I don't write much any more...

 

Don't write much these days.

I hardly have time to breathe.

Elle me manque beaucoup.

I truly do think with my fingers, processing life as I write about what is happening, what I'm mulling over in my mind. 

So much has happened since I last visited this space :

• One has changed jobs, at least twice.
• One has traveled to South Korea, learned to speak the language, and then come back home to us.
• Two have graduated from university... another from high school.
• One has gotten engaged and will be married in a few months.
• One has taken a pause from post secondary studies to work full time.
• One has chosen on-line school to move more rapidly through the program and plans a year of Bible school.
• Two have new drivers' permits.
• One has started her driver's training classes and another should be before too long.
• One has started post-secondary studies and is nailing it.
• Two are coaching basketball.
• One is playing volleyball.
• Two are playing basketball.
• One is now a basketball ref.
• One has given up coloring her hair. Six others are game to try all sorts of interesting colors.
• Two will soon be gaining another "son"-in-love. We need more male hormones around this place.
• Ten (+ one more too), love being together and treasure those times more than ever because they are fewer and farther between than we'd like.
• One has almost forgotten how to type English on an English keyboard because she is so used to typing English on a French keyboard.

• Two have celebrated 28 years together and have been gifted eight amazing kids who are seeking to love God and love people in the best ways they know how and even if it isn't what I imagined it would look like.

No, I didn't even try to do a Twelvish Days of Christmas thing. That would have required too much thinking. 

We are living in our new home. I'm still pinching myself to make sure it isn't a dream. 

After over 30 moves in 28 years, the idea of not moving again is nothing less than lusciously delightful. It actually prompted me to pull out my diplomas and certificates and actually hang them on the wall in my office at school. If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram, you know how breathtakingly lovely our new-to-us space is. The kids have all been betting on when I will stop posting pictures. I hope I never do because this house, this space, is a gift from a gracious God whose good gifts, ones we could never merit, abound. We want to share this gift with others. I like to say, "The door's always open, except when it's not!" so if you are heading our way, let us know and we'll make sure you have the code!

Professionally... in ministry... the past few years have been hard. The pandemic. Forced distance from family. Becoming a principal. Deteriorating "societal" mental health. Multitudes choosing anger and self over civility, kindness and others. Me, myself and I forgetting frequently what it means to choose gentle and grateful, always and regardless of circumstances.

I wasn't looking to become a principal. It wasn't even on my top 100 list of maybe someday I might be interested in possibly trying this. It was nowhere close to even being on the radar. 

I know how to be a special educator and figure out tricks to help kids learn both academic and social skills. 

I know how to be a mom, partnering with my husband to lead a family. 

I've learned (got the scars to prove the learning curve) how to be a missionary, surviving and sometimes thriving in a foreign culture and language and trying to point people towards Jesus while accepting the cost of that choice... for me as well as for those I love. 

Being a principal? I am...

Clueless. Yet intelligent answers are expected.

Confused. Yet that I've figured out the babble in my second language while living in my fifth majorly different culture is automatically assumed.

A casualty of chaos. Never time to stop running. A closed door is simply an invitation to interrupt with a frantic knock. Yet mountains of paperwork must be completed on time. Well-thought, carefully crafted strategy and future plans are required. 

Cuffed, regularly, by capriciousness. Sometimes I think I am appreciated. Occasionally, I even feel welcomed. Yet what others seem mostly to want is a listening followed by doing what they ask without offering my opinion or questioning. Then, when the criticism starts flying, my smiling grateful acceptance is due.

Compromised. In an atmosphere where it only counts as listening when I do what the other wants, yes, respecting my conscience is continuously challenged.

Cross, way too often. Repeated failure and the inability to meet expectations takes an immense toll on this perfectionist pleaser. Yet calm must always be projected. 

I can't say I love what I do. Many days, I can't honestly say I even like what I do.

I don't know how to do this job. I think the current "vogue" term is "imposter's syndrome." 

I am the blind person being told to lead others who are confident of their impeccable 20-20 vision.

I hope, and pray that God is creating something that will honor his name and point to his glory because I am currently, confidently convinced that I cannot.

Maybe, that isn't such a bad place to be.

Pray without ceasing

Inhale, exhale, breathe.

Mon Dieu me soutient.

When it rains, it pours...

When it lightenings, it thunders...

When it snows, it blizzards...

AND in the Midwest... when it blows, it tornadoes...

We actually drove through some pretty wild weather last week as we were traveling... but cliché-ish statements like these describe how I've been feeling the past few days... weeks...

Let me be the very first to say ~ I don't think those clichés imply ALL bad... I love to play outside, singing and dancing away in a good downpour. In my opinion, watching a wild thunderstorm is better than any movie I've ever seen (and you should ask Tim sometime how July 4th fireworks compare to heavenly fireworks when you watch 'em from 30 000 feet!) Winter blizzards bring memories of silent white, snow days, and snow men. Maybe it is my Okie upbringing - but tornadoes mesmerize, thrill, horrify, terrify and fascinate all at the same time and that tornado warning beeping on the television starts a quick adrenalin rush, every time.

But those clichés CAN and, at this moment, DO imply a breathless "What's next?" questioning that I'm whispering after the past three weeks, which have included 

• flurries to blizzards of activity, 
• showers of obligations with downpours of miles in the van, 
• whirlwinds of friends, faces and places... 
• and too many thunderous strikes of loved ones seriously sick way too close for comfort... and seemingly all at once.

And so, yet once again, this blog has been sadly neglected.

To quickly summarize ~ We had an amazingly great trip to Iowa where we reported to and visited with an awesome and totally-spoiled-us-rotten group of partnering churches. We caught up with dear folks we had seen in a few years and the fellowship resumed like there'd never been any interruption. It was truly a delight in every which way.

Our way too brief day at the Omaha Zoo was a blast... more photos to come, very soon!

We briefly caught up with Niger friends in Illinois and then relaxed for a small chunk of time with family in SE Missouri before heading back to Michigan.

While we were traveling, we received word that both Tim's dad and Richelle's dad were quite seriously ill and hospitalized. Thankfully, Tim's dad is now out of the hospital, regaining strength and hopefully working on some good habits to prevent a similar occurrence in the near future.

Richelle's dad is still in the hospital. After major surgery and at least 3 major medical procedures in 4 days, he's got several weeks of the recovery road to travel before he'll be dancing with his granddaughters, again. We are thankful for talented doctors, surgeons, nurses, technicians and other hospital personnel who have not only done their jobs with expertise, but who have/are also gently, kindly, patiently and repeatedly explained/explaining what was/is happening: detailing problems, solutions and results, even when their words were sometimes hard to accept.

We are so thankful that the Lord has granted this good and perfect gift of nearness during this year, for this season. 

Even in the hard, it is a treasure.

And can we ask you to please keep praying for our dads?

Thanks!

We really appreciate it!

We knew we could count on you!

"I just don't feel like you love me!"

That statement, flung at me by one of my daughters, was first prefaced with the claim that she and I must speak different love languages and was in the context of an angry, grumpy, exhausted day where said daughter felt she was entitled to something (that was hers) the very moment she demanded it.

It reminded me of all that volcanic activity that we saw while we were out in Yellowstone last summer.

Her comment angered me and frankly, my first "reactive" thoughts ran along the lines of, "Fine then. Why don't I just give you a very tangible taste of what it would really 'feel' like if I didn't love you."

Which infuriated me. Not just my daughter's angry and hurtful words. My initial response, I mean.

I so totally despise that feeling of infuriating myself... It usually means that in my thought life (if not actually acted out in real time), I'm acting no differently or better than a child... my child.

The temptation is always there. I want to walk through life, assuming a landscape of entitlement, insisting that things go just the way I think they should with self at the center of all. That might be because I think I've worked hard enough and I deserve it... or because things have been so bad and hard lately I should get a break... or because I am important (for this or that reason) and people around me should recognize that and value me... or because my contribution is a little more vital and they'd really miss me if I stopped [contributing] so they'd better not tick me off... or because...

I could keep on going, couldn't I.

The problem with living that way is that I'm just like a volcanic landscape.

Sometimes those feelings bubble and boiling to the surface, little poofs of steam sometimes shoot up, all hinting and giving glimpses of the ugly underneath when too much life pressure builds up. That odor permeating the area? It's distinct - not overpowering but always noticeable. Kinda sulfery. Most would be hard-pressed to describe it sweet, mild, pleasant - or a place to hang out for a significant time.

Other times, there's not noticeable fuming or exploding. But clearly? Something unhealthy is going on underneath, for the visible landscape it missing something. I has a desolate air to it: things once growing and vibrant have died and signs of new life are nonexistent. People who tread that landscape always do so hesitantly, scared of what all that energy just below the obvious surface might do to them should it be unleashed. Who wants to stick it out long term when that sort of blackmail threat is always buried, just out of sight, but still palpable?

Then there are always those who begin to rumble and grumble and then just spew heat and hate and anger and entitlement... sometimes predictably, sometimes only every so often and clearly not when expected, sometimes large and wide, sometimes narrow and high with deadly force and precision.

I don't imagine many would say, "I want people to think of a geologic nightmare, intriguing and fascinating though it may be, like the landscape of Yellowstone... when they think of me." Personally, Yellowstone was the kind of place that was nice to visit. But it wasn't one of the places we saw on our travels where I said, "I could just plant myself here and never leave..." It was too volatile- it sometimes felt (and I don't know if this would make any sense to anyone else) voyeuristic, not to mention overstimulating and just plain exhausting.

As I've thought back many times at first, but just recently once again, to my daughter's furious fuming that began this whole mind-and-heart-meander, I had one final light bulb ping.

I make similar statements to God time and time again. Just like Job did. Until he realized. 

What was Job's response?

"I know that You can do all things, And that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted. 'Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?' Therefore I have declared that which I did not understand, Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. Hear, now, and I will speak; I will ask You, and You instruct me. I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear; But now my eye sees You; Therefore I retract, And I repent in dust and ashes." (NASB, from Job 42)

 Or phrased another way...

“I’m convinced: You can do anything and everything. Nothing and no one can upset your plans. You asked, ‘Who is this muddying the water, ignorantly confusing the issue, second-guessing my purposes?’ I admit it. I was the one. I babbled on about things far beyond me, made small talk about wonders way over my head. You told me, ‘Listen, and let me do the talking. Let me ask the questions. You give the answers.’ I admit I once lived by rumors of you; now I have it all firsthand—from my own eyes and ears! I’m sorry—forgive me. I’ll never do that again, I promise! I’ll never again live on crusts of hearsay, crumbs of rumor.” (The Message, from Job 42)

Thanks to Anna for her photos of Old Faithful.

Approximately how many times a month do YOU go out to eat?

I can’t remember the first time we received one of those questionnaires in the mail…

Since that time, many more have arrived - although now it is not uncommon for a link to show up in our inbox, requesting us to respond to a list of questions at an online site which then tabulates our input and communicates our replies to whatever agency posted the questions. You would think I would have grown accustomed to this. I haven’t. Instead, I find it harder and harder to keep a good attitude, simply answer the questions and send them back. At the same time, I do understand the motivation behind and the significance of those questionnaires; in theory, I support their validity and see their worth… which makes it hard to argue that they shouldn’t be sent.

So I won't.

On the other hand those questionnaires never fail to, at very best, discourage me. At worst, I get downright angry – as in sinfully angry, even though I hope I know that neither discouragement nor hurt nor sin was the intent.

Perhaps this happens more to those of us who raise the bulk of ministry and work funds from churches and organizations rather than individuals. And maybe those mailings are not as frequent as I seem to recall. But the longer we walk this road, the more I battle resentment each time one arrives.

Often those questionnaires include inquiries like... 

...the title of this post...

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To read the rest of this post, please join me at a life overseas:  the missions conversation and be sure and share any ideas you might have.

Voice of the National ~ in which I find myself in a really awkward, uncomfortable conversation

It was one of those conversations that I could have never planned on happening… and it was so super awkward when it did – but God allowed it… He even had it happen with most of my biggers standing right there and listening... absorbing...

But first, a tiny bit of the back story.

Our son graduated from high school at an international school in W. Africa, we vacationed in Scotland and then flew back to the States for a whirlwind, but long road trip through the western United States. The goal was LA for a wedding and then we wanted to create some family memories before the chapter of life where all-the-kids-are-still-just-kids-and-in-our-home closed. We picked several places we planned to stop and wanted to see… But there were also some of our stops we just stumbled upon. This was one of those stops.

I’d never heard of the Crazy Horse Monument, but it is in the Black Hills region of South Dakota and we decided to take a look.

To find out the gist of that awkward conversation, please join me over at a life overseas: the missions conversation... and be sure and add your two cents to the conversation. I love to know what you think and how you respond the the stuff running through my mind and heart.

I've got a sneaking suspicion that there just might be trees like this in Heaven...

Warning... This post contains a lot of pretty amazing tree photos, so consider yourself forewarned. Also note... the photos are not amazing because of their quality, but because of their subjects!

So... if you guessed that yesterday's picture was the bark of a giant redwood tree , you were correct! When we found the first one we saw in Sequoia, nothing prepared me for their immensity and majesty - even though I was expecting to be awed.

We left LA (well, Downey, technically...) and drove north bright and early in the a.m. on July 1... sad to be leaving family and cousins, especially... but happy to be adventuring across the United States once again. The first place we planned to explore was Sequoia National Park...

Even the drive just getting to the park was phenomenally breathtaking...

We'd never seen actual hills sculpted like sand dunes before... but that is exactly what these hills looked like.

In so many ways, the landscape reminded us of the fierce, desolate beauty of Niger...

...although you'd never see trees like THAT in Niger! 

Once in the park, we stopped at the visitor's center to read a bit about the ecology and the great trees we were headed up to see (and when I said up before making the trip, I had no idea how up that would be!).

Anna thought it was pretty cool to have a hummingbird share her name - we didn't see one, IRL, however. While we were in the visitor's center, we decided to get the littles something to play with while we were driving in the car. They'd already spent a lot of time riding around in vehicles throughout the month of June. We were hoping to entice complacent and cooperative behavior out of them... in other words, it was a bribe!

Mary Michelle surprised us with her choice. Instead of picking one of the cutesy critters... she liked this little bat - because he had magnets in his wings and on his bottom... she could stick him to and make him hang from any metal object she could fine.

Pretty cool, don't you agree?

After the visitor's center, we continued to climb... and we were well up over 5000 feet (i.e. one mile) before we finally saw ~ 

...our first redwood!

There was a museum near the different trail heads for those who wanted to understand what they were about to see prior to hiking off into the woods to see some of the more famous and spectacularly ginormous trees.

Can you tell how I had to stitch the next photo together? General Sherman was so large I couldn't get the entire tree in one picture frame! The other cool thing was that the hike down to see this beautiful tree descended the same number of feet in altitude as the tree rose in height. It was an awesome way to help give perspective as to the massiveness of this tree!

Brendan's an awesome big bro... helping m&m make the climb and experience some things we certainly wouldn't let her try on her own! And this was one of the few times we actually saw Jonathan wiped out on our trip! Mama didn't sit to rest on the way back up the mountain, so he didn't either!

We exited the park from the north... we'd hoped to have time to see some of King's Canyon National Park, but as time was running short, all we were able to do was snatch a few pictures as we drove through a corner of that place... It is on the list for must sees next time we get to take a trip that far west!

In case you were wondering, the bat turned out to be a great idea. He hung out with m&m and Anna all day long, and they even fixed him his own car seat so that he could enjoy the ride!