Saying "Goodbye" to Facebook

In 2008 I joined the thousands of older people who joined Facebook.  In the beginning, I found it a helpful tool.  Through it, I:

• regained contact with old friends and caught up on their lives.
• learned of prayer requests and was able to pray with meaning and understanding.
• quickly heard of important news in the lives of friends and family.
• used it to reach out and encourage the hurting.

Over the years, however, I have had increasing difficulties with using Facebook.  These have been some of my concerns:

• I met people who spent way much too much time on Facebook, and I wondered if I was adding to their temptation to misuse their precious time.
• I even wondered if I was encouraging an addiction or participating in their sin by being on Facebook without saying anything.  Yet things written can be so easily misunderstood that I did not want to have that conversation except in person.  And how could I have an "in person" conversation with someone who lives thousands of miles away?
• More and more people are linking articles and videos rather than sharing personal information. I joined Facebook for the personal information.  Today as I scrolled through my news feed, I counted.  The fifteenth item was finally something personal.
• Statistics tell us that heavy social media users are less happy than those who are not.  
• I have different levels of openness with people that I know well compared to people who are just acquaintances.  Yet Facebook links all of them together, so that I find myself sharing at a more superficial level than I would with my close friends.
• I did not join Facebook for the private message function, but I find myself using that more than anything else. Won't email work just as well for that?
• Most of my life is not worth sharing.  When it is worth sharing, I can put in a blog.
• Facebook is finding more and more ways to advertise to me while I am reading the news feed.  

When I first noticed some of these issues, I decided to reduce my usage. I told people that if they wanted to be sure I saw something, they needed to tag me.  Of course, that is not the way most people operate, so I found that people assumed I had seen or read something when I had not.  Even though I have told people that I was reducing my usage, people expected that I would be there frequently.

This week, some of the issues hit home in a new way.

• I have limited time.  I want to see if my time benefits from not being on Facebook.
• I have limited roaming data.  This week my roaming data maxed out while I slept.  I believe that it was because Facebook was busy downloading photos that I did not request and did not even view.
• I have a limited capacity to interact with people.  Sociologists tell us that we have a capacity to keep about 600 people active in our lives. If I am on Facebook with my 400+ friends there (and it could easily be more than that), will I neglect the needs of the people who are right outside my door?  
• I miss the old ways of sharing information.  This week a friend asked me, "Did you hear about what happened to ______?"  I had because I had seen it on Facebook.  But when she said that, I thought, "I would have rather have heard it from you first."  Maybe if everyone knows I am not on Facebook, they will think to call me when they have important news to share.  Then again, maybe not, and maybe that is fine too.  I never used to think there was a problem with catching up after years of being apart.

So Facebook and I are going our separate ways, at least for a while.  It will give me time to listen to the sweet voice of God and see whether HE wants me to be on Facebook.  If He does not, I will not be back.  If He does, I will, though I will need His guidance on how to make it work better in the future.
 
I still want to stay in touch with people, but I am hoping that telephones, email, and mail will be enough to get the job done right.

Celebrate Easter with Your Children

I stood by the nursery desk, wondering why the nursery leader was late.  I could not remember her being late before.  A few minutes later, she flew in apologizing.  "I'm so sorry I'm late," she said smiling.  "But it is your fault, you know."

"What?" I questioned, wondering what her explanation would be.

"Easter," she explained breathlessly.  "I was up before dawn this morning putting out the items for the treasure hunt.  I awoke the children early and started them on the treasure hunt while I put the hot cross buns into the oven.  You gave us so many good ideas for celebrating Easter that I just had to do some of them, and things took longer than I thought they would."  

She was flustered, but her joy in helping her children celebrate this special day was contageous.  She put down her things and began greeting all the parents with a beaming smile on her face. 

Easter.  It is the focal point of our faith.  Without Christ's death, burial, and resurrection, our faith is in vain.  We cannot begin to explain our own faith without pointing to Christ's work in that last week of his life.  We owe everything to it. The assurance of our relationship to Christ rests in it.  We have no hope without it.  Yet in spite of this, Easter is often an overlooked holiday for many Christians.

Think about it.  Do you look forward to Resurrection Sunday with the same excitement as Christmas?  Do your children?  Do they have reason to shout "The Lord is Risen!" on Sunday morning?  Do they know that this is the most important holiday for Christians?  Do they see your excitement as you prepare that special meal to celebrate with family and friends?  Do they hear you singing precious songs about the suffering of Christ that week as you enter into His suffering, identifying with the Man of Sorrows?  Do they sense from you that this day is more important to you than Christmas?

Let us make Easter a BIG deal for ourselves and for our children.  I am not talking about Easter baskets and Easter bunnies and new clothes.  I am talking about celebrating the week and the day in a way that makes a profound impression on the value of what Christ did for us. Here are just a few suggestions on things that will help children grasp the importance of this week.

• On Palm Sunday, buy small palm branches or make them from construction paper and play out Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem.  Let them re-enact going into town to get the donkey, bringing it back for Jesus, and then laying clothing and palm branches out for the donkey to ride.  Shout "Hosanna to the Son of David together."  Sing praise songs to Jesus, and talk about what it would be like if the stones had actually begun to praise Him.
• Make a picture poster of the events of Jesus' last week.  Each day this week add one picture of what happened on that day.
• Celebrate the Passover Seder together as a family.  There is information online that will help you celebrate this.  Explain that Jesus and his disciples celebrate this together just before He died.  
• If your church has a special service on Thursday or Friday, go together as a family.
• On Friday (or Thursday, if that is your tradition) read together one of the stories in the gospel of the crucifixion.  Whenever a different person is mentioned, try to imagine what it was like for them that day. 
• Find a devotional that you can use to focus your family's devotions on the sacrifice Jesus made.
• Invite people to church for Easter and then home to your house afterwards to eat together.
• Make cards together that celebrate the resurrection.  Send them to friends or pass them out to neighbors.
  
• Have a special Easter dinner.  Serve lamb and talk about Jesus being the Passover lamb.  Make a cake in the shape of a cross or a lamb.
• Make a paper mache or bread dough tomb.  Put together clothespin disciples for the children to reenact the events.  Find a rock to cover the entrance to the tomb.
• Separate your celebration of Spring from Easter.  Celebrate Spring on the first day of Spring.  In your gift for your children, include colored eggs, bunnies, chicks, new clothes, and other special things.
• Attend the Easter Sunrise service, if your church has one.  
• On Easter morning (or afternoon), send your children on a treasure hunt.  Inside small paper or plastic bags or cloth bundles, put symbols of the events of the last week of Jesus' life.  If it will make it more fun, add a small amount of candy to each one.  When all the items are found, see if the children can identify each symbol and tell why it was included.  Then, for older children, see if they can put the symbols in the correct order.  

Easter is coming!  I cannot wait!  But first I will walk through this week with a sorrowful heart as I grieve His horrendous suffering and my own sin that made it so necessary.

Dangerous Comparisons

Recently, I caught an unexpected glimpse of myself from a side view in a long mirror.  Since it was not the way I usually see myself, I was startled by the imperfect posture and the profile that "only a mother would love."  A beauty I am not, and no amount of beauty products or makeup will make me one.  At times, I even pity my husband who is the one who has to look at me the most. In the midst of my reverie, however, I realized the danger of what I was doing.  I took the world's standard of beauty and elevated it above God's.  Without realizing it, I had just told God that He did not do a very good job when He gave me this face, even though I know well that God does everything correctly and perfectly.

All so different

While sin and death mar God's creation, God never intended that everyone have the same high cheekbones, long neck, perfect features, and hourglass figures.  Just as flowers, with all their varying beauty, give honor to God in their uniqueness, God also wants us to reflect His creative power in the very different ways we were made.

Comparing myself to someone else is dangerous for two reasons.  First, it uses the wrong standard for our inspection.  Just as our standard for physical beauty should be God's Word and not what society tells us, we also tend to use the wrong criteria for how well we have done in our activities.  As a student, I depended more on what my grades said than whether I had worked "heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men."  Secondly, it puts us in danger of two serious character flaws - pride and insecurity.  If we surpass man's approval, we can become proud.  If we do not measure up, we can become insecure.  Whenever these two things exist in our lives, it will point to using the wrong standard in our lives.

Let us look at housekeeping, for example.  Unwittingly, we adopt our standard from the picture perfect homes of magazines.  Sometimes we almost apologize for the fact that people live in our home.  Instead of looking to God and His ideas for how our house should be kept clean, we live in fear that our house does not measure up to other people's neat homes.  It is the Lord who judges His children on how well something is done.  After all, he is the Only one who looks beyond the outside and sees our heart attitudes.  He knows if we have done our best with a humble spirit or if we are out to get praise from people.  What matters in our housekeeping is whether or not we have pleased Him.  If we shut our eyes at the end of a long day, all we need to do is say to the Lord, "I did my best today.  I know I did not get everything done and the house is still not as clean as I want it, but I really did do my best."

Sometimes I hear the wrong standard being used in the way we criticize others.  We might not say it aloud, but our attitude reveals that we have applied our own standard instead of God's to the situation.  We need to remember God's words:  "Who art though that judgest another man's servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth."  (Romans 14:4)  We have no idea of what was going on in that person's life that day.  We do not know what her attitude was.  We do not know if he worked to the best of his ability.  We do not know if she did it as an offering to God instead of getting approval from people.  We just do not know the whole story.

The plague of comparing ourselves to others dominates our culture.  It results in a lack of what we all so desperately need:  joy, peace, patience, and love.  As a Christian woman, I need to be different.  If I find joy in doing my work for the Lord nd in seeking His "Well done!" at the end of the day, I will be more likely to radiate His peace instead of being anxious.  If I do my work to the best of my ability, I will not bear the burden of guilt for laziness or carelessness.  If I leave the final judgement of others' work to the Lord, I will more likely radiate love and patience when I deal with them.

So the next time I find myself being cricitcal of myself or another, I need to ask myself, "Am I using God's standard, society's standard, or my own?"  Then I need to find out what God's standard is and remember that He is the only one who can truly judge correctly.

When I Grow Up . . . .

 I still remember the childhood dreams, the convoluted streams of desire to be someone important and someone loved.  They usually revolved around people I admired.

“When I grow up, I want to be a nurse like Aunt Pat,” I’d announce with doll in hand, tenderly wrapping a 'broken' leg or applying a bandage.  Aunt Pat was a single woman who lived alone and worked in the highlands of Irian Jaya (now called Papua), the island where I grew up.  I saw her only occasionally, but I was enthralled.  I watched her clean and treat wounds with the caring efficiency of a nurse who loved her patients.  I saw her gather children around her and teach them songs about Jesus.  I’d seen her sit in a circle of native highlanders, talking about the day and eating roasted sweet potatoes.  She let me help her write down weather data, checking the rain gauge and thermometer and carefully recording them in her weather book. Yes, I thought, I want to be a nurse like Aunt Pat and work with people who don’t have doctors and hospitals.

“When I grow up, I want to be a pilot like Miss Greene,” I said later when I saw her touch the Cessna seaplane down on the water and climb from the cockpit onto the floats of the plane and nimbly jump onto the pier.  She was the only woman pilot I had ever seen.  I had heard the stories of her flying planes over the Burmese pass during the war.  I learned much later that she had helped start Missionary Aviation Fellowship, the group that flew all of us missionaries around the country.  Yes, I thought, it would be great to be able to take missionaries from their remote stations to mission conferences, just like Miss Betty Greene.

Most of the time, though, my main thought was, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Mom.”  Missionary, home-school teacher, Bible storyteller extraordinaire, devoted mother to me and my siblings, and loving wife to my dad.  With a song on her lips and tenderness in her touch, she made my ever-changing world a secure place to live.  She had five (and then six) children, so I would have five or six children.^*  She sang while she worked, so I sang while I played.  She worked hard from morning till night, so I learned that adulthood meant hard work. I ‘helped’ make bread, and she gave me permission to try out my own cooking skills by making ‘mixtures’.  (These were usually never baked since they tasted so good as a mixture of ingredients.)  She let my little brothers and I draw chalk roads on the concrete floors as we drove our toy cars from room to room.  She even warned us when floor washing day was coming up so that we knew that all the roads would disappear.  She taught me to set a correct table and how to properly clean the kitchen.  She taught me the basics of running a household – how to cook, bake bread, clean, manage money, and sew, skills I knew I would need to be the very best mother I could be.

I learned much about appreciating beauty from her.  “Come look at the sky!” she called on many evenings when afternoon sun lengthened the shadows and transformed the sky into dazzling colors.  It was as though the earth had draped a bright Mexican blanket around herself before the cool night air whispered through the trees.  Together we’d talk about the varying shades of pink, orange and purple and the amazing God we serve who was not only powerful but who loved beauty.  Or we’d drive down the road and turn the corner and she would exclaim, “Oh, how beautiful!” as we caught a glimpse of the swiftly changing vista before us.
One day while they were on furlough in New York, after years of working in the crowded, grey cement jungles of metro Manila, I found her sitting on the back porch of my uncle’s house. 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m drinking in the beauty,” she replied as she stared at the expanse of green yard dipping down to the trickling creek.  I sat down beside her and let my eyes relax with the view of bright green fading into the dark green of the trees and listened to the birds calling to each other.  I don’t know how long we sat there, but our spirits were revived by the beauty around us.  “I feel like my soul is starved for beauty,” she told me.  At the time, I didn't understand it, until I too began years of working in a grey cement jungle.

Most importantly, she taught me what it was to follow the Savior.  One morning very early, I was the first to rise, or so I thought.  I found her kneeling at the rattan couch in our little living room.  I walked up next to her and knelt beside her.  She wrapped her arm around me, finished her prayer time and gave me a kiss and a squeeze. “Let’s go get breakfast on the table, shall we?” she said, as we arose together and headed into the kitchen where I set the table while she cooked.

I learned from her that following Jesus was a life of peace and joy.  Even during the hard times, when tears cruised their way down her soft cheeks, the peace was still there.  After the tears were gone, a smile broke forth and once again she started singing songs of praise to the Savior.  When Dad was suddenly taken from us and accused of being a CIA spy and thrown into an Indonesian prison cell, everyone around her remarked on her peacefulness.  I still saw her smile.  I still heard her sing.  I still saw her pray and praise God for His faithfulness.

The years have passed.  Time has a way of compressing the passing years into important memories.  For me, some of the sweetest memories of my life are those of my mom.  She has continued, throughout the years, to be an example to me.  So even though I’m pushing 60 now, I still look at my mother and say, “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

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*Child #7 was adopted after I became an adult, so that number did not enter into my childhood dreams.

Decorating for Easter

One of the fun things about having a home again is being able to decorate.  After Christmas, Easter is my favorite time of the year.  I can’t imagine my life without the momentous events that happened that day so long ago – when the Lord and Creator of the Universe took my sin upon Himself, paid for it with his life, and then conquered death.  What a day to celebrate!  Yet the things available for decorating at Easter time are spring decorations rather than Easter ones.  Stores are full of spring flowers, chicks, bunnies, and pastel-colored eggs.

There is one suitable decoration that I can sometimes find.  It is not as easy to find as chicks and bunnies, but I do occasionally run across one.  Over the years, I have managed to collect a number of them.  Some are soft and cuddly stuffed animals, and some are quite realistic.  These lambs and sheep serve as a reminder to me of several wonderful things during this time of year.  I remember what Isaiah says:  “All we like sheep have gone astray.  We have turned everyone to his own way.” I think of Jesus, the Passover Lamb who gave Himself for our sins so that death would pass over us.  I remember that not only is He is the Passover Lamb, but He is also our great and wonderful Good Shepherd. 

So about six week before Easter, the lambs and sheep make their appearance – on the bed, dresser, coffee table, and anywhere else I can find that is appropriate.  When I head for bed at night and I move this one from its place, I remember, “The the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.”  As I drift off to sleep I can remind myself that He said, “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. . . .I lay down my life for the sheep.”

In the morning when I get up and I settle down to read my Bible, this one sitting on the coffee table in the living room reminds me, “As a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.”  I think of Jesus’ quiet resolve before Pilate and his refusal to fight back when his beard was torn from his face and his back was ripped in shreds by the soldiers whips.  I think of his quiet agony as he was nailed to the cross.  The others being hung that day must have railed against the soldiers who crucified them.  But not Jesus.  He faced it in quiet agony.

When I walk through the dining room, this cute one watches me from atop the china cabinet.  When I see him, I remember: “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter.”  Our dear Passover Lamb with no blemish whatsoever was assassinated for my sins.

Throughout these weeks leading up to Easter, I want to be reminded of the cost of redemption.  It goes beyond what I can fathom.  These little lambs and sheep serve as a continual reminder to me of the magnitude and magnificence of God.  Bound as He was by His own justice and holiness, He still found a way – a very costly way – to show us mercy and love by redeeming us.

On Easter morning  I will add some happy, joyful decorations to celebrate His victory over death.  For now, though, I want to be caught up again in the wonder of His amazing love.

In Praise of My Household Servants

Sometimes as I fall asleep at night, I hear the maids still at work, their low humming or rhythmic beating continuing long after I’ve gotten in bed.

What?  Maids, you say?  You mean, you have maids?

Why yes, don’t you?

I have a bunch of them, so many in fact, that I don’t always remember their names.  Let’s see if I can remember them all now.  Those of you who know me will know which ones I’ve overlooked.
There’s the maid that hauls the water and heats it up for our baths.  We normally call her Faucet.  She’s very reliable, and she doesn’t even grumble when we ask her for water in the middle of the night to flush the commode.

There are two maids, Washer and Dryer, that share the work of doing the laundry.  They are fast.  I throw the laundry at them, and in a very short time they have it back to me.  Because they are so fast, they don’t work every day.  They are also the ones that often like to work at night after I’ve gone to bed.  I don’t mind if Washer keeps working, but Dryer has a celebratory screech she makes when she’s finished, so sometimes I ask her to wait until morning to finish her job.

In our last house, we even had one whose sole job was to do the dishes.  Granted, she wasn’t a fulltime maid, and she couldn’t do them as fast as I could, but her being on our household staff meant that I didn’t have to do that job. 

Then there is the old matron who caries messages for us. She can take any message, to nearly anyone, at any time, and in an instant. She has several children who she has trained in this service so she goes by Ma Bell.
We have other servants. There is the groundskeeper who can cut the grass so evenly, it’s amazing.  Sure, I have to walk around with him.  He is rather young so that unlike some of the other servants, he can’t do it without one of us there.  Still, his abilities are quite remarkable.  Thanks, Mower, for all the work you do.  Put a sickle in my hand and the lawn just wouldn’t look as nice.

Then there’s one that is absolutely amazing.  We call her Electricity.  She keeps the furnace going in the winter, fans us in Summer and stokes the cookstove.  She lights the lamps for us at night.  She winds the clocks and the music box.  She even is able to make the picture box light up to let us watch moving pictures.  She is so efficient that she often helps the other maids with their work.

We also have a stable master.  He keeps the horses fed, groomed and the carriage running smoothly.  All we have to do is head out the door, and there’s the carriage ready and waiting for us.  He hands over the reins, and off we go.  His name is Hyundai.

Then there’s the gardener and his family.  He’s no ordinary gardener.  He not only keeps the garden for us, but when his family harvests the vegetables, they goes to the trouble of cleaning them and sometimes even cutting them up, so that when I go to cook, all I have to do is throw them in the pan.  They take the wheat to the miller and bring it back already ground into flour for us.  Sometimes they even take the flour to the baker so that I don’t even have to bake the bread.  He takes our animals to the butcher and brings back the meat all packaged up and ready for us. His abilities are truly astounding.  Through trade and bartering, he can produce from his larder almost any fruit or vegetable; any meat, fish or fowl;  any grain, flour, bread or cake I desire, regardless of the season! His name is Hannaford.

Sometimes I can’t believe how blessed I am to have all these servants.  Not only do they work hard, they almost never complain.  They cost very little to feed, and they lighten my load so much.  

So today I give thanks for all the household help I have.  If I didn’t have all that help, I certainly wouldn’t be able to spend most of my day doing the other jobs I do. 

On My Soapbox about the "Dove Commercial"

Yesterday I intended to take my normal short visit to Facebook.  Usually I check my page, answer messages and look at recent items on the newsfeed.  That generally takes me about ten minutes.  People who know me know that if they want to be sure I’ll see something, they have to message or tag me.  I don’t want to spend too much time there.  I’d rather spend real time with real people.

Yesterday on my short visit, I saw a number of people posting a link to the “Dove Commercial,” the one where the artist compares peoples own description of themselves with someone else’s.  I decided to take the time to see it as it was obviously making an impression on some of my friends.  So I watched it and found it troubling, but I couldn’t put my thoughts into words immediately.  I needed time.

My first reaction when I saw it was “Why does it matter?”  Why does it matter what I think I look like?  Why does it matter what other people think I look like?  Does it make any difference to the way I live my life?  Shouldn’t I, as an adult, have gotten beyond the need for an affirmation of beauty?  Isn’t life much more than looks?  Are we, as a society, so self absorbed that our own physical beauty matters that much? 

Secondly, beautiful women are not just the ones with flawless skin, thin faces, and straight noses.  I know women whose radiance makes them stand out in a crowd.  Everyone who knows them tends to talk about how beautiful they are, but they do not fit a narrow standard of beauty.  There is an inner quality that shines through their eyes and demeanor that makes people take notice and call them beautiful.

Two of God's beautiful women

Third, beauty is so much more than physical appearance.  The most beautiful women I know are not those who would win a beauty pageant.  They are the ones who are daring and bold and whose beauty shines through actions more than well-placed makeup.  I would rather see a woman covered in mud helping to rescue victims after a flood than a beautifully dressed woman on a red carpet.  A woman willing to welcome the seventh child into an already busy home is more beautiful to me than a perfectly dressed one who walks out of a lawyer’s office in a power suit. 

When we read about the most amazing women of history, their physical appearance is not generally mentioned.  Was Florence Nightingale pretty?  What about Clara Barton, founder of the Red Cross?  Or Harriet Beecher Stowe or Harriet Tubman, who brought the plight of slaves into the forefront of American thinking?  Do you think Margaret Thatcher sat and worried about her physical appearance while she made decisions on behalf of her nation?  Does it really matter what any of them looked like?


God's beautiful women in Guatemala.



 Would Mary, the mother of Jesus, have been called beautiful by her peers? I have my doubts. What about Abigail, Ruth, Priscilla, or Dorcas? Yet all of these women are highlighted in Scripture, not for their looks, but for who they were.

For those of us who claim to be Christian, it should be very clear that the world’s standard of beauty is not ours.  God created each of us unique.  Since His hand of creativity is on each woman, all of us are beautiful in His eyes.  Would we say to a daisy, “You’re not pretty because you are not a rose!”  Of course not.  We need to be very careful before we lightly criticize the creative hand of God in our lives.  While we know genetics plays a part, it is still amazing the way God puts those genes together to create a uniquely beautiful person.

Are any of us alike?  Yet all of us were created by God.

So instead of celebrating our world’s standard of physical beauty, let’s celebrate the work of God evident in each others’ lives.  Let's clap each other on the back and celebrate obvious acts of kindness.  Let's rejoice when someone returns evil with good.  Let's encourage industry, generosity, joyfulness, and patience.  Let us stop commending each other on how beautiful we look and instead commend each other for how beautiful you ARE.  Let's turn our eyes away from Hollywood's standards and remember God's standards.  After all, He's the One who created beauty.  I think He should be the final judge.

Instilling a Love for Missions in the Heart of Your Child, Part 1

Missions and children.  When a child catches a glimpse of the needs of the world, it is exciting to see.  But for some busy moms, the very idea of trying to find ways to include missions in family life can be overwhelming.  So here are some practical ideas that won't take much more time.

Host a missionary family.  When a visiting missionary comes through your church, get to know them on a personal basis.  Invite them over for a meal, a play date, coffee, or overnight, depending on what your schedule can handle.  Don't worry about private bathrooms or even bedrooms for them.  They are used to sleeping anywhere and will be delighted with the opportunity to be in your home.

Pray for missionaries as a family.  You know those prayer cards that missionaries give out like candy?  Keep them near the kitchen table.  Grab one at supper and include them in your mealtime prayers.  Or let your children keep some in their room and pray for them at bedtime.

Ethnic meal times.  Three times a day and 365 days a year, meals are made.  So every once in a while focus on a country for one night.  Go online and find ideas for decorating and let the children help with decorating.  Set the table (or the coffee table or floor) according to the traditions of the country.  Many missionaries would be delighted to cook an ethnic meal for you in your home and provide eating instructions. 

Learn geography together.  When her children were small, my sister picked up some geography placemats.  While she was preparing dinner and the children were hanging around the kitchen, she played geography games with them.  "Who can be the first to find . . . ?"  And the children raced each other to see who could find it first.

More ideas next time.  If I put all my ideas into one blog, it would be overwhelming.  If just one of these ideas work, you will be on the way to leaving an international mark on the heart of your child.