Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mom’s birthday…

I never know how to surprise her enough, get her a good enough gift, make her enough “coupons,” spend enough time with her, write her enough letters to express how much I love her. Oh, my beautiful, beautiful mom.

I know she’s not perfect and she’d be the first to humbly admit this. But for some reason, as I was growing up, I found it impossible to find a flaw in her. Well, sometimes she lost her patience when my brother and I would fight. And then there was that one time she responded coldly, hurting my feelings. I’m sure that at some point she has offended someone, somewhere. I know that she is all too aware of her own sin and seeks to put it to death every morning. She has a holy discontent that compels her to seek Christ more diligently. Her incredible humility encourages her to seek constructive criticism and grow from it. Integrity marks her heart and stability in Christ holds her life—and the lives of those around her—together.

This incredible woman reminds me of the Proverbs 31 woman. She really is worth far more than rubies—her noble character a rarity. I am blown away time and time again by how holiness guides her life. Her dedication and supreme love for Christ pushes her into a deeper relationship, resulting in more sanctification. I have never doubted Christ’s primary place in her heart, knowing that all else she holds dear isn’t even a close second. Her godly character has stood as a beacon in my life. I’ve seen her righteousness shine and have found myself asking, “What would my mom do?” more than once.

Her love for our family is so evident. Like the Proverbs 31 woman, “she sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks” (v17). She diligently and affectionately works hard to care for our family well. If I am ever to even be half the mother and wife that she is, I would consider that an accomplishment. I remember how she’d wake up early to prepare a big breakfast every day so that we would enjoy eating meals together as a family. I remember many long nights where she would help me fill out applications, edit papers, pack for trips or plan crazy ideas. She acknowledged differences between my brother and I and loved us the same. Her kind words and wise heart guided me time and time again.

But her compassion and seemingly endless love don’t end with our family. “She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy” (v20). Does she ever! My mother is also one of the most generous people I know. She isn’t put off by poverty, but seeks to find solutions that will benefit the people in the long run. When I came home sobbing from an orphanage, my mom would comfort me, pray with me and then brainstorm ideas with me. I remember walking past beggars, knowing my mom would buy them food on the way back.

One verse in particular sends goose bumps down my spine is verse 25: “She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” She truly is clothed with strength and dignity. My mother is one of the strongest people I know; quiet strength leaks out of her pores. She walks with dignity, covered in humility.

A couple verses down, it reads, “She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue” (v26). Perhaps one of the things that I have enjoyed most about getting older is enjoying this fruitful friendship with my precious mother. I enjoy bouncing ideas off her. I love having her ask me questions that I normally wouldn’t have thought of. I appreciate her kind words and her profoundly wise heart. I have asked for her advice and prayers more than once.

She is a woman who fears the LORD and because of that, I want to praise her—to honor her. And so, “Her children arise and call her blessed” (v28).

Happy Birthday, Mom. 

He's not finished with me yet...

I knew this Thanksgiving break in Canada would be a blur. I knew that I’d struggle to remember what I did yesterday and certainly where I was. You see, visiting four friends in eight days and being in five different cities can be quite the whirlwind. I kind of expected to switch into my default “go” mindset and go… go and love people, go and listen to friends, go and see their worlds, go and reminisce memories and create new ones… go, go, go.

And while I have been “going” quite non-stop, I’ve also been blessed with time to “stay” and slow down. I’ve noticed that being away from Illinois and my friends there and my surroundings that have become so familiar, has allowed me engage my semester from a distance and actually process what I’ve been learning… what God has been teaching me this semester. So far, I’ve been able to pinpoint three main things.

1) Once again, I’ve seen a lack of joy in my life. I can look back on this semester and see where I’ve failed to be content. Oh, and I’ve realized that it’s quite easy to justify. “It’s been a really hard semester,” I explain. That simple sentence does bring a rush of emotions, because quite honestly, it has been a rough semester. But even as the words are out my mouth, I am convicted by the complacency that dangerously allows me to slip into a pity party. I’m reminded of a friend’s blog… he admitted that pity was easier to feel than grief—that it’s easier to wallow in pity than allow Jesus to sit through our pain with us. Oh, how those words resonate so clearly with the state of my heart. I’ve struggled to find my joy in Christ, choosing to look back at “the good ol’ days” or urging myself to plan and anticipate “the days to come.” I’ve been so eager to fast-forward OR rewind, that I’ve failed to see God bidding me to sit… to be still. Because when he does beckon me to join him in stillness, I’m reluctant to sit through sadness… I rather sink in pity… because grief feels so weak, so crippling, and I hate feeling so weak.

But when I listen to the still small voice rushing through me as a comforting whisper, I must release my grip on this senseless and selfish pity. Like Paul, I have to cling to the secret… knowing that I can be content in wealth and in want because I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

2) I’ve noticed my reluctance to “settle down” or to “put roots in.” I blame it on my third culture kid (TCK) complex, but really, knowing its laziness and fear. I don’t bloom where I’m planted, simply because I don’t like where I’ve been planted or because I don’t feel… planted.  I came to the United States telling myself that I’d only be here long enough to get a degree and then before the ink had dried on the diploma I’d be boarding my first plane going anywhere… outside of America. I told myself that I didn’t have anything against the United States, per se; I just preferred to live elsewhere. But I’ve learned that what I thought I knew about myself just isn’t correct. God has revealed prejudices and a tendency to judge in me. I’ve been reluctant to invest in certain friendships that may take more work because I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. I withhold love and friendship, because I’m scared of another person leaving me… or because I don’t want to see the look on their faces when I leave. And I try to downplay this fact by blaming my TCK upbringing… after all, how constant could I even expect friendships to be?

Yet, I was on a retreat recently and was having a conversation about this topic with someone I had only met one other time. He stopped and said, “Viv, you have to live and love like you’ll be here forever.” My mind instantly rejected that thought. I’ve never thought I’d be anywhere forever. My thoughts swirled… Like I’ll be “here” forever. This current “here,” however, turned out to be America… Illinois… Champaign-Urbana. Did I fear growing attached to this place that I’ve spent the last year and a half at? Was I refraining from too many ties to make it easier to pick up and go at the first sight of a tassel and diploma? Am I hesitant to feel “home” in America, stubbornly clinging to Colombia?

I sense the necessity to finally let myself settle. Instead of fighting the feeling of “home” in America, I need to embrace it. I can’t spend my energy fighting attachment.

3) God has forced me to release my fierce grip on my dreams and passions… he’s asked me to give him my deepest desires to work with the poor overseas, and let him reshape them. He’s asked me to let him shape my understanding of poverty and to re-imagine my role in this massive, beautiful, divine plan of redemption and justice.

When I lived and served in Colombia, I struggled to come to terms with God’s goodness and mercy when I saw the poor surrounding me. This frustration and confusion often would motivate me to go and be with the poor. I’d go on all of our school’s service days, I looked forward to service trips and would fit loving the poor—both through time and resources—into my schedule. It was there, in those moments when I wondered if I’d come home with lice or knowing that I’d have to throw those clothes away, that I knew God was working. I could see it because I could feel it. I could touch the kids he hugged. I could kiss the children who were fatherless, yet had a heavenly Father. I was able to be the hands and feet of Jesus with my own hands and feet. Did I still question God’s justice? Absolutely. But somehow, it was more “bearable” being able to channel my questions into action.

However, living in the USA has removed me miles away from that lifestyle… a lifetime away. I’ve cried through videos and movies displaying the world’s most vulnerable. I fight the urge to pick up and go daily. I struggle to be still when God seems to be so still. I cry out and ask God where his justice is… I ask him to reveal his goodness to them because He’s certainly poured it out on me. And I feel powerless. I know that poverty exists in America—trust me, I know this. But I’m so removed from it… it isn’t as near to me when I’m in Champaign-Urbana as when I was in Colombia. And I fear that when I’m not busy loving and serving the poor, I’m losing my passion and becoming cold and indifferent.

Instead, I’ve found that instead of calling me to busily pour out my life, time and resources in this season, God has been asking me to sit still… Behold his majesty and sit still in total surrender.

Even as I write this post, thoughts rush through my heart… wondering who will happen to stumble upon this page and who will sit still and read through the entirety of this novel-like post. I feel slightly uneasy, but I know that when I’m learning something, I must share it. Dear friends, if you read this, please continue to lift me up in prayers… and thank God that he isn’t quite finished with me yet :).

Cities and Change

The swift walking, the sound of traffic, the blaring sirens… ahh, I was definitely in a city. I walked through Toronto with Naomi and simply let my senses take in the sounds and smells of a city. I smiled as I heard a dozen different languages; my heart felt heavy as we walked past the homeless. I really do love cities. They’re busy and crowded and the traffic is awful and they’re dirty and everyone hates city drivers… but I still love cities. I loved watching Naomi navigate through the streets of Toronto, refusing to wait at stoplights for the walk signal, grabbing my hand and forcing me to run even as the hand blinked orange. It was so clear she loved cities… maybe even more than I did.

We were hungry and in search of a Thai restaurant, because she was determined to have me try one of her favorite dishes. We wandered into Chinatown, our hopes high that we’d find a restaurant that sold Thai food. Sure enough, we finally found one. Over dinner I laughed and smiled… cherishing this time with my dear friend whom I hadn’t seen in over a year and a half. Our conversation was sprinkled with memories from Africa… had it really been two and a half years since we had travelled to Uganda with Teen Missions when we met? I laughed, knowing that our friendship had been forged through the most challenging trip of my life and endured because of the bonds that were formed that rough summer when Cami and I met Naomi.

I sometimes still have trouble formulating why Africa was so pivotal in my life… I struggle to articulate what was so difficult about that summer and how it changed me. Reminiscing with Naomi only reminded me that it had changed me and that it was difficult, but again, I was at loss as to exactly how and what had changed. And sometimes, my heart still hurts because of that summer… I find that I still grieve and mourn because of the way that pain shaped my heart…

And when it hurts, I am reminded of Lilia, my dear friend and mentor. I remember crying in her room in the weeks that followed my return from Africa. I was angry and unsure of where my anger was directed. I was disappointed and frustrated. I wanted people to stop asking, “How was Africa?” but more importantly, I wanted to be able to say, “It was so amazing!” But it wasn’t amazing… and Lilia reminded me that missions and ministry weren’t always “amazing.” She sat me down and drew out a spiral on the black board. The center was Africa, frozen in the summer of 2009. The spiral was the imprint of Africa on my life. As I lived my life, I would travel from the center of this spiral, outward. And each time I hit one of the spiral lines, I would mourn and hurt, and I would heal and move on… And each time the spiral lines were farther and farther apart… but they never disappeared altogether.

That summer—summer of 2009—squeezed my heart and stretched me and hurt me and grew me. Melinda, my discipler here in Champaign, reminded me that this is how we ought to live our lives. If it doesn’t change us… if it doesn’t shape us and leave a lasting imprint on our hearts… why do we do it? The things that matter are the things that change us. And those most special people are the ones who make it impossible to be the same again.