Starving the Beast

    There is a monster I foolishly feed. His muscles grow with each morsel that trickles from my hand. I recognize his hideous presence, for the stench of death emanates from the hairy beast. Yet tragically, I do not realize it is my hand that sustains his destructive existence. Nay, rather, it is my hand that causes his poison to spread and his trail of decay to thrive. How can I be blind to my role as an enabling companion, an accomplice of atrocities? The trick is in the glitter of his eyes, the sweetness of his facade, and the innocence of his reflection. A master of disguise is the beast that stocks me.
    His name is ever changing, his appearance masked in shallow pleasantries. His whisper promises loyalty and authenticity, yet stings when the mist of deception clears. This beast awakens the ugly tempers within me, fans the flames of frustration, offense, and judgement that spark to life at his hisses. Grace meant to engulf my relationships is evaporated before his throne, and truth is cast into the shadows of his shine.
    What hope can pierce through the despair of this catastrophic relationship? What power can cause my hand to cease providing the strength that empowers his attacks? How can I starve my beast? What death can claim him who delights in delivering death?
    Only one sword can bring my beast to his grave. Only one power can destroy the destroyer. Only one King can reign over this darkness and banish the beast to his end. Only one Savior can grasp my hands and grant me power to starve my beast. Then, on my knees before this Savior’s presence, my eyes will be opened and I will recognize the presence of my beast. The beast’s lies will lose their glitter, and the mask will dissolve as his real hideous form is revealed. On my knees before my Savior, my relationships will once again be saturated in the grace that flows from His throne. As I bow before my King, my beast will starve.

My Raindrop Battlefield

    

Our CNG ride

    This morning I woke up on the battlefield. To the untrained eye, to my very own eye, it didn’t appear to be a battlefield. My covers were cozy and the streets were humming with a peaceful melody. I rolled to my feet and casually went about my morning routine. Nothing in my surroundings sang forth an alarm of danger. Perhaps the deadliest battles are at first undetected.
    What is good attire for battle? My unlikely choice was a shari. My neighbor came to my house and helped me carefully assemble the material. Still blind to the enemy’s presence, I descended the stairs focused upon obtaining transportation to school. I glided into a slight drizzle of rain. Finding shelter under the eve of the building, I waited while the guard summoned me a CNG driver. This is when a corner of the darkness that covered my eyes began so sweep up and reveal a glimpse of the battlefield that engulfed me.
    The rain instantaneously transformed into a downpour and heavy bullets of water pelted the earth. The guard peaked his head in the gate and yelled over the rumble of raindrops that he had secured a CNG. Seeing my roommates and I huddled under the eve, he quickly bellowed forth the instruction to borrow his umbrella that was perched against the building. We sprinted toward the CNG and clumsily folder ourselves inside. The doors are crisscrossed bars, open to the weather, so our seat welcomed us with a puddle of water. The transition was quick and the guard raised his voice to call one last message to me. He roared, “Krikkit, 60 taka!” This was just a simple message to ensure I knew the price of our ride, but in the moment, it seemed like a life and death matter.
    As we sped into the morning storm, I suddenly felt like I was on the battlefield. The CNG driver swerved through the streets of Chittagong, dodging busses, honking at pedestrians, and squinting to see through the blurry waterfall that ran down his windshield. Our clothing was saturated with water when we reached the school. My roommates directed the driver to stop directly in front of the door so we could make one leap into the shelter of the building. The uncles who guard the gate heard our vehicle approach and opened the door. Their faces reflected both astonishment and amusement as they took in our rainy scene. Holding the umbrella overhead, my roommates swiftly leapt into the school courtyard. I lingered a moment more to pay the driver. All the while, the street rumbled with vehicles racing past us.
    The driver did not have change for my payment so I quickly handed my bag to my roommate in exchange for her small bills. As we made the exchange, the CNG started to roll backwards! On the busy streets of Chittagong, suddenly rolling backwards could result in quite the catastrophe. I let out a little shriek and the driver quickly regained control of his breaks. He took the money with a big grin, and I prepared for my leap into the building. Leaping is not particularly easy when wearing a shari, but I somehow managed.
    The uncles closed the door and I assessed my sodden state. The event almost seemed surreal to me. We all wore giant smiles, spread across our faces, as the bunch of us reflected on what had just transpired. After collecting my bag, I made my way to the meeting in my classroom. Although I had survived the battle of the rainstorm, my mind was now keenly aware of the spiritual battle I was called to face that day.
    When I rolled out of bed and sleepily planted my feet on the floor, the battle was already well under way. God warns that, “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places (Ephesians 6:12). My surroundings appear serene, but there is a battle waging for my allegiance. The war is won, but the battles rage on. The enemy is seeking to deceive me, to dissatisfy me, to distract me, and to devour me. Regardless of my acknowledgement, I am always at the center of the battlefield.
    It is when I lock eyes with my Commander and Chief, the lover and redeemer of my soul, that I find clarity and victory. Strength wells up and purpose bursts forth to transform the world as I follow my King through the battle. Yes, I am on the battlefield. God used bullets of raindrops to remind me of this important fact today. Apathy, ignorance, rejection, and laziness will not remove me from the battlefield, they will only remove victory from my grasp. With renewed vision, I engage in the battle and rest in the joy, peace, and hope of my King, knowing that the war is won.

A Lovely Trek

    Jet leg has some wonderful side effects. I have been going to bed at about 9pm and waking up early. Normally I don’t like waking up early, so I love this routine! Today is Saturday, but with school starting tomorrow, my roommates and I woke up early and spent most of the day at school. My room is beginning to look like a superhero lair. For those who do not know, I have a superhero theme. I am excited to use the theme to share with my students how they can be superheroes as they follow God’s lead in their lives.
    After school, Meagan and I went shopping to find some clothing. We were a bit shocked at the high prices, and it took quite a while to find an outfit in our desired price range. We enthusiastically entered one shop and focused on the mission of finding an orna (like a scarf). It was a very small shop where the people are not usually friendly, so I decided to wait outside for Meagan. As I waited, I found a maxi I liked. Meagan bought a maxi a few days ago and she has been raving about it. Every day she tells me I need to buy one. Maxis are like long flowing dresses that we can wear in our house. They are a lot cooler than other clothing options. As sweat trickled down my face, I recalled Meagan comfortably dancing around our house in her maxi. Yes, I decided to buy the maxi.
    I joined Meagan in the cramped shop to make my purchase. As I entered, Meagan asked if I had 50 taka. The shop owner did not have change for her 100 taka. I thumbed through my wallet and apologetically explained that I did not have small change. I made my purchase and waited for the shop keeper to find change for Meagan. At this moment, Meagan informed me that the shop owner was taking a little rest on the floor behind the counter. Odd. That wasn’t all though, he had his shirt pulled up to maximize the cooling effect of airflow in the room. His workers carefully used the shelves and counter to climbed over him. There he was, sprawled out in his cramped little shop, giving orders to those above him, nearly shirtless. Interesting indeed.
    The experience became more humorous when another customer squeezed into the small shop. Meagan and I were still waiting for the worker to send his buddy to make change at the next shop. Instead, the worker asked the newly arrived woman, who was shopping, if she had any change! Meagan and I could not contain our giggles. She pulled out her wallet and carefully searched for the little bills. Unfortunately, she did not have change either. Finally, he asked his co-worker if he had change. The young man whipped out a fifty, exactly what we needed. It was quite the community event. The bustle didn’t seem to bother the resting shop owner though as he didn’t budge from his   stately throne the whole time we were there.  
    One part of our mission was complete, and another part was yet to be conquered. With orna in tow, we headed to another section of town to search for a cheap outfit. We walked through every store in the building and finally found the perfect outfit for Meagan. Mission accomplished, it was time to go home. However, there was a divine appointment from God waiting for us on the street corner.
    Last year I told you about, “meandering with the munchkins.” Well, our little munchkins were thrilled to see us today. The whole group sprinted toward us and slammed against us with huge hugs. One little girl said it had been many days since she had seen us. They all called out in little phrases inquiring about our well being and such. A few little ones even chimed in with little bits of English. We hugged our beloved kiddos and walked hand in hand with them. It is somewhat hard to walk hand in hand with twelve kids when there are only four hands between Meagan and I, but the kids make it happen. Their smiles make my heart soar.
    The kids asked us to buy them mangos, and we agreed. This was a rather large group, and they can get rather unruly when they are in a large posse. We quickly devised a plan. I gathered the children around me and told them to stay right there  while Meagan approached the dokon (fruit shop) to buy the mangos. We needed thirteen by this time. We drew quite the crowd of onlookers, and the kids jumped up and down in excitement and hung on my arms. The shop keeper is used to us buying fruit for our kiddos. During past experiences, we have learned the best system for distributing fruit. The owner comes out and has all the kids sit on the ground. Then he carefully gives each child a mango, making him or her leave as he or she receive it. That way, no one hides the fruit and asks for another (which we experienced once when one boy stuffed his chip bag down his britches and reached a hand out looking at us with glittering big brown eyes.) We told the children we would see them later, and they joyfully skipped along. A few adults asked us questions, and we headed home.
    It is great to be back. I missed the people. While visiting our tailor, I took a picture of a pair of sandals outside his shop door. The word, “lovely” was printed across the plastic strap. Immediately my mind thought of the prophet Isaiah’s beautiful words, “How lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who announces peace and brings good news of happiness, who announces salvation, and says to Zion, “Your God reigns!” (Isaiah 52:7). Please pray that our feet will be lovely to the people of Bangladesh as we seek to honor our wonderful God.
    Please keep us in your prayers as school begins tomorrow. The teachers are extra busy this year with even more responsibilities than in previous years. Recent events have added even more to busy schedules than was anticipated. It is a difficult, yet exciting time at William Carey Academy. We are stepping out in faith, knowing that God will provide the strength and energy we need for this year. He will receive all the glory as we follow Him down a path we can not conquer on our own. Such paths can be intimidating and difficult to travel, but they are the most rewarding because they greatly magnify the excellence of our precious King. Thank you for supporting us on the journey.

Lessons From My Three Little Heartbeats

    I once heard a friend refer to her fish as her, “Little heartbeat.” Her mom had communicated to her the weight of responsibility that accompanies pet ownership. The main point was that each pet is one little heartbeat the owner is responsible for. I am responsible for three Little Heartbeats at my summer workplace. The shop where I spend my summer days has two cats and a big bird. A smaller bird and a dog also dance around the room during normal business hours, but not when I am the sole worker. I have learned a few valuable lessons from my three Little Heartbeats this summer.
    Toward the end of the day, I found myself hot gluing beads to the front of drawers. I must take a second to tell an unrelated story. As I hot glued the drawers, a customer came up to me and asked if I worked there. The smile would not be forced from my face. The thought of me hot gluing things to drawers if I did not work there was just too humorous for me to stuff the giggle away. Back to the point, toward the end of the day, I was continuing with my hot glue mission. The rain outside drizzled through a cloudy gray sky. The shop seemed cozy and warm with music playing softly in the background. My mind mulled over many topics and I began to get lost in thought. Sometimes this can be dangerous.
    Prolonged pondering and reflection must be kept on the path of truth. It is easy  for Satan to sneak in whispers of half truths that spring into little seedlings of lies and destruction. These half truths can present themselves in the form of discontentment, anger, hurt feelings, jealousy, offense, defensiveness, the forms are endless. The lies can grow sturdy roots quickly if they are not pulled from the soil of the mind. This time of contemplation is a good time to practice speaking truth to the soul.
    So here I found myself, snug in my little store, thinking. My heart was starting to water Satan’s little seeds and they were beginning to grow tender, yet powerful, roots in my heart. I began to ask myself what my Savior’s plans were for a heartache I felt. That is when I noticed one of my Little Heartbeats sitting by the front door. The cat’s eyes were focused on something in the distance. He patiently waited and watched. What he searched for, I do not know. I think perhaps he was waiting for his master, the shop owner, my wonderful boss. Whatever his little heart was searching for, he was willing to wait for it.
    A word pushed through the thoughts in my mind and demanded my attention: anticipation. This word sent conviction and hope flooding through my heart. Do I anticipate the promises my Savior has given me? Do I anticipate the blessing of following His chosen path? Do I anticipate the hand of my Master moving in my life? Just as my Little Heartbeat sat, anticipating some desire within him, I must confidently anticipate the promises my Savior has made me.
    Now focused on the behavior of the shop’s Little Heartbeats, I contemplated more actions they perform. Their favorite place to sprawl out and snooze is on the counter next to the register. Most of the day, one cat can be found napping on a mat next to the register. The other is often curled up in a box of beads located to the right of the register and directly in front of the store entrance. Reflecting on the cats in these locations, a knew word flashed into my mind: position. The cats know exactly where to position themselves to receive the greatest amount of customer love and attention. Every person who walks in the door sees the cat in the bead box. Every customer who aspires to purchase an item must reach over the snoozing cat by the register. All day long the cats are massaged, kissed, adored, and loved on. I can’t help but smile as I realize they are masters of position.
    God wants me to be a master of position. My decisions need to communicate my role as His daughter and servant. They need to position me in His path. I am reminded of His words, “If you love Me, you will keep my commandments.” There are incredible blessings that overwhelm my soul with peace, hope, and joy when I position myself in God’s Word, around His people, and on my knees before His presence.
    As these thoughts floated around in my mind, and I continued gluing little beads, I suddenly heard the bird, “Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello.” A fresh smile overtook my countenance. The bird has frightened a few customers with his speech. The best is when he starts squawking, “Help!” People look at me with huge eyes. I can see their agony as they try to decide what could possibly be going on. Who is desperate for help and what have I done to someone that is causing the person to cry out in such a tone? I quickly explain that it is the bird, and I can see the relief sweep over them. At this specific time, I was the only one in the shop. I heard the bird start reciting every word and sound he knows. A final word surfaced within me: persistence.
    The bird is quite persistent in his speech. Usually, if I want to show him off, he refuses to talk. I will eagerly bring a friend to see the beautiful big bird. Then I will start saying the words I desire for him to repeat. Nothing. He refuses to be pressured into performance! Yet, when he wants attention, he refuses to be silent. He will say, “Hello. Cracker. Ribbet. Help.” and many more words, over and over again. He does not tire of demanding attention through his speech. He is persistent.
    Then my mind recalled an event from earlier in the day. The cats know the right position, but they also know persistence. When they want attention and the customers are not coming to them, they will simply adjust and go to the customers. I watched one cat follow a man up the stairs, around the balcony, back down the stairs, around the aisles, and to the register. The man loved the Little Heartbeat and spoiled him during the whole journey. The Little Heartbeats know persistence.
    I am convinced that God desires for me to be persistent in my requests. He wants me to ask for His presence to meet every need of my soul. He doesn’t want me to stop there, but He wants me to then persist in asking. He says to ask as a child asks his father for food, as a friend begs a companion for help, with unrelenting persistence. Sometimes I believe He desires to strengthen my faith and reliance upon Him, to sweeten our relationship, by demanding my persistence. His provisions are promised, and His powerful joy is sure to saturate and strengthen my soul. Yet, I often forfeit for lack of persistence.
    Today, while working some hot glue magic, I learned three important lessons from my three Little Heartbeats. 1. God desires for me to anticipate, to fully believe, and act upon my faith in His hand of provision. He will provide for my every need. 2. God desires for me to position myself to receive His blessings. He is ready to open the heavens and pour His blessings upon His children. Sometimes they come in forms I am not expecting. Other times, I am not patient enough to wait in His position. I wander off His path and do not position myself for the powerful impact of His presence. I need to position myself where my Savior has called me. 3. God desires for me to be persistent in my supplications and pursuit of Him. Through the long hours of the night, He strengthens and grows me, until morning comes and His glory shines brighter than I can imagine. I must be persistent. Like my three little heartbeats, I must cling to anticipation, position, and persistence; then I will bask in the presence and glory of my Almighty King.

    

The Choir and the Conductor

       Our elementary, middle school, and high school students completed their choir performances. They were fantastic! It was wonderful to listen to them sing with passion and beauty. One element of the concert was new to me. Between the group performances, select students performed solos. It was great to see their talents highlighted and enjoy such a variety of music.
       As I watched the concerts, I was struck by a simple occurrence. Like all good musicians, most of the students carefully watched the conductor's hands. As Mr. Thomas, the choir director, kept rhythm, cued parts, and led the selections, the performers eyes were glued to his hands. His hands told the students what, when, and how they were to sing. If the students had decided to perform based on their own expectations of what should happen, their own interpretation of the best speed, blending, and timing, the performance would not have been beautiful and successful.
      Our lives are the same way. We are supposed to be carefully watching our Maker's hands. When He beckons, we should promptly respond. A world is watching our actions, but our focus must be on our God, the Conductor of our lives. He knows all the important details and He wants us to be successful in sharing His beautiful message of love and hope. If we take our eyes off His lead, we will not be able successfully produce His selection. However, if we carefully, attentively, eagerly, and joyfully watch and respond to His leading, He will work in ways beyond our greatest dreams. Just like the choirs, we must trust and diligently follow the lead of our Great Conductor.

Hopping out of the Ordinary

   I just had quite the emotional day! It started out on a hilarious note. Well, I guess if I am going back to the beginning, it started on a sleepy note. I did not want to wake up for Saturday school! Then it turned hilarious when I got to school. One of my boys said, "Miss Holly, can you please take care of this cockroach?" It was on its back by his desk, but still at least partly alive. I said sure and grabbed the trash can. I looked around for something to use to push it into the bin. I decided upon my student's pencil. The problem started when my pencil flick missed the trash can and put the little guy back on his feet. Apparently he had more life left in him than we thought because he started to run right up my foot!
     My formerly calm state vanished as I jumped around and made soft squeals. I proceeded to shake my leg like crazy and the little roach went sailing through the air and landed right in an innocent bystander's backpack as he was leisurely unpacking. I mean it landed RIGHT in the open pouch! I watched as my student stared at it, moved around quickly, but was unable to decide just what to do. Suddenly he grabbed the backpack, flipped it upside down, and ferociously shook it. Out tumbled the roach, on his feet again. It started scurrying around the floor, among the pencils, erasers, and pieces of trash that had also fallen out of the backpack. By this time all the surrounding students were screeching. Backpack boy heroically snapped into action and powerfully stomped the roach to his death, all while still sitting in his seat.
    At this point I sent a student to get a broom to sweep the pancake roach into the trash. Before he could get back however, another brave little hero carefully picked up the remains of the roach by one of its antennas. He triumphantly, and yet casually, walked to the trash bin and plopped the deceased roach inside. What a way to start the morning!
    The next great event happened during Bangla time. My students were settled into their Bangla lesson, with the Bangla teacher, and I had just sat down at my desk to start grading papers. All of a sudden, the fire alarm went off! They quickly formed a number order line. They moved like a well oiled machine. I scooped up my clipboard and glanced over fire drill procedures as I headed to the front of the line. We waited for our turn to enter the procession of students filing down the narrow stairway. A thick quietness engulfed the hallway. Then, it was shattered by the giggles and whispers of my class! This is where the anger of the day enters the scene. I gave them my best teacher glare and told them I didn’t want to hear a peep! After that they were angels.
    The school day finally came to an end as I waved goodbye to my last student. I stayed for a few extra hours to grade papers, plan, and organize. Then it was time to start my next adventure. Meagan was going to a birthday party, so it was up to me to walk myself home. No big deal, I only had to cross the insane “highway”, walk through the dump, make my way along the maze of a path home, and make a few stops along the way. I asked God to go before me and help me get across the biggest road. Huge buses, rickshaws, speedy CNGs, and cars whizzed by. Then I saw my opening and dashed across the first half of the road. I stood on the meridian and waited for my second opening to make it the rest of the way.
    I noticed a Bangladeshi man preparing to cross ahead of me. I was quite pleased because when there are nationals I simply stand a little too close for comfort and walk exactly when they do. Much to my dismay, the man started walking toward me, and then past me. I was on my own. No openings emerged so I waited a minute. I glanced behind me and there the man was! He was going to cross behind me so I would get hit, not him! Not to worry, I worked my expert skills, meaning God made an opening for me, and I scurried the rest of the way across the road.
    I made my way to the shopping building where I wanted to exchange a dvd that didn’t work. After a few minutes of riding escalators, I reached the shop. I love those men! They are always so sweet and helpful. They make me feel like a very important person. The exchange was made with no problems, and I was on my way again.
    As I approached the second escalator, the young man in front of my paused. I stopped to let him get on his stair first, then I waited to let a few stairs emerge between us, and I hopped on my own stair. My careful planning was thwarted as the young man turned around and asked me if I was British. He proceeded to ask me several questions as he followed me out of the building. I tried to politely, but shortly, answer him. He asked if we could, “make friendship”. With a smile, I said no. Realizing he was going to be persistent, I approached a rickshaw driver to take me the next stretch of my journey. The rickshaw driver said he didn’t want to go in the direction I was headed. It didn’t bother me though because the only reason I asked was to escape the man. So, I began walking again.
    My next stop was at the tailor’s. I zig-zagged my way through the building and staircases to reach my tailor’s shop. He smiled as I greeted him with the cultural greeting. He was actually in the middle of working on one of my outfits. He packaged up my pieces that were done and asked me to wait five minutes so he could make one more sewing addition to the sari tops. When he arrived with the sewn blouses, he began ironing them in preparation to give them to me. It was at this moment that I realized I have been ironing wrong my whole life. He slams the iron down on the fabric with spirit and then proceeds to press out the wrinkles. The trick seems to be the powerful slam because he repeated it many times. He gave me my items and I completed my trek home.
     God has a way of turning ordinary moments into grand theatrics. I never know who or what will enter the stage next. His little blessings pile up so quickly that they tumble over and flood my life with joy. Whenever I have a challenging day I need to take a breath and count my blessings. They surely do pour down like rain, and this time of year, that is saying something in Bangladesh.

Meandering with the Munchkins

     I saw my first rat today. Don’t worry it was not in our house. Actually, it was almost a pleasant experience. I know, that sounds crazy. Have you ever read the children’s book Desperoux? One of the main characters is a rat. Therefore, rats sometimes don’t seem quite as disgusting to me as they should, if they keep a safe distance. It also helps that this rat was scampering along a trickle of water in a ditch. At that moment, the sun was shining, I just finished a fantastic day of school, and the rat seamed to share my enthusiasm for the day.
    The cockroaches are a different story. They appear to have made an announcement to the cockroach community that our house is a delightful place to live. I have killed around five already this week. It is not uncommon at all to hear Meagan shriek, followed by a loud thud, as she smashes her fair share too. Cockroaches I can handle, but praise God they are not wolf spiders. Seriously, the name itself sends shudders down my spine.
    Walking home from school is always an adventure. So far, we have always survived crossing the swarming street. Although, Meagan saw her life flash before her eyes a few days ago when her shoe caught on the meridian and she nearly stumbled into the road against her wishes. However, today’s adventure involved our precious little friends who always greet us on the streets. There are several groups of children who cling to us as best friends. We saw three separate groups on the way home today. As soon as they see us their faces beam with smiles that stretch from ear to ear. They sprint toward us and leap to give us running hugs. Their little voices joyfully proclaim, “bondu! bondu!” which means, “friend! friend!”.
    The first group consisted of three children. Only one boy decided to follow us as we walked. His shirtless chest was a beautiful brown speckled with mud. We have had serious rain the past few days and mud abounds. This little boy walked with us for nearly five minutes. He looked to be about eight years old, but he told me he was four. Somehow, there must have been a language miscommunication between us! Just as suddenly as he appeared, he rushed away, as if he reached the end of his territorial line.
    The next little group was made up of only two boys. They were standing on the side of the road just before our next crossing. I motioned to Meagan to prepare for some lovin’ because as soon as the boys saw us they would rush over. Just as I drew her attention to the boys, the littlest one, who looked to be about three, tugged his pants down and started doing his business on the side of the road. The older one picked that moment to notice our approaching presence. He urged his little companion to quickly finish his duty because they needed to come see us. Our time with these two little guys was rather short because they didn’t cross the road with us. We exchanged a few friendly greetings, smiles, and questions and then parted ways.
    Our final group of friends was the biggest. We were about five minutes from home when we saw this last group of children. There were probably about five children ranging in age from a few months old to around nine years old. They were all squatting on the side of the road looking at the ground. I am not sure what they were doing. One little boy noticed us and quickly started shouting in his loudest voice for all the others to come greet us. The little swarm rushed over and we welcomed them with smiles, hugs, and hand holding. All the children on the street ask us for money. We usually buy them fruit, on special occasions we buy them fruit AND candy. Today we didn’t have money so we told them, “Not today, another day.”
    All the little munchkins left except one small boy. He quickly became my favorite. This little guy was probably only six years old. He latched on to my hand and strolled right along side me as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His face was overcome with a beautiful smile and he looked up at me as we walked. I asked him what his name was, how old he was, and how he was doing. He cheerfully answered and asked me the same questions, minus the age, which I think he could care less about. He had a bright yellow button up shirt, but it was not buttoned so it flapped open exposing his cute little tummy. One boy called for him to return, but my little buddy refused to acknowledge the command, so the other boy joined us on the walk. The older boy looked to be about eight and he had a baby on his hip. The eight year old kept asking for a mango, rice, an apple, etc. I smiled and said, “Where will I get them?” We were not by any stores. I said I didn’t have any with me. He just smiled and said, “Another day?” To which I assured him that we would buy him an apple another day.
    My little guy ignored the questions and just joyfully walked with me, continuing to hold my hand the whole way. We reached our house and the darwan (guard) opened the door. My little buddy started to walk in with us. He was so cute! I told him I had to go, but I would see him later. The darwan kept saying, “later, later later!” and the boys reluctantly said goodbye. I just love them!
    If only you could walk the streets of Chittagong with me! Your feet would be covered in mud this week. The rains caused major flooding yesterday. One of the fathers came to pick up his girls from school and he was wet up past his knees because he had to walk through the flood waters. The adventures continue. Thank you for your prayers for the beautiful people of Bangladesh.

You Know You are in Bangladesh When...

There are many wonderful, funny, and beautiful aspects of life in Bangladesh. This past month my roommate developed a list of what we call, "you know you are in Bangladesh when..." items. I decided to begin my own list. Here is what I have so far:

• The electricity is shut off for lack of payment but you think it is just a normal outage.
• You get to walk hand in hand with children and women you do not know on the street. 
• People call out, “Hello!” to you everywhere you go. 
• A giant spider is relaxing in the stairway. 
• Your cook is Super Man (cleans the whole house, makes all the food, does laundry, fixes all the broken appliances, and solves the electricity problem all in a days work). 
• Sweat seems to be an accessory. 
• You can’t think of the correct language to respond in.
• You order a milkshake to cool off and it is warm. 
• The man can’t serve you cold coffee because they are out of ice cream. 
• You rip your clothes on a rickshaw. 
• The phrase “hot mess” describes your appearance most of the time. 
• A cockroach causes mass chaos to erupt in class. Desks even fly at times. 
• You will get run over if you are not an expert dodger while crossing the road. 
• You see men who look like they should be retired hauling giant carts of steel or bricks down the road. 
• You see women working right along side the men crushing bricks by hand, carrying them in baskets on their heads, and compressing them on the ground to begin paving, all while wearing FLIP FLOPS! 
• As my roommate said, “The man squatting on the side of the road is using the bathroom, not looking for something he dropped."
• You stare at white people you don’t know just as much as the nationals do. 

The Sneaky Thieves

    March has been full of hartal days. Hartals are organized political protests that force the country to close. We cannot have school on such days, and my roommate and I usually stay in our house all day. As the embassy always says, "Even peaceful protests can suddenly turn violent without warning." We often feel like we are under house arrest in the midst of a string of hartal days. Days are long when we are stuck inside! Tuesday however, was different.
    Tuesday was Bangladesh's Independence Day, and we didn't have school. However, the following two days were declared hartal days. With this in mind, Meagan and I decided to make the most of our day of freedom! We planned to spend most of the day exploring the city. Tuesday morning we began our adventure by stopping to see our expatriate friends. I picked up my camera memory card from my friend who had been borrowing it. I was all ready to take as many pictures as possible on this adventurous day. I couldn't wait to put them in an update letter and share more of the beautiful culture.
    We decided to stop and exchange an outfit I received for my birthday before beginning our exploration. I needed to get a bigger size and my roommate needed to exchange a pillow case. The size I needed was not available and the employees told me I needed to find a different item because they do not do store credit or refunds. I casually made my way over to the clothing racks to find the perfect outfit. As I began looking, a group of about five middle aged women suddenly surrounded me. I felt quite crowded as they began perusing the racks on either side of me and the exact rack I was looking at. They were bumping up against me and one lady even held an outfit up to compare its size to me!
     I thought, "Only in Bangladesh!" Then, just as suddenly as they had come, they left. I brushed the incident off as just another cultural difference and continued browsing. I found my original outfit in a bigger size and decided I would have the tailor take it in for me. I made the exchange and Meagan and I left the store. Now we were ready to explore.
    We found a rickshaw driver and climbed up to the seat. The setting was perfect. The driver had the rickshaw hood down which created the perfect cover for me to be able to take pictures without being as easily seen. I dug into my purse to pull out my camera and begin the picture taking. That is when I discovered my camera was missing. Meagan told the driver to pull over, which he did right away. He waited patiently as we unloaded my purse. Sure enough, no camera. We thought through everything since I had last seen it.
    I put my camera in my purse at our friends' house, then we walked to the store. We had seen a group of super cute kids on the street, but they were not close enough to have touched my purse. Plus, I had my hand over the opening the entire walk, a habit of mine. It could not have fallen out at the store, because I would have heard the big case crash against the floor. We went back to the store and asked if anyone found a green camera case just in case. They hadn't. Then we decided to go back to our friends' house. We searched where I had been sitting, and it wasn't there either.
    My friend asked if anyone had been pushing against me or standing close to me in the store. That is when I remembered the women. The only explanation is that I didn't zip my purse after giving the clerk my outfit and the women snatched the camera while bumping against me. Now I knew, it was gone for good.
    Of course I was quite sad at this realization. My plans to take awesome pictures as we explored were shot. I would also not be able to take pictures of my students, or anything else for a while. Even in the midst of this sad feeling, I had peace. My camera belonged to God, and for some reason He decided I shouldn't have it anymore.
   Meagan and I continued our day of adventure, and I tried to enjoy it to the fullest. We stopped for cold drinks at one point because it was extremely hot. I ordered cold coffee, which they were unable to give me because they were out of ice cream- I didn't quite understand the correlation. The owner suggested milkshakes instead. We later laughed as we drank our warm milkshakes.
   There it is, the story of the missing camera. I am very thankful because I have birthday money I am able to put toward buying a new camera. It is a bummer to spend money on something I already owned. It is not what I planned, but it is what God planned. Hopefully a young woman who is coming to Bangladesh will be able to bring it when she comes in a few weeks. Missing my possessions reminds me of God's great blessing that enables me to have them in the first place. Every day is an adventure. I learned my lesson from the sneaky thieves! 

Just a few pictures

The Plastic Knife

   

 

      Soiled, tainted, dull, expired, worthless, these are the words that swirl around my mind as I contemplate my value as a servant of the King. How can I decide to dedicate another year of my life to His service in a culture and society so different from my own when these are the characteristics that describe me? I know me, I know my failures, temptations, shortcomings, and inadequacies. On my knees before God I hear a dark voice whisper in my ear, “Not you. You don’t belong, you are too different and too broken.” My gaze lifts to meet the eyes of my Savior, I see the love in His eyes. I know these words do not come from His beautiful lips. Yet, I cannot loosen their grasp as they sink into my heart.
    My gaze drops back to the ground, dragging my hope down with it as an iron anchor racing toward the pitch black ocean floor.  A battle rages within me. I know my freedom in Jesus. Sin no longer has dominion over me. My Savior has made me new, He has brought me from death to life and He calls me into His service. How can I refuse the call of my King? He knows every detail of my life. If He chooses to call me to His service, even though my life is laid bare before His eyes, what right do I have to question His call?
    Yet, even as this truth rings within my soul, the foe advances. Memories of past failure and present weaknesses attempt to sweep over the truth and cover it like a thick blanket. The battle is fierce and my emotions struggle against my knowledge. Which voice will I allow to triumph in my heart? Will I embrace my Savior or the destroyer?
    In this moment, an odd picture rises above the battle and captures my attention. A solitary plastic knife sits in a pile of garbage. This knife is soiled, dull, worthless. The edges are covered with slime and filth and a stench wards off any who might wander nearby. There it sits, forgotten, disposed of, and devoid of even a sliver of value.
    Suddenly, I see my King approach this repulsive knife and stoop down to lift it from its home of refuse. He desires to carve a masterpiece. Rather than select a beautifully fashioned carving utensil, He has selected this unlikely knife as His tool of choice. Calmly, with great focus, He sets about using the plastic knife to carve His intricate statue. Each detail is precisely chiseled. The sculpture emerges from the stone with power and beauty. The Master stands back and observes His completed masterpiece. The statue is breathtaking and the crowd is left in awe of His accomplishment.
    The plastic knife is gently placed in the Master’s tool belt. He glances at its new home, safe and treasured, and a soft smile spreads over His face. Yes, this knife belongs to Him and He will cherish it forever. The knife was not worthy by its own merit to attract the attention of the Master, yet He placed His affections upon it. His affection and calling changed everything.
    In many ways, my life is just like this knife. I was utterly helpless. My sin drenched me to the bone and condemned me to death. My soul was saturated with filth and there was no shimmer of hope for my future. Yet, in this state of repulsive and defiant sin, my Savior reached down and rescued me.
    The Holy Master required a consequence for my sin, death. Remarkably, the Master chose to pay that price in my place. Jesus died to pay for my sin, and rose to give me newness of life. Therefore, I am free. I have accepted His offer of forgiveness and placed my faith completely in Him. He has called me to His service, like the knife He placed in His tool belt.
    No masterpiece will form from the work of my hands. However, if I walk closely with my Master, He will use me to create unthinkable masterpieces. Then I will stand in absolute awe with the crowd and bow before my Maker saying, “Only You are worthy of praise, for only you could accomplish such marvelous works with such a lowly tool as myself.” The honor does not fall to the plastic knife, but rather to the Master who uses the available knife to create His precious works.
    Surely I am the plastic knife formerly devoid of value. The Master has placed His affections upon me, He has redeemed me and called me to His service. I am not who I was, I am not who I should be, I am His. My placement in the Master’s hands has changed everything. My failures, temptations, shortcomings, and inadequacies are swept away because the Master grasps me in His service. I can walk forward in humble confidence because He has called me and He will accomplish great works for His glory. He calls me to pursue Him, to walk with Him, and to let Him be the one to use me for His glory. I am a plastic knife in the Master’s tool belt, treasured by the King.

A Few Pictures

 Many of you are able to follow me on Facebook. However, for those who do not have Facebook, I decided to post some pictures that show a little glimpse into my life lately. These are mostly pictures from Christmas programs.

 

The kids performing at the Christmas service.

 

School workers acting out the Christmas story.

  

My roommate and I getting ready to try to blend in at the market.

School workers playing a game.

 

Another fun game. 

 

Christmas morning at a church service/ birthday party for Jesus. 

Attack of the Fluffy Flock

   Leaves crunch under my sparkly flip flops. Rays of sun flood through the cracks in the canopy of tree branches and wash over my face. I soak in this moment as I walk with my dear friend. It is wonderful to be on our hospital compound in Malamghat for the weekend. This escape from the chaos of the city and the demands of school life is as precious as cool water to a thirsty desert caravan. We love the work God allows us to be a part of in Chittagong, but we are also thankful for times of rest and peace. All of a sudden, in the middle of this peaceful scene, we hear a soft rumble behind us and the sound of many leaves crunching. Turning, I expect to see a man on a bicycle peddling along the path. It takes me a few seconds to rein in my shock and jump out of the way when I realize the approaching sound certainly is not coming from a bicycle.
    Barreling toward us down the narrow dirt path is a whole flock of sheep! We barely jump off the path before they are upon us. Each sheep is dragging a thin green rope with a stake attached to the end. In the back of the flock, leisurely trailing behind, is the shepherd. He seems to be completely unconcerned with the fact that his sheep are running almost out of his sight. We watch with a bit of astonishment and big grins spread across our faces.
    When the trail clears we begin our walk once again. After a minute more of walking we see the flock ahead. They are now circled around a bright red plastic pail of food. The pail is set in the middle of a small, and rather brown looking, pasture of grass. By this time the shepherd has already caught up with his crazy flock and he is staking each rope to the ground. That is one way to move the flock! 
    My friend looks at me and says, “Well, aren’t you glad that is not how Jesus shepherds His people?!” I smile as I ponder this comment and watch one of the wayward sheep try to climb over a ledge of dirt and escape. Yes, I am very thankful my Shepherd is the perfect Good Shepherd. He doesn’t trail behind and expect to meet up with me eventually. He doesn’t begrudgingly look on as I stupidly sneak into danger.
     My Shepherd has a beautiful heart of love that overflows as He sets His affections on me. Wow, how can that love be directed to a sheep like myself? I don’t understand it, but I cherish it. My Shepherd walks before me, leads me, protects me, and treasures me. I am so thankful for my Shepherd. This sheep is basking in the joy of knowing and being treasured by the Good Shepherd.

 “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep.”

 -Jesus (John 10:11)

Are We Ready to Kneel Before His Throne?

  Dear friends and family,
  The new year has started on a challenging note for several of the men who work in my apartment building. We have guards who are called darwans. The darwans are in charge of monitoring the building gate. They are wonderful men and always greet us with warm smiles and conversations. A few days ago one of our darwans, whom I will refer to as SW, had a medical problem. If I understand correctly, he had a heart attack. He has been in the nearby Medical College for the past few days.
   This afternoon I was able to visit SW and his family members at the Medical College. I have never been in a hospital quite like this. There were people on mats on the floor everywhere because there were not enough hospital beds. Everyone stared as another worker led my friend and I to the correct spot. It was very encouraging to see SW's precious smile. His wife is able to be with him as well, a huge blessing because she lives in the village and he is usually in Chittagong for work. Please pray for this dear man. Ask the Father to give the doctors wisdom as they seek to decide the best course of action. Also ask the Father to use this event to draw SW and his family to truth. 
   God has brought me face to face with death several times in the past few days. Today I learned that another one of our darwans, whom I will refer to as SJ, had a relative pass away yesterday. Please pray for SJ and his family during this time of loss. On my recent journey to a village I looked out the bus window and saw a group of men carrying a deceased body on a board that rested on their shoulders. I again saw the sting of death as we were leaving the hospital today. My friend and I noticed a very distraught family. Everyone was crying and rocking back and forth. My friend told me she thought someone must have just died because there was a body on a rolling cart next to the group.
     These encounters with death have provided a very powerful reminder that death is only a breath away. I praise God that He as prepared me for the day I leave this world and enter His presence. I pray that He continues to prepare men, women, and children for the day they too will kneel before Him. For His children, it truly is not death to die. I am so thankful He gave Himself, so His children may live forever in His presence. I am forgiven of my sin, I will live with the Almighty God forever, because Jesus died and rose again to set me free. Are you ready for death? Are the people around you ready for death? It could be today. Let us be found ready.