Waiting to hear it for the first time..

I can't count how many times I've heard it… Or even how many times I've had the conversation myself!---a philosophical question of which translation I prefer, which one someone feels is archaic or the best--ESV, NIV, KJV, New International Standard Bible of something or other…

We only know what it is like to have more than 100 versions of this Book. We even know a very first-world struggle of dusting it off, of being reminded in church that it brings Life and that it not only holds God's answers for everything, but is His living Word. We only know what it is like to have always had it. We teach our children beautiful songs that fortify their hearts: "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so".

But the majority of the world is not experiencing it this way at all. And they do not have a Bible that is telling them of His great love. They are not philosophizing over which translation speaks to them more or which one feels outdated, they are waiting to hear it for the first time. Some of them are part of a Body of believers that has heard that God has much to say, and when a translation has been started in their village, they wait and support those working on it, praying that they will receive His voice soon.

Today I wanted to share one example of a people group receiving a completed portion of the Word of God for the first time. These ceremonies are mesmerizing, and the joy and expectation are palpable! The Kimyal in Indonesia received a completed New Testament in 2010, and this is a peek into their celebration!

  

Kimyal New Testament launch in Indonesia from United Bible Societies on Vimeo.

http://www.wycliffe.net/stories/tabid/67/Default.aspx?id=2323&continent=ASI&country=ID

I have heard the cries of my people..

I've been thinking a lot about Moses and Joshua, about the faith they had to see impossible tasks completed, and their willingness and watchfulness as God brought not just resolution and deliverance, but resolution and deliverance in unimaginable ways---miraculous, jaw-dropping, perfectly-timed, defying-the-natural-laws-of-science kind of ways.

Over and over, in the New Testament and Old, we see the Lord say "I have heard the cries of my people…" and great acts of love and deliverance follow.  It isn't that He needs us to ask, but the fact that our asking, engaging, and earnest yearning means so much to Him is an incredible honor. He extends to us a huge power and responsibility---that all Believers would be a part of the Great Commission---a huge mission of resolution and deliverance---by going, sending, and praying.

We often minimize the importance of the praying part, as though it were the lesser of the three, and today I wanted to highlight two stories through this video that remind me of the power and necessity of prayer in the gigantic task of Bible translation. I invite you to watch it, and then to also follow the link below to become a steady prayer partner for Bibleless people groups all over the world. 

Even now, Jonathon and I pray that wherever we end up working and translating, that God is raising up a team of national surveyors and translators to work with us, and that this would be happening all over the world in various translation projects. Please lift up the harvest-workers that are abroad now, laboring even in dangerous places, that need their Father's protection, blessing, strength, healing, and provision for the great task before them, and for His resolution and deliverance, in unimaginable ways. Amen.

http://www2.wycliffe.org/finishline

So then faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God

Today's bite deals with Oral Bible Storytelling! Around 70% of the Bibleless peoples of the world live in oral cultures, that are not reliant on literacy or have a population which is currently mostly illiterate. They long to hear from God in their heart-language, and although the long-term goal is still a written Bible for these cultures, faith comes by hearing, and many of these people-groups are receiving God's Word now in oral-form. These projects thrill my heart, as I watch the fleshing-out of God meeting His people where they are, and as it reminds me that His Word is LIVING, and that when He first created life, He wrote the story of Creation with an audible word from His mouth.

"The Craziest Gringo"

Today's bite of passion centers around crazy faith! I NEED this in my life. Although my husband and I have a life centered around this crazy Bible translation task, I wake some days being worried about small, mundane things. Even when our worries come about the larger struggles (crippling illness, staggering medicine costs, immigration processes), there are days it takes effort to STOP and refuse the swirling questions in our hearts. It's especially on those days when my Abba reminds me that big or small, no obstacle has ever been larger than He is, and no question will ever exist that isn't already a past-tense to His solution and redemption. His seal already stitches up the gaping hole in question; we are just experiencing time and those needs as little ones, not tall enough to see over the holy ridge yet. And so as purchased little ones, we choose faith, we choose rest, knowing that His call forward means there is a provision for those steps. The story below is about one of the BIG times this faith was displayed in the starting days of Wycliffe Bible Translators, when William Cameron Townsend was just starting out with the vision God gave him:

 

At the 25-year celebration of SIL’s work in Peru, Mr. José Jiménez Borja, an assistant to the Peruvian Minister of Education years before, told this story.

“I remember the day Mr. Townsend came into my office in 1945. He presented the most ridiculous plan I had ever heard.
 

“He wanted to go into the jungle with a group of linguists. They were going to learn the languages of the people, form alphabets, teach the people how to read and translate the Bible into those languages. He wanted my blessing on this impossible project. Our conversation went like this:

Mr. Townsend, who is going to do all this work?

It will be done by trained linguists-young men and women with college degrees who are willing to spend their lives among the indigenous peoples.

This is a difficult task. How many are willing to go?

None, yet. But when I go back to the U.S. and challenge them, many will volunteer.

The jungle is impossible. How will you get those people out to the villages?

I plan to use airplanes to land on the rivers and airstrips that can be cleared in the jungle.

How many planes do you have?

None. But when I share the need, God will give us enough planes.

Who will fly these planes?

Hundreds of young people, seasoned pilots and mechanics will volunteer.

How many pilots and mechanics do you now have?

None, but God will send them along.

There is much disease in the jungle. How will you stay healthy?

We’ll have clinics staffed by doctors and nurses.

How many doctors and nurses do you have?

None, but God will supply them.

Who will finance all this? The U.S. government? A wealthy foundation?

No. I’ll go home and tell the people of the United States about this plan. God will supply. All the workers will raise their own support.

At this I stared at the strange man and told him, “When all that comes to pass, come back to me and I will bless you.”

He got up, gave me a big hug, and said, I’ll be back soon.

“When Mr. Townsend walked out of the door, I turned to my secretary and said, ‘Alla va el gringo mas loco que jamas he visto.’ (There goes the craziest gringo I’ve ever seen in my life.)

“A few months later, Mr. Townsend was back and ready to start! Now, 25 years later, all he dreamed has happened, plus much more. Only God could do such a mighty thing.”

—Adapted from an article by Bernie May in Beyond, Vol. 30, No. 1

"It Starts in the Strangest Places"

In my 20's, when I first began hearing about Bible Translation again in college, I was rocked by the big picture… that so many social justice, economic, health, and political issues could be miraculously assaulted through the world receiving God's Word. I had certainly known and felt before that God's Word and presence in my life affected everything, but in terms of the mass-suffering of the world, I felt powerless and paralyzed in knowing where and how to help. For me personally though, the Lord began to relentlessly shine a light on the concept of Bible translation as the place to start, and I began to see how starting here brought change and an army-force of light to all other areas of life burdened with the shadow of sorrow, need, death, and darkness.

So today's bite of passion deals with the BIG PICTURE of Bible translation---a reminder of the vastness of impact and the ripple effect that these translation projects, for every tribe and tongue, will have not only on eternity, but now, in the lives of our languishing brothers.

A thirty-day "diet" of passion~

Passion and Calling are interesting, hungry beasts, and nothing wakes them like this particular day, each year. Where December 31st comes gliding into our psyches on the beautiful and holy winter exhale of Christmas, New Year's Day shoves at our hearts with purpose, rousing it with a newfound umph!

We long to start well, and January reminds us that the slate is clean, that Jesus has bannered us with a firm it is finished, and we get to wear His name instead of our own murky deeds, identity, and effort. And I think the Lord loves this time of year too… The heft of symbols, and all that advent means burns my heart up each year--learning to wait on and with my Abba--and then to have it followed by the freshness of a new chance to learn to follow Him well.

One of the small ways I want to do that this year is to intentionally feed on what excites the Lord. I find those things in His word, in His creation (us, and nature) and the images of His creativity that come out through us (music, art, poetry..). But I also find it in the passions He's placed inside of me and others---all images of the passions contained in His own heart, the one pure heart. This month, I feel Him calling me to celebrate that, and to nestle into Him by learning more about what brings Him joy, what He's up to around the world and specifically in Bible translation, and what He longs for us to do about it!

So for 30 days, I will process and post what I find here, and I hope you'll join me in my pursuit and celebration!

Humira Shots, Haircuts, and Wedding Dresses, Oh My!

So, once again it’s been a long time since I’ve written! This year continues to be one wherein very little is “normal”, and in some ways not writing about it but just experiencing it has been the best way to process it. However, God always seems to bring me back to a place where I must recall that putting words to difficult things takes the power out of them… We name something, shed light on it, and invite Community into it, and suddenly the fear-swirl that comes with it must diminish. When I’m silent with something for too long, there is a temptation to see it as bigger than me, and what’s worse, that creeps into the feeling that it’s bigger than God, and the lie that we’re alone. I end up folding, thinking that speaking about things equates to whining, but that’s just a trick to make us feel judged, petty, small, and guilty, when Christ’s real perspective is one that caters to little children crawling up in His lap with little-children-worries.

The funny part is that these emotions seem to come out with the “wrong” triggers! Sickness itself was so bad. This last flare-up was so strong, so altogether crushing, that maybe there just wasn’t time to feel things as they happened, and now, months after the worst of it, the tiny things are the button-pushers.

This past week I had to cut my hair off. The rounds of powerful medicines we had to use for this flare-up made it rapidly fall out, and by the time this month came around it was clear that it wasn’t salvageable and that I was going to be a short-haired bride afterall. Not what I’d always dreamed of, but also NOT a huge deal; it’s definitely just hair! But somehow the no-choice-in-the-matterness of it all shook me up more than I expected, and on the happiest of girly days—when I got to go pick up my wedding dress and do the first fitting—I started to weep. Maybe these tangible things exist to put form to something we wouldn’t be able to process another way. Lost tresses and the way they change my face force me to move forward, to take a deep breath and chose bravery in the small stuff, leaving loss behind and pursuing confidence again after feeling tossed around by feisty circumstances.  

And I have been given the BEST support team for this stuff… two brothers and a sister that came along for the chop, and didn’t make me feel silly in any way, a mom that wiped my tears at the bridal salon, a pappy that nuzzled the words “you’re beautiful” into my cheek, and a fiancé that has only gushed delight, excitement, support, and anticipation at a lifetime of seeing each other grow and change.

A few days later, we needed to administer the second “loading dose” of the new “biologic” medication (given in my arm this time, instead of the initial 4 in my belly – see the pic!). This one is replacing the Remicade that was causing the hairloss, exhaustion, and brain-fog. We’re really hopeful that this is the one we can stick with for many years to come, and are praying that as it gets in my system, I will become able to wean off the steroids again and remain on only 1-2 medicines! It’s awesome to be able to give myself the shots (it’ll be 1 shot every 2 weeks now), and to no longer have to plan around intravenous infusions every 8 weeks! This medicine still suppresses my immune system, which potentially still limits where Johnny and I will be able to serve with Wycliffe in the future, but that “limit” no longer feels scary, and I stand firmly on the knowledge that no medicine will wrangle any limitation on God’s will.

So change pummels forward, but good things are afoot. Smiling today at the oddity of this summer, and thankful for all the ways this body is calming down. 

Mourning a path and gardening willingness

This is the week I was supposed to move to Papua New Guinea. ..Was supposed to get on a plane and leave everything behind but the relationships sending me, all my family and friends tethering me with love to this place. ..Was supposed to fly in multiple stages across datelines and timezones to a mountainous land throbbing from the ground with groans of longing for the Word in their languages...

I feel it pulse under my skin, everything put on hold, a twelve-year process prolonged into waiting once again.

And there is deep sadness in that, sorrow that some weakness in my physical body could explode into such severity now, and delay me from this work that I have felt my Lord tug at me about for more than half my years. Maybe it’s the steroids, but I find myself weeping often now, grasping to grieve for the scariness that November in the hospital was, for the confusion caused by getting so close to launching into Language Survey and then hearing God’s clear “No, still not yet.”

But that’s not quite it, maybe not quite true enough. I find myself grieving for the ifs. It’s too soon to know, but I find my soul reaching for answers about what things can be like once I’m in remission again——will it be possible to be a surveyor still, or will I need to do less physical roles in the Bible translation process? Will the Third World ever open up as an option again, or will these medicines (immuno-suppressants) be God’s tools of redirection, bringing me to work in a country I didn’t expect?  If it can no longer be Papua New Guinea, why did God spend all that time moving me in that direction, researching these people and their languages, investing in this Survey team, and creating a passion in me for the work He is doing there?——the questions can go on an on, but even they only scratch the surface, as it's more complicated than that. I can SEE God weaving together intricate stories that require more complexity, more ambiguity and waiting on Him than I'm comfortable with, but His results are always better than I can dream up, and the answers to those questions aren't the point..

Maybe more than this, then, I am grieving for how I can be so fully sold, so completely the property of my Jesus, and then still find willfulness in me that—in a tiny corner of my most honest and bare soul—hopes for my vision of things, my understanding, more than I fling myself at His feet to do whatever He pleases. Because He is most concerned with the conversation. There is no doubt that He will win. There is no doubt that all will hear, and He is mobilizing everyone who is willing to form the lines that will march forward with His healing, His breath, His salvation for every tribe and tongue. But more than just this end result, He uses every sorrow, every delay, every fog-enshrouded question mark, tear, and crumple to draw us and everyone around us into His lap, and to cultivate in us every good thing that cannot be there without whatever furnace He has brought us to. His sovereignty demands that I redefine everything—that if He allows it, that I should then call it Good, and open up my whole being to being drenched by that fire so we can continue on our way, refined and sharpened, and not consumed (Isaiah 43:2). He is fiercely committed to exacting every small rebirth of ferocious trust in us that will come from changing our plans, that will come from a million little deaths during our lifetimes, a million little lettings-go, even when He authored the direction of those plans in the first place (John 12:24). He loves me enough to forge an evermore iron-clad trust even when that process hurts.

So this week I grieve with my ribcage cracked open. I unlock that chamber so alter-flames can lick this heart with fiery tongues, can lap up disappointment and fear of loss, can dress every physical wound and every veins’ ache, can let in every EXTRAVAGANT joy that God has placed in my life in this season and every need that is before me right here, remembering that trusting Him is worth immeasurably more to Him than ministering for Him in any particular way. One will ALWAYS lead to the other (trust and love leading to ministry and worship), but He will zealously continue refining my trust until I am a closely-knit-to-Him shadow, turning on a dime, pouring Him out in the most unexpected ways and places, following His dancing Image more closely and with more abandon than I did before. Amen.

Violently tossed and remarkably held

[From a devotional by C.H. Spurgeon]

"There were also with Him other little ships." — Mark 4:36

Jesus was the Lord High Admiral of the sea that night, and His presence preserved the whole convoy. It is well to sail with Jesus, even though it be in a little ship. When we sail in Christ's company, we may not make sure of fair weather, for great storms may toss the vessel which carries the Lord Himself, and we must not expect to find the sea less boisterous around our little boat. If we go with Jesus we must be content to fare as He fares; and when the waves are rough to Him, they will be rough to us. It is by tempest and tossing that we shall come to land, as He did before us. When the storm swept over Galilee's dark lake all faces gathered blackness, and all hearts dreaded shipwreck.

When all creature help was useless, the slumbering Saviour arose, and with a word, transformed the riot of the tempest into the deep quiet of a calm; then were the little vessels at rest as well as that which carried the Lord. Jesus is the star of the sea; and though there be sorrow upon the sea, when Jesus is on it there is joy too. May our hearts make Jesus their anchor, their rudder, their lighthouse, their life-boat, and their harbour. His Church is the Admiral's flagship, let us attend her movements, and cheer her officers with our presence. He Himself is the great attraction; let us follow ever in His wake, mark His signals, steer by His chart, and never fear while He is within hail.

Not one ship in the convoy shall suffer wreck; the great Commodore will steer every barque in safety to the desired haven. By faith we will slip our cable for another day's cruise, and sail forth with Jesus into a sea of tribulation. Winds and waves will not spare us, but they all obey Him; and, therefore, whatever squalls may occur without, faith shall feel a blessed calm within. He is ever in the centre of the weather-beaten company: let us rejoice in Him. His vessel has reached the haven, and so shall ours.

CanIL's First Scripture Celebration Day and some Mon-thoughts...

To say a class is changing my life might be an overstatement; but to say that I have experienced quite an incredible shift of understanding is not nearly saying enough. Goodness, Scripture Use has taken everything I know about the concepts surrounding Bible Translation, and carved open the chest on it, exposing a wild heart, and some complicated, throbbing veins.

Where other Linguistics courses I've taken so far teach the technical ins-and-outs about what we need to know about language in order to get any of this right, this class throws an anchor back into the discussion and reminds me about all of the living layers of things we must learn about people and cultures in order to not mess the language and translation stuff up!

Week after week in this class, we receive an arsenal of stories of how the "smallest" of details can deeply matter in how a different culture receives the Word of God, and daily I find my heart thrumming with the grace-filled, glorious fact that He has placed bits of HIS image in each of these people groups, and we must find the pieces of that, and point to them; indicate HIM in the places that they will recognize Him, and then show all the other facets of who He is that are maybe completely counter-cultural.

One of the things that Scripture Use focuses on, then, is local arts within a culture, so that when the Bible begins to be translated,...when there's even just ONE VERSE, believers within the culture can begin working with the translation team to spread the message through indigenous songs, print-media, dramas, works of art, traditional paintings, ANYTHING that speaks of God to the culture from the culture. 

This need was brought home to me most in the tiny quote of a Tanzanian pastor that my friend told me about the other day... Her parents are missionaries, and a few years ago this pastor-friend relayed a message of years of pain and wounding that came from initial missionary-efforts, many years ago. He said: "When you brought us the Word, it was like a loaf of bread, SO nourishing, but wrapped in the Westerners' baggie. We were so hungry for it that we ate the whole thing, and now we are choking on the plastic."

This breaks my heart, and it isn't Christ's intention in the least. Although Western hymns and ancient traditions can bring life and meaningful teaching, if they are the only way that we deliver the Word or "establish church," we lose so much, we dwarf the hearts and the image in those hearts of the One who saves, whose Personality is vivacious, vivid, color-on-fire, holy and utterly, creatively magnificent. Instead of showing this though, we show "new rules," new heart languages that "can't be spoken", wordlessly communicating ideas about how God can only be reached with Western ways and that the LIFE of their community might be bad. His heart, though, is for all to know Him, and to express that seeking, knowing, learning, teaching, and worshipping out in the context of the culture that He has lovingly planted them in.

Scripture Use is teaching me to empower local artists and believers in any culture to engage with what the Word says, so that they can create for their church Body, for themselves, for their local radio programs, for their children's church, so that ALL might hear inside the glorious nuances of the cultural soil their hearts and identities have grown in, and so that we do not squelch what the Spirit is doing by presenting the Bible in a form that will cause great harm, misunderstanding, pain, or sharp mis-teachings simply because we didn't know enough about the people, the history, and the culture before we thought we could use certain words or forms and assume that they would communicate the same thing.

All this to say, my head and my heart are so full....so prayerfully FULL of new things to step boldly and delicately with. It has been so encouraging to take all this in, and to know that even though this spills a daunting light onto the intricacies of the task, it also shows me more of my Lord's glimmering sides.

In the process of this learning, I got to take part last week in something truly special at school... For the first time, the Canada Institute of Linguistics threw a sort of community-party focused on celebrating Scripture, and presenting some "commissioned artworks" that our class's students presented - [ask me about "mine" sometime, and I'll tell you about this great kid named Isaiah that rocked a piece of Spoken Word Poetry via video, and the process we underwent to make it happen!!!]..  

So the Celebration included a group of us as presenters to a crowd of around 250 people, as well as a cyclists' "Ride for Translation" in the morning, that did an incredible job or raising funds for future CanIL student scholarships, a lunch banquet, a Parade of Nations, and several mini-modules that guests could choose from about Linguistics topics like Phonetics and testimonies to what it's like serving in closed-countries...

Below are some photos taken by the incredible Jacob Bowdoin and Moss Doerksen, to give you a glimpse into the day.

What I'm learning outside of class...

Okay. So here’s some straight-talk — the vulnerable, confessional kind that I’ll feel itchy about when I hit “post” :)…

I’ve been here for almost a month already! How very good these weeks have been, so full of joy, new ideas to consider, digest, and operate from, but whelming in task-volume, weighty in function, and wearying in sheer speed.

The first two weeks of classes found me ecstatic with learning but drowning in spite of my efforts to juggle everything… I’d underestimated the combination of these two dense courses, an on-campus job every evening, and my work with Wycliffe to be in touch with and update partners and generally prepare for my future work on the field in all the non-academic ways... My mind had been repeatedly boxing with the time-limitations I’d come crashing into, and the four hours of sleep a night were spiraling quickly into frazzlement (surely, this is a word!)!

By the end of the first week, God had my undivided attention, as I pushed to seek Him on “how to do all of this—how to prepare well, with devotion and gusto, and still be sane?!”  How odd that I wasn’t prepared for the answer, still…..

               —This missionary thing… my goodness, it takes so much getting used to, so much rewriting of our ingrained American culture and instincts. As I sought God’s wisdom in my frustration, He began to reiterate the shift He’s been executing in my life – absolute plate tectonics – voluntary No Man’s Land…  His whispered reply was:

“I brought you here to study, to learn from community and to prepare academically. You added work, dearone, you wanted to plan for every grocery and display financial wisdom in advance, but you are no longer living that life. This new life of yours involves trusting you will be fed, praying when you have a need, and learning to ask; not striving on the side in something I haven’t appointed for you to focus on right now… It is time, Little One.”

This correction is difficult.

It moves me from something I know to be good (working to provide for ourselves) to something unknown, invisible, something that feels dangling to us “responsible folk”… And I’ve been stepping into living on the support of the Church and the community, family, and friends that are permitting and enabling me to be one of their ambassadors of Christ, but with training wheels until now. I hadn’t even realized that I hadn’t fully let go; that I was clutching a little at my part-time work that made this “a little less scary”.

And then, Messiah turns up the heat of preparation, mercifully allows me to come to the place of abandon with my stubborn heart on its own, and in my shaky exertion, once again shows me where I’ve been holding on to things that are good, but are just not for now.

And the exceptional part is this——immediately after bringing me to this realization, and after I wrote to my supervisors to discuss stepping down from this job (though no one else was told of my need or struggle!), I received, in incremental notifications, the announcement that two of my current financial partners were increasing their support, and that there were two new one-time gifts coming in from others this month… This support equaled the amount of income needed for the rest of June that I would be walking away from by leaving the job!…  His goodness—ahh!!—how silly that we worry at all! But I am learning…

SO, if you think of it, keep praying for this journey for me, and I for you, that we might be so wrapped up in Him that what’s for now can be nimbly redirected at a moment as He keeps us engulfed in His voice, His presence, and His perfectly unhurried unfoldings, as we wait to see how He will provide each next time…

.

A 5-second pause for silliness

Today’s dose of “Grad. Student List-Incredulity”:

An Ode, in pictures, to the ink-strewn hand-list, for keeping me sane.

A weekend jaunt before classes began -or- A Place from Another Time

Today is the second day of classes, and it’s been a happy whirl of a gray-skied morning, running about and finalizing costs and textbook-acquiring, along with a Social Insurance Number so that I can work my small cleaning job on campus this summer…

I can’t wait to tell you more about these classes and how they’ll prepare me for work in PNG, but I thought today, that in honor of “the calm before the storm” of coursework, I would take a moment to celebrate the slow-paced lovely weekend I had, getting to know some of the women in the home I’m living in and re-acquainted with the little town the school is situated in...

On Saturday, I walked myself into Fort Langley, which is a little village in the already little township of Langley, and it’s the cutest! The walk was beautiful, and very good for clearing my travel-head and unpacking-hands. Here are some highlights for those that want to “visualize” my first few days back here:

This woman and her amazingly calm sidekick-pup were volunteering at the old rail station. They show guests around a lonely caboose that sits in a grassy yard, and she unlocked a lovely, tiny, whitewashed room for me in the back of the old station that held some local artists' paintings. 

Another volunteer was waiting in the caboose to show me some relics of the Canadian National (CN) rail. She pointed a long, serious finger at the white cloth suitcase in the center, and said “Do you know what that suitcase’s name is?”... And then answered herself with a cheeky grin and “Its name is ‘Please-Don’t-Rain’!”  

I KNOW some of my family and friends (ahem!..Paul A. and my cousie’s Joyce and Mike!) who watch “Once Upon a Time” might recognize this… They’ve filmed some of the show’s early scenes here, as Storybrooke’s town hall! It is actually the Fort Langley Community Hall.

And then back again…

I've arrived in Canada! And here's some about my travel day...

I’m quite the suspicious character. 

Or at least that’s what the Canadian border officers thought this time! I flew on Wednesday from Atlanta to Dallas, and Dallas to Vancouver, and other than some weather making the first flight's take-off a little late, everything went very smoothly until I arrived in Canada. I had some dear friends from last summer meeting me at the airport, but the process from landing to finally getting to meet them behind a glass door took about two hours! 

The Vancouver airport was considerably quiet in the evening, and by the time I was in line to sort out my student visa, we could see staff was a bit low and everyone had been working for many hours already..   I was part of a motley line of mostly forlorn faces---one plaid-clad young man explaining that he'd been Ecuador-bound but "no one from his charity had been there to meet him, and so he was sent back", one American couple distraught over lost bags, one South American family with an adorable child that needed to breath from his nubilzer treatment while they waited to situate entry plans. There were so many stories, tired and waiting, in front of me, and I found myself grateful for the workers before us, trying to stay positive and discerning  as they looked over each person's documents and asked them questions..

When it was all said and done, everything for my entry was fine, I just hadn't brought official- enough proof of the address I would be living at or of the small on-campus job I will be working. I was granted the visa and was able to tromp out to my waiting chariot of people, and groggily chatter with them all the way to Langley to crash to sleep after 20-some hours of being awake!

The rest of the travel day was beautiful though, and I took a few photos out of the plane windows for you of some of the things that caught my breath:

Sunset over the British Columbia coast as we circled for a landing!

Between dust and flowing water

“Between Times
Paul Tournier, in A Place for You, describes the experience of being in between—between the time we leave home and arrive at our destination; between the time we leave adolescence and arrive at adulthood; between the time we leave doubt and arrive at faith. It is like the time when a trapeze artist lets go the bar and hangs in midair, ready to catch another support: it is a time of danger, of expectation, of uncertainty, of excitement, of extraordinary aliveness.

Christians will recognize how appropriately these psalms [Psalms 120-134] may be sung between the times: between the time we leave the world’s environment and arrive at the Spirit’s assembly; between the time we leave sin and arrive at holiness; between the time we leave home on Sunday morning and arrive in church with the company of God’s people; between the time we leave the works of the law and arrive at justification by faith. They are songs of transition, brief hymns that provide courage, support and inner direction for getting us to where God is leading us in Jesus Christ.

Meanwhile the world whispers, “Why bother? There is plenty to enjoy without involving yourself in all that. The past is a graveyard—ignore it; the future is a holocaust—avoid it. There is no payoff for discipleship, there is no destination for pilgrimage. Get God the quick way; buy instant charisma.” But other voices speak—if not more attractively, at least more truly.”

-Eugene H. Peterson
A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, p.20

In the previous post, I mention a fortuitous coffee-date that I got to have this week, where we closed down the shop and were asked to continue our conversation outside ;)...

At one point in this long conversation, we hit a silly note, referring to a need for a "dating tips" site in regards to the life of a disciple of Christ ("How to keep it fresh when you've been together for 20+ years",  ha!)...  It feels very laughable to have typed that out, but what hit a chord for me is that, especially in this year of transitioning towards the missionary lifestyle, far from family, friends, and often a church Body, I am on a quest to sort out what a mature, fully grounded and steadfast discipleship should look like, apart from the structure that I am blessed to have just because I grew up around established church programs and awesome opportunities to learn from other believers on a daily and weekly basis...

When I look at not being utterly submerged in that in the future, the urgency of personal discipline is unveiled in the most real way I've ever experienced. This is most certainly a concept I've taken seriously all my life, and I was blessed with parents and a church that never for a second let me think that faith is "grandfathered-in", but in my most honest moments, I know that the Christian culture in America makes it very easy to think I know how to feed myself, because there is never a lack of spiritual food at my fingertips, and I have surely fallen into living off of what I can absorb “just  by showing up” before. 

But the beautiful side-effect of living on a precipice is that it mirrors back to me what   should   not   be.   And so alongside this journey towards serving in the Bible Translation process, I am on a journey to live in that vulnerable, chest-cavity-open-on-an-operating-alter kind of honesty, and to rediscover, each day, what intimacy with Christ can look like--and how alive  a "long obedience in the same direction" can be.  One of the most poignant characteristics that long seasons of sickness wrought out in me was the will  involved in submitting my heart and direction, not because there was a mountain peak coming, but just because the One I followed was deeply trustworthy, even if the journey felt ugly and painful.    In the last year though, He has been whispering me into a subsequent understanding of obedience and discipline----dancing me out of a fertile but somber valley, and onto unknown rocks and adventure. I have been praying that my submission would learn how to travel between these heavy and light hearted seasons with grace, whimsy, and praise, and that I would not loosen my grip on Him, depending on the form of the season…  

And may this be contagious. May we, irregardless of our different contexts, see the need to quest forward----for closeness with each other and with Him, for divine passion for what He's placed in us to do and be,  for hearts that would have no rest in or patience for our own nestled apathy, but would all seek the transition between dust and flowing water.

Redeeming what could have been "Stranded Friday"

[A Friday morning song I'd love for you to hear (referred to later in this post!)]


I never have trouble understanding that “no man is an island”.

This feels like in-grown knowledge that I’m always certain of, and more often than not, it’s harder for me to handle being in situations that make me feel like one. I don't dislike solitude, and longingly crave it sometimes, but this week has been one of those funny convergences of lots of solitude that just sort of happened by default…  Krissy and Chris have been on vacation, so this big house has been devoid of anyone but me and the Great Companion Scout. I have been working a lot this week too, because everyone in the office is at a conference, and whenever this has happened anytime in the last 3 years, I’ve been the Fort-Holder-Downer for the team…that’s just what we do, and it works wonderfully. 

BUT—It also means that the office has been down to one or two people, and much quieter than usual. THIS much quiet (waking up to it, driving to work in it, rolling in it from 9-5, and returning home to it for a quiet evening) for days and days in a row has historically made me squirrelly, itchy for people and stories, voices and interaction. It's just how God wired me. 

BUT—This week I've found Him beautifully pushing on those wires, and making enough quiet room for me to have space to notice His provision. In the midst of this plan for the Silent Bustle Week, my car broke down. I was running to go meet a dear woman for a we-haven't-done-this-in-TOO-LONG coffee-chat, and it was going to be my reprieve from the first few days of being on my own. "Err-errr-ERrrrrrr" went my little Sentra, and nothing I could do would coax it out of stubborn stuckness. 

BUT—I keep being reminded that His timing is good, even for brokenness.
The breakdown happening this week meant there was a vehicle to borrow, and work has gone on just as it needed to. Such a blessing! I was able to get to the needed, nourishing conversation, wherein we out-night-owled the coffee shop, and I've been able to have the time and solitude in the evenings that I've needed to re-kindle fervent prayer — Prayer about provision and "first world needs" like car repairs, about habits that I want to strengthen in my life that I have time to notice when it gets hushed and still, about awesome decisions that are coming up concerning Papua New Guinea, and the name of a region that I've been asked to pray about working in once I'm initially settled in... 

It is only in solitude that things like this get to roll around my mind and tongue the way they should... In this solitude, my heart readjusts its need to process out loud with someone, and finds itself reminded that Christ knows my voice and wants to hear these things first. He knows the name of this region in PNG and knows every person there. He knows what's wrong with my car and how He will sort out every worry of mine, so much so that He would prefer I let the air out of those worries before I decide it's holy to fill them up and let them fly upward like wind-hoisted balloons...

So this morning was about a joy-filled, weightless, extra-early drive to work in a borrowed car, where my heart found thanks and felicity dribbling out of it (to the tune of the song above!), with the comfortable knowledge that it is well, and that we ought to be singing while we wait to see the surprising, jubilant provision of the Lord. Happy Friday, dearest loved ones. May you feel Him so warmly in your rush or silence today too.