Will I See Her In Heaven?

Hanaan* fanned the flame of her charcoal stove with one hand and with the other she skillfully lifted the clay pot just as the coffee began to boil up through the narrow spout. 

“You must let it boil over three times before you serve the coffee,” she explained. 

Hanaan was one of my closest friends in Eritrea.  She and I were as different as two women could be. I was in my early twenties and she didn’t even know her age. I was married and she was well past marrying age and would be single all her life. I was free to make choices, she lived under the rule of her older brother. I believed in Christ with all my heart and by my own choice, Hanaan was born into the religion of her family and was bound by intense family pressure.

Hanaan and her brothers and sisters were all unmarried and all lived together in a two room house. Their kitchen was a dilapidated shack in the dirt courtyard. They lived most of their lives as refugees in a neighboring country and told us fascinating stories of having to escape in the night and travel many days on camel. 

We shared several times about Christ with Hanaan and her family. Hanaan was usually quite busy cooking and working in the house, but on the night we shared God’s full plan of salvation, she brought her portable tin stove close to where we sat so she could hear while she worked. Several days later the family requested to watch a video about Jesus. We eagerly brought our television and VCR (yes, this was before DVDs!) to their house to show them the film.

One day Hanaan and I went to the vegetable market together. Walking along the street, away from the ears of her family, Hanaan began to talk about Jesus. “Jesus is a very good man,” she said. “Jesus loved the poor people very much, didn’t He?”  I agreed wholeheartedly and began to pray in my heart for Hanaan. We walked in silence for a while and then she said, “Jesus is the Son of God.”

That day is forever seared in my memory. This young woman had dared to believe that Jesus is indeed the Son of God.  I have asked God a thousand times, “Does that count, God? Does that make Hanaan a true believer?” 

About a year later Hanaan got a splinter in her hand. She tried to use a needle to remove it, but didn’t know how to keep the wound clean. Soon, infection set in and within a week Hanaan was dead. We had returned to the United States by then, and received this news by email.

Why hadn’t I shared with Hanaan more? Why hadn’t I continued that conversation we had on the street that day? Why hadn’t I been there to help her clean the wound on her hand? And my biggest question: when I arrive in heaven, will I see Hanaan there?

*Name changed

Unusual Christmas Guests

“They are gonna rob you blind,” someone said. I couldn’t argue because they voiced the words I was already thinking.

“We’ll lock the bedroom doors,” I offered.

I glanced around the living room. By American standards we have a simple home. But we do have a bookcase filled with books and curios from around the world. I imagined myself welcoming our guests by saying, I’m sorry you can barely feed your family, but do you see my beautiful blown-glass vase from Egypt? With the money I paid for it, you could have a new set of clothes, or buy dinner for all fifteen people crammed into your tiny home. Yeah, I better clear off the bookshelf before they come.

We are inviting a rather poor family to our home during the Christmas season. It’s not just a poor family: it’s a poor family with some unsavory habits and characteristics. That’s why we’ll need to lock the doors. But here’s the thing, Jesus didn’t come for the well, He came for the sick, right?

So  my “to do” list to get ready for our guests is:

1.      Find a place for our dog to go for the day. Dogs are dirty in their religion.

2.      Find a place to cater some rice and meat. My kitchen is not halal since I cook with pork. I’ll need to buy food from a halal restaurant.

3.      Find the keys to all our bedroom doors. Seriously.

4.      Bake cookies and lots of them.

5.      Find a carpet to put on the floor so guests can sit on the floor as well as the furniture. That's how we roll in this part of the world.

This list is a little different from your basic “get ready for Christmas” list right? You aren’t gonna find this one on Pinterest! But here’s the other thing. Because this family is…well…because they are who they are…here is what WON’T matter:

1.      If the house is clean

2.      If the house smells nice

3.      If the Christmas tree is big and beautiful

4.      If my hosting skills are perfect

5.      If my furniture matches

Just the fact alone that they will come to our house is special enough for them. Nothing else matters, everything else is “icing on the cake”…I guess in this culture we might say “Everything else is extra servings of dried fishies on the rice."

And I got to thinking…

When God invites me to Himself, to His love, to His will…am I a cleaned up proper guest who evaluates everything He does for me? Or am I just an unworthy sinner who is so happy to simply be invited?

This poor…can we even say unsavory?...family is teaching me a lot about how to be a better servant for my Master.

Pray that this family will feel loved in our home and will have ears to hear the Reason for the Season.

I Hope I Never Need Him

A ballroom filled with stylish crafts, expensive handmade jewelry, and organic soaps: not exactly my cup of tea, but I was curious enough to step in. I listened to a lady try to sell Moroccan oils to me just to hear her French accent; I perused the more-than-I-could-afford leather purses, and eyed the beaded jewelry from a distance. I sampled some chocolate cranberry candy and thought about buying some, but when I read the price chart, I opted to hope my taste buds had a good memory, because that’s the only way I’d be enjoying that flavor again.

Finally I found a booth with some creative pictures made out of flowers and leaves. They were intricately designed patterns and a decent price too. I couldn’t seem to pass it up, so I stood there, admiring each design. I noticed a lady beside me who also appreciated the pictures.

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes!” She agreed in a heavy accent. “They are just wonderful. I can’t decide which design I should buy. Do you think I should buy the framed picture or the ones without a frame?”

“Hmmmm,” I began.

“I think without the frame. I don’t really like the frame, do you? I think I can buy a frame myself. Which of these do you think I should buy?”

And the conversation continued like this as I pretended to help her choose the pictures she would purchase. Really she seemed to have her own confident opinion. I mostly just agreed with her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my name is Paree,” the woman stopped shopping and held her hand out in greeting. “Like ‘Paris’ without the ‘s’.”

“My name is Jana, so nice to meet you.” We shook hands and it was then that I stopped to examine my new friend. She was an older lady, heavy set and tan, sophisticated, and carried a kind expression on her face.

“Your accent is lovely, where are you from?”

Now I have never been accused of having a lovely accent, so I was appreciating this lady more and more. “I’m from the United States.”

“Oh! There are so many accents in the United States, and not all of them are nice, sorry to say. Take Texas for example…oh!” She brushed the ugly thought away with a sweep of her hand. “What state you from?”

Well, this is going to be awkward.

“Texas.”

“Oh! But you don’t sound like it.”

“Well, I haven’t really lived there that much. So where are you from?”

“Iran.”

“Wow, really? Why are you in Penang?”

“My husband works here. And you?”

“Because of my husband’s job as well. My children attend school at DIS.”

“Oh! All three of my children went to DIS.” She grabbed my arm. “DIS is a very good  school. You know, we are Muslim, and everyone wanted to know why we sent our children to a Christian school. But it was no problem, it is such a good school. You know, it’s the cheapest American school in Southeast Asia.”

“So they were kind and accepting of your family?”

“Oh yes. And you know, they don’t have a lot of facilities, but they teach the children the value of money. And the students, they are not spoiled American children…sorry…like in other American schools. They are a very good school. Don’t worry, your children will be fine!”

I asked more about her children, who graduated in the 90s. They attended universities and found employment in the United States and in Australia. Paree continued to rave about DIS and encourage me that it was such a good school.

When we parted ways, she handed me a business card. “This is my husband’s card, I hope you never need it.”

What a curious thing to say. I looked down at the card. Neurosurgeon. Paree is right, I hope I never need him.

Thanksgiving

I love to improvise, I think that's why celebrating holidays overseas is my favorite. 

I grew up in a little town in Indonesia. Making traditional Christmas and Thanksgiving meals took a lot of work on my mom’s part. One year (I don’t know which holiday it was for, let’s say Thanksgiving since it works so well in my line of thought) my parents decided to have turkey. No big deal right? Butterball turkeys in the open market, right? Well, perhaps we named him Butterball, but I don’t think so because the live turkey running around our back yard was not that fat. Maybe we named him Beanpole. But he had to be caught, killed, de-feathered and gutted, well you get the picture. I don’t remember my parents ever deciding to do that again. I suppose that’s why having turkey is not a big deal to me. Chicken is just as good, thank you.

But it's not always overseas. Sometimes you have to improvise in good 'ol United States too. One of my favorite Thanksgiving memories in Texas is the time I ate at a Chinese restaurant with my Grandmother. The restaurant was empty, since everyone else in Dallas was at home eating turkey and dressing. Grandmother and I had a quiet and relaxing Thanksgiving dinner with no cleanup. If you love cashew chicken and a plate of rice, you can't beat that deal.

A third favorite memory is the year Kris and I lived in Eritrea and I invited my two English students to our house for Thanksgiving Dinner. They wanted to help, so I made all the "fixins" and they brought zighini: the traditional super spicy chicken dish. Maybe not quite the traditional turkey, but it worked. In retrospect, it was a bad idea to invite just the two of them because one was my closest friend and the other was a married man whose wife lived in a different city. Honestly, I think the two of them liked each other, so it didn't help that I invited them over and it was like a double date. That should have been super awkward for me, but I think I didn't even realize how weird that was until it was too late. It was still a fun day with yummy food. 

This memory probably explains why yesterday, after twenty years of never attempting to replicate it, I decided to make injera: a tricky-to-make-but-yummy-to-eat Eritrean bread. So yesterday, while preparing for our big Thanksgiving celebration for today, I was also attempting to make a sourdough starter for injera. It's sitting on the cabinet fermenting today. A grey stinky mixture, slightly less than it started out because who knew that the yeast was so potent? And the whole wheat/rye mixture grew like a giant wet blob and spilled all over the cabinet. But I only lost a portion of it and the rest is safely back into a larger container and rotting (oops I mean fermenting) on the counter-top.

This evening, while eating a “proper” Thanksgiving meal with all the accoutrements, I’ll be smiling as I think of the turkey running around our back yard in a little market town in Indonesia, I'll be remembering Grandmother sitting across from me in a booth at the Chinese restaurant in Texas, and I’ll be reminiscing a make-shift Thanksgiving dinner in Eritrea (and wondering if my gray blob of fermenting dough is getting a life of its own again and if it will have taken over the kitchen by the time we get home tonight). I’ll be feeling thankful for the Thanksgivings that were traditionally perfect and all the ones that were perfectly un-traditional.

And I’ll be thankful…so very thankful…to have celebrated each one.

 Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

To The Lady in the Pink Hat

We saw you at the edge of the water as we finished dinner at a seaside cafe.

A lady in a pink hat.

How could we miss it? 

You were covered in black from head to toe. 

You looked like the other covered ladies walking by.

But your pink hat caught our attention. 

A big floppy pink hat. 

With it you said,

"I am here! I am beautiful!"

And I know you are.

Not because I can see past the  black cloth that engulfs even your face.

But because I know your Creator.

And He makes all things beautiful.

We joined you at the edge of the water, after we finished dinner at the seaside cafe.

A lady in a pink hat.

"We love your hat!"

You were covered in black from head to toe.

You looked like the other covered ladies walking by.

But your eyes shone like sapphires.

Under the floppy hat.

Your husband said,

"She is too beautiful for others to see."

We chat for a few minutes.

It's tricky because of the black cloth that engulfs even your face.

But I know your Creator.

And I'm asking Him to make all things beautiful.

You won't be standing there on the beach the next time I'm at the seaside cafe.

Lady in the pink hat.

You'll be back home.

You'll be covered in black from head to toe.

Surrounded by covered ladies walking by.

But God has set eternity in your heart.

So I will pray for you.

The Lady in the Pink Hat.

Touch

In your village today, I held your baby. He is so tiny, so perfect.

I glance around the crazy home he has been born into.

It’s not just the dirty floor we sit on, or the man smoking in the corner.

It’s not just the smell of too many bodies living in one place.

It’s the spiritual darkness that permeates this dim room.

It’s the despair in the grandmother’s eye.

But you don’t seem worried like me. This is all you know.

Your baby: everyone is afraid to touch him. He’s so tiny they might hurt him.

I’m not afraid. I know he won’t break. Not from a gentle touch.

A gentle touch.

People don’t touch very much around here do they?

The first time we met, I was surprised. I shook hands with your mother, but no one else.

And now, as I cuddle the tiniest little baby in my arms, I try to remember.

Do you touch at all?

I have seen people slap…a lot. Parents slapping children. Children slapping each other.

In fact, come to think of it, I myself have been slapped in the face by one of the kids!

Jesus used touch.

When Jesus touched, He healed the broken. When Jesus touched, He blessed the children.

You are broken. How can I show you that Jesus heals?

You have children. How can I bless your children with Jesus' love?

You’ve never felt a loving touch. You’ve never felt His healing touch.

Will you let me get close? Will you let me pat your shoulder, hug you, hold your hand?

It’s a risk for me too you know. The last time you came close, you tried to steal from my purse.

The last time I leaned in close, I think I got lice.

But I am here to share the love of Jesus. And Jesus touched people.

So I will hold your baby, I will hold your hand.

And if need be, take another slap on the face.

Jesus offers you healing and blessing.

It’s a gentle touch.

Will you accept it?

A Koi Pond and Texas Feng Shui

The best sound ever this morning: a scratching scraping sound and the beep beep of a large truck backing up. Why? Because I peeked out the window, hoping against hope, and saw the trash men had hoisted our broken oven on top of all the trash piled in the dump truck and were carting it off. Yay for a great start to the day.THANK YOU TRASH MEN!

Those of you who have read Villa in the Hilla may recall some of my trash woes from Africa. The little village we lived in had no trash pick up service. The residents just dumped their trash in the dirt trench dug on either side of the one paved road that connected our village to the highway leading to town. Plastic bags, old clothes, rotten food, paper, you name it. When the trenches got full, someone lit them on fire. Trash. Even dead animals y'all. Gross. We dumped our trash there a couple of times because when-in-Rome. But I just couldn't do it more than once or twice. I started bagging up our trash (which was significantly more than any of the villagers ever had) and bringing it to town with me and then dumping it in the first dumpster I could find. It made for stinky rides to town.

Other times, when we heard there was, in fact, trash pick up, we tried putting our trash out to be hauled away by the supposed trash men. But the neighbors would get to it first and go through it, pulling out stuff they considered valuable. It's awkward to throw away something and a week later find it decorating your neighbor's house.

Fast forward to life here. We have a large oven that is broke. What to do with it? We dragged it out from where we had been storing it in our outside empty koi pond. (You know you are in Asia when your house comes standard with a built-in koi pond. Like good Texans, we store our broken junk in it. How's that for feng shui?)

What about when you have more junk than fits in your koi pond? Why, you gotta get rid of stuff. So we decided to say goodbye once and for all to the broken oven. But the metal worker guy we found didn't want it. Even after Kris and Aaron drug that thing out of the pond for him to see it. So they drug it to the sidewalk outside our house and we hoped for the best. Surely SOMEONE wants a broken oven, right?

One day passed and someone took the knobs off the oven. It's not really stealing since we wanted someone to take it. It's just that we wanted someone to take ALL of it. Who is gonna want a broken oven with no knobs?

Enter, the trash men. On Day Two, at about 6:30 in the morning I heard the beautiful scraping, scratching noise and the beep beep of the truck. I ran to the window and saw the oven in the back of the truck as it was whisked away to where ever broken ovens go.

Do you live in a place with trash pick-up service? It seems like a stinky and thankless job. But I've lived without it before and I can say that we all need our trash men. If you get a chance, give your trash man a big THANK YOU today!

Out of the Rut

Sunday Morning Breakfast!

My parents' recent visit reminded me to enjoy the things that are available here that I take for granted. I get stuck in a rut and am appeased by the easy rather than making just a little more effort to enjoy what's at my fingertips. Like tropical fruit. Why be satisfied with lengkeng only when I could enjoy lengkeng AND a few pieces of jackfruit? Or why not take the time to cut up some pomelo and mango?

Because of my parents we found tempe and dried shrimp chips. We discovered a market we hadn't been to before and watched a beach sunset we wouldn't have stopped long enough to enjoy. We played a lot of Scrabble. People should take the time to play a lot of Scrabble. I learned the word bivouac. I am ashamed to say that I didn't know that word. We played corn hole and frisbee and 42. We watched movies and laughed. We ate at the oldest restaurant building in Penang and I learned all about Hainanese food by reading the menu. We met a funny man who runs a Minang restaurant and we got up early to eat breakfast served at a neighborhood food stall. Who knew they served yummy breakfast? I picked out the cake I want for my birthday next May and I learned I could buy nuts at the nearby market from a lady who mistook me for a Chinese. Ha! That's a first.

Sometimes it takes fresh eyes to appreciate what is all around us. I loved living in Penang all along. But I think I love it just a bit more now.

If we take the time to try something new, see something different, consider something out of our usual routine, we just may find a treasure or two, right where we live!

A Thousand Words

I love to write.

But I think the saying is true:

A picture is worth a thousand words

It would take me at least that many to capture what some artists and photographers can capture in a picture.

Last weekend I purchased some amazing photos from a talented photographer and I can hardly wait to have them printed and framed.

The hardest part about the purchase was picking which ones I wanted the most. You can check out more photos by this photographer on his Facebook Page Josh Wells Photography.

Isn't it amazing how the Lord gives each of us characteristics and talents that are unique and are obviously from Him? They aren't always what we thought they would be but if we take the time to ask Him, the Lord will show us how to use our gifts for His Glory.

Monkey Beach

One Monday not long ago, we took a trip to Monkey Beach. We parked our car at this beach (I still can't believe this is five minutes from our house) and hired a boat to take us around to another beach on the island. So we headed around to the other side of the buildings in this picture.

The boat dropped us off near the entrance to some hiking trails. We hiked for over an hour. It was a pretty good hike, one that was a bit too much for my Walmart tennis shoes that I'd purchased some 6 or so years ago. So I had to rip the sole off the bottom of one of them and hike another half hour without the sole. Does it give away the quality of my shoe when I say that the foot that did NOT have a sole was just as comfortable as the foot that DID have a sole? Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say both feet were equally UNcomfortable.


 This is Monkey Beach. I would guess that it acquired its name from all the curious gray monkeys that come out of the forest to check out the tourists. When we first arrived I threw my tennis shoes in the trash and one of the workers of the food stalls burned the trash while we were there. Well the monkeys found my shoes and rescued them from the pile of burning rubble. They enjoyed my shoes much more than I ever did. They kept fighting over them and sticking their heads inside. After such a long hike, I figure the fumes from the insides of my shoes would make the monkeys pass out when they stuck their heads in. But they never did. In addition to the gray monkeys we also saw two Malayan Giant Squirrels and a baby monitor lizard.

The above picture shows the rope swing that we found and took turns swinging on. For lunch we ate grilled shrimp, chicken, pork, and sausages with mango and pineapple for dessert.

Not a bad way to spend a Monday I'd say!

Rain!

It's raining. The steady patter of the rain makes me feel cozy as the sky darkens with the approach of night. I made soup for dinner. That's always a great meal for a rainy night. But we live on a tropical island at sea-level, so it's not cold. I had to turn on the air-condition in the dining room so that we wouldn't sweat while eating the hot dinner. We don't usually turn on the air-conditioner downstairs unless we have guests. Electricity here is expensive, so we try to use the ACs and our clothes dryer sparingly.

I never get tired of rain. I think it's because of two things.

First I have great memories of rain as a child. I supposed the wet season was more irritating for my parents. There were always leaks in our roof and the day after a rain, Dad would have to get the ladder and go up on the roof to fix the leaks. Mom would gather all the buckets and pots we'd used the night before to catch the drops falling from the ceiling. I suppose she might have tired of having to wash the pots every time. The other problem was that the rain often knocked out the electricity. I remember spending evenings sitting on our front porch watching the rain in the dark. Sometimes we'd light candles all through the house. We'd joke that just about the time we got all the candles lit, the lights would come back on. The other thing we had to do as soon as the electricity cut off was run to the kitchen and unplug the fridge. When the lights came back on, the electricity would surge through the house at high power for a couple of seconds. We didn't want to lose our fridge in the spurt of power. Good times! Great memories!

The second reason I love rain is because we lived in the desert for so many years. Rain was infrequent to say the least. When it did come, it was not refreshing. It dredged up the muck and stinky-ness of the city and the lack of drainage left countless roads covered in chocolate milk colored water for days. Not pleasant. When we moved back to Asia and had our first rain I thought, "Ahhhh! This is why I love rain!" I love the rain in Asia because it is refreshing.

I know it's hard to get out and go places when it's raining. I know it is gross to have the bottom of your jeans damp all day. I know. But still, I like it.

"I know that the Lord is great, that our Lord is greater than all gods. The Lord does whatever pleases him, in the heavens and on the earth, in the seas and all their depths. He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses."
Psalm 135:5-7

It Arrived in the Mail!

Look what has arrived! It's a real-deal book y'all! Sadly, I have not seen it yet. The woes of living overseas. But my family has seen it and I'm pretty sure they are telling me the truth :) These are my advanced copies. I asked my mother-in-law to send me two copies and it cost a whopping $18 in postage so those books better get here because good grief. I can't afford to pay the postage for my own book!

Today I got on Amazon and noticed the book is no longer labeled as "pre-order", but the kindle version is. What? So, perhaps if you order it now they will actually send it to you now!! How cool would that be? Except, so much for a grand "Book Release Day" because apparently it has already released. Oh well.

So, in honor of all of us totally missing release day...whenever that was, you can apparently order it now. And I'd BE SO PUMPED if you would get on Amazon and put a review on there. That would be great!

Now, another exciting thing was that last night I met via Skype with someone from the publisher to record an interview for an upcoming podcast. Wow, that's a first for me. They wanted audio AND video. Yikes. That's unfortunate because I don't like my hair. But it's supposed to be about the book anyway so I decided to get over it and agree to the interview.

Besides the issue of my hair, there was the issue of where to set up my computer. Not in my "office" because it is more of a "crawl space" behind a giant wardrobe. And it's very messy. Not the living room because of three students doing homework and a dog that would want to sit in my lap and I don't want to be a crazy old dog-lady. Well, Kris is gone, so I took over his office.

Next problem. His office.

How to make a man's office look like a cozy living room...amazingly, I sort of did it! Look at this!

Can't you sort of think that I am sitting in a cozy living room or at least in a very cool looking office. I mean, awesome wall-hangings, a fresh ivy, family picture, cool looking lamp. "Welcome to my livingroom, all five people listening to this podcast!"

Look, I even brushed my hair and put lipstick on! I had to hunt for lipstick because seriously, who wears lipstick over here? I was once told (in a very Southern drawl) that "A Southern girl ALWAYS wears her lipstick for a picture..." (awkward pause) "you do have lipstick don't you?" To which I replied, "Does chapstick count?"

So I hunted down and actually found...well, it was more of a tinted chapstick, but pretty darn close to lipstick. I slathered it on my lips and immediately got grossed out and wiped off half of it with a kleenex. At any rate, this is what I looked like for the interview. Cozy, professional. Well, at least decent.

But to appreciate the efforts I went through, you need to see the full picture. This is what it actually looked like in there:

Yea, note the golf clubs shoved over to the left, papers barely out of camera shot. My soccer shorts go nicely with my fancy top, right? Don't you wear soccer shorts and flipflops when you are being interviewed? Hey, don't judge. If you had to do it at nine o'clock at night, you might have done that too. 

I also had to instruct my kids not to play their loud music or talk loud, puleeeeeeez, for half an hour. And I had to steal the dog's new squeeky toy that she carries in her mouth at all times and when she sleeps, she lays on top of it so no one will steal it. So she was distraught for half an hour last night. I shut the office door and could still hear her sniffing through the crack between the door and the tile floor.

Well, thankfully, the internet across 10,000 miles apparently makes the video a tad scratchy, so maybe the scene will look like a cozy living room and my hair will look awesome. I plan to post the link here whenever they put it up. They said it would be closer to the release day. 

Which brings me back to Amazon, who says they can now send it...and today it says only 2 left in stock, more on the way? What? 

Is this part of being a new author? Being in a perpetual state of confusion? At least I'm enjoying the ride!

I hope you'll get a chance to read Side By Side and will spread the word!

P.S. Oh, and I created a hashtag which is hilarious seeing as how I don't really know what to do with it. But those of you who do and want to help me spread the word, you can use #SideBySideNovel.

Book Tour

No silly! I'm not going on a book tour. That's for writers who know what they're doing. I am giving a tour of the books in my life. We used to read a lot when I was a kid. We'd all gather in the living room at night and Dad would read to us. We lived in the boonies, y'all, and didn't have anything else to do at night. I'm glad we did it. I learned to love books.

If I have a lot of time on my hands-which is absolutely never, but I feel like at some point I did because I have this faint memory of it-I will enjoy all sorts of books. Nowadays my time is short. I want the book to be really excellent if I'm gonna spend my time reading it. The problem is, I haven't figured out the formula for what I consider awesome, so I can never figure out what book to start reading. I end up spending my reading time perusing Amazon or Goodreads trying to figure out what would be worth the short time I have to read it.

I want to know about the author. So then I start looking up their websites and making decisions based on the author as well. As if I need one more stipulation to add to what book I should choose. That's why recommendations from people I know are also biggies for me. If someone else-that I know y'all, not just a random person-read it and liked it, maybe I will too.

I like to learn something. I actually don't really want to read a story just for the sake of a good story. I want to read to the last page, close the book, and feel like I've learned something about history, a country, a group of people, or something.

As a child I loved the Betsy, Tacy & Tib books. I thought they were so cool and loved how much time they spent together. And what cool names y'all! I wanted to rename my best friend Tassy. Or Tib! Who wouldn't want a best friend named Tib? My best friend was named Susan and she only spoke Indonesian. But she lived two doors down from me and she didn't think I was too weird, even if I was the only white girl in the whole little Asian town I was raised in. So, you don't think I'm weird? Best friends we are!

As I got older I loved CS Lewis' space trilogy and The Screwtape Letters. I remember scenes from those books to this day. They helped me to better understand my Christian walk by giving me a creative way to look at life. And also it was very cool to love CS Lewis. Very grown up. Like drinking coffee. Which I started doing at summer camp because all the returning college kids drank coffee and that was very grown up. Like reading CS Lewis.

In high school I had to read I Loved a Girl and I Married You by Walter Trobisch and found them to be very interesting. Probably some of my first non-fiction reading began then. I was taking a Marriage class. In high school. Strange right? Looking back on it that does seem strange. But whatever. It was a good class and I learned a lot about relationships from those books.

College was way too busy. Good grief who reads books for fun in college? It's reading for class and then hanging out with college buddies. College was a four year hiatus from reading for fun. I did read some famous stuff, during the short period of time that I considered English Literature as my minor. Then I had to read Edgar Allen Poe and some other creepy authors.

And worse than that, we had to discuss the deeper meaning of every piece. Really? What if the author just wanted to write about a big tall oak tree and it had nothing to do with her deeper need for acceptance that she never got from her mother? What if a tree is just a tree because the author looked out her window and saw a tree and wanted to put it in her story? So I quickly learned that I had nothing to contribute to discussions in class.

Also my main professor was a little creepy himself. He drove an old station wagon with fuzzy dice hanging in the front windshield. He gave me a necklace with a gold heart for my birthday and also asked me what I would say if he asked me out. I told him I would say no and I promptly switched my minor to Psychology.

I didn't read again until our second year of marriage and that was when we lived in Africa. We were the only foreigners in a town in the middle of nowhere. OK, there were two Peace Corps girls, but they were our polar opposites so we didn't really cross paths. Our first year there, we didn't speak the language and no one spoke much English. So I read about two million books. Or maybe around 50. I think I averaged a book a week. To which I say to my previous self - Good grief Jana, get out and meet the people already.

But somehow God blessed us anyway and we did eventually pick up the language and start making friends. My favorite book from all the many books I read while there was Out of Africa. Perhaps I remember that book in particular because I was able to travel to Kenya and actually see the house and some of the area where Karen Blixen lived.

Nowadays I read a little here and there. I think it's good to have a book or two in process. I like to have one "serious" book and one fiction book. I guess I like travel books and suspense type books the most. The verdict is still out on suspense. I like suspense movies, does that count?

I don't like to commit to a long series, but I do like:

The Zion Covenant Books by Bodie and BrockThoene (now that's how I like to learn history)
Mrs. Pollifax books by Dorothy Gilman (I like the different locations, and also Mrs. Pollifax cracks me up)
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith (although I petered out after awhile, that series is too long)

Some of my favorite fiction books are:

Nights of Rain and Stars (I think that's an awkward name for a book) by Maeve Binchey
The Book Thief (thanks for the recommendation Twyla C!)
Safely Home by Randy Alcorn
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
The Christmas Train by David Baldacci
Invisible by Lorena McCourtney
Monday Morning Faith by Lori Copeland
Married to a Bedouin by Marguerite van Geldermalsen (not fiction but a favorite)
Diplomatic Baggage by Brigid Keenan
Stepping Heavenward by Elizabeth Prentiss
The Last Sin Eater by Francine Rivers

What do you like to read?

Sometimes

Ever feel like God is asking you to do a crazy thing but you just know it's Him, so you do it?

A couple of months ago I took a group of high school girls on an overnight trip...twenty minutes away! We felt we should prayer walk the area, stay in a certain girls' hostel, and pray over the facility. That's really all we knew, but we felt sure it was from the Lord.

Proceeding with excitement and a little apprehension, we asked the Lord to give us an opportunity to share Jesus with someone.

We settled in our hostel...prayer walked...ate dinner...had coffee...explored...returned to hostel... we talked to a few people, but nothing "big" so to speak. We ended the day playing a game of cards. It wasn't until 11:30 that night that the Lord brought a lady our way. She needed a listening ear and she needed to hear the Gospel. We were given such a sweet opportunity to pray for her and to love her in Jesus name. Here are some things I think we learned:

1. Sometimes you have to share at odd times (we stayed up until 2:30 am talking with her).
2. Sometimes you have to share in weird circumstances (not really the place to share, but trust me, it was a weird situation)
3. Sometimes you have more boldness when you work as a team. All of us spoke to her about Jesus, each of us in our own way.
4. Sometimes God orchestrates divine appointments (this lady decided at the last minute not to return to the hotel she had checked into, but to come check into our hotel instead just for one night...the very night we were there)
5. Sometimes people are ready to hear. We need to be ready to share.
6. Sometimes people say, "Yes! Please pray for me!" We shouldn't be afraid to ask.
7. Sometimes people don't believe. That's not our part. We share. The Holy Spirit convicts.
8. Sometimes you stand back and say, "Did God really just do that?"
9. Sometimes unbelievers see it too. They may not realize it's God. They may say, "Did that really just happen?" And then you smile and say, "Yes it did!" Because you know it's God who did it. He's just that awesome.
10. Sometimes we just have to be willing to do something a little crazy.

Legally Frustrated

Here's more to the immigration saga that began with Good News and Bad News:

So I wanna live here, you know. It's nice here. There are three pretty awesome boys I'd like to hang out with and a pretty awesome man who I married a few years back who I'd like to live with. But I gotta have permission to live here. I can't just move in and expect this quirky little island to welcome me all willy nilly. I gotta do things right.

That's why I was at immigration a couple of weeks ago. Trying to be legal. I was trying to renew my kids' visas and mine as well. We have two different sorts of visas and in the order of all things visa, I have to get the kids' approved first and then apply for mine.

Here's how it goes:

1. Get a letter from the school saying my kids do actually attend.
2. Print out all forms. Guess which ones are still being used. Fill them out. Make copies of every official document of each member of the family that you can possibly think of. Get pictures made of the kids. Not the school pictures that you have on hand. Those have blue background. Must have red background.
3. Take all the forms to immigration. Take a number. Sit (if you can find an empty seat). Turn in paperwork about 2 hours later. Go home.
4. While waiting for a week, go open a bank account (since you don't have one here b/c you just use ATM machines). Banker will ask you to go home and make a bunch of copies of documents that they will later never ask you for. So that makes 2 trips to the bank.
5. Go home and print out bank statement showing all the money you just stuck into the bank account you didn't want.
6. A week later go to immigration to pick up kids' visas. Yay!

That's the good news. The bad news is that on the day my kids' visas came out, my own visa expired. So I had to spend time at immigration applying for a one month visa in order to buy time to renew my year visa. And the other bad news was that Mr. Grumpy was working at immigration.

I hate to write about everything that happened during that SEVEN HOUR visit to immigration but it did involve the following:
1. 200 people jammed into one room
2. a bored, hungry, thirsty, about-to-pass-out anonymous lady
3. a cold bottle of water for sale downstairs that the anonymous lady could not leave to go buy (in case her number was called while she was gone)
4. a squatty potty that the anonymous lady could not visit because of same reason above.
5. Food that anonymous lady did NOT bring with her because who thinks they are gonna spend SEVEN HOURS at immigration?
5. same lady contemplated crawling across the desks and hunting for her paperwork on her own
6. a nice Indian lady who offered anonymous lady a piece of candy about 6 hours into the ordeal. (anonymous lady forgot all polite protocol, though she did smile and say thank you as she snatched the candy and stuck it in her mouth. I do not remember if she even took the wrapper off, I think she was pretty hungry)
7. And Mr. Grumpy, who I already mentioned.

Add it all together and, as they say back home, the anonymous lady was "fit to be tied" (you have to say that in a Texas accent. "Fit" has two syllables and "tied" is pronounced "tad" as in "add a tad more bacon grease to that thar gravy Hunny")

Wait. You may say. What did going to the bank have to do with anything? Well, yes, that is a good question. The bank document was needed for the next trip when I applied for the longer visa, but could not apply for on the same day as the kids' visas because I had to then go back to the school to show the new visas and get a second letter that I could not get that day because immigration was an hour away. See, that was an easy answer.

And when the anonymous lady drove home, feeling defeated and completely frustrated at a wasted day, she remembered to be thankful. In spite of it all, she went home with visas for the kids and a temporary extension for hers. And it's all just part of the package right? We all have things we just hate to do. But sometimes we just gotta put on our big girl panties and do it.

 I have one more trip to make to immigration to finally have legal status in the country for another year. And in the end, I get to live here. Legally. Peacefully. And when it's all said and done, thankful too.

The Good News and The Bad News

Enjoying a beach on the island.

The good news is: I get to live on this beautiful island.
The bad news is: I have to get a visa to do it. Not the plastic card to go shopping with. The boring paperwork kind.

The good news is: I can get one that lasts one year!
The bad news is: my year is up...time to apply again.

The good news is: I know how to do it since I did it last year.
The bad news is: some of the rules have changed.

The good news is: I get all the passports and forms and documents together and I'm ready to go to immigration.
The bad news is: It takes all morning to drive to the mainland, sit at immigration, and wait for my turn to turn in my paperwork.

The good news is: I get to see/meet all sorts of interesting people in the waiting room. Saudis, Sikhs, monks, Indian, Asian, European, children, couples, families.
The bad news is: I have to wait for an hour for my turn and the whole time I have to go to the bathroom.

The good news is: once I turn in my paperwork, I'm done until next week when I come pick up the passports, AND, I know there's a bathroom downstairs.
The bad news is: The one western style toilet has a hose in it. I'm not going to pee on the hose and I'm not about to touch it to take it out just in case someone else DID.

The good news is: There are two Turkish toilets (otherwise known as squatty potties) so I can use one of them.
The bad news is: There is water all over the floor and I have long pants on and am carrying a purse and a large plastic expandable file.

The good news is: I can somehow manage to do my business in a wet bathroom with no shelves and when I slip I don't fall or do the splits...not entirely anyways.
The bad news is: I almost did and I pulled muscles in my leg while trying to save myself.

But the GOOD news is: my kids should get their visas in a week.
The bad news is: my visa will expire in the meantime.

The good news is: They will let me apply for an extension when I go next time.
The bad news is: there are three more next times because I'll have to do this all over again three more times before the process is complete.

The good news is: when it IS complete, I'll get to live on this beautiful island!

Soccer and the Good News

Almost every week I visit a temporary housing neighborhood with a partner. We pray for the people there and often get to share stories, including The Best Story. Last week I met a young boy. He enjoyed practicing some English and was also surprised that I could speak his language.

"Where do your children go to school?"

I told him.

"Yes, I know. They come to my school sometimes."

"Oh really?" My oldest son volunteers at a local school. He has helped play games, teach songs, and practice English with the students. They are all of the majority religion here. "My son's name is A."

"Yes, I know him."

"Really?" I was doubtful.

"Yes, does he speak our language?"

"Well, yes he does speak a little."

"Yes," said the boy. "I know him."

Wow, there I was in a poor neighborhood with people I was only meeting for the first time. Actually my son has met their children. Little did I know that my own child was touching this neighborhood long before I arrived.

God is good! I went home excited to tell my son that he had a part in the spreading of the Good News to this neighborhood. Sure, he was teaching English and kicking the soccer ball. But his presence made an impact on this boy. And the people in this boy's neighborhood are getting exposed to The Best Story. Maybe they will be more receptive now that they know we care about their kids too.

There are a lot of ways kids can help spread Good News. What are your ideas?

FGM = Love?

Female circumcision is radical and unimaginable to most of my friends in the West. To most of my friends in North Africa, it is a normal part of life. Today I read an interesting article (FGM - An Act of Love) that sheds light on the thinking of those who circumcise their daughters.

I've written about FGM/C (Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting) in my upcoming novel Side By Side. The experiences in the book come from the true stories of young women who have undergone this practice.

As women, we should know at least a little about what more than 125 million women and girls in our world today are going through. You can read more about what FGM/C is here (this is just a fact sheet, there are no graphics, although the facts are heart-wrenching all on their own.)

It would be easy to become overwhelmed by the traumatic stories of women who have undergone FGM/C. It would be easy to become angry at those who perpetuate the practice. But I propose that the more one learns about a culture, the more difficult it is to find a black and white answer.

As mentioned in the article, "Whether we like it or not, female genital cutting is an act of love." I'm not saying that I agree that this is a healthy train of thought, I'm just saying it's worth the time to stop. Stop. Take a breath. And remember that not everyone thinks like we do.

I sat in a room in North Africa, the only white woman in a sea of dark-skinned villagers. We were attending a government-sponsored program designed to put a stop to FGM/C and tribal scarring. Most of my friends had undergone both.

The women squeeled and hid their faces when the program leaders showed us a film of a three-year-old girl being circumcised and scarred. It was gruesome and heart-breaking. But I knew that my friends who were moms would still go home and schedule an appointment for their daughters to be circumcised.

As a Westerner, I'd say it's fairly easy to form a strong opinion about FGM/C. It's well-documented as a harmful practice. I'm grateful for organizations (both local and international) that work diligently to educate and inform regarding FGM/C. It is hard for me to understand why this practice continues.

But let's bring it closer to home...

What practices do we have in our own cultures that are unhealthy or harmful, but that we guard carefully because to change it would be to go against a deeply embedded cultural norm? Perhaps you can't think of anything as huge or problematic as FGM/C, but I believe we still have unhealthy cultural norms that we do just...because. Because "that's how it's always been done," and because, "that's how everyone does it."

Some women in communities that have practiced FGM/C for centuries are taking a stand. Are you brave enough to take a stand against the unhealthy norms in your own culture? Am I?

It's worth some thought.

12 Days of Tropical Christmas

I wrote this a couple of years ago to describe our first Christmas in Sumatra. No mouse in my tree this year, but I'll be honest, I cringed just a tad when I opened the box. I knew a live mouse wouldn't run out at me like before because the box was well wrapped. It was finding a dead mouse entombed in the box that I was concerned about. But my fears were unfounded. I thought you might enjoy a new twist to an old favorite!

On the first day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

A mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the second day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Rust on the ornaments, and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the third day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Rain in the evening, rust on the ornaments, and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the fourth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the fifth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Five calls to prayer!
Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the sixth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me
rice and soup and noodles,
Five calls to prayer!
    Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the seventh day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Mold in the kitchen,  rice and soup and noodles,
five calls to prayer!
Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the eighth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Masses of mosquitoes, mold in the kitchen, rice and soup and noodles,
five calls to prayer!
Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the ninth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Amoebas in my belly, masses of mosquitoes, mold in the kitchen, rice and soup and noodles,
five calls to prayer!
Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the tenth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Natalans at the church, amoebas in my belly, masses of mosquitoes, mold in the kitchen, rice and soup and noodles,
five calls to prayer!
leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the eleventh day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Skype calls to family, Natalans at the church, amoebas in my belly, masses of mosquitoes, mold in the kitchen, rice and soup and noodles,
five calls to prayer!
Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

On the twelfth day of Christmas the tropics gave to me

Memories to cherish, Skype calls to family, Natalans at the church, amoebas in my belly, masses of mosquitoes, mold in the kitchen, rice and soup and noodles,
five calls to prayer!
Leaks in my bedroom, rain in the the evening, rust on the ornaments and a mouse in my Christmas tree!

10 Life Hacks for Third-World Livin' (from Back in the Day)

Life Hacks would have meant a serial killer holding a machete back when my husband and I first went overseas. Nowadays it means: cool tricks to make life easier.

I didn't have Google or Pinterest or blogs to read back then. I had a Lonely Planet book about our new country in one hand and a copy of Where There Is No Doctor in the other. The rest we just had to figure out along the way.

Because there was nowhere to share my tricks of the trade, most of them have faded into the "I Don't Need That Anymore" corners of my memory. So before I lose every one of them, I thought I'd write them down. And since nowadays I have a blog (we went overseas before internet y'all!) I can share my Life Hacks with you! Now, keep in mind these may be old school...but sometimes old school is cool, right?

1. If you don't have running water, drain your laundry water (from hand-washing or hand-filling your washing machine) into a container (tub, bucket, etc) and use it to flush your toilet. Saves on water and your toilet gets washed with laundry detergent!

2. If your electricity goes out all the time and you want cold water to drink during the day: Buy a large water thermos. Buy a bowl that is big, but small enough to fit into the thermos. Every evening fill the bowl with water and freeze (if you have electricity at night). In the morning, dump the ice into your thermos and fill it with water. Don't forget to refill your bowl and put it back in the freezer for tomorrow. All day long you'll have cold water to drink without opening your fridge and losing the precious cold. We did this for years in Africa.

3. Toothpaste works to ease itchy mosquito bites. Just dab it on every one of them. You can easily count them as you go so that you know how many there are for your next blog or Facebook status. You smell minty fresh, but lint also sticks to your skin. Up to you.

4. If you don't know what you are doing for dinner, but it's time and your hubby and kids are getting hungry, saute some onions. Makes the kitchen smell like you know what you are doing and buys you a little time. (I got this idea from my mom!)

5. If you live in a super hot and dry climate, do these things to keep relatively cool:

*Get your head and hair wet and don't dry off. I know people who just left their clothes on and got fully wet and then walked around the house like that. The water cooled them off and since we lived in the desert, it didn't actually take very long to dry!
*Get towels wet and lay them on your floor at night. If you don't have AC but you do have a ceiling fan, the wet towels will cool the room off a bit.
*Wear cotton undershirts or tank tops under your clothes. If you are living in a country where you have to dress conservatively, this seems counter-intuitive. But my friends and I discovered that tank tops collect your sweat and #1 keep your outer clothes from stinking and #2 used your sweat to cool you off.

6. Keep a container in your freezer and put the "final" leftovers in it, no matter how small. When the container is full you can make soup. Dump the frozen stuff into a pot and add whatever you feel might be missing (water, stock, a can of veggies (or fresh ones if you don't have cans), a taco mix, some spices, some pasta, rice, etc.) My family doesn't realize that's what I do and almost every time they say, "Wow, this soup is really good!" It's better if it cooks a long time in the crockpot. Honestly, my family usually likes it even better the second time around. I call it "Hearty Soup" like my mom does!

7. Here's a truly old-school tip. Back in the day our only communication back home was through letters. It did not cost any more in postage to add one Koolaide packet or one ziploc bag. Since both were hard (uh...impossible) to come by, we had our friends and family stick one or the other in every letter. It was like getting a double treat every time!

8. Learn how to breathe through your mouth and not your nose. If you live in a Third-World country, chances are you are gonna smell pee, poop, blood, sewer, fish, carcasses, spoiled garbage, and durian. It's nicer for those in whose country you are a guest if you don't wrinkle your nose and pass out or gag every time your nose is offended. I also try not to think about the fact that my mouth is still taking in all those smelly germs without the advantage of nose hair filters. So breathe through  your mouth and distract your mind and you'll be fine!

9. If you happen to stay at a nice hotel that supplies shower caps, save them. They are handy for covering food dishes, like plastic wrap...only free. I wash and reuse until they are kind of gross and then throw them away.

10. Weavels and unsavory critters like that will leave your flour, cereals, rice, and other grains if you spread it out in the sun (on a woven mat or large tray). Stale cereal and chips crisp back up in an oven set at low. Don't through away that stuff!









If you live in a third-world country, in the boonies, or if you live somewhere else, what tips have you learned for every day life?