The true level of mental, physical and emotional work which would be required in our first year of life in a new country came as a complete shock to us.  We knew transition would be difficult, but man-oh-man did we underestimate the energy required.  We had no way to understand the reduced functional capacity we would experience while exerting this kind of energy.  We didn’t do the math on just how many factors would impact new learning opportunities.  There is just no way to be prepared for what cultural learning ACTUALLY requires.   

For example:   

We didn’t just learn to drive on the other side of the road.  We learned to drive on the other side of the road, while watching out for cows crossing and noticing pedestrians and motorcycles to dodge WHILE being conscientious of the road signs which a policeman might pull you over for not following OR might wave you through and implore you to ignore.   

We did not just learn to hang our laundry to dry, we learned to dry clothes inside during rainy season, coax the washing machine along by filling it from the garden hose when the water pressure was low, and restart loads 103957654392048567 times when the power goes out mid-cycle. Oh, and explain to someone else working in our home how to do all of the above. 

We didn’t just learn to eat new foods.  We learned to go to the grocery store, taking a different path each time because of road work and arrive there only to adapt the meal plan because the thing that has always been there no longer exists or has tripled in price.   And should we adventure out to a restaurant, we learned to not expect the place to have the foods it offers on the menu, to not be able to go to any restaurant quickly, and to not speak aloud the restaurants which may bring tears (C-F-A).  

We didn’t just begin to learn the language of our country- Swahili- we learned a bit about the appropriate times to use our new knowledge and when to claim ignorance, to apologize kindly when you create a big mess of a misunderstanding with the little bits that you do know, and how to always greet well even when you don’t feel nzuri (fine).  

PLUS, maybe even with more difficulty, we learned to communicate with English speaking friends who either use very different English words (I’m looking at you “football match on the pitch” and “sorting the details”) or interpret what we are saying completely differently that we mean it (my “yes” meant you should do that thing.  It did not mean that I agreed with you that “yes, you should NOT do that thing”). 

We didn’t just learn to adventure to new places, we learned to expect delays for inspections, travel HOURS doing your best to avoid a toilet stop and to squat when one couldn’t be avoided, make the most out of traffic jams by having books, podcasts and snacks always available and ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS choose a narrative of “adventure,” even when expectations of what you were hoping to find on the other side are sorely disappointed. 

We learned to translate time. Swahili time begins at 6 am (7= hour 1) and a given start or arrival time is often just an approximation (sometime within the given hour).  And we learned to adjust time across the globe for facetime with friends and family in other parts of the world.  

We did not just learn how to ask for help, we learned who to ask and when to not ask because the person who affirms their ability to provide help may really have no idea what to do.  Out of kindness and a desire to help, you may just end up with a smashed van window when you lock your keys in the car.  Or thanks to directions from someone who doesn’t actually know the way, you may just end up places you have zero business being.

As we celebrated being in TZ one year together as a family, we laughed together about the many things we’ve learned and which we do so differently (brushing your teeth with clean water and remembering to turn on the hot water heater 10 minutes before you shower).   

We learned to save small bills (no one ever has change), check the luku account (electricity), go to the duka for drinking water and top up Mpesa (mobile money) on our phones.  We know now it is possible to buy icecream, tables, pillows and a fishtank while sitting in traffic (sadly, we passed up the latter).

I’m a “stay-near-home MOM” for the first time in my history of motherhood and RRL is actually already in his second vastly different role.  The kids now learn in a totally different kind of school. And we are involved in a different church than the one that has been central to our family for more than 15 years.   

Many other adjustments happened subtly in our hearts as we were far away for births of babies we’d prayed for and deaths of friends we can’t imagine the earth without, or as we saw social media posts about favorite events we were missing.  There is quite a learning required to hold people closely who are so geographically far away. 

The miracle, through all of those lessons:  

1) We all still like each other.  We have had a TON of FUN together this year even in the middle of some really rough spots. 

 and  

2) We are still very certain of the reasons we came.  We have experienced the joy of confidence as we do the very things we were called to do.  Despite barriers, obstacles and stressors the mission is still very clear: 

We came to level the playing field for the 9 of us.  This is a time, clearly defined by the ocean we crossed, in which there was ALWAYS NINE.  Our adventures (Kenya, Zanzibar, Iringa.  Beaches, running, hiking) are not just about fun together, they are about unification for HIS GLORY. 

We also came to learn more about teenagers, especially as they work together multiculturally.  Students have SO much to contribute and from which we can learn.  We must have ears and hearts to hear them as we coach sports teams, facilitate mentor groups and lead the school.   

Finally, we came so that we might return as better supporters.  We are more convinced than ever that this role of supporter is vital to helping those who were called to be “here” (wherever “here” is) be able to stay. 

There are many things about the way we speak, the places we go, the foods we eat, the people we interact with, the tasks which fill our days which are unimaginably different than they were only ONE YEAR ago.  In the midst of change, true consistency shines all the more brightly.  Our God continues to prove Himself unimaginably consistent in His faithfulness. 

We will continue to sing His praises… 

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art 

Only now, sometimes we will sing in Swahili… 

Roho yangu na ikuimbie
Jinsi Wewe ulivyo Mkuu,
Roho yangu na ikuimbie     
Jinsi Wewe ulivyo Mkuu. 

ABL 

If you want to hear more about our journey this first year, and follow along for year 2… please sign up for our newsletter: click here to subscribe.

To whichever one of the seven of you made me doubt today (don’t worry, it was someone else’s turn yesterday)–

Mommas are superheroes. With all kinds of powers. But according to you, maybe sometimes my powers aren’t working quite right. Yesterday you told me you thought I was being “hard on you”.

Hmmm. I guess that is true. I can’t help myself. Because you see…that actually IS my superpower:

I am your mom.

And there are all kinds of weird things that happen when you are someone’s mom which you actually can control exactly none.

Like that I love when you come running for help   And I ache when you don’t.

When you try something new I’m your biggest fan- win or lose;   And when you are too scared to try, it takes everything in me not to reach out and do it for you. (Maybe sometimes just a tiny pinky push.)

When you find your strengths and are proud to use them, a surge runs through me as I see glimpses of what you’ll become.  And when your strengths are overshadowed by your self-doubts I wonder if you’ll ever know how amazing you truly are.

At moments when you trust me fully, obeying not just out of respect or fear but out of a pure unity of spirit, I think I can hand you the world.  And when you dig your heels in and struggle against me, fighting to do it your own way, I remember: someday you’ll have to choose whether you even want the world.

So if that’s being “hard on you, then: “Yep.” You are right. I am being hard on you.

But not nearly as hard as I am on myself.

Because my cape is a little ragged. And while flying was clearly the first power to go…it was shortly followed by patience. And being slow to speak. And um, well, whatever good power is the opposite of sarcasm.

I am imperfect.

I forget to ask for help.

Sometimes I don’t want to try new things.

Self-doubt threatens my God-given strengths.

And my heels get about as dug-in as any heel ever has.

That cape of mine. Well.

Some days I think I must have ordered the wrong size.

And occasionally I even question the One who thought I’d ever be able to figure out how to fasten the darned thing.

The shimmer and glitter were all lost in the first spin through the never ending laundry.

Wearing it is 0% what I always dreamed it would be.

Then there comes a day like today. As I sat in your school performance every time your eyes met mine, stage to audience, we connected. I felt the weight of it. Your smile lit up the room. You knew. I am here. I am your mom.

Same thing happens nearly every day in my super mom world. This juxtaposition of “so mean mom” being the very person you want to see most in all the world sitting and smiling up at your on stage.

Which is why…

Each evening after you are in bed, I pull what is left of my cape up off the ground (honestly, just collecting it so I don’t trip over whatever is lurking underneath). I think I should probably shake off the crumbs from dinner, iron out the creases from being sat on a hundred times that day in the most awkward positions, or shoot it with a gallon of fabreeze. I wonder if a few stitches or a trim around the edges, maybe a new patch, would help that tattered cape of mine.

Problem is: each stain, smell, tear, crease they all reminds me of you. Reminds me of us. Reminds me of home.

So each day I decide the same thing. I like it just the way it is. Partly because I need none more work. But mostly because it is mine. It fits just right. Albeit slightly cattywampus .

The tattered cape also reminds me to pray. Sometimes I’m muttering prayers acknowledging the mess I made when I locked my cape in a drawer for the afternoon. On purpose. But mostly prayers of hope. For you.

May you always know where home is. In some seasons it will be the place you securely lay your head. And in others home will be a light far in the distance.  Whichever. May you always know here, wherever I am, you are welcome. Wanted. You belong.

May you always know your smile melts me. And that I can read it in an instant, like a thousand paged novel absorbed at a glance. But sometimes I need a little help with the inferences.

May you know that my “I love you” means a million things that equal one very simple thing: I’ll never give up. I’ve promised you forever and forever I will be yours. You and me. We.

May you always know that you have a Momma and Daddy who love you. Deeply. But a Heavenly Father who is far more. Who never falters or waivers in the actions that flow from His love. You can trust Him. Implicitly.

I have prayed a million such prayers for you. To Him. I rub your head at night while silently crying out to the ONE who can count every hair- “make him yours, Lord. Give her heart clarity“

I see Him at work in you. Your growth and strength and perseverance are inexplicable. An inexplicable miracle to which I cling when I wonder if I’ll make it out of these years with more than just a tiny string of my cape left.

If that’s all there is, I hope you know that’ll be my very favorite string in all the world. Because you also are my very favorite. Even when I sometimes forget for just one tiny minute.

And that. That’s my superpower:  Being your mom.

I love you times a million.  All of you,

Momma

I wore literal holes in my shoes.  And my feet have ached deeply since about October. I actually kind of love that because it makes one thing very evident…

If it had just been up to me and my own two feet, I’d never have made it to the finish line.

What began at the stroke of midnight to kick-off 2018 wasn’t ever about my own two feet.

It was about making a memory with my biggest little love.It was about grabbing a brother in the pouring rain and saying “Let’s go”

It was about uniting with a sister who has only recently become one and pushing each other to go a little farther, be a little faster, get a little stronger.

It was about setting and celebrating stepping-stone goals, small ones that marked the way, as you kept your eyes on the ultimate one that sometimes seemed so far away.

It was about remembering that running can go anywhere.

Whether in a theme park, late at night, to get from one ride to another….

or in a national park with God’s creation reminding us of our small role in a bigger world.

And then, when life took an unexpected turn, running became a really important bridge.

From our old home

to our new one.

Completing 1009 miles on one continent.

And finishing the second 1009 on another.

Sometimes team-members ran alone

sometimes with grandparents, babysitters or friends,

Sometimes early morning sprints with the best accountability

and other times even with a hundred classmates.

One amazing weekend I ran 40 miles with a very best running buddy (and several incredible “support” runners) to celebrate our 40th birthdays.

But the best runs were when we were adventuring together…

In the rain

On the beach of Zanzibar

and in a tea farm in Nairobi.

I have tons of pictures from this year of a little line of warrior kids stretched out in front of me and/or RRL, pounding the pavement for another mile.  I can’t make the photos come alive for you, but in my mind’s eye I can hear and smell and feel so much.  I hear them shouting encouragement to each other, I can hear the whispers in the mornings going out to run before it got too hot. I can hear the voice that said, while running beside me, “I remember the first time you made me set a goal and how mad it made me.  But now I think it is one of the best things about our team.”

When I look at these pictures, I can feel the sweat pouring down, my feet throbbing and heart about to explode with pride in this little tribe’s ability to overcome.  The memories have not all been pleasant (have you ever run in the middle of a tropical summer near the equator? with a 6-year-old? or a looonng story-teller? or a hypochondriac?), but as I scroll through all of our running adventures from this year, I’m overhwhelmed with the goodness of God. That He would know what a treasure these moments would be, when reflecting on this year.

In a year during which we could have easily only focused on the upheaval and uprooting of my family, we have picture after picture of working toward something familiar and consistent and unifying.

As October began there was a faint glimer of an end in sight.  Even after running very little in May-July, as we prepared to leave the country, we still might just be able to make it.  If we worked together and ran a whole heck-of-a-lot in November and December. Which is precisely what we did.  Nearly 520 miles in those two months.  1/4 of the total in just 1/6 of the year.

Even with 9 of us running, that’s a lot- like nearly 58 miles each over 2 months including holidays, sicknesses and a dislocated toe.  A lot of math to simply emphasize what these small people did.

They put their minds on the goal.  And went for it.

And that’s why we ran this year.  Long before we knew just how much we’d need it…we ran to be reminded.  Reminded of who we are TOGETHER.

Because it isn’t true what they say about team work…we are not only as strong as our weakest member.  The sum of us is not equal to the total of 9 individuals.  Even when different team members carry different shares of weight, the sum of us is stronger, braver, more confident, more capable than any of us could be alone.

This year we set out to remember: We are a TEAM.  Running together. On a mission.

We ran a 1/2 mile each to make it to the finish line on New Year’s Eve, a short jog compared to some of the month’s 2-3 mile endeavors.  As we huddled up to pray at the finish line, our babiest boy, a 6 year-old who logged a lot of running this year, said “Dear God, THANK YOU for the energy and effort you gave us to complete this goal.”

Thank you, indeed.

And thanks to all of you, too, for following along on our 2018 journey.  What a crazy distance run it has been!

ABL

For anyone interested in the specifics: 

Our family of 9 ran 2018 collective miles this year, beginning just after midnight (central time) on January 1, 2018 and ending around 3pm (East Africa Time) December 31, 2018. Each person on the team ran miles which counted individually toward the goal. So each tally on the chart represented one person’s one mile.  (When we all ran one mile together = 9 team miles).  We kept the chart in our kitchen, both in the US and in TZ.  Each box on the chart was 10 miles, each row 100.  We each marked in a different color, but not to keep track of who ran what, just to have a visual of the sum of the parts.  Each time we finished a box of 10 we highlighted it in a single color to represent the team accomplishment.  We set small goals through the year to celebrate (monthly goals and a goal before we left the States). and we changed the highlighter color everytime we passed a small marker goal.  We had many supporters who ran some miles with us through the year, but we only counted the ground the 9 of us covered.  We “counted” a few miles that were not technically running- usually difficult hikes- but almost all were running.  We all agreed to the goal, but some people definitely were more committed to it than others through the year.  It was a good parenting exercise to learn a little bit about what motivates each of my children- shockingly, they are each different.  We ran with kids so I cannot emphasize enough that this was not all rosey and delightful, but I can also honestly say it was worth it and I’ve been very sad that it is over.  We’ve decided not to do 2019 miles and each of us have run precisely zero steps in the 6 days following the 2018 finish line. Maybe we will do it again another year, but for lots of reasons need a rest for now.  We’ve decided instead to do smaller goals we set each month. I’d love to share more if you are interested in doing something similar with your family and we’d love to hear about your team goals, too!

When you cross a bridge, especially one that is a bit wobbly, I find it best to not cross alone.  As we’ve begun our new TZ life, we have been keenly aware of our increased ability to transition because of our support.  At times we’ve even said it felt like we were cheating because we’ve had such an amazing catapult into bravery.

The Senders

God worked mightily to prepare us to set foot on this bridge.  He surrounded us with people who loved us well, provided for so many of our needs, and then (most importantly) people who would bravely, confidently and lovingly let go of our hands when we were ready to start walking across.

We had amazing times of prayer and encouragement with our small group, our travel/dinner/friend group who are like family, and our Church community in congregations across the country.

In what felt like a wall of protection being built all around us, we were prayed for by individuals and we were prayed for in church services of many gathered together.           

Neighbor buddies celebrated with us and supported us as we moved out of our house, even as our hearts were all breaking to part.

Friends brought us treats and travel needs, gave money and notes of encouragement.  Friends who knew us well brought our favorites for one last savor.  We were hugged, loved, allowed to cry, celebrated with, and encouraged.

My only regret is that I didn’t take more pictures, as these are just a few of the faces that loved us well as we went.

One amazing family even let us stay with them for our last few weeks in the States.  In case this seems like a small hospitality…may I remind you that during this time we were a collective emotional, physical, spiritual whirl-wind AND THERE ARE NINE OF US! 

We closed on our house, said goodbye to friends, packed, argued, cried, disciplined, ate (ALL of their food), made travel arrangements, celebrated victories, swam and played, did about a bazillion loads of laundry…all smack in the middle of their space.  They not only allowed us to be our not-very-best selves with emotions hanging out like toilet paper stuck to your shoes, they loved us sincerely and patiently through it.  Man, what an invaluable gift! 

And our parents.  What would we have done without our parents?  I could write a novel about how they encouraged and supported us from the very moment we said “Africa” but the morning we left sums up all of their love quite well.  All three of them showed up early that morning, after hours (and I MEAN HOURS) of RRL and I being awake, fighting a very real and intense and horrifying spiritual battle to actually get on the freakin’ plane.  They loved us, cried with us, and passionately prayed over us, took care of our kids while we finished packing.  And then LET US GO.  The three of them helped load our belongings, hugged us and their grandbabies and then turned us, pointed us to a very rickety looking bridge with no railing and said “Go.  We love you.  We will see you soon.” I’m only a parent of small people, so I am not certain I can fully grasp the real effort that took, to send pieces of their heart that way.  But I can tell you that it was a gift, one that meant we went when we might not have. (and one that has me currently sobbing like a baby just writing about it these nearly 6 weeks later) 

The Receivers

If we had a catapult across the bridge, we had a safety net for landing on the other side.  Just as valuable as those who sent us well were those who received, and continue to welcome us, so very well.  We had outstretched arms even before we could clearly see a vision of our new home, beckoning us across.  We arrived to furniture already set up in our house, an amazing meal, big hugs from people we love and even a welcome banner.  What a gift to walk into our new home and have it already feel like a home.  These families, supported by the same sending Church as we are, have patiently encouraged us, answered questions, given us freedom for it to be “hard” while reminding us that we are not alone.  They’ve celebrated small victories with us and hugged us in the frustrations.  There have been cookies and treats and home-cooked meals.  Recipes and cleaning help and errand running.  Adventures and lunch dates.

And the community at school has also been amazing.  They had our house cleaned before we arrived, helped us navigate difficult paper-work and life-start-up necessities, helped connect us to resources and loaned us a car.  They’ve also been so good to reach out, invite us for meals, share things they’ve learned, ask how we are doing and pray for us.

Finally, I want to introduce you to some new friends who have been unique in their ability to help us settle into life, here because they are also new.  They get it.  Two families who arrived within days/weeks of us to work at the same school have been such a gift because of their willingness to do life (and figure out life) along-side of us.  We’ve conquered the grocery store and errand running.  Bemoaned difficulties and celebrated triumphs while helping each other set reasonable expectations.  We’ve traded information we discover and new Swahili words we’ve learned.  And our children already know that when in doubt they can rely on these new friends at school.  I am eternally grateful that the Lord designed this intersection of my path with these amazing women (and their families).  He has created a rhythm for our life together in miraculous ways, long before it should have been possible for us to get to know each other.

Our Constant Travel Guide

There is only ONE who both sent and received. Who walks every step of the way with us.  Who has not left us for a moment.  Our God has been so faithful.  He has reminded us of His Mercies so often- through the sun coming in our window, through the ocean just beyond, through the ways He’s nudged hearts of both our senders and receivers to reach out to us at just the right moments.  And through the overwhelming power of His presence even as we first set foot in our new home. 

He has given us to reminders of our passion and purpose, glimpses of how we will be able to serve and love and grow here, even while we are settling.  Even before we are quite ready to embrace it.

He has been so good to say in a million ways-

“This bridge is not the hardest one you’ve ever crossed.  This bridge was built just for you and will lead you straight to where you want to be.  I know, because I put that desire inside of you.  And when you go, there you will experience my pleasure.”

Indeed.  And amen.

Thank you for the ways you’ve sent, received, encouraged and journeyed with us!

We are traveling well, even on this rickety bridge, because of you!

ABL

BRIDGE

noun   a structure carrying a road, path, railway, etc. across a river, road, or other obstacle.

Though our bodies have physically traversed a great distance, our hearts still have a bit of a chasm to cross.  I find myself praying and looking for bridges.   Bridges for communication with all of you, bridges for the hearts of our children, bridges for life together in a new place.  Because at some point a bridge touches both sides, it crosses the divide.  While you cannot see the precise line where you cross from one side to the other, you know you are connected from land to land.  The bridge is the guide.  The bridge is the link.  The bridge is not just a source of passage, but a source of security.

Sometimes you must find the familiar things that can be laid, like planks, in a manner which can be used to walk across the gap.  Familiar things, even in a brand new context, can provide a bit of sure-footedness.

Running

Before we left the States, we completed 1009 of our 2018 mile Team challenge.  Being able to reach the ½ way point on US soil was a significant milestone, albeit well after our goal date.  We rolled up our little poster and tucked it safely in our luggage and carried it with us to our new home.  Literally the ONLY thing I’ve hung on a wall in our new home is this marker of our team’s journey together.  And fairly soon after arriving we began to run again.  We’ve marked a little route inside our compound so we can run together.  The view is SIGNIFICANTLY different, the elements drastically different, the mindfulness of where we run and even what we wear to run is brand new.  But running, together, we know.  Our bodies, while adjusting to new foods, new humidity, new blaring sun, KNOW the rhythm of running.  Our team knows the same spirit of encouragement and doing hard things.  Our first few miles on this soil have helped us cross.  Running is a bridge.  And I hope that in our running we can continue sharing about our milestones will all of you.

Tradition

We build bridges as we find significant moments that we can still celebrate.  On the night before school started we kept true to our back-to-school tradition of eating a meal and praying at school.  The context was a bit different (we’ve never had beans and rice as our FDOS-eve meal), the company was brand new (so thankful for the friendship of other new families on staff with RRL), and the scenery from the school-yard quite different to us (not complaining one bit about the serenity of the view).  But praying for our year together was the same.  The SAME GOD will walk with us as we learn, grow, encourage and work together this year.  THE SAME GOD will unite us, guide us, go with us, and use us in this new place.  THE SAME GOD will provide.  The same opportunity to remind our children of what we believe- we believe in THEM, we believe in what they were CREATED to do, we believe they are stronger when they stick together, we believe in the GOD who goes with them, even into the unknown.  This tradition was a significant bridge for us. As others will be, and we will continue to share.

But there is yet another bridge that I hope continues to unite us as friends in DRRF, connecting the pieces of our story and connecting us to you:

Bridge

noun the elevated, enclosed platform on a ship from which the captain and officers direct operations.

As a family of 9 we make slow turns.  “WIDE rights,” I like to say.  Even in conditions of low visibility, we must be looking forward a bit to navigate a path full of obstacles.  Which is why we need a bridge- a place RRL and I stand together to steer this ship.  As officers, this is the small space where only we can enter to seek direction with our Captain.  A place free from input from the outside world.  A space where we must take what we’ve learned, grab hold of the helm, and seek direction for the next moments of the course.

Vulnerably I’ll tell you…the two of us have been a team for a long time.  But we are still learning.  While the ship and its components are the same, navigating and working together is quite complicated when the surroundings are so foreign, the obstacles so unexpected.  Never have I been more thankful for a steady source of direction.  A rock on which to stand.  A high place available for perspective.   An unchanging guide of promises from our Lord.

Standing on the promises, I cannot fall
Listening every moment to the Spirit’s call
Resting in my Savior as my all in all
Standing on the promises of God

Standing, standing
Standing on the promises of Christ my Savior
Standing, standing
I’m standing on the promises of God

RRL and I are committed to persistence in this and I could not imagine a better partner to navigate with.  But sometimes life is just H-A-R-D and its tough to see where to go next.  CAN I GET AN AMEN?!

Join us in committing to go OFTEN to the Bridge.  Close the door to the noise of the outside world.  Seek direction from the Captain, His promises.  Get back on course.  None of us can navigate across the chasm from the belly of our boats.  We cannot see where we are going if we choose to remain in the dark.  Let’s come up for air and light.

Its good to be back here with you.  Thank you for the ways you’ve encouraged us, supported us, sent messages and waited for me to be ready to share.  I’m coming back and slowly finding bridges!

ABL

The single question we get asked most frequently: “WHEN are you leaving?”

This, my friends, is a tricky question to answer.  Because it is directly tied to money.  And money is a finicky topic for a blog.  But the more I’ve reflected on this topic, financial stewardship and the Lord’s provision shouldn’t be tricky to declare at all.  The lessons we’ve learned about money need to be shared.

Eight years ago, there were precisely zero formulas in my excel spreadsheet to predict provision for 3 small children suddenly landing in our lives, home, hearts.  That was NOT in the life “budget”. And thus, the Lord began a work on this accountant/planning/type-A pro.  A new balance.  My talents, while still important to our stewardship, needed to be returned open handed to the true creator.  My life submitted to His authority.  Even my budget available for His determination.  And I think, over time, I’ve released.

A bit.

At least until the next curveball.

RRL’s position in Dar es Salaam is a “vocational missionary” position.  Which means, financially, we will receive a stipend from the school and the rest of our living expenses must be covered through fundraising in the States.  It is not a cheap city in which to live, so this is a pretty big curveball in our life budget.

Never you fear.  Fairly quickly we had an AMAZING plan for how we would provide for that need.  You know, using God’s provision. (insert eye roll).  It wasn’t a very profound plan:  We would sell our home in May so that we could eliminate significant monthly expenses while simultaneously freeing up our home equity to support us while we fundraised and also be a portion of our necessary commitment for monthly expenses when we arrived in Dar es Salaam.  WONDERFUL.  EASY. PERFECT.

As we worked quickly to get the house ready to sell, I wrote a post sentimentalizing our home’s “for sale” status.  We just KNEW it wouldn’t be ours for much longer.  Funny thing.  It was ours.  For what felt like FOREVER LONGER.  Nearly 12 weeks and 41 showings longer.

Our house did eventually get one offer. ONE.  And the buyer came to look at our house on a day when we had decided that we were just going to start packing and moving out, by faith it would sell.  By “decided” I mean like mattresses leaning against the wall, half packed boxes scattered throughout, kitchen completely undone.  After months of impeccable house keeping involving a detailed systematic plan by which assigned zones of the house could be attacked and cleaned at a moment’s notice, the future owners of my home saw it in a war-zone-moving-effort-state.  Of course they did.  And we will “close” this sale at the end of the month, just days before we hope to leave for TZ and precisely at a point when when it is too late for an ounce of the equity to provide for our summer needs.

All my plans. Such great plans. Worthless. Will I never learn?

A couple of things happened as a result of this particular plan being foiled:

• An opportunity to pray. I don’t know if the future owners of our home will ever know, but they may be the most prayed for strangers in the history of strangers.  My children have frequently talked and prayed about who they might be.  My neighbors have prayed with us for the next occupants. And each time I was the last one out the door for a showing I prayed for them and their future memories here.  I don’t know who needed nearly 12 weeks of prayers to pave the path into this home, but God did.  He is in pursuit of them.
• And He might just be in pursuit of us, too. Because “our plans” didn’t work out for our provision this summer, we were gifted [another] opportunity to watch God powerfully at work.  RRL has been incredibly persistent in using his talents to ask, share our story, and fundraise.  And God has honored that work.    In just a few short months, we’ve experienced what “experts” said to be impossible.  We have raised 100% of the money need to transition to Dar (settlement costs and travel) AND nearly 70% of the amount needed for our monthly costs over the 3 years we expect to live in Tanzania.  We marvel at this provision.  It is no small thing.

This remaining 30% is one of the key pieces for our family to be able to embark on our Tanzanian ministry. We are prayerfully looking for donors and partners to help us get to at least 90% of the monthly support for our 3 years in Tanzania to be committed before we will even leave the U.S. We wait because we believe:

This tangible and measurable gauge of preparedness is helping us pace ourselves for spiritual and emotional readiness to travel. 

We cannot control even when we will take the next step.  Like whether we will be able to travel during “convenient times”.  Or whether we will be able to settle into our new home before school starts.  So much about the future, about even tomorrow, that we simply do not know.

And for one of the first times in my life, that phrase is beginning to roll off my tongue:

”I.Do.Not.Know”

Slowly, there is freedom in not knowing.  Slowly, my waiting posture is (re)reformed.  As I sit, again, in a space of waiting, I find myself remembering to release.

Instead of planning: Wondering. Marveling.  Expecting.

Just how is the Lord going to provide?

Instead of praying for OUR plans to succeed:

Lord, may our eyes be open to see YOU at work.

Instead of jumping at the opportunities to “make it work:”

Lord, make us simply available.  Ready.  Each day.  To take a step.  Make a call.  Write a blog.  Ask.  And expect.

Because we KNOW we have been prepared for this journey.  We believe in the mission set before us, even though we do not yet know the full extent of it.  We feel about as confident as I have about anything in my entire life: We are supposed to GO.

It is our sincere prayer that as you read along on our journey, you too find confidence to DREAM the impossible.  To HUNT for His daily provision.  To WAIT expectantly.  His powerful provision will never look exactly as you plan.  And that is the very thing that makes it miraculous.

It is not too late to join us, financially, on our journey to Tanzania.  And no amount is too small to be helpful.  We are continuing to seek both individual contributors and churches which would be interested in partnering with us.  You can find out more information about the three key points of our Tanzania work at this link to our blog announcement about the move.  Additionally, there is a page on the blog directly related to how to support our Team.  Thank you for being part of this journey and for sharing it with your friends and churches!