Moston - Call of A Coward

CALL OF A COWARD

The God of Moses and
the Middle-Class Housewife

MARCIA MOSTON

2012 by Marcia Moston

Originally published by Westbow Press

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

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Scripture quotations are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE, Copyright The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995. Used by permission.

ISBN: 978-1-4497-1996-8 (Westbow SC)
ISBN: 978-1-4497-1998-2 (Westbow HC)
ISBN: 978-1-4497-1997-5 (Westbow e-book)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Moston, Marcia.
Call of a coward : following faith / Marcia Moston.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-8499-4730-8 (trade paper)
1. Moston, Marcia. 2. MissionariesNew JerseyBiography. 3. MissionariesGuatemalaBiography. 4. MissionsGuatemala. I. Title.
BV2843.G9M67 2012
266.0092dc23
[B]

2012000215

Printed in the United States of America
12 13 14 15 16 QG 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Bob

For where you go, I will go, and where you
lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people,
and your God, my God.

Ruth 1:16

Contents

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.Anas Nin

Its difficult to get your mind around trust. You just have to do it.

Even the dullest of minds, prompted by fear of a new situation or complacency in a familiar one, can produce the most convincing arguments to stop along the journey. But the Lord cuts to the heart of a matter. Ask, and he will put you back on track and direct your way.

Those kicking and screaming death-throes moments when you realize you arent and you cant are Gods opportunities to show you he is and he can.

God, the author of time, space, and order, seldom punches our clocks or stays in our size-specified boxes. When he wants to engage a heart, renew a mind, and save a soul, anytime, anywhere, anyhow will do.

An act of kindness doesnt need an interpreter.

Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two.George Meredith

When cultures collide, a shared laugh makes a strong bridge.

Never underestimate God.

Its a noble thing to say you would lay down your life for a loved one. Its quite another if you are called upon unexpectedly to share your last bit of chocolate. Thank God there is no condemnation as we slowly shed our selfish selves and grow in grace.

The power of Gods Word does not go unnoticed. It stimulates antagonists of fear as well as recipients of faith.

Sometimes it is simply best to be still and know that he is God.

Although I say, Of course I believe, when heaven parts and pins me in the spotlight of the Living One Who Sees Me, I am brought to my knees in awe.

When this life doesnt make sense, its good to remember you are just traveling through.

When youve lost sight of his tracks, go back to the point last seen and set your marker: this far God has met me.

There is no complaint or fear or hidden place in my heart that he is not aware of. By faith, I present my concerns and choose not to fret and stew.

Hope does not disappoint.

I used to think everything depended on me. What a relief to know God is in control of my life. His plans and purposes are far more marvelous than ones I could ever conjure up myself.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, is impossible with God.

O nce I began thinking about the people I wanted to acknowledge, I realized how many have played important roles in both the living of this story as well as in the telling. Truly no man is an island, and I am grateful for all those who believed in me, prayed for me, and allowed me the space to make mistakes and continue on.

A special thanks to my former students at the Rutland Area Christian School, who traveled so many elephant trails with me; to Nancy Zins, who saw the teacher beyond the fledgling; to the people of the Brick Church, who gave of their hearts and homes; to my Monday night critique group for their support and insight; and to our many missionary friends whose selfless labors often go unseen. Thank you Scott, Natalie, Ben, Evan, and Philip for your love and goodwill in spite of the sacrifices along the journey. And thank you, Mom, for reading all those stories to me long before I could myself. Finally, thank you to the staff at Thomas Nelson, who helped to make the process painless.

This story spans more than a decade and intersects many lives. Although the veil of privacy is thin in these times of instant information, for various reasons I have changed several of the names throughout the book.

Part One
Coming

THE PROBLEM WITH PROMISING GOD YOULL FOLLOW him wherever he leads is that you just might have to go. I suspect it would be easier if you were certain of his calling like stepping out the door and seeing the lilac bush on fire and hearing a voice commanding you. But when its your husband who is delivering the messagewell, that leaves a little room for wonder.

At least thats how I felt when my husband rocked my comfortable, middle-class afternoon with his belief that God was calling us to pack up and move to a Mayan village in Guatemala.

1
Crossing Borders

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud
was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

ANAS NIN

I lowered the sheet from over my head. Slits of daylight squeezed through the gaps in the curtains and tumbled into the room. My eyes swept the walls, probing every corner. The eight-inch lizard that had disappeared behind the curtain the night before was nowhere in sight. Lily, our ten-year-old daughter, slept beside me, a mummified mound under the sheet. My husband, Bob, had tried to block her view as the long-tailed creature scooted across the wall just before we got into bed, but she had noted the look of alarm on his face and turned in time to see it.

I stared at the motels whitewashed stucco ceiling spotted with brown bug splats. Today was Sunday, the day we would cross the border into Guatemala, the place we planned to live for the next year, the place we had been traveling thousands of miles from our home in New Jersey to reach.

We felt stronger now, more confident than we did three days ago when we had lingered in the dusty Texas border town of Brownsville and looked southward, reluctant to leave the security of the United States but determined to go. Trepidation gnawed at the edges of our courage as we considered how different that border crossing would be from the previous crossings over state lines. We went to the zoo, and then the bank, and made one more trip to the Laundromat. When we finally ran out of familiar things to do, we gathered our courage and drove across the Rio Grande.