Malawi-Bound

The Story of a Repeat Offender

This time last year I had never even considered going to Africa. Missions was something I thought maybe I should explore sometime, but mostly it was for “other” people. More godly people, perhaps. People who could speak out loud without stammering around, their hearts beating out of their chests and their hands shaking wildly. Certainly not mothers-of-4 whose biggest weekly event was the shopping trip to Wal-Mart. And certainly not a person who had never traveled to another country or ever shared Jesus with anyone before.

So if you had told me a year ago I would go to Malawi on a mission trip, I would have thought it was impossible. But if you had told me that I would go again six months later, I would have written you off as completely insane. And yet, here I am, heading to Malawi again.

God grabbed a hold of my heart in a huge way when I was in Malawi. It wasn’t just the children, although their large eyes and huge smiles are riveting. It was the whole place. The mountains, the land, the way that time seemed to slow down to the point of stopping—all of it screamed “I am GOD, and I am HERE”. God is everywhere…but when was the last time I slowed down enough to feel Him? If such a thing is possible, I felt Him breathing on me in Malawi.

And it was the people. Everywhere I went, I encountered broken people. Oh, they weren’t broken because they had no medicine, or their children had dirt crusted on their faces, or they didn’t know what their next meal was going to be—although all of those things are very real concerns. They were broken just like we are broken—on the inside. They were broken because they were scared. They were broken because of destructive relationships. They were broken because they were lost and confused.

Why am I going back? I think the better question is how can I not? Those people need what we all need. They need the hope of eternal life. They need God living inside of them. They need instruction on how to grow and learn and live godly lives regardless of their daily living conditions. They need what so many people right around us need. Except in Malawi, they aren’t too busy to stop and listen.

Busy, Busy Summer

As a child, it seemed that summers lasted forever. They were filled with fudgesicles, water sprinklers, mud pies and skinned knees. But somewhere in between childhood and now, summers got really busy.

This summer has been packed full—but packed full of good things. Scrapbook-worthy, memory-making things worthy of recording so that one day when I’m old, with nothing to do on a summer’s day but sit on the back porch and feel some imaginary breeze, I can remember how good it used to be.

This summer kicked off with a week of true vacation. All of the kids were gone to the grandparents, and we were free to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted to do it, without interruption. We got the kids back in stages…Tyler that next week, so he could go to Kids Camp. Emily the following week, so she could go to VBS with a friend. (Tyler opted for art camp at the same time.) The pace was picking up.

The next week we braved the 12-hour drive to take a once-every-four-years-or-so “big” family vacation to Destin, Florida. We went armed with DVD players, DS games, books, stickers, snacks and Grandma. The beaches were tar-free but the weather was stormy; even so, we had a couple of sunny days and a good time swimming in the rain and hanging out in the condo.

We got back to the house on the 4th of July. There was just enough time to unload the van, unpack and change clothes before we headed out to the Fireworks at the Crosses celebration at Pinnacle Hills. The fireworks were a blast for everyone but Hannah. She shrieked and cried and had a hysteric fit every time a new firework went off (which was approximately every 3 seconds). She informed us later “I don’t like fireworks”. No kidding!

The next morning kicked off swimming lessons week at Swim Ranch. Tyler passed off all of his fourth lane skills except for the timed swim and the deep dive, which he is determined to master next summer. Emily and Lauren were both in second lane, and they both passed off every skill required to move to third lane next summer. Hannah was in the parent-assisted (in our case, Grandma-assisted) “babies” class. She could practically swim on her own and was begging to go with the big kids during their class and jump off the diving board. Unfortunately, because she is only 2 ½, she has another year of the babies class to go before she can move up to lane classes.

Tyler started a 12-session Speed Camp at All-Star on the same week as swimming lessons. The day after swimming lessons were finished, we had Kidapalooza (a carnival-type event at the city park, sponsored by our church, as a precursor to VBS). The next day after church, we had a pool party lunch with our Connection Group class. That night kicked off family-style VBS at our church. Tuesday we had a picnic lunch play-date with another family. The following Sunday night was an Africa team supper reunion and Tuesday after that Lauren had a birthday party, Tyler had a 5th grade swim party and we had two sets of friends over for supper—all on the same day!

But today? Today I didn’t have to leave the house at all. Today I had time to write about my busy, busy summer. And it’s not even over. I think I’m going to go have a fudgesicle. And sit on the back porch. Is that a breeze I feel??

Shopping for Two

I found myself at the grocery store yesterday, completely baffled. Only I wasn’t baffled because I was at the grocery store. I had a list with food items on it, so I was where I needed to be. No, the confusion came because of the oddity of the moment. Let me explain.

All of the kids are gone to the grandparents for a couple of weeks. This magical phenomenon happens a couple of times a year. After waving them goodbye, I always run maniacally through the house cleaning up. Every room gets a good, solid hit. All trash cans are emptied, all sheets are changed, all clothes are washed, and all toys are picked up. I scan the recent movies out in the theatre. I schedule appointments that just aren’t convenient to take kids to. And I go through all of my “sometime when the kids are gone” recipes searching for things that I want to cook.

I’m not a huge fan of the short-order supper cooking. Oh, sometimes I do it. But mostly I try to plan meals that include multiple items so everyone can find at least one thing that they will eat. That means processed chicken products, macaroni and cheese, rolls with butter and red-hot applesauce grace our table frequently. But when the kids are gone? Those menus take a momentary hiatus.

Which leads me back to the grocery store confusion. I wasn’t at the Wal-mart Supercenter, which was the first thing that was wacky. (Good thing it wasn’t Wednesday, or I might have gone right over the edge, you know?) Second, I was alone and taking my time. And third, the things on my list and going into my cart were strange and unrecognizable.

I was in the produce section. I looked into my cart and realized that half of my list came from the produce section. Ok, that NEVER happens. I had things like red and green peppers, zucchini, green onions, tomatoes and fruit. The dairy section is usually pretty lengthy on my list. But today, I only had 1 gallon of milk in my cart, not 4. I had ricotta cheese, vanilla yogurt and honey butter biscuits. And the cheese? Not processed yellow squares. I had 5 Blend Italian and Muenster. I don’t even know how to pronounce that! The bread in my cart was croissants and English muffins. I looked down and saw raw shrimp and sirloin steaks and real ham in there. Where were the Pop-tarts? And the cereal? And the chips? Strangely missing. But oh, wait…there’s a box of crackers! But not cheese-its or goldfish. Nope, these crackers were the expensive large multi-grain kind. Faaaancy.

The bewilderment passed, but the odd feeling that I was temporarily living someone else’s life made me smile. I found my way to the checkout. Halfway through the process, the bored girl asked me how I was doing. For once I didn’t lie when I said I was doing great.

School's Out

Ok, so it’s official. I can no longer call it simply “the weekend” or even “the long holiday weekend”. Starting today, it’s summer break, and mostly I love summer break.

Mostly.

I love day after day of being able to get up when I want, with no agenda but the one I make. I love being able to go with the flow of my preferred body’s schedule of doing things. First thing is taking care of last night’s dishes, sorting clothes to get the laundry going, or adding a few things to the weekly grocery list. Next is breakfast while doing a little reading—my current Bible study, my daily Bible reading, or an old but much-loved book from years ago that I happened upon the night before and took a renewed interest in.

If I’m going to exercise, it’s going to happen in the summer. During the school year, I refuse to get up early and deprive my body of sleep to exercise, and I also hate doing it after I have already showered later in the afternoon. But in the summer, I’m able to accommodate my 10:00-11:00 AM tolerance window for exercise, and usually talk myself into working some in.

After a shower is lunch; then the afternoon is mine to design as I choose, usually among a variety of long-term projects that I have running, like catching up on the family scrapbook, organizing the kids school-year binders, or more recently, researching and writing articles and lesson plans for mission trip work in Malawi.

Supper is much more laid-back in the summer. I still make menus and cook, but now I’m not juggling multiple people getting home to eat it at multiple times. When Dad gets home, we eat. Then we do whatever strikes our fancy. Maybe we play the Wii, or a board game. Maybe we go for a walk. Or maybe everybody just retreats to their own area of the house for awhile.

Bedtime is...flexible…in the summer. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say “nonexistent”. Who knows what time the kids really go to sleep? If we don’t have anywhere to go the next morning, I don’t care. Tyler takes up permanent residence on the upstairs couch in the summers. Why? Because he can, I suppose. And because it’s the closest place to sleep to his computer.

So that leaves the parts that I don’t like about summer break.

One, is the constant hazardous waste zone that is called our house. I’m a neat freak. (Not to be confused with a clean freak, which I definitely am NOT). Things can be dirty, as long as they are in their place. But in the summer, nothing is in it’s place. The swim bag and beach towels take permanent residence in the floor. Wet swim suits are wadded up in the most inconvenient of places. Dirty lunch plates, empty coke cans and a multitude of toys litter the family rooms. Every light is on, every TV is running, and every computer is playing some ditty over and over and over until I want to scream.

Two, summer means the swimming pool is open. And other than my daily shower and ice cold bottles to drink, I’m not a water fan. So I try to put the kids off as long as possible by offering water balloons and turning on the sprinklers in the back yard. When that gets old, I throw out the “the water is still cold” card. Of course that one only works for so long.

Three, when the kids are all home, the decibel level in the house is astronomical. Even if they aren’t fussing and arguing, which they usually are, with 4 children at least talking (and possibly screaming), plus 4 computers running, plus a couple of TV’s, plus a kazoo or two…well you get the point. It’s the one time a year I’m actually glad that I seem to be losing my hearing at an early age.

But overall, summer is awesome. Schedules are lax, bedtime is whenever, and baths are optional (the sprinkler counts, right?) And one day very, very far away (meaning the next time I blink) and I’m all old and the days all run together and I don’t know what time it is and I can’t hear anything at all and the kids are all gone living their own lives with their own kids and they only come and visit me once a year or when they need something—well, THEN I’ll probably miss these days. And I’ll have to fight off the temptation to turn on every light in the house and leave all the TV’s running and possibly throw all of my underwear all over the floor and leave it there for a week.

Or maybe not.

Family Camping

Going camping was one of those things that neither Wesley nor I ever did as a child, but always thought would be fun. So over a decade ago, when we discovered that one of our friends was an avid backpacker-camper, we decided to give it a try. Bob suggested things for us to buy, and sent us email after email of information and advice. Since his passion was backpacking, our goal mirrored his—to pack as lightly and efficiently as possible, giving up many comforts along the way, all in the name of reduced overall pack weight we could tote on our backs. Although our initial attempts were laughable, we loved not only the challenge of it, but simply the forced relaxation of being outside, in the middle of nowhere, with no distractions but the ones we created.

But then came the small explosion that we call our family, and lightweight backpacking excursions quickly gave way to the much different animal called Family or Car Camping. Now every year in May, we load up the brood and head to Devil’s Den for a weekend of fun. (Watch my eyelid twitch as I say that word again—FUN!) Instead of lightweight sacks packed with bare essentials, we take a truck full of necessities—Dora, Princess and Spiderman sleeping bags, pillows and blankets, a plastic box full of chips, crackers and cookies, an ice chest full of Capri Suns and cokes, bags full of books and toys, and this year, portable DVD players and DS games. This ain’t your friend Bob’s backpacking anymore, kiddos!

Friday afternoon: pack up the truck and travel. How far is it? She’s not sharing! Make him get off of me! Are we there yet? And my thoughts, a dismal echo, Is it Sunday, yet?

Friday evening: arrive and unpack. Can I help? When are we going swimming? It’s hot. I want to get in the tent! What’s for supper? I groan. The same thing that’s always for supper, or you guys would mutiny. Weenies with ketchup. Boxed white-cheese shell pasta. Hawaiian rolls with a whole stick of butter. And later, smores. Mmmm, smores.

Saturday early morning: get up way too early, with sore hips and dirty hair, and cook breakfast. I need to go to the bathroom. When are we going swimming? It’s hot. What’s for breakfast? Flash a forced grin. Bacon, sausage links, scrambled eggs and French toast. Oh, and honey? A raccoon got into the back of your truck, opened the ice chest, and ran away with the cooked hamburger meat I was going to use in our spaghetti sauce for supper. Ah, doesn’t get any better than this!

Saturday late morning: put on tennis shoes, grab a backpack stuffed full of water and snacks, go potty one more time, and head to the hiking trail. I’ve got my walking stick. No, that’s MY walking stick! I WANT A WALKING STICK TOO! When are we going swimming? It’s hot. Grab the camera. Good thing you are the one taking the pictures because the forced smile is losing the battle.

Saturday noon: trudge back to camp, hot and tired and cranky, and eat lunch. I’m hungry. Hey I had the squeeze cheese first! When are we going swimming? I’m hot. Big sigh. Honey, the raccoon got the summer sausage and the grapes, too…

Saturday afternoon: settle everybody down for either a nap or some quiet time. There’s a bug! It’s hot. How long is Daddy going to sleep? When are we going swimming? I’m hot. Ignore. Halfway done!

Saturday late afternoon: put on the bathing suits, grab the water shoes, and head to the creek. It’s time to go swimming!

Two minutes later: It’s cold! Daddy, hold me!

Saturday evening: The spaghetti is a hit, even without the meat. I discovered that Lauren will actually eat spaghetti if I just give her the naked noodles (with half a stick of butter melted on them). Everyone is tired and very dirty, but the trip has been a success. We go to the area playground and Wes is good enough to let me pretty much ignore everyone around me and read my book while he pushes on the swings and referees on the seesaws and watches on the slides. We go back to our campsite, have more smores, and after the kids have retreated to the tents to watch their respective movies, we sit outside in the dark in our folding chairs and stare at the overhead lantern. There are a few moments of quiet reflection before we hear the zip of our tent and Hannah comes out. I want a drink of cold water. I want a chair, too! I don’t want to watch Tom and Jerry, I want Veggie Tales at my house! Where’s my white fuzzy puppy?

I miss those early days with grand ideals of backpacking out in the silent wilderness. But Family Camping is a joy and challenge that in some ways far surpasses my dream of someday taking a week-long (or longer) guided hiking excursion (sans kids). It is a once-a-year reality. Something to be dreaded and anticipated all at the same time. The stuff memories are made of. And one day, I’ll look back on these precious days, and laugh. One day. Right?

Africa, Revisited - part 2

Patience

I was praying for a quick answer. The very next morning I opened my Kindle to continue my “read through the Bible in a year” project that I had going. I had stopped the day before right in the middle of a reading passage, in Psalms. I picked up where I left off and read “Psalm 37:7 Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for Him…” I sighed in resignation. Seriously, God? First verse of the day? I paged back to catch the entire passage. “Psalm 37:3-7 Trust in the LORD, and do good; Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness. Delight yourself also in the LORD, And He shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD, Trust also in Him, And He shall bring it to pass. He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light, And your justice as the noonday. Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for Him…” I had two words running through my mind…It figures. It was God’s Holy Word and all, but maybe I should try a different source. I opened the Bible study I was working on, Experiencing God. The topic for that day dealt with knowing and doing the will of God. Perfect! I’ll get my answer here, for sure! And what do you know, right there on the second page in a series of bullet points of things that helped George Mueller know God’s will: He waited patiently on God until he had a word from God. Ok, ok—third time in 24 hours hearing “be patient”. I get the point, already!

Wednesday

The informational meeting for the August Africa team was the following Wednesday. As the weekend rolled and the work-week started, I was increasingly anxious. Am I supposed to go? I kept talking about the upcoming meeting in terms of “if”. As in “if” I was going to the meeting. Yeah, right. If. I seriously felt like I could throw up by Wednesday night. I didn’t want to go to the meeting and admit that this thing going on in me was a reality. But I knew if I didn’t go, I would be outright rejecting the call I had been feeling all week, and direct defiance has never really been my thing. What will people say? It will not be a secret that I just returned from a trip in March. Is this completely indulgent? Or just fanatical? On the outside, I had a smile and a brisk walk. On the inside, I was heading to the gallows.

Meeting

I was not the last one to enter a room full of questioning people, like I somewhat feared. I was one of the first. And the director of missions was outside in the hallway, alone. My appearance there was not puzzling to him, as we had been in contact since my trip in March, him advising me on how I could fit into our church’s mission program and be a helpful asset from right here in the States. After a moment of casual conversation, I revealed the main reason I was there. Instead of the reaction of surprise I had feared, carefully measured support came from his eyes. He’s heard and seen this before. Me wanting to go again isn’t a shock to him. I felt relief. Three different people walked by while I was standing there. All of them knew me, and guessed immediately why I was there. While there was some surprise, it was pleasant and supporting. One of them had been on the March trip with me. She hugged me tight out of encouragement and probably a bit of happy envy. She had brought another woman to the meeting, one I knew on a hello-type basis. This woman was nervous to be there. Wanting to go on the trip, but scared to death at the thought. Just like me in March. I walked into the room with her. I felt like I was right where I needed to be.

Malawi-Bound

So I have decided to go on the trip in August. I never received an audible word from God, or an airplane dream, or a verse that says “Go ye therefore to Africa in August”—but ever since the meeting I have felt a peace. I think God wants me to learn and practice patience. I think He wants me to learn how to be quiet and listen. I think He wants me to bow to my own agenda and take on His. And I think he wants me in Malawi in August. Why me? I don’t know—maybe because I’m willing. But every time I voice the question Why Beth? the words of a friend keeping coming back to me. Why not Beth?

Africa, Revisited - part 1

Back to Africa?

I felt the call to go again on Wednesday morning, May 12th. There was nothing special about that day, and no particular reason to be thinking especially about Africa. But the thought entered Hey, what about the August trip? and for some reason the thought lodged, like a piece of dry powdered donut that just won’t swallow right. My usual inclination is to dismiss thoughts that don’t jive with Beth’s Preconceived Order of Things, but for some reason I decided to give this one my ear, if only for a moment. I made a deal with myself, and God, if He was indeed the one daring to suggest I do things somebody else’s way other than my own. I will try this idea on, like a new winter coat. I’ll wear it around for an hour or two this morning and see how it feels. And then I will most likely shuck it off and hang it in the closet where it belongs until it is what I deem the proper time to wear it. And I think at that point that maybe I heard God laugh.

Arguments

Over the course of that day, I started to sweat underneath that layer of the Africa coat. Part of me really wanted to keep it on, and part of me really wanted to rip it off. The timing is all wrong! It is too soon! But too soon for what? Sooner than I had imagined, sure. Sooner than many people would think it was prudent to return, certainly. But not too soon for the people in Malawi. Not too soon for all of those people desperate for someone willing to come and share with them what it means to live a Christian life. The kids will be in school…just go look at the calendar! Yup, school would already be in session. But wait, that simply means that 3 out of 4 of my children are already being cared for from 8:00-3:00 every day. Doesn’t that actually work in my favor? And hrm, what is this? The realization that most of their busy calendar activities don’t start until after Labor Day. The reality upon looking that my calendar is very blank those two weeks. Money! You don’t have enough saved up yet! No, but I did have a decent start. And I could use my church’s fundraising program, sending out letters for additional sponsorship. And what an excellent excuse to share with even more people about my trip, regardless if they felt led to contribute financially or not! There was the distinct sound of a zipper. I had the sinking feeling that this coat wasn’t coming off any time soon.

Busted!

I’m going to have to tell this. There’s nothing like knowing a secret you will be forced to spill eventually. Everywhere I looked I wondered What will he think? Is she going to have a cow? Maybe I can just change my mind and forget I’m even thinking about this. But then I thought about Jonah and knew I wasn’t interested in seeing God’s version of my whale. I saw one of my prayer partners that night at church. She mentioned Africa, and the upcoming trip in August. I’m no poker player, obviously, because she peered at my face and said You’re going back, aren’t you? I admitted I was considering it, and asked her to pray for me, because whether I ended up going or not in the end, I was going to have to go home and tell my secret. She beamed at me and I felt a moment of relief.

Revelation

I’m going to be sick. Am I crazy? Am I just so excited about my March trip that I’m getting ahead of myself? Or am I just inflating my ego by projecting some made-up self-importance that leads me to want to go back again so soon to prove that I’m somehow needed? Or is God truly calling me to go back in August? I put it off as long as possible, which is standard for me. It was after lights-out, which is also typical. That way I can hide in the darkness. I won’t have to see whatever it is I will see on my husband’s face when I tell. Of course he knew something was wrong. He always does. Sometimes he pushes me, with varying levels of success, and sometimes he doesn’t. I love it and hate it when he pushes. Tonight he didn’t have to push. It all just came spewing out, in a cryptic and tangled rush. But I eventually got to the bottom line. I’m not for sure but I think I need to go back to Africa with the August team. And his ultimate answer? Pray about it. Be patient and not anxious as you wait for an answer. But if God is calling you to go again, you go. We will work out the details here at home. I make up a lot of trivial things to be disappointed about along the way, but it’s times like these that I don’t question why I love this man. Sometimes he knows just the right thing to say.