Fall Pictures

Spots on My Apples

I. love. fruit. I grew up being able to pick mangoes, grapefruit, tangerines, and many other fruit straight off the tree. Biting into freshly picked fruit and having its sweet or sour flavors spray in my mouth might be even better than biting into a warm gooey chocolate chip cookie. As a kid I remember fruit straight off a tree being so juicy that I had to keep the juice from dripping down my face. And I never thought about the spots...except to maybe eat around them. Maybe that is why I tend to want to buy organic (obviously funds don't always make this possible).

One of my sweet little joys of living here is, as we have begun to get to know people in our village, we have been blessed with the gift of fresh fruit. A lady who promises to help me learn Greek and who invited us to her sons wedding, brought us fresh grapes, figs and zucchini. Then two days ago the lady that cares for the upkeep next door brought me freshly picked apples. She apologized for the spots but explained they don't spray anything. I cut off the spots and took a crunchy bite of pure goodness. Lets say the store bought ones are still in my fridge and Charis now asks for an apple to snack on instead of a cookie.

Private Happiness?

God has used John Piper again... Well, let me back up. I was rereading a child rearing book, Don't Make Me Count to Three, and decided to jolt down some scripture for reference. In her third chapter she touches on 1 Cor 13 "Love is not rude". Wow, how have I forgotten this simple phrase is in scripture? I try to teach Charis this, but I should be taking her to God's Holy Word that doesn't come back void. As I read this section of 1 Cor 13, I was thinking "hmm, yes this is good for Charis...then I got to "it is not irritable or resentful". There were the four large ugly fingers pointing back to me. No, not this again! Once again I am confronted with my impatience and anger ...ultimately my sinfulness. Yuck. I hate my yuck. I reread the passage looking at my own heart. God's Holy Word doing what it promises - piercing like a sword. Then I remembered John Pipers blogs title "Love is patience" that had come up on my blog list several days back. I hadn't been able to read yet. I ran downstairs and grab technology. I open the browser:

"...Selfishness is the real archenemy of love:

Selfishness seeks its own private happiness at the expense of others. Love seeks its happiness in the happiness of the beloved. It will even suffer and die for the beloved in order that its joy might be full in the life the purity of the beloved (John Piper, Desiring God, 206-207).

Love is patient because patience is a dying to selfishness"

Then the Holy Spirit brings it all together in my heart. My irritability is because I want my own private happiness. The Holy Spirit reminds me of His recent revealing of my desperate need for a servant's heart. Being a wife and mother doesn't feel glorious lots of times, and I find myself grasping for my private happiness. This can be as insignificant as wanting dishes to be done. I find myself easily irritated when I am "interrupted". Being interrupted from completing my to dos or finishing a task as simple as hanging up the laundry is an assault at my private happiness. I don't like it. I find myself sadly uncompassionate when my tender baby is crying at my feet to be picked up or my sweet girl wants me to fix a bow in her hair that fell out AGAIN... but I. WANT. to. finish. MY. task. . . . just this once. If I desire to have a servants heart, I must give up even this idea of private happiness. My joy must be in doing the will of God instead of my own little will. Right now it is a fact that His will is serving with Love, 1 Cor 13 LOVE, my husband and my children. It means not being irritated when my plans are interrupted, my task is unfinished, my needs including sleep aren't met, when everything isn't just as I WANT.... Our society has fed me with lies that I find submerging from my subconscious....if I give into this TRUTH, I am doing to disservice to myself. I am humbled. When did I start believing the lie that I have to be my own defender, advocate, promoter...worrying about my own needs, wants, dreams, desires...me me me? Instead I am called to die to myself. To be like my Savior who "but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant" (phil 2:7). I am overwhelmed! How will I ever have a servant's heart? How will I ever love like this? Unselfishly? How do I expect to teach my two year old this when there is the same sinfulness in my heart? The Holy Spirit graciously lifts my eyes to the ink that hadn't even dried from a verse I jolted down just minutes before:

"His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence," 1Peter 1:3

Wish List

A few weeks ago Joshua's cousin asked for a list of things that people could send us in a care package. Here is a list of some ideas of things we miss or are very expensive here:

Starbucks French Roast Coffee

Pecans

Maple Extract (put in ziplock)

Chocolate Chips (put in ziplock)

Goldfish or Annie’s White Cheddar Bunnies

Teething crackers

Chocolate (Favorites: Chocolate Covered Raisens, Reese's Cups, Milky Ways)

Powerbars

Gatorade mix packets

Ranch Dressing mix packets

Instant hot chocolate packets

Dial Antibacterial soap (antibacterial bar soap can't be found)

Children’s books

Activity & Coloring books & Stickers

Any books =)

Stationary and greeting cards

Children's clothes - Gabriel 18m and Charis 4T

We love "snail" mail whether or not any treats are included.

Another walk to the village...

Today we went for a little walk to enjoy some fresh air, stretch our legs and hopefully make it easier for daddy to work (he was wearing ear phones when we left). Last minute I ran back inside and grabbed the key to check our PO box for the first time.

I grew up going to a post office box to get our mail. Costa Rica didn't have the ability to handle mail the way the USPS does. In fact as children, my siblings and I were mesmerized by the American mailbox. At Nana's house, we would beg to be the one to get the mail even if we knew nothing would be for us. We loved opening that little black door and pulling out what could be treasures. I took countless pictures of Nana's mailbox (which I heard was recently replaced).

Now as I walked past the olive press museum with my chattering 2 year old, I remembered how the PO box had its own charm...

As we walked up to the aqua green post boxes, my friendly girl tried waving to a passer by and I pulled out the little key. With a bit of effort, I slid the key into the lock, lifted Charis to open it AND there was something in there! An address I knew well! I pulled out the manila envelope...

"Charis! It is from Aunt Kelly!"

I opened it right there. To make it even better there were drawings from her cousins.

"Oh and Susanna!..and Miriam..."

She was so excited that she wanted to hold them on the walk back. We talked about the drawings and about doing ones for our cousins - How she would draw one and then mail one and then wait, wait, wait and on a day you didn't know there would be one back. I told her about pen pals. I told her how I was pen pals with my cousin Laura and how I loved going to the post office for letters from her. I didn't even get to tell her how that is how Daddy's and Mommy's story began. I guess the charm isn't in what box you pull out the letters from, but in the experiences you have with those boxes.

Gabriel's First Meal

First Bite

Big Sister helping

Silly boy

αναλφάβητος

When we prepared to come to Cyprus, I was told that almost everyone spoke English and that learning Greek wouldn't be a requirement (we were/are still planning on learning Greek). Well...what we have found so far is that there are lots of people that speak English, but it usually isn't the Cypriots. The majority of Cypriots that we have come in contact with don't speak English, or if they do, it is pretty limited. It probably doesn't help that that we speak American English and not British English. While there are some general signs in English that make it helpful, the details are not in English.

One area that this is difficult is grocery shopping. On top of the high prices and the exchange rate, I find myself struggling to know WHAT I am buying. I walk out mentally exhausted. I find myself staring at rows of can milk trying to figure out which is evaporated (our current substitute for half and half) and which is condensed. It didn't help that in Lidl (a German chain like Aldi) the evaporated milk was called condensed in English. The other day Joshua picked up some ice cream. As we took a bite, we quickly found out that “Kaimaki” isn't vanilla. The flavor wasn't anything our taste buds were expecting. I looked it up online and found it was either ground orchid root or clotted cream from water buffaloes or goats -think feta cheese ice cream. Sufficient to say I find grocery shopping challenging. And it hit me why - I am αναλφάβητος ... illiterate!