The Dying Chameleon

The Challenge: One

2011-11-17T10:50:00.000-08:00

I desperately want to begin writing on a daily basis to hone my skills as one who enjoys the written art. Therefore, I put to myself the task of penning something, if even arduous and boring to my soul. A topic would be wonderful to achieve; a subject or matter I may not be learned in to the core, but would write about from my heart. Hmmm…food. Children. Marriage. How-to-not-get-into-business-with-a-woman-who-runs-the-company-to-the-ground-and-leaves-you-hanging-on-for-dear-life. Or maybe how-to-forgive-the-person-who-did-said-things-above.

The fort my husband built is made of pine lumber and halved power poles from his father. Half-inch bolts with locking nuts maintain the shape of the frame in a manner better than the construction on our own home. Things just aren’t made like they used to be.

Nothing is like it used to be.

My neighbor down the street recently received “The Challenge.” A quaint governmental title for “forced to serve.” No more volunteering. You simply have to wait your turn and sooner or later, they’ll knock on your door and slap a big “You owe us” paper into your hand and poof you’re the property of the US until they decide you have paid back your dues.

See, the President had the foresight, subsequent money and men to amend the term limit law. He is a tyrant. Lovely. And anyone who has used the government in the past, say for disability, medical insurance, unemployment, you name it—the US puts a big star in the books and keeps very close track of the number of dollar signs by your John Hancock.

What has this world come to? I stretch my legs onto the seat of the patio chair next to me. The sun beats the earth as a boxer for the KO. No mercy.

Where has it gone? A small stream of sweat trails down my spine. My newly laundered shirt will have to wait until next Monday when the water ration commissioner says I can have my share.

I questioned even bringing children into this world. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.

“Mom! Look what we found!” Henry bounds towards me, the patio creaks like elder bones. “A flower mom—a genuine flower! What do you think?” From behind his back he pulls a purple thistle. Pretty—for weed.

“It’s beautiful, honey. What a find!”

And some days I can’t imagine life without kids. But it seems the rest of the world can with all the abortions and family capacity laws. Most people, like us, try to live off the grid and hope they just leave us alone—no matter how many kiddos we birth or take under our care.

This little starter blossomed from a story idea I still have percolating in my mind. And since no one really reads my blog, I pray it stays safe from the hands of the plagiarist :)

Wise Advice?

2011-09-27T16:58:00.000-07:00

“Big trips often change us for life.”

Such was the wisdom I imparted on a young friend of mine. Her age rings in at around nineteen—I’m in my thirties. I taught her in Bible study while she attended high school. We clicked and began to hang out and share. She confessed I was a mentor of hers and I cried. Now she is older, wiser. Life has confused her and taken her by the hand to a valley unknown. She is no longer a child and I try to find a safe place to befriend her. No longer is she the wee one I instructed and watched grow. She is now a woman. One after the Lord’s heart. I respect her and admire her tenacity. She is my equal. I must treat her as such…over frozen yogurt at Red Mango.

I ruminate over my sage-like quote departed in haste over email. What a load, I think. She’ll think I’m a crazy loon. What teenager would want to hang out and listen to the ‘wise advice’ of a goof like myself? Yet, truth peeks from the cracks, a child chancing a glance of St. Nick on the eve of Christmas day. Has not some of my most inspiring moments come from times of complete abandonment and reliance upon my Lord? And have not those times most often pop out to play during overseas trips to distant lands. Visits to cultures so unlike my stiff, white upbringing. Foreign places with people the likes of which I have never met before that time.

Yes. These tend to be the fertile ground the good Lord plants my soul.

What is it, then, that makes these locations and excursions so life altering? It is not the exotic beauty that captivates my heart and brings my knees to the floor before His throne…not entirely. It is not the people who hate me enough to kill me and others who love me enough to die in my place who usher me into His presence…not solely.

No. For me, the moments of my truest awakening have occurred when I am forced to bend my will to His. When I say “yes” to the mission board who have prayed to send a team to Brazil. When I say “good-bye” to my husband and children for the duration of my departure. When I meet those on the team and recognize not one face and droop heavy under the weight of loneliness. It is when I am utterly lost, broken and being carried in the arms of Christ that I forget my testimony and simply utter His name as my saving grace. Yes, for me the naked truth to my learning curve is subtle and humble; my greatest moments with Christ are when I am away from ME. The times when the Lord tears myself away from the norms, the comforts, the little world I have created. Sure, I may have done so with the good intentions, to be a God-fearing wife and mother, only that is not the real ME.

ME longs for adventure.

ME desires to run full speed towards my Lord.

ME hopes to one day shed these earthly burdens and give my life solely to Him.

ME prays I teach those around me to do better than I am.

And the only thing which stands in the way of accomplishing these goals and many more is: ME.

Guess I know what I must do…

Habitual Habits

2011-04-25T13:59:00.000-07:00

Children need to be taught obedience, not sinfulness—the latter develops on its own.

Often times, frustrated parents feel pulled in 1.5 million different directions on a daily basis. Between kids tears, ringing phones, career obligations and household chores, parents can be left with little time for patient discipline and consequently a household of disobedient, ornery kids.

The employment of a few structured changes may go far to order a home, which may result in the relief of parental pressure and stress. Here are a few tips to help overwhelmed parents decompress.

· Write down house rules. Literally take a marker and piece of cardboard, and pen the rules of the house onto the board. This list may begin as extensive and decrease over time or the other way around. If a parent starts with general rules they have the freedom (and should inform the children) that more rules can and will be added as the need arises.

· By each rule should be the coordinating consequence. For children too young to read alone, make a point to explain (on their level of understanding) what each rule is and its consequence. Older children should be informed as well (possible cause of "family meeting"), but they are also able to read and ask questions on their own. Whether you post these on a wall or not, you as the parent, will have them to remind yourself and your children accordingly.

· The punishment should fit the crime. You and/or you and your spouse need to sit down and decide what consequence fits what rule. A minor rule break (whatever that may be in your house) should be followed by a reprimand of the same degree.

· The child is responsible for his/her actions. Make a point to not take blame from a child who breaks a rule and as a result reaps the consequence enforced by you. Be assertive and gentle to show the child he/she is responsible for his/her choices. Use phrases such as, “It’s too bad you decided to disobey…” Such actions will go far to help a child understand they have the power to do right and wrong--and said result are not the random angry outbursts of parent. Be careful to keep from an attitude and voice that may condescend or treat the child as one who is unable to change. We all possess the ability to improve and be taught. Encourage your child in such a way.

· When a child breaks the rules—the parent should not follow suit! The last thing a child needs is a wishy-washy example. Just as we adults dislike weak leaders and blubbery bosses, so children desire in their heart of hearts a soft and strong authority figure in their every day lives. Follow-through with the consequences when a rule has been broken. The hope is after a time of strictly following such a structure, the child will respect the rules and be sufficiently deterred by the punishment and thus be more obedient in the long run.

· As a child grows and changes so should the house rules. A time-out may be out-grown by your once 3-4 year old, and a more appropriate disciplinary action need take its place. Possibly the loss of time with friends, restriction of computer/video games, the revocation of special toys (Legos, etc.), may prove to be a method fit for the crime and the age of the child. Even physical labor, especially for young men, like digging out a tree stump after school everyday for a week, may serve the purpose.

· Give rewards along with consequences. The rules can also contain an incentive program for when a child has shown notable improvement in an area of previous discord. A suitable reward can and should be granted

Parenting is a wonderful privilege and should be taken seriously. Do not leave the primary upbringing of your children in the hands of others—you’ll be sorely disappointed. Empower yourself to take charge of your family and home. Your children will thank you in the long run.

*This post is the result of a discussion with my dear sister. None of us have all the answers, but when the Lord bestows wise advice from those who have done their time, it is prudent to heed and share with others.

A Call

2011-03-31T15:17:00.001-07:00

Blogs. I know people read 'em. But do they really care? Random individuals who rant and rave about a subject or life situation that most others have no idea how to respond or whether they should give a rat's behind or not. No real conversation, just the opportunity to speak "at" the general audience lovingly titled "the world."

So here I am. Falling into the pattern of millions of others around the globe. Pitter pattering away on my laptop keyboard knowing no one will read this--it's simply for me. My personal online journal.

The topic of which I will rant: Adoption. Or lack their of. More accurately, a call which is in question.

I begin in the middle, which will more than likely confuse the hay out of anyone that may decide to read this little post. Oh, well. I really don't care...

Note to reader: I will be very sarcastic at times. Read carefully; in no way do I not love and respect the Lord. I'm just a little peeved and when I get that way, inconsiderate and awkward humor can pour forth. You have been warned...

When my heart became convinced (by affirmations received by the Lord) we were to pursue adoption, I couldn't have been more pleased. Afterall, God was finally catching up to me--I had adoption as a good option to expand our family for years and he was just NOW telling me he agreed. About time... or so I thought.

Innocently, 'tis my weakness, or strength, depends on how you roll the dice, I cast my lot in domestic adoption. We have tons of kids here in the USA that need homes. No better place to start. Agency after agency repeated the same phrase, "We aren't accepting any new families, but you're welcome to send in an application and be put on a waiting list." I hate waiting. No thank you. Moving on...

Next, I found a place. No, no I was pretty certain is was the place from where we were to adopt. We begin he process and are about to send in $ when I inadvertently discover the non-profit agency charges differing amounts depending upon the race of the child. What?! Is that even legal? Scratch that place...

Maybe we should look to international adoption. We looked at Ethiopia. Yes! Perfect! We qualified and even found an agency that seemed legit. Great! Here we... What? Ethiopia is significantly decreasing the number of adoptions they will process each year. Ok...what does that mean? We wait? Great. I hate waiting...

China special needs. The program had been brought up more than once, so I proceeded to check it all out to see what it held for us. After working out the fears and finding a little boy with a need that we thought we could handle (our boy was born with the same problem) we were told we didn't qualify financially for the program. Super...

BAM! A door slams in our faces. BAM! BAM-BAM! Three more. I'm starting to become confused. Why do so many others succeed so easily at adoption and here we are, wanting what James 1:27 calls a pure religion, and it's not happening?

Enter reality check.

Over the course of the past 1.5-2 yrs., my husband and I have been on a roller coaster of two miscarriages and many adoption let-downs. Little did I know just how much this all had consumed me. Not until I sat in bed late one night this past week, did I stop to listen. Sad to say, it had been the first time in many days/weeks I had quieted my heart before the Lord. You know what I heard? I heard God whisper, "You've become too focused on the call and have neglected the One who called."

Ouch. Reality bites like a rabid squirrel.

He can't lie. And He's never wrong. Truth is the truth; I had, on further recollection, become so vigilant to adopt and prideful in the way I had told so many we were--how it was God's calling for us--that I had pushed God's heart of love for children aside. And not just that--God's love for all. I feel like one of those psycho women on a TLC made for TV movie who looses her marbles when life doesn't go as she planned.

Oh, Lord! Forgive me! Forgive my pride. Humble me and cleanse my soul from all unrighteousness. I have been sinful. Even in ways not accounted for I have sinned against You and You alone. I love you, Father. And know, without a doubt, You love me. I trust Your will in all things--mainly the addition of children to our quiver. You were, are and always will be, LORD.

Amen.

Mary and Todd...

2011-03-07T11:59:00.000-08:00

...Sittin' in a tree.

Huh? No, that's all. What? Oh--I didn't intend to finish. But I can see you... Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of! I know what you were thinking. Right, right. Sure. It's okay if you sensed a strong urge from the child within to finish the song. What? Psh, of course! Even I felt the pull of youthful banter. The tiny tug of a little hand from long ago deep within my soul. Now, the clever rhyme is seared on my brain. And the tiny hand is creeping me out.

We all experience similar sensations at particular moments when jolted to the past by familiar scenes/smells. Like the aroma of fresh-baked bread. Seeing a rope swing lightly off the thick branch of a mighty oak. Watching a newborn kitten, all fluff and no balance, make its first tiny mouse-like squeak for milk. Or finding a fishing rod complete with red and white bobber and Shakespeare spincasting reel filled with 8lb. line. Each evokes a unique blast from the past and thus a unique response.

One of my favorite memories as a child involves my father and fishing. For those of you confused by my name, I am a female and yes, some of my best times were casting a line with my Pop.

My best guess is I had incessantly bothered my father to take me to the local fishing hole. And such is was indeed. A sandpit in the middle of the Great Plains of Nebraska. But a starry eyed little girl who couldn't wait to hang out with her father and catch the monster fabled to live in its depths couldn't be deterred by it's humble appearance.

In those days, Kindergarten ran morning and afternoon sessions. I attended the earlier. Mom and dad must have been in cahoots, for when the noon bell sang clear and long, there stood my father, all 6'3," 250 lbs.--like a massive dream come to life. My mother, a professional homemaker, (she did an awesome job) usually picked me up at the end of my daily educational experience. But not then. With a broad smile and his signature laugh, my father gently took me by the hand after school that day and led me to his pickup.

Rarely did I want to be a princess, or a damsel in distress. Not really, at least. I more desired the position of Robin to Batman. Velma to Fred. Watson to Sherlock. Tanto to the Lone Ranger. More than I wanted to be saved and protected (though each were dire needs deep within), I wanted to be by my dad's side. His mini me. His lil' partner.

A small jump set me firmly on the passenger seat. I buckled in and noticed my Strawberry Shortcake lunch box. Giddiness surged. What could be inside? Mommy knew what I liked: a sweetened dehydrated fruit leather, a ham and cheese sandwich, chips and fresh fruit/veggie. Typical American child's noon meal.

"One quick stop at the bank and then on to the fishing spot," said Dad. My father had slowly beat the sticky socio-economic odds so many face. The tenth of thirteen children, he grew up poor but with big dreams and an even bigger heart. He worked hard, yet kept his priorities in line by carving out time for his wife and kids.

Here we go, here we go! The car ride seemed in my mind to match the time it took the Santa Maria to cross the North Atlantic. When we reached the sandpit, a short 20 minutes had passed and I needed to pee. Being a girl of the country, I found a secluded bush, released the build-up and shook. Gross, but true.

Dad revealed my rod from the bed of the truck. There she was--nothing special, but she was mine. A single hook tied down the line at the tip to prevent unwanted snags. My feet flew to the edge of the beach. I unhooked the line and called to my father for bait. He followed close behind with a ball cap on his head and one for me--I'd forgotten how easily my toe-head burned. My dad usually purchased nothing fancy. Only a Styrofoam cup filled with nightcrawlers; the employment of crank baits and plastic minnows did not occur that day. We relied on the simple movement of a live earthworm to attract the young water creature to our grasp.

Cast. Set. Watch the bobber. Simple and sweet.

Per the orders of my father, I set out to find two Y-shaped sticks to prop up our rods. Once each were in place, we unfolded the wooden lawn chairs, ate and talked. Hands-down that was the best. Kickin' back with my old man. Shootin' the breeze. I don't recall our exact exchanges, but I'm sure I learned a lot and he listened a lot. Afterall, I was a 5-year-old girl.

The sun sank low in the warm afternoon sky and after a bit of lunch and the catch of a fish or two, my young body needed a snooze--as did Dad's. Homeward bound. Me with my Pop. What a day.

Childhood. What I wouldn't give to go back to the times of innocence, free-spirit, no responsibility, and complete trust. Yet, can we not have that now? I do believe we can have a healthy, adult-version of each. For "Nothing is impossible with God."

Happy birthday, Dad. I dare say a daughter couldn't love her father more than I love you.

Whoever Welcomes a Little Child...

2011-02-07T12:18:00.000-08:00

...like this in My name welcomes Me" Matthew 18:5.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world" James 1:27.

Every adventure needs a theme, right? God has me scrambling with many--and I asked for it.

In March, myself and another 7 individuals from my church will take a two-week trip to Brazil. Our mission: to spread the great, glorious and wonderful good news of salvation through Jesus Christ and encourage the missionaries already at work.

An adventure to say the least.

The other more notable journey the Lord has had me and my husband on the past few years is adoption. Door after door has slammed closed, practically breaking our spiritual noses in the process. Disappointment and almost complete surrender have loomed in the foreground. Last summer, I succumbed to such discouragement my motto became: Abandon plans to God, but not hope. Is that possible?

Typical Sunday school answers came to my mind when I began to question whether I'd misunderstood God in leading our hearts to adopt, "His timing is never late, seldom early and always on time;" "You can't rush God, He's got that special child for you...;" "Trust in the Lord...;" "Those who wait upon the Lord will be strengthened;" etc.

My husband seemed to waver in and out of full-fledged commitment. Admittedly, this marks the first time (other our marriage, I suppose) that I've put consorted effort and perseverance into keeping an idea alive. The good Lord, in His infinite, omiscient wisdom enabled me through His Spirit to keep on keepin' on. Through crooked agencies, closed programs, enormous amounts of money and unaccounted for fear (Satan)--God is.

Last Friday, after a passionate session with a friend on how ready I was to adopt and also how ready I was then to wait on the Lord, He moved. And when God decides to move, nothing on this earth can stop Him. We can either ride the wave or stay on shore. Me? The shore is sadly often my home. In this case only one option remained. Maybe the heat of the sand had burned my spiritual feet, or the vultures were circling above. I don't know. What I did know was, I wanted to surf, to ride the proverbial waves of His great and glorious love. Would I drown? Maybe. Would I have to do something I feared? Probably. Would I be made of fool of? Most certainly. Was I ready? No, but He is and He is with me.

Names have been changed to protect the unaware.

After a children's phys ed class, I overheard another mother speaking with my friend (who had adoped from Ethiopia Dec 2009) about her goal to adopt. Call me nosy or an eavesdrop, I'm fully convinced it's an internal radar for a mother who desires to adopt to pick up on any/all words that have to do with adoption. Anyway, we walked out at the same time and I inquired about her adoption experience. Betty, a friendly gal, opened right up and joyfully shared the adoption agency information (Passionate Corazons) with me topping the conversation off with, "And the lady, Cathy, is super sweet..." Good enough for me. As soon as I got home I called.

Passionate Corazons' target country, at the time of my talk with Betty, was Democratic Republic of the Congo--one of the most dangerous countries in the world. Cathy, who turned out to be just as sweet and knowledgeable as Betty described, informed me their program is not accepting anymore applications. They were a small agency and the Congo was their biggest, well, only adoption country. I thanked her and found myself curiously not disappointed or ready to throw in the towel. Instead, I remained hopeful as I parted and told her I'd be in touch.

"What are you looking for exactly?" Cathy asked just before hit the red button to end call. I explained that we weren't picky on country, but we did prefer an infant girl. Like a revelation which rolls slowly off the prophet's tongue, she explained a trifecta of agencies that she works with in international adoptions. One in particular recently popped up in dire need. Apparently, they had a thriving Ethiopian adoption program and gradually quit promoting and marketing. Pretty soon, they had no new families. Next thing the director knew, he had many small children in his orphange with no potential homes.

"Really?" Could this actually be happening? I mean, how long has it been? I was getting good at waiting...

Rapid palpitations of my vital organs ensued, like a knob had been turned from autopilot to overdrive. For me, tears fall quickly and I before Cathy had finished I began to blubber quietly over the phone. Since that initial contact, less than one week ago, God has opened His endless stores of resources, love and gifts. He has ushered to our disposal money to help with the initial costs: app fee, agency fees, dossier fee. I've printed and will begin penning the needed information onto the required documents. Dotting every "i" and crossing every "t."

Again, is this really happening? After two miscarriages, a heart that burns furnace-like for orphans, is God actually going to bring this about? Yes, I believe so.

We had waited, with learning patience, on the Lord. And then He moved. His presence lacked nothing and brought with it a housewarming of peace; His signature gift. On the flip side, it honestly frightens me!

This wonderfully terrifying experience, which has occurred in such a flurry, has been nothing short of a miracle of God's goodness and greatness. All glory to the Lord!

Enter spiritual warfare.

To be continued...

A New Course

2011-02-03T07:02:00.000-08:00

Pride. It's been around for, well, ever. Like a slimy serpent, which slithers into our lives as quietly as an anaconda glides through the murky Amazon water toward its prey, so the sin of pride, which brought about the fall of Satan and so many after him (all to his doing) is cause for much difficulty in our lives.

The Pharisees were accused by Jesus of being white-washed tombs--proper, pretty and clean on the outside, but only bones, cobwebs and death--on the inside.

Pride.

Satan specifically tempted Christ to edge to the crevice of selfish sinful pride by offering the Lord rule over the all the kingdoms of the earth, daring him to toss his fleshly body from the precipice, and enticing him to turn rocks into bread. In all three instances Jesus failed not to put the devil in his place--by quoting the infallible word of God. Notice, even the devil, who believes in God and shudders, did not--COULD not--dispute Christ when he directly quoted the Bible. What power it contains. Power of which we have no clue. The likes of which we cannot fathom or comprehend, yet...it is all at our fingertips.

Pride.

The journey of adoption in my life has brought itself to a sad state. Pride led me to spout to my friends and family that we will adopt--I just knew we would--afterall God had laid it on my heart, my husband had changed his thoughts to a more positive perspective (through prayer), and lost two babies by 12 week miscarriage all because of the fall. My pride, or was it faith, led me to pray, "Lord, if we are meant to adopt and not give birth, please don't allow me to conceive." Do not put the Lord God to the test. He did allow it, but both times, the babe was lost. My selfishness kept on trying. I lacked sufficient faith to not try in the first place. Or was it pride? The fall? Just the way it is?

Now we play monthly russian roulette. We quit using contraceptives because, by all accounts, I have not been able to conceive. God has closed my womb. Like Sarah, Rachel, and so many other women of Bible history--I am barren.

But not barren in spirit.

God has assured me that, yes, I do and have made mistakes. Sure, some of those may have led to certain things occurring, but He is mine and I am His--forever and ever, Amen. My spirit is overwhelmed at what is to come. His presence is few and far, but when we come together the sparks fly and I am filled with His love and spirit. Until those moments arrive, I am left to trust--my faith grows like the roots of a plant in a sparse land reaches deep for life-giving water, so my spirit has found His grace sufficient.

Pride.
Sin.
Humility.
Forgiveness.

Thanks to Jesus, I have all four. If I had not the first two, I would not need the final two. With the full acknowledgement of my mistakes, my shortcomings, my sins, I lay prostrate before the cross, thankful for all He is and all that He has given. Nothing, is what I am, without the death and resurrection of my Savior, Jesus, who gave all because of love.

I will adopt. I have adopted. I am adopted. I choose to trust that my heart for those who have no one is not in vain, not by accident. "Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening." I look forward to where God will lead me (and my husband, for I am one with him) in this multi-faceted word: adoption

Thank you, Lord. Amen.

An Addition

2011-01-22T15:42:00.000-08:00

When I explain to my two boys (ages 5 and 6) about adoption, I often use the wordage, "We want to expand our add to our family through adoption." Do they really know what that means? I could choose to speak down to them as the children that they are, yet I have decided to talk to them as little men.

For, oh, I'd say about 4-5 years, my husband and I have discussed and I've prayed to adopt. After our second child was born, we tried two more times to expand our family through birth and God did not allow--I miscarried both at about 10-12 weeks. Never thought it would happen to me. I know, right, how misinformed am I? How eutopian is my world? Needless to say, I walked into the OB/Gyn's office both times fully expecting a good report and both times, after initially finding and hearing the heartbeat on early visits, couldn't find the poor babes' life murmur. I was devastated to say the least. Both instances I did not voluntarily abort at home. My doc suggested a DNC and I agreed. Terrible experience.

Before all this, my prideful little self prayed to Almighty God saying, "Lord, if you want us to adopt don't allow me to have a baby." Of course, my thoughts were not to get pregnant at all. Never did it occur to me I would have to endure a miscarriage x 2.

After about 2 years, I have healed and moved on as much as possible. I am assured now of the course we sojourn, trusting the fact that God is not some cruel tyrannical ruler--no. But, I did test Him, by viritually saying, "Hey, I'm going to try this because I want to and if I'm in the wrong, stop me." Yet, He is gracious, not a bully and from my miscarriages came a blood disorder diagnosis I would not have known before. One that could lead to early death. He is good...

Since that time, my hubby and I have went back and forth using contraceptives (only condoms) to nothing. I have never gotten pregnant again. After reading the matriarchs stories (Sarah, Rachel, etc.) I realize just how much of a hand God has in conception. He can close our womb or open our womb dependent upon His plan--not his cruelty or misjudgment. I truly believe, to my initial chagrin, that God has closed my womb.

And that's okay. Not at first, mind you, but now, after mulling it over in my mind for a year or so, it is well with my soul and I am beginning to understand what God may be up to.

That all said, my husband was not so excited or prepared to adopt. I believe the unknowns scared him. I prayed and prayed, knowing full well I could not do so without his approval. And one day, literally, one day (at least to me--I'm certain he'd been thinking about it a while) he spoke the triumphant words, "I am ready to adopt." So here we are about 1.5 years later still praying, hoping, searching for the avenue, time and place to adopt a new member into our family. We have looked at domestic infant (it ended up that the agency accidently divulged information that they charge differing amounts per race of child, i.e. a AA child is 16,000, mixed race, 24,000 and all caucasion 30,000) yeah--no joke. Made me sick inside. I really should turn them in somewhere...

Anyway, that ended our working relationship with that agency. Jilted, we prayed and moved to look at international adoption via Ethiopia--the place to do so these days. After our first real meeting with the agency, my husband (I believe) freaked about the costs and talked me into looking at fosadopt first--before committing. I agreed. I'm all about checking out all the options before settling. We did, realized it's not exactly what we were looking for and went back to straight up adoption.

Today, I still wonder if Ethopia is where we will land, but I have information being sent my way from another infant domestic adoption agency. Super excited, super hopeful and super trying my best to wait upon the Lord.

Until next time...pray.

Tough Love

2011-01-20T11:55:00.000-08:00

Adoption. The word evokes sad portrayals of malnuritioned children in the Sudan to Huckle being taken from the pound to a new home. Christians hopefully have a special nuance with the term adoption. Afterall, those who are in Christ are adopted into the family of God thanks to the shedding of his blood. No matter an individual's affiliation with adoption, it usually brings about a positive reaction.

I want to adopt. My motivation is in part due to the image of malaria-stricken children, but mainly motivated by God's love. We love because He first loved us. Possessed by the desire for many years--even before my children were born--I have been praying and waiting for the time to come when I/we will have the privilege of extending our arms and opening our doors to one who has no one else. Since childhood, I've had a soft spot for those who have no family, no one in the world--no blood relation--who'll take them in, feed their growing bodies and shelter them from the elements. Sure, it is not a peachy trail...and sometimes that scares the H-E-double hockey sticks out of me.

Take Moses' mother, Jochebed. She married a Levite, priestly man, and descended from the Levite clan herself. In the Israelite circle, that meant something. What--I'm not quite sure, but you were set aside to serve God if you were a Levite. That said, I venture to say Jochebed had a relationship with God; as much as one could have before Christ. A mother's intuition may be credit for the fact Jochebed saw Moses was a fine child so she risked her and her family's lives by hiding the boy until he was about three months. The little runt began to squack and squeal--no more nice quiet sleeping newborn, therefore Moses' mommy made a tough decision, one I fully believe required an enormous amount of trust in God. And notice, please, God seemed to approve of Jochebed's deceit. Similar to the two Hebrew midwives that refused to kill male newborns because of their fear of God, so they lied to Pharaoh and said the Hebrew women were vigorous and gave birth before the midwives arrived. Scripture says, "So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous" (Exodus 1:20). Seems to me God is truly more interested in the state of our heart, the love, faith and hope we have in the Lord, and not whether we follow the letter of the law. Food for thought...

Back at the ranch...Jochebed took a papyrus basket, and coated it with pitch and tar. I'm guessing she made a cozy little nest with linen cloths, and placed baby Moses inside. She had to have been a strong woman. Not Friday Night Smackdown strong, but unshakable faith strong. This one Hebrew woman took the chance of going against Pharoah's edict that all baby boys of Hebrew origin be killed. This was one tough gal. Yet, it's hard for me to believe she did not worry a tiny bit or shed a tear drop when gently placing her precious boy in a basket and watching him float down the Nile river--a major river in Egypt--large and untamed.

But God had a plan and Jochebed was just a small piece.

Moses had an older sister. This sister had been instructed to keep an eye on the basket as if navigated through the reeds. Surely she pulled her baby brother back from danger when his little papyrus home started to wander into open waters. Wet and tired, Moses' sister continued her quest until God intervened. Pharaoh's daughter happened to be bathing in the Nile that day at the that moment (possibly a nugget of knowledge Jochebed possessed?). The royal princess heard the baby crying and instructed the basket be brought to her. Moses' sister stayed concealed in the reeds, a spy on the fate of her brother. "She opened it and saw the baby. he was crying, and she felt sorry for him. 'This is one of the Hebrew babies,' she said" (Ex. 2:6).

Moses' sister, seeing the perfect opportunity stepped forward and asked if the princess would like her to retrieve a wet nurse for her new child. Well played, if I do say so myself. The bathing beauty agreed and off ran the girl to tell her mother the good news: she could keep her child--well, at least for a while. Scripure informs us that Jochebed raised her son, Moses, until he was older. Then she had the agonizing (these are my own words, my own interpretation as a mother of what I believe Jochebed may have felt) duty of delivering her child to its new mother. Not because Jochebed was a substance abuser, murderer, neglectful, selfish. No. Not at all. On the contrary, Jochebed could have ran with the child. She could have disguised herself and the boy and taken off during the time she had. But she stayed. Despite knowing she would eventually be forced to give her child to another, she focused on the good times and savored the moments she had with her son.

Hands down, Jochebed has to be one of the most amazing examples of a mother--at least in my book. She risked her life, went against earthly authority (who ordered murder), followed God (who hates murder) and put herself at the end of the line. By doing so, God recorded her as the mother of the most humble man, Moses. The man God would use to set His people free from captivity and lead them to the promise land. And his mother more than likely died of old age before any of this occurred (Moses' age rang in at 80-years at the time God called him back to Egypt to free the Israelites). She would have only seen him grow up with an Egyptian scepter in hand, possibly visiting her from time-to-time, and then fleeing to the desert after killing an Egyptian. Did her heart ache, wondering why in God's great universe she saved the boy to watch him rise and fall? I don't believe so. God didn't choose no fool. Like I said, she was strong like She-Ra--freakin' awesome.

So, as I place my hope in becoming the mother of a child that did not emerge from my loins (yeah, nice thought, huh?) I remember Jochebed, who knew and believed God's plan were much larger than her own. May we all do the same.

All in a Days Work: Part 2

2011-01-18T15:07:00.001-08:00

A child shadowing both of my sides, we diligently moved through the section of men's clothing. The department store had few customers on that winter day. It more resembled a library apart from the Mariah Carey song on the speakers.

The sun shone through the glass front doors casting shadows into the darker corners of the larger building. The mother of Little Lost Elizabeth had stated she had left her daughter with Grandma near the section we now searched. My boys were careful, kneeling to check under clothing racks. They knew all too well the hiding places of small children. More often than I'd like to admit, they had hid from me only to be reprimanded with not too soft words such as, "Don't you ever hide from me again! You could have been taken by a stranger and never have seen me again! Stay by my side from now on or you'll lose your hotwheels for a month!" Something along those lines.

Slowly the three of us paced the area, me praying internally while questioning the boys externally. "Where would you hide if you were a little kid?--Well, then we should check there." "If this ever happens to you, who do you go to for help?--Good, good." "What do you absolutely not do?--Yes, that's right. Now let's pray Little Lost Elizabeth knows better than to do something like that."

The old cliche "time stood still" applied nicely to this particular moment. My senses were heightened, a basset hound on the hunt--though I'd like to think I looked nothing like the pure bred. We skipped the aisle and moved toward the ladies apparel observing every person in sight.

After about 10 minutes, I decided to ask the mother again to see if she had had any luck locating LLE (Little Lost Elizabeth). Beelining past racks of embroidered sweaters meant only for kindergarten teachers and great-grandmothers, I reached Sherry and posed the question I so hoped would end with a yes. Before even opening my mouth, I knew I would not receive what I desired. "No, not yet..." Her face was pale and her hands shook. Possibly from smoking, yes, but in this case, I think not. If panic were a color, LLE's mom would have been painted with it. It fell over her like an unwelcome hug from a perverted boss. No, that would be disgust not panic. well, never mind...

Anyway, my mind turned to God. I prayed. I offered the woman what I felt I could, a hug--and not a perverted boss hug. An "I understand your fear, but God is in control and loves you both" embrace. Promising her I'd keep searching, my posse and I turned and headed straight. Not having any clue where I was going, I mentally processed the situation, while praying and moving forward at the same time. In hindsight, I'm surprised my boys' hands didn't fall off. My grip had to have been kung fu-like fueled by a determination to not allow my kids to ever wander away from me...

The shoe department lay straight ahead. I glanced at new pair of athletic shoes--a good style for my youngest, and on sale. Out of my peripheral, I caught a mess of curly blond hair. My eyes tried to react, but the image fell away. Not letting go of my own children, I raced around shoe case after shoe case, searching up and down each aisle.

"Look mommy! It's..." My oldest son's finger was trained directly on a girl. A little blond curly haired girl who looked just like LLE.

I approached her gently and softly. "Are you Elizabeth?" The child stared at me and began to back away. I felt a bucket of panic paint starting to pour down my back. "Wait! Don't go..."

Suddenly an older, darker haired girl stepped out from behind a shoe rack. "Who are you?" She inquired.

"I am helping find this little girl--her mommy is looking for her. Is her name Elizabeth? Is her grandma around?" By that point I was on my knees appealing to the children.

The older girl took the younger one by the hand and began to pull her in the opposite direction--smart, really, from a stranger-danger perspective.

"Wait! You don't have to talk to me, but please wait here while I get her mom or store personnel." Running with my two boys I chattered praises to God excitedly while exclaiming to the boys, "He's helped us find Little Lost Elizabeth! God has found her!"

The mother saw us coming and met me halfway. "We have found her," I said moving back toward the shoe department. "She's with an older girl..."

The reunion was splendid. I cried, per my usual reaction. The mom thanked me and I told her it was God who found her child.

To this day, almost three years later, my children still remember the winter day we helped find Little Lost Elizabeth. An experience that has served me well training my children on the importance of following directions, staying close to mom in public places and knowing the proper people to talk to if in said circumstance.

What did I learn? Easy. Never leave my child to smoke a cig... :)

All in a Days Work: Part 1

2011-01-09T15:41:00.001-08:00

Months ago, my two sons and I were shopping at a local clothing store. Well, I was returning my husband's Christmas present, to be precise. The young cashier floundered and fussed with how the system lacked in performing it's standard job of ringing up purchases and refunds. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...err--the register on the other side, I began to notice a woman shaking her hands, touching her hair nervously, chattering in high pitched tones with eyes shifting like a druggy on meth.

Being the considerate, and kind individual I inspire to be, I eavesdropped.
"I don't know," said the frantic woman.
"What does she look like?" asked the cashier. By then another three or four store personnel had joined the circle I had titled, Chagrin Gang. A few more words were exchanged in hushed voices and the mission-minded group dispersed.

My transaction had long sinced finished, the awesomeness of being a multi-tasking mother, I approached the woman, with a boy in each hand, and asked if I could help with anything.

"I can't find my daughter." Her voice shook. "I had left her with my mom. Told her not to go anywhere but stay with grandma. I just stepped out to smoke and when I came back inside I can't find her."

"We'll help," my words were a feeble attempt to console. My mind wasted no time to pray. Father, you know where that girl is hiding. May she be safe. May we find her healthy and well in this store. May this woman see that Your hand is in control. All glory to You, Lord. Amen.

Details. I needed a description. "What does your daughter look like? What's her name?"

The woman shook as if standing knee deep in snow. Her eyes moved wildly about the store to my back. She spoke at me, not to me. "My daughter's name is Elizabeth. She is three years old and has long blond hair with curls. She may be with my mom or another older girl."

"Ok. What's your name?"

"Sherry."

"Sherry," I replied, "my boys and I are going to help you find your daughter. We'll come get you if we do." Turning, I kneeled and spoke softly to my little ones. I understood the horrible gut-wrenching knot in a mother's stomach when she thinks she may have lost her child. Tears pooled. "Boys, I need you to be detectives with me. Do you know what a detective does?"

My oldest knew the answer, "They find clues."

"Right! They find clues. We are going to find clues in this store. Clues that may lead us to a little girl, Elizabeth. She is about your age and has long curly hair. If you see her, please tell me--Ok?"

Blond little boy heads bobbed in agreement.

The search was on.

To be continued...

Exceptional Voyage

2010-12-31T13:33:00.001-08:00

The book Endurance by Alfred Lansing, has been labeled "A thrilling reading experience! One of the greatest adventure stories of our times" by the New York Times Book Review. I began this tremendous read in October during a trip to the Rocky Mountains with my extended family. My father, bless his heart, fell ill during the holiday. Nothing tragic or life-threatening--simply a virus which chose to infect his body and thus thwarted his relaxing, recreational getaway with loved ones.

Feeling sorry for his need to stay at the cabin and rest while the lot of us enjoyed the delightful 60-70 degree weather, I loaned him my book, stating he was sure to enjoy it's adventurous tale of true events. In short, he took to the the pages of Endurance with such gusto, I could only steal it away from him during his naps, which, upon awakening, turned his mood quite sour. Reluctantly, I returned the book to him to finish.

Around Thanksgiving, I requested my book returned me. My father said he had placed it safely in the side compartment of my son's duffel bag upon our last visit. "I have not seen it," I replied confused and a little perturbed. My mind had not ceased in repeating the journey (as far as I had read) of the twenty-nine men on their Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition gone array. "Maybe someone took it from the bag..." he suggested.

The only possiblity lay with my mother-in-law who, at the time, housed my brother-in-law who himself had tarried three times on the frozen continent of Antarctica. She may have stumbled across the book in the boys' bag and understandably thought it his instead of mine. My assumption proved correct when I found a copy of the book (he had the exact edition) stashed inside the guestroom nightstand. The personally named bookmark remained entombed at the spot I had paused my reading and loaned to my father.

My heart was delighted and I wasted no time devouring the book for an hour.

Per the usual for non-fiction biographical recollections, parts proved painfully slow and so commenced my mental consumption. Other times, I comprehended and read with enthusiasm. My goal was to finish in a week or two, but other books, the Bible and my current small group study manual, vied for my attention and the early 20th century story often went to the wayside

The year's end closed quickly. Determined to finish the inspiring tale of Ernest Shackleton, I read and read and, on December 31, 2010, I finished Endurance, a book which, as trivial as it sounds, moved my soul like no other book aside from the Bible itself.

If you have never read, please do not hesitate to pick up and pour yourself into the tale of unsung heroism, terrible odds, undying hope and ultimate triumph. This book has made it into my personal hall of fame. Even as I type this blog, my heart's in a vice; tears are near falling. These men may have known Jesus as their Savior, or they may not have had the privilege. Truly, I hope they came to know Him after surviving such an exceptional voyage seen through by only God Himself, which has inspired me (among others, I presume), to live my life with new enthusiasm and wonder.

Yet, I cannot help but ponder, "Could I have accomplished such a feat? Not necessarily physically, but mentally? Could I today, in my immediate state, persevere through such daunting occurences, bleak outcomes, and dismal surroundings?" These men were tough, not only in physique, but in mind and soul. That said, they could not possibly have survived, without a heavenly hand guiding each of their steps during such a perilous trek.

As I have seen/heard others do as of late, I am giving a title for my 2010 and aiming a name for my 2011. This year, which has passed, has been wrought with heartache for me. Difficult circumstances God has allowed in His sovereignty have brought me further into His confidence, revealing His nature like I have not known before. My faith has wavered, yes, doubts about my path in life has entered, but I have not set foot on another road. The Holy Spirit, in His wise counsel, has kept me steadfast amidst many questions that continue even now. You see, my 2010 has been a disappointment in many ways. I feel more a sinner and further from understanding God than ever before and in the same breath I cannot cease in praising His unconditional love. Therefore, I give the name, BROKEN, to my 2010.

2011 may prove to be simliar in many respects. Trials and hardships are certain, as any believer may concur. But Shackleton's voyage has given me hope. I long to not only be prepared for the Lord's return, but, like the 23 marooned men on Elephant Island who awaited their leader's rescue, I desire to do so with faithful anticipation. American Christians have been labeled "light weights" by brothers and sisters in Christ around the world. We experience little persecution in comparison. Our hardships are set more to the course of staying pure in a defiled world. Not becoming deluded by Satan's stomping ground. Continuing the course, as lights shining in the darkness. Doing deeds indicative of Christ Himself.

Thus, the title I pronounce upon my 2011 is ENDURE. For that is what I desire, with all my heart to achieve from this day forward. Endure in faith; endure in hope; endure in love. For the darkness is coming and the Lord's is about to return.

Will you join me, friend?

Oh, so tired

2010-11-18T07:06:00.000-08:00

I recently met a woman. She looked awful. No, really, she looked terrible. Haggard, weathered, worn. Just plain tired. I inquired of this woman what could be the reason behind her tiresome appearance. She informed me of this: "I am exhausted."

No offense, but yes; that is obvious. But of what? Why?

"I don't know."

Really?

"Yes, really," she replied her eyes not even able to shift from the floor to meet my gaze.

You mean to tell me you have no clue what it is that makes you so super-duper sloth-like?

"You got it," a smirk came across her down-turned lips, or at least I think so--my view of her mouth has been impinged by her humped back. "I'm not real sure--well, that's not true. I'm pretty certain my exhaustion does not come from physical labor. And I am quite sure mental stress has nothing to do with my tired state. Emotionally, I am up and down a little. I tend to cry more than usual, but--you know, now that I think about it's--it's spiritual."

What?

"Spiritual!" Her reply came quicker, surer and with a little more passion than she had employed the moment earlier. Her point of reference, which she seemed to be fixed upon, still remained on the floor; yet instead of gazing at the tops of her flip-flopped feet, her eyes had moved forward slightly. She now stared at the tops of my dirty athletic shoes--a good three feet to the better.

I continued my questioning. How could I not? The woman was in distress; I truly desired to be of service. And, selfishly, I wanted to know more.

Prompted not by me, the woman spoke freely. "Spiritual. Yes, that is what makes me so tired, so weary, so, so...sad."

Are you a believer in Jesus Christ? For if so, He has freely given us the gift of eternal life through faith in Him...

"I am, dear sister in the Lord. And this I already know. Yet, yet...I hear from so many other followers of Christ that I must do more to retain my salvation. And because I am not sure if they are wrong or not, I have been re-baptized (once sprinkled for my Methodist friends, and another time submerged for my Baptist friends). I partake in communion often (using grape juice for my Evangelical friends and wine for my Lutheran friends). I sing songs to the Lord (contemporary praises for my young friends and hymns for my aged friends). I pray often (outloud and in tongues for my charismatic friends and silent and reserved for my Catholic friends). You see, the list goes on and on."

Oh. Wow. I do see...

"You do? You see what?" The woman raised her eyebrows, and like a puppeteer, her glazed eyes shifted futher north. She now stared at the heighth of my knees.

I see why you're so tired. Do you not know that none of that matters for your salvation?

"Well..."

Do you not remember that "God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3:16)? As I spoke God's Word, His wonderful Truth, the woman seemed to lighten. Her back rose slightly, bowed with an unseen weight, and her eyes moved up--ever closer to my own.

I continued. "For we are saved by grace through faith and not by works so that no man may boast" (Ephesians 2:8,9).

"Oh...oh..." It seemed the modern day equal to the miraculous healing times when Jesus walked the earth in human form. Right before my very eyes, this poor, sad, down-trodden, burdened woman seemed to grasp the desperatley needed balm in the Word of the Lord.

Her eyes were so very close to meeting mine. Who are you? I wondered. Scripture poured from my spirit: "The one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out" (John 6:37), "This is the will of the Father who sent Me, that of all He has given Me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up at the last day" (John 6:39), "He who believes in Me has everlasting life" (John 3:47), "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 6:23), and "But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). You see, poor woman, Christ has already done all the work for salvation. You can rest in Him...

With each Word, with every syllable of God's undeniable Truth, the woman morphed physically; mimicking her internal spiritual change. Gradually, slowly her posture straightened and her eyes moved up, up, up... and I saw her face.

The woman...was me.

The Bestest Birthday Yet

2010-10-22T15:21:00.001-07:00

Yes, you English grammar snobs, I do know "bestest" is not proper, but heck, it's my blog and my birthday so I'll cry...err, misspell if I want to.

Ok, enough of that silliness, my birthday began in a wonderful manner. Allow me to explain (cue transition music).

It started like any other morning. I rose from my bed, groggy and grumpy, thanked the Lord for His goodness and faithfulness (which washed away a good measure of my bad attitude), and walked downstairs to exercise before reading and cooking breakfast. My workout finished, I proceeded upstairs to stare into my practically empty fridge and wonder aloud, "Why is there nothing to eat?" A usually untrue statement in America. Nevertheless, I managed to whip up a batch of pancakes and soon enough my children and I were sitting at the table enjoying flapjacks and good company.

Then the phone rang. My friend had called to wish me a happy day of my birth and we began our usual lengthy discourse. During this time, my two sons covertly transformed the living room into a festive dwelling few could deny as absolutely extraordinary--especially considering their ages (4 and 5). In a matter of fifteen minutes, the two had carried in the children's plastic picnic table from the deck, pulled a comforter from their bed to serve as a tablecloth, decorated the walls and furniture with easter eggs and stuffed animals, while providing entertainment with a puppet show, slight of hand magic trick, and my favorite board game "Mystery Mansion." To top that (I know, how can you?), the two scoured the house to find items from my childhood. They presented me a box overflowing with nostalgia: a cowgirl hat from my youth, a stuffed dog I had long ago named Cuddles, and my childhood detective kit (or all the pieces the two could find).

If my day would have decided to turned into a Grinch-style birthday, I doubt it would have phased me. The Lord used the wonder, joy and compassion of children to give me one of the bestest (shhh!) birthdays I have ever had.

Did I Misunderstand?

2010-10-18T12:59:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday, I posted about my family's new direction--a whole new world, if you will. Well, I tell you what; if it's God's path for us, it sure has been bumpy.

I'll spare you from a retroactive explanation, to those maybe one or two of you who are reading. No need to tell the tale of where we have been regarding our journey thus far. But I will bring you up to speed by sharing my "today" story. Oh, yes--it's a daily dredge.

Over the weekend, God moved--big time. My husband, who had normally not been an extremely interactive individual when it came to conversing over the adoption option, became very open and outspoken. He said, "Ethopia, baby. And what about twins or siblings?" What the... never mind.

Excited as I was, I prayed in thanksgiving for this affirmation on our road to adoption. My husband recalled an article in our local paper about an adoption agency in Texas focusing on Ethopia.

Enter Monday morning, I called the agency. "We're sorry. No more applications are being taken for those seeking young children from Ethopia."

"Okay. Thank you."

What to do, what to do? Pray. So, with frustration dominating my mood, I chose to bow and pray. Thanksgiving parted my lips, even though my heart felt far from grateful. "Well," I contemplated, "there is another agency we've been looking at. Suppose I could give them a ring..."

As the story would have it, I dialed the toll-free number for a local agency who had a good reputation. We had family and friends who had been adopted through the organization.

"Hello, my name... I was wondering if you could tell me about your Ethiopia program?"

"What do you want to know?"

Hmmm...okay. "Well, I guess, fees and such. Also, if your program is still accepting applications. Others I have contacted are closed."

"Well, we're still open. What else do you want to know?"

This type of conversation continued between me and the director of this program for my area for about 5-10 minutes. After I hit "end" on the cell, I decided to send a comment to the program's information center. Here's what I wrote:

"Hello--I called and spoke with 'a' today about working with 'z.' I admit, I hung up disappointed in the way I had been treated. Maybe I had a case of the Mondays or maybe she did, but I am a Christian and believe 'z' represents the same--yet, the way 'a' spoke to me was abrupt, rude and I plain felt as though I had been bothering her by asking questions. When I inquired if there is anything else I needed to know, she literally laughed, making me feel about an inch high. Her attitude and approach were unappreciated and I hope, if we decide to work further with 'z,' that this is not the case again."

Did I misunderstand? Are we not supposed to adopt? (Yes, I am easily discouraged...)

A silver lining appeared later today.

After speaking with three different agencies (that was just today), we ended up picking Bethany Christian Services. Not the one I would have chosen initially, but then again, it's not about me...is it?

A Whole New World

2010-10-17T16:44:00.000-07:00

I am turning 30-years-old this coming Thursday. Yes. I am no longer in my twenties. Does this bother me? Not as much as I thought it would. But I definitely think my thirities will hold a fantastic new world. One with a surprising amount of reality, truth and light, while offering less of the antonyms associated with said trifecta.

As some may have realized, I am a follower of Jesus Christ. A follower, whom I pray, does not give Jesus a bad name. But knowing my downfalls and sinfulness despite full forgiveness through belief in His death and resurrection; I'm sure I am a poor ambassador at times for the "J" man.

This coming year, as I turn 30 and leave my twenties behind, I look forward to what the Lord has in store. "Look forward" is said lightly; God often throws twists, turns, trials and many difficult tests into the lives of those who long to sit at His feet. Though I often find my mind wandering when He desires my full attention, I do (in my broken way) desire to rest in His teachings. "Come to me all you who are weary and heaven-laden and I will give you rest..." Jesus goes on to explain that we can exchange the burden of the world for His yoke (teaching). He swears it is light and does not work us to the bone. Do I believe this? Yes. I have experienced this. Christ's "yoke" requires no work on our part in light of eternal salvation; He has completed the task, run the race, fought the fight. And He did not do so for selfish gain. No. He did so for the benefit of the elect--all those who come to faith in Jesus Christ are sealed until the day of salvation in the Father's hand. We are forgiven, redeemed, saved.

One truth Christ's yoke has attempted to etch onto my heart: the importance of prayer. I have sat at His feet and asked for things and yet never received. Why? Because I ask with wrong motives so that I may spend it on myself. Lately, the subject at hand: children.

Having endured two back-to-back 12 week miscarriages (complete with DNC's) I found myself demanding things of God. And all I received in return was silence. That made me confused and hurt. But God was not silent--He was just waiting, whispering, willing His onto this Earth. My hands held the task of patience, full submission and utter trust.

Well, I haven't even turned 30 yet and I forsee a wonderful life-changing event coming my way: Adoption.

My husband and I have put the subject at the foot of the cross and it seems the Lord is moving us in that direction. My sarcastic human side wants to scream, "Finally!" Yet, God is: never late, never early, but always on time. I have no idea what this journey toward/into adoption will look like. But I do know my God (the one and only God) is good and great. I find rest for my weary bones only in Him.

And that, my friends, is the beginning of my whole new world.
So long twenties.
Enter the thirties.

2010-04-05T11:21:00.000-07:00

OK. So, it's been a while since I've published a few of my thoughts onto the Inter-web. A long while. My time has been filled with less writing and more reading/digitally publishing the wonderful written work of others (not a bad gig).

Other than messing on the computer and taking care of my boys, what has been on my mind? Good question. My answer to that excellent inquiry is this: Trust.

On so may levels, trust is fundamental to a healthy relationship. Love remains primary, but faith (I consider that practically synonymous with trust) comes in a quick second. See, trust is falling apart all around me theses days. A close relative and her hubby of almost ten years are separated. Long story, and too personal to put on the web, so I won't, but basically--they aren't sure if they can trust each other any more. Lies and broken promises have become battering rams to the heart.

A close friend is going through the same thing with his wife of, oh, I don't know--20+ years of marriage. She hurts with her words (I'm sure he isn't innocent, either) and therefore the vital runner up recipient "trust" is coming in first to last.

A girlfriend and her husband closed on a house just to find out that the previous owners had been dishonest. A few days after the deal went through, the couple found out the house has high radon levels (needs to be vented, which equals about $1000+). Instead of telling my friends the results of the test, the previous owners concealed the information until after the papers were signed, then cut the cords to the hot tub and ran out of town taking with them the appliances the families had verbally agreed upon leaving.

And this is the short list! I'm frustrated, people. Whatever happened to "my word is my bond?" When a man and woman stand before judge, friends, family, and uh, GOD, do we not take seriously the vows we recite? Am I mistaken or did such honor and integrity exist in our world at one time?

It did! Heck, read the Old Testament and see. When the Lord made a promise He kept His word. Likewise, the Israelites (God's chosen people) learned from their heavenly Dad. They knew the enormous importance of following through to the "t" on a claim made. Even if it meant giving up the life of your only child (I feel for you, Jephthah the Gileadite--read about J's commitment to keeping his word in Judges 11).

So, where does that leave us? With our world going to hell in a hand basket and so many people backpeddling on their promises so fast they stumble and fall, who is left to trust? Is there anyone?

The truth: no. No man is worthy of our trust. But just because our world lacks the conviction of following through with a promise doesn't mean we are left to walk in such a way, right? Or are we simply expected to follow in the misguided, death-filled footsteps of those around us? Is there no hope for me--someone who wants, no--rather longs to trust?

There is.

There is ONE who has not changed.

There is ONE who has never backpeddled on His word.

There is ONE who deserves all our trust, and in turn, aids us to love and maybe even trust those who are untrustable.

Do you know the ONE I speak of?

Ask me; I'd love to tell you all about Him.

The Times--They are a Changin'

2008-09-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

When I look at my children, two young boys, I think, "The world will not be the same for you as it was for me." I remember my parents said the same as I grew. "You have to deal with so much more." Our culture, our world (which will pass away, 1 John 1:15-16) is overflowing with threats.

Admittedly, I've caught myself in the midst of fear. "Will my kids be okay? Will we lose all we own? Will we be safe?"

The answers: My kids are in the hands of God. (Eccl 9:1, Ps 103;17). They are protected. They believe in Jesus and know he is Lord and Savior. Sovereign and loving. Nothing I have is really mine--all belongs to God. (1 Chron 29:13). I am just a steward until my Master returns. If my Master takes all away and leaves me destitute; yet I will trust in Him. And I will not be safe, but I am sealed in the Holy Spirit until the day of redemption. (Eph 4:30). Peter said to "rejoice that you particpate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed" (1 Peter 4:13). Such things brings us closer to the Lord. We are blessed.

No matter the turmoil, we must keep a mindset of Christ. Our eyes on the prize for which we run the race. Our hope in eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. For faith is the assurance of things hoped for and the convictions of things not seen (Heb 11:1).

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world" Jn 16:33--Words of Jesus Christ.

This is what I will teach my children. This is what I will remember. This is the TRUTH.

Peace to you in Jesus' name, my brothers and sisters in Christ.

2008-08-25T07:41:00.000-07:00

Today marks the last of a two week stint. A time when I allowed the world and all it stands for the bring me down to its depressing level. Last night, I felt like an eight-year-old girl alone on the elementary school playground. The remarks and dealings with 'friends' now brought back long passed memories of being the black sheep by the 'best friend' of my younger years.

I hated those feelings of exclusion then.

And I still do now.

But Christ has revived me and reminded me of the truth: I am not alone. I am loved. I am not without a friend in Jesus.

A Sleep-in

2008-04-11T09:24:00.000-07:00

This morning I slept in and I felt guilty. See, I stayed in bed and allowed my mother to take care of the boys (I have an excuse for being tired...MT woke up four times last night and JD 2x--what's up with that???).

Don't you feel sorry for me? (That's a rhetorical question...I don't deserve sympathy).

Personal martyrdom is not my motto. I tried to recruit help last night. I nudged my husband when MT woke for the fifth time as a monsoon of urine exploded from his diaper. My husband groaned--he didn't move. I sighed heavy and with MUCH disgust I threw off my cozy covers and shuffled my way to MT's bedside. All I could think of as I changed his smelly damp trousers in the dark was, "Why can't I just sleep? I want to sleep, sleep, sleep. All I ask for is a little help. That's all. Just a little help. Why is it always me..."

And help is exactly what God sent me when my mother decided to wake up and tend to my night owl children.

So why did I feel so guilty?

I consider myself spoiled in this life. I often and I mean OFTEN think of those less fortunate when I partake in overindulgent moments as I did this morning. So I prayed and felt a little sheepish. Then God reminded me that my remembering those less fortunate is good, but I should also be thankful for the sleep-in this morning...that's grace.

Grace is coupled best with humility. If not paired with a humble heart, grace can be hard to swallow. Pride can often cause our throats to swell and close in selfishness and face-saving.

But I don't care about looks. I humble myself before You, Jesus. I love God and the grace He shows me in such things as a lazy Friday morning sleep-in.

Thanks gracious God. I am truly humbled before You. Praise the name of the Lord!!!

An Encouraging Visit

2008-04-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

My mother arrived for a three day visit on Wednesday. My mother's presence, thankfully, puts me a ease. I enjoy her company, her help and her conversation.

Today (Thursday) my youngest son challenged me in the middle of department store. He repeatedly ran from my side. Not a fast walk, but a race track rabbit sprint. And the more I said, "Stop, come back here!" the faster his little feet moved. So after about the third time and plenty of warnings, I took him to a corner and spanked his bottom. I said, "When you run away from mommy you run into potential danger. Someone who does not love you as I could hurt you or take you from me. You must listen and obey mommy."

He's only two--he doesn't get the truth, though I still impart as I see fit.

Embarrassed as to the stares of numerous women (I have never spanked publicly before then. Too concerned I'd have the cops called on me), my mother put her arm around my shoulder and reassured me that my decision to take "action" at that moment moved my youngest son one step closer to understanding just how much I love and care for him.

I truly hope so, mom. Thanks for the encouragement.

A Getaway

2008-04-03T12:16:00.001-07:00

This weekend is my getaway. A surprise retreat with just my husband. The kids go to Grams and Papa's while we stay in a resort-like hotel close to all the amenities. A spa, a pool, a continental breakfast to shame most restaurants. Ain't life grand? I plan for my husband's friends to drop him off at the motel confused and unaware while I wait in the lobby to take him to a movie then...well, that's none of your business.

Why are getaways important?

Getaways rejuvenate. Getaways refresh. Getaways keep us sane in an insane world. Or at least we hope.

But what if a getaway is outside the budget? Or what if a getaway does not mesh into the work schedule? Or what if a getaway doesn't do as promised?

Then you do what Jesus did. You escape and pray. Maybe not on a mountain top with Moses and Elijah. Or in a garden as our enemies surround us. But in our hearts.

Wherever God has us.
However we are.
Whenever we can.

That is the pure, real image of a getaway that rejuvenates, refreshes, and keeps us sane. A chance, no, an opportunity to spend one-on-one quality time to talk to the Father. The "big cheese" that created it all and is over all. Nothing satisfies like a fill from the Living Water and the Bread of Life.

Next time you need a getaway, you don't have to do as I and reserve a room at a four-star hotel. Better yet, reserve room in your heart. And spend time with Jesus who never leaves nor forsakes.

The Light

2008-03-03T13:57:00.000-08:00

One of the most difficult things I did this previous week, had to be the snippets of my haunted past I shared with friends. The two women are kind and generous. They love God and seek to follow Jesus Christ. So I thought, "Hey, they'll understand and not judge me for my mistakes".

It all started innocently enough. The three of us spoke of churches and the loss of love in the lives of many followers of Jesus Christ. We challenged one another to live contrary. To love Christ first, and serve others in that love. Then I laid my bombshell on the floor (sorry, you're not trustworthy enough to tell:). One friend laughed and told me she wasn't surprised then gave me a hug. Another didn't say much. She didn't look at me the same, she looked confused and unsure.

I left sad. I didn't want to lose a friend over a few mistakes in my past. After all I still make bad decisions. Then God whispered in my ear. You cannot stop others from judging you. You know your faith in Jesus Christ has brought freedom and forgiveness from those sins. Find your fulfillment, satisfaction and completeness in Me; for I AM your all-in-all. Keep living in the light and telling the truth. Then you may find the judgment of others doesn't hurt so much.

When we realize just how "wrong" and "sinful" we have been and still can be, our perception as to the wrongs of others--changes. A mind given to Jesus Christ doesn't see black and white, it sees hope and forgiveness. A heart overflowing with the Spirit of God doesn't turn away in shame, it hugs and holds in grace and love.

I don't blame my friends for their reactions, I would be shocked myself. I may have even reacted worse. But no matter if they talk to me again (they already have) God will sustain me. He is my rock and my fortress. My refuge in times of need.

Hey, He is The Rock, not just for me--for all. Seek Him and see for yourself.

What???

2008-02-27T08:56:00.000-08:00

As a mother of two little boys, I don't have time to myself. No, I am not "poor me-ing". I simply write my life as it appears...today, everyday.
My oldest, a three-year-old, wanted to play ball. Of course, I sat at my desk writing out bills.
I told him, "Just a minute, hon."
He fussed and fussed and fussed.
I stared at him with that "mommy look". I waited until he was done and I asked him what the purpose is in his fussing.
"I don't know," he said.
"Well, I absolutely love you and want to play ball with you, but when you cry and fuss it makes me not want to play ball with you. Do you understand?"
"Yes," my son said as he wiped his tears away.
We hugged and I quickly finished my work. Then we played ball in the basement.
Then, later this morning, my youngest son, a two-year-old, who is in the middle of potty-training decided to release a gallon of urine into his training pants thus leaking all over the carpet.
"Oh-well," I sighed. "Life goes on." Then I scrubbed and washed and rechanged clothes.
What a day.

Fighting Wants

2008-02-13T06:16:00.000-08:00

Today my husband, who is a Woot diehard, saw the sale of the day--an HD projector with free 76" screen. I teased, terrible I know, "We should have purchased the Woot with our extra money," I emailed him. "Too bad our transmission went out." My husband was not enthused.

Why do we fight our wants so? Everyday I think about the things I don't have. The new Dyson vacuum that would clean my carpets 50x better than my old Panasonic. Or new clothes that look in-style and not frumpy and gross. And extra money to eat out so I wouldn't have to cook every day and every night, not that I mind. Then I received a letter in the mail from World Vision asking for support to fight the hunger crisis in Africa. Gulp. I guess my life isn't that bad after all.

Sorry, God, for being so ungrateful. I have all I could ever need and most of what I want. Thanks to Your generosity, I'll keep fighting my wants.

The Beginning...

2008-01-18T18:37:00.000-08:00

Hello fellow bloggers. New to the game. I'll post again soon...