What I long for

This one from Bill:

People often ask us, “What do you miss when you're in Peru?” The answer: Cheddar cheese. It is unforgiveable to serve Cincinnati Chili without it. People think we miss Cincinnati Chili, but we don’t. We take it with us. But, we can’t take 4 years of cheese with us. Peru has all the great cheeses from Europe, but muenster or gouda doesn’t cut it on a Coney! So, anyone coming down to visit, must pack their luggage full of cheddar bricks. The same goes for peanut butter. Thankfully, peanut butter lasts a long time. So, we usually had a well stocked American peanut butter library. When we left, I gave a big jar of Crunchy Jiff to a missionary friend. He immediately recognized its value and the strong statement of friendship such a costly gift entailed. There are a million other things that we used to miss, but we’ve learned to live without them; e.g., Snyder’s Pretzels or American Ice Cream. You can buy them in Lima (which is really amazing), but they’re too expensive for daily consumption. So, one learns to live without. Eventually, one’s love for American food is supplanted by a love for Peruvian.

The question of what one misses is very telling. It reveals, in part, the condition of one’s heart—perhaps, even one’s identity. Are you happy on the mission field or are you longing for home and defining “all that is good” as that which is from the U.S.? If the latter question is true, you’re going to suffer as a missionary. It’s like the stages of grief. To be healthy, you’ve got to reach the stage of acceptance. After our first six months, we began to accept our lives in Latin America and adapted our desires, so as to be happy in our calling. But, six months before returning to the U.S. for support raising, our hearts began to stir with a hankering for things American.

I was looking forward to shopping at my favorite grocery store and eating one of my favorite flavors of ice cream. I dreamt of shopping at BIGGS (Home of True Minimum Pricing) and eating Trauth’s Denali Moose Tracks ice cream. I told Colton, “As soon as we hit the ground, I’m off to Biggs for Moose Tracks!”

Then my mom delivered the news—Biggs was bought out. When we arrived at our home, it was late. About 11:00 PM, Colton and I headed off to Biggs. They were always opened. Now, they close at 10:00 PM. If my longings from Peru were a collection of balloons, you could have heard the first one popping. We had to go to Super Wal-Mart. The Super Wal-Mart was built a couple of months before we left for Peru. Knowing we wouldn’t be around long, I never flirted with it. I stayed true to Biggs and hardly gave Super Wal-Mart a glance. But, at 11:00 PM and in need of breakfast cereal and toilet paper, the lights of Super Wal-Mart beckoned me.

A couple days later I went back to Biggs to look for Moose Tracks. Everything was different. They had changed the layout of the store. Pop! There went another balloon. I found the ice cream isle and began to look. They had a huge selection of ice cream brands: Bryers, Edy’s, and Homemade Brand. They even had Greaters, which is the best ice cream on the planet--costing slightly more than imported caviar. They had lots of good brands, but no Trauth. One large section of the freezer case was taken up by Mayfield Ice Cream. Who ever heard of Mayfield before? Pop! All that I had been longing for—a specific experience and a specific flavor—was gone. It reminded me of the time I took Lena to see my childhood home, only to find that a local hospital had bulldozed it for their parking lot. I couldn’t even tell where the house was. No house. No trees. No swing in the back yard. Nothing but a fading memory. I was a man without at home.

A few weeks later, I spoke to the manager of Biggs. Emotionally, I blamed them for bulldozing my dreams and my sense of home. I told him that I missed Trauth’s Moose Tracks. He told me that Trauth quit making ice cream a few years ago. In the last year, Trauth’s Moose Tracks was made by Mayfield and sold under the Trauth brand. Then he showed me the Mayfield Moose Tracks. I put it in my cart, making sure that no one saw me. It was Super Wal-Mart all over again. I was an unfaithful customer.

Beware of what you long for, because it likely isn’t there anymore. Kids grow up. New highways are built. The local barber shop is bulldozed to make room for Starbuck’s drive-through. The world changes and we do too. One can be careful about what we long for, but not about the act of longing. Our hearts have to long for something. It’s encoded in our genes—a longing for home, a desire for the perfect Christmas or a hankering for your grandmother’s soup. Paul, a missionary who was always away from home, felt it in his friendship with Timothy. In 2 Timothy 1:4, he writes, “Recalling your tears, I long to see you, so that I may be filled with joy.” He also experienced it in his longing for heaven. He was torn between the longing to go to his new country (heaven) and the desire to keep working his mission field (earth). In Philippians 1:21-24 he writes, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know!  I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.”

When we’re in Lima and I miss something from Ohio, I remind myself that these are small sacrifices to make, in order to bring heaven to Peru. And when I’m home in Ohio and I feel like my old identity was bulldozed under by progress, I remind myself that I have a new identity in Christ—it’s just another sign that I wasn’t made for this place. I have a real home in heaven and Jesus is getting it ready for me.

So, what do you long for?

Wounds that Fester and Giving up the Right to Remember

This from Lena:


A few years back, I had developed some emotional wounds from the bumps and bruises that happen in church life (if you don't have any, you haven't delved very far into community!). In fact, I had a list of them. I was able to recite them. And as a fairly dramatic Italian, I could even get you to cry along with me.




It isn't that those injuries were not real. But there comes a time when the wounds begin to emit a certain smell. They get beyond their expiration date, and the telling doesn't bring the same catharsis. In the place of the sense that you have lightened your load a bit, you begin to sense that some unpleasant things are happening in your spirit. The end of your emotionally-spoken sentence finishes with a bitter note, and in your spirit you can sense that your time at the sidelines is over, and that you need to suit up and get back into the game.




Back then, I developed a sort of test to determine how "loosed" my past actually was. I had to give up the right to tell the story. I had to let myself even forget the details that I had rehearsed so many times in my head. I had to cut off the influence of those painful events on my now, and in their place, I had to create--with my hand in the hand of the Lord's--a new interpretation of my past.




Looking back now, I can see how those old wounds led me to a place where I could let go of old roles that the Lord had given me, but was now exchanging for other tasks. I couldn't have released them, and I had no idea how important for my future it was that I was able to love the Master more than the Post. In my mind, they were almost one in the same, but as any mature believer learns, they are NOT. The Lord gives, and He takes away; BLESSED BE THE NAME OF THE LORD!




Honestly, I find myself in that place again. Once again, I am challenging myself to let go of the difficulties we faced in our first term in Latin America. The wounds were even scarier than the last time, but the Lord has spoken. Time to lighten the load. This past Sunday during a marvelous worship service (how I thank God for times like these--I pray you attend a church where those happen!!), the Lord showed me a picture of myself at the edge of a high cliff, where these burdens were tied to me. I took a sharp knife and cut them off, watching them careen crazily into a canyon below, then crash to a million pieces, never to be recovered. I even pictured myself returning to the bottom, starting to try to gather them together again (old habits are hard to break), but finding it impossible, and being relieved. Never again was I going to carry that load. It won't be the last time that I am tempted to meditate on these things; but I will remind myself that they are smashed into a million pieces, and there is no sense gathering them up again. As far as I am concerned, they can join all my sins in the bottom of the sea of forgetfulness!




My prayer is that today, if you find yourself in the same place; if your wounds have begun to have a certain sour note to them; that you would cut them off and let them smash into a million pieces. God has wonderful tasks for you to do that you cannot manage while your hands and your mind are full of what was done to you. Let them smash on the floor of the canyon into a million pieces, let the Lord reinterpret for you the events that caused you so much suffering, and then let Him give you new songs and dreams that are so much easier and pleasant to carry than putrified pain.

Groundhog Bill peeks out of his cave

This from Bill:

I’ve been gone from the blog-sphere for a long time. Apart from our Christmas greetings, I haven’t blogged since August. For those who check here to see how we’re doing--sorry for making you wait and we are doing well, thank you.

The reason I’ve been away is the doctor of ministry degree. I started it 7 years ago and made great progress the first three years. I even completed work during our last itineration. Then we left for language school. My experience is language school was truly formative. The language school’s name is Cincel, which roughly translates to “chisel.” And that is exactly what it felt like. I learned to speak Spanish the way one learns to be an Olympic runner—by being dragged behind a horse. When we got to Peru there was a lot of work to do. I found that being a missionary was a full time job.

After being in Peru for one year, I finally completed a class that had been on hold since I left the states. Then I finished chapter one of the doctoral project (the doctor of ministry version of a dissertation). A few months passed by and I turned in chapter two. I still had one class left to take and, by grace, I finished that in May. (It was on Biblical Theology and I loved it!) Then, we moved back to the states. Our first term in Peru was excellent, but not without significant challenges. Both Lena and I needed to thaw-out from the stress of it all. Our house in Cincinnati needed work, which is a great way to thaw out. It was also time to start re-raising our budget. So, the doctoral progress slowed down—but it didn’t stop. We rearranged the bedrooms in the house, which gave me an office upstairs. It became my sanctuary—otherwise known as “the cave.” One evening, last summer, I took a couple hours off and went to the pool with the kids. Willy asked me, “Are you done writing your book, Dad? … Cuz you don’t go to the pool with us.” Ouch! I told him I wasn’t done yet, but the end was in sight.

Time went by and chapter three was finished. I believe that chapter three is the nail that sealed the door of blogging creativity. I was not able to think about the doctoral work and also write something creative here. My devotional journal also took a vacation during those months. I was still doing my devotions, but there wasn’t a lot of creative reflection going on. It was a worthy trade off. Getting a degree is not easy, but it is worth it. Real learning challenges one to go way outside of one’s comfort zone in the uncomfortable growth zone. That’s where I’ve been.

Over the Christmas holidays, I was able to turn in Chapters four and five—the final chapters. I’ve also compiled most of the appendices. I’m not completely done, yet. There are more edits to do, to get it right. I also have to present the project in Springfield, Missouri, at the end of April. Then I walk the line and officially become Doctor Bill. Working on this degree has been an incredible journey. The classes have transformed my thinking and the friendships I’ve made have been wonderful.

Now, I’m like a groundhog, peeking out of my cave. I’m writing today to say to my family and all my friends, “Thanks for your support.” Thanks for not feeling dissed when I didn’t call or come to some gathering. Thanks for understanding. Thanks for letting me press through and grow.

Ya mean they ain't got no bed?!

This from Lena:

There are moments for me when the day to day realities of the children we work to help become much more real. I will never forget the time I was distributing Christmas presents at a school, and none of the children would open their gifts. I couldn't make it out until I asked a teacher who gently explained to me that this was probably all many of them would receive, and that they didn't want to ruin the paper or open it yet. The girls all watched as the teacher carefully opened one, and slid it out to show the rest, then put it back together again.

Recently, I spoke to a class of four year olds at our church, and I very much wanted to communicate to them how different these children lived from even the humblest who attend our church. I was telling them that in Iquitos, the houses are up on stilts, and many times, if you look into the house as you walk by, you see that there is nothing at all in them--maybe a hammock or something like that. I explained that the children don't sleep on mattresses like we do (most sleep on a pallet of some sort, with a sheet). The children sombered up considerably, and one sweet little one, eyes wide opened, said, "Ya mean they ain't got no BED?!!!"

It was amazing how they suddenly understood how poor these children must be. They got it.

I must admit that I tend to bristle when well-meaning folks say something like, "We got poor people here, you know! You don't need to go so far away to find poverty!" Of course, that is true. But there is the kind of poverty that makes you be careful at the checkout, put back things you are going to need later, and worry about making your mortgage payment. Even then, many of us still have our education, our way of seeing ourselves, which elevates us and makes us eligible for moving on and achieving a brighter future. We usually have some resource, even if that is moving in with our parents until we find our footing again.

There is a kind of poverty that crushes. It keeps kids from getting a decent education because their lives are chaotic. It keeps their brains and bodies from developing as they should because they are malnourished. It isn't fair. Sometimes I just can't get my mind around how many of our students are forced to live. I see something that sets off that "Ya mean they ain't got no bed?!!" sort of reaction. I don't have anywhere in my mind to put a child who doesn't have a bed, or who doesn't have any love or affection in their lives, or gets nothing for Christmas. I hope that I never get used to it!

Merry Christmas!

Dear Friends,

Four years ago, we celebrated Christmas in our home in Cincinnati. We had a little tree because we had packed our belongings for the mission to Peru. Now, four years later, we’re happy to have the chance to celebrate Christmas with our families and friends, again. We’re back in the states, hugging loved ones and raising our budget for another tour of duty in Peru. It’s been an incredible journey. I’ve attached a Christmas photo from four years ago and one from today. As you can see, the kids have grown—especially Colton! I believe that Lena and I have grown just as much on the inside. I can say with certainty that we’re grateful for what the Lord has done in us and through us in Peru. We feel honored to have the chance to serve Jesus on the mission field.

We have two important prayer requests:

1.     Healing for Lena’s father. He’s recovering from lung cancer and recently had surgery to remove a brain tumor. So far, he’s doing very well.

2.    God’s blessing in raising our budget to return to Peru. We hope to return this summer. Please pray for a full schedule of church services and for new financial partners.

We’re blessed by the many friends who’ve made it possible for us to go on the mission field and for those who’ve welcomed us now that we’re back in the states. May the Lord bless all of you richly this Christmas.

¡Feliz Navidad!

Bill, Lena, Hannah, Colton, Will and Abigail

Keeping My Cloak Tucked

I keep running up against a wall of reality here in Ohio during our year of itineration. It goes something like this: "Oh, what a nice something-or-other! I like that something-or-other! I would like to have it!--Oh, wait. No something-or-other for me. It won't fit in the 12 boxes going back to Peru, so there is no use having that." Hmmm.

Now, I want you all to know that I do NOT feel bad for myself for not amassing something-or-others. And I have already taken on so many somethings that there is no room for others. As a matter of fact, I view the need to live simply as a great blessing, because this is the way us believers need to live. We must hold loosely to the things of this earth, and I have great reminder that I am on a journey that will end with me leaving this earth the way I came into it--without something-or-others. Twelve boxes for six people is a good little preliminary preparation.

I have been reading in Exodus, where the Israelites were told, in anticipation of their flight from Egypt, to eat the sacrificial lamb or goat and the unleavened bread "with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand." (Exodus 12:11). In other words, they were to have their jogging suits on, their tennies tied, and be poised to leave at a moment's notice.

The problem is, my cloak keeps untucking. It is so easy to sit back and lose my awareness that the days are short here, that I am to be about getting back to Peru, and not focused on settling in here. But I am not the only one who needs to tuck their cloak. There is a growing awareness in the Body of Christ that these are serious days, when the fates of men are being sealed, and that our windows of opportunity to reach people for Christ are closing. The earth itself seems to be stirring in anticipation of the return of Christ.

Keeping my cloak tucked means that my greatest investment is in knowing Christ and doing the work of the Gospel. It means that I act like someone sending their treasures on ahead, not storing them all here. That my heart is to progress in the journey, not to settle into a lifestyle of comfort.

My prayer for all of us this holiday season is that our hearts be set on pilgrimage. When we do, we will look different from the rest. Hebrews 11 lists heroes of faith who "admitted they were strangers and aliens on this earth" (Hebrews 11:13). "They were longing for a better country-a heavenly one"(Hebrews 11:16). Lord help us to eat our Thanksgiving turkeys and Christmas ham with our cloaks tucked. Fill our hearts with longing for the heavenly country that you have waiting for us. The best is yet to come!