You know that scene in Hunt for Red October, where the US submarine is right behind a rogue Russian sub, and the unpredictable Russian captain, Ramius, gives an order that throws the US team into chaos?

“Conn, sonar! Crazy Ivan!”

“All stop! Quick quiet!”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Russian captains sometimes turn suddenly to see if anyone’s behind them. We call it “Crazy Ivan.” The only thing you can do is go dead. Shut everything down and make like a hole in the water.”

Sometimes God feels like an unpredictable Russian sub captain.  Sometimes His Crazy Ivans are so drastic, all you can do is go dead, shut everything down, and make like a hole in the water.  Two months ago, we were hit with that kind of curveball.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

At the beginning of this year, we flew to Africa, after nine long years away.  We traveled to Kenya, Botswana, and Zambia, and while there, spent time with an aviation ministry we believed might be a good fit for our heart and skills.

For me, returning to Africa after all this time was like seeing a sweetheart after a long separation, with all the requisite anxieties.  Will it be what I remembered? What if it’s changed, or I have, and the love is gone?  What if I just imagined this twenty-year passion I’ve had for this country, and as soon as I return, the illusion evaporates?

For Dennis, who did not feel the same level of adoration for Africa during our last trip, he wondered, Will it be what I remembered?  What if I hate it, and my wife still loves it?

My anxiety dissolved as soon as I stepped onto the warm tarmac at Jomo Kenyatta airport and walked down that narrow airport hallway with its flickering yellow lights.  Tribal drummers played in the baggage area, and as the smells of diesel fumes, sweat and spices swirled around me, I had only one thought: I am home.  I am finally HOME.

I once heard a story about a little boy who always went into the woods to say his prayers.  One day, his mother asked him, “Why do you go outside to look for God, when God is the same everywhere?”  The boy replied, “I know God is the same everywhere, but I am not. So, I go where I can feel God and listen to God best.”  Africa has always been that for me.  The place I can feel God.

Best of all, this time, Dennis felt the same.  With every sunrise, with every Land Rover ride down rutted, red dirt roads, with every shy handshake from a dust-covered child, we knew.  This is home.  WE are home.

We returned to the States convinced that a long-term commitment with the aviation ministry in Africa was in our near future.

And then it wasn’t.  Our application fell through, and we were left heartbroken, numb, and wondering how we had missed God’s voice in the process.

At the same time, we transitioned to a new church, and Dennis was deployed for a month to support a Navy Seal team in California as part of his Navy Reserve duties.  While he was away, I noticed strange issues with my memory, mood, and motor skills, and was diagnosed with brain damage most likely caused by childhood trauma.  Shortly thereafter, I was hit with severe diverticulitis and spent three weeks unable to eat.  Then came another three weeks where I couldn’t walk due to a re-injury of my spine.

Those were not our best months:) In the midst it all, we cried out to God for answers – or at least, Dennis did.  My conversations with God were a bit stormier and more Irish, and I did most of the talking.

One day, when I finally calmed down, I sensed God speak to my heart and ask me:  “If you had to choose between going to Africa, and helping save one marriage here, would you stay?”  My answer was immediate. “Of course I’d stay.”

Through the rest of the year, we poured all our hearts, all our energy, all the service we’d planned for Africa into serving people here.  We stepped into leadership as the Young Married’s ministry leaders at our church, and found that there were indeed marriages God wanted us to fight for.  I got involved in our church Women’s ministry and served as one of the speakers for this year’s Women’s retreat, Dennis began weekly mentorship meetings with a great guy in our Young Married’s group, and we worked toward new growth in our church missions program.

This fall, my company, PulsePoint Design, charged into its tenth year of business, and Dennis took on more responsibility in his management role at Braselton Homes, and in his work with the Navy Reserves.  Our hearts were still broken over Africa, but our plates here were full.

Then, the curveball.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and we had a decision to make.  Dennis’ time with the Navy Reserves was up, and we needed to choose whether he would re-enlist, or get out completely.  Since his work with the Reserves provides my medical care, and since our dream of Africa seemed farther away than ever while our work and ministry here kept growing, we felt re-enlistment was the right choice, and he did so that day.

Monday morning he received a message:  “You’ve been recalled to active duty. You’re being transferred to the Middle East.”

We didn’t see that coming.  At all.  Dennis has been out of active duty for eleven years.  Plus, in the three years he’s been a reservist, the recalls to active duty for his unit have been extremely low.  Yet none of those facts change our reality:  In a few months, we’ll move to a military base in an Arab state.  We know Dennis will work in a high-security-clearance post, but we have no other details, because the Navy can’t disclose them until shortly before departure.  Information is given on a “need-to-know” basis.

So right now, we’re trying to figure out how to dismantle our lives.  Home, vehicles, belongings, everything we can’t fit in several suitcases must be rented, sold, or stored.  After a decade in business, my company is closing its doors.  We’ll be forced to find homes for our beloved animals.  The loss of our church, ministry, and friends will be tremendous.

We always believed that when/if the time came to leave behind our lives here, it would be to run towards something we loved as much or more.  We knew the love and vision in our hearts for the place and the people of Africa would make the sacrifice a little easier to bear.

The last year Dennis was in active duty, he was gone ten months out of twelve.  The day he got out of active duty, I threw a “Freedom From Indentured Servanthood” party, bought a massive cache of fireworks and invited all of our friends.

Leaving everything I love to return to that life is a death beyond words. It’s a Crazy Ivan that seems particularly…well, crazy.  My only consolation is that if I have to be 8,000 miles away from my hairdresser, at least I can wear a burka.

If anything, this year—and this most recent change of direction—has made one truth vividly clear:  We are God’s to command, and His to pour out.  Our lives are subject to His timing and His direction, crazy and painful as that may be at times.  As Henry Blackaby said so eloquently, “He has the right to interrupt your life. He is Lord. When you accepted Him as Lord, you gave Him the right to help Himself to your life anytime He wants.”   And when the grief stills, when our hearts quiet, we know this:  we would rather have Him.

Wishing you a year full of the most important thing of all: faith that does not fail.

The breaking came shortly after graduation, when, despite two years of planning, or, perhaps, because of them, our goal to begin a mission base in Belize crashed and burned in a manner worthy of the Hindenburg.

We were flattened and without direction.

But, as any good Type-A Irishwoman would, I considered our Hindenburg tragedy a temporary speed bump in what was, surely, a glorious destiny.

And being practical folk, my husband and I looked for areas of service a bit closer to home while we recovered from the incineration of our plans.

We joined a small church in Washington state, and perked up when the pastor said he’d like us to lead the young adults group. At last! A calling! Something we could sink our hearts and newly minted diplomas into! A place to make a difference™.

(Note: making a difference™ is a key accomplishment, which ranks just below spreading the gospel™ and saving the lost™. Together, these three items form the holy trifecta of BCG (Bible College Grad) success.)

There was just one problem: We didn’t have a comfortable living room for the meeting. And anyone who is anyone knows you must have a hip, comfortable living room in order to succeed in ministry.

We lived in a rental that was old, cold, and badly furnished with garage sale cast-offs we’d purchased the first month of our marriage. Totally not worthy of this new chapter in our glorious destiny.

So, we made a deal with our landlady. We’d scrape and repaint the inside of the house if she’d let us pick the paint colors.

And, since we had lived without credit cards and had no credit score, we made a deal with my father-in-law to co-sign for a loan at the furniture store. There, we purchased two, soft, cushy, Sahara sand colored sofas which practically trumpeted “Ministry Couch! Prayer Couch! Glorious Destiny!” from the moment I saw them.

Now our BCPs (Bible College Professors) taught us that the road to ministry success is littered with trials, so we knew what to expect. A demon behind a bush here, a divine intervention to save us there, that sort of thing. We just didn’t realize trials came in the lead paint variety.

They do.

For the next six months, we battled through seven layers of old wallpaper on the walls, four layers on the ceilings, toxic chemical fumes, blistered fingers, debris and dust covering everything, and yes, lead paint. All buried in the depths of the 1901 relic we called home. All standing in the way of our glorious destiny.

Instead of a comfortable, hip meeting space, our entire home now resembled the den of Cujo.

And then I got sick. The fumes and debris and lead paint in our house turned a basic case of the sniffles into a septic infection that caused my face and neck to swell to double their usual size. I was so sick I had to quit my job, and couldn’t attend church for over a month.

Still, we had a vision. We were going to be young adult ministry leaders! This was all part of God’s plan for our glorious destiny! We were not backing down.

So we persevered through the sickness, persevered through our Cujo wall-scraping endeavors, and finally, months and months after we began, we were ready.

The week after we finished, we attended a young adults group meeting. We knew the pastor was going to tell everyone about the new leadership plan that night, and we couldn’t wait for all our hard work to finally pay off.

As we sat in the meeting, the pastor leaned over and asked us where one of the other young married couples was, and whether we knew when they would arrive. “They’re the new leaders”, he said. “We can’t start the meeting without them.”

That night, we went home, sat on our ministry couches, and stared in silence at our freshly painted living room.  Our glorious destiny seemed very far off.

It’s been seven years since that moment on those couches.

Since then, we’ve hauled our couches across the country.  Divided our couches when we were on the verge of divorce.  Slept on our couches as we struggled to reconcile.  Sat with brokenhearted friends and prayed on those couches.  Nursed sick kittens while curled up on those couches.  Packed bags for trips to Puerto Rico, Switzerland, Mexico, Jamaica, France, Italy, and Zambia on those couches.  Studied for exams on those couches.

And then, a month ago,  I took this picture:

Yes, those are our couches.  A little older, a little worn around the edges, but packed with amazing young couples who attend the Young Marrieds ministry we now lead for our church.

Tonight, as I sat in our living room, wrestling with a new crop of heartbreak and dashed dreams, I looked at those couches.  And I remembered: I can trust God again with my Hindenburged dreams, with my indefatigable hunger for that glorious destiny.  Because God is the Great Couch Redeemer.

He who has been faithful to redeem the time, and fill our couches, will be faithful again.

So, whatever hurt or disappointment you carry today, I hope this story encourages you.  Keep living. Keep walking. Keep trusting in your Redeemer. And may every couch you see give you fresh encouragement:)

Photo Credit: Red Betty Black - Flickr

When I was six years old, I was totally in love with an older man. He was eleven, his name was Shadow, and he had dark brown, floppy hair to die for.

As far as I was concerned, Shadow hung the moon, and I spent many hours planning our starlit wedding.

Around the same time I met Shadow, I discovered honest-to-goodness treasure in the storm drain of our apartment complex.  My treasure was a tiny viewfinder box, shaped like a television (kind of like THIS ONE).

When I held it to my eye, I could see a picture of the Taj Mahal inside.

This little window-to-another-world was worth more to me than a week of ice cream and every episode of Roy Rogers put together. I carried it with me everywhere.

Thus began the summer of my two great loves: Shadow and the Taj. Little did I know my six-year-old heart was about to be broken.

One late August afternoon, I decided to show my treasure box to Shadow and a group of his friends.  But rather than sharing, Shadow knocked it out of my hands and refused to give it back.  When I tried to take it from him, he punched me.

My growing up life hadn’t been easy, so I was familiar with hard knocks.  But I’d never been punched full-force in the stomach before.  The sensation was quite a shock.  In an instant the brightness of the day, the smell of Fall leaves, and the bigness of the world narrowed to three things:

1.) Shadow and his friends laughing
2.) Black stars framing my vision
3.) A total inability to breathe

I was devastated.  And then I was mad.  The minute I got my first breath back, I laughed at him.  After that, I snatched my viewfinder out of his hand and marched away.  Chin high, back straight.

I got around the corner of our apartment and collapsed into a puddle of six-year-old disillusionment.  The hero of my starlight wedding dreams was a villain!

And then I discovered he’d broken my viewfinder.

In that moment, I was sure I wouldn’t ever have a worse day or a more broken heart.

But life is full of moments like that. Times that knock the hope, and trust, and faith right out of you. Moments that make you feel breathless and six years old all over again. I’m in a season like that right now.

We all have these ideas about what answered prayer should look like, what the goodness of God should look like, what hope and a future should look like. And then something happens that is so dramatically opposite, so NOT good, so hopeless, so contrary to our prayers.

Times like these rock us. It isn’t just the treasure knocked from our hands that shakes us. No, no. It is the questions, that swarm us like Ebola-bearing vampire bats, as we stand there in shock. Our hands empty, our hope deferred.

The more deeply we believed we were on the right track, the more devastating and violent the shaking of our faith when our dreams turn to dust and we discover we were wrong.

Some people simply cannot cope with the loss. I read a story today about a 29-year-old Italian man who threw himself off a wall when the Vatican denied his application for priesthood. In his suicide note, he said: “I wanted to be a priest, and dedicated my whole life to this goal, but it was denied me.”

Everyone’s treasure box is different. So your loss might look like the inability to have a child, the death of a loved one when you prayed for healing, the layoff from a career you loved, the injury that ends your scholarship, or the last signature on a divorce petition. But the heartache and the questions in the black nights that follow are the same:

Where is God?
Is He even listening?
Why did He allow this?
Is He powerful but not good?
Is He good but not powerful?
Was I somehow unworthy?
Did I miss His direction?
Who am I without my treasure box?

Simple loss is never simple. We don’t just mourn the tangible thing that’s died. We also grieve the death of our hope, while struggling to re-define our concepts of God’s goodness and sovereignty. It’s a messy, dark, tear-ridden wrestling match with a God who makes a whole lot less sense than we thought He did.

As musician John Mayer wrote so aptly,

“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart,
The waking up is the hardest part,
You roll out of bed and down on your knees,
And for a moment you can hardly breathe.”

I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer a root canal, anesthesia-free.

Yet, we have few options but to wrestle through, to keep rolling out of bed, to continue putting one foot in front of the other. We may no longer know what direction to go, but wall-jumping isn’t an option, so we keep living.

If you’re in this place, I wish I could say something that would comfort you. But as your fellow traveler through this dark night, all I can say is this:

1.) HANG ON – No season lasts forever. The black stars and breathlessness will recede. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but they will. Don’t lose heart.

2.) WALK ON - When life is nothing but dark nights, full of Ebola-bearing vampire bats and dead dreams, it is incredibly difficult to move forward. But do it anyway. Even if it’s half a step at a time. Don’t set up camp here any longer than you have to. Threads of hope will appear. Grab them.

3.) SERVE ON - It may seem outrageous to consider serving others when your world has imploded. But service is movement, and movement means you’re not dead. And sometimes, that movement is what you need to begin to feel hope again.

For more encouragement during this season, I recommend these two books below.  I’m reading them simultaneously, and have found them well-written and helpful:

Many who followed our travel updates via our Facebook group have asked when I’m going to blog in more detail about the trip.  When I’m going to tell the many stories they know I have to share.  Others have asked when/if we plan to return to Africa again.

These are easy questions.  Easy to consider, easy to answer.

But two people asked me questions I haven’t known how to answer.  The first was: “What drives this unhealthy obsession you have with Africa?” and the other was, “Did the trip fill you up?”

Of all the questions I’ve been asked, I’ve pondered these two most of all.

On Obsession and the Olympic Nature…

People are interesting.  The way we think, the way we slice up and process life and each other, fascinates me.  What makes sense to one is ridiculous to another.  What looks maniacal to some, others call heroic.

Take pro-surfer Bethany Hamilton, for instance.  At the end of her new movie, Soul Surfer, she says, “I was born to surf.”  She goes on to explain that being born for this life is why she endures constant board rashes on her stomach, endless cuts from coral reefs, and muscles too limp paddle through one more wave.  And then there’s the other cost:  losing her arm and half the blood in her body to a shark attack in those waves… when she was just thirteen.

What drives a thirteen-year-old girl to get back in the water within a month of that loss?  What drives her to fight the waves, people’s opinions, and her own weakness day after agonizing day, to become the world-class champion she is now?

Some would call that obsession.

But Bethany isn’t alone.  Olympic medalists,  inventors, thought leaders, and culture changers all across the planet have similar beginnings:

A.) A singular, powerful focus from the time they were young, and

B.) A fixed passion that perplexed those around them.

Olympic runner Eric Liddel claimed he could “feel God’s pleasure” when he ran.   Chessmaster Bobby Fischer said, “All I want to do, ever, is play chess.”  My pastor claims he “knew” he was meant to be a pastor from the time he was fourteen, and he never wavered from that conviction.

But is it really possible to be “born to” surf, or run, or play chess, or pastor a church, or serve in a third world country?  Or is that  simply a rationalization–a delusion held by people who are incapable of balance?

One thing is certain: Life is not easy for those driven by this fierce focus.  They face ridiculous odds, outrageous obstacles, and agonizing hours, weeks, even years where it’s just them and their unfulfilled dream.

Surely some psychosis drives them to keep going.  Right?

At times, the answer is yes.  I have met people driven by guilt, by selfish ambition, by mental imbalance, or by insecurity or pride.

But then there are others.  Dream chasers with honest hearts, Olympic natures, and laser-focused destiny.  And as surely as there is only one place the homing pigeon calls home, there is only one destiny that will do for these people.

For this small percentage of humanity, as poet John Pomfred said so eloquently, “The work is a calling. It demands that type of obsession.”

For others who do not share this intensity, this laser focus can be hard to grasp.   Which is why, when the person asked me about my “obsession” with Africa, I wasn’t sure how to reply.

Africa is my World Championship.  My Olympic dream.  The ever-fixed mark I’ve worked toward and trained for every waking moment of my born life.  And to anyone who doesn’t share this dream, that kind of dedication is nothing less than “call-the-little-green-men” obsessive.

The truth is, our culture only labels something an obsession when there’s no gold medal hanging around it.  Slap a gold medal on there, and suddenly you’re a champion and everyone races off to buy your sports jersey and a matching cup holder.

But explaining focused vision without the gold medal around your neck is quite a task.

Which brings me to question two, “Did it fill you up?”

On Shot Glasses and the Sahara…

The trip took ten days. I was in Africa–Zambia, Botswana, and Kenya–for six of those days.  Surely six full days should have assuaged my thirst and recharged me, right?

My friend wanted that for me, and I wanted to tell her yes.

But the trip didn’t fill me up.  In fact, it had the opposite effect.

For those who don’t understand singular focus or homing birds, this next part really won’t make sense to you, so feel free to skip ahead.  For the rest of you, imagine you’re a seagull,  flying through the grit of the Sahara desert.  And you’ve flown through that grit for nine years.  Surviving on brief morning mists and sheer willpower.

Then imagine you’re transported back to the place that waters your soul.  Oh the bliss!  The clear skies.  The familiar smells.  The unspeakable joy of being HOME!

Just as you begin to breathe and readjust, you are ripped away again and returned to the desert.

In that moment, I ask you, do you feel filled up?  Or do you feel an anguish greater than before?

For me, the latter was true.  The pain has been dark and terrible.

This trip was like watering the Sahara with a shot glass.  Yes, of course I’m grateful for every drop, but desperate for more.

On Kindness to Maniacs and Olympic Types…

Do you have a maniacal dream chaser or Olympic type in your life?  Maybe a friend, a spouse, a co-worker, a child?

I know it’s hard to understand them.  I know their passion, their dogged determination, and their laser focus is unnerving.  Even uncomfortable.

But if there’s a dreamer in your life, don’t mock them.  Don’t cage them.  Don’t crush their hopes.

Plato is often quoted as saying, “Be kind to everyone you meet, for everyone is fighting a hard battle.”  Take it from this grit flyer: pursuing a great vision is the hardest battle, and the loneliest path you can imagine.  Every sarcastic comment, every eyebrow raised in doubt, every well-intentioned suggestion that you find a path of less resistance, a different dream (as if you could), increases the isolation.

Don’t be the hard wind and the extra grit between your maniacal dreamer and their destiny.  Balance them and provide them wisdom as you can, but be kind to them.

“We are the music-makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

And sitting by desolate streams.

World-losers and world-forsakers,

Upon whom the pale moon gleams;

Yet we are the movers and shakers,

Of the world forever, it seems.”

- Arthur O’Shaughnessy

This person’s actions devastated my friend. And their cutting words began a repeating circle inside her heart and mind. They became vultures of torment, darkening her entire world.

Exodus 14:14 says, “you will stand still and the Lord your God will fight for you” and this is the verse I gave to her.  I have had to anchor myself to this verse many, many times.   In fact, I’m doing so right now, for a difficult situation of my own.  Believing that God knows the truth about me, and that He will defend me, if I allow Him to.

BUT I also know that words, like the ones that were spoken to my friend, can be crippling.

This list probably won’t work for everyone, but there’s a practical action plan I’ve developed for times like this. I hate feeling gutshot and listless, with my emotions and hope hijacked by devastating words/opinions. I want everything to somehow move me forward, even the hard things. So here’s a list I try to follow during times of hurt:

1.) Discard the packaging and look for truths

Truly teachable people can take a package dripping in cyanide and still sift through it for anything they can apply, anything they can receive and grow from.  Any areas they can own up to, or take responsibility for.   That is what makes good people into great people: their response to wretched situations.

2.) Consider the source

The Bible says we can know a tree by the fruit it bears.  After we sift for truth in the situation, it’s worthwhile to evaluate the character of the person who attacked us.  We can make a logical decision about how much credence to give the rest of their opinions, based on their current lifestyle, their wounds and weaknesses, and their past track record.

3.) Entrust yourself to Him who judges justly

False accusations are miserable.  God knows.  He deals with more false accusation every day than we will in a lifetime.  Probably some of that from us!!  So, entrust your situation and your hurt to him.  Every two seconds, if necessary. God knows your heart, and He is your judge.

4.) Look at what was said and identify the VOTS (vultures of torment)

Some words slide right off, but others stab us to the core. The ones that pierce our armor need to be clearly identified before we can heal.  It’s really hard to gain ground, or hear God, in a hazy cloud of undefined emotion.  So write the VOTS down.  Examine the core messages you feel the words imply, not just what they say.  Clarify, analyze.  Then nail those slithery falsehoods to the wall so God can shine His light on them.

5.) Examine your wounds

Often times, harsh words have sticking power because they hit a spot inside us where there was already a wound or vulnerability. Ask God to cover, cover, COVER those raw places.  Trust Him to use this situation to expose these long-standing, unhealed wounds, and permanently heal them with His grace.  When we do this, we step out of the victim arena, and into a field of new growth.

6.) Examine your progress

Nothing is harder than when you’re making progress/growing in your faith & character and yet someone sees the opposite in you instead. Usually, when this happens, it’s because there is a crafty enemy trying to discourage you, and convince you that you aren’t making progress at all. Don’t lose heart!  Don’t let misjudgment derail you.

7.) Ask for input

Submit the situation to a safe friend or spouse or spiritual leader. Ask them to pray that the poison of the words will be rendered useless. Ask them to speak truth to you to balance the VOTS!

8.) Keep your heart soft and let God protect it

It can be easier to close off, or to go on the defense, in order to cope. But if we commit to staying soft, to feeling the whole miserable thing fully, then we will learn, we will grow, our hearts will become richer as we receive God’s grace to cope, and THAT will give us full hands when someone else comes to us, having suffered the same thing.

9.) Learn what not to do

You know how you feel when someone’s attacked you?  Unable to sleep, sick with grief?  Remember that feeling.  And ask God to help you never make another person feel the same way.  We’re not perfect and we’re going to make mistakes, but the great thing about suffering is it brands our hearts deeply, and teaches us not to make as many mistakes in that specific area.

Do not operate near flame. Avoid contact in enclosed spaces. Recharge batteries twice a year. Requires bright sunlight to flourish.

I would so use those manuals.  Daily.  Minute by minute.  Wouldn’t you?

People come from such different cultures, family backgrounds, and faith persuasions.  They have different value sets and histories, wildly varied communication styles, polar opposite understandings of what is acceptable and unacceptable.

It is amazing, in light of these differences, and the many hurts and misunderstandings that result from them, that we, on this bright, spinning planet haven’t blown ourselves to kingdom come by now.

The sad truth is, without an instruction manual that clearly outlines each person’s true nature and wiring for the rest of humanity, we will misjudge others, and others will misjudge us.

No matter how pure our hearts are, no matter how hard we try to do the right thing, there will be someone who translates our motives, our personality, our words, or our actions as the very opposite.  It could be a friend, a family member, or a stranger in a grocery checkout line.  But it will happen.  More than once.

And when they believe the worst, oh how that judgment stings.    Because they’re seeing a version of you that’s colored by their own history, experience, faith persuasion, prejudices, etc, etc.  And that version they’re seeing isn’t real.  It isn’t the true you at all.

If I could write an instruction manual up for myself, it would probably include a few of the following items:

1.)  Slow to trust. In my personality test results, trust in others shows up as a feeble little bar, at the bottom of the graph.   I’ve met people with high trust and openness to others, and I marvel at them.  How wonderful to have a life journey that gives you trust as a high bar!  But that has not been the case for me.   When I was growing up, my father taught us a constant fear and distrust of people in general, especially anyone in authority, government, or law enforcement.  “Big Brother” was watching, he said.

He died an isolated, paranoid old man who trusted no one, and often used his words as sabers to protect himself from anyone who got close enough to hurt him.  Those fears and tendencies are generational.  I see them.  I know they’re there.  And I fight them.  That fight to stay open and keep trying to trust requires more bravery than anyone realizes.  The battle is herculean.

2.)  Fiercely loyal and sees good where others don’t. My trust is slow coming, but once it’s in place,  that devotion is long-standing and difficult to lose.  If I’ve seen good in someone, I will defend them and stand by them,  I will believe in that good even on the days when it’s nowhere to be seen, and champion it any way I can.  I will support that person and protect their name and reputation in public, even if there is unresolved hurt between us.

3.)  Takes things deeply to heart. I’m Irish and I’m a mercy, and I either feel things to the depths or not at all.  This means I will care about your hurt when just about everyone else in the universe tells you to suck it up and get over it.  I will fight for you.  I will weep for you.  I will take you deeply to heart.  This also means that you have unparalleled  power to hurt me.  Where others could brush off an emotional wound in an afternoon, I will walk with a limp for a month.  Not because I want to.  Dear God, no.  But because my heart is wet cement.  Boot prints and betrayals stay longer there.

4.)  Processes pain through logic and writing. If there’s something serious I want to work through with someone, I will almost always address it via letter or e-mail.  At least the first round. Not because I’m cold, but because I believe in thinking through what I say.  I have always believed that misunderstandings and conflicts worsen through emotion-driven verbal encounters, and that a thought-out letter is often the most honoring, respectful approach.  It gives both the sender, and the receiver time to think and pray, and it keeps of record of what’s been said, for reference.

5.)  Communication is key. Silence is Kryptonite. If there’s a problem, I’ve found the longer I stew over it, the more susceptible I am to lies and false beliefs about the person.  So I believe in addressing tough situations head on, right away.  I won’t spend hours, days, or months feeling upset while smiling and pretending everything is fine.  If I’m feeling hurt, or confused, or struggling with something, I will address it at the earliest possible moment.  Usually before the end of the day.  To me, that is respectful.  That is treating others the way I would like to be treated.  But if that sincerity is met with silence in return, my heart collapses.  The longer the silence, the greater the torment.

When someone comes to me in vulnerability, I believe in covering that vulnerability immediately.   Maybe its my counseling background, but from my perspective there’s a time clock attached to that level of openness.   Every day I make someone wait for a equally honest reply is a day that says to them,  “you and your fear or your hurt, which you have confided in me, are worth less to me than my busy life, my TV show, my other priorities.”  So for me, silence is a last resort, used only in cases where the other person is so unsafe and unreasonable that a response would do no good.

So there you go.  Five of my instruction manual tips.  And yet, I realize there is an entire world of people out there whose instruction manuals are the exact opposite of mine.

Which can only mean one thing:  INEVITABLE PAIN & MISUNDERSTANDING.

What I’m learning through all this is that we can’t presume someone is a failure to God just because their personality, wiring, or instruction manual doesn’t match up with our own.  Some people’s every outward action can be in such conflict with our style and way of thinking that we cannot comprehend how there could be goodness in them.  And yet, we are also looking through glasses tinted by our own culture, communication mode, and history.  So we need to grant an automatic grace credit with this in mind.  And let God be their judge and jury rather than assuming that role ourselves.

Now there are some people we are just never going to connect with.  People whose beliefs, values, and personalities are so opposite from our own that they will cause us perpetual wounding.  In that case there’s no point trying to force friendship or trust where it will never bloom.

But I think in general, our job is not to attack, not to condemn, not to assume, but to look for ways to believe the best, to ask others to help us speak their language, and to become as multi-lingual as we can.

At least, until someone makes personalized instruction manuals for humans.

Photo via Boston.com and(AP Photo/American Red Cross)

Such suffering, on such an epic scale, can cause us to go nearly numb. How do we process what we see? And beyond that, what are we supposed to do?

We’re thousands of miles away. Most of us have no crisis response training. We aren’t skilled in disaster area medical services, trauma counseling, or emergency water and sanitation strategies.

We’re in the middle of a recession and battling our own challenges–dwarfed though they may be by the losses faced by the people of Haiti–and yet, if you’re like me, you want to do more than throw $20 at the problem and console yourself that you’ve done what you could.

If I could, I would be on the ground right this second. Doing anything, ANYTHING I could to relieve their suffering. And honestly, I’m still looking for ways to make that happen.

But until then, I thought a practical list of how to respond to this crisis from a distance might be helpful. For myself, and for anyone else who wants it.

GIVE MONEY-
Obviously there’s a huge need for finances in a situation like this. If you want to do more than send a few dollars to a random aid organization, here’s what you can do:

Raise awareness for your aid organization of choice. Talk to your church, your child’s school, your employer. See if they would like to be involved in raising funds for the organization and give as a group.

If you’re looking for an aid organization, Dennis and I, and my company, PulsePoint Design, have partnered for many years with Medair. We know these people. They are honest, financially responsible, and incredibly savvy in their crisis response efforts. Their first crisis response team leaves for Haiti tomorrow, and they could sure use your support.

Rally your online community to donate. Blog, post tweets, share links on Facebook to relevant information, and to your aid organization’s donation page.

There are many scams going around to profit from people’s desire to give. If your agency of choice is reputable, and you know that for sure, share that information.

Run a fundraiser. Do you have items you could auction? Things you could sell on eBay? Enough stuff for a yard sale? SELL THEM NOW!

People are dying as I type this. They’re bleeding to death alone, trapped beneath piles of concrete, and those cold jagged blocks will be the last things they ever see because there’s not enough gasoline for the bulldozers to get them out.

The finances we could raise through sales of our extra stuff might mean the difference between life and death for some of these people and the aid organizations trying so hard to help them.

GIVE TIME-

Support Haitians here. Do you have a Haitian community in your city? Many of these people are in agony, waiting to hear whether their loved ones are dead. Maybe you could take them a meal. Maybe you could sit and simply wait with them for news (No Pat Robertson-type comments, as you sit, please). Maybe they need some kind of logistical help— childcare, transportation, help posting to forums about their missing loved ones.

Volunteer. If you have experience working overseas and skills in communication, medicine, logistics, construction, water and sanitation, or as a French Creole translator, you can register with the CIDI: http://www.cidi.org/reg_off.htm or contact your aid organization of choice to see if they need you.

If you’re a member of the military, you can volunteer to deploy during the US military response.

You can also volunteer time at a local aid office branch (like the Red Cross, etc) to help them with administrative tasks of getting the word out about the crisis.

Adopt a Missionary. Does your church, or a church in your hometown have a missionary on the ground in Haiti? If so, what do they need? Can you send them e-mails or post comments of support and encouragement on their blog or Twitter account? (No Pat Robertson-type “encouragement”, please) Can you help them do things they can’t do right now because they lack phone and internet connections?

I don’t know this missionary couple, but I’ve been following the Livesay’s blog here: http://www.livesayhaiti.blogspot.com/ to understand what they’re facing and what other missionaries on the ground are surely facing as well.

GIVE PRAYER-
If you’re a person of faith, you’ve got endless prayer opportunity with this crisis. Since I’ve worked in a third-world crisis area, I thought I’d focus on some ways to pray for the crisis response teams.

Pray for Safety. Haiti has always been a dangerous place- with gangs, drugs, murders and muggings common- these issues are obviously exacerbated now by desperation, anger, and fear.

People offering aid are often in danger of mobbing by victims desperate for help. Bases handling aid supplies face constant risk of armed robbery.

Pray for Logistics. Transportation in the country is a nightmare right now. As of today, all civil air flights into Haiti have been banned because the airport cannot accomodate the planes and they have no fuel for return flights. Most of the roads are blocked or littered with bodies.
The government doesn’t have sufficient machinery (trucks, bulldozers, etc) to distribute the aid that’s arriving. The infrastructure hasn’t slowed to a crawl, it has collapsed.

Also, there are few safe accommodations available. After an earthquake like this, even buildings that are still standing are structurally unsound.

Water and food supplies, which were already limited in this suffering country, are now even more limited. So aid teams will face very difficult living conditions.

Pray for Physical Strength & Health. Disaster response teams often work endless hours, with little food and little time for sleep. Demands on their physical reserves are spectacular. They will be covered in dirt and blood daily. They will battle mosquitoes, heat, dangers of upper respiratory infections from all the debris in the air. Infectious diseases of all kinds will be a major danger as sanitation problems grow.

Pray for Emotional Strength. How would you handle it if a man ran up to you begging for help for his bleeding baby daughter whose mother died in the quake, and you had to send him away? How would you handle seeing trucks piled with dead bodies. People dragging along the roads with arms and legs crushed? People whose minds have literally snapped under the weigh
t of the tragedy?

How would you handle the sheer volume of misery, death, and destruction if you couldn’t look away to catch your breath?

These teams need so much prayer for what they will see and experience. Raw human suffering of any kind is devastating. Suffering of these levels will require emotions of steel within the hearts of the aid providers.

This isn’t a conclusive list, by any means. There are so many creative people out there, and I know we can each think of creative ways to help during this crisis.

What we must NOT do is nothing. I beg you to act on behalf of your fellow man, not just for their sakes, but for your own.

If we see suffering like this and let our busy schedules, a sense of helplessness, or a lack of purposeful action eclipse us, we fail them and endanger ourselves. Failure to act makes us numb, passive, and increases our sense of helplessness when the next crisis strikes.

I refuse to let numbness and inaction dull me to the needs of this nation in ruin. Join me.

But! Fellow tea, drinkers, we shall be wistful no more!

I’ve modified a recipe from thekitchn.com (shout out to Holly Hoffman for that recipe) and created a Pumpkin Spice Chai Latte recipe!!

Here’s the recipe:

Pumpkin Spice Chai Latte
makes 1-2 servings

Ingredients:
2 cups milk
2 tablespoons canned pumpkin or 1 teaspoon of Torani Pumpkin Spice Syrup (your choice)
1 tablespoon white sugar
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 tablespoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
1/2 cup of Oregon Chai concentrate

Directions:
In a saucepan combine milk, pumpkin, Chai concentrate and sugar, and cook on medium heat, stirring, until steaming. Remove from heat, stir in vanilla and spice, transfer to a blender or whisk briskly with a wire whisk for 30 seconds.

Pour into a large mug or two mugs. Optional: Add whipped cream and pumpkin pie spice, nutmeg, or cinnamon on top.

Happy Autumn:)

Tea drinkers forever.

THE SWISS COURIER by Tricia Goyer and Mike Yorkey

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WHERE GRACE ABIDES by BJ Hoff

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