Tag Archives: God

He Knows About the Potatoes

I stayed up late making a batch of apple muffins and got up early to throw in a batch of chocolate ones before the guests arrived. This is PNG, so no telling when exactly to expect the group of anywhere from five to thirty ladies; but I figured before 10 a.m. was unlikely. It was a safe bet. The muffins had plenty of time to cool with no sign of company in sight. I was glad I hadn’t stayed up late to finish the second batch. My husband, on the other hand, had stayed up quite late getting the bathroom cleaned.

10 a.m., 10:30 a.m. 11 a.m. 11:30 a.m.—no one, no phone call. Those muffins started to look pretty tempting, and I started to wonder if somehow plans had changed between Sunday and Wednesday. “If no one is here by noon,” I thought, “I’m having muffins for lunch.” It took a few phone calls to confirm that, yes, during the morning plans had apparently changed; and the ladies weren’t going to make it. No problem, this is PNG. You learn to go with the flow.

The muffins got divided up. Some went to the neighbors, some to the pastor’s family and another plate we dropped off to friends who just had a baby boy. As we drove home from that visit, I found out that more company was coming over this time for dinner. No worries, Simon’s aunt had recently given us a chicken, which I hadn’t gotten around to cooking yet. I had a few carrots and potatoes to do a roast so with rice, I thought, that should feed everyone.

“I could really use a few more potatoes,” I told my husband. “But let’s just use what we have.” Two people coming over turned into four people coming over. I needed to get the roast going, but Simon told me to go lay down for 20 minutes first, which was a smart decision.

When I got up from my nap, Simon was peeling potatoes—more potatoes then we had in the house. The neighbor had returned the muffin plate bringing it back heaped up with potatoes. It was perfect. We got the roast in late—really late, but the guests didn’t arrive until well past eight, so it all worked out. And I just had to smile because as crazy and unpredictable as every day life can be here in PNG, God knows. He knows whose coming over and who plans to but doesn’t make it. He knows who needs a visit or even something as simple as a plate of muffins. He knows the right timing for everything especially when I don’t. He knows I need those extra potatoes and as small a thing as it is he takes care of it every single time.

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Perfect Love

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Sitting in a plastic chair trying not to think too much. Hospitals, pain, the unknown—sometimes I feel myself consumed by fear. I was barely showing but many of the ladies around me had huge bellies, and I thought to myself, “can I really do this.”

Fear—it’s no joke. Pain is hard to ignore. The unknown—how do you prepare when you don’t know what to prepare for?

But, as I sat there trying not to think too much the words—perfect love casts out fear popped into my head. Perfect love—love the opposite of fear.

Fear tears down.

Love heals.

Fear destroys.

Love creates.

Love gives confidence.

Fear debilitates.

It’s as simple as that.

“There is no fear in love.” 1 John 4:18 says. “But perfect love drives out fear.”

So that’s the answer. Not as much a change of circumstances, but a change of perspective—a change of attitude. The unknown, the pain, the reality of the future is still as real as it was yesterday but today, this year, this moment I want to choose love. I’m tired of being consumed by fear and things that I can’t change. This year I choose to let love get me through. Perfect love, the love of the Father. The love we can only know because He first loved us.

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That Not so Innocent Green Eyed Monster

Two blog posts caught my attention this past week, and I can’t seem to get them out of my head. The first post was from a mom with a special needs child writing about how she is unable to like pictures posted on facebook of her friend’s children doing things that her own child will never be able to do. It was a touching, honest piece about the struggles of raising a child with unique challenges. But, while I felt for the author, her conclusions did not sit well with me.

The second piece was an equally honest post also by a mother. This mom wrote about her struggle with feelings of heartbrokenness when she saw her friends’ beautifully decorated nurseries while she raised her two kids in a cramped trailer. Due to a tough financial time, she and her husband were unable to give their kids the space and material comforts that they longed to be able to provide which left this young mom feeling inadequate and unable to rejoice with her friends who were blessed with more spacious accommodations.

I feel for these two ladies. Clearly, they love their kidos and long for them to have as “normal” lives as possible. What I cannot agree with is their conclusions that sometimes your own life is too painful to rejoice in other people’s happiness and that these feelings are some how ok. I just can’t agree. It’s good to be honest about struggles, pain and disappointments in life, but allowing a mindset of, “I can only be happy for you when things are going well for me,” is pure poison. Don’t swallow it.

Last month marks 20 years since my beautiful twin sister Allison passed away. The hurt is still so real that I often find it hard to even talk about her without tearing up. It will probably always be this way, but interestingly enough, I’ve often found healing through allowing myself to be friends with other twins. Yes, there are moments that my heart simply aches when I see twins interacting because I miss that special closeness in my own life, but I’m happy for them. My story also adds a perspective to the lives of twins that I’m privileged to meet because in a way it serves as a reminder for them to be extra thankful for their twin which some have taken for granted.

We are all asked to walk different walks and of course most people would not choose the hard path if given a choice. So many couples passionately declare the vows, “for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,” but do we really mean it? When financial struggles actually hit or one partner’s health mars the dream of a perfect happy-ever-after, too many times divorce follows. The vows were empty syllables. Someone leaves, seeking their happiness elsewhere, claiming that this wasn’t the life they signed up for even though they had previously vowed to stick it out.

Hard times are a reality. It’s unrealistic to expect a fairytale life in a world that is broken by sin. This is why we need people to walk through life with us and not alienate ourselves when things didn’t turn out as expected. The wisest king in history wrote there is, “a time to weep and a time to laugh” (Ecclesiastes 3:4). Be there for the tears as well as the celebrations even when it’s not your celebration. We need to stop entertaining the lie that we deserve certain things in life like healthy kids, a picture perfect house, and the perfect marriage.

Each day is a gift. Each life is different from the next, so live yours not someone else’s. Sometimes the best way to work through pain is to take the focus off yourself and be there for someone else. Cry with them in their pain but also be big enough to rejoice with them when something good is happening in their life even if that same thing isn’t happening in yours. Comparison often leads to jealousy and jealousy can lead to hatred of other people’s lives or even your own life. That tenth commandment about not coveting is there for a reason. God doesn’t want us looking around at other people’s things whether that be a well developing child or a perfectly decorated nursery and wish that it was ours. He gives daily grace to handle what life brings and that should be the focus, not alienating people from your life because they have what you wish you could.

Not to say that life is easy or that pain does not cut deeply. It does, so deeply sometimes. But, it’s not healthy to stay too long in that place of pain. Of course, it’s harder for someone who is struggling with infertility to rejoice with a friend who announces her third pregnancy, but what love when the person is able to do so. There aren’t easy answers at times. Of course we all wish for healthy children and financially secure lives, but Jesus said in John 16:33, “in this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have over come the world.” The first part of the verse says, “I have told you these things so that you may have peace.” Maybe those trouble will come now, or maybe they will come later down the road. The question is how will you handle it—with grace and peace or with bitterness? What will you learn from the painful times? Will your response inspire others up or push them way? The enemy wants us to think that we are in this alone. No one else can possible understand our pain, but that’s not true. When one part of the body of Christ is in pain the whole body feels it even down to the tiniest toe. That’s why we need each other. That’s why it’s important to weep together and also to laugh together.

Each situation is unique. Each special needs child has something to teach the world that only he or she can teach. Every financial struggle is a building block for later in life. Honestly, your children will remember your love and time spent together more then they will a cutely painted nursery decked out in pinterest’s latest.

Be YOU and let your friends be them. Your story, especially those painful parts, is unique. Live your life not someone else’s. Laugh through the fun parts and cry through the hard times. Let people cry with you and be open to rejoicing with them as well. It’s a way to heal your own heart. Don’t let the green eyed monster of jealousy take your eyes off the good things that your life has to offer which includes having the grace to rejoice with those around you.

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Keep Me Safe

IMG_66366 a.m. the sun barely tinting the sky. The more light appeared the more ice appeared. Elsa’s dreamland, but not conducive to carrying overweight suitcase from our little cabin in the woods to where the car was parked. I wouldn’t have been up if the plan hadn’t been to start our trip that morning from my parent’s house to Chicago (which on a sunny day is a 6 to 7 hours drive). The sun had a way to go before it would win over the ice, which left us no choice but to delay our trip until the roads cleared enough for safe driving.

In spite of the ridiculous cold, something in that icy early morning air felt a bit magical. The world lay in a stunned sort of silence. The beauty of winter frozen in time, but just for a moment. The morning sun threatened to melt the spell.

Since the trip was delayed, I grabbed my camera and stole a pair of my dad’s rubber boots. It’s hard to take a bad picture in the middle of so much beauty. As I snapped away, I spotted a tiny nest dripped in icicles tucked safely in the branches above. “That,” I thought, “is a picture of refuge, a picture of resilience.”

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I’ve been reading through Psalms again. Somehow I always seem to come back to reading the Psalms especially when starting a new phase in life or when going through a difficult period. There’s something so raw and honest in the words of the Psalms. Deep cries for justice and honest searching for life’s meaning. There are also tremendous amounts of hope on each page of poetry. Such beauty in word choice, and deep meaning in each line.

As I’ve been reading, the word refuge keeps surfacing. I love the idea of God as the one safe place in the midst of life’s uncertain, icy storms. He is a shelter when challenges seem overwhelming, a rock of hope when injustice overwhelms. There are no promises of an easy life, but like the nest high up in that tree there is always a place to go for shelter. There is always a place to stay until the sun melts the icy night. “Keep me safe, my God, for in you I take refuge.” –Psalm 16:1

“Let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you. Surely, Lord, you bless the righteous; you surround them with your favor as with a shield.” –Psalm 5:11-12

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Take This Cup

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It’s been three weeks of teaching. Something I both love and hate. I love the chance to talk to a group of kids, telling them that they matter and that God loves them. He cares for all of their worries and sees all of their struggles.

But, I dread it. Every week I dread it so much that I can’t think about it for too long before I go or my nerves take over. I hate standing in front of a group and speaking. I feel vulnerable, small, and shaky. I’m not a natural speaker. I’m not a gifted presenter. My comfort zone is pen and paper. There my soul feels free and alive. In front of a crowd my tongue feels tied and mentally I count the minutes until I can sit down again and breath.

To get me through my natural feelings of inadequacy, it has taken a lot of prayer and an intense focus on the Bible story I’m sharing. Each story so far has included a child in some way. I want to show the class of 4th to 8th graders that I have been given the privilege to speak to that they are never too young, to small, or to weak to be used by God.

Last week focused on the widow and her two sons whose story is found in 2 Kings chapter 4.They were desperate with more debt then they could pay. They cried out to God for a solution. I told the row of intent faces sitting in front of me that the story illustrated that no situation is too difficult for God. Following the prophet Elisha’s direction, the widow and her two sons went from house to house collecting jars. Then, as they poured their small cup of oil into the jars that they had collected, God multiplied that cup of oil which they then sold to pay their debts. I told the kids that often God asks us to put feet to our prayers. The money they needed didn’t just fall from the sky, but God provided an opportunity for them and when they followed in faith and obedience their need was met. “God used the little that the widow had,” I told the kids. “It was just a small amount of oil, but from that He multiplied and multiplied. We should expect big things from God,” I concluded. “He can take our little bit, our small lives, our cup of oil and do great things.”

Thankful that the lesson had filled my allotted time I sat down and took a deep breath. God had gotten me through another week. But, God wasn’t done. He took the little that I had and multiplied it. My co-teacher jumped in. He saw the theme that no one is too young or too small to make a difference and ran with it giving a passionate speech about how God wanted to work in each of their lives. By the end of the class time (which had now run overtime) the majority of the class had gathered up front expressing a desire to have a personal relationship with Christ.

God was moving, and to be honest, I was stunned to be apart of it. So we prayed together and then my co-teacher invited those who had prayed to come back later in the day for more a more in-depth talk. I walked away from that classroom amazed, and yet I really shouldn’t have been. God had taken the little cup of oil that I had to offer and multiplied it. Why was I so surprised? Just as I told the class, we should expect big things from God. He moves in His timing and His ways, but He moves. He takes that small bit that we have to offer and when we walk in obedience, and He multiplies it. To God be the glory.

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The Difference

It’s amazing the difference, the cool of the evening contrasted with the heat of mid-day. The tension of not knowing, of not always fitting in, to finally settling and seeing that yes—even during this short two and a half months God has a purpose. A purpose often different from my own, but one that grows me even in areas where I didn’t realize I needed growth.

It’s been two weeks now of living on Kenya’s colorful coast, living in a community of 10 to 25 people depending on the day. Life is simple—bucket showers, a basic diet, a loose often open schedule for the week which for someone who is used to being busy can be hard. Once again I’ve found myself waiting. Why God? Why here? Why this town? Why at this time? His leading to come was so clear, but sometimes the day to day can be less clear. But we’re here. I’m here, and I find that God seems to have the most to teach in the midst of the stillness, and it’s not until I’ve learned those lessons that He allows me to move to the next thing.

I want to accomplish something. He wants me to abide. I want the days to be full, to tick them off the calendar because if I’m honest with myself my eye is already on the next phase. He wants me to be still, to enjoy this moment, to seek His face.

Again, my careful plans change; but as I loosen my fingers and allow Him to write my story beautiful things happen—an opportunity to teach, the chance to invest in a young girl, time for needed spiritual development, conversations that change me, opportunities to encourage, the chance to learn from those who have been there before. Everyday a new opportunity to see what God has for this day. Once again, I’m humbled and thankful to be on this journey, in this place of contrasts, serving a God who knows the futures and delights in the growth of His children.

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Stillness of the Soul

Two three day weekends (thanks to a UK holiday followed by a US holiday) and a delay in the lovely process of bureaucracy has resulted in me landing in Kenya three days ago while my fiancé waits in London for his passport to be returned. The good news is that the visa was approved, but the visa process and waiting for the passport to be available for collection has been a bit of a patience game.

So, plans to jump right into ministry have been delayed; and instead I’m enjoying the hospitality of friends who run a children’s home near Nairobi while I wait. I must admit that the American side of me finds having no schedule, no job, and no responsibilities a bit disconcerting. I’m in limbo, unable to plan, unable to fill my day with things that keep me from having to stop and honesty look at my life.

Sometimes the stillness scares me.

It’s ok for a day or two. I’ve repacked my luggage twice, spent time playing with some of the kids, and have even been able to get some wedding planning done. But, as everyone else has schedules and responsibilities; I currently have none so I spend the majority of my day alone.

Today I read Henri Nouwen’s The Way of the Heart. Eighty-four pages of pure wisdom. I felt convicted, encouraged, challenged, and feed all at the same time. This slim book somehow manages to unwrap the purpose of solitude in such a simple, beautiful way that it’s hard as a reader not to be changed by its profound counter-cultural message. Stop and be still.

But we’re afraid of the stillness.

It’s easy to see busyness as a good thing, but Nouwen shows that a certain amount of silence is essential to one’s spiritual life. Yes, we may fear the silence; but we need it in order to truly understand God. “We move through life in such a distracted way,” Nouwen writes, “that we do not even take the time and rest to wonder if any of the things we think, say, or do are worth thinking, saying, or doing.”

“Solitude is the furnace of transformation,” Nouwen argues. “Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusion of the false self… In solitude I get rid of my scaffolding: no friends to talk with, no telephone calls to make, no meetings to attend, no music to entertain, no books to distract, just me—naked, vulnerable, weak, sinful, deprived, broken,—nothing. It is this nothingness so dreadful that everything in me wants to run to my friends, my work, and my distractions so that I can forget my nothingness and make myself believe that I am worth something.”

When it’s all stripped away—when it’s just you and God—it’s easy to see how small you are, how sinful, how, broken. But, as unpleasant as it is to be stripped of the props that we cling to in order to provide routine in our lives; it’s mind-blowing to experience that—while God is a God of order—He is not a God of routine. He has more in store then just the comfortable. He’s not interested in our busyness. He is interested in our soul, in a relationship, in more then what tradition and culture have to offer.

So I’m taking some time to stop—to ignore the nagging feeling that I must go out and do something. Time to stop and evaluate myself, my heart, my motives. It is scary because I don’t always like what I find when in the stillness I stare into the brokenness of my soul, but as Nouwen so insightfully points out solitude is the furnace of transformation. The silence allows God to shape the soul into what He wants it to be. A painful process, but one that produces eternal result. A process that transforms one from doing for the sake of doing to—being, existing, feeling life, and finding true purpose.

Be still my soul

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