See Something More

Popping a DVD into the player, we snuggled up on the couch for a family movie night. Our movie choice might not be like what most might choose, but before you judge it too quickly like I initially did, I have to say this movie highly exceeded my expectations, and that I would definitely recommend it for your next movie night. It is Disney’s Christopher Robin.  In addition to bringing up very happy childhood memories and making me smile at the lifelike animation of the stuffed animals, the movie has great themes about family and what’s really important in life.  One of my favorite elements of the movie are the simple, yet profound sayings about life that Winnie the Pooh throws in at several times throughout the story.  For example, a recurring theme is that Winnie the Pooh spends most of his time doing nothing, while the grown-up Christopher Robin is obsessed with his job and too busy to spend time with his family. “People say nothing is impossible, but I ...

I’m just a normal person trying to understand a complex situation. I try to follow the news, read the reports, understand the lingo, and sound intelligent about it all, but my perceptions are undoubtedly mixed with some normal human gut reactions that come from a person who doesn’t just know Burkina Faso from the news, but from three years of life there.  So I get what I hear and read as I follow twitter and Facebook groups and read headlines and expert reports - the attacks, the raids, the shots fired, the kidnappings, the movement of terrorism, the spread of extreme Islamic teachings and beliefs. When most people hear about Burkina Faso, this is what comes to mind.  But when I hear “Burkina Faso”, I also think about my quiet mornings of jogging through corn fields and having a cup of tea on the front porch, of getting warm beignets from my favorite lady in town and then eating them with some of my dearest African friends as we talk about our morning devotionals....

“I’m going to bid no matter what this time!” I said before even looking at the hand of cards I had been dealt. “Why not? We aren’t keeping score!” My partner added as everyone around the table laughed. I’m was happy to be her partner since she was my grandmother, plus she wins all the time. We asked her, “Mama Pat, how are you so good at cards?” and she said, “Well I should be. I spend half my life playing!” And she laughed so hard when she said it that we couldn’t help but laugh, too.  It was the night before I left Little Rock, and I loved that the way I was spending my last moments was around a round table playing Rook with my grandmother, sister, and her boyfriend.  I used to not be this way. I used to have a party or a sleepover or something on my last night in Little Rock, and I would try to see as many people as possible before leaving for another year in Africa. I’m thankful for those memories - for friends flying in from out of town just to spend the nigh...

As I sit down to write on this New Year’s Day, I think about how I would normally be spending my time writing something quite different. Usually on a day like today, it would be a journal. Or a list. Or a brainstorm on a white sheet of printer paper. I would be reflecting on last year, analyzing what was good and what could have been better, and setting strategic resolutions for this next year. But strangely enough, and quite contrary to my nature, I don’t feel like I need to do that this morning.  Instead, I look at my hand and wiggle my middle finger and feel the unfamiliar sliding of a new ring, one that I got for Christmas, one that signifies why I‘m not doing resolutions this year like I normally would.  Don’t worry, I’ve still thought about all the things I’m thankful for from 2018, and I’ve praised the Lord for them. I’ve looked forward to some things in 2019 and prayed about them. But what I’m not doing is obsessing about analysis and self betterment like I us...

I would bet that you know a little about the story of Hosea, that during a time in Israel’s history when they had abandoned God, he asked the prophet Hosea to marry a prostitute. In loving her faithfully, Hosea would allegorically demonstrate God’s relentless love to Israel despite her whoring (yes, the Bible even consistently uses that word) after other things besides the Lord God.  But then Hosea starts to have children, and just as his marriage prophesied to the people of Israel, so did the names of his children - names like No Mercy and Not My People.  God tells Hosea to name one of the children Jezreel, saying “I will punish the house of Jehu for the blood of Jezreel” and “I will break the bow of Israel in the valley of Jezreel.” I wondered about this, so I flipped back to 2 Kings 9-10, where we learn that Jezebel, one of the most wicked women in the Bible, as well as king Joram and king Ahaziah were murdered in revenge by Jehu in Jezreel. It’s one of those s...

Snowflakes flurried in the beam of his headlamp, which shone like a bright white wedge, a drastic contrast to the dark woods. The fog of his breath also caught the light of his headlamp, and then lifted and vanished into the moonless night. Nothing could be seen outside the distinct boundaries of that beam of light. He tilted his head back and looked into the thick, clouded sky, and the light caught the crystal edges of each glimmering snowflake as they floated and fluttered, taking their time to drift down to earth by the most indirect route.  The night was so quiet that I could almost hear the snowflakes landing, a muffled quietness only undertoned by the crackling of the campfire. I directed my gaze downward and stared at the movement of the flames and the glowing embers, warmed by the closeness. I watched snowflakes blow into the fire and disappear, amazed by how such extremes of cold and heat can get close enough to touch for just an instant, and I was equally amazed that...

Valentine’s Day 2016 fell on a Sunday, and on this particular one, I went to a village church and met a little boy that would capture my heart and leave a mark on it forever.  He was about twelve years old, skinny, and leaning on a wooden stick. His face was serious. Stoic. When I tried to make him smile, he would not. It almost seemed like his eyes told the story of twenty years of suffering, as if childhood had been stolen from him. And no wonder, for his knee was permanently fixed at a forty-five degree angle, the entire knee joint swollen to the size of a large grapefruit. It was covered in a black, crusty, infected, chronic wound.  He had fallen off his bicycle two years prior, and although his family had done their best to take care of him with doctor visits, bone settings, and dressing changes, all their extra saved money eventually ran out, and this little boy remained unwell and resorted to dropping out of school and spending his days on a wooden crutch....