Fresh Perspective

I didn’t want to risk catching whatever could be caught.  Oh, I had my list of excuses.  We were travelling. I had just seen her.  Surely, she was still, ok? But then I received the text that let me know everything was not alright. That the sickness was getting more serious. A cry for help. I passed it off to the pastor, again not wanting to take the risk. He reported back to me his assessment and it eased my mind of some of the guilt or that persistent nudging that has become very familiar these days. Yes, that nudging. A quiet, still, voice in my heart that will not be silenced. It persists. It prods my stubborn mind with thoughts of needs, of specific food items, of random things like Christmas lights, warm socks, and sometimes little gifts of money. I cannot explain it, but I like to think of it as the Holy Spirit assessing other peoples needs and then telling me.  Sometimes the voice is not quiet or still at all.  It is urgent and loud, even roaring.  And it does not quiet un

The last three-and-a-half years I have experienced an anchor that has given me much focus, purpose, and satisfaction. It has helped to hold me through some radical transitions, including moving as US citizens from Indonesia to the Middle East and four boys leaping out of our nest. It also held fast as the disastrous flood ripped through our tropical aviation base in Papua and as we navigate the annual leaves where we experience the high of seeing family and friends and the low of leaving them again. This was not the first anchor of my choice; it did not capture my heart like some other anchors that were on display.  But I have always said, “I think God knows the desires of my heart better than I do.” It turns out that this is true.   This semester has been a culmination of the anchors effect as I taught Human Clinical 1 at MEU (I had an awesome mentor, Dr. Amy) and presented a capstone educational offering about forgiveness in the Middle East. I find the classroom invigorating

 TAT A TAT A TAT A TAT A TAT. Not the noise we wanted to hear. There had been warnings the night before that roads would be blocked and there more than likely would be violence. I still find it a mystery how come these things are planned and announced. Which reveals how little I know about the political world, especially in the Middle East. Co-workers sent video links of the shootings that were happening a 15-minute drive away. Several times we could hear bigger explosions. It all seemed a bit surreal. Schools quickly sent children home. For those who have lived through the war, this event stirred up thousands of memories. For me personally, I had to weigh if I was still going to lead a women’s day out in the mountains that was planned for 48 hours later. The risk was that the traumatic event would not settle. That a bus full of women and children could be an easy target. Possibly the roads would close, and we would get stuck or worse…. My Middle East friend and team member de

 If you were to show up on my doorstep today or tomorrow for a short visit, I would do well to offer you more than a cool glass of refreshing water or a cup of hot tea. Perhaps I could procure some fresh fruit, but cookies and snacks no longer abound in the “slowing metabolism, there are no teens around” Boyd household (Mmmmhhh, hmmmm.  Can any of my readers relate?).  So, it NEVER fails to amaze me when I show up at my refugee friend’s house and a drink and snack is ALWAYS offered. Not just offered but insisted. I must drink and I must eat. My face is like a book, so it is easy to note when I particularly enjoy something versus not care for it too much. This is an unfortunate trait and hopefully has become less revealing with maturity. My in-tune friends have figured out that their hand squeezed lemonade is hands down the best and I LOVE it. My mouth will begin to salivate just thinking about it as I walk to their home. I asked my dear lemonade making friend to teach me how t

 The shrill of Darron’s phone awoke me from my slumber. Such an unusual thing, for an early morning phone call. I hear Darron fumbling around and became more awake when he uttered, “Oh, it’s Andrew” (our second oldest son). Our Son’s don’t call in early mornings unless there is something important on their minds. I hear Darron congratulating Andrew and I become wide awake and join the conversation, adding my blessings and delight to Andrew and Meredith’s engagement announcement. The day took off with an extra bounce in my step at the thoughts of a wedding, another girl, and family.  I was also rejoicing over more positive news from our first-born son and him landing his first engineering job. Yet, I had to focus. There were groceries to get and a baby shower that I needed to run the program for that morning. Off to the grocery store I went…running late before I even started. Ha! I passed by the unbelievable long line of cars waiting for gas. I was relieved that I had 7/8ths of

I would liken living in Lebanon over the past 2 years to wearing a belt and every few months it gets tightened by 1/2 a notch whether the owner has lost weight or not. A forced tightening. Equalling an increasing discomfort. This has mostly been felt by the 90% devaluation of the Lebanese pound, the extreme gas shortage, the lack of necessary medicines to be found, and the hopelessness expressed by most everyone living there. I strongly dislike a tight waistband and find that all my clothing, that resembles anything of this sort, rarely get worn. But sometimes we don't get to choose what is put on us, as that is the case with all of us living in Lebanon. For us personally, though challenging, we have more than most. Anytime I am out in the community people will ask me, "Why are you here?" It is the most common question I am asked in Lebanon by strangers. Strangers baffled at why we would stay, when all they want to do is leave. It is a good question and deman

One of Catalan's mothers cards, "The Cedars of Lebanon" If you or I were prescribed a pill, we should question if it is good for us?  If the benefits will outweigh the negative effects?  If there are other things, we can do to reduce our need for the medication for a long time, such as exercise or eat healthy?                  Over the past six months I keep having an encounter with a certain type of medicine.  This medicine is “good”.  The benefits supersede any negative effect.  In fact, there are NO negative effects. I want to share this medicine with you. It is named Catalan*.                 Catalan is a 24-year-old refugee girl. She and her family fled Iraq because of Christian persecution. She works in a tiny one room shop that sells mostly vegetables. Catalan works from 7:30 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day/ six days a week. Imagine, 12 and ½ hours a day. You might suspect that Catalan is resentful of not being able to go to University, or havi

Our very own logo!   A blank piece of cardstock stretched out before me, waiting for a design to be applied in vivid colors or subtle hews. Of all the pieces of cardstock in Lebanon it was the one I wanted to sew on the most. This was no ordinary cardstock. It represented women’s lives whose hope had been crushed out of them one gun shot at a time, one less pay-check at a time, one less home and security, one less husband, one less father.  I knew even before I arrived in Lebanon, that there was something special I would sew regarding these women. The funny paradox of this entire story is that I do not sew. I do not like to sew.  I am not good at sewing. But often we are asked to move forward in our weakness so that God can manifest His strength.  And so, that first thread was picked up and I began sewing the design that was in my heart. I soon knew who the first refugee women would be of this sewn collage of threads. They quickly embraced the idea of sewing cards for

  After a year-and-a-half of inactivity, I pull my Littman Classic Stethoscope from its tucked away position to listen. I am delighted to at last be using my training, love, and gifting in this foreign land. I am not practicing nursing in Lebanon, but due to the circumstances I was able to assist a few neighbors who needed a little home support. However, I am not happy about the circumstances that have brought about this opportunity. Undoubtedly, it has affected your life also. Corona Virus. The lungs I listen to are too quiet, meaning not enough air is flowing through them. That is true for Lebanon also. This nation is in a 3-week total lockdown, where passes must be obtained to drive anywhere. Supposedly, you are not allowed even to walk outside your home, but some people are. Our hospitals have peaked capacity. Friends who sat in emergency rooms with loved ones described the scenes that they witnessed as unbearable, as sick people…extremely sick people…would come and be tur

  Our first morning back in America. A sun kissed dawn. PC: Darron Boyd To America and back to Lebanon Covid free, despite high numbers in both countries, is nothing shy of a miracle and we are so grateful. Our time in the States was precious and hard all in the same breath.  The first three days were a high for me, as all our guys + girls were present, in addition my parents who took the risk, and my brother and eldest son who took the flight. So, there we were, all together. A first family Christmas in 10 years, was just such a treat. I will treasure the memory of Mia taking the lead in the kitchen.  WHOO HOO a girl at last!  I will never forget Meredith’s tick-tock potatoes and Tyler’s gloves he gave to my Dad. Games were played. Stories were told. A treasure beyond words. Then everyone scattered, except Darron, I and the two youngest boys. Off we went to Darron’s Mom’s and brother’s home. For the next 15 days we hunkered down with lots of ho