Scars and Stories
The wooden floor in our dining room is scratched from years and years of chairs being pulled up to the table. It’s not pretty. The varnish is peeling, and the discolored planks are grooved deep. This floor has stories written across its grain, generations of stories of missionary families from all over the world who have lived here. Bare little feet running in at dinner time, conversations in Japanese and English and Tok Pisin, homework and letters home and family game nights. Every scar in the wood has history. Scars have always intrigued me. They speak of life lived and lessons hard learned. I have a shiny white one on my left foot from when I was eleven and thought mud sliding in the garbage dump sounded like a good idea. (Lessons learned: broken glass is...
Read MoreLullaby
I recently wrote a poem for a dear friend who was returning to the U.K. for a few months to have a baby. As I was writing, though, I realized it was just as much for me… Lullaby The sky lays down its golden head On weary mountain height, And emerald fields in shameless spread Roll intimate and wild. His song pours over, in, and through And pulls us to His side. The Love that calls us all by name Says, “Rest, come rest, my child.” This broken day has broken us And laid us open wide, And here we’re held in Broken Hands With nothing left to hide. The Love that sees us as we are Sings peace into the night And gently lifts our eyes to His. “Come rest, come rest, my child.” “Come rest and lay the struggle down. Don’t...
Read MoreWhen the Rain Does Come
It’s a grey and wet day, the fifth day of rain this week. For long, dusty months we’ve been praying and watching the sky as our water tanks empty and the river runs low. So this is welcome. But the mud and fog look different than what we’ve gotten used to. When black clouds roll in pregnant with precious rain, and the cracked ground softens and the dirt roads run like muddy streams, the world changes for a while. No sunshine. No birds singing. All the colors somehow sharper against the dark sky. And when the rain comes especially hard, sometimes the world changes permanently. Landslides happen and bridges are swept away. And we are left feeling disoriented and unsure of how to get where we’d been planning to go. The rain is a gift, but it’s one that changes the...
Read MoreOf Blue Tongues and Blending In
“What did you eat for breakfast?” My friend Gina looked quizzically at my mouth. We had arrived at church a little early, a rare occurrence, clean and combed and dressed in our best for our first Ukarumpa Sunday service. The day before I had bought a bag of mints in town, which was my first mistake. It should have been a clue that the ingredients were listed in Indonesian, and two of the few English words on the package were “Cool Blue”. Not wanting coffee breath to be my first impression on all our new neighbors and coworkers, I had popped one in my mouth as we left the house. The results were not very cool, but very definitely blue. Very, very blue. My tongue was a brilliant shade of turquoise. This, of course, was the Sunday they ask all the recent...
Read MoreEven the Change
It’s November. The leaves have changed, and so have our four walls. Our renters are moving into our house as I write this, and we sit snug and warm in the little apartment that will be our home until we move to Papua New Guinea in two months. Life looks different than it did a year ago. Really, really different. Unsettled, uncertain, moving forward faster than I can keep up. Some days it feels like more than I can handle. But for now, I’m snuggled peaceful under a blanket of gratitude, counting gifts breath by slow, deep breath. Girls, still sticky with this morning’s maple syrup, sitting quiet together and watching cartoons. The sound of a cold rain that wants to be snow. The strong and gentle arms of a man who is not afraid of hard work. Good food made by...
Read MoreIn the Quiet
I love flowers. I love the way they smell, the way they bloom – the silent unfurling of fragrance and color. Some of the best things in life happen slowly, quietly, with little fanfare. Like the way I fell in love with my husband over months of phone calls, long drives, and twilight walks. There was a gentle revealing of deeper layers, a gradual intertwining of hearts, until one day I realized I never wanted to say goodbye. And years later, the growth of new life inside me. Little bodies being knit together in the quiet dark. Secret forming of souls and personalities, beautiful girls who will grow to be women full of purpose and passion. The other day while we were running errands, my preschooler asked from the back seat, “Mom, what did Jesus do with my sins?”...
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