Love at the Speed of Email

Love at the Speed of Email by Lisa McKay

Love at... is a wonderful holiday read.  It's witty and thoughtful and it tells a great story.  But for this accidental international, it's much more. -lisa b.

What I remember is that we were both waiting to speak to Scott White.  I didn't know this pleasant looking woman standing alongside me who obviously wanted to speak to the same man I hoped to have a quick word with.  It was a Sunday morning in California and Scott is a dear friend who happens to be on staff at a big and bustling church.  We waited patiently.  It seems that there are many who want a quick word with Scott :-)

When he turned around and saw us both, he broke into a big Scott smile.  "Ah, my two favorite Lisas.  And two of my favorite writers!  You two should meet."

Catching a Glimpse of Jesse

I stole this photo of Jesse off of the blog the Creation Care program he's on in Belize keeps so that the parents can get a little glimpse of what's going on there. It's nice of them as the students have very limited opportunity to get on-line so we don't hear news very frequently.

I love the photo because it's just so very Jesse.

He told me that floating down the river on that warm and rainy day he was thinking about what it means to surrender to God and trust the current he has under us.

I like that I learn from my children about how to follow God.

Home... What is that Exactly?

During the last 8 months in the States, Heather would sometimes cry and say she wanted to go home. She didn't mean she wanted to go back to Portugal, though she did miss it.

Colin would sometimes question her about it but I knew exactly what she meant. She wanted a room where she could put all her things away. She wanted to pick the color of the walls. But mostly, she wanted a space in which our family felt "at home."

It's 3am and I'm wide awake because California still dictates to me when I should feel wakeful. In this wee hour of the morning, I have been worrying about "home."

We need a house in the next few weeks. We need one sooner than later and it needs to be fairly near to our dear teammates, Peter and Tammy. Complicate that with the fact that they will be leaving the place they live in by the end of November and looking for a new place so the new place will need to be fairly near us, wherever that is. And there is not a vast array of options here.

I open my eyes into the darkness and wonder if God can handle all the details. Will our container of furniture and household goods arrive from Portugal at the right time for moving into the phantom house we haven't found yet? Must I adjust my expectations to fit closer to one house we saw yesterday which I thought was really substandard? Is it ok that I want something that feels pleasant to me? Are we nuts for "jumping into thin air" as my friend Ruth in Belfast called it, hoping that God will catch us by finding us a place and opening the way into this new life before us? Were we wrong to think that's really the only way we could do it?

You would think that after so very many years of experiencing how the Lord watches over our details as we follow him into the adventure, well, you would think I would be an old pro at trusting. You would think.

But I get to this place of thinking I have expended all his favor and grace and detail-watching. I assume He doesn't have time for this anymore.

Of all the things I love about Africa (and there are many I don't love as well) the one I love the most is the way it makes me feel my desperation for the Lord. The housing issue is complicated and challenging, but OH MY WORD, that's nothing compared to the issues of poverty and spiritual need. Just thinking about living here during our last couple of weeks in the States put me in that aware-of-my-desperation state. I would be running errands and find myself muttering prayers under my breath the whole way. Mysterious heart prayers that my spirit churned with. I trusted that the Lord understood them. It felt good to connect in that intimate place where words don't have to be intelligible.

So I have no idea where we'll be unpacking our bags. I long to unpack them, that's true. I can't picture home yet, but I sense I'm getting closer.

I dream about a house but as for home, I think this place under His wing is it.

"Courage, Father, Give Us..."

On this journey I am much encouraged by Dustin Kensrue's song, "Weary Saints". Kensrue, the G.K.Chesterton reading front man of Thrice, has released an acoustic album called Please Come Home.

Many great songs but today I hold onto Weary Saints as one who is weary, though not very saint-like.

Favorite lines...

"For years we've fought the night with pale and ghostly flames. Some still dream of light, say the sun will rise again..."

"Let us not be faithless, you will meet our needs."

"Courage, Father, give us to do what must be done..."

And finally--

"For years you've met our thirst, still deserts we have roamed. But we'll be done with dust and dirt when the ocean calls us home. We'll fall into the arms of a cool and sweet embrace and under stars and waving palms we'll shed our sin like snakes..."

Shed our sin like snakes.... I look forward to that day.

Buy the song on iTunes, please. It's a keeper.

A Little Fear on Our Way Toward Departure

Oh Seattle! We felt so loved!

It's nice how love produces love. We felt loved and now we think everyone we talked with in Seattle is the greatest :-) Seriously though, we felt really cared about by all the supporters, mission teams and friends that we met with over the last ten days.

Of all the people we told our "Why we're off to Africa" story to, my favorite was a class of thirty 16 year olds I spoke to at my niece's public high school. I asked them what they can buy for $2. They said a candy bar, a cup of coffee, a cheeseburger. They thought they could maybe make it for a couple hours on $2. We talked about the fact that 2.7 billion people live on less than $2 a day.

I really enjoyed being with that group. It made me happy to be able to tell them about stuff.

Anyway, it won't be long now till we book our tickets for April or May and I suddenly have this weird feeling...

We've been running around raising funds and getting things in order to move and pretty soon we're gonna be there and the dust is gonna settle and you know what? We're going to look around and say "OH MY WORD? WHAT HAVE WE DONE? WHAT ARE WE DOING BACK IN AFRICA??"

I realize it's normal but it can feel a little weird to know something is right and to want it really badly and to be scared to death of it at the same time.

On My Mind

Today I'm thinking about my friend Conny who just last week voluntarily responded to a plea from southern Sudan for medical personnel and today is there! Lammert and Conny are our Dutch colleagues, people we love and have loved working with. Conny is a medical doctor in Geneva, now off to administer meningitis vaccines in an emergency situation where there is an outbreak.

Conny is a hero today, walking into a dangerous situation that she is totally un-familiar with because she heard of a need and knew she could help. Lammert is a hero for encouraging her go.

I'm thinking of Trevor in bed looking a little improved as his fever has come down. His cold turned out to be bronchitis and he's on antibiotics now. Yesterday I told him I'd be taking him to the doctor when we got back from our lunch appointment. He opened his bleary, fevery eyes and croaked out "What do I need a doctor for?" Hhhhmmmm. I have to say that of all the kids, Trevor is the one who is always sicker than I realize. By the time he says he feels bad, things are usually serious. It's not that he's trying to be tough; he just kind of doesn't realize he should speak up sooner. I fell asleep last night remembering how he looked as a three year old with a bad case of amebic dysentery. His little round face was so sober.

Today I'm thinking about the humbling feeling of people's love and support. Being up here in the NW reminds us again of what an incredible thing it is to share what God is doing and how he's leading, and to feel the care and interest and rallying around of friends.

I'm getting a Ben Harper song in my head.... "I am blessed! I am blessed! I am blessed to be a witness!"

Not Profound

I thought maybe I would have something profound to say for this my 100th post.

Sadly, profound is not in the works for today. Today I have been tired and stressed. One thing I hate, yea even two that I despise... To research and book flights on the internet and to calendar with my husband.

My mind gets all boggled with the flight plans and frequent flyer miles and dates and times and best use of funds. My brain gets further fried looking at the calendar and discussing how to fit in all we need to do before departure for Tanzania.

Two things I love, even three that hath blessed me... My mother spent hours and hours researching flights for me today and this helped me avoid losing my mind. While Byron's neck was all stiff and weird and he suffered various strange manifestations of stress during his work day, I sat like a veg beside her and let her fingers do the walking.

Then I went to help Heather's class begin their quilting project. The lovely Mrs. Sykes spoke to the 22 eight year olds in the calmest, most soothing voice as she led them through the exercise. Her gentle and amazing teaching gift was some kind of balm to me as I listened to her.

She reminded me of Esther, the third thing to love, whom I spoke with last night on the phone. Remember Beautiful Esther of my October post? She said she was reading about the storm that Jesus stilled and the Scripture says that afterward "there was a GREAT calm."

Oh Lord, trying to move our family to Tanzania, with the myriad of things that must be accomplished before-hand, feels like a wild ocean to me.

Speak to this storm. I would love a great calm.

Questions

So many questions.

There are times when my mind is just full of them. I think that I thought this would be a symptom of youth. Like you would have loads of questions as you started into life, but as life progressed you would find more and more of the answers. Maturity, then, would be a feeling of understanding so many things.

At this point, the point of being 44 and having some level of maturity that has happened along the way, it doesn't really feel the way I guess I thought it might.

It doesn't feel scary. It doesn't feel desperate or hopeless. Confused at time, yes. (Often, actually.) Anger sometimes. (More often than I would like to admit.) A deeper sense of wonder. A more profound understanding of the brevity and fragile nature of life.

But overall, a sense that the questions don't diminish. Rather, they seem to increase.

I love the Jars of Clay lyric that says, "You take away my firm belief and graft my soul upon your grief."

It feels like I used to carry this firm belief that if you "just do such and so" the result will be some prescribed scenario that I believed to be the correct scenario. That "firm belief" loosens.

And there are times when my soul feels smashed up and crushed on the grief of the world.

I know Who it is I look to the answers for. I am more at peace with the fact that He isn't all that forthcoming with them.

All day I've had the hymn Rock of Ages in my head. I don't sing it with crashing piano accompaniment in mind or with a marching beat. I sing it with a mournful kind of hope.

"Rock of Ages cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee."

Yes, Lord, in Thee.

Christmas in Review: Finding Baby Jesus

As simple as we try to keep things, I find Christmas in the States quite hard. I am not blaming the U.S. for this. Yes, we are the nation of materialism like no other on the planet. But I will not say it is the fault of this nation that I struggle.

I think, rather, it has to do with the fact that I am away from the familiar paths that focus me on Christ. It’s not that there are no paths to Him here, it’s just that they are not the ones I have been journeying on. Many of the people around me are not the people I have been sharing the journey with. And so, as I approached the celebration of God made incarnate, I found myself adrift and a little bewildered.

I sent my nephew the five-disc set of Christmas music by Sufjan Stevens. He thought I was Super Aunt. I ordered one for us as well but in the week before Christmas I had little time to hear it. It played between stops during my busy week spent mostly in the car running here and there. It was like tiny tastes of goodness dropped in the mouth of a slightly deranged woman.

On Christmas Day I sat in the kitchen with Rachel, my English sister-in-law. We were pathetic, I admit. We sat at the table limp and a bit faded around the edges talking about why moms are so tired at this time of year. (Meanwhile, Super Mom, AKA my mother, was zipping around the kitchen in a jolly fashion!) Rachel and I revived after our kitchen table time and the day really was nice.

Yet that sense of disconnect lingered as I climbed into bed with a list in my head of all the work I have ahead of me in the weeks to come.

Our family pulled out of the drive-way on the 26th at 7:30am to drive to New Mexico. With Trevor driving and Byron up front keeping an eye on that, I pulled out my headphones and my Sufjan Christmas cds. My sister had called on Christmas Eve to say that the five discs had pretty much saved her Christmas. (She loves to say things in a really big way.)

I will not try to explain it. I think Sufjan defies explanation anyway. I love the mix of old hymns, carols and tunes with his original stuff. I love “Oh Holy Night” on a banjo. I love that the collection includes “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” one of my very favorite hymns. (It contains the lines, “Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by thy grace I’ve come. And I hope by thy good pleasure safely to arrive at home.” I suppose it’s the multiple locations of my life and the knowledge that my sojourning grandparents named every home they lived in “Ebenezer” that makes these lines sparkle to me somehow.)

Simply put, as the eastern edges of California melted into Arizona dessert, I found what I had been needing to connect with Jesus this Christmas. Trevor calls new Alchemy guitar strings “Happiness in a box.” Colin says the same about his new Adidas Sambas. For me, because the little discs seemed to know how to open the places in my heart I was longing to be opened, the places that so wanted to see Jesus anew this Season, I would say the same…

The Sufjan Stevens Songs for Christmas: Happiness in a Box.

Memories and Good Gifts

Stepping into the living room this morning I remembered that I had made a bed for Heather by the fire near the tree last night. She wanted to sleep in that cozy place and so I had tucked her in on the floor where she was soon asleep.

But seeing her there this morning (and sneaking this photo of her) reminded me of Christmas eight years ago. Heather was 20 days old on Christmas Eve and she would lie sleeping like a pink gift under the pale lights of our little tree way up in Loita, those distant hills of Kenya.

It had been an unbelievable year in which our team had faced robberies, rape, natural disasters, discouragement and the constant threat of car-jackings and bandits. We were tired beyond belief. All of us.

What I remembered as I watched Heather sleeping by the tree this morning was that our family had been longing for a baby girl. As 1998 had dawned, I had written in my journal in faith, "January 1, 1998, The Year of Our Daughter." On December 4th of that year she was born.

Suzie, our team doctor, finally cleared us to travel the 8-10 hours of indescribable roads home on the 23rd. Dr. Suze was keeping a careful eye on some post-natal high blood pressure I was experiencing and at last it came down. My parents were there in Kenya with us and all we wanted was to get home for Christmas. We had been away for weeks awaiting Heather's birth in Nairobi.

To see that baby sleeping under the tree all those years ago was to realize in tangible form that God gives good gifts. The pain and struggle of the year that was passing faded in the warmth of her small body against my chest.

This morning I looked at Heather Carolyn asleep under the Christmas lights and remembered that our Father is the All-Time Best Giver of Gifts.

My mind took me back through 1998 and then left me in soft, hallowed awe. Funny how much can happen in the early quiet before anyone else is up.

The Kind of Water That Quenches Your Thirst

Colin's got this thing about how some water doesn't really work. He'll say, "It was that kind of water that, you know, just makes you more thirsty." I think it's some kind of really minerally water that he's talking about.

I was driving around today (don't ask how we ended up all over the greater Los Angeles area on our way to the airport to get my parents who flew in from Hong Kong) and I was thinking about water that doesn't work.

Jesus told the woman at the well that he could give her water that would make her never be thirsty again. That sounds like water that works to me.

But I was wondering if I really help people find that source. Do I say, "I know some really good water that you'll love" but then model living a life that actually isn't drawing from that source much at all? Am I a sometimes visitor at the well of really good water while surviving in the between times on some little canteen of dorky water?

My mind is kind of spinning around (partly cuz I'm tired) with different ways this metaphor could unfold. I don't think I will belabor the point.

I'm just thinking today about wanting be filled with the really good water. I don't want to be handing out cups of counterfeit water. Or even cups of pretty good water. I want to drink the good stuff. The life giving, no more thirst stuff. And I want to fill great pitchers of that and share it with those around me.

Talking with God

God and I often communicate in hushed conversation as I go about the business of the work at hand. Something I've noticed in all the years of our relationship is that he often whispers to me through snatches of songs that play in a seemingly random way in my head.

For the last couple of days I've woken up with a Patty Griffin song (from her 1,000 Kisses album) in my head. The line that plays over and over says, "Strange how hard it rains now/rows and rows of big dark clouds..."

Puttering around in my jammies this morning, getting my kids fed and ready and off to school, I wondered to God about that line. Yes, I have been feeling significant sadness in the last couple of days. It stems from the sense of being misunderstood by long time friends that we love dearly. These are people who are very important in our lives, people who mean a lot to us. And I just feel sad. The sadness feels like rain.

The "rows and rows of big dark clouds" hover closely as well. I look ahead at all that needs to be done and the thousands and thousands of dollars that need to be raised in order to get us functioning in ministry in Africa again. Yes, it all feels like rows of big dark clouds. Not imminent danger, but heaviness.

I paused at the back of the kitchen looking out the window at the deep clarity of a blue sky. "God, have you lost your mind?" I asked. (I'm very sorry if you don't think I should talk to Him that way. I'm just being honest. I just have to ask if He's really got this plan all thought out.)

The next song that came to my mind is a Brian Houston song off of his 35 Summers album. "I said why'd You have to give me such impossible dreams/He said I like to make dreams come true..."

That's basically what my question about God's mind was all about. I was resenting that we have these huge dreams that we feel so strongly are God-given. But it really looked to me like His eyes sparkled as He responded with that "I like to make dreams come true" line.

This idea of impossible dreams took my mind to something I heard Lyndall Bywater say in Dresden last year. (Lyndal is in leadership with the Salvation Army in England and when she speaks, we all stop in our tracks.) Lyndall said that if we're not doing something so big and impossible that we can't even get out of bed in the morning without God, then we're not doing anything worth doing.

HOLY COW!

The memory of her words rebuked my softly. I have been longing for this place. I know how it feels to be desperately aware of how much I need God, to be dreaming such wild dreams in impossible times that it almost feels like just breathing throws me at His feet. And I had been missing this place.

Now I am here and I am sad?

I wrapped Heather's cut apples and carrots and placed them in her lunch.

As I moved on to Colin's lunch I heard myself singing, "For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies, for the love which from our birth OVER AND AROUND US LIES, Lord of all to Thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise."

I smiled to myself at the place the Lord had brought me to as I did early morning chores in conversation with Him. I wouldn't say the sadness or the feelings of being overwhelmed have gone away, but I am aware of a covering of love, a goodness and a mercy that follow me all the days of my life.

I feel grateful and praiseful for God who sings to me.

Of Dogs and Theology

I perused Andrew Perriman's Open Source Theology site today. I don't understand half of what Andrew talks about but I like him. He's a lovely guy. But that's not what I've set out to comment about. I want to comment on his opening sentence in which he compares emerging church theology to reformed theology by catagorizing them as certain types of dogs.

"The doctrine of penal substitutionary atonement remains a major bone of contention between the yapping, excitable Jack Russell of the emerging church and the snarling pit bull of reformed theology."

We are a family that loves dogs. We've had MANY. Why many? Because shocking numbers of nice dogs met untimely deaths during their adventurous lives in Africa. Those stories are for some other time.

I like this comparison between the emerging church (Jack Russell) and reformed theology (the pit bull.) I like it because I understand it really, really well. We had two Jack Russells and a pit bull in Portugal. OK, the pit bull was technically owned by my landlady's family, but he shared our garden and believed that he was a part of our family.

The Jack Russells we've had through the years share these traits: very intelligent, very fast, very sensitive, very brave. The pit bull, as well as the numerous Ridgebacks and other big, strong dogs we've had through the years, share these traits: very strong, very loyal, very dependable, and (believe it or not) very safe.

However, the Jack Russells were also frequently braver than they should be, charging leopards and cobras and baboons without back-up. They were often so obsessed by what they were onto, be it a mouse under the sofa or a monkey in a tree, that they could not stop and listen to anyone around them. Calling them off something they had set their mind to was tough going, nigh on impossible.

The big dogs had some problems too. They were (comparativelyly) slow to notice what was going on and slow to respond to the clues. They could miss early danger signs. They were slow to reach the site where their strength was needed.

The Jack Russells had incredibly powerful senses and they picked up on what was going on around them before anyone else had a clue. This was an invaluable asset. We depended on their keen senses and courage to investigate. But sometimes this meant they went charging off without support to face that which was threatening our safety. How many times has Byron come around a corner to find his Jack Russell firmly attached to the wrist of a baboon?

Baboons aren't a personal threat to adult humans, but they regularly raid the precious family gardens of struggling African farmers who are desperately trying to raise food. The baboons feast on the maze as if it was planted for them and they are bold and haughty to small children who try to guard it. They are strong and fierce and not to be messed with. So a Jack Russell, flying through the air, attached by jaws to the flailing wrist of a big male baboon is not a good thing. Baboons kill dogs regularly.

But with Byron, as he rounded that corner, arrived The Big Dogs. The big dogs, now fully attuneded to what was going on, tore into the situation with awesome strength and determination. Now that they were aware of the danger at hand and had caught up to the site that the Jack Russells had been screaming from, they were fully engaged. With the early warning signs of the Jack Russell and her courage to go after what's out there, the strength matched with experience that the big dogs possessed came into full use.

Together, the Jack Russells and The Big Dogs were the most amazing team. But only together. Without each other, they were lacking in serious ways.

One was quick to recognize what was going on in the world around her and brave enough to go there. But she couldn't last there alone. The other was slow to respond to the environment and slow to reach the place where she was needed. But once there, she was strong and experienced in a doggy-wisdom kind of way. She had power to compliment the speed and courage of the Jack Russell.

Hhhhhmmmm. As I said, I like Andrew's metaphor. In his one sentence, I've learned a lot.

Wild Prayer

Just in from staff conference in Holland where we had our minds blown by the lovely Al and Deb Hirsch. Their message was simple: the centrality of Christ above all else, the call to never slow down or settle as we follow his wild lead and radical freedom in Him.

They blew us all away. In the days ahead, I will post some of my notes from our times together but tonight I will just post this prayer by Sir Francis Drake. I found it just now as I was sitting here on my porch in the last light of this summer day. Drake was an English naval hero and he lived 1540-1596. His prayer captures the spirit of our week together. Funny that... his capturing our week 500 years ago :-)

Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.