Even in the jungle...

By midday I was feeling uncomfortable and trying to work out why.  I know God has me here in the jungle for a reason, but maybe it was not for what I imagined. (Again?!).  

My body got fed up long before my mind did and I was wondering why I was feeling so awkward.  Finally, I realised that the wooden benches and concrete or dirt floors were making me physically uncomfortable, but perhaps they just mirrored what was going on in my mind.   

I feel like a foreigner again.  Yes, I have been with the Shipibos many a time.  There is nothing overtly ‘new’ about them, but yet I am still so foreign to their ways. I am still unaware of what is ‘normal’ behaviour or just an individual acting out of the accepted norm. And it is uncomfortable to feel like an outsider. 

Is picking lice out of one another’s hair acceptable ‘normal’ behaviour or normally ‘done-in-private’ behaviour? Is a toddler walking around with no clothes on his bottom half a practicality for an un-toilet-trained tot or a result of Mum’s ability to keep up with the laundry (or did he escape before his mother could dress him properly)?  Do the mothers mind me photographing their children? What do the giggles mean? 

And reflecting with the ladies in group time, I find myself wanting to get to a point, to move the conversation in a certain direction, impatient and frustrated with the limitations of translation, trying to understand and empathize but wondering if that is even possible.  

Talking with Mark this evening, I realise how driven I am by efficiency.  My life in Lima has to be super efficient to get everything done and to give different people the time they need. Our week is so scheduled, even my ‘free’ time comes in one or two hour slots.  Today we spent 8 hours in the village and I was only ‘being effective’ for 2.5 hours of that time leading group time.  The other hours were spent chasing Kaleb around the village, taking photos, listening to the main sessions and hanging out with the Shipibo women and children.  And yes, even as I write I know that those things matter too - I just am not used to jungle pace and jungle life, which is so contrary to my time-slot existence. 

And in Lima our life is so scheduled and tight that I have to make every hour count.  I have to take every opportunity and choose to engage with the children and our team whenever I can because it is so often now or never. We have chosen our priorities so as to maximise our potential, and sitting on a wooden bench getting a sore bum, seems such a...waste!
(Perhaps the other problem is that it gives me too much time to reflect!) 

And yet as I do reflect I know that even in a foreign place surrounded by foreign people there are things I know to be true that I need to still practice: gratitude; chatting with God throughout the day; taking those moments I remember to pray; being present in the moment rather than allowing my mind to rush off.  I need to remember that God’s presence and His ability to answer my prayers is the same, so my faith should be the same too.  I need to remind myself that it is good to be part of a team, to slow down and that my value is not in what I do, but in who I am in Christ. 

So, Jesus, I am sorry when I have believed it is all about me when it should be all about you.  Thank you that you are the same here, there and everywhere. Help me to remember the foundational things. May tomorrow be all about You. 

When My Mind Drowns Out Peace

Anxiety has been a heavy itchy blanket I have been trying to put down over the last few weeks.  I feel like I have been rushing here and there – from helping to lead a team, to trying to be a loving, listening wife, to homeschooling and parenting the children, to taking the odd moments to write down the many ideas I have in my head and think about how to turn them into writing. 

I keep trying to shake this blanket off.  And trying to be still.  To spend time in worship in the mornings and quiet myself before Him.  But this noisy parrot of a brain keeps on at me, reminding me of this or that. 

I had enough.  Didn’t Jesus promise peace? In the storms He slept and He told the disciples: In this world you will have many troubles, but…I leave you my Peace.

Peace.  That is what I am struggling to feel right now.  How is it that I can lose a baby and feel His overshadowing peace through it all and now I can’t even feed Kaleb porridge without losing the peace I have gained in my quiet time?

So I spent a week, waiting for peace to come.  My mind all over the place, urging me to keep on, keep busy, keeping going, all the time knowing this needs to stop.  The tensions of ministry, motherhood and creativity surely don’t have to look like this?

So I asked God to show me the roots of this anxiety. 

I surprised myself when the first word I wrote down was ‘perfectionism’.  Now perhaps this won’t surprise those who know me, but it actually surprised me.  Not because I am not aware of a past of perfectionism, but because I was surprised it had become a present.  Yes, I like to do things well, but I am actually generally very flexible with things not being done and I generally don’t have a problem extending grace to others.

But then again – how good am I at accepting grace for myself?

Where had doing things in His strength and His freedom and His Spirit suddenly become about doing it in mine? These standards, this legalism that I was holding over myself – why had they just intruded my being?

And once again, I realize that I had made it about me, instead of about Him, and so it was no wonder that I couldn’t hold on to the ever-accelerating roundabout. 

And I realized how much of my life is supernatural – that I can’t do anything without Him and it is truly Him who holds it all together. 

And so I have decided to hand it all back over to Him again.  Because He can do it peacefully. And I can’t.

God, the one and only—

    I’ll wait as long as he says.

Everything I need comes from him,

    so why not?

He’s solid rock under my feet,

    breathing room for my soul,

An impregnable castle:

    I’m set for life.

God said this once and for all;

    how many times

Have I heard it repeated?

    “Strength comes

Straight from God.

Psalm 62:1 & 11. 

Keep on Keeping On... Monday...

(I posted this last week on our family blog, but I wanted to share it here too for those who don't read our family blog...)


I am awake at 5am.  Kaleb is not getting the ‘sleep until 6’ memo.  I decide to use the time to pray.  I fight back sleepy eyes, choosing to trust that God knows and His strength is enough.

6am I spend an hour with the Lord as Mark makes the boys breakfast.  His Word sinks convictingly deep and I drag my guitar case onto my bed to force myself to worship – it is my self-subscribed medicine against that dark cloud at the moment.  I have to worship.  It has to be all about Him.  It just doesn’t work when it begins to be about me.

 

8am – It’s Joel’s first day back at nursery and after supervising the feeding of all our animals (a rabbit, a tortoise and three guinea pigs), I pile all the boys into the car.  They are all in good spirits, excited.  I ask them what they are thankful for as we drive and the two who can talk are both thankful for Joel going to nursery.  I am thankful for the provision to pay for it.  In my mind, the negative bank balance threatens me but I push it away, telling it that God has always provided up until now – there is no reason why this month will be any different.

8.40am I join our community prayers (40 minutes late) in the living room. Everyone is sharing their personal discipline challenges.  I feel my life is so disciplined and ordered that I need to be disciplined to allow ‘go with the flow!’… 

By 9am I am sat down with Daniel guiding him through his homeschool curriculum on pollution and valuing earth’s resources, and that verse I read this morning: If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them continues to nag at me all morning. It nags at me as I make lunch for just 5 adults and 3 children today (lasagna – the 5 other regulars are busy today) throw the unnecessary polythene wrapping into the bin whilst thinking how I need to communicate with Mark to try and buy things with less wrapping…

The downstairs is a total mess.  The lady who comes to help clean in the mornings hasn’t arrived and the sink is piled with dishes, the floor covered in mess (having over a dozen people coming and going all day and 25 for lunch yesterday takes its toll, to add to the boys!).  How am I going to homeschool, cook and clean before 11.50am?? The Lord knows – I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.  Rosa offers to wash up and clean the kitchen so I do a quick toy and book blast-clear-up, stuffing toys into boxes, and aligning cushions.  There. Sufficient. Perhaps it will be okay.

The liquidizer gets a double use today – once for the veg for the lasagna (hidden vegetables are the only sort that get eaten by my boys), and once to make paper pulp.  It seems ironic to me that I use up more paper towels cleaning up the water mess than I ‘save’ by making recycled paper, but Daniel loves it and we add dried leaves and oregano into the paper as it dries in the hot, hot sun.

By 11.30am I am wondering if we will get the paper and the lasagna done before 11.50am when I have to go and pick up Joel.  The garden is so dry from lack of watering (we live in a desert so there is no natural rain), that I stick the hose on. I try to remind myself that a) it doesn’t matter if I am slightly late to pick up Joel, and b) God knows what I need to do – he will work it out.  Trying to speak out that faith, but my stress levels are beginning to rise…

I am 10 minutes late to pick up Joel.  At least Kaleb is wearing a pair of shoes that don’t fall off his feet this time.  I apologize to Joel’s teacher and she is not in the least bit bothered.  Peering into the classroom, I can see why – we may be the first ones to pick up.  Well, this is Peru…! Joel is happy and communicative (amazing!) and we drive home trying to get Kaleb to sing the odd words in our songs. Us: Cows in the kitchen… Kaleb: Moo…moo…! Daniel and Joel are in hysterics and I am reminded that they are so carefree and I am meant to be like them, not them like me…anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it…

12.40pm: For some unknown reason I let Kaleb and Joel play with the hose (yes, it is still going) and Kaleb gets soaked whilst Joel constantly asks me if he can play carnavales – basically he wants me to fill up 100 water balloons for him.  (Now is it more of a waste to have them stuck unused on the fridge, or burst and in a landfill?!) There is no way that lunch is going to be ready if I stop for the balloons, but I do have to stop every 2 minutes to tell Joel ‘no’ and re-explain to him why… The postman arrives bringing magazines from G.G. and chocolate.  (2 of the 3 bars are melted, but nothing the fridge won’t sort out… well, those aero bubbles are never coming back, but it still tastes good!) Daniel is now unreachable, lost in the world of his magazine.

12.45pm: Sink is full of washing up from cooking.  Kaleb is totally soaked. New nappy now totally soaked. Strip him down and let him run around for 2 minutes whilst I check on the lasagna. Kaleb comes into the kitchen. ‘poo…poo’.  Uh-oh.  A solid, no-mess poop sits in the doorway.  I quickly grab a wipe and clear it up.  Phew. Easy. 

‘poo…poo’.  I look at Kaleb.  He is pointing to the porch.  A squashed poop sits there laughing at me.  I lift both his feet and give them a wipe.  Another wipe clears up the rest of the mess. I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.   I find another nappy quickly. 

Wash hands. Wash dishes. Check lasagna.  Grab Kaleb before he terrorizes the guinea pigs with his toy cars.  Yell at Daniel and Joel to go and get dressed for lunch. (They are both in their underpants from watering the garden).  Joel hears me, Daniel is engrossed in his magazine. 

1pm Amanda arrives with baby Judah for lunch.  Mark and Shaun are close behind.  We sit down to eat.  Joel finally eats his lasagna when we convince him that it is just spaghetti Bolognese with cheese and flat pasta.  Kaleb takes two bites out of a piece of fried banana and refuses to eat anything else. Daniel finishes up his plate.

By 2.00pm Mark has the boys for an hour and a half so I can rest/catch up on admin.  Today, the only thing that is happening is a nap.  I put on some music (Volume 1: Psalms 1-10 by The Psalms Project) and enter the land of nod. 

3.30pm I am with the boys again.  Kaleb wants milk and tries to fall asleep, but it is too late for a nap if we want him bed before 10pm, so I get up quickly and head for the stoller.  Kaleb is protesting and I am groggy from my sleep, feeling irritated and wanting to run back to my bedroom and lock the door, but I can’t.  Remind myself that a walk will get rid of that grogginess and get the boys ready to go out.  Mark is busy until 7pm. That’s 3.5 hours to kill.  Walking to the cremolada shop and back should kill two hours and then we can come back, eat and make cards and then it should be ready for the bedtime hour. 

By the time all the boys are in bed at 7pm I am tired, irritated and thankful.  I think back on the day, which feels like three days in one.  Thankful for the people God has sent to help with the boys and the mess and to allow my time with Him and to nap.  He truly does enable me to do all the things I need to do. And as for the other things that didn’t get done? There is always tomorrow…or the next day… 

I remind myself that it is all about one step at a time…so thankful that God doesn’t give up on me for my daily messes but that He takes me by the hand and reminds me: I can do all things through Him who gives me strength. 

Rest

Rest is not always stopping and ceasing for an extended period of time.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is not a lie-in until noon.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is not a week’s holiday on the beach.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is not an undisturbed night’s sleep.

My rest is in You, Lord.

Rest is taking a moment to remember.

To look.

To appreciate.
To ponder.

To take in the changing colour of my children’s hair, bright at the end of Summer.

To take in the swishing, swirling sounds of the shell my six-year-old thrusts at my ear.

To absorb the 30 second hugs from my husband before he heads off to a day of activity

To breathe and speak life and calm out loud when things get crazy.

Rest is an absorbing of moments in amongst the activity.

And forcing myself to remember that

My rest is in You, Lord.  

I have never worn a watch

Sitting around a table with people who are happier sitting on the floor to eat always makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.  I am aware they are in a world foreign to them and part of me wishes I didn’t have – that they would know I would be happy to eat with them on the floor too, and that I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable – just awkwardly unknown like they feel now. 

They are late for lunch.  We have already started.  Who knows when they might arrive, and we have other things to do.  Must keep things moving.

He looks strangely nervous in our house.  We have met a dozen times on his earth, and I remember his confidence at killing the chicken and his laughing at my innocence and squeamishness. 

Now he is here at my table eating lasagna and wearing checkered shirt over checkered shirt to keep away the damp Lima weather.

- I have never seen you wear so many clothes! My husband realizes why he looks different. He laughs shyly.  - It has been many years since I was in Lima.  Over 5 years. 

In his eyes I glimpse sight of his son we know well, and I see the joyful playful innocence there too and I guess he was not unlike his son twenty years ago – impulsive, daring and determined, jumping head first into murky piranha waters to cool off, or pushing out the dug out canoe to catch fish. 

- We are late for lunch.  

It is a statement of fact, not regret. 

- We have never worn watches.

Sometimes I regret that we are so time focused.   That our schedules are so inflexible that we cannot allow time to delay lunch until the special guests have arrived. 

- I guess the Shipibo’s tell the time by the sun? I ask trying to sound like I understand, when really, how can I?

- No.  We tell the time by the birds. 

I listen, fascinated. He likes to tell stories. 

- But it is not always accurate.  Two ladies in my village agreed they would meet in the field before sunrise, at the first cry of the rooster, about 4am. They both went to bed early and arose at the first cry, hurrying in the cool to the field before the sun rose.  Together they waited and waited and the sun never rose.  Finally, they decided to return to the village, where talking to others they realized it was still the middle of the night.  The rooster had been confused by the full moon and had crowed at 11pm!

He laughs and I feel the freedom in the fact that it doesn’t matter that they were wrong.  It doesn’t matter if the rooster cries too early or too late – no one is going to get annoyed or frustrated at being a moment or hour late or early – even if they realize! Estimation is good enough.  It leaves time for life. And the variety just makes for a funny story!

Having spent time in his land, I realize that God designed rhythm, he designed order, but it was never meant to be something that controlled us – it was something that was meant to guide us. 

And it makes me wonder, what things are there around me that God designed that I miss? How much do I listen to the world around me? Where have I made my life too structured or too routine that I miss out on God trying to tell me something? It was the priest and the Levite, the ‘holy helpers’ who passed the needy by, hurrying to their task.  

Because the thing about the clock is that it always tick-tocks the same.  The bird’s call and the Lord’s call is specific to the day.  And I don’t want my watch to dictate what I do – I want my actions to flow out of my relationship with my Heavenly Father.

…the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out…

– John 10:3