Apr 7, 2012 | The Good Word
I‘ve never served time in the military, or really even considered it. I only have a couple of good friends who’ve been in the service and they weren’t in the service at the time that we were friends, so I’ll be the first to admit I’m a bit of outsider when it comes to things related to war and battle.
Librarians, please skip this next paragraph. I am, however, currently working through an old, moldy, water-damaged copy of Lee’s Generals. Slowly ripping out the pages to turn them into hearts and Valentine cards and leaves. I noted the other night that someone read Psalm 51 to Stonewall Jackson just before he died. The story is now re-memorialized as the leaves of a wreath hanging in our den. So that’s my current relationship with the Civil War.
And, I have seen my fair share of war movies. I love thinking about battle — the imagery as it relates to us as soldiers of Christ, the way 2 Timothy talks about it. I have been behind enemy lines, to my credit, but that’s just because I’ve played some paintball. I imagine that to be about as close to war as I’ll ever get.
My most recent paintball experience was a few years ago in Edinburgh. Lots of folks from our church decided to get together at a big paintball place just outside the city. Since I had a little prior experience under my belt, I was pretty excited about jumping in.
And then we picked teams.
Oh yes.
And to make it ‘fair’ they just decided to count off numbers — one, two, three, four… — and all the even numbers were on one team, all the odd numbers on the other. You’d think this would be a reasonable way to divide things up nicely.
It. Was. Not.
Somehow, all — and I do mean all — the bigger, stronger, and/or faster guys were on one team. They had like one girl. It wasn’t me. And the other team (which you know by now was my team) had our awesome, but about my height {I am not tall}, skinny worship leader, a couple guys still in high school, me, another girl, and some other dudes who I think, if we’d gotten into a fist fight, I possibly could’ve taken.
Right-o, captain. Onward and upward.
The first game had little to no strategy in it, and it did not involve a great amount of skill. It took one team being brave enough to head into enemy territory to capture the flag, and they had to brave dodging paintballs with no cover, covering a decent amount of distance before getting a chance at grabbing the flag.
My team was more patient {read: less brave} so we waited it out and ended up winning, since the other guys were willing to risk losing in order to attempt winning. (And because you only get to play for a certain amount of time — why waste the whole paintball session on a lousy game of capture the flag?)
I may or may not have shot Hero Hubs in the back in order to win that game. (Of course we were on different teams.)
The next couple of rounds had more skill involved. My team was tanking, hard and fast. I was really frustrated. No one was really leading — no one was taking charge. We had zero strategy. The other team had a member in the Scottish army — yes, actively serving at the time. It felt like we were in a fight we had no chance of winning. I consistently thought “Dang it — this isn’t fair!” And probably went so far as to think “Lord! Why is this happening? This just seems so unjust!” {I tend to pray about a lot of things and then wonder if the Lord is thinking, “Uh, seriously?”}
I was still disappointed when I ran out of ammo and got taken out by a couple of good shots, but I wished things had turned out differently — I didn’t feel like things happened the way they were supposed to.
It didn’t feel like I was in the right fight.
Thinking on it years later, I realize I have a few other life experiences under my belt that I sometimes look at in a similar fashion.
Maybe you can relate to this — you know those times in your life when you feel like you’ve gone into battle and absolutely nothing happened the way you thought it would?
The job that you thought was going to be a dream ended up being more like a nightmare?
You answered a call to step out in a new area — it took some bravery on your part — and then you felt like just standing up got you shot down? It put you in the enemy’s sights and the grenades started flying?
The natural thing that I immediately begin to do is turn to God and ask Him, “Lord, where did this all go wrong? What did I do wrong? What should I have done differently? Why am I in the wrong fight?”
There were some moments like that during our time in South Africa — more than I’d care to mention — like when the partners that were supposed to be helping us deliver thousands of shoes around the country during the World Cup pulled out. And we were living in an upstairs flat that never got any direct sunlight through the windows and the resultant mold problem had me getting sick on a regular basis. While I was watching the Bear, the Hubs was in a warehouse shifting hundreds of boxes of shoes to distribute over the next few weeks (meaning thousands of pairs of shoes inside hundreds of boxes) by himself because the promised volunteer assistance didn’t come through. We were financially strapped and, at the time, being on this particular mission field did not look the way we thought it would.
And. The Hubs had bronchitis.
I felt really helpless. We’d only been in SA maybe eight months at this point and already I was wondering — did we miss a step? Did we miss the Lord on this?
“Lord, am I supposed to be fighting this fight?”
Last Saturday night I was laying in bed, awake, thinking this thing through — how the Pawn Shop was a pretty hard season for me, but how I saw so clearly afterwards that it was God-ordained. And now looking back on some rough experiences since then — I see that I have fallen back into the mindset of thinking I somehow stumbled into the wrong fight. Because surely the Lord wouldn’t want me to go through hard stuff…right?
Processing all this slowly, with the Lord’s help, I start to draw a different conclusion:
Maybe the fact that the fight is hard sometimes means it’s the right fight.
It reminds me of the disciples asking Jesus about the blind man: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
I ask that in my own way: “Lord did I mess up? Did I totally miss it or not hear Your voice? Or did somebody else mess up to put me into this hard situation? Who’s to blame for this? If this is hard, it must be wrong… right?”
But Jesus breaks that either/or who-messed-up-mindset by saying:
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
Something so hard — could it be the will of God, for His glory?
The morning after I lay awake pondering this, our pastor pointed out a simple principle during his message, about God sending out the vine. When times are hard, the roots go deep. Our roots in God grow deep because we’re withstanding the storms.
On the surface, things may look rough. The strong winds are shaking leaves off of you, the heavy rains have you soaked — but underground, a good thing is happening. There is strength coming to your soul.
God builds us so that we don’t panic when pressure comes. He strengthens us so that we have the Faith to Face Lions.
Walking through the hard stuff — going through and not skirting the process — on the other side we are stronger, and on the other side we have a story to tell.
And the Crucifixion — not exactly a stroll down a lane lined with daisies. But wasn’t it the hard that that Jesus was willing to walk through what brought us peace?
Maybe the fact that the fight is hard means it’s the right fight.
Could I encourage you to be brave today? Because the fact that things are tough doesn’t by necessity mean you’re in the wrong place or God has forgotten you. {I tend to forget that my comfort isn’t His first priority.} It might even mean you’re right where you’re supposed to be.
He says:
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. {Is. 43:2}
We can be certain there is going to be a fight. A fight for justice. A fight for doing what’s right and staying above reproach. A fight to keep our souls trusting Him when the question Why? doesn’t have an answer yet. And perhaps the fact that we’re in the midst of a fight means we are exactly, exactly, where we’re supposed to be.
Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. {Deut. 31:6}
Keep fighting the good fight, friends. Believe the Truth that incredible suffering purchases peace, and a hard fight so often means glory is just around the corner.
xCC
P.S. In case you lay in bed one night this week and suddenly thought otherwise, this little bit of news was not an April Fool’s joke!
Apr 1, 2012 | A Repat, Stories
Maywhobiddyhaps things have been a little quiet ’round here. I suppose that depends on your definition of quiet. But it’s for very good reason. A few very good reasons. So shall I continue?
Well, for starters, a little opportunity has come up for the Hubs and myself (which would not involve us moving country or even home – bonus!) and which we are considering and praying about. It seems like a good idea — I am just hungry to know that it’s a God-idea. More on that later.
I’ve tried out going no-poo. (As in quitting shampoo and using this alternative method which is supposed to mean you only have to wash your hair like once a week and it’s still going to be fabulous.) I’ve held off on telling you about this adventure because I didn’t know what to say yet. I fell off the wagon this morning because my scalp was really itchy. I’m going to try again — probably when we get back from SA. Does this relate in any way to the conversation we’re having right now? Mmmm…probably not.
Anywho.
This is what the Bear looks like these days.
Also, we are preparing for a little trip to Atlanta for Easter (scoping out spots for the Bear to hunt Easter eggs) and looking forward to hanging with Unky Russ again. Maybe seeing Rory and Sarah! (Rory whose kilt I was sporting the other day, and Sarah, his unsinkably-good-spirited Lord-loving wife). AND I hope hope hope we’ll be traveling to that South African food store that makes me feel right at home.
Not long after we get back, (11ish days I think?) we take off for SA. Which is VERY exciting. For a gabillion reasons which include seeing Goo-Goo and Gammy and Auntie Lyn, AND seeing Unky Vaughan and Auntie Penny get married. On a game reserve in South Africa — gorgeous!! — where we’ll also get to do game viewing and relax and shew-wee I am pumped!
In other news, I am searching for the bottom of my laundry basket, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen it I’m beginning to think it does not actually exist.
This is what Tiger Tank looks like these days. He is taking steps now and then!
I’ve also been working hard on a redesign, so that, true to my word, I will change the name of this here blog because I’m not blogging From Africa any more. (Still with love of course.) By the time I get it done, I might be blogging from South Africa again. For a month.
Here’s a snippety-preview of what might be coming. Unless I throw it all out and start over again. I already did that twice. And lost half my work once. This might be a pattern I should have checked out.
{Any guesses at what that design is going for?}
In addition to that tidbit which I’m sure will keep you on the edge of your seat, there is a significant possibility that we’ll be able to go to Agnes’s wedding. Yes, it’s Alan’s wedding too, but ya know, Agnes was pretty much the missing link that made sure our second child wasn’t born in a car or on the side of a highway. And so to us it’s Agnes’s wedding. {But we love Alan and we’ll be very glad to see him, too.} And ohmyheart I am already thinking about what the Ring Bear should wear. Lord let it be so!
Then there’s this last little piece of information that draws to a conclusion the many reasons why I’ve had a less-than-average amount to say lately. It does involve the fact that I’m not good at keeping things quiet and so I’m better off just hushing until it’s time to speak. It also involves me being ridiculously tired and fighting regular bouts of nausea. And needing to tinkle at 3 am.
And doing something for the first time and the third time at the same time, this November. (See if you can figure that one out.)
And thats the Big (but still small) update!
xCC
Mar 29, 2012 | Stories
We talked about it in bed a couple of nights ago…was it a Biblical statement? “God will never give you more than you can handle?” That evening Katie — brave and beautiful, living out the Gospel as a single Mom with a houseful of orphans-come-home in Uganda whispered the thought in a blog post: Does He give us more than we can handle so that we will turn to Him?
Yes, Katie — I think so.
Because the point of living out the Gospel-life is learning that in Him we have everything we need for life and godliness. When babies won’t nap and houses need scrubbing. When the refrigerator is empty and we don’t know what we’ll eat tomorrow. When we say goodbye to children for the last time and watch them lowered into the ground.
This testimony has been told, near and far for generations:
Jesus! He is enough.
We didn’t come to a conclusion in bed that night, though as the case usually is my mind was made up. He does give us more than we can handle. Then He also gives us Jesus.
And then the God-whisper comes again, on my screen, a link from a friend — this mother who handles the more-than-you-can-handle by His grace. She has said goodbye to a son named Asher, and my heart tightens, I swallow hard, I look away and tell my eyes not to cry. Arms full with four babies three and under and this is how she does it:
Jesus! He is enough.
I go back to thinking about how we’re going to make it, an unknown future, a known and good God. We’ve got questions, He’s got answers. I’ve got worry. He’s got peace. I don’t know about tomorrow, but He is here today.
Jesus! He is enough.
These words I’ve linked to — they are worth taking the time to read.
And these thoughts, perhaps worth pondering. If He does give us more than we can handle but we think that He won’t — will we know how to handle it? If instead we trust that no matter what fiery furnace or lion’s den we face, we rely on this Truth, this Word, the Word made flesh who dwelt among us — the Word, the Man who is the Truth — surely we can face it all.
Jesus! He is enough.
xCC
Mar 27, 2012 | The Good Word, The Parenthood
One of the most delightful moments of the day these days is the moment when the Hubs, the Bear and I are piled into our bed at bedtime. The Tiger is already down for the night, and the Bear gets to choose two or three stories from his Children’s Bible for us to read. It’s such a peaceful and quiet time, and, being honest, I am usually thankful that it’s the Bear’s bedtime, and my own bedtime is not too far away.
Sometimes the Bear “reads” one of the stories himself, and when that’s the case you can count on him choosing the story of David and Juh-liath. He pretty much has it memorized, although it’s a slightly abbreviated version of the story. He emphasizes the things he finds most important like the fact that Juh-liath was nine feet tall, like Da-da, and that the stone landed in Juh-liath’s forehead before that Da-da-sized giant fell down.
Hearing this precious abbreviated version of the story has breathed new life into it for me. And even if it’s told with sentences that are no more than six words long on pages that are mostly full of pictures, you could still write a book about the beautiful life lessons to be gleaned from the story.
“You’re only a boy…”
Take this moment for instance — the moment when David tells Saul he’s going to fight Goliath. The Bear always remembers this key phrase — Saul’s response to David’s willingness to take on a fight no one else in the army was willing to stand up to — “You’re only a boy! How can you fight Goliath?”
You might remember David’s brave and valiant response: “God will help me.”
And isn’t it amazing that a boy like David understood what no one else saw, even though Israel’s army had been hiding from the giant for days, and had plenty of time to think about it?
David understood that God just needed someone willing to fight — the battle was the Lord’s!
Have you ever thought that maybe we just need to be willing to stand up and face our giants and God can give us the victory?
“He tried them on, but they were too heavy.”
Picture a boy with a helmet covering his eyes, a sword and a shield weighing him down. Saul gave David his armor, helmet, and sword. David tried them on — but they were too heavy.
People will tell you to fight the way they think you should. Sometimes one of our biggest battles is learning to live out the Gospel in a world that would rather we focus on being comfortable and complacent. A world that would rather we spend money on ourselves, stay focused on being good consumers. And even the people who are a part of our army — even our brothers and sisters in the Lord — might (with good intentions) hasten us to take it easy, be safe, or provide an excuse for why we don’t need to step up and obey the calling of God on our hearts.
We cannot win our battles wearing other people’s armor. The Hubs would never have won a race in the pool if he tried to swim in someone else’s lane. Look at the boundary lines God has placed around you, fight the way you were made to fight, and watch how our redeeming God uses the things that look like limitations to bring Him more glory.
“So he picked the five stones from the water.”
Goliath had a sword. David had a slingshot. I’ve heard he picked up five stones because Goliath had four brothers. Out in the fields, tending the sheep, David didn’t learn much about wielding a sword — but he did know how to use a slingshot. And that was all God needed.
Remember when God dwindled Gideon’s army from thousands of men to just 300? Or when Moses was afraid to speak up because of a speech impediment? Isn’t it the way of the Lord — to use the weak things of the world to shame the strong? (1 Cor. 1:27} And isn’t it glorious?
“This battle is the Lord’s.”
Here we are — back where we started. With a young boy who believed what no one else would. God could’ve used the army — they could’ve defeated the giant together — but they were unwilling to come out from their tents and face him. But here comes this ruddy shepherd-boy, certain that the Philistines are no match for the God of Israel, certain that if he is only willing to stand up, the victory is secure.
What made David so certain of that victory? When all his older brothers backed down — it was as if he knew he was born to stand up. I think his declarations of faith throughout the story make it clear where the bravery came from. “God will help me.” “This battle is the Lord’s.”
“David trusted God.”
Although he might forget the couple of sentences that follow, the Bear remembers this one: David trusted God. The story ends:
David trusted God.
God helped David win.
All the people were glad.
And in the last illustration, the giant is lying on the ground and David is standing, arms stretched heavenward.
In our own lives, the enemy might send out his best troops to fight us. And the enemy might look bigger, stronger, faster (and even hairier) than you or me. But the truth is it doesn’t matter what the enemy looks like — we know that if God is for us, no one can stand against us! If God finds a heart willing to stand up for the things that matter to God, you can be sure the results will never be less than glorious.
Are you willing to face your giants and forget your limitations? {And do you believe in a limit-less God?}
xCC
Mar 26, 2012 | A Repat, An Expat, The Good Word
One of the things I’ve observed after being home for six months now is how much more concerned I suddenly feel about my appearance or behavior in just about any given situation. They say that when you move to a new place where no one knows you, you can choose to be whoever you want to be. I think there’s a lot of truth to that statement.
In Scotland and in South Africa, I used my ‘differentness’ or ‘foreignness’ or even my ‘Americanness’ as an excuse to do what I wanted to do and say what I wanted to say. I often asked bold questions or wasn’t afraid to step out and do something different (perhaps even unusual?) because I trusted that for the most part people would chalk my quirks and eccentricities up to me being a foreigner.
Being a foreigner becomes the element of your identity that seems to ground the rest of who you are — why you choose the words you choose when you speak, why the words sound the way they do coming out of your mouth, why you eat the food you eat or behave the way you do — so much of your identity is marked by different.
I suppose after growing up in a small town with lots of other people with similar histories, I relished the opportunity to be unabashedly different. I embraced being different because it seemed to give me a leniency with people — “well it’s okay that she isn’t doing that the way we would normally do it — she’s not from around here.”
At the same time, I found myself to be a bit of a chameleon. In conversations with Scottish people, I began choosing words that were more commonly used in ‘Scottish English’ and I adapted my accent to be better understood. In conversations with Afrikaans-speaking South Africans, I sometimes found myself speaking English in the unique way that native speakers of Afrikaans speak it. And now, back in North Carolina, I feel like I’ve heard about thirty-seven different manners of speech come out of my mouth.
{Edinburgh, 2009: Embracing Scottish culture in my friend Rory’s kilt. Can you believe how tall he is? Or how short I am?}
What was initially a pretty thick southern accent toned down a few notches while I studied Communications for my undergraduate degree. Four years in Scotland toned it down even more, as I began to recognize that I wanted to speak in such a way that people might spend less time thinking about how I’d said something and more time thinking about what I’d said. Being married to a South African certainly changed my attempts at ‘Briticizing’ my American English into some kind of South African-British-American-hybrid speak.
And now, back here, six months on, I am not sure I know what normal speech is for me — it often depends on who I’m talking to. I listen to locals repeat things I say because they are different — and I feel awkward. But as an old friend with a very southern drawl said goodbye and left the treadmill beside mine at the gym this morning, I heard the thickest, southernest tawk to yew late-ur come out of my mouth. I stared at my reflection in the video screen for a moment with a furrowed brow, thinking, what was that?
For six years, I found my identity overseas in being a student, a wife, a mother, a church planter, and perhaps more than anything else, in being a foreigner. And whenever I came home, my identity felt wrapped up in the fact that I was living overseas — I wasn’t ‘a local’ anymore. But now, enjoying the grace to say things differently and do things differently feels like it’s no longer a part of my life, and I regret it. I’m from here, I should know what to do… right?
Last week I went to a ladies’ luncheon at my Mom’s church and sat uncomfortably in my seat for those two hours — perhaps out of a couple hundred women there, I was the only one (besides the team with aprons serving the meal) who was wearing jeans. I almost felt like I could actually feel people feeling sorry for me as I walked up — Shame, she didn’t know she should’ve worn a skirt or a dress to this.
I no longer have my foreign identity to blame when I make a mistake — and I feel kind of naked without it.
As I’ve processed this change — and even a little bit grieved the loss of that identity these last six months, I’ve been reminded that my identity has to be found in Christ. Everything else is secondary to who I am because of who He is. As Paul put it in his letter to the Colossians:
If then, you were raised with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. {Col. 3:1-3}
The truth is, every earthly identity I ever cart around this earth — being a runner or a mother or a swimmer or a crafter or a baker, even a writer or an ethicist — will no longer matter in heaven. We will all be worshipers of God — His beloved children — when we get there.
I consistently sense myself internally resisting re-assimilation. For all its beauty, my culture — and every other culture — does not lend itself to fully living out the Gospel. Jesus was so incredibly counter-cultural. And His followers — selling their possessions and giving to their brothers as they had need — they were counter-cultural, too. Our culture might try to label that way of living Communist — but what if there are aspects of it we should be living out as the body of Christ — regardless of what our culture says?
How should we handle the foreigners and immigrants among us based on a Biblical worldview?
What about the poor, or people with disabilities?
The challenge, I find, is to continue to look for my life in Christ, so that His example — and not my culture (or ‘the norm’ in my current locale) is what tells me how to live out the Gospel.
Have you ever experienced the need to reject some aspect of your culture in order to embrace the Gospel?
xCC
I create resources to help people find deeper, more meaningful relationships with God through pursuing, pondering, and prayer. The "Shop" link above will take you to the home of many of the lovely resources I’ve created to help you keep walking one day deeper with Jesus.