The stories I share aren’t usually as personal as this one, but I’m not sure why. God’s greatest miracles aren’t usually things that happen to us; they are how He works in us, changing our hearts.

Last year about this time, I began to struggle with discontentment. It all started when a house down the road from us became available. We went and looked around with the owner one afternoon. As the tour progressed, my eyes grew wider and wider.



This house was nice. Really nice. It had not one, but two bathtubs. I would no longer have to wait for furlough to take a nice long bath. Not to mention how much Claire would enjoy bathtime; four year-olds are not fans of showers. The home also boasted a hot water heater! I immediately began to dream of washing the dishes with hot water once again. The living spaces were air-conditioned. I thought of our own kitchen, dining room and living room, and how hot they get, especially when we have company over (See, I was thinking of others!). The house was newer and prettier—I loved the colors she had chosen and the beautiful tile floors. There were real glass windows instead of the louvered kind we had. The yard was fully enclosed by a giant security wall with electric current running across the top. Wow, we certainly wouldn’t have to worry about break-ins! I thought of our chain-link fence running down one side of our current property and how insecure I felt sometimes. This would be great! Claire could play in the yard without me watching her like a hawk!


“Well, this house is beautiful, but I’m sure the rent's out of our price range,” Robbie told the owner. “We can’t pay more than $*** per month, and we have a really good deal where we are.”


“Oh, I would let you have it for that!” she agreed. “We can go to a lawyer and work on the paperwork.”


We were speechless. This is amazing! Thank you, Lord!


I was already redecorating in my mind. I measured my curtains, deciding which ones to use in the new, larger rooms. We could move the air conditioners that we had purchased for our bedrooms to the new house; since she had already installed AC in all bedrooms and the living room, I could put one of ours in the kitchen! I could cook without sweating like I’d run a marathon! I was absolutely giddy with excitement.


I never saw it coming. Had I been paying better attention to my husband’s face, I might have been forewarned. We prayed about it that night, emailed my parents to ask them to pray, and went to bed. The next morning, he told me: “Chris, I don’t have peace about taking that house.”


“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The Lord had given us that house! I was sure of it! How could I live here with no hot water, cooking in a kitchen with broken tile and no AC, being embarrassed of toilets with hard water stains (Will our company think I don’t clean them?), when such a beautiful, secure house was right down the street. And the rent was less than we had paid for our first little apartment in the States!


“I think the house is just…too nice. Can you picture the poor people from our church being comfortable there?”


"But, but…there are also people in our church who live in houses just like that! And we’re American! They expect us to live like that.”



“I just don’t have peace about it.”


And that was the end of it. Just like that, the dream died. Lord, please don’t let me become discontent over this. I had been perfectly happy in our current home for five years. But now I sat down and stared our cracked bedroom wall with its peeling paint. Why would He let a beautiful home become available, dangle it in front of me, only to snatch it away? I could not understand.


Furthermore, why were we in our thirties now with no home of our own? Other missionaries we knew had purchased homes by getting loans from churches or family members. We had been frugal with our money and saved enough for a down payment, but we simply couldn’t finance a home with the outrageous interest rates here. It wouldn’t be wise. So we saved and prayed. I often thought of just purchasing some lot out in the country back in the States and hanging on to it for an investment. At least then we’d have something in our name. That’s what you are supposed to have by our age.


My thinking was being controlled by a list of rules in my mind. Rules about what it meant to “be a good steward.” Doesn’t that sound biblical? We should have a certain percent of our income in savings, set aside a certain percent for retirement, and we should own property. Those are the rules. Robbie and I are both tightwads when it comes to spending and had worked hard to save for the future; but somehow, we’d never had the opportunity to purchase a home. What were we doing wrong?


Over the next few months, the Lord began working in my heart; He started by throwing my “Rulebook of Good Stewardship” out the window. What if He was calling our family not to own a home? What if we don’t live in the best house we can afford? Is it the right decision just because we can afford it? What does He want to do with our money? Somehow, I’d always believed that if a good thing became available and the Lord provided the funds, He wanted us to have it. Was there more to it than that?


I’ve been broken to realize how materialistic my thinking was. What a horribly limited, genie-in-a-bottle role I’d assigned to my Heavenly Father! How could I demand these “essentials” from the One who didn’t have a place to lay His head on this earth? I was the exact opposite of Christ-like.


Little by little, He’s opened my eyes to a more eternal perspective. This is not it. I know that. But I’ve not lived like it. Who cares if I never get my dream house here on earth? So what if I’m not comfortable? What if I’m not supposed to be?


With His Word, He’s been cutting right through the lies I’ve believed one at a time. And He’s still working. It’s a painful process, but I’m seeing some things clearly for the first time and I can’t wait to discover more. I'm not "there" yet; I'm still working on this area daily, praying for victory. But the joy and freedom He is giving me through this process is indescribable. I don’t know what He has in store for our family, but I don’t ever want to limit Him again.


Note: Aside from the Bible, which has transformed my thinking more than anything, the Lord has also used two books in particular over the past 9 months to work in my heart and help me gain a more eternal perspective: Heaven by Randy Alcorn and Radical by David Platt. I highly recommend both (to read and reread!).

The pace of life on the mission field genuinely surprised me. Being used to the busyness of ministry in the States, I had braced myself for the inevitable boredom that was to come. I envisioned moving from New York City to Mayberry. This was going to take some adjusting.


I soon discovered ministry is busy wherever you are. There are church services, special activities, discipleships, counseling sessions, visitation, and staff meeting. Somewhere in there, I'm supposed to find time to prepare meals and clean house. With the arrival of a group from the U.S., life becomes a whirlwind.


Where does family time fit into all this? Will Claire suffer from Mama and Daddy being on call 24/7?


I'm the first to confess, I don't have it all figured out. I know the key is balance...now how do we strike it? But I would like to share some things the Lord has taught Robbie and me over the past few years about a harmony of family time and ministry.


1. My husband is the head of our home. The Lord placed my husband as the head of this family; no other man has this role. The Lord gives Robbie wisdom to decide exactly what our family can handle. Every family should serve in the church; but not every family can be involved to the same capacity. I must trust the leadership of my husband. He would tell you that I tend to frequently over commit. I recall one weekend in particular that we had a church event the weekend before we left for furlough in the United States. Already in the flurry of packing and organizing for our trip, I was also in charge of the meal for this event. Instead of asking someone for help, or ordering chop-suey from the Chinese restaurant (as my husband suggested), I decided to make the food myself. For one hundred people. Somewhere around 1AM, I was standing in the kitchen peeling eggs for the potato salad, rolling my eyes at myself. Dumb, dumb, dumb! Why didn't I listen to my husband? As hard as it is to admit at times, there's a reason I'm not in charge!


2. My relationship with the Lord is top priority. It becomes pretty obvious when I become too busy doing and not being with the Lord. My schedule is overflowing, I frantically rush from activity to activity, and I begin to resent my ministry. If everything I do doesn't revolve around Him, it will quickly fall apart. And my daughter needs to see that. Years ago, before I was married, my cousin Kimberly shared something the Lord was teaching her that really stuck with me. She had the habit of rising early to have her devotions before her two young boys were awake each morning. But one day it occurred to her that her little ones didn't see Mama reading her Bible and praying each day. Yes, she probably had fewer distractions with the boys asleep, but it was important to her that they know she had her quiet time with the Lord. She began waiting until they were awake, then sent them out to play on the patio just after breakfast. They could see each other through the glass, and they knew this was Mama's time to be with the Lord. I've incorporated the same habit now that I have Claire; some mornings she even sits beside me and looks through a Bible picture book because she wants to "have her devotions" as well. My quiet time is the most important part of the day, and all other activities must take a backseat to my spending time with the Lord.


3. My daughter will benefit from our family's involvement in the ministry. We all hear horror stories of pastors becoming so involved in the ministry that they lose their own children. Certainly there is a dangerous extreme of trying to "save the world" yet losing one's own family in the process. But somehow, I believe the devil has deceived us at times with the lie that the ministry is competing against our family and we must be on guard for fear of losing our children by "serving the Lord too much." The ministry is not the antagonist of my family time. If we are following Biblical principles and submitting to the leadership of the head our homes, I believe the Lord will give us a beautiful balance and enable us to serve the Him with our children. Some of my favorite times with Claire have been watching her sweep the church alongside me, her chubby hands grasping a small broom that we bought just so she could clean the Lord's house. She plays with children on visitation while we talk to their parents about their salvation. She passes out napkins at the men's meeting while I serve the plates of food. She loves being part of the ministry!


In a small seaside town about an hour north of our church, lives a national pastor whom our church supports. While we ate dinner with him and his wife one night, they shared their salvation testimonies, then began to tell how their children had trusted Christ. The story of their son's decision was one of the sweetest I've ever heard.

"One Sunday night, a visitor raised his hand during the invitation,
indicating that he wanted to trust Christ. I went to him and asked him to go
next door to my house to talk further. But I saw that my four year-old son would
be left alone in the pew, since my wife was praying with a lady, so I decided to
bring him along with me. In our living room, I gave Axel, Jr., a basket of toys
and he began to play quietly as I shared the gospel with the visitor. I didn't
think my little boy was even listening as I read the verses from the Roman's
Road; I knelt to lead the man in a prayer of repentance, and when I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see little Axel kneeling beside me, his lips moving in a
silent prayer. He never said a word to me; he simply finished praying then
returned to his toys. The next morning at breakfast, he announced to the family,
'I'm going to heaven, now, too!' My wife looked at me in surprise, and I asked
Axel why he believed he was going to heaven. 'Because I prayed and asked Jesus
into my heart last night!' Ever since that night, Axel has always given a
confident testimony of his decision to trust Christ as Savior."

What a beautiful example of a man's service to the Lord resulting in the salvation of his son! It's my prayer that our family's involvement in the ministry influences Claire's heart for eternity. Sometimes, it may mean saying no. Other times, it may mean an incredibly busy week. But the Lord will give us the wisdom to know how to serve the Lord together as a family.

I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord. -Psalm 122:1

Up into the mango tree,
Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
And looked abroad on foreign lands.

I like to picture a knowing smile on my Heavenly Father's face as He listened to a younger me dreaming of looking "abroad on foreign lands" that lay beyond my own yard. Little did I know what He had in store! As He shaped and molded this great adventure for me, He put more care into each detail than Stevenson did into perfecting each line of poetry. She's going to love this!

One of the devil's most widely-accepted lies is that following God's will is dull. Nothing could be further from the truth! I've found excitement, fulfillment, and complete satisfaction in serving Him.

I often wonder where Claire's path will take her. What mountains will she climb? Which rivers will she cross? Whom will she meet along the way? I can't see the future, but I do know that if she follows God's will for her life, she'll find surprises and twists she can't possibly imagine, meticulously crafted just for her.

God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

We liked Mayra from the start. She was a troubled teen from a Honduran family who had immigrated to the United States. When her mother was diagnosed with cancer, Mayra’s behavior became a great burden to the family, and they sent her to live with her grandmother in Honduras, where she had been born. Although she definitely had her difficulties, she was friendly and a joy to be around. She began to come to church, some youth activities, and even over to visit us at the house now and then.

She showed up at our gate one evening in tears. She had gotten into a fight with her uncle’s family and had left in anger. We gave her supper, counseled her for over an hour, and insisted that she call her grandmother. We offered to let her stay overnight with us (with her grandmother’s permission) so that everyone could cool off before we took her back in the morning. We let her sleep in Claire’s room, and moved Claire into our room for the night.

Everything seemed to be fine the next week, but, sure enough, she appeared at the gate again on Saturday evening. It was not a good time; we had a group from the United States in for the week and were responsible for fixing meals and transporting them from place to place. But this was important; once again, we sat down with Mayra, listened to her side, and counseled her to apologize for her part in the family dissent. Again, we allowed her to stay the night, and I lent her clothes for Sunday morning service. After church, she went to visit some friends, and we returned home. She said she would return for her backpack later that afternoon.

After I put Claire down for her nap, I began to pick up the typical weekend clutter that had accumulated in the house. As I put towels away into the hall closet, I noticed the flatiron my parents had sent for my birthday was missing. Where in the world did I leave it? After searching for a few minutes, I began to get a sick feeling in my stomach. More things, as well as a small amount of cash I had in a drawer, were missing as well. Someone had taken them.

I went to Claire’s room, sat on the bed, and stared at Mayra’s book bag in the corner. She wouldn’t! We took her in, fed her, lent her clothes. She could have asked us for anything, and we would have given it to her! There’s got to be another explanation.


I went to Robbie’s office and filled him in. “What should I do? I don’t want to go through her things! That seems like a breach of trust…”

“Well, I can’t think of another place those things might be. Just go open the front pocket and see if you see anything suspicious.”

Sure enough, I opened the front pocket and thank-you notes from my drawer, pens and pencils, and pictures of Claire fell onto the bed. The other pockets contained larger items: an old baby bottle, small pictures frames, ponytail holders. The flatiron wasn’t there. In fact, everything in the backpack had very little value. If you were going to break our trust, why didn’t you at least take something worth stealing? This doesn’t make sense. There was nothing there (including the flatiron) that I wouldn’t have given her if she’d asked.

I was angry and hurt. We were trying to help Mayra! Why in the world would she steal from us?

We talked to her when she returned home and she apologized. She admitted to the items we found, but never did confess to taking the flatiron. It was long gone. We hugged and “made up” but it wasn’t over for me. Robbie was able to joke about it that same day when we showed up late at Matt and Dallita's because of dealing with the situation: "We had a family emergency! All our thank-you notes were stolen!" But I wasn't laughing along with him inside; I still felt hurt by Mayra’s actions. It took me weeks to truly forgive her.

How do we love, forgive, and minister to those who hurt and disappoint us? I’ve poured myself into someone and invested in her life, only to see her drop out of church, offend me, or lie to my face. How can I not take it personally? How is the failure of someone I have mentored not a slap in the face? How can I go to my next discipleship without thinking, “Maybe she too will let me down”?

It’s been one of the hardest battles of the ministry for me—loving people. I’ve got to love them as Christ did, with all their scars, their secrets, their skeletons in the closet. Why? Because I’ve got mine. So the minute I start to feel insulted, to feel personally offended by a wrong, I’ve become too proud. I’m mistakenly thinking, “I’d never do anything like that! I deserve better than this.”

No matter how many hours I invest in a person, she doesn’t “owe me.” She is not obligated to take my advice. She must make her own decisions. And when she doesn’t do what I want her to, that doesn’t sever our relationship. I’ve got to keep loving her. Because that’s what Christ did for me.

Love God. Love people. Unconditionally. It’s the hardest thing I’ll ever do, but I can’t have an effective ministry without unconditional, long-suffering, limitless love.

The yelps and barks from the side yard startled me, and the dish I'd been washing dropped into the sink. I peered out the window in time to see a Honduran woman on the other side of our chain link side fence stoop down, grab a rock, and hurl it at Roxy, our two year-old Rottweiler. Drying my hands on my apron, I flew out the side door and called out, "Stop throwing rocks! She can't hurt you!" The fact that our guard dog couldn't possibly leap over the seven-foot fence seemed to have escaped the woman, who continued to hurl rocks as fast as she could grab them. Roxy dodged the rocks and continued to bark furiously.

I grabbed Roxy by the collar and tried to no avail to drag her away from the fence. "Lady! Stop throwing rocks! She's not doing anything to you!" Now the rocks started coming in my direction!

Robbie had been collecting fruit from the cashew tree in the back yard. Hearing the commotion, he started walking toward the fence. He was surprised to see his apron-clad wife yelling at a small woman, chasing the dog in circles, and dodging rocks right and left. My attacker had not slowed in the least. As she continued to hurl rocks, the grimy dress she was wearing began to creep down to her waist. Robbie was almost doubled over laughing at the sight of me being pummeled by a half-naked, angry woman. He heard me yell, "Stop throwing rocks! And, good grief, pull your DRESS up!"

He helped me drag Roxy to the other side of the yard, and admonished me, "Chris, she's not all there, babe."

"What do you mean?" I looked a little more closely at my attacker. I felt my face grow hot as reality sank in. I had been yelling at a mentally challenged person. The poor woman had probably been frightened to death by our dog's barks and hadn't realized Roxy couldn't get to her. She obviously didn't understand what was going on at all. I had seen her as the aggressor and instantly made the situation worse by yelling. I ran to her to calm her down and apologize for my behavior.


Unfortunately, this isn't the only time I've been guilty of misjudging a person. Many times I focus on the rocks being hurled at me, failing to look beyond them at the hurt, the fear, the misunderstanding on the other side of the fence. I take things personally, I jump to conclusions, I preach my opinion. How many times have I stopped to ask questions? To try to see the situation from another's point of view? To show compassion?

I've got learn to shut my mouth and look past the rocks.

Much learning does not teach understanding. -Heraclitus

Goodbyes, a plane ride,
My life’s in a crate;
New land, strange place,
My stomach’s got an ache…

¿Como está, señor?
What did he say?
Mas lento, por favor,
A hundred times a day.

Concrete walls,
And tile on the floor
Tiny geckos scamper
Behind a cupboard door.

Tropical sun,
My coke’s in a bag,
Sitting on a porch
Where time seems to drag.

Crowding in a bank line,
Praying for grace,
These people don’t know about
My personal space.

Brown tap water
Makes your belly reel.
Trip to the pharmacy,
Parasite pill.

Man beside the road
Stabbed with a knife,
No one cares to cover up,
Forgotten life.

Late night music
From the party down the street
Put a pillow on your head,
Walls shaking to the beat.

Civil unrest
And riots downtown,
Until the weary curfew ends
We’re all on lockdown.

Bible Club bug bites,
Itchy legs and feet,
Better grab the Calamine
‘Cause we forgot the Deet.

There goes the power
But it’s all right,
We’ve got a generator
To get us through the night.

Bumping down the road
In a loaded pickup truck,
If it starts to rain,
We’re all out of luck!

Going door to door
Down the dusty street,
Precious gospel given
To everyone we meet.

Sunday morning on a porch
The seats begin to fill.
Short sermon, raised hand,
Amazing thrill!

Little brown hand
Slips into my own.
She calls me, Hermana,
But I’m the only mom she’s known.

Here comes a group
From the USA!
Debbie snacks and Slim Jims
Headed our way!

Believer’s baptism
In a mountain stream,
Living testimony
Of a heart that’s clean.

Prayer letter’s due,
Furlough’s just ahead
We’re only here because of folks
Who gave as they were led.

In a borrowed minivan
We make our stateside rounds,
Been to every Cracker Barrel,
Gained twenty pounds.

Shopping with my sis
Down every Target aisle
These shoes are all so ugly!
Wait…am I out of style?

Preacher says, “Thank you, Lord,
For those who will go
To give someone the gospel,
In a place where they don’t know.”

Some seem to pity me
“That poor missionary,
Foreign land, safety threats…
Must be pretty scary!”

My mind’s eye quickly sees
A dearly-missed brown face,
And I know without a doubt,
I’d never trade my place.


In honor of some of our missionary friends (and many others not listed!):


Matt and Dallita Goins
Honduras
www.teamhonduras.com









Nathan and Jennifer Massey
Honduras
www.teamhonduras.com








Mark and Amy Coats
Honduras
Currently in Costa Rica (language school)
Journey to Honduras









Brad and Tricia Henderson
Tanzania
truth4africa











Brad and Kelleigh Edmondson
Medical Missions Outreach











LeRoy and Amber Rolston
Honduras
Rolston Ministries

This week, I'd like to invite you to our home! Missionary homes may vary greatly, depending on the area of the country, but our home is typical for an average missionary in Central America. Welcome!



This is our house as you drive up. It's pretty standard in Honduras to have a security wall or high fence for safety reasons. Almost everyone gets broken into at some point, so we have to take every precaution possible. We live on a dirt road, even though we live in town. Only the main streets are paved in our town.



As you walk through the front gate, you will see the carport and porch area. It's very nice to have a porch in Honduras, because the house gets very hot. We often eat or visit with guests on the porch instead of inside.



This is our guard dog, who is about to have puppies!



One thing I love about Honduras is the beautiful plant life. In our yard, we have a cashew tree, two guanabana trees, an orange tree, and a mango tree.



This is a view of our side yard. We are very thankful for a large yard, a rare find in this country. We've been able to host many youth activities and large church events here.



Now let's go inside!



This is our living room/dining room area. The open floor plan has been perfect for hosting large groups. We shove all the furniture into the other rooms and the hallway, and can fit quite a few people in here! We even held Wednesday night Bible studies here before we had a church house. The windows in this area and the kitchen stay open 24/7 year-round in order to take advantage of any breeze coming off the mountain, since this part of the house is not air-conditioned.



Beyond the dining room, you can see the hallway leading to the bedrooms. And through the arched opening on the right is the kitchen. You will notice that the walls are all concrete and the floors are all tiled--no carpet in Honduras! It wouldn't last long with all the dirt and dust we have!





The kitchen is where I spend a LOT of time! Missionary wives learn to cook for a crowd! There are church events, medical brigades, youth groups...we are cooking machines!



We have a double sink that works great for the disinfection process. No, we don't have a dishwasher (and I'm not sure how well one would work, anyway, since we don't have hot water). Since we wash by hand with cold water, we place dishes into a container filled with bleach water (which I change at least once a day). They soak here for a few minutes before I place them aside to dry. We also soak fruit and vegetables here to clean them of any pesticides.



Since the water here is unsafe for drinking, we purchase water jugs from a truck that come through the neighborhood daily. We use this water for drinking, cooking, and brushing our teeth.



These are louvered windows, which are slats of glass that we can open with a knob. We have screens to help with insects and dust; we have to hose these down pretty frequently.



Heading back up the hallway, we turn to the left into Robbie's office. He will be moving out shortly when the church building is completed (we are praying to be in by September 19); I plan to convert this space into a homeschool room for Claire to begin K-4. I am very thankful to be able to have an area specifically for homeschooling!



This is our master bedroom. I've tried to make it a real haven; it's so nice to go in at night, take a shower, and run the AC! We are very thankful for our room!



This is the master bath. When we first moved in, we called it the psych ward bath--all white, white tile, and a shower with a long hose to spray cold water! Just recently, I was able to paint and redecorate it to warm it up a bit. One thing that's different about bathrooms in Honduras is that you can't flush TP; the pipes are too small and are easily clogged. We keep a lined trashcan with a lid beside the toilet and empty it frequently. Americans usually forget at some point, so the rule in our house is...you clog it, you plunge it!



Now heading to the right side of the hallway...looking through another archway, we have a wall of closets. This has been a huge blessing because most homes in Honduras have very little closet space and no attic.



The middle closet door opens to reveal...the guest bathroom! One difference from homes in the U.S. is that bathtubs here are a rare luxury. We use a small plastic tub placed in the shower to bathe Claire, but she's also gotten used to the showers. One thing I love to do when I go back to the States to visit is take a nice hot bath!



To the left of the closets, we have a guest room that serves as my office right now.



To the right of the closets is Claire's room.



This is a typical closet (we have these in the three bedrooms). You have a built-in dresser area with drawers behind one door. Behind the other two doors is room for hanging clothes. Above are three doors for storage.



Now let's head out the kitchen door to the right side of the house. Here we keep our drinking water jugs on the sidewalk that surrounds the house (another unique Honduran home feature). To the right, beyond the big palm is the clothesline, and beyond that is the bodega.



A bodega is a storage building behind Honduran homes. In front, they always have a pila. We are blessed to also have a cistern and pump.



A pila is a large holding tank for water. Our water goes out very frequently here, so we can use this water in reserve to wash clothes, bathe, and flush toilets. Notice the scrubbing area. Most of my washing I do in a washing machine, but this scrubbing board does come in handy for the mop and anything I want to wash by hand (which we must do if the water or power are out).



Beyond the pila is an open-air room that holds our freezer, washer, dryer, and cleaning supplies.





Honduran homes have a "servant's quarters" in the bodega because it's common to have a live-in maid. Since we don't, we have fixed up this area for guests and interns--missionaries have LOTS of visitors! We just had a young man finish an eight-week internship, and this room and bath was just perfect for him.

We are very thankful for the home the Lord provided for us. Above all, we pray that it is a blessing and a haven to those who stop by, whether it be for several weeks or just a few hours.

Today's post consists of tips for missionaries in tropical areas to survive the heat. Although many of my readers do not live with such extreme weather, I hope reading about it will help you know better how to pray for missionaries on the field.

I had no idea before visiting Central America for the first time what it was to be hot. I'm not talking about sweating a little at a Fourth of July cookout back in the States. I'm from the South, and we certainly did have some hot summers growing up. But I had never experienced real heat until we moved to Honduras. It is absolutely suffocating; the humidity makes the air so thick, you feel like you are walking sluggishly under water.

Even after five years on the field, I have to admit it: the heat still gets to me. Today was no exception. I went to clean the church and came home all sweaty and disgusting, only to find that we had no power and no water. Again. I wish I could tell you I sang, "Count Your Many Blessings" and sweetly carried on as usual. But I was irritable, my nerves were frayed, and I had absolutely no desire to begin making lunch in that hot kitchen. Today, like many days, my hardest battle took place in my own mind; the enemies were discontentment, moodiness, and a complaining spirit. All sent straight from the tropical sun!

Even though this is a area I've not fully overcome, we have learned some things as a family over the past few years to help us combat the heat.

1. Rest when you find it necessary. Visitors and new arrivals to a tropical climate have an especially difficult time with the heat. During our first six months on the field, Robbie and I found ourselves completely exhausted every afternoon. I have never been one to take naps; I can't usually sleep at night if I sleep during the day. Not to mention, both of us are extremely by-the-book, schedule-oriented people. A naptime in the middle of the day!?! But during those first few months on the field, we learned it was wise to occasionally indulge in a 20-30 minute power nap (after a cold shower); we awoke feeling refreshed and invigorated (and were able to accomplish more in the remaining hours! After awhile, our bodies adjusted and we no longer required this resttime, but it greatly helped us during those first few months of transition.

2. Stay hydrated. It's very important for those who live in a tropical climate to stop frequently to drink water. We also make fruit smoothies and frozen treats for unbearable days. The temptation is to drink sodas, but I always feel much better when I choose water. I'll never forget the baptism service we were holding one Sunday afternoon. We gathered in the small concrete church as the sun beat in the windows. We were all sweating profusely, and the small fans only blew the hot air around in circles. As Robbie stood up to preach, he looked a little woozy. I prayed he would be able to make it through the sermon; the table we had set up in the back was loaded with homemade banana bread and three-liter Pepsis. Just a few more minutes, I told myself. POP! Suddenly, there was a horribly loud explosion from the back of the room! We turned around just in time to see one of the jumbo Pepsis soaring through the air, turning end over end and spewing soda in all directions! The heat had caused it to explode! Only in Honduras! Next time you want to drink a Pepsi on a hot day, just remember what it might do to your insides!

3. Be a smart cook. Our house, like many missionaries' homes, does not have central air conditioning. Even if it were available, we could never afford it. Energy is unbelievably expensive; we pay more for our electric bill than we do for our rent. We have small AC units to cool the bedrooms and Robbie's office (but only while we are using them!). For the living room, dining room, and kitchen, we simply leave the louvered windows open and run a fan. We dry clothes on the line and run our bedroom AC units only at night, thus saving as much energy as possible. When the heat of the day kicks in, the last place I want to be is over a hot stove. I've learned to make some changes to help me get through the most sweltering days (and no, eating out doesn't count!). First, I cook our big meal for lunch instead of dinner. That way, I get the majority of my cooking done in the morning hours. We can have sandwiches or leftovers for supper. Second, I use the crockpot as much as possible. It beats standing over a hot stove any day! Third, when the days are more tolerable, I cook double portions to freeze, saving me from cooking on a hotter day. I have also learned to make more "cold meals," like wraps, chicken or egg salad sandwiches, cold bean dip, etc.

4. Mind over matter! As many little tricks and helps as I have learned, some days there is just no way around it. It's hot! But complaining does nothing but sour everyone's mood. I focus on NOT saying, "It's so hot! Can you believe how hot it is?" every few minutes. I make lame jokes about being upset I left my coat and gloves at home. I try not to think about what I look like; everyone else looks just as sweaty! And they are from here!

5. Pray, pray, pray! My attitude is a constant matter of prayer. I can feel myself slipping...I snap at Claire, glare at Robbie, and roll my eyes when the power goes out for the fourth time in 24 hours. But just a few minutes talking to the Lord, asking Him for strength, does more than a cold shower or a power nap ever will! Heat may seem like a silly little thing, but I would not be one bit surprised to find that it's caused a missionary to leave the field. The devil could definitely use such an extreme environment to discourage me and keep me from serving the Lord. I have to stay on my knees!

Shortly after moving to Honduras, I learned that the locals have a nickname for the area we've chosen to live in: La Caldera del Diablo. The Devil's Cauldron. Yep. That just about sums it up! So as you pray for the Ellis family, please ask the Lord to help us survive the heat! Because let me tell you, the devil is bringing it on!


Claire and I escaped to her treehouse for a picnic lunch today.


This is our living room area. The louvered windows stay open year round and the front door is open most of the day. The ceiling fan (a birthday present from Robbie) has been a huge help.


This is the mini-split air-conditioning unit we use to cool our bedroom at night. I have thermally insulated, lightblocking curtains on the windows to cut energy costs (and to keep the unit from blowing up!).

Be sure to check back next week, when I will post pics for a "virtual tour" of our home! It's quite a bit different from how we lived in the States, but the Lord has given us a very nice place. We'd love to have you stop by!

"Daddy, did you play football when you were in high school?" Kathleen and I were watching a UNC game with my dad, peppering him with questions like most school-age children do.

"Well, I always wanted to, but I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"I only have one kidney, so it would have been a little risky."

"You have only one kidney?"

Suddenly, the football game seemed less entertaining. We had never heard this story before.

"In 1952, I had a severe infection; they had to do surgery to remove one of my kidneys. It was very painful; I was only three, but I can remember everything very clearly."

We were in awe. Only one kidney?

With Father's Day approaching, I've been thinking about dad and the football days he never had. I recently read an illustration by a college professor that compared parenting to a crucial game of football. There are parents who make it to the pre-teen years and decide to drop their kids off at the 50-yard line. "Well, here we are! Good luck!" Some stick with it longer and fight their way through to age 16: "Here's your car. You've got a job. You'll be just fine." More dedicated parents, however, continue to push through to high school graduation and drop them off just five yards from the goal line. "I guess you've got it from here!"

My dad did no such thing. He stuck with it, fighting alongside me those last five yards, those crucial college years when a mate and a life's work are decided upon, to be sure I made it to the end zone of adulthood. These last five yards are when the hardest blows occur. Every inch is precious as a child nears the goal, and the enemy will fight tooth and nail to keep him out. Dad was right there with me every minute, blocking the blows, making sure I stayed on my feet.

As Robbie and I walked toward our gate at the airport that cold January morning in 2005, I took one last look back. Dad and Mom stood arm in arm, waving and smiling proudly through the tears. We were a little bruised up and our hearts were aching. But we made it.

Dad, you may never have gotten to don a helmet and pads, but you're an all-star lineman in my book. Happy Father's Day.

Love,
Christine

I thought I needed to make pancakes in a hurry this morning; the Lord knew I needed to let Claire break the eggs and stir the batter.

I thought I needed to have the beds made right away; the Lord knew I needed a little extra quiet time in prayer.

I thought I needed to finish my financial report by nine o’clock; the Lord knew I needed to stop frequently to dress and redress a tiny Cinderella doll.

I thought I needed to finish Sunday’s bulletin; the Lord knew I needed to console a church member who called to say her feelings had been hurt.

I thought I needed to cut out my craft for Sunday school; the Lord knew I needed to drop it when Robbie came in: “Chris, I need your help…”

I thought I needed to just “pop in and out” at the grocery store; the Lord knew an exceptional cashier deserved my praise to her boss.

I thought I needed to make five church visits this afternoon; the Lord knew the first lady would need me to stay the entire time.

I thought I needed to feed my family of three at dinner; the Lord knew unexpected (but hungry!) guests would show up at the gate just as we sat down.

I thought my kitchen should be spotless before I headed to bed; the Lord knew I should sit down and enjoy a basketball game with my husband.

I thought my day should be perfectly planned by a neat checklist; the Lord threw my checklist out the window and guided my steps.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways. –Isaiah 55:9

Robbie and I have been going through something lately, an issue that I feel pretty sure was not covered in our marital vows. Just so we're each sure about our obligations in this scenario, I am compelled to write it all out. It all started in the building out back that houses our laundry area...

Christine's role: Notice little pieces of trash on the laundry room floor. Sweep them up, only to rediscover more a day later.

Robbie's role: Listen to Christine complain about how quickly the laundry room gets dirty.

Christine's role: Become more curious about the messy laundry room floor and decide to move the appliances. Lift the dryer, feel something scutter across left foot, shriek frantically, drop the dryer, hop on top of it.

Robbie's role: Come running from the house with concern when he hears the shriek. Laugh when he finds out it's over a rat who's decided to live under the dryer. Move a few Rubbermaids of cleaning supplies. Look a little pale himself when he actually sees the size of the rodent.

Christine's role: Say "I told you so" a few hundred times (with a "Who's the sissy now?" thrown in for good measure).

Robbie's role: Watch the rat race out of the laundry room into an adjoining lot and set out poison in case he returns.

Christine's job: Start the dryer the next day only to hear a sickening thud when the fan starts up.

Robbie's job: Take the back panel and vent off the dryer and laugh when the dead rat falls out.

Christine's job: Dispose of rat carcass.

Robbie's job: Turn to open-mouthed single guy who is interning with Team Honduras and advise, "Before you get married, you need to make sure your wife can do that!"

Christine's job: Disinfect and reassemble dryer. Figure out some way to blog about the ordeal.

After not just one, but now two rats caught in the world's most expensive rat trap, a.k.a. our clothes dryer, we are getting good at this!

I think we make a great team!

Just this morning, I read (for maybe the hundreth time!) "Horton Hatches the Egg" to Claire. It's a classic Dr. Seuss tale of an lazy bird who delegates her egg-sitting job to Horton the elephant. He faithfully warms the egg, enduring many difficulties while Mayzie the bird lives it up in Palm Beach. She returns just as the egg is hatching to reclaim it. To everyone's surprise, the baby that emerges from the egg is "something brand new"--it's an "elephant-bird" complete with large ears and a trunk!

Dr. Seuss asserts, "And it should be, it should be, it SHOULD be like that!
Because Horton was faithful! He sat and he sat!"

As we celebrate Mother's Day this weekend, I thought of my mother's faithfulness to me and my sister for the past 30 years. She had a much tougher job than just sitting on an egg, yet she didn't delegate it to another. She embraced her role as mother and sacrificed to spend as much time with us as possible. I have memories of picnics, trips to the library, and homemade apple pies. There were walks around the neighborhood at dusk, endless board games, and heart-to-heart talks. She was like Horton: "Faithful--one hundred per cent!"

A poem she cross-stitched to hang on the wall in my nursery describes her perfectly:

I hope my children will look back on today
And see a mother who had time to play.
There will be years for cleaning and cooking
But children grow up while we're not looking.
Dusting and scrubbing can wait 'till tomorrow
For babies grow fast we learn to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.


Claire giggled with delight when I read about Horton seeing his little one for the first time.


"IT HAD EARS
AND A TAIL
AND A TRUNK JUST LIKE HIS!"

Dr. Seuss was definitely on to something. Only when a mother sacrificially invests her life in her child will she have a great influence on the person he becomes.

Someone once said, "The greatest compliment anyone could give me is to say, 'You remind me so much of your mother.'" If I am just a shadow of the woman my mother is, I know Claire will be very blessed.

I want to be just like my momma: "faithful--one hundred per cent!"

I love you, Mom! Happy Mother's Day!

I recently spoke with a friend who is struggling with morning sickness in the early stages of pregnancy, and our conversation took me back to my own pregnancy four years ago. I was the typical first-time mom. I read a stack books on pregnancy, learning everything I could about the new life growing inside me. I took my prenatal vitamins religiously, being sure I had the recommended amounts of iron, calcium, and folic acid. I made a diet plan, determined to eat right, count those extra 500 daily calories, and steer clear of sweets and soft drinks.

Remembering a favorite veggie from my childhood, I bought a few pounds of cucumbers, peeled and sliced them, then placed them into containers of apple cider vinegar to soak in the fridge. A good ol’ Southern way to eat fresh cucumbers! I couldn’t wait to dig in the next day.

But when I awoke the following morning, I said hello to nausea and goodbye to eating well! I couldn’t keep anything down. Like many pregnant women, I discovered “morning sickness” is a very loose term that can mean, “morning-noon-and-night” sickness. As soon as Robbie sprayed on his cologne that morning, I went running for the bathroom and never looked back. The very thought of those huge containers of cukes in vinegar gave me cold chills. I couldn’t even go in the kitchen, let alone open the fridge. The only things I managed to keep down were dry toast and Sprite (which had been a definite no-no just 24 short hours before). My carefully crafted diet plan was decidedly thrown out the window until the end of the first trimester.

It amazed me how quickly my tastes changed! Poor Robbie was given the task of disposing of two large jars of cucumbers and vinegar (double-bagging to spare me the pungent aroma). In less than 24 hours, what had seemed so delicious was the very thing that made me sick.

What is the Lord doing in your life to change your tastes? Do you have an appetite for the things of the world? Unlike my first-trimester experience, God gives us a taste for good things. He helps us develop a disgust for all that is worldly and unholy, and a hunger for the pure and right. We’ve seen it time and time again with new Christians here in Honduras; a new creature in Christ will have new desires, new goals, new dreams. I pray that my tastes will keep changing, molding my will into His will.

Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. –Psalm 37:4

ATTENTION "Real Missions, Real Life" Readers! March is "Question and Answer" Month! Is there something you would like to know about life on the mission field? Every reader who submits a question will be entered in a drawing to win a Honduran coffee gift basket! Email me your question(s) at christine@teamhonduras.com.

We just celebrated an amazing Christmas...Robbie and I agreed that it's been one of the best ever. Even though we did not get to spend it with our families in the States, it was a sweet, special time with our own little family. I think what made this year so wonderful were the great opportunities we had to give. Honestly, I feel that some years it's easy for Christmas to veer out of control. Claire is the only grandchild on both sides of the family, and if we are not careful, the focus can easily become piles of gifts from our dear relatives who rarely see her. But this year we were able to be a part of quite a few projects that helped us stress to her the joy of giving.

I helped the ladies of Iglesia Bautista El Faro organize bags for needy new mothers who give birth at the public hospital. Hospitals here (even the private one where I had Claire) do not give out "freebies" like the ones in the States. You have to bring your own supplies: diapers, wipes, acetominophen, feminine products, etc. Patients at the public hospital even have to purchase their own IV bags from the pharmacy downtown. So we church ladies organized bags of supplies for the new mothers who arrive with no money to purchase what their newborn needs. It was a great privilege to present 84 bags to the maternity ward, along with a letter of encouragement from our church.

Our church people, young and old, gave toward a "Christmas Gifts for Christ" project that focused on two areas. First, they gave offerings to help build a fundamental church in El Salvador. Then, each age group was assigned a food item to bring to church for the offering. The little girls and boys brought dried rice and beans. The teens brought white and corn flour. The adults brought shortening and dried pasta. We put together fifteen large food baskets to take to needy families in our community on a special visitation, where we surprised them by singing Christmas carols outside their houses. Caroling is not a tradition in Honduras, but our people loved their first caroling experience! And Claire went right along with us, singing loudly at each house and shouting, "Feliz Navidad!" as we left.



Claire and I baked Christmas cookies into the wee hours of the morning to take to the families of our church on Christmas Eve.
We also told her she could choose one little girl in her class to buy a present for this year. She chose a sweet little girl whose mother had abandoned her when she was an infant. We took Claire to the store where she chose a beautiful baby doll dressed as a princess. I was gearing myself up for the "I want to keep her" comments, but they never came. She was truly excited about seeing Allison get her new doll. She wrapped it and placed it under the tree. When family members from the States asked Claire on the telephone how many presents she would have for Christmas, she always said, "One, the doll for Allison," thinking only of what she would be giving. I was so proud to see her little heart grow with love for others. I knew Claire would be opening her own presents, but thank the Lord, the joy of giving was taking predominance. When Claire took the doll to Allison on Christmas Eve, the little girl accepted the present then ran inside to place it under the Christmas tree; it was the only gift there. We were able to show Claire the joy of giving to someone who truly appreciated it.


Claire also chose gifts for me and Robbie. She was beside herself as I opened up a very colorful candle she had picked out--it looks like a big roll of lifesavers, but I love it because she selected it just for me. She also chose a red and white striped shirt with large, poofy sleeves because, "I want you to dress like a candy cane, Mommy!" I will wear it with pride.




I know some Christians adamantly shun gift-giving at Christmas, citing materialism and greed. But I believe gift-giving done in the right way can be a sweet, special experience; we just have to find balance.

Here on the mission field, we are surrounded by poverty and suffering. But we are also surrounded by stories of supernatural sacrifice, as new Christians who have nearly nothing scrape together what they can to buy a bag of dried beans to bring to church. One man whose flocks had grown this year tithed a sheep. No matter who we are or what we have, being a recipient of salvation necessitates sacrificial giving on our part. Our hearts compel us to give, and especially as we medidate in Christ's incarnation. I pray that the Lord will always help us to strike a balance in our family of giving. We've been blessed so much, it will be hard to keep up; but we are sure going to try!

Merry Christmas to all my Real Missions, Real Life readers and followers!