To Give or Not to Give

"To Give or not to give!.." What is the first mental picture coming to your thoughts when you read this little sentence? Perhaps a little dirty hand clasping a too short picked flower holding it out with a toothless grin, a beggar on the street sitting with cupped hands hoping for a penny. A bunch of colorful flowers, a box of luscious dark chocolate or a handmade card signed with love. What are the gifts being given or receiving?

It is always such a treat to receive a gift, I love to receive gifts but get excited like a child at Christmas about giving someone a special something. My love language must be gifts, there is nothing as special as a gift wrapped up just for me. That unexpected something that brings tears to my eyes. That moment when my heart sings: "Thank you Jesus you knew all this time!"

I quickly ran up the wooden stairs to the second floor of our church to go find some more cups for the tea table. My eyes caught the most beautiful piece of cloth hanging over the side of the rail. I ran my fingers over the dreamy soft woven but durable material. It was printed in deep blue and off white dutch delft porcelain prints. "What a beautiful piece of material for a table cloth." I thought. "Do you like it?" A voice behind me suddenly asked. "Yes it is an extraordinary piece of material." I answered. "My wife brought it to church this morning to leave here for anyone to take home. Her mother bought it years ago in France but my wife just never found a use for it." "Thank you!" I embarrassed but excited answered.

Later that afternoon at home I unfolded the cloth and laid it out on the table admiring the beautiful material, prints and colors. As I straightened the hems out to cut it straight a thought came to my heart. "Maybe this is not mine, maybe God wants to bless someone else with this piece of material?" Yes, maybe this is not meant to be mine. I folded it up neatly and thoughtfully placed it back into the bag. Lord show me who you want to bless with this cloth..." I prayed. There were an excitement in my heart with this great prospect that someone is in for a big treat and surprise. Maybe someone has been praying for a new table cloth.

Later the week a dear friend of mine came over for coffee. We love to visit and talk about our children, home schooling, ministry, life and just what makes us happy or sad. I asked her about projects she had in mind for the summer as she moved into a new apartment recently. "I would love to buy a new table cloth for our lounge table." she said. I could not contain my excitement but had to keep a straight face. "What colors were you thinking of?" I asked. "Something blue, to go with my lounge furniture." she unexpected answered all I wanted and needed to hear. I also remembered she had two blue little delft printed porcelain pots on her sideboard next to the table. "I want to show you something!" I jumped up and went to fetch the bag with the material.

Yes, she loved it. It was just what she wanted. It looks absolutely stunning on her table. God just knew all this time it was meant for her.

Through this event I was newly reminded that everything coming my way is not always meant to be mine. As hard as it might be at times to realize. Holding things with an open hand asking, pondering....maybe He wants me to be the keeper only for a short while.

A lady wisely made a comment on this story. She heard a message at church recently, it left such an impression in her heart about giving. The preacher said: "Seeds are for sewing or either using." Sewing means to throw it in the ground and it will produce a crop of plenty for others and yourself. Using the seeds in food like for bread is of short value, eaten and then gone. Sewing it blesses other and it yields a crop.

He gives us "seeds" to sow or to use...... it is better to give than to receive..... How beautiful, wise and true.

Women... Talk and Coffee

"Us women need to get together, drink coffee and just talk. God has made us like this. We will surely die without it!" My mother in laws friend passionately commented as we stood outside the coffee shop saying our goodbyes. I smiled as our eyes met. What true wise words spoken from experience.

It all starts out with phrases like: "Lets have coffee!" or "Lets meet!" or "Come over for tea!" or even "I need to talk to someone!" That wonderful invitation! We all recognize the hidden words in these little phrases. Its not as much about the place, what we are eating or drinking but it being with a friend. The invitation receiving or giving says: "You are special to me, I value time with you, I would love to hear your heart or I would love to share my heart with a friend and share what is going on in my life."

In our first apartment living in Western Turkey the women there had a lovely way with coffee and get together as neighbors and friends. Every fourteen days they would knock on our door and invite me for coffee at one of the neighbors homes. The room was filled with women, little steaming cups of potent coffee and tea and a spread of food on the table. They would sit and talk and move the conversation from person to person to hear how each one was doing. I did not understand much of the conversations but would get home with stiff cheeks from keeping a friendly smile, high on caffeine and a warm content feeling in my heart that I was valued and cared for as a foreigner.

Now a few years later we live in a house on the outskirts of town. I love it when my dear neighbor hangs over her balcony smiling and waving inviting me to come over for coffee. I still get nervous when they come to my home. Is the house clean enough? Did I make the tea and coffee right? Will they like my cake or at least eat the cake and scrape the too sweet icing off? My language limits me still to as what we can talk about. Like my husband always says: "Who wants to talk about the weather always?" I have learned to prepare a few questions on hand that I think will interest them. There is nothing like a good question to break the ice :) Even a few recent photos makes a good conversation starter.

I asked a very wise lady one day how much time she spends with foreign friends and how does she balance out her relationship with the other local women. She gave me the best advice ever. She divides her time that she plans to spend with women into three equal parts. Her local christian friends, her foreign friends and unbelieving local ladies. She makes sure she keeps her social time balanced and well planned.

Honestly I could easy live in my home and easy just visit with my foreign friends. But that is not why I live where I live. I try to make a conscious effort to visit my neighbors and invite them over.

How conscious?

-I always greet my neighbors with a friendly smile or wave of the hand.
-Whenever I bake cookies and have extra cake I take one of my neighbors a plate.
-I offer to water their gardens when they go on holiday.
-Even when I am busy and not really have the time I try to respond on an invitation for coffee or tea.
-I would rather visit my neighbors at their homes but realize they need to see my home, see me interacting with my children and in my home to understand who I am.
-I try to remember their birthdays and if possible a little gift or home baked cake dropped off with a blessing and a hug.
-During the season of important cultural holidays I pay a visit with a little treat for them and their families. It says that I value their culture and beliefs.

As frightening, inconvenient or even uncomfortable it might be at times to spend time with my local friends and neighbors, I value my time with them. As women, like my mother's friends said: "We need time with one another!" Often when I come home after a coffee visit with a neighbor I feel encouraged, but also trust and believe that their lives were touched by the Holy Spirit.

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Love will Lead Us

"You can not say one day that you have not heard, that I did not tell you!" my voice broke as I desperately shared with him. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I hopelessly stood there with my heart aching. How I love him, how I have prayed for him for salvation for years and hoping to pray for him for healing for his very sick body.

On our way home in the car I was sitting with tears rolling out under my sunglasses over my cheeks. "Mommy imagine how sad Jesus must feel right now if you heart is this sad for him." my daughter remarked.

This is the most extreme example of me ever. Being a Christian, preaching and living the Good News of the Gospel. If this was the only example you would ever hear about me it would put me in a total different light from who I am. I have been a Christian almost all my life, gave my heart to the Lord when I was six years old at a puppet show at our church. I have grown up in the church but have never personally lead someone to Jesus. I live the Gospel serving in hospitality, encouragement, prayer etc. But evangelism in preaching and leading someone to Jesus was a gift I have not boldly used. I would rather set the scene and let someone do the practical evangelism leading to the Lord part.

The last few weeks there has been an urgency in my heart, a desperation to share the truth of the gospel with my relatives, friends and people that God put on my heart. A few events and incidents have influenced this desire awakening.

I have heard a story that a man has gone to heaven and was waiting to enter at the Pearly Gates. Jesus was standing there and asking everyone the same question when they came to the front of the line. "Have you learned to love?" This story has been through my mind a hundred times if not more since then. "Have I learned to love?" I am asking myself.

Our family are on furlough for a few months in our home country and I again have read the book: Heaven is Real. The reality of heaven and asking myself the question: "Am I ready to die and will I go to heaven?" and "Who do I know and love that does not know Jesus, that have never heard the message of the Good News of Jesus?"

I believe it was Love that brought Jesus to earth, Love that kept him here and then dying on the cross. In my heart I have asked the Lord to fill me with love for these people that He wants me to share with. It does not come easy. I struggle with fear of rejection and just plain an awkward feeling of: "What am I doing, or who do I think I am or even what will I say?"

The vision of my relatives, friends and neighbors going into eternity lost while I had the answer, the opportunity and Good News of Jesus just is heart breaking. I trust as God leads me forth in this wonderful awakening of my calling to share His word that He will fill me with courage, faith and wisdom. That I will not step back in fear...but that Love for Him will lead me forth to sharing the Good News of Jesus.

Cross Cultural Hospitality has a Heart

“Cross Cultural Hospitality is an Adventure!” my friend boldly commented. Real memories of myself in the kitchen with dishtowels catching fire as I nervously tried to make the perfect cup of Turkish tea or unexpectedly falling over the tortoise that snuck in our front door, flashed through my mind. These are the kinds of incidents that add to the fun of trying to do hospitality in a different culture! Yes it is an adventure clothed in a cloak of love with many textures, a heart always ready to accept and hands ready to serve.

One hectic morning while home schooling my two girls, two traditional Muslim grandmothers knocked on the wooden gate of our home in Central Asia. They wanted to come and pray in our home as a close relative of theirs had died there a few years ago. If a face could tell a story it was mine at that moment. My husband and I invited them in and as I began putting the tea on and setting the table with the traditional nuts, fruit and cookies, "well, they will probably stay for lunch too!" I thought. Sitting down after politely, traditionally pouring the green tea in Chinese round cups I studied their somber sad faces. “I have a plan for them being here today Karin,” I felt the Lord speak to my distracted heart. I repented and set myself out to be a vessel of what God wanted to do. They left that day with smiles, a Bible and as they walked off I noticed a spring in their step.

Yes, I do not always feel like being hospitable. Making yet again another cup of tea or coffee hoping that today will be the day our dear guest's heart might be receptive to the message of the Gospel. I have often had to change my expectations and perspective on what my hospitality should look like and be open to the fact that my guests might struggle with the way I would naturally do things. One time we had a family over for a meal while we were living in a remote setting and after much effort I came up with pizza for supper. Our guest, unimpressed, looked at me over the low set table and said politely, "we do not eat cooked tomatoes”.

LOVE AND RESPECT

In every culture the art of hospitality looks different but the heart of this wonderful gift comes from the same source: love and respect. Through trial and error and learning more of the culture I live in, hospitality has become easier. It seems overwhelming at times not understanding my guests, but I keep telling myself: “Relax you can only give what you have, be yourself and He will give you the grace!” Being myself was the most important lesson I have learned in extending hospitality cross-culturally. I will never whip up food with the grace of Nigella, Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart but I can be myself and generously give what I have with love, joy, delight and a willingness to be an instrument of love for Him.

A FEW POINTERS:

Living and working cross culturally can be very confusing, demanding and tiring but I have discovered that there are a few things I can do to help myself be more prepared.

-My neighbor will most likely not want to come for tea again if my home is in a state with dirty carpets, the days dishes stacked in the sink a mountain high, and the feeling that the house has not been cleaned for a while.

-I have never received a “dry” cup of tea in the cultures where we have lived. There has always been something served with the tea. At times in our home it has even been nuts and raisins, a packet of cookies whipped out with a smile, or in a pinch, a chocolate bar broken into a cute little bowl or something from the basket I keep up in the cupboard for hospitality emergencies.

-Trying to understand what good hospitality involves in the culture and adapting to their ways, helps me to create an atmosphere where my guest feels comfortable, accepted and able to be themselves in my home. Even if I don't do everything perfectly, if they sense my heart is open and I am seeking to build friendship with them, they graciously overlook my mistakes.

-I know that I will never be fully able to host the way someone born in the culture can naturally, but out of respect for my guest, I will serve the coffee in a manner I know that will bless them. It is all about the experience. A dear guest might not remember my great plate of lasagne (sad but true ;) but I believe they will forever remember how our family made them feel.

In this great adventure, I believe there are very few wrongs and rights, but a willing heart and an open door and home have won many hearts towards Jesus. He is the one that uses hospitality as one of the most powerful instruments in ministering Cross Culturally. Through a cup of green tea, a glass of water, or a cup of coffee served with love despite language barriers and cultural differences, many hearts have been touched ,softened and won to Him.
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A Candle in the Wind...

Intense and impossible...feels like candles barely standing alight in a fierce storm. "Life is not easy." a friend thoughtfully commented this week. Yes, it does not feel easy when the storms of life bursts and wails from all sides.

"You know what I've always remembered about you? It is the picture you shared of you feeling like a little bird in a nest on a rock finger in the middle of the ocean with big waves splashing." A friend commented after we met up after fifteen years. "Not much have changed." I thought to myself.

But since I have shared this picture at a woman's group so many years ago I have learned that He is the Rock finger in the ocean where I can be the little bird in the nest: safe. The storms are the same but my perspective have changed. Through many events and happenings the last few months my world has been shaken from all sides. I have needed to remind myself often that in the valley of the shadow of death, His is the Good Shepherd. Let me explain more.

-I was asked recently to be the Hospitality coordinator for an International Conference that was going to be hosted in our area. I have always felt comfortable ministering in this gift. But I have never done it on such a big scale. I worked with a team and we had it together rolling like a smooth oiled wheel. One night into the conference I was tossing and turning and just could not sleep. I felt so insecure and out of my league. I was playing scenarios in my mind of events during the day that I could have done different. I felt like the over eager golden retriever puppy, bouncing all over our well seasoned, traveled conference speakers. Within my heart a prayer rose: "Oh Lord fill my insecurity with Your security." It calmed the storm in my heart and I was strengthened again with the knowledge that it is Him ministering through me. I'm only the vessel.

-During this same conference my oldest daughter developed scarlet fever. Through a doctor on site and penicillin she recovered within days. Two weeks later she had swollen lymph nods and the concerned doctors were running blood tests and were scheduling to do a biopsy. Within this time she broke out into a new strain of scarlet fever, more severe than the previous time. Her body developed an allergy to the penicillin and she became quite ill. It felt like all hell broke loose with a fierce storm raging. I felt like a candle barely alite in the wind...Just when I thought I could not handle more...I'm ready to blow. Well, He surprises us with more Grace to stand in the storm. She woke up one morning in the midst of the battle completely healed.

-The most strain on the flame of the candle is the moment just before it blows. That moment when the little flame becomes smaller and lays to its side to go out. This week when I was thinking: "This is it! I don't think I can handle much more!". After waiting for two years for our visa application for residence to be processed we received an answer. Not the answer we expected... Our visa application after living here for four years have been denied. As disappointing and shocking as this news are so encouraging and strong the Rock Finger stands tall in the midst of the storm and splashing waves. Yes, we have to leave the country, but He has provided in all we need: finances, air tickets, someone to pay the rent and stay in our home for however long. He made a way.

How again I respect my husband in the midst of this as he said: "In faith I have booked return tickets for our family to be back in six months time!" I had to smile, "Yes, God you will make a way".

The burning candle is vulnerable in the wind, but the light comes from Him. He keeps the candle burning. He does not take the storms away but sustains the candle burning through the gale winds like the little bird safe on the strong rock pillar in the fierce ocean. I have faith that as the storms of life toss around us.. we can have peace. Yes, life is not easy but peace and joy are possible.

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GOD ARE YOU HERE NOW?

"Andrew fell of the top bunk bed....he is bleeding!" our little friends daughter big eyed and worried came to call us just as we ended our team meeting with prayer. My husband rushed up the stairs. I waited at the foot of the stairs thinking it might be a little bump, but also knowing that he fell onto a hard marble floor. Blood was gushing out of a deep cut just under his lip onto his already blood stained T shirt. "Oh no God, my beautiful little boy, please don't let him die!" my heart cried out.

"Go get the car we need to take him to a hospital!" I shocked but calm told my husband. It was raining outside and we were heading into late afternoon traffic. I sat in the back seat of our car cuddling with my sweet three year old boy. His eyes were big as large tears rolled over his cheeks. I kept pressing the paper towel bundles against the open bleeding wound and almost unwillingly repeated the words over and over again: "It is OK, you are OK, don't cry, Jesus will help you."

"Please open a window, I need some air." I asked my husband. "The window is stuck, it is wide open and would not budge." my husband frustratingly told me. "If rushing to the hospital was not enough, now this too." I thought. As trucks passed us on the highway water sprayed into the car. "Go faster honey." I urged my husband on. "Oh God please help us, protect our little boy from other implications of this fall." my husband prayed out loud. The reality of this situation hit me full on, I felt so lame in the legs and just sat unemotionally wiping of the tears mixed with dirty rain water streaming down my cheeks.

As I stare at my sweet child and I noticed the big bruising on the side of his face, his nose was swollen and it seemed that the cut under his lip was right through. How could I have just let him play on his own with the other kids? Was I being a responsible parent doing that? Why did I not went to look what they were doing? No look what has happened! My shocked mind started playing theater. The kids said that he was standing up on the top bunk bed and fell right forward onto the thin rug that covered the hard marble floor. He could have broken his neck.

"Go, go into the hospital I will park the car and come!" my husband urged me on. "You can not leave the car with the window like this, people will steal it." I shouted as I was rushing out of the car.

The young doctor seemed confident that he could stitch up the wound. "Oh I hope he really knows what he is doing." I thought. Holding him down and encouraging my little boy to lay still and open his mouth, was almost an impossible state at this moment. The twelve stitches took for ever and I just closed my eyes at every penetrating stitch. I felt sick to my stomach. "Thank you God for a hospital, a doctor, a car to get here and friends praying for us" I prayed thankfully in my heart.

We chose to sit in the foyer of the hospital for a few moments recovering. He was still shocked, quiet and wanted me to cup my hand under his aching chin.

I relieved got into the car and was wondering what we will do with the open window as it was still raining. "Oh the car's battery is flat, the little starting light does not even come on." my husband tiered but frustrated noticed. "Oh, what will we do now?" I thought out loud.

The doctor stood at the door of the hospital to wave us off now walked up to the broken window and asked my husband what was wrong. Amazingly the doctor kindly started ordering people standing around to fix the window up and get some jump starters for the battery.

I sat hopeless in the back of the car with my little boy tightly hugged in my arms praying for hope and strength, too tiered and emotional to be of any more help.

These words gently formed in the mind of my heart, like rain in the dry desolate dessert: "See all is fine, I'm here caring for you...." Hearing these words I rested my head back onto the headrest of the seat and let my body, mind and soul just sink and drink and bath in the hope, warmth, comfort and care of these words.

Yes, as always you are....caring for me. Thank you God that you are always there.. even in the midst of despair....pain, hopelessness. You are my light and my salvation.

LILLIES OF HOPE AND JOY IN THE DARKEST VALLEYS

I took the challenge from the wonderful book of Ann Voskamp “A thousand gifts” and started writing down the "ordinary" things that are beautiful to me. The things that I just accept as normal and assume should be there, which I often overlook…noticing the beauty in the midst of my business. Those things which I often even breath a breath of frustration over…like muddy footprints on the marble floor….bits of food under the table….
I made a choice… and started with my list……COUNTING MY MANY BLESSINGS.

As a mother and wife my days are often filled with cooking, cleaning and the regular tasks of caring for my three children and home schooling. Also then added are the team we work with, meetings, hospitality, prayer events and individual care, and my husband often traveling due to our work.

In the midst of the business I often get so entangled in the task of being a good mother, wife and team member that I loose the hope and joy that was set before me. I loose track of enjoying the journey that I am on. Like stopping and smelling the roses, thanking God that my children are normal, they can walk and make these footprints on the clean floor. Picking up the endless dry autumn leaves from the floor of our garden and enjoying the beautiful colors of rusted brown, yellow and orange. Appreciating the blossom petals blown in by the Spring wind and seeing the chocolate fingerprints on the white marble counter, picking up the wet towels from the bedroom floors and being grateful that we have water to take showers with.

How releasing and breathtaking the truth stands out like a white lily shining bright like a lighthouse in the darkest of muddy ponds “GRATEFULNES BREEDS JOY AND HOPE” Breaking through the crust of normal, just expecting or accepting everything but seeing it as a gift…. a gift of love. I do have a few hope and joy stealers:

FEAR:
Joy and even hope has been difficult and far fetched the last few weeks. Fear has come into my heart after a man with a pistol and gun came to our local church and shot up in the air and then at our pastor in the street, while my husband and our team members and friends were worshipping inside. What if they were killed? Oh I do not even want to think of this. What if someone comes to church and shoot at us again? What about our children?

SELFISHNESS:
I have been selfish to guard the little "on my own" time I have to read, write and just be. Often not in joy serving my family and filling their needs to spend more time with them just sitting talking or going to play in the park. Having hope in God that He will provide in all my needs according to His will.

DESIRING AND COMPARING
Reading about my friends at home, their so different life’s from mine. Seeing their shopping fun, visits to spas, woman gatherings and fun birthday celebrations. Going through times when I feel so discontent, ungrateful with my own life here on the “harvest field”. The normal day to day things that I am involved with feeling just overwhelmed by the tasks at hand. Walking through a furniture store and feeling so ungrateful for my second hand furniture and hand me down odds and ends throughout my home.

VIEWING THE ORDINARY AS BORING
I tend to fall into a rut of just doing everything that needs to be done almost unemotional as the task at hand. Touching on just feeling too tired to stir up more emotions not even considering walking the extra mile. Being pleased just with getting the task at hand done.

But to stop and count those things in the midst of business and ordinary tasks that are beautiful, unique and lovely. Being grateful for what I have and making a point of thanking God for all in abundance.

THINGS HELPING ME TO SEE THE LILY OF HOPE AND JOY IN THE DARK VALLEY…

-Listening to worship music while doing the ordinary tasks of every day. Often halfway through these dreaded tasks I find myself praying and worshiping with the music.

-Planning to take a few minutes to sit aside the business and enjoy a cup of coffee in quiet.

-Grabbing my toddler with joy and inviting him to climb on my lap with his favorite book while his blond curls tickle my nose and then after every page he gets a big kiss and hug.

-Organizing with my husband in the midst of his busy schedule so I can have an afternoon off a week where I can go out the house for a walk, go sit somewhere to write and have quiet time.

-Planning my day so I do have little pockets of individual time with each child. Even if it is just a bit of time listening to my pre teen talking about what is important to her.

- Praying and asking for grace and more grace for those tasks that I dread doing. Bringing it before the Lord in faith and hope trusting that He will carry me through.

-Trying to get to bed earlier in the evening so I do have a bit of time to read an uplifting book.

-As hard as it is nothing taste as good as thin! Working on eating healthy, I know that means something different to every woman. But keeping at it.

-Getting up earlier so I can start my day spending quiet time with Him. Reading and studying the scriptures. Praying out the word and sharing my heart of fear, joy and hope with Him.

All these ideas sounds great but the greatest of all these are to make a point and choice to see the beauty and hope around us. To thank Him for all He is, has given and done. Living with my thoughts focusing on Him. Knowing the truth about who He is. Making a choice to focus on this…. THESE ARE THE LILLIES OF HOPE AND JOY IN THE DARKEST VALLEY.

A Mountain of Fear facing Faith like a Mustard Seed

Above the chaos of the children talking in the Sunday school class, I heard the voices of people shouting down stairs in the street in front of our small down town Church building. "Oh no, what is happening?" my thoughts franticly tried to find answers. "Are people rioting? What do they want, or do?" Trying to figure what this answer could be made my stomach turn in a knot.

Fresh in my mind were the happenings of the last few days urging my emotions forth. Foreigners in Afghanistan were killed a few days before, the result of a man in America burning a Koran. Shivers went down my back as I recall the terrible incident here in front of our church just two days ago too. My husband and friends were worshiping inside the church when a man with a pistol and shotgun started shouting against Christian work and activities outside in the street. He shot blanks into the air and shot at our Pastor standing outside. People were able to overpower him and hold him down until the police came. All these incidents were running away with my mind and heart. Was there more to come?

I got up from the carpet and opened the small manhole of the low slanted roof. I tried to listen and make out what they were shouting. My mind was racing ahead: "The children what will I do with them?." I started seeking resolutions if anything turns violent. "I can let them climb through the man hole and sit on the roof if anything happens." I decided.

Fear was gripping my heart and rising in my mind like kwik in a temperature meter. I heard the wise words of my husband: "If we will allow fear to rule, we are opening a door for satan to come in and do more." Immediately I felt guilty and prayed a prayer of protection on us all, trying to stay calm and control my mind running away with fear. I heard the voices in the street fading away and recognized the chanting as the soccer supporters moving on to the stadium for the match that afternoon. I breathed a sigh of relief and got the kids together so I could start the Sunday School lesson.

I desire not to fear, but to walk in faith trusting God for His protection. Oh how can I do this?

-Looking back on what God has done for me. Remembering the miracles He has done. How he provided the impossible and protected me supernatural in times of danger and kept me safe.

-Reading and studying the scriptures, reading about people in danger and God protecting them. Studying verses in the Bible that speaks of God's protection and memorizing faith building scriptures.

-Reading declarations in God's word. Praying out His promises in the Word. Declaring who He is and what He can do. Psalm 23 and Psalm 91 has been so encouraging to me.

-Making a choice in my mind not to fear but to trust Him. Admitting my weakness in fear and asking friends to pray with and for me. Praying out prayers of hope in times when I fear.

-Submitting my heart to God. Acknowledging that He is in control of my life. Whatever happens is in His will, and finding peace with and in this. Believing that He will never leave me nor forsake me. Whatever the outcome...He is with me.

-Looking realistically at what I'm fearing. Dealing with the deep issues in my heart, the reason I fear. Do I really trust God to come through for me? Why then or why not? Are my fears valid? Can what I fear really happen? If it can, finding peace in Him.

-Aiming and desiring to have more faith, to grow in faith. Having even faith like a mustard seed. God can use it.

God could have used the visual picture for us to have faith like a walnut seed, sunflower seed, acorn seed but no God picked the smallest one. The mustard seed as an encouragement for us to aim for. Life is never without its challenges, and lately it feels like I had more than my share.

But I choose to look at the tiny mustard seeds in my little bottle of whole grain mustard in the fridge door and pray out: "Yes Lord, I desire in the midst of facing fear to trust You....even faith like a mustard seed can move mountains."

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LIVING A POWERFUL STORY telling a story!

If we would meet over a cup of coffee and start sharing our hearts, joys, hardships, dreams, miracles and even disappointments....our stories. I believe we would be deeply stirred and touched. We would be encouraged by God’s greatness and I believe filled with compassion for one another's stories.

You might think reading this: “Oh I have gone through such pain and sadness, nobody would want to hear my story!” or “Oh my life is so normal, just day to day and even boring at times.” Or even: “ My situation is hopeless, I’m a terrible person and mother, just hoping to get through every day.”Yes, maybe it is utterly sad or hyper exciting or just normal. But somebody can relate, God is always at work.

What is it that stirs our hearts with compassion for another? When does that moment of friendship happen? When we share our hearts as woman? Is it not that moment when we can relate? When it recalls emotions and situations, when we can say: “Yes I know how you feel.” Or is it when the person sharing is deeply emotional, hurt or struggling? Or is it just someone taking an ordinary story and sharing it with passion and victory? Or when we love somebody unconditional?

We all like a good story. When we can relate, feel and get carried away by someones bravery or faith against all odds. Understanding the heart of the character. When we see a good plot unfold to a positive ending. This is the ideal, sharing our hearts and lives and hoping someone would understand and relate. But life does not always work out the way we hope.

The times in my life when I have made a new friend has often come through spending time with someone. Talking, praying and sharing our stories of daily life. We could shy away from this being concerned for being rejected for being real and honest. Yes, it could be and I believe it has happened.

I have often asked myself: “How does my neighbors, friends etc. perceive or see me? Who has God made me to be?” I have never felt comfortable with just falling with the door into the house sharing the Gospel with someone. But through building a friendship drinking many cups of green tea and coffee together talking about life has been more the way I like to do it. Through this I have gotten to know many people and had opportunities to share my life, my joys and struggles. My love and heart for God and how He cares for me.

Through happy and sad stories my neighbors and friends have learned where my heart is. Yes, I do get angry with my children and frustrated with people, I cry when I’m hurt and sometimes struggle to forgive when an unrighteous act was done. I’m a normal mother and wife that struggles, but I can share that He is my answer and deliverer. For two hearts to meet in friendship I believe it takes a story where someone can relate, opening the door for the Gospel message to enter in.

Yes, it is tempting to let it look like all is fine and perfect. A Christian should have it all together and sorted out. But life in reality does not work like this. I look at Jesus as an example in this. He never sinned, was never desperate or hopeless. He was fully human, he loved, became angry, was tiered and even cried. All of this He shared with his friends. They were drawn to Him and deeply stirred by his story and life.

Through the Holy Spirit working in our lives we can share who we are and touch hearts. Through our stories lives can be touched and changed. Being myself is the strongest testimony of a human being living a life devoted to God. In faith and weakness I can share my story and see God touching and changing lives.

"Three favorite things to wear"

The typical woman I am, I like to dress up and feel good about what I wear. Scanning through the cupboard of my heart this morning I know there are three things that really touches on that "feeling good" aspect. I can only smile with sentiment thinking about them, they are not just objects. Each of them have a story to tell of their own, they are "friends". Their texture, the thoughts and memories they bring up and out, and surprising as it might sound the comments, stares, smiles and results I get when wearing them.

My first "friend" is the beautiful string of pearls my friends at home send me for my last birthday. I remember opening the jewelery box ....I was suppose to jump up and down it is a magnificent piece of jewelery all colors and shapes of pearls all mixed up and stringed together, but instead I burst out into tears. I was horribly homesick and just felt out of sorts with an issue my husband and I had the day before. I went upstairs to our room and draped this beautiful and very expensive piece of jewelery on my dresser. My eyes caught the rough cement heart my daughter picked up on the beach last summer also laying there. How different these two are I thought, the one man made and the one created in pain by a sea creature; God influenced. As I stared at them I felt the words forming in my heart...."Karin you can choose to have a heart of stone and stay in unforgiveness or forgive and have a string of pearls in your heart". When I drape this beautiful string around my neck I feel loved by my dear friends and reminded to not walk in bitterness, unforgiveness and have a heart of stone.

My second "friend" I was born with. Being born two months early, and in those days you stayed in hospital for ever, I'm not sure when I smiled the first time. I love wearing a smile! Even if my heart does not feel like smiling I like to smile. A smile says much more than a thousand words can. A lady ones smiled to me across a room filled with people. It was at a moment when my little world was feeling like falling apart. I felt so loved, cheered on and encouraged. Walking down the street I like to smile, off course to the ladies and children I pass. I could get in big trouble smiling to a man here. I like to think it encourages and cheers people on wherever or whenever I share a smile.

My third "friend" and a bit selfishly, is the one that makes me feel good. Living in a country where there are thousands of tourists treading through I can find the most exquisite pasjemas here on my doorstep. I have a few hanging in the faure on a hook. They are made up from different colors, sizes and textures. Nothing feels as good as wrapping it around my shoulders and throwing the loose end around as a wrap. Rounding it off with that slight throwing the head back feeling of "watch out world here I come" . It touches on that part in every womens heart, the desire to feel glamorous some time or another. My bit of glamor comes that moment when I have my pasjema over my shoulders and head out the door striding.

Oh I have many more I love to wear but these three are the three dear "friends". I can not help to mention: jeans, flip flops, a hat, a wrap on the beach, kaki pants and lipstick. Like I said I'm sentimental and love to dress up. :)

I'm not here to be known....but so He will be known

I thoughtfully listened to the familiar sounds in my neighborhood as I bend down to pick up the dead autumn leaves from the gravel floor of our garden. My neighbor playing ball with her grandchild, the sound of a broom sweeping away dry leaves, the tingling sound of a teaspoon being stirred in a little glass teacup. And here next to the fence the crackling sound of the big dog next door chewing on a plastic bottle.

As I drop the handful of dead leafs into the bucket I thought how comforting these familiar sounds are, but at the same time the very real but almost painful question came up in my heart: “Will I ever be fully known and enjoyed by my dear neighbors and the beautiful friendly people of this country?” My heart, my sense of humor, what I love, what I delight in and even what makes me sad. How I feel about events in the world. My love and heart for God. Why I do things in certain ways and then most of all why I am really here.

I have been part of many neighborhood coffees, birthday celebrations, baby showers, unexpected visitors for coffee or tea and the fun of spontaneously meeting with my neighbors in the street for a quick chat. Pushing the leaves even deeper into the bucket my uneasy thoughts raced forth. I have really tried to live out myself in my new culture. Learning the language and culture, making an effort to get to know my neighbors, even cooking and shopping with them. Sweeping my part of the street and kindly sweeping in front of my neighbors gate too. Having the kids in local school has been a big stretch but it has been such a good way to enter into our community here. But still I feel a foreigner, unknown.

I wonder how long it will take me to be comfortable in my local language. At a local school event the other day one of the mothers friendly reached out to me and invited me to come and sit next to her. She was very sweet and we talked about school events and the weather. I told her: “Last winter the lemons on the lemon tree banana, the little plants in my garden banana and even the banana trees banana to the ground.” Yes, I got the word for banana and freeze mixed up. How she managed to keep a straight face I’m not sure.

I know the language is just one area of sharing who I am, but it is a big part of the way my neighbors can get to know me. Being asked very open, provoking and sensitive questions like: “Where do you get your money from? What work does your husband do?” This does not help myself confidence in initiating visits. Trying to answer these questions with integrity has been a challenge. I can sometimes feel the red raising from my neck into my face as I face these true honest but not easy to answer questions.

I do not always want to avoid talking about how much money we get and have or what we really do. Or just pick the weather as a good, safe subject. Or sit in a conversation where my neighbors talk and I honestly have no clue what they are talking about or where the conversation are heading. Or being talked about while I’m sitting there and the conversation going on as if I’m not in the room.

Sadly crouching now next to the bucket of brown dead autumn leaves these words of truth rose up in my heart “Karin, you are not here so you can be known…you are here so I can be known by them.” How clearly these words rang through my heart as it brought all into perspective. Taking these questions and unmet needs and expectations to the foot of the Cross is the best place to get peace and answers. Where I’m known for who I am, where He celebrates my uniqueness. I am here because of Him. I desire to see my neighbors and friends touched and changed by His love and truth. A bread baked with love and wrapped up in a new dish towel, a cake plate filled with cookies, a bunch of flowers dropped off with a smile and hug says more than many words could ever say.

By time I will learn more about the cultural unspoken cues and the language. For now I probably will create many more miles of smiles with my broken attempt so speak in the local language. I will choose to keep my eyes on Him. Knowing when it is a good time to bless my neighbors and wisdom in what to say. Taking my own thoughts of doubt and inadequacy to Him to speak truth and hope into my heart. Praying for my neighbors and being alert to their needs. Living myself out as best as I can for His glory and remembering I’m not firstly here to be known but I’m here so He would be fully known by them.
_____________________

Bloom there where you are Planted

It is middle winter here in the Aegean. Our city is well known for its mild winters, but still flowers mostly bloom in the Spring and Summer. But on my windowsill tall and bright in the cold of winter stands two red tulips in full bloom. I admire their beauty but also strength. There is beauty in hope; "blooming" against all odds. Tulips are known for blooming where the weather is cooler but I can not help think the phrase: "Bloom where you are planted."

Some flower types are known for being strong standing out in snow, ice, desert heat, filthy ponds, dark valleys, cracks in the side walk and even the gutter. They draw attention, make people think and look twice, they are even wondered about and admired.

I can not help but think of God's heart for us humans in this scenario. The world in its self is not the ideal environment for us to "bloom" either. But we were designed by a God of hope to survive and "bloom" to our full potential. It is easier said than done, I know. To survive is one thing but to "bloom" that is another.

We are so uniquely put together with different personalities, cultures, environments etc.
Even the tulips here on my windowsill is not a clone product either. Their colors, size, length of leaves are different. It would be unfair to compare them with one another. Just like us humans too. In their own way each flower are beautiful and unique.

LETS "BLOOM":

KNOWING WHO MY MAKER IS: Standing against all odds on the truth in the Word of God. Reading and studying the Word so I do know who He truly is. Through this knowing and understanding His character. When the storms of life comes I know that I can depend on Him. He will sustain me, I can trust His character.

KNOWING WHO I AM: The way I was designed, my gifttings, my weaknesses, my strengths, my desires etc. To be alive in recognizing and acknowledging myself in who God has made me. To celebrate in who I am.

KNOWING HIS PLANS AND WILL FOR MY LIFE: To make sure that which I am pouring my time and energy for this season, is what is on His heart for me. To be secure, knowing I am at the right place at the right time.

KNOWING WHERE I'M HEADING: Because I know who He is I can step out and dream about the future. By being secure in my gifttings and desires. I can set goals for the future in faith. Often those desires and dreams and goals we want to reach, are there put by Him. I believe that He delights in us discovering these desires.

KNOWING THE PAST IS HISTORY AND THE FUTURE IN HIS HANDS: It is often difficult not to look back and remember past failures and dissapointments. They are like dead branches on a tree reminding us of past events or mistakes. To make peace and bring those things before Him in prayer. Admitting failures, mistakes and sin. Leaving it at the Cross in faith. The future is a clean page in hope in Him.

As we are all from different countries, cultures and backgrounds we all will "bloom" different. Let us not hold back but "bloom" there where we are planted. Lets "bloom" against all odds so God can receive the glory. It is only through His care, love and encouragement that our "blooming" can be a blessing to others...like these Tulips blooming on my windowsill in the cold of winter.

Grieving on the Harvest Field

I did not know which telephone conversation with my dad would be the last. I would not have thought that I would read early one morning on my niece's facebook update that he had passed away during the night. Who would have thought that three months was all he had after we found out that he had cancer of the liver. My mother sounded so lost and hopeless on the telephone after I phoned to hear the news from her.

I sat crying on our bed, almost to shocked to know what to do next. We shared with the kids that grandfather had died during the night. We cuddled up together as we hugged and cried. I phoned my close friends and teammates sharing the news. I was not sure how to share with my local friends and neighbors. How could I explain the dilemma of the visa and that I would not be going to my father's funeral? Especially in this culture where family bonding and relationships are so close.

Oh how we have tried, begged and desperately talked over the telephone to receive a temporary visa after we have been patiently waiting for two years for our residence here to be processed. How could I have known that the visa would not be granted yet, I could not leave the country to attend my dads funeral. It was very hard to process the reality that I would not be able to go and be there for my mother and family during this very trying time.

Our team mates brought me beautiful bunches of flowers and words of encouragement and comfort. How unrealistic it all felt, I could not imagine that he was not there anymore. "How will I work through this? Process his death?" the thoughts crossed my mind.

My facebook friends and family became my soundboard community in this time. I made up a digital photo album of my father. Photos that carried memories and how I remembered him. I posted it on my facebook wall and shared some thoughts and memories of him. I also made some phone calls to family members and just talked about him, what they knew about his death and memories they had. My mother shared that the funeral would be the coming Wednesday as they were waiting for family to arrive. How my heart longed to be there too.

I have always thought what a priveledge it would have been for me to share a word at his funeral. He was such a good father to me. I really hoped that I could tell a story he had shared years before about a God experience he had. He had asked me not to tell anyone of this while he was alive. Now I could not do it. Instead I wrote it all on paper and send it out to family and friends that knew him.

Also after I heard he had cancer I wrote him a letter of love, appreciation and sharing my gratitude towards him. Sadly I did not have an opportunity to give it to him. I posted it among my notes having peace in my heart that I deeply loved him and all was well between us. I was saddened and grieved that he never read it and that I did not tell him more that I loved him.

The morning of his funeral my friends came together at our home to have a memorial service with our family. I baked his favorite cake and decorated a heart shape with wild flowers, he loved the outdoors and it made me think of him walking in the veld with his hat and well weathered outdoor shoes. I lit a candle early that morning and was hoping in quietness and thought that evening I would blow it out in memory of him.

I shared my digital album from the computer at the memorial service an just talked about him. What he loved, his heart and my memories as a child growing up with him as my father. We all cried together as I shared. I was so grateful to my friends for this opportunity. They were willing to listen to my hearts thoughts and grieving cries.

Through the day I kept a watching eye on the clock to make sure I did not miss the time when his funeral would happen at home. My heart and thoughts kept going back to my mother in grieve. He was her only sweetheart and they knew one another since first grade. How I wanted to be there to support her on this sad day.

Later the afternoon I noticed that the fan to guard off the heat of summer has blown out my memorial candle. At first I was dissapointed and then I had to smile. "Maybe it was better, thank you Lord for saving me from that very sad moment." I gradually thought.

My dear aunt and inlaws thoughtfully mailed me some photos of the funeral. There was a photo of my mother lonely standing at his grave. I also was not ready for the photo of him in the coffin. I was shocked seeing it. It was so final, he looked so different from how I remembered him. My heart broke and tears just streamed uncontrollably over my cheeks. "It can't be!" I kept repeating. "He died Karin, he is not there anymore!" I kept telling myself. I stroked my fingers over his face on the computer screen. How I loved him. "How will I ever be able to bring this to a conclusion?" I thought.

What I was not ready for either was the extend of my mother suffering, struggling and grieving, and all I could do was to talk to her on the telephone. How guilty I felt for not fully being there for her. Now months later close to a year, I go through times when I see a photo of him or think about him and feel sad. But I know the fullness of the reality of him not being there will come when I go home. There where I'm use to him walking, smiling, chuckle or even the way he smelled of pipe tobacco and the veld. His side of the double bed will be empty in their room and the sound of his voice quiet. The heap on the red Karroo soil in the farm graveyard that belongs to him would be so foreign....I was not there.....but I will visit there and say goodbye with a bunch of wildflowers.

HELP my Husband has Burnout

"Please pray for me I struggle again with symptoms of burnout..." I listened as my husband share his heart with our team. I sat staring at him unemotionally with my thoughts caught up in my own struggle with this situation. "How again did we get to this point, I wondered?" "Oh God help me, give me hope, strength, patience and grace to walk alongside him through this journey." I found my heart cry out in prayer and desperation.

It has felt the last year and a half that life was on a roll, our team has been growing, the kids are doing good settled into local school, my husband has found a way of living out who he is in the local church group, a leadership roll in our sending organization and has been stepping out into challenges again.

My thoughts wondered back to the incidents leading up to the point two years ago when he was labeled BURNOUT. I was pregnant with our youngest and had problems in my pregnancy, we have just moved to a new house, he has done a year of full time intense language study at the local university, we have just gotten our first team member, we have had very little pastoral support and care during our first year in our new host country, trying the one visa option after the other. We have been kicked out a year before from our beloved country where we lived and worked for nine years....we were grieving and missing the familiar. All of these put together were just too much.

"How do you think you can get through this?" I asked him after he asked the team for prayer recently. "I need to take time out everyday, work office hours and then leave the computer at the office, delegate more and spend time in the presence of the Lord, sleep more and exercise regularly". How great that he does have an office space that he can retrieve to outside our home. We have gone through this before and I have faith to see us walk this path again. Now we know how it looks and can recognize the danger signs and make changes before it is full on burnout.

Walking as a family through recovering from burnout is like walking the extra mile on a daily basis. I know that I can't do it on my own. I do get tired, frustrated and even struggle with resentment at times. How encouraging and comforting to have close friends that I can ask for prayer and share my heart with when I feel overwhelmed with this situation.

Some other things that could be done to help someone walk through burnout:
-To have someone to pray with and share their hearts. But also the family members involved should be able to share their hearts with people and receive prayer.
-There should be open communication with the children and they should have full understanding on what their father or mother is going through.
-Going back to their home country is not always the solution. Support and even medical care could be of great help there but misunderstanding by family and church etc. could add to stress levels.
-More time out is necessary. Like sleeping more. Sleeping in or even afternoon naps could help. If the house is filled with constant noise and people the person should have a place where he or she feels at home and have quiet times.
-Medical care in the form of antidepressants or a wonderful help just to get over the edge.
-Do not judge or have any emotional expectations during this time. The person involved needs to rest and recover.

Our medical doctor had a beautiful way of explaining burnout as a little deposit in the brain filled with chemicals that helps the body to fight stress. When that little deposit runs empty the body, mind and emotions can not cope. To rest and even take medication fills that little pocket again.

I picked the great book from our home school program recently, "Miracles on Maple Hill Farm". It is about a father that has burnout and how his family is effected, and how they walk the road together to recovery. After reading the first two chapters out loud to the children, my eldest daughter turned to me with tears in her eyes: "Do we have to read this book, it is too much like Daddy, it makes me sad?" "Yes honey, it will help us to understand what he is going through and how we can support him. It will give us hope that God will lead us through this. It is not going to be like this always, it will get better. We need to understand what is happening and work together as a family." I answered in faith.

Admitting and recognizing the symptoms and feelings for what it is, is the battle half won. Being open and honest about what is going on to the children, helps us draw together and pray for Daddy in this. "It is not a disease he can die from." Hearing this was such a relieve to the children when we talked about daddy. The book: "Honorably Wounded" by Marjory F.Foyle so beautiful unfolds the pain, mystery, and road to recovery in stress and burnout in service of the King.

With our hands in His, and His grace that is new every morning, we as a family can walk this path with my husband.....to full recovery: "Daddy being Honorably Wounded in the battle to see this nation come to Jesus." Thank you God that through this we have again the opportunity to honor you.

Mrs. Proverbs did you Always have a Clean and Tidy Home?

I feel caught between Mrs. Proverbs standards and my own shortcomings, desires and the reality of my life. I can imagine if Mrs. Proverbs lived in our time her family, friends and neighbors would have been blessed, loving and admiring her. But would her home always have been spotless?

Being a family with three young children living cross culturally overseas means we have a busy life. There is endless guests coming through our home from just popping in to use the toilet to staying for a meal, meetings with coffee and cake and often people staying with us for a week or more at a time. I find myself constantly organizing things, cooking, cleaning, wiping down floors, toilets etc. The worst is me not feeling motivated to clean most of the time, or ever if I have to be honest.

I feel the constant stress between being a wife that serves my husband and family with love and respect. My husband appreciate and enjoys our family wearing ironed clothes. I dream of having a tidy and clean home. I dream of having coffee with friends, learning the language well, having solid relationships with my neighbors. Home School my children with excitement so they can excel and be what God would love them to become one day. Here just here is where I read through the beautiful story of The Woman of Proverbs and wonder where the balance is? A dear friend of mine has a sign at the entrance of her door: "It's either ME or the HOUSE we can't both look good!"

"Karin, how do you keep your house clean?" was a question a mother with young children asked me this week. At first I was embaressed because my house is not clean. Another lady added on: "Your house seems so neat and tidy always." My thoughts went to a week ago when we moved some furniture around and my husband jokingly said after a bed was moved away: "There is a whole person made from dust hiding under this bed!" "Well, I only clean the house ones a week, from top to bottom. It takes about three hours to work through. But everything has a place or box and gets put away after use. I believe totally in the power of wet wipes. Before guests comes over quickly wipe the toilet floor etc. down with wet wipes and flush some nice smelling disinfectant down the drain." I had to add with a smile.

The story in Proverbs about this lovely lady is inspiring, but I think I would love to know how she kept her home clean and tidy. Yes, she probably had multiple servants as we can see from verses in this piece. I had to come to a place in my heart checking into reality that I do not have servants but the dishwasher, washing machine could be added here for a modern perk. I would love to serve and honor my family with a clean home etc. In the heart of this "Woman of Proverbs" how would I do this?

My first stop would be at the foot of the Cross. I want to be honoring, worshiping and serving my Shepherd first. I want to honor Him first in all I do. Not driven but serving in love. How comforting that He knows, He sees and He is God. It is not ultimately in what I do and how clean my house is, but firstly about my heart in this. My prayer for us all walking this tight rope balancing life, may we know His heart for us. May we know when to sit at His feet and when to do what needs to happen.

"So Mrs. Proverbs I like to imagine you might have had "dust bunnies" collecting in the corners of your home at times but your heart had peace. You knew who your Maker was and what it meant to be at rest with life and its demands."

A Heart of Stone or a String of Pearls...

With tears on my cheeks and an ache in my heart... I gently but slowly run my fingers over the smooth, cold, colorful string of pearls. Playing with it through my fingers I think of how precious and beautiful this string of pearls are. Not just the string as such but the thought of my dear friends at home in Africa blessing me with this gift for my Birthday. I felt so blessed but my thoughts came back to my heart. The reason why there is tears at this precious moment.

As wet as the tears felt on my cheeks so dry my heart lays as a barren patch of untoiled ground. Oh how I have struggled the last few days to come to a point of understanding, choosing forgiveness.

How beautiful each pearl shines its colors. With deep dark colors of blue, purple, brown, peach, mother of pearl and even gold colors. How precious each pearl lays. The deep beauty of each pearl is in how it was formed. From a nothing grain of sand entering a shellfish. Through months of pain, rubbing and uncomfortable toleration there it is a beautiful pearl. Perfect, precious and breathtaking.

How true of my own heart I thought. How can I choose not to forgive? How could I have allowed unforgiveness to creep in and steal my joy, love and peace. If I could have just allowed forgiveness to come in immediately, I could have had a beautiful string of pearls draped in my heart. A rememberance of forgiveness, submission, and turning the other cheek. A gift of honor and love to Him.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hands and headed up the stairs to go place this precious, extrafagant piece of jewelery somewhere on my dresser so I can see it and appreciate it daily.

I draped it hanging over the edge of a glass jar spilling onto my dresser. My eye caught the grey, hard, rough beton heart my daughter picked up on the beach this summer. What comparison these two have. The one is soft and silky formed by pain and the other so hard and harsh made by man. I picked up the heart and made it stand in the jar with the pearls.

I felt the words rise in my heart as I stare at the picture in the jar. "Karin, you could walk with unforgiveness and have a heart of stone and beton....or you could choose to forgive and have a string of pearls draped in your heart." I was shocked and in awe of the pain, truth and beauty of these words.

Through yielding, forgiving and often making painful choices God brings forth beauty and life. I choose to rather have a string of pearls honoring Him....choosing to forgive.

WHY WRITE SOMETING?

Sitting outside in the garden on my well weathered chair listening to the raindrops drizzling, tapping on the leaves as it falls... I sit pondering over this question. Actually I have just finished writing an article that was wrapped up in my heart for weeks. It was like something beautiful asking to come out of the dark to be seen, loved and appreciated.

Hidden in the darkness of a cocoon lays the promise of a beautiful butterfly. When it pushes out of the cocoon, that is when the world can appreciate the depth of the colors on its wings and the beauty of its flight. As I write, I come alive touched by the joy of expression, and shocked by the power of a soul in flight with words.

No I'm no famous writer, only a few of my articles have been printed. English is not my first language and to my shame and disappointment I was not interested in grammar or comprehension in school. "So why do I write?" you would ask. Writing has always been like a song in my heart, an echo coming through. A desire that has been there, like a friend knocking on the door of my heart to come in. Ideas for articles will come floating through my mind and get stuck somewhere between my heart and brain. Forever I would sit writing in my head and think, wow that would be great to write about. I start recognizing these impressions and desires as God urging me on to put these impressions in sentences on paper.

Firstly and insecure I wrote about my impressions after visiting a friends grandmother. How amazing it felt to have expressed those deep emotions and experiences running in and out on paper that day. I was so excited and encouraged after reading what I have written.

Then I started writing experiences in my past, things that I thought needed to be expressed, worked through and brought into words. A thought would come into my mind and it would stay, when I have a moment I would sit and play with it. How will I start the article? What would be the first paragraph? What would be the main ideas? Often I would wake up in the middle of the night and lay writing in my head. It would be like a story being written long before it is written in ink on paper.

"It must be a gift." my husband said. For me it is a blend of a gift from God and a canal to let my thoughts run through. Writing has helped me work with and through unresolved issues in my past. Writing about difficult situations has helped me to see clearly, to understand and even gain answers. It is a soundboard for those experiences never uttered. A voice for my emotions. I hope that hearts would be touched, people helped, and God at work in minds through what I write.

Why should you write? Who do you think you are? Why do you think people would even want to read what you write? These are not the important questions but questions that often come into my mind! It is valid questions, but I can not allow it to lead me out of writing.

Do you have a desire to write? Do you dream about writing your heart? Do you feel you have something to tell? These are the questions we should ask.

"Do it for yourself!" Is my expression on starting to write. Start to write your heart, through experience and exercise the skill will come. Do not let fear keep you from writing. There is articles and books that needs to be written. Do not underestimate what God can do through the gifts that He has given you. If you dream about writing, then you have something to say. Start a blog or newsletter. Stretch your legs a bit with small projects. Read blogs of other writers and books written on developing writing skills.

Write, but do not keep silent. The world do need to hear more stories of lives touched and changed by God.

To Love is a Command not a Choice

As I ran the short distance from the car to the Church building the wind blew freezing cold from the snow capped mountains around our city. Our little church is in the Red Light down town district squeezed between two three story apartment blocks housing prostitutes and transfestites. The little building does not look like much but as I pushed the heavy, cold metal door open I was touched by the warm friendly chattering of people mingling and talking inside.

Often during our time of worship and singing in summer time, people in the street walking by will stop and listen through the open windows. Some will take a free Bible from the windowsill, and some will even come in and sit down for a bit. There is a constant flow of people coming and going through the open door of this little building, for prayer or just out of curiosity. A few Sundays ago a man lit his sigarette for a smoke during the sermon, then a person got up and made himself a cup of tea and somebody climbed through the man hole in the Sunday school class and sat smoking his sigarette on the roof. It sounds all strange but these people know where to come and hear about Him and sense His love.

Sunday morning again he came, with his usual dirty worn out clothes. He seemed drunk and had obvious sores on his face and hands which I have not noticed before. I thought it might be from overdose of strong alcohol. The doorman helped him in and as he passed by me I smelled a heavy alcohol stench and also noticed his pants soiled in the back. He was seated next to an elderly lady which has been coming to church regularly.

During the worship he sat quiet, with his eyes open but his head bow down. I wondered if he came in because the streets was bitter cold and the church somewhat warmer, or was he really searching for Jesus and an end to his struggles. I stood praying in the back for him realizing that Jesus can change his life, he could be saved and live a sober Godly life. Nothing is impossible for God.

The lady sitting next to him suddenly jumped up just before communion was served. Obviously disturbed by something, she talked to the doorman pointing to the drunk man. She walked back to her chair, grabbed her handbag and left church. My friend the doorman came and stood next to me with his head down. I could see he was upset by what the lady said about the drunk man being there.

The well known question: "What would Jesus have done?" came up in my heart. I put my hand around my friend the doorman's shoulder and whispered in his ear: "In difficult situations I always ask myself, what Jesus would have done in love, in this situation? I think you have made the right decision to let this man inside."

Standing again looking at this poor, lost, rejected, dirty, smelling, drunk man I knew Jesus saw him different. He saw him as a child of His that needs love and acceptance. I prayed again in my heart that God would help me to love others, and help me to see them as He sees them. That to love others would be seen as a command and not a choice or option.

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A Garden of Joy

My little patch of garden at our home will never make it to the "Garden and Home" magazine or some neighborhood garden competition. If you are a gardener you might look at the mish-mash of oddly placed plants and rocks in my yard and not think much of it. Yes I agree there is not much that meets the eye.

Now you know, I'm not really much of a gardener. I wish I had more skill and information on knowing where each plant should come according to its size, type and need for sunlight. I have a very kind, gracious neighbor though that knows about plants and loves to bless me with seeds and little plant starters. Shamefully I have to admit many of these seeds never see the light in my garden or even flourished growing.

But my little patch of odd plants are a sure joy to me. Even the well weathered wooden chair my dear friend found at the local neighborhood dumpster adds to the beauty and pleasure. What a kick to observe each plant go through the different seasons. From summer bloom to winter hiding. As I sit in, yes in and not on my dumpster chair in the quiet bliss of the moment admiring each little plant over a well deserved cup of coffee. Now that is the full joy of having a garden.

It's autumn here now, and that means the end of summer. I have always understood that fruit trees blossom in Spring to carry their fruit in summer. No not the kumkwat tree I have discovered. At first I felt sorry for this beautiful tree and thought global warming must have gotten the better of it. But no its the way it lives. How beautiful it stands now in middle Autumn with its evergreen leaves and white blossoms drawing bees to come and drink nectar. Its little white petals covering the ground like convetti.

My banana trees are my children in the garden. After many months of looking for banana planters we found a pot with four little plants at a plant stall next to the road one day coming home from holiday. I think wanting them in the garden is my heart longing for Africa but being established in Asia. With patience and tender care they were planted. I watched them stay green hoping to see new leaves emerging. Then last winter they froze down to the ground.
Sadly I took the dead leaves off, hoping that they will come out next Spring. And they did. When Spring came the green shoots pushed through the gray gravel except on plant did not make it.

I love the smell, color and appearance of lavender bushes. No, its not a tree, just a bush, wild but beautiful. I use to have quite a few of them that I hauled all the way from the plant seller in the bazaar. They just did not flourish, maybe the soil was not right or not a good place for them. Brushing past them and picking up their scent warms my heart.

Now the lemon tree is my pride and joy. I keep an eye on it all summer to see the first blossoms shining and then forming the little lemon bud. Last winter we had almost no lemons because the kids blessed mommy with a bunch of lemon blossom flowers. I say no more. Now in autumn the lemons are still green but here and there the beautiful yellow treats are hanging heavy on the branches. I love to watch the yellow lemons in middle winter through my lounge window, my winter flowers.

Now my lack of knowledge of plants comes to a total hight with my ignorant name for it "the green bushes", standing on both sides of the garden gate. All summer they grow wild with their long soft branches like arms swinging and growing wildly. Most of my gardening involves chopping away impatiently at these long jumpy reeds with little leaves. Oh but when autumn comes it breaks out in these very happy sunny faced yellow flowers. All then through this cold season it shines. In my flowerless garden and home then this bush hangs out lavishly in a glass vask with its arms hanging low onto the tablecloth.

These are my plant encouragers throughout Autumn and Winter. How we all need a place where we can stop, sit and enjoy the beauty of Creation. As God has made each plant with its own expression of beauty and embracing of each season, so we need to blossom where we are planted. Do not underestimate the beauty you have that others see and appreciate. Even the tiniest considered insignificant plant humbly shines forth beauty.....

Familiar has a Different Meaning

Turning forty last year was a big issue for me. It really felt like the big "four" had arrived. On my birthday as also in the beginning of a new year I asked the Lord for a Word from His heart, a story or a verse from the Bible for the coming year or spiritual season ahead.

You don't have to be a regular Bible reader to know about Psalm 23 where Jesus is portrayed as the Good Shepherd. This beautiful but well known piece in the Bible leaves comforting thoughts behind of the Shepherd leading His sheep in green pastures and besides quiet waters.

You have guess, I felt Psalm 23 as the word in my heart for the new year. At first I thought. "No, this is my own thoughts, there must be a more original, exciting piece of scripture for this Big Day of mine". Psalm 23 just felt to known, plain and trodded through. As I sat and waited feeling in my heart for any other impression, there was nothing more. This Psalm settled in my heart like a letter being dropped of in the post box by the mail man.

So there it was Psalm 23 as my message, story and assigned companion for the next season. At first I felt a bit uncomfortable with this known message. I did not seek or asked anymore questions on this. "I know Psalm 23, the beautiful message of the Shepherd being there for the sheep." Even Psalm 23 portraying the Shepherd as the gentle, kind leader leading His sheep....knowing their hearts, ways and needs. Leading them gently but knowing what He wants for the sheep. Knowing more what they need than what they know or even can perceive themselves.

As we all know and have experienced life has it's green pastures and quiet times. But it does not stay or end there. It has it's deep, dark valleys and His rod and staff....Those are the parts in the Psalm I often do not want to think about too much, pain and suffering is not something I want to invite. As profound as it might sound, if it was not for the dark valleys I would not have known and trusted the Shepherd as I do now. Would I have trusted my all to Him truly if I did not know His voice of love, compassion and kind direction through the dark valleys. He carries me through these desperate and dark times.

What about the "staff that comforts me", those words of truth and correction spoken in love...often by a friend. In those dark valleys it is not easy..but He is always with me....He never said that it would be easy. But He did say that He will be with us.

The different seasons of life, often even the different hours in a day feels like it embraces different verses in this Psalm. When I read this Psalm it feels like I'm on a roller coaster ride. Then up high in the mountains and green pastures and then suddenly down in the valley of suffering and death. Then again climbing the mountain in anticipation of a beautiful view longing for the green pastures of peace and rest.

I think what makes this Psalm so real and alive and for sure a favorite among many people is the promise of the Shepherd being the Comforter. That after the dark valley He always leads us besides quiet waters and restores our soul.

This Psalm is now deeply embedded in my heart. I can not help but smile when I hear it read, sang or quoted, how familiar and comforting. It's words create a picture... but the Shepherd being there makes it beautiful....and special.

No Visa No Way BUT His Way

"The Government has refused renewing our visas!" My husband shocked uttered these words. "What does it mean?" I asked, barely being able to handle the depth of my emotions welling up. "We can not go back!" I feared hearing this answer for many years but knew some day it will come. We can not go back...I repeated these words over and over in my mind like I wanted it to rather change over like a coin. I felt shivers of shock, disbelieve running up and down my body. It made way for disappointment and anger...

It is my home, my life, my house, we live there, my children's hearts will be broken. What about my dear friends there, my neighbors and all I love and know. What and how are we going to tell the children? My dear children, it is the only home they have ever known since they were tiny babies. These questions raced endlessly through my mind.

How can this happen now, while we are not even in the country? How mean can they be? We do not even have the opportunity to say goodbye, pack up our home, our stuff after nine years. The next few weeks following this sad news went by in a blur, on hold..and I played events out over and over in my mind. I had so many questions and my heart felt stripped and was throbbing and aching for my host country, now only a dream.

"Think about your children, you can not take the risk to go back and land up in jail." friends were advising us. Some advice sadly and heart piercing were: "Just leave it all, don't go back. You did not have much anyway!" Yes we did not own the house we lived in and the few pieces of furniture were second hand. The car was not much worth either, the school books we can replace. We can gather up some new dolls and toys where ever we will go again.

BUT how can I tell my heart to not ache and grief for this nation and people, this people group God has called us to lay down our lives for. I can not just give it all up and wave goodbye. These are my people this is my inheritance. I love my neighbors. I suffered, laughed, grieved, rejoiced about new babies being born, danced and weddings. Sat through power failures in the cold winters at candlelight and had no running water for weeks at a time. Cooked many pots of rice with friends on the open fire. My heart can not just wave this off!

As a family we prayed, seeked council and advice. We decided to go back for a period of a week as our visas only expired in a few weeks. We felt encouraged by God to go back, support the church there and say goodbye. How my heart ached to leave the children behind at our parents. Not knowing if all were clear with our visas as we understood.

As the airplane touched down in the capital city we took hands and prayed. I felt the words of this song welled up in my heart. "Jesus great above all." We were somewhat nervous as we handed our passports in at passport control. What if they refused our entry, what if they keep us on the airport for days, what if they put us in jail? It felt like minutes ticking by as the policeman at passport control scanned our photos and typed our information onto the computer. People impatiently behind us started commenting on why were he taking so much time. I left out a soft but deep sigh of relieve as he picked up and stamped our passports. I could not helped it but tears of relieve were streaming uncontrolably as we gathered our one suitcase and headed out for the last police check. The policeman wanted to know why I was crying. With a big smile I said: "Oh I'm so happy to be back!" Little did he really know about the full truth of this.

Dear friends received us at the airport with a big bunch of flowers, many tight hugs and encouragement. "You can not go to the village." They warned us. "Your house helper has been interogated and questioned by the police about your work. There was a Court case against you for being involved in religious activity. It is to dangerous." they warned.

After coming home from the airport I layed my eight big box action packers on the floor and went from room to room and drawer to drawer picking out what I really wanted. Most of the boxes were filled with books and sentimental objects. The hardest was going into the children's room and having to pick through their stuff and make decisions on what is valuable and what not.

Yes, we did decide to go to our friends in the village to support and encourage them. We felt the Lord urging us to do this. One evening after dark a friend drove us in his car to the village we lived and worked for seven years. The gate of the high walled yard were quickly opened and closed as we drove in, not to draw much attention. There they all were our dear local friends, teammates and now closer than family. That evening as my husband likes to say: "There were no cultural boundaries, just friends that loved one another." As we greeted, we cried, laughed and hugged one another with such joy but deep sadness.

I was so proud of my husband as he brought the most important but last message to this dear group of people, we talked and shared till late that night. The next morning before sunrise we left again. As we drove away from this place my heart was breaking. Tears were streaming down my face. I felt the words forming in my heart..."Don't be sad you will come back one day." These words brought such comfort and peace to the ache of having to say goodbye for ever.

Looking back now a few years down the road, we are living in a new host culture. God has carried us through this very difficult time. He was and is faithful in every way. Our dear friends in the village still have a very deep and special part in my heart and life, and I think it will always be like this.