Chapter Two: A Promise by Moonlight

     The Missionary's Daughter

I haven't sewed my children's clo'se

For days, the way I'd like to do;

I don't neglect 'em, goodness knows, 

'Cept when it's my duty to;

They're less important, anyhow,

'Cause I'm a missionary now.

My heathen doll's not half so dear

As all my Christian children there,

And that's what makes my duty clear

To always give him speshul care;

'Cause I have found it wrong to do

The things I'm always wanting to.

-Burges Johnson

     When I was about seventeen and on a trip to visit my parents in Honduras I stumbled across the poem "The Missionary's Daughter".  It was in a small frame on my Mother's shelf.  In the frame next to the poem there was a picture of a small girl in braids teaching a rag'a'muffin doll while her other dolls in pristine condition sat on the floor unused.  

     As I read the words my eyes filled with tears and all of the pent up emotions from my childhood flooded back to me in an uncontrollable tsunami of sorrow.  I read it over and over, amazed that I had never seen this before in my parents home.  Where did it come from and how was it written so perfectly for me?  It was as though the author stepped into my seven year old brain and stood by watching every feeling I struggled with as a child.  How did they know? And why of all places was it here in my parent's home in Honduras?! 

     Sitting on the concrete floor of my parent's living room with beads of sweat rolling down my low back from the tropical heat as the constant whir of the ceiling fan spun overhead I faded away into a distant memory.  A night I promised myself never to forget, but which had grown dim with the passing of time.  All at once spurred by the words of a timeless poem I was shot back into my seven year old self.

     It was late at night and all of the house was asleep.  As I lie in my bed tossing and turning I saw the moonlight shining brightly through a crack in the blinds of my window.  Wanting to see the moon in it's full glory I quietly tiptoed down the hallway and into our living room.  The carpet was being replaced (or maybe just cleaned) so the furniture was moved back into the dining room leaving the picture window completely open to view.  As I turned the corner from the hallway I saw the living room full of silver moonlight.  I walked up to the window staring out at the shimmering scene below.  Trees a perfect blackness framed by silver gilding were casting strange shadows on the crystal blue light that filtered through the yard.  Above me the sky seemed full to spilling over with the largest most beautifully white moon I had ever seen.  I was in complete awe at the wonder surrounding me.  In the perfect stillness I began to talk to God.  

     I say talk and not pray because my conversation with Him was not in the standard "Dear God" and "Amen" order.  It was literally a pouring out of my heart to Him.  I thanked Him for waking me to see the beauty of the night.  I told Him how I had been feeling very sad, that I missed my Mom and Dad because they were very busy helping other kids.  I told Him I knew they were doing an important work and I should not be upset but happy that other kids felt loved and cared for.  Then I asked Him if it were possible, could  He please make me poor and brown so that I could be held and cared for too?  I told Him I knew Mom and Dad loved me, but sometimes I just wanted them to hold me.  Then I did what as an adult I shamefully fail to do...I was quiet and waited for an answer.  I watched the shadows move slowly across the lawn as I felt the Lord comfort my heart.  Then I told Him I knew He was right, that my parents had work to do and I had to understand that even if it was hard sometimes.  I promised Him I would not leave Him and would serve Him always, and could He please give me one blessing?  Would He please bless me to never forget this night and to always find wonder and beauty in the small things He created?  Then, with my heart finally at rest, I looked one more time at the moonscape before me trying to burn it into my memory and quietly slipped to bed.

    Sitting in my parent's house as an adult I felt ashamed to broach the subject with my Mom, afraid she would look into my eyes and know what I was struggling through.  Afraid to make her feel even the slightest twinge of guilt over their decisions when we were young.  But my curiosity got the better of me and, when I felt I was sufficiently under control, I asked her about the poem and if I could take it home with me.

   "Take it home with you?  That's my favorite poem, I love it.  No you can't take it.", I looked in her eyes pleading for understanding, "Mom, this was written for me.  I was that little girl.".  My Father overhearing the exchange became upset, "No you can't take it.  Your Mother gives up everything for everyone all of the time.  This is something that is special to her and I am putting my foot down.  You can't expect her to give up everything you know.".  The whole while he spoke I maintained eye contact with my Mom, my eyes growing teary as I tried to hold back my tears.  I do not know exactly what my Mother saw in my eyes, I have never asked her.  But I know what she saw convinced her of my deep set need for validation.  To know that at some level she understood there was a piece of me in that work, even if it was something she might never fully know or understand.  As she watched me never breaking eye contact she said, "No honey, it's okay she can have it."  

     They say there are two sides to every coin and as humans we are rarely if ever able to fully see or comprehend the side opposite to us.  A missionary's work is necessary and important, but I find only the glory of it is ever spoken of.  There is a glorious side, one that made me into the woman I am today who does her best to be reliant on the Lord at every turn.  There is also a side of great sacrifice that cannot be ignored or imagined away.  It's a sacrifice that is unexpected and affects every member of the family.  Growth is not achieved without sacrifice and because of that I am thankful for the sacrifice my family has made.    

Chapter One: His Hand Held Back the Tide

"He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap: He layeth up the depth in storehouses.  Let all the earth fear the Lord: let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of Him." -Psalm 33:7&8

     I was born of goodly parents.  That phrase has stuck with me since I first read it.  I have always believed it was the perfect beginning of a life story.  Because where does any story begin, if not with one's parents?   My story happens to begin with my parents and, thankfully for me, they were (and are) indeed goodly parents.   
    
     There are moments in your life that become imprinted on your memory, on the very essence of your being.  They influence and forever change who you will become.  My story, my heritage, is fully stocked with such moments and I feel utterly and desperately inept to put them into words with any justice to their creator.  I have taken a breath, said a prayer and hope against hope that somehow when I type the final words, a grace beyond my own capabilities will have stepped in and covered my inadequacies. 
    
     When I was about three and a half years old my parents made a decision which, at the time, seemed to be a foolhardy venture into self destruction with their entire family in tow.  They both felt they had been called to travel to Honduras to see for themselves what the impoverished families in that country might need for daily survival.  They wanted to serve, and they felt led to find service there.  Let me set the scene more completely for you.  My parents who did not speak Spanish (My mother had taken a couple classes, but spoke very little and nothing fluent.) decided to load myself and my three brothers into our Volkswagon van and drive from Rosemount, Minnesota to the Central American country of Honduras where we knew absolutely no one.  At that time the country of Nicaragua, just to the south of Honduras, was in full blown war and the refugees were being sent to camps in Honduras.  There was also during that time period civil unrest in both Southern Mexico and Guatemala.  Several missionary families had already been kidnapped by various guerrilla forces in each country and held for ransom.  Both of these countries would have to be driven through to get to the final destination.   
   
      My family members begged my parents not to go, and if they felt they must go please do not be foolish enough to take the children.  Homes were offered for us to stay in while my parents went on their adventure together, but the offer was denied.  My parents decided if we were to go we would go as a family.  They would not separate us for if the Lord saw fit to protect them, surely He would protect us together as well.  The appointed day for travel came and we set out on the road.  Little could I have known at the age of three and a half that the direction of my life would be forever changed in that single decision.  That very first leap of faith by my parents made all of the difference in the woman I am today.
    
     I should add that my Mother always said a very specific prayer whenever we would begin a trip.  She would ask God to bless us with faith and teach us to trust in Him.  It is a prayer I remember well and one I hope to pray over my own family someday.  But I will warn you, it is a prayer that is not for the faint of heart.  We quickly learned when Mom prayed for faith we were most certain to be faced with a dilemma that could not be solved without great prayer and reliance on the Lord.  As we got older my brothers and I felt a certain amount of dread when we heard the yearly prayer from Mom's lips. I remember begging her, "Please stop praying that!  We have enough faith now, I just want a nice peaceful trip this time." Mother of course, being a loving Mother, did not listen to my pleas but reminded me we would never reach a point in our lives when we would have enough faith because if faith is not growing it is most assuredly dying.
     
     I firmly believe it was because of my Mother's prayers that we never traveled to Honduras without having some mishap occur.  What to me at the time was anything from an inconvenience to a terrifying encounter, became in my heart the foundation of my faith in God.  Not as a being who watches our lives from a throne on high, but as a true Heavenly Father who is actively an omnipresent being in our lives.  Ever with us and in us and working through us as we struggle to understand our place in this world and the world to come.  This is the story of the first building block to that foundation in my life.
    
     It was, I believe, on our second trip to Honduras.  My brother Ronnie was about thirteen, Tommy six and John Michael just Three.  As we traveled toward Chorpus Christi, Texas my Father decided it would be neat to drive us down onto the beach several miles north of town.  It being winter time there was no one on the beach and he knew when the tide was out the sand would be packed down hard enough to drive on. 
    
     I remember the beach being grey and cold with a pretty stout wind blowing the grasses on the sand dunes that we passed driving toward the water.  We were all squealing at Dad not to drive us into the water while he laughed and said we could just drive our way to Honduras through the ocean.  I could barely make out the outline of the city as I looked down the beach into the cloudy horizon.  Everything was giggles and happiness until Dad realized he had miscalculated the tide.  All at once he realized the tide, which he had thought would still be out, was coming in and coming in fast.  Before he could put the van in reverse the tide had pulled our solid ground out from under us and we were stuck fast and hard.  Dad made one attempt to back up, but quickly realized that would only be certain disaster as the water rushed in even more pulling us under even more deeply.
    
     It was decided Mom and Ronnie would head down the beach toward town to get help while Dad waited with the rest of us at the van.  Looking back I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Dad to send off his wife and son into an unknown city while he waited, helpless to do anything to get us out.  How he must have wondered, what if something happened to them?  How long might it take before he needed to worry and what could he do about it?  What on earth would he do to occupy three children under six while we were all trapped inside a van being pulled into the sand?  None of those questions occupied my four year old mind.  At the time it did not dawn on me that my Father had anything to worry about.  All I found myself wondering was, why was Dad pacing back and forth outside the van and what if we are stuck here forever?  Could you get sucked into the ocean?
    
     I don't know who's idea it was because I have no memory of discussing it with my brothers, but somehow we decided what we needed to do was pray.  The three of us crawled into the back of our van and knelt down bowing our heads as far as we could.  Out loud and with as much fervor as I have ever prayed we asked the same thing over and over. "Dear God, please keep the water away, please keep us safe.  In Jesus' name amen."  For the entire time my Mother and Ronnie were gone we prayed non stop.  It must have been at least an hour's time, maybe more but we did not give pause until we heard the sound of an engine coming toward us. 
    
     When we finally looked up we saw my Mother and Ronnie coming down the beach in a tow truck.  The driver was able to pull us from our precarious position and we continued on our way, lesson learned.  Now here comes the amazing part.  It was years later that I heard my Father's account of that day.  It is through his account that I learned how swiftly and miraculously God answered the prayer of his three children that day.
    
     While I was watching my Father pace back and forth on the beach totally unaware of his concerns and fears, he was doing his own praying.  He watched the sand pull away from the front tires of the van until they were sunken in more than half way.  Quickly losing hope of getting the van out in time he was pacing and asking God what he could do when, to his amazement, he saw the water was not coming up to the tires anymore.  Unable to believe what he was seeing he walked around the van and saw that everywhere on the beach the tide was rushing in up past the tires of the van, but in the space right around the van no water was coming in.  For the entire time that he waited for my Mother to return he watched the tide as it stayed back from the van, never once coming near.
   
      After my Mom returned with the tow truck and everything was hooked up he watched as the driver pulled the van from it's location.  As soon as the van was pulled out the water rushed back into the space taking back it's rightful place on the beach. 
   
      I know of no science that explains how the oceans tides will pick and chose where to come in and where to hold back.  I do know of a God who made the ocean tides, who for His own good will and pleasure can and will hold back the very waters of the sea as His children plead for His grace and protection.  I know it because I was there when His very hand held back the tide. 

You Cannot Out Train Your Mouth

It's early Thursday morning, five am early, and I am normally sleeping in to at least seven because it's the first morning of my weekend.  But my alarm has gone off and I am lying in bed debating whether I want to get up and go do what I have signed up for.  I lie there for about five minutes my body, which clearly would rather stay in bed, fighting with my mind, that knows the opportunity before me is too good to miss. My mind, thankfully, wins and I get up.

As the sunrise is just beginning to dawn on the city I drive southbound across the nearly vacant landscape to my destination.  The closer I get the more nervous I become.  Because, you see, I am heading to be fit tested.  Fit testing is an entire body fitness testing process that scientifically calculates your overall fitness level, necessary caloric intake, hydration level, cardiovascular conditioning and oxygen intake.  Basically, it's something you would pay a personal fitness trainer or facility a lot of money for to determine your overall condition and create a nutritional and fitness program personalized for your needs.  This awesome, in depth process is being offered to me for free and will help me tremendously in my exercise and food intake, but it also terrifies me.  You see, I have an overall image of where I stand physically.  I know I can eat better and do more exercise, but I'm not in poor shape and don't eat horribly....so I can live in this happy bubble of semi-contentment believing that I'm doing 'okay'.  The closer I get to the test, the more I know my happy bubble is about to burst and I will be faced with the reality of how much work is ahead of me if I'm serious about changing.

The test was not difficult, and did not take a long time.  The results were no worse than I imagined and everything I hoped I would miraculously not hear.  I am, on the whole, healthy.  I am by no means obese, nor am I the proper weight.  Basically, I need to do more work.  I need to pay more attention to what I am eating and how I am working out and I need to do more.  It's what I knew I would hear and what I had dreaded hearing all morning.  It was the truth, right there in black and white and so clear I could not ignore it.  Ignoring it would mean giving up, and I promised myself I would not give up this time.

I drove home anxious and depressed.  Not because I can't do more but because I don't want to.  Because my pretty little bubble of a self image was burst and I had to see the reality in front of me.  Basically I was pouting.  When I got home I sat down and began my scripture study for the day.  In my prayers I asked for guidance and perseverance to do what is necessary to make me a more healthy and strong person.  When I lifted my head I set out to make a plan.  I put together a menu and shopping list, something I never do.  I created a workout schedule, another thing I never do.  and began putting plan into action. My sense of moping disappeared, replaced with a content and excited hope at the prospect of even more change. 

It didn't strike me at the moment, but now that I'm writing I cannot help but see and be amazed at the similarities in my physical and spiritual growth.  When God bursts my self righteous little bubble and points out to me the truths of where I stand and what I need to change, my reaction is no different.  It amazes me that He is ever patient with my sullenness and stubborn refusal to see things His way.  How much happier I am when I concede and begin putting His plans into action in my life. 

There is a comment the Fit test instructor made that I hope will ever stay with me.  When talking about a nutritional plan he said, "Laura remember, you cannot out train your mouth no matter how hard you try.  If you take in junk you will look and feel like junk.".  How right he is and how true that comment is for me spiritually too.  I cannot spiritually out train what I take in.  If I continuously take in garbage, I will look and feel like garbage as my spirit is weighed down by the darkness I'm taking in.  So it is with my physical body when I eat trash. I can't win if I'm willing to defeat myself with what I take in. This life is physically and spiritually a battle.  It's time to begin training like a fighter. 

The Day of Rest Fully Realized

There have been a few questions bouncing around in my head regarding my new commitment to myself. How do I do one new, scary and different thing every day when I still have to fit in my life responsibilities (working 14hr days, church etc.)?

I had fully decided to report to you my failure for today when I realized it is not even four o'clock on a Sunday and my clothes for work are being washed, my lunch is ready, and I have (for the first time since I cannot remember when) completely been at rest all day. Now, you may not see this as a new, exciting or different thing worthy of commenting on. But that would be because you don't know my usual Sunday routine.

You see, Sunday is known as being the day of rest. Historically businesses worldwide closed on Sundays, the world stopped moving to honor God and to center themselves before beginning another hectic week. God himself set the example for us by resting on the seventh day! But what does a normal Sunday mean for me? Constant movement at a dizzying pace. Let me lay out for you a 'normal' Sunday.

7am: wake up and get Sunday School lessons ready
8am: get myself ready
9:30ish: go pick up Aunt Donna
9:45am: teach Sunday School
11am: Sermon
12pm: potluck at church
2pm: run home and get wash started
3:30pm: back to church for choir
4:30pm: run back home to switch loads and feed my dog
5:30pm: back to church to lead song service
6pm: night church
7:30pm: back home to finish laundry and get dinner before going to bed

Where exactly in all of that going is my time to rest and reflect? I am more exhausted at the end of a Sunday than any other day of the week. Pretty much exactly opposite of what the day was originally intended for!

So, today I made a change. One that I hope will stick. I still did Sunday School and went to services, but I went home right after and have spent my afternoon resting. I have studied scripture, done my laundry and simply sat reflecting on the purpose of this blessed day set aside to glorify my God. I cannot tell you what a difference it has been!! I am calm, centered and feel completely refreshed. My normal rushed anxious beginning of the week fervor has been replaced with stillness. The house is quiet as the late afternoon light streams through the windows. The only sounds are my laundry, the air conditioning and the typing of my keys as I write to you. So this is what a Sunday should feel like! This is a day I could grow to love like never before!!

Such a small change, with such a great and immediate impact on my life. I cannot thank my Lord enough for this His day of rest.

Muay Thai and Boys: In that Order

So, this is day two and I have a TON to share. As I promised I did indeed ask a certain male (who will remain nameless) about going out and I was amazed by the answer. Amazed because I was expecting and emotionally preparing for a turn down. You may wonder why I would expect that....and in time it will become clear to you, but for now we will not go into it all.

Anywhoo...the response, which made me ridiculously giddy, was that he would love too but we would have to plan another time as he is out of town this weekend. As soon as I read the words I felt like a tard, of course he's out of town half of my friends are out of town camping for Labor Day weekend. I would pick the impossible weekend to finally work up the courage to ask! However, there is a future meeting in the works...so all is well.

As for today's adventure! I have, for the last three months, been toying with the idea of learning some sort of street fighting or mixed martial arts. In fact, several weeks ago a friend of mine at work helped me pick out several options of reputable gyms and trainers in my area. As usual, I have delayed doing anything about it with excuses varying from, "Its too much extra money to spend." to "I would end up giving it up after a couple weeks anyway...I always do that".

Yesterday when I made my decision to begin this blog and string you along with me on my journey through 'lauraness' I made a concerted effort to search out the gyms near my home and select one to 'just try out' and report back to you today. I did my research, found the gym that looked like the best fit and called to let them know I would be in for the 10am Saturday morning class. I was on cloud nine, "I'm actually going to do this." I told myself, "And it's okay if I decide I don't like it". Then I piled in my car and headed toward work.

As I drove the 25 miles into work I started discussing with myself the pros and cons of trying out the gym. (for clarity I will refer to myself as X and Y) X: I work till three am, how will I get up and be to the class at 10am? Y: You will never know whether you like it if you don't try! X: But I never follow through on training plans like this, I always give it up a couple weeks in! In fact, I can't even follow healthy eating habits for more than a couple weeks without giving up! Y: Well, why do you think you give up? X: What?! How do I know?......Y: Laura, don't you think maybe you give up because you are sabotaging yourself? X: What?!! Why would I do that?....Y: Isn't it because you don't think you are worthy of being thin and beautiful? You do it every time, you know that you are giving up and you do it anyway...why don't you think you deserve to be your best?

It felt like a million bricks had just hit me. I felt sick to my stomach and was short of breath as my mind played over all the times I have had 'great plans' to better myself in some way and fallen short. Not because I couldn't accomplish my goal, but because some ugly part of myself told me I was not worthy to. 'How is this the first time I have realized what I do to myself?', I thought, 'How in thirty years of life have I continued living as a shadow of my full potential without recognizing the limits I put on myself?' Tears sprung to my eyes as I realized I would have to face this demon of mine head on or always fall just short of my abilities.

I called the only person I knew who would fully understand this random and earth shattering break through. As the phone rang I silently prayed to be able to just leave a voicemail, because the weight of my new discovery was too heavy to speak of without falling to pieces. Thankfully, it went to voice mail and I stuttered out a jumble of words trying to convey what I had just emotionally gone through. Then I had to put it out of my mind so that I could focus on work. I know I will be revisiting this demon of mine for quite a while....maybe for the rest of my life. But for the first time I recognize it's true self and know how to fight back.

This morning 9:30 came way too fast. As the alarm went off I lay in bed thinking, "You haven't had enough sleep. You aren't strong enough today to get through a full workout...just do it another day." NO! I screamed back. I know what you're about now, and you won't trick me anymore. I WILL get up and go, I don't care if I collapse on the floor while I'm there, I won't sabotage myself anymore with lame excuses!! I bolted out of bed and got myself to the gym.

I am by nature timid in new surroundings. I am sure my trepidation was written all over my face as I walked in the door. Thankfully Saturday's are small class days, so says my new coach, so there were only four of us in the entire gym. Paul, my new coach, is a Muay Thai champion from Thailand and has trained several champion fighters in California and Arizona. You wouldn't know it if you met him on the street. His smile is contagious and his bubbly laugh would make a lifelong biker gang member smile. He was friendly, but completely focused on giving me the best possible instructions on my form and footwork. By the end of the hour long class I was completely hooked. The movements somehow feel 'right' and natural. The work out is exhausting! I nearly passed out a couple times, possibly due to my lack of sleep and food, but I'm so glad I went. Score one for Laura, zero for her personal demons. :)

The coolest thing about today is I am so thrilled with my personal firsts that, until I sat down to write this post, I completely forgot about the 'boy'. How awesome is that!! Muay Thai...then boys...it's a great day!

The year of me

I know there is currently no one reading my blog...and in a way I love that and hope to always write as though no one is reading. Today I would like to announce to no one...that this is the year of me. Now, all of those zero people who are reading this and know me personally may be shocked at that statement and be thinking, "what? so your going to be a selfish jerk this year and forget all of the wonderful things you should do for others?" let me calm your fears. I will not ignore my tasks and duties this year, and I will continue to embrace being the loving and giving person that I truly enjoy being, but there are a few changes coming as well.

I have come to the realization that I don't do much to explore what makes me tick as a human being. I do and give because I care for those around me and because I firmly believe I should. But what do I love for just me alone and no one else? I don't know.... I can't even ask someone out on a simple date for fear that it might upset them or someone else. What a retarded way to live. So, starting today (September 2, 2011) I will be taking all of the no one's reading my blog on a daily journey of exploration. Don't get too heated, I will not be doing anything immoral or illegal in any way, but I will be making changes and taking risks I have been too afraid, lazy or unsure to do before. And I have already started. ;)

Today I deactivated my facebook account. I'm tired of using it and tired of it being used as a way for distant acquaintances to dig through the details of my life that only dear friends would or should know without it. If you know me and are dear to me, we will not lose contact. If you don't know me and are distant to me we will remain in a natural state of general acquaintance. I feel crazy liberated and free. Several months back I had deactivated the account and LOVED it, but was convinced by my family to open the account again. Ever since, I have been sorry I did so. This time it is permanent. Goodbye internet ball and chain!!

For my second act of the day I will be asking a friend out on a fun, light hearted date. I have always looked at dating as an approach to potential relationship, marriage. I don't know if I'm cut out for 'fun' dating, but I'm going to give it a whirl and let you know how it works out. (every awesome, sad and embarrassing detail) And, unlike facebook, since I know no one is following what I write I know you won't shove your nose where it doesn't belong, so to speak. Okay, I'm off to try out a random date.....I'll get back with you on how it goes.