What's Your Sentence?

I just read about this a few weeks ago and I thought it was very interesting.

Check this out: What's Your Sentence?

I've been thinking a lot lately about my purpose and future. This idea of what I would want people to remember about me sparked some deep thought in me about what I hope to accomplish with my life. Lately I've been struck by how engrained it is for me to think in goal, task, check-list oriented ways. I've realized how much more important it is to think relationally because people matter so much more than that. I'm not saying goals are bad. I'm just saying that I believe that it's important to think relationally when we set them. All of that to say, these thoughts have greatly influenced my sentence.

Here it is:
She showed grace to others because God has shown grace to her and she learned to love others as God had loved her; her life reflected the gospel to those who knew her.

What I love about this sentence is that it's huge and it's small simultaneously.

It's HUGE because it can have a huge impact. It can impact my husband, my children, my grandchildren, or even random people who I meet. It can have a reach into a home, a small town, or all the way to the ends of the earth.

It's SMALL because it's attainable. I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to be rich. I don't have to receive accolades. I don't have to live up to a certain set of standards. I don't have to be what the world expects me to be. I don't have to have a certain job. I don't have to live in a certain place. I simply have to yield to what God wants to do in my life.

So, what's your sentence?

The Day it All Began to Unravel

Three years ago today. March 21, 2012.

Our family of six was going about our “normal” lives in West Africa where we were living. We’d been living in West Africa just short of three years and previous to that we’d been working towards moving overseas for seven years. The day started with our two daughters off to school as usual. Later we got word that there was shooting happening on the other side of the river from where we lived. The school called to have the kids picked up early, just as a precaution. Elections were coming up in the next month, which is always a tense time in any African country, so we thought little of the shooting. There was a war going on in the northern part of the country, and people were unhappy with how things were going and how the government was handling it. Protests and demonstrations always accompanied unhappiness of the people; that was just normal. So, we went about their normal daily routines: dinner making, bath time, story reading, hugs and kisses and prayers. When we woke up the next morning everything had changed.

There was not the normal morning routine. There was not the normalcy of packing lunches and getting the girls off to school. There was a heaviness and tension that came with the news that in the middle of the night a coup d’état had occurred, the President had fled, and a military captain was in charge. Many questions were hanging in the weight of the day. We were advised not to leave our house. Celebrating and looting was happening all around the city. And celebratory gunshots could be heard periodically.

I remember feeling uncertain about how things would turn out and knowing that this was definitely a curve ball that I had not anticipated. I remember being afraid but quickly putting that aside because I had to assure everyone who would be worried that everything was going to be okay. I remember playing the whole thing down, both in my head, and with everyone that was worried about us.

We laid low for days. I remember it to be eight, but Mr. Sojourner thinks it was less. If it wasn’t eight, it sure felt like 8,000. ;) Four kids and not leaving the house for days (whether it be five or eight) is not a scenario any parent dreams of. Thankfully we were stocked up with enough food to wait it out. I think at day five or six Mr. Sojourner ventured out a half block away for eggs at our corner boutique (basically a closet-sized “store” with convenience items from rice to razors all stacked in piles of wall-to-wall stuff). He reported that things were a lot quieter than the normal hustle and bustle of the city, but that there were people out.

There were reports of lots of things going on within those days of lying low. Both Mr. Sojourner & I felt an urgency to get out of the capital where we lived. We both felt that the situation had a lot of potential to escalate. There was rumors of a counter attack by the President, the war-torn North with Al Qaeda’s increasing presence and complications, increasing pressure from the West and surrounding African countries for the Captain to give control back to the President, and an anti-West mood brewing with the Captain having control over the TV and radio stations.  The Captain finally called the troops back to the barracks and we decided to pack up a few days worth of clothes and travel to stay with some friends who lived several hours drive away from the capital and all of the excitement. Our girls’ Spring Break was to be that week so we thought we’d stay with these friends for the week while things calmed down. It seemed like everyone believed things would settle down quickly. I am not sure if that was reality, just our perception, or people trying to make us feel better. Any way you cut it, we thought we must be crazy for feeling like the crap was going to hit the fan and not wanting to be there when it did.

Our dear friends took us in and we continued to lay low at their house. We had some fun playing games and spending time with our friends, which helped to distract us a bit. All of us were waiting, waiting to see how things would play out.

A few days later the surrounding countries warned that they would close their borders if the Captain did not cooperate. A plan was formed that all of our coworkers would evacuate to nearby countries before the border-closing deadline. It wasn’t safe or smart for us to travel back to our house at that point because the border was in the opposite direction. On April 1, 2012 we left a country that had become home, a place we thought we’d live and work for years to come, without getting to say goodbyes to those we’d come to care about, with four days worth of clothes, and without knowing when we’d be back.

I remember at the time sensing something change, but I couldn’t describe it for a very long time. I think now I’d call it a brokenness. The beginning of an unraveling.