These Demons are Pretty

“Go watch Elliott,” Richard said to me very seriously.

I stepped into the kitchen in our tiny wooden jungle home and looked out onto the back patio where Elliott liked to play in the big water basin. He was three and a half and full of imagination and wonder at all the things the world had to offer. I watched as he played contently, then glanced up into the virgin jungle behind our home. Then a smiled spread across his face as he waved enthusiastically. That’s when my own smile faded.

We Aren't the Only Ones

"I want to play iPad with Lita," he said from the backseat.

"That would be fun, wouldn't it?" I said, trying to sound upbeat.

"Yeah," he was more somber this time. "Because I'm sad."

He always puts the word "because" in front of his emotion. That's when my heart melts and I know things are serious. That's when we talk the hard stuff.

"Why are you sad, Buddyroo?"

"Because I just want to go to Lita's house and play iPad with her and eat chocolate."

His little almost-three-year-old brain remembers and I fight tears and wish that those thousands of miles were still just five miles and he looks out the window and I try think of the words to explain why that will have to wait for now.

We aren't the only ones who are "sacrificing" here.

In fact, I don't really consider what Richard and I do as much of a sacrifice. It's life and we know the call and we live it and love it and life is new and, even with the challenges, there is reward.

It's our parents, our families. They are the ones sacrificing.

When we left the US six months ago, our lives changed. We jumped right into a new culture and new adventures and new challenges. But our families, they stayed. They learned to live life without us right down the street and no more Sunday afternoon lunches at my mom's house and no more dropping Elliott off at Richard's parents' for a date night and no more "let's go to dinner with the siblings".

Life was new here and busy with having a baby and doing paperwork and meeting new people and planning.

But thousands of miles away it was just a new empty in the everyday.

That's harder.

Yes, there is Skype and Facebook to "watch" the kids grow. And thank goodness for modern travel that makes it just a 24 hour trip to get where we are. But there aren't hugs and kisses and sleepovers and birthday parties and summer swimming and walks in the park and "can you take me to the playground?"

And soon it will be harder. In just ten days we move to the jungle where communication steps back 15 years. Where internet is slooooooow and Skype is a rarity.

Instead of watching the steady growth of the grandkids it will seem like leaps and bounds as the months pass.

They watch from afar as we deal with illness and stress and disappointment and they can only cry with us and pray because no one has figured out how to send a virtual hug and teleportation has yet to be invented and when they close that Skype session or e-mail, life moves on and they can only wait for the next word.

It is hardest for those who didn't choose this path.

The scripture always comes to mind in Luke 14.26:

“If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his own father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, and even his own life—he cannot be My disciple."

That verse used to bother me as a child. Why would a loving God require us to hate those we love most? Doesn't He teach love?

Now I get it. It feels like hate sometimes--unintentional hate. It even looks like hate to the world.

We wish it could be different. That we could have the best of both worlds. That our kids could live down the road from their grandparents and all of the holidays were filled with memories together and Skype was just an obscure word for something unfamiliar and that somehow we could still fulfill this calling and reach these tribes and love them like Christ.

Instead there are goodbyes and we'll talk again soon and maybe see you in October.

That will have to do for now.

But through it all--through it ALL--our families have stood with us. They've supported us every single step on this journey even though their hearts ache and they wish it were different, they know and understand the call because they love this same Jesus.

For that, we're forever grateful.

We're grateful for the sacrifice that they make that is so very real and the tears that they cry because it makes this all a whole lot easier when there isn't bitterness and "why?" Instead there is "we are proud of you" and "we miss you so much and we can't wait to see you" and "I love you and I'm praying for you". There are big hugs and tears of joy when we're reunited instead of guilt trips and "don't go".

So we say "Thank You" to our families. Thanks for believing in us and letting us follow Christ without making it harder than it is. Thank you for praying and giving and loving and encouraging and being there and understanding even when you don't really understand.

Thanks for sacrificing.

And this can be repeated for all the families out there who say goodbye as their children and grandchildren and brothers and sisters and loved ones follow a call that leads to another city or country.

So next time you pray for us or another missionary family, say a prayer for the families who stay behind.

 

This is their sacrifice, too.

 

 

 

Airport Goodbyes, August 29, 2012

 

 

 

 Family Visits, December 2012 and January 2013

 

 

 

The Scary Beautiful Journey

Can I be totally honest? [Are missionaries allowed to do that?]

This journey we're on--the beautiful, exciting one--it's terrifying sometimes.

Like that feeling in your heart when you get an unexpected phone call at 3am kind of terrifying. You don't know what's about to happen. You don't know what's around the corner or what your life will look like next year or next month or tomorrow for that matter.

And if I'm totally honest, it can be super overwhelming sometimes.

When I think of selling everything we own, it's overwhelming. Our home that we've lived in for almost 5 years will be gone. It's the home we have lived in since the day we were married and the home we've put a lot of sweat into fixing up. It's the home we brought home our sweet baby boy to and the home we've rocked him in and the home I hear his little feet running to our bedroom in the morning and the home where we've cooked dinners and watched movies together and laughed and cried. It's where we come after long periods of traveling to rest and recuperate.

It'll be gone.

Our bed, our dining room table, our living room furniture, Elliott's name painted on his bedroom wall by my mom, that rocking chair I rock him in every night, all those toys, the plates, the pictures on the walls.

It'll all be gone.

When we step onto that airplane on August 30th and wave goodbye to our families through no doubt lots of tears, our lives will never, ever be the same. We will have sold everything and our possessions will consist of little more than what we can fit into the suitcases we carry. Our families will no longer be just a 15 minute drive away. We will be homeless, car-less, and family-less.

And I'd be a liar if I said that wasn't scary. I've never walked that road.

"But you've been dreaming of this for years!" you say. "This is what you've been working towards and praying for!"

And you're right. And it's still 100% our dream and our desire. Don't get me wrong or misunderstand. We WANT this.

But it's still scary.

This time next year, Lord willing, we will be living in a village with a people I can't communicate with. I'll have a 6 month old and a 3 year old. I'll have to cook a new way, dress a new way, talk a new way, do laundry a new way, sleep a new way, live a new way. I won't have communication with my family and friends in the States. I won't have the foods I'm accustomed to. I won't have the culture I'm accustomed to. I will bathe myself and our children in rain water when it's available or in the river when it's not. We'll get sick. Chances are really good that we'll all get malaria at some point, probably more than once and maybe even at the same time. The heat is intense and the days can be long. We will be tested and tried by the locals to see if we are real. We have been warned that we will be harassed. Things will likely be stolen. Everyone will be watching us, waiting to see our reactions. We will be stared at because, let's be honest, we look a little different.

And all these things, they are overwhelming.

So I've asked myself, "Is this worth it? Do I really want this for me and my family?"

I think thess are good questions. Jesus tells us to "count the cost" in Luke 14.

²⁵ Now great crowds were traveling with Him. So He turned and said to them: ²⁶ “If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his own father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, and even his own life—he cannot be My disciple. ²⁷ Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple.

²⁸ “For which of you, wanting to build a tower, doesn’t first sit down and calculate the cost to see if he has enough to complete it? ²⁹ Otherwise, after he has laid the foundation and cannot finish it, all the onlookers will begin to make fun of him, ³⁰ saying, ‘This man started to build and wasn’t able to finish.’

³¹ “Or what king, going to war against another king, will not first sit down and decide if he is able with 10,000 to oppose the one who comes against him with 20,000? ³² If not, while the other is still far off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. ³³ In the same way, therefore, every one of you who does not say good-bye to all his possessions cannot be My disciple.

So I did. I counted the cost. And I searched my heart to see if this was genuine because I knew that if it wasn't I wouldn't make it.

In my mind I put all of our possessions and families and friends on one side of the scale. I thought of what we could have if we stayed here. Richard has enough aviation experience and connections that he could get a great job making 6 figures, easy. We could have a nice home and we could go on lots of mission trips and do lots of great things and support missionaries. I know a LOT of great Christians who God has given this path and they are a tremendous blessing to a lot of people, us included. God uses them just like missionaries in far away places. We could do that.

But on the other side I put the Cross that Jesus died on and I put the Indians that He died for. I put the calling that He has placed in our lives to specifically go. I put the open doors and all of our supporters and prayer warriors who patiently and persistently serve with us. I put our children who need us to follow the call on our lives so that they see we are genuine and this faith thing is real.

And it was no contest.

Because one day, when we stand before God, or rather when I stand before Him all alone, it won't matter if I did great things of my own will. It will matter that I followed His will.

So it's scary and overwhelming, but He's given me peace that He'll be there every step of the way (Hebrews 13.5).

I've already warned Richard that there will likely be a whole lot of tears in the beginning from this gal right here. It will be hard sometimes. But the truth is that we will make new friends. We will have a family there. We will learn their language and their culture and eventually I will cook like them and, while I'll never look like them, I can at least live like them.

And God will be glorified as we follow Him.


Thank you for your prayers and encouragement as we continue on this journey--the scary beautiful one.

They Want a New Heart, Not a New Culture

The big tank out back filled with rain water that we used to "bathe" was a nice change of pace from the filthy river water we had been using for the last week. Something about rinsing off with water that I could actually see through just made me feel a little bit cleaner, even if the clothes I put on afterward were nowhere near clean. The mud caked on the bottom of my shoes was a pleasant reminder of the slippery trek uphill we had made earlier that day and as I fumbled around in the dark trying to find my towel, I quickly realized it had fallen onto the wet and muddy wooden planks I was standing on.

I smiled because I knew this was soon to be a normal part of my life, and dispite the inconvenience, I loved it.

We settled into the small home of Lolo, a missionary Indian we had met just a few days prior. His entire house was lit by one light bulb and the thin, wooden walls did very little to muffle the sounds of babies crying and dogs barking throughout the village and did absolutely nothing to keep out the resilient mosquitoes who seemed more than pleased with the fresh feast they had found on any exposed area of our bodies.

Lolo's wife and children were out of town so he had asked a little Indian girl to come and cook us dinner: rice, plantains, and fried spam. An interesting combination, but my stomach was telling me loud and clear that it would take ants and slugs if it's all I had to offer. As I watched the sweet Indian chopping garlic cloves and slicing the ripe plantains with a skill that came as natural as breathing, I felt very incompetent. I'm supposed to live up to that? I can barely make spaghetti with canned tomato sauce!

After some light-hearted chit-chat, our new friend Lolo began to share his heart with us. Though he was an Indian himself, he was a foreigner among this particular tribe and he gave us insight on what it truly takes to reach this people group. He told of the first few years of trying to become like them, only to have threats from the locals and problems with theft.

As he shared with us stories of trial and set-backs and frustrations, the overwhelming theme of his conversation was this: Be faithful. Be a servant.

As most Indians, he made little eye contact with us as he shared. He spoke in a quiet voice and nervously squished with his fingers little ants that had scurried onto the table to carry away any leftover rice that had fallen from our plates.

He was humble, teachable. And he was a faithful servant.

For more than eight years he had been faithfully forsaking his own culture, his own habits for the sake of becoming like this tribe he was living in. He didn't do this because he had to or even because he wanted to. As a matter of fact he shared with us his youthful desires of moving to the city and pursuing a career that was much more promising than being a missionary to this people group. His birth tribe has an ancient history of conflict with this tribe that he now considers family. It was no easy transition, but he was happy because he knew God was in it.

As I sat there, smacking mosquitoes on my legs and trying to hear his whispered voice above the sounds of the village settling in for the night, I felt both overwhelmed and excited.

I was overwhelmed because I saw in a new light what it was going to mean to forsake everything for the sake of the Gospel. I've never struggled with selling all of our possessions here in the States. As a matter of fact, the closer we get to our big move, the more ready I am to get rid of it all! The idea of leaving our families is painful at times, but I console myself knowing that we will likely see them at least one a year and, with the way technology is advancing, it's likely we'll have easy communication within the next couple of years.

But as I sat there listening to what Lolo was really saying, below the surface of his stories, I was realizing something completely new to me. I am going to have to sacrifice my culture, my very nature. I am going to have to unlearn 25 years of habit and thought process. I am going to have to surrender everything about myself.

It's that serious.

He explained that we must look like them, act like them, and think like them if we ever hope to reach them. And while I guess I've thought of that before, as I sat there in this dimly lit house I realized for the first time that it really did mean everything.

He told us stories of other missionaries who had come in and tried to live like they always had in their home country, just in a different place and how the tribe always rejected them. He told of well-meaning people coming in and trying to tell them to dress different and cut their hair to please God.

"It never works," he said. "They want to know God. They want to hear the truth and have hope. But they also want to be Indians. They don't want to change their culture. They want to change their hearts."

And then I had this overwhelming feeling of excitement. It had to be the Holy Spirit inside of me, because my flesh was saying, "It's impossible, honey. Have you seen how white your skin is? One thing you won't be doing is fitting in!"

But the Holy Spirit was saying, "I've created you for this. This is just the beginning. This is the excitement in the journey. This is what it's all about: sacrificing it all of the sake of the Cross. Not just possessions, but person."

And that's when my fears began to melt and I realized that I can't do it.

No way could I ever do this. I can't forget who I am. What am I supposed to do with the years of American culture built into my mind and heart? What am I supposed to do with my manners and instincts that are in conflict with so many of the Indian traditions?

And the Holy Spirit said, "Good, you finally get it."

I can't do it, but that's the point. God can and He will. My only job is to die to myself daily.

Lolo says that they will expect our doors to always be open. So they will.
Lolo says that they will expect to be able to come to dinner without notice. So they will.
Lolo says that they will burp after the meal if they think it was good. So I pray they burp!
Lolo says that they will expect our home to look just like theirs. So it will.
Lolo says that they will expect us to have a canoe like them. So we will.
Lolo says that they will expect us to wash our clothes in the river and bathe with rainwater. So we will.

Lolo says that they won't even begin to listen to us about our God until we act like them, talk like them, and think like them.

It'll be hard to adapt to a culture so very different from my own. But if that's what it takes to break down the barriers and to reach them with the Truth for the glory of God, then by the grace of God that's what we'll do.

It's going to be hard. Really hard. But isn't God's glory worth that?

I mean, that's sort of the whole point, right?

Dear God, That Was an Expensive Gallon of Milk,

Dear God,

Remember the Satuday before last when I went up to the gas station to get a gallon of milk? It was about 8:30 at night and we were getting home late and Elliott was ready for bed but, alas, no milk. I decided to just drive up to the gas station and pick up a gallon. And that's when you introduced me to this couple with so many needs my mind begins to swim when I think of it.

Well, I just want to say that that was the most expensive gallon of milk I've ever purchased.

You see, that short little trip for leche was the start of an adventure that has been very stretching, growing, and even painful at times. In the last week we've spent a lot of ourselves and our resources and our lives on them..... and we are just now seeing a little glimmer of light at the end of this long tunnel.

I'll just be honest with You. On more than one occasion I've looked back and thought to myself, "If I could've just bought milk earlier or if I could have just waited until the morning...."
The human side of me wants this lesson You're teaching us to be over. I don't want to spend hours driving around and making phone calls and listening and counseling and mentoring. I don't want Richard to be taking him to interviews all afternoon and I don't want to have to leave my son with the grandparents a little longer to resolve one more issue.

I want to focus on me and my family. I want to spend time with my husband who will be gone for two straight weeks soon. I want to spend time with my little boy as he discovers new things. Besides, we're trying to get our house sold and get our stuff sold and downsize everything so it will be easier one day when we move to the....... mission field.

That's when Your spirit takes over and suddenly I'm choked on my own words. When we move to the mission field? There is no such thing. Sure, You've called us to Brazil. You've called us to another land and another culture to be Your hands and feet.

But I'm on the mission field right now. And I only had to go a half mile down the road for You to require me to pour out my life for someone else.

And who do I think I am that I will suddenly be ready to do all that You will require of us in the Jungle one day if I can't even do it in the comfort of my own city? Do I think that the lack of communication, the lack of daily conveniences, the heat, the language barrier, the exhaustion, the illness, the bugs, and the demands of ministry will somehow be easier than this?

No, this is all just a big display of Your mercy, not only in their lives as they slowly begin to learn what it is to live a life that honors You. This is a display of Your mercy in our lives as we learn what it truly means to be poured out for You... before we get to the Jungle and things are much more difficult.

Today, I won't see Richard until later this evening because he's driving them to the grocery store to use their food stamps, but I'll fall asleep next to him tonight. Today, the air conditioning went out in one of our cars and the heat is oppressive, but we take the other car. Today, I will pour out my heart to her and Richard will continue to break down walls with him and we'll take another step. Today, we will listen to their stories and hear their fears and encourage them with Your truth. Today, Your grace is sufficient.

And one day, Richard will fly into a village and I may not see him for days. One day, we will be working to keep an infant alive who has been given bad water. One day, we will have malaria and we won't have an escape from the heat. One day, we will be homesick and won't have a computer to Skype back home. One day, it will be much harder. And on that day, Your grace will be sufficient.

So, I want You to know that this was an expensive gallon of milk and it looks like we'll be paying on it for a while. But I know that You have called us to be Your Son to this couple. You have commanded us to pour out ourselves and die to ourselves daily so that Your name can be famous. And in Your grace You have given us this small dose of what it means to sacrifice so that one day we can truly be ready for the sacrifices You will require of us in the Jungle.

And I thank You for that.

Your Stubborn Learner,
Ashley

Dear God, I Think I get it

Dear God,

It's me again.

Today, Richard was cussed out by the blessing [in disguise?] that you have put in our lives.

We have sacrificed our time and resources to help them. We have given above and beyond what we thought we could give. We've spent money, gas (and that's not cheap if you haven't noticed...), time, and energy to do everything we possibly can to help them in their desperate time of need. I've driven many miles, waited in waiting rooms for many hours, sacrificed time with my family, answered 100 phone calls and made just as many, stood in the heat for more than an hour because my car wouldn't start but I needed to get to the next place of help before they closed. I've given and given and asked others to give. Literally all of our focus has gone to them over the last 72 hours because we know that that is what you require of us. That is what your love tells us to do.

Their response? Doubting. Hateful words. Lack of effort. Ungratefulness. Selfishness. Greediness. And more hateful words.

And to top it all off, we finally come up with a solution that will help them out in the long run. It's uncomfortable now. It's not what they want now, but it will have the most long term good, and they tell us it's not good enough. That it's unfair.

Me? I sit here exhausted. My mind is tired. My body is tired. And my heart is heavy.

And I get it. I get at least one small part of what You are teaching me.

You have given it all for me. You have listened and held me and comforted me. You wrote an entire book for me. You promised to always be with me and to love me unconditionally. You said I didn't need to ever worry because You are in control. You said You have a beautiful plan for my life. And You went so far as to sacrifice Your only Son to prove that.

My response? I doubt You. I say faithless things to You. I'm selfish and greedy. I'm ungrateful and I don't trust You.

But at the end of the day, You still love me. You still listen to my complaining and never turn Your back on me. You keep your promises and always forgive me when I wrong You.

So tomorrow I will follow your example. I'm going to wake up and spend the day loving them in the same way that You have loved me. I'm going to spend more time and money and gas. I'm going to spend more time away from my family. I'm likely going to spend hours doing things that are inconvenient and uncomfortable for me.

I'm going to do that because no matter how much I sacrifice, it pales in comparison to your unending mercy and grace in my life. And demonstrating Your love to others is the very least that I can do

Thank You for trusting me with Your name like that.

'Til the Work is Done,
Ashley

(Disclaimer: To those of you who know the full story, only one half of the couple was as described above. The other half was very grateful and is working hard to better the situation.)