Author: made4eternity

It’s been a while since I really attempted to learn another language. I had a one semester foray into Arabic as a senior in college, and more recently learned some (very) basic Biblical Greek, but living here in Nicaragua, I’ve been thrust into a whole new level of language acquisition.

I learned how to say “I’m the 2nd of 6 siblings” last week and tried to squeeze that into every conversation I could. Cassie started laughing whenever I took a deep breath and haltingly began “Yo soy la segunda…” Yep. Here we go again! It took a lot of mental energy and usually came out wrong at first, but at least I was sharing something about myself.

Trying to tread water in a sea of new words is hard. So I talk to the three kids we live with. Big J., A., and Little J. are 8, 6, and 4, and are great language helpers, especially because we can discuss things on my extremely basic level for a short period of time. We’ve talked about how eating a lot of cakes will make you big. Another day, we debated what food ketchup is good with and what food you should not put ketchup on. There was some sharp disagreement on that second topic.

My sentences are broken, and my English-y accent leaves much to be desired, but we are communicating, and I love it. Last night, I curled my lips around my teeth and told A, “I don’t have teeth.” Soon no one at the table had teeth. Then fingers and hands started to disappear. General hilarity ensued. We were all laughing and having fun.

And not in English. 🙂

Well, here I am in Nicaragua, sipping delicious Ethiopian coffee that was roasted in Kenya and given to me by my parents in Minnesota. This coffee has come a long way, needless to say.

So have we. Cassie and I arrived in Managua on Friday night, were picked up by our hosts, Julio and Narlly, who drove us here to Ciudad Dario, which will be our hometown until December.

The Lord has blessed me immensely with familiarity at every turn. From the beautiful vegetation and mosquito nets to the bumpy dusty dirt roads and diesel engines everywhere, this place reminds me of Kenya. Even on the other side of the world, there is a level of comfort to be found in the sights, sounds, and smells of this place. I’ve lived like this before.

Not that it’s easy. The sudden intense weather change has been draining. We left in the snow and arrived to 90 degree temperatures on Saturday. The language barrier is challenging, for both of us in different ways. There are still a lot of unknowns and innumerable cultural adjustments.

This morning I read the story of Peter stepping out of the boat on to the stormy sea to walk to Jesus. He sank, not because he was in the wrong place, or out of God’s will, but because he took his eyes off the Savior. And yet Jesus, in His infinite love and grace, was instantly there to rescue him as soon as Peter cried out.

Getting on the plane and flying here was stepping out of our Milwaukee boat in simple obedience. Now we are on the water. The waves are rolling and it’s windy, but we know our Savior is here, His strong hand stretched out and ready to sustain our hearts.

Hebrews 12:2-3 “looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself, lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls.”

My life lately feels like it is swirling around the concept of sufficiency. Several of my latest blog posts have included the topic and in my Bible reading and conversations with others, there is a common theme. Think the Lord is trying to teach me something?

A couple days ago, my brother Daniel commented on my Gmail chat “status” verse, which is 2 Corinthians 3:5: “Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God.”

I told him that it is one of my favorite verses, and as I am wont to do in my love of playing with words, I turned an adjective into a noun. “He is our enoughness,” I wrote.  (And spell-check goes crazy: “’Enoughness’ is not a word!” Well, maybe not technically, but it sure captures what I want to say.)

To say that God is my enoughness cannot be a glib statement. Enough carries the concept of needing nothing else. There is a satisfaction, a contentedness, a settled attitude inherent in recognizing all that we are and have comes from God. It’s a foreign concept in our fallen world.

I am not enough to fulfill my deepest and not-so-deep needs. My job is not enough. My friends are not enough. My savings account is not enough. My family is not enough. If I rest my hope even an iota on any of these things, my heart will grow restless with their lacking. I know, because I try daily in one way or another to be completed by things that never were meant to do that.

But when I recall my All-Sufficient God, I find in him my strengthcouragewisdomcomfortpatienceprovisionforgivenessjoyrest.

I find my enoughness.

Yesterday afternoon I was standing in an aisle of Target perusing the shelves, trying to get my tired brain to remember what it was I was looking for, when I heard my name. Or a variation of my name, anyway – one of the many that my speech kids use.

“Meeh Marizone!”

Peeking up out of a cart at the end of the aisle was the stunned face of M, one of my 4 year olds. This is my 5^th year on the job, but this was the first “community sighting” of one of my little guys. I walked over, gave him a hug, greeted his parents and his little sister and chatted for a bit.

“You buying snack?” he asked, since we were in the snack section. Indeed I was. Next week, our letter is “J”, and our shape is oval, so I showed him the bag of jellybeans I was getting and whispered conspiratorially for him to keep it a secret. He nodded very seriously. “OK.”

We said goodbye, and as they disappeared around the corner, I heard his little voice piping up, “Mommy, how my teacher get here?” You remember how weird it was to see your teacher outside of school. I was always convinced they slept at their desks or something.

The sweet encounter lifted my weary heart. Things have been bumpier at work of late, with changes and uncertainty galore. But then, there’s M in a cart at Target, smiling and excited and incredulous. Oh, thank you, Lord, for these kids.

There are 15 of them right now. Because of the nature of my therapy setting, they are generally bright, engaged kids who really, really “can’t talk good”. They can be hilariously funny or genuinely affectionate or they can drive me up the wall. They require tons of repetition, tons of patience, tons of love.

The former requirement is easy. The latter two are impossible. In order to truly show patience and genuine love to them, I need the Lord. So on the way to work, I pray for my 15 by name. I ask for wisdom for me in treating their disorders, and for progress toward their goals. I pray that I would show them Christ’s love.

But first, I pray for their salvation. It’s easy to forget in the midst of correcting sound errors and modeling proper grammatical structure that there is something much bigger than communication delays going on here.

My kids are most importantly precious souls for whom Christ died. Jesus gave his life for them so that if they would believe in him, they “will not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16) And so, thankful for the ministry of prayer that even my anti-God workplace can’t hinder, I entrust them to their Creator, knowing he can and will provide a way for them to hear that best of all news.

Then I walk inside to greet my little darlings.

It’s wonderful how God uses visual illustrations to remind us of who he is. This week we got several inches of snow. Well, it’s February and it’s Wisconsin, so that’s not unusual. What was odd, I thought, was how the snow coated the trees and then stayed on for a couple of days. Usually the coating only lasts a little while before it melts or the wind blows it off. This time, it just hung on and on, beautifying the skeletal winter tree branches and delighting my heart.

The effect was stunning, especially when contrasted with the inevitable nastiness that follows snowfall in the city. Within a few hours, the streets became lined with piles of ugly dirty snow. Slushy mud puddles multiplied. The pure whiteness was gone.

Until I looked up. And there was that unspoiled snow, clinging to the tree branches and causing me to rejoice in its Creator.

As I drove or took walks during those days, I thought about the lesson so clearly laid out in front of me. Down here on earth, it’s dirty. We are people spoiled by sin. Our daily circumstances can be very hard. It’s easy to get discouraged and lose hope as we look at the problems around us and in us.

But when we look up and gaze upon our unspoiled Savior, resting in his beauty, love, and goodness in the midst of the slushy puddles of earth, oh, how our hearts will rejoice.

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s a light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
-H.H. Lemmel

I’ve come to hate the fact that I am so surprised when God answers my prayers, says “yes”, and moves circumstances in my life just the way I asked him to. It’s sad that I’m shocked when these situations happen, because I think it reveals my heart.

What – is God in heaven some kind of stingy ogre? Is it so incredible that when I ask for something specifically, he often gives it to me? It shouldn’t be. He is my Abba. He loves to give good gifts, like any daddy. And if something will be for my best and his glory, he will delight in lavishing his grace on me.

I’ve been thinking about my surprised response to answered prayers lately as my studies have taken me to Acts 12. There, the apostle James has been martyred, Peter is in prison awaiting trial, and things are looking dismal. A group of believers meets and prays “earnestly” (v.5) for his release. Miraculously, God intervenes and sends an angel to rescue Peter, who then proceeds to the house where the believers are praying. At first, they don’t believe the servant girl who informs them joyously that Peter is at the door, even telling her she is out of her mind. Then, when they do see that it is really Peter, they are “greatly astonished” (v.16).

My initial reaction to reading that was, “C’mon guys. You were just praying for his release. How can you be so surprised that God got him out?” Heh. Pot, meet kettle.

Shock, incredulity, astonishment. All of them carry a whiff (or more) of disbelief. Disbelief isn’t really the response my Daddy is looking for when he blesses me with goodness. Joy, relief, thankfulness, praise – yes.

Surprise – no.

“On no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there.” Revelation 21:25

I want the morning to break so that, finally, night (in every sense) is never again. And my sinfulness, which weighs so heavy on my soul, is gone. And this weak and worn down body, which I work to make stronger for a very little while longer, is suddenly eternally whole, and dances and skips as I fill new lungs with heaven’s air and sing perfect notes with my unbreakable heart bursting with unmeasured praise to the One, the only One, who is worthy.

For today, I sit here, and evening falls
But that sweet whisper in my spirit calls,
“Just wait, my girl, it’s not long now.”

As a resident of the state of Wisconsin who occasionally listens to football games on the radio, I have become quite familiar with Green Bay play-by-play announcer Wayne Larrivee’s trademark phrase, “And there is your dagger!” This exclamation is invariably shouted with gusto toward the end of a game in which the Packers have just made a victory-clinching play. Although I’m not at all a fan of the team, I have to admit I do like the “dagger cry”. It’s so final, so certain. It means the battle is done; triumph is assured.

The book of Hebrews has a “dagger passage” that I have come to love. While memorizing it for a class recently, I was in awe of the beautiful finality presented in the verses. Read them slowly and out loud. I added some bolded text where I like to especially emphasize the words.

“By that will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. And every priest stands ministering daily and offering repeatedly the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. But this Man, after He had offered one sacrifice for sins forever, sat down at the right hand of God, from that time waiting till His enemies are made His footstool. For by one offering He has perfected forever those who are being sanctified.” Hebrews 10:10-14

I still get chills when I read these verses. Can you get any clearer than that? It’s over. Done. As our substitute, Jesus Christ paid it all; He triumphed over sin, death, Satan, and hell so completely that there is nothing any sinner on this earth can ever do to add to his work. We are to simply rest in who he is and what he did.

Jesus himself proclaimed that his sacrifice was sufficient for all sins when, while still on the cross, he cried out, “It is FINISHED!” (John 19:30)

And there is the ultimate dagger.

The other day I was talking to my friends Ian and Emily about peace, specifically the peace that is to rule in the believer’s heart according to Colossians 3:15. Our pastor spoke of it being an inner tranquility and restfulness, no matter what our circumstances may be on the outside.

“My middle name’s definitely not Tranquility,” I said.

“No,” said Emily, “It’s Rumble Strip.”

Oh, yeah.

I came by the nickname  fairly or unfairly (depending on your perspective) during a road trip a couple years ago where I may have veered slightly off to the right and . . . rumblerumblerumble. It happened only twice during the thousand miles I drove. Still, I am now Rumble Strip.

It was kind of funny that Emily reminded me of the nickname during a conversation on peace, because it’s true. I often live my life like I’m driving on rumble strips, with my heart shaking and quaking and getting all disturbed. I worry about this. I fret over that. I think God can’t handle such-and-such or so-and-so. Rather than driving peacefully on Tranquility Highway, I choose to bump uncomfortably on the rough edges of my road.

It ain’t fun. And it’s not right. Since the peace of God is ours when we simply rest in his promises, why do we choose to drive on the rumble strips?

Colossians 3:15 “And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which you were also called in one body; and be thankful.”

Aaaaaaa! This is CRAZY!

So, if you hadn’t heard, there is a new “outreach” program started by the White House, where you can sign up and get randomly selected for a 5 minute Skype chat with the President of the United States. I’m guessing he does 3-4 of these every Saturday afternoon. Anyway, yours truly signed up on a whim a few weeks ago, and would you believe it? I got chosen! (!!!!) Now, I’m not a big fan of Obama’s policies, but I figured it’s 5 minutes of the undivided attention of the leader of the free world, so why not give it a shot? I was so excited, I could barely sleep last night after I got the “you’ve been selected” email. You better believe I wrote down some notes on what I wanted to say to him.

Here’s the play-by-play:

Today at 1:05pm CST, I was sitting at my kitchen table, and my Skype notifier rang. I freely admit I was a little ( A LOT) nervous as I accepted the call and saw the President appear on my computer screen.

“Hi, Katie,” he said. For a second, I couldn’t think beyond the thought, Oh, wow. He knows my name! It was all a little stunning.

Also, very fictional. Had ya going there for a minute, didn’t I? (Or not. Some of you are waaay too smart.)

Change the scenario a bit: This morning, I prayed for 50 minutes. OK, stifle the yawn. I know. You were all impressed when I talked to the President of the United States of America for 5 minutes today, but the fact that I communed with The King of All That Exists for 10 times as long  is no big deal.

Do you see the problem? What is wrong with us?

That’s easy to answer. We tend to be far too in awe of the trappings of this world, of the Shiny Things and Important People we can see and hear and touch. We who are children of God through faith in Christ Jesus forget too often the incredible privilege that is ours. I’ll say it again. We are children of God! He doesn’t just know our names; he knows our hearts, our personalities, our secrets, our struggles.

Because of Jesus, we have the right to come before the infinitely powerful, holy, and awesome God and talk to him about everything and anything, anywhere, anytime. And, as if it couldn’t get any more wonderful,  he WANTS us to talk to him. In view of this, neglecting prayer is ridiculous in the extreme. Prayer should be a treasured time, a delight to our hearts.

When I’m thinking right, I can’t help but realize that talking to my Father in Heaven beats Skyping with the President in Washington in every possible way.

Hebrews 10:19, 22 “Therefore, brethren, having boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus . . . let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.” (emphasis mine)

The other day, I was cleaning out my fridge and looking at all the little dates stamped on the cartons and cans. As I tossed out old yogurt and the tomato sauce, I thought about my expiration date. (Yes, that is rather a deep subject to be contemplating during such a mundane task.) It would be kinda nice to know when it is. Imagine all of us walking around with dates stamped on the back of our necks informing us when we are going to die.

August 17, 2072

September 3, 2036

May 12, 2012 . . . oh.

OK, maybe not so nice. Still, our time will come, and we don’t have a clue when. Compare 31 year old me with a 95 year old.  Whose expiration date will come first? Odds are, his. But he may have another 10 years, while I may have another 10 months. Or 10 minutes.

This talk of death, it doesn’t scare me. I’m thankful for my life here, but I’m really excited about what happens next, because my final breath on earth simply means a new start in that perfect place with a beautiful Savior. He died for my sins and he rose again. He’s given me eternal life just because I trusted him and nothing else.

The point is, I’m ready to die, whether it’s today or 70 years from today. No matter when my expiration date is, I know eternal life is mine.

Do you?

1 John 5:13a  “These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, that you may know that you have eternal life. . .”

 How We Know

1 John 3:16a

 What the world needs now

Is love, sweet love;

That’s what they say

But how do we know what true love is

In a world that has twisted it and

Tangled it and turned it upside down?

 This is how we know:

The Son of God became Man,

A tiny infant

Born not in the palace befitting a prince,

But in a stable

Whose birth was heralded by angels

But greeted only by cows and goats

And some scraggly shepherds.

 This is how we know:

The Son of Man walked the earth for thirty-three years

In absolute perfection.

His every thought was pure, his every action right, his every word true.

He calmed storms on the sea and storms in men’s hearts,

He put the Pharisees in their place

He healed blind eyes, lame legs, deaf ears, and withered hands.

 This is how we know:

The Good Shepherd sought his lost sheep.

He ate with tax collectors and sinners,  forgave adulterers,

And offered living water to a woman at a well

Who had known many men

But had never known love.

 This is how we know:

Wrapped in a servant’s towel, the King of Glory

Stooped and washed the grime

Of a long day’s journey from the feet

Of his quarrelsome disciples.

 This is how we know:

The spotless sinless Lamb of God chose to hang

On a rough wooden cross

Loving his mockers

Dying for them

Dying for all of us

Paying our sin debt in full,

So that when he rose on the third day,

He could offer salvation freely

To all who trust in him alone.

 Yes, truly, this is how we know what love is:

Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.

I sing with my speech kids nearly every day. The rhythm and rhyme reach different parts of their brains and help most of them grasp new concepts more easily. We rap vocabulary words and definitions, tap out syllables (re-frig-er-a-tor), and sing goofy songs about plants and animals or how much we like sandwiches. One of my favorite ditties is a little poem written by Rose Fyleman called “Singing Time”. I made up a tune to it and taught it to my kiddos. It goes like this:

“I wake in the morning early/And always the very first thing/I poke out my head/I sit up in bed/And I sing, and I sing, and I sing.”

My little guys love the song, but to tell you the truth, when I wake in the morning early and poke out my head, my natural response is not to burst forth in a (scratchy, morning voice) melody. My first reaction is to moan, and to moan, and to moan. That’s why my alarm is set to play Robert Lowry’s beautiful hymn “How Can I Keep From Singing?” in a version sung by James Loynes. These are the words to the first two verses:

“My life flows on in endless song/Above earth’s lamentation/I hear the sweet, tho’ far-off hymn/That hails a new creation;/Thro’ all the tumult and the strife/I hear the music ringing;/It finds an echo in my soul,/How can I keep from singing?

“What tho’ my joys and comforts die?/The Lord my Saviour liveth;/What tho’ the darkness gather round?/Songs in the night he giveth./No storm can shake my inmost calm/While to that Refuge clinging;/Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,/How can I keep from singing?”

Since I have a gradual alarm, in which the volume increases slowly over a couple minutes, I usually awaken in the middle of the second verse, so my first conscious thought most days is that Christ is Lord of heaven and earth. What an amazing truth to think of right as I start off – he is Lord of today! He is Lord of the joy I will face, of the challenges, of the expected, of the unexpected. He is sovereign over all.

With him on my mind, how CAN I keep from singing (even with that rusty voice)?

“It is good for me that I was afflicted, that I might learn your statutes.” Psalm 119:71

My favorite miracle in the Bible is where Jesus heals the man with the withered hand. It’s a story that’s found in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and almost every time I read it, I get a little chill. That’s because I can see in my mind this man stretching out his shriveled up, paralyzed right hand and “wham!” – It’s as whole as his left hand. What awe and joy he must have felt! I find myself stretching out my arm, just imagining . . . just . . . imagining.

I once heard a speaker describe trials, and she stated that there are two different kinds, those that are devastating, and those that cause inconvenience. A withered hand is an inconvenience. I know because I have one. I was born with mild cerebral palsy, resulting in weakness and minor paralysis on my left side. I walk with a limp, I have terrible balance (ask my roommate who likes to watch me tip over at the slightest bump), but the most obvious feature of my CP is my weak little “goofy part”, aka my left hand. It doesn’t do most of what I want it to do, and sometimes it gets in the way.

When I was small, I would ask my mom why I was the way I was. “Why didn’t God make me normal?” I’d say after a frustrating day when I couldn’t climb the monkey bars, or a particularly painful physical therapy session. Now I kind of wonder why it wasn’t worse; why my brain injury is an inconvenience for me, but not devastating. I’ve come to recognize that God’s finger didn’t slip when he “knit me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13).

I believe he allowed oxygen flow to be obstructed from my developing brain (in part, at least) so that I would carry in my body the constant lifelong reminder that I am not sufficient to handle my problems. Before I was born, God knew me. He knew my personality, he knew my sinful tendencies, he knew how super-independent and self-confident I can get. So in his divine wisdom and grace, he afflicted me.

It is a gentle affliction in the grand scheme of things. I lead a nearly perfectly normal life. I work, play touch football, drive, tie my shoes. I am not bound to a wheelchair or a bed. I am not in pain. In a world full of those who suffer far worse, I know I am blessed.

As Paul was given a thorn in the flesh, and Jacob’s hip was touched by God so that he limped for the rest of his life, so my Father nudges me through my physical weakness, reminding me of my need to rely on him. I shudder to think what my life would be like without my disability. Good grief, I’m prideful and self-reliant enough as it is; what would I be with a more normal body? God knows. And if a healthy, whole brain would have brought him more glory in my life, I no doubt would have had one. But he decided a weaker body would be best.

And that’s why, after thirty-one years of living with this gentle affliction, I can echo the Psalmist in all truthfulness, “It is good“.

2 Corinthians 12:9 “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”