Then in Guatemala, 2 years later in Africa

I was looking back the other day at pictures of Jim and I when we went to Guatemala 2 years ago to pick up Gabriel, our adopted son, and visit Aisha, our adopted daughter. The pictures reminded me of how small they seemed. Aisha was four years old, and only looked 2; Gabriel was 2, but seemed not much older than 1. I got a kick out of posing a picture of them in the same position as a previous one to show how much they have grown. They are now 6 and 4. It is great to see how much they have grown, and especially the smiles on their faces.

Remembering Christmas 2008

This will be our last Christmas in Africa (that I know of). I have been trying to make it memorable, but it has been a challenge. We came home from five weeks of travel pretty exhausted. We had two days to unpack, clean the house, bake and make all the food for a celebration of nearly 30 missionaries at our home on Saturday before Christmas. We somehow managed to team together as a family and get everything done, including raking most of our 1/4 acre courtyard (our African worker we hired was nowhere in sight for those two days). I tried not to stress about it too much; thankfully all turned out well. The festivities and fellowship were great, and we had some memorable moments with friends, celebrating the season, the blessings, and God's gift to us.

Then the next few days I was so tired I barely had it in me to wrap the gifts that I had saved up and set aside for our kids. Thankfully I had planned way ahead months in advance. I have had to pack up a lot of our home, put things in garage sales (we have had five so far), and narrow down the remaining items that we had brought out ahead of time as gifts for this one last Christmas. I wanted it to be special.

Unfortunately three days before Christmas the president of this country where we live and work died, and the military staged a coup. We were on the internet almost constantly communicating with people, asking for prayers, and monitoring the situation as closely as we could. I found myself even more exhausted. Finally on Christmas Eve after dinner, skyping with family, and taking in all the political events my brain shut down. Ok, I'm not a super mom I guess. Just weary from all the uncertainty, but trying my best to make memories in the midst of uncertainty for my family. But for a brief hour or so while we ate our traditional Christmas dinner in candle light with Christmas music in the background all the other realities faded for a while and the "magic" of Christmas permeated our home. We watched a video reading of the biblical story of Christmas, and sang Christmas carols.

I am thankful for traditions, which bring us together and help us have something familiar to hold onto in unpredictable times. I am thankful for the promise of a future in heaven, a home where we will never have to be in transition and wonder what familiar is.

Today, Christmas Day, we woke to parades and cheers as the local people welcomed the change in government, and glimmers of hope for peace are in sight. Let us cheer together the coming of the Prince of Peace who alone can bring us real peace no matter what is happening around us. May His peace ground us this holiday season, whatever we may be facing.

bread in a pressure cooker

When I first came to Africa 18 years ago I knew that life here would entail baking my own bread at times. I have tried many recipes, but one disadvantage is that it requires using the oven, which in turn uses enormous amounts of gas, which here in Africa is expensive. So I tend to avoid baking bread instead of taking advantage of the opportunity. Many have suggested, "Why don't you get a bread maker?" The answer is simple. It requires electricity. 110 electricity to be exact, something that is not very easy to obtain here in a former French colony where everthing electric is 220, and even though our house is wired for solar and with 110 inverted power, my husband reminds me that appliances with heating elements are not welcome in our home. So I am limited to baking.

Recently on a trip to a remote village to visit another American family who are friends of ours, the wife introduced me to baking bread in a pressure cooker, since she had no oven. Funny, why hadn't I thought of that? I use my pressure cooker to can a lot, especially meat. But I had never thought about bread. So I tried it - it was really quite simple, and saved on gas. I simply put my dough to rise in a metal bowl that fit inside the pressure cooker, rested the bowl in water on several jar lids, and set it to pressure for about an hour. Out came some delicious, non-crumbly, soft bread. Not a bad idea for living non-electric. This could really come in handy for anyone who is camping even on the open fire. Imagine, baking bread on the open fire in the wilderness! It has lots of potential!

On the Road Again

I haven't blogged for a while, since I have been travelling a lot. We just got back from two long trips, one two-week trip in November over 1000 km of rough roads, and then another two-week trip over 800 km of windy mountain roads here in West Africa. Travelling in rural Africa is not a small undertaking, especially with four kids. It seems like we take everything with us - the usual, like clothing, and snacks, and the not-so-usual like air mattresses, extra linens, food for cooking for ourselves for two weeks or several trunks full of fresh produce that we get in the mountains, and are taking to those we are visiting who can't get that kind of thing in their remote villages. We went to visit several American families whose projects my husband helps to supervise, as well as some friends in another remote area for Thanksgiving, and the roads getting there got so bad at times it brought me to tears. Over the past 18 years of living this life in Africa I have developed arthritis in my back which makes these kinds of trips nearly unbearable and requires lots of therapy afterward. It is ironic when I think about it, since when I first came to Africa 18 years ago I was intrigued by the remote places, and longed to venture out into them. My first "bad road" trip in 1991 in which a fellow colleague drove his fossil of a Land Rover over deep potholes as if they were mere cracks, sent me soaring out of my seat and hitting my head on the ceiling over and over - at the time I remember thinking how exhilarating that was, to be "roughing it" in the "African bush". At the time I had the "wanderlust" of my German ancestors flowing freely through my veins, driving me to explore the outermost regions with enthusiasm and a great sense of adventure.

18 years and four kids later, my back arthritic and my tolerance threshold for change and stress pretty low, I endure the roads with all the strength and character I can muster, and crash into bed at night exhausted. The case of ameba and malaria I got on this trip was far from exhilarating. But I did it for the fellowship of good friends, and to say for one last time that I could do it. Now we are finally home for a long stretch after nearly 6 weeks of living out of suitcases, and all I long for is routine, and relaxing at home with my family in familiar surroundings. That will probably be our last "bad road" trip. We will leave Africa next year, and in many ways that was my farewell trip. Africa has a lot of charm and intrigue, but it also can have its toll on you, as it has on me. One thing it has taught me is that I long for my home country, the familiar, the normal, the comfort of home, family, friends and traditions. I have many good memories here, but many bitter-sweet ones too. I now look forward to the journey home.

Why I love to quilt

I am an artist at heart. I love to create things that are beautiful and express what is inside myself through the media of paint, charcoal, cloth, furniture, interior decorating or whatever other medium that I discover. It is one way to express that “thing” that God put within me which shows like nothing else can that little glimpse of Him to the world. I like quilting, not because I like to sew (I really don’t like to sew). I actually hate the tedious steps in the process, the endless, monotonous cutting, sewing of tiny pieces together, and wondering if and when I will ever finish it. Most of my quilts take 2-3 years to finish. But I never wonder why I started in the first place; it is to see the end result, which is always so amazing even to me, that I marvel at the fact that something so beautiful came from my own hands. There is something magic about it. I think all quilters would agree. A think what fascinates us all about a quilt is that in many ways it arouses in us an awareness of some hidden truth. A quilt is a picture of a many faceted unique blend of many parts, in many ways one portrait of all the facets of me, which I discover as I gaze upon the finished product. It is at the same time a depiction of God’s unique multi-faceted nature, His creation, and the body of Christ, each with its unique colors, shapes and personalities, each fitting together perfectly when willing to be cut and sewn according to His will and molding, and without which the whole picture would be incomplete.

I love the story “the Josephine Story Quilt” which I read to my children. In it a pioneer family travels westward, having to leave many things behind, but one thing they have kept with them through the whole journey of their lives is the story quilt, the quilt into which they sewed together over many years all the left-over pieces of cloth from various clothing, drapes, and other items in their past, shaping them into pictures of pieces of the “story” each one bringing back a precious memory. A quilt is also a great gift of love to someone else. It takes time and effort, and is a unique gift, with nothing else like it in the world. How many of us have old, sometimes gaudy quilts that a grandmother made once, but with which we cannot part. It is too precious, too sacred, a reminder of the loving hands of grandma, sometimes all we have left of her life and love. I too want to leave behind traces of myself and my family’s life behind to tell the next generation our story, and reveal to the world the little pieces of God’s truth He has put in us as a testimony to the next generation. Quilting is just one little way I can do that. To most people this sounds crazy. To all you artists out there, I know you will understand.

On adversity, God’s Will and open doors

I always walked through life with the belief that God would lead me through the “open door” philosophy. If a door presented itself, I would go through it until a door closed. But going through many doors brought many obstacles as well, which then many claimed were obstacles put there by Satan and if I prayed hard enough I could overcome them through spiritual warfare. How is one to discern then if something is spiritual opposition or a “closed door”? Without a “revelation” from God, which I never had directly, I was only left to follow inner impressions, which could have been merely my interpretation of events based on an inner desire to want them to be true. I may never know. I think now maybe instead of walking through obstacles victoriously, there may have been times when I shoved the doors open, believing that it was my calling to do so. I am not so sure now. Looking back I can see that at every turn I defied the obstacles presented before me. Were they placed there by God as a gentle road block to keep me from a path of adversity that would only bring more heartache? Were they “roadsigns” pointing me in another direction? I cannot say. All I know is that the adversity they brought me has led me to seek the answers, and in seeking I believe I have found a more accurate picture of the way God works. His Word is the only sure source of guidance, and in my daily walk it gives me guidance on moral issues. But as for what I should do when presented with a fork in the road, two good choices, either of which are within His moral will, the choice is mine. It is my obligation to seek wisdom from God to make a good choice. If I choose to follow bad advice, thinking it is God’s way of revealing to me the way, I may be no better off than if I had just done what was on my heart to do. The choice is mine. I will inevitably make mistakes along the way. But now I feel certain that I need to make choices for the right reasons above all, that the choices need to be mine and not someone else’s choices for me.

I can see the thread of truth about God wants me to do with my life in little things He has put in my heart along the way. They were little hints of truth begging to be acknowledged, begging to be allowed to the surface. I used to believe that I must deny my dreams in order to embrace the bigger plan of God. I now can see that perhaps God was putting in me a dream, a godly desire, a gift which was part of His bigger plan, and to deny it was to deny His plan, and to deny the very person He was trying to make me to become. I was led to believe that only if I “become” like this other person, the heros, can I be acceptable to God. Now I see that God does not want me to become someone else, God wants me to become me. I love the quote from of Rabbi Zusya, who once said when he was an old man, “In the coming world, they will not ask me: ‘Why were you not Moses?’ They will ask me: ‘Why were you not Zusya?’” (Palmer, Let Your Life Speak: p11)

No dream or talent that is morally neutral cannot be used by God for His greater purpose. If God can even use my mistakes, even the sins of evil men, to bring about His plan, how much more can He do when we present our giftedness, interests and holy desires to Him? Are they not also a pleasing aroma to Him? I believe they are as long as I do them to His glory and not for my own. I cannot offer the gift He gave someone else. I cannot strive to have their gifts either. If I do, it will only lead me to obstacles, frustration and disappointments. I have to give myself to Him. There are gifts and desires inside of us that are screaming to be heard, and if we don’t let them be heard, a part of us will die. They are God’s signature within us. They need to be heard for no other reason than God put them there to show the world a part of Himself. We may not even know what to do with them, but we do need to do them. It is in doing them that God I believe will use them for His greater purposes, and in so doing bring Himself the glory and not us. If others don’t think these things are good enough or the right choice, they are not seeing things through God’s eyes, or perhaps are blinded by their own agendas, which are sometimes grounded in self-aggrandizement or fear of breaking the status-quo. On the other hand, I know God can use wise counsel to point me in the right direction. My responsibility is to pray for wisdom to discern between the two. I am thankful that God has brought to me people of wise counsel at this point in my life. I am thankful that I can see God’s loving hand of acceptance on me as who I am, and that I don’t have to earn that acceptance by becoming something else or someone else through my own self-effort.

Reflections on motherhood

I remember my days in college when I was so pumped and excited to pursue my education and become somebody who could make a difference in this world, and as a woman stand tall and embrace the times and opportunities to break out of the mold and be more than just the stereotype. I think that in many ways women in our generation in the 80's were expected to get a career, and I was right there at the front of the line. Not that I was into all those "women's lib" notions; I still believed in man's ordained role of men as the head of the home, and there were some roles I felt should only be filled by men, but I did embrace the idea that women could do a lot of things outside the stereotype. My heros were missionary women saving lives and making a difference in foreign lands. I aspired to be just like them.

I ended up doing many things with my life, became a nurse, then a missionary, and went overseas to do those "great things". Somehow though, there was always a tension in doing this. I wonder now if I was trying to live in someone else's skin rather than my own.

A few years ago I had a brief moment where I got a glimpse of my life, and I asked myself "when I am on my deathbed, what is it that I want people to say about me?" Suddenly it dawned on me that I did not want to be known as a great missionary, or as having saved hundreds of lives as a nurse, or as having successfully translated the Bible into another language. Deep in my heart what I wanted most of all was for my children to call me blessed. And I saw a vision of many children, children that were not yet born, children that were not yet in my life. This "vision" so stirred me, that it completely changed my outlook on my life. I realized that who I was made to be and who I really dreamed of being was something inherent within me, something that God made me as my birthright: a woman, with the potential to bring new life into this world, to nurture it, and to be the foundation for that life for either good or bad. Suddenly my heros were the housewives, the mothers, the women right in my backyard who labor day after day in silence and in the absence of notoriety, but who make the biggest difference in the world, shaping and molding the hearts of their little ones to follow their destiny. I count it an honor to be in their ranks. I have learned more about life, patience, love, and all other virtues living out my destiny as a wife and mother than I have in doing anything else. If I have failed at this job, I have failed at everything.

I do not regret the choices I made in my life. I know that I have been used by God to do many things. And those things have helped to shape me into the person I now am.

Several years ago I was watching an episode of Oprah where she was interviewing the cast of the movie "Mona Lisa Smile" in which Julia Roberts played the role of a woman who was trying to break the stereotypical mold imposed on women in the 1950's. She tried to challenge the thinking of young women in an all-girl's college who were raised by their caste of society to be proper housewives. Oprah asked the young girls in the audience if any of them could identify with the Julia Roberts's character in this film. A girl around the age of 18 raised her hand and replied that she actually felt pressure in the opposite direction, that in her generation girls were expected to go to college and get a career, but all she wanted was the freedom and acceptance in becoming a wife and mother. Her mother, who sat next to her, agreed that it was her desire for her daughter to get her education first.

My first thought was how ironic it is that our society has come full circle. Now more than ever even Hollywood stars are spending thousands of dollars in fertility techniques for the chance to give birth to their own child after years of fame and celebrity. What does this say about us as women? And why after thousands of years of humanity in which women were accepted and comfortable in their role as wife and mother is it now considered reckless for a young 18-year-old bride to get pregnant on her honeymoon? Did not God create women for this purpose? Is not marriage at any age a legitimate venue for having children? And why must every family be limited to 2.2 children, lest they be considered irresponsible? Why is it that what was once a blessing is now a curse? Only in the last 50 years has this strange phenomenon of women's roles emerged in our society and become a precedent, and yet now the "new order" is the norm? I beg to differ. I applaud the women who "break the mold" and live womanhood and motherhood to the fullest in our day and age, proud of their profession as a mother, proud of their God-given gift to bear children and raise them to be pillars of strength in a fallen world. And God willing they will make a come-back.