Broken Alabaster Boxes

The amber bottle tips and the liquid drains out. Not only is the bottle being drained, but also the life of the young man, It's Saturday evening at the bus terminal in St. George's, Grenada. The usual things are happening. Public buses honk their horns. Bus drivers and pedestrians call out to one another. The traffic officers maintain order in the chaos. People climb in and out of the buses. And the bottles. They're always present. What to do? So much lostness. Not only here. All over. So much need. So many dark places. So many places needing the light of Christ.  My life is only a little blip in the scope of eternity. Such a short time. Even compared to the history of this earth. Reality is, my life could be ended tomorrow. What am I doing that will last? Am I doing anything that will make a difference to eternity?  I'm gripped with the shortness of time. There's so little time. And so much work to do. So many people to love and tell about Jesus.  It's the how ...

It's early and still dark when I rise.  My alarm sounds at an earlier hour then necessary in order to arrive at school on time, but I love my trysts with morning.  Water splashed onto face.  One light flicked on in the kitchen to make the coffee.  Sometimes standing, gazing across the ravine at the distant hill where sun will soon push it's way over the horizon. Sky streaked with color.  Sometimes gazing at the small strip of blue ocean visible from our house.  Pouring the steaming brew, it's time to begin the day with God.  A white string of light accents my room, setting the tone.  Some mornings my prayers are heavy.  Other mornings my heart overflows with praise.  Then my Bible. Isaiah right now.  Judgment.  Yet mercy.  And James, a memorization challenge. The whole book, due in January.  Then time to prepare for the day.  Puttering around the kitchen. A few dishes to wash. Ants to spray.  Water bottles t...

The morning feels steamy and slightly heavy. I can tell as I take my morning walk that, unless rain comes, it will be hot today. Last week it rained and the days were delightfully cool. This week it's been warm again.  Unlocking the door after my walk, I take off my shoes and grab my lunch box to quick pack it before heading to the shower. Emily and Ariana chat as they fry up their morning egg or dish out yogurt.  I carry two containers of bars to school with me this morning. Tonight is parent teacher meeting and we usually serve refreshments. I'm the first teacher to school this morning, which is usual. I drop my things on my desk, then open the windows to the hot tropical sun.  "Good morning Miss Krista." "Morning Omari. Ya good?" "Yes miss." I make a few notes in my lesson planner before I'm interrupted by calls from excited students.  "Miss. A centipede!" I grab the cutlass, known as a machete in the States, and advance carefully....

"I'm restless till I rest in You." These are the lyrics from a song sung by Audrey Assad.  And it rings deep.  "I'm restless till I rest in You." Life is busy. No matter where you find yourself.  Personally for myself, I find there's a certain business found on the mission field that is unique. Not that other seasons and times of life are not busy, but it's a different kind of busy. Often we come home from school, quick run a load of wash, throw together supper, and leave again for the evening.  If you are not drawing your strength from Christ, it becomes evident.  And your restless. Restless until you rest in Him. Many times it's not the rest of being completely alone, resting in body. Rather it's the choosing to be still and rest IN the busy. To allow your mind, your spirit, to be still even when around you there is business. Being still when you have a church activity, choosing not to allow school to stress you, enjoying the weekly grocery...

"He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater, He sendeth more strength when the labors increase; To added afflictions He addeth His mercy, To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace. When we have exhausted our store of endurance, When our strength has failed ere the day is half done, When we reach the end of our hoarded resources, Our Father’s full giving is only begun. Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision, Our God ever yearns His resources to share; Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing; The Father both thee and thy load will upbear. His love has no limits, His grace has no measure, His power no boundary known unto men; For out of His infinite riches in Jesus, He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again." Songs have become more real to me in the last few years. Words. Phrases. Verses. Coming to me to bless and encourage me. This song rings with truth. For my students. For the Grenadian church. Fo...

Sometimes I wonder.  As I bend over a child, Patiently guiding.  Or as I try and fail to explain.  Or as I look into their eyes when they want to defy. I wonder.  Am I doing enough?  Am I being enough?  Am I saying enough?  For all the times they did something and I didn't see.  Or I let something slip that should have been corrected.  And I'm reminded again, I don't know how to do this.  I'm not enough.  So I take my pieces, Sometimes scattered, here and there,  And hold them out to Him.  "Here. "It's all I have.  "Please somehow use it."  And He does. He is.  Not because of me.  But more often, in spite of me. 

Looking over the first trimester of school, the days felt long, but the time was short. The tests, the work, the daily grind, it all felt so long in the midst, but it was gone quickly. And now, looking ahead, the time seems to be slipping through my fingers. It won’t be long until I board the plane to return home in July. W e had 3 eventful weeks of Christmas vacation. The first was filled with a Bible School for young people, which was located up the island. It was extremely refreshing and encouraging, and I came away with a better vision for what I should be doing here. For the next week and a half there were only two of us girls in the house, rather than 4, and the time was filled with wonderful variety. We hiked a mountain in the mud, cleaned, baked Christmas cookies, spent time with people, held an adorable new baby, and walked through the community to hand out cookie plates. It was relaxing and nice to have a change. Christmas day we spent with some of the staff....

He sat right up against me during church, searching for song numbers and Bible references, his 11-year-old energy well contained for the moment. He blessed me, just by his energy, smile, and quiet trust as he leaned his head against my shoulder.  It reminded me of another boy who is my friend as well. He’s across the ocean, still working at Hardee’s. But I remember him. As we sat and listened to the message, I thought of the young men that roam the streets, causing trouble and smoking weed. Will this one beside me be like them in a few years? What will become of him? But I have this moment, while he sits by me, to be his friend, point him to Christ, and pray he will be different. * * * A grocery cart and 5 students.  “Teja and Selena, go get a box of orange juice. Tell me the price when you bring it back.” Josiah and Shachri return with canned meat. “$5.50, Ms.” “Anton, what’s $9.50 plus $5.50?” He thinks hard. “$15.00.” And we move down the...

Shouting, laughing, hurrying, the students piled into the three waiting vans. Windows slid open and eager faces peered out. Hands waved and shouts were exchanged until we were finally on our way for the first field trip of the year. We began winding our way up the island, past board shacks, elaborate mansions, tiny spice shops, Carib bars, and locals barbequing chicken.  The children laughed and chattered in the back until we reached out first destination, Belmont Estate. It's a chocolate factory, beginning from the cocoa pod itself to the final product. It was an interesting process, which our guide explained well, even for the youngest students. Time and drying are crucial for good chocolate. And at the end, we ended in the factory where we were given samples of the chocolate. Belmont produces dark chocolate, and one of their flavors include different spices grown here in Grenada, including cinnamon and nutmeg.  The students enjoyed the tour, especially t...

The evening air blows cooler as the sun slides towards the horizon. The moderation in temperature is welcome, tho slight. Everything from the waving palms to the people walking the roads look relieved for the coolness. And I feel the same relief. The days have been cooler now with the rain. It comes down in sheets, drenching any, even with an umbrella. The children come to school in hoodies and wet shoes and complain about the coldness. In reality it's still 75 or 80. Games are played indoors at recess, the rain driving hard against the roof, and sometimes dripping from leaks. It's been good to be busy again. When I first arrived, time tended to drag. I had less to do, and I didn't know many people. But as I have gotten out in the community that has changed. This past week has been particularly busy,  with something scheduled every night. The days are filled with school and other duties, the evenings mostly with church or ministry oriented things. Other weeks our ...

Eight o'clock and we gather for teachers chapel. One teacher assigned for playground duty. The rest gathered around the table. Twenty minutes for devotions, sharing, and prayer. I have enjoyed the blessing of fellow teachers who are focusing on the same issues and struggles and who are together seeking God. 8:20 the bell rings. Kids scramble to their lines, assigned by grade. Shirts tucked. Shoes tied. Basketballs handed over to teachers.  "Ms., I finished my homework."  "Ms., Josiah stepped on my foot."  "Do we have Language Arts test today?" Sometimes it takes long to quiet them, or get them in a straight line. Sometimes I send them running around the school for not obeying promptly.  Then we file in. We have 10 minutes in our classroom before chapel. Pencils grind sharp. Books and papers are set in my desk to be scored from yesterday's homework. Assignments written on the board are copied into notebooks. Lunch is ordered....

Five faces uplifted. Five pairs of ears listening, at least they were suppose to be. Together in the morning for classroom devotions, I told them of 2 friends, both from bad homes. Brothers who worked with me. One works hard, loves his family, and is looking to better himself despite life's circumstances.  The other, is experimenting with drugs and alcohol, hanging with bad characters, and wreaking havoc in his life.  And I contrasted the two. Who will go far? Who will succeed?  And when we prayed, the young voice leading out, lifted up James in prayer to Him Who cares.  He Who looks down on our classroom.  And on James. 

"I have a gift for you."  She placed the dusty strand into my hand.  A relic of hers that she gave to me as a gift at my parting.  A gift purchased from the country and people I am going to. A gift from the people I am leaving.  To remind me to pray.  To care.  To still ask about them.  This leaving to go to another country, It's not a question of God finally calling me into missions.  Rather, it's a question of where He is calling me to serve now. And me going there means there will be a hole here.  Means there won't be that light where I worked. It is not more glamorous to go.  Sometimes it is not God's will to go.  It's about being faithful where He has called you. To the people in your town.  Or the people in another town.  Or even the people in your house. That dusty strand given as a parting gift, Will be a reminder of my people....

These, my people. How can i leave them for others? Who will care about their souls?  Who will mention their names at prayer meetings?  These, my people who I have struggled and learned to love. And now leave them?  Leave the watching of their souls?  The agonized prayers. The words spoken, trying to show truth? Leave this?  Yet if this is His calling, if I must leave these people who have been my passion, my heart, then the Father Who's hand guides me elsewhere will be faithful to them. Cannot I trust Him with this?  He Who said that no man comes unless the Father draws them. Cannot I trust Him with the drawing?  And leave them in the Fathers hand.

James, standing by drive-through. Me by the fry station. His face alight with the story. His telling uncultivated, yet captivating. “So I was turning left at the light there by McDonald's. With all the snow, it was really icy. I started drifting without meaning to and was just sliding towards a post. So I just punched it, trying to miss the post, and did a complete 360 right there in the intersection. Then I just kept going and did another complete 360. “And there’s Cody Kelly and his chicks, sitting at the light, just watching me. “They probably thought I was trying to show off, but I wasn’t.” I doubled over in laughter at his story. I envisioned James in his beater of a red truck, front left side patched in a horrid shade of green, spinning in an intersection with Cody, one of my former coworkers, and “his chicks” just watching. James, my friend. Estranged from his dad. Hates his mom. Rejected by almost every person who has taken him in. Teased at...

Children, crying out in agony, Bruised, broken, tormented. Haunted eyes, crushed souls, And we cry out,  "Oh God, have mercy." Then to our surprise, He makes us the vessels of that mercy. He gives us these broken children. And what we find covering the violent hurt, Is bellowing anger, Blantant disobedience, Frustrating behaviour. We prayed that God would show them love. Yet our sincerity is tested when God says, "Will you?" Our dedication evident, When our lives are riped apart and chaotic, To make room in our homes for the broken. "You say you ache for the broken, Now show Me you truly care." It becomes much more real. Much more sacrificial. It's no longer idealistic, No longer simply a nice idea. It's an aching, giving, hard love. And He wants us to be that vessel. When God takes that child, And places her in your family, And sa...

He wants me to live in joy. The fact that where I am may be hard does not limit God from offering the choice of joy in that hard place. "Glorify Me, and walk in joy." I can see a mother and wife turning her little bits of service into beauty and glory, but me? In my black, dusted in chicken breading, headset firmly planted, smelling of grease, peering out of tired eyes. Me bring glory? There are times I struggle to see the practical giving of glory in this.  But truly, He wants me to do this too for His glory. To whirl smooth shakes, sometimes in frantic haste. To scoop endless fries. To pour steaming coffee, and graciously clean up the mess made by fumbling, aged hands. To make one more burger, and then another, and then..... To struggle through my last till of the night and drop a wad of cash in the night deposit at 10:30. To smile at the person reeking in their stench. To love that one in rebellion under me. To ask the rejected coworker about her inter...

"Wait, I have a question...oh, I forgot." "There's snow in my boots."  "I'm not allowed to drink pop." Her friend, in agreement: "No, she's not." "I have a question. Science says dinosaurs and man lived thousands of years apart, but the Bible says God created everything in six days." The reply: "Did you know they found dinosaur prints and human prints alongside each other, made at the same time?" "Oh," in pure faith. "I'm going to eat my cupcake before I get home." "Can you pass the glue?" It was a chaotic evening, maybe because of the beautifully warm weather, coming at last. Or maybe just because they're kids. Once again, the calmest part of the entire evening was the staff choir's song. Our selection for the night, "Purer in Heart Oh God..." The room becomes quiet as these children follow along in their hymnals, hea...

Once every two weeks we spend an evening with a roomful of children. It's loud. It's chaotic. It's challenging. Sometimes it's stressful. Other times its pure fun, their laughing faces grinning up at us, their hearty voices belting out the songs. The evening is full of singing, Bible lessons, crafts and games, and, of course, snack. The place throbs with energy. We have them for a few hours. To short it feels in reaching out and trying to touch these little lives. The temptation is there for the teachers to somehow think that they are truly great in this giving of their time and energy. And it is giving. It is a sacrifice. The day of Kid's Club is full of ride planning, last minute prep on lessons and crafts, and work off early to make it in time. But that short time with the children does not often build the trust and lasting friendships that they crave. I know. Because some of those children lived with us for almost a year. There were four sister, tw...

What you said at work today, that really hurt. I know I smiled and seemed to move on, but I remember still the pain. I look at myself, search my own work and relationships to see where I have failed, and I see so much failure. I berate myself for my mistakes, and yet am frustrated that you seem so unconcerned and oblivious of your own. So quick are you to point out the faults of others, yet you never acknowledge your own. But when I step back and allow myself space, I see more. I see you as the single mom, struggling to make it to the next paycheck, living without joy. I see you as the woman who has been fighting for control all of her life, and now, with sickness and health problems, is clinging to the bits of control she has. I see you as the bachelor who has had his fling at women and drink, who is now growing old with nothing to show for his existence besides a busted back and a sordid attitude. I see those who do not extend mercy to others because perhaps they seldom have mercy...