I’ve recently decided that I might just be ADHD. Seriously. I think I might just be half-crazy to stay as hyper-stimulated as I do, but it’s like I can’t help it.

Yes, I’m a homeschooling mom with four children STILL unpacking her house from a colossal move from Japan to Germany. And yes I enrolled in 6 credit hours of seminary classes this semester (and next)! Why did I do this to myself? I don’t know, but this particular time, I’m so glad I did…

Both in the School of Life and literally through Trinity University, I am retaking a class. It’s the class that changed the whole trajectory of my life when I was 19 years old: Perspectives on the World Christian Movement. I am immersed, underwater (um, because I procrastinated) in thousands of pages of really great, deep, life-changing stuff. I’m re-learning things that I forgot in Japan. And evidently things I never learned in the first place.

And I am finding myself so moved, both backwards and forward, that I am having to stop and repent and pray and worship and praise Him and thank Him so frequently that I’m not sure if I’ll ever finish this class! But I must, and I will. I will not quit. I will walk on, Lord-willing.

I am required to write a personal journal response at the end of each of fifteen units of this class. I’m in the middle of the course, and something has shifted in me, and I want to share it. I need to actually. So if you are one of those people on the planet who love me and want to know what is going on in my head and in my world, here I am. This is sort of an introduction, I suppose for what is to come in the coming days.

It’s funny: I was just about to let our old domain (www.cashclanjapan.com) expire on January 1st and settle on thecashclan.com from here on out, but I think I’ll hold onto it now…

For years, I was the last hold-out among his children, the last one to hang on for dear life to a relationship with my father. The others gave up long before I did. I’m just not the girl who quits on people. I never have been. Perhaps because I’ve been quit on a few times and because I happen to think those people should have held on, that it would have been worth it if they had just held on…

But finally he did something so unforgettable that I could no longer trust him. I had four children at this point, and I knew I could never bring them around him again. And l felt the boulder of burden lift away as I prayed to forgive my father and to let him go. I often worry about him. I worry about when he gets older, and frailer, that he’s going to get sick someday or get in another motorcycle accident, and he won’t have anyone—because he’s burned all his bridges and alienated everyone except whoever happens to be his flavor-of-the-year girlfriend. And she surely doesn’t even know my name, maybe not even that I exist. So when something happens to him, will I even know? When he’s on his deathbed, will I even find out? In a sense, I have already said goodbye to my dad, but I can’t help but wonder if I will ever see his face again. Will I get to hold his hand when he’s safely frail and old and tell him that I forgave him and loved him all along anyway?

A few years ago, right in the middle of our time in Japan, God gave me an unforgettable dream. Just a few times in my life, I’ve had dreams like this—where I knew it was from Him. In my dream, my father had died, and my brother and I and our two half-siblings from a previous marriage of my dad’s had all been notified and summoned to an attorney’s office for the reading of his will. It was so real. I can still see the round mahogany table and the leather chairs in the conference room. There’s a woman there whom I’ve never seen. She’s my dad’s current girlfriend; she’s a Farrah Fawcett-haired blonde, and she’s chewing gum and very cavalier about the situation. My brother and I are somber, just waiting for the attorney so we can get this over with. The attorney comes in and immediately lists off my dad’s assets (which are sizable), and announces that my father left everything to this woman. He left nothing at all to his children, but he had wanted us present at the reading of his will anyway. I sat and soaked it in for a moment, the subtext of this news. It wasn’t that I cared that I wasn’t getting anything from him; this final exclusion from his heart, an omission pregnant with apathy, was just too much for me to bear. I was uncontrollably weeping in my dream, alone now in the conference room, when suddenly I heard the Lord over the loudspeaker of my dream and heart, over and over again:

“Ask of me and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your reward.”

Over and over again until my broken heart quieted enough to hear Him. He kept saying it until I understood.

I awakened from that dream weeping with joy. My Father in heaven had made a promise to me, to fulfill the wildest dream of my heart—a dream that He put there because it’s from His very own Heart, and I am His daughter. For His glory to be revealed to the remotest corners of the earth, my heart was forever branded. This dream, His ultimate dream, is the most precious gift He could possibly impart to me–so magnificent in scope, infinite in worth. The colorful, beautiful nations gathered around His throne in white-hot worship, offering to the Lamb who was slain the reward of His suffering. This is it for me. It’s all that I want. It’s all that I ask for, Lord.

Although my passion has waned throughout the years, and I’ve made many mistakes, one thing remains: the very center of my heart yearns for nothing else at the end of this life than to know that I have loved Him with all that is within me and that I have spent all that I have on the gospel for His glory among the nations.

I have a Father.

He knows my name.

He has not forgotten me.

And He has promised me a great inheritance because I am His daughter.

We’ve had a couple of very rough years now: Misunderstandings and stupid mistakes on top of stupid mistakes; lost friendships of those who were like family; watching my husband’s faith , which has always been the bedrock of our family, waver just a bit for the first time EVER (not in the Lord specifically, but perhaps in His ways, in the why, why, whys of everything); utterly debilitating  depression and anxiety just sitting on my freaking head for over a year (ME! The former banner-wearer of the joy of the Lord), which believe you me has caused tidal waves of doubt in what the heck good am I to anyone if I’m not that happy girl), months of uncertainty and anxiety over whether we’d stay and martyr ourselves emotionally in and for Japan, the land I love so much I can’t type this part without a nice, long pause for tears, or whether we would be given a reprieve and start again in another completely unfamiliar place, without any sense of purpose there; losing our identity as the Cash Clan Japan. (By the way, I’ve changed our website to http://www.thecashclan.com, and as of next year http://www.cashclanjapan.com will not exist.) But a good friend reminded me wisely the other day that we are not the Cash Clan Japan or the Cash Clan Deutschland or the Cash Clan Anywhere. We are the Cash Clan in Christ. It’s who we are in that matters, not where–a real paradigm shift for this wannabe-missionary.

So let’s get to the fun stuff already! Geesh! Wanna hear a little about our first official day in Germany? Here are just a few highlights:

1) Claire and I both rocked into the Frankfurt International Airports with our pink, blinged-out cowgirl hats on. We agreed proudly that you can only take the girl out of Oklahoma. Oklahoma stays in the girl. Oklahoma sky, I miss you already.

2) I love you, Tulsa, but you’ve got nothin’ on Germany as far as that “green country” title goes. Oh my gosh, the 90 minute drive from the airport was just stunning. It is so green and alive and beautiful here–in a very different way from Japan, which is somehow such a breath of fresh air to my soul. And then for several months a year, it will be white, which will be even prettier! Holy moly!

3) No air conditioning!! But it’s July! No air conditioning??? Because it’s not needed. It feels like Hawaii without the humidity here! Holy crap, the weather is amazing. I’ve never lived in a climate like this, so it’s very strange to me. But I’m loving it already. And supposedly, it rains “just a little” almost every day, which if you know me well, you know how much I love rain.

4) First thing in the morning (well, after starting up the coffee), you walk around your house and open all the windows (they slant open from the top) and the skylight in the kitchen above the kitchen island, and there’s all this amazing sunlight and cool fresh air just bringing the house to life inside. Loving that so much already. I can tell that’s going to become a ritual I adore.

5) This apartment is ridiculous. I did my research and I read the TDYHomes was the way to go for long-term temporary housing. But seriously? This place is ridiculous. It’s THE most beautiful place I’ve ever stayed, including any hotel ever. There’s a freakin’ ping pong table! The beds are like Westin beds! It’s fully outfitted for a family of our size. And we get to stay here for 90 days for FREE! Yay!! I will put pictures up on Facebook once we get unpacked for those of you who won’t find that egocentric of me and/or annoying and not subject you to them here.

6) Keith will be MIA for several days, as he is obviously the one who has to do all the in-processing. Today, the first thing on his list is to take the German Driver’s License Test. I’m a tiny bit worried since he didn’t have too much time to study the last several days. But if he fails it, I am scheduled to take it, and I can rock a multiple-choice test like no other. (And I WILL study my butt off if he fails it the first time, which DOES happen often supposedly; otherwise, we’ll be stuck in our beautiful apartment for a while because we’ll have no way to GET anywhere!)

7) Today we will be loaned two BMWs to drive until we get our own personal vehicles here. But of course, we have to pass our driver’s tests first! That’s just insane, right? (Yes, I’ll be careful. Actually, as long as Keith passes his driver’s test, I have NO intentions of driving until mid-August, after watching him navigate for a good month or so.)

So far, so good. I know there will be bumps and bruises here, just like anywhere, but I really am truly thankful for the chance to start fresh. Thank you, Lord.

We have free phone plans to the States, so call us on our magicJack! (918-960-7383). We’re only 7 hours ahead, instead of 13, so that’s different. If I don’t get to the phone, leave a message anyway, and I’ll receive it as an email and get right back to you.

Love you all, all over the world, all the way from the other side of it. 

Claire and I recorded a little Christmas CD for you! I meant to get hard copies of this finished and out in time for Christmas gifts, but I’m afraid it wasn’t done in time. Please feel free to go to this website and download the album for free. One of the tracks was recorded by Claire, and the others are from me. Merry Christmas! (If you’re technologically-challenged and need help, just let me know.) Download away!

SEE THE MOVIE!

In March, my world shifted on its axis. But really it started before that. I haven’t known how to write about all of this with grace and integrity. So I’ve been silent. That’s how you know I’m not quite right, by the way–when I’m quiet for too long. I mean, if you don’t have something nice to say, just shut up, right? But after several months here, waiting for Godot, I must start writing again, even if it’s not shiny and tidy. There will be no bright red bows, be warned.

Living overseas is hard. Living overseas as a missionary is even harder, I gather. But living overseas as a sort-of-missionary/sort-of-regular-person/what-the-crud-am-I-really-doing-here-person? Maybe it’s that word I have been fighting for so long: impossible. Impossible? After several months of trying to triumph over this wall of a word, we’re still here really, on the same side we were on when we first arrived in this country. For a spot there, we kind of thought we had stumbled upon our “mission” here, but then it slowly fell away. Certainty is the annoying little bastard of Pride. And what do you do with yourself when you don’t know what to do with yourself? Well, we’re still not sure. Move to Europe maybe?

I’m sorry. Are you surprised by my melancholy? It’s my own fault for fooling you into thinking everything was just fine the last few years. I mean, it is fine. We’re fine. It’s really not as depressing as my tone is coming across. But for a while now, we’ve been just barely surviving, certainly not thriving. I’m not going to lie to you now and tell you our hearts are humming “Victory in Jesus” these days. But they are still humming. More like “Blessed Be The Name of the Lord.” Don’t fret too much. We just have a lot of questions, but we seem to have been put on need-to-know status for the time being, somehow graciously benched for this quarter.

For the past few years, we felt like we had found our place in Japan, namely a church to serve alongside Japanese Christians whom we loved with all our hearts. After 5 years of striving to figure out how to best serve the Lord here in Japan, we finally found a match. Our first year there was a honeymoon–worshiping in Japanese among Japanese believers, mutually and joyfully gathering all of each others’ stories into our hearts, reveling in how even our differences complimented each others’, collaborating in fruitfulness, and seeing the church multiply very quickly.

But then somewhere along the way, we lost it. As in a marriage, how can you pinpoint that moment when things moved from challenging to “irreconcilable”? We were going through culture shock all over again, except it was “church culture” shock. Suddenly the honeymoon was over. I don’t know if I should give examples. Probably not. But the challenges went both ways: we struggled to reconcile the teachings and policies of the church with our own beliefs, and they struggled to accept us, aliens that we are here. The cultural challenges snowballed for two years, but we never considered them to be insurmountable. Until March.

When I left Japan with the kids in March after the earthquake, everything went to hell. We became deserters, traitors, outsiders never to be welcomed back. I’m actually not exaggerating. Those things were all spoken over us by strangers and friends alike. But it hurt the most coming from the church. It nearly tore me apart, personally. I won’t go into details now (you’ll have to buy the book), but I came closer this year to walking over the edge than I ever have in my life. I camped for months in emotional sadomasochism: torturing myself over every mistake, every misstep, every flat note; reading over and over again the emails from strangers who hated me and church members who were sorely disappointed in me, breathing in the words, even the lies; allowing depression and anxiety to swallow and chew me up, back and forth, back and forth. Keith was still in Japan, trying so hard to mend what had been broken. I was just trying to get myself back together again–it was all I could do to get through the day. But there were too many pieces. We couldn’t put it back together again, on either end. But we tried. And to be fair, so did they, for a very long time. We all tried so hard and we all loved like it was never gonna hurt. But in the end, we weren’t good for each other after all.

No wonder I’ve been so prophetically obsessed the last few years with the song “The Scientist”:

Nobody said it was easy
It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
I’m goin’ back to the start

So that’s all I’ve got for you today. That’s all we know for now. We’re going back to the start.

And for those of you who didn’t stand up and walk out on me (when I sang out of tune), thank you.

I felt compelled this morning that it was the right day to write the rest of that story. I’ve been praying for weeks that God would give me the right words. But when you open up your soul and show your scars to the whole wide world, it’s a little scary. I mean, my in-laws read this thing. But I want you all to really know me. Or no. Not me. I want you to know Him who could take what I was and change me the way He has, the way He’s still doing…

I want you to know how He loves us, and how that can change everything. EVERYTHING.

So with more than a little trepidation, I posted that blog this morning, and then went to church. I walked into a church with blaring music (that’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it), and I couldn’t find my place fast enough to start worshiping my heart out to this song that has literally been my personal anthem the last few years:

And then this one was next, another of the songs that has rocked my world the last couple years:

And then, finally, they finished me off with this one, and I just stood there trembling, sobbing, and laughing because I got the message loud and clear. He loves me. I mean, come on, Lord, could you BE more obvious? I love you, Abba Father.

So if you read my last blog, you know that I was fourteen when I got saved. My home life was pretty turbulent at that time, and I was in ninth grade, which just happened to be the year that all the “it” girls and guys started to drink. Shocking I know, but I was actually co-captain of our school’s cheer squad that year (probably more because I was a natural leader, not because I was the best cheerer. But I did have a pretty awesome toe-touch! Anyway…) In particular, most of the girls on the squad were going to these drinking/hook-up parties every weekend, and here I was a brand new Christian, and my conscience was screaming at me that I wasn’t to be any part of that. I had never quite fit in that crowd anyway; I didn’t know WHERE I belonged. That year was heaven and hell at the same time. I remember there was a rumor circulating around the school that I had an “A List” of people I would be friends with and I wouldn’t be friends with anyone who wasn’t on that list. It was completely untrue. On the contrary, I was reaching out to a lot of people in our school who were treated as outcasts, inviting them to church and telling them what God had done in my life. One day on my way to Science class, three boys knelt down and mocked me Wayne’s World-style, bowing to me and saying “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!” (Funnily, two of those boys grew up and became pastors!) But I was so hurt by all the random lies being spread about me. It was my first taste of persecution, and I was SOOOOO lonely.

Starr, the girl who had led me to the Lord, went to the other junior high in town, and I didn’t know any other serious Christians at my school. But then something amazing started happening. Let’s see if I can get this order right: Allison led Starr to the Lord after she had gotten saved at church camp, Starr led me to the Lord, and then one of my closest friends, April became the first person that I ever led to the Lord. Almost immediately after that, April led Maria to the Lord. One by one we fell at His feet, and our lives were all changed by Christmas time. I’ll never forget it. And then we found Nadia, who was the most explosively joyful Christian any of us had ever met. (And she still is!) And a circle of friends was formed that still remains unbroken, even by years and distance and babies and marriages. All through high school, we leaned on each other, laughed together, cried together, worshiped together at Angus. We were tight. And when we are able to get back together, even after all these years, it’s always the most natural thing in the world to just pick up where we left off.

It wasn’t until years later that I discovered that this gift of godly girlfriends He had given me was quite an extraordinary thing. Most young, sold-out believers in Christ, it seems, walk the road without friends cheering them on, like I had. I am so grateful for these precious girls. I walked through more than a few fires in those years (we all did), but we didn’t do it alone. There was even a season when I secretly strayed far from the straight and narrow, near the end of high school, but those girls’ hands were the ones that pulled me through that dark tunnel, and they still loved me, even at my worst.

In a couple months, all but one of us (plus a couple other girls that joined our circle a little later) are having a reunion/retreat. Many of us haven’t seen each other in years, and we are going to worship together and do an in-house Beth Moore retreat together. I can’t wait!!!

Okay, so the next blog is going to be about that tunnel, and I’m kind of dreading writing about it, but I need to, because God did something amazing in me, after He crushed me. Just warning you. Heavy stuff coming right up.

During that summer art program, I fell in what-I-thought-was-love for the first time with (GASP!) a boy from the other side of the river. He was quarterback of the junior varsity football team, President of the Student Council, Captain of the Debate Team, and extremely charming. He swept me off my feet in a single all-nighter phone conversation, and I was a goner. I was captivated, and it seemed to be mutual. He was extremely intelligent and he made me think about things I’d never considered before. I was challenged by him and intrigued and just completely enraptured. But he was also more “experienced” than I was. He had lost his virginity in 6th grade, and I had done nothing but kiss up to that point. My hormones had totally not kicked in yet, and I was not interested at all in doing the things he wanted to do with me. But he was the first person to ever make me feel that I was understood, seen, loved, and so I did some things (not sex!) that made me feel incredibly dirty and guilty, which was strange to me because I had never been taught that I shouldn’t do those things. So a few days later, I worked up the courage to tell him that I didn’t want to do that stuff anymore; I wanted to stick to kissing. And things suddenly got really awkward, and I didn’t understand at all what was happening. And then a few days later, after a magical summer, and on the first day of 9th grade, he called me in the early morning, and he dumped me. I was CRUSHED.

Actually, I think it was the first time in my life I had been crushed. Of course, I should have been crushed when my father gave my mom a black eye or when he kicked my 6 year-old brother over and over again because he didn’t close the refrigerator door all the way, or when my parents finally divorced, or when my dad broke into our house that first Christmas after they split up and stole our tree and all our presents on Christmas Eve. You would think those things would crush a girl. But instead, I had put on this armor that was way too big for me, and determined that I was the strong one. My poor brother was repeatedly trying to inflict harm upon himself and my mother was just a nervous wreck at that time, understandably. So I just kind of decided that I had to be strong for them. And for everybody else. It became my identity. I was impenetrable. And I was for several years. I rarely cried, I was mean to anyone who got in my way, I was the “it” girl in elementary school because I had such a strong personality perhaps. And that was who I was and I took great pride in it: I WAS STRONG. I COULD HANDLE ANYTHING.

But at age 14, just a few weeks shy of 15, I discovered that I actually couldn’t depend on myself. As I sank deeper and deeper into depression, it became harder and harder for me to put on the pep as co-captain of the cheerleading squad for the JV team on which HE was the quarterback. I was just demolished. And I couldn’t hide it, and I couldn’t make it go away. Even then, I was as transparent as a piece of glass. Most of my friends just kind of abandoned me because I was obviously not much fun to be around, lamenting over some boy all the time.

But one fall Friday night at one of those dreaded football games, a girl came up to me. She was the one who I’d had all those lunches with that past summer. As we small-talked a bit, I could sense that there was something different about her that I hadn’t perceived just a few months ago at arts camp. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. I remember feeling really uncomfortable when she brought up the breakup, and she asked me so earnestly if I was doing okay. I put on a chipper face and insisted that I was just fine (even though the truth was that I was crying myself to sleep every night and not eating and feeling just completely lost). She looked me in the eyes in a way I’d never been looked at before, like she could see right through the the shattered piece of glass that I had become, and she told me that she could see I was hurting and that she’d really like for me to call her sometime and we could talk about it. I kind of blew her off, tucked her phone number into my cheerleading jacket, and got away from her as fast as I could, feeling extremely uncomfortable by her empathy. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me. I was supposed to be the strong girl, not some weakling that people pitied. I was irritated that she had seen through me so easily.

But that night, as I began to cry myself to sleep yet again, I had this thought that maybe talking to her might help. I didn’t have anyone else I could talk to about it, and I was even starting to have suicidal thoughts at that point. It was worth a shot. So I dug her phone number out of my jacket pocket at midnight or so, and I called her. (She had her own private line.) She answered, she listened to me for a long time, and then she told me that after summer arts camp, something extraordinary had happened to her. She had met Christ and had become a born-again Christian, and she proceeded to tell me some of the things He was doing in her life, and how He was healing her of old wounds. I had never heard anyone my age talk about God this way. I was curious, even intrigued, and so I agreed to go to church with her that next Sunday morning, just two days away. I went to Angus Acres Baptist Church, and I heard worship music for the first time in my life, and as I sang to God, something within me awakened. Something within me filled up as I sang praises to God and cried and asked Him to help me. I do not remember what Pastor Rick preached on that morning, but the Holy Spirit was moving inside my heart so pointedly that I don’t think it would have mattered. When he gave an altar call at the end of his sermon, I practically jumped out of my seat and ran down the aisle and got on my face before the Lord for the first time in my life. That girl followed me and led me to the Lord that Sunday morning. And from that day on, everything started to change.

The pain that had been crippling me subsided, my personality began to take on a new shape somehow, and I had this light and hope in me that brought me something I had never experienced before: JOY. And people noticed, just like I had noticed in her that night at the football game. How courageous she was, a baby Christian, to come to me and offer me Living Water. She was my Starr of Bethlehem, leading me to the place where I could meet my Savior King.

For 19 years, she has remained my best friend forever, though time and distance are against us. She is the first friend I called all 5 times I got pregnant, she is the one I call when I need godly counsel, or just a good laugh. Sometimes I miss her so bad that it puts me in a funk for a bit, like she’s part of my family. In fact, we send those videos to each other that normally only grandparents would care to watch. We were each others’ maids of honor, and somehow we have remained as close as sisters sharing a bedroom, even after all these years. We have sharpened each other over the years, as iron sharpens iron. She was my 30th birthday gift from my husband–he flew her to Japan for a week and I got to show her the land and people that I have come to love so much. And I am so grateful to God for putting her in my life.

She opened the door for me to enter into Narnia. Thank you, Starr. I love you beyond words.

But you see, that encounter was just the beginning. There is so much more to tell…..