MISSION UPDATE: Opening the Prison

Awa, 7, ready for supper

Growing up, I had a friend named Laurie. We met in the seventh grade, and I often spent weekends at her home.

I've always absolutely hated cow's milk but when I ate at the family table with them, they served tall cups of cold milk (poured from glass jars because they bought it from a dairy) along with the delicious meal. I've always sort of followed the rule that if you have a food before you that you don't like, you should eat it first.

And so I'd chug the milk.

It took me a long time to catch on to the fact that my doing this caused them to think I LOVED milk and so this scene repeated itself MANY times over the years.

Milk aside, Laurie was one of those people who just sort of made you want to be a little better. When I'd spend the night at her house, I'd be in her bedroom doing whatever it was I did and she'd be back in their little upstairs laundry nook folding clothes, fresh from the dryer.

Fifa, 9, washing his laundry

And before bed, she'd prepare for the next day. It seemed she never went to sleep without a to-do list scrawled out to ensure the following morning rolled out smoothly.

I was not a good student, nor was I a list maker, a laundry lover, or particularly good at managing my life in much of any way. But a bit of what I witnessed in Laurie took root within me, and some of those things came out as I entered adulthood and became a mother.

Her love of routine was one such thing that grew on me over time.

I now love routine. In fact, I thrive on it. When I find something that works, I want to do it and then do it again. The problem is that my life literally doesn't allow it. I'm not saying that out of protest, but just noting my reality.

Two days ago, we found out we had business with immigration that needed to be taken care of 5 hours away and it would require an overnight stay. We had to leave the following morning by 5am. Suddenly everything had to be restructured, and a plan needed to be formed for how everything would be managed.

I was riddled with guilt.

Gauv, 11, look over the week's Bible lesson

I can't be in more than one place at a time which means I always feel like I'm letting people down or leaving things undone. But also, I look forward to the early morning quiet with God and so often it seems to get stolen. I struggle with entering into the same type of experience with Him when I can't get away alone.

I can only assume, then, that God must be wanting to teach me to find Him anywhere, anytime, and no matter who's surrounding me.

So here I am in a small hotel room in Chiang Mai, not at all alone, but sensing Him so near. As I read the account in Acts of Peter being rescued by an angel from the prison and then going to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark, and then Rhoda hears his voice and, instead of opening the door, she runs to tell the others Peter is out of prison and is standing right outside. They go to fact-check her story because they're full of doubt and they see Peter who hushes them and instructs them to tell the others and then he leaves to get back to work.

Generally, when I read these stories, my mind stores them as facts, and I can pull them out to share an example or object lesson with the children. But this morning as I read, it was as if God allowed me to see them as actual people, rather than characters in a story far-removed from the time I live in ... and I could identify with them.

Girls doing laundry and also apparently "laundering" their hair.

Because those people were gathered there praying regarding the very exact situation with Peter and yet, when God had answered their prayers, and Peter showed up at the door as proof, they disbelieved it. They had asked for something they didn't expect to get...the safe release of Peter.

I do exactly the same thing.

I walk each morning and pray for "those who have walked in darkness to see a great light". I pray for their release from darkness and yet I don't seem to really expect to see the answers to those prayers.

Here's an example. Three of our girls have been difficult to connect with since their visit to family. They've largely avoided eye contact, they'd happily ignore us if we'd let them, and they've been almost rebellious in some ways. You can't demand a child not to be confused by their situation. You can't command them to understand why God allowed life to hand them the challenge of being raised by foreigners. And you can't simply instruct them to accept the things their brains push back against.

And so while we've been perplexed and bothered by what we were seeing in them, and we've held them accountable for disobedience, we've largely sensed we needed to tread softly and let God lead the way.

Kwan (17) and Namwan (15) gathering the children to learn their new Scripture memory verse

And then, quite out of the blue, one of them walked into the house and came up to where I was working at my desk and just stood there beside me quietly. I turned and hugged her and told her that I'd missed her coming around and she giggled and hugged me back. I told her I'd love if she repeated the "visit" every day and she told me she would.

And she has.

But then a few days later, she walked into my bedroom with the other two of the girls who've been challenging in recent days. We got to spend some lowkey, spontaneous time together laughing and God even opened the way for us to talk about how distant they've been. And then we "practiced" how we could cheerfully greet each other every day. The whole exchange was relaxed and lighthearted and we all walked away having laid a burden down.

Sure enough, our practice session paid in dividends, because what was avoidance has returned to our normal, happy encounters. I prayed many times that God would soften the hard shells that had formed around them, but somehow I was shocked when I saw Him do it.

I crave my neat and tidy list, where I can check off each task accomplished. I long for my carefully crafted routine, where interruptions are rare. I yearn for the quiet to seek God, instead of straining to hear Him amidst the noise.

But those things apparently wouldn't grow me in the way His way will.

Once a upon a time, Charlie (9) could have been described as something of a "loose cannon" and yet, now when we read the Bible or share a lesson, he can answer almost every single question.

I love Him and He loves them. What a delightful arrangement it ia that He's caused me to love them so much, too. Because when I find myself tired of the process, I'm reminded of the verse in John 17:19 that says, "And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified through the truth."

I know for sure He's using them to "release" me, in much the same way He released Peter from his prison. And if in some small measure He can use me to "release" them, I could ask for nothing more.