moodiness

The other day in a conversation with a friend about bad moods, I made the statement: Moodiness is manipulation. I've been mulling over that comment of mine, and have concluded that I believe it to be true.

I find myself quickly swayed by the moods of those around me. At times, I realize I'm waiting to determine someone's "vibe" so I know how to act, how to interact. And I've come to the conclusion that it isn't healthy. I should be me regardless of others. I shouldn't change myself based on others' actions or attitudes. But I so often do. So often.

It's manipulation, really.

I'm also more keenly aware of how often I use my moods to manipulate others. Most often, my bad moods are distorted expressions of my true emotions. They're dishonest representations of what I'm actually feeling or wanting. Dishonest? Yeah. Ouch.

Instead of saying that something's bothering me, I mope or sigh loudly, in the hopes that someone will ask if I'm OK. Rather than communicate that I'm not feeling well and need to take things slow, I just grumble and slouch during the busyness of my day. Instead of sharing that my heart is heavy or I'm feeling sad, I lash out in frustration and impatience.

It's manipulation, really.

And it's wrong.

all he hoped

My Dad is not very communicative or expressive; he's a pretty quiet guy. We can spend hours together without saying much of anything. Even now, when I live halfway around the world, I don't hear from him often. When I do, it's typically just a few lines in an email, but it means so much. Because for a few-words guy, those few words mean a lot.

He recently sent me a short email. There were eight words, though, that stopped me cold.

"You are everything I hoped you would be."

I couldn't stop myself from crying when I read that. I'm everything he hoped I would be?! I have a hard time hearing and receiving compliments as it is, but to hear that from my Dad was almost incomprehensible. My irrational brain told me he can't really mean it. Yet I know he was sincere. Genuine. Honest. Woah... It's almost too much to handle.

How can I be everything he hoped I would be when I'm not everything I hoped I would be?

I fall short in so many areas.

I've hoped I would be so much more than I am. A better wife. A better friend. A better missionary. Which makes me wonder if I'll ever be able to say that I am everything I hoped I would be. If I can't, does that mean I'm being irrational? Perfectionistic? Expecting too much? Or just practical? Realistic? Honest?

Isn't it good to aim high? "Shoot for the stars"? (No one expects to really hit them, do they?)

I'm not sure what to think about my constant hoping to be more than I am. But hearing my Dad tell me I'm all he hoped for, strengthened my heart. Gave me a new resolve. Made my heart smile real big.

I'll keep hoping to be more than I am. And in the meantime, I'll rest in the assurance that I make my Dad(s) proud.

all for one

Four years ago at youth camp, I met Peterson. Smallest boy on his team. 14 years old. With a smile that lit up the room.

He's attended camp every year since.

Peterson's name was on the registration list to attend our second camp (we've done three back-to-back this year). But he didn't show up. I was pretty disappointed. Even more so because I didn't get to see him last year. (It was the first time ever that Niel and I missed youth camps, since we were both in the States.)

At the first session of Camp 3 yesterday, a huge smile spread across my face when I saw Peterson across the tent. He looked up, saw me, and smiled real big. My heart melted. "Little" Peterson is little no longer. He's 18. In 11th grade. He's very tall, and his voice has gotten many octaves deeper. His eyes still shine and his smile still lights up the room...

"Where were you last year?" he asked me earlier. It was nice to know I was missed...

"I'd like to be a team captain someday," he said. He has incredible potential, and I know he will make a great leader.

One of the activities is a visit to the "Music Station". Each team performs and records a song, and each young person gets a copy of it on CD. Peterson had a solo during his team's song; my friend said it was exceptionally good...

He's grown up a lot. Not quite the shy, quiet boy he once was. He's bolder, more confident. It makes my heart glad each time he seeks me out, comes over to say "hello", remembers the names of people I've introduced him to...

If all of this was for Peterson, it's worth it.

Yet I know there are many "Petersons"...

Then:

Now:

knee-deep in youth camps

Not much time to say much, but this picture says a lot!

incomplete

We lost one of our own today. All the interns gathered this morning to say goodbye to Amy. There were waterfalls of tears, heartfelt prayers, and even some genuine from-the-gut laughter. Watching each one hug Amy and sob out goodbyes was treacherous, yet I couldn't look away. I had to watch. Each one. Each moment. And I cried and cried...

Times like these, my empathy feels like a burden. For I can do nothing to mend broken hearts...

I am so glad that Niel and I had the three-hour drive to the airport to spend with Amy. We had some great conversations and shared some good laughs. When we pulled in at the airport and climbed out of the car, Amy and I locked eyes. We both started to shake our heads, and, as if against our will, the tears started flowing again...

I cried off the last bit of mascara that still managed to be on my eyelashes.

I am emptied out. And my heart feels like it has a hollowed out corner in it.

I'm glad God is holding me---us, the entire Thrive family---in the palm of His hands. His empathy is not a burden. For He who knit us together in our mothers' wombs can surely knit back together our broken hearts...

september 22nd

"If blood's flowin' through my veins
And there's air to breathe,
Life to live,
Then I've got a song to sing
On this normal day,
September 22nd..."
~Nathan Angelo

Today is day one of our youth camps. And this evening, over 40 young people became followers of Jesus. I couldn't keep from crying as their hands shot up in the air, as they flooded to the front of the tent, as I prayed with some young women who just made the biggest (and best) decision of their lives, as I looked around and saw our interns experiencing this incredible moment alongside me, as I hugged a young girl who sobbed...

As the holy moment ended, I was overwhelmed with the thought: This is what it's all about.

I've got a song to sing. And sing it I shall.

but i did today

Almost 7 years ago, I lost a friend.

Sueann and her husband Kevin were youth pastors in a city about 3 hours away from us. Because Niel had family there at the time, we visited the Clarks fairly often. They were newlyweds; married less than a year. They were so sweet together. Sueann was quiet and reserved, gentle-spirited and genuine.

She started having some strange pains and shortness of breath, and they discovered she had a hernia. She was scheduled for an in-and-out procedure at the hospital to take care of it. Living in a city, their hospital is much better than ours. In fact, it was considered one of the foremost medical care facilities in the country. No need to worry...

Kevin was idling away the time in the waiting room. There was a frenzy of activity; nurses frantically ran by. And back again. Then doctors ran by. There was panicked shouting and confused chaos. They were looking for the defibrillator. Kevin wondered what was going on.

Minutes later, a doctor approached. "I'm sorry, sir, but there were complications. We lost your wife." Somehow, during the procedure, they pierced Sueann's aorta. They were unable to fix it. They weren't even able to find the defibrillator. She died on the table. During a simple out-patient procedure.

I haven't thought about Sueann in a long time. But I did today.

why do you cry?

Sitting beside the weeping willow, they talk.
Questions asked. Answers given. Hearts shared.
Amidst laughter and even tears, intimacy reborn.
Weeping willow, why do you cry?
There is peace.
Always peace.

Drooping branches dance in the gentle breeze.
Sadness subsides amidst the quiet rhythm.
Carried on the wind of tomorrow's promise.
Weeping willow, why do you cry?
There is hope.
Always hope.

the power of intentionality

There is so much power in intentionality.

I crave learning and personal growth. Crave it. I'm constantly looking for areas to improve on, books to devour, teachings to soak up. That results in lists and lists of things I want to change in my life. Which can get pretty overwhelming.

And easily forgotten.

Often I determine, with great zeal, to change this or start doing that. But then, in the hustle and bustle of my life, I honestly just forget about it. Sure, I remember at first. May even start to initiate things. But then life takes over, and my "good intentions" are pushed so far back into the crevices of my mind that I easily never think of them again.

Good intentions really mean nothing, unless I actually intend to do something with them. "It's the thought that counts" is nothing more than a cop-out for my inaction. The thought never counts. What I do with the thought is all that matters.

Herein lies the power of intentionality.

I put feet to my long list of desired changes when I tackle them one at a time. What will I be intentional about this week? When I choose one thing to focus on -- just one -- I am able to actually do it. It is like a rope that pulls me out of the mire of everything I want to change, which I so easily get bogged down in. I can focus my energy, effort, and emotional strength on just one specific thing. And I'm able to see the results of my focused intentionality, which just fuels me to do it again the next week.

So... what will you be intentional about this week?

boundaries

It seems as though this is something I've been trying to improve on forever, but I'm reminded again of my need to set better boundaries. Arranging my priorities and setting limits that will enable me to do what I want to do. I so easily sacrifice what I want to do for what I think I "should do" or what people expect me to do. I have a hard time saying "no" to personal requests, for fear of hurting or disappointing people. But then the day ends with me looking back and feeling blah about how I spent my time.

I don't like that feeling. I don't like the sense that my time, energy, and attention have been hijacked.

It's time for me to start setting clearer boundaries. And to stick to them.

Have you found ways to do this in your own life?

the hem of His robe

The woman bled for 12 years straight. Physician after physician shrugged his shoulders. She’d given up all hope of ever getting better. But then she heard about Jesus. The miracle worker. Desperate, she knew she had to get to Him.

As she clawed her way through the crowd on her hands and knees, she carried with her much more than her illness. She carried shame. As if in a bag over her shoulder, she dragged along a heavy burden of rejection and fear. She's referred to as the “woman with the issue of blood”, but her issues ran much deeper than that. Her physical ailment made her an outcast in her own culture.

Her emotional hurts and scars were far worse than her physical ones.

Finally catching up to Jesus, she reached out and frantically, yet faintly, grabbed the hem of His robe. Immediately, she was healed. Jesus turned around and faced the crowd. “Who touched Me?”

She told Him the whole truth. She told why she had touched Him and how she had been instantly healed. Jesus cared enough to listen to her story. The long version.

He just let her talk.

He was on His way to heal a dying girl. People were rushing Him. Pressing Him. Insisting He keep going before it’s too late. But He silenced them long enough for her to tell her story.

When she finished talking, He responded by calling her Daughter. It’s the only time recorded that He addressed someone that way. The love she felt in that one simple word must have been overwhelming.

After pouring out her heart, He'd responded with pure affection. Gentle yet aggressive love.

If Jesus’ aim was simply to heal her, He would have kept walking after she touched Him, for she was healed instantly. If that was all He was concerned about, He wouldn’t have stopped, turned around, asked the question. He wouldn't have looked straight at her, talked to her, listened. But He did all those things. He wanted to let her talk. To tell her story. He wanted to call her Daughter.

For that is when her heart was healed.

He wanted to heal more than her body. His aim all along was to heal her heart.

I can picture Him looking her in the eyes as He talked to her. And making her look into His. The healing began as, face-to-face, His love was visible, and it resonated within her soul. It broke down walls. Shattered barriers. Smashed through the defenses she’d lived behind for so long. His love broke through with a simple gaze, a listening ear, and undivided attention.

It wouldn’t have helped if He healed her physically, but left her to still carry the hurt from her 12 years of rejection and disgrace. Despite her physical healing, she probably would have continued to stay holed up in her house. She would have been the same cowering little girl she always was, still dragging her bag of shame behind her. But as Jesus looked into her eyes, He saw the woman He created her to be, and He wasn’t content to leave her drowning in her pain.

The greatest healing isn’t the miraculous cure of her incurable disease. It is the passionate healing of her heart.

God’s primary concern is still the condition of hearts. Physical health and a blessed life pale in comparison with a restored soul. God’s heart hurts for our hurting hearts.

He still brings love, grace, and healing through a touch of the hem of His robe.

And we are the hem of His robe.

do not lose heart

We have been going through one of the most challenging times financially that we've ever experienced in the ministry. We need literally hundreds of thousands of dollars yesterday, and it is stretching my faith like never before.

I've been doing the support-raising thing for so long now that it's hard to remember a time when I didn't have to trust God for finances. I started raising funds for my first mission trip when I was 12 or 13. I continued to do that every summer; then it was a year-long internship; then I moved to South Africa. I have been living on support every day for the past nine-and-a-half years. Trusting God for finances became as second-nature as breathing.

And now I feel like I can't catch my breath. (Has anyone seen my inhaler?)

This should be routine to me. Same ol', same ol'. So why am I having such a hard time giving this care over to the Lord and leaving it on His lap? Why am I finding it so challenging to trust God for money this time, and not last time?

I felt myself losing heart. And while I'm not yet gaining heart (is that the opposite?), I'm somewhere in between at the moment.

God led me to read this today, and as I did, I could feel my heart being strengthened. It was an almost tangible feeling, as though I were feeling my physical heart being strengthened within my chest.

"Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart...Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

Lord, help me to keep my eyes fixed on You and on the promises of God which are yet unseen, but soon to be revealed...

stock-take

Once a month, South African stores close for an entire day for "stock-take". The obvious foolishness over the loss of business aside, it's an interesting concept. A day to take stock, see what's missing and what's left, shuffle things around, switch price tags.

We need to do that with our lives at times.

Shut the doors and take time to really look around. In all the dark, dingy corners that haven't been swept in a while. In the piles and messes left behind by others. In the cluttery chaos of thoughts and feelings left unattended.

What's missing? What's left?

Things need to be regularly cleaned out. And replaced. Reprioritized. Reorganized so that those of highest importance are moved to the most prominent places.

Things also need to be revalued. Price tags need to be switched around. Changed out. To again reflect that those things of highest priority are given the highest value.

It's stock-take time.

absence of rain

For months, Pastor Wayne and his church leadership team plan a huge outdoor church service for a weekend when their rented facility will be unavailable. With the forecast predicting rain, everyone prays fervently for good weather.

The three church services span two days -- Saturday night and Sunday morning. At Saturday night's service, the clouds roll in. A light drizzle falls from the sky. The prayers go up.

"Lord, stop the rain!"

It drizzles on.

By Sunday morning, the light rain turns into a downpour. Everything and everyone gets soaking wet. Many people don't even bother attending.

Pastor Wayne feels discouraged. Even a bit angry. During worship, he prays...

"Lord, how could you let it rain today? We've worked so long and hard on the plans for this whole weekend. And now, many people stayed home because of the weather..."

After droning on and on, reminding God of all he's done for His Kingdom and protesting God's lack of intervention, Pastor Wayne finally shuts his mouth. When he does, he hears the Holy Spirit speak to his heart very clearly:

"You are more concerned about the absence of rain than the presence of God."

When I'm facing challenges, my focus should not be on eradicating the problems as much as it is on experiencing the presence of God within the problems.

Too many of my prayers are focused on asking God to remove the rain from my life. (The rain of relational issues, financial strain, or overcrowded schedules.) I need to be more purposeful about praying for God's presence in the midst of the rain.

nagging question

We have a pretty casual office dress code; most days are spent in jeans and t-shirts. On Saturday, though, I had two occasions for which to dress up.

In the morning, we took the interns to Thandi's wedding. Thandi is one of our coaches who teaches our AIDS prevention program in the public schools. In Africa, weddings are day-long affairs; we could only attend for two hours. (Awww, shucks!) We got to see most of the ceremony (at least all the interesting parts), and it was a fun cultural experience for everybody.

That night was a birthday party for one of our interns. The party-planning team does a great job of coming up with something unique and creative for each intern's birthday. The one on Saturday was a "formal night". It was fun to have a reason to dress up (although twice in one day is maybe too much!); Dave even came in a tie. Everyone looked great and seemed to have fun.

I did have one recurring thought, though, at both the wedding and the party: What do I do with my hands?

I sure do miss pockets when I'm in a dress.

eating dinner out tonight

I just had a smile-forming conversation with one of our staff.

Josh: “I’d like to take you out to dinner this week.”

Me: “Really?”

Josh: “Yeah. I realized that none of us treats you to meals as often as we should. So I figured I’d invite you out to dinner. My treat.”

Me: “Wow. Thanks.” (Big smile working its way across my face...)

making a molehill out of a mountain

We have jumped from winter into summer (no sign of spring; we leapt right over that season). I went for a walk the other day just to soak in the sun and the scenery.

And I realized how much I look straight down when I walk. I pretty much stare at my feet and the ground immediately beneath me. Every now and then I lift my head, looking up. To double-check my direction, get a bigger picture idea of where I'm going, and see (ever so briefly) what's around me.

On one such head lifts, I was struck with the thought that I walk similarly through my life.

I so easily get stuck staring straight down. Seeing only what I'm dealing with right now. Focusing solely on that which I'm facing in this moment. Each rock incredibly big, each hole unbelievably deep, each incline practically impassable.

But when I take a deep breath, lift my eyes, and look around, things change. Well, actually, it's not the things that change, but my perspective. When I get a glimpse of the big picture of what's happening in me, around me, and through me, the rocky road underneath my feet somehow seems less rocky.

In the context of everything else, the rocks shrink. The holes fill. The inclines... what inclines?

It's kind of the opposite of the small print you read on your side view mirrors: "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear." My larger-than-life challenges are quickly put into perspective when I shift my gaze so that I'm not staring them in the face.

The fine print I need to remember is: "Things you're facing are smaller than they appear."

this year in missions

So far this year, we have... ...hosted 218 people ...on 13 teams ...from 11 churches ...for a total of 115 days with us.

We have...

...given 12 Thrive talks ...had 19 team leaders over for coffee (thankfully, not all at once) ...gone on 12 safaris ...eaten at the Carnivore 10 times.

Best of all? We've...

...seen 154 salvations.

And the year's not over yet!

really real

Sometimes I'm not sure how to receive it -- or process it -- when someone points out growth they've seen in me. I realized tonight that my tendency is to negate their words -- to think of all the reasons it isn't true.

When a friend described a change she can see in me as a result of some intentionality on my part, I immediately brushed it off. I justified it. Excused it. Maybe what she noticed isn't really the result of what I'd like to think it is. Maybe I just seem to have improved because of all these external factors rather than an internal change.

And then I caught myself. Wide-eyed, I froze -- like a child caught in her mom's makeup, lipstick held to her lips.

In regard to this specific area of growth, I'd trusted for an outward, visible evidence. Why, then, am I so willing, so quick, to forfeit that? To excuse it away?

I made a choice in that instant of awareness to reach out and grab it. To fully acknowledge her comment. To embrace it like a tangible form of my freedom, growth, change.

When I see it as something I can hold in my hand, put in my pocket, it makes it feel more real. Or rather, I feel it more real-ly.

the life of a toothbrush

I love my battery-powered toothbrush. It does a far better job than I ever seem to do manually. And, oddly, I kind of enjoy the buzzing noise it makes. A while ago, I figured it might be in need of a battery change. It seemed to take longer than usual to brush; the droning buzz seemed to be quieter than I remembered. But it didn't seem urgent enough for me to do anything about it. So I continued brushing as is. For weeks.

Just the other day, Niel brought some batteries into the bathroom to replace the ones in his toothbrush. "Oh, please change mine, too, while you're at it," I remarked.

The next time I turned on my toothbrush, my eyes widened in amazement. The buzz was back, in all its loud glory. As I started brushing, I excitedly exclaimed to Niel, "It feels like I'm at the dentist!" The difference from the day before was startling. I hadn't realized how slow and incompetent my toothbrush had actually become. I had no idea how bad it had really gotten. Until it was better. The comparison was remarkable.

How did I not realize just how bad it was? The downward spiral was slow. Gradual. Incremental. So much so, that while I figured it might be good to change the batteries, I didn't think it was necessary. Not yet. "It can wait a few more weeks..." Slowly dying is not as obvious as suddenly dying.

But with new batteries in it, my toothbrush has sprung back to life. It's more alive than I honestly ever recall it being, so stark is the contrast between pre- and post-battery change.

Only when I got back what I'd lost did I realize just how badly things had gotten.

Regardless of how slow or sudden the death, new life is always astonishing.