When You're A Missionary Who Needs Your Mom

Hi folks, I hope everyone is having a wonderful week, and I hope you Texans aren't taking for granted your lovely spring-like weather. I say that only because it snowed here in Ireland this week. Right about when I was getting done with it being winter, Ireland threw that chilly reminder in our face. So enjoy it, soak up the sun, smell the flowers, cry your eyes out with allergies, and appreciate an early spring in Texas.

This past week was not our week to say the least. If any of you have worked or volunteered at a summer camp you all know that every cabin has at least one camper where it is just not their week. They are usually the same campers who are also terribly homesick. I remember the summer I worked at Camp John Marc, and one week I was buddied up with the youngest boy's cabin (so we're talking 6 and 7 year old boys). This one kid in the group was crying from day one; I mean for every event, every night, every meal he was miserable and wanted to call home. Finally, we get to the big cook out, where they get to sit around a campfire, help cook the meal, and sing songs under the stars. It was at this point that this kid's face slowly turned from a tearful grimace to a smile for the first time all week. And after 5 minutes of that smile lighting up his face, a big ole nasty bumblebee decided to sting him on the arm, and all hope of giving him a happy memorable week at camp was lost.

I tell you that story to say, James and I were the homesick kids at camp this week. We felt really done in and were ready to call home to our moms too many times to count. It all started off great with one of our best friends Marcus coming into town, delivering magical packages of goodies from America, lots of encouraging notes from friends, and stories of what we've missed (he's our friend who thrives on story telling). We were going to start this week with a quick trip over to London together, and it just seemed like it was going to be the best week ever!!!

Trouble started brewing on Sunday, James and I were having one of those days in marriage, the not so good kind. We put on the face of "there is definitely stuff going on below the surface here, but we have a friend staying with us right now and we probably shouldn't unload at this moment." James' stomach had been giving him trouble for the past week, feeling kind of queasy off and on, but we headed off to London on Monday with hopes for his stomach to feel better and to see as much as possible of the city. Thankfully we did, we took the Metro to Big Bend, Westminster Abbey, Harrod's, the West End, and Piccadilly Circus. It was marvelous and so much fun, but the downside was James did his own personal tour of the bathrooms at each of those locations around London (if you get my drift). Tuesday morning, James woke up with a sore stomach, and I woke up feeling like my body was on fire. We found a thermometer and lo and behold I was running a fever. Marcus, who had been planning and excited for this trip to London was a champ. We canceled the rest of our Tuesday plans and dragged our tired, sore, sick bodies and caught the bus to the airport.

We made it back home Tuesday and slept it off, we have an amazing group of intercessors/prayer warriors who started praying for healing for us. I wanted to call our moms, I wanted somebody taking care of the both of us, but I still had hope for a quick recovery and no doctor's visit (we hadn't been to the doctors since we arrived in Ireland). We worked all day Wednesday catching up at the church and Marcus again, being the incredibly faithful friend he is, spent a second day of working and helping us out at the church.

We finished Wednesday with the hope of going to eat one final dinner together when we walked down the stairs to go and James slipped, sprained his ankle, and couldn't walk on it. That moment was when I was ready to throw in the towel, call it quits, just like my sweet little camper when he got stung by the bee. I went to bed with thoughts of how I could send James home to America for his mom to take care of him or how I could sound desperate enough on the phone so that one of our moms would drop everything and get on a plane right then to take care of us. I was finished.

So we ended Marcus' visit, not with a day in Dublin, like we had originally planned, but with our first visit to the doctor in Ireland and re-cooping at home with I Love Lucy marathons.

It really wasn't our week. But I did learn a few things from it

1. You can be an adult in your mid 20's, living in another country as a missionary, and still need to call your mom. That's perfectly acceptable.
2. When you are at your lowest is when God sometimes does the most. Friday night of this week happened to be the largest turn out to our youth group we have seen since we arrived. We had 29 youth, 5 interns/small group leaders, and 5 adult volunteers (including us). Even when I am at my lowest, God is still bringing in the harvest.
3. And "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends." (John 15:13) I'm thankful that James and I continue to be the humble recipients of this kind of love. Thank you Marcus for loving us so well at every turn this week.

So far this week, we are continuing to nurse a really bruised and sprained foot, a continually sore and upset stomach, and the remnants of a cold that doesn't want to vacate the premises. Prayers for continued healing and rest would be greatly appreciated. Also, this week, Alive Church is hosting it's first conference ever. Sherrie Saltzgaber, an incredible Freedom pastor from Beltway Park Baptist Church, is bringing over a team of 14 people to put on this conference and minister freedom to the local churches. We could use your prayers for open hearts and new levels of freedom for every person that attends this weekend.

Thanks for sticking with us friends and family! We love you and appreciate you! Here's some pics from before our crazy week commenced...