Reflections

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Halloween Reflections

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We never dressed up for Halloween when we were kids. Mom and Dad never made a big deal about our not “celebrating” Halloween. We just didn’t. Instead, we sat in the living room with a big vat of candy and tracts and vied to answer the door when the doorbell rang. One piece of candy for the trick-or-treaters, one piece of candy for us. I never felt deprived.

Fast forward to the last couple of years, when I’ve discovered how much I enjoy putting on new identities. It started for a youth group “Sponsor Seek”, in which sponsor’s disguised themselves and attempted to evade the youth while walking around a shopping mall. I painted my face a chalky white, wore my friend’s best approximation of dreds, and stepped heavy in big pants and a jersey. Then came work spirit days, where I dressed as a nerd, a superhero, a football player (a wifebeater and sweatpants positioned strategically below my buttocks, revealing my red athletic shorts beneath.)

So when a costume contest was announced for Halloween–I dressed up.

Rebekah dressed as an old woman

I won first place (Thank you very much!), probably due to a last minute thought to bring along some photos I had lying around.

After making the long trek indoors–around the building and through all sorts of doors to get to the elevator–I asked Fatima and Marilyn if they might have seen my grandson (producing a picture of my brother Daniel). It took them a few seconds to realize that it was me–then they just laughed and laughed–while I continued with my story of trying to surprise my grandson, who was a student here.

The story was so successful, I couldn’t help but continue it. I stayed in character all day, discussing my pillies and my grandson. “This is the University of Nebraska-Lincoln? My grandson’s a student there.”

The older ladies in the kitchen–the morning cooks–enjoyed the costume most. Carolyn proclaimed me her grandmother and was quite anxious about me. “Are you sure you don’t need to have a seat, Grandma?”

Anyway, that was my Halloween costume.

Check out more, mostly children’s, costumes at Becky’s Costume Parade.
Photobucket

Categories Following Christ, Missions, Reflections

Song stuck in my head (Missing Mexico)

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For the past several days, I’ve had a song stuck in my head. It goes something like this:
///Si tienes problemas, dile todo a el///
Cristo esta en la linea hoy

///Llamale, llamale, dile todo a el///
Cristo esta en la linea hoy

Rebekah and I spent a fair bit of time singing that song. She was teaching me some Spanish songs out of the old rancho songbook “Alabanzos el Rey.” It’s easy to learn and easy to get stuck in your head.
“///If you have problems, give them all to Him///
Jesus is the way today

///Speak to Him, Speak to Him, Give them all to Him///
Jesus is the way today

I went on a walk with John and Casandra this evening. It made me miss Mexico. I miss looking up and seeing the Milky Way every night. I miss Rebekah. I was remembering the walk we all took late one night. Elizabeth and Luis were walking the track as well, but it was mostly just Rebekah and Tonio and I.

It was dark and there weren’t streetlights like we have here. It was truly dark, real dark that you can almost taste. Rebekah and I were walking along hand in hand when Tonio jumped at us out of the brush in the center of the track. I was too surprised to react, but Rebekah jumped and squeezed my hand tighter. We all three walked on together–and Tonio decided to tell stories to pass the time. Of course, it was all in Spanish. The stories lost something in translation I think, but Rebekah (who was translating for me) was obviously getting a bit frightened. She might have been just starting to relax her grip when he got to another scary part, then she’d grab hold of my hand again.

I startled them a bit that night–singing and dancing in the dark. I can’t help it that I felt so free, so alive walking around that darkened track.

I miss it. It took me a while to get really Mexico home-sick, but it’s setting in now. I miss singing with Rebekah in the schoolroom. I miss family devotions and prayer time. I miss Tonio. I miss homemade tortillas. I miss the sky and the air. I miss the boys from the rehabilitation center. I miss hearing Spanish all the time.

My experience in Mexico seems to have faded into the background as I’ve dived back in to grad school and work. Nothing “momentous” occurred in Mexico. Just lots of moments–moment after moment. Talking with Rebekah in the schoolroom. Trusting God for how to teach. Flirting with Berto (just the tiniest bit). Getting ice cream at the plaza when I had no idea what I was buying. Trying out my Spanish on some unsuspecting person. Teaching and being translated. Hugs and “hermanas”. The heat of the day and the cool of the night. Tunas from the peddler that goes door to door. Visitors daily, new people to meet. Girl talk. Dressing up to go out on the town.

I miss those moments. I miss Mexico. Maybe someday, I’ll go back.

Categories Rants, Reflections

If you have a problem with me, please talk to ME

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Apparently my clothing is an issue for certain women in our congregation. Unfortunately, they don’t tell me themselves, so I can’t really correct the situation.

I thought it somewhat unusual, but didn’t think much on it when the first words out of her mouth when I opened the door were “Oh, you’re still wearing that dress.” The comment registered as odd–I almost never change out of my church clothes on Sunday–but since I sometimes don’t know what to make of her, I just smiled.

Then as I was hustling everyone out the door so I could get to my study session, I commented that I was a bit overdressed for a study group. Mom concurred and asked some of the other ladies if they’d wear my dress to a study group. When she got to the one woman, she said “Of course, you wouldn’t wear that dress for anything.”

The lightbulb clicked on. Apparently, she had a problem with my dress. And apparently she vented it to my mom (and probably my dad and all my siblings, as well as her own children) on the way home from church.

Unfortunately, the one person she failed to talk to about it was me. So I have no idea what she found objectionable about my outfit and whether her complaint was valid. Since she still has a hard time putting off her scarves, I don’t have any guarantee that she isn’t just reacting out of the Islamic culture she’s still coming out of. But I don’t know for sure because she didn’t talk to me about it.

Was it that the dress was sleeveless? Or maybe the back was too low for her taste. Maybe she didn’t like that it was knee length. Maybe she doesn’t like the fact that I have curves, and nothing short of wearing a bag (which she does but I’m certainly not inclined to) could conceal them. Maybe she doesn’t like the color red. Or maybe it was a really legitimate complaint. Maybe you could see straight through the skirt because I wasn’t wearing a slip with it. Maybe my bra straps were showing in the back and it looked awful. But I don’t know if it was any of those things–or something else entirely–because she didn’t talk to me about it.

I’ve had this happen before, where someone complained to my mom about my clothing. Mom mentioned it to me later. That “correction” was hard to submit to because I was so hurt that this woman, with whom I have a fairly good relationship, would go to my mom instead of me with a complaint about my clothing. At least I know that she spoke to Mom about it privately.

This time, I’m not sure what to do. Do I ask Mom to clarify? Do I ignore the criticism since she didn’t come to me about it? Do I ask my brothers about what they heard? Or maybe I should ask my Dad. Do I seek to deal with whatever she had a problem with in the name of “not putting a stumbling block in a sister’s way”? Or should I even bother trying not to offend someone who’s gossipping about my clothes to my family behind my back?

Please, if you ever have an issue with my clothes–or anything else concerning me–come to ME. I can’t promise that I’ll immediately agree with what you say, that my pride won’t rise up and make me try to defend myself. But I can promise you that I’ll consider your correction, and pray about it, and attempt to work on it. I did when a sister mentioned her concerns about my inattentiveness while driving. I did when a brother pointed out that I was filling my plate too full. I want to grow, I want to receive rebuke. Just please, talk to ME.

Categories Reflections

Vision

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Sometimes I get so busy that I lose my vision. That’s when I find myself thrashing around wildly trying to accomplish something, only to realize that I really haven’t accomplished anything.

My vision is to glorify God by growing in daily relationship with Him, being conformed to the image of Christ; by growing in relationship with others, taking time to invest in their lives; and by growing as an individual, always learning and practicing what I’ve learned.

In summary, my vision is to Glorify God. My mission is to grow. My roles are to an image bearer, an ambassador, and a steward.

Growth (my mission) requires TIME and TRANSFORMATION. I must take time with God, cultivating conversation with Him–and I must be transformed through emulation and obedience. I must take time with others, cultivating heart to heart friendships–and I must be transformed through sharpening and being sharpened. I must take time for myself, cultivating my body, mind, and soul–and I must be transformed as I put into practice what I’ve learned and know to do.

I am an image-bearer.
“For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren.” (Romans 8:29)
I am an ambassador.
“We are therfore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making His appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf. Be reconciled to God.” (2 Corinthians 5:20)
I am a steward.
“Moreover it is required in stewards that one be found faithful.” (I Corinthians 4:2)

Words stuck in the front of my notebook. Vision I lost sight of. I’m waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light. My heart yearns for the goal, but in the dark I’ve built obstacles to achieving that vision.

I slowly pick my way through the labyrinth. Glorify God. Grow. Image bearer, ambassador, steward. Fix my eyes on the vision. I see. Lord, shed light on my path.

Categories Politics, Reflections

Going Green? All the Way, Baby. Voting Green? Okay, not that far.

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I think I might qualify as an environmentalist. I am very concerned about my impact on the environment. I care about what kind of earth I leave to the generations behind me. I believe, as C.S. Lewis suggested, that expectation for a better world (heaven) should make me even more inclined to make a difference in this one.

To this end, I do my best to work towards eco-friendliness. I’ve made myself some shopping bags and take them with me faithfully. Paper or plastic? I go with cloth. I don’t even use their bags to put my produce or bulk items in–I bring in my own heavy duty bags (recycled from work.) I recycle everything I can–and if I can’t recycle it at the city recycling center, I find a way to reuse it at home (or to not buy it at all.) I use every bit of white space in my paper before sticking it in a bag to recycle it.

I make my own laundry soap and clean almost anything with vinegar. I’ve pretty much eliminated “paper products” from my life. I use cloth napkins, hankies, and pads. I hibernate or turn off my computer when I leave the room. I keep my shades down during the bright summer afternoons to keep from using extra energy to keep the house cool. I finally got a blanket for my hot water heater (woo-hoo!) My worms for vermiculture should arrive in the mail any day now.

I buy used instead of new, I give away instead of throwing away. I don’t buy if I don’t need. I grab the paper that would otherwise be thrown away at work to use as scratch paper. I think I probably qualify as a bona-fide green do-gooder. Or if not bona-fide, I’m at least a pretty good wanna-be.

But what I don’t do, and don’t think I’ll ever do, is vote on the basis of environmentalism. Because what I’ve seen of political environmentalism is basically the lefts version of “legislating morality”. They think that if they just make all sorts of laws protecting the environment and punishing or forbidding its desecration, that somehow that’ll make a difference. And maybe it will. But at what cost? At the cost of people’s liberties? At the cost of our economy? At the cost of an even more massive bureaucratic government?

I have the unfortunate luck to be someone who cares about what the left has co-opted as “liberal issues.” Environmentalism, women’s rights, public health, education–those are some of my concerns. I just don’t agree with the lefts way of going about those issues. Politically, I do more than lean to the right–I believe in limited goverment, fiscal conservativism, local control, strong foreign policy, and that America has both the privelege and responsibility to act as a force for freedom in the world.

So I find myself stuck in the middle of a sad little fight. The environmental blogs that I read and enjoy are up in arms about this coming election, and so am I–on the other side.

I enjoy the tips on green living–I enjoy sharing commonalities with people who also vermicompost and deal with people’s funny looks at their homemade shopping bags. I just don’t enjoy people bashing my candidate on one point (environmentalism) and then accusing conservatives of being “one issue voters.” I listed my political values a couple of paragraphs up–do those look like single issue topics?

–So at this point, I’m just ranting. Or maybe I have been all along. But come on, guys, give me a break–just because environmentalism isn’t my political litmus test doesn’t mean I’m a hard-nosed, knock-down-the-little-guys and pollute-the-water-system junky (or the Devil incarnate). I’m a citizen who cares about a deep variety of issues (that people across the political spectrum care about) and votes accordingly. So please, calm down and let me weigh EVERYTHING–instead of just your ONE hot-button issue.

Categories Family & Friends, Reflections

Butter on white bread and he can’t play the fiddle

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I was buttering a piece of store-bought white bread when suddenly nostalgia had me gasping for air. I remember eating slice after slice of sandwich white or butter-top wheat at Grandma’s house, thickly coating it with the creamy, pale white butter. In those days, we ate margarine at our house–on dense whole wheat bread. Grandma’s bread was an unlikely feast for the senses. Pale butter against pale bread, so different from the garishly tinted margarine that covered our dark bread. I loved spreading the smooth, counter-warmed butter over the bread. I still can find nothing to compare it to. No friction, no resistance, no struggle to scrape the butter across. Just whisk your knife over the top and the butter magically follows, leaving behind an even path of silken scrumptiousness. It’s an ordinary sort of memory, but it took me back almost 20 years.

I sat on the kitchen floor with my bread and butter, waiting for my soup to heat up in the microwave, reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter. That in itself invokes memories of days long past. The Long Winter was one of my favorite books growing up, and one of my favorite games to play was “Making hay while the sun shines”–pretending I was hoarding for a long winter of my own.

But I just happened to be reading the 22nd chapter, when Pa is reading to the family and Laura interrupts to ask for a song on the fiddle. Pa tried to oblige, “but every note from the fiddle was a very little wrong. Pa’s fingers were clumsy….’My fingers are too stiff and thick from being out in the cold so much, I can’t play,’ Pa spoke as if he were ashamed.” They put away the fiddle and Ma quietly asked her husband to help her with grinding some wheat in the coffee mill. At least that he could do. When Pa went out to finish the chores, Laura reflected, “The worst thing that had happened was that Pa could not play the fiddle. If she had not asked him to play it, he might not have known that he could not do it.”

In many ways, Pa was defined by his fiddling. Every book is filled with the songs that he played on his fiddle. He used the fiddle to cheer his family, to entertain his guests, and to worship his God. In the same way, my grandpa has been defined by his farming. He told me, not so long ago, that he doesn’t know how a man can farm and not know God. He said he couldn’t think of any chapel better than a field–looking up, knowing that you were completely dependent on God for the soil and the sun and the rain. My grandpa’s a farmer. I remember crawling between the wires of a barbed wire fence while my aunts struggled to pull the wires apart further. My grandpa always stretched the tightest fence in Northeastern Nebraska.

Within the last year, my grandpa’s many health problems have conspired to keep him from farming. Arthritis has stiffened his joints and made them uncooperative. Diabetes has made him dependent on insulin and caused him to lose most feeling in his feet. Heart disease means that he can’t keep up the pace he used to be able to. A stroke means that his body no longer immediately obeys his mind’s commands. Like Pa’s fingers, clumsy from the hard winter, my grandpa’s body can no longer do what it wants so much to do.

I think of it all, and I wish I could could go back and freeze time, for Grandpa at least. I wish that my grandpa could be forever worshiping from the middle of a field–a 7 day a week Christian who stretched tighter fences than anyone. I wish that my own children could see Grandpa taking joy in his work and in his family most of all. It’s not that he’s any less of a great man, or a great grandpa than he ever was–it’s just that he doesn’t seem to realize it. He’s discouraged, depressed, cast down by the weakness of his body. It’s not so much that I miss the fiddle, I just wish he didn’t know he couldn’t play. ‘Cause it’s so hard to see him weak.

Categories Following Christ, Reflections

Last but not least

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I’m going to guess that most of my readers have heard of the ten commandments. I’m also going to guess that most of you think that the ten commandments should be kept.

So how about this one: “Thou shalt not covet…” (Ex. 20:17) According to the American Heritage Dictionary (found online at dictionary.com), to covet means “to feel blameworthy desire for that which is another’s.” Envy is the most common synonym. Envy is defined by dictionary.com as “a feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another’s advantages, success, possessions, etc.” Desire for something that does not belong to you, discontent with your own circumstances.

That’s a hard one to swallow. “Thou shalt not covet…” Does that really rank up there with “Thou shalt not murder”, “Thou shalt not commit adultery”, “Thou shalt not steal”? After all, coveting is something everyone does, right?

I’ve been slowly coming to discover that covetousness is a huge stronghold in my life. It seems almost every day I find something new to covet. I covet my neighbor’s husband and children. I covet the house she owns. I covet her car, her hair, her garden. I covet my neighbor’s artistic ability, or her athletic ability. I covet her three piece suit. I covet her job, or her assistantship. I covet her schedule, or lack thereof. Today, I covet her deep freeze.

Yet covetousness is not something to be taken lightly. Romans 1:29 lists envy among the sins that people who are “filled with all unrighteousness” commit. I Corinthians 3:3 describes envy as being a carnal behavior–one that mere men commit (not those who are filled with the Spirit of God). Galatians 5:21 lists envy as one of the evident works of the flesh–and states that those who practice such things shall not enter the kingdom of God. James 3:16 says that “where envy and self-seeking exist, confusion and every evil thing are there.” Envy is not some sort of “little white” sin. It’s a big deal, capital offense, capital letter SIN.

Yet I tolerate it so often. I rationalize sin in my mind. “You’re just coveting her husband–it’s not like you’re lusting after him.” Uh. No. That’s not the way it works, Rebekah. Sin is sin. “How could you not covet that life?” Scripture says that God won’t give you temptation beyond what you can bear.

What is the antidote to covetousness? Philippians 4:11 “I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” And how do I do that? Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Lord, strengthen me, that I might say with Paul: “I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.” (Philippians 4:12) Help me to learn–whether single or married, whether a student or a working woman, whether young or old, whether fat or skinny, whether well-dressed or with nothing to wear–to be content.

Categories Everyday Life, Reflections

I wish you could videotape dreams

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Every so often, I see a really good movie–one that I want to watch over and over and over again. Unfortunately, there’s no way for me to watch it over again, because it’s a dream. If only there were a way to video tape dreams so that you could replay them. That’d be just amazing.

The first time I remember having a movie-dream was sometime last year. It was the most spectacular movie. The opening scene was this teenage boy and his dad fishing in a river when the boy suddenly sees a woman who looks like his mother going over some rapids. This is significant because he’s been told that his mother has been dead for years. Seeing the mother in the river sparks off a huge quest to find her. Unfortunately, as exciting as the plot was, I can’t remember how it ends. The mother must have been in some kind of witness protection program, or maybe she was a spy or something. The problem is, I just can’t remember.

Last night I had another great movie-dream. I tried to write as much as I could down as soon as I awoke, but it faded more quickly than I could write. It was about a woman living in Mexico who goes to visit her next door neighbor and finds herself in the midst of a huge family drama. The bottom line is that a baby girl’s mother has been killed (or taken hostage–I don’t remember) and the baby’s life is in danger as well. The woman and the next door neighbor’s son make a break for the border to get back into the US, where presumably, the person who’s trying to get the baby can’t get to them. They go to live with a couple in the woman’s extended family, but the extended family gets really suspicious about the whole thing and basically holds the couple and the baby hostage too. It was really a great dream–an incredible movie. The movie had a lot of tension, not just because of the obvious plot tension (kidnapping, murder, running away, etc.) but because the woman and the next door neighbor’s son didn’t know each other before they went running off to the US trying to get the baby away from whoever the guy was that wanted her. So there’s all sorts of relational tension too. The problem is that all the connecting factors are lost in my mind–which makes the movie seem completely ridiculous in the retelling. But really–this was a great movie. It was one that I forced myself back to sleep so that I could finish it–it was that good.

Man, if only I had a video recorder that could record dreams!!

Categories Missions, Reflections

Mexico Monday (a day late): 10 years ago

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Ten years ago, I made my first trip to Mexico. We traveled to Jaumave, where we painted a village church. A few years later, a massive storm sent water running through the wooden structure, causing the wood to rot. This is a picture of the rebuilt church.
church with block foundation

Ten years ago, on our way down or up (I can’t remember), we stayed at a place called “Way of the Cross”. I remember sitting in the white benches outside the building.
white benches outside building
I remember singing our trip theme song “Down at Your Feet, O Lord” around an electric piano in the chapel.
chapel
When we stayed at Way of the Cross on our way back up to Laredo this time, the chapel and other buildings had sustained damage from Hurricaine Dolly and were in a state of disrepair.

There have been many changes in the ten years since I first visited Mexico. Some have been good, some have been bad. One thing is certain, Mexico is in need of still more laborers. Pray that the Lord of the harvest would send laborers into His harvest.