"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." The opening line from one of my favorite novels came to mind almost daily. In April of 2006, I was preparing for motherhood. Pregnancy brought a strange mix of emotions, moods, and hormones. I was thrilled to be a first-time mom, but my heart ached thinking of all the times I was missing with my mom and sister. All communication, even the big announcement that we were expecting, was done through phone calls, and those had to be short and sweet. I began to feel a little sorry for myself as I selected crib bedding online at an internet cafe downtown; it just wasn't the same as going shopping with mom. We were supposed to be doing this together. I was missing out.

The Lord's goodness to me during such a hard time soon became very real. I didn't deserve it; I was self-centered and weak. Countless women go through pregnancy without their mothers. I knew when we surrendered to go to the mission field that we would live very far from home. I should have handled it in stride. I should have been tougher. But my Heavenly Father patiently and lovingly reached out to me in my cloud of gloom in a very unexpected way.

Robbie and I stopped by the post office one afternoon to pick up our mail. I was surprised to see three large, mysterious boxes with our names on them. We had not been expecting anything, let alone such large packages. We excitedly loaded them into the truck, eager to get home and open them.

We set the packages in the living room floor and examined them. The return address read "Lighthouse Baptist Church." This church, located about an hour and a half from my hometown, had taken us on for support during deputation. One of the boxes was marked, "Open first," so Robbie carefully cut the packing tape and lifted the lid.

Sitting on a layer of tissue paper on top was a VHS tape. The spine read, "Robbie and Christine's baby shower." I looked at Robbie questioningly and popped the tape into the VCR.

The recording began in what appeared to be the fellowship hall of the Lighthouse Baptist Church, decorated with pastel balloons and tiny paper cutouts of baby clothes strung from a clothesline. A banner read, "Congratulations, Robbie and Christine!" Then, my heart lept as I saw my mom and sister appear on camera and sit in the front, in the seats of honor. They were wearing corsages and beaming proudly. A lady from the church welcomed everyone and explained that this was a "Ghost Baby Shower." Since Robbie and I could not be there, they had somehow gotten in contact with my mom and sister (whom they had never met) and invited them to come open presents on our behalf. Tears streamed down my face as they opened present after present, oohing and aahing over each item. I found the corresponding baby gifts, along with the banner and decorations in the carefully packed boxes. I was overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness, ashamed of my self-pity, and encouraged in spirit.

Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, "Now ye Philippians know also, that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only. For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity.... But I have all, and abound: I am full, having received...the things which were sent from you, an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God." (Philippians 4:15-18)

The Lord had used some precious ladies to encourage a young, pregnant missionary wife. The baby gifts were much needed and appreciated. But even more importantly, they had found a way to connect me to my family and share a special moment with them. They had ministered to my soul.

"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

It was one of those awful slow-motion moments where you helplessly freeze in place, bracing yourself for the impact. I had just stumbled up the bleachers at the after-church fundraiser, balancing two plates of meatball subs and leading Claire to be seated on the second row. As soon as we sat down, I saw it coming. The volleyball was careening toward us, and there was nothing I could do to shield it.

The ball hit me directly, knocking one of the plates into the air. At Claire's shriek, the other spectators looked in horror. Red, meaty sauce covered my blouse and hair. I looked like the victim in a B horror movie. A teenage boy ran to me, apologizing profusely. I gathered he had been the one to spike the ball in our direction, so I laughed and waved him off, "No, it's fine, no big deal!" Poor Claire was frantic; I felt terrible that I couldn't pick her up, being covered in sauce, until I heard her snub, "My food! What did you do to my food!"

I sighed and headed for the bathroom to try to clean up. We were in Florida on furlough; I didn't know many people, but thankfully, a teen girl lent me a shirt for the rest of the evening.

I stuffed my stained white blouse into a grocery bag and thought, Well, that will never come out! It was one of my favorite shirts, too!

As I sat back down to finish my food, a kind-looking lady approached, "Christine, could I take your shirt home and wash it for you?" Before I could stammer a reply, she continued, "My husband is from Italy, and I have a wonderful detergent we get from there--it's perfect for removing tomato sauce stains!"

The idea of attempting to wash my shirt in the hotel room sink really wasn't appealing, so I finally surrendered the bag. "Don't worry if it doesn't come out! It's really caked in there!" I warned Mrs. Amato.

The next day, Robbie preached chapel for the Christian school's annual revival, while I entertained Claire at the hotel. He came back with an unexpected surprise: a gallon-size Ziploc bag with my favorite shirt inside, neatly pressed and folded. It was perfectly white; not a trace of sauce remained. I couldn't believe it. Mrs. Amato had also included a sweet note. I was overwhelmed by her thoughfulness.

A few months later, I would learn exactly how sacrificing Mrs. Amato and her family were. A family in our church was in need. Jose and Ismenia Rodriguez wanted to send their son Christian, one of our youth group's finest young men, to a Christian school his senior year. Since he is bilingual, they began to explore the option of sending him to the United States, where he could get a quality Christian education. Pastor Matt put them in contact with West Florida Christian Academy in Milton, Florida. It would be a perfect fit, since Christian planned to attend Pensacola Christian College after graduation. There was just one problem--where would he live?

I was thrilled when Mr. and Mrs. Amato and their son Daniel offered their home to Christian. They would care for him as their own son, giving him his own room, cooking his meals, and including him in family activities. I was relieved that he would be with such a sweet family.

We went to visit Christian on his last night in Honduras. There were many tears amid the packing, and my heart hurt for Ismenia, who was having an especially hard time. Then I remembered my encounter with Mrs. Amato, "Ismenia, let me tell you about the lady who will be taking care of Christian..." I explained to her exactly how Mrs. Amato had searched me out and kindly offered to clean my shirt, even though we barely knew each other. "That's how she is. She's very...what's the word? Maternal. Christian will be in good hands."

Ismenia's relief was evident. "Thank you for telling me that, Cristina. I am so glad that he will be taken care of!"

Christian had a wonderful year in Florida with the Amatos. He came back last week, a high school graduate. We are thrilled to have him home and ecstatic about what the Lord is doing in his life. And it was all possible because of an exceptional lady named Mrs. Amato.

See pics of Christian and his adventures in Florida with the Amatos!

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!

I won't lie to you. Going to Elena's house was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. She needed counseling for marital problems. Serious ones. She and her husband were not on speaking terms and had not shared a bedroom for months. He and boys slept in their room, and she had moved in with the girls. She was ready to leave; if it were not for their five children, she'd have been gone already.

Going to Christian college and marrying a pastor did not make me an expert in counseling. In fact, counseling is the ministry of a pastor's wife that makes me most nervous and uncertain. There have been many times in a counseling session when someone has unloaded a big problem on me and I struggle with what to say. What usually pops into my mind is something like Whoa. Good luck with all that!

I asked Elena to describe her marriage and let her pour out her heart for about an hour. Then we came to the part I dreaded. The part where I was supposed to tell her what to do. The Holy Spirit had given me what to say, but it would be hard to hear. She had criticized and demeaned her husband for years. She had not trusted his leadership or submitted to his authority. She had even gone behind his back to get her way. Words like obedience, respect, and submission were not what she wanted to hear. But they were what she needed. So I took a deep breath and made the words come out.

To my surprise, Elena listened carefully and thoughtfully to each Bible verse I read and the counsel I offered. Then she tearfully admitted to manipulating and disrespecting her husband. We prayed together and outlined a step-by-step plan to apologize to her husband and change her habits, without expecting any reciprocation. He had made more than his share of mistakes as well. But Elena determined to change her own heart, and leave his to the Lord.

I left feeling sure that God's Word had spoken to her heart. But whether or not she would choose to obey it was yet to be seen...

Just three days later, Elena found me at church. "He bought tickets to the church Couples' Banquet" she whispered excitedly. "He wants to go with me!"

The next week, their oldest daughter Alicia confided in me: "Hermana Cristina, you won't believe the changes we've had at our house! I used to dread coming home. Just last week, I was walking home from school and smelled someone on our street frying fish. I thought, I wish we could have fish at our house or even at least eat together like a real family. But when I got closer, I realized the aroma was coming from my house! I saw my dad in the kitchen frying fish and making a salad! When my mom got home from the factory, we all sat down and ate and talked together like we hadn't done in a long time."

Elena and I kept praying and meeting regularly for several weeks. Finally, I got the news I was waiting for. She came in one night, all aglow and giggling like a teenager. "Hermana Cristina, you'll never guess what happened! I came home and my husband had moved the boys back into their room and said I was moving back in with him! He said, 'I am a new husband because I have a new wife. And we need a new bed.' He had gone out and bought a brand-new bed with new sheets and pillows and everything!"

Every time I see Elena's husband smile at her lovingly with his hand on the small of her back, I am reminded that God's Word still changes lives. I don't have to know exactly what to say in every situation; I usually don't. But if I simply share the Word of God, the Holy Spirit will convict of sin. At that point, many decide to ignore counsel and continue on their unhappy path; maybe change seems too hard, or they only wanted to vent. But for those who follow biblical principles, joy and peace are waiting.

With [the Lord] is wisdom and strength, he hath counsel and understanding. -Job 12:13

“Look! Hermana Cristina! I made a swing for Angie!” Carlos proudly showed me the scrap rubber strip that he had tied to a long piece of rope and hung from the avocado tree. His sister Angie happily swung back and forth on their new creation.

“That’s really creative, Carlos!” As I entered their backyard, I saw the other children playing in the dirt. Four barefoot boys crouched on their hands and knees, carefully constructing streets and tunnels. Scraps of wood and metal became their houses and bridges. The only real toy they had was an old Tonka truck. They methodically passed it from one boy to the next, each taking a short turn to maneuver the dirt roads. They laughed and talked happily, swatting mosquitoes all the while.

What would it take to make us happy? A different job? A newer house? An expensive car? More respect from our spouse? More compliant children?

According to Paul, we simply need a lesson in contentment. He writes in Philippians 4:11-12: “…for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”

Contentment is an acquired skill that requires discipline of the mind and humility of the heart. It is not dependent on circumstances or the actions of others.

People often ask us, “Do you like living in Honduras? Don’t you miss hot water? You don’t have a dishwasher? Isn’t it really hot?” Actually, we struggled just as much with contentment in the States as we do now. Change of surroundings make no difference at all. When our hearts focus on seeking “first the kingdom of God and His righteousness,” we are happy and content. When we take our eyes off Him, we allow room for complaining and resentment.

One of my favorite shows to watch is Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, which we can occasionally see here in Honduras. One day, Cinthia, a girl from our church was visiting, and we watched it together. As the workers began to demolish the house, she exclaimed, “They are tearing down that house! What’s wrong with it?” In that moment, I pictured Cinthia’s little two-room cinderblock house with an outdoor shower and clay stove. The house they were tearing down was a dream house to her. It was all a matter of perspective.

Paul goes on to say in Philippians 4, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” We can be content, no matter the situation. Ask the Lord to give you the right perspective—His perspective.