Racism?

Ahhh...racism.

Maybe you think I shouldn't be speaking about this or that my husband would be the better spokesman. Or maybe you think I shouldn't be speaking at all...there's enough negativity in the world and racism is just a made up problem that we should just sweep under the rug. Whatever you think...whether you think I should have an opinion or not...I'm tired of not saying anything at all.

If you know my family, you know we're the least pretentious people in the world. We take jokes really well...some would say too well...and we never really get offended. Despite our outward appearance, we know racism is alive and well and we are not naive enough to think we'll never encounter it. We never talk about how we will handle it, but we know at some point we'll come face to face with it and it's my prayer that our reaction is always Christ-like and loving.

I'm probably the most insecure person you might ever meet. I have had insecurities about my height, my weight, my looks, my accent, my skin color and everything in between. When I lived in Zambia, I would have given anything to be black (I still would... come on...GORGEOUS), but mostly I just wanted to fit in. What I didn't know is that God was preparing me for a lifetime of sticking out. Sometimes I think He made a mistake like when I'm lying awake at night and I find myself wondering why so-and-so is friendly to everyone around me but has never talked to my family, I question what God is trying to teach me. Maybe that I should focus on showing the love of Christ to others and living a life that is pleasing to Him instead of worrying if someone likes me or not based on who I married. Maybe that I need to learn not to assume. Maybe that I should find my worth in Him instead of the opinions of others.

But lets get back to rasicm. Or did I ever really get off topic? Isn't that what rasicm is...people trying to make others feel insecure about who they are. People saying you're not good enough because you aren't like me. People saying I'm better than you are. Well, I hate that! I hate that there are people in the world that can look at my family and think we are disgusting. I hate that there are people in the world that look on my children in disdain. I hate that there are people in the world that think they can say a snide comment or remark to my husband because of his outward appearance.

But, despite all of that, there is no excuse. No excuse for the ones with the rasicm in their heart and no excuse for those on the receiving end. We are called to love, not only the lovely, but everyone. And so my children will only ever be told that God made them who they are and He doesn't make mistakes. They will be told that they are beautiful. They will be told that status quo isn't good enough. They will be told that only they are responsible for their  actions. They will be told we will fight in their corner for truth, but it will be up to them to make sure they are worthy of the fight. They will be told that their skin isn't a license to do as they please with no thought of consequence.

But why? Why this fight? Why this train of thought? Because it's getting in the way. Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are PRECIOUS in His sight. Racism gets in the way. Because if we're talking about it, we can't talk about Jesus. If we're talking about it, we can't talk about God's goodness and grace.

It's not good enough that my children can be incubated from it for only a little while longer. It's not good enough that today we avoided it. It will only be good enough when it's gone.

Until then, search your heart. Can you show the true love of Christ? It's not just about black and white. Do you have a problem with someone? Do you think you're better than the next person? Do you assume people treat you unfairly and  use that as an excuse to hold a grudge? Because Jesus can't shine bright in your life if you don't love like He did.

10 years

Today I realized that in August, it will be 10 years since I moved back to the US from Zambia. 10 years. 10 YEARS! How did this happen?
I recently talked to an MK that is in the states for a few months and going to our church, and he said he was born on deputation and had never been in the US for more than three months at a time. He's not used to it here. He just graduated high school, but he's going back to Argentina for another year. Why is this? Most people would ask, "why aren't you coming back HOME?". He is, he's going back to Argentina!
I think the biggest thing that most MK's would want people to understand is that you need to stop telling them where "home" is! They've grown up knowing two different places as home...where home really is and where other people call home is. And when they are forced to leave their real home, they realize that home is where your family is.
When I moved back to the US 10 years ago I lived with my sister, after a year, I moved in with my other sister....then shortly afterthat, I got married. Home became wherever I was welcomed and loved. I hated living in the US, I hated being asked if I was happy to be back 'home'. I missed my house, my friends, my parents. I couldn't just go visit when I wanted. I couldn't even pick up the phone and call without spending money for a phone cards and calculating the time difference. Home was an elusive place and I had to choose to bloom where God had planted me.
I still couldn't tell you where "home" really is. I just know I choose to make home people, not a place.
10 years. I just can't get over that. And I don't understand why it makes me want to cry.

Mother's Day

Ah, another Mother's Day. Another holiday designed for a family to be together. Another day where hugs should be given and presents should be opened. I didn't talk to my mom today because her Internet was too slow to support a Skype call. I didn't hug my mom today because she lives on a different continent. I made my mom a little video, but she couldn't watch it because of the previously mentioned Internet issues. I sent a card with my sister for my mom because she is visiting Zambia for a few weeks. I can count on one hand the Mother's Days I've spent with my mom since growing up and truly appreciating her as the mom she was and still is...It's one. One time. And it makes me sad...And a little mad.
I miss my mom more than anybody I miss in the whole world. I love spending time with her, I always have. I miss her advise, I miss her hugs, I miss her laughter, I miss her cheery face, I miss her cooking, I miss her talking to herself while cooking and I even miss her cleanliness! She's my best friend.  She's always been on my side. She has always supported me. She is my encourager. She always can talk sense into any situation. She sees all sides of an issue and makes you understand them too. She is my hero. She is faithful to her God, her husband, her children and her ministry. She doesn't waiver on what she believes. She doesn't back away from a fight if the fight needs to be fought. She is a women of great strength. Her children for sure rise up and call her blessed.
I might not be blessed to see her everyday. I might not be blessed to just pick up the phone and call her whenever I want. But I'm blessed to have a mom that is faithful to her calling. I'm blessed to have a mom that has given up the comforts that this world has to offer...Like having her kids and grandkids around....To share the gospel in a land she now calls home. She has shown me that no matter the price, you always have to follow God.
So while I roll around in my sadness today, tomorrow I will still know that God doesn't make mistakes. I've too few Mother's Days with my mom because somebody else needed to spend the day with her. Somebody else needed her to impact their life. Somebody else needed her to love them and show them Jesus.

Can't we tell people about Jesus in Missouri, America?

Yesterday, when getting ready to go to my church's visitation program called GROW, Josyah put on his Zambian football jersey. He told me it was from Zambia where his Nana and Papaw live. I asked him why they lived in Zambia and because he's been obsessed lately with the fact that we live in my parents house but they don't live here, he said it was because they couldn't fit in our house. I told him they lived there so they could tell people about Jesus and then he said, "but can't we tell people about Jesus right here in Missouri, America?".
Maybe it's just me, but I can't sit through a missionary presentation, especially one on any African country, without being brought to tears. This past Sunday my church had a missions emphasis Sunday. We started out the worship service singing in Swahili, watched a video about a recent trip some people in my church made to Kenya and Tanzania, and listened to one of our pastors preach an amazing message about why sending missionaries is so important. Needless to say, by the end of the service, my heart was again broken for missions and my makeup was missing because my tears had washed it off.
You see, I love missions. It pretty much has defined my whole life. I spent the first 9 years of my life knowing I would move to Zambia with my missionary parents and the rest of my life since then in love with a country and people not my "own". I am married to a Zambian, I have a crazy last name, my children have "weird" middle names and nothing in my life can ever be separated from my life as a missionary kid. I have seen thousands of people saved. I have seen the birth of many churches. I have watched buildings being built and even helped a little bit in the process. I've been in the middle of all the excitement yet it was just normal life for me.
And yet, here I am... Living in America. Most people have no idea I grew up in Zambia. People think I either met my husband online or just randomly in life here. My kids are less Zambian than me despite them really being half Zambian. And just supporting missions financially and prayerfully makes me sad.
Is it because I've been there? Is it because in my life, you go, you don't stay? Is it because, let's be honest, in Christian circles, the only 'spiritual' people are those in full time ministry positions or are training to be? Or is it because, in my heart, I've decided that only people in Zambia need the gospel? I can cry when I see a video of kids in Kenya, a place I've never been, but my heart isn't broken for the kids in Springfield, Missouri? I cry over the spiritual condition of teenagers in Tanzania and overlook the teenagers not in my Sunday School class every Sunday?
On Sunday, one of my best friends and another friend sang a special and covered one of my current favorite songs right now, Oceans by Hillsong. The words of that song always get to me. It talks about being led by God to places you would never dream of going. Trusting God to go where you aren't comfortable. To many, maybe when they hear these lyrics, they might think of Africa, but not me. When I hear these lyrics, I want so badly to think of Africa... but I actually think of Missouri, America.

"Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior"

Is a hug a hug if you're hugging the phone?

I am super thankful for Skype. Not sure how life was lived before it. I am so blessed that I can Skype my parent pretty much whenever I want (if they are awake, that is). My kids are even more blessed that they can actually see their grandparents in real time rather than just knowing them from memory or pictures...even if they don't know how blessed they are! Because of this blessed technology, my parents have been 'present' at birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, and on normal days whenever Sade gets the urge to see Papaw!
It breaks my heart though, when I tell my kids to give Nana and Papaw hugs and they don't even give a second thought about hugging and kissing my phone! You see, to them...this is normal life. To them, it's normal that they haven't been actually hugged by their grandparents in over 9 months and they won't be for another 7. It's normal that they think seeing Nana and Papaw is peering into a phone or a computer.
But I'm thankful, because this is leaps and bounds more than I had growing up. I'm thankful because the legacy my parents leave behind them is that it is more important to follow God's command to reach the lost than it is to have all the normal happiness most experience. I'm thankful because the memories my children will have of their grandparents will be full of love...because they weren't too proud to act like fools in front of a computer to make three kids smile!
Anyway...a hug is no less a hug if you're hugging a phone, especially when the people on the other side of the phone are hugging you back!

Goodbye

There are few things in life that are worse than goodbye. The tears that don't seem to stop flowing, the heart that never stops breaking. My first goodbye, my grandparents, uncles, aunts,  cousins, best friends...and I thought that was as bad as it could get. My second goodbye, my sister. Yeah,  it got way worse!! My third goodbye, the worst of all of these...the forever goodbye of death. Death of little babies that you love...death of people you let into your heart...death of an aunt, grandpa, grandma. Those are hard goodbyes. You never feel like you got to say goodbye.  One day they are there...the next they aren't. My fourth goodbye...and perhaps the hardest of all as a missionary kid, the dreaded goodbye to your parents. Dropped off and left to fly on your own...your safety net thousands of miles away. You learn who you depend on...you learn if your faith is in the one true God or the God of your parents. You learn if your trust is in something you can see or Someone you cannot.
You think these goodbyes will end, but you will soon learn goodbyes never stop. And you learn your heart is guarded and loving with everything is a choice you have to consciously make. You learn that friendship means more to you than most people, because you know the feeling of loss and you've felt it too much!
Your heart can become hard,  you can choose to be angry and feel sorry for yourself or you can choose to find joy in every situation. I will forever remember baby Reuben as a perfect little baby that always came to me when he saw me and how when he died, I saw true joy in such a sad circumstance when his grandma, instead of being angry that her first grandson died when he should not have, chose to sing Just a Closer Walk With Thee at his funeral as a testimony of her faith in a God that never fails. I will forever remember my grandpa calling me shorty and how he loved his whole family with a fierce love. I will forever remember that because of my first goodbye to my parents, I learned to trust God and decided to put all my faith in Him.
The goodbyes are always sad, but the lessons you learn from them are irreplaceable.

Oh God, hear my cry!

Is this normal life? Is this really what you would ask of me?
Is it okay to be sad, mad, guilty?
To be alone, all alone.
To adopt strangers as family?
But sometimes I just want reality.
I don't want a replacement, I want family.
Why must you break my heart for those so far away?
Why do I have a peace inside and tears on my face?
I want to understand this love and at my core I do
But human understanding only goes so far and my logic says,  "enough!".
Help me to lean on You in those time.
Help me to surrender to Your will.
You're love is unflawed, clear and precise.
You are the example I can look to in my brokenness.
I need to look no further than You.
Sending Your Love and perfect plan to a world full of hate
Betrayed, beaten, killed but not dead forever.
You turned your back because of perfect love, how I want that perfect love!
So heal my heart, help me to love those You love.
Fulfill the desires of my heart.
Give me family where no blood is shared.
Give me love where no bond is formed.
Give me peace when sadness is all I feel.
Be my comfort, be my resting place, be my eyes.
Oh God, give me a love that surpasses the ties that bond me.