tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74642878552793588982024-03-13T14:32:52.855-07:00Early Morning MissionaryCasey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-6604343887030398462020-10-11T13:26:00.005-07:002020-10-11T13:29:36.348-07:00Confessions: But Jesus (A Tale of a Bad Marriage)<p> </p><p> <i>Written in 2015<br /></i></p><p>I assumed through my teenage years I would be fairly miserable after I married. I held out hope for some small moments of happiness, but, although I longed for a Cinderella Happily-Ever-After story, I knew I was neither quality marriage material nor would have sense enough to find a truly wonderful mate.<br />
<br />
So I had no plan for dating and tossed my borrowed copy of <u>Passion and Purity</u> aside because ... well, why bother? I did absolutely positively NOTHING right as I searched for a husband, a search fueled by a force beyond reason compelling me to seek out marriage. <br />
<br />
When I met Chris, I had one goal: Marry him. I neither focused on drawing closer to the Lord nor drawing him closer to the Lord. I didn't seek advice on how to have a healthy, godly relationship. I cannot tell you the mess our "dating" relationship was. We blew it. <br />
<br />
We had time in the States to get our game together, to be disciplined and self-controlled and to grow and mature ... but we didn't. We drowned in the stress of our job and in the work of moving to Cambodia. We had our first child then "accidentally" got pregnant with our second. Time just kept slipping away.<br />
<br />
These past six and a half years through depressions and children and move after move, Chris and I have stuffed feelings, built up hurt, and wallowed in resentment toward each other. We've let hurtful and unhealthy patterns become our norm. From time to time, we would fight side by side. But fatigue, emotional, spiritual, and physical strain would win out and the battles would end in more unsteady truces and compromises.<br />
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<i>Can you relate at all?</i><br />
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Then there was <i>those </i>couples. One amazing young couple at our university awed me by all the ways they honored the Lord through their courtship. It was so beautiful - which, in my comparing mind made our relationship so ugly. Then there was another amazing couple who served side-by-side reaching the lost in our community who up and moved overseas as missionaries while we worked and went to school all day then plopped in front of <i>Everybody Loves Raymond </i>in the evenings. <i></i><br />
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In two weeks we are traveling with all six of our amazing children for 102 hours to go to the States. We've been a horrible, emotional mess since we decided to make the trip just a month or so before. We're making this insane trip because our marriage is struggling and our children are struggling and our health is struggling and our ministry is struggling. We're in trouble, real trouble, and we need real help. <i></i><br />
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Last night, after several days of hurt-filled silence between us, Chris held me in his arms and said, "I don't love you."<br />
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"I don't love you either. I never have. It's so hard to admit, but I have only "loved" you for me, for what you could give me. I've taken selfishly. I'm sorry." I replied.<br />
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"I feel the same way, have done the same things. I've been so selfish. You're still my best friend. I want to love you, really love you."<br />
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"Me, too."<br />
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I have, and always have, considered my marriage a wonderful one. It <u>is</u> a wonderful one. I have often spoken glowingly of it, and it was all truthful. <b>The presence of conflict or problems in marriage simply means there is the presence of conflict or problems in marriage. </b>Chris and I have done hardly anything right i.n our marriage. We are <u>not</u> the "do-as-we-do" couple. We're the ones telling you what NOT to do. So, how can I say that we have a wonderful marriage? <br />
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Remember that line from the Jesus Storybook Bible:<br />
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"And they were lovely because He loved them."<br />
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Our marriage is only lovely because of Jesus. It is neither great because we did everything right nor horrible because we did everything wrong. Consider this equation:<br />
<br />
Two sinners + Jesus = a beautiful marriage.<br />
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Please don't despise your marriage. Sure, you've failed, maybe many, many times. But Jesus. Sure you have taken without giving and been selfish. But Jesus. Your story may be one big embarrassing mess. But Jesus. Maybe it feels hopeless. But Jesus. <br />
</p><ul>
<li>He isn't ticking off some list of what you have or haven't done. </li>
<li>He isn't throwing up His hand in exasperation for all of your selfish sins.</li>
<li>Your story is His story, and He is writing it for your good. He will make "all things beautiful" in His time.</li>
<li>He is all the hope we'll ever need. </li>
</ul>
As my man and I (along with all our blondies) head to a missionary renewal program, I don't wonder how we found ourselves deep in this struggle. I know. I can see the failures and the circumstances beyond our control. I can see the illnesses and the family of origin issues. I can see the sin, ... but I also see Grace Himself. As I looked at the man I am married to admitting failure to love me, I realized how very in the midst of happily-ever-after I am.<br />
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Jesus IS the "fairy tale," the endless love, the deep commitment. He the Knight who has come for me, for my husband, for our marriage. This is not the end of the story. It never is.<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-41686782121853594322020-05-09T06:26:00.000-07:002020-05-10T07:17:12.601-07:00I Didn't Know I Was a Conspiracy Theorist: What An Article About Christians Spreading Misinformation Taught Me about Myself<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://instrumentofmercy.com/2020/05/07/why-your-christian-friends-and-family-members-are-so-easily-fooled-by-conspiracy-theories/?fbclid=IwAR0gpcf9pnNg9k4QHcmAM8pvVzt49VHuiWeWk2vQvX0jfCNcCxNUAGaORgo" target="_blank"><img alt="https://instrumentofmercy.com/2020/05/07/why-your-christian-friends-and-family-members-are-so-easily-fooled-by-conspiracy-theories/?fbclid=IwAR0gpcf9pnNg9k4QHcmAM8pvVzt49VHuiWeWk2vQvX0jfCNcCxNUAGaORgo" border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="770" height="207" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8uHejmOSTmE/XrZ_gx5EhJI/AAAAAAAAJyk/SSeNYnedLxANmk6HtomBiUwPN_riTkAMgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/tarik-haiga-bxelnnmn88y-unsplash.jpg.webp" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Just click the link below to read the article.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://instrumentofmercy.com/2020/05/07/why-your-christian-friends-and-family-members-are-so-easily-fooled-by-conspiracy-theories/?fbclid=IwAR0gpcf9pnNg9k4QHcmAM8pvVzt49VHuiWeWk2vQvX0jfCNcCxNUAGaORgo">Why Your Christian Friends and Family Members Are So Easily Fooled by Conspiracy Theories</a> </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by: Joe Forrest</span></div>
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<br />
If you are anything like me, you feel irritatingly frustrated by the ever present fear-mongering conspiracy theories we now ingest into our mental diet. I was chuckling along with author Joe Forrest as he mentioned his successful sixth grade debate for a fake moon landing and then patting myself on the back for not falling for any of the other false claims he mentioned. Forrest believes, rather than spending time dispelling falsehood, we can seek to understand why we fall for it in the first place. His assertion of the three main desires that cause us to be more prone to believe misinformation were like a mirror for me prior to beginning my journey into the Catholic Church: <br />
<br />
1) We want to feel special (I wanted to be a part of the true Church),<br />
<br />
2) We want to make sense of a chaotic world (I wanted to have all the answers to every theological idea and throw Mystery to the wind), and<br />
<br />
3) We want to enjoy a feeling of excitement (which for me came in the form of "fighting" to reform all that has and is going wrong in Christianity today). <br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I had to admit it: I was a conspiracy theorist.</b></span></div>
<br />
1) I believed my tribe was the true Church from the time of the Apostles with absolutely no evidence whatsoever aside from the fact that my professors at my "tribe's" school told me so. <br />
<br />
2) I believed I could personally know Truth because my gut (often disguised by what I would call the Holy Spirit) told me so, because I could infallibly determine the voice of God from my own opinions and preconceived notions.<br />
<br />
3) I believed that I knew so much about what Christianity really was I could help be a part of fixing all that had gone wrong with it (I got this from listening to fallible teachers who did not claim to have infallibility but claimed to know clearly what Scripture meant despite disagreeing with the other fallible teacher who did not claim to have infallibility but claimed to know clearly what Scripture meant.). <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Fortunately, Christ has decided to destroy my conspiracy-loving heart with cold, hard, incontestable <span style="font-size: large;">facts.</span></b></div>
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And let's just say I didn't experience the meek and mild version of Jesus while He was doing it.<br />
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I may or may not have had myself an adult temper tantrum or two before I conceded. Ahem...<br />
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I knew it was bad when I shocked myself by going so far as to consider maintaining my belief system simply because it would be easier emotionally (and less dangerous for whatever device I was reading said facts on). Yikes!<br />
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As I have journeyed toward the Truth following those frustratingly indisputable facts, I have had to lay my pride, my fears, and my excitement to rectify aside. I won't lie: Giving up a conspiracy theory can make you feel like you are announcing to the world that you are just plain imbecilic. More so, AND THIS IS IMPORTANT, it can make others feel like you are calling <i>them </i>imbecilic. As Forrest says in his article,<br />
<br />
"Most conspiracy theories are <b>rotten at the core</b>. It’s obvious they’re rooted in fear, insecurity, and loneliness."<br />
<br />
Those are major pain buttons for all us, and we don't want them pressed! <br />
<br />
It was frightening to realize that had fear kept me reading only the literature of my belief system, insecurity had made me doubt my ability to correctly analyze facts and overcome emotional obstacles, and loneliness had caused me to push down any doubt that I could be wrong for fear of losing so many precious relationships. <br />
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When Forrest goes on to say that "conspiracy theories aren’t harmless," I thought of the harm my bad theology had brought me, harm I hadn't recognized because I had chalked it up to not having enough faith or wisdom. We often genuinely feel our own closely-held conspiracies are actually <i>helpful</i>. I sure did. The more I learned from actual legitimate sources however, the more I realized mine had been not only unhelpful but downright detrimental to the work of Christ. I had promoted theology that ran counter to the teachings He had handed down to us through His Apostles. I had interpreted and taught things from Scripture that He never intended, fueling a continued rebellion against His Bride. I had slandered His Holy Body by spreading all kinds of completely false information....that I thought was all true, like the good conspiracy theorist I was. <br />
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I <i>really</i> hadn't done this intentionally. I was so convinced! I had read, and studied, and prayed. I felt at peace with God in every way. I wasn't even searching but just trying each day to live for Christ and learn more about Him through His Word and in prayer. I didn't think I was believing a theory; I thought I was rooted in the Truth.<br />
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Then, one of my friends told me she was leaving <i>my truth</i>. She didn't say much about it to besides mentioning <i>if </i>I looked into it <u>my mind would blown</u>. And, oh, I looked into it. Fueled my pain buttons being pressed by a thumb with "You Could Be Wrong" tattooed on it, I checked under every stone and searched every dark corner trying to find the smoking gun that would bring my friend back into the fold.<br />
<br />
No such luck.<br />
<br />
Instead I found those stinkin' facts and got an ulcer in my stomach trying to figure out how in the world I was missing whatever it was I needed to prove those facts wrong. And I kept it a secret, not wanting to be looked down on for being so stupid as to question the status quo (which actually is not the status quo but the minority).<br />
<br />
No such luck.<br />
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I went on to assess my relationship with God, step up my devotional time, confess and repent of every sin in my life I could root out. Finding myself in good standing with my most beloved and long-term Friend, my heart thought perhaps I could just remain "as is." Then I could keep my friends and Friend. <br />
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No such luck.<br />
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It was <i>so</i> hard to know what to do. It is<i> so</i> hard to do what I must.<br />
<br />
<i>Fear. Insecurity. Loneliness.</i><br />
<br />
Forrest wrote an addendum to his article to help Christians refrain from "[looking] like idiots." I offer my own equivalent alternative for my situation below based on his recommendations:<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
How to Not Be Stuck in a Conspiracy Theory</h3>
<ul>
<li>Don’t try to overcomplicate your perception of reality by falling for
irrationally convoluted explanations of unexpected events that have no basis in history and actual events (I'm looking at you, "Great Apostasy"). No evidence = it probably didn't occur.</li>
<li>Read boring, fact based information by experts. If you don't have a degree in Biblical languages, don't fall for a doctrine made by someone who doesn't just because they say the text "actually" means such-and-such and it sounds plausible. Follow the trail of belief through history: When did it shown up? Was it accepted by the Church? Has it stood the test of time? How did it play out in practice?</li>
<li>Don't base you beliefs on your own "tribe's" say-so or literature. Prohibiting or discouraging honest inquiry into differing views is a HUGE red flag. God can handle your questions and doubts and even use them to grow your faith stronger. Read every side of the argument.</li>
<li>Follow your beliefs to their logical ends. Better yet, look into what experts say are the logical ends of those beliefs (and read from LOTS of expert viewpoints because they don't always agree!). Don't be afraid to examine anything and everything you believe. </li>
<li>Faith will always be a component of religion. Make sure you have a balance of faith and reason by making sure one doesn't outweigh the other. Heavy reliance on only faith puts your heart and your opinions as the standard of truth. So does heavy reliance on reason! The two must work in tandem. </li>
</ul>
I don't struggle intellectually with my conspiracy theory anymore,
but the emotional struggle still clings fast to my heart. It turns out,
<br />
<br />
"Conspiracy theories are <b>self-perpetuating rationalization machines</b>.
They eat facts, distort reality, and destroy relationships. And, by the
time someone realizes they’re in too deep, it’s often too late to
salvage a reality-based worldview (or the relationships of the people
they isolated in the process) (Forrest)."<br />
<br />
It goes the other way, too. Even if you can salvage reality, those relationships you made on the inside might not survive. But, by God's grace, any of us can recognize that fear, insecurity, and loneliness in order to sidestep jumping into another, however well-intentioned, scheme to distort the Truth. God help us. <br />
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</ul>
As always, I positively LOVE any and all feedback. What do you think?<br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Casey</span></i></span></span> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Resources I love on this subject:<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Apostasy-That-Wasnt-Extraordinary-Unbreakable/dp/1941663494" target="_blank">The Apostasy That Wasn't</a> (has a great biliography)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Four-Witnesses-Early-Church-Words-ebook/dp/B0030FQOU2/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3QCNH7CAHG6Q&dchild=1&keywords=the+four+witnesses&qid=1589019986&s=books&sprefix=the+four+witnese%2Cstripbooks%2C212&sr=1-1" target="_blank">The Four Witnesess</a> (TONS of historical data)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Four-Witnesses-Early-Church-Words-ebook/dp/B0030FQOU2/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3QCNH7CAHG6Q&dchild=1&keywords=the+four+witnesses&qid=1589019986&s=books&sprefix=the+four+witnese%2Cstripbooks%2C212&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Catholic Answers</a> (the world's largest database of answers about the beliefs and practices of the Catholic faith)Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-39098172407090368222016-07-30T02:10:00.000-07:002016-07-30T02:10:28.481-07:00Life in Community: The PathHe nearly fell; surely he was drunk. Still, he continued on toward us weaving unsteadily through the rice fields. He wore only a checked scarf around his waist, his weathered skin dark brown in the gloaming of the day glistened with sweat. When he reached us, his face brightened as a broad smile stretched wide in greeting.<br />
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He was in his right mind.<br />
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How often have I judged a life walked along a crooked path? How often have I assumed my own journey inferior because the road I have taken is not the straight shot I planned?<br />
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Perhaps the narrow road our Lord spoke of resembles our friend's path curving through trials and joys, bumpy with sanctifying holes and rocks, narrow enough for only one foot in front of the other. Perhaps we look drunk to those around us, unbalanced instead if sure-footed, haphazard, even irresponsible.<br />
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May God teach us to have mercy in our perception of each other's lives, of our own lives. May He teach us to desire more than the straight and narrow, to seek holiness instead of ease, to put one foot in front of the other in pilgrimage. May we rejoice for those on the Way instead of judging their walk.<br />
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Because the Way IS He who saved us, and He is as unconventional and surprising as they come. And what a grin we will all have on our faces when the Way leads us to the Father. We know our Path has already faced judgement for us, and despite what many thought at the time, He was in His right mind.<br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-53914196064532274672015-11-25T11:31:00.001-08:002015-12-09T17:16:43.817-08:00The Product that Changed Everything for Me<b>*I want to make it clear at the outset that I do not know how Plexus will work for you. In fact, I am not qualified even to tell you it is safe or healthy. I have made a calculated risk, and it was a decision I did not make lightly. Please, please, please talk to your doctor or midwife before you try this! Even then, pray for wisdom. *</b><br />
<br />
I found out I was expecting our seventh child a few months ago.<br />
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I was stunned.<br />
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I was scared. <br />
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I had just talked with a therapist who had told me of the dangers of going through another depression, how the depression I would surely experience with another baby would be my worst ever.<br />
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<i>What in the world was I going to do?!</i> <br />
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I had heard about Plexus from my cousin, a woman I trust. I was hesitant because I only had heard about this product from those who sell it. That was not a comfort to me. However, I just kept hearing over and over again how it had helped people with depression.<br />
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So, even though we couldn't afford it, even though I ways scared it could be hurtful to me or the baby, I chose to try.<br />
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After one week, my depression, which had already become fairly severe, was manageable.<br />
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Just to be clear - my depression was not gone. However, if I took care of myself in the ways I knew how to (you can see my "What Helped" post for more information), I did not feel the depression.<br />
<br />
Even if I failed to do all the things I needed to do, I was able to still reign the depression in when it came.<br />
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Another side affect came along a few weeks into taking the products: Energy, lots and lots of energy. I have six children ages 9 and under and am pregnant with #7, yet I feel like a teenager. I can get up at 6AM and go until 11PM without a nap, without collapsing, without getting frustrated in exhaustion by the childish messes my kids make. I feel alive again, sustainably energetic and depression-free. <br />
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Prenatal and Postpartum depression have robbed me of my life for seven years. I have almost no memories of my children's little years from the first the first depression to now. My children and husband have suffered alongside me. One of my daughters was asked to describe me to a counselor. She used three words: sick, pregnant, stressed. That just about sums it up, as hurtful as it sounds. <br />
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As I look ahead to our near future, I am no longer filled with dread but with hope. My baby and I, my other precious children, and my wonderful husband can all enjoy this special time before we become a family of nine. What a mercy from the Lord! Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-8302801981548067562015-10-27T15:21:00.001-07:002015-10-27T15:21:06.900-07:00Confessions: Re-Learning Our Story<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Being prayed for after we lost our church, filled with shame </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Over some delicious Indian food in Fresno, California, my husband and I reminisced about how we had gotten to this place, this season of life, and where the Lord was leading us. In between bites of naan and butter chicken a great confusion arose concerning the details of most of our most recent major life events. We puzzled over why we were not able to simply remember but found ourselves seeing each incident in a while new light. <br />
<br />
It may be because we are going through a program called Pastoral Renewal at Link Care Center, a place many missionaries have found hope, healing, and guidance as well as encouragement and discernment. As we go through the program clarity comes bit by bit as we process our experiences leading up to and in Cambodia. Themes rise to the forefront as we consider each stage of our ministry. The largest theme by far that we have discovered is shame.<br />
<br />
We are going through a class based on the book <u>Wounded by Shame, Healed by Grace</u>. Shame and guilt, it seems, are very different bedfellows:<br />
<ul>
<li>Guilt is based on an action that we can identify and therefore seek forgiveness for.</li>
<li>Shame is based on the belief that something is just "wrong with us."</li>
</ul>
<br />
For example, I have felt intense shame over the fact we have only one profession of faith from a Cambodian over the course of six years of ministry. It hurts to even type out those words. The shame burns inside me, and I find myself seeking excuse after excuse. Deep down, however, I believe it is just my fault. <b>There is something wrong with me, and now everyone knows it and can see it for themselves. </b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our "one"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Greg McKenzie, at the Global Missions Experience this year, shook me awake to the shame living in my heart. In front of hundreds of people, he talked about the church that had rejected sending him to the mission field. Having had one church who decided not to send us and one church who stopped supporting us, I thought it was clear to everyone we were somehow unworthy. How in the world could this man admit this in front of people?! Everyone will know!<br />
<br />
<b>"Know what?" </b>something questioned inside me as I considered his words.<br />
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I realized there was nothing to know except that the church didn't want to support him. He had nothing to apologize for, nothing to hide. There was nothing wrong with him.<br />
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I have nothing to confess as to why our ministry does not have more visible fruit. It is not the result of any sin. The story is not "and so they failed because of Casey's inherent inability to do anything right and eventually even the Lord was not pleased with them." My story is "God sent a human, weak but redeemed, and asked her to be obedient. And she was." I'm guessing, if you allow the Lord to take your shame, your story will be the same. <br />
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<b>As I delve into re-learning our story without shame coloring each event, I find it so much easier to see Christ and His work.</b> I believe our shame was gone at the cross - we are now a new creation. I encourage you to re-learn your story, fight through those feelings of shame, and see what the Lord has done!<br />
<br />
<br />
1 Pet 2:6 (Wey) For it is contained in Scripture, "See, I am placing on
Mount Zion a Cornerstone, chosen, and held in honour, and he whose
faith rests on Him shall never have reason to feel ashamed."<br />
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<b></b><br />
<b></b><br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-57924089873131314252015-09-22T17:54:00.004-07:002015-09-22T17:54:53.434-07:00Confessions: Ego and Whispers"I'm so proud of what you guys are doing over there."<br />
<br />
My heart sank at his kind words.<br />
<br />
"I feel like it has been six years, and we've done nothing. Nothing." I knew I didn't need to explain more. The dear older man reads our newsletters ... and reads between the lines. He asks the hard questions and has more experience with our line of work than most.<br />
<br />
"Pshaw! Honey, it is like you are just at the college level of your education there. You've done plenty. You've obeyed."<br />
<br />
I teared up. "It doesn't feel like it," I replied, but even as I spoke the words, the Holy Spirit struck my heart with his words.<br />
<br />
I saw the facial expressions of those with whom I have shared pieces of the Gospel. I re-heard with my heart their words, the words the Holy Spirit used to prompt me to speak a certain story or truth. I remembered the plans I've changed because I just "knew" God had something else for me to do at that moment. I felt again the weight of the struggle to discern whether or not this or that was the Lord's leading and the free-fall sensation of stepping out on faith, even if it was just to reach out and touch someone.<br />
<br />
<b>Obedience, regardless of how unproductive it might seem, is not laziness. </b><br />
<br />
While at certain times we need to hold ourselves accountable for slothfulness, we need to equally consider the need to search our hearts for egotism.<br />
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<div class="vk_ans" style="margin-bottom: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span data-dobid="hdw">e·go·tism</span></i></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_sf_h" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>noun</i></span></div>
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>the practice of talking and thinking about oneself excessively because of an undue sense of self-importance </i></span></div>
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<br />
<br />
How often do I think about my accomplishments or lack thereof in lieu of searching for and celebrating His accomplishments? How often do I regard my own plans and meeting of goals as far more important than listening and obeying His still, small voice? <br />
<br />
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
I want to dive into the practice of talking and thinking about Him excessively because of the knowledge He and His goals and His work are so very important. I want to spend time listening instead of gauging effectiveness with my own cultural yardstick. I want to obey because His plans, His relentless love for the world, has already and will continue to have prolific results one holy whisper at a time.</div>
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yAnJfYNF_zE/VgH3g9pSdWI/AAAAAAAAAs0/7eGhEBMBp_c/s1600/DSCF2083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yAnJfYNF_zE/VgH3g9pSdWI/AAAAAAAAAs0/7eGhEBMBp_c/s640/DSCF2083.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> The Lord has prompted me to speak to or spend time with this precious woman on so many occasions, and what a joy it has been!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-78625272643813148292015-08-18T04:38:00.002-07:002020-10-11T13:20:52.637-07:00Confessions: Pride Comes Before Running Through the Village ScreamingI ran through my village screaming my husband's name and "Zyrtec, now!" I clutched her hot, little body close to my chest, trying to use the panic to my advantage. I needed speed.<br />
<br />
Her neck was rapidly swelling. She had a severe allergic reaction earlier this year, and I feared the worst.<br />
<br />My poor husband couldn't find the Zyrtec because it is already packed for our trip to the States. We leave in a week and a half. I dumped out a suitcase and rifled through the medicines. I couldn't put her down.<br />
<br />
<i>Please don't take her, Lord. Please.</i><br />
<br />
By the time I got the medicine in her, I was back on the porch. There wasn't enough light in the house to see to give her the correct dosage. I was surrounded by neighbors who had seen me running. I finally caught their words bit by bit.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>"</i>It's normal in Cambodia for the neck to swell like that if you are sick. Look, she's ok. Oh, she smiled at me!" In the background, funeral music blared. Another moto accident. I looked down at my little girl and saw the swelling was only on one area of her neck. She was breathing normally. <br />
<br />
My fear slowly receded, but my heart would not slow down. Just today I had taken her to school with me, put her feverish body in the carrier on my back as I taught, then caught a moto into town to see the doctor. He wasn't in, so I got to spend a bit of time with my littlest child as I ran errands. One-on-one time with children is priceless. We finally got to see the doctor that afternoon, and the diagnosis was pneumonia. That word gave me chills as I remembered the last time we had had that diagnosis: following the birth of our fifth in Thailand when such a diagnosis can be deadly.<br />
<br />
We drove home, the aircon hardly working in our old car. Today was hot, and I worried about the kids with their fevers. We arrived and started up the generator to run the washing machine. Probably from the market, bedbugs had invaded all the clothes and jackets we had packed for our home assignment. We needed to wash everything.<br />
<br />
The clothes were in the washer, so I took the feverish kids on a walk in the coolness before the oncoming storm. I had just sat down with a neighbor when she pointed out the swelling neck of my 16-month-old. I just ran.<br />
<br /> ------<br />
<br />
When the neighbors left, when I had comforted the older children who I had scared, and I had talked with our doctor in the capital city, I sat holding my baby. She put her sweet hands on my tear-covered cheek, said <i>Mama, </i>and kissed me on my nose.<br />
<br />
The tears were hard to stop. I'm tired, that deep down kind of tired that sleep doesn't help. I've thought I could handle all this, that living in a village with six children should really be easy. I thought if I could just exercise enough, pray hard enough, work hard enough, my life would be smooth sailing.<br />
<br />
Let's just call that what it is: PRIDE.<br />
<br />
I've had so much belief in my ability to be strong, I haven't allowed myself to really believe that this life I have willingly chosen is HARD, very, very hard.<br />
<br />
It's not that I don't want my life, it's just hard. I must stop telling myself that I can make it easy. I can't. No amount of "If I just" sayings will change the fact that eight people need three meals a day from scratch from the market, and said meals might just give us food poisoning. Every move I make outside my house is monitored and analyzed. How much power we have is constantly on my mind, so simply turning on a switch takes a good deal of mental effort.<br />
<br />
HARD.<br />
<br />
In my pride, I have yet to embrace truth, yet to accept my inability to make my situation easy. My pride has made a difficult situation more difficult as I have constantly beaten myself up mentally for struggling. Sin has a way of doing that, stealing our joy and dependence on God. It's time I threw this sin off.<br />
<br />
This is why we are heading to the States, heading to LinkCare, and to rest, and to a few months of non-stop electricity. This decision has hurt my pride immensely, but I cannot keep going without a real break. So, good riddance pride. My plane ticket just told on me: Weak and proud of it!<br />
<br />
<i>How have you tried to deal with difficult life circumstances? Has your pride kept you from joy and dependence on the Lord? Do you find yourself saying "If I just..." life will be so much easier?</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i>Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-11396288189200594112015-07-29T05:32:00.001-07:002015-08-16T01:18:33.158-07:00Life in Community: HolesShe was just standing there in the field, loosely holding the rope attached to her one bull. She still had on her silky pajama top over her new pink sarong. She ominously faced the west, the direction of the setting sun, despite that fact it was early morning. The sun is setting on her existence as she knows it.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, her neighbors sold their land beside her rice fields to a sand company. Then, the village chief signed off for the company, who paid him a bribe, to dig out the sand and ship it to the capital for construction. Her fields are going to slowly sink. This is her last year to grow rice unless she commits to filling in the holes with dirt repeatedly at a high cost each year. Profit will be a thing of the past for this family.<br />
<br />
We see it here in Cambodia all the time, the effects of one person's selfishness on the community. The mountains in the distance are slowly vanishing, enormous loads of rock trucked away for construction. Everyone on the road in our nearby town has to re-build their homes because the government decided to break its commitment to them and expand the road further than planned. The police side with whoever pays the most, and the firefighters will not turn on their hoses until payment is made.<br />
<br />
<b>This kind of selfishness is soul deep permeating human-kind, and it's complicated.</b><br />
<br />
The villagers who sold the land to the company are shamed by their infertility and alcoholism. They just need more money whatever the affect on others. The village chief learned survival of the fittest in the killing fields of Cambodia's genocide. Why should he care?<br />
<br />
My heart screams against the injustice, and yet this same selfishness resides in my heart. I often believe the lie that my little, selfish acts do no one harm or at least not as much harm as our village chief . . . <br />
<br />
My children have holes in their hearts from my sins against them. They are deep and wide. Even at their tender young ages, I see them trying to refill their holes with "dirt" that will only be washed away in time.<br />
<br />
Oh, how I worry about those holes when I allow myself the full weight of my true responsibility. Sure, I have been busy facing down depression and moving to a village and . . . it's complicated. But still, there are holes, and filling them in with whatever this world has to offer won't work.<br />
<br />
When I told my husband about the bulldozers and the land and the holes, he paused and stated, "It is going to take something drastic and costly upfront to save the land."<br />
<br />
<i>Drastic.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Costly.</i><br />
<br />
The cross flashed through my mind.<br />
<br />
The image of the Lord Jesus filling the holes I have made in my children's hearts has become dear to me even as the trucks filled with land continue to come and go down the village road. <b>We may live in an unjust world, but we are loved with a unique and merciful kind of justice </b>(Matthew 5:45). He will fill each and every one of our holes, and He will fill the holes in the hearts of those we've sinned against. Praise God! <br />
<br />
<i>"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him,
so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:3<span class="p"><br /></span> </i><br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-32140597533588168582015-07-04T23:22:00.000-07:002015-07-05T00:36:27.528-07:00Confessions: Undivided<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/p206x206/310701_703443337461_149519401_n.jpg?oh=bb364415ee7b965e83fdbae0e2b9dfe0&oe=561161DC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/p206x206/310701_703443337461_149519401_n.jpg?oh=bb364415ee7b965e83fdbae0e2b9dfe0&oe=561161DC" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't she beautiful?!?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The cafeteria was crowded, but we were walking fast.<br />
<br />
“I don’t understand why you won’t be my best friend!” <br />
<br />
“Well, I have lots of friends and love them all.”<br />
<br />
My mind flashed to the stories she had told me of the mission team she grew up with, the ladies deciding to love each other equally, and how beautifully it had turned out: a group of best friends for life. I was in trouble.<br />
<br />
Amy could not have been more different than I. I was loud, harsh, abrasive, and she was the epitome of grace and gentleness. Distinctive, Amy changed car tires with ease, drove a truck though her home in the Appalachian mountains, and drank Kenyan Chai by the gallon. I knew the moment I met her that I wanted to be her best friend.<br />
<br />
If only I could convince her…<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/p206x206/230243_9817629665_1161_n.jpg?oh=f9ec5ef993d36564e6ece6a18e707f22&oe=56112C5D" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/p206x206/230243_9817629665_1161_n.jpg?oh=f9ec5ef993d36564e6ece6a18e707f22&oe=56112C5D" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Survey Trip to Cambodia with Amy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I couldn’t. <br />
<br />
Amy could divide her heart, and, in doing so, multiplied her love for others. She had opened her heart to two worlds: her childhood home in Africa and her later-years home of Tennessee. She could wear a kanga and say “you’uns” at the same time. She initially baffled me, but her divisible heart made room for me, and I count her one of the greatest blessing of my life.<br />
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I have, over the years since Amy and I have lived on different sides of the ocean, berated myself for having such a single-minded heart. What a curse!<br />
<br />
But God knew Amy’s heart needed to be without boundaries, and mine needed a large fence to keep me in. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/263882_10150223953877118_5370637_n.jpg?oh=91f3c9f9b8e4975393531012f9a3cffa&oe=5616ED5B" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/263882_10150223953877118_5370637_n.jpg?oh=91f3c9f9b8e4975393531012f9a3cffa&oe=5616ED5B" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was 18 here and about to leave for 6 months in Cambodia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As I go about my daily routine in our little village, I feel sadness at the thought of going on furlough or home assignment. I don’t want to go “home.” I loved Alabama, its cotton and red clay, fiercely, but my heart doesn’t divide easily. When we made a ten year commitment to Cambodia, my heart leaped from its Southern roots and settled firmly in my adoptive country. While I will never be Cambodian, I am entrenched in her culture and land. <br />
<br />
I realize I am unusual in my feelings, but I truly believe God creates us for His purposes and plans. I can see He used my heart to keep me here through <a href="http://earlymorningmissionary.blogspot.com/search/label/Prenatal%20Depression%20Series" target="_blank">five prenatal depressions</a>, losing our support, and <a href="http://earlymorningmissionary.blogspot.com/search/label/Life%20in%20Community%3A%20Stories%20from%20Our%20Village" target="_blank">moving to a village</a>. My heart divided would not have been able to withstand the trials we have faced; therefore, I praise the Lord for His foresight and for creating me just the way He did. He used Amy to teach me to love others irrespectively but kept my heart united and focused on the ministry He gave me when I was only sixteen. <br />
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<i><b>How have you seen God mold you through your interactions with others? In turn, how have you seen God use the unique qualities He gave you for His purposes?</b></i><br />
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<i>1 Corinthians 12:4-6<br />Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit. And there are varieties of ministries, and the same Lord. There are varieties of effects, but the same God who works all things in all persons.</i>Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-78631678975797840942015-06-23T02:27:00.005-07:002015-06-24T02:34:30.525-07:00Life in Community: Take a Peek<a href="https://scontent-hkg3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10488222_10153345067141469_1712355642786410393_n.jpg?oh=39163da1a699d538db32da52db2423be&oe=55F2C948" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://scontent-hkg3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10488222_10153345067141469_1712355642786410393_n.jpg?oh=39163da1a699d538db32da52db2423be&oe=55F2C948" width="300" /></a>I love schedules. I write them out for fun, shifting minutes and hours and activities while thinking through what has worked, what could work, and what I want to work. <b>I love the order and simplicity of a life well-organized.</b><br />
<br />
I totally picked the wrong career: <i>Motherhood</i>.<br />
<br />
Then I really blew it: <i>Missionary</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Finally, I cemented myself into a life where a schedule will only be words and hours on paper, <u>never</u> a reality: <i>Village</i>.<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
We just passed the one year mark in our new home. Amidst the chaos, I've found a beautiful order ebbs and flows more perfect for His purposes than my time slots to sweep and dust.<br />
<br />
Take a peek into our world ... <br />
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<tr align="center"><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1nCrHNJmEAE/VYkj_vWSlfI/AAAAAAAAArM/drJ3wQbdHRQ/s1600/DSCF9656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1nCrHNJmEAE/VYkj_vWSlfI/AAAAAAAAArM/drJ3wQbdHRQ/s400/DSCF9656.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption">Sunrise</td></tr>
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My ears always wake before the rest of my body. I go to sleep to the sound of insects and frogs, a symphony I don't know how I'll ever learn to sleep without and one that usually dies down around 3:00AM. Our neighbors typically choose this time to turn off their flashlights and begin the long task of preparing food that they sell in a town nearby. The rhythmic sound of knife to cutting board soon blends with the rather un-beautiful sound of our other neighbor's rooster. We've been told it has some kind of parasite in its throat, and I've never heard such a pitiful excuse for a crow.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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The Lord saw fit, after five nature-less years in the city, to have mercy on my foliage starved soul. My eyes open to the first rays of light on the eastern horizon framed by mango, palm, and guava, the mist on the grasses of our farm yard, the slight breeze that rustles my hair. <b>Every day, the first breath out of my lips is thankfulness for this visible sign of His presence, His love. </b></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-hkg3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/p206x206/10940536_10152992044606469_8513138830788663376_n.jpg?oh=7624c709e35ffc30753de1f18e2ecfe9&oe=562C2C30" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://scontent-hkg3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/p206x206/10940536_10152992044606469_8513138830788663376_n.jpg?oh=7624c709e35ffc30753de1f18e2ecfe9&oe=562C2C30" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laundry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I tiptoe over boards that refuse to be silenced, don my tennis shoes, and get on my elliptical which seems ever so out of place in my stilted wooden house. Then there is that most wondrous, most refreshing of events that takes place twice a day (and even more during hot season): the dip bath.<br />
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Kids soon begin trickling rather loudly from their bedrooms, the clicking of the "off" button on their fan proceeding the thump-thump-thumping of groggy feet heading to find out what this day holds. Clothes are pulled over and up, diapers changed, <b>then we eat our spiritual breakfast, leading little ones before the throne in early morning hours, receiving the Rest our souls need before the task ahead. <span id="goog_1663867027"></span><span id="goog_1663867028"></span></b><br />
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Mornings are for work. Cooking must be done before the heat, 9:00AM being entirely too late in the day to deal with anything resembling fire. We run the semi-automatic washing machine through its cycles feeling rather like fighter pilots sporting our ear covers against the generator's thunderous hammering. Crusade with broom and wet rag against near plague-like dust knowing full well, in the end, we'll win this battle but lose the war. Burn trash, and compost scraps. Pump the water. Hang the wet clothes on barbed wire. <b>The fruit of this work is seen, and seeing it gives me strength to endure in a life where fruit is slow to ripen. </b><br />
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The afternoon meal with Daddy who often leaves before the children wake is usually a raucous occasion, punctuated with giggles and parental pleadings to please keep the noise to a less ear-splitting level. Tiny concrete room and six excited children - a storm before the calm. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5hGaiCoaThA/VYkkOug6VaI/AAAAAAAAArU/BDWMCFHUXcw/s1600/DSCF0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5hGaiCoaThA/VYkkOug6VaI/AAAAAAAAArU/BDWMCFHUXcw/s400/DSCF0561.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Rest</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Peace shrouds the afternoon, a kid in the hammock under the enormous mango tree, two littles sprawled on the traditional "bed" lulled by heat and cooled by breezes. It is my time to prepare lessons for little students, sponge-like minds in bodies that can hardly sit still. Quiet encompasses the entire village, each family enjoying a mid-day Sabbath. Silence is a precious gift. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wT9yWj0ICak/VYkhs54kEfI/AAAAAAAAAqw/bur_n8aQNDg/s1600/DSCF0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wT9yWj0ICak/VYkhs54kEfI/AAAAAAAAAqw/bur_n8aQNDg/s400/DSCF0160.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Homeschool </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
School. Waking tow-headed blondes. Snacks. Workbooks. Curiosity reigns, fueled by rest and refreshment. <br />
<br />
Shrieks of playful delight like ringing bells split the air. Neighbor kids peddling home from state school and mothers, sisters returning from the Gap - that is, making the company's clothes. Men hold babies, siblings hurry each other along to in search of fun. <b>Afternoons are for friends.</b> I often look up from whatever I am doing to see a blonde head racing off on some kind of adventure or another down the hard-packed dirt road. I visit homes or hang on the fence talking, hoping, and praying for a chance to love more, to give the greatest gift of love I have: my Jesus. Every interaction the Lord fills with love, and His grace beckons. <b>His desire for these people is palpable. </b><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-hkg3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/11081242_10153141763521469_5032527171547271661_n.jpg?oh=c04903d1d4dc6dd4fee1f5c117f8b8f5&oe=5633FD9E" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://scontent-hkg3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/11081242_10153141763521469_5032527171547271661_n.jpg?oh=c04903d1d4dc6dd4fee1f5c117f8b8f5&oe=5633FD9E" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Avoiding trouble with cows heading home</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The lowing cows heading home are the first to signal the gloaming, the armistice of work and worker. <span id="goog_241416480"></span><span id="goog_241416481"></span>My pace as I go about preparing the table for our evening meal matches the <i>flip-flop-flip-flop</i> of dirt-browned family groups passing by my home river bound for bathing. My own dirty children tumble past the screen door, making mud as they wash their play-filled hands. The clink-clanking of dishes and silverware reverberates all around us as families dine together. Darkness falls, cool, deep, almost festive, the battle for another day is over. Baths, pajamas, cuddles. "He gives songs in the night," indeed. <b>We join His song together</b> one last time, various pitches of praise and devotion mixed with themes from Frozen and Spirit; then we pray our precious ones to sleep, our children and our villagers. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br /></div>
Yes, Lord, your schedule far surpasses mine in beauty and efficiency. I have no desire to have dominion over Your time, Your plan. <b>I soon surrender to sleep, creation's song swelling around me, surrendering yet again to the Alpha, the Omega, awaiting His next call a few short hours away.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AdAhtxijITs/VYkne8NhHJI/AAAAAAAAArg/Qt71M9AA49E/s1600/DSCF9658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AdAhtxijITs/VYkne8NhHJI/AAAAAAAAArg/Qt71M9AA49E/s640/DSCF9658.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-3856531768108846072015-06-11T02:39:00.001-07:002015-06-14T01:53:20.641-07:00Village Life: DifferWe have left our neighbors shaking their heads at us more than once. Occasionally they have nodded knowingly as if they expected our behavior: eating bread, not knowing how to build a proper house, going out to eat (even if it only costs a few bucks for our whole family). Try as we might, we cannot blend in fully, cannot become one of these precious people wholly. <br />
<br />
God, however, has been most glorified when we have differed, differed outside of the villagers range of expectation, culture, worldview. He has shown up in the moments where our neighbors are simply dumbfounded by our actions or thoughts.<br />
<br />
When we were in the process of hiring our first helper, our neighbors to the south came over trying to avoid detection from the rest of the village.<br />
<br />
"Don't hire that girl. She will steal you blind. Her family is bad. She is bad. We tell you because we care about you. We want you to know. Don't do it."<br />
<br />
Oh, how I wanted to honor that sweet grandmother and follow her wisdom. The Holy Spirit, however, had prompted our hearts that this was our girl. We were to love her like our own child. I told my grandmother in the politest way I could that God asks us to love unconditionally with His help. She almost chuckled at my "foolishness."<br />
<br />
And we loved Dalin with our Father's aid. And she bloomed. She gained respect in our community. She never stole a penny. We saw Grandmother's heart soften.<br />
<br />
Then, Dalin stopped working for us. Another person came looking for work. I had seen this person when we first came to live here; he was a transgender. I had seen him and his friends in the night, coming back from town dressed like prostitutes. And, against my human nature, the Holy Spirit moved me to compassion, and I asked Him for that man.<br />
<br />
He came as discreetly as possible, without makeup in a simple sarong, but Grandmother had spotted him.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SszavkxIqxQ/VXlXHM7sc5I/AAAAAAAAAoo/X9PjkFcxomg/s1600/DSCF1421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SszavkxIqxQ/VXlXHM7sc5I/AAAAAAAAAoo/X9PjkFcxomg/s320/DSCF1421.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tamarind Flowers in Front of Grandmother's House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Don't do it." She said, "He's bad. He'll ... steal ... from ..."<br />
<br />
She slowed. I saw the light dawning in her face.<br />
<br />
"He's not like Dalin. He's worse. He's been stealing since he was a child. He pretends to be a girl. His family is awful." she warned.<br />
<br />
And the Lord prompted these words:<br />
<br />
"His sin shows. My sin doesn't, but I have every bit as much sin as he does."<br />
<br />
It was a marvelous, Gospel conversation after this bit. Hiring that man was truly incomprehensible to Grandmother's human logic, but I could see the Lord working in her. <br />
<br />
I had differed, gone against everything this kind woman knew to be true and right. By God's grace, the difference between Cambodian culture and the way I had acted was so shocking, she was struck to the heart.<br />
<br />
In ministry, we must often fight to model our life in similar fashion to our host culture. However, we must never forget to differ like our Savior did, to be so revolutionary, we're seen as foolish.<br />
<br />
And don't worry about planning your differences, you "war" against common logic. He has sent His Spirit. He will guide your words, actions and heart if you will but listen.<br />
<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-45466488008129781982015-03-11T03:34:00.002-07:002015-03-11T03:39:16.247-07:00Confessions: I Don't Like to ShareMy sweet little two-year-old skips up to me and offers me a lick of her lollipop, while my five-year-old opens a big bag of treats handing one piece to each child in the family.<br />
<br />
Wow, am I a super-mom or what?!<br />
<br />
Oh, wait. Did my children share this prolifically before we moved to the village?<br />
<br />
No...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UpQyLHxT3aU/VQAY7Ik-R8I/AAAAAAAAAnY/JyIScK73x_Q/s1600/DSCF0592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UpQyLHxT3aU/VQAY7Ik-R8I/AAAAAAAAAnY/JyIScK73x_Q/s1600/DSCF0592.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aren't they sweet?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately for my parental pride, my sweet children have learned to share in this community where everything is for all to use. Ownership is such a loose term in these parts.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>There's a cow in my yard right now, and it is eating the tree I planted not long ago. </li>
<li>My helper brushes her little sister's lice-filled hair with our brush...every morning.</li>
<li>Our neighbors throw their trash onto an empty part of our land. </li>
</ul>
<br />
The list could go on and on, but I'll just make my confession now:<br />
<br />
<b>I really don't like to share.</b><br />
<br />
At least not certain things. Over the course of our now 8-month village immersion, all of those "certain things" have been pilfered, used in unusual ways, and, at times, broken.<br />
<br />
I'm all for boundaries and ownership. Please don't get me wrong. However, God is teaching me such a wonderful lesson in all this.<br />
<br />
You see, I find such pleasure in seeing my children share everything. I love the joy I see on their faces when whoever they are sharing with enjoys what has been shared. As the Lord drags me, complaints and epithets notwithstanding, down this road of "not withholding from anyone who asks," I am finding the same joy my children experience.<br />
<br />
And it is kind of wonderful...and kind of addictive.<br />
<br />
If you haven't listened to this story about ownership, take a listen. It's awesome:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ED4mbhO1vbk" target="_blank">The Pineapple Story</a><br />
<br />
<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-44987675387014581802015-03-07T03:45:00.002-08:002015-03-07T03:45:19.662-08:00Confessions: Riches I HeedThe novelty has worn off.<br />
<br />
The adventure has become normal life.<br />
<br />
Right now, because we made the choice to life in a Cambodian-style house in a village that happens to be near a chicken farm, our battle is with the swarms of flies that invade homeschooling and cooking, eating at the table, and chats with the husband over coffee. I am waiting on the illnesses that follow this swarm having faced them last season. <br />
<br />
Last month we battled emergencies: two broken arms and a severe allergic reaction.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uOI1vUQcFNE/VPrhfWN_6XI/AAAAAAAAAmg/aFBThRM9WCg/s1600/DSCF0523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uOI1vUQcFNE/VPrhfWN_6XI/AAAAAAAAAmg/aFBThRM9WCg/s1600/DSCF0523.JPG" height="240" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"> </td><td style="text-align: center;"> </td><td style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right before surgery for her broken arm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our guard dog and a sense (albeit a naive sense) of security was stolen. Our well, dug very shallow by a man who cheated us, has yet to put forth water that resembles anything but liquid mud. Hot season is coming, and do not have enough fans. <br />
<br />
God has, oddly enough, opened my eyes to a serious sin in my life. I love and trust money. I dream of having enough money to screen under our house. I dream of not needing to make decisions between good medical care and the cheaper alternative. I dream of comforts to ease the stress of the world around me: enough solar panels and batteries to run fans to keep us all cool, the ability to hire someone to do something about the wretched caterpillars that are audibly eating our home (yes, my foot went clear through a floorboard the other day), a new well that gives us clear (or even just clearer) water.<br />
<br />
The scary thing is, I know I could contact dear supporters in the States. I know they would gladly provide for our needs. I know they want us to live comfortably. <b>The generosity of the Church astounds me. </b><br />
<br />
However, if I am honest, <b>I trust the Church more than God. </b>I am looking to the Church's money to ease stress, to take care of me, to provide a future for me.<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>We don't have enough: not enough for retirement, not enough for comfort, not enough to thrive. </b>I wrestle in desperation against the smothering fear of worry each day:<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rLbJuo2bLI/VPrizMF3MwI/AAAAAAAAAms/hOTgtCKj4yI/s1600/DSCF0559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rLbJuo2bLI/VPrizMF3MwI/AAAAAAAAAms/hOTgtCKj4yI/s1600/DSCF0559.JPG" height="320" width="301" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where I do a lot of worrying...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>How can I stand this comfortless lifestyle any longer?</i><br />
<br />
<i>What will we do when we are old and have given all our resources to the work we are doing now?</i><br />
<br />
<i>Why would anyone help us financially when we made the choice to move here?</i><br />
<br />
<i>We've got to raise more money!</i><br />
<i></i><br /><i></i>
<b>And there it is, the hope of my salvation: Money<i>. </i></b>The god that will give me comfort and provide for my future<i>,</i> the god that puts me and my needs above His cause and breaks me free from the need to seek Him in all areas of my life. <br />
<br />
I want to testify to you today that He is enough. He is all we really need. We <u>can and should</u> do ever so many healthy things, but He is enough. He is more comfort than a movie, than a counseling session, than food I like. He is more secure than any IRA or insurance plan. He is stronger than our weaknesses and desires, and He can use us and grow us in any situation.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,<br />
Thou mine inheritance, now and always:<br />
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,<br />
High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art."</div>
<br />
<br />
<i>May You always be first in my heart, Father."</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-52583967391485227042015-02-11T00:48:00.001-08:002015-02-11T21:22:20.084-08:00Would You Help Me with My Reasearch on Children in Families?Thank you so much for your help! Please post your answers in the comments below. <br />
<br />
1) Do children belong with their families?<br />
2) Can an institution provide better care for a child than their family?<br />
3) From a Christian perspective, who is ultimately responsible for the care of a child barring extraordinary conditions?<br />
4) What would constitute an "extraordinary condition" in which a child would need to leave the care of their family?<span class="text_exposed_show"><br />
5) Does the need for education, including social interaction with
peers, supersede the need for the child to live with his/her biological
family?</span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show">I CANNOT WAIT to share all I have been learning on this subject!</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X1x8SU9bPPU/VNsXHa38SUI/AAAAAAAAAmA/GrqTgKyxfxg/s1600/DSCF0306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X1x8SU9bPPU/VNsXHa38SUI/AAAAAAAAAmA/GrqTgKyxfxg/s1600/DSCF0306.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dear friend's son, Dara</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-20292398705094522872015-01-26T01:02:00.000-08:002015-01-26T01:05:49.932-08:00Life in Community: Considering a Village Move?<i>"Too often these small, commonplace things go unnoticed unless they are
caught and brought to life in words, words which become a lens that can,
even if for a single moment, bring this ever-present beauty into
focus." Lisa Leidenfrost </i><br />
<br />
Leidenfrost, in her preface to her wonderful book <u>At the Edge of the Village: Musings of a Missionary Wife</u>, writes that "[n]ot all of missionary life is extraordinary or bizarre. Most of it is just normal, common events that unfold one day into another." I could not agree more! As our transition to village life moves from adjustment to acceptance, life feels ... normal. When I decided to write this post, however, I realized "normal" has simply morphed right along with our diet, dress, and demographics:<br />
<br />
A few days ago, I killed a spider larger than my hand that apparently
had been living underneath our kitchen table...for who knows how long.<br />
<br />
Today, we had Science class out in the field where our pumpkins are growing, learning about "boy" and "girl" flowers. <br />
<br />
Just this morning, I looked up from cleaning up breakfast only to see
my two-year-old daughter whiz by on a moto with her Khmer grandma (No, I
had no idea she was even out of our gate). <br />
<br />
We speak two languages all day, every day. Our clothing choices are
schizophrenic right on par with our meals. In a similar vein, we
navigate two worldviews in our own hearts in areas like loving the
visits we receive each day but wishing said visitors didn't have to
sneak through the back fence and poach a few guavas on their way in. <br />
<br />
Before our new normal completely takes over, I wanted to share a few blessings (and curses depending on how you see it) we've experienced for those who might be considering a village move. Of course, none or only some may apply depending on your circumstances. Each family and situation is beautifully unique.<br />
<br />
1. Dirty takes on a whole new meaning.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c7D9IfRREg8/VMX8EDrmCEI/AAAAAAAAAk4/5FYWxJHVJao/s1600/DSCF9750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c7D9IfRREg8/VMX8EDrmCEI/AAAAAAAAAk4/5FYWxJHVJao/s1600/DSCF9750.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buried</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
2. Toys become optional. "Outside" is the ultimate "toy".<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h5SkAb0BTIs/VMX8vHqVv-I/AAAAAAAAAlA/lLGoN-amN1Q/s1600/DSCF0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h5SkAb0BTIs/VMX8vHqVv-I/AAAAAAAAAlA/lLGoN-amN1Q/s1600/DSCF0135.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guava tree climbing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
3. Physical fitness becomes mandatory.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MXoRHQ-0xZM/VMX9hdoPgpI/AAAAAAAAAlM/VPeMmubxY9w/s1600/DSCF0277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MXoRHQ-0xZM/VMX9hdoPgpI/AAAAAAAAAlM/VPeMmubxY9w/s1600/DSCF0277.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gardening is just one of the things that takes physical strength in the village</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
4. Your former, in-country home might now give you culture shock.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSJ8_19UM3HHz0eebYe44YT1opkRi4kxcLsjuQ3qNzsr2n1QBXR" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSJ8_19UM3HHz0eebYe44YT1opkRi4kxcLsjuQ3qNzsr2n1QBXR" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The capital where we used to live</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
5. Your idea of security changes from high wall to your neighbor and your dog. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nj6bd_ugH9o/VMX-yW9yqTI/AAAAAAAAAlU/xFUpPraK4tI/s1600/DSCF0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nj6bd_ugH9o/VMX-yW9yqTI/AAAAAAAAAlU/xFUpPraK4tI/s1600/DSCF0267.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our neighbors' house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
6. The local becomes neither expert nor ignorant. They're just people.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1456105_10151998468336469_599275260_n.jpg?oh=d12eab0318734bcd54221f680c43321b&oe=5523CAD0&__gda__=1431819656_73a27d3a0ba7ce972822bfb3a9e5b711" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1456105_10151998468336469_599275260_n.jpg?oh=d12eab0318734bcd54221f680c43321b&oe=5523CAD0&__gda__=1431819656_73a27d3a0ba7ce972822bfb3a9e5b711" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting advice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
7. Buying local becomes SO easy.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5-Qfk-U6Smc/VMYAU5lkAKI/AAAAAAAAAlg/7X3swxvzHec/s1600/DSCF0184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5-Qfk-U6Smc/VMYAU5lkAKI/AAAAAAAAAlg/7X3swxvzHec/s1600/DSCF0184.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That HUGE stalk of bananas came from a few doors down</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
8. "Fitting in" happens without you consciously doing it.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/1618450_10152238662041469_1822434908_n.jpg?oh=d61c7aa4992f10d4e7c50404e0f57ac7&oe=55554E03&__gda__=1428746460_25a7b3d79c10f3b654c4767727140d8f" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/1618450_10152238662041469_1822434908_n.jpg?oh=d61c7aa4992f10d4e7c50404e0f57ac7&oe=55554E03&__gda__=1428746460_25a7b3d79c10f3b654c4767727140d8f" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's got the Asian squat down!</td></tr>
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9. Ministry no longer feels awkward or forced, and friendship is just a short, pleasant walk away.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-b-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/10441466_10152992069316469_8368545998819189364_n.jpg?oh=c30ed6617eabcb1cc3e82226e1157548&oe=552AE412" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://scontent-b-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/10441466_10152992069316469_8368545998819189364_n.jpg?oh=c30ed6617eabcb1cc3e82226e1157548&oe=552AE412" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our neighbor's house right across the street; we're over there all the time</td></tr>
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10. God can use nature and community to completely refresh the soul.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XCoyeA1QAOY/VMYCTQxZ1NI/AAAAAAAAAls/xCrDtnZgddM/s1600/DSCF0159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XCoyeA1QAOY/VMYCTQxZ1NI/AAAAAAAAAls/xCrDtnZgddM/s1600/DSCF0159.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My prayer spot after the harvest</td></tr>
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-73768062823011435562015-01-26T00:13:00.001-08:002015-05-08T01:18:45.201-07:00After Depression Part 3: Coming to an End<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Seek and you will find..." Matthew 7</i></div>
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<i>"There is no pit so deep, that God's love is not deeper still." Corrie ten Boom</i></div>
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I had "the moment" a few days ago, the one I have read others' stories about, the one I have longed for for seven long years, and it was about as picturesque as my healing has been (insert laughter here):<br />
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I was in a bathroom after one of the most stressful days in living memory ...<br />
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And I was smiling.<br />
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<a href="https://scontent-lax.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/11204430_10153229094536469_5304685366926625794_n.jpg?oh=1f73d59f989f50c76163d479ae932b70&oe=55CAE054" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://scontent-lax.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/11204430_10153229094536469_5304685366926625794_n.jpg?oh=1f73d59f989f50c76163d479ae932b70&oe=55CAE054" width="320" /></a>Really smiling.<br />
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I was thinking of all the sweet little people in the next room who were about to eat loads of pancakes at our favorite restaurant, and the good man chuckling over their antics and helping them draw silly pictures on the white board while they waited for said pancakes. <br />
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I was feeling joyful.<br />
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Not happy.<br />
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Joyful.<br />
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And when I realized it, the tears flowed and the smile grew wider.<br />
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<b>My postpartum depression is coming to an end. </b><br />
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I have no doubt there will be good days and bad days. I expect nothing less than the ups and downs and messiness of healing to slowly move forward then backward the forward again, gaining a little ground at a time.<br />
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After reading story after story of healing over at <a href="http://www.postpartumprogress.com/" target="_blank">Postpartum Progress</a>, I feel such hope (another good sign!).<br />
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In the midst of this hope and joy, I want to share with you some of my experiences in this healing process:<br />
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<b>1. As the depression has faded, the anxiety has increased (or remained the same, unhindered by depression). </b>When depressed, I felt pulled along by circumstances and ruled by the emotion of sadness. As the sadness has faded and I am willfully trying to take hold of my circumstances, anxious thoughts and panic attacks have emerged. In this new battle, the tools I learned to use in depression have come in handy. If I can fight depression, I can fight anxiety. I'm learning the triggers, fighting for healthy activities, and getting as much help as I can.<br />
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<b>2. The anxiety comes from dealing with situations I have not learned to handle. </b>I've been indepression most of the seven years we have been in Thailand and Cambodia. I've been called "brave" by many for riding a moto, driving in crazy traffic, shopping at the local market, and moving to a village. I wish I could claim "brave," but the truth is out: I've been numb. Now, as I face village life, I have to face difficult situations without my "drug" of numbness. Here's an example: Our helper quit as soon as we came back from our recent vacation which means I have to shop for a week's worth of groceries in the market in a town half an hour away. This is a large market, jam-packed with people. The last time I went, I was assaulted. Today, I made a seriously detailed plan of action for shopping, tearfully and with my anxious heart pounding told my husband my fears, and turned down his offer to shop for me. I willed myself to get food for my family, a very normal activity for my line of work and one I have undertaken many times. I was taken aback by how strongly I DID NOT want to get out of the car into the swarm of motos just outside the entrance. I survived, however, and it was a good step. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AZRyFtLbTCU/VUxvmsA2ViI/AAAAAAAAAn4/uwVjLdx4DpM/s1600/DSCF1325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AZRyFtLbTCU/VUxvmsA2ViI/AAAAAAAAAn4/uwVjLdx4DpM/s320/DSCF1325.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My man working to help me have a washing machine </td></tr>
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<b>3. Extra willful effort means extra needed time to rest and process. </b>This morning, I got up and chopped large bowls of fruit for our yogurt, Grapenuts, and fruit breakfast, made <i>naan</i> and Butter Chicken for lunch, and started "pre-cooking" for the next day's meal before we headed to town for market day. I'm having to create new systems for work as the systems I made when we had a helper are obsolete. After the market run, which I talk about in #2, we came home and my husband showed me how to start the giant crank generator to run our new washing machine (I call it my new helper along with the faux kitchen aid we just got that I'd love to write poetry about). Apparently, I have to reach around the belly of this beast placing my head precariously close and hold a lever on one side while <u>cranking</u> a handle on the other. It's so loud that my husband bought ear covers for us. After getting the generator going, I have to check the voltage regulator and tap a level to get the voltage just right. Then, I can turn on my semi-automatic washing machine and hope I don't forget to turn off the water when it is full. I'm sure that's too much information, but fighting the anxiety to do each of these tasks is very draining. Add that I am an introvert, and you can understand the need for a great deal of alone time to process and recover so that I can gain strength and continue to do these tasks.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3DR-6NoZ0sQ/VUxwNKb9K8I/AAAAAAAAAoA/KnDR7Mzpqjk/s1600/DSCF1275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3DR-6NoZ0sQ/VUxwNKb9K8I/AAAAAAAAAoA/KnDR7Mzpqjk/s320/DSCF1275.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm liking the "new" me</td></tr>
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<b>4. "Waking up" from depression means facing an entirely new you ... and learning new ways to interact with others around you. </b>I am not the same person who became depressed with pregnancy #2 almost seven years ago. I've changed, and so has everyone around me. This is most evident in my marriage. As I heal, the guilt and shame of the depression fade. I find myself having normal "fights" with my husband along the lines of "you didn't take out the trash." I feel able to express displeasure because I am not longer totally dependent upon him for my survival nor do I feel like I am the "problem" in every instance. We find ourselves miscommunicating often, and, being friends, find the tension odd and frustrating, confusing even. Knowing that we are in a new stage of our marriage, we have gone back into dating mode, trying to get to know each other, working together to solve relationship struggles, and learning new ways to help and show love to each other. Accepting these changes has been such a blessing and further helped healing.<br />
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<b><i>Everyone's journey in prenatal and postpartum depression in different. I would love to hear if any one of these ideas resonate with you! </i></b></div>
Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-92062061066901673122015-01-26T00:12:00.002-08:002015-05-08T00:22:14.916-07:00After Depression Part 2: The Work<b>In many ways, what I needed when I was pregnant and depressed is also what I need for healing. </b>Because we now live in a village, those needs just looked different. The following describes several tools that are helping on my healing journey. <br />
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Before we left our last vacation, we bought an expensive exercise machine just like the one I had used at the gym early on in our marriage. I felt HORRIBLE spending so much of our meager savings on something that seemed so frivolous. But my guilt didn't hold a candle to my resolve to heal. I knew I would never walk for exercise or run in our village where even walking from house to house is a rarely done. I had tried the privacy and convenience of exercise videos before, but power supply and a house on stilts prevented that from being an option. You would not believe how much a house can shake and creak at 5AM even when you are just doing stretches! No. I needed that machine and have been grateful for it every day since. <b>Regular exercise in the deal breaker for me in how well my day goes. </b>Having a feeling of choice with depressive thoughts is worth any amount of money spent.<br />
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Next, we knew we needed support to deal with the actual areas of healing we both faced: my depression and Chris's recovery from the weight and stress of caring for me while trying to be a missionary. We stepped out on faith knowing we did not have money for more counseling. God, however, provided us each with a person that loves and encourages us for the price of their cup of coffee. While my husband and I are the closest of friends and enjoy the deepest of relationships, we were weighing each other down trying to hold each other up. <b>The support for our two counselors helps us focus on what is most important in our life and marriage and work through tricky areas of miscommunication and emotion. </b><br />
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<b>We also started trying hard to be better friends.</b> With the depression, we became takers. We had nothing left to give those we loved. I feel like I have been dead for the past six years. I cannot remember events, details within friendships, even my friends' children's names. I have not been supportive when friends needed me, not called, not visited. Yet, because these dear people are God's loving children, they are still around, still loving, still calling, still visiting. I am so enjoying getting to know these people for what really feels like the first time.<br />
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Hardest of all and one aspect of healing I still feel like is moving s-l-o-w-l-y ahead is what I call numbing. <b>I, despite my natural bent, have become incredibly adept at not feeling. But feeling is vitally important to healing.</b> When intrusive and/or depressive thoughts come my way, I run to the nearest movie or brownie. Not enough power for the computer or being out of cocoa could mean an hour-long drive to the city. As I have started to heal from overwhelming depression, emotional and spiritual struggles overshadowed by the more urgent depression have surfaced. The feelings associated with those struggles can feel unbelievably unbearable. My adrenaline starts rushing, and I have the strongest urge to flee. I have to chose, usually with Chris' help, to feel and process those feelings no matter how much I don't want to. Chris and I have squared away an hour a day to talk and chosen to read aloud to each other each night instead of watching TV. I have started Weight Watchers again and built in times throughout the week, month, and year for spiritual retreats, refreshment, and encouragement. Having these tools in place takes away the power of numbing and nudges me toward dealing with all that has happened the past six years.<br />
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<b>Routine, second only to exercise, helps me have peace of mind and space enough in my mind to focus on healing. </b>As you can imagine, routine in a village in Cambodia is difficult to come by. Just this morning, homeschooling was interrupted by a crazy chicken and chicks that needed saving from our dog while one of our smaller kids quietly dumped an entire container of spice in the soup I was making for lunch. The recipe did not call for oregano... Grandmothers come over for a chat, kids crawl under fences to pick fruit, water runs out and needs to be pumped. No matter how much I want it, routine is going to be somewhat elusive. However, we are learning to chose the routine over the exciting interruption, the plan over the what-sounds-like-a-better-plan at the time, the day off relaxing versus the day off running errands. These choices, like all the others, leave space in my brain for me to fight off depressive thoughts and make more good choices.<br />
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Maybe I'm a typical woman, but I am always hoping my husband will guess what I am thinking. <b>We now BOTH have a full disclosure policy, and what a joy and relief it has been to be open.</b> When we tell the good, the bad, and the ugly, we are such much more able to empathize and support each other. Fear of what the other person in thinking fades right along with all those assumptions you have of what horrible things that person is thinking of you, and you find yourself in a gentle, loving embrace. Getting those words out is so very hard, but the reward is worth it.<br />
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Lastly, I am weekly trying to implement systems of living that free up brain space. <b>A system, however small, can create exponential potential to move ahead in life.</b> I wrote on my fridge where to put each and every grocery item. I have the same meal plan each week (for now). I have a chart for which child does which homeschool activity each day. I know creating systems is a basic life skill, but, for me, it fell to the wayside with the depressions. Now, this life skill is a rope pulling me out of the chaos system by system.<br />
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Each of these tools has been a blessing to me. I'd love to hear what has helped you!<br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-85882309767811714262015-01-26T00:02:00.001-08:002015-01-26T01:05:31.095-08:00Life in Community: The HelpShe came to us as a language tutor for our children, a friend of a friend of a friend. She was quiet and polite, gentle without that underlying anger that is so common amongst our friends here. She was a new Christian, and Jesus shone straight through those brown eyes of hers. She started in the few months between my fifth and sixth pregnancy, the ever-so-brief respite from what I later learned was <a href="http://earlymorningmissionary.blogspot.com/search/label/Prenatal%20Depression%20Series" target="_blank">antenatal depression</a>. When the depression came again, she was there blessing us and never once judging me. She became our helper full-time and kept our home from complete chaos. Her very presence brought peace to my heart. Over the months she became a confidant, friend, and Christian encouragement. To this day her faith is an inspiration to me.<br />
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But Theavy gave our family a gift even greater than that daily much-needed cleaning: she taught my children to love Cambodians. Hurt by years of difficult cultural remarks and actions* on the part of our neighbors, my children wanted nothing to do with Cambodians. With Theavy's gentle, persistent and impartial love, each of my children learned to love and trust the people we serve. <br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10334428_10152414212381469_6863251048884914567_n.jpg?oh=b0cd89e60e41a46977169033b38bef58&oe=5558616F&__gda__=1431932938_f2a237c6bf141747cc0d6f3c0f87e7f8" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10334428_10152414212381469_6863251048884914567_n.jpg?oh=b0cd89e60e41a46977169033b38bef58&oe=5558616F&__gda__=1431932938_f2a237c6bf141747cc0d6f3c0f87e7f8" width="240" /></a>When we moved to the village, we shed many tears over leaving Theavy. She had become a part of our family, and we will always think of her as such. We carry her love in our hearts, and it spills out of my children to our new neighbors, sprouting friendships across cultures. When God showed a young Khmer woman from the beaches of Cambodia His love, I am sure she never dreamed she would transform the lives of an American family with six kids. But He did.<br />
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And now, because He loved her and she loved us, our new helper loves Him, too. <br />
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Theavy, we thank you once again in light of <a href="http://earlymorningmissionary.blogspot.com/2015/01/life-in-community-child-of-our-faith.html" target="_blank">our new helper's desire to follow Jesus</a>. We were able to fall in love with her so easily because you taught us that helpers were worth loving like family, and family she now truly is. <br />
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<a href="http://www.velvetashes.com/" target="_blank">Head over to Velvet Ashes today and join the discussion on "Help."</a></div>
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*Our children were hit with bamboo sticks, constantly compared to each other ("Your sister is so much (insert adjective like prettier, smarter, etc.) than you"), grabbed and run away, hit and bruised on their backs at very young ages because they were "loved so much," and some even had to be protected from public genital touching. Healing from these incidents and trusting Khmer neighbors was nothing short of a miracle, and we know God sent Theavy to us for that purpose. <br />
<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-42705386407607665422015-01-22T01:04:00.000-08:002015-11-27T10:12:43.576-08:00After Depression Part I: It Wasn't Over ... and It Never Will Be<b>Experiencing antenatal depression for the fifth time with our precious #6 left me more vulnerable than ever to postpartum depression. Add suddenly losing our supporting church and with it a great deal of financial support, building our own house in a village, and finally moving to the village to begin an entire new way of life... </b><br />
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<b>Well ... you get the picture. </b><br />
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<b>This journey of healing has been a leap of faith, and I want it to be a testimony of the Lord's goodness, of His grace that grows and blossoms over time. The full beauty of His healing, the flower if you will, sometimes grows softly and slowly, gracing the garden of your life suddenly one morning, anticipated yet glorious. </b><br />
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Following Melissa's birth, I waited for the relief that usually comes, the lifting of the weight and fog of depression. As I cuddled my precious daughter in my arms, I breathed out, "It's over." But it wasn't. For the first time, my sanity did not immediately return. The following weeks were filled with many tears and late night discussions with my husband.<br />
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<i>What in the world were we going to do?</i><br />
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We first decided to step out on faith and follow the Lord to our village. I have never struggled with a decision more. I wanted a respite. I wanted to just let go and give up. I was tired of fighting for one smile, one moment of hope. I wanted a dishwasher, a washer and dryer, a kitchen I knew how to use, and climate control. Oh, just to be able to speak English all day long!<br />
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Maybe we should have left. Maybe that would have been the healthiest thing to do. Truthfully, I was so scared. I was scared to stay and scared to leave. I couldn't face change, yet I couldn't stand the present. My husband felt led by the Lord to make the move to the village. However, he was so willing to lay it all down and go back to the States. For him, I came before ministry. I will always be grateful for his love and desire to put my needs before his desires. I could decide freely.<br />
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I prayed and prayed. Maybe it is my own stubbornness, but I could not feel peace from the Lord about leaving Cambodia. We eventually made the move but made it earlier than we should have because we ran out of money to pay for rent and electricity. It was a change, and change was oh-so-difficult for me not being well. There were fits and lots of crying. I finally told Chris I was done. I couldn't live in the village, but I couldn't go back to the States either. I told him to figure it out, poor guy. <br />
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He took us to Thailand, to our place of rest and healing. We went to a qualified doctor who gave us not very good news: Postpartum and most likely chronic depression. He told me that I had been depressed for so long that overcoming the depression was going to be a lifelong journey. He gave me tools to deal with depression and combat it later on in life then offered me medication. He was so wise, so gentle, so understanding. He said he was on call for us indefinitely. <br />
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We then went to counseling. When we told our two counselors our story, they looked at us in disbelief.<br />
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"How have you survived?"one of them whispered.<br />
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That's when I cried. It had been bad, really bad. I didn't just imagine the horror of it. We went through several counseling sessions both looking back and looking to the future. They gave us more tools for the fight and helped us work through how we would fight together. We stayed in Thailand indefinitely, the staff at the missionary guesthouse helping us with finances. When we were finally ready to leave, we knew the Lord had indeed intended us to stay in Cambodia and serve in our village. We also knew what lay ahead of us on the journey of healing:<br />
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Work. Lots of work.<br />
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*I want to be clear that I in no way am advocating medication for mental illness vs. no medication for mental illness, staying or leaving the mission field in dire circumstances, spiritual strength being the reason we stayed in Cambodia, or the like. Each person, each family is so different. Every circumstance is so unique.<br />
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We DO advocate following the Holy Spirit while searching our hearts and the Word. We advocate unity in decision between husband and wife. We advocate acceptance of decisions by friends, family, and supporters. The missionary and the family are more important than any program or ministry. God can handle the Great Commission. Our job is to love. <br />
<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-1664751951078251092015-01-01T00:03:00.000-08:002015-01-22T02:38:36.015-08:00Life in Community: Child of FaithI sat her down with me and took a deep breath. "Do you know why we came to Cambodia?"<br />
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"No." She smiled and shook her head.<br />
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"We came to tell about Jesus, to give people a chance to decide if they want to follow Him or not."<br />
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"I want to follow Him." Her firm words surprised me. "I heard when I was little and even went to that church with the drunk pastor for a while, but I didn't understand. Now I do. Now I know Jesus is so <i>easy</i>."<br />
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The Christians in our village are not looked upon kindly. Some who became followers have since gone back to the wat and become more accepted. Christians Dalin has seen are poor and old. Dalin has seen us struggle, has seen our sorrows and our sins firsthand. We have talked about how all people, regardless of if they follow Jesus or not have problems, big problems.<br />
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<i>What in the world could she mean by <b>easy?</b></i><br />
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When our conversation came to an end after we concluded that we needed to honor her parents in this process, I pondered her words again: easy.<br />
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Although we have had conversations about our faith with Dalin and even told her many Bible stories, mostly Dalin reads our Bibles. When she has time for rest, she sits down in a quiet place and reads the words aloud. As I consider the beautiful Story of God she is reading, my eyes are opened anew to the ease of our Savior:<br />
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No perfection required.<br />
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No rituals to perform. <br />
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No status to hold and maintain.<br />
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No money to pay.<br />
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No fear.<br />
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I watched Dalin sit down and read again this morning. I wondered when she would get to that verse about His burden being easy and His yoke being light.<br />
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"Exactly." she'll think, "Easy."<br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-52876873449158588292014-12-30T04:34:00.000-08:002015-01-22T02:38:36.028-08:00Life in Community: Entering the SpaceOur village is communally building a space for worship, a space where the monks from the local <i>wat</i> (temple) can come and perform ceremonies. They collected money from each other, borrowed tools and wood, dug and cemented, and even broke a dump truck filled with sand. The structure is now complete, facing south to get the best wind in hot season with a western wall to prevent oppressive heat in the afternoons. Yesterday we saw the black outlines of figures drawn on the walls. My husband went and visited with several men there this afternoon who were painting in the figures, story-pictures from the life of Buddha.<br />
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<b>He went to visit with friends with no agenda, but the Holy Spirit always has a plan; we need only to enter enemy territory, listen, and obey. </b><br />
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When we enter Satan's space, we can be used. We can be a light in whatever way the Holy Spirit wants us to be.<br />
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"I'm sorry," said an older man in the group, "but I want to talk about religion."<br />
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Taken aback, my husband laughed and said, "Sure."<br />
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The conversation turned to forgiveness of sins, Christianity not being a religion, and Buddha's teachings that benefit humanity. Truth was spoken because a space was entered. <br />
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<b>How do you find yourself "entering spaces" to be used by the Holy Spirit?</b>Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-89666350941418030722014-12-29T21:50:00.003-08:002015-01-22T02:48:56.856-08:00Repetitive Worship Songs: The Call for DepthThe path is beaten, worn over what I assume has been decades. Its hardness is thanks to those who continually traverse this stretch between two villages. At times the way becomes treacherously narrow. As the rice grows and when the rains fail, the villagers pump water from the river on its north side into the thirsty fields. The water then flows back north to the river creating deep sink holes that could engulf a cow or two. But the road is firm, the ground solid because people keep walking.<br />
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<b>Repetition solidifies. </b><br />
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The beautiful words and harmonies of "O Sacred Head" are blended into my childhood memories, my mother's beautiful alto voice paired with mine. I feel like I should be someone who loves hymns. I'm traditional, conservative. While hymns are beautiful and encourage me in my doctrine and faith, that learned in simplicity and repetition holds me through trials. While the depth and breadth of hymns leads me to contemplation, one word or phrase deep in meaning because of pondering, prayer, and repetition encourage me day in and day out.<br />
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<b>I love the "shallow" worship songs most of my friends disdain. </b><br />
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The richness of repetition with prayer, the ease of meditating on one word or phrase, the chance to praise God for what He has done in my life and the lives of others each collide as I sing "simple" songs in corporate worship (and watch others sing):<br />
<b> </b><br />
<i>There is power in the name of Jesus</i><b> - </b>This is truth.<br />
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<i>There is power in the name of Jesus - </i>I never thought I would break that sinful habit, but thank You, Lord, for breaking it for me!<br />
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<i>There is power in the name of Jesus </i>- "Look around you, kids. See how many people know this to be true.<br />
<br />
<i>To break every chain - </i>freedom<i> </i>from<i> </i>addiction<br />
<br />
<i>To break every chain - </i>freedom<i> </i>from<i> </i>past<i> </i>hurts<br />
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<i>To break every chain - </i>sin<i> </i>and<i> </i>death have<i> </i>no<i> </i>power<i> </i>over<i> </i>me. I'm so grateful, Lord!<br />
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<i>To break every chain</i> - Break the chain of pornography in his life, Lord.<br />
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<i>To break every chain - </i>Thank You for freeing her from her past, Father, for being the Father she needed and giving her children the chance to end that terrible cycle of abuse.<br />
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<i>To break every chain - </i>Help this child to know you can break EVERY chain, God.<br />
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<i>There is power, wonder-working power, in His Name - </i>We, your church, your bride, have known this truth throughout the ages. Thank you, Lord, for the hymns of the past.<br />
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<u>Below are some articles and blogs on this subject that I found helpful</u><br />
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<b><a href="http://www.genesis-umc.org/web/2013/06/06/why-are-contemporary-worship-songs-so-repetetive/" target="_blank">http://www.genesis-umc.org/web/2013/06/06/why-are-contemporary-worship-songs-so-repetetive/</a> </b><br />
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<b><a href="http://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/justintaylor/2014/02/11/annoying-things-in-worship-songs/" target="_blank">http://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/justintaylor/2014/02/11/annoying-things-in-worship-songs/</a></b><br />
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<b><a href="http://weleadworship.com/are-you-too-repetitive.html" target="_blank">http://weleadworship.com/are-you-too-repetitive.html</a><a href="http://younganddevoted.com/2014/02/28/a-critique-of-modern-worship-music-criticism/" target="_blank">http://younganddevoted.com/2014/02/28/a-critique-of-modern-worship-music-criticism/</a> </b><br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-37179492258227436792014-12-21T06:40:00.002-08:002015-01-22T02:45:07.854-08:00Joy<u>Huntsville, AL 2007 </u><br />
<br />
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/1929313_8508566468_6889_n.jpg?oh=9e5925695440e9ae80618850b4a752b3&oe=5547EB14&__gda__=1426720291_6ce0000b586c5ece81b8508cf10ae23b" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/1929313_8508566468_6889_n.jpg?oh=9e5925695440e9ae80618850b4a752b3&oe=5547EB14&__gda__=1426720291_6ce0000b586c5ece81b8508cf10ae23b" width="400" /></a>The tears just came, pouring from my eyes and dripping through my fingers as I held my hands to my face. My husband was busy doing a jig. He picked me up and swung me around the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear.<br />
<br />
<i>Two lines</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>It can't be.</i><br />
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We're moving to Thailand in a few months. This situation we've been living in for a year has sapped me of my strength and my confidence in my ability to do anything. <br />
<br />
<i>No, God. This can't be. This is the worst possible time for a baby. </i><br />
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<i>----------------------------</i><br />
<u> Chiang Mai, Thailand, 2008 </u><br />
<i><br /></i>
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/1923849_29917461468_1271_n.jpg?oh=788ead705a948954f4045f5fbc6676f4&oe=55030D19&__gda__=1425926288_60856988ded00d6ca11431559370a4e3" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/1923849_29917461468_1271_n.jpg?oh=788ead705a948954f4045f5fbc6676f4&oe=55030D19&__gda__=1425926288_60856988ded00d6ca11431559370a4e3" width="300" /></a><i>I cannot stand this anymore! I need air-conditioning. I need real food. I need water colder than the showers I take back home. I want to get out of this country!</i><br />
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The thoughts were racing through my mind.<i> </i>Transitioning into our first overseas experience had been hard. Really hard. I sat in our bed longing for a bit of coolness as hot season melted my nine-month-pregnant body. My husband came in and tried not to touch my sweaty skin as he put his arm behind my pillow. <br />
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"Can we at least pick a middle name for this baby? I just want to accomplish something. Anything." I shot out, anger being the new usual way I dealt with stress and 100 degree weather. <br />
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Gentle and calm man that he is, he thought for a while. "What about Joy?"<br />
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And it was settled. I was just glad we had decided on something.<br />
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----------------------------<br />
<u>Chiang Mai Ram Hospital and Suandok Hospital, Chiang Mai, Thailand May 2008</u><br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/10399068_32245956128_2697_n.jpg?oh=ffde79515c96a4aa1285ed85fed91f1b&oe=5545BB72&__gda__=1426479766_da1dbe57aae1dc5ac520ee2e95ca0e78" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/10399068_32245956128_2697_n.jpg?oh=ffde79515c96a4aa1285ed85fed91f1b&oe=5545BB72&__gda__=1426479766_da1dbe57aae1dc5ac520ee2e95ca0e78" width="300" /></a>Both parents were crying over the little pink bundle in their arms. The doctor gently laid a hand on the father's shoulders, and a nurse knelt down beside the mother. I could see a tiny face amidst the flannel and wondered through teary eyes of my own what was wrong. Then I looked down at the tiny face in my arms, and the doctor's words rang in my ears:<br />
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"Do not leave the hospital. She is very sick. We need to do a lumbar puncture. Call your husband now."<br />
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I subconsciously felt along the tiny spine, feeling the heat of the fever and noticing once again the lethargy that had taken over her previously energetic personality. There was no way I was going to let them stick my four-day-old baby with a large needle ... in her backbone ... No way.<br />
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Finally, at a government hospital, the diagnosis came back: Meningitis. It had already made it to her brain. The next two weeks were filled with her cries as she was stuck over and over again with IVs. Her veins were just too tiny.<br />
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By God's mercy, we never felt the terror of her possible death nor even the seriousness of her condition. What I did feel was <b>joy</b>. I held her close to my heart, smelled her sweet scent, kissed her sweet cheeks, and joy filled my heart.<br />
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How could I have ever not wanted her, my Melanie Joy?<br />
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I wanted her now with a fierceness I didn't know I was capable of. I repented on my knees before the Lord with that little girl in my arms. I promised Him I would never again despise His blessings.<br />
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<u>Kampong Speu, Village Phum Po, Cambodia 2014 </u><br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/10325312_10204342239138368_7149848922344401764_n.jpg?oh=bb105eed775bc5a4c899f4f48b8b1750&oe=553FA5C8&__gda__=1429446366_1610d65d73e1c3c53295e1d15640a58d" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/p417x417/10325312_10204342239138368_7149848922344401764_n.jpg?oh=bb105eed775bc5a4c899f4f48b8b1750&oe=553FA5C8&__gda__=1429446366_1610d65d73e1c3c53295e1d15640a58d" width="400" /></a>Now, I am thankful every day for all the joy in our life. Six little gifts from God so far, six little joys live in the place I call home. I am so thankful for the lesson God taught me through our second daughter:<br />
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We never knew what great joy the Lord can give us until we give our lives, every part, over to Him. <br />
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Join in the JOY over at <a href="http://velvetashes.com/" target="_blank">Velvet Ashes</a> this week!Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-75432937188245717642014-12-19T03:29:00.000-08:002015-01-22T02:38:36.042-08:00Life in Community: Trauma Happens"I KNOW YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG BUT I WANT YOU TO PAY $50!!!!"<br />
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(Insert inappropriate Khmer words, some of which I understood and some of which I didn't)<br />
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I was sitting on the curb nursing my baby beside my van filled with some extraordinarily patient children who I happen to get to live with every day. It had been an hour of madness. Now, this soldier was standing over me shouting even more angrily because I had made the cardinal mistake of calling my husband who called a government friend to come and rescue me.<br />
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"You just LET HIM COME!!! I've been a soldier for seven years." He kindly shows me his gun. "You foreigners (spits). A Khmer would be decent about this!!! You are so stupid I want to beat you up (fist in my face."<br />
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All the hoopla started when I had to bring some very sick kids into town an hour and a half away to see the doctor we trust. Two motos were driving beside me when the one on the far right veered toward the one directly to my right. They rubbed up against my car. I stopped to make sure everything was ok. The young man driving got in front of my car and started shouting at me while I was getting honked at for holding up traffic. Then I saw the lady that was on the back of his moto was pregnant. I pulled over and got out my first aid kit. She was barely scratched, but I put some disinfectant on her and bandaged the area. I checked her heart rate and felt the baby. Everything seemed fine. I bought her some Tylenol because she said she her scratch hurt.<br />
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Then, her driver blocked me in. They would not let me leave. I didn't know what to do. Finally, a car drove up with her husband. When he stepped out with his army fatigues on, I must admit that I trembled a bit. After he was done listening to the young man's description of what happened, he lit into me verbally. I could barely make out what he was saying. Finally, I realized it all came down to money.<br />
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I had fifteen dollars for the doctor and a $100 bill for an emergency. I knew he would not let me change the $100 but would instead take it all. I needed the $15 for the doctor.<br />
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Looking at this man, I just couldn't give in to such corruption, such bullying. Needing the money I had to pay the doctor kept me to my principle. I was not going to let this man make me a victim.<br />
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"I won't pay. I need the money to take my son to the doctor."<br />
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He flew into a rage. A moto taxi driver, God-sent by all accounts, came over and started to negotiate as I tried to feed my now hungry baby. A local shopkeeper stood beside me and said "Don't worry."<br />
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Gently, ever so gently, the moto driver spoke on my behalf. The soldier, however, only lowered his voice and started taking pictures of me, my car, and the kids. All of the sudden, the shopkeeper came out with $10 and told me to pay the man.<br />
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When it was all over, I climbed into the car, told the kids thank you, and burst into tears. That afternoon, we went to pay the shopkeeper back. He refused us. We thanked him profusely. I cannot tell you what an amazing feeling it is to be on the receiving end of unprompted and unconditional help. I have always unconsciously written myself into the story of the Good Samaritan as the good Samaritan. Today, I became the man, or woman as it may be, on the side of the road. Being helped by those you have come to serve is a beautiful and precious thing.<br />
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A few weeks ago, I went to the local market. It is so crowded that you truly feel like you are wading through people. A man singled me out as the rich foreigner. He followed me around, grabbing different parts of my body and, at times, not letting go. No on helped me. Despite me shouting at him to leave me alone, he would not. Finally, I managed to get away.<br />
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Trauma on the mission field happens. Sometimes, as a missionary, I feel I need to be immune to such trauma. Surely I can just use it as a newsletter story. I feel I should be tough, almost super human.<br />
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The truth is that trauma is the same here as it is in the States. I started sweating this morning when I needed to go to the market. I couldn't bring myself to go. Our children have been incredibly sick, but I had to ask Chris to drive us into town. I just couldn't go by myself. <br />
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Trauma. Let's not sensationalize nor minimize these events in our lives. Let's pray for each other <br />
and listen to each others' stories without expectation or judgement. <br />
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Finally, let's look for God's hand. Let's celebrate His provision, rest in His arms, and know He counts our every tear.<br />
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<b>Have you experienced trauma on the field? How did you deal with the fallout?</b><br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7464287855279358898.post-11401539606689584852014-12-12T03:48:00.000-08:002015-01-22T02:38:36.006-08:00Life in Community: Even the Demons...<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DLdcfLxYCSI/VIrUUjqaWhI/AAAAAAAAAjg/pApGzVYnRtQ/s1600/DSCF9658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DLdcfLxYCSI/VIrUUjqaWhI/AAAAAAAAAjg/pApGzVYnRtQ/s1600/DSCF9658.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>We wondered where the spirit lived. Most villages have one; Neak Ta they are called. These spirits are powerful beings, holding the entire village in their grasp. <br /><br />Today, my helper told me the Neak Ta lives right under the mango tree by her house… and she’s scared.<br /><br />As if a powerful force that frightens you in the night and follows you down the river road isn’t enough, she quietly told me of the other spirits in our village. Every five years, they find someone in the village and make them hang themselves, alternating male and female. So far, there have been six deaths. <br /><br />These spirits do other things. One man went crazy. Another wasn’t allowed by the spirits to have his leg amputated, so he died. People call these spirits into them to use their power bringing harm to those who have wronged them. <br /><br />As we were talking, my helper points to the figure retreating down our driveway. “His brother, the son of the village chief, hung himself.” She rubs her goose bump covered arms. <br /><br />Our neighbours beliefs are not some cerebral explanation nor are they some kind of whimsical myth. The evil here is real, dangerous, and powerful. <br /><br />“Bong Lily said you pray to keep the spirits away.” she mentions. <br /><br />I tell her of the God who created the world, who is more powerful than any evil spirit. I tell her the Name that causes the demons to run and flee. <br /><br />And we pray. We pray for a war. We draw lines in the sand with the prince of darkness. <br /><br /><b>We know the victory is already had. </b><br /><br /><br /><br />You can read more about Neak Ta <a href="http://blog.andybrouwer.co.uk/2008/04/what-is-neak-ta.html" target="_blank">here</a>. <br />
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<br />Casey M. Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12578034432609066021noreply@blogger.com1