The Gift

Like many little American girls, my Ellie had acquired a large collection of Barbie dolls, clothes, furniture and other accessories. To be honest, it’s the kind of stuff I dreamed of having when I was little. As the parents, I don’t think we purchased one piece of her collection…before leaving the US we had been against the idea of Barbie. (Poor self-image, etc.)

Just before leaving the US, a dear friend gave Ellie her first Barbie doll…and that was just the beginning! In Mexico, another dear friend gave Ellie…well, just about everything a girl could want for her Barbie. There were at least 8 Barbie dolls…with a variety of hair and eye colors. There were 3 Ken dolls, in case the brothers wanted to play too. There were more clothes than a girl could ever wear!

For the last 18 months or so this collection has been a blessing to us in ways we couldn’t have imagined. It provided a starting point for Ellie to invite other little girls from our village to play. She has often given away a doll and a change of clothes to someone who visited our home. I’ve been amazed to watch generosity sprout from my little girl as she gives away her favorite doll.

As Ellie is about to turn 7, she has decided that she’s outgrown her Barbies. (Well, all but the three who now reside under bed in her treasure box.) So, we boxed everything up and took them to a family with 5 daughters and 2 nieces.

I was feeling happy about the “generosity” we were displaying…as well as the fact that we were getting rid of a LOT of toys. (After all, Christmas is almost here and we’ll be giving our kids new toys, right?) As we sat and visited with the families who were receiving the dolls, the kids started pulling out toys and joyfully playing.

But then, two little ones were fighting over Ken! One had a hold of his leg and the other the head! They were yanking and crying. The parents were smiling and nodding. Inside, I was cringing! Aren’t they going to say anything to these kids to stop fighting before they break the toys?!?

And then Ken’s head rolled across the floor.

No matter. Army Man was pulled out next. And the scene was replayed. And again, the parents said nothing. Just smiled.

Inside, I wanted to scream. We just gave these kids toys and they are all about to be pulled apart. Destroyed. Wasted.

I said a silent prayer, giving it all over to God. It was a gift after all and I can’t take it back. And I can’t tell them how to play. I can’t discipline these children.

A few days later, the memory of Ken’s head rolling across the floor came fluttering back to my mind. Only this time, God reminded me of His Gift. His Son. Given for mankind. He was beaten, scourged, spit upon and finally crucified. God didn’t take His Gift back just because the people didn’t receive it appropriately.

As I pondered this illustration, God also reminded me that His Word will not return void. Recently I’ve been discouraged over the work here. We have shared His Story with so many and they enjoy it for a time, but we have yet to see it take root in their hearts. God showed me that I must not grow negligent, but I have to keep sharing the Gift, even if it doesn’t appear that the Gift is being received appropriately.

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts,

Nor are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

So are My ways higher than your ways

And My thoughts than your thoughts.

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,

And do not return there without watering the earth

And making it bear and sprout,

And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;

So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth;

It will not return to Me empty, without accomplishing what I desire,

And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”

Isaiah 55:8-11

Sunday Travel

 
 What does Sunday morning look like? When we lived in Idaho, Sunday morning meant getting up and getting myself and four little ones “ready” for church…nice clothes, Ellie’s hair done nice, nice shoes…details. But living in Pine Hill, getting “ready” has changed a little. Often the kids (and I) wear mud boots. And we don’t wear “nice” clothes.

Our drive to church is only 8 miles…but it takes at least an hour to get there! Sometimes, as we drive along, I think about how I would love to show off where we live. It’s really hard to explain, but they say a picture is worth a thousand words, right?

So this week, I took some pictures to give an idea of what we see and experience.

We are blessed with beautiful clouds when it's not raining!

It had rained earlier in the week.

We passed lots of mud puddles.

Once we get to Saint Paul, then we have a short walk to the church building.

This waterhole ... what can I say?
We have to pass on the edge of it!

We don't always make it through the mud without falling.
In fact, we often arrive at church with mud.

Teresa, Pedro, and Clay

At the end of the day...scrubbing the mud!

How Being a Missionary Has Changed My Life…Part Two

 

Earlier this year I was contemplating how my life has changed since we moved to Mexico, and sometimes the changes make me laugh…and sometimes they make me want to cry.

 

1. Not only am I a hoarder, but I’m a Recycler. Now, I don’t mean that I save my tin cans and plastic to put in the special recycling bin for the garbage man to pick up. I mean that I reuse zip lock bags, empty toilet paper rolls, the elastic out of a pair of worn out shorts, etc. I turned my favorite pair of pants into a skirt. Prior to living in a rural village in Mexico, I would have thrown out the holey pants and headed to the clearance rack at Ross or Eddie Bauer.
2. I wear plastic shoes. I owned a pair of Crocs once in the States. I justified it because I was pregnant and my feet were swollen. Now I have “dressy Crocs,” which my husband says is an oxymoron. (But, Crocs have expanded their business since I was last pregnant.) Now I have cute high heel Crocs and another pair of “Mary Jane” Crocs. To complete my village footwear, I have rain boots and multiple pairs of flip flops…all can easily be hosed off and left to dry after a good rainstorm.
3. Pediatric Check-ups? In the U.S., our children were taken for “well-child” visits as often as prescribed by our pediatrician. Now our pediatrician is 4 hours away…and is only seen when absolutely necessary. We know what scabies look like. We know how to detect and treat ear infections. We know the common symptoms for salmonella, giardia, and amoebic infections. And we know the power of prayer.
4. Talking to Mom. In the U.S. I talked to my mom at least once a week, if not more often. Now we’re happy to talk twice a month! We hope that we can have cell coverage in our village someday…or satellite internet.

 

 

Homesick

I really hate to say that I’m “homesick” because that’s not exactly true. My home is in Chiapas, Mexico, surrounded by the noise and energy of my four kids and husband. Home is where the heart is, and I love Chiapas and the ZK people.

October marks when this “homesick” feeling starts to sink into my heart. I miss the colors, smells, and tastes of autumn in the United States…the leaves changing colors, the smell of cinnamon and pumpkin spice, drinking apple cider.

By November, Clay knows not to be too concerned if he catches me wiping tears from eyes. (Don’t get me wrong. He gives me an understanding hug, and waits to see if I want to talk.)  I get emotional, thinking about family and the holidays. My Dad’s birthday was in November, and I always get a little sad. And Thanksgiving was the last time I saw my Dad laughing and living.

Then there’s December…one of the happiest months of the year as we approach the celebration of Christ’s birth. But it’s a bittersweet time because it marks when Dad passed from this world into heaven. Eleven years have passed, and I keep wondering when it will get easier.

On top of those hidden heartaches, are the thoughts of all the family get-togethers that we’ve missed over the last three years…the birthdays, the Sunday dinners, the funerals, and the everyday stuff. I miss my family.  I’m sad that I haven’t been able to “be there” when loved ones have been going through their own heartaches. I’m sad that my kids are growing up without memories of playing with their cousins or sleep-overs at Grammy’s house.

I know it’s all worth it. I know that our sacrifice on earth is small in comparison to the sacrifices others have made. I know that the ZK people need to know Jesus. And His sacrifice was the greatest, to ransom many.

Pray for our family during the holidays. Yes, we’re making our own new holiday traditions, and it’ll be special for our children too. Pray that we can focus on the joy of the season.

This Week in Baseball

I remember as a kid watching “This Week in Baseball.” They showed the greatest plays, the incredible catches, and the most embarrassing bloopers.

Sometimes I wish I could view “This Week in Ministry.” I’d love to see the greatest testimony, the incredible life-changing moments, but maybe not the most embarrassing bloopers. I admit, I’ve had a few where I felt like I’d messed up. I missed a chance. I said the wrong thing. (But I think I’d like to see the bloopers of my friend Laura…and I think she’d probably love sharing! She’s the one who offered the “massage” of Jesus once instead of the “message.”)

But to share about that one person whom you’ve prayed for and cried out to God about…and to see their life change. To see them leave behind the idolatry, the abuse, the vices. To see them choose life.

So far, I don’t have many victory stories to share about our work in Pine Hill. Sure, we have our small victories. But we’re still waiting for those big moments. We’ve had the drunk guy that finally showed up sober and he committed to serving the One True God. But a week later he was gone. He had left to find work in the city. When he did finally come back, he was right back in his old vices, with little hope of conquering the demon that kept pulling him back down.

And then there was the Sunday morning that two people prayed, proclaiming Jesus as Lord of their lives. When Clay went to look for them the following week, they were nowhere to be found.

Sometimes we talk about the “Big Screen” when we get to Heaven…you know, watching the Creation or maybe when Elijah was taken up in the chariot. I’m sure it’s just a dream, but wouldn’t it be great? And then to watch those moments when you shared the Gospel with a friend, or a stranger. And then to watch what happened next…how the verses you shared penetrated their heart and they knelt down and cried out the Lord when no one was watching.

It reminds me of the testimony of a friend. He arrived at a church in Texas one night. He was high, but the Word of God penetrated his heart so profoundly that he accepted Christ right then. The pastors at the church never heard or saw him again and never knew the sincerity of his prayer that night. But his life was never the same. He never once turned back to his vices. Instead, he ended up in Mexico as a missionary. Years later one of the pastors from that church in Texas also ended up in Mexico as a missionary. Imagine the surprise when those two met at a Christmas party…

I’m sure that’s what heaven will be like. We’ll meet up with people that we once knew, never having known the impact they had in our lives. And won’t it be beautiful!

And so we carry on, planting seeds and trusting the Lord.

Pray…Give…Go!

Yep, it’s that time of year again when we start talking about Lottie Moon and the Christmas offering associated with her name. Charlotte Moon, known to all as “Lottie” was a missionary to China around the turn of the 20^th Century. She gave her all to the people she served, including her life. She also gave her all to unite women “back home” in the cause of missions. Today, we remember her sacrifice as we give so that the Gospel can be shared around the world.

In December, SBC churches collect the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering (LMCO). I want to ask you to consider giving more this year than you have in the past. Lottie literally gave everything, including her life. She served in China and she saw the poverty that surrounded her. She gave her food to the Chinese people she loved, to the point that she starved herself.  It was Christ, incarnate. Christ loved the people she served. And so did Lottie.

What are you willing to give? Often as North Americans, we indulge ourselves by buying that special chocolate bar or that gourmet coffee. Are you willing to “sacrifice” that special treat? Are you willing to step it up a notch and give until it hurts? Consider a “rice and beans” night once a month, or once a week to understand the hunger that others live. (Give the money you would have spent on dinner to missions! http://www.imb.org/giving/)

Are you willing to make some drastic changes to your lifestyle? Would you consider focusing on an unreached people group (UPG) for a month? Or longer? For more information on UPG and UUPG (unengaged, unreached people groups) see http://www.peoplegroups.org/ 

If you’re up to the challenge, here are a few things you could do:

·         Research the People Group. Where do they live? What language/s do they speak? What is their typical diet? What has impeded them from knowing the Gospel? Are there currently believers that work among them?

·         Have a Culture Night in your home. Set your table with typical decorations from the country. Serve a meal that would be typical. Learn how to say a greeting in their language.

·         Present your “cause.” Find a local AWANA group or Sunday School class who might be interested in knowing more. Present the information that you have gathered. Challenge them to get involved too!

·         Pray! Pray daily for the People Group. Pray that God will open doors for a missionary to contact the people. Pray that a man or woman of peace will welcome the missionary into the community. Pray that the Gospel will be made known in the community and that the people will accept the Truth. Consider fasting once a week.

Beyond praying and giving, what else is God calling you to do? Is He trying to convince you to “go” and tell others? Who do you know that doesn’t know Jesus as Lord? What are you doing about it?

A brief explanation...

A brief explanation...


We often write, asking you to pray for "Pine Hill" and "St. Paul." We give names like "F" and "B." Why don't we give you real names?


We are protecting our people and the work that's being done. Although the ZK people have welcomed us in to their communities, there are sometimes others who want to "protect" indigenous groups from any changes in their way of living. They will do internet searches just to see if there are missionaries working in specific areas. Then they will contact a friend from that area and incite them to complain. We have heard of missionaries who were kicked out of areas for this reason.


Names that are common, like "Berta" or "Juan" we share. But names that are more unique we only use an initial. Again, it's for their protection. If someone accepts Christ, they face possibly being ostracized, or worse, from family or neighbors. Some people have faced forms of persecution just because they come to our house.


So, please continue to pray for "RW" and "F" and "B." God knows exactly who you're praying for!