Instead of writing, I have spent the last month trying to figure out the process of switching from wordpress.com to a self-hosted blog in wordpress.org. Needless to say, the technical side of things is not my forte. (Did I mention that I like the writing?!?!) In the long run, I think it will be a great switch that allows me to stay with wordpress while enjoying some additional freedoms. But, in the short run, it’s been a little frustrating. Sort of sucked the joy out of blogging.

In the end, I decided that I was obsessing too much about figuring it all out at once and worrying about things I didn’t need to worry about right at the start. I think I made it more complicated than it needed to be. Such is life.

So, everything isn’t perfect at the new site but it’s up and running. And, I’m ready to start writing again! Longing for it, really.

What does that mean for you? I’d love to have you continue to join me in the reflecting. However, if you’re subscribed to this blog, you’ll need to resubscribe at the new site. My domain name expired here and automatically reverted back to the wordpress tag that it was originally given. If you’ve subscribed by email, via feedburner, you’ll get something in your inbox to activate your new subscription to the new site. If you’ve subscribed through an RSS feed, you’ll just want to go to the new site and subscribe from there.

The new site is the same as the name that expired here (www.inamirrordimly.net). Unfortunately the feeds are still tied to this one. I think. I’m still sort of confused by the whole thing. But, that’s why I’m a writer and not a techie. *smile*

See you at the new site…

But, a lot of by-products happen as well.

Things happen in your own heart. God changes you in ways you never expected. Suddenly the “giver” ends up being the “receiver” and you remember that Jesus is the real giver. We’re ALL receivers.

One of the great by-products is the kinship that develops between the team members. We laugh together. We take turns using the outhouse. We scream together when we find a scorpion in the sink. We cry together (especially when women come along). We sit in a smoke-filled room with stingy eyes together. We rub each other the wrong way and figure out how to be longsuffering. We marvel together at the hand of God.

We put shoulder to the plow and we serve together. Day in and day out. And it is good.

Missions trips are a greenhouse for those things. But, it can happen here at home too. For instance, our Community Group is beginning to experience it. My sister is finding it as she serves in the nursery. Something just happens when you throw down your chips and go all in. It’s not always easy but it’s a beautiful thing.

Just this morning I found this clip from Pastor Mark Driscoll in Seattle. He expresses it well. How about you? Are you all in? Are you invested in the family of God?

And how could I forget them? Standing in the courtyard of their adobe home, praying together – some of us in English, one voice in Spanish, and another in their native tongue of Zapoteco.

How could I forget their tiny church, overflowing to standing-room-only as people gathered to watch a film about the life of Jesus? The only film ever translated into their own language. Their wonder as the book of Luke is lived out before them on screen. The way they cradle the MP3 players that have the words of Jesus in their own language – the first time they’ve had access to a Bible in their homes.

How could I forget one of the village leaders inviting us into his home and sitting with rapt attention as we listened to Jesus’ teaching on being born again in John 3? I couldn’t understand the words in his language but my heart was knit with his as I recalled Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus. I watched him as we listened in the quiet still of the evening. Words of life echoing around the room. Emotion across his face as he nodded and took them in.

How could I forget their hospitality and their warmth? Offering what they had to us and taking the leftovers for themselves. Warm pepitas; fresh seeds from their own garden bounty and cooked on their open fire stove that is so common in the mountain homes. Wrapped up  in paper and given with a wide, proud grin.

How could I forget the boy who saw Rick & I taking a walk and came running from his home with the MP3 player at his ear? He and his mother had been listening on their porch.

How could I forget walking through the cornfields and winding pathways  to get to the home of the 100-year-old woman who was my “hermana” in Christ? Her stooped back and tired eyes. Her toothless grin as she reminded us that she would see us again one day… in heaven.

These and many other images fill my mind as I try to take in last week’s trip. I turn the memories over in mind as my worlds collide and I try to get back to life here.

It’s amazing really. This capacity for relationship that God has built into our hearts. That I could come to love a people in a short span of days. Love their way of life and their language and their families. This range of emotions and experiences that we can have in such a brief time. That is a God-thing. A bit of His capacity for love, lived out in His people.

“God I do remember the people of Oaxaca. But, more importantly, You remember them. You have loved them with an everlasting love. Them and people in every nook and cranny of this vast world.  Help me to love like You do and to always remember that life is much bigger than my little world. Help me to remember them.”

- It is not true that roosters crow when the sun is about to rise. Unless your watching Looney Tunes. In truth, roosters crow all night long. Usually right outside your window.

- Outhouses can be much more of a welcome sight than you might have previously imagined.

- Wild dogs are a tad, well wild. They like to bark at all times of the day… and night. There are many in Mexico. When one starts, others usual follow. I like to think of it as a serenade of sorts.

- Lily-white legs look especially lily-white when then are next to Mexican ones.

- A diet that includes lots of beans can make for awkward moments in tight quarters. Enough said.

- A team of people who have been together 24-7 for 9 days can laugh about a lot of pretty silly things.

- Leathery skin and dirty hands can be more beautiful than the cover of any Vogue magazine. Especially when they´re holding the word of God for the first time… ever.

More to come in the days ahead. Thanks for joining me in this journey…

Bills have been paid in advance. POA has been transferred to Mamo & Pa. I’ve been vaccinated. Sunscreen and a hat (a must for this fair-skinned girl) have been packed. To-Dos have been done. At this point it’s just time to go. To snuggle the kids one last time. To enjoy a last cup of tea – I’m pretty sure they don’t have Irish Breakfast tea with a spot of milk and sugar in the mountain villages of Oaxaca!

It’s hard to believe that a week ago I was crying alone in the basement wondering why in the world God would want to send me as His representative. Me, the stress-wad who had spent the morning yelling at her children. Me who had forgotten that the preparation of my heart was more important than the preparation of my luggage. How could He use me? Why would He want to?

There are a million ways He could get His story to the people of the world. But for some crazy reason He entrusted that task to us. To people. Not perfect people who have it all together. Not the religious elite. But, regular people. People who yell and get mad about stupid stuff. People who are selfish and sinful even while they’re packing to go “serve” others. Moms who get overwhelmed and are affected by hormone mood-swings.

Fellow grace-dwellers – just like the people we’ve yet to meet. Just people.

I don’t know why He left the most important news ever told to people like me. But He did.

I am filled with wonder at the privilege of it. That I might in my own frailty be able to tell another of the amazing grace that can be hers.

For now I’ll borrow from Paul’s second letter to the church in Corinth:

“For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves;” (2 Cor. 4:6-7)

Earthen vessels indeed. May His light shine through the cracks in my life…

No, really. Think about that for a minute.

He spoke into a void of nothingness and the world came into being.  He didn’t labor all day or work up a sweat. He just said it and it was.

With His words He told a storm at sea to be still… and it did.

There is such strength in His word that Job’s friend likened it to thunder. “Listen carefully to the thunder of God’s voice as it rolls from his mouth. It rolls across the heavens and his lightning flashes out in every direction. Then comes the thunder – the tremendous voice of his majesty.” (Job 37:2-4)

But for all that strength and power, His words were also gentle and healing. When Elijah was hiding in a cave from the wicked Queen Jezebel, God’s voice came not in the great wind or the earthquake or the fire. God’s word came quietly in the sound of gentle blowing. (1 Kings 19)

In this modern age, we use a lot of words. But, in all of that chatter there is still nothing quite like a word spoken by God. Words as profound and awesome as the One who spoke them. The great King David of Israel’s glory days would try to describe God’s words through poetry and song. Grasping for metaphors to illustrate the wonder of them, he said that the words of God were sweeter than honey and finer than gold.

Words that could bring life, give insight, heal deep hurts, illumine the dark and fearful places, cut beyond the layers of pride and insecurity that encase us, discern truth from error. Words spoken with power and authority. Words that nourish with both grace and truth.

Words that give us a glimpse of the One who spoke them. Just a peek so that we might begin to comprehend the very nature of God. How gracious of God to tell us a bit of His story. To reveal Himself to us so that we don’t have to grope around in the dark… wondering and guessing. To let us know that we are part of that story.

Wonder of wonders. That the very voice that once called the stars out by name and commanded the morning to come forth, is the same voice that sings love songs to us. Lavishing words of delight over us. Calling to us and making Himself just a tad vulnerable like a suitor pursuing his beloved. And, then writing it all down for us so that we wouldn’t forget. So that when the days seem lonely and nights especially dark, we can open the love letters and remember. Reminders that the story isn’t over. That it’s not just a fairy tale. It’s really all true. And, He’s coming back for His bride.

But… what if you’d never heard the story? What if all these years you’d been looking at the wonder of creation and felt the longing? Sensing that Someone amazing must have done it. Instinctively wanting to worship this One who made such beauty. And, yet, never knowing the story.

Maybe you’d worship the creation itself or a wooden idol of what you imagine this diety must be like. Maybe you’d tell stories to try and fill in the gaps. Stories that would pass down from generation to generation. Your attempts to explain the mysteries. The trouble is, it’s hard to explain things you don’t really understand.

 If only you knew that He’d written it all down for you. That He wasn’t  an impersonal force or a golden statue or a set of ideals. Rather, He was a personal God who spoke… to you.

The truth is, this is the situation for many people. Here in America we have God’s words, written down in the Bible. We have it paraphrased. We have bits of  it on plaques and bumper stickers. There are Bibles just for kids with fun facts and maps in the margins. There are Bibles with pink covers just for women and large print Bibles for people who have trouble seeing. We have Kindle Bibles and laptop Bibles. We have so many Bibles that we’ve grown numb to the power of the words on the pages. We don’t even care anymore. In fact, a lot of us would rather argue than listen anyway. And, that’s OK with God. He lets us make that choice.

But,  in the mountain villages of Oaxaca, Mexico, there are people that have never had the opportunity to make that choice. Precious people who have been lovingly created and cherished by a God they don’t even know. People whose ancestors sacrificed people in an attempt to appease the deity they imagined. They’ve never heard the real story or read His love letters written to them.

And, so tomorrow I go to give it to them. I’ll join with a team of 10 people from our church who will help get God’s words to them – for the first time ever in their own language. On solar-powered MP3 players of all things.

For 10 days, we’ll live with them and dine with them and help them finish the concrete floor of a building in their village. We’ll pray with them and for them and we’ll talk to them about the God who made their mountains and put the sun in their sky. We’ll let them hear the words of the One who came full of grace and truth – the words of Jesus spoken to them in their own language.  

I’ll have to leave some of the people that I love most to go do it. I’m not sure what to expect or how safe I’ll be. I don’t know what they like to eat or if I’ll get to shower or if tarantulas will crawl in my shoes while I sleep.

But, this I do know. Everyone should have a chance to taste words that are sweeter than honey and hear truth that is worth more than gold.

Plenty of time…

 For fun in the sun…

For sweet treats…

For intimate moments…

and for cultivating the deep places…

Summer is a time to be savored.

Not just because we have more time by the pool… but for many of us with kids in school, it is a rare time to have the kids at home all day, everyday. I want to really savor the moments with them and make investments into their growing character. I want to enjoy the simplicity and the freedom that summer brings. I want to get us outside for picnics and hikes and farmer’s markets and flower finding.

Please join me over the next few days as I consider and plan to savor summer. I’ll give you peek into some of our favorite, long-standing summer activities and some new things that we’re going to try as well.

And what about you… what are you anitcipating most as you step into summer?

I love the writing and it makes me melancholy when I don’t do it. Please forgive me and lets start the journey again. There’s lots happening in our McKee world and in my heart. Thanks for joining me along the way…

He’s behind the project house stomping on pop cans for the recycling bin. No one knows he’s back there doing this thankless job. It’s only 1990 and recycling hasn’t even become very vogue yet. He’s alone in the alley and I watch him from my window. He in his Nike Vulturo hiking boots, cargo shorts and Denison tee. “Denison? Where’s Denison?”  I linger there a few minutes more and then on with my evening chores.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college.  I was far from home, living in a huge house with 90 other students from around the country – my friend Cheryle was the only other person I even knew. We were on an adventure with Campus Crusade for Christ. Little did I know all the ways that summer would shape my life…

Not the least of which was that Denison guy that I’d spied in the alley.

I hadn’t been looking for love. In fact, I’d started the summer dating someone else from my own college. He was a great guy but conversations with roommates, some soul-searching, and a “Dear John” letter led to the close of that relationship.

It wasn’t more than a few days after I’d sent said letter that I had been paired up with the Denison guy to go do spiritual interest surveys on the boardwalk in Atlantic City.

By this time I knew his name was Rick. We’d met in the lobby a few weeks earlier when his first words to me were “cop a squat” as he pulled up a bench for Cheryle and me. I in my navy blue, Delta Gamma pull-over, hoping that my Greek letters would hide all the apprehension and insecurity I’d been feeling at meeting 90 new people. “Cop a squat? What the heck does that mean? Sort of a weird thing to say.”

That survey pairing was just random; but, looking back, we’re pretty sure God had His fingerprints all over that one. For we talked in between surveys and something began to stir within both of us. Interest was piqued. Interest became pursuit. That pursuit was received and blossomed into romance. In time the romance became something deeper and love was born between us.

But it was more than a summer of young love. It was a summer of deep spiritual challenge as our director, Jim Sylvester, encouraged us to live in the shadow of God’s amazing grace. Not only for our own lives but he implored us to also take that grace to a parched and dying world.

Our fledgling relationship took root in that soil – right from the beginning we talked of living for something more than the proverbial picket fence. Of a life that revolved around Someone worthy of everything we had to give.

That was nearly 20 years ago.

Yesterday we celebrated 18 years of marriage. Eighteen years of covenant life together – no matter what has or will come. Eighteen years of letting Jesus chip away the junk in our lives bit by bit as we laugh and cry and agonize and rejoice through life together.

Coincidentally, we celebrated it with our Community Group serving a meal to homeless people in downtown Akron. No silver or candlelight or wine. Just plasticware with big pots of chicken soup, donated cornbread and jugs of red punch.

I’m not sure I’d have it any other way. In fact, as I looked across the cafeteria last night at my man talking with a young man who has spent the last seven of his 25 years in and out of prison, I was sure of it.

I think it’s exactly the best way we could have spent our anniversary.

Isn’t that what we said 20 years ago when two college students sat on the rock jetty, stared out into hugeness of God’s Atlantic Ocean and dreamed of living for something more than the picket fence?

Happy Anniversary, Denison guy…

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I’m adding to my gratitude list today. So thankful for 18 years with the man who still gives me butterflies… and for the life we have together.

Then there’s Madison’s dear friends YuNing from Taiwan and Jun Sa from S. Korea and Alexa and Sergio, who are both from Mexico.

If I thought about it a little bit longer, I know I could think of other kids from other parts of the world. And, those are just the kids from other countries. They both also have friends who are Hispanic-Americans or who are Black or who were adopted from other countries but were raised in American families.

This racially-diverse environment is our public elementary school!!

And we love it. What a wonderful place for my kids to gain an appreciation for God’s creative design of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation in this beautiful world.

Last night we had an event at the school to celebrate that diversity – our international families bring a favorite dish from their country and the rest of us dig out a family tradition or an American favorite and we all come together for a meal.

As I stood in line with a man from Senegal and his Japanese wife and their two beautiful daughters, I was struck once again with what an amazing place this world is. How good of God to make people in such rich diversity – even among people of the same race, there is an incredible range and variety. A farmer has a totally different life experience than a man on Wall Street than an artist in Appalachia. And, yet, when we can appreciate those differences, we are all better-off for the variety.

As much I love the diversity in our school, I’m also mindful that the world can also be a very ugly place. I know that if I were to move to my one friend’s country, my family might be beaten and my husband slaughtered in the night because we have a Bible and believe in Jesus. Our own country’s history with slavery shows the uglier side of failing to give equal worth to all people.

I cling with tenacity to my Lord’s example. His love for all people. His sacrifice so that all might come to Him.

And, I enjoy this tiny glimpse into His amazing world. Right here in my own backyard – at a small school in Midwestern America.