New Book and Christmas

Guess what is available on Amazon (both ebook and paperback)! My second devotional book. I am so excited about it, but also a little nervous. It is scary to "put yourself out there" and that's what I feel like I've done in both books. This one is all about our life in Southeast Asia. It has been over three years in the making. The cover is amazing and I have a good friend to thank for that. You can check out her awesome skills at http://amandawentzel.wix.com/amanda#!

So, it's Christmas time! As you can tell from the picture above, we are in Texas and this is how we roll in Texas! We are rocking the short sleeves and enjoying the blue sky. Well, it is a little cold for our tropical blood, but we are enjoying whatever weather the Lord sends our way and are loving time with family.

Come January 9 we'll be headed back to Malaysia. More on that in the New Year. I am happy to discover that somewhere between my last post and now, Blogspot has decided to raise my limit on pictures. Now I can finally post pictures again. Yay! It was boring when I couldn't...honestly...that's why I quit for awhile. But, Merry-Christmas-to-me, I can do it now, so expect more posts from me.

Book Trailer

Check out my new book trailer!

Hats Off!

Hats off to homeschooling moms! Mostly because the hat will be knocked off anyway. Things can get wild and crazy in a homeschool room. In the past few years, I added homeschooling to my repertoire of school experiences. Whether as a student, parent, or teacher, I have experienced: private Christian school, public school, and homeschool in the United States as well as international, Christian, boarding, and homeschool in several foreign countries. Each situation carries a unique set of challenges and benefits.

Not very far into my first year of homeschooling our kids, I realized that homeschooling is not for the faint of heart or for anyone low on energy. My image of homeschooling moms has never been negative, but it certainly jumped up a few notches once I started doing it myself. I kept thinking, “And all this time I had no idea what all they had to do!” Sure, we get done earlier in the day, but when we are done...I am DONE, you know what I mean? My brain is toast by two o’clock in the afternoon! Emails? Forget it. Dinner? Did we already order pizza for dinner this week? We did? Phooey.

Last year we did homeschool and dorm school (different kids did different things obviously). This semester all the kiddos are homeschooling. Next semester it will be Christian school abroad. See what I mean? We really like to mix it up in our family! Ha!

To all the families starting up a new year of school...HAVE A GREAT ONE!

The Rest of the Story

I got a lot of responses from my post The Box. For some reason the "comment" tab doesn't always work so some responses were verbal or in emails and messages. Sounds like the post stirred something in all of us. So now I'd like to post the rest of the story... and I've invited my mom (shout out to Diana Norwood!) to be a guest blogger for this! We all may be wondering what the rest of the story will be for Wi'am, but here is a look at someone else's end story... thanks for sharing Mom!

Consider the difference Jesus Christ makes in a life. The contrast is significant.

It happened to me in South Asia…

We were in a small town that had a decent hotel. We were staying there while we taught a leadership seminar for national church pastors and leaders. For women teachers, it is appropriate to teach in a sari. Hence, I was wearing a sari, riding in the local rendition of a rickshaw, which sets the occupant high in the air on a small seat, behind the man who peddles the rickshaw. Talk about conspicuous! First of all, being white seems to draw everyone’s eyes in your direction. Secondly, a white woman wearing a sari is really strange. Oh, the looks I endured as we traveled the roads to the community center where the seminar was being held. Especially irritating to me were the stares of the men. They were all Muslim men. When they looked at a woman there was no respect in their eyes. It was more a look of disdain and distaste and vulgar thoughts. A woman feels dirty after noticing a man looking at her in that way. After enduring many such looks on the way to the community center, we arrive. I pay the rickshaw driver and walk inside to meet our class which has gathered from many areas of the country. It’s always a thrill to meet these men and women. This week, I notice a man who is dressed just as any Muslim man, with white salwar-kameez (long shirt and pants) and a very bushy black beard. One of the participants brings him up to me to introduce him.

The contrast to the men on the street is vast. He walks up to me with a huge smile shining through his black beard, and he looks at me straight in the eyes. He’s eager to meet me and talk to me. I quickly shift my cultural gears. In this Muslim culture, a woman doesn’t look a man in the eyes or talk to him. But there was no avoiding this wonderful man. I quickly learned his story:

He was the imam (leader) of the mosque in his village: looked up to and respected. As he frequented a pharmacy in town, the pharmacist (who was also sitting in this seminar and who was a strong believer) began to share with him Jesus Christ. The imam became a believer, but kept going to the mosque and sharing Jesus Christ there. He was run out of the mosque and eventually out of their village. His wife had also become a believer. They and their children were now without a home. Eventually they were able to relocate in another village and have been attracting Muslims and winning them to Christ. He no longer can lead in a mosque, but he now leads a growing group of former Muslim believers as they have gathered into a “church”.

Only Christ could change such a man. It’s a miracle. And it's "the rest of the story" for this man and his family. What can we do today to help write "the rest of the story" for those without Christ?

It's Time

“It’s time, Mom,” said my boy. He stood in the open doorway of the hotel room where we stayed. The light of the afternoon sun flooded the doorway where he stood so that his face was dark and his form was a silhouette outlined in gold. His eyes were not hidden in the shadow, though; they beamed. His backpack hung over one shoulder and he carried a bag in each hand. He stood tall and handsome. When had he grown so tall? His voice was deep too. When did that happen? When did my little boy start talking as if he were a man? In recent days I found myself startled to hear a strange man in the house talking to my children. Then, I’d realize from the conversation that it was not a man, it was my own boy (whose voice seemed to have dropped multiple octaves overnight) talking to his siblings.

My boy. He was going to move into a dorm and attend school far away from home. We planned for this day for years. We talked about it, read about it, and dreamed about it. But now it was time to do it. Were we really ready for this? Was my son?

He thought he was. But he didn’t know about homesickness and broken hearts, about mean teachers and selfish friends, and...and...

“I’ll be there. Trust me.” It was not the deep voice of my son who’d grown up too fast, it was the Holy Spirit in my heart. The same Holy Spirit Who was in my son’s heart too.

We raised our son to love Jesus and honor His Word. But, would he keep on the path to life when he was out from under our watchful eyes? What about bad influences around him and temptations and...and...

“I’ll be there. Trust me.” It was that Still Voice that my son would recognize too.

I remembered the words of my father, “You and your husband have raised him well, Dear. Like an arrow, he will fly straight.” I remembered the conversation I had with my father the night before...

“I keep trying to tell him last minute advice, Dad,” I complained, “and he doesn’t hear a word I’m saying. He’s so excited to go that my words seem to bounce off his head like ping pong balls off a wall.”

“He doesn’t need to hear them, Dear,” my Dad replied, “He doesn’t need to hear them because you’ve already taught him all the things he needs to know. But you need to say them for your sake. So it’s OK, just say them and let them bounce away. He’s going to be just fine!”

I know my dad was right. I knew this day was coming, but can it possibly be here already? So soon?

“Mom? Mom, it’s time to go.” I jump and look back at the doorway with the silhouette of the young man that somehow I am old enough to have borne and raised. “The dorms open in twenty minutes.”

“Well then,” I reply, “Let’s do this!” I flash a smile at him. Gosh, I am so proud of him. He’s gonna do great. I grab my purse and follow him out the door. Before closing it behind me, I reach back in and snatch the box of tissues off the entry table. I’m gonna need it!

The Box

I felt myself being squeezed back into a little box. It all happened in a matter of seconds and it started just by the look in his eyes.

It has been four years since I left a country that I poured myself into for thirteen years. Since the day I flew away, I have not seen a single person from there.

At first I didn’t miss it. Then I missed it terribly. As each day passed, I grew and changed. I tried new things, I found my voice, I learned that my opinions mattered and my gifts contributed to others. I gained confidence and slowly ventured out from the box that my former world had kept me in. I felt free!

But I still missed the people from my other world. Sometimes I wondered why I loved those ladies so much and why I couldn’t go back. If only I could go back now: now that confidence filled my veins, wisdom matured me and joy put a spring in my step.

One day last week, my husband and I enjoyed a delicious Arabic meal with friends. Ramadan (the month of fasting for Muslims) is in full swing, but the restaurant served us before the fast broke at sundown. We sat under colorful glass lanterns and watched young people playing on the beach as we dipped bread into creamy Arabic dips and talked about both the mundane and the deep.

As the sun creeped lower in the sky, more people wandered into the restaurant. Arabs and Asians from various countries sat at tables throughout the room. The non-Muslims ate their food eagerly while the Muslims waited patiently for the fast to break. My husband and I noticed a group walk into the restaurant and immediately knew they were from a land we formerly lived in. There were two men, a lady and two children. I admired their faces as they walked by. How I missed those faces!

After dinner, I wondered aloud if I should try to meet the lady. My dinner companion encouraged me to do so. The lady had gone to the restroom, so I followed her in and asked her where she was from. Our guess had been right! Her name was Wi’am. She and her daughter were very happy to hear a khawadja (white foreigner) speaking Arabic. She said that I spoke Arabic well. That was a very gracious complement, since I discovered only one in every three words that came out of my mouth were Arabic. The others were a mixture of Bahasa and English and I also had to resort to charades. What on earth happened to the Arabic file in my brain?

We chatted a little and then she excused herself and returned to her table. I rifled through my purse looking for a name card to give her, but I must have given them all away. My friend, who came with me to the restroom, handed me a piece of paper and pen so I could scribble my name and email address down. My hand was shaking out of sheer excitement. A woman from my former home! I loved those ladies!

I quickly left the restroom, but found that the family was already gone. Shoot! Then I looked out of the glass door of the restaurant and saw them meandering through the gift shops set up in the parking lot. At the risk of appearing “stalker-ish” in my excitement, I left my dinner party behind and walked briskly across the parking lot toward Wi’am. I gave her the piece of paper and talked to her a little bit more before the men walked up. Again, I was excited to speak Arabic and meet more people from our former home.

“This is my husband,” said Wi’am, as the men strolled up to us. I smiled brightly, eager to tell them that I used to live in their country.

Then it happened.

Any passerby would not have known that anything unusual had happened at all. The shop owners would have seen a group of North African tourists talking to an American lady for a few seconds and then would have seen them walk on their way. It happens all the time, every day. Why would anyone think it strange?

It started by the look in his eyes.

It wasn’t a bad look, or even a leering one. It was not so much what was in the look as it was what was NOT in it. It was a look that was void of respect. I was de-humanized in a split second. The words he said were cordial. But his look and his manner held me in disdain and crammed me into the tiny box “where you belong.” That man and every other man like him commanded me to shrink. Suddenly, my sleeves felt too short, my jeans too tight, my voice too loud, my manner too friendly, my walk too quick, and my stance too confident. What I would have given for a headscarf to cover my hair that moment. What on earth had I been thinking? His look shot emotions and reactions into my heart that I hadn’t felt in years. My mind saw every man who had leered at me and every man who had touched me or spoken to me inappropriately...I suddenly remembered every unspoken rule for a woman to survive in that man’s world. I found myself squished back into a tiny dark box.

There is no room for anything but me in that box- I am stripped. There is no room for self-expression or confidence. There is no room for talent or a voice of any kind. There is only me. I had been soundly put in my place and he didn’t even have to raise his hand. He never would have anyway. What man would shake hands with an infidel woman during Ramadan?

I turned and walked away. As I slunk back across the parking lot I realized I inadvertently gave Wi’am the wrong email address! In my excitement I’d confused two of my addresses and wrote down a mixture of the two!

Idiot! A thousand men just like him chuckled. See? You are a stupid woman!

A bell on the restaurant door jingled as I opened it and in a split second I had re-entered my own dimension. I sat at the dinner table and talked about strategy and vision. My ideas mattered. My voice contributed to the conversation. My confidence returned. I bloomed again and the tiny stifling box sat shattered in the parking lot.

It has taken me four years to get out of that box and let the Lord nurture and grow me. I don’t have to get back in that box. But what about Wi’am? She’s never known anything different. Now I realize: that’s why I love her and ladies like her so much. They are beautiful and only when I crawled into that dark place could I see them for who they really were. I could see the potential for what God had made them to be.

The box. It’s a place that only a woman can go. No man can truly understand it or feel the pain that comes with it. Although I have attempted to describe it, it’s indescribable really. It’s a place where women are living and dying without the hope of Christ. Wi’am is there...and all my friends from that country.

Will you pray for Wi’am and women like her? Will you pray for the men in their lives? There is just under two weeks left of Ramadan. As people like Wi’am and her family are more sensitive to spiritual things this month, will you pray that they will find Jesus? He really is the answer after all.

Jesus said, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Luke 4:18-19

In Our New Home...Not For Long!

Five weeks...that's how long we've been in our new home. Five weeks of unpacking, organizing, getting to know our new island and just settling in.

One week...that's how long it is before we take our suitcases BACK to the airport and fly away. I'm praying for "No Madness" during this season of "Nomad-Ness."

We are headed to Texas where I hope I'll find my sanity. Perhaps it's waiting for me in a basket of warm tortilla chips with a large bowl of salsa beside it. That's where I'm thinking it is...which is why we have requested lunch at El Fenix on the way home from the airport.

We have a few mixed feelings about the next five months. We are beyond excited to see our State-side family and friends again! We are looking forward to the opportunities to meet with partners in various cities and churches! We are a little reluctant to leave our new home that we just spent five weeks setting up! But you know what?...that's a good spot to be in. The Lord has already been providing so much for us here. It will be fun to return in January. And we know He has so much already lined up for us during our time in the good 'ole USA. So who wouldn't rejoice about that!?

God is so good! How has He shown His goodness to you lately?

Transition...Again?

Nearly three months since I've posted? Ouch! Is it too cliche to say, "A lot has happened since I last wrote"?

A surprise turn of events has us packing and moving...again! This island has been our home for two years. We actually planned to be here much longer. But the Lord had other plans! We have agreed to expand the area we are working in and, as a result, a move to a more central location is necessary.

So now we're island hopping! Off we hop to a new island...in Malaysia. A wonderful surprise for us is the gift of having our family all back together again. Aaron will get to live at home and attend the same high school he attended this past year.

As we enter into yet another time of transition for our family, I hold to the Anchor, the Faithful One. I am so thankful for His Word. As we pack our suitcases and enter into a month of traveling and "nomad-ness" I think of this verse:

"Your decrees are the theme of my song wherever I lodge." Psalm 119:54

Don't Be Burdened By Surfeiting

Welcome to the inner workings of my brain. I am going to be transparent and let you in on where my mind goes during Bible Study. Yep, get ready, this is how I roll...

I like Luke 21. Oh, it's not a feel-good passage. It's about the signs of the End of the Age. There's nothing warm and fuzzy about wars, revolutions, famines, pestilences, fearful events, and persecution. But I like it because I can relate to it. We are definitely living in the End Times as far as I can see. Here is what I like: verse 28. Look at it! Well, ok, I will put it here for you so you don't have to go get your Bible. In the NIV it says, "When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." Wow, that is so cool! When all these crazy things are happening, I should STAND UP and LIFT MY HEAD, my Jesus is coming back! Doesn't that excite you?

Well, as we wait, we can be tempted to get distracted. In this chapter Jesus goes on to warn us not to be distracted by things in life. Look at verse 34, ok, ok, don't get up, I'll type it for you. Here it is: "Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with dissipation, drunkenness and the anxieties of life, and that day will close on  you unexpectedly like a trap." Hmmm, interesting. OK, in case you are wondering, drunkenness is not a personal temptation of mine. Never has been. But there are two other things in that list. I decided to do a word study on anxieties and on dissipation.

OK, now, as an aside, you need to know that recently Kris told me he may have to quit letting me watch USA news. It gets me all rowled up (how do you spell rowl? Well, I don't know how to spell it, but it's the best word to describe me when I watch the news). The craziness going on is almost more than I can handle. I flail my arms and holler. All you who think I am calm and happy all the time, you should watch me watch the news. It's not pretty. There's a bunch of craziness going on and it frustrates me. DISSIPATION.

When I watch the news I am distracted by dissipation. Did you know that the KJV says verse 34 like this, "And take heed to yourselves, lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting."

"Thanks, Jana, that clears it right up for us!"

Hence the word study. I looked up "overcharged". The Greek word is "baruno" and it means "burdened." That describes me after watching the news. The next word is "surfeiting". Is that any more clear to you than dissipation? Not for me either. "Surfeiting" in Greek can mean "headache". But get this, the word in Latin is "crapula". Seriously, that's what it is! I love word studies! Again, the word reminds me of stuff going on in the news.

There you go. Now you know what happens when I do word studies. I am encouraged to not be burdened by the headaches from the *Latin word* I see on the news. So, when I see *Latin word* on the news, I resolve to quit flailing my arms and hollering. I resolve to remember that these are the end times and that I will NOT get distracted by nonsense. I will lift up my head, my redemption is near!

Dear Hannah: Between the Lines

*NOTE: You can find the other "Dear Hannah" letters by clicking here or on the words "Dear Hannah" under "What's Up?" in the right-hand column.

Dear Hannah,

Your story of mothering from afar is comforting to me. That is what I am learning to do. I read about the first time you parted with your son and my own feelings of parting with my son surface. I stare at 1 Samuel 2:11, “Then Elkanah went home to Ramah, but the boy ministered before the Lord under Eli the priest.” After the beautiful gift of God (your precious baby boy) and the faithful keeping of your promise (to give him back to the Lord), you pray a wonderful prayer. The first part of your story is filled with emotion. I feel the pain, rest in the peace, rejoice in the answer to prayer and stand in awe at your strength. There is so much meaning  in these first verses of the book named after your son. Then, in chapter two verse eleven, “Elkanah went home to Ramah.” That’s it. Elkanah went home...the end.

I don’t think so!

How about “Elkanah and Hannah went home, and as they walked, they found themselves looking around for Samuel, thinking he was walking home with them”? Or how about, “Elkanah went home and Hannah set the table for three...and then sighed and put one plate back on the shelf because there were only two people eating that night”? Or maybe, “Elkanah and Hannah went home and Hannah thought of a funny joke to tell Samuel, only Samuel wasn’t around and Elkanah already knew the punch-line.” I think one of those sentences would be more realistic. There is so much more written between the words, “Elkanah went home.” I didn’t know that before, Hannah, but I do now. There is so much more written between the lines when I say, “Our son is attending boarding school.”

What did you do when you returned home? How did it feel? I have the wonderful benefit of parents who have had a very similar experience as mine. My mother wrote a letter for me to read when I got home from taking our son to school. I will share it with you:

Dear Jana,

Well – the house surely seems different now, doesn’t it? It will take awhile to get used to. Don’t let yourself wallow in this sadness. Just recognize it and remember it is part of God’s plan (for you as well as your son) and therefore is a good thing. Don’t miss what God is teaching you now. He will fill that aching hole with Himself. He will give you peace and comfort – it’s coming.

Dad and I are praying for each of you as you adjust to this. We hurt with you. But we also have the perspective of having been through it three times. Each time a little different and each time He showed us something new about Himself (and ourselves). He is trustworthy and faithful.

We are praying for you guys.

All our love,

Mom and Dad

I am thankful that God gave my mother the wisdom to read between the lines of “our son went to boarding school and then we went home”! I am curious, if you could re-write the verse, Hannah, from your own experience, what would you write between the words “Elkanah went home to Ramah”?

How Are You?

You know what a TCK is, right? A TCK is a third-culture-kid, someone who lives in a country other than his or her passport country. Because of this dual culture, he or she often has a unique "third culture" that is not 100% of either one that they have lived in. I am definitely a TCK. I have never been 100%  a part of any culture. That's cool, I don't mind that. I like it. But here's the deal: as an adult I've added a few more cultures to the mix by adapting to life in several additional countries. The result? Comedy.

The other day I was inviting an Asian friend into my home. I hadn't seen her in awhile and was very happy to see her again. "How are you!?" I asked, very happily.

"I am fine. How are you?"

"Oh, I am fine. I am so happy to see you! Come in!" I ushered her in, "It's been so long since I have seen you! How are you doing?"

"Fine," she replied. My, it was good to see her again.

"So, how are you?" I asked happily. She sort of grunted. Oh dear, something must be wrong. "Oh no, what is wrong?"

"Nothing, why?"

"Well, I asked how you were and you sounded like something was wrong."

"Oh, no," she replied, "Nothing is wrong, but why do you keep on asking me how I am doing?"

Clash of cultures, none of which are mine! I was using my North African way of greeting with my Asian friend. I haven't lived on North African soil for over three years and all this time I've been greeting people this way because after so many years there, it came naturally. I didn't even realize I did it. Thankfully, my gracious friend found humor in my explanation and we spent the rest of the afternoon asking each other, "By the way, how are you?"

Note to self: I only ask Asians ONE TIME and then think of something else to talk about. OK, got it...I think.

Flakey Bible

Recently I've been noticing flakes. Flakes on my bed, on my desk, in my lap. No, it's not blue and gray dandruff. It is flakes from my Bible. The once pretty "leather" covering seems to not like being carted from Air Conditioned America to Hot as Hades Africa to Rainforest Southeast Asia. It is flaking...everywhere. I don't want to get a new Bible because my parents gave me this one for Christmas in 2006 and I have marked in it and written notes in the margin. But as I brushed away the flakes, I thought about my Flaky Bible and I wondered if the meaning of the passages I read were "rubbing off on me" like the cover that was flaking off on me. Do others notice the "flakes" that remain around me and around the house long after I spend time in the Word?  What about you? Is your Bible flakey?

10 Reasons Why I Am a Digital Immigrant

My son is taking Digital Citizenship in high school. He informed me that he is a Digital Citizen and that I am a Digital Immigrant. That's code for, "We let you use our awesome digital stuff but our products will constantly remind you that you don't actually belong here." While depressing, I have to admit that it is true. Here are a few reasons why.


THE TOP TEN REASONS WHY I AM A DIGITAL IMMIGRANT

#10 I prefer my cheap and simple phone and I am not just saying that because I can't afford a nice one (even though I can't)

#9 I have fond memories of dial-up (at the office we even had a toggle switch on the wall to transfer the line from phone to computer!)

#8 I miss the smell of books (can't they have a scratch-and-sniff app for that?)

#7 I need Aaron to come home and help me figure out my computer program, and no, Son, I don't want to do it over Skype, I need an actual person to sit here beside me and help me.

#6 I hate updates for programs, I liked it the way it was, that's why I got it in the first place. Why did you have to go and change it?

#5 My kids have a question about the computer and they say, "Hey Mom...oh...never mind," and then they figure it out on their own.

#4 I don't know what hash tags are. And yes, I've had it explained to me but it still sounds like something illegal.

#3 When buying Aaron a wireless keyboard for his iPad, I got excited and blurted out, "I am so happy we were able to buy Aaron his typewriter." Yes, I said it loudly in the middle of the store. Typewriter? How far back in the recesses of historical vocabulary did my mind have to reach to find THAT word?

#2 I get confused and try to punch a button on my computer screen with my finger like it is a touch screen.

and the #1 reason why I am a digital immigrant is that...

#1 I still get homesick. While I love and appreciate all the snazzy gadgets, this immigrant still gets homesick for a pen that has ink, not a rubbery bulb that simulates a finger tip, and notebook paper and the feel of a (real) book in my hands.

A Late Christmas Greeting...

Getting ready for Christmas...making cookies!

And here are the finished products...

After several busy Christmas activities, we enjoyed dinner as a family on Christmas Day!

And now to get ready for a visit from our church. 

Selamat Hari Natal! (Merry Christmas!)

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

(it's not too late to say that is it? I am only a week or two late)