31 December 2013

Our Christmas Miracle

Last year Luke and I didn't make New Year's resolutions. Instead, we shared our hopes for 2013. One of the biggest was that we would become parents this year. After trying to conceive for 3 1/2 years, we were first starting to feel hopeful about the possibility around Christmas last year. We prayed and prayed that the Lord would bless us with a sweet baby this year. And truly felt hopeful He would.

When we learned we were pregnant in May, we were overjoyed. We had given up on having a baby in 2013, but were by no means upset about that. After all, God's timing is perfect. On Tuesday night, Christmas Eve, I had mentioned to a friend those prayers and thoughts from last year, and even joked with Luke about how God does have a sense of humor and it was still possible that He would decide our child would be born this year. After a very easy first eight months of pregnancy, it really was just in jest.

So when my water broke as I stepped into the shower to get ready for the Christmas festivities for the Wessler side, I wasn't sure what to do/think/believe. Nine hours later, at 6:41 p.m. Christmas Day, Michael Alden was born at 17.25 inches and weighing 4 lbs. 14 oz. Wow! God is good! So good! And while his name has been picked out for many months, it couldn't be more fitting since Michael means "Gift from God." In addition to the marvelous gift he is, God's grace has been gifted to us in many other ways this week:

- Many of you know from this post that we were concerned about Michael's kidneys. One in particular was substantially larger than normal at earlier sonograms and we weren't sure what sort of follow up treatment he would need. We prayed. Many of you prayed. God answers prayers! His kidneys only showed a bit of swelling after birth and the doctors are not at all concerned!

- With Michael making his entrance 5 1/2 weeks early, we were told during labor that he would likely be going to the NICU. This is where the earliest and sickest babies go. But our little warrior is strong, and was sent to the level 2 nursery instead. Though it is hard to not have him at home, we are blessed that he is as healthy as he is. Right now he's the smallest baby in the nursery.

- Location location location. Seriously. We live about a mile or so from the hospital, so when they determined I was in labor, Luke easily went home to gather some belongings. And as we spend as much time as possible with Michael in the hospital while also trying to get some sleep, we are so blessed that very little of our time has to be spent in transit. Praise God!

- We are also just in awe of how God designed each of us. The human body is incredible. Labor is named as such for a reason, but is nonetheless a demonstration of God's sovereignty and power and gentleness and love. Designing women's bodies to nurture and develop another human being, and providing everything that human needs to thrive through breastmilk and love is just… wow. We'll spare you the details and just leave it at that.

- Our friends and family are amazing. AMAZING. Not a need has been expressed that hasn't been met, and we've received so much more support, encouragement, love, and practical help than we could have ever imagined. From the many lunches brought to the hospital (plus restaurant gift cards and coffee), to the friend who bought us toilet paper and dish soap simply because we didn't have time to get to the store, to those who have provided rides, and for the many wonderful gifts (who really knows whether or not they will need to buy preemie clothing?!?) brought to the hospital, to our home, or sent in the mail, it has been overwhelmingly wonderful. Even more than all that, we are in awe of the number of people who have prayed for, over and with us. Thank you! What a gift!

- And while a week ago, we didn't know how we would spend our New Year's Eve, we are ecstatic for the opportunity to spend it in the hospital with our precious newborn son, even if he is resting peacefully in the incubator.

Michael's birth drew us into the events of our Savior's birth so many years ago in the manger, knowing the pain and joy Mary felt, and sensing angels singing over the birth of each sweet baby born. In fact, I've been singing Mary Did You Know? every day since then.

Our God is so good. Please continue to pray for us and for Michael. We are exhausted, but plugging along. Michael is very tired too. It is common for premature boys to decide they don't really want to put forth the effort to eat around day four or five. Sometimes it's a short lag and sometimes it lasts days or weeks. Michael hit that wall on Saturday or Sunday and we've done most of his feeding by tube since then. He is given a very specific amount of fortified breastmilk every three hours. It seems so much for his little body, but is necessary for his growth. He is starting to gain weight, but we will not be able to bring him home until he can take all of his feedings by mouth for 24 hours. Otherwise, he is progressing very well, maintaining body temperature and proper vitals. After a few days of phototherapy, his billirubin (jaundice) has gone down and he is no longer in need of that treatment. He's becoming more and more alert (when he's not super sleepy) and more and more beautiful.

Will you pray with us that we will be together at home soon? Daddy's birthday is this Sunday, and we would really love to have Michael home to celebrate. Luke says he's the gift that keeps on giving. And if he's not home, you'll know where to find us - cradling him at the hospital.

As for 2014? We're a little wary to be too specific because we may end up surprised! But in addition to practical hopes like returning to Zambia and our goals related to that, we can say that for 2014 we hope to become better parents each day, growing in love for God, for each other, and for our sweet baby.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

God is good!







26 November 2013

One Cup at a Time

It’s hard to see people suffering. For many of us, our very nature wants to jump in, meet the need, and end the hurt in the world. But one thing we had to learn early on to survive the mission field, is that we as individuals cannot physically help everyone in need.

Shortly before we left for Zambia, my grandfather scoffed at the idea of us helping impoverished people in Africa. There is so much need. How were we going to make a difference? He compared it to the seemingly ridiculous idea of draining the ocean one cup at a time. I told him, “Then I’m going to take my cup and get to work and hope that others join me; and when I can’t go on, I’ll hope that more will pick up where I left off.”

Perhaps the overwhelming need in Zambia – for food, shelter, clothing, medical care, role models, education, and the love of Jesus – has desensitized us. Sometimes you have to put blinders on as you walk through town just to make it through your day without giving up. And with the tornadoes that whipped through central Illinois last Sunday and destroyed so many of our friends' homes, we find ourselves doing the same thing for the first time on this side of the world, just to get through it without giving up.

It’s not that we’re ignoring the need. It’s just that if we look at all the devastation, all the need, all the hurt, all the people who’ve lost everything, we get too overwhelmed to be effective in the task before us. It becomes paralyzing.

At seven months pregnant, my options for helping are fairly limited (no piling up large debris by the roadside for me), and I’d more likely be in the way than a helpful blessing in such settings. So I’ve helped where I can – taking inventory of a friend’s battered home, listening, praying.

The beauty of it all is, that as we all give what we can where we can, the needs are met. There has been a tremendous outpouring of support from the entire community, state, and nation in response to these tornadoes. Everyone is doing something. And a lot of somethings add up to everything. I personally may not be able to help everyone, but I can help someone. And as we all help someone, a lot of someones are helped. 

That’s how it works here. That’s how it works in Zambia. We can’t feed every hungry mouth or clothe every underdressed child. But we can help the one. We can serve where we are able. We can train others like our Sports Friends coaches to do the same and they can help the ones in their lives. No one can meet every need. But everyone can meet a need.

Whether it’s contributing to hurricane relief in the Philippines, helping clean up from the tornadoes in the Midwest, sponsoring a Sports Friends coach, serving as a missionary, partnering with a missionary, or committing to prayer, you too can meet a need. And there are plenty of needs to be met, that’s for sure. But hey, I’ll do my small part as part of the body. As a laborer in the harvest. Will you do yours?

“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” – Matthew 9:36-38

With that, I’m reminded of the story of the man and the starfish.

“While wandering a deserted beach at dawn, stagnant in my work, I saw a man in the distance bending and throwing as he walked the endless stretch toward me. As he came near, I could see that he was throwing starfish, abandoned on the sand by the tide, back into the sea. When he was close enough I asked him why he was working so hard at this strange task. He said that the sun would dry the starfish and they would die. I said to him that I thought he was foolish. there were thousands of starfish on miles and miles of beach. One man alone could never make a difference. He smiled as he picked up the next starfish. Hurling it far into the sea he said, 'It makes a difference for this one.' I abandoned my writing and spent the morning throwing starfish.” ― Loren Eiseley

Let’s make a difference for the one. One cup at a time.



31 October 2013

UPDATE: Mama Prays

So we just got home from the doctor (who, by the way, receives our newsletters because we had his information after we visited his church three years ago). The scans showed basically the same results as we had on Tuesday. The one kidney is about twice the size it should be (about 10 mm), and the other is slightly enlarged. 

What does that mean? Well, there's no way to know for sure at this point. There is a possibility it will work itself out before or just after birth.  That's not highly likely with the size, but our God is in control and we're just trusting Him. We will go back in eight weeks. If the kidneys are still enlarged then (or grow in pace with the rest of the body), they will recommend that the baby is checked by a pediatrician either right after birth or in the weeks to follow. If one or both kidneys is grossly enlarged at that Christmas-week appointment, there is the possibility they will recommend an early delivery (37 weeks or so). 

Though it all still could "work itself out," the cause could potentially be reflux, or a sort of back flow from the bladder. Depending on the severity, this could require long-term antibiotic use or even surgery. There's no way to know right now, and there's nothing we can do to affect the outcome. We were told, though, that if there was going to be something wrong, this would be the thing to have because it is very common.

Obviously, this could change our plans on when we go back to Zambia, but we are optimistic -- hopeful -- that we will still be able to return within two months of his birth. Either way, it's in God's hands and we just ask that you pray with us for the best outcome and for peace and patience along the way. 

One benefit of these extra appointments (that I'm sure we'll be paying for when the bills come in), is the extra sonograms, including some cool 3D shots today. Baby has a big head (we blame the Ludwig genes), a chin dimple (that's mostly from Grandma Wessler's side, though a bit from Grandpa Ludwig), and a seemingly perfect heart and skeletal system. For that we praise God. 

For the original post, click here.


He does not have a strange growth on his face - that's just a byproduct of 3D ultrasounds. :)



30 October 2013

Mama Prays


"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." - Isaiah 41:10


This may come as a shock, but I like to be in control… of pretty much everything. It helps me feel safe. Comfortable. Grounded. Granted, 2 1/2 years in Africa has helped "cure" me of this, at least when it comes to circumstances outside my home. Because, frankly, all plans in Zambia are contingent on the weather, any local funerals, road conditions, last-minute conferences and the current status of the harvest. So day by day, as planning and controlling become obviously fruitless, I relinquished some of that control. 

In the four years Luke and I were trying to conceive, we also had to let go a bit of the control, the dream, the "perfect timing" we had determined. We learned we weren't in control, and that God's perfect plan is, well, perfect. And when we found out we were expecting just a few days before leaving Zambia for home assignment, it was confirmed, once again, that God is in perfect, wonderful control. 

^^ That timing has nagged at us a bit, though. We find ourselves wondering why, exactly, we need to be in the US when this child is born. We've had friends tell us that they really feel there is a reason for this. And that's been a bit scary to think about. 

Six weeks ago, baby boy's anatomy scan showed that his kidneys were slightly enlarged. They said it was likely nothing to worry about, as this is very common with boys in the womb. Even so, they scheduled a followup sonogram for yesterday. His right kidney was in the normal range. But his left kidney was more than twice the size of the right. 

What that means - we're not exactly sure. We see a specialist tomorrow to get a more detailed scan. He is urinating and amniotic fluid levels are fine. Everything else is fine. But in this 48 hour period before seeing the specialist, mom and dad are not so fine. We've been told not too worry. It's common. It will likely correct itself before or shortly after birth. The follow-up is "just to be safe" and to determine if he's "high risk"…

Oh, please don't tell this mama-to-be that her baby may be high risk. Not after four years of waiting. Not after such an easy and healthy first six months. Not when you also tell me that there is absolutely nothing I can do differently to change the outcome. Nothing I can do? Really? So what do I do? 

Maybe it's nothing at all. Maybe it is. Maybe it changes everything. So, I've been fearful. Like stick-your-head-in-a-cereal-box-til-it-all-goes-away fearful. Mopey, schlumpy, "what-do-you-mean-there's-nothing-I-can-do?" fearful. This, combined with the slightly more reverent crying-out-to-God-in-desperation prayerful. 

Which got us thinking about Abraham and Sarah and Isaac.  They waited some 80 or so years for Isaac, and then had to be willing to give him up. Ultimately, God provided the sacrifice for them, as they were willing in faith to give Him their son.


"'Do not lay a hand on the boy," he said. "Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son."' - Genesis 22:12

Though God was there in the end, I can't imagine all that Abraham was thinking through the process. Lord, I don't want to go through that! I'm willing, I am. But, please... no. Not me. Sometimes I just don't want to be that example of faithfulness proven (or failed in a spirit of crazy fear). 

I do trust. He has proven Himself over and over in majestic, amazing, and sometimes frightening ways in our lives. And it's been for our good. Oh, how He is good. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I wriggle away and cry as I approach the refiner's fire. And I definitely don't want this sweet boy to face that flame. I mean, how did Isaac feel as Abraham tied him to the altar? Lord, I want to pray that if you put us through the fire, you at least spare our son. 


But then I look to the cross. I see the sacrifice of your Son. The fire He faced. And I feel selfish. Greedy. Ashamed. I think of Mary and the strength she must have had, and how she probably had very little idea what the precious baby in her womb would do for the world. And I know that You will give me strength for whatever may come. That You will hold me up when I have nothing else to stand upon. And I trust You. I do. But I'm scared. Forgive me for my fears.

And so now, I pray. The doctors say nothing I can do will change anything. But as I've learned in other times when I can do "nothing," I know I can pray. So I'm praying. And I'm sure I'll be praying every day of this child's life. Because as Chris Rice sings in the song I listened to this morning, Mama Prays:

"Mama prayed, and Jesus stood beside us
Daddy prayed, and the devil had to run
God looked down, and his angels guarded through the harder days
'Cause mama prayed, and daddy prayed."

Will you pray with us?

See the update here!

04 September 2013

What's so bad about a bikini?


*Note: I am not trying to start a political debate. Nor am I trying to hurt anyone in my family or the people I knew growing up.  This is me sharing my heart and it's about a personal choice that I am making for my family.  I respect the decisions you make for yours.*

A few months ago a video went viral in which swimsuit designer Jessica Rey talked about the evolution of the female swimsuit and the effect of the bikini on today’s society.

And let me tell you, I thought her modest designs were cute and agreed with much of what she said – but thought I was the exception.

You see, I grew up in bikinis.  I grew up surrounded by bikinis.  With a lake in our backyard, summer wardrobes consisted of pajamas and swimsuits.  We didn’t need much else.  Neighbors came by in their boats, friends swam from dock to dock, and most of the women wore bikinis.  Thin, beautiful women, lying on lawn chairs with Coppertone tanning oil and fashionable sunglasses while their kids competed to make the biggest splash with their cannonballs.  

It was life.  It was normal.  Throwing on a pair of shorts and walking to the neighbor’s house with no shirt was no big deal.

Then the girls hit puberty.  There was a group of us, all with “perfectly” shaped mothers weighing in around 100 pounds, and we were outgrowing them.  Our mothers wouldn’t dare say anything beyond a subtle warning about impending weight gain, but we felt it, and we knew that it really wasn’t normal. 

In the midst of all of this, we were boy crazy.  Through our young years of observation, we learned how to draw compliments or approving eyes with our bodies, and the bikini became about more than cannonballs and suntans (and who can safely do a cannonball in a bikini anyway?).  I remember going to a pool party in seventh grade, for the first time wearing a bikini on a maturing feminine figure, not just that of a small girl.  And my focus was one boy, and making sure he noticed me in my new, barely there swimwear.

I went home disappointed.  The party may have been fun – with water fights and barbecue and friends hanging out… but I didn’t attract the boy, and I felt ugly and worthless.  Over the next few years, though, I wore a lot of bikinis and attracted a lot of boys and to me that was, as a woman, just what you did.  And when a boy I liked didn’t like me, I assumed it was because of my body – my outward appearance.  I wasn’t tan enough, thin enough, pretty enough…

And man have I struggled through the years with being “enough.”  It wasn’t until college that I learned that I was “enough” and loved because I was a child of God.  Not because of how I looked or acted or how many boys were attracted to me in a bikini.

Even so, I’ve struggled with this bikini debate.  I liked the attention I got when wearing them.  Don’t tell anyone, but I still like the attention I get in a bikini, pregnant body aside.  But as we expect our first child, I've had to wrestle the whole idea and think about how we want to raise our children.

Do I want my son to hang out with the girls who are just trying to get him drooling over their bodies?  Do I want my daughter drawing that sort of attention?  As I started to think about all this, I just went back to the idea that it was life, it was normal, and I turned out okay.

But I also know the paths I could have so easily taken.  I listened to the lies that men would only want me if I gave them my body.  In high school I was told by a family member she was surprised my boyfriend was still with me since I was committed to waiting until marriage for sex.  Because that was the lie she had been told and believed and my heart breaks for her.   

While those sorts of thoughts might be “normal” in our culture today, I realize I don’t really want our kids to be “normal.”  I want them to know they are loved as children of God. 

For our daughters: that men who love them for their integrity and faith are far supreme to those who lust over their bodies.  For our sons: to seek God first, and find women after God’s heart.

It may be radical or countercultural, but as I become a mother, I may have to retire my bikinis (or save them for special times with my husband – because after all, we were created to be sexual beings  - one man and one woman – in marriage).  To set an example of modesty for my children.  To demonstrate to my husband that he is special enough to be the only one to see me bare and vulnerable.  And perhaps, to bring a little personal healing along the way.

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” – I Corinthians 6:19-20    

17 August 2013

Broken and Poured Out


This may come as a shock, but there have been times that we haven’t wanted to go back to Zambia. Don’t get me wrong – we love Zambia.  We love the Zambian people, we love the ministry, and we love life there. But over the last several months, we’ve questioned whether or not we are supposed to return.

You see, we’re exhausted. Life in the mission field is so awesome, but it’s exhausting. Serving God in this capacity, even when you know it’s where He wants you to be, can take every last drop of energy and strength out of you.

I’ve been at the Women of Faith conference here in Peoria these last few days, and hearing one of the speakers today, I knew we’d be going back.

She first spoke of John 14:12, where Jesus says that those who believe in Him will do even greater works than He. Greater not in the worldly sense of powerful and spectacular, but greatness how Jesus often refers to greatness – humble, quiet service.  So hold onto that: if we believe in Him, we can serve/love/live in greatness.

Now jumping to a passage that we often overlook unless we’re simply reciting it as we go to take communion… Luke 22:14-20

At a moment in which Jesus is redefining the centuries-old ritual of Passover, He not only serves the meal, but He becomes the meal.  He basically tells the disciples that the offering that is the Passover meal – that he was becoming the content of that offering.  And then he says, “do this, in remembrance of me.”

I, like many people, would have thought that “doing this” was simply taking communion, in memory and celebration of Jesus’ sacrifice as the Passover lamb. But breaking it down to the original Hebrew (in her words, not my study), the “Do” means make, but in a present habitual term – continuously make. Make what?  The remembrance, which basically means, “make real.”  Jesus was telling His disciples to constantly make this – this idea of being a living sacrifice for others – real.  He was providing a model for living and discipleship.

We, as Jesus’ disciples and followers, are to be a broken and poured out living sacrifice for the healing and restoration of others.  We should live out His sacrifice and be the eucharist in our daily lives.  We are part of the body of Christ, pouring out our spiritual power.  Sometimes we’re the ones pouring out - the broken bread, and sometimes we’re the ones being nourished.

I think of the story in Mark 5:25-30 where the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years touched the hem of Jesus’ garment, in a last desperate – faithful –attempt at cleansing and healing.  And she was made well.  In verse 30, though, we see the effect on Jesus: “And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, ‘Who touched my garments?’”

Jesus, fully God and fully man, felt the power go out of Himself. When we start feeling the power going out of ourselves, we know that others are receiving life.  We know we are the bread when we start breaking for others’ hearts.  And if we’re not being poured out – if we’re not breaking for others – maybe we’re not doing what Jesus called His disciples to do the night of the Passover.  Maybe it’s time to be the bread, broken for others.

Thinking about our lives in Zambia, I realized something.  We didn’t come home empty and dried out and broken because of the things we whine about:  power outages and water shortages and long lines and mission politics.  We were empty because we were being poured out for others.  We were being broken again and again and somewhere along the line should have stopped and found a way to be on the receiving end of that – to go to a quiet place away from the crowds to rest and hear from God.  To recognize the brokenness of our Savior and the strength He gives us to carry on. But because we started to try to nurture the brokenness with our own strength, the little petty concerns just piled on top of it all and we ran out of fuel (which is part of the reason for this time in the States - to be on the receiving end of that bread from the broken pouring out of others - to refuel - and we praise God for pastors and teachers who are willing to give of themselves in this way).

So when we think about going back, we know it won’t be easy.  We know we will be broken and poured out in ways that bring such joy and heartache that we can’t imagine it now.  We know people there are people who are broken and lonely and lost and don’t know the Savior who is the bread and the life, and we know that it may break us a bit to be that to them.  And when the power goes out and we can’t take a hot shower in the midst of that brokenness; when we’re feeling alone and heartbroken and weighted down with heaviness for the pain we see around us; when we’re desperate to give up and just serve people who are easy to serve and safe and blessed (when it wouldn’t take everything out of us because we wouldn’t actually have to give much); we remember Jesus and His brokenness.

As one of the women tonight described Jesus’ death on the cross, she said she’s tempted to be depressed and sullen and sad when she thinks of Jesus’ death, but knows that sacrifice was actually His finest hour.  He was broken and poured out so that we may have forgiveness from sin, fellowship with the Father, and eternal, abundant lives, doing as He did, and doing “greater works than these.”

The popular worship song says, “I’ll never know how much it cost, to see my sin upon that cross…”

He was poured out and broken for me in ways I’ll never understand fully.  If we have to miss a few showers or leave our family and friends again or move houses or occasionally experience discomfort, sadness, or heartache… who are we to turn away and keep the Good News and these acts of greatness to ourselves?  He died for me.  He died for you.  And He died for each of the people we serve.  May we be the bread, and when needed, be broken for others.

Thank you Jen Hatmaker for sharing your message today. 

26 July 2013

Gratitude

"And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. As it is written: 'They have freely scattered their gifts to the poor; their righteousness endures forever.' Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God." - 2 Corinthians 9:8-11
 
Wow. We have so many reasons to give thanks. So many people for whom to give thanks. So many blessings...
 
In the eight weeks since we've been stateside we've been in nine different states (some of them multiple times), stayed in nine different homes, driven four different cars and ridden in many others, and had a million reasons to say "thank you."
 
So that's just what we want to do. We want to say "thank you" to all of you who have welcomed us back with open arms. Thank you to those who have opened your homes as we've traveled around from place to place. Thank you for offering us rides to and from events. Thank you to those of you who offered your vehicles for our use while we're here. Thank you for the meals you've served us and the tabs you've picked up. Thank you for inviting us to your churches, small groups, and family gatherings. And thank you for listening, asking questions, and caring.
 
And that's just been the last eight weeks! We can't even begin to thank those of you who have stood with us throughout this journey thus far. Some of you have supported us from the very beginning. Thank you. Thank you if you joined in at any point along the way. Thank you to those who faithfully prayed for us throughout the ups and downs of our first term in Zambia. Thank you for your letters, emails, packages, phone calls, and facebook messages. Thank you. Thank you for being open to the Spirit's guidance to give generously, joyfully and abundantly.
 
As we look at the rest of our home assignment and our return to Zambia next spring, we have and will have many more reasons to give thanks. And as much as we thank each of you for responding to God's leading in your lives, your generosity has resulted in thanksgiving to God. We praise and thank God for each of you. We thank Him for your friendship and for blessing you to be a blessing to others. We thank Him for listening to your prayers to Him on our behalf. Specifically, we thank Him for answering our prayers (and many of your prayers as well) that we would be able to conceive. God is so good!

We thank God for His provision, His comfort and His protection. We thank Him most of all for His grace. Without the death and resurrection of His Son Jesus Christ, we would have no reason to serve, to give, to love - and no reason to give thanks. Thank you Lord that we do.
 
And thank you.

06 May 2013

be gentle with me

In exactly four weeks we will be starting our debrief and reentry meetings at SIM USA’s headquarters in Charlotte.  Are we excited? Absolutely.  Are we ready for the break?  I think we’re a few months past ready.  Are we nervous?  You bet.

A lot has changed in 2 ½ years.  I’m sure infrastructures in the States have changed since we left.  Styles have changed.  Kids we knew as toddlers are in school and have little brothers and sisters we haven’t met.  Family members have aged.  And others won’t be there at all anymore. 

And somehow, sometime, unbeknownst to us, we've changed.  Physically. Spiritually. Mentally.  We look in the mirror and see sunspots and wrinkles from a few too many walks through town without sunscreen.  My hair has grown and been bleached by the sun along the way.  Our hands have aged from digging in the dirt and washing dishes and holding the hands of sick friends.  My left shoulder bone has been higher than the right since the car accident last year.

But those changes are just on the surface.  Our hearts have changed.  We've experienced great joy and great pain – sometimes all at once.  We've seen things that will be forever etched in our memories.  We've met people whose lives have humbled us in ways nothing else could. We've planned our ministries, our programs and even our days to have everything change at the drop of a hat.  We've stood for hours in lines only to find out we’re in the wrong place.  We've put up with lewd comments from drunks and constant requests for aid.  Children we've held have died from preventable causes.  Our bodies have experienced illnesses that we still can’t identify.  We've experienced miracles and cried out for miracles that just weren't part of God’s plan.

Our hearts have changed.  You may find us quieter -  more mellow.  In that quiet, we may be praying.  Prayer has become so much more of a lifeline.  After all, praying has been our only option in many situations.  Sometimes tears may come unexplained, and sometimes they won’t be able to come at all.  We may not be able to tell you about it, as sometimes you just have to be there to understand.  Please ask questions anyway.  We may be easily overwhelmed or in need of rest.  We may even seem judgmental or bitter toward life “back home.”  Please forgive us for that. 

There’s an old Jewel song, “I’m Sensitive,” that often gets in my head that says,
So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.”
 
We’re going to be sensitive.  We’re not quite sure how we’ll fit in anymore.  We don’t know if our friends will still like us.  We may look different, act different, talk different.  We may not feel very social.  And sometimes, we may need to be social.  We may call you and ask to hang out or go walking or just keep us company while we sift through our feelings.  Sometimes, we may just want to have a whole lot of fun and temporarily forget all of that heavy stuff that makes us quieter and more mellow and… different.

So please know it’s not you.  It’s us.  Sometimes you might not know what to do with us.  We usually don’t either.  Be gentle.  Be patient.  And if it’s really bad, just smack us on the head and tell us to lighten up.  

We can’t wait to see you. 

06 April 2013

and I cried


When I called Mama Yoba at midnight and she told me that a well-trained birthing nurse was able to remove the placenta and that Regina was recovering, I cried.  I cried tears of joy and relief that my dear friend would be okay.  I cried tears of thanksgiving to God for hearing our prayers.  I cried tears of exhaustion.  I told Luke that I think the tears I cried were tears of all the stress and exhaustion of the last two-plus years, finally spilling over.  The dam broke, my strength was gone, and I cried.

I didn't know Regina was pregnant until about a month ago.  We hadn't been together as much and she hid it well.  When she finally told me, she was ashamed, saying it was a mistake and they hadn't been responsible.  It came as quite a surprise, as I had just recommended that another missionary call Regina to speak on purity at a girls’ workshop.  But I assured her I was there for her.  She was my friend.  And of all the Zambians I have come to know and love, Regina is probably the only real, mutual friend – almost a sister.  

Tuesday I decided to walk to Kimasala to visit Regina and Mama Yoba and some of the others out by Lusa.  I arrived to find out that Mama Yoba was in Lusaka and Regina had gone to the hospital Monday afternoon with severe cramping. When I visited Tuesday evening, she had not actually seen a doctor, but was feeling a bit better.  Wednesday afternoon I stopped in again, and she had been discharged – never seeing a doctor, having an ultrasound or anything.  Thursday morning I received a text message from her brother saying she had been sick all night.  I called and she said she wanted to rest a bit, but a couple of hours later she wanted to go to the hospital.  I picked her up, along with her cousin and the baby’s father and we went to a small clinic in town that specialized in ultrasound.  The technician said her amniotic fluid was dangerously low and we should go straight to the hospital.

Back in the overcrowded maternity ward, Regina was given one of the last available beds.  An initial exam determined she was in pre-term labor, and that was that.  There was no medication, no further analysis.  They were just going to let the labor carry on (though only seven months pregnant).  Now most women are completely alone through the labor process.  With 3-6 beds in an area, they lay there in the heat and fight through the contractions quietly and alone, until it’s time to actually give birth (which may be why many women prefer to deliver in their homes).

Visiting hours are very strict: 6-7 a.m. and 5-6 p.m.  I stood by Regina for the first three hours, holding her hand, fanning her with a notebook, praying fervently, and slowly noticing I was the only “visitor” in the area.  At 3 p.m., I went outside to ask her friend and her cousin if one of them would stay with her for a bit while I went to get a bite to eat and put gas in the car (there had been a shortage and I was running on fumes).  They told me they wouldn't be allowed - that I was only allowed because I was white.  I think the one friend made her way at least for some of the time because she was nine months pregnant and could easily pass as a patient.

I returned for 5 p.m. visiting hours, only to find out Regina had gone into the labor room.  This is a room with three beds side-by-side, in which the women lay completely naked through the birthing process.  All the women are expected to bring a sheet of plastic, gloves, and other supplies for use by the hospital.  By 5:20, Regina had given birth to a 3 pound baby girl.  The baby was taken straight to an incubator, but Regina was not in the clear yet.  A group of us waited until 7:00, but Regina had still not delivered the placenta.  One of the older caregivers for Lusa convinced the nurses to allow her to stay, but the rest of us were forced to go.  Mama Yoba was still in transit from Lusaka, and most of the day I was praying she would arrive quickly.  She called me from the bus shortly after I arrived home pleading with me to do something – to tell the nurses they needed to help Regina.  I didn't know what to do.  There was nothing I could do.

And I was so afraid I would lose my friend.  I even told Luke that if something happened to her, I didn't think I could come back to Zambia. I couldn't handle it.

After a hot shower and a few hours of tossing and turning but not sleeping, I called Mama Yoba.  Regina was fine.  Everything was going to be okay.  And I cried.

Thank you Jesus. 

01 April 2013

Because He Lives

Every once in a while something pops up that makes us think, “what if?”  A note from a former employer or co-worker, a discussion about some past achievement, the Olympics (I’ll elaborate on that one), or a general feeling that we’re not accomplishing anything here…

What if we had taken a different path? What if we were still in that job?  What if we had continued in certain sports?What if, what if, what if.  Sometimes, it carries a twinge of jealousy or remorse. “I could have been…” or “remember when?...”

It’s like a conversation Luke and I had several years ago during the Olympics when Luke asked me, “Do you ever think that if you had trained a little harder, you could have made it to the Olympics?” – not just in reference to my running, but also to his gymnastics and diving talents.  A sort of, looking back, wondering if we took the right turn in the road.

Yesterday I wandered onto LinkedIn, a networking site I used quite a bit in my “corporate life,” seeking out partnerships and job opportunities, posting open positions, and building expertise in areas of marketing and communications.  I had several “recommended jobs” pop up and jokingly asked Luke if I should apply for a specific job that came up. 

I think it was more to prove I’m capable of such a position than an actual desire to do it. To "live up to my potential." The power, the glory, the accolades….

And then I remember the cross.  And His power. His glory.  I think about Hebrews 9:14 where it says, “How much more, then, will the blood of Christ… cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, SO THAT we may serve the living God!”

We serve a living God!A living God who sent His Son to die and on the third day rise from the dead so that we may approach the throne of grace through the righteous perfection of Christ and worship Him and serve Him!

‘"Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.’ – Matthew 4:19-20

I keep trying to pick my nets back up.  Sometimes I think that would be easier.  Or at least a bit more predictable.

And then I think, many of the disciples were trained as fishermen for a reason – maybe to help them become “fishers of men?” So I get all Eric Liddell about running and think that maybe God wants to use that. He does and He has. Not through some Olympic medal, but it was because of running that I went to Bradley, where I first heard God’s call on my life to missions and met Luke.  And through training and persevering and having great coaches and some not-so-great coaches, Luke and I both have a greater understanding and perspective as we equip young men and women here to use sports to share Christ and make disciples.

In the job sphere, perhaps using my writing and marketing to tell people about God’s awesome glory and help share what He’s doing for His kingdom in Zambia is why He gave me that net in the first place. It may not carry the huge paycheck here on earth, but Christ already reserved a treasure for me in Heaven. 

Our call to serve God here is still very clear, and there’s a certain peace (in the midst of turmoil) that comes with being in His will and using our gifts to serve Him.  Yet, we are still so very human and often still think we need affirmation and accolades.  And while waiting to one day hear God say, “well done, my good and faithful servant”  (Matthew 25:21, 23), I believe He sometimes gives us affirmation through creative channels, like this message I found from a former co-worker while browsing LinkedIn yesterday:

“Hey Tiffany – I was driving this morning when my partner called to tell me about a marketing manager role in Dallas. I started telling her about you and said that I would look you up.  Then I saw your profile – WOW! Stand up and applaud! I have said for years that I wanted to have “time” to volunteer and serve.  Something that there never seems to be enough of…. Time. I think that what you are doing is so awesome….. Just wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your courage.  Good luck – sending prayers.”

I’m not posting this so you congratulate us on our work as missionaries.  Often we feel like we can’t possibly be making a difference. Sometimes we yearn for a “normal” life.

Then we think about verses like Luke 9:62 (‘Jesus replied, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’”) and feel ashamed for even writing about our “what ifs.” But we remember the cross.  We look toward our glorious and living Savior. And worship Him in all His glory and splendor (and none of ours). We serve Him with a clear conscience.  And it’s all worth it.

Because He lives. 

10 February 2013

Our God is Greater

Do you ever feel under attack?  Like something or someone is out to thwart and discourage your every effort? As we prepared for our first ever Sports Friends Basic Training in Zambia, we were fairly convinced the devil was doing everything in his power to mess things up, throw us off, and make us give it all up.

But our God is greater. 

This seemed to be a theme over the last several weeks.  Our God is greater.  In fact, several times I found myself singing Chris Tomlin’s chorus…

Our God us greater, our God is stronger
God you are higher than any other
Our God is healer, awesome in power Our God…
and if our God is for us, then who could ever stop us,
And if our God is with us, then what could stand against?”

(Intermittently, I would sing part of the chorus from an old secular song: 

“Ain't nothing going to break my stride, nobody’s gonna slow me down.
Oh no, I've got to keep on moving….”)

As Luke drove to the airport to pick up our trainers from Ethiopia and the US, I was at home planning meals for the team and about to bake cookies – and our oven almost caught on fire. We stressed.  We worried.  Luke tried to squeeze in a bit of shopping for an oven, and gave up and drove the guys the 10-plus hours to Solwezi.  In the meantime, I found the needed replacement part and was able to fix the oven, feeling more empowered and thankful for God’s provision than I would have had the oven never broken. Our God is greater.

The week before that, we had three subsequent plumbing emergencies that flooded half the house.  Though stressful, we were able to fix the breaks, and praised God they happened when they did, and not with four men sharing one bathroom. Our God is greater.

As we printed training materials for the Basic Training, Luke took everything to a printer three hours drive from our house as he drove to Lusaka, only to find out they were struggling with the cover page.  Though stressful, it was taken care of and we saved $200 on printing by going to them. Our God is greater.

Buying supplies to feed our 46 coaches for the week of training, I quickly learned that there was no mealie meal available in town.  The first shortage in our two-plus years here.  Mealie meal is the base for nshima, the staple food in Zambia.  If you haven’t eaten nshima, you haven’t eaten.  Though we never found a large quantity, and I spent many hours driving around town looking, we found enough small bags over the course of the week to be just enough to feed the participants.  Not more, not less.  Enough.  Our God is greater.

Leading up to the training, we had several days with no rain.  On the morning the participants were set to arrive, the skies opened up and we thought many would delay or not come at all.  As lunch rolled around and we prepared for the first session, the sun came out.  Some did come late, but almost everyone still showed up at the start of the first session.  Our God is greater.

Speaking of rain, we had several of the biggest, loudest, most intense storms over the course of the week.  With indoor training taking part under an aluminum roof, and several sessions of on-field training, that normally wouldn't bode well. Even so, every time the coaches took the field, the sun shone brightly.  Every time the rain and hail pounded the roof so loud we couldn't hear our own voices, it was during meals and break times. Our God is greater.

Sometimes lack of water and electricity wear on our last nerves. We rarely had enough water at home for everyone to shower, and the power seemed to be going off for big chunks each day.  While this usually frustrates us to no end, we were incredibly humbled when the power went off one night just as we prepared to show a video, and the entire room broke into an extensive praise and worship session. (See video – well, listen to the video.  You won’t see much)

Even the last day, as I woke up with a fever, headache, and major congestion, we were grateful I was the one sick and not the trainers.  Even so, the littlest things were tipping me off.  I arrived at the hall with cakes to celebrate the end of the training, and decided to help Mama Yoba (our cook and host for the week) properly shred a cabbage on a mandolin.  Instead, I sliced a huge chunk off the tip of my finger and was bleeding profusely.  Mama Yoba is a certified caregiver and Luke was free at that point and I was able to get to a local village clinic for bandaging and such.  I’m not sure why (maybe because I was busy singing “Our God is Greater”), but after that, I was actually in a better mood than when we started!  We were back in time to watch the coaches perform hilarious skits depicting what they had learned about Church-Centered Sports Ministry, and we are so excited to see Sports Friends take off in Zambia! Our God is greater.

Typing this blog with one finger down is interesting, but hey, at least the power is on! There are so many more examples we could give from the week where Satan tried to trip us up, but...

Our God is so much Greater.



Zambia's first Sports Friends coaches!