The Roadshow

The Roadshow

   I love the idea of road trips – seeing the countryside, visiting friends, setting our own pace… Notice I’m saying that I love the idea of road trips. The reality of life on the road is somewhat less, um, romantic. Over the past five weeks, I’ve slept in my own bed a total of eight times. Finding the bathroom in the bleary middle of the night has become a game of chance, and I can’t remember the last time I cooked a meal. Our girls, who shall henceforth be known as Whine and Cheese, are passionate people, and traveling with them is not a quiet experience. Cheese spends a while singing every movie anthem known to mankind, alternating between a Yoda accent and a Donald Duck voice. Whine listens with pursed lips, and then sings along for about a minute before...

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Neither Can I

Neither Can I

   You said it with sincerity and even a touch of awe. “I could never do what you do.” The thing is, my friend, neither can I. I’m just me. A woman a couple of years from forty, doing my best to love my husband and raise our girls. I didn’t plan to be a missionary. I didn’t even want to be. It’s just something I grew into, or maybe it grew into me. But it’s certainly not a path I’ve chosen because I feel like I can handle it. Late the other night, I stood in a good friend’s kitchen, and she held me steady while I cried hot and ragged. “I can’t,” I told her. The weight of all the responsibilities, all the goodbyes, all the unknowns spilled out into the safety of that moment, and I knew it. I knew it deep.   I can’t. It’s true. I’m not able to do what I have to do...

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The Bigger Story

The Bigger Story

    I’m tired today.  It’s the kind of exhaustion that makes the mind numb and the bones ache. We’re on the road, seeing friends and family one last time, and some of the goodbyes we’re saying feel like funerals. It’s too much. Too much. I’m weak, weary, and completely overwhelmed. If it were just me, I might be tempted to just leave all this missions stuff behind. It’s hard, hard, hard, and we haven’t even left the country yet. But it’s not just me, or even just my family. This is bigger.    Way bigger. It’s 120 teens in the highlands of Papua New Guinea. It’s missionary families needing pastoral care. It’s men, women, and children waiting for the Word of God in their own languages. It’s precious people saying, “We can’t go ourselves, but we can give.” It’s the...

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The Plates

The Plates

   I’ll be packing up my plates soon, wrapping them well and putting them in storage for the next few years. There’s nothing flashy about them. They are earth toned, with leaves on the rim. I think I was nineteen when I bought them for a dollar each at Walmart. But I’m a little teary thinking about setting them deep in a box and not using them again for a while. These plates were my first step towards independence, and now they’re chipped and etched with memories. They held the first meal Mike and I had together as newlyweds in our own home. I can still see my mom on my couch, balancing Thanksgiving turkey and potatoes on one of those plates, laughing a joy blessing over her grandchildren. They have been part of every birthday, every holiday, every quiet meal as...

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Growing Smaller

Growing Smaller

  “I realized I probably could have been famous.” My friend Julie sits across from me at a coffee house table. There isn’t a hint of bitterness, pride, or irony in her gentle voice. She’s right. She really could have been. I’ve known this woman for more than ten years, and every time I’ve seen her on stage, I have been mesmerized. Her voice is one of the most beautiful I’ve heard, and her stage presence is as graceful as it is vibrant. She is gorgeous, well-spoken, and about as talented as they come. The total package. Yes, she could have been widely known and celebrated, but she’s not. She doesn’t want to be. Because she has found her true calling – teaching preschool. Julie talks about music, and she smiles. Then she talks about the kids at work, and the smile...

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