grace like rain.

grace.

It's what I tell people I've learned the most about from this past year.

grace.

It's what I so desperately needed, yet so strongly despised.

grace.

It's how God covered me and what He lavishly poured out on me.

Despite myself, this last year, grace reigned.

praise him.

It's a really ugly thing when you come to the end of yourself.  You discover all these things about your-wonderful-self that you didn't know were there (or at least you were fooled into thinking they weren't).  I've always been a really determined and goal oriented person.  Maybe it's the Asian in me or just my addiction to that feeling of accomplishment.  It makes me feel valued.  It makes me feel important.  It makes me feel alive.  Trouble is, when you move overseas and life isn't as efficient, smooth or peachy as you'd like it to be, you unknowingly start to hold on, grab on, grasp tightly to those idols in your life.  Unfortunately for me, this looked like doing whatever I could to control my own circumstances.   It put a lot more pressure on "my own abilities" and left very little room for God or other people.  But the more I tried to control, the more I lost.  And the more I lost, the more angry I became.  And the more angry I became, the more judgmental I was.  And the more judgmental I was, the more depressed I felt.  And the more depressed I felt, the more hopelessness consumed me.

And at the end of my hopelessness, I discovered that really ugly something about myself.

I hated grace.

That's probably the last thing I thought God would reveal.  After all, Christians are supposed to loooooove grace.  Didn't I?  I was ready to work on my pride, self-reliance, impatience, anger issues... but grace?  Really?  The truth is though, a lot of those things are wrapped up in my lack of grace.  If you strip away the pride, the arrogance, the anger... the sin left is a graceless heart.  And the more things that God stirred up in my life, the more I realized my hatred towards it.  As someone who loved to "work hard for what she got" (And yes, I realize there are a lot of problems in that statement to begin with...), I was always discretely looking down on people who basked in grace.  It seemed like a cop-out.  An excuse.   

To me, grace seemed cheap.

And so, as we crawled and stumbled through this past year, God allowed a lot of heartache in our lives to teach us new depths of grace.  The hardest part was that the greatest storm was in our marriage.  Through an array of different circumstances, Steven and I found ourselves divided and at war with one another for way longer than I'd like to admit.  We cut each other with harsh words, left issues unresolved and redeveloped bad habits that we had worked hard to conquer.  There were nights where I questioned if God would ever redeem any of what we had lost.  It was hard.  So very, very hard.  Even now, my chest begins to ache and tears well up just thinking about it.  Where was God in all of this...?

To know grace is to know the depths of your sin.  And as Steven and I continually failed one another, we were both in this new place of needing  s o.  m u c h.  g r a c e.  All the time.  Every day, as the storm raged on, we felt the deep pain from our sin that only further revealed our utter need for grace.  It was here that I believe God began His redemptive work.  We had reached a level of vulnerability with one another and with God that we had never been before.  We were failing... in every sense of the word.  Failing to love each other.  Failing to give up control.  Failing to trust God.  Failing William.  And for the first time in a very long time, we felt the depths of our sin and our desperate need of a Savior. 

So we did the only thing we hadn't yet tried.  We asked for grace.  Grace to continue on.  Grace to forgive.  A grace that could save us from ourselves.  And as we slowly embraced this new place of humility (which did not come easy to either of us), we were met with a grace that didn't feel like a cop-out or an excuse at all.  This grace wasn't cheap.  It was rich, deep and full.

As a way to move beyond this past year and rebuild and reestablish ourselves again, we made this "ebenezer" for our home.  It's our way of being reminded of what God has done in our lives and our need to cling to His grace each and every day.  Before we hung it, Steven and I asked one another for forgiveness for the hurtful things said and done.  We spoke grace over one another and promised to extend it through the hard times yet to come.  And we thanked God for it.  Praising Him for sending the storm, and in the midst, pouring out grace like rain.

breaking the silence.

I haven't written a hesed in 6 months.  Well actually, I haven't really written since last October. 

So much has happened.

And to be honest, the "so much" has been quite ugly.  Okay, really ugly.  So ugly, in fact, that I couldn't bring myself to write about it for over a year.  Writing, one of the most life-giving parts of my life, was suddenly so draining.  My once cherished place to dig deep, connect with God and capture life-long lessons for my soul was actually the very last place I wanted to go.

It's been a really ugly year.

In retrospect, I probably should have written through the mess.  It would have been useful to see exactly where my heart was and to remember the true depths from which God has brought us.  But at the time, I just couldn't do it.  I was ashamed, exhausted and angry.  Really, really angry.

And at the end of the day, when I couldn't cry any more tears or fight one more battle, when I couldn't pray or even sing, I found myself completely numb.  I didn't want to process things.  I didn't want to connect with God.  And I sure as hell didn't care if God had any "life-long lessons for my soul". 

It's a dangerous thing when you stop caring.  You not only lose a sense of yourself, but you lose your love for life, people and, for me, God.  And the worst part about it is that you don't even care that you don't care.  Yeah... try talking your way out of that one.  Impossible.  It's a sick, twisted downward spiral to nowhere.

Like I said, it's been a really ugly year.

But today, I am breaking the silence. Maybe because I have just enough courage to write again.  Maybe because I'm stupid enough to expose myself in all my sin.  Or maybe because I want to claim back what I've lost.  The pain, the hurt, the sufferings of this past year.  They would all be for nothing if I didn't turn around and claim them for good.

So here's to breaking the silence, to claiming the beauty that's only found in the ugly.

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.