Compassion part 3: Egi

Yesterday we finally got to meet all three kids in the packet for the first time! More than eighty of you clicked to see little Egi, Yegele, and Gregori's faces. Whoo hoo! Every click or share filled my heart with hope that all of these precious little ones will have sponsors by next week on September 30.

If you're just jumping in today, welcome! This is day number three in a ten-day series showcasing the work of Compassion International for impoverished and at-risk children around the world. (To catch up on what you missed, click here for Day 1, and here for Day 2!)

Compassion International operates on the assumption that:

"In a world where more than a billion children live on less than $2 USD per day, child sponsorship is the most strategic way to end poverty."

Many of us ache with sorrow over the tragedies occurring around the world, but feel helpless to help from our living rooms. Or, we feel simply overwhelmed because the Great Need just feels too great.

Friend, you are small. That is truth. But when a small person offers their smallness to a Great God , that tiny offering can be used to change the world.

Today, and for the next two days, I want to open the profile packs a smidge further and really introduce you to each child so that you can make a more informed decision about whether one of them is waiting for you. 

Today, meet Egi. 

Egi Ricard Sarumaha turned seven on the seventh of June - his "golden birthday".

He lives in an island community called Sukarami where around 2,700 people live elbow-to-elbow in homes made of cement floors and tin roofs.

The area is known for torrential rains during the flood season. Can you imagine the deafening effect of a heavy rain on a tin roof?

Egi lives with his father, his mother, and one other sibling. His mom stays at home with the kids while his father tries to keep steady employment as a day laborer. However, he is not always successful, since Egi's profile says his father is "sometimes employed". Most day laborers earn an average of $53 per month in Sukaramai.

Children living in Sukaramai are at risk for diseases such as dengue fever, malaria, and skin diseases.

Compassion International's work in Indonesia began in 1968. They partner with churches to help them provide Indonesian kids with the opportunity to rise above their circumstances and reach their full potential.

Your sponsorship of $38 per month would allow the staff at Agape Denninger Student Center to give Egi Bible studies, medical checkups, nutritious food, sports, character building programs, reading and writing classes and special celebrations.

One other thing that surprised me--it said that the center staff would also offer meetings and seminars to Egi's parents!

This means that in a very practical way, your sponsorship of a single child may actually be part of God's plan for an entire family's transformation through the love of Christ.

How do I support Egi?

Egi's starter packet is currently displayed in the lobby of the Fellowship Church office in College Station. If you live here in town, drop by after your morning cup of coffee to pick it up. Everything you need to get started will be inside. 

What's that, you say? You live out of town? Just email me at cherise.castille[at]gmail[dot]com to give me your mailing address, and I'll be more than happy to mail Egi's packet to you. 

I can't sponsor right now, but how can I help?

Pray for Egi. Like, right now, wherever you are. Pray that God will bring him a sponsor soon. Pray for his health. Pray for his education, his family, and his development. Most of all, pray that he will choose to follow Jesus and let God's love transform both him and his community. 

Share this post with anyone you think might want to be Egi's sponsor! You never know--that co-worker or relative may be the one who is meant to build a life-long relationship with Egi through sponsorship. 

Be an advocate. Compassion international needs our voices (and facebook pages and twitter accounts) to connect thousands of children just like Egi with people who have the funds and the willingness to be their sponsors. Click here for more information. 


 

The scary-ness of calling yourself a writer

Unless you’re Mariah Carey, it’s a intimidating to say “I’m a singer”. I mean, someone might ask you whether you’ve got an album. Or [horrors!] ask you to sing on the spot. Like, right now.

It can feel just as scary to say, “I’m a writer”.

We squirm, wondering what qualifies us to have the audacity to consider ourselves real writers.

Is it when we publish that first book? Is it when our blogs reach some magical number of followers or has a post that goes viral on Facebook?

In our capitalist society, the mark of legitimacy is often a paycheck. I mean, I may love to dabble in watercolor, but it’s hard to say “I’m a painter” unless someone is willing to plunk down cash for one of my pieces.

But technically, this describes an author.
A writer, when you distill the definition to its core, is simply one who writes.

I must diligently hack off the extra words that try to attach themselves like barnacles to this pure definition. Those extras turn “writer” into Professional Writer, Technical Writer, Popular Writer, Freelance Writer, or even Successful Writer. Descriptive? Maybe. But they can also set an impossible standard of success that can make me say, “oh no, not me. I’m not that.”

I must remind myself that no athlete began with a gold medal, and most never win one.

I remember that applause is often a fickle measure of worth.

I have to zero in on the fact that I like writing, and that the joy of doing something should be enough to keep doing it.

I am a writer, not because I am the best writer the world has seen (ha!), or the most profound, or the most well-known or prolific, but because I choose return and turn my insides out again on a page.

I am a writer, not because I do it perfectly, but because I do it.

And as I operate in the truth of who I am, I will become.

Original photography by Quinn Dombrowski

Today I'm actually joining a larger discussion over at Kate Motaung's blog about the book On Being a Writer by Ann Kroeker and Charity Singleton Craig. I stumbled on the conversation last week as I browsed through my feed on Bloglovin', and it scratched an itch I didn't realize I had. 

Lately, I've been doing some hard thinking about this writing thing. I've been asking myself some hard questions, like "why do I write anyway?", "what are my motivations?", and "what should my writing give you, the readers?"

More on that later. Thanks for coming along as I process. :)

FMF {Five Minute Friday} : Try

Trying leaves something bitter in my mouth.

It's not that I don't love an adventure. Someday I want to visit every continent, jump out of an airplane, write a book, and taste escargot. I buy that weird looking vegetable at HEB and look up ways to cook it. I am not shy with strangers.

But something about trying has the smell of defeat on it already.

I'm trying, I sigh when I just can't measure up.

I'm trying, is my frustrated whine when those around me criticize.

And I'll try sounds like placating someone when you know it's not going to work.

How did that word get sullied and sour to me? How did it lose its adventure and become an obligation that was un-fillable?

Maybe it was when too much was hung on the trial. Too much was at stake. Too much could be lost by failure. Try became trial, and I was in the docket.

Maybe it was when trying to perform well somehow wriggled its way in to displace trying for fun.

Once upon a time, trying was sampling life. Trying new flavors, new friends, new feats on the jungle gym was the essence of Carpe Diem--seizing the broad, sparkling day and shaking it down until it ran over. It was hopeful exploration, happy inquisition.

I want to step out of the docket and grasp the jungle gym bars again.

 

Italy this year looks different

I *almost* posted this Wednesday, but it was the first of April, and the common wisdom says that nothing posted on April Fools Day should be trusted as fact.

I wanted you to believe me when I tell you this.

After much prayer and thought, I have decided to remain state-side this year while my husband goes back to Milan in May.

To explain why, let me tell you the story.

Around November, as I was praying for my friends in Italy and for the coming mission trip, I felt a hesitancy that was as unexpected as it was strong. Why does this year feel different? I wondered.

 The following week, my beautiful younger sister got a sparkling rock on her left hand. A wedding was quickly set for June. Only a few short weeks later, my other sister and her husband welcomed a sweet baby girl to our family. In our close-knit clan, babies and weddings are all-hands-on-deck affairs--a chance to pour love through action and presence.

I was torn. On the one hand, I could not wait to see my friends in Milan. I longed to grieve with the church there over the recent death of one of the missionaries, to continue the conversations about life and Jesus with those I met in the last three years, and to feel the joy of serving alongside my husband in a place we've both come to love.

On the other hand was a growing desire to grasp these momentous moments with my sisters. But it felt almost selfish to consider choosing family over a mission trip.

There was not enough vacation for both.

However, as I prayed, I became convinced that loving my sisters and their families was this year's mission. And, as I realized several years ago, even spiritual things like a mission trip overseas can be downright disobedient if the Lord is asking me to do something else.

So while it feels odd to reach March without a flurry of support-raising, I am filled with peace. When I get home and see the coffee cups from an Italy meeting cluttering the countertop by the sink, I smile, knowing that God has hand-picked these seven volunteers. It is a good team, and they will succeed.

And that's not all.

God has been dropping ideas into the now-peaceful pool of my heart. Each one sends excited ripples to the very edges of me until I can hardly sit still! I may be here, an ocean away from the team for two weeks, but those two weeks have a purpose. The purpose is slowly forming into a plan, but that will have to wait until the next post. :)

Stay tuned! 

Why I got mad at the eye doctor

I have always hated lack and imperfection, especially when the lack is in me.

When I was in 9th grade, the teacher noticed that I was squinting at the board. With a deep sense of dread, I finally agreed to go to the eye doctor.

Sure enough--I was nearsighted. I flat-out refused to wear the glasses prescribed for me, and bristled at the condescending manner of the doctor.

How DARE he. 

I could not stand the thought that something was wrong with me, and would rather continue squinting than admit deficiency.

Glasses may be a silly example, but I still don't like to see my faults. I cringe to se
e cellulite, my messy kitchen, or the ugliness that can lurk in my heart. Eve and I--we both get this urge to run and hide when we see our nakedness.

But my lack and imperfection is precisely the reason that Jesus came. 

And He didn't come wagging His head at me, hand on hip in disgust. He came running, calling me beloved. 

My emptiness and His abundance are a perfect match. In fact, I was designed to have no sufficiency of my own so that Christ would be all in all. 

Without seeing my glaring deficiency, would I ever turn to the Sufficient One? Probably not. If I were perfect, why would I need the Lord? My hated faults are gradually becoming almost like friends, because anything that brings me to Jesus is a good thing.

And when a perfection-obsessed society gets a glimpse of the Perfect One shining out of this obviously cracked and broken jar, they will say, "Well, it can't be her. It's gotta be Something else."




If you want to dig a little deeper, here are a couple of the verses that God has used to show me truth in this area of my life. (Can you tell I recently read 2 Corinthians? :) )

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."
-2 Corinthians 12:9

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us."
-2 Corinthians 4:7

"Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God."
-2 Corinthians 3:5

Five Minute Friday:: Adore

Last year my windows were festooned with ribbons, like peppermint stripes to the floor. Colored lights glowed at the door, and the Christmas candles flickered in the hallway bathroom. Even the couch had a snowman pillow on it. 

This year, my 2-foot tree is the only bit of Christmas in an otherwise very normal, every-day living room. Only one present is wrapped. Another present sits on my desk in a brown box, exactly as it looked when the UPS guy dropped it off last night. All other presents are still at the store, undiscovered. It has been a busy month, filled with goodbyes to students who are returning home after the semester, graduation parties and unexpected guests. 

But my heart feels quiet. Anticipatory. 

For the first time, my husband and I decided to celebrate Advent. 

We bought a cheap brass candle ring online that came with the purple and pink tapers, and we downloaded a devotional by John Piper. We read it from the glowing screen of the phone as we lie in bed each night. 

The words have been garlanding my heart with awe. 

That the King would come, not to be served but to serve? The realization spreads fresh across my duty-bent heart like a red carpet to welcome him. 

And that star that God placed in the sky millennia in advance, timed to perfection so that men who scanned the night for signs would see it--dazzling. The sheer scale of planning that went into His entrance sends fiery sparks of worship through my heart, brighter than any tinsel. 

My house may look pretty much as it did in October, but I can feel Christmas within me. More of Christ. More adoration for my King, the one who let himself be made small and weak to bring me near. 

The story of how I freaked out and received a car anyway.

It was 9:32pm at the end of a long Tuesday. Work was still in crazy mode from the move, laundry sat in forlorn piles in our bedroom, and the empty fridge could not be ignored another day. My calendar was ballooning out of control with unexpected social engagements, and my head ached.

I called hubby on my way to the grocery store, hoping for a pep talk. Instead I heard:
"So, the car place called. They said it's the engine. The guy said they could probably sell our car for parts."

I gripped the steering wheel of our one working car. How could they offer so little for my faithful little Camry with the awesome gas mileage? And we'd just replaced the air conditioning that summer.

Suddenly, out of my mouth were coming fearful, panicky words that flung accusation on my man and fuel on my fear. It wasn't pretty.

Fear leaves little room for trust, especially when I speak it out loud. 

The next night I was still tense. I drove to the gym, popped in my earbuds, and clicked on a podcast by one of my favorite Bible teachers.

My legs and arms began to move in rhythm, and she started to tell a story of a whole nation who panicked. They looked into a new land, and instead of feeling excited that God had finally brought them to this beautiful place, they freaked out because the current residents made them feel small. They worried that they and their kids would be squashed like grasshoppers if they so much as stepped over the border.

The fear fostered amnesia. They forgot how God had rescued them out of slavery. They forgot how He'd fed them for 40 years. They forgot how He had already destroyed two nations for them.

I stepped off the machine and walked to the mats, feeling like the story was mine.

Those Jews looked at their smallness instead of God's bigness, and they shrunk back. Then she said something that made my pounding heart pause: "Their fear was rebellion."

After wiping away the tears that threatened to spill all over the exercise mat, I had an internal dialogue with God.

God, I'm sorry for not trusting you. I'm sorry for panicking instead of remembering how faithful you've ALWAYS been. You will always give me just what I need, even if it's not what I want. I don't want to forget your goodness. I don't want to rebel. 

There in the sweat and clang of the gym, I heard him say, Daughter, I forgive you. And I will always be your shepherd. Trust me. Stay close to me. Don't let your circumstances make you freak out. I am bigger than your circumstances.

A few days after my realization in the gym, hubby and I were actually feeling pretty excited about the one-car thing. After all, it was something we had seriously considered before. It meant less insurance to pay, less gas to buy, and less money to spend on up-keep. And it wasn't like we would be stranded. We have a bike, and we live a mere five minute walk from the University bus route.

We had just about decided that having only one car was the coolest move we ever made when my dad called. He said they had a car they weren't using, and wanted to know when they could drive it down to us.

"Aww, thanks, Dad! You're so sweet to let us borrow it for a while!"

He started laughing on the other end. "Oh, no sweetheart. We want to give you this car."

My jaw dropped, and I almost dropped the phone with the weight of what was being offered. After all my freaking out, my clenching and grasping at control, he was giving us a car.

So unexpected. So extravagant. So undeserved. And I thought to myself, this is what grace looks like.


Ok, I have to add this disclaimer--I don't share this story to say that God is good BECAUSE He gave us a car. Even if we had lost both cars at once, with no replacement, God would still be good because that is who He is. He is good, and He has already shown that goodness and mercy with crazy extravagance on a cross where He died in my place. 

I share this story because I want to remind myself to trust my Shepherd, and I hope that it can encourage someone else too. 

This month as the Christmas lights go up and the stores vie for our attention, I want to hope in Jesus, and not my circumstances. I want to cling to Him, the rock-solid constant, so that finances, social engagements, lack of sleep, or messy kitchens don't throw me for another crazy loop. 

What if God DOES give us more than we can handle?

What do you say when your friend gets arrested for accidentally forgetting the item at the bottom of his cart before he walks out the door? What words can you possibly find for the friend awash in grief because her grown up sister suddenly drowned last week in a creek?  How do you answer the why in their tired eyes when a couple sits across from you at your kitchen table, describing how a house fire destroyed their home that morning?

And in case you're wondering--yes, all of those things happened last month to people I love. 

September was rough. 

When the lives of people around us are messy, when the pain they feel is bigger or different from any we've ever walked through, we get scared. It's uncomfortable, right? So we want to fix it, to say a magic word that will suddenly make it all better. Maybe we just want to be the hero.

Whatever the reason, if you feel the urge to tell them, "God won't give you more than you can handle"...just don't. 

The first reason is that it's simply not true. God DOES give us more than we can handle.

We know this from personal experience. Anyone who has ever had an EBD (emotional breakdown) knows that there are days we just. Can't. Deal. Life is chock-full of stress, and it only increases as we grow into our adult lives and accumulate more responsibilities.

But stress or tragedy in the lives of people who follow God is nothing new. What about Joseph, trafficked into slavery by his own brothers? What about Job, who lost his wealth and his kids all in one horrible day? What about Moses, terribly insecure and shaking in his bare feet when God told him to lead millions of people out of a country where they'd been slaves for 400 years? All of them were handed far more than they could handle.

Telling someone that they'll never be given more than they can handle feeds several lies:

1. It sets up an unrealistic expectation that life will be relatively easy for those with faith.

This sounds great, and is a key part of the Prosperity Theology preached by many. However, it is the complete opposite of what Jesus actually told his disciples to expect. Jesus said that "in this life you will have trouble" (John 16:33). He also declares that "if anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me" (Mark 8:34).

 Faith in God does not guarantee an easy life. In fact, the sheer number of verses calling believers to self-sacrifice, suffering, and endurance indicate the opposite.

2. If you do find yourself falling apart, it must be because you don't believe strongly enough that you have what it takes. 

This is such a terrible lie, straight from Hell. Not only does it further isolate the person, it also piles a heap of guilt on an already painful situation.

There is definitely a Biblical call to stand firm on the promises of God. But did Jesus promise an easy life? Did he promise that you would never have a meltdown or feel depressed? We must be careful that the promises we are claiming are actually from the Lord. (See point number 1.)



One of the reasons that folk theology takes root and gains popular acceptance is because it sounds so much like the truth. Telling someone that God won't give them more than they can handle is almost  a true statement.

However, the truth is that God will never give you more than His grace is sufficient for.

The Apostle Paul had a struggle that seemed to crush him. Three times he pleaded with God to take it away, but each time God said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Not only did God promise to give grace that is enough for all I need, he even seems to say that the best circumstance through which to display His power is our weakness. What kind of crazy, backward display of power is this? But that is the mystery of the majesty of our God.

The truth is that God never intended you to handle it alone. 

Our loving Father wants us to rely on Him, and not on ourselves. Our natural normal state is not independence, as if God wanted us to eventually remove the training wheels of His love and grace. Our natural, normal state is deep, constant dependence on Him for every need, every moment.

Our natural state is also community. Even about Adam, a sinless man in a perfect, pre-curse world, God said, "it is not good for man to be alone." (Genesis 2:18)

I firmly believe that one of God's primary and most tangible expressions of grace to believers is other believers. When we, as the Body of Christ, are all built up into the unity of the Spirit, we share one member's pain as our own. We bear one another's burdens.

The truth is that God loves us so much that he is even willing to allow painful circumstances in our lives to bring about this intimacy with Himself and within his Body. 

This is a delicate topic. I was so nervous to bring it up that I almost skipped it entirely.

I realize that it would be completely arrogant for me to look at anyone's pain and assume that I know the reason God allowed it. When God allows cancer, or sexual abuse, or a house fire, or a machete massacre in a Nigerian village, I have no words.

And friend, I don't know the "why" behind your story of loss.

But I know that the ultimate good for humans--the absolute best thing that can ever happen to us--is to know God. To see Him for who He is, to experience His greatness and love, to become intimate friends with the Creator who call us His own--this is the best, most joyful thing.

Your loving Father might allow pain and loss in order to bring you into the deep intimacy with Himself and his Church that is your ultimate good.

Paul described this experience in his own life like this:

8 We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters,[a] about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. 9 Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God,who raises the dead. (2 Corinthians 1:8-9)

I firmly believe that there is no evil or pain that God cannot redeem for our good and His glory.

After all, the brutal murder of an innocent man named Jesus was the way God chose to bring salvation to the world. 

Love in San Antonio

Last month, my love and I stole away from everyday life to celebrate our 3-year anniversary in San Antonio. We were a month or so late, but who cares, right? What a fun, exciting city! 

Each summer since we married in 2011, we've tried our best to set aside a little money so we can step out of our normal routine and go celebrate each other. We know it may not be possible every year to actually leave town, but we're making the most of it while we can! 

This year, we were excited to stumble across a Groupon deal for a hotel within walking distance of the Riverwalk.

Even though I've lived in TX all my life, it was my first-ever time to visit the Alamo. (I know, you're probably thinking I'm the worst Texan ever...but better late than never!) 

Because of its prominence in TX history textbooks and movies, I think I expected the building itself to be bigger. The portion pictured above was actually one of the smaller parts of the low, single-storied compound. Admission to the grounds was free, but we quickly realized that our knowledge of the site and the battle fought there was pretty pathetic. Trying to figure out the story from the signs and displays was overwhelming, so...

we bought a set of audio tours! 

 Seriously, it was the best $10 we spent on the whole trip. 

We also bought a sno cone--and the experience of buying it next to the Alamo--for the low price of $4.

It was delicious. 

A roaming mariachi band kept popping up at different points throughout the day, offering their music to families lunching outside. Finally, I asked one of the band members if I could take his picture. 

Nice tie, senor. 

We walked miles of sun-dappled narrow sidewalks lined with river on the left and restaurant tables on the right. 

The walk was beautiful, but it finally wore us out. We found a steakhouse and plopped our tired selves into the barstools--the only seating available. 

The large group in the back appeared to be celebrating a birthday. A woman was trying to give a speech, but we could tell that she was having a hard time making herself heard. The restaurant staff found a microphone for her, and suddenly we were part of the audience. 

Her husband was celebrating his retirement from the military after a long career. We lingered over the end of our meal to enjoy the stories of a man we didn't know. 

We left feeling romantic, thinking about growing old together like the couple we'd seen. We are still only at the start of this beautiful journey. 

We heard jazz music and followed it to an Italian cafe for dessert. We had coffee and tiramisu and conversation with a Hawaiian bartender named Rodger who ended up making the tiramisu complementary when he heard why we were in town. 

The jazz music was live, and the singer decided we needed a song to call "our song". 

He sang "What are you doing with the rest of your life?" while we danced between the tables. 

Still sometimes can't believe that we're grown and married and can do grownup things like rent a hotel in a beautiful city and explore it together.

And guess where our church's next church plan team is going? UT San Antonio! I had no idea while we were there, but now that I know, I am super excited! I can already imagine the team having homegroup hangouts on the Riverwalk, talking with passerby about Jesus, and enjoying the fun music scene.

Related Links:

My thoughts on our *actual* anniversary this year. 

The crazy adventures we had on our first anniversary. (crazy is not an exaggeration!)

When Bold is Not Beautiful (How to Play Nice Online)

There is something about anonymity that makes people bolder.

Have you ever seen the gritty secrets posted on one of those completely anonymous "spill your guts" forums? The darkest things can come to light when no one can trace them back to you.

I'm sure we've all seen those passive-aggressive statuses or tweets.

Even when not anonymous, an interface like the internet can remove the fear of confrontation that many of us have. Suddenly we're not yelling into a person's face, we're just using ALL CAPS for emphasis. We're not being snarky in someone's living room, we're just using *sarcastic font* to show how idiotic his blog post was.

Bold is not necessarily beautiful. 

Even if we're pretty nice folks online, the ease and speed with which we communicate online can make us careless. The blinking cursor means we can't see the hurt flicker across her face, or the way he just folded his arms. It's hard to know when we've gone too far into the tender territory of her heart.

In the three years that I've been blogging, most of the reactions have been positive, but some have cut deep. In those moments, as I scroll down through barbed text or well-meaning platitudes, it's a hard choice to breathe deep and remember grace. Grace for them and grace for me--because I'm not guiltless either.



I'm sure that wiser people could add to this list, but here are a few things that Jesus has brought to mind as I've wrestled with how to do community in this age of simultaneous connection and technological distance.

#1--Assume the best

My mom was right about this--most offenses will be erased before they even start if I begin by believing the other person meant well. Seriously, this works! I've been employed in customer service positions at a bank, a hotel, a restaurant, an ice cream shop and now at a university, and nothing diffuses stress in the other guy more quickly than feeling like you get them. When you give them the benefit of the doubt, you extend grace.

Remember, no one is the villain of their own story. 

Did the person sound impatient? Assume that they are feeling pressure from someone else, or at least that they are frustrated with the situation and not with you.

Did their post come across dogmatic or abrasive? Assume that they have a good reason--a back story--for feeling so passionately about the subject.

Did they sound as if they intended to hurt you? They probably didn't. Even if they did, this should evoke pity in us for the wounds they almost certainly have. Hurting people hurt people.

#2--Sleep on it

You know how the internet is designed for instant communication? Yeah, that. 

Because even the best-intentioned among us can be careless, give yourself a buffer. The more emotion you feel about what you are about to write, the longer the time should be before you post. (I once wrote and re-wrote and prayed over a particular response for weeks.)

Words, once released verbally into the atmosphere or digitally into the blogosphere, are no longer yours. You can't snatch them back, and they can be twisted and misunderstood and widely spread. 

Save yourself some pain: pause, hit "save", and come back later. 

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, because human anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires. -James 1:19-20

#3--If possible, be personal

Ok, you slept on it several days but still feel like you should say something. Keep in mind that sometimes the internet just doesn't cut it, and we have to go old-school. 

In one of my Communication classes in college, I learned that over eighty-five percent of communication is non-verbal. 

Over eighty-five percent! Some researchers even put the number as high as 93%. That means that even the most perfectly worded email has only a 7-15% chance of communicating the fullness of your true heart. 

Many of our online friends are also real-life friends (think Facebook, Instagram...), and there's no real reason why we can't set our laptops aside and grab coffee or have a Skype date to repair a misunderstanding. 

What if we've never met and probably never will? Even then, be as personal as possible. Send a private message instead of a public comment. And in your tone, aim for conversation, rather than accusation. 

If the goal is authentic relationships and not just blog traffic, let's be relational.

When an old fear gets a facelift

"Now I drawed socks, see?"

 

Her eyes, heavily rimmed with dense lashes, were so blue. She clutched the percussion egg in one hand and the pen in the other as she created an elaborate family portrait. 

 

With socks.

Her little sister climbed into my lap momentarily to clasp my neck, only to leap off a moment later and run to where her daddy sat.

 

The parents were traveling, documenting the state of the evangelical church in Europe. With them were their three kids, ages 4, 3, and 1.

 

It was beautiful to watch them.

 

There was a time I believed that missions was only for single people. Because of this, I feared marriage. 

I was petrified by the fear that love for a man might crowd out my First Love. Now my fears seem small and silly. Two people who the same Lord can be a powerful expression of who He is. The marriage can become a living picture of the grace of God, the faithfulness of God, the community of God.

Watching that beautiful family, I felt...surprise? And then I was surprised at my surprise.

 

I suddenly saw that my stinky old fear had never really died--it had just leveled-up a notch. 

Now the fear whispers that mommy-hood will absorb any chance of being involved full-throttle in the Great Commission. 

 

And I know how ridiculous this sounds. How un-true it is. But fears defy logic and truth much of the time.

 

 

I fear missing out.

 

I fear isolation and stereotyping from younger, kid-less friends.

 

I fear losing my passion for Jesus in a wilderness of diapers and spit-up and soccer practice.

 

I fear losing my identity, of being just "so-and-so's mom".

 

Can anyone else relate?

 

 

But somewhere in the tangle of my unease, I feel Jesus whispering to my anxious heart.

 

Daughter, do not fear losing yourself; this is how you find true life.

 

"For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it." (Matthew 16:25)

 

 

And right along all these whispers of truth, He is gently breaking down the fences I erect between myself and Change. Little nudges.

 

With each new baby in our circle of friends, each new announcement of "Guess what--?!", the idea of family has earned familiarity.

 

He also keeps letting me stumble upon amazing blog posts on this topic. Like this one that made me cry, or this one about surrendering the desire for a life on the mission field that sounded like a twin heartbeat of my post from last year. And then, just this morning, I came across this beautiful post about trusting the Lord with change.

 

I'm so glad my Jesus is gentle with me. I'm getting there.

Three years ago this day

Last night you nuzzled close to my face in bed and we looked at each other in the dark.

"Three years!" you whispered. "That's crazy!"

And it is. But if this is crazy, well Sweetheart, I've decided I like crazy.

On that day three years ago, I was nervous and excited and my cheeks hurt from smiling but I just couldn't stop the grin that bubbled up and took over my face. I was declaring to the whole world that you were the man I wanted to follow as you follow Jesus. I was becoming yours, promising my heart and all my years until I die.

We only learn the magnitude of a promise when we live it.

I don't need the pictures to remember how your face trembled with emotion when I rounded that corner at the end of the aisle. The way our hands gripped each other and your eyes glowed as Ray said "husband and wife".

It was the first of all the moments following, but we've had even better ones since then.

I remember how we danced our feet sore and you did that crazy backflip that freaked out the mother you'd just waltzed. I remember how I blushed when you reached up for the garter.

Now you backflip for the neighborhood kids.

Three years ago this day I could not have known how I would love you now.
Or how your voice inflections would become mine.
How your allergies would create a new level of health for us both.
How I could love a second family so intensely.
How the curve of your arm and side could become home to me.

I love you, Darling. Like crazy.

*I started this post on Wednesday, our real anniversary, but had such a fun date that night that there was no chance to post until now. :)

Five Years with my Love

Yes, we are that couple.

The ones who still celebrate the anniversary of "this-is-when-we-started-dating". It might be corny, but I've always loved corny. Corny with extra cheese is my favorite.

Because it's fun.
Because it reminds us of where and why we started.
And because taking time to celebrate the past gives us that extra "oomph" to keep holding hands and pressing forward.

For the past three years, our dating anniversary has fallen during the Italy mission trip in Milan. How lucky can a girl get, right?

Each time, hubby has carved out an evening for a date.

It's just us two, walking arm in arm to some restaurant close by. We order wine. We dip bread in the oil that always tastes better here and we struggle to pronounce our food.

I sit and look at this man and think how blessed I am.

Our Crem Caramel della casa arrives, and it tastes like Mexican flan. Apparently, the hubby doesn't like flan but never knew. We giggle about it and I finish the whole thing.

I remember our first date-that-wasn't-a-date, before I knew he liked me. We sat at the coffee shop with a pastry between us, our forks plucking away at both ends. I refused the last bite. I took half. He laughed and took half. I took half again.

He thought I was ridiculous, but it was my family's way. Now, with the finished crem, I guess we're forming new ways.

Later we walk to another restaurant so he can have dessert. Chocolate mousse pie with candied pear on top. Takeout? Yes, thank you, we say.

There were no pictures. It was devoured too fast.

It seems unreal. Five years? My heart spills over with thanks for you, babe. I feel so hopeful for the next five years.

Scratch that--I meant the next five decades.

Living forgiven in front of them

 In my last post, I gave a teaser about our awesome Friday night. Thanks for patiently waiting! I always overestimate the amount of blogging time I'll have while we're over here in Milan.  (I mean, who knew we'd need silly stuff like sleep and food, right?)

Every evening after English Clubs, we go as a group to a local restaurant and invite the students to join us. The conversations we enjoy over food are often quieter and more personal than any we could have in the short break time during English Clubs, so we were excited when a large group joined us on Friday.

That particular night, we had an additional attraction: bowling! I'm terrible at the game, but I *almost* got a spare once, and laughing makes you bond with people, right? I don't mind being the joke. :)

Stylish, no?

Srike celebration!

"Giorda" is apparently the only logical way to spell my hubby's name...

After bowling, we headed over to the food court. I was with a sweet, talkative girl I'll call Rose, and I decided at the last second to join her group at "The Wild West". It's Italy's attempt at Tex-Mex, and while their guacamole leaves much to be desired, they do have pretty good nachos.

As the four of us at our end of the restaurant booth talked about the civic role of the Catholic Church in Italy, our studies, and our families, I was praying. I was listening intently, trying to hear past the surface and understand their hearts.

Usually, Italians are very reserved, and they have a hard time sharing personal details or discussing deeper topics. But if you listen well, there are often clues dropped about painful circumstances in their lives that can help you have a deeper conversation with them later.

Rose told how her mother had suddenly become very devout after visiting a shrine in another part of Italy. She now goes to church daily, as well as praying an hour every evening.

"How do you feel about the change in your mom?" I asked.

"Oh, it is fine and good," she said. "I like that she chooses this herself. It is not only religion. There is no person forcing her to do this--she decided it on her own. I think there is big difference between religion and a faith."

"I agree," I said. "When I was little, it was easy to believe in God because my parents told me. Later, I had questions and I found the answers when I read the Bible for myself. My cousin told me that it is ok to have questions because if something is true, it will still be true after you test it.'"


The conversation shifted and I listened for a long time. Then one of the guys said, "Wait--I want to hear you talk. Tell us about Texas." They listened, disbelieving, as I described the distance from Houston to Dallas, the variety of foods and cultures represented, the fact that not everything is desert, and the country dancing. The conversation was about to veer into an animated debate about Wild West shows when the same guy said, "No, this is OK, but tell us something else. I like to hear your voice. Tell us whatever you like."

Could I have asked for a more perfect chance to tell how God has changed me?

So I told my story.

How I used to find my value in the fact that I was a good student. How I thought my family was perfect. How my Grandma died. How Dad lost his job. How God helped me forgive my parents completely because I have been forgiven. How I now know that my value comes from the fact that I'm loved by God--not from what I do.

As we paid and walked out of the mall, Rose said, "I can feel everything you said. It is so similar to my life!"

She had to leave early and can't spend any more time with our team because of a job in another city, but neither one of us wanted to stop talking.

Please pray for this beautiful girl and for the other students who were sitting close. I know from experience that only God can give hope to a family that is breaking apart.
Only God can help us forgive wounds like that.
Only God's love can silence the accusing voices that tell us we're unlovely and unlovable. 

Photons, and a safe place for my flurried soul

There is this wonderful sentence near the end of my Bible. It's dense and heady and rich like eggnog, and I've been sipping slowly, savoring each phrase ever since Easter.

In our team devotional time, we were challenged to ruminate on the words of God, let them soak into us deeply, digest them and re-digest them until they saturate us, become part of us.

Our leader actually coined a word--part Italian, part American silliness--to describe the process: "moo-care". (moo-KAH-reh) It's from "mangiare", the Italian word meaning "to eat", and "moo", as in, well, a cow.
Eat, chew, digest.
Repeat.

Not a lovely image, but accurate. So here is the verse I've been "moo-care-ing" on for about a month.

"The Son is the radiance of God's glory and the exact representation of his being..."

In 7th grade science, I learned about light. The photons that bounce off of objects into my eyes are what allow me to see the color and shape of anything I look at. You could say that those photons are the exact representation of whatever I see.

Without the radiance of light, the world would be dark, formless, mysterious.
Before the Radiance of God's glory in Christ, God was a mystery.

But we have seen him.

He is knowable.


"...sustaining all things by his powerful word."

God doesn't haphazardly breathe life, get wheels turning, and then turn His back.

He sustains all things. He continually breathes life into this universe, holds laws of physics in place so that electrons rotate at orbit and water drips downward and the earth stays tilted just so.

He sustains all things. The everything included in that tiny phrase of power spells safety and security to my flurried soul. Sand slips through fingers and things slip from my mind like so much sand, but nothing escapes his power and love.

All my crazy running-out-the-door moments.
All the am-I-enough wonderings.
All of me, sustained. Upheld. Plucked from darkness as many times as I return to it. Imbued with life not my own.

By the same powerful Word that once created life from nothing, He now sustains ours.
That Word was with God at the beginning,
And was God,
And now intercedes for you to God as He sits, victorious.

Me and my lovely teammates at dinner on Tuesday! 

Exciting things are happening here in Milan, y'all! I'll post another update tonight with lots of pictures.
(Today's post is based on Hebrews 1:3a)

Five Minute Friday::Glue

Today I am linking up with Five Minute Friday, a writing exercise where you set a timer for five minutes and write on a specific topic until it chimes at you to lift your fingers from the keyboard. You can join in here!

Today's word = GLUE

Yesterday was all unraveled and ragged. I flew out the door with my shoes barely on my feet and a granola bar in my hand. Seriously, God bless granola bar makers.

My house looks like a garage sale after all the good pickings have been picked over. Ever since our washing machine decided to re-create Noah's Flood two weeks ago, we've been living in a carpet-less home without baseboards or doors or basic organization. Just getting out the door is a feat of memory and agility. Where was my jacket again...? *wracks brain, bumps into furniture*

It really hasn't been too bad. Now that the thirteen rumbling red industrial fans and honking-huge dehumidifier are gone, at least I have a kitchen again. Even while the fans roared, we laughed about their white noise making it easy to sleep.

But yesterday at work my shoulders and neck creaked with painful lumps as the phone constantly rang and rang and rang and my throat grew dry from explaining. The papers piled up faster than I could sort them. My fingers clicked constantly, almost independent of my tired brain as the mental to-do list grew longer and heavier.

It felt like I was coming unglued. Can anyone relate?

I stumbled up the stairs to our homegroup meeting with only half a heart to be there. Heavy-eyed, foggy-brained from my desperate post-work nap, I willed myself to sit.

"Between the songs", they said,  "let's tell what God has been doing in our hearts". What have You been doing, Lord? I wondered. I'm so unglued and discombobulated.

As I flipped backward in the blue journal looking for scraps I'd chanced to record, I found the sweetest words. Words that had patched me together on another ragged, teary day in January.

"Cherise, you do not have less at this moment when you are exhausted and fighting a cold than you do on days when you are well-rested, healthy, and feel in control. You have Me in abundance at all times, and I am all you need."

Wonderful truth.

He is not diminished if I am depleted, and He holds even my unraveled, unglued moments together by his powerful Word.


Side note: My homegroup will notice that this journal entry wasn't what I shared last night with the group. It felt like a personal hug from Jesus for that moment, something just between the two of us for me to feel his love while I shared something else out loud. But now, in the light of a new day, it seemed  appropriate to share.  I hope someone else will feel His love in the middle of an unglued moment like mine. 

Avoiding ministry burnout

Ever heard of Perspectives? For years, I've heard stories of life-change from anyone lucky enough to take this rich, intensive 15-week course on missions. We have a joke that no one can talk about Perspectives without using the word "perspective"...because, well, a new perspective on missions, on God and even--or especially--their own relationship to Him is what everyone leaves with.

 

So when hubby and I started Perspectives this spring, I was expecting to be changed on a global scale for global mission. But this was different. This was much closer to home.

 

Somewhere in Lesson 2, I arrived at the article by Tim Dearborn entitled “Beyond Duty”. He wrote about the tendency for many churches and mission agencies to motivate people into missions using “bad news”.  It all sounded so familiar:

 

Statistics of the hundreds of thousands dying without Christ.

Photos of malnourished children in Sudan.

Overwhelming numbers of martyrs dying each year for their faith...

and on and on.

 

Not only did it remind me of sermons and mission conferences, it reminded me of my own prayers in the past: full of heavy tears and a crushing burden for the lost and broken.

 

In Dearborn’s own words, I had “worked myself into exhaustion with exhortations to give more, do more, be more, care more, serve more, love more, sacrifice more,” but I always ended by feeling hopelessly inadequate for the task.

 

Because of course, I was.

 

And then, this:

“Mission is ultimately not a human response to human need. …Lack of interest in mission…is best remedied by intensifying people’s passion for Christ, so that the passions of his heart become the passions that propel our hearts.”

 

Wait, mission is not human response to human need? *mind blown*

 

As I sat with highlighter poised, God began to clarify truth even beyond what Dearborn had written. Human-centered motivations, because they originate in finite humans, will always be limited. No matter how earnest my compassion, no matter how much I immerse myself in knowledge of the world’s needs, no matter how much zeal I fan into flame with my own will, it will all fall flat eventually because I myself am finite.

 

An Infinite Source is needed.

 

Suddenly He whisperered to my exhausted heart. Cherise, this is part of why you felt burned-out in your homegroup.

 

Me: Ohhhhhhhhh.

 

I realized that I had served and lead from a dry well of self-generated desires and passions to serve human needs rather than from a simple, pure desire to love and please my Father. When the people I served became hard to love or did not return my friendship, I fizzled. I was counting on my own compassion and love to sustain me, but (shocker!) it proved a poor source for long-term sustainability.

 

It turns out that the same incomplete motivations for global mission are just as incomplete on the home-front.

 

BUT there is a higher motive that is a deep well, never running dry! It has nurtured and upheld missionaries in generations past, enabling them to give and serve for years without thanks, without praise, without the support of community or the comforts of home.

 

It is this: The glory of His Name. His honor. God receiving the praise He deserves.

 

If I live for His praise, I won't be living for mine (and won't be crushed when I don't receive it.)

 

I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be a lesson learned over and over.