Summer Blurs

The summer season has given way to monsoon season.

I don't really know where the summer went. It whizzed by in a blur.

I do love the rain that has now come. I do not love the humidity or ants that it brings, but I do love the dark clouds and the sounds of children laughing and playing as the rains fall.

This summer has been like no other. It has been absolutely incredible. It has been absolutely exhausting. The Father is so faithful. He is at work!

My summer included many guests. Some came for a couple of weeks, others for a couple of months.

They persevered. They served. They loved. They encouraged. They shared stories to those who had never heard. There is nothing more I could have asked.

They were truly a delight.

~Heather

villages

I love my time in the village.

I love telling stories. I love hearing stories.

I love a slow paced lifestyle. I love that no one knows what time it is.

I love that people are patient with my limited Hindi.

I love that they are eager to hear the stories of truth, stories they have not heard before.

I love that the Father is at work.

I love that the Father is drawing these people unto Himself.

I love that the Father is increasing His number daily.

Most villages have a tube pump that supplies water for the entire village.

The girls love to draw on my hands with henna,

creating designs that serve as a temporary tatoo which lasts for a week, or so.

There is never any telling who will join you on village visits.
( I laugh as I write this. There are pigs 50 yards from my front door now. Sometimes I think I live in the jungle, or on the farm, or at least in a zoo!)

~Heather

transportation

There was quite an array of modes of transportation as we trekked out to villages each day this summer.

We rode bus, lots and lots of buses, with lots and lots of people.
We rode bicycle rickshaws.
We rode people movers, which are golf cart type structures in which 10 - 12 people pile in.
We rode ox carts and buffalo carts.
We rode on tractors.
We rode on anything that was moving in the right direction and allowed us to hop on.
And, the Indian philosophy: There is always room for 1 more passenger, always!

We rode on horse carts

(which was the roughest ride I have ever had,

but that may have had more to do with the condition of the road...).

We rode on cable cars.
We rode on these trucks, standing in the bed of the truck with 50 (or so) other passengers.

But, mostly we walked, and walked, and walked, and walked.

~Heather

A day at the Ganga

The worship of a river is something I will never be able to wrap my mind around. There were more at the Ganga on this day than I had ever seen before. The fire and flowers are a form of worship. Baths are taken in the river with the belief that the water will cleanse people from their sins. May these devoted worshippers come to know and worship the Creator.

~Heather

Sending them out 2 by 2

~Heather

Village Wedding

~Heather

Moses' Mother

"The woman conceived and bore a son, and when she saw he was a fine child, she hid him for three months. When she could hide him no longer, she took for him a basket made of bulrushes and daubed it with bitumen and pitch. She put the child in it and placed it among the reeds in the river." Exodus 2:2-3, ESV

To hold something tightly, clinging to it, protecting it, is a natural reaction. We all can name items, people or memories that we have held onto with a death grip. Laying those things down, offering them over, as sacrifice, to the Lord, is a completely different action.

Luke, recording Stephen's speech, in the book of Acts, notes that when Moses was born he was "beautiful in God's sight." (Acts 7:20) He was a precious child, indeed. He would go on to lead Israel out of slavery. He would be a conduit, through which, God preformed miracles, signs and wonders. Moses' mother saw that he was fine. She saw more than the beauty a mother finds in the face of her every child. She saw more than her eyes, his father's hair, ten finger, ten toes.

For three months, this precious woman, quietened her beautiful baby boy. Kept him closely to her, out of sight, rocked and loved him in secret in order to protect his life. The writer of Hebrews notes that Moses' parents hid him "in faith."

What happens next is remarkably fascinating. With resolve, Moses' mother begins to make a basket. A task she has surely done before. She begins to weave and paste, weave and paste, a basket for precious cargo, for sacrifice, for faith. This time she would not carry bread to a neighbor. She would not return with a basket full of produce from the market. She would not carry flowers from the field to grace her home. She would place her son in this basket. This son, beautiful in the sight of God, was no longer small enough, quite enough, to keep concealed. Still, the child was fine. Still, Moses was to be used by the Lord.

Did she cry? As she placed this beautiful boy in her handmade basket, did she shed tears of sorrow? Did she quietly kiss his cheeks and sing to him the song she had sung all her children? Did she give him one last squeeze and smell his hair?

She placed Moses in the basket, the basket in the river, and her hope in knowing what Moses found would be better than the death that awaits him, in her home, should he be found out.

If you continue to read, you will find that Moses' was found. He was spared. And, his mother? She was paid to nurse and raise him. In giving up her son, she received him back with blessing.

I do not have children. I am not a mother. I am content in my station in life. I love that the Lord has led me into families to love and care for their little ones. My heart is overjoyed when I get to love on, teach, discipline and watch these precious people learn and grow. But, from time to time I feel the desire to one day have children of my own.

I do not ponder this desire long before I am reminded of Moses' mother. I think about her resolve, her understanding; and, mostly about her faith. To construct a basket, knowing is was a boat, and walk to the river, holding a child. To then kneel down, prepare the basket, love her son one last time, and lay him down. To walk to the river's edge, wade in just a bit, so as to make sure she can gently place the basket in the water.....and release her son to the sovereignty of God. This is motherhood. To know the child your bore is not yours, but the Father's. To know that you have been called to present this child, this gift, back to Him, for His purpose. To recognize the beauty of the child lies in what God has fashioned for their future. To hold a child so closely, so protectively, and let him go at the same time.

I do not merely want to have children..... I want to be Moses' mother.

Happy Mother's Day.

~Sarah

Help Tennessee

It seems the time has come to help because its the right thing to do. The opportunity has risen to help because you know that should you find yourself floating in a boat, outside your home, you would want someone to empathize. The time has come to realize that devastation knows no tax bracket, industry, neighborhood or people group. Now is the time to help without the prompt of media, movie star or philanthropic trend. In the past few days, cars have been submerged in Wal-Mart parking lots, a portable school building has floated down the interstate as though it were a houseboat on the Cumberland, and people have lost immeasurably. In the past few days, Middle Tennessee has needed our help; but, we have gone largely unaware.

Please take the time to do what you can.

www.middletennredcross.org

www.hon.org

www.secondharvestmidtn.org

www.cfmt.org

surrender

Lord, today I present myself to you as a living sacrifice. I long to be a vessel of honor, sanctified for your use, so today I surrender to your transforming, immeasurable, undeserved love, grace, and forgiveness. I commit myself to live in obedience to your will.

~Heather

Guinevere

(I have to give props to a college classmate of mine for the template of this post. Melissa is journaling through life and country lyrics for a year. Recalling memories, brokenness and recurring question, she highlights the existential underpinnings of a country song. Check her blog out!)


I love music - songwriting to be exact. In life, there exists themes,events,thoughts,feelings,hunches, understanding, truths beyond the bounds of grammar and proper punctuation. Its a shame we do not appreciate the artistic brethren among us. People in the arts, at times, communicate elements in life that seem to evade our limited language. It's not solely in the words said, or the melody composed, the stage set or dance moved...its the whole lot of it put together at once, in cadence, syncopated, metered, segmented only to rise, fall and come together leaving you hanging on a note, a word, an idea. It's the expression that captures what we all want to say - what we know, but are at a loss to expound upon. It's as if those in the arts understand certain things better that the rest of us - like they can see in ways others cannot.

A few days ago, my local country music station played the newest Eli Young Band single.

She's got a bumper like a billboard
Covered in stickers of her favorite bands
She's got a handful of records that she turns to
When she needs to land
She's a saturday night parade through the streets
That all eyes come to see including me

She carries memories around like souvenirs down in her pockets
She should have let some go by now but can't seem to drop it
Says forgiveness ain't nothing but a lifeless tire on the shoulder of her soul
That never rolls

For as much as she stumbled she's runnin'

For as much as she runs she's still here

Always hopin' to find something quicker than heaven

To make the damage of her days disappear

Just like Guinevere

She don't hold on to nothin' new for very long
She writes you in as just one more tale and then you're gone
Cause she once fell hard cause she dropped her guard
And no one gets to stay
It's just too late

For as much as she stumbled she's runnin'
For as much as she runs she still here
Always hoping to find something quicker than heaven
To make the damage of her days disappear
Just like Guinevere

Listening to this song, I was reminded of why I desire to counsel. There exists all around us beautiful people carrying around

eclectic hurts in blue jean pockets. Men and women holding onto to life's experience for meaning, trusting the feeling of song

and living under the power of their brokenness.

People. Its about people. People who are loved or not. People who parade through life, elusive as the summer day is hot. People

whose mess is hard to avoid or whose pride sops it up as best it can. People who run long and hard and wake up to find they are

in the very spot they have tried for years to leave. People looking for a quick fix, an infomercial for happiness, a drive thru menu

of solutions to life's problem. People, just like Guinevere, are a beautiful mess.

Yes, its about people. The real kind. The kind that are only beginning to realize their messiness. The kind that are eclipsed by their brokenness.

The kind that have a heart full of questions. The hurting. The unsure. The all of us kind.

All of us. Its about all of us and our broken, fallen, sinful state. It's about the Savior who came to walk through all earth has to offer.

It's about Him making it through this earthly life unstained. About Him taking our stain, our sin, upon Himself. About Him taking the

ramification of our mess upon himself. About Him making peace with God, bringing redemption, a chance at new life, through his sacrifice

for people everywhere, just like Guinevere.

I stand five classes and eight months shy of a Master's in Christian Counseling. As I ready myself for the last leg of this race, I listen to

this song over and over increasing reminded of the adventure the Lord has begun to take me on. It is my prayer that the Guineveres

placed in my path will write me in their tale long enough to see that Christ wants to stay.

~Sarah

every hour

I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord,

No tender voice like thine can peace afford.

I need Thee,

Oh, I need Thee,

Every hour I need Thee,

Oh, bless me now my Savior,

I come to Thee.

~Heather

SOPI is coming! (or, has come...)

SOPI is the language assessment that determines the level at which Hindi speaker is performing.

As I was hurrying on my way to catch the bus to teach in the village, I was stopped on the road by a polite young man on a bicycle. He asked, in his very best english, if I was the named person on the envelope. And, since Cathy & I are the only foreigners in the area and Heather is certainly not a Hindi name, he had a 50/50 chance. I quickly signed for and accepted the envelope, and headed on my way. I stuffed it into my bag and went on with my day.

Once I returned home from the day's adventures, I found the light yellow envelope I had stuffed into my bag only a few hours before. It still remains unopened on my table. I know what is inside. The SOPI arrived today. So, I will complete the SOPI on my Friday afternoon, that is American Friday, April 30th, morning.

Any and all prayers would be greatly appreciated.

I do know that I will indeed survive this time, however, I would very much like to do very well (as some of you may know, I am a little bit of an over-achiever sometimes). The Father has already taught me so much and shown me more of himself through this intensive language learning time. It is my deepest prayer that he will allow me to more fluently share who he is with those around me.

~Heather