chasing taylor

This moment - coupled with the fact that a. I knew where the video camera was, b. the batteries were charged, and c., I had a blank tape already loaded - is a gift. One in a thousand.

The most surprising aspect of being a mother is the intensity of my concentration for my children. I'm not obsessed, I'm not paranoid, I'm not (usually) fretful. I'm just focused. It starts sometime in the last trimester. I can feel it now, already, with Silas, as though sheer force of will could keep him safe and healthy. It's why you're hearing less and less from me these days, by blog, email, or phone. All of my energy has been turned inward, toward my little home, and the babies entrusted to my care.

And this week, it has been on Asher. He's sick, not wipe-your-nose-and-go-play sick, but when-is-dehydration-serious sick. Yesterday he stopped drinking, and went 8 hours with a basically dry diaper. Today he's eaten a little more, and I have bribed the boy with every sugary presweetened juice available to me. I put sweet tea in his sippee cup, for pete's sake. I've given him melon at every meal, and I think it must soothe his infected throat, because so far it has been the biggest success. Once again I'm surprised by the intensity of my concentration. My mom came by today and brought crossword puzzles, "to keep my mind sharp while I'm home with babies." If her intentions hadn't been so good, I may have been offended. There are no bonbons or soap operas here. My mind is still sharp as ever. Today, it was focused on hydration.

It's not the end of the world, Asher being sick. Tomorrow will be better, and by Monday he'll be back to normal. But for now, until he's chasing the dog and I'm changing leaky diapers again, I will not be able to think of much besides my sick baby.

I'm not typing the post I wrote in my head this morning. This morning I defended Scott McClellan to the Today show, and I sat down to write about why. Surprising, I know. But since when is reflection a character flaw? Also, when the media devours those who criticize our government, they are also devouring one of the basic tenents of the Bill of Rights. The point was not just that anyone can say anything they want (as long as it's true), but that they should. That part of being a responsible citizen is speaking up, especially when you are in a position to know more than most (as a former member of the current administration would be) and have, over time, changed your mind. It's our only defense against state-sanctioned propoganda, the very thing Scott McClellan is speaking against and being eaten alive for doing so. This is what I was going to talk about this morning, and maybe it would have been interesting. But I've been distracted, by these three posts. Four, actually.

I haven't been myself lately, and by lately I mean the last three years. In June 2005 my daily life was largely devoted to my spiritual life. I spent a good deal of time praying, talking, serving, or thinking about following Jesus. In August, that changed. I changed. By August, most of my day was spent trying to get through the day. That lifted, in time, but one burden was replaced by another. I learned more about the act of faith in the following year, but my heart and mind never quite recovered from the previous summer. Since then, I've been dealing with the day at hand, and not reflecting or praying for much of anything.

I haven't been myself, and I've become a much more anxious person as a result. I realized all of this last week, and my prayer since then has been, "Lord I believe. Help my unbelief." And I believe that He has, or at least, that He has begun. I'm no longer worried about Silas' birth or the transition to a two-kid family. I've realized that these are the last few weeks Asher and I have together, just the two of us, and I'm trying to make the most of them. I'm trying to make sure we do all of the fun things that will be harder to do with a newborn. And as he he hasn't slept for two nights, I've tried to be thankful for the time to spend with him without anyone else needing me.

The links above are posts about identity, and how a woman loses hers when she becomes a mother. But my identity wasn't lost to motherhood as much as it was to circumstances. For the past three years, events have defined me, rather than my position before God. I was wrong for allowing that to happen. If I am a child of God (and I am), then that is who I am regardless of what is happening in my life or in the lives around me. Regardless of what I'm doing, of who I've lost or borne, of where I live, or how I spend my day, I am still a child of God.

I haven't been myself, but I believe I will be again. This is the promise of redemption, that we are never left alone. That we will continue to be changed, forgiven, over and again. Lord I believe. Help my unbelief.

memorial day at the lake

Here are some pictures from our first day on the boat. It was a great day. The weather could not have been any better (Alabama has had such a mild spring), and aside from being stuck in a life jacket that made more than one person quote the line, "I can't put my arms down!", Asher - and his parents - loved it. We also took some video, and if time permits, it may get posted soon.



Discussing the life jacket. Protests were duly noted, but some things - like keeping him alive - are non-negotiable.




My favorite picture. Water and sand. What more does a boy need?




Asher and me, late in the day.

You can see the rest at the flickr site (follow the sidebar), if you're interested.

I don't care if Asher is a brain surgeon or a football star when he grows up. He doesn't have to be the cool kid in class. But it is good for my soul to see how much he loves to be outside, and I hope that will stick. I hope he will always love sunshine and dirt and water and trees as much as he does now.

By the way, for anyone who is keeping up - he cut an eye tooth last night, which explains the whining. I'm just glad we earned a tooth out of that. I think I'm reasonably patient, but whining sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. Hopefully the worst of it is over though.

Happy Tuesday.

facts and kudos

Fact 1: The shirt I wore to the hospital on the night I gave birth to Asher does not fit. Did you hear that? It no longer covers my belly. It is not that I am enormous (although I do look every minute of eight months pregnant). It's that Silas is lower than Asher was, which is a MUCH more comfortable pregnancy, and I'm not at ALL complaining. But the problem is that the more he - and I - grow, the fewer shirts will cover my belly. I was a little upset to discover I can't wear the shirt I wore to give birth, for pete's sake, but mostly I don't care. Even so, I have absolutely no intention of buying more maternity clothes this late in the game (especially knowing we intend to wait a WHILE before I need them again), so we'll see how long - and far - I can make what I've got stretch.

Kudos 1: My sister-in-law, Barbara, is a diligent yard saler, and my children are the beneficiaries of her resourcefulness. Easily 1/3 of Asher's wardrobe has come from her. Last week she found a double jogging stroller for us (for 25$!) and today - drum roll please - she found Asher a kitchen set! Not a princess set, but a manly blue and gray kitchen set, which will be sitting in a corner of my kitchen within the hour. This is great news for everyone involved. Asher has reached the age where he wants to act out what he sees, and since what he sees very often is me in the kitchen, I spend more time than either of us enjoy shooing him out of the cabinets. Now he will have cabinets of his own. Yay for Asher, and thank you Barbara!

Fact 2: Asher is whining his way through this week. This, after I spent last weekend talking about how he's just not a whiney kid, and weren't we lucky to have such a cooperative, peaceful toddler. Ha. It's getting worse every day, and I really cannot imagine why. Any guesses? It could be residual from the ant bites, it could be too much Benadryl (although he's down to Benadryl only at night now, and it's only supposed to last 4 hours, right?), it could be that he's learning to work the system. I'm doing my best not to reinforce whining, but it is sucking the life out of my day. Any suggestions?

Fact 3: I got a haircut this past weekend, and I'm feeling ambivalent about it, but other people seem to like it. Brian says it's in style, and the truth is that I would not know that apart from him. What's in style is not really my thing ... so I'm thinking I'm going to keep it and trust him. The alternative is to cut it short, and this seems like the wrong moment in my life for a drastic haircut. So, you know, whatever.

Kudos 2: My dad - it's always so complicated to talk about families when you have more than one person with the same title, and I get tired of needing some sort of parenthetical every time I want to bring him up. Dwane, my adoptive dad, is who you can always assume I'm talking about, unless otherwise specified - is one of my favorite people. If you know me in real life you already know that. When I was a kid, he had a few goals in life: he wanted to have and raise kids (check), he wanted to build a house, and he wanted to buy a boat. He's not much of a hunter, but he loves to fish, and always wanted to be able to do more of it. The year that we moved to Nashville, my parents sold the house where they raised us and built a house on the lake. Seems we were all pursuing dreams that year. Two weeks ago, my dad bought a boat. It's been cleaned, it's been waxed, it's been docked. And Monday, my dad will take his children and grandchild out in his boat for the first time. I'm really excited about this. Excited that he has done what he waited so long (and worked so hard) to do, and excited that my kids will grow up the way I did, going to visit their grandparents on the lake, learning to enjoy the world that grows outside of a neighborhood. So, yay for us. And kudos to Dad.

Happy Friday everyone. Check back in a few hours, and I'll add some pictures of Asher's cool new kitchen set.

Hump Day Hmm - in and out of stride

Toby: "Are you really comfortable walking around with a name like Elsie Snuffin?"

Elsie: "I've never been comfortable, but I'm not sure it's because of my name."

- from The West Wing

I read something that caught my attention on Adrienne's blog a few weeks ago: one sign of a child having a healthy attachment is if he smiles at his reflection or picture. Isn't that interesting? Even as babies, if we know we are loved, we can look in a mirror and like what we see. It reminds me of Donald Miller's Searching for God Knows What, which talks, in part, about how we all need someone outside of ourselves to tell us who we are. Who we believe determines who we become.

The question of the day is what it means to walk out of stride. But it seems only a partial question to me. Walk out of stride with whom? About what? Most of it is relative, isn't it? I'm more liberal than one, more conservative than another. I'm more structured than some parents, more relaxed than others. My house is cleaner than this friend's, dirtier than that one's. Is that what lines us up? Are we "in stride" only when we are alike? Maybe. Then how much does it matter if I'm out of stride with someone else? Does that define our relationship? Only if they are my measuring stick. Only if I'm giving them the authority to tell me who I am.

There really is nothing more comforting than finding someone who is like-minded. The best compliment I have ever heard was given by a friend who had just fallen in love with her now-husband. "He just ... gets me." It's what we all want. When I find friends who get me, with whom I am naturally in stride in all the ways that really matter (which have nothing to do with housekeeping or politics), I usually hold on pretty tight. In this season of life, we seem to have found that. But even when I have it, it doesn't define me. It defines my experience, in many ways, and certainly affects my comfort. But being out of stride with a group is mostly a reflection of context. It doesn't make either of us wrong; it just makes me different.

On my best days, I can believe who God says I am. In my most rational moments, I can trust His voice above any other. I choose to believe Him, to give Him the authority to tell me who I am. When my emotions cooperate with that decision, it's a good day. But even when they don't, I've made my choice. Finding friends who agree with me - that's just icing on the cake.

two in one day

another gift. First heard on the American Experience on PBS.

Marian Anderson was not allowed to sing in a segregated concert hall in the 1930's, so Eleanor Roosevelt arranged for her to perform on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

We painted the nursery (I use the word "we" very liberally. I painted for about an hour, and Brian painted the rest. Yes, BRIAN, who likes to paint as much as he likes hanging upside down by his toenails, VOLUNTARILY painted a room. Only because he loves me) and got a bed (the exact same bed I was about to order online was on Craigslist, with a mattress, for about 30% of retail value. Yay.) this weekend. And today, for the first time, I remembered - I'm going to have a BABY. Not a medical procedure, not a problem, a whole other human life. I had forgotten. I had been so busy being pregnant I forgot that pregnancy ENDS, and when it's over, you have a baby. That's the best news I've heard in a long time.

A BABY, ya'll.

our firstborns make the world unsafe.

Yesterday afternoon we were playing in the front yard. Asher was busy feeding sticks to Taylor, Taylor was busy chewing them and lolling in the grass, and all was right in the world. Until Asher says, "Dirt!" and begins picking up fistfuls of an active ant bed. I got the ants off his hands pretty quickly, but they got caught under his sandal strap, and by the time I had his shoes off, he had about 15 bites on one foot, and about 5-10 more bites elsewhere. The kid didn't even cry (one tough toddler, that's what I have), but he's been pretty uncomfortable, and his foot is (obviously) swollen. His mother, however, aged approximately 5 years in 15 minutes. I was right there! I kept thinking. How does he get hurt when I'm right there with him? And what would have happened if I hadn't been?

I would like to think that if I am conscientious enough, I can always keep him safe. I wish that were possible, but yesterday I was reminded that is never going to be true. And maybe pain is not always mine to prevent. My job as his mother is not to control him, or even to manipulate his circumstances. And the harder I try, the more I will frustrate us both. It's like Dory says in Finding Nemo," You wouldn't want anything to ever happen to him. Otherwise, nothing would ever happen to him." She's right. We are all shaped by our experiences, and to insulate him from any pain (if such a thing were even possible) would sabotage his opportunities to grow.

Obviously there's a balance in this, because it is part of my job to nurture and protect him in the ways I can control. But shaking off the ants and denying him access to new experiences - even risky ones - are two different things. I once read a post with the same title, and yesterday I understood a little more fully what she meant. But I'm doing my best to take my wisdom from Dory, and to trust that God loves my baby more than I do. By His grace, Asher and I both will survive his childhood. Maybe we'll even be better for it.

on growth

I love to watch things grow. It's a fundamental part of who I am. It's why I love to be outside, why I love the springtime. It's probably why I am well-suited for motherhood, though I didn't realize that until a few days ago. And it's why I love to teach.

I have been teaching J for nearly two years. Normally, in early intervention as in classroom teaching, you spend months with a child, not years. This has been a new - and very rewarding - experience. I've had to learn a lot in order to keep up with what he needed at the time. And I've also had to learn to adjust when he was ready for something new. In December, J was definitely ready to move forward. He had gotten very good at rote memorization, but because of his diagnosis, was not able to apply what he knew. The gap between therapy and real life was significant. So I asked his mom to let me try something new. This was intimidating mostly because I was moving completely away from the protocol I'd been hired to follow (ABA therapy), and I knew his other therapists would not agree with me. But J needed to spend some time in the real world. He needed to learn conversations, not just vocabulary, and he needed to learn to notice what was happening around him.

So we started going to the grocery store, fast food restaurants, malls, and people watching. "What do you see?" I would ask him. Silence. So I would answer, "I see a man in a blue shirt. What does he have?" Silence. Me again: "He's buying milk." This is how I spent six hours every week. For months, it was mostly silence. What am I doing? I would think as I drove home. I am wasting their money and my time. But I wasn't ready to give up yet.

Two weeks ago, we were at the park. "What do you see?" I asked J. Silence. "I see a little boy. He's sad. It's time for him to go home." A minute later, J said, "She's crying too. She needs to go home." Then, from him, "She's a girl. J's a boy. I'm a boy." The light came on. There's still work to do (always work to do), but J can have a conversation with his mom. He can answer a question and will sometimes even ask one. He can comment on what he sees, and what he sees is other children. Golf courses, red lights, swing sets - he sees a world now, or a little more of it, anyway.

And I couldn't be more proud of him. I love to watch things grow.

odds and ends

I have no business blogging when I'm this delirious. Please be kind when reading, because I have no idea what I'm about to write, and that always makes for good television.

1. In the park yesterday I met one of Those Women. Now the truth is that the parents I know put heart and soul into raising their kids, so it's no wonder they (we) have such strong opinions about minutia like juice boxes or pacifiers. I try to keep this in mind when I accidentally stumble into a hot spot with a mom I don't know, because goodness knows I have my own. We all love our kids, we all are doing the best we can, and we're all screwing up in ways we don't even know about yet (though we're certainly going to be told when they get older, don't you think?). Even so, this woman was just ... overbearing, moralizing her children's every move, and dominating every adult conversation in a twenty-yard radius. Also, she kept telling her toddler not to be angry. Really? You really want to teach your child she can't get angry? You don't think she might, I don't know, blow up a building or something when she's 30 if she doesn't learn how to handle anger constructively when she's 2? To each his own, though, right? It's like a friend of mine says all the time, "I'm definitely going to owe her for therapy for THAT when she is older." Yeah, me too.

2. I saw Laura today. For those who know her, all is well, or is as good as can be expected for a little while. But when I left I was a mess. We'll blame hormones (they get blamed for everything else). I know nothing about being sick, really for real SICK, during pregnancy, and I know nothing about bed rest. But I know too well the feeling of wanting more than anything just to stay pregnant, and having absolutely no control over whether or not that will happen. The good news is that her babies are fine. And every day she stays pregnant is a day they can grow and get stronger. In that regard, every day of waiting is a blessing, though I doubt it feels that way to Laura at this moment. Anyway, she is good, but I was a little nutty this afternoon. But that hardly feels like news anymore.

3. The weather this week has been great. The humidity broke (someone forgot to tell Alabama it's May already, but I'm not complaining), and we have spent as much time as possible outside. "Out-ide!" Asher says, pointing to the door and signing, "please." Asher has discovered digging (as you can see from the pictures in the side bar and last post), so we spend a good bit of every day at the sand box in the park. I was thinking today about how much he is changing, and how fast, and how I know myself, I won't remember half of this when he is older. But I hope I remember how much fun this spring has been, how much I love seeing him learn. I hope that's what I will keep from this time.

4. 32 weeks now, and I feel like it's April of my senior year. In April you don't really want to quit school, because that would be stupid. But if there was a way to both quit school and have your diploma in May, you would do it. If there was a way to skip the end of the semester and exams and moving and all that comes in between, and just get to the part where now you have what you've been working for all this time, you would. That's how I feel. But! On Friday I'm picking up Silas' baby bed (hooray!) and on Saturday (I hope) we're painting his room the best shade of baby-but-not-too blue EVER, and when that is over I will be 33 weeks. So, you know. We're getting there.

5. Want to hear something weird? I wake up every night at midnight, 3:30, and 6:30 a.m. I've tried explaining to my body that in about 8 weeks I'm going to have no choice but to follow this pattern, but my body seems intent on being in sync with an infant's, already.

Ok. With any luck I'm going to sleep for a while. Happy Wednesday, everyone.

good day

First of all, I got a pair of flip-flops, a food processor, and a pedicure for Mother's Day. What else could a girl want?

Second of all, see this balloon?

We wanted to take it to Laura today. It's her first Mother's Day, and these things should be celebrated. So Asher and I loaded up and went to the hospital. Only, the wind caught the balloon as I was loading the stroller. We had a Luverne and Shirley moment where I chased a balloon - eight months pregnant, baby on my hip - across a parking lot and through a muddy field, stopping traffic in both lanes, baby squealing and calling "BOON!" all while I waddled as quickly as pregnantly possible. We nearly caught it when it got tangled in some weeds, but alas, in the end the balloon found its freedom, and Asher had to tell it good-bye.



We spent the rest of the day at my parents' house, playing and eating too much. My in-laws also came up for the day. It was a good day.

birth days

In my little world, six babies were due between March and July.  One had a healthy birth, and is home and adjusting nicely.  Another was born on Thursday, and will be in NICU for at least the next week.  He was full-termISH - my friend was 36 weeks on the day she went into labor, and his little lungs aren't quite where they need to be.  My friend has a little girl the same age as Asher (we were pregnant together the first time around, as well), and the idea of pumping every two hours, with a toddler at home, and leaving a hospital empty-handed .... well, that's been my fear for the past 31 weeks.  She's handling it better than I would.  I'm pretty sure I would be a puddle on the floor, and someone would have to tell me what to do next.  Anyway, my friend is Jessica, her baby is Pierson, and if you feel so inclined, please say a prayer for them both.

So that's two down, four to go.  Another friend is 36 weeks (although I swear they have her due date wrong - I swear she's closer to full-term, if you want my completely untrained medical opinion), and has started having contractions.  Which is wonderful - except she's moving next Saturday.  If she has a baby this weekend (and it sounds like she will), she will bring her home to boxes.  Bless her heart.

That leaves Laura and me.  And, as Nick just told us, Laura is in the hospital with pre-eclampsia at almost 27 weeks pregnant.  Listen to me, Harper and Lily.  You stay put.  Keep growing, babies, keep getting stronger.  We can't wait to meet you, but not yet.  And Silas, don't you get any ideas.  

live blogging from the couch

Here we sit, friends, I in my kerchief, and Pa in his cap, watching our local government's order of business site and hitting Refresh every 37 seconds.  I wrote a whole little thing explaining why, and how frustrated I have become with state government, but it occurs to me in the age of Google (and given other friends' previous experience with employers and blogs) maybe I shouldn't publish anything that touts my opinion about part of his job and my husband's name in the same paragraph.  Maybe that's a bad idea, considering that he likes what he does, and intends to stay in it, and that his employment makes our guilty pleasures, like breakfast and dinner in the same day, feasible.  Alas.  Let's move on.

In other news, my little boy is shaping into a music connoisseur.  Here is what I mean:  there are two types of music lovers.  One is inspired by the mechanics of sound, the other is inspired by lyrics.  Brian forgets words to songs that he's sung for years, but he hears and remembers nuances in recording that I will never notice.  I, on the other hand, just know what I like.  And certain lyrics will always stir me, even though I've heard them a thousand times.  It's the same reason I can quote lines from poems I read in high school, and remember the rhythm of stories I read in grade school.  My mind holds on to the words; Brian's mind holds on to the sound.

And at sixteen-months-old, Asher seems to have inherited his father's ear.  He has already located, on his own, the little round speakers that pipe music into grocery stores and waiting rooms.  He will point to them and say, "Music!  Music!"  And in the past few days, he has started announcing "GAR" (which translates as "guitar") every time he hears one.  Today we were listening to Enter the Worship Circle in the car, which has a live folksy/ acoustic/ gospel sound, and uses only acoustic instruments.  Whenever the chorus interrupted the rhythm, Asher would start asking, "Gar? Gar?  Gar?" and signing "please."  He had no use for the words.  He wanted to hear the music.  Just like his dad.

But when you see me in real life, ask me sometime about my opinion on our local governing body.  I would love to air it.  I mean, share it.

 I keep starting posts, and deleting them after a paragraph, because I keep thinking - WHO CARES.  This week has been filled with errands and sippee cups, and you really don't need to hear about either.  And the truth is that I'm really not thinking about much besides the tyranny of the urgent and the baby I will have in nine - nine! - weeks or so, and I'm completely satisfied with that for the moment.  But it doesn't make for very interesting reading.  So, unless you want to talk about recipes for healthy popsicles or shades of nursery-blue, I'm out.  My life is great, but my blog - at the moment, at least - is a bore.  Sorry guys.

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

This morning I was sitting on the kitchen floor with Asher in my lap.  We were - I don't know what we were doing, but we were sitting there, facing the stove, talking about whatever, when a look of dawning recognition came over Asher's face.  He stood up, pointed at his reflection in the stove, and said, "ME!"

And that moment, friends?  Was a gift.

on choice

I've been thinking today about the concept of choice.  Asher, budding toddler that he is, is much more likely to follow directions if he's given a choice, rather than a command (though the choice is often something like, "You may walk away or you may go to your bed," it's still up to him what he does).  I'm the same way.  If I feel like I'm choosing to do something, rather than being told to do it, I am much more likely to do it willingly.  

As a parent and as a Christian, I start to think of this as stubbornness.  But I think it's the part of human nature that most glorifies God.  Implicit in love is choice.  If love has been demanded, it's not love.  It's servitude, maybe, but not love.  And the fact that God has created us with the ability to choose is astounding.  I could choose to walk away from God just as I chose to follow him.  But I don't.  I can choose my attitude, I can choose my actions.  I can choose my responses.  All of these are within my control.  And it is in the choosing - to trust God, to believe Scripture, to serve others - that God is glorified.  

Thanks be to God for choice.

(As an aside, I will be your best friend if no reformed theologian brings up sovereignty or predestination.  I already know that this post is looking at one side of an incredibly complex coin, and I really do not think debating the issue will be fruitful to any of us.  None of this is to take away from the sovereignty of God.  But we can't deny our ability to choose, either.  Please let's just leave it at that for today.)

when all else fails, bake.

Here is why I love to cook: you start with eggs and flour (or, in my case, eggs and a boxed mix), and when you're finished, you have a cake. I love the completeness of it - you can start and finish something in a few hours, and other people can enjoy what you've made without any sort of commitment.  Everybody loves cake.

So when the rest of life is out of my hands - nebulous things like the future, or things beyond my fabrication like money - I cook. Because I can control a cake. I can take eggs and some other stuff and make something taste good.  And on this lazy rainy Saturday, I'm making a gooey butter cake.  Anyone want a piece?

As a bonus, here's a picture of a baby in a box. If a baby in a box doesn't make you smile, nothing will.

5. Saturday mornings.

I thrive on routine (this surprises exactly no one, I am sure). Our Saturday morning routine is my favorite of the week. Pooh and Tigger while Brian and I get dressed, then breakfast out at a local restaurant, where Brian orders pancakes, and Asher eats for free. And no one is in a hurry.

Thanks be to God.

I posted Mikkee's thoughts on missions below, so please scroll down to read them. But I have a pregnancy question for you: why can't I breathe when I lie down? I don't have much heartburn, so it doesn't seem to me like the baby is high enough to crowd my lungs. Why can't I breathe?

Mikkee on missions

Last week there was a blogversation about overseas short-term mission trips. As usual, it was Lane who stirred the pot, followed by Valerie, Elizabeth, and Corey (via Heather). I read them all, but I did not feel qualified to weigh in. I have never been on a foreign short-term mission trip (shocking, I know), and, similar to Valerie, my heart is with the forgotten in my own community. Mikkee, however, is more than qualified to speak up. She gives a little of her background below, so I will just say (for those who don't know her) that Mikkee is among the most compassionate and faithful people I know. This is why she is Asher's godmother; I can't imagine a better person to help shape Asher's faith. Anyway, she wrote a post about short-term mission trips, and since she does not have a blog of her own (though she really should) I am posting it here. Our very own Mikkee, ladies and gentlemen.

It was with much interest that I read the recent posts on the usefulness of short-term missions. I am a Missions and Outreach Director at a church in Nashville, TN. I plan and lead local and global missions opportunities, and in the past, I struggled with whether or not short-term missions are appropriate.

I have an MA in Missions and Intercultural studies, and in my final year, I had to do research and write a paper. I partnered with someone and we ended up writing a 100 page paper looking at the efficacy of short-term missions. Our conclusions, it really depends...who is leading it? who is the host? is there training? what is the age group going?

I always thought I would be going overseas long-term, and God kept shutting the doors and opened wide the door for me to work in the church. I really believe that short-term missions can be life-changing for both sides, or they can be detrimental, especially to the people you serve. Missions (local or global) is really a circular cause and effect, the more our eyes are opened in one way, most often they are just more open.

The first key in short-term missions is relationships! In my first year in my role, I spent my time developing relationships with our missionaries. I even went on a short trip over to visit some of them. Once I spent a year getting to know them, we had a trusting relationship that allowed us to develop strategic plans for short-term teams, and we wrestled with whether or not a trip was wise for their area. No decision was made lightly or without much, much planning going into it. I just got back from taking a team to Ireland. The Irish pastor and his wife wanted us back. It was encouraging to them to share the load a bit, and if we can encourage a long-termer, that IS huge in long-term missions. They need to know that people care about their ministry. Enough to come!

The second key is the leadership. I really don't think that just anyone should be a trip leader...I feel that it is important that qualified people go. If I don't lead a trip, I have a small, small group of people that I would ask, including former long term missionaries and people who have led and gone on many trips.

The third key is the training. If someone goes on a short-term trip out of our church, they must attend 4 training sessions prior to the trip, there is a team training each day of the trip, and a debriefing following the trip. You must train people to go, to train them to think that they are are going to partner with a church. We confront a lot of the ideas that they "need" our help. We do cultural training, etc, etc. I talk them all to death, I am sure:)

The final key, in my mind, is debriefing. You must give a team a chance to talk about their experiences and nudge them to the what next question. To see their community in a new light. I challenge my team members to find a place to serve when they return, if they do not already do so. If the 7 people's hearts were changed who just got back from Ireland, who may rethink things or find new ways to serve or simply pray for our Irish missionaries they meant, to me that is NEVER a waste.