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10 Secrets Missionaries Keep, Part 1
Depending on the country, you might think being a missionary means having a bunch of faith, eating rice, praying all day and swinging in a hammock. But unless you’ve taken a trip to visit a missionary, you might not see the challenges behind the scenes. Even then they’re probably not telling you how they truly feel about their marriage, raising support, and those donations you sent. I emailed a list of questions to 39 missionary friends, asking them to be brutally honest and open about missionary life in a foreign country. I got back answers from India, Canada, The Middle East, Mexico and Italy. I took the survey too,…
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Seriously, Put Your Arm Down
Even the most vain men who spend absurd amounts of money on clothes and time in front of the mirror don’t do it. But most women do. Most little boys couldn’t care less, but most little girls care too much. Why? Doesn’t matter what country you’re from, where you went to high school or how tall you are. If you are a girl/lady/woman and possess an upper arm, letting it squish up against your rib cage is a current no-no. If you think I need to search for an American runway, benefit dinner or black-tie auction to find such poses, think again. Triangular arms are alive and well in…
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My Kids Can’t Spell “Sabbath.” But They Love It.
“Christians aren’t bound by Old Testament Sabbath directives, but Jesus never said to forget it completely.” ~ Lauren Winner Braided challah bread, shabbat candles, family time and prayer. In Jewish communities, Sabbaths are truly set apart from the other six days. But I was not raised Jewish. And I’m still not Jewish. Even the old-school word “Sabbath” makes me think of head coverings, Fiddler On The Roof and kiddush cups. So what’s a white girl, raised Baptist, turned non-denominational, from California, living in Mexico, supposed to do about the command to rest? Something. Anything. Honoring the Sabbath seemed easier in Puritan New England, where almost everyone took it seriously. Sunday…
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The White Girl Doesn’t Fit In
This post is part of Lysa TerKeurst’s Uninvited Book Blog Tour which I am delighted to be a part of along with many other inspiring bloggers. Are you a blogger? You’re invited! Do you know a blogger? Invite them! I don’t fit in. At all. And that’s okay. For the first few years I lived here I didn’t feel like it was okay though. I wanted to fit in so I could stop feeling insecure. I wanted browner skin, better Spanish and a clue about how to make tamales. I didn’t want to fit in so I could be with the cool kids, I just didn’t want to feel so different. Of…
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Excuses I’ve Told Visitors for $300, Alex
I’ve racked my brain, but can’t recall a time I have ever walked into a guy’s house and listened to him trip over his tongue in an effort to tell me all the reasons why his dwelling looks messy, dirty, or both. The home of a woman though? Different story. Every time I’m in a friend’s house and she starts going on about why there are messes, I want to grab her shoulders and say, “Relax. It’s okay that your nail clippers landed on the coffee table, beach towels are in the kitchen and dozens of unread magazines rest by your bed. You live here.” And then someone comes to…
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Living in the High School Library
New. School. Can any two other words evoke such equal feelings of curiosity and trepidation in a tween or teen? Pretty sure I’ve never seen anyone more than three feet tall jump for joy over the thoughts of being pulled from their normal and dropped in the midst of new schedules, peers and teachers. But when we returned home from vacation on a recent Sunday evening, our oldest son didn’t have time to think about it. Faster than fast he unpacked his suitcase, ironed his new uniform, and went from English-speaking camper to Spanish-speaking student. Putting on the welcome green with a few new acquaintances. A mere 45 hours separated…
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How To Pack 28 Friends, 3 Camps & a Book Plan Into a 4-Week Summer
Didn’t the word “summer” used to equal a full three months? Back in the ‘80s we got out around the second week of June and didn’t return until after Labor Day. Twelve weeks of barefoot, late night, ice cream, swim lesson, little-bit-naughty, sun-screen, creek walk, watermelon-flavored Jolly Rancher stick bliss. I know some U.S. districts still follow such plans, but down here in Baja school’s only out for six weeks—and we thought that was bad. But on July 4 (God bless America) our oldest graduated from a public middle school and on August 1 he started orientation at a private high school. Sunny vacations go by ridiculously fast when you…
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How to Grow Up at a Christian Camp and Not Turn Out Weird
If you’ve ever experienced ropes courses, zip lines, campfires, s’mores, row boats and field games, you’ve probably been to summer camp. Throw in massive redwood trees, homemade donuts, train day and a pancake breakfast, and you’ve probably been to Mount Hermon. Located in the heart of the Northern California redwood forest and only seven miles from the beach, this camp I call home draws tens of thousands of campers annually. But I never arrived as a camper; I lived there. As in, twelve months of squirrels, trees and community. As in, everybody knows your name and you can’t get away with squat. As in, summer camp for ten weeks. Yearly. Every…
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Her Jewelry, My Truck
I’m sure she had a kind smile, but her jewelry is what caught my eye. Not because it sparkled more than her face, just that it was extensive. Maybe not for those of us who visited from middle-class SoCal, but for a missionary woman in Mexico? Extensive. Back in the ‘80s, every missionary lady who came to my little Baptist church resembled Plain Jane. Makeup rarely existed, unadulterated hair sat in perfect pins, and their outfits always looked… tired. My tomboyish wardrobe did not include more than a dress or two, but it seemed to me they could have at least worn something besides gunnysacks if they wanted to recruit…
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Burn ‘Em, Baby!
Hernando Cortes was the Spanish conqueror of Mexico. Okay, stop right there. If history doesn’t float your boat, you’ve found a friend. It was never my strong subject, and Mexico was never my dream destination. And then God, in all of His wisdom and humor, sent me a history teacher to marry and sent him a vision that took us out of the States and into Baja. As a result, I read about this Hernando guy in a whole different way…. In 1518 he convinced Diego Velazquez, governor of Cuba, to give him command of an expedition to this new land to establish a colony and capture its treasures. He…
