a long overdue update....

Friends,

You have seen us through a tumultuous, sorrowful year.  Thank you.

One year ago we were shocked and angry with the injustices that surrounded us as the people we loved were oppressed and abused by the government over them.  Many times friends remarked of frogs never quite realizing how close they are to being boiled until....

In April, the pot foamed up and boiled over in an instant and we were pulled out at just the last minute; we fled with more grief and survivor guilt and questions and painful sorrow than we will ever find words for. And believe me, I've poured out some words.  But it all falls short.

The next few months the Father provided with lavish generosity for our family:  beginning with "Yes, the six of you can stay with us... we'll be ready for your arrival in a few hours" and then "The Lord laid it on my heart to ask if there are any international workers that need housing, cause we're going to be gone for five weeks and we'd like people to stay in our home," and "Yea, they can use our minivan too," and then "Our basement is available to you for as long as you need" and "We'll be gone for the rest of summer, would you please stay in our home?"  There were care packages, tearful talks with friends- one who flew across the country to comfort Matt and many who we were all the sudden face to face with unexpectedly.  There were invitations to share with groups and we were really too shaky for it, but you put up with the shaky version of us.  Thank you.

We were counseled that we shouldn't make any big decisions for a while, give ourselves time to rest and reflect and move forward slowly.  But we didn't feel like extended waiting would be helpful.  Nor does too much open time seem like the best path to healing for Matt or me.  So we prayed hard and moved forward as quickly as we could....

And the Father brought together about a thousand more pieces for us to move to Northern Virginia in August.   We came for jobs with a new ministry called For The Nations, DC which provides ESL (and will soon have more sports and job training as well) for refugees, asylum seekers and newcomers to America. This is also the location in America where there are several thousand of the people we love, whom we eagerly desire to continue advocating for....

So we landed to a home intentionally made available to those in ministry and stay for a few days til our rental was ready and we visited one church 14 hours after pulling into town and never visited another: grateful and fed and delighted to worship and serve together with The Falls Church Anglican.  Just thought we'd try it, since they are the church hosting For The Nations in their facility.  The townhome we ended up in isn't as beautiful a fit but we couldn't never beat the location, the schools, the neighbors here and we look forward to a future season of having a home better suited to hospitality.  This has been the one difficult piece and I've wrestled with it too much.... but may my heart desire for a home that's bright and clean, with capacity to serve and welcome guests, be submitted to the Lord.

Processing all the transition has felt like something we've wanted to do, known we need to do well... but really, how do you?  How does a family process all this?  Especially a family like ours that has only one verbal, emotional expressive type and a bunch of internal processors who don't naturally communicate about emotion.

Leaving nearly twelve years of ministry without a single goodbye to the friends we came to serve. Leaving them living under horrible fear and facing unjust prison as their very real future- maybe in part because they knew those tall foreigners.  Leaving our home- the first home in our marriage that I really loved- a home our family loved and we ministered out of joyfully. Leaving the mortgage still to pay and being allowed to pause payments while we pray earnestly for buyers.  (Would you join us to pray for the Father to provide buyers- even in that war zone?)  Leaving the only real job on Matt's resume and needing to find someway forward, some new job, with very very slim experience to note that anyone was impressed by.

We hoped that there would be a dog in our future, but with our little rental and a budget built for living in China, there's been no adding anything.  Our budget has been tighter than it ever has in our lives- showing both how blessed and grateful we've been for such faithful provision for so long and how good it is to have to tighten down and find that we still have all that we need, even when we have less than we've had before and far less than most everyone around us. Easing our kids into their first brick and mortar schools in a country where they felt unfamiliar; three kids came in at math levels that felt ridiculously easy for them, but they hadn't covered everything in the year ahead and it's better not to leave holes... so they probably lost a year or two of math progress.  And when they thought they were probably headed for the MLB, our boys have realized that their baseball skills fall far closer to the center of average.

I desperately pray that we are each experiencing jaw-dropping wonder at the grace of God to provide for us through all of this....  The Lord who opened up the Red Sea for His people, also brought us out of China and into this good land and is planting us here too, tending to us with all His heart and soul and enabling us to be fruitful in this place- bearing fruit for His glory, fruit that we pray will abound with praise for all eternity.



And now for this blog....

My eyes tear up quick to think of the deep joy it has been to me to record the Father's graces to us here for about a decade.  To record family photos, stories, and memories.  To post book reflections when there was no book club for me to chat with, or homeschool craziness when there was no community to share those burdens or joys.  I feel like this blog has been my main link to my dearest friends.

And now I'm saying goodbye.

Another sad good-bye!

But I'm not leaving posts completely.  I've been sharing pics over at Instagram for two years now and Id love to connect with you friends there.  (username @mattsjill ).   I'm also looking for another place to post more advocacy writing.  In my crumbs of time between kids and teaching ESL and hosting and visiting Muslims and student friends, I'm trying to actively pursue congressional and senatorial for a Human Rights Bill affecting the people we love.  If I can get more writing together of our experiences living through the wretched, corrupt, deplorable oppression there, I will share a link here for wherever that is.  I'd love your prayers with me that this would come together so that ultimately Christ could be displayed in this advocacy as Bonhoeffer noted Him to be:  "a man for others".  May it be seen that we are laying down our lives in a tiny way, following after Christ who laid down His life in the greatest way, for this beloved people.

Lastly, I had posted here for a time a long narrative poem- of sorts- with too many collected photos of the place and the people we love and with a heap of our family experiences there and with all my passion poured into words to exhort others to see the goodness of going, of laying down our lives at the ends of the earth for the sake of the King and the Kingdom.  My hope is to get this into a page format before too long.  If you'd be interested to receive that, I'd love to send you a copy once it's done.  Please let me know!

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.)

wake up little sunshine

I remember thinking years ago that if a sappy mom could have a few favorite posts of her kids, this is one .  Certainly, I don't have favorite kids.... but posts? Yeah.  Those pics of Vivi's sweaty head, back when she had blue eyes and her big brother delighting in her new-for-that-afternoon awakeness, all with him again.  Favorite sweetness for this mama.

And now this...  same sweet silly girl and the morning wake-up this time.

All this love and sugar and sunshine.

Couldn't love this girl more...

  

And then the obligatory Good Morning Headstand.  Just because she's fun like that.  

A Tremendous Privilege... Piano!

A few years ago we bought an electric piano with a cash gift from my dad.  He wanted us to have something in our home to remember him by and what could be better than music?  I remember marveling for many weeks that two just-plain music lover parents (definitely not pianists ourselves!)  could have this privilege in our home and could give it to our children.

Isaiah and Marian both started with lessons from a nice lady, but when we moved from that city, there was no finding a new teacher... at least not an affordable one!  Our kids have studied with Piano Marvel for over two years now and I'm amazed at the progress they've made:  just my kids, our electric piano, and our last-leg laptop that runs Piano Marvel for them....

To be sure, one kiddo has taken to Piano Marvel better than the other.  Personalities and strengths and interests differ.... but both of our big kids are plugging away at daily practice on lessons and songs they get to choose that they are guided to learn by Piano Marvel videos and note by note help.  (And can I just say, I love the songs that Piano Marvel makes available for my kids!)

Piano Marvel connects your piano or electric piano to a computer (see their site for details) and the program draws kids in with a bit of game-like appeal....  every note they play is scored.  Their sight-reading skills are challenged and precise progress is marked.  They can earn trophies and...

My kids... your kids!... can make music on the piano.  

It still completely amazes me that my kids are simply using this software program daily and they are developing real skill as budding musicians.  I'd post a video for you to hear it yourself but so far our star player is being super shy with his talent.  At this point, I'm ok with that.....  But I will admit I hope he'll let me share his music with you soon.

So friends,  you can check out the beauty right here:  and please remember to enter my promo code for a discounted rate for you and some distributor income for me.  Thank you!!!   

Referral/ Distributor Code:    Jill

It's not beyond God....

The past ten days or so have been a hard season of grief.  In our own lives, the Lord has done some hard heart work in us, and around the world about that many days ago, our very dear brother in Christ died.

Nabeel Qureshi, author of Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus, was only 34 years old when he finished his battle with stomach cancer and finished the race of faith and met his Savior and heard the words "well done, my good and faithful servant."   We've grieved this precious brother oh so hard.  (We never met him or knew him personally, only from reading his books and hearing some videos of him.)  We have been and will continue to pray for his beautiful wife and daughter and for all who came to Christ or who have considered Christ because of the testimony and teaching of this man.

Nabeel's wife, Michelle Qureshi, just posted a video (Vlog #44, A More Glorious End) where she processes the death of her dearly loved husband Nabeel.

She shares... "It's not that God didn't listen to Jesus (to His prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane), it's that His bigger plan was to make Jesus' torturous death on the cross the most beautiful turning point in history.  Because He died we live.  Death is even a redeemable thing.  It's not beyond God to redeem.  It's not beyond God to use death for His greater purposes of glorifying Himself and showing His love to the world He created."  

and then.... "I am fully convinced that God will use his death to a more glorious end than we would have seen if Nabeel were still alive.  Nothing has changed about God's character.  He's still sovereign, good and trustworthy.  The whole reason we exist is to bring Him glory.  And when we do so we are stepping into the best life we can possibly imagine.  We just need to ask for the ability to set our minds on things above, not on things that are on the earth."

Words fail us to think of this loss, this grief.....
and also,
words are far too small, far too few, to express the hope and certainty
of Nabeel's eternal joy
Right. Now.

We pray...
Oh God whose ways are far beyond ours, draw us to trust in Your goodness 
and sovereign care and plan.  
Humble us before you 
and redeem this great loss for your glory.   
Redeem this death for your greater glory God.  
And provide for this beautiful wife and daughter...
Our eyes are on you.  
Help us to trust You alone.

Need a shot of joy?

Ever feel like you'd pay just about anything to be able to pull up at a drive thru, make your order and pay your bill and drive away with a fresh top-off of joy?  Like a shot of espresso, but better... a shot of joy?  Or sometimes I feel like I'd even take a needle to the arm if I could get something better than B12 in me.

Well, here you go.

I dare you to try to watch these... just try to sing along...  watch their goofy silliness and listen to the sermons of truth in these happy tunes and try to miss the joy.

Bet you can't do it.  And I know... you don't want to.  I sure want to reap the full harvest of beauty and soul joy and dancing with my kiddos over all this....

I hope you can fill up your souls on the supreme joy, this bold evidence of the grace of God right here.

Of Grace and Grief and Gratefulness...

I've struggled quite a bit recently with keeping my heart and eyes down on the page here.... keeping my hand on the plow right in front of me, rather than letting my eyes drift to a dream, a fiction future that has no roots in reality.   I wonder how long the Father will keep us here, use us here?  When can we live nearer to family, know the great grands and grandparents and cousins and all better?  When will our kids get to go to a school?  When might our family be able to find a grassy field and run and play together?  When can we buy groceries that we enjoy, pull into the driveway and offload them right into the kitchen?  When can I find any book I need at the library?  When a church? When a home with a yard? When a dog?  When could we call all that our very own?

There's been a bit of a new kind of grieving, a new season of dying to self, for me lately.   I've never had such grown up kids to imagine futures for before... and now that I do, seeing their future here kinda scares me.  Lord, give me faith.  Help me to die to myself and lean hard into You for this.  

For most of the eleven years we've been in China, we've felt like China is home.  We're used to things here... the kids' bunk beds and their own pillows, their favorite toys and books.  We do life here well... at least we're used to living in the rut we've dug for ourselves and it works.  (Though I'm still illiterate!!)

And this is actually a great grace....  What a gift to not be able to call America or our human rights or culture comforts "mine."  Because even for Americans, none of it is promised you or due you or actually, fully yours.  Its a tender help that living here enforces this view of how alien we really are.... It's true:  We don't belong here.  Nothing in this world is Ours.  This is a sweet grace that I pray our kids won't miss being shaped by.

May they, may we, always know that we were made to be pilgrims in this world, made for an unfallen world with our King and Maker as The Glorious Light and Center.  We were made to be in the world and not of it, to be radically serving, radically loving, poured out offerings, exuberant evidence of JOY Himself, undistracted and unhindered- not storing up junk for ourselves here....  May they, may we, be heaven-smitten, cross-captured, simple sheep, delighters in this God of Majesty that made us for Himself, well worn as His image bearers bringing His kingdom down.

a similar scene, taken a few years ago in the south of our province

Two weeks ago, as I was walking home from the veggie shop, I stared into the face of a little beauty whose eyes were right level with mine.  I walked not too far behind her daddy and she stared at me right over his shoulder.   I was a little shocked to think of how deeply I'd miss her, miss all this one day, whenever we might not be here anymore.  

I'd have to find a way to bring it with me.  To capture it and capsulate something of the beauty-wonder-pain-sorrow-joy mix that it is for us to live here....

How could I ever contain in any way what it means that we live here now?  There's no amount of photography or video that could tuck these relationships,  these 360 degrees and depths of sights and smells, these expectations and assumptions of what's so everyday regular here, these experiences into any others in the world....   The six of us, who see it together, who process it and are growing up in our own K ways on this side of the earth while it wildly spins...This is ours, in a way.  (Just like every family gets to say.)  This mess of what we love and what we'd love to leave... this is our home, our place, the city we share with this precious mix of neighbors that will never fully understand, but brokenly fully love, and one day may never be with again anywhere in history, except before the Throne.

As I watched that little girl, I was pierced with grief, grief that was somehow all smothered in gratitude, for the life that the Father has given us in this great city.  Oh may You take our frailty and weakness and every crack in the pots that we are in your hands, and shine through us, Father.  Shine through us, your grace.

Thank You, that giving thanks for this land has been such a healing for my heart in this way, Lord.   Help me to live here, now...   slow and worshipful, rich in relationships, serving with joy.


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So this has become a new hope for me.  I'm dreaming of and drafting up a few more posts that I want to link together under the label "U-Town".  I hope it will give you insight and joy and fuel prayers for the city and people we love and I hope and trust it will fortify my own heart too....

The Damsel and the Villain

Oh so good....  The Damsel and the Villain .  Hope you can take seven minutes to enjoy a bit of cool jazz and this modern poetry retelling of the True and unbeatable Story.

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...


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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