I have no idea if anyone even peeks at this site anymore since I almost NEVER seem to have (or make) time to blog. Alas, it is Good Friday, and I feel compelled to at least attempt to put on paper (or at least online!) things that are running around in my mind.
Do you ever have moments where you are taken aback by your own selfishness, by your desperate need for Jesus? Well, I do every now and then, when my pride backs down enough for me to see myself as I really am. Confessions. I hate it when Steve gets sick. I hate it. But I must confess that I don't hate it for him that he feels bad. I hate it for me because my life suddenly gets more challenging. Instead of 3 little boys to take care of (and let me tell you in case you don't have 3 boys-- it is a HANDFUL!), I have 3 little boys and a big boy. I did not earn any servant's-heart-of-the-year award. Last night as I was grumbling to myself and having my own little pity-party, the thought occurred to me that Jesus wasn't too excited about the sacrifice that He was about to make in taking on all of the sin of the world just a short day (or less) later. But being God the Son and being in perfect communion with the Father, He was 100% committed to completing the task that was laid before Him. And He did it not just out of obligation, but out of LOVE. I was jolted as I stood in the kitchen, wishing that we were doing the passover seder that I had planned rather than watching Steve lay plastered on the couch (well, not *that* kind of plastered!). Grumbling and complaining about how I couldn't do what I wanted to be doing because Steve was sick, a quiet voice spoke to me and said, "Do you think it was easy for Jesus to drink the cup that He had to drink? For your sin, He died." Jesus went to the cross for me. And I struggle to take care of my amazing husband when he doesn't feel good. Jesus, may my selfishness be crucified- that you might reign evermore in me.
On a totally different note, I've been feeling a little depressed lately, and I'm beginning to wonder if it is a subconcious thing connected with all of the ensuing change that is upon us. Steve has interviewed for a position on staff at The Mission Society, but we don't know where that stands. We've made an offer on a home in the Atlanta area, but we haven't heard anything back from the bank with which it is forclosed. And those are the small details running around in my mind these days. Let me attempt to divulge a bit more.
For those of you who have spent any length of time on the mission field, you know that these experiences shape you and change you to the point that you're never the same again. I vacilate between thinking that I can just move back to the States and compartmentalize my world here in Mexico and compartmentalize my life in the States, and thinking that the last thing that I want to do is forget everything-- or even anything-- that God has done in me and in us through our time here. The easy road would be to package it all up into two seperate worlds in my mind. But that isn't reality. God takes all of our experiences and uses them in new situations to glorify Himself. So that is what I long for. There are things that scare me about going back to the States. Here, I can much more easily maintain some level of simplicity in life. The level of social pressure is sooo much less here. I dread the individualism so characteristic of the States. This individualism is one of the things that I have grown to seriously dislike, for it is exactly that individualistic mentality that prevents us from being in communion as God intended for us to be. And, as much as it irks me, I recognize how MUCH that individualistic mentality still has a hold on me. "I don't need a house helper here. I can do it on my own. I don't need a sister in Christ to come over and wash my floors for me just because she knows I hate doing it. How embarrassing. That would imply that I can't do it myself." And that list could go on and on. I remember that Jack and Rose lived next door to us in Albany, Georgia. I knew they smoked. And that's about all I knew about them. And Betty. She lived on the other side of us. I knew even less about her. Isn't that pathetic? How can we live so close to other people, yet know so little about them? I hate that! Here, I know various neighbors. We hang out in the street talking, learning about their cultures (our neighbors on one side are from Cali, Colombia.). We talk about what's going on in their families. We learn about each other's traditions. What will it be like when I am back in the States? What will I do when I need to run out to pick Ian up from school but Matthew is ready to go down for a nap. Will I be able to run next-door and ask my neighbor friend to come sit in our house while I run out? Will the neighbor lady tell me, "Con toda confianza, con mucho gusto, yo te lo cuido, Heather."? (With total confidence, and gladly, I'll take care of him, Heather!) Conversely, will I jump so into the BUSY culture that I will forget to leave time for those moments of small service to one another, of relationship-building time? And my kids-- what of their spanish? Heck- what of MY spanish? God knows we want to live in a house with hispanic families nearby. In fact, the house that we have an offer on right now has a couple hispanic families just a couple of doors down. YAY!
Do you ever have moments where you are taken aback by your own selfishness, by your desperate need for Jesus? Well, I do every now and then, when my pride backs down enough for me to see myself as I really am. Confessions. I hate it when Steve gets sick. I hate it. But I must confess that I don't hate it for him that he feels bad. I hate it for me because my life suddenly gets more challenging. Instead of 3 little boys to take care of (and let me tell you in case you don't have 3 boys-- it is a HANDFUL!), I have 3 little boys and a big boy. I did not earn any servant's-heart-of-the-year award. Last night as I was grumbling to myself and having my own little pity-party, the thought occurred to me that Jesus wasn't too excited about the sacrifice that He was about to make in taking on all of the sin of the world just a short day (or less) later. But being God the Son and being in perfect communion with the Father, He was 100% committed to completing the task that was laid before Him. And He did it not just out of obligation, but out of LOVE. I was jolted as I stood in the kitchen, wishing that we were doing the passover seder that I had planned rather than watching Steve lay plastered on the couch (well, not *that* kind of plastered!). Grumbling and complaining about how I couldn't do what I wanted to be doing because Steve was sick, a quiet voice spoke to me and said, "Do you think it was easy for Jesus to drink the cup that He had to drink? For your sin, He died." Jesus went to the cross for me. And I struggle to take care of my amazing husband when he doesn't feel good. Jesus, may my selfishness be crucified- that you might reign evermore in me.
On a totally different note, I've been feeling a little depressed lately, and I'm beginning to wonder if it is a subconcious thing connected with all of the ensuing change that is upon us. Steve has interviewed for a position on staff at The Mission Society, but we don't know where that stands. We've made an offer on a home in the Atlanta area, but we haven't heard anything back from the bank with which it is forclosed. And those are the small details running around in my mind these days. Let me attempt to divulge a bit more.
For those of you who have spent any length of time on the mission field, you know that these experiences shape you and change you to the point that you're never the same again. I vacilate between thinking that I can just move back to the States and compartmentalize my world here in Mexico and compartmentalize my life in the States, and thinking that the last thing that I want to do is forget everything-- or even anything-- that God has done in me and in us through our time here. The easy road would be to package it all up into two seperate worlds in my mind. But that isn't reality. God takes all of our experiences and uses them in new situations to glorify Himself. So that is what I long for. There are things that scare me about going back to the States. Here, I can much more easily maintain some level of simplicity in life. The level of social pressure is sooo much less here. I dread the individualism so characteristic of the States. This individualism is one of the things that I have grown to seriously dislike, for it is exactly that individualistic mentality that prevents us from being in communion as God intended for us to be. And, as much as it irks me, I recognize how MUCH that individualistic mentality still has a hold on me. "I don't need a house helper here. I can do it on my own. I don't need a sister in Christ to come over and wash my floors for me just because she knows I hate doing it. How embarrassing. That would imply that I can't do it myself." And that list could go on and on. I remember that Jack and Rose lived next door to us in Albany, Georgia. I knew they smoked. And that's about all I knew about them. And Betty. She lived on the other side of us. I knew even less about her. Isn't that pathetic? How can we live so close to other people, yet know so little about them? I hate that! Here, I know various neighbors. We hang out in the street talking, learning about their cultures (our neighbors on one side are from Cali, Colombia.). We talk about what's going on in their families. We learn about each other's traditions. What will it be like when I am back in the States? What will I do when I need to run out to pick Ian up from school but Matthew is ready to go down for a nap. Will I be able to run next-door and ask my neighbor friend to come sit in our house while I run out? Will the neighbor lady tell me, "Con toda confianza, con mucho gusto, yo te lo cuido, Heather."? (With total confidence, and gladly, I'll take care of him, Heather!) Conversely, will I jump so into the BUSY culture that I will forget to leave time for those moments of small service to one another, of relationship-building time? And my kids-- what of their spanish? Heck- what of MY spanish? God knows we want to live in a house with hispanic families nearby. In fact, the house that we have an offer on right now has a couple hispanic families just a couple of doors down. YAY!
All I've done is touch the tip of this iceburg, but for tonight I have to go to sleep. Tomorrow is Steve's birthday. I need to be well-rested so I can wash his feet, give him a backrub, cook for him, and be a nice wife. :-) I will try to continue to keep a log of my feelings as our move gets closer.
Love yall.
Peace out.
h
