From Boo-Boo-Fixer To Best Friend: The Value of Mothers

{By Rebekah Kimminau}

The title of this post is kind of an oxymoron. Mothers are amazing people, and though people may try to pin down their value, really, there is no set "value" of a mother. Because they are pricless.

My own mother has been a true testament of what a mother should look like. She has influenced just about everything I do - for good - and she is one of the many people I can't imagine my life without.

I think when you are younger, you don't really think about the value of your mother. She is someone who is there for you when you scrape your knee, she is the person who knows how to make the perfect braid, and for me, she was the teacher who I went to anytime I had a question in school. But as you grow up, and start doing things independently, going places on your own, without your mom, you start to learn that all the little things she did for you add up. 

And the older I have gotten, the more I have realized this. I was traveling with families for about 3 months of this past spring. I had a wonderful time, and many of the moms I nanny for are like my second mom, but, that being said, there is just no one like Mom. After being gone from my mom for quite some time, I started to realized, that soon I will be gone even longer (to midwifery school, and maybe eventually married.) And that I really didn't treasure my mom, and the times we spent together nearly as much as I should have. Especially during my teenage years. Between the time I was about 12-15 I went through the "normal" teenage phase. I was mad at the world, and since my world consisted of spending a lot of time with my mom, I was especially mad at her. I had a bad attitude towards her a lot of the time, and God bless her, I don't know how she handled me. But as I reflect back on those years, I regret everyone of the angry words spoken to her. This is the woman who not only carried me for 9 months and birthed me, but the person who put up with my colicky self for a year and then proceeded to spend many an hours planning things for my siblings and I to do, not even mentioning the cleaning, the cooking,  and the homeschooling. And a lot of the time I spent with her  during those years was not pleasant.

But when I was 15, and a lot of my attitude had improved, I started enjoying time with her again. And boy, how my life changed! We started spending time together, going on bike rides some afternoons around the neighborhood, and each night I would go in to get my hair braided for bed, and we would talk about the day. I found that when I opened up to her, and spent time with her, not only talking at her, but also listening to her, my attitude towards her changed. This is the same as in any other relationship you have; communication is KEY. These times are memories that will forever live in my mind. We talked about anything and everything. And as our schedules changed, we moved to a new city, and the times we spent together didn't work so well anymore, I found myself not only missing the times spent with her, but my attitude towards her was starting to go down hill again. Over the past few years I have continually worked on our relationship, and now have the most beautiful relationship I could ever imagine. Don't get me wrong. There were hard times. There were (and still are) times when she asks me to do stuff I don't want to do, and there are also still times when I don't respond in godly way towards her. But God taught me, (and is teaching me) that my relationship with my mother should be a priority in my life. Because God certainly gave us mothers for a reason. 

I am now 18, and our relationship has taken a turn. She is slowly backing out of the role as teacher and instructor, and more and more becoming my best friend. And though I will always look to her for godly wisdom and insight on things I don't have the years to understand, I am enjoying our moments of friendship so very much. We have started taking walks whenever we can squeeze them in (even if it's just 10 minutes to walk to our local RedBox and pick up a movie for movie night.) These walks not only give us a chance for some exercise and fresh air, but they also give us undivided time in which we can talk about life, I can gain wisdom on situations I have been wondering about, and she can talk to me about what has been going on. 

So I want to end by encouraging you, if you don't have a time you spend alone with your mom, find one. It can be something as simple as a 10 minute walk everyday, to going to the gym with her, doing the dishes with her each night, helping her bathe the little kids, making lunch together, sitting on the front porch for a few minutes each day, really, the possibilities are endless! You guys will not only get to know what’s going on in each other's life, but I am sure you will be able to glean some wisdom from her! (She has been alive a few more years than you, after all!)

This post is dedicated to my mother. For the woman who bathed me, changed me, taught me, led me to my Savior, and helped me thorough many situations I could not have gone through without her, Thank you. I treasure our Friendship higher then any other friendship in this world. You are a woman who I highly respect, and hope to have conversations for years to come. I praise God for you often.

What is one thing that your mother has taught you? What is something she always says?

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Rebels Without Causes

{by Rachel Coker}

I experienced my first major movie-star crush when I was twelve years old. I just happened to stroll through the living room one Sunday afternoon and see my dad stretched out on the couch, watching an old movie on TV. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Nothing new there—just his usual Sunday afternoon movie watching. I grabbed a snack out of the fridge and was about to head upstairs when it happened. I saw him. James Dean. I’m pretty sure the earth tipped slightly on its axis. Was it just me, or had my heart stopped beating? Yep, that guy was definitely making my stomach do crazy things.

I casually perched on the edge of the sofa and pretended to be only semi-interested in the movie. “What are you watching?” I asked my dad, as non-suspiciously as possible. Rebel without a Cause. And with those four words, my Sunday afternoon was pretty much shot. Because I sat on the couch for the majority of it, soaking up that handsome face and sweet red jacket.

Looking back on it now, I’m not sure I can really put my finger on what it was about James Dean’s character that I found so appealing. Granted, he was extremely good looking and the best dresser I’d ever laid eyes on, but there was something else about him that I found downright intriguing. He was a rebel. He roamed the streets at dark in his 1949 Mercury, hung out in abandoned houses, and got into more trouble in twenty-four hours than most people can achieve in a lifetime. Basically, he lived the kind of life that every teenager, boy or girl, dreams about. The freedom to do whatever you want, whenever you want. Forget adult supervision or rules. James Dean did whatever he pleased, and twelve-year-old me thought that was just amazing.

There’s a stereotype about teenagers that should probably cause most of us to cringe. And that is that teenagers are a discontented, rebellious, ungrateful bunch of kids. But you know what? It’s totally true! And, to make things worse, I am one of those teenagers! And, if you’re going to be one hundred percent honest, you probably are, too.

My sisters and I recently completed a Bible study on contentment. It was definitely eye-opening to me, because for the first time I realized how little I have to be ungrateful for. Every day, God showers me with blessings and mercies—most of which I don’t even recognize. And yet, I fight. I push for what I want and demand what I think I need. I’m not always grateful or content with the life God has given me. In fact, I often want to rebel against it.

As fallen human beings, we’re born into that state of sin and rebellion. We’re constantly fighting and struggling for things that aren’t in God’s plan for us. And yet, what do we have to fight for? God has been nothing but good and merciful toward us. We play the part of rebels, but we really don’t have a cause.

Every time we rebel against God, there are serious consequences. We lose fellowship with Him, we are kept from receiving some of His blessings, and we are sometimes even punished. No matter how romantic it might seem sometimes, the life of a rebel isn’t a great one. Even in James Dean’s classic film celebrating teen freedom, things end badly. Death, degradation of the family, ruined friendships… Rebellion comes with a price.

The world is full of enough rebels without causes. What we need is more young women and men willing to stand for something worthwhile. The cause of truth, and love, and grace. Those are true causes. The blessings of God are the only things that are really going to last, after all. What good is a few years of living hard and fast? What will we really gain by rebelling for our own desires, if they are only things that will pass away when this life is over?

So stop fighting. Stop rebelling. We really have no reason to be discontent and unhappy. Instead we should spend more time thinking about all the wonderful blessings we enjoy. We don’t have a cause to rebel, but we do have so many causes to be grateful.

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Living is What Matters: A Journal Entry

{by Rachel Roose}

The sound of geese honking resounded in my ears as I leaned back in my chair meditating on Luke chapter twenty-one.

...Flipping to a blank page in my journal I began to write:

O Lord, I really enjoy listening to Your geese honking outside.  They make me happy! Dear Jesus, I loved the verses 14-15, & 19: ¹⁴ But make up your mind not to worry beforehand how you will defend yourselves. ¹⁵ For I will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict. ¹⁹ By standing firm you will gain life.

I will work hard not to worry but to trust You, to depend on You to fill me with wisdom for alone I am helpless, I am nothing but with You I can stand firm. Your wit far surpasses that of anyones deepest imagination. Your wisdom is not to be grasped. Your thoughts are profound and Your words a precious to me. I love You. By Your strength I will stand firm and by Your wisdom I will gain life.

Then I felt Him say: Rachel My daughter, this truth is so good. I’m so glad to hear you repeating it. Remember it is much easier to say than to do, you may know it but it is living it that matters. So be on your guard, always be ready, never let Me out of the front of your mind. Rachel, My strength and truth can arm you even today. I know you do not see anyone coming to persecute you, but through the simple things like when one of your younger siblings really irritates you. Pray to Me I will give you the right answer- this will save you from many quarrels and fill your home with much more joy and peace.

Rachel Roose is homeschooled along with her 7 brothers and 3 sisters.  She is passionate about one day serving the Lord by opening her arms to orphans.  Whether teaching dance, painting, running with her sister and mom, or preparing for the future, her aim is to encourage others to experience a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. 

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May Your Christmas be Merry and White and Bright [With Sugar Plums and Jingle Bells and Herald Angels] Oh, and Joy to the World!

{by Hailey Sadler}
It's kind of a pity about Christmas.

I mean, there are some things I definitely LOVE about Christmas: family traditions, picking out a perfect tree, the excuse to eat lot’s of cookies and drink things like salted caramel lattes and egg nog and Chic-Fil-A peppermint milkshakes [the best!]. And presents. I love presents.

But the pity about Christmas is inherent to the very nature of its celebration. It comes every year. We sing about it. Preach about it. Send cards because of it. [Each sporting pretty much the same twelve words just in different combinations.] We shop and watch movies and have parties because of it. For like a solid month. The pity about Christmas is that it has become so common. It has become so typical, so everyday, that I can sit in a church pew and listen to someone read the words, recorded in ancient times and passed down for generations, of the mind-blowing, world-shattering, reality-shifting, Christmas story and instead of being amazed I look at the preacher standing up to speak and think, “Ok, how is he going to make this interesting?” How could truth such as God Himself came to earth in the form of a little human baby to save the world from sin have become cliché? But it has.

It’s sad. That honestly the most monumental event in history [second only to the resurrection, basically] sometimes seems, if we admit it, kind of …boring now. Not surprising, anymore. Sometimes I wish I could hear the story for the first time again, or see it from someone’s eyes that were there when it happened, the unheard of, for the first time. 

I like to think of the shepherds, because unlike Mary and Joseph [who had been preparing their minds since the angels visits] or the wise men [who had been traveling along time, which always takes some of the excitement out of things… think long car ride...] the shepherds heard about it for the very first time in a burst of glory the very night it happened. [Or at least I like to imagine it that way, I know Biblical scholars can argue otherwise.]

But, outside of a Christmas pageant [and maybe not even then... I always had to be an angel] I doubt I’m going to get the shepherd experience. So we can do what we can, try read the story over with fresh eyes, glimpse the wonder, ask God to create a shepherd's experience in our hearts, and wrap our minds around the scope of the event that Christians now call Christmas. And then be grateful. Because whether or not the Christmas story seems cliche, it still changes our world, our lives, and our entire reality. Which is pretty cool, when you stop to think about it.

Now put that on a Christmas card.

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All I Want for Christmas is You

{by Rachel Coker}

So, it’s that time of year. Wherever you go all you can hear playing are bad remakes of classic Christmas songs. Like Justin Bieber or Jessica Simpson singing “Silent Night”. This kind of annoys me, but I manage to tolerate it for 25 out of 365 days, for the sake of “Christmas joy”.

At the risk of sounding like some kind of unsentimental freak, I have to admit that my favorite Christmas album is Mariah Carey’s. Yes, more than Perry Como and Bing Crosby. There’s just something about her music that makes me want to jump around and throw stuff onto the tree because I’m just so full of yuletide joy. Yeah, it’s weird.

Anyway, the other day I was listening to her song “All I Want for Christmas Is You” on my computer. I was singing along quietly (so that my family can’t hear my off-key attempts at the high notes), when suddenly it dawned on me: I only want one person for Christmas too. And that is Jesus Christ. (Albeit, I could probably also add a small handful of good looking actors, but I’ll keep them out of this for now…)

The more I mulled over this thought, the clearer it became to me that all I want for Christmas is HIM. I don’t need presents to make me happy this Christmas. Or snow, or stockings, or mistletoe. I definitely don’t need some prince charming to come in and sweep me off my feet, filling me with holiday joy and warm fuzzy feelings. All I really desire is to be filled with the love and joy of Christ.

Even though Christmas is a Christian holiday, I think it is the hands-down easiest holiday to forget about Christ on. There’s so much going on that can distract us from what this season is really about. We run around and waste time on silly things that we wrongly think are important. We get hung up, like Mariah Carey, on thinking selfishly about what and who we want this year. But all we should really want is Christ.

Christmas isn’t a time for greed and business. It’s a time for slowing down and getting back to the basic truth of Christianity: desiring God. Wanting to know Him and be near to Him, and being thankful for what He did for us. Because, if you think about it, His salvation is the only gift we can know for sure we can get this year, no matter how naughty we’ve been! ;)

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Puffed Sleeves and Bosom Buddies

{by Rachel Coker}

When I was ten years old, the only thing I wanted out of life was to be Anne Shirley. She had it all. The romantic tale of an orphaned child sent to live with the most wonderful people on the most beautiful place on earth. She had flaming auburn hair (no, not red, never red!) and a spunky personality and…. (sigh) puffed sleeves. And, to top it all off, a lovely bosom buddy and that rogue Gilbert Blythe who, despite his initial teasing, turned out to be the best leading man literature has ever known. (I still don’t know any guys who compare!) This was my ideal, romanticized notion of how life should be. A world of close-knit friendships, dashing young men, and lots of frilly poetry and italics.

My life at ten years old was nothing like that. Anne was always stately and dignified, regardless of the circumstances. My perception of myself couldn’t be any different. I was awkwardly tall. At 5’4 and only ten years old, I towered over all of my peers, male or female. My hair was kinky and frizzy—not quite curly and no longer really straight. I had glasses, pudgy baby fat, and, pretty soon after that, braces.

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Learning to Give Thanks at the Waters of Marah {Part 2}

{by Katrina Rebsch}

As the days continued to pass, as wise counsel was shared by my parents, and the Word of God proved itself beautifully alive to speak to the depths of my soul, my feelings of utter despondency turned to feelings of utter conviction.  Yes, it’s true that I had walked into challenging circumstances and probably faced enemy opposition as well.  But I was also being just plain selfish.  I realized I had an attitude that seemed to say, “Oh, well, I’ll go to a foreign country to serve the least of these children but only if there’s running water at all times, and if the kids are well behaved, and if living conditions are acceptable to my standards.”

Patiently, lovingly, God began to show me that the poured-out life means being like Jesus Christ who “made Himself of no reputation but took upon Him the form of a servant.” 

It means showing love for Him by “feeding His lambs.” 

It means, in a practical sense, cleaning filthy bathrooms and vomit and diarrhea, patiently administering discipline to a stubborn six-year-old for the better part of an afternoon, and living cheerfully with clutter and disorder until organization can be given. 

It means heating buckets of water and lugging them upstairs to give baths to a dozen children when the water tank runs out, even if it takes four hours to get the job done. 

It means getting up at the crack of dawn to help children get ready for school and working until late at night when one is sick and needs a comforting mommy. 

It means patiently laboring with a seven-year-old over her homework when she is frustrated and both of you want to throw the book out the window. 

It means giving thanks for rice and potatoes for the 127th time because it is economic and filling. 

It means doing laundry and washing dishes with joy all day everyday because you know such actions are contributing to the health and well-being of 14 precious children. 

It means taking time to push a little one on the swing in the backyard when you have thirty other chores clamoring for your attention but you are working hard to be relationship-oriented vs. task oriented. 

It means letting them kiss you with sloppy, wet kisses and hug you till the air leaves because “the greatest of these is love.” 

Yes, the poured out life is not easy - and sometimes looks rosier in the pages of missionary biographies than in the nitty-gritty of real life - but as I am learning like so many others who have gone before, it IS worth every hardship. 

Now, two months later, I can honestly say that as God has been “proving” me at my own waters of Marah (Exodus 15), the bitter has turned to sweet.  Have my circumstances changed?  A few.  By God’s grace, I have been able to bring about some positive changes in the house I am living in that have contributed to better sanitary conditions and much-needed orderliness.  And with time, as relationships have been built, authority established, and routine re-implemented, the children’s behavior has greatly improved from those first few days I was here when many factors in their lives were rather topsy-turvy.  But more than a change in circumstances, there has been a change in me.  Gently, and with the strength and dignity so characteristic of His nature, God has been doing a work, shaping, molding, refining.

One of the most significant lessons He has been teaching me can be summed up in the word thanksgiving.  A sacrifice the Bible calls it (Psalm 107:22).  And now I better understand what that means.  It’s a sacrifice to give thanks when you just want to give up.  To look for beauty when all you can see is mess.  To count your blessings when you just want to count the reasons people should pity you. 

I began reading a book called One Thousand Gifts, and as its artfully-crafted words poignantly captured the very sentiments of my own heart and inspired me to live fully in the moment, so, too, did the Word of God suddenly come alive with proclamations about the thankfulness I was learning to cultivate.  “Serve the Lord with gladness...enter His gates with thanksgiving...be thankful unto Him.”  (Psalm 100:2, 4)  “Praise ye the Lord.  O give thanks unto the Lord for He is good: for His mercy endureth forever.” (Psalm 106:1)  “Strengthened with all might , according to His glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness; giving thanks unto the Father.” (Colossians 1:11-12)

My journal began to fill up with these nuggets, these valuable reminders to live thankful.  It also began to fill up with lists of the daily gifts I was learning to notice that beautified my days and pointed my focus to the Giver of such wonders. 

Snow on the mountains

Soothing music

Running water

Echinacea cough drops

Soft lamplight

Bedtime prayers

Juicy apples

Encouraging emails from friends and family far away

The smell of roses

A nail through the shoe of one little boy that did not penetrate his foot

Delicious meat-filled empanadas

Sweet baby smiles

Just enough yogurt to go around for breakfast

Dancing in a circle with happy children

The privilege of washing dishes and scrubbing bathrooms

Socks that match

A warm welcome amongst the Bolivian women with whom I work

Fluffy white clouds against a blue sky

Precious kiddo hugs and kisses

Simple things really.  But so very big in the scope of daily life.  Ann Voskamp, the author of One Thousand Gifts states, 

“I had never really learned the language of 'thanks in all things'!  Though pastors preached it, I still came home and griped on.  I had never practiced.  Practiced until it became second nature...Practice is the hardest part of learning, and training is the essence of transformation...Do not disdain the small.  The whole of life - even the hard - is made up of the minute parts, and if I miss the infinitesimals, I miss the whole...There is a way to live the big of giving thanks in all things.  It is this: to give thanks in this one small thing.  The moments will add up.  I, too, had read it often, the oft-quoted verse: 'And give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ' (Ephesians 5:20).  And I, too, would nod and say straight-faced, 'I’m thankful for everything.'  But in this counting gifts, to one thousand, more, I discover that slapping a sloppy brush of thanksgiving over everything in my life leaves me deeply thankful for very few things in my life...Life-changing gratitude does not fasten to a life unless nailed through with one very specific nail at a time.”

**********

As I try to picture those of you reading this article, I wonder if you, too, feel like you are standing on the banks of Marah, tasting bitterness in your life and longing instead for sweetness.  I do not know what kind of trials, challenges, or broken dreams you might be experiencing.  But I do know this: no matter how tough life may seem right now, there are always things for which to give thanks, gifts of beauty from the hand of the Lord that fill each day...if we will just take the time to see them.  And in the process of being obedient, of making the sacrifice of thanksgiving, miracles happen.  Sweetness comes.

May the Word of God fill you up as you live poured out for Him...with a heart that gives thanks.

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Learning to Give Thanks at the Waters of Marah {Part 1}

{by Katrina Rebsch}

“My journey to a new land, a new people, and a new ministry is underway!  As I write this, we are somewhere over the ocean with Santa Cruz as our destination, to be reached in approximately six hours, and Cochabamba soon after that.

As I venture into the unknown, I am grateful to know at least one thing quite clearly: this journey is the will of God and He is with me!  What joy there is in knowing this truth.  I am comforted to know that it shall sustain me during the hard moments and difficult days.”

So reads the first entry in my new journal with the blue butterfly gracing its cover.  It is dated June 30.  Two months have now passed since I penned those words at 30,000 feet above the earth.  Two months more full of those “hard moments and difficult days” than I ever could have imagined as I ventured forth to live a dream. 


When God first touched my heart over the plight of the orphan, the poor, the oppressed, and the abandoned, I was sitting in the upstairs study of Eric and Leslie Ludy’s home, participating in a weekend girls’ conference.  The inspiring messages we heard were rich with God’s Word and stirred me to the very depths of my soul.  I remember watching video clips of precious children all over the world who were being exploited, sold into slavery, abandoned to the streets. 143 million of them were orphans.  All of them were in need of hope, love, the redemptive power of the Gospel. 

The challenge was issued.  Was I willing to go to them?  To be the hands and feet of Jesus Christ to the least of these who shared my world?  Could I give up comforts and conveniences to meet the needs of those who otherwise would be scrounging in the dumpsters, sleeping in the sewers, and sniffing glue in order to survive?  I said yes.

Missionary service was not a new concept.  I had first surrendered to the idea when I was 16, and since that time, had followed God’s leading both to foreign countries as well destinations in my own homeland where doors of ministry had been opened.  Missions conferences at church and missionary biographies did much to shape my thinking, giving me a heart for the world and a desire to devote my life to knowing Christ and making Him known.

After hearing about God’s heart for the fatherless and the very real orphan crisis in our world, after being presented with the challenge to demonstrate “true and undefiled religion” according to James 1:27, I quietly crept out of the Ludy’s upstairs study during a time of personal prayer and reflection and made for the porch swing.  It was nighttime.  The crickets chirped and the fresh mountain air seemed heavy with the perfume of the Holy Spirit’s presence.  As I rocked back and forth on the swing, I penned my renewed devotion to the “poured out life.”  How could I not give everything I had and was to the service of the One who had given everything for me?

That weekend proved to be another milestone in my adventure with Jesus.  I returned home to the busyness of life; correspondence Bible college, girls’ discipleship ministries, piano lessons, volunteer work at a crisis pregnancy center, service at home and church.  But I couldn’t forget about the 143 million orphans and abandoned children that lived out there somewhere, sharing my world and waiting for a Christ-follower to come rescue them...  In my spare time, I researched ministries on the internet that reached out to such children.  Such a huge, world-wide need...how to help?  Where to serve?  What to do?

A couple of years passed.  I worked on staff at the pregnancy center, saved money, finished my degree, and attended a one-year missionary language school to learn Spanish, continually striving to know Christ and make Him known along the way, to encourage and disciple young women in the Lord - a real passion - and all the while wondering what the future held and when another passion would be realized: the plight of the orphan.

Then, through a series of events that can only be described as the working of God, a door was opened, and on June 30, I departed the United States for a six-month sojourn in the land of Bolivia to live and work at a children’s home ministry for former street kids and abandoned babies.

Within three days time, however, the dream experience I had so looked forward to living seemed to crumble under the weight of disillusionment, discouragement, and despondency.  I was left holding the pieces and feeling completely overwhelmed.  Lack of sanitation, safety concerns, unruly children, homesickness, disorder, chaos, filth, hardships... Despite my resolutions not to have any expectations, things were so different than what I had expected!

I had no joy, no hope, no desire to remain. 

By nature, I am not a quitter.  I thrive on stepping up to challenges and seeing them through to a victorious end.  For the first time, however, I found myself wanting to quit immediately.  I felt certain I was the wrong person for the job, that this kind of ministry was not for me, that God should find somebody else for the work and send me on the next plane back to America.  After all, I hadn’t signed up for all this!  I had signed up for... the poured out life.

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