Through smoke

She had tied the drawstring of her robe tight around her waist. Her linen pants hung loosely around her legs and were stuffed into the tops of her laced up boots of peace. Her cloak hung heavily on her shoulders, which was ironic since the armor that protected her vital organs felt remarkably light.

Picture her with me.

Truth sat low on her hips while righteousness covered her chest. Protected by her faithful shield, salvation upon her head, on the defensive with the glimmer of her sword, spirit. She was ready. She had trained, prepared and knew the battle would be intense. In fact, there had been many small battles leading up to this day.

She looked to her left and he stood there with her. Adorned with a matching uniform, he stood just a pace in front of her, prepared to take the worst of the blows, knowing that it was not only his calling but his duty as her protector, provider, prophet and priest. Yes, they would fight together but he was set over her. Not because she was inferior but because the goodness of the One who prepared this battle knew what He was doing.

A smile crept across her lips as she looked back out onto the hills in front of them. Battle is never easy, but after you've prepared for weeks and months and years when it's time to go, you can't help but be a bit eager.

Together, nearly in unison, they step into the war zone, knowing that it could last longer than they both have the energy or resolve to endure. However, they aren't relying on their own strength alone and they know this full and well. Emerging from the sky are cherubim, clothed in no armor at all but brandishing weapons that annihilate the enemy in one, swift stroke.

Rushing forward, metal clinks, blows are landed and they find little successes. Suddenly, the ground shakes, the sky grows dark. Smoke engulfs the battlefield. Disoriented and confused, they become separated in sight. She can hear him but the smoke burns her eyes with such pain that she must choose to close them for fear of losing her sight forever more.

She hears wailing and crying and listens intently to try to discern from which direction it coming, only to realize that it is from her own lips. Her heart is afraid and her voice betrays her by telling every enemy within earshot.

Trembling, she sinks to her knees and opens her eyes, desperately scanning the horizon. The smoke is so thick she cannot possibly see beyond her own arm,  much less into the distance. The stench of burning trash and excrement lingers in her nostrils.

"Help! Where are you? Help me, please."

The roar of battle has ceased but the smoke remains. She can no longer hear him or the One who gives the orders.

"This is it?" she thinks. "This is not the battle for which I trained. No! This wasn't in the plan at all. How did this happen? No! This cannot be it." Her heart pounds in her chest and fear overwhelms her.

The silence is now deafening.

She crawls across the field on her hands and knees hoping to find someone, anyone, who might give a clue as to what has happened. There are no signs of battle, no wayward shields or swords. No members of the enemy camp laying slain on the ground. Nothing but the smoke even suggests there's been a battle.

This. This ground shaking madness, this was not what she had prepared for at all. She hopes staying close to the ground will provide reprieve from the smoke but it is as thick and pungent down low as it is up high.

She crawls across rocks and sticks and through mud but no where does she find remnant or clues to anyone else on this field with her. Finally, FINALLY, she finds a small wall of stone. She believes she remembers this one. It's old, and frail, but she's seen it before. The familiarity of it relieves her, though she knows it will be of little use since once before it was crumbled. Resting her back upon it, she tries to find her bearings.

The enemy. He must be responsible for this. He has to be. He is sneaky and vicious and cares not who he kills. Surely he is on the other side of this short wall, prowling, waiting for her to expose herself so he can finish her off.

Then she realizes that she's not safe. No where is safe. Though the smoke is thick still in most places, it's beginning to rise. He will see her, someone will see her vulnerable, and finish what the enemy has started. With fervor and with trembling hands she grabs the stones around her and begins rebuilding the wall. Higher, higher, stronger, taller it grows. It curves around beside her and yet she continues. Creating her own little provision, she gathers the uneven, worn, battered stones that had previously been ripped down and she rebuilds what was once deemed unnecessary.

Once she has it far reaching enough around her she stops and tucks herself into its sanctuary. Now, behind the wall she built from the ruins, she is safe.  The enemy can't find her and once the smoke clears she can emerge on her own terms, sword drawn, and fight her way back to where she once was.

She waits. It is taking a long time for the smoke to rise. Shouldn't it have risen by now? Where did it come from anyway? This is not what she had trained for. She waits, she thinks, she tries to pray, but in vain.

And then it washes over her. He knew. The One, he knew. He knew this would be the battle all along. "How could you know and not prepare me?!," she cries. He knew and yet he did nothing to stop it, nothing to help her to know what to do in this scenario. She'd rehearsed and prepared for just about anything else but this. What is she to do now?

The One she trusted to train her, the One she trusted her life to, he knew. And somehow, somewhere amid all the preparations, he failed to train her for this. He knew, and he failed. Therefore she would fail, too. And he knew she would fail.

Her jaw set with anger and determination, she looks down at the armor upon her body. It is beaten and broken and flawed now. How is that possible? What battle has she fought? She doesn't remember any enemy blows because before she could really fight, her world was rocked. How can she be so heavily beaten up, for she was merely trying to survive.

Beauty in death

Leaves flutter to the ground, their flecks of amber and gold whirring around on the wind, carelessly landing on the tops of sidewalks, cars and piles of other leaves. Our children dance and play beneath them, taking special joy when a hard breeze comes through our yard and they cascade down as if being painted across the landscape with the swooping of The Artist's hand.

(source)

Golds, yellows, greens, reds, browns. When poised among the same branches, the beauty nearly takes my breath away. As we drive down the road I find my eyes looking to the landscape, the beauty of what is around me takes my mind off of the radio, the children behind me, my current life.

Fall has been my favorite time of year for as long as I can remember.

(source)

The crunch of the leaves below the soles of my shoes, the need for bulky sweaters and the changing of warmer temperatures to cooler ones, no doubt this time of year brings me joy that no other season can.

Yet the irony of the beauty of the season this year is almost crushing. Because, the truth is heartbreakingly simple.

(source)

There can be beauty in death.

Fall proves this yearly. As leaves wither and die, taking on new colors, shapes and textures they paint a beautiful portrait that can only be seen on the landscape of death.

As much as it pains me to admit that. As much as my current life season doesn't want to admit that truth. There can be beauty in death.

When death is hidden within the promises of Christ a breathtaking picture is revealed. Make no mistake, death apart from Christ is anything but beautiful.

Some dear friends reminded me of this truth last night as we talked with them on the phone across hundreds of miles. And, in the early days following Paige's death, I thought about it often and it would make me smile.

She's there. Seeing Him face to face. Worshipping wholly. Really living. Not this trite, vapor of a life that we have here. Real life. Lived right before the King.

There's beauty in that aspect of her death.

It's selfish to wish she was still here so that I could text her at night or skype with her during the week or ask her to sit and edit photos with me.

It's selfish to wish she could be here for birthdays, drives through the parkway in the mountains and to watch our kids while we go on a date.

It's selfish because I know that she doesn't desire to be here anymore.

I think about Mary and how she must have felt to watch her son hang on a cross. To watch his lifeless body be taken down and put inside a tomb. The grief must have been unbearable. Did she know she'd see Him alive again in a few short days? When she saw Him, did she embrace him as if it had been months since their last encounter?

Did she see the beauty in His death? Or was that only revealed to her once His death was abolished?

How her heart must have grieved while He laid in the tomb.

I know Paige is full of life, joyful and beautiful in the presence of her Savior. But I'd give anything to embrace her just one more time. To see her car ease into our driveway and watch her bounce up the walk. To sit with her over hot coffee or see her dance with our kids. For Ashlee to have the special time that was promised but never delivered.

The leaves spin down, dancing on the wind as our littlest girls squeal and dance along side them. Their delight is unmatched. The beauty of the season slowing falling all around them.

Beauty. Death.

Those two seem like an odd marriage. But in the shadow of the cross they make perfect sense. The beauty in Christ's death is redemption. Only by death is the richness of salvation possible.

I miss her so much. And yet I cling to the promise that one day, I will see the beauty in her death as well.

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)

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.

His own flesh

Maybe I could blame pregnancy hormones.

Or maybe I could blame being tired from being gone,  homeschooling our older 3 children or just having 6 kids ages 7 and under and being pregnant.

Or maybe I could blame it on the rain (I mean, Milli Vanilli did, right?). I mean, it DID rain a lot here lately.

But I should probably own up to the fact that my flesh just wanted to be mean.

Y'all I've been a real snot to my husband over the last week. Actually, more like a week and a half. I've been rude, stubborn, selfish, prideful, hateful, angry, selfish, easily annoyed, selfish.

Did I mention selfish?

And the thing is, he really didn't even give me a good reason to be mean and selfish.

Unless you count breathing.

Or talking.

Or just generally being in my presence.

Then, OH SWEET MERCY, then Tuesday happened.

Our oldest 3 kids went on a Thanksgiving adventure with my parents. They left bright and early Tuesday morning and I set my pregnant mind on getting our house in some kind of order. My darling, ever-patient-with-me-husband did exactly as I asked him (not so casually or nicely, mind you) and disassembled and moved an enormous bunk bed that was in the big kids' room. We'd purchased a smaller set and Amanda and I had plans to set it up on Tuesday. And we did. We set up bunkbeds, rearranged rooms, half-assembled a small dresser. You know, did LOTS.

Then Tuesday night, we got the bright idea to go do some Christmas shopping. About and hour or two into our escapades, the day hit me. Or so I thought.

Cold sweat, chills and extreme nausea and fatigue.

We headed home and for the next 12 hours my husband held back my hair and brought me cold rags as I battled the WORST stomach virus I've ver had.

He, as a result, had to take the day off Wednesday while I recovered from my all night pukefest.

Slowly on the mend, Thursday was better and somehow I managed to be a little nicer to my husband who had served me so graciously over the last 24 hours, despite my hatefulness the week before.

And then TODAY. I knew Luke was planning to work this week. I mean, he'd just taken off work for our Colorado trip and for his trip to Guinea-Bissau so taking off time at Thanksgiving was not really an option. Especially since he'd played nurse all night and day Tuesday and Wednesday.

But this morning, he got our three littlest darlings out of bed, fed and dressed them all before I stumbled into the kitchen. As I stumbled toward the coffee pot, he looked at my disheveled self and said, "You can go back to bed if you'd like."

"Huh?" I said, sure I'd not heard him right. "What time are you going to work?"

"I'm not going to work today," he said as a big smile spread across his face.

"What?" I said, in disbelief.

"Yeah. I'm going to take the babies and run some errands. Why don't you go grab lunch or something and take the day off? Just be back by 3:00 because you have somewhere you need to be."

What-tha?

At 3:00 I found out that my darling husband had scheduled me a prenatal massage. The BEST massage I've ever had, mind you. Then after my day off and afternoon of pampering, I went and did more Christmas shopping with Amanda.

Seriously.

HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG, so this wasn't suck up behavior.

Then it hit me.

He was living out Ephesians 5. Despite my nasty attitude, my selfishness, what I deserved, he was loving me as he loves his own flesh.

Why? Because of his love for the Lord.

Y'all, my man isn't perfect. Trust me. Earlier this week, I probably could have listed off about 10 of his flaws. Quickly.

But he loves me. He sacrifices for me. Even when I don't deserve it.

Even when I'm hateful and selfish and mean.

Just as Jesus Christ Himself loves the church and sacrificed his own flesh for her.

My prayer tonight is that if you've never experienced that kind of love, that you'll seek it out and find that Christ loves you much more than any human man could ever love his wife.

And you'll relish it in His extravagant love. Just as I am relishing in my husband's love for the Lord, which has been poured out on me, despite what I really deserve. Both Christ and my husband love me extravagantly. Like their own flesh.

Being holy

It's probably no secret that I pretty much adore my husband. I mean, I agree that he has flaws and he messes up sometimes. But, generally speaking, I could spend all day talking about how wonderful he is and how much he blesses me.

In fact, when we went to Candidate Week the psychologist, about 10 minutes into our 3 hour session, leaned into me and said, rather pointedly, "You over idealize your marriage. Which is odd because the rest of your scores seem to indicate that you're a pretty direct and blunt person."

I looked her in the eye and as nicely as I could say it I responded with, "I don't over idealize my marriage. I simply know how blessed I am."

My husband is selfless, strong, loyal, gentle and hard working, characteristics that many men do not choose to display. He is not afraid to tell me, our children or the important people in his life that he loves them.

Today, my man (along with 5 other men) leaves for 11 days to travel to Guinea-Bissau, West Africa. I went to Guinea-Bissau back in April. I'm so excited that Luke will have the opportunity to visit the places I went, meet the people I met and, most importantly, share the Gospel with unreached people. He gets the amazing privilege of sharing the power of Jesus Christ with people who may have never before heard His name.

A few weeks ago, I emailed several of the men in Luke's life who encourage him, challenge him and walk the road of brotherhood in Christ with him. I asked them if they'd like to write him a note to encourage him while he's half way around the world, disconnected from everything that's normal to him.

As the emails began to flood my inbox I couldn't resist reading each letter as I printed and sealed them. Every single time, hot tears stung the back of my eyes as I read the words of other men, writing to encourage this man the Lord has blessed me with.

They see it too. They see him, know him and love him.

Most of these men have seen Luke at his worst. Short-tempered with our kids, low on compassion for me, unshowered, unshaved and, even one of them, unforgiven.

Yet here they are, sending in words of confirmation, encouragement and conviction to this man they consider a friend. In fact, more than once they referenced him as their brother. Not just in the context of our faith, but in the context of their own families.

They see it too. They know him, flaws and all and they see it too.

I couldn't contain my tears as I stuffed envelopes, labeled them for each day of his journey and packaged them in a neat pile. Tears spilled over onto my cheeks as I thought about the time, the care and the ways these men have poured into my husband.

I stuffed in some additional cards from our oldest 3 kids, cards they've written, colored, stickered and sealed with copious amounts of tape.

Love. Poured onto paper for this man I have the privilege of walking through life with.

Over the last several weeks, I've prayed this scripture over Luke and the 5 other men that left today for Guinea-Bissau, West Africa.

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.”

(1 Peter 1:13-16 ESV)

For the past several months, I've watched Luke prepare, as best as he can, for this trip. He's studied the scriptures, prayed hours upon hours, received shots and prayed over me and the kids. And, in turn, I've seen a level of holiness exude from him that I've never seen before.

Will you join me in praying this for the men on the team and that the Lord will prepare the hearts of the people in the villages to hear about the greatest plan of Salvation the world has ever known?

I too would cherish your prayers as the children and I travel over the next week. We're getting out of town while Luke's gone so we can stay sane and (hopefully) make the time pass quickly.

Thanks friends.

Link it up

I wrote my final post for the Summer Session blog. It was about Revelation.

I know.

You can read it here.

I quietly stalk the Block family. They're moving to Guatemala with 7 of their kids in the next week to do full time mission work. This post that Amy wrote sums up exactly how I feel.

This post by my friend (and fellow AIM appointee) Leah is awesome. And I agree with her 200%.

I found this post via my bloggy friend Holly. It broke my heart and made me angry all at the same time. It should be against human law for a child to live, starving, in an orphanage.

This post by Missy had me laughing out loud, literally.

Finally, I'm feeling more horrible in the evenings rather than in the morning. Which is a HUGE answer to prayer since I typically feel pukey all day long and spend 99% of my time hovering over the toilet. Yay for God answering even the simplest of prayers for me not being a pukefest.

He's awesome.

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What have you read lately that's link worthy?

Suffering. Endurance. Character. HOPE.

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
(Romans 5:3-5 ESV)

I want hope and power via the Holy Spirit. I want to know God’s love intimately. I’d even like a healthy heaping of hope.

But you know what I don’t want?

I don’t want to grow my character. I certainly don’t enjoy practicing endurance. And, without a doubt I do not want to suffer.

Who signs up for that?

Lately, I feel like the Lord is hard at work procuring in me hope. But, I think I’m missing it. You see, I feel a lot lately like I’m suffering. I even feel like He’s hard at work sculpting and shaping my character. He sees a blemish in me and makes it glaringly obvious that it’s an area of my character that needs refining. Bring in the suffering. I meander along, enduring it, but not necessarily growing my endurance. And you can be sure that I’m not rejoicing in it one bit.

I think that the Lord is holding up to His end of this refining process. He’s ordained the suffering and refining my character. But I am not willing to do more than endure it. Which should not be confused with building my endurance. Truly, I’m not holding up to my end of this process.

About a year ago, a friend of mine talked me into running my first ever 5K race. By nature I am NOT a runner. In fact, even when I was a college athlete in prime physical condition I loathed running. Still, this sweet friend of mine encouraged me and helped me train for this race.

With every training session, I endured the pain. I pushed through the shin-splints. I logged the miles and miles of pre-5K runs. But it wasn’t with joy. In fact, I thought about faking an injury just so I could stop. (I didn’t.)

After all, I’ve always said that my favorite part of running is the stopping at the end.

Race day came and my sweet, marathon-running friend trotted happily beside me while I endured 5 kilometers of a race I wasn’t even sure I wanted to run. She chatted and I fought vomiting. The finish line came in sight and suddenly, I was joyful.

Not because I had spent hours training. Not because I had grown a friendship to a new level. Not because I had strengthened my body and challenged myself to grow. All of those things would have been awesome things to be joyful about.

I was joyful because it was almost over and I could go back to my normal life of hating running and never doing it again.

Unfortunately, I look at Romans 5:3-5 in much of the same way. During the suffering, I don’t stop and take joy in what the Lord is doing in my life. I don’t joyfully look upon the fruits of my character building. And I often miss the hope poured into me by the Holy Spirit.

Sadly, I spend all of my time looking for the finish line. Praying for the suffering to end. Hoping not more in the Lord but in my own capabilities for a finished result.

I pray that I can begin to look at life’s trials and sufferings as character growing, endurance building and hope breathing seasons in the Lord. Romans 5 clearly states that the end cannot come without the means.

What are you simply enduring right now? How can you turn it into a season of endurance building instead? Allow God to refine you and in turn, pour His love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.

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I wrote this post for the Summer Session Bible Reading plan my church is doing. If you're reading along, what do you think? If you're not, it's not too late to start!

Anything but common

I love the ESV version of Acts 10:15. “And the voice came to him again a second time, "What God has made clean, do not call common."

Specifically the fact that the Lord references the unclean, or unholy foods, as “common.”

Is it just me or does it cross anyone else’s mind that they are just....common?

I’m a common Mom, living a common life. (Yes, I know we have 6 kids. For us, that’s common.)

Or maybe for you, you’re just a common person, working a common job. Your job isn’t fancy and you’re a creature of habit. You have worn the same shirt to bed since 1983 and you like it that way. By all standards set by the world, you’re common.

Or maybe you’re a rockstar during the day, but when you come home, your house is normal, your food tastes the same as everyone else’s and really, your life is just.....common.

Heck, even Clark Kent was common when he wasn’t leaping tall buildings with a single bound. Right?

But you know what? I think the enemy whispers the same lie to all of us, no matter what day job we hold, no matter how many kids we come home to, no matter what our salary is or how flashy the car is that we drive. No matter if you flip burgers for a living or flip out $100 bills to pay for your breakfast.

It starts as we begin to feel the Lord drawing us to a closer relationship with Him. We see clearly that God is calling us to be set apart, to walk differently, to speak on a more candid level about our faith, to love the people around us that are really hard to love.

For each of us, this calling is different yet deeply personal. Maybe God’s calling you to start a lunch time Bible Study at work. Maybe He’s asking you to walk across the street to that cranky old lady and be her friend. Maybe He’s nudging you to tell that family member, who rejects everything about the gospel, the truth of your relationship with Him. Maybe He’s moving you to increase the size of your family. Maybe He’s beckoning you to the mission field.

For whatever God is desiring for each of us, He equips us to accomplish His work with scripture, confidence and authority by the Holy Spirit. Secure in our new task, we cinch up our pants, take a step out onto this new ground and the lies begin.

“What are you doing? You can’t do this. Why do you think you can? Don’t you realize that you are nothing special? This is huge and you’re just so.....common.”

And it occurs to us that maybe we are just a common person. Fear grips us, the idea of radical change baffles our minds and we become sold on the lie that we are common.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

When God meets us where we are and invites us to know Him in a deep and intimate way, we shed all things common about us. We shed the sin of our commonality and our past self. We shed the inability to be used for the glory of the Lord.

In essence we become quite uncommon. In Acts 10:15 the word common is used interchangeably for the word unclean. And I’d like to assert that when we buy into the lies the enemy so fervently yells in our direction, we are also buying into the lie that we too are unclean.

My friends, if you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, nothing could be further from the truth. And do you see the amazing parallel between being unclean and being common? Whether you consider yourself unclean or merely common, you are placing yourself in a position to accomplish nothing for the glory of God.

The truth is, whatever God is beckoning you to at this moment it is worth pursuing. Don’t let the enemy’s lies of your worthlessness, your uncleanliness and your commonality rob you of the joy found in obedience to God’s purpose for your life.

Flee from a common life. And when the enemy begins to whisper to you the lies and pains of your past and tries to convince you that you cannot possibly accomplish all that the Lord has laid out before you, remind yourself that you are anything but common.

Because, “For what God has made clean, do not call common.”

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Chime in and see what else is being blogged about over at the Summer Session blog. And if you're reading along, how's your Summer Session Reading going?

I wonder about Lazarus

Below is a post I wrote for today's readings for the Summer Session. Are you still reading along? If so, how's it going? If you've not yet started, it's not too late. Join us! This week's post is taken from my readings in John Chapters 11-12.

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I wonder how Lazarus felt when we walked out of the tomb. I wonder if when his body jolted back to life, if he was disoriented and confused. I’ve done that when we’ve been on vacation and I wake up abruptly in the night and can’t figure out where I’m at. But I’m guessing four days in a tomb wasn’t quite the same as a vacation for Lazarus.

As he stumbled past the stone that was holding his body (and his odor - thanks for pointing that out, Martha) in, I wonder if he was smiling beneath the wrappings. Were his eyes fixed on his beloved sisters or on his beloved Savior?

As Lazarus reclined at the table with Jesus and the disciples as he watched his sister anoint their Lord, I wonder if he told of what he’d experienced in his four days of death. I wonder if he recounted for his friends the moment he realized he was indeed dying and then, the moment he realized he’d been risen from the dead.

But mostly, I wonder how Lazarus felt when he found out that the chief priests were plotting to kill him because his story was leading others to Christ.

Was he afraid of dying once more? Did he run and hide? Did he remember his final moments of his first death? Was he like me and forgot all the things the Lord had previously done for him and instead panicked and allowed fear to wash over him?

Or, did he continue to recline at the table? Did he smile at his persecutors and remember with fondness The Lifeblood that previously redeemed his once-dead body? Did he walk boldly through the markets, knowing that death had lost it’s sting?

Often, when I face a time in my life that, from all appearances, seems to be a crisis I forget rather than remember.

I forget the triumphs of the one who has rescued me time and time again. I forget the one that took this once-dead body of mine and rose it to new life. I forget all of the things the Lord has already proven to me, even though no proof was ever required of Him.

I forget that He has already conquered the world. And even if it seems as contradictory as a second death for an already resurrected Lazarus, it’s for His glory alone and my job is simply to trust and endure.

I wonder which side of the emotional pendulum Lazarus’ emotions went as he discovered the chief priests’ hatred for him. Did he swing to the side of fear or to the side of faith? Did he shut down and abandon all that he’d known to be true, or did he embrace his past, the statement his life made for the Lord and endure every persecution with joy?

Put me in Lazarus’ sandals and I’m not sure which way I’d lean. I pray for the Lord to increase my faith but often, increased faith only comes through increased testing.

How about you? Which way do you lean when the pressure comes to call?

Chock full O' Nuts Controversy

A couple posts ago, I asked if you were ready to hear about the deep, spiritual truths I learned on my trip to Guinea-Bissau. Resoundingly, you all said you were. However, two comments in particular stood out to me. Before I move on to describing my experiences, I want to address those comments first.

First of all, my friend Wendi (who went on the trip to Guinea-Bissau, too) reminded me that it was more important to get God's input than anyone else's. I love having a friend who always points me back the Lord and His desires. Thanks Wendi, for doing such time and time and time again.

Secondly, Lisa had quite a bit to say. You can read her full comment by clicking here, and scrolling to the comments section. It's pretty lengthy, but well worth going back and reading what she has to say. I'm going to address some of her comments and points in this post and will only copy and paste excerpts (or maybe even a dissection of sorts) of her comment. However, please don't just take the portion I have copied and use it as a jumping point if you'd like to join in the discussion. I really believe it's worth going back and getting a feel for the spirit with which Lisa's comment was intended.

I didn't perceive Lisa's comment to be offensive, rude or disrespectful in any way. However, she does pose some interesting questions about the spiritual realm and her experiences in Africa.

Let me preface the rest of this post by saying this:

This is my experience in Guinea-Bissau. I'm not claiming to know much, if anything, about Africa as whole. I can only comment on the limited experience I have from a 10 day trip to Guinea-Bissau, West Africa. Specifically the village of Canquelifa, where I spent the majority of my time. HOWEVER, while praying about how much of my experience to share in such a public forum, I did ask other folks, some who are missionary kids (now grown) - some former missionaries - some current missionaries - what their experiences are with the spiritual realm. Every one of them agreed that it does exist and it is active and that they had experienced it to some degree. Each of the people I spoke with told me of differing areas of spiritual activity. Some spoke of seeing the heavenly side of the spiritual realm (in Africa) while others spoke of seeing the dark side of the spiritual realm.

There are several points I want to discuss in light of Lisa's comment.

For starters, Lisa said,

I must admit I am always uneasy at how easy it is for westerners to experience the dark spiritual realm during mission trips to the “dark continent”. In my 25 years living there amongst the citizens – i.e. having them as neighbors, going to school and working with them (without the benefit of the usual segregation where missionaries tend to live in their own little “pockets” away from the “natives”), I never saw or experienced anything in the dark realm.

Lisa, I hope you understand that I do not in any way want to discredit your experiences. But, they are just that. Your experiences. And truthfully - examining your experiences against the backdrop of Scripture - I'm going to go out on a very shaky limb here and say that if you "never saw or experienced anything in the dark realm" then maybe you are fooling yourself. Because, really, I don't think your feet have to be on African soil to experience the dark side of the spiritual realm. In fact, one of the things the Lord reminded me of on the 1st night of our stay in the village was a dream I had when I was a very little girl. A dream that was so vivid, that 20 years later I can still remember details (and I can't hardly remember what I had for breakfast yesterday). I believe the Lord was confirming that the enemy does, indeed, attack me most openly in my dreams and that, indeed, what I was sensing was the presence of evil (both in my dream so many years ago and in the moment that I was currently in).

Lisa, I pray you don't find that offensive. But, truly, even in America before I ever set foot in Africa, I had experienced evil. Granted, God certainly used my time in Guinea-Bissau to open and give clarity to my spiritual eyes but the truth is, I've been in the presence of evil before. And, I'd bet that if you're being honest too, you have as well. No matter what continent you were standing on.

A sentence or two later, Lisa went on to say,

The only experience with witchcraft any of my school mates [She's referencing a previously mentioned boarding-school she was a student at - I'm guessing? Please correct me if I've misunderstood, Lisa.] ever had was what was found in the pages of western novels! My African friends would always be surprised that we had things like Wiccans in the west and not understand our fascination with the occult and eastern mysticism.

While I agree that the Africans I met were typically astounded with our fascination with the occult and demons, in particular our celebration of Halloween, I find it hard to digest that any of your African friends would deny the existence of witchcraft. I'm not for one split-second suggesting that any of your African friends participated in witchcraft, but I'm sure they know it existed. And if they didn't, I'm truly shocked.

You see, all of the people we encountered in Guinea-Bissau knew there was a supernatural battle and the power in spirits. It wasn't because they spoke crazy things or looked like crazy people. In fact, neither of those are the case. BUT, if I had to put a percentage out there, I'd wager that nearly 80% of the people in the village we were in had some sort of involvement with the witchdoctor. And it was obvious. Because, either they themselves, or their children wore amulets. See those yellow arrows below? They are pointing to amulets that are tied onto this sweet, beautiful, precious scared-to-death-of-the-white-lady-with-the-camera, princess.

Amulets bought from the village's witchdoctor and include spells, potions or who knows what else on/in them to keep away evil spirits and to bring good luck. But the truth is, those amulets don't ward off the evil, they attract the evil.



But I don't for one second blame that Momma for doing her best and whatever she can to keep her baby safe. It saddens me deeply that she is unknowingly exposing her baby to darkness. And I explained such to her. But she wasn't prepared to hear what I had to say.
And this baby wasn't the only one. Nearly every child we saw had amulets of some type on them. Some were less visible and tied around their waists, under their clothing. Others, more obvious like the sweet thing pictured above. And I know that the people in the village of Canquelifa believe in their power.
One young Momma, who looked to be about 17 or so, offered her life up to Christ. In fact, I had the privilege of praying with her, along with our translator Ruthie. The timing wasn't right to discuss with her the amulets that hung around her 6 month old baby's neck. But the next day as we made our rounds through the village, I saw her. Ruthie and I went to speak to her. Ruthe translated as I explained that now, with her being a new creation in Christ, she didn't need the amulets for her baby. She said that she's went to the witchdoctor to get them because her baby had a rash on her face. We explained that God could heal her baby, but He may not. Yet either way, the amulets were attracting evil to her baby rather than providing protection. Immediately she got a knife and cut them off. This was NOT characteristic of the new believers in the village. Most would tell us that they'd cut them off later, undoubtably, never following through.
Y'all, this was no small demonstration of faith for this young Momma. You see, this young Momma lived with her own Mom. As soon as her Mom saw what she had done, she grabbed the amulets from her daughter and told us, not-so-nicely, that she'd tie them right back on her grandbaby after we left.
If the people of this village didn't believe in or practice witchcraft, why were the amulets so prevalent? Why were they so fervently clinging to them? Again, I don't claim this is the way for all Africans, but for this group of people it was a way of life.
Lisa continued with,

I have always wondered if it is easy to experience the dark spiritual realm while in Africa based on the prissm through which we westerners view Africa – the dark continent where witchcraft and evil spirits run rampant! Thanks to national geographic, hollywood's depiction of Africa and missionaries war stories...

Oh Lisa! I know you are correct in how most westerners view Africa. And, it breaks my heart deeply. Some of my own family views Africa that way and, truly, it crushes me...and angers me.

Believe me when I say that I believed, before I ever went, that Africa is beautiful. Not only the landscape, but her people. I fell in love with Africa's people before I ever touched her soil. I can't explain how or why but I did.

Honestly, I expected to experience the supernatural while I was in Guinea-Bissau. I FULLY EXPECTED that I would see and experience things that I had never seen or experienced before. But, even that didn't meet my expectations.

You see, I expected to see the MIRACULOUS not the darkness. About a year or so before I went, one of the teams from our church went to one of the villages we've partnered with to plant a church. One of my husband's very good friends saw a New Testament miracle with his very own eyes! Indeed, he and another man prayed over a lame man and the lame man GOT UP AND WALKED AWAY. Neil (my husband's friend - and also the husband of my good friend) brought home the man's walking stick. I don't remember specifically how long the man had been lame but long enough that his thumb had worn a spot in the stick that he used to walk with. I'VE TOUCHED the not-so-lame-anymore man's former walking stick. I've ran my thumb across the wood that his thumb had worn smooth.

THAT is what I expected to see. Not the darkness. In fact, before I left the darkness never even occurred to me. Yes, I expected to see the supernatural. But not like I did. But I've found that God likes to surprise me more often than He likes to prove me right. But yes Lisa, I agree, and find it disturbing, that most western people view Africa as a dark continent. It makes me want to leave this country so much faster and prove to the people watching us that Africa is BEAUTIFUL and worth sacrificing a few comforts for the salvation of her people.

Then, Lisa reaches into my journal, plagiarizes my thoughts ;) and says the following,

To me, it appears as though we westerners never look at our own sins through the prism of the spiritual realm, but somehow the same sins in the “dark” continent and in Asia can only be attributed to this realm and not man’s fallen and sin nature.

I agree. And let me tell you all, America is out of control with the labels. Now, I'm probably going to start a whole 'nother debate but can I just go out on another limb?

I have some illnesses that run in my family. Sure, there are times with these particular illness can be situational, seasonal and sometimes even chemical imbalances. But the fact that this same illness has plagued my family for GENERATIONS should make me stop and recognize that it's probably less of an illness and more of a oppression from darkness. And I should be doing everything in my power to release my family from this bondage!

I know. Gasp! I said it. Out loud. But you know what? I think it's true. And not just for my family. Now, I am NOT saying that mental illnesses aren't serious. I'm not saying that they're not legitimate. But I do believe that Americans are very quick to get a prescription for their woes rather than renouncing the dark powers that potentially have a hold on their lives. I wholly agree with Lisa that Americans (and westerners) don't give enough credit to our own sin, fallen nature and the darkness that creeps around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. People! Our enemy is real. Why do we discredit him so much in our western world? THAT is why I desire to speak the truth about my time in West Africa.

(Cue the crazy lady stares and eye-contact avoidance on Sunday Morning. I'm ready. Bring it people. My family isn't any more messed up than yours. Let's all stop pretending, okay?)

Lastly, Lisa mentions that she cannot find any biblical evidence for the dark spiritual realm only existing in one geographical area.

Well, Lisa, I think you'll agree with me on this one. There is, in fact, one geographical area that is predominantly suppressed by the dark spiritual realm. It's little sphere of dirt and water called Earth. The enemy is called, among other things, the prince of the power of the air - meaning HE'S EVERYWHERE. And y'all he's out to get us, whether we chose to see him, believe he exists or give him any credit for the evil that surrounds us. He's not just chillin' in Africa or Asia. He's in the country you live in, the state in which you reside, the city you buy your groceries in and sometimes, even knocking on your door.

True, we are indeed driven by our own sinful selves and our fallen world. But he's after us. He's seeking to destroy us. He's looking for a foothold to drag us down. He's got authority over demons and forces and darkness beyond what our little minds can comprehend.

He's real, whether you like it or not. But, we should all take heart. Because, like Dave Ramsey says (and I'm gonna paraphrase here)...

"It's all going to be okay. I've read the back of The Book. It's okay guys. WE WIN."

So, what do you all think?

Dare to share?

I know it's been over two months since I've gotten back from Guinea-Bissau, West Africa. And I know the three, measly posts I've written about my 10 days on the other side of the world, hardly do it justice.

I've written this post in my mind at least a dozen times. In fact, I have two saved posts regarding this aspect of my trip, each of them containing 2 - 3 sentences and copious amounts of empty space.

I'm having this conflict within myself. Do I tell you all exactly what happened, laying out there the logistics of the supernatural experiences I had or do I just give you bits and pieces, palatable excerpts that I think the majority of our American Church culture can tolerate?

Because the truth is, y'all, I faced some serious stuff. Stuff that American Christians generally don't talk about. Stuff that we should talk about because it's real, but it invades on our comfortable American lives, making us uncomfortable with the fact that there really is a spiritual realm that for the most part we don't even acknowledge.

For those of you who are regular readers, honestly, I think you can handle it. But my worry is that anyone new stumbling by may read that post and go, "Woah. This Christian lady is whack. Thanks but no thanks, Jesus." Then click away, even more turned off from the Christian faith.

But the truth is, Paul didn't hold back. Neither did John in writing Revelation. I'd wager a guess to say that none of the authors of the Bible held back the truth. And while I am certainly not putting myself in the same boat as the authors of the Bible I do know that God revealed specific truths to me about the Spiritual realm. In fact, He didn't just reveal it to ME, he revealed it to my friend Wendi and the others on our trip as well.

But, on the flip side, I don't want to give myself that much credit. The truth is, if the Lord desires to draw someone to himself, how arrogant of me to think that if they read one of my blog posts that they'd be turned away for good! I'm not that important.

So I guess what I want to know is:

Do you want me to lay it out there?

It's heavy stuff, y'all. And I don't tell about it lightly. I've only shared it with specific people. But it is truth. And not just truth from my perspective, but truth as confirmed in Scripture. The spiritual realm is all around us and God brought it to the forefront of my life while I was half a world away from everything and everyone I loved. I'm not talking about fat, fluffy angels with harps and bow and arrows. I'm talking darkness.

Do you think this is the space to share that? If so, why? If NOT, why? I value your input so much.

Arm Yourself

**I wrote this post for the Summer Session blog our church is hosting this summer. Are you reading along with us? If so, how's it going? I pray you're getting depth and richness from God's word as you read through the New Testament with us over the summer! I'd love to hear from you!**

Satan is the author of lies. John chapter 8 tells us that he is the father of lies. So why should we expect any less from him than distortion, abuse and misuse of the truth?

Isn’t that how the enemy works, his very nature? He takes what we know to be true, noble and good and twists it just enough so that it distorts what God intended. He did that with Eve in the garden when he asked her, “Did God actually say, ‘You must not eat of any tree of the garden”?’ (Genesis 3:1) Of course that’s not what God said, but the enemy twisted the truth just enough so that Eve began slipping down the slippery slope of half truths.

So when I read Luke Chapter 4 and of Jesus’ temptation, God opened my eyes to see that often when the enemy attacks, he uses half and partial truths to twist the the beauty of God’s protective and loving nature.

In verses 1 - 12 of Chapter 4 we see the enemy take the Scriptures and use them clearly out of context to tempt Christ and submit to Him that the character of God isn’t quite what the Scriptures portray. In verse 9, Satan takes Jesus up to Jerusalem and sets him on the pinnacle of the temple. Satan taunts Jesus, scoffing that if He really is the Son of God, flinging himself off of the ledge is acceptable because God will command the angels to guard Him.

He takes the intention of the Scriptures (Psalm 91:11-12) and distorts it just enough that it seems plausible. Surely God wouldn’t allow His only Son, the Savior of the world, to die just from jumping off a ledge? Right?

Jesus retorts with an accurate use of Scripture and it silences the enemy, at least for that moment.

But do you want to know what the scariest part of this passage of scripture is for me? The fact that Satan knows more scripture than I do.

I learned so much from the 10 days I spent in Guinea-Bissau, West Africa in April of this year. But the overarching theme that I believe the Lord wanted to show me is that the enemy is powerful. As Americans, we are so quick to claim the power of God. We are quick to claim that God is still the God of the Bible, He can still perform miracles, He can still heal the sick and wounded. He’s still all powerful. Those statements are undoubtably true.

But you know what else? Satan is still the enemy of the Bible. He’s still sneaky and deceptive. He still whispers lies to God’s people. He has power over the demons and all things evil.

The thing I was convicted of most in this passage of Scripture is this: What am I actively doing to contrast the power of the enemy in my life?

Quiet time, reading and studying the Scriptures is crucial. Prayer is essential. But an important aspect that many Christians, myself included, tend to gloss over is Scripture memorization.

If our very enemy knows the Scriptures and is prepared to twist them like jagged arrows then launch them at us in his attacks, how can we defend ourselves unless we know the REAL truth of the Scriptures?

As I laid in a dark hut in Guinea-Bissau, feeling the presence of the enemy like never before in my life, feeling overwhelmed with the power of darkness, the Lord quickly brought previously memorized Scripture to my mind.

As the enemy whispered to me, “I’ve got you. There’s nothing your God can do now. You’re here all alone. Be afraid. I will win.” the Lord instantly reminded me that Satan was whispering to me half truths. And God brought His word from the recesses of my heart to confirm Himself. Resist him, Jessica. Stand firm in your faith. I will restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you. I have the glory and the dominion forever. (1 Peter 5:6-11)

Are you actively storing up God’s word in your heart? If not, how else can you or I expect to fight the enemy when he begins his language of lies? The Word is our only offensive tool.

Arm yourself.

Take Heart, Daughter

Everyone knew her. After all, she’s been unclean for 12 years. Her secret was no secret. When she needed necessities from the market, it was likely that she hardly had to speak above a whisper anymore, as she announced herself to the masses, which was custom for the unclean. Likely, few would go near her. She probably couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a kind word, someone had hugged her and that her body hadn’t writhed from her illness.

If physical touch was her love language, I’m quite sure her body ached to feel love. Disgust, loathe and filth were synonymous with her name. I’m sure the young women of the town scoffed at her, giggled with each other, at her expense, as she shuffled through the streets.

Click here to continue reading.

(That'll take you to the Summer Session Blog, where my post is featured today).

I know, trickery is only fun if you're the trickster.

So? How IS your summer reading coming along? It's not to late to jump in! Click here for the Summer Session Reading Plan. Click here to see how I feel about Bible reading plans.

Decay

I sat, reclined way back in the chair, as she updated me on her family, while her tools filled my mouth. She scraped, I listened to how her son liked his first year of "big" school.

I knew the question was coming among the small talk we were making back and forth.

Side note: Why do they do that? If you are dental hygienist, can you explain this to me? Why do y'all ask a question, then shove your tools in our mouth so that there is no possible way in the universe that we could ever answer you? Every.single.time.

Anyway, she asked how our kids were doing, how homeschooling was going, how my teeth were feeling. I like my hygienist. She always seems to remember the details of my life, even though I'm sure she's just reflecting on the notes in my chart.

I knew the question was coming. As she scraped the plaque off my teeth, especially in the nooks and crannies and spaces between, I knew it was bound to be next out of her mouth.

"Are you brushing regularly?"

"Yes." I stated hesitantly, because I knew it was coming. "I can tell," she responded, "you have great teeth."
She scraped and scraped. The dentist came in and checked. They took that little mirror and explored my entire mouth. Nothing inside it was a secret anymore.

The dentist gave me a clean bill of health. Well, at least as far as my mouth goes, anyway. Then, she came at me with that stuff. I knew the question that was next.

"So, are you flossing every day?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

For a brief moment, I thought about lying. But, like I always do, I confessed the truth. "No," I said ashamedly, my mouth full of floss and her fingers.

"When was the last time you flossed?" she asked.

"Um...I think you did it," I said and sort of laughed, "or maybe a few months ago when I had something I couldn't get out between my teeth."

"Well, at least you're honest," she laughed.

(Am I the only one who knows the question is coming, yet it doesn't prompt me to floss regularly before my next visit?)

And then it hit me. Isn't that exactly how my prayer life is? Because, (I'm going to be honest y'all) my prayer life sorta stinks. Like that stinky old, nasty stuff that grows between my teeth.

Today, I think I figured out why. I'm afraid y'all. I'm afraid that when I enter the presence of the Lord He's going to flush out all the nasty, gross, disgusting decay that's growing in the places that I try my best to keep hidden. And he should. But truthfully, I don't want Him to. It hurts.

But really, I mean, who am I trying to kid? The Lord already knows everything that's in there. Just like my sweet dental hygienist, there's no lying about all the stuff I'm able to keep secret from everyone else.

If my BFF asked me if I floss everyday, I could easily say, "Yeah. Sure, I do." But the dentist knows differently. The same is true with the Lord. It's easy to put up the perception of being a "good" Christian. I can spout off Scripture, give you some Biblical truth served up on a silver platter and even lead Bible studies. But if my prayer life is amiss, it all seems, well....fake. It's like I smile and on the outside appear to have this great mouth full of teeth. But one glance in the mirror and well, I know how long it's been since the nastiness was removed.

My hearts desire is to get on my knees and cry out to my Lord. But, truthfully, I'm afraid. I'm afraid He'll see the truth and then maybe change His mind about calling us to the mission field, or maybe I really can't handle all these kids, or maybe He messed up giving me the blessing of a Godly husband.

(source)

But the real truth is, He sees it anyway. No tiny mirrors needed. He sees it all. And yet, He chooses to bless me despite the decay I allow to grow in the crevices of my soul. My sinful desires override my spirit's desires to make me clean, from the inside out. I get so frustrated with myself and I wonder why I don't feel near to the Lord.

I think the answer is on my knees. I need to go before the King, beg him to remove the decay and stench from my soul and purify me. Then, the nearness will come.

And then, maybe, search for that spool of dental floss.

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What do you do to keep your prayer life in check?