My Tulip Field

We arrive on a classic Spring day in the outskirts of Portland to a field of colors as far as the eye could see.  From a distance, the landscape looks as if it's been painted in hues that are so vibrant, so alive, so jovial, all you can do is draw near to find out the mystery behind it.  With each step, the view becomes clearer and brighter, and the field of colors becomes thousands upon thousands of individual tulips planted together to make this breathtaking display.

Cameras are snapping all around me.  Mine comes out of my pocket, and I begin capturing the essence before me.  I look around.  "It's been awhile since I've seen so many people smiling," I overhear one sojourner tell another.  My lips are curved towards my ears as well; I'm one of those "so many people," and I don't need to look far in order to see the hand of the One who has handcrafted each of these delicate tulips. My children take off running down the thin aisles with radiance in their eyes. "This is like Heaven," one of them says. For this moment I agree; it's hard to picture more beauty than what is before me, but I know that Heaven is far beyond our wildest imaginations in splendor and glory.

We walk.  We run. We climb over the magnificence of pink, red, yellow, orange, white until we're buried in its beauty.
I learn that: "If you dig up a tulip bulb in midsummer, it's not the same bulb you planted last fall. It's her daughter. Even while the tulip is blossoming, the bulb is dividing for the next generation" (almanac.com).  It knows just what to do.  It passes on its purpose.  It passes on its grace and whimsical beauty. 
With arms out to their sides, laughter permeating my ears, and joy that makes all problems cease, my children run towards me through the pigments that make them glow.  I think about the tulip and her bulb, and I look at them. The work is done underneath, in the ground.  The hard places.  The rich places.  The places that have room for the growth to happen...in the heart of the soil.  
We won't always be able to look in front of us and see this field of tulips, but we have our own tulip field in the four corners of our home, and I hope and pray we are passing on the purpose, grace and whimsical beauty of this life to the next generation.

Just Rock Out!

My son sits next to me with Toby Mac playing in his ears, singing in a room full of gymnastic moms without a care in the world.  His eyes are shut and a worship song begins to play.  He doesn't look around to see whose turning their eyes to see him singing; he just rocks out.
Then, there's me.  Consumed with thoughts.  Sorting out details.  Trying to make sense of things that don't make sense.  Overwhelmed by decisions.  And thinking about how these decisions may affect him.

Our shoulders touch, but our minds are on different planets, probably on different galaxies.

And then, I hear a still, small voice in my heart as I stare down at his brown hair:  "Stop worrying.  Don't you see him?  He's rocking out.  He's living life to the fullest.  He's trusting you as his parent to guide and direct.  When decisions need to be made that may affect him, he'll know when it's the right time.  Now would be too soon.  Now he would miss the present.  Don't you get it?  Look up.  I'm here.  I want you to rock out, live each moment, sing like no one is listening, and trust me.  As long as you stay close to Me and know My heart, you will know when the time is right, and know that I am good.  Just rock out."

Our shoulders touch again, and my mind clears...mother and son are now on the same planet, with the same view.

"Be still, and know that I am God."-Psalm 46:10  

Wisdom from 90-Years of Life

25th Wedding Anniversary Celebration

My dear Grandpa will turn 90 this year, and with those years come life lived well.  And from him, I can only learn.  Here are his words to my children (and me) about life:

1) When discouraged, don't give up hope. You'll find that life is a lot of picking up and moving on. So move on toward the horizon, where that quest of your hopes will come into shape. But their shapes may not exactly fit your imagined dimensions.

2) You can do so much to shape your future, not by trying to push around, but by accepting people as they are. Let them be: they are they, and nobody else. Remember, God had something to do in their

existence--and yours too! You can influence them by being a good example of friendliness and caring about them. Amy Carmichael, surrounded with kids in her India orphanage, faced many trials and

concluded, about situations: "In acceptance lies peace."

3) Speaking of peace, be a peacemaker, like Jesus said, "Blessed are the peacemakers, because they shall be called the children of God" (Matthew 5:9). In other words, they will resemble God in that. Avoid the quarrelsome, got-to-have-it-my-way route. Let the other one win an argument: it will lift you up in their eyes. Begin all this at home!

4) When you look for a future partner in life, apply these simple rules and your marriage will be a happier one. For that, look for a guy with a similar attitude. Above all, pray to God that He will chose the one for you. Since He is all-knowing, He knows how to put two (usually opposites) together for a life, be it short or long, of bringing joy to others! After 62 years, we are still together and in love, and hope to be like this as we said in our marriage vows, “in sickness and in health, until death separates us.”

Their 50th Wedding Anniversary Celebration

My grandparents have been married for 62 years.  They are going through the hardest season in 62 years as my Grandpa visits my Grandma multiple times daily at a care facility, but when they can they hold hands, smile into the eyes they know so well, and with each new day truly comprehend every word of their marriage vow. What an incredible example and legacy they've given our family.  Thank you Grandma and Grandpa!

"You Got This!"....A Lesson On The Mound

It was in the middle of the 3rd inning.  Cameron was playing 1st base.  The starting pitcher was being pulled, and Cameron was told to take the mound.  As a mother, my heart always skips a beat when he's pitching.  It's a hard position.  It takes tenacity, determination, and requires ownership of the outcome of the game at times.

There he is...all four feet and three inches.  He gains a couple inches as he steps up to the mound. His White Sox hat pulled tight over his head, his oversized jersey tucked in, and the laces of the ball curled around his fingers, hiding in the leather glove.  I stand behind the fence and watch.

Pitch after pitch.  Batter after batter.  Tough game.  I see him take a deep breath and throw another ball.  Another batter walked.  Here comes a pitch down the middle of the plate. A strike out.  I cheer.  The bases are still loaded. I step back as I watch another batter take to the plate.  Full count.  One more pitch can either end the inning, or bring in a run.  The pitch is released from his sturdy fingers, it's high, and the player trots to first. The number on the scoreboard increases by one for the Away Team.

My son walks toward the mound trying to calm himself down.  I see him from a distance, his precious face scrunches, and all I can do is hope he pulls it together.  I can't do anything.  But Matt can.  He's out there on the field.  He's the pitching coach, and he gives Cameron a second before walking towards the mound. 

And I watch.

Husband and son in a holy moment. Eye to eye.

The son regroups, and faces the next batter.

As I tucked Cameron in bed, he tells me this:  "Mom, I was trying to control myself and I couldn't.  It was like I was being controlled by something else."

"So, how did you overcome your emotions and calm yourself down?"

"Daddy came out and he spoke truth into me, just like God does for us.  Daddy told me, 'You got this.  It's two outs.  You can do this.  Don't give up.'  It was like God sent him out to me to speak truth into my life."

I fold the blankets over his shoulders, put my hand on his brown hair, kiss his forehead, and tell him: "You're right.  Don't forget that moment.  Don't forget Truth."

I turn toward the light of the hallway, and close the door behind me, grateful for my moment of Truth.

My First Triathlon (Part 2): Race Day

The alarm went off at 5:15am, and I slowly rolled out of bed to get ready for the triathlon.  I signed up for this triathlon for four main reasons: 1) It was on my "to do list" for 2013, 2) I wanted to prove to myself that I could finish, 3) I wanted to show and teach my kids that they can reach a goal if they work hard for it, and 4) the swim portion was last, and it was in a warm pool.

I arrived in the dark and the cold (relatively speaking to the rest of the country), parked the truck, opened my door, and next to me was another athlete.  While I unloaded my heavy mountain bike from college, I glanced over to see his sleek, shiny racing bike; my bike looked like a donkey next to his racehorse, but I just had to laugh!  My goal was not to win or even try to finish near the top; that would have been my goal over ten years ago when this race would have been just-another-day, but not now.  Somehow, though, the competitiveness inside of me has never died; I just had to turn the switch to "off" in my brain for the day in order to make it back home!  

My Sturdy Donkey

I wheeled my bike up to its rack, hung it there, and next to me was a girl, a decade my junior, who was also having a rookie experience.  We quickly realized that we were no longer strangers and found camaraderie in the unknown before us.  I also ran into a sweet friend from church, Diane, who was doing her 37th triathlon; she was helpful and a comfort.  I got tattooed in black sharpie with my number on my left arm, and my age on my left calf.  My new friend and I lined up with masses, one last wave to Matt in the crowd, the horn blew, and we were off.  

THE RUN

The run started off with a 5% grade uphill, but fortunately we were encouraged by hearing each other pant as we all climbed.  The rest of the run was mild, downhill, and felt really good...until the last 1/2 mile which was another accent to the 1st transition.  A lady was passing me from behind about 200 yards from the finish and told me, "Come on, let's

200 Yards To Go

go as hard as we can." Not to miss her challenge, of course, I adhered and drove all the way through the end.

THE BIKE

I mounted my bike, and hit my first daunting hill...there were three in all, and they were brutal beasts.  The good thing about uphills is that there are downhills that follow, and I felt like a bird flying down those hills; I couldn't stop smiling.  The bike portion, albeit painful on the quadriceps, was by far my favorite part, invigorating and freeing.  

THE SWIM

The moment I got off of my bike, my legs wobbled a bit and became very undependable, but I tore off my shoes and my leggings and headed to the pool (almost forgetting to take my helmet off...those were the only instructions Matt gave me to not forget!).  Jumping in feet first, the warm pool tingled on my sweaty skin and was refreshing against the cool air.  I could see the finish line, and I just kept telling myself: "Dig!"  It reminded me of track days and more specifically skating days when I was in the last 30 seconds of a four minute long program with one more triple to land.  "Dig!"  I would tell myself then, and it was all coming back to me now.  

I crossed the finish line, stopped my watch, and was so proud of what this meant, because for the past decade life has shifted to carrying and raising those children that make it more meaningful now to chase my dreams and goals.  Those offspring remain tenderly in our care but they give me more reason than ever to accomplish the top three reasons I wanted to enter this race today.  

I received my medal for finishing and a hug from Diane, loaded up my bike, and headed to a Little League game to watch my son pitch.  

Life continues, and I smile.

My First Triathlon (Part 1): At The Starting Line

I'm not quite sure how I got here.  But here I stand, grateful and nervous.  At the starting line of my first triathlon.  My left foot in front of my right, leaning forward over my knee, waiting for the starting horn. The enormity of this moment overtakes me, considering the past year. 

My head floods with thoughts...
Last summer the perfect storm of sickness, stress, fears and difficulties found themselves smiling at each other and making my life feel desperate, depressed, dark.  It took all that was within me to get through each day.
Then, the plane in August.  I knew I needed to be where I could breathe, think, pray, and process.  I knew I needed to get on that plane and fly for two hours and 25 minutes to a place where my heart finds solace.  But the night before we were to fly, I couldn't sleep: overcome with frightening fears of getting on the plane and feeling the world fall in around me, of not being able to breathe, or turning around and walking back out to the corridor and off the plane.  Fear.  It had trapped me.  It had snarled me in its web of lies.  When morning came, I routinely did all we needed to do...we boarded the plane, and all I could do was pray.  For two hours and 25 minutes I prayed.  I know the Enemy did not want me to get to where I could find healing and Truth again.  
Through the days we were there, healing began and came.  Truth was spoken into me by ones who loved me.  Truth was spoken into me by soaking in the beauty around me, of a God who created all of this, for me.  Gratitude began to infuse my every nerve, my every membrane, my everything.
Nothing changed overnight, but I began to discover again the good things around me and that God is good.  As Meredith Andrews sings in her song Not For A Moment: ""You were reaching through the storm
Walking on the water
Even when I could not see
In the middle of it all
When I thought You were a thousand miles away
Not for a moment did You forsake me
After all You are constant
After all You are only good
After all You are sovereign 
You were singing in the dark
Whispering Your promise
Even when I could not hear
I was held in Your arms
Not for a moment will You forsake me
Even in the dark
Even when it's hard
You will never leave me
After all"

I knew those words, but now I believed them, understood them.  Ten months later, here I am.  Some of the old fears creep in, but Truth overcomes.

My heart palpitates within me with a strong rhythm. The horn blows, and I race.  I've trained for this moment.  My shoes hit the pavement with each stride, the wind blows against my face as I fly down the hill on my bike, and I reach with all I've got through each stroke in the blue water until I hit the finish line.  

After all, God is constant, good, and faithful. The last ten months have proven Truth.

Time for Chai

It’s been nearly a dozen years since I stepped on a plane for a journey halfway around the world that will never end.  I had just married my college sweetheart, Matt, and we were moving to Kenya.  If you had asked me two years prior to this moment if this is what I would be doing, I wouldn't have believed it!  However, with anticipation in my heart and excitement taking over, I was ready for this adventure, or so I thought.  Little did I know how this experience would change the core and future of my life.

Two years before stepping on that plane, I had traveled to Kenya on a mission trip with a team from APU.  We stayed in a remote village called Ilula where the majority of the villagers live on less than $2 per day.  As we drove to the agricultural training center where we were staying, the car bounced and skidded on the muddy road, the aroma of roasted corn filled the rickety vehicle, and my eyes were drawn to the children in their bright yellow school uniforms playing soccer with a ball they had made out of wire and plastic bags.

Every day I walked the roads of Ilula, taking in the sights and sounds. Wherever I went people would stop what they were doing, invite me inside their cozy homes, go to their kitchen for about 15 minutes and return with a pot of chai (Swahili for "tea").  At first my tastebuds were not used to it, and I found it difficult to swallow, but it quickly became delicious because of what it represented.  I was amazed...everyone would take time out of their busy days to stop everything just to spend time with me, a stranger. 

As the weeks passed, the sights and sounds of these home visits and the growing relationships impacted me in a way that began to move me to see the world through new lenses. 

The day our team waved goodbye, I knew I had left a piece of my heart and determined to return.  Exactly two years later I would be back.   In the course of those two years, I had finished school, and married Matt, who was on that team with me.  With congruent hearts, we packed our bags and arrived in Ilula where we would live for the next two years. 

In front of our hut when Matt's parents came to visit.

Our round grass-thatched hut awaited us, and I quickly began to decorate our home, which barely had enough room for a bed and a place to put the four gray bins we had meticulously packed.  There was no running water or electricity, so every day consisted of a splash bath in the morning after heating up the water over an open fire, and bathroom trips to the choo (outhouse) that often sounded like a Nascar race with flies zooming around my head.  The conditions contrasted much of what I was used to, but it was simple and beautiful.

While Matt worked with the men and youth to help create income-generating projects, my days were spent with the women and children. I went to help and to teach but very shortly I realized that I was the student in a land that had so much to teach me. 

Life became something that isn’t easily taken for granted. In my first 22 years of life, I had been to two funerals.  In the two years we lived in Kenya, we attended 12 funerals.  Yet in the births that I witnessed and the deaths we were there for, I learned that how I perceive every day I am given makes all the difference. 

If I wasn’t teaching, I would strap on my small backpack containing a water bottle, band-aids for open wounds many of the children had from climbing through barbed wire fences on their way to school, and my English-Swahili dictionary.  Despite the work needing to be done by the women (e.g. laundry by hand, walk miles to get a few gallons of water and carry it back in a jug on their heads, beat the millet they had grown to make porridge, resurface their mud and dung floors and walls, etc.), no one is too busy.  Everyone has time for each other and always time for chai.  I got used to the saying “Ngoja kidogo”—wait just a little.  That meant chai was coming.  Sometimes they would apologize because there wasn’t any milk, or sugar, but they would always come with chai. 

 I was humbled. They were teaching me grace, giving, and gratitude. 

One young girl that forever changed my life was Janet.  She was 12 years old, and she had never been to school due to the inability to use her legs.  She could go to school only if she was carried, but no one would or could.  As I walked the lush, green hill to her home one day, she left the laundry she was scrubbing and crawled to greet me with a smile so bright it made the sun look dim.  Despite her circumstances, she had gratitude and joy which taught me to appreciate the things that I have and to not take anything for granted.  Matt and I knew we had to do something. 

About six months later after fundraising by Matt’s mom in the States, we were able to accompany her to the other side of Kenya where there were doctors who were willing to take on her case and see if they could help her.  She went through numerous extensive and painful surgeries in her legs and hips and began for the first time in her life to hope and believe that one day she could walk and go to school.  Before we left, we witnessed the miracle of her walking with braces on her legs, and her attending school for the first time.  The name of her new school was: Joyland Academy. A perfect name and place for this sweet girl. What we were able to provide for her was a mere drop compared to the beautiful waterfall she poured into our hearts.  

It’s been a decade since we left Kenya and returned to Southern California, and there are some days I long to walk those dusty roads again.  Janet’s smile remains in the forefront of my memory, and my heels are still rough from those daily walks from one home to another.  I hope they always will be.  The dust of those roads will forever remain on me as I went as a girl with expectations of adventure and returned a woman who became so much more.

In society’s eyes, it seemed we made sacrifices when we were in Kenya; we didn’t move up the corporate ladder, buy the newest cars or get a big house, or expect anything under the Christmas tree.  However, for us not to go would have been the sacrifice.  It was entirely a privilege.

For most of us, life is busy.  I’m now a mother of young children who are active in sports, work outside the home, and help run our business, yet the pace of Kenya beckons when the freeway pace of life overtakes me. 

 
Once again, I am reminded to slow down, to realize we only have one chance to live, and to make choices based upon how, when all is said and done, what matters...how we love, serve, and give. This is a journey, a daily reminder.  

Now I know there’s always time for chai.