Missions Quote this week:
"Today Christians spend more money on dog food then missions" - Leonard RavenhillThe big November thing in Mexico is Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, the first couple days of the month. It’s also the same time we happen to celebrate our anniversary!
We enjoyed an anniversary getaway, and on the way home encountered this young boy in his “Dia de los Muertos”/Halloween mask:
He was asking for money. His friend was stopping the cars. Quite a system I’d say!
I suppose when you live in the middle of nowhere, creativity kicks in to earn some cash – or some kind of something if you don’t have a town large enough in which to go trick-or-treating.
About two miles up the road we passed through another small pueblo…and more kids asking for money, complete with their own rope bearing traffic stopper! This time we tried some ‘international negotiating’. We told the kids if they hopped up on the side of the car and posed for a photo, we’d give them a few pesos. They accepted the deal.
(This posted copied from our ministry site):
Southern Mexico has experienced over 100 earthquakes/tremors already this month (October 2009)*. This is not an unusual phenomenon, but rather typical for this part of Mexico. Nearly 30 of those have occurred here in Oaxaca state these past two weeks alone!
Last month a couple bigger ones hit (4.7 and 4.1) two nights in a row. Mike woke up to both while I stayed fast asleep. Now you know who’s the light sleeper and who’s out like a bear in hibernation! The first night he woke up to a crash; it was the stack of board games from a small closet that had toppled out when the door swung open.
I knew something had happened when I opened our back metal door to see the branch with the heavy bunch of bananas toppled over. I realized it couldn’t have been the wind since that banana tree has bowed under some pretty intense winds already. I cut off the bunch, set them out, and waited for them to ripen.
We don’t always feel the smaller ones, but often notice it’s effect. For example, the clothesline in the back yard may suddenly swing when there is no wind, or the water in the 25 gallon water jug suddenly swishes and gurgles a big bubble without anyone near it. The worst effect is the broken water lines in the street. Sometimes we’ll see a stream of water running down the dirt road to nowhere and wonder, “was it a heavy truck or another tremor?” that caused it.
However, when we do feel them, it can be momentarily unnerving – especially when Mike is on the third floor teaching at the Bible Institute and I’m on the second floor working in the library. Also, the fact that our kids are on the opposite end of the city with a mountain crossing between us could lend to stress should a bigger one hit during the day.
Tremors and earthquakes are just another part of the uncertainties of life – of which we all have our share. This is where we can stop and thank God for the peace He offers through knowing his Son, Jesus Christ.
This is also why we continue teaching and preaching the Gospel, so that many can come to know that same peace – and not only for the uncertainties found in this life, but rather so they’ll have certainties regarding their eternal life.
*according to Mexico’s National Earthquake Center (if you go there, scroll over the ’sismicidad reciente’ tab, then highlight and click on ‘ultimos sismos’).
We chatted with our oldest son a short time ago and my husband asked him how he was doing. He said he’s doing well, excited about soccer and loves it at college. This, to my mom’s heart, was soothing – and it was about to get better.
My husband, Mr. Philosophical, then asked, “Are you happy with yourself?”
“Well, in some ways, no”, my son answered. When it comes to certain areas of life (study, sports, character, etc), he doesn’t settle for where he’s at but rather pursues improvement, he explained. This I can accept. Then he went on and said something I rarely hear; something that actually came a bit as a surprise to me:
But the other day I was with the soccer team, and in my head I went through all the guys, including my five best friends, and decided I would rather be me than any of them.”
It took a while for that to register, for first my mind flashed to the day we moved him into the dorm: he with one box, one suitcase, and a few linens and things from Target while his roommate came tumbling in with several large packing boxes full of room decor, clothes for all seasons, new electronic gadgets we’d never heard of, and a new mini fridge that was accompanied by bragging rights to everything his parents went out and bought him those past few days. I stood there feeling guilty, being sure my son wished he could be in that kids shoes.
Then my thoughts turned to the fact he has no car and therefore is stuck working in the campus library for minimal pay while his friends have awesome paying jobs at the mall or at busy restaurants, bringing in hundreds of dollars per week, since their parents bought them cars before going to college. My son has asked if there was anyway we could help pay for a car and insurance, too. “Sorry”, we told him, “there’s no way we can.”
I also couldn’t help think that several of his friends have steady girlfriends, with one getting married this coming Christmas break, while my son hasn’t even had any steady girlfriend. (Which I personally am fine with – but how does that affect his self-esteem?)
His friends, too, don’t get stressed when it comes to break time from college. They go ‘home’ and hang with their social circle there, be it church, work, or former high school buddies. Our son has to figure out where he can go – and although his grandparents open their home, bless their heart – once there he really doesn’t have much of social ‘life’ or even his own vehicle to get around in. I was sure that at times like that he wished he would have grown up in the U.S. like his other friends.
So how, I wondered, with less material possessions and a life that’s a little out of the norm, can he say he’d rather be himself? How could he be so content when I feel guilty for not ‘being like the rest’ of the college parents?
My husband told my son that contentment is a great gift that few ever possess, and that people are drawn to content people. My son concurred with both statements.
I learned another important lesson from that: I need to not only be content for myself, but also be content on behalf of my kids; I need to quell these female and motherly notions I entertain – these guilty feelings of not having done or given enough.
My son has a rare commodity indeed – contentment. God’s grace has brought him to that place in his life and I pray God’s grace will keep him there. It will take him far in life.
Godliness with contentment is great gain.” I Tim. 6:6
Take a glimpse of what we see when we leave the Institute in Oaxaca City, and drive back to our home in Huayapam (this is one of the routes we take). You’ll see the progression: the city in the valley (yet still considered a mountain highland), the foothills as we take the road up; a home along the way; one of the main roads in our pueblo before we turn onto our foliage lined dirt road; and our son opening our gate. The last photos are from the day we picked mísperos (some say nísperos) in our front yard. (These are small apricot-like fruits that grow on medlar trees).
Living in this Zapotec pueblo has it’s pros and cons – with the scenery and general tranquility definitely being a ‘pro’. The ‘con’ is living a bit further away from conveniences and friends, along with other trivial matters such as having been ‘welcomed’ to town via the robbery a year ago.
We pray regularly for this pueblo and for the Zapotec people, that the truth of the Gospel will shine here. We invite you to join us in those prayers.
P.S. I uploaded this post via e-mail and now can’t figure out how to make the photos larger. I see your nose was almost rubbing the screen trying to see better. ;-)
Yup. I got tired of the old, so here’s the new look for the blog.
The photo of the women above I found on the internet. They were standing in line to get birth certificates! Most indigenous people here in Mexico either don’t have or don’t want to spend the money to get birth certificates – whether for themselves or for their children. So apparently the local government offered free certificates during a short time.
Aside from the header photo – which I’ll change from time to time, what do you think of the blog’s new look? Go ahead and take the poll…
I just started typing and my mouth is watering already! This salsa battles for first place with roasted chipotle salsa as one of my favorites. And the kicker is not the spice, but the ease with which it’s made.
Take half a dozen or so cleaned and dried whole jalapeños, put them in a small pan, and turn up the heat. (Do not add oil or water). Roast them well; they should begin turning black. (You’ll hear them popping and crackling). Yes, you can do this on a grill if you have one handy.
I then put the peppers in my molcajete, allowing them to cool slightly before removing the stems and crushing them with my tejolote. Chances are you don’t have these primeval tools. That’s okay – just remove the stems and toss the peppers in your blender with some water, maybe 1/4 cup. No, it won’t taste as good, but you’ll still think it delicious.
Now to add the final ingredients: salt and garlic powder, to taste. Add more water, too, if need be. (Garlic powder vs. whole cloves serves well without adding more heat). In fact, the local señora who taught me this salsa and whose cooking would win on Iron Chef, prefers the powder to the whole clove.
I crush until I like the consistency. I have found (the hard way) that if I over crush, the salsa is so hot that even my macho fire-eating guys can barely handle it. So now I know to leave it chunkier.
For those of you preparing it in a blender, consider removing the seeds and stems (the corazón, or heart) before tossing the peppers in if you want more taste and less heat.
Mmm-mmm. Ready to eat! We add a teaspoonful to soups, stews, on eggs, on sandwiches, or anything else that we choose to. When not too hot, we even eat it with chips or crackers!
¡PROVECHO!
South of Oaxaca City, we stopped in the village of Tlacolula to find a bank machine. While Mike stepped out to get some cash, I snapped a few photos after watching with interest the activity of the intersection.
Indian lady going shopping…
another lady going shopping… with a multi-purpose bike! (aka the “Nacho Libre Bike” to teens)
It gets busier! Same Indian lady returning with her goods. (Yes, we were parked there for awhile.)
I talked with a missionary friend recently who confessed to me she felt guilty for saying “no” to volunteering at her child’s school after a personal phone call requesting help. The need was both a valid and worthy one, yet there lacked sufficient workers; the school was desperate.
Should she have committed to helping? Would you have?
I told her I felt she made the right decision not to volunteer and it didn’t matter if other people understood her decision or not. Before we get any further, let me give you some background: my friend, a mother of three elementary children who has been actively involved in their mission, had volunteered last year to do the same job, but had to stop halfway through the year when she was diagnosed with cancer.
Through widespread intercession and with radical treatments, she is now recovering, having been declared cancer-free a few weeks ago. But she is tired; still so very tired.
Yet she cares for her husband, her kids, and her house. She remains partly active in their missions work. And that’s where her limit, currently, is reached. They have been involved in their local church and she’s contemplating (guiltily) how she can back out of her obligations there as well, since it has become more than she can handle. Then, along came the e-mails for volunteers, followed by the personal phone-call. Guilt and pressure continued to build.
This same issue has surfaced recently in numerous conversations I’ve had with other women and I am curious if you too feel overwhelmed with demands on your time and energy?
I’m looking for feedback. I would love to hear your thoughts and/or suggestions. Or if you simply want to let off some steam in this area (*smile*), feel free to leave a comment, anonymous if you prefer.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted a photo on a Friday, but this one below comes with a story. They are members of the persecuted church here in Oaxaca. Please link to our ministry blog to read more. And please pray for these women and children, and their husbands and fathers.
I greeted a lady named Nati this morning and asked how she was doing. “Poquito triste,” she answered.
“Why are you a little sad?,” I asked.
“Because today is mi santo (my saint)”.
Hmm, okay. Since I had heard that phrase before, I knew it referred to some kind of special day, often accompanied with a celebration, but didn’t know the details.
In fact, several months ago, I was aware that another family in our pueblo was preparing a huge party for their teen daughter celebrating ‘her saint’, but at that time didn’t ask questions. I was, however, impressed by one of the highlights of her celebration that we happened to pass on the dusty street: a very handsome young man decked out in a black mariachi suit with all it’s elegant embroidery, brass buckles and ornaments, the huge sombrero and the black shiny boots riding gallantly on a beautiful stallion toward her house. It was a romantic site. I almost expected a mist to develop as the orchestra strings came to crescendo.
Snap out of it, ladies – enough daydreaming and sighing; back to Nati and her story.
Why would she be sad? I thought to myself.
So I probed. She informed me that her name, which in its entirety is Natividad Maria (Christmas Mary) is the name of the patron saint of that day, and she was sad because ‘her man’ has been away on a drinking binge up in the mountains and did not return to celebrate with her. Besides that, her madrina (godmother) would be coming by later and she had nothing at home to prepare. She was hoping to get into town -for her an almost two hour round trip by bus- and make chicken soup as a treat to serve her guest.
Now I understood her sadness. What I still didn’t understand was why celebrating ‘your saint’ was such a big deal in this culture. So I asked if the celebrating of their saint was as big of a deal as us celebrating our birthdays.
“Sí”, she said. To which she quickly added, “And today, on mi santo, I also begin my 40th year!”
“Oh, so it is your birthday also?” A two-for-one deal!
She gave me a smile with that you-poor-little-gringa-who-knows-so-little look and said, “Yes, of course! That is why it is mi santo.” Here you catch a glimpse into why we missionaries feel absolutely stupid and confused at times.
Seeing my momentary pause and quizzical look, she continued, “It is mi santo today because I was born on this day and because my parents named me after the patron saint. Everyone has a birthday, but not everyone has a santo. “
I agreed. I don’t have a santo, do you?
I don’t have one because I am one! I am a saint. Not by any self-standard, or even by any religious order. I am a saint, because the Bible calls me one.
I Cor 1:2 “To the church of God which is at Corinth, to those who have been sanctified in Christ Jesus, saints by calling, with all who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours.”
When Paul wrote that letter, he addressed it to the saints. These were people who have been made whole, cleaned up on the inside by Jesus Christ and who called on His name.
How about you? If you’re not yet a saint, you can be! You too can be cleaned up on the inside, made complete by calling on His name. Just tell him. Pray. Ask him to forgive you of all your sins and promise to live according to his ways.
When you do, you enter into the community of saints; you are no longer a stranger, but a family member.
Eph 2:19 “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints, and are of God’s household”
If you’ve just now done this, you have been born (again) today.
So Happy Birthday, saint!
Crossing into Mexico with a firearm and ammunition guarantees you a seven year spot in a jail cell – no questions asked. Pretty strict law, but now you see why Mexico is such a safe place with little violence.
So why did we have a camouflage rifle bag in our trailer when we crossed? Before I answer that, let me say that it wasn’t really a rifle bag and that my hubby was still nervous about it. In fact, the bag belonged to me. Yes, innocent lil’ me.
He kept telling me that if I insisted on taking it with us to Mexico, I would be the one who’d have to explain it to the soldier with the Ak-47 hanging by his side, should we be pulled over for inspection. That was supposed to get a laugh, since 99.9% of the time we get the red light with it’s annoying buzzer that even those sneaking across the river to the other side can hear and know that someone’s about to get inspected.
Here’s the scoop on what was in the bag and why we had it with us: an archer’s bow with arrows that my brother gave me for my birthday, and which I did not want to leave behind. It is a bona-fide hunting bow with bona-fide arrows. Except for the tips on the arrows are practice ones and not the razor sharp ones.
We crossed the bridge, pulled up to the gate, and sure enough the light went on and the buzzer went off. Mike pulled over, but since we couldn’t get the trailer to fit into one of the angled spaces, the soldier had us stop on the side of the road. This meant I couldn’t get out since the passenger side was next to the traffic (the cars that got the green lights) whizzing by inches from my door.
Mike gave me THE look. I smiled at him coyly and said, “you the man, babe”. It didn’t help.
After the soldier had Mike unlock the trailer, he started looking through a few of the boxes and such when he spots the rifle-look-alike archery case. Immediately he stands guard while he asks, “¿Qué es eso?”
And here’s the tip of the day: it doesn’t matter how much Spanish they taught you in language school, or how long you’ve been speaking it in your host country, when you have a new item you’re taking across the border, especially if it resembles a threat, you better learn in advance the Spanish word for it.
Which we didn’t. So to answer the question, Mike tried explaining it. Think charades with a stress factor. When the bag was partially unzipped, the guard took one look at the bow, glanced at Mike and asked, “¿Es un arco?”
Here’s where it gets good.
Mike misunderstood, since he didn’t know a bow was an ‘arco’ and since phonetically the question sounded to Mike like, “Es un narco?”. Translated that means “are you a drug runner?”
You see where this is going while I’m laughing – again.
“No! No soy narco!” Exclaimed Mike with a sense of dread.
The soldier looked at Mike, puzzled, asked “eh?”, and pointed to the bow and said ‘arco’. Then, slowly, like a teacher would, repeated, “es un … (pause) … ARCO”.
“Ah, sí! Un ARCO. Es de mi esposa”. (had to drag me into it, didn’t he?)
With great relief, he shut the trailer, bid the soldier good day and got back in the SUV.
Two good things came out of that: we learned how to say ‘bow’ in Spanish, and once again experienced the medicinal value of laughing at ourselves.
There’s more I could add, but I’ve got target practice pending. Later!
Even the basic necessities in life can be an adventure once you cross south of the Rio Grande.
Like this morning when we stopped at a gas station:
I approached the little white building with the blue restroom sign. There was a worker sweeping out the men’s side with water and a rustic broom. I walked toward the left to enter the womans room, noting the chair between the two entrances holding the cardboard sign informing the charge of three pesos per person.
I asked the worker if the woman’s side had been cleaned yet, and without answering ‘yes’, he told me I may enter. One step in and I heard a man groan loudly from inside the woman’s bathroom. Startled, I told the worker that there was a man in there. He shrugged and looked at me as if to say ‘so?’. Call me culturally challenged, but I refused to go in. So I asked him if there was a restroom in the convenient store across the parking lot. “Sí”, he answered.
I walked across the lot and into the store asking for the restrooms. The cashier pointed back to from where I had come and said, “They are out there.”
“I was just there; that muchacho told me there is one in here.”
“No, Señora, they are out there”.
Aurgh!
I went to the car and told Mike we’d have to stop again somewhere down the road since the people there were imbeciles. Bad missionary! A full bladder and serious discomfort can make one behave badly and say unkind words.
Shortly thereafter, we stopped again. What a relief to find no cost to enter and no man in the ladies room. But that feeling quickly turned to dismay when I saw the dirty, un-flushed commodes without seats and each stall without toilet paper or locks to keep the doors shut. Nothing much changed while we were gone these few weeks. I had once again become potty spoiled in gringolandia.
I was, however, prepared. I took the roll of TP from my purse and carefully placed strips of it on the cold, hard ring, making sure none fell in. Having played the game of “Operation” as a kid comes in handy during such times.
The trick after that is good balance. The commode is not quite as thin as a tight rope, but the physics behind the act is similar: distribute weight evenly and you’ll not fall. I remembered also that we’re back to where paper is thrown in the trash and not in the bowl. Oops – I remembered too late.
I made my way to the sink, next to the blue sign with the outline of hands washing under a cloud of soapy bubbles and the words “favor de lavarse las manos” (please wash your hands). Great, I would have loved to – except the water didn’t work, the soap dispenser was empty, and the paper towels gone. Wet wipes to the rescue again.
The billboard we passed 170 kilometers down the road seemed mischievously appropriate: ¡Disfrute el viaje..siempre una aventura! Enjoy your trip…always an adventure!
Even in the restrooms.
I’ve lived without a computer and my planner for about a month now – and survived. Sometimes we who depend on technology like that don’t think it might be possible, but it is.
It was a quiet month, yet a busy one. It was a what should I do now? time to how to get this all done? time. Living oxymoronically was a learning experience.
I had to learn how to write creatively with a pen and a notebook. Sounds barbaric, doesn’t it?
I went without checking my Facebook daily. Sounds like a relationship inhibitor, eh?
I wasn’t able to respond to e-mail right away or have occasional blog therapy.
I was, however, able to have longer devotions, read more books, and reflect more on spiritual things.
Never would I say that I was thankful for the robbery that took my things – a part of me and my life to be exact, but I do say sincerely and truthfully that God is causing all this to work for the good. James chapter 1 says we’ll have trouble in this life. Yeah, no kidding! He also says to be joyful during those times (that’s a bit harder) and if you can’t understand what’s happening, pray for wisdom and God will grant it.
I’ve prayed, and honestly the reasons have not been revealed, but the wisdom He’s granted me is knowing Him deeper, sensing His presence sweeter, and trusting Him fuller.
Now that the insurance claim check came, I’m writing this blog on a new computer, I went to Staples last night and bought another planner, and my first thought was that I am ‘back to life’. But that’s not correct. I’ve never left my life; I was simply on a detour. And through those things I’ve learned certain things, most importantly that God is as much in the detour as He is anywhere else.
This post will be short and sw…uh, sour.
Saturday night we were robbed, again. We were headed to the Bible Institute to teach and work, and had to make a stop on the way. When we came out to our parked car, the first thing we noticed was our computer bags missing.
They took everything they could, except the cinnamon rolls I baked that morning and had stuck under the passenger seat, out of the sun. My husband’s wallet, both our cell phones, the satellite radio receiver, my daytimer, and both our laptop bags – gone. The drivers side door lock was ripped open and off. There remains a gaping hole revealing the ‘guts’ of the door.
What we’re left with is the task to recollect all the work lost on those computers, figure out what to do these next days without our ‘tools’ for work, and buy new cell phones. We’ve a pending trip planned from Oaxaca to Missouri and are praying for wisdom and provision as we make travel plans.
In the midst of it all, we have to agree with our Mexican friends: at least we were not present, and therefore not harmed. The collective consensus is, we’d be badly injured, if even alive, had the robbery occurred in our presence.
Our second son graduated from high school last week and flew back to the states yesterday. His room, empty. Our hearts partially so. Being on the mission field, we realize he most likely won’t be coming back to spend any school breaks with us, not even during the summer.
Several have asked me, “How are you doing, mom?”
“Okay”, I reply.
And that is the truth. I do miss him and suspect that feeling will only grow in the coming months. But deep down, tumbling inside together with grief, pride, hope, and loneliness for him, is some sort of calm – an assurance or contentment or something I can’t quite put my finger on.
And though I don’t know what, I do know why: because this is what we raised him for.
I was reminded of that in church last Sunday when a young couple dedicated their baby to the Lord. I flashed back eighteen years and saw Mike and I standing with the guest preacher in front of our congregation doing the same. We promised to raise him in the fear of the Lord and to introduce him to the Savior. We promised to train him up in the way he should go.
He’s gone now. He took the diploma with a handshake, moved the tassel from right to left, graduated with a smile, packed his things, and flew away.
These eighteen years were too quick.
Did we do well? I hope so, as there is no erasing, re-writing, or editing to be done as parents. We’ve certainly had our share of shortcomings, but we raised him the best we knew how and now it’s up to him to walk his own path with God…
…and with our never ending love and prayers.
Love you, Joseph!
I sit down at my computer, enter my blog and find dust on its links and cobwebs in its corners. I’m looking around for my duster, but then wonder, is it my blog that needs dusting or my brain? Or, perhaps, my daytimer?
But why ask questions? Just take a deep breath, and blog, girl, blog!
Ah, it feels good for my fingers to tap dance around the keyboard as my heart and mind give the rhythm. They want to express so much! Such as…..
- Last nights graduation of my second son.
- The trip I took recently with other missionaries and pastors to study indigenous tribes of Mexico.
- The Mexican stand-off we unwittingly became involved in while driving
- The teachers strikes that cripple this city
- The yoked oxen that saunter by our gate and the herd of goats that came to ‘mow’ our lawn
- Our 24 hour whirlwind trip to Mexico City and back for the completion of our resident visas
- The swine flu
- Saying goodbye to our son as he too leaves our nest
- The $350 dollar charge a local business covertly charged to our credit account
But those will need to wait. For today, it’s been good to simply visit and allow fresh air in to the site.
And waddya know? I didn’t even need the duster.
Another contribution from one of my kids.
This one from our son in college. He won a video contest with it, which is a parody on what I’m told is a popular song/rap. If you like it, go to YouTube and help boost his views and rating.
It’s informative for us to see how our college dollars are, um, being spent.
(This post was written by my daughter, who turns 9 this weekend, and published on her missionary kid blog.
I’m adding it to my blog not only in honor of her birthday, but because I’ve been without quality Internet and haven’t been able to blog for awhile!
So enjoy!)
Hi. This is the only Tejate Festival in the world. It is in our village, called San Andres Huayapam. Tejate is pronounced (tay-ha-tay). Tejate is a drink that has all kinds of stuffed mixed in. It has ground corn, cocoa, the flower from the cocoa tree, and the seed from the mamey fruit ground into in. Mamey’s look kinda of like potatoes. You can see some pictures here of the cocoa flower and the mamey fruit. (Mamey is pronounced mah-may).
The ladies stick their hands into it to mix it. They add water and they keep beating it with their fist. That’s how they get the white foamy stuff on top.
They tell us the Zapotec Indians used to make it like a thousand years ago and the ladies in our village still make it the same way.
So how do you think it tastes? I didn’t like it when I tried it last year. (that’s me in the picture from then). Now when I drink it somehow it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I guess I’m getting used to it!
Anyway thousands of thousands of people come every year. I think about four thousand or more people were there this year. Isn’t that amazing! I can’t believe it. We went to the festival and drank tejate but also you can buy ice cream, some real mexican food, mexican drinks, and more stuff at the festival.
What do you think is the best title for this story?
1. The Tejate Festival
2. Thousands of People
3.The Only Tejate Fiesta in the World
4. What you can get in Mexico
Please, after you pick one, leave a comment. Thanks! Bye!
A sinless man, chosen to carry the crude wooden cross, half naked and bleeding from the thorns pushed into his skull, is still kilometers away from being crucified. “Agua!”, he cries out as his body trembles under the weight he carries down the dusty road. The sun bears down on him with unrelenting heat, for it is the hottest time of the year, the dry season, yet no one offers him a drop of the water he begs for- until he is hanging on the cross.
His mother falls to her knees weeping. A bittersweet moment of pride and anguish. Her son was chosen; his desire since childhood fulfilled. She will be known as this years mother of Christ.
The account is televised live. The days following claim him more than a hero; in fact, he is believed to have become Jesus Christ. That is the only balm he cares for as the holes in his feet and hands are tended to in the local hospital. The medical attention lasts several days, then he is sent home to recuperate.
“What faith”, they say of him. Already young men wait in anticipation to see who will be chosen the following year.
This is the Mexico we live in.
Every year a man is crucified on Good Friday in Tlalixtac, a pueblo within a ten minute drive from our home. In fact, the hill where the crucifixion takes place can be seen from our yard.
We were invited to go, but I don’t think I’d be able to handle it. If we did go, it would be to pray…and weep for the lostness and ignorance of a people who want so much to love God but have been detoured on the way by false teachings.
How can they not know this is unnecessary? How can they be so deceived? Their minds are fully convinced this is a holy act that highly pleases God.
“How can the man chosen be without sin?”I asked Natividad, the lady who excitedly recounted the annual event to me.
“Because he’s a boy; he is still a virgin. They have medical proof of that”. Except it’s not a boy as you and I would think- it is a teenager, or young man, since obviously he has to be physically developed enough to carry the cross those several kilometers from the center of town to the foothills of the Sierra Sur. (Her answer also lends insight into this culture’s belief of how exactly boys become men!)
“Nati”, I said, “The Bible says that all have sinned, in fact we are all born into sin.”
“Todos, except for this man is without sin. That is why he’s chosen”, she replied with a very confident nod of her head.
“But Nati”, I continued to another point, “when Jesus died on the cross, he said ‘It is finished’. That meant no one ever had to go through that again; he completed the payment for sin.”
“Si“, she concurred, “and this man proves his faith in Christ by enduring this. It is wonderful! He becomes Christ for all to see. Everyone can live in faith on that day because of this.”
No matter how I tried, she was convinced of only what she has been raised with. The most curious thing was that she would agree with me as I shared Biblical truths, but then would tag on to them traditional customs born of false teaching, which ended up nullifying the very truths being shared!
I can’t describe the heaviness I feel inside me as a sincere people miss it completely! How can we convince them of the truth? We must intercede for them- that God would reveal the simplicity and purity of the Gospel to them; that their blinded hearts would know the truth and be set free.
And we must continue preaching the Good News, then make disciples for others to go and do the same.
I was on my way from one side of town to the other, when this motorcycle snuck in front of me. With a glimpse and a gasp, I reached for the camera and took this shot while driving. (And if you’ve ever battled traffic in Mexico, you’d either call me brave, crazy, or a good driver!)
In case you can’t make it out, that is a dirty plastic tub filled with raw meat strapped to the bike behind two men- one the butcher with the rubber boots, and the other the driver.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so squeamish, but I was grossed out and thought of following them to find out where he was selling the meat- only to make sure I never shop there. The butchered carcass was not covered, nor refrigerated on that hot day, and if you’ll note the butcher’s hair is uncovered. Yeah, you get the picture.
The roasted grasshoppers suddenly don’t sound so bad.
I asked missionary colleague Ryan Thomas to write a prayer devotional for our Missionary Fellowship. He wrote the following devotional that was posted on www.mexicoag.org. I felt it was worth sharing.
Ezekiel 22: 23-31:
Again the word of the LORD came to me: “Son of man, say to the land, ‘You are a land that has had no rain or showers in the day of wrath.’ There is a conspiracy of her princes within her like a roaring lion tearing its prey; they devour people, take treasures and precious things and make many widows within her. Her priests do violence to my law and profane my holy things; they do not distinguish between the holy and the common; they teach that there is no difference between the unclean and the clean; and they shut their eyes to the keeping of my Sabbaths, so that I am profaned among them. Her officials within her are like wolves tearing their prey; they shed blood and kill people to make unjust gain. Her prophets whitewash these deeds for them by false visions and lying divinations. They say, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says’-when the LORD has not spoken. The people of the land practice extortion and commit robbery; they oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the alien, denying them justice.
“I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none. So I will pour out my wrath on them and consume them with my fiery anger, bringing down on their own heads all they have done, declares the Sovereign LORD.”
You’ll notice in this passage that God points out five levels of society to Ezekiel and reveals the corruption, violence and sin that is destroying each area:
1. The Princes – these are the highest rulers in the land. God reveals that they are devouring the people, destroying families and taking the wealth of the land.
2. The Priests – the religious leaders. They do not expose sin and they profane God’s Name, actually turning people away from true righteousness.
3. The Public Officials – the local leaders. They destroy lives for money.
4. The Prophets – the spiritual influencers of the land. They give false visions and revelations, helping to hide the true state of sinfulness in the nation.
5. The People – the masses. They also practice sin, stealing from and mistreating one another.
When I read this passage I immediately think of Mexico. For centuries corruption, greed and violence have destroyed every level of society in this country, from Presidents down to the local store shop owners on every corner. Idolatry, theft, bribery and murder have ravaged this nation. Even now we are seeing another wave of violence and corruption that is destroying lives.
But just as in Ezekiel’s time, God is looking for those who would see what He sees and stand in the gap in intercession so that He can pour out mercy and grace instead of judgment and wrath. Unfortunately for the case with Ezekiel, God “found none”. That has to be one of the most tragic verses in the whole Bible! There was not one person that God could share His heart with, reveal the true situation of the nation to, and who would respond in selfless love to intercede for mercy.
I pray that God would find in you and I people who are willing to receive His burden and His love to stand in the gap on behalf of Mexico. Allow the Holy Spirit to break you and cause you to cry out to God for mercy for every one of these five levels of society.
Pray for:
1. The President of Mexico – Felipe Calderón. Pray that God would touch him, his family and those in his inner circle of leadership that they would bow their knees to Jesus Christ and rule with righteousness.
2. The Religious leaders of Mexico. Pray for Catholic Priests to have a revelation of the Risen Lord! Pray for Pastors of all denominations to rise up and preach truth.
3. The Local leaders in Mexico. Pray for Senators, Mayors and Municipal Leaders to come to Christ, to govern with righteousness, to turn from bribery and extortion.
4. The Spiritual Influencers of Mexico. Pray that God would break the back of idolatry and witchcraft in Mexico, that He would shut the mouths of false prophets and raise up true preachers of righteousness in the land.
5. Pray for the people of Mexico. Pray that God would grant repentance to the people of Mexico, that they would come to a true knowledge of Jesus Christ.
The fate of Mexico is not in the hands of the President, or the Federal Police, or any other organization… it’s in the hands of the Church. May we feel God’s pain and God’s love and be moved to our knees.
(Copied from our ministry site)
Ciudad Juarez is a war-zone. This border city that sits across the Rio Grande from El Paso, Texas has been making headlines for years. In recent years, it has been dubbed the killing fields of Mexico for it’s number of murdered women.Today the headlines announce murders resulting from the drug war that has escalated in response to President Calderon’s crack down on narco-trafficking.
We know Juarez; we’ve driven through it hundreds of times during our two recent terms living in Chihuahua city and later in the Old Colony Camps of Cuauhtemoc. It was a busy place that took forever to drive through.
We also know several Assembly of God pastors and district leaders from there. One of them, Mr. Chavez, was here in Oaxaca last week. As Mike spent a few moments greeting him and speaking with him, Pastor Chavez stated this:
It is a war-zone. The streets are empty. People are afraid to go out. It used to be you stayed away from certain areas that were known to be dangerous, but now the entire city is dangerous. Small businesses are suffering. The gangs don’t bother being discreet any longer. If they want to shoot a rival, they will do it without caring who is nearby to be caught in the cross-fire, whether it be a restaurant or a grocery store. But our churches are filled. And there are no longer denominational barriers. We are in unity and revival is beginning.”
It is a bittersweet message. Each one of us senses shock and sadness at the killings, yet hearing the testimony of church leaders causes a rejoicing. Why does it have to be this way? Can’t their be revival- a true revival of repentance, not a pseudo revival of feel good services and woo-hoo personal prophecies- without suffering, difficulty and persecution?
That’s a good question to ponder. Some scriptures that come to mind:
…but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more,so that, as sin reigned in death, even so grace would reign through righteousness to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Romans 5:20,21
“Before I was afflicted, I went astray. It was good for me to be afflicted, so I might learn your statutes” Psalm 119:67,71
He said shortly after 9/11 that something bigger will come. Saturday he posted an urgent message. I try not to be flighty nor fearful, nor run with the latest sensational news, but this man has a record of being right in his prophetic messages.
Read his blog – and decide for yourself.
Maranatha.
The kids stared at us shyly when we first arrived. Typical. Not sure how to approach us, the foreigners, the americanos, the gringos, they stand back and respond with a grin when smiled at and greeted.
Games always break the ice. We started playing with them, first a game of tag, then the girls started their hand clapping games with cute chants. We joined in. I asked them if I could take a photo of all the fun. They giggled and approved. My daughter stayed in to play. Guess which one she is.
There was a lot of noise last night. Our dogs were causing quite a scandal with their barking; then the neighbors’ dogs started up. It was dark and we couldn’t see anything, but the pups seemed to be bothered at something toward the other neighbors house- which has been vacant since the owner moved out seven months ago (but left it furnished I must add.)
Some concern was already present since yesterday morning we were told about a guy hanging around the street looking very out of place. A lady described him to me this way, “He had light colored and wild hair, was very skinny, with a huge tattoo on one arm”. In short, he scared her and he was definitely not from this pueblo.
Then my husband dreamt last night that someone was standing over our bed with a gun, and when he saw him he jumped up and tried to grab the guys face. He woke up with a burden to pray (this happens occasionally). I asked him if he was sure it was only a dream.
To add to the drama, we were told today that one of our pups was poisoned yesterday. This is the second dog poisoning we’ve had. The pups mom was poisoned in October, two days before our house was broken into and we were robbed. Both times, the lady that helps us out saved the dogs by forcing milk into them, which works as an antidote.
Poisoning dogs is common here in Mexico. A piece of food, stuffed with some type of poison, is thrown over the fence for the dog to eat. People here have dogs for protection. Criminals here throw poison to dogs to remove that protection.
So what do we do? Move? Pray? Get more dogs? What we do is keep trusting the Lord and continue being sensitive to his leading.
If we feel prompted to move (to another part of Oaxaca), we will. There is no guarantee, however, that any other area would be safer. The teachers’ strikes are increasing in town, which frustrates us to no end. They without warning will hijack a bus and block traffic and mess up thousands of commuters. Yesterday they hijacked more than a dozen buses and the newspapers stated something about ‘acts of violence’. Two years ago Oaxaca made international news with the extensive strikes that crippled the entire city, then turned violent and deadly before the army finally came in. Yes, these are teachers (fueled and aided by a national communist group).
On a national level, this country is daily becoming less secure. You may be hearing all sort of news about travel alerts and other advisory’s from the US Dept. of Defense. Today this country is what Columbia was twenty years ago; the narco’s army is now the same size as the national gov’t army, and no one really knows where all this is headed.
Whether danger may be near of far, Jesus promised to keep us in perfect peace as we keep our minds focused on Him. He also promises to respond to our prayers and to the intercession offered by others.
If you pray for us, we thank you sincerely. Please don’t stop.
We’re missionaries and we go on dates. Gotta keep the romance alive!
We went to an Argentine restaurant here in Oaxaca. I had a delicious arrachera steak for about $9, while hubby opted for grilled fish…since he knew he’d be finishing my steak!
Then we had some fun with the camera:
It’s important for every couple to set aside time for each other. Many times missionaries don’t do this; sometimes due to ministry overload, other times due to finances, and even at times for difficulty in finding trustworthy child care (boy do I have stories of that!)
We’ve learned (now that we’re older and a bit wiser) that it is essential to make time and save up for such occasions. After all, if the marriage ends up failing, what good has the ministry done? All is lost.
As Christ’s ambassadors, we must first represent in our own marriage the relationship between Christ and his bride, the church.
And woo-hoo! what fun that can be!
On a morning in a Oaxacan market, photographer Graciela Iturbide made one of the most enduring images of Zapotec life”
This photo was taken in 1979, and the lady in it, who became somewhat of a local celebrity as her image was used extensively, has since died. I have seen many women here carry many things on their head, but have to admit I haven’t seen any ‘iguana ladies’. Probably when we begin teaching in areas to the south and toward the Isthmus we’ll see them. To read the complete Smithsonian article by Lynelle George, click here
Friday Photo from the Field:
This photo was snapped further up our street as we were taking the kids to school. This is a common sight in our pueblo. Sometimes it’s a man, sometimes a woman. Sometimes they carry hay for feed, other times wood for the fire.
Let me ask you this: If you were driving past this man, would you offer him a ride? Why or why not?
If you said yes, you have the same impulse we had in the beginning- and probably for the same reason: because we want to help them out or perhaps even feel bad for them. “Poor soul“, we think. And there we go thinking like Americans again. Truth be told, they’ve been doing this their entire life and they don’t feel inconvenienced at all! They would be offended to be called a ‘poor soul’. Sometimes in this culture when help or a kindness is offered (what we perceive as such), it does not bring about the expected response. Usually it’s a strange look that asks, “why?”
Even though I’m stretching the connection, I couldn’t help but think of these verses in Galatians 6:
v2 Bear one another’s burden’s, and so fulfill Christ’s law
v5 For each one shall bear his own load
A friend from Cleveland sent this to me via e-mail. Since I’m hard pressed for time and high speed internet, I’m posting these ‘forwards’ to keep my blog from becoming stale. Hope you have a good laugh. And if by chance you are a guy reading this, well, it’s all in fun, eh?
Three men were hiking through a forest when they came upon a large raging, violent river. Needing to get to the other side, the first man prayed: ‘God, please give me the strength to cross the river.’ Poof! God gave him big arms and strong legs and he was able to swim across in about 2 hours, having almost drowned twice.
After witnessing that, the second man prayed: ‘God, please give me strength and the tools to cross the river’. Poof! … God gave him a rowboat and strong arms and strong legs and he was able to row across in about an hour after almost capsizing once.
Seeing what happened to the first two men, the third man prayed: ‘God, please give me the strength, the tools and the intelligence to cross the river’. Poof! … He was turned in to a woman. She checked the map, hiked one hundred yards up stream and walked across the bridge.
If you’re not laughing very hard, you must be of the male gender. That’s okay since my friend left this message for married men tagged to the bottom of her e-mail:
If at first you don’t succeed, do it the way your wife told you!’
Welcome to “Friday Photo from the Field”. Today’s photo is of a vendors bike that my kids call the “Nacho Libre Bike”. Yes, they really do have these in Mexico! I remember last year while still in Ohio a few teens came over to watch the movie (Nacho Libre) with our boys and they really thought those bikes were props made especially for the movie. No, they are the real deal and were you to come visit us here in Oaxaca, you’d see them everywhere.
Here, this young lady is sitting outside of a bank selling ‘aguas’. These are different ‘waters’ or juices such as agua de limon (lemonade) and jamaica (drink made from hibiscus flowers) to name a couple. Others will sell tamales, candy, or just about anything that can make them a peso or two.
Latins do have a romantic reputation now, don’t they? Every Valentine’s Day brings out a new host of piropos, or flirtatious sayings around here. I love them! They go both ways, too: from the man to the woman or from the woman to the man.
Here’s a sampling of a few. (They flow much nicer in Spanish, and many of them rhyme):
- If beauty were seconds, you’d be 24 hours.
- When you take a sip, I want to be the glass, to meet at your lips and give you a kiss on the mouth
- You’re late! I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.
- To tell myself to stop thinking of you is like telling my heart to stop beating.
- You’re like a capuccino: sweet, hot, and you make me nervous!
- I’ll only stop loving you the day an artist can paint the sound of a tear falling…
- Didn’t you get hurt when you fell from the sky?
- Heaven must be sad to have lost a beautiful angel like you
- When you’re in my arms, I forever wonder how much I owe destiny for the fortune it gave me to be with you
- If your arms were my chains, and loving you my prison, what a joy it would be to serve my sentence!
- I wish I were one of your tears: born in your eyes, fall down your cheeks, and die on your lips.
(This devotion by Dave Wilkerson was sent to me via e-mail by Hellen. Thanks!)
I know what it is like to face divine silence, not to hear God’s voice for a season. I have walked through periods of total confusion with no apparent guidance, the still small voice behind me completely silent. There were times when I had no friend nearby to satisfy my heart with a word of advice. All my patterns of guidance from before had gone awry, and I was left in total darkness. I could not see my way, and I made mistake after mistake. I wanted to say, “O God, what has happened? I don’t know which way to go!”
Does God really hide his face from those he loves? Isn’t it possible he lifts his hand for a short while to teach us trust and dependence? The Bible answers clearly: “God left him [Hezekiah], to try him, that he might know all that was in his heart” (2 Chronicles 32:31).
You may be going through a flood of trials right now. You know what I’m talking about when I say the heavens are as brass. You know all about repeated failures. You’ve waited and waited for answers to prayer. You’ve been served a cup of affliction. Nothing and nobody can touch that need in your heart!
That’s the time to take your stand! You don’t have to be able to laugh or rejoice, because you may not have any happiness at the moment. In fact, you may have nothing but turmoil in your soul. But you can know God is still with you, because Scripture says, “The Lord sitteth upon the flood; yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever” (Psalm 29:10).
Soon you will hear His voice: Don’t get excited, don’t panic. Just keep your eyes on me. Commit all things to me. And you will know that you remain the object of his incredible love.
More devotionals visit http://davidwilkersontoday.blogspot.com
For more sermons by David Wilkerson, please visit http://www.worldchallenge.org/en/pulpit_series_newsletters
I posted on our ministry blog a wonderful testimony of an unexpected (and unusual) invitation. Let’s just say it involves tequila and some missionaries. Got your interest? Good! Click here to read it on our blog.
That’s the good. Now for the not-so-good:
This week I also posted some recent facts regarding our host country and today’s news gives more insight to why it’s vulnerable for collapse.
I only write this as a prayer motivator for you who are reading. There are many missionaries who serve in this country for whom you can pray. There are also millions of innocent lives who need your prayers.
Would you consider adding to your schedule a few minutes of intercession today?
Meet Bonnie and Clyde, our six month old puppies. They’re at it daily.
Fully living up to their name, they have been running across the neighborhood stealing, wreaking havoc and killing. Funniest thing is, we don’t have much of a neighborhood. Just a few houses along a dirt road with lots of brush and untamed countryside.
Yeah, sure they look cute in the photo. Don’t let ‘em fool you. That’s their sweet “who us?” look. What’s a family to do?
First it was someone’s sombrero. Then a huarache. This was followed by other contraband like shirts, pants, and work gloves. You name it, they’ve drug it home. One day it was a mans bathing suit. Yikes! There is a dam half a mile down from us and we’re hoping they didn’t leave someone shivering out there.
One day an old wrinkled man came by asking if anyone had seen his sombrero. Another day, our neighbor let us know she went looking for one of her lost chicks when she saw Clyde by our fence looking happy as he had chick fuzz stuck to his snout. So now their antics are deadly…at least to the neighbors chicks. Yesterday he was caught red-pawed: another baby chick in his mouth. His disobedience shocked me when he refused to drop the chick when ordered to do so and instead ran off to finish his impromptu meal.
We thought we’ve closed up all the holes in our fence, but these two are good at their game. They’re also good at guarding the house. Bonnie (left in photo) barks defensively because its in her genes, but fearless Clyde (with white chest) goes on the offensive with anyone who happens near our gate.
That’s exactly why we put up with this puppy trouble. After our robbery in October, these two bring a measure of security. We just wonder how long to expect to put up with this phase of puppyhood?
That contemporary Christian song popped into my mind that repeats, “I am a friend of God..He calls me friend”. Do you know it? It’s one of those feel-good songs with a catchy tune.
It came about as a domino effect in my mind. You know, the women are like spaghetti teaching that says all our thoughts somehow weave and connect to others.
Well, we received a thank you note from evangelist friends who are currently working with ex-inmates. In the note, the wife shared how they are fulfilled as they teach about the fear of the Lord.
These guys and gals are really hungry to learn how to stay out of prison, 24/7. Walking in the fear of the Lord is the answer! They write a 250 word paper each week on how the fear of the Lord ties in to whatever problems they are experiencing- finances, sex, marriage, envy, tongue control and so on.”
Reading that renewed an interest in me to look into the fear of the Lord, something to which I recently haven’t given much attention. There are many verses that mention the fear of the Lord, but the one that particularly caught my attention was this one:
Friendship with the Lord is reserved for those who fear Him.” Psalm 25:14
This verse flew at me and grabbed hold of me with talons of truth, which then in turn slowly caused a series of questions and thoughts to bleed from my heart and mind.
Drip.
God reserves his friendships. Although He’s willing to save all who call on Him and we in turn become His child, there is a requirement to being His friend.
Drip.
Enter the tune in my mind. “I am a friend of God….He calls me friend”. Enter the scripture again, “Friendship with the Lord is reserved for those who fear him.”
Drip.
Fear Him. What? How? Then I remembered a teaching on this years ago: “To fear the Lord, simply put, means to hate what God hates and to love what God loves.”
Drip.
God loves purity, integrity, honesty. He loves a broken and contrite heart. He loves meekness, faith, and justice. He loves those who seek Him.
Drip.
God hates murder, lying, and arrogant men. He hates divorce and sexual perversion. He hates lukewarm faith and those who spread strife among brothers. He hates injustice, perverse lips, and those who worship idols.
Drip.
Then this thought came: do we fear Him in our churches as we sing that song? Or do we sing it between weeks spent watching fornication and immorality on TV as we excuse the ‘bad parts’ for the sake of good acting or humor (i.e. House, The Office, to name a couple), or perhaps we just had to see the latest Oscar-quality movie, even though it’s replete with sex scenes and other sins (i.e. Curious Case of Benjamin Button)?
Drip.
Did we sing that song with tingles in our spine two days before we voted a man into office who embraces abomination (homosexuality) and pays for murder (abortion) – two things that God clearly hates? Did we become a friend of God by hoping to save the earth and boost the economy?
Drip.
Do we sing it on the way home from a women’s Bible study where we just had a grand ole religious time taking prayer requests saturated in gossip that will soon cause strife among others?
Drip.
Is it sung from lips of those whose eyes are secretly addicted to pornography?
Drip.
Is it sung by those in ministry who use the platform to increase their name?
Drip.
Is it sung by those who rob God and say they can’t afford to pay tithes and give offerings while their little plastic idols keep growing their debt as material ’stuff’ is added to their family altar?
Drip.
Do we sing it while pushing life to full throttle, too busy to spend quality time in prayer and in seeking Him?
Drip.
Do we fear Him or do we just want to add Him to our Facebook list of friends?
Drip.
God sets aside a place for us to be his friend, when we fear Him. God help us to be Your friend. Teach us to love what you love and hate what you hate! Transform us Lord as we renew our mind to fear you, to respect you with a Holy awe.
Teach us to be like those ex-inmates, who have learned the secret to true friendship: walking in the fear of the Lord. Amen!
When we were back in the states last month, I had two different people ask me that question as we were talking about the ministry we do. They know we are fully appointed missionaries, meaning that we are wholly supported by churches and individuals through our sending agency, and therefore draw a salary from part of that support.
However, the question was asked in the context of our working and teaching at educational institutions. (One is a bible institute and the other is the national missions training center).
My surprise at their question mirrored their surprise at my answer.
They had assumed that since we are working in an educational environment, there was some remuneration from the institutions themselves- after all, college professors in the US are paid, aren’t they?
I had assumed they knew that missionaries, once on the field, depend one hundred percent on the support they are promised; no income from any source within the host country is received, regardless of the ministry or work.
How about you? What do you assume (or simply not know) about missionaries and their support/pay?
If you are a missionary, have you experienced similar conversations? Have you assumed ‘everyone out there’ knows these things?
Your feedback would be interesting.
Faith is not the belief that God will do what you want. Faith is the belief that God will do what is right. ~Max Lucado
He always does. He’s always just. Have faith in Him today!
An MK (missionary kid) poem
Where I’m From
I’m from here to there
from near to far
from “time to move again”
and buy another car.
I’m from the grace of God
and the love of the Lord
to “we don’t know the plan
of what he’s got in store”.
I’m from the desert lands
and the barren plains
we got to leave again
and the mental pains.
I’m from the highs and lows
from the ups and downs
to we’ll get there
and receive our heavenly crowns.
by Michael Hadinger
We’ve swung a full pendulum’s worth of experiences in the last month. We left Oaxaca in December and arrived in Ohio, going from warmth to cold, from Spanish speaking friends to German and Hungarian speaking relatives, from mole and empanadas to stuffed peppers and halushka.
Then there were mental transitions (yup, Americans think different than southern Mexicans) as well as materialistic transitions (economic crisis is relative to its culture).
.
.
.
.
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Along with the ethnic subcultures among our families, we also experienced a generational subculture at the World Missions Summit we attended with approximately 3,000 university students and a host of other missionaries.
.
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Now we’re back in Oaxaca. We left in a snowstorm last weekend as the plows tried clearing the runway for take off, then we landed safely on a mountain plateau, arriving home to find our guayaba tree filled with fruit and the bougainvillea outside my kitchen window in full fuchsia bloom.
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I’m so glad God isn’t limited to place or people! He is the constant as my world turns.
Lose weight, earn more money, quit smoking, and more education are likely found in the top ten list of New Years Resolutions. These, like most resolutions, are good and worthwhile commitments to self-improvement.
Yet as I was reading my Bible, a verse jumped out reminding me of something eternally good and worthwhile that uniquely aids in my ongoing commitment to self-improvement:
II Corinthians 5: 9 “We make it our goal to please him.”
“To please him“. A goal of pleasing God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. Hmm.
I paused, then asked myself, “How can I please God?” What is it that really makes Him smile?
Before turning back to the Scripture, my mind began scrolling through a brief list of possibilities:
- do more ministry (busy, busy!)
- build a bigger, better ministry (proof of God’s blessing, right?)
- live a trouble -free life (now that’s faith!)
But then I was gently nudged away from popular contemporary thought and returned to a Biblical path which I found quite distinct. Some truths I rediscovered on how I can please God:
- Micah 6:8
- Do right
- Be kind
- Walk humbly with God
- Psalm 51
- Have truth in my heart
- Have a broken and contrite heart
- Psalm 46:10
- Stop running so much
- Take time to know that He is God
- Colossians 1:10
- Bear fruit in my good works
- increase my knowledge of God
- Thess 2:3-6
- Stop being a people pleaser
- Stop flattering others
- Not cover my greed
- I Thess 4:1-12
- Live pure
- Avoid sexual immorality
- Control my body
- Mind my own business
- Work with my hands
- Live quietly
- Hebrews 11:6
- Have faith that God exists and rewards me when I seek Him
There are more, but this is a good basis for now. The anomaly I suspect in this is that self-improvements will come as I make it my ambition to please God rather than myself.
Truly a rewarding resolution.
‘Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I’d taste
All the holiday goodies have gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I’d remember the marvelous meals I’d prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The chocolates and rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”
As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt—
I said to myself, as only I can,
“You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!”
So–away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip
The last bit of food I like must be banished
‘Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie–not even a lick.
I’ll want to chew only on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread,v or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m craving, and this food is a bore—
But isn’t that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
– Author unknown. -
(sent to me by Hellen, my Canadian friend. Vielen dank!)
For me, neither. I didn’t make one- yet. My curiosity does wonder how many are coming along so far in theirs after a whopping five days into the new year.
One study shows that spiritual people will have a tendency to fair better in keeping resolutions given their greater degree of self control.*
Yet a poll by Christianity Today on New Year’s Resolutions reveals the highest percentage of (spiritual) people who responded don’t even make resolutions since they don’t believe they work!**
Go figure, since I resolve not to.
*The Road to Resolutions by K. Beaty
** CT Poll
Once again, I heard the story on the radio last night of how the tradition of standing during the Hallelujah Chorus of Handel’s Messiah began: King George II stood during that part of the performance, and given that all were to stand when the king stood, the rest of the audience stood as well.
The host commented on various explanations given for which King George II stood:
- His gout acted up at that moment and his discomfort caused him to stand
- An hour into the performance, he just needed to stretch his legs
- He arrived late – precisely at the moment of “The Hallelujah Chorus”
- He was moved by the performance
- Though a king himself, he recognized his subjection to Jesus Christ, the King of kings and Lord of lords.
Why do you think he stood?
I’d love to hear a comment from you about your vote in this poll.
Translation: We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
We wondered if this was the flip version of S-O-C-K-S (Eso si que es) that some corny company was promoting a few years ago as learning to speak Spanish (remember that)? Then we discovered this is part of an ad for a techie company called Wiwichu.
So, in the spirit of the season, from my corazon to jewers, Feliz Navidad!
Misunderstandings are the way of life when working cross culturally. Speaking and communicating can be polar opposites as thoughts are processed from varying perspectives. Naturally everyone believes themselves to be correct and often detailed explanations yield little gain.
It can be frustrating, but sometimes it’s funny. I laughed out loud as I came across this anecdote in my current read, The Hacienda, A Memoir by Lisa St. Aubin de Teran. My missionary amigas will identify, I’m sure.
The rest of Joanna’s stay was spent immersed in the hacienda. She loved Casa Grande and its grounds…Matilde was fascinated by her inability to speak Spanish, as were Alba and Lorena, who wanted to know if it was because she had been dropped on her head as a baby. Every time Joanna said anything and I translated with a ‘Doña Joanna says…’, they looked at me askance and said, ‘But how do you know that?’
‘Because she just told me so’. ‘
‘But she didn’t say anything, we heard her, she just makes noises.’
Actually, every day is market day, but the fresh produce comes on Tuesdays and Fridays. It’s chaotic and we love it.
It’s hard to imagine where the abundance of regional fruits and vegetables comes from…and how inexpensive they can be. (Good thing, too- it offsets the cost of being gringos and having to pay extra for other things).
Box trucks back up, open their back hatch, and the goods come spilling out onto a table waiting to be bartered for. I’m tempted to go again with my camera to take photos of rows upon rows of neatly stacked pineapples and papayas, the 50 lb bags of oranges, the baskets full of jalapeno’s and garlic, and so on. But why look like a tourist or a foreigner if I can help it?
Besides, I already did that once. Yeah, I swallowed my pride and snapped a few shots. Below are some photos. Too bad I couldn’t capture the sounds, the bustle, the sleeping toddlers, or the pleading eyes of the abuelas as they tried to convince me to buy from them.
Enjoy the tour.
Here we are in stop-and-go traffic. Most people take taxis or buses. We still have another kilometer or so to go.
This is the outskirts of the market. Just a few vendors trying to sell the little they have.
Now we’re inside…sort of. It’s really a street where hundreds of tarps are stretched out side by side and the vendors set up there tables underneath. Look long enough and you’ll see a delicious salsa coming together. Careful- you’re drooling on your keyboard.
Piñata anyone?
That, my friend, is dried seafood. The mounds of pink are dried shrimp while the baskets on the bottom shelf are dried, halved fish with their eyes and tails still intact. Naturally you’d buy tortillas, on the walls, to make your meal complete.
This vendor has a friendly exchange with her neighboring competitor.
I saved the best for last: flowers. Oodles of them, and some varieties I can’t even pronounce.
Come visit me and I’ll take you in person. Oh, and bring your video camera, will you?
Last week as my husband, along with another missionary, was driving twelve hours north of here, the car broke down. Five hours and $650.00 (US dollars) later, they managed to be on their way. We thanked God they were safe, as two gringos broken down on the side of the road with US plates can be an invitation for trouble. Little did we know there would be greater danger on their return trip.
Heading south out of Queretaro and into Estado de Mexico, they were pulled over by a corrupt policeman who demanded $5,500 pesos for carrying cargo illegally. Mike assured him it was not cargo (items to be sold) rather personal belongings and household items. After some time of ‘discussion’ and threats, the policeman offered to let him go with a minimal fine, paid right there. A short time later, corrupt cop numero dos stops the guys and says the car is illegal and therefore demanded another hefty fine. My husband refused to pay and showed him the sticker on the windshield- the permit for the car to be in the country legally. More ‘discussion’ until finally the cops’ partner gets weary of the argument, or nervous, and taps his buddy and says, “leave him alone and let’s go”.
The next, and last, stop would be life threatening. But who knew? Even I sat at home waiting for hubby’s arrival completely unaware of the situation in which they found themselves.
Within the hour, they are pulled over again. Same spiel, same yada yada. My husband again refuses to meet his demand- this time the confiscation of our vehicle! As before, the policia asks to see his drivers license and permit and again Mike holds it firmly to show without handing them over. Except this cop grabs them quickly out of Mike’s hand and gives orders to follow him to the ’station’.
Before Mike and his friend realized their predicament, they found themselves approaching a dusty dead end to the road they turned onto. The ‘cop’ gets out and tells them to pull into a yard – a junk yard with a heavy metal door waiting open. Mike flatly tells this guy there is no way he is pulling in there. The cop waves the license and tells Mike he has no choice if he wants it back, and casually saunters in to the yard. So Mike tells our friend, who is now on the phone with an official from Oaxaca, to stay in the car and keep it running while he walks in there to get his license and permit back. And by the way, he adds, if you hear a loud noise or any trouble, take off and find help.
Mike would later tell me he didn’t think he would make it out of there alive. It wasn’t until he entered the yard that he saw the half dozen or so rough characters hanging around the perimeter. He approached a desk where another burly sort waited for business to be transacted – which now was a $ 1,450.00 peso fine, since they didn’t get the car full of our stuff as they had hoped. Reiterating the fact that he neither has it nor would pay it, Mike was just wanting out of there fast. Finally, he saw no other solution and therefore pulled a couple bills from his wallet, dropped it on the table, grabbed his license and turned around to leave. He expected either a bullet in the back or to be jumped, since the amount was measly and no where near what they wanted. But he kept walking and made it to the car. Someone did follow him but stopped when they saw a lady walking across the street. The poor lady happened to look up just then, and her face froze with fear at the sight of the man. She wasted no time in leaving. However, that slight distraction allowed Mike to hop in the car and leave in a cloud of dust.
They made it to Oaxaca at midnight and Mike dropped into bed grateful to be home and alive.
Anything could have happened back there. I’m glad my hubby has a stubborn streak- it saved his life and the life of our friend. I’m glad God sends his angels to watch over us. These guys had wanted the ’stuff’ in the car and wouldn’t have cared for witnesses, if you get the drift. No one would have ever known.
Was anyone praying?
We’re not talking potted plants here. We’re talking the real deal. I shared them on Facebook, my daughter shared them on her blog…and now I’m sharing them with you.
These are photos I took from our little pueblo. I wish you could see them in real life, since the multi-dimensional beauty can not be completely captured on a photo. Enjoy them all the same:
This last photo is the neighbors house…look in the middle above the roof. That is a poinsettia bush (tree?).
When we planned our wedding day for November 1st twenty one years ago, never would we have imagined that we would be in Mexico, where Dia de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a much celebrated holiday on the same day.
Well, here we are. Everyone has been buying flowers the past few days to build altars in their homes for their departed loved ones. Everyone, that is, except us and the rest of the Christian community. My husband did buy flowers- to remind me of a covenant made at an altar. That covenant is anything but dead.
Many people are traveling to homes of loved ones; Mexican highways are busy this weekend. My hubby as well is traveling this weekend. Today, our anniversary, he spent sitting behind a wheel driving from Oaxaca to San Luis Potosi while I stayed home and did laundry and read in the sun. Never fear, we did spend a wonderful afternoon together yesterday. We had a nice lunch together and even ended up with some fine chocolate I carried home in one hand while the roses were in the other.
A romantic dinner is planned for later this month in the zocalo, downtown Oaxaca, which has a charm all it’s own and is the perfect place to celebrate such an important day.
There are some things one looks forward to getting; other things don’t stir such excitement. Like photos taken after a house was robbed.
From a friends cell phone to a CD to my computer…and now to my blog, here are a few photos of the heist that took place a few weeks ago:
This is one of several taken of the master bedroom. The jewelry box on top of the dresser emptied; my clothes strewn all over the floor. They found my irreplaceable treasures that were hidden among my personals, including the white gold wedding band and engagement ring passed down from my mother, inlaid with diamonds and a ruby. My husband added the ruby, my birthstone, on our 15th anniversary to fill the gap where the center diamond had once sat.
Our boys’ room. The valuable from here was our third sons electric guitar. He just began playing six months ago. He’s pretty bummed.
Our daughters room. What would they find of value in an 8 yr. old girls room? Not much, which is why they didn’t tear it apart like the others. However, they emptied her jewelry box too. Little earrings from Claires, perhaps a nail polish or two she kept in there. But what really broke her heart was finding the necklace her Missionette leader gave her before we left Ohio missing. It will not net anything for the thieves. They probably just tossed it. And left an 8 yr. old in tears.
And that made this mom mad! It’s one thing when we hurt, it’s a whole new ball game when it’s our younger kids who have been hurt. I am mom, hear me roar. (All the mom’s out there said amen!)
Point of entry. Although not a fan of Rottweilers nor Pit Bulls, the thought of having had one present, waiting hungrily to face the intruder(s) is a macabre one I’ve entertained. As it is, our Cocker Spaniel and her pups did nothing, except perhaps barter tummy rubs for a guided tour of our home.
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