It was evening on one of those absolutely beautiful days when I just needed to be outside. Needed to soak up the last rays on sunlight as they slanted strong and glimmering into our backyard. Hank and I started a garden at our little rent house because, certainly we want fresh veggies knowing we helped produce them, but also because being outside reminds us to simply breathe.
Tilling the soil and getting rich, brown dirt under my fingernails reminds me where I came from. Not in a dust to dust sort of way, but back to my roots (pun intended!). Back to that house on the hill in the Texas Hill Country where my Opa came and taught us how to plant a garden when I was a youngster. Back to the sight of his work and time worn hands digging deep with a chunk of potatoes, eyes growing out everywhere, to show us the magic in planting.
Opa was a home builder but a farmer first and he never forgot the magic of the harvest, how it teaches you to wait, toiling with the hope that one day you will put the most delicious tomatoes off the vine and feed it to all your family with some left over. It was just another way he loved and lived, planting seeds and waiting eversopatiently as they sprouted and bore fruit.
He sowed seeds in his family too. Wisdom seeds given as he wrote commonsense truths on the little notepad in his pocket. Sharing how he had observed and learned and communicating it with the wisdom of the sage that we was. He was a farmer, a teacher, a good man in the truest sense of the phrase. His word was always good and he was known to give generously with a near loathing for any praise or thanks. He worked hard, quietly, with no complaining.
His blood flows in my veins and so it is not surprise that I find the truest peace just walking outside and staring at the trees and how they stand out stark against the early morning sky, or the beauty of a water tower when the soft light of dusk hits it at the right angle. Or the way that I get giddy watching seedlings grow and mature in the little garden we have.
Oh it is good to have such roots.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Heartbroken
I didn't know my heart could break for people I have never met. This past week I have been reading a book by one of the leaders of the Tianenmen Square movement that preceded the Tianenman Massacre in June of 1989. I was two when this happened and I honestly don't remember it at all.
What I do remember is standing in that square in June of last year, staring in awe at the massive monument to Chairman Mao, the beautiful statue to the people, the expansive space filled with hundreds of gawking Chinese tourists who had likely spent their life's savings to come to the famed capital city.
I remember knowing somewhere in the back of my head that something absolutely terrible had happened in that place. You know there is a spiritual dimension to the physical. I think that a space can have a spiritual feeling and the feeling in that square was somewhat oppressive.
While one of my friends there was a history major, we all knew that one could not speak of the Massacre in public. In fact, it was best not to speak of it at all. To do so would be to jeopardize our status in China and the status of those who brought us.
Now, as I read Chai Ling's "A Heart For Freedom," my heart breaks for the pain, the oppression, the anguish that I conveniently ignored.
And while I am saddened to hear the details of the Massacre and how easily it could have been prevented, I am devastated because I know that the policies, culture and hierarchy that caused the massacre are still in existence. My heart breaks because there is still oppression but it exists below the surface, known but not acknowledged by the common people.
Because while hundreds and perhaps thousands died on one day in June, every 2.5 seconds a baby is aborted in China. Every day a massacre happens under the guise of three politically correct words: One Child Policy.
I know students whose parents had abortions because they simply couldn't afford the outrageous fines given them by the government if they were to keep the child. I know students who grew up feeling worthless and unloved because they weren't born with a penis.
I know students whose parent are still paying the consequences for keeping their second and third child. In China, not only do the parents incur fines, but they are refused the allowance given for raising a child. One-child homes recieve a stipend to help cover the (outrageous) costs of education, food, clothing needed to raise their little emperor or empress.
I know girls who are still slaving away in college so that they can prove their worth to parents who wish they had been boys.
The devastating truth is this: the one child policy has become so interwoven in chinese culture and so normalized in the Chinese mind that many women do not realize they are being forced to have an abortion. As Chai Ling says, the power of shame, family and government pressure is enough to force a women to give up the life of her child.
In China, couples must have a birth permit to have a baby. This birth permit can not be attained by a single woman. Instead, when a young college student finds that they are pregnant (and birth control is not taught in China, so pregnancy is hardly avoided) they must get an abortion. There is no option.
If they keep the baby they lose their chances of graduating and consign themselves to the life of a low-class laborer. This means they lose all chances for a good job with which they can bare the unweildy burden of supporting both parents in their old age, and they consign themselves to a life of shame and poverty. Not only this, but the child they bear will have little chance of succeeding in the world. They will be poor, possibly denied an ID card and thus not allowed to attend school, ride trains, be treated at the public hospital or participate in society as a whole.
My heart aches for the faces that I carry around in my heart. I see these beautiful faces of the women in my class and haunted eyes peer back at me in my mind. You see, only 14% of women in China will NOT have an abortion. 40% will have two or more. That means that nearly all of my precious girls will experience this pain. Worse, they will be forced to bear the burden alone and silent. You see, these things aren't really talked about AT ALL.
It is a huge loss of honor to admit you had an abortion. In a culture where honor is everything, silence reigns and women are forced to deal with the pain following abortion. Their culture tells them this is normal, that this is the right thing to do if they are good citizens, that this is what they must do if they love their families. No one talks about the baby or the pain the mother will experience.
No one talks about the 500 women who die of suicide daily in China. (?)
So here I am and I am not quite sure how to proceed. I honestly want to board a plane and go hug all those precious students and whisper into their ears this truth: Jesus Loves them and He alone can heal their hearts and set them free. This is the heart cry of Chai Ling, who came to faith after moving to America. The cry is not simply, "God will forgive," but "God Loves and Heals."
It is his kindness and mercy that draws us in, not his justice. His justice was satisfied on a cross where my sins were nailed right along with the government officials who ordered the massacre and the women who still bear the grief of unborn life.
What I do remember is standing in that square in June of last year, staring in awe at the massive monument to Chairman Mao, the beautiful statue to the people, the expansive space filled with hundreds of gawking Chinese tourists who had likely spent their life's savings to come to the famed capital city.
I remember knowing somewhere in the back of my head that something absolutely terrible had happened in that place. You know there is a spiritual dimension to the physical. I think that a space can have a spiritual feeling and the feeling in that square was somewhat oppressive.
While one of my friends there was a history major, we all knew that one could not speak of the Massacre in public. In fact, it was best not to speak of it at all. To do so would be to jeopardize our status in China and the status of those who brought us.
Now, as I read Chai Ling's "A Heart For Freedom," my heart breaks for the pain, the oppression, the anguish that I conveniently ignored.
And while I am saddened to hear the details of the Massacre and how easily it could have been prevented, I am devastated because I know that the policies, culture and hierarchy that caused the massacre are still in existence. My heart breaks because there is still oppression but it exists below the surface, known but not acknowledged by the common people.
Because while hundreds and perhaps thousands died on one day in June, every 2.5 seconds a baby is aborted in China. Every day a massacre happens under the guise of three politically correct words: One Child Policy.
I know students whose parents had abortions because they simply couldn't afford the outrageous fines given them by the government if they were to keep the child. I know students who grew up feeling worthless and unloved because they weren't born with a penis.
I know students whose parent are still paying the consequences for keeping their second and third child. In China, not only do the parents incur fines, but they are refused the allowance given for raising a child. One-child homes recieve a stipend to help cover the (outrageous) costs of education, food, clothing needed to raise their little emperor or empress.
I know girls who are still slaving away in college so that they can prove their worth to parents who wish they had been boys.
The devastating truth is this: the one child policy has become so interwoven in chinese culture and so normalized in the Chinese mind that many women do not realize they are being forced to have an abortion. As Chai Ling says, the power of shame, family and government pressure is enough to force a women to give up the life of her child.
In China, couples must have a birth permit to have a baby. This birth permit can not be attained by a single woman. Instead, when a young college student finds that they are pregnant (and birth control is not taught in China, so pregnancy is hardly avoided) they must get an abortion. There is no option.
If they keep the baby they lose their chances of graduating and consign themselves to the life of a low-class laborer. This means they lose all chances for a good job with which they can bare the unweildy burden of supporting both parents in their old age, and they consign themselves to a life of shame and poverty. Not only this, but the child they bear will have little chance of succeeding in the world. They will be poor, possibly denied an ID card and thus not allowed to attend school, ride trains, be treated at the public hospital or participate in society as a whole.
My heart aches for the faces that I carry around in my heart. I see these beautiful faces of the women in my class and haunted eyes peer back at me in my mind. You see, only 14% of women in China will NOT have an abortion. 40% will have two or more. That means that nearly all of my precious girls will experience this pain. Worse, they will be forced to bear the burden alone and silent. You see, these things aren't really talked about AT ALL.
It is a huge loss of honor to admit you had an abortion. In a culture where honor is everything, silence reigns and women are forced to deal with the pain following abortion. Their culture tells them this is normal, that this is the right thing to do if they are good citizens, that this is what they must do if they love their families. No one talks about the baby or the pain the mother will experience.
No one talks about the 500 women who die of suicide daily in China. (?)
So here I am and I am not quite sure how to proceed. I honestly want to board a plane and go hug all those precious students and whisper into their ears this truth: Jesus Loves them and He alone can heal their hearts and set them free. This is the heart cry of Chai Ling, who came to faith after moving to America. The cry is not simply, "God will forgive," but "God Loves and Heals."
It is his kindness and mercy that draws us in, not his justice. His justice was satisfied on a cross where my sins were nailed right along with the government officials who ordered the massacre and the women who still bear the grief of unborn life.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Providence
Yesterday morning I got in my car around 8:24 prepared to rush off to work. Twenty minutes earlier, while trying to make my lunch, I spilled nearly the whole bowl of quinoa and black bean salad I had made the night before. My nerves were tense and I had already run inside a few times to grab various items I had forgotten. With little thought, I plunged my key into the ignition with all the force of my anxious impatience and cranked the engine. It turned and then nothing happened.
Just like that I was car-less, anxious and in a hurry. Can you spell d.i.s.a.s.t.e.r.? Hank and I hurriedly moved my stuff to his car and off I went. On the way to work my mind was moving almost as fast as my tires. I was stressing out about how much it would cost and whether I would be late to work when I just sort of stopped and realized how futile and silly my train of thought was.
First of all, I had so much to be thankful for. The car could have stopped working the day before or the day after when Hank had to use his car for work. As it was, he was working from home Friday and didn't need it. Second, we have been taking a Dave Ramsey course at a local church and just got our $1000 emergency fund finished. We know where the money will come from to fix my car. I finally know what financial peace feels like. God is good and his timing is not lost on me.
Thirdly, Hank and I are taking Monday off to go to the local stockshow and rodea and were going to work today (Sat) to make up for it. Fortunately, I was able to call my boss last night and he was able to go to work with his vehicle while I basked in the beginning of a needed three day weekend.
Hank flew to Brenam this morning and I am slightly jealous of the hamburger he had for lunch. We have been doing a cleanse this week and cutting out certain (MOST) foods in order to get our bodies in check. It has been good and I find I am enjoying the benefits of eating uber healthy, but MAN, Sometimes I just need chocolate! More on the Cleanse later.
Peace.
Just like that I was car-less, anxious and in a hurry. Can you spell d.i.s.a.s.t.e.r.? Hank and I hurriedly moved my stuff to his car and off I went. On the way to work my mind was moving almost as fast as my tires. I was stressing out about how much it would cost and whether I would be late to work when I just sort of stopped and realized how futile and silly my train of thought was.
First of all, I had so much to be thankful for. The car could have stopped working the day before or the day after when Hank had to use his car for work. As it was, he was working from home Friday and didn't need it. Second, we have been taking a Dave Ramsey course at a local church and just got our $1000 emergency fund finished. We know where the money will come from to fix my car. I finally know what financial peace feels like. God is good and his timing is not lost on me.
Thirdly, Hank and I are taking Monday off to go to the local stockshow and rodea and were going to work today (Sat) to make up for it. Fortunately, I was able to call my boss last night and he was able to go to work with his vehicle while I basked in the beginning of a needed three day weekend.
Hank flew to Brenam this morning and I am slightly jealous of the hamburger he had for lunch. We have been doing a cleanse this week and cutting out certain (MOST) foods in order to get our bodies in check. It has been good and I find I am enjoying the benefits of eating uber healthy, but MAN, Sometimes I just need chocolate! More on the Cleanse later.
Peace.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Plowing on Patient
Ever been in a place where you desperately want to know the answers to the future? It sort of helps me understand ouiji boards and future tellers a bit more. If I didn't know that it was all in God's hands and in his timing, I might be tempted to consult one of those mediums.
As it is, I have taken up pleading prayers that I might have discernment for the days ahead. It is scary when those dearly held dreams don't seem to be working out so dreamily in real life.
I am feeling the need to let go of the well thought out plans I had for my life and just trust that Papa knows my desires, my dreams, my skills as well as my weaknesses, the things I can't stand and would loathe doing.
He knows it all and more. He has made me lots of promises and He never breaks them. He has promised this one familiar one, that he has GOOD plans for me. He has plans to prosper this marriage, this girl, this home, our ministry, my job.
Several years back I read a book by Elizabeth Elliott. I highly recommend her books (especially Passion and Purity for teens). She talked about how the Lord called her to put her hands to the plow and not turn back. To focus on His will and His call no matter what obstacles got in the way.
You probably know that she had a few obstacles. In fact, she had some that would absolutely knock me flat and make me seriously consider crawling, no running all the way back to my comfort zone. Her husband was killed by indians she later went to share the Gospel with. Dang. That is a real woman.
Lately I am hearing that gentle refrain. To keep going. To not turn back. I don't plow these fields of life alone. Jesus walks with me and honestly, he pushes the plow most of the time. When I let him.
So while I wait to find out exactly what will happen with my job and dreams, I am going to keep plowing in the ways I know to. I will seek to worship even if it is just in the car on my way to work. And I will seek His face- even if it is just a few minutes before rushing off. Because He keeps me going down the long rows of furrows and fallow.
And he knows what I need each step of the way.
As it is, I have taken up pleading prayers that I might have discernment for the days ahead. It is scary when those dearly held dreams don't seem to be working out so dreamily in real life.
I am feeling the need to let go of the well thought out plans I had for my life and just trust that Papa knows my desires, my dreams, my skills as well as my weaknesses, the things I can't stand and would loathe doing.
He knows it all and more. He has made me lots of promises and He never breaks them. He has promised this one familiar one, that he has GOOD plans for me. He has plans to prosper this marriage, this girl, this home, our ministry, my job.
Several years back I read a book by Elizabeth Elliott. I highly recommend her books (especially Passion and Purity for teens). She talked about how the Lord called her to put her hands to the plow and not turn back. To focus on His will and His call no matter what obstacles got in the way.
You probably know that she had a few obstacles. In fact, she had some that would absolutely knock me flat and make me seriously consider crawling, no running all the way back to my comfort zone. Her husband was killed by indians she later went to share the Gospel with. Dang. That is a real woman.
Lately I am hearing that gentle refrain. To keep going. To not turn back. I don't plow these fields of life alone. Jesus walks with me and honestly, he pushes the plow most of the time. When I let him.
So while I wait to find out exactly what will happen with my job and dreams, I am going to keep plowing in the ways I know to. I will seek to worship even if it is just in the car on my way to work. And I will seek His face- even if it is just a few minutes before rushing off. Because He keeps me going down the long rows of furrows and fallow.
And he knows what I need each step of the way.
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