They are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful

5 years ago, I anticipated, that by this point in our lives we'd be on the brink of returning from a 4 year term in Kenya. Our lives would be revolving around taking the gospel to the nations, building relationships with nationals, living among the people and serving them with open arms and glad hearts so that they experience Jesus in me.

Back then, I would have never imagined our life would look like it does today. After all, we were chasing hard after God, He was guiding us to this foreign land. It was bound to transpire just as my perfect, little brain could propose it to be.

And then, loss.

Grief.

Disappointments.

Financial setbacks.

Broken family relationships.

Pain.

Wrestling.

I have doubted my God on every level. I've begged to walk away, tried even. I've searched the scriptures for evidence that this God I devoted myself to is on a power trip and decided to wreck my life just for fun.

I've watched my children grow, as a shell of their mother attempts to shepherd them toward a God that she's uncertain of herself. I've cussed Him out, shut Him out, turned and refused to talk or listen. I've been at a place where I wondered if I was seriously delusional and if I dreamed up this whole missions thing because it was trendy, sounded fun and looked like it made us a better version of ourselves.

In every aspect of our lives over the last 3 years we've been broken. I've spilled tears over the simplest of things and shook my fist at God from the darkest parts of my heart. I've turned bitter, angry and spiteful.

Who needs God anyway? I mean, really. What kind of a God loads your whole family onto a rug called obedience then jerks the damn thing right out from under you? Not any God I want to follow, that's for sure.

The arrogance in my heart and the trust I had in my "strong faith" disappeared. In an instant, the person I thought I was and the things I thought I believed seem to lay before me on the ground like the contents of a beautifully potted orchid that had been thrown from the 10th floor window.

I couldn't read blogs, attend missions events, listen to songs or fake my way through a missions Sunday at church. I would get up and leave, telling God to screw himself as I walked out the door and down the hall.

Was this some kind of a sick joke? Who does that?

I've asked, desperately, what we should do now and the only thing I have gotten in return is silence. No whispers of His voice, no profound truths from scripture, no words from the teaching of the men and women that had so clearly been instruments of His words anymore.

The anger continued to well and finally pour out. I've been angry at everyone and everything for a very long time.

Anger does crazy things to you. It makes you blind, deaf and cold. I would interact with my children and I could see myself, almost in the 3rd person, reacting in ways that I would not typically react. It was surreal and almost as if I was living a life that I was simply watching, not a participant.

Finally, after a long silence with the Lord, I begged Him to reveal to me why we are in this place when it's not at all where my heart desires. I got no profound answers. I didn't see a hand writing on the wall or hear the voice of God audibly.

Instead, a dirty faced, chubby cheeked almost 15 month old toddler came toward me with her half drunk saunter. She grinned and juicy animal crackers dripped from her chin as she struggled her way into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.

A clingy 3 year old rounded the corner and squealed with the delight at the sight of me. I delight her every time I she sees me.

A fresh, new 5 year old crawls into bed with me on the morning of her birthday. Soft, blond, wild curls cover my face as she nuzzles her head under my chin. "You smell nice Momma. I think my nose is better when I'm five," she giggles.

Two six year olds sit poised with pencils in hand and scribble out shaky letters. One of them reads every word his eyes see and he beams with joy, the other beams with pride over words of praise and affirmation.

An eight year old boy finds a love for baseball. He carries his glove with him everywhere he goes and he wears his Daddy's number from college on his back. He's the scrawniest player on the team but he hustles and works hard and he's determined to prove himself.

Eight and ten year old sisters find a love for horses and cultivate a friendship unlike anything I've ever seen. They giggle and talk about horses and boys and how to decorate their room until long past their bed time.

When the anger subsides, this is what I see. I see the nations. I see my life revolving around these people who desperately need the gospel. I see me serving them with open arms and a glad heart so that they experience Jesus in me.

I see the one job my arrogant self assumed was not good enough now being the most important, the most challenging, the most necessary.

I see the nations before me. I see them in dirty socks left on the kitchen counter, unending loads of laundry and middle of the night nursing sessions. I see them in gentle corrections, hugs after a hard consequence and love despite their flaws. I see them in endless snacks and cup refills, in spills and messes, in cherrios crushed under my shoe.

I see the stage being set for world changers who grew up sitting right around my very own dinner table.

I see that in order for me to live within the full glory of God's desire for my life, and in turn to create these people who will no doubt love others beyond themselves, it begins by serving my children joyfully and with a heart devoted only to their very best.

I have spent much time wondering why the pain of the last few years has been heaped upon our family. I've wondered why the anger and resentment has been rooted deep inside my heart, seemingly planted there by the One who is suppose to take away doubt, fear, shame and bitterness. I wondered why He set us up for failure, for grief, for brokenness.

And then I looked up and I was overcome by exactly what I was suppose to see all along. They are it. We were not set up for brokenness. We were set up for this. This perfectly chaotic, unkept, totally filled-to-the-brim life. The scales tip whichever way I give them weight. I can choose anger and grief or joy and grace.

As the anger is slowly being washed away, joy is filtering through. Joy in the lives of these 8 people that are forever connected to me so deeply that there is no grief, no disappointment, no financial loss, no brokenness nor pain that could ever sever me from them.

They are my mission. And finally I can say with fullness that if they are my sole purpose in this life, it is enough. They are enough. Just as they are, just as I am, just as He has always been, I will fully pour myself into them, not reserving even one drop for what could have been or what I could hope will one day be.

I will share with them the good news of a Savior who never quits on them, even when they try with their whole self to give up on Him.

With love, I will serve them with joy and gladness, just as I would have the most honored guest at our Kenyan dinner table. Because they are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful, forever.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Just as I suspected

Africa






is





BEAUTIFUL







just


(photo credit to my friend Wendi)



as I







suspected.

A's to your Holly's Q's (Also known as FAQs)

We had another amazing discipleship weekend (d*weekend) with our students as I watched teenage girls serve others selflessly, like never before. But, more on that later.

For now, I want to answer some of the questions left in the comments of my Q & A post.

And Noah. Babies are made when husbands don't take care of the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry.

Thank goodness Holly had a laundry list (badoomching) of questions or else my self esteem would have been shot. Heh. Just kidding. Sorta.

Here are Holly's questions for any of you who A) Care or B) Want to know the same.

Most of Holly's questions are also common Frequently Asked Questions that we receive.

Questions #1 was: What will happen to your home there and your cars and such- do you sell everything you can't take with you or does a lot go into storage while you rent your home out?

Actually, March 1st marked one year that we've been living in a rental house. We sold our house last year when we felt the Lord asking us to be completely debt free and ready to go when he said "Go." Thing was, I was 10 months pregnant and just a week away from my due date and we really didn't think Missions was anywhere on the horizon. It's a really cool story how God brought Africa back to the forefront of our minds. I should probably blog about it.

As for our stuff. Well, we will probably keep only the bare basics. The beds and dressers will probably be put into storage, somewhere. Most of them are pieces of furniture we inherited from Luke's grandfather, so they hold quite a bit of sentimental value. We'll probably also keep some of our "keepsakes" like pictures, jewelry and other stuff like that in storage as well. Everything else that won't fit into 12 large suitcases (and weigh less than 50 lbs) will be sold! Including our vehicles. Shipping anything to Kenya is just too costly.

Question #2: How long of a commitment are you and Luke making to serve in Africa?

Right now we are looking at a 4 year commitment. Of course, God's plans can change that but we feel it would be a waste of resources to go for less than 3 years. And, our first 6-12 months in Kenya will be spent learning Swahili. So, we figure why not just go for a whole 4 years? After 4 years, Africa Inland Mission (our sending organization) will require us to come back for one full year. We'll visit our families, go on vacation, see our supporters and just spend a year recharging our batteries. Or, we could spend 4 years on the field and decide we are done and just come home for good. We're not sure exactly what the Lord has planned!

Question #3: Will you homeschool your kiddos there?

Yep. That's the plan.

Question #4: What will your role be there other than to take care of your children and home?

What will Luke's role look like?

My role will be very similar to my role here in the US. I'll be the manager of our home, the teacher of our children and probably manage most of our household and ministry paperwork (at least the ministry portions that AIM doesn't handle for us, like newsletters and maintaining contact with our supporters). I am SO VERY excited that I will have house help! I look at having house help as my main area of ministry (outside of my family). AIM encourages us to receive house help as it boosts the local economy and also provides stay at home Mom's with a resource and confidant in the community.

Luke's role will be basic church planting duties. He will build relationships, hopefully harvest new believers, disciple them and then train up Kenyan leaders for their own church. How this looks in a tangible sense is still to be determined. We anticipate that there will be a very real, physical need that the Duruma and Digo people will have. Hopefully, we can build relationships with them by helping them to meet their physical needs.

If we've learned anything through this process though, it's that what we have in mind is hardly ever God's plans and to truly maintain a spirit of service to Him, we need to be flexible and meet Him where He is already working! I'm excited to see what God will reveal to us once we are on the ground in Kenya.

Question #5: Will you have medical insurance or is it a pay as you need kinda thing? Is there a good medical facility nearby? (thinking of my own kiddos with medical concerns)

Our medical insurance is paid by AIM as part of the monthly support we raise. It's international insurance so it's good at pretty much any medical facility in the world. We will be about 8 hours (by car) from Nairobi which has a couple of decent hospitals.

Question #6: Will you go through language training before you go or is it an on the job learn as you go sorta thing?

One thing that I loved most about AIM is the pre-field and on-field training they provide for us. When we leave (in July 2012) we will meet up in Kenya with every other new missionary family going onto the field with Africa Inland Mission (they have 10 sending regions - US, Canada, Brazil, Europe, South Africa, Australia, Hong Kong, Korea, Netherland and New Zeland). Every missionary going into Africa with AIM in July 2012 will meet just outside of Nairobi, Kenya.

There will have approximately 3 weeks of Africa Based Orientation (ABO). At ABO we will learn basic and general ideas and practices of African culture. I've heard this ABO is rich and very vital to sustaining yourself in African culture.

After that, we will all disperse to our specific ministry sites. Since ours also happens to be in Kenya, we will travel to Southern Kenya and spend 1-3 weeks in a home with an African family. Yes, our WHOLE FAMILY will live with an African family. Yikes! After those 1-3 weeks, we will then move into our own home. For the next 6-12 months we will spend 3-4 mornings a week working with a tutor/translator learning the language. We will be using the LAMP (Language Acquisition Made Practical) method of language learning. From what I understand we will record specific phrases onto a recorder then go practice those phrases in the markets and with other Kenyans. This will surely be a season that will stretch us!

Question #7: What are you most nervous about in regards to leaving the country and continent?

Honestly, there is so much I have anxiety about that I don't know that I can pinpoint just one thing. We are going to an area that has seasons with high cases of malaria. That worries me.

I will not have the convenience of a grocery store or Walmart, so that means just about everything will be made from scratch. Even bread. I'll have to boil our milk, our water and figure out how to safely wash our produce because tap water is contaminated.

Pretty much everything about living life will become more difficult and I have anxiety about adjusting to it all and having 6 kids adjust to it all at the same time. I wonder if we will be able to find trustworthy house help and/or how many times we will have to fire someone who is being dishonest or untrustworthy.

So, there's a lot I worry about if I dwell on it. But I know that God is bigger than those circumstances and He has called us to this place. I must trust that He will take care of details and when disappointments come, He will sustain us. No one said life as a believer is Christ was all rainbows and unicorns, right?

Question #8: What are you most excited about?

Again, I think there are too many things to list! I'm so excited that our kids will grow up bilingual! I'm excited to see the first of the Duruma or Digo people come to Christ! I'm excited to be IN THE WILL OF GOD! I am so looking forward to how God will confirm that He has led us there and I'll be able to be in the presence of the sweet, intoxicating, addicting aroma of Christ. I think the latter is what I am most excited about. Because I have found that when you are living life in obedience to God, living within His will for your life, His presence is almost intoxicating. It's addicting and He lavishes Himself upon us. I CAN'T WAIT FOR THAT. And I love that He gives me glimpses of that now.

Question #9: Do you have pets? Will they go or stay?

We do have pets. We have an undefined number of fish (because those suckers hide) and a sweet, adorable, totally amazing and lovable Golden Retriever named Brinkley (no, not after that movie). She's the best dog in the entire world and is so patient, kind and loving with our kids.

I think I will sob when we leave her. Unfortunately, I don't think she could make the move and even if she could, I doubt I could stomach the cost of getting her there. I'm hoping that some dear friends of ours who have several children (one of which adores Brinkley) will ask if they can be her new family.

I've heard that people who deny their children the privilege of adopting sweet and innocent Golden Retrievers (that their children already adore and love) end up having triplets. But maybe that's just a rumor. Wanna chance that, Noah? ;)

With hearts for the LOST: Ministry Newsletter #2

Ten-forty. For the last several years, these numbers have been the topic of much discussion in our house. (And no, it’s not CB radio talk for “ay-okay” either!) 10/40 represents the latitudinal lines circling the globe 10 to 40 degrees north of the equator. This 10/40 window is home to the largest number of unreached people groups in the world.

According to the Joshua Project’s website, an estimated 2.27 billion individuals reside in approximately 5,905 different unreached people groups within the 10/40 window. Those numbers do not include people groups outside of the 10/40 window!

As we continued to pray about the burden God had placed on our hearts, we felt less drawn to the 10/40 window, yet still drawn to unreached people. As we prayed through assignments with Africa Inland Mission, we kept coming back to the people who were marginally or completely unreached. The Lord kept drawing our hearts back to His Word, particularly Romans 10:13-15 which says,

“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?”

(Refugee women pray at an Africa Inland Church in Kenya*)

How can anyone call on the name of the Lord if they’ve never heard? And how can people go tell others unless they are sent? This, friends, is where you can join us in what God is already doing in Africa! We have chosen an assignment in Southern Kenya, working with 2 marginally reached people groups – the Digo and Duruma people.

Our goal is to take the good news of Jesus Christ to lost people, hear them proclaim the name of Christ, disciple them and then train up leaders for their own, local church.

However, we cannot take the gospel to Southern Kenya wihout SENDERS. Senders who are willing to

become a part of a team of believers taking the Light into unreached places.

Will you be a SENDER? Will you partner with us financially to take hope to the Duruma and Digo people?

Our monthly support need is $7,338.00 and our outgoing funds needed is $38,071.00. We realize these are daunting numbers! Yet, we are so excited to see how God will stir the hearts of His people to make these numbers a reality! Our target departure date is JULY 2012. But, before we can step onto the airplane our monthly support must be fully pledged and our outgoing expenses must be fully funded. Any contributions made before July 2012 will roll into our outgoing fund.

If you are interested in meeting with us, or if your church or small group would like to hear more about our ministry vision, please contact us by emailing us at: beaverbunch (at) gmail (dot) com. Please put "Ministry Support" in the subject line.

Thank you for considering joining with us in what God is already doing in Africa.

With hearts for the lost,

Luke & Jessica Beaver

(Our assignment is located in Southern Kenya, near the Kenya/Tanzania border.

Here you can see Kenya highlighted and it's relation to the continent of Africa.)

*Photo courtesy of Africa Inland Mission's On-field Media Team.

here to there

The hacking, wet cough echos through the house. I lay perfectly still and try to keep the bed from creaking so I can discern exactly who is making the wretched noise.

I fumble through the medicine box that we keep in the cabinet above the fish tank. 1 teaspoon of medicine fills the syringe. I shuffle back upstairs and gently rouse my red-haired girl, coaxing her to swallow.

Even in the darkness of night and the fog of my tired brain, I ask myself, "Will it be like this there too? What if I run out of meds when the kids are sick and don't have time to go to the city to get more? Is it like here where I can just run out and get more?"

Fevers plague the next day. I talk to my Mom who rushes chicken and rice soup to our aid. It warms our tummies, unclogs our noses and brings immediate relief to these nagging colds.

She won't be there. Neither will her soup.

How can I do it without her? Tears burn my eyes.

I open the package of noodles and pour them into the boiling pot. Repeat 4 more times. As the pot boils I know it won't be this easy there.

Drain the water. Add the chicken flavoring.

Nope. It will be much harder there. No Ramen noodles for an easy lunch. And sandwiches? Rarely maybe. Especially if I'm making my own bread.

It's 5:30 and Luke's on his way home already. Dinner hasn't even crossed my mind for the day. Breakfast for dinner is an easy fix. Quick. Satisfying. Easy. The frozen mist of the freezer blows in my face as I search for biscuits.

None.

I remember the book I bought at Candidate Week and grab it from the bookshelf. "I'll just make my own biscuits. Just like I'd do there. Can't be that hard, can it?"

Dang it. I don't own a sifter. Or cream of tartar.

Fine. I'll make pancakes and bacon. I grab the sack of premixed pancake mix and add water, from our tap.

"I can't use tapwater there, can I? Not for pancakes. I'd have to boil the water first. Ha! I won't even have premixed pancake mix!" I look at the recipe for pancakes in my cookbook. Yeah, that'll take more than 30 seconds to make.

Water rushes from the kitchen sink's tap. Clean, drinkable, cookable water.

here.

there.

With nearly every step of my day, I try to wrap my mind around what life will be like there, in comparison to how it is here. I can't. How do you wrap your mind around the barely known? How do I begin to understand the severity with which my world will be rocked?

It's cold outside so I make myself a chai for the ride. I grab my Bible, my Marriage study book, the keys and my bag. I kiss Luke goodbye. I drive to her house, pick up my BFF and we head to the coffee shop. Four of my Bible study girls are already waiting in our little room in the back.

I sit and soak in their presence, glad to be with my girls. 3 more walk in. We laugh. We talk about life. We understand each other. We pray.

They won't be there either.

None of it will be the same as it is here.

How will I make it? How can I go and leave this all behind?

How can I NOT go? How can I stay here knowing they are there, needing to know about Him?

Daily, often minute by minute, it's a struggle between what's here and what's there. Knowing what I'm leaving here and longing for what will happen there. Praying that He will provide the peace for what I'm leaving here and the courage to face the unknowns that live there.

And I find it not at all coincidental that the only difference between the words here and there is a cross.

here
there

Do you see that? Do you get it? Let me know when you fully grasp what that means, friends. What does that mean for you? Where is your here? Where is your there? How does the cross take you from one place to the other?

My heart aches for Africa, yearning to be in her midst and working with her people. But I mourn for what I know I'll miss. The people I love. Not the stuff or the convenience - though those things are nice.

here
there

The cross got me here. Now it's taking me there.