Life is Travel

For the past couple years, whenever someone has asked us where we live, we say, “Our car.”  While we don’t actually reside in our car, it is true that we have no permanent home right now.  Life right now consists in traveling from one place to another and staying wherever we can find someone willing to put us up for a time.

Along the way, I try to keep a camera handy to catch some of the beautiful scenes we see.  Here are just a few of them.

    

While in Charleston, SC, we visited with friends.  We were so near the beach that even though I had a sprained ankle, I begged for a walk on the beach.  It was an exceptionally pretty day – blue skies, cool breezes, and sand crunching under foot.  We kept our walk short, but the soft sand under foot was easier on my ankle than regular walking, so we were able to walk longer than I had in quite a while.








Usually Charlie drives while I do other things.

Like read the Bible aloud

Or take pictures of interesting bridges

Or be amazed by snow-covered fields in Iowa in late April.

Of course, the best part of our trips is when we stop and spend time with people.

Here Charlie got to participate in the ordaining of our friend, Pastor Greg Loveless.  You can’t see Charlie here, but he was in this photo.  You can see his blue shirt sleeve hanging down to the right of the man whose back is to the camera.  I think one of the hands may be his as well.

Here Charlie is encouraging the people of this church in Iowa to return that evening to hear our report.  It was great to be back in this church - a church my dad pastored when I was in college.  They were the ones who sent me out on my first missionary journey.  They have prayed for me over the years, and there were still quite a few faces there I recognized.  It was great to reconnect with some of them and to hear how the Lord had worked in their lives through the intervening years.

We are grateful for this season of our lives when we are able to connect with so many people we haven't seen in years.  Even though the travel gets old sometimes, if it means we get to see old friends and make new ones, it's worth it.

In Praise of a Spiritual Foundation

Last week we returned from a trip to South Carolina.  For me, it was only my third trip to the Charleston area, but for Charlie, it was like going home again, especially spiritually.  Victory Baptist Church is the church where he became the man of God he is today.

Jimmy Flowers, the associate pastor, stood to his feet and said, “Brother Charlie was here when I was this high (holding his hand at his hip) to this high (and he moved his hand up to his shoulder).  Some of you remember him and may have been present at his ordination.”

When Charlie got up to speak, he reflected fondly on his years there.

“I helped build that building back there.  This was where I was baptized.  This is where I taught my first Sunday school class.  This is where I sang in the choir for the first time.  This is where I sang my first solo.  This is where I became a deacon.  You ordained me.  You commissioned me as a missionary, and you supported me when I went out to Arizona to work with the Apache Indians.”

What a blessing it was for me to hear that commendation to the church.  They laid the spiritual foundation in the man I love.  How grateful I am for their work in his life.

I hope there are many people who read this who can look back and say, "That was where the spiritual foundation of my life was laid.  If it were not for them, I would not be where I am today."

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.

A Small Slice of Latin America

Coming down a long driveway, a blue sign with white letters welcomed us to “Iglesia Bautista Sublime Gracia”.  We drove around the back of a long brick ranch house to where the other cars were parked under the scattered pines and oak trees.

Almost as soon as we’d parked and gotten out of the car, Ric and Beth Hurd arrived.  They are IPM missionaries who live in Georgia and whose ministry is to reach out to ethnic groups here in the U.S.  We waited for them to park and greeted them.  Charlie and Ric went to meet and pray with the pastor before the services began, and Beth and I went into the main building to find seats.  Our light complexions stood out in the sea of darker skin, so we introduced ourselves as we went.  “Buenos dias,” I greeted as we passed.

“Buenos dias,” they returned.

Inside the house, some of the walls had been removed to create an auditorium that could seat about a hundred people.  We’d been told that Sunday School would start at 9:30 and that Charlie would speak during Sunday School. 

Not long after 9:30, the service began.  We sang a few songs and the younger classes were dismissed.  Teenagers stayed with the adults.  Charlie spoke on “The Four Laws of Communication” from Ephesians 4, a lesson he’s taught throughout the world.  Translation was provided for him by another man who is a former missionary to Latin America. 

As Charlie spoke, it was clear to me that some of the young men in the room were fluent in English.  They laughed at Charlie’s jokes before they were translated and were listening for the accuracy of the translation.  So when “the first hour of Sunday School” was over, I spoke with them and said, “You could have been the translator.” 

“Oh, no,” they said.  “He did a much better job.”  I am hopeful, though, that at some point in the future one of them will take up that challenge when those skills are needed again.

We took a half-hour break out under a large tent where children and adults lined up for a snack.  Two young women were pouring “Atole de Avena” into Styrofoam cups.  Atole de Avena is a Mexican hot oatmeal drink, sweetened with honey and seasoned with cinnamon – a healthy way to keep everyone satisfied until they could eat lunch.

A half hour later, we were back in the auditorium for “the second hour of Sunday School”.  During this hour, the classes that were dismissed included teenagers, a singles class, and a new believers class in addition to the younger classes.  About forty people remained in the room, among them children and teens who could have gone to one of the other classes but chose to stay for “The Pastor’s Class”.  Attendance was taken by calling out a name and that person responded by getting up to say the day’s memory verse or by admitting that they hadn’t learned it.  Of course, this took quite a bit of time.  There were also those who were turning in their worksheets from their daily quiet times as the pastor was trying to encourage them to develop new habits.  The pastor then taught a lesson for the next half hour.

At 1:00 in the afternoon, all of the classes returned to the main auditorium where they sang “Happy birthday” to those who’d had birthdays during the week.  Among them was the pastor’s wife.  The people were reminded of Communion Service that night at 5:00 with the qualifier that it was only for baptized members of the church.  The day’s worship service would be at 6:00 p.m.  Then the Sunday school teachers led in a “Goodbye Song”. 

While we were gathering up our things, one of the women came and asked if we would join them for lunch.  Unknown to the pastor’s wife, the ladies of the church had planned for “dinner on the grounds” to celebrate her birthday.  We agreed to stay.

Another woman came and put her hand in mine.

“Juanita,” she said (in Spanish).  “My sister was named Juanita.  She died a few years ago, and I miss her.  I don’t know if she’s in heaven or not, so I’m so thankful to meet you.  Thank you for learning Spanish.  It’s been so hard for me to be here where no one understands me.  English is so hard to learn.”

My heart went out to her.  I know what it’s like to be in a foreign country where no one speaks your language.  I imagine that church is like a little slice of home to her.

We went outside, fully expecting to stand in line with the rest of the people, when we were told that our plates were waiting for us.  At the head table, next to the pastor’s family, were plates of steaming food: rice, beans, salad and carne guisado (stewed pork, in this case).  Delicious! 

During lunch, I found out that the pastor had five children and that their arrival in the US was “a long story.”  I listened to the shortened version, and then watched as the pastor’s wife teased the children that the very large cake was hers, and she was going to take it home.  But a few minutes later, she began to cut it up and divide it out among the guests.  A child brought me a plate, and it reminded me of the moist birthday cakes I’d had in Guatemala, many years ago.

The children waiting for a piece of cake.

One of the children asked the pastor’s wife if there was going to be a piñata.  Since she wasn’t in charge of the plans, she didn’t know.  But sure enough, a few minutes later one appeared.

With full stomachs and hearts full of praise for the work that God was doing there in Douglasville, GA, we took our leave.  The party was far from over, but we had an evening service to get to in another town.  As we left, excited children were gathering around a piñata, waiting for their turn to try to break it open.

As our car drove down the driveway, I sighed.  For a few hours, I could have believed I was in Latin America again.  Everyone spoke Spanish.  The food was deliciously Latino, and the people were delightfully Hispanic.  I could get used to this, I thought.  It was sort of like biting into a piece of cake and finding hidden flavor.  You were expecting a vanilla sponge cake and found ribbons of chocolate and coffee syrup thrown in.  I could definitely get used to this.  Here in the middle of Georgia I had found a little slice of Latin America.

God’s Sweet Voice

I love it when God speaks clearly.  It’s scary if it’s been too long since I’ve heard that clear voice of His.  Whether His voice speaks comfort, conviction, direction, or wisdom, I need to know He’s speaking clearly.  I want to know it’s His voice and not my own selfish desires directing the choices I’m making.

We went to Mississippi to participate in a missions conference.  There was wonderful fellowship with other missionaries and pastors.  The music and the speakers were tremendous.  But the best part of those three days was God’s clear voice speaking to my heart.

His Sweet Voice in Scripture

On Tuesday morning, I took Charlie to the conference and returned to the hotel room to read and pray.  I prayed about our deputation.  I prayed for Charlie and the contacts he was making.  I prayed about my ministry.  I asked, “Lord, what exactly is my role in this whole deputation process?”   I heard Him speak to my heart and say, “Read Ephesians 4:1.”

I opened my Bible and read,

I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called.

Wow!  Walk worthy of the vocation wherewith I am called.  That’s a tall order.  I have been called to be a wife to my dear husband, a missionary with IPM, a representative of the King of Kings, and a fellow traveller on my way to heaven with many other fellow travellers. 

“Okay,” I responded to the Lord.  “I get it.  I’m to walk in a way that is worthy of the calling on my life.  But HOW?  How am I supposed to fulfill such a tall order?

So I read on,

With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. 

So it’s not so much WHAT I do as HOW I do it.  My role is to have an attitude of humility, meekness, patience, forgiveness and unity.  In my calling as a wife, those are necessary.  In my calling as a fellow missionary, those are necessary.  In my calling as a fellow Christian, those are necessary.  Whether I’m alone with Charlie or out in the public eye, I need these qualities.  When I relate to others, I need these.  When I’m tempted to get discouraged or complain, I need these.  I have been so focused on the WHAT, that I’d forgotten that God looks at the heart and sees everything based on that.  I need to develop His attitudes in me.

His Sweet Voice during Preaching

On Wednesday morning, I sat listening to the preacher talk about the need of the world to hear the gospel.  I cannot give you his three points because the Holy Spirit was using that time to speak deeply to my heart.  When the altar call came, I knew I needed to respond.  Yes, I could have responded in my seat, but it was important that I publicly acknowledge that God was working on me.  I went to the altar with deep sorrow and repentance. He convicted me of sin and reminded me once again of things that I had forgotten.  He helped me regain my focus on Him and on the need to stay focused on eternity. God is far more patient with me than I usually am with others.

His Sweet Voice in Consensus

When the conference was over, we loaded up our display and headed to the car.  Travelling down the road, I told Charlie of the Holy Spirit’s conviction and why I had gone forward.  He then told me that the Lord had addressed an area of need in his life too – the same one for which I had come under conviction.  We realized it was the Lord’s way of directing us as a couple  .It was like a light went on right in front of us directing us in the choice of a home base.

By speaking to us individually about the same thing, we walked away from the conference saying, “We really need to be part of a church that has soul winning as a major part of its makeup.”  It was suddenly so clear to me that I needed a church like that, and then I found out Charlie came to the same conclusion.  We knew God had spoken clear direction into our lives to help us find a home church.

I Need His Voice

We know God can use circumstances to guide as well, but it is the clear sweet voice of the Holy Spirit that I crave.  I need to hear HIm speak clearly in every aspect of my life.  As Moses said to the Lord,

“If thy presence go not with me, carry us not up hence.  For wherein shall it be known here that I and thy people have found grace in thy sight?  Is it not in that thou goest with us?”   

I agree.