my ebenezer

O God, how can I possibly recount all that has passed
for we have been to the depths of darkness
beaten down and striped bare
knocked off our feet and lost without hope

I never thought I could come to that place
never thought I would ever question Your love
But there I was, alone and afraid
isolated and angry, not wanting to call upon Your name

I came here with hopes and dreams
with a plan of my own to accomplish the task
But you took it all away from me
You called out my idols and my spirit you made low

You frustrated the vision and asked too much of me
shining light where I did not want to see
You exposed my sin that I had hidden so well
even my righteousness could not fix

Vulnerable and weak, I was in a new place
consumed with fears of failure and uncertainty
The more I strived, the more I lost
and your grace I soon despised

I cried out to you
"How long, O Lord?  How long will you keep me here?"
But silence was my only friend
and it threw me deeper into darkness still

No plan of mine could rescue me, no easy fix would come
So I fed my flesh and called it quits
your calling I no longer cared
my sacrifices too big to bear

What was once a unified vision with the love of my life
had suddenly become our deepest pain
Toil and strife consumed our marriage
and we were at war for days on end

Quickly lies crept into my heart
"He should have married someone stronger.
He should have married someone better."
And I became bitter for marrying such a determined man

We destroyed one another with our cutting words
and acted in ways that left deep wounds
We stood toe to toe in opposition
allowing division to take root within our souls

I remember it like yesterday
the pain is still so raw
I was holding William as I crumbled to the floor
"Where are you, God? We need you now. Our family is falling apart."

And in my desperate, painful cry to You
I wonder if that was more beautiful than all the other times I have praised Your name
if my misery was actually Your melody
if my ashes were really your treasure

Could my darkest hours have been your most treasured moments?
Could this time of hurt been your way of healing?
You saw me lose my way, yet did not condemn my faithlessness
In your gentle patience You waited

Your silence led me to a deeper place of You
With my filth exposed, You could wash me clean
Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more
The uglier my days, the more beautiful your redemption

Yet in our fallen world, the tension still remains
but when all we have is brokenness to offer you
it keeps us at the cross
and we find purpose in the pain

So praise be to the One who rises with healing in his wings
and who finds beauty in our messes
Praise be to the One who is bigger than our sin
and who pours out grace upon grace forevermore

Amen.

i never wanted to have kids overseas. part 2.

Week 37! We're full term now, baby!

Well, since I left you all depressed after my last post, I thought it was only fair to do a little follow-up blog on how things have been since then.  (Sorry, by the way.  Often, in my attempts to be honest and real, I can come across as quite the emotional Debbie Downer.  I assure you that I still can laugh, smile & even have a little fun.  Really, I can.)  

So I thought I'd just answer some popular questions I've gotten as of lately.  But before I do, I just need to say a big THANK YOU to all those who have encouraged me, prayed for me, hugged me, supported me, checked-in with me, and just BLESSED me throughout this pregnancy journey.  I have felt supported by friends and family near and far and for that, I am so thankful.  Your kindness and love have not gone unnoticed.  So, thank you.

Okay, on to the questions.  Enjoy!

So, um... how are you doing... (like emotionally)?    

People who had read my last blog post seemed to ask this question with much trepidation grace and gentleness...  :)

But fear not!  I am doing sooooo much better.  Praise God.  I think the combination of adjusting back to life in Thailand, missing home, facing so many unknowns here and feeling unprepared to have a baby all felt like a little too much to handle.  However.  Since then, Steven and I have taken our birthing classes (there's an American nurse here who offers classes to foreigners... she's a GOD SEND!), attended a breast-feeding class, gone on our hospital tour, *mostly* set up the nursery, created a birth plan, packed our hospital bags and read as many books on labor and parenting as we could get our hands on.  (To which at this point I need to give a shout out to my amazing husband.  The poor guy probably knows more about natural labor, breast-feeding and sleeping philosophies than the majority of expectant mothers out there.  He's been a huge support--never complaining, always patient and constantly serving.  Bless his heart.)  So, to cut to the chase, this type-A-soon-to-be-mommy is feeling much, much better.  Much more prepared.  Much more calm.  And much more confident that this all a part of His good and perfect plan for us.  

How are you feeling (physically)?

I feel HUGE.  Although Stevo reassures me that I'm not and he's convinced that I won't have this baby until early December!  (My due date is supposed to be November 20th!)  Other than feeling big, I am thankful that I am healthy and still able to get around fairly easily.  I don't think William has "dropped" yet, so it's still hard to breathe sometimes.  He just loves to kick and punch my diaphragm, especially in the morning when I'm trying to be a good student and concentrate in Thai class.  :)  Just recently, Steven's been able to put his ear to my belly and feel/hear William's heart beat.  That's my favorite part of the day.  I just love seeing my two boys bond already.

Are you craving anything?

You know, I had this theory throughout my entire pregnancy that cravings were a joke.  I kind of just thought pregnant women used it as an excuse to eat whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.  But now I think I've changed my mind.  Cuz lately...? I've been really loving me some chocolate.  And the weird thing is, I'm not craving GOOD chocolate.  I'm craving tootsie rolls and these "kind-of-nasty-fake-chocolate-ice-shakes" that they make at the markets here (think Nesquik).  Plus, the other night I found myself making an double batch of chocolate chip cookie dough at 9 pm just so I could eat a warm cookie with ice cream on top.  Steven laughed at me.  But I just felt bad for being so judgmental of my fellow craving-moms-to-be.

What are you most looking forward to?

We are just so excited to see William's face and hold him!  With him moving around so much these days, we're getting anxious to have him with us.  The other day Steven randomly turned to me and said, "William is going to be half you, half me. Do you know how crazy that is?"  To a first time parent, it's just really hard to imagine what this new life is going to be like.  What will his personality be? Will he have Steven's nose? (I hope so!)  Will he look completely Asian?  Will he be the perfect baby that I'm imagining in my head? :)  We have lots of exciting, fun questions that we can't wait to have answered.

What are you most scared about?

Speaking of what William will look like...

... this is kind of seriously what I'm most scared about.  Way before I was pregnant and even thinking about having kids, I thought it would be funny to go to one of those websites that allows you to "see what your kid is going to look like".  It seemed to be a good idea.  Upload a pic of Steven.  Upload a pic of me.  Blend em together and what do you get?!?! Well... what we got was the scary picture you see above.  First of all, we can't tell if it's a boy or a girl.  Second of all, "it" looks mexican.  And not to mention, the website was supposed to give you a picture of a BABY.  Not an 11 year old going through its awkward junior high years...

So needless to say, I have had some gen.u.ine fears that our lil William could look like that.  Not that looks are everything, but seriously... yikes.

What's different about having your baby in Thailand vs. the States?

Hmmm.... lots.

1) Because of the Buddhist culture, most women have scheduled C-Sections.  (They want their babies born on certain "lucky" days.)  So having a natural birth (they also just outlawed epidurals last year...) is pretty uncommon.  Thankfully, we have a really great doctor who has lots of experience working with foreign women and has performed thousands of natural deliveries.

2) It's a lot cheaper!  My "labor and delivery package", which includes a 3 day/2 night stay in the hospital, will only cost us around $750!  Not a bad deal, huh?

3) However... baby things are much more expensive here.  They don't use cribs.  Or car seats.  Or strollers, really.  So all of those things cost a lot since they are imported.  To give you an idea, a plain stroller in the States may cost you around $200 bucks, but in Thailand they're around $1,000.  So even though you come out ahead on your hospital bill, I suppose it all evens out once you start having to buy things for your baby.

4) In the States they tell you not to eat raw fish when you're pregnant.  In Thailand they tell you to stay away from chocolate.  How convenient... see craving question above.  Our house helper told me to stop eating so much chocolate or else my baby will come out with black skin.  (They think dark skin is rather ugly... they try to keep their skin as fare as possible.)  Now, I'm not sure if they actually believe this to be true, but there's been a lot of different "should and shouldn'ts" that I've been told since being pregnant.

5) After I give birth, I have been encouraged to stand over a rice cooker filled with herbs to re-shrink my uterus.  Enough said.

And last but not least... ARE YOU READY?

I'm never really sure how to answer that question.  Yes, we're ready.  But no, we're not ready at all!  One thing that I've really been pondering lately is that this is the last month Steven and I will just be "Steven and I".  It's an end of an era.  With only having each other to really lean on since moving to Thailand, I feel it even deeper.  I have truly grown to love and cherish our one-on-one time together.  We have really good conversations about everything and anything--we know each other inside and out.  Our lives are slower here and our quality time is rich.  We do everything together--grocery shop, read, go to school, study, eat, etc... the past 18 months have really just been the two of us. And I've loved it. It's a little sad knowing our special time together is quickly coming to an end, but we're also looking forward to having a little guy around here to entertain us, keep us busy and fill our days.  Either way, time is moving us forward and we're full of joy, hope and great expectations.

i never wanted to have kids overseas.

Wow.  A 3 month hiatus from the blogging world... where has the time gone?

Well, let's see...

If I remember correctly, July was (for lack of a better word...) crazy.  Between the less than ideal trip to Vietnam and our "Lauren had to come back early from the village due to many emotional and physical breakdowns", by the end of the month I somehow found myself sitting in a counselor's office asking her if I was, in fact, CRAZY.  And while I'm sure there were lots of good blogs to be written within that period of time (i.e. feeling like a failure, questioning our calling, wondering where God was in the midst of all of it...just to name a few), there just wasn't enough time or sensible perspective to write anything worthwhile.  Or maybe I was just too embarrassed.  Probably both.

And then there was August.  Dear, sweet, refreshing, exhausting (in the best way possible) August.  Our month at home in America where I spent every waking moment with the people I had missed so much over the past 18 months.  Picnics, family vacations, engagements, baby showers, coffee dates.  Pure bliss.  Surely there was no time to be alone with my thoughts when there was my niece and nephew to play with and mother/daughter lunch dates to go on!

And now I find myself at the end of September.  A busy month of adjusting back to life in Thailand, starting up language study again, moving forward with business ideas and preparing for baby William.  This month, too, has been a whirlwind.  Yet something tells me life won't be  s l o w i n g down anytime soon.  If anything, I think it's about to get a whole lot crazier over here...

(aka: Baby William will soon be joining this crazy life of ours)

We're so excited about the arrival of our baby boy.  Really, we are.  When I lay in bed at night and Steven cradles my belly waiting for William's kicks, I can't help but let out a deep contented sigh.  When I hear Steven praying for our boy and see him preparing to be a dad, there's a deep sense of joy and excitement within me.  When we daydream together about what William's going to look like or who he's going to act like, my heart flutters with anticipation and pride.  And as time quickly passes, we get more and more excited to meet our lil babe.

But, I'd be lying if I just left it at that.

Because the truth is, I never wanted to have kids overseas.  

And the fact that that's the reality we're facing is sometimes completely overwhelming.

A lot of people have asked me how I really feel about having our first child away from "home".  You know... away from family, friends, and all things familiar.  Most of the time I can muster up a "It'll be an adventure!" or a "I think it'll be okay..." type of answer.  But in the raw and honest moments, the moments where I find myself curled up crying on Steven's shoulder or sitting still before the Lord as the sun comes up, I hear myself saying...

I can't do this.
I don't want to do this.
Lord, please don't make me do this.

I suppose entering into motherhood is a scary thing for all moms.  There's so many unknowns, so many questions, so many doubts.  What will labor be like?  Will I be able to keep this baby alive once he's born?  Will I be a good mother?  How sanctifying will this journey really be?  I'm sure every mom questions their ability to adjust to such a major life change, but the thing that keeps me up at night is this nagging sense of loneliness.

Let me explain.

When I go in for a check-up and I can't understand what the nurses are telling me, when we wait in the doctor's office for 3 hours while everyone else seems to get helped before us, when they tell me that epidurals are now outlawed and it's either natural childbirth or a c-section, when I see cockroaches running across the hospital floor...  I start to feel panicky and alone.  My heart races, doubts settle in, and my longing for home becomes paralyzing.

When I think about how clueless Steven and I are about raising a child, when I see our lack of deep community here, when I don't know who to call for answers about immunizations/breastfeeding/circumcision/life with a newborn, when the best friend I've made in Thailand tells me she's moving at the end of October... I feel so incredibly isolated.  I hate to admit it, but my once extroverted self succumbs to defeat and I quickly lose my desire to be with people.

When I think about William's future and long for him to grow up like Steven did (to see the farm, to explore, to build...), when I see how close (physically & emotionally) my niece and nephew are to my mom and dad and so badly wanting the same for my kids, when I think back to that tearful and painful goodbye with my parents at the airport knowing they wouldn't meet their grandson until he is 6 months old... I become utterly heartbroken.  This is too hard.  I didn't sign up for this.  This is exactly why I never wanted to have kids overseas.

To some of you, I'm sure my thoughts and emotions seem rather dramatic.  (And I assure you, they are.)  Don't you just want to shake me and say, "Cmon, Lauren! It's not so bad, suck it up and move on!"?  Trust me, I've tried saying those things to myself a lot these days.  But the thing is, my feelings of panic, isolation and heartache are still very real.  And still very tender.

For some reason, they still remain.

So much of me hates admitting that.  So much of me wants to write about how I've overcome the anxious thoughts and have moved on to greener pastures.  So much of me thinks God is disappointed in my poor attitude and lack of trust.  But as I was praying and thinking about it a couple of days ago, I think God has me exactly where He wants me.  Never before in my life have I had to work out my faith  like this.  And I don't mean it in the same way that people use "walking by faith".  For me, walking by faith was moving to Thailand and trusting that God had gone before us to prepare the way. Working out my faith looks like a daily, gut-wrenching, tug-of-war where I don't feel like believing in His goodness but choose to anyway.  It's when I feel like calling it quits, but choose to stay.  When I feel like giving in to my selfish desires, but choosing to believe God's way really is better.

And mostly, it's when I don't feel God, but choose to believe that He's still right by my side, caring for my heart and all my needs.

Yes, I think this place, although many times awful and overwhelming, is right where God wants me.  I think He delights in seeing me work this out with Him every day.  Most days I fail and don't choose truth, but there are also tender moments of victory where I see myself slowly growing. I think He enjoys the dialogue and the new humility is has brought upon me.  And I can't help but think He is anxiously awaiting to show Himself faithful on my behalf and love me in ways I can't even imagine.

So, here I am Lord.  An awful mess learning whether or not her faith is real.  A girl who is feeling very alone and scared, yet is choosing to say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

For my daddy.

My dad has nice feet.

He also has nice skin.

And hair.

Next time you're around him, check em out.  It's all true.  :)

If you know the Ishikawa clan well, you'll know that it's been a running joke that these are some of my dad's best qualities.  But don't worry dad, this isn't a blog about your feet, skin and hair...(phew!), but rather some insights I've gained over the years of deeper characteristics and qualities about you that I profoundly appreciate.  It's a reflection, on this Father's Day, of how my daddy's love has established and developed me as a person, woman and child of God.

When I was little, I remember coming home from shopping trips with my mom and having my dad ask me to model my new things for him.  I would rush up to my room, put on my new dress and walk confidently back down the stairs.  I would turn the corner, do a little twirl and then watch my dad's face light up with joy and pride.  He would always gasp and say something like, "Oh... aren't you just the prettiest little princess!"  He never asked how much anything cost nor questioned why I needed yet another dress.  He just made me feel beautiful and cherished.
Daddy, thanks for always delighting in me.

Growing up, I did lots of girly activities.  Cheerleading, dancing, singing, gymnastics, arts-n-crafts, etc...basically anything that didn't involve a ball.  Now for a dad, I'm pretty sure those kinds of activities are not the most amusing or entertaining to watch.  Yet, my dad was always present.  Whether it was at a 5 hour long gymnastics meet or an annoyingly loud cheerleading competition, my dad was just as excited to watch me do my thing as he was to coach my brother's baseball team.  (Now, I realize that may not have been how he actually felt, but he made me feel that way!)
Daddy, thanks for being dependable and so dedicated to our family.

Throughout my school years, my dad spoke confidence into my life.  He would tell me how smart I was and reassure me that I could do anything that I put my mind to.  In college, if I ever felt overwhelmed or scared about a big test, I would cling to my dad's words and remind myself that "My dad thinks I can do this... so it must be true."  Knowing that my dad had full confidence in me, subconsciously propelled me to challenge myself and go after big goals.  When it came to boys, he would tell me on a daily basis that I deserved only the best and to never settle for anything less.  I attribute a lot me marrying Steven, one of the best and most upright men I know, to my dad's life-long encouragement and tangible example of how a girl should be loved and pursued.  I took my dad's advice.  I didn't settle.  As a teenager and young adult, I realize now how foundational and life-giving my dad's words were.
Daddy, your assurance and affirmation have allowed me to soar confidently.

My whole life, my dad had shown such concern over my health and safety.  He never put me in dangerous situations, was always thinking ahead, and made it his #1 priority to protect me and my mom.  I remember talking to him on the phone while driving home from work one night. He asked me where I would be parking (again, always thinking ahead...), and I told him I would park in a nearby lot.  Knowing that I would have to walk through a dark alley, he told me that he'd rather I park on the street in front of my apartment.  Quite annoyed and thinking I could take care of myself (I was 22, for goodness sakes!), I told him that I couldn't because I would get a parking ticket.  "It's not that big of a deal, dad."  But without hesitation, he told me to park there anyways and that he would pay the parking fine.  "Better to be safe than sorry, Lauren."
Daddy, even though we poke fun of your desire for "safety and security", your protection really does make me feel like I'm a  prized possession.

To this day, I still do not really know what my dad does for his job.  It is often embarrassing when people ask me what he does for a living and I can't fully answer them.  Something with banking?  Trading...?  Eh...  (Which by the way, I'm still not entirely convinced that he doesn't just work for the CIA or something...)  Anyway, I never remember my dad talking about work.  He had this amazing ability to leave work at work and be fully present when he was at home.  And even though I never really knew what he did from 9-5, I still know that I got my strong work ethic from my dad.  I got my attention to detail from him.  And I got my "If you're gonna do a job, do it right" mentality from watching and observing how he lived his life.
Daddy, you are a  provider and a standard of excellence to me.

I am not sure all dad's realize this, but how a father relates and nurtures his daughter has lasting effects on her soul.  I grew up knowing that my daddy delighted in me.  That he was dependable and trustworthy.  I looked to him when I needed assurance and took refuge in his protection.  He always provided, always displayed high integrity and unconditionally loved.  I have heard, "You are the love of my life!" from him more times than I can count.  And it is through all these special stories and characteristics of my dad that I have developed a deep sense of myself and understanding of God.

You see, I know and understand my Heavenly Father's love because my daddy loved me.

This past year more than ever, I have seen how my confidence in the Lord has stemmed from the confidence and love I received from my dad.  My view of God has been directly impacted by him--for it is easy to trust and follow my Heavenly Father because I have had such a good earthly one.
God delights in me.
God is always with me, always for me.
God provides.
God speaks love over me and finds me precious in His sight.
God is good.
God loves me with an unconditional love.

I know all these things to be true.  But I also know there are people who do struggle to believe these truths--sadly because they didn't grow up with a dad like mine.  I do not take this for granted.  And the more I grow up (and even begin to start my own family), the more blessed I feel.

So thanks, Daddy.  For loving me the way God loves me.  For showing and displaying so many of the same fatherly characteristics of God.  And for giving me so much more than just your nice feet, skin and hair.  I love you.

8 reasons you should never become a missionary.

Since being in Thailand, a couple of my friends have suggested that I check out this fellow missionary's blog.  I was told that this woman, Laura Parker, writes honestly and openly about the good, the bad, and the ugly of a life overseas all while adding a little humor and perspective into the mix.  Plus, she just so happens to also be in Thailand, so our points of connection were even deeper.

But with all the craziness of our own story being played out, I didn't have the time (or the emotional energy) to sit down and read about someone else's--especially someone I didn't even know.  But as Steven was building his own radio last night (something that doesn't interest me in the least bit, but something I find oh so attractive in my hubby... love you babe!), I decided to give this Laura Parker a shot.

And woa.  I think I spent 2 hours reading blog after blog after blog--losing myself in what, often times, felt like my own thoughts and emotions.  It was weird really cool to feel this sense of being so understood by a complete stranger.  Has that ever happened to anyone else out there?!?!

So here's one of her blogs, 8 Reasons You Should Never Become a Missionary, that really hit home.  As I read it out loud to Steven, we found ourselves nodding and laughing in agreement as it was painfully, yet perfectly true in so many ways.  I was going to try and come up with my own "8 reasons", but I think she hit them right on the head.  No sense in reinventing the wheel!  Instead, I just added a couple of my own thoughts/"amen, sisters" at the end of each of her points.  Enjoy :)

1.  Don't Become a Missionary if You Think You Are Going to Change the World.  First, high expectations doom to disappoint, but, also, maybe your desire to change the world is trumping your desire to serve.  Ask yourself if you would be happy moving overseas to a much harsher environment in order to quietly help a local, while getting no recognition and seeing no fruit in the process.  If you can answer honestly yes, then maybe you're still in the running.  (Don't worry, we thought we would've answered yes, but found out that we really had some unhealthy savior-complexes to begin with.)

*Definitely guilty of this one.  And definitely have been humbled by this one.  I hate to break it to you myself, but I haven't changed much of the world in the last 15 months.  For a girl who likes to see results, this has been frustrating.  Yet, I'm often reminded (and relieved) that God's the only one who can do this job.

2.  Don't Become a Missionary to Make Yourself Better.  My first mission trip was as a middle-schooler to Jamaica.  I'm not really sure how much good we actually did, but I do remember one of the missionaries we worked with.  His name was Craig, and he had some of the biggest glasses I'd ever seen.  And the dude talked to everyone about Jesus.  Everyone--the pot smoking Rastafarian in the line, the tourist at the store, the check-out guy at the food stand.  And I remember turning one time to another missionary who worked with him and asked what made him so "good" at evangelizing.  The older missionary said, "Craig? Oh, he didn't come to Jamaica to become like that.  He was already like that in the States."  And to think Craig with the big glasses dispels the lie that if you move overseas, then you will magically become a superhero Christian.  Um, false.  What you are there, you'll be here.  And while it's true that the change of environment can spark growth, it doesn't mean you'll go from luke-warm average Christian to Mark-Driscoll-Cool-On-Fire-Mother-Theresa just because you suddenly find yourself on another continent.  Pretty sure it doesn't work that way.

*Amen, sister!  (Although, I again, fall into the guilty category on this one...)  Crossing an ocean and gaining the title "missionary" doesn't do some magical trick that turns you into a better version of yourself.  Now I'm pretty convinced that just takes years of walking closely with the Lord.

3.  Don't Become a Missionary if You Think You Have the Answers and the Nationals Don't.  Westerners have clunky shoes.  This is just true.  We are loud and obnoxious and, good Lord, arrogant.  Our DNA has us descending on other cultures and dictating ways they can "fix" themselves, while throwing money at their problems.  I think I've learned that every good missionary LISTENS, first.  And listens, a lot.  (Don't worry, I suck at this still.)

*Suspend judgment, suspend judgment, suspend judgment.  Much like you think you are going to save the world, you also falsely believe you have all the answers.  Why don't they just do it like this?  Why do they act like that?  If only they knew better... Yikes.  What I've learned is that people do what makes sense to them.  And even if it doesn't make sense to you, that doesn't mean they're wrong.
*And another "amen, sister!" to not throwing money at their problems.  I have wanted to do that so many times with Pawn.  I love her so much and I just want to help her, and for some reason my wealthy-American mind always defaults to "give her more money!".  More money isn't going to solve Pawn's problems.  And we've actually seen a lot of Thai people who have gained more problems from having missionaries throw money at them (always with good intentions, of course).  Being generous, yet not using money as a crutch or bandaid to address real problems is an ongoing balancing act.  Lord, give us wisdom!

4.  Don't Become a Missionary if You Can't Hack Transition.  We've been overseas now for less than two years, and we have moved houses three times, taken two major trips, and have gotten close to and then had to say goodbye to over 15 good family friends.  People come and go on the mission field.  Terms are up and governments change the visa laws.  You find a deal on a house or the house you are in has rats.  When you sign up for missions, like it or not, realize it or not, you are signing up for a transient lifestyle.

*I am not what you would call a "flexible" person.  I like to make plans (really detailed, good ones, at that!) and I like to stick to them.  I also have no patience.  Like zilch.  And while we're at it, I'll also throw in that I don't like change.  Sometimes I wonder why I signed up for something that clearly does not utilize my strengths... sigh.  The whole "when I am weak, You are strong" thing has really been something I've had to lean on more than ever this year.  Biggest lesson of all?  Things are beyond my control.  And I'm just beginning to find peace in that.

5.  Don't Become a Missionary if You Think You Are Really Pretty Great, Spiritually-Speaking.  There's nothing like moving to a foreign country to reveal all the crap that's in your heart.  Seriously.  I have cussed more, cried more, been more angry, had less faith, been more cynical, and, generally speaking, have become in many ways a worser person during my last two years of serving in Asia.  Call it culture-shock if you will, but I tend to think the stress of an overseas move thrusts the junk that was conveniently covered up before out into the blazing hot open.

*Let's just say that we currently have a hole in our bedroom door from the time I got mad at Steven and decided to display my anger by kicking in the door.  Ugly, what-is-wrong-with-me, did-I-just-do-that?, Lauren exposed.  Enough said.

6.  Don't Become a Missionary if You Think Living on Support is Cake.  It might look easy, but it is most definitely not--this monthly process of holding your breath and praying that you get a full paycheck, while knowing that even that paycheck is based on the kindness of your parents or your friends or the lady you know who hardly has two pennies to rub together anyway.  And then, when you do have a little money, you stress about how you should spend it.  Should I treat myself to a coffee?  Do the kids really need to go to the pool today?  Should I buy the more reliable scooter or the used one that will (probably?) be just fine?  And then, and then, shudder, there's that awkward process of asking for it in the first place and feeling like you are annoying the heck out of the same people, who happen to be the only people you know--like that pushy lady selling Tupperware down the street.  The whole thing might be great for your faith, but it can sure be a killer on your... heart, finances, sense of self-worth, savings, relationships, budget, fun and freedom.

*This may be the only one that I don't necessarily agree with 100%.  Steven and I have AMAZING supporters and we do not worry about being fully-funded every month (although I realize that is not the case for everyone).  And furthermore, Steven and I actually really enjoyed our support raising experience (besides the fact that we were crazy busy/tired and I gained about 10 pounds from eating so many meals with so many people...).  I mean, when else would you get the opportunity to connect one-on-one with so many people you love?  It forces you to get your priorities straight and spend some good quality time with some great people.  However, I would be lying if I said there weren't times that I have hated living on support.  I think it's something about feeling like all these eyes are on you--just watching and judging how you spend your their God's money.  I am pretty sure that this is all self-induced, but I have wasted many nights being stressed over things like "Is our house too nice?"  "Should I buy this cheese?"  "What will we write in our newsletter this month since we are still learning language?".  I never thought I struggled with being a people pleaser... until I lived on support.  Yet another exposed sin.. woohoo!  Isn't this fun? :)

7.  Don't Become a Missionary if You Aren't Willing to Change.  Flexibility is more important than I ever thought it would be in an overseas life.  So is humility, actually.  Unfortunately, neither of these qualities is naturally at the top of my Character IQ.  However, I have learned that the more determined you are to stick to your original plan--regarding ministry or living situation or friendships or organizations or personal growth--the more painful it is when that plan changes, and change it most definitely will.  It's the ones who humbly hold things loosely that I think can go the distance with far less collateral damage.

*Please see #4.

8.  Don't Become a Missionary to Find Cool Friends.  Now, I'm not saying you won't find amazing friends--maybe the best in your life--but there is no denying that the mission field can draw some pretty odd ducks.  (Of which, I, of course, am not one.  See #7 regarding my natural humility.)  Don't be surprised, though, if you find yourself in a church service with ladies wearing clothes from the 80's singing praise songs from your middle-school years like Awesome God, but without even the drums.  Don't be surprised, too, if your social interactions are awkward at best with many of your fellow mission-souls.  Living out in the jungles for twenty years might do wonders for your character and strength and important things, like, oh, the translation of the Bible into another language, but it can sure do a number on one's personal ability to shoot the breeze in a church lobby somewhere.  But, there, again, maybe there's a necessary shifting that has to happen to your definition of cool, anyway.

*Okay, Steven and I laughed out loud pretty hard at this one.  Not to say that we think we're cool, but this is just one of those things that I think you have to experience to fully appreciate.  We've had plenty of funny interactions with people that are just downright weird.  BUT, we have also met so many fascinating people with mind-blowing life stories that leave us in awe.  It all evens out, I guess.

*As a side note:  Steven and I were discussing #8 tonight and he thinks that the mission field can turn normal people into slightly odd people.  So, I give my friends and family full permission to call us out if we start becoming weirder than we already are.

a slippery slope.

Sometimes my view of God is way too small.  I don't know if other people feel this way, but it is often hard for me to really wrap my mind around how BIG God really is.

Yet when I stop and think about it, I know and believe these truths deep within my heart...

He holds the world in His hands.
By His spoken word, the heavens were created.
The winds and rain obey His voice.
Nothing in this universe happens outside of Him.
He knows all things, sees all things, ordains all things.
He is the beginning and end, the Alpha and Omega.
He has power over sin and death--nothing is too big or impossible for Him.
He is the Sovereign, Glorious, Powerful One in which we live and move and have our being.

My God is BIG.  Dare I say, almost too big.  His enormity sometimes leads me to His incomprehensibility.  It's like I can't imagine all that God is because it is so beyond myself.  So instead, I reduce Him to fit into a box that I can understand.  Something I am more comfortable with.  Something that looks more like mankind instead of someone completely set apart, completely holy, completely powerful, completely complete.

This is a dangerous slippery slope.

Because really, how you view God affects everything.  The way you live, think, plan and dream.  And the scary thing is, your view of God can change without you ever noticing.

Throughout this whole language learning process, I have continued to be challenged. It's an up and down roller coaster that feels like it may never end.  One moment I'll have a successful and easy conversation with a neighbor and think, "This can be done!".  The next I'm fumbling over my words, my mind completely blank and unable to produce anything coherent.  It's not a pretty sight.  But through it all, I was convinced I had held on to my BIG view of God.  I was constantly praying for God to show up in big ways.  For Him to supernaturally allow us to learn Thai well and quickly.  Steven and I were always reminding each other that God had all the power in the world to allow us to learn Thai and that we were fully expecting Him to show up.  I was even ready to give Him all the glory.

But somewhere in the midst of the highs and lows, my thoughts began to shift ever so slightly.  While I still believed God was big enough to bless me with the ability to learn Thai, I started believing that He now needed me to learn Thai.  As my relationships with Thai people grew, so did my desire to see them know Jesus.  But instead of keeping God on His throne and trusting that He could work, it became all about me.  I was beginning to have a schizophrenic view of God--thinking He was big enough to help me learn Thai, but somehow not big enough to save Thai people.  ("Saving Thai people" was something I would have to do.)  You see, I still needed God, but now God also needed me.

I have to learn Thai so my neighbors can know about Jesus.
I need to figure out a better way to explain the Gospel so Pawn really "gets it".
I need to speak Thai because God needs my help.

You can imagine the self-induced pressure this brought upon me.  If I messed up in a conversation, I was letting down God.  If I didn't push hard enough, it meant I didn't care enough about Thai people.  If I didn't study enough for the day, I felt lazy and worthless.  It sounds ridiculous as I type it out now (as most sin does in hindsight), but I was blind to it for quite some time.  Actually, it wasn't until a couple of Saturdays ago that I even started to realize it.  I was sick in bed all day and didn't get much studying done.  Steven came in to check on me and when he asked me how I felt, I just started bawling. (Yet another "Poor Stevo" moment)  Naturally, he thought I was crying because I felt so sick, but I was really just upset and disappointed in myself.  I just kept saying, "I'm so sorry, Steven.  I'm such a failure. I didn't study language today, I'm so so sorry.  You married such a failure."

Yikes.

I was a failure of a person just because I didn't study one Saturday?  It was my first wake up call that something wasn't right.

And then yesterday I was listening to a sermon (which I highly recommend) by David Platt. And he read the following quote by A.W. Tozer:

Almighty God, just because He is almighty, needs no support. The picture of a nervous, ingratiating God fawning over men to win their favor is not a pleasant one; yet if we look at the popular conception of God, that is precisely what we see. Twentieth century Christianity has put God on charity. So lofty is our opinion of ourselves that we find it quite easy, not to say enjoyable, to believe that we are necessary to God. 

Probably the hardest thought of all for our natural egotism to entertain is that God does not need our help. We commonly represent Him as a busy, eager, somewhat frustrated Father hurrying about seeking help to carry out His benevolent plan to bring peace and salvation to the world...

...Too many missionary appeals are based upon this fancied frustration of Almighty God. An effective speaker can easily excite pity in his hearers, not only for the heathen but for the God who has tried so hard and so long to save them and has failed for want of support. I fear that thousands of young persons enter Christian service from no higher motive than to help deliver God from the embarrassing situation His love has gotten Him into and His limited abilities seem unable to get Him out of. Add to this a certain degree of commendable idealism and a fair amount of compassion for the underprivileged, and you have the true drive behind much Christian activity today.

The hard yet freeing truth is that God does not need my help.  He does not need me to learn Thai.  God, the same God who breathes life into man and calls out the stars by name, has all power, all authority and all ability to do all things.  And if I really believe this, then that needs to flow into all areas of my life.  Not just some.  I can't believe in the self-sufficiency and perfection of God, while also reducing Him to someone who is dependent on me.  It just doesn't work that way.

God has called me to Thailand not because He needs me, but because he loves me.  In His mercy, He has invited us to be involved in HIS great and sovereign plan to reach the nations for His namesake.  The joy is not in being needed by God, but in being found and used by God.  I can no longer mistake His willingness to use me as His need for me.  May I continually be on guard against thinking too little of God and too much of myself.  And may I choose wisely--not the path that leads to self-destruction, but the one that leads to freedom and worship.

For my Gpa

*This video was played at my grandpa's funeral last Friday.  Even though I wasn't there in person, I still wanted to be part of his memorial service.  I ended up writing this poem for him and then asked one of our friends here (what a blessing they are!) to put this video together for me.

I love you, Gpa.  I think about you every day.  And probably always will.



Before my grandpa was my grandpa
he started out just a boy,
he told me he was a wild one,
his older brother he sure annoyed

But eventually all his energy
got channeled to the court,
where he soon became a super star,
the love of basketball his sport

People always tell me
how athletic he used to be,
they say he was competitive,
a trait surely passed on to me

My grandpa soon became a brave young man
through the internment camp and war,
yet never harboring any bitterness
toward the country he fought for

In the end, God used this time
to make him Chicago-bound,
never knowing that his future wife
was just waiting to be found

Her name was Yuki, a spunky one,
with a boisterous life-filled laugh,
their first date must've gone real well,
for she became his other half

Many looked at them and saw a pair
that seemed quite accidental,
one a crazy social girl,
the other so quiet and gentle

But beyond the surface their love ran deep,
it would carry them through the storms,
a picture of what marriage should be,
a gracious partnership they formed

Not long there after, their family began,
with joy, 3 little ones came
their clan would then become complete
with Carol, Marsha and Wayne

As a newfound father and family man,
my grandpa left his comfort zone
to take a risk and follow his dream
to have a business all his own

I can only imagine the courage this took,
the fear he must've felt within his heart,
yet he walked by faith and worked real hard,
a vending business he did start

But all these things, these stories I've heard,
all happened long before,
and although they make up who he was
to me, he's so much more

To me, he's just my grandpa
where an unexplainable bond was shared,
I think it started when I was young
and I would climb upon his chair

It was there that we would cuddle
and I'd find rest upon his chest,
we'd watch t.v. or have a talk,
just oblivious to the rest

My grandpa was my hero,
always someone I strived to be,
a friendly giant with a heart of gold
who I had never seen be mean

For he was patient, kind and sweet,
the most endearing man I've known,
he supported us in every way
his love so clearly shown

He was involved in all our lives,
constantly helping where he could,
he'd listen and be generous
his promises were good

You could trust in his character,
in his sweet and tender soul,
his quiet, faithful steadiness
has kept our family whole

I love the way he'd make me feel,
I know he loved me so,
and that is why my heart just aches,
why I'm sad to see him go

I know you're in a better place,
You're worshiping Your King,
a part of me delights for you,
yet I feel this painful sting

You see, I've never been more homesick,
more longing to be there,
but it's not because of Thailand,
for it doesn't matter where

The reason why I'm homesick
and it's hard to make it through,
is how long I now must wait
until again I am with you

When I stop to close my eyes
and I see your precious face,
I know that you are truly home
and now it's me that's out of place

Because this earth is quickly fading,
like a mist or morning dew,
with you now gone and me still here
I realize heaven's home with you

But until then, I'll cling to God
because in Christ there is no end,
and I'll trust in His promise that
soon in eternity we'll spend

My grandpa lived a long full life
and I feel blessed beyond all measure,
I had 27 years with him
that I'll forever treasure

Before I moved to Thailand,
my grandpa turned to me to say
in his deep, gentle, loving voice,
"Lauren, I'll miss you every day."

But now it seems the time has come
for me to say it back to him,
"I love you, Gpa.  I'll miss you, Gpa,
until we meet again."