Revelations over Caramel Apples on a Cool Autumn Night

These things are harder to stab than they appear!

One is never enough.  Bobbing for caramels seems like a much better idea!

A very good Cambodian friend of mine, Sokha, was killed this week in a traffic accident.  She was a spiritual powerhouse, teaching other women, mothering 22 orphan children, raising her three children in the Lord, teaching Sunday school classes, a spiritual light in a very dark community. Her death left a huge void, not just in my heart, but in the lives of so many.  I've struggled for more than twenty four hours now with "What good can come of this?  How could God allow this to happen?"  I don't usually have that struggle in the wake of death.  I've experience a lot of death too, seen a lot of horrible things in the world: babies that starved to death, landmine victims, held women whose husbands washed away in a cyclone, moms dying of AIDS searching for homes for their children, and on and on and on. Even if it's the death of a child, or a long bout with cancer, I always quickly see God's goodness shining through the tragedy.  Not that God causes the tragedy, necessarily, but that he can make good bloom out of anything.  But with this?  Twice orphaned orphans? Motherless children?  One of the lone spiritual lights in a Buddhist village snuffed out?  For the first time, I thought surely evil would triumph over good in this case, and how could God let that happen?  

Then a good mutual friend of mine and Sokha's emailed me and said, "Who are we but children of God?" That set me back exactly to where I needed to be.  Thanks Marie-Claire.  You see, when I lived in Cambodia with Marie-Claire, before children, I spent hours a day in the Word and in prayer. HOURS a DAY. Somedays all night too.  12-20 HOURS a DAY weeping, praying and meditating over the Word. The spiritual plane that put me on is indescribable-think nuns in secluded monasteries, but also serving the lost and least of these everyday, putting the Word into action with every other breath of the day.  Things are clearer up there, to say the least. That's not the case for all missionaries, I know, but it was for me.

Then I move back to suburban America, have three children, do laundry, go to speech therapy, preschool, Dr. appointments, etc...and I steal a  few MINUTES a day with God.  I didn't realize what this had done to my spiritual health until Marie-Claire emailed me with her perspective, the perspective of one blessed to still be living a life with hours a day in the Word.  

Yes, I know raising children is a mission field, and no I'm not complaining about my life.  I am saying that to get the time with God that I need in this life however takes a carving knife.  It doesn't come easily, but it must be done lest my mind transform further in the wrong direction.  

So, I spent nap time today reading 1 Peter.  The dishes aren't done, the laundry needs to be switched, and J. didn't get his cello lesson, but oh well.  First things first, right? 

 It said [emphasis mine], 

6Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time,

 7casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.

 9But resist him [the devil], firm in your faith, knowing that the same experiences of suffering are being accomplished by your brethren who are in the world.

 10After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen and establish you.

I repented of my pride, and saw the great HOPE available to Sokha's husband and children through this tragedy. They will be brought up from their humble state by a God who cares for them.  They will then be made perfect, strong, and established. And Sokha gets to live in Heaven in the meantime? Huh. The paralyzing grief is subsiding and hope of a new day is shining through. To be a perfected, strong and established Christian only leads to better things in the spiritual realms than anything I could have imagined yesterday.

Pride is a horrible thing.  

As a result of her death, the whole Cambodian village may hate and mock Jesus even more now than they did before her death. Sokha's daughter's faith may be delayed (she's only 8).  Evangelically, this may appear to be a loss for the good guys, but as long as none of us in the Lord lose our faith over this, we will be brought up stronger than before.  My vision wasn't where God's was, so I was calling Him foolish.  "Don't you see what this will to do the lost?" I asked God. "It'll push them further away from you!  This is BAD strategy!" I told Him as if the strategy is mine to know, or as if I can even see the whole field from where I'm sitting... I spent so much time focused on the likely hampered evangelism to those in darkness now who are effected by her death that I lost sight of discipling those who are in Christ now who are struggling over her death, and it's to them that there is a great promise written in this tragedy.   

We often don't struggle enough here in our custom kitchens with our healthy children making caramel apples.  A great missionary I grew up with, Stanley Shipp, once said that he wished a great calamity would fall upon America so that more people would seek Christ.  Well that's a theological quagmire I don't want to muck around in right now, but certainly when troubles do come, if we hold to God's unchanging Hand, we are stronger in the end.  We're reminded to hold our kids a little tighter, and make one or two more caramel apples, and know that for those suffering here and overseas, there is a greater Hand, an immeasurable Hope of perfection, and an everlasting, sustaining Love that will meet them and establish them on higher ground when bad things sometimes just happen to very, very, very good people.

I love you, Sokha, and I will miss you so much!  Thank you for the lessons you've taught me in life and death.

When did this happen?

This is what happens when you blink.  I love the boy he's become, but I miss my baby boys!

Fun at the park!

Here in the land of the pines...

...the wonders of Autumn aren't displayed in the ocher, saffron, rust, and mustard of leaves, but in fields of white.  True, it isn't a rice paddy on the margin of a floating Thai market abloom with white lotus, but it is beautiful in a iconic American South sort of way, don't you think?  It's so beautiful I almost swerved off the road looking at this nearly ripe field yesterday!

There are fields of green pods with hesitant white puffs peeking out, and fields breathing soft white clovers.  In "Birches", Frost compares ice-cycles on the trees to "the inner dome of Heaven" having fallen.  Cotton is similar in its heavenly glisten in the morning dew, but to me, the cotton field next door to our house more resembles lazy clouds that dropped to earth and whose little bits wanted to be by themselves for awhile.

In this part of the American South, Autumn is symbolized with ripe cotton, and it is everywhere right now.

The boys love to pick the puffs that fall out of the ball before the tractor scoops them up.  We talk about how soft it is, to be careful of the sharp seeds inside, and how cotton makes our clothes, blankets, and favorite teddy bears.

Sunflower loved it at first touch too!  And no, I haven't missed the allusion and irony of gently lifting a child out of tragedy in Africa, and bringing her to fields of cotton in the American South.  But how HOPEFUL, how representative it is of human progress, how tear-jerkingly promising it is that this African baby girl can grow to walk into an American cotton field, savor its beauty and soft grace, walk out of that field, and live free to dance and thrive and be herself in this amazing country.  All she knows, and all she will know for many years, is that cotton is soft and beautiful, so let's hold on to it for awhile.  It holds no ugly shadows of the past for her; it isn't a symbol to her of oppression, slavery, hate and segregation, so I let her joyfully have those moments with her something soft and beautiful that God made, and thank God that she has the opportunity to live them. 

Happy Autumn!

Our angel who refuses to smile in front of a camera...

Her refusal to smile makes me smile.  She's the only baby I know who's stoicism is comical! She is really is a ham away from the camera, though: big smiles, belly laughs...  Cameras just are not her friends!

The Responsibilities that Come with Shoes

When Sunflower and I landed in America, I said aloud, "Welcome to America.  You have a Daddy here, and a house."

A man across the aisle added, "And clean drinking water."

His friend said, "And medical care," no doubt because he had witnessed with eyes and nose Robyn and I change no less than a dozen diarrhea diapers and were clearly transporting a sick child.  Thank you, unknown plane companion, for being compassionate and not complaining!  

A woman waiting to exit the plane chimed in, "We have education here."

Another woman, "And hamburgers.  We have meat that you can eat here."  

A hundred thoughts went through my mind then as myself and my flying companions were about to step foot back into America.  What Sunflower was losing by leaving Africa certainly was at the forefront, but also all of the things she would gain-in her case, likely life itself-by moving to America.

I was struck last night listening to our Presidential candidates debate whether health care was a responsibility or a right.  Huh.  I thought the UN decided that sixty years ago with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 25:

"Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, housing, and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age, or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control.   Motherhood and childhood are entitled to special care and assistance.  All children, whether born in or out of wedlock, shall enjoy the same protection."

Health care is a basic human right.

Teaching your children the Golden Rule is a responsibility.

Meat on the table is a privilege.

Unfortunately, these basic rights, as outlined in the UN Declaration aren't exercised around the world.  There are many obstacles: lack of resources, lack of knowledge, apathy...  If they were all met, Sunflower would never have to have left Ethiopia.  

My travels have developed a unique perspective within me.  For example, patent leather shoes on an 8 month old baby is not a core human right.  It is an abundant privilege of growing up in America.  In fact, I didn't see shoes of any kind on any child's feet while in Africa (in the villages outside of Addis, anyway).  Here's my perspective: foot covering of some sort=right.  Patent leather baby shoes with bows= privilege.

Sunflower got her first pair of shoes yesterday.  I openly chastised myself in the store about how ridiculous it was to buy a baby a pair of shoes.  What's she going to do, walk outside and check the mail?  But I wanted her to have them.  I want her to have all of her human rights: medical care, sufficient food, potable water, shelter; fulfill all of her responsibilities: try her best in school, use good manners, tell people about Jesus' love, and be a compassionate person; and so many privileges as well: a room to herself, McDonald's french fries, indoor plumbing, a washing machine, her own Bible in her own language, music, dance, and patent leather shoes.

They may not take her very far today, but as she grows and little black church shoes are replaced with tennis shoes for track, sandals for the beach, heels for prom, and cute Mary Janes for nights out with girlfriends, I pray her "feet are shod with the readiness of the Gospel of Peace", that she learns to walk in her Father's footsteps, and that she becomes a bearer of human rights to the least of these all around the world.

Big Tent Revival...not quite

Isn't it every Christian woman's dream to raise her sons into the ministry?  Doctors and lawyers are nice, but ideally, if the future were paved with the dust of my dreams, J. and C. would choose ministry, even if it paid nothing and took them to far-off corners of the planet.  There is no greater "job."  But, before we get to that point, C. needs to not be so excited shouting about Jesus that he forgets the words to "I'm gonna sing, sing, sing" altogether and just starts shoutin'.  That might work if we were Pentacostal.  But we're not.

And at some point, J. will need to learn how to pronounce Nebuchadnezzar.  But, I write, and I had to look up how to spell that word, so maybe it isn't really all that necessary afterall!  He's our shy one, as you can tell from the first video when he covered his face as not to be recorded correctly singing, "I'm gonna sing, sing, sing," so you might need to turn up your sound.  May everyone use the gifts God gave them to make the world a more joyful place. Blessings,