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Home Sweet Trailer in Baja: Abraham’s Forever Faith in My Face
I am no longer a journaler. Journaler? That’s a weird word. I engaged my pens decades ago, especially when the subject matter revolved around boys, but then I tapered. Since then I’ve started and stopped more than start-stop technology in city traffic, but I just can’t get into it. So now I use them as notebooks, and I’m totally fine with that. No more guilt. For years I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t want to journal anymore until I realized the list involved reasons I didn’t want to admit. Mix together slight perfectionism and the constant inner critic of an Enneagram one, with a full schedule and a woman…
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Corner Office Syndrome as a Boss: When it’s Always Lonely at the Top of the Business or Ministry
A few years ago I reported the results of a missionary survey I did and was surprised by their answers. (Especially when they matched mine.) With global loneliness at an all-time high, I thought I’d take a closer look into the phenomenon where some people might not look. The old cliché, “It’s lonely at the top” rings loud and true… 92% of missionaries I interviewed said yes to this question: Do you ever suffer from Corner Office Syndrome? (Knowing a ton of people but not having any real friends.) “Totally. I have lots of friends on Facebook, but nobody checks on me; I always have to reach out. It’s hard…
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Mexican Manna: Do You Know What You Need?
In case you’re considering launching a cross-cultural ministry, organic enterprise or local venture, here are two things I wish someone would have told me before our family took off for the great unknown. Buckle up—they’re both extremely complex and ridiculously basic: On some level, I already knew about these two things because, well… life. But wow. I had no idea how scary true they would prove to be. From the beginning, through the middle, and after the end, my husband and I felt the effects of every emotion that came from human disappointment. Friend/family, old/young, poor/rich… didn’t matter. But right on the heels of every one of our bugged eyes…
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Finishing Well. Sort Of: Moving to Another Country When You’d Rather Not
Did you know you’re never supposed to start a sentence with a number in the shape of a number? 11 years ago we had recently moved to Porvenir. We felt rather pale. And tall. 9 months ago we thought we might move back to the States. I didn’t want to. 7 weeks ago I stopped packing for our move and celebrated my last Mother’s Day in Mexico. 5 days ago Doug moved our fridge and beds into our new rental. Weird. 3 hours ago our real estate agent moved through our home with his tripod, clickety-clicking his way from the calle to the bodega to the baño. 1 minute ago…
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Stress: Top 5 Factors for Kids and Adults
Psychologists say the most stressful changes for children are (in no particular order) moving, divorce, losing a pet, death of a parent and death of a sibling. And for adults? According to Health Status, the top five include moving, divorce, major illness, job loss and death of a loved one. Since moving is one of the highest stressors no matter your age, we know our whole family sits on the brink of needing to breathe into paper bags while counting to nine in Danish. Not really. But maybe. Even if you’re only moving down the street, you still need to empty cupboards, pack boxes, and then unpack in a new, unfamiliar…
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Adjusting the Scales of Honesty: Do White Lies Count?
“Hey, boys—throw this blanket on top of the sacks. And make sure you get the corners.” I cringed in opposition. Did he just involve our children in a hidden importation? I turned my head to the west and spaced out while he drove. Lest you feel the urge to judge, think about this: if you were taking a twenty-dollar item across the border, would you be willing to pull over and pay a six-hundred-dollar fee for it? Behold, one of my most humbling posts ever. Thoughts of a corrupt government, two years of paying 16% taxes, border agents who charge whatever they’re feeling like that day, and insane importation…
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I Decluttered and Broke Up With 500 Things. You Can Do It Too!
Feeling skeptical? Yep—I get it. I didn’t think I had 500 unwanted things I could find either. I wanted to move toward a minimalist lifestyle though so I knew it would be a solid challenge. An impending international move sealed the deal. Let’s be clear: my husband loves pitching clutter but has zero desire to become a minimalist or live in a tiny house, so I was on my own. Suggesting he only keep one coat, two shoes and three books would probably make him shake his head and mutter about hipster millennials and their vintage cameras. Paring down doesn’t mean you have to become an official minimalist though. Don’t think…
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Awkward as a Fat Idol in Church
She stood behind the last row of chairs, alone, with beautiful brown eyes taking it all in. I had never seen her in there before, though I knew she was a native. Our church does not carry the best reputation for being the most friendly bunch to outsiders so I figured I should welcome her. But how? Maybe extend my hand? Show her around? Point out the restroom? Ask if she needed translation? I didn’t care that she was black; I’m not brown like the locals anyway. Maybe we could become outsiders together, bonding over ice cream. We get lots of visitors to our church and they all tend…
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Your Grass Looks Greener: Stay at Home Moms vs Working Moms
Two Moms, Two Letters, Two Countries Dear Missionary Mom, I see you down here, with your hair pulled up and your patience falling down. Doin’ that missionary thing can drain, I know. It all looked so quaint from a distance, didn’t it? Needy people, corner sweet bread shops, hammocks in palms. Did you move for the life the promo video promised? I’m glad I’ve been your neighbor. Living in Baja has felt attractive, mostly. It’s been a place where those old roots I planted could get some fresh air and be replanted. Our kids probably won’t be graduating with yours though. We’re all scattered around and therefore…
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Last Christmas in Baja? Wrestling with the Unknown and Another Big Move
The C9 bulbs sit snug and proud, wrapped around the palm. It’s fat, freshly trimmed, and still full of green. Through the fall and into winter, palms don’t change. “It looks like a pineapple,” my husband says. “A glowing one.” He’s right; our own tropical Christmas. But whose kids are those? The holiday is celebrated here, yes, but you have to drive to the cities to see red and green explosions alongside gifts in excess. A peek into our low-income town will show you single strands of dim lights, old-school decor and a few lawn ornaments you might consider tacky. Big deal. We who possess bright white…
