Otherwhere After the Green

It's here. The day of what they call "repatriation," or returning to your home country after a time living in Otherwhere. Thursday morning I submit to the strange limbo of plane travel and that night I emerge in the many-fruited landscape known as Michigan, to the warmth of the people who know me best... a "home" more penciled-in than taken for granted, these days.

For the last two years,  I've lived in a summer world, viewing sunshine or starlight from the rooftop while listening to bachata floating by from the nearby colmado. Sweating like crazy at afternoon outreaches while keeping kids in line, and literally having to peel dust off in the shower. Smelling plumeria one moment and sewage the next. Drinking ants in my coffee and tasting the fruit of the chocolate plant. An hour and a half from beaches and riches, next door to a row of mansions... and a two-minute walk from people who live in ways I could never have imagined before I lived here and knew them. This place and its people have changed me. And now, confronted by a return to everything I knew before, I have to figure out how to tuck and roll when I land. My passport country will have changed, too... I can't expect things to be the same. So how does New Lyndi fit with New but Old Home?

"How do you see yourself as different now?" my thought-provocative brother inquired a couple of phone calls ago, when I was expressing my internal turmoil.

I suddenly couldn't answer him. "It's... just different," I attempted feebly. "I think different, I feel different... I talk different..." I suddenly felt like a little kid trying to explain why she deserved to go first in line, trying to convince him I was allowed to feel somehow "special" just for living someplace else and coming back. That wasn't my brother's intent, I'm sure, but... why did words fail to describe the Lyndi before and after?

My friend Trena has been overseas for 30 years. "I don't know if you can ever explain it to someone who has never done it," she said. "Not fully."

As we say here on the Casa Grande base, I'm neither home culture nor here culture anymore, neither yellow nor blue. I'm green. And... it's not easy being green.

In the time I've been gone, I've...
...learned to have a conversation in two or more languages to make sure everyone understands.
...gotten used to communication barriers and working HARD to be understood.
...learned that there's almost always a way to fix broken things instead of buying new ones.
...had to learn to rely on other people's systems to fulfill my needs... and on their schedules to drive me places.
...lived at a strangely slower pace, because time is not as important here.
...been broken to pieces and reassembled.
...been hurt by certain circumstances and healed by others.
...learned to save face for other people because that's important to them.
...been taken out of control to see who I become.
...have come face to face with lesser versions of myself, and I haven't always won.
...learned to mop my bedroom floor... instead of a vacuum or a Swiffer or what have you.
...learned that expectations are dangerous, so it's better to have none and stay flexible.
...seen both the beauty achieved and the damage done by American missionaries.
...learned that the world is way bigger than the US of A!
...lived with the values of a different place.
...practiced laughing cross-culturally.
...learned more new songs in Spanish than I have in English.
...heard voices raised in other languages in songs of devotion for our Creator.
...watched so many faces light up with understanding of their salvation.

And I have seen God...
...make a way where there was no way.
...provide in specific and miraculous senses.
...heal people of diseases.
...deliver people from demonic oppression.
...reveal His character in the heavens.
...draw me closer to His heart.
...meet me in my loneliness.
...join people from many nations at His throne by His Spirit.

So now I...
...translate everything in my head.
...am stuck with the eternal sense that in an English conversation there's a Spanish word to express it better, or vice versa.
...have the tendency to use both languages in the same sentence.
...immediately think to ask the question "what brought you here?" to make small talk.
...think more frugally.
...hesitate to take defective merchandise back to the store.
...would never complain to the management about my food in a restaurant.
...think twice about going out alone as a woman.
...fear different things.
...am confident in new ways.

...trust God more.

...worship and lead worship in a new-to-me way that considers a wider variety of perspectives and how they engage.

So now people will ask, "How was your trip? Was it everything you hoped it would be?"
And I will ache inside as I tell them that yes, it's been great! And I have grown tremendously! I have seen people healed and lives changed... my own included! And I will politely not tell them that it wasn't a trip, it is my life... and life is never exactly "everything you hope it will be." Because so often it is more. Oh so much more.

In two days I will hear faint strains of music fading away like a colorful tropical dream as I float up and leave home to go home. Catch the last glimpses of the people here I care about most as I walk away from them in the airport for the last time, at least for now.

Off for another round of trying to figure out where to put down roots, and how far down to let them grow. When you are a sojourner, you don't ever get to go "home." If you can't take "home" with you, you never get to be there. And whatever "home" I find... there's no telling how long I will get to stay. It is bittersweet, and it is good, and this makes way for the next adventure. The next open world, further up and further in where my Friend awaits.

I am a triangle, I am green, I am whatever you want to call me as long as it means I am literally neither here nor there. I live in Otherwhere, and Otherwhere is my home.

Read More

Indigenous

I didn't know people still did missions like this. I felt like I was witnessing firsthand some of the missionary stories of my childhood while Helman told us about his ventures by canoe into the heart of Colombia. Guerrillas, midnight assaults, capsized canoes, planes with no seats that transported cows as well as humans, where the pilot had to stick his head out the window to be able to land.

That's the real deal.

And I didn't truly understand what the ladies at our conference had gone through to get to us until we took the relatively easy bus trip to San José del Guaviare, a mere 2.4 degrees from the equator and only 4 hours from Villavicencio, Crisalinco's home base. This was the closest Crisalinco training center to reach, Helman informed us. No joke... some of the women had traveled 14 hours by canoe, 2 days in a bus, and taken two planes (some of them doubtful as the one I mentioned above) to be able to come to the conference. They're incredible.

We visited two different indigenous groups who live near the city of San José. First were the Nukak, second were the Hiú.

The village of the semi-nomadic Nukak probably impacted me most of anything that I saw while we were in Colombia. I'd love to post photos, but... this is one of those moments when I honestly can't post many. If you're interested in demographics and a description of these people and how to pray for them, take a look at these websites:

https://joshuaproject.net/people_groups/11966/CO
http://www.survivalinternational.org/tribes/nukak
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nukak_people

This is how they live, this is where they eat. We visited their homes and talked as much as we could-- Nukak isn't a common language, let alone a written one. Stealing is a core value to their society, because it's how they survive. Governmental programs worth hundreds of thousands US are sponged off by corrupt politicians, and only a sliver of the aid makes it to the communities, where it's typically poorly applied and no training is provided. Helman says they need a missionary to come live among them full time, adopting their customs and living life with specific values to show them morals they haven't learned quite yet and teach them to read, so they can study the Bible for themselves as it's developed in their language. Learning ethics would also need to be learned, since although there is a school built in the community, the students typically only stay for an hour before they decide to go home. There's more I could share here, but again... I feel it's not something to be made a spectacle of. I'd love to tell you, though, if you feel like asking!

This is Friendly Fred, next Christmas's dinner on four feet. Watch out, Fred!
He was quite receptive to our group, and followed us around faithfully.

This guy is the hope of Crisalinco for the Nukak. They don't have a tribal leader,
but this man has gone through Crisalinco's training and can now read and write.
As he continues to grow, their hope is that he will rise in the esteem of his community.
He and his wife came to visit us at our hotel since we missed them in the village.

The other tribe we visited was the Hiú. They are way more settled in than the semi-nomadic Nukak, so their cultural development is also a lot farther along and their dwellings are more permanent.







I have searched online, but I can't find any extra information about them! Maybe I don't have the right spelling or they go by another name. This group of people, though, was a lot more ready to engage with us. The language barriers was not as great, and we even got to tell the kids a Bible story and sing Father Abraham and The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock. I pulled out my extensive Casa Grande training as Kids Club emcee, though we were definitely all following along with Helman. Who is DEFINITELY in his calling as he relates brilliantly with people, up to jumping into a river to race some of the boys.

We also got to see their process for making cassava bread, which they bake on top of a tin roof in the sunshine.

These mud stoves last up to a year before needing to be rebuilt.
Turtle soup, anyone?

Seriously.

They make and sell these manillas, or bracelets... we bought them out.

Also got to try this hunting bow... and the spearlike arrow that went with it. It was fun,
but my arrow didn't make it far.

Just tell me this doesn't look refreshing.

I got the pleasure of holding this little princess for her mom for a while.
She was a cuddler!

Obviously... this makes you think. They live without so many conveniences I consider "necessary." Their lives are simple, but they are interested in each other and interested in creating and enjoying creation. It's an entirely different mindset, and taking the poverty and some of the more controversial moral systems out of the picture.... there are a lot of parts of their existence that are simple and good.

What does it mean to be indigenous?
Dictionary.com helped me out there.

adjective

1.

originating in and characteristic of a particular region or country; native(often 

followed by to):

the plants indigenous to Canada; the indigenous peoples of southern Africa.

2.

innate; inherent; natural (usually followed by to):

feelings indigenous to human beings.

It means to belong. To be born someplace, raised someplace, to be part of the fiber and DNA of that place. Because if a location is inhabited, its inhabitants are what give it the flavor and character that it has. The DR has one flavor... the Colombian flavor has a completely different one. And both countries have subflavors, like these original groups. There are 80 groups like the Nukak and Hiú in Colombia, I found out.

Yet these indigenous groups are the original Colombians, like the native American tribes are the original Americans. And somehow, whether by oversight or by design, the collective development of the country around them passed them by. They live by different rules, different means, different resources. They are effectively in that world, but not of it. They are part of the cultural makeup, but they don't affect it.

Here's my thought to ponder, and I'd love some discussion on the topic as I perfect my parallel here...

As Christians, we're now indigenous to the kingdom of God. We are part of its fiber, what gives it flavor, yet like the Nukak, we live semi-nomadic lives in a land not our own. We live by different rules, different means, different resources; called to be in this world, but not of it, and its progress "forward" may seem to leave us in the dust as we struggle to avoid taking on a worldview that goes against our ancient creed. However, we are not called to live only amongst ourselves. We are called to be the flavor and the color (the salt and the light) of this land we travel through, as well, leading others toward our home country.

Indigenous.

Credit where credit's due: Most of the photos in this post were taken by my teammates, particularly Rod and Peggy Stewart and Tammy Springer. They were doing such an awesome job, I decided not to try taking yet another expensive camera through some of the crazy zones were were passing through.

Read More

Adventures Farther South: Colombia

Back in November, I made a specific request: "Lord," I said, "please give me opportunities to travel to other Latin American countries."

A couple weeks later, my friend Tammy, whom I met at Casa Grande through the Chapel Project (see A Neighborhood Called Blessing) messaged me. "We need an interpreter to travel with our group from Advancing Native Missions for 3 weeks to do a conference for women in ministry in Colombia," she said. "Would you pray about it?"

Read More

Colombian Cuisine

I love trying new foods... and I have to admit, that´s one of the most fun parts about visiting another country. Colombian food is super economical-- I think we averaged about $3-5 USD per meal when we were eating out toward the end of the trip, including something to drink. It probably helped that the Colombian peso is currently $3000 to every $1 USD. You can buy a pineapple or a bottle of water for less than 50 cents.

Here are some of the flavors we found in Colombia. I think I'll let the pictures and their captions do the talking.... And we'll start out with primarily just what we ate while we were at Crisalinco, on the base.
.

This is a typical breakfast... sweet, pear-like pumarosas
  (Trena calls them "water apples" here in the DR), caldo, which is a brothy soup
with a piece of beef rib cooked in it, and arepas, which are
round tortilla-like bread (thicker) made from corn flour. These
were unsalted... in my opinion? The cheesy ones are best, like behind Rod's bowl in the pic below!

This bears a side note: The caldo is a normal breakfast food, but if you don't have soup for breakfast? You will likely have it for lunch or dinner. Our host, Helman, informed us that Colombians usually eat soup every day. We had several very delicious kinds of soups while we were there-- one with pasta, a crema of squash, and one that was like a potato soup (or a sancocho, if you're familiar with the Dominican delicacy).

Or if you were our buddy Rod, you may have tried their version of mondongo, a soup made from tripe!

I don't have a good picture of the juice drinks, but oh my. If you look at the juice behind Rod's soup, you can see its brilliant color. They make FANTASTIC juices in Colombia, which can be mixed with either milk (think a very natural-tasting milkshake) or just drunk as juice. Best part is... most places don't add sugar, or very little if any. Mmm.

A typical dinner: Scrambled eggs, rice, and boiled plantain.

Rice, beet-and-egg salad (quite tasty, actually... and ooohhh the color!)
with roasted mature plantain.

Another breakfast. Eggs, bread, and papaya.

This one reminded me loads of the DR-- beans and rice, monedas (coins) of plantain,
and salad. The beverage pictured is aguapanela, or water prepared with the raw
cane sugar that's a staple, pictured here:

This was one of my favorite meals because of the laughter that went with it as the US Americans attempted to eat fish that still had their heads and fins attached. My Colombian and Salvadoran friends inform me that the head and fins are the best part. I'm still not convinced. The fish was tasty, though!

This is tinto, what Colombians call black coffee, often with aguapanela added.
Like the Dominicans, they often serve coffee in plastic cups, but I thought this
non-disposable cup-holder was a fantastic idea for saving burned fingers.
Also, they had a coffee percolator Peggy dubbed "the magic coffee pot"-- which I don't
have a picture of. It had 3 spouts: One for coffee, one for hot water, and my favorite: one for hot milk.

Masato, a fermented (non-alcoholic) drink made from corn flour and cinnamon

This is arequipe, basically a caramelly spread like dulce de leche.
Colombians like to spread it on obleas, big round wafer crackers that
taste like wafer cookies or ice cream cones. You make a sandwich, and it's delicious.

An unusual but tasty dessert: mature plantains baked down with
crusty cheese on top. You can serve it with ice cream!

I was delighted to discover that Dominican Skim Ice
popsicles are present in Colombia as Bon Ice. So awesome!

Every country has a slightly different take on the empanada. This one
had a soft-ish crust and was full of ground meat and potatoes.

Fruit salad, Colombian style: Contains mango, papaya, and pineapple.
And yogurt. And corn flakes. And prunes. And shredded mozzarella. And ice cream.
With cookies and a strawberry on top!

Crusty breakfast cheesy bread with a yummy cafe con leche.

I swear I'm going to try to make this one at home sometime...
Strawberries and apples cut in pieces, with mint leaves, a little
jam of some kind, and hot water poured over the top. SO GOOD.
This one's called an aromática.

We got the chance to eat at a vegetarian restaurant in San Jose. (An unusual occurrence, our guide informed us: that region is known for being carnivorous.) Tasty, healthy, and fun... well, for the wannabe vegetarians among us. :) Rice with beans and other veggies, salad, broccoli with a tomato-based sauce, and guava sauce (like apple sauce... just not) with puffed millet for dessert. Mmm...

This salad gets to go here, too... broccoli, kiwi, mixed veg, cucumbers, and greens... REALLY yummy.

And sometimes you get to eat watermelon and spit the seeds from the balcony.

Last night in San Jose, we got pizza. Hawaiian is a surprisingly
popular flavor in Colombia! Everything from pastries to pizza
comes with ham and pineapple. They serve it on these individual
cardboard plates, and as you can see, this pizza was huge.
But they don't really do it like we do in the US, either-- we order
lots, eat lots, and don't mind taking it home. They're a lot more
conservative... this place didn't have pizza boxes, but foil "slice bags."

So there you have it: Food in Colombia is pretty good. At the very least, if you starve, it will be your own fault. :)


Credit where credit's due: Most of the photos in this post were taken by my teammates, particularly Rod and Peggy Stewart and Tammy Springer. They were doing such an awesome job, I decided not to try taking yet another expensive piece of electronics through some of the crazy zones were were passing through.

Read More

No longer a slave to fear

I am a child of God.

I feel led to share this part of my testimony with you because this is something we all experience... even though (and maybe because) it's a lot more vulnerable than my average blog post. But if I can be honest about my story on my way to freedom, maybe you can too.

-------

I had the privilege of interpreting for a thirteen-year-old American girl in another part of the Dominican Republic earlier this year. Raised in a culture of missions, she had a clear message she wanted to share. Every time we went out on an outreach, she found a likely looking girl on the sidelines and encouraged her to believe a life-changing truth: “Did you know you are the daughter of the most high King?” You are not alone; you have a Father right with you.

A Father. More than just a male parent, biblically this tough concept implies a loving, caring, wise, involved, proud, reliable, trustworthy, admirable authority figure of integrity and strength. And the parent/child relationship implies a dependent relationship of trust and unconditional love, in which the child knows Daddy has the child's best interest at heart and will love him no matter what. Tall order? Probably. Earthly dads hardly ever live up to that descriptor, even the best of them. Sad to say, in the DR we often see a shortage of examples of fatherhood of any kind, save the dads who drop out of the picture, abuse their children, and "father" kids with lots of different women. 

I know my dad isn't perfect, but honestly I have a hard time identifying his failures. He's about as perfect as it gets. And my mom is also extraordinary. I know both of them love me unconditionally and would never try to hurt me.

So how did I ever end up struggling with the mentality of the orphan spirit? I could probably delve into my childhood and dredge up a handful of wounding experiences, not necessarily at the hands of my parents, but through rejection or disappointment from other people I thought I should be able to trust. I'm pretty sure all of us could. Though the "how" is important to our healing, it's different for all of us. The point is that all of us, eventually, have to deal with orphan thinking, which is characterized by self-reliance, love of the rules, insecurity, striving for acceptance, shame and guilt, self-rejection, and seeking comfort in counterfeit affections like addictions and escapism and compulsions. Orphans hold others at arm's length, afraid of being disappointed.

A couple of years ago I found myself at my wits' end.  I was working two jobs plus volunteering as a worship leader 6 hours a week plus devoted to working out for a couple hours each day plus trying to be a good roommate. I had just lost a lot of weight and changed myself completely, but I could see myself on the verge of gaining it back because suddenly food was my answer to every question and my hard-won self-control was going down the tubes. Then I found out I needed a hip replacement and I suddenly had no idea which end was up or even who to ask for help-- I felt like an inconvenience and a burden. And I feared asking for help because I was afraid I was important to nobody but me, and that others would disappoint me. And my insecure mind consistently focused on all the ways I felt I didn't fit in whatever situation, rather than on how God wanted to use me and mold me the way he made me. 

Yep. Wits' end. Out of control. Other little selfish or greedy behaviors started manifesting themselves, and I felt like a failure because I couldn't live up to the standards I had set for myself. Even a twinge of loneliness sent me scrambling for a spoon and the peanut butter jar. I came to the realization that I had an eating disorder, compulsive overeating, of all things... So, orphan mentality in mind: In that scenario, we see striving, busyness, shame and guilt, insecurity, over-self-reliance, self-rejection, and seeking comfort in counterfeit affections and addictions! I was a textbook case of orphan mentality and slavery to fear, and I didn't even know it. 

I have gained a lot of the weight back. But I have come to recognize that this, too, is part of my journey to find a healthy space. 

Seeking to deal with my "symptom," the disordered food mentality, I spent time talking and praying with friends. One of them prayed out against an "orphan spirit," a concept I had never considered at that point. Orphan? Me? With my awesome loving parents? Yet... who was this person inhabiting and consuming my body, who ate like she didn't know where her next meal was coming from? As if somebody else who didn't care about her needs at all might get the pleasure of that morsel if she didn't snag it first? As if she didn't have a place just for her at the table? I am living like an orphan, I realized with shock.

Not too long after that, I read Heidi Baker's Compelled by Love, in which she describes an orphan child sneaking a Coke from the family fridge when he could have just opened the fridge and taken it, not able to grasp the fact that the Coke had been put in the fridge for him in the first place. That's... me again, I recognized. In so many ways, spiritual as well as literal.

A spontaneous prophetic song in Spanish by Marco Barrientos put me in tears not long after that. "Believe that I am your father, and you are not an orphan anymore! Believe that through the blood of Jesus Christ, you have been redeemed. Believe that all of your needs have been supplied for through my riches in glory. Believe that for you there is a place at my table! That you are not a stranger or foreigner. But believe you are a citizen among the saints, and a member of the family of God!" The simple truth of that passionate prophecy continued to guide my heart toward the truth: I needed to find my place at the table of God.

As we grow in confidence in our identity in Christ, each of us must deal with our own walk from slavery to sonship. So many of our offenses and reactions, and even the ways we treat other people are embedded in a belief that we must try harder, perform better, be something other, and earn respect and advancement. Orphans are willing to put others down if it will take them higher. Orphans are willing to blame authority if it means a better situation for themselves.

Sons and daughters don't need that. They understand that their position is secure because it's based on their identity as children of their father, not on their actions as mere employees or strangers who must prove themselves before they can belong. They are already invested in the family business because it's their inheritance. So the journey from slavery to sonship does not merely mean an identity change-- it requires a mentality change as well.

In fact, it represents our perceived identity as humans to an uncanny degree-- it even shows up in pop culture. Take for example all 3 main characters (Harvey, Louis, and Mike) from the TV show Suits. Harvey is a self-made man, disappointed by his mom's infidelity and abandonment in his youth, now an externally successful lawyer internally closed to legitimate love and feeling. Louis constantly seeks affection and approval and is willing to put down or betray others to get it. Mike was actually orphaned as a kid, and through his masquerading as a lawyer, is seeking a place to belong as if he has no home. Did the show's writers sit down and go, "Hey, let's give all our characters orphan complexes!"?? I think not. The orphan mentality is ingrained in our broken state. 

Since my recognition of my orphan mentality, I have had to do battle with it. The war hasn't ended yet. My first year in the Dominican Republic I didn't really feel I had a home. New culture, new job, new family, no friends. New attack of the orphan spirit. I didn't even have so many of the things I count on for encouraging others-- not even a thank-you note to write in or a pencil to write it with. I've had it so much easier than so many missionaries before me, but I see those things as vital to my identity. So what did I default to? My "identity" as an orphan. Self-reliant, independent, and freaking lonely because I was afraid of crossing my perception of other people's boundaries. Life as an orphan sucks.

Then I started noticing the sons of the folks I work for. They are unafraid to let their personalities or their desires influence the group activities or atmosphere. That confidence brings their mother joy, because I think she knows (like the wise woman she is) that it's a sign of them knowing they have a place in their family. When we are confident enough to share who we are... we have more potential to bless other people.

I've been here more than a year now-- this is my home, too, and my community, if not my family. The same dynamics apply. And if I hope to be effective in ministry I need to be all that I am, with no apologies (unless of course I am in the wrong).

I am not their child. They don't owe me, and I'm not entitled. I don't want to inconvenience people... but neither should I live invisible. That prevents me and my personality, however crazy we might be, from being useful and impactful to other people. That insecurity and fear is what keeps me quiet when I have a chance to speak up. That's what holds me back when I have a chance to make a difference.

Living with less fear (because I'm still on the road to eradication of it) has given me more freedom to just be me. Living as a child of the king gives me a sense of authority and confidence. 

What if we all understood who we are as children of the king? What if we based our actions less out of fear that we would lose our hard-won position, or worse, never advance at all-- and based them more on our solid identity as children of a most high God? What if we walked in confidence and security, as well as the understanding that this means coming underneath those in authority over us to push up and make their vision come to fruition? 

Do you realize you are the child of the most high King? Do you know what that makes you? Do you know the inheritance that's yours?

Me, I have a place at his table.

(If any of the ideas in this post speak to you at all, I highly recommend Jack Frost's book Spiritual Slavery to Spiritual Sonship. A lot of the ideas in this post come directly from its pages.)

Read More