Can I tell you a story about where I'm from?

I first published this post on August 26, 2017 and I took it down the same day.  It was simply not safe to declare all this so publicly while we were still engaged in missions work in country, which is straight-up illegal activity there.  Since then, our hearts have been broken as we were forced to leave, to flee from this land that we love, from our home of nearly twelve years. Since the original post, I've added a few details about the most recent forces at work in our province, the terrifying and unjust oppression that has ramped up under Chen Quan Guo's leadership since mid 2016.

We've been gone for almost six months now and we are certainly not yet through the deep waters of grief although our own trauma is in the process- the long process- of healing.  But when the grand scale horror of the government's oppression continues to swell, our sorrow does as well.  

This post is a long one, but if you can spare a few extra minutes to read any of it, please skim the lengthy bulk and don't leave without reading the end.  Some of it I wrote as a record of our experiences there- may i never forget!- and to delete it now would break my heart even more.  This whole thing is a mess of emotion.  Our joys and our sorrow and anger all swirled into one swirling story.  

Thank you for treading through this, for letting me share so much of our heart of the love the Father has put in us for His people and the story that He wrote of His faithful care for us.... 

... here.  

I'm from the sixth floor, 98 steps into the sky, #612, where you'll probably be stopped for a chat with a neighbor, or maybe two, on your way up.  And from the patio on the seventh floor with the chimney that delivers the smell of six floors of neighbors below and their tasty, oily cooking.  And if you stand by that chimney, you can see "The Drill Building" far off, tiny, in the distance, and you-can't-beat-'em beautiful sunrises and sunsets.  The pollution accent on those colors sometimes intensifies it, sometimes dulls it. And there's the brightest moonlight I've ever seen anywhere.  (Really, is it the northern latitude?  Something about this city sees glitteringly bright moonlight.  Another magnificent gift.)  

I’m from the dan yuan (stairwell) with the gladdest giant flowers (Hollyhocks!) I’ve ever seen.  Our door’s got the best in the whole complex and we're rightfully proud.  Dark pink, and some almost wine-black, and seven feet tall.  (Or more?) A whole garden patch full.



And the crabapple trees across the driveway.    And the apple trees that line the street out front that bloom in May.  The trees whose fruit is regularly picked by ours and all the neighborhood kids and happily devoured- however ripe or unripe.

I am from an all wool traditional carpet (that smelled like a petting zoo for the first few weeks) on the floor of our living room, and a dear friend cross-stitching the same pattern framing Scripture written in it for our living room wall.

From Polo (the rice dish) and Laghman (the noodle dish) and Kava Manticie (steamed buns with pumpkin and lamb).  And the always staple of nan and tea, boiled lamb meat and spicy kabobs.  

I’m from the street with a handful of butchers who keep their motorcycle truckbeds filled with the next meat still "bahhhhing", on the sidewalk where we walk by.  And only occasionally, from flocks of sheep marching down the street like they're center stage on a parade. 

And the fruit and veggie vendors who are always too close to the carcasses for my taste.   But our veggie "boss" (that's what he's called) is always a cheer to the whole neighborhood... he didn't grumble even when he could barely speak for a severe toothache.  

I’m from the grocery store, the one on my street that's Halal (Muslim clean food only) that's got refrigerators where I can buy frozen chicken (usually, hopefully!), where the local music is always playing loud, and the cashiers all wear the traditional hats embroidered with flowers that too few people wear on the streets anymore.   

And from the big grocery store (that's certainly not Halal) by the Bazaar that sells all the majority people's food... all the squid and fish and shrimp in their shells and more noodles and soy sauce  and vinegar varieties and more meaty animal parts pickled and packaged than I know how to describe.   

And spices.  Everywhere spices.

I'm from "we grow the best watermelon on the planet... and the best cantaloupe and honeydew too."  And surely no other place could be quite so proud of their melons and fruit and food in general.  (Even though there's mainly just three or four meals you'll ever find around here.)

I'm from old ladies, all dressed up, chatting on benches in the center of our complex...  enjoying the sunshine together and watching all the kids.   Where the ladies sometimes like to match with their grandma friends and wear sparkly things, and leggings with pantyhose on top.   




And old men who gather 'round for a good, high-stakes, battle of Chinese checkers.  And by high-stakes, I mean probably a few dollars.

I’m from water outages for a few hours or maybe a few days... "for the subway that’s being built" or "for the crack in the pipe" or "for security reasons maybe" or who knows….  

I’m from a police station every 500 meters across the city.  Five of them within sight of our seventh floor patio.   I’m from spot checks and phone checks and bag checks and sometimes pat-downs at the fastfood, the cell phone shop, and Daddy’s office building all done because  China thinks this is how they'll prevent Xinjiang from becoming the next Syria- ISIS disaster.  And this is just the tip of the iceberg of China's deception that grows far deeper and fouler from here.      

I’m from VPNs for American websites and all our homeschool online sites better run or we’ll have to wait til the middle of the night to talk to customer service about that.  So we’ll probably just drop that class option because this mama is not staying up til the middle of the night for a web site.

I’m from “pay-for-your-electricity in advance” where you put credit on a card and charge up your meter in the hallway downstairs, and in eleven years of this system we still have blackouts that are entirely our own dumb fault because we waited and let it run dry again, and then again.   (Seems like it's usually in the evening, when the shop to recharge is closed.)

I’m from mamas hollering for their kids to come home for dinner after playing all afternoon and they holler like opera singers performing on stage…. “Isai-YAH!!!!” with the last syllable an octave higher than the first and held five times as long.



From where so many children are doted on with all the parental affection you could dream to see....  even though it usually includes love in the form of candy and ice cream from morning til night and not too few local kiddos have black and rotten teeth for all the love.  From where bigger kids  (maybe seven years old on up) play outside all day long, all summer through, and often fend for themselves til evening.  

From where animals are usually treated with very little compassion or consideration, and often downright awful:  rabbits picked up and tossed by their ears, cats and dogs kicked and hit.  And it's normal here and it makes me cry. 

I’m from the land of little emperors, the one-child policy, and I have four children.  Some people look at us as if we’re a non-possibilitiy, a non-reality.   But it’s true, and I love to remind them, “I have four kids and your grandma probably had twice that, am I right?"  

And from a few neighbors who have more kids than I do... whose kids are unregistered, might not go to school and most probably won't ever get a passport (unless they pay the enormous fines for having or for being a 3rd, 4th or 5th child...).   But all Uyghur passports are being held by the government now, for so-called "safe-keeping" which shows another loss of their universally declared human rights.  

From where we're sought out as alien/exotic subjects for onlookers’ photos because of hair and skin and eye color and for our big noses- just like every westerner-  and it still disturbs me even though they mean it as a compliment almost every time.  And I hate that it makes me timid to take photos of my neighbors even though they'd probably think I was heaping up compliments if I did.   I'd feel like a hypocrite.  



I'm from two languages to learn.  One that I could use to communicate well after five months of study (Mandarin) and one that leaves me grappling for meaning and shaking my head after many more years of work....  I'm seven years in on this second language and I still sound like I'm three years old.  I have a Master's degree but having the language level (and it feels like also the intelligence level) of a toddler, is good, haaaard humbling.  

Where I'm from, I daydream of eavesdropping on English.  But what I really hear from voices outside is long shouted-calls for knife sharpening and degreasing stove vents, and early morning and sometimes afternoons- soldiers shouting a block away, obedient replies  to commanding officers.  And always I hear  The Propaganda Song that is played ev.er.y.where (at the bank, office buildings, restaurants, on loud speakers from the police stations on every street corner, on the phone while you should hear ringing...)

I'm from pigeons flying overhead, over the patio when we have dinner up there on summer evenings.  And from the two guys on the building next to us that wave and shout and call their dozens of pigeons home from stretching their wings every morning and evening, snow or shine.

I'm from oppression and racial tension, general hatred, loathsome injustice and smothering, powerless fear.  I'm from tyranny that overrides a constitution and gets himself to be the leader for life.  I'm from approximately one out of ten of the people in our province being detained either in prison or in political re-education centers with no charges, no sentence, no known end date.  (And the number is only increasing.) I'm from living terror.  And yet life must go on and everyone has told me that on the streets, they pretend to be happy, to try to look normal (for surveillance cameras) and in messages on We Chat that are as broadly known and read like billboards.

I'm from "Our lives are not as good as animals. We live in such fear of being called on the phone or hearing a knock on the door when we will be taken away."  Husband taken.  Father gone. Brother, mother taken away.  Fear and powerlessness.

And from "Will you store this artwork I painted?  Authorities told me that a still life with an ancient book or ancient coins or ancient musical instruments is too provocative and unsafe.  Will you keep it for me? I don't want it to be destroyed.  But I don't want to go to prison for it either."  She said it to me, just like that, trembling.  (And not it hangs in our living room, the prized possession of our home.)

I'm from villages abandoned and schools turned to orphanages because so many parents are gone. I'm from some towns where the only people around are grandmas and little children.  Injustice.  God will repay.  

I’m from towns in the south where some girls are still married off in their early teens, where they might be afraid to tell their moms or aunts that they’ve begun to have a period because that makes them marriageable age.  From where very few people boast of having sex outside of marriage but a dozen (or even two or three dozen) marriages in a lifetime is nearly normal... at least it's not unheard of.  From where a young bride may find out after her wedding that she’s a second or a third wife.  (And it’s illegal, to be sure, but it still happens.)

I've given birth to three of our four babies here.  The fourth came at home and it was my scariest, loneliest birth even though my best friend-husband and one more precious friend were there with me, and a sweet midwife who flew in from the states.  And although she was the only fair-haired child for as far as the eye could see, it took days of city-searching and finally a DNA test in the upper chambers of an odd old building just to prove she was ours.  

I'm from more scolding than I can recall or retell... for all the times I showed my ankles, brushed my teeth, drank cool water, ate ____  or stood and walked around in the first weeks after giving birth.   Who else would care for my big kid?  I have no family here. They had no idea...

I’m from mud walls built generations ago in all the towns around this city.  And from the high-tech modern speed train that zooms through the desert and passes a few nearly modern small cities on its way to the east, where modernity increases considerably. 

From endless, countless grapes growing in the lowest elevation city on earth, where you can cook an egg in the sand of the desert as you're surrounded by snow-capped mountains not far in the distance.  From the buses that zigzag the city carrying everyone everywhere.  And from markets of Turkish food imports and Pakistani, Afghan, and Iranian carpets and wooden carvings and glamorous sparkling tea sets.   

I’m from locked gates at every apartment complex and police checkpoints whenever, wherever they deem.   I’m from thick stacks of visa paperwork and health checks and tax documents verification needed every year…  from where everything culturally is opaque to our eyes and understanding.  Be our Help, Lord!

I'm from a land and a people that I deeply, dearly love!  I'm from a people that were made by You, for You.

I’m from more than 99% Muslim.  

From more than 99% who have never heard the Gospel, never known that the Bible exists in their language, never met a Christian or seen a church.  Never heard a promise of God that is good and true and written for them, to them.  Never known a God who is Love.  Never known the Savior.

I'm from "Only one life, twill soon be past.  Only what's done for Christ will last." 

I’m from “my sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow Me" (John 10:27)  and the wake-up-to-the-alarm truth "No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6).

From the privileged* commission "Go and make disciples of all nations" 
and the call “let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured."  (Hebrews 13:13).  

I'm from the promised presence:  "I am with you always."

I'm from the eager expectation of the consummation of all eternal joy: "Let the peoples praise you, Oh God, let all the peoples praise you!"  

From the graced position of His ambassador with the astonishing appeal of God being made through us:  "Be reconciled to God." And from Spurgeon's reminder "If God calls you to be a missionary, don't stoop to be a king."

I'm from the peace that all humanity craves: "He will wipe every tear from their eyes and there will be no more death or mourning or pain."  (Revelation 21:4)

And from the certain hope "Behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" (Rev 7:9-10)

And the heritage "May the Lamb of God receive the reward for His sufferings."

I'm from the assurance that "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved" (Acts 2:21) and the conviction that eternity is real and that the Judge will be just according to His promise in the Word and His provision in the cross.  

I'm from the certainty that the glory of God is worth all that we could possibly dare to give from the fallen brokenness of here and now.

Which is all 

why I’m here, 

this land that I love,

that I’m not 

really 

from.  

* Regarding our privileged commission: David Livingstone said " If a commission by an earthly king is considered an honor, how can a commission by a Heavenly King be considered a sacrifice?" 

(Inspired by a post from Ann V who first introduced me to all the beauty of where she's from.)

slowing down... {and some photography links}

Years ago I wrote about how nutty I am about getting a new page of artsy words, words to focus me, posted on our fridge.  I think I've made and remade a new schedule page for my days every twelve months or so for most of my mothering years.  It's silly that such a simple thing should be so re-creative for me... but it is.

I love Psalm 16:6 on one page:  These "lines {between days} have fallen for me in pleasant places."  Indeed I have a Soveriegn Father who loves me... and I can trust Him with my days, for all He allows to fall into those spaces.

This spring, when we returned from the states- a season I felt I could never schedule well- I wrote up a new weekly plan with a banner over the top:  Slow & Worshipful .

It's become the life mission statement (the kind that suits me.... more descriptive than measureable) that I've waited for for a few years now:  I long to live slow and worshipful, rich in relationships, serving with joy.   Yes, Lord.  Please make it so in me...

When I think of living worshipfully, I think of prayer and the Word.  And also of creation and creativity, beauty in song, in word, in moments lived lavishly, sacrificial generosity, delighting in seasons and places, choosing thankfulness, choosing joy, kindness and time to look long into strangers's eyes and her their story and to love on all the good folks I know well.  This is all worship... living well for my King.

And I don't know a way to it, but that it must be a slow approach.  I can't rush and race into a worshipful frame of heart or mind.  I can't show up and try to check it off the list.  I need to come ready to linger, be amazed, wonder deep, savor the magnificence.

* * *

This summer I've finally taken up photography.  I've been drawn to it and played at it for decades but I've never moved beyond Auto mode (or Aperature).  And it's time... just, time.  I want to develop it as a skill to serve people, to bless people.  (Hopefully I can get it together to go out on our streets and take some family portraits of neighbors?)  I want to develop it as an art to offer in worship.

And I think the thing that I'm struck by most of all as I consider what's hindered me so long in photography is that my hangup here has kind of been a major hinderance for me in a lot of areas of life.  It goes right back to SLOW.

I've always excused myself from thoughtful slowness, careful choosiness in photography because life happens so fast, the kids are racing by me, the moment will be gone.   I'd better just snap it quick.

But the photos look quick.  Fast and unplanned and unsavored.  Just like the life of hurried rushing, scattery, panic-paced, maybe unkind, frenzied action.  I so want out.

Both learning how to capture these moments and taking the time to put the learning to practice each and every time I set out... it's all slow work.

And I pray, just like a harvest growing in a field, that this work and all my life may bear fruit in season... a life lived slow and worshipful, rich in relationships, serving with joy..... and I hope it will be memorable with frames of the beauty I've enjoyed and witnessed along the way.

Ebenezer Stones...


* * *



There are too crazy many photographers online to even make sense of them.  Most of all that I've seen I've loved (unless their photos are over edited or stiffly posed) but there are two worth giving my humblest K Family Honors to....

Mary Anne Morgan:  This gifted, beautiful woman has mentored me (and I'm sure many others!) through her blog and has even chatted at email with me for a few photo tips.  I love what she captures and her heart to write it all up as a gift to return to her Father with praise.   So much beauty at her site...

Anthony Carbajal:   This man is astounding.  His talent is breathtaking and his story is heart-wrenching and wildly inspiring.  I've been so impressed by this young street photographer as he shares his photos and his life story of fighting ALS, the terrible disease that is slowly paralyzing him, and even mentions of his cute wife that loves him so well.  I'm praying for you, Anthony!  Go on capturing all the life, the joy, the sorrow you see... and thank you for sharing your heart.  Your art work is profound and your life is immeasurably valuable.

From the twenty-some photography tutorials I've watched and read... here are my favorite ones that have helped me the most.

I just like these guys: Mango Street Labs.  Some very helpful helps here and such creative talent!  Much that I haven't heard elsewhere (ie.  If you have to crop some of a person out of your frame, don't crop at the joints- it's just not going to be nice.  And about angles and S-curves in the storytelling aspect of your compositions.)

... And then these write-ups, all from PhotographyLife.com:

Creative Exposure- A Beginner's Guide

What Are Exposure Stops?

Low Light Tips

at the heart

What a season...  An exclamation point could do here, but at the same time, it doesn't fit.  Life has slowed and stilled on the blog front because it seems like the five lives with me in the house are growing and going at race pace with all the regular.... which I know well, is far less for us here than "the regular" stuff and pace of life in America.  But it makes me question my own soul- life and rest and growth in me- to see how halted life has been here- where my heart lives, where I love to pour out some overflow in the edge hours, once all the tucking in is done.

My desire and aim for our home is to be a loving, lively, living place....  A place for tender embraces and long looks into other's eyes to listen to tellers tell stories.  A place for  exuberance and silly and we-live-here kind of messes and hopefully enough manners learned and practiced to keep a mama sane and keep us somewhat doable for welcoming friends to come in.  A place for green things drinking in air and water and sunshine,  for fresh-baked smiles and licking our fingers, for songs sung loud and for Words written living, deep in our hearts, together.  And by the grace of God, I think we do live like this most days...  along with the ever-present backdrop of pretty continual bickering.  sigh.

This blog hasn't been so loved, or so living.  There are seasons for that.  And there's grace for that.  But I do look forward to cultivating more growth here again.  I long for soul growth in me again... for reading and writing and finding and creating beauty, for celebrating living.

I've missed birthdays...  I don't think I've ever skipped any blog record of kid birthdays in our home before.  But I have now.  Isaiah is ELEVEN and Vivian is SIX (she's even memorized A.A. Milne's poem for the occasion).  Isaiah had a great crew of young men over to our place for fun games and play and dinner and then they watched Fantastic Beasts.  I didn't snap a single picture and I woke up that night like my heart was stabbed when I realized it.  Vivian had an "easy party" (for mama's sake) the next day and we took her and two sweet girlfriends to Beauty and the Beast and beef noodle soup for lunch.  We even had some of our dear friends over that evening for cake and play to celebrate both of them together... a sweet first.

And my man, my dearest and bestest, my admired and delighted-in husband turned 40.   It went completely unmentioned and he's glad for that.  We're hoping to get the six of us to some mountains nearby for a first family camping trip and we'll mark it as Dad's (and Mom's since it will be right between our b-days) Fortieth celebration.

The two of us got lunch out -noodles too spicy for the kids to eat anyway- to celebrate our 13th anniversary too.  Still can't believe I get to be married to him.

***

When we were in the states, I got to be in a Wednesday morning Bible study with a group of saints and story-tellers and beautiful lovers of Jesus that I came to love deeply.  I think it was the youngest one there, who told us, teary-eyed, how her own soul felt a bit lost since she'd become a mama to two tiny ones.

I've been there.  (Hasn't every mama?)  But after that, for me, I was grateful to return to some more years of growth and awareness and expansion in my soul again.  It seems the cycle has come full swing though, and again, the past near-year or so has been a new stage of pruning.  Like the branches in our apartment complex that our kids grieved over: "Why do they have to be cut back so much!?"  "When will it ever have branches and leaves and fruit and flowers again!?"

Today I cleaned the house and decided I'd let the time spent wiping and washing be restful, take pleasure in the beautifying of this place we're blessed to call home.  Let it be slow and enjoy the transformation.  No need to race through this too as if efficiency at all things is the only way a thing matters.  I planted seeds too, on our patio, that I feel like royalty to get to have here in a packed and run-down city.  I'm going to put out the hammocks this evening and watch the clouds.  

Tomorrow is another day for work.  There will be plenty of it and it is of eternal value and our labor in this is not in vain.  This I trust.  But a day off is good.  God took the day off after he had worked six good days and how can I do any better?

I can't.

Matt told me a few months ago that it seems like I assume a thing doesn't exist unless it's been spoken or recorded...  What he noticed was sadly true in me and I need to recognize it's untrue to believe.  There is so much in him, in me, in our home and kids and life all around us that is living and growing even if I don't have words that can hold it, a shutter that can capture it, eyes to recognize it at all.  Give us grace, Lord, to live it.  I want to give all that I can to live every moment the fullest full for God's glory- even when there's no pencil and paper or blog to type on or camera to record it.  But too, it is in the naming of gifts, the counting them, the remembering them and celebrating and pondering and recognizing anew... that life is stirred in the depths.  It doesn't have to be everything, every time...  but a record of graces, a place to ponder these gifts, is for me, itself a place of birthing and beholding life.  (HT:  Ann V.)

So here's to renewed reading and writing, to some homemade sangria on the patio on another day off, to guitar strumming and listening long and serving each other,  and capturing still shots of all this living, this growing grace I'm so privileged to see and to serve.

Now for the rest of this day to be restful in ways that allow for the stirring up of life under the soil in me too.

May it be, Lord, for Your glory.

A Marriage Retreat Discussion Guide.... {many thanks, Pastor Reju!}

Just a quick link to share here....

Matthew blessed me exceedingly with gifts for my birthday this year.  All the best:  time.  I got a morning out alone to read and write and then I got him to myself all afternoon and evening, while dear friends of ours watched our kiddos for us.   To prepare for that time, I googled for some help with goal-setting for marriage and I struck gold.  There were a few sites that looked alright but I think what Deepak Reju, a pastor at Capitol Hill Baptist Church, has shared as a guide for a Do-It-Yourself Marriage Retreat, just can't be beat.   Incredibly helpful questions to connect and hear from each other  and find ways to spur one another on in godliness and serve and support one another with kindness, help, encouragement....  I hope we'll be returning to this retreat guide for years to come!

so many people to love // the hard good-byes

Good-bye morning ride to school group, precious neighbor girl and little brother we all love too
 (and on this day, John's best buddy joined in for the last special ride and Isaiah and Marian hopped on the back too.)
And…. good-bye coolest ever, Trusty-Rusty three wheeled electric bike. 

Good-bye sweet Chinese teacher who stepped in during our 6 week need for a teacher….  she's a gem!

Good-bye adorable girls who all played as Marian's ballet students (for her to recap all she learned from the amazing you tube- homemade ballet camp she got to participate in several weeks ago.)

A few nights back, I talked with a good friend of mine about how this move is affecting our kiddos, and I looked up to see Isaiah playing alone with toys while his buddy was in the living room.  Not normal. These two are pretty inseparable.

So when it was time to go, I mentioned to Isaiah that he could tell Jaden how much he loved him.  It didn't even take him a second to think it over.  Isaiah went straight up and told him, "Jaden, you're one of my best friends" and then he broke down in tears and heart ache.  (And both mamas did too.)  Jaden, being the fantastic seven year old that he is, wore those words like a Congressional Medal of Honor, his whole face beaming….. but then he slipped into saddness with us too.  

We've talked about how the Lord loves His people and how getting to see how much we'll miss people, is a way of seeing how much we love them.  It's also been sweet to talk about how good it is to express our love to friends as a way of helping ease our sadness and bring joy into the middle of our grieving.  Friends to love really is a gift we can celebrate!  God has given us his people to love and we can love them a bit like he does because His love is so lavish!  Getting all wrapped up in the love of God is such comfort, like a healing balm for our weary hearts. 

Good-bye precious house-helper and good friend….  This woman loves the Lord so dearly.  She was John and Vivi's first Chinese teacher in our home on the mornings I had language class too.  

Good-bye precious, precious, precious friends.  We love you guys! 

Good-bye Tuesday afternoon "Sports" crowd of cool and crazy kids.  What a joy to have spent these afternoons with you!

Good-bye Coach Matt….a hug from all the sports kids

Good-bye…. Nope.  So glad the six of us are moving forward together!  I am praying lots that the Lord will mark this move in our kids hearts and lives especially (as well as Matt and I) to be a time where they deepen dynamically in love for the Lord, for the lost, and for each other….  Oh for grace for this!

There are so many precious pictures in my head …treasured people, delightful moments…. The sweet teachers at art school, the preschool teacher who read aloud for bilingual Story club at our house years ago,  who taught each of our kids at preschool since then.   The lady whose bracelet was smashed when our little buddy (who we were babysitting!) hit her in his early days of bike riding… that neighbor who told us she'd rather buy our apartment to rent to us than let our landlady sell it to anyone else!  oh… and our fruit and veggie vendor friends who I haven't even told yet that we're moving….  

And even in the midst of all these tears, there has been great joy too…..  Matt and I celebrated TEN years together and I have no idea how I've ever been so blessed as to get to be his wife. (The line from Anne Bradstreet comes to mind:  "If ever wife was happy with a man, compare with me, ye women if you can…")  Since one of the coolest families in the world, who happen to be our very own dear friends, moved into our building a few weeks ago and offered to watch our kiddos, Matt and I got to steal away for an overnight together.     #purebliss.

Then my man turned old….  37.   He told the kids he should get a cane for his birthday but no one followed through on it.  John asked me last night at bedtime if I would still be able to talk when I'm old?  We discussed the possibilities and then I asked if he'd finally be able to listen when he's old too?  Then John brought it all home with the bottom line, "At least, mommy, Daddy will be old before you."  Yep that's right.  He's going to get there three months before me.  (Good thing!)

The Way to Finish Strong.... and Start Over Again

It's silly, I'm sure, but I need to remind myself fairly often of some things that are embarrassingly simple.  Today I need to remember and know this....  This side of eternity, there is no arriving.   I have every reason to be content and glad and profoundly soul-satisfied..... and to keep striving for more.  

I have to remind myself of this as this year winds down and I think back over all my dreams for 2013 and "how am I going to make it in 2014?"  Because it really is true and it should be a happy thing to remember:  our work will never be done.   How mistaken to let that be a frustration!  Let it be comfort and confirmation to my very good, calling....  to serve with joy.  

So... the way to finish this year strong? J.I. Packer has these sweet words in his latest book,    Weakness is the Way.  (p 31-32)

"Whether we are at home [in heaven] or away [still on earth], we make it our aim to please him,"  Paul says (2 Cor. 5:9).  Pleasing those who in some sense have your heart- a spouse, a sibling, a child, a friend, a mentor, a benefactor, or whoever- is a demanding occupation.  It calls for imagination, empathy, and effort;  you have to be aware of their hopes and expectations that involve you, their likes and dislikes, and their sense of the bond between you and them.  

Is this a major motive in our own lives, I wonder:  always and under all circumstances to please our Lord and Savior?  It was so with Paul, and this agenda, then for him, as now for us, is demanding.  It requires sustained love to Jesus, expressed in adoration of him for all that he is in himself and thanksgiving to him for all that he has done, for the world of lost humanity in general and for us sinners in particular.  It requires sustained obedience to all his commands, up to the limits of our understanding of them.  It requires constant watchfulness against temptations to self-indulgence, and constant battling against sloth, laziness, and indifference to spiritual issues.  It requires respectful and caring treatment of all others as persons created to bear the image of God, and self denial at all points where self-absorption would conflict with and damp down active neighbor-love.  It requires daily holiness, from morning to night, a daily quest for opportunities to bear witness to Christ, and daily prayer for the furthering of Christ's kingdom and the blessing of needy people.

There is joy in laboring wholeheartedly to please Christ, as Paul knew, but there is no denying that, as Isaac Watts put it, "love so amazing so divine [as Christ's love, supremely displayed at the cross], demands my soul, my life, my all."    

And then Packer shares an illustration C.S.Lewis used to describe the Christian's continued pursuit of Christ, continued service of Christ....  

"Lewis asks, what is it that a man in love wants when he courts the girl, woos her, and gets engaged to her with a view to marrying her?  Answer:  he wants more of the relationship with her that he has already begun.  He wants the deepest, richest, most satisfying mode of togetherness with her that it is possible for him to have.  He wants, in other words, more of what he has already."  (p35)

Hebrew and Greek are far from my Chinese-English brain, and I can't pretend to be scholar, but I've heard enough great sermons of pastors mentioning that Matthew 7:7, when we're told to ask, that it's really "ask and keep asking" and "knock, and keep knocking."  

I have no idea if it's there in the original languages but I think it must also be true for "abide in Me"(John 15) and for "we make it our aim to please him"; I've got to remember that's a present continuous thing too.  I'm not going to arrive at this place, a line in the sand of "now I've mastered abiding in Christ".... like I could coast on from there.  It's just not going to happen.  Just like getting the house clean is never going to last 60 seconds.  This is life.  Abide in Christ, and keep at it, keep abiding.  Aim to please him and keep ever after it, hard after it.  Like the lover who is already pledged to marry or already married, but who wants more, still more...  Run hard after that one end.... the prize of His smile and embrace.   

And for the moments when I shockingly feel like I may have hit target?   Rejoice!   Enjoy that thrill and know that it won't last long. The moments and days of falling far from target are the vast majority.  But rejoice then too.... because the Savior has come for just this!  For just me and for every failure, every flaw for everyone of us.    He has promised rescue and redemption and love, always love.  So aim and keep aiming, attending to His Word, and always aiming for more for His glory.  This is joy..... This is Life!

Best Invested (with a gift for you)

Scroll down for a little gift... a big picture planning printable

Have you heard the illustration of rocks and sand in the jar?  I remember well the guy who held up the transparent glass,  sharing how we fill can it (our lives) with rocks, pebbles, sand, water.  He held no punches while he boldly encouraged us to live radically for the Glory of the One who has given us all.   The idea is that if you start with the small stuff first, you can't fit in any of the big ones, but if you place rocks in your jar first, the other stuff can slip in around it.  What are the rocks to place in my life?  

I just came across the story again in this post from Living Well Spending Less.  She's got five points to consider that I found really doable and I'm excited.  Excited because I realized after reading it that there's a pattern in my life that I think can be changed for good gain.    

I know I can get much (much) more done in a day when I've written down all the tasks, the pieces, the little projects as well as the big.  Of course, any day might include it's own Vesuvius.... but I still want to plan the best that I can, right?!  So when I write things down, more of the small moments that come loose can be seized, given to a priority rather than putzed away and swept under the rug where everyday never adds up to anything.  

Usually, I try to plan a week at a time:  meals, household admin tasks, appointments.  Then I have a crazy pile of a list at the back of my weekly plan.  That page is all the stuff I don't want to forget about and I'd eventually like to get done, but I've never had a thorough plan to actually do any of it.  The pile page is sprouting weed seeds and growing like a villain.  Clearly a little improvement is needed but I'm still stubborn and unwilling to give up my simple weekly plan.  It's just the way I tick.... 

So how to tackle the back page pile-up?  Well, I've made a bit of a monthly or big picture planner page.  The idea is that what's written there be not just possibilities, eventual goals of never-ending (un)doableness, but real, I-can-finsh-this-thing, hard targets.   My weekly plan will take projects from this new page and add in the daily business so that by the end of the month, hopefully the mountain has  been sumitted.  

Filling in the big picture is something to pray over well.   A little bit less than a seasonal planning retreat, and far more strategic than planning just the urgent responses needed every day.  For this,  I want to tuck away for an hour or two a month to seek the Lord for... How can I make the most of the gift I've been given- the time I've been given- to live best invested for the glory of my King?  How can I make special moments with my husband and kids, to love them well?  What scripture would be best to meditate on/ memorize?  What books should I read and how can I process and apply the learning to gain all that I can from that book?    What people do I need to connect with?  What needs can I minister to and how can I shine as bright as this little light possibly can?    

To make it super special for me and hopefully a worthy gift to share with you (just in case you're a nutty (paper and pen) planner like I am), I asked the artistic wonder Danielle Burkleo to make it lovely.  She sure did.    Simple and sweet.  I love it.  

Here's it is, a printable, as a tiny gift to you, friends.  

The priorities are the big three:  Relationships, Worship, Service.   And then three places where those are played out:  Home, Education, Personal.  Again, this is a place for specifics, targets to hit and take down.  Maybe the truly nutty will need a Dream Page too, or a 5-10 year plan to fuel this one?  I know for me, one tricky thing to pay attention to is that I don't bite off ridiculously more than I can possibly chew. Be ambitious and be realistic.  Lord help me!

Options are endless and the lists might just overflow somewhere...  here's some of what I'll probably include:  Relationships.  Family meetings- topics to discuss, outings with each kid 1:1, Matt's outings with kiddos, family fun night, special plan for Matt and I (we love an intentional at home date night).  For Personal, instead of just piling up more books on my bedside table that I'm in the middle of reading.... still...  I'm going to try to finish reading a book by a finish date (some books, like devotionals, might go under "Worship" or maybe "Relationship".)

Lastly, it's a good thing for me to remember....  Rocks are Hard.  It's hard to get up early, but it's worth it.  It's even a bit harder for me to go to bed early, but it's crucial.    It's hard to carve out time to plan, but I get a serious more done when I do, and almost always, I get the more important things done only when I plan.  Rocks are hard....  but oh to make it happen!  

"So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom."  Psalm 90:12

Enjoy the printable dear friends!
(Being that the professionalism of this blog is just... well... nonexistent, if you'd like to print this but don't know how (I don't know either!) please email me or comment and I can send you the file as an attachment that will be cake to print :)

Open Heart, Open Home... {Humble, Radical, Hospitable Love}

I’d guess I’m not the only one that has sat through at least a dozen women’s groups, discussions, where someone has extolled the role and joy of homemaking... “because your home represents you, you get to show others your taste, your style, your unique flare.”   And of course, we always smile too that ...”as Christians, we can share all that with others in hospitality.”  And it's all nice and true and there's a place for that...

But this woman (oh how I would love to meet her!) has just land-slided my heart with her first few chapters on hospitality in her book Open Heart Open Home.  Karen Mains (who co-authored Kingdom Tales with her husband.... I hunted for more books from her after reading that one!)  has profoundly impacted me with her beautiful, heavy emphasis on freedom and humility in hospitality... and her exhortation that hospitality can alter the fabric of society if we, Christians, practiced it as the Word of God points us to!  She shares in the introduction that the question she measures the success of her efforts t hospitality by is this:  Did something sacred happen here together?  There’s no thought of “was the house just right, the dinner perfect, were the kids well-behaved?”  No, true hospitality, Mains says, is a matter of putting away pride.

It reminds me perfectly of John Stott’s words about the Beattitudes.  He writes about blessed mourners as those who are mourning their own sin, mourning in repentance.  'Blessed are you when you see your sin right in the light of God’s holiness and repent'... that kind of thing.  And then “blessed are the meek” that immediately follows, that has everything to do with a heart willing and planning to be known to people around you for what you've just confessed to be true of you to God.  

True hospitality, according to Ms. Mains, is about both of these- openness before God and before man- being known and loved and radically welcoming and loving all who come in...

If ever I thought I had figured out something great about how to run our home or how to serve others in hospitality.... this blows all of it out of the water.   I was physically stunned, honestly- a little breathless, and teary when I read from her section on entertaining versus hospitality, these two little paragraphs.  Oh.... the cry of my heart!

Entertaining subtly declares, “This is mine- these rooms, these adornments.  This is an expression of my personality.  It is an extension of who and what I am.  Look, please, and admire.”  Hospitality whispers, “What is mine is yours.”  Here is the secret of community that is all but lost to the church of today.  “And all who believed were together and had all things in common: (Acts 2:44).  The hospitality of that first-century church clearly said, “What’s mine is yours.”   

Entertaining looks for a payment-  the words “My isn’t she a remarkable hostess”; a return dinner invitation; a job advancement for self or spouse; esteem in the eyes of friends and neighbors.  Hospitality does everything with no thought of reward but takes pleasure in the joy of giving, doing, loving, serving.  

****

And for a bit of loveliness in our homes?  Well, here's a page of beauties, you might enjoy with me?   Really, such lovely printables and all free as 4x6 prints!  Such a gift from French Press Mornings!   They just might be plastered all over our home soon if I can figure out how to print them!

And one more note justifying my power-packed moment reading those words...  (this taken from the Desiring God blog) John Piper calls it “the immeasurable moment” — that instance in reading when we come across a sentence or phrase that unleashes a new glimpse of truth... He notes that many would testify that it abounds when reading C.S. Lewis.   Piper’s just-released new e-book is free for downloading if you’re curious to read more of his Lewis-love.... the book is Alive to Wonder, Celebrating the Influence of C.S. Lewis.  

For the King!

We just finished reading Kingdom Tales (by David and Karen Mains) recently and I'm quite sure our family has never enjoyed a read aloud story more.  (I know I never have.)  The precious friend who insisted I take her copy of this great book told me she wanted everyone she knew to have it, and I completely agree.  (The key is, once you lock the cover in your mind from Amazon, head over to this site to buy it for about $10 cheaper.)

I don't think you'll find a more captivating read-aloud for perhaps 5 or 6 -10 year olds, and honestly, why stop there?  We've loaned it to a family of young teens and I think they're going to love it too.  The edition given to us has all three Kingdom Tales books in one and each chapter is fantastic (though I would skip completely the Carnival's Daughter in book 2 and be ready to censor the story as needed if it's just too intense for reading to littles.)

At our house, story time is usually after lunch, just before the kids' rest time and my afternoon quiet time.  How can I put in words how my heart was compelled in prayer the day that I read the chapter The Forbidden Princess?  Hot tears poured down as I asked for Amanda's weapon and war strategy and aim!!!  And after reading Grandma Vigilantes, which I (silly) wept straight through almost every single word of, there were more deep knee bends from this mama and perhaps more understanding from our kiddos for what mama was after in her time bent down at the bedroom window.  

And there's Scarboy's fire-defying escape from Enchanted City, there's Mercy and Caretaker, Amanda and her dragon, and in the final chapter of the first book, there's Hero's entrance.... which is only the beginning... of e.v.e.r.y.thing.  Just the the way the Rangers of the King cry out to each other "How goes the world?!"  "The world goes not well, but the Kingdom comes!"  Could there be any truer, greater call to courage and hope and passion?  And they shout their battle cheers for each other too:  "For the King…. and the Kingdom!"   Yes!  Oh my soul....YES!

There is the issue of eschatological perspective in Kingdom Tales that I take with liberty as "story".  I have much more to learn about that realm and I don't endorse the ideas in Kingdom Tales as truth-telling of the end times of our world, but I do take this book with great joy for the magnificent story that it is.  Oh, I wish I could get a copy to all of you friends!  I would love to hear if you read it, how you like it...

As I read through Kingdom Tales with the kids,  Matt and I are also slowly reading through John Stott's commentary on the Sermon on the Mount and loving it too.  Stott's meditations on the beatitudes have been churning in my soul for weeks and I hope I never move past it.  Stott describes the whole Sermon as Jesus presenting his culture, a Christian counter-culture, to his disciples.  He tells of the ways of His kingdom of light to the ones who live in the dark of this world.   

Jesus begins his introduction, his explanation of a Christian counter-culture by declaring what he calls blessed.   It's nothing like what the world admires or applauds.  The first thing Jesus opened his mouth to say is this:  

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Maybe that's something like "Blessed are those who have nothing else to lean on, nothing else to trust in, nothing in themselves... you will have all of me. "  

I yearn to be a place where the King is, where the King's reign is all-evidenced.  I yearn to live with the Ranger cry bursting out from my heart and lips and in all of my life "For the King!"  

All of my life for the one who is Truly King, King of me, King of All.  

All of my life poured out, Emptied.... To be filled with His Word:  Blessed.  He pronounces it over me and it is so.  That's the joy I want to strain after with all my might, and bless our kids to see as the all-worthy goal and consuming passion of their lives too.    May it be!

For the King!