A Sweet Aroma

I had just walked out of the bathroom, in an attempt to escape the foul smell, where some hidden varmint had died. It was one of those smells that enters the nostrils and seems to go straight to the back of the throat to hit the invisible “gag reflex” button instead of proceeding to the olfactory “station” where normal tolerable smells go. As soon as I smelled it, I proceeded, with hand firmly over mouth, to peak into the water cistern that holds the water we need for everyday use. It was there that I was pretty certain I saw the dead  remains of a floating bit of unidentifiable gray fluff which seemed to be the culprit.  So straight out the door I went in a hurried attempt to breathe and sustain life.

 I made it to the kitchen.  I thrust through the last few strides of my sprint for the back door. There I hoped to drink deeply of fresh air.  It was not to be had.  The strong January winds in Kampot are one of the blessings of life here. Cool breezes try to convince you that living here really is something that physically can be done without year long torture from the ever looming “environment.”   But the breeze proved a curse upon my arriving at the door hoping for that needed breath.

 The stench of freshly stirred up pig dung and urine stung my nose as I sucked in with all the force of need that was screaming in my lungs. Having bent over to steady for the breath that I was focused on, I found myself bolting up and headed out of the kitchen as fast as I had entered. This time I ran to our half bath in search of toilet paper that I reasoned would serve me as I began to blow out the sickening odor that was stinging and burning. I quickly replaced the first bit of paper with a wad of a second portion which I hoped would serve, this time, to reduce what was coming in, instead of serving as catcher of, what I thought must be visible, green stench fumes steaming out.

 Strangely enough, in the midst of all the drama, a thought came to me. It was sobering. The thought was not, “Agh! Could I be any more grossed out and frustrated?”  It wasn’t, “Why Lord are the challenges of daily life here ever looming?”  It wasn’t even that I wish my neighbor would not always clean her pig sty and burn her trash every time the wind seems to be gusting in the general direction of my windows. But my thought went immediately to my life and the state of our lives as believers… huh.

 I should have listened to my husband who was constantly reminding me that when it comes to rats and other varmints that I have to wage war, break out the D-con, or whatever it takes to stay on top of the little problems that can become bigger. Sometimes I like to think that  I don’t want to be inhumane. But, the Lord wanted me to hear that; “taking care" of the "little foxes" must be done. Some things I can’t control, like the odor blowing over from the pigs next door. But my water, I need. It is life in my house and without it being clean, other diseases and problems will arise. Oh, that I would hear sound wisdom. That I would never be found trying to be “considerate” while a “little fox” is being used of the enemy to "spoil" the life that He has blessed me with, provided, and expects for me to share with others.

May we all be found being extremely conscientious about guarding those things that the Lord has entrusted to our care: our family, ministries, our “homes” from wrong attitudes, wrong perceptions, wrong actions, unchecked pride, selfishness… “little foxes”. We don’t want to find that the life giving streams of fresh water in our spiritual lives have been sabotaged; living waters meant to refresh and bless us and those to whom the Lord sends us. We must wage war on the "little foxes" never allowing things that seem insignificant, to spoil the sweet aroma of undefiled lives that are sparkling and transparent. We must be serious in taking opportunity to no longer deceive ourselves but choose to live humble, repentant, conscientious, transparent, faith filled lives meant to please our God through Jesus! So let’s not allow things to stay hidden till they are dead and stinky. Let us instead purify our “vessels” and homes that we may be considered a sweet smelling aroma to the Lord.

Thoughts of Thanksgiving

Leaves falling signal approaching death. Yet I never feel more alive.

All is still, calm… beautiful.  My heart awakens and is moving, dancing… it’s enraptured. It is Autumn.
Morning by morning, coolness presses in, as warm hues of late summer have passed.  All that is, calls                                                                                    us to recognize the season.  The season beckons us to harvest, to prepare, to gather in and close the                                door.   The fire will be the gathering place; all are welcomed to its warmth. We will huddle close and remember, taking count of the provision, the plenty. We will bow our heads, remembering from Whom                             these blessings have come.  We will remember and be thankful.

So, today, as I remember, I let reminiscent tears flow, and, though far from those scenes, those experiences...humbly, I choose to be Thankful.

Why the tears? Poetically I look at my experience, my journey, through the scope of time… in blocks, like seasons. On my journey summer is over. The tedious, somewhat arduous task of harvesting has been upon us.  And yet, I look out my window,  and no where do I see the beauty in the earth that proclaims the season of harvest and storing … not this time of year here, not like I remember.  My heart wants to ache for yesteryear, for the familiar traditions that are nostalgic and dear. I resist the temptation to pitifully long for that which we can’t grasp yearly, seasonly, gathering together as family and friends to enjoy the nostalgic traditions we have in common there; because, truth is we are here in Cambodia, many miles away. However, at such times, we do steal a moment to remember those there. We must enjoy that memory thankfully, and rest our hearts in trust that…We are none the poorer in our absence.

Yes, I trust, and step back in faith, in hopes of seeing with my spirit’s eye the portion that is our lot here.  I step back and ask the Lord to faithfully give a glimpse in this season of His horn of plenty… full of spiritual fruit and abundance. In this country, so far from our familiar customs and family traditions,  I long to see it, again, just a glimpse, this Holiday season.  As my heart wants to ache and long for the “times” we once knew there, sights and smells, and sounds, I know that it is just a parallel of what  I’m asking for, believing to see, sense, experience here, in His time. I’m trusting that all the beauty, warmth, and blessings that accompanies God-fearing traditions that our families have walked in there, would be a realistic hope, the future result of what has been planted here. I trust that we'll see "all things made beautiful in His time" (Ecc. 3:11). Again, in the spirit, I await His revealing of the Harvest that is taking place… the abundance of His blessing made manifest in this place.

So, it is Autumn, it is “Thanksgiving”, the most wonderful symbolic time to remember His many benefits and I choose to look at Him alone during this season. He alone is the One to Whom we are thankful for all seasons of this journey of life. Though we miss the “season” and all the benefits there, we are thankful for harvest and dear saints here. Today, I bring to remembrance all the many blessings of yesteryear as well as my “todays”, and I am thankful.  I journey on… and thankful I will choose to remain.

A Moment in Time

I was blessed, last month, with the opportunity to join my sister and brother in blessing my parents with a 50^th wedding anniversary “surprise” party. What a priceless occasion it was for us. I so appreciated my family, here in Kampot, who sacrificed to make it possible for me to go. It was a very special time. I wanted to share with you all something I wrote for Mom and Dad in honor of the special occasion. It is a letter to them but also a “memoir” of sorts…

Moments in time.

Life is a gift. It is a gift of daily opportunity.  That opportunity is one that affords us our most valuable commodity, time.  Time is made up of precious moments. Every moment of everyday, is building that life, taking advantage of that opportunity, choosing to hold dear the gift that has been given. The wise, take the moments, and gratefully use them to the Glory of God.

Yes, these moments are like windows of time to make a difference this side of heaven and get up every day ready to humbly choose to be a blessing.  I have a childhood full of memories and impressions of two people who lived out before me the ability to take those moments and turn them into a story for our lives (or a lifetime) filled with scenes of faithfulness, of love, of peace, of joy… a magical story. Yes, and in that story, they made Jesus the Hero, and in our eyes that made them all the more like that Hero.

There was a man and a woman, my father and my mother.  They found each other and saw in each other a depth of character. They also saw potential. Fifty years ago, they saw in each other, the possibly of having someone to journey through life with that they could respect and trust. They formed a partnership, a covenant to join lives and work together to build a Godly home and give from themselves with thoughts of having children that would do the same. They had a vision and have faithfully walked it out for five decades.

God saw them and saw in them ones He could trust. He began to woo them, He began to build. He used them together and there was woven the most beautiful piece of handiwork to display to any who looked upon it. He was the master craftsman but oh how perfect and malleable they were in His hands.  The pattern of bright colors and soft hues, fun curves, and straight borders… were made, of moments, precious wonderful opportunities that were new mercies every morning from the Father. These opportunities were always capitalized upon in the Lilly home. Mom and Daddy were humble and faithful enough to use them wisely.

Those times, those moments, were seasons, days full of love and life. And we were the blessed recipients. Mom and Daddy, there aren’t words to express the treasure that we have had in you. All the time and energy that you put into loving, encouraging, and patiently tending to our family has blessed us beyond words. The seasons of reading together by the fire,  praying, spending  quality time laughing and crying together,  enjoying summer breezes on the front porch, taking trips to Disney, listening to stories while watching “lippers”, eating wonderful meals cooked all day in the crock pot, ever hearing of  the wonderful testimony of things the Lord was doing, all unforgettable memories, moments.  

Seasons were always embraced along the journey. Summers were filled with picnics on the carport, scenes of Daddy going round quickly on the riding mower racing the clock or the sun, daily swims at the lake, and tomato sandwiches. Fall came with smells of crackling fires, big bright pumpkins and leaves, and the yearly stacking of wood. Winters were full of watching Daddy haul in that wood and make roaring fires while snuggling with Mom over good books. Night vigils spent curled up watching for snow was always in order on those cold nights. Christmas came with meals and laughter, soft lights and scripture. Easters were spent with the same vibrant joy that marked the Rising of the Son. Just the thought of being there in the rows at church, I remember feeling the Life you all were pointing us to through your dedication to each other and to us.  Those special times were filled with moments that you all patiently, lovingly, and joyfully chose to be faithful  and  unselfishly bless, choosing to enjoy each other, the journey, and to raise us in the fear and admonition of the Lord.

You all took a life time of daily opportunities and made not only precious moments but helped forge a pathway to eternal life. You showed us the Way. You made a covenant with God and walked it out in front of us. You took a moment 50 years ago to make a pledge to honor and care for each other till death you would part. It was just a moment, but oh how significant the lifetime built upon that moment has been.

Thank you for living and loving faithfully before us.  You have shown us the love of the Father and the Unity of the Trinity. You have chosen moment by moment to be faithful to the covenant and the call. So today, Mom and Daddy, we bless and celebrate God’s gift to us in you. We take this opportunity to seize a moment in time to recognize the beauty of all those moments where you chose rightly and in so doing blessed all of us along the journey of this life.

May you receive many return blessings for your faithfulness. We love you dearly.

Happy 50^th Anniversary,

Kristen

Enjoying Mother's Day

We just recently celebrated Mother’s day. It is a time of the year when all of us are either feeling blessed by the privilege and opportunity to have our lives enriched by precious children, or we are celebrating women who have impacted and changed our lives.

I was definitely blessed this year with an outpouring of love. My husband and children showered me with kind gestures, meaningful moments, presents, and food! My Khmer children spent the evening distributing cards to Naron and me (Siphan was out of town) and either making flowers or picking them to bless us with. Naron had cried at lunch as the first little notes started appearing beside her at the table, containing expressions of the children’s appreciation. Our hearts were strengthened as we (Naron and I) were reminded of God’s goodness.

Needless to say, the day held sweet moments of remembrance as well. I thought of my mom, prayed that her heart would be pleased as she thought of her children, the fruit of her faithful Godly labor or love. She was as gracious, encouraging, and faithful in mothering as any woman could I’ve had the privilege of knowing. I prayed for my mother- in- law, that she would be reminded of our love for her and encouraged that her constant giving has impacted and blessed us in ways that are eternal and can’t be taken away. We thought of our Grandma Frances and Mamaw Burke who just recently went to be with Jesus. We trust that their reward has been great and that they are now quite convinced that they did well as faithful servants. Their impact on our lives was priceless.

Finally, as Mother’s Day came and went, literally, the number of dear sisters , my friends and family, that are mother’s that I thought of and were thankful for was a long list. I won’t even try to write all of the names down, but if you are reading this, know me at all and are wondering; go ahead and assume you were on that list, and know that you are appreciated for your example of mothering.

The Redemption of Souls is Costly - Psalm 49:16

I wrote to a couple friends this last few months and relayed to them my thoughts on taking in our newest children Puhn and Ouksa. My motivation in writing to them was mainly to process in my own heart to make sense of why once again we would be considering more children. “Why,” you may ask, “wouldn’t you take in more kids? You are an orphanage.” Yes, yes we are. But the question of how big that orphanage should be or how long we plan to take new children is a serious consideration as we look at the vision of Heritage House Home for children. So, again, as I pondered I wrote out thoughts .As I wrote, I wanted to weep. It began to be therapeutic. “How can we?” I allowed myself to question. “ I simply don’t have the energy,” I stated to my heart in that quiet moment.

As I wrote I considered how effective I felt we were being in seeing the children’s lives improve. We had at that point fed, clothed, educated, and significantly raised the socio-economic situation in which all the kids lived. All the Heritage House kids were much better off physically, socially, educationally for sure. Spiritually, we have seen fruit of repentance born in so many hearts ,and once where there were jealousies, fear, anger, hurt, rejection, we’ve seen kids who now worship, know scripture, make Godly decisions, and seem so much more peaceful and joyful than they had ever thought of being when we found them. But there were more considerations. Were they prepared for life after Heritage House? The statement that came banging at my heart and mind was, “I don’t want to just ‘feed’ kids.” That was my way of expressing that I just didn’t want to fill them up on all this good stuff only for them to leave one day and none of it have really taken deep root.

We had for over a year at the point I sat writing that , been pouring ourselves out before the Lord in petition over the older kids who were beginning to leave the house or prepare to leave. To those folks reading this that have gone through the season of having to begin to release adult children, you know my struggle. I am sitting there seeing each of those faces and wondering at the challenge of each individual situation, how could I go through the years of concern for each one, intercessions, handing out tough dictates, and even the emotions of so much potential good that may have risen as opportunities for many of the kids, but even in those situations the decisions that would have to be made to see them go forward were weighty. I had shored up my heart before the Lord relying on His grace for those kids, but could I take in more? I would have to count the cost again. I couldn’t just assume that a few more could dangle on to the grace I felt flowing for the others.

So, before I felt I had had a moment to really ponder, Lewis and Vutha were out the door and headed for the village in which these two little ones lived. We had been praying for a few days and I honestly thought that they would once again just be discussing with the aunt and village leader the situation before we’d need to make an offer to take them. Nope. Lewis called. “Hey hun, what are you sensing?” was the question. He told me that he and Vutha had left to grab lunch and that they would pray together and discuss whether they would be taking the kids. Upon their arrival back at the house they would be taking the children or leaving them there. I knew it was time.

Lewis described the situation and the utter poverty they all lived in. He agreed with the aunt that there were just not the resources to continue feeding the kids. So, the question that I had wrestled with that day was staring me in the face again. Do we simply feed kids? What if we begin to bring in kids hastily and they are numbered as ones who leave our care in 8 or 10 years and all we can say of them is we simply fed them. I didn’t know how we were doing on the monthly support needed to feed the ones we had. I didn’t know if we were ready for them to come. Lewis expressed he had had the exact same thoughts and then he stated the inevitable. He said “Kristen, we may only be feeding kids, but after being out here today, I don’t know what else to do. We have to bring them in. We have to trust Jesus to feed them and to change their lives.”

He simply echoed the Truth that was resounding in both of us. They must be fed. Jesus came so that the captive might be set free. He didn’t come to ensure that they would. Every human born under the sun will have a choice; to do good which leads to righteousness and blessing or not. But God withholds provision and love from none. If they will come, He will receive: He states in Luke, in the synagogue before the assembly, reading from Isaiah the very prophetic statement of Who He was; Who He is:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me

Because He has anointed Me

To preach the gospel to the poor,

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,

To proclaim liberty to the captives And recovery of sight to the blind

To set at liberty those who are oppressed

And to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.

Am I just feeding kids? I don’t think so. I believe the great commission is being lived out. His goodness must be preached. Will Puhn and Ouksa receive this glorious good news and be radically changed as well as generations to come after them. That is our passionate Hope for them. I have nothing in my heart I desire to give them except that one thing, for it is life and life not only more abundant but everlasting. To that end, the story will continue to unfold, but in the mean time, I believe that these prophetic words Isaiah wrote and Jesus proclaimed will continue to resonate throughout the earth, that Messiah has come. He has fulfilled this scripture in the hearing of all! He has preached the gospel of good news to the poor and He continues to call those ones to the fountains of provision. Yes, He continues to just “feed kids.” And I am sure that I am all the better off because He sought out and fed me.

Another scripture that burned in my heart as I considered what must be done is the one I have written at the beginning of this piece. The redemption of their souls is costly. I had to consider, and do daily, the cost of seeing a way made that others might know the Savior. In order to redeem our situation, it cost Him everything. Pray with us as we continue, and hopefully you continue there, to do all we can regardless of the cost, to see people fed. Don’t be hasty in your vows, but do be ready to be used.

All Went Still

"We heard gun shots and then all went still," he paused for a minute before continuing, "I knew it was my father." Krum begins his story of the night he lost his father and his life was forever altered. This story also belongs to Coy, Yaht, and Srey Ma, but on this rainy night, it is Krum’s story to tell our small cell group.

Krum had left his father’s side only a matter of hours before these events were seared into his soul. Krum is one of the few who tells of spending time with his father, the man who would take him along to work most days. It is a story that quickly shifts from a faint picture of a man that may have taken time to begin to father in the only way he knew, by equipping his son for survival, to a scene of a boy left with hardly a chance for that (survival).

After his father was murdered, Krum's mother immediately abandoned the children because of the hardships brought on by the tragedy. Yet now Krum must sit before us as he attempts but to scratch the surface of the depth of the story; his story, which is just one of the many stories of the children of Heritage House.

Yes, many may come from some of the same families, but as each tells his story, it is uniquely his own. Each in turn has told of distance, loss, lack, tragedy, offense, rejection, or disappointment. Yet swirling around through every remembrance, they wind their way back from their “beginnings” toward the grace that they have tasted and still daily seek. We hear voices still groping for that hope of His love that they so desperately want to trust in, to believe in.

We are four weeks into doing this study with the children on the "Father Heart of God". As we explore the true heart of Father, so faithful and just, kind and committed, respectable and humble, so real; Lewis and I are finding not only a sweet brokenness and new vulnerability begin to appear among the kids. We are humbled, in our own broken state, not only of any sorrows we may have known which He desires to heal, but humbled in places our own “fathering” or shepherding may need the gentle directive nudge of the Holy Spirit of Grace, to bring correction, refreshing, and restoration.

I am grateful that we are having the opportunity to go through this study with the older children from Heritage House. I know that the Holy Spirit is working in all of us as we seek to be vulnerable and to know the Father's heart. Thank you for praying with us as we journey through this study. The book is full of talk of our destinies in Him, under His loving care, but all of us, as the author points out, like David and Saul, will face disappointments in life where we fail and others fail us. As we ponder those times we need His help to journey on in from here. We must learn to cast off our self -perserving tendancies as David did, lest we seek to "save our lives", only to loose them. We must at that point remember that, " in returning and rest is our salvation and in quietness and trust (alone) is our strength" (Isaiah 30:15)

Therefore, still pressing on toward the goal of the upward calling in Christ, may we resolve to see Him glorified in our lives past, present and future. As hope dawns and He reveals Himself as the quiet waters that He longs to lead us by... to lead Krum by, may we ever be still and in that stillness, may we "hear" the sound of the still small voice beckoning us past death, upward and onward toward new.

Finding My Voice

There is a group of women at a church that we hold dear to our hearts who daily share their stories through blogging. These Harvest church ladies write; and their stories intertwine…. They minister to each other and all who read their blogs through their stories. At our sending churches my dear friends Kathy Oakes and Shannon Jones share and have a gift to grab our hearts and take us along through all they are journeying through in the Lord through their writings. All who read their words are touched or changed. My mom and sister always had this gift. These ladies have found their colors, their threads, their tapestry, and they are weaving ornate designs that speak of their journeys.... I am, in this season, trying to find my colors.

So I deeply admire the beautiful writings of these precious sisters, because I find that sitting down to share my heart is something that is harder for me to do in these past years of my journey. I want to find my voice again, and the heart that once longed to be vulnerable and had the courage to share as they do.

I'm wanting to stir up wells inside, of faith in the Lord, that truly testify to the truth that “all my springs are in You, Lord.” That is what the singers and the players of instruments in Psalm 87 said, when they were moved or inspired to write or sing! They understood well that depth of life, joy and sorrow, times of deep perseverance and times blessed increase, were from the hand of the Lord. The psalmists cried in Psalm 90, “teach us to number our days that we might gain a heart of wisdom… and so the beauty of the Lord be upon us and establish the work of our hands for us; yes establish the work of our hands.”

Not only did the psalmists understand where the inspiration to journey on from here came from, they desired that all that they worked at from that place of inspiration, would be built or established by Him. Oh, how I desire to have all that is established in our lives be kissed by Him. I want to write stories and sing songs of His praise and all that He is establishing and bringing forth in our lives.

I want to share what my sisters share… their heart, their lives. I want to find the words of the testimony of His grace in peaceful places of confidence and trust. I want to learn, like the psalmists, how to communicate it, write it, speak it forth... So for now, I’ll be found waiting for Holy Spirit inspired springs to well up from secret places of His love. I’ll be here finding my voice. Thanks to all these sisters and so many more for the nudge.