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.)

Sweet Sixteen

It was my sixteenth birthday.

My family lived in North Carolina at the time, and we were struggling financially. I certainly didn't expect a car for my birthday. Matter of fact, my dad had always said he wouldn't buy us a car because we needed to learn responsibility by buying our own car.

So, for my birthday all I asked for was a phone. No, not a cell phone. A corded, plug it in the wall, basic phone. I thought that would be inexpensive enough even in our current money crisis. Turns out I was wrong.

But I got something much more valuable instead.

After school, I came into my room and found a vase of roses and a note. The roses were not store bought roses. These were his special roses that he grew himself. Oh, how he pampered and babied those roses! But he cut every single one of them to give to me. The note? It simply read, "I wish I could give you what you wanted for your birthday. I hope these roses will do. I love you."

Those roses were better than any phone. They were better than any car! He couldn't replace those roses. Those were his pride and joy... and yet here they were, cut, and in a vase... for me.

So what could have been a disastrous sweet sixteenth birthday turned out to be the memory of a lifetime. My Daddy loved me and he proved he would give me the world if he could.

Hebrews 13:5 "Let your conversation be without covetousness;

and be content with such things as ye have:

for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee."

But now I sort of understand more of how my Dad must have felt. I bet he had a few tears in his eyes as he wrote that note. I have recently shed those same tears myself...

May 1st... My oldest child's sixteenth birthday.

Ben getting baptized in 2014

Now, you have to understand, different fields have different special birthday years. Some celebrate the fifteenth birthday as the coming of age year. Some fields don't have a special birth year at all because they don't even know when their birthday is. Our field doesn't really seem to have a special birthday year, but we had a dilemma. Ben was thirteen years old when we came to the field. He knew the sixteenth birthday was supposed to be special for Americans. And besides that, all his friends had turned sixteen in the States. They talked about getting their license and getting their cars. They talked about the birthday party or special birthday trip. 

Always ready to play and make you laugh

So Ben began asking about what special things were going to transpire for his sweet sixteenth birthday.

So how do you make the sixteenth birthday special in a third world country?!!! No license. No car. I must admit there is a little sadness in not being able to teach your child the typical things that go on in America, like driving a car. But the Lord sees those sacrifices, too.

Matthew 19:29 "And every one that hath forsaken houses,

or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife,

or children, or lands, for my name's sake,

shall receive an hundredfold,

and shall inherit everlasting life."

Ben is getting to be a pretty great cook!

We have never really been ones to sit around and mope about what we don't have. So we began working with what we do have. Well, just as we were beginning to formulate a really good plan... another problem got thrown in the mix.

A week before his birthday, the country was hit by a major earthquake. Most stores were closed down for a few weeks. That means our gift idea would be late. No travelling possible. That means our trip idea wasn't possible. And everyone went into survival mode and rescue, recovery, and rebuild mode. No special birthday party. I could tell he was a little disappointed, but he didn't say much. He knew there was nothing we could do about the situation. He could also tell it bothered us greatly that we couldn't do what we were planning. (Kind of reminds me of the roses I found on my dresser.)

Helping with earthquake relief

So his sixteenth birthday came and went without much fuss. I was able to at least make him a homemade ice cream cake that he wanted and his friend got to spend the night. Ben just kind of rolled with the punches. Two weeks after his birthday, we were finally able to get his special birthday present because the shop finally opened up again.

No car, of course!

Both these boys are 16 yo.

When we first started having children, I always dreaded the day the kids would get their licenses and start driving. But no.

For his sixteenth birthday he got something much more frightening for this poor Mommy's heart!

To be continued...

by Charity, Southern Asia

Creamy Potato Soup

Fall is upon us here in Siberia, so, for those of you in the tropics, you are getting a "fall recipe" today from me. This recipe was given to me when we first arrive on the field by another missionary wife. I was raiding her recipes to find more homemade recipes to make on the field and found this awesome recipe for potato soup. When I made it, I was very happy with this recipe as it tasted just like potato soup from a restaurant I loved in the States.

Note: I always double this recipe


Ingredients:


4 cups peeled, cubed potatoes
1 cup celery (sliced) *I substitute with approx. 1/2 tsp. of dried celery and a dash or two of celery salt, just tasting to be sure the celery salt flavor is not too strong
1 cup coarsely chopped onion
2 cups water
2 tsp. salt
1 cup milk
1 cup whipping cream (I use 20%)
3 Tbsp. butter, melted
1 Tbsp. dried parsley flakes
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Directions:

Combine potatoes, onion, celery, water, and salt in a large soup pot. Simmer covered about 20 minutes or until potatoes are tender. Mash mix once or twice with a potato masher, leaving some potatoes whole. Stir in remaining ingredients, return to heat, stirring constantly until thoroughly heated. It is delicious with grated cheese on top and garlic bread on the side. Serves six.

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.

**********************************************************

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

Jalapeno Popper Dip

In search of a delicious dip for a Thanksgiving missionary get-together, I discovered this recipe. Many of the missionaries love spicy foods and who doesn't love cheese with their spicy food!This recipe was a huge hit for our party and has been a well requested recipe since then. There are several recipes for Jalapeno popper dip floating around on the internet, but I really liked this one because it included bacon. Spicy dip with cheese and bacon! How bad can it be?! :)

Jalapeno Popper Dip

Ingredients:

6-8 slices of bacon, diced and cooked crispy
2 8-oz packages of cream cheese, soft
1 cup of mayonnaise
4-6 jalapeno's, chopped and deseeded. The seeds will make it fiery hot. (**I used jalapeno slices and chopped them finely.)
1 cup of cheddar cheese, shredded (**I substituted Gouda which worked well.)
1/2 cup of mozzarella cheese, shredded
1/4 cup diced green onion


Topping:


1 cup of crushed crackers ( I used Ritz type crackers)
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
1/2 stick of butter, melted (salted, if using unsalted butter, add salt to taste)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 Celsius).
Combine all of the ingredients into a medium bowl. Stir well.
Transfer to an oven proof dish. The size of the dish depends on how thick the dip is. The thicker the dip the longer it may need to warm up. My dip is usually about an inch thick.
Combine the topping ingredients and sprinkle all over the top of the dip.
Bake the dip for 20-30 minutes or until bubbly.

Serve with crackers of choice or corn tortilla chips.

Always Saying Good-bye

I look back on thirty-three years of missionary life. We’ve said more good-byes than I could ever count. After every deputation meeting, we said good-bye to the pastors and their families, to new friends we’d made, to sweet people who provided food and hosted us in their homes. We said good-bye to the churches, not usually knowing whether or not they would support us financially. We appreciated their prayers as we drove away.

In 1984 on the worst day of my life, we said good-bye to our families and our country. We boarded a plane with our baby girl. My husband and I were excited about going to Spain, but we felt like heels for leaving our weeping families and taking the only grandchild on both sides with us. It was a tearing away that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Yet, every missionary says good-bye. Over and over again.

We arrived in Spain, not knowing one word of Spanish. We stayed for more than five years that first term. In the old days, letters were the only way to communicate besides very expensive phone calls. At first, we heard regularly from some friends and family, but little by little, people forgot about us. Out of sight, out of mind.

Our first furlough, we said good-bye to our new Spanish friends and our co-workers. We didn’t know to prepare for reverse culture shock. We got back to the U.S. and were surprised to hear everyone speaking in English! We felt zombified after the long trip with two little ones, and I remember trying to stay awake while family members visited. Hello!

Months later, we said tearful good-byes again, taking two grandchildren away this time. Again.

We’re always saying good-bye.

It rips our hearts out!

I'll never forget leaving our daughter at college. She walked into her dorm with a girlfriend and didn’t look back. A huge part of our world walked into that dorm. It was time for her to spread her wings, but we were saying good-bye yet again, and this one was going to change our family forever.

Back in Spain, we enjoyed our son as the “only child.” The dinner conversation changed drastically. I soon found out how much men can talk about gadgets, how to fix things, motors, and other mechanical subjects. My shopping partner was in the States, and I quickly discovered that the world of men is much different from what I was used to. I also learned to appreciate motor sports. (It’s amazing what you'll do to spend time with your teenage son!)

Before we turned around, we said good-bye to our son. He, too, went to college. Each time, we said hello and good-bye to our families—always wishing we’d had more time with them, always thinking later of some of the experiences we would have liked to share with them.

One of our nephews expressed that he’d really missed growing up with his cousins—our kids. Indeed, they were probably together only around five times before they matured and married.  (We weren’t even there for his wedding.)

We missed almost everyone’s weddings and everyone’s graduations. We missed surgeries, sicknesses, births, funerals, and family get-togethers.

Four thousand miles are four thousand miles. You can't just “pop over the pond,” but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to be there. It doesn't mean we don't mourn missing out.

We’re always saying good-bye.

But, there’s a reason for doing what we do. It’s the best reason in the world: God’s call. We’re reaching people who would probably otherwise not know of God and His love for them. Missions has absolutely nothing to do with loving our field people more than our families! It just means we obeyed God when He called us to ministry.

• We’re fishers of men, women, and children.
• We’re foot soldiers in the Lord’s army.
• We’re the sent ones—extending our supporting churches back home.
• We’re lights in dark places.
• We’re fulfilling the Acts 1:8 call to spread the gospel unto the uttermost part of the earth.
• We’re doing the Great Commission work of discipling people all over the world. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen (Matthew 28:19-20).

Are there sacrifices? You’d better believe it!

Do missionaries suffer from the separation and sometimes from being forgotten? Oh, yes.

Is saying good-bye difficult? "Heart-wrenching" is a better term. We never know when this good-bye is the last.

Do missionaries care about their families? You can hardly imagine how much missionaries would like to be in both places at once, how many times they think of their folks back home, how much they would love to be there for holidays, birthdays, celebrations, funerals, weddings, and to lead parallel lives along with their families—but they can’t.

We can’t.

So, how do missionaries do it? How do we do it?

Only by relying on God’s strength. He supplies it freely and daily. We lean on Him.

Pray for your missionaries. They're your family.

If any man serve me, let him follow me;

and where I am, there shall also my servant be:

if any man serve me, him will my Father honour.

 (John 12:26)

No Podium Needed

On Saturday, it will have been nine years...

Nine years ago I said goodbye to my hero. She wasn't anyone famous or someone that the majority of you would recognize. But I watched her. I learned from her. And I was the better for it.

Her name was Sharon. I never called her that. I always called her Ma. (Sharon seemed too formal, and I loved her dearly.)

From the very first day I met her, I observed her every move, her every word. Ma was the first woman I had ever seen so closely that demonstrated the beauty of living the Biblical role of a wife and mother. I grew up in a non-Christian home, so it intrigued me. Oh, my family sometimes went to church and things, but this woman lived her Christianity every day. The more I saw Christ in her, the more closely I watched. It put a hunger in me because I saw the joy her family had. I wanted that.

I remember her cooking. She wasn't the greatest cook, but I never... ever... remember hearing her complain about having to cook for her family. (Oh, how I hate to cook!) She would even make special treats to surprise her family. Her chocolate chip cookies were amazing! And she would sit with her family and play games and laugh and joke. When I was younger, my family played games together once in a while. There were happy moments, but the majority of what I remember was tension and arguments and disagreements. I remember causing quite a bit of it, too. But this family was different. And Ma seemed to be right in the center of it all. I longed for that.

I remember a time when my Mom and I had a really strained relationship. I would smart off to my Mom on the phone, and I would turn to Ma looking for sympathy... only to find firm but loving rebuke and correction. Ma didn't take sides. She stood for what was right. I wanted a close relationship with my Mom, but I couldn't see the destructive behaviors I was displaying that kept my Mom at a distance. I remember Ma hugging me as I cried and hearing her say, "I love you. I am sorry you are hurting, but I don't ever want to hear you speak to your mother that way again. You must honor your mother." I hated those words... but I loved those words. I knew she was right. Now every time my Mom and I talk on the phone, laugh, and enjoy the fellowship a mother and daughter should, I think of the great deal of gratitude we both owe Ma.

I remember watching her gentleness with her boys. (Gentleness... with boys. Really? How is that possible?!) She didn't have to yell and scream. She didn't have to lose her temper. I remember how she loved her husband and served him. And I most of all remember how it brought her so much joy to do it! While I grumbled... she hummed or sang, smiled or laughed.

I remember as she went through cancer treatments. She was always thinking of others. Here was a woman... sick, tired, suffering... and she was focused on others. She would look for people in the waiting room at the cancer doctor's office to minister to and share Christ with.

So... what exactly was she doing?

Titus 2:3-5 "The aged women likewise, that they be in behaviour as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things; That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children, To be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed." 

She didn't need a classroom or ladies fellowship or a podium and whiteboard. She didn't need a blog or Facebook... she LIVED it. It wasn't what she did. It wasn't what she just talked about. It was who she was. Christ had transformed her and she blossomed with joy because of it.

As I think about the sweet little brown faces and beautiful dark eyes that look at me during Sunday school class... as I think about the Bible college students who listen to me during my English class... as I think about the fish bowl we live in, where people are constantly staring and watching our every move... What do they see? What do they hear? Does my life give them a hunger for a Christ-centered home and life? Does my life build and restore relationships? Does my life teach people how to love and have joy?

Sometimes I get so caught up in teaching that I forget the greatest teaching I do isn't always from a podium or with flannelgraph. The greatest teaching I do is walking in the Spirit and letting my life shine Christ... abiding in Him.


John 15:4" Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me." 

by Charity, Southern Asia