Can you find the first world questions?!

I have not blogged here for some time. I have been concentrating on Gramasylum in blogging for the last year or so. Now I am preparing to go to Africa, Malawi to be exact. I am part of a four person team and we actually have been preparing for about three months using a short term mission team manual. Very good stuff and our team has been challenged and had fun already!

But today we leave. So today I am doing the last minute packing and the questions that I have been pondering have been curiously all across the board! I have been a bit stunned by how deeply I can be thinking one moment and how very shallow my thoughts are the next. I came to realize just a few minutes ago that it is the result of first world living versus third world living. Though I have been preparing to enter and serve in a developing country, I am still very much entrenched here in the United States of America. Here you often hear people make some remark about a difficulty and then, a little embarrassed they say, "First world problem." Today, I haven't said it out loud. But I have thought it at least 2o times this morning as I do the final packing. See if you can find the "first world problems/questions".

So I have been asked to teach evangelism to volunteers who will be coming to a school from many villages around. Some of them walking many miles to attend. All of them sleeping in tents for one or two weeks in order to  be at this discipleship event sponsored by Fishers Trainers and Senders out of Lilongwe, Malawi. The Executive Director is Louise Laubscher who is from South Africa, but been ministering in Malawi for 30 years. She is a saint. And she has worked hard to raise up indigenous leaders so that most of the ministry is led by men and women from Malawi. Stonard is her right hand person and a real gem of God's work! I was asked to teach on WHY evangelize and WHO to evangelize. These are very straightforward questions and easily supported and taught by the Bible. I did lesson plans using familiar and story based scripture. And then I got to the part of creating questions that will  help these folks apply these biblical principles to their every day life. I. Know. Almost. Nothing. About. Their. Everyday. Life! “How can I possible teach them evangelism?” I wonder.

Five minutes later I am finally packing up my bathroom stuff and wondering, “How will I keep my hair from going flat? Should I bring my hair texturizer?” And, what hair blower should I bring? I ask myself. “The one I am used to or the smaller travel one under the sink?” And, I wonder, “will the outlets where I will be staying will be able to handle the wattage?”

As I start to pack my make-up, I congratulate myself silently that I am not taking it all. No eye shadow, no highlighter, and no lipstick. Nope, not third-world ready me. I will only take my eye brow brush and cake, my eyeliner and brush, and my mascara. Wait. Maybe I will take my blush, too.  Of course then I realize I need make-up remover to take it off each night. Then a question I hardly ever ask enters my mind…What would happen if I did not wear any make-up while I am there? Then I would not need the make-up or the remover. But, how would they view me? How would I view myself?! Then came the haunting questions, “What is the best way for me to go and be with them in the most authenticate and humble and servant-hearted way?” Why do I care about any of this stuff?

Oh for goodness sake! Then forget about showering for the two weeks, I don’t need soap shampoo, or towels, or deodorant. Well, maybe deodorant, if I am not going to shower for two weeks. And, I’ll just wear the same clothes for two weeks. No need to pack multiple anything and no need to wash clothes by hand when I get there. Shoot! I don’t even need a suitcase! I will just bring a backpack. I do need to brush my teeth. I can imagine not showering for two weeks. I cannot imagine not brushing my teeth for that long. The fuzz and slime would make me throw up and that would not be good!

You can see I have gone back and forth from the sublime to the ridiculous pretty effortlessly! The bad news? I leave in less than an hour. No time to rethink all this. The good news? This mishmash of questions, first and third world, are evidence that God is already working in me substantially. I can count on one hand the days I have gone out of the house without make-up on.  (Notice blog picture is WITH!) To ponder such a thing can only be God invading my space! And, I will trust the saint who invited me to come and teach. She DOES know these people and this culture and believes that God can use me there. What a crazy thought. Which brings up another question. How can God do that?!

The Power of the Jenna Jab

She had her first birthday this past week. She  is less than two feet tall and weighs less than twenty-five pounds. Her vocabulary is limited to three or four words amongst many undecipherable sounds. However, this little stick of dynamite gets almost anything she wants and is able to get almost anywhere she wants to go with one repeated syllable accompanied by a pointing finger and an arm bent and straightened repeatedly. This gesture combined with, “Eh, eh, eh” will get the job done. I call it the Jenna Jab.

Did I mention there are adorable dimples in both cheeks, though one very much more prominent than the other, and a smile that could melt what’s left of the polar ice caps? Yes, the combination of these things mean that Jenna rules the world she inhabits. If you are one fortunate enough to have this little person waddle toward you with both arms stretched straight up in the air making the “eh, eh, eh” sound--which means she wants you, yes, you, to pick her up, and you do—from there on you are a slave. Wherever the Jenna jab points you will go and whatever the jab points to you will give her, as long as it is safe, of course. Trust me. These are the laws of nature in Gramasylum. As gravity insists “what goes up, must come down,” in Gramasylum “what and where Jenna jabs, Jenna gets and goes!” It’s life on this side of certifiable grama craziness.

There is only one obstacle currently in the way of her absolute rule—her three-year-old brother Kasen. He is not taken with the Jenna Jab. He regularly and consistently ignores it.  And, he goes further. He quickly interprets what it is she wants and is big enough and quick enough to get it before she can and keep whatever it is out of her grasp. Until a smitten parent or grandparent attends.  It would appear that the Creator,  either to test parental negotiation skills, or to ensure regular interaction, created a sort of sibling relational loop.  Younger siblings idolize their older siblings and want whatever they have,  while at the same time older siblings desire to teach younger siblings that might makes right and that size matters.   Jenna could jab her arm off and Kasen’s desire to teach would not be diminished. Unless, of course some parental negotiator is watching, which is almost all the time, and then it takes a little longer, but the Jenna Jab eventually triumphs. After all, she is little and does not understand (yah, right!) and he is the big boy who will teach her how to share by sharing. Wait. Doesn’t that mean Jenna always gets what she wants? Is that sharing? So the obstacle to her absolute rule, her brother, is also subject to the Jenna Jab, even if delayed and involuntarily.

Now, this might sound like Gramasylum allows partiality. The short view would seem so. The longer view reveals otherwise. So just in case, Kasen finds this blog in the future when he is reading about his crazy grama Cece, I want him to know he once had the place of rule and reign that Jenna now holds. Of course, we did not call it the Jenna Jab.  And, as I recall Kasen’s control of the world extended into days with more vocabulary.  He too used his arm. But it was a steady and firm directional gesture accompanied by the word “hefway.”  Kasen would point in a certain direction and say, “Hefway,” and off we would go. I took him wherever “hefway” was.  Gramasylum evolves and changes, and they may take turns, but the little people always rule. It’s crazy, and I  love it!

Malawi Adventure: Reflections in Flight

From Lilongwe to Blantyr, Blantyr to Addis Ababa, Addis Ababa, to Rome, Rome to Washington DC, and now on the last leg of the return home from two weeks in Africa I will have had 35 hours (give or take a few from sleeping lightly a couple of times) to reflect on my time with Louise Laubscher and the FTS staff and volunteers. It will take a very long time to process all that I saw and did and learned while with them. But there are four things that were pretty immediately striking in my experience when I first arrived in Malawi and these things were not at all diminished over the time I was there.

First, their enthusiasm and commitment for spiritual growth. Many of these people grew up in Christian homes and have been taught and studied the bible for a very long time and now are teaching the bible. Yet, day after day, night after night they sat on the edge of their seats, faces intent on receiving some new word from the Lord. The stories of Jesus and the stories Jesus told that we studied captivated them. I will never forget the face of Aubrey, one of the field workers for FTS.  What a delight to teach! He was always leaning forward in his chair with his face lit up like a neon sign and a smile even brighter. And as I mentioned in a earlier blog, their attendance never wained. Nine days and five nights and the attendance held up the whole time and actually increased. These are disciples of Christ who really hunger for more of the master.

Second, they were immediately willing and eager to talk about how these biblical principles applied to their personal and their ministry life. I was a stranger to them. They knew very little about me. And yet there was virtually no waiting time to get warmed up for serious discussion. They dove right in!  They were definitely not content to just gain more knowledge about the bible or about Christ. From the very first day with great humility and vulnerability they spoke in the large group and in small groups about the challenges they face in being faithful to Christ and his teachings. 

Third, their praise in song is outstanding. Without any instruments, without any hymnals or song books, or projection screen they sang song after song after song. Every song in more than four part harmony. Every song responsively with one person leading the others. Every song sung with robust enthusiasm. It was as if everyone of them were trained in choral music. And the icing on the cake? They move and dance to the music, their faces filled with the joy of the Lord. It was as if they really were caught up in singing praises to a King they love and adore.  I wanted to teach them a song in English. Two things prevented me. My voice is not a song-leading voice! And even though I was willing to give it a try, I realized that all the songs I knew well enough to try and teach them required significant instrumental support! Except for two songs I sing to my granddaughter and grandson when I am putting them to sleep at night I could not sing a single song acapella! 

And, finally, they pray almost as enthusiastically and energetically as they sing. They pray together out loud and I found myself caught up in it. Though you cannot really hear any one person praying or hear what they are praying, you can hear the wide range of emotion that accompanies their prayers--some laments, some praise, some petitions--but all together the praying ebbs and flows until it slowly quiets down and one person closes. It is as if everyone of them were trained in choral praying! The icing on the cake in this? Every time before I stood up to teach they prayed for me. And they prayed that they would hear God's word to them through me. Their prayers helped me overcome my  feelings of inadequacy and gave me confidence in God's ability to use whatever I offered.

Their eagerness to learn and grow, they humility and vulnerability, their singing and their praying touched me deeply. I have been challenged to the core to follow their example as disciples of Jesus. In March at San Clemente Presbyterian Church we will be launching "Being Grounded," Phase 2 of our discipleship initiative called "Plugged In."  Starting with 18-24 people, the goal of the experience called "Groundings" will be to equip every member and friend at SCPC in being disciples who live like Jesus at home, at work, in school, and wherever they go. My preparation to lead this has been significantly shaped by my time in Malawi. I have a desire to know and serve Christ and his kingdom more than ever before. I can only hope and pray to inspire others who will be participating in the new discipleship experience with me as deeply as the brothers and sisters in Malawi have inspired me. 

Malawi Adventure: Eh, Sleep Is Over Rated

I slept for 8 hours Sunday night, but very lightly. I was not worried just excited, I think. I had started packing more than a week in advance so as to avoid the last day rush and frenzy. I was all packed and my check list that Sheryl France Moran gave me (VERY exhaustive) was all scratched off. Thanks to Kelly King, Corrie Hawes, and Sheryl, I had all my teaching (and learning) materials packed and ready to go, as well. I was ready. But the anticipation and adventuresome nature of this trip just would let me go into deep sleep.

My flight left LAX at 10:50 p.m.--past my most optimum bed time. I was tired. The problem was I would be in the air for less than five hours AND would lose three hours going coast to coast so would arrive in D.C. at 6:45 a.m. (3:45 a.m. body time). I did sleep all the way. Sitting up, of course. Though a dear member of SCPC offered to upgrade me for this leg, there were no first class seats available. The flight was full. I slept four hours this time, but very lightly. Two nights short, light sleep.

From this point on I can't really tell you when I slept or for how long with all the time zone changes, the lights going on and off in the airplane, an 11 hour flight to Addis Ababa. They served meals several times on the plane but I could not figure out what meal it was supposed to be. I tried sleeping on and off but mostly off. Then a layover for two or three hours.   Then another 3 hour flight to

Llongwe. Thank God for providing a young woman from North Carolina who is working on her PhD in Llongwe who sat down beside me in the Addis airport. Little did she know when she made that choice of seat that she would have a hanger on for the remainder of her return trip to Llongwe! Totally disoriented that is what I am.

Perhaps disorientation with a gracious face mixed in is exactly the kind of training I needed to prepare me for the days ahead. This, too, probably part of God's humorous plan--very little that is familiar but what I need will be provided. And most of all, a gracious host in Louise Laubsher who picked me up at the airport and began my training almost immediately.  I have heard so much good about her that I would trust her with my grandchildren! Here I am, Lord. I am available. Make me usable and use me. (Stolen from Dick Innes.)

The last leg of the journey

Sent from my iPad

Malawi Adventure: Humorous Disruptive Providence

Just two months ago I would have had no idea that I would be sitting at LAX waiting for a flight that will end in Africa--Malawi to be exact. Two months ago I could not have explained where in Africa Malawi was or told you anything about the country or it people. And yet, here I sit, waiting to go to Malawi and teach discipleship. How can something like this happen?! I believe that God in his great and creative providence has a sense of humor, too.

San Clemente Presbyterian Church has had a significant relationship with ministry in Malawi. Groups and individuals have been going to Malawi for several years. The head of staff was scheduled to go on this trip. But he has received and accepted another call and will be leaving in July. His sense was that good stewardship required someone to go who would be around longer. Enter stage left. Me. I was thrilled he invited me. I have always wanted to go to Africa. However, I was not sure I was the right person. The Mission Committee deliberated and supported my going. Still, it seemed like a significant (and rather abrupt) interruption of what I was developing in discipleship for San Clemente Presbyterian Church. I have been working on developing a discipleship experience--a "boot camp" of sorts--that will be replicable in several forms and eventually change the very culture of discipleship at SCPC. The planned launch of this first discipleship experience was February. It is February and I am leaving for two weeks. So, we bumped the launch for a month. And, we decided it might even be possible to teach the same material in Malawi that I was developing for SCPC.

As the curriculum and plan for the very interactive, very customized, very Spirit dependent discipleship experience came into focus I was amazed. Not only was this trip not going to be an interruption, this trip would be my own personal "boot camp" to test the principles I would be teaching in San Clemente, in a culture in Africa I know nothing about. It will require me to be very interactive with the participants. It will require that I talk with individuals enough to help them figure out how these principles will play out in their context--customized learning. And, it will require me to be totally dependent on the Spirit of God to help me connect with these dear people and to humbly learn alongside of them. Truths (capital T) have to be truth everywhere if they are kingdom of heaven principles and not just cultural adaptations of Biblical concepts. The good Lord is sending me to Africa to teach me to follow and trust him more fully so that I will be better equipped to teach others. Who would have ever imagined. I believe the Lord is sending me to Malawi to prepare for San Clemente!

So here I sit. Thinking about how very much I will have to learn in order to teach. Thinking about how very wise and wonderful and humorous the God we serve is. 

Crossing Cultures With Cupcakes

They moved in to the neighborhood several months ago. The women all wear long, black robes and black scarves that completely cover their heads and necks. Their faces are exposed. My curiosity was piqued by the fact that they often sat out on their driveway in plastic lawn chairs. This seemed like an openness to the neighborhood. But their very conservative dress made me hesitant. I was afraid that I might inadvertently offend them. I had no idea what country they were from or if they spoke English. Later I noticed the women were also sitting on furniture in the garage with the garage door completely open. This too seemed to me to express openness in spite of their dress. The problem was that when I saw them, I was usually working and on my way to the hospital or some meeting—no time to spontaneously stop.

So, I prayed for an opportunity. And I determined that the next time I was home and saw that they were sitting outside or in the garage I would walk over and introduce myself. A long time passed and no opportunity presented itself.

Then on Memorial Day I was working in the yard and noticed their garage door was open. I quickly went inside our house and put some more appropriate clothes on since I was wearing my bathing suit and a short skirt cover-up. I figured this would definitely offend them. Then I remembered that I had a new batch of cupcakes and Rice Krispy bars for our guests arriving later. But I also know I always have way too much food whenever I have company. So I put some of the cupcakes and bars on a plate and covered them with saran wrap. Then I scribbled our names and phone number and address on a Post-it Note and attached it to the top of the saran-covered plate. I said a prayer and walked outside. But all the preparation had taken long enough that my neighbors’ garage door was closed. What to do? I said another prayer and determined there was no turning back. I would have to ring the door bell. I did.

It took them a while to come to the door. I could hear a lot of commotion inside. And most of it was not in English! Finally, an adult woman, dressed in the full black robe and scarf, came to the door, talking on the telephone. I held out the plate and tried to explain what I was doing. The woman smiled but shook her head. Quickly an older man and another woman appeared. The gentleman seemed to understand and said something to the women, and they took the plate of goodies. Then two small children poked their heads out the door. They were speaking English! I was saved! I explained to them what I was doing—welcoming them to the neighborhood. They all smiled and nodded and seemed genuinely appreciative. They closed the door, and I left. I wasn’t sure if my mission was accomplished but I at least was grateful for the opportunity to try to reach across the cultural divide.

Two days later I arrived home from work and found a plate of flatbread on our kitchen counter on the very same plate I had delivered the cupcakes and bars on. My husband, Drew, explained that an older woman, dressed in black from head to toe had rung the door bell and given him freshly baked flatbread. She spoke in her native tongue. Drew said the bread was still warm and delicious—which explained why half of it was already eaten! It was wonderful and a wonderful affirmation of the power of crossing cultures with something as simple as cupcakes. I felt a deep sense of joy over what might be ahead. I am not much of a textbook learner. I am more of a dive-in-and-see-what-happens learner. I could imagine all that I might learn from getting to know these neighbors, including how to show and express the love of Christ to them respectfully and clearly.

A few days later a younger woman came by with two small children and brought a pan of Baklava. She spoke English. Drew told her that an older woman had come by with bread earlier, she said, “Oh! That was my grandmother. She did find the right house!” The two small children were oo-ing and ahh-ing over our pool, so Drew invited them to come swimming sometime. We will definitely follow up on that soon. I think the swimming pool might cross cultures even more than cupcakes!

Learning from a Harley

One of the stories my father told me about his war experiences happened after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor but before they began their full assault on the Philippine Islands. After the order came to retreat to the Bataan Peninsula, he and another soldier he only remembered as Jackson were told by their commanding officer to go to a town called Olongapo about two hours away to see if there was anything there useful for their impending defense of Bataan. There they found a brand new Harley Davidson parked with no one anywhere around. After checking it over a man did come out of a building and asked my father if he knew how to ride "that thing." My father responded, "No, but I'm gonna learn." And so he did.

Dad left Jackson and took the Harley for a spin. He figured out the throttle, gears and brakes. He got a little overconfident, though, and was speeding around a corner when he suddenly came upon a sandbag embankment. He had learned how to ride, but not well enough to stop quickly. He overplayed the brakes and went flying over the embankment. God's grace abounds. He got up and was not seriously injured. His determination also abounded. He got back on the Harley and continued to survey the town to see what else might be worth taking. Nothing. He circled back to where he had left Jackson standing. Now they realized they had a problem in taking the Harley back. The small bridge into Olongapo had already been blown. There was enough left of it to walk across but not enough to drive a motorcycle across. The determination ran deep in my father. He and Jackson found some lumber and began to build a ramp. They had seen this done in the movies many times over much wider flows of water. Certainly they could do this over this small 20-30 foot flow. Somehow, amazing as it may sound, they succeeded in building a small ramp. My dad described the rest of the story with frustration still apparent in his voice. He said that he "took a run" at the ramp three times and every time "chickened out" just before hitting it. Perhaps it was the bruising from flipping over the embankment, or perhaps it was the fatigue of a long day without food. All the determination in the world could not get that Harley across the river. Jackson and my father decided they did not want to leave this beautiful machine for the Japanese to use. So they pulled the plugs and ran it into the river.

My father learned from that Harley much more than just how to ride it. He learned both the possibilities and limits of his determination. This lesson would be repeated over and over again during the next four years, particularly during his three and a half years as a prisoner of war. There were "Harleys" everywhere he turned--things that he was able to use to survive and some that he had to learn to let go of in order to survive. His determination was important in both cases. To survive required determination to overcome obstacles but it

also required determination not to allow seemingly insurmountable obstacles to have the last say. My father learned a lot from that Harley. And so have I.

I am my father's daughter. I have found Harley's in my life, too. Some I have been able to acquire and use. These experiences have built my confidence. Others I have had to turn away from. Determination can easily become stubbornness. These experiences have taught me humility and have served to teach me to trust God who always finds another way to move me forward.

This story is taken from the book, Forged By War: A daughter shaped by a WWII POW story. Available this spring.

Just Beginning

I am middle aged and yet in so many ways just beginning. I am beginning to paint. I have wanted to for many years but had not taken up a paint brush since high school. Two years ago I began again. I started by painting a picture of my father who died in 2006. It was amazing how the painting just came out of me. I painted nine other portraits in the next 12 months. Wow! What an amazing experience. I found a huge part of myself I did not even know existed. I have since branched out to landscapes and other subjects. I am just beginning.

At 55 I am just beginning to write. Don't get me wrong. I have done a lot of writing in my time. I am notorious for hammering the letters right off the keyboards of my computers in a matter of months. I am a talker and consequently a prolific writer, but only of sermons, homilies, articles and letters, and documents, most for limited reading and use related to family or ministry. But 23 years ago I began getting my father's story as a WWII POW written down. I spent several years interviewing him and taking notes. The material sat for over ten years. Then 18 months ago I began in again to write in earnest. I researched, I painted, and I traveled to the places he fought and was held as a prisoner, and I wrote. It just came out of me. Like the paintings, it was like it was all inside me waiting to come out. Within the next few weeks I will publish this labor of love that has become so much more than a book about my dad's experience as a WWII POW. In writing it I discovered so much about myself and how my father's experience shaped me as a person and as a pastor. The book is about to be published but I am just beginning to write. I think there is a lot more writing in me.

I have been in ministry of one sort or another for over 35 years. I have been a pastor for almost 15 years. But I am just beginning to really trust God. I have been a high energy, hard driving, over-achieving leader but I have done so much on my own steam. And I am running out of steam. I have done so much out of a messianic complex filled with arrogance and rooted in my brokenness. I have been a workaholic out of a need to feel significant based on the world's value of productivity. (Thank you James Bryan Smith for pointing this out so clearly through your first chapter in The Good and Beautiful God!) I am just beginning to sleep well at night because I am just beginning to really trust that God can do without me a few hours a day.

The Spirit of God has lived in me since I was a young girl, but I am just beginning to learn what it means to practice the presence of God. Thirty plus years of ministry, a bible education and a seminary degree you would think I would be seasoned by now. I am just beginning to learn to be present in the moment and available to the Spirit of God for what God has in mind to do in me first, then through me if he chooses.

Middle aged and just beginning. I hope the good Lord gives me a few more years now that I am beginning to really learn.