Mountain Biking and Missions

Back in July 2019, my first stop in the States on home assignment was Colorado, where I visited my brother Eli, who lives in another beautiful region of the world, where he is surrounded by mountains instead of jungles. He was excited to introduce me to one of his new hobbies, mountain biking.

That intense adventure with my brother in the Colorado mountains led me to reflect on intense adventures with Jesus in an Amazon village.

A few days after the bike ride, I jotted down some thoughts and analogies, which I will attempt to explain and share in the next couple posts. (I had been in the village right before visiting my brother, so the following reflections are based on experiences which had recently happened there).

For someone who has done quite a bit of road biking over the years, this experience was a first. The unpaved, rocky trails twisted up and down and through the mountains, impossible to predict.

Within the first twenty minutes, I didn’t turn sharply enough for a curve and flew over the handlebars. Losing control and wondering how hard I’d hit the ground was terrifying. Nevertheless, flying through the air, while not very safe, did bring a certain sense of exhilaration. And even from the vantage point of lying in the dirt, spitting some of it out of my mouth, the view of the surrounding mountains was beautiful. Thankfully, I sustained only some bruises, a tiny cut, and a few thorns.

This incident reminded me of a verse that had strengthened my heart on many occasions during the first several months of 2019.

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the LORD upholdeth him with his hand.”  Psalm 37:23, 24

Many times in the village, when hitting sharp curves or unexpected major bumps in ministry, it felt like I had flown over the handlebars, and was lying bruised on the trail. The unpleasant sensation of tasting gritty dirt in those moments was surpassed by the delight of seeing God’s glory in the surrounding beauty and tasting the rich flavors of grace. Even though I sometimes fell into doubt, discouragement and even fear, the Lord upheld me and I was never utterly cast down.

Can grace ever be more precious than in moments when Jesus picks us up, brushes us off, pulls a thorn out of our knee, and reminds us that He loves us and that with Him as our Guide and Protector, we are more than conquerors?

You see, it doesn’t matter how rough or intense the trail is if the trail guide is fearless and competent.

Eli made the trail look so easy, zipping up and down each incline with grace and skill. Our expedition was his idea. He was the one who planned it and invited me to participate in an adventure that would have been foolhardy to attempt on my own. All I had to do was go along for the ride, confident that Eli knew what he was doing and that we would have a great time together. I felt honored and privileged that Eli included me in this aspect of his life.

Missions is Jesus’ idea. He is the One who is building His church, calling out His Bride from every tribe, language, people, and nation. He laid a plan which started before the foundation of the world and reaches to the ends of the earth. Jesus wants the villagers and the rest of their people to know Him and become His disciples, and He invited me to participate in this part of His mission. What an honor and privilege to be included in what He is doing!

It would be foolish to go to dark places and preach the gospel on our own.

But the expedition narrative changes with Jesus as our Master and Leader, our Trail Guide.

In Jesus alone we find confidence to set out on the winding, rocky path. We journey to jungle villages and other places knowing that the One we follow is completely dependable and worthy of our allegiance. While Jesus doesn’t tell us the details of what will happen as we obey His great commission, He promises that He will be with us always, even unto the end of the world.

We have counted the cost and realized that the joy and delight of relationship with Jesus far surpass the risk and danger of riding with Him. Believing that safety and health and comfort are overrated, we relinquish any perceived rights to these benefits. Moreover, safety and health and comfort are not actually guaranteed to anyone, no matter where a person lives and works.

Just as mountain trail biking isn’t the safest outdoor activity, life on the mission field is not safe. In recent months I’ve realized more profoundly the levels of risk and peril involved in this calling.

This journey has been lonelier and rockier than anticipated, so intense that it has required nearly every ounce of focus and concentration just to stay the course. All I could do was follow hard after Jesus, 40 hours/week of ACL* with my village friends, and just enough cooking and dishwashing and laundry to get by. There was no leftover physical, mental or emotional energy for anything else. So I streamlined routines, simplified life, and cut nonessentials. I stopped blogging, didn’t plan for home assignment, rarely even called family or responded to e-mails. It was survival mode.

(*Acquisition of Culture and Language)

With God’s help, I tried my best to keep my eyes on Jesus and the people He sent me to, and not let anything else waste precious energy and attention. Nevertheless, a few minor crashes occurred, but by the grace of God, no injuries worse than scrapes and non-life-threatening wounds. I’m entering home assignment bruised and weary, yet with a spring in my step and a smile that emanates from a secret, deeper place of joy than I even knew existed a year ago. This is still the best life ever, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

How to Handle Tree Frogs

(Recently I have been looking through files of rough drafts written in the jungle. This post is based on events of 2017).

It was a peaceful night in the jungle. The generator had been turned off for almost an hour and all of the village’s human inhabitants had gone to bed. Thousands of insects and birds filled the sultry air with their voices, however, composing a lullaby that somehow seemed soothing despite the almost startling blend of exotic tones, rhythms and melodies.

I was almost asleep, in that delightful zone where the last contemplations of the day begin to merge with the first dreams of the night.

As suddenly as a teacup breaks when dropped on the floor, all sense of calm was shattered by a splat on my cheek. I cried out and jerked upright, knowing immediately that such a slimy sensation could only be one thing…a tree frog!

Now, you need to know that I am normally a very tolerant and welcoming human being. During the first months in my little house in the jungle, I thought tree frogs were rather cute. Their sticky toes, skillfully and wonderfully made by our Creator, enable them to perform impressive athletic feats.

This is the only brightly-colored tree frog I have seen in the Amazon. His uniqueness is the reason he was photographed by my sister. Normal tree frogs in our village are grayish-green, with very similar coloring to an average backyard frog. Sadly, it seems I never took pictures of any of them. 

I felt absolutely horrible the morning I found a bloated frog, belly up in the pot of water which I had thoughtlessly left uncovered, while it was still at boiling point, right before bed the previous night.

But jumping out of the darkness onto my face was clearly a declaration of war. Tree frogs against human. All feelings of acceptance and empathy towards tree frogs disappeared as fast as fish and manioc root at a village gathering. What options were there?

1. Leave the jungle and let the tree frogs have my house, hoping they would learn the language and teach my friends about Jesus.
2. Live in fear, always wondering what the frogs’ next devious plan would be.
3. Let the frogs know that since they had declared war, I was ready to fight!

Option #3 seemed like the best choice.

Defensive strategy: sleep with a mosquito net every single night, 12 months of the year, even during seasons when there were no mosquitos.

Offensive strategy: every time a tree frog was seen jumping around, locate and grab it.

Trying not to cringe at the slimy sensation in my hand, I would then throw it as far as possible out the back door. The problem was, although I became an expert frog-grabber, I can’t throw very far. To all future missionaries out there, here is a pro tip. Play baseball every chance you get, endeavoring to become a great pitcher so you will be able to throw frogs so far from your house that they can’t find it again.

With my substandard pitching skills, however, I could imagine the frogs gleefully hopping back, entering the house through the thatch roof, and jumping around inside with huge froggie grins, their chirps declaring, “I’m back! You can’t throw far enough to keep me out!” And each time I caught one of those little guys, I wondered, somewhat disheartened, how many times I had caught him before.

One morning, I came back to the desk after grabbing a drink of water, because one needs to be well hydrated to practice complex parts of speech such as dynamic auxiliaries.  Picking up my pencil to attempt to write a grammatically correct sentence expressing my desire for my mom and family to be well, my pinkie smushed onto something slimy.  Sniffing the brown streak on the paper and my finger confirmed that it was tree frog poop…the enemy was attacking on another front.

So I left the desk to wash my hands, without having written even one word.  Then I had to recopy the four previously-written sentences onto a new page, so that I could throw out the smelly one.  See how annoying tree frogs can be?

Earlier that same week, I tasted something really strange in one bite of my granola…a sharp pungent taste that does not match any of the ingredients in my recipe.  Even though I only left the bowl unattended and uncovered for one minute, is it possible that something dropped in?  Yuck.  I’ll never know for sure, but am still wondering if that was a sneak assault by the enemy.

The most frustrating part of dealing with tree frogs is that it never ends. Although there are never as many frogs in the jungle as there were in Egypt during the second plague, there are a lot of them there, especially during rainy season. Countless times, I have heard the unwelcome sound of froggie feet sticking to one surface, then another, then another, causing me to to stop studying or reading, or even get out of bed to go deal with the intruder.

It is an ongoing battle, one little frog at a time, one interrupted task after another, day after day.

Are you getting the point?  In the jungle, days can start with tree frogs.  Days can end with tree frogs.  Small chunks of time can be wasted by dealing with tree frogs, decreasing productivity and happiness (mine, not theirs). Tree frogs are smelly and unsanitary. They can trigger feelings of grumpiness or frustration or helplessness.

It’s the same frog in all three photos. 

 

There are “tree frogs” in life, as well. These aren’t major crises or real enemies, but small ongoing problems. Sometimes we allow these  annoyances to distract us, decrease our productivity and steal our joy. We may end up wasting more time or emotional energy than necessary in dealing with these “tree frogs”, diminishing our focus on what is truly important in life.

Are you plagued by any “tree frogs” right now? How should we handle the “tree frogs” in our lives?

This is entirely dependent on what form the “tree frogs” take in your specific situation, but here are a few ideas. Hopefully one of these strategies works for you. Please take these suggestions with a grain of salt and use your own common sense.

• Scream.
• Breathe deeply. Pray.
• Throw salt on them.
• Take pictures.
• Adopt them as pets.
• Sing to them.
• Laugh and continue with business as usual.
• Watch them jump around, or just jump around with them.
• Ignore them and stay on task.
• Ask them to stop distracting you and help you work toward your goals.
• Sing to them.
• Swallow them whole and regurgitate them as a “magic trick” to entertain your friends.
• Wash your hands (with soap) after touching them.

Is This Your Jungle?

Three months ago, if you had asked where I would be in June, my answer would have been, “In the jungle!”, with an audible exclamation point in my voice and a visible one on my face.

Due to the pandemic, I have not yet been able to return to the jungle. But would you like to hear some of what God taught me there in the past?

I actually started thinking about this topic before leaving the States. It was a snowy February afternoon in Lewis County and I was off on another adventure to spend time with someone.

As I hopped in the blue car I thanked God once again for dear friends who had lent me their vehicle for the entire eight months of my home assignment. Their generosity made it possible to meet up with financial supporters and other friends, visit my grandparents and run errands, serve in a variety of ministry opportunities, go on adventures with siblings, and arrange speaking engagements without making transportation arrangements for each event.

 

Photos featuring the car that allowed me to drop off Eli at the airport, plan surprise birthday picnics, hike one of the 46 peaks with the whole family, and go to the church building countless times, for services, music practice, studying, playing piano, fellowship, and ministry.

Driving down the road and enjoying the beautiful scenery of pine trees adorned by snow, I realized how much life was about to change in the upcoming transition.

Returning the car to my friends seemed symbolic of letting go of independence and freedom in returning to my village home. Not only would I no longer have a car to drive, there wouldn’t be places to go or a schedule to plan.

In the village, my routine is determined by the plans of my friends. Our outings include going to the gardens and the river and deep into the jungle. Just so you know, those adventures are far more epic than trips to stores or coffeeshops or restaurants.

But one downside is that I can’t organize a daily routine or meet up with people or go on spontaneous adventures whenever I get cabin fever. Absolutely not! Unless my friends are going somewhere and invite me to go along, I am “confined” to the village limits, since it is considered socially unacceptable and dangerous for a woman to go anywhere alone. The one exception is that when school is in session, it is fine for me to walk the 7 minutes up the path to attend classes, as long as I inform someone of these plans.

In the jungle, the number of friends I can see is very limited. Unless there are visitors from other villages, the maximum number of people in the village is 40, but the actual number is often as few as 15.

During my first two years there, there was no internet, thus, no contact with the outside world.

Does that sound like the kind of life you would choose? Well, some of us do! And I am so blessed and grateful that Jesus sent me to the jungle!

The jungle has undeniably been a place of isolation and separation from the life I had known, far removed from the two worlds I abandoned to become part of a third.

Yet it was there, as my friends taught me verbs, tones, sneaky switcharoos, and cultural norms, God taught me a lot about life, community, holiness, and dependency on His Spirit – lessons that I probably never would have slowed down enough to learn in North America.

I quickly learned that I love small and simple. Having less people around and less options available means having more time and focus to invest in relationships with new friends, immersed in their world. In choosing to become “poorer” as far as options and luxury and independence, I found myself richer in many other ways.

Rather than caging me in, the apparent restrictions opened doors to wide spaces of unimaginable freedom. Limitations led to an adventure of depending on Jesus in a deeper way. He taught me more about what it means to abide in Him, to just live, to be who He created and called me to be.

The jungle has changed me forever. More accurately, Jesus has used the jungle as a tool of sanctification and transformation, faithfully continuing the good work He is doing to make me more like Him.

These aren’t jungle photos, but the journey from monarch caterpillar to chrysalis (look closely inside the jar) to butterfly is an unforgettable picture of transformation.

I long for the day I am allowed to go back and learn more from Jesus and from my village friends. It will be wonderful to be reunited with them so we can spend hours together every day, on epic adventures or just sitting on benches, engaged in conversations while swatting away the bugs. It will be wonderful to once again eat granola for breakfast and rice for lunch 7 days a week, with the occasional surprise meat or fruit, without needing to plan a menu or buy groceries for at least 3 months.

Please understand that my love for jungle life and friends does not mean it is always easy to be there. It hurts my heart to be far away from family and miss out on seeing my nephews and nieces grow up. Going for weeks without a hug is harder than I ever imagined. While in the jungle, I long to worship and fellowship in community with other believers in a language I understand. And those are just normal feelings of loss and longing, not to mention out-of-the-ordinary situations.

During occasional times of crisis, it felt like the walls were closing in and I might be crushed. There was no escape or relief from fear and emotional pain that overwhelmed my heart. It was hard to stop thinking about stressful situations that were right there in the village, when I couldn’t even go for a walk by myself.

But Jesus held me fast and kept me from falling. His joy and grace and peace were more than enough.

The positive aspects of jungle living truly outweigh the negative. And in this adventure of walking with Jesus, even the pain and suffering are part of the blessing He gives.  

Now, can I share a secret longing of my heart? For the past four years, I have wished that you, my dear family and friends, could live in the jungle too, at least for a little while.

If only you could spend enough time there to give you a break from your fast-paced, crazy North American lifestyle. I have wished that you could trade all of that for solitude, quiet, peace, fewer commitments, and deeper relationships with fewer people at a time.

I have prayed that Jesus would somehow teach you what He has started to teach me about abiding in Him and just living, finding true joy in Him alone, and genuine delight in having less. I have wished that I could somehow include you in the precious and indescribable experiences He has given me in my jungle world.

And now, all of a sudden, the entire world has changed. Life, as we knew it, has been stripped away for a time. We have been isolated and restricted.

During this unwanted and unexpected transition, can you relate to any aspects of jungle life described above, friends?

Has your world closed in or become smaller in these days? In what ways has your routine been interrupted and your options limited? Maybe all you want is to get out of your house and escape stress and confinement, but you can’t really go anywhere, because it would be dangerous, or socially unacceptable.

Whether it be finances or relationships or opportunities, in some area of life, you probably have less. Maybe you even feel like you are less.

Do you ever feel like you are living in a different culture from the one you knew three months ago? We are so accustomed to having unlimited choices, options, and independence, that it is normal to resist or complain when they are suspended.

Please don’t get me wrong. I never would have prayed or wished for a pandemic or quarantine or lockdown. But I wonder if our loving Heavenly Father, who works all things out for good to those who love Him, might be using this crisis to answer my prayers for you in an unexpected way.

The work Jesus wants to do in our lives normally depends on our response, however. Will you allow Jesus to use this time to renew your heart and mind, transforming you and making you more like Him? What is He saying to you today?

Will you have the courage to make this your time in the jungle?

Even as your heart grieves the real and painful losses you are suffering, will you also look for the blessings and choose to be grateful for the good gifts of the present situation?

By God’s grace, will you sit at Jesus’ feet and learn from Him, asking what He wants to teach you in this time of isolation, cancelled plans, and uncertainty?

Walls and Peace

“Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you. And when he had so said, he showed unto them his hands and his side. Then were the disciples glad, when they saw the Lord.” John 20:19, 20

Jesus had risen from the dead. That’s what Mary Magdalene had told them, anyway. Yet there the disciples were, hiding behind closed doors, afraid.

What would become of them? They had left everything – houses, daily routines, lands, fishing boats, jobs and families to follow this Teacher from Nazareth. But three days ago, He had been crucified. Jesus’ death had put their dreams to death as well – dreams of deliverance and the kingdom of God. It was over. And now that the Jews had killed their Teacher, would they kill the disciples next?

And even if they survived, what were they supposed to do now? After all they had heard and seen and experienced while following Jesus, life could never go back to normal.

Or could it possibly be true? Was Jesus alive? Or was the women’s story simply the nonsense that it seemed?

We might expect the disciples to demonstrate more faith and maturity and spirituality at a time of crisis. They had spent three years doing life with Jesus, after all.

We might expect Jesus to appear to His disciples only after they had pulled themselves together or were emotionally stable. But He didn’t wait for that to happen.

Jesus came to the disciples where they were. Walls and closed doors and fearful disciples don’t stop our Risen Lord.

Jesus stood in their midst and simply said, “Peace be unto you”, or “Peace be with you.” And even before those words came out of Jesus’ mouth, His very presence with the disciples fulfilled His spoken words. Jesus not only gave the disciples peace, as He had promised to do in John 14:27; Jesus is the Prince of peace. Isaiah 9:6

It’s astounding that Jesus never rebuked the disciples. He didn’t say they should have trusted Him more or overcome their fear of the Jews.

He actually addressed their fear without mentioning it, or the external circumstances that caused it.

Neither did Jesus resort to clichés or false hope or warm fuzzy feelings. He never told them that everything would be okay and that life would get back to normal soon. It wouldn’t, you know. There would be persecution and prison and conflict and death.

Instead, Jesus helped them see what they truly needed to know and believe.

He showed them His hands, through which nails had been hammered three days before.

He showed them the wound in His side where the spear had pierced Him.

The wounds were more than proof that this man who suddenly appeared in the room was truly their Teacher and Friend, risen from the dead. Although the disciples didn’t understand everything yet, Those scars were tangible proof of Jesus’ eternal love and absolute power. He had won the victory over sin and death.

This story is not primarily about finding peace in the midst of scary situations, you see. Our deepest need is peace with God. 

For this reason, while we were sinners, enemies of God living in rebellion against Him, Jesus died for us. Romans 5:8-10 The punishment Jesus suffered brought us peace. Isaiah 53:5 The blood He shed on the cross brought us near to God. Ephesians 2:13 Because of what He did on Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, all who believe in Jesus can be reconciled to God.

That is the Gospel of peace, the rock on which we can build our lives as disciples of Jesus who trust in Him, weathering the crises and fears that come our way. No matter what happens in this world, we know that someday Jesus will make all things new. Revelation 21:3-5

Perhaps we can relate to this story from John in a deeper way than ever before. Most of us are currently staying behind closed doors more than normal, due to a situation that might be causing fear, anxiety, frustration and hard questions, such as the following, among others.

What’s going to happen to us? How many people will die in the coming months? What will life look life after this is all over? Will things go back to normal? Will we still have jobs and ministries and routines to follow? Or is this the end?

Like the disciples, I often fall short of reasonable expectations as far as faith and maturity and spirituality. Crisis doesn’t always bring out the best in me. I say words I shouldn’t or fail to say words that should be said.

March 22 is a textbook example. It even happened to be the first day of the week, the same day Jesus rose again and appeared to His disciples. I was anxious and crying, shut in with fears which had built a wall around my soul. My faith was wavering; I had no idea of how God was working in my life, let alone in the rest of the world.

That night, even though there was not any right or ideal decision, I was so afraid of making a wrong decision, that it was impossible to just get over it, or analyze the situation logically from all angles, or pull myself together. Even while asking Jesus for wisdom and guidance, I was not fully trusting Him.

But you know what? Jesus didn’t wait until I unlocked the doors by reaching a certain level of trust or emotional stability.

Jesus came through the walls of my fear, and stood with me in an unexpected way. His presence did not changed the situation or answer all of the hard and painful questions. Yet Jesus has spoken peace to my heart, calmed my fears, and continues to be my peace. And as I walk with Him, He will help me to trust Him more and become more like Him.

What are your fears or anxieties today, friends? In what way might you be hiding behind closed doors? Please do not be ashamed, even if you are falling apart. Don’t tell yourself that you should be meeting certain expectations of maturity or stronger faith.

Hear the words of Jesus today, as He comes to you in love and resurrection power, in the midst of any fear you might be facing. “Peace be with you.”

Jesus is alive. The Prince of Peace is with us. So let’s stop being afraid –  because of who He is, not because of who we are or because of the circumstances around us. Like the disciples, may we see Jesus and be glad!

A Getaway Plane, a Virus, and Resurrection

At 11:07, near Gate 75, I nearly fall asleep while typing, wondering if there is any point in even trying to capture these thoughts in a meaningful way. It is not only a moment of personal exhaustion but also of worldwide panic. If I don’t concentrate on something, though, I’ll fall asleep and miss what could be one of the last planes leaving for my other home.

It was supposed to be a flight out of Syracuse originally, then JFK. But at the end of a crazy day, I’m in Toronto, because the chances of actually getting back to Brasil from here seemed higher.

It’s only one day sooner than I was supposed to leave, and there is no denying the conviction that I need to get out before the door closes. As wonderful as the past 8 months of home assignment have been, the time has come to leave. Whatever happens in the coming weeks and months, my American home is not the place to wait it out.

After my dad and a friend from church dropped me off, I verified that the flight was still on time, then paused, overwhelmed with gratitude and relief tinged by uncertainty. The normal emotions of saying goodbye and heading off alone were accompanied by slight guilt for leaving a place and people that I love in a time of crisis.

Holding back tears, I wished my phone had enough battery left to watch the video of “Confidence”, the song four friends played and sang as a going-away surprise in church yesterday.

A woman walks down the hall many yards away. From that distance, her red coat looks like the one a friend has been wearing all winter. For a split-second, my heart jumps with a thrill of joy, then falls immediately when I realize that my friend, who I said goodbye to less than 7 hours ago is back in Lowville, and we won’t see each other for three years.

And already I miss her and her family so much that my eyes fill with tears, prompting the question,

“Why am I even doing this if it hurts so much?”

But now is no time for reflection or meditation, or meltdowns. I must stop thinking about friends and family and all the special memories shared in recent days. That will have to wait.

So I go into travel mode instead, and get in the Air Canada line to check my bags.

Having pushed aside the grief of departure, I suddenly remember how much I love airports.  As liminal places, where transition is the norm, not the exception, airports facilitate both reunions and farewells, and are portals for people embarking on new adventures.

If I lived in a city with an airport, I would go there frequently to get work done. It would be an ideal place to think and pray and write, with plenty of events to watch and people to meet during study breaks. Despite certainty that a direct flight was the wiser choice this trip, it was actually rather disappointing that this new flight eliminated my 11-hour study time during the intended connection in Miami.

But back to Toronto. In less than half an hour, in addition to checking two 70-pound suitcases, I was able to:

• Chat with an endearing family from Johannesburg, South Africa, whose holiday in Canada was cut short and who were very enthusiastic to hear that I’ll be doing Bible translation.
• Meet a lady who has to have a layover in Brasil and is hoping not to get stuck there as she attempts to find a way home to Chile in the midst of cancelled flights and closing borders.
• Help an Asian man figure out how to make water come out of a fountain. He expressed his gratitude enthusiastically with a series of bows and a huge smile.
• Encourage a young, exhausted-looking mom of a two-year-old boy, who had to cancel travel plans to visit his daddy in Trinidad.
• Talk with a man heading to visit his family in Pakistan, where, according to him, they are safe from the virus.

Did I mention that airports are delightful? Besides the thrill of every takeoff, I love meeting people, hearing their stories, making connections, and sharing Jesus.

Did I also mention that airports are confusing? Staying up all night to finish packing didn’t contribute to mental clarity.

Three proofs of my exhaustion:

• Trying to go through security with the baggage cart.
• Misinterpreting the gestures of an agent, thinking he was telling me to dump my water, which I was planning to do anyway, when he was actually directing me to a different door.
• Walking through security with my sneakers on the whole time, never even thinking about taking them off until other people were putting theirs back on.

In my defense, by the time the sneakers incident happened, I was focused on a new temporary life mission: Cheer Up as Many Security Workers as Possible in Two-Minute Encounters. Most of them seemed really grumpy and irritable, which totally makes sense with all they must be dealing with recently.

Unfortunately, the only joke that came to mind was one I made up today with a reference to the book of Habakkuk. Since that would not be universally appreciated, I stuck with smiling and making an extra effort to be grateful and friendly.

The security workers must have been almost as overtired as I was, since they didn’t notice my sneakers. Or maybe they simply chose not to say anything out of kindness, because this is not a typical night in a typical airport.

Today, nearly everyone who is flying is facing unexpected circumstances or life changes or cancelled plans because of a global crisis. And that goes for people who aren’t in airports as well.

A virus so tiny we can’t see it is changing our world in ways so huge they cannot be denied.

We are fragile, vulnerable, formed from the dust to which we are destined to return.

Yet disease and death are not invincible superpowers. They will not be the end of the story for anyone who is in Christ Jesus.

As He said to Martha, four days after her world had fallen apart, “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” John 11:25

If we believe in Jesus, we have eternal life today, right now.

We, as people of the resurrection, have the opportunity to breathe Jesus’ life to those who only sense the death and darkness, the chaos and confusion of these moments.

What words of life and hope and joy can we speak to people around us?

The Friday before coming back.

In the midst of isolation and social distancing and separation, will we encourage others, intentionally building bridges of relationship in new and creative ways?

Even though our specific situations and responses to challenge and loss vary, can we be honest about feeling some combination of frustration, fear, anxiety, grief, or other messy emotions?

Can the solidarity of knowing we are all facing sudden unprecedented change connect us to the rest of humanity in a way that wasn’t possible before?

Will we have the confidence to believe and declare that Jesus, the Resurrection and the Life, is still at work in and through our lives, and in this chaotic world?

8 Things I Miss About the Village

Two of the most frequently asked questions as a missionary is finishing up home assignment are,

“Are you excited to leave? and “Are you excited to go back?”

No one has ever asked me both of those questions, however. It is either the first or the second. I finally figured out that the reason either one of those questions seems complicated is because answering both questions is the only way to give an accurate picture without oversimplifying the situation.

So are you ready for both answers?

No, I am not excited to leave. Saying good-bye to family and friends that I love is always painful and hard and sad.

Yes, I am very excited to go back. I love the friends and the life God has given me in the jungle and even while I have loved being here, have missed being there at the same time.

After explaining that paradox to some friends a couple weeks ago, someone asked what I miss about the village.

Well, the biggest and obvious answer is my friends who live there, but here a few specific descriptions, in no particular order, of things I miss.

1. The effortlessness of spending time with people. Rather than calling to schedule something for the next day or week, or ask if someone is home so I can go visit, all I have to do is leave my house and walk around the village until I find someone sitting on benches outdoors or in their kitchen houses. Due to their culture’s natural hospitality and acceptance, and almost 3 years of intentional relationship-building, I am welcome to just walk in, sit down, or join in whatever activity might be happening, no questions asked, except for the traditional question like the one you ask friends when you first see them each day, “Did you wake up?” This lifestyle of togetherness and community is a wonderful way to live.

2. The look of delight and pride on the face of one of my best friends when I get things right in their language, or ask an insightful question about the culture. She has invested countless hours in patiently teaching me, and we have grown so much together, as teacher and student, and as friends.

3. Little children yelling at my door during my third or fourth shower (cool-off technique) of the day, “What are you doing?” Well, they can hear the water running, so they know I’m showering. They just want me to hurry up so I can let them in to come play with my toys. The funniest occasion was when the little girl who tries to take charge of every situation, yelled in the most demanding voice a 4-year-old could muster, “Hurry up and let us in, cuz these bugs are biting us!”, as if there were no other houses in the village where they could escape the bugs, and I was a horribly neglectful person for failing to grant immediate refuge. These little friends make me laugh so much. I thank God for all the children He has placed in my life who enjoy spending time with me.

4. The peace and stillness after the generator is turned off, normally between 9 and 10 pm. After everyone has gone to bed, with the background music of singing birds and insects, it feels like it is just Jesus and I alone, with no one else awake in the world to interrupt our time together. Many nights I step outside for a minute or two to gaze at the starry Amazon sky that He created. Even if the day might have been filled with stress or physical pain or discouragement or tears or a sense of failure, the beauty of that sight never fails to fill my soul with wonder and stir my heart to worship our Creator and Saviour.

6. Not needing to deal with money or shopping or errands or appointments for months at a time. 
7. Seeing brightly-colored parrots and macaws fly overhead as I walk across the village and remembering again, with a thrill, that I live in the real, live, Amazon rainforest.

7. Being engaged in a lifestyle of ministry in which I am reminded on a daily basis that I do not have what it takes to do what Jesus has called me to do. That is true in the States as well, but it isn’t quite as apparent. In a culture that I am still becoming part of but will never completely belong in, my incompetence and weakness is very obvious to everyone. I’m not strong enough or brave enough or smart enough or organized enough or healthy enough or spiritual enough. Whether it is my inability to adjust to the heat, cope with stress, pronounce words, keep bugs out of my food, use a machete, handle a complicated cultural situation, or trust God instead of worrying, I am in way over my head in the village. And this is good. Abiding in Jesus comes more naturally when we are constantly confronted with practical examples of the reality that we can do nothing on our own.

8. The daily suspense of waking up with no idea what could happen on a given day, but knowing that if I am in the right place at the right moment, there will probably be exciting culture events or interesting conversations to participate in. Knowing that I’ve missed out on lots of events and conversations since July increases my anticipation to return and jump back into language and culture learning with my friends. Every day in the jungle is an adventure!

Remember the Red Rose

This is the post in which I share a story from nearly 6 years ago that I have been too ashamed of to write down or tell anyone. So if you have other things to do, feel free to stop reading. Just kidding. Hopefully the lessons God taught me using a red rose will help or challenge you.

Last week was Valentine’s Day, as you probably noticed. I went to Wal-Mart to buy pizza toppings, the last phone card needed for this home assignment, and the thinnest socks possible for bug protection in the jungle. I hadn’t been in the USA in February since 2013, and had forgotten what a commercialized holiday this is. Flowers and chocolate and sappy cards, oh my!

Still, I remember enough of North American culture to know that February 14 is a day when emotions run high, hearts are especially fragile, and hidden pain resurfaces.

So, standing in the candy aisle, a random urge from the night before to buy a Valentine’s gift for someone, didn’t seem like the best idea. Even expressions of friendship can be taken the wrong way when you don’t know a person well. And I am no longer comfortable enough in the American culture to navigate social situations and holiday expectations skillfully.

That insecurity prompted a flood of other fears. In my heartfelt desire for friends and acquaintances to experience Jesus’ love and believe in Him as their Saviour, do conversations end up being directed by me, and not His Spirit? Do I say things that push people away from Jesus instead of draw them towards Him? Do I try to run ahead of the Holy Spirit instead of walking after Him as a follower of Jesus? What if, whether here or in the village, in efforts to connect and serve and be a friend, I just mess things up?

As these emotions stirred in my heart, I gazed at the overwhelming number and style of candy boxes.

And a small voice suddenly whispered, “Remember the red rose.”

Even a siren or a snake or a stampede of army ants couldn’t have gotten my attention any quicker. I hadn’t thought about the red rose for a long time.

It happened in 2014, the summer that Brazil hosted the World Cup. Lots of ministry sprung up that year, some of which focused on outreach to women working in the sex industry, as well as prevention of human trafficking, which escalates in places where major sporting events are held. One ministry initiative was Festa na Rua (Party in the Street), a monthly event held in a different urban location each time. One evening that I had signed up to help, my Brasilian dad found me a ride with a young couple who were heading towards that area of the city, to spare me the normal 2 or 3 hour commute by public transportation.

Enroute, we were accosted by a street vendor. It is very common for Brasilians to go into business, selling candy or bottled water or other small items on the streets. Drivers stopped at red lights are viewed as potential customers.

This businessman was not peddling any of the common commodities, however, but was selling red roses. This was the first time I had seen a flower salesman at a stoplight.

And I suddenly felt an urge to buy a rose. “What kind of crazy idea was that?” I wondered. Sure, I come up with lots of crazy ideas on a regular basis (don’t ask my siblings), but this one seemed especially odd. Why in the world would I buy a rose?

For one thing, I had never made a habit of buying from street peddlers, and, less than halfway through missions training, I was on an extremely tight student budget. Also, I’d be helping set up for a party, and taking public transportation back home at midnight. A rose would get ruined. And what would the people I was riding with think of a strange American who randomly bought a rose for no logical reason?

But a small internal voice insisted, “Buy a rose!” I didn’t listen.

The light changed to green, we drove on, and I suppressed the feeling that I had made a wrong choice, distracting myself through conversation, and the building excitement for a Party in the Street.

The group heading up the event had a well-laid plan. We talked, prayed, and headed out to the designated corner, loaded down with food, soda, decorations, music, gift bags, and excitement to see God work.

Our location was a neighborhood known as “Luz”, the Portuguese word for “Light,” yet a place of darkness, where women work in an industry which devalues and dehumanizes them. Unimaginable stories of hopelessness, tragedy, poverty and abuse, in many cases, drive women to places where instead of receiving compassion, they are often judged and stigmatized.

Our desire was to bring light into this dark neighborhood, and connect with ladies working there. We prayed that they would sense that we loved and valued them as individuals, and start to believe that Jesus loves and values them and has a purpose for their lives.

It was an unconventional and terrific party! Many people who stopped by seemed excited about the refreshments and small gifts and the chance to socialize.

One of these was a lady we’ll call Annabelle. After listening to her story and sharing a bit of mine, I asked Annabelle the question which had been suggested by the party coordinators as a way to turn the conversation towards Jesus, and lay the foundation for the Gospel message to be shared.

“What was the most memorable or meaningful gift you have ever been given?”

Her answer came without hesitation. The most meaningful gift Annabelle had ever received was red roses.

My heart sank with the realization I had messed up big-time. God wanted to use me to give Annabelle another red rose as a tangible expression of His love, to show that He saw her and knew her story and her heart. The small gift of a red rose might have proved to her that God’s big gift of salvation through Jesus had her name on it as well.

But I had disobeyed the Holy Spirit, classifying His voice as a “crazy urge”. Choosing common sense over the illogical, propriety over spontaneity, safety over risk, a seat in the boat over a walk on the waves with Jesus, I didn’t buy a rose. What seemed like an insignificant incident became a significant regret. If only it would have been possible to go back to that stoplight, buy the rose, and give it to Annabelle.

She still heard the message of the Gospel that night. I pray that she still sensed Jesus’ love and compassion during our 15-minute conversation. But she didn’t receive the rose. And I missed out on being the delivery girl for what could have been a meaningful miracle.

As a daughter of God, I already know I am loved and valued, yet I still need the Gospel just as much as anyone else.

So what is the Gospel? The good news about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Even though we were all born sinners by nature, wanting to do things our own way, with a bent toward sin and away from God, He loved us so much that He sent Jesus, His only Son. Jesus died for you and me and for the whole world, regardless of our job or background or belief system. He took the punishment for our sin to bring us back to God, as His children, and give us everlasting life.

But not only did Jesus bring me back to God when I believed in Him for salvation from sin; He continues to draw my heart back to God whenever I turn away. Being in vocational ministry and living in a jungle does not exempt me from ignoring God’s direction or believing lies or living in fear of what others will think. So Jesus continually calls me back into the light, when it feels safer to stay in the dark corners of the nearest comfort zone rather than walk by faith.

God is still transforming my heart and renewing my mind. He graciously used the red rose incident as a catalyst for growth and change.

Since then I have been more aware of His still, small voice, and obeying it, sometimes even without being 100% sure of whether it is the Holy Spirit or a random urge. While it’s still a struggle sometimes, I’d rather do something that appears crazy than risk missing out on being part of something God wants to do in another person’s life. Although it often means embracing the unknown, jumping out of the boat, and redefining comfort zones, I’m all in. 

So on February 14th, while not overly excited about the commercialism of this holiday in our culture, I bought and delivered the box of candy embossed with a shiny red rose, along with a small bouquet of fresh flowers.

Did those Valentines’ gifts become miraculous tools used by God? I have no idea, which is fine. That’s God’s business. But I do have faith that the Holy Spirit is at work in the heart of this person, praying that He will draw her to Jesus someday, and that my attempts of friendship might be seen as small expressions of His love.

In the adventure of walking by faith, in confidence that the mission is His, not mine, I’m trusting that God will keep me from messing up too badly as I continue to grow in grace, learning to recognize His leading in both the major and minor situations of life. I’m believing that as I live by God’s Word and abide in Christ, my conversations will be led by His Spirit not by my own agenda.

And one of the things I am 100% sure of is that whenever I do mess up, or even choose to disobey, like that afternoon in São Paulo, our loving Heavenly Father will always forgive, and continue to use me, not because I’m perfect, but because He is so perfect that He is powerful enough to use weak and broken ones to accomplish His work in this world, despite our failures and mistakes.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9

A Christmas Letter (2016)

Greetings! Please excuse the unanticipated silence on this blog. While an update of what has been happening the last few months might seem the most logical way to re-open communication, I will save that for later this week.

Since Advent, as a season of anticipation and preparation, can also lead us into times of reflection and reminiscing, here is a letter written in 2016, but never mailed or shared until tonight. 

It is 11 PM in the jungle.  Some of the villagers have already gone to bed.  Those who remain here in the meeting-house sit in chairs or on benches, everyone waiting for someone else to lead out in a dance, but all of us too tired to actually do so.  As we sit here, listening to the loud music, swatting bugs, waiting for midnight, drinking coffee to stay awake, and wondering if there will be more dancing, my mind skips across a couple thousand miles to a much more familiar Christmas scene.

Squeezing my eyes shut and sitting on my hands, I am instantly transported to Bethel Church of the Nazarene, imagining myself there with all of you tonight, just a few hours ago.  It is easy to picture the candles in their little wooden holders on the walls, the placement of the wreaths and poinsettias, the familiar Nativity set and Christmas tree.  I can imagine Zach leading the traditional carols and playing guitar, and hear Pastor’s voice talking about who Jesus is to the Architect, the Painter, the Doctor, the Teacher, the Composer, the Florist.  And then I see the candle.  You remember the one. You saw it this evening. That candle which persists, every single Christmas Eve, in remaining unlit.

One small light.  No one will miss it.  Except they will. One small light.  It won’t make a difference.  But does it make a difference?  It does.  Everyone notices that candle more than the others, because it is not shining.

And this year, I realize that I am one little light, missing from your midst, no longer shining with all of you into the darkness of Lewis County.  But I’m not that candle, standing in its normal place but neglecting to shine.  I am a candle that God called and sent to a different dark place, a village in the Amazon rainforest.

This is not just my calling, however; it is our calling. I am a light that you sent here, in partnership with God. Even though some of you knew you would really miss me, and that even my little light could have made a difference shining with the rest of you in Lewis County, you chose to walk in obedience to God, and step out in faith with me. Although it was hard to say goodbye, you sent me out from among you, through the doors that God opened, to the place and the people He put on my heart initially, and then on all of our hearts.

We are a family, a community, a body.  Every time a member leaves, whether temporarily or permanently, it makes a difference and leaves a gap, an empty space in the candle stand. At least a couple dozen names come effortlessly to mind, of those who have left our church and continue to be missed, both for who they are and for the ways they served as part of the body of Christ.

In my case, my leaving necessitated “quitting” Good News Club ministry, the ladies’ prayer group, piano playing, Christmas drama planning, VBS, caroling.  There’s one less person to vacuum and put away chairs after a fellowship meal, or carry dishes up to the pavilion.  Many of you get one less hug every single Sunday.

And I was obviously not indispensable, because the ministry of a church is not dependent on any one person, no matter how involved they might be.  Jesus is the Head of the Church, and He is faithful.  He fills needs and provides other people to serve.  Many of you stepped in to fill the small gaps my departure caused.  And if a thread or two was left hanging, they weren’t essential threads, as all of you continue to reach out, serve and make a difference.  While I was not in any way necessary to your team, I was part of it, so, as happens every time someone leaves, the team is not exactly the same as it used to be.

Your sending has been financial as well.  The money you gave in several generous offerings, and that some of you individually give each month, has been God’s tangible, physical provision to build my house and keep me here, and pay for all the needs this past year.  I know money is often tight and it’s hard to pay the bills and care for families, yet you selflessly set aside hard-earned income, giving to Jesus by giving to me and our village friends. 

And you know what?  This Christmas, I hope you don’t miss me too much, because hopefully you are mostly thinking about Jesus, the first and best Christmas gift, sent to all of us. I pray that you are rejoicing in His birth, and longing for His return. Hopefully you are busy sharing Jesus’ love and hope with those in Lewis County who still don’t know Him. Hopefully you are focusing on special times and memories and treasuring the people who you are with this year.  But, admitting to some Christmas homesickness here, I do hope that just once or twice during the Advent season, you have noticed my absence, and missed me just a little bit.

Because here in the jungle, even though I am loving this Christmas and feeling so privileged and blessed to spend it with these new friends, I miss all of you like crazy.

Christmas and Advent will never be the same without you. For me, the important externals of Christmas are not the caroling and traditions and liturgy and special foods and decorations, as wonderful as all of those are.  The important externals of Christmas are family, and shared experiences worshipping and celebrating and remembering Jesus.  And you are my family.

First and foremost, of course, Christmas is about Jesus. But it is also about celebrating Jesus with family, reaching out to others as a family, and making special memories with family.  And ever since I was 6 years old, that family has been you.

But the sadness of missing all of you and being faraway at Christmastime is easier to endure remembering that the celebration in Heaven someday will be bigger and better than any Christmas celebration in any culture.  And how exciting to realize that, by God’s grace, we pray and believe that our obedience will result in more brothers and sisters joining us as part of His family, as part of the kingdom, as part of the universal church.  And everyone would surely agree that this makes a few tears and a little homesickness all worth it, for the glory of the One whose birth we celebrate, who is worthy of all the praises we could sing and any gift we could ever bring.

So it would seem that I am a gift this year.  A great big Christmas present without a gift bag or wrapping paper.  There have been many times I feel like God could have picked someone better, sent a better present to these precious people.  Why did He send me?  There are certainly missionaries out there who are more intelligent, more talented, more resistant to bugs and bacteria, more determined and faithful.  But the fact remains, that He uses weak and unlikely vessels to accomplish His purposes. We are the ones that God chose to give to these people, for His own reasons and plans. We are the gift.

Thank you for sending me. I love you. 

And just so you know, I am already hoping to spend Christmas 2019 right there in Lewis County with all of you – hanging up the greens, singing Christmas carols, playing piano if needed, going to the party and Advent activities, enjoying lots of snow, and most of all delighting in special moments with all of you, celebrating the birth of Jesus, our Saviour.

So, please, keep up those traditions, and don’t go anywhere!

(Unless God sends you to some other place where the light of Jesus still hasn’t shined or where the Bible has not yet been translated or where there is a need He calls you to meet. In that case, you should definitely go).

Merry Christmas!

Luke 1:76-79 And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways; To give knowledge of salvation unto his people by the remission of their sins, Through the tender mercy of our God; whereby the dayspring from on high hath visited us, To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.

 

 

I’m Already Going

à tere unkaliá.

I’m already going. I’m on my way.

One week left. In seven days I’ll be leaving this jungle village, leaving all of you. Oh, it’s not a permanent good-bye. But nine months seems like such a long time.

As this picture shows, I actually already left. Wrote this blog on June 10th, but just posting now.

Entreat me not to leave you. Where you are, I have come. Where you lodge, I also lodge. Your people have become my people.

Today I ask you, my beloved village friends, how can I leave this place of learning and becoming, where my mere attempts to talk or use your simple everyday tools like machetes result in laughter and memories and an occasional minor injury?

How can I spend nine months separated from you who have become my teachers and friends while I have, to some extent, in the process of learning your words and your ways, become one of you?

How can I say goodbye to you who have put up with me, given me the most delicious fish the world has to offer, and appreciated the simplest of my homemade cakes more than any other group of people ever has?

How can I leave my little house in the jungle, whose thatch roof and dirt floor in the kitchen delight the depths of my being in a way I never imagined architecture could?

How can I bid farewell to the stunning Amazon night sky that never fails to remind me of the greatness and power of our Creator and Savior?

Saying goodbye to you who are still longing for the Word of God in your language pierces my heart like a sharp deadly arrow that your people used to use.

While I desperately need a break from the heat and some of the physical and emotional challenges faced in recent months, I find myself reluctant to say goodbye to the intensity of life here. The incredible mixture of persistent pain and extreme grace has kept me clinging desperately to Jesus while falling deeper in love with Him. Why would I take a break from that?

But that “other world” where I was born and raised is part of God’s purpose and plan, just as essential to my calling as language and culture acquisition in your world is. Rest and different ministry opportunities and time with family and friends are other ways in which Jesus will show me His abundant mercy and grace. 

So I’m already going.

As a culture that values family relationships and honor very highly, it is easy for you to understand that I miss my family. You have expressed your happiness that I will soon see them again. I love all of you dearly, but obviously I also love my parents and sisters and brothers and grandparents and nieces and nephews and church family and other friends, and it isn’t right to stay far away from all of them forever.

A nephew was born five months ago that I haven’t yet seen. I am excited to meet him and hold him and watch him grow. I am excited to once again spend family time with my family, as you have graciously allowed me to spend almost three years with yours.

All the accumulated memories and shared experiences and solid friendships have already caused me to cry repeatedly at the thought of saying good-bye. When I told some of you about my tears and sadness, it totally made sense to you. Why wouldn’t I cry? While I’m excited to see my family, obviously I’ll miss you like crazy while I am far away in their land. And of course you’ll miss me just as much, especially when you see my empty little house. Goodbyes are awful. Togetherness is precious.

To my four-year-old friend:

Yesterday I almost cried when you and your cousin were here playing with my toys and sucking lollipops and saying the cutest, funniest things that little boys could say, wishing I could store these moments away for safekeeping like the treasures they are.

When I come back, you and your cousin won’t be four anymore. How can I leave?

You are a master of sass and sarcasm, in a tonal language that lends itself to such. There are so many stories to tell of the many ways you have brought me joy.

Like the recent day when you looked down at your feet and then at mine, exclaiming, in your most sarcastic tone, “Your feet are STILL white?”

And I rolled my eyes and laughed with delight. Yes, small friend, my feet were white on the day I met you when you were one year old, (how is it even possible that you were just one and now you’re four?) and they were still white last year, and last month. They are still white today, and as much as I wish that the tropical sun would change their tone to a lovely shade of brown like your feet, my feet will most likely still be white when I see you again in nine months.

Because I’m on my way. If I don’t, I won’t get to see my bubbly, blonde niece, born just three weeks before you, while she is four.

Her personality is similar to yours in many ways, I think. Teller of stories, roller of eyes, one who delights in life and makes people laugh even when she isn’t trying to do so.

But I know your personality better than hers. I need to spend this season there, to be present in her life, and get to know all of my nieces and nephews again, after being separated for much too long. They are already counting down the days until their “Tia Paulette” arrives.

So on Saturday, I will tell each one of you that I’m already going.

And each of you will tell me. “Go.”

Some of you will add, “Go well.”

There will be tears on both sides. But it will be okay.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

This week will be difficult physically, as I know my back will rebel against all the cleaning and organizing and lifting that remains to be done. It will be difficult emotionally as all of us face the upcoming farewell.

I am thankful for the roots of friendship that have grown deep in our hearts, and can’t be uprooted by distance, or by wild pigs as often happens to the manioc root in your fields. It would be far more painful if you didn’t care that I was leaving, or if I was eager to get away from you.

Although it won’t be an easy week, it will still be a good week. We will treasure these last days together. We will fit in a few more study sessions, go to the gardens a couple more times, and sit around talking in our kitchens, reminiscing about the past and looking forward to the future. The opportunity to talk about goodbyes, relationships, language progress, dreams, the Bible and God’s work in our lives makes transitions so much easier than they used to be.

For while I cannot yet string your words together with perfection and skill, in the way you string beautifully-crafted coconut shell beads into traditional necklaces, at least I am finally able to string them together in grammatical and logical sequences that communicate thoughts and feelings and ideas in ways that can usually be understood.

Looking with wonder at one last cloud of Amazon butterflies.

After a few more heart-to-heart conversations and after the last goodbye, I will step into the leaky boat that normally smells like fish, cross the White River, and leave you, for now.

I’m already going. I’m on my way. Ã tere unkaliá.

The view right now from my kitchen table here at the mission base.  As of today I have exactly one week to get this apartment all cleaned, organized and packed up as well.

The Corn Speaks Again!

I am the corn.

Whatever this means for today, for 2019, and for the remainder of the days You give me on this earth…

Dear Lord Jesus, I am available!

Another year is just about over; 365 days of adventures with Jesus to treasure up and ponder. Just like the last day of 2017 and 2016, this morning found me trekking through the jungle with friends, harvesting corn from their gardens and watching them work long hours to prepare tasty traditional dishes.

As usual, I reflect on the work of God in my heart and life, thanking Him for His good gifts of joy and suffering in 2018.

Please check out this story I wrote that was published online by Ethnos360, along with a few pictures from our village, including one of a dear friend.

And The Ear of Corn Speaks!