Pray for your Missionaries!

Hello all, in case you haven’t read any of my blog posts here is a quick bio.  My name is Anne, and for the past 6 years I have been a tent maker missionary in Suriname, South America.  A tent maker missionary is one that is able to fully support themselves by having an occupation in the country that they are residing in.  For me, I am an international teacher working at an international school in the nation’s capital of Paramaribo. 

I find it very awkward to talk about my mission field when I am in America.  I feel that the automatic picture that gets placed into people’s heads when a person says that they are a missionary is one of a person being in the middle of the jungle, or not in a city.  When I have talked about my school and job I received a comment like, “Oh, I thought you were teaching in a tent, somewhere out in the jungle with no desks and air conditioning.”  I actually teach in one of the nicest schools in the country, complete with air conditioning, desks, a computer lab, WIFI, and textbooks.  While I know missionaries that are placed in villages in the rain forest, my field is quite different. 

I serve three different groups of students at our school.  The first group of children is international children.  During my six years I have taught children from all six populated continents and 22 countries.  I view this mission field like Phillip and the Ethiopian.  We are mostly with these children for an average of three years before they move to another country and take the knowledge they learned from this place to the next.   It is my hope that they will here the gospel and go plant a seed in another country.   The second group consists of our scholarship children and children of the middle class.  Their family may own a small business or works very hard in another field and can manage to pay some of the tuition, but not usually all.  Finally, the third group of children are children that part of the upper class of Suriname.  These children’s families have other properties in other countries, have successful big businesses, and don’t really have material need in their life. 

When I explain that my mission field consists of children that are very rich, I am sometimes met with confusion.  However, I have witnessed that this mission field is intense, discouraging, and not for the faint of heart.  I think God’s words are very telling when he says, “. 24Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” -Matthew 19:24.  I think this is an overlooked mission field that faces a lot of rejection.  I don’t want to speak for other people, but I find it very difficult to relay the gospel sometime in a way that connects with these students.  The need of a Savior in life is something that is not always understood.

If you sign up for missionary work, get a tough skin and do not forget your armor!  Trying to accomplish anything without God just won’t happen.  His hope is an anchor. 

I just think we need more prayer in general.  I feel that we could easily have blog posts that say, “pray for your teachers!  Pray for your nurses!  Pray for your mothers!  Pray for your Pastors!  Pray for your enemies! Pray! Pray! Pray!  Sometimes it might not feel like it is doing anything, but I assure you…it is!  I don’t want to speak for other missionaries, but I feel that a lot of them would say “Yes, please do not cease in praying for us.  Even though we are not there next to you anymore, please do not forget us."

I need prayer.  I need it daily.  I am greedy for your prayers, because I know of the fruit they will bring.  Maybe it is not physical things like airplane tickets home for Christmas or a green card for my husband (but please, do pray for that :)), but it could be patience, strength, and perseverance.  

What to Pray For?

Pray for my school, that the Word of God rushes through it like a crashing wave.

Pray for my school, that despite being from different denominations and backgrounds we are able to find unity as a staff.

Pray for my school, that it be a beacon of light for the searching and for protection from the enemy.

Pray for my school, pray for my school, pray for my school.

Pray for my students that they will one day embrace the gospel.

Pray for my students who are hurting so much.

Pray for my students who have welcomed Christ into their lives, but not told their families due to fear.

Pray for my students, pray for my students, pray for my students.

Pray for peace in situations that are out of my hands.  That I will trust that all is in God’s hands.

Pray for patience on days when I am running low.

Pray for knowledge and understanding for when to fight, when to talk, and when to listen.

Pray for strength to make it through the tough days.

Pray for me. 

I am writing this post today because I just feel that I am in the thick of it.  This immense battle of a Monday with new conflicts and new problems that can crush me if I forget that I am pressed, but not crushed.  I am persecuted, not abandoned, shut down, but not destroyed. 

It is very easy for me to feel isolated and a world away sometimes.  I know that if I am not talking to God, it is very easy for me to run dry and feel alone.  Burnout is real if real rest is not sought.  So please, today if you have time, pray for me.

Thank you.

I Really Take Music for Granted Sometimes

I was sitting in my living room playing guitar and singing praise songs when a thought hit me. “I have been taking this time and this ability for granted.”  When I play guitar, I usually don’t spend time reflecting on the hours I spent in my dorm room trying to figure out how to bend my fingers in ways they had never been bent before, trying to get that muscle memory ingrained in my hands.  I don’t reflect on the calluses that built up on my fingertips from repeated tab and chord practice when I played so long that it hurt a lot to continue pressing against the frets.

I don’t often think back about the time I spent in the practice rooms at college working on becoming proficient at playing chords on the piano.  Not only learning how to play them in a non “carnival” music like way (still working on that), but to also sing at the same time while playing the chords for the praise team I was on. 

And when I sing, I often don’t think back on the hours of time I spent in choir and in voice lessons in college working on my voice.  How after my 1 hour voice lessons, I would be as tired as I would be if I had ran 2 miles around the school.  How, like an athlete, I repeatedly warmed up my voice and ate a diet that would complement my voice while repeated eating vitamin C tablets and drinking my weight in water and throat coat tea to help restore my voice when it was sick and tired. 

It has all become muscle memory.  My face automatically lifting when I sing high and flip to the next register.  The placement my mouth should have when I sing the word “you.” The breathing from my diaphragm when I go for long breathing passages.  And while I would say that I am not an expert at piano and guitar AT ALL, there has been some work put in in the past to get where I am today.   

When people see me play and sing, they don’t see the hours of my past practicing.  They just see the end result.  I have had people come up to me and say, “It just comes so easily to you.”  While I don’t know if I learned guitar and piano basics faster than anyone, a lot of people were not there in the practice rooms and there in my dorm room.  It took time and effort.

I am very thankful for my parents for the instruments that have helped me acquire.  When I was a kid, my parents put me in piano lessons with my siblings.  Even though I was only in lessons for a couple of years, I was able to pick up the basics.  This helped me so much with theory, chord structure and note names.  It also helped me to start writing my own songs.  Even today when I have to transpose keys, I sometimes write an octave worth of a keyboard on the paper and it helps me visualize where the notes need to go.  My parents also let me do percussion in band.  This helped me so much develop a sense of rhythm and how to read different notes.  Finally, my parents helped me get my first guitar.  After my request for a drum set had gotten repeatedly rejected, I turned my sights into getting a guitar.  I remember one winter day before I was going to head back to college from break, my parents said, “Anne, we were thinking that we would look at guitars today, just to see.”  I was completely taken back, by this request, but we went to Guitar Center.  THAT DAY, a gently used guitar had been dropped off and was available for a really good price.  My parents let me get it, and soon I had a new instrument to try and learn.

Playing music for me has always been a joy and at one point I thought it would be a career.  Now, it is a hobby and a tool that God has given me to help others worship.  Being able to be actively involved in worship is something that is not a burden or stressful.  It is when I am singing praises to God that I feel the most free.  

How thankful I am that God gave me this gift.  He gave me the perseverance while I was learning the instruments I play so I could serve him with my voice and gift.  I get to be involved actively in worship at least twice a week, with an additional time every month for our faculty worship.  And while my main job doesn't actually involve music, maybe one day I will have one that will.  Either way, I am very thankful that God has kept this with me. 

What I lose sight of some time however, is the time when I play that it is just God and me in the room.  I think I need more of that time.  When I communicate my thanks to God by using his gift, and we have a close time of communion.  I think I need more of that in my life.  I know I need more of that in my life.  I need to thank him more for the journey and not just take the end result for granted.  I suggest you do the same.  Think of the gifts that God has blessed you with that you do without even thinking.  Reflect on the time you spent working on this skill to where you got it today and thank God for it.

That’s all I got.

Being in a Biracial Crosscultural Marriage

We couldn’t be more different on paper. 

My husband grew up in South America.

I grew up in North America.

My husband is from the country.

I lived in a mid-small sized city.

My husband has mainly African and Native American ancestry.

My ancestors are from Europe.

My husband grew up in a family of 13.  He was the baby of the family (4 brothers, 6 sisters)

I grew up in a family of 5.  I am also the baby of the family (1 brother, 1 sister)

My husband did not have a traditional bed with a frame or a bedroom until he was 13.

I shared a room with my sister until I was 18.  We both had our own beds.  (except for the one time we decided to have a big bed and share it…until I broke it.)

My husband had a monkey for a pet.

My parents let me feed a stray cat for a little bit.

My husband did not have an indoor toilet until he was 8.

My house had 2.5 bathrooms-each with a toilet.

My husband didn’t see snow until he was 27.  However, the rain was so intense you could take a shower outside.

I grew up surrounded by the rain of spring, the heat of summer, the beauty of fall, and the cold of winter.

My husband has a six pack.

I am a plus-sized woman.

My husband drives on the left side of the road.

I drive on the right side of the road.

My husband had a divided home.

My parents have been married for 34 years.

My husband could not afford to further his education.

College was an expectation more than a privilege.  (But I am very thankful for my degree and my parents who helped pay for it)

My husband is trilingual.

I speak a little Spanish and Dutch, but it is nowhere near perfect and nowhere near fluent.

My husband used to breakdance.

I was in color guard in school.

My husband takes 3 showers a day.

I take one shower....most days.

This list could go on and on.  But despite being so different, here is some of what we have in common. 

We both love volleyball.

We both grew up playing soccer.

We both are huge nerds.

We both like board games.

We both can make the other laugh.

We both like music and can play the guitar.

Most importantly, we both love Christ.  We pray together and sing worship songs together.  We support each other through times of struggle and celebrate during times of joy.  We share a last name.  We share a family, and we have become one despite all differences. 

Sometimes our different cultures cause conflict.  You do not realize how much your culture and your background defines your actions, thoughts, values, priorities, and so much more until you are put together for a long time with someone who is not the same. 

My husband is my other half.  While I don’t believe in the idea of soulmates, I trust that God knew who my husband would be.  I didn’t write this post for pity for my husband or to emphasize my privilege growing up.  I wrote it because I think it is important to show God’s plan and how it is beyond what we visualize as humans.  Miguel and I never could have expected beyond our wildest imaginations that we would be each other’s spouse.  We often talk about what would have happened if we would have grown up in the same country.  Would our experiences have been drastically different?  Would we sit together at lunch?  Would we play in the same sandbox?

I love looking at our family pictures.  They are so different, but each one of them is filled with life.  I love the family that I received when I married my husband, and he loves the family he got when he married me.  

I love you, boo boo.