The Making of M.O.M.

I have at least 5 half-written posts drafted, waiting to be completed, edited and published. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll get around to them anytime soon. Life has been (blessedly) crazy over the last week.

On Wednesday, Luke came home from work at 11am. I can now count on 3 fingers the number of times in our 9.5 years of marriage that Luke has come home from work sick. I figured it was a virus so I stayed far, far away and silently praised Jesus that our children were already at the once-a-month Parent's Day Out at church.

I went and had lunch with some girlfriends, then came back to bring Luke anti-nausea meds, ginger ale and sprite before heading to the airport to meet some friends who were arriving.

When I checked on my man I knew it was something more than a virus. He was nearly grey and looked horrible. He complained of lower right abdominal pain. I quickly told him to get dressed then promptly drove him to the Emergency Room. Two hours later he was in surgery getting an appendectomy.

Praise God for good, reliable medicine!

While I was taking Luke to the hospital, the babysitter called and told me our van wouldn't start. On Saturday I jumped the van and took it to get a new battery. All seemed well until earlier today when it stalled out in my parents' driveway and refused to crank again. Currently, it's being towed to a local mechanic.

Our dog has fleas, despite regular flea medicine, and she's now brought them into our house. Before our van decided to die I ran to the Vet's office and got some spray. Sometime in the next 24 hours I need to spray everything in our house that is carpeted or covered in fabric.

Oh, and our kids can't be in that room for 2 hours following.

Remember that time our van was broken and we couldn't really go anywhere?

And last, but certainly not least, is the fact that we're going on a 11 day trip to see family and friends. And we leave this weekend. And I need to pack. But I can't lay clothes out on the floor and organize until I spray for fleas. Then I need to pack and load up the van.

Remember that time our van was in the shop?

Luke cannot lift more than 10lbs for the next 6 weeks due to his incision.

Remember that time we were going on a trip for 11 days and I had lots of bags packed that were over 10lbs?

Finally, we had a HUGE Fundraiser Yard Sale on Friday and Saturday. Our generous and faithful friends donated TONS AND TONS of good yard sale items for us to sale and use the money toward our outgoing expenses with Africa Inland Mission.

Remember that time Luke has surgery 2 days before a major fundraiser and couldn't lift more than 10lbs?

It's been an interesting 10 days to say the least. But friends and family have literally JUMPED into action and helped us in every way imaginable.

Remember that time we raised over $2,400 from a YARD SALE? Who does that?

God does!

Remember that time God was always faithful?

Oh yeah, that's yesterday, today and tomorrow. Praise God for His faithfulness. Even in surgeries, flea infestations, packing and vacations. Life is crazy but God is good.

And I'm eating milk chocolate chips straight from the bag. Sometimes, y'all, it's about survival.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,

“therefore I will hope in him.”

(Lamentations 3:22-24 ESV)

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

Romans 8:28 (ESV)

The long stints in between posts in not necessarily a sign of busier times in our house (though that's true) nor a sign that I don't enjoy blogging anymore (which is not at all true) or even that I don't have anything to say (certainly not true, if you know me at all).

The truth is, I've always considered this a place where I can be real. Even in real life, I'm generally open, honest and fairly easy to read. Whatever crosses my mind generally comes out of my large, gaping mouth - which can often not be a good thing.

I've never been a person with many secrets (though I have some buried somewhere deep inside and locked away - trust me) and I've never really understood people who keep so much of their lives private and tucked away from the people they care about. In fact, I've often thought that the way believers can give God the most glory is to be real, to be honest and allow your imperfections to radiate the glory of God, show His immeasurable mercy and then rejoice in your imperfections being made perfect in Him.

And I still believe all of that. I'm not too worried about people coming to our house and seeing the sticky, mysterious blotches that are spattered across our kitchen floor. I'm not anxious about folks coming over for playdates and seeing the piles of laundry on the table in our living room. In fact, I don't even really care if everyone in the world knows that we eat off paper plates 90% of the time. (We're not green. At all.)

I understand that people judge us and think we're crazy because we have nearly 7 kids all ages 7 years and younger. I know that we are talked about when we leave the room and often people ask bystanders which are our "real kids" and which are adopted.

So I think my hesitation with coming here regularly and sharing my heart is because lately, I'm hiding more things in there. Pondering them, turning them over in my mind, wondering why none of the jagged edges become smooth with the constant turning and tumbling and wear.

Things that are more than just "am I parenting this child the right way" or "what if they figure out I'm not nearly the person they think I am" or "what happens if they see me looking less than up to par." Because the fact is, if you know me at all you know those previous questions don't get to me all that much.

The thing that keeps me from coming here and sharing the trivial, mundane and even the profound is the fear of being found out on a much deeper level.

What if I don't have this whole God thing as figured out as I thought I did?

Because the nitty gritty truth is that once you begin telling people that you've been called to be a missionary, they expect you to be some sort of super-Christian. Someone who has a direct line to God and who obviously knows more than the average Christian about obedience, Scripture and must have this super-human prayer life.

And I'm NOT good at dealing with that kind of pressure.

Last night one of our youth came into the kitchen where I was carrying on a casual "I'm a pregnant woman and here are my struggles" conversation with another pregnant, youth-worker Mom and he said, so casually, "I didn't know y'all were going to Africa?! Why did y'all decide to do that?"

Why did we decide to do that? Is he serious? I think he was sincere in his question and it wasn't like he was trying to make it sound flippant but clearly we didn't just decide one day to pick up our family of 9 and move to East Africa.

It's a delicate balance between trying to always seem confident and composed in your calling and wanting to shake people and scream, I don't have it all figured out either!

And it's not like we feel okay with sharing our struggles with just anyone. Because, good gracious, who do we share them with?

Supporters? Um. No. Because the fleshly side of me wants to continue seeming like we have it all figured out so that they don't lose their confidence in us. I mean, good golly, $8,000 per month is A LOT of money to raise and we don't want to jeopardize the faith that those who've already partnered with us have put in us. We need every supporter we currently have, plus about 200 more.

Friends? Yes, we can but typically even our closest friends can't really understand the hidden struggles we are facing. Because moving to a different continent is a tad different than moving across town or taking a new job or deciding to adopt. Not that we believe that any of those callings are any less spiritual or God sized but we are moving to a 3rd world country for crying out loud. It's like me trying to understand the pain my dearest friend has over her empty womb. I can try my best to understand, empathize and cry out to God for her. But I don't really get it. No matter how much I want to.

Family? Not exactly. Most of the family that has acknowledged that we're leaving isn't exactly supportive of our calling. Fueling their concerns and giving them more reasons to be opposed to us isn't exactly top on my to-do list.

Other missionaries? Sure. They are usually good people to reach out to and sometimes they can get it. But for some missionaries, they took no kids on the field with them. Or they didn't have to raise support. Or maybe they're sitting right where we are, struggling with the things God is calling them to do but their flesh is yelling out in defiance.

So Luke and I sit in our room most nights, tossing back and forth our worries, our anxiety and our fears. It's a lot like trying to throw back and forth a handful of spaghetti. The first few tosses go okay but eventually it falls apart and ends up scattered all around us in a huge mess. We're covered with failed attempts to grasp totally what the other is pitching out to us.

The one person I should be falling on my face before, the God of all creation, the Lord who called us in the first place, seems so distant right now. I should be falling before His throne, nose pressed to the floor, wearing a blisters on my face from tears mixed with our cheap carpet.

And that's where it ends. That's the struggle. Because I know that if I did just that, answers would come, anxieties would subside and fears would be brought into light. But I also know that nasty places in my own flesh would be revealed. Cancerous wounds would be exposed and I'd have to own up to the rotten flesh I've allowed to live and eat and grow on me over the last few months.

Cleaning wounds is painful. I have enough pain in my life right now. I don't want anymore.

In addition to all of the anxiety, fear and struggle I may have with our calling comes your everyday pain, conflict and struggles with our children, family, friends and just life.

It's a balance to keep it all in perspective and trust that in due time God will make all things work together for my good. But missionaries, pastors, best-selling christian authors and the like can't admit to the struggles with the things of great significance right? Especially as it pertains to their specific calling. Because aren't they suppose to know God? Like, really know God? Shouldn't people who really know God not have such struggles? After all, can't they just pick up their "direct line phone" dial up the Big Man and get all their questions answered, their problems solved and have peace with life all in a quick, easy prayer?

I've said this before, maybe not here but to others: I really think that in many ways living in Africa won't be nearly as hard as the getting there.

Please Lord, get me through the getting there. And heal me of my rotten flesh somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll be waiting to see how all of this will work together for my good.