This is real life, and it hurts.

This is uncomfortable, it is sad and it hurts. It is the kind of thing that makes a grown man cry – and it has. I have cried about it alone because the weight is unbearable.

I saw pain in her eyes as she told me. I don’t think I had seen a broken heart in someone’s eyes before – I saw it in hers.

Since she shared with me what she heard, it has been like that black cloud that follows you around on the cartoons. Except this is reality, a very dark, painful reality.

Please be warned, this is not easy or fun to read. This isn’t something that is going to just touch your heart. This is painful and it is something that hurts your soul.

This is how it happened.

Maricleine (see the last blog, she’s our little breakfast visitor) showed up with her siblings just like every other afternoon. We had just returned from dropping off some friends in Leticia and from trying to rest a bit before returning to our overly busy life and ministry.

As usual, everyone was at our house. At least 10 people including kids, teens and Rosa (the wonderful lady that God has put in our life) were here. I was gone, looking at another house for another couple. When I returned I walked in and Ashley looked like something was really wrong.

She began by saying, “ I feel physically sick at what she (Maricleine) just told me”.

Now, Maricleine has said some really vulgar things and we know that she is exposed to pornography and abuse in her home. But I don’t think anyone could be ready for what was to come next – not even Rosa who has been here for years working with people like Maricleine and her family.

Rosa asked, “Maricleine, did you mom go to work today?”

“No”, said Marcleine, in a very normal way. “She’s sick”.

“She’s sick, what’s wrong with her?” asked Ashley.

“She had a baby last night” once again, said in a normal, non issue type way. At this point Rosa and Ashley looked at eachother very confused.

Ashley repeated, “She had a baby?”

“LIE” was what quickly and obviously upsettingly came out of Maricleia’s (Maricleine’s older sister) mouth.

Maricleine quickly defended herself by saying,” No, I saw it! Its head was this big” and holding up her hand and making a circle with her fingers about the size of a quarter.

“What, who told you it was a baby?” Ashley said.

“I saw it!” she responded as any child would who was pleading their case. “It was there in all the blood” she added to prove she wasn’t lying this time and to subsequently seal an image in our hearts that she had in her head.

“But who told you it was a baby?!” Ashley requested again.

“My dad, but I saw it, it’s head was this big” she said again and once more showing the size.

Her mom had aborted her baby and gave birth to a dead child, probably no more that 2 months along. She did it where everyone in the family was able to see – including a 6 year old child who has been exposed to more than any grown man should ever have to see.

One of the saddest things was the simple, easy, matter-of-fact type way that this young child told the story. As if it were normal…..but, for her,  it is normal.

Who knows how many times she has seen that in her life, her dead brother or sister lying in a pool of blood because it was an inconvenience to her parents.

It is illegal to have an abortion here in Brazil but that is a non-issue when you can buy drugs to do it at home at the local pharmacy.

The next day, Maricleine came over in the morning, as she always does. But this time her first words were something out of a horror movie. Something she said just like she would say, “HEY neighbor!” or “Can I have some bread?????”. This was no good morning greeting.

“My mom threw the baby away this morning”, she said.

Think about those words. This young girl watched her mom (that wouldn’t care if any of her other children died today) literally throw her baby brother or sister away. Treated like it was a piece of trash.

Maricleine has now learned that if you don’t want a child, you can just kill it and throw it away with the other things you don’t want.

She is 6, that could have easily been her. Her mom certainly doesn’t want her or any of her other 7+ brothers or sisters. Her dad makes it clear that the only thing he wants is beer and sex. EVERYTHING else is free for him to ignore, abuse and treat as he wants.

As we are hurt for this family and their reality, for the mom that obviously has no self worth or love for/from anyone. For the baby that was murdered because it was conceived in a drunken night and was nothing more than an expense at a pharmacy. And for these children that are exposed to such horrible things as if it is normal,

our eyes are opened that this is normal. This is “right”. This is what you do, this is how you treat life. This is the majority of the world. This is how most kids grow up, this is how millions and millions of innocent children die. This is the meaningless life that most of the world lives.

This is reality – apart from Christ.

What are we doing to accomplish what James tells us is “true religion” by taking care of the orphans and widows in their need. We stand up and hold signs outside of abortion clinics and talk about how sinful it is and how God will judge murder…..what if those children were born and remained unwanted – would we invite them into our homes, would we feed them, would we adopt them, would we love them as if they were our own?

Before we are so quick to say a hearty, “YES, OF COURSE”……how are we doing that for the literal MILLIONS of them all over the world right now? If we are not doing it now, what makes us think we would take up for the more than 3,500 new ones each day in the US alone?

May God have mercy on us as we claim to be followers of Him but live completely contrary to our words – and His Word.

We are reminded that apart from Christ, we are not even able to desire to do the things that these children and adults need.  That He died for us while we were yet sinners. That He loved us first. And THAT is our motivation.

So, our hearts are broken. Our souls are heavy and the weight of sin is unbearable.  The hopelessness that these children are in is enough to make you ask yourself, “is there a God”?

But as we run to Him in our pain, we know that He is the Great Comforter that He promises to give us rest and that His yoke is light (because he has carried the weight of this sin already). We know that the weight of Glory crushes the weight of sin. We know that He loves these people and these babies more than we ever could. I would never give my son to be brutally murdered so that Maricleine’s mom and dad could have life.  Yet He did – and my call is to LIVE that in front of them.

Pray for us. Pray for this family. Pray that we glorify Him in all that we do. Pray that the Church steps up and DOES what it was called to do and quits merely filling bottles with coins once a year to aide a pro-life center. Pray that along with that, we will open our homes, our families. Pray that more people will foster, that more will adopt, that more MEN will step out to reach people like Maricleine’s dad.

Let’s stop passing out condoms and start bringing in children.

“Help us to know a sacrifice that’s real, a pain that we can feel, a Love we can’t explain”. It is our calling as His disciples.

Blessed Hope come, there is only One, we need You.

A Breakfast Visitor

“Who sleeps in this room?” our little breakfast visitor asked with intense curiosity.

“That’s where Elliott and Raegan sleep,” I said, smiling at her sweet toothless grin. This was probably question number one hundred since she had come in less than thirty minutes prior.

“They both sleep in here? Just the two of them?” She seemed puzzled.

“Yep,” I said, not sure where the confusion was coming in.

“Then why are there two mattresses?”

All that morning I tried to see through her little eyes and then—bam—another question that caught me off guard. In her mind she couldn’t grasp the excessiveness of two separate beds for two children. For a moment I flashed back to when I told Richard we really needed to get their beds built soon so they weren’t “just on mattresses on the floor”. Perspective.

I still haven’t been in her house, but judging by the size of less than 400 square feet and the fact that she has 7 siblings, I’d say there’s quite a bit of bed sharing happening.

Little Mariclene (pronounced “Mar-ee-ClAYnee”) first showed up at our house about a month ago now with a little bowl, asking for some dish soap. After giving her that, she was back within 15 minutes asking for  farinha, a local food that serves as a belly-filler more or less. I didn’t have any but I did give her some beans and rice. Soon she was back for some oil. And so our relationship began.

I didn’t know her story at the time, but soon I would, and my heart has been broken for this little girl ever since.

Just a few minutes after the mattress conversation, she was staring wide-eyed into our shower.

“Is that a shower?” she asked.

“It is,” I said, waiting.

“It works?”

“It does.”

“Wow.”

Later that day I gave her a shower. One would have thought I took her to Disney World. I had to be careful not to scrub her head because her scalp is so raw from the skin infection caused by the lice.

When I asked when was the last time she took a shower, she just shrugged her little shoulders. She was all giggles and smiles with the water pouring down and bubbles swirling down the drain.

My heart hurt.

Next were the teeth.

“Do you have a toothbrush, Marecleine?” It was more of a rhetorical question because I could tell by her rotten teeth that if she did have one, it had never met her teeth.

“No.”

I got her a toothbrush and her very own toothpaste. She was so excited and ready to brush them right then and there.

I wasn’t ready to see what I saw though. Every single tooth in her mouth was rotten, most of them to the point that they were mere fragments. Her tongue had a fungus. Her gums immediately began to bleed as I softly brushed, explaining to her the importance of brushing twice a day and telling her I would keep her toothbrush at my house for safe keeping—and to make sure it happened.

Next were her little ears that I’m sure haven’t seen a Q-tip in years, if ever.

Over the last month and a half, her story has unfolded.

Her dad is a drunk. Sometimes he walks around the neighborhood in his underwear because he has no idea what he’s doing.

Her mom works all day long, seven days a week. Not to provide for her children, but to buy alcohol.

She has 4 siblings at home, the other three were taken in by neighbors.

Her dad uses up all the water at home, so she never takes a bath.

Her mom never washes her clothes so she wears dirty clothes all the time, often the same clothes for days in a row. Sometimes, she takes her mom’s shirts and twists the twists the straps to fit over her head.

She rarely goes to school and her parents don’t care.

She once stayed with a neighbor down the road for three days in a row. Her mom never even came to look for her.

Her dad sends her to beg for food, but eats it all when she brings it home.

She’s often awake and watching while her parents watch pornography.

She has lice and her teeth are rotten far beyond repair.

She roams around the neighborhood day and night and her parents couldn’t care less.

Looking at her, you would think she had highlights in her hair. It’s just malnutrition.

I thought she was probably four, almost five when I first met her. She’s seven according to neighbors.

She has no idea when her birthday is.

The saddest part is this story can be repeated over and over here in our community.

In fact, Mariclene’s little brother, Frankie, showed up the next day after I had given her a shower, asking if he could have one, too. I told him in a few minutes so he went back to playing. When the time came, I called to him, “Frankie, do you want to take a shower?”

“Yeah!” he said, leaving behind the RC helicopter that he finally got a turn to play with.

What four-year-old boy gives up his turn at a flying toy to take a shower??

A boy that can’t remember the last time he used soap to bathe his body.

Not part of a family but not technically orphans. I don’t know the term for that other than “abandoned”.

The needs here are tremendous. My heart hurts as I think of each of the little needy faces we’ve met already and we’ve lived in this house just over a month.

Right now we are just praying and doing what we can. Teaching these kids, loving them, bathing them when essential, feeding when needed, and setting boundaries when necessary. You get a dozen kids who have never been disciplined a day in their lives together under one roof and you have to have a lot of rules. But they are loving it, rules and all.

God has placed a sweet lady in our lives, Rosa, who has lived in the neighborhood since before it was developed into government housing. She’s a local and knows the kids and their needs and has adopted several herself. We go to her with our questions and ask her advice on giving to these kids. We want to be sure we are being effective and not doing more harm than good. She’s a lifesaver and we love her dearly.

I think she is the only person we have met since we’ve lived here that has never asked us for anything. But not because she doesn’t have any needs. Her list is extensive like the rest.  When you ask her about it though, she’ll tell you, “I have Jesus, so I have it all. The rest takes care of itself.”

Lord, give me that faith.

Pray for this community. Pray for us. If I could, I’d take Mariclene and Frankie into my home right now and make them my own in a heartbeat. This town doesn’t have any type of children’s home but there is an overwhelming need for one.

I have no doubt that right now God is orchestrating something to meet that need.

Pray with us.

Nixson, Mariclene, and Elliott

When Dreams Die

“I think we know our answer, we just don’t want to admit it,” I said to him over lunch.

“I think you’re right,” he confessed. We ate in silence for a while after that. There wasn’t a whole lot to say.

That is what the moment was like when we finally laid to rest a dream we have had for nearly four years now. It was preceded by praying and talking and praying and seeking counsel and praying some more. And it ended with peace.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. A lot.

It’s hard to let go of a dream.

It was the dream of living in a village with an Indian tribe, learning their culture, living their ways. The dream of our children growing up with the village children, truly knowing their culture and language like we never could. It was a dream that we have had for nearly four years, but that had been meticulously planned for over a year.

And now the other side of our village was saying no. An adamant “no”. Myths and rumors permeate the culture as it is and somehow the idea had spread that we were there to steal their gold and their children.

Really?? After installing a water system, leading medical clinics, teaching, loving—that’s what they had come up with?? We were at a loss.

Now what? The land that our Indian brother had given to us was cleared. The wood (over $3,500 worth) was purchased, cut, and waiting for the FOUR teams of almost 50 people who already had tickets purchased to travel down in LESS THAN TWO WEEKS to build our house.

What in the world were we supposed to do?

The side of the village that did want us was encouraging us to move in anyway. ‘They will come around,’ they said.

But how do you share the Gospel and live out Christ when you start off ignoring the demand of the very people you are trying to reach? Should we really do like so many in the past who have used their status, skin color, and nationality to push their way around and earn the very reputation that so many missionaries have had in the region?

We knew that was not the answer, but the answer we had was hard to fathom: trust God was in fact closing this door that had seemed wide open for more than a year.

Talk about some BLIND faith. We had no idea what in the world He could be up to. We just had to trust He was up to something and that this new plan would in fact be for our good and His glory.

Once the decision was made to forego the house build, we decided to use the four teams to accomplish some of the other projects we had planned for later in the year at the Indigenous Seminary site. After all, we had plenty of manpower and the materials to get the jobs done.

The next four weeks were without a doubt the busiest of our lives. We hosted four teams from four different cities working in two locations on four projects. Thankfully God orchestrated each group so perfectly to fit the exact needs of the project at hand at exactly the right time. Everyone was super flexible (a must for any mission project) and despite the physical exhaustion, we arrived at the end of those four weeks feeling encouraged and so very blessed to be a part of the work that God is doing in this region.

So, where did that leave us? The Seminary site now had a fully functional bathroom and septic system as well as a five tank water system, but obviously that didn’t provide us a house to live in, as was the original purpose for these groups.

God was already on it way before we even knew we weren’t going to build a house.

Some fellow missionary friends of ours who live in the little Brazilian town of Benjamin Constant had asked a local pastor to hold onto a house he was trying to rent out to see if we would want to rent it.

We went and looked at the house to see if it would work for us.

Love. At. First. Sight.

Not only was it perfect for us, it was above and beyond what we could have imagined and the rent was 1/4 the amount that we were paying in Recife for 2.5 times the space. In fact, it was big enough to be able to host families. Its location was amazing at the end of a quiet street with jungle all behind and beside and a beautiful view of farmland out front. To top it all off, it was in a neighborhood full of kids in government housing who desperately needed the love of Jesus. And the town itself is only 20 minutes by speedboat to our village, 45 minutes to Atalaia do Norte where we work with the Javari Project. And the land that has already been purchased for the aircraft hangar with our missionary partner is less than a mile from the house.

Seriously?!

We couldn’t believe how perfectly things had fallen into place.

Not long after moving into our house, Richard and I found a passage of scripture that really stood out to me.

“I assure you: Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains by itself. But if it dies, it produces a large crop. The one who loves his life will lose it, and the one who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves Me, he must follow Me. Where I am, there My servant also will be. If anyone serves Me, the Father will honor him.” –John 12.24-26

Since moving here, I don’t know how many times we have thanked the Lord that He closed the door to live in the village. We have already faced many trials involving the Indians and their vastly different and difficult culture that we know would have only been more challenging had we lived there.

God knew exactly what He was doing and that we would in fact be much more effective in reaching these people by not living with them—something we didn’t see or understand before.

Where we are now, we have already been able to minister to the needs of our neighborhood while working with the Indigenous leadership in our village, traveling to Atalaia for Project Javari, and working closely with our aviation partner to get the program up and running.

Like the verse says, when we allowed our own dreams and plans to die—even though they seemed “good” all along—when we surrendered them to God’s best, we were able to see that our “crop” here will be much greater and more efficient.

We could have held on to that dream. It was, after all, a “good” dream. But when that one died, something even greater was born. Already we have treated medical needs, had a family in great need stay with us for four days, fed and bathed street kids, built solid relationships with neighbors, discipled new believers, encouraged leadership,  and strategized to reach the unreached… and it’s only been a month!

We are so thankful that God gave us the faith to follow Him on this journey and we pray are hearts always remain open to His perfect plans—even if it means the death of a dream.

Five Minute Friday: Home

It's Friday again and that means I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday. Five minutes of writing from the heart. Go.

I don’t know where it came from, but I remember it clearly, sitting on the wooden shelf behind the sofa in the house I spent some of my most formative days as a child.

“Home is Where the Heart Is” it read, with a little red heart where the word heart would otherwise be.

Now I understand, though then it was just a fixture on the wall. Now it’s a very logical phrase.

A year ago, heck, five years ago, my home was a little gray house that I loved. A house filled with memories and the pitter patter of our baby boy and the scratches from our boxer boy on that beautiful hardwood floor that we polished to a shine right before we got married and moved there together. That was home after long trips and long days.

That home slowly became a house and then it was sold.

Now, as we prepare to move from our apartment we’ve tried to call home here in the city for the last six months we feel like nomads in a foreign land. Maybe because that’s what we are.

So home has, by necessity, become where our heart is. In a week we will step on yet another airplane and fly to the place we’ve longed to call home for four years now—the Jungle.

That is where our heart is. And that will be home. A different home, but a beautiful one indeed.

 Home is..

...where the...

 ...heart is.

Some days my heart is full and there is plenty I want to say but I have no way to say it.

That's when I just whisper to God, "Hear my heart."

And I rest in that.

Because He does.

 "The Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things,

 but one thing is necessary."'

Luke 10.41-42a

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