In October, I talked about an online Christian manuscript submission website. You create a proposal, include the first chapter of your novel with a synopsis, and submit it (for a fee). Publishers and their representatives can review your proposal and, if they like what they see, may contact you about your novel.
Since one publishing company already has my novel under review, I'd held off doing the final submission. Today, I considered asking the website for a refund of my money. After further consideration, however, I decided that it's not necessarily bad to have my eggs in more than one basket. To that end, I filled in the missing sections and submitted it to the website's database.
My money has purchased a period of six months. After that, I'll need to resubmit or else reevaluate what I want to do.
Now, there's nothing left but to wait.
Again.
1/24/2014
1/16/2014
Nothing More Important
For some reason, today I've been thinking a lot about Troy's years in seminary. We moved from University Park, Iowa to Jackson, MS in August, 2002, all because God called my husband onto further education. Along with our sixteen-month-old son, Clayton, almost 2 1/2 -year-old daughter, Tayler, and our four-year-old black lab, Duke, we schlepped a moving-van full of stuff across multiple states to this new world called Mississippi. And we had no idea what the next four years, in particular, would hold.
After six weeks of living in a one-bedroom town-house (the kids' beds and the only bathroom were all upstairs, Troy and I slept on an air mattress every night in the middle of the living room floor downstairs), we were thrilled to move into a 3-bedroom house a mere block or two from the seminary. I loved that house, despite the fact that it had the old-fashioned floor heating that poor Clayton once burned his little feet on, and a plastic ride-on firetruck's back wheels were almost completely melted down when it accidentally was left over the hot grate.
In order to make ends meet, however, Troy worked part-time at the seminary, pastored a church 40 minutes away, and cleaned an office a couple times a week. I also babysat in our home to make a little extra money. Between his many jobs, actually attending seminary classes (even in the summer), doing homework and studying for those classes, and participating in a weekly prison ministry, it often felt like I was a single parent. Friday nights after the kids went to bed, we'd cuddle on the couch and watch movies together. That was our time together. While he helped with the house and kids as much as he could, working 3 jobs and attending seminary left little available time for him. I mostly ran the house and raised the kids during that time. Even during my subsequent two pregnancies. After the last two babies were born, Troy would get all the feedings until midnight or 1 AM when he'd go to bed (I'd try to be in bed no later than 9 PM), and then I had the night time feedings after 1 AM so he could rest.
There wasn't an equitable division of labor. Troy worked 3 jobs to provide for our family so that I could remain home with the kids. My job, in turn, was to cook, clean, buy groceries, and raise our kids. There were times when I felt like I was missing something by being "just" a stay-at-home wife and mommy. Now that I'm older, I know better.
You moms with little ones in the house--what you are doing is important. Critically important. I'd say it's the most important thing you will ever do. Never let anyone convince you that what you do doesn't matter. Or that because you don't leave the house every day to work in an office and receive a salary means that you're not really working. Oh, we know better, don't we ladies?
I am so grateful that I married a man who knew (and knows) how important my presence as mom was (and is) to our kids. He was willing to work multiple jobs at one of the most stressful, exhausting times of his life to make it happen. I also know that not every family can do this. For some families, both parents must work in order to make ends meet or for insurance purposes. Troy worked three jobs, I babysat, and our children had state-issued Medicaid while we went without insurance. It's not for everyone. For you working moms, what you do when you are spending one-on-one time with your children is still the most important thing you'll ever do. Even if you are a pediatric surgeon who saves hundreds of lives in your lifetime.
I'm also thankful that I work for an organization that equally values the mother's role in the home. Even though our kids are all in school during the day, my first priority on the field is that of mom. And so, when my kids are home, I'm "off the clock". However, I'm now able to have a ministry separate from my family and keep my first and most important ministry: that to my family.
Again stay-at-home moms with little ones. I know there are days you don't feel like you are doing anything important. Be patient with yourself. Enjoy this time with your little ones. Have tea parties. Play games. Wrestle. Watch endless hours of "Dora" and "Blue's Clues". Color pictures. Read books. These are all vitally important things. Then, before you know it, your kids will be in school. And unless you are one of the brave souls educating them at home, your daytime hours while they're away will be free for you to pursue other ministries or interests.
Just remember that nothing you have done or will ever do is more important than what you're doing now: being a mommy. And never let anyone---even yourself---convince you otherwise.
After six weeks of living in a one-bedroom town-house (the kids' beds and the only bathroom were all upstairs, Troy and I slept on an air mattress every night in the middle of the living room floor downstairs), we were thrilled to move into a 3-bedroom house a mere block or two from the seminary. I loved that house, despite the fact that it had the old-fashioned floor heating that poor Clayton once burned his little feet on, and a plastic ride-on firetruck's back wheels were almost completely melted down when it accidentally was left over the hot grate.
In order to make ends meet, however, Troy worked part-time at the seminary, pastored a church 40 minutes away, and cleaned an office a couple times a week. I also babysat in our home to make a little extra money. Between his many jobs, actually attending seminary classes (even in the summer), doing homework and studying for those classes, and participating in a weekly prison ministry, it often felt like I was a single parent. Friday nights after the kids went to bed, we'd cuddle on the couch and watch movies together. That was our time together. While he helped with the house and kids as much as he could, working 3 jobs and attending seminary left little available time for him. I mostly ran the house and raised the kids during that time. Even during my subsequent two pregnancies. After the last two babies were born, Troy would get all the feedings until midnight or 1 AM when he'd go to bed (I'd try to be in bed no later than 9 PM), and then I had the night time feedings after 1 AM so he could rest.
There wasn't an equitable division of labor. Troy worked 3 jobs to provide for our family so that I could remain home with the kids. My job, in turn, was to cook, clean, buy groceries, and raise our kids. There were times when I felt like I was missing something by being "just" a stay-at-home wife and mommy. Now that I'm older, I know better.
You moms with little ones in the house--what you are doing is important. Critically important. I'd say it's the most important thing you will ever do. Never let anyone convince you that what you do doesn't matter. Or that because you don't leave the house every day to work in an office and receive a salary means that you're not really working. Oh, we know better, don't we ladies?
I am so grateful that I married a man who knew (and knows) how important my presence as mom was (and is) to our kids. He was willing to work multiple jobs at one of the most stressful, exhausting times of his life to make it happen. I also know that not every family can do this. For some families, both parents must work in order to make ends meet or for insurance purposes. Troy worked three jobs, I babysat, and our children had state-issued Medicaid while we went without insurance. It's not for everyone. For you working moms, what you do when you are spending one-on-one time with your children is still the most important thing you'll ever do. Even if you are a pediatric surgeon who saves hundreds of lives in your lifetime.
I'm also thankful that I work for an organization that equally values the mother's role in the home. Even though our kids are all in school during the day, my first priority on the field is that of mom. And so, when my kids are home, I'm "off the clock". However, I'm now able to have a ministry separate from my family and keep my first and most important ministry: that to my family.
Again stay-at-home moms with little ones. I know there are days you don't feel like you are doing anything important. Be patient with yourself. Enjoy this time with your little ones. Have tea parties. Play games. Wrestle. Watch endless hours of "Dora" and "Blue's Clues". Color pictures. Read books. These are all vitally important things. Then, before you know it, your kids will be in school. And unless you are one of the brave souls educating them at home, your daytime hours while they're away will be free for you to pursue other ministries or interests.
Just remember that nothing you have done or will ever do is more important than what you're doing now: being a mommy. And never let anyone---even yourself---convince you otherwise.
1/06/2014
'The Roommate' - Prologue
Just like with 'The Reunion', I wanted to post the prologue to the story.
The young woman sat behind the wheel of her car, impatiently watching each worker rush past her red Toyota at the end of the day’s shift. The work week over, they were on their way to hot dinners with their families, the Denver night scene, or to the local watering holes around the university near downtown Cancun. She knew he wouldn’t be among these first workers to leave the sprawling building. No, not an upper level executive like Michael. He would be one of the last to leave.
Finally, as the crowd thinned, she spotted him exiting through a side entrance. Her patience had paid off.
He strolled briskly toward his car, completely unaware that she was close by. Watching. Waiting. She examined him with an appreciative eye as the wind carelessly tossed his immaculately styled hair, her fingers itching to lose themselves in its ebony richness.
His handsome features suddenly drew into a frown and he slowed.
He’d seen her.
She swallowed and stepped out of the car, subconsciously tugging at her skirt and smoothing the low-cut blouse she wore.
“Abi,” he acknowledged icily. “What are you doing here? I thought I’d made it clear that you were never to come here.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I had to see you--it couldn’t wait.” Why did he have to look so impassive and cold? Why couldn’t he just wrap his arms around her and say how happy he was to see her? And why didn’t his eyes light up the way they had that first night he’d taken her to his bed?
He quickly threw a glance around the parking lot to determine whether or not anyone else was nearby. Assured they were alone, his eyes traveled up and down her body, focusing intently on the creamy skin exposed. Desire shown in their obsidian depths, melting away the displeasure and filling his expression with warmth.
“No, I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured, pulling her tightly against him and nuzzling her neck with his lips. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all.”
She clung to his broad shoulders, tingles of pleasure rippling through her body. He loved her, of course he did. Everything would be okay.
It had to be okay.
A fissure of doubt crept through her and she trembled. If he turned her away after this...
When he forcefully took her mouth with his, all rational thought fled. Temporarily.
She placed a restraining hand against his chest and gently pushed him away from her.
His beautiful eyes crinkled in confusion. “What is it, Abi? Is something wrong?”
“I’m pregnant, Michael.”
A fleeting look of panic shot across his face, then his expression shuttered. He stepped away from her and leaned back against his car, parked next to hers. Arms folded across his chest, he peered down at her with disdain. “Impossible.”
“I assure you it’s not impossible. I am pregnant.”
“It’s not mine,” he stated flatly.
She wheeled backwards in shock, feeling very much as if she’d just been slapped.
“Oh yes. I know all about your artist boyfriend, my dear.”
Tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him. “You don’t know everything, Michael.”
He didn’t know that once she’d started sleeping with him, she’d broken things off with Devon, who had promptly moved out of the apartment they’d shared. He didn't know that she’d been so in love with him from the very beginning. And he didn't know that the first time she’d seen him walk into the health club where she worked as a receptionist, she’d fallen hard. She’d mistakenly believed it had been the same with him. At least, that’s what he’d implied.
But now... Now she wasn’t sure he’d ever loved her.
His eyes narrowed briefly before he drew himself to his full height. “I think we’re done here. Go home to your boyfriend, Abi.”
Desperation prompted her to speak when she would’ve preferred remaining silent. “I can’t. He knows about us.” He’d know the baby isn’t his, she thought miserably.
“That’s your problem, now isn’t it? I haven’t time or patience for anyone’s castoffs.” Then, he turned and, without a look back, got into his car and drove away.
She stood in the same spot for several minutes, bitter tears raining down her cheeks. Why, oh why had she ever told Devon about her relationship with Michael to begin with? If only she’d kept quiet--he never would’ve left. Never would’ve known the baby she carried wasn’t his. For all his faults, he would’ve stood by her. Helped her through these next tough months.
Disillusionment opened her eyes to who the man she thought she'd loved really was. To what their relationship had really been based on. All those promises he’d made her were only to coax her into bed. Why had she been foolish enough to believe him? He was obviously nothing more than a skirt-chaser. A scoundrel in expensive suits. Still, the betrayal stung. Especially now that it didn’t only affect her.
It also affected her unborn baby.
His baby, whether or not he wished to acknowledge the truth.
It didn’t occur to her that, had she not told Devon the truth about Michael, her betrayal would’ve been far worse than his was now. A shallow woman by nature, she generally only thought of herself and what she could get from life.
Instead, she comforted herself by planning her revenge. He’d be sorry. One way or another, she’d make him pay for turning his back on her and their child.
The Roommate
Prologue
The young woman sat behind the wheel of her car, impatiently watching each worker rush past her red Toyota at the end of the day’s shift. The work week over, they were on their way to hot dinners with their families, the Denver night scene, or to the local watering holes around the university near downtown Cancun. She knew he wouldn’t be among these first workers to leave the sprawling building. No, not an upper level executive like Michael. He would be one of the last to leave.
Finally, as the crowd thinned, she spotted him exiting through a side entrance. Her patience had paid off.
He strolled briskly toward his car, completely unaware that she was close by. Watching. Waiting. She examined him with an appreciative eye as the wind carelessly tossed his immaculately styled hair, her fingers itching to lose themselves in its ebony richness.
His handsome features suddenly drew into a frown and he slowed.
He’d seen her.
She swallowed and stepped out of the car, subconsciously tugging at her skirt and smoothing the low-cut blouse she wore.
“Abi,” he acknowledged icily. “What are you doing here? I thought I’d made it clear that you were never to come here.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I had to see you--it couldn’t wait.” Why did he have to look so impassive and cold? Why couldn’t he just wrap his arms around her and say how happy he was to see her? And why didn’t his eyes light up the way they had that first night he’d taken her to his bed?
He quickly threw a glance around the parking lot to determine whether or not anyone else was nearby. Assured they were alone, his eyes traveled up and down her body, focusing intently on the creamy skin exposed. Desire shown in their obsidian depths, melting away the displeasure and filling his expression with warmth.
“No, I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured, pulling her tightly against him and nuzzling her neck with his lips. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all.”
She clung to his broad shoulders, tingles of pleasure rippling through her body. He loved her, of course he did. Everything would be okay.
It had to be okay.
A fissure of doubt crept through her and she trembled. If he turned her away after this...
When he forcefully took her mouth with his, all rational thought fled. Temporarily.
She placed a restraining hand against his chest and gently pushed him away from her.
His beautiful eyes crinkled in confusion. “What is it, Abi? Is something wrong?”
“I’m pregnant, Michael.”
A fleeting look of panic shot across his face, then his expression shuttered. He stepped away from her and leaned back against his car, parked next to hers. Arms folded across his chest, he peered down at her with disdain. “Impossible.”
“I assure you it’s not impossible. I am pregnant.”
“It’s not mine,” he stated flatly.
She wheeled backwards in shock, feeling very much as if she’d just been slapped.
“Oh yes. I know all about your artist boyfriend, my dear.”
Tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him. “You don’t know everything, Michael.”
He didn’t know that once she’d started sleeping with him, she’d broken things off with Devon, who had promptly moved out of the apartment they’d shared. He didn't know that she’d been so in love with him from the very beginning. And he didn't know that the first time she’d seen him walk into the health club where she worked as a receptionist, she’d fallen hard. She’d mistakenly believed it had been the same with him. At least, that’s what he’d implied.
But now... Now she wasn’t sure he’d ever loved her.
His eyes narrowed briefly before he drew himself to his full height. “I think we’re done here. Go home to your boyfriend, Abi.”
Desperation prompted her to speak when she would’ve preferred remaining silent. “I can’t. He knows about us.” He’d know the baby isn’t his, she thought miserably.
“That’s your problem, now isn’t it? I haven’t time or patience for anyone’s castoffs.” Then, he turned and, without a look back, got into his car and drove away.
She stood in the same spot for several minutes, bitter tears raining down her cheeks. Why, oh why had she ever told Devon about her relationship with Michael to begin with? If only she’d kept quiet--he never would’ve left. Never would’ve known the baby she carried wasn’t his. For all his faults, he would’ve stood by her. Helped her through these next tough months.
Disillusionment opened her eyes to who the man she thought she'd loved really was. To what their relationship had really been based on. All those promises he’d made her were only to coax her into bed. Why had she been foolish enough to believe him? He was obviously nothing more than a skirt-chaser. A scoundrel in expensive suits. Still, the betrayal stung. Especially now that it didn’t only affect her.
It also affected her unborn baby.
His baby, whether or not he wished to acknowledge the truth.
It didn’t occur to her that, had she not told Devon the truth about Michael, her betrayal would’ve been far worse than his was now. A shallow woman by nature, she generally only thought of herself and what she could get from life.
Instead, she comforted herself by planning her revenge. He’d be sorry. One way or another, she’d make him pay for turning his back on her and their child.
1/04/2014
The Next Story
I decided the other night that it's time for me to put Justin & Emma's story away for the time being and focus on the next story. Until I hear back from the publishing company--whether or not they are interested in publishing 'The Reunion'--there isn't anything more I can do.
So...moving on.
I'm very excited about the next story. It's one I started writing when I was 16 years old. Every study hall of my junior year, I would feverishly write in my notebook. Homework? Fughettaboutit. I even worked on it quite a bit during my early college years. And then, unfortunately, it was lost. The notebooks were thrown away. The old computer system it was written on became obsolete.
And so I'm starting from scratch, but not entirely from scratch. I still have the names of the main characters, the setting, and the main points of the story line from when I first conceived them over 20 years ago.
Like my last story, this one will take place in Cancun, Colorado, a fictional suburb south-west of Denver. Some of the characters from that story will even find their way into this one. We may even peek in on Justin & Emma and see how they are enjoying married life. I will say that this will not be anywhere near as emotionally intense as my last novel. It will be more of the kind of Christian romance novel I enjoy reading.
'The Roommate' tells the story of a woman named Adrienne. She leads a well-ordered, perfect life. The perfect career. The perfect fiance. The perfect home. The unexpected or unplanned rarely happens to her. Until she meets Devon Hunter. An artist whose devil-may-care lifestyle masks a mountain of pain and anguish, his presence threatens her perfect world. Each of them has something the other needs...if they'll only be brave enough to give the other a chance.
Edited to add: As it's good to have a goal, my goal is to finish this story by the end of December. In order to accomplish this goal, I have to write a little over 200 words a day. About a paragraph. Now, while this doesn't sound like much (indeed, it truly isn't), I know there will be crazy schedule days or writer's block days when I don't get anything written. In reality, I know there will be days I read back through what I've written and actually lose words previously written instead of add to them. It took me four years to write my first novel. I'd love it if I can finish this one in a fraction of that time.
So...moving on.
I'm very excited about the next story. It's one I started writing when I was 16 years old. Every study hall of my junior year, I would feverishly write in my notebook. Homework? Fughettaboutit. I even worked on it quite a bit during my early college years. And then, unfortunately, it was lost. The notebooks were thrown away. The old computer system it was written on became obsolete.
And so I'm starting from scratch, but not entirely from scratch. I still have the names of the main characters, the setting, and the main points of the story line from when I first conceived them over 20 years ago.
Like my last story, this one will take place in Cancun, Colorado, a fictional suburb south-west of Denver. Some of the characters from that story will even find their way into this one. We may even peek in on Justin & Emma and see how they are enjoying married life. I will say that this will not be anywhere near as emotionally intense as my last novel. It will be more of the kind of Christian romance novel I enjoy reading.
'The Roommate' tells the story of a woman named Adrienne. She leads a well-ordered, perfect life. The perfect career. The perfect fiance. The perfect home. The unexpected or unplanned rarely happens to her. Until she meets Devon Hunter. An artist whose devil-may-care lifestyle masks a mountain of pain and anguish, his presence threatens her perfect world. Each of them has something the other needs...if they'll only be brave enough to give the other a chance.
Edited to add: As it's good to have a goal, my goal is to finish this story by the end of December. In order to accomplish this goal, I have to write a little over 200 words a day. About a paragraph. Now, while this doesn't sound like much (indeed, it truly isn't), I know there will be crazy schedule days or writer's block days when I don't get anything written. In reality, I know there will be days I read back through what I've written and actually lose words previously written instead of add to them. It took me four years to write my first novel. I'd love it if I can finish this one in a fraction of that time.
12/31/2013
2013 In the Rearview Mirror
It's hard to believe this is December 31. The end of another year. Oh, but what a year!
We rang in the start of this year perched on our temporary home's second story balcony, watching fireworks exploding across San Jose, Costa Rica (and listening to the cacophonous BOOMS ricocheting off the mountainsides). We will end the year sitting together around the fireplace in our home in Mexico City, either playing a game or watching a movie.
God has brought us through so much and taught us many lessons in the span of 365 days. Lessons of patience as we learned new cultures, languages, and ways of life. Lessons of patience again as we waited for our house. Lessons in trusting in Him for provision after watching our support account shrink month after month. And so many more.
2013 was also the year I achieved a life-long goal. It was the year in which I finally finished writing my first novel. I don't know what the new year will hold with regard to seeing it published, but one way or another, I want to be able to read it in print next year at this time. Even if that means I have to self-publish.
2013 was a great year. I can't wait to see what's in store for 2014.
We rang in the start of this year perched on our temporary home's second story balcony, watching fireworks exploding across San Jose, Costa Rica (and listening to the cacophonous BOOMS ricocheting off the mountainsides). We will end the year sitting together around the fireplace in our home in Mexico City, either playing a game or watching a movie.
God has brought us through so much and taught us many lessons in the span of 365 days. Lessons of patience as we learned new cultures, languages, and ways of life. Lessons of patience again as we waited for our house. Lessons in trusting in Him for provision after watching our support account shrink month after month. And so many more.
2013 was also the year I achieved a life-long goal. It was the year in which I finally finished writing my first novel. I don't know what the new year will hold with regard to seeing it published, but one way or another, I want to be able to read it in print next year at this time. Even if that means I have to self-publish.
2013 was a great year. I can't wait to see what's in store for 2014.
11/14/2013
An Exciting Development
Just before going to bed last night, I decided to check my email. And boy, am I ever glad I did! (Not that it in any way helped me to fall asleep, but that's another matter.)
A family member had emailed explaining that he volunteers at his church with someone who works for a publishing company. He mentioned my novel to her and asked if they accepted unsolicited manuscripts (most do not, by the way). She said yes, but that they usually end up in a giant pile. (Not where you want your novel to end up.) HOWEVER, here's the exciting part. She told him that if I was interested, she would personally give my manuscript to one of their editors to read!!!
Of course, I'm trying not to get too excited.
But this is a huge deal, after all. A professional editor in a publishing company will be reading my novel. Nothing could come of it at all.
Or, I could get back some great feedback.
Or.....
They could decide they like it. Like it enough to publish it.
For now, of course, I'm trying to be chill about it. In the meantime, I'm praying very hard that God's hand will be in this and that He'll help me receive with grace whatever news is coming.
Thanks for joining with me in this prayer!
A family member had emailed explaining that he volunteers at his church with someone who works for a publishing company. He mentioned my novel to her and asked if they accepted unsolicited manuscripts (most do not, by the way). She said yes, but that they usually end up in a giant pile. (Not where you want your novel to end up.) HOWEVER, here's the exciting part. She told him that if I was interested, she would personally give my manuscript to one of their editors to read!!!
Of course, I'm trying not to get too excited.
But this is a huge deal, after all. A professional editor in a publishing company will be reading my novel. Nothing could come of it at all.
Or, I could get back some great feedback.
Or.....
They could decide they like it. Like it enough to publish it.
For now, of course, I'm trying to be chill about it. In the meantime, I'm praying very hard that God's hand will be in this and that He'll help me receive with grace whatever news is coming.
Thanks for joining with me in this prayer!
11/11/2013
Deceptive Appearances: The Missionary Edition
About 18 months ago, I wrote a blog entry about why appearances often deceive us. This is part two of that entry, geared toward those little deceptive appearances about missionary life. Hopefully this is both funny and enlightening.
If I made the casual remark back in the States that my family employed a maid for the period of eight months, I can only imagine the looks I'd receive. I'm quite sure thoughts like these would be running through the minds of those standing around me, How can you afford a maid on a missionary salary? I can't even afford a maid. Must be nice. Missionaries must make a ton of money. Yet, if I made this same comment in Latin America to other missionaries or nationals, nobody would bat an eye. I'd hear comments like, "Our boys fell in love with our empleada ('maid' in Spanish). She was like an abuelita ('little grandmother') to them." or "Boy, I'm not sure I could've gotten anything done without our empleada with all that tile flooring to wash every day (yes, every day. Some Latin Americans wash their tile floors as many as 3 times a day!), or all the clothes to hang out every day."
The fact remains that simple, daily chores we can do in no time at all can take hours in less developed countries. There is often a large gap between the bottom of the front door and the ground, so dust and dirt constantly blows in off the street. And with no air-conditioning, windows are left open year-round, bringing in more dust and dirt. Our empleada was only with us one day a week and she cleaned our tile floors (downstairs) three times throughout her day. Despite all that, by the end of the day, if you walked around barefoot, the bottoms of your feet would be completely black with dirt. And while we had a dryer, using a dryer was very expensive, so everyone line dried their clothing. Yes, even sheets, blankets, and jeans. This was obviously easier to do in dry season; things would dry in half the time. In rainy season however? Fuggetaboutit!
Even if her assistance wasn't the huge enormous blessing it was (don't forget I was going to language school full time, learning a second language!), she gave me the opportunity once a week to practice my Spanish with someone who wasn't being paid to teach me. Part of our time together consisted of a meal eaten just the three of us (Troy, me, and Marta) when we got home from classes (our children didn't get out of school for another 2 hours after we did), and then Marta and I would just sit and talk for 20-30 minutes. This got easier as the year drew on, of course. She helped me enormously! And financially? It was a no-brainer. While I won't give particulars, she cost our family less for 7 hours of labor than it cost for our family of six to eat one meal at McDonald's. Yet, this was a huge blessing financially for her and her family.
So when you hear that a missionary you know or support has recently hired an empleada, you can be happy for him or her, knowing that he or she is receiving a tremendous amount of (inexpensive) help while providing a job for someone who truly needs it.
This doesn't stop at empleadas, however. This applies to the shoe-shine guy, the gardener, and the man or woman who washes the car. The thing many of us in the States have to understand is that many developing countries are what are known as "niche" countries. Every person has his or her own niche in society. Some people are doctors. Lawyers. Policemen. Clerks. Secretaries. Teachers. And some are gardeners. Shoe shine men. Or car washers. A person who shines shoes for a living clearly can't do the work of a lawyer. And so when a lawyer shines his or her own shoes, he or she is seen--by those in society--as taking that job away from someone whose niche it is to do it.
My husband is a very capable man. Before we became missionaries, he worked for well over a decade in maintenance. There isn't a whole lot he can't do. And after a year in Costa Rica without grass, he was looking forward to getting his hands dirty in the garden. Of course, to some degree he still can, as that is a hobby. But we happily pay a gardener and a new recently fired friend of ours to wash our car each week (or as needed) because that's what it means to live in a niche society. Once again, it all costs pennies in comparison to what we might pay in the States for similar services. In a country without food stamps or other forms of government well fare, this is how a society supports those whose lives have been a little harder than those more fortunate.
Aside from receiving services as a fraction of a cost, there are certain items that are cheaper to have made here than to have imported from the States. We have a missionary friend in South America who found a gorgeous sectional couch at a ridiculously low price (far cheaper than she would've paid for the same couch in the States) and excitedly posted pictures of it on Facebook. Not long afterwards, she mentioned she was unsure she should've done so because she wasn't sure how it looked to those back at home. I fear her excitement was a bit dashed with concern for any negative comments she may receive in future.
Folks, we missionaries could not be on the field without your support. You've worked hard to support us. But let me gently suggest that you are not the one supporting us--God is. He is the one who funneled the money we use in ministry through your willing and obedient hands. And we are so humble and grateful that you were willing to be that vessel! Most missionaries I know are a frugal lot who have a hard time considering even their own salary as theirs (which, in essence, none of our salaries are ours, are they?). So, I promise we would not rush out and buy the first pretty couch we found. If you could've seen Troy and me in the month leading up to those actual housing purchases, driving from store to store, ferreting out the best prices.... I actually was scolded in Spanish in three different stores for taking pictures of items we were trying to compare. (I'm so naughty!) We really do try to make the most of each dime God sends to our ministry through you.
So, the next time we post a picture or make a comment and you think, "Wow, must be nice to be a rich missionary with their own gardener and maid", please take the time to talk to us about it first. Or re-read this blog entry.
Because I promise you, appearances can be deceiving!
If I made the casual remark back in the States that my family employed a maid for the period of eight months, I can only imagine the looks I'd receive. I'm quite sure thoughts like these would be running through the minds of those standing around me, How can you afford a maid on a missionary salary? I can't even afford a maid. Must be nice. Missionaries must make a ton of money. Yet, if I made this same comment in Latin America to other missionaries or nationals, nobody would bat an eye. I'd hear comments like, "Our boys fell in love with our empleada ('maid' in Spanish). She was like an abuelita ('little grandmother') to them." or "Boy, I'm not sure I could've gotten anything done without our empleada with all that tile flooring to wash every day (yes, every day. Some Latin Americans wash their tile floors as many as 3 times a day!), or all the clothes to hang out every day."
The fact remains that simple, daily chores we can do in no time at all can take hours in less developed countries. There is often a large gap between the bottom of the front door and the ground, so dust and dirt constantly blows in off the street. And with no air-conditioning, windows are left open year-round, bringing in more dust and dirt. Our empleada was only with us one day a week and she cleaned our tile floors (downstairs) three times throughout her day. Despite all that, by the end of the day, if you walked around barefoot, the bottoms of your feet would be completely black with dirt. And while we had a dryer, using a dryer was very expensive, so everyone line dried their clothing. Yes, even sheets, blankets, and jeans. This was obviously easier to do in dry season; things would dry in half the time. In rainy season however? Fuggetaboutit!
Even if her assistance wasn't the huge enormous blessing it was (don't forget I was going to language school full time, learning a second language!), she gave me the opportunity once a week to practice my Spanish with someone who wasn't being paid to teach me. Part of our time together consisted of a meal eaten just the three of us (Troy, me, and Marta) when we got home from classes (our children didn't get out of school for another 2 hours after we did), and then Marta and I would just sit and talk for 20-30 minutes. This got easier as the year drew on, of course. She helped me enormously! And financially? It was a no-brainer. While I won't give particulars, she cost our family less for 7 hours of labor than it cost for our family of six to eat one meal at McDonald's. Yet, this was a huge blessing financially for her and her family.
So when you hear that a missionary you know or support has recently hired an empleada, you can be happy for him or her, knowing that he or she is receiving a tremendous amount of (inexpensive) help while providing a job for someone who truly needs it.
This doesn't stop at empleadas, however. This applies to the shoe-shine guy, the gardener, and the man or woman who washes the car. The thing many of us in the States have to understand is that many developing countries are what are known as "niche" countries. Every person has his or her own niche in society. Some people are doctors. Lawyers. Policemen. Clerks. Secretaries. Teachers. And some are gardeners. Shoe shine men. Or car washers. A person who shines shoes for a living clearly can't do the work of a lawyer. And so when a lawyer shines his or her own shoes, he or she is seen--by those in society--as taking that job away from someone whose niche it is to do it.
My husband is a very capable man. Before we became missionaries, he worked for well over a decade in maintenance. There isn't a whole lot he can't do. And after a year in Costa Rica without grass, he was looking forward to getting his hands dirty in the garden. Of course, to some degree he still can, as that is a hobby. But we happily pay a gardener and a new recently fired friend of ours to wash our car each week (or as needed) because that's what it means to live in a niche society. Once again, it all costs pennies in comparison to what we might pay in the States for similar services. In a country without food stamps or other forms of government well fare, this is how a society supports those whose lives have been a little harder than those more fortunate.
Aside from receiving services as a fraction of a cost, there are certain items that are cheaper to have made here than to have imported from the States. We have a missionary friend in South America who found a gorgeous sectional couch at a ridiculously low price (far cheaper than she would've paid for the same couch in the States) and excitedly posted pictures of it on Facebook. Not long afterwards, she mentioned she was unsure she should've done so because she wasn't sure how it looked to those back at home. I fear her excitement was a bit dashed with concern for any negative comments she may receive in future.
Folks, we missionaries could not be on the field without your support. You've worked hard to support us. But let me gently suggest that you are not the one supporting us--God is. He is the one who funneled the money we use in ministry through your willing and obedient hands. And we are so humble and grateful that you were willing to be that vessel! Most missionaries I know are a frugal lot who have a hard time considering even their own salary as theirs (which, in essence, none of our salaries are ours, are they?). So, I promise we would not rush out and buy the first pretty couch we found. If you could've seen Troy and me in the month leading up to those actual housing purchases, driving from store to store, ferreting out the best prices.... I actually was scolded in Spanish in three different stores for taking pictures of items we were trying to compare. (I'm so naughty!) We really do try to make the most of each dime God sends to our ministry through you.
So, the next time we post a picture or make a comment and you think, "Wow, must be nice to be a rich missionary with their own gardener and maid", please take the time to talk to us about it first. Or re-read this blog entry.
Because I promise you, appearances can be deceiving!
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