Seeing the Aquarium in the Sludge

"Viste mi aquário?" ("Did you see my aquarium?")

She grinned as she leaned over the side of the platform and stared at the tiny fish swimming in the sludge that filtered its way under and around their house. Enamored.

She is a glass-half-full kinda gal.

My sandal snapped and the sludge oozed between my toes as I made my way up the planks to get to the box that she was calling home. It was worse than when I had been here during dry season six months ago, to be sure. She wasn't living in it at the time but now it was where they were sleeping every night. A single mom and her daughter. I could feel my chest tighten and I held back the tears.

"My sister is living like this," was all I could think.

It is unfair to call it a house really. More appropriately called a platform with slats. Sheets are strategically but futilely placed to cover the open window holes and the larger cracks between the wall boards. Mosquitoes and flies paid no attention as they swarmed right past.

Buckets of water sat in one corner and the single, tiny fan vibrated on the uneven floor where the kids piled on the single mattress to watch the hazy cartoon playing on the small TV screen.

Fortunately it wasn't raining because the water nearly flooded the wooden platform each time it did, lifting mosquitoes and raw sewage to closer proximity.

"When it rains, I don't sleep," she told us. "I'm too scared it will flood." It's rainy season. Little sleep.

No locks.
No screen to cover the windows.
No bathroom.
No kitchen.

Not ok.

"Jesus. She is one of our own. Help us help her."

Pricila sat at the plastic table and I could tell she was a little more calloused now. She has been with us for nearly three years at The Donut Company and in that time she has been on quite the roller coaster ride of housing needs and custody battles for her older daughter. To say that women like her are taken advantage of by landlords and the social system would be quite the understatement. So while her living conditions are now far below safe or ideal, after much conversation and council, she felt it better for her to live in a box with no bathroom or running water than to continue to spend half her paycheck paying rent for a puny room with a verbally abusive landlord. That should tell us something.

But if she ever hopes to get custody of her older daughter back from her abusive ex-husband, who is now under a restraining order, she couldn't possibly do so in these conditions.

Stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. Again.

Bea and Sam specifically have walked with her through some deep valleys and while she has grown in many ways, there is a certain hardening that takes place when life's injustices keep showing up at your dilapidated from step.

For as determined as she is, she is equally tired.

We helped her purchase this piece of property almost a year ago, though she has only lived in it for about a month, and more confusion ensued when the previous owner tried to take it away. She won that battle but the war is far from over.

Richard walked the perimeter of the house. This was his first time seeing the house in person and he echoed the thoughts of us all: this is not good.

The house is old and built where raw sewage and rain run off from the adjoining neighborhoods, a breeding ground for disease and mosquitoes. We repressed our American savior mode as quickly as it crept its sneaky way to the front of our minds. The initial thoughts of "she can't live here" and "we will find her a better place" were settled and replaced with "what can we do now with what's been given?"

The reality is, the vast majority of the world lives in similar or worse circumstances and as much as our instinct would tell us to leave this and find better, we realize that is not sustainable. It's not a long term solution. It's a knee-jerk reaction of the privileged (us) that most often does more harm than good. (Sound strange? Tell me about it. But if there is one thing experience has taught us it's there is not always an easy, quick fix to poverty's very real battles and most of the time Jesus is found right in the sludge and slime if we swallow our pride long enough to find Him.)

Now we see potential in the midst of problem. Fish in the midst of sludge. Just like little K.

So Richard grabbed the sketch pad and started doing what he does best: trouble-shooting and creating a plan of attack.

We now have a plan in place to rebuild Pricila's house. To give it new life. To give her new hope after years of struggle. It's a multi-step process that will no doubt be delayed by the rainy season upon us, but it's doable.

Jhon and a few guys were already able to build her a walkway to her door so that she no longer has to carry K through the sludge when she takes her to school, goes to work, or gets water. First immediate need met.

The neighbor has graciously allowed her to use their bathroom for the time being, but we have team arriving next week that plans to build her a bathroom before heading to Benjamin to help build Joice's house. Second need tentatively met (pray for no rain that day).

Our ultimate goal it disassemble the house entirely, keep the structural pieces that are still sound, lift the foundation of the house, create a gutter system that will help drain the standing water, and rebuild the home to be secure and enclosed.

We project the cost of this project from start to finish at $5,000US.

We are already praying for the Lord to bring us a team.

"Aren't there locals to do the work?" you ask. Great question. The simple answer is no. We asked. We've searched. We've had five years of experience to tell us that in this situation, it is more cost effective and timely to get a team to come down and do the work. Of course, our family on the ground will help, too. But we also value the Body coming together to serve in this way.

Will you pray about giving to this need? Would you be interested in coming down to help physically make this happen? We are thinking March/April 2019 after rainy season tapers off.

If you would like to give, here is the link: www.theamazonnetwork.com/give

Let's put action to our words and love our sister well.

We believe this will do more than provide a safe, clean home (though that's incredibly important). This will also open the door for Pricila to finally get custody of her older daughter, who is in a very vulnerable situation with the father.

Pray. Give. Join us.

Dear Ashley From Two Years Ago...

Dear Ashley From Two Years Ago,

Hey, it’s me. (Or you, rather.) It is two years today that you have been here in Brazil (a year and a half in the Jungle) and I wanted to let you know a few things about this journey you are about to embark on. Go ahead and sit down. I know you’re tired with that baby girl growing in your belly and that two year old boy all wild and rowdy. I know you are experiencing the paradox of both utter excitement that your dreams are coming true and downright terror at the unknown that lies before you.

Let me assure you, this is normal and completely justified.

Here are some things you should know:

That little blonde-haired boy sitting next to you on the plane with his paci and airplane blankie? He isn’t as big as you think he is. He’s a little guy and he is going to prove to be both your sanity and source of insanity over the next several months. Enjoy him through and through because he is going to grow up before your very eyes and you are going to look back fondly on those times it was just three of you curled up watching Backyardigans in that 400 square foot air-condition-less apartment in the city with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He will throw out his paci and trade in his Huggies for a mini-machete and Superman undies soon enough, so stop stressing the “when” of those things. Until then, let him have his paci in the line at the grocery store, even though it’s supposed to be just for bedtime now. Remember, he is trying to figure out what all these strange people are saying, too, so let him have his comforts. (By the way, stop stressing about him learning the language, too. He will learn it way before you and you will soon find your three year old correcting your grammar.)

That sweet baby girl curled up in your rib-cage that won’t let you sleep at night? You’re prayers will be answered in the affirmative and she is going to be the easiest baby God every created in the history of ever. You will survive giving birth to her in another country with a doctor that speaks your going-on-third language in a hospital where you feel painfully out of place. Everyone will think she is a baby doll when you take her out in public because that is exactly what she will look like. Hold her tight and rock her long because your life is going to get so busy soon that you are going to miss a lot of those moments and won’t even realize it before it is too late.

Your amazing husband and best friend? Your marriage going to have a tough go that first year. Life is going to get incredibly stressful and lonely and instead of leaning into one another, you’re going to push hard against each other. In fact, you are going to reach a point that you feel like roommates, simply coexisting. I know, you don’t believe it, but it’s true. Hang in there, because by God’s grace you make it through and you eventually find your footing again. You will laugh together and cry together and say, “What in the world were we thinking?!” more times than you can count. Lean into each other and remember you are both new at this thing called missionary life. Don’t be afraid to laugh and be quick to forgive. The seasons pass quickly.

Those plans to move into an indigenous village? Ain’t gonna happen, y’all. You will mourn your dream as you bury it, but trust me, later you rejoice. Life is hard enough in the small town you will move to and God is gracious to lead you elsewhere. And oh the plans He has!!

In fact, He will bring an Indigenous family to you. They will live with you for six months and it will be a stretching experience. Soak it in. You need these life lessons through this young family, lessons they don’t even know they are teaching. God will knit your heart with many of the indigenous people around you. Some of them with take advantage of you and turn their backs on you. Let it go. God sees. Others will teach you what it is to humbly serve, expecting nothing in return. You will see what it means to suffer for Christ and you will be stronger for it.

Which leads me to my next point and I hope you are still sitting down. In less than a year on the mission field, you will adopt a seven-year-old street girl… and she will undo all that you have ever known about love. She will steal your heart and you will beg God to make her your own. And when He does you will cry and ask Him to take it away. It is gong to be the hardest thing you have ever done. She will fight against your love. You will have to hold her down as she kicks and screams, demanding to go back to the street, after you just spent months fighting to give her your last name. God will put you through the fire with her and it will hurt. Don’t run away though. This, too, is worth it. He gives beauty for ashes.

There is more. God is going to give you a sweet lady in your life named Rosa. She will teach you to cut up a whole chicken and how to gut a fish (though she will laugh along with you when it takes you thirty minutes to do what she can do in five!) She will amaze you with her patience and awe you with her endurance. You will spend many hours talking and your kids will call her “Tia” (Auntie). She is going to be the Director of the Children’s Home that God is going to lead you to start.

Yes. Children’s Home. I know. I still think it’s crazy, too.

Your heart is going to break for the children on the streets of this town who have been abused and neglected. You will see their bruises and you will feed their bellies. You will bandage their wounds and you will give some of them the first hugs of their lives. You will lose sleep over them and you will pray for miracles. And God will allow you to be a part of those miracles.

During these first two years, you are going to be dumbfounded because you will come to realize something you never really considered before: you are totally ill-equipped for absolutely everything God has called you to do. You will fill inadequate as a mother. You will resist your role as wife. You will struggle to adapt to the culture. You will cry yourself to sleep many a night. You will get tired and lonely and scared and overwhelmed. You will miss family and friends back home. And also Chick-fil-a.

But you know what else? You will see God do amazing things. You will build strong friendships with people who look nothing like you. You will master your third language. You will learn what sacrifice really looks like. You will watch you kids speak multiple languages without even realizing that is STINKIN’ CRAZY! You will learn what ‘wife’ really means and it will become your favorite title.

And all of these will be to the glory of God for the very fact that you are inadequate. But with Christ, all these things are possible.

So relax. Laugh out loud. Soak it in. Endure.

It’s a beautiful journey you’re on. Don’t try to run it as you will miss too much. Just walk.

With still a ways to go,

Ashley

P.S. And another thing. When everyone around you down here pretends they have it all together, don’t believe them. You will quickly discover that this missionary gig is full of just a bunch of inadequates who struggle with the same things you do. Be real. Be transparent. It will serve you (and others) well.

The New Normal

It never occurred to me that this may in fact be his last day on earth.

As I stepped into the home of the local witchdoctor where we had been called to aid a sick man, I saw him laid out in a hammock. On his face he wore a grimmace that spoke of the pain he was feeling and on his chest and arms he wore a rash of unknown origin. His legs were stiffened by the pain.

Janet, our nurse friend who had traveled down with us, had already hooked up the IV bag in an attempt to rehydrate his severely dehydrated body. We were down to our last IV needle because his veins were so hard to chase under his parched skin. Two bags of fluid wasn't nearly enough, but it was all we had so it would have to work.

The language barrier made our task even more challenging as I translated from English to Spanish and the village missionary translated from Spanish to Ticuna and then back again. But some pain medication and a muscle relaxant soon brought him some temporary relief and before long we were exchanging names and Junio was smiling a very toothless smile and seemed to be doing well. Rest and relaxation was his prescription for the day as he planned to make a several hour trek back to his village the next.

That evening we were called again to his side. Richard joined Janet while I was busy getting Elliott ready for bed back at the missionary home where we were staying. Junio's pain had returned with a vengeance. His symptoms made us think it was perhaps a case of Lyme's disease and the missionary said that this wasn't an isolated case. These symptoms seemed to occur often in the area, reaffirming our thoughts that ticks could be the cause. More pain meds and rest were prescribed and Richard would check back in the morning. When he left, Junio had improved slightly, but Richard advised he be taken to the hospital two hours upriver first thing in the morning.

Fast forward to morning.

I came in for breakfast after a restless sleep, hindered by roosters crowing all night and a bug net that keeps all hope of a breeze from making its way through for relief from the heat.

After a greeting to those who were already up, I was told the news.

Junio had died during the night. I was shocked to say the least. Sure he was in pain the night before, but it never crossed my mind that he might die.

"How did this happen?" I asked, trying to make sense of it.

Long story short, after we treated him with what we had, they brought in the witchdoctor to see what she could pull off. It was a typical ending to the story. It seems once the witchdoctor gets her hands on a local, that's the end of the road. They believed the man had been cursed and that his soul was dead anyway. When this is the "diagnosis" they see no reason to try to live with a dead soul so often they will stop eating or drinking and just let their physical body die, too. We don't know exactly what the man had or what the witchdoctor gave him, but one thing is for sure--he didn't have to die.

As I processed what I was told, the thought occured to me:

This is our new normal.

Suddenly the heat and bugs didn't seem so omnious in light of the fact that we were in the middle of a culture that is run by witchcraft and myth. The missionaries who have been in this village for nearly half a decade share with us that this is a common occurance. Death--unecessary death--is part of this work and Satan is happy for it.

Even thought the news is hard and I try not to let my mind wander down the path of how heavy this load is, I remember this one thing:

"...the One who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world." 1 John 4.4

God has us here for a reason and He has already conquered sin. Our job is to glorify Him. He will bring the fruit in His time and in His way.

It was a hard awakening in our first week on the field. But we know the God is sovereign. His ways are good. And we can trust He is working to bring glory to Himself in this dark region.

One More Month of "Normal"

Last November, we were living in NC for about a month and a half as Richard worked on his helicopter license. I started attending a MOPS (Moms of Preschoolers) group while we were there. It was very encouraging for me during that time and I met a lot of great women.

One very sweet young mom asked me a question that has stuck with me ever since. After learning of where we were going and what we were doing, she asked,

"But how do you make life "stable" for your little boy? We're working hard right now to provide a stable home and environment for our son... how do you do that in the Jungle??"

For a moment, I felt baffled because I didn't know what to say. Immediately, James 1.5 popped into my head: "Now if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives to all generously and without criticizing, and it will be given to him."

For wisdom I prayed. Hard. I wanted to answer well because I could tell she was really searching.

And as I opened my mouth I felt like the Holy Spirit was speaking through me with this answer:

"We will just raise him to know that the only true stability in life is Christ. Beyond that, nothing is stable. Our health, our home, our jobs, our vehicles... all of it can pass away. But Jesus... He's not going anywhere."

Here we are, less than 4 weeks out from our international move and I find myself in our last month of "normal". And I ask myself, "Is Jesus my stability? Am I OK without these "things"? Will I survive without my family and friends?"

And as each day passes, I find myself relishing each "normal" thing as it comes and goes:

A trip to the grocery store for a few things.
Rocking Elliott in his rocking chair and laying him in his crib-converted-big-boy-bed.
Folding laundry in the laundry room while Elliott plays with Capo (our boxer) in the back yard.
Facebook messaging with friends.
Trips to Chick-Fil-A, Moe's, and Target.
A text to my mom.
Loading the dishwasher.
Turning down the air conditioner.
Pulling out of the driveway.
Stopping by my mom's house.

All of these things and more have been my "normal" for my whole life. And now that I am in the last few weeks of them, suddenly the past almost four years of support raising don't seem like they were that long. Suddenly each thing that I used to just do seems like a luxury that I hold onto for a little bit longer:

Taking a warm shower.
Filling the water pitcher from the kitchen sink.
Cooking dinner.
Flushing the toilet.
Going to our home church.
Dinner with friends.

And it's emotional. But it's beautiful.

That seems to be the ebb and flow of this journey:

fun and hard
exhilarating and exhausting
exciting and challenging
up and down
old and new
beautiful and scary



The other night as I rocked Elliott to sleep, long after his eyes had closed and he slipped off to dreamland, I continued to hold him and think of all the memories contained in the four walls of this home turned house-almost-sold. Tears came to my eyes as I thought of opening wedding gifts in the living room, cooking meals in the kitchen, laughing as we watched movies on the couch, bringing Elliott home from the hospital, playing games in his bedroom floor and laughing so hard we cried over dinner with friends.

And again I felt the Holy Spirit whisper sweetly to my soul, "This is good. This is how it was planned and it is good."

I found a peace in my heart that I had missed before. Somewhere in all the packing and e-mail writing and planning and running-around-like-a-chicken-with-my-head-cut-off, I had missed this still small voice whispering to me all along saying,

"Those are the beautiful memories I gave you. I want you to cherish them and love them. But don't hold on so long you miss what I have in store for you next. It's beautiful, too."

And that's when I felt it for the first time. I've known for years that this was the journey we would take and I've been excited but for once I had an overwhelming peace that it was OK for this chapter to close. This one of security and comfort.

And I didn't get a peace that said this new chapter would be easy or comfortable. He didn't promise there would be no heartache or pain. But He said, "I'm with you. And it's beautiful. Trust me."

And I cried as I rocked Elliott, but the tears were tears of joy and praise that this Almighty God would look past my fears and doubts and worries and somehow allow little, faithless me to be a part of His work. And I felt so small and humble and weak, but He felt so big and worthy and strong.

So I choose to enjoy these little moments of "normal" until our "new normal" comes along.

And, though I will no doubt fail, I choose to let Christ be my stability.

Because He's not going anywhere.