Popped Balloons

I'm sitting on the couch with my babies asleep and some coffee beside me.  It would be an ordinary Friday morning if there weren't boxes scattered across my family room.  Instead of going to the park or grocery shopping tomorrow we are leaving Serrano Village and locking up for the last time.  I thought that holding off as long as possible to write that last sentence would make it easier... nice try Kel, it didn't work.  I don't really know what this entry will look like, and unlike most other posts I do not have a progression in mind or some themes I'd like to hit on.  This one is just me saying things out loud because it's time...

I'm sad.  This place grabbed a hold of my heart the moment we started moving.  The refugees flocked to us and random people who'd never met us and had no reason to love us started hauling boxes into our apartment.  An hour later an Iraqi lady came with a plate of fresh baked goodies and told us welcome and she loved us.  Our kids were the talk of the village, and everywhere we went they were scooped up and ushered into apartments to visit with others... my participation was optional.  From the start people opened up their lives to us and I felt safe, trusted and loved in a matter of days. 

It's no secret that this road has been rough, and it didn't consist of delightful plates of middle-eastern pastries and warm home-visits hearing people's life story.  Life has been hard and whether it was external circumstances or things brewing inside our four walls, we were stretched to our personal limits and when the balloons popped we got to see what we were made of.  I haven't thought through this analogy so give me grace if it's awful... but I'm sticking with this popped balloon idea.  I believe that in God's goodness and great love for me He let the balloons in my life get blown up so big that they would burst and the contents would be splattered across the white walls for me to see.  God did that for me and I sit here with nothing but thankfulness for that.  It's in His mercy that He unveils broken things, things that won't survive without being popped and re-filled.

This last year of my life has forced me to press into God in ways I never knew that I wanted or needed.  I think some of my sadness in leaving is that life will become easy again, the hard lessons that rattle me to my core and change the way I see life and God will be lifted.  The pressure gauge will be eased and the desperate dependency to know the power and promises of the God I love will be tested.  Life will become much more comfortable again. 

Why am I crying about being comfortable?  Because my discomfort has brought me to my knees before God, it has brought me to the end of myself and caused my balloons to pop - revealing all the things I thought were okay that in fact were not.  I hated when the balloons popped, but in the aftermath I discovered a God who sat on the kitchen floor with me and held my hand as we looked together at the dirty walls.  He told me some things weren't my fault and He was so sorry that they happened... and other things He showed me were my attempt to make it on my own and yet others were flat out sin and selfishness.  All I know is that every popped balloon meant more freedom and a chance to start fresh with a God who will sit with me in my mess. I also met a God who was eager to wipe away the stains, to sit with me on my floor as we stared at beautiful white walls again, walls He will wipe clean time and time again if I need Him to. 

So... I guess this is it... not for my blog of course because the saga continues on in other ways.  But for this season, living and breathing refugees day in and day out, we say goodbye.  I've loved to hate it and hated to love it... and I know that pieces of my heart will forever dwell within these four walls. 

These tired ol' shoulders

It seems that whenever I sit down lately all I want to lead with is, "Well, it's been a hard few months... but we're still here!!".  But that's been my go-to opener for almost a year now. 

There's a heap of things going on... from our son's pending diagnosis with his muscular / neurological concerns to two broken and unhealthy adults trying to live life together and deal with issues we wouldn't have ever expected.  Oh and the village - can't forget that!  The people, their needs, the practices, the smells, the emergencies, and on and on... Real life has been inescapable, but believe me when I say that we have tried running fast and hard.  We have said without words that it's easier to feel numb, that it's less painful to fill the days with tasks and the nights with Netflix, and to hope that by the passing of pages on the calendar things will improve. 

We were wrong. 

What we have discovered is that being healthy and whole takes work, and you have to look backwards in order to move forward.  My new pastor's wife shared an analogy of a person rowing a boat pressing on powerfully in the water but their actually facing behind.  I'm realizing that I can't get this boat to make serious progress if I don't turn my darn seat around for awhile.  It's messy to ask the questions that bring up old scars, it's terrifying to pray that God would reveal the root of some major issues, and it's humbling to realize that in all of my efforts, we are still unraveling. 

I've had a beautiful few days with God as He has been showing me that this backpack full of boulders that I'm carrying were never intended for my shoulders.  Maybe it has been pride in thinking I could handle things, fix things, or process things on my own... or perhaps fear of handing this bag of boulders over to my God who I am still confused by, sometimes angry with, and perhaps keeping an arm's length away because it's deceivingly easier that way.  So rather than run to Him and joyfully cut off these straps that are breaking my back, I take painful step after painful step... trying to keep it all together, trying to present a pretty little package on the outside when the inside is a decaying mess.  My how He must look on me with sad eyes and a compassionate nod of his head... wondering when I will give up, deeply desiring to take that bag from me... a load I was never designed to carry.  

It's not the emotional act of letting go of my boulders, it's walking away without them and not picking them back up.  And I have sadly began to identify myself with this backpack that was killing me, and sit here wondering what my life looks like if I'm not managing my marriage, fixing my son, and relying on destructive coping mechanisms.  I don't know what it feels like to be free.  But I do know that freedom can be found, and chains that I've bound myself in can be loosed.  I believe there's health and wholeness ahead, but like everything worth having, it will be hard and messy... but the picture on the other side is me hauling the backpack I was designed to carry... full of promises and love, faith and trust.  Cotton balls of freedom perhaps :)

Uneaten Feasts

Like so many other things in life, we are doing the opposite of what Jesus said to do.  God hit me right between the eyes this morning as I stared at my blog and read the intro underneath the heading.  "...join us as we LIVE among them, LOVE them practically, and LIFT HIGH the name of Jesus".  We've certainly got the living among them part down, and sadly that in itself takes up most of our personal, emotional, and spiritual strength!  But what about loving them practically?  

What about how hard and inconvenient it is?  No one told us that.  What about when they just want to use you for what you know, or ask you about working the system for more money without having to work?  Or ask you to help them get out of government trouble when you told them beforehand not to lie on their taxes.  Do you help them?  What about when you plan big gatherings for special families only to have them not show up?  What about when the kids are mean or disrespectful with your belongings?  What if they make fun of your son who is behind in his development?  What do you do then?  

Loving people practically.  It's easier to write on a cute tagline than actually flesh out in real life. But the truth is, the picture of us living here and having to "deal" with these refugees and all of the annoying and sometimes hurtful things they do is just a clear picture of how Jesus has to deal with me daily.  I get upset that they are being dishonest on their taxes, like I've never manipulated anything for my own gain.  Or I get so mad that I warned them ahead of time that making a choice would come back to bite them, as if I have never heard God tell me no and did it anyways.  And I put forth effort to host them, I clean and cook and spend hours preparing a feast... to have my heart dashed.  So God has never laid out riches and blessings before me just to have me decide something else was more important?  And kids make fun of my baby... as if I have never pridefully judged someone thinking I'm better.

The only way we can be that "city on the hill" or the "light on the lamp stand" in spite of our emotions of frustration, hurt, or flat-out annoyance is to remember how incredibly gracious God is with us DAILY.  The lengths it takes Him to love us daily is far more than He is asking us to do for these refugees.  So when I am hurt or mad, instead of closing all of our blinds for a week and pretending to be "busy", God asks that we still be that city on a hill, a place people can look for unconditional love and grace.  A place that doesn't exist in their world.  A place that says they can stand us up ten times and leave us with uneaten feasts, but if they come on the 11th time, surely a feast will still be waiting in their honor.  He does it for me constantly, shame on me for saying they had their chance.  

Knee-Lift Reactions?

We all know how it goes when a doc taps your kneecap and up flies the bottom half of your leg. Not a thought enters your head, no time lapses between the tap and the reaction, and it’s as if you have no say.  There’s no pondering, or negotiating, or waiting to see if your leg will react.  It’s immediate and absolute, and your input wasn't part of the equation.

My pastor Jeff Jackson recently sent out an email challenging us to watch a youtube video of Pastor David Platt interviewing a young missionary to Uganda named Katie Davis.  After almost 45 minutes of hearing awe-inspiring/downright crazy stories of a young, single girl having spent a lot of time and heartache in the bush of Uganda, he asked if she thought what she was doing (adopting 14 orphans and she’s younger than 25!!) was radical.  She said NO.  She said it is seen as abnormal, but it shouldn’t be.  Through a grin that was overflowing from the springs of her heart she said that it was a natural response to what God had done for her.  She said, “How could I not?”. 

Nowadays we see a girl like Katie Davis and place her in an elite group of Christians that God has called in an extreme way and equipped with a special power to accomplish the radical things He asks her to do.  What we should see is another run of the mill Christian taking God at His word.  What we should see is a God worth sacrificing everything for.  We should see the God who can now reach abandoned children, befriend widows and feed the hungry.  We should see a woman so serious about her God that the woman in the story is a mere afterthought.  I’m sure Katie Davis wants to be seen that way.  But instead, we glorify the girl and think, “I could never do that”.  But her response is, “In light of what God has done for me, how could I NOT?”.

Enter in uncomfortable part of the blog…

If our spiritual “nerve-endings” in our “knees” were working, there wouldn’t be any more orphans left in our counties to adopt.  There wouldn’t be widows without a strong sense of family and love and acceptance. The sick would be prayed for.  The hungry would be fed.  The needy would be clothed.  The people in our lives would know, without a doubt, that we love them more than we love ourselves, our time, and our possessions; and we would show them that on a regular and practical basis.  We would live on little so we could give much. We would over-love regardless of the cost.  We would do all of the simple things that Jesus modeled and we would do it immediately and absolutely.  Because how could we not??  In light of all He's done for us, how could we not?

I called this post “knee-lift reactions”.  Instead of a knee-jerk, it seems like we often lift our knees slowly and steadily, inch by inch when we feel good and ready (myself included!).  Orphans are loose cannons that might have negative effects on our children... and talk about adoption being expensive!!  Widows… who even thinks about widows??  I know I don’t!  The sick?  They have hospitals.  The hungry?  Food shelters.  The needy?  Goodwill.  The homeless?  They’ll use the money for beer.  Or better yet, they got themselves into their situation… if I help them I will just be re-enforcing their choices.   We have reasoned God out of the picture completely, and the scariest part is, we've done it without even knowing it.

But what if we just reacted out of an inability to do otherwise?  What if our own comfort, time, money, or lives were so far removed from the equation?  After all, it is the love of our own selves that keeps us from showing the love of God.  If we took ourselves out of the picture, and focused solely on God, all of our lives would look like Katie Davis' in some form.  I'm not saying we should all fly to Africa on a one-way ticket, but David Platt put it beautifully by saying that God demands a blank check from us the moment we decide to bare His name.  It's not being radical, it's being obedient.  It shouldn't be extreme, it should be normal.  The underlying foundation of her life is an involuntary response to the saving grace of Jesus.  It's pure and simple.  It's a knee-jerk reaction, not a knee-lift with a step here and a step there.  It's immediate and absolute.  And it's out of a heart that says, "It hardly seems like enough God, but here ya go".  May WE be those people who when tapped, we react.  May we throw our comfort and desires at His feet, and exchange them for depths of fulfillment we wouldn't even dream possible.  

God ripped our rug

     We used to have a rug.  It was so pretty.  It was a big, sturdy rug.  We liked it so much that we moved from house to house with it.   We got it as a joint present to each other right after being married, and when we moved from our first house in California we brought it to Arizona, and then we put it in our last house as well.  Wherever we have gone, we have joyfully carted it along.  It was a big, pretty rug... and we wouldn't dare consider living without it. 

     This was no ordinary rug.  It wasn't what was on the design that made it special.  It wasn't the warmth on your feet, or the decor it brought to the room.  As our children grew it wasn't the comfort it brought to their crawling knees or toddling toes.  No... it was much more amazing than all of that.  It was underneath the rug that made it so special.  This rug had special power to take away our problems, to eliminate our stresses, and to bandage up the hurts.  It made the past seem perfect, the present satisfying, and the future exciting.  There was one rule though... you can put whatever you want under the rug, but you cannot take anything out.  

     This system was obviously working wonderfully, and why wouldn't it?!?  I mean, who wouldn't want a magical rug that could hide anything uncomfortable or unhealthy?  Sweep it under and just move on with the day!  Talk about ideal.  Well it wasn't until we moved into Serrano Village that things started to change (how many times have I said that?!).  We realized soon after arriving that our magical rug got ripped during the move in a few different places.  We tried to put the couch over one tear and the coffee table over another... but there wasn't enough covering that would reverse the damage and replenish the "magic".  Furthermore, when we lifted up the corner to put something under it, some of what we swept underneath came out of a rip!  UGH!!  After a few months of trying to work with this broken rug, we finally realized our efforts were in vain. 

     When we began this process in the Village with hundreds of refugees, we knew it would be a little about what happened because of us and a lot about what happened inside of us.  In this episode of our journey, God ripped our rug.  He is good, so he ripped our rug.  He is loving and deeply involved in our personal, day to day lives... so He ripped our rug.  On one hand I'm experiencing God in a sweet and gentle way, letting me work through things and know Him deeper so we can go further down this road.  But on the other hand, He is showing me that He is still GOD.  He is still righteous.  He is still the judge.  He is holy and He doesn't share my heart with unhealthy habits that sacrifice integrity for comfort.  He is God, and I'm glad He ripped our rug.  See ya rug, you were never as pretty as I made you seem, and I need you far less than I ever believed...

PAUSE!!!

Surrendering is sometimes very un-fun.  Yes, un-fun.  Yesterday I was sitting on my patio while the babies were sleeping and the chorus of a song came into my head that says, "In joyous surrender, with our eyes fixed on you..." and it actually made me shake my head 'no'.  Since I'm talking to God again (we had a dark spell for about a week) I told Him that at this juncture in life I reject the notion of surrender being joyous.  Right now it just sucks.  It's raw, uncomfortable, scary and affronting.  How else to say it besides simply un-fun.

Can real surrender be joyous?  Can we hold things precious and sacred to us and open those hands as an offering to God with joy?  If you can't does that make it less of an offering?  Does it matter if it's through tears and doubt and fear?  

Often in life we take something that is unfavorable and contrast it with something favorable.  Yes it's a hard season because _________, but at least we still have __________.  Generally both of these things are physical, which is normal because the most obvious trials or blessings are things that we can see.  But what happens when you've given the tangibles away?  What happens when you have trouble filling in the positive blank when you just look around at the reality of life.  The second blank ceases to be a something and is FORCED to become a someone.  We get Him.  We are forced to receive Him more fully, lean on Him more dependently, and seek Him like He really is here. 

This season has taught me that it's okay to question and it's okay to distrust God (did she really just say that?).  He can handle it.  And He knew that I would get here.  It would be ludicrous to leave my kids with someone I heard was a really neat guy who adopted all kinds of orphans, helped people recover from deadly diseases and went to sit with the elderly to read them stories and say, "Since I've heard you are such an awesome person, here are my kids... I'll just leave you guys alone!  Do with them whatever you see fit, you don't even need to ask me.  Good or bad, I'll just adjust, because I know you are right".  That would be silly in the physical realm of life... so why is it so bad to say PAUSE! in the spiritual realm when we just aren't comfortable?

So here I stand... paused.  I'm hand in hand with my God and we are halfway across the bridge.  We aren't looking behind or ahead, just pausing and taking in the beautiful landscape around us.  To the right is everything I've given Him, and if we keep walking left it's giving Him more.  It's my kids, it's our safety, it's whatever He sees fit.  He is quietly telling me things about Himself, loving on me and not judging me, telling me stories of times past, and confirming the reality that He dwells with me all of the time.  He is telling me often that He loves me unlike a love I have known.  He is letting me walk if I want to, and sit when I need to.  He is soft and sweet, understanding and patient.  He is my God whom I will follow to the other side, when I know Him more deeply and trust Him more fully.  And He is okay with that.  He is my God. 

One stinky heart

Today is day three of no hot water and I'm getting stinky.  I realized this morning as I was reading my bible that more than my outside body feeling the stink of no shower for 3 days... my heart was the one that seemed dirtier.  I sit here amazed at how far gone my perspective on life has become.  This attitude of entitlement is all-consuming, and when I don't get what I think I am due... my heart gets real stinky.  It's interesting that the things that I have had all my life (showers, shelter, clothes... nice, cute, appropriately sized clothes) somehow seem mandatory and flat-out deserved.  It is ugly, and He took my water to show me just how dirty my heart really is. 

God has been stretching us in ways we have never known... and I'm thankful on this morning that He has pulled back another layer of my heart by taking away a simple luxury like hot water.  When I was in Kenya, all the believers in our church came from the slum directly behind the church building.  They all bathed out of buckets with soap and cold water outside of their 12'x12' homes made out of concrete slabs and corrugated metal walls.  To this day I have never seen a clearer, more inspiring picture of hearts so in love with God and so confident in His sufficiency.  So many people here came from camp-life and had to be taught how a shower works... and I bet on this morning they are not griping about being unable to bathe.  They are adjusting and they are just getting on with the show.  I am writing a blog about it.  Oh Lord... clean my stinky, stinky heart.

This land was made for you and me

Ever wonder what it would be like to be torn from your home and forced to retreat to a border country in order to remain alive??  Your house and all of your possessions have been burned to the ground... family members and friends have been killed.  Not only is your home no longer an option, but your very country is now a hostile place to you and it is with great urgency that you get off of it's ground.  It's so far from reality for us that it seems more fitting in a movie.  Yet this is life for millions.  (Hey, on the movie note... watch Rambo (the one made in 2008).  Strong language, but a very real picture of the true story happening TODAY in Burma).

Tonight at midnight we will be receiving a family that fled Burma and has been living in a refugee camp on the Burma/Thailand border.  After they land, Ledi, a Congolese case worker will greet them and bring them to their new home at Serrano Village.  She will show them how the showers work, how to use the dish soap, how to use the toilet... that they each have a bed to sleep in.  Then, around 2 or 3 a.m., she will leave and they will be left alone in this strange place to begin picking up the pieces of their shattered lives.

If you have ever been overseas and plopped right in the middle of a foreign land, you know the unnerving feeling of having all of your comforts and abilities to navigate stripped away.  In many cases, English is spoken in most airports and large cities in the world.  Sadly for our new neighbors, they have no English skills.  Imagine the shock -- liken it to being dropped into Beijing.  You cannot read the signs, ask anyone for help... you don't even know how to buy groceries!!  The result is a group of people that are accustomed to community and using their hands to make a living now trapped by fear inside of an apartment week in and week out.  The mental and emotional impact in the days, weeks and months ahead in the lives of each new arrival will bring them just short of insane.  I'm not exaggerating... many refugees struggle with alcoholism and suicide as a numbing alternative to their new reality. 

So what does all of this mean for us?  I suppose one thing we can all do is search our hearts regarding our feelings toward "immigrants" or people who now call America home for whatever reason.  It is true that many come in search for a better life... but some come in search of keeping life.  "This land is your land, this land is my land... this land was made for you and me" -- can you say in your heart that you would have a smile on your face that stretched down to your heart if you sang this to an Asian person who didn't speak a word of English?  And as far as you could tell didn't have any drive to learn it?

The truth is that at some point all of our families came here to improve the future for the generations to come.  Yet because many of us feel so American, we can quickly look at people from other nations and feel a sense of selfishness and dominion that clouds our ability to feel compassion and simple kindness.  Have you ever pondered that you could have been born into a war-torn village in the middle of Iraq?  Or even more controversial... in the middle of a crime-ridden, disease-infested, gang-dominated colonia in Mexico?  As a mother, I would be lying if I said I wouldn't do anything in my power, including breaking the law, to move my family to a place with safe neighborhoods where my kids could walk to school without fear of being killed.  We can forget that in the middle of these political arguments lie people.  People.  People with hopes and dreams.  Not of a nice retirement or good colleges for their kids,  but survival.  Just survival.  Let us search our hearts when we see these "intruders" in our country... and remember it isn't our country, it's God's, and He gives and takes away.  Let us be thankful that He has chosen at this time to allow us to share this land with whomever He allows to enter in... and maybe, just maybe... He brought them here so they might know of the One who has preserved their lives and desires to give them life and give it more abundantly through faith in Him.

I used to be a pigeon!!!

You know how the fall leaves get swooshed around by the fall winds and you get this beautiful circular movement of flowing leaves all around the streets and sidewalks?  Doesn't it just make your insides warm and light?  Well we have that same thing here... only the beautiful orange and red leaves are pigeon feathers. 

There's a lot to get accustomed to here... from the A/C unit that sounds like a freight train (hey built in white noise for the babies!) to the freezing cold turned scalding hot showers (114 apartments operating off of 2 water heaters!!)... and most of it is funny if not mildly irritating.  It's like real mission field living sometimes!!

However, there is one aspect of this mission field living that my flesh does not find funny... and that is the pigeons.  I don't know why but they bring out the worst in me!  When my baby is picking up pigeon feathers that blow in from outside or when they are stuck to her little hands from just being on the patio and she tries to eat them... that is just gross!!
I was sitting out on the patio the other morning before the kids got up and all the while these pigeons are flocking left and right... and walking joyfully all around me.  OH!  The sudden flesh that those pigeons bring to the surface!!  I was reading Esther and marveling at someone so willing to risk her very life for the sake of her people, and in the same breath of "Lord may I have the heart of Esther!  To count your people so dear that my own life would be laid down!!" came "Those cursed rats with wings!"  Same sentence... true testimony!  So I caught my bipolar ways and began praying, "Ok Lord, give me love for the pigeons!" And as I sat there staring at these pigeons, the sun began hitting the building next to me... little by little the warm rays began resting on more and more of the roof.  Each pigeon began moving into the sunlight, but there wasn't room for all of them.  Those stuck in the shade kept pushing and nudging to be in the warmth of the light.

It may seem silly, but I took that picture and praised God for redeeming my dirty and diseased soul.  He has indeed rescued me from darkness and delivered me into His marvelous light.  The feelings I now have toward the pigeons are praises to my God, that He would look on me... a sick and troubled spirit, unclean and used up, no real good to anybody in the state I was in... YET still he saw value.  He set my feet upon a rock and gave me a new song.  I got pieces of Psalm 40 tattooed on my back when He became my God... and declared never to turn on Him again.  Oh the grace that has been shown to me... the goodness and forgiveness I could never earn.  Lord may I NEVER forget that I was a pigeon.

Those who are well have no need of a physician...

Jesus said that those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.  This is a sick, sick community.

I am working in the office a few hours each week and just a few days ago I got to hear the stories of different families as we separated leases that needed to be flagged for renewal.

This Cuban woman hears voices and is deeply troubled, this Iraqi man suffers greatly from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after being in combat in Iraq, this Karen woman is beginning the divorce proceedings and her alcoholic husband may turn violent, this Kareni family is entirely illiterate and the father died 2 months ago and the husband died last month.  They can't pay their rent and have no idea how to get out of this hole.  This family .... the stories continued.... I got numb and stopped taking notes.  The need is overwhelming.  The need is pressing.  The need can only be met by my God.

I have a greater love for the Jesus of the Gospels now than ever before.  I have greater confidence in His presence than ever before.  I always heard people say "God is with you, He will never leave you nor forsake you" as a comforting word in times of need.  But more and more I am seeing that verse not as how it can benefit me... but as the power and divinity that is crucial to tackling this monstrous task ahead.  It is a simple realization, but astounding in this season.

Desperate and passionate prayers are needed for the people here.  There are over 100 families living in this complex, all from war-torn countries, and all with pasts that few of us can fathom.  God knows, He has been there with them, and He is waiting on the other side to be their Physician.  Oh Lord let it be.