Tag Archives: Ukraine

I prayed the wrong prayer

I’ve had missions on my mind heart and mind so much lately as sign-up deadlines approach.  In the post, An honest look at missions, I divulged some of the fears I’ve felt this year about returning to the global mission field.  In, The day I touched fear, I explored more deeply what those fears look like from the inside out.

Today, it’s a totally different story.  Just when I thought things were beginning to settle down in my mind, God had something unexpected prepared for last Thursday.

It began on Wednesday night.  We were at church for dinner before nightly activities began.  Serving the salad bar was a man I highly respect and admire (though I am not sure he knows it).  His and his wife have dedicated their retirement years to taking their grandchildren, one by one, on mission.  It is their gift to them.  I had never heard of this, but now, Lord willing, Bruce and I would love to do the same thing one day.  So my dear friend, Kermit, said Hello – always with a smile – when he saw me approach.  Hi Kermit!  I replied cheerfully, always happy to see him.

When I see him I think of one thing…Kenya.  He and his wife were part of our team in 2011 that went on mission to Kenya.  Let me just tell you that this man was incredible throughout the entire journey.  He never uttered a complaint, never said No, never looked tired, nothing!  He trucked on every day with whatever the agenda was.  Our team leaders, Don and Pat, also grandparents, as well as Kermit’s wife, Kay, were exactly the same way.  They have no idea how much I watched them work through every unexpected trial and celebrate every great moment.  Kenya was my first global mission trip as well as the first time I had ever left the States.  I was wide-eyed at the whole thing and loved every surreal moment.

Kermit was a mentor to me on that trip whether he realized it or not.  Whether it was sawing wood at an orphanage, washing feet at a children’s school on the side of the mountain, digging trenches for a foundation, or harvesting corn for an orphanage, his attitude was always an enthusiastic Yes.  At any given time you could find him quietly working – never for accolades, never bringing attention to himself.  He simply did what he came to do – serve.  And serve with a joyful heart he did.

Copyrighted photos for Real Deep Stuff - Page 194

Copyrighted photos for Real Deep Stuff - Page 195

He and his wife brought one of their grandsons with them who was graduating high school and wants to go into medicine.  He was able to observe surgeries at the only hospital in the entire area servicing 850,000 people.  So in addition to tireless efforts of physical work and long van rides across unbelievable bumpy roads, Kermit and Kay spent quality time with their grandson in the evenings encouraging him in his passion for medicine.

You can see why I am so taken back with them.  Role models.  Inspirational.

A few Sundays ago, when I was really struggling with feelings of fear of going on global mission, I stood with the congregation at church while everyone sang – but me.  Tears streamed down my cheeks.  I could not utter a word.  I was overwhlemed with emotion because in the choir stood men (including Kermit) and women who have been on mission all over the world, and yet they were able to stand and smile while singing Chris Tomlin’s song Whom Shall I Fear…

You hear me when I call, You are my morning song, Though darkness fills the night, It cannot hide the light…

Whom shall I fear?

You crush the enemy, Underneath my feet, You are my Sword and Shield, Though trouble lingers still…

Whom shall I fear?

I know Who goes before me, I know Who stands behind, The God of angel armies, Is always on my side.  The One who reigns forever, He is a Friend of mine, The God of angel armies, Is always by my side…

My strength is in Your name, For You alone can save, You will deliver me, Yours is the victory

I know Who goes before me, I know Who stands behind, The God of angel armies, Is always on my side.  The One who reigns forever, He is a Friend of mine, The God of angel armies, Is always by my side…

Whom shall I fear?  Whom shall I fear?

And nothing formed against me shall stand, You hold the whole world in your hands, I’m holding onto Your promises, You are faithful, You are faithful, You are faithful

I know Who goes before me, I know Who stands behind, The God of angel armies, Is always on my side. The One who reigns forever, He is a Friend of mine, The God of angel armies, Is always by my side…

I know Who goes before me, I know Who stands behind, The God of angel armies, Is always on my side. The One who reigns forever, He is a Friend of mine, The God of angel armies, Is always by my side…

The God of angel armies is always by my side.

(Read more: CHRIS TOMLIN – WHOM SHALL I FEAR (GOD OF ANGEL ARMIES) LYRICS)

 It has been people I know who have inspired me the most to take our family on mission.  Celebrities make headlines and win humanitarian awards, but far and away it is people who quietly go about the Lord’s business, sacrificing their hard-earned money and vacation time, who I look at and think, Maybe I can do it, too.

With that thought, an unexpected conversation came up between my husband and me.  I was sitting in the Wal-Mart parking lot with the bright morning sun beaming into the van last Thursday.  I called him to briefly chat about missions.  We’ve been so upside down and inside out about it that we seem to talk in circles.  Frustrating.

I told him that I felt a new passion to go back to Ukraine.  As for Kenya, that is still undecided.  I heard myself say to him with confidence and certainty, I’m going to Ukraine.  He basically said, Okay, but I’m not sure what I’m doing.

After the phone call, I sat silent in the van.  Something didn’t seem right.  Why wasn’t I excited that half of my decision for this year’s missions had been finally – at long last – decided?  I should’ve felt relieved, joyful and sure.  Instead, I felt very anti-climatic about the whole thing.

God spoke to me in the van and said, Why is this only about you?  Are you not half of a whole?

Immediately, my heart understood.

To know me is to know I’ve struggled my entire adult life trying to live a life of biblical submission to my husband.  It’s not how I was raised, as my biological father and step father both left my life at early ages.  I grew to be a headstrong, independent and self-reliant woman.  Partially out of mistrust of men, and partially because I never wanted to be hurt again and believed people will only let you down – especially those who are supposed to have your back.

I have such a stubborn, independent streak in me it is nearly impossible to ever ask for help of any kind from anyone.  It’s not a control thing.  It’s an I’m going to end up having to do it anyway so why go through the grueling process of involving others because they are only going to let me down thing.

So, without me even realizing it, missions had become yet another area where I took the ball and ran.  Rather than looking at these opportunities with my heart toward my husband, I was peering through the glasses of practicality and reasonability.

I had been praying the wrong prayer of God, where do You want to send me?  Instead of, God where do you want to send us?

I didn’t even realize I had morphed my independent nature into missions!  Bruce and I are different people with different passions.  But, we are two halves of a whole.  When we made a covenant oath at the altar almost 23 years ago, we were joined into one flesh.

Leaving consideration for him out of my prayer was selfish.  And it was the feeling of, I got my way, that I felt in the van that left me celebrating alone.

Despite my good intentions of doing God’s kingdom work here on earth, my carnal nature creeped into my thoughts.  Here’s why…the first two mission trips were very scary for me.  I am not a seasoned world traveler.  I am not bilingual.  I am not proficient in cultural differences around the world compared to my own – other than the obvious ones.

It was all of these I’m nots that kept me from feeling qualified or invited to go on mission for my entire life until now.  Fast forward – jumped those hurdles, but it still took more courage than I could muster up to commit, particularly because these mission trips involved taking our children which I take very seriously.  I needed Bruce to make the final call.  As the leader of our home, I needed him to say yes or no.  So for both trips, I passed the baton to him to decide.

This year, however, it felt very different for me.  I’ve been to both places, so there aren’t near as many unknowns.  I also understand more what is expected from me from the team.  I simply feel more prepared than before – as much as it is possible to feel.

Enter my stubborn independence.

I was ready to possibly take an entirely different mission trip from my husband, without ever hearing his final point-of-view…and God let me feel every last ounce of that loneliness.

There is a time and season for everything, and I am sure there will come a time when we do participate in different mission trips, but neither one of believe that time has come yet.  It was out of sheer self-reliance that I went ahead and told him what I was going to do.  Hmm.  Then God brought to mind our crazy life.  Between work, kids, and all of our commitments, we have to scratch and claw for anytime together.  It could always be worse, but it’s not ideal.  We know this is a season of life, and all too soon our house will be deafeningly quiet and I will mourn for the wonderful chaos that greets me in the morning and tucks me in at night.

Given that, why would I not bat an eye at the possibility of spending weeks apart?  I believed my own lie of being too independent.  God brought to mind my biological father and his wife.  You’ve never seen a closer couple.  They were best friends.  Inseparable.  Loving.  Considerate.  Two halves that made a beautiful whole.

I want that.

Watching her care for him in his last days, the intimacy they shared – the eye contact, touch, whispers, – was the result of many years of building a marriage that was committed.  Resolute.  I used to think it was a little over the top that they always had to sit together, go places together, etc.  Now that he is gone, I see that they were intentional about making the most of their time together.  There were their own persons, yes, but they never forgot they were two halves of a whole.

After pondering all of this, still sitting in the parking lot, I texted Bruce.  This is what I wrote, Hi Honey, I wanted to tell you that after giving it a lot of thought, I would rather go with you on mission to wherever than without you on mission to wherever.  I often think about Ray and Gail and their relationship.  They were inseparable.  They were best friends and did everything together.  I would like to see that for us in missions, so I concede to wherever it is you want to go just as long as we can be together or unless God says differently.  We are one flesh, one team, and I don’t want to break up the team.  Think about it and let me know.  I love you.

That text was surprisingly freeing for me!  I felt like my heart was finally in a place of peace.  Funny, the first two years I needed him to make the decision as to where to go. This year, I asked him to.  I may have felt my inner wild horse buck and kick, but my heart knew that missions isn’t one more thing I want to lead us on different paths.

Yesterday, a dear friend of mine (who went to Ukraine with us last year) asked me if we were going to sign-up for it this year.  With a calm, peaceful smile I was able to genuinely reply, I’m waiting on Bruce to make that call…and if so, I’m leaving it up to him to sign up us.

That, friends, is the work of the Holy Spirit because the independent woman writing this would normally take matters into her own hands.

She smiled at me and said, Oh, you’re working on the “s” word, huh?  I laughed because I knew what word she meant – submission.   Indeed I am.  Waiting for Bruce to write our names down is very important to me for whatever reason.  I suppose it shows his iniative after much prayer and discussion, though I haven’t told him this is my wish.

Last night, before we left to watch the Superbowl with some friends, Bruce casually told me as we gathered coats and a chocolate cake,  Oh by the way, earlier today I put our names down for Ukraine.

His words stopped me in my tracks in the middle of the kitchen.  Later, I circled back with him and inquired.  He agreed that this is the only option for our family to go on mission all together.  He feels a peace about it and we are all excited.  God knew my secret wish for Bruce to write our names down on any of the trips we take this year, and He directed Bruce to do so out of loving consideration for me.  God is the good God and knows our secret thoughts.  Incredible.

So, one decision down and one to go – Kenya.  God has given us much peace that this decision will come in His timing, not ours.  So be it.  For now, I look forward to going back to people we fell in love with in Eastern Europe; to work with a team we greatly admire; we get to take all of our kids; and…most of all…Bruce and I have the blessing of going on mission together.

God is good.  Actually, He is amazing!  Every year, the decisions we have made about missions have been completely unique to the trip.  This year is no different.  God’s ways are not our ways, and His timing certainly doesn’t hold itself to our society’s demand for instant information, but His ways are best.  Had He given us the answer early on, I would have missed a teachable moment to see that in this process, Bruce and I walked dangerously close to the line of separating our longitude and latitude, once again, for the good of the cause.  We do enough of that in our daily lives.

When the time comes to travel separately for missions, God will give us a peace about that and we will perfectly okay with it.  For now, I write to testify that Philippians 4:6-7 really works in and through all things – even with a strong-willed, autonomous person like myself. 😉

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Today, and on mission, I won’t forget I am half of a whole.  Colossians 3:15 reminds us – Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.

Thankful, indeed.

An honest look at missions

I’m wrestling against an enemy I cannot see.  Right now, our family is making some difficult decisions regarding missions for this year.  As I sat at the dinner table last night, a raw thought spilled out of my mouth.

This used to be fun, I said resting my fork on the table and blankly staring out the window.

You know, the mission decision.  It was exciting.  Adventurous.  A radical move of following God where He leads.  Now, I am so twisted up in knots I can’t think straight.

My children looked at me in bewilderment.  This wasn’t their fearless mother who encourages, instructs and motivates her children to say YES! to God before we know the question.

I hesitate to write any further in the event I come off sounding like a whiny, spoiled American.  The fact is, I have nothing to complain about on a global spectrum of needs.  I feel guilty for even writing this post because I have no room to complain compared to the billions of other people who share this planet.

But, I am also human.  Finite.  Flawed.  I have weaknesses I cannot deny, and it’s those weaknesses that want to keep me from leaving my nest.  I have feelings.  I have emotions.  Sometimes when thinking about missions I wonder how much my heart can take when I see the most basic of needs or witness the power-hungry, cruelty of humanity.

I am a woman who has been on 2 different mission trips to very different parts of the world – Africa and eastern Europe.  On each trip, I’ve never felt so alive.  So…New Testament, if you will.  I’ve never in my life cast everything aside to follow God and trust Him for every step.  It was blind faith like I’ve never had before.  It was perfect peace that is ridiculous to the world’s ears.  So, why aren’t I dragging out our bags and grabbing our passports this year?

I will be completely honest and tell you it is fear.

You see, when I went on those trips, I had no idea what to expect.  The trips were going to be what they were, and I was perfectly fine with that because I didn’t know any differently.  I lived moment-to-moment in each continent and abandoned all of my plans, agenda, requirements, everything.  I fully immersed myself in the culture and in God’s leadership.

However, when we returned from Kenya two summers ago, a tsunami-sized wave of what if scenarios hit me hard and brought me to my knees.

My eyes were no longer blind to what could happen on a mission trip, or simply traveling overseas by myself or with our children.  I know it was the enemy that tried hard to steal my joy of all that God did on that mission trip, and I felt powerless to stop him because what could I say?  God never promised safe passage, only that we’d never be alone in it.

There were times when we were completely relying on God to help us – like when we arrived in Nairobi and customs took far longer than we thought.  The driver who was to pick us up at the airport, when the clock finally struck midnight and the airport was closing, wasn’t there.

I thought, That’s okay.  Our leaders have this under control.  I’ll just wait with the kids and our luggage until something works out.

On a warm summer afternoon, as we drove back from visiting a school totally off the grid, rain began to fall.  The water mixed with the powdery dust and made the roads as slippery as ice.  Our van slid and skid and we hung on tight as I looked out the window to see deep trenches on either side of our van.  I simply hung on, smiling, knowing everything would be alright.

When our oldest son fell at an orphanage and suffered a severe, and I mean severe, concussion, we did all we could for him without the availability of any proper means for exam or treatment.  In fact, the next day we had to travel hours to another school, which proved to be the worst roads I’ve ever been on.  We were literally thrown out of our seats for the hours-long ride.  Not at all what a concussion patient needs to rest and mend.  However, choices were limited and we trusted God with our son’s health – in addition to pain relievers and waking him up every two hours and doing all we cold to keep him comfortable.

Even on the safari we had the privilege to take after our mission work was done proved to make the hair stand up on my neck.  At one point, our Land Rover got lodged on a large boulder on an incline up a mountain.  If that wasn’t nerve-racking enough, there happened to be two Cape Buffalo on either side of our vehicle, so close we cold touch them.  Our driver was out of cell phone reach and we were stuck.  That was one moment when I truly felt like I was going to have a panic attack as our vehicle had no windows or roof.  We wound up having to back off the boulder, going straight down the mountain backwards.  Oh my soul.

Upon our arrival back in the States, something in the water the ONE TIME my husband and I consumed it via ice on the plane made us so sick we wanted to die.  We broke our family’s 8-year streak of not throwing up.  Friends had to come take our kids to their homes so Bruce and I could just lie there and not talk or move or anything for days.  It was wicked.

I could go on and tell of the times that I felt vulnerable and completely out of my element…but it was awesome.  When I was at my weakest, God was at His strongest. Never have I needed to rely on Him more.

I could tell you how much I learned from the loving Kenyan people that contentment is a state of mind, not a tangible luxury.  They blew me away with how happy they were in the midst of suffering, gentle in the face of hardship, at peace in the midst of crisis.

I could tell you about a little girl, 5 or 6 years old, who lost her leg in a fire and dragged her little body on her stomach every week from her house to church – by herself.  The church, using scrap lumber from a donation to build a small, plywood structure, constructed a crutch for her, and how team members with us made some phone calls and lo and behold a pediatric prosthetic surgeon was going to be making her first-ever visit to this region and with donations from our church this precious little girl now has a prosthetic leg and runs and plays with the rest of her friends for the first time.  Her mom, a former prostitute, was so overwhelmed by the love of the church that she gave her life to Christ and has begun an honorable career to provide for them both.

I could tell you about the wonderful man who runs a dearly loved orphanage with children that we fell in love with so much our hearts nearly burst.  He has dedicated his life to providing for these children, when he himself lost his oldest son in a piki piki (motorcycle) accident last summer.  Yet, he continues to serve these precious little ones who are so full of promise if only they would be given a chance.

I met a boy at this orphanage who is so brilliantly smart, will he ever have an opportunity to change the world?

Our daughter fell head over heals in love with a little girl at this orphanage and the two became inseparable.  A photo of the two of them hangs on the wall of her bedroom still today.

The worship, the joy and the trust these Kenyans have in God is breathtaking.

In Ukraine this past summer, we met some of the most inspiring young people I’ve ever seen.  They are a new generation whose hope is in God of the possible.  They welcomed us as family from the first greeting, and clung to us in sorrowful tears when we left.  They are unlike any group of teens I know.  They have committed themselves to the leadership of their church.

Working with them was such an honor!  They don’t know the word impossible, and have a pure faith in Jesus that is hard to find in the States.  A few boys and girls befriended me and I carry them in my heart still today.

One young boys’ dream is to come to the States so he can be healed of his crippling disease and deaf ears.  His heart is so tender and smile so big, he captivated me with his gentle spirit and quiet determination to be involved in what everyone was doing with us.

However, the remnants of Soviet control are everywhere – and it was daunting.  The search light towers, barbed wire, and antiquated barracks of military and political oppression were merely feet from us and proved to be an ominous presence for a woman like myself who has never been more grateful for her freedom in the United States.

I also had one of the worst sinus infections I’ve ever experienced the day we were to return home.  Flying with a 101.5 fever and climbing, a head so stopped up I could hardly hear and definitely couldn’t breathe well, it took everything in me to step on the plane. The first leg of the flight was 10 hours, then an overnight stay and connecting flight.  I tried to count the hours until I could get to a doctor, as well as muster the courage to get on the second flight.

But for the time being, I had to succumb to the fact that I would be airborne for 10 hours with this horribly severe sinus infection. I wanted to just let the luggage fall off my shoulders and let my body fall into a heap in the middle of the airport.  I wanted to cry. But, I had to keep moving.

On both missions, the good outweighed the bad for sure.  But here I sit with some big decisions to make with my husband.  Dynamics are different this year.  We are confused. I can’t hear clearly because of the what-ifs taunting me.

It would be so easy, so comfortable, to just say no this year.  We have a full life right here, and most days we feel we are hanging on by our fingernails.  We wonder if it’s too much to ask of our children again.  Perhaps some will stay home?  Perhaps not.  Bruce’s work is a demanding job, and he enjoys it very much.  But, it consumes a lot of his time and as a wife I worry about balance in his life.  Can he handle missions this summer, or will it be too taxing on him mentally, physically or emotionally?  I get concerned about my own health, as since traveling overseas I’ve realized my ankles blow up like balloons and am not sure how bad or not this is for me.  I wear compression hose, but still…  Also, our typhoid shots expire soon and we may need new ones.  Will this be the time one of us has a reaction to the vaccine?  Will the fundraising come in as I honor my husband’s (and children’s) requests (which is also my heart’s desire) to stay home for this season of life as wife and mother and we live on one income?  Will international travel go okay this go round?  Will more injuries occur?  Will more illness break out?

So many questions burden my heart.

The first time around, we were giddy knowing that God simply said Go.  Ignorance truly was bliss.

Now, we’re not so naive, and the knowledge I’ve gleaned about serving on short-term mission trips scares me.  There is so much that could go wrong that I never ever imagined. Now my eyes are open and I kind of wish they weren’t.

I have a whole new appreciation for Christ’s words to pick up our cross daily and follow Him.

To go or not to go isn’t about leaving my comfort zone, although I shocked myself with how uncomfortable I was feeling dirty the entire time in Africa.  I hid these feelings and they turned into shame and guilt – which discouraged my desire for missions.

I was overwhelmed the entire time we were in Ukraine regarding the language barrier.  I remember riding in a bus on the highway trying to make any sense of the billboards.  It was almost a panicky feeling that swept over me in an enormous need to simply read or hear English in the community.  Again, I was so ashamed of these negative feelings I hid them.  Stuffed them.  And the enemy is using them against me.

Perhaps some of it is a loss of control of my life on mission.  I am a team member and follow the leaders.  Here in my daily life, although Bruce is surely the head of our house, I am the site manager who oversees the house, kids, volunteering, everything that is in the scope of my job while he is as his job.

Empty hands feel odd.

I’m so okay with following an agenda bigger than myself, the loss of sleep, the different foods, etc. so what’s my problem?

I don’t like flying at all.  I must leave some creature comforts at home – and with my back that’s easier said than done.  And I’m afraid of the known and unknown.  Okay.  I said it.

I hate admitting fear because it’s admitting a lack of trust in God, and I want to trust God with everything in me.  Mark 9:22-24 sums up my heart the best.  In the words of a worried and scared father over his possessed child…

“…But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.

If you can? said Jesus.  Everything is possible for him who believes.

Immediately the boys’ father exclaimed, I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

Yes, God, I do believe…help me overcome my unbelief.

I’ve been yearning for direction and confirmation about what to do for missions this year. We feel the squeeze of time to make decisions.  I’m so tangled up in this I can’t think straight.

Oh how I wish I could just say, Yes, now what’s the question?

However, yesterday we received a letter from our Compassion daughter in Africa.  She has had such a hard life – losing her mom and dad – yet she has accomplished a nursing degree and is now working and supporting herself and her little brother.  We are so proud of her.  She’s come a long way since she became a part of our family when she was only 7 years old, living with her grandmother and brother.

In her recent letter, she told us her grandmother died and she is working in a different town than where she grew up.  She has had family and location changes.  Totally out-of-the-blue, in her letter to us she wrote, I encourage you don’t worry, for God is with you everywhere you are and He has good plans.

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I have been struggling inside over what to do about missions.  I have been beside myself and lay awake at night and mull it over and over in my head. I continue to ask God, but my thoughts drown out His voice. Our Compassion daughter’s words jumped off the page and into my heart.  Of all the letters over the last 14 years from her, it was this letter and her words at this time.  It is no coincidence.

Our Compassion daughter, who we’ve supported by paying for her food, clothing, education, etc. throughout the years in hopes that she will come to have a fulfilling life, saved by grace, provided me the wisdom I needed to hear at the exact moment I needed to hear it.  All these years I’ve been trying to bless her, and, as a fully grown woman she blessed me with Truth that I know, but cannot hear above the fear.

I was her mission ground, and her words all the way from Africa penetrated my heart and helped me believe again.

It’s with a broken heart, having seen the needs of this world God so dearly loves, and a mind submitted to God’s sovereignty, that I cannot resist Him anymore.  His love is contagious. His mercy divine.  His call undisputed.  His promise to never leave me is enough.

I will go.  Where?  I don’t know.  But I do know that my answer is Yes.

So Lord, she asks with a trusting heart and trembling hands, what is the question?

I Have to Tell You What Happened!

Okay, remember my post Really? written before taking our mission trip to Ukraine?  I read back through it today, and feel compelled to tell you the sequel to the saga.  If you haven’t read that post, I encourage you to or today’s post may not make much sense.

It’s been a month, and here we are teetering on the cliffhanger…what happened when I spoke to the ladies?  This is absolutely not about me, rather it’s about what God did.  This was a ladies-only event, but He bucked the system and showed up!   I am so glad He did.

It was time to face my Goliath in the privacy of just God, me and the issue at hand only hours before the event.  In an arm-wrestling battle with this giant that I’ve never won against, this time God grabbed my hand and slammed that monster’s knuckles to the table.  I was the winner, hands-down (pardon the pun).

What was different about this time, versus the thousands of other times I walked away from the table in defeat?  It’s so simple it’s complicated.  It’s so complicated it’s simple.  Ready?  I listened.

That’s it!  That’s all I did.

Listened to who?  God.

Who was I listening to before?  The world, the enemy and myself.

We are creatures of habit.  Habits produce patterns.  Patterns affect our way of thinking.  The way we think affects our beliefs – positively or negatively.  For 25 years, everything about me was negative in this area.  Reading back over the post Really?, I see a person so sick and tired of being defeated in an area of her life, that she would rather admit final defeat and taboo it from her life than allow herself to be vulnerable to what God had to say about it.

I had beat myself up so badly with negative thoughts and behavior, and allowed the enemy to do the same, that I became hypersensitive to the touch of my heart and couldn’t even fathom letting the hand of God heal me.   Self-hate set in.  A longtime battle that left me utterly exhausted.  This is not the same as self pity.  With self-hate comes a level of despising that is hard to describe into words.  However, the enemy found lots of words to speak in my ear to keep the hate spinning like a top in my head.

Because of God’s perfect will and timing, He chose this year to be the final, epic battle over me.  Why?  I don’t know.

He knows us best and knew it was time. I have been so humiliated for so long about this pattern of self-hate in my life, that my own embarrassment was easy harassment for the enemy.

It’s as though God stepped down from heaven, met me right where I was – in a dorm room in Ukraine – alone with only my Bible, and said to me, Just give me a chance.  You’ve been dooped for so long by so many people, including yourself, you’ve forgotten who you really are; who I made you to be; and most importantly, you’ve forgotten how I see you.  You see yourself as hopeless. I see you as helpless.  You see yourself as defeated.  I see you as wounded.  You see yourself as beyond the point of help.  I see you on the brink of a new beginning.  One thing we can both agree on is that you cannot do this alone.  But, can you trust Me that we can do this together?

That was the moment.  If a soundtrack had been running in tandem to the movie of my life, a simple heartbeat on the drum would have pounded.  It was a physical moment of spiritual decision.  I sat on the edge of the bed next to my closed Bible, and felt God literally wait on me for a  response.

I looked around the quiet room, fidgeted with my hands and shuffled my feet.  On the outside I was silent.  On the inside, I watched a flashback of all my years from the time my issue began.  I heard all of the hurtful words people have said to me about this over the years.  I saw their faces and felt the sting of pain as if it were the first time all over again.  I heard everything the enemy every told me about myself and I felt myself beginning to fold.

My chest was heavy and it was heard to breathe.  Palms sweating, the back of my neck prickly, and my heart beating fast, I was in a war over who to side with.  This was God’s work, but He required one thing from me.  An answer.

How did I get to that answer?  The ONLY thing that persuaded me to side with Him that day was this question God prompted within my heart…Who has God been to you, Kristi?  Over all of these years, who has He proven Himself to be to you?

When I began to recall His sovereignty, His power, His grace, His mercy, His love, His faithfulness, His tenderness, His discipline, His consistency, and His miraculous presence in every moment of my life, the tall, thick walls around my heart (which stay heavily guarded by the way), began to fracture.  A 25-year old wound is very sensitive.  It’s never stopped bleeding the pain of my issue.  I had built such heavy defenses around it that I didn’t even realize I had shut God out until that day I told my friend I didn’t want His redemption in this area of my life.  My plan was just to privately, secretly nurse this wound until I died.

I sat on the edge of the bed in a quandary.  Do I trust God, who has been completely faithful and loving my entire life, even through the darkest of times, or do I continue in a self-destructive pattern that I know is harming me inside and out?

Could I take that first step and say to God, Alright.  You can have a go at my heart.  I trust You.  Or, do I tell my mission teammates I cannot speak to the ladies and retreat further into myself than I ever had before – this time with the strong possibility of never following my bread crumb trail back to the surface.

Sometimes, when we are at our weakest, our darkest, and in our deepest pain, all God is asking of us is to trust Him.  We get tangled up thinking we have to do something courageous or smart or skillful.  We live in a world that tells us we are only what we can produce.  Well, when we cannot produce anything beneficial, then who are we?  Nothing.  And I had felt like that for 25 years.

God knows this.  In Psalm 103:13-14, David understood.  He said, As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.

Even if our pit is one we dug ourselves, God will still search for us and reach down His hand to pull us out.  Will we take it?

Part of the difficulty I faced in that moment was realizing that a new pattern would be established.  Great, but I didn’t know how to do that.  I didn’t have the strength to push back this giant.  Again, trust.  Perhaps God will help me? I thought to myself.  After all, He promised to help Moses lead the exodus out of Egypt.  He promised to fight for the Israelites time and again from Joshua at Jericho to Nehemiah rebuilding the wall of Jerusalem to Mary & Joseph, Paul & Silas, Peter and so on.

Why would God help?  Isn’t He as frustrated about this as I am?  Hasn’t His patience run out?

2 Chronicles 16:9 – For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him… 

So God is actually searching for His children who lost their way be it in one area or many.  He searched for me and found me in a room alone in Ukraine.  He traversed the world and caught up to me.  I can almost see it.  Just as I am deciding whether or not to cancel the ladies event, a knock on the door.  I’m not expecting anyone.  Who could it be? I wonder to myself.  I stand up and slowly walk to the door.

Who is it? I ask.

It’s Me, comes a reply from the other side.  I gasp!  There is only One who sounds like that.  He is my Groom.  My Savior.  I turn the key and pull down on the handle.

What are you doing here? I ask in wonder.  Jesus’ face lights up when He sees me.  I just stand there, jaw agape in awe that He is actually here, on my doorstep in Ukraine.

May I come in? He asks with a broad smile, slightly out of breath from running up the 3 flights of stairs.

Oh, I’m sorry.  Yes!  Come in!  

Thanks, He replies.  I’m glad I caught up to you.

Why?

Because you are about to make a really big decision, and I want to be part of it if you’ll let Me.

But, why is this so important to You?

You are important to Me.

Why?

Because I love you.

But, I keep failing in this area.  How is that lovable?

You are lovable.  God the Father made you, and He made you lovely.

But, I’ve failed so many times before.  I have no confidence in myself with this anymore.

That’s okay.  Put your confidence in Me.

But, I am tired, Jesus.  I don’t want to, can’t, fight this anymore.

He takes my hands in His and sits down with me.  He looks at me with eyes that make time stop, heartbeats still, and breath shallow.  His love permeates the room.  I cannot hear anything else, see anything else, feel anything else, but his warm, tender, and gentle hands holding mine.

I love you with an everlasting love.  Don’t you see, it’s not about what you can or cannot do.  It’s not about who anyone, including yourself, has told you who you are.  Isn’t not about your track record.  It’s about who you are in Me.  I complete you.  When you asked me into your heart, I made you whole.  I make you strong.  I heal your hurts.  I am your breath.  I am life living in you.  You have, for so long, lived in defeat.  But, like every other time in your life when you leaned on Me, will you do it this time?  I’ve got your best interest at heart.  Our Father is always working for the good of those who love Him.  You are tired of listening to everyone else, including yourself, tell you who you are not.  Will you listen to Me tell you who you are?

A lump swells in my throat.  Tears stream down my face and my nose begins to run.  Eyes sting from salty tears, my bottom lip quivers at the thought of perhaps listening to my Savior, my best friend, my groom.

I furrow my brow in deep decision.  This is not easy.  Every ounce of self-hate has risen to the surface.  Every hurtful word is screaming at me.  The enemy is beside himself that Jesus has locked him out of the room.  I hear him furiously pounding on the door.

Christ leans and whispers so close I feel His breath.  His hands holding mine.  Will you listen to Me tell you who you are?

My head drops, and through stinging tears and a runny nose, I ever-so-slightly nod and utter beneath my sobbing, Yes.

He leans toward me even more, resting His forehead on mine, noses almost touching, and through tears of His own, He smiles and says, You are…My beloved.

I fall into His arms.  It is enough.  It is more than enough.  I breathed in those two words and they entered my body.  They shot straight to my heart, my spirit, and began their healing work.  Like a physician’s hands performing delicate surgery, those two words healed my heart from the inside out.

Did that encounter physically happen?  Yes and no.  No, Jesus did not come in tangible human form, but He did come by way of the Bible.  As I sat on the edge of the bed, I came to an answer.

Yes.  I would listen.  Yes.  I would open myself up, become vulnerable, and listen to what He had to say.  He led me to Scripture after Scripture telling me who I am to Him and in Him.  It was one of the most precious hours of my entire life.  With every verse, scars disappeared from my heart.  The voice of Truth eradicated the lies that have plagued me for over two decades.

No other god would, or could, do this.

I stood that night, before beautiful women and shared.  I shared from the depth of my soul words He had for them…and for me.  Their tears were my tears.  Their Truth was my Truth.

I returned from Ukraine a different person.  God asked me to leave all the hurt and pain with Him, and I did.  I left the self-hate, too.  I physically felt the weight of this lift from me.  Physically.  Crazy, huh?  I feel a peace from the inside out.  Peace that is not of this world.  My good moments before were only that – moments.  This is 24/7.  He healed me.  I am at peace with Him and with myself.  His words of who I am are the only sound I hear in this issue that no longer has a hold on me. I am free.

I am whole.  I am at rest.  I am victorious.  Because of Christ’s victory over death, we who follow Him are invited to have victory in our lives.  Our entire lives – every area.

I am eternally grateful He didn’t leave me in the pit in which I was trapped.  I am so humbled He sought me and deemed my problem worthy of His time and effort.  He did a mighty work in me and all He asked of me was to let Him do it.  I didn’t have to prove anything, be of eloquent speech or show my own strength.  I simply chose to trust Him.

God is on our side.  He is a good God.  He is faithful.  God is love.  Jesus, indeed You are the Prince of Peace.  Thank You.  I love You.

Flash Mob Mission Theory

Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy. ~ Psalm 33:3

Since my family began taking mission trips last summer, many people have asked us all kinds of questions.  One question I have asked myself over and over is, “How do I describe what it feels like to go on a mission trip?”  There are simply so many feelings and thoughts, I don’t know where to begin or end.

Expressions used in every day genres such as: too beautiful for words, or words can’t describe, or I’m at a loss for words – come to mind to describe going on mission.  However, people patiently wait for an answer they can keep.  Something they can wrap their heads around to either be more informed, or perhaps, encouraged.

This morning, I had the delightful surprise of an email sent to me by my mother-in-law.  I often don’t have time to read forwarded emails, but this one caught my eye.  It is a YouTube link (the link is at the bottom of this post).  As I watched it, tears streamed down my face, and I didn’t know why.  Emotion swelled up in my heart and I didn’t understand.  I’ve seen many flash mobs and am always amazed at their creativity.  It would be so much fun to be a part of one some day.  I’ve seen many styles and themes and have enjoyed them all.

Oh, but this one was different.

This one caught my heart and I couldn’t figure it out.  Then, the Lord showed me the reason for my tears.  This particular flash mob describes how I feel about going on mission, though the flash mob itself has nothing to do with it.

Allow me to set the scene.  People, all over the world, are going about their daily lives. Without any hullabaloo, grand entrance or proud proclamation, a single person steps forward and does something out of the ordinary.  They begin to do what they do and people begin to watch.  One by one, people emerge from the crowd, from around the corner, from inconspicuous places, and join.  What appears to be completely spontaneous is far from it.

But, they look just like everyone else standing around!  They are.

Why do they do it?  They are called to and love what they do.

It is the same with missions.  Ordinary people come together, each with a different set of strengths and weaknesses, gifts and talents, and together they serve united with one voice to the world – Christ’s.  Individually, they cannot play all instruments in the symphony.  They have been given a specific set of tasks, and they do them with all their heart.  Unlike the flash mob below, short-term missionaries are not professional missionaries.  Rather, God equips them for the task for such a time as this.

Consider the sequence of events in this overture: they pray over the opportunity; begin all necessary paperwork, shots, etc.; meet regularly to discuss the overall plan as well as individual tasks each person will have; they continue to meet for months, all along gathering supplies and traveling sundries; they pack and hug family members and friends goodbye; they are off.  Oftentimes, traveling with people they have never known before this journey began.

They arrive in a land which may be foreign in landscape, language or culture.  They are the minority.  Settled into their temporary home, they continue to meet and go over details, supply lists, and prayer requests.

The time comes to serve.  As I watched our team in Ukraine recently, indeed, a flash mob began.  What looked like a motley crew of disjointed ages and seasons of life, we came together in perfect tune to make a joyful noise for the Lord.  We were a band of unlikely people, coming from various backgrounds and unknown futures, but when God, the Master Conductor, tapped His baton, all of our attention and eyes focused on Him.  We set aside our lives, schedules and agendas and took our place in His company to play for Him as best we can.

After a two-day flight and a long bus ride; after security and customs and baggage claim and a good night’s sleep; after attending Ukraine’s Sunday church service and meeting many new precious faces – in an instant, right after breakfast, on a sunny, warm Monday nestled comfortably on the calendar, we broke off into our musical suites – soccer, basketball, Bible, arts & crafts, volleyball and music.  We were not travelers.  We were on mission – with a purpose.  We weren’t there to put on a show.  We weren’t there for applause.  We weren’t there for recognition or reward.  Like a flash mob, versus the limelight of a well-publicized event, we were there simply because we were called to be, and wanted to be, to hopefully please God our Father and be a blessing to those around us.

We wanted to bring spontaneous joy.  We wanted to break out of the ordinary and let the extraordinary hand of God brings smiles, hope and strength to beautiful hearts.  I remained wide-eyed throughout the week, over what felt only to be somewhat organized beforehand, was really something God had a well-thought out plan for.  As the Master Conductor, He directed every moment, every step, every word – to stay in perfect pitch with His plan and for His purpose.  Whether in loud allegro moments of organized chaos, or in soft adagio moments of prayer and friendship, the tempo of our mission’s symphony stayed in unison for His glory.

We were imperfect people banding together for perfect purposes – to draw others into His symphony of love so that they might find their instrument, their God-given gift, and play it for Him in chorus with us.

A short-term mission trip is an amazing wonder of which to be a part.  Like watching a flash mob, and the faces of those participating shine with joy and enthusiasm, so we also felt the anticipation build from the inside out.  One major difference between a flash mob and missions is that we encourage others watching to jump in and join us.  Children, teens and adults played in harmony with us for a week of blessing.  We got dirty playing soccer, got sweaty playing basketball, got creative making earrings and crafts, and had way too much fun dancing.  Who was blessed more? Dare I say I went hoping to be a blessing, but was blessed beyond measure.  Our new friends’ voices filled the gaps in our choir.  We weren’t just a team united, we were one body united – no matter the language or cultural barriers.  We were one.  It is, in fact, how eternity will be for those in God’s cantata.

The flash mob below carries a tune for missions that I am unable to express with words.  Like music of the heart, going on mission touches the goer as much as the receiver.  One is never the same when it is over.  Memories roll around in my mind like a melody I can’t stop humming.  People there have changed my heart here, and God used them to write scores of new music for my life to dance to.  Missions has a secret that nothing else in the world can offer.  No amount of money, fame, or fortune can compare to a new reason to dance, a new song to sing, and new friends with which to enjoy it.  There is no greater feeling than to accept new brothers and sisters in Christ, from all over the world, into my life…forever.

There is nothing more satisfying than dancing in step to the rhythm of God’s heartbeat – which is His love for the world.  It is exactly why, for as long as He allows, we will continue to go.  To sing.  To dance.  To work. To play.  To laugh. To cry. To cheer. To love.  Christ is the reason, His salvation the melody, and the people we welcome in our family, both on the team and at our destination, motivate and inspire us as the harmony of their friendship hums in tandem with ours to the music God is playing around the world.  Stop and listen.  Do you hear it?

Click here to let this particular flash mob play the music my heart feels about missions.

One Post Short

There we were.  A hot, June evening in Ukraine spending time with precious women and girls in a small room, while young men played a serious game of soccer outside.  We had gathered to enjoy female fellowship.  Jazz music, coffee, finger foods and candles help set the mood for a cozy night to laugh and share our hearts with beautiful Ukrainian women.

On one table, my daughter set out nail polish to paint anyone’s nails who felt like be pampered.  At another table, members from our team made a knotted blanket together while enjoying great conversation.  Little girls ran around the room giggling.  The occasional male peeked inside, only to quickly leave the estrogen-filled atmosphere once he realized he was a fish out of water.

At our table, another teammate and I helped women and girls make earrings.  My daughter loves to make them, and is very good at it, so we thought bringing tons of colored glass beads and all sorts of earring posts might be fun to do at our girly event.  The first night, she helped make countless pairs of earrings.  By the next day, the palm of her hand was quite bruised from repeatedly squeezing the little pliers for hours.  She could barely move her hand, so she asked if we could switch and I help with earrings and she paint nails.

Sure!, I thought, though I wasn’t nearly as good at helping with the earrings as she was.  So my teammate and I tried our best to help.  Supplies were running really low.  In fact, although there were plenty of beads, the earring posts were gone.  I began to pack up supplies since we were now out of business without more posts.

A woman approached the table and wanted to make a pair despite my cleaning efforts.  She held a post in her hand and was looking for its match.  We looked everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  It was the last post we brought out of 350 pairs including 4 different styles of posts.  Her sweet smile and tender heart made my teammate and I want to help her so badly.  In fact, a few moments prior, another woman approached us with a different, single post and asked for the match.  We couldn’t find one, so my teammate took the pair off that she had made for herself the night before, unassembled it and gave the match to her.  I was so touched!

But, this woman standing before us had no such success.  Her post was different.  We searched under mats and in plastic containers.  We sifted through beads and backs and extensions.  We looked under the table’s flower centerpiece and on the floor.  We scoured every inch of the table.  We searched our pockets, our laps, and lifted cups of coffee, napkins and food plates.  We searched everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.  There simply wasn’t a matching back.  The woman looked very disappointed but didn’t leave.

This was our gift to the women that night, and we felt terrible that we couldn’t deliver.  The language barrier made it difficult for us to explain why we were telling her she couldn’t make a pair.  She just stood there with her hand held out with the small post in it, waiting patiently to receive its match.  We searched at length again to no avail.

In the surprisingly wildly popular activity of making earrings, we came up one single post short out of the 700 cumulative posts we brought.  God, we need another post.  Please!  Just one more.  Tell us where it is, please, I prayed, Just one more, God.  I can’t tell her no.  You can do this, God.  Give us the matching post.

My teammate looked down at the place mat directly in front of her, and sitting in plain view was the matching post!  We froze as chills ran all over our bodies.  It was the exact match – and it wasn’t there one second earlier.  Seriously, it wasn’t there before.  It appeared out of nowhere, because we had looked everywhere.  We stood there for several seconds dazed in amazement.  We looked at each other with wide-eyes and jaws agape.

It was a miracle.  A real miracle.  There is no other explanation for it.

There was a reason why it was important for this woman to make a pair of earrings; and only God knows what it is.  It was so important that, while running the universe, He took the time to stop and produce an exact match to an earring post on a hot, June evening in Ukraine for a woman whose name only He knows.  She is that important to Him.  The details of her life mean that much to Him.

The Bible is full of Scripture about how much God loves us and cares for us.  I think sometimes we assume that only applies to the big stuff  like health and safety issues.  Marriage and life and death.  Yes, it is true for those times, but it is also true for the quiet moments when only He is able to read between the lines of what is happening.  Moments when we don’t, or can’t, express why something is important to us, but because He knows us the best, He understands us the most.

Perhaps we miss His miracles.  We are too busy, too tired, too self-consumed, that we don’t see the help He offers, the goodness He gives to us or the small miracles He performs in our daily lives.

I often pray, Give me eyes to see, God, because my body’s eyes miss so much.  I am guilty of tunnel-vision and hyper-focus and can miss the bigger picture if I am not looking for it.

Once, I was walking across a parking lot at sunset when the most brilliant fuchsia and orange colors flooded the sky.  I stopped in my tracks and simply stared at one of most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.  It was all shades of pink – something no hand could recreate with a paintbrush.  God whispered to me, This one is for you, Kristi.

His words sent chills down my spine.  He knows I am a beach girl who spent half her life watching the sun set over open water.  It is one thing I miss about where I live now.  This resplendent sunset made me feel like I was back on the sand with salty air blowing through my hair as rhythmic waves stumble lazily upon the shore.

I didn’t even know I needed that memory at the moment as I weaved my way through parked cars.  I was simply traversing the hot pavement in my running shoes making my way toward home.  God knew.  He knew I needed a moment to stop.  To gaze in wonder at a beautiful sight I have not seen in a long time, and hear that I was remembered by Him who made me.

This Ukrainian woman needed to be remembered, too.  God saw and acted on her behalf.  Just to comprehend that His presence was with us as the perfect earring post match was placed mere inches from us took my teammate’s and my breath away.

We joyfully gave her the earring, telling her it was a gift from God.  She sat down and thoroughly enjoyed making her pair of dazzling earrings.  John 6:1-13 tells of the time when Jesus fed more than 5 thousand people with only 5 small barley loaves and two small fish.

Yes, He can make something from nothing as well as increase short supply.  He can do anything.  Do we ask?  Do we have faith to ask?  If not, why not?  What is holding us back?  There is nothing too small to ask God.  His answers are simply yes, no or wait, and they are always for His glory and in our best interest.

If you could ask Him anything, without any fear or doubt, what would it be?

The Flying Diva

There are circumstances that happen in life which are only humorous after-the-fact.  Our return flight from Ukraine was one of those times.

On our last night in Ukraine, I felt a weird scratchiness in my throat.  Oh, great, I thought.  A cold is coming on.  I began Airborne and Cold Eeze and didn’t sleep very good that night.

We woke up to breakfast, packing and a lengthy drive to the airport.  I thought the bus felt especially warm, but then again we had endured sweat, heat, humidity and body odor often in that bus so I shrugged it off.

Arriving at the airport, there was a whirlwind of activity to get 30 something people’s baggage checked, then go through security and customs.  At long last, we were in the terminal waiting to board.  That’s when it hit me like a brick.  I was sick!  And hot!  Being a mother, I probably bring more than necessary to travel with for all of the just-in-cases that can pop up.  It really pays off!  We’ve been very stuck before in the mountains, at the beach, in Africa, and everywhere in between with strep throat, stomach bugs and even a serious head injury.  So as I sat slumped in a hard, plastic seat, I put down the awful sandwiches we bought (at exorbitant prices!!) – which I thought one more bite would come right back up – and quietly slipped out my handy dandy thermometer.  I thought no one I knew was looking.

As I sat motionless, dying to lie down across the row of merciless plastic chairs, thermometer sticking out of my mouth like a cigar, I glanced up to see two of our team’s college guys sitting across from me staring wide-eyed at me.  They looked at me like I had the plague.  I couldn’t blame them.  Who sits in the smack middle of the terminal, a full-grown adult, with a thermometer sticking out of their mouth!  I felt too bad to explain.  And, explain what?  I had no idea why my body was breaking down by the minute.

Yep.  Fever.  It was 100 and was rising by the hour.  After the rhythmic chirping of the thermometer alarm sounded, it was time to board.  I nearly had a panic attack as I visualized all sorts of scenarios of the 10hour flight that awaited me as if I were a piece of bait in shark territory.  Ten hours of getting sicker and sicker.  Trapped over open ocean on a plane where English is not the first language spoken and with no option to stay behind.  I imagined passing out in the aisles.  The attendants strapping me in the jump seats with them as my fever spiked to seizure proportion.  Being wheeled off on a stretcher not knowing my name from delusion.  After a week of long hours, little sleep, physical excursion and being emotionally drained, on top of a climbing fever and a head that felt as though it would explode, there was not a rational thought in my head about my state of affairs.

I said not a word to my team but only told my husband what was going on.  In a daze, I passed through our final security check and was in line to board the plane.  I was burning up inside.  All I knew is that I needed to remove as many layers as possible as I thought about the stale recirculated air I was about to inhale for the next 10 hours.  I had a cami under my t-shirt…yes!  I could take that off discreetly.  Then I realized I was wearing compression hose (very attractive – NOT!) that I must wear for medical reasons on long flights.  It was like wearing leg warmers under my yoga pants.  I could slip those off, too.

Lo and behold, of all of the people on the planet, take a guess who stood directly in front of me in line to board.  A monk!  A real, honest-to-goodness monk in full garb complete with a long, hooded robe and large wooden cross hanging from his rope belt.

You’ve got to be kidding, I thought.  I don’t want to do this in front of him!  I’m not polished on monk protocol, but watching a woman take off under layers is, I’m just guessing here, probably not in their manual.  However, I had no choice.  I knew all too well that it would be impossible to maneuver those horribly uncooperative hose off in the little airplane seat.  They make pantyhose feel like comfy, rainy-day pajamas.  And so there I was, hoping he wouldn’t turn around.

I slipped my arms out of the cami and fished it up through the neck hold of my shirt.  One down, two to go.  I pulled up my yoga pant legs, one at a time, and unrolled the compression hose ending with the wide, lacy band that I desperately tried to shield from the monk standing one foot from me.  I quickly stuffed them into my purse, hopefully with him none the wiser, but I must confess I didn’t look at him to find out (nor to all of those standing behind me).

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the plane.  The day thus far had exhausted my weakened strength.  I shoved my carry-on above my head and my purse under my feet, fell back into my seat, closed my eyes and breathed.  It was a 2-3-2 seater plane.  Our kids were in the middle 3 seats and Bruce and I were on opposite sides of the plane.  I was seated next to a woman who sat speechless and still.  I didn’t want to chit chat.  Oh my no!  And, in all likelihood, we probably didn’t speak the same language.

Still panicked over how I was feeling, I made the mistake of asking our resident medical person on the team, who sat near me, what the normal range for fever was for an adult.  Everyone around us heard me, and I’m telling you it was though they all took a proverbial step backward from me – though we were all trapped on the same plane.

If I were a betting woman, I’d bet the lady I sat next to heard us as well, because when I sat back down in my seat, she was hugging the wall like wallpaper!

Oh, it gets better.

I needed Motrin and calm and peace and quiet and some sort of hope that I could make this flight despite being sick.  I dug through my bag of tricks (my purse) and found all of the elements I possibly had to seclude myself from the reality of what I was about to endure.  My sinuses were stuffed, my throat hurt, my right ear felt full and I felt like 1,000 degrees inside.  However, when traveling in a group, what is one to do?  We had a second flight in NYC to make and you do what you have to do.

With eyes closed as the rumble of the engines flared up, I reassured myself, Just 10 hours.  That’s all it is.  Ten little hours. Then, I’ll be back in the States where I can go to urgent care, or at least have the ability to use my insurance card.  This pep talk sort of worked as long as I didn’t open my eyes.  Boy, I was praying hard!  Please Jesus, get me through this!  Please don’t let me get worse on the plane.  Please get me home!  No one else on the team was ill, nor anyone we had been with all week.  Just me.

Ever since I took a flight, many years ago, when upon descent my sinuses freaked out and they became so pressurized I thought they would burst, I guess I had a back-of-the-brain fear that will happen again.  The pain and pressure was so bad I couldn’t even call for an attendant.  I sat paralyzed feeling like a hamster being squeezed really tight – eyes bulging out and scared stiff.

Here I was.  In the exact predicament I had always dreaded.  Stuffy head.  Ringing ears.  Plugged nose.  And a 10 hour flight for the first leg, then an overnight layover and a second flight home beginning at 4am.

As the plane began to roll down the runway, I broke out all the stops.  If I were going to get through this, it would be with every possible aid.  Mind you, this poor woman sitting next to me is stuck against the window for a long time with me.

It began to dawn on me that my ailment was a sinus infection.  Not contagious, but tell that to someone who feels like the most unlucky person in the world to sit next to the likes of me, and the diva I was about to become.

First order of business…Afrin.  Shot that sucker up my nose.  Next, I took my temperature again as it had been a while.  Oh how embarrassed I was to do this in public!  I watched out the corner of my eye to try to catch the poor woman with her eyes closed.  Not so.  So how would you feel sitting next to someone who just broke out a thermometer?  I know I would want to be anywhere in the world except near me.  Ug.  Okay, next…Motrin.  Swigged it down.  Then I pulled out the economy-sized bottle of Airborne and package of Cold-Eeze.  Got a round of each in me.  Check.  Next, find the Mucinex to help with the fluid build-up in my head.  Done.  Next, sift through my cami and compression hose filled purse for my blow-up neck pillow.  Blew it up and hung it around my neck.  Done.  I can feel my airplane buddy staring at me out the corner of her eye.  However, I must continue to survive, or so I felt.

Pressure point wrist bands – just in case – because the airport sandwich was that gross (not even my teenage son, the human disposal, could finish his and described it as 95% salt).  Slipped those babies on.  Next, my beloved eye mask.  I put it around my head, but wasn’t quite ready for total blackout so I propped it on my forehead.  Gorgeous, I know.  Next, noise reduction ear phones.  I needed to find my happy place, and the loud static of the engines wasn’t getting me there.  I positioned those suckers on tight.  With a loud sigh, I pulled my eye mask down and crossed my hands in my lap under a blanket of total darkness.

What in the world must I have looked like?!?!  Yes, I do carry these things with me, but never to use all at the same time.  I’m not that high-maintenance!  They are also for my entire family to share.  But, I believe I would have growled at any hand that came near my airplane survival stash.

There I was.  Thermometer, Motrin, Airborne, Cold-Eeze, Mucinex, neck pillow, wrist bands, headphones, and a black, satin eye mask with my undergarments peeking out of my purse.  Sheesh.  The poor soul beside me looked horrified.  She all but sat sideways in her seat to get as far away as she could from me on this full flight.  I was, in fact, a flying diva.

This, from a girl who doesn’t even like to wear shoes much less a jacket if it’s chilly.  I don’t like fussing with myself and find accessories other than my wedding ring, a watch and lightweight earrings, maybe a simple necklace on a rare day, to be all I can stand weighing me down.  I looked like a hybrid of an aviophobic and a hypochondriac .

I soon passed out, well, okay I probably fell asleep, but I don’t remember the first several hours of the trip.  Then, without the compression hose that I should have been wearing, once I regained consciousness, I needed to walk – a lot.  Delirious with the day’s events, I began to stroll the aisles with the eye mask propped up on my forehead and headphones bulging over my ears like Princess Leia.  I didn’t even realize (or care) what I looked like until I found my husband’s seat and squatted down to say hello.  He took one glance at me and said, Nice look.  Yeah, whatever.

On descent, my right ear filled up so much I thought it would burst.  I couldn’t hear anything out of it for 2 solid days.  After day 8 it is almost better but still crackles and pops.  I survived the rough overnight in NYC as well as the second flight home.  A round of antibiotics knocked out the sinus infection, praise God.  Being home made me feel better and my own bed was simply heaven.  However, I haven’t found a remedy to regain my dignity for partially undressing in front of a monk nor horrifying the passenger next to me with the many apparatuses I had clinging to my body and the semi-conscious state I stayed in for those long 10 hours.

That, my friends, is the metamorphosis of how an average girl, who despises a scene, transformed into a diva for a day.  The only comforting thought that carried me through the flight was that I will never see the monk or the lady next to me again.  And, I’m quite sure they were thinking the same thing about me.

Home (Bitter)Sweet Home

Wow, it seems like forever since blogging on this site!  I went offline for over a week as my family traveled on mission overseas.  I had great aspirations of blogging while there (sigh)…

I cannot wait to post some of the pictures from the beautiful city of Kiev, Ukraine.  As pretty as it was, the people are what truly make it special.  We went to Kenya last year on mission and had no idea what to expect this year in Eastern Europe.  A different team of people, a different part of the world, a different set of goals – just entirely different.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, my body doesn’t handle jet lag very well.  I am still getting up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep during the day.  It will be fine, but until my inner clock resets, I am tired.  However, I couldn’t wait one more day to get back online.  So today’s post are some travel pointers I’ve learned over the years in hopes they may benefit you as well.

All-time necessary travel item (besides a passport):  Water.  Airports, planes, buses, hotels, and constant lugging of luggage really dehydrates the body.  I keep water with me at all times.  I will guzzle a bottle down before having to ditch it at security, then buy another as soon as I am able.

Favorite travel accessory:  Eye mask. I can pull this handy dandy item out anywhere, anytime, and instantly seclude myself from the outside world.  It is very helpful to sleep with, but I must confess I wear it sometimes just to give the illusion I’m asleep so I can grab a minute of peace and quiet.  (Shh, this is a secret!)

Favorite luxury item:  Noise reducer headphones.  A teammate on this trip had a pair, and as soon as our first flight landed, I bought some (albeit overpriced) in the airport before making our connection.  I compromised on a pair that was less than $100.  They are noise reducing, but also have a jack to plug into an iPod and give great sound.  So to accomplish almost no noise, I also used a pair of foam earplugs.  I must admit, as long as the Lord continues to let us travel on mission, I may get a part-time job to earn the money for the Bose 100% noise eliminators.  Those, coupled with the eye mask, would be one awesome ride!

Something to schlep stuff in: Eddie Bauer “Daypack.”  It’s smaller than a backpack, but is made to handle the tough stuff and didn’t count as a carry-on (it was in the laptop, purse category so I could still have a carry-on).  It has all of the same cool compartments of a regular-sized backpack, but it’s much more easy to manage.  I’ve tried packs that look like purses and the straps broke from either too much weight or overuse.  I’ve tried traditional backpacks and they are too big and my small stuff sinks to the bottom.  I’ve always said the perfect job for me would be a quality control tester for purses, etc.  NONE have withstood my use.  This EB daypack is the only thing that hasn’t surrendered to my wear and tear.  It has nicely padded straps to wear when you need to be hands-free.  I bought mine at an outlet store on sale.  Okay, I’ll confess.  It was originally a gift for my husband, but now the whole family wants to use it. 🙂

Pack reasonably.  Really think about where you are going and what toiletries and cosmetics you will need.  Creature comforts are great to have on hand, but not at the expense of so many things it’s a scavenger hunt every morning just getting ready.  And, if on mission or active travel, probably half of what we usually use isn’t needed because it’s all going to sweat off anyway.

Use the bathroom!  If one is available – use it whether you think you need to or not.  There is a good chance there may not be another one for a while and that is a miserable situation to be in.

On that note, the Go Girl is a nifty product.  Guys, you may want to skip this part.  Girls, it’s a porta potty – basically a silicon funnel with biodegradable baggie.  My family laughs, but when it’s the only thing available for miles around, and not even ol’ fashioned nature is an option, this is worth gold.  Then who’s laughing?

Journal the journey.  Whether in the notes section of your smart phone, via photographs, or notebook and pen, capture not just the experience but your reaction to it.  Just a few words or sentences or photos.  Enough to be able to go back and fill in the blanks later.  But, assuming you’ll remember every moment is simply unrealistic and unnecessary pressure on oneself.  Personally, I journal through photos.  I’ll snap a picture of something that I connect with or want to expand on later be it a person, place, food, activity, brochure, anything.  It jogs my memory once I’m home.

Avoid ice.  Just a personal tip from someone who learned the hard way.  We made it all the way through Kenya without any digestive issues at all.  Then, on the ride home, both my husband and I had ice in our drinks on the plane.  BIG MISTAKE!  We thought we were going to die we were so sick by the time we got home.  Not worth it.  Unless you are in a familiar place that you know you can tolerate remember this – if you won’t drink the water, don’t eat the ice!

Pack snacks.  Whether traveling with kids, special dietary needs, or just yourself, packing snacks if a real lifesaver.  We pack things that can travel well (peanuts, dried fruit, freeze-fried fruit, protein bars, trail mix, etc.).  More than once these have wound up being a meal when caught in unforeseen circumstances such as harvesting corn in Kenya or tied up in a layover, flat tire, etc.  Most airports have food, but some make you pay dearly for it.  We were charged $5/person for a bottled water or soda on this last trip. Pfft! :O

Travel pharmacy.  It’s very important to take your usual meds as they may not be available where you are going.  However, we go a step further and bring a sampling of popular OTC meds – especially for digestive systems.  Foreign food, little sleep, and hard work can tear up a body and weaken the immune system.  We pack items such as Airborne tablets, Cold Eeze lozenges, Immodium, laxatives, Tums, cold meds, Afrin (for the plane if you have a stuffy nose), pain relievers, vitamins, and a first aid kit.  We filled 2 gallon-sized bags going to Ukraine, granted we are a party of five.  Always bring a thermometer, too, and if traveling really far or foreign, perhaps a round of antibiotics just in case.  We saw strep throat in our team in Ukraine.  It happens!  Keep reasonably necessary meds with you en route (plane, bus, etc. – anywhere you cannot get to your luggage).  Better to curb a migraine at the onset than have to wait hours before your luggage is in your hands again.

Shower shoes.  Buy a cheap pair of flip flops for the shower.  They can cost as little as dollar, and that is far less expensive than paying for treating foot fungus that is very easily contagious.  Every doctor I know travels with them – and so do we!  Like they say, an ounce of prevention beats a pound of cure.

Records.  Depending on where you are traveling, make copies of your health insurance card, immunization record, birth certificate, passport and driver’s licence and securely store them.  The last thing anyone wants is to be far from home and legal documents get stolen or go missing and there is no way to prove who you are.

Well, I will stop here.  I hope some of these are helpful to you.  Can’t wait to blog more of the heart of our journey.  So much to share!  Have a great day, Kristi