Buttons and Bears (random thoughts)

There is so much to say in order to catch you up. So, I'm not going to, I am just going to start a new and see how far I can take you.

I am 36 weeks pregnant, 8 months and counting. My sweet little boy is due on August 2nd and I am so excited. Today I spent all day making curtains and decorating the nursery with my mom. There is something about sewing seems and buttons with your momma that brings great peace. I feel as though every small touch I give to my little boy's nursery is an investment. An investment into his life, into the home I have begun to create for my husband and now this child, and a commitment to the raising of this sweet boy that the Lord is giving us. What an incredible blessing and responsibility. I continue to pray that He will teach us how to be parents. What an incredible Abba we have. For the last 8 months I have just been listening. I never want to stop.

I have so many questions;

What will he look like?
What does serving God as a mother look like?
How do I teach him everything I know he will need to know?
What will he love to do?
What will his first word be?
Will he be passionate?
Will I know how to do all I am supposed to do for him?
?
?
?

And every time I begin to ask these questions, I begin to pray. My hunger for prayer has grown as this baby has grown inside me. I feel as though sitting in the Lord's presence, sitting at his feet is the only way to learn. He is so patient with me. I think this is where I am going to need to stay as I walk this road of motherhood.

There are bears and buttons everywhere. My baby's room is filled with books and colors. I pray he feels love, knows hope, learns to trust, understands incredible growth and depends on The King for everything. I pray he proclaims the Kingdom, aches for people, cries for righteousness, and dirties his knees from prayer. I pray that he starts life in the comfort of this room but ends it enwrapped in the mystery of the Lord.

The curtains are finished. There is so much more to do. I feel as though this is just the beginning.

Healthy Snack Ideas

Black Bean Brownies:

A dear friend of mine gave me this recipe.

box of brownie mix
can of black beans
1/2 cup water

Instead of adding the oil and eggs to the brownies, only add the black beans (pureed with the beans and water in the can) and water to the mix and stir. If the consistency I believe it is about a cup. Then bake according to the package. For you adventuresome ones, this creates a healthier snack, and I must say, even my skeptical husband loved them

Pumpkin Muffins: my mother in law just did this one and they were fantastic.

Can of pumpkin puree
Box of chocolate cake mix.
1/2 cup of water

Mix together and place in muffin pans. Then bake according to directions on the back of the box. They are really good and not only will kick that chocolate craving but also will give you all the benefits of pumpkin, considered a super food, in this yummy dessert

Humility in Crossing Cultures

Tucker and I are looking to move to a part of town in Atlanta that is truly the area where internationals from all over the world choose to make their home. Tucker is currently working in apartment leasing at one of these locations, a place full of Latin Americans, African people, and your occasional Caucasian neighbor, and I do mean occasional. The opportunity to cross cultures so close to home is incredibly exciting, and after years of telling short term participants that the foreign field is all around them with all the immigrants moving to the states, we are excited to start this adventure and work alongside these people. The other day, however, I realized that I have a lot to learn.

After working in Mexico for three years, first at the school and then discipling women in the small market town where I lived, I developed a pretty defined picture of what my role was on the team I ministered with. Meeting women and making relationships with people has never been a difficulty for me, I simply would just walk into a shop and start a conversation. I am a very outgoing person, fear or uncertainty never really stopped me in those situations. The friendships I developed as a result were extraordinary and I found myself assuming that my style of interaction would be how I would do things, no matter where we ended up. In my limited experience with cultures, I unconsciously determined that this pattern of relationship making would cross any culture.

Now two months later, I have found that the place I held on the front lines of relationship making has been changed, and I know that I will need to trust in God all the more in this next step. While my confident husband goes out meeting Ethiopian men in the market, Indian restaurant workers in the food court, visiting Mosques and various temples, I have found myself patiently waiting to learn how I must dress and what are the taboos I must not do in order to meet the women in these local places. A couple of days ago, I accompanied my mother-in-law and husband to the Global Mall to eat Indian Food. This Eastern, and pre-dominantly Indian setting has become a favorite dining place for my husband who works only a few miles away, and I must say I love the fact that we are often the only Caucausian people there. After lunch we began to explore, and found a gym offering martial arts classes. As introductions took place, I confidently stuck my hand out to shake the man's hand. His reaction was polite, "Sorry mam, I can't. I am Muslim." This single event has began a series of humbling and life changing thoughts as we look to heading to an Eastern country someday. My whole approach to ministry for the last few years must change as I go to countries that place a high importance on the place in society for women. This is good.

Lean not on your own understanding, the Lord keeps urging me, and yet I find myself trying to gain confidence in my own ability. "Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." To see the Kingdom come in the life that God has destined for our family, I must humble myself and be led by my husband Tucker and ultimately Him, Trusting in the Lord, and not my own assurance or confidence. And as Tucker and I look to being led into this cross-cultural lifestyle, I must be willing to let Tucker go first. This may seem easy for many of you, I however thrive at being the adventuresome one, the first one or at least among the first ones. And so, as I pray that the Lord refines me and us, I have found that refinement is touching every aspect of my life that may intimate or breed pride and cutting it off. Lord, I pray that I will accept whatever you will give me, and whatever place I must take as we live among these people that define the roles of women so differently.

Leaving one world and Entering another.

This is my family, the Martin's. So different from my own, but wonderful just the same.

I almost felt like royalty when taking this picture, so different from hiking through the dust in Mexico.

Aunt Lydia and Me, I love how family grows through marriage

We have been told we look alike in this picture, I am flattered, but don't see it.

Pam's Quirks

Although I am sure that many of you who have been a part of my life for a while could think of many unusual qualities I possess, I am only going to write about one in particular that has come to my attention more evidently since starting to wait tables at a Mexican Restaurant. . . .

On a warm weekday in Georgia, one can enter through the doors of a small, nicely decorated Mexican restaurant and be welcomed with an Hola and the delightful smell of sizzling fajitas in the air. After being seated in a dimly lit booth they are greeted with a smile and a Buenas Tardes, by their cute, energetic waitress. With orders in mind the waitress goes to fill two glasses of water and run to the bar to pick up a couple of margaritas, with salt of course. But then, . . . ( this is when the scary Jaws music begins to play ) . . . as the waitress comes back with the drinks, she trips over an invisible raise in the floor and spills the waters all over her customers, barely saving the alcohol from toppling on top of them as well. The startled customers barely know what to say, and yet after the waitress with the big eyes apologizes profusely, their surprise/anger diminishes.

Yes, I am that waitress. Today, I walked into another waiter carrying a tray. Unfortunately the waiter was a little taller than I and the tray hit my neck, causing the piping hot cheese dip he was carrying to slide up my neck and down my shirt. Wow.

I have recently noticed that as I walk through the kitchen all the other waiters quickly jump out of my way, knowing full well that my tendency to run into walls, them, and drop things consistently very well may slow there stride down as well. I am not exactly sure how to solve this, but am hoping for some kind of remedy. Clumsiness is just one of those things about me that make people laugh, or slowly shake their heads in pity. When asked what the best word in Spanish was for clumsy, my hostess friend looked up at me with a smile and said "Pamela."

My cry

During a time when words fall hard and meaningless to the floor, and people are pressed to find those words of consolation to ease a hurting soul, I think my father-in-law did a wonderful job sharing with words how difficult it is to lose our, or anyone's, baby. I hope that in my silence you may hear my voice through his words.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

“A Thief in the Night”

Greg Martin

April 2009

“What are you going to call the baby?” I asked my 19-year-old son who had learned a few weeks prior that he was going to be a daddy. “We don’t know the sex yet” he informed me. “I know”, I said, and went on to explain how his mom and I had felt uncomfortable referring to our firstborn as “it” when it was too early in the pregnancy to ascertain their sex. So, instead, we simply referred to the new baby as “Pony”. “It” was just too impersonal. “Pony”, on the other hand, was asexual (allowing us to avoid a predisposition toward either sex) and somehow easier for us to tolerate. As I write this now, I am tickled that we did not worry about a predisposition toward giving birth to a member of the equine family, but it all seemed to make sense at the time.

“So,” I asked again, “what will you call the baby until you know the sex?” “I don’t know” he replied, “It kinda looked a little like a dinosaur on the sonogram so I guess we could call it ‘Dino’”. So, “Dino” is what it became, at least for my wife and me. I am not sure that the name stuck with my son or his bride, but for the next several weeks this was how we referred to our first grandbaby growing inside our daughter-in-law.

I was not expecting to be a grandfather at 48. I frankly had not given much thought to at what age that news might come, but I was fairly certain that I would have envisioned hearing this news when I was in my mid- to late-fifties – certainly not 48. Life has a way of getting in the way of our best laid plans… So, after adjusting to the shock of how this news made me feel (it’s all about us isn’t it?) initially (which was old), I got really excited about the thought of having a grandbaby.

All of a sudden I found myself being drawn to other expectant moms and infants and toddlers that I would see in church, or in the grocery store, or at the park. I realize that that doesn’t sound very manly. (Somewhere after 40 I found I quit caring whether the things I thought, did or said fit anyone else’s expectation of what is masculine or not). I am proud to tell you that I thought that the itty bitty outfit my wife brought home to give to Dino was way cool. She and most of the family pegged the baby to be a boy, so the outfit was appropriately in blue.

In our family growing up there were lots of kids. I am one of 6, we are or were all married, and each family has been blessed with multiple children. I am an uncle to 14, and now, a great-uncle to I’m not sure how many. Great-uncle’s were ancient when I was a kid. I was a great-uncle at something like 40 years old (I was the last of six and there are 21 years between my oldest sibling and me – and yes, the math all works out). I told my niece I would be a great uncle to her child, but I never wanted to be referred to as a great-uncle…that little line between the two words just made me sound too old.

One of the games we played with my nephews and nieces and that my wife and I later played with our own children was a game our family called “stinky feet”. The game is very difficult to master…you grab a baby’s feet, make a big show of sticking their bare feet up to your nose, inhale deeply and then make a face like you just smelled something that came out of your paw paw’s underpants, while saying “peeeeee eeeeeewwwwwww…stinky feet”. I don’t know why, but I have yet to see a baby who doesn’t laugh when you do this. When we first learned that we were going to be grandparents I texted my son and wrote “Cool! New piggies to play stinky feet!” Now that’s damn manly, I don’t care who you are.

A few weeks later we had a young couple who are on the mission field with our son and his wife stay at our home for a few nights. Derrick and Jackie have an 18-month old boy named Elijah. Elijah, rarely hit the deck as he was passed from my wife to me to our daughter. We all went to church together and confused many in the congregation who thought somehow that they had missed a memo and that this was our grandbaby. Elijah helped us to rediscover what it means to deal with a baby. About the time that Pastor Tommy was hitting his stride in his Easter Sunday sermon, Elijah was untying my brand new yellow bowtie and thought that it would look better if he sucked on it awhile. That would have made me really irritated when my kids were Elijah’s age, but for some reason it was a lot of fun with this Dino proxy.

The bottom line here is that we were “all in” with the thought of the new addition to our family. The writer of Proverbs had a pretty good handle on this from a grandparent’s perspective when he wrote: “Children’s children are a crown to the aged”. Not to be outdone, the Psalmist penned a few memorable verses for parents as well:

Sons are a heritage from the LORD,
children a reward from him.

Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are sons born in one's youth.

Blessed is the man
whose quiver is full of them.

Dino was on his way to becoming a crown, a reward, an arrow, a son (or daughter), an heir, a nephew (or niece), a cousin, a grandbaby, a great-grandbaby, an in-law, a member of our tribe as Seth Godin might put it, a person, a living, breathing, thinking, loving, precious child of God. But, life has a way of getting in the way of our best laid plans.

William Shakespeare put it this way: “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.” My son called me at the office last week. He was incoherent. His o’er-fraught heart was breaking and all he could do was groan. I waited for the words to come. After what felt like an eternity, and through a voice wracked with sobs he managed to choke out the message that every parent (and now I know every grandparent) hopes never to hear: “We lost the baby”.

While my wife and I were anticipating the arrival of our first grandbaby, my son and his wife were making major emotional investments into their relationship with each other and this new being that had almost instantly become the axis around which their world revolved. And, as a globe whose axis is removed rolls about without direction so, for a time, did our family.

It was not my son’s or his wife’s grief that took me by surprise. I expected that. It was not my wife’s grief that caught me unaware; her “tears come down” easily as my African friend Antonio once observed of her. It was my own grief that came like a thief in the night and took the axis off of my globe. I just didn’t expect that this news would affect me as it has. After all, I’m a man and you hear of this happening all the time. Besides, I had not actually played stinky feet with Dino. I never met him, nor held him, nor bonded with him in any way. I never smelled him after his bath. I never touched that funky soft spot on his head. I never compared the size of my body parts to his. I never felt his whole-hand grasp around one of my fingers. I never comforted him when he cried. I never gave him a horsyback ride. He never fell asleep in my arms. I never laughed over his losing Cheerios in the folds of fat on his legs. I never saw the funny face he made when he tasted his first pickle. I didn’t get to find toys, food, and other fun treasures in his diaper when I changed him. I never gave him a piggyback ride. He never pulled my ears or mussed my hair while riding on my shoulders. He never puked on my suit. I never…he never…we never…they never…so, why the grief over the loss of a child I never knew?

The answers for me have come through the lives and stories of friends and family. And, there are a lot of them. More than I ever would have imagined. Middle-aged men whose voices would crack as they were reminded of their own similar loss over 25 years prior. Women - loving, caring, compassionate women - who burst into tears at the mere mention of our hurt and who shared heart-wrenching stories of their own loss and grief. Grandparents who have grieved over their lost grandbabies. Adult children who testified that one of the only times they ever saw their dads cry was over the memory of a child lost through a miscarriage.

Most of the articles I read on miscarriage grief are from a mother’s perspective (no surprise there). But, the observations, advice, and insight from and for grieving moms can serve as a healing balm for anyone touched by this form of loss. One writer put it this way: ¹“…you can never really stop grieving. It's never quite as overwhelming as it is in the beginning, but it remains a part of you always. You may still remember the date of the loss and the due date of the baby who should have been born, and every time that date passes, you remember. You can go on to have plenty of children, and still you remember.”

Another writer summed it up this way: ²“Miscarriage involves a number of potential significant losses and is a complex grief that can involve an additional kind of suffering that is not necessarily present with other types of bereavement. Not only have we lost our baby, we are suffering from the effects of a birth and a death and we usually do not have a baby to bury. A funeral normally gives others their cue of how to behave appropriately and when there isn't one they are often at a loss themselves and may not even realize we are grieving. This adds to our stress as we can then feel we need to explain this, whereas with a still-birth or loss of a child, everyone is aware of the devastation and expects us to grieve. People may not want to talk about what has happened and it's the only thing we can think of.”

³James Woods, director of Obstetrics and Fetal Medicine at the University of Rochester and author of Loss During Pregnancy or in the Newborn Period says, “The veil of silence that our society casts over the topic of miscarriage makes it very hard for women and families to get the information and help they need when they go through this surprisingly common experience. I think it's important for people to realize how devastating this can be emotionally, far more so than they ever would have imagined."

Many of the resources mention that healing and closure can be helped with something that memorializes the life that was to be. Funeral services help us to heal when we have lost someone but, to me, the traditional funeral service fits a miscarriage like a shirt that is a couple of sizes too small.

My 11-year-old and I have been working in our back yard to divide a huge patch of daffodils. Daffodils are bulbs that bloom in early spring. The flowers are among the most popular due to their unmatched beauty. I like them because they are about as easy to grow as weeds and they truly are stunning. The “experts” say you are supposed to wait till early summer to divide them…the bulbs didn’t get the memo…stick ‘em in the ground whenever you want and they’ll grow.

So, it occurred to me that this Daffodil garden we were working on might serve as a suitable memorial for Dino. “Dino’s Daffodils” has a certain poetic ring to it don’t you think? Daffodils blooming life is anywhere from six weeks to six months, sorta like Dino’s was. Daffodils are perennials serving as a lovely, recurring reminder of this life that was. Daffodils symbolize friendship. And, unlike a tree planted as a memorial, Daffodils can be shared with friends, particularly with friends who know the loss of miscarriage. In the ⁴1600’s Daffodils were taken out of the weeds and put into the garden, sorta like Dino was taken out of the weeds of this life and placed in God’s Garden of Eden. Whereas a funeral didn’t fit as a memorial, I think this little patch of flowers fits like a favorite pair of jeans. I hope my family thinks so too.

In 1804 William Wordsworth penned “Daffodils”

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

My desire for my son and his wife, my wife and our family is that when we are in a “vacant or pensive mood” and Dino flashes upon “that inward eye” that our hearts might with pleasure fill and dance with the daffodils.

*************

Footnotes:

¹http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art34075.asp

²http://www.miscarriagesupport.org.nz/grief_issues.html

³ http://www.mothering.com/articles/pregnancy_birth/miscarriage/solitary-sadness.html

⁴ http://www.theflowerexpert.com/content/mostpopularflowers/morepopularflowers/daffodil

Additional Resources on Dealing with Miscarriage Grief:

· Resources on miscarriage from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_b?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=miscarriage&x=0&y=0

· Grief Unseen: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1843108054

"Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth.
Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate."

~Psalm 127:3-5

I am about 9 1/2 weeks pregnant with my first baby and so excited to take on this next step in my life. Being a mother, wow. Here in Mexico they say that having kids is the stepping stone into adulthood, that which carries you into real maturity and wisdom. Right now I find myself soaking in every moment of this pregnancy, right now, mainly I am praising God that this moment doesn't include time suspended over a toilet. Times of prayer for this baby have been so incredibly intimate, bringing more of an assurance that this is what the Lord has for us for this time.

So for an update in the world of the miraculous, our baby will grow to about the size of an inch and a half this week. Major organs have developed including two chambers in the heart and bronchi in the lungs. The hardening of bones has begun, and this week digits will become more prominent. You can not tell that I am pregnant by appearance alone, but creation that surpasses understanding is going on in my body. Wow Lord, you are good! We will praise your name forever.

Praises from the Hill

A good friend of mine this week showed me what it means to truly trust the Lord to answer prayer. My friend is a woman who I have known for a little over a year and a half now. When we first started meeting together we began to ask the Lord for two simple things. 1. That her husband and son would stop drinking all the time. 2. That her son would return from the city and move back in with her and her family.
Soon after we began to ask for this, her husband stopped drinking as much, and about 3 -4 months later her son came home and moved himself and his family in with his mom.

Now, whenever we talk about asking the Lord for something, knowing it is only He that can change things, she looks at me with a smile of assurance on her face stating, "Of course Pam, God brought my son back, and he will do this thing as well."

For the last 6 months or more, my friend and I have been praying for a neighbor of hers. She had started studying with us and learning to be a follower of Christ, until my friend informed me that her husband had prohibited her from coming. This week we sat drinking soda under her roof and read the story of the Flood, all three of us amazed at the promise of God etched in the sky after every rain. And my friend just smiled and said, of course God did.

This is what it looks like to ask and believe.

" Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." ~Mark 11:24

"Until now you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full." ~John 16:24

"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you." ~Matthew 7:7

Jesus Said it, Let's Believe it!

The Fear of God

Do we as the church Fear the Lord?

In Deut 6:2 it is recorded that the commandments were given in order that the Israelites, then and in the generations to come, would fear the Lord their God by keeping his rules and statutes.

Lev. 10:1-5 accounts for the deaths of two of Aaron's sons because they did not fear the Lord and offered adulterated fire before the Lord. The Lord responds by consuming them with fire.

Do we as the church today fear God? Do we tremble with the knowledge that the Lord that we worship holds the universe in the palm of His hand? Do our hands quake as we enter into the sanctuary hoping to meet with the Creator of all things? Do we purify ourselves before entering into worship in fear that God may consume us in our sin.

But God is Love right. John Bevere states in one of his sermons on Fearing God that "the love of God keeps us from legalism, but it is the fear of God that keeps us from lawlessness." He goes on to say that we do not see the Lord's presence sitting over the temple as it did in the desert because we are not walking in the glory of the Lord as during the time of Aaron and his sons.

Hebrews 1:3 states that the universe is held up by the "word of his power." Are we as the church fearing God? Am I as a follower of Christ fearing God? It is only through the fear of the Lord that we will see a time of purification in our own lives and within the church, and it is only through fearing the Lord that the presence and glory of the Lord will sit among us again.

Just a thought.

Finding Wisdom in Marriage

It has been one month today since I tied the knot so to speak and entered into one of the most wonderfully challenging stages of life. In the past month I have a learned a few things that I would like to share, realizing that one month makes me no more than a beginner and no more excused from learning a ton. So here are the top ten:

1. Wow, and I thought toddlers were selfish. I had no idea how much self I needed to die to, marriage has a way of showing how truly selfish I am.

2. Morning breath is terrible and I am not talking about his. I never thought I had it, but there is something about waking up to someone in the morning that makes you frighteningly aware of the foul odor escaping your own mouth.

3. The Team. I did not realize how extraordinary it would be to always have someone by your side living practically every moment with you. Praying, Worshiping, Going into battle, Eating, and Laughing will never be the same again.

4. Guys are so strange. Not only do they have some of the funniest looking feet I have ever seen but I really do think they are from a different planet. What fun, I feel like I am learning a new culture every day.

5. Communication, Communication, Communication. I cannot take credit for this lesson, but I want to thank all of you who taught me this before we were married. I had no idea two people would need to talk so much. I love it!

6. Compromise. I thought I understood the definition of this word, but now I realize that I was overly confident. The truth is that I have had to give in on a more things in the last month than has been required of me in my entire life.

7. Husband. I have to admit that I still can not recognize my own voice as it introduces Tucker as my husband to friends and family, such a great yet big change.

8. Love. I have been amazed to discover how much love can change in such a short time. I am positive that I have just begun to brush the surface of loving Tucker as I have been called to love him.

9. Cooking. How do you know what to cook? I have been blessed to be in our parents' homes for the last few weeks, but in the number of days I spent cooking I have run out of new meal ideas. I feel like everything I ate as a child has been forgotten. Hopefully, this is one of those super powers you get as you spend more years in marriage, the power to create delicious meals out of nothing.

10. Learning what unity really means. I am so excited to unite more with Tuck in every aspect of my life. God's design takes my breath away. I can only imagine what the future years will bring. Who knows, maybe we will become one of those couples that can finish each others sentences and yet I know it is so much more.

Thank you all for your love and support of Tuck and I.

Redefining Discipleship

Life is full of trials and tribulations, joys and sorrows, laughter and mourning, and a constant shifting of sands that leaves us wondering at which point we will stand on solid ground. As I prepare for marriage, it is amazing to me that two lives consistent of such uncertainty can come together, striving for complete unity and intimacy...

Now lets move beyond the marriage relationship, beyond parental relationships and broaden our sense of unity to those outside our immediate circles. Can we ride on the unreliable road of life with others who are not within our natural circle of influence? Can we succeed, rejoice, suffer, and fail with others who may never give to us in return? Can we make disciples?

I am beginning to understand with a little more empathy the lamentations of Paul's letters to the churches he invested in. I can hear the cry in Chris'ts voice a little more clearly when he inquired as to why the three in the Garden could not keep watch with him for even an hour. I am beginning to understand that discipleship is more than just preaching or teaching. Discipleship is hard. Discipleship comes with sweat and tears, because it is more than just teaching a lesson once a week. To truly and intentionally disciple, you have to live life with strangers. When they fail, you fail. When they succeed, you succeed. When they are filled with sorrow, you are filled with sorrow. When they rejoice, you rejoice with them. Discipleship is taking a stranger alongside you and walking along the narrow road to eternal life, and through the journey realizing that that stranger becomes closer than a brother.

It is a hard command to obey, the last commandmant Christ gave, and maybe he gave it at the end so that all who had followed him would understand the true definition of making disciples of all nations. Maybe the hardest part of it all is knowing that there will always be people you will learn to love, walk with and then they will walk away and never look back. The question is, are we willing to suffer that loss so that the rest may find abundant life?

Just a thought...

The real Tucker and Pam

Tucker and I decided to take some engagement pictures, so I decided the honest thing to do would be to post the picture that most represents our relationship and not the obviously staged ones. Maybe not the most photogenic, but definitely the most representative.

Blindsided by Discipleship

After so many months of negligence, I have decided to write about that one thing that has taken me away from the blog community this summer, discipleship. This past year, I have spent hours contemplating the commission that I have based my life upon, "Go therefore into all the world and make disciples . . . .", and finding myself stopped short by this 9 letter word. After many meetings of strategy talks and sessions of verbally processing through all the different ways to disciple, I truly believe that God interrupted it by placing me in a summer where only Christ-like discipleship could happen.

I spent my summer living with and among 8 different summer interns who taught me what it is to love people enough to truly disciple them. What is discipleship anyway, I think I have finally figured it out. I believe disicipleship is loving people enough to live their life with them, and allow them to live yours so that you can learn how to walk with Christ together. I know, my definition is much more complicated then a weekly bible study, but I think that it is exactly what we have been taught by Christ himself. As I lived life daily with these 8 amazing followers of Christ, what I have learned about prayer, worship, obedience and freedom naturally were taught. How to walk with supernatural faith in the Holy Spirit was practiced. And a desire for more intimacy for the Lord was attained together. I must say that I walked away this summer blessed, blessed to see 8 amazing warriors for Christ want more of the Lord, and finding myself starving for more as well.

So, I guess what I have been told about not needing a seminary degree to teach people how to love God and people is true. But Love is absolutely vital, and without the Holy Spirit taking my flesh over, that love is impossible. Get ready to dance over all of the "GOD IS SO GOOD" moments yet to come.

A Call to Love

" Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her,
that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word,
so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.
In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.

For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.
"Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh."
This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church.
However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband. "

~Ephesians 5:25-33

I am Engaged

Many of you have written asking me to tell the story of my engagement, unfortunately I forgot my camera, so you will have to wait a little longer for pictures. I hope that this will do for now.

Tucker Martin is from Georgia, and has some good old southern roots. He attended the Missionary Training School in Oaxaca, Mexico for the 2007-2008 school year. I have known him since September, but we just recently started seeking God about marrying one another, and officially started seeing each other in March. These last couple of months have been incredible as I have waited on the Lord in this and have sought his glory over everything else. My prayer from the beginning has been that we would both fall more in love with the Lord as we got to know each other, and I still feel like I am falling more in love with Jesus as I fall in love with him.

May 21st 2008, Wednesday, Tucker picked me up and handed me a bouquet of red roses, it was our date day and I was so excited to see him. We jumped into a car that he had borrowed for the day and drove about 20 minutes up the road to a river running through a ravine that we had been told about. As we drove and talked, we scanned the river to find the "perfect" spot. Then we found it, the view overlooked the Oaxacan mountains and as you drew close to the river you saw it collect in peaceful pools following small trickling waterfalls. We decided to stop and hike down to the river. It was so peaceful and I found myself wanting to know what God had been teaching Tucker that week.

He opened the bible to Ephesians 5:25 and began to read through the end. The passage calls husbands to love their wife as Christ loves the church, giving sacrificially of himself so that she will be pure and blameless. Immediately my mind began to apply the words of Paul to our church planting movement, I was strategizing about how to plant churches that were immersed in this kind of love when Tucker went down on one knee. I could hardly breathe as he told me that he loved me and wanted to love me like this passage called him to for the rest of his life. I felt like I was in a movie, while the reality of the ecstatic joy surfacing in my heart became real.

When he placed the ring on my finger a few minutes later, I sat taking in the legacy of love that decorated my hand. His mom had offered him the ring after I visited with his family in April, it was the same ring that his father, Mr. Greg, had used to ask for Miss Donna's hand many years ago. There was such a spirit of thankfulness and joy as we sat next to that peaceful river. The urgency to praise the Lord came quickly, and as I strummed the strings of the guitar and praises began to rise from our lips to His ears, the presence of the Lord filled that place. I will never forget sitting on that stone in the middle of the Oaxacan Mountains, worshipping and praying to the Lord of lords with my husband to be. Thank you for celebrating this with me. I pray that we will learn to love each other like Christ calls us to, and that many will embrace Christ's love through the testimony of the life of unity and love He has called us to. Your prayers are much needed and priceless to us, I can not wait to introduce him to all of you back at home.

I love you all.
Pam

Miracle from Boulder

Praise God, I have a new hard drive and I am all set to go.

At the beginning of April my family came together for the first time in years to celebrate the life of my aunt Barbara who had passed away in late March. I returned to Colorado from Oaxaca and was greeted by an environment of incredible unity that can only be attributed to answered prayer and the work of the Spirit to unite my family. My two beautiful cousins from New York came for their mother's funeral, and I knew that barb would have been ecstatic to see us all together again after 12 long years.

My aunt had fought against schizophrenia for most of her adult life and unlike my mother and my auntie, who can separate Barb's life by the time in her life when she became "sick", I only knew my mom's older sister in this confused state. My aunt Barbara was an artist, an extraordinary artist, who expressed the way she viewed the world around her through sketches, water colors, inks, and other modes of art. After my aunt was diagnosed, she found it more difficult to artistically express herself due to the medications she took that caused her hands to shake. I never feared Barbara, but I always sensed that she felt trapped inside a world of voices unable to separate external reality from the internal.

My family had prayed for freedom for my aunt for years, however I think it was my mom's oldest sister, my aunt Carol, who had tasted the saltiness of her own tears as she mourned over Barb's imprisonment. I still remember the night I found out about my aunt's death. I went outside under the Oaxaca sky and wept, wondering if she had ever known the heart of the Savior who had given everything for her ultimate freedom. I wept because I had no idea if I would ever see Barb again. I wept because I didn't know if I would ever be able to harmonize with Barb again as she hit notes that were literally impossible to reach in her high soprano vibrato. I wept because I would miss the socks hanging from the Christmas tree, her little gifts of love. I wept because I didn't know if she would ever experience true freedom from the prison her mind had become.

And then God answered my weeping and dried the tears of my family. From the mental hospital my dear aunt had lived in for the past two years came stories of an extraordinary love. Barbara had spent her last years loving the unlovable of this world through the power of Christ. She prayed for those in pain, sang hymns to those in despair, pushed the wheel-chair bound to eat with her, and showed the love of Christ tangibly to the least-loved of our society. Even after her death, the celebration of Barb's life and the freedom she had found through Christ was a testimony to many who attended her funeral. A handful of family friends, co-workers, and even family members acknowledged a need to know the one true living God who could set Barbara free. Thank you Jesus, you are so good. And I praise you because now yours is the only voice that Barb is hearing, and I know that her voice is ringing in praise to you.

Las Botijas

This last Saturday the CPT was able to spend the afternoon harvesting botijas. A man in the village of Yucunama taught us how to dig into the dirt and find tons of these little creatures hanging from the walls of the tunnels they live in. The process was very exciting, but the best part of the day was sharing these delightful little snacks with the rest of the gringos (white folks) on the base. Ok, I know that you are dieing to know what a botija is, a botija is an ant, but a very special kind of ant. These ants spend their lives collecting nectar for all the other ants to drink. This nectar is collected in their behinds. So, a botija, is an ant with a large hinnie filled with juice. In order to eat these ants, you simply suck the juice out of their booties and enjoy the delicious flavor. Some of you may be feeling a little nauseous at this point. But I want to tell you with an honest heart that I enjoy them, it kind of tastes like fermented grape/apple juice.

This ant spends its life giving to others. I have thought about how blessed we are to have such a colony around us. The first church mentioned in Acts is painted much like a colony of believers: giving to those who had need. Let us remember to live in loving and generous giving as we learn to be the body together.
" And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved. " ~Acts 2:44-47

Ezra; A True History Maker

This past week I have been reading the book of Ezra, it has greatly impacted by the testimony of this mighty man of God. He saw the unfaithfulness of the Isrealites and was broken over it. Ezra wept and threw himself down before the house of God over the sin of His people, seeing the heart of God and pleading for his people over their disobedience He saught change. While he was mourning over this , a large crowd of Israelite men, women and children gathered around him and began to weep along with Ezra. Through a heart for righteousness of this priest of God, Israel began to purge themselves of this sin.
As I have thought about this I have been convicted by the heart of this man. Do I weep over the sin of my people and the judgement that will one day come on them from a Just God? The answer is no. I pray for this type of spirit for purity, the kind that abhors sin like God does, but also loves the sinner more than life itself.
I have also been challenged to pray for such a man to be raised up among the people of this colorful town. Only through true repentance will Tlaxiaco see transformation and recognize it's purpose the King of kings has for it. I pray that the Lord would take His rightful thrown over this place. However, I know, just like Ezra, that it must start in my life.

Just a Splash of Color on my 20th

The small, humble room with chairs and mirrors looked inviting from the Oaxacan streets. It was my 20th birthday and I was ready to do something I had never done before, a whole new look to accompany the end of my teenage years. My friend and I walked into this small hair salon ready to celebrate completing another year with a little change. After talking to the middle aged woman about what I envisioned for my new look, I sat down in the revolving chair waiting for the transformation process to begin. CHOP! " Well that is definitely higher than my shoulders," I thought to myself, simultaneously convincing my racing thoughts that this is exactly what I wanted. The short cute layers were definitely a change, but I decided that I liked it, and after all, hair always grows.

Then the dye came. The thin, subtle red streaks that I had timidly requested revealed themselves to be large thick stripes of red; six to be exact, three on each side. Then I laughed, okay, well first I cried due to the shock of my new punk rocker look, and then I laughed. It was just so funny.

You live and learn, and then you never choose to take a new risk with your hair in a small whole in the wall salon in the middle of Mexico. We bought another box of dye and made the stripes much more subtle. My friend's perm that ended up leaving her hair looking similar in likeness to a wet poodle came out when she washed it. And I now have a neat hat that I used to cover my red streaked head walking away from the salon to remember the excitement of the day. It was worth it, and I am so glad that I can add this to the memories I have in this incredible country. I am excited to grow and become more of the woman God desires me to be, and that is a transformation worth waiting for. But most of all, I am learning to see myself through Christ's eyes. And when you find your beauty in Christ, red streaks or not, it takes your breath away.

Living alone these last few days has been a very new experience for me. I feel the Holy Spirit very near to me when feelings of loneliness begin to creep in. It has been truly amazing. This view of the market town of Tlaxiaco was taken from the side of my apartment. The passion and desire to pray has begun to grow in me as I see Tlaxiaco every morning from my window. Prayer is so powerful, my desire is to grow in going to my knees in prayer before the Lord. I truly believe that it is only by prayer that the battles will be won in Oaxaca. Please keep praying for Tlaxiaco and all the Lord is doing here; for open minds, hearts, and freed lives. Freedom for Tlaxiaco, to walk in the life which Christ gave us through His resurrection.