gratitude: america

America is a wonderful place to live.  Life here runs so smoothly.  There was a time in my life when I couldn't wait to get OUT of America and tried to at every opportunity.  I managed to use my passport annually for like 10 years in a row.  But after all of that, it is so nice to settle down and live here and enjoy the freedoms of the home of the brave.  Seriously.  We are so fortunate to have so much at our fingertips.  Our roads our paved, our cars are safe, our judicial system is just, our hospitals are trusted, our water runs hot and cold, our mail arrives unmarred on a daily basis, and our trash gets picked up twice a week.  The land of infrastructure and opportunity!

During my stints in the third world I would promise myself that, upon arriving back in the U.S., I would never take certain things for granted again.  At the top of the list: reliable internet.  FAST internet.  Unfortunately, I am so often on the computer that I don't pause to thank God every time I use it.  I've fallen back to my old ways of fussing over a few seconds to load.  Another of my promises was that I'd never take a washing machine or dryer for granted again.  That stemmed out of my semester in Tanzania where my clothes were beat on rocks and rinsed in river water.  In Kenya, I had a washing machine but no dryer, and yes, the sun dries your clothes, but it also turns them a different color.  Not to mention, there it all is, for the world to see.  But while laundry takes less time and manpower here than there, it is still just laundry and I don't remember to thank God every time the hamper fills up.

But I promise you, I DO thank God every day during one morning ritual.

Coffee time.

And not because of the coffee, which is tasty, or the mug, which is actually Kenyan . . .

But because of the creamer.

I love coffee creamer and I always will, for all if it's high-fructose corn syrup.  Creamers never made it to Kenya, and while I did pretty well with some flavored syrups and skim milk, it never quite tasted like I wished it did.  I even started taking it black after a while.  But here, in the land of plenty, there is always coffee creamer in the fridge.  I went a little wild this week since we had visitors and life is richer than usual.

Not to throw this in the face of any African-dwelling friends (or Asian or South American, for that matter).  Because with each morning cup comes a fleeting thought of thankfulness, a moment of realization that these gifts are good and deserve to be recognized, and a little prayer for those far away from the luxuries of flavored creamer.

. . . they know!

Today I was dropping off the littlest at his nursery school and his teacher opened the door, as always, with a smile on her face.  But instead of greeting the small child I was leading up the steps, she said, "Erica! Do you have a . . ." and then jabbed her finger towards her belly.  

I've been found out.

I sheepishly told them, YES, I did have a *jab finger at the belly* bun in the oven.  The teacher and her assistant were sweet and thrilled and we had a moment of joy in the midst of a room of two-year-olds, but I left laughing, because yeah, all the sudden I look pregnant.  The neighbor at the bus stop was pointing that out today, that although she knew I was pregnant, she was really noticing it recently.  Yep, I think I'd agree.

So, while it wasn't some stranger in the grocery store pointing out my belly, this is kind of a momentous occasion.

the culprit.

I'm sorry, those are terrible pictures, we were walking out the door to small group last night and Matthew/the lighting were not cooperating.  

And I'm sorry, that's a terrible one, with the shadow bouncing off the wall, but there it is in all its glory.  

opinion?

We find out in a WEEK whether our little baby is a boy or a girl!  It's hard to believe that we can find out already.  We are really pumped and of course we'll be excited either way, it will just be good to know!  Hello, I've got to plan the nursery . . .

I made a little poll so you can give us your opinion.  You can find it to the right in the sidebar, or feel free to leave a comment below.

gratitude: lives of service

Today, I'm thankful for missionaries.

No, not the jumper-wearing, sneaker-sporting, hymn-singing crowd, although some missionaries enjoy those pastimes, but so do the nice ladies at your grandma's church.  That's not a bad thing.  No, I'm thankful for the men, women, and children who leave their homes and families behind to trot off to tra-la-la-land because they really think that's what God wants them to do.

They come in all shape and sizes.  I'd only have to show you a picture of our fridge, which mostly sports young people in their 20's, with a couple families sprinkled in.  But a couple of those prayer cards are for friends in sensitive areas that don't necessarily want missionaries in their midsts, so I can't go plastering their faces on the interweb.  They are normal looking.  People with families and careers and lives and they left all that security behind for a life overseas.

Being a missionary is scary and thrilling.  It sometimes means prolonged time away from loved ones with limited communication.  It always means sacrifice.  Even with today's technologies, internet can't always be available in their neck of the woods.  And even if it is, it's a sorry replacement for family traditions and celebrations.  Then there's the financial aspect of it all.  Many missionaries rely on the gifts of others to see them through each month rather than the salary of a steady job.  Asking others to give in order that you might work is humbling and frightening.  However, many see it as the greatest gift - to watch God provide for their needs through others, a reminder that every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father who does not change.  He is faithful.  I knew this best in the days when I prepared to go to Kenya as a career missionary.  Something about having the rug of structure and salary ripped out from under you turns those Sunday school lessons into a daily reality.

They go not because it's a rite of passage or a requirement of the church, but because they see their place in the bigger picture as ones to facilitate the spread of the gospel in the remotest parts of the earth.  They go because they can't ignore the quiet words in their ear.  They might go reluctantly or willingly, but they go.  And they trust.  And they serve in so many ways.  When I was considering whether to move to Africa with a mission or as a salaried teacher at an international school, I was privileged to spend a few weeks with some new missionaries.  I was struck by both their normalcy (no jean jumpers here!) and their varied professions.  Teachers, engineers, construction workers, therapists, counselors, biologists, veterinarians, artists, cooks, moms, dads, pastors, business men, doctors, dentists, WHATEVER . . . they were all there and they were all useful.

I am so thankful for these many who serve both far and near, because we can't do that right now.  Matt and I met when we were both using our skills on the mission field, but now we're back in the States.  It might be a short while, it might be forever, but while we're here we lift up our friends overseas in prayer and remember them often, because they're working where we can't.  We walk with you in your daily struggles and joys and we thank God for your lives of service.

relaxing

Last weekend we had a special treat of heading out to the Dome, a beach house in Southold that looks like . . . a dome.  

Our party consisted of Matt's brother Adam, their friend Kyle, our friend Ashley, and one Moosey, who traveled to us from DC, KY, NYC, and the couch, respectively.  

Somebody must've felt a little carsick because once we got there, he threw up a human-sized amount of kibble.  Fortunately he missed the carpet.  

the culprit. 

The house is in Southold, an hour away from our house.  I love driving out east through the two-lane road that winds through sod fields, farm stands, and windy stretches of forest.  It's a picturesque drive, dotted with white churches and the occasional view of the sea.

I expected this to be a cold trip and layered appropriately, but the sun was shining and the breeze was light, making for a perfect afternoon outside.  The boys threw baseballs and horseshoes and canoed like three little indians, whilst Ashley and I read and napped on the porch.  In the sun.  In short sleeves.

We went for lunch in Greenport, which is almost at the end of the island, and then came home in time to catch the sunset.  Because the house is round, there were great views from the wraparound porch.  

We then launched a competitive game of Trivial Pursuit that ended a mere three hours later, with Adam and Kyle reluctantly agreed to make breakfast for the winners in the morning.  We roasted s'mores, looked at the stars, and saw the Cowboys trounce the Longhorns.  And a good sleep was had by all.

In the morning, I snapped the sunrise, 

these two gentlemen made our breakfast feast,

and we sat out here for a few hours enjoying it.

It was the perfect weekend, with the perfect amount of warmth during the day and a drop at night that required a fire in the fireplace.  We had the perfect amount of reading relaxing coupled with good times with friends in from out of town.  

And now it's only 5 days until my family gets here for Thanksgiving! :) 

it's a wide world

This week has been normal, run-of-the-mill for us, doing our thing in our corner of the world.  But for others, it's be disappointing, terrifying, and devastating.  I am feeling the distance between my safe haven and others who sprinkled across the continents.  We've heard some sad stories this week, all from missionaries serving the Lord in their specific ways in the lands that have captured their hearts.  In South America, a family lost their son after only nineteen days together on Earth.  In the Indian Ocean, a family seeks answers to their baby's unexplainable high fevers and resulting seizure.  And in East Africa, a judge ruled "not now" to a family waiting for the law to recognize a little girl as their daughter, something that has been official in their hearts for over two years.  Yet here I sit, powerless and far from their personal tragedies.  Weak. The verse that came to mind was 2 Corinthians 12:9 -

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 

It is my prayer that God's power will be known in the hearts of those suffering and recognized by the ones they live amongst.  We cling to the assurance of a perfect eternity, free of tears, disease, and injustice.  

a walk.

The kids have the day off again, and I found myself with two little boys on a sunny autumn morning.  They love Moose and jumped at the idea of taking him for a walk.  The little stinker has been suffering a pulled muscle all week after going bondoogles last weekend in the leaves.  I thought a walk would be good exercise for his almost- healed little leg.  

 

Sometimes leaves get stuck in slobber.  It's just a fact of life.  

I'm hoping the leaves hang on for another eight days so my poor, deprived, Oklahoman family can see the splendor of our fall.