The last letter

Dear Naomi,

Well now, I’m not sure you did answer my questions. At least, you definitely didn’t give the details I wanted. But then I see that for the moment (this season, perhaps?) you need to hold onto what is the same, rather that what is different. And upon further reflection I think this is best. What would I have done with the details but compare myself with you? Better for me to carefully and prayerfully think through those things for myself.

At the end of your book you consider the ‘season right now’; unsure how it will turn out but confident in God’s sovereignty and purposes. This has been particularly helpful for me in my ‘season right now’.

Firstly, these words from Ephesians (much like your quote from de Cassaud),

“And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfilment — to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ.” (Ephesians 1:9-10)

have encouraged me to lift my eyes to heaven and remember that it’s not about me. As much as I am part of it and although my God who loves me has marked out my days (Psalms 139:16) and directs my steps (Proverbs 16:9), it isn’t about me. It’s about him, about Christ. Everything is working towards that day when he will be revealed in all his glory and every knee will bow before him.

And secondly, until then, God’s will for me is that I honour, love and live under that one head, Christ; that I be sanctified, holy and pure (1 Thessalonians 4:3-8); and that I am joyful, prayerful and thankful (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). And so my decision not to speak maliciously to my husband this morning is as important as my decision to marry him; loving a work colleague as important as whether I am a missionary in Vanuatu or a hairdresser in Vaucluse; (and here’s the pertinent one right now) … training my children in righteousness as important as how many I have — or when I have them.

And so, here I am, trusting in a loving, faithful and sovereign God. Come what may.

With love and in gratitude for being able to walk a while with you,
Rachael.

The fifth reply

Dear Rachael,

I agree with you! We returned to Australia three years ago and I think that re-entry here has been harder than adjusting to Nepal. At first, I was out of my depth in all of the little things – completely unable to swipe my credit card or put petrol in the car or choose from the rows and rows of toilet paper. Actually for the first six months, I was only able to buy ten items at a time at the supermarket. The choice seemed overwhelming – even to the point of being obscene. I just couldn’t stop thinking about my friends in Nepal who were so hungry. And even though I was physically here, part of me was still back there. For months I would stare out at the gum trees and see a parallel world – acres of rice paddies and flashes of women in red saris and the voices of my Nepali friends. But the hardest thing for me was adjusting to a loss of purpose. We’d spent all of our adult life either preparing to be in Nepal or living there so it was a big thing to suddenly be without that cross-cultural deliberateness of ministry and purpose.

Australia just seemed so ordinary! Even our boys commented on the ordinariness. Stephen (who was 11 at the time) said, “It’s not just one thing I miss. It’s everything. It’s bus trips to Kathmandu and sleep-overs with friends and INF conferences and monsoonal floods and the way we always had something big to look forward to. Everything about our lives was special in Nepal and everything had a purpose.” I agreed with him. It was the sense of purposefulness that I missed most – the deliberateness of our life and ministry there. But as well as that, I missed my closer walk with God. I think being so far out of my comfort zone in Nepal (especially within civil war) meant that I relied on God out of day-to-day necessity. My prayer life was rich! But back here in Australia, especially initially, everything seemed so easy and predictable. I didn’t need to rely on God, or even pray. Why would I – when the roads were always open and the banks always worked and I could go out the door whenever I liked. There was no curfew!

So, the biggest challenge for me has been learning to once again spend time with him – often out of conscious decision rather than desperate need – which has seemed harder. And I’ve needed to trust that he has us back here for a reason – even when it hasn’t seemed clear. And I keep asking myself why ministry should be any less purposeful here than it was there. Aren’t there the same needs here? They’re just harder to see – they come wrapped so differently. But mostly, I need to see the continuity of life – the things that are the same – my walk with God and my purposes in him. That’s probably why I keep saying that it’s the same! I need to remind myself! So even though I drive a car and operate a dishwasher and go to the supermarket whenever I want to, the essence needs to be the same – the truth of who I am in him. I remember the day I re-read Psalm 139:10 (“If I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast”). And I was so amazed … Always before the ‘far side of the sea’ had been Nepal – the place where he had held me and led me – and now suddenly, the far side of the sea was right here in Sydney – the place where he has me and will hold and guide me. So that’s what I’ve been learning in this new season – that while it looks different (all the boys are at school and I have these amazing writing and speaking opportunities), it really is the same – it’s all about becoming a little bit more like Jesus. Well, that’s the challenge for me anyway … but there’s so much more I could say. Maybe we need to meet for a really long cup of tea …

Love,
Naomi

The fifth letter

Hi Naomi,

You've said that a lot now, "it's the same now that I'm back here in Australia"; about serving God, about using our resources, and now about God changing us.

It's funny. Part of me wants to scream, “No! Nothing’s the same!” Being back in Australia is so different. It's so disconcerting. There are different ways of relating to people, different social norms and rules that I have to learn all over again. We stay too long at people’s houses. We park in no-parking zones. We flag taxis by raising our eyebrows (actually, we don’t, but we try to). From when I get out of bed, to when I return to it at night, it's different. Nothing's the same; like your little bow at the supermarket, like feeling dizzy before the KFC menu board, like trying to make a call at the public phone booth for only 40c (I mean, who doesn’t even have a mobile??).

At another level I can't but agree. I like to say that what I am doing now is no different to what I would be doing wherever we lived. I try to love and serve my God, my husband and my children. I seek to love and serve the people around me that God has given me to love and to be loved by. These things are the same. But they look so different in different places. I wonder if, now that life in Australia is a hazy dream for me, you could explain a little more what you mean. How have you worked out how you use your resources ... how do you make sure you honour him rather than yourself (there must be real temptations here in a writing and speaking ministry) … what do you do to make sure you grow day by day ... back there in Australia. I know what things looked like for you in Nepal. What do they look like now that you are back there in ordinary, everyday, Australia?

And, I wonder how have your children adjusted to being back in Australia? This is one of my biggest concerns, especially the longer we stay and the older they get. Some of best friends are children of missionaries. Some made the transition well and quickly and others didn’t. How have yours coped?

With love,
Rachael.

P.S. I love eating cheese, too, at home, but I can’t come at wearing shorts!

The fourth reply

Dear Rachael,

You’re so right. Every season has its challenges as well as its joys – and very often the challenges are the flip side of the joys. If only we could remember that more often! In your case, the joys are the national relationships, and that was exactly the same for me in Nepal. But I do think that the season of tiny, needy babies is difficult no matter what country you’re in – and there are certainly different issues to deal with in less developed cultures. We had exactly the same issues with never being allowed to let Stephen cry himself to sleep – and that led to all sorts of parenting insecurities within me (am I doing everything wrong?) as well as exhaustion! I’m so glad you have access to mp3 sermons. Aren’t they brilliant! I’m devoted to them now as well, but these days I’m using them while running, not while I’m rocking babies at 3am!

I think extended survival seasons are exhausting – and they can be a result of anything – ill health, redundancy, uncertainty, parenting small children. For me, my other extended demanding season was related to home-schooling our three boys in the middle of the Himalayas, and in the middle of the rain. I remember clinging on to God and praying desperately for more patience and more grace. And sometimes in my desperate prayers, I would mistakenly imagine a whole well of ‘patience’ being poured easily into my soul from some heavenly storehouse, reviving me and refreshing me in supernatural ways(!). And while there may have been moments where God worked like that, there were actually years where he showed me that the only way to grow in patience was to walk a path where patience and trust was required. He wanted me to actually take a deep breath in and go back to the maths book and the stories. He wanted to transform me in the middle of it. And he kept showing me that the litmus test of my spirituality was not how I was when I was alone with him (reading his word and praying – which was wonderful) – but how I was in the middle of the maths lesson and the weekend stories – while one child was refusing to work and another one was crying and the other had spilt his milk all over the floor. Those were the moments when he taught me about his patience and grace. In the middle of it!

And now that I’m back in Australia, I’m realizing that it’s just the same here. While we might long for easy, quick solutions to the struggles we encounter within our parenting or other roles, more often than not, our Lord tells us to press on, to keep going, one day at a time, believing that he is at work in us, through his spirit to make us more like him – often very slowly! And while I think about his work within us, I’m even more astounded by his patience and grace towards me and to his whole creation (not wanting any of us to perish) …

Keep pressing on,

Love Naomi

The fourth letter

Dear Naomi,

It was so good for me to hear that again ... God is faithful because he is, whether we get what we want or not, whether we feel it or not, whether we understand or not. He is faithful and he is loving. What a blessing to live this side of the cross where we see that faithfulness and love most clearly. What an encouragement to help me stand and say, yes I will trust him, whatever happens over the next few months, even through the tears.

My tears ran most in your story when you spoke of your feeling of survival with your new, tiny baby (especially that pile of dirty nappies!). Such a time came for me with our third child who was terribly unsettled in the evenings and throughout the night. In a culture where children are NEVER left to cry themselves to sleep, and being impossible to be anti-cultural at this point simply because it wakes too many people, this makes for one very tired mother! I really appreciated your assurance that it is OK, God’s understands. I have always taken comfort from these verses from that same chapter of Isaiah,

He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
And carries them close to his heart;
He gently leads those that have young. (40:11)

Yet as this season became longer and longer for me, I saw how rarely I was being fed from His word and realised it was not good. This is when I discovered mp3 sermon downloads from the internet. I became a devotee. I would walk back and forth in our living room (eight steps diagonally), rocking my baby to sleep and listen. Frustration turned to joy and bitterness to perseverance.

Actually looking after babies here has been simultaneously the most difficult part of being here and the most liberating. It is difficult because expectations are so different. They must not be left to cry. Other women are always taking them I don’t know where they are or what they are being fed. Young children are not disciplined, requests are not refused and obedience is not demanded (at least that’s what it looks like to me, the outsider). There has been sickness, parasites, fever, diarrhoea (and cloth nappies) and no decent medical care. And yet, everyone has babies. The woman in the thatch hut with a mud floor who has never spoken to a white woman in her life and who has no front teeth sees me breast-feeding and I become her sister, her friend. My children built bridges for me I could never have built on my own, giving access to homes and hearts that otherwise would’ve remained closed.

Living in different culture has incredible challenges, but also incredible joys, and through each season God is there with us teaching and moulding us, directing us, even carrying us. He is trustworthy and good.

Praise him!

Love,
Rachael

The third reply

Dear Rachael,

Thanks so much for sharing parts of your own journey. I think receiving letters like yours makes me realise that it’s a shared walk and that we all, particularly as women, struggle with these issues. We’re so inclined to create wonderful, good plans for ourselves and our families (including the timing of our children) and then we sit within the confusion and doubt and grief when it doesn’t work out the way we plan. The challenge for all of us is to go on trusting God in the middle of the season – when we can’t see any answers and when the tears are still running down our cheeks. I think for me, I struggled with the loss of our plans and I wanted to understand what God was doing – thinking that I had to understand it – not only the grief over losing our five pregnancies but also the fear over Darren’s heart operations and my Dad’s spinal accident and also – why would He give us all these opportunities in Nepal and bless the things we were involved with, at work and church and in the community, and then allow us to come back to Australia and have almost everything fall apart? Why would God do that? I think up until then, I’d had a fairly child-like image of God. He’s a God of love, he loves me, he’s redeemed me through his Son, he has a plan for my life and even – he’s going to make that path smooth – the journey not necessarily easy but at least clear. It felt like that’s what he’d done up until that point.

So for me, those years, were all about just being able to sit in the midst of it, tears and all, not knowing anything, but just whispering the words – “Lord I don’t understand … but I believe that in all of this, you’re Lord, even now. And you’re sovereign in my life”. And I think its the hardest thing for us to accept – the hardest point to get to – to somehow realise that he’s faithful because he is, not because he gives us what we want and not because he makes the path smooth – but because he’s the Lord of all and he’s at work in every single season to make us more like him and to bring glory to himself and to grow our relationship with him. And sometimes that occurs through the hardest of seasons, the greyest of times. During that season for me, all sorts of Bible passages came alive in new ways … like Isaiah 40 where it says – he gives strength to the weary. He does give us the strength to walk with him through the hardest of times. He doesn’t necessarily make the path smooth but he walks it with us – which is better than anything – even better than a smooth path … because we learn to cling on to him, and we learn that he’s always with us. And that’s the best thing I’ve ever learnt.

But yes, there’s something beautiful about hindsight, about being able to look back – and catch glimpses of why his plan was so much better. But the hard thing is, we don’t see that in the middle – and sometimes we don’t see that ever. In the middle, all we can do is keep walking, keep clinging on, and keep moaning at a very deep level, “Oh God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you …” (Psalm 63:1).

With my love in the middle of it all,

Naomi

The third letter

Hi Naomi,

Thanks for your thoughts on living with poverty. I don’t know whether to be reassured by the fact that you have no easy answers or not! I do know this: that if I stop struggling with the issue it is most likely because my heart has turned to stone rather than because I have found the answers.

It is a grey day here today, and dark. The solar panels are not producing much power and my laptop battery is flat. I’ve come outside for better light. The grey day captures my mood, but as I look around I see such glorious colour; pinks, reds, oranges, purples, gold, all usually unnoticed, washed out in the sunshine. And I rejoice in the grey day for the beauty I have seen.

For me, this is what the middle (heart-wrenching) chapters of your book were like – grey, sad days of longing, grief, confusion and fear. Yet what you learnt about God, his goodness and faithfulness, was so beautiful and glorious that perhaps you also now rejoice in those days as much as you wept through them then.

Your story spoke powerfully to me about trusting God, knowing that his plan is best. We may make plans, they may be good, right and wise plans (or they may not be), but he directs our paths. His path is best. Sometimes it will be the same as our plan (and in these times we often forget who is directing our paths) but when it is different we notice and we are confused. Sometimes the paths he takes us on we would never have planned, or even imagined. They are always best.

Our plan was to have a baby at the end of this year. It seemed like a good plan, causing minimal disruption to Glen’s teaching here, working well with the school year for our girls, being a good time to return to Australia so we could also be with family over Christmas and say farewell to my brother and his family who are going away. And, our family would be complete. Perfect. A good plan? Maybe. Maybe not. Not God’s plan.

This has taught me to daily pray, your will, Lord, not mine. I think about how much better it was that you returned to Nepal when you did, rather than when you had planned. I think about how much better it was that you were in Australia when you were, and I pray, your plan, Father, not mine.

A good lesson to be learning.

with love,
Rachael.

The second reply

Dear Rachael,

Thanks again for your reply and I have to say – they’re big issues that you’re dealing with – as well as ones that I relate to. I find it very hard. Like you, in Nepal, I’d feel guilty about buying a packet of biscuits for 50 rupees ($1) when I knew there were children living next door who were so hungry they’d eat our leftover mango skins. I’d constantly wonder about whether I was using our resources in good and godly ways. In my dilemmas at the grocery shop though, I think there were two issues at stake. Not only were we surrounded by extreme poverty but we were also reliant on supporters at home for our own wage. So, I think I struggled with two types of guilt – firstly for having inherent wealth amidst poverty – and secondly for being responsible and accountable with other people’s sacrificial giving. And both would plague me and keep me awake at nights. But yes, your questions are good – was it true guilt, that needed dealing with through repentance or was it in fact a heavy burden that we needed to carry (and that God would help us carry)?

And now, years later, I’m not sure I have any more answers. I think serving God in countries without social security systems or government handouts is incredibly challenging. We’re faced with physical need on our doorsteps every single day. If it’s not the hungry children next door, it’s the lady who says a fire destroyed everything or the man handing us a note saying he has no tongue and no income. And every day is the same – the challenge to respond well … so that our words and actions show that we believe in him. It’s so difficult. And even when we feel okay about it ourselves – about the use of our resources and the balance between word and deed, we’re still left with all those complexities that you mention – whether local people are becoming rice Christians for what they think they can get out of it (or us).

For me, I think I would deal with my wealth ‘guilt’ by trying to make good choices. I can only love a few, or help a few, I’d say to myself. We can only train a few. We can only do very little – but trust that God can do very great things – and he’s put us in certain places for a time and a purpose. For us, it was the training and serving and listening that led to all the opportunities to share the gospel. And that was an incredible privilege.

But my supporter guilt? Well, that was years of working through issues within myself. I’d question why I was writing certain stories in the newsletters. Was I trying to prove that we were doing something worthwhile for the gospel – or was I genuinely wanting to share the amazing ways God was at work? And maybe our motives are always mixed, but I think for us, it made a difference when our supporters were genuinely wanting to free us up to please God. They weren’t asking for ‘souls for dollars’ results, and then we were able to enjoy that freedom and stay open to all the ways God might work.

And now of course, I’m back in Australia and seeing that the lessons here are the same – the challenge for us to use our gifts and resources and opportunities in ways that honour him, rather than in ways that draw attention to ourselves. It’s an ongoing issue …

Love Naomi

The second letter

Hi Naomi,

Thanks for your reply, and just think of me as another friend in your lap-top — and as much as it was necessary for you to write, it was a comfort to me. God truly does comfort “us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (2 Cor 1:3-4).

You mention that as you wrote the book you were still dealing with issues of poverty, even though you had learnt early on to conceal your sense of guilt. That sense of guilt plagues me, to. I feel guilty about nice holidays, about going home to have a baby, even about the amount of food stored in our cupboards. I think guilt should lead to confession of sin, repentance and change. What exactly am I guilty of? What about corporately, as a society? Are we guilty? What can we do? How has dealing with these issues changed you and the way you live now?

And then I also struggle with the balance between wanting to help deal with poverty and sickness — a task that would be all consuming on its own — and proclaiming the gospel (or training others to do so), which is why we are here. It’s not a new problem … the miracle-working-healer Jesus left the sick to go and preach the kingdom of God ... the apostles appointed others to do work of helping the widows so they could preach the word. There just seems to be so much shallow Christianity here, and it seems to be promoted by wrapping the gospel in humanitarian aid … hey, you guys let us build a church and we’ll also give you a water tank, or we’ll pay school fees for your children … or here’s some scabies cream. I just want to hold out the gospel and nothing else and see who bites … but then I feel guilty because I have something else. It's got to be about love, hasn’t it? Gospel love; word and deed. So I loved that your work did point people to Christ. I loved the stories of Mukti and Maili and of Chandra reading Revelation 21.

And yes, learning a new language and culture is completely humbling. A friend said to me, after I had given a devotional talk that I had spent hours preparing, “Don’t worry, God knew what you were saying!” It really feels, as you said, like being a little child ... unable to dress, cook, walk or talk. You brought into focus this verse for me:

I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. (Luke 18:17)

Little children cannot do anything. It helped me realize my complete inadequacy to come before a holy and righteous God. I can do nothing. He must do it for me. He only is adequate.

As I write this I ought also to be writing to our supporters, and I only chuckle to myself as I remember what you say about wanting to please the supporters. A good lesson for anyone to learn is to live for that audience of one … ‘make it our goal to please Him’ as Resham would say. But I can’t just ignore our supporters. What does a good relationship between supporters and missionaries look like?

Looking forward to hearing from you!
Love,

Rachael.

The first reply

Dear Rachael,

It’s so nice of you to write, especially from Vanuatu … Not only was your letter encouraging but it also made me realise that there are real people out there in real places and in challenging seasons, reading my books. So, thank you. And I’m not sure that ‘baring my soul’ was as brave as it was somehow ‘necessary’. I once heard a writer say that, ‘some people become writers because the circumstances of their lives make writing possible or necessary for them’. And I thought to myself, I must be in the second category. During our seventh monsoon, writing became necessary for me – it became the way that I could reflect and pray and begin to look back on my life and see God’s sovereignty in clearer ways. At the time, I was dealing with issues of war and poverty in Nepal, I was home schooling our three sons and I was struggling with the rain and isolation. So, to help me with all of that, I wrote my way through the monsoon – often from 9pm till midnight while the rain poured down and with two candles on either side of the laptop, but mostly because it was a helpful thing for me to do – rather than thinking so much about ‘the readers’.

And maybe that’s why it comes across as being so ordinary – quite apart from the fact that that’s exactly what I am! I was just having a nice long chat with my friend inside the laptop! And the friend stayed quiet and listened to me for ages … But the most helpful thing for me was seeing God’s faithfulness and sovereignty through all the seasons of my life. I think there’s something about trying to put your life onto the page that removes it a step – it takes it from inside your head (or memory) – and puts it out there on the page, and that somehow shows us more of God’s perspective. And maybe we don’t take enough time to look back on our lives and do that ordinarily.

And you’re absolutely right. I avoided the term missionary – mainly because I thought there was too much confusion associated with it. I didn’t want it to be a stumbling block, especially for non-Christian readers. So I referred to us as cross-cultural workers and I think that’s okay. Wherever we are, we’re missionaries because of our attitudes. The reason we wake up and get out of bed in the morning is because we want to share the love of God with those we meet. We want to use our opportunities to point to what he has one for us through his Son. And for some of us, I believe that God challenges us and equips us to do that cross-culturally – in places of great physical and spiritual need. But even more important than the places we do that, are the reasons we do that. We want to serve him. And that’s just as much a challenge for me here, now living in the Blue Mountains, as it ever was in Nepal. Perhaps it’s more so!

But thank you for your letter. It was so encouraging.

With love in him,

Naomi

The first letter

Dear Naomi,

I have been itching to write to you for so long and now, at last, have put pen to paper. When I first read your book I found someone with whom I shared so many struggles … someone who would understand. You were so brave to bare your soul like that and I found the lessons you shared about God’s sovereignty and provision so encouraging. I so wanted to talk to you. And yet I was afraid to write.

I was afraid to write because you are a missionary. Missionaries are so spiritual, they walk so closely with God, they are so amazing. Not me. But this is ridiculous — I am a missionary. But I don’t feel like one and I definitely don’t refer to myself as one.

Actually I noticed that you didn’t use the word “missionary” often either, preferring instead “cross-cultural worker”. Why don’t we like the term missionary? Are we ashamed? There’s a lot of confusion about missionaries. Either we idolise them as spiritual super-heroes and think we couldn’t be one or we are ashamed of them because they are so politically incorrect and we don’t want to be one.

One of the best things about your book is that it gently corrects those mistakes. It’s not a hagiography about someone far-removed in time and place. It’s about someone so — please don’t be offended — so ordinary! We read about you and we know you. We know about suburbs and school dances and sports-mad-young-men. We know about anxiety, confusion, longing and grief. And it dawns upon us that missionaries really are ordinary Christians who, compelled by the love of Christ and for the love of Christ, are sent to go and serve him somewhere else, living and speaking the gospel in a different culture.

In your little spiel to the mission agencies, you basically said, “here we are, this is what we can do, can you use us?” I think if we all stood humbly before God like this he would work powerfully through each of us in building his kingdom, overseas or at home — because being a missionary isn’t the only or even the ultimate way to serve God, is it?

I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

With love from your sister in Christ in Vanuatu,
Rachael.

Meeting Naomi Reed

Naomi Reed is married to Darren and they live with their three sons in the Blue Mountains. Both Naomi and Darren trained as physiotherapists and they spent six years serving in Nepal with the International Nepal Fellowship. Since returning to Australia, Naomi has written four books including the award-winning My Seventh Monsoon. She now can’t imagine not writing and enjoys the flexibility of the writing and speaking life, particularly when it fits seamlessly into a busy family life. But that’s not to say that it always does! – Or that she has figured out how to maintain that sense of a balanced life … It’s what she’s working on at the moment.

How did you come to faith in Christ?

I came to faith in Christ in 1980. I was a struggling, insecure twelve-year-old from a non-churched background – and I was acutely aware of my unacceptability to almost everybody. Then, a close Christian friend invited me to the high school Christian group and I heard for the first time that God loved me, that he’d made me and that he’d sent his own Son to redeem my life and to make me acceptable to Him. It was utterly amazing and I remember staying on in the music room that day, completely still and silently praying – and at the same time knowing that nothing was ever going to be the same again. And it hasn’t been! I’ve been overwhelmed by the mercy and love of God every day since then.

What do you most love about reading?

Well, that all depends on what I’m reading and what mood I’m in. Primarily, I want to be inspired and I want to connect with someone (real or fictional) at an emotional level. When that happens, I love reading and I find it almost impossible to put the book down. Actually, it all began when I was a child. I grew up in a wonderful home without a television, so we would always have our books with us – at the dinner table, under the sheets after lights out, even walking to school. So, reading became a bit of an obsession and even now, as an adult, I’m still really easily absorbed in a book… sometimes to the detriment of other, more pressing considerations.

And writing?

I love the surprise of it all. I love the way I can be writing something and the mere act of putting pen to paper sparks off another thought. One set of words and phrases fires off another and I end up somewhere I didn’t expect at all. I love the way that when I’m in the middle of writing something, almost everything I see and hear contributes to it. Right now, I’m at the end of my fourth manuscript and when I finished the last word of this one, the tears were streaming down my face. It was that sense of having poured out everything onto the page. With this manuscript, I’ve tried to capture the whole message of the Bible (the whole sweep of God’s plans and promises, culminating in Jesus) through the voices of women. It’s been a completely ambitious project! But I love story telling (and dramatic monologue as a genre) so I’ve enjoyed the challenge of trying to capture Biblical female voices and then ground them in the tactile reality of another time and place. More than anything, I suppose I want to inspire the reader with God’s promises and perspective – and then hope that they’ll be able to see beyond their present circumstances. And I love the way writing forces me to reach into my own memory and experience in such a way that I see and think and pray more clearly than before. But most of all I love the way that God can use the printed word. I feel like what I can offer him is so small – it’s yesterday’s bread and some manky fish. But if he chooses, he can take my tiny offering and then do with it what he wants. If he chooses, he can even feed 5,000. I love that.

What is your favourite novel?

There’s no standout novel, but probably lots of authors on my journey. I grew up on Noel Streatfield, L.M Montgomery, Louisa Alcott and Jane Austen. Then I enjoyed Maeve Binchy and Rosamund Pilcher. Right at the moment, it’s Ian McEwen. I think the link with all of these is the way they take me into a world of relationships and draw on the subtleties and complexities of human nature. That’s the most important thing for me. When I sit down to read, I want to be taken to new places and new people – but the words and thoughts have to be subtle and complex and beautiful.

What book(s) has helped you most in growing in your knowledge of God?

What I want more than anything is to grow in my daily walk with God – the way I talk with him and live with him and honour him and serve him. So, Helen Roseveare's books have been very challenging. They’ve forced me to ask the questions about what I’m willing to do for God and where I’m willing to go. It was those sorts of questions that led to our six years in Nepal. And I’ve loved Christian biographies. There’s always something to relate to or to apply in my own life through reading other people’s stories. And it’s never as if I have to walk their road to identify with them – it’s all about a shared life. So, as a new Christian reading Corrie ten Boom or Joni Eareckson or David Wilkerson, I didn’t need to be in a concentration camp or a wheelchair or a drug gang to learn those lessons of grace and forgiveness and the love of God in powerful ways. I suppose I’m really passionate about the way God uses our stories (and testimonies) to draw others into a life-changing relationship with him.

Meeting Rachael Connor

We already know a little about how you came to faith in Christ, can you tell us where you are serving God at the moment, and how you came to be there?

We live on the island of Santo (Espiritu Santo, actually, can you guess what that means?) in Vanuatu. I am here because my husband teaches at Talua Ministry Training Centre which trains leaders for the Presbyterian, Anglican and Church of Christ denominations in Vanuatu. We came here under the hand of God. It felt like we just kept walking through open doors. Sometimes it felt like we shut certain doors, sometimes it felt like some were shut and locked in our face. Looking back it was all under God's hand.

Both of us had grown up in Christian homes and had understood and responded to the gospel as children. As we grew older we were challenged to use our lives to serve God and his people, though unsure for many years what form this would take. We undertook practical and theological training convinced that this would be a great help to us either in lay or ordained ministry, but even as we began our final year of theological training the road beyond was very hazy. This was when I began praying in earnest.

While at University my husband had become friends with a Tongan man. We had heard and continued to hear from him about the great need for the faithful proclamation of Christ in the Pacific islands. Other friends urged us to think beyond the land girt by sea. Eventually we were able to say to God, "Well, we are willing to go, Lord. We'll start knocking on doors. You open them or you close them."

In following through on our interest in the Pacific we became aware of Talua Ministry Training Centre in Vanuatu. There was a need for someone to teach Bible and Theology for one year. This suited us well, particularly as we had no particular training in cross-cultural work, and the teaching would be in English. So we applied, were appointed and we came. The year extended to two, then four and will be six at the end of this appointment (end of 2010).

What are the hardest things about being a cross-cultural missionary?

The answer, or answers, to this question form the basis for a lot of the discussion between Naomi and myself in our letters. Perhaps we could put this question on hold?

What is one of the biggest challenges you find in being a Christian woman in Vanuatu?

The biggest challenge for me is to make sure I keep growing and thriving spiritually. I think this is difficult for most people in formal Christian leadership for while they are responsible for teaching and nurturing others, sometimes there is no-one to teach and nurture them. It is easy for people to assume everything is OK, when we have the same struggles as anybody else. This problem is magnified in our case for three reasons. First, for historical reasons, missionaries in Vanuatu are highly respected so while we are formally 'under' the care of others, this never happens in practice. Second, it is difficult just to make friends who will keep me on my toes and ask the difficult questions. Differences in language, culture and education all strive to make this difficult, as well as pride. Three, formal worship is all in a language I am still learning. This makes it difficult to concentrate on and follow what is being said, especially when also looking after small children. In short, I feel isolated from all the usual helps associated with being part of the body of Christ.

How can we pray for you and your work in Vanuatu?

Please pray that I would grow and thrive spiritually.

Pray that I would be a faithful and loving wife, a patient and kind mother and a cheerful and firm teacher (my two eldest children are doing correspondence school).

Pray that I would continue to make the effort to look out of the home to see how I can be encouraging the staff wives and the student wives towards love and good deeds.

Pray for the staff here at Talua that they would teach faithfully, training godly leaders for the church who are well equipped to teach and apply God's word.

Pray for my husband, Glen, who as well as having an almost full teaching load is Acting Bursar at the college. This is a consuming task. Pray that he would not lose sight of great joy and privilege it is to be teaching the word of God day by day!

What's happening in July (by Rachael)

For Christmas, 2007, I was given not one but two copies of My Seventh Monsoon. I read it practically overnight. I laughed and I cried.

I saw that Naomi was living in the lower Blue Mountains, the place where I had grown up, and the place where we stay every time we are in Australia. I wanted to meet her. I wanted to talk to her. But I was afraid of having nothing intelligent to say and appearing like a friendless desperado with nothing better to do than to hassle innocent authors.

However, when Nicole asked if I'd be willing to be contributor when we read My Seventh Monsoon, and that Naomi would be involved I jumped at the opportunity. Finally I'd have an excuse to talk to her! Unfortunately, however, we were not able to meet before I had to return to Vanuatu. Well, I thought, back on this small island, if I can't talk to her, I can write to her.

And this is what we have done. Over this month at EQUIP book club, Naomi and I will publish as series of letters we have written to each other discussing various issues raised in her book. The letters basically discuss issues in the order in which they come up in the book. If you read three to four chapters of the book a week, you'll understand references to the book, but you'll have no trouble should you fall behind!

I hope they will be as encouraging for you as they have been for me. Listen in, and we'd welcome your comments and questions.

(We will get to know more about this month's contributors, Rachael and Naomi, over the next few days!)

Coming up at EQUIP book club

Coming up here at the book club, starting next week, we will be reading through My Seventh Monsoon, by Naomi Reed. Contributing the posts we have the author herself, together with Rachael Connor, an Australian woman currently serving God with her husband and children in Vanuatu. It looks to be a fascinating month and it’s not too late to get the book and read along with us (you can click the image on the right side bar to purchase the book).