by Jonathan
Before we moved abroad, we did some marriage counseling. What I mean is, we sat in an old guy’s office for fifteen hours and cried. It was amazing.
He told us our marriage could be a safe-haven on the field. Or not.
He said we could strengthen and encourage each other on the field. Or not.
He said that our marriage could bring peace and stamina and even joy to the mission field. Or not.
He was right.
Continue reading at A Life Overseas…
Elizabeth is over at A Life Overseas today, beginning a discussion on the pressures of ministry life for both adults and children.
I believe, along with William Paul Young, that “since most of our hurts come through relationships, so will our healing.” Sometimes the Church gets stuck in damaging behavior patterns, and we, as a collective people, perpetuate beliefs in the lives of ministry families that simply aren’t true. Lies seep into our souls, and as a community we need to acknowledge them, wrestle with them, and ultimately, reject them – for there is a religious culture at work here that needs destroying.
I love the Church, and I believe one of the glorious reasons God places us in a local Body is so that we can “love each other deeply, from the heart,” and by so doing, participate in the healing of each other’s hearts. That is what these posts are about. Sharing our stories, and finding healing and wholeness together.
It is not about blaming parents or making anyone feel guilty. Rather, it is about mobilizing the Church to dismantle some of our harmful systems. It is about calling on Christians to change the way we do life together. Ministers, missionaries, and their families are the most notable casualties here, but the Body as a whole suffers when any member suffers. I believe we can be part of the healing.
But we need to do something first: we need to give ourselves permission to be honest.
You can read the rest of the post here.
by Jonathan
My parents had their life all mapped out, and then their baby was born with chromosomal abnormalities and died at home, surrounded by tubes and oxygen tanks, only a month old.
As a teenager, I had my life pretty well planned out (get my pilot’s license, be Nate Saint). But then my mom got cancer and died. And the path of God darkened.
The “plan of God for my life,” the path I was following with full confidence and youthful arrogance, disappeared. Because sometimes the straight and narrow isn’t.
God doesn’t always lead in straight lines.
He is the God of fractals, making beauty and order out of lines that look like a drunk man was drawing during an earthquake. Left-handed.
Continue reading at A Life Overseas.
Elizabeth is over at A Life Overseas today. . .
My parents came to Cambodia to celebrate the American version of Thanksgiving with us, and they stayed for the traditional setting up of the Christmas tree. After we finished stringing the lights and hanging the ornaments, and the youngest child had placed the heirloom angel from my husband’s childhood on top, we all sat down to admire the tree.
Then all of us, from the sixty-year old Grandpa, right on down to the four-year old baby of the family, shared what we love about Christmas. When we got to my mom, she said, “I love putting the ornaments on the tree because they tell the story of our family.”
It’s true. As a military wife, she can remember both the year she added each ornament, and the place we lived at that time. The ornaments on her tree tell the story of my family of origin, from a newly wedded couple in El Paso, Texas, to brand new parents in Fort Knox, Kentucky, to a growing family in West Germany, and later a university campus in South Dakota and the Kansas Army post at Fort Riley.
You can read the rest of the post here.
Jonathan recently posted on A Life Overseas. Read the whole post here.
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“Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose,
and we have come to worship him.”
The Star of Bethlehem had a point, an important point. But the star was not the point.
The star fulfilled its role of leading across cultures and religious paradigms, down dusty roads and around a paranoid prince, to the Child. He was the Point, this Son, and he shone brighter. He, the Child-King, deserved adoration from all peoples, in all languages, for all of time.
And the Church, like the star, has a point. But the Church is not the point. Jesus is.
The star inspired a journey, away from comfort and the great “known.” So may the Church.
The star led through danger and politically dicey situations. So has the Church, historically, and so does the Church, presently.
The star challenged prejudice, inviting outsiders in. So may the Church.
The star incited worship, but not of itself. So may the Church.
As we celebrate the incarnation of Hope,
the birth of the Lamb who was slain before the foundations of the world,
let us pray for the Church, his glorious Bride, who waits expectantly for his return
and the restoration of all things.
Read the rest of the post here.
Jonathan & Elizabeth Trotter 