Learning Hospitality from the World’s Worst Housewife

Hospitality is a word that has confused me most of my life.  Growing up in the church, I remember hearing some adults being referred to as having “the gift of hospitality.” So with that very little context, I assumed that hospitality was either something you were good at or something you just weren’t.  And I quickly concluded early into my adult life that hospitality was NOT a gift I possessed.  

There were certain household tasks I was not particularly good at (really I’m still not good at them even though I am trying to improve.)  If I invited anyone over to my house, it would take me a good several hours to pick it up and clean it first.  The art of keeping a house clean on a regular basis mystifies me. 

I can also tell you that it has taken me a long time to feel comfortable around my kitchen.  I do not have any meals that I cook particularly well. I do not enjoy cooking, and preparing dinner for other people actually causes me stress a good amount of the time.  When we lived in Vegas, our church community used to have a meal train sign up for people who needed a little extra help after a surgery, move, new baby, or other circumstance. I NEVER signed up.  Wait.  I take that back.  I think I signed up once and picked up a pizza for the family.  And I just chalked all this up to not having the gift of hospitality.

Well truth be told, I believed I did not have the gift of hospitality because I was raised by the world’s worst housewife.  

In all honesty, she is NOT the world’s worst housewife.  (I have seen episodes of Hoarders – she isn’t even close).  But keeping a house clean was not her specialty.  Our family was really good at the last-minute company clean marathon.  For a few hours before any houseguests arrived, we ran around the house like maniacs shoving everything from counter A into Box B and everything from counter C into desk drawer D.  You know, we had a system, so when our guests departed, Mom could find that permission slip she was supposed to sign because she knew just where she put it on counter A.  I am not sure we really fooled anyone because by the time anyone arrived at our house, we all looked like we had stuck our fingers in light sockets with a mix of panic and exhaustion on our faces.  

That is how I grew up taking care of our house. Everyone pitched in, but it was never a regularly clean place.  It was lived in – well lived in.  

And it was this way because my mom believed there were more important things than cleaning a house.  She was busy reading stories to us, playing games, making cookies for a friend in need, creating, laughing, and being a great mom.  In fact she was such a great mom that most of my friends would come to hang out with her even when I was not there.  She is beloved by many, and no one ever seemed to mind the untidiness of our home.  

This is how I grew up, and today this is still grounded into my beliefs.  My house is well-lived in.  I would love for it to be clean all the time, but that isn’t where my priorities lie.  Because like my mom, I am busy reading stories, creating art, making muffins, and playing games.  When it needs to be cleaned, everyone pitches in. But my house also has that well-lived-in feel when you walk through the doors.  

It wasn’t until I set foot in the Dominican Republic in my mid-thirties that I began to understand hospitality in a whole new light.  Living in a missionary culture that was greatly influenced by the Dominican culture helped me understand Biblical hospitality.  Yes, the Dominicans do a great job of cleaning their house, their tile-yard, and even the street in front of their house, but hospitality runs far deeper than the status of their home.  

If you were welcomed into a home, you were offered a beverage and something to eat.  It did not matter how little they had.  You were their guest, and they were showing you honor and neighborly love by feeding you.  Some of my girls’ favorite memories include when they would go over to the casa de nos vecinos (neighbor’s house), and she would give them a little cup of Fruit Loops.  But more important than feeding your body, you also had their undivided attention.  They wanted to sit and talk with you.  It wasn’t a quick “how are you doing?” with the expected answer of “fine.”  It was a real and honest talk about life’s ups and downs.  

The visit was also not on a scheduled time limit.  You had as much time with your host as you wanted.  It would not matter if they had somewhere to go.  It was ok; they could be late.  In fact, this has a lot to do with why many Latin American cultures often do not run on the same time-based schedule as we are used to in the United States.  Time and schedule are not the priority.  

Shortly after we moved into our house in the Dominican Republic, I realized how often I would be having people into my home.  Often, they were other missionaries and sometimes they were travelers.  I quickly had to adapt either my housekeeping skills or my standards of clean-enough-for-company.  With the mix of dust in the air and living in an extremely warm and humid climate (that makes household cleaning tasks that much more exhausting), I can assure you that my housekeeping skills did not improve.  (Well, I would like to think that over six years they did improve some but not well enough or fast enough to make a difference those first months).  

So I adapted my expectations of myself and my home.  If you set foot in my Dominican casa, you could attest that my floors were rarely sparkling, my counters had clutter, my walls had children’s art, schedules, and random words taped up on them.  There were probably toys you would have to step over and perhaps a stack of homeschool papers you would have to push aside to sit at our table when you would come by for a visit. 

The house may not have been up to Martha-Stewart standards, but at our home you were always welcome, you could stay as long as you wanted, and there was always something for you to eat (even if all I had at the time was goldfish crackers). 

Do you know what surprised me?  People still came over.  It didn’t seem to matter much that my floors hadn’t recently been mopped or there was a pile of dishes in my sink.  People came over, sat at my table among the watercolor paints, drank some coffee, and stayed awhile.   They came over without notice.  They came over at all different times.  Sometimes they would stay for a few minutes to discuss some sort of finances with my husband, and sometimes I could convince them to stay for dinner.  

You see, I learned something those first few months when we were in the Dominican Republic.  When we would go to other’s houses, whether it was planned or we happened to be walking by and invited in, we were shown hospitality.  We were given a place to rest, a place to sit down, or often a bed to sleep in if we were tired.  It did not matter if we were spending the night. If we needed a nap, there was a place to nap. We were given something to eat and drink, water, coffee, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, cheese, and crackers. There was always a plate of something on the table and drink in my hand. I learned quickly how much a snack can gently lift the spirits of a wearied traveler.  

But more than taking care of our bodies, it was the check in on our mental and emotional well-being that really made the difference.  When we had sat down, eaten a bite, taken a breath, and relaxed,  then someone would ask, “How are you doing?” “Really?”  That is hospitality.  It is caring for the whole of a person who enters your home, caring for them both physically and emotionally. It is loving one another as Christ has loved us.  

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.  Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.”

1 Peter 4:8-11

Once I figured out that hospitality had nothing to do with the cleanliness of my house or the quality of my home-made meals, I realized that God had given me the best example of hospitality growing up.  

Our house was seldom clean if you dropped by unannounced during my childhood, but that never stopped many people from dropping by on their way to and from church or school without any warning.  Our pastors would frequently come by after church if they had a voter’s meeting Sunday afternoon just to grab some food and kill some time.  It didn’t matter if there was a prepared meal.  It was common for anyone to walk in the kitchen, get a plate from the cupboard, and serve themselves something they found in our fridge.  In fact, my mom always said, “You are a guest only once in this house. After that you are family, and you can help yourself.”

My seventh-grade teacher would stop by after school on Back-to-School nights and take naps on our couch before she would have to return to school for the evenings.  We would often have different friends drop by during dinner, and someone would just set them another place and pull up a chair.  Our house was always a revolving door of different people coming by because they had free time, or they just wanted to catch up on life.  And as far as I could tell, no one seemed to care that the house was a mess.  They still came over.  My mom made sure everyone was always welcome.  And without me ever realizing it, she was overflowing with the gift of hospitality. 

Whether or not I have inherited her gift of hospitality, I understand the importance of caring for one another in the body of Christ just as we are called to do in 1 Peter.   

We are no longer in the Dominican Republic, but I will always remember what it was like to be a sojourner, to travel from place to place, to be welcomed into someone’s home, and to be cared for, valued, and loved.  

If you let me know you are coming over and plan to stay awhile, my family will run around like maniacs cleaning up all the odds and ends, scrubbing the sinks, sweeping the floors, and shoving counter A into box B to prepare for your visit. You will have clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom.  We will prepare a meal or nice snack for you and sit with you, pretending that our house usually looks like this. 

But if you happen to be in my neighborhood and just drop by, you will be welcome to sit at our table. And just go ahead and push aside that pile of math papers and chalk drawings.  We will offer you a drink and some form of nourishment for your body.  It may be a wonderfully grilled steak (if you happen to come on the right evening) or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  If you are tired, you may take a nap in our bed (coming from the mission field, it is not weird to offer someone a nap in your bed).  If you need to wash your clothes, you may use our washer and dryer.  If you come in the afternoon, you will be welcome to stay for dinner.  

After you have sat, eaten, and rested a bit, we will ask how you are doing, really doing.  Because, dear friend, you are cared for, you are loved, you are a child of God, and you are important to us.  

The Teacups Part Three: Hope

I am a different person than the one who stepped onto the teacups five years ago.  I have been stretched, I have been challenged, I have been changed.  I have faced adversity, pain, and heartbreak. I have failed, and I have triumphed.  

I have explained my analogy of the teacups and told you of the amazing work God is doing here in the Dominican Republic and in our Latin America Region, but I couldn’t complete this story without telling you what God has done for me. 

I live out my missionary life in the beautiful country of the Dominican Republic, and although I struggle to function in my everyday life, a great love for this country has grown and taken deep root in my heart.  The people of the Dominican Republic radiate compassion and positivity.  They have a zest for life no matter the circumstances they find themselves in, whether they wear riches or rags.  They are grateful, they are happy, and they are kind.  I have fond memories of mountain hikes, whale watching, sunrise beach walks, garden strolls, pig roasting, and late-night baseball games.  The Dominican culture is infectious. 

I do have my gripes with the dust and the bugs and having to throw my toilet paper in the garbage can, but this country has been nothing but warm and gracious.  I have witnessed great examples of hospitality, gratitude, and a loving-your-neighbor lifestyle.  I have learned the importance of my vocations as a mother, wife, and missionary spouse.  These are vocations I love, but they are difficult to live out gracefully while I am on this ride.  

Being a wife in the mission field has been a complicated road to walk.  There has not always been a clear-cut place to serve.  The home, especially with children, needs a lot of attention.  The cooking of food, washing of clothes, and the planning of the details of life all take so much more time than any of it used to when I lived in the States.  

Two years ago several missionary women began meeting together online for Bible study.  We began with a study on purpose. Sharing God’s Word with one another while we discussed our challenges and triumphs has been the lifeline I have needed during the hardest days.  I am not alone in many of my struggles.  I am also not alone in the way God is using me.  Missionary women, most of them wives, who have moved to another country as an accompanying spouse—we all have stories of the ways God has changed each of us.  He is present in our lives. 

God is present in my life.  This is something I can see more clearly now than I ever could before.  Once the “fluff” of the unnecessary was stripped away, there wasn’t much left to distract from Him. Now it is much more clear how big God is.  It has been like draining the ocean around the iceberg.  How could I see the depth of Him in my life when I kept filling the ocean with other things I thought were important?  He has always been this big, this important, and this powerful in my life – it was just harder to see before. 

This is the first part of me that is different since living on the teacups, and it is the most important.  I have a deeper understanding of who God is, the depth of His love, and the awesomeness of His power.  He is my rock, my deliverer; He is my stronghold, my shield; He is my shepherd and my healer.  The Lord of all creation holds me in His right hand.  It is amazingly beautiful to be His beloved.  

But my understanding of our Lord and Savior is just one part of me that has changed since climbing aboard the teacups.  I have changed and not just in the gray hairs or wrinkles that have graced my appearance.  This journey has included a series of gifts along the way.  In times where I have been at my lowest, God has unveiled great beauty in my life.  He has taught me valuable lessons that I pray I will hold fast to forever.  It is not just getting to see the beautiful work He is doing around me, but the work He has done in my life as well.  

The Almighty has placed me on this island where He knew I would struggle.  And while I do not feel equipped to be here, He has sustained me.  He has carried me thus far.  He has done this partly with the people He placed here on the ride with me. I would not have made it five years if it weren’t for the friendships I have needed to lean upon. I can see His hand in those He brought to walk alongside me during the different seasons of this journey. Beautiful sisters in Christ who have held my hand when I was most vulnerable, men of God who continuously pointed me to Scripture, friends near and far who encouraged me, all of them saints woven by God into this tapestry of my life to continue me on this ride.  The friendships I have been given are among my most favorite treasures from our time in the mission field.  

God not only gave me new friendships to support me during this time, but He also gave me new passions.  I never expected to uncover a talent or skill after I turned thirty. (I also didn’t expect to make a career change and uproot our family to another country at that point either–so really nothing should surprise me at this point.)  But a few months into this ride, I picked up a pencil and a sharpie and began writing His Word down in pretty letters.  It began as a small side hobby–a way to pass the time while I stole a few moments here and there to just sit in the air-conditioning and take a break from the heat.  I never anticipated it to grow into anything more than a few pages I hung up on my own wall, but again God had different plans for me.  His plans always surpass my wildest imagination. 

“and provide for those who grieve in Zion—

to bestow on them a crown of beauty

    instead of ashes,

the oil of joy

    instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

    instead of a spirit of despair.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,

    a planting of the Lord

    for the display of his splendor.”

Isaiah 61:3

From a season of deep heart-wrenching grief grew a new talent, skill, and passion.  When I was at my darkest moments, sprawled out before my Bible, God gently showed me how He could turn the ashes of my pain to beauty in my art. Lettering not only became a skill but was an avenue to process my heartache and brokenness.  God gave me a beautiful gift in my season of grieving.  He has helped me grow this passion into a small side business.  He has helped me reach out to friends and family far away.  He has given me a way to share His Word with others in my life.  My art has become a way I can give back to the church and the mission.  He has placed supportive friends in my life who have rallied around me, have lifted me up, and have even used my art to help share God’s love in their communities.  I have been able to lead lettering classes, create art for others to share, and reach out across the borders with His Word when my words have been insufficient.  My heart beams when I see others light up with joy when they create beauty with His words.  

Out of my pain and grief has also come my writing.  It is where the journey of this blog was born.  Writing has been another way for me to process my heartache and all the other complicated emotions I have felt on the teacups.  I have been able to express myself better on the pages of my computer screen than I ever could while speaking words. 

I have not only been able to process emotions with writing, but I have been able to make connections.  I have found others who can relate to my pain or struggle with similar questions.  Connecting with you has been a gift.  When I write out my thoughts and they resonate with you, I don’t feel so far away.  This journey has given me a story to tell and a reason to write.  If my life was easy and not filled with complicated emotions, what would I write to you?  I have found my voice while navigating this life that is the teacups.  And while I struggle through the day to day, I am thankful that I have found my way to you through these pages. 

The day-to-day struggle has taught me how to cherish the simple joys of life.  When we first moved here five years ago, I began a journal.  For the first six months I wrote in it faithfully, and I always included one part of that day that brought me gratitude.  I shut that journal when my life began to unravel and never opened it again until today.  Today I chose to look back at those very first moments of my ride on the teacups, and I wanted to share some of them with you. 

July 31, 2015 
Today I woke up in our new house in Santiago.  The previous 48 hours are a blur.  Today we begin our new life as missionaries.  It is crazy.  It’s scary. It’s exciting.  I am thankful that God wants us to serve here. I am thankful for the friends He has given us to get us here and the friends who will move us forward. 
August 13, 2015
These days I feel like I live in a careful balance of chaos and the unknown.  Like I don’t have time to stop and think.  I just have to keep moving forward.  Today Blake and I took our first taxi to IKEA.  We then took another taxi-truck home with all our furniture.  We made it.  I had reservations, but we made it.  We also had dinner at an Italian restaurant with other missionaries.  The food was great, and the company was even better.  I’m thankful for good food.
September 23, 2015
We went to the church service in Palmar tonight.  It was my first time being back there since we moved.  It felt so wonderful to be back.  We were welcomed with open arms.  I loved watching Abby and Rachel meeting new friends.  It was great to feel among friends.  I am thankful that I have friends here.
October 20, 2015
Rachel is feeling better today.  I am still not feeling great.  My throat really hurts.  
I started lettering.
It calms me.
I am thankful for a new hobby.
October 28, 2015
Took a Spanish test today – that didn’t go so great.  
Rachel snuck candy at dinner.  Being a mom is hard sometimes.  
Totally freaked out in bed when a moth landed on my face.
I’m thankful Blake helped me get the moth so it wouldn’t attack my face all night.
November 15, 2015 
I am nervous to be in this house and this country without Blake.  These are the times that I abandon my fears and cling to trust.  These are the times when I understand what trust means.  It is much harder to trust the Lord amidst our own securities.
When we no longer have what makes us feel safe, that is when we only have HIM.  That is the trust He wants us to put in Him.  Thank You, Lord, for being my stronghold. 
December 12, 2015
We were able to have date night.  We went out to a nice restaurant.  It was in a gas station.  It makes me laugh but it was great.  The food was wonderful and so was the company.  Sometimes I forget I am living life in a foreign country and I can just be in the moment.  Tonight was like that.  I am thankful for nights out with my husband.

I have learned to cling tightly to life’s simple joys.  A cool breeze, a freshly baked croissant, a vibrant sunset, a walk on the beach, a family game night, a ripe mango, conversations with friends, the blooms of the flamboyant tree, a simple moment when my heart smiles–I hold onto each one.  And I capture as much of that moment as I can in my mind, taking a mental snapshot.  I do this because these simple joys help me get through the moments that are frustrating, difficult, and burdensome.  When I take extra effort to acknowledge the good moments, the others do not hold as much importance.  The simple joys are not as few and far between as I once thought them to be.  When I began to intentionally seek them out and hold them fast, I realized they occur more frequently than I once believed.  

I wanted to share these simple joys with you along with the other treasures that have come from my ride on the teacups because riding the teacups has been difficult—unbelievably difficult. I am nothing short of amazed that we are still here after five years.  

I have not adapted to life on the teacups.  I still greatly struggle with this life, partly because our road has been bumpy but partly because that is just who I am.  Does that mean I never will adapt?  

I don’t know.  

I would have thought I would be closer than I am right now.  But if there is anything I have learned, it is that we have a Mighty God who can do absolutely anything.  Nothing is impossible with Him.  Could I at some point love the teacups?

Yes.  

Because with Him anything is possible.  This doesn’t mean that I will eventually love the teacups, but it is possible.  

“But Jesus looked at them and said, ‘With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.’”

Matthew 19:26

God has done great things, and I will sing of His great works.  He is mighty.  He is my strength and my shield.*  He will rejoice over me with gladness.* Nothing is too hard for Him which includes helping me on the teacups* because He is wise in heart and mighty in strength.*  He loves me with an everlasting love.*  His burden is light* and His grace is sufficient for me.  That is why I boast.  Because His power is made perfect in MY WEAKNESS.* My weaknesses on the teacups point to the power of Christ.  I am here, still on this ride, with my two feet still in the Dominican Republic because He is mighty.  He is powerful. He is loving, and He is good.  And with HIM all things are possible.   

Although I dislike the teacups, I still have hope—hope that I will survive and that maybe one day I might even love this ride of cultural adaptation.  And even though it feels impossible on my darkest days when I cry out in anguish, I still have hope.  Because all things are possible with Him who loves me. 

*Psalm 28:7

*Zephaniah 3:17

*Jeremiah 32:17

*Job 9:4

*Jeremiah 31:3

*Matthew 11:30

*2 Corinthians 12:9

The Teacups Part Two: YET

The spinning may never stop.  The nausea may never abate.  Living life on the teacups may cause me to walk through this life failing at the simplest tasks merely because I can’t get my bearings.  I may feel ill-equipped, I may feel lost and forsaken, I may want to constantly return to steady ground.  I may cry out in anguish repeatedly.  Living in spite of the spinning has been the hardest thing I have ever done, and I question daily whether or not I can continue.  My struggles are countless, my body is tired, and I long for a reprieve. 

Yet once in a while, the teacups slow down, and the blur subsides.  Those times are when I get a small glimpse of the world around me.  Often it is for merely a brief moment, YET what I see is the beautiful hand of God.

“Sing to Him, sing praises to Him;

   tell of all His wondrous works!”

Psalm 105:2

 

I have watched an entire family come to the baptismal font to receive a new birth, been present at the confirmation of a new church member, greeted parents attending service for the first time with their children, watched a church being built from the ground up, and witnessed the ordination of a pastor.   All of these sights are beautiful in every culture, at any time, but when the church in a country is in its infancy, when it is only the third church building to be built, the second pastor to be ordained, the first confirmation of a congregation, the beauty of these moments takes my breath away.  

The spinning is constant, YET these are our “why” moments: WHY we sold all our belongings, why we said goodbyes to our family, why we gave up our normal life, and why we chose to step on the teacups in the first place. We have been given the gift of salvation.  By the grace of God we have been redeemed, and we have an eternal hope in Christ Jesus.  This is what we want to share with others, what the Lord has done for us and for them.  This good news of salvation is not ours to hoard to ourselves.  It is to be shouted from the rooftops, to be shared with our neighbors, and proclaimed to all nations.  

“To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. Him we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone mature in Christ. For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me.”  

Colossians 1:27-29

I grew up in a church that was well-established with hundreds of members.  The comings and goings of God’s people were all I really knew.  Yes, in Sunday School I heard of missionaries and countries that still needed to be told of God’s love.  I knew it was needed and important, but it wasn’t relevant in my life – until now.  Now I SEE beyond the bubble I used to live in.  I am outside in this great big world that needs to hear of God’s perfect love. I have had the opportunity to see the kingdom of God grow. When the church is only a handful of members and not hundreds, watching one member added is more impactful than anything I have witnessed before. 

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”

Acts 1:8

In the middle of the swirling ride of the teacups, these moments have left me awestruck.  Me.  God chose me.  Me, who after five years is still nauseous on this spinning ride.  Me, who still can’t tell my right from my left when trying to walk this journey.  Me, who feels absolutely ill-equipped for every single part of this life I am living.  God chose me to witness these spectacular moments of grace upon grace being bestowed upon His children.  

We often draw a number of parallels from sowing seeds when we live out our days in the mission field.  We toil at a ground that is not ripe for planting.  The soil is hard and unforgiving.  The sun is hot. The days are long.  The labor is intense, and our bodies are weary. Sowing seeds is a business for the future.  The field does not produce crops overnight.  The hard work put into the field is an investment, and in the mission field, it is often an investment into a future most missionaries will never see. 

In mission work, it is rare to see the fruits of the labor.  The seeds planted are often harvested long after missionaries have come and gone.  The fruits I witness in my time are due to the labor of many different missionaries and servants over the years.  Many fields take a lifetime or longer to see a harvest.  So I do not take the times I have seen them for granted.  I understand the magnitude of glory they hold.  Standing in His presence as He redeems His children is an experience that words cannot describe.  Watching the kingdom of God grow by baptism, new church plants, and local pastors being raised up is witnessing His marvelous fruit bloom.  

A missionary does not enter the field expecting to see the fruits of his labor, but there are times when God giftwraps a fruit for His beloved.  Maybe it is a thank you from Him, maybe it is a small taste of heaven, or maybe this once-in-a-million moment is a reminder that He is faithful.

“And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”

Philippians 1:6

We had dear friends visiting us in May of 2019.  These are not ordinary friends.  These are those extra special-type of friends that will last a lifetime.  These friends have a lot to do with why our family entered this mission field journey.  These friends served as missionaries in Venezuela for over twenty years.  These friends are loved by and love our children dearly. These are the friends we look up to and want to be like.  And they are also the friends we want to hang out with on a Friday night.  

They came to support us in a very dark time.  We were in a season of deep struggle–in our family, our marriage, our work, and our purpose.  Our home congregation had sent them to us to simply be with us, not to check up on our work, or to do work themselves.  They came to be a friend, a pastor, and a hug from home.  They came to sit and listen to the good and the hard of our daily lives.  They cleaned our home, they read to our children, they took us to the beach to give us a few days away.  They came solely to be there for us.  It was the most impactful way our home church could have given us support.  

They came during a very busy time for the mission.  We were in the middle of many exciting events.  One of those events was our Venezuela Foro (Foro is Spanish for Forum, and the term our mission team uses for times of planning and focusing on the needs and future of a country’s church body).  The country of Venezuela has had its struggles over the past few years.  We have team members and dear friends from Venezuela so I’ve heard of the heartbreak firsthand, and I long to wrap my arms around the people of Venezuela. Because it isn’t feasible for our team to travel to Venezuela, the mission brought the Venezuelan pastors up to the Dominican Republic. This gave them a chance to sit down face to face and discuss the status of the Venezuelan church and develop plans for the upcoming year. 

The Venezuelan pastors have always been a joy to be around, and I am always thankful for time spent with them, but I was extra excited this year knowing our dear friends have an unbreakable bond with the people of Venezuela and would know some of the pastors attending the Foro.  

We met them at the mall one evening where the pastors were doing some shopping and having dinner at a food court.  They happened to be in a Payless shoe store when we met up with them.  It had been twenty years since our friends had seen many of these humble servants that they call close friends.  The reunion was filled with hugs, tears, joy, and laughter.  They swapped stories, shared pictures of children, and praised God for this time together.  

That reunion was filled with joy that I was anticipating, the beauty of laughter between friends meeting after many years in circumstances only God could arrange.  The embrace between a pastor and his mentor who taught him about Jesus, laborers who toiled a ground together so long ago, hugs, jokes, memories–can you see it? Can you feel the merriness and jubilee shared amidst the boxes of shoes?  The night was remarkable and filled with gladness. That evening was followed by a few more days of study and lunch breaks of catching up, all of it special and good. 

All of that would have been more than enough to treasure and hold close when the ride of the teacups would become overwhelming in the months to come.  But God took a beautifully orchestrated reunion and heaped on the goodness. Right in the middle of all the hugs and tears, one of the younger pastors came up to my friend and introduced himself.  I watched as I saw her mentally flipping back through the years trying to place the name he gave her.  He continued to reference people and places and memories until finally she placed her hand on his arm and exclaimed, “Oh!”  I could see through her instantaneous tears and smile, she had remembered as she wrapped her arms around him.  He thanked her and asked to take a picture with both her and her husband.  

It was a special evening, but it wasn’t until later that weekend when the four of us were sitting around the fire after a day of rest and fun that I truly understood the significance of that moment in the shoe store.  

We were in the middle of soaking up the wisdom and grace that our good friends were dishing out, when we asked them their favorite moment of their trip.  She told us the story of Omar.  When they had left Venezuela, he was still young.  He would sometimes accompany his mother and sister to church but never seemed to pay attention and wanted to be anywhere but in that pew.  I could picture the scene she was describing.  I knew that boy. 

I knew him from the years teaching preschool in the States.  I knew him in the different church plants in the Dominican.  He was the boy with the dirty hands.  The one with the lollipop in his mouth as he ran around the playground.   He was the boy who would give his poor mother a run for her money.  The boy who would sneak out of the back and goof off in the bathroom.  The boy I was sure just didn’t want to be there. The boy I tried so hard to share the love with Jesus with, but it felt like day after day the story of God’s grace fell on deaf ears. 

I think most of us, who have ever sat in a back pew and watched a mother bring her uninterested son to church, know THAT boy.

My friend had left Venezuela when Omar was still that boy.  He was possibly the last face she thought she would ever see in a Dominican Payless shoe store twenty years later.  The story she told us around the fire explained the immense mix of shock and joy on her face when she had finally realized who was standing right in front of her.  That boy.  The one who constantly tested his mother’s patience, the one she figured would stop attending church as soon as he was old enough to stay home alone, the one she was sure never paid attention. He was standing in front of her in a shoe store, a grown man of God, a pastor, a shepherd to the people of a land she loved dearly.  He was excited to see her again.  He wanted to thank her for everything she had done for him so many years ago in a land that was not her own.  He wanted her to know what God had done in his life since she had left Venezuela.  

And in the middle of a Dominican Payless shoe store, my dear friend got to see the fruit—the fruit from the seed that was planted while she lived in a land so far from her home.  God is faithful.  He completes a good work, and even a year later, this memory still brings tears to my eyes.  

We won’t all get to see the fruits of our labor.  We won’t all get to see what the Holy Spirit does with the seeds sown during our time in the mission field.  But some of us will, and some of us get to witness others seeing the fruit.  Because even if it wasn’t the fruit of our labor, seeing the fruit or even hearing of it is still so overwhelmingly magnificent because that is our “why”. On the darkest of days, these moments give us hope, hope that God continues to work this unforgiving soil even when we can’t see any hope for the harvest.  It is a reminder that we did not move across the world for nothing.  The fruit produced by the Holy Spirit, a soul saved by grace, is why we are here.  This is why missionaries share stories with each other and with those back home.  We want to share the beauty of hope we see firsthand.  These moments lift us up. They sustain us, and they refresh our weary souls. 

These gifts remind us that we are in God’s mission field.  The work does not belong to us and neither do the fruits.  The work and the glory are His.  We are merely a chosen few, chosen to witness the marvelous moments of His love, His mercy, His goodness, and His grace.  

In those times, the glory of God encompasses every part of me, and I stand in awe at His Majesty.  There is nothing else, no spinning of teacups, no nausea, no whirring of the world around me.  I am simply in that extraordinary moment, witnessing the Almighty Maker.  

“And amazement seized them all, and they glorified God and were filled with awe, saying, ‘We have seen extraordinary things today.’”

Luke 5:26

 

When I look back over the last five years, there have been many times of frustration and anguish and only a few times that the teacups have slowed for me to see the glory of God in the world around me. When the days of frustration pile on, I have wanted to cry out just as David does in Psalm twenty-two.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?     

Why are You so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but You do not answer,

and by night, but I find no rest.

YET You are holy,”

Psalm 22:1-3

But just like there is a YET in verse three for David’s cries, there is a YET for my cries as well.   Because what is true for David is true for me:  the YET is more important than anything before it. 

Life is hard, YET…

The world is whirling around me, YET…  

I can’t stand up, YET…

God is Holy.  

God is faithful.  

He is good.

His works are marvelous.

And I stand in awe at the wonder of it all.

The Teacups Part One: Grace

Five years ago I moved to the Dominican Republic.  This was never something I imagined myself doing at any point in my life.  I never had goals to live abroad or even travel the world.  I am a person who loves to sit inside my comfort zone. Even still, God brought my family over the ocean and onto this island.  After several years of living through cultural adaptation, here are my reflections: 

Cultural adaptation is a ride on the teacups.  Life becomes a series of spinning days, a constant motion with new sights at every turn.  Moments blur together, and the humming of new sounds and experiences creates a persistent lack of silence in the everyday.    

Some people love the teacups.  From the moment they step off solid ground, they enjoy the thrill of the exhilaration. They thrive in the fast-paced newness of a different culture.  They delight in the unfamiliar and in the differences they encounter around every corner.

Others need to focus on what is directly in front of them because the world outside is spinning too fast.  After a while, these individuals become acclimated, their surroundings come into focus, and they can begin to enjoy the ride.   

“Let your eyes look directly forward,  and your gaze be straight before you.”

Proverbs 4:25

Then there are the people in this world who, like me, hate the teacups.  From the moment I stepped onto this brightly colored ride, I have felt sick to my stomach.  The world is constantly spinning, and I just can’t keep up.  I can never take my eyes off of what is directly in front of me.  So much of my daily energy goes towards not becoming sick from the ride.  Does the spinning ever stop? Will I ever adjust? Will I ever have a feeling besides the continual “I just need a break from the ride to catch my breath?”

I don’t know.

I would have thought that after five years, I could at least tolerate the teacups.  It hasn’t happened yet, and my hopes aren’t very high that I will get to that place.  I still battle the nausea from the constant spinning of the ride.  

I have watched a number of missionaries come and go from our field over the last five years.   We keep a map of the world on our wall.  We put each missionary family on there when they deploy to their country of service.  When they return home, we place them at the bottom of the map.  Those missionaries now stretch halfway across the world.  

I watched those missionaries step onto the teacups when they arrived for orientation.  I watched their faces light up with the thrill of the newness. I watched them clutch the edge of the teacups with white knuckles. And I watched them adjust, bloom, and grow in the culture where they were sent to serve.  I thought many of the missionaries at the bottom of my map would be serving in their fields for years and years.  Surely those who love the ride would last longer than I. But for one reason or another, God had other plans.  

I’ve often asked God why He didn’t equip me to love or even tolerate the teacups.  Sometimes this one-sided conversation is out of curiosity, and sometimes it releases tears and frustrations.  I don’t think it comes as a surprise to anyone at this point that I am still struggling here, but in case anyone is just now joining me on this journey, I will give you a brief recap:

“The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” 

Psalm 121:8

 We moved to the Dominican Republic in the summer of 2015.  Our first six months went well.  We were in language classes.  Abby went to a local international school. We learned how to cook, where to shop, words to say, and places to go.  We were adapting.  All things considered, we were doing well.  In December, we were surprised to find out we were expecting another baby.  

In February we were sent back to the States because of the concern surrounding the Zika virus.  And in May our third daughter was stillborn. That is when my world collapsed.  I could not carry the weight of grief and cultural adaptation at the same time.  I fell apart.  My brain struggled to compute anything and everything. Learning another language or how to live in a new world felt impossible.  

We returned to the Dominican Republic in July, 2016.  The following six months are very much a blur of pain and failure.  I leaned heavily into Jesus, wept into His Word, and let the Healer work on my heart.  I would like to say I am stronger because of those months of deep grieving and growing.  But so much of what I learned was how broken I truly am.  In many ways that is growth, and I am stronger.  But on the other hand, I lost so much of the progress I had made during the first six months, and I still have not been able to regain all of it.  

“The Lord is my strength and my shield;
    in Him my heart trusts, and I am helped;
my heart exults,
    and with my song I give thanks to Him.” 
Psalm 28:7

In August of 2017, I began to reclaim my footing. I was able to go out of the house alone. I learned how to live with my anxiety.  I was homeschooling both girls.  We were at the point where I could see progress in our future, and then we found out we were expecting another baby.  Pregnancy after loss is its own unique emotional roller coaster.  It took every ounce of my being to put my trust in Him and to prepare to praise Him in all circumstances.  

In January of 2018, I was sent back to the states with a compromised cervix and admitted the next day to the hospital. There I stayed for six weeks on hospital bedrest. For a second time my family was unexpectedly uprooted and displaced from our routine and stuck stateside for an unforeseeable future.  By the grace and mercy of God, in May we had a beautiful and healthy baby girl.  And while the joy she has brought our entire family is immense and immeasurable, I cannot discount the toll that time back in the states, the stress of high-risk pregnancy, and a medical evacuation took on my entire family.  

At this point, I felt like the itsy-bitsy spider trying to climb up the waterspout.  The rain kept washing me away, and I just wanted to whisper to my weary self, “Just stay on the ground. Why do you keep climbing back up the waterspout?”  

 “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” 

Deuteronomy 31:6

It took all the might I could muster to gather my two girls and my tiny baby and fly them over the ocean to set foot on the teacups once again.  Did I think it would be different?  Did I think I could adjust this time?  Did I think I wouldn’t be sick to my stomach from the spinning? 

Sadly, no. 

I knew by then what I was walking into.  And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to get back on the ride.  I did it because, right or wrong, we had made a commitment.  Originally when we went to the Dominican Republic, we said we would go for five years and then reevaluate.  Even though we were able to leave at any time and the five-year commitment was really more of a goal than a locked-in time frame, we felt that we should stay if we were able.  And even though I often feel I teeter on the line between able and not able, I still managed to get back on the teacups.

The last two years have had a few joys and many hardships.  Homeschool is still going strong, and I enjoy watching my girls learn and uncover new passions.  We have watched a seminary open and have its first graduating class. We have each had personal triumphs and struggles.  Almost every month, I was sure we wouldn’t make it a few more weeks, let alone five years.  

But here we are.  

The Warren family celebrating five years in the Dominican Republic by dancing in the rain during a tropical storm.

It has been five years, to the day, that we first set foot in the Dominican Republic.  Our family has gained two more people, an abundance of friends, a little bit of tenacity and hardiness, a new perspective on life, and an appreciation for simple joys.   

If you would have lined up all the missionaries deploying to the field in the last five years and asked who would make it five years under the circumstances that each would endure, I wouldn’t have bet on us.  I wouldn’t have picked me.  

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” 

Ephesians 2:8-9

And standing here, in the Dominican Republic today, is not a testament to who I am.  Making it five years has nothing at all to do with my abilities, my strengths, my perseverance, or my grit.  It has EVERYTHING to do with what an amazing God we have and the steadfastness of His love.  It is solely by His GRACE that a person with weaknesses can still be on the teacups after five years.  And it is because of His GRACE that my brokenness is covered, and I have the strength to press on.  

“Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead,  I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 3:13-14

A Time to Embrace

The irony of the chapter we were studying from Heidi Goehmann’s devotion Casting Stones was not lost on the six of us as we sat down at our computers, each in our own corner of the world.  Not only were we not able to embrace our fellow missionary wife when she was in the thick of unforeseen circumstances and struggles, but we also met on a day when the world was shutting down due to a pandemic sweeping across the globe.  

This is not a time to embrace.  This is a time of cancellations and closures.  This is a time when people in different countries are being forced to stay indoors and required to self-quarantine.  Sporting events, concerts, and schools are all being cancelled. Basic necessities like soap and toilet paper are nowhere to be found.  This is a time like many of us have never seen before.  

A time not to shake hands, not hug, not get within six feet of one another.  But as we dug into Heidi’s study and God’s Word – YES, if ever there was a time to embrace, it is now.  

When fear and anxieties run high,

When isolation is necessary,

When our neighbor is ill,

When our friend is without work,

When the children of our community do not have lunch,

When the sojourner is unable to return home,

When the foreigner is shunned,

When every corner of the earth seems vulnerable to disease,

When the unknown is overwhelming,

the world needs an embrace.

Our neighbor needs to know we are still here.  Those isolated need to know they are loved, and the anxious need to know that God is the Almighty.  

In our study, we went over 2 Kings 8:4-37.  When Elisha visited the Shunammite woman. He promised her she would embrace a son.  She protested, “Do not lie to your servant.”  

She was scared.  Scared to admit what her heart desired.  Scared to get her hopes up.  

I, too, have been scared to admit what my heart desired.  Wanting a baby after experiencing a loss is a fragile hope that is faintly whispered because the chance of another heart-shattering loss would be too much.  A pregnancy after a stillbirth was a constant battle on my knees not to let fear overtake me. “Dear Lord, do not lie to me.” “Do not let me get my hopes up if I will not embrace a baby after birth.”  “I am fragile, Lord.” I saw myself in the verse of the Shunammite woman.

Her son was born, he grew, and he died – in her arms.  And, oh, the emotion the Shunammite woman must have felt.  But when reading this passage, what jumped out at me was her response.  She told her husband she was going to the man of God. When asked why, she replied, “All is well.”  “All is well” translates to “shalom” or “peace.” She was saying it’s fine, or do not worry about it.

Her dismissive response caught me by surprise and drew me in.  It is what I can intimately relate to so well. It is fine.  I am fine.

I often hold my emotions close.  Understanding when to be vulnerable and honest in this world has been tricky for me. Especially with the hustle and bustle of busy lives.  When are my emotions an inconvenience to those around me? Who has time to help me grieve? Who can sit with me in the darkness? So to protect myself before really even evaluating my own emotions, I often respond, “I am fine.”  

The Shunammite woman did this twice.  First with her husband and then with Elisha’s servant, she uttered, “All is well.” It wasn’t until she saw Elisha that she “caught hold of his feet.”  She held it together until she felt safe to fall into him, to collapse from the weight of the grief. Elisha tells us she was in “bitter distress.” She was confused and angry.  She told him not to get her hopes up, and she reminded him of that. 

I’ve been in need of an embrace of that magnitude.  I walked around dismissing concerns until I felt safe enough to collapse into an embrace. This is the embrace our world will need.  This is the embrace our neighbor will need. This is the embrace we, the church, can offer. When the restrictions lift, when it is safe to be together again, when we walk outside our homes and assess the damage around us, we must  keep our eyes open. Who will need us to be their neighbor? 

Some of our neighbors will be in desperate need of an embrace and will need to collapse into the arms of someone who cares.  Be ready to embrace those who have gone without pay and do not know how they will continue to make ends meet. Some of our neighbors will have lost loved ones and may not have had the chance to say goodbye.  Some of our neighbors will be physically and mentally exhausted from attending to and caring for the sick. Some of our neighbors will be in need of human contact, a friend, someone to talk to after weeks spent in isolation.  Some of our neighbors will be facing burdens and holding pain they won’t be able to verbally express. Embrace your neighbor. Let them collapse into your arms. Remind them that they are not alone. Remind them that they are loved.  Embrace them. 

And until then…

Care for one another the best you can under these unprecedented circumstances.  Reach out with phone calls, letters, and emails.  

In the last twenty-four hours, I have seen friends and family across Facebook in many different corners of the world offer to buy meals for children who will no longer receive a school lunch, offer to pick up groceries for those who are the most vulnerable and do not feel comfortable to leave their house, provide resources to those stuck with little ones inside for days on end, and so many more beautiful acts of kindness.  

This is a time to love your neighbor. Love as Christ has loved us.  We may not be physically able to embrace during this time of distance, but know that you are loved.  You are not alone during this time of uncertainty. Your anxieties and fears are not silly, and I pray for you the “peace that surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). Take heart, dearest friend, our Lord has “overcome the world” (John 16:33). He has us in the palm of His hand.  He is our comfort. He is our shield.  He is our healer. You are precious to Him. 

You are loved.  

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33