rhythm

if my life were a EKG or lie detector test, there would be wicked leaps and drops, nothing really steady and certainly few things that remained in constant.

i'm wanting to add some rhythm, some constancy to my life, where i can. many of the things that make it so topsy-turvy are completely out of my hands, but i have a tiny bit of control over some things and am really needing to find a rhythm in all of it.

some efforts i've tried so far: daily bible reading, daily prayer with my husband, preparing my lunch to take everyday to school, writing to my husband weekly, afternoon rest moments, looking at the positive side of things. and now i want to add weekly blogging. (i have to admit i am really bad at getting this rhythm down, so forgive me ahead of time.)

so often i have a lot i'd like to write, but i don't for one of the following reasons: it's too harsh, it's too messy, it's too personal. but as i've been teaching my advanced kids about story, and how it is important to tell a story, one you believe in, one that makes you feel positive and reaches others, i've realized i need to tell these stories. not all of them will be world-shaking or even very interesting. but there is something in telling that allows us to recognize new sides of the thing we are experiencing.

so in the midst of all the things from this weekend: no city water, constant rain, blackouts, my nephew's dad in jail for an accident, debts they will have to pay, a continually flooding school, allergies, weariness, irresponsibility, and the sticky stain of corruption on this country, i want to tell you a story.

a good story. i hope.

it was friday afternoon, and all were anxiously awaiting the news that the new pump had finally been installed and we would have water again. i had just woken up from a fabulous nap under the watchful eye of the brewing storm, the applause among the plantain trees the perfect lullaby. my husband and i went to check the water situation only to find out it would be another 2 weeks before the water would be back. like many things here, the new pump did not work and they would have to wait to buy another.

so we got to thinking. and planning. and shoving. not each other that is, but old pvc piping. alongside my husband, nephews, brother-in-law,and church members on the soaked ground, we came up with a device to catch rainwater and direct it into our water tank. it made me smile to see us all there, muddy and wet but laughing as we wrestled with various pipes and glue to make this contraption that stretched 8 feet from the roof to the opening of the tank. there was this triumph evident in their eyes, excited that they found a way to beat our circumstances.

since it had rained pretty hard, i had a full barrel of water and i could finally wash some clothes. my nephew started hauling water from one tank to where i was washing clothes, one after the other. my husband bounced around from one project(a soccer ball stuck in the gutters causing a flood) to another (fixing the piping we didn't use). as i scrubbed out the week's dirt and let my thoughts swirl around in the lather, i felt grateful. in the midst of not very fun circumstances, i had seen how we had come together, how each one gave what they could to make it work, to live. there is so much need here. so much that we don't have. and without this kind of unity and support, we drown. we dry up and get beaten down. and it was refreshing to see it work, to find that it just came together. with the sun peeking out apologetically, i hung those clothes up with satisfaction. who cares if it's not fixed? we have what it takes to make it through...and i see this apply to hunger, poverty, corruption, fear, betrayal, lack, emptiness.

maybe we can't 'fix' nicaragua. but we can be the best versions of ourselves, together, without letting our surroundings weigh us down.*

(*this is often so very hard to do. case in point: brother-in-law in jail for an accident in which neither has insurance and the kids on the motorcycle were injured, lots of debt from that, waiting around in the dim police station trying to negotiate and all of a sudden, a thief has gotten into a bus in the police station parking lot and stolen the radio. and they send the youngest girl member of the force to run after him, slipping and sliding in the mud.obviously she didn't catch him.

it makes me want to scream...inexplicably difficult for me to be the best version of myself or for us to overcome with unity. pressed down. but not crushed.)

rain pounded on the zinc overhead...

and i half-shouted over the giggling 5th graders to help them finish their project. They colored and cut and glued and glittered, as i glanced at the rising water collecting from the heavy rain.

the final bell rang and we shouted a prayer to keep us safe, as the kids shifted their backpacks and fiddled with their white shirts, untucking them a stretch at a time. as we left the classroom, they all chattered excitedly over the situation, but i was remembering the last time this occurred: the steadily growing tide that consumed the office and the high school,a wake of recess snack bags and sludge cluttering the normally shiny surfaces, and the resulting wave of illness from the wet clothes and disgusting liquid squishing in our shoes. i put them to study math as i waited impatiently to know how we were going to resolve this one.

at 3:12, the stragglers crossed the soggy soccer field with me and a couple of other teachers, only to find the cafeteria a swirling pool of sticks, trash and a foot and a half of water. We huddled in the remaining sprinkles of the rain and i went to check on the office situation. there i found my other teachers with the director, now past the nervous stage and on to the witty stage, a skill we have from living in a continually negative and unstable world. if only we had known what that slithering pool around our feet was doing just a kilometer away...

now, i don't know about you all, but i tend to shy away from things i KNOW i'm not good at...like volleyball. and overwhelming crowds of people. and resisting chocolate temptation. and grief. maybe there isn't anyone whose really good at grief, but i feel especially unequipped at it. being a very sensitive person whose emotions swell and spiral and suffocate, i become very delicate and...different. and i just don't like it.

so you can imagine how much i was dreading yesterday, as i had to face my co-workers and students after the drowning of a dear 10th grader. that water that changed our afternoon as it twisted by our school changed anita's life as she tried to get home.she was trying to pass an unpassable turn that was running with the current, while my fellow teachers and i were up to our ankles in that same filthy water, laughing from some quip about the photocopier that was teetering on the table. it's sobering to think about just how NOT in control we are, for all we'd like to pretend and imagine.

i felt like a zombie as i walked through the day, pasting on a smile in front of the primary school kids as they had normal classes, tucking that grief away in the roof of my mouth, speaking with care so as to not dislodge it. but when i found myself with those i could be open about my grief with, i swallowed it, stone-faced and cut off. and all i could keep thinking was, how is one supposed to deal with grief? sure there are a ton of books and strategies and 'tools' that can be accessed, but i think it's like marriage and childcare and 'life crises'...they are just things that happen to you in life, things that you enter and depending on who you are and, i would say, how you relate to God, will affect how you deal with it.

as i listened to isaac sing 'alaba' and watched the students maintain vigilance over anita throughout the service, i rested in that pain. i let it be there and allowed myself to acknowledge it, to experience it. to cry and to laugh and to let it drip through my fingers.

i think my reaction, and that of many, is to hurry it up, to get it over and done with and to not let it take up too much space or time. but then i think of the truth that His power is made perfect in our weakness. and though i don't understand it, that it's ok to let that be true, to believe it, to apply it to my life. and not just with grief, but disappointment, fear, pain, loss, anxiety, worry, waiting, trials, tests, growth, change...whatever.

let it take the space it needs. but remember that the One who is in control, is the One who overcomes and brings us out of it. and Who will use it for His glory, which in turn always means good for us.

may His peace and provision cover her family and friends and may His presence be a balm on the rawness of this grief.

we belong here.

tiny hands and dripping paint and muddy flipflops might seem like an atrocious mess but God, was it beautiful. these little members of my community, the ones that smile at you with their eyes and offer up love like there's no end to it, were there in their squiggly lines, enjoying the various crafts that our beloved Colorado team brought down. I got to be a part of the hand-printing mural and for me it was so so powerful...not because I'm super-psyched about painting hands, but because it was incredibly overwhelming to make these little ones a permanent part of our clinic. Placing those smudgy hands with their name neatly woven in ballpoint, right between those teensy fingers, was a joyous act, a commemoration, if you will. and not just because of the image that developed, but the profound look reflected in their eyes that says, this is mine. i am a part of this. I BELONG HERE.

I can't really convey through words the sweet swelling that balloons in my chest when I think about it...it's one of those emotions that fills, that soothes the raw edges and relaxes the tense places that come from doing this kind of work. it says, little by little, what we are doing, is helping form and shape these little ones, in a way that matters...just that pixel of change, that they would feel a part of and not just one who receives. it's these things, the small and often unnoticed attitude and value changes that tell me El Crucero will be different in a few generations. and who cares if I'm not here in those future generations, the best part is just knowing it will be different...and hopefully, a lot brighter.

something new

sometimes you just get on this speeding path without ever really thinking about how you got there nor if you really want to be there. sometimes you find yourself up to your neck in things and think, what? why am i doing this?

there are so many opportunities to be disappointed and let down in this work. there are so many plans that fall apart, hard work that doesn't get noticed, time that gets stripped away.

weariness and sheer exhaustion and overworked are all common descriptors for those involved, the growing weight of the need that you see around you smothering, the hunger clawing to be noticed.

but none of these are the worst crisis for someone in some type of service. the real gut-wrencher is when you find yourself with absolutely no more desire to continue. when you find that you could turn it all over to someone else without a second thought of what would happen to those little tummies, those growing minds, those desperate eyes and grasping hands.

it's not even the weariness or heaviness or difficulty of it all that bothers me....its this new, flippant and oh-so willing part that wants to wash her hands of it all.

i sat yesterday, stewing in this and watching the sunlight glisten off the leaves...and just sat. i haven't just sat in a real long time.

and the bottom line is this: there is a need for balance. and rest. and sharing responsibilities. but more than that there is the reality that this work, this thing that i do...it's woven into my soul....its not even the place or the people or the circumstances but the profound knowledge that this is what i was made for. so even though this alarming new sensation is ever present in this moment, i know that it's just a false self, a shadow of who i thought i could be, but nothing like who i really am.

and with that, i could breathe. there is something about being anchored that allows you to hold on in the midst of whatever gust that comes your way. i'm thankful for that.

fingerprints

things that have been leaving their mark lately...in various forms.

one of the 4 year old twins(whose mom just died from a plastic surgery gone wrong...who on earth gets plastic surgery in Nicaragua
??)just bawling because he couldn't get his cut-outs to stay glued down...me kneeling, helping him and seeing that it really has nothing to do with cutouts or glue, but overwhelming loss.

being a mom to a 14-year old. Moises' nephew is living with us. and in the midst of all this is the growing ability to see how He provides. how nothing is impossible. and how there is always enough.

fruits of partnerships and the fullness they bring. there is nothing quite as sweet as seeing your dreams and visions sprout up and reach people, to see them change their lives, to see them overcome and smile at this new place they are coming into.

quietly and carefully tending to my marriage with my husband in the little garden of our lives. seeing him pour into it as much as i do. being united in one purpose.

that place of rest that always finds you when you ask, no matter the to-do list, the projects, the laundry, the whatever.

my soul clings to you; Your right hand upholds me. Psalm 63:8

innovation

have you ever stopped to think about how valuable a sprinkler is? it provides a great way to beat the dry times without waterlogging plants or grass and can be a fun activity for kids to enjoy in the summertime. here, sprinklers, let alone the water with which you would occupy a sprinkler, are scarce. and not really practical.

but today, Moises made a beautiful 3 way sprinkler that gently mists withing a ten - foot radius...with electric tape, a beat-up hose, and an oil bottle. and i got all excited, talking about how useful this could be for farmers dealing with the drought...and he reminded me that they usually don't have water, and when they do, they don't have the pressure necessary to make it work.

sigh. well, it's still beautiful.

resonance

do you remember David, from the Christmas confrontation in 2008? he was murdered last Wednesday, four houses down from where we were staying. i cannot put into words the many emotions we have gone through this week…anger at his choices that would make him vulnerable (drugs, mafia, stealing, all sorts of crime), sadness and compassion for his two children and wife left behind, heaviness for the reality of this small town, lost in a growing number of sins and depravity, restless for the lack of hope or alternative, gratefulness that the Lord pulled my husband out of there 3 years ago (David used to be best buddies with Moises), and just weariness. a touch of what I imagine the Word talks about when it says the earth groans in waiting.

It’s gotten me thinking and churning and there have been some things I'm reading that relate. Donald Miller talks about it like this… “I said his daughter was living a terrible story…I don’t know exactly, but she’s just not living a very good story. She’s caught up in a bad one…A couple months later I ran into Jason and asked about his daughter. ‘She’s better,’ he said to me, smiling. And when I asked why, he told me his family was living a better story.” (excerpted p 50, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years). La Batea, and many, many, MANY people are just living a bad story. And us Christians don’t offer a much better story.

WAIT. how is it possible that we, who have heard the BEST story ever, not be able to offer a better story? this creates a tension and pain that pricks in the stomach and swells to my head. it makes me take a long hard look at what i’m doing, if i’m just like them, but in a glossier-looking package. do all my activities and works and motives invite people into the Story or are they just pretty little vignettes for my own pleasure? if we’re honest, i think we will find that most of us are concerned about making a good story for ourselves, or as Donald Miller said, “My entire life had been designed to make myself more comfortable, to insulate myself from the interruption of my daydreams.” (p 77). we assume that the story is about us, just a tree in the forest, but we are reminded its actually a story about a forest (donald miller).

Amy Carmichael addresses this issue, specifically about comfort, in her book A Gold Cord.

“The Lord calls men with the spirit of Epaphroditus. That spirit will be required, for the life of uttermost service cannot be called comfortable. ‘Comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house as guest, and then becomes host, and then master. Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires. Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron. Verily, the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning to the funeral’ (kahil gibran). It is true; but it is one thing to applaud it as truth and quite another to turn from that lust that murders the passion of the soul, for the sake of these for whom Christ died. But no one who has done so would exchange this way of living for any other.” (Amy Carmichael, p 367  A Gold Cord).

This passage cut me through, and I think it relates to what I was writing earlier, that if we focus our story on comfort, or security, or fun, or fame, or power, or whatever else it may be other than Jesus and His story and how our stories are all about the bigger story, we will fall into the same story that La Batea lives….an empty, bored church with souls chained up just outside the doors. we will be ineffective, useless and restless. maybe it won’t be so obvious, but we’ll know, because we will begin to see the mildew cracking through the whitewashing.

To take it a step further, Oswald Chambers speaks not of just a story that points to the larger Story, but of a giving that pours ourselves out. “ The real test of the saint is not preaching the gospel, but washing the disciples’ feet, that is, doing the things that do not count in the actual estimate of men but count everything in the estimate of God. Paul delighted to spend himself out for God’s interests in other people, and he did not care what it cost. We come in with our economical notions –‘Suppose God wants me to go there – what about the salary? What about the climate? How shall I be looked after? A man must consider these things.’ All that is an indication that we are serving God with a reserve. Paul focuses on Jesus Christ’s idea of a New Testament saint in his life, viz. not one who proclaims the gospel merely, but one who becomes the broken bread and poured-out wine in the hands of Jesus Christ for other lives.” (My Utmost for His Highest, February 25.)

Those of you who know the Word will have those verses echoing back to you, the place that all these ideas spring from. Jesus was very clear about the life, the Story that we are called to. There is a need, a DESPERATE NEED, for the children of God to remember what story it is that they are a part of and to fight hard to make their daily story resonate with the larger Story…because we are His ambassadors, His messengers, the ones who take the story to others and invite them in, reminding them that they too are characters in His story. and if my story doesn’t resonate with the Story, people get confused and misled. and they think the Story is about personal fame or power or success or comfort or easy living…and they get bored. and they get caught up and enslaved by the more deceiving and darker stories…where they can’t get out.

So I ask you…what kind of story are you writing? who is the main character of your story? what are the things that move your story along? and if you find that your story isn’t what you hoped for, I leave you with two other story ideas from Miller.

“The oldest book of the Bible is supposedly the book of Job. It is a book about suffering, and it reads as though God is saying to the world, Before we get started, there’s this one thing I have to tell you. Things are going to get bad…God doesn’t explain pain philosophically or even lists its benefits. God says to Job, Job, I know what I am doing, and this whole thing isn’t about you.” p 197

“I don’t ever want to go back to believing life is meaningless. I know there are some biochemical causes for some forms of depression, but I wish people who struggle against dark thoughts would risk their hopes on living a good story – by that I mean finding a team of people doing hard work for a noble cause, and joining them. I think they’d be surprised at how soon their sad thoughts would dissipate, if for no other reason that they didn’t have time to think them anymore. There would too much work to do, too many scenes to write. “ (p 247)

PS. Thanks, Donald Miller, for being honest enough to put all that into writing. For encouraging us to “edit” our lives and start making a meaningful story. You provided a more elegant version of something I’ve been thinking about for awhile.