10 Things Flying Taught Me About Missions {A Life Overseas}

March 20, 2015 / trotters41 / Leave a comment

Jonathan is over at A Life Overseas today. . .

I love flying. It just doesn’t get old for me.

I’ve jumped the Pacific a bunch; I’ve skipped over the Atlantic a few times. I have my own license to fly small aircraft, but still, every time I fly I feel like a little kid who’s milk got spiked with espresso. Sometimes I’m afraid the other passengers are thinking, “Oh for crying out loud, this guy doesn’t get out much. He’s probably homeschooled.” They’d be partially correct, I guess.

I fight my kids for the window seat. I revel in the sensation of takeoff, the joy of punching through oppressive clouds to the open sky above. When we hit turbulence, I close my eyes (like I’m praying, ’cause that’s holy) and say a silent “Yeehaaaw!”

This article is my excuse to talk about aviation. Here’s what flying has taught me about missions.

Read all 10 points here.

Something No One Told Me Might Happen {Velvet Ashes}

January 19, 2015March 17, 2015 / trotters41 / Leave a comment

Elizabeth is over at Velvet Ashes today, talking about how she unexpectedly found her gifts overseas:

About five years ago I said “yes” to the adventure of living overseas. I didn’t know all that might entail, but I knew I loved the God who had asked me to move, and I was determined to follow Him. I didn’t, however, know exactly what to expect.

I heard a little bit of what to expect at our pre-field training. There, someone warned me that stepping on a plane wouldn’t turn me into a different person, or magically make me a superhero Christian. No, I would be the same person as always, possessing the same old faults.

And that’s true — I didn’t turn into a different person. In fact, stepping off that plane and entering an unfamiliar culture had the additional effect of revealing my faults, of laying bare my sin problems and defects in character.

But something else happened, too. Something surprising and unexpected, something no one told me might happen: I discovered gifts I’d never had before. They were new and previously unknown gifts. But they were never meant for me – they were meant to be poured out for others. More importantly, they were meant to be poured out for Him.

You can read the rest of the post here.

More Seizure Coma Death Moments

January 14, 2015January 14, 2015 / trotters41 / 11 Comments

by Elizabeth

This blog post is brought to you by a 100% Harm Avoidance gal, in the spirit of a life lived the Seizure Coma Death way. I present to you now, purely for your reading pleasure, true stories from this last month:

A fever and a hacking cough recently afflicted my youngest daughter. One night as she’s crying in pain, I wake to give her more Tylenol, to bring down her fever. I leave her room thinking, “Hmmm, she’s worse than the night before, when she slept all night without her fever spiking.” I begin to worry thus: Oh no, it’s probably that new mutant strain of the flu that’s worse than most flus but starts as a regular cold and gets worse and worse and worse until. . . it moves into the lungs and my baby might DIE.

II.

And then, as I crawl back into bed, I notice that my big toe is hurting. This is my OTHER big toe, because the first one is already fighting an infected/ingrown nail. When I realize both toes are hurting, I think, Oh no!!! I have DIABETES!! I never knew a 5-pound weight gain could be enough to propel me into type 2 diabetes. I am going to be stuck the rest of my life having to take meds for this.

So I toss and turn awhile and Jonathan finally notices and asks, “Are you ok?” I answer, “NO! I am not ok! I think I have diabetes. Both my toes hurt. My feet aren’t healing.” He retorts, “The reason feet are a problem for diabetics is because they CAN’T feel their feet, not because they CAN; your feet are fine. Go back to bed.” So I try. Even though my toes are still in pain.

The weather here affects my feet I guess, making them more dry and calloused than usual. So maybe I need to invest in some sort of foot cream.

But probably not Metformin.

Yet.

III.

Later that week, a killer mosquito attacks Jonathan and me. First, it attacks him. We had gone to bed early that night to try to recover from the sleep loss associated with, you know, COUGHING KID. So we are tossing and turning, in and out of sleep, listening to our dear sweet little hacker, when suddenly he jumps out of bed, all flustered, saying a mosquito bit him on the lip. It’s swelling HUGE, and it hurts. I give him the Benadryl cream and we look for, but cannot find, the Perpetrator.

I cover my entire self with the sheets, except for my face, so I can, you know, BREATHE, and I fall back asleep. Then about an hour later, I wake up with a pain in my lip, and it’s a teeny tiny bit itchy. Fearing the worst, I run to the bathroom, only to discover a bite that is TAKING OVER MY FACE. Numbness and tingling spread all the way down to my chin. My lip simultaneously balloons outward and swells all the way INTO my mouth, where I can feel the bulge on the inside of my lips. I think: And when the swelling reaches my windpipe, I will die.

So I slather on the Benadryl cream and search for that blasted mosquito. When I finally find it, I swipe at it with the electric bug zapper. The zapper buzzes the mosquito no fewer than 5 times (usually 1 or 2 zaps is enough to slay a mosquito). When it falls to the ground, it is STILL WRITHING. Of course, even a mosquito as hardy as that can’t survive my foot: one stomp finishes the job nicely.

It takes all night for the swelling on my lip to go down. The tingling doesn’t fully subside until later the next day.

But my airways are still intact.

For now.

The Tree That Tells Our Story {A Life Overseas}

December 23, 2014December 23, 2014 / trotters41 / Leave a comment

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.

I Need a Silent Night

December 4, 2014November 26, 2016 / trotters41 / 8 Comments

by Elizabeth

The pace of life in Phnom Penh can, all too often, be hurried and hectic. It’s not your traditional (imaginary) missionary life. It’s crazy, and it’s crazy-making, and I need to call a time-out. I need some space to breathe.

Over the last four months especially, a series of events have left me feeling dry and depleted. And now we’re smack dab in the middle of the holiday season, a season that creates its own frenzy. Lights! Tinsel! Frosted cookies!

Invitations pile up. Attendance feels mandatory at open houses and parties, cookie exchanges and carolings, even church services. These are all worthwhile and enjoyable activities. Even so, the expectations begin to mount. And for me, this time around, it all felt like a mountain I couldn’t scale.

When exactly did having Christmas cheer come to mean doing lots of Christmas activities? I don’t just want the appearance of Christmas cheer; I want Christmas cheer on the inside. But I’m not sure I can get it by doing Christmas the way it’s usually done.

So this year, I’m rebelling. I want a simple Christmas, and I’m taking drastic measures. I’m turning down invitations. I’m aware this might make me appear Scrooge-like and Grinchy. I’m risking it anyway. I’m sitting this season out. (On my couch.) I’m regrouping, retrenching, retreating. Clearing the calendar, saying no, and staying home.

In a culture where our worth is measured by how busy we are, I’m choosing to be countercultural, to go against the flow — or better yet, to drop out of the flow. For the sake of my sanity and for the good of my family’s emotional health.

So this Christmas season, you’ll find me sitting in my living room each evening, main lights dimmed but tree lights twinkling. You’ll find me singing my favorite Christmas carols with my family, resting in the news of the Christ Child and welcoming the peace He brings.

I’m losing myself in the marvel of the Christmas Story, in the wonder of the God-made-flesh, the One who dwelt among men. I’m ignoring the social scene and even the rush to buy presents, and I’m getting swept up in the mystery and majesty of the Nativity. I’m absorbing the Advent, and meeting God in the Messiah. I’m slowing down and savoring the story of our Savior.