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.

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. :)

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!

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    

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.