Killing Taste Buds

A theory that I have been testing was proven last night by my eight-year-old son when he said, “Mom, it’s just that the food is too tasty,” as an explanation as to why he was unable to eat his dinner.

Here is my theory: one of the purposes of parenthood is to successfully kill as many taste buds as possible.

This task should be completed before the child reaches the age that he or she can completely embarrass the parents in the presence of guests or hosts with a rude squishing up of the nose, the disgusted shudder, the eyes widened by terror and the phrase of doom, “Ew! What is that? I don’t like it!” Followed by a reddened face, a nervous giggle and the strained smile on the part of the parent as he or she says to the child with a flash of a death threat and then back to the clenched, forced grin, “How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t even tried it?” The sing-songy fakey tone that the parent has employed confuses the child at first and then they quickly realize that no command has been given and the game has begun. This is nothing more than a fun test of wits like in checkers or battleship. A retort is given; unchecked. Child 2, parent 0. The counterattack is a sharp squeeze to the thigh of the child from the parent under the table as a plea for silence. Usually the issue is dropped at this point and another person at the table excuses the child and changes the subject. The parent tries to regain composure and wonders where they went wrong.

All disciplinary discussions aside the problem lies in the fact that these parents did not kill enough of their child’s taste buds when they had the chance. It is a scientific fact that a newborn baby has taste buds covering the whole inside of their mouth: the tongue, the roof, and the sides; everywhere. As the child grows little by little the buds slough off. It is also a fact that our taste buds can die and lose the ability to sense a taste. Once that bud dies there is no regeneration. That is why when you burn your mouth on a cup of hot drink it takes the whole day, if not two days to get complete feeling back to your tongue. They are sensitive little buds. (These facts also lead me to believe the reason Starbucks is so successful is that they are strategically killing their client’s taste buds so there is no diminishing return factor to deal with, but that is another post.)

So as parents we must bombard our children’s tongues with as many different flavors and varieties of foods as we possibly can. Don’t be so fanatical in this venture that you damage the child’s mouth. But do put forth the energy to make your children eat their food. Do not settle for a graham cracker and cheerio diet. No! You have some taste buds to kill!

Eggshells

“Walking on eggshells” indicates that within a certain relationship we are being extra cautious so as to not offend, upset or anger the other. It is assumed that there is tension; one is frustrated or even annoyed with having to be so guarded around the other.

In Spanish we have a similar idiom that has almost the same wording but a very different meaning. The phrase is “walk stepping on eggs”. One who is stepping on eggs is a person who looks down on another. This person has a critical eye when evaluating another.

Two extremes: in English the person is cautious and careful; in Spanish the person is haughty and proud. The similar tie is such a big nasty word (or so it might seem in our Christian circles now days) that we think it is nigh unto, if not the very definition of sin: judgment. Tolerance and judgment have been set on opposites sides of the room and we are to choose which camp we are in.

If you are on the side of tolerance you are on the “good” side. You keep your mouth shut and let people live their lives the way that they see is right. You plaster on an approving grin even when you know in your gut something is not right. You mutter soothing words of understanding when the person before you defends and justifies his actions with completely reasonable arguments; while all the while you are plagued with indignity on the inside. All this done in the (holy?) name of tolerance.

If you choose to root in the corner of the traitorous judgment then you are booed at by liberals and reformed conservatives alike. Seeing these criticisms as nothing more than persecution for the faith you rise up louder still with your public accusations of the evildoers everywhere. You crank your bullhorn to the loudest setting and march down the street with your picket sign denouncing all that is bad in the world. You hear about a fallen member in the Christian world and immediately grab the phone to inform your prayer chain of all the juicy, I mean important details so that she can “pray better”.

My familiarity with both side of the coin is due to the fact that I have behaved both ways. Beginning my walk with Christ as a Miss Goody-Two-Shoes I muddied my Sunday best in the ditch of undue judgmentalism and an ugly critical spirit. I was so blinded by the mud I was slinging that I prayed to God that he give me the desirous gift of sarcasm with which I would be better able to maim my victims.

I met my match in some humbling encounters that pulled me out of verbal attacks. But still stumbling along and feeling my way I fell into the slimy bog of tolerance on the other side of the road. In those murky waters it was easy to convince myself that I was mistaken by what I saw so it was better to be neutral. I began questioning moral truths that I knew in Sunday school but just didn’t seem to hold enough substance against the darkness of the real world. After all as a missionary I am not called to change the culture? Or am I?

Almost two years ago my husband and I became pastors. In these last six months I have finally begun to feel like a pastor; the main reason for this being that I have had to confront within myself this conflict between judgmentalism and tolerance.

This week I sat with a teary-eyed member of my church and as I listened I knew that the issue had been settled within me. This process of sifting and learning, grappling and thinking was put to the final test. I am sure that I will be moving on to a new issue very soon. But for now I am thankful that God brought clarity.

I know that you might be thinking, “So what is it? What is the answer?” It would be very hard for me to lay out months and even years of learning. At the end of this post I am including a link to an online 4 sermon teaching series that was a key in helping me. But the bottom line is that I am grateful that this lesson has been learned. Someday I might teach or preach about it. Just now I am contented to live it.

Look for the series: Judgment Call

Good Boy!

When we first began ministering to children back in High School for our church’s Sunday school our pastor trained us. I remember he told us more than once, “There are no bad children. We will never say to a child, ‘You are a bad child’. They may have poor behavior; but the child is not bad.”

That has stuck with me. It has helped greatly when extreme forgiveness is required on my behalf to remind myself that this person has done something that has hurt me, but I can forgive them because God has placed worth in this individual. As I was pondering this recently I thought of some statements that I wanted to share.

There are no bad people, just people who choose bad behavior.
There are no good people, just people who choose good behavior.

There are no wrong people, just people who make wrong judgments.
There are no right people, just people who make right judgments.

There are no ugly people, just people to whom society has given that label.
There are no pretty people, just people to whom society has given that label.

There are no disabled people, just people who have been given unique abilities.
There are no capable people, just people who have developed certain skills.

There are no superstars, just people who get a bit more attention than others.
There are no superheroes, just people who give a bit more attention to others.

After all the measurements have been taken of bad, good, wrong, right, talents, abilities and appearances, at the end of the day we are all just people. And the worth we possess and the worth we relegate to others is purely and solely based on the simple yet profound truth that God thinks each individual is valuable, eternal and worth the effort.

If you hear nothing else today, hear this: God loves YOU.

Basement Beginnings - 4

Part 4 – Santa Cruz, Bolivia
(Maids quarters)

Youth is marked by three outstanding characteristics: invincibility, omniscience and hope. Without these one would never risk it all in pursuit of a passion. The Neverlands and Narnias, Wonderlands and Lands of Oz would never be discovered were it not for these three magical spells that have been spoken over all wide-eyed girls and boys.

DaRonn and I were enchanted and our mysterious land yet to be discovered was Bolivia. After a 10 day trip with a group from church to help with a crusade in the spring of 2001 we were ever so much more convinced that we were to spend our internship time in Santa Cruz, Bolivia with a missionary couple that were connected with Tulsa’s Victory Christian Center. They graciously extended the invitation for us to come and we spent the summer months in preparation.

A few significant things took place. In July we decided that if we were really going to live overseas fully supported by donations then we must practice now; so DaRonn stopped working his temp jobs that he might dedicate his full attention to the fund-raising process. August brought us our third child; she was 10 weeks old when we moved to Bolivia. In September the twin towers were hit; thus changing airport procedures forever.

We were red-flagged because of the five one way tickets we had purchased for our family. Our bags and babies were searched at every checkpoint. I landed in humid Santa Cruz exhausted and hoarse after the journey that took close to 24 hours. Trying to make use of all our carry-on and check-on privileges we had checked 13 duct-taped rubber tubs and had 10 hand bags. Three-year-old Raimy and two-year-old Timothy each had a little rolling bag to tote around. I had the baby on a front pack and a back-pack on the back keeping my hands free for my toddlers. DaRonn carried the rest.

We left October 31 and landed November 1, Bolivia’s “Day of the Dead” on which they celebrate their dead ancestors by visiting the grave sites and sharing a meal together, leaving the leftovers for the spirits to enjoy. How odd it was as we drove into the city to look around and see every person dressed in black. Due to the fact that I had completely lost my voice I was unable to carry on a conversation with the missionary that had kindly picked us up from the airport. I was left to my thoughts. The main theme running through my mind was, “These people need Jesus.”

The missionaries had benevolently offered for us to stay with them until we could find our own place. The home they lived in, along with their four children, was in a neighborhood with dirt roads and high walls around all the houses. We were directed to a room behind their small place in the maid’s quarters. There was a bathroom attached to it. A double bed and a small table took up three fourths of the room. There was a closet and some wicker furniture as well. This was to be our home for the next six weeks. We shared it with the mosquitoes, spiders, quite an impressive variety of ants, biting flies, lizards, and scorpions.

Our next two years in that city were filled with adventures and challenges that could cover many pages. We were placed over the bible school operations, a public school outreach program and the children and nursery at the church. This couple had founded all of this work in the seven years they had been there at the time of our arrival. All the while we were learning Spanish and learning the Bolivian culture. Our internship was useful and I am grateful for it.

We knew that eventually we were going to launch out with a separate work. The instances that led to this breaking away will be saved for a later date. Suffice it to say that I am happy that we left the “maid’ quarters” stage of our missionary career. Cochabamba was the next destination as we packed up to move in November of 2003.

Basement Beginnings - 2

Part 2 – Saint Joseph, Missouri
(Storage room)

Obstacles are often open doors of opportunity. Anticipate change and the hardships help you. All may seem dark and difficult in the moment, but if you will just continue to put one foot in front of the other on the other side you will be able to see what was impossible to see from your previous perspective. As you give a slight glance back at the door you just walked through you will be grateful.

One car meant that I had to go pick him up. The drive to the mall where he was part of the management team at a sports shoe store was a prayer filled few minutes. There had been some shifting around in upper management. When all was said and done all of the mid level managers were asked to leave. He was standing on the curb with a box of personal belongings in his hands. His eyes were puffy. He climbed silently into the car. My mouth, which had been running a mile a minute in prayer on the way over, was now quiet. I was relieved.

This all took place at the end of summer of ‘98. We sat down on the couch and looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing. Not two weeks passed and we had moved down to Saint Joseph, Missouri. Most of his credits transferred to Missouri Western. We knew that being able to continue with school was the only condition. DaRonn felt that God had told him that he needed to get his degree before he went to the mission field. He prayed that we would be 10 years advanced as missionaries when we landed if we took the time to go through school. So what’s in Saint Joseph?

Backtracking a few months; before our baby was born in March 1998 we had been hunting for a church there in Omaha. Easter was coming and we had been invited by a friend (who was a newly hired associate pastor) to come and attend Word of Life Church. He had been raving about how wonderful the people were, especially the pastors. We made the 2 hour drive down with some other members of my family. We knew the hunt was over. For 5 months (March to August) we made the commute once a week to church. So it was only logical to us that when he had no more obligations to his job that we would make the move down.

On the map this move took us about an inch closer to Bolivia. I was happy that we were headed in the right direction. Not just the right direction physically; but I felt like this was a decision we made based wholly on our priority of preparing for the mission field. God had shut a door and another had opened before us.

We left the basement stage and were now in the storage room stage. Most of our ministry desires were fulfilled through volunteer positions with church. It was in this city that we learned how to trust God for, well, for everything really. It seemed like every single message at church during our two years living there was about faith. We learned to live by faith. We used our faith to kill the bugs in our apartment, to put gas in our car, for milk and diapers for our baby, to put food on our table, to pay the hospital bills for the birth of our second child, and for work for DaRonn. He worked mostly temp jobs, but there was one job that makes us smile every time we think about it.

The whole time we were there things were tight. One day we got a call from a business owner at church that knew a little about our situation. He alluded to a job. Wow, we were so excited! DaRonn went to his office. The man explained how the business worked. They sold fancy vacuum cleaners and took old trade-ins to offset the cost for clients. So he told DaRonn that he had about 50 old trade-in vacuums that he wanted to give to us. What?! He said that we could sell the vacuums; all we had to do was haul them. The old Century Apartments complex where we lived had storage rooms for each of the tenants. We filled that room with vacuums and vacuum parts. There were tubes and hoses hanging from the ceiling and canisters and uprights piled on the floor. Every time I tripped and stumbled over the vacuums to pull the string that hung by the light bulb in that room I had to laugh!

From borrowed basement beginnings to scraping by with a stuffed storage room, our next stop: a garage in a state where the wind goes sweeping down the plain.

"Lost in Bolivia" (as opposed to oblivion)

Recent requests have come my way to encourage me to write an entry about our coming to Bolivia. Through the wonders of modern day technology I have been reunited with some people that I lost touch with some 10 years ago. One of them asked me, “So what were you doing the 5 years from the time you got married to when you moved to Bolivia?” One fellow blogger asked, “What are you doing in Bolivia??” Note: extra interrogative. Sometimes I ask myself the very same thing, “What am I doing in Bolivia??” Then I shake myself and say, “Oh yeah! Living in a dream! That is right. How could I have forgotten?”

I am going to try to keep this quick and to the point – but no promises.

Even before I dedicated my life to the Lord at the tender age of eight years old I knew that I was destined for the world. Through the years the Lord shaped my desire to travel to distant lands into a clear call to the work of a missionary. All through high school I papered my walls with maps of the nations of the world. Ever praying and ever waiting for God to reveal to me where He wanted me to go.

Not being one to sit on my tush, the first chance I got I was outside of US borders tromping around on the foreign soil of Australia. I was infected! My blood coursed with the incurable passion for travel. After that I made a few quick jumps to Botswana (Africa) and Costa Rica.

At the age of 15 my husband-to-be had a similar life changing experience during which he also felt strongly that God’s plan for his life would lead him to distant shores. We met at church. Upon discovering that we both had a desire to be missionaries we became fast friends. Married during his sophomore year in college he dedicated himself to study and breadwinning while I diligently worked to make a home for us.

A frequent topic of prayer and discussion was our mission career. Where would we go? When would we go? What would we do? What about funding? What about our kids? How would we get trained? At very sure and distinct times we felt that we were called to go to: Russia, India, somewhere in Africa and Sweden. You know the old saying, “Unless a boat is moving the rudder can never work.” We did our best to get ourselves moving and trusted that the Holy Spirit would be a sturdy rudder for us.

As a funny side note I clearly told the Lord, and not just once but repeatedly, “I know that you are not going to send me to South America. South America has enough missionaries as it is. Please, don’t send me to South America.”

Much to our dismay the first place that He called us to did not require a passport but rather scholarships, financial aid, grants and applications out the wazoo. DaRonn felt strongly that the Lord promised to put him ahead by 10 years when he finally did make it to the mission field if he would first acquire a degree in business. Amazingly he did graduate with that degree in 5 years; all the while he held a full time and part time job, steadily volunteered in the church, was a loving husband and a superb father.

In the middle of his schooling we were called to step out, but once again this was not half way around the world but just 2 hours south of our hometown of Omaha, Nebraska. We moved to Saint Joseph, Missouri for the SOLE purpose of hooking into Word of Life Church. There we grew in faith. The truths we learned (and continue to learn because they have live streaming of their services, very cool!) are part of our core and inner fortitude that drive us to greater heights and pull us through when times are not so easy. Pastors Brain and Peri Zahnd do not get thanked enough for the good that they do! Thank you both.

As DaRonn was sitting in a geology class learning about rocks the teacher put in a video that talked about Bolivia. When the faces of the people flashed across the screen the fire of God began to burn in his heart and he felt so strongly the Lord impressing upon him, “That is the nation that you are going to start in.” I still remember the excitement in his voice as he confidently and with such joyful anticipation declared to me the same words that he heard the Lord speak to him.

Yet, we were not released to go to Bolivia at that very moment! Oh no, training comes first. To Tulsa we headed! The good thing was that we were a little closer because Tulsa is South of Saint Joe.

We spent almost 2 years at Pastors Billy Joe and Sharon Daugherty’s Victory Christian Center Church and their World Mission Training Center. Hearing great missionaries like T.L. Osborne, Mike Francen, Bill and Trish Turkovich, Hal and Lisa Boehm, Greg and Kim Ford, Ron and Jill Stafford plus many other powerful ministers of God prepared us for what was ahead. We were able to put on paper the when, what, how, and some of the why discovered in prayer and the Word because of the training that we received there.

Finally we were equipped with the call and the practical know how to fulfill that awesome task and we were packing our bags for Bolivia. We bought one way tickets intending to make the new nation our home. Oh, the stories that I could tell! God bless us!

So that was in 2001. We have been here now 5 years. All the glory to God! We really have seen supernatural velocity in the establishment of the works down here. There have been over 60 bible schools started in Bolivia and the surrounding nations. We have produced 7 books. Many groups and individuals have come to minister. We have had intern missionaries work along side us. We are pastors of a church of more that 100 members. Various churches and individuals in the States partner financially and prayerfully with the work. Our most recent work has been to establish an orphanage for children ages five and under with a capacity of 42; currently there are 19 little ones under our care. We have a staff of paid employees and volunteers that run all that goes on. As I stated before we are deeply and gratefully indebted to our Heavenly Father for enabling and allowing us to do what we do.

Aside from the missionary work that I do (teaching, helping pastor and writing) we have now been married 10 years and have 4 great kids. I am currently home-schooling 3 grades and caring for my sweet baby boy.