Where to Live

I have lived on three different continents and two islands, besides traveling to several others. People often ask how I enjoyed living in one place or another, to which I always reply that there are good and bad points about each.

If I had to elaborate, though, I’d say I loved the entertainment in London, but not the dreary, overcast skies. My whole Bulgarian experience was amazing, but I couldn’t handle the isolation from family. Malawi was home. Enough said. Antigua had a remarkable church family, stunning beaches and we made great friends. I could have adjusted to whatever it lacked in entertainment options and supplies, but not the constant itch and battle with skin infections.

My experience living in the US? I am very conflicted about that. For one thing, it’s not home. I don’t feel any great patriotic fervor. No passion for US politics, problems or ideology. That’s reserved for African issues. I find living in the US predictable, pedantic and pointless. Ironically, those characteristics reduce my stress and almost eliminate my eczema.

As to individual states… I loved living near my family in Minnesota and Wisconsin, but the weather! Yuck. Ditto for Iowa – but add incessant culture shock and home sickness to the negative associations.

Oklahoma I grew to value. It has all the amenities I appreciate, having lived overseas –public libraries, sports for the kids, a variety of entertainment, playgrounds and splash pads, readily accessible shopping, relatively clean, regular and free(!) public toilets, and yes – potable water, especially drinking fountains! Also, I felt needed in our congregation – there was a definite purpose to our being there. But it’s a bit flat for my tastes, and it does have a wee tornado problem.

So what would be my ideal place to live? Strangely enough, Spain jumps to mind. I’m not sure why. It is beautiful and has quite the history and architecture. But the enduring impression from my July visit is that it was blistering hot, rather dusty, and potable water was scarce.

Hmmm. Sounds a bit like Arizona in summer. I guess we’ll see how ideal it is over the next few years.

Armor of God

Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms... Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.  Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. 

~ Ephesians 6: 11-12; 15-17

In the US, the right to own and carry a gun is a key issue. I have heard numerous arguments with the main point being, "Have a gun so you can shoot someone (burglar, mugger, etc) before they shoot you." These arguments frustrated me because I couldn't effectively say why I didn't agree.

Then, on Sunday, Pastor Daylo preached on the verses above. That reminded me of my Dad and certain life lessons he taught me on this subject.

Dad had 2 or 3 guns in the house. But of all the situations he faced in 40 years in Africa, I can count the number of times he used those guns. Once he shot a rabid dog before it could bite him. Another time he shot over the head of a hyena to scare him away from our dogs and yard. The rest of the time, he used the armor of God.

One time, a flash flood dragged Dad and his pick-up sideways over huge boulders and down river. It spit him out some ways down from the bridge where he started. He climbed out of the water-filled cab with only a small scratch on his ankle, thankful that he had no passengers - a very unusual occurance. People ran up from all around and offered to lift his pick-up from the river. Twenty or so men lifted it out and set it on its wheels. Then a crowd gathered and demanded payment - some who didn't even help. They were angry when Dad said he had no money. Dad thought he'd be pulled limb from limb or stoned on the spot.

After a somewhat desperate prayer, he asked if any of the men were Christians. When some acknowledged they were, he spoke to them of how we, as Christians, should reflect God's love in our words and actions.  He reminded them of God's unconditional love and the ways we can thank him for that love. For example, helping those in need and not expecting payment. The Christians listened and spoke to the other men. Dad gave them all his Bibles, as wet as they were, in payment, and the crowd dispursed.

Dad didn't need a gun. He needed the armor of God, which he had. And he used it. God's Word has power.

Beyond my Dad's safety though, is the condition of those men's souls. If my Dad had died, he would have gone to heaven. If those men had died, they would have died in sin, perhaps in ignorance of their loving Saviour. In using God's Word, my Dad shared the mighty promises of God and gave them the tools for their souls' redemption - God's saving truth.

He also shared those promises with his daughters. He armed us for life - not with guns, but with God's armor. What a legacy! I rather hide behind the armor of God than a gun any day. The gun may or may not save my life. But the armor of God will save my soul, and perhaps the souls of those around me.

Wind, Hail and Tornados

I have never been afraid of storms, but after these 2 weeks in Oklahoma, I dread them. We’ve had two EF5 tornados, including the widest tornado in recorded history (4 kilometres wide) go through this area, as well as numerous smaller tornados. One man on the TV said he’s lived through 13 tornados since living in Oklahoma City. He’s only been here 2 weeks!

Last Friday night’s EF5 storm was a bit too close for comfort. The TV mapped my area; the weather man said, “Get out. Do not try to ride this storm out. You need to be underground.” He said the same thing last Monday when the tornado hit Moore, just down the road. Look what happened there. And here I was alone in the house without transport.

I grabbed my cell phone and computer and headed into the wind and rain. A woman across the street offered me a ride to her church; I jumped in. I started calling people who might talk to my husband: he and our daughter were at the movies and didn’t have a phone. If they stayed put, they’d be fine, but I knew they would try to rush home, despite the storm, concerned for me.

I spent 2 long, long hours watching the tornado’s progress on TV, praying that my family wasn’t anywhere near it. Vicky (my newly-discovered neighbour) and I decided to return home at 8:15pm. The wind chased us all the way. We could see flooding all along the road - we had to redirect a couple of times to reach home. The radio told of several fatalities amongst the bumper-to-bumper traffic stuck on I40. “LORD, don’t let my husband be on that road.”

Maybe our houses had no power – maybe that was why he wasn’t calling. After all, some 91 000 houses/businesses in the area were without power. But when we reached home, our houses were still standing and the power was still on. The garage was empty and no one greeted me at the door. I know God is in control of our lives and does all things for the good of those who love Him, but I really didn’t want Him to take my family that night.

Thank God there was a message on the machine. They were alive – taking shelter in a stranger’s house a few blocks away. They drove home during some of the worst of the storm, listening to the radio map the progress of the tornado towards them. It was pitch dark and wind slashed rain and hail at them. Then they drove straight into water that gushed up through the floor boards. The engine quit and wouldn’t start again. My husband single-handedly pushed the car out of the flooded intersection and onto higher ground while my daughter cried in the back seat. When it started to hail again, he jumped back in the car, soaked to the skin. He managed to turn on the radio and there was another tornado heading their way. He saw a light in a nearby house, so they sloshed out of the car. They knocked at the door and the people welcomed them inside, wrapping them in towels and offering the use of their phone.

Of course, my daughter found a couple of playmates amongst the 10-12 strangers in the house. She played with them for the next hour and a half, while my husband dripped in the entryway, wondering why I wasn’t answering our home phone. Within a half hour of my return call to him, they found a ride and were finally safely home.

I say safely, but we hardly feel that way. The last 2 mornings, our emergency radio has screeched us awake periodically through the wee hours. My husband and I lay awake listening to the thunder and thrashing wind, obsessing about all that needs to be done and all that might happen.

Our car is totalled. Here we were wondering how we could buy ourselves a second vehicle and now we have none. Well – not exactly true. We have a rental car, paid for through insurance – it does pay to buy that coverage! Now we await news from the assessor – how much will they offer us for the car? Given that they have to assess hundreds, if not thousands of other cars damaged or totalled in the last 2 weeks of tornados, hail and flooding, who knows how long that will take.

Oh, and did I mention that we are moving to Phoenix, Arizona in the next few weeks? But that’s a whole different story.

To Worry or Not to Worry

There are days when you look at your budget and see there is no reasonable way to balance it. The glaring red figures stare back at you – clear, undeniable. Half of you wonders how you are going to meet your obligations; how those essential cuts are even possible. The other half knows that God has always made a way before, against all odds, all reason, all logic. So then, the two halves war with one another – to worry or not to worry. To despair or to trust.

If you turn to God’s word, the answer is clear, like those red budget digits –

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? Matthew 6: 25-34.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;
Proverbs 3:5

Even though your first inclination is to worry and then despair, fight it. God will make a way. I’m not saying go on a spending spree and God will pay the bill. I’m saying, you do what you have to do and trust that God will bring you through it on an amazing, unforeseen path.

The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love

One of Peace Corps’ slogans is “The toughest job you’ll ever love.” I wholeheartedly agreed with this while in Peace Corps. The cultural and language barriers alone certainly made it difficult, but I loved the opportunity to do such varied and challenging work while experiencing parts of the world I’d never seen.

Then I had my son and I had to disagree with the Peace Corps: parenting is hands down the toughest job you’ll ever love. A full body makeover (not for the better), seventeen hours of torture, repeated sleepless nights, tonnes of responsibility - and that just in the first nine months (better not to think of the next 18 years)… tough doesn’t come close to describing it. And yet, when I could feel his little foot kicking inside, when he looked into my eyes, touched my face, held my hand, said “Mama” – I loved him like nothing ever before.

Now that he’s 13 (!) and my daughter is 6, I’ve learned new levels of toughness…and love. Tough love is remaining firm in a “no” even when faced with a blue-faced, eye-popping, floor-kicking, hair-pulling temper tantrum. It’s limiting TV and video game time even when faced with pleading, puppy-dog eyes, great reasoning, and/or tears and recriminations. It’s allowing your daughter to go to school in that eye-jarring get-up with her hair half out of its pony tail because she is so proud that she got herself ready. It's listening to what "so-and-so" did during recess or a soccer game knowing that beyond giving guidance, you have to let them fight their own battles. And to think - I get paid less as a mother than I did in the Peace Corps… Hmmmm.

Just as well motherhood is priceless.

God's Humbling Gifts

I feel so humbled right now. And stunned. And sad.

I just got off the phone with my son’s YMCA basketball coach. He’s told me from day one that my boy is special. Not only is he an amazing athlete, but he pays attention and does whatever he’s asked. I already knew this because his tennis and soccer coaches told me the same. And I guess I can see it myself, even though I know only the bare rudiments of these games. However, Coach Keith went on to say that he’s talked to several other coach buddies (he has coached high school and college basketball for over 20 years) about Scoot. News travels fast, I guess. To date, he’s received 8 calls from competitive coaches wanting to recruit my son for their teams.

“What?”

I hardly know what to think. He’s only 12 years old!

Coach Keith says that Scoot hasn’t had enough coaching yet to be a starter for one of these competitive teams, but give him a few months and he will. According to the coach, Scoot’s going to go far. He’s recommended a couple of coaches that will do well by him.

I am amazed at the nature...the skills and talents God has given my boy. In his first couple years of life, I didn’t believe that God would let me keep him. Not because he was sickly, but because…alright – call it superstition. Then he hit the terrible twos and I wasn’t so worried about losing him anymore. He drives me crazy when he argues with his sister or obsesses over his DS, and he is such a stickler for the rules (maybe worse than I am!). But then he stuns me once again with something like this.

My Dad would be so proud of him. I can only imagine him bundling off to each of Scoot’s games that he could, comparing statistics with him, giving him pointers about his game and hooting and rubbing his hands together over a particularly good play. And it wouldn’t matter which sport he played, Dad’d be all over it – because he was a natural athlete too and a sports enthusiast to beat all. They share so much more than a name.

So I’m humbled that God has given me such a gift to raise. I’m stunned at each new talent he brings forth. And I am so sad that my Dad isn’t here to see it all.

Telling the Truth

I remember the look of resignation on my 3-year old son’s face when he had to admit to some wrong-doing. He didn’t want to tell the truth, but he did. I hardly ever had to question him - just give him a look - and he'd tell me the truth.

So I wasn't prepared when I first caught my daughter in a lie at the age of 3. My husband and I soon learned that she hardly misses a beat when lying. And she will lie about lying. Even when I’ve caught her jaw-full of illicit sweets, she will wheedle, deny, reason and lie about how those sweets came to be in her mouth. Most of the time, it doesn’t matter if my husband and I apply law, gospel or a combination of both – she still shows no remorse. She has her view of the world and any other view is either wrong and/or incomprehensible to her.

I could not understand this trait. I thought there must be some dearth of conscience – something missing inside of her. But my mother told me she still remembers the day it first occurred to her that she was lying. She was seven years old. She realized she was telling her mother something that was not true. She had done it instinctively for years, but she never made the connection before. So maybe it’s only a matter of time before it clicks in my daughter's brain and she realizes - "I am lying!" We can pray, anyway…and keep working on telling the truth.

To tell the truth, she is better – for the most part. When I ask her if she has brushed her teeth, she will still automatically say, “Yes” - whether she has brushed them or not. However, now she will sometimes stop herself and say, “Wait.” Then she’ll look at me and say, “Oh, no. I haven’t brushed my teeth.” But then she’ll ruin it by making up an excuse: “I forgot.” 

What – you forgot to tell the truth or you forgot that you hadn’t brushed your teeth? I suppose the former is pretty accurate. We just have to work on her replacing her excuses with – “Oops! Sorry, Mum.”

The Story of the Free Spirit and the Rule Follower

My daughter and I rarely jive. If I agree to pink, she changes to black; if I suggest reading, she insists on colouring; if I give her a choice of two foods, she refuses to eat unless she has her own choice. She might end up hungry at these times, but she makes sure everyone else is just as miserable. And my daughter is only 6 years old. But age means nothing – at birth she decided she only needed to eat 2 minutes on each side and that she’d only be happy when held by men.

Part of me admires her. She is so independent and confident that she is like a tank rumbling over anyone or anything in her way. She has an argument for everything – an excellent reason for why she needs to wear that odd concoction of clothes, a perfectly rational explanation for why her rules are better in this game. But, in essence, I am a rule-follower and most of the time I just wish she’d…follow the rules.

But there are rules and then there are rules. I find myself questioning, like she does (constantly), do we have to follow this rule? Why? She doesn't accept that she has to follow a rule because her brother always has (and boy does that cause some head-butting). I have to come up with blindingly brilliant reasons for why we obey each rule. If I can't come up with one, then I either have to find a graceful (or awkward) way to back down, or it's battle time.

Battle days – those days when my daughter and I lock horns – are traumatic. There are screaming and tears and slamming doors. My son either retreats to his room or sometimes starts shouting at his sister – not helpful, though he tries. At the end of these days, I ask God, “Why me?”

Seriously – I am bewildered that God felt me capable to raise this amazingly independent, intelligent, utterly free-spirited person.