John who cursed lovingly at his children

Besides the Hickmans, who were only here for two weeks, John and his family were our first and only neighbors when we moved in.  John seemed nice enough—a little intimidating, but nice enough if you didn’t tick him off. And besides, doesn't everyone kind of want a neighbor like that?  He seemed to us like the patriarch of the fourplex, even though he was maybe in his thirties. He knew stuff. He’d been around for a while.  We always said that we felt pretty safe at our apartment, not the least reason being our certainty that if anyone ever came to try to give us all any trouble, John would probably beat their face in as soon as look at them. 

He had a couple of little boys, who were really pretty cute. Some days he would yell at them , just how he would probably yell at a dog or a stupid coworker.  “Hey! What the h#!! are you doing?? Get your little @$$ away from my truck!” He was a tough guy, but we could tell he liked them.  One day he bought them a trampoline, and he’d play on it with them, wrestling and tickling as they giggled and tackled him and then slipped away out of his reach. “hey, come here you little $h!!!s.”  He’d say. But they were used to it. They’d just giggle and jump on him again.

Ah, fatherhood. Heartwarming.

I want them all--Quiero los dos

"I don't want eight waffles, I want twelve!"
no, this video doesn't perfectly illustrate my point, but it does a little bit, and more importantly it was hilarious and necessary.

On to the real story.

There is a little boy in my sunday school class (well, wednesday, but no matter) who has baffled me repeatedly. Sometimes we offer to reward him with a sucker at the end of the day, but whenever we do, almost inevitably he asks for TWO suckers, instead of just one. He reaches into the bag to choose a flavor, but alas, he cannot choose just one, so he pulls out two favorites, apparently neither of which he can stand to live without. No matter how many times we've gone over it with him, despite his knowing that he can either have one or zero, not two, almost every single time he is unable to make a simple choice and instead has to forego a sucker altogether. Baffling! One simple choice and that sucker would be his, but he wants them both so badly that he would rather have nothing than lose one. Every time it surprises me, and every time I explain it to him over and over, fully expecting him to come to reason and change his mind. But he is in such hysterics he cannot. Hysterics!
For a while I have thought it so crazy, so hard to believe and impossible to understand, until finally it struck me--I'm him.

I want them both; I want it all. I am not content with the gift I didn't deserve in the first place, I want more. Indeed, I'd almost say all or nothing! Yikes. Such a sneaky but dangerous feeling.

Sometimes it's so easy to want what God wants for me, nothing more and nothing less. After all, I KNOW from his promises (and from 20 or so years of experience) that it will be what's best!  But sometimes too the enemy sneaks in, or just my own human nature, to say "hey... what about that other stuff though? Surely it's not bad to want!" But the truth is that even the best stuff to want, if it's not in line with God's plan for me (and right this moment at that--a good thing at the wrong time is the wrong thing), is in danger of taking me down the road of discontentment, and ultimately selfish idolatry. I'm reminded of a short but haunting snippet of the life of a man who presumably had served alongside Paul, "For Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me."

I don't want to be so in love with the gift I haven't been given, that I miss out entirely on the ones that I have.


"He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?" ~Romans 8:32






Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. Colossians 3:5

For you may be sure of this, that everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous (that is, an idolater), has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God. Ephesians 5:5

For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? Matthew 16:26


For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Luke 12:34

Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4

The First year...or so (photobook)

I just made this, since they were offering a free 8x8 photobook.  Since I've failed to properly document a lot of our first year of marriage, at least here it is in scrapbooked form! Enjoy. :)

Click here to view this photo book larger

Click here to create your own Shutterfly photo book.

What we talk about before dinner

me: "Well, Ziploc bags are pretty much everything-proof."
Scott, sarcastically: "Except explosion proof."
"Explosion proof? Sure they are."
"Whatever."
"Are you kidding me? You've never heard that before??"
(uncertain) "...No...."
"You haven't? they can be used to contain explosives. Well, not the normal bags, but the freezer thickness ones."
"Oh, come on, you're totally lying to me."
"No, really! A lot of military personnel carry them around for protection, and if they find an explosive that's gonna go off, they'll put it in the bag to contain it. Quart size for grenades, gallon for bigger stuff."
Scott (partially convinced) "Are you lying to me?"
"noo..." (i start to giggle)
"You totally are!! Man you almost had me though."

Ziploc...conveniently sized for your explosive needs.

Chicken Gnocchi Soup

For my dear Heather; and to my in-laws, who conceded that, despite it not being centered around steak (Mitchell), this was a pretty darn good meal.

Olive Garden, Anyone? This soup tends to get rave reviews whenever i make it for friends or family.

• 1/2 cup butter (1 stick)
• 1 Medium onion, finely diced
• a few cloves minced garlic (or add powdered later)
• 1/2 to 3/4 cup of celery, finely diced... i like to include the leaves
• 1/3 to 1/2 cup flour
• 1 1/2 cups half & half (substitute milk for part if desired)
• Chicken broth as desired (at least 4-6 cups)
• 2-3 carrots, shredded
• about 3/4 cup spinach, julienne cut*
• 1 Package Potato Gnocchi**
• cooked chicken, shredded or diced

Spices to taste:

• a little pepper and salt
• powdered garlic/garlic salt?
• Herbs de Provence really makes it. (original recipe asked for rosemary, but this is even better)

*(julienne cut = bunch the leaves together, then cut in tiny thin strips)

**(depending on how dry they are, I like to either soak the gnocchi in broth before adding them, or add them to the soup earlier...be sure they aren't stuck together when you put them in!)

Melt the butter in a good size soup/stock pot. Add the celery and onion (and garlic?) and allow to simmer/brown until soft. Add flour to make a rue. Slowly add and stir in the cream. Add the broth, bring it up to heat til it bubbles slightly, add carrot. cover if necessary. Gnocchi can be added now if it needs to be softened/moistened. Add spices to taste, and finally add the chicken and spinach once the gnocchi seem soft & moist through. You may add more broth or spices if you feel it is needed. The soup will probably gain more flavor, creaminess/thickness (and gnocchi's will soften) as it sits.

Serve up with Olive Garden Breadsticks... What, you don't have the recipe? Ah, dang it, me neither.

Mexican chicken & rice soup

For Dane Camp ("This soup is AMAZING!") and Katlincita (who shares my love for mexican food, and especially with limes).

This is a soup inspired by some of the tasty "caldos" that I have enjoyed. It's pretty much your basic chicken soup, but with a few differences to give it a "Mexican" style flair (in my opinion)...

Cook the chicken--boil and/or simmer it together with some chopped carrots, celery, onion, spices, etc to give it flavor (and this will be the base for the soup).

Tips: If you wish to follow Mexican "caldo" style more closely, you would generally chop the components much more coarsely (large pieces of chicken, carrot, etc) and the chicken would be cooked on the bone & with the skin if at all possible. Because I am not authentically Mexican (debatable... just kidding), I prefer to chop the veggies to bite-size, and to remove the bones & skin from the chicken, AFTER it is cooked in the broth (so we keep the flavor from the bone & skin) & shred the chicken to bite size. The taste remains, and the soup has a little less fat and is not so messy to eat. It is, however, a little more work and mess for the cook to remove, sort, & shred the chicken... but the end result is worth it (and remember: the tastiest Mexican cooking takes time and a little effort!). (tip: pour the soup through a strainer--broth into a pot/container, then shred & sort what is left in the strainer.) Two vegetables that I might add toward the end would be cabbage or zucchini/squash.

After the chicken is cooked & you have saved the broth, shred the chicken as desired. Add in spices & vegetables to taste if you have not done so already.

now come the few touches that take this soup from average to memorable.

1. Tomato Rice

2. Lime juice

For the rice--cook some ordinary white rice. You will use broth (bullion is fine) to cook it instead of plain water, to give it its own "Mexican rice" flavor to contribute to the soup. It's best to use A. tomato bullion B. chicken bullion with tomato flavor or C. chicken broth/bullion with diced tomatoes or tomato juice added.

When the soup and rice are finished (and the limes are sliced), serve this way: scoop some rice into a bowl, ladle the soup over the top as desired, and squeeze as much lime juice as you like over the top. To me, this irresistible little tang is the best part!!!

Pretty simple! Now all you need are some tortillas on the side... ;)

four years later

Mexico spring break trip, April 2011

This morning it is overcast & hazy, which means that at the Casa it was one of those mornings where the fog draped over the mountains like a thick blanket & hung on the fences with the clothes.

Funny to think that where I sit, on the balcony at Las Tres Palmas, is the same as when i wrote of my conviction to explore the idea of missions and overseas ministry, 4 years ago--something that would shape my future greatly & even in part lead me past things that weren't for me and bring me together with the man who will soon be my husband.

Especially once we begin our married life with our beautiful quilt, & dishes, & my kitchenaid mixer, & all such lovely eartly trappings, it will get harder to want to leave it all behind...

Let me not forget the things that are worth a thousand times more joy than the prettiest house.

Best granola ever

For Scott, since he says this recipe played a part in convincing him to marry me.

From a recipe from a friend of a friend. If you buy your ingredients right, you'll save a lot compared to buying granola at the store... not to mention it's quite healthy, and it's sooo good!

Dry ingredients (blend together first)

• 6 cups quick oats*
• 1/2 cup brown sugar (packed)
• 3/4 cup wheat germ
• 1/4 cup toasted sesame seeds (maybe a little less if you're not that into them)
• 1/2 cup dry milk

Wet ingredients

• 2/3 cup oil
• 2/3 cup honey
• 2 Tablespoons water
• 1 1/2 tsp vanilla

Optional (add after baking)

• 1 cup raisins
• 1 cup pecans

Mix together dry ingredients evenly, then add wet ingredients (works best if mixed a little first). Grease two pans (or use parchment paper) and bake at 300* until golden brown, about 25 min. Stir as needed to avoid burning.  Let cool, then store and eat! (note: it will clump up a little as it cools).

*I just tried this using part old fashioned oats instead of only quick, and it was good. :)

Zuppa Toscana

For Dad.

Dad's birthday is coming up, so I'm making his favorite soup from Olive Garden...Or at least my interpretation.

• 1.5 lb Italian sausage (sliced or crumbled, preferably seasoned)
• A few tablespoons chopped bacon or bacon bits
• butter or olive oil
• One large onion, finely diced
• garlic (powder or fresh)--1-2 tsp?
• ~7 (14.5oz) cans chicken broth
• 1 cup Half & Half
• 3 large potatoes, sliced in quarters
• several leafs of kale, chopped

Heat/brown the sausage. Add fennel seeds, red pepper, or other seasonings only if desired (if sausage isn't already seasoned--mine had some red pepper and more spicy stuff). Add in bacon, set aside.

In a soup pot, saute the onion in olive oil or butter. Add the garlic.

Add chicken broth, bring to a light boil. Add potatoes. Once potatoes are soft, turn down the heat some and add the half & half. Once this is heated & mixed, finally add in kale & the sausage (my opinion, the kale is better once soft...it has really great nutritional value, too).

Enjoy!

...or in Dad's case, add lots of hot sauce and keep a napkin handy to dry your sweating head. ;)

Hope -> Where?

Yet THIS I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; His mercies are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. (In this and this alone will I trust! ...Because it is the ONLY thing worth trusting.)

Not Jobs, not weddings,

not plans, not planners,

not money, not insurance,

not houses, not dreams...

not politicians or laws or government

not people (not even husbands, or family)

not health, or degrees.

Not even a hotel or dinner reservation is 100% certain... really.

I only know this to be 100% trustworthy: Jesus Christ; his promise of salvation and sanctification; the holy and true Word of the Lord.

God asks us, dares us to test us in his promises. It's like a taunt from a loving and loyal friend--"You just SEE if i won't come through for you."

Gotta do it. What can I lose? If I only trust in him to give me the faith and courage to do the culturally, humanly unthinkable.

Not because I'M great, but because it's a chance for him to show that HE's great. After all...how many chances do we really allow him?

May this be one of MANY in my life.

Las Montañas de Maneadero

This weekend I had the wonderful opportunity to take a short little visit down to Casa Esperanza with a small group from our church to deliver Christmas boxes. There is more to write about the people I saw, but for now these pictures shall be my words.

Dina

Share a sucker?

Katelynn y amiga

Las Montañas, y mi "sobrinita"

Mirna

This is a story of a friend of mine in Mexico, which I’m sure has deserved telling for many months now, but has instead found itself gathering dust in the files of my computer. Here it is.

Mirna is the kind of mother who would do almost anything to ensure a good life and happiness for her child. When I first met her, I almost began to assume her neglectful as she would set her 3-month-old daughter in the baby carrier with a propped-up bottle as she taught her students at the Casa. But then I began to see the difference in Mirna as compared to other “typical” Mexican moms. When others would let their children complain on & on to deaf ears, it seemed Mirna could not stand to hear her daughter cry. Not for sake of the annoyance, either, but because she couldn’t seem to bear allowing her daughter to continue in unnecessary unhappiness.

Most children at the casa get their fair share of bumps and bruises and falls—this seems commonplace for most moms, hardly worth even coddling in most cases. But not for Mirna. Gazing at a smiling Dina ("Deena") crawling on the bed one afternoon, Mirna confessed to me (in typical Mexican expressiveness and humor) that, the first time she sees her daughter fall and scrape her knee, she herself might cry more than Dina!

Late another night, I visited her in her trailer. Dina was already asleep, and Mirna invited me in. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Mira,” she said, pointing to the ceiling to show me smears of a few dead mosquitoes. “Want to help me?” She shut off the lights and sat down next to me on the bed, explaining to me that there were cracks somewhere in the trailer that let the mosquitoes in. she hated seeing the tiny welts on her baby’s face or arms. “They come out when it’s dark,” she explained. “And then—“ she flipped on the lights and jumped up, scanning the air for the tiny blood suckers, smacking them in her hands. I followed suit until we could find no more. Then, off went the lights again. On again, off again, on again. She did this every night before bed, while her precious baby lay sleeping.

For a while, Mirna left the casa. She has this dream, her biggest dream, and she went to follow it. She found a house—a little ranch house, she told me—where they could live, just the two of them. All she ever wants is a place of their own and a life for them. It was a nice enough place—quiet, she said, and peaceful, hardly anyone else around. But it was very hot, and very dry. And not many people around meant not much work. For a while she worked a push cart, some days with good business but some days without. The heat bore down on them and they drank and drank but hardly found relief. Dina became sick, and her desperate mother could only do so much for her. Day after day Mirna would push the cart, and sometimes there would be money, but usually only just barely enough. There was no car that worked to drive to the doctor, even to the store, and they would lack basic necessities, and food, and—

Mirna pressed her lips together and bent her head into her hands. I held my breath, my heart captured. i had never seen this strong, kind, and upbeat woman cry. Finally she looked up again with tears in her eyes, wiped them away and continued her story.

Now that she was back at the Casa, she wondered why she ever left. She is living well now in this broken-down trailer on the dusty property, with plenty of food and water and diapers, with her bright and cheerful daughter who is getting her health and weight back and has learned to walk and be mischievous. We smile at Dina, who is standing up near the edge of the bed, grinning back at her mother. "Dina!" Mirna points at her, her voice firm (but loving). "Get back from there, sit down right now, you're going to fall." Dina pouts, but promptly obeys, and we chuckle at her. "Es intelligente," i say. "Si," Mirna smiles.

Perhaps they will find a way to move to the states one day. Or perhaps they will stay in Mexico. But either way, Mirna still keeps hold of her dream. And unlike many who may dream big but fall back into the cycle, i feel confident that she will get there. My heart swells with the thought of God's grace to my friend and my little "neice." Surely he will continue to bless her faith and wisdom and persistence. "One day," she tells me. "One day."

August, 2009

Mi Hermana en Maneadero

She was married when she was not much older than me (21 0r 22), to a man she'd known for just a few months. It was a mistake, she'd later realize--he did not share her faith in Christ, and it did not take him long to leave his churchgoing wife behind for a life in "El Otro Lado," in a city in the US. She never told him that she was pregnant, and even still he knows nothing about their beautiful two-year-0ld daughter with the huge brown eyes and his curly dark hair.

When she first learned she was pregnant and very alone, she had no idea what to do. Eventually she ended up at the casa-hogar (shelter) where I met her--the animated young teacher of the supplemental classes for the kids at the shelter, with her 3-month-old daughter just a day younger than my own niece.

We became friends, sharing life at the casa for a little while--humorous communication (or sometimes miscommunication), stories about life, and the different changes and challenges of the classroom and Casa life. I would remember her as a particularly devoted mom and an enthusiastic & caring teacher who saw her work as ministry. Unlike many of the women that may pass through the Christian shelter purely by government placement, Mirna seemed to be a strong Christian, and did her best to be content with the time God had her there, despite trials or loneliness (many other women do not stay very long at the casa, so it can be hard to make stable friends) and the strong desire to make a real and independent life for herself and her daughter.

It had been more than a year that i had not been able to visit her, but she wrote to me sometimes and I also to her. But she wasn't sure she should believe that I would come again to see her. "Many people visit, and afterwards they write, and then eventually they forget," she said. "I figured you would probably be the same."

The minutes had passed so very slowly as I waited at the casa for Mirna to arrive home from work. In the mean time I spent some time with my "mexican niece" as we'd come to call her--who, as even the others in my group casually observed, seemed happier than many of the other kids, and obviously very well cared for. She'd grown quite a bit since I'd last seen her, and was even talking pretty well. Her eyes were bright and adventurous and she hardly stopped laughing as I pushed her in the swing and helped her climb and slide down the slide.

At last Mirna and I greeted one another and made our way to her room with Dina to do some much-overdue catching up. She excitedly showed me the little artificial Christmas tree she had set up and decorated in their room, the first one she or Dina ever had. But we had barely sat down when suddenly the group was waiting and I had to leave--it was my mistake for having failed to ask permission to stay earlier on. I think we were both devastated but I told her I would try to return, my heart feeling heavy and sick. This, after a year and a half? I couldn't do that to her... But I couldn't make any promises.

But lo, by God's grace and the goodness of our driver's heart, I returned at dark, after dinner. Most everyone was in their houses getting ready for bed, but someone told me that Mirna was in cleaning the kitchen. I walked quietly in, carrying all my things, and said teasingly, "I don't have a house... can I stay here with you?" She gave me a warm smile. "Oh, I didn't think you would come back! I heard the car, but didn't think it could be you." She helped me carry my things to her room, and arranged to borrow an extra mattress for me. I followed her around like a puppy until she finished her night's chores, just talking.

As the night faded on and Dina bounced merrily on my mattress on the floor, we stayed up like schoolgirls at a slumber party talked about almost everything in our recent lives we could think of to talk about. My now-somewhat-rusty Spanish (made worse by lack of sleep) was a little frustrating, but we had always been good at getting our point across with each other no matter. "Oh, how good that you are here," Mirna would say animatedly over and over again, resting her chin in her hands as she laid backwards on her bed to face me. She'd had less and less friends visiting lately. "I'm so glad to have you visit me." I told her of my Nana visiting for Christmas, and family plans this time of year. "Oh, how nice it must be to have family around," she said. "Here it is just us, Dina and I, and the Lord." Dina eventually gave up her mischief for sleep, and we also finally began to give in to the yawns that interrupted our conversation. We said goodnight and I prayed before I fell asleep to the noise of the creaking space heater.

I rose drowsily and dressed quietly in the dim light of the approaching sunrise. Outside I heard my ride arrive, so I waved a hand out the door and turned back for a few moments to gather my things. Mirna stirred and sat up. "Goodbye," I whispered, coming to her bedside for a final hug. "Goodbye," she said, "write to me, please!" "Yes," I promised.

As we bumped along the dirt road away from the Casa, I took what last pictures I could catch of the mountains at dawn.

How he asked me :)

I woke up on Tuesday, August 24, a bit earlier than I would have liked, to my dad patting my shoulder and handing me roses and a handmade card (clearly from Scott), with the nonchalant explanation that “these came at the door for you.” He left with little other explanation to my still-sleepy self.

What was going on? I smelled the roses and opened the card. In Scott’s typical silly fashion, it told me to get up, "get dressed cute (as in really cute--but quickly!)" and then hurry to the next location (the oven in my house). Odd, I know. But that’s my boy. It also had a few lines about how he loved spending time with me and couldn't wait for our next unexpected adventure.

As you may imagine (especially if you're a girl), my mind was running every which way and my heart was racing just as fast to keep up (But Scott knows me, thank goodness, and decided it was okay for me to suspect his plans for a little while and get some of this out of the way). Somehow, though, I managed to get ready, putting on a little makeup and perfume and Scott's favorite dress of mine (he had teased me once, "Hey, if you ever think I might propose, you should wear that dress." Maybe I was being silly, I thought, but I put it on anyway).

My bare feet on the hardwood floor seemed the only sound in the empty house as I walked into the kitchen to the oven (Where were my parents anyway?). In the oven was another card, made to look like a cookie (complete with chips). Before instructing me to sign in to Facebook ("the esteemed social networking site"), this note reminisced about our very first days ever hanging out, baking cookies together, when Scott's brother Mark would "fall asleep" and leave just the two of us to talking ("back when you were just the cute college girl i shamelessly flirted with."). He reminded me of how thankful he was that God put me in his life in the first place.

On Facebook, I found the next note, which again reminisced about our earliest days, and Facebook threads that were hundreds of messages long. He admitted that even sometimes at school (his senior year of high school) he would hurry to the library computers to see if I had written back to him yet that morning (and as it usually was, I likely had) and hurry home from practice wondering what I'd written. He wondered if we ought to thank Facebook even for the first message he sent telling me he liked me (pathetic and poorly written, he thinks it now, but nonetheless part of "our story"). He pointed out the qualities he loved about me then, and his hope to receive many more messages from me in the future.

Amidst my nervousness, I smiled as my heart basked in the quirky beauty that was our God-written story together.

The next note was in my car, "where we first held hands." This one was shaped like a hand, or really two hands that came together at the fold ("This one is weird, Son," Scott's dad had admitted to him teasingly the night before). This card, aside from it's punny note that I was now a palm reader (haha), was a little more bold and to-the-point. "...I hope to get to hold your hand for the rest of my life." My heart beat even faster, and I did my best to breathe as I drove to the next directed location: The swings at Cub Lake (one of my/our favorite places in my hometown) where Scott had asked me to be his girlfriend two years before.

I parked in front of the swings and got out. Glancing over my shoulder, I thought I saw Scott's car pulling out of the somewhat full parking lot. Where could he be going? But there was a little folded paper on the swing, for "Jessay" (Scott's old nickname for me). I opened it with fumbling hands.

This note was shorter. It held a quick one of his "you are:" lists (beautiful, my best friend, my sweetheart, an example of God's love, etc.) and then only a Bible verse--

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change."

Then a last note:

"Look up."

I looked a little too far up actually (the sky, the top of the swing set...). He said he had almost written "not that far up" but didn't want to ruin the moment. I glanced around uncertainly. Finally he emerged from behind the playground, dressed nicely and holding his Bible. I was relieved a little just to finally see him, as he smiled nervously and gave me a strong hug...and then dropped to one knee, one hand still holding me by the waist. It seemed like a dream (or maybe slow motion) as I heard his words and watched him pull out that little black box from the pocket of his slacks. The ring sparkled brilliantly in the Tehachapi sun. I nodded as I firmly held my hand to his at my waist. "Yes!"

True to form, he asked, "Are you sure?" to which I laughingly responded, "Yes!...Should I be? Did you ask my dad?" He had, and my parents were in fact waiting to make us a celebratory breakfast, before we would head off for a full day at Disneyland.

But for now, we reveled in the joy and emotion of the moment we had both waited for, praising God for his love and ours, and his direction of our lives and our story.

Just a few days before, on our second dating anniversary, Scott had written in the handmade anniversary card his promise that it would be the last dating anniversary card he would write to me. At the time, of course, I hadn't expected that he would come through so quickly! I guess he's a man of his word.

Since I've been gone...

(I know you're probably tempted to hum a Kelly Clarkson song in response to my title. Please resist... You can do it. )

Well, hello, my few-and-far-between (so far), devoted readers!

Sorry that it has been a bit of a break in the updates. I’m sure that you are just dying to hear the rest of the story about “that boy!” I’ve got two excuses for why I haven’t written… one being, of course, the start of my final semester of college (again…so far) and the other perhaps being that on August 24^th, “that boy” asked me to marry him!

I said yes, by the way, and sorry to ruin the ending of a story I haven’t yet told you. I think I better end my short hiatus to give you the story of how it happened.

Well, as God would have it, Scott was able to intern this summer at my home church. A wonderful thing, except that the first part of it was a little bittersweet for both as I was in Albania for six weeks while he lived at my house, with my parents, in my town, working with my church, around my friends and family… and of course, my pictures, if you’ve ever seen my parents’ house. ;) Nonetheless, it was a good time for us both. We had never been apart so long since we started dating almost two years before, so of course we were thrilled and relieved to be together again when I returned and he moved to the house of another friend nearby. It was delightful getting to be so close by, getting those random chances to be together for the average parts of life, just us or with groups (like the youth) or my family. And a wonderful added bonus, many of the important people in my hometown life got to know Scott well, and by the time I returned I think even a few of them had begun to like him even better than me. ;)

Of course that included my parents. I think we were very thankful for the opportunity he had to live with them and for all of them to get to know each other better. Our time apart was a good time as well to continue pondering marriage, if and when God would have it for us. I definitely found myself writing a few journal pages about it while I was gone, in the midst of my free time to think. And I was a little surprised to find that by the time I returned, Scott had already much begun the fearsome task of expressing the notion to our parents. Really, at the end of the day, they were supportive (though no doubt they had or still have a few nerves over their youngest, and still young, children).

Nevertheless my mind was left with a few bits of confusion and doubt. It seemed to me at times an incredible thing that we could even consider marriage in the near future. We are young—and if we admit so, certainly others would too. There were and still are so many questions and things we don’t know. But that’s where we learn to really trust God… not when we have a flawless backup plan. (Not that planning is wrong or bad, mind you, but, as we Americans especially must remind ourselves, not that not having a plan is the worst thing either).

But never mind, it was only August. Though Scott was pretty secretive about his plans, even to my prying as to what groundwork he had laid already (Had Dad approved? Had he looked at or purchased a ring?) I figured we would still have at least a good month or so to figure things out, before he proposed. So on one particular Monday (August 23) after Scott had gone back to Santa Clarita before school started again, I went to bed with a few lingering questions in my mind as to just how far we really were into where we wanted to be with the process of planning to get engaged and married. I knew I had very little reason if any to doubt, but it was still just a little hard to believe we’d ever get there.

Ah, dear reader(s?). J Perhaps by now you know me enough to realize that a flaw in my storytelling is that I’m a bit heavy on the exposition. My apologies. Tomorrow, the real proposal story. ;)

That Boy, Part 3

I guess Scott finally decided he needed to jump the gun. Just as school was starting up again, it was back to the usual hang-out night with Scott and company. He walked me out to the car again, as usual, afterwards. It almost seemed like he had something he wanted to say… but I had all but given up that thought. I left for my dorm and went straight to sleep. Apparently, Scott didn’t. He kicked himself for dropping another chance to talk to me about his feelings. He had reason to be nervous: he was risking a humiliating rejection by a college girl and the loss of a good friendship, for a chance at a relationship that was and would be against the rules for several more months, and to top it off, he had never done anything like this before!

Finally convinced that written words would be better than an incredibly awkward spoken conversation (keep in mind that, whether he knew this or not, I was at least as awkward as he was about this stuff), he made his most romantic, charming, smooth, and manly move yet—he confessed his feelings over a Facebook message. Now, before you hurry off to give him flack for it, I’ll admit that I think it was a decision that we were both quite thankful for. (That day together he could have told me, I had been feeling queasy already, and quite possibly may have thrown up from nerves if he had told me then. Which, no doubt, would have at least made for a good story).

So at one in the morning, five months from the day we met, he wrote that fateful message—expressing his thankfulness for our friendship, apologies for potentially ruining it and for doing this over Facebook, and his feelings that he felt God had prompted him to finally go ahead and talk to me about. Unfortunately for his nerves, I didn’t check it that night and slept in the next morning, then rushed to meet a friend for lunch—but just before leaving, decided to do a quick check, and there it was. I was totally stunned (and characteristically awkward). I was actually quite thankful that I was even able to drive safely that day, as my head was quite distracted. ;) Before leaving, I quickly typed back that I had been praying for a chance to talk, and that he was very special to me too, and that I would respond more later. To which he simply responded, “K sweet, this has been the most nervous 10 hours of my life! ha talk to you later.” (Adorable? I know.) Our awkward, delightful, blessed journey had only begun.

speaking of which, I was quite determined to finish these stories of our history before he proposed to me.... but, looks like he beat me to the punch. ;)

That Boy, Part 2

The group of us continued to hang out often, and Scott and I quickly found ourselves in the realm of good friends—thanks also in part to our many Facebook messages and even a few lengthy phone conversations (unfamiliar territory for both of us, I think). He was always eager to talk to me (I noticed this first at youth group) and we never seemed to run out of conversation—only time. I enjoyed watching him interact with the youth group kids (cliché? But he wasn’t) and by November I could hardly shake the feeling that something was bound to happen here. But… was that what I wanted? Typical girl, it was hard to know. I had already quite convinced myself that life was better for now without a “love interest.” But, maybe God had a different idea after all.

The big chance to end some of my confusion came in mid November, when Allen decided to have a youth group staff retreat in our quaint, pretty home town that he often told the others about. Finally, a chance to at least get my parents’ opinion of the situation! But Scott had a football game that Saturday… Tragic. But on one of our customary conversations as he walked me out to my car after we all hung out, he promised he would do his best to make it. Indeed, he somehow convinced his parents (perhaps something I should still be surprised about) to let him drive out two hours for the remaining 15-ish hours of the weekend retreat at my house. Not surprisingly, my mom took note of this fact. I was thrilled, of course, which mom also took note of, and two of us met him in town in my jeep and we all spent the rest of the evening playing games and baking cookies (the two of us—also customary). By the time the group left the next day, my mom didn’t hesitate a moment to ask her usual, “So, are you two kind of an item?” I said I didn’t know… a state that would continue for us for a while longer. ;) But at least my parents thought he was a good guy.

Over my Christmas break at home, he came to visit me twice—once with his brother and again by himself. At this point I think we can now agree that it was pretty obvious to almost everyone but ourselves that we both liked each other. But, I guess we were naively oblivious. …Although, there had been many a conversation—out at my car, the times we had to ourselves when he visited, over facebook…even a time when we talked for three hours on the phone!—when I had wondered whether he would finally confess his obvious undying love for me. ;) There was of course the fact that we wouldn’t be allowed to date anyway, since I was on youth staff and he was a student (completely understandable in pretty much every other situation)…but come on. I was dying here. But, our day together passed, at times in awkward silence as I waited painfully for him to give me some sort of clarity. Nope! It was certainly on his mind, but the timing wasn’t right (or… he was too chicken to lose my friendship… either way ;) ). Fine, I thought. If he hasn’t said anything by now, he probably never will. At least we had a great friendship.

"That Boy," Part 1

As it turns out, I should not have underestimated that high school senior from church. I met him on the second day of WOW week, August 19. He was a good friend of a guy I’d grown up with, Allen, who also went to Master’s and lived in Santa Clarita with his wife Vicky and was a youth director at the same church. It was Allen who asked me to consider helping with their junior high program… which, by chance, Scott also helped out with. I would later learn that my graduation announcement photo on Allen and Vicky’s fridge was the first glimpse Scott ever saw of me—as well as that Allen and Vicky had indeed had thoughts of setting us up before we even met. Foreshadowing!! ;)

One of the first times Scott and I began to converse, we started out with the usual topics I’d been well-rehearsed in from WOW week, including the never-relenting “So what do you think you want to do with your life?” (a question better phrased by Pastor Mike as “So what are you hoping God does with your pathetic life?”—either way). It happened of course that Scott told of his hope to be “either a pastor or a missionary.” As my friend Genie once put it, “Oh! Hey, what a coincidence—I want to marry one of those!”

Another interesting tidbit is that we both at one point or another had a sneaking suspicion that the other might be taken. During one of my first group lunch times at his house after church, his brother told a story mentioning “my brother’s girlfriend.” Being somewhat confused at the time as to which people in the house were his brothers, I sorta assumed that Mark meant Scott’s girlfriend. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “what a shame… that is, he seemed wiser than that. I’m sure she’s a nice girl.” I will confess that I was thrilled later to hear the same brother tease him when bowling, “Ah! Scott. That’s why you’ve never had a girlfriend.” Yup, my ears perked up… I’ll admit. And Scott of course (aside from thinking it possible that one of my friends he met had a “thing” for me) assumed in his classic pessimism that he would no sooner like me than be beaten up by some college boy who considered me his territory.

Another point was won by Scott on the night (I believe, once again bowling with the gang) he asked when my birthday was. “Oh, November 20^th? What do you know?! Mine is right after that, on December 7^th… that makes you only like two and a half weeks older than me!… you’re young!” He had noted my birthday before, of course. He just wanted to make sure that I noted the two. Nice work, Scott, nice work.

Out of the old; into the new!

And so, I figured, I had not only survived, but thoroughly enjoyed, my very first little mini-taste of international life and ministry (by myself, that is). It was a great trip—short, but packed in with thoughts and learning. I loved it! That little post-high-school week long trip gave me the mental “okay” to continue to entertain the thoughts of such things for my own future. Incidentally, it was also perhaps around this time that another godly young person first saw a picture of me on a friend’s refrigerator. He will come into the story later (and can now be happy he has been given his deserved mention in this blog ;) ).

I continued on to start college that fall. I was thrilled at the opportunity to go to my school of choice, The Master’s College. The first few weeks were a delightful whirlwind! So many new friends and wonderful people (not to mention MANY new facebook friend requests from people who’d just barely stepped out of the realm of “stranger.” Haha). Now, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that probably most, if not all, incoming students to TMC (and probably many other solid Christian schools) can hardly help but entertain at least SOME thoughts of “I wonder if the next person I meet of the opposite gender may be my future spouse?!” (Really, I think even those who try to avoid those thoughts will not get away with it for long, as our “W.O.W.” orientation week is always well known for its plentiful supply of marriage references. ;) I don’t really resent that, just find it appropriate to enjoy a laugh at.

So, now that I’ve qualified and excused myself (just kidding) I will admit that there were some of those thoughts in my girlish mind. Really, how can one not consider the reasonable possibility? “W.O.W. Week” (whose acronym makes little sense) is great fun, and one of the entertaining parts is to watch young students get into “introduction overload” mode. Seriously, by the end of the week, nearly every freshman feels that they must introduce themselves to, chat with, and subsequently add on facebook each person they meet at the pool or in the food line. It’s awesomely, hilariously, ridiculous—though certainly not bad, and again, not something I resent.

So of course I met and conversed with many great young people, and perhaps I should not mention that I would often check off in my head the guys I knew would not match well with me. And there I found myself, several weeks into school, and hardly a single potential guy on the radar. There were a few guys who I knew would be good friends, a few who’d probably be nothing, and one potential good friend from church, but he was still only a senior in high school. It wasn’t really a big disappointment. I decided that was exactly where God had me, and exactly where I wanted to be. My life should never be defined by liking some boy. I would enjoy the beginning of college with my head free of such concerns. I was content.

Beginnings (a.k.a. the official first post of this blog)

Hello all!

(Despite the date, this is the real first post.)

So I decided that I might as well get started on this soon-to-be-lovely blog I’ve got here. Already I’m backed up with things I’d like to write about… since this blog is to have its beginnings in my experiences in cross cultural ministry, a love I continue to develop, I thought it proper to start it out with how that interest began in my life.

Perhaps like many Americans, particularly Californians, my first (and only for quite a while) taste of another country was Mexico. I got a glimpse of Acapulco when I was probably around ten… this was a touristy trip with extended family, but still there are those bits of reality tucked away among the spiffed-up hotel and resort areas… and though it was far from my main focus at the time I was intrigued by new sights—from pickups on the road full of vaqueros (or, more strangely federalis with machine guns) to the venders and hair-braiders on the beach, to the makeshift shelters of a few poorer people (a tarp, an old disposed-of easy chair, maybe a rug and a table)… the things that surprise any spoiled American about Mexico, I suppose. I do remember getting my hair braided and leaving those cornrows in for the longest time (I was in sixth grade), and that the woman who made the tiny braids was named Mercedes (not pronounced like the car). I also enjoyed Mom’s attempts at communicating with Spanish, which we all thought pretty impressive at the time.

Years later, a freshman in high school, I would take my first “real” glimpse of international ministry as our youth group traveled to Ensenada (something we did each year) in the springtime to build houses with a missionary couple there. It was well known among our youth group that Mexico was the best trip of the year in almost every way, so I couldn’t miss it. And yup, of course, life-changing indeed.

So we jumped in to life there for a week, staying in the dorms at Las Tres Palmas. We bonded together as a group, and of course got oh so dirty, sore, sunburned, and not to forget wonderfully-fed. (My first experience at a Mexican taco stand was also life changing… and I suspect you shall hear more about my love for them in the future. ;) )

Culture shock was definitely there. I remember being so happy to finally cross the border back to my beloved USA! But…I also remember really loving Mexico. There was not a bit I resented about it, and I remember thinking to myself that, ironically, “you know, I think this place is just so completely different from my normal life at home, that it somehow actually suits me quite happily.”

And it did. Each year’s trip was more and more delightful; perhaps also as my knowledge of Spanish began to grow from my classes, and the unfamiliarities of the foreign country became more familiar and beloved (especially alongside my much-loved youth group of course). I loved the dirt roads, the quaint countryside, the wonderful people, the food (I was a much pickier child before I discovered the wonders of real Mexican food), and even the piling-together-in-one-car-with-definitely-less-seats-than-people. The late nights of card games and pillow fights with the youth group girls, sore and smelly, and night worship time together. And of course, the amazing Mexican believers, and the way they sang and loved passionately in every church service.

Yup, I loved nearly every bit of it but onions and peppers (which is still a fault in my “Mexicanity” to this day). But it never occurred to me to consider such ministry long term in any way. I was going to be a pastor’s wife, if God should have it, and I was going to be perfectly happy in the good old USA.

As God would have it (and I still chuckle about this part of the story), I liked a boy during parts of my last years of high school whom I assumed hoped to be a pastor one day. One day someone told me that, in fact, he wanted to be a missionary. This hit me like a ton of bricks. I remember a day that he called me and mentioned a trip to Russia our church was putting on, and wondered if I would be applying too. I would not! I could not be a missionary. I don’t remember exactly why, but a missionary was perhaps one of the last things I thought I would like to do. This seemed irreconcilable, but I decided to tentatively give the idea a bit of a chance. I think it terrified me. But I tried to learn a bit about it, talk to missionary kids I met, or the like. …Maybe it wouldn’t be the WORST thing ever.

And so, as God would have it (this is the part I still chuckle at), and perhaps in part due to the fervent prayers of a real special old lady I know, my interest in this boy went away. But, my interest in missions did not! And by the spring of my senior year, I found myself feeling that I HAD to continue to look into this joy and love I found in getting to know the Mexican people. So on one of the last nights of our trip, as I considered my desire to spend more time getting to know Mexican woman and children, I was faced with a “chance” meeting with the American director of Casa Esperanza, a Christian-run shelter for abused or abandoned women and children.

As God would have it, we exchanged emails. And that very summer, after graduation, I found myself on a bumpy dirt road, riding a bike much too small for me, with Mexican children around me and one even sitting on my handlebars—the second-to-only American on the property, my mind holding a fair amount of confusion (“What in the world did I get myself into? What am I supposed to be doing? What are these kids even saying?”).

As I wrote during that trip, it was “not what I expected, but just what I wanted.”

And so it began.

(to continue the story of this trip from its beginning, click back in time to the post of July 9, 2007, the date it happened).