KZ #5 2025

 The trip has come to an end. We stayed up all night, drove a caravan to the airport, went through the chaos of checking luggage...and then we said goodbye.

Every time it feels like if may be the last time. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. We hug our brothers and sisters as if we will never see them again. 

I cried, straining for glimpses of their beloved faces, for as long as I could.

I wonder if we had any impact, if we helped, encouraged, or strengthened the believers of KZ.

I know for certain that they impacted, encouraged, and strengthened me.

"I don't want to say goodbye to you," one dear friend said.

I felt it too. I feel it still.

We've traveled for over 20 hours, and now we are almost home. We are exhausted, but we have all flushed the toilet paper again, and texted our family with arrival times. We're ready to be home.

What a miracle that the Lord allows us to partner with Him in His work.

I see Him. I long to see Him more.

KZ #4 - 2025

 

How to properly convey the weight of the past two days...

I simply cannot. 

We have battled sickness. We have battled weariness. We have battled demons.

And just when I think it's getting to be too much and I want to give up, I remember that the apostles did this for years. There are missionaries all over the world who do it daily, still.

To be welcomed into homes, to be asked to pray over children, to hold the hands of people who are pouring out their greatest needs and burdens...

Why is the Lord so kind to us? He invites us, calls us, makes a way for us to minister...not because we are anything special. But because HE IS SO VERY GOOD. 

It will humble me until the day I die that these people trust us with their deepest needs.

I pray every day to be able to bear their he honorably. 

One of the grandmothers of the church here, an intercessor, shared her many burdens with me on Saturday, and tears streaked down her face as I asked the Lord to move on her behalf. She whispered "amen" over and over, and her wrinkled, weathered hands gripped mine with strength that evidenced her hold upon the Lord. I wept with her, feeling her faith as she reached out for Him. 

Then yesterday at church the same woman, so dear to me, came up and asked me to write down MY burdens, so she could pray for me. And I know, I KNOW, that the things in my heart, so trivial compared to the words she confessed to me, will be faithful laid before the Lord. My hand trembled and my ears flooded as I wrote. 

The fellowship of suffering is tender and beautiful. 

As we approach the final days here, I'm feeling urgent not to miss any appointments. When will I be back? WILL I be back? I must spend every moment as if it will be my last chance to walk this ground, hold these hands, pray and laugh and cry with these beloved souls. 

The Lord will bind us and hold us together in spirit. But oh...how my heart will long for physical reunion when I say goodbye.

KZ #3, 2025

 

Our first big chunk of ministry appointments are done. We finished the seminar and the counseling sessions. It was a time of sweet fellowship, and also intense spiritual warfare.

There has been so much HARD in the lives of most of the people here. The believers are predominately first generation, so they have had to unlearn and relearn how to live their lives and operate their homes. There is still much learning and unlearning to be done. (Isn't that the truth everywhere, though?)

I feel unqualified for the task of ministering to them. Mostly I just cry with them as they share, and I take their hands and tell them I'm sorry. And it's shocking how that can be enough sometimes. Sitting with someone, holding space for them to speak of their pain, is a powerful thing.

And then I put my hands on my Bible. And I remind them that the Word breathes, and speaks, and heals, and convicts, and instructs. 

I have to pause often, because the sweet girl translating needs time to hear my southern-drawl English, translate it in her mind into either Kazak or Russian, and then repeat it in that language to the heartsore, weary, wit's end believers who have come seeking advice and prayer. 

What a heavy honor, to bear the weight of others to the throne of the Father. 

It was exhausting. It was a treasure.

Tonight is home church (small group, basically)

Pray for us. We are tired and footsore. But our spirits are still willing.

KZ #2, 2025

 Happy Wednesday from the other side of the world. 

Today is "Boys' Day" in KZ. School is out. Little boys are kicking soccer balls in the park across the street. It's breezy and sunny. A perfect morning.

We were without water in the village apartment for a good part of yesterday. So the inconveniences of missions seemed a little amplified. But honestly, all things considered, we have it very easy here. We have at least moderate AC, electricity, and wifi. We have a toilet, a bed, vehicles to carry us places...and we are fed daily by the wonderful women at the church. 

I cannot express to you what an honor it is to sit down at a table they have meticulously set, and partake of food they have been slaving over for the better part of the day. They are proud to serve us, and they carefully watch our faces for signs of our enjoyment. They grin happily, filled with excitement, when we ask for more. If such simple things as smiling and eating all that is in front of me can bless the hearts of these most beloved women...that's not even a sacrifice. That's a privilege. 

I'm always amazed by how willing the believers here are to share their struggles. In America, we will say "fine" when asked how we are, and it will take a lot to get us to open up and share honestly about the real things in our hearts. 

Not here. Here, no conversation ends without one of them saying "this is what I need prayer for." I'm convicted by their transparency. I long to be more like that in my own life.

Today we begin prayer meetings during the afternoons, and also have the second night of the parenting seminar they asked us to conduct. 

Pray for us, that the Lord will use us, spoiled and self-absorbed Americans, to be a blessing. 

After all, His Word tells us that He has blessed us SO THAT we can be a blessing. And I want to be a blessing the way HE asks me to, not just the way I feel most comfortable.

KZ, 2025

It has been 8 years since I set foot on this beloved soil. 

I was younger and spunkier in 2017, obviously. The trip was long, very long, even back then. And now that I'm older, it felt longer still. 

But we made it. Wrinkled and exhausted, we arrived in Almaty in the wee hours of the morning. 

And we were greeted by no less than 10 of our church family here.

At 2:30 am, 10 people got into vehicles and drove to the airport to be there to welcome us. 

It's hard to explain what a blessing the Kazakh people are in this way. 

They are giving and hospitable and kind and willing to sacrifice their time and energy and lives...to make us feel welcome. 

They cook for us, they interpret for us, they drive us and direct us and, through it all, they act as if we are the ones blessing them.

I feel inadequate to the task most days. The faces that smile at me are ingrained upon my heart, but I don't feel I have anything to encourage them with in return.

Several women at church today came up and hugged me fiercely, and remembered me, by name, from the last time I was here. I cannot comprehend this kindness. I am humbled by it.

Maybe, once we begin our ministry activities, I will feel more useful. For now, I am soaking in the joy of seeing people again whom I haven't hugged in many years, and feeling no small amount of gladness that our hearts are still knit together. 

 

To my 2nd son on his 18th birthday

It's early in the morning and all the people in the house are still asleep. 

It was that way on the day you were born, too. 

Your brother and sister slept at Nana's house so we could leave early for the hospital.

Your dad slept in as long as possible,  obviously.

But I was up. I was anxious to meet you.

I wonder sometimes why the Lord gave me a mind that rarely forgets. A steel trap, I call it. Sometimes it feels like a curse. But sometimes, like today, I am feeling so blessed that I can recall your childhood, all the highs and lows of the last 18 years, as if every moment was recorded and is now being played back for me to smile, and cry, and ponder on.

Today you are 18 years old, Nate. In the eyes of the world you are an adult. 

But, (and you already know because I make sure to tell you a lot) your age is not what defines maturity or lack thereof. 

You still pull plenty of 'dumb kid' stunts.

You have already been through plenty of adult-worthy things.

When your big brother turned 18, I told him 10 things I wanted him to remember. As I read that list this morning, I wanted to say many of the same things to you. And I probably will as time moves ahead. But also, I have other things. Things specific to the way my heart feels today about you. So here you go, #comediankid. Here's your very own list of things I want to tell you on your 18th birthday. 

1. When you are hungry, for God's sake, eat something. You are so cranky when you haven't had food. No one wants to see that.

2. Be willing to risk being hurt. I know you do this physically every single day. I'm talking about with your heart. It isn't 'stronger' to protect yourself from heartache. True strength is only found in the Lord, and He wants you to be tender-hearted. 

3. Don't trash-talk. I know this one is basically impossible, but I still feel the need to say it. A mom will never stop reminding her sons to speak kind words or no words. Maybe someday when you're old you will have this one figured out.

4. Laugh often. You have a wonderful laugh and a beautiful smile and the people who get to see and hear it are blessed. Show that side of you more. Your serious face is kinda scary.

5. Pray. Pray a lot. Pray when you're driving alone in your car, and when you're in the shower, and when you're mentally mulling over a problem you can't solve. Pray, sweet boy. Jesus is interceding for you in heaven. Bring your heart and all its troubles to Him. He is trustworthy.

6. Read your Bible. I know you've heard me ranting for 18 years about how vital it is to know the Word. I say it over and over because there isn't much that has been more important in my own life. I might not have lived to become your mother if not for the power of the Living Word of God to save me. 

7. Travel. As much as you can, go see something new. Eat the food that is local to the region when you're there. Learn about the history and culture. But then, come home to us.

8. Save money, and give it away. You never know when your feet will grow again and you'll need to buy new shoes. You want to have money on hand for if that happens. But also, you want to have some for when the Lord prompts you to help someone else. Open-handed is the most blessed way to operate your finances, Son. 

9. I'm trying to think of hygiene/fashion advice to give you, but you've always been the kid who doesn't forget to brush his teeth or shower or change clothes or dress acceptably. I guess maybe I can offer you this: Don't sag your pants. I know they're too short for your long legs if you wear them where they belong...but we don't want to see your boxers. 

10. Life has a way of bringing sorrow that you think will kill you. I know you know. But also, there is great joy. And you know that too. The most important thing, Nate, the thing I want you to remember if you pitch all the other 9 things on the list, is that the goal is to know Christ, crucified and risen again, and to make Him known. The world, with its shattered hopes and soaring dreams-come-true, its pain and laughter and failures and successes...He has overcome it all. And so He is worthy to be sought and known and proclaimed and spoken of and loved, more than all the rest. And the end destination is heaven. You have such sweet blessings waiting for you there. "To live is Christ, to die is gain." Philippians 1:21

Happy birthday. Happy adulthood. What an honor and joy to be your mom. What sweet kindness from the Lord that I can call you my friend. 

Your dad and I will ALWAYS bet on #3.