what i've learned so far...

downtown Los Menucos, aka Curi Leuvú


We've only been here eight months. We are by no means experts. On anything. We only know our own experience, what we are living. What I will tell you is that we've learned a few things since we've been here in Argentina, on the mission field.

There is nothing like missions to bring it all to the surface. I am amazed at the junk that God is revealing in us. Ew.

God has sifted and shaken and pruned and cut, cut, cut, and opened eyes and brought conviction and has made us see things I know would have taken years, not months, back home. I want to say I am thankful, because that would be the correct "Christian" response. I guess I am.

Yes.

I am.

But it's been ugly. Sin likes to hide. It likes the dark. Kicks and screams when dragged into the light.

That's pleasant for no one.

There is nothing like missions to bring what is hidden and dark to the light.

There is nothing like missions to bring you to your knees and make you cry like a baby.

There is nothing like missions to show you that YOU are the worst sinner in need of salvation, God help your soul.

There is nothing like it.

There is nothing like living on the edge, and still feeling like you take up too much space.

There is nothing like leaving it all for Christ and feeling like most people don't think you are sacrificing all that much, and the rest seem to have forgotten you.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, so hard as simply trying to do what is right, and being criticized or misunderstood for it. {The Christian Condition, right?}

There is nothing like doing what is right, and not getting the same thing in return. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year?

There is nothing like feeling like the very people that should love and support you, don't. Won't.

There is nothing like sitting at the computer at one in the morning, pouring your heart out to cyberspace, because that's all there is.

There is nothing like missions to teach you, really teach you, all about grace. Not the grace thrown around in Christian circles - but REAL grace.

grace noun \ˈgrās\

unmerited divine assistance given humans, approval, favor, mercy, pardon, a special favor, privilege, clemency, a temporary exemption, reprieve... {ah, reprieve}

~ Merriam-Webster

Oh, if people only knew!, I sometimes think to myself. 

Really, there is nothing like missions. There is nothing like being in a foreign country, having left all you know and love and that is familiar, to do what is good and right where no one particularly makes one iota of a big deal about all your "sacrifice".  The consensus seems to be, "Yeah, whatever spoiled, first-world people. You're really suffering living here. WE live here, WE know suffering. You can go back to your first-world country, WE live here. WE know."

Really, there is NOTHING like having only the Lord, and no. one. else.

You know what I've learned since being here?

Missions means nothing.

Following the Lord means SOMEthing.

We are not called to follow a cause. We are called to follow a Person.

Truth. Love. That's all that matters.

Do that and you fulfill the Law.

Is it all we thought it would be?

My blog friend, Annie, submitted a comment recently and asked several questions, 

".... Is it like you imagined? Do you find joy often? Do you feel like you are doing what you thought you'd be doing? I am so curious as I often imagine living the life of a missionary."

I thought I would just answer these questions here, as maybe there are others who wonder this, too. These are certainly questions we ask ourselves often.

Is it like you imagined?

Yes.

And no.

Yes, overseas missions is exactly as I imagined. Or should I say, as I've read it to be in all those missionary biographies. We've done several overseas short term mission trips before, but living it long term is completely different. Short term, you know you are going home. Long term, you know you're not. At least, not for a while. It changes everything when the going gets tough because there are no quick fixes, few comforts, little respite. It is what I imagined in that it is : Hard. Crazy. Unpredictable. Messy. Scary. Dirty. Uncertain. Busy. Challenging. A lot of work. Rewarding. Not for everybody. A calling. A sacrifice.

But worth it. Every time we have stepped out into the unknown, sometimes right off a cliff, we have found Jesus to be there, waiting for us, his arms full of grace.

And no, it's not what I imagined: It is not exotic. It is only sometimes exciting. Fascinating, yes. Fun and super cool at times, sure. An adventure, most definitely. But mostly it's hard, frustrating, lonely, annoying. It's upsetting when people misunderstand you when you're just trying to do good and follow Jesus. Upsetting when you are just being yourself and truly have sincere intentions, but the cultural filter and lens others see you through sometimes says something you are not saying, nor doing. It is an ever-present downer to see so much poverty and suffering.

Tony and I are here in obedience. We don't love living here like perhaps some missionaries love where they are living. I envy missionaries that can say that that is true for them, I really do. I wish those were my feelings, it would make things easier. I pray for that kind of love and joy. For us, it comes in smaller windows. But that's okay.

God calls different people in different ways. I am called to two things that I know of: faith and obedience. Right now that means having the faith to obey to live here and do this. Sometimes emotions follow, sometimes they don't. I try not to follow emotions or feelings because I have found them to be fickle and unreliable, often getting me into trouble. God's Word, on the other hand, I can rely on.

Do you find joy often?

I had a hard time answering this one. So I asked Tony. He had a hard time answering it, too.

"Sometimes" I guess would be our answer. There has been joy in the journey for sure, but I don't know that that is always the case.

Did Richard Wurmbrand always find joy in prison? He after all was an obedient, faith-filled Christian.

Did William Tyndale find joy living on the run in Germany? He was doing God's work.

I wonder how Martin Luther felt nailing his thesis to the church doors. Joy? Fear?

Did Paul always find joy in persecution? I can't imagine he felt great when he was shipwrecked, cold, hungry, beaten, and in chains. But He was doing what God asked of him. And that was enough for him.

Is there joy all day, every day, as a Christian? As a missionary?

There are too many hardships in missions - in following Christ period - to have joy ALL the time, at least for us, here. What we find is deep satisfaction that we are reaching others in need. That's what we feel most often: satisfaction. Joy is an overwhelming happy feeling that can elude us in the face of all we see and do here. Yes, I find joy in my position in Christ. But frequent difficulties, stress, and trials can snatch it away pretty quickly.

Like when I was standing on the kitchen counter spraying Raid at the spider that had made its home way up in the corner, watching it twitch and fall to its much deserved death... I was not feeling joy as I hyperventilated many prays that it wouldn't be a black widow. (It wasn't.) But that run-in with, even if it was imagined danger, was kind of a killjoy for me. Every time my kids get sick I think it's Hepatitis, or Scarlet Fever, or a strange disease they picked up in the slums. Yeah, I'm a worrywart, but I never thought these things back home.  

Neither one of us loves it here. But we like it, and we enjoy doing missions; we find joy in each other, in our kids, in Jesus, in obeying his commands. We are satisfied sitting in a dirt house sharing the gospel. We are content sitting with kids in children's homes and talking to them, hugging them, teaching them the Bible.

The other day when I was at the children's home, sitting at the table, listening to the lesson and the gospel being shared, we were asking the kids about their siblings. One little boy, about 8 or 9, said yeah I have some. He pointed up and then drew his finger across his throat. Yeah, I have some: they're dead. They're up there *pointing up with his finger*.

It's hard to hold onto the joy when things like that happen. That kind of stuff leaves me feeling sad, and a far cry from joyous. Joy would be an inappropriate feeling at a moment like that.


Do you feel like you are doing what you thought you'd be doing?

Yes. Absolutely. We are doing almost EVERYTHING that we set out to do. We are evangelizing, working with the poor, reaching the unreached.

This is, I think, our one greatest sustaining joy: that we are doing exactly what we thought we'd be doing. And so much more. A lot of the stuff I don't even have time to post here on the blog. Going on mission trips, organizing mission trips, evangelizing at events (some put on by others, some put on by us), sharing the gospel one-on-one, helping native missionaries, visiting orphans, discipling youth, starting ministries, hosting Bible studies, working with the native church, building houses, doing church construction, and so much more - yes, we are definitely doing what we thought we'd be doing. The only thing we are waiting on is an open door to work with the Mapuche. God will open that door if and when He chooses. After the little we've learned about their culture since being here, I don't doubt that it would be our hardest field yet.

But there are things that have happened here along our mission journey that we were never prepared for, things we never expected we would be doing or even thought of doing.

Following Christ, really following him with our lives, has ruined us for so many things.

I confess, it has ruined us to mere Churchianity forever. Sometimes we wonder if it has ruined us for organized church, as well. We honestly prefer at this point to be out evangelizing or visiting or helping those in need, than sitting in church on a Sunday morning. It fills us so much more to be out there.

Missions has ruined us for the mediocre Christian life. I don't think we could ever go back. We may return to the States some day, but I don't think we could ever go back to some of the pointless things we used to do. Sitting around and talking about God is boring to us when we're not also doing something for Him. We're so done with that. I'd rather not call myself a Christian at all, let alone walk around calling myself a missionary, if I'm not doing anything that makes it clear that I am. What good is my faith if it is without works? Can it save me?

When you see so much poverty, so much abuse, so much spiritual and physical need, when you read the Bible and the words of Jesus and examine what it is that we are we are doing in the church - it just kind of ruins you for all the fluff. I think that's a good thing.

So, yes, Annie, thanks for asking. It is pretty much is all we thought it would be. And then some.

The Big 4-0!

^3-6 It is only when we obey God’s laws that we can be quite sure that we really know him. The man who claims to know God but does not obey his laws is not only a liar but lives in self-delusion. In practice, the more a man learns to obey God’s laws the more truly and fully does he express his love for him. Obedience is the test of whether we really live “in God” or not. The life of a man who professes to be living in God must bear the stamp of Christ. ~1 John 2:3-6 



Marcela's house





I recently became a member of the 40 Club. Officially Over the Hill. It should be easy from here on out, since it's all downhill from now on, right? I should rejoice that I'm still alive - and that I still fit into my jeans from High School (ha, don't hate). These are both miracles.

For my birthday weekend I wanted breakfast in bed, and to not wash a single dish or pick up a single toy. I'm really not that hard to please, really. I mean, really. How hard is that? You don't even have to spend money on me! I also wanted to go visit our friends in the slums, then visit our little friends in the children's home. Somewhere in between there my daughter and I tried to catch a meteor shower. We laid out under the stars in lawn chairs {in our winter jackets and scarves, boots, and gloves} well after midnight in search of shooting stars. It was partially cloudy, so we didn't see any of this spectacular meteor shower they had told us about. Tony came out for a bit and we searched the skies for the Southern Cross and the Three Mary's [aka Orion's Belt].

Good memories.

It was a birthday I will always remember. We spent most of it visiting: Saturday, the slums. Sunday, the children's home.

I don't like birthday parties. I just don't. Don't ask me why, I still haven't figured that out. I don't like going to them, I don't like throwing them, and I don't want one on my birthday. I prefer the quiet life, I guess - or to do something that is actually fun, instead of standing around small talking over cake. I'm not anti-social, just selectively social. B-day parties are not my gig... although I always get sucked into about a dozen a year or so.

So I managed to keep my birthday fairly secret, and off we went. I am often amazed how open people are to the gospel here. This weekend was no exception. When we arrived up in the slums, I sat in the car waiting for the okay to get out. We have a little thing we do: Tony pulls up, looks around, gets out, and says hi. He goes in, chats, and gets a feel for whether it is safe and whether we are welcome. As we pulled up Saturday, Cefe and his brother-in-law were just walking back to their shack. They were returning from buying beer. Tony talked with them for a bit, saw that they weren't drunk or on drugs at the moment, and then waved that it was okay to come in. We spilled out of the van, locked it, and went it.

It really is depressing how they live. It was chilly outside when we walked into their one room shack. The heat and claustrophobia hit me as I ducked in the place where the door should have been. It was so crowded with people and kids and animals that I couldn't even fully come inside. Tony said good thing I had a cold because it smelled like rotten food and animals. Little Sophia was sitting on the dirt floor in her filthy bare feet, her older brother Mishel was only in his underwear at the little table, Marcela and Cefe were there with her niece, her brother, and three or four of her kids, plus one nephew, several cats, and a dog. In a one-room shack. The wood stove was inches from the kids, blasting heat. Marcela says it get very cold at night when the stove burns out. I'm sure - it's getting down into the 30s right now at night. Brrrr...

Since I could barely stand in there, I went outside to watch the kids. Marcela's kids' bare feet are calloused over and they miraculously don't get cut up, but my kids, even with shoes, always seem to get hurt somehow. Marcela followed me out and we stood in her small, dirt front yard, just a patch of desert sand littered with trash and fruit peels and scrap metal and wood with nails sticking out of it. We talked. I really like Marcela, she is very friendly, warm,  and open with me. She began telling me how she can no longer take her brother and niece living with them, her husband's drug addiction, the kids home all day with her, or this emptiness in her heart. I told her it was normal to want to have some privacy, all families should have their own space. I shared how Tony and I used to have problems, big problems, in our marriage. She looked at me in disbelief with that, "Oh, not you" look. Oh, yes, me. I have a quite colorful past. There's a lot I don't tell people. Been there, done that. When she talks to Tony she thinks, "How does he do it? How is he okay all the time? Where does this peace come from that he seems to have?".

It's only God. That's all. That's the only difference.

I was able to share with her that that peace we have comes only from Jesus. We have just as many problems as they do, just different ones perhaps. I told her my story, I told her Tony's story. It was a blessed moment. A holy moment. God was there with us in the slums. Right there with us. She just looked at me. Like she understood. Like she wants that, too.

We talked for a while. She said she doesn't find purpose in life, no reason to get out of bed in the morning, she thinks of suicide often. No, don't do it, I said. Think of your kids. If Cefe has a drug problem, who would take care of them if she killed herself? I reminded her that Tony is more than willing to come up and help them finish raising the walls of their new house. Winter is coming. It's already very cold at night. Once the house is up, she could move into it with her own family, leaving the shack to her relatives. Think of how nice that would be! She's too depressed though it seems to find the motivation to raise the walls herself. I understand that. I probably would be too if I were her, living in that place, with no Hope. We left, telling her we are praying for her and will see her soon.

The next day, my birthday, we headed down to the children's home.




cakes!

 I don't like cake that much and I never want cake for my birthday, I even get somewhat annoyed if anyone wastes money on one I don't want to eat anyway (I know, such a party pooper. Tony says 'no fun'.). So I thought if we took my cake, the one I didn't want anyway but they always seem to buy no matter what, down to the kids' home, it would make the useless cake okay. Kids like cake. Our kids like cake. I like the children's home, but don't like cake. Problem solved.

We met some of the youth at church (they brought more cake), all piled into our van, and headed downtown. Played soccer, ate cake, talked to and hugged the kids. The kids all sang happy birthday to me. To me? I brought my cake for them, not for me. It was the sweetest. What a birthday present, these kids singing to me... it's so sad to think that their parents don't want them, or can't take care of them, or abused them. One of the girls ended up crying in a corner by herself. When we asked her what was wrong, she said she feels invisible. No one comes to visit her, no one loves her, she's so sad. It made me cry, too. My daughter came over and asked what was wrong. They know each other outside of the home - they both go to the same gym class (sports are free here in the city - one of God's many blessings). I explained to my daughter why her friend was crying, that she doesn't have a mom or dad that love her or take care of her. She looked at me like she didn't even understand that concept - no mom or dad, no love?? So, honey, Why don't you hug her and tell her you love her and you are her friend?

So she did. And we all cried some more.

Even though our time was up and we were supposed to leave, we continued talking to her, reminding her of God's promise, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up." Psalm 27:10.

We shared the good news of God's love for her, and explained that although He does love her, God is gentleman. He wants to make her happy and to give her everything, but He will wait until she is ready, until she accepts what He wants to give her. We talked some more, and then she said she was ready. Keren prayed, she repeated. It was hard for her to get the words out, but she did it.


"...we are not to save souls, but to disciple them. Salvation and sanctification are the work of God’s sovereign grace" ~ Oswald Chambers

sunset on the way home from the children's home

 Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did. -1 John 2:6 NIV

A blessed birthday weekend. In more ways than one.



Karina

Weeks ago we started praying for this little girl named Karina. The youth at church visit and do ministry at a children's home downtown. Anyone at church could offer to "adopt" one of the children to pray for, to visit, and to get a little Christmas present for. We raised our hand and they assigned us Karina.

All we have is a picture that she drew hanging on the fridge. We didn't know how old she is, her story, or anything. All we knew was the size of her hand that she traced on the paper, and that she lives in a home for abused, neglected, and abandoned kids.

Since we have arrived in Neuquen, never having been here before in our lives, we weren't sure what the street kid situation was. God has put it on our hearts to work with kids, amongst many other things we want to do, but getting connected while in essence being stranded at home without a car, has been challenging. So we have been waiting to see how God would work this out.

We'd like to work with street kids, but it doesn't look like there are street kids in Neuquen. We could be wrong - not like we've seen much here so far - but we haven't seen any. In Buenos Aires there are many. Other parts of Argentina as well. Here, not so much. We think it may be in part due to the fact that there is oil in this area. Oil means money. Money means less street kids... maybe? Money in the province also means children's homes instead of streets for homes.

So last week Tony was able to go with the youth to visit the kids and Karina for Christmas (sorry, no pics, he wasn't allowed to take any). The kids and I weren't allowed to go, only one person could visit at a time. Sigh. I feel like I am doing absolutely no ministry here. It's getting kind of frustrating! But there is a time for everything...right? At least that's what my Bible says. I have had my own work here at home so far, I guess - taking care of the kids, supporting Tony in all the ministry stuff he gets to do, and wasting my life away washing dishes by hand and hanging clothes on a clothes line and cleaning cleanig cleaning (I like none of these activities and I find them dreadfully boring. I would love house help. Then I could go out and do something else. But I'm not bitter. Nope. Not a hair.). Maybe we'll be healthy and mobile and be able to come up for a breath of air soon one of these days so Mommy can get out there, too... for now I'll just sit at home and feel frustrated.

So back to Karina.

He said she was about 13 and autisitic.

I got a text message from Tony mid-afternoon which said, "This reminds me of Ecuador. Very hard."

A few years ago we went on a short term mission trip to an orphanage in Ecuador. 100 kids, all abused, neglected, and abandoned. They all come to the home out of tragedy. All their stories are sad, all of them. Sexually abused, beaten, abandoned to the streets to eat trash, neglected, babies literally thrown in the trash. The children's home here is no different.

Tony said that the kids just threw themselves at him and their visitors, wrapping their needy little arms around his neck for hugs and hanging on them, refusing to let go. You have to peel them off. Starved for love. Starved for affection. Starved for attention. What did Jesus say about children...? Tony had to hold back the tears many times during the afternoon. A lot of the kids either seemed to be autistic, or appeared to have mental problems. Tony seemed to think that more than a few are that way because of the abuse they've lived through, not because they were born that way. He was pretty sure of it.

About mid-way through their visit (which lasted 5 or 6 hours), they handed out Christmas presents. We got Karina some nail polish, a bracelet and some candy. Not much, but the kids were so happy and so appreciative. Tony noticed a boy, about 12 or 13, who didn't get anything. He was new to the home, so wasn't on the list for presents. When he saw he didn't get a present, he went off to a corner and burst into tears. Tony saw it and ran out to the nearest store to buy him a present. He came back and gave him a hat, a necklace, some chocolate, and some candy. He said he brightened right up.

Then they played soccer in whatever ratty shoes they had and did some activities. I'm not sure if they shared the gospel so much in words as they did in action.

For years I've wanted to do away with Christmas presents at our house. Just a personal conviction. I hate the materialism of Christmas. I hate that my kids (well, not all of them, but at least one that I can think of) think that Christmas is about "Me, Me, Me" and "What am I getting for Christmas??" and, "What are you buying me for Christmas??" - instead of - "What can we GIVE for Christmas? What can we give to JESUS, who gave everything for us??"

I wholeheartedly agree with THIS POST. All I can say is, Yes, yes, and YES! That about sums up how I feel regarding Christmas, and Christmas presents.

So, the next day after visiting the kids at the home, and because we finally have a car (wll, semi-sort of... it actually doesn't have plates yet...even though it's been released from customs... so it's a little sketchy driving it until the registration goes through: Welcome to Argentina... :)), we went to the store to buy something for the kids for Christmas.

We started and ended our Christmas shopping in about an hour, a week before Christmas. It was fabulous. And an hour more than I like to do for Christmas shopping. I confess, I can't stand Christmas shopping. 

Mom-mom and Grandpa sent some Christmas money for the kids with instructions to buy something for each, from them. They each picked two things out, one from each grandparent, and that was it. Tony looked at me in the middle of the isle and said, "So, one thing each from each, and nothing from us, right?"

YES!

Finally.

We get it! We're getting it! We're really, really getting it. An answer to prayer. I've wanted it this way for years. I'm so happy.

Christmas is about giving, not getting. Harder to do than it sounds. It's HARD to fight against the flesh and our wants and our greed and our supposed "needs". Even against the natural desire we have to give our kids the best. Sometimes the best is less, not more. Or in our case, nothing, yet everything.

Little by little we are stepping closer heavenward. With our feeble feet, tripping along the way, little by little we are getting there... I think we are getting there.

[By the way, if you give your kids tons of Christmas presents, I don't think that's bad or wrong or evil. We've certainly done it. This is just something I'VE always wanted for Christmas. And I guess we'll see if my husband feels this way next year. Like a good Father, he likes to give gifts, too.]

week three: the valley of the shadow of death

"For troubles without number surround me... and my heart fails within me." ~ Psalm 40:12



the view from our apartment turned hospital

 That about sums up week three for us here.

Since we arrived in Patagonia on Saturday we've been to the hospital four times, four days in a row. We would have gone two more times, only we were blessed to have two different doctors come for home visits - a little light in the midst of all our hardship. Thank you for your prayers - I'm convinced those home doctor visits were God's provision when I just couldn't take any more midnight emergency runs to the hospital with three sick, unhappy children.

Saturday's hospital visit was for Tony's accute sinusitis and baby's conjunctivitis.

Sunday's visit to the hospital was for baby, again. Shortly after going to sleep she got another fever. Called our missionary friend Lee to see if he could pick up us, dragged the two older, very tired and cranky kids out of bed to rush baby back to the hospital. I was just sick. You know when you're just sick to your stomach from nerves and fear? It was like wham, wham, wham. The trials just weren't letting up. We were about to crumble.

Verdict? Ear infection. Probably caused by the same virus that caused Tony's laryngitis, ensuing sinusitis, baby's croup, and conjuctivitis. Our body's are so run down that we keep getting sick.

More meds, antibiotics, and back "home" (although I'd hardly call the bare, dinky apt. we were in a home, but whatever). We've been nursing all five of us round the clock since then. I have a sheet for everyone, what meds they are taking, what time, and how much. Otherwise I'd poison someone, we are on so many meds.

That night, as the kids were finally settling in bed at 2am, I asked my boy how he was doing and what he thought about us going back to the United States. He covered his eyes and said he was upset. Oh, no. I went over and asked him about what. He said he was upset because we came here to do missions and we hadn't done anything yet.

(Wow, did he really just say that? Couldn't he have said, "Yeah, let's go home! I miss playing the Wii." or something a bit easier for me?).

He said we were failures.

My girl chimed in and said, "Yeah, we're losers."

My heart despaired. I cried and felt like I just wanted to die at that moment. I explained that we weren't failures and we aren't losers, we're trying - we just never expected to get this sick. I said we've done more than some people would ever attempt to do - that doesn't make us failures, it makes us brave. It's not our fault if it's not working out.

My son just said, "What will people say if we go back? What will they think of us? So many people helped us and we haven't done anything yet. We can't go back. Just think of Jim Elliot and those other missionaries in Ecuador - they gave their lives. They sacrificed everything. We haven't done anything yet."

Monday Tony and I just fell into a pit. I told him what our boy said and he just broke down and cried. He sobbed. And sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, saying, "Lord, why did you ask us to come here? Why??"

We were depressed, tired, sick, worried, and feeling major doubt and regret over our decision to come here. Did we miss God? Had this all been our idea? Does God exist or is this just an invention of my mind?

Yeah, it was bad.

My chest was tight with anxiety and I felt like I was going to go over the edge at any moment. I had been telling Tony for a week that I was feeling horribly anxious, and that prayer and chamomile and valerian tea were not helping. I needed something more to get me through this. I was trying to be honest and just admit that I'm not superwoman, and was most certainly feeling like the worst and most unqualified missionary ever. I knew that Tony couldn't handle one more thing, and neither could I, so for the health of everyone it was time for mommy to take care of mommy or we'd surely crumble totally.

a rather small portion of the medicines we have been taking

So we called Lee (for the millionth time, what a great guy, he always comes to help with a smile), and he came and picked me up to take me this time to the hospital. Poor Tony had to stay behind with all 4 of them sick. On the way to the hospital when he asked how we were doing I just cried and told him all our troubles - that we are just not handling things very well and were talking about possibly throwing the towel in and going home. We felt like failures, complete and utter failures.

At the hospital the line to be seen was very long. I waited for two hours. I sat there talking to Lee, also a missionary, pouring out my heart about how miserable everything was, and cried some more. The girl sitting next to me turned to look at me. I was in such a state, I didn't really care, and figured she didn't understand what I was saying anyway. And if she did, well, she just heard our entire sob story.

No one seemed to be calling anyone in to be seen, so I knocked on the doctor's office door to see how much longer it would be. The doctor who answered asked why I was knocking and informed me that it would be "a while". How long is that? Just "a while". We left.

It was raining and miserable outside. Later at the apartment Edgardo, our pastor friend, stopped in with a friend to see how we were fairing. He said, "Wow, it hasn't rained here in nine months, and now it's raining like crazy."

It hasn't rained here in nine months?

In nine months.

Not a drop?

Not a drop.

Great, even the depressing rain was for us. Yay.

Edgardo's very nice friend, a believer from the church, said he knew a young doctor he could call for us. So he did, right then and there. Within an hour the doctor was there in our apartment looking at the kids, and asking me what was going on with me. He reassured us that the kids seemed fine, that 90% of the city was not doing well because of the ash, and that the baby is on the right track with her treatment. He didn't want to give me any anti-anxiety pills, which I understood, but then he had pity on me and our sorry state and said he had a few at home and if I could wait til later he would bring them back for me. Good thing, since I still had enough dignity left not to beg, which I was seriously considering doing.

He showed up at 1am, and our cell phone beeped that he was downstairs. I went down in my robe and he handed me two little pills. I don't know what they are and I don't care. I'm just glad I have them. I haven't taken them, I'm just glad that they are there if I start teetering too close to the edge. For now, trying to be strong in the Lord and the power of his might.

But, if that doesn't work, as my chiropractor said once: there is better living through chemistry.

Tuesday Lee came back to see how we were doing (we have been SO BLESSED by Lee and Dori and Edgardo and his family. I don't know where we would be without them!). They invited us to stay at their house [a nice, big, comfy (albeit empty) one, they had just rented] so we wouldn't have to be alone. They didn't seem to worried over our sickness, although the last thing we wanted to do was pass it on the their two small children.

A couple prayers sent up to protect them from what we got, and we accepted. We packed all our belongings up and left that little, depressing apartment where we had been alone and sick. We have been here for for days now and it's been a huge blessing, HUGE. Lee and Dori are experienced missionaries and are very laid back. They are doing great here, they are so positive and happy (and healthy, I don't get it),  and are a great source of encouragement and help to us in every way.

Wednesday morning, the first morning we were here at Lee & Dori's house a couple from the church (the one we haven't had time to visit) showed up and said they had come by our apartment to take us out to breakfast. They didn't find us, so came looking for us here. Marta is a really nice, sweet, sincere Christian from near Buenos Aires. She met her husband Adrian at the university. They got married and moved 16 hours away back to Patagonia where he is from. As I told her my woes, she said, "I understand. I've been there. I left my home and family, too. You can do it. Nothing is impossible with God. If I can do it, you can do it. We came here for a secular job, you guys have a calling."

As we talked, her husband started asking about the kids. Our boy had deteriorated by then and was hacking a horrible, deep, resonating cough. He couldn't stop coughing. Adrian asked what the kids' symptoms were, what they were taking, and then asked my boy to come over and cough for him.

Turns out Adrian is a doctor (!!!). He took one listen and said yep, that's bad. He has tracheobronchitis. Do you hear how deep that cough is? He needs antibiotics. He said he would come back after lunch with stronger ones for him and Tony, who was also not really recovering well after 5 days on antibiotics.

After lunch he did just that. He came back and handed us some heavy duty antibiotics that he said would knock the infections right out. He also gave us some others meds for this and that if we happen to encounter allergies or bug bites. When I asked how much we owed him for the meds, he said, "Nothing, it's free." Praise the Lord, because we have spent a small fortune on meds since we've been here. Thank God the medical attention itself has been free, or we don't know what we'd do.

Ah... I was beginning to feel a little bit better... like maybe we can do this. If the kids get better, we get our health back, and we find our own home to live in instead of these suitcases, wandering around like nomads, then maybe I can do this, I thought.

Thursday Tony was able to squeeze an interview in at a local TV station. Hoping it goes somewhere.

It is now Friday and all five of us just came back from the doctor and pediatrician. We all have various forms of the same thing: laryngitis, pharyngitis, tonsilitis, and bronchitis. We are all on antibiotics, nebulizer treatments, pain meds, and cough meds. The docs reassured us that it's nothing uncommon in these here parts and that we will be fine in 5 days. I hope so.

Thank you, prayers, for praying for us. I am convinced your prayerss have sustained us through some of the hardest weeks of our lives. God knows I was ready to get on a plane. There were a few days there that I even wondered if God really existed or if it was all a fantasy. That is how much despair we were in. And for us to get this far and seriously consider throwing in the towel, things had to be really, really bad. And they have been. The only thing worse would have been death. And it felt like we were one step away from it at any minute.


Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
For Thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. ~ Psalm 23:4

"It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
The LORD is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him." ~ Lamentations 3:22-25


Pressed on all sides, but not crushed.

reflections

As we get closer to the Big Move, I find myself reflecting on the implications and the absolute HUGE reality and of what this move means for all of us.

I know it doesn't mean for us what it means for many, many people who move to Argentina (or anywhere else in the world) from another country. Some, wealthy and priveleged, are going for business, to rub elbows with the upper crust, and have maids and tons of time on their hands. Others, young and adventerous, are going for a good time and the next adventure. Still others are going from bad to not so bad, actually looking for a better life in Argentina.

For us, it's none of those things. We are not wealthy. We are not young. We know Argentina for us, in the carnal, will not be a "better life". We will most likely (barring miraculous intervention from God himself) be poor, aging, and most likely struggling to adapt to life in the third world - which all equals harder. I'd be a masochist, or just plain stupid, if it weren't for God's call and His commands.

But you know what? I don't care. Because, even though I would love to be wealthy, young, and more comfortable with a "better life" - those things are secondary to me. I care about following Jesus and His commands. I care about making my life count. I care about lost souls. I care about the hungry, the fatherless, the widow. I care about taking all I have been given (which is too much) and using it, not for myself, but to bless others. I care about making a difference in this world for Christ, for Love, for Truth, for Goodness and for Eternity. I care about things that sometimes I wonder if the American church as a whole remembers to even preach about.

This has been a hard several weeks. My husband keeps telling me to be quiet already and don't make any commentaries! (it's that TMI curse I suffer from, it makes me lose friends because I am just too frank for my own good.) I'm trying really, really, really hard to listen to him. I really am.

See, my husband rocks. He's so smart and socially gifted. He has far surpassed me in graciousness that I am put to shame. I hope hanging out with him rubs off on me someday. I really do.

For now, it's just been a hard few weeks. I don't know what I can say except that I follow CHRIST. The Perfect One. He's telling us to go. I'm jumping off the crazy cliff and honestly, at the end of the day, could care less what anyone else thinks about it. Tony says to let everyone else deal with their own problems, you follow God. It's so easy for them, men. Sometimes I wish I were one.

I'm praying these days that God would help me not be a people-pleaser, and I pray that I don't raise man-pleasers or yes-men. Let them please only You. I pray that Tony and I live to only please the Lord, and that our kids always do what's right, no matter what the rest of the world chooses to do. Lord, don't let my kids be men-pleasers! May their lives honor You and you only. Use them to further your Good News upon this earth, that we and they may be messengers of the Hope we have in Christ, offered to all men. Let it be a true hope, a real, genuine, honest-to-God hope that is reflected in their lives, lived out by integrity. A tough one, indeed. A high calling.

Lord, I prayed years ago that you would "Send us!". Now I pray that you send my kids. I pray that my children, the ones you have gifted to me, be used to further your Kingdom here on earth. They belong to you, make their lives count.

Give us strength, grace, courage. Even when people criticize us, desert us, forget about us. You said that you would never leave us nor forsake us. Give us faith. Provide for us, please Lord, provide. Make our lives count for good.

Amen. Jesus.

on kids and missions

Mishel...

... was abandoned by her prostitute mother in an Ecuadorian orphanage.
As far as I know, she is still there almost four years later.

(Now this is where I'm just going to be real. And, well, human.)

Days like today, when I'm colosally pms-ing out of my mind (yeah, I know, TMI. I told you it was a family curse.), I think to myself, "Oh, LORD, please don't make me adopt. You know, or open up a children's home. I could never do that. Really, I couldn't."

God probably laughs at me. He often makes me eat my words. Often.

I know we're going to be working with kids to some degree in Argentina. I know that. And I want to. I really do. I love kids. I just hope the Lord doesn't make me actually raise 100 of them. {See how spirtually mature I am - just juvenile of me, I know.}

Because, you know, LORD, the way things are going with aging and all, I'm sure I'll go psycho when I hit menopause, so don't ask too much of me, okay? Okay? You know how I am, LORD. Psycho mommy and all... once a month can't handle anything... you know....

Sigh.

I remember years ago, in the waiting area of the hospital... one of our pastors was there as we were waiting to get in and see my neighbor who had tried to commit suicide. For the 12th time. I found her ODed on her bathroom floor, and called 911. As we were waiting there in the hospital, I remember talking about ministry and what might the Lord have for us in the future yadda yadda, and do you know what I said? I said, "Well (and I probably snorted or something, you know a la Chrissy Snow or something}... Well," I went on - as if I know the future and all - "whatever He has for us I know it's not working with children. I don't do kids. I can barely do my own two, you know?"

(Real sympathetic ear from pastor. Yessiree).

And that settled it. As if that was that. 'Cause I know everything. And I SURE as all get out was NOT going back to Argentina either. Ha ha.

Ha.

ha...

Yah. Anyway...

Now we're going to probably work with street kids, in Argentina, or maybe orphans, and (gasp)... what if they don't have mommies? Or what if we have to (shhhhhhhh...!) take them in or something?

----------------------
If there is one thing I'm learning, it's that following Christ is (news flash) not. about. me. That's right. Not about me...

Not. about. me.

Then He said to them all, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. Luke 9:23

Following Christ is about suffering. That's right, America. Uh, Chris...

The Christian life is marked by suffering. Not comfort.



So, off to Argentina we go. Probably to save kids. And all the other stuff I said I'd never do.

Thank you :)

Here's a post I wrote 11/17/10...


I want to thank any and all of you (I don't know who you are) who prayed for me when I shared a couple of month ago how I was struggling with our upcoming visit to Argentina this spring. (UPDATE: who knows if we're even going, everything seems so up in the air right now).

Not long after I wrote that, I was in church - we were singing songs of praise, I don't know what we were singing about exactly - but the message had been on repentance. As we each took a moment before the Lord to search our hearts, I asked the Holy Spirit if there was anything I needed to repent of. Nothing initially was coming to mind. I mean I've been completely set free of all the "big sins" in my life. I don't abuse drugs, or alcohol, or smoke anything. I don't lie, cheat or steal. I'm faithful to my husband, home, and children. There are no addictions that rule my life, or anything really obvious to me. I look pretty good from the outside - in a Pharisaical kind of way. What's there to repent of - I'm good, Lord, right?

But the thing that kept coming to my mind was this trip. And Buenos Aires. And my husband. And that I will. not. go. Forget it, Lord. He can go by himself. Will everybody stop asking me?!

There have been a couple of times in my life where I can say I have clearly heard the voice of God. Not an audible voice so to speak, but His voice nonetheless. It is as clear as the noon day sun is bright. It's unmistakable.

As I bowed my head, and prayed, and waited for some specific conviction to come (because remember, I'm good, nothing to repent of here), I heard Him whisper, "Chris... I want you to GO. I want you to serve ME... Here... in Patagonia... in Buenos Aires. Where-ev-er I send you."

I hung my head in shame, tears falling. And repented. Forgive me, LORD. So rebellious..., I'm still so rebellious.

I was greatly convicted of my selfishness, of wanting things my way, of not wanting to follow the Lord wherever He leads - even if it's Buenos Aires: a place I can't stand, is very dangerous, and I try to avoid like the plague. I was convicted of not trusting Him, of taking my eyes off Jesus, of lack of faith, of unbelief, of putting conditions on following Him; which I do. Of not respecting my husband's decisions regarding us (I know better, of course). Of wanting to push my own agenda. Of wanting to nurture my own affinities. Of not believing that God can keep us safe there also.

(UPDATE: talked to Tony's niece in Buenos Aires this weekend and she said, "Yeah, my friends with little kids, when they stop by a little shop to pick something up and their kids are playing right there at the entrance, they can't take their eyes of them because some crazy can run by, pick the little one up, run off before you can catch him, and you never see them again...)

Yeah, going there is a stretch for me. Understatement of the year.

So... thank you for praying.

For strong-willed people like myself, surrender can be the hardest thing. I am being tested again and again and again. I never learn, apparently.

The Lord has much He wants to do in us, through us, if we will just surrender. After I shared with Tony my quite miraculous change of heart (because, isn't it a miracle?), he said, "Yeah, you know, my sister said, 'Tony, if you go to church while you are here, I will go with you. But only if you go with me. I promise you I will go."

Ohhhh.

I see. Now, I see.

But please continue to pray for us. My kids are so not street smart: one is a space cadet and the other is always running off. My baby is everything to me. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to them.

Thanks....

A Very Scary Night

After posting recently on parenting with Christ in view, I should not find it surprising then, that I should be tried on this very point.

One night this week Baby fell asleep on my lap, changed positions, and let out a cough. A barky, seal-like cough. Now where'd THAT come from? She had been fine all day.

Oh, no, I thought... What now?

Within two short hours she was having difficulty breathing. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Since Tony was working, I desperately prayed for wisdom about what to do. I skipped calling the doctor, and dialed 911. It seemed like an eternity as I waited for them to show up. I waited alone, but somehow not alone.

"I am with you always..."

I held my baby as she wheezed and struggled to breathe, and prayed the shaky, heart-aching prayers of a very scared mommy, "Please, Lord, just let her be able to breathe until they get here. Jesus, help. JesusJesusJesus...," I breathed.

I paced, and rocked, and prayed, and paced some more.

I continued praying, my heart in my throat, "Please don't let anything happen to my baby. Your baby... yes, your baby. You made her Lord, please help her. Touch her little body, Lord. Help her. Please, Jesus."

WHERE. ARE. THEY??

Pace, pace, rock, stare out window.

I went on,"Help me, Lord. I know... I don't trust You. I know, I'm sorry. I'm going to trust you with this. I am going to choose to trust You. Because I can't do anything else. I can't save her. I can't do anything. O God, please help."

She was still struggling to breathe when the EMTs arrived. They took one look at her, one listen to her chest and her back and said, Yes, she has to go to the hospital. She is having respiratory difficulty. And we were off, all piled into the ambulance, for our first ambulance ride ever. And hopefully our last.

It was SO SCARY.

A medicated nebulizer and oxygen in the ambulance, some drugs to reduce the swelling in her bronchial tubes in the ER, and her breathing became less labored.

Croup, they said.

Croup?

What's that??

As I held my baby that night in a bed so big it seemed to swallow her little body, stroking her hair, I couldn't help but ask, "Lord, why are you doing this to me?".

My nerves are just about shot from this baby. I had no idea how good we had it with the other two. To think I complained. Whatever. I've never even heard of some of the illnesses this one gets. And so much for the more-you-breastfeed-the-healthier-the-baby. She breastfed for-ever, and gets the sickest.

I just can't let this child out of my sight. She is just that way.

I look away for a second, only to turn back and see her with a open pill box, pills all over the floor, and one on its way to her mouth. Time to call Poison Control.

I turn away for a moment, turn back, and she is chewing on a piece of broken glass! Now where did THAT come from?

She spikes mysterious high fevers out of nowhere.

She was in the bathroom with me once, and I looked down from brushing my teeth to find her gnawing on a razor blade! She is that quick.

I hesitate to leave her with anyone - because I know her.

Mercy. This child!

Miraculously, she has never been hurt. Miraculously. Not even a nick from gnawing on glass and razor blades. It can only be God's grace.

But I confess that I am fearful - post traumatic stress from too many heart-stopping moments. I find it hard to trust the Lord completely. There are things I hold back. Areas I don't want Him to touch. You can have me, Lord, just not this part of me.

As I prayed in the ER that night for the Lord's mercy on my little baby, mercy to be able to spend another day with her, I had a revelation. And, as revelations always go, I thought to myself, how could I not have seen this before?

Oh, maybe I've realized it before, but I just haven't been able to really look it in the eye.

I realized that I have been holding onto my children. My children. They're mine, Lord, not yours. You can't have them. Don't take them. I'll protect them. You can't. You're God, yes, but are you God over all?

It's funny, really, when we try to keep something from the Lord. He will aggressively go after that one area, pursuing it relentlessly, allowing things to happen to get at that one thing we will not surrender.

For me, I think it's my kids. I'm willing to give up my stuff, my home, my country, my language, "anything for Christ," I say.

Just not my kids.

The truth is, we are not guaranteed tomorrow. We are not guaranteed another day with our children, in our jobs, in our house, with our spouse, in this life, with anyone. We are no where promised we will live until we are old and grey. Nor are we are promised to see our children reach adulthood. The LORD could take my baby here, today, in the great, safe, US of A. It happens all the time, doesn't it?

I am SO thankful the Lord spared my baby's life for one more day. I have been thanking Him much these past several days that there is a hospital less than 10 minutes away. I thank Him there are such things as drugs - the miracle of modern medicine. I thank Him for his mercy. Such mercy.

I had another, more practical, revelation that night - I don't think we'll be moving to any remote mountain village any time soon. The city is looking pret-ty nice... and I'm not a big fan of the city. Any city.

Bariloche does sound pretty good to me now. Yeah, a city. With a hospital. And some doctors.

Yeah, city living! Doesn't sound so bad to me now!

God works all things for good, to those that love him. 

Even scary midnight calls to 911.

Struggling

Sometimes I wonder about myself. I really do. I wonder what is wrong with me. IS there something wrong with me?  I just don't know sometimes...

I was reminded again as I've been perusing Bloggers in Argentina, the "Ex-pats in Buenos Aires" part, that everyone else seems to have a great time in Argentina but me. They LOVE Buenos Aires. I just don't get it. What is wrong with me? I can't stand the place. It's true.

I can't STAND Buenos Aires.

I don't ever want to go there again as long as I live. Seriously. Just the thought of it makes me anxious, and angry, all at the same time - a horrible feeling. My chest has been tight all week. I feel like my heart is in a vice. Memories of being robbed, assaulted, shoot-outs, my baby and I almost being run over by buses, suffering I prefer not to remember - are what comes to mind when I think of the year and a half we lived there. And the three other times I visited, single, then married with children. I never had a good time there. I just didn't. Call me crazy.

So I've been thinking about this. Why? Why me, Lord? Why do I have such a lousy time in BA and all these ex-pats seem to have so much fun and just couldn't imagine living anywhere else? They miss it when they leave.

Not me.

I'd really rather shoot myself in the foot than go there.

But maybe I ask myself the wrong question. Because I don't think there is anything wrong with me. Nothing major. I mean, I've been extremely giving and self-sacrificial in spite of my own personal feelings about the place. When we lived there I was always visiting Tony's family, even by myself when he was at work so my son could have a relationship with them. I am not totally selfish, after all. Do you know what it's like to drag a 30 pound one year old on a bus, a train, and then another bus in 100 degree heat no air conditioning to spend the whole day doing nothing but baby-sitting where you are uncomfortable, only to turn around and do it again, just to get home 12 hours later? Time after time? I dragged my kids halfway across the world five years ago for a whole month so they could see and meet their relatives. I did it for my husband who really wanted us to go. No one has any clue what kind of sacrifice that was for me. It was work. It was not a "vacation" nor was it fun (at least for me). I got my first migraine on that trip.

The other day I was talking to my sister-in-law on the phone and one of the first things she asked me is, "So, are you fat or skinny?". AHHHHH! Who CARES? I said fat. (Although I am not.). Here I'm skinny. But, in the land of anorexia, everyone is fat. I know I will hear about how fat I am. It's a cultural obsession in a country that leads the world in anorexia. Messed. up. Beyond annoying to go all that way to listen to how fat I am and how I need to raise my kids. But don't get me started...

I am learning that there is a place for walking in wisdom and with conditions. Love has limits. Love sets limits. Love says the hard things in spite of the conflict it will cause.

So, I confess I can not go this time. I can not. There is a small, very remote chance that I can. But with conditions. I can only go in wisdom and under certain conditions, with our feet firmly planted in reality. I just don't know if these conditions will and can be met. Big sigh.

So I ask for your prayers. This upcoming trip is quickly falling apart. We can not agree about how to go, where to go, for how long, nor where to stay. I foresee this going on for months. I don't feel it's appropriate to get into details here out of respect. But please pray. All I know is that I can't go to Buenos Aires. I can not. The 12 hour bus trip to Cordoba to visit Tony's Dad is also completely out of the question. It's Bariloche or bust. Which, of course, is not possible. We can not visit Argentina without visiting his family, who live in BA. Therefore, I cannot go. Therefore, we are not going. Basically.

But God is clearly calling us back to Argentina. Following Him to Patagonia is not the issue. At all. Buenoes Aires is the issue. How do we reconcile this? We know He is guiding us to visit, to check it out, to prepare, to get connected in Patagonia. We know it. But going through BA is not possible for me right now with three children. It's just not possible. So what do we do? What to do?? How did we get HERE, at this major impasse in the road?

I know that's vague. I'm sorry. I wish I could be more specific. Please pray. Part of me needs to talk about it, but I don't feel the liberty. The Lord knows. He has called us, He knows the details, He knows the solution. I pray He shows us the way. If He wants us to go and check it out, if this is what He wants, He needs to work out the details, because we are at a stalemate. Tony and I rarely ever fight these days. That's what Christ can do for you. But we can barely talk about this right now. It's CRAZY. I just don't get it. I don't know if I am wrong, I don't know if Tony is wrong, I don't know what is right and what is wrong. Am I just being proud? Unloving? Stubborn? Or is he? I think I know one moment, then I question myself the next.

I can't budge. He won't budge. So here we are. Someone's gotta move. I can not, he will not. The LORD must.

But, maybe that's par for the course. The spiritual opposition has begun. The struggle, the pressing in, the counter-attack, the flesh. I hate this part. I can never do it. I was actually sitting on the couch the other day thinking, "I'm not cut out for THIS. I can't do this. Lord, you got the wrong girl. I am clearly not missionary material. Don't you see? Look. LOOK."

My friend sent me this the other day. A message by Francis Chan. It's exactly where I am at. Exactly. His wife speaks for 4 short minutes (at 9:00 minutes into the video) about what is has cost her to follow Christ. Listen to it. Even just those 4 short minutes. She talks about bearing your own cross and following Jesus, and how truly hard it is. She articulates precisely my struggle. How did my friend know that I needed to hear this? I didn't tell her a thing. But maybe that's the problem. I need to tell. How else can we receive prayer?

Thanks for praying.

Disclaimer

Because half of my Facebook friends are Tony's friends, most of whom still reside in Argentina, we get to see pictures of all their fun adventures. Like skiing, white-water rafting, and travel to far off places.

But that got me to thinking I should probably make a Disclaimer. Just in case.

Our good friend from Brazil who was a missionary for two years warned us, "Some people will accuse you of just wanting to travel. Some will say all you want to do is live abroad for free. Others will criticize you and say you're crazy and 'Who are you to be a missionary?'". When he was raising support to leave on a missionary ship to travel all around the world spreading mercy and the gospel, he said even Christians accused him of these things right to his face.

So, since we feel this overwhelming compulsion to leave it all and take the Gospel to what happens to be a particularly beautiful place (and there are many, many beautiful fields out there) - here it is.

Official Disclaimer:

• If I never ski again, I could die a completely happy woman.
• I've done all the hiking I ever care to do until I die. I'd rather just sit in a chair and rest in my "free time" (free time, haha, that's funny... anyway...)
• Camping, backpacking, mountain climbing, and outdoor adventures? I'll consider it a miracle if I ever convince Tony to do any of this, ever. I ended up donating the tent he bought to Haiti. I still have no idea why he bought it since he never actually planned on camping. Go figure.
• I hate the beach, so good luck to to anyone in ever convincing me to go there again (and I am secretly delighted we will mostly likely be way too far from the beach to warrant going). Sorry to all you sticky sand lovers.
• I've gone from fearless wonder to too chicken to ever really want to white-water raft again. (I know, I know... but I'll take my kids half way across the world to romp under an exploding volcano all for Christ - I can't explain that either...)
• We'll never have money to actually have the opportunity to spend it on nice hotels and vacations like most people we know can and desire to do. Nor do we really care to do that. Too many starving kids in the world. But if somebody ever offers for us to do these things, wellll... we are capable of humble acceptance.
• Fly fishing looks fun and relaxing - if you don't have kids. I do, however, hope my boy learns to fish (I've given up on hubby). I am already encouraging him on how GREAT it would be (hint, hint) if he could fish and - just think about it! - provide food for the family (hint, hint ;)). Free trout = mmmm.
• I'm too old and tired for all of the above mentioned things. It doesn't matter if you're older than me, and don't bother telling me I am actually young - I am tired.
• My idea of the "good life" is sleeping uninterrupted through the night.
• I can't think of any other reason people could accuse us of just wanting to live the "good life" down in Argentina - Patagonia specifically - but I welcome you to come visit us when we get there and see for yourself. You'll either envy us for the missionary life - or you'll pity us for the "pathetic" conditions in which we live.
  

Spiritual Lessons in the Kitchen

I got the recipe for Resurrection Rolls last year from another homeschool mommy, but colicky baby made it impossible to even consider attempting. So, we tried it this year. Since I find out about 90% of my homeschool/parenting ideas from word of mouth or from a book, thought I'd pass this one on, too...

annointing Jesus' body (marshmallow) 

with oil of embalming (melted butter)

and spices (cinnamon and sugar)

wrapping the body in linen cloth (crescent roll dough)

...seal them up and bake in oven (which represents the tomb)...

the empty tomb (marshmallow disappears)!

They are ridiculously delicious and addicting, so be forewarned!

I prayed a prayer for serious patience before we did this... I confess I do not enjoy crafts or cooking with my kids, no matter how hard I try. I keep trying, though. I do it because I love them, plain and simple. Love is action, right? Life is not all about me. I don't know if I'll ever enjoy crafts or flour flying in the kitchen, but I know I'll keep praying until one of two things happens: I begin to like it, or they are fully grown!

:)