Too far?

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. 

Jeremiah 29:11

Picking up my son from pre-school garden, I informed him that we needed to walk to the drugstore.

"I don't want to go. How far is it? Can I walk home by myself instead? It's too far!"
The whining and excuses seemed to just roll off his tongue as if practiced. As we walked, I was surprised with myself to find myself reasoning with him. He had to obey, but sometimes it helps if he knows the reason why we have to go and so forth.
"Son, we have to go. We need some things for the baby."
He replied, "Let's go to [the grocery store]... that's better." 
To which I cut in, "-But, we need some things from the drugstore. We also need milk, so we could go to [the grocery store] too."

The irony? The grocery store is a longer walk than the local drugstore.

This little conversation with my son got me thinking. Sometimes I have a similar conversation with my Heavenly Father: "Lord, I don't want to do that. I'm scared. It's too much to ask. What if I make a mistake/something goes wrong? -How far do you want me to walk????" Of course, I too have to obey, yet I am still somewhat timid- even knowing His promises.

Christ asks us to follow Him. It's far. It's hard. It's lonely. Many times, it seems too much to ask, and we are not told all the answers. Like my four year old, we demand the plan laid out before us like a map to follow. And then, so many times, we give up. We decide the price is too high. Whether it's finances, family, or pride, we deduct that something else is worth more than God's way. "It's too far. It costs too much. How about I do [this] instead." The irony? Our way is infinitely more difficult, further, and costly.

This is God we're talking about! -Not the whims of mere man. When God says, "Follow- there's an expected end" He means it!

Thankfully, each time I fail to make the right choice, God is standing by with forgiveness and grace. He doesn't leave me to pick up the pieces. He guides, teaches and directs me to follow Him yet again.

Some day when we reach heaven's gates, we, his disciples, will see just why it was worth it to follow Christ. And, on occasion we are given a glimpse of the rewards of our devotion.

I was delighted to find that my son understood tangibly that obedience is sweeter- the cashier gave him some candy. He even helped me carry the things home, having found the joy in obedience. May he always remember that there IS cost on earth to doing right, but there IS also sweet eternal reward.

Let not thine heart envy sinners: but be thou in the fear of the LORD all the day long. For surely there is an end; and thine expectation shall not be cut off. Hear thou, my son, and be wise, and guide thine heart in the way. 

Proverbs 23:17-19

A Fruitful Vine

Psalm 128:3 

"Thy wife shall be as 

a fruitful vine by the sides 

of thine house:"

A vine makes any building look beautiful.  Here in Thailand, I often see corrugated tin shacks that are completely covered with beautiful blooming vines.  Some pink, some white, some mauve, but all beautiful and sweetly scented.  Sometimes it's a cucumber vine or a bitter gourd vine.  I also see grand houses with bougainvillea crawling up the house in grand bursts of fuchsia and white.

No matter how grand or lowly the house, a beautiful vine makes an improvement.  A vine changes our perception of the building.  A vine covers imperfections.

What a beautiful picture of marriage.  My husband is the building - my life, the vine.  We have the opportunity as wives to beautify the lives and ministries of our husbands.  No matter how grand or lowly the man, we can be a help and a blessing to him.  No man is perfect, but we can help balance out and beautify those imperfections.  I'm not saying that we join in sin with our husbands as Sapphira did.  She became a partaker in sin while trying to cover it up.  I'm saying that we should be our husband's best friend and do our best to make him look good.  And let's face it - we do change people's perception of our husbands - either for the better or for the worse.  Now that reminds me of some promises that we all as wives have made .....

The Princess and the Letter

Are you a missionary or a missionary supporter?
I have a story to tell you that may change the way you do something. I will make this as pleasant and fun as possible. (Who doesn't love a good story?)

****

Long ago in a land far away there lived a princess.
(Actually, it was a missionary, but princess stories are more romantic.)

The princess and her family had exciting news to share. She knew that her friends and family in distant villages would be thrilled to hear the exciting news. She sat down at her royal writing table. She picked up her royal quill and ink well, and pulled out 300 of the finest quality papers. She began to write. (OK, so it was a computer and printer, but that isn't as fun as ink and quill, is it?)

The princess began writing 300 letters to the people she thought would care the most about this happy news. She poured hours into the letters. Her excitement graced every swipe of the pen. She didn't leave out any details. The princess, after all, was known for being verbose. When the letters were finished, she carefully addressed each one and gave them to her royal messengers. They quickly dispatched each letter. The princess was a fountain of energy anticipating the responses to the letters.

Months passed by and the princess grew discouraged. Of all 300 letters written, only five people took the time to reply. She was heartbroken. She could not figure out what had gone wrong. Did the people not care?

****

Did you know?

The average missionary has around a 3-5% response rate to prayer letters.

That means for every 100 letters that goes out, only 3-5 people take the time to reply.

****

The princess visited the wise old woman in the royal clock tower.

"Why did so few respond?" the princess asked through tears. "Have they forgotten me? Did I do something wrong? Do they not care?"

The wise old woman sat in her rocking chair. She was silent for several minutes. The chair squeaked as she rocked back and forth. The princess's sobs were interrupted when the woman's voice creaked through the air.

"Princess, you must search out the reasons, for each reason has hidden lessons all their own. Disguise yourself and travel to these distant lands."

So the princess put off her princess gown and donned the threads of a peasant girl. She purchased an old mare and galloped away in search of answers. (Alright. I posted some questions online, but the princess on the mare is definitely more fun to read.)

The princess first visited a farmer friend. He was busy working in the fields. She struck up a conversation with the man. After a few minutes, she gained the courage to ask, "Did you receive a letter from the princess?"

He continued hoeing and breaking up the sod as he spoke. "I did, but the letter was so long I have not read it yet. I am so busy in the fields all day. When I finish working, I am too tired to sit down and read. I hope the princess does not think I have forgotten her. She was always so kind to our family. We pray for her every night."


Keep It Short and Simple

As the princess left the farmer, she was deep in thought. She never realized people would be too busy to read her letters. As she wrote, she always added in every detail and even added details that had nothing to do with the news she wanted so desperately to share.

****

Soon the princess, still dressed as a peasant, arrived at her next destination. As she approached the artist, she noticed he was painting a lovely landscape as he sat beside a pond. She began talking with him. Soon she asked the artist if he had received a letter from the princess.

"Oh yes. It is on my table waiting to be read, but I must admit I struggle reading the princess's letters. I love portraits and landscapes more than hundreds of words. When I see a picture I am captivated. The writing comes to life. I just struggle reading things when I can not see what it is talking about. But perhaps the princess does not draw like me."

Include Lots of Pictures to Bring to Life the Details and the People

The princess was stunned. She had never thought about how pictures could also tell the story. She loved to draw.

****

She continued her journey down the road and came to the home of a woman with a dozen children. The children were clamoring around the house as the woman hung laundry outside. The princess began to chat with her. Then it came time for the question. "Did you receive a letter from the princess?"

"I certainly did! I read every word to the children the very night I received it! It was such happy news!"

"Did you reply to the princess?" the princess casually asked.

"Oh no. The princess probably does not want to hear from me. I doubt she even remembers who I am." The princess was surprised at this answer. This woman was the kind lady who helped the princess one day when she had fallen from her horse. The princess had played many times with the children.

Dear Friend, Your Reply Means the World to Missionaries

"I am quite sure the princess would be very encouraged by a letter from you. I am very close to the princess and know her well."

****

The princess continued on to the bridge keeper's home. The guard at the bridge stopped her before she could cross.

"Stop right there young lady! You may go no farther!" The princess was surprised by his gruff voice.

"But I need to see the bridge keeper," the princess pleaded.

"Sorry. No one or nothing may pass this bridge without my permission."

Make Sure Your Missionary Has a Current Address

The princess looked down and saw a box. Sticking out of the box was her letter.

The outside of the box was labelled:

Stock Pile All Messages

Apparently the bridge keeper never received her letter because it had been captured into this box by the guard. The princess sighed in frustration.

****

The princess had one more place to stop. She came to the seamstress's shop. "Surely she read my letter," thought the princess.

As she approached the seamstress, she saw the seamstress busily stitching a garment. She sat down on a stool near the seamstress and began chatting. Soon the princess asked, "Did you get a letter from the princess?"

"I am sure I did, but I did not read it."

The princess was surprised. "Why ever not?"

****

Did You Know?

The overwhelming number one reason people read a prayer letter

is that they have personal knowledge or connection with the missionary.

****

"Well, I have been receiving letters from the princess for many years, but here lately every letter the princess wrote was asking for something. The princess's letters began sounding more like business propositions than a letter from a friend. I have given so much time and effort and money for the princess's projects that I have nothing left to give. The past three letters I simply threw away. She was probably just asking for more things. Sometimes I just wish the princess would write to me as the friend she used to be to me."

Missionary, sometimes people become wearied when they are constantly asked for money.

The princess was deeply saddened by this last visit. She had not realized how impersonal her letters had become. She wanted a closer friendship with these people. They had done so much to help her throughout her childhood.

****

Immediately the princess returned to the castle and pulled out her ink and quill. She began to write all of her friends again. This time she wrote with their needs in mind as well. She was considerate of their busy lives. She focused on the important details. She even drew pictures. She made the letters very personal because she was writing to dear friends and family. She didn't ask for anything but simply shared some happy news. Then she closed the letters with a simple sentence:

"It would mean so much to me to hear from my dear friends

so that I know I am not forgotten."

****

This story was a lighthearted look at a real situation. Missionaries spend a great deal of time working on prayer letters. I asked a group of missionaries what their response rate was to these letters. The conclusion was that few people respond. The truth is that missionaries are greatly encouraged when people take the time to reply. It helps us know that we are not forgotten and that our supporting church family and friends are doing their part to help us by praying and staying connected with us.

For the supporter:

Take the time to read the letters. It matters to us. We are sharing news from the field that you are investing in. We see you as part of the team. Then after reading the letters, take time to reply even if it is only a few words.

"Praying for you!"

"Great prayer letter!"

"I am excited to see what God is doing there!"

For the missionary:

Be considerate of the reader. People are busy and don't have time to read a prayer letter book. Keep it short and to the point. Make it personal. Use pictures to make it come alive. Pictures really are worth 1000 words! Consider bulleted highlights. Don't ask for something in every prayer letter. (You start sounding like that relative who only comes around when they want something.) Consider using social media to help supporters get to know you personally so that there is a connection. When on deputation and furlough, do your best to meet people in supporting churches and allow them to become familiar with you.

A Year to Remember, A Year to Forget

Please forgive me.
This isn't the blog post I had planned.
After all, this isn't the year I had planned either.

It's New Year's Eve.

I am supposed to post some sappy motivational post on the new year. I am supposed to encourage you with positive words. That's what New Year's posts are right?

Oh, and of course I have to throw these verses in there:

Philippians 3:13-14  "Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

It just doesn't qualify for a New Year's post without those verses.

But, like I said...
This year wasn't anything like I anticipated.
It wasn't anything like I had planned.

(Please don't call me a missionary hero. I think this post will show you I am as human as you. No, the Hero of this story is much greater... much wiser... much more patient than me.)

2015 started off amazingly!
I had my goals, my dreams, my plans.
I had organized and prepared.

I know it sounds all carnal, but I really had great goals in mind. I wanted to grow in Christ, so I redesigned my private devotion time and Bible study time to be more productive. I wanted to improve in ministry, so I had grand plans for that, too. I wanted to get in shape, so I began eating right and exercising. I wanted to grow as a wife and mother and... and... and... I had the goals and the plans of how I was going to get there.

It wasn't that my goals or my plans were misplaced. But something was definitely misplaced...

Like I said, the year started off great. I lost 25 pounds and was heading down the path I had planned and prepared for from January 1st.

Then came March.
I had a sudden battle with insomnia. For the entire month, I slept only an hour or two a night. Toward the end of the month, I couldn't think. I couldn't function. I couldn't make decisions well. I couldn't even drive my scooter because I was afraid I would hurt someone. And then as suddenly as the insomnia came, it was gone. So I continued down the path of my plans.

Early in April, just as I was finally recovering from insomnia, I had the joy of getting giardia. In case you don't know what giardia is, think tummy parasites. It was a nasty case of it, too. Again, I was getting little sleep, but it wasn't because I wasn't sleepy! I was just sick! But finally, I began recovering from that, too. My energy returned. It helped with weight loss in the most unpleasant ways, but I had to work hard to get back into exercising.

Then came April 25...
The day my world shook to the core... literally. A devastating earthquake brought my illusions of control crashing to the ground. My plans stopped that day.

I guess it was from that moment I really began understanding what God was doing in my life. The hardships I was enduring were not by accident. They were by design. I began seeing how little I was really in control. It was good to have goals and to aim toward those goals, but there are some things God chooses to teach us through the refining fires of trials.

1 Peter 1:7 "That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ:"

With the earthquakes came the relief work. For four months, we worked and labored to exhaustion. We had no schedule. We had no plans. I am a person who thrives off of calendars and clocks and lists... but it was all yanked away from me like a parent yanking away danger from a small child. And just like a child, I cried. I wanted my routine back.

As relief work began to finally slow down and we began to catch our breath, the next crisis began. Our country began experiencing major shortages of supplies and fuels due to protests and blockades at the border entry points. We had to learn to cook differently because of lack of cooking gas. We had to learn to get around the city differently because of lack of petrol and diesel. We purchased bicycles for the family and used those as much as we possibly could. We spent hours in petrol lines, and sometimes walked away empty-handed.

My daughter's birthday was at the end of November. A protest kept us from doing our original plan. Daddy took her on a fun bicycle ride, just the two of them. When they returned home, I was reminded again just how little I am in control. She crashed hard trying to go down a steep, rocky hill. As she walked through the door, I could see blood streaming down her arms. She was hobbling as she came in so I knew there was more to her injuries than just her arms. As we went to get her cleaned up, I saw her side looked like spaghetti. This would be the worst injury I ever dealt with on my own. Through tears, hers and a few of my own, we got her cleaned up. We praised the Lord that nothing was broken and that her special smile drowned out the pain. It took a couple of weeks for her to heal and be able to get around like normal.

And just as she recovered...

I got a call from my son. He had taken his bicycle to go to language school for his final exam. He didn't make it there. His call was confusing, and I could tell he was injured pretty badly. Someone had walked out in front of his bicycle and caused him to lose control. He crashed and hit his head on the corner of a sidewalk. His helmet strap had cracked and caused his helmet to slide forward, exposing the back of his head to the concrete. I was thankful he could even think clearly enough to call me, though he actually called twice because he forgot he had already called. When I arrived where he was, I knew it was bad. Blood streamed from his head and he wasn't remembering things. He still doesn't remember me picking him up or taking him to the emergency room. He and I stayed in the hospital overnight together. It was special quality time, taking care of my baby boy before he heads off to college next year. It wasn't exactly ideal mother-son time, but I was glad I could be there for him. He finally had his stitches removed from his head...

Just in time for the next emergency for our family.

We were heading on the way to church. The roads on our way to church are more like an adventure you would see on a reality TV show about guys showing off their 4x4 vehicles. While on the road, suddenly my side began to hurt. The pain grew quickly. By the time we got to the church, all I could do is lay in the floor and cry. There was no way around it... it was time to go to the emergency room. Unfortunately, that meant going back over the road we just came on... while feeling pain that was no less than child birth level.

When we arrived at the hospital, the diagnosis was easy and quick. There was a huge stone lodged in the tube exiting my gallbladder. The gallbladder would have to go. This was not exactly the plans I had. We had the biggest ministry day of the year coming up in two days... on Christmas! But I would be in the hospital. My two older children took turns staying with me overnight. And though it wasn't exactly a great date location to spend time with them, I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.

This was not the year I had planned.
But God's plans were much better.

Isaiah 55:9 "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

You see, God didn't put all these things in my path to punish me or humiliate me or to even prove to me He is the boss and I am not. His plan was much more well-designed than those petty things. He was lovingly refining me.

2015
The year I learned to trust His sovereignty.

Psalm 115:3 "But our God [is] in the heavens: he hath done whatsoever he hath pleased."

2015
The year I learned to cast my fears upon Him. I had always known well how to strong-arm my fears and to cage them in a closet. I thought I was being spiritual because I wasn't being controlled by my fears. But really, I was being fleshly and doing things in my own strength. Earthquakes, dangers, injuries... When the fears mounted up and threatened to come crashing around me, I realized it was time to learn how to do things God's way. I learned how to admit my fears and cast them at His feet, trusting Him in faith.

1 Peter 5:7 "Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you." 

2015
The year I learned to count it all joy.

James 1:2-3 "My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience."

2015
The year I watched Him do a work that man can never do... softening hearts toward the Gospel... opening doors that seemed impossible.

Revelation 3:8 "... I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it..."

2015
The year I learned what it means to PRESS toward... and not just stroll forward.

Philippians 3:14b  "... I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

I grew closer to my children, closer to my husband, and closer to the Lord.


There are many parts of this year that were difficult and I would rather not do it again, but I wouldn't trade 2015 for anything. The most difficult year of my life was also the most rewarding. And I accomplished so many of my goals, though clearly God chose the method.

2015

The year I let go of my plans and wholeheartedly finally embraced HIS plans for me.

Yes, some growth only happens through purging and through the refining fires of trials.

Goodbye, 2015.

Hello, 2016.

Philippians 1:12 "But I would ye should understand, brethren, that the things which happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the gospel;"

For the Days when Everyone Else's Lives Look Better Than Your Own ~ Guest Post

Day in and day out I'm surrounded by possibilities.
What I choose to look at is one of them.
This modern interconnected world offers a door wide open into life anywhere I might want to go and anything I might want to see.
All these images offer up a tempting feast, inviting me to taste it all....
and it all looks good.
Most of the time it looks much better than my life right now.

In fall it's the images of leather boots and chunky-knit sweaters crunching through lanes sheltered by towering trees of gold and crimson.
It's pictures of perfectly orange pumpkins lined up in rows and sweet children with flushed cheeks beaming over their cups of cider.

Rarely are there photos of the pouring rain, the little one covered in mud from a tumble in the pumpkin patch, or two young ones fighting over the same pumpkin.

In winter it's the perfectly-built snowman, each button eye perfectly placed, carrot nose long and orange.
The snow is falling softly through the dusky, sparkling twilight.
Fires glow in fire places, children sit quietly sipping hot chocolate while dad reads a story that everyone listens to with sparkling eyes and contented smiles.

It's never shares of patchy, slushy gray snow that's been around for weeks, the chapped cheeks and fingers from the biting wind, or a house that's been ripped apart by the wild ones with cabin fever when the temperature won't budge over one degree for weeks on end.

Homeschooling is a delight with curated stacks of shiny, picturesque books, clay jars of sharply-pointed colored pencils, and neat stacks of faintly-lined notebook paper.
The children are always wearing the most-fashionable clothes, each hair neatly combed in place, and happy smiles on each face.

I've yet to see a home school feed where the books are falling apart, bound back together with a good dose of clear tape and strict orders that only mother can touch those books.
It's rare to see those lovely pencils as stubs, rolling under foot and on table and down into the edges of the couch where they were last used.
Not too many portraits shared of the little students in their dirty play clothes, hair bedraggled and bit dirty at the end of the day, being ordered outside with that stick to clean up the mess already!

Nature study photos always reveal exciting new finds.
Journals are faithfully kept, and each sketch is accurate and detailed and a miniature piece of art.

The pupils can't wait to head outside each day to learn more about God's creation.

I'm quite sure that not every child runs beaming outside to record the science living and breathing around them, though I don't think I've ever seen the pictures to prove that.

Homes are full of giggling children, each happy to be working with the other.
Chores are finished in record time, and each one checked-off on the adorable job chart hanging on the stainless steel refrigerator.
Food is prepared with plenty of helping hands cooking nutritious, delicious meals, most of it either raised in the family garden or purchased at the nearby farmers' market.

But I'm quite sure that somewhere there are siblings arguing a bit, chores that didn't get checked off that neat little chart {quite possibly they haven't been checked off for a week!}, a mother frustrated by all the finger prints on that shiny fridge, and food that might not be the most healthy, and might.....just possibly.....have come from a fast-food joint.

 I have come to realize that these beautiful images might be just that. Images.
They are a memory that someone wants to hold onto.
Nothing more.
That table loaded with all those tempting morsels to try?
If I don't have discernment, they can be poison.
Maybe they are someone's memories, but maybe they are a temptation of discontentment wrapped in a shiny package.

How often do I look at others' pictures and think my life should look the same?
Do I take time and acknowledge the fact that all of us share our happy images, our joyful moments, our best hair days, our most gourmet meals, the days when everything is actually going well instead of crumbling to pieces at our feet?

I usually snap the photos when the little ones aren't dirty, or covered in paint for the second time in one day, or haven't just been caught dumping out an entire bottle of shampoo in the bottom of the shower while mama was trying to get supper on the table.
Why wouldn't others do the same?

I catch up the things I want to remember, and frankly, some things I don't really need a picture of to do that.
As a mama of little people, the rough days aren't forgotten too quickly.

Many days I choose to take the pictures I do because I need to hunt for the beauty around me.
Why then do I look at all those images available to me, and assume that every one else must have a perfect life that looks exactly like their blog, their facebook timeline, or their Instagram feed?

And why, oh why, do I sometimes choose to waste my time looking at pretty pictures of other peoples' lives rather than living my own?

God, Help me choose wisely and well how I spend my time. Help me not feel obligated to do things just because I see others doing them. Remind me that I have just one life to live. Help me live it well. When I do have time to see the beauty others have captured, guard my heart against envy and discontentment. I want to appreciate it all for what it is ~ lovely memories that others have been kind enough to share. Give me wisdom to know when enough is as good as a feast. Amen.

*Sharing my happy images here and hoping everyone knows that my life has it's ups and downs, good days and bad days, just like yours. And sometimes? It's easy to wish my life looked as pretty as somebody else's.


This is post was written by Patty, missionary wife in Ghana.  To read more, click here to go to her blog.

Sweet Sixteen and a New Set of Wheels

I remember it like it was yesterday...

Ben was five years old, and it was time. He was excited and a little afraid when Daddy removed the training wheels. Sometimes we had to push Ben toward progress because he hated the thought of pain. The idea of scraping his shins and falling off his bike was not very appealing to him, but the idea of riding like the big boys thrilled him. He thought he would just jump on his bike and fly like the wind. He was greatly disappointed when he got on it and struggled to keep it upright.

We had the perfect place for him to practice riding his bicycle. Our street was pretty close to level and was rarely traveled by any vehicle but ours. You could see from quite a distance if anything was coming, and anything that traveled on that road had to go pretty slow. It was an ideal setup for learning to ride.

We helped Ben some, but finally realized he was just one of those kids that do better if you just leave him alone to figure it out. So I went inside and did what every good mom does. I grabbed the video camera.

Here he was. My little baby. He would pedal a couple of times and then lose his balance. His feet would catch him before he fell. Then came the pouting. Pedal for two seconds... stop and pout for two minutes. Pedal for two more seconds... and stop and pout for two more minutes. But he never stopped. Then he would pedal for four seconds... then ten... and before we knew it, he was flying up and down our quiet, safe little street. The look on his face was pure joy and satisfaction in his accomplishment. But then it hit me... my baby was growing up.

I wondered how I would handle it when he turned sixteen and got his license. It was one thing to have my baby boy riding around our safe, deserted little ghost town of a street. It was a whole different feeling thinking about turning him lose in the world. He wouldn't be on one safe, rarely-used back road. He would be on highways and interstates and surrounded by other cars.

Then our family goes to the mission field in a third world country. Getting a car is not an option. Getting his license? No way.

Before his sweet sixteenth birthday arrived, his friends in the States were talking about how they had their licenses and cars. He rejoiced with them, but began feeling the sting of the sacrifice of living here. He would not be getting his license, or any of the freedoms that come with it.

But instead of a car... we decided to get him something much scarier. We bought him a bicycle.

(Oh, to have him surrounded by metal in a car... safe and protected!) No purchase we have ever made has impacted my prayer life the way that bicycle has.

You see, he isn't riding on that safe, quiet back road in North Carolina. He is riding on the streets and hills of a city of five million people. And not just any city. A city well known for being some of the most dangerous, chaotic, and crazy roads in the world.

In the States, if someone says, "This guy pulled out in front of me today," we respond, "Oh, wow! I am glad you're ok!" Here? If someone says, "This guy pulled out in front of me today," we respond, "Just one? Wow! Praise the Lord!" Lanes? Ha! Those lines on the road are for decoration. And the motto on the road here is, "Every man does that which is right in his own eyes." If a vehicle can thread through a tiny spot at normal speed and only clap mirrors, they will try. Open unmarked manholes... every barnyard animal imaginable wandering freely in the roads... and no one (pedestrian or motorcycle or vehicle) looks before coming out in your way. It's your responsibility to honk the horn to let them know you are there... only bicycles don't have horns.

Someone once tried to comfort me by reminding me they drive much slower here than in the States. I didn't find the thought of a taxi running slowly over my baby very comforting.

I follow on scooter behind him on the way to language school each day and I find my stomach in knots... and I pray, "Lord, don't let that bus pull out in front... oh wait... Lord, that taxi is driving too close and... oh, Father... that motorcycle..."

One day, I was following him and praying. Then it finally hit me. I prayed the prayer I should have prayed from the beginning.

"Lord, protect him because I can't."

And then it all became very clear... this is the struggle: I still saw that little boy who pedaled and pouted and pedaled and pouted. But the truth of the matter is, he isn't the little chick gathering under the hen's wings for safety anymore. And when he goes to the States next year for college,

"Lord, please protect him, because I can't."

And when some little girl is trying to steal his heart... and when he goes into the military... and when he is faced with temptation or big life decisions... 

"Lord, protect him, because I can't."

It was easy when he was little and I could keep him contained in a crib or playpen. It was easy when there were fences and limits and control seemed to be in my grasp. But somehow with the purchase of two wheels, I realized the deception. I have never been his real source of protection. And I had over the years allowed myself to think that I was his safety.

Proverbs 21:31 "The horse is prepared against the day of battle:

but safety is of the LORD."

Here I am, riding my scooter behind him, and God reveals something in my heart... the ugly truth of the matter. I cannot protect him, and, yet, for so long I went around thinking I could.

Moms, you can prepare the crib... you can prepare the stroller and the bicycle and the yard. You can prepare the house and cover all the electrical plugs with guards and lock all the cabinet doors. You can prepare the schedule, the plan, the hopes, the dreams. You can pick out the highest safety-rated car and have rules galore. And you should do all these things. You should prepare.

But never fall into the delusion that you are your child's safety. This shouldn't make you tremble with fear. This should drive you to your knees. And it has driven me to mine like never before, because I realize God can go where I cannot. God can do what I cannot. He can see what I cannot see.

Yes, prepare. But always realize... and rejoice in the fact... that safety is of the LORD.

by Charity, Southern Asia

*Mountain biking photos used by permission. (Thanks, Rob, for letting me use these pics... and thanks for helping Ben learn how to safely enjoy the sport of mountain biking.)

In Her Shoes

I can't believe I am doing this.

This is silly! It's insane!

On the BMW blog, we have shared with you our different homes, our different churches, our different forms of transportation, and even went as far as showing you our different toilets around the world!

But this time, I asked these dear ladies to submit something totally different. Pictures of their shoes! I have to admit, when I first asked for this, I had no idea what I was going to do with it...

But as the submissions started rolling in, the Lord touched my heart. I saw something I had never seen before. I want to share that with you.

So come walk with me for a little while on a precious journey...

In Her Shoes.

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When you see these shoes, what do you see?

Jen, Australia

Some may see worn out, used, tired old shoes, but I see more. So much more.

When I see these shoes, I see feet that have traveled.

Dee, Furlough Replacement

I see feet that have traveled miles and miles with a purpose.

Maybe you see feet that have tried to look their best.

Monica, Ireland

Maybe you see feet that try to be fashionable.

Faith Ann, St. Lucia

I see it too,

Jennifer, Argentina

But that isn't what makes these feet so beautiful.

Deana, Deputation to Scotland

I see feet that are working feet.

I see feet that have walked in places that most will not venture to go.

Christi, Papua New Guinea

Rough paths,

Sonia, Ecuador

broken sidewalks,

Carol, Mexico

miles of pavement and concrete,

Mandi, Hong Kong

dusty streets...

Paola, Zambia

To go to church or enter homes... to reach lives and hearts.

Laurel, Ukraine

Some just see boots...

Dee Dee, Siberia

But I see feet that have committed all...

Kristen, Puerto Rico

Come monsoon rain...

Charity, Southern Asia

Blazing sun...

Joanne, Tanzania

Freezing snow...

Amanda, Labrador, Canada

Some just see tennis shoes...

Amber, Siberia

I see feet that have endured miles and miles...

Dianna, Brazil

Looking for open doors.

Angel, Central Asia

I see teachers...

Ari, Vanuatu

and mothers...

Angel, Central Asia

and helpers.

Julia, Dominican Republic

I see feet that do not allow pain to stop them.

Vicki, Japan

I see feet that have endured the valleys of tragedy...

Amber, Nepal

And scaled the mountains of triumph.

Angel, Central Asia

I see feet that have balanced the pretty and the practical,

Katie, Ethiopia

and sometimes traded in the fashionable for the functional... all for His glory.

Dianna, Brazil

And when these feet take a quick break, I still see busy feet...

Anne, Thailand

Using other means to go and tell... fingers typing and writing,

reaching out and preparing.

Lou Ann, Spain

Most of all, I see feet that have reconsidered how they define "home," going wherever the Lord leads, walking paths too steep to walk alone. (Oh, but they are never alone!)

Kristina, Croatia

So as you think about your own shoes, which ones will you put on today?
Will you wear the ones that keep you in your comfort zone,

Anna, Philippines

Or will you choose the shoes these women have chosen...

The ones that take you on the "Go Ye" road.

Mark 16:15 "And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world,

and preach the gospel to every creature." 

Romans 10:15b "... How beautiful are the feet

of them that preach the gospel of peace,

and bring glad tidings of good things!"

by Charity, Southern Asia