Hearth & Hive

That sweet whisper. It’d felt like ages since I heard His voice, months of aching silence. Then, the first verse I read that day, the day after I’d intentionally stilled and tried to reorient myself: Psalm 83:1 “God, don’t shut me out; don’t give me the silent treatment, O God” (Msg). And there along the edge I paused and scratched out this prayer—“please! Please not now. I need you like I need breath. I need to hear you.”

I distractedly read the rest of the psalm. At the end, I breathed, “Was there even anything hopeful there?” So, I focused and re-read the words. No, nothing. Nothing uplifting at all. I curiously turned that tissue paper thin page. There, written in red ink, my penmanship, “Animals in heaven.” I’d scribbled those words across sacred text in 2017.

Psalm 84 describes God’s house, His home—animals dwelling there. Since Bentley’s puppy days, I’ve begged Abba-God to take her to heaven when her days here are finished, and I’ve had simple, childlike trust that He would. Even more so now. As I soul-howl-whispered those words, “please not now; I need to hear you” along the edge of Psalm 83, to turn over the papyrus holy and HEAR immediately from my soul father is no coincidence.

This is a love letter, a beautiful, personal one just for me.

A lesson here: sometimes we just have to turn the page and trust the unknown, the uncharted. Because He loves us oh so much and is only ever, ever kind.

Love letters.

God sends me turtle love letters. It’s remarkable how I look back through my life journey and notice the turtles along the way. Psalm 84, a Korah psalm, details how our lives are roads which God travels (vs. 5-7). Just pause here and marvel at that. It’s exquisite. Our roads aren’t always easy, but He never takes shortcuts. My God, my Jesus, is the road which I journey, but He also travels my life road. And along the way, He sends me turtles like road signs reminding me I’m on the right path, the true way home.

I’ll share three of my love letter turtles:

Eleven months ago, Lily Willow asked us to take her to the ocean for her 5th birthday. We arranged to beach camp on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. On a Sunday morning, early, we took the ferry to and from Okracoke. During the return trip, Rudy and Lily walked to the back of the ferry to feed cherries to the seagulls. But I felt a tug to stay rooted in my place near the front, searching for marine life, almost trance-like. Though it was sea turtle nesting season and we’d seen nests along the shore, I’d just overheard the captain sharing with a passenger that sea turtle sightings were uncommon. That time alone, pointing forward, onward, I spent in prayer, silently asking my God-Creator for a sea turtle.

And just there, in the flickering sun rays among rocking waves, a golden belly and flippers! Sea turtle. Love letter.

Speechless in awe, tears leaked from joy and a hint of disbelief. Why, why is there an ever-present shadow of unbelief? I mean, the captain, who has spent much of his life charting these waters, had just stated that this was rare. But not with my God! Standing there near the rail, leaning over as far as I dared, staring across ocean, I was humbled in gratitude. Heart nearly bursting, I asked, “Did you really just send me a sea turtle?!” In that sweet, still, sacred way that only God-spirit can commune with soul-spirit, He answered, “Why wouldn’t I send you a sea turtle. You asked me for one. I love you wider and deeper than this entire ocean. How could I not send my daughter what her heart so longed for?” Love letters.

Nearby our home, there’s a little trail, winding around a pond, where the girls and I walk nearly every day. This particular day was weary, and I felt lost, lonely, and overwhelmed. Always, always, Lily and I search for turtles sunning on submerged logs or rocks. But that day, coming down the hill on the backside of the pond, water stretched out in front of us, sun illuminated dozens of little turtle heads poking up from rippled water into air. Breath. And I heard Him, then, clearly—“You are known. You are loved. You are held.”

Love letters. It’s been almost a month ago now that we met my sister, Leah, to hike New River Gorge. The wild, the nature, the lush life was exhilarating! Back home for a few days, Rudy began having episodes of shortness of breath and extreme fatigue, unusual for him. A couple days later, I found a tick deeply embedded into his side. Two days later, he developed fevers and a rash. On a Sunday morning, first thing, I drove him to immediate care, a bit of residual trauma from his aortic aneurysm weighing on me. He was exhibiting many of the same symptoms.

There! Just up ahead, at the roundabout, was a dark lump—a turtle, head up, unafraid!

Immediately, I knew. God placed her there and all would be well. Then, anxiety sweeps again as we sit there, Rudy pouring sweat like he’s just emerged from ocean, blood pressure much too low, medical staff concerned. What if? What if it’s another aneurysm? But the turtle, I remembered the turtle, a signpost, a love letter.

Rudy was eventually diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, treated, and has recovered. My God wanted me, needed me, to know He was there journeying my life road along with me. Love letters. Postcards. Turtles.

The closing verses of Psalm 84 describe God’s generosity as being lavish. Yes. Yes He is. His gifts, His love are lavish and reckless. He’s crazy in love with us.

Sea turtles are fascinating creatures with much to teach us. Are you aware that female sea turtles travel up to 4000 miles, to return to the very shore on which they hatched, to nest? On our journey, our life-road, when we find ourselves miles from home, there is always the ability to reorient and ride the current which is Abba-God back home, back to Himself. He never leaves. We are always, always able to return home.

With Bentley’s recent and unexpected diagnosis of untreatable liver failure, I’ve cried so many tears, blazing hot, salt water rivers down my face. This part of my journey feels lonely, treacherous, and heart wrenching. It feels like I’m walking, crawling really, alone, helpless, afraid, and unseen. All those salty tears, like ocean water, though? Not one is wasted or unseen.

Did you realize that because a sea turtle’s diet is ocean-salty and the sea turtle only drinks salt water and because all of this salt isn’t healthy for the turtle’s body, the sea turtle, magnificent being, excretes the excess salt from the eyes? Sea turtles cry. They were created with this intricately beautiful ability. And as I learned this, I knew (know) that I, my tears even, am seen and held and loved. He is my current carrying me home.

And sending me turtle love-postcards along our journey.

Helpless. That has been the predominant feeling since news of war reached our little home. And with the ashes of bombed rubble comes ashes of Ash Wednesday and Lent’s beginning. Suffering. Sacrifice. Knowing Christ in His passion. But what can you give when you’ve given all? How can you wrap your tired arms around aching hearts from across oceans? How can you feed, clothe, bandage wounds, and love souls who have left everything to save their lives? Helpless. But not hopeless. Never ever hopeless.

Let’s take a look at Isaiah 58:6-12 (MSG)

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after: to break the chains of injustice, get rid of exploitation in the workplace, free the oppressed, cancel debts.

What I’m interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families. Do this and the lights will turn on, and your lives will turn around at once. Your righteousness will pave your way. The GOD of glory will secure passage. Then when you pray, GOD will answer. You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am.’

“If you get rid of unfair practices, quit blaming victims, quit gossiping about other people’s sins, If you are generous with the hungry and start giving yourself to the down-and-out, Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight. I always show you where to go. I’ll give you full life in the emptiest of places—firm muscles, strong bones. You’ll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You’ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. You’ll be known as those who can fix anything, restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate, make the community livable again.”

Read that slowly twice more. Do you see it? Can you feel it? Do you hear God’s words echoing down through the ages to right now, this very moment? Hope. Hope for we, who feel so hopeless, uncertain of what we are able to do, and hope for those refugees who have left all they have. We, during this fasting-Lenten season are simply called to obedience, giving, sharing, calling out for help.

Ann Voskamp writes this prayer:

“By Grace, today I will fast from apathy and indifference because we are not here to make an impression but to make a difference. Today I will be the hands and feet of Christ everywhere I can because He’s given me His heart so I can. We repent for not caring for the widow and orphan, but caring more about looking like we’re keeping up with Jones’s, because You say faith like this is a sham, a fake, a fraud.”

In a moment, I’ll share some ways you can help directly, indirectly, financially, and in other ways. Giving all isn’t solely giving money; sacrifice and generosity is a heart matter. When you offer your whole heart to Jesus, your time, energy, resources, talents, He will pave the way. He is the way. But first…

First, I’d like to introduce you to two dear Ukrainian friends and allow them to share a bit of their current, unique stories and concerns. These missives are in their own words.

Please welcome Vita! Vita and her husband, Dema, live in Kiev with their young daughter Daniela. This sweet couple attended Kiev Wesley Bible College where my father taught in the early 2000s. Vita often translated for our family and helped me find clothing (it’s hard to find plus-sized women’s clothes in Ukrainian markets!). Let’s lean in close and listen to Vita’s heart.

“Dear friends,

We left Kiev yesterday. With small pack packs and we are heading west. We spent 7 days and nights in the basement hoping it would stop soon. But it is getting worse and worse, explosions are closer and closer, buildings are being destroyed around us.
Vorsel is 30 km from Kiev and is under control of Russians now. Yesterday one of our friends became missing and we didn’t know where he is for more then 24 hours. And two of his neighbours were killed and their bodies were just laying by the fence all day long. His wife is there with kids and we were not able to get her out of there.
We had many stressful nights in that basement and the last night we were there my child could not sleep and we made a decision to try to leave Kiev. We found some people from a church who helped evacuate people. They took us out of Kiev.
Right now we are staying in the pastor’s house who we did not know before half way to the point of our destination. It’s safe here for now. They still have air sirens here but nothing is happening. We are scared of every sound and don’t feel safe. We don’t know what is ahead of us. Some of the families who are travelling with us don’t have much money and of course there’s no any income at this time. People are helping us and we are helping those who need help around us.
If you would like to support us you can do it through western union or money gram or ria. And we can still use cards at the store and we can get the money online.
You can send it to my name
Viktoriia Sedletska {via Western Union}
In order to get it I need to know the amount that was sent, the tracking number and from country it’s from.

Thank you”

“An update on the situation here

A group of 22 people was able to leave Kiev and we are close to Slovakian boarder. We are safe here. But can’t enjoy it worrying for those who stayed. And being heartbroken from all of this.

But kids are happy to be safe and together.

Thank you for all your help and prayers. We are staying in a small village right at Slovakian boarder. We are safe here”

And, now, let’s welcome Maryana! Maryana also was a student at Kiev Wesley Bible College in the early 2000s. She and her husband have two young children. Maryana currently lives outside Ukraine, but the rest of her precious family still lives inside the country. Maryana’s family holds a very special place in our hearts—so many intimate memories were made during winter at their home in the village. I feel Maryana’s heart as she writes her feelings here. Gather near and hear her heartbeat.

“You make plans, everything goes according to plan. It seems that you have money, you have all the conditions, you have achieved everything yourself, you can say – l made my self, everyone is healthy.
It cost me alot to make this way, but that was my coal l wanted always more-sometimes more than l can got en After all going through a lot, and now you think I will do what I planned. But not ….
trouble came to us trouble that no one expected. EVERYONE SAID MAYBE AND WILL BE BUT IT WAS JUST WORDS. And now the war has come to us. and all plans, all dreams collapsed and now we all have one dream. That there was no war. very scary, very painful … and very angry, why someone just needs to destroy everything there, and why one person was able to destroy, the dreams of many, who gave him this right.”

Join me in gratitude for these two friends trusting us with their hearts. I appreciate each one sharing her fears, frustrations, passions, anger, and stories. Vita spoke a few days ago of the trauma and fear they are all feeling. And Maryana has a unique backstory—her brother needs daily medication due to his kidney transplant. With the shop closures, Maryana has been worried he’d not be able to get medication. Can’t you just feel the tender ache in each story? You, my dear reader, can be a part of their stories!

How?

Re-read all the action words in the Isaiah passage: break the chains of injustice, get rid of exploitation, free the oppressed, cancel debts, share your food, invite the homeless, clothe the ill-clad, be available, pray, call out for help, get rid of unfair practices, quit blaming victims, quit gossiping, give yourself. There is an abundance of ways to be a part of Vita’s, Maryana’s, and countless others’ stories. If you’ve given all, you can pray! You can cry out for help! If you have something, you always, always have something to share. Lean into this promise—doing this, or giving your all to Jesus, will pave your way (Isaiah 58:7-9). There is always hope because Jesus is Hope.

In my feelings of helplessness, I want to do everything I can to provide help and relief to these strong, precious people. Foremost, pray with me please! Let’s link hearts and call out to our God, our Restorer, our Healer, our Rebuilder, our Redeemer, for help and provision and comfort for our Ukrainian brothers and sisters. If you’d like to donate, I’ve compiled a list of trusted links below.

Ukraine Crisis Fund

https://donate.worldvision.org/give/ukraine-crisis-fund?campaign=400062876&utm_source=AC&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=04Mar22SG&utm_content=appeal&acuid=efa414ff4369c9f52b22b87fc9da5c906f5783df77dc34a63bac6ba0c82b7b7b

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Help for Ukraine Refugees

If you’d like to show your support in a tangible and visible way, my brother, Timothy, is offering an “I Support Ukraine” t-shirt where the proceeds from each purchase goes to help Ukrainian refugees. The tees are available in sizes XS-XXL and are printed on three lovely colors. Check them out following the link below:

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1187916103/short-sleeve-unisex-t-shirt?ref=listing_published_alert

How about you and I, right now, steep a cup of tea and pray with and for these friends, their friends and families, the homeless, the refugees, the wounded, the ones mourning loss, the frightened, the soldiers, and the countries involved. We aren’t helpless, and we aren’t hopeless. Come, join forces with me, and let’s fight together on our knees. United. We are warriors in Jesus’ army, and together we can fight in prayer for peace. Because, ultimately, Jesus is our Hope, our Way, our Peace.

***Just a little fun fact: I cultivated my love for hot tea from both my father’s collection of teas there in my family’s Kiev apartment and around Maryana’s family’s table in a western Ukraine village. I remember questioning the variety of tea served and being told it was dried herbs and leaves collected. Whatever the source, the tea was deliciously calming. Don’t we all need a cup of that just now?

****I will update links and sources here as information comes in. ❤️

I wanted a dress for Christmas this year. A new dress. Specifically velvet. There’s just something so Christmassy about a velvet dress. And, realistically, my inner child was delighted by the thought of a twirly emerald or ruby velvet dress.

But this year wasn’t the Christmas for a new dress, velvet or otherwise. Little Ya-ya (thanks, Dad) was sorely disappointed on Christmas Sunday. Don’t we all want to present our best selves to Jesus?

Leaning over the bathroom sink to swipe on a brush of mascara, my Jesus whispered right down deep into the depths of my soul:

I came to a messy manger, an unstable stable, and animal salivated swaddling cloths. There was no velvet, no bows, no finery. Just come as you are. I just want your heart. Let go of perfectionism. I came to an imperfect place, a dirty place, to show you that outward purification is no longer required to have access to God. I am the way, the ladder, the bridge. Come as you are.

I’d searched, tried on, bought, returned velvet dresses, and ultimately ended up mismatched. Imperfect. Nothing matched; my decade old skirt had a hole. Lily forgot her glittery Christmas shoes, and we were walking up to the church doors before I realized she’d put on her clunky, muddy snow boots. She’d left her fancy hat behind. We came as real and authentic as we really are. No best foot forward. No hiding behind velvet and pretenses. Real. Vulnerable.

And no matter because Christmas Sunday was unforgettable. For the first time, I really grasped that in His freedom, I am indeed free. I can simply come as I am.

We’d been taking a peek into the untold stories of Christmas this season at church. Christmas Sunday, pastor unraveled the excruciatingly difficult stories of Mary and Joseph. Their stories that morning wove perfectly into the loving whisper-message Jesus had shared earlier that morning. Everything was as if orchestrated just for me. So personal. So beautiful.

Standing to worship my Jesus, I looked down to see a rainbow there on my boot. A promise. A sign that He’ll always meet me there in my mess, bringing light, bringing beauty. Perhaps it’s when we’re most vulnerable, most imperfect, most real that Jesus can most easily break through to share His love-gifts. He doesn’t want to see the velvet and bows; He wants to see me. He doesn’t want my best self; He just wants me. As I am.

My sister and I were talking this morning about dreams, how upon waking, differentiating between dreams and reality is often difficult. Dreams can be so real. I’m a vivid dreamer—both in nighttime dreams and daydreams. I’ve always been a dreamer, a dreamer who dreams big dreams. Some in my life haven’t appreciated that aspect of my quirky personality (hello enneagram type 4!), and have shattered some of those big dreams until they lay at my feet like tiny, dangerous shards from a broken vessel.

Those devastated dreams, sharp and cutting, can be just as wounding. Because in all the broken places, along all the razor-sharp edges and jagged points, fear creeps in. Fear is suffocating. Once you’ve repeatedly heard “you could never do____,” or “you could never be____,” or my most painful cut, “you’ll never make it in life,” you bury those wounds deep inside until you believe them, and the messages become a part of you, a part of you that desperately needs tender healing.

Working with clay is one of my big dreams. But, I let fear squelch my curiosity, until my dream faded—faded, but didn’t die. A couple months ago, I began The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron course. Immediately, the pottery dream sparked to life. It was kismet, really. Curious again, I explored different classes and avenues to fulfill my clay-working dream.

On a bright Saturday morning, I dressed in play clothes and set off alone to make my dream reality. I was nervous, but this time, my curiosity and enthusiasm won. Drawing strength from my therapy, the Mister, and resilience in my identity in God, I did it!

Just a short walk into my pottery journey, a plethora of lessons have lodged themselves into my heart—the most important being:

DREAM BIG! Never, ever give up on your precious dreams. Stay curious. Walk in wonder. Embrace and love the imperfections because this is where uniqueness is birthed.

A sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. These two devices check blood pressure, a vital sign for life. Who knew that something potentially life-saving could be a source of severe anxiety, and, well, terror, really?

An ordinary Monday morning, a routine physical doctor appointment, and a very unexpected high blood pressure reading created a whole lot of unnecessary chaos in our lives. Worry will do that. And really, that doctor appointment blood pressure wasn’t even that abnormal. My brilliant nurse practitioner wasn’t concerned. But I panicked. And I obsessed. And it all escalated from there.

Fear. You can trust me (and learn from me) that fear can be disastrous. I knew that I’d taken an anti hypertensive since pregnancy, so about five years. And fear started screaming at me, “You’re dying. Something catastrophic is wrong. There’s no way your blood pressure could be high when you’re medicated. You’re going to stroke. You probably have heart issues. Oh, maybe you’re creating an aneurysm. You’re never going to see Lily grow up.” Fear is relentless.

The following Sunday morning, I grabbed my old sphygmomanometer and lavender stethoscope and did a manual blood pressure reading on myself. 180/120!? Impossible. I shrugged it off as old instruments, but asked the Mister to stop on the way home from church to buy a digital monitor. After sitting still, doing those deep breaths, and rechecking, the numbers were still alarming. Panic. Worry. Mental games. In my pajamas, I grabbed my purse, coat, and keys, and informed Rudy I was going to a clinic.

Long story short, my focused worry caused me to lose focus on reality and landed me in the emergency room. That visit did nothing except cause financial worry. See the spiral here? Worry’s a bit like the snowball effect. Back to the doctor the next day, anxiety was diagnosed as the cause for hypertension. We adjusted and added medications, but the worry and fear stayed. Several people reached out to check on me, and their kindness meant so much. One of those people was Ira Konstantinik, who was a former student of my father’s in Ukraine. I’ll introduce Ira in a bit. When I visited Ira’s Instagram page to reply to her sweet message, her bio statement grabbed my heart. Ira had written there:

Let me die living, not live dying.

Let that sink in. Re-read it slowly. See, I’d not only let fear rule, but I became almost catatonic. Everything I did, I did from a death perspective. I’d think, “If I eat that, I’ll die. My blood pressure will never be normal. I’m not going to be able to mother Lily. I’d better not do that exercise and her my blood pressure up.” Then, I read Ira’s life statement over and over and over until that message replaced Fear’s messages. Why? Why did it impact me so much?

Well, let me introduce you to Ira.

Ira is a very young wife and mother. A decade ago, she and her husband traveled to Papua New Guinea to share Jesus in numerous ways with their newfound family.

The Konstantinik family grew.

They heal wounds and touch hearts.

I’ve prayed for Ira and her family as they awaited tribal unrest and clashes. Ira didn’t go to PNG to change those she met, only to bring Jesus and peace to their hearts. If she were sitting here, I’m certain Ira would tell us that she’s been the one changed. Ira lives like, eats like, dresses like, and worships like her very big new family. And, yes, many hearts know Jesus because Ira doesn’t become catatonic in danger. She doesn’t live dying. No, Ira will die living!

Make a warm cup of tea, find a comfy seat, and let’s sit down with Ira and visit her world. In her own words, read how Ira dies living. Welcome, Ira!

WHAT IS PNG?

✔ PNG is when you walk on the street and the truck drivers give you a signal, just because they are happy to see you. 🚚

✔ PNG is when you walk into someone’s house just to say hello and end up having a heavy dinner with loads of roasted sweet potato, greens and very VERY sweet tea. 🍌

✔ PNG is when you stand at the market place, open your Bible and after 30 seconds there is a crowd listening.📖

✔ PNG is when you do EVERYTHING (laundry, marketing, walking, showering… Etc etc) always with someone pointing at you and exclaiming, “ayo ayo lukim” (look at that, look at that!)😳

✔ PNG is when someone comes to get medicine and when you ask him, what’s wrong, he’d just say “I am sick”. And that “sick” could mean ANYTHING – from the running nose, to Typhoid.😷

✔ PNG is when you just compliment someone for his shirt and end up getting this very shirt. AND the bilum. AND the cap.😎

PNG is when you go to town just for one hour to get the things done but come back late in the afternoon, because you speak with everyone you meet on the road- as long as possible. The last one is the bus driver, who’ll possibly tell you the whole story of his family. You might end up invited to his village and you even might actually go there.🙈

✔ PNG is when you go to the store to buy rice, but you happen to meet your friend standing right in front of the store so you both end up spending your rice money for coke and flour balls. 😱

✔ PNG is when you walk miles into the jungles expecting to see half naked tribesmen and end up seeing people making selfies on the latest Samsung phone (yeah and if it happens that they want to post it, they have to take a 4 hours hike to catch the low network signal).📳

PNG is when people have at least 10 facebook profiles with the names such as “Lewa blo yu” (your friend), Smel pukpuk blo Sepik (Stinky crocodile from the Sepik province) etc etc and they all send you a 100 friend requests every day, all from the different accounts.📲

✔ PNG is when you dance in church, just because you are happy that God saved you.🙌

✔ PNG is when you need to be ready to preach ALWAYS, you never know when and where you’ll have to share, so just hold your message ready at all times.🙏

↪ We’ve been sharing on the road, at the market, in the church, under the banana tree or in the coffee garden, during the heavy rain, thunderstorm or extremely hot sun.⚡⭐🌄🌃⛈⛅🌋🌞

You never know where God would lead you and when and how He would speak to you, so you just keep your ears open always.👑

What you learn is that EVERYDAY is Sunday, EVERYWHERE is church and EVERYONE needs God’s love.

WHY-

…We were walking (read: hiking, climbing….) for like 7 hours now, almost half-way through our whole-day journey in the jungles. A team of 5, crazy enough to reply HERE I AM to God’s eternal question, WHO.

I look down at my blistered and bloody feet and smile, surely THAT is exactly what Isaiah meant speaking of beautiful feet of those who bring the Good tidings.

Thats what we do. We bring Gospel along with the medical supply to the remote area of Asiki, Menyama province in Papua New Guinea – to get there you buy K50 fare for an 8 hour ride in a land cruiser to get you to “who-knows-where” and then you just walk. We did 12 hours, could have walked 2, 3 days or 2, 3 weeks, still the same.

There is no store. (like, I MEAN IT. NOT at all!). No one owns a car. Again, I DO mean it. NO ONE! No electricity, no hospitals, but there are witchdoctors everywhere.

“How long you guys need to walk to get to an aid post?” – we ask.

The elderly man does not know the answer to “how long”. He can’t read, write or count, so he replies simply:

“If we leave our village on the sunrise, we’ll get to an aid post on the sunset”.

There ARE schools there, though. On our way we passed through at least two Primary schools. To build the school house, the classrooms for all 8 grades, the people from the villages had to CARRY the bags of cement, iron posts, iron sheets for the roof ON THEIR SHOULDERS for at least 10 hours, through the mountains and rivers.

So we were there, walking towards Asiki – far enough to be tired, close enough to feel even more determination. On the way we met kids. Children there are something else, they do not smile neither cry. No noise at all! As a mother of two, I could hardly believe it is actually possible for a child, not to show any emotion at all.

It took us a whole lot of time and effort to make them smile and even more, laugh.

After they were gone (which took us again, a whole lot of trickery), I looked up at our pastor Joshua.

Tired as much as me, all the boys in our team, like real brothers, took care of me during this journey, always helping me to climb a mountain or walk through a feet-wide log “bridge”, or just made me laugh and forget about the sore feet.

“Why – I ask him, letting out what I’ve been thinking of for the past hours – Why God sees us so special that He did put us where we have an abundance of things, but these people – I had to stop to catch a breath, calming my heartache – why these children have so little?”

Pastor just nods his head, no words needed. I know his heart aches same as mine, but little we can do.

Upon arrival we went right off – all the sick people and everyone who needed prayer were brought to us. Lots, lots of them. Hundreds of people are just lost in the middle of nowhere.

“What is your biggest need?” – we asked them.

Owning nothing at all, exeeding our expectations, everyone at the same time, they yelled: “BIBLES… WE WANT BIBLES!!!!”

Our last evening in Asiki. For the couple days we spent there, we had no time to rest or eat, walking from one village to another, climbing just one more mountain, praying with just one more soul.

The village elders look straight into my eyes (which is not common for PNGeans).

“WHY – he asks, tears in his eyes make my heartache almost unbearable – Why do you need to leave so soon? Why don’t you teach us more? Why?”

WHY. His question rings like a bell in my ears, resounding in my heart even though a month passed by since then.

I went to Menyama and came back. They are still there. Why. I sleep at the queen size bed, with the finest linens, they sleep on the floor, a piece of wood for a pillow, no blanket or bedsheet at all. Why.

I can go to church of my choice and enjoy the best time of worship and dig deep into God’s word, they are eager and so ever hungry for a small “God loves you” talk.

Why. What. How….WHO.

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

Isaiah 6:8

Much thanks to Ira for sharing her heart and life.

I’m half a world away, and Ira has touched my life. Yes, I still have anxiety around that dreaded blood pressure monitor. Yes, I still have hypertension. Yes, we just increased medication not even an hour ago. But, fear no longer controls me, because, like Ira, I want to die living, not live dying. I’ve had pizza, gone sledding, did my workouts, shared my heart and love, reached out to others, and spent time with my family. Because I want to live!

I’m able to die living because I released the paralyzing fear to the Healer Jesus. When I choose to give my life instead of hold onto it, I’m able to die living. After all, Jesus himself said He came to give life and give abundant life (John 10:10).

Since May, I’ve had ever so many thoughts and memories I’ve longed to share, but life happened and days grew long and busy. One of my tasks, a prioritized favorite, is tending my gardens. In the front garden, beneath the canopied trees, is my woodland garden. There, you’ll find varieties of ferns, Jack-in-the-pulpit, yarrow, bleeding heart, trillium, trout lilies, columbine, and bluebells woven among other woodland plants. In the back yard is the kitchen garden full of vegetables. Along the fence near the beehives is my witch (medicinal) garden, tea garden, and kitchen herb garden. Behind the kitchen garden is the pollinator garden for our serenity and a haven for birds, butterflies, and bees. Then, of course, there are flowers and grapes and trees. Gardening and preserving the harvest keeps me busy, thus, a blog neglected.

Apothecaries thrill me. If there’s ever an old village museum, I head for the apothecary. Plants and their healing properties is magical, really. So, I’ve been in the process of building an apothecary in my home. Herbs and plants have been harvested. Now, I’m putting them into sweet jars and bottles until I’m ready to use them. Some will be blended into teas, others into salves and tinctures. There’s something so pure and primal about the old ways of healing. And, I’m a healer, so I’m drawn to the old and natural. Real magic. Healing tea.

For a while now, I’ve followed lovely Rose (Nolemire) on social media. She inspired me to tend my blog as I carefully tend my garden–in other words, to keep up with it. For as long as I can remember I’ve carried so many words inside. Instead of speaking, I’ve tucked the stories down deep inside. They’re finding their way out now. Thank you, Nolemire, for sharing your creativity, your words, your beauty, and your inspiration. I love how you said in your blog that your words there are like a diary you share with the world.

There’s just something about September isn’t there? As summer’s end greets autumn’s beginning, another season begins. Harvest is slowing, and we’re beginning the slower, softer storage season. Like the animals, this is a time to store up and prepare for winter’s sabbath.

September, autumn’s birth month, is a time to slow, savor, and practice self-care. Self-care doesn’t mean caring selfishly about your self. Not at all. Self-care instead refers to caring for one’s mental, physical, and spiritual wellbeing. Think of it like this, if you’re rushed, starved, dehydrated, lonely, and spiritually exhausted, then you’re going to be sick. When you’re sick, you’re unable to give your best self to those who need you. I love the analogy of the teapot: an empty teapot cannot fill empty teacups. However, if the teapot itself is full, then the teapot may pour out refreshing tea to fill teacups. If I’m properly nourished and balanced physically, spiritually, and mentally, then I can offer my best self to others.

And let me tell you—last month, I was far from my best self. Ask those who live with me; it wasn’t pretty. Harsh words spewed from a raised voice that no princess of grace should ever speak. Guttural cries rooted in an anguished soul. I was imbalanced. I’d stopped caring for myself. So, trying to squeeze just a drop of refreshment from a withered, empty self, I cracked. Shattered would probably be more accurate.

Here we are, then. September. As Autumn is birthed, it’s a re-birth of sorts for me too. A re-set.

This month, this season, I’m committed to not only storing up for winter, but also for re-storing balance in my life. Restoration. Whole. Balanced. Complete. Full.

My Re-storing Plan:

• Nourish my body with whole, healing foods
• Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate
• Have daily tea times and rituals
• Journal, read, write
• Slow down, way down
• Linger long at family meals
• Take time to listen
• Practice yoga daily
• Forget power walks and take meditative nature walks
• Follow the sun for sleep rhythms
• Eat seasonally
• Be quiet and still; listen for God
• Do things that make me happy
• Find ways to make others smile
• Forgive; release resentment
• Date my husband
• Write long letters
• Say no when needed
• Stick to my housework routine so as not to grow overwhelmed
• Light candles
• Take long, hot soaks in the tub

Here we are mid-August, riding on the tail end of summer, hanging on for dear life. Hanging on to unscheduled days, dripping ice cream cones, sweet iced tea, sunny days in the water, weekends camping, and nights snuggled together stargazing. This is that rhythm filled season. Long summer days are blending into long autumn nights. Temperatures and weather patterns cycle again. And, children are returning back to classrooms in some form or other.

A lover of learning, I’ve always looked forward to the back to school time. The smell of brand new sharply pointed crayons, crisp blank notebooks full of promise, squeaky clean shoes, organized backpacks, and brilliantly colored pens excite me. The thing that thrilled me the most, though, was that stack of textbooks filled cover to cover with knowledge just waiting to be learned. My curious four-year-old shares my love for learning. She, too, is eager for the back to school season.

Back to school shopping was always an end-of-summer highlight for me. Okay, I admit it–I still love all the aisles of school supplies. I love it so much that before we had Lily, I went a little crazy buying just about every back to school item you can imagine for our niece and nephew. Maybe I just wanted for someone else to be as excited about education.

But it was excessive. The required supply lists schools deliver are excessive. All the varieties and choices and “must-haves” are, well, too much. Way too much. When did we suddenly need scented, color-changing, glow-in-the-dark markers? Who decided the need for three kinds of scented notebooks? And have you been to the notebook aisle?! It’s now plural. A-i-l-e-s. Where did this need–or greed–come from? Entitlement. We have grown into such an entitled society. No longer do we work for things we need or work to improve or enjoy, now, we are groomed to just expect having bigger and better, more and most.

Kristen Welch, founder of Mercy House Global, shares how her family tackled entitlement in her book Raising Grateful Kids in an Entitled World. Haven’t read it? You should! My eyes have been opened not only to how entitlement actually disservices my child, the difference between needs and conveniences, but also how there is a sense of entitlement in my own life.

So, this year we’re doing things differently. Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on new, more, and convenience, we’ve sharpened last year’s pencils and crayons, moved around furniture to give an updated feel to the tiny classroom space, focused on natural elements, and handmade decorations. And, you know what? Lily is perfectly contented. She hasn’t complained once. The only thing she’s asked for is more books (hmmm, sounds like her grandfather and mother)! Instead of immediately giving in to her wants, she understands that she must earn new books by completing chores and saving her money.

Have you ever packed a backpack of school supplies for a student of a lesser developed country? Over a decade ago, I sat cross legged on a cold, hard floor in Guatemala. Our team formed a small assembly line, and we packed backpacks of basic school supplies for children there. There were no pineapple scented notebooks or glow-in-the-dark markers included, but I’ll never forget the sheer joy on those sweet, brown faces. Entitled, no; they were sincerely grateful. Those children, living in box-sized, tin-roofed homes didn’t have any concept of entitlement, but they knew real joy.

When you need more and more to satisfy, essentially, you’re never satisfied. You have nothing. When you have nothing and can still smile, you have everything.

Last year’s crayons still color. We’ve eliminated extra and excess. Lily’s seen a different perspective and is learning gratitude and that it’s okay to be different. She’s learning that instead of getting more when she has all she needs, to instead give more to those who truly need. She’s discovered the happiness of choosing items to send to a child who doesn’t have school supplies and the fun of filling up a grocery bag for someone who is hungry. Maybe you’re ready for that deep, satisfying joy that gratitude brings and the relief that comes from overcoming entitlement. Dare to swim against an entitled culture. It’ll be worth it.

A couple weeks ago, my friend, Jen Hutson published an article about entitlement. Because I’d been thinking so much about our entitled culture and the way children are being affected, I was thrilled to see her article and read about our entitled society from her perspective. Jen offers practical advice, and its with her permission that I’m including a link to her article here. Thanks so much, Jen!

https://coramdeo-in.com/adversity-sowing-fruit-in-your-childs-garden/

Dear Lily Willow,

Mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. Neither of these foods are frequent in my diet, but the week I conceived you, that’s all I ate. For an entire week, Daddy took me out for mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. I was too nauseated to cook. After four weeks of symptoms similar to ovarian cancer, I was certain I’d developed late stage ovarian cancer. Mommy has PCOS. You’ll learn a lot about that as you grow up, especially because you have an increased risk due to genetics. But, that night, after dinner out, I desperately asked Daddy to take me to buy a pregnancy test on the way home. I didn’t expect to be pregnant; I just wanted to rule out everything before seeing a doctor. Back at home, I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and nervously completed the test. Anxious, I covered the test to keep me from staring at it. Daddy knocked on the door and asked if I was ok. Finally the three hours, er, three minutes was up, and there were two thin pink lines. Pregnant. Positive. I was stunned. After I recovered from the shock, I screamed, “Rudy!!! It says positive!” We were so happy we cried.

Those symptoms weren’t ovarian cancer, but you, Lily. God placed a beautifully perfect little miracle girl inside me. And we loved you deeply before we even knew you. Except we knew that even in utero, you had a taste for mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, cheeseburgers, and milkshakes.

I remember everything about your birth, your journey into this wide, wonderful world. I’d made veggie burgers that night. Sitting where you sit to eat now, I felt this strange, jarring pain. After feeling the tight cramp twice more with increasing length and frequency, I was fairly certain you were getting ready to be welcomed to the world. I called Nommy, and she came down, and I called my doctor. I remember feeling calm as Nommy was getting ready to drive us to the hospital. Daddy, though, was not calm at all! He was so nervous, Lily. You’d laugh if we could go back to that night and see Daddy! He was in such a hurry and so anxious that he forgot his shoes!

I remember contractions so intense I’d vomit with every one. And you know, I still can’t eat veggie burgers! I remember being exhausted with the long hours of laboring, but being unable to sleep because I was so excited to meet you. And I remember having to hold that last push until Dr. Moon could get to our room. And, finally, finally, I remember pushing the final time, pausing so Dr. could untangle your cord, and feeling you, my precious baby, skin to skin on my chest.

I remember the unrivaled joy I felt as I held you and whispered, “my baby” in sacred wonder. We were so happy we cried.

We wanted you so badly. We prayed and prayed for you. And, today, you’re four years old. You’ve made these four years some of the best of our lives, and, really, it’s almost impossible for me to remember life without you. You’re growing into such a kind, thoughtful little girl. And, it’s my honor to teach you, but I’m humbled by all that you teach me. I admire your generous heart, your passionate soul, your zeal for learning, your kindness, your thoughtfulness, your love of Jesus, and your wild-tender spirit.

Lily, when you lived in my belly, I dreamed of having a little girl to follow me around the garden, pick flowers and catch butterflies, and splash in puddles with me. You are even more than all my dreams. Even at your young age, you already understand in the simplest ways about Mommy’s and Daddy’s struggle with infertility; I want you to know that even though we’re sad sometimes, you are enough.

You are more than enough. Don’t ever forget that, little honeybee.

And don’t ever forget that I love you bigger than the whole sky and more than all the stars in that sky. You are so loved, precious one. For those who never make an effort to get to know you or who make you feel uninvited, never let it hurt your heart or bruise your spirit. It’s their loss. You are an otherworldly delight.

I so dearly love your sense of wonder and imagination! Your humor is charming. One day, I hope you read this and smile–today, on your fourth birthday, I told you that you were my present. Confused, you said, “I am not a present!” I explained that when God put you in my belly, you were the best present ever. You asked, “when I popped out, did I come in wrapping paper?” Oh, life with you is a marvelous adventure, Lily Willow, and I’ll always have mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese just for you.

I love you always. Happy Birthday.

Love, Mommy