christianity

off’ring up on ev’ry shore

/ abby hummel / 3 Comments

I’ve been thinking about my childhood as a “Missionary Kid” quite a bit today, mostly because I’ve been in the kitchen preparing my contributions for a Caribbean-themed potluck later this weekend, but also because I’m still reflecting on two movies I had on this morning about the missionaries to Ecuador who were killed in 1956. I would highly recommend that you do the same, as the stories of Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, et al., are told in both “Beyond the Gates of Splendor” and “End of the Spear,”  which are available for free viewing on Hulu, the poor person’s Netflix!  Thankfully my own family’s missionary experience, though trying, did not involve murderous villagers or loss of life. Of course I do not directly compare them, except to note that both stories show sometimes making “big” sacrifices or steps of obedience as a Christian can turn out in a way that makes you feel like you’re falling flat on your face if you don’t have a wider perspective to see beyond the moment. And by “beyond the moment,” I mean it might be well beyond your own lifetime that anything comes together, even. This is a hard thing to grasp hold of!

When I was eight, my family moved to Trinidad so my parents could serve as professors at a seminary that was a part of their church denomination. We were there for two years, moving back to the US when I was ten. Here I am with my two younger sisters. We’re next to “Sister Ross,” the woman who cooked for all the faculty and students (probably ~30 people a day?). This picture is out the side door of the cafeteria – notice there is no glass on the windows? And no doorknob? We were truly in “the bush,” experiencing near 3rd-world conditions! I am especially remembering Sister Ross’ hot, steamy kitchen as I saute sliced plantains and boil chayote squash on this outrageously humid June afternoon

hungry cat, Sister Ross, Bethany (5), Abby (8) and Naomi (3)

Just some commentary on our appearance: We all had hurache sandals, but mine were multicolored because there were no more white ones in my size when we got them. I didn’t like not matching my sisters in our shoes, and I was really frustrated that I had outgrown the sweet acid wash denim outfit that Beth so fashionably models in this photo. But seriously… isn’t little Naomi the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? She was probably 3. And that poor cat is probably the most pathetic animal to ever walk the planet. I think I remember that we were not allowed to play with her.

Experiencing significant life upheaval at a young age, like if your mom begins working outside of the home while you are all adapting to another culture, has a way of changing how a child sees the world. I was a precocious girl, very conscious of the culture shock we faced in both directions – moving to Trinidad and moving back to the States a few years later (the move back to the US was infinitely harder) – and I can’t remember much about life before this time. Plenty of my memories are of fun and carefree kids: playing outside in the rain (even the rainwater was warm!); eating fresh mangoes; our first puppy “Scooby”; seeing parakeets perched in the trees and telling my mom “I didn’t know those actually lived anywhere for real… I thought they were from the pet section at Meijer!”;  little lizards everywhere; and our special trip to the one McDonalds in the whole country where I got a Polly Pocket in my kids meal.  But there were challenging aspects that I remember, too: We went down there with practically nothing – personal belongings like clothing, homeschool books, toys, etc., for our family of five fit into eight trunks, and yet the neighborhood kids thought we must be princesses because we each had a Barbie; We could barely understand the “English” spoken there; Some of the food served to us was really gross, like pigs foot soup, and yet we obeyed my mom’s “look” that said finish your plate and if you say anything I swear I will kill you on the way home;  cockroaches the size of my nine-year-old hand and toads the size of a dinner plate; and on several occasions our small home was burglarized while we were sleeping.

One of the other frustrating things about life in Trinidad was that church took FOREVER. I mean it. Like 2-3 hours. And we would sing the same songs over and over and over. No air conditioning. Some Sundays it truly felt like torture – the hard pew, the sweaty back, the people behind us petting our pretty blond hair. And yet, I have to smile every time I think of this chorus we must have repeated at the beginning and end of each service for two years worth of Sundays:

The name of the Lord is a strong tower,
The righteous run into it and they are safe.

While I was old enough to know about some of the difficulty we all faced, this was an experience that has made my life richer and brighter, and I’m enjoying the memories these tastes and smells trigger for me.

Grandparents visited us the second year - with Poppa at Maracas Bay. He played in the waves with us, and it was the first time I'd ever seen him without that toupee.

For Thy Church which evermore, lifteth holy hands above.
Off’ring up on ev’ry shore , her pure sacrifice of love.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise!
– For the Beauty of the Earth, Folliot Pierpoint 1864.

“There’s nothing my God cannot do”

/ abby hummel / 1 Comment

It’s been a busy week, full of music, children, friends, and number crunching. I started off helping some friends with childcare and food after the birth of a new baby and immediately jumped into a week of vacation bible school at church. It’s such a challenge to juggle work and church commitments every single night, but I love singing with kids and investing myself in their lives. One of the reasons I love this is because I know music is one of the most powerful tools to firmly impress something in a person’s memory.  It’s pretty sobering to think that those hundred brilliant little minds are far more likely to remember the songs we taught than the stories they heard or even the verses they memorized.

And night after night, I made eye contact with the four- and five-year-olds, making eye contact, exaggerating my arm motions, smiling, encouraging them to repeat the words after me, teaching them

My God is so great, so strong and so mighty
There’s nothing my God cannot do – for you!

in some ways, I felt like I was teaching them a half-truth. Yes, of course, we instruct children about God’s sovereignty and power. But there is more to God’s might than the fact that He can do anything, and I feel a keen frustration that I start this lesson but will probably move away before they are ready for the rest of it. This first part, if understood without further explanation can lead to heartache, disillusionment and rebellion.  So as they grow into teenagers and adults, I hope and pray they will have more teachers and mentors to guide them through the hard and beautiful truth that this mighty, strong powerful God doesn’t always do the things you desperately wish would happen. And that God not doing those things does not mean He isn’t strong and mighty,  or that He is not working in the midst of pain or disappointment. This reminds me that I am outrageously grateful for the friends and teachers who have blessed me and encouraged my growing faith as we shared those lessons of discovery and trust.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy inhabitation of the Most High. God is within her; she will not be moved; God will help her when the morning dawns. The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Come, behold the works of the Lord, how he has brought desolations on the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire. “Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.
– psalm 46, esv.

(ps, I know mom and grandma love the domestic updates: I transplanted a bunch of hostas last week and so far they are looking great)

And like I mentioned at first, there has been some exciting number-crunching going on at our house.  I’ll have more details to share later, but I am amazed at these answers to long-offered prayers. Our life is overwhelmingly blessed.

the holy words will fall inside

/ abby hummel / 2 Comments

I barely slept last night because it was so hot in our house. We are outrageously frugal with our air conditioning. I mean, as long God made cold glasses of ice water, electric fans and clinical strength anti-perspirants,  why should we start shelling out buku bucks to cool our home while most of the world lives in shacks without any sort of temperature control at all? We won’t close the windows and adjust the thermostat, we pledge, until we feel like we are absolutely dying. Friends, that moment of surrender came this morning about 12:45 when we realized the bedroom had not cooled down enough in two hours for either one of us to sleep a wink. In the insanity and boredom, we had a middle of the night pillow fight that finally wore us out enough to break into fitful dozing until the morning. Needless to say, I was completely exhausted and unexcited about most of life all day. After work I saw that a big box of books came, and I lazily thumbed through each one a bit in some effort to decide which one to read first.
Amidst the weariness I found myself so refreshed reading this paragraph, from my now top-of-the-list book:

“I was twenty-seven when I first read the story about the Hasidic rabbi who told his people that if they studied the Torah, it would put Scripture on their hearts. A woman asked him, “But why on our hearts instead of in them?” The rabbi answered, “Only God can put Scripture inside. But reading sacred text can put it on your hearts, and then when your hearts break, the holy words will fall inside.”
– “the scent of water” by naomi zacharias

I’m really looking forward to reading this and I’ll be sure to share my thoughts on it when I’m through. Have you been reading lately, and reading the sorts of books that really make you think?

just for today

/ abby hummel / 3 Comments

It feels like there is so much going on right now! Or maybe it is more accurate to say that my to-do and to-finish list is so long that my blood pressure rises when I think about it all. I actually feel much like I would in the midst of a stressful semester at college, with papers, tests, social commitments, and personal goals pressing heavily on me all at the same time. Of course I know these things will somehow all come together – or that if they don’t, my life won’t fall apart – but they create this sense of burden and obligation over me anyway.

Here is an annotated list of what I’m feeling like I need to get taken care of this summer. I’m not kidding, I have edited some things off this list for the sake of brevity and privacy.

GOALS FOR SUMMER 2011.
have Aaron help replace light fixtures in hall and kitchen
have Aaron help with redoing the whole freaking Kitchen
find art and hang the rest of the wall collage in the hallway, which includes scraping and painting the rest of the frames.
organize yarn collection that quickly spiraled out of control. Probably give some away.
have Aaron get rid of the big computer
have Aaron get rid of his books
get rid of a bunch of my books
OMG how do I have EVEN MORE CLOTHES I NEED TO GIVE AWAY!?? Do the less-cool clothes just asexually reproduce in my closet while I am at work?
Sort piano music
finish mirror collage on fireplace
paint brick fireplace
one more coat of stain on the outside brick
one more coat of paint on the garage door
finish the retaining wall
re-lay the stone walkway in the backyard
toss half the stuff in the linen closet
the laundry room. the garage. Oh my gosh. I know at least half of it is Aaron’s (stuff) too but I don’t know how this stuff spirals out of control so quickly.
sew covers for living room throw pillows
(gift project 1, started)
(gift project 2, planned but not started)
refinish a few places on the trim where it got scratched/dented/scraped
refinish the big dresser in the back room
try to get rid of junk from kitchen… I defs don’t use all my gadgets.
find out how to get important signature on retirement account paperwork
find out how to get my windshield replaced b/c of the crack
paint canvases
have a wine-and-cheese party
repaint some of the deck furniture
find a cheap lounger so I can lay out and work on things while getting a tan in my own back yard.

This is just the things I could write down while sitting here and not looking at anything. Does this make you feel stressed?

Anyway, in the midst of this all  I’ve been thinking so intently about things like “taking it one day at a time” and working on trusting God each day for daily bread, that is, in some way surrendering my innate craving for a preplanned weekly, monthly, yearly “menus” of what God will provide.  Not that I have already achieved these things by any means, but that I recognize the importance of striving for growth here.

Lacking time to record any further insights on this topic, which is hopefully more interesting than my outrageous homeowners to-do-list, here are a few articles and blogs from some great bloggers that have shaped my thoughts about accepting each day from it’s maker:

Wendy writes on Godliness with Contentment.
Ann writes about Hopes and Dreams.
Jen has some guest authors sharing about The Lord’s Prayer, word-by-word “This” and “Day“

sweet will be the flower

/ abby hummel / 1 Comment

It’s a lovely Sunday morning! We’re dogsitting for Chip‘s older brother, Baker, and I must have been a sight to see outside earlier. I filled a thermos of coffee from our french press and grabbed our camera, sure I would find something lovely in the park. Then Baker took me for a walk. I imagined a serene, contemplative morning and I was, instead, juggling a camera, a thermos of coffee, and a large dog that wanted to run when I wanted to be still and stay (or, um, pee all over everything) when I wanted to move.

So the little adventure went differently than I expected, but, of course, the woods were still beautiful. As the landscape displayed spring coming out of the dull grayness of winter, I kept thinking of a hymn from Scotland called “God Moves in  Mysterious Way.”

God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea and rides upon the storm.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break with blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense but trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence, he hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast, unfolding ev’ry hour
The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err and scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter and He will make it plain.
– William Cowper

partakers together of (hard) grace

/ abby hummel / 1 Comment

It’s Thursday and I’m still exhausted from my crazy weekend. My dear friend from college, Esther, came out to visit. She drove across 3 states to spend a few days with me and we definitely made the most of the time! As usual, she beat me on our runs despite my significant height advantage and longer leg strides, she overhauled my whole wardrobe with a fashion makeover and we stayed up past the middle of the night talking about the wildest things… just like when we were room-mates at Hillsdale. Except that back then we thought we knew everything. Ha! Thankfully, we have become much wiser and humbler since then.

It’s almost three years since our graduation, and in our grown up lives we have each partaken of so much painful and beautiful grace. I am very grateful for the mutual comfort and encouragement of a friend who is my true partner in accepting and rejoicing in this life of grace, no matter how hard it is or how ungracious I feel.

we both turn twenty-five this spring...whew. what a ride!

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
– Henri Nouwen, The Road to Daybreak.

Esther passed on the book “One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are” by Ann Voskamp, who blogs at http://www.aholyexperience.com.

One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

So much of our weekend was full of discussing what Ann says in this book, that our call as Christians is to live in thanksgiving; that all experiences, even the awful and sad ones, are opportunities to draw closer to God; that we miss communion and growth if we ignore our sorrow, but miss beauty and goodness if we think that is all there is; and that we can choose to live a life of full grace, full of gratefulness and in doing so we are blessed.

“I hold you in my heart, for you are all partakers with me of grace…” (Philippians 1:7, esv)

wounds I cannot see

/ abby hummel / 2 Comments

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (Caravaggio)

The idea of doubt keeps popping up in my thoughts, prayers and conversations lately.  I’m really into “knowing” things. Walking by faith is not one of my strong points. While I am not in the midst of a crisis of overall belief in God, I am often plagued with “littler” doubts about circumstances and purposes and vocations and relationships and finances and health and … so on. I’ve been working through some journals of Henri Nouwen, and I love his comments about the importance of dialogue and community in the midst of doubt. It’s definitely my natural tendency to withdraw from these practices when I am struggling or don’t understand what God is doing. I greatly appreciate the insights recorded by Nouwen here:

Today: feast of St. Thomas the Apostle. During a dialogue homily, two of the monks remarked in different ways that although Thomas did not believe in the resurrection of the Lord, he kept faithful to the community of the apostles. In that community the Lord appeared to him and strengthened his faith. I find this a very profound and consoling thought. In times of doubt or unbelief, the community can “carry you along,” so to speak; it can even offer on your behalf what you yourself overlook, and can be the context in which you may recognize the Lord again.

John Eudes remarked that Dydimus, the name of Thomas, means “twin,” as the Gospel says, and that the fathers had commented that all of us are “two people,” a doubting one and a believing one. We need the support and love of our brothers and sisters to prevent our doubting person from becoming the dominant and destroying our capacity for belief.
– Henri Nouwen “Spiritual Journals: Genesee Diary”

In pursuit of more information about doubt and Thomas, a superficial scan of the gospels brought me to John 14, where Thomas says “Lord, we do not know where you are going.” (vs. 6). Well. I think I just found my life verse!  And like Caravaggio’s striking depiction I included earlier, the gospels recount Thomas’ cry of unbelief, needing to see and touch the wounds of Christ before believing the resurrection. There is a lesson here for me, even though my doubts are not centered around things like Christ’s death, wounds, resurrection, or the existence of God in the first place.

In these small daily doubts, I must keep asking: What does it mean to walk by faith and not by sight? I know it was Christ who said: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have  believed.” (John 20:29) This is the same thing he says to me. What is to believe God is working just when I can see that? Faith that God is working in circumstances I don’t understand means I might have to embrace things I don’t want to, to rejoice in days that aren’t at all what I would plan for them. But who am I to think I can decide where God works? I am of small account.

Godhead here in hiding, Whom I do adore
Masked by these bare shadows, shape and nothing more
See, Lord, at thy service low lies here a heart
Lost, all lost in wonder at the God thou art.

I am not like Thomas; wounds I cannot see
But can plainly call you Lord and God as he
This faith each day deeper be my holding of
Daily make me harder hope and dearer love
-St. Thomas Aquinas

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.

fire at Slane Hill

/ abby hummel / 3 Comments

I have many reasons to love St. Patrick’s Day. Although my strongest ethnic identity comes from my Finnish grandfather who blessed us with Saunas and Kropsu and loose familial ties to the “Flying Finn” Paavo Nurmi, I can celebrate this day whole-heartedly because I’m about one-quarter Irish. I love beer, corned beef and cabbage. I love the color green. And if it were possible for an annoying little red-haired leprechaun to give me a pot of gold, I would be in favor of that. I do have a kitchen to remodel.

I also love the nerdy and sacred historical basis for this celebration. The exact details are sketchy, but it’s widely accepted that teenage Patrick was kidnapped from his home in Scotland and taken captive to tend sheep for a druid master in Ireland in the 400’s. In the six years (My God! I whine about much shorter trials nearly every day!) of his slavery, he gave his heart over to God in prayer and was so intimately connected to the Lord that he recounted praying at least one hundred times a day in all weather and all circumstances. These circumstances were pretty awful, being kidnapped to live outdoors as a shepherd and enslaved to a druid master.  In his sixth year of captivity, God led him to run away from his captors and he escaped to be with his family again. Happy ending? Not yet. He was then trained as a priest and called to go back to spread Christianity in Ireland. Legend says he dreamed of the people of Ireland calling him to come and preach to them. (This wasn’t the first time someone heard their call to mission in a dream…)  He brought the gospel to the country of Ireland and ministered effectively throughout the land for 28 years, inestimably blessed by a full knowledge of their language and religious customs. He is famous for lighting a fire on Slane Hill the night before Easter to represent the light of Christ – this against the direct commands of the pagan rulers celebrating a Spring Equinox festival.  The fire burned brightly and incited a showdown with the pagan ruler and his men, but by the power of God, Patrick preached the gospel to the whole pagan army on Easter morning.

The Irish tune Slane is named after the memory of Slane Hill where Patrick shone the light of Christ and proclaimed his death and resurrection on Easter Sunday. We often sing it with the words of the song Be Thou My Vision. It’s a wonderful hymn, and I especially love the “hidden” verse you almost never hear sung in church:
Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for my fight
Be Thou my dignity, Be my delight!
Thou my soul’s shelter, Thou my high tower
Raise Thou me heavenward, O power of my power.
(Be Thou My Vision, English translation by Eleanor Hull)

We also have a prayer from St. Patrick which includes the following stanzas:
I bind unto myself today:
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, his shield to ward,
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name:
The strong Name of the Trinity;
By invocation of the same.
The Three in One, and One in Three,
Of Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

So. If you think of all this when celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, you will see that drinking beer can be a very spiritual experience.

fat tuesday

/ abby hummel / 1 Comment

Aaron asks if we ate pancakes tonight in an effort to live up to the nickname “fat tuesday,” but he doesn’t really care about the answer. Pancakes for dinner? Well, okay. You don’t have to twist anyone’s arm around here.

On this day we mark the eve of Lent, when it is traditional for Christians to participate in various practices of self-denial in order to more tangibly appreciate Christ’s ultimate self-denial: death on the cross.   Reminiscent of their Jewish ancestors clearing the leaven before passover, Christians developed the habit of eating rich and sweet foods (hence the name “Fat Tuesday”) right before entering Lent, when they would abstain from such things until Easter weekend.
Just like we have plenty of meaningful and sometimes silly traditions with our own families, we really enjoyed celebrating this tradition from the family of God and I think we’ll continue doing so in future years!

poached eggs, sausage and blueberry pancakes

This recipe was adapted from my cousin Natalie, so I always think of her when I make them. They are even, um, a little bit healthier than plain old pancakes. Well… I don’t know what difference these actually make when slathered with Buddy the Elf’s fourth main food group, to be perfectly honest with you.   We make these because they are good, not because they make us look good.

Natalie’s Oatmeal Pancakes
1 c whole-wheat flour
1 c quick cooking oats
2 T sugar
1t salt
1t baking soda
2t baking powder
4T butter
2 c milk
2 large eggs

Mix ingredients to make batter, adding more milk if needed for a runnier consistency. Add chunks of fruit (fresh or frozen) if desired. Cook on a hot griddle and enjoy with maple syrup!

what shall I render?

/ abby hummel

a winter walk in my neighborhood park

The Lord preserves the simple;
when I was brought low, He saved me.
Return, o my soul, to your rest;
for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.

For you have delivered
my soul from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling;
I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living.

I believed, even when I spoke, “I am greatly afflicted”;
I said in my alarm, “All men are liars.”

What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits to me?
I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord.

psalm 116, english standard version.