If you’ve followed this blog for awhile, you know I taught refugees for a handful of years, many of them Muslim–people and a task I adored.
I was surprised to learn a difference between the Bible and the Qur’an: The Qur’an isn’t a narrative, like much of the Bible is. (The Qur’an is laid out more like Psalms or Proverbs.)
So maybe like me, you got the automated notice from the school yesterday that your kids–surprise!–have an extra week of spring break next week, because #coronavirus.
And maybe like me, a member of your family braved Costco this week. Or maybe you now possess a weird amount of toilet paper–which according to a meme I saw yesterday, is now the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
Ever had a conversation flip-flop your perspective entirely? It’s hard for me to pick just one.
But what about a one-sided conversation, like a book? What about…fiction? I have a running list of fiction books altering how I look at the world. Back in fourth grade, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry rocked my world, and my understanding of our nation’s history of racism. In middle school, I drank in every Peretti novel I could get my grubby little hands on. But of course those I read as an adult have transformed me: Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible (still a favorite). Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. John Grisham’s The Appeal. Randy Alcorn’s Safely Home. Alan Paton’s Cry, The Beloved Country. R.J. Palacio’s Wonder.
This morning (or was it yesterday morning?), snowflakes were seesawing down on my hair–and there I was wearing sandals. I kissed my family goodbye and loaded myself and an overstuffed hiking backpack into a friend’s Prius.
And so began my two-week trip to Asia (via plane, not Prius). After about seven years of not really being together, spread out all over the world, my sisters and I are converging in Thailand to celebrate a big birthday of my youngest sister’s. She works with migrants, and she and her husband are treading through the adoption process. I get a kick out of bragging on the two of them because their work is long, slow, hard, terribly important, and literally stuffed with blood, sweat, and tears.
I talked to a man a few weeks ago whose perseverance I’ve gotta admire.
He was in a bad place–really hurting. So he called a local support group (get this!) six times, when his message wasn’t returned, to get connected to the help he needed.
It’s a light-bulb moment for me.
Squirreled away in my attic somewhere you’ll find a handful of my spiral notebooks from college. I covered them with brown paper back then; pasted colorful collages of magazine photos on the outside, sometimes with handwriting in black ink edging the photos. I was an assiduous note-taker during all those college chapels. Didn’t want to miss a thing. (Which has its advantages, though I could have stood to be a bit more discerning.) I still vaguely remember one of the lines my mind latched on to: something about letting our lives be an example for others.
And we see that all over in Scripture, right? The city on a hill. Paul’s words to be wise in the way you behave toward outsiders.
But the other day on a blog, I read a question parents were to pose to their kids in times of discipline: Are you being a good example? I gotta admit. I cringed at that one a little bit. Honestly, it’s probably a fine question. But my mind flew back to that line in my notebook. I remember reading it years later and thinking, I got that one wrong.
She was already cuddled up for the night beneath her comforter, pillows blooming around her olive skin. While I perched beside her, we spent a minute chatting about her favorite teacher.
“But Mom, he doesn’t know Jesus.” She looked down.
Allow me to tell you the story of a friend of mine, because her story’s stuck with me. I’ll call her Susan.
Susan has a couple of daughters. They’re grown now–but back in the day, she was ready to pull them out of their public school and opt for private: Their public school was performing among the lowest 20% in the UK. But it’s her take on this that struck me:
I’m tickled pink about today’s freebie. And I’d love your help in passing it on, pinning it, or sharing it with people who might use it.
After teaching refugees for three years, I had a wish list. I wanted a free, printable discipleship guide that could take students through basic concepts of Christianity. I wanted it to be useful for a single person or in small groups. I wanted discussion questions and verses to memorize. But as much as I love to play with words in my own writing–I needed something without complex idioms or words that would discourage or confuse an early English speaker.
New to this series? For the thoughts behind it, start here.
It was yesterday, walking to a train, that we met her—I’ll call her Gretchen. Conversation unfolded among us in the blistering sunshine. We were all drawn in by the details of her home country; the stories of her life there. At thirty, Gretchen is pretty and successful. She vacations around the world.
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
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