Risk and Cost
Risking it all for Jesus… I’ve heard this phrase tossed around in Christian circles. It sounds exciting. Bold. Holy. The problem is that it’s simply not true. I would even say it might be dangerous. “Risking it all” makes it sound like some of us are the spiritual high rollers, while everybody else is playing it safe in Heaven’s casino. You know, we give up our comforts and possessions to serve Jesus and someday earn a great big eternal crown. Some of us even leave our homes and everything we know to move to the other side of the world in a grand leap of faith. And people admire us, and our pictures hang on their church bulletin boards, and we sometimes make it into their pastors’ sermons. But eventually all of that praise falls flat. It doesn’t feel so...
Read MoreAn Open Letter to the Almost-There Missionary
Dear friend, You sat on my couch the other day and said it’s too much. You said it with red eyes and deep breaths, and the others of us in the room breathed deep and teared up, too. Because we know. You and I, my friend, we’re in the same boat. We’re living in the in-between, not quite sure where we fit. Not completely here, but not all there yet. We’ve cut loose the moorings, and we’re on open ocean, going, going, but the going isn’t easy. The waves aren’t gentle, and they don’t seem to notice how much we’ve left behind. I want to tell you that it’s going to be ok, that if you give yourself enough time, your heart will feel whole again. But I can’t, and it won’t – at least not on this side of eternity, I think. When home is on both sides of the world, when you...
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 MoreThe Business of Rescue
The thing about packing up a house is that all kinds of stuff surfaces. Long-neglected dust bunnies, dried bits of food on couch cushions, old letters and hard memories. I have to be honest here. I’m all for a good soul cleansing, but when it comes in the middle of trying to get rid of most of our belongings (an incredibly emotional process on its own, by the way), it leaves me feeling a little overwhelmed. Ok, a lot overwhelmed. The other day I was driving to my sister’s house to spend time with her before my family heads to Papua New Guinea and hers moves to Thailand, and I was feeling the weight of “too much”. Too much to do. Too much to remember. Too many decisions. Too many goodbyes. Too many painful memories of bad choices and broken, tender places. I...
Read MoreThe 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...
Read MoreNeither 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...
Read MoreThe 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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