Category: Pondering

Sitting in service Wednesday night tears began streaming down my face.  Pastor was talking about the experience of walking into the school cafeteria, looking around to spot someone he knew, and the sense of relief at being able to join his people.  He used that to encourage us to see others and include them in our circles.  Tears continued to flow, not from conviction, but because I have been without a group that has the feeling of my people for SO long.  We are approaching the 5 year anniversary of when we found out we would no longer be pastoring.  Since then I have been in a constant state of limbo, without “my people”. 

First we needed to distance ourselves from the congregation we left despite still living in the same community.  We spent a little over a year in another local congregation and felt at home there in that we loved pastors and loved their worship, but we failed to build relationships in the body outside of church.  I recovered from a state of depression in that church and dared to believe that God would still use me, but by the time I was healthy and ready to serve it was time for another transition.

We applied summer 2021 to be missionaries with Assemblies of God, but our interview didn’t happen until January 2022.  And even then we were invited to wait a year without knowing whether or not we would be accepted at the end of the year.  In the waiting we worked and spent 3 months serving in Italy. 

We were invited to return and be launched as missionaries from the church we had previously pastored, but it no longer felt like home to me.  Then once we were finally approved as missionaries we were constantly on the road and not able to build relationship with the new people at our old church.  I consider it a privilege to share the story of our call and to invite people to give God their yes every week.  I much enjoy getting to hear people’s stories as we chat over lunch. Even so, it is hard emotionally not to encounter a group of “my people” regularly, to be always the outsider even when welcomed warmly.

Next came the limbo of my husband’s cancer diagnosis.  Finally into the swing of itineration, we found out he needed his colon resected and six months of chemo.  We chose to believe there would be a positive outcome, yet there was the physical and mental effects on top of the underlying uncertainty of our future. 

When treatment was over it took time for our itineration schedule to pick back up.  Now here we are in our 26^th month of full-time itineration, STILL under 80% of our budget, knowing that we are way past the deadline.  My mouth says the Lord will provide, but my heart often wonders.  It’s time for our next newsletter to be printed.  What do I say?  Honestly, I am ashamed to be here still, yet I must find words that are hopeful.

Years of limbo without being able to lean on “my people” are taking an emotional toll on me.  Today I am reminded of when my 3^rd child was born.  I did not get the epidural that time because I was doing so well until the last 25 minutes.  When it was time to push there were moments I honestly felt like I can’t do this.  The thing is, when you are in the middle of delivery, the only option is to finish.  Here I am, trying to push through the last 20% of our fundraising.  My emotional tank is empty, but I can’t stop now.  For real, it FEELS like this is NEVER going to end.

I am not comforted by the knowledge that even when we finish this last 20% and finally make it to the field, it will still take years to learn the language and culture.  How much longer will it be before I can feel like I am among “my people”?  When I come home for furlough after our first term, will I be a stranger yet again?  Will I ever be “home” again this side of heaven?

Lord, give me strength to carry on.   Thank you for meeting me in worship time and again as I gather with yet another group of strangers.

There is no faster way to the heart of Oshiana than to make her feel seen and heard.  This morning I had to send my son a thank you.  I came in last night after 11:30 pm really needing to share the story of my weekend. He stopped what he was doing on his laptop and gave me his full attention as I went on for probably 45 minutes.  I could ask for no more precious gift.

In 2020 I began to struggle emotionally.  Well, who didn’t struggle emotionally in 2020?  A friend took notice and invited me to lunch.  After that first lunch we began meeting for lunch once a week.  We no longer meet weekly for lunch or even regularly, but for some time now I have considered that person my closest friend.  That lunch invitation was the turning point.

I have a friend in ministry who meets me for coffee periodically.  How I relish the opportunity to take a couple of hours and catch up!  It fills my tank to have the opportunity to rejoice when she is rejoicing and to pray over the things that concern her.  She does the same for me.  It is beyond price to have a friend like this.

As we prepare to make our home on the other side of the ocean, there is a certain sadness that I will lose the ability to meet in person with these friends.

This is my desire.  I want to be a person who makes other people feel seen and heard.  I want to be the person who dares to reach out to another.

I have been working on building relationships with the ladies on our Pacific Oceania team by choosing to participate in biweekly Zoom meetings.  Our Micronesia team meets weekly online as well.  This has enabled me to get to know several people just a little, enough to be able to celebrate some of their victories and to care genuinely when there are prayer requests.  For months I forced myself to participate despite it feeling like just another thing on my to do list, because I choose to value relationships.  I choose to be part of a team.  Zoom meetings are not like meeting in person.  They just aren’t.  Nevertheless, several months back I realized and celebrated that I was beginning actually to care for these people, who formerly were mostly strangers.

I want to be a person who makes other people feel seen and heard.  I am making progress.  Earlier in my life everyone that I would call a friend was someone who had reached out to me first.  Presently I am growing in my ability to take risks by being the one to reach out.  I am for the first time in my life being the person to offer invitations.  That is who I want to be.

I think I have believed some lies about myself, not that I have yet put names to them.  Yes, I grew up shy to an extreme.  People who meet me now can never understand the identity I’ve worn most of my life.  My life was radically changed when I experienced the baptism in the Holy Spirit while in high school.  Even so, it has taken a lifetime to bring me to the point I am at now.

I laugh heartily every time someone comments about me being extroverted and especially if they call me a social butterfly.  I have never seen myself that way.  I love to be hidden in the background and to serve without much attention.  I require MUCH time alone in the quiet to thrive.  I enjoy working long hours by myself.  I CHOOSE to engage with people.  Social gatherings are stressful for me unless I have something to DO.  When I am in a church service and we are instructed to greet people around us, I have to force myself not just to sit down and wait it out but to engage with people. While that is true, I am very comfortable and enjoy conversing with people who come up to see our missions display or just in general am comfortable talking to those who approach me.  It’s being the first to engage brings stress.  One of my favorites is getting to know people by working together for an event.  Yet, I have always had a hard time being heard in a group. My voice is quiet and often high pitched like that of a small child. I often feel like people don’t take me seriously, and I don’t speak long to people who don’t value what I have to say.

Once I was part of a group working together to start a new elementary charter school in my hometown.  I had a voice there.  How I loved working with that group.  I think it is possible that MAYBE one of the others in our group was a believer. I know we had drastically different political views. The one thing we had in common was a vision of what this new elementary charter school could be.  A couple of them had put their vision into words.  I and others heard their vision and came along side to join the work.  In this group I learned to pull closer to people who drive me nuts.  I cried many tears when there were relational struggles as I tried to reason out why I felt the way I did.  I chose to bless my “enemies” and to pray for them.  I watched the Lord change my heart for people to where I began to love ones who really irritated me before.  This group was a gift to me even though we moved out of state two weeks before the school opened.

I want to function in a team like this. I want to share a common vision and work together toward it.  I want to believe in the vision so much that I will press through relational issues when they arise. I want to see the Lord change my heart toward people when that is needed.  I want to learn to value people who see the world differently than I see it.  I want to be seen and heard amidst a group that I see and hear.

Lord, enable me to walk in courage, daring to reach out and connect with people.  I ask you to guide my path, leading me to people to whom I may be a blessing as well as people who will value what I bring to the table.  Help me to risk vulnerability and to grow through the wounds that necessarily come when one chooses to be vulnerable.  I ask you to plant me in the soil you want me to grow in relationally.  May I have eyes to see and a heart to value the place where I am currently planted.  May I have grace for others as you give me grace for myself.  May every part of my life, including my relationships, be for your glory.

Took a leisurely walk along the gravel road by my parents’ house this afternoon, soaking up sunshine while simultaneously adding a couple thousand steps on my pedometer.  As always, I stopped for the smallest specks of color in a sea of green.  Driving 300^th Rd, one may or may not notice the varied vegetation. Walking one is more easily disposed to appreciating delecate intricacies of the tiniest wildflowers.

I have not yet learned the name of the plant variety that most captured my attention today.  The thing that typically jumps out when I see them is their being absolutely loaded with bugs, every plant!  It’s amazing that any survive the aphids’ annual onslaught, yet every summer the road becomes lined with those a good two feet superior to my height.

Today was different. Among millions of aphids devouring hundreds of these plants there prowled scores of ladybugs. 

The first lady rested atop her leaf while hundreds of prospective dinner morsels sucked voraciously on the underside, oblivious to their impending doom.  I watched her pop around leaf’s edge and snag one, quick as a frog’s tongue, before resuming her position at the edge of the leaf top. Other ladies stood beside their easy prey, seemingly unnoticed.

Lord, help me today to stay alert.  I don’t want to live on leaf’s edge where hidden enemies can easily snag a bite, nor do I want to become so familiar with the adversary that I fail to flee when dangers arise.

Having indulged my desire to bask in this glorious fall weather, I sit atop the pile in my back yard that as recently as 36 hours ago composed my 70 foot tall pecan tree. A slightly noticeable dent in this enormous mound is visible today thanks to my father. After several hours of cutting and piling small branches into Dad’s 1981 Toyota long-bed pickup, I ended the afternoon’s work seated at the current tip top of the pile in a seat so perfect it’s as if God grew it just for me to enjoy sitting there today. How could I possibly pass up such a succulent opportunity to view the neighborhood from this higher perspective: trees in brilliant fall colors, sun low in the sky. As I soak it all in I feel a warm southerly breeze brush gently over my skin. I hear leaves gently rustling 360 degrees around me and I watch them dance, first in treetops down the street, then the yellow tree at my neighbor’s and finally through the boughs of my orange sweetgum. I simply must still myself and absorb this beautiful gift from my Heavenly Father.

I am reminded of countless October and November afternoons I spent as a teen sitting just as high as I could get up our tallest apple tree. Climbing toward my regular lofty perch I’d select the sweetest apples for my after school snack by observing the post-time-change setting sun render apple feet translucent.  

How many times have I tried to catch in photo the experience of a golden fall afternoon? There is more to it than what the eye alone can sense and yet I have never been satisfied with what I could capture in even that one aspect.

This fall my husband and I have been privileged to travel all over Missouri for speaking engagements. On those drives I keep declaring aloud how I love Missouri, grinning ear to ear as we peak over a hill where yet another gorgeous stretch of landscape is revealed. I’ve given up trying to catch all that beauty in pictures as we speed along highways. Instead, I just watch with eyes wide open while I can. Before I know it we will be in Pohnpei, surrounded by the sea and snapping photos of exotic plants and flowers made possible by year-round hot and humid climate. While I bemoan my inability to capture in photo the full beauty of God’s creation, I am in constant amazement at the far superior ability of my own eyes to soak it all in with high definition.

I think the fault of my camera is that it doesn’t focus in the same way my eyes do. Eyes hone in on on whatever I put in the center of their vision. Everything else is relegated to background. Cameras focus equally on every object that is of equal distance from its lens. For that reason it is far inferior to my eyesight when viewing large scenes at a distance. My picture taken from a distance is nothing notable, but the same view as seen in person contains ever so many vibrant colors and textures combined as to fascinate me for hours. Switch from the grand scheme to a close up and my phone’s camera is amazing.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

I’ve heard all of my life the saying, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” That makes sense when I consider that it is the beholder alone who makes the choice where in any setting her focus will lie. In the panoramic photo I took from atop the pecan pile I could examine my deck and think, “man, I need to get a 2nd coat of paint on there,” or I can point my attention on intense orange and yellow leaves of all shapes suspended over every roof top in the neighborhood.

Today I am grateful for this opportunity to soak in an absolutely perfect fall afternoon, and I’m grateful also for the ability God gave me to choose where my eyes alight. In this moment I choose to be enveloped in the divine embrace of natural beauty so generously provided by my Creator. Thank you, Lord, for this golden opportunity.

If you are like me and find comfort in knowing you are not the only one whose mind takes frequent mini-vacations, then this post is for you.

One thing about me; I love everything sweet with nuts.  I was trying out a Pinterest recipe for pumpkin pecan custard bread pudding.  Pumpkin AND nuts plus streusel and a cream cheese drizzle on top.  Perfect!  My buttered 9×13 filled with just under 16 oz stale bread chunks I’d prepared earlier in the week, I mixed the custard (half and half, milk, eggs, brown sugar, vanilla and spices) and poured it over the bread.  I figured the reason it looked so dry was that the recipe called for 16 oz French bread and my bread had completely dried out.  The lighter weight must have caused me to add too many bread cubes. No problem. Mixing up a little more custard, I was nearly finished pouring it when I realized my first failure.  No sugar in the 2nd batch.  No problem.  Brown sugar and a touch more milk added to the end of the 2nd pour of custard would remedy it.  I was toasting the pecans for the streusel top when the greater oversight dawned on me.  The unopened can of pumpkin puree was still there on the counter!!!  I was making pumpkin pecan custard bread pudding minus the pumpkin!

Do you feel better yet?

I made a 2nd pan since I’d signed up to bring pumpkin pecan custard bread pudding to the potluck.  This time I put the pumpkin in the custard first! For those who, like me, hate to waste anything, you’ll be glad to hear that I later salvaged the 1st pan by dumping it all into a big bowl and mixing in the pumpkin before baking it.

In case you aren’t yet feeling sufficiently better about your vacationing mind, get this.

While I prepared bread pudding, the beans I pressure cooked the previous day were reheating in the InstaPot.  This was my first time using the InstaPot on slow cook. I normally use manual pressure cook.  After 3 hours on slow cook, my half-full pot of beans was BARELY warm, so I switched to pressure cooking them. Midway through I was sitting in the next room mixing streusel to top the bread pudding when my son mentioned steam coming out that he thought odd.  Without looking, I explained that a little steam slipping out before the pressure builds up enough to seal it is normal for this pot.  When the end of cycle beeped, I was shocked to discover no pressure to release.  I lifted the lid straight off.  What?!?!?  

You probably guessed it?

The silicone seal for the lid was sitting in the drainer where I’d left it that morning after washing.  Oops!  Silly me.

Was reading this morning about the man after whom we named our oldest son. John Mark and I scoured our name book sifting through various combinations full of meaning.  Daniel we selected for its meaning.  Charles was in honor of both my father and John Mark’s father.  Then, of course, the family name, Allen, had to be included.

Daniel, according to our book, meant God is my judge.  I wanted my son to be a man who, like Daniel in the Bible, would always do the right thing, because he would honor God above all others.  I wanted him to stand up, not in a haughty, in-your-face manner, but in a God fearing and respectful way.

This is what the Bible says about Daniel.  “He was faithful, always responsible, and completely trustworthy.”  The description is not that of other Jews.  No, this was the way his fellow administrators described him.  The queen mother of Belshazzar said, “[He] has within him the spirit of the holy gods.”

I admire Daniel’s attitude toward King Nebuchadnezzar.  “I wish the events foreshadowed in this dream would happen to your enemies, my lord, and not to you!”  The king did not honor God.  The nation was an enemy to Israel.  Nebuchadnezzar himself had wiped out Jerusalem and exiled Daniel’s people, yet Daniel showed him honor.

Surrounded by people that bowed to many gods and worshiped their king as a god, Daniel’s regular habit was to pray in his home three times a day only to the one true God.  When it became known that his prayer life could land him being torn limb from limb by lions, he did it anyway.  He could easily have closed the windows, but no.  He had always prayed with the windows open.  His way of standing was to do just what he had always done.  This was not flaunting his prayer life.  It was simply being faithful.

I want to be that kind of faithful.