Settling In

The scent met us at the door. Mildew. Africa dirt. The faint wisps of Omo soap that remained on the dusty linens. The children’s ecstatic squeals reverberated around me. We were home. Again. We had much to accomplish in the space of just a few hours. We all uncovered furniture and beds and I scratched together some semblance of dinner before we would all succumb to the pressing of jet lag. My quickly overwhelmed  brain was pulled into submission by the rhythm of my children’s joy. How very often they teach me.

“Be joyful always…”

We were thrilled to walk into our own space.

We were overwhelmed by the work to just find a place to sleep.

The children rejoiced to walk into their rooms and see their toys and books and treasures.

The children moaned over the layers of dirt coating every surface.

We celebrated sleeping in our very own beds.

We bemoaned the biting bugs that had claimed those beds in our absence.

The night sounds soothed.

The night sounds kept us awake.

The jet lag forced us into deep heavy sleep.

The jet lag woke us up after only a few hours.

The early mornings with our whole family making breakfast in the dark.

The long afternoons with drooping eye lids and heavy exhaustion.

The days are full of familiar.

The days are full of different.

Roads we know. Rutted roads that hurt to travel over.

Social patterns we understand. Slow, gradual, relational  avenues of task accomplishment.

“…pray continually…”

Our brains rest from the drain of making decisions among a million choices.

Our brains labor from the strain of making-do amid the absence of choice at all.

Water pours from the sky.

Water stops flowing into the house.

The dogs are thriving, happy to have us all back.

The dogs are thin from their weeks without us.

Three large rooms cleaned top to bottom. Such satisfactory accomplishment!

Three large rooms wait to be cleaned top to bottom.  Such dreaded endeavor.

My kitchen with my things!

My kitchen with my responsibility.

A ministry filled with purpose and never lacking for the next thing to do.

A ministry that demands and stretches us to our limits.

Our favorite restaurants.

Our only restaurants.

Our peaceful veranda with a gorgeous view.

Mosquito bites from sitting long into the evening.

The breath-taking view of green foliage and the grandeur of a tropical rain storm.

The pervasive mildew that invades our home and drying laundry.

Joyful reunions.

Grieving goodbyes.

Feeling safe on our compound.

Feeling undone by the thief in the yard next door.

What is it like to be back?

Wonderful. (And difficult.)

Delightful. (And difficult.)

So happy. (And difficult.)

Peaceful. (And difficult.)

Life.

Right where we are supposed to be.

Eyes wide open.

To all of it.

“…give thanks in ALL circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

I Thessalonians 5: 16-18

Grateful

I am so thankful.

For my own Mom. And my grandmothers. And my sister. And my Cashlings. And all those amazing Moms who I have been blessed to walk alongside in this life. 

I also so deeply esteem those who experience motherhood from longing. Who still wait for this journey to begin. Who may have heard 'No' far too many times. Who may have recently lost. You are so beautiful and embraced too. May you find an extra special measure of tenderness and grace on this day.

I have celebrated Mother's Day by remembering. I have so enjoyed perusing some of my older posts about family, and my Cashlings and my Mom. I'm linking some of my favorites here from the archives, but invite you to click on "Family" and "They Call Me Mom" in my labels in the sidebar for more of my thoughts and experiences concerning this great adventure called Motherhood.

Posts about my Mom: My Mom

                                   A Word About the Spotlight

                                   The Best for Me

Posts about Home: On the Market

                              The House With the Shiny Sink 

                                   

                                 

Honoring the Miracle: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Conclusion

And a simple post that effects me deep, because it reminds me that the daily and seemingly mundane are where the stirring and equipping and the blessing are really taking place: The Usual

Happy Mother's Day!!!!

DJ

School cafeterias have a very distinguishing smell. Like no other place in the world. My junior high was no exception. Salisbury steaks, burritos (questionable), hamburgers and grilled cheese sandwiches. The unmistakable aroma of paper lunch sacks and bananas that have browned in a locker for half a day.

I can remember the smell and the sounds of that large echoing room, but I do not ever remember choosing a song on the jukebox.

That’s right. A jukebox.

I have no idea how or why our cafeteria ended up with such a delightful contraption, but our school was known for it and we all were impressed with the availability of fun tunes while we ate.  I mostly enjoyed the music other people chose.

Distinguishing smells, echoing chatter,  song ballads by Chicago (‘You’re the Inspiration’) and friends. Dear, dear friends.

In my eighth grade science class, I met Dena. I called her Dena Joe. Joe was not her name and it annoyed her. Which means the name stuck.

We laughed a lot together and enjoyed talking.

In the visiting clumps outside of the lunchroom, we would chat.

She would roll her eyes a lot. And she had an opinion about everything.

I admired that.

Somewhere between the post lunch clumping, the science labs, sleepovers and many long phone calls, DJ became my best friend.

We talked about boys. A lot actually. We both had crushes and heart breaks and first kisses. She knew all those details about me and I knew all those details about her. And it was safe.

She was organized and on time. I was always late.

She endured this trait in me but spoke loud and long about how ridiculous it was.

I kept her out of a lot of trouble. And I kept secrets loyally. (I still haven’t told anyone why she got her first ticket.)

She depended on me. And I depended on her.

She was Baptist. And I was church of Christ. And it didn’t matter one iota.

I went to church with her. And she came to church with me.

And we talked (and agreed) about God, all the time.

One memorable conversation took place on the stairs in the education building of the church my family attended. My dad was finishing stuff up in the office after an evening youth activity, so DJ and I were waiting for him and visiting on the stairs outside his office.

We were talking about our future.

She wanted to be a doctor and have a career. She said that she planned to date a lot in college but absolutely would never fall in love until she was in grad school or just after.

She was confident and independent. Just like I wanted to be.

I, on the other hand, already knew whom I would marry and that I would have a dozen kids.

We laughed at this, because we knew it wasn’t true. I would not have a dozen kids. But I would have a lot of kids. Three maybe.

She thought it was cool that I was in love. And I admired her amazing goals. I knew she would be an amazing doctor. An amazing anything.

After some easy silence, DJ told me that when she thought of my future she always pictured me around a fire in Africa, teaching people about Jesus.

I laughed at her.

Africa?!?!

Are you serious?

I hate camping. And bugs. I am not brave. (I never even chose one song on that stinking jukebox.)

She listened to all my doubts and laughed (at me) with me over my reticence and fears.

Then she said, “All the same. That’s where I see you.”

Dad came out of the office about that time. And we took DJ home.

DJ and I would learn to drive, watch a million movies, discuss and analyze all the worlds problems and our brilliant solutions, laugh at a million inside jokes, eat a lot of ice cream, cry some tears, shop, get tickets, paint signs, eat lunches, annoy each other and remain fiercely supportive.

College took us to different towns and new adventures. We wrote letters (remember those?) to stay in touch.

She mentioned Scott in one of her first messages.  She said how cute he was but that she was absolutely NOT falling in love.

 But I knew she was. And felt sure she would fully admit this by letter three.

I was right.

She and Scott dated exclusively for four years and married after graduation.

I lived her dream. Straight through college with no serious love commitments. We entered our senior years, her engaged and planning a wedding. Me, decidedly single.

She was my first phone call when I met him.

“His name is Jeff. He wants to live in Africa.”

She said simply, “I told you so.”

Smile

I haven’t seen DJ in a very long time.

We occasionally write letters, only we type them and call them email now.

I know she is raising her boys. Loving her man. And making a determinedly beautiful way in this world.

She’s probably still rolling her eyes.

I miss her.

To have a friend. And to be one.

Treasured. And well remembered.

Perfect Words

So many words.

Commercials and news reports and internet access and blogs and tweets and text messages and Facebook.

All the words.

All the information.

All the time.

On one evening of our recent furlough, my husband asked me if I could have anything in the world on that particular evening what would I want and I replied simply, “Silence.”

He kindly carved out some space for me to enjoy silence that evening.  It was bliss.

America is addicted to information. We love it. We crave it.

We love To Know.

We love it so much that we have begun to think of Knowing as a Right.

We sometimes assume The Knowing even in places and topics where we don’t have all the information.

Take the news for instance.

Reporters and commentators talk. A lot. They have minutes and segments and hours to fill. And so they do. With words.

Yes, they impart information. Facts and numbers. And pictures. (Have mercy-- the invasive pictures.)

But all the fact relaying can take a subtle shift.  From probable cause to blame. From making people aware to causing fear. From fact to conjecture. From what would be understood as public domain to delving into the sacredly private.

Over time, I found it all very wearying. And many folks I talked to did too.

I have friends in America who never, NEVER watch the news.

I have friends who never watch TV at all.

Friends who aren’t on Facebook.

I even have friends who carry… Flip Phones. I know—drastic :).

When hearing their many reasons for these choices, some consistencies emerged.

The information and the acquiring of information had begun to control them. Govern their day and even their choices.

So they made important choices to reclaim and take back-- their time. And their opinion. And their thoughts.

They had to silence some things to rediscover their reality.

Instead of having their reality constantly shaped by the words swirling around them.

Silence is a valuable asset and these brave friends, choosing counter-culturally, reminded me of the beautiful value of living intentionally every day. And how difficult silencing the loud voices can be.

How we must choose what we hear.

It is from the swirling world of information that I landed at Psalm 19. Words I have memorized and sung since I was a child.

But, last Sunday, with the birds chirping and the rooster crowing. With the rain falling, and all the solar batteries dead, this familiar page in my Bible provided a fresh Word of Sanctuary. A reminder of respite. 

“The heavens declare the glory of God;

the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech;

night after night they display knowledge.

There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.

Their voice goes out into all the earth,

their words to the ends of the world.”

Psalm 19: 1-4

The vast and deep and endless sky.

Speaks.

Perfect, unhurried, relevant, globally understood words.

“In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun…

It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other; nothing is hidden from its heat.”

Psalm 19:6

There is something more precious than pure gold.

Something sweeter than honey.

There are things that offer great reward.

They revive. And make wise. And give joy.

They radiate light. They are sure. They endure.

“The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul.

The statutes of the LORD are trustworthy, making wise the simple.

The precepts of the LORD are right, giving joy to the heart.

The commands of the LORD are radiant giving light to the eyes.

The fear of the LORD is pure, enduring forever.

The ordinances of the LORD are sure and altogether righteous.”

Psalm 19:7-9

In all the Knowing that we so dearly esteem and claim we can make the same subtle shift mentioned earlier. From enriching to depleting. From informing to misleading. From honest sharing to attention craving embellishing.

We can sometimes get it wrong.

But there remains, something Sure.

We don’t need many words to correct things.  We need a Good Word.

“…of the LORD…”

We have ears made to hear. And we will be influenced by the information we take in.

But we can choose.

We can ask for help.

“Who can discern his errors? Forgive my hidden faults. Keep your servant also from willful sins; may they not rule over me.

Then will I be blameless, innocent of great transgression.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight,

O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.”

Psalm 19:12-14

Our attentions. Our allegiance may need to be redirected.

We may need to look up to hear.

The heavens are speaking.

Far Away

(Digging into some archived journaling for this one. I wrote this from one of our furlough respites. The heart of a sojourner is tempered by the farewells--learning more about this everyday as the color and nuance of goodbye continue to augment my life experience.)

While perusing pictures online this evening, it dawned on me with a startling abruptness that many of the people in the pictures live in the very town I am sleeping in.

And yet.

I perceive that I am VERY far away.

So often, my reality is that I cannot get to friends and family and events.

And I find that even when dinner would be possible or a phone call or running into someone at a store…

I almost avoid it.

Because the ‘hello’ will most certainly be soon chased by a ‘goodbye’.

And I’m still reeling from the last big one.

It’s like my grieving heart fresh from a weepy farewell to my family cannot bear even the most fleeting farewell in the aftermath.

So I avoid the connection at all.

And thus the perception (conscious or subconscious) that I exist ‘far away’.

I know that I must maintain the ability to connect—for the good of my family. For the good of my children.

This is one of those costs that I rarely read about before I departed 18 years ago.

I just knew that I was ripped and torn in hidden sacred places. And I lacked words to describe it.

I communed in that unique type of suffering with others whose eyes and tears and story spoke this same experience.

A like pain draws us to each other in unspoken ways. Anchors us.

Thankfully, so many who had weathered this particular type of grieving spoke faith and hope into my story. Reminding me of Truth.

So tonight. Cozy in a hotel room with my people and our own space, I choose to think about it. To accept it. To be willing to engage.

I am near to many that I love and cherish, physically. Father, grant me courage to be near them emotionally too.

Even for a moment.

Italy

 We were so blessed to enjoy a stop-over in Italy on our way to America last October. Below are some of my daily journaled thoughts as we relished each moment in Rome, Florence and Cinque Terra.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today I had the best cappuccino I have ever had.

On the gorgeous Italian square. Fountain in the center.

The air smelled like pizza. And coffee. And that certain perfume every Italian woman seems to wear.

Walking the streets of Rome can be equally wearying and delightful. But every person who entered the square, changed. Eyes lit. Smiles broad.

Art is displayed all in the center. Musicians play.

The accordion. That’s amore!

Romance. Excellent pizza.

I kissed my husband.

And drank the best cappuccino I have ever had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was the first one awake this morning.

I love the still dark of morning. Light was just creeping in. 

The church bell toll counted seven. I lay still and celebrated the silence that followed.

Coffee awaited. And sweet cereal. A treat for our family.

But my mind whirled back over our arrival in Florence, Italy.

This town is one long deep contented sigh. 

Everything we eat explodes joy and delightful flavor.

Interesting pizza. 

Cheese.

Bread and delightful coffee.

I was congratulated for my four children. Helped by four angels of mercy along the way.

Exhausted from the lugging of the bags. Relieved at a wonderful place to rest our heads at night.

Extraordinarily thankful for my family. Amazing, resilient, flexible children.

Incredible navigator and guide, Jeff Cash.

We are here. Loving it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To share Michaelangelo with my children. A dream.

To walk Italian streets and eat Italian pizza and ride Italian trains with my children. A dream.

We have laughed. 

And learned. 

And walked. 

And rested.

We have seen.

So thankful!  For everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 What made Florence feel like home?

Jeff’s comfort and memories of the place.

The quaint streets.

Gorgeous art and amazing history.

Walking where genius has etched it’s treasure.

Not sure every aspect that pours into that feeling of welcome and peace.

But I felt it in Florence.

Home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The market air smells of leather. Jackets. Purses. Shoes.

And boots. 

In college, Jeff spent five months living in Florence and traveling around Europe through a study abroad program his university offered. Every street in Florence reminded him of a story about something. 

As we passed the stalls of leather items for sale, Jeff was telling the kids about shoe shopping with a group of girls in college. 

He described a shop that went down from the street through a tunnel. He said he spent several hours in the shop while his friends tried on fun shoes and bought treasures. 

He remembered dreaming about bringing his wife to Florence someday and buying her some shoes.

As Jeff was finishing the story, he mentioned that the shop was just off a market square much like the one we were in. He stood and turned slowly until he was facing---a shop with a tunnel that went down from the street! 

We all laughed wondering if this could be the same shop-- 

Jeff visited with the store clerk, describing the man who had waited on him and his friends all those years ago. The man laughed and confirmed that the man Jeff described was his father and this was the same shop. Amazing! 

I got some boots! And a leather jacket and matching purse.

Dreams do come true, I guess :)

Such fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We are sad to leave. Jeff and I enjoyed one last walk in the dark. Holding hands. Quiet conversation.

We love it here.

In Florence.

Jeff took out his camera to capture what he could.

His perspective and ability getting amazing photos we can treasure.

We were quiet on the bridge.

Quiet at the river.

Peace.

Redirection

“Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city…”

“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow….”

“Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”

James 4: 13,14 &15

I enjoy routine. I am not time conscious (if you listen carefully you can hear my husband chuckling at this understatement). But I do very much delight in the familiarity of daily pattern.

Our life calling challenges this often and loud.

The third world is nothing if not unpredictable. And traveling internationally is fraught with opportunity to be delayed or rescheduled.

The constant changing is difficult for me. (again with the understatement…)

The last year has provided many occasions to exercise new and better ways of coping with abrupt redirection.

It hasn’t been pretty.

But it has been effective.

I have been forced to practice waiting.

And I am learning, albeit slowly and painfully: Being in control is an allusion.

I think this is always true, but when faced with the disappointment of a missed occasion or anticipated gathering, the truth is very pointed and acute.

I am not in control.

There are many discussion points as to why this realization is so difficult.

But today I am considering the practice of Surrender.

The definition of surrender often correlates to opposition.

“Cease resistance to an enemy or opponent and submit to their authority.”

Or.

“Give up or hand over typically on compulsion or demand”

Or.

“To lose”

But also.

“To abandon oneself entirely to a powerful emotion or influence; to give in to”

Surrender most often connotes a negative thing. (No one wants to lose.)

Surrender also suggests a ‘taking’. Someone else gets the thing I am giving up.

The win. The esteem. The control. Another party wields those good things.

This is, among other things, uncomfortable.

And a seeming display of weakness.

Deep sigh.

I am struck by the complete counter cultural requirement of a life pursuit of Christ.

Seeking after the heart of God. Experiencing a Spirit led life—requires this practice we encapsulate in weakness.

Surrender.

“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘stay here and keep watch.”

“Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. “Abba, Father,’ he said, ‘everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”

Mark 14: 34-36

This ultimate surrender—the death of Jesus Christ—did not end with oppression. Or burden. Or even, loss.

His surrender, brought life.

"...I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full....I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me---just as the Father knows me and I know the Father---and I lay down my life for the sheep....I give them eternal life and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand." 

John 10: 10b,14-15,28

How?

“This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us….” I John 3:16

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

Love changes everything. Turns stuff upside down and backwards.

Redirects the loss.

And makes it all new.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17

Surrender (ceasing to resist; handing over; losing; submitting) saturated in love equals a Brand. New. Thing.

Beyond all we ask or imagine.

“…And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine…to him be glory…throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.” 

Ephesians 3: 17b-21

So, when I'm feeling pounded by the change of plans and unforeseen road blocks, I do have control over something.

To surrender or not. "Thy will be done..."

There is a Love at work on my behalf. "I have loved you with an everlasting love... Jeremiah 31:3"

My cooperation is not required. "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

But my cooperation, changes me.

Redirects the losing.

It makes me New.

One merciful morning at a time.

“Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.

Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.”

Psalm 143:8