A Bittersweet Birthday

A mother's life rides the wave of a high learning curve; mine encompassed cross-cultural habits. One particular lesson focused on a birthday cake.

Summer transitioned into fall, and our family of three experienced our first Złota Polska Jesień, Golden Polish Autumn. Before the inevitability of bitter frost, trees displayed a ric==h palette of color, and we absorbed the much-needed beauty of nature.

One particular September day, this mother set out on a mission. I needed to order a birthday cake for my only child, and I needed achieve this is a second language. (Remember? High learning curve...)

Food shortages in the Polish communist economy made baking a traditional birthday cake impossible. My only option involved going to a hotel bakery and ordering a whole cake. Knowing this was culturally odd, I prepared myself to pay more, to pay under the table, or to pay behind the counter. Regardless of the daunting challenge, I wanted to present our little girl with a special cake on her second birthday.

To my surprise, the “arrangement” was straightforward. I agreed to pay the triple price and determined to return one week later. Fine. I selected chocolate, counted out my bills, and left feeling successful.

On the day of her party, I returned to the hotel bakery to collect my prize. I even rode home in a taxi to insure the safety of my culinary accomplishment. My deep sense of pleasure at achieving this cross cultural feat dovetailed with my joy of being a mother on this day of my child’s party.

A unique sense of satisfaction welled up deep within me. Truly, this was a special day for our family, and we looked forward to celebrating.

The few guests arrived for our simple party, and merriment filled our upstairs rented apartment. Hot tea was made and served, and the small group chatted amiably together.

All the while, our little two-year old relished the spotlight. Her favorite gift, a Fisher Price dollhouse from grandparents, purchased and hand carried earlier from Vienna, occupied her full attention.

Finally, the moment came, and she gleefully blew out two tiny little candles. Happy Birthday to you! followed by Sto lat, Sto lat! doubled the blessing of this day. (What child has Happy Birthday sung to them in two languages?) Every detail seemed perfect.

Forthwith, I cut the prize cake and passed around generous servings. After all, when was the last time these dear people enjoyed a fresh chocolate cake? I enjoyed my role as hostess, and smiled inwardly, hoping each guest felt special. Soon, I took my place in the circle and settled down to enjoy my own slice of this long-awaited, hard-to-come-by, chocolate treat.

Just as I opened my mouth for a bite of the blessing, a missile pierced the air and punctured my emotional balloon.

The shock came in the form of a sentence uttered from one among us. Without fanfare, our guest declared, “This is the worst cake I have ever eaten. Just look at this. This is terrible.”

I sat frozen, and my fork stopped midair. Had I heard correctly? Yes, the vocalized verdict stood fixed in this person’s opinion.

The comment set ablaze a raw nerve within me, and I struggled to carry on. I felt heartbroken. How could this be? Why, God gave us this cake, and the arrangements represented no small miracle! Couldn’t we just celebrate? Thankfully, the Holy Spirit held both my tongue and my emotions in check, and I remained silent. 

Frankly, I don’t remember how the party ended. Yet, the occasion brought to the surface my glaring need for adaptation in cross-cultural living. Suddenly, I felt like the two year old.

In the days that followed, God tutored me in much needed lessons. The bittersweet birthday taught me:

• A relationship is more valuable than a cake—any day, in any nation. 
• The safe haven for friendships needed to be our common ground in Christ, since His love crossed all cultural barriers—national, ethnic, and economic.
• I must not allow a blunt comment to carry carry too much weight.
• I could not mandate others to operate within my parameters of appropriate social norms.
• I would have to learn to love and work among godly people whose communication values differed from mine. Whereas, in my estimation, this an opinionated comment was better unspoken, our guest felt withholding such a comment would be hypocrisy.

I feel foolish all over again as I recall this story, and I am embarrassed by my naïve expectations back at the beginning. However, from that bittersweet birthday an eternal principle still emerges as the bottom line, regardless of where one resides:                                                                             Relationships are always more important than my own personal feelings or preferences. Love one another deeply, from the heart (1 Peter 1:22). The taste will not be bittersweet.

Living with Eternal Intentionality: How has God led you to let go of cultural expectations in a relationship in order to pursue the greater good of fellowship in Him?

Living Healed

Greetings from Central Asia! Larry and I are here to lead a strategic conference for forty of our Athletes in Action leaders from ten countries. While I am traveling, my dear friend and colleague, Susie Thomas, has written this guest post.

Susie Thomas has been living as God’s child for more than 30 years, a mother for 12, and the wife of a crazy visionary leader for 16. She recently started teaching fifth grade in conjunction with her family’s current assignment in Kigali, Rwanda. She and her husband have been on staff with Cru since 2002.

There's nothing like a terminal illness to give you a new enthusiasm for life. Right?

Five and a half years ago, I was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, which is notoriously aggressive and incurable. I was pregnant with our fourth child. I believe the doctor’s exact words (although the large space of air that now exists where part of my brain used to be suggests I may have some memory problems) were, “there is a 100% recurrence rate and no cure.”  What he wanted me to understand was that the good news of the successful surgery was temporary good news. It will come back. It always comes back. Go to Disney now, pregnant and on steroids, because you will not be around to take Annie when she is in a stroller instead of in your belly.

The doctors often felt they had to really drill down on the bad news and reality checks because my constant giggling and unlimited supply of tasteless cancer jokes were indicative of denial or something.

The truth was that it wasn't denial. I remember sitting at Chick-fil-a with my poor mom who had just asked her 32-year-old daughter, “do you really think you're going to die from this?” The fact that I was giving bad news to the person who it would hurt the most put tears in my eyes as I said, “I know this is going to kill me. That's just what's true about this cancer. And a God hasn't asked me to believe him for anything different.” My laughter wasn't denial. It was actual, real, Spirit-given Joy.

There was one other time in my life that I felt impossibly happy alongside a deep sadness. We were living in India and I'd just given birth to our still-born second son at 18 weeks gestation. It was a grief I hadn't experienced before, along with some ugly anger. But it didn't sit like a rock in my gut. The scripture on my heart during that time was from Psalm 28: “the joy of the Lord is my strength.” On some days that verse meant I have no joy, so the Lord’s is going to have to stand in for mine. On other days it meant I can't explain why I am happy and functional today without giving credit to the Lord.

Five years later that verse came back, accompanied by another. This one was spoken by that woman that Debby has already reminded us of that we (I) love to roll our eyes at: the Proverbs 31 Woman: “She laughs at the days to come,” alternatively translated as, “She laughs without fear of the future.” I held that verse close, along with the lines of my favorite hymn for the season, “All Must be Well” by Mary Bowley Peters:

We expect a bright tomorrow; all will be well

Faith can sing through days of sorrow, all is well

On our Father’s love relying

Jesus every need supplying

Yes in living or in dying

All must be well

It's important for me to emphasize that my joy was not in my future healing, whether I expected it to come on earth or in heaven (I expected heaven). My joy was a gift given to me to accompany me in my submission to God’s plan of sickness and death and a goodbye to the life I loved.

I've come to see suffering or hardship as a bonding experience that Jesus offers us. Scripture is clear that He offers good in the bad, and he kept that promise to me.

But then God really turned everything upside down. A couple years later, in a service at our new church in Rwanda, God asked me to trust him for something new - healing. This was a really difficult thing for me. I had spent the last two years defending God’s goodness as expressed in my sickness. I had adamantly declared that my death was His will and my worship was submission to it. Changing my tune would be to accept a beautiful gift (physical healing) at some expense to my fragile pride.

And here I am. Living healed. Now past the initial prognosis given me by all the doctors.* Dreaming with my kids about their future without feeling like I'm lying to them. Taking Annie to meet her kindergarten teacher. Ordering a couch because it turns out we're not just in Rwanda temporarily until I need to go home and die.

But, you know what is a little more elusive on this side of cancer? That Spirit-given, irrepressible joy. Turns out cancer doesn't give you magic perspective for life. Turns out it doesn't make whining sound melodic or gray hair feel sexy or traffic feel fun just because you get to live to experience it.

Turns out I'm still in desperate need of repentance every day for all the same sins I was before, plus a few more.

Jesus is still present with me. But cancer was like the honeymoon of a marriage -unlimited time and feeling and fun. (I know that sounds weird. It's a figure of speech). Living healed is like living married - so much joy and fulfillment available to me, but I need to prioritize, I need to make date night happen, and exercise some self control and breathe in the Spirit when I'm tempted with judgment, criticism, over-sensitivity, and unfair anger.

The joy of the Lord is still my strength. And I can still laugh at the days to come. But now I have to remind myself to do so.

*disclaimer in the interest of accuracy:

No doctor would ever give a medical opinion that I am healed. They would gently remind me about that 100% recurrence rate and that everyone is different. And guess what? I'm still going to die someday, so let's not quibble.

Lessons from a Laptop

Technological tyranny takes its toll on each of us. For me personally, one lesson in particular refuses to evaporate. The memory, painfully imbedded in my psyche, brings on jitters each time I recall the occasion.

(For this lesson to make sense, I ask you to try and conceptualize life without a laptop computer. Consider the pain of waiting to own the device hithertofore only viewed in advertisements. Imagine the satisfaction of finally being able to make the purchase.)

Background:

Larry returned home to The Black Forest exhausted. However, before diving into bed, he painstakingly took time to introduce our family to the newest piece of equipment he purchased during his trip to the U.S. The LAPTOP—long anticipated—held mind boggling potential for our future life and ministry. Larry was a proud man; we were a spellbound family.

The next morning marked the day of a track meet for our three student athletes; we hit the ground running (no pun intended). After a quick breakfast, our family packed snacks for the trip, and confirmed that each runner had their cleats. Before walking out the door to meet the chartered bus, Larry and I filled our travel mugs with steaming hot coffee. Then, we turned to lock the wooden door, but not before grabbing the LAPTOP.

In the chilly spring morning, our troupe joined other parents, teachers, and athletes in the school parking lot of the Black Forest Academy, where our children attended as day students. The journey held promise for a great outing and a successful sporting event. No one objected to the three-hour drive.

Soon, the bus pulled in, the doors opened, and passengers piled on. Larry—carefully holding the LAPTOP—inched down the aisle and selected seats for the two us. (Our three teenagers made their way to the back of the bus to sit with their teammates.)

Once underway, most travelers settled in for a nap. At the halfway point to our destination, the bus driver pulled into an autobahn rest stop for a break, and bodies tumbled off the bus.

Before disembarking, Larry placed the LAPTOP on his seat in the bus. Confident the newly acquired piece of technology would be safe, he inched forward to the door.

I also turned to walk off. However— before leaving—I casually placed my travel thermos of coffee on top of the LAPTOP.

Larry returned to the bus before me. Even before I reached my seat, I read the signs. The pain etched on his face and the fixed position of his jaw told me something had just gone terribly wrong. Right.

Somehow

   Someway

      Someone

            B.u.m.p.e.d the coffee thermos I inadvertently left sitting on the LAPTOP.

Bad day. Bad accident. Bad memory. Thankfully, The Holy Spirit worked supernaturally in Larry’s attitude, but his demeanor confirmed his pain. His ongoing silence revealed his suffering. Though just a material possession, the costly situation stared our missionary budget in the face throughout the track meet. All day long we experienced the shock waves of the mistake. I felt awful and ached to rewrite the script of those few moments before turning and leaving my seat on the bus.

But I could not rewrite the script, and husband and wife needed to find a way forward. What helped then still helps communication conundrums decades later:

Own the mistake. Say, "I am so sorry," and genuinely mean the words. Defensiveness does further damage. Explanations do not really explain. 

Give the matter time. Talking takes its toll, and chatter often increases tension. Be quiet and give the matter peace. Relational restoration, the desired outcome, requires the balm of time. 

Pray. Pray for yourself, pray for the person involved, and pray for a supernatural solution. God can and will make the crooked places straight. (Isaiah 42: 16d NKJV)

A Note of Follow Up:

The LAPTOP, ironically, enjoyed a good long life. Upon returning home from the track meet, Larry gently lifted the keyboard, and allowed the inside to completely dry out. Twenty-four hours later, miraculously (did I say miraculously), the blessed light blinked on once he plugged the cord into the socket. For me, I never wanted to come near the thinking machine again. 

Living with Eternal Intentionality: Recall a time when you caused damage to something of importance to someone else. What was the process of working it out?