Plans to Prosper You...

Rereading yesterday's blog, I was thinking how God really does have specific plans for us throughout our lives. Tonight I reflect on a few of the countries that I have visited, and how the land has mirrored my outward response at that time in my life. I want to break that verse down and show how God had plans to "prosper" me during these years.

¹ For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you..."
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It is not by chance that I have seen the world. It is by God’s wondrous plan for my life. He filled me with a strong love for languages, other cultures and an unquenchable thirst to know the kinds of people He has created so that I might learn and in turn, share His stories. I give all the glory to Him.

As I wandered over various terrains, God has used them to mirror events in my life. Some lands have been nurturing, with rolling green hills and coffee plantations like Colombia. My life seemed easy then. I climbed up the hills and dipped into the valleys, both literally and figuratively, each day as I took on the new task of educating children. Likewise, as I tried to master the language, Spanish words came toward me at dizzying speeds. I grabbed onto them, as if by clutching I could still their forward motion. But I couldn’t. As my vocabulary grew, the words slowed down, and took their proper place. My steps slowed. The slopes no longer frightened me. In fact, the more Spanish I learned, the better-equipped I felt to trek across the actual land and embrace God’s people.

The humble mountainous villages of Guatemala formed around lush rivers and included beautiful palm trees, rubber, tea and beetle nut plants, as well as verdant coconut groves. The land teemed with life; the breeze carried with it the fragrance of ripened fruit. During those visits God filled my life with richness of character and a sweetness of friendships. The Wycliffe Bible translators who I stayed with called the land they purposed to work in “God’s own Guatemala.” I could feel Him moving among the stoop-shouldered Indian tribes, the strong need for Him etched in the drawn lines of the burdened faces I encountered.

God prospered me during these years, not by filling my pocket with lots of money. That wasn't my intention. I made enough to live on and travel. Instead, He filled my senses - the smells of ripe pineapple, strong coffee, arepas con queso. My eyes took in people, and the countryside, the plazas, dirt roads, riverbanks, buses - all the cultural phenomena that leaves unforgettable memories in one's mind. I remember the soft feel of leather, the rough weaving of straw baskets, dirt roads under my feet, and rough woolen ponchos thrown over my shoulders in colder environments, and hands reaching out -- always hands of friendship. When I close my eyes, I can hear the beautiful melodious Spanish, the spoken word, music blaring, bus drivers calling out...oh the dialects! How I loved the tastes of platano, arroz con carne, caldos and so many exotic juices. How I valued my friendships! God gave me such an abundance of people who cared about me! He surely prospered me those years!

Devotionals: Stepping Into My Goals!

I've just had some of my devotional writing selected by an editor for publication! The book is called "101 Faces of Faith." It should be coming out next month!! Yay!

Devotional writing is a good genre for me. When I explore a situation in my mind, I feel that God has taken time out to express His thoughts to me on that situation. He is speaking to me. He is speaking to me! He actually TEACHES me a lesson, or something that draws me closer to Him when I am writing. It's word-grappling, but when I'm tuned into the Holy Spirit, I know He is really speaking and it's not just my thoughts.

Writing can be so frustrating, and even contrived at times, but when my heart is in it, (or when God prepares my heart?) and I'm seeking, it's beautiful and fulfilling.

THIS is what I truly want to do with my own book, FOCUS ON GOD'S WORLD. God is using this specific experience [the FAITH IS... anthology opportunity] to train and equip me with the skills I need to feel confident and finally finish my "FOCUS" book. They stories are longer but they have my special voice in them. God gave me that time to travel but with the intent that I would encourage others to see situations in their own lives in which God is speaking to them. His purpose is all coming together in my mind now.

I've been walking in faith (stumbling really) but sure God had a plan / purpose for that kind of writing (I didn't even know about writing devotionals when I started writing them so many years ago in my newsletters; I just felt God teaching me lessons when I traveled and I wanted to get them down).

But now I see a market for this. God is now moving me forward by revealing each step I need to take. Maybe I wasn't ready to finish it earlier. It's all in God's timing. Wow!!! That's amazing!

The next entry is a poem that I wrote on Seeking God's Will in this crossroads of my life. Check it out!

Leave Takings

As I mentioned yesterday, traveling has always been the easy part for me to do. But saying goodbye has upon occasion torn my heart out. I still remember a very poignant moment with my nieces. It has burned itself into my memory. The girls were still pretty young. I guess Rachel was seven, Emily, six. It was the end of August, 1988 after their first day back to school. I had come home for a high school reunion earlier, had a short visit, and was heading back to Indonesia the following day.

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I had spent the day with my nieces and two little kids that my sister also babysat, Christina and Jeremiah. The three children and I were seated on the living room floor. I recall we had just finished coloring.

"Emily, you always color so nicely in the lines," I complimented.

"I know."

I smiled. I love how kids acknowledge their talents with that supreme confidence.

"Who taught you how to do that?" I asked.

Emily lay on her belly, with her legs crossed in the air. She was very focused. "My daddy."

"Hey, everyone! how about a book? If we pick up this stuff, you can choose a book for me to read."

"Yay! Hurry up!" the girls cried.

"You pick all the broken crayons, and you pick the books " That was Emily, the little organizer, trying to tidy it as quickly as possible. After a flurry of activity, the kids were ready.

"Aunt Amy, sit here!" Rachel called out.

Emily plopped down on the other side of me. She peered into the book...

Christina stood up, her hands on her hips. "I want Aunt Amy to sit by me, too!"

Emily narrowed her eyes and placed a possessive hand on the book I was holding, "She's our Aunt Amy, not yours."

"Hey, hey, hey! None of that," I chided. "Let's sit in a circle so we can all be together and see the pictures. Besides, I am everybody's Aunt Amy."

We got on with the business of reading. I had a captive audience and really let my storytelling skills go wild. It was a fun, exciting time. I even recall that Jeremiah, an adorable, chubby toddler, wore a big wide grin. He looked from person to person and began to clap his hands as he picked up on the excitement in the room. Maybe my sister had brought him in to share in part of the fun. She always wanted to capitalize on positive experiences. I don't remember what book I read but I remember thinking it was a perfect end to an excellent afternoon.

Soon after, Christina and Jeremiah went home for the day. I stayed on with Rachel and Emily as it was almost dinnertime. We ate dinner and the girls had their baths. Soon it was time for them to go bed.

"Can I tuck them into bed, and say goodnight--and I guess, goodbye?" I asked her.

"Sure," she responded.

I sat down with Rachel and tucked her in. Rachel burst into big, noisy sobs. She just didn't understand why I had to leave. She lay in her bed sobbing and I sat holding her. I didn't have any words this time, no pat hotel plan. I teared up myself. It was all I could do not to cry in front of her. When I left her, she was sleepy and finally calm.

Next, I checked in on Emily, who had been waiting. She lay very, very quietly in her bed and didn't say much. But when I kissed her goodnight, I felt the hot tears that covered her face. She had been crying silently for some time and the hurt seemed to go even deeper.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

She struggled to get the words out, "How come you like them better than us?"

"How come I like who?"

"Those IN-DO-NEE-SIANS!" The words burst out with a torrent of feeling.

"Oh honey, I don't. I don't. I promise you."

"But you keep on going there."

How does a little girl grapple with such emotions? Emily reasoning abilities surprised me.

"I just work there."

"You're not even going to be here for my BIRTHday!" She, too, sobbed.

"Oh, Emily! When is your birthday?"

"I don't know. Ask my mommy!"

I wanted to laugh, but this little girl was so intense that I had to hide it.

We talked for a bit more until she felt better. I promised to write her a lot.

When I finally closed the door, I was an emotional wreck. This goodbye stuff had really taken its toll on me.

I told my sister about what happened, and she sighed, "They're overemotional. Remember it was the first day of school for them. You've been with them ever since. Emily rarely shows her emotions. And both of them really miss you when you're gone."

"I guess..."

I was still pretty shaken by the unexpected way they'd pulled on my heartstrings. In fact, so much so that I canceled a date with an old friend I had planned to meet up with. I just wanted to go to bed and wake up early to catch my flight out. I felt drained.

I found that I couldn't enjoy my flight back as I normally did. All I could think of was the little girls I had left behind. Of course, they woke up and went to school. Life was back to normal for them already. And it would be for me when I settled back into my job. I loved it all over again.

But I will never forget my encounter with their tears. Children have such an innocent way of showering us with honest emotion, in a way that adults rarely do. We keep it inside. Like my mom did for so many years each time I left. I think it got harder for my mother to hide it, though. A few years back I watched my mother walk away from me from inside the window at Erie International Airport. She slowly hobbled back to her car, leaning heavily on her cane. The sight of her stooped over made her appear so lonely that I was at once reminded of that long ago farewell scene with my nieces. I decided then that I would have to come home soon to live. Farewells has begun to hurt too much.