“Suzanne” arrived a little late to the clinic this past week. Her name was last on our sign-in sheet. Fortunately, our volunteer doctor had already agreed to stay as late as necessary to see everyone who needed to be seen. While she was in a patient room waiting to see the doctor, I went in to talk with her. Suzanne told me she’d grown up in a middle-class family. Her parents were missionaries in Mexico. Now in her mid-fifties, she found herself in a completely new situation. Due to health problems, family issues and the poor economy, Suzanne was without a job and homeless for the first time in her life.
The amazing part of her story is that, through tears, Suzanne spoke of the Lord’s faithfulness. She admitted that she had always claimed to have trusted God, but recently realized that in the past, she’d always had a safety net. With her current situation, she had nothing to fall back on, except Jesus -- and He was consistently supplying her needs! She spoke of having to trust Him for her next meal and a place to stay for the night, and of His tender care and amazing provision. Suzanne testified that although she was facing the toughest situation in her life, she was also growing more than ever in her intimacy with her Lord and Savior.
The short time I spent with Suzanne challenged and inspired me. Her testimony has been like a magnifying glass to my own lack of trust and misplaced priorities. I have thought of and prayed for Suzanne every day since our meeting, and I am still being challenged by her story.
Our volunteer team was able to give her some antibiotics for a painful infection she was dealing with, but what I received from her was far more valuable. I was the one who was supposed to be blessing Suzanne, but it turned out to be quite the opposite. Thank you, Lord, for your wonderful ways!
November 1, 2009
October 28, 2009
Things for Which I am Thankful Today
Today, I am thankful for:
* Blue skies, warm sunshine and a cool breeze... all on the same day!
* Looking out my driver's side review mirror and seeing little hands waving in the wind
* Boys who are big enough to buckle themselves in, but still young enough to need their Momma when they're sick
* Friendships that endure long distances, emotional selfishness, and miscommunications... and somehow manage to deepen in spite of it all
* A thoughtful husband who lets me sleep with the fan off
* Mission Waco... a place where my life-long habits, assumptions and beliefs are challenged and I'm afforded the opportunity to change
* Preemptive Love Coalition - a group of friends who amaze and inspire me to believe that God is mighty enough and loving enough to demonstrate His power DAILY in the lives of ordinary, obedient people
* Pictures, songs and sweet memories that remind me of the 6 years, 5 months and 26 days that Paul spent on this earth
* Forgiveness, grace and the promise of eternity.
* Blue skies, warm sunshine and a cool breeze... all on the same day!
* Looking out my driver's side review mirror and seeing little hands waving in the wind
* Boys who are big enough to buckle themselves in, but still young enough to need their Momma when they're sick
* Friendships that endure long distances, emotional selfishness, and miscommunications... and somehow manage to deepen in spite of it all
* A thoughtful husband who lets me sleep with the fan off
* Mission Waco... a place where my life-long habits, assumptions and beliefs are challenged and I'm afforded the opportunity to change
* Preemptive Love Coalition - a group of friends who amaze and inspire me to believe that God is mighty enough and loving enough to demonstrate His power DAILY in the lives of ordinary, obedient people
* Pictures, songs and sweet memories that remind me of the 6 years, 5 months and 26 days that Paul spent on this earth
* Forgiveness, grace and the promise of eternity.
October 14, 2009
Trust and Grace
Monday night my eldest son went to his first rock concert. He is only eleven. However, he went with his dad and several other men from our church. And it was U2. It's hard to go wrong with U2.
So, as you can imagine, he was up late. As in he didn't get to bed until 2:30, which meant he got 4 hours of sleep that night.
So, as you can also imagine, last night we wanted him in bed early. This didn't go over well with Jack who assured us - by whining and sulking - that he wasn't tired and didn't need to go to bed early. In the Saxon house, whining and sulking are the absolute fastest ways to an early bedtime, so things weren't looking good for Jack.
I was really getting annoyed that he continued to ask and beg to stay up after I had repeatedly told him to go to bed. Since he's getting older, I decided to take the approach of reasoning with him. Our conversation went like this:
Me: Jack, let me ask you a few questions. First, do I love you?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Do I always want what's best for you?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Now here's the tricky one.... think before you answer: Do I know what's best for you MORE than you do?
Jack: [slumping and barely audible] Yes.
Me: Ok then. Please go to bed without arguing with me. I want you to always remember that I love you and I will ALWAYS look out for your best interest. I need you to trust my decisions, even when you don't agree with me or like what I have to say.
Hmmmm... could this be a lesson that MOM needs to learn as well? I couldn't help but think of how many times the Lord has had this conversation with me. It's amazing how perfectly clear it is when I'm NOT the one on the receiving end.
So, hopefully I have a little more TRUST in my Lord and a little more GRACE for my son.
So, as you can imagine, he was up late. As in he didn't get to bed until 2:30, which meant he got 4 hours of sleep that night.
So, as you can also imagine, last night we wanted him in bed early. This didn't go over well with Jack who assured us - by whining and sulking - that he wasn't tired and didn't need to go to bed early. In the Saxon house, whining and sulking are the absolute fastest ways to an early bedtime, so things weren't looking good for Jack.
I was really getting annoyed that he continued to ask and beg to stay up after I had repeatedly told him to go to bed. Since he's getting older, I decided to take the approach of reasoning with him. Our conversation went like this:
Me: Jack, let me ask you a few questions. First, do I love you?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Do I always want what's best for you?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Now here's the tricky one.... think before you answer: Do I know what's best for you MORE than you do?
Jack: [slumping and barely audible] Yes.
Me: Ok then. Please go to bed without arguing with me. I want you to always remember that I love you and I will ALWAYS look out for your best interest. I need you to trust my decisions, even when you don't agree with me or like what I have to say.
Hmmmm... could this be a lesson that MOM needs to learn as well? I couldn't help but think of how many times the Lord has had this conversation with me. It's amazing how perfectly clear it is when I'm NOT the one on the receiving end.
So, hopefully I have a little more TRUST in my Lord and a little more GRACE for my son.
September 1, 2009
Five is the new Four
The way I see it, middle-class America is designed for a family of four. Restaurant tables almost always accommodate four, most sedan-type cars will seat four most comfortably (try squeezing three in the backseat when 2 or more are still in car seats – not happenin’). Even amusement parks are best suited for parties of four.
When I was young, four was the “in” number in a family. I had one brother, most of my friends had just one sibling. Back then, the American dream included a house, two cars, a dog and two kids, preferably one boy and one girl. These days, though, it seems that most families are opting for three kids. It seems that a lot of couples have decided that five is a good family number. Have you noticed? I’m not sure about other parts of the country, but down in Texas, three kids is definitely popular. Whenever I see a family of five – especially with three boys, I can’t help but stare longingly and wonder about their family dynamic… who’s the shy one?... who’s the athlete?... which one is more like dad?
When Terrill and I first got married, I wasn’t sure how many kids I wanted. Right after Jack was born, I wasn’t sure I even wanted the one I had :-) But when Paul was just a couple of weeks old, I knew I wanted at least three. I can remember one night in particular when I had gotten up with him, sitting in one of our red chairs in the living room while I held him. Of course, he was adorable and precious, and right then, I was convinced I wanted another Saxon in our family.
I loved having three boys. I loved the reaction I got when I told people I had three. Eyebrows would go up and they’d say something like, “Wow. You must have your hands full. It must be chaotic around your house.” I’d have to agree, but then I’d always add that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I loved the noise and the chaos of three boys. (Well, most of the time, anyway). People always expected that I wanted a girl. I have to admit that early on in our family planning, I thought a girl sounded nice, but once I started having boys, I was hooked.
In some ways, being a family of four is much more convenient. We no longer have to wrestle with decisions like: Do we opt for the bigger hotel room (and bigger price) or settle for the inconvenience of a roll-away bed? Can we squeeze a chair on the end of our restaurant table of four, or do we wait for a bigger table to open up? Every time we easily slide into a booth at a restaurant, I miss Paul. I thought longingly of him when we qualified for the discount rate at the resort because we were a party of four. No more squabbling over who sits in the far back of the car and who gets the middle. No need to spring for the extra set of headphones for the car DVD player… it comes with two.
Even though four is convenient, it isn’t right. Not for our family, anyway. And every time someone asks me how many boys I have, I wrestle with all the variables and who this person is, and do I want to put them through the details of how complicated that answer is, and do I have the emotional fortitude today to answer fully, or could I just say that I have three and not go into any details, and then my heart screams out, “THREE! THREE! I HAVE THREE BOYS!” but with my mouth I reluctantly say, “Two.” It breaks my heart every time. And no one ever raises an eyebrow or comments on how chaotic my house is.
When I was young, four was the “in” number in a family. I had one brother, most of my friends had just one sibling. Back then, the American dream included a house, two cars, a dog and two kids, preferably one boy and one girl. These days, though, it seems that most families are opting for three kids. It seems that a lot of couples have decided that five is a good family number. Have you noticed? I’m not sure about other parts of the country, but down in Texas, three kids is definitely popular. Whenever I see a family of five – especially with three boys, I can’t help but stare longingly and wonder about their family dynamic… who’s the shy one?... who’s the athlete?... which one is more like dad?
When Terrill and I first got married, I wasn’t sure how many kids I wanted. Right after Jack was born, I wasn’t sure I even wanted the one I had :-) But when Paul was just a couple of weeks old, I knew I wanted at least three. I can remember one night in particular when I had gotten up with him, sitting in one of our red chairs in the living room while I held him. Of course, he was adorable and precious, and right then, I was convinced I wanted another Saxon in our family.
I loved having three boys. I loved the reaction I got when I told people I had three. Eyebrows would go up and they’d say something like, “Wow. You must have your hands full. It must be chaotic around your house.” I’d have to agree, but then I’d always add that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I loved the noise and the chaos of three boys. (Well, most of the time, anyway). People always expected that I wanted a girl. I have to admit that early on in our family planning, I thought a girl sounded nice, but once I started having boys, I was hooked.
In some ways, being a family of four is much more convenient. We no longer have to wrestle with decisions like: Do we opt for the bigger hotel room (and bigger price) or settle for the inconvenience of a roll-away bed? Can we squeeze a chair on the end of our restaurant table of four, or do we wait for a bigger table to open up? Every time we easily slide into a booth at a restaurant, I miss Paul. I thought longingly of him when we qualified for the discount rate at the resort because we were a party of four. No more squabbling over who sits in the far back of the car and who gets the middle. No need to spring for the extra set of headphones for the car DVD player… it comes with two.
Even though four is convenient, it isn’t right. Not for our family, anyway. And every time someone asks me how many boys I have, I wrestle with all the variables and who this person is, and do I want to put them through the details of how complicated that answer is, and do I have the emotional fortitude today to answer fully, or could I just say that I have three and not go into any details, and then my heart screams out, “THREE! THREE! I HAVE THREE BOYS!” but with my mouth I reluctantly say, “Two.” It breaks my heart every time. And no one ever raises an eyebrow or comments on how chaotic my house is.
August 19, 2009
Wondering...
I’m in the Wondering Phase now. I knew this day would come, I’ve dreaded it for a long time, but I think I have to say I’m officially here. It sucks.
When Paul first died, I could imagine him still being alive. I knew the sound of his voice, the feel of his bald head, and I knew all his funny expressions. I knew his “Yeah, baby!” expression with his hands in the double gun position. I could predict his reaction to things, what movies he would’ve wanted to see, what he would’ve laughed at, and when he would’ve cuddled up with me on the couch, interrupting one of my Sunday-afternoon naps.
I knew who his friends were, his classmates, his teacher. I even knew who was going to be Paul’s first-grade teacher and could imagine him strolling along the halls… one ordinary kid among many, sneaking to step out of line when the teacher wasn’t looking.
At his last birthday, Paul had a Dale, Jr. cake, and declared that next year, he’d choose Jimmie Johnson, so when what would’ve been his 7th birthday rolled around, it was easy to imagine him licking all the icing off the big 48 piece.
It was easy to imagine he was just gone for a little while, that he’d be back soon. It was easy to expect him to come home and re-enter the tangled mix of three boys wrestling on our king-sized bed.
It’s not that easy anymore.
What would two years have done to him? How much would he have grown? How would his hair have filled in…. straight and blonde, or wavy and a little dark? What friends would he have made in 2nd grade, and who would his 3rd grade teacher be? Would he still be as much of a NASCAR nut or would he have traded in his wheels for a baseball glove? Would he have been as crazy about Guitar Hero as his brothers? Would he still be a ham in all the church choir performances, or would he have grown into being to “cool” for such things? Would he still be as stubborn and persistent when he was told “no”? Would he still love his Maw Maw’s fried chicken and gray pudding (gravy) and ask for pink meat (ham) in his lunch? Which restaurant chicken strips would he be fixated on by now?
What would 8-year-old Paul be like?
All I can do now is wonder….
When Paul first died, I could imagine him still being alive. I knew the sound of his voice, the feel of his bald head, and I knew all his funny expressions. I knew his “Yeah, baby!” expression with his hands in the double gun position. I could predict his reaction to things, what movies he would’ve wanted to see, what he would’ve laughed at, and when he would’ve cuddled up with me on the couch, interrupting one of my Sunday-afternoon naps.
I knew who his friends were, his classmates, his teacher. I even knew who was going to be Paul’s first-grade teacher and could imagine him strolling along the halls… one ordinary kid among many, sneaking to step out of line when the teacher wasn’t looking.
At his last birthday, Paul had a Dale, Jr. cake, and declared that next year, he’d choose Jimmie Johnson, so when what would’ve been his 7th birthday rolled around, it was easy to imagine him licking all the icing off the big 48 piece.
It was easy to imagine he was just gone for a little while, that he’d be back soon. It was easy to expect him to come home and re-enter the tangled mix of three boys wrestling on our king-sized bed.
It’s not that easy anymore.
What would two years have done to him? How much would he have grown? How would his hair have filled in…. straight and blonde, or wavy and a little dark? What friends would he have made in 2nd grade, and who would his 3rd grade teacher be? Would he still be as much of a NASCAR nut or would he have traded in his wheels for a baseball glove? Would he have been as crazy about Guitar Hero as his brothers? Would he still be a ham in all the church choir performances, or would he have grown into being to “cool” for such things? Would he still be as stubborn and persistent when he was told “no”? Would he still love his Maw Maw’s fried chicken and gray pudding (gravy) and ask for pink meat (ham) in his lunch? Which restaurant chicken strips would he be fixated on by now?
What would 8-year-old Paul be like?
All I can do now is wonder….
August 1, 2009
Please Pray
Please, please, please...
Pray for Daryan (Dah-ree-on).
He is the little baby we met during our trip.
Click here to see his updates on the PLC website.
Pray for Daryan (Dah-ree-on).
He is the little baby we met during our trip.
Click here to see his updates on the PLC website.
July 29, 2009
A Great Trip
I've been home long enough to deal with the tough question many times over: "So.... how was your trip?" An obvious question in this situation. I just wish I had a better answer. "Great" just never seems to really capture all that I hope to convey.
"Great" doesn't do justice to the amazing community we felt as a team, how we prayed together, for each other and with each other, how we witnessed God at work together in unexplainable ways.
"Great" doesn't communicate the excitement of seeing families again, hugging and kissing them again, spending time in their homes again, and being humbled again by their hospitality and generosity.
"Great" doesn't decribe how amazing it is that people from completely different cultures, from completely different worlds, who speak completely different languages are able to enjoy each other, laugh together and cry together.
"Great" doesn't hold a candle to witnessing a team of Americans who stand out in a Muslim community, who are loved by this community, and who are truly demonstrating the life that Jesus lived.... a life of sacrifice based solely on LOVE.
"Great" doesn't describe the ways that my faith has been challenged, how my ideas of evangelism have been annihilated, and how the Lord is showing me how very little of anything I do is motivated by love.
"Great" doesn't say any of those things... and yet, for some stupid reason, it's the word I find myself using to describe my trip whenever I am asked.
So, if you've asked me about my trip, I'm sorry for my lame response. And, if you see me in the near future and ask about my trip, I apologize in advance for my "great" answer. Forgive me. It's a tough one to put into words.
"Great" doesn't do justice to the amazing community we felt as a team, how we prayed together, for each other and with each other, how we witnessed God at work together in unexplainable ways.
"Great" doesn't communicate the excitement of seeing families again, hugging and kissing them again, spending time in their homes again, and being humbled again by their hospitality and generosity.
"Great" doesn't decribe how amazing it is that people from completely different cultures, from completely different worlds, who speak completely different languages are able to enjoy each other, laugh together and cry together.
"Great" doesn't hold a candle to witnessing a team of Americans who stand out in a Muslim community, who are loved by this community, and who are truly demonstrating the life that Jesus lived.... a life of sacrifice based solely on LOVE.
"Great" doesn't describe the ways that my faith has been challenged, how my ideas of evangelism have been annihilated, and how the Lord is showing me how very little of anything I do is motivated by love.
"Great" doesn't say any of those things... and yet, for some stupid reason, it's the word I find myself using to describe my trip whenever I am asked.
So, if you've asked me about my trip, I'm sorry for my lame response. And, if you see me in the near future and ask about my trip, I apologize in advance for my "great" answer. Forgive me. It's a tough one to put into words.
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