the woman for the job

i'm so often asked what a typical day looks like for me...

the question makes me cringe a little inside...because it usually encompasses fire.guest.tea.cooking.water.homeschool.fire.guest.tea.homeschool.water.cooking.fire.cooking. guest.tea.fire.bed. 

sadly...far less sexy than the world-changer-daily-miracles-abundant-fruit adventure they probably have in their mind.

but this typical day found me swinging an 8 pound axe in sub-zero temperatures.


truth: i'm painfully awkward with an axe.


my neighbors can add it to the countless mental pictures they have stored up as they watch me navigate countryside life...

yes...if i never impact them spiritually i can guarantee my presence in this village has never left them wanting for entertainment.

nose running [and subsequently...snot freezing]... a very valid fear of amputation producing the world's most hideous stance... it takes me at least 10 swings to do the same work my husband can do in 1...

but his back is out...[like...way out]...and the house is cold...and that means i'm the woman for the job.

really? i'm the woman for this job? Lord, there are approximately 2,982 people in this town [...oh... small children are most definitely included] more qualified for this than i...why am i the one standing here? and the slight frustration brings my swing count down to 8...

...but it's not really about the firewood...

see...what any self-respecting mongolian missionary does not let you know in the prayer letter is this...

we.don't.know.what.the.heck.we're.doing.

oh we did...in the beginning...

we had plans and goals and general philosophies...

but somehow putting feet to them brought us down paths for which no seminary or webinar or round-table could ever prepare us...

even similar paths vary in their twists and turns

...nothing is as clear cut as even the knotted wood at my feet.

because let's face it...i'm not walking in scenarios.maps.flow charts.or statistics...

i'm doing life...sometimes spectacular and sometimes mundane...on broken ground with broken people [of whom i am axe-wielding chief]. my eyes...my ears...my thoughts...they're so limited...so physical. as i rub shoulders in the everyday...who am i to say how the Lord is working in it all?

i honestly.don't.know...and i'm slowing letting go of the needing to...

...the last 8+ years have been a beautiful undoing of all my ideas and plans and expectations...

an unraveling of hows and whens and whys into the Who behind it all.

and my role [when i look past the aforesaid unraveled mess and remember it] has become...

showing up.continuing.moving...

trusting a God eternal to do what He does...through a woman who more skillfully chops the language than the firewood...

the woman He called...

the woman for the job...

Jesus in the mess

freeze!

put down the glue gun and step away from baby Jesus!


don't get me wrong...i'm right there with ya...riffling through half price christmas decorations ...imagining each and every one perfectly placed on the hearth. [ok so i don't have a hearth but you get the idea]

and i certainly can't deny an ever growing collection of nativities that make their way out of boxes each december to 'put the Christ back in christmas'...

who doesn't love this time of year?

...we're wrapped up all warm and cozy...sipping hot cocoa by the warm glow of a lighted tree...listening to the songs we've sung for decades...ahh the quintessential christmas moment...

do i soak it in as much as the next girl?...definitely.

and yet i'm pretty sure it encompasses nothing of the mood surrounding my Savior's birth...or the one pervading our lives as His followers.

what is with our desperate need to smooth out all the rough edges and make everything about our faith a little easier to swallow? 

i mean let's get real...

let's follow a pregnant teenager breathing through labor pains on a donkey...

everyone since the wedding has done the math...raised eyebrows and whispers of 'impropriety' are still nipping at her swollen kankles heels. no one will let her in...have the whispers followed her all the way here?

the birthing suite God provides for Messiah?...the smell of it makes her stomach churn. it's not 'rustic' or 'shabby chic'...no burlap and reclaimed wood here. nope...it's smeared with cow dung and full of sheep with crusties stuck in their wool!

if mary's anything like me, thoughts of 'seriously!?!' occupy her mind as she lands in the dirt. tears fall. tears of pain, yes, but also of hurt...everything's been so much harder than she imagined the day she said yes...surrendered to God's plan. she tries to make sense of the chaos surrounding her heart.mind.body.life. and screams through the last intense labor pangs.

and then...

there...

in the mess of afterbirth and exhaustion of labor...

she.encounters.Jesus.

Emmanuel.

God with her. 

without...nothing has changed...within?...everything has. God is here...and He has a plan...

silent night...Holy night

Son of God...love's pure light

radiant beams from Thy Holy face...

with the dawn of redeeming grace

Jesus Lord at Thy birth...Jesus Lord at thy birth

is your spirit taking a deep breath too?

this is a moment that defines our faith...the dawn of hope...real hope...for all of us.

and it happened in the mess...

encounters with Jesus? they don't so much tickle in the warm fuzzies of life...they descend gloriously on the travail of a soul...knee deep in the muck and mire [and cattle slobber] of reality.

...oh Lord...

with mary...let me shift my gaze...away from the sweeping torrent of circumstance...

let me soul-stare into the eyes of my Savior...let me treasure up the mystery of how you work...pondering it deep in my heart...

and let the radiance of redeeming grace leave me changed...

walk the line

it comes in waves...the shock of culture change.

some big.some small.

and usually when i do something ridiculous like walk in to IKEA...or target...

...or church.

a battlefield emerges within...abundance stirring up both aversion and appetite in my heart.

walking through the everyday there's no stopping thoughts of another world...of wood stoves and herders...of homemade yogurt and hauling water...a world too often defined by survival...want...

a world completely unknown [and unimagined] by those around me.

though occasionally a tear falls in the supermarket...i manage to keep composure...

after all...this is where i....belong?


who knows.


when the immigration officer looked at me and said 'welcome home'...i didn't tell him his comment made me suddenly [acutely] aware of the fact i had dirt under my fingernails and smelled slightly of mutton fat.

i just said 'thanks'.

when i walk into church...i do my best to appear comfortable and make small talk...

i know the routine.

yet if you really want to know...i feel ridiculously a little out of place...

like raw goat cheese [all gritty and rough around the edges] in a land of velveeta [unnaturally smooth and a little icky in its perfection]...


forgive me...i've spent too many recent days lingering in abundantly stocked grocery aisles.


i know i don't belong...here or anywhere. in fact...i wrote all about that here

but this time around i'm understanding...


i live in limbo...

the 'in between'...

the only point of intersection between two very different realities.

like standing smack on the border between two places...

...in both...and neither at the same time.

i walk the line.


occasionally i step to one side or the other, and [eventually] adjust when i do. but in these transitions there is no leaving behind all i've seen and experienced...making my perspective different no matter where i stand...

making me most comfortable on the line...with other line walkers.

immersed in a second language...i struggle to fully communicate what i'm thinking...feeling. now in my own i find the vocabulary still lacking.

faith fleshed out on the line is something better experienced than expressed. 

it must seem a narrow path [filled with weirdos who can't do the grocery shopping without emotional incident]...

but i'm telling you...eyes close...feet touch down...and a world of faith and knowing unfolds.

there are times of mourning...the 'before'...that place of innocence and ignorance that can never be again....

but i've started the journey...there is no turning back...

i've taken in the view...no other path could tempt me away.

i walk the line...

uprooted on solid ground

the morning brought happy songs and garbled speeches spoken too closely to microphones. kids in crisp uniforms carried flowers and bright new backpacks as they walked down the street.

the first day of school! always such a celebration in mongolia...we love being part of it...

but this year these sights and sounds served as a sobering reminder of change.

this year we won't be part of the festivities...

this year we are planning to uproot and head north to serve in the little village of khatgal for a few months.

we couldn't be more sure it's what the Lord has for us right now...or more unsure of why. [we've learned those details come later...if ever...]




our lives are characterized by letting go...i could never have fully understood how much so when 'send me. i'll go' first escaped my lips.

one might think a surrender like that...packing up and moving to mongolia...is it...you're covered...for like...life. one might have to think again...

it was only the beginning...and [looking back]...the easy part.

no. a surrender like that is the first [naive little] step into a lifetime of opening clenched fists and releasing their death grip on familiarity...clarity... 

a lifetime of roots that can never dig too deep [and soon learn not to]...because the upheaval of circumstances [not to mention ideas and expectations] is a regular occurrence.

am i wired for things like connection.belonging.community.home? absolutely!

these roots within me want to [are created to] dig in.dig down.grow wide and deep and strong. they want to connect.to bond.to stay...and it seems as though i'm denied the chance. but the beauty is this: these roots [when they find no solid ground around them] are forced to grow upward. they discover that in an ever-changing landscape they can be firmly planted in only one.constant.unchanging soil...

...God...

no matter what transitions i face [within or without]...His character.promises.Word...remain.  i've seen it.proved it.lived it...time and time again...

and there's no end in sight.

honestly i wouldn't want it any other way [well...maybe some days...but you know...bigger picture and all that]. this journey i'm on forces me to find hope.strength.courage.clarity.comfort...my solid ground...only in Him...

there is.nothing.else.

and i'm learning [again...and again]

He's really all there ever was...

'...blessed are those who trust in the LORD and have made the LORD their hope and confidence.  They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they go right on producing delicious fruit.'

Jeremiah 17:7-8

little sprouts and the hope of a harvest...

last sunday we're driving to church...and we encounter this enormous cloud of smoke billowing into the blue sky...

we're all trying to guess what building is on fire when cj, in all seriousness, gasps from the backseat:

"maybe it's the missile from North Korea!!"

to which his father and i responded with uproarious laughter...pausing only long enough to let the thought cross our minds [maybe missile attacks shouldn't be a laughing matter in our household]...and then we all laughed again. i mean...seriously...how preciously naive is that little comment?  [we should probably make note of this for future counseling sessions]

but that isn't the greatest part of this story...

we neared the source and [while stopped at a light] watched firefighters battle the blaze. it was a precarious situation to say the least.

and before i know it...abby's sweet voice says "i hope no one got hurt. oh! dear God, please help those people to be safe!"

and as we continue down the road, cj's tender heart prompts him to suggest that we pray for the firefighters, and everyone involved.

and my mommy-heart swelled with joy...and [let's just say it] a little relief...

apparently...between all the not-so-great parenting moments and sloppy attempts at this enormous task of molding little humans...amidst those many moments when the depravity of the human heart is so.clearly.demonstrated by my little 'angels'....Jesus stepped in...and made something click...

to which i say.....PHEeeeeeeWWWW!!!

sometimes i just need a little proof it's all working, you know?

but it is. praise Jesus. it is. 

all those seeds planted...[you know, the ones not so much gently placed into the soil as dumped there when i trip over my own feet, face plant in the dirt and think 'how am i supposed to be doing this again?!']...those seeds...they're taking root...somewhere...and they will sprout when the time is right.

because...well...that's just what Jesus does...he cultivates.brings life.in the harshest of conditions...

and that's just what God promises...a harvest...because He is the increase-giver...and His seed is good...

and we're not just talking parenting here...

we're talking every.single bigger-than-ourselves thing we attempt as we gather our crude tools.in this messy garden.and do our best to look like we have a clue.working for a harvest of the unseen.

the work is hard.it sprawls endless before us and we tire easily. we're dirty and smelly and fighting against blisters and calluses, both of hands and heart. it's not fleshing out like we thought it would. are those storm clouds forming overhead? we can't see what's happening underneath the surface...if only we could dig up that seed.get just a glimpse of something changing...growing...taking root. but the process...the increase...that's not ours to look after...

not to mention that [i believe] the work is just as much about the fruit in us.as the fruit around us...but that's another blog post...

we're asked to be aware and available...and that's all we can be...other than unspeakably grateful that the seed we throw is fertile...the One in charge all-knowing.all-powerful.all-good.

so let's [all of us] join in the sowing of something eternal.something beyond ourselves in the hearts placed around us. and let's [all of us] keep each other working.even when the task seems heavy and fruitless. 

let's find strength in the One with endless reserves...let's believe that for all our shoddy [albeit sincere] workmanship...God's got it taken care of...and let's cling to promises He can't leave unfulfilled...

It is the same with my word.  I send it out, and it always produces fruit.  It will accomplish all I want it to, and it will prosper everywhere I send it.

Isaiah 55:11

So we must not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don't give up.

Galatians 6:9

One who watches the wind will not sow, and the one who looks at the clouds will not reap.  Just as you don't know the path of the wind, or how bones [develop] in the womb of a pregnant woman, so you don't know the work of God who makes everything.  In the morning sow your seed, and at evening do not let your hand rest, because you don't know which will succeed, whether one or the other, or if both of them will be equally good.

Ecclesiastes 11 :4-6

survivor [wo]man

i sometimes think living through winter in mongolia is like one of those discovery channel survival shows...

[cue dramatic announcer voice]

'one 30-something american missionary...grueling months-on-end in one of the planet's coldest capitals. with only her faith and calling to keep her going...can.she.survive?!

survivor [wo]man...premiers october/november...ish.'

physical challenges would include things like:

'tour de grocery shopping' : sub-zero temperatures...a minimum of three stores [and one market]...will she locate and purchase at least 60% of the items on her list?

'course mapping through coal-smog' : frozen eyelashes and unending layers inhibiting mobility...visibility reduced to a shocking five-feet...icy death traps in place...can she navigate the city with all her limbs still intact?

'cabin-fever resistance training' : watch as we test the limits of a mother's sanity by locking her in a small apartment...with two children...and a cat...for longer than any human should have to endure. can she keep the creativity flowing? or will her children wind up spending far too many hours in front of the tv? tune in to find out.

'linguistic circumnavigation' : nearly six years immersed in the language...could.this.be the year she doesn't confuse the word for paper with the word for snow? 

the producers throw curves like extreme lack of daylight and a sun that doesn't come up enough to crest the buildings, shamans who beat drums [seemingly] endlessly from the apartment upstairs, asthma.colds.flus and unidentifiable stomach bugs, the one-step forward 18,345 steps backward nature of ministry on our field, aaand of course the occasional rude comment or pick-pocket attempt from passers-by...all in an effort to send me over the edge...

the finale [airing april/may...ish] shows a [more than] slightly tattered me. face dirty.cheeks chapped. smiling weakly and dragging myself across the finish-line of spring. giving that final interview between gulps from my water bottle [or more appropriately...ginormous mug of hot tea].

ok...so maybe i'm being slightly dramatic...

but not really...

yes...i realize i live in mongolia. we were intentional on our first visit...the dead of winter to gain a frame of reference for the mind-numbing cold. i guess i just had expectations: the first winter or two would be hard but it would get easier with each passing year.

reality has proven much the opposite.

i remember with clarity my thoughts after that first winter: 'that was nothing!'

my thoughts during this one?: [censored in order to salvage any small amount of respect the reader might still hold for the writer]

and yes...as missionaries, we understand: the steepness and harshness of the terrain doesn't make it any less God's path. [all my missionary peeps say 'hollaaa'!]

so why do i share all this?

because i think sometimes our perception of the battles missionaries face can be less than complete [if not slightly impersonal]. we picture them.positioned on the front lines.directly in front of hell's gates.charging the enemy in an all-out spiritual war [and truly.we are there]. 

but what i want others to understand is this: our lives feel a lot less like a war really...and more like a million little battles. [most of which aren't even all that 'spiritual']

battles that are taking place, not in a far off war zone, but much closer-to-home than we ever thought they would: in our hearts.minds.spirits as we face every day...as we find strength in the Caller and do our best to...survive.

and maybe, in my being [possibly a little too] transparent. the prayers sent up for us [the prayers for which we are so unspeakably grateful, on which hangs the success and renewal of 'survivor [wo]man' for another season] will broaden in their scope...to encompass the battles that make up the war.

and maybe  sometimes when you pray for us...your mind's eye won't see us so much like this:

as like this:

fifteen minutes [twenty at the most]

it was fifteen minutes [twenty at the most]

chris had his guitar out and abby made a request...a worship song was on her heart. start up the intro and before you know it all of us have been drawn to the room like beggars to a feast. we sing out...hungry for the One who inhabits our praise. little voices at the top of their lungs...music to my soul. my heart is saturated.overflowing with the fullness of the moment. time is suspended...tears in my eyes.

it was fifteen minutes [twenty at the most]

yet sweeter than most twenty-four hour segments of my life. 

this is where i feel the need for a disclaimer: the ballinger household does not spend all its days floating around speaking to each other in psalms.hymns.and spiritual songs. [all your notions of our amazingness...shattered]. don't get me wrong...we have our moments. but frankly.our reality is spent in a chorus of whining with the occasional refrain of 'can we just change our attitudes? stop bickering and speak a little more kindly please!!' [yes...spoken itself too harshly...point taken].

the choreography is a flurry of hats.scarves.boots [and yet another layer] as we rush out the door. dramatic poses of exacerbation while barreling through word problems or handwriting. the shuffling of pots and pans for hours in the kitchen.everything from scratch [repeat to the chorus of whining lamenting the lumps in the homemade tomato sauce]. the unfurling of a mile.long.to do.list [to which tasks are added at a much faster rate than they are being checked off]. and everything climaxes into a grande finale balancing act of life.marriage.kids.work.ministry.and don't forget spiritual growth and warfare.

did i mention we perform it all in another language and culture?

phew!! no wonder our souls are weary...and desperate to sit together [just for awhile] at Jesus' feet.

it's the age-old struggle. common to all people.all ages.all centuries.all continents. the struggle between doing and being, serving and resting, martha vs mary when Jesus comes for a visit.  

i'm admitting that those few minutes spent together in praise brought an awareness that i spend far too much time and effort performing the musical of our lives.far too little enjoying the tune.

it was fifteen minutes [twenty at the most]

but add them together...time and again...and they become a nice theme for our life-song...don't you think?