The Best Days of My Life

These are the best days of your life, they say. 

And I wholeheartedly agree.

Except for those single years.  When I was free to run up and down mountains, have quiet moments, laugh with roommates late into the night, play my guitar and travel the world -- sharing the love of God with anyone I met.  Singing and playing piano on continents I learned of in Social Studies.  I knew God was going to use me for good, confident in the depths of His love.  The confirmation that somehow, my life would be forever involved in full-time ministry, was solidified. I went wherever my heart desired.  I knew nothing of fear.

My young self, in India.

Those were some good days.

Or the good days of finding the love of my life.  Staying up late, watching movies, building our repertoire of inside jokes, sharing our hearts, eating Mac 'N Cheese, saying 'I do' after 3 months of dating, while surrounded with amazing kids who were the best youth group kids we had yet to meet.  Hours and hours and days and days of worship  and teaching in youth ministry together.  Our calling to work in ministry together was a blessing.

Married!

Those were good days.  Really good.

Then, I think about putting all our earthly possessions in storage and entering the mission field around our two year wedding anniversary.  Oh, the things we learned, the countries we experienced and the lives that were impacted.  Ours changed the most.  Stretched in our inmost beings, we put "our" lives on hold.  Instead of biological children like all of our friends back home, we had orphans.  Instead of possessions, we lived in community, sharing all.  Instead of starting a savings account and building up a nest egg, we prayed for donations of simple things, like, tooth paste.  Our prayers ALWAYS answered.  Our lives forever ruined for the ordinary.  We will NEVER be the same again, thank God.

In Afghanistan, trying to make some wool.  Fail.

Difficult, soul-testing, heart-aching days, but really, really, really good days.

But these days?  I live in America, something I didn't want to do nor did I think I could ever do, without sinking into a materialistic, complacent, depressive lifestyle, because I had never met an American that didn't fall into one of those categories, if not all.  I've got my three best friends by my side.  I'm surrounded by a runny nose, cracker crumbs under my feet, fingerprints on everything sacred, newborn poop stains on all clothing, and crying that is volleyed between my two littles.  In some ways, I have settled, which is frustrating to me, but I know I need to enjoy this time.  I take turns with my faithful man, juggling what life is now.  Chubby wrists, pursed lips (that beg for kisses), two little minds begging for knowledge, 'neck hugs' and smiles just because I'm Mama.

Naptime with my sweet littles.

These really are the best days of my life. 

And I can hardly wait to see, in the years to come, how the best gets even better.

love.serve.pickweeds.lockyourbabyinoffice

We just finished our 4th annual mission trip to our town.  This week is always a lot of work for all of us, but it is a super rewarding week, for our students and the hundreds of others we serve throughout the week.

Our youth group joined with another youth group, totaling about 60 of us, as we converged on our community, doing any and every type of service project that was needed.  In the evening, we all join together after a hard days work and worship together and hear from a speaker. 

It's an amazing week, filled with sweat, laughs and honest moments before God.  Many teens not only find purpose in serving hundreds of others others with love, but are renewed in their faith and calling. 

Some of the kids on the bus.  From one project to the next!

It was an incredible week for the students.  Some said it was the best week of their lives. 

It was sort of a tough week for our family.  Dallas' back went out, which isn't a good thing when you're doing manual labor and helping manage so many people.  He didn't have the time to rest and try to recover from his injury so unfortunately, he is still in a lot of pain.

India joined us for as much of the trip as possible. 

Helping pick (or maybe eat) weeds

She was a bit overwhelmed with all the kids who loved her so much, and I had a bit of personal struggle as I wanted to be serving alongside the kids AND take care of India, but I'm not superwoman, and I normally had to choose one or the other. 

In the ERGO as we clear brush

She was a trooper, even though she had several traumatic moments like...

...when she got locked in Dallas' office, which was a very brief, but emotionally charged event.  I thought Dallas was watching her, Dallas thought I was watching her.  I came back to the office and the door was shut and locked.  Mothering fail.

My baby was crying. 

I ran to find Dallas to ask for his keys, but they were locked in the office, with my keys, both of our phones and now a screaming baby.  I had to keep myself calm, even though every bit of me wanted to hyperventilate, cry, or bust down the door and rescue my baby!

Almost as quickly as it all started, my clear-minded husband had made a couple of phone calls, and a man from our church arrived with his key and unlocked the door.  I wiped India's tears, helped her calm down, and held her so tight. 

In spite of whatever personal hiccups we encountered, all of the youth did such a great job and I am so proud of them!  I loved them before, but I love them even more now. 

No matter the pain I saw my husband in, or how I felt pulled in two directions, it was worth it!  I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat!  I just want to bypass the whole locking your tired, hungry, overstimulated baby in the office thing! ;)

A ginormous sheet, in which after a time of prayer, the kids wrote what their callings were...VERY moving!

Mission 2012?  Most definitely!

You're going where? Afghanistan?!?! Part 2

Part 1 

In Afghan culture, when you marry a man, you marry into his family.  You move in with his family, and become the lowest of all the women, meaning you get the most work.  If your mother-in-law, sister-in-laws, or your husband's other wives are kind, it can work out as you all share the burden of the housework. 

If your mother-in-law, or any of the above women is not kind or doesn't like you, life can be very miserable.

This was the case for Jaweed's wife. 

Jaweed talked about how bad his wife was, as she had 'killed' his firstborn, a newborn son, a couple months before we arrived.  I asked for clarification, and Jaweed told me that his wife was depressed and could barely function.  After their son was born, she remained quite helpless and according to Jaweed and his mother, she didn't feed their son and he died.  I'm not sure how accurate this story is because women (Grandmothers even) will breastfeed each others children, so if this child wasn't being fed, I would imagine that his grandma or maybe a sister-in-law would have began breastfeeding him.

Jaweed, Dallas and Kabir

I wanted to know more, so I did everything short of inviting myself to Jaweed's house, just to try to meet his wife and share hope with her.  When I finally went to his house, I met family member after family member and kept asking Jaweed if and when I could meet his wife.  His mom kept saying she was 'no good' and shaking her head in disgust. 

I didn't want to press my luck, but I did want to see this girl, who had been a bride, wife, mother and lost a child all before she would even be able to drive in America.  Finally, after much begging, they let his wife (who served all the food) come into the room where we ate.

They talked poorly of her, while she stood there with her head down.  I tried to make eye contact and call her by her name, but before I could reach out to her, she was told to leave the room.  She was talked to worse than I would talk to a stray dog.

And that was all I saw of this young girl.



It broke my heart, but this is a reality in Afghanistan.  A young girl, is betrothed in marriage while she is years from menstruating, she leaves her family, becomes the lowest in her new family, and is expected to bear a child within a short period of time, or else she will be deemed worthless.

I can see why depression would sink in, and why the stories of suicide run high among women. 

I wonder what happened to this girl.  Jaweed was searching very hard for a new wife.  It's not his fault, and he's not a bad guy. Jaweed was a very good friend of Dallas', was very funny, spoke some of the best English we heard in our time there, was highly educated, and had a great job at the United Nations. He was just trying to complete his duties as a man: to produce offspring, particularly sons. 

Stepping into Afghanistan is like living something straight out of Genesis.  Remember that, before you throw any mind-stones at Jaweed.

Jaweed, busy at work

I hope and pray, that this girl is alive and well, and that she has earned favor and love in Jaweed's eyes and that she gets along well with any of Jaweed's other wives.

Many people ask how safe I felt in Afghanistan, and I would say, VERY safe.  We had a strictly enforced 5:00 PM curfew, because it wasn't safe to be out past that time.  We had safety precautions that we followed, but in spite of all that, we felt safe because of the Afghan people. 

The Afghan people are fiercely protective of their friends and family.  There is an Afghan proverb that many friends shared with me during my time there to express their love for me, and I think it sums up the protection we felt.

The first day you meet, you are friends.

The next day you meet, you are brothers.

Afghan proverb

 

On one of the days there, things went haywire in our relatively 'safe' town. 

 

There was a suicide bombing a few blocks from our house, targeting the local warlord, who was praying during a major religious holiday. 

 

Rumors spread quickly, and soon we were getting text messages from Kabul and emails from outside the country claiming that the news was reporting many deaths, which was untrue.  We had been forewarned that 80% of what you hear on the news about Afghanistan isn't true and I can agree with that statement, especially after the suicide bombing.

 

On top of that, the Taliban issued threats of kidnapping any foreigners in the town.  We were the only foreigners in the town, and we lived between two houses, and everyone knew where we were, Taliban included...

 

To be continued...

*suicide bomb and safety

*the average woman's life in Afghanistan

You're going where? Afghanistan?!?! Part 1

This was the response from a lot of people when we told everyone that we were going to Afghanistan in the fall of 2004.  We didn't think it was that strange of a thing, being that we had many friends who had been there, and several other countries that are deemed even worse than Afghanistan.

When people hear how many countries we've been to, and what sort of work we used to do, they often ask what our favorite country is.  Without a doubt, my favorite country that we've ever been to is Afghanistan. 

It is raw, it is the ugly truth, it is corrupt, it is 'backwards', it is abusive, it is destitute, it is full of lies, it is full of death.  Those are all the things we 'know' about Afghanistan. 

I would move there in a heartbeat. I love this country.

But I also know a different side.

Afghanistan is also beautiful. Full of life. 

We also have a lot to learn from Afghanistan; mostly her people. It's full of loyal people, who want to dance, express themselves and are curious. 

There is hope.  I love the slowness of life, the community, the fierce protection of customs, the simplicity.

 The value of relationship and focus on person and not your own schedule or agenda is precious.  The Afghans believe God has something to do with every aspect of their life.

I want to share just a small bit about Afghanistan and my love for this country and her people.  My heart is overwhelmed with love for this land. 


There are nights when I can't sleep because memories and questions about people that I love that live there, play through my head.  I want to know how they are doing.

Dallas' days were filled with teaching English at the United Nations.  I spent my days teaching computer courses to Afghan women, learning Dari, teaching English, and doing some data entry.  We all spent our nights in our homes, bound by a 5:00pm curfew, stricenforced for our safety.

War has ripped this land to shreds. 

Decades of war have left fields full of abandoned tanks, that children use as playgrounds.

Every single person has lost at the very least one family member because of the war.  Every single person. 

Kidnapped by the Taliban.   

Stepped on a land mine. 

'Lost' on a trip to a nearby city. 

Killed by a US bomb or missile.

Every single person has lost at the very least one family member, not war-related.  Every single person.

Unclean drinking water. 

A woman burns herself alive to commit suicide. 

A child has a simple disease that eventually kills him. 

She only needed a c-section.

My pregnant friend.  Her baby died girl while we were there, and according to what I could translate it was shoulder distochia. The hospital was atrocious and it broke my heart to watch her mourn, while no one else was upset because 'it was only a girl' and amidst other women giving birth in that hospital.

Every single person has someone in their family that is dealing with a major physical ailment.

Fistula after childbirth.

Loss of limbs from a land mine.

Burn scars.

A limp from an abusive husband.

Every single person has experienced major trauma.

Rape.

Loss of a child.

Bride stealing.

Loss of basic dignity that every person deserves.

 Every single person is affected by many of these tragedies.  When I think my life is rough, I remember theirs.

 I didn't write the stories down when I was in Afghanistan because I was so used to hearing them. From every person.

It can be harrowing and disheartening listening to the stories.  But you do learn how to let it empower you, but yet not control your emotions.
 

Sometimes.  But sometimes not.

My husband's friend, Jaweed, told us the story of his first wife.  They were betrothed in marriage when she was around 8 and he was maybe 12 (people don't often know their age in Afghanistan as they don't keep track of birthdays).  When she was about 10 they were officially married.  We met her when she was 14 or so and he was maybe 18 or 19.  He was very unhappy with his wife.  When we asked him why, he said it was because she had killed their firstborn child, a son. 

To be continued ....

*the story of Jaweed's wife

*the suicide bomb and safety

and

*the average woman's life in Afghanistan

Jealous on Valentine's Day

It's easy to be jealous on Valentine's Day.  I know I am finding myself wanting every holiday.


Whether you are single, dating, married or widowed, it's very easy to succumb to our human tendency towards covetousness.


When you hear about the billions of dollars Americans spend annually on Valentine's Day and hear how a man spends on average over $100 on this day, sometimes it's hard not to ask "Why not me?" and "Don't I deserve the best?"


I even found myself wishing selfishly for something today, momentarily forgetting that my husband and I don't normally buy each other gifts (let's admit, most Valentine's gifts are frivolous) in order to bless others and live not in excess.  We try to follow those rules mostly, but don't worry, we aren't legalistic about it.

But there is something in me that still wants things and at the same time battles with my convictions. 


It's not that I'm not worth celebrating; it's just that we've seen too many atrocities. People dying of starvation, kids that have been maimed by their own parents, boys held as sexual slaves in monasteries, girls exploited by foreign tourists, families digging through trash and landfills to feed their children, girls as young as six years old being married off, and people devastated by the dirty water that wreaks calamity in their community. 


And these things aren't just abroad, they are right next door to us.


After seeing all that, it's still hard, all these years later to justify fancy chocolate and flowers.


I've decided that today, instead of desiring things, I will choose to be grateful, for a husband, who loves me no matter how many days I forgo shaving my legs in the winter, and who exhibits gracious love to me every day of the year.  I will be thankful he is the same behind closed doors and encourages me to live for a greater purpose that will last longer than any gift.  I will be grateful that he chooses to give to those who really need gifts, and couldn't care less about earthly possessions.  I will be grateful that he doesn't raise his voice at me ever and he respects me. 


Tonight we'll eat leftover pizza and celebrate our love with gratefulness and will hopefully be able to bless others, not out of obligation or guilt, but out of genuine belief and love. 


Isn't that the reason for it all anyway?

My addiction

Being that last night was Friday night, D and I spent most of the time lying on our respective couches watching Season 7 of 24. For anyone who hasn't seen '24', there is no other way to describe it but as the crack cocaine for tv. Your entire body escapes to CTU, or LA, or Washington, DC with Jack Bauer. You are racing with him, combating terrorism, throwing punches, outwitting the enemy, and never taking a breather, because you know, that in 24, it's not over until 8am the following day. Even after you turn off your tv, you are startled by the jacket hanging on the doorknob in your house, your heartrate is still elevated, and you listen for every little sound in your still house to give you a clue as to what your next move should be. Your 24-induced paranoia can even disturb your sleep and infiltrate your dreams. As soon as your body begins to rest again, which may takes minutes or hours, depending on your body's sensitivity to Crack 24, you start to crave it again. You barely remember the events that occurred in the last hour on 24, but you remember the euphoria and complete transcendental bliss that pulsed through your veins.

What I have just described for you is a typical 24 high. Once you start watching, you can't stop.

But it didn't work that way for me last night. I could barely watch the show, I was dreaming of "dangerous" things. Things that most people will warn against. I was dreaming of Haiti, and all the perilous things that are occurring there right now. I was googling flights, MRE's, and talking to my friend, Rhyan ,who is currently working in an orphanage there, who was begging us to come and help. They have enough food and water for us, and we could do physical work, especially my big, strong husband.

But what good am I, a pregnant woman? The nannies have their own families and losses to contend with right now, but are sacrificing that to care for these little orphans. They don't even have the time to grieve for their losses, their people's losses, their country's losses, because they believe so strongly in serving "the least of these". I can't do major physical work, but I can help with these precious ones. I can change diapers. I can feed little ones. I can clean. I can cook. But what will I say to them? I don't speak a drop of Creole. I don't know anything about Haitian culture. But I do speak the universal language of love and human touch. I speak the universal language of tears and heartfelt compassion. I speak the language of comfort. I also speak the language of Hope.

D and I have never let fear drive us, or at least we've tried. God has called us to many things that people don't understand, and when we begin to let those doubts fill our minds, we are constantly reminded of some of our life verses:

"The Lord directs the steps of the godly.

He delights in every detail of their lives.

Though they stumble, they will never fall,

for the Lord holds them by the hand.

Once I was young and now I am old.

Yet I have never seen the godly abandoned

or their children begging for bread.

The godly always give generous loans to others,

and their children are a blessing."

Psalm 37: 23-26

People may not understand if God leads us to go to Haiti at this time. That's OK. I don't understand why they chose to stay home and uninvolved.

The bottom line is I don't know if I'll ever be content just laying on my couch watching 24. As much fun as it is, I would rather live a worthwhile adventure; a life ready and willing to serve and help, no matter what my personal circumstances are. That provides a high that far exceeds anything else, and just like 24, I can't wait for the next thing.