Borneo Wife

Thorny Issues: Part 2: Disappointing People

2012-01-26T16:18:00.000-08:00

This week, I’m posting about some of the real issues involved with living and working overseas. Today, I share what I’ve always really wanted to tell the people I serve.

You see me towering over the crowd, sweat dripping down my white cheeks, holding onto my small kids. You pinch the cheeks—theirs, not mine. You snap our pictures with your phones, tell my little girl she looks like a doll, and give my son candy. You compliment me, make me feel beautiful, despite all my messiness.

You may have many thoughts about me. That I’m rich because I’m white. That I’m loose because I’m an American. That I understand you because I live in your country.

But what you may not think right away is, I am going to disappoint you.

You’ve given me so many things through the years. Gifts for my kids. Cakes for my birthdays. Spicy foods for my dinner table.

I try to give, too. And you are gracious, smiling, even though I cook differently, celebrate holidays privately, speak your language strangely, and raise my kids with different methods.

I want you to know, I’m trying to get it right. Studying your culture. Listening to your advice. Choosing to change my core ideas about how to do life.

But you may see my mistakes more than my efforts. My wrongs more than my intentions. My hiding more than my opening.

And though I usually try to go all the way, I still fall short. And sometimes I was up all night with my child, and so I don’t even try. I see your disappointment in the faltering smile. And I feel my own disappointment in myself. And then I just want to hide. Behind closed doors and painted-on smiles.

But then I remember I didn’t come here to make you like me. I don’t serve here to impress you with my generosity. I didn’t move here to become someone else.

I came here, hoping you’d overlook my failures to experience His love. To look through my white skin to notice His heart. To see past my sweat to see His blood. Shed for you.

Thorny Issues: Getting Real about Living Overseas

2012-01-23T21:13:00.000-08:00

I search through the patchwork of fruits at the roadside stand, motorcycles whizzing behind me. I examine the apples, discarding the mushy ones, setting my picks in the dust-coated metal scale dish. Half a kilo. Five apples. Just enough for Brad’s lunches for his flight days this week.

I pay the child who is manning the stand in front of his family’s house. He lies back down on the bamboo mat in front of the television.

And then the smell. Ahh, yes, durian. To the side, the pile of thorny fruit sits, emanating its odor that either churns stomachs or waters mouths. For me, it’s been some of both.

And for me, that “some of both” could apply to a lot of things. My experience in Indonesia. My adjustment to overseas living. Myself as I struggle and grow and backtrack and move forward. My adjustment to life as a mom.

Sometimes things just stink. And sometimes, my mouth waters from the enjoyment of being here.

When I first moved to Indonesia, I arrived in time for durian season, which usually happens only for a few months every couple of years. The grocery stores, markets and streets radiated the odor that made me nauseous. Finally, one day, Brad and I bought some, determined to do our best to accept this southeast Asian fruit.

We forced the slimy fruit down our throats, and gagged. It was horrible. This fruit is expensive, rare, and well-loved by many Indonesians. I didn’t get it.

For three years, I refused to eat it. Finally, Brad brought some home as a thank you gift from a villager he had flown. We tediously chopped into the unfriendly exterior, pulled out the slimy fruit and ate.

It wasn’t good. But…it didn’t repulse me.

The next time I tried it, I decided it might be possible to like it. Now, almost seven years into this life in Indonesia, I love the fruit. And my mouth waters when I smell it.

I guess you could say it’s a happy ending, one about adjustment and perseverance and growth and overcoming culture shock. But let me be honest. I haven’t grown to love or even like everything about this life. Some things still just stink.

For the next few days, I’m going to be writing about some of the realities of living and working overseas. The odors and the perfumes. The hard things and the lessons learned. The regrets and the second chances. Or in the case of durian, the third and fourth and fifth chances.

I'll even offer some practical tips on surviving the initial culture shock.

Even if you don’t live and work overseas, you may have a family member or friend who does. Or maybe your suburban American life has its own mixture of interesting scents and your own life may be full of hard-to-accept changes.

Whatever your situation, I’d love for you to join in the discussion as we get real about what it’s really like to live a life unexpected, thorns and all.

photo credit, YIM Hafiz

My Top Tips for Saving Money and Calories in the Kitchen

2012-01-22T00:41:00.000-08:00

When I moved overseas, I learned more than a foreign language, how to drive on the other side of the road, and how to avoid using my left hand. I learned how to cook. From scratch. With limited ingredients. On a tight budget. I still can't believe how far I've come.

But don't worry. You don't have to move halfway around the world to figure this out for yourself. Today I'm revealing my 10 best tips for saving money and calories in the kitchen. (Drum roll please.)

1. Save your vegetable scraps in the freezer. When you need some chicken broth to make soup or some other meal, boil up all your scraps, add some seasoning, and you have a version cheaper and healthier than the canned chicken broth from the store.

2. Use healthier, usually cheaper meats like chicken and fish, and season them with spices that make it taste rich. My favorite seasoning is Penzey’s Italian Sausage seasoning, which I use often with chicken in pastas, pizzas, soups, etc. Sklp the fattier meats without missing the taste.

3. Use lots of fruit, and lots of local fruit in your diet. The local, in-season fruits will always be cheaper and fresher.

4. Two tricks to cream up soup without adding unhealthy and expensive creams? Take a portion of your soup and put it in the blender, then add it back in. Or add ground-up oatmeal to add a creamier flavor.

5. Use everything. I buy my chicken at a local market, still on the bone. I cut off the meat, then boil the bones. I can then easily pull off the remaining meat and use it on salads, in soups, in wraps, etc. I save the broth to use in soups. Then I feed the bones to my cats.

6. When making cookies, bake only the number of cookies you plan to eat at that sitting. Freeze the rest of the dough. This keeps you from snacking on the dessert all day, and makes for an already made, freshly warm treat for another day.

7. Make your own sauces. Sauces aren’t all that difficult to make if you have a recipe (and really easy to find online). The canned sauces can be expensive and full of preservatives and sodium. I routinely make my own tomato sauce from fresh tomatoes my white sauce from skimmed milk, oatmeal flour and butter, and honey-mustard sauces for fish.

8. Stop buying drinks. Juices, sodas, bottled teas and coffees are expensive and full of calories. Learn to enjoy a slightly sweetened cup of tea or coffee in the morning, and rely on water for most of the other meals.

9. Use meats sparingly and supplement your dishes with beans, lentils and barley. They are healthy, cheap and do well at taking on the flavor of your dish, and stretching your other more expensive ingredients to feed a family.

10. Is your fruit going bad? Freeze fruits like blackened bananas, mushy apples and sour mangoes to use in bread, or even in cookies.

photo credit, slightly everything

Save Money, Give Money

2012-01-18T21:09:00.000-08:00

Flop…Flop…. I walk out of the store to Renea’s side of the car to buckle her into her car seat. Flop… Flop… Now over to Evan’s side.

Great, I think. My flip flops are missing the flip. The sole is falling apart—the fourth pair of shoes to do that in the last month, and I still have two more stores to go to finish my grocery shopping.

I’ll have to return to the shoe repair guy who sits in front of a store on a small stool. Broken shoes pile up in front of him as he sews them back to life one by one.

My January budget is trying to recover from December’s spending, with no room to buy shoes. But it costs the equivalent of just 50 cents to get a shoe fixed.

Nearly three years into this term (and that long since I’ve bought decent shoes), he has become my hero.

This ability to repair or refill broken or empty things is one of my favorites about Indonesia. I buy bagged refills of lots of things—body soap, dish soap, laundry soap. They are cheaper, use less packaging and in this area of my life, at least, I get to conserve.

I can also get clothes altered for real cheap to grow or shrink around my life. Throwing up all the time from early pregnancy? No problem, just resize those pants to fit with the emaciated look. Hubby now fully recovered from last term’s constant sickness? Take his pilot pants to the tailor to increase a size, and grow my smile.

Yes, I love to save a rupiah.

But I also am learning how to hold loosely to what I’ve worked hard to save. In today’s economy, it’s easy to get stingy with money. To hold tight to what we aren’t sure we’ll even have tomorrow. But when I save hard and give easily, I get the duel thrill of conserving something to watch it grow into someone else’s life.

What are your ideas for conserving and saving money? How do you like to turn your savings into generosity?

Check back in next week to see how I like to save money, time and calories in the kitchen.

Losing My Nerve

2012-01-14T21:45:00.000-08:00

“Are you ready for the new year?” Brad asked me on our walk. He carried Renea in a back carrier. I pushed Evan in a stroller.

Motorbikes and cement trucks zoomed past us as I tried to plow the small stroller wheels through sand-filled potholes.

“I guess,” I answered. A truck rumbled by, catching my words, and leaving behind the fears.

The new year? This one? The one where we’ll take a month-long trip back to the States with our little kids on that horribly long airplane ride? The one where Brad has three more masters’ courses on top of his already busy schedule? The one where he learns to fly a new airplane, and then goes to Africa for three weeks while I stay with the kids in Indonesia?

The one where we continue to hope for health for our little kids in a place of poisonous snakes and tropical diseases? The one where challenges I don’t even know about will surely push themselves into our lives?

The truth is, I’m losing my nerve.

It all started back when I had my first baby. Our family no longer consisted of my strong former Army soldier husband and my own invincible dreams. Our little baby boy was tiny—just six pounds—and vulnerable. And it was my job as mommy to make sure he would make it.

Then I had a little girl, who, though bigger than Evan at birth, just seems more fragile, even as she plows bravely into the world around her.

But now it’s been 18 months since she was born, and almost seven years since I moved to Indonesia. We’ve been through hard things and survived. My kids get bigger and stronger each year. So, where has all my courage gone? Why don’t I feel strong anymore? How could I move forward in this crazy year when I felt like I was slipping backward. How can I live here if I can’t buck up?

And then the truth tickled my weak heart. I need to learn something. I need to stop trying to be so strong.

I need to: Lean on His strength. Pray for His protection. Live in His courage.

Lose your nerve and find His courage. Give up your control and trust His power. Die to the fears and live in the miracles.

And I remember one of my favorite quotes:

“God is looking for people through whom He can do the impossible. What a pity when we only plan things we can do by ourselves.” –A. W. Tozer

Will you join me as we let Him turn our weakness into His strength?

photo credit, notsogoodphotography

Serving from the Mess

2012-01-14T15:22:00.000-08:00

My little girl crawled behind me as I ran into the kitchen to grab a piece of bread to give her for an improvised breakfast. I wanted to keep running—from my own stench. But I supposed I should return to my surprise guests who caught me finishing up an early morning workout.

My 3-year-old son saw the bread and wanted one, too. So, I excused myself again to get one for him, looking longingly at the bathroom—its promise of cleanliness calling out to me.

I returned, and smiled, though the sweat rings were still wet on my t-shirt, and my hair was plastered all greasy and sweaty on my head. I racked my brain for the polite thing to do in this culture. Excuse myself for 10 minutes so I could shower and just hope the kids don’t cry and pound on the bathroom door like they often do?

To find out what happened, visit For Missionary Moms where I'm guest blogging today.

photo credit, Pink Sherbet Photography

Substitute, Don't Starve

2012-01-08T03:11:00.000-08:00

This is the third in a series on Healthy Living, focusing on healthy eating.

My best piece of advice for people trying to eat healthier: never stop eating. If a diet focuses only on NOT eating certain foods, then that diet will last only as long as my tummy is full from the last pre-diet meal.

So, a key tool to a healthy lifestyle for this busy mom is to substitute, not starve.

Snacking:

It’s been a couple of hours since you ate breakfast (if you eat breakfast) and that donut or cookie or candy bar looks really good right now. Instead of merely ignoring my growling stomach, I keep a supply of healthy, but yummy, snacks, in which I happily indulge.

My list includes apples with peanut butter, a granola bar with dried fruit, hard-boiled egg and some carrot sticks, a handful of peanuts and dates. I usually use fruit to satisfy my sweet tooth. And protein tends to fill my stomach and stave off further cravings.

Meal Time:

If your goal is merely to eat healthy, you may focus too much on a bland serving of spinach. If you focus too much on food tasting good, you may reach for the cheese and push away the broccoli. But a focus on both makes for a more successful eating style that will last longer—hopefully for life.

So, make starches the whole wheat variety. Whole wheat spaghetti noodles topped with a yummy tomato-based sauce with a good helping of Italian seasoning is a good, healthy comfort food. Whole wheat tortillas for wraps filled with chicken, avocados and veggies taste good, fill the tummy and provide energy throughout the day. Combine brown or red rice with vegetables for a healthy stir fry.

Substitute in recipes. Use skim milk instead of heavy creams. Beans are a healthier than red meat in soups, and can taste just as good with the right seasoning. Whole wheat flour or oatmeal can be used instead of white flour to thicken sauces and soups. Fresh vegetables instead of canned ones are your best bet in making casseroles. Olive or canola oil should be used instead of butter.

Pick one healthy main dish. Then my next secret is to pick one or two sides that don’t require cooking. Salads with lots of yummy toppings such as fruit, veggies and a homemade honey mustard dressing (just combine equal parts mustard and honey) are easy to make and healthy to eat. Fruit makes a delicious side dish with little prep time and no added preservatives, sugar, or oil. The less cooked your food is, the healthier it is, and the easier it is to prepare.

Desserts:

I know I should padlock the refrigerator after dark. But on those nights when I just need a little something to enjoy with my favorite pre-bedtime show, I pull from my list of healthy, but yummy desserts.

Here are a few favorites: hot, decaf tea sweetened with just a teaspoon of sugar; toast with cinnamon; plain yogurt with a sprinkling of granola and a cut-up banana; frozen grapes; dried fruit.

If you’re like me, you try to simply eat nothing, hoping the craving will go away. Then unhealthy options will scream your name and you’ll end up tearing toward the kitchen. You throw all sorts of sweets down your mouth before you even realize what happened.

Take it from me. Eat. Enjoy.Just choose healthy and yummy food.

photo credit, em>Pink Sherbet Photography

The Exhausted Woman's Guide to Staying Fit

2012-01-08T02:56:00.000-08:00

This is the second in a series on Healthy Living. Today we'll talk about making exercise and healthy eating possible, even when we're tired.

Who knew that snacking, sleeping and short workouts would be the key to keeping exercise in my life three years after becoming a mom?

Though I’ve always been a pretty dedicated exerciser, throw two kids into my life and the urge to stay in bed in the morning is strong; and later, the urge to eat chocolate is overwhelming. Almost daily, I fight the three excuses I hear often from other women:

I am tired. (My kids are ages 3 and 1. Enough said.)
I don’t have a lot of time. (Refer to kids’ ages above.)
I have a sweet tooth. Especially for chocolate. Especially when I’m tired or stressed or bored or happy or sad.

But I really like being healthy and feeling good. So, I’ve developed six steps to staying fit.

1. Make a daily exercise plan:

The night before, plan a workout time for the next day. If it’s first thing in the morning, put your exercise clothes and shoes beside your bed. Then get up at the first sound of the alarm and immediately put on your exercise clothes, including your shoes. This turns you from a sleeping beauty to a strong athlete.

If your exercise plan is to work out after work on the way home from work, change into your clothes at the office. Again, you’re now an Olympian instead of a tired office drone. Drive directly to the gym, even if you’re really tired.

2. Choose your favorite exercise first:

If you’re feeling weak and tired and are about to just go back to bed, or go home after work or take a nap, pick the easiest, most enjoyable exercise first. For me, it’s walking. I figure, I can certainly put one foot in front of the other no matter how tired I am. Once you get started, the endorphins kick in and you remember what a stud you are when you’re exercising.

3. Stock your frig and pantry with healthy, yummy snacks.

Really, they must taste good so that you’re not tempted to just grab a cookie after eating the healthy food. So, splurge on the healthiest, yummiest granola bars you can find (or make your own!). Pick the yogurt with the fruit on the bottom. (Or try my easy recipe.) Buy your favorite fruit. Put some peanut butter on that celery stick.

4. Break up your exercise.

Sometimes my kids wake up earlier than I’d hoped and I’m halfway through my ab workout. Instead of just quitting, I finish it up at the next possible moment—while they’re playing quietly, during naptime, or even after they go to bed.

5. When you’re tired, move.

When we’re tired, we tend to reach for something sugary to give us the boost we need. Instead, drop and give me 20—of anything—crunches, push-ups, jumping jacks. Work a 15-minute mini-workout into your work day—either during lunch or during a break, or right after work. It curbs the appetite and gives you a healthier source of energy.

6. Be disciplined about your sleep.

Turn off the TV and go to bed (early) at the same time every night. If you’re continuously choosing to stay up late, then have to get up early for kids or work, your body will get run down and it will be harder to keep up a workout schedule. So, as much as it depends on you, get some sleep.

photo credit, lululemon athletica

Healthy Living, Healthy Soul

2012-01-08T02:46:00.000-08:00

This week, I plan to post some ideas on healthy living—tips on cooking and eating healthy, ideas for fitting exercise into a busy life. The goal won’t be calorie counting or losing weight or punishing bodies that enjoyed too many Christmas cookies. Instead join me on this search for beauty already in us and fewer distorted self-images, more energy and fewer discouragements, more life and less failure.

But first, on day 1, we look within…

Throwing Out the Distortion

I pull out the mixing bowl and dump the pizza dough onto the pan. Evan stands beside me, elevated on a kitchen chair, hands clean and ready to press.

I laugh. My reflection in the curved metal of the bowl gives me arms long, reaching far. My pink shirt extends wide. My frizzy hair, is well, still my frizzy hair.

I look funny. Stupid. And wide. But I feel beautiful in that moment when I’m a mom with my excited son, creating pizza for our weekend family pizza party. Rain drips outside, family tucked cozy inside a home that smells like a pizza parlor.

I choose the moment’s truth—the beauty instead of the distortion in the mirror.

Kindness Showing Beauty

The next day, I watch Evan pluck a purple flower from my garden and place it behind Renea’s ear. Ahh. I see how my little girl is loved. Her beauty amplified with her brother’s kindness.

Like so, you are loved, your beauty appreciated, your kindness adding to the world around you.

Beauty Reaches Out

My orchids hang along the gray wall, their roots straggly, their leaves forgettable. I water for days turned months. At last delicate purple petals stretch out from the pot. Color reaches out from the gray.

I want more of this in my life—surprises of color grown out of the hard things.

Join me?

Will you join me this week as we look for true beauty, energy, life and color through our cooking, our eating, our exercising, our thinking?

photo credit, maarjaara

Telling Someone How I Really Feel

2012-01-05T14:26:00.000-08:00

One of the hardest things about living overseas is living far from my grandparents and other loved ones. Recently, I wrote my grandparents a tribute and mailed it to them. Is there someone you need to write to, to tell them how much they mean, before it's too late?

When you loved each other, showed respect for each other, gave each other affection, served each other, this little girl was watching.

When you opened your home to your sometimes homeless military kids and grandkids, offering a rest between moves, a haven after painful goodbyes and an ongoing relationship and love in the midst of constant change, this little girl was watching.

When you loved others, seeing people’s needs, caring about them, always doing the right, selfless thing, this little girl was watching.

When you loved your kids, giving them a safe, loving home, teaching them kindness and respect for each other, you passed on a legacy of family love that someday turned into a love from my own mother, in my own family that this little girl would be watching.

When you loved your children, neighbors and friends and siblings unconditionally, never with rejection, never closing the door, this little girl was watching.

When you loved through your cooking of delicious meals, planting beautiful flowers, fixing broken things, joking, playing, laughing, this little girl was watching.

When you overcame difficult circumstances, sicknesses, poverty, loss of parents, and overcame these with a spirit that never gives up, that never stops dreaming and hoping, that works hard and loves harder, this little girl was watching.

When you loved God by praying, by reflecting His love and kindness, by trusting Him in hardships, by never giving up on Him, this little girl was watching.

When you love each other still, in pain, in loss, in illness; never stopping; perfecting love in the midst of imperfection; representing a true love that surpasses anything counterfeit that this world could give, this young woman is watching.

Thank you for creating a legacy of love, faithfulness and hope that will continue to live past your own life. I hope and pray I am able to continue your legacy in the lives of my own children and grandchildren. I owe you for loving with a love that has touched my life and so many others, for many years and generations to come.

photo credit, Sarah G

Searching for our Fathers in the Sky

2012-01-02T22:23:00.000-08:00

The gate outside clangs and my little girl wobbles her run toward the door. She thinks it’s Daddy on his motorcycle, coming home from work.

Really, it’s the guy who brings the gas bottle for my stove balanced on his moped. Her “Daddy” call disappears unanswered into the hot afternoon

Renea also runs to the door anytime she hears an airplane, waving high at the sky with pudgy fingers, “Daddy” on her lips. She returns to her play, waiting for the next chance to look for her father.

I love watching her day, a dance between absorbed playing or eating or napping and being interrupted by her ever-constant waiting for Daddy.

She shows me how live out this Father-Daughter relationship with the Eternal. Living out my day, busy with life. But still, waiting, hoping, expecting to see Him right outside the door, or up in the sky or pulling me into His arms. His name resting on my lips.

My kids do this all the time—teaching me life’s most complicated lessons from a three-foot-high perspective. Showing me how to hope for God’s touch even as I live in the dirt of this world.

Finally, the clang of the gate and the roar of the motorcycle actually is Renea’s Daddy. She presses her face against the screen door and he pulls it open, bends down and welcomes her into his arms.

I watch from behind as they snuggle and she giggles and pokes him in the nose with her finger, her daddy’s head thrown back with laughter.

Vision for the New Year

2012-01-01T02:43:00.000-08:00

May I notice the good things in life even when the hard things are all I can see.

May I watch for chances to grow in the fertilized parts of my soul.

May I open my eyes to needs, search for solutions and find courage to give all I can.

May I see the times I’ve hurt others and search for their forgiveness.

May I look past the times that people hurt me to see how they are hurting.

May I seek His grace when I fail, His purpose when plans go awry, His love when life hurts.

May I experience many nights of good sleep, or at least live the sleep-deprived days rested.

May I see beauty in others, in this world, in His plan and in the mirror.

May I notice the little hearts walking around my house, be patient with them, take the time to play airplanes and dolls with them, and make the effort to treat them as the treasures they are every day.

May I appreciate the stress in my husband’s life, the burdens he carries, the needs he has, and look for ways to shoulder his life with him.

May I believe and trust and love and give and receive and open and share and tell and enjoy as I live the year He gives.

photo credit, Creativity103

Almost Losing Our Son, and a Favor Returned

2011-12-26T23:15:00.000-08:00

The amber syrup slid down my throat, reviving me after a hike through a quaint Borneo village two year ago. Life felt sweet and it was hard to believe any different at that moment.

The villagers of Data Dian harvest honey—the best I’ve ever tasted—and we were eating it slathered on pieces of bread in the village pastor’s house.

But life was different…and hard…and unfair. As we ate, Pastor Hendri and his wife told us about the little girl who had just drowned. That week, this village hosted a celebration of the Indonesian independence day, holding soccer tournaments, dance competitions and feasts for the holiday.

The day before our family arrived in an MAF airplane to enjoy the festivities, a girl from a neighboring village had been swimming in the river when she disappeared. The village men—including Pastor Hendri—searched for hours, dredging the river with strips of bamboo covered in thorns, until they found her lifeless body.

Our visit turned from one of enjoyment to one where we hoped to provide comfort for our friend and his wife. But then, it turned into something even worse…this time with our own son as the victim.

Evan was just over 1 year old at the time. Within an hour of finishing the late afternoon hike, he began to experience diarrhea. It came fast and often and quick, filling diaper after diaper every five minutes. Then as the jungle night swallowed the orange sun, Evan also began vomiting…just as often…for hours. And our hopes sank into darkness.

For about five hours, we cleaned up diarrhea and vomit, almost constantly, while Evan grew weaker, refusing any drink. He was losing fluids quickly in a place with no hospital, with no way out that night since Brad couldn’t fly the airplane off the dirt strip after dark.

Pastor Hendri and his wife sat beside us, cleaning with us, with the water dragged in buckets from the river. They brought the village doctor—a young Indonesian man who Brad had brought into the village the previous month. The doctor and the pastor’s family stayed up all night with us, praying for us, watching over Evan, cleaning, comforting.

(Above Picture--Pastor Hendri standing over Evan when we first arrived in Data Dian)

Finally, sometime in the middle of the night, the sickness eased and Evan, finally, drank. And I finally, breathed past the fear that I would lose my son.

We left at first light, flying out of the village that was still dealing with its own hurts, and now, with our big mess left behind in that pastor’s tiny house. Brad sees this pastor more often than I do since he flies in the region. But the couple of times I’ve seen him, the memory of his kindness toward us on that very dark night overwhelms me.

Yesterday, we saw him again. This time, Pastor Hendri was the victim. On Christmas Eve, he experienced a stroke while serving in his distant Borneo village. Another MAF pilot flew him on a medevac flight on Christmas morning into Tarakan. The flight cost pilot Tripp Flythe his Christmas morning with his family, one more cost in a season of hardships. But it probably saved Pastor Hendri’s life.

We visited him and his wife in the hospital. Disoriented, he could hardly talk or move. Brad stood over him and prayed and comforted, hoping for a happy ending.

What a privilege to serve and be served, to spend a life that costs so much but is invested in things that matter. To be part of a family of individuals and cultures that gives life to each other.

Christmas in Indonesia (in pictures)

2011-12-24T19:02:00.000-08:00

A look at our Christmas this year in pictures...

Rice formed into a Christmas tree--served to us at a local fish restaurant where Brad and I went on a lunch date right before Christmas.

Lots and lots of flights and passengers and Christmas cookies flown by Brad during our busiest flight season of the year.

Story time each night with Daddy and the Advent Book.

A Christmas party at our house for all our Indonesian friends.

More visitors for our Christmas party.

Making cookies with neighborhood kids.

Our favorite Christmas-time fruit--Rambutan (translated hairy fruit), which is usually in season around Christmas.

The Night Before Christmas..and the Life Lived After

2011-12-21T21:06:00.000-08:00

I hold the dolls that my daughters’ grandparents sent in packages for her for Christmas, trying to figure out how to wrap them. Wrapping paper? Gift bags? It’s about time my little girl had something to play with besides her brothers’ airplanes.

The dolls remind me of Sue Sue. She’s the doll my aunt made for me, and that is stored far away in my parents’ basement, her cloth face smudged with dirty kisses from my childhood.

She was a Christmas present from the aunt whose laughter rang throughout my grandparents’ house on that long ago cold Missouri Christmas Eve. I don’t remember how old I was, or where I lived at the time. Kansas maybe? Kentucky? Or was it Virginia? My older sister, Jen, and I tried to sleep on the pull out couch in a room on the other side of the grownup late night party.

But I didn’t want to sleep, enjoying that blissful anticipation, cozy with the sounds of happiness and loved ones behind magical closed doors lined with golden light. The excitement of that night before Christmas marked my memory forever.

Sue Sue became my almost life-size friend the next day. My sister got the doll house made by our uncle. And we swam in a sea of colored wrapping paper after receiving gifts now long forgotten.

That was the Christmas before my aunt and uncle got divorced. Before a lot of things, really. Before I understood about abuse and death and suicide and war. That was back when my Army soldier dad could defeat all my enemies. Back when Mom’s hugs covered all my hurts. Back when Grandma could still cook her amazing chocolate pudding. Before she forgot where I lived or that I have kids.

Today I talked with an Indonesian friend of mine from back in Bandung, my neighbor during language school on the island of Java. Her husband beat her back then, then divorced her after I moved here, and still threatens her, hits her, steals from her.

I’ve known her for seven years, our relationship marking the length of time I’ve been in this country that both fills and breaks my heart. I’ve tried different things to help her—some small, others I thought were big enough to solve the problem. Nothing seems to help. Before she hung up, she simply wished me, “Merry Christmas” through tears that I can’t wipe from this distant island, far from hers.

Sometimes I long, no—ache—for the Befores—before I knew her and saw her unsolvable bruises. Before I wished for no power outages for Christmas. Before I decided to live in a culture so different from my own, making mistakes covered in tropical sweat, trying so hard and still, sometimes, unable to make a difference.

But I believe with the pieces of my heart broken over and over through the years in the power of God’s hope in the After. The forgiveness given after sin hurts. The grace poured out after life fails. The hope promised after death steals.

So, this Christmas, even as I enjoy my kids’ magical Christmas sent in boxes and wrapped in flat papered snowmen and snowflakes, I embrace the bigger magic of His Saving After. Will you join me in this hope?

photo credit, chefranden

All I Want for Christmas

2011-12-20T15:39:00.000-08:00

1. A healthy pregnancy for my sister, Amy. (She’s due in February!)
2. Vision for the new year.
3. Courage to live my life in a way that glorifies God and inspires others to do so, too.
4. Wisdom to see into the hearts of my children.
5. Better choices available for the Indonesian women I know.
6. Thankfulness for things already given.
7. Rest for my hard-working husband.
8. A rainy day to cool off the tropical heat.
9. No power outages.
10. No rats in my oven.

What do you want for Christmas?

photo credit, Lauren Manning

Learning to Focus without Losing Sight

2011-12-17T23:23:00.000-08:00

The gold on the wedding invitation swirls around the name I know. I check the date—it’s the one night free sandwiched between Christmas parties and our own Christmas open house and a birthday for friends.

I should go. No—it will take hours—the kind of fancy Chinese sit-down meal that offers some 10 courses or so. The kids wouldn’t last and I don’t really want to spend an evening separated from Brad—him home with the kids, or him at the wedding and me home…

I settle into the No, trying to focus on the things that really matter. The calendar filling with requirements and shoulds, Focus seems to be the only thing to help me decide against this wedding of an acquaintance I rarely see.

This happens every December, and most likely, no matter where you live, the month fills with that combination of things wanted and things that have to be done.

But really, this is how I feel most months. In motherhood—those things I want to do with the kids—reading with them, teaching them about love that never ends, going on adventures, baking cookies together, sharing a heart of compassion. They are mixed in with the things I definitely don’t want to do—middle-of-the-night cries, potty training, disciplining.

And no amount of Focus, or prioritizing or simplifying will give me the freedom to disregard those necessaries.

And in this place where I live—with needs pressing in, I know I want to serve. But I know I don’t have enough. I focus on what I can do, ending some days content with needs met, but other days, bothered by ones that never seem to go away.

And many times, I know I’ve missed something important—that opportunity I let slip into the confusion or the fear or the plain busyness of life.

Some days, focus gives me clarity, reminding me of the big picture, as a mom, as a neighbor, as a wife, as a friend. Focus helps me to help others in the ways that don’t leave me too empty for the next day.

It keeps me from getting sucked into others’ expectations to the point of never getting around to really touching people’s lives--within my own home and outside of it.

Other days, though, the focus keeps me from seeing life on the edges. The woman with the half-smile who sells me my fruit. What’s really happening in her life? Or the child learning English from me, usually talkative, but suddenly quiet, disappearing into the songs and the stories and the flashcards and my ambitious task to teach English to orphans.

Or the child in my own home, wanting to help me pour the flour—one tiny teaspoon at a time. I’m focused on getting all the food made from scratch, even as I need to remember the heart being created—or crushed—through daily decisions.

And so I live with the desire to focus, without losing sight. Seeing what’s in front of me, what needs to be done, without missing needs on the fringes. Choices made with purpose, and purpose found in the necessary mundane. Sticking to roles I need and want to do—mother, wife. But trying not to miss the chances to be more to those with less.

photo credit, schizoform

A Ridealong with a {handsome} MAF Pilot

2011-12-15T16:33:00.000-08:00

The propeller slows to a stop and my husband flips open the airplane door. He pulls off his helmet and speaks.

I’ve never heard my husband say those words before. I don’t even know what they mean. But the man standing on the ground of Long Bawan answers him, both their smiles spreading wide as they chat in this dialect of an ancient Borneo tribe.

I’ve joined my husband for a day-long ride-along in his MAF airplane, something I try to do every year or two. The last time I went, I was several months’ pregnant with my now 17-month-old daughter. The kids are back at home in Tarakan today—Evan with a friend, Renea with a sitter.

The MAF strip agent uses the trade language—Indonesian—with me as he reaches his hand out to meet me. He then empties the plane full load of people and supplies. The guy who just finished college in Tarakan—where I live—joined his father to return home to his village, hoping to find work there.

I chat with them, then with a woman on the ground who tells me she’s been waiting a week for a plane to take her boxes of food from Long Bawan—which is near the Malaysian border with good access to some food items—to her smaller, more remote village of Binuang.

We won’t be able to take her today, my husband’s schedule already full of other flights in a place where the needs almost always outnumber the hours in the day before clouds or darkness or fatigue bring the plane back to Tarakan.

We take off as the village disappears into the jungle, the mountains soon becoming ripples underneath wispy white puffs.

And I watch the world grow bigger and shrink smaller from the window of an airplane.

Our next stop is a small jungle city where a friend of ours is supposed to arrive sometime later that day. We’re delivering a guitar and clothes that our MAF team is donating to this pastor’s village—located a boat ride away from Malinau. He’s not there yet, so we drop off this Christmas present from us to them at the airport.

Back in the plane, the floor behind us is covered with more than a ton of aluminum roofing for building a school office in the village of Paupan.

Brad uses the time to try to teach me about the Cessna Caravan—how to use the foot pedals and the yoke and the instruments to stay on course, dodge the terrain and avoid the clouds.

He points out hidden villages, sprinkled in the valleys, hugging dirt airstrips that are lifelines in a place of no paved roads and no hospitals.

I smile my pride in this husband who is living the dream of flying while helping people, remembering his recent words that he “lives in awe of this life.”

We land in a village where I spent five days back in the summer, helping to run a day camp for the kids. I recognize their faces as they run toward the plane, then stop, keeping a safe, shy distance from the white lady (though they surround the pilot).

We visit the home of the pastor and his wife who helped to host our team, back when she was nine months’ pregnant with her now chubby boy.

A neighbor visits while we drink tea, their son calling Brad a derivation of "Pilot"--"Pa-Lot” and me, “Ma-Lot.”

I like my new name, saying it in my head as we take off again, heading toward our home on the edge of Borneo.

True Confessions From the Shadows

2011-12-13T14:22:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I live in the shadows.

The shadows of the people who seem to belong—always saying the right things. I hide behind their confidence, preferring to disappear into nods and smiles, hoping people will both ignore me and notice me.

The shadows of those I serve, allowing my good works to give me significance, disappearing into the things I do, hoping they will make me matter.

The shadows of my own children, working hard in the noble profession of motherhood, hiding behind the tasks of feeding them and cleaning them and loving them. I crouch behind this mom in me who allows me to do, do, do (and often fail, fail, fail) as I shrink.

The shadows of the things I fear, the failure that seems inevitable, the worst situations that are unspeakable—an airplane crash, a snake bite, a lifeless child.

The shadows of things that aren’t true, but that shout loud in the culture, in my mind, in my heart. They insist I believe things I don’t believe, proving themselves with half-truths that dismay.

And then I step out into the light.

The light of Truth, choosing to believe that He made me on purpose, that I am who He created me to be, not who I usually think I am.

The light of Joy, serving from His abundance, knowing that I am significant because of His grace, His story, not because of how well or poorly I live it.

The light of Hope, His calling me out of others’ shadows, inviting me to be what He has made me, to show others what is real, to see past others’ nods and smiles into hiding hearts.

The light of Faith, reminding me to believe in bigger things than my fears, truer things that the lies in my head, more beautiful things that the muck from this world.

The light of Grace, a daily choice to embrace what is already mine, to share what is fully His, to believe what will someday be.

Will you join me in the light?

photo credit, Jan Tik

How to Give, and Receive

2011-12-11T18:56:00.000-08:00

I walk back to my car, my hands are full of presents—four bags heavy candy and food and drinks. They’ve replaced the one small bag of the gift I brought the little girl for her birthday.

I’ve just left her party, my stomach stuffed with chicken satay and rice, my hands full of these gifts meant for my kids and another friend’s kids—who couldn’t come. Party favors of sorts—given to all the guests—even the ones who didn’t make it.

It’s another example of how I receive more than I give.

It’s hot and I parked too far away. I was trying to find a shortcut to the house of the couple with the 3-year-old whose birthday it is. When I visit them, I usually park at one end of a narrow alleyway meant for motorbikes, not cars.

Today, I parked on a different road and tried another small alley, meandering my way through this neighborhood of wooden shacks and piles of trash mixed in with the occasional middle-class concrete house.

But I got lost on the shortcut and ended up walking further around bends and wrong turns until I finally saw the set of purple houses on that one bend right before Rara’s house.

Rara—the birthday girl—lives in one of those semi-decent houses—her dad a cop, her mom a pretty, but shy woman. As I prepared to leave, they pointed me to the main road and asked where I parked after loading me down with their gifts.

“Close,” I said, knowing it would be a walk, but also knowing that if I admitted that to them that they’d leave their dozens of guests to give me a ride on a motorbike to my car.

I really don’t want to inconvenience them, and I don’t mind the walk, especially since I left the kids at home napping and resting with dad after a busy morning.

“Come back and visit any time,” they said, and I know they mean it, almost as if they wait for me to come back, ready with ice cream for the kids and a cold drink for me.

This time, for the party, I meant to stop by for a short visit, which turned into a bit longer visit while the hosts insisted I eat and eat. So, the walk will give me a chance to let the food settle. And think.

I do my best thinking while I walk or run--all those thoughts and feelings worked out of my head with the sweat. Yesterday I took the kids to a local park and pushed Renea in her stroller while Evan played. I jogged past the kids and adults out playing and exercising and meandering away their Saturday afternoon. They greeted me and smiled at me and bent low to wave to Renea.

When I finally stopped—Renea was bored and wanted to get out and play—we became a magnet. Kids and adults swarmed us, taking pictures, playing with Renea, pushing Evan on the swing.

Some people get frustrated by all this attention, and sometimes I do, too. But then I look closer and see that I can receive more when I exchange my frustration for their gifts. Their love, their openness to me and the kids, their acceptance of anything my kids do as adorable. Though I am sweaty and smelly, they have time to hear my story, asking for pictures with their arms around my wet shirt, camera-phones clicking.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m here in a place where I often receive more than I give. More patience is bestowed to me than I share with others. Their hospitality outshines my meager attempts. Others have time for me while I often feel too busy to meander my life purposely through theirs.

But then I remember the gift that I have received—for nothing that I gave. The love that pours into me even as I stumble around wrong turns and missed opportunities. The grace given into arms emptied of any real good apart from His perfection.

Though I will never be able to show better hospitality than my friends here. Though they will always be more patient than I am. Though I let myself be annoyed even as they “bother” me with their accepting attention.

I do have one gift they could use. One that changed my own life. >One that I hope they will accept from my hands overflowing with His grace.

photo credit, Mulad

Practical Ideas for Making Christmas Matter

2011-12-07T21:42:00.000-08:00

My son—then just 2—begged me to pull out the Advent Book—its beautifully illustrated pictures telling a life-giving stort hidden behind ornate paper doors.

This reading of this gorgeous book has become one of my favorite Christmas traditions that matter. My husband reads it with the kids, huddled in our air conditioned office each night of December.

But last year, Evan wanted to share it with the young friends who sometimes stop by for visits. Their religion centered in mosques, their prayers said in Arabic—these kids gathered around as my son showed them the story of the baby born in Bethlehem.

I love this integration of family tradition with outreach—both done inside the home and outside of it. Temporary moments interlaced with eternity. My own messy, crazy life with kids spent in a way that I hope points others to the One who gives my soul hope. Traditions that mean something to me and my family shared with others who mean so much to Him.
Here are some other ideas for making your Christmas matter.

1. Bring gifts to those in need.

Our team of MAF women—the westerners and the Indonesians—have gathered gifts that we’ve brought to the local hospital to distribute to sick children. Most of these kids probably don’t even celebrate Christmas. But it has given us a chance to share generosity and hope with those who hurt; and a chance for our own kids to be the givers.

What could you do where you live? Could you visit a nursing home? Bring presents to an orphanage? Help a single mother with her needs?

2. Turn your tasks into opportunities.

Over the years, I’ve decorated hundreds of cookies with different friends—the friend whose son is autistic; the ladies who volunteer at a local clinic; the girl whose only sister died. Their kids and my kids and their sticky hands decorating and tasting; conversation flowing over frosting and warm cookies.

This tradition that tastes good and makes me feel all Christmasy becomes tied with relationships and love. Many of these friends don’t yet celebrate Christmas. But I hope this is a start to decisions that bring freedom and hope.

3. Throw a party—for those who most need it.

A few days before Christmas, we throw a party—complete with Indonesian food for our Indonesian friends—many of whom are in need. I put out the cookies that many of them helped me decorate, and we welcome them into our home in a country where hospitality means treating the guest as king. (And we finally get to attempt to pay back all the amazing hospitality given to us by our Indonesian friends!) The house gets messy and I get all sweaty and it always ends past my bedtime. But I hope they experience warmth that has nothing to do with the weather.

4. Say no and say yes.

Simplify and complicate. Cut out the things that make the season too busy, that are draining, but that don’t matter. But the thing I learn again and again each year? Not to close my door to the world and make Christmas about just my home and only my family.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by my own inadequacy in doing this. I don't use the right words, or cook the perfect recipes, or have a clean enough or quiet enough home for my guests. (There was one year when I asked my friends to critique my cooking of Indonesian food and I definitely fell short!)

But then my son reminds me about the story. The one hidden behind ornate doors meant to be discovered every day. The Story that was born—and lived for the least, the forsaken, and the hurting.

photo credit, *Vintage Fairytale*

Making Christmas Matter

2011-12-06T17:33:00.000-08:00

My friend smeared the frosting onto the edge of gingerbread—the first I’d made myself and surely, the first my Indonesian friend had decorated. It looked like it was my first attempt--lopsided, the edges slanted, thickness of the walls a bit uneven. I just hoped the house would stay together in the humidity.

It was my first Christmas in Borneo and I was doing what I could to make it feel, well, like Christmas.

Christmas music played in the background. Garland and red bows and lights and angels hung around my house, even as the thermometer held steady at 90 degrees.

My friend’s own house back then was a wooden shack with cracks in the floor and curses in the air. Christmas wasn’t celebrated there. But in recent years, while the cracks are still there, there is life where there used to be only empty religion. There is hope where there used to be only divorces and desertion. And while no tree is decorated, Christmas exists in my friend’s quiet prayers.

Her life has changed—on the inside at least, though on the outside, everything is not always perfect. Still no husband, with fatherless children, she lives with her parents who reject her choice of beliefs. She has cooked at a lumber camp and cleaned houses to make ends meet—most of the time the sole provider in this family.

But though her burdens seem to grow with the years, the walls in her heart have stayed together with faith. And it shows on her face.

I spend my Decembers in a world where Christmas isn’t over-busy with Christmas card mailings or crowded Christmas shopping or traditions that have more to do with warm feelings than beliefs that last.

And to be completely honest, it’s hard sometimes. I sometimes wish I could be busy with those Christmasy things, ending my days with cozy fireplace snuggles with the kids and my door shut tight against the cold and the world.

But really, that’s not what I want either. I want a Christmas that lasts past the date; a holiday that matters more than cozy feelings; a life that is part of something bigger than myself.

And so, I bake.

I make sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies, coconut clusters—mixing and dipping and smearing and decorating—with friends who still live in houses of curses with hearts filled with doubts.

I use recipes from my childhood, from the grandmother who doesn't remember I live in Indonesia, from the mother who lived--daily--the meaning of Christmas. My warm Christmas memories take life in this place on the other side of the world, with these people who aren't family...not yet, anyway.

And we talk and share and listen, while I hope for a deeper sweetness in their lives…and mine. Our kids—both theirs and mine—sneak bites of cookies as they decorate, and I hope for them, too. That they all will learn about homes open to others; about blessings shared not hoarded, about a Love that covers like the frosting—sweet, indulgent, holding everything else together.

Later this week, I’ll share more practical ideas for Making Christmas Matter—both in the home and outside of it.

photo credit, timitalia

What We Learn from Broken Dreams

2011-11-27T22:33:00.000-08:00

NOTE: This is the fourth in a series on When Our Dreams Don't Come True.

You should see my budget envelopes. They are tattered, torn, their edges taped, then re-taped. Their contents by the end of the month, long emptied of the bright blue Indonesian bills that pay for my groceries, my phone minutes, the gas for our kitchen stove, gifts for kids’ birthday parties, etc.

They don’t contain the $30,000 I would need to adopt a child from India.

Last week, we discussed this issue of what happens when our dreams don’t come true. I’ve shared my story, of how I wanted to adopt a child even as I feared this dream of mine. How we all have dreams that don’t make it, and the reasons why they fail. What we can do with these big ideas of ours.

Today I’ll share with you what my broken dreams have taught me.

1. Our big dreams reveal our bigger hearts.

I am a saver. I’d rather have money than things. I’d rather spend energy than cash. So, when we first looked at the price tag of adoption, years ago, I knew, just knew, that we just couldn’t do it. Not with our salary. Not with our hard-saved bank account.

But I’ve already seen how big numbers can be raised, how donors give out of little, how my trust grows when I sign up for dreams that don’t fit into the ratty-old envelopes.

I don’t know yet if we will ever get to spend that kind of money on an adoption. But now I see it. I see how big my heart for orphans really is. When we dream big—and even when the dreams fail, we see how far we will go for big things. We come to understand what matters—what really matters. And if we can keep alive the dream behind the dream, then we can watch it overflow out of life’s failures.

So, now I spend other things for orphans—time, prayer, and maybe even some money here and there to help others adopt. And when I empty myself, I see big dreams fill up.

2. Our broken dreams teach us compassion for shattered lives.

I have lots of big ideas. Some are buried in an entry I made in a long-forgotten childhood journal. Many of them are not nearly so noble as wanting to adopt. If I’m completely honest, one of my most long-standing dreams is that people will like me, will notice me, will want to know me. Notice the repetition of “me.”

You may have read about how I grew up moving all around, making and losing friends, creating a List meant to protect, that simply hid my heart broken by rejection.

Now I see it. I see how this deep-down ache for relationship pushes me to reach out to the least. I understand that the drive for finding friends I’ve had since I was a kid walking to school alone gives me the courage to make friends with the lonely. I get that a lifetime of plastering smiles over my wounds has given me skills to see past others’ grins into sad hearts.

So, I now live on a remote island in a country many people can’t place on a map and I daily pursue friendships with women in need. If God had answered my childhood (and my adult) prayers—for popularity, for all rejection to end, for notice from others, I may have missed out on this bigger dream of caring about others—others’ rejection, others’ hurt, others’ brokenness.

3. We can remember the dreams that succeed when we see the ones that fail.

Much of my day is spent in the menial--laundry, cooking, changing diapers, grocery shopping. But I long for eternal purpose, even as I live in the temporary. When we take the time to dream, to plan, even to grieve the dreams that seem to fail us, we remember to think about more than what is in front of us.

And when we think beyond the piles of laundry, we might just see the stacks of dreams to which God has said, and is saying, "yes."

Maybe you are already living dreams, and maybe, just maybe we need to be thankful for the ones that are happening now. To be honest, our plates are full of other big dreams that also seem scary but that are coming true. To add adoption into this mix right now at this moment could mean that we'd have to let go of other big things.

Sometimes I see only the broken things. The failures. The hurts. But when I remember to believe, and call out to the Fixer, I let faith open my eyes to dreams come true.

So, what are you learning in the midst of dreams failed or maybe never begun? To Whom do you give the broken pieces?

photo credit, erix!

What We Can Do With Our Broken Dreams

2011-11-24T23:03:00.000-08:00

This is the third in a series on When Our Dreams Don't Come True.

As I shared earlier this week, I am pursuing a dream that both inspires me and scares me. Adoption.

I've spent hours researching this puzzle of international adoption, hoping that I’d find all the pieces. An agency that works with overseas couples. An agency that works with countries that would accept our family situation. A country that is open, that is accepting applications.

The easy solution—adopting from Indonesia—won’t work as long as its current laws stay true. Finally, after months of emails and research and phone calls, we thought we’d found all the pieces. But recently, we’ve learned that it’s not an option, at least not for now anyway.

But is this really a dead end?

Honestly, I don’t know. We might someday move to another country that is open to adoption by Americans in our situation. Or the country that seemed to be a good fit will likely someday open up again. The answer here may not actually be a no, but a not yet.

And that may be true of your dream, too. Maybe what seems like a dead end is just one that will open up later in your journey. Or maybe it really is a no, a not only closed door, but a bolted door. What now?

1. Make a long-term plan.

Maybe you really want to move to a distant land and feed the poor, or rescue the sick or help the hurting. But you just can’t. Your spouse doesn’t want to go. Your child is sick or too young or has special needs. Your aging parents need someone. You don’t yet have the training necessary.

So, maybe you simply wait. You live your current life, be thankful for the dreams that have come true, and pray that some things will someday change.

2. Make as much of your dream come true as you can.

I’ve been teaching English at an Indonesian orphanage in town for a year. I’m not a teacher, not all that good at it. But as a native speaker, I get requests all the time. Recently, as the adoption option has been put on hold, I decided to make my dream happen in the way that I can.

The children at this orphanage have mothers who can’t or won’t take care of them. Most of their fathers have died. As far as I understand, they aren’t up for adoption, even if somehow I met the Indonesian parameters for adoption them, which I don’t. They need family. I want orphans in my home. So, I decided to do more than teach them English.

I began picking them up from the orphanage in groups of two or three and bringing them home to my house for the afternoon. I make them chocolate chip cookies, show them pictures and ask them about their lives. Then I’ve been taking them to the MAF hangar to show them airplanes, and my husband’s work and more of my life, while I learn about theirs.

I wish they could stay, join my family, their story and my story changing into one. But I am thankful for ways that our broken dreams--theirs of having no family, mine of not being able to adopt--can meet over cookies and airplanes.

Think about what you really want—moving overseas, purpose, relationships with other cultures, learning a new skill or language, teaching your kids about a broader world, serving, making a difference, etc.

Then look for ways you can do it right where you are within your current situation. Look for families of different cultures in your town. Join a multi-cultural church. Take an art class. Make that dream come true in your own backyard.

3. Choose not to do something...else.

It's easier for me to accomplish a bunch of small things, enjoy the feeling of checking things off my list, than to face the Big Things I really want. As long as I haven't tried to go after my dream, it still exists. I can blame my life, my kids, my situation, the country where I live for this undone dream. Somehow that's easier than risking it to my own failure.

But maybe my dreams don't have to sit there, all empty of life.

But I am busy, and tired. I can't do it all. So, if I'm ever going to actually go after those dreams, I have to let go of other things.

What’s your story? Do you have ideas for turning disappointments into dreams come true? Leave a comment or email me at borneowife@yahoo.com.

And join me for the next post on dreams as we look at the lessons learned when our dreams don’t come true.

Why Good Dreams {Don't} Always Come True

2011-11-24T22:23:00.000-08:00

I want More. I am afraid of More. I trust the One who gives me More than I’ve ever asked for. But is it enough to make my dreams come true?

Several months ago, I blogged about how I’d moved from living in the less of life—seeking anonymity, hoping for no recognition, wishing for less of me in me. And how in the becoming less, I yearned for more. More faith. More amazing things. More of God.

I said that I was moving toward something big, but wasn’t ready to share what it was. I’d hoped to let you know about my idea, with good news of success, or at least a successful first step. But success hasn’t come, at least not in the way I thought it would.

Here it is. I want to adopt. It was the thing I’d kind of wanted for years, but was starting to really want, even as I feared it. I yearned to give an orphan a forever home, convinced that my family would be a good fit—good marriage, healthy kids, cultural sensitivity, etc.

Even as I wanted it--now this seems silly in print--but I was scared. Of the orphans. Of their problems that would hurt. Of their diseases that I couldn’t fix on my tiny island. Of wanting something that could risk this other dream of ours to live and work overseas.

What if we pursued adoption, spent tens of thousands of dollars on the process and failed to bring home a child? Or…what if we were successful, but the child we brought home had bigger struggles than we could handle living here in this remote place? What if I failed at being a mom to one who had lost everything else?

So, I kept my dream a secret.

But is living life out of fear really living?--my husband reminded me. Are choices made when I’m afraid, ones worth keeping? Am I missing bigger lessons, more amazing miracles, more incredible life because I hide?

And so I leaped. I chose the Dream.

So, what happened?

I researched and researched adoption options that would fit with an overseas American couple our age, with our existing biological children, preferably in Asia, and came up with an option. It seemed perfect. A great fit—as great as the uncertainty and expense of trying to adopt from a developing country can be. And for months, we tried to apply. And we waited for the program to be ready to accept applications.

But delays and delays. And then the news. The country had stopped accepting applications for a while, and the program is on hold. It is, for now anyway, a dead end.

I know I’m not alone in this story of wanting something, something good—really good—and not getting it.

So, why does this happen? Why don’t good dreams come true?

1. There is much wrong in this world.

All kinds of problems turn children into orphans, and countries don’t always have enough resources to change their lives. And other bad problems like human trafficking make the process slow and expensive.

Maybe your dream has been disappointed by bad people or wrong systems or failed attempts. Maybe it’s been thwarted by layoffs or sickness or divorce. It’s hard and it’s not fair, but it’s life.

2. There are many distractions in our lives.

We begin our 20s with adult-sized dreams and even bigger debts and responsibilities that soon distract and seem to dictate our lives. Maybe we even try, but fail initially.

Then we finally succeed at something that is nice, but not our original dream.
And we listen to the lies. Forget the dream. It’s too risky. We should want money. Or success. Or comfort. Besides, we’re just too busy with this life to let ourselves want something more.

3. We are afraid.

The truth is we use our responsibilities to hide our fears. We’re afraid we’ll fail, or that we’ll look like a fool, or that we will succeed—at great cost—and realize that the dream wasn’t worth all that we gave up for it.

Do you trust God with your dream? Afraid he will say no? Afraid he can’t help you. Afraid he doesn’t care? Afraid his idea for your life doesn’t match with yours? Afraid he’ll ask for a compromise?

I can think of lots of other reasons. We tried but it was too hard. It made us tired. Life gets in the way. We think we wouldn’t be any good at it anyway. Someone hurt us. We’re just trying to survive.

But whatever the reason is, I’m learning that it doesn’t have to end this way. We don’t have to believe what we believe. Dreams don’t have to be stuffed in the bottom of the closet with other things that don't fit anymore.

Check back here this week as I share more of my story. We’ll look at what we can learn when our dreams don’t come true, and look at what choices we still have.

If you want to join in the discussion, leave a comment or email me at borneowife@yahoo.com.

photo credit, Muddy Funkster