The First Time

This post was written last week while Blogger was not working so it was never posted. Although I am no longer feeling this way, these were valid feelings at the time and I try to keep it honest:

Tomorrow the girls and I will officially move into our new apartment. Sleep, bathe, cook, everything. It is the exciting day that I have been waiting for and all of the sudden I'm crying in the kitchen 'cause I didn't know it was going to be this hard.

Since March we have been in this protective cocoon at mom and dad's house. The house I grew up in. Now it's just us. I'll be the one to check to see if the front door is locked every single night, the only one to see if my kids are running into the street, I'll take out every bag of trash, make all the hard decisions myself. Lastly, I'll be the only one to scold the children when they are outside naked peeing in the garden and the neighbors start yelling (this actually happened.) No wonder I was feeling shaky. I didn't know it would be so lonely. That caught me by surprise. It's just not not supposed to be this way. There is supposed to be a Mommy AND a Daddy.

So I came home and did the only thing I could think to do. I sat down and prayed. Jesus.

Monday-Friday

I had 3 wants before I moved into our new apartment.
1. Paint the living room
2. Paint the girls' bedroom
3. Get the nursery border off my soon to be bedroom wall.
That is it.

None of these were Needs. We could have comfortably lived there with none of this done. Yet, God, in His revelation of his love for us has gone over and above providing for our hearts' desires. I hear babies crying upstairs, so the story of God's provision will wait til another day. But here are some pictures of the apt.

The Living room with white primer over the red walls.
My Beautiful Pink and White Living Room. I don't care what anyone thinks - I LOVE it!

The girls' bedroom went from brown to very pink. (Funky picture - it's got an OK sign in the shadow.)

Everybody "helped."

Welcome To My Life

I let E. and C. ride their bike/scooter to Karate class tonight. I'm a mother, when it was 6:45 and they weren't home yet I was a little concerned, not concerned enough to go look, but I was watching the clock.

A few minutes later C. ran in saying E. had fallen down on the way and couldn't get up. She was serious. Broken bones? Hospital visit? How in the world am I going to handle this alone? (Mom and Dad at Phillies game).

I put C. in charge of the 2 younger sisters and ran out the front door, praying all the way. I ran down my block and turned at the corner in search of E. On the next block I saw her sitting on the ground in the distance. When she saw me coming she got up on her feet and started walking.

She was alright. There was no hospital to visit and no need to call in reinforcements. My mind said, OK, you can stop running. My spirit whispered, keep on running.

I ran til I reached her.

She needed lots of mommy hugs and an arm around her waist and she made it home on her own steam. Lot of drama. Little damage.

A couple hours later E. came upstairs for a snack and I was hugging her. I said, "I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" E. replied in four little words, "You ran to me."

How Great the Father's Love for us, that we should be called children of God...

When I have fallen down and I am scraped and bruised and sad, how much more clearly have I seen the expressions of God's great love for me. My daily life testifies to this.

He runs to me, even though He doesn't have to. Just so I can know how very much He truly loves me.

Labor

I'm working on the new apartment this week and when I'm not, I'm too pooped to think. So, for the next few days, I will be "blogging in my head" only.

Pictures will surely follow (of the apt., not my head)

Proof

The following is proof that I am not and never was meant to mow.

Mowed at my parent's house today.

This is dirt. On my arm.
Can you see the sweat on my brow. Glistening. The bemused expression. The reddened skin.

I think words are unnecessary. My hand after I've showered - yes, they are blisters developing. Right there, under my fingers. See that red line. The blisters.

This is a picture of my cute kids.

:)

I Am Growing. And So Is The Grass

I believe that there are people who were meant to mow grass and there are those who were not. You can safely assume about anyone who starts a conversation off in this way that they are most certainly in the "NOT" category.

Let me tell you. I mowed the law today at my parent's office, soon to also be my residence. I think I may have mowed once before in my life; I'm 37. I avoided it for a lot of years by the "I don't know how," excuse. Then, well, in India, there is no grass. You sweep the dirt. (I didn't do that either.) Cleaning, manual labor. I just generally avoid it.

So, it has come to pass along with all the other changes in my life, that I now mow lawns. Thankfully, my parents' other tenant was there to get me started and show me how to turn on the mower (he also cleared out the grass catcher thingy for me too when it got filled up which was a big help.)

So, I get started and I don't have a clue what to do, plus the property is situated on a corner on a main street and it's rooty. I start out mowing like any non-mower would, pushing the machine like you vacuum. Back and forth. I quickly realized that this is not how I have seen it done (on TV and stuff - think Forest Gump). The light bulb goes on and I realize you're supposed to get a grid going, around and around - which I did. I still think I'm pretty stinky at mowing, and I was sure the entire time that someone was gonna stop their car, pull over and say, "Excuse me maam, I can see that you don't have a Clue how to mow. Let me give you a few pointers..." But it didn't happen. I guess people were too busy digesting their ham and turkey on Easter afternoon to bother with advice giving. (I had egg salad and lemon cupcakes).

In the end, the grass was mowed (mostly), I didn't break the mower (whew!) and I didn't drop it off the end of the sidewalk (we're talking no upper body strength people). I now must shower.

My Most Beautiful Easter Flower

Happy Birthday to my sweet, beautiful, funny, helpful, smart, driven, athletic, adaptable, amazing C. You are 8!

Easter Girls - Posing

This child would not pose because she was remaining in the car so as to have a private place to p--p. Nice of her to give a sweet smile tho.

E. and mom have no pic. E. didn't wait around long enuf to have hers taken. The Television calls her...

Pangs

It's weird how in the last few weeks I have started to experience pangs of sorrow for things that my heart is missing in India. This didn't happen at first. It just hit me all of the sudden while walking through a farm market with my family. I suddenly realized I had forgotten our copy of the movie, "Elf." It just crashed into me, right there, smack in the middle of my chest.

Of all the many things material and non that we left behind, why in the world would it be our DVD of "Elf" that would burst the dam? It's not like we can't just get another copy here if we wanted it...
The second time I felt a pang occurred while I was driving a couple weeks ago. Out of the blue I realized I left my Bryn Mawr framed degree in my house in India. That's a little more understandable than "Elf" but still, it's just a piece of paper.
The big wammie of all pangs hit me earlier this week. I finished reading through the New Testament and turned to the Old Testament to start all over again. I opened to Genesis and it got me. I just missed my Bible Students so badly. I taught Old Testament Survey to three batches of students and it was a highlight of my life. It never mattered how I felt, depressed, tense, angry, but when I entered the classroom the negative emotions all went away. I just loved being there.

I now wonder what other pangs await me in the days to come.

Beautiful Women

Some things are only possible through prayer. I am where I am today because of it.

When I was 15 went on my first Missions Trip with the youth group from my church. We went to London, England for 2 weeks. Now, that is another story for another day, but the important part of this tale is about a sweet older woman who commited to pray for one of the teenagers every day of the trip. She got my name. I came to know later that she continued to pray for me for years after we returned from our trip. I believe her prayers on my behalf were a vital part of me growing into a God loving woman.

When I became missionary myself I read a missionary biography about James Fraser called, "Mountain Rain." You can read how that relates in the next post.

I decided to gather around me a group of praying women. Those who would truly commit to praying for me and the ministry, my family, everyday. That was in 2005. Here it is six years later and the group has grown and the women are still praying. I was with a few of them Tuesday night.
I am so thankful for these most beautiful of women and the many others who prayed for us for all of these years and for all of those who continue to pray us through these transitional days.

I reached home around 11:30PM on Tuesday and this is what I found.

I love it when they sleep like this.

What Is Mountain Rain?

In 2005 I read a book called "Mountain
Rain" by Eileen Crossman. It is the biography of James
O. Fraser written by his daughter. James Fraser was a
missionary to the Lisu people in China during the
early to mid 20th century. He spent his life laboring
to bring them to Christ.

Here are some quotes from his biography:

"James now began to assess the size of his task. He
wasn't afraid of arduous climbing nor primitive
living, because he loved mountaineering anyway. But
the prospect of working alone to build a living church
to stand against such a powerful form of
spirit-worship was daunting. He knew the hosts of God
were with him. But he also knew that there was no such
thing as a solo worker in God's plan. .he now wrote
home about a new kind of partnership. 'I know you will
never fail me in the matter of intercession (he wrote
to his mother), but would you think and pray about
getting a group of like-minded friends, whether few or
many, whether in one place or scattered, to join in
the same petitions? If you could form a small prayer
circle I would write regularly to the members.' .In
ones and twos people in the area of his home agreed to
share the burden with him. They undertook the task
much as a business partnership: it was a clear and
definite commitment to the job. They would pray him
through. Pg. 64

Later it is written on page 84:

"Back in Tantsah he was learning more and more that
payer was the only weapon that could drive back the
forces of darkness. He had preached; he had taught; he
had discussed; but there was little fruit."

One more quote from page 167, from a letter written to
his prayer support team. James wrote:

"I really believe that if every particle of prayer put
up by the home churches on behalf of the infant
churches of the mission field were removed, the latter
would be swamped by an incoming flood of the powers of
darkness."

There is so much other good stuff in that book that I
could probably put up half the book in quotes, but I
won't.

Anyway, it was after reading this book, after relating
with the missionary James Fasier and his struggle to
spread the Gospel in the midst of a land and people in
bondage to the spirits of darkness that I decided to
build a team of women prayer warriors to labor with
me/us in the struggle to reach India with the Gospel
of Jesus Christ.

What I asked of the women:

1. That they would pray for me, the ministry, my family
and whatever prayer requests I send, every day.
2. That they would keep these prayer requests private
between the number of us so that I could feel free to
share things that I would not be comfortable sharing
in a general setting.
3. That they would share some of your personal prayer
requests with me.

Sadly, Still Famous

There is a certain amount of "fame" attached to being a missionary. I'm not sure if it is because you tend to speak in front of people and they see you on the stage at church or in some similar setting where you are the focus of attention. Or is it because missionaries tend to be in places doing things that the average person cannot and will not even conceive of doing...? (as for myself, I am in awe of nurses and teachers)

Well, whatever the reason, I'd always felt that there was a considerable amount of fame and glamour attached to us because we served the Lord on foreign soil. Don't misunderstand me, I find the whole thing humbling and occasionally humorous (like I said, the thought of giving needles to small children or teaching high schoolers all day gives me the shakes...those are the people we should be in awe of).

To be truthful, I don't miss it. Even in India I was a "celebrity." The only "white" person, American/foreigner around. I spoke their language, I shopped where they shopped. I never had to give my name, leave a number or pay a deposit. Everyone knew me. Everyone. (at least everyone in our city.)

How I often longed to just be normal. To go somewhere and be Nobody. I think it will happen. But not today and probably not tomorrow.

I find that I have gone from "famous" to "notorious." I am now the one who is recognized for speaking in a church or seen on a video, or prayed for. For those who are not "in the know," in the "inner circle," or well, on the mailing list, I now get, "I knew you looked familiar, you're the missionary in India, what are you doing home?" And there I am, compelled to give a synopsis of my life collapse to a stranger.

These are the guts, people.

At least I'm communicate-y.

To Lighten Things Up

For those of you who missed it on FB.

The nuts do not fall far from the tree...

Why I Am Here

Wow, that just puts it all right out there. Why am I here in NJ instead of there in India? I had/have a house, a ministry, a family. A twelve year investment. Up until a couple months ago I was certainly ready to be buried on Indian soil. I gladly put up with daily mosquito attacks, a foreign language communication, 24/7 Indian food, no hot running water, dust, heat, cockroaches, poop in the streets, gov't corruption, no English language movies and being away from my entire family. I repeat, gladly. I was Home. I had purpose and vision. I had people who depended on me. People I could help and teach and lead. So, what happened? Was there one thing that just burst the bubble, some incident that tore everything down? I wish I had that answer, but I don't. All I know is that by August of 2010 I was in a dark dark place without a speck of light in sight and after much prayer, I made a decision that I knew would change everything. That decision to open my mouth and speak out about abuse that I had suffered turned a light on in my darkness. I had no idea then, NONE, that I might end up here today. But for the first time in my life I stopped trying to lead God where I wanted Him to go and grabbed on with both hands, shut my eyes and said, lead me where YOU want me to go. So, here I am.

I Used To Be More Interesting

I am thinking of making a Blog Book of my previous blog. This morning I've been looking through it (my previous blog) and I now realize what I have long suspected. I used to be a lot more interesting. I firmly believe the "interesting" is still there, in here, under all this other stuff, somewhere. Since I am starting all over again, in more ways in than one, then lets take a fresh start to blogging too. Welcome.