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island life(style)--a bit of goodness

"Home should be the treasure chest of living."

~Le Corbusier

Happy birthday to my love. 

Our tiny "field" of island sweet corn. How happy!

Have a lovely day!

~Audrey Ann

Fields of Salt Water and Oceans of Corn

An ocean of prairie grass billows and the wagon sways like a ship, heavy with hope. Those brave pioneers crossed miles and miles to claim a new land as their own, as their home. Ever since I was a little girl, their stories have drawn me in, but little did I know how they would define me. 

It is going on five years since I boarded that United plane bound for the Pacific island of Guam. I was a little girl, really, en route to my destiny, an adventure I could not resist. I did some teaching and some falling in love. Now I am married and this is my home. 

It hit me the day I got my driver’s license, the day my husband first teased me about my local accent, and the day I felt more comfortable chatting with local firefighter’s wives than military wives who were pining for Starbucks and Target. This, this quirky place infused with island, Asian, and military culture was home.

If you search for “Guam Scenery” on Pinterest, your eyes will feast on striking beaches, the bluest waves, and breathtaking cliff lines. And they are real! However, those, lovely as they are, do not make this place my home. I would bet that Pinterest will not show you my humble studio apt in the jungle. Yes, the jungle. It will not show you the crazy roosters and my neighbor shouting at the other neighbors who have an all-out rock concert at 1am.

Photo Credit: Paige Overturf Photography

 On vacation. Did I cry when I saw the cornfields? Yes. Yes, I did.

I have struggled with how to make this place my home. A lot of my prized possessions are in the States--in plastic totes my parents are gracious enough to keep. I have thrown away a lot of things along the way, just like my pioneers who braved the west. They threw over heavy chests and other heirlooms that carried too much weight. So have I. But they clutched the lighter items, the quilts, the china, and stored them in their homes of sod and timber. A semblance of their past married the reality of their future. And it was home.

The days I have compared Guam to the Mainland and all that I miss and what I want at my disposal, those have been miserable days. And the days I have pretended to not miss Indiana and just embrace island life with no looking back, those have been dishonest days.

Truth is, I have made this place my home because this place has changed me. The people changed me. I let them change me. In order for a place to be home, you must embrace both your past, your present, and the juxtaposition that it brings. Yes, I now have a twinge of an accent, I kiss those I meet (save military) on the cheek, and I love red rice. But I also still love my blue and white china I brought in my carry on, and anything else antique and English. Every Christmas I make my aunt’s cinnamon rolls. My bookshelf boasts some old Shakespeare books from my great grandpa. 

It is possible to have the ocean and miss cornfields. I know. But it is also possible to be thankful for both. I am a heartland girl turned island girl. And because I am choosing to embrace my past and my now, I can always be at home. For in the end, Jesus is with me, and He is my home.

Keep the Faith,
Audrey Ann


All photo credits (besides #1 already noted) belong to Eric and Audrey Ann Masur. Please do not copy unless given permission.

life(style)--a bit of goodness

breakfast in bed with my mister

homemade pop-tarts are delightful 

you can find the recipe at the Culinary Couture blog

hafa adai and g'morning from guam

Liberation of the Soul

Today is the 71st Liberation Day on Guam. We celebrate the freedom of our island and honor the sacrifices made. Copious amounts of red rice, ribs, and finadene will be consumed. Fireworks will blast all night, and my dogs will go crazy. It will be a loud and lovely day as we remember.  Liberation is beautiful, because captivity is ugly.

"He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins" 

(Colossians 1:13-14)

And I think about my soul and every soul, bound, captive before Jesus Christ. The liberation He offers is perfect and beautiful, because our captivity to sin is horrific. But sometimes I forget that He is our only hope. Sometimes I think that people earn their favor with God by being nice and obeying all the rules.

The lie about soul liberation is that we can earn it.

We churched ones can grow up wearing the idea, wearing it like clothing against our chests, that people can attain perfection in and of themselves. Every day we have donned these rags. Others earn our respect based on how well they obey all the rules--or how much it looks like they are, and we earn theirs the same way.

This garment is tight and restricting; we are suffocated, our breath of joy restrained. Too distracted by these binding clothes to understand true love, we are robbed of knowing who Jesus is.

Legalism can be accidental, but it is still deadly.

We believe there is a formula, a checklist, that if followed, will constitute success, respect, forgiveness. The formula becomes our god, the checklist our security blanket.

Bowing to the religion of us, we forget.

“For it is by grace...” Grace, this warrior word that defies our human prejudices and presuppositions. Grace that crashes us to our knees in relief. On our knees has always been our strongest place, because it is the place where His hand extends.

But sometimes I avoid it, because I prefer to make it about me. Grace is always about Jesus.

The joy of Jesus’ death and resurrection is that we needed it. If we could earn our way there, what does the rest even mean?

Does His grace demand our love and, in turn, obedience? Of course. But the fight for the liberation of our souls has already been fought on the cross (Romans 10:9-10, Philippians 3:4-11). And that is a reason to surrender and celebrate!

Keep the Faith,
Audrey Ann

Photo credit: www.nps.gov

Limits of Love

It is the ultimate trump card. You toss it down with a flick of your wrist and no one dares cross you: 'love.' No one can question your actions. If done in the name of 'love,' it is good and decent and obligates others to support it. 

'Love' is god, we say.

But we have it backwards. God is love; He defines what it looks like, both its possibilities and its limitations. His love is far greater and more magnificent than I can ever understand, let alone write.

Since 'love' is our lowercase 'god,' we twist its definition into anything we want it to be. 

Love is messy. We know that. From the mama who wipes poopy bottoms, to the woman whose man keeps looking at porn, and the husband who tries but seems to have lost his wife to his children. Love is messy. 

And when Jesus went to the cross? That was messy, too. 

When we define love ourselves and manufacture our own cookie cutters of what it is and what it looks like, we miss out on the grandeur and truth of what God has given us. We tear down boundaries when we do not like them, because we are free, so there. 

If I made up 'love' myself, it would always be lacking. It would always be full of my mood swings and how I felt, instead of the everlasting and unmovable intrinsic characteristics of God. And because HE decided what love looks like, I no longer have to grovel in fear of being known, for He knows me, the real me. 

The moments I have most known love are those when I have sat on the porch of our house and cried, broken before my husband over sin in my life or confusion. Getting dressed up and smelling new roses is delightful, but it is only a symbol of love--not the substance. The substance of love is never sentimentality. 

Love is never a soft feeling that justifies sin. Rather, it is forgiveness and the hope that we can be more like Him today than we were yesterday.

Supreme courts do not define love. And neither do I. God does.

Those rose petals, lovely as they are, will fade and fall, and so will my relationship if only based on how good I feel. Love is messy. Who knew how beautiful messy could be, thanks to our Lord--Love in a manger, Love who sent the plagues, Love who told the adulteress to stop her sleeping around, and Love who is our glorious King.

Keep the Faith,

Audrey Ann

Photo Credit: Paige Overturf Photography

Tiny--in Memory of Elisabeth Elliot

Sitting in my favorite hotel lobby, I glance up as the manager strolls past me. Sometimes I want to be her: the snappy lady in business dress, iPhone in hand, and smile on her face. Her hair bounces ever so slightly when she walks. She manages an entire hotel--an entire hotel! I sip my coffee and peruse Pinterest, while she runs this tourist monstrosity. 

Has your life ever felt tiny? I know mine has. Living on an island thirty-five miles long and ten miles wide (at its widest) and attempting to be a writer can feel rather small. Oh, I know that my work as a teacher and tutor has been important, but sometimes when I see pictures of friends' career exploits, road trips, and cheap, healthy food--panic arises. 

I know all the right answers to lecture at the panic gripping my heart and clawing at my throat. Avoiding my work I go to Facebook where I read that my heroine, Elisabeth Elliot died. Being in public, I cannot cry, and shouldn't anyway. I didn't know her, really. But her books are my greatest collection. Her words have both affirmed me when in distress and spanked me when I was acting a fool.

She made me feel less like a freak when I didn't date in high school and was a mentor whose sharp words pierced through the excuses and lame defenses I put up against doing God's will. And I thank God for her.

'Tiny' is merely a matter of perspective. To what am I comparing my life--God's Word or earthly prestige? There is nothing wrong with a cool job, but there is plenty wrong with my feeble heart and questioning attitude. I am a woman, and Elisabeth Elliot helped teach me what that means:

“We are women, and my plea is 'Let me be a woman,' holy through and through, asking for nothing but what God wants to give me, receiving with both hands and with all my heart whatever that is.” 

She was a slight woman with a large gap between her teeth, and even wrote about her lack of external beauty, but God used her so, both by living amongst those who killed her husband, and by writing and traveling to share His love and wisdom. God can always use the tiny, if the tiny is given to Him. So today, as I am feeling a bit tiny, I will remember my darling and daring Elisabeth Elliot, a warrior of the Faith. May I wield my sword for the Lord as she did.

1926-2015

Thank you for everything, Ms. Elisabeth. I look forward to meeting you one day.

Keep the Faith,

Audrey Ann

Photo Credits: reneeannsmith.com, sonomachristianhome.com wholesomereads.com, churchleadergazette.com