Author Archives: shilkemann

My family didn’t really take vacations growing up, so it wasn’t a habit for me when I went to the field. My teammate and I pushed hard until we figured out we needed to create some better rhythms. It started out by taking Saturday mornings off of language study, instead sipping lattes in an air-conditioned coffee shop and talking to our families on good internet.

Several years in we realized that we needed to actually leave the country every once in awhile. Sure, we went back to the States for home assignment but those weeks were full of travels to visit supporters and fill every moment with precious family time (and important grocery shopping to pack those suitcases for the return trip!).

About two years ago, my teammate and I intentionally left Cambodia and flew to Bangkok. We stayed in a five-star hotel, the kind with a big bathtub and fancy breakfast.

I’m almost afraid to admit this out-loud. I want to give you all the justifications—it was a sweet discount on a booking site, during a hard season. We needed to be in the big city anyway to meet with doctors, and our usual guest house was full. We had to stay somewhere, right?

But honestly, it was glorious. We walked to Starbucks and people-watched, marveling at the way our names written in Thai on our cups matched the language we had grown to love. We walked through the large park nearby full of green grass and tall green trees, watched runners and walkers and weight lifters and cyclists. All things absent in our little rural Cambodian town.

After mornings drinking decaf coffee with a view of the city, sleeping in icy AC, and celebrating successful doctor’s appointments, I found myself echoing the words of David Tenant’s 10^th Doctor: “I don’t want to go”. That’s a Doctor Who reference, in case you’re curious. I wanted to stay in the comfort, stay in the place where life-giving activities and amenities were easily accessible. Getting back on the plane was hard.

But that’s the thing with vacations. They should be refreshing and fun and lovely, and then they are done. They don’t last forever and that’s a good thing. We step away for a time, find space for our souls and our bodies to breathe. Then we step back into the fray, into the battle, into the ordinary.

I hear justifications related to periods away from our fields all the time. And rightly so, we all want to be good stewards of the caring financial support of our partners. The time is short and we want to do our very best for the people we have come to serve.

But we need a different model, and Jesus gave one to us. He got away. Mark 6:30-32 says, “The apostles returned to Jesus from their ministry tour and told him all they had done and taught. Then Jesus said, ‘Let’s go off by ourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile.’ He said this because there were so many people coming and going that Jesus and his apostles didn’t even have time to eat. So they left by boat for a quiet place, where they could be alone.”

Not every attempt for quiet was successful, and Jesus was full of compassion even when his alone time was interrupted. But I think in his humanity, in the need for sustenance, he gave us a pattern to follow.

Our souls are precious and they need to be fed and nourished. Introverted or extroverted, in a hot or cold climate, in a place you love or a place you dislike, we all need this space. We all need to experience rest, to find those places where we can do all the life-giving things and have fun and laugh and sleep.

We are better Kingdom workers because of it.

Photo by Jessica Da Rosa on Unsplash

• I’m joining in the discussion this week on Velvet Ashes for the theme of Vacation

Last year, I wrestled with the Lord over what He was calling me to do. It involved major changes, shifts to what I thought I would be doing for the long haul. The process was unlike any other move of obedience I’ve experienced. I had to open my heart to say yes to whatever He had for me, which meant letting go of dreams and watching doors close. Slowly He showed me the next step, and little by little, what He had next for me emerged out of the fog.

Saying yes meant a lot of goodbyes. It meant closing out a house, selling furniture, and even the end of some really sweet relationships. It meant that some things were left undone. Promises of my return, of what I hoped to accomplish next were not kept. This was difficult.

My yes to the Lord, my obedience to Him, in some ways meant suffering for others. They didn’t ask for this goodbye. They didn’t ask for the challenge of finding someone to take my place, for the holes that were left and the projects they had to take on themselves. Perhaps these changes were for the good as they had to watch the Father provide someone who was an even better fit, or trust Him for their own next steps as things shifted.

I’ve been in their place too. I’ve watched others in my life obey God with their whole heart, seeking to honor Him and glorify Him. Sometimes this has meant a painful goodbye or a change I wasn’t anticipating.

We take these steps of obedience as we keep up the lines of communication between the Father and ourselves, but we are not alone in this life. Our decisions, our actions, impact those around us. This is the joy of life in community, but it is also the messy, crazy and sometimes painful part.

How can we encourage each other when our yes or someone else’s yes impacts the relationships with those around us?

God is their God, their leader and director too. I can trust that even as I take a step of obedience, He will also show them their next step.

We can be open in our communication about how our decisions might impact someone else. We can listen well and ask questions to invite honesty. Inviting others into our grief or joy over what our obedience means, and sharing in their grief or joy, can be a sweet gift we give to each other.

Allow the Father to take care of the things we cannot. I don’t need to control or micromanage every aspect of change. I can take responsibility for my part and trust God to work in the ways I can’t.

We can remind each other, challenge each other to look through eyes of faith and expect God to move. When doors close and we walk through painful goodbyes it can feel like God is finished with us. We can feel overwhelmed by a sense of abandonment. But God is still at work, even when things feel dark and still. He is at work in the foggy, murky middle of transition and He is there when we come out on the other side. Sometimes we need that nudge from a friend when we can’t see His goodness for ourselves. We can be that voice of truth for each other in each step of obedience in this journey.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

The summer before my junior year of college (yikes, 12 years ago!), I traveled with a group to Ecuador for a summer study abroad experience. We were mostly based in Quito but spent almost every weekend visiting the coast, the jungle and exploring other parts of this beautiful country.

On one of our adventures, our group crowded into a little suspended cable car to take a ride over a valley. Halfway across as we enjoyed the gorgeous views, that little car stopped.

I am NOT a fan of heights and really have a very small heart pocket that thrives on adventure. Stepping into that cable car and leaving the safety of the canyon edge was pretty risky, and getting stuck part way across was not exactly my idea of fun.

I’ve been thinking an awful lot about transition lately. In many ways I have left the safe and predictable edge of life as I’ve known it the last few years. Most of my ministry commitments and relationships have paused or ended, leaving me with a blank slate and a lot of unknowns. But I haven’t gotten to the other side of the transition where I can put roots down again and establish routines, finding the stability that steadies my heart. I’m right there in the chaotic middle, and it can feel pretty scary.

I’m learning that this messy middle of transition can also be a gift. Even though I knew how to handle the stability I was leaving, it was also becoming unhealthy and I know that this change has been really good. I have no idea what is coming and yet I have been granted a season of rest. I don’t yet have new responsibilities and demands on my time. I can seek God’s heart for this season and the one to come, letting His peace reign right there in the middle. In His perfect timing, He will lead me to the other side and establish His purposes for me there. In this, I can rest content, safe, held.

That cable car in Ecuador eventually began moving again, but while we hung suspended over the valley, my fellow classmates and I were able to laugh about the situation and enjoy the view. While I’m here in the middle of the transition process, I can strive to do the same.

I want the beautiful without the messy.

Like this picture. Poofy, white clouds were building up over the palm trees and we were getting ready for a non-rainy season rain. Humidity was thick and the air desperate for just a little relief. I love this view, and I stood at our front door trying to imprint it all on to my memory.

I tried to capture this scene, but all I could see was the messy tangle of electrical wires and the sharp barbed wire and glass on top of our fence. They are reminders of some of the things that frustrate me the most and steal the beauty of the creation around me.

I’m getting ready to say goodbye for awhile to the place that has been my home for the last five years. Part of me wants to say, “So long and good riddance.” The last few months have been hard and it is easy to zoom in on the messy. Hot season has been in fully swing, dehydrating both my body and my soul. We’ve had some crazy electricity issues (remember all those clumps of wires?), and through different situations I have been reminded that human beings are far from perfect, myself unfortunately included.

Yet, just like our life, the messy and the beautiful come all together in one package. When I take a moment to look up, the tangled wires are still there, sure, but I don’t want to miss the brilliant colors of bright green against pure blue sky. I don’t want to miss the fact that even when we were trying to navigate how to fix our electricity at 7:00 pm, God sent a man we hadn’t met to be waiting outside our gate so he could make calls and explain complicated concepts outside our vocabulary bubble- and who knew those words in English too so he could help us feel more at ease. When my heart felt desperate and dejected this week, God breathed life again with a story of hope, a story of a part of our labor bearing fruit in souls transformed by our Father.

So I can’t separate these two, and together, they are a sweet gift, one that I will carry with me as I say goodbye, for now.