August

A main street in Choix; headed for down town.

A month of newness and different, that is what I should deem August. Just because I left Guadalupe and that specific time for studying has not changed the fact that I am still learning. I'm learning to do laundry, not by hand anymore, but in a wash machine that doesn't have a hose connected to it to automatically fill it up. This causes moments of panic when I realize that I have forgotten it once again and run out to find it filled to over flowing. (or some one kindly asks why there's water gushing seeping out.)
I have also learned to sweep dirt. Each time I grab the broom and start for the back yard, I think of Ma Ingalls when Pa jested about her sweeping the cabin's dirt floor. But now I understand Ma a little better. Even dirt looks better swept.

Loren's house as well as the church (held in the back yard for now).

Living in a house primarily of boys instead of girls is different as the conversation and the topics thereof can vary widely in comparison. Come to think of it, everything about living here is different.
Its different to attend a Bible study or have a children's class more than once a week. Its different to be in charge of the main meal of the day (lunch) five days a week where there might be 6 or 10 people for the meal (you never know sometimes!) Its different to cook in heat that threatens to overwhelm a person. Its different to have different people in and around the house so much.
Its different, but its good. Its in the normalcy and comfortable rhythm of life that apathy can easily set in without me knowing it. The last week or so I have been aware of how the pressure in life causes the "scum" in me rise to the top. And this is a good thing because its a part of the refining fire. As the grace of God empowers me to work out that scum in repentance, I become more formed in the image of Jesus. Ya'll, its hard to live in a learner mentality and attitude when I used to be perfectly capable at life before now. Its hard to still not be able to say sentences correctly in Spanish at times. Some moments are just plain hard.

The back yard (part of it) after a particular hard rain the night before.

One Friday evening, a group of young people from the orphanage (Casa Hogar) and I went to a place outside of Choix where there are some hot springs. We grilled hamburgers. I hadn't seen that much meat in one place in a long time. And we even had bacon to add to it! There was reverence in the air as we ate. :)

At the hot springs.

If you want to rejoice with me here's a few praises:

-the blessing of grace.

-answered prayer for wisdom in building relationships.

-new friends and a wonderful family to live with.

If you would like to pray for me here are a few of those as well:

-diligence in language learning.

-grace to work & live for Jesus with the "scum" rising.

-wisdom and love for reaching out to young girls.

Thank you for your prayers and the many ways you show that you're thinking and care about me. Words can hardly do justice to my thankfulness and they seem almost hollow, but please know that they are appreciated and are making a difference!

July's Newsletter

 *Note: this was an email I sent out and therefore is written like one.

Confession #1: starting emails, or letters for that matter, has always intimidated me. In school I was taught a formal way of beginning one of these things, but I have never done very well with “formal.” I prefer to jump in as if we have already finished the first three minutes of pleasantry. This brings me to Confession #2: when I learned what was expected of me in Mexico, this very aspect (writing a newsletter) made me more afraid than some other frightening things, but here I am. So I will endeavor to type an update about the past month of July here in Mexico.

I left home the morning of the 6th of July and arrived in Choix, Sinaloa the following afternoon. The trip itself taught me several things about trusting God and recognizing how God was answering prayers. My luggage had issues. One handle doesn't pull out, one broke all together, and a wheel busted on one of them in Phoenix. This was all within the first 5 hours! I believed the rest of the trip was doomed for trouble. But actually, the Lord worked out everything just right. We didn't get the bus we wanted, but the bus driver on the one we did get escorted us at midnight to the right place at the border to make sure we got our visas. Once we were off the bus and without pesos to pay for a taxi, I went to find an ATM but there wasn't any there. So a kind gas station attendant exchanged my American money for me. Later, there was a lady who helped us get on the right bus for Choix and directed the bus driver where to drop is off: right in front of Loren's.

I have been living in Guadalupe (a village 15 minutes from Choix) this past month with a family from the church for language and culture study. They are a joy to learn from. They have had quite a number of young people in their home for the same reason I am, and they are incredibly patient and kind and helpful. Interesting flubs with the language and their great sense of humor has produced wonderful eruptions of laughter that leaves our sides aching and the tears rolling. I have more teachers than these though. Everyone helps teach in their own way. From the uncles who drop by for a meal or a break, to the parents down the hill who love a good laugh more than the rest of them, to the children playing in the street. Each one has contributed. The saying goes something like, “it takes a village to raise a child.” In Spanish I am a child, and I guess I'm being raised by the village of Guadalupe.

Besides learning the language, I am learning how to make tortillas over a fire, wash my clothes by hand, and appreciate a cool breeze. :-) Mexico is wonderful.

The plan is that  I will be moving to Choix on the 6th of August and as of now I will be living with Loren's. Their house is the central place for a lot of people flowing in and out, and will be quite different than life in Guadalupe. Its a good thing I like people. I am looking forward to life there.

If you would like to rejoice with me, here's a few praises:

-praise the Lord that heat has not bothered me as much as I was afraid it might.

-praise the Lord for His patience and love in teaching and instructing me.

If you would like to pray for me here's a few request:

-pray for my continual learning of Spanish.

-pray for wisdom in relationships with several young girls here.

-pray for me as I move to Choix.

Thank you so much for your prayers and encouragement and support. I could not do this without people like you praying for me and encouraging me. May the Lord bless you with strength to faithfully follow Him. 

-Linda

P.s. Sorry for not having pictures. I took a few on my ipod and they refuse to be transferred to my computer. Maybe I'll remember to get a few pictures on my camera instead. :)

The Man with the Cane

I've been thinking about Grandpa Hershey the last while more than usual.

It was Grandpa that I first remember teaching me about the stars. Him and Grandma were visiting for the weekend, and I'm fairly certain candy came with them that time as well. Grandpa had a terrible sweet tooth and believed everyone else did too. When we visited them, there was often a bowl of old fashioned candy ribbons on the table. I've loved that kind every since then.

Grandpa was sitting in dad's old brown recliner and I was hanging over the arm looking at a book with him. I don't remember the book, but I remember the question.

“Which is brighter: the sun, the moon, or the stars?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“The sun of course!” I replied, believing it to be a perfectly ridiculous question.

“Nope,” he grinned. “Its the stars.”

I didn't believe him.

“But they're so small!” I stated with big eyes.

“They look small, but that's because they're further away from the sun. If you could travel to a star, you would die before you got there because they're very, very hot.”

“Really?!” I stared at him trying to judge if he was teasing like he sometimes did.

“Yup. They're bigger than the moon or the sun.”

For some reason, right then and there, I believed him. Some time later, I learned in school that he was right. It wasn't a new fact. I read it and shrugged my shoulders because I already knew that.

Living here in Guadalupe where the stars are more alive and more numerous than at home, I stare at them still; amazed that something so fierce can cause such a tranquil feeling when so far away. They probably seem more numerous because they're not competing with the airplanes that constantly flew over our house. (I remember the first time I thought I saw a falling star. Excited, I ran to my sister and pointed it out to her. With three words she crushed me hopes. “That's an airplane.” Now even when I see a falling star, I question it until I know for sure.)

Living here in Mexico is probably the reason I've been thinking about Grandpa more. It was Grandpa that taught me how to pronounce the Spanish “n” and I think of him almost every time I read it. He loved Spanish and he was happy to hear that I was trying to learn it in school when I was less than 10 years old. He was more than helpful with my studies when he visited and enjoyed helping me more than I enjoyed being helped.

Grandpa loved to tell stories from Guatemala and driving through Mexico to get there with his tribe of a family in a bus, a van, or some other vehicle. He loved telling stories in general and he was good at it. When he'd finish an interesting one, he would have the biggest grin on his face as his hand gently slapped the table in front of him and the chuckle that issued forth was enough to make you laugh even if the story didn't. I loved listening to him, but hearing about Mexico and Guatemala were my favorites. He corresponded by letter with a friend in Spanish and the fact that he was able to understand and communicate like this intrigued me.

Grandma told me how one summer a Guatemalan family spent the summer with them in Wisconsin. There were seven children in their family, and Grandma still had at least nine of hers at home yet. She shook her head as if it were yesterday when she told me how much food they prepared every day for one meal. Then she sighed over the lunches they packed for all the men and boys who went to the woods with Grandpa every day.

Grandpa.

His library used to bore me. I avoided the backroom because all those books intimidated me. A year or two before he died, I found myself in his study looking at his books. I soon found one and started reading, but wasn't able to finish before we had to leave. Grandma said I could take it home with me. It was old; the pages were thin, the writing faded in places, and the smell when one put their nose deep into it's depths was intoxicating. It became a favorite of mine. When that book was finished, I couldn't wait to visit again so I could find another. This was the start of borrowing stacks of books from Grandpa for a few months at a time. Once, I found a small little thing that looked sort of new when compared to the rest of the books on the shelves whose titles were so faded on the binding one had to open the book to see what it was about. This particular book was a book of the best writings by A.W. Tozer. I don't know why I grabbed the book to take home. I knew nothing about the author or what was inside because the title didn't explain much, but I'm so glad I chose it that day. That book changed me life. And I enjoy reading anything of Tozer ever since. I've especially enjoyed the books of Tozer found in Grandpa's library as I discovered he had more than one. I particularly like reading them since he died. You see, I discovered that Grandpa didn't just read books. He read them. And he wrote in them whether he agreed, disagreed or thought the text needed to be expounded on a little more. It's like having Grandpa back in a small little way. There is one thing that makes me smile; Grandpa thought Tozer needed to be corrected and challenged some times! (And no, I don't believe Tozer perfect in his writings.)

Grandpa. He's part of the reason I'm here today. I wish I could tell him about it. He took my dad to Mexico and Guatemala who in turn took his children to Mexico as well because he loved it.

My dad learned how to ride bicycle in Guatemala.

I'm learning how to make tortillas. Among other things.

The Take Off

I was never more aware of my heart than that moment on that day.

As the plane taxied away from the gate, I looked our through the rain streaked window. The last few days had been filled with goodbyes that made my heart ache from the weight of each one.

Just thirty minutes prior to this one, my hands had been held my my parents as daddy prayed a farewell blessing over me.

He's always done that, you know. The family would load the luggage and after each one had their turn of forgetting something and running into the house at the last minute, before daddy would put the van in reverse, or at the end of the driveway, he would call us to prayer. When the family stopped traveling all together, daddy would still pray over us. Especially as Sara and I started traveling on our own. He would get up early with us, carrying our suitcases down the stairs, say goodbye, and pray.

This time though at the airport, with my hand in his, tears escaped down my cheeks and dripped off my chin.

I have always loved the feel of my dad's rough, calloused hands. I used to judge other men by their hands because I though only good men had hands like my dad and grandpas. Now I know better and don't judge according to that now, but there are times when I still think of it. Calloused hands will always remind my of daddy.

My left hand was held in my mother's soft hand. I've always wished my small, pudgy hands were more like her slender ones. When I was younger, I would watch her hands in wonder. Her nails were always clean even though they were not afraid of dirt and in fact loved loved it. Her nails were always always nicely trimmed. I would try to trim mine just like hers so maybe they'd look more alike, but I could never find a resemblance. Except in our thumbs. I inherited that part of my mother's hands, and I think of her every time some one exclaims over them.

I turned my face away from the window and the rain. The take off set me back in my seat and adrenaline from the moment and the adventure ahead coursed through my blood.

I smiled and talked my heart into a regular pulse again at the same time choking back the tears again.

I knew tears might flow some time again, but for now, I let the window weep.

I call him Daddy

There's a corner of my heart that warms every time I think of him. That feeling grows as I think about how much I enjoy making him laugh, and how much I have learned from his experience, wisdom, and example. There hasn't been a time in my life where I haven't done something and then, often unintentionally, waited to see or hear his approval.

When I was younger, I was scared of him. He was larger than life. He could accomplish more in one day that anyone else. I often remember the day when he told me his "trick" about how he got so much done. Since then I have have tried to implement this life hack and it has proven its legitimacy. He still uses it himself, I'm sure.

During the summer when our church would have softball games, I loved to watch him play. He would swing that bat and knock the ball into the far right field (he's a lefty) and then tear around the bases like you wouldn't believe. I can count on one hand how many times I have seen him not get a home run (and that is mostly from the last couple years).

Mother often said his brain was like a computers. I dreaded playing Rook (or any card game for that matter) with him because he is always able to tell you what you have in your hand. But it was a joyous day in the household when one of us kids would finally get him at his own game.

There has always been a book on his side table in his room and by his chair. Some of my earliest memories are of him sitting there in the couch with his legs curled under him sipping coffee and reading. The man knows more stuff! His book knowledge has always intimidated me, but I always knew who to ask whenever I needed an answer.

The Lord placed me in a home where he was the dad, and I am so glad He did. The older I get, the more I am thankful for everything he has given me. Lately, I have been especially grateful for the fact that he raised me in a christian home, took me to church every Sunday, and taught me to read the Bible. Although I had to discover the Lord on my own, he provided the perfect place for me to learn Him.

I am a better person because of him.

When the Law is Unknown

As I cruised into the town that I rarely drive through, I noticed the speed limit sign and was aware that I was not obeying it exactly. The temptation to shrug my shoulders and ignore it came, as did the scene where I was explaining to the policeman that I wasn't from around these parts and didn't rightly know the speed limit. Surely he would let me off with a warning and wouldn't give me a ticket for speeding when I didn't "know" I was speeding. As quickly as these thoughts came to me, I dismissed them. After all, I had seen the sign. Even if I hadn't seen it, it was still there. I was held accountable to it.

These thoughts reminded me of God, His law, and the people He creates.

I have often heard people question how God will judge those who have never heard or understood the Gospel; surely God couldn't punish them in their ignorance! How can they believe something they've never heard and understood? God will surely have mercy on them, they say.

But will He?

I have asked questions about this topic on more than one occasion because it just doesn't seem fair to me that innocent people will be punished for not knowing something (and this causes a passion to well up within me for people, myself included, to go to these people to tell them. But that could be another sermon blog post.) but I saw the truth in stark reality at that moment while cruising through town. 

Even though it seems somehow harsh, it is only right. Just like the police officer would not be sympathetic to me just because I did not know the speed limit, God must judge people according to the law; even those who do not know it.

I write this, aware of how cold and hard I may sound to some who do not believe this truth about God. But my heart is far from being cold about this fact. Rather, it is only burdened all the more for those who yet need the Gospel brought to them.

Let us go. Let us tell them. Let us not be held responsible for not telling them before its too late that God has a law, that Jesus saves, and that eternal life is found in Him!

They need to know.

Waiting for my World to Change

These beauties are sitting on my dresser in my room. 

I declare, there is something wonderfully satisfying as three blooms in a vase. 

Their fragrance fills the room and proclaim the start of summer.

Psst...don't let daisy know because I will never tell, but peony is my favorite.

Summer is here and I love it. Every time June rolls around, I remember that I have forgotten already how much I enjoy it. Nothing can compare to green Wisconsin.

The last few days I have been trying to soak it in and enjoy every moment. I gaze at everything around me, trying to put it all into pictures that I can bring back to mind later.

For a few more weeks, this is home.

I try to be brave and remind myself that this is only a part of earth and my real home is where my people are, and ultimately in heaven with my heavenly Father. But i confess that there are moments when there's a small knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat when truth dawns on me: life as I know it, as I have always known it, is about to change. While this truth causes surges of adrenaline and excitement in my blood at times, I cannot help but try to hold on to these fading days as they quickly pass through my hands.

Today, I am thankful for the grace of God that meets me whether I am feeling nostalgic or impatiently expectant from one moment to the next.