Physical Promises

I live in a cement world. For the girl who grew up among rugged mountains with air so clear she could see the Milky Way at night, this cement encased world grates the soul.

I also struggle with anxiety. There I said it. And there have been mornings where if I don’t get up and walk as soon as I wake up, I will spend the rest of the day trapped in anxiety. So I walk around and around in circles in my little cement community. As I walk, my nature starved eyes strain out all the birds and flowers I can find.

Thankfully, Ecuador is the land of birds and flowers and they are here, even in cement-clad Caracol. I started paying special attention to the different flowers I was seeing.  As I looked into their colorful faces noticing their detail and contemplating the imagination of the Artist who came up them, I started to get the feeling they were trying to tell me something.  Cheesy, I know, I’ve been told that before.

Then I remembered Matthew 6, “Do not be anxious about your life… Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field… will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?”

So that’s what they are trying to say. Each is a physical representation of the promise that God will take care of me. As every flower tells the promise in Matthew in a different way, so too God will provide for each of us in a different way.  Some flowers are elegant, some are gaudy, some have simple clear cut lines, some are so tiny you have to bend close to appreciate their beauty. Maybe that is how our lives are, each a different flower with its own beauty and I need to stop wishing my life was “elegant” or “fame-worthy” and be content with the style of life God has given me with its own unique beauty.

And so I have started to see flowers as physical promises. Promises I can see, smell, and hold in my hand. As I walk I press them tightly between my fingers hoping that someday, I can hold those promises as tightly in my heart. 

Growing up

Growing up was a crazy, twisting adventure, wrapping me up in my own head and keeping me from thinking how others around me were affected. I am only realizing now how looking in on another’s journey can stretch one’s heartstrings.

At Hope of Bastion School, we are still allowed to hug our children. Any time I go outside during grade 1 or 2 recess, I will almost certainly be swarmed by little bodies pressing up against me for a big, off-balance group hug. One little boy, the other week, gave me a hug, his head only reaching my stomach, then looked up and flashed me a big smile saying, “You smell like perfume”. And then in he went again for another hug. Oh, please, don’t ever grow up.

We just started another school year after having 3 months off for our “summer” vacation.  This year we have middle school for the very first time. The kids who were in 6^th grade when I first came are now in 8^th grade, and I consider them “mine” since I taught them English for the past two years. We are almost a month in to the school year and I still can’t get over how much they grew up over vacation time. They are young men and women who now greet me every afternoon and every time I wonder if they are staying away from drugs and harmful relationships, if they are doing their homework, if they are going to finish high school… Oh, please… grow up well.

Last weekend was our kick off for youth group.  We had gone all out decorating, had a speaker come in, and made a special dessert to stir up the excitement of the coming year. Theme: Generation Radical- learning to be authentic reflections of Christ. Most teens swallowed their apple muffins and cream in two gulps, but as everyone was leaving I noticed two 14 year old girls still holding untouched plates. Both come from struggling homes. One girl has spent a year out of high school because her dad has refused to pay child support (he is currently in jail because of that mature move). The other’s father is also not around, and I just learned that her jerk-of-a-stepfather took off with all her pictures of her deceased mother. These two girls, who have been forced to grow up much too quickly, were taking their desserts back to their families so that their brothers and sisters could join with them in a few sweet mouthfuls. Oh, please, don't give up- you are doing so well… 

Steady… Steady this heart.

A couple weeks ago, I went to a missionary conference where I spent a whole week with a group of about 100 people, most of whom had spent a good amount of time as missionaries overseas.

In a way, I felt like I was on a trip back in time.  Somehow, just looking at the people I was with and hearing them talk, made me think of the age of Bible Crusades and tent meetings- the era when the gospel was given a bit more up-front and in-your-face. Most people were double my age and the bearers of that era. It was a good dose of Brethren culture with a few jokes here and there about how Brethren don’t like change and a few gentle reminders not to judge others who do things differently.

To me, who had just come out of four years of university-age Christian conferences filled with youthful passion, latest technology, and cutting edge evangelism, this felt a little old-fashioned. I laughingly mentioned this to Erin and she said, “I don’t really think it’s old-fashioned. I think of it more as steady.”

Steady. That is a word my generation hardly thinks of and rarely aspires to. In my mind it is right in the category of characteristics deemed outdated or boring by today’s culture- words like prudent, modest, wise, chivalrous, and submissive. Steady fits right in.

But should it be outdated?

 “Steady” stayed with me all week and I began to look at the people around me through that lens- the lens that denotes commitment and unwavering faith- and I began to see beautiful things.

I saw humanity and weakness. We struggled through seminars on stress management and how to deal with the weight of hurting people and a sick world. We grappled with the concept of forgiveness and what that looks like in conflicts with co-workers. We even had a workshop on remembering to serve with love. Why, when these things are so very basic? Because we are so very human.

Yet in strange combination with this, I saw strength, steadiness. I met a woman who looked like she had stepped out of one of my mom’s photographs from the 80’s with a heart of pure gold and a smile that shone pure joy; an Egyptian working in a Bible society for 30 years- facing his stores being burned and his people being persecuted; and his wife who spent 25 years working in a garbage village and watching its people be transformed by Christ’s love. I met a girl a couple of years older than myself whose heart’s desire is to spend the rest of her life serving India’s urban poor, and I heard the stories of hurting missionaries who are facing sickness and pain like so many copies of Job. I met countless people who have been on the mission field longer than I have been alive, and a precious few who have served double my lifetime.

That’s His grace- combining weakness with strength in an unlikely mixture. 

Old-fashioned? Yes, probably- at least in many people’s eyes. But old does not mean bad. I am far from steady, yet if I can get to age 60 or 70 and have a heart similar to some of the ones I met, I suppose I can stand being a bit old-fashioned.

So, steady now…. In spite of myself…Steady this heart. 

The Beauty Hunt

I am on a quest for Beauty. Now if I meant the world’s definition of beauty, I suppose I wouldn’t have to look far. All I would have to do is find a doctor who would cut away enough and put enough plastic in me to make me look like a magazine cover. Enough. This beauty tells us we will never be enough the way we are. When I run after that, it only brings dissatisfaction.

No, I am talking about true Beauty. The kind I am just starting to recognize. The kind I see in my grandma’s gentle smile, in the myriads of different flowers, in a heroic act, in a child’s innocence.

I love nature. I can’t get enough of sunsets, butterfly wings and astounding variety. For the longest time though, I couldn’t verbalize why. I loved the beauty but felt like the reason lay in something deeper than what my eyes were seeing. It wasn’t until I started to see the world as God’s artwork that I really started to understand.

All that is Beautiful and Good stems from God. He is the ultimate definition of Beauty and thus, everything that is truly Beautiful reflects on who He is. All symmetry, harmony, creativity and variety in nature stem from His imagination. All kind acts, noble feelings, and bravery are concepts humans can have only because they came first from the mind of God.

So in finding true Beauty in the world, I find God and in so doing find joy and contentment. Anne Voskamp explains in One Thousand Gifts, “This is how. I learn how to say thank you from a laid-low stalk of wheat. From the wind rustling glory through the dried blades of grass raised, from the leaves in the silver maple hushed awed still. I pay tribute to God by paying attention.”

I believe that paying attention to the Beauty that surrounds us is a piece of finding that full life that Jesus promised us. If we can identify the Good and Beautiful in life and gratefully attribute it all to its Source, we find joy- a joy that never ends as there is always more Beauty to find because the Source is infinite.

I say this all fully aware that pain and ugliness exist in our universe. I am not saying we should ignore this. Pain needs to be looked in the face. But if I can train myself to see the Beautiful while being aware of the ugly, the Beautiful will give me the strength to bear the pain with joy.

These are the moments to remember

Sometimes life is hard.
Sometimes, you wake up in the morning and it takes a while to remember what the point of it all is.
But sometimes God sends reminders as to why its all worth it.
Today was one of those days.
Almost a year ago, I walked into my 6th grade English classroom and met a girl who was hard and bitter. As I got to know her, I realized she wore anger like a mask to cover a world of hurt. Slowly the mask slipped aside and I met one of the sweetest girls I know. Our relationship has been a series of ups and downs as she has gradually learned to trust me and share with me about her hard family life. Today I was given a gift. As I was talking to her she told me she is trying very hard this year to behave better in school and told me that she would love to be able to call me her aunt. My heart melted. And in that moment, I thought back to the girl I had first met and realized how much of a change I can see in her. Now the angry mask has ceased to be her normal wear and instead the sweet girl is the most visible.
This afternoon Erin and I went to visit a family from the school to give them some gifts that their sponsor had sent down. He had sent the kids a beautiful picture Bible and the Max Lucado book, You are Special. The parents received a Scofeild study Bible. Not all families here in Guayaquil appreciate books, but this family does. Little Allison sat down right away with the Bible and flipped through, naming all the stories.  Her mom was ecstatic about the study Bible, saying that God knew exactly what she needed and had sent it. As we sat outside their bamboo and cement home, Erin decided to read the Max Lucado book to the family. Their eyes were glued to the pictures the whole time. Every time I looked at their faces, I got goosebumps. This is the point: to show the people that most have forgotten that their Creator loves them and that they are special.

Well done, Brunilda. And see you later.

Perhaps you don’t know, but the Christian family lost an outstanding member this past Friday. In fact, you probably don’t know, because she shone her light in a tiny community in rural Ecuador that most people don’t even know exists.

I only met her once, and regret not having talked to her more. I went to visit Las Jaguitas a few months ago with Kenia, an Ecuadorian friend, who was showing me around her home town. She took me to visit her grandma, Brunilda, and I immediately noticed this woman’s beauty. She was 84 years old and lived in a simple house with only the barest necessities. She had lived a hard life, constantly battling poverty, seeing 3 of her children die and being the sole caretaker of a blind husband and mentally handicapped daughter. Yet, in spite of all this there was a peace and sweetness reflected in the lines of her face that were easily recognisable.

But it wasn’t until she passed away and I heard people talking about her, that I realized how truly special this woman was. Brunilda spent her whole life living in Las Jaguitas- she had never even been to the ocean (which is only about 2 hours away). She was not well educated and never had a lot of money, yet I find myself admiring her more than many other people I have met. Her devotion to God was of greater worth than a world of PHDs and paper diplomas.

Every morning Brunilda faithfully swept the one room church in Las Jaguitas and prayed the entire time she did it. She learned to read using the Bible as her primer with the whole purpose of being able to read it. This woman who had barely any education knew entire psalms by memory. At the funeral her family kept mentioning how she had a special talent of making food stretch. No matter how many people showed up at her house or how little she had, she always found a way to make her bit of food go all around- even give people seconds. Her son says he thinks God blessed her hands to make the food multiply. The preacher said she never failed to have orange juice ready for him when he was preaching. Her nephew said he had never seen her angry or complain. She was like a mother to the whole community, giving more than she had and always listening, caring and giving gentle, wise advice.

As I took my turn to look in the casket- at the lined, serene, face- I felt I was looking at a veteran comrade-in- arms who had successfully completed her last mission. I looked at her and realized that I want to be like her. I can get so caught up in theological discussions, philosophies, big questions that history has never answered. I can run around in circles in my head, going dizzy chasing these things, but when I looked at Brunilda I realized that those things don’t matter so much. Her simple, child-like faith stood the test of life’s hardest storms and questions, and she came out of the furnace a rare quality of gold.

Well done, Brunilda. Enjoy your well-earned reward. I know I’ll be seeing you later.

Expensive Tastes

I think I was born with expensive tastes. Even though my family wasn’t rich, I somehow innately knew that jewels were pretty and I wanted them. Hardly a day went by when I didn’t dress up in my flouncy dress and put on my plastic tiara and jewels. I pretended I was Cinderella and because I was a missionary kid, I married King David instead of Prince Charming [that was before I understood the whole Bathsheba issue].

It didn’t disappear as I grew older. I can walk into the cookie aisle in a store and without fail, the cookies I want are the most expensive ones. Sometimes I think God put me into a missionary family so I would learn to say “no” to all the things I want and buy economically.

And I have learned to say no to most of the unnecessary things I want and it doesn’t normally bother me.  But a few months ago I was walking through a mall and passed by a jewelry store allowing myself more than the usual cursory glance. I saw a big beautiful emerald surrounded by glittering diamonds and was struck with the thought that I would never have it.

For some reason that thought made me sadder than it ever had before- especially thinking that I would never know what it feels like to be rich- like really rich. I mean, when you choose to study Global Studies in university and then go on the missions field you can’t really expect to be able to just walk into a nice jewelry store and pick something out just for the heck of it. But there is a part of me that wants to know what that is like. I only get to live life once and I want to experience all that life has to offer.

I went home still feeling sad. I knew it was silly because even the lifestyle I am living is considered super rich by more than 75 percentish of the world. But I was still sad. Until the thought came to me that I would be unbelievably rich. Someday. And it’s a sure thing that doesn’t even depend on me. As a child of God I will one day live in a mansion with foundations made of jewels and walk down streets paved with gold. And as the adopted child of a King, I will have the legitimate status of a princess.

Yesterday, in a Bible study we ready Revelations 21-22, all about the wonders of Heaven. As I read about the gates of New Jerusalem being made of pearls and even the measuring stick of the angel being made of gold, I realized that God has expensive tastes too. It’s not wrong to like nice things- what’s wrong is to make chasing after them our life end. But maybe, just maybe, God gave us expensive tastes to remind us where our true home is.