Africa Pt. 4

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Click here for Part 2.

Click here for Part 3.

























I wait. Little grains of time brush over my face.

Blink.

And Craig all the while continues life as if he never knew of a trip to Kenya, as if God hadn't closed the door because of me. I am jealous. His burden is light. He laughs easily.

And I wait.

Wait.
























A weight inside of me, now porous and rough, has rubbed angry spots smooth. Pumice. Bit by bit, a cavern of desire grows inside me all around the fear of him going to Africa. Somehow the wearing away has made a space inside larger. Still I wait. I release the extra lung full of air I've held in reserve. I breathe, awed at the deference God has given me.

I wait. Weightless.

Now, I see my move. It is an offering.

Child, do you want your name on something great?



Crescendo.

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Africa Pt. 3

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Then there is God's response. Oh, I twist and turn, one minute, yes, then, no. Then maybe. Always angry. The furnace of my fury is relentless and delicious. At least it's not the dull shadow of despair. And all the while Craig is fully unruffled by the fireworks. Calm as the day is long, his stare could last a lifetime. "Well, if God wants me to go, he'll change your heart."

And then to my unimpressed stare he declares, "I won't go unless you send me." Blink. "Really, I truly feel that God has said not to go if you are not okay with it." The silence that followed was flat and full like a wide open sky. He had made his move. Now he waited.

How many times are we actually eye to eye with God? The terrific, expectant gaze waits. I catch my breath at the complete submission to wait, and wait, and wait. I still even now feel honor and terror. God wouldn't mow me over. Some corner of the universe may actually hinge on a response from me, and he patiently waited. He wouldn't force my hand.
























Be still and know that I am God. Oh, God. Still. Wait.

Is this the point where pride falls away, anger crumples up, and I stand from the tips of my toes into honor and humility all at once? He waits. Is this what submission means? He waits? I thought submission was to become less, to be tossed aside, forgotten, worse than nothing.

He waits. My move.



Click here for Pt 4.

Crescendo.

Click here for Part 5.

Africa Pt. 2

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Unblinking blue eyes, he blurts it out, "I really think He's TELLING me, 'GO to Africa,' on the Kenya trip." What? I know the one he means, the well drilling in Adiedio. Our church is sponsoring it. But, are you crazy?! I want to shout, We NEED you, Craig. Can't you SEE that?! Frown. "You can't jump up and go to Kenya for half a month." Can't this just be a general feeling of us having so much we better give a little back? I was thinking we could sponsor a Compassion child from Africa or something sensible. Now, God's up and telling him, "GO." Is he supposed to be Abraham or Moses? What in the world?

















Prayer, the quiet, unimpressive beginning, the starting point, the space in a sentence before a word like terminal, unresponsive, or maybe, Africa. I pull the full girth of my prayers out of calm hibernation, the simplicity suddenly inadequate. I awaken to the possibility: Thy will be done, might not include my will at ALL.

No, thank-you very much.

And then there is the whole issue of flat refusing God. Can you do that? Can you just say, no, I don't want what you have to offer? And, then what? Does he still take care of you? Are you at war? Truce? He sort of does have the bigger guns. Plus, who does that make me if I tell God, "NO."? Unsettling.




Click here for Part 3.

Click here for Pt 4.

Crescendo.

Click here for Part 5.

Africa Pt.1

There we are, nine years ago about to get married. I suppose it really all started then when I picked Craig, said the proverbial, "Yes." But let's jump to the middle of the story.

"Africa?" I laughed, "YOU going to Africa?" If not for his earnest blue eyes and direct gaze I'd have chortled. It was a warm Monday in April or May. The afternoon sun all orange made me squint. Africa, how silly. A smile twiggled the corner of my lips.

I only prayed about it out of obligation. What a ridiculous idea. Three little children at home, one a baby, you don't just up and go to Africa. We are depending on him. People DIE over there. Plus, how expensive!

Ridiculous, yes, like the night I met Craig for the first time and prayed, almost in passing, "Dear God, don't ever let me marry a guy like him." Him, Craig, my life-long friend and love. Oh how God must have laughed.
























Laughed and waited. It's all a game of Chess, really, each of us moving, waiting, studying the board, God gracing us with dignity at each turn. So there I am saying the occasional prayer, "What do ya think, God?" There. Then I'd be able to tell Craig Africa wasn't a good idea.

But what to do? I neatly separate Africa into a small box in the back of my mind the kind you use to move and then never actually unpack for months maybe years. Then I pray and pray for Craig to hear God's voice, really solidly know God's will for our family. Like asking for good health, I whisper this prayer again and again. I offer it like the strains of Old McDonald or Twinkle, Twinkle woven into the background static of normal days. How simple and hilarious, "Lord, SPEAK!" as if it were plain and elementary like brushing dirt off my children's feet. Each installment of prayer was so small, so insignificant. So un-erasable.

And so it begins.



Click here for Part 2.

Click here for Part 3.

Click here for Part 4.

Crescendo.

Click here for Part 5.

Soul Food

My friend Lori mentioned a favorite speaker of mine in yesterday's comments: Andy Stanley. You can listen or watch right on his site. Spunky and honest, more concerned with what's right than what's popular, yet very compelling. Thinking of being the very best version of yourself even in great adversity? I definitely recommend Andy Stanley.

Summer, Genesis, Africa

Anyone else LONGING for summer? Day lilies, my favorite.

For the inevitable gray days between now and then, a friend of mine turned me on to a really great site. It's Ken Ortiz's study of the book of Genesis. Challenging, elegant, and brainy all at once. Refreshing. I'm about halfway through. If you've got mountains of laundry and piles of dishes like me, you can listen right there online. Until I learn to clean and read at the same time (wouldn't my house be so tidy) this is my solution.

Okay, one last thing, a little plug for a series on Africa coming up this next week. For a while now, Jane has been praying, "God please let Daddy have more days off." About every day she begs him to stay home. LOVE that Daddy. Today she said something new, "Mom, can Daddy just work every day, every day, EVERY every day and get RICH so we can send money to the people in Africa?" Aw, sweetie.

Africa, coming up...

Lately

1. My four year old can make sandwiches.

2. Apparently, I have a really nice forehead, and my bread is "Pertaculous!"

3. If you want to win an argument try: "I not bad boy, you bad boy!"

4. "What kind of animal lays cheese?" You know the grated kind you put on pizza.

5. The children confessed they found bees' nests in the backyard. Wisely, "We put them in the dog run."

6. Staring at palm, "When are we gonna SEE germs?"

7. In reference to my beauty parlor, "Are you painting your eyes?!" Stare. "That's probably painting."

8. "Hey Momma, I just want you to know that I love you and that's why I cleaned for you," the WHOLE upstairs while I was sacked out on the plaid couch!

9. Out of breath, rosy cheeked, tumbling through the back door, flurry of coats, hats, boots, mittens, melted puddles, sigh, "We were playing Sera and Bedo the WHOLE time." (Sera and Bedo, our friends adopted out of Africa, another post).

10. Dinner hour, hands covering ears: "Can you hear me? MOMMA, can you HEAR me?!"