When I read her words, tears stung my eyes and the earth buckled

  

“ . . . If we’re not willing to make an Abraham-like sacrifice, we’ll miss out on God’s best for us. On our drive to Dallas for pre-field meetings, I asked myself, What would I have forfeited if I’d refused to go to Africa?

 

“I wondered what Jesus meant when He said those who leave houses and families for His sake would receive a hundred times as much.

 

“What, specifically, is that ‘hundred times as much’?

 

“I couldn’t envision the answers. I sensed only that I’d have regrets if I missed that elusive ‘best’ and that mysterious ‘hundred times as much.’” (Grandma’s Letters from Africa, Chapter 2)

 

Not until years later, not until Karen wrote, and not until I read, her guest blog post (Don’t miss it! Click on When Jesus’ words are difficult, sharp, and real), did I know she prayed God would give me His “hundred times as much.” When I read her words, tears stung my eyes and the earth buckled. I can’t find words . . . .

 

I continued in Grandma’s Letters from Africa: “Over the years, I’d also heard that Abraham was not an exception to the rule. No, those people who commit their lives—their all—to God must, at times, make enormous sacrifices.

 

“I sat for a long time and pondered those words. I stepped back mentally to look at myself. I had an ‘Ah-ha’ moment: my heartache was not an exception to the rule, not an uncommon experience. No, many people who walked this earth ahead of me, and even beside me, paid far higher costs.

 

“The time had come for me to stop feeling sorry for myself, place my children in God’s hands, and focus instead on the work in Africa—and on the work He wanted to do within me in the process. (Grandma’s Letters from Africa, Chapter 2)

 

“A hundred times as much.” I was not hoping for—and Karen was not praying for—material rewards. I envisioned God would answer by surprising me with His peace, friends, joy in serving Him, an opportunity to experience Africa, and new things to learn about Him—and oh, yes, He gave me all those, and more! God answered Karen’s prayers—Grandma’s Letters from Africa is my testimony to that.

 

I believe He also heaped His hundred times as much upon Karen, her brother Matt, and my husband. I’m confident that over the years we, and they, will continue to recognize those blessings.

 

The wise old author of Ecclesiastes said there’s a time to mourn and a time to dance (3:4). We mourned over saying goodbye to each other and living on opposite sides of the world.

 

But the time would come . . . the time to dance would come. . . .

 

Loss? Or adventure?

 

So there I sat, in a vast and parched land—the land of the Maasai—in southwestern Kenya, beside a skinny, shallow stream. (See Strengthening the sick beside streams in the desert.)

 

Dave and I were a couple of weeks into a three-month orientation course aimed at helping us adjust to and live well in Africa.

 

The place reminded me of the way God provides streams in the desert (Isaiah 35:6; 43:19). Not only had He placed me beside that stream in that desert, but He was also providing a spiritual stream in the desert of my life and that of my beloved daughter, Karen, back in the States.

 

At age twenty-one, Karen never once objected to her parents’ decision to move to Africa. We knew she had reservations and worries, but she never even hinted that she wanted us to stay home.

 

We knew she was sorting through a massive jumble of emotions. We knew she had long, difficult sessions with God, months of seeking Him, listening to Him, learning from Him, and deciding to trust Him for a future that seemed to be inevitably painful and scary.

 

Years later, she wrote about reading the Gospel of Matthew prior to our departure, and that “many of Jesus’ words were difficult, sharp, and real, and I was challenged to ask myself if I really believed them—did I take Jesus at his word? Both the difficult words and the comforting words?

 

“My parents were taking him at his word. They were throwing everything they had into his care, against common sense, outside their comfort zones.

“I had always known that no matter what, I could always go home.

 

“But where was home if my parents were in Africa?” (Click on that link.)

Karen continued:

 

“. . .  While it was still dark gray outside, I stood with my sweet Grandma Kay in the middle of the street watching my mom and dad drive away. I was so sad I hurt. My best friends, my rocks, my supports were as good as gone to the moon.

 

“It would take at best a couple weeks for a letter to get from one to the other. My parents wouldn’t have a phone, and they wouldn’t have e-mail for months. I didn’t know the next time I’d hear their voices or see their faces.

 

“I was so proud of them, though, so full of respect for their selflessness and admiration for their abandoned trust and obedience to God. And I knew that Jesus would keep His promise. I knew that my parents were giving me a great and beautiful gift in showing me again what it looked like to follow Jesus.

 

“In the months and years that followed, I missed my parents but just like God, it didn’t matter where I was compared to them, they were always available, their love and care didn’t falter.”

 

And where was home? she had asked earlier.

 

She put it this way: “Home was with them—even in letters, e-mails, brief phone calls, and summer visits [she visited us in Kenya the next summer]. God’s love and provision was steadfast and true. His word was challenge and comfort and home.

 

“My parents gave up a great deal by our common sense standards and yet, really, they gained much more and in the process allowed me the chance to do the same. What originally looked and felt like loss was a wonderful adventure—because it was with Jesus.

 

“And now, these years later, as I look back I understand that my life, too, is an adventure with God. My husband and I haven’t gone to Africa with our family, but we are on an adventure of our own with God, an adventure of trusting Him to do something that seems impossible, something that makes no sense according to common sense, and yet He’s doing it and allowing us to be a part.

 

“The example I received from God through my parents’ lives has shaped my heart and mind and I’ve no doubt that their obedience has allowed my life and my walk with God to be richer and deeper.

 

“I’ve learned I can take God at His word.

 

“I’ve learned that following Jesus hurts sometimes.

 

“I’ve learned that home isn’t a building.

 

“I’ve learned that God wants to use us in unexpected ways.

 

“And I’ve learned that what doesn’t make sense to us often does make sense to God, and if we’ll let Him, He will take us on some amazing adventures.

 

“One of God’s most precious gifts to me

has always been my parents,

and my parents’ most precious gift to me

has been their love for God.”

 

C.S. Lewis said: “Love is unselfishly choosing for another’s highest good.”

 

Looking back now, it’s easier for me to recognize that in leaving our home and family to help with Bible translation among Africans, Dave and I were choosing for “another’s highest good”—the Africans’ highest good.

 

And Karen, in letting go of her parents, was also “unselfishly choosing for another’s highest good.” Bless her dear heart.

 

When Jesus’ words are difficult, sharp, and real

 

“Love is unselfishly choosing for another’s highest good.” 

C.S. Lewis

 

Continuing from last week with our guest blogger, my precious daughter Karen:

 

I remember helping my parents pack their treasures away that summer and moving out of the house I’d grown up in.

 

I was attached to that house, to those books, and dishes, the creaks in the hallway floor, the smell of the spices in the cupboards, the view from the kitchen table of the walk outside the front door, the basketball hoop above the garage door, and the cracks in the driveway we used for the free-throw line.

 

Moving out was hard for my mom especially, although I think she tried not to show me.

 

I read the gospel of Matthew that summer and many of Jesus’ words were difficult, sharp, and real, and I was challenged to ask myself if I really believed them—did I take Jesus at his word? Both the difficult words and the comforting words?

 

My parents were taking him at his word. They were throwing everything they had into his care, against common sense, outside their comfort zones.

 

My self-centered sadness was tempered by deep admiration, and a desire to trust God and live accordingly, like they were doing. I was learning, slowly, that with my eyes on God, I could view change as adventure instead of loss.

 

That summer I accepted my first teaching job and my dad helped me find a little house to buy, both of which were equally thrilling and terrifying. The excitement of those upcoming transitions, of my entrance into the adult world, with all my optimism and 21-year-old confidence, helped some, but also made their departure more difficult. I entered these new roles without the comfort of knowing that I could fall back on my parents’ guidance and help.

 

God’s greatest gift to me had always been

the love and support of my parents.

They had been the sigh and deep breath of knowing

I had backup—they’d been there for me no matter what.

I’d always known I’d make it because,

well, because Mom and Dad were there.

My Great-grandpa Mac had assured my Grandma Kay,

“You can always come home,"

and that’s the kind of parents I had.

 

But with them in Africa, I couldn’t just make a phone call or stop by for an infusion of confidence and encouragement. I was learning that God Himself would be my support and that He was enough.

 

The night before my parents left, I remember crying. And I remember my mom crying—the only time I specifically remember her crying. Her grief was tangible. It was as if I could actually feel her heart breaking.

 

We of course had talked about our sadness, about her worries of leaving me, about the difficulties, about trusting God, but that night it was as if I couldn’t reach her. Words and hugs weren’t enough. She was isolated in her sadness, and I suppose I was too, and both of us were trying to think of the other.

 

I remember opening my Bible later and, not to overstate it, but it was like an epiphany. Words I’d read before suddenly were clear and true and alive:

 

“And everyone who has left houses

or brothers or sisters

or father or mother or children

or fields for my sake

will receive a hundred times as much

and will inherit eternal life.”

(Matthew 19:29)

 

That’s what my parents were doing. They were following Jesus. It was suddenly so beautifully clear to me that that’s what it is all about, and if we are doing that, nothing can go wrong.

 

It might not go the way we expect,

and it might hurt,

it might even break our hearts,

but we would be all right

because God was with us and we were trusting Him.

 

I remember thinking I needed to trust God for the promise in that verse, both for me and for my parents: that we would receive a hundredfold.

 

I prayed that for my mom that night. I asked God to give her a hundredfold for all her sadness, for all she was leaving behind. I remember writing the verse down to give to her. I wanted her to know that I understood, that I trusted God, that I believed Him and His promises—for myself and for her.

 

By now, friends, you understand why Karen is so dear to me and why my heart broke to leave her.

 

Come back next for Karen’s third and final post.

 

I had always known that no matter what, I could always go home. But where was home if my parents were in Africa?

 

Today I’m delighted to introduce you to Karen. If you’ve read Grandma’s Letters from Africa, you know her as my precious daughter. (See the photo below of Karen, her husband Brian, and their three terrific young men.)

 

Brian had not entered Karen’s life when my husband and I left for Africa. She was all alone. Moving half a world away from her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve told you about that in recent posts.

 

Because some of you have young adult kids

and you’re wrestling with whether to move

in a direction God’s pointing you,

I asked Karen to jot down her recollections

of the months surrounding her parents’ departure

for the mission field.

 

Our hope and prayer is that

God will use her story to help you discern

His unique plans for you and your family.

  

Welcome, Karen!

 

“I don’t remember when, exactly, my parents told me they were moving to Africa. It was during my senior year of college and I remember the very beige apartment I was living in and the hill across the street that I used to run.

 

“It was in those places that I tried to come to grips with their move and what felt to me like my loss of them. I was probably a bit melodramatic, 21 years old, finishing college, and figuring Africa might as well have been the moon.

 

“I was terribly sad but in tune with God enough to know that much of my sadness was selfish and self-absorbed, which only complicated my emotions.

 

“Regardless, as I look back now, I agree with my mom in her book, Grandma’s Letters from Africa, when she talks about grieving and mourning.

 

“You might have to know my parents to really understand why it was such a big deal, although reading my mom’s book gives you a good glimpse into the woman she genuinely is, the woman I’d always had as my mom, my fall-back. My parents had been my rocks. They had been my inspirations. They had been my examples and my guides. They showed me Jesus.

 

“My dad and I would go on walks together and talk about Jesus and life, and he showed me that they are inseparable, that life is ministry. He lived a life that trusted God idealistically, steadfastly, and creatively, and he gave me that same view as my paradigm.

 

“My mom had made our house a home and left no doubt in me or my brother of her love for us and for God. My mom was my example of integrity, hard work, selflessness, and the courage to tangibly trust God completely and utterly.

 

“As I look back now on my youth and specifically those days before my parents left for Africa, I understand that it was the unconditional love my parents showed me, showed each other, and showed God, that had defined my life.

 

I had always known that no matter what,

I could always go home.

 

But where was home if my parents were in Africa?”

 

Come back next week for Part 2 from Karen. You don’t want to miss it!

 

When facing the terrifying unknown: “The only thing you know is that God knows what He is doing”

 

What will happen during 2021?

 

“Today dear friends,

we stand upon the verge of the unknown.

Who can tell what we shall find?

What new experiences,

what challenges shall come;

what new needs shall arise?

(L.B. Cowman, Streams in the Desert)

 

You don’t know what 2021 holds for you. I don’t know what the year holds for me, either. We face the unknown.

 

“The unknown.” What do those words do to you?

 

“The unknown” creates strong emotions for me when those two words inflict themselves on my life, my future, my family.

When I come face-to-face with “the unknown,” my stomach knots. My knees wobble.

 

I don’t know what I’ll find but I know I’ll face challenges, and I want to know:

• Just how challenging will the challenges be?
• Just how serious will the needs be?
• Will I come out okay on the other side?

 

Over and under and around it all, I wonder if I will handle them well.

 

What about you?

 

What if, in 2021, you learn that “the unknown” turns out to be God asking you to do something that seems too hard?

 

What if “the unknown,” once known, is something that breaks your heart?

Or something that means the end of life-long dreams?

Or what if you suddenly have a crucial need?

What if the challenges of 2021 threaten to overwhelm you?

 

What if God asks you to give your “utmost” for Him?

 

At such moments, we stand at a turning point. We are at a defining moment.

 

We can say yes to God, take hold of His hand, and step into that potentially painful, frightful “unknown.”

 

Or we can tell God no, turn away, and try to slog through life on our own terms.

 

The choice is ours.

 

“Before we choose to follow God’s will,

a crisis must develop in our lives. . . .

He brings us to the place where He asks us

to be our utmost for Him and we begin to debate.

 

He then providentially produces a crisis

where we have to decide—for or against.

 

That moment becomes a great crossroads in our lives.”

Oswald Chambers

 

As you know, Abraham has been a special hero to me for years now. Let me explain why:

 

God made a staggering request of him: “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” (Sounds like what missionaries do, doesn’t it?)

 

God didn’t tell Abraham where he was supposed to go—only that he was to go (Genesis 12:1). He was asking Abraham to give his utmost for Him.

 

So there he stood, at a critical turning point in his life.

 

Who knows how long

Abraham debated with himself

and with God

as he stood at his crossroads?

He must have agonized.

 

But, bless his heart, at his defining moment, Abraham agreed to go where God sent him even though he did not know where he was going.

 

The book of Hebrews summed up Abraham’s pivotal moment this way:

 

“Abraham, by faith, obeyed and went out,

even though he did not know where he was going”

(Hebrews 11:8).

 

He set out, simply trusting God. Talk about a blind leap of faith!

 

Perhaps today you stand at a crossroads and you’re debating whether to say “yes” or “no” to God. If not today, maybe a week from now, or ten months from now.

 

During 2021,

when you face as-yet-unknown challenges and needs,

when your stomach knots and your knees wobble,

when you don’t know where God is leading you,

may the following words encourage you: 

 

“The only thing you know

is that God knows what He is doing.

Continually examine your attitude toward God

to see if you are willing to ‘go out’

in every area of your life,

trusting in God entirely. . . .

You don’t know what God is going to do next.

Each morning . . . is a new opportunity

to ‘go out’ building your confidence in God.”

(Oswald Chambers)

 

An opportunity?

Yes, an opportunity!

An opportunity to trust God,

an opportunity to grow in faith.

 

For the Lord your God

takes hold of your hand and says to you:

“Don’t be afraid. I will help you.”

(Isaiah 41:13)

When God asks your children to make a heart-wrenching sacrifice

 July 11, 1993, at seven minutes after five in the morning, Dave and I backed out of the driveway in Port Angeles. My mother stood beside our car with her arm around Karen, only twenty-one years of age and newly graduated from college, and together they waved goodbye. Tears streaked down their faces.

 

I choked on my own sobs. How could I survive four years without seeing them?

I then entered into another type of grief. Before, I only imagined walking away from the altars. (Don’t miss I could say “yes” to  God, or I could say “no”). (See also Still wrestling down that elephant in the room and Assuming our love for God is enough and our grip on family and dreams is loose enough.) 

 

The time had come to live out the reality of it. I felt almost dead inside but, at the same time, something in me whispered to God, I lift up this offering to You. Please find it an acceptable sacrifice. Find in it a sweet aroma. (See Philippians 4:18 and Exodus 29:18.)

 

We were heading toward Dallas for pre-field meetings. That first morning in the car, after the sun rose, I opened my favorite devotional book. To my surprise, my precious Karen had lettered several Bible verses and slipped them into the book on special dates.

 

For August 11, the date of our flight out of the States, she wrote in her graceful script, “Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and anyone who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:37–39). (See photo below.)

 

On the date of her birthday, she had written, “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:29).

 

Inserted at her brother Matt’s birthday, she’d written, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world but forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:24–26).

 

When I read those words in Karen’s handwriting, I sensed that she had placed her parents upon the altar, lifted us up before God, had gone through her own grieving, and in the process had come to some understanding of those verses’ meanings. (from Chapter 2, Grandma’s Letters From Africa)

 

Words can’t capture the utter rawness, 

the unspeakable ravages of dying to oneself 

in order to walk away from one’s children, 

even when we do it because God is asking that of us.

 

Words can’t capture the utter rawness, 

the unspeakable ravages of what Karen 

and her brother Matt experienced 

in order to let go of their parents and, instead, 

to offer only their benedictions and love.

 

Christmas greetings from Africa

 

“Krismasi Njema” and “Heri ya mwaka mpya” 

("Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year!" in Swahili).

 

I’ll be taking a break until January. 

Have a special Christmas season, 

and may God tenderly bless you and yours now and in the New Year.