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Christmas Card Burnout: Why I Chose to Stop Sending the Iconic Greeting
They were part of the tradition, part of the joy and part of the expectation. I can still see piles of cards in front of my mother. Her beautiful handwriting graced fronts of envelopes as she diligently wrote out addresses and duplicated ours in every lefthand corner. She composed classic Christmas letters with my father, describing the most interesting bits of our year and excluding all the sibling rivalry—mostly caused by me. Personal greetings inside sturdy cards of snow-scenes no doubt left each recipient feeling remembered and loved. Add an Olan Mills, lick a tasty stamp and bam—Christmas spirit. For all I know she lovingly placed them…
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8 Things I’m Teaching My American Pre-Adults in Mexico
Don’t Wear Red to a Chinese Funeral In some cultures it’s downright rude to wear certain clothes to certain events. Even if they never end up at a Chinese funeral (where they should only wear white or black), there are some things my American kids need to learn about clothing. Please don’t wear a fancy white dress to a wedding. (Unless you’re the bride.) … or a baseball hat to church. … or Crocs to a party. Or ever. (Unless you’re a nurse or you’re creek walking.) … or a tube top to a business luncheon. … or a mini skirt after a certain age. (ahem—39?) If you feel you must break this…
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Double Border, Side of Stress, Hold the Sunset
Crossing the Mexican border solo is not my favorite. But living in Baja for ten years makes me prepared, mostly confident and ready. Until that one time. After a lousy weekend back home for a funeral, I board some 737, block my row with stuff and close my eyes. Guilt tells me to open them and welcome any passerby, but the plane is virtually empty and I am spent. After touching down in San Diego, all that stands between me and getting home before dark is shifting my weight for 30 minutes at carousel #1, finding my shuttle, retrieving my vehicle, grabbing a fully-leaded liquid treat and heading for stores.…
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Cross-Cultural Patience: People Wait for God in Hamburg, Germany Too
I made a new friend! She’s on the other side of the Atlantic, but technology doesn’t discriminate when an American writer in Germany and an American writer in Mexico bond over the not-so-popular W-word. We both love Jesus and we both wrestle with waiting. Works for me! Please give a big “Welcome/Bienvenida/Willkommen” to Caitlin Lieder. Moving to Germany meant stepping out in faith in a big way. It was a new level of trusting Jesus; we moved internationally a few times but never with four kids under five years old, and we did not make the decision lightly. We talked and prayed with our small group, pastor, and trusted family members for over a year…
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10 Secrets Missionaries Keep, Part 2
Last week I shared the first five questions and answers from missionaries around the world about the secrets they’re keeping regarding honesty, Corner Office Syndrome, guilt and MKs. If you missed it and want to catch up, come on over! Obviously becoming a missionary in another country should not be entered into lightly. The common thread running through those of us who call ourselves expats is we’re committed, but missionary life tends to be harder than we let on. Most of us have great intentions of meeting needs, but being honest about our own is not usually on the radar. This week we’re talking about marriage, money and moving, along with a bonus…
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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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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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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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Cow Tongues, Colostomy Bags & The Donut Man
They’ve made me wonder, empathize, laugh and sigh. Cultural differences that aren’t right and aren’t wrong, just different. It was a common phrase we challenged every Ventana student over the years. Just because something is different than what we’re used to doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It might look strange to our American eyes, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t work. After living here for a decade I thought I’d seen almost every quirky cultural thing Mexico had to offer. Then I started looking for the unusual and taking pictures. You might think selling boots, eggs and honey on the same table is weird. Locals would call it convenient. Not…
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An Open Letter to My Kids – I Fired the Housekeeper
Dear Kiddos, It was your dad’s idea. He felt like I needed a helper because we started a ministry to college freshmen. For nine months at a time. In Mexico. You didn’t know this when you cuties were up thrice a night, attempting tricks on rusty bars, absorbing a second language, taking in avocados, trying to find a friend, and learning to walk, but those students in our ministry required hours and hours of our time. And so did you. In our younger years your dad repeatedly joked about moving to Mexico, always ending it with the promise of a housekeeper. Didn’t sound like much of a deal to me; I…
