Fall 2012 Update

 

It is fall, and we are in California on our first stateside assignment. Michael has his corner of the front room here at the Immanuel Baptist mission house stacked with seminary papers and books. It feels a bit to me like old days in UCLA student housing—the watching him be a student again-- but now he has a laptop. And that monitor we bought in Peru. And both are slaves to his data-gathering and paper-writing while he works through necessary seminary units… and dabbles in mapping/programming/app-writing…for January.

Come January, we won’t live in a jungle community or an isolated town along a tributary of the Amazon or a hi-rise in Peru’s capital city. Instead, upon the arrival of 2013, we’ll be boarding a plane for Virginia to work at the IMB headquarters in Richmond. For a three-year term, we’re joining the Global Research team, where Michael will be doing some of what he did in Mexico earlier this year, only on a global scale. It will, Lord willing, look something like this: By problem-solving to implement Geographical Information Systems (GIS) software, he will be part of a team working to advance a database network of accurate, up-to-date information on people groups: their location, head-count, demographics, and whether or not they’ve had the chance to hear and respond to the Gospel. Implementing solutions for the gathering, categorical layering and presentation of this data, we will be armed with a real analysis of borders, head count and beliefs. Visually and spatially, these maps will serve our leadership in forming a strategy for the employment of limited resources and missionaries in strategic zones.

And so we have received the next something-to-do. Since each person is given something to do that shows who God is: Everyone gets in on it, everyone benefits. All kinds of things are handed out by the Spirit, and to all kinds of people! The variety is wonderful… (1 Cor 12:7, MSG). While Michael works on his something-to-do, I will have mine. And Julia and Abigail and Nathanael and Chloe will have theirs. It will look something very much like time spent in Yarina Isla or Atalaya in this way: we will spend time listening to people—to their stories. We will tell them ours and teach them from God’s history of the Universe, His Word. We’ll do this in the context of a local church, and in our neighborhood, while staying connected to, and sharing the stories of our Peruvian friends who, having heard pieces of God’s story, have yet to respond…

During December, Southern Baptists are meeting together to gather our offering-of-all-offerings, the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering. Together—we who pray, we who give, and we who go—enable Southern Baptists to spread out upon the four corners of the earth with our appointed somethings-to-do. This makes the LMCO a great cause for celebration—thank you for giving with us this Christmas!!!!

Celebrating with you a great multitude…from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb (Revelation 7:9, MSG)! We join you in this great multitude—before the One whose blood has united even the fiercest enemies—thanking God for making us a team, each with our something-to-do.

Happy Thanksgiving!
Team Gayheart

Let It Be

 Sunday. M and J were here for many hours tonight. They told us of things I’d wished I’d never heard. Blood-curdling tales from their adolescent years when Peru’s then-premiere terrorist group dominated and destroyed isolated native communities. In J’s village, bodies of live women and children were piled into covered holes in the dirt for hours-- babies and toddlers drugged with tree and leaf extracts to silence them— to save them. Quityoncari! Quityoncari! Red. Blood red. Ema first taught me this word in Yarina Isla, pointing to the blood of a dead animal. Now I think of the blood of slain Ashéninka and I shudder.


Wednesday. Nathanael, Michael and his Ashéninka language helper, whom I affectionately call the Professor, spent the hottest part of the afternoon with their machetes hacking away at waist-high weeds. Michael’s hands were bloody and blistered and he, Nathanael and the Professor were all dripping with watery mud when they came in for lunch. The girls and I had baked lemon-garlic chicken with plantain and poured it over white rice with a green herb sauce. The professor ate all of it with such enthusiasm and thorough attention to every bit of the chicken bone, Julia and Abigail and I were just delighted.


Friday. The neighborhood goat is now followed by her brown little ones just like her. They were feeding on the newly cleared land beside our front porch this morning while Profesora and I were studying some translated hymns.

Crystal with her language helper outside our house.

We sat on the front porch, and rocked and sang in Ashéninka, and I learned more grammar patterns. Inintaperoeyacaeni. He loves us. Anintaperoeyerini. We love Him.

And commands.Pomampaacotyaari Pava. Sing to God!
And praises. Noquimoshirevenaquimi. You make me happy.

Somehow foreign words spill out more easily in song, so we did a lot of singing today while we watched the goats.


Saturday. The carpenter came by. Out of the blue, Michael had called him to build a workbench area in the shed, but he seemed hesitant over the phone. Upon seeing him, we knew why. H’s face was shadowy with eyes sunken back toward his forehead. Emaciated, he sat down to talk.
The woman he’s been living with sat in the moto-taxi for quite some time while the men talked on the porch. H fears for his life. He thinks he’s dying and is cursed for rejecting God. He’s afraid. And angry. He’d come to ask us to buy his land. Or did we know anybody who would buy his land so He could go to the capital city for medical help?

I went out to the moto-taxi and asked the woman to come and sit in the shade. She declined. So I brought her water then left her alone. I walked in the house and watched her from the window. Minutes later, she was handing me a plate of smoked meat and yucca through the window bars. I gave the food to the children and went to the moto-taxi and asked her to tell me a little bit about what was happening to H.

She cautiously began… and her story unfolded, which was his story, too. She said she once followed God but did not anymore. She was sad, but did not know how not to be. I asked her if I could pray for H with her. She agreed. Together, we asked God to reveal Himself to her as she accompanied H through a great valley.

When we finished, I saw H, his chin in his chest, praying with Michael.
…The Lord is the strength of my life… (Psalm 27:1).


Sunday. Instead of a church service, there was a funeral today. The casket was cut from smooth wood and painted nearly black. On top of it were three plastic soda bottles cut off at the middle to make flower vases stuffed with colorful wildflowers beside taper candles sitting in their wax melted on splintered planks. It was hot. Our bodies were all stuck together on uneven benches. We sang choruses and children played with a puppy and picked each other’s heads.

Someone passed out plastic cups filled with cold, red cola. We looked at the casket. Then they asked Michael to come up and say something. He stood beside the black box. His voice broke. In the casket was the body of a nine-year old girl, Abigail’s friend from Sunday school. She’d been tree-climbing. And fell.
He spoke few words from Psalm 84 through the tears caught in his throat.

My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God…

Blessed is the man whose strength is in You…
As they pass through the valley of weeping, they make it a spring;
They go from strength to strength…
O Lord… blessed is the man who trusts in You!

Jose's 5th birthday with a yummy Leo cake!

Saturday. While everyone was playing volleyball in the field beside the corner church, I hopped across the way to visit Leo. Michael suggested I order one of her chocolate cakes to surprise Jose for his birthday. She told me of her dream to own a cake-shop. For now, she bakes out of her house which is mainly brick and mortar without windows or doors on a muddy lot. Her baking tools are neatly covered in fabric, and shelves are stacked with pans and spoons and chocolate bars from Lima. She washes her dishes outside. It is thoroughly enchanting. She sent me with a chocolate baking bar and made me promise to return with whatever I made. I’m thinking about fudge for Thanksgiving.


Friday. It was after 4 when Nellie started singing, signaling the start of another study. While she sang, someone banged a rock on the gate. It was Anali with three other indigenous women beside her. I assumed they were all together, though I’d never seen the three before, so I invited them in.
I went to get some bananas for the crying toddlers and when I returned, the room was full but all the women were silent. That wasn’t normal. So I asked Anali, Do you not know each other?, referring to the three women with her. She nodded. No.

Apparently the women were just walking by, and they weren’t sure why they were now sitting in our front room. So I told them I would be telling a story if they’d like to stay for a bit. They agreed.

I told the woman-at-the-well story—how a rejected woman drawing water heard how she might never thirst again. We talked about our hungry hearts that seek satisfaction in a myriad of mildly-satisfying, short-lived pleasures. And of …Christ who is our life… (Colossians 3:4). I shared examples of things I’ve groped at, vainly hoping to feel fully happy only to find that Christ is all and in all (Colossians 3:11), and He who is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25), is also The fountain of living waters (Jeremiah 17:13). Our Maker, who finally and ultimately satisfies us completely, does so because we are His.

When a rejected woman at the well heard about living water: “Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life” (John 4:14), and that its source was found in the One who spoke I… am He (John 4:26), she believed. And was satisfied. And could not keep silent.

When our time finished, the story was more alive to me than before, and I wanted to tell it again and again because each time I do, I believe it more.


Sunday. M and J and his cousin decided it was time we visit the caves. Our families hiked in flip flops through layers of everything green and red and grey. Mainly mud and trees. Nathanael spotted an enormous carcass of some creature … Huge femur bones and a jagged skull, something akin to a creature we read about in Job: See now, his strength in his hips… he moves his tail like a cedar; The sinews of his thighs are tightly knit. His bones are like beams of bronze. Indeed the river may rage but he is not disturbed…(Job 40).

We sank to our calves into pottery-making red clay, then bare footed through fields of wildflowers and underbrush. For lunch, there were noodles with spinach and basil sauce in a lemon grove. And mosquitoes. In a cold, clear spring, the children painted their bodies with red mud.

Found the cave. Into the earth it wound. (I know only because I looked at pictures). Michael and M, his cousin and a boy from an indigenous community disappeared into the darkness armed with flashlights, pocket knives, and a green string by which to find their way back out.

In one of the spacious areas of the cave with a pool. Are there any creatures in the water?

Some areas included sliding down chutes of mud.

Too many for a spider, too few for a centipede

J and I talked while the children hung from vines in the trees and the dog chased insects and whatever else he was barking at. The men re-emerged after some time, covered in mud, elated. They saw animal tracks and a spider-look-alike with a dozen legs…on each side. The kids begged to be lowered into the entrance. We heard screams of gleeful terror. Bats. But night was falling, so we followed the carcass-laden trail to where the truck was parked beside a stream. Following the stream led to a river, and we jumped in, commencing headstand contests and mud-scrubbing from clothes and bodies.

Smiles, screams, and laughter marked an underground adventure!

At home, I stood under the hot water apparatus until my skin burned. Through the window and barbed wire, the black sky and gauzily clouded moon yielded just enough light to see flat, waxy leaves reaching into the sky. Complete and total beauty. And my soul was lost in it entirely.

Lord, your constant love reaches to the heavens;
Your faithfulness extends to the skies.
Your righteousness is towering like the mountains;
Your justice is like the depths of the sea.
People and animals are under your care.
How precious, O God, is your constant love!
We find protection under the shadow of your wings.
We feast on the abundant food you provide;
You let us drink from the river of your goodness.
You are the source of all life, and because of your light we see the light
(Ps 36:5-9).

Tuesday. I’m going through a lot of pen and ink learning about the sovereignty of God. How one nation rises and another falls. How some people are rich and some are poor. How some know severe suffering and others do not seem to. How one thing is right for one person and certainly not for another. But so much of what I observe is only a seemingly sort of observation, a dimly-lit, sorely-lacking view of what is true.

This only seeing what seems-to-be has made me really uncomfortable. It’s much more fun to be confident and certain of most anything and being a know-it-all has always come quite effortlessly to me. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I am fully known (1 Corinthians 13:12). Yet this is what is real right now—dimness. Seeing dimly reminds me not to lean too heavily on my own understanding, but to work through these matters of following Jesus humbly: God resists the proud, but shows favor to the humble (1 Pet 5:5) and with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12b). What joyous liberty then is this matter of seeing dimly! I get to hurl myself humbly, headlong, and free into the One who loves me in a way I now only dimly see! O, but when I see Him face to face, I will know! I will know His love and I will know and understand the promise He made to the woman at the well.

O let it be!

Most of March

Saturday
What normally takes nearly 8 hours by truck and boat, took 12 ½. It was a long travel day. We started out before morning light. Not long after hitting the dirt road we follow for 3 1/2 hours, a tall truck which had lost hundreds of papayas in the mud the night before, blocked motorcycles and trucks from both directions.
Later there was the brook that flooded, nearly carrying away brave trucks that had forged on through. One truck got stuck and Michael used the winch to pull him out. We waited for the water level to lower in the sunshine before crossing. Water seeped in through the sides, but just enough to remind us of where we’d just been… and we were off again.
I’ve dropped some melted wax from a burning candle to the top of a tuna can. The candle sits in that wax providing my only light, but even its soft glow cannot lure me to write. Another time.
Sunday
Hermano Hyoni pulled a giant fish in from his net, and everyone was running in circles telling everyone else who already knew. He was this morning’s hero providing breakfast for many. For lunch, I let black beans simmer over the fire, bathed in cilantro and chopped carrots and we had garlic rice and aji (thin slivers of salted purple onion and diced hot peppers drenched in the juice of many lemons). We fried up some eggs and called it a feast.
Balsa logs roped and woven together with strips from the palms formed the raft Abigail, Julia and I sat on while washing clothes. Two other young girls sat along the river with us, so I told them part of Joseph’s story from Genesis until the clothes were washed and wrung-out. And then the four of them were off, jumping from the shallow cliff into the muddy river until their teeth were chattering and they could bear the cold, risen current no longer.
The sky is so black, and the stars so white, Julia was delighted to have stuffed her telescope into her tarp bag for such a night. I’m sneaking outside to watch her watch the sky.

Monday
Refuse to lean on my own understanding.
You are the one who will profit if you have wisdom, and if you reject it, you are the one who will suffer (Proverbs 9:12).
Today I am declaring dominion over my fluctuating feelings. They seek to drag me across the thorny valleys of unbelief, like a panicking stampede of furious cattle. I refuse to be controlled by ideas whose only power is the power I yield them. I will not therefore yield or linger on my own understanding, nor my own perspectives. Any who love knowledge want to be told when they are wrong. It is stupid to hate being corrected (Proverbs 12:1).
I will receive correction joyfully, even when I want to believe I’m the one who is right. Can I see the whole picture? Can I see all sides in any situation? I cannot.
People who are proud will soon be disgraced. It is wiser to be modest (Proverbs 11:2).

Tuesday
Ema and I went through story after story following the saga of Joseph’s life. I told them in Spanish. She repeated my sentences and paragraphs in Asheninka. I recorded her telling the stories in Asheninka, and as they unfolded, she lamented the fact that her Asheninka Bible stories in written form had been lent out and she was without them, so she stopped telling them.
Everything froze in my mind. She supposes that one cannot tell a story unless they have a paper to tell it from, and here I am confirming this very idea as I read more stories to her and she tells them back to me. She assumes that our story of Joseph is hinged on this piece of gold-leafed paper I’m reading from.
I stop.
Ema, I lamented, These stories are in your heart! You’re telling details that I’ve not even included. You know these stories better than I do, yet you’re not telling them because you don’t have them written down? My problem is that I depend on what is written. If my Bible falls in the river or gets burned in fire, woe is me! But you! You have them in your heart, and they can never be stolen nor destroyed nor burned…That I would be like you, Ema… And I will!
She smiles. Ema says she will be telling the stories again.
Wednesday

Michael found a snake in the kids’ room this morning. After the excitement of its decapitation, it was time to begin breakfast.
Any time I make a meal, a small crowd gathers, eager to share in what will be served. This morning I was feeling mad about this. There I was-- being hauled off by those stampeding cattle of emotions. I wanted to make a meal for my family and no one else, and was thoroughly vexed. Then I decided I should probably feel really awful for being mad at the little brown eyes awaiting some rice. I should be mad at their parents for leaving their bellies to groan.
Stop. You have to whip a horse. You have to bridle a donkey, and you have to beat a fool (Proverbs 26:3). Dominate the stampede. Demand calm, resolute confidence in your Creator. Who gave me the rice I’m preparing? Who makes my hands to work? Who gives fire and sustains it? Do you realize the disaster that God or the king can cause (Proverbs 24:22)? Do I want to thrash about and grumble as own who leans on her own understanding? Am I willing to risk paying the cost of self-dependency? See what happens to those who trust in themselves, the fate of those who are satisfied with their wealth—they are doomed to die like sheep, and Death will be their shepherd (Psalm 48:13-14). Wouldn’t I rather triumph through trusting? The righteous will triumph over them as their bodies quickly decay… (Psalm 48:14b). And have I not already settled the matter of my righteousness? I have none of my own, but am declared righteous by faith. But those who depend on faith, not on deeds, and who believe in the God who declares the guilty to be innocent, it is this faith that God takes into account in order to put them right with Himself (Romans 4:5). Isn’t this therefore a settled matter? Being cheerful keeps you healthy. It is slow death to be gloomy all the time (Proverbs 17:22). The next little guest will be met with a steaming bowl of rice and a hearty smile.
Friday
We needed to prepare enough 1 ½ liter bottles of water to get us to Puerto Davis with enough time to allow for water filtering upon arrival. We drank from those and ate sweet papaya for breakfast on the boat. Our leaking boat hoisted upriver and the higher we got, the taller grew the trees, and the mountainous jungle crawled up on all sides around us. Squirrel monkeys flinging through the trees made us forget how long we’d been sitting on those wooden boards.
Sunday
Ema’s daughter, Lourdes and I shared lunch together under her house in the shade. Lourdes has come alongside me in all things: teaching me, serving me, loving me, and she knows she does none of these things. She anticipates needs I don’t even know I have and rushes to meet them. Like laying hot coals in our cold logs. I go to make a morning fire and it’s effortless, because Lourdes has walked down the hillside to bring fire. Or Lourdes has walked down the hillside to carry fresh water she’s gathered from the heavy rains. Or she’s peeled papayas to share, or guarded her finest meat for us.
It’s been a year since her husband left her and three unusually peaceful children.
I wake up at night thinking about her.
The storm. I didn’t mention it yet. Ferocious rain was beating so hard, I thought no hut would be left standing. In the middle of the night, the wind tore our mosquito nets apart. Water poured in through the openings in the wood, soaking our light blankets. Thunder shook even the ground. We rushed to find an area where the roof wasn’t leaking, and shared the one blanket that wasn’t soaked. Huddled in a circle, we sang all the songs that reminded us of God’s greatness. I was downright terrified.
We lay on the wooden slats. Everyone slept. I could not. I was cold, and could not stop listening to the girls scratching their lice-riddled heads. Nothing would stop the lice. Nothing would stop the storm.
You give perfect peace to those who… put their trust in you (Isaiah 26:3).
Monday
Nightly, we’ve gathered by the light of hanging bulbs, powered by the church’s new generator. We told stories, re-enacted those stories (complete with Lazarus rolled up in toilet paper), and sang heartily in their heart language with hand motions and human-trains formed by the children. Michael and Alejo ventured upriver to gather other families who came to share in the songs and stories. We told stories of adoring Jesus (Mary anointing Jesus feet with costly perfume), and how adoration is compelled by love—not ours-- but God’s pursuit of us: We love God because He first loved us (Jn 4:19). And about Cain and Abel: If you had done the right thing, you would be smiling; but because you have done evil, sin is crouching at your door. It wants to rule you, but you must overcome it (Gen 3:7). From this story, listeners were made participants and we generated a list of verses and passages based on the belief that prizing God’s promises is our protection and our purity. How rich are the wonderful blessings He promises His people, and how very great is His power at work in us who believe! This power working in us is the same as the mighty strength He used when He raised Christ from death… (Eph 1:18b-20a)
Wednesday
Michael was up at 3:30 this morning: loading the boat, hauling water… He’s 31 today. And we’re leaving Yarina Isla. We’re moving to another part of the Amazon’s Basin.
The first thing I thought when I woke up to the candle sitting on the tuna can was this: Michael’s life has given me a new life. He is so focused. So compelled and driven by a big picture view of life and people and the world. He solves problems. He refuses to let those raging cattle of whirling emotion stampede and dominate his mind. He teaches me how to do the same.
I suppose I will spend the day thinking about him. We’re heading home, and we’ll be together, and there will be much to talk about.

No Such Thing as a Free Lunch?

Disclaimer: I want to let everyone know up front that this is not a post from Crystal so if you are looking for "beautiful words" and "I feel like I was there", no need to read further. I do edit Crystal's post though so I feel I can take some grammatical credit for her posts (I found dog spelled bog in the last post). I felt compelled to write my first blog entry because of an experience I had tonight; here goes nothing...

We've been in Costa Rica for only four days and have already been asked for money twice. Each time a middle-aged man has stopped by our gate and told a sad story of a mother or wife in the hospital that has cancer or a heart problem. They seem very sincere and just don't have enough money to pay medical bills or get a taxi to go to the hospital.

The problem is, I am generally a skeptical person. I hear a voice in my head that says "they're lying and just want to bum money off a seemingly rich gringo" or "this story sounds similar to the last one, did they collaborate?". The first guy even had his story printed out on little sheets of paper so he could let me read it (good practice for reading in Spanish). Maybe both of them really needed financial help and would use the money for medical purposes, but we have decided to offer food to people who come asking for assistance.

Even handing out food is a big step for me because I have the nagging feeling I am being lied to, but that isn't my responsibility to find out, so each time I've gone back in the house and Crystal and I have prepared a small bag of food with some apples, oranges, bread, etc. I must admit that while filling the bag earlier today I thought "I need to lock myself in the house so I stop getting asked every other day!". I also wondered if we were going to get to eat any of the oranges that Crystal bought. Not the best attitude...I know.

Another one of my vices is being frugal; my siblings would say I'm cheap. This just compounds the problem of giving freely to those in need, but also has led to extra trips to the grocery store as I have been trying to keep our grocery bill low but inevitably we need/want more stuff. One of those extra trips occurred tonight and I had to make the 10 minute walk to "Jumbo" (pronounced something like "hum-bow") as it was getting dark outside. This was my first venture out of the house at dusk and Crystal was just praying I didn't get mugged.

Don't worry, I wasn't mugged although it would make for a great blog entry too! I got to the store and did my good ole frugal shopping for the things on Crystal's list then uncharacteristically splurged on a few extras (lunch meat, juice packets, even gum!). After a long battle of figuring out the best prices, I made my way to the checkout counter and the line straight in front had someone almost finished so I started to go there, but I noticed one lane with no one in it; my lucky day! I unload my stuff and after she finishes ringing up the goods some sign on her screen lights up and she starts saying something to me with a big smile. I'm not sure what is going on at this point, but the checker in the next stand comes over and pats me on the back and comes to watch as a bell goes off and they tell me I am the winner and all my groceries were free! I did my best to communicate what I could in Spanish and managed to blurt out "debo comprar mas" (I should buy more) and "gane" (I won!) along with a few other things about not being able to speak much Spanish and I am new here in Costa Rica.

I kept thinking this must be one of those episodes of Candid Camera where someone is going to say they were supposed to win and yell at me, but it was real...I really won! As I walked home, the generosity of God overwhelmed me as I realized that I had given up so little in handing out a couple bags of food and had been so richly blessed with four wonderful kids and a beautiful wife who is becoming famous in the blogosphere. God can even give me free groceries as He desires! I shouldn't sweat the little bags of food; just make sure I have a smile on my face and a cheerful heart as I share the love of Jesus.

Prayer Card

We just ordered our prayer cards from overnightprints.com. Hopefully they will arrive by the end of the week. Please keep us in your prayers!

Cross-Cultural Worship

Central Asian worship at the International Learning Center looked something like this tonight: As we piled into the building, the lobby was lined with various shoes--men's, women's and children's. Barefoot men made their way to the front of the room. Women, clad in mostly floor length skirts, long sleeves and head coverings sat in the back with the children. My girls wore pillow cases covering their hair and shoulders. I loved sitting at the piano beholding a sea of sent-out ones: strong, jovial men, sons hanging on their backs and mothers bouncing little ones on their knees. Grandmothers sat with gauzy scarves draped over their heads and shoulders and 20-something singles with all of our children in their laps, too... Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! Psalm 133:1

Much of the music was in minor keys, and it was so powerful with steady percussion, driving guitar and the ethereal flute. My fingers followed the melody on ivory keys, and though I could not understand the words, I was experiencing the presence of our Most High God who did, and was delighted. I could feel His delight. There was an awesome Dari sermon, and a time of silent prayer for God to make Himself known to the people of Central Asia. Our children joined us in praying that the glory of the Lord would fill the hearts of these people...

"For from the rising of the sun, even to its going down... My name shall be great among the nations," says the Lord of Hosts. Malachi 1:11

Lies and a Confession

This has been Spiritual Warfare week. Dr. Rankin, after fasting three days before spending time with us, has presented pages of scriptures that have penetrated to the core of me. This afternoon we had our house church debriefing on these issues. Intense. Some 10 hours so far on enemy strategies and I'm ashamed of my oblivion in one area in particular...

In the jungle, many people believe lies like: white men will kill my children and sell their organs, or my newborn has a cone-shaped head, is therefore demon infested, and must be buried alive. Lies possess minds and drive actions.

The truth is that, although of course, we lead normal human lives, the battle we are fighting is on the spiritual level. (2 Corinthians 10, Phillips)

Tactics stateside are a bit different, though equally debilitating. There are hours I wrestle in the invisible chains: lies I choose to believe. Lies that drive me inward. Lies. I am constantly tempted to believe some lame lie about myself; relishing again in me-ness.

Here I am a God-follower-- seeking to adore Him with my whole heart, because He first delighted in me!-- yet I am somehow also seeking to be my own Master, my own ruler. Who do I think I am? What a foul stench of entitlement I may carry around on any given day!

But thanks be to God who overwhelmingly gives us the victory though Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8, Phillips)

Our battle is to bring down every deceptive fantasy and every imposing defense that men erect against the true knowledge of God. We even fight to capture every thought until it acknowledges the authority of Christ.
(2 Corinthians 10, Phillips)

His authority secures my freedom! His authority is my freedom! May the King of Kings, the Most High Lord of Hosts be exalted among the nations, among all the peoples. Thank you, Jesus, for securing an overwhelming victory for all who call upon You!

Legacy

A calling is a peculiar thing. I suppose Michael's and mine can be most likened to God's pursuit of us. His relentless tugging has become both tangible and very specific.

Michael had a Grandfather who had been a missionary in Peru (the jungle), and I grew up listening to missionary biographies from a cassette player beside my bed at night. During our childhoods, we each pondered life in a cross-cultural context. We thought about living among a people different from us-- learning from them, loving them. However, we rarely entertained these thoughts at the same time.

That changed during a missions celebration at Immanuel Baptist Church in March, 2008, nine years into our marriage. During this week, we chose to fast and pray. Michael went on a long walk listening to Romans 10 on his ipod:
Now how can they call on one in whom they have never believed? How can they believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how can they hear unless someone proclaims him? And who will go to tell them unless he is sent? As the scripture puts it: How beautiful are the feet of them that bring glad tidings of good things!

He was overwhelmed by the possibility that his feet could be those that brought good news. In his mind,the word legacy did somersaults. He told me the next morning he could not stop thinking about a particular word and was curious to see if I could guess what it was. "Is it legacy?" I quipped. In that very moment, the Holy Spirit put legacy in my mind, "The Lord wants us to go to Peru and finish the work your Grandfather started." This was something we had never even discussed or considered.

Michael, being calculated and cautious, is rarely given to impressions. He is very discerning and logical and hardly sentimental. To be apart of this moment with him--this legacy moment-- was thoroughly unexpected...

Next week we leave for Orientation in Virginia. Language School in Costa Rica follows. Not until later next year will we actually arrive in Peru. Will you join us in this legacy?