Cross Culture Mama

It was the end of the Hearing God camp; it had been a pivotal week for me and so many others. I was still in the trenches of grief, but I was climbing out of that pit with a hope for the future I didn’t have before. On that night I was told we were going to have communion and worship. Having grown up in the church I am accustomed to communion, or at least the religious practice of communion. So many things were going “wrong” behind the scenes of setting up and getting the area ready for communion, but because of that so many encouraging conversations were had-It felt like a family get-together waiting for the meal to be ready to eat. I guess that’s what fellowship is meant to be, isn’t it?

When the homemade bread was ready and out of the oven, it was finally time. To my surprise we all sat in a circle, and in the middle of the chapel was a table. On the table were platters filled with the most amazing homemade bread you have ever tasted. There was salted butter for the bread and a huge jug of homemade sangria. As I walked up with others to get our communion a friend was adding fresh fruit to the sangria. I was a bit taken aback… I didn’t know how to take this kind of communion. We were all delighted and grinning as we buttered out steaming hot slices of bread and filled our glasses. I sat down and continued to worship and ponder. I had already been surprised at this version of communion, but what happened next left me in tears. People kept going back for more. As we worshipped, as we listened to encouragement, they kept going back for more. In all my church experience I never saw someone go back for seconds of communion. It would seem disrespectful or wrong, wouldn’t it? But this felt holy and taught me so much, something I regularly think about now.

Here is an excerpt from my journal from that night.

“To drink the cups means to accept it all. The fullness and healing…the pain in this world we endure. Only you (Jesus) can turn the bitterness of death into sweet life. I don’t need to take a tiny sip; I can keep coming back for more and never run out.”

This concept changed a lot for me. I cannot run out, and although I knew it in my head, because of the way I had seen things in church culture/religion I had struggled to feel this level of freedom. I can keep coming back for more. I can be reverently grateful as well as filled with unspeakable joy when it comes to communion. I can shed thankful tears and keep going back, literally and metaphorically, for more of Jesus, not as an indebted servant, but as his friend.

Happy Easter.

It was day one of camp. I didn’t know what to expect, and yet there was a sense of expectancy in my spirit. I had felt so alone and so far from the level of closeness I had previously had with God, yet at the same time closer than ever before after the loss of my son. I had experienced God in my pain, in the silent cries on the bathroom floor. His comfort was wise enough to sit with me silently for a long season of the heart. But on this morning, some light was about to break through, some color was going to creep back in. 

During the day an activation was led. An activation is like a spiritual journal prompt, and Jesus leads the rest. Each person’s experience is completely different, and it’s always amazing to hear what and where Jesus took each of us individually off the same prompt. The activation was to quiet yourself and go into a room. Immediately I felt I was standing inside a white room. There were no windows or doors; it was a white box. I wondered why it was white… what did it signify? Not only was the room white, but so was I. I blended into the room completely. Suddenly, I saw pink paint seeping through the walls and into the white room, it was dripping in and consuming all the white walls. I heard the voice leading the activation say to look for Jesus in the room, and I saw a figure, his face was blurry. I heard the activation leader say, “Jesus wants to give a gift to you”… and next thing I knew Jesus did something completely out of pocket – he threw paint at me. I was shocked! Jesus threw something at me?! In my surprise I looked at the hand I used to try and stop the paint. The white hand was disappearing, and color began creeping up onto me. It was like watching one of those old tv shows, changing from the first episode in black and white to full color. I looked up and I could see Jesus smiling at me. He was now in focus. 

I asked him why the color pink? At that time in my life, I didn’t wear much pink. I heard him say, “There’s more than what you have known… there is joy.” I continued to ask questions as the leader’s voice continued to give us our prompts. I asked, “What do you want me to do with this gift?” I heard him say, without his lips moving – like his thoughts were my own, “Enjoy it. Then give it.” 

I looked around as I saw the room come to life, brighter than I ever knew it could be. Color had been just waiting to burst through. When the paint began to seep in, I saw Jesus in focus, he was vivid, it felt real. I asked Jesus if there was anything else he wanted to tell me. I wrote these verses down. 

I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called—his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance.

Ephesians 1:18

My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me. 

John 10:27

Here is your invitation to have your own experience…

Quiet yourself, your mind. Ask Jesus to take you to a room. Pay close attention to where you are, how it looks and the way that you feel in the room. Look for Jesus where you are. What does he look like? What is the expression on his face? How do you feel/respond to seeing him in your room? Let him give you a gift. Receive it. Ask him questions such as (but not limited to) why this gift? What is the meaning behind the gift? What do you want me to do with it? 

Let Jesus meet with you in a way you never imagine. Don’t second guess yourself.

The introduction…

It was 2022. I was invited to help with a children’s camp here in Belize called Hearing God in Living Color. I was asked to teach dance sessions and tell of my experiences of getting to know God and using dance as communication with him. This is what I do on a weekly basis in my ballet classes, so I (of course) said yes. It was also one of the first things I agreed to help with after the loss of our son in 2021. 

Half the day we, the facilitators,spent teaching each other what we would teach the kids before we spent the other half day teaching the children. It turned out to be a powerful time for everyone involved, and little did I know this would be a turning point for me personally. This is where true healing would begin for me and I would come back to life. This is when the light was turned back on after sitting in the dark with my grief for over a year. 

What most of the facilitators didn’t know about me was that I used to connect with God through pictures and images, and sometimes, it felt like a movie played in my head. God would meet with me as I prayed quietly in my room as a teen, I would dance with him as I closed my eyes in worship – that’s how I felt closest to him. But after such a devastating loss, and after years of a series of losses, all I saw was darkness. All I heard was silence. I knew God was sitting there with me in the dark whispering his love to me, but I think I stopped believing there would be more than that. I chose to believe and accept that it was enough and not reject the quiet love in the shadows, but in 2022 my faith and hope started to come back to life. 

It was more than the therapy could do, it was more than the journaling could accomplish, it brought back a spark in me that the medication couldn’t do (and that medication saved my life and gave my kids their mom back). I needed the therapy, journaling, and the medication, don’t get me wrong. But these encounters with Jesus changed me and saved me. They brought me into an alignment with who I was meant to be and created to be long before trauma and loss entered my life.I contemplated telling someone of these encounters I experienced and began to second-guess myself. It doesn’t make sense to some people. These encounters are solely mine and in my head, how can they believe it’s real? As I was still thinking this, a quote came to mind, from Harry Potter. In the final battle scene in the Deathly Hallows Harry is speaking to Albus Dumbledore and seeing things that don’t make sense, he’s on a train platform between the present and the next.  Before he leaves to go back to his life in the present he asks, “…professor? is this all real? or is it just happening inside my head?” Dumbledore replies, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?” 

In one of my most recent encounters with Jesus I was told to write again, and to share these experiences. So, without further ado, welcome to my series, Adventures with Jesus.

Christmas season is here again and in full swing. The magic of Christmas doesn’t feel so magical now that I am the one having to create it. This time of year feels different now, sort of like I’m looking at a joyful scene through foggy glass. I see it but not in completion… not in the fullness of what it could be or what it truly is.

I can’t help but think of Mary. If there’s one biblical character I’d like to sit down and have cup of coffee with, it would be her. I can just imagine trying to raise the son of God and somehow, he raises you – and in the end, isn’t that what he does for all of us? As I think of Mary and how amazing it would have been to be chosen by God and spoken to by the angel Gabriel, I realize something. That was just a moment in this life journey of hers. That one, incredible and life changing encounter was for a moment. She had to choose to believe and continue believing for all the moments that followed.

I can just imagine trying to raise the son of God and somehow, he raises you – and in the end, isn’t that what he does for all of us?

I imagine her having just pushed out a child with no epidural, on a dirty stable floor holding this bloodied baby and questioning, “Did I really hear right? This cannot be how it was meant to be.” I’ve had three children physically, and the emotions and pain that follows along with all the first-time mom fears are intense… how gracious it was of God to bring a physical confirmation that she had correctly heard from God. He didn’t send her another angel, he sent other humans who had heard from the angels and found their way to Mary, Joseph, and the baby that night. In her weakness, exhaustion and pain God made it clear, “This is my son.”

As most of us know, the wise men didn’t actually end up at the stable that same night with the shepherds. It makes for a beautiful scene, but in reality, they visited him a couple years later, far from that stable. How far, we aren’t sure, but this time they had their special guests come to their home, a year or two after Jesus was born. I know Jesus was the Son of God, but he was also human… toddler years are so hard. In the beginning of the terrible twos, probably pregnant already with another, and wondering yet again, “Did I hear correctly? He’s the Son of God but he keeps telling me no!” Suddenly they heard a knock at the door. The wise men brought gifts, but more than that, another gracious confirmation, and a timely one at that. Immediately after the wisemen left, an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream and told them to flee to Egypt. They were about to be refugees, and before they ran for the Son of God’s life, they were given a gift of reassurance.

The story of Jesus’ birth can feel familiar. His gloriously humble beginning can feel common knowledge. We can lose sight of the miracle and lose our wonder as the years roll by. The Christmas season is beautiful, but it’s bittersweet for most people who have lived life long enough to feel the sting of loss. Most of our lives have been woven together with pain, trauma, and grief. It’s so easy to forget the words of truth and promise from God and others when we are asking God, “If you are there, where were you when ___ happened and why didn’t you intervene?” In the midst of the pain God is gracious to send us reminders that He is with us, He hasn’t left us, and there is still good in store for us. But what if Joseph had chased the shepherds away before they could speak? They would have missed out on the confirmation. What if they had ignored the knock on the door? They would have missed out on the visitors sent by God-possibly to restore their hope.

Today, I want to encourage you, don’t chase away the people God is sending to comfort you. Don’t ignore the knocking on your heart- let the Holy Spirit renew your hope. This world is broken- but the love of Christ isn’t. He could have chosen to stay in heaven… instead he was born in imperfect circumstances to be physically raised by imperfect parents, and He chose to sacrifice himself for us. The birth of Jesus just means the resurrection of Jesus and all of our broken lives was going to come.

After years of loss and heartache, I believe some of my faith is being restored this Christmas season. I hope the light of Jesus shines on the dark areas of your life and guides you back to Him, just like the star led the wisemen to the new born king.

Just like Mary kept choosing to believe and hold onto every promise without seeing the whole picture, I choose to keep living and believing that true joy is there despite the fog we must all live through in this life.

Merry Christmas.

This Christmas looks different. Everything this year is different. The world seems darker, scarier and full of invisible threats to our families and livelihoods.

I live on the same street as my parents, and I’ve been very grateful for that during lockdowns and quarantines. My kids have lost a lot this year, but they’ve had a constant- their grandparents. We’ve all tried to be careful so we could keep our small bubble going, but sadly my parents caught covid.

I was walking back from delivering dinner to their front porch one night and my mind started going over the events of the year. I believe I can get a collective “amen” when I say this year has been hard. Hard is an understatement. For the first time in a long time the whole world is going through the same thing. Maybe same storm, separate boats is more like it. This virus has not discriminated its victims. This virus has taken livelihoods of all kinds as well as lives. As I walked home in the pitch black, I looked up to see my home and was taken aback. In the window I saw a Christmas tree lit up, I heard my husband talking gently to our 2 year old who did not want to go to sleep. I saw a glimpse of hope in that window, and in that moment it hit me…

This Christmas, this year and the next, we as parents have the opportunity to create a sanctuary for our children. In that small glimpse from the darkness outside I saw light and love, and darkness couldn’t swallow it up. There is far too much darkness, and we are called to be children of light.

“so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.” Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky. Philippians 2:15

In our homes the words we use can keep out the darkness. In our homes we can protect and shelter young hearts from the arrows we are constantly being attacked with. Each time I look at the news I see a world I do not want my children to grow up in, and being pregnant during a pandemic is terrifying- what kind of world am I bringing this baby into?

But then I think of Jesus. His father sent him, a helpless baby to be raised by a young clueless mother in terrifying times. They had to outrun infanticide, being awoken by an angel in the middle of the night, all that after birthing the savior of the world in a strange town away from family in a cave side barn. The beginning of Jesus’ story looks less than ideal from my human perspective, but this child was born with purpose and his mother knew he was the savior. He was raised in a sinful world by a young mother, and brought light into every dark and lonely place he walked.

This Christmas season, let us reflect on the sacrifice God made to send his son from heaven- from perfection, light and free from pain to a dark, broken world riddled with sin. There was purpose in the pain. And there is purpose in your pain. 2020 isn’t a lost cause, we as parents are doing kingdom work. We are raising children to know hope and light and one day they will go out into the darkness, and it will not swallow them up. The hope of Christmas is here. There is hope in the darkness, the light of the world has come!

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas.

*my parents are covid free as I post this!*

It was minutes before six and my kids were somehow still asleep, so I snuck out onto the porch to listen to the world as it woke up. I began to pray and asked God to use me, to change me. I didn’t want to be at home and fail at that. Something came to mind so quickly, I knew it had to be from God.

“You’re not failing. You’re struggling. There’s a difference.”

What a freeing thought! My struggle doesn’t equal failure. Maybe it’s the evidence that day after day I keep trying. Maybe this is God’s character being built up in me.

“But that’s not all! Even in times of trouble we have a joyful confidence, knowing that our pressures will develop in us patient endurance. And patient endurance will refine our character, and proven character leads us back to hope.” Romans‬ ‭5:3-4‬ ‭

The other night I was speaking truths over my son after a long hard day. I told him he is smart, kind, handsome, special and loved by God. He replied with “God is my happy!”

Joyful confidence.

In the midst of the struggle, I can have joyful confidence. In the middle of taking personal inventory and deciding some things need to go, I can have joyful confidence. Kids say it so simply and beautifully, maybe that’s why we’re supposed to have faith like a child. (Matthew 18:2-4)

So if my struggle doesn’t equal failure, it also means my struggle doesn’t automatically mean defeat. My struggle doesn’t sentence me to a season of gloom. I have have a joyful confidence within the struggle. In other words, “God is my happy!”

This photo was taken after a week of being home with both kids having a stomach virus. My house was far from clean. The only thing I did was vacuum. I sent this accidentally to my mom, (was trying to send to my hubby to show that the boys were both playing! For the first time all week!) and she said, “Wow! Your house looks so clean!” I laughed. My house is far from clean, and I confessed that that’s not how it really looks when I went over later to visit. She told me, “Isn’t it funny how a picture can make something look beautiful and nice when in reality it wasn’t all that nice?”

It made me think. As I left her house with my kids and went back into my house, I kept pondering this and I had a sudden prayer.

“Lord, let my kids remember our home, our family and our lives like the picture of my home.”

In the picture, the stains on the couch weren’t zoomed in on, the places where the paint on the floor is chipping off weren’t the focus, the pile of dirty dishes wasn’t at the center of the room. I’m not saying I want my kids to be in denial of any bad, traumatic, or ugly things they have witnessed. Our lives have already been filled with what seems to be more than our fair share of pain and loss. But my prayer is that when they look back at their childhood, our family, our home, that they will see a bigger picture. That they will remember laughter, reading books, mommy cooking their favorite foods, daddy coming home from work on Saturdays with their favorite snacks and ready to play, bedtime prayers. That when they look back, they will see the beauty first.

The other day I got an email from my Google photos saying I missed a video they had made. It was entitled, “they grow up too fast.” It was a video of my oldest son from about 1 to his current age (4, almost 5). As I watched the video, I felt the magic of him growing and learning. Saying words, doing sign language, jumping in puddles, dancing, eating birthday cake. Know what I didn’t see? I didn’t see the awful home we were living in at the time. I didn’t see the almost bare cupboards. I didn’t see the stress I was carrying. I didn’t see any of the bad. I know it was there, but the pure joy of my boy growing cast its bright light over any shadow there was.

My prayer is that the love of Christ and the love of our family will shine its light bright enough to cover any shadow of pain and loss my children have and will encounter. Because love covers a multitude of sins. I have this hope. And I have this hope for you as well.

If you’re anything like me, when you read 1 Corinthians 13 on what love is, you might cringe. I read it and see how I fall short. I see how I fail my family. My children and my husband. I replace the word love with my name. “Bethany is patient. Bethany is kind…” nope.

My heart aches. I want to love like this. To be known for this kind of love, but more often than I care to admit, I fall short.

It was a particularly rough morning. Lunches to be made, children to get dressed, errands to run, people to drop off and pick up, preparing for my classes I teach in the evening. And to be honest, I was not being the best version of myself. I felt this anger rise up in me. My biggest struggle and thing that causes me the most shame is anger. I hate that this is my biggest struggle as a mom. And most people don’t see it. But sadly my kids and my husband have front row seats. To be honest I have worked extremely hard on myself the last year, and God has helped me, and I do see growth. My biggest encouragement was my husband saying he didn’t realize I struggled so much with anger. There must be improvement. There has been so much grace for me and shown to me by my own kids.

When I’m struggling I sing the hymn, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies they never come to an end. They are new every morning, new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness, oh Lord.” My son struggles with keeping his emotions in check. Extreme anger, extreme sadness. Always an extreme. And I explained the song to him. When he struggles now he sings the song. But the most beautiful thing happened. I was in the car. Struggling. Trying to be quiet and breath. And from the backseat I heard a little voice singing,

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies they never come to an end. They are new every morning, new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness, oh Lord.”

I dropped my son off at school and drove away holding back tears. Why had I been so angry. I was praying. I was asking God for forgiveness. I was thanking him for his continual grace and how my kids are so gracious to me and that somehow my anger isn’t all they see in me. Every night before bed I ask Jordan what the best part of his day was. He always says, “You, mommy! You’re so nice to me! You love me!” Even on my worst day this is what he sees. As I drove home pondering this grace Jordan has for me a verse came to mind.

“Love covers a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8 mi My heart overflowed with hope in that moment.

Yes, Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

It always perseveres. It never gives up. Even when I have fallen short, I don’t give up. I don’t give up trying to love better because I lost my cool. I breathe. I pray. I ask my kids to forgive me. I love them them so fiercely that in my sinful self I am still press on to love better.

Because “love covers a multitude of sins.” Love outweighs our shortcomings. And that, my friend, is good news.

The other night my son came running into our room crying. This wasn’t a normal cry, this was a terrified cry, almost painful cry. My husband and I sat up and drew him close. When we asked him what was wrong he said he saw eyes. We asked if he had a bad dream and he said, no. He wasn’t dreaming. He was pointing to all the dark corners of the room and said eyes were looking at him. He wasn’t in a dream. I could feel that something was going on spiritually. The same time our baby started crying and I had to go and get him, I brought him back to find my husband helping Jordan pray that in the name of Jesus the eyes would be gone. He repeated after his daddy, “in the name of Jesus.”

The next day he spoke of the eyes and how they were scary but praying made them go away. Fast forward to bedtime. We did our normal routine. Jammies, teeth, a few bible stories, best/worst part of the day then I pray then he prays. It was time to kiss goodnight and he said he didn’t want to go to sleep. He didn’t want those eyes to look at him. I reminded him of the song we sing in church, “There is power in the name of Jesus!” I reminded him that when you pray Jesus listens and will help him. He prayed that he wouldn’t see those eyes again. He fell asleep. I sat up. I prayed fervently for my son. He is so attuned to spiritual things.

He knew I was pregnant before I did. He kept asking where “his baby was”. Before I told him I was expecting he lifted up my shirt while I did the dishes and told me, “the baby knows you love it and loves you!” He randomly speaks of “missing Jesus” and asks questions about God regularly. If he is so spiritually attuned he will surely be a target from a young age.

So there I sat praying prayers I never thought to pray. Prayers for the now and prayers for the future. I asked God to let him see angels. I asked God to speak to him through his dreams. The next morning he was laying next to me (I want him to sleep in his bed all night but these moments are so precious and I know will soon come to a close) And I was watching him wake up. It was early. He was smiling. He opened his eyes and the very first thing out of his mouth was, “I went to church in my dream! I was in Sunday school!” Thank. You. Jesus. !!!!!! That night when we went to bed, we were telling his daddy about his good dream he had. Then he pointed to the ceiling and said, “I saw an angel up there! It looked like a butterfly but it was an angel!”

To think that my (then almost) 4 year old has more faith than most people can summon up in a lifetime astounds me. He has taught me so much about faith and taking God at his word. That is childlike faith. When childlike faith and God’s power meet…look out world.