I manage

I never thought I'd see the day that I'd go nearly 2 months without blogging. I just knew I wouldn't be one of those bloggers who just doesn't update their blog and it drifts off into cyber space forever.

I have a lot to say. I have tons to post. Birthdays have been celebrated, kids are growing like summer weeds, I've started a small photography business and it's a nice, deliberate distraction from the every day.

But honestly, when I sit to write, none of that pours from me. I lay in bed at night and think about the abundance of blog worthy material and somehow, I never make it to the computer in time to document any of it. I've had moments of clarity where I thought I'd figured out really trusting the Lord. Then moments of such anger and frustration that I've vowed to share them because surely, someone else has felt the same.

In general, life is okay. Somedays, it's even good. I've had more days of energy and patience than days feeling like I'll puke at any moment and being done with my children by 8:15am. I get the joy of feeling sweet baby flutters deep within me that remind me daily that God's grace abounds even when mine is all dried up. We've moved into our new house and we are settled, even though boxes still line the halls and pile in corners of every room.

People keep saying, "Does it feel like home?" or, "Oh! It's just perfect. It feels so homey."

I'm glad they feel that way. I want our home to be warm and inviting, a place people feel comfortable.

I just wish I felt the same way.

For the last 3.5 years we've been in a rental house that we knew, from the day we moved in, would be temporary. We didn't know where we'd be going or how long we'd be staying. But we knew God led us to that season of our lives for a purpose, to prepare us and lead us to wherever He wanted us to be. We were ready. We were eager. While we waited on directions, and began stepping out in faith, we welcomed two more daughters to our family, still set on going somewhere.

And then, July 24th happened.

And now, I sit here unpacking boxes that have been sitting packed, in our attic, for nearly 4 years. Boxes that I never intended to unpack anytime soon. Photos that bring me joy and sorrow all in the same breath.

Chubby photos of my Lucas when he was just a roly-poly little baby and Ashlee with her huge eyes and kissable lips. Photos of Elizabeth with baby front teeth and chubby, little fingers. Prints of Aaron's huge, blue eyes and Olivia's round, bald head. I take them out, look at them, smile at the nostalgia.

Then I box them right back up.

I don't really know how to explain it. I want them out. I want to see them. I want our house to be our home. I want our kids to see photos of themselves as babies and toddlers and take pride in knowing that we have treasured them their entire life.

But I just can't. Not yet. I've asked a few people to come and help me hang photos and things on the walls. But plans fall through, or kids get in bed too late and I don't push the issue because I know that when the time comes, I'm probably going to fall apart. And how do you explain that to people?

"Well, you see, I'm sobbing because I thought our life plan was to be in Africa right about now. We weren't going to be unpacking photos of our babies, instead, we'd be taping a few treasured photos onto our fridge and calling it a day."

This isn't the life I had us pictured living. And it's hard to convey that to people when, from all outside appearances, it looks like we've moved on with our life. And while we have moved, I haven't necessarily moved on. Does that make sense?

Our pastor, his daughter and a team went to Uganda earlier this month. Honestly, I've not kept up with anything to do with missions because, well, I can't. But I was actually excited for them and for this young girl to set her feet on African soil for the second time in her young life.

But then, the Sunday after they returned, they showed a video summarizing their trip. Their 2 week experience in Uganda was nothing like what our day-to-day life would have been like in Kenya. NOTHING. And yet, Luke nor I could keep it together. We both just sat and sobbed silently in our seats. Both of us shedding tears faster than we could wipe them. I resisted the urge to flee the service, hide and weep openly. I didn't want to be that girl.

I'm not pretending to know the depth and breadth of the pain that a woman who is infertile, yet longs for children, endures. I have no doubt that is a pain unlike any other pain. Yet, when missions and Africa and blog links to awesome ministry blogs are sent to me, I recoil in pain. I recoil and fight the urge to run and hide. I fight the urge to look at them in disbelief and whisper through the pain, "This is more than I can take."

I miss a land, a people, a village, a house I never knew. We never visited Kenya. We never even knew the names of all of our team members. But the grief of losing what we never had must be some sort of a hint of what barren women long for, and grieve themselves.

I want Africa. And yet, it seems not oceans away, but galaxies. An impossibility to access. Something I will live the rest of my days longing for but never attain.

And yet, I know that now is not the time for us to go. I know that because of so many factors and reasons and the state of my own heart. So while things appear okay on the surface, while I go through the motions, try to love my children and my husband with everything I have left in me, I manage.

I manage to make it feel like normal life. I manage to not allow myself to dwell on the fact that I'm angry, I'm hurt and I'm not settled. I manage to make our children's rooms feel like home. I step back, regroup and move on with the next thing. Because most days, that's about all I can manage.

The wrestling

Grace told me I should blog. I told her that I wasn't quite sure what to say that wouldn't be 1) depressing 2) angry 3) heresy.

But here's what's been rolling around in my head and I've been wrestling with in my heart. I hope this all makes sense by the time I'm finished.

-------

I've known it for nearly 9 years now. From the moment that I reached down pulled a 6 pound 13 ounce baby girl onto my chest, I knew it.

Motherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

It's the greatest ministry I've ever been given. One I don't know everything about. One that I'm learning as I go. One that I'm passionate about. Which, in truth, that's every kind of ministry. No one begins ministering to others with all the answers. All they know is that the burning within them drives them to gain more knowledge, love like never before and hope like hell they don't get in the way of God's master plan.

I know all of this cognitively in my head. I know that pouring my everything in to these seven little lives, loving their father well, managing my home and filling myself up with the abundant grace of God is ministry. I KNOW that.

But when I think about what our plans were this time last year. When I remember that there are unreached people in a country on the other side of the world, people we were suppose to be living with as neighbors, my heart breaks.

And some days, this motherhood thing doesn't seem like enough.

Yes, I know we have seven kids. I know my hands are full. I know that loving on seven children ages 8 years and younger is a full time job. I know that.

But somewhere in my heart something seems missing. And that's where my knowledge ends and the wrestling begins. I wrestle between two constant thoughts:

1) I hate feeling like this motherhood gig isn't "ministry enough." That is a lie that the enemy is selling and mothers are buying every.single.day.

I want to refuse to buy it anymore. I believe that there are mothers working their butts off going to work, cleaning up spilled sippy cups of milk, faxing documents while planning dinner in their heads, wiping butts, settling toy disputes, changing 27 diapers a day, homeschooling their kids and coming home to change out the laundry on their lunch breaks. And all the while, these precious mothers are wondering to themselves if they are really making a difference in anyone's life.

Friend, believe me when I say that by loving your children, your husband and your home well you are fulfilling the greatest ministry role on this planet.

I believe that myself. Most days.

Which leads me to my second thought that seems to sit exactly juxtaposed to the first.

2) If this is really it, if this motherhood thing is REALLY my only ministry, then why do hot tears spring instantly to my eyes when I think about unreached people? Why do I feel like I failed? Why does my heart long for more? Why do I nearly ache with the desire to live with my family on hot, dusty soil and watch my children build cross-cultural friendships?

And here is the kicker - even when we were speaking to families and groups trying to raise up a support team, I boldly proclaimed that my role would be nearly identical to what it is here:

Manager of our home, teacher of our children. Wife. Mom. Homeschooler.

So why, if nothing really was to look any different, am I feeling like everything has changed? Because of geography?

That's ridiculous.

This home, these children, my husband - they are my greatest ministry. My hardest job. My biggest reward. Yet somehow, in the midst of my days I feel anger welling up within me.

"This is IT God? We are stuck here? This is my life? Rural America, the freakshow family with all the kids who homeschool? This is IT?"

I'm just not even sure where to go from here. My desire to do any type of ministry is gone.

I've always said that while our children are by far my first ministry, they should never be the reason we chose not to love on people outside our family. Ministry outside the home should happen together. Teenagers. Elderly. Homeless shelter. Whatever. Let's do this as a family.

Over the last 8 months, we've dabbled our feet in trying out a few things to do as a family and each of them has fallen on my heart with a less than desirable thud.

And I can't shake the thought that maybe, this is IT. This is God's plan for my life. "Just" being a mother. (Oh that sound so horrible out loud, doesn't it?) "Just" managing my home. "Just" loving my husband well.

Somewhere inside me discontent sets in. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE YOU CALLED ME TO, LORD. This is not where I wanted to end up. This is not how I had it all planned out. When I stood before you and offered up to you my life with open hands, this wasn't part of the thing you were allowed to take away. Not Africa. Not what we'd worked for nearly 4 years to set in motion.

And so I wonder. Is this pride? Or is it a hunger the Lord has placed deep within me to yearn for foreign soil? I wrestle with those two things clutched tightly in opposing hands. Pride vs Calling. Or is it neither of those and I'm missing the very thing I'm suppose to be learning?

Just as Jacob did, I'm sure I'll not walk away from all this wrestling without a permanent limp. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's God's plan all along.

A changed walk.
A new, albeit markedly different, gait.
An encounter with the Most High that not only changes my course in this journey but the time it takes to reach my destination.

I have a voice mail and about 3 emails that I listen to and read about once a week. Words of encouragement. Words of validation. Words of love poured over our fresh wounds. Words that soothe and balm and help me remember that we did not give up.

Instead, we obeyed. We knew having children meant offering up our own wants, needs and often our dreams and goals so that we could shepherd these precious lives to the foot of the cross on a regular basis. And that is what we have done.

We have chosen to forgo our dreams and instead love our children well and help them heal, help us heal.

But I'm going to be honest.

I feels a lot like we just gave up.

Lately, for some reason I cannot pinpoint, Lucas has melted into a puddle of tears on numerous occasions and just keeps saying things like:

"Mom, I want Paige. I want her to be RIGHT HERE."

"I really wish Paige was here eating dinner with us."

"I wish Paige was going with us to the dentist."

"I miss her. I can barely remember what her voice sounds like, Mom."

Each of those things make my heart break into a million pieces.

I don't want this blog to become the "We miss Paige blog" but truly, I'm not sure what else to write about. The days stretch on between blog posts, they turn into weeks and often I think, "Oh I should blog about that funny thing the kids did" but when I sit to write, deep emotion pours from my fingers.

Writing is my release. And when I sit, emotions surface and spill over. Often emotions I've been trying my best to suppress.

I went to her grave yesterday. It was mostly unintentional. Elizabeth has started piano again and though we live only a few minutes from her lessons, it seems like a lot of work to bring the other 6 kids home, unload them and then load them up again 45 minutes later.

So after driving around in frigid temperatures, I decided that one of the playgrounds at the church might be in the sun. It's also the playground nearest the cemetery. I pulled up and saw that it was not in the sun but the kids insisted on getting out anyway, despite my warnings that it was painfully cold.

We all climbed out, I bundled everyone up and they sprinted for the slide. The slide that's maybe 100 feet from Paige's grave. I've avoided it for the last six months because, well, sometimes it's easier to deny that she's really there in the ground.

But as the kids sprang onto the playground, my feet carried me causally over to the spot I'd stood six months ago as I watched my husband heave with sobs into the chests of his closest friends. The spot where I watched her casket lay above a giant hole that would swallow her up. The spot where I sat next to Grace, clutching her hand, so consumed with worry for her that bile rose in the back of my throat.

I couldn't stop myself. My mind told me at least a dozen times to turn around but I couldn't. I just kept walking until finally there I stood. Looking at the tiny little marker with her name written on it.

My heart recoiled. The grass. Oh God the grass. How in the hell is there grass!? No dirt. No pile of muddy grass and seed, still swollen with the newest offering into the hard, cold ground.

Just normal looking grass. Weathered by the cold winter, grey and brown and looking just like the rest of the grass in the cemetery that covered the plots of people who had been buried for years.

How is it that a 10 foot by 5 foot hole has already completely healed and my heart has only begun?

Today, I took Ashlee out on a lunch date. My sweet girl is always begging for special time alone with me or Luke. We sat in a booth of the Japanese restaurant, noodles slapped the sides of her cheeks as she slurped, my heart swelled with love for her.

"Ash, you know I think you're pretty awesome, right?"

And as casually as she could, she responded with, "Yeah, I know. But not as awesome as Paige."

She's in our thoughts everyday, never far away from intersecting reality and memory. Which is exactly how it was when she was alive. We called or texted her often. Skyped her regularly. The kids wrote letters to her, drew her pictures and asked when she was coming over next. We missed her when she was at school and now, we miss her even more.

Six months tomorrow. It makes me angry that time has dared to move on so quickly. Yet here we sit, life altered, plans changed, hearts sad, new plans on the horizon.

It feels a lot like we just gave up on our old life. But I know that's not true.

I got an email on Monday. It was from our sending organization. A simple email with a lone attachment.

New support goals for 2013.

It felt like a slap across the face. I know it was just routine for whomever updates and sends records. But once again our support needs had gone up. It's not like we are planning to leave the country in 2013 but seeing the dollars we would need continuing to mount seemed like a heartless joke.

I know this is a ramble. And it's sad. And it's not what this blog was ever designed to be. But I really don't know what to write about anymore. I have pages saved on my computer of emotions and thoughts poured out from me, hoping that if I just let them out then I could begin to move on like nearly everyone else I know.

Somedays I feel fine. I rejoice in the testimony of her life, of our life, and what God has done already. And then there are days like yesterday, and the day I know tomorrow will be, and I turn my eyes onto my own broken heart rather than the One who could provide true healing.

It feels like we gave up. It feels like our identity has been stripped from us. Our feet should be firmly standing on African soil right now. Instead, our feet pace around a beautiful property that will soon be ours but I can't genuinely say I'm joyous about owning. We are buying a house out of sad circumstances that we didn't ask for.

It's funny really. I look out our window right now and it's a sunny, clear day. Mildly overcast, with mostly sunny skies. It looks like a nice, warm spring day.

But if you crack open the door, the cold rushes in and the reality of the freezing temperatures outside rush in and send a chill up your back. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you realize, things aren't what they seem.

And that's exactly the state of my heart. Life is moving at normal pace. I attend Bible study and church, go to the grocery store and run into people I know. All appears okay, like a nice, normal day. And then reality slices in, the bitter cold reminding me that this is not where I want to be and the hairs on my neck prickle, my stomach lurches and tears fill my eyes.

I found this scripture this morning while searching for some encouragement for a friend. I want this to be true for me. I need this to be true for me.

Sing aloud, O daughter of Zion;

shout, O Israel!

Rejoice and exult with all your heart,

O daughter of Jerusalem!

The LORD has taken away the judgments against you;

he has cleared away your enemies.

The King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst;

you shall never again fear evil.

On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:

“Fear not, O Zion;

let not your hands grow weak.

The LORD your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing.

I will gather those of you who mourn for the festival,

so that you will no longer suffer reproach.

Behold, at that time I will deal

with all your oppressors.

And I will save the lame

and gather the outcast,

and I will change their shame into praise

and renown in all the earth.

At that time I will bring you in,

at the time when I gather you together;

for I will make you renowned and praised

among all the peoples of the earth,

when I restore your fortunes

before your eyes,” says the LORD.

(Zephaniah 3:14-20 ESV - emphasis added by me)

Joy amid sorrow

We sat in the sanctuary, the same one where her casket laid almost 5 months ago exactly, and the grief washed over me once more.

I hid my face behind Abigail’s head as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I contained my sobs only barely until finally, a familiar chord struck the piano and I could handle it no more. With Abigail wrapped tightly to my chest, I squeezed her close and made a quick exit out of the back of the room and slipped into a darkened classroom down the hall. Muffled sobs filled the small space as Abigail nursed quietly and her chubby little hand grabbed for my mouth, like always.

It was more than I could bear sitting in that room and trying to worship. Especially given why we were there. Our dear friends, a woman I would consider within my inner circle, leaving the country, being commissioned, going to unreached people. Gosh how I love these people. How a part of my heart rejoices in the work the Lord is doing in and through their precious family!

But the rest of me....

To the rest of me that commissioning service felt as much like a funeral as the one I’d sat through just five months before. The funeral that changed so much for us. The funeral that changed our lives forever, that took our dreams, our world, and flipped it upside down.

We were suppose to be departing for Kenya this month. I clinch my fist at God and ask Him why He even called us if He knew this would happen. I lay in the bed most nights and cry silent tears, mourning the loss of our dreams, our hopes, our future and all that I had imagined it to be.

I know this probably won’t make sense to many of you, but my heart was already gone. I fell in love with a people group I’d never met. Faces lacking detail slipped into my dreams, into my prayers and danced across my imagination as I pictured us living with them, earning their trust - and they ours - living along side them sharing with them the greatest, most certain love I’ve ever known. Sharing Him.

I gathered myself and Abigail, who by this time had finished nursing and had begun crawling all over the room looking for tiny objects to pincer grasp and put into her mouth. I wrapped her back onto my chest and snuck back into the sanctuary just as our pastor began speaking. I stared straight ahead, careful to not look around, in fear that I’d make eye contact with someone and they’d be privy to the depths of my pain.

And I sat there in that service feeling like we were burying yet another thing so precious to us.

Yes, this last 5 months have been hard. Hard because we lost our friend. Hard because our children still have weekly meltdown sessions where they collapse into our arms and tell us how much they miss their Paige. Hard because all we know to do, as parents, is simply sit and cry with them. No words will act as a healer. No perfect scripture will make the pain less real. Only tears and cuddles and rocking and the hope that one day we can remember her and it not crush us with grief and sadness.

But it’s been hard on so many other levels. Hard because WE were the family headed to Africa. WE were the ones who were excited to go and see. Hard because this life isn’t the one we’ve spent the last 3+ years preparing for.

“Mom, why aren’t we going to Africa? I want to go to Africa.”

Me too, baby. Me too.

This isn’t our plan A. Plan A was Africa.

We are buying a house. The house we are in now is a rental. It’s served us well over the last nearly 3 years but we are cramped. It’s seen us bring two babies home and our children grow from little kids into school aged children. We moved here with the knowledge that God was calling us somewhere else. It was temporary. We knew that from the get-go.

But now, we aren’t sure how temporary our new life is. There is no way we’d be effective missionaries right now. We’re too busy trying to hold ourselves together to minister to anyone else.

We looked at renting something bigger but it would nearly triple our monthly expenses, which was not an option we could afford or desired. Plus, I don’t know many landlords eager to rent to a family with 7 kids and a dog. The one that I did find in our budget never emailed me back when I told them how many kids we have.

So we found a foreclosure on a nice, large piece of land. It needs work. Lots of work. We’ll have to finish an entire basement, create bedrooms and bathrooms. But it’s doable and it won’t change the face of our budget too much, which is always a good thing.

But it’s bittersweet. This isn’t our plan A. This wasn’t even our plan B. This plan falls somewhere on the list of things we never really thought was in our immediate or 5 or 10 year plan. If you’d have asked me a year ago if we’d ever be homeowners again I’d have probably laughed at you. I saw us as nomads. Living life in rented spaces for as long as we possibly could.

But here we sit. Hoping to close sometime in the next month. Beginning renovations and moving in sometime this spring.

There will be no memories of Paige in this house. No late nights of eating peanut M&Ms as we sit on opposite ends of the couch and we tell each other our fears and dreams and plans. No memories of sitting across the kitchen table from potential supporters, pouring our hearts out to them and wondering if we are able to express to them just how much we love a people we’ve never met.

Part of that brings sweet relief. But another part of that bring such pain and sorrow. As we walked around the house yesterday with a contractor, explaining to him all that we have imagined for this new house, we didn’t have to talk about our old dreams. We didn’t feel the need to fill him in on the reasons why this house isn’t our plan A. He probably couldn’t even fathom that this wouldn’t be plan A.

And somewhere amid talking about flooring and where to put a laundry room and where to put the 5th bedroom and a play room, I found a speck of joy. Joy amid the sorrow. Joy creeping in that this is a fresh start. A new dream. A new hope. Something new to hold onto in the face of so much loss.

As I texted my friend Kate tonight, she reminded me that there must be ashes before they can be made beautiful. As I sit in Job’s ash heap, scraping my wounds, I look forward to the beauty. I pray it comes quickly. And I wonder how many more times we will find joy amid the sorrow. A sorrow often so deep that I cannot understand how the joy seeps in. But He allows it. He ordains it. And He provides it. This joy amid my sorrow. Proof once more that He is the giver all gifts. Even the ones we never, ever thought we’d ever ask for.

His understanding is beyond measure

Our church has begun the formative stages of an adoption and foster parent ministry. It's in its infancy and Monday night was the first public informational meeting.

After a few families shared their stories of adoption (including us) a woman I'd never seen before began to share her story. As she spoke of talking with a potential birth mother, the tears came quickly for her. My heart was swiftly carried back to the times my own heart ached over each of our children. If nothing else, after the meeting I wanted to hug her and tell her that she's not in this journey alone.

As we talked, we chatted about foster care. Finally, a familiar quip rang in my ears as she said that some people she knew had said this about fostering to adopt, "Oh, how could you ever give them back if you had to?"

How many times we've heard that (and still do) when we share about our experience and calling to foster, then adopt!

I've avoided our church's sanctuary as much as possible over the last four months. Every single time I go in there, my mind reforms a closed, white casket stretched in front of the pulpit, a spray of roses and sunflowers across the top of it and my dear friend laying inside. Nearly every time, the taste of bile rises in my throat as I enter.

What should be a place of refuge has become a place of loathing.

But as I sat there, in that same sanctuary, telling this stranger that this journey of adoption isn't meant to be taken alone I hear words come from my mouth and spill into the space in front of me.

"You know though, when people say that they could never foster to adopt, it bothers me. If God clearly called you to this season, if God chooses to make it painful, then it will hurt and you will certainly hit rock bottom. But God is the rock at the bottom. You may land face down, but you will land on Him."

I sat back, looked at my friend Emily and as tears quickly spilled onto my cheeks I said, "Wow. I needed to hear myself say that."

And that's basically where I feel myself right now. Face down on the rock. Unable to stand.

Sure, there are joyful things happening around me. Amanda had her sweet baby on Sunday and I was able to be in the delivery room to take pictures. Birth is miraculous and I am still in awe of her strength. I try to find the good in the fact that we aren't going now. We get more time with our friends and family. Christmas isn't quite so bittersweet this year with a departure looming on the horizon.

But Paige won't be home this Christmas. Just like she wasn't at our house the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, which was typical.

Then, I read Missy's post today and my heart ached so desperately to be gearing up to head to a land full of brown faces, brown eyes and new culture. I sat in front of my computer weeping over all that we've lost lately and I looked back for the post I'd written about the tears and trials that came with our first 5 children. This scripture that I'd once held so close was sitting before me, begging me to believe it all over again.

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

he gives to all of them their names.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

Psalm 147:3-5

I'm brokenhearted. I'm wounded. I'm weak.

I'm forcing myself to believe that Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure. I must believe it. It must be true. His understanding must be beyond my own ability to measure. Beyond my own ability to understand. It must be so.

Lord, prove to me this truth. This truth that my heart already knows but my head is struggling to comprehend.

Please, prove it once more, like you've always done before.

More of Him

I pushed send and sat back, my stomach already turning in knots.

I closed the laptop and pushed it to the other side of the table telling myself that I would not obsess over how people reacted.

I won't do it.

But a few minutes later, the glow of the laptop illuminated my face as I looked at the list that continued to grow that told me who had received our last newsletter.

This is God's plan, this is God's plan, this is God's plan.

I keep reminding myself this over and over again because even today over chips and salsa with a very dear friend I couldn't keep my voice from shaking as I told her how desperately I long to be in Africa.

God knew when He called us to Africa what was foreboding on the calendar of 2012 for our family. He knew. And yet, He still called us, still let us proceed to this point. Because He knew somewhere in all of this mess is something that I need so desperately.

More of Him.

I need Him now more than ever before. Because y'all, at times, it feels like my whole life is crumbling right around me. Like it's slipping through the space between my fingers and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

You know when you're at the beach and your kids have built the sandcastle of all sandcastles. It's a good distance from the water but you know that tomorrow, it won't be there? You know how a few hours later you're warm and crispy, the kids have moved on to collecting seashells and then it happens.

THE wave comes. Through futile attempts you may try to dig and dig and dig to allow for a barrier of some sort from the water. A trench, anything, to divert the impending loss that the waves will bring. But it's pointless, really.

Slowly, all you've worked so hard to build slips away in one fail sweep of waves. And just like that...

it's gone.

Knowing this was all part of God's original plan and feeling contentment and peace in my heart with our current situation are two totally different things. The first one I'm okay with. The second is a daily struggle.

This summer we went on a road trip to see family and friends. For the second year in a row, Paige went with us. She'd met our friends Mandy and Micah the last time we went over and connected with Mandy right away. The three of us girls sat up into the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing while the men were being sensible and sleeping.

That night will forever be burned into my memory. Our conversation had quickly turned to relationships, dating and, for Mandy and I, the mistakes we'd made in both of those areas. Paige was confessing some of her own struggles as she strived toward purity.

Mandy and I sat on the couch and Paige sat cross-legged in the floor with a blanket over her lap, on their floral print rug, picking at the carpet lint around her.

She looked up at me, with tears in her eyes, her voice shaking.

"Jess, I know why you guys aren't in Kenya this summer, like you were suppose to be."

Tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.

"It's because of me. God knew I needed you here this summer."

I think about that night and it nearly takes my breath away. That was two weeks before she died. Little did she know that she was speaking words of prophecy.

But now, she's gone. Our plans and goals have crumbled. The thing we've been working toward for nearly two years (and planning and praying about for nearly 4 years) seems like a lofty, far-off dream and I'm struggling to see the glory of God in any of it.

I'm left surrounded by mess, heartache and grief. The kind that takes you by surprise and you wonder if you'll be able to hold it together through the rest of your conversation so you can slip into the safety of an empty room and cry.

And yet I know that in the midst of all of this the Lord is waiting, calling, desiring me to come and just lay it all before Him.

He's waiting.

I'm hesitant.

I'm desperate to feel His presence and yet I'm just not sure I'm ready to submit myself to the One who built me up and then allowed me to fall and our world to crumble.

The song "Steady My Heart" by Kari Jobe has spoken to me over and over and over again, especially the chorus.

Even when it hurts,
Even when it's hard,
Even when it all just falls apart.
I will run to you,
'Cause I know that you are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart
You steady my heart

I know He will steady my heart if I will just allow myself to have more of Him and less of my own self pity and sorrow. If will allow Him to overshadow my grief, my disappointment, my fear of what our future might hold.

More of Him. That's exactly what I need to steady my heart.

Beaver Family November 2012 Update

As most of you know, in July we lost a close family friend, Paige. When we sent out our September newsletter, our hopes were to take a Short Term trip (3 - 12 months) with Africa Inland Mission to Southern Kenya. (If you missed our September Newsletter, you can read it by clicking here.)

After reviewing our situation and looking at the logistics and the assignments for a Short Term trip, AIM’s recommendation was not in our favor for us to proceed with a short term trip. One of the main reason we decided to go on the field with an experienced organization like AIM is because they have experience and wisdom in sending missionaries.

With that in mind, we have chosen to go on “Hold” with Africa Inland Mission and our plans. Basically, that means that the money we’ve raised thus far will be put aside for us until we are ready to resume support raising and head to the field as full time missionaries, like we had previously planned. We wish we knew now what that time frame would be, but we don’t.

Our children (as well as us grown ups) are still grieving the loss of Paige daily. Several times a week one or more of the children will come to us with a memory of Paige. While we welcome this grieving process, it is also very painful and often, these memories turn into tears, questions and sorrow.

Since soon after our wedding, we have been very convicted about being good stewards of the things God has entrusted to us, especially our finances. God showed us early in our marriage the importance of handling our finances in a way that is pleasing to Him and most effective for His kingdom. We feel that if we chose to press forward with our 4 year term right now we would not be making wise and effective choices with the monetary support raised to put us on the field.

That’s the long of it. The short of it is this:

Our family needs time to heal.

While this is certainly not the choice we wanted to make we know that it is necessary. We know that being good stewards of the hearts of our children is of the utmost importance right now. Second to that is being good stewards with the funding God would provide. We know that if we went onto the field now, we would spend a significant portion of our time healing, grieving and just trying to survive. Very little ministry would be done and we know that would not be using the resources of the Lord wisely.

Even still, this is a hard newsletter to write. We want to be people who honor their word, do what they say they will do and live up to our end of the deal. However, we acknowledged a long time ago that our primary ministry is our family. Right now, our attention and our ministry needs to be solely focused on healing.

Thank you for walking this journey with us. We pray that you have seen in us a desperate desire to obey the Lord faithfully, trust Him in all things and that He alone is worthy of any sacrifice we could make.

If you would like to discuss the contents of this newsletter with us further, we welcome that. You can contact us at beaverbunch (at) gmail (dot )com or by simply replying to this newsletter.

May the Lord bless you richly as you have richly blessed us,

Luke and Jessica Beaver

Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 ESV)

Take heart

I'm generally an outspoken girl. I know you all are shocked to hear that.

But lately, I just can't seem to form the words. Actually, that's not true. I can form words. But the words that mesh together in my head, then form into thoughts and beg to spill from my lips are not exactly words that many people want to hear.

I go to a Bible study on Thursdays. This is my fourth year and I'd recommend it to any and every one who loves to study the word of God or wants to learn how to study the word of God or just needs 2 hours a week with some of the most amazing women on the planet.

I also go to a Bible study on Monday night with some of my closest friends. Sometimes it's more of group therapy than Bible study. But they challenge me, convict me and encourage me like few people can.

I'm also working through a Bible study with 3 other close friends. We're reading through the book of Ruth. I've always loved the book of Ruth.

Ask me about my Monday night study. I avoid going because I simply don't want to hear about any more struggles with any of my friends. Selfish, I know.

Ask me about the Ruth study. I've been on week 3 for about 3 and a half weeks.

Ask me about the Thursday study. Am I reading through Ephesians like all the other women? Not exactly. We are entering week 3 and I've yet to crack my workbook open outside of class time.

I sit in my small group time and listen to well intentioned women give their best efforts at encouraging and convicting snippets of information, all while perfectly holding a warm cup of coffee and wearing brightly colored capri pants and a snappy little cardigans. I look around the room and wonder what the hidden tragedies are in their lives. What words, songs, smells or memories cause hot tears to spring to their eyes in a matter of seconds? Do they even have those stories?

We sit in a circle and they share their convictions of the weeks's lesson and I look at them and wonder how on earth they can just sit there and talk about the glory of God.

I know they mean well. I know that some women in my group have faced tragedy that I pray never befalls me. One of the women in my group is walking a road that sickens me and causes me to sob on demand.

These women, they have wisdom and insights and knowledge that at any other time in my life, I'd leap at, cling to and scribble in the margins of my workbook.

But right now I'm struggling to understand, comprehend and flat out accept the sovereignty of God.

We're planning a beach trip soon and we're also planning a trip to go see our "oh-my-word-our-families-are-so-similar-its-scary" friends sometime in the near future. Yes, we drive a 15 passenger van. No, we cannot fit all the crap we need to function our luggage into our van when we travel places that require more than one night's stay. Therefore, the last two times we've travelled, we've had to rent an enclosed trailer. So I did a little search on Craig's List and found one listed very cheap about an hour away from us. We offered the seller significantly less than the listing price and he accepted. For approximately the cost of two rentals, we bought a trailer.

Only God.

Yesterday we packed up the kids and drove the hour or so to pick it up. When we got there we began to make small talk with the seller. He and his family had moved from California to the east coast and he bought the trailer for the move.

"Why did you move here?"

"To attend seminary,"he answered.

Turns out, he is attending seminary at the same place Luke and I have been taking online courses for Africa Inland Mission's Bible training requirements. Noticing that the seller was from another country, we asked him if he had plans to go back to his home country.

"Yes, I came here to get my degree so I can go back home and plant churches there."

I stood there, dumbfounded.

Seriously, God? Church planting?

We shared our own calling with him, I made small talk with his very pregnant wife, Luke prayed with him and then we drove off, almost feeling like we were stealing this trailer because we bought is so cheap.

On the way home, I shared with Luke, my inability to understand God's sovereignty.

"How is it that in less than 24 hours from the time I decided to look for a trailer, we are driving home with one that we got for so cheap? I'm having a hard time reconciling this with God. I mean, we didn't pray for a trailer it's just a blessing that God provided. Yet, I've prayed and prayed and begged God for some serious desires of my heart and yet, I don't hear or see anything in regards to them. I'm angry."

And that's where I'm at folks.

How can a God who is in the details of our lives seem so distant? So far? So.... uncaring about my heart and the lives of those around me?

And, I don't mean this as harshly as it's going to sound, but please save your trite, customary responses. I don't need to hear "God has a plan" or "Time will heal" or even "Judge your circumstances by your God not your God by your circumstances."

Because if I'm being honest, life seems unfair right now.

I'm watching a friend grieve the loss of the daughter she's carrying in her womb. She knows her death is inevitable and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

Another friend is going through emotions I cannot fathom as her due date approaches for a son she delivered too many weeks too soon. Instead of growing uncomfortably large, anticipating sleepless nights and round-the-clock feedings, she's navigating the pain of knowing her due date will come and go and no baby will arrive as scheduled.

Another friend is struggling with health issues. Words like cancer and brain adenoma are being thrown around. And while not currently life threatening, it's scary because, dear God, she has 3 boys to raise.

Our plans for Africa seem to be ever changing and my heart is grasping at something to hold firm because I need something to be certain, sure and unwavering.

Not to mention, you know, my friend died and today marks two months.

Two months.

And in two month's time I still can't wrap my mind around why God would chose to take a perfectly healthy 20 year old girl who loved Him deeply, with zeal and with a reckless abandon. And everyone around her knew it.

So I sit. In Bible studies I sit. In church I sit. I listen to others tell me about how glorious and marvelous and faithful God is and I just sit. I take it all in but my voice never dares speak.

I try to pray and instead melt into tears and wonder if the desires in my heart are really what God wants to even give me because, damnit, it sure doesn't feel that way.

Yet even in this, I know.

He is faithful.

He is good.

He is trustworthy.

He is righteous.

He is Lord.

As the earth seems to tremble around me and I question sovereignty and meaning and why life seems to suck for nearly every person I know, I take heart.

I take heart.

Clinging to the promises that He who says who He is, is true. He is my true north.

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

(John 16:33 ESV)

September 2012 Newsletter

Several years ago, when we set out on this journey of missions to Africa, we told God that we would go wherever He called us. We meant it. If God called us to go to unreached people, we’d go. If He called us to stay right where we are, we’d stay. If He asked us to go for multiple terms, we’d go. If He asked us to go one term, we’d do that too.

Ashlee and Paige, family trip to Paige's college - April 2012

Our desire is to experience Jesus like never before. We’d been on the mountain top with God and our desire is to be in His presence as much as possible, experiencing intimacies with Him.

Aaron and Paige, family vacation - May 2011

It’s been a hard summer for our family. As most of you know, in July, our family lost a very special person. Paige is a young girl we’d been discipling for over 5 years. Over the years, she became a part of our family. She went on vacations with us, helped us shuffle kids to and from events, spent countless hours around our kitchen table and playing games with our family. Her unexpected and sudden death has rocked our family.

Olivia and Paige, family vacation - May 2011

In light of our challenging summer, we put all of our speaking and support raising engagements on hold. We began just trying to survive day to day without our precious friend.

Jessica and Paige - 2008

As we made our way through our days, we began to wonder if maybe we shouldn’t ask God for confirmation on our calling to Kenya. As we prayed, we felt God moving us to consider some other options.

Paige and the kids - family trip to Paige's college - August 2010

To make a long story short, we have decided to take a SHORT TERM trip with Africa Inland Mission.
A short term trip with AIM lasts anywhere from 3 months to 12 months. The support goals will be significantly less and, our prayer is that our family will still get to travel to Southern Kenya where our hearts are still burdened for the unreached Duruma and Digo people. Our hope is to return there full time after our short term service period has ended.

Paige and Lucas have special time - July 2012

Currently, the short term department at AIM is researching our assignment options.

Luke, Mary and Paige - our first discipleship weekend - 2009

Will you pray with us that:

* God will make clear the assignment He desires for our family.

* We will hear His voice and see where He is moving.

* Our prayer and financial support will continue to increase. Even going short term, we still will have support needs that need to be completed.

* Our family will continue to heal the loss of our beloved Paige.

Elizabeth and Paige, family vacation - July 2012

Thank you for joining us on this journey. You are so faithful.

Blessings,

Luke, Jessica, Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail Beaver

Fear

To say that I am not afraid would be lying. Of course I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of the run-of-the-mill things like one of my children being abducted or being hit by a car. I’m afraid that the bruises on their legs that seem to linger will turn out to be cancer or that I won’t be a good enough mother and one of our children will never know the Lord.

I’m afraid I’ll fail my husband or my parents or my friends or all of them at the same time. I’m afraid I won’t be obedient enough to the Lord and I’ll suffer the consequences of my short comings. I’m afraid I’ll get so caught up in the day to day that I’ll never remember our children at the ages they are now.

A few nights ago I sat staring at a picture of Elizabeth when she was just about 3 years old. I willed myself to remember her tiny frame embracing me at that exact age.

I couldn’t.

A lump rose in my throat as I realized that I will never, ever get those days back. Forever she’ll be bigger than that chubby faced, wild haired almost-three year old in the picture. Never again will I hear her three year old voice or brush her wild, blond, fresh curls away from her pudgy little almost-three year old cheeks. I looked at her plump baby hands curled around a popsicle stick and forced my mind to remember what those fingers felt like intertwined with mind.

I couldn’t.

Fear overwhelmed me as I realized that those memories had faded quickly from my mind and as much as I will it, I cannot stop my children from growing.

The truth is, if I could keep our children the ages they are now and hold them in this season forever, I would. Yes, it’s exhausting. Diapers and snacks are endless. I’m sleep deprived and short on patience most days. But the alternative is forgetting. And I’m afraid I will forget and never again remember them exactly as they are now.

Then, there’s the biggest fear of all.

Africa.

My heart longs to go so desperately and then fear overwhelms me and my mind races with the what ifs.

What if we go and it breaks their little hearts too much?

What if they catch malaria?

What if they die?

What if they hate us for taking them?

What if we are making a mistake?

I cry out to God begging Him to confirm this calling just one more time. He always does.

I hurl fear-based questions at Him praying He hears them and calms my anxiety.

He reminds me that there is fear in every choice He has led us in as we obey His calling on our lives.

There’s fear in homeschooling, that I won’t be enough or do enough or prepare them adequately.

There’s fear in vaccinations, that they’ll suffer negative consequences from them or that by delaying them we’ve exposed them to diseases or that we’re being neglectful by omitting some.

There’s fear that we’ve had too many children, that they’ll never know just how truly special they each are or that they’ll resent having so many siblings or that we’ll miss a milestone in their lives.

There’s fear at every turn. Africa is no different it’s just on a bigger scale.

The Lord reminds me that I am merely a steward of these gifts He’s given me. They really aren’t mine anyway. They are His. He loves them so much more than I can even comprehend. And for some crazy reason, He trusts me to nurture, love, raise and disciple them here on this earth. I can’t say why but He does.

Isn’t He afraid I’ll blow it?

“So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.
(1 John 4:16-18 ESV, emphasis mine)” 

There is no fear in love.

He loves me. And he loves them. More than anything I can comprehend, His love is everlasting.

So no, He's not afraid I'll blow it because He already knows that I'll mess up. He sees my mistakes and acknowledges them, knowing that He holds their futures, their pasts and their present all in the palm of His hand.

He has called us to parent this colony of children. He arranged and ordained our family to be in perpetual chaos. He knew it all before the dawn of time. He knew the day each of them would take their first breath and the day they will each draw their last.

If When bad things happen, I must trust in Him that He has His best in mind for me and for them.

I sank back into the pillows of the couch and continued staring at the photo of Elizabeth. "I can see some Ella in there and also some Abigail, can't you?" I say to Luke as he leans in closer and we look at this girl that we once knew.

"She's so big now," he says whispered, as if saying it loudly will make the time pass more quickly.

And again, fear lept into my throat.

I don't want to forget.

Please, Lord, let me remember these days. Let me not rush through them so quickly that I look back and wonder how I got here and where those chubby face babes went.

But mostly Lord, let me not fear your plans for me. Instead, let me press in close to the love you have for me and take great comfort in your desires for our life. Let your perfect love cast out all of my fears.

Lucas, 14 months

Ashlee, 14 months

Elizabeth, a few weeks before her 3rd birthday

On being a sender

I've told myself that even short blog posts are worthy of this space. That's true, right?

With that said....

I recognize that not everyone is called to go to a foreign country and be a missionary. Some people cannot because of health reasons. Some can't because of family responsibilities. Some cannot because of situations beyond their control. Some cannot because they are scared to tears of flying.

The point is, not everyone can physically go. But the truth is, everyone can go in some capacity. Romans 10:13-15 is scripture very close to my heart.


For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”
How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” (ESV, emphasis mine)

You see, we can all go in some capacity. Some of us go physically but the vast majority of people will not go full time. And that's okay. In fact, dare I say, that's how God designed it!

After all, Romans is clear, it takes each step, each person, each team member to get the gospel into all the nations, to the very ends of the Earth.

Some are sent. Some are senders. My dear friends, it is no more important to be one that is sent than it is to be a sender. The truth is, the sent can't go without the senders.

As I sat here tonight figuring up what our monthly and outgoing support needs are, I realized something.

I have around 830 facebook friends. If HALF of the people I'm friends with on facbook committed to partnering with us in the amount equivalent to ONE FAMILY MEAL of fast food per MONTH we'd go from being at 18% to 100% of our monthly support goal!

ONE family meal out per MONTH. One.

And I'm not talking Chick-fil-a. I'm talking McDonald's. For the cost of about 3 value meals per month, pledged by about 400 people we'd be fully funded. Take that down to 200 people and it's becomes the cost of a mediocre sit down meal for your family (or still fast food for a family the size of ours!).

I've heard people say several times, "Oh, we could only give just a tiny bit per month. Not even enough to make a difference."

Can I challenge you on that?

I promise you, every amount makes a difference to the people in Kenya who have NEVER heard the name of Jesus Christ.

Won't you go with us? Even if not in the flesh, will you live out Romans 10:13-15 and be the sender? We'll never get there without you.

If you'd like to go with us, you can start by clicking here.

Break our hearts: Our April ministry newsletter

The song Hosanna is a favorite in our family. In fact, we considered naming Abigail "Hosanna" because we liked it so much. None the less, there's a line in the song that I (Jessica) often sing with half my heart filled with longing and half of my heart hesitant for the Lord to answer my request.

"Break my heart for what breaks yours..." The worship team belts out this line and I must confess that each time I wonder if I really want the Lord to break my heart for all the things that break His.

After all, can you imagine all the things that must grieve the heart of our Lord? I'm sure I can hardly imagine it. Yet, somehow, I do desire for my heart to be broken for the things that break His heart, even if it's just one at a time. And, in those requests, the Lord has answered. Pain and suffering are all around us. It's not hard to go through an average day and see a homeless person on the corner or hear of a tragedy in the news. But real heart break, things that drive you to action, we believe those heart breaks come from the Lord.

What breaks our heart? Many things actually, but at the top of the list is unreached people. What is an "unreached people"? Good question. According to JoshuaProject.net, an unreached or least-reached people group is a population of people with less than 5% professing Christian. To put that into perspective, according to JoshuaProject, 80% of the people groups in the United States are professing Christians. In Canada, that number is slightly higher at 84%. Joshua Project breaks down countries by people groups. The US has 365 total people groups. Canada has 247.

Remember, that for a people group to be considered unreached, less than 5% of that group will be professing Christians. In Kenya, East Africa there is a reported 117 people groups. 38 of them are totally unreached. Our family will be going to work, live among and share the Gospel with 2 of those 38.

So what about this breaks our hearts? Well, both Luke and I had the opportunity to visit Guinea-Bissau, West Africa in 2011. There, we experienced unreached people first hand. The image at the top of this newsletter shows a man with amulets on his necklace. The sweet little baby pictured above also has amulets around her neck. Amulets are tokens from Witch Doctors meant to ward off evil spirits and, for some, to bring good luck. For many African people groups, amulets are a part of every day life. But Christians know that true peace, joy and healing can only come from one person.

Jesus Christ.

Most of the African peoples practicing witchcraft have never heard the redeeming power of Jesus Christ. They've never had the chance or opportunity to hear about the One who can heal all hurts, not just the physical. That, my friends, is what breaks our hearts. We long for those who have never heard to hear the name of the Lord. We desire, desperately, for them to encounter the One who loves them, cherishes them and desires a personal relationship with them.

We are glad that God has not chosen to burden our hearts with every heartbreak He has. Yet we are honored He would reveal to us this specific heartbreak, one so dear to His heart. And it is because of this heart break that we are compelled to go, share and live among Kenya's unreached people.

Will you go with us? You can! Maybe not physically (though we'd love visitors once we get settled in!), you CAN go with us!

Right now we are raising up both PRAYER and FINANCIAL partners to GO with us to Kenya!

Want to partner with us and take the Good New of Jesus Christ to the unreached? You can, by emailing me at: beaverbunch (at) gmail (dot) com and putting "Missionary Support" in the subject line. I can email you a pledge card that you can complete and return.

Or you can click here for Online Giving.

We are so excited to see what the Lord is preparing for us in Kenya and we are honored you'd consider to GO with us!

Blessings,

Luke and Jessica Beaver
(Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail, too!)

Support Needs

Financial Needs

Outgoing Support Needed:
$39,082
We are at 30%

Monthly Support Needed:
$7,999
We are at 12.5%

Prayer Needs

Praises!
* Abigail arrived safely and was EARLY! A first for Beaver babies!
* We are actively speaking with small groups and enjoyed a wonderful Sunday with Wellspring Community Church!
* We are continuing to receive people who are interested in partnering with us in prayer and financial support!

Requests
* For Luke and Jessica to organize their time so that Bible Requirements, Outbound Training and Paperwork can be completed efficiently
* For us to prepare the children, as much as possible, for the move to Kenya
* For God to raise up prayer and financial partners

Waiting for the good

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.  

Romans 8:28 (ESV)

The long stints in between posts in not necessarily a sign of busier times in our house (though that's true) nor a sign that I don't enjoy blogging anymore (which is not at all true) or even that I don't have anything to say (certainly not true, if you know me at all).

The truth is, I've always considered this a place where I can be real. Even in real life, I'm generally open, honest and fairly easy to read. Whatever crosses my mind generally comes out of my large, gaping mouth - which can often not be a good thing.

I've never been a person with many secrets (though I have some buried somewhere deep inside and locked away - trust me) and I've never really understood people who keep so much of their lives private and tucked away from the people they care about. In fact, I've often thought that the way believers can give God the most glory is to be real, to be honest and allow your imperfections to radiate the glory of God, show His immeasurable mercy and then rejoice in your imperfections being made perfect in Him.

And I still believe all of that. I'm not too worried about people coming to our house and seeing the sticky, mysterious blotches that are spattered across our kitchen floor. I'm not anxious about folks coming over for playdates and seeing the piles of laundry on the table in our living room. In fact, I don't even really care if everyone in the world knows that we eat off paper plates 90% of the time. (We're not green. At all.)

I understand that people judge us and think we're crazy because we have nearly 7 kids all ages 7 years and younger. I know that we are talked about when we leave the room and often people ask bystanders which are our "real kids" and which are adopted.

So I think my hesitation with coming here regularly and sharing my heart is because lately, I'm hiding more things in there. Pondering them, turning them over in my mind, wondering why none of the jagged edges become smooth with the constant turning and tumbling and wear.

Things that are more than just "am I parenting this child the right way" or "what if they figure out I'm not nearly the person they think I am" or "what happens if they see me looking less than up to par." Because the fact is, if you know me at all you know those previous questions don't get to me all that much.

The thing that keeps me from coming here and sharing the trivial, mundane and even the profound is the fear of being found out on a much deeper level.

What if I don't have this whole God thing as figured out as I thought I did?

Because the nitty gritty truth is that once you begin telling people that you've been called to be a missionary, they expect you to be some sort of super-Christian. Someone who has a direct line to God and who obviously knows more than the average Christian about obedience, Scripture and must have this super-human prayer life.

And I'm NOT good at dealing with that kind of pressure.

Last night one of our youth came into the kitchen where I was carrying on a casual "I'm a pregnant woman and here are my struggles" conversation with another pregnant, youth-worker Mom and he said, so casually, "I didn't know y'all were going to Africa?! Why did y'all decide to do that?"

Why did we decide to do that? Is he serious? I think he was sincere in his question and it wasn't like he was trying to make it sound flippant but clearly we didn't just decide one day to pick up our family of 9 and move to East Africa.

It's a delicate balance between trying to always seem confident and composed in your calling and wanting to shake people and scream, I don't have it all figured out either!

And it's not like we feel okay with sharing our struggles with just anyone. Because, good gracious, who do we share them with?

Supporters? Um. No. Because the fleshly side of me wants to continue seeming like we have it all figured out so that they don't lose their confidence in us. I mean, good golly, $8,000 per month is A LOT of money to raise and we don't want to jeopardize the faith that those who've already partnered with us have put in us. We need every supporter we currently have, plus about 200 more.

Friends? Yes, we can but typically even our closest friends can't really understand the hidden struggles we are facing. Because moving to a different continent is a tad different than moving across town or taking a new job or deciding to adopt. Not that we believe that any of those callings are any less spiritual or God sized but we are moving to a 3rd world country for crying out loud. It's like me trying to understand the pain my dearest friend has over her empty womb. I can try my best to understand, empathize and cry out to God for her. But I don't really get it. No matter how much I want to.

Family? Not exactly. Most of the family that has acknowledged that we're leaving isn't exactly supportive of our calling. Fueling their concerns and giving them more reasons to be opposed to us isn't exactly top on my to-do list.

Other missionaries? Sure. They are usually good people to reach out to and sometimes they can get it. But for some missionaries, they took no kids on the field with them. Or they didn't have to raise support. Or maybe they're sitting right where we are, struggling with the things God is calling them to do but their flesh is yelling out in defiance.

So Luke and I sit in our room most nights, tossing back and forth our worries, our anxiety and our fears. It's a lot like trying to throw back and forth a handful of spaghetti. The first few tosses go okay but eventually it falls apart and ends up scattered all around us in a huge mess. We're covered with failed attempts to grasp totally what the other is pitching out to us.

The one person I should be falling on my face before, the God of all creation, the Lord who called us in the first place, seems so distant right now. I should be falling before His throne, nose pressed to the floor, wearing a blisters on my face from tears mixed with our cheap carpet.

And that's where it ends. That's the struggle. Because I know that if I did just that, answers would come, anxieties would subside and fears would be brought into light. But I also know that nasty places in my own flesh would be revealed. Cancerous wounds would be exposed and I'd have to own up to the rotten flesh I've allowed to live and eat and grow on me over the last few months.

Cleaning wounds is painful. I have enough pain in my life right now. I don't want anymore.

In addition to all of the anxiety, fear and struggle I may have with our calling comes your everyday pain, conflict and struggles with our children, family, friends and just life.

It's a balance to keep it all in perspective and trust that in due time God will make all things work together for my good. But missionaries, pastors, best-selling christian authors and the like can't admit to the struggles with the things of great significance right? Especially as it pertains to their specific calling. Because aren't they suppose to know God? Like, really know God? Shouldn't people who really know God not have such struggles? After all, can't they just pick up their "direct line phone" dial up the Big Man and get all their questions answered, their problems solved and have peace with life all in a quick, easy prayer?

I've said this before, maybe not here but to others:  I really think that in many ways living in Africa won't be nearly as hard as the getting there.

Please Lord, get me through the getting there. And heal me of my rotten flesh somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll be waiting to see how all of this will work together for my good.

December Newsletter

Our December Ministry Newsletter is out! Below is a modified version of what we recently sent to inboxes all over the globe.

Hope you enjoy!

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“Missions is not the ultimate goal of the church. Worship is. Missions exists because worship doesn’t .... Worship, therefore, is the fuel and goal of missions. It’s the goal of missions because in missions we simply aim to bring the nations into the white-hot enjoyment of God’s glory.” - John Piper, Let the Nations Be Glad, p. 35

It’s a season of worship in our society. During the month of December, service, love and charity is often dubbed as having the “Christmas Spirit.” And yet, many of us would agree, that as the spirit of Christmas washes over us and those around us we really wish the joy, hope and peace of the season would ring true all year long and not just for 25 days a year.

It’s a spirit of worship, a spirit of thankfulness and reverence for the birth of Christ that bids our hearts to spread the love and joy we know in our Savior.

As I (Jessica) read through the Introduction and first part of Chapter 1 of Let the Nations Be Glad by John Piper, his statements (quoted above) about worship sat with me, uncomfortably.

Does missions really exist because worship does not? Should our love for missions be fueled by our love for worshipping the One True God? Or should it be fueled by obedience, service and sacrifice?

And then, as December so quickly rushed upon us, it made perfect sense. Why am I so eager to practice love and charity this time of year? Why are we so eager to spread joy?

Because this truly is the best time of year! It’s the celebration of the birth of our Risen Lord. It’s the hope that was birthed into a hopeless world over 2,000 years ago. It’s the worship of the One who came, died and rose for all people in every nation on earth.

Worship is denying the desires of the flesh because of your love for the King. Worship is speaking softly to those you love when you desperately want to scream. Worship is purposeful prayer over those the Lord has brought to your mind and laid on your heart. Worship is sending, going and telling because of the joy of the Lord that you know is true in your own life.

“[Missions] is a temporary necessity. But worship abides forever.”

We pray that this Holiday season finds you in fervent worship of Jesus Christ, as you celebrate His birth. We also pray that we all continue to worship after the gifts are unwrapped, the trees are taken down and the New Year rolls around.

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So what’s new with the Beavers?

We found out in October that Beaver Baby #7 is a GIRL! We are so excited and we all continue to eagerly anticipate her arrival in March of 2012. We ask for your prayers for a continued smooth pregnancy and delivery.

We are continuing to meet with families and small groups to discuss our calling and our assignment. God is proving to be faithful in providing prayer and financial partners!

Currently, we are at 11.5% of our monthly support goal and at approximately 22% of our outgoing support goal!

We have added several new prayer and financial partners in the last few months. What a praise and answer to our specific prayers.

After much prayer, discussion and exchanging of emails with Africa Inland Mission, we have elected to postpone our departure date to January of 2013. This will give us an additional 9 months after the baby is born to get documents in order, items sold and loose ends tied up. It feels much less stressful than the original departure of July 2012.

Please continue to pray that we budget our time and resources to complete Outbound Training Requirements, Bible Requirements and Document Preparation over the next year. These tasks, along with normal, everyday life, can get overwhelming.

Please pray that we can aquire additional prayer and financial partners to reach our prayer and financial goals.

Please pray that God will continue to prepare the hearts of the people of Southern Kenya and our assignment location. Also pray for the leaders and citizens of Kenya as they face an ongoing war on terrorism.

If you are considering partnering with us in prayer and/or financial support, please email us at: beaverbunch (at) gmail dot com for further instructions or you can click here to be directed to Africa Inland Missions' online giving page.

We are so blessed by our prayer and financial partners and we desire to know how we can specifically pray for each of you as well.

We pray that you have a season of love, joy, peace and worship as you prepare your hearts for the celebration of the arrival of the King of Kings!

Merry Christmas!

Luke, Jessica, Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia & Ella Beaver