tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86029365075815638862024-03-13T18:08:49.563+01:00Yodelings"God's Word is not chained."Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.comBlogger410125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-42324134291732197862024-01-31T15:33:00.002+01:002024-01-31T15:33:42.569+01:00Collaboration, vulnerabity and trust<div>From Tuesday through Thursday, leaders of 24 Bible Translation organizations have
gathered to discuss how we can work together more intentionally in
Nigeria. I am already seeing answers to prayer in the first morning of
these meetings! We have a collective expression of what we are
expecting (or hoping for) and I agree with that: <b>Effective collaboration</b> with a purpose, increasing <b>vulnerability and trust</b>, waiting on and <b>hearing from the Lord </b>and each other, and possibly some very practical organizational bits at the end. Please pray for God to<b> do as he pleases among us</b>! <br /></div><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDlMOeWVB9HzgM6S4BQkUcLFUh5dMFmFo4s9G2wtb6p2hCi274FS4Ey9ynz41p7eDQLaX91auv-3yXo51lsGeE1ZT3JsPhoqRUqMH08Of0i-TfLYFnB2KR_iIqHpqZfbLR4lgesMP1-GPdbvdP2eiORyxn3ztQOaeLHpje9HhoX3llmttHhlnZbW4UvVn-" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDlMOeWVB9HzgM6S4BQkUcLFUh5dMFmFo4s9G2wtb6p2hCi274FS4Ey9ynz41p7eDQLaX91auv-3yXo51lsGeE1ZT3JsPhoqRUqMH08Of0i-TfLYFnB2KR_iIqHpqZfbLR4lgesMP1-GPdbvdP2eiORyxn3ztQOaeLHpje9HhoX3llmttHhlnZbW4UvVn-=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are all pleased by how open the conversation has been!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00678787500697403292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-55022768207926679532024-01-11T15:37:00.002+01:002024-01-11T15:37:43.716+01:00Becoming: A Chrysalis Journey<p> </p><h1 data-pm-slice="1 1 []"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz61bjw2DAgdLAxfX47g6lZdfzSEHGpqsWthibT8cf_VTB3YbOiPbYRRMnqLOM1IdbxiJwdbUoA3Xt1Th9FT-Z4DrjBcS6F7Xj6ARUB8LS9eX3oUMYW07FDA4iX5Wpm9NcCXt3JvIGSmmiZ4djfTZGGM1h3ye_04Va37wjy8NYrfL6SXO94jadutHlTN6k/s4000/IMG_0227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz61bjw2DAgdLAxfX47g6lZdfzSEHGpqsWthibT8cf_VTB3YbOiPbYRRMnqLOM1IdbxiJwdbUoA3Xt1Th9FT-Z4DrjBcS6F7Xj6ARUB8LS9eX3oUMYW07FDA4iX5Wpm9NcCXt3JvIGSmmiZ4djfTZGGM1h3ye_04Va37wjy8NYrfL6SXO94jadutHlTN6k/s320/IMG_0227.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daso and Mariama 2018.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></h1><h1 data-pm-slice="1 1 []">A Space to Become…</h1><p>That’s what we hope to provide in the retreat this weekend, the 13th-14th of January. We have named it “Becoming: A Chrysalis Journey.” A long time ago, like when this above picture of Mariama and Daso was taken, the second cohort of the “Beautiful Me Program” was underway. It included Daso and me as participants! She was 11. Now she’s 18. Beautiful Me was started because I saw young girls becoming big girls without having women to support them. Who better to support them than the women God had given them, their moms (or aunts or older sisters)? So it began. We spent three hours together once a month. It was such a meaningful time together every single time. <br /></p><p> <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpa2f7zdIyBgdC6DOtnb8VhGLVZg8cw0LwkQV7iqEjAXJDaERWvCWuF-Z_EYyiAgJeNgauczFf0ODFJohRqGNXijk982lD0XIGNkWtb1QxUk9TEspf4wi5slBd3A1GKFDzE1cHg_wZbII5LepWxqBvS2Ryp0gTkPypq2zxg7VGTvrkTtUfnXNRczfgcFwV/s1600/IMG_6433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpa2f7zdIyBgdC6DOtnb8VhGLVZg8cw0LwkQV7iqEjAXJDaERWvCWuF-Z_EYyiAgJeNgauczFf0ODFJohRqGNXijk982lD0XIGNkWtb1QxUk9TEspf4wi5slBd3A1GKFDzE1cHg_wZbII5LepWxqBvS2Ryp0gTkPypq2zxg7VGTvrkTtUfnXNRczfgcFwV/s320/IMG_6433.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Second Cohort- We learned about guarding our eyes.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxh_qSwzcmJavnqcJpcAIKQ8sNgCXS7SSqVV0gb1xATfED4rLN2oej5IbiYzn9P6TR7YP-PHTbUTnYrRtFcWGrU8H-eoWbvWxVid1aLLY4XIjW0QHA7xHdmXFk6fbLQ0OYr18KmQde2xpW7Mh4x4oZhEAwEwIMXhghkot_DaZ2mTFDRzF3Twtxo0Hy77c/s1600/IMG_6418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxh_qSwzcmJavnqcJpcAIKQ8sNgCXS7SSqVV0gb1xATfED4rLN2oej5IbiYzn9P6TR7YP-PHTbUTnYrRtFcWGrU8H-eoWbvWxVid1aLLY4XIjW0QHA7xHdmXFk6fbLQ0OYr18KmQde2xpW7Mh4x4oZhEAwEwIMXhghkot_DaZ2mTFDRzF3Twtxo0Hy77c/s320/IMG_6418.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bonding activity putting on eye make up during Beautiful Me 2017<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>This weekend, we will have a reunion retreat of both of the cohorts from 2016 and 2017. Mothers and their now adult daughters will be coming for a time of renewal. </p><p>I know there is a lot that has happened in these last 5-7 years, and we are praying for restoration, healing, and freedom found in the embrace of Christ. </p><p>God has brought together an amazing team of small group leaders, counselors, worship leaders, and a dynamic speaker. </p><p>Will you be a prayer partner for one of our mother/daughter pairs? </p><p>If yes, please reply to this email and make the subject: Yes, I'll pray! I'll send you their names and some prayer requests. <br /></p><p>If you don’t have time to do that, please pray for the retreat now. </p><p>Pray that they will know "how wide, how long, how high, and how deep the love of God is." Eph 3:18 </p><p>Thank you for your thoughts and prayers! </p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiq9LDIMvoeJu7fSOk0bAz3b2qvw5nvGf-Z-qaBc-wmlkuG5sbTyT3V3XVMeVWeUViMZfM9KsWrEweTAYLWNFWU5mFIYFBSMIswNCVArwO_j8bKNBuKAbxaTcw9b4I1UtIUkaGfboLC106rgkFyeB2f5EZ8LCINIoyXdJQ9JcecGNghDhoATQ1Po7xCuFv/s5184/Yoder%20family%20picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5184" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiq9LDIMvoeJu7fSOk0bAz3b2qvw5nvGf-Z-qaBc-wmlkuG5sbTyT3V3XVMeVWeUViMZfM9KsWrEweTAYLWNFWU5mFIYFBSMIswNCVArwO_j8bKNBuKAbxaTcw9b4I1UtIUkaGfboLC106rgkFyeB2f5EZ8LCINIoyXdJQ9JcecGNghDhoATQ1Po7xCuFv/s320/Yoder%20family%20picture.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yoder Family 2022<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <br /></p><p> </p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-16361785365103092202023-12-06T21:38:00.001+01:002023-12-06T21:38:57.931+01:00Sitting on the Floor<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsI3pyicPmGmEMoFXOWiNw9NGyaLuRHkvvGs1tj1KhGFnSf_sF8VpijxZqi1y2nM2r_QdHVkCIC5fNZ4q7FwBcmAta3NkVR7Aknzk0mnh9xDWwMchwQqfoNv0oT6h2z3rwDKR7M4M3JwME6YXX_xkimTGkjWivnwCWvubIe8Xbwx7NszkOdddl-aMoCAJ/s4032/64F4323E-7D9E-44AB-AE43-F4E62CA8A111.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsI3pyicPmGmEMoFXOWiNw9NGyaLuRHkvvGs1tj1KhGFnSf_sF8VpijxZqi1y2nM2r_QdHVkCIC5fNZ4q7FwBcmAta3NkVR7Aknzk0mnh9xDWwMchwQqfoNv0oT6h2z3rwDKR7M4M3JwME6YXX_xkimTGkjWivnwCWvubIe8Xbwx7NszkOdddl-aMoCAJ/s320/64F4323E-7D9E-44AB-AE43-F4E62CA8A111.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-7aa706fe-7fff-a816-8716-8f070b1ae741" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I had been saving seats next to me in the crowded auditorium when I realized my friends weren’t going to make it. So I told the usher to allow two of the people outside to come in and take those seats. Two well dressed women came and sat next to me. You have to understand, this event of Nine Lessons and Carols at the international school was one of my first experiences here in Jos when I came to visit Zach before we were married. It’s so precious to me that I just melt into my seat and revel at the lights and the people singing my favorite hymns (even if they do it with the British tunes). This year each of the readings was even done in a different language! Languages mixed with Christmas? It was the best! </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">During a very touching song, as tears just started to spring into my eyes, the women I’d welcomed into my space started talking. I gave them a “look,” and turned my rapped attention back to the song being performed. These women didn’t stop talking! I mean, my twins were wandering and clamoring on my lap, but they are three years old! I was indignant. I shot them another look, and with a loud sigh, I moved and sat heavily on the step in the isle. I felt so justified in my annoyance, balancing on the brim of anger. But at the next reading, I had to release it. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together;</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> the leopard will lie down with the baby goat…</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Yes, a little child will put its hand in a nest of deadly snakes without harm.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-size: 0.6em; vertical-align: super;"> </span></span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Nothing will hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> for as the waters fill the sea,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> so the earth will be filled with people who know the </span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Lord</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">. (Isaiah 11:6;9)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">In this culture to have a guest, which is what I am here, sitting on the floor is not really acceptable. I invited these women to come and sit with me, to enjoy the beauty of that moment together, side by side, but they were distracted and refused, and drove away the guest in their midst to a place of dishonor. It struck me how unChristlike my response was.Thankfully when he, a visitor in our world, found himself driven away and dishonored by those he’d invited into his own beauty, he loved, moved closer, and then he died for them. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This season calls me to a new level of not being offended, of loving because Jesus loved me first, taking the humble position of criminal and rejected one in my place. If the knowledge of the LORD is to fill this place as the waters fill the sea, it will need to start with me! </span></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-18213280000881852422023-12-06T21:37:00.001+01:002023-12-06T21:37:58.472+01:00Incense and Sorrow<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKpAwfvbt6eZGRV4BT_oUPtEyNzwexQN6K7XuZDTA7ERmM8y2i1Phcnoq3vXx4seBO-XAMviaMjXaL8UoSy4PH2cPBX0D8EkiFogSh2kk7dGi9oAAJPX8m_7RChV2-TLhyphenhyphen424hPmeSGNtkIjx3I935UQeQwjlJP6ejzP6OeZzcUyvUz7EIC_DU8zKGemq/s4032/1D67BEA7-E89F-4EBB-B3F2-DF090DB4E53B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKpAwfvbt6eZGRV4BT_oUPtEyNzwexQN6K7XuZDTA7ERmM8y2i1Phcnoq3vXx4seBO-XAMviaMjXaL8UoSy4PH2cPBX0D8EkiFogSh2kk7dGi9oAAJPX8m_7RChV2-TLhyphenhyphen424hPmeSGNtkIjx3I935UQeQwjlJP6ejzP6OeZzcUyvUz7EIC_DU8zKGemq/s320/1D67BEA7-E89F-4EBB-B3F2-DF090DB4E53B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-c85154d8-7fff-e67f-1731-ba3dd36801b6" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Ishaya sat unsmiling at the back of the room. I wondered if he understood what was happening. Most of the 36 participants from 8 different languages were participating quite well in the Lessons from Luke Trainers Training. I wasn’t sure how to reach the few like Ishaya. The second day we assigned each language the task of writing a song to one of the memory verses from the curriculum. After 15 minutes, we all gathered to hear the original masterpieces. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Ishaya was transformed as he lead his group singing in his language. His eyes danced, he raised his hands in praise, his contagious smile mirrored on the faces gathered around. Wonder captured me at the power of those living words sung in the language of the heart. Auntie Blessing, who has trained in many trainings with me said, “That was our best concert yet!” Since our average training is done in English, I am convinced that the beauty of that moment was directly linked to the eight languages that echo through the days and experiences of the participants. The languages that they speak to their children, at traditional weddings, in the markets, the languages that draw them together as a people and, in that moment, the languages that is drawing them closer to God. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">After the celebration around the Word with their original songs, we had a time of prayer. The faith they expressed in unified prayer was the backdrop to the requests raised. Inexpressible past and ongoing grief, pain, and trauma that their communities have experienced was lifted up with shouts and Hallelujahs! That mingling of joy experienced when singing in their language, the grief and trauma shared, and the faithful response of these brothers and sisters in fervent prayer was truly a sacred image of heaven. “The smoke of the incense, mixed with the prayers of God’s holy people, ascended up to God from the altar where the angel had poured them out.” (Revelation 8:4) </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">A week after this three day training, I revel in the precious opportunities of celebrating God, preparing to help children know him, and exploring how their languages can be used to make that happen with these dear brothers and sisters. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Please do continue to lift them up as they communicate the need to share the Gospel with their children in their heart language in an ever changing linguistic scene where language communities are living together in towns. May they use the curriculum they’ve translated to disciple children in truly understanding that call to discipleship. </span></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-77566489378801548692023-10-29T15:54:00.000+01:002023-10-29T15:54:29.348+01:00The Weeping SaviorI stood with tears streaming down my face as the person acting Jesus wept, pleaded, and surrendered in the garden of Gethsemane during the Mark drama yesterday afternoon. When I took up this project three months ago, I knew it was going to be impactful. <div>But yesterday when I looked out at the faces, the gutteral groans of Jesus echoing in the room, the tears flowing down many of those faces, I knew that I would never think of my Savior and his sacrifice for me the same again.</div><div>I took on many different roles including the woman with the alabaster jar, the blind Bartimaus, the wife of Jairus, and the Angel announcing the Risen Lord. I connected with each of them. And felt heavy with desperation, driven by love, and overflowing with thankfulness. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCEoHsm4XYXR3iPG1qlmH1hwIcAab3pFGvZdfLJa1CW7evfXfOrm9XTxphfZ0v8tOXtKOGEd0xnRgWPESiCrARE1seeKYLwWuRzxTte4RiK46R2HqKXsYQ8NekIg-HMsv-mcr7jQ0fS3UKvyKxrXZ1tZ40fKzTcPOXPiRqnOoQbvt1nfQAGKGy6NKeelA/s4032/078A9B99-5E31-4CE9-94B5-A014338E80C5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCEoHsm4XYXR3iPG1qlmH1hwIcAab3pFGvZdfLJa1CW7evfXfOrm9XTxphfZ0v8tOXtKOGEd0xnRgWPESiCrARE1seeKYLwWuRzxTte4RiK46R2HqKXsYQ8NekIg-HMsv-mcr7jQ0fS3UKvyKxrXZ1tZ40fKzTcPOXPiRqnOoQbvt1nfQAGKGy6NKeelA/s320/078A9B99-5E31-4CE9-94B5-A014338E80C5.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is part of the team starting rehearsal on Wednesday. The one learning Jesus is on one foot. His name is Mike.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>The Mark drama is the gospel of Mark in 90 minutes. We will be presenting it twice with a new cast in the next week. Please pray for that cast. Pray for the person being Jesus that he will learn all of his parts, and that they will deeply stir his soul. Pray that each of the other cast members will draw close to Christ as they learn their parts. The drama is only rehearsed for two days before the day it’s presented. So it’s a very intense time with each other and with the Lord.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pray for our director, visiting from the UK, who will be training me to direct the Mark drama. That she will have health and strength. We are praying that this can be a new way of bringing the good news to Nigeria in different languages. We pray that those coming will catch this vision as well.</div>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-33734115823891126882023-10-29T15:29:00.005+01:002023-10-29T15:29:48.320+01:00The Kid’s TeamAs we waited for the doors of the lunchroom of the retreat center to open, I asked Mariama, “Who said that Jesus is the son of God?” She said “the Pharisees.” I asked her when the Pharisees had said that because I wasn’t sure if she was right. She said, “Jesus told the paralytic that his sins were forgiven. Then the Pharisees said, “only God can forgive sins.” So, Mommy, she explained to me, they were saying that Jesus was God.” I later asked Lydia and her friend Elizabeth the same question. They listed five different characters in Scripture that said Jesus was the son of God. I have lead the children’s retreat the last two years and am in awe of the amount of work that has gone into ministering to these sweet souls so loved by God.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_yRTS0jCuSig4kBEAKvT6W4YCKJVBl5nOMGWP2U2Z014iRFfdpfM9Wy_C_vpCD4HgwMIMRC-chnsnbsOWOMVQH0ONXkC5vSwhYdEJhp28O_T9gqkYj3cHiAEb1VnFnStuqoX-EaFNo0BDOAwfjayQTtD20xN2d4Rna7AYzQ6A4_wJ00jNEQGDG0HMESk/s4032/09AAF5FE-1EF8-415F-8DC6-3358C30AF7A0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_yRTS0jCuSig4kBEAKvT6W4YCKJVBl5nOMGWP2U2Z014iRFfdpfM9Wy_C_vpCD4HgwMIMRC-chnsnbsOWOMVQH0ONXkC5vSwhYdEJhp28O_T9gqkYj3cHiAEb1VnFnStuqoX-EaFNo0BDOAwfjayQTtD20xN2d4Rna7AYzQ6A4_wJ00jNEQGDG0HMESk/s320/09AAF5FE-1EF8-415F-8DC6-3358C30AF7A0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I praise God for the team that he brought together to teach our children. They have two more days together. I pray our children will deeply understand who, where, why, and but what of Jesus being the Son of God. Please join us in prayer for this team and our children.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1C6TaB7_njwdxPH_LqWoVN8lAjlhCf_B7n0b01dkbqJvlp8erGYDl6ZUXSLrCCTlEVpn9rMMmUYbZXMYJemRVWjjzTLnh1FgpFG_W3fNAbBtJj1hIOlZ0YplrZa4Oz-7sYKKZ6xKeDYUnu1fnKiv-E-wAfkPJWuiEjvVe98FBfTAfksIPE_TsMmhL_rSl/s4032/93A68E14-35F9-40F7-8912-F7CD17B0E38F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1C6TaB7_njwdxPH_LqWoVN8lAjlhCf_B7n0b01dkbqJvlp8erGYDl6ZUXSLrCCTlEVpn9rMMmUYbZXMYJemRVWjjzTLnh1FgpFG_W3fNAbBtJj1hIOlZ0YplrZa4Oz-7sYKKZ6xKeDYUnu1fnKiv-E-wAfkPJWuiEjvVe98FBfTAfksIPE_TsMmhL_rSl/s320/93A68E14-35F9-40F7-8912-F7CD17B0E38F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister-in-law, Kirstin, teaching the Memory verse scripture song. I’m so deeply blessed by their ministry to our children. So thankful for their sacrifice. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-54072802799280475692023-10-17T17:15:00.004+01:002023-10-17T17:17:19.872+01:00Victories and challenges<p>Twice a year, I get a chance to just sit back and listen as our staff
give updates on victories and challenges they are facing as they
progress in learning about languages, developing alphabets, training
teachers, and translating the Bible. It is so moving to hear of
breakthroughs mixed with serious challenges. Back in March and April, I
jotted down notes of things I saw God doing. Thank God with me for
these things!<br />Over the years I have had the opportunity to sit with
many pastors and hear about the challenging choices they make. Often
the people in their church come from several different languages,
language communities, leading pastors and/or church leaders to perceive
that a language of wider communication is the only available choice to
bring unity for most church activities. Regrettably these can become
instead languages of “wilder confusion” for many in the church—often the
majority—especially women and children. I heard of many churches that
have chosen to do the Bible reading in the newly translated Gospel of
Luke in their language. In another language, people are requesting
entire mother-tongue services. Praise God for this gift of <b>understanding</b>!<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="267" src="https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/rbjlCP_olqlo-z0VD1i60QgR0D75dxLvxgMPnGKvB3bdxR_ZhYjU6fUIDfQGxrSDDU2QSa4wPllUykh6u1KoWPM3oGXo-PirvujwXu10_QJubobWKKgsPIfTCQTqfJizCIMz0kgmcApTaikeCFXXOQY=w400-h267" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing good things God has done<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />In
many areas, we heard about challenges with kidnapping and insecurity.
These realities make it difficult for people to meet together—a key part
of effective work. In one of these places a special Bible study was
prepared to go along with the recently translated book of Jonah. People
had Bible studies from this book in January. I can only imagine the
impact of God’s mercy on the wicked Ninevites will have had on these
small groups. Praise God for his <b>mercy and compassion</b>!<br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="267" src="https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/rm_PaB-S7bMc0y157ZAqmq1f1HHn_b4NutMdKp9Ki2qpvimETLkEEHUKnpWJzcgG15brE5kPL_UrOp9J7YmXUj8p-9U9lTemcB4x8HO7W8334UK1ecrkUC8_uTF6JmaDQ5aNPU0xGU4lzvaeciAflPc=w400-h267" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Staff think and plan together<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>One
of the sad experiences we have faced is that often in churches—the very
place where we should expect God’s love—we hear statements of hate from
one people group against another. How are these people supposed to
know God’s love if not through us, his people? I have seen in one
individual after another express openness to accept this wrong and a
willingness to change. <b>Thank God</b> and pray for<b> more love</b>! At the same time, we hear of over<b> 500 audio Bible study groups</b> happening in one of these people groups that has received hate. <b> Thank God for his Word that speaks</b>!<br /><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="267" src="https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/uPJ7ljq04kQsliKdU2_0qG7JNkaXAogPE3cq7xE8nSAEnRHaEzCBn2OfuuYokHlH9CK5e0AAOcrhQGNfeK1qXn5I15YNRF6FKWFvG6QGDh_35kPdOSGS5epkB2gE4opLYs2TFFxMEpx2NDMporOQdQ0=w400-h267" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our experiences encourage each other<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>In
different areas I have heard about challenges people have in reading
because of complex tones or the subtle meanings of small words. I heard
stories of progress in studying these complex issues. In many places I
also heard about churches and government schools teaching children and
adults to read in their own language. Praise God for this gift that
should bring <b>deeper learning and change</b> to many areas of life!<br /><br />We will get to meet again soon and share about the joys and struggles. Please pray that God will <b>encourage our hearts</b> and use this coming together to<b> open doors</b> in places where colleagues may feel “stuck”. Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00678787500697403292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-26974261401954677632023-09-01T17:14:00.005+01:002023-09-01T17:14:53.537+01:00Live Their Lives as Jesus Did<p> Today was the last day of the holiday Orange Hat. We had around two hundred children (half of them at a time) coming daily for the last five weeks. I am so weary, but so thankful. So very thankful. </p><p>This week the verse that they learned in song was: </p><p>"But those who obey God's word truly show how completely they love him. That is how we know we are living in him. Those who say they live in God should live their lives as Jesus did." 1 John 2:5-6 <br /></p><p>We have talked about how they can know that they are forgiven. Last week they learned how the Spirit testifies to their inner being that they are God's children. This week, is the "living like Jesus lived" in the power of the Spirit. As I move around the community, seeing the children near their homes and with their friends, I am able to ask them one question and they know exactly what I'm saying, "What would Jesus do right now?" They smile knowingly after slapping someone on the back or shouting at a small child. It's been a super special challenge for me too, remembering that I am empowered by the Spirit to live my life as Jesus did every moment! How thankful I am for God's grace when I fall short. </p><p> Tomorrow is our closing program. We will spend an impactful hour and a half with the families and neighbors of our children. They will do their dramas, display their artwork, sing their songs, and dance their dances. Please pray that the message of what we've learned will ring clearly in their hearts as they enter a new school year. Pray that the families will be impacted by what they hear as God's image in these children is clearly displayed. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vpwESg0lhZNiJFIvtD1D8AGrslYmf-2SS5SVbJ1obpJKMoNkKuxeilHUyTtbvG7ntpccMkdE9EVPzNwR2TreTc684tgdd2PFX6F6vrfn69PBXIMntXor8aPWLxL3bJqlxJp1ZInjTZt45sUgKfG9O1oeswtTwrMZzMchlEi0s8rk7f3K66yrnQdgalaU/s4032/IMG_0236.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vpwESg0lhZNiJFIvtD1D8AGrslYmf-2SS5SVbJ1obpJKMoNkKuxeilHUyTtbvG7ntpccMkdE9EVPzNwR2TreTc684tgdd2PFX6F6vrfn69PBXIMntXor8aPWLxL3bJqlxJp1ZInjTZt45sUgKfG9O1oeswtTwrMZzMchlEi0s8rk7f3K66yrnQdgalaU/s320/IMG_0236.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learning about biodegradable products and composting! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLAsTRJGU-hP7bJZDLyzSCnL7dPVH0bTuQm_4smM17mV-eGLVkkkGJP4juhi7ZhFb4KgXnle67y5wzHq8An-pH7DYxX5cXoNPFr2uwJgye_NzIOA9HsJXYTOX1EGjNDb2F-b7lGtvtdOdwTrdF7efeh9tiU5AkdnnmiQ3FxKFJF0yLVkwJ_qjLYPQiZxY/s4032/IMG_0247.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLAsTRJGU-hP7bJZDLyzSCnL7dPVH0bTuQm_4smM17mV-eGLVkkkGJP4juhi7ZhFb4KgXnle67y5wzHq8An-pH7DYxX5cXoNPFr2uwJgye_NzIOA9HsJXYTOX1EGjNDb2F-b7lGtvtdOdwTrdF7efeh9tiU5AkdnnmiQ3FxKFJF0yLVkwJ_qjLYPQiZxY/s320/IMG_0247.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2reKJ0-0SNXW5-3M2FbQcBTyTtj4okkG8uuqwYg_B8j4g89cHxHz0oCEZq680YIfcNFa2Kzm4adbq2kIM3JrvqsFlz-sz7P6DOG0-_k_9o8XkGCQhlHH1_HsC2ajp4r6NyKdjDJPsjZYQ6_U48cZe3wnWy268FIYum0kOqgV12sExnmTehrFmYCqDfVj/s4032/IMG_0197.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2reKJ0-0SNXW5-3M2FbQcBTyTtj4okkG8uuqwYg_B8j4g89cHxHz0oCEZq680YIfcNFa2Kzm4adbq2kIM3JrvqsFlz-sz7P6DOG0-_k_9o8XkGCQhlHH1_HsC2ajp4r6NyKdjDJPsjZYQ6_U48cZe3wnWy268FIYum0kOqgV12sExnmTehrFmYCqDfVj/s320/IMG_0197.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening with our Scripture songs! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvAZgGDyi3qdTe4Nbex65ESbzx5yiTaBq_xXCzgKXVNGxUB_6wcobW5nIHibV03ShHuCnNQBatrnMt_vo7Vte_1TVmkCnchfApevPzhRcG3kL32pTzD0s5IYT-RG2Fh2-Md1zdNeGBNHXfR2UXBUnHAUJRZFX0G3npMe-AIkUEbhLwnV7yJl9ikLKNOgO/s4032/IMG_0416.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvAZgGDyi3qdTe4Nbex65ESbzx5yiTaBq_xXCzgKXVNGxUB_6wcobW5nIHibV03ShHuCnNQBatrnMt_vo7Vte_1TVmkCnchfApevPzhRcG3kL32pTzD0s5IYT-RG2Fh2-Md1zdNeGBNHXfR2UXBUnHAUJRZFX0G3npMe-AIkUEbhLwnV7yJl9ikLKNOgO/s320/IMG_0416.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art class<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KOJLapec9EhOUeHsVrexJg02IvlnvKuc-4enDXRJHDQybp9UWNKc-ajupLD0FPDZRojoVzifMWx5Cidjird2cuCX7uf3BfqMcC8iQlnLRgtDSMFso5_VA6IhY5jOWH0A_N4VY--Z4ZWR3TD_HmxWRrSJKTGfyumy4C-PtNv4Mqwh7t42afVKu593wb-6/s4032/IMG_0616.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KOJLapec9EhOUeHsVrexJg02IvlnvKuc-4enDXRJHDQybp9UWNKc-ajupLD0FPDZRojoVzifMWx5Cidjird2cuCX7uf3BfqMcC8iQlnLRgtDSMFso5_VA6IhY5jOWH0A_N4VY--Z4ZWR3TD_HmxWRrSJKTGfyumy4C-PtNv4Mqwh7t42afVKu593wb-6/s320/IMG_0616.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of our lovely teachers! They fill me with such joy. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYoakkuSYFyq7QXnhOW6HqptTopZ-Fq3-v2I4c84T9NKfKrbKiFQbBgxXusJwTBHE2tich9rrQJLalVUVQWd_-BsT6sBHUw9_AfvThK7qu6N-7udv_CM7CuFmFVtDml4idNQ5bgc4wYkF-nt_sC2d0eNeL7VM-3JaCn34IAP_yDKxpGwAhOwzdcURAqPa/s4032/IMG_0703.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYoakkuSYFyq7QXnhOW6HqptTopZ-Fq3-v2I4c84T9NKfKrbKiFQbBgxXusJwTBHE2tich9rrQJLalVUVQWd_-BsT6sBHUw9_AfvThK7qu6N-7udv_CM7CuFmFVtDml4idNQ5bgc4wYkF-nt_sC2d0eNeL7VM-3JaCn34IAP_yDKxpGwAhOwzdcURAqPa/s320/IMG_0703.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My children really learned to take part. Answered prayer!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFWwg-umFSDxMAyiINm2wiqeNIx0I2yDab8zRQACArQ9trrOtwu1DYOteTc3dR3oc02Y38v-Nl80aHLTsmYRX5Mg7Jzi-41IUwvyFhzXAZm-pLdto-UliIWiWj7Jk0aSt3ywjkpHk_zcCH4xlHuKzhnXlIxiTVYn9JtF8lLrGXnYOWblJk9D0tPRomugq/s4032/IMG_0737.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFWwg-umFSDxMAyiINm2wiqeNIx0I2yDab8zRQACArQ9trrOtwu1DYOteTc3dR3oc02Y38v-Nl80aHLTsmYRX5Mg7Jzi-41IUwvyFhzXAZm-pLdto-UliIWiWj7Jk0aSt3ywjkpHk_zcCH4xlHuKzhnXlIxiTVYn9JtF8lLrGXnYOWblJk9D0tPRomugq/s320/IMG_0737.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Culture day! The backdrop are 14 different cloths of 14 different tribes of Nigeria. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqCHhheDUjjhCTzdcs4LEM6Od8n9gFbvgfKgy33dDvD2L0RBiIU-rLU-4BHs6AmLj8pe8AO78FttYUUuBxrubQfDt2eX5cnarWyYZB0bMEj6it6HvIja5n5tJu6dNuCI_lZJRmJPM6Yz49XOqqIBNdhRCZxJQhB7F4VFO16Prve9sY71LsycGLNg000H0/s4032/IMG_0771.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqCHhheDUjjhCTzdcs4LEM6Od8n9gFbvgfKgy33dDvD2L0RBiIU-rLU-4BHs6AmLj8pe8AO78FttYUUuBxrubQfDt2eX5cnarWyYZB0bMEj6it6HvIja5n5tJu6dNuCI_lZJRmJPM6Yz49XOqqIBNdhRCZxJQhB7F4VFO16Prve9sY71LsycGLNg000H0/s320/IMG_0771.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictures by group. The children from the Idoma tribe. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYOIeh4W0G64FbxfNdOSC-R0_r2f-1FOs9gjN3tO3WIpI8RKbn0VJoRHtRbW_-fzG_jBJVUtoJtWksdy9BAXCX5LHAnNaiobzAQngBS65lw0jE-lhZLbMVy-OCNRu51bIRSjpbjgcDvY90uKu-LqmTa0nSAs5ygzZM_SMLkw6COdMKlqsyMFO_ymmuBat/s4032/IMG_0779.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYOIeh4W0G64FbxfNdOSC-R0_r2f-1FOs9gjN3tO3WIpI8RKbn0VJoRHtRbW_-fzG_jBJVUtoJtWksdy9BAXCX5LHAnNaiobzAQngBS65lw0jE-lhZLbMVy-OCNRu51bIRSjpbjgcDvY90uKu-LqmTa0nSAs5ygzZM_SMLkw6COdMKlqsyMFO_ymmuBat/w214-h285/IMG_0779.HEIC" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend Abigail came to celebrate with her children. They are Irigwe. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfSZ1J9cPE58DKfMTBRfdRQo8ZUfuZYW6Tk4F-MxNLa4ZN-_g6z4U8F7jHCgizpgKTTvl8-4lKhRwl9X4x70lzZHDgTu7zWYtzyrzU903gBdjjKDUScC5nGJgPNMa4EYsAZ8QWWo3qW0G3eF5W_4dkBSwGwiFTZHnp5MBmr8mJvweN8DaIKTaG31EDuLpS/s4032/IMG_0792.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfSZ1J9cPE58DKfMTBRfdRQo8ZUfuZYW6Tk4F-MxNLa4ZN-_g6z4U8F7jHCgizpgKTTvl8-4lKhRwl9X4x70lzZHDgTu7zWYtzyrzU903gBdjjKDUScC5nGJgPNMa4EYsAZ8QWWo3qW0G3eF5W_4dkBSwGwiFTZHnp5MBmr8mJvweN8DaIKTaG31EDuLpS/s320/IMG_0792.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each group came and danced in the center of the field. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-36920072075140651712023-08-09T15:01:00.000+01:002023-08-09T15:01:15.880+01:00A Pause<p>To throw myself upon God and his grace has been something that I've not been entirely good at. I spend a lot of time serving others in this season of my life. My family, the Orange Hat children, the Bible study children all have never ending ways that I can love and give to them. I can start to think that feeling worn down or dizzily running around is God's best for me because it's my reality. </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MGHw2yiKvKfd-MUa95tGhp4mu0DI1WEBSWUJ9dOscFPnTAmBkkMEFn15jJ_Gaqouvm4NAqlZOi_5e78KmjPCB617vuIp1T9r8MQ1XRfSOGzgg3V0x6NrU6intNQo5Og7oy57SDZuVj_xFrY7vJpSvUu7SrFK9o-Slcf7e04SOrQrwBEMt4gBt9mNmMET/s1620/20230807110756_IMG_0753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1620" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MGHw2yiKvKfd-MUa95tGhp4mu0DI1WEBSWUJ9dOscFPnTAmBkkMEFn15jJ_Gaqouvm4NAqlZOi_5e78KmjPCB617vuIp1T9r8MQ1XRfSOGzgg3V0x6NrU6intNQo5Og7oy57SDZuVj_xFrY7vJpSvUu7SrFK9o-Slcf7e04SOrQrwBEMt4gBt9mNmMET/s320/20230807110756_IMG_0753.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCBURtq7qQCt_E12JItcCRSCO2mttdMVIJT1jR9w9yaTj5Y7DSYyxTfNGcahjQrBwHK6O-Z0WHHAR_HPWACVS8Yz8KaFl69yoKBsizqe0hqOyDn1FyMi8IDj96YouLIXw7mU4YeKDOO0LyI2-oCFb44OxsalEMEGJi0fPDLgfJ-Ozu4V6cuQkx8FsqPh6/s1620/20230805173614_IMG_0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1620" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZCBURtq7qQCt_E12JItcCRSCO2mttdMVIJT1jR9w9yaTj5Y7DSYyxTfNGcahjQrBwHK6O-Z0WHHAR_HPWACVS8Yz8KaFl69yoKBsizqe0hqOyDn1FyMi8IDj96YouLIXw7mU4YeKDOO0LyI2-oCFb44OxsalEMEGJi0fPDLgfJ-Ozu4V6cuQkx8FsqPh6/s320/20230805173614_IMG_0723.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>My husband has built in a "pause" for our family every 6 weeks where he takes a long weekend. This last weekend we went to Miango Rest Home about 40 minutes from our home. While there I read this passage: </p><p>"He will tend his flock like a shepherd, </p><p>He will gather the lambs in his arms, </p><p>he will carry them in his bosom</p><p>and gently lead those that are with young." Isaiah 40:11</p><p>This passage coupled with others like, "come to me...learn from me...my yoke is easy, and my burden is light," and "Those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life," carry undoubted promises of God's tender heart toward...well...me! And you. I don't have to accept over business as God's best for me. God wants me to be full too. That is so humbling, and I want to increasingly learn to throw my tired self upon his full and abundant grace. <br /></p><p>I pray you experience his shepherding heart today. His leading you, refreshing you from the source of his Spirit deep in your soul, and the sharing of your heavy burdens. Please do pray that for me too. <br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-18028369761573281742023-08-09T14:43:00.001+01:002023-08-09T14:43:47.890+01:00Orange Hat Holiday<p> "I'm made in God's image and so are you, </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqkHZ4e938vEIHkyh1th-lJ8IRSBBJRUU5nzFJF5cfI5SYYVa-FtQ4OStmFGAzaA-tOxqGey1vkLukuRyHgrt921F1gpNU1WZVVGpNlPqVdQWQmqGSVBSklsMGINGyA3ApuvAV6x5KFl_j-6VoE0hyxsh3KexjAkUxTCSGp-epZfR5ReVw9vBuT9xhmvO/s4032/IMG_0054.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqkHZ4e938vEIHkyh1th-lJ8IRSBBJRUU5nzFJF5cfI5SYYVa-FtQ4OStmFGAzaA-tOxqGey1vkLukuRyHgrt921F1gpNU1WZVVGpNlPqVdQWQmqGSVBSklsMGINGyA3ApuvAV6x5KFl_j-6VoE0hyxsh3KexjAkUxTCSGp-epZfR5ReVw9vBuT9xhmvO/s320/IMG_0054.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>The Bible says that this is true! <br /><p></p><p>Let me see you!</p><p>Woop, yup it's true!" </p><p>The children at the Orange Hat marched around the room, each having their moment in the door for us to see the reflected beauty of God in them. </p><p>From the floor and indoor bathroom that was completed by a VBS in the states, to the 12 volunteers that commit their time to the children in our community, I have seen God's hand in the Orange Hat Holiday program. </p><p>Speaking of hands, our first week we learned that each of us are written on God's hand, and we wrote our hands on the palm of a huge hand on the wall. So precious to have our local artist saying to each child, "God has written your name on the palms of his hand. He won't ever forget you," before painting their name onto the huge hand. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbWtVMnDWcpJKPhMgQrB6tSSK7o8qBhZdknykyx_skkGbsfKvE-ltvc6XrGKQ3o79VFBXuX3pR4vJLbpjb1wJVxNLvNNRei1XH0dYZAuMNO-y8r8waeWf0LVbQ8A0Y58KsqaYO61HMFaahdjdRGbL-eNwEro9NXdWYCnsyNhpQ_99Iv3X_h7uttWuvvelM/s4032/IMG_0189.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbWtVMnDWcpJKPhMgQrB6tSSK7o8qBhZdknykyx_skkGbsfKvE-ltvc6XrGKQ3o79VFBXuX3pR4vJLbpjb1wJVxNLvNNRei1XH0dYZAuMNO-y8r8waeWf0LVbQ8A0Y58KsqaYO61HMFaahdjdRGbL-eNwEro9NXdWYCnsyNhpQ_99Iv3X_h7uttWuvvelM/s320/IMG_0189.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQicjPI1vsg0k7uWcuaIdqbpZIu93urR-UmZ27G6mNBX4iSY6ETw5NLE9qVh2Qe_emaCR8wzqnz4ugA70AAAs8VD3B5oUbI7yh_lAk2nldu211M1UaId9e2DG12fvcl_an0yyAAZxgY5RvUvO4u3QFEbFhHfD5eTIZCgqqWtVRUjRB8khqErTPZDSTbe2/s4032/IMG_0190.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQicjPI1vsg0k7uWcuaIdqbpZIu93urR-UmZ27G6mNBX4iSY6ETw5NLE9qVh2Qe_emaCR8wzqnz4ugA70AAAs8VD3B5oUbI7yh_lAk2nldu211M1UaId9e2DG12fvcl_an0yyAAZxgY5RvUvO4u3QFEbFhHfD5eTIZCgqqWtVRUjRB8khqErTPZDSTbe2/s320/IMG_0190.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each has a place on His hand.<br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaDNAA31M5nnPtiU6l9EeYjhyb4MwNeKnFMP5luBuz6MESaoedfTuN-RwB60JZGUs_psqKTgb0pQScFcW4BfhwZO9op_PZ_G3otQb1q10dTysIFZ89qDv6bQHIZQGYgTkNRqTC8Rg7rZdWXX0ZNl6x0n74oJNFkphe05QCevaVHG8GqvBzrg1rTYl0tMj/s4032/IMG_0193.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaDNAA31M5nnPtiU6l9EeYjhyb4MwNeKnFMP5luBuz6MESaoedfTuN-RwB60JZGUs_psqKTgb0pQScFcW4BfhwZO9op_PZ_G3otQb1q10dTysIFZ89qDv6bQHIZQGYgTkNRqTC8Rg7rZdWXX0ZNl6x0n74oJNFkphe05QCevaVHG8GqvBzrg1rTYl0tMj/s320/IMG_0193.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making a community map. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /> <p></p><p>This week we are focusing on our community, Hwolshe. Please do pray for these young people as they learn about their own potential, part, and purpose in their communities. We will have a closing program on Saturday, September 2. <br /></p><p><br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-7539028390606464032023-07-06T16:28:00.036+01:002023-07-06T16:45:03.805+01:00Why translate when languages are dying?“A language dies every 14 days.” This is a bold and concerning claim found <a href="https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d&q=%22A+language+dies+every+14+days%22">all over the internet</a>. Why should we translate the Bible if people are no longer speaking their languages? This reflection used to bother me as a young language surveyor. It is true that languages do die for many reasons. I have even visited some communities in Nigeria where you struggle to find anyone who speaks the heritage language. But as I have dug into this statement deeper, I find that <b>this statement is actually totally mistaken</b>, not based on real data, but mere guesses. So what is the truth and what does it mean for us as we translate the Bible?<br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6DaPp7z4WkrDhowTr6bhXNO5ehWwC5r1Iav6WSZyg4gqSDVu32tOfbVrei4CgiD1WwUnAzxGrpjU1xWrzRkaVCii1jAcDMwzUWimWKRRDnLl7hlU4lf3t-8qn6KY9OTHuFd4P1TRez5ApyQkznHw16j3PW1R7ryJxGrj6RKEAXXDQF078iJuqIcz8OG1J/s2560/20180617_131033.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6DaPp7z4WkrDhowTr6bhXNO5ehWwC5r1Iav6WSZyg4gqSDVu32tOfbVrei4CgiD1WwUnAzxGrpjU1xWrzRkaVCii1jAcDMwzUWimWKRRDnLl7hlU4lf3t-8qn6KY9OTHuFd4P1TRez5ApyQkznHw16j3PW1R7ryJxGrj6RKEAXXDQF078iJuqIcz8OG1J/w400-h240/20180617_131033.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span id="docs-internal-guid-eee7e8da-7fff-f1ac-bef2-64de17327d13" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mariama overlooks a neighborhood in Jos</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span><p></p><p>In 2019, I was deeply encouraged when our international Chief Research Officer, Gary Simons shared <a href="https://scholars.sil.org/sites/scholars/files/gary_f_simons/poster/simons-language_loss-handout.pdf">a poster that corrected this misunderstanding</a>. When I was about five years old, I first met Gary Simons. I was more interested in playing with his children at the time. After becoming a language surveyor, I began to appreciate not only this man’s thoughtful faith, but also his insightful analysis of data about languages. In this poster he shares the data: only about nine languages die each year—or about one every 40 days. More languages are dying in the Americas and Australia—where many of the cultures were based on a threatened “hunter gatherer” lifestyle than in Sub-Saharan Africa—where agricultural practices have made a stable environment for maintaining culture. I observed that this is also true in Nigeria—as I travel all over Nigeria I meet youth and children, participating in the agriculture-based lifestyles, and still speaking and preferring their language for many parts of their lives.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR2d0bF7YlBt9Ng9nfbixomuT2hnaZAqxoXZrjmNEB2_4d95UnWzUvhCk6a4Qk12grKoRJPuTOCUI64cqzQTuqrj1OvPdkXXHm_9DLqzc6ngfD8_6qLpGnsoSx-MsCfSNneM6x7fb6_SM7WPKIXWEnBcjJ73yIHSVrwLR8AZKerKaxEbLgKKRm85HWuLk/s1743/IMG_1731.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1743" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtR2d0bF7YlBt9Ng9nfbixomuT2hnaZAqxoXZrjmNEB2_4d95UnWzUvhCk6a4Qk12grKoRJPuTOCUI64cqzQTuqrj1OvPdkXXHm_9DLqzc6ngfD8_6qLpGnsoSx-MsCfSNneM6x7fb6_SM7WPKIXWEnBcjJ73yIHSVrwLR8AZKerKaxEbLgKKRm85HWuLk/w400-h244/IMG_1731.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span id="docs-internal-guid-07873c3d-7fff-7d44-e4b1-fe30e8c79d3b" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A river crossing from my survey days</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>However, all over the world, as people move to cities and intermarry with people speaking different languages, many people are not passing their languages on to their children. It is hard to predict what will happen to languages in these situations. Sometimes people who have moved to cities realize the value of their heritage, and therefore work harder to stay connected—including frequent visits back to their home area. They may also support language-related work with their time and money. </p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJcq7P3mDd6upTBAyI5TzEUWmE0POVbep5Kfsffhw6dtE0km6a3XanCkijiSFgSv3fOCktwMcmOsvXIyw7WQsdjZwSE7boxtqGa0wK8_xjcm-X-l5aBHXOdZjz2Zj4cSNoBkn6pVRKG_kOehjGxTKIxP2mJNmn22m3iftLhnmCYK-X82QfftiEmR56aHU1/s2560/20190127_165520.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJcq7P3mDd6upTBAyI5TzEUWmE0POVbep5Kfsffhw6dtE0km6a3XanCkijiSFgSv3fOCktwMcmOsvXIyw7WQsdjZwSE7boxtqGa0wK8_xjcm-X-l5aBHXOdZjz2Zj4cSNoBkn6pVRKG_kOehjGxTKIxP2mJNmn22m3iftLhnmCYK-X82QfftiEmR56aHU1/w400-h240/20190127_165520.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span id="docs-internal-guid-0f1db7b4-7fff-b84b-0003-198640eecdf8" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mariama visits a village where I did survey years prior</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span><p></p>So if a language shows a hint that some people are abandoning it, is it still good to invest in Bible translation? Although the question can get quite complex, I have come to two fairly simple conclusions. If a significant number of children and youth are still speaking the language, it is probably worth investing in longer-term investment. Also, even if most children or youth are abandoning a language, if there are some people that still speak and value their language, perhaps some smaller investments such as oral Bible stories or smaller portions of Scripture could be completed quickly enough to benefit the people still speaking the language. Even if a language is very much alive, having some verses of Scriptures available quickly can help! <br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmLMkVnJ6kgJeYWKRnwAv0hT67zeIRYLkDZgdPRMMGLyXi4nZeAy0E74VBZdOD4nWI-m5ixnZX33grkGi21NUcoVC1a_JXLwI9Qg9ptPmkZqiarUot7r7_6c7UJcn1NeSxTpk0mAo9dOaskGFA_1rbk47wgAy4LQ0RAqSE_0Pf901218nmcyXn90stl0t/s1600/IMG_6669_small.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmLMkVnJ6kgJeYWKRnwAv0hT67zeIRYLkDZgdPRMMGLyXi4nZeAy0E74VBZdOD4nWI-m5ixnZX33grkGi21NUcoVC1a_JXLwI9Qg9ptPmkZqiarUot7r7_6c7UJcn1NeSxTpk0mAo9dOaskGFA_1rbk47wgAy4LQ0RAqSE_0Pf901218nmcyXn90stl0t/w400-h266/IMG_6669_small.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span id="docs-internal-guid-89148042-7fff-3497-9a7e-b29016222e57" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mariama and Lydia visit a village for Scripture Listening and Reading groups in 2019</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span><p></p>What about developing languages that are dying with alphabets, dictionaries or recordings of their language? Often when a language is dying it reflects a significant social change for those people. Some communities are ready to let some of their heritage identity go along with their language, while others choose to value and work to preserve it. Sometimes with a little effort—recordings and words of encouragement—we can show Christ’s love by helping a group remember this gift God has given them—their identity and history.<br /><br />I am grateful that Nigerian languages—and many languages around the world—are not dying as fast as some have guessed. Even when languages are dying, usually the people who speak them aren’t—and this requires great wisdom to know how to serve these people.Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00678787500697403292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-9440996817052461742023-06-29T11:07:00.003+01:002023-06-29T11:07:33.221+01:00"We will take all the lessons." <p>After traveling for 2 days straight, I arrived from Cameroon at 2:20pm. Something was happening I just didn't want to miss!<br /></p><p>I arrived at the office at 2:30 to see the end of the first day of a training for a group of individuals from six different languages who will go and train others to teach children using their language. I had wanted to come back for the first day to help facilitate, but there were no flights into Jos on a Wednesday. <br /></p><p>I walked in on a session about how to learn a Bible story, and was overcome by emotions and gratitude. The three individuals that I trained to do this training were engaging, fun, and professional. They had rapport with the participants, and mastery of the materials. </p><p> In the evening I called one of them to tell me what they wanted me to do today, and she said, "We will take all the lessons." I was both disappointed and thrilled at the same time. This is what I've been praying for! I love teaching the curriculum "Lessons from Luke." It's dynamic and encouraging to see people empowered to engage children in Scripture. On the other hand, as humbling as it is to say, listening to them in the other room right now, they are in many ways better equipped than I am to do it! </p><p>So please pray for them as they continue to train others! Please pray that they will continue to have creativity, strength, and inspiration. And praise God that he has provided this answer to prayer to have people who can carry on this training in a dynamic way! And praise God that he orders even the flights of airplanes or uses our mis-planning to do a greater thing. If I had been here, I probably would have in many ways taken over, but he's doing a new thing!<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0kbG_63W5CHyglJJJDtxEUydzmtZnjZjb8WAMHe5888aI-wf4Ni-eKmnGhfT9Nn_q6GubSW42ebCHO3RMpl8prPK6Xx3yw9VYLMLds2aLB57qKa3EZDj1IRY5Y_O4lXWIYCbH4GzWJ1Z_KC1xjoYbbmWKZytHVVePLG0eJzQrP6zYve0OzFyJYZJurXl/s4032/IMG_9454.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0kbG_63W5CHyglJJJDtxEUydzmtZnjZjb8WAMHe5888aI-wf4Ni-eKmnGhfT9Nn_q6GubSW42ebCHO3RMpl8prPK6Xx3yw9VYLMLds2aLB57qKa3EZDj1IRY5Y_O4lXWIYCbH4GzWJ1Z_KC1xjoYbbmWKZytHVVePLG0eJzQrP6zYve0OzFyJYZJurXl/s320/IMG_9454.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noroh, Chris, and Blessing<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4Cvrzl2rTDZ3LDqyv0T_DMGLpRJBd-IqFk8SIAN8pFbnPeNAeDBy4OqUyVJhmYx_rvO4qyxPJnQMMtJiHo95AB4oP8kCcOJTsgXTuNWl47FpAEvTLWhpf-Zm--dZgLVnq_Ey9PT6PPJtZ27m8L8B7Zu1K7FVxvXolfswX9neTO9Aart8SC0__LKnapX4/s4032/IMG_9456.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4Cvrzl2rTDZ3LDqyv0T_DMGLpRJBd-IqFk8SIAN8pFbnPeNAeDBy4OqUyVJhmYx_rvO4qyxPJnQMMtJiHo95AB4oP8kCcOJTsgXTuNWl47FpAEvTLWhpf-Zm--dZgLVnq_Ey9PT6PPJtZ27m8L8B7Zu1K7FVxvXolfswX9neTO9Aart8SC0__LKnapX4/s320/IMG_9456.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learning the story<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ePl-mZIUyyJIyGiXOdM-rJ2bxJ5Bd6ba0WaO2dLfaVN1R9KZAKEtKjWj8FW3KmTEq_YoX8yZ9lZQBEvr_3VeFnUcABJDYuihii3NMAPVEFJxPBPRg4vso9BsDzZq6hjRLYd3ctp_RCQ6ZCbe-t7XPtJybBbVBSu3vBo-HTiIS4Z1-NcoXeyjEgx9tKIL/s4032/IMG_9463.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ePl-mZIUyyJIyGiXOdM-rJ2bxJ5Bd6ba0WaO2dLfaVN1R9KZAKEtKjWj8FW3KmTEq_YoX8yZ9lZQBEvr_3VeFnUcABJDYuihii3NMAPVEFJxPBPRg4vso9BsDzZq6hjRLYd3ctp_RCQ6ZCbe-t7XPtJybBbVBSu3vBo-HTiIS4Z1-NcoXeyjEgx9tKIL/s320/IMG_9463.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Engaging children with Scripture songs!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-26315827151586457192023-03-10T11:17:00.003+01:002023-03-10T11:17:48.258+01:00Braiding<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6V5l_g__HvOLzfWaV680Jub4jeEWv0beNE4EpbTGaekT9oYFlYrfPmv8kFJBKe4JTTo23fweMPtXNtBWpSWk5M6umvA0La6sePAcW0u6SMKnJ9D99QOI-TRRvdnNuXS-3nW_uzNSq8C44g_GDV8S44wvVbN7kEsE90kiDW3cLMhwrCw7qGCCZMVJew/s1024/Susan%20and%20me%20at%2011.15.14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6V5l_g__HvOLzfWaV680Jub4jeEWv0beNE4EpbTGaekT9oYFlYrfPmv8kFJBKe4JTTo23fweMPtXNtBWpSWk5M6umvA0La6sePAcW0u6SMKnJ9D99QOI-TRRvdnNuXS-3nW_uzNSq8C44g_GDV8S44wvVbN7kEsE90kiDW3cLMhwrCw7qGCCZMVJew/s320/Susan%20and%20me%20at%2011.15.14.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>A friend planned a morning for my girls, </p><p>Shocked at the stop as my world whirls,</p><p>A friend with a "saloon" I called next, </p><p>Come at 8:30 I saw the text, <br /></p><p> Now here I sit for hours on end, </p><p>Beautiful women working their hands, </p><p>They worship, share posts, sing, laugh, </p><p>A cross-section of society on familiar path. </p><p>Their work is meaningful, intense time, </p><p>Women relaxing, guilt free, it's not a crime. </p><p>We're pampered, loved, renewed, </p><p>Leave shining and tired, hair knotted or sewd.</p><p>They're doing for me what I cannot do, </p><p>They're giving me a pause, a new look too. </p><p>Now strangers will stop me, delighting in my braids, </p><p>I'll make new friends, reveling in the difference it made, </p><p>To identify with my hosts in this enriching tradition, </p><p>Of weaving, being, beautifying in our daily mission. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-13745363648252800142023-01-26T21:58:00.001+01:002023-01-26T21:58:50.487+01:00Missed the Train!<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxA1tCP3vNt-QMm-u3vGEfuSwKVzHxmNyhBNnjBKPtCOH8JVEp_UDcPzWxcdry4Z9mjJZvJZrk5HaAab014ycIIo7VBj23Ie_8KSFzsjIoaAtqcEgVVmyPoCcGNX3iVg4SJGghhJMmI9torGjKTD-gLHe79mI3W0XZnuLZwS-KTZY560eJrM-Ciz65fg/s3088/IMG_0354.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxA1tCP3vNt-QMm-u3vGEfuSwKVzHxmNyhBNnjBKPtCOH8JVEp_UDcPzWxcdry4Z9mjJZvJZrk5HaAab014ycIIo7VBj23Ie_8KSFzsjIoaAtqcEgVVmyPoCcGNX3iVg4SJGghhJMmI9torGjKTD-gLHe79mI3W0XZnuLZwS-KTZY560eJrM-Ciz65fg/w300-h400/IMG_0354.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hate missing the train!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> Today I missed the train. I had planned a day in Chicago with a dear friend I met 10 years ago, also a new bride living her first year of marriage in Nigeria. My anticipation of a sweet fellowship long missed made me tingly with excitement! My husband stayed up late one night to get me the train ticket that left this morning right from Holland, MI at 6:49am and my mother got me there with time to spare. </p><p>Why did I miss the train? I was buying water from a vending machine. The stupidity of it all, the pathetic scene I made running alongside the barely moving train begging the conductor to "please, please let me hop on" (Afterall, that's what they do in all the movies) makes me flush...and I don't get embarrassed easily. </p><p>As annoying and disappointing situations do, it made me think. I pack my life full of "one more thing while I wait." Wait for what? The waiting IS the thing that I'm doing! Am I missing the train for a little sip of water? Am I forfeiting the way to get me to a life of refreshment, community, and ultimate joy because I can't stand to wait? </p><p>I recently went to tea with my sister-in-law, another opportunity not to be missed as this will be the last outing we had before she gets married. The night before we planned our 6:30am get away. Ironically, it followed a discussion with the family about how hard it was for us to get time early in the morning to be with Jesus. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26Iv5YMrhyrNDRtWpoMCpe9-VFqSzu_HkFQSKZp9cbjMlsyQseo4HhPyI1cPgGtIoSYgOXsQJkqsEEL8O0Qp4FpbGiayAL1yk4eyAv0gKOnaCaam-0bsKfYocDdP10D8QNVRa6VCyxE5brQg-moGE_8LKn60xF880MJDgeJZSXLnC7iguq3SNLyBC2Q/s3088/IMG_5947.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26Iv5YMrhyrNDRtWpoMCpe9-VFqSzu_HkFQSKZp9cbjMlsyQseo4HhPyI1cPgGtIoSYgOXsQJkqsEEL8O0Qp4FpbGiayAL1yk4eyAv0gKOnaCaam-0bsKfYocDdP10D8QNVRa6VCyxE5brQg-moGE_8LKn60xF880MJDgeJZSXLnC7iguq3SNLyBC2Q/s320/IMG_5947.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture of a time I didn't miss the train to Chicago...because I drove.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />In the morning, I shook my head as I realized that I can get up when I want to! Apparently, the getting up and making time for Jesus isn't the problem. Jesus will love me if I get up early to be with him or not, but do I love him enough to do it anyway? </p><p>"Don't be hard on yourself," I can hear people saying. But there's a time we have to ask ourselves if we are missing the train...the big, transporting, restful experience of walking with Jesus while we stand outside a vending machine waiting for a sip of...what? While we pack one more thing into our already stuffed journeying lives. </p><p>Lesson learned. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00678787500697403292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-32702617266475944512022-12-31T02:23:00.000+01:002022-12-31T02:23:22.829+01:00Wrapping <p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGc5CKeuiF5pVsN684J5YFCtH5FheOv-Clb_cTL4-A1PQ4rWT75cFErcw5uTZYctFbsTlck7iPOt9Fi_HuZWdB6iR0lVyQEF452HSNpoHoN7S_NVgre0wxQBWGrxBRnfIw2EZzSf_6KKaS-iCJz4pB7wRTgMMzY5uEU1OPrQZ3G0R2aJ5uWBZXCEQnA/s4032/IMG_6263.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGc5CKeuiF5pVsN684J5YFCtH5FheOv-Clb_cTL4-A1PQ4rWT75cFErcw5uTZYctFbsTlck7iPOt9Fi_HuZWdB6iR0lVyQEF452HSNpoHoN7S_NVgre0wxQBWGrxBRnfIw2EZzSf_6KKaS-iCJz4pB7wRTgMMzY5uEU1OPrQZ3G0R2aJ5uWBZXCEQnA/s320/IMG_6263.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia reveling in snow!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </p><p>We had our annual Christmas caroling event for our family, a 20-year-old tradition that started with my nephew. This year we added Karaoke at the end of it...inspired by a different nephew and a niece revealing their mad vocal skills! They were discovered, and the karaokeing began! I sang <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gs4q_9MrHa0">At this Table</a> by Indina Menzel- sung here by Selah. Better to hear <i>them</i> sing it than me, let me tell you! The first verse reflects<span> my childhood family culture as I remember it, and how they shaped my love for God and for people...how they have wrapped me up and spoken affirmation over my life and those who came into our home throughout the years. </span></p><p><span> It says:<br /></span></p><div class="ujudUb"><span>At this table, everyone is welcome</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>At this table, everyone is seen</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>At this table, everybody matters</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>No one falls between</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>At this table, you can say whatever</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>At this table, you can speak your mind</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>At this table, everything's forgiven</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>There's enough for everyone</span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>One young person in my family commented later, "it's not possible..." and a wise adult in her life (not me) said, "but it's the ideal." </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>*** <br /></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>I was in a most delightful place (a thrift store) where bits of friendly conversations floated across isles of discarded treasures. One person, who happened to be in every isle I wanted to go down, made several remarks to other miners like myself that struck me as exceptionally insightful and caring. I smiled listening to her and thought , "I want to speak meaningfully in passing like that." The moment came where we were cart to cart, rack to rack, and I made an offhand comment about Nigeria.<br /></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span><br /></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>She stopped, looked at me, and started a different kind of rummaging, through the things of my heart. I very soon found out that this lovely person, Maria, was not focused on wrapping Christmas gifts, but on wrapping...me! And she bound me in layers and layers. She taped them with hugs, tears, and prayer. I felt wholeness, and the warmth that heals a brokenness that I didn't even know was there. God surprised me with his lavish, tender care through this sister. She changed my life in those 10 minutes we spent together. I know it cost her something, her time and energy, emotion that could have been used on strengthening other areas or building closer to home...but she chose me...and in doing so, reminded me that God does too. It's like she was singing the chorus of the song "At This Table." It says: </span><br /></div><div class="ujudUb"><span></span><br /><div class="ujudUb"><span>So come as you are</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>Remember that the door is always open</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>Yes, come as you are</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>The perfect gift that you could bring is your heart</span><br aria-hidden="true" /><span>So come, come as you are...</span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>Pull up a chair. </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>I love these words, they ARE my ideal, and when I think about Jesus, his ragamuffin lot that were thickheaded, with different political views, social standing, and professions, I think it's his too! He says "pull up a chair" to his people from Thailand to Morocco to Chile to Nigeria every single morning, and he says it because he wants to wrap them in his love. I want to be like that too. I want to do the hard thing, like Maria did, like Jesus did, to see, really see, and wrap, joyfully wrap others in this beautiful season where we celebrate the one who came wrapped in clothes to a world wrapped in darkness so he could wrap them with love and light. </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span><br /></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>Maybe I'll form a habit, and it will flow into the New Year! Bob Goff says in his book <i>Everybody Always, "</i>Love isn't something we fall into; love is someone we become." </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span>Yes, Lord, do it in me! <i> </i><br /></span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qz2342P4uiSHuPcHhLFrxv2izuuJmOWES-9njXKjePp5kXPnYdRIZuI_f54qkvo3qExcNB-KiZWwQ3LgK7m9ygoYfBz8wkuStrKDEID0A564hG84KbtKdKczT_QCuQqUsp6SYtlmWbNfWiQ7rVGlQvRUlf4B0DMGiUKhENDJvKDF_so7BM1AK_PFQg/s3088/IMG_6193.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qz2342P4uiSHuPcHhLFrxv2izuuJmOWES-9njXKjePp5kXPnYdRIZuI_f54qkvo3qExcNB-KiZWwQ3LgK7m9ygoYfBz8wkuStrKDEID0A564hG84KbtKdKczT_QCuQqUsp6SYtlmWbNfWiQ7rVGlQvRUlf4B0DMGiUKhENDJvKDF_so7BM1AK_PFQg/s320/IMG_6193.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little sister, Leah, is a wrapper extraordinaire. I've learned a lot from her. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /> </span></div><div class="ujudUb"><span> </span></div></div>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-59053595908868069912022-12-01T14:41:00.000+01:002022-12-01T14:41:28.189+01:00Sea Monsters and Missionaries<p> "Some people, they'll never accept him, but some will, and he seems to know how to pick the good ones." -Luca's grandmum encouraging his mother in Pixar's "Luca"</p><p>We have been in the United States for almost two weeks. As Daso and I rode out of our compound gate for one of our last outings before we said goodbye for a few months, she asked, eyes shining "What are you excited about the most?" Tears came to my eyes, because what I was excited about was introducing her to my world. The child who has called me "mommy" for the last 8 years, finally seeing part of what made me the mommy that I am. I couldn't think of anything at the time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfhlFKlKzyJGdd2PbhBrzPboFFSbtNx8Zu1RmKVqEjcJHND2Qm3Uq941oRiz2Yor8rj8Lr8cCADlROWuR65cLA_uvrTupxyBdIYnlb-YyWOzMGCWef_4Wse5hECivQAnlkxPCc6jsXPltAahYtSs2Awga95Q-qt6yikcL8Kw9LmluSe8NjD5XPfu5oA/s4032/IMG_5869.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfhlFKlKzyJGdd2PbhBrzPboFFSbtNx8Zu1RmKVqEjcJHND2Qm3Uq941oRiz2Yor8rj8Lr8cCADlROWuR65cLA_uvrTupxyBdIYnlb-YyWOzMGCWef_4Wse5hECivQAnlkxPCc6jsXPltAahYtSs2Awga95Q-qt6yikcL8Kw9LmluSe8NjD5XPfu5oA/w200-h150/IMG_5869.HEIC" width="200" /></a></div><p>I could answer her question much better now: Family gatherings, playgrounds, libraries, Christmas lights, pizza, cheese, butter, chocolate hidden in my dad's cupboard, children's church, worshiping in my heart language, walking in a crowd and looking like everyone else, anonymity, sleeping in, bagels, pretty houses without walls around them, driving at night, firesides, remembering Josh, basketball games, a TV to watch the World Cup on, sledding, wearing a snowsuit, hugging my mom, listening to her and my dad harmonize in church on either side of me, friends who have known me before I was me, warm embraces from church family...and the list could go on and on. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Today I went to a playground with my children, an indoor playground intentionally designed with the development and hearts of children in mind. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8gf5gA78KCB6E-wuBMAJqE2S_OOTbs7oBdKDxe5JUTD7hTK9uvrmwuiOBHWsBp7VY_P-zScLXl1yRIBCpPUS1lMbZbCD0p6NzwYI74nYCo2sa2Vmwk1bQWdFRgfdBZyY4TITusuedYwHDEbpMlp3CU54f2Igm_-Ix7NfKwcEmKV0CNWfkkjs1LKemg/s4032/IMG_5878.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8gf5gA78KCB6E-wuBMAJqE2S_OOTbs7oBdKDxe5JUTD7hTK9uvrmwuiOBHWsBp7VY_P-zScLXl1yRIBCpPUS1lMbZbCD0p6NzwYI74nYCo2sa2Vmwk1bQWdFRgfdBZyY4TITusuedYwHDEbpMlp3CU54f2Igm_-Ix7NfKwcEmKV0CNWfkkjs1LKemg/w132-h176/IMG_5878.HEIC" width="132" /></a></div><br /> I watched my children pretending, exploring, exclaiming in two languages and I both rejoiced and ached. I rejoice in their delight and the opportunities these trips here afford them. I ache for my other "children" who sit on plastic mats on an unfinished cement floor to hear the stories (the only stories) read to them at our library who's laughter rings in my heart even now because they are so full, so thankful and open and eager. I rejoice at the multi-lingual and multi-cultural children I get to walk hand in hand with every day, and I ache that some will never accept them, but pray they will know how to pick the good ones. I rejoice that the children of Holland, MI have so much abundance and for those that don't, they have Christmas boxes lining church corridors awaiting them because of the generous hearts of our Father's loving family. I ache that I have two dear, dear friends in Nigeria who need emergency surgeries and I feel stuck thinking of how to help them get the resources they need. How can I be in awe of the beautiful things of this country EVERY SINGLE TIME I RETURN! How can I long for the simple yet profound beauty of my Nigerian home when so much good, so many wonderful people, surround me here? </span></div><p><br /></p><p>Tonight we watched Luca, a Pixar film about a sea monster who transforms into a human when on land, as long as he stays dry. He changes into the form of a human, shaking off his beautiful blue scales, but he doesn't know how to walk properly, what to talk about (unknowingly insulting people he passes), or what those little lights poking holes in the dark sky are. His clothes don't quite fit right, and he feels more awkward than he looks. Once when his enthusiasm bubbles up at learning about the galaxies, he says to his new friend, "Too much?" She giggles and says what he said to her when she asked the same question, "Never." I'm thankful I have those friends here in Holland that remind me that I'm never "too much" because when I come here from Nigeria, I feel all the things I fight for daily, the passions that want to overflow must have a weighted blanket thrown over them before I too readily spew the life-altering causes, stories of resilient transformative people, the desperate hopes, the beckoning needs. I don't make small talk very well, my clothes never fit right, and I'm ignorant of how a Christ follower acts in "normal" society. </p><p>I am that sea monster, not talking about my other world because I'm...just not sure of what it means to love being here but not belong here. I don't know how the blueness of my scales and the life experiences that make me who I am will shock others or make them feel uncomfortable. Those who talk with me may not realize the calm nature of the hues that are filtered by this uncertainty, and may find what I do share quite "other" enough. By the end of the movie, Luca and his other sea monster friend, have become comfortable in their two skins. They have proven that they can be both sea monster and human. </p><p>I do hope that my children, as they grow, can muster their courage to be scaly blue or blandly pink, fully third-culture-kid, American, or Nigerian or their own unique combination. That they will know how to pick the people who will accept their "otherness" joyfully. I hope I can lead them in that, too! It surprises me that after 15 years in Africa, this phenomenon of changing skins is still a conscious effort. Call it "phantom tail" or call it "Bruno" (you'll have to watch the movie) but what I do know is that while I'm figuring this stuff out, God places each of us right where we will be blessed and be a blessing using our experiences and gifts, being exactly who he made us to be for this time and place we find ourselves in. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIEa2Px3zZgbYY7tNHV0234SIvguj87Zv1C1KV5E2blRpoOE2lfwXKOge0UhTUFpbiArwjxB0c9SBxZPZ2wi0Jut9B5mT8e5bWHPcb3sAoFYtR_gWdvvs30rx1kdX7Vrr-y2gp8GROagsDL2vhoQ2-NLCXJlPt0-pJ1v3yyAShHrmXbKPt191f73CqQ/s3088/IMG_5799.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIEa2Px3zZgbYY7tNHV0234SIvguj87Zv1C1KV5E2blRpoOE2lfwXKOge0UhTUFpbiArwjxB0c9SBxZPZ2wi0Jut9B5mT8e5bWHPcb3sAoFYtR_gWdvvs30rx1kdX7Vrr-y2gp8GROagsDL2vhoQ2-NLCXJlPt0-pJ1v3yyAShHrmXbKPt191f73CqQ/w150-h200/IMG_5799.HEIC" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-79268877365665807722022-11-12T23:32:00.000+01:002022-11-12T23:32:07.610+01:00What's It All For? <p>This one I wrote in August as well! It does give a peak into what I've been up to...but it's a little out of date. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKRGJWup_P6cg5HxTot4KXDyBi_AqDXfRMzO_AjdcaTCHTsAMaPXIOjMkHsW1N--kHhAJlUxwfwqaNCK_5aG6QzYHepPIfeO9Y-fB22U-ya5F1zHpAaDX_XReEE1onbeg25wKuKrf9qJn7xHZNTYDVoDjL1FbgxN28ysAuzvUAUNkFKqzSJ57kC42BA/s4032/IMG_3407.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKRGJWup_P6cg5HxTot4KXDyBi_AqDXfRMzO_AjdcaTCHTsAMaPXIOjMkHsW1N--kHhAJlUxwfwqaNCK_5aG6QzYHepPIfeO9Y-fB22U-ya5F1zHpAaDX_XReEE1onbeg25wKuKrf9qJn7xHZNTYDVoDjL1FbgxN28ysAuzvUAUNkFKqzSJ57kC42BA/s320/IMG_3407.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><p>My life couldn't be MORE FULL WITH MEANINGFUL ACTIVITY! I feel like my life is one run-on sentence in bold, caps, and ending in exclamation points!!!!! Since we got back from our family trip to Lagos, there has been one sprint after another. </p><p>Zach had an AC (Advisory Commitee) meeting, requiring late nights and lots of important decisions. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSbKnfrgSMQ64vmASupk36jFMAbAhgexgdciJGynwZ7BlpCA3hvj8GkZ9qZVf6kwafSeGdpLWM3t-CnW-ifpbTKUWD1ClIKouAeHwV331BzlU7is1YUrjisjiM6TcCA2yrnqCYWh3gNyMHKkTLkSp8vwXvtfC1Nq3gHEkjppgoyMAL-EY7WuVXbX5sA/s1200/IMG_9729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSbKnfrgSMQ64vmASupk36jFMAbAhgexgdciJGynwZ7BlpCA3hvj8GkZ9qZVf6kwafSeGdpLWM3t-CnW-ifpbTKUWD1ClIKouAeHwV331BzlU7is1YUrjisjiM6TcCA2yrnqCYWh3gNyMHKkTLkSp8vwXvtfC1Nq3gHEkjppgoyMAL-EY7WuVXbX5sA/s320/IMG_9729.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I started drama practice 3 days a week for the month of July with 20 young people to perform a children's book "Babushka Baba Yaga." <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FdmO4S4jZbTKd0s4l_2HmNc5c7jnBZIcOSFrsadQAjSRXe6xOYKnBcy9rlC9rsIewHXIvcVdETpWMhsnZ8OBQjJX2_agkXCPNV1_-ZSV6rp3PpTkpoCakqSubIxIyc4Mhy3nFJwtwsbq8A0Npxoud4XjspnuBcEx-CD0pFuDDJrGkGORCnsQtKcABQ/s4898/_D0A1868.CR2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FdmO4S4jZbTKd0s4l_2HmNc5c7jnBZIcOSFrsadQAjSRXe6xOYKnBcy9rlC9rsIewHXIvcVdETpWMhsnZ8OBQjJX2_agkXCPNV1_-ZSV6rp3PpTkpoCakqSubIxIyc4Mhy3nFJwtwsbq8A0Npxoud4XjspnuBcEx-CD0pFuDDJrGkGORCnsQtKcABQ/s320/_D0A1868.CR2" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpwVGIcCpmJpzqU2VHfrgbTgwAmdlMONcoxyYMaFn0yhnKQfKc-j3bOQfc3mvn32ZSG1Jp24IB4AYXHq07VexzjhXJfpY2kWzyqdy9Wn6YAHEFjV2MB-Ciw8dGCfEb_yDV9xurUzAXOBnUnapJFKeOCkkiCc8tiQ989PiNIcL8ofkvHeLQVxbwtvBIg/s4898/_D0A1884.CR2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpwVGIcCpmJpzqU2VHfrgbTgwAmdlMONcoxyYMaFn0yhnKQfKc-j3bOQfc3mvn32ZSG1Jp24IB4AYXHq07VexzjhXJfpY2kWzyqdy9Wn6YAHEFjV2MB-Ciw8dGCfEb_yDV9xurUzAXOBnUnapJFKeOCkkiCc8tiQ989PiNIcL8ofkvHeLQVxbwtvBIg/s320/_D0A1884.CR2" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>I was choreographing, together with a couple of friends, my life story. Yes, I danced my way through my life. It was part of the rememberance journey I've been on. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDdQEbtCWKhOubR5lvJgWc8ND7EgYfsqP6Z01Q4SrU3fdGE64VhPDam3Th6BY8B7Hk4hoT5d2wpqqe7ZVOrBk5QwBYrtyVVpkTyVxb2D5x2lO6CZMFZPr2vvcWz948Z6H1nNL61ZXqHjHp7zKnr-xYGdyx0H9PhueDsS2yxWQQqQWpLggyCp3zV43zw/s4898/_D0A2040.CR2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDdQEbtCWKhOubR5lvJgWc8ND7EgYfsqP6Z01Q4SrU3fdGE64VhPDam3Th6BY8B7Hk4hoT5d2wpqqe7ZVOrBk5QwBYrtyVVpkTyVxb2D5x2lO6CZMFZPr2vvcWz948Z6H1nNL61ZXqHjHp7zKnr-xYGdyx0H9PhueDsS2yxWQQqQWpLggyCp3zV43zw/s320/_D0A2040.CR2" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SkfUm6xRMHl2SYkA8wKuB09UgEMCupNgVzR9kFA5O7bXeNSs-zqsoNEE98sObEg7H2TCdWeoY6xkCx8E2Fei3LW8ZLHY1hpPlA2ZAtbsZDDkujYhqL3qMWh0VmlW2aWDNgcnPQouibYRDeWrDjMqnmYFLWvD4T2luPMI999vWEbHLl12B2xa9SMQSw/s4898/_D0A1943.CR2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4SkfUm6xRMHl2SYkA8wKuB09UgEMCupNgVzR9kFA5O7bXeNSs-zqsoNEE98sObEg7H2TCdWeoY6xkCx8E2Fei3LW8ZLHY1hpPlA2ZAtbsZDDkujYhqL3qMWh0VmlW2aWDNgcnPQouibYRDeWrDjMqnmYFLWvD4T2luPMI999vWEbHLl12B2xa9SMQSw/s320/_D0A1943.CR2" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>My back had a big issue and I got some serious boils. </p><p>A many year prayer for a boys Bible study got going...all I had to do was basically suggest it and lay down some ground rules and drive people around! <br /></p><p>Performed our play and my life choreography on the same day. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFTrCXqHiI4vtXr3M9ep4EZd-6I1SdmaWLcU8AnvAOht_J4YN9kzP-tdcJRqm41IWDQemXfyEFVRgXsQ7yKiwtn8919DHDdzfe50rw5RMO7twZrAv3EeTt-dfiL2k-tt0ZjMonrjf7O7tx8o65-YLr_gPZ7IkqumR4I1cqJl42j9PTQcN0XMsHZSOqA/s4898/_D0A1956.CR2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFTrCXqHiI4vtXr3M9ep4EZd-6I1SdmaWLcU8AnvAOht_J4YN9kzP-tdcJRqm41IWDQemXfyEFVRgXsQ7yKiwtn8919DHDdzfe50rw5RMO7twZrAv3EeTt-dfiL2k-tt0ZjMonrjf7O7tx8o65-YLr_gPZ7IkqumR4I1cqJl42j9PTQcN0XMsHZSOqA/s320/_D0A1956.CR2" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>I started the hunt for a place for my summer library...and found one! </p><p>We left for a weeklong change of pace and scenery at Miango, leaving Zach to work and rest at home. </p><p>The boys Bible study went for a retreat the next day, the same day Zach left for Ethiopia. <br /></p><p> The library (The Orange Hat) is up and running. About 150 kids registered our first week. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtr0wqBytL0sv08C9iEwXw0E9PdqHJd-mu2U2MgGEyUTCJ_CGrnrG8hfnNuu1O0RKEylo4sosbRcRIjAasWBE8LLB94oKA2RWtneUEDhBuATFxbZwVreFqTaIenUtAp5EngzTBOMLIZutWfnnfnzZsfMxagbaeEmRVMkCF8JDdwkpRepyseMxD4VRlcA/s1280/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-08-11%20at%2010.13.25%20PM.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtr0wqBytL0sv08C9iEwXw0E9PdqHJd-mu2U2MgGEyUTCJ_CGrnrG8hfnNuu1O0RKEylo4sosbRcRIjAasWBE8LLB94oKA2RWtneUEDhBuATFxbZwVreFqTaIenUtAp5EngzTBOMLIZutWfnnfnzZsfMxagbaeEmRVMkCF8JDdwkpRepyseMxD4VRlcA/s320/WhatsApp%20Image%202022-08-11%20at%2010.13.25%20PM.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p> Thinking about homeschooling my girls and what that needs to look like, and meeting with another mom to plan together. </p><p>These are the big things, but we still have the little joys too with lots of giggles, cuddles, learnings daily with my girls. I have a daily exercise time with a group of ladies where we dance and pray and laugh together. We have our weekly Bible study at the church with 50-80 kids weekly. Zach is under constant pressure at the office to do more. He faithfully seeks God's face early in the morning before the business begins. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnVbF0ghuOt9ymuMXG0_vJUQzwucr47T43HcUb1rmeYzWZh9xM043xLSqCTdKT-Z7Uzesx5GcHXw8oRHaA2X5rPF_O4nsCNby6-t0mFLaGRhIlNH3sMY-OUqUrJqrKTUUidwffyy2wLnawBmQnpx8pOci9FYsxk1goQ6LQdq3iiP6p5kns4HERQ59yg/s1620/20220305175815_IMG_9247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1620" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnVbF0ghuOt9ymuMXG0_vJUQzwucr47T43HcUb1rmeYzWZh9xM043xLSqCTdKT-Z7Uzesx5GcHXw8oRHaA2X5rPF_O4nsCNby6-t0mFLaGRhIlNH3sMY-OUqUrJqrKTUUidwffyy2wLnawBmQnpx8pOci9FYsxk1goQ6LQdq3iiP6p5kns4HERQ59yg/s320/20220305175815_IMG_9247.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>Amid all the exclamation points and one sentence cramming itself into another, I have been wapped upside the head with a floofin tundrunus, and realised that if it's not all in the power of the Spirit of the Lord of Heaven's Armies, then I'm not acheiving what is possible, at best, and wasting my time, energy, and lift at worst. So what if people are entertained, children engaged, children learning to read, family fed if I'm not making the most of the opportunities presented to me because I'm not in tune with the Holy Spirit! SOOOOO, with this conviction splatting against my heart, I am seeking God more actively than I ha...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-37388683648987611442022-11-12T23:12:00.000+01:002022-11-12T23:12:10.329+01:00Turning 40<p>I wrote this three months ago but never posted it! I can't believe I've not written for that long. I will post it anyway, and then write one from today... <br /></p><p>Walking home tonight from the children's Bible study in the neighborhood where we first lived as newlyweds 10 years ago, a deluge of memories smacked me upside my unsuspecting heart. I was with Uncle Dala, a dear friend, who has only been part of our family for two years. Remembering walking with Mariama on my back, meeting young girls that we've watched become young women on a certain corner, greeting elderly women outside their homes where I've eaten celebratory food offered as I passed by, felt like too much to describe to Uncle Dala as we walked home. I turned 40 on Monday, the 15th of August. On Tuesday, the 16th we remembered one year when my brother died. I don't know how to reconcile the fullness of life, the richness of all I experience and have experienced living in Nigeria with the abruptness of change and death. </p><p> Processing loss and grief alongside the joy of living is a very delicate balance. In movies they like to refer to how the person who has left you on earth would want you to live your life. There's no doubt that as life sprints forward and you get farther from the memories of those you've loved, that you run differently because of them, but it seems they cannot speak into how you respond to their absence. To the living, maybe, but not to the grieving, which leaves a gap once again of how to balance these tender moments...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTvUSPjv1hGTRPWFsY4Mu6YpIAiSxAueo80AEwG_uhCZcC-FpwX0gL5NLLwfwYOAUC33IpXSRoCclN0U8zf33chyOJnDeMirOxndr-Ubkm2Bc64JOJWX2YrTjiV-lA7tkmRwGZQSE8VDx3Suzgd9A5WPYcQEZboJWVjGo5c53pJjTeErAD6Gx554FM3w/s3024/406A0800-FFB0-4AE2-8AB3-25E4D7489526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTvUSPjv1hGTRPWFsY4Mu6YpIAiSxAueo80AEwG_uhCZcC-FpwX0gL5NLLwfwYOAUC33IpXSRoCclN0U8zf33chyOJnDeMirOxndr-Ubkm2Bc64JOJWX2YrTjiV-lA7tkmRwGZQSE8VDx3Suzgd9A5WPYcQEZboJWVjGo5c53pJjTeErAD6Gx554FM3w/s320/406A0800-FFB0-4AE2-8AB3-25E4D7489526.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> So, that's as much as I wrote in August, and I'll leave it with that and this picture above. To say that Josh Watkin knew how to make moments special is an understatement. He and Amy created this scene year after year! A tree that shouldn't have fit into the space provided, loaded with memories, a warm fire, and thoughtful gifts. I'm going home for Christmas, my first without Josh. Thankfully, none of us are without the beauty that he imparted to us, and we have each person in the family...the holders of memories, laughter, joy, and pioneers to the way forward. <br /><p></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-67232562685400472862022-08-05T22:46:00.000+01:002022-08-05T22:46:11.222+01:00How Can They Think That? <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJayzrRcDWNGlr67IOr6RwBn8Y1NgbdVphnkq_bDUsTqTH0kJqf1atqS8zwhkq8jT-SzPiOujx2b2Lkgo6T3OzwqbTtxcorbi4bXiqr_kbs42THe08BE0U4KSOAzN36jyxU3dKS63UJFOcgf6oZ2YJnVzfLDOCdS5V4ab3-WHkYWDceLiz44Vmyfu55Q/s4898/IMG_3380.CR3" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="4898" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJayzrRcDWNGlr67IOr6RwBn8Y1NgbdVphnkq_bDUsTqTH0kJqf1atqS8zwhkq8jT-SzPiOujx2b2Lkgo6T3OzwqbTtxcorbi4bXiqr_kbs42THe08BE0U4KSOAzN36jyxU3dKS63UJFOcgf6oZ2YJnVzfLDOCdS5V4ab3-WHkYWDceLiz44Vmyfu55Q/s320/IMG_3380.CR3" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"People say"There's nothing good about Nigeria" but when you see this...how can they even think that?" -Daso after visiting Nike Art Gallery in Lagos, Nigeria. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p>We went to Nike Art Gallery. What can I say? Free. Overwhelmingly beautiful. Daso really said it best. Not only were the pictures stunning, but the images and sculptures spoke so movingly to the raw beauty that bombards the senses in Nigeria. I wanted to sit with the paintings and learn from them, to be able to gaze upon the scenes that have captivated me again and again while living here. The dynamism of life doesn't allow me to sit and absorb all the things I love, but when you have it painted in front of you...or beaded or "clothed"... you are invited to linger. With 4 small children, we didn't linger nearly long enough, but it was a truly splendid way to spend a morning. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwu4DBLMftoXuuQ2kNd0MNUe70QKoaIGt4Wp4wDqVBrsaCAjslChM4F-AsKxukHBD2zsyd5ugNsEBv7NL4oL52ErPZycUs2IIE3ghtiXyYV0GYb3R4K3zhPj2-OTC3ThPMc1vkKlOvwg8Bg7oBuxs6Ex_HElk_eIPjOinKBDzGtaq0LQuMFSiJ-YFZWg/s4032/IMG_3568.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwu4DBLMftoXuuQ2kNd0MNUe70QKoaIGt4Wp4wDqVBrsaCAjslChM4F-AsKxukHBD2zsyd5ugNsEBv7NL4oL52ErPZycUs2IIE3ghtiXyYV0GYb3R4K3zhPj2-OTC3ThPMc1vkKlOvwg8Bg7oBuxs6Ex_HElk_eIPjOinKBDzGtaq0LQuMFSiJ-YFZWg/s320/IMG_3568.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the junk in Nigeria is beautiful! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVC_09j4NBaNN6pO-4X23Knc-iFj5dEzt_63-NahTpA8Cyp_PB5z1AabIyJ2Tu5WXrgCZFU69FFr0691A5RAvShZaBh44xJulOurC8Y4yXTyGpqdqCo7WKOjCmRTLSuq5i6bND0N0RGjTfcCWNUb7QtloNZ42FkRtcbk1T7gY_a4-tyfKdIV50xqAhw/s4032/IMG_3573.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVC_09j4NBaNN6pO-4X23Knc-iFj5dEzt_63-NahTpA8Cyp_PB5z1AabIyJ2Tu5WXrgCZFU69FFr0691A5RAvShZaBh44xJulOurC8Y4yXTyGpqdqCo7WKOjCmRTLSuq5i6bND0N0RGjTfcCWNUb7QtloNZ42FkRtcbk1T7gY_a4-tyfKdIV50xqAhw/s320/IMG_3573.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why did I throw those random duplos away...Oh, and that one handled scissor, the empty tape dispensor...I could have made a self portrait!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-cF-gsqnsEiVKnIEymqOhQa1__tyHBPLkRli8_DZv-Ng1tmeLwXbEskTy-xfZgzP10NTmGfulz0AMGeINIMGyTVXrgImYJWsW_5u0Zfnyjx6_71kbuhMqaxI4noaGcbp8PJrZr-Z_PoNIgsZ34Be30qEuLomQjrTt_JRepekmPzY7jlAW8WevwZUhQ/s4032/IMG_3574.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-cF-gsqnsEiVKnIEymqOhQa1__tyHBPLkRli8_DZv-Ng1tmeLwXbEskTy-xfZgzP10NTmGfulz0AMGeINIMGyTVXrgImYJWsW_5u0Zfnyjx6_71kbuhMqaxI4noaGcbp8PJrZr-Z_PoNIgsZ34Be30qEuLomQjrTt_JRepekmPzY7jlAW8WevwZUhQ/s320/IMG_3574.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are beads...tiny beads. This artist most definitely does NOT do her art with her 2 1/2 year old twins around. The founder of the gallery actually made this piece. We got to meet her!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhE9N7zKdWLaL78fL8amKek-e0XYay-ZKeqoLja9rdEZfoVogOPec8LdyiF4AjL4TXMUhezWbJhNR7HSfyo1nvz3Mbq9MSzFJzhaLXsZxoWOSueIjbrc8Niyfbm4-45d-hFk9lyG4GW6c8Fe1qfsNW8EPI9f1T5OEFtAXqa1hy5lXFE4gri7ZZKmatg/s4032/IMG_3585.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhE9N7zKdWLaL78fL8amKek-e0XYay-ZKeqoLja9rdEZfoVogOPec8LdyiF4AjL4TXMUhezWbJhNR7HSfyo1nvz3Mbq9MSzFJzhaLXsZxoWOSueIjbrc8Niyfbm4-45d-hFk9lyG4GW6c8Fe1qfsNW8EPI9f1T5OEFtAXqa1hy5lXFE4gri7ZZKmatg/s320/IMG_3585.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPcfHHvWD8zdhwac9pj_WTQYY8wzt5j5qjP4Pscl7Kac_SeCesB-xxTgJ0DshVkRzjH24V9mQygxhD2SnHN0zZNkzjeu6bIEMB2DRiBnQKsu4Q1f4pV07c_ikWis87FicV4mJjKnRtQ0c_x2VnVlWMnrjiD5e6GqimA_LkNeMAZ2U9FKyTJSdaJfpHw/s4032/IMG_3586.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPcfHHvWD8zdhwac9pj_WTQYY8wzt5j5qjP4Pscl7Kac_SeCesB-xxTgJ0DshVkRzjH24V9mQygxhD2SnHN0zZNkzjeu6bIEMB2DRiBnQKsu4Q1f4pV07c_ikWis87FicV4mJjKnRtQ0c_x2VnVlWMnrjiD5e6GqimA_LkNeMAZ2U9FKyTJSdaJfpHw/s320/IMG_3586.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgDtAszUux4VGzuOt6nUhpzUv3bQVIomSFWkZ4ti6jdHxrjcgJh8VVb5wGFgrgwcD9FFgSoQTjKI9GZUZiRXWoWvNHVXCoMdY_Y_COtfk9BSIxC7PU-0ENe9uJ711dBpHTfzrCDJMNWF9aqDHLNLTtWpcUjPnyhYkYcYOyEPFfMPFUFYofwmIRgJ0vA/s4032/IMG_3569.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgDtAszUux4VGzuOt6nUhpzUv3bQVIomSFWkZ4ti6jdHxrjcgJh8VVb5wGFgrgwcD9FFgSoQTjKI9GZUZiRXWoWvNHVXCoMdY_Y_COtfk9BSIxC7PU-0ENe9uJ711dBpHTfzrCDJMNWF9aqDHLNLTtWpcUjPnyhYkYcYOyEPFfMPFUFYofwmIRgJ0vA/s320/IMG_3569.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were all smitten. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjuf6xoU-CX0TNkjRu6XKPTCI6MRnXFshUyaiMfvrcLugemnEI993WGCyEYsMtu5Pvuk8OplD2Kr1mbnhbG6e_Kr3lAWRiphvfPh2MHQgHsWEuyFQ_gMFVv1GK28BikWJXo2GNscMAK3OWlNvI3dJNOKar3QjgImCwb0aUPgZcKrXr-F3LE3aZQ5nrA/s4032/IMG_3564.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjuf6xoU-CX0TNkjRu6XKPTCI6MRnXFshUyaiMfvrcLugemnEI993WGCyEYsMtu5Pvuk8OplD2Kr1mbnhbG6e_Kr3lAWRiphvfPh2MHQgHsWEuyFQ_gMFVv1GK28BikWJXo2GNscMAK3OWlNvI3dJNOKar3QjgImCwb0aUPgZcKrXr-F3LE3aZQ5nrA/s320/IMG_3564.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made from cloth! If only my scraps came together so well!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpa8p97Xjf7tRdASV2i4vt96JNtxUMkBwwUwNYNaY-6ThGJAZMilaBAwlTw4VBQTl77EbAmEMPprV5GNmfTbqeoB4uMZo_q8UUEE6JJk7qa_zE6rQLlEKCUd2SsZaVLN38-ptGOvMhHdXlZ12GGaR9PMHz0Wb59k2g5AT2Jrc7B3St9J9Xq9_UopGUw/s7524/IMG_3581.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2126" data-original-width="7524" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpa8p97Xjf7tRdASV2i4vt96JNtxUMkBwwUwNYNaY-6ThGJAZMilaBAwlTw4VBQTl77EbAmEMPprV5GNmfTbqeoB4uMZo_q8UUEE6JJk7qa_zE6rQLlEKCUd2SsZaVLN38-ptGOvMhHdXlZ12GGaR9PMHz0Wb59k2g5AT2Jrc7B3St9J9Xq9_UopGUw/s320/IMG_3581.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four stories! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-2547736964671753732022-06-25T10:12:00.000+01:002022-06-25T10:12:46.398+01:00Powerful and Gentle<p>After flying to Lagos on Monday, our family went to the beach on Tuesday morning. </p><p>I bustled around from child to child getting off clothes to swimwear waiting to be immersed in the salty water of the Atlantic, taking pictures of Daso as she saw the expanse of water for the first time, and attempting the impossible task of keeping everything from becoming sandy. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeW_JMvMGGPuPwjzMX-lKRimXgIUQrhx7D7QBwLyqKAmKQBzIowrFl799qpT-hi2soSDKNnGFOPx37bB8WIjfCtQRazvgbru2DBTP4eECNMtuZZocSbmVwp95DA3MOdRA-apqEywIaFXGaiB7UkV9Opwu4o88AYEDfOrdifkdNcI_HOfqitNbQSPsm8A/s3088/IMG_3401.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeW_JMvMGGPuPwjzMX-lKRimXgIUQrhx7D7QBwLyqKAmKQBzIowrFl799qpT-hi2soSDKNnGFOPx37bB8WIjfCtQRazvgbru2DBTP4eECNMtuZZocSbmVwp95DA3MOdRA-apqEywIaFXGaiB7UkV9Opwu4o88AYEDfOrdifkdNcI_HOfqitNbQSPsm8A/s320/IMG_3401.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Finally, we were ready and headed to the water, the waves rolling in powerfully. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqJh4t6ao-BeTm6DA0Y437YWVwx3vjMd7yY0Tsv-J5s_VGXtWH1UjjiEBJlZi2RaN-z41XVnCg3uOxFtkdFQMN4kn-nSntnj27P9NqU7DcjJ5umi19RbMJl5mrIIEyLHQoA8e__VSJdBoITKaJI0sVe0b4XvkF26gvWkl35iPV8GBlJdm2c1XaOA-9g/s4032/IMG_3414.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqJh4t6ao-BeTm6DA0Y437YWVwx3vjMd7yY0Tsv-J5s_VGXtWH1UjjiEBJlZi2RaN-z41XVnCg3uOxFtkdFQMN4kn-nSntnj27P9NqU7DcjJ5umi19RbMJl5mrIIEyLHQoA8e__VSJdBoITKaJI0sVe0b4XvkF26gvWkl35iPV8GBlJdm2c1XaOA-9g/s320/IMG_3414.HEIC" width="240" /></a><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br /><br /><br />Olivia was the first to be swept and rolled over by the wave up on the shore, then Lydia was swept in, and I had to rush in to pull her out. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gf6-4KxE-M1-85YKrqRc6LpQ1RymFSFB1oUrLpHroe2tB7DxdVqp9H68g_-xG6CnrnwonfL7j37Y5ipvfPyaFK1Uzp0viLWjgLU9DcKCo2xXrNLmOx-5xvIe4NRJtwhqG9CuC2K-DD_oJZc_-JC1AG6UKkerSNZvmr9cO29bqoRzHWFeo1xoauAhGg/s4032/IMG_3413.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gf6-4KxE-M1-85YKrqRc6LpQ1RymFSFB1oUrLpHroe2tB7DxdVqp9H68g_-xG6CnrnwonfL7j37Y5ipvfPyaFK1Uzp0viLWjgLU9DcKCo2xXrNLmOx-5xvIe4NRJtwhqG9CuC2K-DD_oJZc_-JC1AG6UKkerSNZvmr9cO29bqoRzHWFeo1xoauAhGg/s320/IMG_3413.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p> </p><p>We felt hesitant then to attempt going too close, as the undercurrent and power of the waves were intimidating. I refused, however, to miss this opportunity to let Daso stand in the waves. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvBOvJB5V9dexJ6pds3HbHjBHEYueZuOOmFf122yxn0UKuDpWOL-CRFL4xZU1DcpwQpwL8FNd4gZa448_enFePRj2WT6otJFEKfGH-LWmljsfF81g9raHaK3n9xle7SjcUczJtZGeeGqgPK_WxpYcTQR7BJ_wI7bxOxyGIZqiOwQgf9l2hA5bHRmTjQ/s4032/IMG_3407.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvBOvJB5V9dexJ6pds3HbHjBHEYueZuOOmFf122yxn0UKuDpWOL-CRFL4xZU1DcpwQpwL8FNd4gZa448_enFePRj2WT6otJFEKfGH-LWmljsfF81g9raHaK3n9xle7SjcUczJtZGeeGqgPK_WxpYcTQR7BJ_wI7bxOxyGIZqiOwQgf9l2hA5bHRmTjQ/s320/IMG_3407.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p> So, squeezing the blood out of my hand with her adrenaline infused grip, we bravely stepped into the water...slowly. "Everything's moving, Mommy!" She shouted, "I want to go out!" At that moment, the song, "I'm diving in, I'm going deep, and over my head I want to be..." came to mind. I told her, "God's love is like these waves. Overwhelming, powerful, expansive, and never stops coming. But you can understand why people might be afraid to dive into that." In his love, we come undone, immersed, surrounded. It's beautiful and scary. We mostly found ourselves sitting and enjoying the power of it all. <br /></p><p><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jOhobRDKRuDQbZmqALh0rys9E6oF5R4F7N65PO6oRuwTSCSBMwjjccjE_BYAoiLtAVOKyOoYwZCT9uVuHeG1DLGb1uROcxle5Q3af1vZ8BNCOYWCY9K5Io3oH0BaHj4ww_lxNZZl_SV7u2lMIi9UJL6pwbDCZwa45sAFV3YHYbXsnZ-jNZVWJ3rMXQ/s320/IMG_3603.HEIC" width="320" /> The next day we wanted to try a different beach that had been recommended to us. We found a very different scene. The waves were being tempered by a rock barrier some distance off shore. We walked in, knelt in the sand with water up to our necks, and let the waves ripple around us. The children swam and splashed and collected shells for hours. I thought, "God's love is like this, too! Gentle, continuous, soothing, inviting." </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jOhobRDKRuDQbZmqALh0rys9E6oF5R4F7N65PO6oRuwTSCSBMwjjccjE_BYAoiLtAVOKyOoYwZCT9uVuHeG1DLGb1uROcxle5Q3af1vZ8BNCOYWCY9K5Io3oH0BaHj4ww_lxNZZl_SV7u2lMIi9UJL6pwbDCZwa45sAFV3YHYbXsnZ-jNZVWJ3rMXQ/s4032/IMG_3603.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jOhobRDKRuDQbZmqALh0rys9E6oF5R4F7N65PO6oRuwTSCSBMwjjccjE_BYAoiLtAVOKyOoYwZCT9uVuHeG1DLGb1uROcxle5Q3af1vZ8BNCOYWCY9K5Io3oH0BaHj4ww_lxNZZl_SV7u2lMIi9UJL6pwbDCZwa45sAFV3YHYbXsnZ-jNZVWJ3rMXQ/s4032/IMG_3603.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VCJCmq-LLVZeBJEwU2SX1ieprMoyhH0NlaNI9iyZljQ2JLu6NU6f5XrBhCu52HdK_6-MgNB8JIjNBU5q5Rsp0-JkwQlA8cVmZtei0nWQlSCSfDjLbdh8zMXGWNBy3yaWlQPkxpypzd4Jvw8yBBM-oRJanKZRK5CJTkxp75vl2XL_Eur5XGqBmRdgbA/s4032/IMG_3646.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VCJCmq-LLVZeBJEwU2SX1ieprMoyhH0NlaNI9iyZljQ2JLu6NU6f5XrBhCu52HdK_6-MgNB8JIjNBU5q5Rsp0-JkwQlA8cVmZtei0nWQlSCSfDjLbdh8zMXGWNBy3yaWlQPkxpypzd4Jvw8yBBM-oRJanKZRK5CJTkxp75vl2XL_Eur5XGqBmRdgbA/s320/IMG_3646.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div></div>In our devotions in the evening I shared how Elijah experienced God in the powerful fire from heaven that consumed the sacrifice, stones, and licked up the water all around in his competition with the prophets of Baal. Then he fled out of fear of a woman named Jezebel and met God again in a mountain where he wasn't in the fire, or the wind, or the earthquake, but in a whisper. God is so full of knowledge and love that he can speak to us with that love powerfully or gently wherever we find ourselves. He knows when we are pumped up and ready to experience his power, and when the journey is too great for us. <p></p><p>"Things never happen the same way twice, dear one," comes to my mind now, words that Aslan spoke to Lucy in the Chronicles of Narnia. I'm so glad they don't, because how else would we know the expanse of this dynamic love of God?<br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-52369549327360920962022-05-05T01:51:00.000+01:002022-05-05T01:51:24.024+01:00Hope 5<p> If this wasn't part of a blog series, I'd have named it, "Leave me alone!" </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmBZ5tUtYWpqPkT83xa9KTHKPvVYJMuk6njkhxDUGPqf_XIqK6Wf_QkR_BnY8nV_fHVb-hQ12NdUaAsRag_JZ6F0krwUZoVAk6jRrCbm6HUZHjFMeNPr7DAsM3Os95j0IrlglQDJMj88ODakNa7MXltFmxIeUVqvtLkQ-3XE_2Ch-4xepeN4ncqmofA/s2560/speyers.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2560" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKmBZ5tUtYWpqPkT83xa9KTHKPvVYJMuk6njkhxDUGPqf_XIqK6Wf_QkR_BnY8nV_fHVb-hQ12NdUaAsRag_JZ6F0krwUZoVAk6jRrCbm6HUZHjFMeNPr7DAsM3Os95j0IrlglQDJMj88ODakNa7MXltFmxIeUVqvtLkQ-3XE_2Ch-4xepeN4ncqmofA/s320/speyers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed, Linda, little Mariama, and me 15 years after I met them.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The dessert was delicious, and the company even sweeter so I continued going to the Wycliffe recruiter's house when they offered their dessert nights throughout my college years. Ed and Linda were relentless in their acceptance of me as I was openly hostile to the thought of joining Wycliffe, a giant in the world of missions. I was looking for an organization where I could know everyone and that was more....homey. Despite my resolve, the stories of God's Word impacting individuals and language groups that others had overlooked, well, my eye humidity levels were always really high on these special nights. </p><p>I started a full time Spanish teaching job in Holland, MI the year after I graduated from college. After they said I was hired (as I walked out of the office), I drove down the street with my window open shouting at Centennial park and all the stupefied bystanders, "Somebody wants me!" I had told those interviewing me that I didn't want the job but my mom wanted me to stay closer to home, and I did believe in what they were trying to do so I was applying. Ok, so I might have teared up when I told them that Latino kids needed to be able to converse with their grandparents...it's true! But I think all of us in that room felt like we had been drawn together for that moment. So, there I was, a five year position having been offered, full benefits, and in the most beautiful city in the country (I may be biased)! </p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWyQKPi8u9KWz-FZJMWnfAokhS-R91UBTxhEsy5AnSlk7_X_RpSOmj5JZm6cSy3sVkiNd3PlJ10Kzo_mgFKugQnTnn_tGUcWoNuuIiw2NDPthcothdxdBv-YCkeCIH6U8N8e3GyyXyBpXiuCMiJt2AbzJriBy-aVR-cbjVrCOHxRz_uU88LPGtNW0EQ/s3264/downtown.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWyQKPi8u9KWz-FZJMWnfAokhS-R91UBTxhEsy5AnSlk7_X_RpSOmj5JZm6cSy3sVkiNd3PlJ10Kzo_mgFKugQnTnn_tGUcWoNuuIiw2NDPthcothdxdBv-YCkeCIH6U8N8e3GyyXyBpXiuCMiJt2AbzJriBy-aVR-cbjVrCOHxRz_uU88LPGtNW0EQ/s320/downtown.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful downtown Holland <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVAqFSbSA3HY_HrhLFKDO84HqNwGn1WCDPsU2QueOhrRmJMoPMVSQvMNTPYI49qKr___9yRapPGRZYNIWRLfPq_P_uEkXFybVa6jPSjf2WUZhvPW7tWx2qrk18zLiIwjq2FwI8yk19a-hMmhvgNuqgNiqYYkx5FC7B0y1LVpkb_Mxsc9Rfk2u6I907g/s6000/beach.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVAqFSbSA3HY_HrhLFKDO84HqNwGn1WCDPsU2QueOhrRmJMoPMVSQvMNTPYI49qKr___9yRapPGRZYNIWRLfPq_P_uEkXFybVa6jPSjf2WUZhvPW7tWx2qrk18zLiIwjq2FwI8yk19a-hMmhvgNuqgNiqYYkx5FC7B0y1LVpkb_Mxsc9Rfk2u6I907g/s320/beach.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I still love going back and sharing the beauty with my girls. (2021)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p> I went to SIFAT (see previous post) over the summer to be a camp counselor, telling Sarah Corson's stories in first person because she wasn't able to join us in person. I couldn't believe the weight of them, the burden that landed heavily on my heart every single time I told the stories I had heard as a girl on that same campus. <br /></p><p>There was this one student from Cameroon, Pastor Fimba, and every week he would stand up and invite the youth to come to Cameroon and help meet the needs of his country. I always nodded, looking around the room as I prayed for those young people to accept the call. Then, one night, a question struck my heart as I peered around sagely, hoping to see at least one camper who was visibly moved..."What about you?" "What about me?" I countered. "I speak Spanish, and I don't even know where Cameroon is!" (Funny I had never looked that up after hearing Pastor Fimba week after week.) None the less, I knew I needed to be open if I expected others to be, so I told Pastor Fimba after the talk that night that I thought I was supposed to some day go to his country. He nodded and smiled, and moved on...as did I. </p><p>Back to Michigan I felt surprisingly happy in Holland. I had asked God every semester in college if it was time for me to quit college and move overseas yet, and I kept feeling like I needed to see that thing through. So, I stayed. Got my degree in teaching, and felt really, really ready to go. But I had found a group of kids I could pour myself into in my Holland Public students, and I had realized mission was at my doorstep. Toward the end of the year, I told God he better make me uncomfortable or I might just stay in America. The next week the administration sat me down and said they were cutting the size of the program and I was the one to take the hit. I was going to be part time, lose my benefits (I had just had a very expensive knee surgery which was totally covered), and be moved to Kindergarten from 4-5th grade (a curriculum which we had written throughout the year) the following year. <br /></p><p>I thanked them and went felt thankfully uncomfortable. I went home to call around to see where they needed me overseas. I started with SIFAT's contacts in Ecuador but the mission school I had visited was no where in their records, like it had vanished into the jungle. Because Ed and Linda wouldn't leave me alone, I had been told about 1,872 times at dessert nights and over bagels and chai tea in scenic downtown Holland that Wycliffe needed missionary kid teachers, I called Wycliffe. I told them I didn't want to teach in an MK school, I wanted to be itinerant, living in a village, and did they have a position like that open?" Pretty sure it all came out in one sentence because I wasn't psyched about my resolve having crumbled so easily. The person on the other end said, "Our biggest needs are in Mozambique and Cameroon." A pause. "I'll take the position in Cameroon." I'm sure she said something else, but I checked out on details. Somehow I started the application process, told the school that I wasn't going to return the following year, saw God provide financially through his body, and in 6 months, I was in Cameroon. In my first month I made it to the Northwest to visit a surprised Reverend Fimba and stay with his family for a week during my orientation to the country he invited me to. <br /></p><p>I remember that God calls us generally and specifically. He calls us to be his. He calls us to surrender. He calls us to trust that his grace is sufficient and his love is unconditional. He calls us to make disciples. All of us. Then there is the "good works that he planned in advance for us to do," (Eph 2:10) that I believe are specific to our giftings and the desires he plants in our deepest being. I was called to those kids in Holland for that year. I was called to Cameroon that night at SIFAT. I was quite literally called into that administration building so my calling to Cameroon could be confirmed. I remember that God chose me not because I was fit for it but because he delighted to do so, and it delighted me to accept. Not only did he call me, but I remember that he gave me a heart for the young ones he called me to in Cameroon. </p><p> I think I'll leave that remembering for another post. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-82582359169183746762022-02-11T00:14:00.001+01:002022-02-11T00:14:39.605+01:00Hope 4<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgk4JKdmrFKwSQl4OydpnpvpTs-po8l_M-MN9XlmHzehHQGbj1YSEA8EL7ugUra3t2Sc5ZNk8RLjtOWzL25obUJ7gzIV-RF_BzFZqJJ-pAPGuInXhvouT0P82Fw31L2MGLHCWLrq--5nRVlMPw3euO5ROskWXPhUz2UogdjHPefXloSnQScLhZACFGMgw=s1100" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="825" data-original-width="1100" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgk4JKdmrFKwSQl4OydpnpvpTs-po8l_M-MN9XlmHzehHQGbj1YSEA8EL7ugUra3t2Sc5ZNk8RLjtOWzL25obUJ7gzIV-RF_BzFZqJJ-pAPGuInXhvouT0P82Fw31L2MGLHCWLrq--5nRVlMPw3euO5ROskWXPhUz2UogdjHPefXloSnQScLhZACFGMgw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah and Ken Corson<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">This is part four of a blog series on building hope through remembering faith. <a href="https://zachnchristyoder.blogspot.com/2022/01/fighting-for-hope.html">Hope </a>1</span></span> <a href="https://zachnchristyoder.blogspot.com/2022/01/hope-2.html">Hope 2</a> <a href="https://zachnchristyoder.blogspot.com/2022/01/hope-3.html"> Hope 3</a><br /><p></p><p>The clay pot that was assembled from the shards of my alabaster jar, making up my life at SIFAT, was one where I "held the treasure and knew that the all-surpassing power was from God and not from me." (2 Corinthians 4). My alabaster jar had been shattered, the fragments of my life in New York and my new life in Alabama were connected in such a way for maximum luminescence, the outpouring of the Presence in me "being clearly seen" because of my weakness. </p><p>In preparing to write this blog, I called Sarah Corson, co-founder of SIFAT. People like to ask the question, "Who is a role model for you." Let me introduce you to the answer that often rolls of my tongue. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBThrIkZzWRqRzzXfbDM1pv-tfxL3W4xo1STBu-mT44ECt9kkRgVUIH3-7blDgmMJs1GnpTv0ZvRuVkyG-G8m_M0MYVG0CDahLvzYNYPgt6TANHDBLC_LYpAgLBd3y3e6NHmVsKVpdb35fGStTaVnUW_o3yTqH08FkeifiArcE7S-8xYiZILaLBlGtPQ=s477" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="477" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBThrIkZzWRqRzzXfbDM1pv-tfxL3W4xo1STBu-mT44ECt9kkRgVUIH3-7blDgmMJs1GnpTv0ZvRuVkyG-G8m_M0MYVG0CDahLvzYNYPgt6TANHDBLC_LYpAgLBd3y3e6NHmVsKVpdb35fGStTaVnUW_o3yTqH08FkeifiArcE7S-8xYiZILaLBlGtPQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah Corson's smile holds warmth and life. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">We sat under a tree outside of the main office on the SIFAT campus. I was still getting my barrings after our whirlwind move south mid-school year in a downpour. I was surrounded by others my age who had come for a visit, for a challenge by their youth leaders. Sarah Corson spoke with conviction, her tanned skin and crown of white hair accentuating the riveting passion in her blue eyes as she told of the baby too weak to cry in her arms and the unnamed old man carrying mounds of Chiquita bananas on his back in Costa Rica. When the first hand accounts ended, she paused, looked at us with tears in her eyes and said, “Now that you know, you cannot keep on living as those who are ignorant.” Her husband, Ken, got up and said, “To whom much is given, much is required. (Luke 12:48). You have been given much, what is God requiring of you?" For three years I lived among these dynamic people, learning from their sacrifice, learning to love Jesus with abandon. </span><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Not only them, but God brought to our doorstep brothers and sisters from Rwanda, Pakistan, India, Bolivia, Ecuador, Haiti, and many other countries who came to train at SIFAT. Two brothers from Rwanda were from two different tribes, and had a shared trauma that hurled them to the ground at a gunshot from one of the deer hunters in the Alabama woods. Upon seeing each other at the SIFAT campus, they embraced, something they wouldn't have done in their homeland. One of many stories and experiences I reveled in. I gathered in my mind the Christlikeness of these people, hoping the greatness of my God I saw in them would somehow grow in me. Like waves washing over my heart, the passion, the mission that drove the lives of these brothers and sisters seeped into the cracks in my jar and mingled with the growing faith,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">nourishing the tender longing in my heart to follow Jesus to the places of the world that were hurting. </span><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">I remember the songs sung around a campfire at the simulated third world village, our hammocks hung behind us. The words from the song <a href="https://www.worshiptogether.com/songs/faithful-men/">Faithful Men</a> still ring in my heart all these years later: </span></p><div class="chord-pro-line">
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<div class="chord-pro-lyric">Come and share the harvest
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<div class="chord-pro-lyric">For the Lord is calling faithful men </div><div class="chord-pro-lyric"> </div><div class="chord-pro-lyric"> </div><div class="chord-pro-lyric">and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwCyg4z9jDc">Pass It On </a><br /></div>
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</div><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">"It only takes a spark to get a fire going..." </span></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">Week after week a new high school youth group would come throughout the summer. I was a junior camp counselor, leading work teams to dig a ditch, clear a hillside with machetes, pick blueberries, or make bricks. I made deep friendships in every group as we worked, ate and washed up, worshiped, mud wrestled, swam in the stream, and learned about the needs of the world together. <br /></span></p><p></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP-kXeAsxtS7ct-onC2aA8yhbpFit1IdZ7I0RjKud9rnQPe9ZAogc7THLw6A220Fzll6gKSpccZVAlwcdLmJgarRPMHWnPsM_mX49F7_rcC9x3zB3djAGqN1L8IT5ult_Bxw-QU3BoR87MxIKpoPUTxxZ-QtlmRXkhjVx9cPsiD643dvbCCyn6DXREdA=s482" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="482" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiP-kXeAsxtS7ct-onC2aA8yhbpFit1IdZ7I0RjKud9rnQPe9ZAogc7THLw6A220Fzll6gKSpccZVAlwcdLmJgarRPMHWnPsM_mX49F7_rcC9x3zB3djAGqN1L8IT5ult_Bxw-QU3BoR87MxIKpoPUTxxZ-QtlmRXkhjVx9cPsiD643dvbCCyn6DXREdA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">I remember how God carried me to and away from SIFAT for a very significant season of my life. I remember how Sarah Corson and others spoke so passionately, fueling my own desire to live with abandon. I remember the pictures seared in my mind of suffering people from Sarah Corson's stories. I remember the paraphrase of Matthew 25 that hung in the cafeteria, where we fellowshipped daily during the three years I lived there and the two summers I returned as an adult to be a camp counselor. I remember how mission made itself real every day I went to the public high school I attended, and then returned to my SIFAT cacoon day after day. I remember how God gave me a Spirit filled body of believers in a local church that embraced all colors in a stubbornly segregated south, helping us to glorify God in all of his diverse beauty. I remember how the disjointedness of my life at 13 became a beautiful new masterpiece that made me stand in awe of how God was stitching me together. I remember leaving America for the first time to travel to Ecuador at 16 to witness the work that a SIFAT graduate was doing with children in the outskirts of Quito and how that climactic experience ushered my family into another move back north. With that news, I had learned that saying goodbye also meant saying hello, and I was ready to see what God was going to do next, in Michigan. I remember driving From Alabama to Michigan in my deep blue 1980 Oldsmobile with my little sister by my side so we could start school before Mom and Dad joined us. A whole new world it was, where the lawns would make an army sergeant happy with their timely watering systems and tip top hedging and regularity. No unseemly clotheslines or a junk truck for parts parked in front yards. No kudzu climbing telephone polls or solar water heaters with a bicycle powered pump bringing water up out of the stream on the side.</span></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> Our new town held it's own kind of beauty, my vibrant sister who was fighting leukemia at the time, and my big brother with his delightful growing family. Speak of role models, I guess that will be a remembering for another time. </span></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZOpNr5emHH5Rd3A-gwIR3tE98rJ8Oy6ZLPUVxlNJAFebnAmwtVl3jgmjHE2TqaIYvkJmUso_c0yofVBGjI44HiuoEQad0KF9KVIF19Fg_HD6BIu2_G_yTlOXLKs7enBFVsUCNJUSkiHpaAozlMQJEMbTTgRBkFr4aP8vgcMaHAq6IWLzUfBpJ36Si2g=s2560" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZOpNr5emHH5Rd3A-gwIR3tE98rJ8Oy6ZLPUVxlNJAFebnAmwtVl3jgmjHE2TqaIYvkJmUso_c0yofVBGjI44HiuoEQad0KF9KVIF19Fg_HD6BIu2_G_yTlOXLKs7enBFVsUCNJUSkiHpaAozlMQJEMbTTgRBkFr4aP8vgcMaHAq6IWLzUfBpJ36Si2g=s320" width="192" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Introducing my new little family to my happy place in 2017, a month before Lydia joined us.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMIr7AdAggh61O_3E_eRb8vOaZuDR-mgbhufc0XbCOfc76q5lKHOJEMZrVRsdrna7CY6lTslO4M3vmT9bbAS6gWyia-rACYzJ6GGx-XwCEY_0OZl1m9L16T96uZNhXw8aU9yqZ5mUK3PO_HCqXtO8EnSdZBbwpBQDXWZhzE0vHqkunzXN-YpTJJpG-_A=s2560" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2560" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMIr7AdAggh61O_3E_eRb8vOaZuDR-mgbhufc0XbCOfc76q5lKHOJEMZrVRsdrna7CY6lTslO4M3vmT9bbAS6gWyia-rACYzJ6GGx-XwCEY_0OZl1m9L16T96uZNhXw8aU9yqZ5mUK3PO_HCqXtO8EnSdZBbwpBQDXWZhzE0vHqkunzXN-YpTJJpG-_A=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPnqc1fkpB_A2gW9oTlUdR8ZUxQNhC_o1Rk4u1d8IL60MqvAZNUig8x32tKXtwVlyJPeCP8Zqls6ZoPJy0biS1qrAsEQy1fFdSPNVB8WpxWXEuYTktEF2US1U2ugbskkxFEW-pkUdmCsFejWOSjSPNIdmLwrTSsnr9oWRgbsKlytV06_mP8y7amT6QjQ=s2560" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPnqc1fkpB_A2gW9oTlUdR8ZUxQNhC_o1Rk4u1d8IL60MqvAZNUig8x32tKXtwVlyJPeCP8Zqls6ZoPJy0biS1qrAsEQy1fFdSPNVB8WpxWXEuYTktEF2US1U2ugbskkxFEW-pkUdmCsFejWOSjSPNIdmLwrTSsnr9oWRgbsKlytV06_mP8y7amT6QjQ=s320" width="192" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhftMkcSDh_3wRlmPD1g-uVeLX-Sg_i_r7B-e_4g5Z-oUtN3zIClsdL2hh4gyShElvSttIDH1Ux2JnbrR56hJxKSu7vWjx1qNhNSK6LNabYnY63fps6FuzfT8vZGiXShyM4CzbCGSJ4JNubRTIvNFnY4l6GOv8CEhnzCnrp5rgMWspa5MJSU-tuGwtIaw=s2448" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="2448" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhftMkcSDh_3wRlmPD1g-uVeLX-Sg_i_r7B-e_4g5Z-oUtN3zIClsdL2hh4gyShElvSttIDH1Ux2JnbrR56hJxKSu7vWjx1qNhNSK6LNabYnY63fps6FuzfT8vZGiXShyM4CzbCGSJ4JNubRTIvNFnY4l6GOv8CEhnzCnrp5rgMWspa5MJSU-tuGwtIaw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </span><p></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></p>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00678787500697403292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-7848976461331396512022-02-04T21:27:00.029+01:002022-02-06T22:05:01.101+01:00Celebration under the Mango Trees<blockquote>I love what happens under the mango trees behind our office. I love quiet walks there alone in prayer. I love director’s team meetings, and meetings with partners face-mask free with a gentle breeze blowing. And each month, I love it when everyone in our office gathers outside, laughing and talking, with a cake on the table in the center. It is time to Celebrate!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/#"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXOW0J1-vFZhB-MmK-RHVsi-AQtuvhdWQDANbukyjrUqRmUts5ExLxESJCyD3ySEovUimKVcwSg8XN7-dNGxk6oUjpr_g7RWtEWZOf0P5qyW4HfQU_LvBW4M1Dzad4XK0QeAQBdmwu57W1l14RKkIsojzKgIayDjSNeBil74UNQq7QZ9KiliTsDVmwww=w400-h267" width="400" /></a> <br /><br /><br />We have a lot to thank God for each month! We start off celebrating the people God has given us with a birthday game. Christy or I give clues and everyone guesses who has a birthday in the month “I live by a river”, “I led a Bible study in my home before I joined”, “My son is good at chess”. The first time we did this, I was surprised at how well our group knows each other!<br /><br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/#"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik5DlvHoXKyoKpsFo1O4M4HwHU1mPgnqvnDRM2QxvgbB5m_dULjQdrg2t6tXKmMZYgtj4eKJ6_BZqzItwbFbNyctbamXpKRM6SbVqDYsBHPPFKBjONs9hJD-fY1RYtGuO_bNBt9G7Zg4NfgFG_tT_KgLXaFwRZKr6whUZmCIXKD-Y1hKsELMS88XY_-Q=w400-h267" width="400" /></a><br /><br />Then we start sharing other things we thank God for. Sometimes there are formal certificates, sometimes it is newly wed staff or at other times new babies or even remembering good times when we have a farewell. But my favorites are the stories of changed lives. Let me share some of my favorites:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/#"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFlDvVZMEtp5Cro-VJw4goYZ6xvPMB95DRcIIUyCxxG4C4RLfHly2dvMiAzG266djlmytFzllcOSr2CBwhQGA0keI6WuqzV4yu5LLYvrXH8fJ_dqndYe7QJJHBRyhqsYNu6VOh0OdItanSAQoOUKK-_m9Ti5QHTNxn2-r3_9Vfd5Mezw6sP0qQIrY2lA=w400-h267" width="400" /></a><br /><br />“A few years ago, the EthnoArts team came and did a song writing workshop. This was the first time that songs were written in Tugbiri based on the Tugbiri Scriptures portions that have been consultant checked. This year I learned that the artists are still writing more Scripture songs and the churches sing them on Sundays!”<br /><br />“We have returned safely from doing the Nya Huba Audio New Testament recording!” (This work takes six to eight weeks and happened more than twelve hours journey from Jos.)<br /></blockquote><p><br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/#"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgs4dB-3NKPQkFiTuy5YvajzCfOjHZ2EsYfqMelBXM7EY7SWu0UoStriORtCGJHcXHW5z6sYzLQ5TyeXcTY8vI9ENWNx8pFWRmlViaka1AgxY748fN9rIRLFMkyl42NzjXUd6P2e9SQW8oIOIEFj6v7_FM2wFU9UDSwPPtY7_hnNJoy7-VEstIZ3sdD4g=w400-h267" width="400" /></a><br />And one from today (Friday):</p><p></p><blockquote>“We had a literacy training event that brought together people from not only five different languages and cultures, but also from different faiths. For the full three weeks they worked together in unity, and have equipped each other to help people read!”</blockquote><p></p>Zachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00678787500697403292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-22553284994538535152022-01-21T15:58:00.003+01:002022-02-04T09:56:22.790+01:00Hope 3<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbQ3wGXjp2fUpc1Xt1Wb9JHjwtgIFzZqcM9bG1Fi1VBV76s5naTFpVeVvDoLhXSW9mGzExu5CtoCwICLLvpjDahgXpoIyLIo0zcS_uBb5zNhGCl4EpMbvFFKxns93uZg6EL4ibKL6xWAtXHfy0lIBO0B2_0IkrJ8nY_JHApESi0ugYadJvo6rdt62xVA=s1537" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1041" data-original-width="1537" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbQ3wGXjp2fUpc1Xt1Wb9JHjwtgIFzZqcM9bG1Fi1VBV76s5naTFpVeVvDoLhXSW9mGzExu5CtoCwICLLvpjDahgXpoIyLIo0zcS_uBb5zNhGCl4EpMbvFFKxns93uZg6EL4ibKL6xWAtXHfy0lIBO0B2_0IkrJ8nY_JHApESi0ugYadJvo6rdt62xVA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family '84<p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">This is part three of a blog series on building hope through remembering faith. See previous posts for background. <br /></span></span></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">I
knelt at the altar of a camp where my youth group was retreating after
an invitation to break open our alabaster jar before Jesus. At 13, I was
good at soccer. I had been asked to be on the varsity team at the
local public school (though I attended a private school). I lived next
door to my loving grandparents on our family farm and had deepening
childhood friendships. I felt I had to give God my family, friends, and
soccer as my alabaster jar. Not long after that, my parents told me we
were moving to Alabama from Upstate New York. Our church family, New
Life, was where I first asked Jesus to “drive my tractor.” The analogy
was given by Pastor Jerry. He was close to our family, our farm being a
place where a number of people had come to straighten themselves and
their relationship with God out. We were sent by our church, a true
family, to Alabama, a place of American football (they hadn’t yet
discovered my international sport) and a whole new culture to adapt to.
We lived in a mission center called SIFAT…my jar had been broken. I
remember how the decisions God gave me to make, as stepping stones on a
journey, bolstered my faith and carried me closer to God’s heart. I
remember how release became rejoicing, pouring out, a redefined plenty,
season after season in my walk with God. </span></span></p></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> <span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span></p><p><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Skia-Regular" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLQ2NiJsv1zXuoWuE-9cGTAoB6sXqxMJ5ireDJUeFuTbqMicErh22ZkRdeV2XIWYYwXtxo0fvKvfJOjISzV2ZOMFhMzeGHkt8F-EEUiWkLE8vxdirPl84p3_upU871AQTsDN6HYUQwvPvjC9YQ7p29W1efr-dwQBWTyOLOFyCNhotRms3LFk8j3YzNxQ=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLQ2NiJsv1zXuoWuE-9cGTAoB6sXqxMJ5ireDJUeFuTbqMicErh22ZkRdeV2XIWYYwXtxo0fvKvfJOjISzV2ZOMFhMzeGHkt8F-EEUiWkLE8vxdirPl84p3_upU871AQTsDN6HYUQwvPvjC9YQ7p29W1efr-dwQBWTyOLOFyCNhotRms3LFk8j3YzNxQ=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mrs. McCaslin, my first teacher and a member of our church, with other teachers that made my first year at school super special! </td></tr></tbody></table> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaIdtiRSl8C4b5sidlJqwTg1jKCscv9pvEkZja_n20HDm8WaHjdw8M-4gXri7O6R8bLp5kUge1lpN9WVgjvx6wzz_vFJoMhOpQoGEFkwkotc69IYwo4QTiO76Y8_K3dmow03UIn7IrX9Bqi2OQRY3CmJjbhlMmVQ4n2H7yyp9J6Je175TO8laorX-z1w=s6000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaIdtiRSl8C4b5sidlJqwTg1jKCscv9pvEkZja_n20HDm8WaHjdw8M-4gXri7O6R8bLp5kUge1lpN9WVgjvx6wzz_vFJoMhOpQoGEFkwkotc69IYwo4QTiO76Y8_K3dmow03UIn7IrX9Bqi2OQRY3CmJjbhlMmVQ4n2H7yyp9J6Je175TO8laorX-z1w=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New kind of plenty, one of my students, Lydia. '21</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8602936507581563886.post-9522235931922392612022-01-19T21:26:00.001+01:002022-02-04T09:56:22.789+01:00Hope 2<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Skia-Regular; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Skia-Regular; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgf7F7s6BzwF8M_xbv9Ncwg1EMFqtNIn0kmZrgt3unu_24UA0_q7h1n5JrVMNBVIUTpMlPFkI2BMvZRjsC8Ks9Ke_GSxeR8wgdZ8T3K0MvRT6BI95qlkhF8Cng-XMa-Cnuub_6mY_5sSy4Srq-65dX3r8bWrZlnh8L1U4-QSgIF7KBPKfgDl69iM4NOPA=s822" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="691" data-original-width="822" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgf7F7s6BzwF8M_xbv9Ncwg1EMFqtNIn0kmZrgt3unu_24UA0_q7h1n5JrVMNBVIUTpMlPFkI2BMvZRjsC8Ks9Ke_GSxeR8wgdZ8T3K0MvRT6BI95qlkhF8Cng-XMa-Cnuub_6mY_5sSy4Srq-65dX3r8bWrZlnh8L1U4-QSgIF7KBPKfgDl69iM4NOPA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helping Mommy '84<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Skia-Regular; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">I was 10, seated at a lunch table with my classmates. Mrs. McCaslin was my first teacher apart from my mother. I don’t know why she chose me that day. She leaned over from the far end of the table, with all my classmates and their half-eaten lunches in between to ask me a question I have never forgotten: “Christy, what do you want to be when you grow up?” I had recently asked my mother what kind of people they needed in missions. Putting it simply my mom said, "They always need nurses and teachers." I heard myself responding to Mrs. McCaslin, “I want to be a nurse, teacher missionary.” It was the first time I remember saying what I wanted to be. When I said it, I knew it was true. I never really got the nurse part, but a teacher I am! I remember the teachers God used in my life, the moments they seized to ask me questions and teach me faithfully. I remember how firmly that calling settled in my heart. </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Skia-Regular; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;" /> </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_8DWFMX0BO8A2wefFtl2R_5km1iAElDo1kM5Yj3TXEqSHb4wjBvegrpDGMZpBYbCtDznKDiWPRwtvRpVVd_tphRrOegcoulU2zKfijj304b0_yKwcU9qKsONoRUvCfEFdAdG0tpc5S-FxoLv6up6243s8qlztRiFKVc7DcGwiFqIWiMy15uynmD9H5g=s4394" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4394" data-original-width="4000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_8DWFMX0BO8A2wefFtl2R_5km1iAElDo1kM5Yj3TXEqSHb4wjBvegrpDGMZpBYbCtDznKDiWPRwtvRpVVd_tphRrOegcoulU2zKfijj304b0_yKwcU9qKsONoRUvCfEFdAdG0tpc5S-FxoLv6up6243s8qlztRiFKVc7DcGwiFqIWiMy15uynmD9H5g=s320" width="291" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving Mommy before I became a mommy in Nigeria '15<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p> </p>Christyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766098085147939788noreply@blogger.com1