Musings Beyond Marriage #2: Desiree

I have a friend. Her name is Desiree. She's 51. She lives in my neighborhood. But, as of April 30, she's homeless. I don't see her often--only when I drive past her on the road. She doesn't have a phone or a house, so planned meetings aren't really possible. She walks about 3-5 miles a day to get where she needs to go. She's half African American, half white. She has a daughter who's 19 and a grandson who's 3. She's been in prison before for drugs. She doesn't have a car. She doesn't have her license--it was taken away for driving without insurance. When she did have an apartment, she couldn't use electricity because she didn't have the money to pay the bill.

How did I meet Desiree? Obedience.


A few months ago I was driving home from church after we heard a sermon on evangelism. As I drove through my neighborhood, I started thinking of all the things I needed to do that day--what I was going to have for lunch, what homework needed to get done, when I was going to clean the kitchen--when I saw her. She had a purple jacket and a scarf wrapped around her head, and she was pushing a cart with a couple TVs and a baseball bat in it. I sensed the Holy Spirit urge me to stop and talk with her, but I was afraid. And, I didn't want to disrupt my plans for the day. So, I drove on. I got to the intersection of my street, and I knew I had to go back. So, I turned around, and she looked right at me. Our eyes locked, and I smiled. I put the car in park and rolled down my window, wondering if I'd just made a mistake, "Can I talk with you for a second?" "Yeah," she replied. So, I pulled over and got out. "How are you?" "You know, I'm makin' it." "Yeah? Well, I was just wondering if I could pray for you for anything?" "You can as a matter of fact."

She proceeded to tell me that she was being evicted from her apartment the next day because she couldn't pay the rent. She was in the process of moving all of her belongings by cart to her daughter's apartment a couple miles away. I prayed for her, and I spent the next hour helping her move her stuff in my car. She said over and over that day, "Are you an angel? You just appeared out of nowhere--poof! Are you sure you're not an angel?"

I'm not an angel, of course. But, what a blessing it was to be a vessel of God's blessing in Desiree's life that day. And, to think, I almost drove on. God knows what we need. He knows what's best. As I have learned to walk in obedience and submission to Don; I have learned a little more what it looks to walk in obedience and submission to God. Each day, he has good works planned out for us (Ephesians 2:10), but too often we're too busy to listen. When we feel that nudge, we don't need to fear--His ways are always higher than our ways. We are not just called to obedience when we understand the rationale behind the request. When Jesus called the disciples it says, "...at once, they left their nets and followed him." They had no idea what he was calling them to or even why he was calling. (If they did, they probably never would have followed.) But, they were obedient.

Sometimes we can fear that it is not the voice of God but our own voice calling us to action, but if the nudge we feel is in line with the Scriptures calling us "to act justly and to love mercy" (Micah 6:8), we can be confident in our obedience. And, the confidence grows each time we obey, and we see the fruit that God blesses us with. The goal of the Christian life is "to walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:31). We will probably start out in obedience in fits and spurts "soaring on wings like eagles" but crashing to the ground with fatigue from going it alone, running hard but growing weary, but He's promised that those who hope in the Lord will be strengthened to walk and not faint. Apart from Him we can do nothing, but He's promised to remain in those who remain in Him (John 15:5). And, He's promised that those who are faithful with little will be given much and will share in their Master's happiness (Matthew 25:21).

Her name is Desiree. That means "desire" in French. Psalm 34:1 says, "Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart." I'm so thankful that God keeps his promises.  As I learn to delight in Him, He continues to give me the "desires" of my heart. I love Desiree. She is my friend.

Musings Beyond Marriage #1: Professors

All of these revelations about submission and respect have had a huge impact on my life--even in spheres beyond the husband/wife relationship. 1 Peter 2 says that we should submit ourselves to EVERY human authority--every single one. That means parents, professors, teachers, pastors, husbands, the government.

Although every one of these authorities needs to be submitted to, the one that has impacted me most (beyond husbands) in my current stage of life has been professors. I get the feeling that we've lost respect for teachers in American society. A lot of parents side with their children in most matters these days. And, our individualist culture says that we shouldn't listen to what the teacher says unless we're convinced he or she knows more than we do. However, the Scriptures say nothing about respect being earned by those in authority. They simply command us to give respect. In other words, it seems that respect is not earned, it is simply given. It's not about what the authority does, it's about what the subordinate does. 

Yikes! When God revealed these things to my heart, I was immediately convicted. My mind raced to a hundred different scenarios even in the last year when I've sat around with my peers looking over homework assignments frustrated at the "harsh" grading. We've commiserated, complaining that it was "so unfair" that the professors were being so "nit-picky" by taking off so many points for such a "tiny error". And, I thought of all of the times when I was overwhelmed with the activities and assignments that I chose not to do assigned readings for certain classes.

My heart had been filled with pride. I refused to submit myself to the authority that God had placed over me. My professors have their PhDs. They have spent 30 years working in Bible translation. They've translated New Testaments and written dozens of academic papers. They know what I need to know, but even if they didn't, I am called to be obedient. And I'm called to be obedient without complaining or arguing.  

So, I'm learning. I'm learning that I must "show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, and honor the emperor." (1 Peter 2:17) "For it is God's will that by doing good, [we] should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people." (1 Peter 2:15) May we be empowered to go and do likewise.

Musings on Marriage

Of all the books I've read over the last few months, the one that impacted me the most by far was The Excellent Wife. Martha Peace takes a much more "conservative" stance on the role of women today than I was used to. But, something about her spirit and her heart in the style of relating she described was so beautiful, so humble, so strong, and so feminine.

She believes that it is the wife's chief responsibility to make her husband's life easier. Wives should wake up every morning and ask their husbands, "What can I do to help you accomplish your goals today?" And, a wife is to be obedient to her husband in all things unless he is asking her to sin.

Now, I know what you're probably thinking, "Whoa! Are we rewinding the tapes of time to set ourselves back in the 1950s with June Cleaver?! What about women's lib? We have been freed from that kind of tyranny!" As I've discussed these ideas with people, I've come to see that they really aren't accepted in today's culture. But, as I've discussed these ideas with God and his Word, something about them is so appealing.

I should interject here that never in a million years (prior to now) would I have EVER said that this submission sounded appealing. In fact when Don asked my dad for my hand in marriage my dad told him, "She's a very independent little girl who needs a lot of attention." And, it was true! I wanted to be the center of everyone's world, and I wanted to conquer the world--BY MYSELF! But, somehow I'm realizing just how selfish, insecure, weak, and un-Christlike my attitude was.

I think that Jesus gave us human relationships to give us glimpses into his character and into how we relate to him and his kingdom. And, the relationship between a husband and wife is one of the clearest pictures that we have of the relationship between Christ and the Church. The Church seeks to have Christ's mission as its mission. The Church should wake up every morning and ask the Lord, "What can I do to help you accomplish your goals today?" Should we not do the same as wives to our husbands?

1 Peter 2 and 3 talks about submitting to every human authority even those who are harsh because that's the example that Christ set for us even as he was being crucified. And Philippians 2 says that though Christ was equal to God he didn't not consider equality with God something to be held onto, but he submitted himself unto death. Jesus was God. He knew what God knew and did what God did, but when he came to earth he gave that up. Jesus says throughout the Gospels that he only knows what his Father tells him and he only does what his Father tells him to do. Should we as wives not follow his example? Though we are equal to our husbands, we choose joyfully to submit to their authority "out of reverence for Christ" as it says in Ephesians.

I grew up hearing that men were supposed to lead, but I didn't grow up hearing that women were supposed to submit. But, these two things are not mutually exclusive. No authority can lead if his followers aren't willing to submit. His requests will never be carried out. And, anytime that he makes a mistake, he will be chastised by the people who were supposed to be in his corner, on his side, cheering him on. This disrespect breeds paralysis for the leader. Today's American culture is filled with books on leadership and seminars and conferences on how to be the best leader out there. But, what about followers? We NEED followers--faithful followers. Proverbs talks many times about how faithful servants are the delight of kings. Our leaders and our husbands will be left crippled if we don't learn how to faithfully follow.

So, what's the number one reason we don't follow? FEAR. We do not trust that God knows what is best for us. We do not trust that our husbands know what is best for us. We think that we must protect ourselves because no one else will. But, even in biblical times, God knew this would be the case. 1 Peter 3:6 says that we will be like Sarah (Abraham's wife) if we submit ourselves to our husbands and "do not give way to fear." It's a scary thing, no doubt. But, God has given us many protections as his daughters. We have the right and the responsibility to *biblically* (following Matthew 18) reprove our husbands when we feel they are not acting in line with the Scriptures. And, we are certainly free to express our opinion if it differs from our husbands, but we should express it one time so as not to become the dreaded nagging wife of Proverbs. And, as long as he's not asking us to sin, we should follow him in obedience even if he chooses something different than we would have.

God knew that when any two people would come together there would be a power struggle. In fact, he promised it to Adam and Eve when they sinned in the garden. He told Eve that "her desire would be for her husband, but he would rule over her." There's debate on what that means, but I definitely see in my flesh a desire to be in charge, but I see in my spirit a desire to follow my husband. God knew this struggle would be there, so he laid out in Scripture who submits: children obey your parents, slaves obey your masters, lay people obey the government, wives obey your husbands. There is such freedom in this! It doesn't mean we aren't equal. It means that Scripture has told us which one of us decides to submit. It gives us this incredible freedom from a million little arguments that we would have had because no one had the ultimate say. So many of those trivial matters are solved before they even arise. And now, we are free to truly live as Philippians 2 says, "without complaining and arguing," and we will "shine like stars in the universe."

I think for me, the most beautiful and most surprising part of all of this was beauty of the spirit of a woman. The way she approaches her husband is so powerful. It's so gentle but it's filled with bridled strength. Often times we think of the women who fight for their rights and refuse to submit to anyone as the strong ones, but I'm beginning to see that submission requires great strength. It's a death to yourself for the sake of someone else. It is losing your life so that you will find it. Submission brings great freedom and great joy. It's not losing the battle--it's winning the war. Satan is vanquished over and over when we submit to our husbands. May we be given the strength and grace to be obedient. And, in our obedience may our beauty come not from outward adornment but from that of our inner selves, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight (1 Peter 2:3-4).

An Update

A 3-month blog hiatus. Not bad--considering I've gone on whole year hiatuses before. :)

Spring term started on February 9, and my last post was on February 11. That should tell you something: graduate school is all-consuming--especially when our classes are only 8 weeks long. That's some expedient paper writing, project completing, and test studying right there. From February to March, I took Discourse Analysis and Semantics and Pragmatics. And I am currently taking Cross-Cultural Teaching Seminar, Advanced Grammatical Analysis, and Theory and Practice of Translation. Whew! All good things though and extremely relevant to Bible translation.

In all that spare time I've had, though, God's been teaching me some pretty incredible life lessons as well. As most of you know, I'm getting married on December 29, 2012! Woohoo! But, since Don is currently in Papua New Guinea doing linguistic research until July, I've had to go about preparing for marriage in ways other than just talking to him. A few months ago, I did some searching online for some marriage books, and after reading some reviews, I picked up a copy of For Women Only by Shaunti Feldhahn, Love and War by John and Stasi Eldredge, and The Excellent Wife by Martha Peace. And, I picked up a copy of that little book full of wisdom I like to call Proverbs. 


I'd like to take a blog or two to record some of the little tidbits God's revealed to me over these last few months. That way, when the going gets tough in marriage, the tough will just get going back to her blog and remind herself of how she's supposed to be acting. ;) Enjoy!

Hartford is a Home

I wrote this essay last year after returning from a summer working as an intern for a day camp with Hartford City Mission. I thought it would provide a nice break from the PNG and 2011 blogs. :)

Connecticut is the wealthiest state in the nation.  Hartford—it’s capital—is one of the top five poorest cities in the nation.  The demographics of the North End of Hartford: 85% African American, 15% West Indian.  One in every three of the city’s residents lives below the poverty line.  In the North End, two of every five.  The murder rate in Hartford is five times the national average. 

“City Limits – Hartford, Connecticut.”  The skyline looks normal.  Just an  average city.  Main Street—looking for Main Street.  Ugh…where is it?  Main Street.  M…M…Mo…Monroe.  Darn it.  Not it.  M…Main!  The car quickly veers to the right as we head up what obviously used to be the main thoroughfare in Hartford.  “Welcome to the North End Neighborhood,” the sign reads.  “Jamaican Bakery.” “Caribbean Furniture.”  These aren’t exactly chain stores. It’s okay.  Just one of those little differences.  Albany.  Albany Avenue.  Oh, here it is.  “Whoa! Mom!  Slow down!”  The car screeches to a halt.  My mom cautiously drives down Albany Avenue or as those in the North End like to call it, “The Ave.”.  I think we are the only white people in this entire neighborhood. Another convenience store.  How many is that—8?  A liquor store. A Jamaican bakery. A giant white church sits on the corner of the intersection.  Vine Street—there it is.  We take a right at the intersection, pausing for pedestrians to make their way across the street.  Not so bad.  Lots of trees, houses.  Less commercialized.  I can do this.  This is my street.  I could live here.  Nerves are calming.  I swallow deeply as I continue to scan the streets for my future home.  Okay.  Look for Edgewood.  Vine and Edgewood.  And...I flip through papers and printed out emails looking for the address.  280.  280 Vine Street. 

The car slowed.   I mentally debated on the parking choice.  Vine Street it was.  I stared up at the big, red house that stood proudly in front of me.  Deep breath in.  Men on the porch next door.  Just talking.  Innocent enough.  “Mom, will you get my pants from the trunk?”  I slipped on the pair of pants over my shorts.  You can never be too careful in a place like this. I slowly, cautiously, opened my door.  Observe your surroundings.  Always.  I looked down Edgewood.  It seemed quiet.  Nothing extraordinary happening on an overcast day in June.  Just people on porches.  As a walked up the sidewalk, I looked up again at the big, red house. Hartford City Mission. This was my home—but just for the summer.  I can do anything for a summer.  I walked up the steps of the front porch, one by one.  I rang the door bell.  The door opened.  I stepped inside. 

Camp Noah was in full swing.  Two weeks down.  Six to go.  My Groovy Green group was absolute chaos every day, but what group of six six-year-olds isn’t chaotic?  I finally started to get their names down.  Rekaya—adorable, quiet.  A cuddler.  She sucks her thumb.  Bladder problem—let her go if she asks.  Nicolas—super smart, talks all the time, independent, always hungry.  Gets mad if he doesn’t get a Hershey kiss during the Spotlight Game.  Sharoy—little red glasses make his eyes bigger.  Looks at you over the top of his glasses with his lazy eye.  So smart.   Lisp.  Perfectionist.  Bawls if he gets a question wrong.  Anthony—quiet, silent leader, always a good listener, nervous personality.  He stutters if he has to talk in front of the group.  Chauncey—tough, raspy voice, really strong, wants to be obedient.  Group drill sergeant. Preferred method of getting others in the group to obey: shouting.  Marvin—joyful, loving, stronger than he realizes.  He’s a 100 lb. six year-old.  Likes to embellish the truth about everything.  Raekwon— Loving, kind, gentle.  Gives me hugs at the beginning of every day.  Disobeys to get attention at times.  Gave me a beaded necklace that he made during craft station last week.  He’s not one of my Groovy Greeners.  Eleven years old, in fact.  He’s with the Ragin’ Red. 

Another tiring week of camp—coming to an end.  I park my car on the street in front of the big, red house. Gathering my things, I glance across the street to the apartment building where drug activity persists.  He walks in.  The door shuts.  I stand in the yard watching, pretending to fiddle with my things.  The second-hand ticks: one-o-two, one-o-three, one-.  There he goes.  A mom sits on the front porch step watching dozens of children play in the yard.  One boy plays alone, only a stick in hand.  He bangs each rung of the wrought-iron fence as he paces back and forth.  “Hi, Miss Kelsey,” he calls from across the street.  “Hi, Raekwon. How are you?” “Good.” He says as his voice trails off into the distance.  I walk up the white front porch steps.  It can’t possibly be true.  Or could it?  Could he be that hardened to the world and to his emotions?  It has only been one month since it happened.  I fumble through my purse looking for the keys, open the door, and walk inside.

                                    

One week ago—he gave me a hug and asked how my weekend was.  I told him what I did Friday blabbering on about trivial things: movies, friends, beaches, and birthdays. Then, he cut me off.  “I went to a funeral Friday.” Well, that’s not what I expected. “Uh oh.  Well, that’s not good.  For who?” “My dad.” I swallow hard trying to wrap my mind around what he has just said.  “Your dad!? Raekwon, I’m so sorry.  What happened?” “He got shot.”  Shot!? How could he be so matter of fact? “I was in the newspaper.  I’ll hafta bring it on Monday.” “You mean, you were in his obituary?” “Yeah, they spelled my name wrong though—with a q-u.  I’ll bring you the little book thing from his funeral on Monday too—if my mom lets me.” There’s no truth in it at all for him.  There can’t be—he’s gotta survive in this place.  

I slowly carry my things up the stairs.  How is he really? My mind wanders.

It’s the shootings that make the news. 

The drug busts.  

Only crime and criminals,

but Hartford is a home. 

It’s not just a story to Raekwon. His father’s murder is the truth.  He knows the truth.

 It’s me.  The problem is me.  I only know stories.  

They are all just stories.  News segments. 

Not people.

 Not fathers. 

Not sons. 

Just statistics.  Dangerous ones.  Ones that make Hartford a home—“but just for the summer.”

I put my things down on the table and turn on the TV, looking for some relaxation and relief from such a long week.  The television blares, “In other news, another man was murdered in Hartford last night on the corner of Garden and Capen streets…” 

But, Hartford is a home.

PNG Realization #2: I'm no conversationalist

I've always prided myself on my ability to step into social situations with new people and facilitate fairly normal, low-awkwardness-level conversations. Well, as is usually the case, God has a funny way of humbling us, doesn't He?

Before ever arriving in PNG, Martha had told me that my two goals for the trip were 1) To survive and 2) To learn some Tok Pisin. So, naturally, I had made it my mission to spend time talking with nationals on my trip out to the bush so that I would learn some Tok Pisin. However, this mission proved to be a bit more impossible than I had first thought.

The PMV that we took from town to the river.

On the very first day, I made it my goal to talk to the two young girls who had come along on the trip from town to the village to watch over me. But, I sat, and I sat, and I sat thinking of a question to ask them. You see, in America, we like to make small talk with strangers (especially children and teens) by asking questions like "How old are you?", "What grade are you in?", "What's your favorite subject in school?", "What are your hobbies?" But, almost none of these questions are relevant in the PNG context. I felt completely lost as to how to even begin a conversation. I had nothing in common with them. They didn't really keep track of dates and ages like we do; most of them have never even been to school (if they have, it was only grades 1 and 2), and they spend their days cooking, getting firewood, washing dishes and clothes. So, you know what I did? I went to bed. I couldn't do it. I felt so confused and lost in this culture that was so radically different from mine. I had no point with which to relate to them, so I didn't.

Even though I failed on my first day, after a few days in the village, I realized that Papua New Guineans don't really do conversation the way we do it at all. They don't ask questions. After all, direct questions are horribly intrusive. Instead, they make statements. And, if the other speaker wants to elaborate on the statement, they can. If not, they won't. It's kinda nice, but it also kinda feels weird.

For example, when I came back to the village with this pile of firewood on my head, the villagers looked at me and started a conversation with me like this, "Kelsey, yu go lo bus na kisim paiawut, nau yu kam bek," or in English, "Kelsey, you went to the jungle and got firewood, and now you came back." It kinda makes you feel like, "Ummm...yeah? That's what I did. And...why are you telling me what I already know?" Or, as Lynn Landweer, a sociolinguistic surveyor and professor of mine who served in PNG for about 20 years, put it, it makes you feel like "they are the champions of all that is obvious."

But, this new way of conversation ended up being one of the most entertaining and easy parts of my language learning. I always had something to say! I could tell someone exactly what they had done, and it was a perfect way to practice my Tok Pisin in a totally acceptable and predictable way! And, though I had begun as a horribly confused conversationalist, by the end of my time, I could state the completely obvious with the best of them.

Hey Readers, I just wrote this blog, and now, you are reading it.

See?

PNG Realization: I'm no Martha Stewart

Among the many things I learned during my time in Papua New Guinea, one of the most salient realizations was that I am no Martha Stewart when it comes to the kitchen.

When I arrived in the village with PBT missionaries Martha and Lindy, I was expecting it to be very "bush", or primitive in other words. As it turned out, Martha did have a bush house, but it was more westernized than I had expected. She had a refrigerator, a freezer, a stove, an oven, and running water! How fantastic! There was going to be less of a learning curve to this bush living than I thought. Little did I know that even with these modern conveniences, I would soon reveal just how inadequate my cooking skills were.

During my week's stay in Martha's house, she and Lindy gave me various cooking tasks: making coleslaw and soup, baking cookies, brownies, and mock apple pie. And, just about every one of them turned out to be a disaster. For now, I'll focus only on two disasters for the sake of my own self-esteem.

Let's start with the coleslaw. The day before we left her house, Martha told me to use the extra cabbage and carrots in the refrigerator to make some coleslaw for dinner. So, I said, "That's fine as long you can show me how to chop the cabbage." (Luckily, I had just seen Lindy peel and grate the carrots earlier in the week for a salad. Whew! I'd never in my life bought regular carrots. I've always bought those cute, baby ones in the plastic bag. At least after watching her, I didn't have to embarrass myself by asking her to show me how to cut those too!) Even still, Martha looked at me over her glasses in utter disbelief and disappointment, "You've never made coleslaw before?" "No? We just buy ours at KFC..."

And, that was the end of that task. Don did the job instead. Ouch. Just what you always wanted as a fiance--having your significant other do the cooking tasks because he can do them better. Don't worry, Don. I'll learn someday, and I'll make you a good wife! ;)

And how about that mock apple pie? Well, Martha gave me the crust recipe and the pie filling recipe, and I got busy cutting up the green papaya. I made up the dough and having watched Don roll out a pie crust just a few days before (after Lindy had given him some pointers like putting wax paper over the dough to roll it), I got started. I rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled...and the wax paper got wrinkled and ripped. So I got new paper, and I rolled and rolled and rolled. And, the paper kept walking all over the table. And, every time I put up the dough to the pan, it was still to small. But, it was paper thin! You could literally see through it! What the heck!? So, I asked Don, "Did you have this much trouble when you rolled the dough the other day?" And, he said, "Well, I mean, it did take a while." So, I rolled and rolled some more. After about an hour of rolling, I gave up and just put it in there and got started on the top layer of the pie. The same story. When all was said and done, the pie was in the pan but it was about a half an inch from the rim and a half an inch from the side of pan. Oops! It turns out that I hadn't read the title of the recipe which said, "Single pie crust". Well, actually, I had read it, but I didn't know that "single" meant that you should double it if you were putting a top on the pie. Oops. Martha's response to my blunder? "Well, it'll eat. I guess I just didn't realize how hard this lifestyle was for your generation."

Ouch. And, the worst part about it? She's absolutely right. We have so many conveniences in the States like store-bought pie crust, pre-cut cabbage and carrots, and pre-made cole slaw. I have to admit, it's nice for life here; it makes cooking so much faster. But, those little conveniences aren't available in Papua New Guinea. So, you know what? There's no denying it. I'm no Martha Stewart in the kitchen, but I'll learn, and in the meantime, it'll eat.