Details!

Today I consumed an outrageous amount of calories.

And if I was forced to pick, I’d have to say the funniest part of my day was after said over-consumption, when Anthony (who was in cohorts with me on the eating business) and I were walking down the main street in Ottawa, comparing stomachs and fighting over whose had become more misshapen and large from the grotesque amount of Mexican food we’d just packed down.

I lead such an interesting life.

I got an email this week from Rob in Tanzania (the TIMO coordinator). It left me stunned, nearly unable to move. Why? Because it had details in it. That’s right, folks, details. My body/mind/spirit didn’t even know how to handle the details, having never been confronted with something of this sort before. And, while the details weren’t really about anything I’m most worried about, they did let me know the gameplan of getting from Nairobi to Lopit. And now I know the mission is capable of giving me details. ;) Kidding, kidding.

Oh, Lord, that I would cast off the idol of knowing what lies ahead!

(Still holding off on that spiritual post.)

Things to EAT.

My dog ate a whole loaf of bread today.

I'm talking like THE WHOLE THING.

Yikes.

I really need to get going on my list of things I need to do before I leave. I started one tonight—in my mind—but I realized it was more of a “Things I need to EAT Before I Leave” list than anything else. Not that that’s necessarily a bad things.

Here goes nothing…
▪ My grandma’s spaghetti
▪ My mom’s cinnamon rolls (the best in the WORLD)
▪ Rip’s chicken
▪ Lots and lots of BBQ
▪ Elmer’s wings in Decatur
▪ Pizza Hut with Lees

Enough with the food…
▪ Spend a day on the horses with Kay and Charles.
▪ Go camping/canoeing.
▪ Do a little rock climbing.
▪ Get really dressed up and go on a date. (A girl can dream, right?)
▪ Get flowers on said date. (OK, OK, I’m pushing it… I know…)
▪ Spend a few days with my kiddos, taking lots of pictures.
▪ Another day at Wrigley with the girls.
▪ Play catch with Angiepants. She gets home from East Asia (she’s been there for a year) three days before I leave – woohoo!
▪ Catch a rodeo.
▪ Ride rides at a county fair.
▪ Take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

Alright, that's all I can think of for now. Thoughts? Suggestions? Takers?

Just over a month now.

(I promise to post something more spiritual/worthwhile in the next few days. For now, I must sleep.)

sing me a sweet song

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to preform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds you so much dread,
Are big with mercy and will break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs
And works his sovereign will.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
Ane he will make it plain.

-- William Cowper

Point for pleading from Gilligan's Island

Hey gang. Here's a note from my friends on Gilligan's Island. Please lift them up!

Hello dear friends!!
I’d like to take a minute to share with you a need for pleading. As you are aware, this island is not open to the “Good News.” The few local “followers” of our Captain have been the target of some persecution recently. A group of them have been meeting in a home once a week, and this past Saturday, the meeting was met by police. The leader who does much of the teaching and a young man were taken in for questioning and have been held there since Saturday. The police seem to have a problem with the young man associating with this group. The amazing thing is, this bold 15 year old has professed the Son of our Captain without shame! He repeatedly has told them “I believe in J!” Praise to the Captain!!
I ask that you plead for growth and strength during this time. Persecution is not a bad thing and was often used in the NT to grow the “body” and spread the “Good News.” Lift up the leader of the “followers” as well as his wife and children. Thank the Captain for this young “follower” and his courage! Plead also that this issue will be settled quickly, preferably before the new government takes power Friday. Plead for all the “followers” on this island, as the police apparently have a list of all their names. Plead they will be strengthened by the power of the “H.S.” and know true peace. Some of them have been visited and also taken in by the police.
Our Captain is great and worthy of praise! Nothing is beyond His grasp or control! He already has a plan for this situation and this island! Continue to plead for His will to be done! Thank you and may you be blessed this week!

One nugget short of a load.

Tonight the McDonalds drive-thru guy hit on me.

I’m sure in some weird way that could be construed as affirming or flattering, but -- really -- it wasn’t.

I did, however, hope in my heart of hearts that I'd get seven nuggets in my 6-piece meal because of it.

No such luck.

But that’s probably a good thing, as I had a mighty struggle with just those six pieces as I drove home.

It’s not that I don’t like BBQ sauce on my nuggets – because, friends, let me tell you, I do – it’s just that I don’t like BBQ sauce on my clothes.

But such is life.

And life lately has been such.

Last week was so long. And terrible. And great.

God brought me comfort in the strangest ways and rocked me from my comfort zone in others. I was really tired and really stressed and even doubting my call (which is laughable now), but God gave me little breaths of fresh air along the way to remind me of His goodness and—moreover—His sovereignty in all things.

And while those blurred days truly did suck, God brought me through them. Perhaps just to face another string of sucky days, but He brought me through, nonetheless.

What’s new in life? Well, the role of the elusive ActionPackers (the Rubbermaid containers all international airlines approve that, for about six months of me looking at different stores for them, seemed mythical) has been taken over by the elusive Africa-appropriate skirts. If you see any affordable, ankle-length, relatively plain skirts out there in a size 2 or 4 (or 6 in a pinch), let me know. Seriously. Call me with any sightings.

Otherwise, the constant questions about what I need to buy and pack continue, and I struggle through each day trying to trust God with the details (and the lack thereof). I find myself grumbling sometimes – “I’ve waiting MORE THAN A YEAR without details, surely you could tell me if I’ll be able to buy contact solution in Loki or get mail.”

In an unrelated story, I find myself rather consumed right now by a doctrinal disagreement with a good friend of mine—one of my very few friends around the Illinois Valley. It was one of those elephant-in-the-room kind of issues until a few days ago, when the darned animal—complete with marching band, fireworks and other pitiful pomp and circumstance—paraded right between the two of us. It’s not a matter of lost friendship. It’s more one of awkwardness and seeking to understand while holding strong to our own convictions. And it has wider implications.

The really sweet thing about it—and, yes, there is a sweet thing—is that it’s brought me back to the Word a lot, to a deeper study and to a better awareness of what kind of doctrine is out there. And it’s forced me to challenge my own convictions with God’s word, which is never a bad thing.
And, yeah, I disagree with him—I’m not sure we’ll ever come to terms on it; I joke that we’ll always just be praying the other person “comes around”—but it’s not an issue that necessarily compromises the cross.

And, as my friend J.P. wrote once, “God mercifully uses his erring children. He has no other kind. As J. I. Packer says, God often honors the needle of truth in a haystack of error. All of us see through a glass darkly for now. Perfection is not required of us for God's favor either in life or in doctrine. Wrong teaching hurts the church. Some wrong teaching can destroy the church. But there is no perfect church. And therefore the only Christian movement in the world is an imperfect one. And if we are going to celebrate at all, we are going to celebrate the work of God in imperfect people with imperfect ideas.”

Well put, Mr. Piper. Well put.

So that’s where I’m at right now. Learning, growing, being stretched, pressed, challenged, enlightened. All sorts of things. Gotta love being a child of God.

The Great AC Debacle

Remember that one time when I was all upset when my team manual said we'd have air conditioning in our cement-block houses?

Yeah, apparently, that was wrong. I sent an email to Stephan and Iris (team leaders) asking if I needed solar panels after all, since we'd clearly have some power source for the AC and fridge, like a generator.

Stephan sent me back a rather confused message, saying there must be some kind of misprint, as we definitely do not have such luxuries. The best we can gather, the TIMO powers that be (ie: the aforementioned Rob) left that in there from the Djibuti manual on accident.

HiLARious.

Hmm.

I just realized all my posts have been timestamped for the time in L.A., not Illinois. So they're all three hours behind. Funny.

I guess now people will be more aware of how truly noctural I am.

Cubs win, Cubs win.

I realized this afternoon that I hadn’t fed my mom’s fish in a few days. My immediate conclusion was that this was a bad thing, especially seeing as how I already had one altercation with the swimming beasts and ended up outside in my pajamas at 6 a.m., going on no sleep and becoming very wet. (Long story.)

Luckily, this new situation didn’t involve the outside pond, just the mammoth fish tank downstairs and the many pretty fish I know nothing about. My remedy for the whole situation was taking all the bottles of food I found—and there were probably half a dozen—and dumping a little bit of each kind into the tank.

Whether that was right or wrong, the fish seemed to like it.

And so I’m chalking it up as a victory.

I really don’t like fish. Why can’t we just stick with the dogs? They’ll protect you, snuggle up with you, take care of you when you’re sick and—though they’re a little smelly a lot of the time—make you laugh with their personality and attempts to charm you. From what I gather, in the scheme of life, these dogs and their roles are eventually replaced by husbands. But they, too, grow tiresome, so you go back to the old standby of a dog. It’s the circle of life, people. The circle---- of life----.

In the words of my former coworker Amie, "I'm still convinced men are completely trainable."

Amen, sister. Aaaaaamen.

In other news, I haven’t blogged about my weekend yet, which is unfortunate. Even though I ended up not going to the Cubs game (and losing the $130 I spent a while back on tickets—OUCH), I did get down to Champaign and got to play with my kids and a few of my friends. And it was awesome, too, to get to go to Stratford Park and see the chapel folk. They’re so encouraging and great. Some old Cru folk and I watched a movie Sunday night, too—one involving cowboys and Robert Redford kicking the junk out of some guy. That was a wonderful combination. And I surely had my fill of ice cream.

Africa is definitely getting closer, but it still seems surreal. I leave in… 41 days. And, while my support is so close it almost seems like a nonfactor anymore, I’m not really able to wrap my head around the idea that I’m moving to Sudan. (Yeah, not even the italics made it more real for me. Curious.) There’s so much to do before I leave, so many excuses to worry. That whole anxiety/stress thing is creeping up—pray against that. And I, for whatever reason, have been thinking a lot about that guy I mentioned in my prayer letters. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, ask me.) Pray against anything bad happening there. I have an uneasy feeling about it. That’s probably just the Devil working, though. Or paranoia.

Details are just killing me.

So is my schedule.

My coworker actually came in today and did that thing where he grimaced as he said I wasn’t looking so great and asked if I was sleeping at all. My favorite part was when he stumbled through, “There are just… lines… under your… eyes. You look… (long pause) exhausted.” So pray for peaceful, useful, uninterrupted sleep. That hasn’t been happening much lately. I’m not entirely sure it’s possible.

(I blame the fish.)

Speaking of that, I should hit the hay. I’ve got a radio interview in four hours, an appointment in seven, lunch with some cool ladies in eight and a ton of things to get done in the meantime. (Ugh.)

My favorite kids.

If you don't think this is the most adorable child ever,
something is clearly very wrong with you.
And the rest.

Equally adorable.

:)

Locusts in the ivy.

Honestly, what's next for the Cubs? Locusts ravaging the ivy?

As Mike Nadel said this week, we need little less than a high-powered telescope to see the top of the NL Central right now. And even though Wood's coming back this week (insert obligatory, counterfeit excitement here), his fellow All-Rehab team member Prior is still a long way from taking the mound at the Friendly Confines. And how much longer is DLee out? *whimper*

“Baker has been under fire for a multitude of managerial sins, including (but not limited to): using bad lineups, making poor pitching decisions, having a defeatist attitude, being too optimistic, refusing to use young players, saying silly things, not arguing enough with umpires, not having his team prepared, not trashing the clubhouse as any manly man would, and, I believe, raising gas prices above $3.25 a gallon.” Haha. I concur!

I'm not sure I can endure another picture of my friend KT and her dad and brother, in Padres shirts, grinning mischievously as they wield brooms. And not just one broom. Lots of brooms. Lots and lots of brooms. But I suppose we deserve that, dropping seven stinkin' games to a team like San Diego.

Clearly, the Cubs are poisoning my last month and a half here in the States. And, clearly, I’m taking it personally. Then there’s Barry Bonds. Most of my job right now is waiting for this steroid-enhanced man to hit a home run. Do you know how hard it was for me not to write some evil headline in tonight’s paper? The man was playing at hitter-friendly Minute Maid Park. Nicknamed — ever-so-appropriately, since he’ll probably hit 714 and 715 there — the Juice Box.

Asterisk, asterisk, asterisk.

End baseball rant.

My Sudanese husband.

So today I went to lunch at HyVee with Rhonda and her sister Donna. It was good times. Always is.

But I had to laugh because we get there and see Pastor Jack (not of the McConaghie variety; rather, of Faith Assembly) and his wife, and next thing I know, everyone is trying to marry me off. ("You should introduce her to John. She'd really like John. John's a good guy.")

I think I’ve talked before about the whole being a single woman in the church community thing. It’s treated more like a… disease than anything else. And churchfolks are bound and determined to cure these poor women of their illness. Especially old ladies. They’re all about hooking you up with some fine young man.

(Note: I’m being lighthearted. And I’m definitely exaggerating the HyVee conversation.)

I’m always looking for new ways to be an active part of this conversation. It’s funny ‘cause people go at it with varying amounts of fervor — everyone searching their mental rolodexes for that young man who’d be just perfect for me. Some are thinking dangerously hard.

Anyway, my most recent approach has been to start to highlight some of the qualities that would surely be on my wife résumé. I make a mean steak (or… atleast… I could… learn…). I’d never, ever question skipping important life events (ie: family holidays, friends’ weddings, my own wedding, birth of our first child, etc.) for equally important sporting events. I’m getting really good at that mom seatbelt thing. (Lots of practice with all the deer on the road home from work. I strong-arm my laptop in my passenger seat like it’s my job.) And the list goes on.

I tried “I make quilts” the other day (which is true), but this backfired because the woman I was talking to must’ve thought I was seriously pining for a husband. As it turns out, she already had someone in mind. And all her kids agreed. Now that conversation left me slackjawed. (But, bless her heart, she's GREAT.)

So now I’m trying a new approach of just saying I’m going to marry a Sudanese man. Then I can divert the conversation from the real “problem” to secondary and tertiary problems, such as, how can said Sudanese man meet my “loves the Cubs” requirement when he clearly won’t even know much about baseball? Next thing you know, the mental rolodexes are stilled and I’m still happily single.

Works… like… a… charm.

Super-spiritual Friday.

Recent life updates:

• The Cubs still stink. More and more each day.
• I got to talk with the Grace missions committee Thursday night, but I had just gotten these weird teeth things from the dentist that morning, so I ended up telling them about my miss(hhhhh)ions trip to S(ssssssssss)udan. I hope they took pity on the missionary with a lis(sssssssss)p.
• Speaking of teeth, three people in the last week have told me mine are really white. And I’m talking mid-conversation, out-of-no-where style. What is that about?
• Just now, I banged my forehead off the sink while I was washing my face. That, my friends, takes talent.
• Directly after that, my slightly-inebriated younger brother came by and was That Creepy Face in the Window at 2:30 a.m. Don’t worry, I gave him sass.
• I ate a silly amount of cookie dough today. For shame, Andrea.

I hope no one was looking for a super-spiritual post this morning.

But here’s an update from the Sudan. I got my team manual the other day, which was uber-exciting. Or, rather, it was… until I read the thing (68 pages) cover-to-cover and found it answered very few of my pressing questions. (ie: Mouth wash?!?!?) However, I did find out some really interesting stuff. For example, I won’t be living in a grass hut like I thought. They’re building us cement-block houses. I’m actually really bummed because they told us we’re going to have a refrigerator and air conditioning window unit (?!?!?!?!?!) in our houses, as well, which sort of bumps up against the whole “living simply” idea of TIMO. As our contact from En Gedi put it: “Such a decision means that you will not be living as ‘simply’ as many of your neighbors, but the upside is, you will still be living.” Well played, Rob.

I’m confused because I also thought we didn’t have electricity. Maybe they’ve got some pretty sweet generators? These details will probably go on being mysterious until I get there.

But — if you’re worried I’m going to be pampered, don’t — we don’t have running water and I’m going to have to endure a “long-drop” toilet. Whatever that means.

(I’m choosing to not think about it.)

Money is evil.

I just talked with Terri, my contact from AIM's office, and we figured out that my support figures are very, very different from the mission's figures. They have me sitting at only 60% or so, with $4000 left to go for my outgoing funds. Meeeeh. It's probably some kind of miscommunication or a lost piece of mail with a stack of checks it in or a bookkeeping error (most likely on my side), but I can't help but be discouraged.

I guess there's nothing worrying about it will fix! A lot of my teammates are struggling to get their support -- I think I might be better off than them right now -- so God's really going to wow us in these last three weeks, I guess. Whatever the case, we're going to fight this battle right down to the last day.

Pray for us!

The Checklist.

Five in the morning and I'm still at work, whittling away at what's left of my Africa preparations.

I'm looking at my checklist on AIMOutbound -- a Web site for departing missionaries -- and there sure are a lot of green checks, meaning I've got that certain thing done, but there are still quite a few left unchecked. Things on tap for this week: Getting police background clearance (gee, I hope that goes OK), meeting with a lawyer to figure up my will (weird) and applying for an international drivers' license. Then it's just going over baggage regulations and commissioning service stuff... and I'm done with my checklist.

I only wish that were the extent of what I have to do. I'm realizing there's a lot to shutting down my life in America -- or at least putting it in a nice holding patern -- and starting things up in the bush of Africa. There's a bunch to do with medical stuff (eyes, ears, teeth, everything), bank accounts and communication. And then there's this tiny thing of packing up all my belongings at my parents' house. They've informed me they'll have built a new house by the time I get back, so I have to have everything packed for the move. I'm trying desperately not to get overwhelmed, but it's hard, all things considered (especially the hour at which I'm writing this post).

My mom pulled a nice one at work this week. When I agreed to move home and help her out at work, one of the stipulations was that I'd be able to quit work well before I left for Africa. We've been talking for a while about how I'd be off the sports desk by the end of May. I kept talking about it, kept asking her if she was moving forward on getting a replacement. Well, this week I was talking with her and Lonny, the managing editor, and it turns out Lonny knows nothing of this and my mom has told him I can work right on through July. (I leave June 28th, which makes this idea very curious.) I'm really not keen on the idea of working right up to the day I get on the plane for Africa, but that's the way she'll have it. It's that, or I'm forced out of the house. A lovely ultimatum. She's doing this -- admittedly -- because she doesn't want me to go to Africa. She refuses to acknowledge it's going to happen, no matter what day I stop working at The Times. It's so hard to "leave well" in the face of her absolute denial. Oh, that she would just understand...

I don't know why I'm so surprised by all this. Jesus was very plain in his promise of trials and being forced to leave our own mothers and fathers to follow after him. Blah.

Oh, geez, the morning people are coming into the office. I need to get out of here.

Prayer request

God taught me long ago that I need to read truth before I go to bed, to make me ready for the fight that sometimes comes when I'm struggling to sleep and/or anxious about things. So I've made a habit of curling up with my Bible at the end of the day, making that the last thing that is on my mind.

Lately I've noticed I'm pulling my planner into my bed with me at night along with my Bible. That probably reflects more of my heart than I want it to. Please pray I'd not get caught up in the details of leaving and instead turn to prayer for my teammates and the people in Sudan.

I'll write more later; for now, there's a book of truth waiting for me on my pillow.

Important numbers.

Lopit is at least 1,000 miles away from Darfur.

Just an FYI. (I've been wondering for a while.)

Cosmic significance.

I had a great weekend. I am so blessed because the Lord has finally given me people in my life around here who love Jesus and are around my age. Not going to lie -- I was previously convinced they didn't exist. But, seriously... so blessed. And so enjoying that blessing. :)

I find I'm also meeting quite a few little folk who love Jesus. And while they're not my age or even around my age, sometimes they teach me things I couldn't have gleaned from a thousand conversations from their elders.

Take Jillian. She's eight or something. (Stress the "or something.") Tonight, she taught me that when you walk through the tall grass of her abandoned pasture long enough, when you're done, you get special powers that make you turn into animals. Like cheetahs. (Who knew?) I decided I wanted to turn into a horse. She wasn't sure if that was possible, but definitely didn't reject the notion entirely.

And this is even better. When we were done, we spent some time looking at the moon. After a while, she thoughtfully said, "Every night the moon comes up and shines."

A pause.

"That just gets me."

Ahh, to have the faith of a child and wonder so purely at God's creation.

May we all be so blessed.

24 days. 86.5%.

Greetings team. :)

So, wow, this week -- crazy. Just nuts. And I think it's only going to get more busy from here on out. I've got appointments at churches every Sunday save for one before I leave and two such appointments just this week, if that's any sort of gauge. Pray for sanity!

Here's some exciting news. I sent out my email prayer letter on May 3rd, saying I was sitting at 70% for support. Well, by the time I was (finally) dropping my hardcopy letters in the mail on the 5th, my support had jumped to 86%. How's THAT for nuts?

So now my support goals really seem to be coming into focus. That's so close! I feel like I'm breathing sort of easier, though that last chunk will probably still take a while in the coming. One thing I've noticed is that it frees up a lot of energy that I was spending worrying about financially stuff. Unfortunately, some of that energy has started to funnel into freaking out about the idea that I'm actually moving to Sudan or feeling inadequate as a messenger of the gospel. Of course, both are rather sinful ways to spend my energy, so pray that I'd turn, instead, to praising God and pleading for the hearts of the people in Lopit.

Thought of the moment. I think sometimes we Christian folk don't want to grasp the real truth behind the gospel of Christ. We're pretty stinkin' happy about the idea that we get to spend an eternity in heaven, but will rarely say flat out that people without Christ will spend an eternity in hell. I think we really need to understand that truth, that need, before we'll ever understand the precious gift of the cure and the obligation that we have therein to share it with other people. It's real and it's urgent and it matters for eternity.

In other news, my mom is planning a going-away party for me with my family members... which she doesn't plan to attend herself, my dad says. Ugh. I pray she does. While I was at candidate training in New York, AIM taught us that we need to "leave well." That is, we need to consider not only what we're feeling and need to do so we can have a healthy departure, but also keep in mind how we can help our family and friends through the process. I've got about eight weeks 'til I leave, so I'm praying I figure out exactly what that means before then.

Cut it out.

The other day, Dr. Gallagher told me that missionaries to Africa used to have their appendixes removed before they left for the field.

What I’m saying is, things could totally be worse.

I could be running myself ragged trying to raise support... and recovering from an appendectomy.

First fear.

A lot of folks have encouraged me to watch this film, The Constant Gardner, so tonight I did.

It was the first time I've really felt fear about moving to Lopit.

If you've seen it, you know it's not at all about Sudan. It's a fictional piece about drug companies and corruption in Kenya and all of Africa.

But there's one scene in it where the main character is in South Sudan and a whole pack of Arabs on horseback attack a village on the heels of a UN supply drop. (This was common practice. Either the Sudanese army -- the bad, Muslim/Arab, doers of the genocide people -- would swoop in and get everything that was dropped or the SPLA -- the southern tribes people, rebels, object of the genocide people -- would do the same, raiding their own people because they knew if they didn't, the Sudanese army soon would.)

The movie does well to portray the sheer terror of the whole thing and the defenselessness of the people, their running legs put up against the powerful guns of the Arabs. It showed how they would chase down the women, beat, rape and kill them. How they'd gun down men, women and children alike. How children were left orphaned. How huts were burned with people still in them.

Normally, I'd be wary of Hollywood exaggerating things, but I was surprised to see they didn't. (At least, when I put up what was shown against what I'd learned of the war.) It was also nice to see it without a political motive attached. Both attributes can probably be linked to the fact that it was really a minor part of the movie. It wasn't even very long. But it was powerful for me, nonetheless.

I guess it just made it more real to me. But it was nice to be afraid. It's not the kind of fear that will make me stay home -- certainly not! My love for God and His glory in the gospel is far greater than my fear of man. But the twinge of fear is good because, first, I now can understand a bit more what ya'll are thinking/feeling when you look at me like I'm crazy. And, second, because a little fear is often just the right motivator to make you appreciate the danger and be more conscious of it.

Anyway, that's that.