Praying the Bible

I am crazy about books.  One of the most difficult aspects of packing to serve in Africa was condensing our whole life, all our possessions for a family of five, to nine plastic SmartBins from Walmart.  That meant parting ways with my books.  My adoring husband bought a NOOK so I could have plenty of reading material.   I like our NOOK, but it isn’t quiet the same for me.  I’m one of those weird people for whom books are an experience, not just words on pages.  I love the smell of a new book and the way a book feels in my hands.  Book stores rank right up there with fabric stores as my favorite places to visit – maybe higher since they usually also sell coffee.  I imagine I get the same dreamy look on my face in a book store that I have seen on my husband’s face when he shops for tools.  Book stores = bliss!

I did bring some of my books with me.  One that I treasure and use almost daily is “Praying the Bible for Your Children” by David and Heather Kopp.  I found it several years ago in a stack of “remainders” on the $3.00 shelf at an outlet store and picked it up out of curiosity.  Actually I picked up nearly all of the books because I just had to look at and touch all of them, but I put most of them back.  This little $3 treasure changed the way I pray for my kids and for others.  Each page is a prayer based on a promise from God’s Word and the book covers everything from pacifiers to sexual purity.  I learned that praying from Scripture helps me pray in God’s will, focus on His character and see beyond just the immediate and physical needs, and pray with purpose instead of  praying for the “same old things.”  And I’ve learned to “pray outside the book” and use other scriptures as I find them on my own.  I like to mark them in my Bible with the kids’ names and dates so when I come across them again, I can reflect on how God has answered those prayers.  Sometimes I tell my kids I’ve prayed a certain scripture for them if I think it will encourage them, but more often it is between me and God.  Today the prayer focus in the book was “speaking well of others” and one of the passages used is Titus 3:1-2.  When I looked up the passage in my Bible I saw that in addition to “slander no  one,” there are lots of other character traits mentioned which I prayed and asked God to develop in my children. 

You might be tired of reading about the orphanage, but I have to mention my last trip out there because it was so different.  I really considered staying home last week since I was having such an emotional week but I'm glad I didn't.  They had toys!  Someone had brought them dolls, trucks and dinosaurs.  I got to play cars and dolls with them.  In one sense it was sad because they didn't seem to know how to pretend or make car noises or make the dolls "talk".  So, I showed them.  They thought it was hilarious to see the "mundele" (white person) making car noises and horn beeps and lined up to make me "run" each of their cars in turn.  Eventually they started imitating me and then it was my turn to laugh.  We had a lot of fun and it was very good for me - a gift from God - to hear all those giggles.  One sweet girl crawled into my lap and fell asleep but not before she gave me multiple hugs and beamed at me with her beautiful smile.  Pray for those kids.  They are so precious.  Pray that they will one day understand the incredible depth of God's love for them and come to know Him (Ephesians chapter 3).

A Sad Goodbye and a Lesson in Congolese Culture

My grandmother with my grandfather, Josh and Emily (top rt) and Daniel

Here is sort of a wrap up of the last several days.

Daniel got his stitches out!  We are grateful he had no infection or complications.  Being a ten year old boy, he's not the least bit upset about having a new scar - he thinks it's cool.  He is however, disappointed that he gets to take baths again.

Emily made 1st semester honor roll!  This was for her first semester outside of a home school environment, so we are very proud of her for doing well in her studies while she was also dealing with the adjustment to a new school, friends being gone on furlough, her brother leaving home, and starting the school year with her mom out of country having surgery.  She's a real trooper!

Josh is playing his guitar now in worship time at the Baptist Student Union on campus, sharing his faith with others, playing rugby, and hopefully studying.

David has been trying to accomplish the impossible task of having no toilets or faucets leaking anywhere in the house for a whole day.  The plumbing supplies here are of very inferior quality and break almost as quickly as they are installed.

I am working on our next newsletter.  Well, ok, I'm thinking about working on our next newsletter.

MAF featured one of my articles on their BLOG.

Recently, I wrote about having friends whose father was near death and my grandmother being in hospice.  Both of them passed away just days ago.  I am heartbroken over the loss of my grandmother and the fact that I cannot be there with my relatives right now.  She was a very special lady, strong, faithful, and compassionate.  We'll all miss her terribly.  I do find it comforting to know she is now in heaven with her Savior and we will have a reunion one day.

We attended our first funeral here in Congo on Sunday.  I can well imagine what my grandmother's funeral might be like, at least in general.  Most funerals in America have certain similarities because of our common culture, plus I know my family.  It is the same here, except that the culture is vastly different.  Here are just some of the differences that I noticed:

* The funeral was outdoors in a concrete gymnasium in 90 degree weather.
* Instead of padded church pews we sat under awnings on plastic lawn chairs.
* There was another funeral in progress on one side of us, and a church service on another side, both of which had live bands and PA systems competing with our service.
* Men in rolled up jeans, flip flops, and ragged t-shirts were walking around selling soft drinks and water, which they carried on their heads in bags of ice.
* There was a rooster crowing every few minutes.
* There were at least four languages spoken: English, French, Kikongo and Lingala.
* The family was expected to feed everyone.  In Congo no one brings food to the family or offers assistance.  They do bring money.
* The services lasted several hours.  We were there for four and missed the burial service.
* There was a man wearing a sandwich board walking around selling Polaroid-style photos of the service, during, not after, the service.
* None of the flowers were real and all of them were wrapped in plastic.  Instead of being displayed in advance of people's arrivals, they were presented to the deceased in a processional by the donors near the end of the service.  It is the family's responsibility to ensure that there will be some flowers at the funeral, but anyone can give flowers.  They are gifts to the deceased, not the family, and they are buried with the deceased, but first they are torn off their frames to prevent them from being dug up and sold by thieves. (A note: Grave robbing is so common here that often the casket is smashed to make it unsellable and less likely to be stolen.  Grave markers are also intentionally damaged to ensure that they aren't stolen, painted over and resold.)

I'm sure there are other differences I didn't notice because there was a lot to take in.  It was indeed very different from my own culture.

Hands in the Air!

Image via Wikipedia

   
     We say so much with our hands without even thinking about doing it.  Remember the popular exression several years ago "talk to the hand?"  We use our hands to give and receive, to say "come" or "go", to show our intents and feelings.  At our church here in Congo, people extend open hands during the benediction as if to be accepting God's blessing.  When a child raises his hands up to his parents, he is saying "I want you. I trust you.  Pick me up!"  We raise our hands to show excitement when cheering for our favorite team.  At amusement parks some people on the rides have their hands in the air and smiles on their faces.  Others, not so much.
     It isn't hard to compare real life with a roller coaster ride.  Both can be terrifying, taking sudden unexpected changes in direction and going way too quickly for us to take it all in.  You can't always see what's ahead and sometimes it turns everything upside down.  On the other hand (no pun intended), both can also be a thrilling wind-in-the-face experience that leaves us laughing and saying "That was an awesome ride!"  Some of us ride roller coasters with our hands in the lap bar, white-knuckled and tense, dreading the ride.  Some though, anticipate a great ride and say to everyone else on the roller coaster:  "It's more fun if you ride with your hands in the air!"  They trust the safety straps to keep them in the right place and protect them.  If my walk with God were a roller coaster ride, I'd want to be a person that anticipates a great ride, knowing no matter which way it turns or how many loops it takes me through, He is there.  I want to ride reaching to Him in trust and ready to receive his blessings, and to let my companions know that it is more fun if you ride with your hands in the air.

     "Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.  I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands." Psalm 63:3-4

Gifts From God for Right Now

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This is a crazy week.  It's a good week for realizing how valuable relationships are.  I have dear friends here whose 92 year old father is probably not going to live much longer.  His loss will be felt deeply by the Congolese community as well as the missions community.  Yet in the midst of all this they are continuing to focus on and serve others.  This week my own grandmother, also 92, was admitted to hospice.  Every day I deal with the conflicting emotions of being anxious to check my email and hear from my family in the U.S. and dreading what I may find when I do.  My daughter learned yesterday that two of her dearest friends are leaving very soon, and she is heartbroken over it.  All of us experience losses and grief.    Sometimes I instinctively want to hide in my bed and refuse to deal with anyone or anything, even my friends and family.  When we lose someone who is a vital part of our life, nothing is ever the same again, but the ones we still have with us are gifts from God for right now.  Right now He is with me.  Right now my family needs me.  Right now I am preparing to have NEW friends come for dinner and fellowship before their long journey home.  Right now there are people who are important to me whom I can serve, pray for, and love.  And equally important is the fact that they want to do the same for me.   It's OK to take some time alone, I think.  But if I withdraw from those who care about me, including my Savior, when I am hurt, I am shunning the very thing I need most.

Daniel's Bottle Bucket Battle

   Raising children in a developing nation is risky, albeit adventurous.  I knew that before we came, but it isn't something one tends to think about until an event occurs which gives you a startling reminder.  Saturday evening, Daniel dropped a bottle of Coke and it shattered.  Several shards nicked his feet and legs, but one larger piece of glass bounced off the floor and cut his leg pretty deeply.  We could see his bone.  Our first thought was to call a missionary we know who is a nurse, only to discover she had gone to the interior and couldn't be reached.  We had no choice but to take him to a clinic here and hope for the best. Traffic was terrible.  Sometimes when we are driving here I am reminded of a Discovery Toys Rush Hour game my kids used to have with a bunch of cars and trucks, all facing different directions, touching one another and unable to move.  Add loud honking, dozens of pedestrians weaving in and out the best they can, a complete lack of street lights, people shouting, and exhaust fumes and that's what it looked like Saturday evening.  Daniel was bleeding a lot and I had him in the back seat with his leg propped up while I held the wound shut,  and while we were stuck in traffic, his leg just spontaneously stopped bleeding and didn't bleed again until he was safe in the clinic being examined. (We didn't know it yet, but thanks to Emily and Facebook, lots and lots of friends were already praying for Daniel and God was answering!) Finally a hole just big enough to turn our jeep around opened up and we retraced our steps and went "the back way" to the clinic.  There was a nurse outside the clinic who took one look at David carrying Daniel with his bloody legs and feet and took charge, opening doors and escorting us past triage and reception, straight to the exam room.  By the time I walked up to the reception desk to let them know Daniel was there and give them our names and address, he had been seen by the doctor, had his wound cleaned, and was waiting for stitches.  While they were very careful to use sterile instruments and keep the wound clean, there were definite points of observation that reminded us we weren't in the U.S.
     * the language barrier - They kept asking us questions in Lingala, then switching to French, and in our stress we had some difficulty thinking in French.
     * the insects on the walls
     * the stack of grotesquely filthy leg and arm braces in the corner, presumably waiting to be reused
     * no bright red bio-hazard box - the needles they used to give Lidocaine to Daniel were new and sterile, but once used they just went into the garbage bag with all the other bloody gauze and trash
     * the mercurochrome - they used lots of it on all of Daniel's smaller cuts, even on his old bug bites.  He has big pink spots all over his legs, front and back.  They were so generous with it I started to wonder if we were getting charged by the ounce (that's a joke, folks).  Though I remember mercurachrome from my childhood, I'm pretty sure it is not used in the U.S. any more because it actually contains mercury.  Nice.
     * I had 8 stitches in each incision when I had my foot surgery.  Daniels wound was about the same width, possibly wider, and he got four.  We got some steri-strips from a friend to "close the gaps."
     * no follow up instructions regarding things like when he can bathe, how long to leave the stitches in, etc.  We know we have to keep it clean and dry.  We have plenty of missionary friends here who are in the medical field so we'll rely on them for help and guidance.

     While God was showing Himself to us; getting us through traffic, getting rapid treatment for Daniel, and keeping him from losing too much blood, keeping him amazingly calm, He also showed Himself to Emily that night.  As we were leaving the house for the clinic, I asked Emily to get on the internet and tell our friends to pray because Daniel was bleeding a lot and I knew traffic would be bad and I didn't know what type of care we would get at the clinic.   As soon as they heard, a couple on our team, the Freys, dropped everything and came to be with Emily.  Instead of finding an anxious daughter when we arrived home, we found Emily, Jocelyn, and Nick watching a movie together.  The glass, soda and blood were all cleaned up.  They had brought their supper with them and fed Emily and even had a cupcake waiting for Daniel.  I am so grateful that in this challenging place God has given us friends whose value can't be measured.  We had other friends who were praying for us, helping us with medical advice, giving us antibiotics from their own supplies because the pharmacies were closed, even offering to come get us and take us to the clinic.

    As we were preparing to leave the clinic, Daniel said "well now I can mark that off my bucket list."  We asked him if he seriously had getting hurt and receiving medical treatment in a third world clinic on his bucket list and he said "yes, I did."  What kind of ten year old has a bucket list?  And what kind of ten year old has THAT on his list?  When I asked Daniel's big brother those questions his reply was "a cool one!"  I tend to agree with both Josh and with another friend who said we need to talk to Daniel about working on a safer bucket list.

It Matters To Them

     Friday, Myndii went with us to the orphanage in Kimbondo. It was our first trip back since the elections and I really missed the kids. They must have missed us too because we received a very enthusiastic welcome. There is a definite language barrier sometimes because the little ones that haven't been to school yet only speak Lingala and I only speak Frenglish, but they don't care. Some things are universal: smiles, hugs, silly faces, singing.
     In the building where the babies are kept we found this little one.

She was extremely thin and about the size of a six month old baby, but is apparently much older because she has almost all of her teeth, including molars. Her skin just hung on her. I was afraid to even try to pick her up at first, but I got to hold her for a good long while and pray for her. There were several other little ones in the room, all tiny for their ages and all much more frail than the other kids in the orphanage. When the doctor came in, I asked him if those children were sick. He explained that they have over 200 children with AIDS. I'm not sure if he meant that all those babies have AIDS or not. It was while we were in this room that another worker told us that one of the other children had died just that morning. He had severe hydrocephaly that had worsened since I met him last summer to the point where he was bed-ridden. They had made arrangements for him to be flown out of country for surgery but he didn't make it. Had he been able to stand on his own, I think he would not have been as tall as my ten year old. He had to be suffering, but every time I saw him, he had a smile for me. It is heartbreaking that he died, but I know he is with Jesus and will not have any more reasons to cry, ever. I am grateful that of all the orphanages here, he was placed in this one, because I have heard so many horror stories about the others.
     Someone recently asked me what I do when I go to the orphanage. I lamely offered that sometimes I help with dressing the kids after a bath or feeding babies but I mostly just hold babies and play with kids. It didn't sound all that important to me. I thought about all the needs there and my contribution seemed small indeed. But somehow God keeps prompting me to return and give more hugs and kiss more little heads and so I keep going. When I see their little faces light up and hear their giggles, I know it matters to them that I came.

So I've learned that if you can smile...

                                   if you have a lap...or just really strange hair...

                                                          if you can play...

                                                          you can make a difference.

Sewing in the Congo: making stuff out of stuff

     During our Christmas break from home schooling, I managed to do a little sewing.  I took some curtains and sheets and made, well, curtains and sheets.  I bought some curtains from a departing friend a few months ago and had not managed to get them hung anywhere.  They are the kind that has large eyelets at the top.  In the states I would just run to Wal-mart or Home Depot and get the hardware for hanging that type of curtain.  Not an option here.  My mom sent me some lime green ribbon and thread for Christmas by way of Josh, so I turned the curtains upside-down and sewed the goofy European-style whatever-you-call-it (seriously, I have no idea what it is called) onto the new top to make it compatible with the tracks/hooks system thingy (sorry, don't know the name of that either) already installed in the house.  Then I ran the ribbon through the eyelets, wrapped the ends around to the back, and tacked it down.  We really like it. The curtains weren't wide enough for the window so I made a center panel out of a white sheet. 

I also fixed a fitted sheet for my bed. We foolishly packed queen size sheets for our bed when we came here. I don't think anyone here has a queen sized bed unless they shipped it over from the U.S. MAF loaned us a "Congo-king" size bed when we first arrived. The mattress was made locally out of foam, so I was able to roll it and stuff it into my too-small sheets.  The flexibility of the foam combined with the really snug sheets in such a way that when we got into bed each night the mattress enveloped us like a hotdog bun and cooked us in our own body heat.  (no comments about pigs in a blanket, please)  It also made getting out of bed an interesting challenge in the mornings, sort of like the commercials where the little old lady says "help, I've fallen and I can't get up!"  We eventually bought a bed from some other departing friends. (Do you see the trend here? If no one ever left this place we wouldn't have anything in our house!) It's a California King from the states and my sheets were not going to stretch that far. So, when I had the chance to buy some king-sized sheets from my friend who sold me the curtains, I grabbed it. I took a strip off the top sheet and rehemmed it. Then I added the strip into the fitted sheet, near the bottom so it wouldn't show when the bed was made. I didn't have any instructions and had to "wing it" so the project took a lot longer than I wanted it to, but we have a fitted sheet now that doesn't have to be tucked back under the mattress every morning. Yaaay!
AND...I finally finished scrapping my Christmas photos. FROM 1993! I made one layout and reused it for the sake of expediency. I had a ton of photos because that was Josh's first Christmas and everyone has a bajillion photos of the first baby. (I'm really, really sorry, middle and youngest children.)

This past Christmas while Josh was here I took unusually good photos. I do that about once every five years. Then I took my memory card out of my camera so we could put one of the photos on Facebook for Josh. Now we can't find the memory card and that one photo is all I have from Christmas day. So, since the photos I took a couple days after Christmas can't tell the whole story, we had a great day.

Josh even blogged a little about it. He is a contributing writer on a blog for TCK's - third culture kids. You can see the wonderful sweet things he said about his family HERE.  I think I might go read it a few more times.

How Many Christians Are In The Congo?

Image via Wikipedia

     Demographics reports are not exactly my favorite reading material, but a recent project published last month by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life caught my eye due to it's mention of the Democratic Republic of Congo. According to the Pew Forum:

     97.5% of the population in Democratic Republic of Congo is Christian - Oh, really?
  
     Only one of the ten countries in North and South America included in the report has a lower percentage of Christians in its population than the U.S. - Canada.

     79.5% of the U.S. population is Christian. - Wait, that's lower than the DRC!

     If these figures are true, my first thought was "What am I doing in Africa?"  However, it is not up to me to decide where I serve God.  That is His decision and I trust His sovereignty.  We do have to keep in mind that this report is about "people calling themselves Christians," and includes a plethora of denominations.   Did everyone in the study who called themselves Christians actually think about or understand what it means to be a Christian before they answered?  In many cultures, if you ask someone a direct question, they will give the answer they believe you want, whether or not it is the truth.  Is everyone who is on a church roll a Christian?  I've been in the Congo for 15 months now, and I can't count the Christians but I can say my personal observations don't come anywhere near to meshing with the figures in this report.   While many people here attend church, some of these "churches" teach witchcraft, magic and superstition with some gospel thrown into the mix.  What saddens me is the thought that missions organizations might use a report like this to determine where their missionaries are or are not needed. 
    
    You can find an article by The Weekend Telegram that gives a brief overview of the report HERE. The entire report is available on the Pew Forum website HERE.  Let me know what you think.  Are the numbers inflated or do you believe they are accurate? 

If My Life Is A Prayer, What Am I Saying With It?

We said goodbye to Josh with aching hearts today and sent him on his way back to the states. This being his freshman year, we are all new at this still. It is healthy and normal for children to grow up and leave the nest. So if it's a good thing, why does it hurt so much? I hate goodbyes. Instead of focusing on how much we miss him, I'm trying to be positive and look forward to the next hello.
That's easier said than done because I’ve always been a “glass half empty” kind of gal. If I were a Pooh character, I would occasionally be Tigger but more often I would be Eeyore. If I were a Narnian, my friends would know me as Puddleglum (so I've been told). I’ve always thought First Thessalonians 5:18 was a mega challenge. I often made excuses that the world needs us “glass half empty” people to keep the “glass half full” people in touch with reality. Perhaps in one sense it is true that God has given us all different personalities and ways of seeing things in order for us all to balance each other and work together. It is also true though, that giving thanks in all circumstances is God’s will. Giving excuses is not. Circumstances are external and we experience them with all 5 senses, so it is easy to focus on them. It takes more effort to look beyond. Crumbs on the table and floor are so much more than a mess to clean. They are tangible signs of God’s blessing and provision. Goodbyes are painful, but only because of the precious relationship God has given us with the other person. I might not be able to do laundry for a day or two while I wait for water, but God has never let us go thirsty. God has willed for us to rejoice, to pray continually, and to be thankful. In addition to bringing Him glory, it is for our own good. I've noticed that if I try to leave one out, all of them become more difficult. God has given me salvation and the promise of his constant presence. Even if those are the only reasons some days that I can think of to rejoice and be thankful, they are always there. Keith Green sang a song that went like this: “Make my life a prayer to you.…” If my actions and speech are reflections of what is in my heart, then my life is like a prayer. Every parent knows that sometimes a child says one thing with his mouth and something entirely different with his actions or body language. I wish I could say that with my “life-prayers” I am always saying the same things to God and showing Him the same attitude that I am with my “lip-prayers.” Dear Father, I don't want my spoken prayers to be just lip service. I want my actions as well as my speech to say "I love You, I need You, I surrender to You, and Thank You!"

I'd Rather Have a Super Power!

I woke at 3am last Tuesday with a migraine. That’s not unusual, but thankfully, I’ve learned some of my triggers and don’t get them as frequently as I used to. Migraines are yucky. Recently, mine have developed a nasty new habit of commencing during the night while I sleep and waking me up. Ever notice that any type of pain seems magnified, and time passes more slowly, at night when anyone who might take pity on you is asleep and unaware of your plight? Anyway, when I felt better I researched migraines on the internet. I wanted to know whether this newest symptom was something common to many migraine sufferers or if it was just another of my own unique quirks. I learned it is fairly common. Most of the articles I found also claimed that “migraine disease” (they really do call it that, go figure) is a genetic neurological disorder. Since no one else in my immediate family suffers migraines, I guess this means I am the genetic mutant in the clan. Sort of like the X-men, only instead of a cool superpower I get migraines. I’d much rather have a superpower. Who wouldn’t? At least I am blessed with a super family that is very sympathetic and helpful when I get a migraine. They know I need to be in a dark, cool, quiet place. They know motion makes it worse so they bring me ice packs and drinks. The kids manage the home for me until I feel better, usually by graciously saving the dirty laundry and dishes for me. Somehow that doesn’t have the same effect as when someone saves me a seat next to them, or a piece of pie.
Just as physical migraines incapacitate us, so do spiritual migraines. Some of my migraines occur because I have not been taking care of myself and paying attention to things that trigger them. If I skip meals, allow myself to become dehydrated, eat something I know from past experience will cause me pain, or get too hot (so I moved to Africa), I will get a migraine. It is best to avoid any known triggers altogether. We have spiritual "triggers" as well. We have to feed and meditate on God’s Word and pray. We have to learn from our experiences and not repeat our mistakes. We have to make time for spiritual rest and renewal. If we allow ourselves to constantly run on empty, we could be setting ourselves up for a spiritual migraine.