Author Archives: Terri

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About Terri

An engineer then homeschool mom of 4 in a former life, Terri now enjoys an (almost-)empty nest, alongside her husband: Rascal author, Chris Brady. Although a leadership speaker, Bible study teacher, business owner, and best-selling author, “Mom” and now Grandma "TT" are among her favorite titles. She has an insatiable love for music, is solar powered, and can be influenced by coffee and chocolate. She seeks most to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

Turkey Tastes Better Without Lily Pads

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Dear Lindsey,

The westerly wind blew little waves into our lake, like marks of a knife on a frosted cake. It wasn’t enough to cancel our beach day with my friend Sheri and her teenage girls, but it was enough that our normal boating and fishing were deterred.

We owned the entire perimeter of the forty-acre body of water that provided homes for bass, pike, bluegill and countless turtles and frogs. The homemade sandy beach was perfect for fun family picnics, business events and girlfriend days like this one.

“Can I go kayaking?” my 5-yr-old son asked. Kayaking was a newly acquired skill, and he was always one to love the kudos people gave him for being so athletic so young.

“It’s windy. I don’t think it would be much fun to have to fight it,” I tried to detour the request. “Do you want to show them the trails?”

“I understand you don’t want me to, but it’s not that windy; I can handle it!” he pleaded*.

There was really no more danger in kayaking that day than other days. Though he was a good swimmer, his life jacket would provide extra safety from the water. The wind would be more of an inconvenience than a danger, so I pushed his boat into the water and off he went!

His brother, three years older, followed. Within minutes, it was obvious to the elder that the wind was going to win the battle for the steering, so he returned and beached his kayak.

I looked out to see my youngster in a full-out struggle against the wind. His small stature kept him low in the boat – his armpits barely cresting the edge of the cavity where he sat. The special kayak oar, (which has paddles on both ends, rotated ninety degrees from each other,) was in full motion OVER his head. The cumbersome motion looked exhausting, as he paddled water on the left of the boat, then lifted the six foot oar over his shoulders, twisted, and quickly put in to pull equal water on the other side. Under calmer waters, each stroke would have propelled the rider through the water almost endlessly like a friction-free glide. Not today.

Each stroke looked as though it took his entire body, down to his toes. He struggled against the wind. He rowed and rowed, trying to get to the west end of the lake. But the wind was too much, and it continued to pull him backwards.

After a few minutes, I asked my oldest son to get into the paddle boat (which kited less) and go save his naïve brother. Prepared with the rope and friends (Sheri’s girls), he went to the rescue.

Sheri and I enjoyed our moment alone. Girl time is a gift that rarely comes with silence! I suppose I should not have been surprised when our peace turned into noise as a Brady brawl broke out on the water. I heard splashing, and paddle-smacking and screams of torment, as the 5-yr-old rejected his brother’s offer.

“Get out of here! I can do this by myself!”

Embarrassed by his behavior out of my reach, I calmly went to the side of the lake and told the rescuers to retreat. “I guess he doesn’t want help,” I explained.

They returned and we continued our day of fun with friends. Fire started; hot dogs ready; Polaris Ranger was full of gas for the trail tours.

I watched the lake, and my little guy was going east as fast as the wind was blowing. His tiny arms were no match for the forces from above. Soon, he “landed”. The bed of lily pads at the east end of the lake held on to many of our lost fishing lures. Any boat without a motor surely ended there due to westerly winds, but in the kayak, they presented more trouble, since the oar could not get water amidst the weeds, even on a calm day. I knew he was stuck and going nowhere. I waited.

Then we heard it: a sound like a ghost moaning.

“Mrs. Brady, I think he’s crying on the lake,” the girls came to me, concerned.

“He’s ok, or he would be asking for help,” I said, trying to stay tough.

“Wooooaaaaaahhhh!” the moaning continued, but got louder.

“Are you sure he won’t drown?” the 9-yr-old girl asked.

“As long as I can hear his voice, I know he’s above water,” I joked, but then explained: “If you listen, his cry is getting louder. He’s trying to get our attention, but I really just want to hear the words, ‘I’m sorry. Please help me.’ I believe if he sits long enough, he will realize the plight of his situation, and he will kindly ask for help.” (And I quietly prayed that would be true!)

“Wah Wah Wah!” the noise reached full crying, and vocal cords were at a maximum.

“Mrs. Brady, don’t you think we should go out there and make him come in?” the girls asked, so kindly caring about his well being.

I debated for a minute. I AM the mom, I thought. I could go win this battle with force, and punish him for the rest of eternity! But my senses kept coming back to me, if he struggles long enough, he will recognize that he is NOT the one in control.

Finally, the crying turned into intelligible words, “Mom!”

“Yes, dear?” I answered from the shore.

“Can you please help me?” he said, between sniffles.

“Of course! I will send your brother; but before he can tie your boat, you owe him an apology for trying to hit him with the oar, right?”

Silence, no answer…

“Say, ‘ok, Mom.’” I directed.

“Ok, Mom,” he mumbled, almost resolved to his lack of control of this situation.

I listened for the proper words and attitude toward his rescuers upon their arrival to the kayak. “Thanks and sorries” filled the air, replacing the space the moaning had occupied moments before.

…

Lily Pads

As an adult, I wonder how many times I’ve had to end up “stuck in the lily pads” to learn my lesson?

Someone will cry out today, “Why is God letting me drown?!”

Yet He’s hearing every word, and knows we’re still breathing.

I’ve cried, “I can’t handle this!!”

And He already knew that. We are not meant to handle it.

I am sure my son must have been thinking, “Why won’t Mom help me?!!”

…when he had already batted away the very person I had sent to help, because he wanted help from anyone but that person.

“Doesn’t God hear my moaning and crying?!”

Yet He tells us He would rather hear “sorry,” “thanks,” and “please help me.”

…

Pride.

It’s at the root of all conflict, according to John Maxwell.

It always leads to fall, according to the Bible. (Prov 16:18) Haughtiness is an abomination to the Lord! Yet, I battle it like an addiction.

Pride is when we turn down the help, because “we don’t need it.” It’s when we say “God isn’t answering,” because He’s not solving the situation the way WE think it should be solved. It’s caring more about looking good to others than being good in His sight.

God’s power is made perfect in weakness, (2Cor 12:9) yet I’ve often laughed, but do I really have to LOOK so bad? haha!

Yes, I could have done a blog on “thankfulness” this Thanksgiving week, and yet sometimes I believe our pride blocks our thanks from being heard.

Why talk about pride during the holidays? Because with holidays comes family:

  • Your husband is going to ask you to make his mom’s recipe.
    • Hook your rope to her boat.
  • Your sister-in-law is going to wipe the table exactly where you just wiped!
    • Tell her thank you.
  • Your grandkids are going to spend more time with the other set of grandparents than you.
    • Thank God that He gave you grandchildren that you love.

***********************************************************************************************

I really believe my best weight-loss program was when I realized the weight of the world was not on my shoulders, and it never was.

***********************************************************************************************

Come on, girl, you can do it! Rise above being offended this year!

Take the help and give the help. God has great plans.

Turkey tastes better without lily pads.

Love ya,

Terri Brady

Proverbs 16:5 The Lord detests all the proud of heart. Be sure of this: They will not go unpunished.

James 4:10 Humble yourself before the Lord, and He will lift you up.

Matt 8:27 The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”

* nice “wise appeal” from Say Goodbye to Whining Complaining and Bad Attitudes by Turansky and Miller. Obviously, we had not reached the goals of that book by this point, but I am so grateful for “the wise appeal” in the Brady family!!

Related Posts about Pride

The gift that says, “I’m the big one!”

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Dear Lindsey,

I know it’s not much to look at, perched on my office bookshelf among the cluttered books, but just seeing it floods my memory and heart, sufficing the intention of any gift.

My husband, Chris, had taken the boys, age 2 and 5, to the store and handed them $10 each. He told them they could buy anything they wanted for me for my birthday.

Nate, full of personality (and leaving very few of his thoughts to mystery) had those pudgy cheeks the church ladies would squeeze.  Always a competitor, when asked his age, he would answer “5,” (his older brother’s age) with full confidence.

“My! You are such a cute little boy!” a stranger had once told him.

Nate replied, “I’m not little! Except when I look in the mirror, then I’m still little, but I’m not little for real.”  (Although, it sounded more like, “I’m not wittle!”) Ha! Such spunk!

Casey, a sweet spirited pensive type, made the perfect best friend of opposite personality.  I am sure he kept the birthday shopping in line, as he turned down Hot Wheels and guns, aiming for the perfect gift for Mom, not himself.

The package wasn’t wrapped professionally. Evidence of novice hands’ work made it all the more special.  Nothing needed tearing for the present to be opened, since the young deliverers who shared in handing it to me had torn most of it. They stood, or maybe bounced, in anticipation, waiting for my response to their deeply-thought-out purchase.

The torn colored paper revealed the gift: two pigs.

Chris stood in the background, smiling so hard his cheeks might have cracked.  It was truly delightful to see these two boys so excited to give. Casey (5) explained the reasoning for the choice: “They are two brothers, just like Nate and me. We put our money together to buy it!  We thought if you put it in your office, then you would think of us. We knew if we got you candy or something, you might eat it and then it would be gone, but this you can keep FOREVER. It says, ‘I love you,’ because we do!” His reasoning continued, while I basked in the joy of the moment. I gave hugs of gratitude while they both beamed with pride over their selection.

Afterward, I cleaned up the papers and sent them for their PJ’s to start the bedtime routine.  As Casey started toward the stairs, Nate suddenly turned away and ran to my side, cupping his mouth to my ear so Casey wouldn’t hear. (–This is my favorite part!!:)

“I’m the big one!” the 2-year-old whispered, happily pointing to the pigs, which ironically both looked identical. That adorable memory of my “big” 2-yr-old sits on the shelf where the pigs still reside 10 years later.

What makes the gift special?

–      Chris. He thought to take time out of his busy schedule to let toddlers do the shopping.

–      It’s the thought that counts…always; their hearts beamed brighter than the most valuable diamond.

–      The 2-yr-old’s and 5-yr-old’s antics are no longer in my house; I cherish those memories.  No material possession could ever rank over moments that cannot be relived except in our memories. Some things truly are priceless.

Dear young mother: please remember that toddlers are a gift, temporary though they are.  When it seems you can’t get anything done…when you get more boxes to check than checkmarks in the box every day…when you are exhausted with the illness and realize you still have more kids to get it…when you are tired of finding syrup in places you didn’t know it could get to (and you haven’t even had pancakes in weeks!)…stop and find a memory for which to thank God. Blow some bubbles.  Drink in the smile. Pinch the cheeks. They disappear more quickly than the to-do list.

May you find the value behind the gifts you give and receive. I think the remembrance of the giver is “the big one” of them all.

In love,

Terri Brady

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Be still!–for your Ears’ Sake

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“Both my noses are clogged!” my then 6-yr-old son woke me in the darkness of morning. I consoled the patient and dug for remedies, while my mind realized that it was “night time” to him, but this was my early morning. I was now not only

English: Alarm clock

missing my last couple winks of sleep before my alarm would sound at 5:30, but soon my exercise time and Bible time would vanish…again… while I coddled him, allowing him to get needed sleep leaning on me.

I always feel like I can’t fill the needs of my family until my needs have been met, and yet once again, I started my day of filling their needs, while my tank was “on empty,” despite my intentions.  The clock continued its never-ending race, while I ran the laps up and down the stairs to rouse children for their school day.

Breakfast- breakfast dishes- wipe the counters (after the 6-yr-old had already wiped them) – split up sibling squabbles – clean up dog mess – wipe tears over the “eaten” toy – get to the car to take the oldest to school, then back home quickly to get the other three started in their homeschool around 8:30.  This was the daily routine of this entire school year.

We had our family Bible time, then math, grammar, the regular subjects – I switched from one subject to the next, sometimes teaching one, while spinning plates in the background with two who didn’t have my full attention at the time. The day continued at breakneck speed.  I looked forward to after school, when all were settled, and I would have an hour of silence before heading with the taxi-full to evening activities.

That’s when the 11-yr-old said, “Can you cut my hair before pictures next week?”

“Sure!” I said, as if it were an easy task. The week’s schedule flashed through my mind. Weekend travel and week night activities, concerts, and the like made me realize that my “hour of silence” that afternoon would once again be taken by something more urgent: haircuts before pictures next week.

Cutting my boys’ hair began as a money-saving venture when we had one child. It grew into an ear-saving venture, when my second son wouldn’t sit still long enough and I was worried the “ear-ritated” barber would cut off his ear. (Sorry – I couldn’t resist the pun!) But at this stage in my life, the currency being saved was time. I could cut three boys’ hair in 45 minutes, which is how long I would have to wait before even starting at some salons.

I began with the oldest and worked my way down to the youngest. I probably should have used the opposite sequence, because by the time I got to the 6-yr-old with a cold, my patience had waned lower than his.

“Be still, please.” I said as I went over the top. He squirmed side to side, and tilted his head at every snip.

“Be still.” I said more firmly, worried I would clip his ear, but hardly slowing my scissors.

“Be still!” I practically shouted at him as I continued my race to get it done before the evening schedule commenced.

Ps 46:10 abruptly came to my mind: “Be still! And know that I am God.”

I smiled to myself thinking of God shouting to me to “be still!” with an explanation point, or He would chop off my ear.

Regret filled me as I realized how “not still” my day was. I felt like promising I would do better tomorrow. “Tomorrow, I will have a quiet time with You.” “Tomorrow,” I will have a less rushed day of motherhood.” “Tomorrow, I will BE STILL and KNOW THAT YOU ARE GOD.”

As quickly as I made promises, I wondered what part of my day I was supposed to have done differently.

Was I supposed to tell the sick child to “go back to bed! I want to be with Jesus now!”?… I don’t think so.

Should I have skipped breakfast or lunch so I could “have a quiet time”?!… Not necessarily.

Should I stop homeschooling, or take kids out of activities, so I can sit around with my me-time and make it God-time?

What am I doing wrong?!

A.W. Tozer in his book, Pursuit of God, hit me hard. I wasn’t born when he wrote the book, but his seeds were planted for a harvest in this year and eternity, I’m sure. In Chapter 10, he talks about ME!

The day of the haircuts was as though I was saying, “Sorry I have to do all of this menial stuff called life, but God, I want to be with You, and tomorrow morning, while it is still dark, THEN will be my sacred life.”

The conflict comes when I try to separate my “sacred” life and my “secular” life.

The “stillness” God wants from me is that my sacred life and my secular life are one. It is then that we truly can be still.

1Cor 10:31 says that whether we eat or drink we should do it all for the glory of God. It’s so significant to me that it says “eating and drinking” – such “menial stuff called life.”

Be still, and recognize the gift of motherhood He gave.

Be still and be thankful for the usefulness of my life; I have something to exhaust me every day!

Be still and praise God! …while I go to work, attend school, cut hair, drive the carpool, coddle the sick one.

But don’t wait for quiet time to do it. Believe me: I LOVE quiet time, and set my alarm clock early on purpose. But if God’s purpose for me wakes me before the clock, I can’t second-guess His plans for my day. It is then that I can be still, and know that He had it planned just perfectly, all along.

I suppose being still has little to do with cutting off ears, and more to do with opening them to hear God’s plan for the day.

May you enjoy this day the Lord had planned for you!

Terri Brady

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But For the Grace of God

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Dear Lindsey,

This week in Guatemala has been blessed with friendships, new and old. Susie

Jen, Tracey, Susie and I at final night dinner out

Hallstrand and Tracey Avereyn have been friends of mine for the best parts of a couple of decades. Susie’s nursing knowledge combined with her ability to always see the needs of others –team members or strangers – was irreplaceable. Tracey chose to read to the three special needs children of Dorie’s promise instead of playing outside with the children daily, yet her fruits of the Spirit were also evident in her gentle reaction when a child accidentally pressed, “delete all,” on her camera.  My friend, Jen Korte, (who invited us to go on this trip since she has been here many times), and I have a friendship that makes up in depth what it lacks in years, as God gave me a soul sister on the soccer sidelines. But here in Guatemala, I feel like I have met the “real Jen,”: the Jen that has an insatiable desire to help others in need, in the name of Christ.

Each morning, our team would meet with the FCI Missions director, Joel Juarez, who would go over a devotion, which kept us focused on our purpose, when the pain of surroundings tried to distract. In the evenings, we would meet again and each member would state a high and low of the day: the returned smile from an apprehensive toddler, the reciprocated English “God bless you!” of the teen, the boy who said, “I have only had the bones, but I wonder what the chicken tastes like,” and more.  The quality of the hearts of the people in the room was astounding. Two team-members, Sue and Kari, even brought their children (Belen -5 and Wilmer -10) with them whom they had adopted from Dorie’s before international adoptions closed.  They, along with Jen, returned with a promise not to leave the others behind, and spent their week sorting through hundreds of pounds of donations they had stuffed into extra luggage. Liz’s heart was on her sleeve and kept our eyes “leaking” love; Kate’s smile lit the room when she spoke of her daughter’s fundraising; David and Bin said they were nervous around children, but that never showed, and they’ll be fantastic parents to the baby they are expecting through adoption from Korea within a year; Nate was seeking a way to serve and found the group solely by internet searching, but it was hard to catch him without a baby in his hands!; Sheryl could be a stand-up comedian with her Jersey humor and kept me taking notes so I could laugh again later;  (We nick-named her “Jersey”, and because she kept adding “ario” to words to try to sound Spanish, we later called her “Jerseyario”.)  Diane showed such leadership with the kids – they would follow her anywhere, but her true strength showed when she served through a migraine yesterday. Tracy (different from Tracey) and her daughter, Alex (10), were blessings of peace under fire.  The team made the perfect parts of the body of Christ to serve together on this trip.

With such great teammates, I wanted to capture more than just my own thoughts of the week, so I invited them to write for my blog. Tracey took me up on it (below), and I am hoping some of the others will attach comments to bless us all.

In the words of Tracey Avereyn:

When the invite to go on a mission trip to Guatemala appeared in my life,

Tracey and I in front of “the dump” community entrance

my enthusiasm for the idea grew from a couple of seeds.  The first was the opportunity to go and make a difference…to be active hands and feet of the Lord Jesus Christ as instructed in Scripture.  The second was much more selfish.  I know people who had returned from similar trips and had shared how blessed they had been through the experience…blessings from learning the stories of others, travelling to other countries, gaining perspective and developing (or even fine tuning) a scale against which to audit myself in such areas as character and faith.  And I wanted that.

And now our trip with Forever Changed International and the Dorie’s Promise Orphanage is beginning to wind down.  And this is where the rubber meets the road.  What will I do with what I’ve learned…what I’ve seen?  How will I be different going forward?  What will I be doing differently in the days to come?  And, I can honestly say that I don’t have all of that figured out quite yet.  But I know one thing…I will give thanks to God, because the one thought that continued to rest on my mind is, “There but for the grace of God, go I.” 

This week I’ve met families who live in homes that would fit within the bedroom walls of my 7-year-old.  “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

I looked into the sad eyes of 14 year old teen mothers…placed into this situation primarily by abuse…abandoned by family…living in a government-operated orphanage.  I considered my own 12 and 14 year old daughters.  “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

Our team bought thousands of pieces of used clothing for $112 to be distributed among the residents of a shantytown community situated on the edge of the dump.  These people make their living among the vultures that oversee this chasm in the city rummaging for items discarded by another that they can sell in order to feed their families.  A luxury item in this place is a concrete floor…a roof that doesn’t leak.  “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

Water filters on our bus

We had the pleasure and privilege of delivering 20 portable water filters to a ghetto community that is built along the steep face of a cliff.  The joy evident in the faces of the ladies who received these apparatuses would light the night.  I’m sure they were considering the time saved now that they didn’t have to boil their drinking and cooking water.  Yet, I felt inconvenienced with washing dishes with water that I didn’t have to boil, while waiting for a new dishwasher.  “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

In his first letter to the Thessalonians (1 Thess 5:16-17), the Apostle Paul instructs us to “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances”. And, if I were to be honest with myself, and you too, I must confess that I fail miserably at this charge.  And, this week, I repeatedly met people in much more dire circumstances than I have ever found myself…doing just as Paul instructs.  These people had no say regarding what country and situation they were born into…just as I had no say, yet received the unearned mercy of being born in the United States to a loving family with a committed mother and father. Yet, as we launched into communities in such places as a Guatemala City ghetto or a shantytown set up along the edge of the dump…we repeatedly were experiencing these people giving back to us.  Serving us cups of Coca Cola…praying God’s blessing for us…and assisting us with our various tasks.  I have so much to learn from them. 

Anytime I am leaving a beautiful vacation spot, usually along a beach of one of the Great Lakes, I am always a little frustrated that that beauty is always there whether it is being enjoyed or not.  This week, as we came and went to these places, returning to our comfortable resting spot, it occurred to me that those places of struggle continue to exist whether someone is there to help or not.  There is no escape for those residents.  And as I return to my wonderful country…to the cocoon of my family and friends…I need to give thanks to an almighty Creator because “There but the grace of God, go I”.            – Tracey A.

//

When we are irritated by that slow driver, frustrated with the boss who lacks people skills, judgmental of someone’s response to us in life, may we give thanks to God in all things and humbly recognize that there, but for the grace of God, we go.

And when we feel a tug on our heart of a need to be met, may we, by the grace of God, GO.

In love,

Terri

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No Orphans of God

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37,000 orphans in Guatemala.

33 adoptions last year.

No orphans of God.

Dear Lindsey,

I am still in Guatemala. The heart-wrenching is good for the soul.  I haven’t had time to write every day, but I thought I would try to synopsize a bit so you can get the idea.  Feel free to skip to the “Thoughts to Ponder” if your time is too limited for reading my diary :).

MONDAY:

Dorie’s Promise, the privately owned orphanage on the property where we are staying, has 38 children right now.   That seems like a lot: to grow up with 37 siblings. 38 people at the dinner table. 38 people’s worth of laundry, food, sickness, chaos, etc. It breaks my heart that they don’t have a mom they can “go home to” and tell the story of their day.

Yet, I realized what a difference Dorie’s Promise is making in those 38 lives, when we went to the state-run orphanage, which has up to 1000 children under the age of 18. We focused on those most ignored:  sixty with special needs and twenty young mothers (age 13-17), who had been raped and left or abused, so they were brought to the orphanage by police.

We brought cake and activities. Smiles and hugs. We tried not to notice lice or deformed faces, not to think of how the baby’s arm was broken or how the mentally retarded girl now has a baby.  I tried not to flinch, when grabbed from behind, as they reached out only to be touched. Give me Your eyes today, Jesus. May I see them as Your children and lift them to see themselves that way.

One young retarded boy helped another in a wheelchair by taking his plate to the trash. He licked the other one’s plate as he walked, and I realized what a gift the cake must have been.  A young mother needing dialysis three times/week is about to be back on the street since her 18th birthday is approaching. So much “out of my control,” it’s hard to think about.

TUESDAY:

We woke to treat the “special mothers” (women who work long shifts here and love the children of Dorie’s Promise more than just a job) to a breakfast and devotion in our house, while we went next door to take care of the orphans. I LOVED reading a book aloud to the children (I’m sure my gringo accent was half of the amusement.), and they came running to fight for lap space as soon as I sat with the libro.  Painting nails, making beaded necklaces, coloring and finger painting were special activities for all. The other amusement was my camera that takes videos. “Por favor foto?” they would ask, and pose with different combinations of children to vie for the spotlight. This cutie, Hilary, surprised me with her belly dancing. Aaah!! Easy to love the lovable! Nayeli had a different interpretation of dance, but both RAN to see what I had filmed. 🙂

street entrance to dump

After the morning with Dorie’s kids, we headed to the city dump, a large area where another ghetto community has been built. The repelling stench increased our desire to stay on the bus, but our team, favorably greeted by residents, forced ourselves through the trash-sorting area to get to the community of 150 homes made of cardboard, cinder blocks and tin. Approximately 3 families per home lived in this community full of roaming children and dogs. The dirt paths were speckled with color, reminding me that we were standing…ie, they were living… on a mountain of trash. I could see the bottom of a Croc surfacing.  I pray the people don’t associate themselves with the trash beneath but with the God above.

Toddlers and babies everywhere made me see the burden of fertility and I was beginning to forget the blessing.  An old man, weathered as much from the sun as from the years, suddenly leaned down to kiss a baby who lay unattended, near where I stood. As the baby received the kiss, both the great-grandpa and the baby instantly yielded smiles, as if the weight of the world were lifted. “My great-grand-daughter!” he announced to me, proudly pointing to the baby’s married 16-yr-old mother beside him.  I felt like I had received a post-it note from God: “I am still here. Don’t grow weary.”

“Road” inside dump community

Part of the $975 cost to attend this trip with Forever Changed, included buying things to supply some needs of this area.  At the dump, the money was used for “pilas”. A pila is a 500-pound cement sink basin, which seemed like an odd request if they are not washing dishes.  However, a pila, to them, means income, because they can use the water to clean things that have been “dumped” there, and then sell the cleaned treasures on the streets.  As we delivered our gifts, I realized we were trying to live out the philosophy taught in the book, When Giving Hurts, so that we don’t hinder people by our gifts.

.

.

WEDNESDAY

At our own devotional time this morning, Joel told us that Dorie’s Promise was so

Mural on the play-yard wall.

named because an orphan, Dorie, who had been abused and moved from home to home, had been given a Bible and the words, “Jesus loves you,” by a missionary. She had hung to those words and The Word through much abuse afterward, but eventually devoted her life to giving back and helping orphans. Such a small seed was planted, and although the missionary never saw the fruit, God did, and still is.

.

After devotions, we went back to the ghetto today – the one we had visited Sunday.  This time we carried twenty water filter systems. (They look like 20-gal Britta filters.) One woman wept when she walked into the room and saw the filters, before we gringos even began to speak.  The woman from our team whose 10-yr-old daughter had raised the money for the filters (selling hair clips) also wept, while the recipients expressed their gratitude. It was as much of a blessing to give as to receive.

POINTS TO PONDER

1. United States is rich. I once heard that people on welfare in the U.S. have a higher average income than 85% of the world. In essence, Americans are all rich in comparison. I used to be judgmental of rich people, assuming they were materialistic and loving money more than God.  “Good people do good things with money,” my husband fought back when I tried to squelch his ambition to start a money-making business over a decade ago. “If good people don’t use their God-given ambitions, who will be there to help when a need arises?” he had asked me. No one on this missions team is unambitious: Surgeons’ wives, business owners, nurses and CEO wives were blessed by God to be able to help in time of need. I am so thankful for them!

2.  “What if it’s a scam?!” “What if your money doesn’t really go to helping anyone?” “What if the people are pretending to be poor, taking off their shoes when you arrive, just so you will give them more?” “What if they take your gifts and destroy them the next week, since they didn’t earn them and don’t appreciate them.”

People who have been here don’t ask those questions.

3.  I think a definition of “hell” for me would be to be surrounded by people with needs that I cannot meet. Hungry children. A teen with kidney failure. A diabetic grandfather who lives at the dump. A 60-yr-old woman who tumbled down the concrete stairs of the ghetto last week. A 5-yr-old with a tumor on his eye. Those have been the low points of this week. Yet, how prideful I am! To think that I am the only one who can help?! That I have control over whether needs are met?!  My pastor said it well:  “It’s not, ‘I do my best and let God do the rest.’ That’s wrong.” (I myself have been guilty of saying that!) “The real statement,” he said, “is ‘God does it all. Period.’”

I am thankful that I do not have to carry all the weight on my shoulders. God has this. Every day of these people’s lives has been made by Him to make them who they need to be.  Maybe one of them will be the next Dorie.  I just want to be quiet enough they hear His voice. As our director, Joel, says, “I want to disappear, and let God be seen.”

One little stone changed two nations forever.  (1 Sam 17 – David and Goliath) That was our devotion one day this week. What little stone could you be throwing with God’s might behind it?! Today, Joel said in his broken English as he ended our devotion time: “You know those people who say they are going to change the world? And everyone thinks they are crazy? They are doing it.”

“God doesn’t respond to our needs, He responds to our Faith.” –Joe DarkAngelo

May the people of Guatemala have faith in Him.

Con carino de Cristo,

Terri

Blessings that Stick

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Dear Lindsey,

I am in Guatemala!

“I don’t think I have ever smiled so much and spoken so little,” my friend, Susie said today. I guess that’s what happens when you dive into playing with children of an orphanage in a land of a foreign tongue. Jen, a Michigan soccer mom friend of mine extended her heart beyond imagination all the way to children in Guatemala. She has visited Dorie’s Promise, a private orphanage in Guatemala City, many times, and invited Susie, Tracey and me to go to the land for our hearts to grow. Forever Changed International is a charity which not only supports the orphanage, but also aids the poverty-stricken within Guatemala City.

Today was our first full day, and many apprehensions were cleared, while the chains of our hearts loosened. We are staying in an adjoining house that sleeps 20. We are with other Americans from Oregon, New York, New Jersey, Michigan, and California.

First thing this morning was church. After boarding a hired bus, about 20 of the 39 orphans came onto the bus and jumped onto our laps, clearly familiar with how the “volunteer team” works. The Holy Spirit transcended any language barriers in the 8am church service, as His name lifted the roof of worship for my English ears in a Spanish world.

Afterward, we took the orphans to the park where the laugh of a 3-yr-old child (whom I was teasing with tickling on the swing) was a universal language. Those children went back to their house, which runs like a never-ending daycare; except it runs 24 hours-a-day, 7 days-a-week and is so much more permanent now that international adoption is closed.

Next, our team of volunteers left the grounds to go to one of the many ghettos in Guatemala City. As we drove, Joel, the angel who works for Forever Changed International (FCI), and hosts and translates for us for the week, explained that ghettos begin when a group of a hundred just sets up a camp on city property. The sheer numbers prevent authorities from removing them. “They begin with 100, and some cardboard homes,” Joel continued, pointing to a relatively new cardboard ghetto as we drove past. “Over time, the people add more and more, and eventually end up with something like the ghetto we will visit today.”

When the bus finally stopped at the appointed place, we were immediately surrounded by children, so excited to see the “gringos” (slang for white people) bringing gifts. I began to wish they would not think it was the color of my skin that was the giver, but the God whom I worship who was giving them gifts.

Jen handed me stickers she had brought from the states, and I began giving them to the children, while she handed other gifts. We walked through the streets, followed by a crowd who loved “the day the gringos come” (first Sunday of the month for this particular location). We carried stuffed animals, food baskets and two piñatas to end our day with a party. I overheard Tracey ask Joel, “How do you say, ‘God loves you’ in Spanish?”

Perfect! I thought. I can tell these children God loves them, while I hand out stickers.

I continued handing out stickers. “Que dios te bendiga! [God bless you!]” I said as I pressed a sticker onto each hand and looked deeply into their eyes.

I hate poverty.

Seeing ominous clouds coming in our direction, I pictured what these homes would look like when the storm hit. This ghetto was more established than the ones we passed, so walls were made of cement, or built into the side of the mountain, but I could picture the noise of rain pounding on the tin roofs, leaking through, while ten people huddled in the middle with one square foot each. Each “building” was smaller than my 8-yr-old’s room, and I never saw a bathroom. Pots and pans adorned the shelf next to the bed, but I never saw food, except once: Corn hung from the ceiling of one place to dry. The woman grew the corn on her own in “free land” a mile and a valley away where she planted corn and hauled it back to dry, in order to grind it for flour to make tortillas on the open fire on cinder blocks in the “hallway”. She had tortillas cooking under her close watch, hoping to sell them tonight for profit. (The cynic in me couldn’t help but wonder if a president thought he had helped her start that business.)

We continued our walk, stopping at houses to meet residents and ended in the park for play and piñatas. Word got out that I had “stampas” and children flocked to me. I practiced my Spanish, asking if they wanted the princess sticker or the flower. “Que dios te bendiga [God bless you!],” I said with each gift.

A sticker brought delight to these kids who probably wondered when/if the next meal would come. One baby had a “crib” which was a blanket tied to the ceiling “beams” with rope, as a hammock above an adult bed. My legs ached at the hill climbing and uneven steps OSHA would never approve.

I still hate poverty.

Corn hanging to dry within the room

In my mind, I raced to solve the issues…a new roof for that one? Cement floors so the dirt doesn’t wash away under the leaky roof? Running water?

How did they get here?

Education? – if they only knew a better way. Do they know the Hiding Place where they can go? Do they know that heaven will be better?

Thoughts pounded, and children enjoyed our presence.

“Better is one day in heaven than a thousand on earth,” I thought. I am grateful for the volunteers here. “Well done, my good and faithful servant!” will surely be heard by Joel, FCI, Jen and the hearts that surround the work to make this place better for these 400+ children in this one ghetto alone.

But I look forward to heaven for those residents. One minute of eternity will erase all hunger pangs from a life here.

I prayed for the children while I watched them race for candy, a temporary joy amidst the struggle called life.

Suddenly, a group of young teen girls approached me, interrupting my thoughts. The four giggled incessantly, as though from my American neighborhood. They all looked on in anticipation, while they egged each other to ask a question. Finally, one stepped up and asked:

“Como se dice ‘Que dios te bendiga’ en Ingles? [How do you say, “Que dios te bendiga” in English?]”

“God bless you,” I answered. They each repeated it slowly, practicing, trying to cement it to memory to be retrieved later. I was overjoyed by their approach.

I hope that when the “gringos” are gone tonight – as the rain pours outside – that those children remember His name above all else.

God bless those children,

Terri

Where is Walmart?

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Para español, haga clic aquí (coming soon)

Dear Lindsey,

Eighty-degree sunshine is a love language all by itself, but throw in two of my children and lunch outside of a Chick-fil-A and it was a recipe for mom-hood fun. Christine, JR and I were enjoying each other’s company while we soaked up the vitamin D and sandwiches, when a car pulled up and the driver asked if I knew where the Walmart is. I told her I didn’t.

The truth is that we were on our way home from a dental specialist for my daughter, so I didn’t go to that area frequently, nor do I go to Walmart much. The woman drove on toward the building, clearly disappointed with my answer.

While she drove, I pulled out my iPhone, and searched to find the Walmart just ½ mile down the road. If the woman circled back toward me, I was ready with the answer.

She DID circle back toward us, and rolled down her window, but before I could tell her the answer I had found, she broke into my beautiful day and shouted:

“I got the information I wanted from the officer inside, but you disgust me. I am from New York, and it tells me a lot about North Carolina schools that you stupid people don’t even know your area!”

I sat stunned with a million “comebacks” in my head, while she drove away, not waiting for my response. I laughed.

“Did she call US stupid?” asked J.R.(age 7).

“I think it tells me that schools in New York teach people to be mean!” laughed Christine (age 8).

I was glad the lady had rolled up her window before I had had my chance to reply, since it probably would have involved similar thoughts to my kids’, plus maybe some other cursory comments. (…if I could have stopped laughing long enough to respond!)

Lack of self-control looks silly on people.

It’s sad to me how easily labels flowed into my mind, fortunately not out of my mouth, but equally sinful.

She had attached my ignorance to the state of North Carolina.  My heart responded by attaching her rudeness to her state, the place she shopped, the kind of car she drove, her hair color, her skin tone, anything that was different than my own.  There must have been a cause for her rudeness. Haha! How did my sunny picnic succumb to those stormy thoughts so easily?!

It reminded me that we attach labels by nature: sinful nature. My children didn’t need to be taught “the art of comebacks” to mirror her labeling. They did it naturally.  And unfortunately, so silently did I.

I heard a story recently of a soccer player who was going to take out a disagreement from the field in an off-the-field location, so the opposing team’s player would know he meant business. His teammate said, “You can’t do that. A referee could see you and disqualify our team from the tournament!”

The boy replied, “Well, I’ll change into plain clothes first, so they don’t know what team I’m on.”

In a high-calling, there are no “plain clothes.” The One who knows our thoughts and actions doesn’t assign labels for what shirt we wear, car we drive, state in which we went to school, or even knowledge of our local shopping. He cares about the thoughts we have of people He created, and if we love them as we love ourselves.  I’d like to be proud to wear the shirt of His team.

Really, the woman was frustrated, maybe late, maybe needing medication that Walmart provided at a discount :), and it came out with lack of self-control.  (Haven’t I been there?!)

But she showed me a window into my thoughts where I need to work as well.

After all is said and done, I want to be proud to wear my uniform for Christ, and never take it off.

Gotta go – I need to add “know where the nearest Walmart is” to my homeschool curriculum!

Blessings and smiles,

Terri

Matthew 25:40 (Jesus speaking): “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'”

Matthew 5:21-22 (Jesus speaking): “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’  But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.”

Galatians 5:22-23  “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

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From Nate: Milking Allergies For All They’re Worth

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Dear Lindsey,

My son, Nate, is my guest author today! My second born, he is known as a soccer player extraordinaire. He is full of personality and a spitting image of his father, in looks as well as scores on the Personality Plus test, which makes him extra lovable! You may know him for his license plate aiming, “reverse adult psychology” at age 3, and of course, his injured knee that took him out of soccer for the season last spring.  Nate is the one who has severe food allergies. (Humor story on that here.)  We have tried all of the doctor’s recommendations, as well as hours and hours and thousands of dollars into holistic methods, and there has not been relief.  Once on a long drive to see a “specialist,” he claimed he didn’t want to go, because he “liked his allergies.” I kept driving thinking he was just saying that to try to get back home to play, but his words below enlightened me to see his heart.

He wrote a paper last year, at age 11, for an online writing class through The Potter’s School.  The assignment was to write pros and cons of an issue. He chose the issue, made a list of pros and cons and put it into the essay below. I was surprised at what he saw from “his side of the story,” and I’m grateful that God has given him such insight! I pray it encourages anyone who deals with food allergies, (or any “thorn in a side” that won’t go away), as Nate shows admirable reframing of thoughts.

In his words (unedited…mostly):

After my sixth bite of the hamburger, I knew something was wrong. My throat felt weird and I felt like it was getting smaller. Then my eyesight went blurry and my face puffed up. I cried out looking for my parents, but they were nowhere to be seen!

I’m still waking up nine years later, having the same dream. I know that one false ingredient could cost me my life.  On the outside no one would guess that a sports fanatic kid like me could puff up and stop breathing after a couple bites of McDonalds burgers, but it’s true.  I mean it’s not bad. For instance I can’t eat most junk foods so I don’t have to worry about diets or anything. Although that can also be a bad thing, because junk food is awesome!  At least the junk food I can eat.  Since I’m allergic to milk and beef, most candy goes down the drain. 

.

My favorite part of allergies is that I feel that God made me a different unique creature. My worst favorite part is I’m always causing trouble for my mom. But it shows me that she loves me enough to go through what she does for me.  Folks might say that allergies are horrible, but to me, they’re a magnificent blessing.

No chocolate cake? No ice cream? How can you live? People say. It doesn’t matter to me because I’ve never tasted that stuff, so I’m fine without it.  I can’t say that at some dinners when my family is eating special desserts (while I’m eating strawberries) I don’t get a little jealous, but hey, who wouldn’t? It is very frustrating when some restaurants don’t try to cooperate with my mom about what I am going to eat. It causes my mom a lot of trouble, and usually we have to go to a different restaurant.  I’ve had my little brother and sister thank me before because we go to a restaurant that they don’t want to go to, and then I can’t eat anything there, so we go somewhere else -where they would rather go anyway.

 

Nate's Allergy testing.

Nate’s Allergy testing.

It makes me feel weird at parties when I can’t have the cake. Usually my mom gives me cupcakes to take. Unfortunately for my mouth, those cakes look good! I know though, that my mom made those cupcakes for me, and that makes them better than any cake could be.  I think that my allergies have made me come closer to my family. Because I know that they sacrifice a lot for my allergies. Sure I’d love to have a hamburger every once and awhile, and sure I want to be able to be normal at my friend’s birthday parties just once. Although if I had to choose one for a lifetime, It would undoubtedly be allergies.

My dad loves to go to Italy every summer and look at the historical buildings that were made hundreds of years ago. Unfortunately we still have to eat. If it was hard when we could speak the same language as the waiters and waitresses, it was even harder when we couldn’t speak their language. But after a lot of Italian learning, they can order me a meal!

I have passed on many birthday cakes, and I guess I will never taste ice-cream. Sometimes our family can’t even go out to eat for family dinners! I have never been able to get a kids meal at McDonalds. But  through my life I have seen that allergies aren’t all about what foods a person can’t eat; it’s about being who God created me to be and being thankful for my family who is willing to sacrifice for me.

What a special young man! I can honestly say that I had not seen the issue in the light that he shows in that essay. He is choosing to take the higher road of thinking like a champion.

In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, he talks about a physical ailment, a thorn in his side that doesn’t go away. Paul says: ( 2 Corinthians 12: 8-9)   “Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 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.”

By God’s grace, may we, like Nate (and Apostle Paul), rejoice in our weaknesses as the Lord’s power is made perfect.

Blessings,

Terri

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Dear Lindsey,

The opossum ran into the nighttime street and changed his mind one time too many. Continue reading →

When We Don’t See A Purpose

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Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. – John Watson (aka Ian MacLaren)

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