Of Sheep and Wolves, of Serpents and Doves

It happened in the car while bringing the kids home from school sometime this year… nothing extraordinary or life changing, but I can’t stop thinking about it.

As missionaries on support learning a new ministry in a new place (that is just about as polar opposite as possible from where we were), we are still figuring out how to make everything work: daily schedules, doctor appointments, health insurance, where to go for car repairs, credits for graduation, future college plans, the budget… Recently, we ran into that not uncommon problem of “more month than money” requiring, for one, creativity in the kitchen – the idea being to use up what was there without running to the store for more. 

A frequent after school car ride occurrence is a kids’ critique of the lunches I packed and sent. That day, most of what I’d heard was that lunch was “Yummy!” but there weren’t enough crackers to go with the soup. So I looked over at my girl who’d only received a handful of broken cracker pieces and crumbs from the bottom of the bag and asked her if she was upset. She smiled and said, “No, Mama. I really just thought it was sweet of you to crumble up the crackers for me to put in my soup.”

Wow! My eyes filled with tears. I was both speechless… and immediately convicted!

She knows I love her. She trusts me. She assumed the best possible motivation for what she found in her lunch that day.

Do you ever wonder what our world would be like if we all chose to act and believe like my teenage daughter did that afternoon?

First? What if those of us who follow Christ as Savior and King rested in His sovereignty? What if we believed that whatever He allowed/allows, somehow He works so that it is for good. What if we then acted correspondingly, instead of allowing fear or anger or jealousy to dictate thoughts, words, actions and reactions?

Secondly? What if we chose to first assume good intentions, especially by those who’ve demonstrated time and again that they love and/or care about us? What if we chose to trust proven confidence, even when we don’t exactly see why we should.

Thirdly? What if we recognized that the image of God stamped upon and within each human means that sometimes (by God’s grace and mercy), men and women are capable of amazing sacrifice, generosity, wisdom, creativeness and perseverance? And I don’t just mean the Christians of the world. What if our initial response was to look for that image of God in others, regardless of faith profession, because God’s Word teaches it is there?

Perhaps that is a "utopic" view of the world.

I was taught through years of Sunday school truths like:

• “The heart is deceitful, above all things, and desperately wicked....

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Uncomfortable Unknowns with Young'Uns

I wrote the original version of these words just over five years ago, in September 2010. Five years later, I could still be writing these words – it doesn’t feel like much has changed at all. And yet, our children have gotten older, it seems like the stakes are higher… everything has changed and just keeps on changing SO. VERY. MUCH! So I share these words again, today, in the hopes that they might encourage one who keeps looking for that light at the end of the transition tunnel only to uncover yet another bend with weakening flashlight batteries (or flickering candles, depending on where you minister). In our family, God’s grace and presence in this life chock-full of shiftings and switchings, has been rock-solid constant. Most days, our only response is rejoicing in all God has done and continues to do.

Our little Jonathan recently began school – a first language French school – for the first time. Yesterday, as he was sharing with us about his day, he told us about working on saying and writing the alphabet in French instead of English. Suddenly, he stopped and exclaimed: “AND Mama! Did you know they say zshee for ‘J’ and zshay for ‘G?’ THAT. IS. JUST. WRONG!!!”

We JUST don’t like change, do we?

We tend to resist anything that pushes, prods or pulls us from a place of the comfortable customary to the uncomfortable unknown. Jonathan expressed that rather eloquently, and while we laughed (for the look on his face as that realization dawned on him was priceless), my mind was drawn to the present struggles of our present state of transition.

Without a doubt, it is emotionally harder to move back and forth with older children and teens – for they are very capable of identifying, mourning, and resisting the change AND all that they’ve lost because of the changes we inflict upon them....

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Please continue reading, over at a life overseas:the missions conversation, where I'm revisiting a passage of Scripture that continues to encourage me as we parent our children through yet another huge transition.

Across the Great Divide

As a kid, I vaguely remember watching a movie called Across the Great Divide. I don’t remember a ton of details – essentially two orphan kids have to get across the Rocky Mountains and to the West Coast to get their inheritance. In the process, they meet up with… and end up partnering with… a con man which ends up being key to reaching their goal.

The title of the movie has an obvious meaning. Those orphans had to cross the Continental, or Great, Divide – a hydrological boundary that runs from the Bering Strait in Alaska to the Strait of Magellan, at the tip of South America. This line divides two great watersheds. To the east of the divide, all water drains, ultimately, into the Atlantic Ocean. To the west, it courses to the Pacific.

There is, however, another more symbolic meaning to those words. The Great Divide was not just that place where geologically, water flow separated. It was also the converse – it was the place where, for a moment, those ultimately heading in very different directions actually met. Thus, metaphorically, what could be seen by some only as only a source of division could, conceivably, also become a summit meeting place, a place for conversation and dialogue, a place for challenge, growth and change...

Within Christianity, there are a number of these “great divides,” and missions is no different....

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When Trust Stands Tall

I saw or heard that phrase somewhere this last year, and it has hung with me…

…because I need trust to stand tall. Like now!

A few days back, I went with my freshly graduated 18 year old to her yearly physical (she won’t have her license for a few more weeks). As the nurse measured her height, she encouraged her to stand tall – to push her back and heels flush against the wall, lengthen her neck and spine and look straight ahead.

Trust must stand tall.

Our seemingly forever season of transition/waiting is about to heat up, and not just because it’s summer time.

God has finally opened the doors for us to transition to the new place we’ve been thinking-praying-talking about for a few years now. Lord willing, we move in just a few weeks. We’re excited. We’re scared and nervous.

New ministries, new and more responsibilities, new church, new house in a new city, new friends, new school (and in a new language for several of our children). New grocery stores, new measures like liters instead of gallons and Celsius instead of Fahrenheit, new identity as we will no longer be those seemingly confident veterans but the very insecure and unsure newbies. For this introvert, it’s the stuff nightmares are made of!

Even in the busy excitement of preparations and hope-to-see-you-sooner-rather-than-later-get-togethers with family and friends, even in the well-known of “having been here done this,” I find myself continually having to choose to trust the One leading us this direction.

Trust must stand tall, especially as I think of what this transition means… will mean… for my family...

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“I would I had a thousand lives that I might give them...”

On Aug. 27, 1888 while working in Zhenjiang, Lottie Moon made the above statement finishing with the words "...for China."

It's one of those inspirational missionary quotes likely to land on a striking or haunting photo featuring those in this world who most likely don't know Jesus. The desired response is conviction and motivation. Get people moving, doing, giving, going, supporting, praying, partnering... something... anything! Animate and embolden others so that they engage and global missions benefits.

It is also one of those quotes that usually prompts me to self-evaluate, asking: "Can I say the same...?

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"...tell us plainly."

The Jews make this statement at a very specific time and at a very specific place: the Feast of Dedication (while celebrating the remembrance of miraculous provision) at Solomon’s Colonnade (where God had traditionally accomplished great things).

Can you identify with "the Jews" in this passage?

Have you ever prayed to the Lord and asked Him to show you, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that He is the Messiah? That you are on the right path, doing what He’s asked you to do?

Photo by C Marine

I have... I still do...

Just like the Jews in this passage.

The question they asked, as some versions literally render it, “how long dost thou take away our soul?”

"Tell us plainly... Have you come to take away our souls?"

My husband and I have often discussed conundrum. He rarely doubts God; he rarely questions if He is true, if He has a plan and we are following it, if Jesus is Who He says He is and really did come and do what He said He would. I, on the other hand, struggle more with doubt… a lot more often than I care to admit. I easily identify with the Jews’ question.

I start thinking about God, trying to figure Him out, trying to make Him and what I think I see Him doing make-sense-according-to-me.

My mind gets overwhelmed...

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Competing, contrasting or complimentary?

Our last January in West Africa, we took the family camping at a nearby game park.

We camp a lot in the States – sometimes even in some pretty out-of-the-way places, but that was the first time I’d ever camped in Africa, under an African sky, in a really remote location. No city lights. No electricity. No paved roads. No leaving the campsite without a guide in a vehicle or with an armed guard when on foot. Hippos and elephants nearby in the river. Lions hunting on the other side of the rocky ridge that sheltered the campsite.

In some ways, it was surreal, like something I’d only see on a television show on one of those nature or documentary type channels back in the States; I had to keep pinching myself to make sure it was really real. Yet in other ways, it really felt a whole lot like “regular” camping with our gang back in Michigan.

Except for one thing.

Want to know the one thing that was totally, vastly, drastically different?

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Tempted to Tell ALL

“Mama, when we were at the library the other day, I was tempted to tell someone about Jesus and how He was born to save us. Is that wrong?”

I couldn’t help but smile.

Funny question for a missionary kid to be asking…

After all, isn’t that what missionaries do? Isn’t that what we teach kids that missionaries do?

Missionaries go, into ALL the world for this reason: telling ALL who have never heard or who have never believed or who just need to be reminded - ALL about Jesus.

The message is first one of confrontation - the horribly bad news that ALL, are sinners and that as sinners, we are unable - in and of ourselves - to DO ANYTHING to remedy our sin problem. Which brings us to the second part of the bad news: the required punishment for our sin is death.

Grasping that part of the message is necessary; thankfully it doesn’t stop there or we would ALL be without hope.

The second half of the missionary message tells of reconciliation and restoration. It’s the hopeful part… the better part.

ALL men need someone to save them...

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When on those highways and byways...

I used to find it some combination between mildly amusing and slightly annoying when I'd hear people pray for "traveling mercies," even though at the time we were crisscrossing the state of Michigan (as well as a few adjacent states) almost every weekend seeking the financial support to head to West Africa as missionaries.

Then one wintry Sunday, we literally crept on four wheels, all night through a genuine winter blizzard only to arrive home, in the wee hours of the morning, and find a man we’d never met before sleeping in our bed (a story for another day). We ended up on the rickety pull-out sofa in the basement, struggling to drag ourselves out of bed and get up and around in time for the beginning of our home church’s missions conference just a few hours later. After that fiasco, I’d occasionally catch myself silently asking God for "traveling mercies," particularly during those unexpectedly long trips.

There was also that time late one August. We drove nonstop from Lansing, Michigan to Miami, Florida. Well... nonstop except for a few hours in a Georgia Walmart escaping massive summer heat. Our car at that time was minus air conditioning and plus three little ones in car seats! Several hours later, I actually prayed spontaneously, aloud, thanking the Lord for "traveling mercies…" and then woke my husband up. He’d fallen asleep at the final stoplight, just prior to reaching our destination.

We still hadn’t begun the adventure of international travel. Once that started, we experienced...

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of our driving adventures!

photo credit: oneVillage Initiative via photopin cc

Who am I really crying for anyway?

One day, I opened up my Facebook feed and right there was this picture:

IF we'd stayed in Niger, our oldest daughter would be graduating from high school with this amazing group of kids representing at least seven different countries... June 2015.

But we didn’t stay. God’s path for our family led a very different direction, including two seemingly never-ending years of transition between our African home and our soon-to-be French Canadian future. I never, in a million years (and yes, that’s hyperbole) pictured this. More truthfully? In the near 15 years we delighted in our West African lives and ministry I could have only just barely imagined this happening, until it actually did.

As I first looked at that picture, my eyes filled with tears.

I thought they were all tears for my daughter. For the friends she's left behind. For the amazing people she'll probably never see again. Wondering when would be her next opportunity to praise God in four different languages, all in the same church service. Because she was going back into a world where teens were expected to act like irresponsible, selfish or pampered kids instead of regularly given the opportunity to rise to the occasion while serving and ministering as equals alongside adults. For the amazingness of growing up as part of an expatriate, multicultural community where so many were sacrificing so many to serve Jesus and share His offer of life with others.

And that’s about when I realized that I was actually disguising truth from myself....

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When a colleague fails ~

How are we supposed to act when a colleague sins?

It happens, and I’m not talking about the respectable sins with which we all struggle. I’m talking about the big ones – the ones that result in missionaries sent home from the field or pastors asked to leave their churches…

What are we to do? How are we supposed to act?

I know what sorts of behaviors and attitudes surface most naturally in me.

I criticize. Blame. Ostracize. Shame.

I want to gossip – even though I usually manage to restrain myself. I convince myself I could NEVER sin that sin – at least not the same way nor as sordidly as my colleague did… I sigh as I wonder how the ministry will ever weather the repercussions.

I want to disqualify that person from ever being part of “my team,” again. I might thank God for protecting me from such a wretched mistake, possibly praying, “Thank You, God, that I am not like those those who are unrighteous, who steal, those who commit <that really bad sin>… and Lord, especially that I’m not like____________” filling in the blank with the name of my “fallen” colleague.

Jesus had some pretty strong words for such an attitude...

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"Banish the onion!"

If you "google" family menu planning, you end up with over 87 million results in just a fraction of a second. I guess a lot of people really like to plan menus.

I know... because I did it. I was curious! And our internet isn't really all that fast.

I know that because I've also gone to those sites where you can check the current data transmission speed and ours here in the States is so much slower than I imagined (and was naively convinced) it would be when I was still sitting on the backside of the desert and waiting (sometimes three days) for another Dora episode from iTunes to download.

I'm digressing. Oops!

Back to menu planning. It used to be a pretty big deal for me. I used to be one of those women who grocery shopped once every two weeks, with a very specific list developed from a monthly menu plan. I loved it all the plotting, planning and researching. Sometimes several hours in a week were devoted to those activities. It forced me to be intentional about the food my family ate. I'd search for recipes and find new ones to try. One of the best pieces of advice I'd been given as a soon-to-be missionary living on the back side of the desert and responsible to prepare something more or less edible for my family to eat was to learn to cook from scratch... The veteran missionary who gave me that valuable piece of advice meant like totally from scratch, as in learn how to make your own tomato paste... and yogurt... and buttermilk... and marshmallows... all sorts of other things that I didn't even know you could make.

I spent a couple of years perfecting my strategy. I had a great reservoir of menu plans with things that I'd been told I'd be able to find in W. Africa and I knew how to make them all... from scratch. They were even edible, most of the time.

We landed in Niger the first time at the beginning of the lean season... the time of year when all the expats who could left town so stores and shops that imported food were only doing so sparingly... also the time of year when all crops were planted but not much was being or had been harvested.

Except for onions.

"Banish the onion!" became the cry of my children. They cried buckets of tears while chopping onions, until they figured out that swim goggles served a great second purpose. I considered writing a cook book entitled "201 to Eat Onions."

Okay... so that is a bit of hyperbole, but it certainly felt true. At least once the cooking started and those onions were sauteing, it always smelled like something delicious would be on the table in the immediate future.

Then, there was the week I went looking for butter... the store owner thought the trucks had been held up at the border.

Or the several weeks surrounding the bird flu scare? Niger stopped importing chickens and eggs, and the price (a staple in our diet) skyrocketed to no-longer-affordable for us.

How do you bake a birthday cake for a birthday party where 20 five to seven year-olds were coming... without eggs...???

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AND 

the important lesson I learned in the process, 

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first photo credit: D-Stanley via photopin cc

"Why didn't they send a tractor?"

The idea that much is expected of those who have been given much had been drilled into me as a boy. I saw giving back as my duty – a responsibility I’d accepted from a young age. Feeling the duty to help others after graduating from college, I signed up for the Peace Corps and served two years in a small Peruvian village.

I arrived at my village at age twenty-one filled with nobility, pumped up with the idea of helping humankind. I was proud that I had something to offer these poor folks. But one day, after I’d finally learned enough Spanish to communicate, one of the farmers asked me a question that must have been on everyone’s mind but mine.

“Why did they send you?” he asked. “If they wanted to help us, why didn’t they send a tractor?”

I don’t remember my answer, but I never forgot his question.

Randy Lewis (best known for introducing an inclusive employment model as the Senior Vice President of Logistics at Walgreens – yes, I am a special educator by trade) recounts the above story in No Greatness without Goodness (p. 47), one of my summer reads.

I laughed when I first read it. That was, after all, part of his motivation for “ 'fessing up” and telling a funny but true story. But he also wanted to make an important point. It was a key part of his experience working with people from a totally different culture. His story perfectly captures how, as expats working around the world, we often arrive with an implicit but never spoken aloud (or maybe even consciously realized) intent of taking over rather than coming alongside.

In my experience, it goes something like this:

My many preconceived and sometimes set in stone ideas of how something should be done… or why it should always continue to be done how I’ve seen it work… immediately and unquestionably trump, in my mind, any local ideas and traditional practices, partly because I just can't see how they make sense. Then there’s that awkward, chin on the floor moment when the realization hits but then finally sinks in that maybe, just maybe, I. am. not.... God never sent me to be a mini-savior or God’s gift to a fledgling church, a poor community, struggling teachers, students with disabilities, a group of women who want to read...

Rather?

We are God’s gift to each other… iron sharpening iron... a more resilient and robust three-fold cord.

I remember one of my such “coming of age” missionary moments...

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Living the Expat Life

It feels normal and strange all at once – but that’s to be expected.

I have been back in my home country for nearly a year… Another year to go before we head back into the expat life and scene. The routines here are finally comfortably familiar, again! I’m still loving all the things I love about living in Michigan (changing seasons is a biggie) while the flirtatious heat of summer nostalgically hints and reminds me of the overwhelming heat of Niger (and so we refuse to run the AC) while the familiar tide of homesickness floods over me. But? I’m more adept at riding that wave now than even just a few short months ago. I remember how to get to, and more importantly get through, the store – actually handling shopping at a super Walmart without feeling too overwhelmed… as long as I go late at night… with a very specific list… and have a specific time I need to be finished by – like teenage daughter waiting at home for help with her Precalc or a sick preschooler waiting for children’s Tylenol (even though I had adult pills I could have cut and crushed like I did while overseas). I’m once again proficient at swiping credit cards and there’s no longer a temptation to try and bargain down prices for clothing or material. I’m desperately missing friends and loved ones, but that is always a part of life, no matter where I’m living.

And since things are feeling relatively comfortable, this introvert finally wrangled up the courage to try something new....

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photo credit: Luke,Ma via photopin cc

of dust and criticism

Living on the back side of the Sahara Desert for 13 years, I became intimately acquainted with dust. Keeping desert dust from simply moving in and taking over the house? Well, I jokingly, sorta, say that THAT was my full time job. Or battle. If I stick with the battle metaphor, it was one I lost on a very regular basis. Dust was everywhere, regardless of how hard I tried, how hard I worked, how much time I spent - covering the kitchen table, on the fruit in the basket, at the bottom of my coffee cup once I'd finished drinking, on the laundry line leaving a line on our clothes even when I remembered to wipe it off....

Not too many days ago, our Niamey friends posted FB pictures of the first dust storm of the season. We always looked forward to that first storm. It meant that the rainy season was finally starting to approach and after nine to ten months of no precipitation, we welcomed the rain.

I used to think the Hollywood versions of dust storms had to be totally overdone and greatly exaggerated. Then I experienced my first storm; an enormous wall of dust rolled in, the sky turned an eerie orange, then continued to darken. The air gets palpably thick... with the really big, really dense storms, it could turn pitch black. Normally these storms would roll through in ten to fifteen minutes, were often followed by welcomed rain and clearer, fresher air. One time I remember the dusty darkness arrived in the afternoon, and was not followed by an immediate rain. We did not see the sun again until the next day - and then, only through a dusty haze. My sometimes slightly strange TCK children revel in dust storms. They love to go outside and run and play, celebrating (while somewhat choking) in the glorious windy-ness of every storm, but particularly the first one of each season.

Needless to say, my relationship with dust has been one of mostly-hate/very-occasionally-love, on so many levels.

Then... 

...a group came from the States to lead a conference for the purpose of encouraging the missionaries – and I was introduced to this song for the first time.

...You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us

All around

Hope is springing up from this old ground

Out of chaos life is being found in You...

I first heard this song at a time when I was feeling very dust-like... But what does that mean?... 

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Hope to see you... over there!

All dust storm photos by Esther Garvi and were used with permission. Check out more photos of that storm and read a blog post about her harrowing experience here.

Song lyrics, Beautiful Things by Gungor

“But it’s not [stamps foot] what I wanted!”

Remember being a kid and looking forward to birthday presents from Grandma and Grandpa?

Yes, you had to go through the long, drawn out process of taking forever to open and read the card, but afterward? Rip, tear and toss away, finally diving into a box of something sure to bring pure delight. After all, grandparents tend to give kids what they ask for. Moms and dads, on the other hand, might be more likely to give their kids something they think they need – something more like socks, a scientific calculator for school, or the dreaded-and-oh-so-humiliating-gift to open-when-in-mixed-company bra.

You can watch the drama unfold on a child’s face. Big smiles when they start to open the package, then hesitation. They confusedly lift an object from the box, uncovering the undesired or unexpected. Sometimes there are forced smiles… or tears… or confrontational questions and accusations… or even a full-fledged tantrum in discovering that the dreamed for prize is nowhere to be found in that box.  An inferior, unwanted something or other had replaced it.

We grown-ups… we missionaries… are not above this exact same type of behavior...

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Image Credit ~ Handmade Gift Wrap by Erika G, on Flickr.

Home Assignment Blues

I remember when I used to think that teachers had the best job in the world BECAUSE they had a whole summer vacation.

Many of my Nigerien friends think that that distinction actually belongs to missionaries on home assignment BECAUSE they have a whole YEAR vacation.

Halfway through our home assignment year, halfway through our fourth home assignment year, halfway through my first home assignment year with a parcel of teenagers, my response is “UGH!”

Eloquent, I know.

I also know that “vacation” is a definite misnomer, even if the blog, Facebook and prayer letter photos sometimes seem to contradict that statement.

We’ve been on the road almost every weekend of the last three months. We’ve been in or traveled through nine different states. We’ve visited over ten of our partnering churches and have also caught up with some of our individual supporters. And our kids have mostly been back to school on time by Monday morning, every week.

Most of our traveling happens on the weekends. Friday evenings, after school lets out, are usually filled with high school games, school activities or visiting – sometimes just for fun but not always. Saturdays are times to clean the house, catch up on laundry, make sure homework is mostly done, tournaments and other competitions take place, big girls work their jobs, more visits with more people. Sometimes we need to leave on Saturday to get to where we need to be on Sunday. Sometimes we leave before the sun’s even up on a Sunday morning and the only life at our home church is the snow crew shoveling and salting in preparation for their Sunday morning services. Sometimes, not even the snow crew is out and about....

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I'm up for any ideas and suggestions you might care to add to this conversation!

Ever seen a baby lizard dressed in Polly Pocket clothing?

I have. I wish I had a picture… But I don’t. All I have is the memory.

And that memory often gets me thinking about this fact.

Sometimes, we missionary types take ourselves a little too seriously. We want to

• be effective,
• impact lives,
• not just do what we do well but very well – if not perfectly,
• look good while doing it,
• maybe garner a few more ministry partners, and
• have at least a few great stories to share.

We sometimes forget we’re just ordinary folks serving an extraordinary God, often in not-your-run-of-the-mill locations.

My son is off for his freshman year of college. One of the things that so impressed us about the university he is attending was their rather extensive program and system of support in place to help international students and TCKs transition to this new phase of life. During his most recent trip home, I was asking him about his friends, and in particular, if he spent much time hanging out with his fellow TCK-types. His comment went something along the lines of, “Yeah, I do hang out with them sometimes. But sometimes I get tired of being part of a group of people that thinks they are more special and unique than everyone else. Sometimes, I think they’d be more fun if they’d just get over it.”

Ouch!

But back to my lizard story…

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Pop on over to a life overseas: the missions conversation... to read the rest

of this lizard story as well as my thoughts about ordinary missionaries and tcks.

I'd love for you to jump on in, join the conversation; I so appreciate your input!

Tumbling in the Undertow

I’ll never forget the first time I went body surfing.

Only a tiny part of a much larger set of events, it remains vividly stamped upon my mind…

• Ten years old! 
• Traveling – on a plane for the very first time that I could independently remember! 
• On a trip with my swim team and without my parents – also for the first time! 
• Coco Beach, Florida – a truly different world from where I was growing up! 
• My very first Shirley Temple, with a maraschino cherry, even! 

Yet something about the white sand, the shimmery rolling waves advancing on the beach, the seabirds soaring and squawking far above, the relentless sun, the brilliant blue sky and a still-to-this-day lesson learned (although not always well- learned)… I occasionally dream of that afternoon, still.

My parents had forbidden me to play in the ocean. They understood much better than I the power of the waves and recognized my ignorance of that power as well as my arrogance in my capacity to handle myself well in the water. I wasn’t to do anything more than wade in the ankle to knee deep froth along the beach....

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To read the rest of this adventure, head on over to a life overseas: the missions conversation. This post isn't just for missionary types - but anyone who knows or loves a missionary.

Unforgettable

When you live on the backside of the desert… in a land that has not traditionally recognized your favorite holidays and special life moments the way you always have…

...it’s easy to feel at a loss as to how to make those moments special.

Which sometimes encourages me to not look forward to those times.

Let me admit right off the bat, guiltily, that I often have dreaded days that should have been, instead, special highlights for me and for those I love. I traditionally think about that a lot during these months. For in a span of 14 weeks, our family celebrates seven birthdays, three big holidays and one anniversary. That doesn’t include any of the smaller local holidays - you know, those ones scheduled according to the lunar calendar?

It is easy to wonder what else to do when you are hot and tired, when you are already all idea-ed out, when there is comparatively very little locally available and when nine-tenths of the even remotely appealing ideas (via Pinterest) require so much work, first to figure out and then to find appropriate substitutes for all that is not available -  but would have been so easy to get… if I could've only gotten myself to a Walmart...

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To read the rest, because there's definitely more... 

please join me at a life overseas: the missions conversation,

where I'm posting today.

And please forgive my rather lengthy silence the past few weeks.

We've got lots to tell and share, but it will most likely have to wait until

after we are done traveling for the holidays.

Hopefully, we'll get the camera up and running so I can at least keep you up to date with pictures.

But enough of that... Hope to see you hop on into the conversation - after you read the rest of this post!