Purpose

For lunch today I made sup bayam and ayam semur. Baby spinach soup and chocolatey brown chicken in a sweet and tangy sauce over steamy white rice felt just right. I sliced up papaya for a little dessert afterwards.

I can’t remember the last time I had a sandwich. A proper sandwich, the kind with thin sliced ham, crunchy iceberg lettuce, tomato, sharp cheddar cheese, mayo and mustard. I’d stuff cool ranch Doritos inside just before the first bite.

Lunch has a whole new meaning in Papua. Life feels like it has a whole new meaning in Papua, only trouble is I don’t really know what it is.

Of course I know why we came. The why hasn’t changed and last week, as my husband flew his first flight to an isolated village way up in the jungle covered mountains, the why felt so big and all consuming.

I’m pretty sure my neighbors on one side don’t like me. I don’t really know the family on the other side. At the end of my road there is a really nice young couple with a little boy about Isaiah’s age that are always friendly when we pass by or stop to talk. They sell fried food from a cart on the main road a few yards from their front door. Today we bought fried tofu and bananas.

A couple weeks ago, coming back from a ladies’ bible study with some girlfriends, we had to stop the car in the middle of the road. A crowd approached and as they did I hurried to cover my son’s eyes. A man was being beaten in the street. I locked my door and prayed. Guilt and helplessness pierced me through. We heard the next day that the man died. We had witnessed a murder.  

There’s a girl at the market who sells mustard greens and always smiles. I don’t know her name, but she’s possibly the funniest person I’ve ever met. A little down the road from her there’s a mama selling pumpkin who is always kind to me. 

As I look to a new year what I really want to know, the thing I want to look back at the end of 2015 and see and understand, is what my part is. To know my purpose. To know where I fit in the great big why of our life here.

I’ve never been big on New Year resolutions and finding my purpose in Papua probably wouldn't make a good one anyway. Instead, I step into 2015 with eyes open in anticipation and good hope stretched out before me. 

Neighbors, merchants, farmers, street children, drunks, all right outside my door.  The needs are great, so much bigger than I am. 

Before we arrived in Papua, I felt my kitchen table would be my place of ministry. A place to provide hospitality and encouragement, friendship and the gospel, starting first with my own little family and extending to whoever might find a seat there. 

I don’t know what 2015 will bring. I don’t know my purpose in the grand scheme of our life here, but that’s ok. In the meantime, my heart and kitchen table are open.

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This post is a linkup to www.velvetashes.com where others are discussing their 'one word' to focus on for 2015.

For Stress and Beauty

I'd been taking aspirin for a week. The headache never leaving, only waxing between mild and intense flashes of pain. By the Saturday morning I couldn't keep my eyes open.

"I think I need a blood test." I told Ben. A persistent and increasing headache is one of the first signs of Malaria.

The three of us loaded onto the scooter and headed to the pharmacy. Thirty minutes later I held a negative blood test in my hands. Not malaria, thank God. A second test showed high white blood cells indicating some kind of infection. "Show it to your doctor." The nurse told me.

As we loaded back onto the scooter, my headache easing again, we spotted her. She stopped us in our tracks, this black and white beauty. More the size of a small bird than a butterfly, her delicate velvet wings beating to her own rhythm. 

On the way home we stopped to pick up our new motorcycle from a friend's shop. Feeling quite a bit better, I drove the scooter and Isaiah the familiar short distance home while Ben took the motorcycle. My son's small arms wrapped around my sides, we headed off.

The bumpy road home is all gravel and red dirt. I drive slow, putting my feet down at the slippery parts. I know this road, where the smoothest parts are, where the gravel is loose and the back tire slips.

Rounding the familiar bend the scooter starts to speed up. I pull hard on the front and back breaks, but can't stop. On the slippery gravel I start to loose control and unable to slow the scooter down we hit a large rock. The scooter falls to the right and we fall with it.

Our friend had been driving behind us and saw everything. He jumped out of his truck and lifted the scooter off of my leg. Isaiah stood behind me crying, but unhurt. A small patch of grass on the side of the road had cushioned his fall.

Isaiah rode home in the truck and I drove the scooter. I hadn't noticed my bloody knee until I stopped the scooter in front of Ben and said with shaking voice, "We fell off. I couldn't stop. The accelerator is sticking. Isaiah is ok. He's in the truck."

At home Ben poured me a glass of Sprite and ordered, "You need to sit down and drink." He checked Isaiah over and hugged him, listening and answering questions of what happened. I cleaned and covered my scraped up knee. The cuts were long, but not too deep. Still shaking and sipping my drink, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks. We were ok.

A few hours later our long time friend arrives to stay for the week. We haven't seen him in twelve years, but he still wears the same infectious smile. We will finish language school and move home in just 10 days. Our friend arrives in the midst of chaos, but with him peace and laughter arrive too.

And that's just it. The velvet black and white beauty soothing my persistent headache. Grass grown long before on the side of the road in just the right place to catch and cushion my son's fall. Friendship that brings joy even after a decade apart.

This is nothing new. Life here, life back in our old home. Stress is real and intense, but so is beauty and God's goodness. Not as small pinpricks of light shining through darkness, but as the brightest light of hope forcefully pushing back the dark and filling and freeing our hearts and minds.

  "And that’s not all: We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand—out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise."   

Romans 5:2 The Message

  

Pushing back the dark

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This post is a link up to Velvet Ashes where others are discussing beauty this week.

 

You're Doing It Wrong

Dear Missionary,

It's pretty clear you're doing this all wrong. 

You missionaries living in guarded compounds, you're obviously not really invested in your community. You alienate your neighbors with barbwire topped fences.

You missionaries living in houses and apartments in local neighborhoods, you are risking the safety and well being of your family. Thank God for those missionaries in that guarded compound nearby that welcome you with open arms and shelter you in times of trouble.

You who buy imported western food, don't you know how important food is to a culture and that by avoiding it you are avoiding connecting with your adopted home?

You who buy food from the local market and street vendors, don't complain when you get typhoid or amoebic dysentery. It's your own fault. You know how unsanitary all that is.

You who use cars and drive everywhere you go, how will you ever become part of your community if your neighbors only see you coming and going through tinted windows?

You who walk or bicycle everywhere, your community is embarrassed to have the only missionary without a car. If you had a vehicle you could use it to better help the community.

To the missionary full on embracing your new culture and abandoning your own, you're "going tribal" and that's a pretty foolish thing to do. You're headed towards a cultural identity crisis.

To the missionary clinging tightly to your home culture, opening up those clenched fists won't make you unAmerican or whatever. You're alienating yourself by not loosening up.

You who go on furlough every summer are basically telling the people you serve that your vacation is more important than pastoring that young congregation, translating scripture, or helping the suffering community through that health crisis. Your actions don't match your message.

You who wait years and years before taking a few months away are going to have a nervous breakdown. Missionary burnout is well documented and you jeopardize the long term work.

To the missionaries who own modern appliances, what a frivolous waste of donations. You should be living at the same standard as the people you serve.

To the missionaries without modern appliances, you are frivolously wasting time doing things the hard way when you could be spending that time ministering instead.

You who attend language school, you are probably substituting a classroom for relationships within your community.

You who learn language on your neighborhood streets, your approach takes forever and if you just went to a school it would be a much more efficient use of time. You could get to actually ministry sooner.

You who attend the expat church on Sundays, think about the message you are sending to the local Christians. It might not be with words, but with your actions you're saying there's something wrong with their churches. 

You who attend the local church are neglecting worshiping in your own language and culture. You hypocritically insist the local Christians should worship authentically in their own cultural way, but you don't do it yourself.

To the missionaries who send their teenagers off to boarding school, you are risking the emotional health of your kids when they are already at their most vulnerable ages.

To the missionaries who home school their teenagers, you alienate them from all their friends who have gone off to boarding school and risk their emotional and academic development.

You who pastor and translate and evangelize but don't include seeking justice and meeting physical needs because that's just not your ministry, aren't ushering in God's Kingdom here on earth.

You who spend all your time doctoring and building clinics and teaching new farming methods are forsaking the gospel and might as well just be humanitarian workers. There are more important and eternal things at stake.

You who hire house helpers, gardeners, and cooks should be ashamed of your colonial attitude.

You who do it all yourself without house helpers, gardeners, and cooks, are pretty selfish and stingy for not providing employment when as a westerner you clearly have the funds to do so.

To the missionary already decades in the field, your methods and mindset are outdated.

To the brand new missionary, you haven't been here long enough to understand the complex layers of this culture and in your zeal you're making some really stupid and damaging mistakes.

Hope this helps and you feel suitably convicted.

Thanks,

Judgmental, but totally righteous, Missionary Me

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Alright, alright, please forgive the ridiculousness above. What I really want to say is: 

I'm so thankful you're here. 

It can feel like we all have differing views of how best to serve and what foreign ministry actually means and that can get pretty critical and messy. Truth is I need you. I even need your differing views. 

Thanks for not letting me settle.

Here's to lovingly and humbly encouraging each other to seek God's face in every aspect of our lives and service. 

Your sister and fellow sojourner,

Anisha

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Over at Velvet Ashes this week the discussion centers around the word humility. Hop on over and check out what others have to say.

Stop freaking out. Sticks and rocks are awesome.

Sorting through my three year old son's toys and deciding what to pack or give away before moving overseas brought with it a special kind of guilt and stress.

We gave away van loads of toys. The only items that made it into our suitcases were a deflated soccer ball, skateboard, scooter, handful of cars, a stuffed bear, and books. Only the most favorite of the favorites made it.

"Don't worry, Anisha. Kids are fine playing outside with sticks and rocks." Yeah, sure, sticks and rocks are fun, but they can't take the place of all this other stuff he needs.

I mean, have you ever been to Learning Express? That place is amazing. Rows and rows of toys that are not only fun, but educational. All the things my child needs to safely and cleanly develop gross and fine motor skills, develop a love for science and math, prepare for a lifetime of learning, and endless opportunities for imaginative play.

I've read the parenting books and blogs for crying out loud. My preschooler needs a sensory bin. His neural pathways are at risk without one.

Since a sensory bin didn't fit in my suitecase and clinging to the hope I can pull one together and figure out the rest in our new country, we moved overseas.

OK, so at this point all you experienced parents are probably shaking your heads, but I'm new at this parenting gig and sometimes I freak out a little. I know that. After scaling down the toy selection so dramatically, here's what I also know: You are right.

Without the beloved sensory bin, we dig in the dirt.

Instead of a kid size kitchen, we create elaborate dinners with cut up leaves, branches, rocks, and whatever else can be found.

The mini work bench with oversized screws and plastic hammer is replaced with the opportunity to use real tools (with supervision of course!). Helping to hammer down nails or working with a spade and fork to prepare and manage the garden.   

Without a playground or swing set nearby, we climb and swing from trees.

After four months without a toy filled room inside, we spend a lot of time outside. We know our neighbors and learn so much about the culture. We are all better for it.

To my pre-Papua stressed out mommy self worried about the opportunities my son would have to learn and grow: You are well intentioned, but stop it. Rocks and sticks are awesome. There's a whole world out there and you are beyond blessed to experience it without the weight and distraction of far too many toys.

Our usual playground

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Over at Velvet Ashes this week the theme is "Hindsight". Head on over and check out what others are saying!

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

One of my favorite stories of all time is Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. If you haven't read it, you really should! Recently I had my own very bad day, or rather, sequence of days. This post is written with thankfulness to Judith Viorst, the author of Alexander's bad day, who taught me many years ago that "some days are like that".

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The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

We lost power last night and there was a mosquito in my room and it buzzed in my ear all night and bit my forehead. When I got out of bed this morning even though the power was back on I still didn't see the puppy pee on the floor and stepped in it on the way to the bathroom. My clothes out on the line still weren't dry so I had to wear damp underwear and I could tell it was going to be what my friend Alexander calls a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast Ben ate weet-bix and Isaiah ate coco puffs and I picked the cornflakes and there were ants in my cornflakes. My powdered milk was lumpy even though I used a whisk.

I think I'll move home to Florida.

In the taxi on the way to language school Ben and Isaiah sat in the front and I smooshed in the back with the puppy, but the lady next to me didn't like dogs so I had to hold the puppy on my lap and his paws made my skirt muddy. I tried to be friendly and said good morning, but the lady didn't even answer back.

My friend Alexander is right, it is going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At language school I forgot to make coffee and don't remember anything from the first two hours except how my eyes stung from tired. In class I got my words mixed up and instead of saying, "I know." told the teacher, "I'm god." because tahu and tuhan sound the same and who can remember the difference with no coffee?

At breaktime I checked e-mail and saw a message from another missionary mom. I'd told her I was tired and it's hard to parent a three year old while going through language school and she said she was pregnant and homeschooling three kids when she was at language school. Yeah well that's nice for you, I thought. And I secretly hated her for being able to do what I can't even though Jesus says to love your enemies. I'm pretty sure Jesus wasn't talking about other missionary moms.

I think I'll move back to Florida.

After school we walked home in the rain without an umbrella because our umbrella is in our shipment and our shipment is still in customs. The puppy wouldn't walk in the puddles so I had to carry him home and I smelled like dog and had to have a shower even though all I really wanted was a nap.

For lunch I ate tofu and rice for the 186th time in a row. My fish was dry so I added hot sauce, but I added too much and it burned my mouth and made my eyes water.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

After lunch we called for an update on our drivers licenses and after months of waiting and promises that today would be the day we were told to try again tomorrow.

Yeah well by tomorrow I'll be in Florida.

For dinner I ate tofu and rice for the 187th time in a row and there were mushrooms in the chicken. I hate mushrooms.

And there were grammar drills for homework. I hate grammar drills.

The warm water ran out in my shower and I had to wash my hair in freezing cold well water and the power went off while I was drying off and I had to find my pajamas in the dark. I stubbed my toe in the dark. I hate the dark.

When I went to bed a mosquito buzzed in my ear and bit my forehead. I bet it was the same one.

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

But my friend Alexander's mom is right. Some days are just like that.

Even in Florida.

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Hey thanks for reading! Humor and a thankful heart keep me from packing my bags on those very bad days. What keeps you from packing yours? Or are you in the process of packing your bags to move? Those are stressful days! What helps you find peace and gain perspective?

Over at Velvet Ashes this week the discussion centers around the word prompt 'pack'. So head on over and see what others are saying.

Learning to live cross culturally is like...lipstick?

I love a good analogy. Remember when I wrote about the muddy red road, pencils, assassins,  teething pains, and lessons from my puppy? Analogies help me better understand truth and emotion, and when it comes to adjusting to living cross culturally my love for analogies increased a gazillion percent.

So when I read the invitation over at Velvet Ashes to link up and share thoughts, wisdom, stories and fears about how God prepared me/prepares us for serving overseas I had one thought, "Ooo! A perfect time for analogies!"

Almost there! Preparing to head to Papua.

With the phrase in mind, "Learning to live cross culturally is like _________." I opened up an online random word generator and with one quick click had five completely random words to fill in the blank. Lipstick, band, spaghetti, gate, and screwdriver.

I smiled and silently nodded my head. Yes, of course living cross culturally is like that...

Learning to live cross culturally is like wearing lipstick.

While I love the idea of wearing lipstick I hate actually wearing it. I hate how it's sticky, dries my lips, stains cups, and most of all I hate my husband's complete refusal to kiss me because he'd end up wearing it too.

Learning to live cross culturally is like lipstick because while I love the idea of being a well adjusted culturally able missionary, the process of becoming well adjusted kinda sucks. Sure, the result is pretty, but it's also uncomfortable. It's sticky, dries up emotional energy, leaves it's mark on everything around you, and even stifles relationships.  

Learning to live cross culturally is like being in a rock band.

Like a really good rock band, the kind where the musicians meld together and magic happens. The kind of band that produces music that decades later still stirs powerful emotions. It's beautiful.

Or...

It's like a really great band's breakup. The kind where the members' individual struggles, personalities, and opinions crush relationships and abruptly end an otherwise promising future. But we don't have to end this way. See screwdriver analogy. 

Learning to live cross culturally is like eating spaghetti.     

As a 19 year old I spent 8 months as a laborer on a construction site in Benin, West Africa, building a medical clinic. Three ladies cooked the work crew lunches each day.

One day, we brought spaghetti for them to prepare. I'll never forget the look on the rest of the work crew's faces as the stared at their plates of wiggly pasta. "It looks like worms!" one shouted and no amount of, "It's only pasta." would change their minds.

When you live cross culturally even something as 'normal' as spaghetti isn't normal any more. 

Learning to live cross culturally is like opening a gate.

Like opening hundreds of gates. Little by little, with every new word learned, relationship made, meal shared, story heard, prayers spoken, gates open and we connect. The 'locals' stop being locals and become neighbours, friends, and family. 

Learning to live cross culturally is like a owning screwdriver. 

Four months into learning how to live here in Papua, even though I don't feel prepared or even equipped for this task, I see clearly that God has given me the tools I need to not only survive, but to live well.

Those quirky parts of me, like the analogy loving part that I would have never thought had any connection to living a well adjusted life overseas, have absolutely everything to do with it. Seeing life through stories helps me to process, make sense of, and adjust to the world around me. Analogies are my screwdriver for life.

But what if I need a wrench or a hammer and all I have is a screwdriver? That's the most brilliant part of all. Those times when I don't have the proper tool for the job, someone else does.

As you prepare for living in a new culture, or to step into whatever challenge lies ahead of you, know this: You'll never really be prepared. And that's perfectly ok. You don't have to be.

"I pulled you in from all over the world,
    called you in from every dark corner of the earth,
Telling you, ‘You’re my servant, serving on my side.
    I’ve picked you. I haven’t dropped you.’
Don’t panic. I’m with you.
    There’s no need to fear for I’m your God.
I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you.
    I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you."

Isaiah 41:9-10 The Message

Grief in a New Culture

So many things are different here, even grief.

This past Wednesday Isaiah and I joined the Ibadah Keluarga, a bible study for families held weekly in homes. Ben usually joins as well, but this week he stayed behind to supervise repairs to our a/c unit.

Isaiah praying at the Children's Ibadah

Everything at Ibadah was much the same as it always is. Friends gathered, husbands, wives, children in tow, grandmas and grandpas, aunties and uncles. We crowded together in the livingroom and even spilled out onto the porch.

We sang, prayed, and listened as families shared about their week. So and so is graduating school, so and so has malaria, so and so is looking for work.

We've forged many friendships through attending Ibadahs. This week, like all the others, sitting close together, worshipping together, I couldn't feel more at home.

Children run in and out of the house. Someone stands in the open front door and shares scripture and what it means to them. We sing and pray again. Afterwards we shake hands, fill plates with Indonesian and Papuan food and sit down together to talk and laugh.

Time to go and I thank the family for opening their home. "Terima kasih, Bapa." I tell Bapa Alex, shaking his hand, and head home.

The next morning via text message we received word that Bapa Alex had a heart attack and died just a few hours after we left. An Ibadah Penguatan, a "Strengthening Devotion" would be held that evening at the family's home.

I didn't know Bapa Alex personally and this week was the first time I had been to his home. Still, his sudden death shakes me. This family was one of the first to start the GKII denomination church here in Sentani. We attend one of the church plants that grew out of this family's work in the town. He and his family are well known and loved by many in Sentani.

With Bapa Alex's passing, I realised I have no idea how to grieve in a new culture. The idea of a church service held in the home immediately after a death is very new to me. Friends have talked about how important specific number of days after the death are. The third day and the fortieth day being the most important, and how friends and family interact on those days.

Although the 'how' of grief may be different, the heart of grief remains the same. A beloved father and mentor is gone. He will be sorely missed by the community he loved and served. I am glad to have had the opportunity to shake his hand on this side of eternity.

Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. 2 Corinthians 5:8

This week at Velvet Ashes others are sharing their stories of grief as well.

Culture Shock: Top 10 Reasons I'm Losing My Mind

Three months into our first term in Papua and the roller coaster ride of emotions can leave me feeling like I'm about to lose the plot completely. The books and experts say I've got Culture Shock, that it's normal, rarely fatal (ha!), and usually takes a couple years to run its course. So while I wait and process my strange new life, why not write a Culture Shock Top 10?

Disclaimer: Whether rational or not, these are my real feelings. So if they seem selfish and betray a misguided sense of missions, well, yes. My rational mind agrees with you. Meanwhile my emotions are out swinging from the chandelier.

Here we go, Top 10 Reasons and the emotions that follow them...

1) My new town is a lot more developed than I expected.

You wouldn't think this was a bad thing, would you? But when I arrived and realised there is a mall with a large grocery store right in the middle of town, I felt a sense of shame. Shame because 'real missionaries' (whatever the heck that is) aren't supposed to serve in developed places.

2) There are a LOT of missionaries here. Like, hundreds.

"Reaching the Unreached" that's our agency's slogan. And working with the world's least served communities is what our hearts beat for. So when I realised just how many other missionaries are here I felt a sense of disappointment. Disappointment that the front line is so crowded.

3) No matter how big I smile, a lot of people don't want to sit next to me in the taxi.

And sometimes, they won't even get in the taxi if they see us. It's weird and like so many other things, I don't understand it. I'm frustrated by it.

4) I came to minister to their needs, but I'm pretty helpless so they minister to mine.

Friends drive across town to pick me up and take me places. They help me with language and cheer me on even when I mess up. They send me encouraging texts nearly every day with Indonesian proverbs like: No tough sailors emerge from a calm sea. Similarly no tough and true leader emerged from a situation without problems. Local friends minister to me and I feel so encouraged. 

5) Dog and cats aren't neutered. 

Perhaps this seems strange to add to the list, but with the heavy emphasis back in the US on spaying and neutering, this really was a surprise. Dogs and cats are generally considered outside animals and allowed to roam the neighborhood. All these animals walking the streets 'intact' leaves me with a sense of fear. 

6) Papua is a cultural melting pot with many people coming from all over Indonesia.

The diversity of tribes here is astonishing. The majority of the people living in our town are migrants. It actually feels a bit like living in Florida where nearly everyone is born somewhere else. With everything new around me, this feels a bit like being home.

7)  I hate studying the language with my husband.

This sounds harsh, but it's true and important so makes the list. Although we've enjoyed working together in the past, studying together is immensely frustrating. We learn differently and progress at difference speeds. I hate studying with my husband and I feel like a bad wife.

8) I can't cope with as much as I thought I would be able to.

I've prepared for living cross culturally for years, but I still can't cope with as much as I thought I would be able to. And when I'm frustrated by something little that my brain tells me is ok but my emotions are freaking out over, I feel stupid.

9) I can cope with much more than I thought I would be able to.

Sometimes the opportunity for melting down is so big and obvious. Like the power being out on a 100+ degree day and Ben trying to take a nap and Isaiah is having a tantrum and the kids from next door are all peaking in the windows to see what the screaming is about and the puppy pees on the rug and then bites my feet. Yet somehow I manage to retain control and it all just rolls off my back and I feel brave.

10) My local friends have very important things to say. And their advice is good.

My friends don't just encourage, they advise me. And their advice is good. Even with all of my training, reading, researching, and talking with other expats, I wasn't fully prepared for living cross culturally. Although I try to keep an open mind, I still have a western mindset. So when my local friends give advice on things like how to live as a Christian in a culturally and religiously diverse community in a majority Muslim country, I take their advice seriously. They are excellent teachers and I am a willing student. And their wisdom leaves me so grateful to be here.

And there you have it. Feeling shame, disappointment, frustration, encouragement, fear, at home, like a bad wife, stupid, brave, and oh so grateful to be here. Culture Shock in a nutshell. The same books that diagnose me say talking about it and feeling understood is a big part of the cure. So thanks for listening. How do I feel now? Relieved. And that feels pretty darn good!

This week at Velvet Ashes others are sharing their personal Top 10 Lists, so head on over and check it out!

Teething Pains

"So how's it going? You guys transitioning well?" A friendly expat I'd just been introduced to asked me.

"Well, we are angry and tired a lot of the time. I've started swearing. We don't understand most of what goes on around us and have to relearn even the most basic things. But the people are really nice and the food is good too."

She probably would have understood because she has been right where we are now, but it's still not really appropriate 'nice to meet you' conversation. So instead I gave the code words for oh man this is hard, "Pretty good. But, you know, we've got teething pains."

Teething pains. A tight smile and knowing nod. She understood the message loud and clear. "You guys will get there, don't worry." and the conversation moves on to kids and school and normal mom stuff.

It's a hard slog and the joy of making progress is all tangled up in pull your hair out frustration. But the thing is, it's frustrating for reasons I never would have expected.

Like envy.

When we were in Wamena and I stood in our future home thinking about how Ben would be out flying and saving lives, and that I would be at home with no specific role or glorious task, envy overwhelmed me and it wasn't nice at all.

What about me? Nice for Ben, he gets all the glory. It doesn't matter whether I'm here.

And here in Sentani, while Ben battles to put together four word sentences and make friendships, which come much easier for me, envy rears it's ugly head.

What about me? Nice for Anisha, this is easier for her. It doesn't matter how hard I try.

Envy. I hate it.

For the last decade, we have worked and supported each other so that we would one day achieve the goal of living and serving in a developing country together.

Envy has no place in together. So we link hearts and arms and kick envy in the teeth. We admit our struggles and frustrations and give preference to each other.

We stick together and conquer envy with love. And man, does it feel good. 

 

 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8a

Check out Velvet Ashes this week's topic is Marriage.