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.

Weightiness, Emotions and Him

Over the past decade as we have followed the call of God on our life it never seemed like it would ever be real. I definitely believed it would, it just seemed so far away. Now, here I am, just a few days away from moving to another country, culture, language, mindset, - everything. I am blown away. I’m not a very emotional person. I like to think that I am very level headed and easy going. It takes a lot to really get me upset about something  or excited and I very rarely feel sad enough to cry. I don’t know if that is a blessing or a curse but it’s who I am.

As I sit here, not able to sleep, thinking about all that is in store – I am in awe. I’m in awe of a God that would waste His infinitely more important time on me. I’m in awe that He would move the hearts of His children to give so sacrificially to what He has called us to. I’m in awe that He would choose me, deal with me, work me, bless me, forgive me, call me, move me, show me, redeem my soul, and make me His face and representative to anyone. As I sit here thinking about His glory, Who He is and what He has done – I feel worthless, I am worthless.  This is the only time I am emotional.

As I was lying down with Elliott tonight because he couldn’t sleep, I was thinking about what I want for his life. I want his sweet heart to overflow with the Love of Christ. I want his whole being to characterize who Christ is and what He can do in us. I want him to have the passion for His glory that Paul had.

 Then it hits me.

I don’t want Elliott to be abused, I don’t want him to suffer, I don’t want him to know the cruelty that this fallen world is. I only want the best for him...but then there is 2 Corinthians 11: 24-28. Paul suffered so much for the name of Christ. I don’t want that for my son…..or do I. Paul says that his sufferings made him know Christ. 2 Corinthians 1:5 says we will share in His comfort as we share in his sufferings, Romans 8:17 says, in order to share in his glory we share in his sufferings. And I realized, if I want my son to know Christ, to TRULY experience Him – I have to want for him to be broken, to be willing for him to go through whatever it is that Christ has for Him. Maybe the best includes the worst. -Whoa

I also pray that God would make his life a Glorious representation of Him….but what if that is not the case…do I pray that God would just “keep him safe and give him good things”. No, I would rather Elliott not know this world if his life isn’t praising Him. I struggled through tears as I prayed that God would give him True life, one that follows Him with everything or that he would take it. I have prayed that for myself but never for my baby.

Then it came full circle – if I want all this for my son – I am responsible to teach him. God has gifted him to me and I am the one that is here to lead him and guide him. How can I expect for my son to know these things and feel this way if I don’t exemplify it.

 

Now, I feel emotional. The weightiness of that truth is too much for me – but not for Him. I am broken as I feel that I am not only responsible for my life to point to His glory but I am also responsible to teach my son the same. “What’s my life if it’s not praising you, another day of vain pursuit“ (Lecrae)

 

So, as I tell family and friends bye, as I “give-up” the American life and as I take on this new phase in my calling. I am learning to be emotional. I am learning to break for what breaks Jesus’ heart. I am learning to seek death to myself in order to gain life in Him. I want to hear “Well done” but even more, I want to see my little boy stand before Jesus as He looks at him and says, “Well done”. With so many men that I know failing in the ministry and in family – I want to always lead my family to Him – and it starts with my obedience out of my love for Him. I am not able, I am worthless, I am useless but he has chosen to use me for his Glory, He has chosen my family to make much of His name and I am amazed and motivated to make His glory known in the entire world. Now that excites me and motivates me.

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.

What I Learned from Finding Nemo

What do you do with a two-year-old when it's storming outside?

Why, you curl up with a bowl of popcorn and watch "Finding Nemo", that's what!

That's exactly what Elliott and I did today while the earth soaked up the much needed rain pouring from the skies.

As I sat there with my little man watching this kids movie, I started to notice a theme. I'm sure most of you have seen it and you know that "Marlin" (Nemo's dad) is quite the worrier. All through the movie on his quest to locate his son, he is fretting and getting worked up when something doesn't look like it's going to work out. Meanwhile, his winsome friend "Dori" is always singing and swimming all around, completely optimistic that everything will in fact happen like it's supposed to.

Well, today God said to me, "Ashley, you are Marlin. And I want you to be Dori."

I am on this journey that God has chosen for me and I'm constantly being tossed about by worry and doubt all the while God is saying, "Enjoy NOW. It's what I've given you."

Jim Elliot, missionary martyr in Ecuador, once said, "Wherever you are, be all there."

Easy to say, very difficult to do.

Pray for us. This is a good, but challenging journey we are on, especially during this transition time.

Pray I can be a "Dori": enjoying the moment as I let God do what He does best--write a story that glorifies Him.

Are We Ready?

We hear this question a lot as we have right at two months before we make our international move.

"Are you ready?"

Seems like a simple question. I think most people are asking if we are physically ready--has our house sold? (no) have we packed up everything? (no) have we sold everything else? (no)

What can I say? We're procrastinators :)

We're also still traveling a lot which makes getting things checked off the to-do list pretty challenging. Throw in a rambunctious two-year-old (and a prego mama) and packing seems impossible sometimes.

But I think the question that is more important is "Are you ready--spiritually?"

And the answer? I don't know.

We need prayer right now because it seems like the closer we get to our move, the more spiritual attacks come our way. Usually suttle in nature, but always threatening to the objective of our lives--to share the Gospel with the unreached. Those "little" threats are often the most dangerous.

So we just ask for your prayers. And your words of encouragement.

I think every missionary would testify that both of those are needed far more than finances.

In the end, I know that God has and is continuing to prepare us for this journey. But that doesn't mean there won't be battles along the way. In fact, it means there WILL be battles along the way.

James tells us in chapter 1, verses 2-4:

"Consider it a great joy, my brothers, whenever you experience various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. But endurance must do its complete work, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing."

So, we'll count these trials as joy for now, knowing that they are necessary for our spiritually maturity and for endurance... both of which are greatly needed in the depths of the Jungle.

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.

How Dare I?

Worry.

It's my thorn in the flesh. I consumes me more often than I like to admit.

I'm supposed to be brave and bold. But I'm fearful and hesitant. I must be adventurous to be on this journey, right? But I'm not.

Usually I fight this battle with Scripture like Philippians 4.8:
Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any moral excellence and if there is any praise—dwell on these things.

Or Proverbs 3.5-6
Trust in the LORD with all your heart,
and do not rely on your own understanding;
think about Him in all your ways,
and He will guide you on the right paths.

Then there's Philippians 4.6-7
Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses every thought, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

And these are right and good. But recently I found myself consumed with worry and fear about my husbands trip to the Jung|e. Questions and doubts flood my mind.

Will he be safe? Will he come home? The dangers are very real.

The day he left, God spoke to me while at our church's Wednesday evening service. But it wasn't in the usual way. No comforting verses this time. No peace that passes understanding.

It was a reprimand.

The speaker in the class was also going on the trip and had left his phone on to catch any last minute calls about the trip. As the class was wrapping up, he got a text from someone telling him that they and their church family were praying for the trip.

That's the moment God spoke to me.

"How dare you worry?" He said. Loud and clear.

Who do I think I am to worry about how this trip will play out? I have no say in the matter. And while I worry and fret, other believers are praying in faith. While I seek the selfish return of my husband, others are focused on the work at hand--bringing fresh water to a tribe dying for the Living Water.

How dare I be so self-consumed to worry? Because worrying is like telling God I just don't think He can handle this one. Sure, He's done amazing things in the past, but this time? No. This one is a doozy.

Worry is putting my desires above God's glory.

As I post updates about the trip and send out e-mails, I am blown away with the responses from friends. There are literally people around the world praying for this team of men. This team of men that God brought together to do His purpose in His timing in His way.

So I repent of my worry and doubt and trust that God is actually in control... and not me.

And I pray. I pray that God will give me the faith to trust.

And I praise. I praise Him that He loves me enough to reprimand me and say,

"Enough! Trust me."