Beauty in the Past - Wk 4

Word:

It’s 2011 and it’s bitter cold outside. Christmas just passed a few days ago but it sure doesn’t have the normal holiday feeling as past years. See just a few days before Christmas my grandma who had been battling cancer for the third time collapsed on the way to the restroom. Thankfully my grandfather and mother were both with her at the time. An ambulance came and rushed her to the hospital, she was stable for the time being. As the chain of phone calls were made to update the family on the latest it was an unspoken reality. This would be grandma’s last hospital visit. Two years earlier granny was diagnosed with this last cancer for the third time in 20 years, unlike the cancer before it this bunch had spread throughout her body, clearly and devastatingly making it terminal. As I think back to this time my appreciation for who my grandmother was has grown. Not only was she a strong, kind, loving wife mother and grandmother. She was human. She had struggles like anyone else. She had fears and short comings and lord nose didn’t always make the right decision. But despite her humanness she never stopped trying to grow into the person she knew God designed her to be. And looking back how sad it was to watch her suffer through the cancer but what a beautiful example she was and still is to me of someone that knows who is in control even when the circumstances seem out of control. A time all always remember was a few months before she past myself and an old friend went to pend some time with my grandma one Saturday evening. She couldn’t get around to well and when we got there she was laying in her bed watching TV. So we each lay on each side of her and just visited. We were there for hours. Watching terrible lifetime movies, eating bologna sandwiches and laughing, oh how much we all laughed that night. Its funny to me that I couldn’t tell you one thing we talked about that night but I will always remember the way pending the time with my friend and grandma made me feel.

It’s the morning of day eight since we’ve been in the hospital. Granny’s motor skills are 95% gone and she can barely hold hands let alone lift her own head at this point. Grandpa went home last night to sleep; it’s mid-morning now so we expect him to arrive soon.

This moment I will never forget. I was sitting on the couch in the hospital room with five of my family members. They were all visiting and watching TV when the door opened and in walked my grandfather, immediately something about his demeanor caught my attention. It was as if he didn’t even notice any of us in the room, and even stranger is that no one else seemed to notice him either. As I watched my him walk toward my grandmother he said something to her in French, my jaw dropped, I had no idea my grandfather even spoke French. Grandma lay in her bed asleep, yet as soon as he spoke her eyes opened and her gaze met his. He took her hand, and leaning in, his face so close to her’s, he softly spoke words with such emotion that they both began to weep. As I sat there watching this it was as if the room had stopped and all I could see and hear was them. Jay and Kay, two souls united, declaring the love they had for one another. Thanking the other for sharing their life till death do them part

Meal:

Anytime I would stop over my grandparents’ house my grandma would make me a bologna sandwich on white with mayo and mustard.

 Music:

Celine Dion, My heart will go on.  Outside of Celine I’m not sure if my grandma listened to anyone else

Prayer:

Father thank you for who you are. Thank you for all the emotions that you’ve given us to use in relationships. Lord please teach me how to use them well and in alignment with your example.

Time:

Life can be dark. Circumstances can be overwhelming but only if we close our eyes. This week, if life is crazy or even if it’s going smoothly I challenge you to stop for a moment and look for God in the details.  I assure that you’ll see Gods beauty in the most common parts of your day. 

Beauty in the Past - Wk 3

Word:

This too shall pass, they say. You’ll get over your dad’s suicide and you’ll forget about that terrible job and that arrogant boy. You’ll move on. Forgetfulness, forward progress: it’s what the world pushes all of us broken people towards at a ridiculous pace, even when we’re not ready. And I’m not ready. I’m not ready to forget, to get over it, to move on but I am ready to remember, to forgive, and to see the beauty in this past of mine.

But let’s be real: it took me 11 years to be ready. 11 years before I could remember and process that my dad died by suicide. Sitting with a journal and a pen in the rain staring in the face what his suicide haunted me with: reckless guilt. I took myself and my journal, all shakingly wet, inside and wept while a friend read that journal, painfully knowing that getting over it wasn’t working. All I wanted was to heal; to no longer be defined as the daughter of a man who killed himself.

If you were to tell me I’d be set free bit by bit after that day, I would have choked on my water.

6 months later, I awkwardly initiated conversation with this same friend and he unexpectedly prayed over me that I would know I am a daughter of the King. I could have choked on my water. Man, the forgiveness and healing that would ensue as a result. I don’t remember anything else he prayed about because I just remember feeling all that guilt fade away. This was who I could be!  Alone in my head and heart, I tacked on my own prayer before the Amen came: “Jesus, I want You, I want to be Yours”.

A month later, I made a choice to potentially be able to choke on some water, I got baptized. In all seriousness, it was a physical display of 11 years of guilt and shame surrendered and a future that never looked so clear. For the first time, it all looked so beautiful.

Music:

Reckless Love/Cory Asbury.

Meal:

Extra cheese pizza. We ate a lot of pizza growing up as kids. The thin crust kind that you buy at Aldi and pop into the oven for 22 minutes or so. So good. To this day, extra cheese is my go-to with pizza. Oh, pepperoni and sausage pizza comes with cheese? Not enough, friends. Not enough.

I think I love pizza as much as I do because there was a night where my dad was upset and refused to eat but I warmed him up some leftover pizza and he ate it. Pizza is a sure-fire way to the heart.

Prayer:

Jesus,

I am broken.

In the grips of this world, I am wrecked by guilt and shame.

I ache to be forgiven but I know too well I am unworthy of it.

And no matter how hard I try to right my wrongs, it is not enough.

Heal me, Lord. As only You can.

Bring me to the end of myself so that Your work can begin.

But don’t leave me there alone.

Surround me with Your holy people.

May they walk with me, teach me, and love me.

Surround me with Your Holy Spirit, Lord.

May it guide me out of the deep waters

And into Your deep grace for me.

Jesus, in your hands, I am safe.

In Your hands I can heal.

Take my life and let it be Yours

 for I am Yours and You are mine.

Amen.

Time:

Find your people. The ones who will read your tear-stained, rain-soaked mess of words and tell you it is gonna be okay. The ones who will get coffee with you, hear you out, and pray for you time and time again until you’re okay. The ones who get brunch with you at the crack of dawn because schedules are nuts and it’s been too long. The ones who will see the same movie again with you because you haven’t seen it yet. The ones who will meet you halfway at a café to catch up on lives and work. The ones who let you into their homes for lunch and make room in their lives.

Yes, it is awkward sometimes to let them in. Do it anyway. Start small if you need to. Write your hurt down and let someone read it while you sit next to them. Let your pastor pray over you. Find a church that will love you and help you heal and grow. Text a good friend and ask to get coffee. Ask someone you look up to if they will mentor you. Join a group of people your age with the same goals. Schedule a counseling appointment. You can do it.

I promise you’ll catch glimpses of the beautiful here.

Contact: @perkowskianna on Instagram/ www.perkofsorts.wordpress.com

Beauty in the Past - Wk 2

Word

In 1977, the miniseries Roots inspired many Americans, including my father, to dig into their family history. Since this was long before genealogy websites and at-home DNA tests, he spent hours poring over dusty files in county courthouses, sorting through old photos, and tromping through small cemeteries, trying to piece together names and dates and places and faces kept in writing in a tattered leather briefcase. Years later, I picked up where he left off, joining the branches of my mom’s and dad’s families into one gigantic tree. Thankfully, I now had webpages and pictures posted by distant cousins. With these resources at my disposal, I’ve worked my way back to 12th century England. (Pretty cool, huh?) As I find those who have given me their DNA, I imagine their lives back then and over there. What were their hopes for their children? What was their greatest hardship? What helped them persevere?

In my family I have pastors and veterans as well as drunkards and slave owners. Farmers and lawyers; merchants and teachers. I have beamed with bittersweet pride while holding letters and photos my grandfather sent from his deployment in France in 1945. I have been dumbstruck reading accounts of my 9-great-grandfather fleeing for his life from religious persecution. I’ve had to wrestle with the implications of my family’s participation in this country’s “peculiar institution”. I laughed out loud when DNA tests busted the myth that I’m a Cherokee princess.  (I am whiter than rice, y’all.)  As I learn more, it is becoming clear which family members I can be proud of – the ones who, for all I know, were squeaky clean – fine, upstanding citizens who loved God and contributed to their communities. But what do I do with the “dirt”? What do I do with the stories that are tinged with shame?

It is human nature to want to be the hero of our own story. But all of us have a few characters in our family drama who aren’t as virtuous as we’d hoped they’d be. Check the Bible and you’ll find the same thing. The first book of each Testament contains a genealogy in its early chapters. Among the familiar names of those we deem heroes, like prophets and kings, are names of women who were summarily dismissed, those who are relatively unknown, and those who, frankly, were pretty horrible human beings.

Yet intertwined in the branches of each family tree is God Himself, willing to restore the brokenness, heal the wounds, and direct our attention toward His grand narrative of redemption and relationship. Our past can remind us that God Himself is the hero of the story, the only true hero, and the only Hero any of us will ever need.

If all families are a collection of virtue and vice, as our individual lives are, we need not fear facing our familial and individual pasts. No need to keep up the façade; no need to curate our stories until they seem shiny and perfect. There is beauty in our family history – a bunch of faces and stories that few people knew, but in the grander scheme can show a little more about a God who calls us all by name.

Meal

Everyone has a story around food and family – a favorite, a tradition, that dessert that never turns out right unless one certain family member makes it, a celebration that’s just not complete until that dish is on the table. Even if it’s not the “right” time of year, make a dish that’s special to you and your family. If nothing comes to mind, here’s something from my family that showed up often on Sundays and holidays. In the classic southern tradition, it’s a “salad” that’s not really a salad. But it is green, so there’s that…

Pistachio Salad*

1 c. milk

1 package pistachio instant pudding

3 c. mini marshmallows

1 20 oz. can crushed pineapple

8 oz. Cool Whip®

1 c. chopped pecans

Mix pudding and milk; add rest of ingredients and mix. Chill until firm – preferably in a vintage mustard-yellow Tupperware® bowl.  J

Song

John Mayer’s “In the Blood”. A profoundly honest piece about what we inherit from our families and the longing to not be bound by the pain of our past.

Could I change it if I wanted/Can I rise above the flood/Will it wash out in the water/Or is it always in the blood?

Prayer

Dear LORD,

Regardless of our families’ past, we invite you into our present and our future. Show us where you are working to redeem and reframe our past to show YOU at work then and there as well as here and now. Show us where we need to hold on to the good we have inherited from our families, and where we need to break free and lean into Your grace.

Amen.

Time

Get some stories. Spend some time talking to siblings, parents, grandparents…what are the abiding values and characteristics of your family? What have you inherited (good, bad, and maybe ugly?) Use an app like StoryCorps to record them, or just record on your phone. I’m thankful for handwritten stories from my grandparents, but what I’d give to hear their voices.

For the curious – take advantage of a free trial period of genealogy websites. You never know what you’ll find.

Marsha Vaughn

@drmvaughn (Twitter)

Beauty in the Past - Wk 1

Word

I was born into a Buddhist family in a small village of Cambodia. My parents had 6 children and I was the youngest. When I was 3 years old I started to develop a skin disease on my left knee. It started out just a small dot, but it kept growing bigger and wider each year. My parents loved me, and they tried very hard to find a cure.

One day a villager came by and said “oh, it looks like toads skin, just burn some toads skin and put on it,” and so we did. After killing all the toads in the village, the skin disease was still there.

Another villager said, “there is a very good sorcerer in a nearby village, take her to him.” so we went to see him. When we got there he chewed up some leaves, then he started spitting all over my knee. Still nothing happened.

Another villager said, “A witch doctor is coming to our village. You should take your little girl to the witch doctor.” and so we went to see her. The witch doctor put five cotton balls on my knee and lid them on fire. The witch doctor made me swallow poisonous seeds and eat bitter roots. The witch doctor then told my parents that I would need to go live with her for one month. So my parents sent me away to live with the witch doctor lady for a month. After a full month of burning, and scraping and eating poisonous stuff, the witch doctor sent me home still with the disease on my knee.

When I was 8 years old, my Cambodian Dad died from HIV. He had passed it on to my mom, and she too died two years later. They both died at the age of 42. I remember feeling so lost. It was dark and confusing. My heart felt numb. My siblings got separated and at 10 years old, I was placed in an orphanage.

The orphanage had 42 children living in a rented one bedroom house. The girls slept inside the house and the boys slept outside. The first month I was there, we slept on the cold concrete floor. In the first year we bathed ourselves in a pond that had many different plants growing in it. Some of us were allergic to the pond water, and we scratched our bodies like crazy.

We had rice every meal. The cook had a very tight budget. She liked making soup with vegetables and about a pound of pig fat floating in it. In the rainy season, the boys would go out into the fields and catch frogs, fish, snails and snakes. Anything they caught became our dinner.

Once in a while we would receive food donated to us. One weekend a group of monks brought us several bags of rice. The next weekend a group of Christians brought over fruit and snacks. The Christians were trying to tell us about Jesus, but I wasn’t interested. At that time I didn’t care about religion. I had stopped praying to Buddha because I had lost the interest, and it was no longer important in my life.

In those three years, I tried running away from the orphanage three times, but my plan failed every time. One day as I was doing my daily chores at 5 am, I was so tired and mad at my hopeless situation. I stopped working. I looked at the sky and said, “Jesus if you are real, take me out of this place.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was my first prayer. I was desperate. I didn’t know who else to turn to, so I turned to Jesus.

Not long after that, a group of American missionary doctors and nurses came to my orphanage. They realized how dirty the place was, so they got on their hands and knees and scrubbed the floors, and boiled the mosquito nets and washed our hair with lice shampoo and then, they checked our health.

I went up to one of the nurses and showed her my knee. The nurse did not know what it was and she had no medicines for it, but she asked if she could pray for me. To be polite I said yes, fully doubting that anything would happen. After she said amen, I looked at my knee and the disease was still there.

Three weeks went by, I looked at my knee again and I saw only the scar. My mind instantly raced back to the moment when the nurse was praying over me in the name of Jesus. I thought to myself “I think Jesus healed me.” From that moment on my heart was soften toward Jesus, and I sought to know him more. Several months after that, I got adopted by a Christian missionary couple, and my world was turned right-side-up.

My adoptive parents took me with them to Thailand. I was 13 years old. I lived there for 7 wonderful years. I became the first child in my Cambodian family to graduate from High School. In 2011 my adoptive parents helped me get to college in America. I attended Judson University in IL where I met my husband.  

Since accepting Jesus to be my Lord and Savior in 2004, He has been so generous, so faithful, and so good to me. He truly is the Light that shines in the darkness. Every time I look back at my past, and every time I look at the scar on my knee I’m simply amazed and in awe of God.

I was a poor, lost and hopeless orphan with nowhere to go and no one to depend on. And as I was at the dead end, broken in that dirty orphanage, in that crowded city, God found me, pursued me, and loved me in a way that I had never been loved before.

Prayer

Our dear loving and compassionate Father, I thank you for your mercy. Thank you for your pursuit of every heart in this world. You are the God who sees and hears and you respond. I pray that you shine your light so brightly in dark places around the world right now. I pray that you respond quickly to those crying for your help. I thank you for your healing and rescue. I thank you for the scar that I can look at and be amazed of you. In the name of your Son Jesus I pray, amen.

Song

Jesus We Love You (Bethel Music)

Time

Take time to love. Love those God put in front of you. Always speak words of truth and words of encouragement. Complimenting those you love when they are with you means so much more than saying nice things about them on their obituary.

Meal

Thai Stir Fry Cashew Nut Chicken (My adoptive parents’ favorite Thai dish).

https://hot-thai-kitchen.com/cashew-chicken/