remembering Payton.

Before you read on, know this:

This is a story of VICTORY.

This is a story that doesn’t end with death.

This is a story of POWER and LOVE and FAITHFULNESS

AND

RESURRECTION.

It’s hard to believe that it’s April 13 again. Why is it that while the minutes and hours and days often crawl by, the years seem to pass in mere blinks?

A few years back, April 13 found my family in painful tears trying to understand an unimaginable loss—it’s the day our sweet Payton slipped far too soon from this world to eternity.

For a long time, I struggled to understand Payton’s death in light of Romans 8:28—“And we know that in all things G works for the good of those who love Him…”

This I knew: my family, we LOVED G.

This I questioned: that G could work this tragedy out for good .

If I’m being honest, I still sometimes struggle with this. But over the years, I have seen this verse affirmed to my family time and time again:

through the godly way his parents, my aunt and uncle, grieved his loss and honored his memory.

through the lives of two little Haitian babes being brought up in a family abounding in love to know and serve and live for the King of Kings.

and through this:

The most powerful tool I have over here to accomplish what it is I’m here to do is my story—a testimony of G’s faithfulness to me, of my new life in him, of how me called me and the whole world out of darkness into marvelous light. In this, Payton came with me to the ends of the earth, as his little life is an vital part of my testimony.

Recently, I had the opportunity to share my story, from beginning to end, with a dear friend here. While I’ve known her for nearly two years, our friendship is finally at the point where it’s transparent, genuine. Her willingness to be vulnerable in our friendship is something I would have never imagined when I met her, but over the last 20 months, I’ve watched her heart soften and her mind open. I've watched her smile reappear and joy characterize her life. That day, we were eating lunch together and, as happens occasionally by divine appointment, an unmistakable opportunity to share truth was dropped in front of me.

Naturally, I took full advantage of the chance, which found me sharing my testimony—a story that speaks boldly of the undeserved working of the King of Kings in my life. I was very, very real with her about sin and struggles and healing and redemption and new life. Through tears, I told her about Payton’s death and the pain and questioning and hurt that followed. His story brought her to tears—I knew her heart was hurting for the pain that mine had felt. Weeping may last through the night, but JOY comes with the morning: I got to tell her THE GOOD NEWS: that while death happens because of sin, we serve a G who conquered death. So even though our precious Payton died, he lives for eternity in the welcoming arms of our King. I had the privilege of sharing with her the sacrifice that our King made for us by sending his son to die. But death is not the end! He conquered death by rising victorious from the grave, so that we can live. I told her about the hope that this gives us—the hope of eternity with Him. And that hope? I have it. My family has it. All because of His Son. I told her that hope is available to her, and that it’s free. FREE.

Romans 8:28 has been affirmed to me in this—Payton joins me in bringing our King to this land.

The legacy of this little boy is POWERFUL, as is his influence on countless lives still.

The same Savior that captured my heart, the same Savior who calls the little children unto himself, the same Savior whose name I will live to make famous, who took the nails for the nations, who conquered death by rising victorious from the grave; My G, my King, my Refuge, my Strength, my Sustainer and the Lifter of my Head—this Savior holds Payton for eternity.

Because of the love of this Savior, displayed powerfully and freely and for the whole world, I can confidently affirm this: And we know that in ALL THINGS, G works for the good of those who love Him.

Miss you, Little One! Your cousin loves you!

EPHESUS-history and hilarity

We took one day of our week in Turkey to travel south to Ephesus and explore. We got on an 11-hour bus ride and rode overnight to Selchuk, the city nearest Ephesus, then took a taxi to the city. We ride busses in our country, but the buses in Turkey are AWESOME. They were comfortable, had TVs on each seat, and had wifi. What?! It was great 11 hours, and it landed us HERE:

I was in Turkey in 2002, and Ephesus was by far my favorite place we visited on that trip. It's even more incredible now than it was then--so much more developed! Hills that were covered in grass and shrubs are now gone, revealing incredible terraced housing underneath.

Isn't it amazing that the Apostle Paul lived in this city for THREE years? So incredible.

Baby figs:

This mosaic road is 2,000 years old, and so well preserved!

My team in front of the Library:
What would this trip be without a mid-air shot?

This is one of the areas that has been uncovered since I was last in Ephesus, the terraced housing. This is actually ONE house, used by a very wealthy Ephesian family. The crazy thing is, Marc Antony and Cleopatra visited Ephesus a long time ago, and they probably stayed at a house like this one. Crazy, right?

CONTEXT, folks.

Geoff in the Ephesian Amphitheater:

Jeffrey:
Stephen in the Church of the Virgin Mary:

When we got out the city, we came upon an area of shops with pushy souvenir-vendors. My favorite sign:
We kept walking through this area, and I was taking pictures and the boys got a bit in front of me. Now, I'd like to preface this little story by saying that I get a lot of unwanted attention from men where we live, and the boys on my team are really good about stepping in during situations like those. So, back to Ephesus: I was walking past these shops, and this guy in a striped shirt came up to me, and being super pushy, tried to get me to go into this shop with him--he was being obnoxious and wouldn't drop it when I repeatedly said no and tried to go around him. So Stephen turns around, steps back toward us, and just yells, "NO." I was thankful for his intervention, but even I laughed at his response to this guy. Anyway, I skirted out of the way, but Striped-Shirt wouldn't drop it, and just kept yelling at Stephen, "No what?" and "I didn't ask you anything!" and "I was talking to her, why did YOU answer me?" and so on. It was a little bit funny how angry he was! And it was a little bit funny that Stephen almost got in a little tiff with an Ephesian. Anyway, always thankful for my team who has my back. Especially with creepy men.

Next we went by minibus to the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. There is very little left of it, as you can see here:

But what you can see is super tall...here's a little height comparison...can you see us way down there?

Next, we went back into the city, had lunch, and headed to the beach.

My feet in the Aegean Sea:

While I was taking pictures of my feet, the guys were a having a very manly competition of sheer brute strength, as you can see. Naturally, I decided to give it a try. I threw it like 7 inches (and that may or may not be exaggerating). Awesome, right? But because of my company, I would have won the woman's division.

Aaaaaaand then, the sun started setting. And this happened:

This too...Sistine Chapel in Ephesus?:

Then more displays of manhood:

Then, some stacking of people:

And finally, a little bit better use of a setting sun:

What's not to love?

the story of a queasy stomach in western asia.

So, a queasy stomach I do have…big time.

This morning, I left my house at 8:40 for my 9:30 lesson with the Minister. I walked for 10 minutes and got on the metro, feeling 100% fine. I have to take the metro three stops, transfer to another train, and go one more stop to get to his office. I was between the second and third stop, when WHAM: sick. I went so quickly from fine to awful and must have looked terrible—super pale and sweaty—so terrible that the guy next to me took my arm and began asking me if I was ok. Finally the metro stopped, I stepped off, and puked. I sat down on the floor (a HUGE no-no here, but there were no benches) because I felt like I was going to black out. Finally I made it out of the station, threw up again, got in a taxi, and then had to ask him to stop twice on the way home so I could throw up—the poor driver was SO concerned about this sheet-white American girl in his back seat. Either that, I guess, or just about his back seat, which he probably thought was going to get thrown up on.

I canceled my lessons and headed home. Could it be the stomach flu? I guess it could be. Could it be something I ate? Again, certainly a possibility. But why do I actually think that I lost my breakfast cereal 4 times over this morning?

You know you live in Western Asia when the most likely reason you’re puking (if you’re me, at least) is not from the flu but from gross displays of the circle of life. This morning, I saw the slaughter of two cows on my ten minute walk to the metro. Like, pass-from-life-to-death-in-a-bloody-mess type of slaughter. I don’t know how it happens in the states, but here they flip the cow upside down, tie it’s legs together, and then cut. It’s that last part that I saw—TWICE. Two different butchers just happened to be slaughtering their cows at 10 minutes before 9am this morning. I mean, I can count one hand the times I’ve eaten red meat in the past year because it grosses me out, even when cooked. EWWWW.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure that’s why I was sick. A little bit funny, right? And a lot bit gross.

"i like hairs on boys" and other marriage non-negotiables.

It’s important to me that I make the most out of every single lesson I teach with my students here. I prepare as thoroughly as I can, and I spend a few minutes before each lesson lifting my students and my classroom before the King. I start many of my classes with crazy tongue twisters and camp songs and nonsense and laughing, and I maintain a high energy level throughout the lesson.

I want to teach WELL. I want to make a difference. I want to love and give and serve and laugh and encourage and be empty at the end of each lesson.

I often try to bring issues of morality before my students, because their lives are important to me, and I want them to live well and make good decisions. In my last class yesterday, we talked about marriage.

Why is this important?

It’s estimated that 90-95% of husbands are abusive here, either physically or verbally.

Many marriages are arranged, especially in the more rural village, and some girls marry as early as 13 or 14.

Many of my students don’t have involved fathers. Some do not know their fathers.

The man who lives above me beats his wife every night, and I can hear her cries.

I've seen women struck by their husbands on the street.

And unfortunately, none of this is unusual.

Obviously, the students in this class—all university-aged girls—want to marry in the next few years. I love them deeply, and do not do not do not want to see them end up in an abusive relationship. I asked them to flip over the page on their desk, and on the back, to write “HUSBAND” across the top. Next, I had them draw a line down the middle, and on the top of one side, write “non-negotiable” and on the other, “negotiable”.

Then I gave them 10 minutes and had them make lists of the things they would require of the man they would marry--non-negotiable--and the things they would like in that man, but are negotiable. I gave them no ideas and didn’t allow them to share ideas because I was curious about what they would come up with on their own.

I LOVED THEIR FINAL LISTS!

Some of their answers speak of the desires of their hearts, some of them speak to this culture, and some of them are just really, really funny. Naturally, I wrote many down in their exact words, to preserve their linguistic humor, with the intent of sharing them with all of you. Here’s the collective list:

NON-NEGOTIABLE:

has to respect me

has humor of sense

makes decisions in different conditions

responsible

attentional because girls need attention

relational

educated

isn’t annoy me

can’t complain of backache, headache, just be’s a man

is my nationality

shares interests

is not my cousin

wants to live in a different home from his parents

no drink

will allow for me to work

will not ask me to cover my head

romantical

NEGOTIABLE:

sport body

handsome very very

wearing tasty style (trying to get at tasteful?)

taller than me

“I like hairs on boys” (trying to get at not bald?)

love adrenaline

cool guy

serious personality

active dynamite (not sure what she’s trying to get at with this…?)

fair skins

We talked about the importance of a man who met their non-negotiable criteria. They PROMISED me that they would not settle for less, and that is my sincere pryr for these sweet girls.

why i cried IN CLASS today.

What this post is not: elegant. fluffy. funny. neat. easy.

What this post is: just the unedited, unorganized, painful truth.

It was hard to write.

What is never far from my mind over here is the raw pain and poignant truth of this: everyday I have to look reality in the face as I walk past person after person after person who does not know my King.

Even harder than person after person after person, though, is that same reality in my friends, my coworkers, my students. In the people I have grown to love like crazy.

Never again will these people just be an unreached people group… they will be individuals who have names and families and life stories, they will be memories of laughter and tears and conversations over countless pots of tea, they will be the faces that will be forever be in my heart and framed on my dresser.

Today was a long day, and a lot of things added to my somewhat fragile emotional state: a quickly approaching deadline for some big decisions for next year, some homesickness, a week of very little sleep (though not for lack of trying), the fact that it’s that time of month when every woman hates being a woman for four days, and just that it’s been an all-around tough week.

Which brings me to today, to this evening, to my last class, to four beautiful university students who are passionate about these things: life and school and teenage boys and fashion and studying abroad and having their picture taken and hating their neighbor.

HATING THEIR NEIGHBOR.

Last week, this country observed the 20-year anniversary of some inconceivable genocide committed against hundreds of innocent men, women, and children by a bordering country. Whole cities were wiped off the map, and expansive, beautiful regions of this country are now occupied by another. There is currently no end in sight to an active war where young men are fighting to reclaim the territory that was taken from their country.

My four beautiful, innocent students do not love their neighbor, this bordering country. They do not love their enemies. It’s actually very much the opposite—they loathe them with every fiber of their being.

This happened to be all they wanted to talk about during our 2-hour discussion class. They spoke with such hate and hardness that after about 40 minutes, a few tears escaped from my eyes, slid down my cheeks, and immediately silenced the room.

Though they would never insist, I could tell by their faces that they wanted an explanation. I told them it was hard for me to hear so much hate in their words and see so much hate in their faces. I told them that when hate fills a person, it hardens their heart and their emotions and they lose their innocence and beauty. It doesn’t take much for hate to define someone’s character, and it’s hard to leave that hate behind and turn to love.

But LOVE? Love softens a person’s heart. Love makes a person shine from the inside out. Love makes a person beautiful, a smile genuine, a personality irresistible.

They could not fathom forgiveness, only justice.

They could not fathom love, only retaliation.

I told them about G’s command to LOVE YOUR ENEMY. We unpacked that statement and figured out what that looks like in the world—how we should show love to someone even though they don’t show love to us, that the people who are hardest to love are maybe the people we should love the most intentionally.

Then the attitude in the room started to change—they SMILED as they talked theoretically about ways they could show love to the nation that they hate. They talked about the fact that just because someone is from that nation does not mean that they agree with and support the actions of that nation. They started to let love creep back into that very hard place in their hearts.

They asked me if it was easy for me to love my enemies, and I told them that often it’s hard, but that I love, and do so joyfully, because HE first loved me. I told them that I wanted so badly to see that love characterize their feelings about their enemies.

Is my loving my enemies obligatory? they asked. Is it something I have to do so that G will love me and I will go to Hvn when I die?

I pulled out my little blue Bbl and opened to Rom 6 23 and talked about how gifts are FREE. Then I walked the Romans Road with those beautiful young women, each wanting to see and read the words for themselves.

Class went over the allotted time, but nobody cared. At their insisting, we continued on through John, and the questions never stopped.

Finally, it was dark outside. They left and I stayed in my classroom on my knees, asking that the words shared that evening would be shared again around their dinner tables and in their classrooms and with their friends.

Once I got home, since I had promised my teammates that I would make sloppy joe’s for dinner, I started cooking. And then I cried my way through making dinner, partly because I had to touch raw beef, but mostly because my heart aches and shatters every day with the reality of the lost and bursts with joy every day at the thought of the HS pursuing the hearts of the ones I love.

Please: join me in asking earnestly for their lives.

Carry a Cow? not a problem.

So we left the capital where we live and took a train to the second biggest city in this country--it's located smack in the middle and is surrounded by snow-covered mountains. The reason we went was for the wedding of our coworker (i'll post about that soon), but we made sure we had a day to explore the city as well. Just before we got on the overnight train to head back home, we stopped at the Nizami Gencevi monument. He is a very, very well known national writer. Aside from poetry, he wrote several epic plays. After we visited his grave [funny story, actually: it was locked up and completely dark and closed. But we sweet-talked some stoic police officers into unlocking it and taking us inside, where we viewed the memorial by flashlight!], the officers gave us permission to look around the rest of the grounds and ran (truly, they RAN) back to their car (it was COLD!). We walked for a few minutes and found a series of statues depicting the characters in Nizami's epic plays, some of which you can see behind us in this picture:

One of the pictures was of a woman carrying a small cow on her shoulders up some stairs. It's based on one of Nizami's most famous pieces, and is really an interesting story to read:

One of my teammates said, "wait, is that a WOMAN carrying that cow?!" ...and so it began. I, of course, being a woman, said, "so you think she can't carry a cow just because she's a woman?! I could carry a cow. No problem." Naturally, they doubted me and my brute strength and my sheer determination. And so this is how we settled things:

Clearly, I won.

And yes, I could carry a cow.