am holding a big, healthy child of my own. How many Sundays, and Tuesdays, and any days we met in that sanctuary two years ago, I had found my helpless gaze stuck by the glue of curiosity to those glass sliding doors. Behind them, a hubbub of mommies caring for little ones played like a fascinating drama to my aching soul. Pregnant moms putting their feet up on the brown couches; tired moms chasing toddlers across the tile, giving out snacks, wiping tears and messy faces. Moms doing what my very being welled with love and longing to do for my precious little boy. Moms with their tired bodies and sleepy eyes, moms whom I felt like I should belong amongst. Moms whose club I had joined, but now was a drop-out, for my baby had dropped out from this life and into the next. 

I remembered how the tears would well, and I would wonder what I could do for my aching heart. If only one of those moms would let me hold their baby, perhaps a little of the longing would be satisfied. But I was afraid they wouldn’t want my misery to get that close to their healthy happiness. Maybe they wouldn’t want my tragedy reach out and be in the vicinity of their precious babies. Sometimes I was brave enough to go into the nursery and soak in the camaraderie of mommyhood, brave enough to get close and share their joy and be willing to share my pain if they inquired.

My big, healthy girl snuggled deeper into my arms, and I stopped my reverie. “God has been so tenderly good to me,” I mused. “To bring me back to this place and remember. To remember my fears that I would ever have a living little one with me on this earth. To remember my longings and heartaches, and to miss my Seth and enjoy my Joy.” 

✨

The cemetery looked exactly the same as it did years before; a pale desert of graves. It struck me afresh that this area reminds me of a woman who heard some horrible news and all the color drained from her face. Nearly everything seems to fall under the category of a pasty cream color; from the earth to the rooftops of the boxy houses. Even the fig trees are covered in grey dust right now, and their leaves take on the color à la mode. As in a dream, I followed my husband as we made a pathway through marble and cement box-like tombs of various shapes and sizes, back to the little spot that marked the life of someone in our family. And there it was. Cement block marking with gravel inside, and a small piece of marble on which I had written Seth Malakai, son of Jonathan and Hannah Rudolph. The best I'd had was a “permanent” marker, now perfectly cleaned off by weather and sand. 

The pastor and the tomb-maker followed behind me, ready to make plans for building a cement box topped by an engraved piece of rock for the name and details of our son. Somewhat numbed by their presence, we gathered around and confirmed the details. Then, very kindly, they retreated a short distance away for a few minutes so we could be alone. Our daughter sat on the edge of a concrete block, swinging her chubby little legs and clapping her hands. 

I noticed her feet, and remembered the little baby feet I had tucked for the last and only time in a piece of cloth and left here under the sandy soil. Earth and heaven both felt closer here, as we stopped to pause and reflect.

✨

Up in the night, for the sixth or twelfth time, I caressed my little daughter, gently stroking her feverish forehead as she gulped my healthy milk. Far from resenting the interruption to a precious sleep, my mind was filled with remembering the last time I spent wakeful nights in this very city. In that season, however, the hours were haunted with longings for the baby who felt so close yet so unmistakably far away. Or was it unmistakably far away and yet so close? I wasn’t sure. Full of milk, I had longed to feed. Full of love, I had longed to give. Now I am here again, fully able to do both. I barely dared to dream about this day, back then when I would have given just about anything to have been able to stay up in the night, or awake in the hospital, with the son of my longings. Love hurts. And now, pouring out my sacrificial mother love on a little girly human, I think I started to believe what my Heavenly Parent was whispering then to my aching, refusing heart: “I ache with you. I really understand how much it hurts. I dare to love, too.”

✨

Yay! A Time To Learn

As a celebration of a new school year starting for many of you (home-schoolers in particular!) I'm sharing this little Resolve that I wrote a number of years ago during a year of teaching in a "one-room-school-house". (Can I get any winks and grins from my former students?)

If I Were A Student…

1. I would pray for my teacher.
2. I would pay close attention when my teacher talked, so I wouldn’t miss what she had to say.
3. I would try to help my teacher laugh when something ridiculous happened so she wouldn’t get too stressed out!
4. I would study as hard as I could, so I wouldn’t waste my time or the teacher’s.
5. I would throw myself into learning all I could.
6. I would do a little extra than told to.
7. I would try to always have a good attitude and at least TRY to do what the teacher asked of me.
8. I would write the teacher little encouraging notes.
9. I would have a great time and think school was the best thing.
10. I would get to class on time or early.
11. I would ask good questions so I could learn more.
12. I would squeeze every minute like I was juicing a good orange and lick up every last drop, determined not to waste the moments God has entrusted me with.

 But Right Now I’m a Teacher. So —

1. I will pray for the teacher!
2. I will pay close attention when the students talk, so I can understand how to help them best;
3. I will try to make my students laugh when something ridiculous happens so they won’t get too stressed out!
4. I will study hard, so I can be the best possible teacher, so I don’t waste my class’ time or mine.
5. I will throw myself into teaching as wholeheartedly as I can.
6. I will teach a little extra than I need to. ッ
7. I will try to always have a good attitude and at least TRY to help my students learn and have a great day.
8. I will write my students encouraging notes.
9. I will have a great time and think that school is the best thing.
10. I will get to class on time or early.
11. I will ask good questions so I can learn more and teach better.
12. I will squeeze every minute like I was juicing a good orange and lick up every last drop, determined not to waste the moments God has entrusted me with.

I don't know if you've thought of it before; but despite how it sometimes feels, the Teacher and the Student have a lot in common. We are working towards the same sort of things: 

            learning; 

            growing; 

            deepening our understanding of life, people, and the world around us; 

            having a great attitude every day; 

            squeezing each minute of all the good it holds.

When I was a student, I need to confess that the 12 ideals described above were definitely not always personified in Yours Truly! I must also reveal that my ideal teacher was not always "me" either. However, the room got brighter the day I realized that the problems I sometimes faced in my classroom were not all my students' faults! The same things I was desiring of them were reasonable to require of myself first and foremost. Whether my reader may be feeling ambitious or overwhelmed, a third-grader or a teacher, I hope these lists can make you smile. Why not join in my resolve to give the noble sport of Learning all the energy and devotion that you've got in this new season devoted to that cause?