Category Archives: Personal Growth

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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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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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)

My friend and pastor, Tom Ascol, was struck by lightning in 2008 and lived to tell about it. Continue reading →

Always?

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“He’s pulling my shirt!” the 4-yr-old cried, while I pried his 22-mos-old brother from his shirt on the airplane.  We were snuggled – three people into two seats so the “baby” Continue reading →

Keep Planting

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Dear Lindsey,

New Year’s Day, 2012: It was unseasonably toasty as the record-warm winter reached Continue reading →

Saved by Submission

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“I am the leader of the house, and my kids need to know it! I can’t just keep allowing my kids to be affected by Continue reading →

Good Things Come to Those Who Climb

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Dear Lindsey,

Ciao! We are enjoying our vacation in Tuscany, Italy! Continue reading →

A Stone’s Throw

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Dear Lindsey,

With the toddler and baby–in-tow, Chris and I toured our future home that was being built, while the 8 and 5-yr-olds waited outside in the middle of the 180-acre property. When we came outside, a newsworthy story was underway. We heard a “Bam!” and another “Bam! Bam!” It sounded as if our car were being shot with b-b’s. “Bam Bam!” Chris ran over to find our 5-yr-old picking up more ammo (rocks) as he proceeded to throw them directly at our Ford Excursion, five feet away.

New white scratches lined the entire right side of the black truck, and the taillight had been shattered before our arrival.  “WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!!!!” Chris roared, as he grabbed Nate’s hand before the next pebbles could be launched.

“Crash!” we heard the glass fall from the side rear-view mirror.

Bewildered, Nate replied, “I am just trying to hit the license plate.”

//

No. I could never make these things up.  Yes, my children still do things like this, and I will write about them in five or ten years – when I think they’re funny.

I am a believer in giving young children grace, but this true tale from my child needed more than grace. Although unintentional, there were results that happened due to the 5-yr-old’s actions, and those scratches, mirror and taillight needed to be fixed. He was in trouble!

I can’t tell you the number of times I was “just aiming for the license plate,” and someone or something got hurt in the mean time. So often, I want to chalk it off as “not my fault,” but the fact is that there are ramifications due to my actions, and I am responsible.

I regret the number of times I have put my foot in my mouth at the sacrifice of someone’s heart. Instead of apologizing or clarifying, I sadly have let it go as if “It’s her problem if she’s going to be so sensitive,” because, after all, I was only aiming for the license plate.

When I was a young filly of about 23, I was 5’7” and 112lb, the same dimensions as a Miss America pageant contestant that year. (OK, not the same dimensions, but the same numbers. LOL!) I wore skirts that fit and were comfortable in length to me (short!), and figured if guys looked inappropriately, that was their sin, not mine. My aim was simply to dress up and feel comfortable.  However, our pastor shared a different perspective (regarding Titus 2, which tells women to be “chaste”) :

“You would probably be surprised to know how many times I have had men in the church lament to me – the last guy only recently – telling me, “If only our women knew how difficult it was at times to come in here and try to focus on God while at the same time ending up battling my flesh over someone nearby who showed up looking like they did . . . the entire service became a tug of war and I have left church more defeated than when I came in.”

I recognized that scratched paint and broken taillight; I, myself, may once have caused it.

You have heard that we judge others by their behavior, but we judge ourselves by our intentions. In other words, we judge others by the scratches on the truck, but we excuse (or often deny) our own scratch-making, because we were “just trying to hit the license plate.”

Luckily, although thrown-stones indeed have consequences, there are lessons learned, and paint to make it new. My son eventually paid for the damages with his labor. He learned he needed to stop throwing stones if there was a risk of something nearby breaking.

I suppose that’s the lesson: I need to stop throwing stones, since there are people all around me… breaking. I need to ask forgiveness from those whom I have “scratched” even unintentionally, so fresh paint can be applied.  Of course, when we ourselves get scratched, we can remind ourselves that maybe the offender was …only aiming at the license plate.

May God bless you with intentions and actions that match.

Terri Brady

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Grace: Pass It On!

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Dear Lindsey,

J.R., who recently turned 7, had an “it’s-tough-being-a-kid” day the other day. It began well as we decided to go fishing on a nearby State-owned lake. I had bought new rods-and-reels for his sister and him, in an attempt to reduce the chances of tangling. (I am convinced the toddler poles they have had for years were designed with quality to last for 4 days, and they had long since expired.) He was so excited! As soon as we pushed off from the dock, his line was in the water, trailing behind the boat.

When we were almost across the lake, J.R. excitedly announced, “Mom! I let out all the line of my whole reel!”

“J.R.!!” His brother scolded, in the way that only a big brother could. “If you catch a fish now, you won’t be able to bring it in!”

J.R. quickly tried to bring in the line, only to find that the new reel wasn’t reeling.

By now, we were being blown toward the opposite shoreline, so I told him I would help as soon as I got the boat to a safe place. Unbeknownst to me, he was worried he was going to catch a fish, so he had begun pulling the line in by hand. While I diverted the boat from submerged objects, and fought the wind’s desire for me to hit land, an hour’s worth of work collected behind me: J.R. pulled the entire 150 feet into the boat. As if descending on its prey, the fishing line tangled the boat along with Christine’s line while gathering as a rat’s nest on the boat’s floor.

“Oh good, Mom, I got all the way to my lure!” he naively informed me.

As I turned to him, I couldn’t believe my eyes. In the first ten minutes of the trip, he had managed to take three of us out of fishing ability.

Ugh!

I fought my urge to yell, “What were you thinking?!” as I let the boat bang up against a branch, which I knew would hold us in one place while I battled the tangle. I knew if I showed my frustration, he would melt down. He wasn’t trying to be a problem.

This was just one of those “kid” moments. You know the kind? He was only being a kid. His inept ability to maneuver a line or assess the situation was affecting us all. It wasn’t his disobedience, a foul heart or purposeful mischief. I had seen it before: once, he left the water running and overflowed the sink to the basement. Another time, he had tried to clean up his own mess and only made it messier. Times like these are when we moms have a lot of power: We can yell and scream due to our selfish frustration, teaching any child within ear-shot that anger should be used when things don’t go OUR way, or we can save our anger for something more important –something which is eternal. I tried to work on the solution in silence, to keep the moment teachable.

“Sorry, Mom,” he assured me while I pulled line apart, one inch at a time. I would have loved to simply cut it loose, but it was the entire spool of line, so he wouldn’t have been able to fish. I worked some more and managed to get it free from the boat and from Christine’s line. I gave J.R. my pole so he could at least fish, while I stayed focused on the ball of twined line in the bottom of the boat.

Just as I got the tangled mass to a point where I could cut it and still have enough with which to fish, I realized we needed to depart our fishing spot and head to the dock, in case the wind slowed our crossing of the lake. I didn’t want to be late for picking up my eldest, Casey.

We were back at the dock without delay, so we had 10 minutes to spare.

“Can we PLEASE fish from shore for a few minutes?” Nate asked.

“Sure, “ I said. We loaded the gear into the truck, and drove toward the park exit. There was a sandy shoreline, which we had wanted to try, next to the exiting driveway.

When I came to the alluring fishing spot, there was one fisherman already there, enjoying the serenity of the natural surroundings of ducks and geese with ducklings and goslings. This fifty yards of beach was decked out with park benches. A canopy of trees provided shade as well as homes for the squirrels that raced in every direction.

The man sat there in silence. His shirtless body was decorated with tattoos, covered slightly by the long hair flowing from his hat. In his fifties with deeply tanned skin, he looked like this was not his first day at the pond.

“You can fish anywhere, kids, but please stay far from that man. Let him have his peace.” I said as I handed each a pole and glanced at the clock to mentally note the 10 minutes I would get to read while they fished before we needed to go pick up their brother.

BEFORE I EVEN OPENED MY BOOK, I looked up to see poor J.R., now with his line ACROSS the man’s line. I couldn’t believe it! I had only given one direction: “Stay away from that guy. Give him space. You can go anywhere except where his line is.” It sounded like a scene from Peter Rabbit, and J.R. was going to miss out on blackberries and milk for dinner!

This could get ugly. I feared, glancing at the guy as he stood to assess the situation.

I quickly descended the hill to the water’s edge, and began pleading forgiveness for my son’s error.

“I am sorry. I think his cast went in a different direction than he intended.” I said.

“Well it’s ok. I was his age once,” the stranger replied. “How’s he going to learn if he doesn’t try?”

Tears welled in my heart as I appreciated this stranger’s grace. The man’s kind answer to my son affected me all day. When a driver cut me off, a friend forgot a promised delivery, or a waitress messed up my order, I thought, “Hey, I was ‘young’ once too.”

Grace.

Pass it on.

It is amazing the distance of the ripples in the water where it falls.

May God bless your day as you bless others with grace,

Terri Brady

Ephesians 1:7 For by the blood of Christ we are set free, that is, our sins are forgiven. How great is the grace of God,

Matthew 6:14-15 If you forgive others the wrongs they have done to you, your Father in heaven will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive the wrongs you have done.

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