Life is NOT a Hallmark Card 

Waiting at gate A17 in San Antonio for my flight, I reached into my little, pink purse for a pen. I drew my hand out with a pen in my fingers and sugar/cinnamon grit under my fingernails. I had swept the grit off my table only moments ago, not realizing I had baptized my purse with a sweet sprinkling, leftovers from a feeble attempt to drown my sorrows with CinnaSweeties from the Cinnabon a few gates back.

I kept thinking I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be here. My only consolation was the fact that I’d just checked my carry-on bag all the way to Harrisburg – for free. No more bumping it down the center aisle to the peril of passengers nearby, hefting it into the overhead bin or sweet talking someone else into doing it. Now I just had my super heavy “personal item” to contend with, the memory of those delicious CinnaSweeties and “wash your purse” added to my mental to-do list.

Soon my flight would start boarding and I would get up, gather my things and walk onto a plane propelling me over 1000 miles from my husband, Bobby. A series of weird and unusual circumstances lead to that disheartening reflection. Long story short, my husband’s job occasionally separates us. He’s asked to be at a job “yesterday,” I’m left to pack all the things we continue to accumulate and carry on the life we’ve been living. All without him.

Getting on the flight felt wrong and I felt profoundly sad, weighed down with the enormity of the task at hand. Instead, I wanted to be sitting on the porch of Bobby’s cottage, watching the clouds cross the big, blue sky. I wanted to prop my feet on the porch railing, looking for the calf we saw only moments after its birth. 

If you were to sit down beside me in that moment at gate A17, you wouldn’t see tears and tissues. But I could feel the tension of holding them in creeping up the back of my neck, seeping around my head to set up shop in my left temple and jaw. Apparently, I’m a very good actress. No one around seemed to notice I was about to burst into sobs or jump up and run out of the airport.

“God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

How often is this phrase uttered by well-meaning friends and clueless Hallmark cards? In my experience, it’s just not true.

Maybe you have a different kind of relationship with God, but in my dealings with the Almighty, He regularly introduces new scenes into my life that exceed my capabilities or coping mechanisms. Like the butler Carson showing an unwelcome guest into the library on the PBS TV show Downton Abbey, God often heralds new seasons and experiences that I can’t handle.

It happened when my dad got sick and passed away all in two weeks. Again, life seemed too difficult when my knees needed to be replaced, and I could no longer summon the desire to walk to the back of the grocery store for cheese. And I have felt its unwelcome presence each of the three times Bobby has moved for his job months ahead of me and our boys.

I can’t handle that stuff. I want to go to bed or eat cookie dough or get in my car and start driving aimlessly. God can fix all these woes and so much more. He can fix anything. He can handle anything that’s thrown at Him or at me.

But, often He doesn’t. He usually lets me struggle, at least for a while, like a Dad letting his child learn how to put on her own shirt. He has my best in mind and being rescued from trying to stick my head through the sleeve isn’t going to do it.

In the Bible in 2 Corinthians 12:10, Paul says we should delight in suffering and weakness. He says when we’re weak, that’s when we’re really strong. He should know. God gave Paul a hum-dinger of a story to tell. He was stoned and left adrift at sea. He was beaten and shipwrecked three times each. Paul couldn’t handle that stuff. No one could.

We’re told God goes with us. “He will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) Paul knew that verse from the Old Testament and I assume he believed it. Otherwise, why in the world would he have set foot on a boat again after one shipwreck, let alone two?

I recently looked up the names of God completely expecting to find The God Who’s Got It Handled smushed between The Ancient of Days and The Lord is Peace. It may not surprise you that this very eloquent and relevant suggestion isn’t on any of the lists I referenced. Not a one, however true it may be.

God took care of Noah and his family amid a world overrun by wickedness. He had a plan of victory for Joshua in marching around the city of Jericho. And, of course, He orchestrated the holy rescue mission of Jesus coming to earth as a helpless baby, saving us from ourselves and our sin.

From a human perspective, all these situations seemed unlikely to work out. They all appeared to be bad ideas. Some might call you crazy if you were to suggest them today. But God used each for His victory, His glory and His people’s good.

Nowhere does the Bible say God won’t give us more than we can handle. Not being able to handle stuff is often what we humans are known for. It’s what we do and why we’re here. If we could handle everything that comes our way, why would we need God? In fact, John 16:33 tells us we will have trouble in this life. Jesus encourages us to take heart. When we trust Him to take care of us, we can have peace because Jesus has already overcome the whole world.

I feel certain God will keep giving me things I can’t handle. He made me and knows exactly how pressed and perplexed I can get. Yet, He continues to plop hard, unexpected things in my lap. He knows good and well I’ll soon be out of my depth, struggling to stay afloat, my nose barely breaking the surface of the situation while my arms and legs flail to stay in control.

The older I get the quicker I realize I can’t take it, so I call out to God. Only then does God get to show up and show off. He gets to make a display of Himself that I can point to when someone asks, “How do you handle all that?”

So… be like Paul, jump back in your rocking boat. We often can’t manage whatever is coming around the bend. But the God Who’s Got It Handled? He certainly can.

I Am So Ill I Can Hardly Speak - Jane Austen, Persuasion

“I bought NyQuil, Kleenex and orange juice,” I sniffled into the phone.  “Sounds like a party,” my helpful husband, Bobby, quipped.  I’ve been sick for a week.  Other than quick excursions to the dollar store for the above supplies and a treacherous, snowy drive to the grocery store, I confined myself to the house for almost a week. Those short outings felt like huge accomplishments, especially since all I wanted was to tuck myself back in bed or prop myself up on the couch for the duration.

While my cold wasn’t the worst I’ve had, it hit me hard in the lethargy department. I didn’t really want to do anything.  But I still had enough wits about me to try and fend off the pesky germs. 

Here’s what happens at my home when someone’s sick:

As quick as we notice a sniffle or sore throat, we drink the dreaded “feel good drink.” It’s the opposite of delicious but has become our go-to cure all. You heat one cup of water, add a tablespoon of honey, a tablespoon of apple cider vinegar, two drops of Thieves essential oil and two drops of lemon essential oil. The first taste will be a doozy but keep sipping. If done early enough, this almost ensures no sore throat not only for this cold, but for most of the cold/flu season. Hit yourself with another cupful a couple of times a day, morning and night is a good idea. It’s magic.

My friend, Heather, swears by Zicam. So much so that she hands the swabs out to employees and friends saying, “The first one’s free.” I heard such Zicam praises from Heather that Santa delivered boxes of Zicam nasal swabs to my family’s Christmas stockings. Just after drinking the “feel good drink” this week I opened my own Christmas Zicam. It didn’t help as much as Heather promised it would.  Later, she told me I have to keep using it, like every three hours, for a day or so to get the full cold-shortening benefits. Oh well, next time.

I’m an essential oil diffuser newbie. So, I probably didn’t keep the diffuser going as long as I should have. But I did spend some time sitting by a steady mist of Thieves and lemon essential oils, breathing deeply the scent of what I hoped would be good health and healing.

My son, Allen, presented me with a box of chamomile tea after a trip to Germany. I don’t know that German chamomile is any more potent than chamomile tea bought in the U.S. But seeing the “Kamille, bio” box with little white chamomile flowers on it and trying to make out the German directions and descriptions makes me smile. That’s got to count for something. Plus, a steaming mug of chamomile is very soothing. That’s why the Germans put chamomile tea in the bottles of their fussy babies.

Nicole is my friend who I consult for all things medical.  Her sons were sick about the same time I was.  When I asked what she was doing for them she replied, “Nyquil, zinc and vitamin C.”  It was right after I spoke with her that I made my trip to the dollar store.  While I didn’t get the zinc, I did get OJ and Nyquil, day and night.  Though my husband thinks I’m having cold delusions, I promise the Nyquil daytime formula makes me sleepy.  I kept taking it as long as it lasted and enjoyed those daytime and nighttime ZZZs hoping it was promoting some super immunity.

Then, I brought out the big guns. Probably more soothing to me than even German chamomile tea is Jane Austen.  The boys in my life don’t understand or appreciate how comforting a Jane Austen movie can be.  But, man, are they missing out.  

I started my week with Mansfield Park.  I used to have two versions of this classic, but alas, I broke one of the DVDs, the one where Fannie Price is quite smart and headstrong.  I followed Mansfield Park with Persuasion, sepia and misty and romantic.  Then, I watched the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma and the Emma Thompson version of Sense and Sensibility.  I watched Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and got part way into the long, PBS version of Emma before realizing I felt better.  

While I’ll still finish Emma and will probably move on to the long, Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice in days ahead, I don’t feel the need to lie on the couch for long periods of time anymore. My movie watching is now interrupted by errands and meetings and cleaning out the garage instead of nose blowing and refilling the diffuser and taking another dose of cold medicine.  

When that starts to happen, I know I’m better.  It may not be scientific, but it works for me.  

14 Things I Don’t Understand

1. How you can electronically unsubscribe from a newsletter with the click of a mouse but it takes days or weeks to actually be taken off the email list?
2. Why black bean soup is inherently "Mexican." Why not Italian or American?
3. What Mr. Clean Magic Erasers are made of.  What planet did that material come from?  Clean sharpie off painted walls? Check.  Clean soap scum from glass shower doors? Yup.  Would it clean the freckles off my arm?  Maybe.
4. I consider myself a fairly good cook. So, why do I often smoke up my entire house when I make dinner?
5. Why it's called a station wagon.  
6.  Why I'm thinking about station wagons.
7.  Why it’s socially acceptable to wake yourself up with caffeine in the form of coffee, but not with Coke?
8. "Titanic The Musical"
9. Why I can never get my eyelashes exactly the same when I put on mascara.
10. Why people insist on driving slow in the fast lane. No one is insulting your manhood if they pass you. Just get over!
11. Why people lived through one winter north of the Mason Dixon Line then thought it was a good idea to live through another.
12. Why people lived through one summer south of the Mason Dixon Line then thought it was a good idea to live through another.
13. Why my very Southern mom has so many linguistic similarities to people in Maine. Neither pronounces Rs for example.
14. Why I often find all the 6s in my Sudoku puzzles before any other number.

Cold Kayaks in Bloomsburg, PA

Just wondering....

Part 4

            This is the last installment of what I shared at my church in early December. 

At a women’s ministry meeting in November, talk centered around our Christmas brunch which was coming up fast.  Mainly, we didn’t have a speaker.  Several women had been asked but we didn’t have any takers yet.  Sitting across the room, my friend Gina looked at me and said, “You should share at the brunch.  Who knows where you’ll be in the spring.” She’s right, I have no idea where I’ll be come spring or where I’ll be living when the next women’s brunch at Shiloh Bible Church rolls around. 

When Gina made her suggestion, I did what I usually do when I’m uncomfortable, I laughed and changed the subject.  I’m really good at it.  But, I was thinking I wanted to share at the brunch and I felt God had something for me to say.  Instead of trusting Him, saying “Yes. I’d like to do that,” and moving on, I kind of freaked out.  I talked to my husband about it, emailed a friend who I knew would be honest, and felt like crying for most of the night.  Then, as I prayed, God asked me, “What’s the word I gave you this year?”

My "enough" necklace

I had always thought people who had a “word of the year” were so cool and together.  I tried to drum up a word of the year several times before. Though I could come up with something fairly interesting, I would promptly forget and I never wrote the words down. So, I was delighted when God actually gave me a word of the year in 2017 and again in 2018. This time I remembered them, they stuck. 

My word for 2018 was Enough.  That word took on different meanings over the months.  To start with, God told me He was enough for me – all I need.  His provision is enough, He sees and answers my prayers before I speak them.  God then moved on to tell me that I am enough.  My story is interesting enough.  He created me like I am for a reason.  He didn’t make me less than. He would provide all I need to have and all I need to be through Himself.  I don’t have to strive and wonder if I am enough.  It’s already accomplished.  It’s done. 

Then as my boys’ high school graduation neared and I didn’t know what life would look like on the other side, God’s word took on a new tone.  As I whined to Him in prayer about my sorrow and the uncertainty in my life, God said sternly, “Enough!”  Enough with not trusting, enough with second-guessing.  Enough!  So, in the midst of my freak out about doing this talk, God said again, “Enough. Just do this thing, Amy. It’s ok. I’ll tell you what to say. I’ll take care of it. Just step out and share.”

2 Corinthians 9:15 was the verse for the event where I first shared this story, “Thanks be to God for His inexpressible gift.”  Our gifts are a reflection of the inexpressible gift God has given Believers in Christ.  When we share our gifts, whatever they may be; a shoebox you pack or a meal you prepare or a talk you give at a ladies’ brunch, you’re sharing what God has given you. 

It says in 2 Corinthians 9:10 as we pour out, God will pour into us and supply us with what we need so we can continue to give.  I got a laugh out of chapter 9 verse 7 when I was thinking about this talk, “Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”  While I’m cheerful as I share now, I certainly wasn’t as I was stepping out to agree to speak.

High School Graduation

All of chapter 9 in 2 Corinthians is about gift giving. Paul covers how the Corinthians were supposed to offer their gifts. They were good at giving. Paul bragged on them for being so generous. Paul essentially wrote this letter to say, “Hey, I told the church in Macedonia you would help them and, what’s more, you would want to help them.  So, I’m writing to warn you that an opportunity to give is coming. AND, when you do this amazing thing, guess what?  The Macedonians will be so blessed they’ll long for you and praise God because you met their needs.” It will be like a child getting a shoebox from Operation Christmas Child and praising God for His blessing and provision. You packed the box and sent the box.  But, God gets the glory.

I love this commercial from Apple.  It’s less than 3 minutes. Take time to watch it.  Here are the lyrics to the song in the video:

Wake up and smell the coffee
Is your cup half full or empty?
When we talk, you say it softly
But I love it when you’re awfully quiet, quiet

You see a piece of paper
Could be a little greater
Show me what you could make her
You’ll never know until you try it
You don’t have to keep it quiet

And I know it makes you nervous
But I promise you, it’s worth it
To show ’em everything you kept inside
Don’t hide, don’t hide
Too shy to say, but I hope you stay
Don’t hide away
Come out and play…♬

“Come out and play” by Billie Eilish

In this video, the girl wrote the story. She thought it up, typed it out and hid it away. God gave her that gift, but she wasn’t willing to share it. When her pages were blown into the town, people were blessed by what they read. When we share our gifts, we’re blessing others too. 

                I could have told you a lot more about each of these parts of my life, and maybe that’s my real gift to you, that I didn’t.  But, I hope you’re encouraged to be bold and brave to share whatever gifts God has blessed you with.  Share joyfully and whole-heartedly. I can’t wait to be blessed and encouraged by you!

                Thank you!

More of Amy's Story

Part 3 

We’re heading into the home stretch here.  The first two parts of my “story” were marriage and missions.  Today we move on to “motherhood and moving.” 

            Motherhood – As our time living and working in Austria came to a close, Bobby and I were longing for children of our own.  After we arrived back in the States, we began trying to have a baby. Our journey to parenthood wasn’t easy. The waiting felt eternal.  At times it didn’t look like we would be able to have kids at all and I began wondering what kind of plan God would have for me if that were the case.  It would be a completely different life than the “mom life” I had imagined and ached for.  But, then, God decided to bless us with not one, but two baby boys at once.  Now, 19 years later, I thank God almost every day that I get to be their mom.

First Year of Flag Football, Fort Worth, TX

          Allen, our oldest by 23 minutes, and very much the typical first born, is majoring in aviation flight science at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, 10 hours from Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania.  He’s in Air Force ROTC, plays ultimate frisbee and plans on a career as an Air Force pilot.  He sees himself flying an attack plane that swoops in to combat areas providing support for those on the ground.  I’m so proud he wants to help and protect others, but there are times I wish he wanted to be something safer, like an analyst or a teacher.

             Davis, our easy going second born, is working in Auburn, Alabama as a bank teller.  That’s 15 hours away FYI.  He plans on attending Auburn University in the fall, where Bobby and I met.  He says today that he wants to major in accounting, like his dad.  He’s been changing his mind about a lot of things lately, so we’ll see what he says tomorrow. Davis enjoys his independence and has grown up surprisingly quickly during this gap year.  He’s figuring out exactly where God may have him in the future, but in the meantime, he’s learning to play guitar and endearingly spends a lot of time with his grandparents and Great-Gram.

Senior Pictures, Bloomsburg, PA

             From the beginning, Bobby and I agreed I should be home with our boys as much as possible.  So, I was the one to put them down for naps and make their lunch.  I was the one playing with blocks on the floor and filling up the plastic pool in the backyard.  I picked them up from school every day and heard what they made on their spelling tests or the funniest joke ever they heard that day.  We even homeschooled these two little guys from the end of 3^rd grade until the middle of 9^th grade.  It was a gift to be the first to see Allen’s fascination with the military and battles and history come alive as we read A History of English-Speaking Peoples by Winston Churchill.  It was fun to read poetry to the boys and have Davis say from where he was laying on the couch, “Poetry makes me feel really relaxed.”

 

             But, by far, the biggest blessing of being a mom was hearing a 4-year-old Allen say, from the backseat of the van on the way to swimming lessons, “Hey Mom, how do you ask Jesus into your heart?”  I was blessed to walk both Allen and Davis through what it meant to live their little lives for the Lord. Bobby and I continue to walk with them as they struggle and grow in making their faith their own.

             The next greatest blessing of being a mom is being able to sit across the table from my two 19-year-old young men and realize they’re two of my favorite people in the world.  I actually like them.  I enjoy spending time with them and prefer their company to almost everyone else.  That is a true gift.

             

             When Allen and Davis were making their plans for high school graduation and talking about what came next for them, I didn’t handle it very well.  We had taught them they could go anywhere in the world God called them to go and do anything God called them to do, with our blessing.  But as they started talking about Michigan and Alabama, I wanted to take it all back.

Baby Allen

Baby Davis

               Once again, I saw a great application in the TV show Once Upon a Time.  In this instance, Rumpelstiltskin is married to Belle from Beauty and the Beast.  (You just have to go with me here. Don’t over think it!)  Anywho, Rumple and Belle have a son named Gideon who has been accepted to some sort of school.  Rumple and Belle are proud of Gideon and watch as he begins excitedly gathering his belongings to leave. As Gideon leaves the room to continue his packing, Rumple looks at Belle and says, “I didn’t think he’d be leaving so soon.”  Belle says, “We’ve had Gideon for 18 amazing years.  Years filled with life and adventure.  Now it’s time for him to find his own.  He’s ready.”  And Rumple replies, “But what if I’m not ready?”

              That was me.  My kids were ready for their next adventure, but I definitely wasn’t.

              

              Moving – One of the reasons my children were ready to go out into the world is that Allen and Davis have had to move a lot.  Because of Bobby’s job, Allen, Davis and Bobby have each survived five big moves in nine years.  We lived in Alabama until the boys were almost ten.  Alabama is “home” for me.  It’s where we gather for holidays and where extended family live.  

              Then, we lived in Fort Worth, Texas where I learned to grind wheat and bake bread and we began our homeschooling adventure.  One day while living in Fort Worth Bobby came home and said, “What do you think about moving to Nebraska?”  I answered very graciously, “Nebraska?  I’ve never even wanted to visit Nebraska.”  But we loved it there where everyone is a University of Nebraska fan and has at least one red car.  We lived on five acres with a beautiful barn where we held an English Country Dance one Saturday night in November.  

Norfolk, Nebraska in Front of THE Barn

        From Nebraska we moved here to Pennsylvania where I learned there are some people who THINK the Sound of Music is a Christmas movie, and if you take mashed potatoes and wrap them in dough it somehow becomes a meal, called pierogies.  Pennsylvania is where I’ve had two knee replacements and where my children will come for class reunions for the rest of their lives. Pennsylvania has also shown me there is yet another beautiful place on this earth where God has gathered a warm, dedicated and loving group of Believers to encourage my heart.

Allen Photo Bombs My Vance's Apple Dumpling Picture at the Bloomsburg Fair

             Each move has been a blessing in its own way and each has given us lasting gifts – church family, friends, and adventure.  But it is never easy to leave.  And It’s never easy to arrive.

              

              I said at the beginning of this story, I wouldn’t be here with you today if God hadn’t decided to change my life.  He saw me, a curly-haired, Southern, 15-year-old girl who just wanted to do ballet and twirl her baton.  He orchestrated my life to lead to this exact point, at this time, with you.

Amy's Story Part 2

                Previously, on AmyLocks, I shared the first part of a talk I recently gave at my church.  Here’s part two of that story.

                My adult life in a nutshell or gift box can be summed up in four words: marriage, missions, motherhood and moving.  Today, we’ll talk about the first two.

                Marriage. My sister, Sumarie, graduated from Auburn University in Auburn, AL about three months before fall quarter my freshman year.  Our Daddy owned a duplex just off campus where we each took a turn living.  When I got settled into 320 Genelda Avenue, I was pleased and surprised to find I had inherited not only Sumarie’s furniture, but also several of her friends. One of those friends was Andrew, a brilliant engineer, who was getting his masters in astrology, I mean, astronomy, and was under direct orders from Sumarie to “take care of my little sister.”  Andrew would occasionally show up at my house and invite me to eat at Arby’s, go see the free movie on campus or play tennis.  On one of these outings, Andrew introduced me to his cute roommate Bobby.

Apparently, Bobby was mature enough to overlook the immaturity of Amy Bass, the loud, silly freshman.  I was a very excited and overscheduled Auburn student and had to refuse Bobby’s first offer of a date because of another commitment.  But, Bobby persisted and asked me to see Up With People about a week later.  That date was followed quickly by evenings getting yogurt at The Railing or watching the aforementioned free movies, or seeing Twila Paris in concert. Auburn University offered lots of great free events in the spring of 1990, at God’s direction I have no doubt.  Bobby never would have asked me out so often if he’d had to pay for dinner and a movie each time.  He says he knew it was love when we went on three dates and he spent less than $5 total. 

Three years to the day after that first “Up With People” date, Bobby and I were married at my hometown church. The ceremony was much too long and there were way too many attendants.  My hair and the sleeves of my wedding gown were huge, but oh! what a perfect day. We celebrated our 25 anniversary this past May.  It has been mostly blissful.

While in college, I attended a Bible study taught by Betty Thomas.  Ms. Betty taught a bunch of headstrong, college-educated women that the Bible says wives are to be submissive and respectful of their husbands.  That was a tricky line to walk in the nineties and even more so now.  She told us that God blesses the obedience of such counter-cultural behavior.  I chose to trust her, at the time, but now I’ve lived it and she’s right. If I hadn’t spent two hours every Monday night of my college years sitting on the floor of Ms. Betty’s well-vacuumed home, learning what it meant to be a Godly woman, my marriage to Bobby would have been even rockier than it sometimes was.  Marriage hasn’t always been easy but after this quarter of a century spent together I’m blessed to be able to say that Bobby Britton is not only my calmer, wiser and better half.  He’s also my best friend. 

            Missions. Close to the end of the three years Bobby and I dated, he told me was having a struggle with God. God had asked Bobby if he was willing to give up everything for Him. At first Bobby honestly admitted he wasn’t. Over time, however, Bobby realized he was willing to submit completely.  As a result, Bobby was praying about going overseas as a missionary. I had just spent a summer on a missions trip of sorts.  I was a “Peace Intern” with the Disciples of Christ denomination which meant I travelled across the country talking with high schoolers about peace with justice issues.  Through that journey I learned I didn’t want to go off and have adventures then come home and tell Bobby about them. I wanted us to experience things together. So, Bobby decided to wait until we were married and could pursue missions as a couple.

About a year after our wedding, Bobby and I started a long application process with International Teams (IT), a small missions organization based near Chicago, IL. During conversations with IT we were given several options regarding where we could serve.  Did we want to help plant a church in Spain or work with refugees in Austria?  We chose Austria and joined the Baden Area Refugee Team.

We spent two years in Baden doing some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. It was emotionally draining. The definition of a refugee is ”a person who has left their home out of a well-founded fear of persecution.”  What that definition doesn’t tell you is how scared and desperate and sad a refugee can become.  As a refugee in “the system”, you’re applying for asylum in other countries and trying to document the reasons you left your homeland.  You’re interviewed extensively by officials in a language that probably isn’t familiar to you, but mostly, you’re just waiting, sometimes for years.

         

           The team we worked with tried to make that waiting a little easier.  We offered coffee bar nights where people could gather and drink coffee, of course, but they could also play chess and checkers.  Men gathered to watch the Jesus film in one of over 50 languages and receive a Bible in the language that spoke to their heart.  We held weekly kids clubs where we shared Bible stories and snacks and games with the refugee children.  We had women’s times where we ate together and did crafts and the women could get to know each other. 

Bobby with some rowdy boys at Kids' Club

At one of these women’s times, I sat with a Kurdish woman from Iraq named Noksha.  She didn’t speak English, I didn’t speak Kurdish and neither of us spoke much German which was often the common language between us.  I had the fun job of “translating” for Noksha that day.  A different story could have made my life easier, but on this day a missionary friend shared from Mark 5:24-34, the woman with the issue of blood who, in her hopelessness and desperation, waded into a crowd of people to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe. She craved comfort and healing. In order to get the point of the story across, I used lots of simple German words and a great deal of acting. At one point I was lying on the floor by our table and I made sweeping arm gestures through the whole thing.  Yeah.  That was fun.  I wonder what in the world Noksha thought I was trying to tell her.

           

           But, most of our work involved visiting with refugees in their rooms or in our home.  We shared stories and food and culture with each other. We also shared the intense joy and relief our friends felt when accepting visas to travel to their new home, or the devastation and anguish they experienced when denied asylum yet again.  We offered these people all we had which was hope in a relationship with Christ.  We reminded them that Christ cared about people from Iran or Afghanistan or Sierra Leone who had to leave home and family to travel a difficult and costly road to an end they couldn’t see, just as He cared for the woman in Mark who touched the hem of his robe.

           

           Three people we grew to love were Alina, Hamik and Sissian, a young couple with a three-year old daughter.  Bobby and I spent a lot of time with them, sharing dreams and hopes, and enjoying each other’s company.  This is the one refugee family I still hear from because we’re friends on Facebook of all things.  Alina, Hamik and Sisian eventually got asylum, then citizenship here in the US.  They’ve both completed their educations, have good jobs and now that same daughter, the one I remember being so tiny and bright eyed, is in her first year of dental school in California.

I loved being a missionary and was sad when God called us back to the United States.  I felt competent and useful in Austria.  The ministry was a good fit for me and I loved working so closely with our team; a group of people who’s values and priorities so closely aligned with my own.  I’m so thankful I fell in love with a man who had missions in his heart because I know I would never have attempted such an adventure on my own.

Sandwich Fight

My kids recently had a fight over a chicken salad sandwich.

Seriously, a chicken salad sandwich.

At one point I feared the disagreement might come to blows so I almost threw the coveted sandwich into the yard.

Just so you know, I love chicken salad. It's one of my favorite things. We have a long, lovely history, chicken salad and me. At the bridesmaids' lunch before my wedding, guess what the hostesses served? You got it, chicken salad. I once worked for a caterer where one of my jobs was to mix chicken salad in a huge Tupperware container like the ones that hold your Christmas decorations or your kids’ toys. When I was newly married, fell in love with a deli in Montgomery, Alabama because they served a sandwich called a chicken salad supreme.

So, believe me when I say I know good chicken salad. But, this wasn't it. Even when it was fresh two days before, it had not been very good. After 48 hours in my refrigerator, the bread was stale on top and soggy on bottom, the lettuce was limp and the chicken salad was just okay. It definitely wasn’t worthy of a squabble.

Thanks How to Feed a Loon

But there we were standing around the kitchen island. The so so chicken salad sandwich sat in its take out container in the middle of us like the last seat in an angry game of musical chairs. The boys were about to dive for it any second.

I tried to reason with them.

I reminded them how old the sandwich was and how undesirable it had been on its first day.

I asked them to think about how silly this whole thing was and how mature they are, usually.

Reason did not prevail. One kid ended up accusing me of “always” being on his brother’s side. The other one gave up and let his brother have the silly sandwich. I’m sure his lunch, whatever it was, was much more satisfying. I ended up frustrated and angry and left the house rehearsing how terrible these kids of mine are and whether I should have thrown the sandwich in the garbage or made them share it alternating bites brother to brother.

I was terribly disappointed with these two otherwise grown-up-ish 18 year olds. Arguing over a sandwich? Come on. I think the frustration was prompted by fatigue and hunger, but you can’t blame everything on being “hangry”. At some point you have to rise to the occasion and act sweet and giving.

But, I didn’t act much better. I gave in to anger and frustration. I was demanding and easily provoked, not understanding and kind. Not a great example.

Though my desires may be bigger and more complicated than a chicken salad sandwich, I still want what I want when I want it. I often struggle to trust that God has a plan and that it’s good, especially when I’m faced with something I want that I’m not getting. I sometimes want to dive for what I want, clutch it to my chest and yell, “Mine!”

This whole predicament reminded me of a story.

Do you remember Abigail in the Bible? She had a husband who was bad news. I Samuel 25:3 says her husband, Nabal, was harsh and badly behaved. He was rich and had lots of stuff, servants, goats, and sheep. Plus, he was blessed with a wife who was “intelligent and beautiful.” Even so, he wanted what he wanted and was selfish to boot.

David, who would soon be king, asked Nabal for a favor. He had previously protected Nabal's flock and servants and now he asked Nabal for provisions for his men. It was a feast time and David knew Nabal was already planning to celebrate. David didn’t even specify what he wanted. He just asked Nabal to “give your servants and your son David whatever you can find for them.” (1 Samuel 25:8)

Nabal refused. He wanted to use what he had for himself regardless of David's kindness to him in the past. Nabal had his reasons. They were just foolish.

The story goes on with a threat from David, a cry for help from one of Nabal's servants to Abigail, and a brave meeting between Abigail and David.

While I'd like to think I'm like Abigail - brave, smart and pretty, I think I'm more often like Nabal. I'm selfish and short-sighted. And, I don't have an Abigail to clean up my messes.

I could have called my children Nabal #1 and Nabal #2 on the day of the sandwich fight. They were so foolish, silly and angry. Peace eventually prevailed, but I want there to be no reason for peace to be restored. I yearn for peace to rule and reign. I wished for Abigail to ring my doorbell that day and tell us not to fight. She would have had fresh, delicious chicken salad sandwiches for each of us. I wanted one of my kids to play that role for the other, not in grudging exasperation, but in love and gentleness.

They didn't and they probably won't and there will be more stupid fights in our future. We don't want to be “wicked men that no one can speak to” like Nabal, but sometimes we will be. I just pray that those “Nabal” days will be interspersed with many more “Abigail” ones. I pray for kindness and wisdom to prevail.

And, next time, I pray the chicken salad is at least worth fighting for.

(For the best chicken salad recipe ever, look here.)