Good morning! It’s a rainy day in my part of the world, a day where I need to “remember the signs.” I hope you’ll join me at A Life Overseas today, as I resume blogging and enter back into this space.
When I was four years old, my parents thought they may not be able to continue living in Pakistan.
They were tired. They were discouraged. They felt they had seen so little, for so much work. Mom and Dad were getting ready to go on a furlough and wisely decided not to make a decision until they had reached the United States and had a chance to process and rest.
It was while at a summer linguistics course that my dad had a renewed sense of purpose, a reawakening of his ‘call.’ While reading the book of Acts, he was struck by this work that began so long ago: The work of reaching out with the message of the gospel.
I learn this as I begin to reread my mom’s book. It is a book about the mission work that was started in the Sindh area of Pakistan by my parents mission, soon after Pakistan’s birth and independence. It is a fascinating history full of names and people who I know. Not only does it read as a historical account, it also gives me insight into my parents as a young couple, beginning with a journey by ship to this new country.
I read about my dad building a septic system with one page of simple instructions; about how three couples with five kids between them lived in two rooms; about a Hindu friend bringing them keys one night to a new house, urging them to “Quick, come put the lock on so Muslim neighbors don’t take it!”
I read about death and discouragement, about times of miscommunication and trial, about raising a family in a country far different from the one they left.
I read, and I remember. Read the rest of the post here at A Life Overseas.
On this Monday, what are your stones of remembrance?
Marilyn R. Gardner 
I don’t have stones – I have chunks of coral that I found on the beaches of New Providence.
We spent every weekend at the beach. It was a cheap way for my mom to entertain six kids between the ages of 3 and 15. She bought a couple of giant inner tubes that we fought over every week, learning to negotiate and share, and of course wearing ourselves out in the process. We packed a picnic lunch – usually bolonga on white bread or PBJs. If we were lucky, we’d get a treat from a vendor – fresh hot conch fritters.
That beach is also special to us for giving us our baby brother. He was found abandoned there and we ended up adopting him. And the beach is where we buried my cat, so it is a sacred place as well.
LikeLike
And she’s back!
What a great way to start back to blogging….by remembering that God is faithful. And he has been for a very long time. I love your voice. I love hearing you enter into the deep places with honesty and sincerity. I love you!
LikeLike
Thanks, Marilyn for the reminder of my own history of walking with God on this (another) rainy morning in Rochester! I need it today, facing my upcoming 87th birthday, and accepting anew each day that this body can’t do what in my mind I still want to do! I was also reminded with a chuckle of another time much later when we were debating again whether to return to Pakistan, leaving all our five in the US. Could you all survive without parents and a home nearby? You may not remember, but you and Dan tipped the scale and sent us back. You said, “You have to go back so we can come back to visit Pakistan again.” I think you were really trying to assure us that you were all grown up now and didn’t really need us to run home to.
I’m glad you’re back to blogging!
LikeLike
What a treasure your mother’s book must be, Marilyn! I’ve been trying to get Daddy to write some of his stories down with limited success. I love that you have your mother’s account of those early years to better understand where you came from too.
LikeLike
Welcome back! Please send some of the rain my way :-) Petra
LikeLike