Part of God's Family

So, I've been writing blog entries like crazy, but saving them up to post. So there are a couple of long ones under this one.

I'm about to give in to the pressure and get on Facebook. I'm not sure why I'm scared to death of it, but maybe it will be like driving was: I was scared until I tried and then I loved it.

The past few days have been really pleasant...almost too "easy" it seems...I keep looking around suspiciously thinking there might be something wrong :) No emotional breakdowns or anything! I think my sleep is finally getting regulated. I'm getting less than what I got at home, but it's solid and I'm not having crazy dreams any more :) That was entertaining, but not too healthy!

I'm just enjoying where God has me. He keeps blessing me with extra gifts that overwhelm me. Last night there was a worship time at the Gollan's in English and I went down (the Crowes stayed home that time). Even though I still don't have any "history" here, and I can't the jokes people tell with an Australian accent :) I was felt so surrounded and comforted and such a part of God's family when we sang and worshiped together. It was very sweet, and knew I was loved and known there, by God's Spirit.

They say that the

"Stars at night,
Are big and bright
Deep in the heart of Texas..."

but I have to say that the stars in the heart of Rzishchiv are pretty darn bright actually...wow. Walking home from the Gollans, I just had to sing out loud under that pulsing sky! How Great Thou Art...I didn't care if I roused the whole neighborhood (I didn't, though).

God is Great, in the good feelings and bad feelings alike!

Reminders of Yoo-hoo and India

This morning I drove down to the nearest gas station to get some milk, as mom requested. Milk is the main drink around here (not to mention my favorite), besides water, so it's bad to run out. Ethan and his bear, Hug-Me, came along, and as we left I told him (Ethan, not the bear) he didn't have to wear shoes. The gas station was just down the road and it wouldn't be more than a few minutes.

When we got there, I realized I hadn't been thinking- no matter how short or long we were going to be there, Ethan still had to go into the store! It's not the nastiest gas station in the world, but it's not the Taj Mahal either.

"I'll just have to carry you," I told him.
"Can I bring Hug-Me?" he wanted to know. Sure, he could bring Hug-Me. I hoisted him up, and we went in, Ethan clutching Hug-Me and acting sort of babyish. My heart was soft on him this morning, so I let him pick out a drink. His quick choice was Yoo-hoo. Nothing like good ol' chocolate flavored water...

Crazy, the memories that Yoo-hoo slaps me with. I have a vivid picture of sitting in Such-a-Bagel, a now-out-of-business bagel shop near the present Marble Slab Creamery, when I was younger than Ethan. Three or four. I remember distinct pink and turquiose, but I can't remember whether the walls were painted those colors, or if it was the turquoise basket with my strawberry cream cheese bagel. And then there was Yoo-hoo. Always Yoo-hoo. It seems like this was a regular occurance, but I'm really not sure.

Anyhow, Ethan picked out his Yoo-hoo, and I got the 2 % milk and a USA Today for Dad, and kind of fumbled everthing to the counter where the cashiers were grinning at us. An Indian family runs the gas station, and we've gotten to know Mr. Raj, who has talked with us about India and actually given us Indian food before! They are really friendly, and sort of make me "homesick" for India.

Today Raj wasn't there, just a man and lady who are related to him (I think). I don't know them by name, but they seem nice too. I paid (and repaid when I gave the wrong amount) and then, since I was still holding Ethan, (who has the amazing power of gaining pounds by the minute), (and don't forget Hug-Me), the man offered to take my bag out for me. I was going to say it wasn't any big deal, but there were plenty of people around and I thought, "why decline a gentlemanly offer?" So I said,

"That would be great, actually," and we went out to the car, and I dumped Ethan and his woeful looking teddy bear in the side door of the van. So I drove home, reminded of the special place I'll always have in my heart for Indian people and asking the Lord to please let this sweet family come to know Him.

At home, Dad shook Ethan's Yoo-hoo for him and opened it, and I took a sip, just to see if it was anything close to what I drank at the bagel shop when I was "knee high to a grasshopper." Nope. 98% water, 2% chocolate milk (probably skim, at that). But Ethan liked it. And I liked it that Ethan liked it :)

No Formula for That

"Love has taken away my practices
and filled me with poetry.

I tried to keep quietly repeating,
No strength but yours,
but I couldn't.

I had to clap and sing.
I used to be respectable and chaste and stable,
but who can stand in this strong wind
and remember those things?"

-Rumi, from "Buoyancy"

That's how it is. It seems like it should be grand enough to have the promise of God's strength, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength," but there's something so much bigger than just getting by. It's called Love.

After all, what's the greatest commandment?

"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'"

Mark 12:29-30

So I'm running around, half mad, thumbing open Rumi and Hafiz every little while to be baffled and delighted once again. And I have lots of questions. Like, did these guys believe Jesus was the Son of God, or did they think he was just a nice prophet? How could anybody possibly write about God's love like that and not believe? What exactly were the Sufis like? What can I learn from them? Can I trust what these heretic Muslims are saying? They weren't good Muslims. They weren't good Christians. But neither am I.

The morning after I read Rumi till 3 a.m. I woke and jumped out of bed, scandalized, and quickly started singing safe, contemporary Christian choruses, just to reel myself back in. I felt that I had sneaked into heresy's bedroom, not intending to be bad, but just to see if it really was heresy in there or not. What scared me is that I hadn't found a satisfactory answer to that question, and I fully intended to return every night until I did.

It's so scary to step out on a limb and even read a book that might be part truth but not all-the-way-truth. Careful worldview training has taught me to reject any vestiges of "tolerance," which I have always wholeheartedly done. I'm the queen of throwing the baby out with the bath water. Maybe I share my throne with Lauren :P

But the time has come to step out and risk it. The box I've let my "religion" become has nearly succeeded in suffocating me while my back was turned! It's so nice to know that God won't let me be snatched out of His hand. His love is the biggest thing in the world (think about sending your only Beloved to die on a cross and see if it's not), so I'm not fall off somewhere.

Rooted and grounded in the absolute of Jesus Christ and His loving boundaries, I am free to run, to explore, to love, to dream, to read crazy poetry and smile and say "that's how it is," and "that's how it isn't" if need be.

Here in America, we're so young, so green at being human, really. We have no ancient ruins. Not much history. We have a beautiful, godly heritage and an amazing story of freedom and Gods' hand. But we are young. There is not much mystery here, not much hidden under our sod. Generally speaking, we're more concerned with practical things rather than spiritual things. We have a lot to share with struggling nations in the East. But the East has a lot to give to us.

In India, for example, people are completely wrapped up in their spiritual nature. This usually looks bad and creepy, (worshipping cobras, setting up altars to stones, becoming one with the rainbow), but the truth is, God made them like that. They are seeking Him, ultimately, whether they discover Him or not in all their mess. So, while we are busy trying to fit life into a box, they are constantly peering into the box and taking life out, piece by piece exploring it. We want to make sense; they want something bigger than sense.

This is such a relief to me. I don't have to try to fit life into a box for the rest of my days, 9 to 5, fall semester, spring semester, summer. I just wasn't made to do that! I can live with the curious mind of a child, always discovering more of God at every turn and reveling in it! Every day there will be something new. What you see is not what you get. His love is higher than the mountains and deeper than the ocean. So, no formula for figuring that!!!

I will never know who the Lord is while I am on this earth. I know Him and love Him now in part, but it won't be till "The Divine Wedding Day" that I cease staring into that dingy mirror of Paul's and finally get to see the real thing. Yahoo!

SIdewalk Thoughts

One thing I’ve been thinking about while I’m driving and walking with Dad is how God made these set institutions and domains in our universe that are similar the world over. I love how there are families and tribes and nations and peoples.

They’re so broken and messed up, but at the same time, they’re created and arranged by God for a purpose. And little glimpses of that purpose still fight through. God’s plans are ingenious. Who, anyway, would have thought of having people in families in houses in communities in people groups in nations on continents on a planet in a universe? With schools and churches and parks and hospitals and libraries and stores and movie theaters? Where did the idea of economies come from, with carpet factories and pizzerias and shopping malls? What about governments, good and bad, with their tyrannical monarchs, law keeping judges, governors, policemen, presidents, parliaments, congresses, councils, chiefs, and consuls? How did neighborhoods happen, road signs evolve, libraries grow up? And cultures! How do I even begin?

At World Mandate a lady whose name escapes me now…Carol Davis?...talked about how there are many “domains” in society, like science, art, politics, religion, communication, engineering, education, transportation, and so forth. I can’t really explain it like she did, but she encouraged believers to use their particular gifts, callings, or desires in a certain domain to benefit the kingdom of God. You don’t have to call yourself a missionary to be part of sharing the gospel in God’s kingdom. You can simply serve in the domain you are in. Although I don’t have a drive for a certain career necessarily, I love the very idea of God’s amazing planning and organization, the way He divided everything up to make life work the way it does. I love the institutions of marriage and family, despite all the quirks and pain and brokenness there is in the world within them. I love how every town is different, with its road names and local stores and area accents. I love even the diversity of architecture even between regions here in the U.S.

I love the habiting of a place, dwelling in it, soaking up what it is and what it smells like, feels like, looks like, sounds like. Nothing is ever perfect, nothing ever completely serene. Lamp lit windows coexist with low-toned, bitter arguments; garbage litters roads where sweet pea vines trail. I can feel more in place in a room far from home, with a bed and a lamp and a little window and my little suitcase of things, than at home in my own room with everything I own and know close by.

Sometimes I love a place because someone I love is there, or was there once. But sometimes I love it for the fact that it snatched back a nearly lost memory, that it taught me what life is, or that it gave me a quiet place to hear God.

Just walking this little neighborhood with Dad has opened up questions and horizons and given me tickets to trains of thought I haven’t ever been on before. The sun goes down and slips over time zones, and wakes people up somewhere in a valley in Tajikistan. Vacant lots stand full of weeds, and kudzoo continues to grow at a foot a day to take over eastern Tennessee. A dead rabbit decomposes on a cracked sidewalk in Jonesville. All kinds of crazy things are happening that we completely take for granted, and what’s even crazier is that it all comes from God and goes back to God…

Hm. You probably think by now that I really have made it to the funny farm and my story about going with Dad to see Grandma was just a cover up. That’s ok. I’m enjoying myself in a mild, pleasant way, like taking a long hot bath in the winter. And I’ve discovered that it’s really easy to keep my things picked up when I have all this unpressured, unhurried time.

Grandpa is snoring in his chair with his head cocked back and his feet propped up. (It’s more like the breath is hurled up from his chest as if it has a long way to travel.) We haven’t done much but pass each other in the kitchen when he’s on his way to get his oatmeal, but I like him.

Grandma is on a word search in Webster’s for a word I asked her about, and she found a poem printed in an old, yellowed bit of newspaper.

Dad is in his “special chair” by the other lamp, looking at Adirondack chair patterns in an edition of “Handyman” magazine. I can see his wheels turning behind his glasses :)

Time for a bowl of My-Current-Favorite Organic Cereal-That-Looks-Like-Dog-Food with the milk we keep giving the sniff test. It says June 4 but it keeps passing the test. Until tomorrow…

The Best of Two Worlds

So, I’m at Grandma’s now, and thoroughly enjoying it. Right now Dad is in the living room looking at old yearbooks. I had to laugh, because in all the pictures his mouth looks like Ethan’s :)

Roads are delicious. I spent some time yesterday cultivating appreciation for my southern roots (which I really have never bothered doing before). Observing and absorbing the long, unchanging lines of towering pines along the interstate, the hurried vastness of the Mighty Mississippi, and the enchanting iron work fences at the Vicksburg rest stop, I discovered that I kind of…like this. The mountains up here, though, are so beautiful to me. They aren’t very big mountains, but the peaceful mystery of these hills with little houses tucked into them delights me.

We made decent time yesterday on I-20, and I actually got to drive about half the time! I was surprised and delighted at how quickly I adjusted to it. Dad actually got to sleep a bit, and at least rest in the passenger’s seat. And I got a lot of practice passing eighteen wheelers. Things were going so well that I even braved Birmingham and triumphed, and then tried Chattanooga at rush hour and conquered again! (There really wasn’t much traffic though, considering it was rush hour). So now I feel confident that I can really and truly drive on the interstate and even through cities, and could even do it alone, if need be. That would be an adventure! But I think acquiring the confidence to attempt it is the biggest hurtle for me…and it’s jumped!!

Last night Aunt Ann, Kimmy, and Elizabeth came over and we had supper together. Then the girls and I sprawled out in the bedroom and talked while I played with Kim’s beautiful hair. It’s nice to be with them again.

After they left, I tried to go to bed because I had been up since 3:15 a.m. and never even tried to kid myself into thinking I could sleep in the van…but alas. Elizabeth had left some books on the shelf in the bedroom, and I was only going to take a peek, but…You guessed it-- I fell to temptation and was up till 1:00 a.m. reading an extraordinary story.

The book wasn’t very long, so I sort of speed read it and finished it. It was Total Abandon, by Gary Witherall. He and his wife went to Lebanon several years ago as missionaries and she was killed by a gunman after about two years there. In a way it’s a sad story, but their realness and devoted, joyful love for the Lord really captured me. You think you dread “tragedies” like that…but at the same time there’s an element of longing to fully abandon everything to God in that way.

Needless to say, I didn’t want to get up very early this morning, and when I first woke up at 7:30, realizing that it was actually only 6:30 by my body’s Texas clock, I was sort of disgusted. It was already light! So I kind of went back to sleep, and then sort of got up, but not really, and then at 9:45 I finally went out to the living room where Grandma was working a crossword and watching a game show. Soft sunlight was coming in through the lacy curtains, and it felt like a good morning.

Dad had gone for a walk at the track here in Dayton, and part way through my breakfast he came in with a McDonald's iced coffee for me :) I felt loved.

Liz told me that the Dayton library has wireless internet, so I’m writing this at Grandma’s table and plan to go to the library later. Fun, fun. This wireless stuff is new and exciting to me :) I’ve always loved coming to Grandma’s, but I always felt a little stuck and isolated. This way, I seem to have the best of two worlds.

We’ll probably be leaving for North Carolina on Saturday. For now, we’ll just hang out and enjoy each other :)

Squirrels, Kids, and the rest of the Trip

It's so springy out! At least a dozen suicidal squirrels danced with death this morning beneath the front end of the van. In one neighborhood there were three squirrels in a row by the side of the road, waiting for a moving vehicle to dash out in front of. I hate the thought of hitting one, but if one of us is going to have an accident on the road, it ain't gonna be me! I just grip the steering wheel and drive straight ahead, half praying for them, willing them to get off the stinkin' road!

Yes. Ahem. It was a bit harrowing.

I was going to write more about the trip, but I find the vivid, blogable things are melting into the more concrete present, which includes the Crowe kiddos and Ethan bouncing around upstairs. They're over at our house today because Deb is packing like crazy to get ready for THE CRATE OF DOOM, due Monday. The kids all seem so happy and excited about moving to Ukraine. I'm excited right along with them, and wish my turn was coming sooner!

Ethan LOVES to play with Brent, Tucker, and Clark, and he's going to miss them immensely when they're gone. While they were on the porch eating their peanut butter & banana sandwiches, Brent poked his head inside and said, "You know how we're washing our hands? We stick them under the roof and the rain comes down on them and we just rub our hands together. Only it's sea water."

As to the trip...on Sunday we stopped at a place called Hamilton Pool Preserve, where there was a beautiful blue pool and "grotto" carved out of the rock. Lush moss and ferns clung to the rocks, and it was a lovely place.

Mainly I was noticing the group of foreign looking folks who walked down there after us...I was guessing they were from Iraq or, as Dad suggested, Israel. They were speaking a really cool language, and the young women (there were several couples, one with a baby) had headscarves and longer shirts on. They all looked like they were having so much fun, and I was dying to know where they were from, but I couldn't get the courage to ask. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't seem offensive.

As the minutes ticked by the urgency to talk to them grew and grew...but so did my fear. So I kept praying inwardly, "God, please let me talk to them...please make me talk to them...I can't do it on my own." I just needed to say hi and know where they were from. I was remembering something a speaker at World Mandate had said about how Muslim people especially feel unwelcome here and have a lot of people giving them wierd looks wherever they go, and how it can mean so much just to speak a friendly word of acceptance. I didn't know if they were Muslim or not, but it didn't matter. That's all I wanted to do...speak to them.

Please, God, please... Our family was swimming/wading around in the water, and most of the "mystery people" had walked around to the other side of the pool. Only one young woman was left, leaning on the fence behind us trying to nurse her baby. He was fussing and she was talking soothingly to him. We didn't want to bother her, and kept on with the wading and splashing around. Then it was time to go. I begged to stay a few more minutes and see if she would finish and I could get a chance to say something. Dad agreed to, but finally we really needed to head on.

As we went to pick up our towels and things, she got up and began moving toward her stroller. "This is your chance," Dad said. My heart sank. I just couldn't. I felt my courage ebb away as she turned her back to us. She was about to leave and that would be the end of it. I was never going to find out where she was from, or find out what that flowy language she was speaking was, or even get to give her a smile. No! I had to do it, I had to do something. I grabbed my shoes and headed for the water's edge, planning to wash my feet off, but hoping that by some miracle I could bring myself to speak to her en route. Amazingly, it happened! Propelled by some force I didn't quite understand but have since chalked up to God answering my prayer with an extra boost of Something, I went after her and plunged in.

"Excuse me, but I noticed you were speaking a different language, and..." At first she looked startled, but then she turned to me with a beautiful smile. "I'm from Iran," she told me in good English, though with a thick accent, and then, "We were speaking Persian." We only talked for a brief moment, with me grinning like an idiot the whole time. I tried to express how happy I was to get to talk to her. Mom asked how old her baby was; he was so tiny! She said he was 38 days. She seemed ready to go, so I said goodbye. Before I turned away, though, I asked her name. "Zahra," she said...so gracefully that my tongue just stumbled over it when I tried to repeat it. Persian is a regular ballet of the tongue. "I'm Cassie," I told her, "and I'm so glad to meet you!" "Glad to meet you too," she called cheerfully over her shoulder...and we parted ways.

I rinsed my feet in the pool, dried them, slipped my shoes on, and re-joined my family without hardly realizing what I was doing. I was so happy, so satisfied that God really answered me, and I had gotten to speak with her. Triumph swelled in me, along with a keen sense of "missing." It seems like it would be impossible to miss people you've only met for five minutes, but I find that it happens to me pretty often.

After that it was on to Austin, where we stopped and got a free tour of the capitol. I could always write lots more, but I really have to go...

A (Sort of) Cross Cultural Experience

(The previous post tells about the first part of our Texas roadtrip)

On from the reunion...

The next stop was my favorite. We drove to our hotel in Seguin to dump our stuff and freshen up, and then headed on to San Antonio. We were about out of the hilliness now, but the heart of San Antonio was fascinating in a different way. I probably wouldn't like living in a city, but I definitely love the excitement of being in one for a little while. I kept having the sensation of being in Hong Kong or India again, tagging along with a Vinnie and the team, and had to shake myself and say "Cassie, you goofhead, this is San Antonio...Texas!"

The bottom line is, I love to travel. I love to see new sights, smell new smells, breath the air of a different clime. The cleanness and the dirt of a city hand in hand intrigues me. Shining glass windows, fancy sports cars, and well manicured flower beds mingle with sidewalk grime, dumpsters, and ready-chewed gum. The same goes for the people. Shimmery affluence and striking poshness weave in and out among sagging clothes, stains, cigarettes. I feel out of place with both, but I love observing the strangness, though I certainly don't envy any of it.

We did stop at the Alamo (it is amazingly tiny and it's tucked into the grander buildings so that you'd hardly know it was there if they didn't make such a big deal over it.) I was too busy watching people to pay proper attention to the Alamo, though I have to admit, it's amazing to think of 150 (or was it 250?) rough and rag tag guys defending that little building against thousands of Santa Anna's fellows...even for thirteen days. Took a lot of guts.

Once at the San Antonio riverwalk, it didn't feel like a big city any more, but rather a quaint, enchanting other-world. We entered a culture strange to me, where everyone followed sidewalks along the tamed, contained San Antonio river under massive oaks and cypress trees, around plam trees and tastful flower beds, over arched limestone bridges, in and out of shops and restaurants to the serenade of mariachi bands and other music. Being from Longview, sidewalks in themselves are add a whole new dimension to life :)

As it grew dark, the river lived. We took a boat tour for half an hour through the liquid street, admiring in rapid succession the lamplit hotels, the historic statues and landmarks, and the lantern-hung verandas where groups and couples alike shared warmly illumined tables. Light! It was all over the place...but not in excess. Maybe it was having less of the glaring streetlights and more of the soft lamp post light that made the scene appealing...Glowing under the awnings, glinting on the water, playing on the shop signs. And people holding hands like crazy! It was a very romantic place, we agreed. And a very fun family spot too. I began to feel like I was in a musical, and unfortunately for everyone else, had the absurd urge to burst into impromptu song, adlibbing to foolish tunes. I think humming should be a virtue.

Aside from noticing the romantic nature of the place, I also noticed A LOT of people of different nationalities...I'm sure they were Americans, but I mean...they looked different from ME. And that excited me. There were a lot of Indian people especially, many of the women in saris or punjabis. The intoxicating colors alone made my mind whirl.

After the tour, it was already about bedtime because we'd arrived late, but we ate at a Mexican restaurant where a mariachi band was playing and then Dad and Mattie went up in a tower nearby while Mom, Connor and I took refuge in Starbucks with a giftcard. Connor and Mom took turns hauling Ethan, who had turned pumpkin long before midnight and was now a sleeping deadweight. A little hot chocolate revived him, however. We watched people sweep by outside the plate glass windows while Ethan sat basking in a resplendent purple velour chair. Then Dad and Kate came back and the wind began to pick up, and it began raining about the time we commenced th interminable search for our lost vehicle. Is it just me, or do all parking garages look the same???

More to come about our last day...

Of Roadtrips and Reunions

Yes, I do love roadtrips. In fact, the best part of any trip, for me, is probably the time spent in the car, strapped to a seat, unable to go anywhere or do anything but sit back and stare at the fresh, new, ever-changing sights going by, listening to music or reading now and then, or chatting, playing the abc game, or reading with family members. Not that being trapped in a minivan with my parents and three siblings is always a basket of cherries, mind you, but generally it's pretty special. Car time. MMMM. I like it so much that after a drive of only a few hours I really would rather not get out.

We left on Thursday, about lunch time, and headed for Glen Rose to stay the night at a cozy little guest house we've been to before. It's a special place, and I always look forward to going there. We tried to play a riotous game of family soccer, which was pretty comical due to the fact that we were playing in a tiny space in a grove of trees, and none of us have really played soccer before besides Dad and maybe Connor. Even though I was wearing tennis shoes, the slippery oak leaves strewn all over the yard betrayed me several times and I, being the athletic chic I am, flew sprawling on the ground like a circus clown. Great fun.

We didn't find the blanket of bluebonnets we were hoping for, but we did enjoy a stroll down to the Brazos, which borders a smidgin of the property. The little glade was shaded by oak trees fledged with new leaves, and cedars clustered everywhere, along with a sprinkling of flowers.

That night we visited with our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Southward, over bowls of ice cream on the porch. At long last, I was reunited with the favored corduroy pillow, a dumpy old green affair with an aura of comfort and soporificness. In the morning there was coffee in the be-hearted mugs, and we cleaned up and headed on the Frederickburg.

Dad was driving, so he had plenty to say about the unforcasted gloomy weather, but the drive was splendid without the sunshine too. The hills in the area are humble, not grand or majestic; simple, rugged, swathed in old grass that gives them a dry look. Cedar shrubs dotting the landscape everywhere add to the dryness. It may not be the lushness of good 'ole East Texas, but in the low, secretive groves of willow and oak trees, flowers an new leaves spring out. So the countryside is an intriguing mix of death and rebirth, old and new. I never tired of watching it go by.

Fredericksburg was full of hoity-toity, too-close-to-the-big-city-to-be-cheap-enough-to-sell-anything-affordable shops (which were fun to window shop in anyway) and enticing German restaurants. It was Brats and Snitzel for us...and various potato dishes, too.

We bunked up in a hotel in San Marcus Friday night and tried to give ourselves a driving tour of Texas State campus in the morning, but as it turns out, you pretty much need a degree in navigation...or at least a map...to get around the place. The campus sprawls all over a series of little hills among a tangle of vegetation, including a lot of air plants and some spanish moss hanging from trees. Well, college towns are fascinating, anyway, especially when the campus population significantly increases the town's population, as it does in San Marcus. I don't know the numbers for sure.

As it was Saturday, we set off for the anticipated family reunion in Smithville, closer to Austin (I think I said Houston in a different post, but I was wrong.) By this time I was eager to visit with some other people (nothing against my immediate family of course, but hotel rooms can be...umm...confining). I was not prepared, however, for an afternoon milling about with 100+ complete strangers who were supposedly related to me and wanted to know my plans for the next ten years of life. Some of them remembered me as baby, but most of them had no clue who I was, and I didn't know them from Adam.

I don't have much to report on the family reunion. It was the driving motive of our trip, but I found that it mainly served to illustrate the Proverb that says "Better is a friend nearby than a brother far away." (Isn't that it?) It was fun to meet the cousins and aunt and uncle Mom grew up with, though, and "Get in touch with my Dutch" a little. I found out that I have a relative (and an ancestor from farther back) named "Douwe"...a thrillingly odd and wonderful name, isn't it? And I got to try Dutch cheese straight from Freisland. So it was good to find out a little about my roots, but I think if I were really going to have a "family" reunion, you'd be surprised at the people invited...and the nationalities my skin doesn't betray!

I'm going to continue in a second post so that this one doesn't get too gangly and unreadable...

Being Chicken

I just finished de-boning a chicken, and I must say, it was a disgusting thing to do. (de-boning it, not finishing!) It isn't the first chicken I've de-boned (in fact, I did one yesterday, too), and I'm sure there will be many more in the future, but that doesn't make me feel any better. It's one of the grossest things in the world, right up there with actually cleaning out a chicken, which is grosser by far. Well, there are a great many grosser things in the world, I guess, just not in my world. Which probably tells you that #1, I am a wimp; #2, my world is quite small; and #3, this person is not ready for missionary life in Africa or some other wilds. Right. I'm not :) That's why I'm going to Ukraine first :) Not that they don't do worse things to the chickens in Ukraine...

No, really, de-boning a chicken is not that big of a deal. As I plunged my hands into those gobs of slimy yellow fat and felt the brown stringy bits oozing through my fingers, saw the ghoulish knobby ends of the bones...I thought back to missions trips to Tamazunchale, Mexico back in my chicken hating days. Not only did I dislike cleaning, cooking, or de-boning them, the very idea of eating chicken repulsed me as well! (I think that came about shortly after we butchered our own chickens, which seems understandable.) Unfortunately for me then, but fortunately for now, I had to suck it up and get over it because chicken was the main dish most of the time. Somewhere between the last Tamaz. trip (March 2004) and the trip to Hong Kong (July 2005), I got over it big time. I wonder what it would be like going back to Mexico now, so ready to engage with the chicken and all with a fearless heart :) It's easier to relate to people when you can relate to their food.

Connor is in Mexico right now, getting all the chicken he can manage, besides working like a beast, leading worship for devos, clapping his hands to pieces in worship services, and having the time of his life. I envy him, but it's good that I'm here. Those short, intense missions trips changed me so drastically, concerning the chicken factor and so many other things. Not only am I happy to eat chicken now, I voluntarily cook and de-bone it...and yes, I will someday butcher it if I have to!

The best way to do gross things is to simply plunge in. Revel in the noisome oozings. And if that's simply not possible (like when cleaning up throw up, for example), there's always the bigger picture to look at. Chicken de-boning does not need to define me, it can simply be filed away as an exotic sensory experience while I get on with life.

Gone Crazy

Sometimes it feels like the world has gone crazy. It probably feels like that because, in fact, that's exactly what it's done. I'm not sure what I mean by that comment...just bear with me.

I've been thinking a lot about the "brethren throughout the world" that 1 Peter talks about. Yesterday during worship time we sang "Give Me Jesus", which is an utterly beautiful song...

In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I am alone
When I am alone
When I am alone, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I come to die
When I come to die
When I come to die, give me Jesus

-Fernando Ortega

So, maybe it sounds repetitive just written down, but if you know the song, you can sing it and know what I mean. Anyhow, while we were singing I had my eyes closed and suddenly, like a digital slideshow, these pictures started coming into my mind of the believers in other countries being persecuted and killed because they love Jesus. In the morning, every morning...the fears and griefs of young widows, the possessions confiscated and homes destroyed, the long darks hours of prison cells, the tortures and beatings...but then there is Jesus. That is all they want. And that is what they get.

I'm just hoping for the courage to make that my prayer. It's not that I mean to be morbid...I guess it would be easy to take this that way. But it isn't morbid at all. The world is a dangerous place, (just yesterday we heard about the shootings in Colorado) and for so long I've thought that life's objective was to keep safe, happy and comfortable. But now I'm discovering that the safety is empty, and I find myself longing to say "You can have all this world, but give me Jesus."

A few days ago I read the Voice of the Martyrs magazine, which pictured a prayer meeting on the front cover. There were six people kneeling in a circle in the forest, holding their hands out, praying. And I thought, "I want to be part of that prayer meeting." And I keep longing for that kind of desperate fellowship and even danger...yet I'm such a weak and fragile child! I tremble at the thought of going to a nursing home to reach out...I battle every morning just to get out of bed. Just an overload of phone calls to make can cause me to crumple into tears. Is this the girl who wants to brave the wilds and risk hatred, gun threats, and tortures? Sounds crazy. Sounds a little niave. Sounds impossible!

Just in the little sufferings that I go through, I've tasted a bittersweet tang that left me thristy for more. It's a funny thing to say, because when the day is done I'd never ask to go through it again. But later, when things get "better", I start missing those days I spent running to Jesus at every turn, nights of crying myself to sleep knowing that I'm in His arms. I've started to understand how those believers have the joy they have, and I'm just praying for the courage to love and hang on and risk my life in his name, here or overseas.

On this website I think you can find some of the amazing Voice of the Martyrs stories that really spur me on in my faith...(when I can bring myself to read them!)

http://www.persecution.com/

Sunday Morning, Part 2

If you're going to bother to read this, you might as well start with part 1...(the last post)

So, after Sunday School, where I became very excited about how God is going to show us things we haven't encountered before (in my case, I'm thinking of His glory in the church, His people) we went into the sanctuary for the worship service. That was when we sang the song about the mountains trembling...and I loved it!

"We can see that God You're moving a mighty river through the nations..."

"For I will pour out water on the thirsty land,
and streams on dry ground;
I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring,
and my blessing on your descendants.
They will spring up like grass in a meadow,
like poplar trees by flowing streams.
One will say 'I belong to the Lord;'
another will call himself by the name of Jacob;
still another will write on his hand, 'The Lord's,'
and will take the name Israel. " Isaiah 44:3-4

We have brothers and sisters all over the world...and God's Spirit connects us, even when we can't speak the same language. Just like when I look at the pictures of Compassion International, I have to adjust when I think of the church in other nations. In so many places, she is suffering...and yet it's that suffering that brings them close to God, to each other. It's hard to accept, and maybe that's part of the huge struggle for me and so many others in America's churches...we have such comfortable lives...sometimes if we are going to suffer, we have to actually choose it- choose to get outside of the comfort. This is the place I am: a place of longing to be like Christ and share with His people, but struggling to lay down my life and my comfort to come and die. Hearing about the three believers who were martyred in Turkey last week and praying for them as a church body just brought this in a lot closer. It's not just Turkey...it's India, where people I know and love and have fellowshipped with are in danger every day for the sake of the gospel. It's in Pakistan, its in Afghanistan, in Niger, Indonesia, Egypt, China. So many places.

There's such beauty in store for His precious saints! When I think of the people who die for His sake, I feel so ashamed of my own small struggles. My giving up my life is giving smiles to children, is giving mere minutes to do someone a favor, is battling over whether I should give ten dollars to this or that. But I am not ashamed, because Colossians 1:12 says that the Father has "qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light." I'm qualified! His grace qualifies me. I share with those who overcome, and I will overcome these things because of His great strength.

Sunday Morning, Part 1

Did You Feel The Mountains Tremble?

Did you feel the mountains tremble?
Did you hear the oceans roar?
When the people rose to sing of
Jesus Christ the risen one

Did you feel the people tremble?
Did you hear the singers roar?
When the lost began to sing of
Jesus Christ the risen one

And we can see that God you're moving
A mighty river through the nations
And young and old will turn to Jesus
Fling wide your heavenly gates

Prepare the way of the risen Lord
Open up the doors and let the music play
Let the streets resound with singing
Songs that bring your hope
Songs that bring your joy
Dancers who dance upon injustice

Did you feel the darkness tremble?
When all the saints join in one song
And all the streams flow as one river
To wash away our brokeness

And here we see that God you're moving
A time of Jubilee is coming
When young and old return to Jesus
Fling wide your heavenly gates
Prepare the way of the risen Lord

by Martin Smith

People, if I were a more punky person, I would say that the lyrics of this song totally rock my socks off. Ok. Maybe I'll just say it. THIS SONG TOTALLY ROCKS MY SOCKS OFF!!! (Sorry, sophisticated friends.) I love this song, and what it means to me. We sang it yesterday morning at church...oh, excuse me, "with church" (because the church is God's people, right?) My TotalSocksRockedOffness started earlier in the morning, actually, when we walked into church (you know what I'm talking about...the building) and this sweet brown face with these fuzzy little curls and captivating brown eyes met me in the foyer. The little girl wasn't really there. She was in Africa, but her picture was on a poster for Compassion International. A dozen other faces were pictured on the table...its very hard to look at them. They rouse my compassion, and yet there's a painful challenge to wake up for real...to open up somewhere inside and dig out the holes that are filled with me so that these little children can fit in my heart. There isn't room there yet. They've been tapping on the door of my heart, and sometimes pounding, and sometimes squeezing in when I'm not watching. But these children are dirty, and smelly, and they are so, so poor, and their needs are so huge...I'm afraid. If I let them in, they will trample my nice clean spot in here, and they'll want something from me...they'll take my time, my money, my energy, my health...everything. If I give something, I have to give everything, and there's no holding back. If you give a mouse a muffin, you know! But I want to love them, because Jesus does, and because I know that the only way to get real life is to give mine away. So I continue looking at the pictures. I refuse to flinch and turn away, though I stand by the blaze to be branded.

So my heart was already beyond our borders for the morning, not that I was ignoring everyone here (I hope), but my heart was already stirred. Then we went into Sunday School...there was Jeremiah 33:3 "Call to me and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things which you do not know."

Lately I've been longing for fellowship...the kind where you are in God's word and sharing it, giving thanks and testimonies, and "psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs." Its something I've only tasted...I haven't fully known God's power this way. The power of His healing for people and nations...children in the city streets. The power of Acts, the power of the disciples following Jesus and then coming together to be His church. I see this happening in other countries...China, and India, and Afghanistan, and others. Great and mighty things. I've been disconcerted by, and critical towards, America's institutionalized church with its programs and structure and big buildings and affluence...so dissatisfied with the coldness and separation of churchy church...but I have to confess my hard heart.

Forgive me, Lord, and forgive me dear friends, for condemning the church as I've experienced it. I only condemn myself. I don't think any of us want to be apathetic or stagnant...but we've been lulled into this. I've grieved the Lord with my complaining, and even now I want to be careful of generalizing and stereotyping American Church...because its not all apathetic and even yesterday I was just so blessed by the body of Christ, by those around me and God's Spirit. I'm ready to quit pointing my finger. "We war not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." Eph. 6:12. This sounds pretty stiff, but its God's word. And honestly, it encourages me because I don't have to be so disappointed and resentful towards the church! I can't be offended or depressed by the apparent apathy or reserve conerning spiritual things that I sense form others... I am no better...I walk into a crowd at church and sometimes feel very lost and alone. And sometimes I feel just as lost and alone, or more so, when I am face to face talking with friends because I know there is so much more to talk about than what we did yesterday, but I don't know how. I don't want to be that way...and I don't think they want to either. Something besides flesh and blood holds us back. But isn't God's power much greater? And doesn't He come visit us when we repent?

For long enough now I've held this judgement in my heart, and God is slowly turning that outstretched finger inward. I just want to take the forgiveness He offers, to live in that grace, and to lavish that grace on my brothers and sisters. We are all followers of Jesus, struggling with the same problems.

I've been pondering Isaiah 58 a lot lately...

6 Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen: To loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?
7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter- when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn and your healing will quickly appear...
9 then you will call and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help and He will say: Here am I. If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk,
10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry, and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like noonday.
11 The Lord will guide you always, and satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well watered garden, like a spring whose waters do not fail.
12 Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.
13 If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath, and from doing as you please on my holy day, if you call the Sabbath a delight, the holy day of the Lord honorable, and if you honor it by not going your own way and not doing as you please or speaking idle words,
14 then you will find your joy in the Lord, and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land, and to feast on the inheritance of your Father Jacob. The mouth of the Lord has spoken."

That Country Shall Be My Home...

"I have but one passion - it is He, it is He alone. The world is the field and the field is the world; and henceforth that country shall be my home where I can be most used in winning souls for Christ." - Count Zinzindorf

That's my quote for the day...about all I can eek out the time to post right now. I stole it from the Crowe's website http://www.liftupyoureyes.org/ . Whichever country. Honestly, I'm a bit weak on the passion part, but it's growing. Its faith, not feelings :) Oh, and please don't ask who Count Zinzindorf is...but he does have a cool name!

The Weight of the World...

Wow. Today was kind of one of those days where I want to change the world. Its such an awefully big place! Its pretty overwhelming, though exciting too.

After lunch this afternoon, Connor whipped up some ice coffee for the two of us (nobody else was home, so they totally missed out) and we a a siblingly chat in our homeade cafe. It's nice to sit and talk about life, and the possibilities of the future. I guess you could say we're both learning to be globally minded, and being 15 and 18 in a increasingly globalizing world, possibilities for going, doing, and being seem to be exploding on our horizons. At least distant horizons, that is :) I don't know what I will do with my life...honestly I'm giving it every day to God and I know I will only go where He leads, but I am excited that He is a God of Future and Hope.

After taking multiple missions trips, going through a rather intensive geography class this school year, and nosing curiously into various cultures and stories, I'm suddenly burdened with the staggering weight of the world's problems. It's not something I'm supposed to bear, I suppose, but I've been feeling it rather keenly. Racial hatred in Rwanda, nuclear weapons in Iran, Israel's struggle for their promise land, unloved orphans in China, darkness and depression in Ukraine, hungry children in India, the persecuted church in many nations, AIDs and the ravages of the late slave trade all over Africa...it goes on and on...I have to humbly admit, I can't, and don't, carry the burden, even in prayer; but I often feel guilty for not doing so! I end up thinking I'm expected to do something about it when perhaps God would just have me sensitively open up my heart to share His pain and joy. "My burden is easy and light..."

Connor and I's approaches to changing the world are a bit different. While I open up my heart to painful issues and then suddenly feel like a ten ton boulder has smashed it into the ground, Connor seems to maintain hope and have ideas about how to give it. It's called vision, I think. He was just mentioning this afternoon how cool it is for people to help start micro businesses in third world countries (such as loaning a poverty stricken family money to get a small fridge and some chickens...wallah! A grocery store!) I've heard this really works. Usually I find myself crying about orphaned kids...or a similar trouble. A few days ago in a conversation I heard about an orphanage in China...there is this room where kids just lay there silently, all day. "They don't even cry anymore, because they know no one is coming." Wow. Yesterday morning at breakfast our family was having an expostulation over whether and why Mexicans call Mexico the United States of America (an interesting thought) and why WE have the right to call ourselves that...and I just burst out "I'm so sick of all the conflict! I just want to go back to bed!" Aside from the fact that I'd just gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, I am just so worn out thinking of all the conflicts between all the countries in the whole wide world...and we Americans always thinking we're better! I'm sick of my own predjudices and those of my country. I know there can be no peace without Jesus...but I can hardly live with myself sometimes.

When my family reads this, they'll groan. What they're sick of is my scruples, the constant wrestling matches with my conscience, and the garbled guts that get spilled on them frequently. But I have to ask these questions. How can I live responsibly in a world where the skirt I just bought, cost, (on sale) the equivalent of what an Indian man can support his family on decently for two weeks? How can I rationally justify my life up against 1 John 3:16-20? How can I extricate myself from the cultural expectations of a grossly materialistic society? And what about my feeble prayers? I want to "set my heart at rest in His presence" but I am pretty confused and tormented by a lot of things. I cling to His blood that saves me, and trust that He'll show me the way before I experience heart failure...