Not Just a Trip (In Which I Tell You About Something Amazing)

Two years later and I can still feel the gritty dirt between my toes and the scorching equatorial sun burning into my lily white arms.

It's morning and I roll to the side of the creeking wood framed twin bed scooched next to my husband's same creeking wood framed twin bed and place unmanicured cracked and dirty feet on the cool cement floor. I hear the nuns across the yard singing morning prayers. I put the kettle on our makeshift stove as I pray over an unknown day as peaceful harmonies rise heavenward.

They say that New York City is the city that never sleeps but Ganta has not hushed once in the night with hollers of joy over a football game that saw Barcelona victorious and indistinguishable screams carried on Liberian winds from somewhere deep in the bush- places that we dare not go with our white skin.

The electricity won't come on until long after we've bumped down the road to our office. We will greet the guards and pray the internet works. We'll also pray for our stomach's sake that the man in town will have only used half a gallon of palm oil to make our egg sandwiches today.

We lived to the rhythms of Africa. The beautiful, violent, raw rhythms that made our life there. 

When we finally returned home to the familiar we were asked, "Did you have a good trip?" I had to choke back tears and indignation. Some folks thought we had just gone on a bit of a holiday, a couple of do gooders done with their good and now home. Most people just didn't know how to ask so I quickly realized I couldn't hold it against them.

But that place, the place God called us, left us utterly rearranged. 

We've been taught to see those serving for the sake of the Gospel overseas as super-spiritual. We've fooled ourselves that they are a different breed, and in some ways they very much are, but in many ways they are not. They've chosen the path of most resistance and sometimes their own hearts can falter on that path. I saw mine falter over and over.

Some days it was simply the simple stuff that made the hard places- like the days when James at our favorite town market didn't have the potatoes or the drunk chicken man (another story for another day) was out of frozen chickens or the days when stepping out our front door just felt like stepping onto another planet where we were undoubtedly strangers.

There was also the day that we buried a friend's young son. Malaria. Again. And when I say buried I mean we paid for his burial because the family couldn't afford it. That isn't a fact we brag about, that is reality and it was hard and I heard my husband choke up in a way that I never had that day. That is the hard that leaves you changed. The hard that makes you a different person, unable to put it into words.

Then there was the loneliness. The distance  from the ease of Western life and of family and friends within a day's driving distance. The lack of fellowship with others. The difficult working relationships even with other believers. The toll it can take on a marriage. The toll it can take on the body. The days of uncertainty and oh, the puking. Yes, there was the getting pregnant and throwing up on an unlucky goat on the side of the road.

The days when I wished to be anywhere, but where I was. 

God took my weaknesses and He used the guise of overseas work to expose it under a magnifying glass. He peeled back each layer and laid my heart bare on the shores of West Africa. He made me a stranger in a foreign land to show me that this life, this desperate scraping to live righteous and straight, is all just wandering in a foreign land.

So when we came home and we were asked about how our trip was you can understand the offense. It wasn't a trip. It was our life and it was good and hard and a million other things, but it wasn't a trip.

This is where I get to the point of this story, because my faithful readers know that I always have a point. 

I'm going to talk plainly for a second because I want you to hear me loud and clear.

There are women on the field right now living the life I just described and the Church has made them into superheroes, but reality is that they are reluctant grace needy strugglers who need buckets of encouragement. They need you and me to reach across the miles with words and soul strengthening hope to wrap them in love. Love that will push them and pull them on to life where they are and doing what they are called to. They are single women, wives, young mamas, and older women and they need a space to connect.

I was praying for these women just last week and the very next day I stumbled (Thanks Lisa-Jo) across a new website and project with a vision to bring reality to the idea that my heart was sprouting. Danielle Wheeler of Not Yet There unfurled the dream of making an online community for women serving overseas. I read this and said, "Yes! Yes!" right away!

We're calling it Velvet Ashes (more about the name later) and it is going to be a home for all of us scattered across the globe. One home to come to and find connection with other women walking the same nitty gritty path of hard obedience in a foreign land. 

There is just one thing. We need to raise the funds to make the website happen. The goal is this Fall and we're making progress, but we need more folks to catch this vision and put a bit of money where their heart is.

Could you dig between the cushions on your couch or forgo a dinner out to make this happen for hundreds, maybe thousands of women that are starving for connection from the places they serve on the field? If you can then click on over to the Velvet Ashes Fundly page and donate right now! 

Then head over and give the Velvet Ashes Facebook page a like so that you know when we reach our goal!

My heart is literally racing thinking about the women who need the encouragement that I believe the Velvet Ashes community, by God's grace, is going to bring. Let's make this happen friends.

Read more about my family's new work here in the U.S. and all the gritty details of our time in Liberia on our family blog.

A Guest Post for the (in)motherhood Ladies (or anyone else who reads!)

Today I've got a dear friend writing on the walls around here. Linda and I connected a few years back before my own family made a journey to Africa. She has been the bearer of encouragement and grace to my mama hungry heart on more than one occasion. I invited her to offer her story here for the women of (in)motherhood to read. The benefit is that her words will be read by anyone who drops by today. I hope you're as blessed and inspired by her beautiful heart as much as I am.

Blessings,

“Becoming a mama will hurt and the job is anything but easy (don’t believe the glossy ads),” writes Jessica Hoover, “but it will also make you more whole than you ever knew if you let God work grace in you and through you to its fullest.”

In only 15 months of motherhood Jessica had pinned down what it took me years to figure out.

So now, on the other side of motherhood, I assure you: Jessica is right.

Growing up, my priority dream was to be a mother so I was thrilled when I became pregnant and loved every part of it, even morning sickness.

But I was in for a surprise, starting with excessive tearing and blood loss. And like all new mothers, I dealt with sleep deprivation, exhaustion, chaos, inadequacy, and impatience. And questions: “Why didn’t God make women so that when they got pregnant, they grew another arm?!”

A season for radical, selfless love

But God, in His grace, gave me perspective: There’s a time and season for everything (Ecclesiastes 3:1), and I was in a short season. It was a time for giving radical, selfless love. (That gave me my first real glimpse of God’s radical selfless love, and that of my mother when I was a newborn. It was my turn to pass it on to baby Matt.) That perspective gave me hope and kept me going.

To do my mothering well, I had to make choices to do the job right. My husband and I chose to live frugally so I could be a stay-at-home mom. He was going to college full-time but was willing to also hold down a full-time job, bless his heart. 

Despite the 24/7 workload, I adored little Matt and marveled at God’s matchless gift. By the time his sister, my beloved Karen, was born, I had a more settled perspective on the radical, selfless love of motherhood.

A season for selfless, committed love

Sometimes mothering my young children felt unrewarding and I felt unappreciated (which gave me a glimpse of how God must feel about our response to His loving care).

I had entered motherhood during the feminist movement when vocal women bad-mouthed men, marriage, and motherhood. They said we should find our worth and fulfillment in careers outside our homes.  They scorned stay-at-home moms. Social pressure was intense.

Many young mothers joined the movement but I chose to live among the despised.

Why? Because of a burning commitment not to just mothering, but to mothering well which, I believed then and now, was a high calling from God.

I chose to live among the despised because while I was pregnant with Matt, this haunted me: In high school and college, some of my best church friends got into drugs and alcohol and messed up their lives—even though their parents seemed to do everything right. That really scared me. I didn’t want my kids to go astray. 

God impressed upon me that I had to raise my kids right the first time around. I wouldn’t get a second chance at it. God reinforced my perspective:  I was in a season, a time for selfless, committed love. God had given Matt and Karen to me as precious gifts and I needed to steadfastly carry out His high calling.  For that season, mothering was my career priority.

After the kids started school, sometimes I worked part-time outside the home but mothering remained my career priority: I always arranged to be home when the kids were home because God gave me this perspective: after the kids grew up, I’d have many years to enjoy a career and pastimes. God gave me peace in that perspective and that led to a sense of worth and fulfillment. My role in that season as Matt and Karen’s mother was my joy, my delight, my privilege.

A season for selfless, contented love

The time came when every newspaper, magazine, and TV ad told me my possessions were not good enough, new enough, or the right color. I wanted a bigger, newer house with matching furniture. I wished I didn’t drive an old car. I wanted more of the American Dream. That required money and that meant I’d need a full-time job.

God didn’t give me peace, though, about keeping up with the Joneses. Bible verses leaped off the page: Don’t long for material things. Don’t accumulate possessions; they only wear out and have no lasting value. (Hebrews 13:5, Matthew 6:19).

God really zinged me with what Jesus said in Matthew 6:32. Money and possessions are what pagans run after! Pagans! Did I want to act like a pagan?!

“Watch out!” Jesus said, “your life isn’t defined by the abundance of your possessions!” (Luke 12:15)

Instead, he urged us to make God the center of our lives, our first priority, and said, “Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met” (Matthew 6:33, The Message).

Again God helped me with perspective: I was in a season, a time for selfless, contented love. While my children lived in my house, they were my priority. I chose to focus less on material possessions, live within our means, and be content with the house and furniture we owned. That was God’s high calling for that season.

Don’t get me wrong: I was not a perfect mother. I made mistakes and have asked my kids for forgiveness, but, by God’s grace, Matt and Karen are remarkable adults. I know, I know—I’m their mother and I’m biased, but people I’ve never met have publicly acknowledged they are exceptional. 

My heart rejoices at what God has done.  

But hear me on this: Even if my kids hadn’t turned out well, I’d still know I hadn’t chosen selfish or material pursuits over my children. I’d still know I had done everything I could to raise them well.

A season for extra-radical, selfless, committed, contented love

{A special note to the single mamas among us}

Most, if not all, of you single moms don’t have the option I did: I got to stay home full time when my kids were little and part time once they entered school. But because I was raised by a single mom, I have some understanding of your situation.

After my father moved out, Mom worked like crazy as an elementary teacher to feed, clothe, and shelter my little brothers and me. She made many personal sacrifices to do so. She was in a season of selfless, committed love.

Mom did her best to carry out what is near and dear to God’s heart: to care for the fatherless, the vulnerable, needy, and powerless—those things recorded in the Bible from cover to cover. God also tells us not to turn away from our own flesh and blood (Isaiah 58:7). My brothers and I were innocent children, too young to protect and provide for ourselves, and God called Mom to focus on meeting our needs.

But she did more than meet our financial needs: She raised us in a happy home, a secure home, a fun and God-centered home.

Now, single moms, listen up: You are doing what my mother did. You’re doing what’s near and dear to God’s heart: You are caring for the fatherless, the vulnerable, needy, and powerless. You are caring for innocent children, too young to protect and provide for themselves. You are providing for your own flesh and blood.

Because I was and am so blessed by my mother’s commitment to God-honoring mothering, I really mean it when I say I applaud you single moms for doing your best for your kids emotionally, spiritually, and financially.

Let me say that again: I believe God will honor you single moms for your commitment to responsibly provide for your children.

Why do I believe that? Because by meeting your kids’ significant needs right now, you’re doing what the Bible describes as true worship, the kind acceptable to the Lord. Furthermore, God promises that if you fill needs of the vulnerable and needy, He will meet your soul’s needs—He will strengthen you and give you a full life—in dry and empty places. You’ll be like a well-watered garden and a spring that never runs dry. (Be sure to read Isaiah 58:6-11.)

I encourage you to remember: This is just one season of your life, a time for giving extra-radical, selfless, committed love.

Pray like crazy, trust God to take care of both your physical and spiritual needs, stay focused. Lavish your kids with love. Make your home happy, secure, fun, and God-centered. Take lots of deep breaths.

So, precious young mothers, I leave you with these thoughts:

• Give God and His purposes priority.

• He created your child in your womb—each eyelash, kneecap, fingernail; the unique way he’d laugh and she’d sneeze; the shape of her ears; his ability to sing. God has a detailed plan for each child’s life, (Psalm 139:13-16; Psalm 138:8) and in giving you that child, God has called you to partner with Him by being the best mother you can be.

• Choose selflessness over selfishness; place God-given responsibilities above your own pleasures.

• Your children will live in your house for a season, only a few brief years.

• Do your mothering right the first time; you can’t go back and do it differently a second time.

• What you do today and next week will determine whether you have regrets in the future.

• Hugs your kids and tell them every day that you love them.

• Keeping up with the Joneses and pursuing the American Dream are often in conflict with a life committed to God. Like Jessica said recently, the American Dream is too small! Pursue God-sized dreams!

• After your kids grow up, you can pursue any number of things. (Indeed I have. That’s a picture of me swinging on a vine in the Kakamega Rainforest in East Africa at the bottom of the page.)

• Pray every day, study the Bible, and train your children in the way they should go. That is your high calling from God.

• God is good and He has good plans for you and your children!

Whether you’re a stay-at-home mom or a mom that works outside the home, Beth Moore’s words will bless you. She addresses those, like you, who minister to those who “don’t have much to give back.” She says, “The satisfied soul is never a more beautiful display of God’s splendor than when willing to empty self for the lives of others.” (Breaking Free)

Remember, motherhood can make you more whole than you can imagine if your heart’s desire is God and living in His grace. 

 P.S. Don’t yell at your kids because … ahem … Have you ever yelled at them while you’re standing in front of a mirror? Is that how you want them to remember you?!

Linda and her husband worked with Wycliffe Bible Translators for three years in South America and eight years in Africa. Linda's memoir, Grandma's Letters from Africa, covers her first four years there. A former Teaching Leader with BSF International (Bible Study Fellowship), she now teaches memoir classes based on Deuteronomy 4:9, "Always remember what you've seen God do for you, and be sure to tell your children and grandchildren!" She also offers writing tips and inspiration at her blog, Spiritual Memoirs 101.

A Brave New Neighborhood

I grew up on the same road that four generations had lived and breathed out their lives on. A row of houses squeezed in between sprawling fields of cotton, tobacco and soybeans. I ran barefoot across my yard and climbed the squatted cherry trees and never worried for a second about the neighbors because most of them were family or forever friends. The older folks on the street would invite me in for lemonade and an oatmeal creme pie on hot Carolina afternoons and I wouldn't think twice about slipping myself behind their worn wooden kitchen tables for a snack. Loving my neighbors meant just being known and my neighbors all looked the same. Southern. White. Church-folk.

I moved away as soon as my car was fueled up and the ink on my high school diploma was dry.  I journeyed out of state for college and never found my way back to Quarry road. I've now lived all over the Old North State and overseas on African shores. I discovered that when Jesus said to "Love your neighbor as yourself" He wasn't necessarily talking about the person next door. He meant everyone, everywhere, every second. But often for us it really is our own neighbors that need love, that need Christ. Regardless, they are often the folks that we avoid in our culture that trains us to view privacy as our sacred cow.

Very few of us still live on the same road with our same family ties that we were bound to as children. We're a generation of gypsies and often we land in neighborhoods with no one around that we know. Our neighborhoods look vastly different from the ones that we grew up in thirty plus years ago. Even in the South we don't often live side by side with people that look and sound like us anymore. From our church seats we're instructed to be missionaries and take the Gospel to the ends of the earth, but for some of us the ends of the earth have come to us in our subdivisions and we've labeled our neighbors as "different".

We live toe to toe with Afghanis, Burmese, Liberians, Somalians, Laotians, and every flavor of Latin culture. Every tribe and tongue are on our front doorsteps, but we often shut the door to keep their noisy music and the smelly unidentifiable aromas out. The aroma of the Gospel is the same in every culture and the language of grace can be spoken by anyone who has ears to hear.  You will probably never visit Nepal, but what if Nepal came to you and lived right down the street with children the same age as your own? The nations are just on the other side of our front door, but most of us are guilty of shutting the door and double locking it. Some of us are itching to move. We are itching for our neighbors to move. We would rather talk about how much they bring down the property value of our home than talk to them face to face about where they come from and dare to find out how we are the same.

It isn't just ethnicity that creates a barrier. As a Southerner I am privy to the use of the term "trailer trash" or "white trash". I've used it in conversation. I won't lie about that fact. It is a term that encompasses a lot of folks and in conversation a raised eyebrow and the repeating of that phrase creates a universal definition with a common understanding. Like the Jeffersons some folks born on the poorer side of the tracks are some times able to move on up to nicer neighborhoods. Some of them live next door to you and you're contemplating moving because of that fact.

Might I ask you to think twice before you put your home on the market? 

You worry about your kids safety. I get that. It's legitimate and I'm not proposing we all move to areas with known meth houses. You are just plain annoyed with your neighbor's disrespect and disregard for common civility. I get that. Their destructive dog has torn up your yard one to many times. Our world is topsy turvy and bad things happen and they often happen to us at home. What I am proposing is that we let our guard down a bit and we lower our holier than thou standards to see those around us not as a label, but as a needy soul in desperate want of grace.

Last summer at the beach I had a discussion with one of my nieces after I said something I really shouldn't have about an encounter with some people who were different from us. What I said was not edifying and certainly didn't represent a heart changed by the Gospel and ready to extend that to others. I realized as I was saying thoughtless words that I was being ungracious to say the least and started back pedaling and trying to undo the damage to my sweet niece's thinking that I probably incurred, but this missionary mama realized really quick that no matter how long we lived in West Africa it doesn't change my hearts hard bent toward self-righteousness.

I don't engage those next door because the fear that takes up residence in my heart stops me. It isn't the resident down the street that repels me from loving. It is the fear residing in my own bones that stops me short of extending grace and truth to the people cooking dinner, washing cars, nursing babes, planting flowers, raising kids, riding bikes, and watching sports right down the street.  People that might be more like us than we ever imagined if we'd get brave enough to knock on their doors and peak behind the curtains. 

The mission field has come to us in our neighborhoods. My family is about to move to a new town, a new set of neighbors and it would be easy to stay inside with the shutters drawn. If I am honest that is the easy route. The method of neighboring that is most comfortable to me; you live your life, I'll live mine. We'll get along just fine. The Gospel calls us to more. More grace. More tolerance for the unkempt lawn. More boldness in sharing Christ. More love when the neighbor's kid shoots our cat with his pellet gun. More compassion for all that goes on behind closed doors that we may never know about. If we leave these neighborhoods who will bare the "more" to hurting hearts in need of the sweet balm of the Gospel?

Friends, the fields are ripe for the harvest. Fewer and fewer of us are willing to labor. Many of us would rather pack up the farm and move away. Don't. Ask for Jesus' eyes to see those around you. It might just change the whole world. It might just change you. At the very least it will change your perspective.