A Slower Pace

"Ahh, you have become very fat! Very fat now!"

The whole of his thin, frail frame laughs as he throws his head back in joy, while the men of Western influence chuckle nervously.

“Very fat now!”

He turns to the others and exclaims it again, and the laughter pours forth. Yes, life has been very good to me through the years, full of joys and hurts, tears and laughter, and little hands pull at my skirt. This patriarch of many laughs as he embraces, kisses, and greets all in the room.

It is a large, rectangular sitting room; wooden boards that cover the windows now open wide, allowing the breath of God to blow in and out, and His light is the only source to bring life out of darkness. The old wooden chairs that line the walls around the room tell the stories of visitors past, with dents and chips in the wood, and turquoise cushions peaking out from the shreds of the once brightly colored fabrics that cover them. Beat up wooden tables full of character and years fill the space in the middle of the room.

The walls echo of the lives that have passed through this room, grand and simple. 16 children were born and raised in this place, orphans have been taken in, visitors from afar have felt its welcome, all of their laughter and love now distant echoes in a room that now sits empty most days, save the elders who remain behind. The squeals of granddaughters from afar now awake the quiet memories, their giggles resurrecting the joy for all the years past. As I sit quietly here now and listen, murmurs of meetings, homework, children, laughter, families and life overwhelm my heart. This room has seen much.

And the matriarch stands, in quiet majesty, queen of this home for over 50 years, through births and burials, soft voice carries wisdom dealt out gently, patiently, in a tongue I do not know, this mother in love of mine. The face of this aged woman smiles as a whole as she tends to her man-son, granddaughters trailing behind her step. She serves him his favorite food, after all these years. With joy, she still knows how to make her son smile.

She prays to the God of us all, showing gratitude for years come and gone, for children come and gone, for visitors come and gone, and for the travels that bring them all home again. Wrinkled hands folded, calloused and tough by hard years of exhausting labor in the cools fields of this Kenyan village, the lines around her soft eyes speak of the smiles and squints for a lifetime.

She embodies beauty and grace.

She is clothed in strength and dignity.

She serves us traditional porridge in an old calabash and we drink in the warmth of family and home of his birth.

The brothers gather under the tree, the boardroom of this people, their lines speak of clan strength. Dirty kids chew on sugar cane and enjoy the freedom of spitting out the remains. And we pass the remains of the afternoon in this village out in the bush, the gentle breath of God blowing a breeze of refreshment over our travel-weary souls.

And we are reminded that contented simplicity far outweighs the bustle and noises that would otherwise lure and distract from this plain beauty, and that it is good to be home. 

Linking to beautiful Emily at in the hush of the moon.

The Ahhh of Life

So for the past two weeks, my husband has been traveling and training. I tend to not talk about him being away while he is away because I prefer not to broadcast that news, but currently he is back in Kenya with us. Now, when we are in the states and he travels, it is a challenge. Being home with 3 young girls is exhausting. But when we are in the states, there is a bit more of a support system in place, most of the time. I have a vehicle, most of the time, and am able to go places, be active, get out with the girls. I can go to the gym to burn off excess stress, or calories. I can meet girlfriends for lunch and have adult conversations. I have family and friends around to help me with the girls occasionally if I need a break, or need to run an errand alone. I have options.

But when he travels and we are here in Africa, that support system is not in place, and life is a bit more exhausting than normal, to say the least. So the past two weeks were certainly a challenge. There were days when all patience was gone, but snippy, kurt responses were just flowing. There were days that early bedtimes were just flat-out necessary for sanity's sake. There were days that I just could not come up with enough things for them to do to keep their hands busy and out of trouble. It was rough, and I was more than ready for my husband to come home.

Truth be told, though, those rough days are not only limited to my husband's travel days. Sometimes, it is just downright hard to be passionate about staying at home with the kids. I worked hard for my education and loved my career, though it certainly took a toll on my heart. But I loved being able to contribute to something bigger than myself, to be a part of the world and be passionate about giving of myself, and receiving gratitude, or any feedback at all, for the work that I did. Some days, it is really hard to get passionate about changing one more diaper whose stench could make your eyes water. It's hard to get excited about cleaning up yet another spill, or finding yet another pair of lost shoes, or washing the laundry again, not to mention the dishes. And the mouths to be fed, floors to be cleaned, beds to be made, etc. etc. etc. There are days when those sibling squabbles are just more than I can handle.

To hear that familiar wail of:

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! Toria hit me!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM! Juju pulled my hair!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! Toria is looking at me!!" 

or 

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! Juju won't leave me alone!" 

or 

any combination of the above, plus many, many more, 

for the umpteenth time in a day, 

it's enough to throw me over the edge.

Last night one of the girls came to with one of the above listed complaints, I think it was that her sister hit her. So I, in my pure apathy and lack of desire to play referee just one more time for the day, told her to go hit her sister back. She looked at me, puzzled for a moment, then quickly said, "OK" and turned to pursue the offender. There are those days when I just reach my absolute end, and would much rather throw the two girls into a ring and let them battle it out to see who will be standing at the end, declare the winner and send them all to bed. 

My husband looked at me in wonderment as he stopped the offended from going after her offender. It's OK. He hasn't been here. There are those days, though, when I just wonder what my contribution is, or if I have just faded into some invisible vacuum of mommyhood that has swallowed my identity whole.

But then there are other moments, when I am reminded of what I am building into. When one of my little girls looks at me and says with a genuine heart, "Mommy, I want to be just like you when I grow up." Or another will take my face in hands and say, "Mommy, you are the best mommy I know." There are those redeeming moments when I am reminded that I am building them, that I am contributing to the future by letting these girls know that they are worth everything, and more. 

There are things that I am doing for myself these days, healing journeys that I am on, issues that I am tackling that I was never willing to venture on before. There are things that I am doing now for myself, because of them. Because I don't want them to take the path that I did. I don't want them to struggle as I have. I don't want them to make the same mistakes that I did. I want them to know their worth, their dignity, their value. I didn't, and I paid dearly for it. Still do. But them, no...I'm building into them so that they know. 

Sunday night we picked my husband up at the Nairobi airport as he was arriving back from the Congo. Our nephew was driving, and as we drove home, my husband was sitting in front passenger seat, and I sat in the back seat with the girls. The baby was on my lap, sitting on my left thigh with her head resting on my chest. Her left hand had reached up to stroke my cheek (she loves to touch my face) and came to rest there. My middle daughter was sitting on my right side and had laid her head down on my right thigh, my right arm resting on her back. My oldest daughter was sitting beside her sister to my right, and she had taken my right hand in hers and was resting her head on my forearm with my hand in her lap. My girls were all over me, resting and loving, and I was at complete peace with them. And then as we drove, my husband reached his right hand back around his seat and wrapped his hand around my lower right leg, resting it there in love and consolation. 

It was in that moment as we drove home from the airport, when the weight of exhaustion and loneliness was at its heaviest from two weeks without my husband, it was in that very moment when all hands were on me, claiming a part of my body to lay theirs to rest, that the Ahhh of life settled in. It was an Ahhh of peace, an exhalation of relaxation to know that I am paying into something so much greater than myself. It was a settling confirmation that my mundane, often unnoticed contributions throughout a normal day, have, in fact, not gone unnoticed. Because they want to be like me someday. They see something, something that I have not yet even seen fully in myself. Something strong. Something of dignity. Something of worth and valor. They see it. And my Creator is giving me eyes to see it as well.

They see it. And they want to be like me. 

She is clothed with strength and dignity. 

I am praying for the perseverance and wisdom to continue to contribute to this cause. To their cause, which ultimately, is my cause. It gives me pause to exhale, and say Ahhhhh...

Check out Suzannah's blog to read about other pilgrims' journeys, that we may all shout, laugh, and love together. 

You Capture: Play

This week we had so much fun playing. I found a nearby playground where the girls could run and climb and stretch their legs, and needless to say, they loved it to no end. As blessings would go, there were friends there as well, so the girls got to play with friends, play in the dirt, and climb. What a great day!

The next day we went to a great little place called Busy Bee where the girls got to do painting and various arts and crafts projects. They played with kitchens and blocks, and glitter and scissors. It was so great to see them being kids again, exploring and creating. Sometimes that is a challenge when we are so out of our element here, but we are managing and this was a great fun day for them!

Enjoy!

For more great photos of play, stop by I Should Be Folding Laundry and check out the other You Capture shots! It's always fun! Maybe you could join along as well.

What did you capture this week?

A Mother's Prayer

Today is a day to celebrate mothers, and I honor the mothers of the world. I myself am honored to be among the ranks of mothers of the world, and feel the weight of the pressure and responsibility to see my girls become leaders and influencers of the next generation. I adore my daughters, and most days, absolutely love being their mommy. But this is, by no means, something I take lightly. Anyone who knows me knows that there is not much that I take lightly, but this one...this one is a driving force. 

When I was a kid, my folks used to say, "I hope you have kids just like you some day."

Please, God, no. Please don't let them be like me. 

This is how I know God is real and active and present. His healing hand continues to move and work in my own life, freeing me from insecurities that have plagued me for a lifetime, restoring a heart that the enemy tore apart.

Please, God. Don't let them be like me. 

Let them be strong and confident. Let them know You and Your statutes. Let them take the right path, rather than experimenting with every bad choice possible. Let them know and believe that You are worth everything that they will go through and every stand they choose to make for Your Name's sake. 

Please, God. Spare them from being like me. 

I love being a mommy and love my girls more than I will ever be able to express. I pray for the wisdom and discernment to show them such love everyday of their lives. 

Happy Mother's Day, y'all!

The Community that Builds Up

In general, the culture of the West is not communal. Now there are certainly places here and there, small breakaways from the norm, such as The Simple Way, or Solomon's Porch, but they are certainly more the exception than the anything else. For the most part, this culture prides itself on the individuality and space, while many other cultures around the world still live in that communal setting, all joined together, working and living together. 

Because we are not a communal people, many of the things written about the early Church can be very hard to relate to. So what I see more often than not in this society, is lots of people who claim to follow Christ, all struggling (or thriving) on their own, individually. Some can pay their bills and are able to afford such luxuries as healthcare, and have extra left over to be able to give; and let it be known that there are many who give generously according to their ability. Many more are not able to pay their bills, have lost their homes, and certainly cannot afford any luxuries, including healthcare and life-saving medications, such as insulin. But because we are such an individualistic people, everyone is doing it on their own. Many of those who are drowning are going down in silence. They are working VERY hard, but are not in the right job that would afford them these seeming luxuries. And many on the other side are, possibly unknowingly, yet callously nonetheless, labeling them a drag on the economy, a casualty of capitalism.

But in community, no one struggles alone. Your problem, your lack, your deficiency, is my problem, my lack, my deficiency. As it says in the Word, “There were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned lands or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone as he had need.”

2 Corinthians 8:13-15 says this:

"Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality. At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality, as it is written: 'He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little.'"

Equality was the goal. Simple, divine equality. No keeping up with the Joneses, because they have exactly what you have and all needs are met. For everyone. 

Here’s the real beauty of the Church building itself in that manner: it frees people to be about Kingdom business rather than the business of the world. The early Church was all about spreading, teaching, sharing, equipping, engaging the gospel. Not about surrounding themselves with comfort or building up their portfolios or retirement. For all they knew, they were going to be martyred, so all they had guaranteed was the very moment they were living in, and the blessed assurance that what they had waiting for them was well worth the sacrifice. 

No one claimed that any of his possessions were his own, so all needs were met and the various parts of the body were free to truly live in their giftings and callings. The teachers were free to teach without having to worry about the mouths of their family being fed. Those gifted with hospitality certainly had more than enough room to move and work and love and invite. The apostles were free to come and go, knowing that the needs of others were being met. These men and women knew their gifts, accepted their calling, and then walked in them. Fully. Moreover, they had the backing and support of a community to fill in the gaps that they could not. Their attention was not divided. They were not working day jobs to pay the bills and then serving with whatever they had left over. The fulfillment of the gospel was their day job. All of them.

Look at Acts 6:

In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Grecian Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, “It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables. Brothers, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit, and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word.”

         This proposal pleased the whole group. They chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to Judaism. They presented these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them.

         So the word of God spread. The number of disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests became obedient to the faith.

Because we, as a society, have strayed so far from community, there are many, many among the faithful church-goers, teachers, shepherds, apostles, healers, prophets, and those with gifts of administration and working miracles who are waiting on tables to meet the needs of their families. They are struggling to scrape by, to pay the bills, to buy more things, to appease whatever desire is in them, rather than living out the calling on their lives. Because we are not joined together, one in heart and mind, we have lost focus of what it is that we have been called to. We have become enslaved to the duties and responsibilities of the culture rather than the commandment of the Kingdom, so we work to pay the bills and hope that maybe we’ll have something left over at the end of it all to give a little something to the church.

But what if...what if we got radical? What if we sold a house to pay for the medical needs of someone among us? Who would take us in? Where would we live? Would you take a family into your home? What about someone who is homeless? It might get really inconvenient, maybe even tight. Could your kids share a room so that you had a room open to a stranger? A stranger?? What if two or three families were to combine residences? Sell the other homes and pool the resources. It would be tight living quarters, but I bet folks would discover very quickly how to be Christ to each other, or at least the need for it. 

And what if those resources were then used to put together a feeding ministry in a local school, taking over a government-run program? What if the resources were used to buy medication for those who could not afford it, on a regular basis? What if the Church became the healthcare reform that so many are desperate for? And what if the right job that guarantees benefits was simply in the community of the Church, walking and serving in the gifting that given to you? 

What if we just took another look at what we were doing and asked some really hard questions of ourselves? Do we really need all this space? Or could we invite another family in and pool the resources? Don't you think it could be done?

I do.

So did the early Church. 

And their numbers grew by the thousands. Daily.

The Terrifying Truth

I talked with my dad while he was in the hospital, and in his doped up state, he shared with me that as soon as he arrived at the hospital, his thought was that I would be there to take care of him. Because that's what I do. Except that this time, he was over 900 miles away, and I have a family to care for here, so I couldn't just drop everything and drive to Texas, though, truth be told, that was my first instinct. Drop everything. It's time to go.

When I hung up the phone with mom that morning, I sat on the floor weeping, working out in my head how I could get my family squared away and hop in the car headed for Texas. I was working it out. And the question came again.

Do you trust Me?

Well, yes, Lord, but...who's going to take care of him? who's going to ask these questions? who's going to take care of my mom? who's going to be sure he's getting the best of care? who's going to follow up with these issues? who's going to be his advocate? who's going to get him cleaned up when he vomits from the anesthesia? who's going to call for help when his pain gets worse? who's going to do all the things that need to be done so that my daddy gets the absolute best of care?

Do you trust Me?

Well, yes, Lord, but...You are so unpredictable. Can I trust you? How do I know You are counting these tears of mine? How do I know they will make a difference? How do I know that if I cry out to You, You will hear me and answer? How do I know that I can trust You with this? This is my daddy we're talking about. How do I know I can trust You? I've seen Your haphazard ways and You terrify me.

You terrify me.

Do You Trust Me?

My father has heart disease. His first heart attack was several years ago, and at that time, he received his first of several subsequent stents. And so while this is not new information for us, it has not yet become easier when news arrives that my father is having chest pain and is now in the hospital.

That was the phone call that I received a couple of days ago. My mother had called early in the morning to notify me that my father had been having chest pain, so they spent the night in the ER where he showed some changes on his EKG, and was soon to be admitted to a hospital bed while his pain continued to be evaluated. But this time was different because he wasn't here, with me, but in another state. My folks moved to Texas at the beginning of this year, and so now my dad was sitting in a hospital over 900 miles away from me. Ever felt helpless?

As my mom was relaying all the information to me on the phone and tears began to pour down my cheeks, what I heard in my heart was a question that I dread to answer. He has asked it of me many times before in my life, and somehow, I have always managed to avoid answering it. Maybe that was answer enough. And yet again, He was pressing in, asking...

Do you trust me?

Well, by head knowledge, this is an easy answer. By head knowledge, I know what I should say. But really...in my heart...I mean, this is my daddy we were talking about.

I worked in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit here in Tucson for over 10 years. I've seen more deaths than I could ever recall. I've carried some of the most precious of God's children to the morgue. I've seen prayers for healing, and the grief and anguish of prayers unanswered. I've seen weeping and wailing as parents cry out for the God of mercy to lay His healing hands on their babies. And I've seen it go unanswered. It all seems so haphazard. No rhyme or reason as to why this one was saved and this one passed. No formula that works and no guarantee that this prayer, this intercession, will "work."

Needless to say, this has become quite a sticky point for me in my walk. How do I pray for healing, how do I step in faith with this request, knowing how unreliable He has seemed through the years? Can I trust You? I don't know. You are so unpredictable.

Ugh. Did I just say God is unreliable? Many times, it seems easier to simply not ask, as it seems that God is going to do what He wills to do, regardless of the pleas of broken hearts and hurting souls. I came across this verse today in 1 Samuel 15:29:

He who is the Glory of Israel does not lie or change his mind; for he is not man, that he should change his mind.

It's a sticky point, and I'm sure that there are some great theological answers to this struggle, and great, pat Chistianese-answers that would rebuke me for even asking the questions, but that morning, as I sat on the floor of my bathroom weeping, helplessness overtook me. And my God said, "Do you trust me?" and I replied, "How can I?"

The Toilet Incident

An eerie, still quiet suddenly filled the house, as the chink and clank of dishes being loaded into the washer was the only sound in an otherwise child-filled house. Mama knew something was terribly wrong. She took one last sip of the creamy, cold milk leftover from dinner, and then she heard it.

The wet squishing sound a mop makes as it’s being lifted out of and dunked back into a bucket of water was rhythmically dancing its way out of the bathroom, and by the time she realized where to run, the ever-familiar sound of a flushing toilet and the overly-joyous squeal of the two-year-old princess who might soon be looking for a new home filled her ears to a blinding rage.

The look of joy instantly turned to one of fright and deep guilt, eyes scanning the small bathroom for an escape route, as the mama showed up to question, nay, rant about the flood that had just ensued from a toilet stuffed with untold amounts of toilet paper.

“WHAT? ARE? YOU? DOING???” face bursting with veins and color as the deep rouge of fresh, boiling blood climbed over cheekbones, brow bones, forehead and hair.

The suddenly timid, tiny voice responds, “I don’t know,” as potty flood waters are rising around her ankles.

Large mama hands grab the tender, mischievous arms of the tiny princess and scoop up a towel to act as a damn for the levy that just poured forth tainted waters, the soft, tender terry fibers becoming heavy and sloppy, like the hair of a shaggy dog at a much overdue bath time. The aroma coming forth from said water much like that of the same wet, shaggy dog, musty and potent.

After much bleach and much mopping, all is right with the world again. For the time being, anyway.

Eyes to See the Almighty

This Saturday was a lazy Saturday morning, meaning that I got to sleep in until 7:45. I was nursing sweet Hannah while sitting in my bed, when Toria and Juju joined us in bed. Hannah finished nursing and was sitting up on my lap, hugs and strokes being lavished upon her by her older sisters. Her gaze began to drift to the window that sits above our bed until she was fixed on the fresh sunlight pouring in the room.

I was amused, watching her stare into the open space, when Toria spoke up.

"Mama, she's looking at God."

"Really?" I asked her.

"Yeah, Mama. Can't you see Him? She's looking at God."

Mercy, what do those little eyes see? What do those little ears hear? How precious and innocent is that tiny soul, that she still stares off in the distance looking unto her Creator.

Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down,

that the mountains would tremble before you!

As when fire sets twigs ablaze and causes water to boil,

come down to make your name known to your enemies

and cause the nations to quake before you!

For when you did awesome things that we did not expect,

you came down, and the mountains trembled before you.

Since ancient times no one has heard,

no ear has perceived,

no eye has seen any God besides you,

who acts on behalf of those who wait on him.

Today, Almighty Father, You made Your name known in this simple house, through the eyes of Your babe and the mouth of Your daughter. I beseech You Father, never let that passion be quenched in the hearts of Your children. Raise up these girls to always see You, forever hear Your voice, forever follow You in obedience, that You would use them to make Your Name known among the nations, even among Your enemies. Praise You Jesus for this precious reminder this morning.

You Capture: Family

So, there's a fun photo meme going on at I Should Be Folding Laundry. Actually, it seems that it's been going on for quite some time, but this is my first time to join in the fun. The topic this week is family, so allow me share some pictures of mine. 

We went up the mountain for Memorial Day, which was a nice break from the desert sun, but overly crowded. Apparently we weren't the only ones who were trying to escape the desert heat. But we had a very nice picnic up there, ran around a bit, and then made our way home. 

Our 3yr old took this photo!

Juju was fighting sleep on the drive back home down the mountain. 

I took the girls to a local splash park yesterday. We had so much fun!!

And that's all there is! To see how others have captured their families, take a peek here.

Grace and peace y'all!