tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82033053896242217582024-03-21T04:43:21.826-07:00Revealing BeautyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-11368771735813594842018-08-11T05:23:00.001-07:002018-08-11T05:23:26.052-07:00Wrecked by Pooh<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> When I first heard that Disney was making the movie <em>Christopher Robin</em> featuring my very own childhood buddy, Winnie-the-Pooh, I was beyond giddy. Like a child anticipating the arrival of Christmas, I could barely contain myself. Yes, now. At 47 years old.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> One of my most beloved childhood memories is that of my Pooh bear. While I didn't have the encompassing adventures that Christopher Robin did, I most certainly had a friend in Winnie-the-Pooh. My treasured Pooh bear heard many secrets, absorbed myriad tears.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Over the years my Pooh bear became tattered and worn. A torn shirt, soiled "fur," a bit of stuffing emerging from one of the seams, and eventually, a missing eye. And still, I held on to my precious Pooh bear. Love doesn't let go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> When I got married nearly 30 years ago, Pooh bear came with me. But as I began to settle into my new life and make a home for my family, my bear friend was deposited into a cedar chest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> As the years went by, one decade turned into two, and as our family grew so did the amount of stuff we accumulated. And so on a major "cleaning out" day, I let go of my beloved yet battered Pooh bear. I threw him away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> When I went to see the recently released <em>Christopher Robin</em> movie, I expected to feel a bit sentimental, emotional even. What I didn't expect was to be wrecked by Pooh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Oh. My. Word. The <em>tears</em>. A waterfall was born in the theater that night. And when Pooh said to Christopher Robin, "You let me go," it was my undoing. I did the whole bite-your-knuckles-so-you-don't-gasp-for-air thing. Any makeup I wore into the theater did not make its way out on my face. Thank goodness I had the foresight to forgo the mascara.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Crying buckets, I silently told my Pooh bear how sorry I was for letting him go, for losing sight of what's important. There's some real vulnerability going on here, folks. Which, in fact, is my point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Let's all be real. No more pretending. No more faking it. Throughout the movie, this "bear of little brain" exhibits extraordinary wisdom as he conveys to Christopher Robin the importance of the simple things, of putting those we love first, of not letting go of what's truly significant in this life. Every moment is a never-before and never-since moment that should be embraced for the miracle it is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> All these years later, I once again fell in love with Pooh bear--his soft-spoken gentleness, his witty words of wisdom, his lifestyle of living in the moment, his forgiveness of being let go. And I felt the smattering of grace that covers one like the honey Pooh ate with such love and appreciation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Pooh knew how to pick up where they had left off all those years ago, how to love as though he'd never been let go of in the first place. I was determined to do the same. I was reminded once again to embrace the simple things in life and to let go of what has no eternal value. And perhaps most importantly, I embraced the little girl in me and laughed with her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> I left that movie theater emotionally spent, yet fully content. Tears emptied; heart full. Childhood memories brought full circle. Beauty revealed in a little stuffed bear. It doesn't get any simpler than that. I was wrecked by Pooh, and to my beloved Winnie-the-Pooh I say, "Thank you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-30309670277240570972018-08-09T13:59:00.002-07:002018-08-09T13:59:56.744-07:00When Loss is More <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't set out looking for loss. But as sure as the sun rises, it found me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> The loss of a loved one, the loss of childhood innocence, the loss of a job, a relationship, a dream, a promotion... There seems to be no end to the loss this world brings. And there's no neutral territory, no middle of the road, no safety zone. Loss affects us all.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> And yet...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Loss can be harder than we think...and more beautiful than we could ever imagine. Not the loss itself, but what comes from it. The collateral beauty. The treasure unearthed from the rubble left behind in the aftermath.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Loss can leave you looking for an answer to a question you never wished to ask. But it's not so much about <em>having</em> the answer as it is about <em>learning </em>the answer. When we recognize the value of journey, loss becomes more than just loss.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I once heard that every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. Loss is like that. There can be no loss without a beginning, and it is in that loss that a new season begins. Loss isn't destiny aborted; with the proper perspective, it's life reborn. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Learning to live again after loss takes time. Loss is far too difficult for you to be hard on yourself, so give yourself the gift of grace. Life wasn't meant to be lived in a day and loss won't be processed in a day either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> If you're experiencing loss today, I would encourage you to slow down. Breathe. Rest. Take time for yourself. For it is in the sacred pauses that we find healing for our souls.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Perhaps you're currently five tears shy of a monsoon. Go ahead, cry up a storm. Cry until every last tear is shed. Author Kyle Idleman once said this: "Funny thing about tears. Oftentimes it's only when they fill our eyes that we can finally see some things clearly."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Maybe you haven't lost a person, but the loss you're feeling still goes deep to your very core. Maybe your loss is failure. Is it possible to view failure as more than loss? Absolutely. Just maybe your current failure (loss) is preparation for future success. Loss then becomes <em>more</em>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> With any loss comes the realization that you don't have to be anything other than what you are. In a season of loss, we may find ourselves becoming more authentic than we've ever been before. It is in the losing that we find. We find ourselves, our passion, our true voice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> There's a big difference between a deep well and a wishing well. Loss will show you the difference and you'll realize which well you've been drawing from all along. To find the more, one must learn to look deeper than the loss itself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Loss will come but when it does, look for the beauty; it's there, I promise you. The beauty from loss isn't always bold and brass. Sometimes it comes in small, almost imperceptible ways. And if we're not careful, we can miss it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> There's more to loss than meets the heart. We don't have to go looking for loss; in time it will find us. And while every loss hurts, God's love redeems it all. When we trust in the Father's goodness and love, we will truly realize that loss is more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-7034284401669617242017-06-21T09:02:00.000-07:002017-06-21T09:09:09.190-07:00Nesting<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Shortly before I had my first daughter nearly twenty-one years ago, the nesting instinct hit full force. As my cleaning, organizing, and downsizing took over, I was fully convinced nesting is a very real phenomenon pregnant women face. Fast-forward twenty-one years and four more kids and I am once again in that nesting place...this time preparing to bring our adopted son home from Haiti.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> Just thinking about his homecoming gives me butterflies. Not because the adoption has been a nearly five year process and there's finally light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but because I know that I am very close to bringing home a child that has come from a very broken place--a place where abandonment, neglect, sickness, malnutrition, and even possible abuse are very real.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> All the adoption training in the world can never fully prepare one for the moments of rage, the triggers of which aren't always clear. And it is then that I must remind myself that those moments of outright rebellion, silent withdrawal, cry-screaming, and physical punches, biting, and pinches aren't truly a rejection of me; they stem from a place of brokenness that has yet to be healed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> We experienced all of these things with our son while on our bonding trip in the summer of 2015. And let me just say, it wasn't a pretty sight. Even the orphanage director felt compelled to apologize. It was the first (and no, not the last) time that I wondered, <em>What have I gotten myself into?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> I didn't go into adoption thinking it would be all sunshine and roses; sometimes the sun burns and roses have thorns. I get that. Even before my son is home, I recognize that adoption is a masterpiece sculpted of joy and sorrow, of good times and bad. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana";">And while most people outside the adoption world see only the good (i.e. the benefits of adoption), the bad cannot be ignored. Because it's real. Very real. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> That which we resist persists. Only when I embrace the hardness of adoption do I have a chance of becoming better because of it. And only then can I truly help my son live from who he was created to be and not from what was done to him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> The anger, the meltdowns, the moments of rebellion...they aren't obstacles to be overcome, but opportunities to grow in the likeness of Christ. Some gifts are wrapped in pain. Even now, my capacity to love is being increased, my character is being refined, my endurance is being developed. I pray the same for my son as he navigates a whole new world and transitions into his new life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> In a very real sense, adoption represents the gospel in a way not often recognized: On the part of those adopting, <em>chosen suffering</em> is necessary for it to happen. And really, isn't that what Christ did for us? He chose to suffer so that we could be adopted into His family. And beyond that, He continues to love unconditionally and pursue relentlessly, even as we have our own moments of meltdown, rebellion, anger, and avoidance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> I could have taken the easy path and <em>not</em> adopted, but when I told Christ I was "all in" I meant every word. So when I share the hardness of adoption, I'm not looking for accolades for bringing a child of brokenness into our home; I'm reaching out for the same grace, mercy, understanding, prayers, and love that my son also needs in the days, weeks, and months ahead. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> So please don't tell us how lucky we are or tell him how blessed he is to have us...because our "gain" stems from his loss. He has lost his biological parents, he has lost nearly 6 years of the everyday things we take for granted, and even when he does come home, he will be dealing with the loss of the only "home" and "family" he has ever known. These moments require grieving and grace. They require help and healing and yes, sometimes healing hurts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> The brokenness our family will be dealing with won't be easy, but I pray we don't miss the collateral beauty. There is untold beauty in brokenness, treasure in pain and sorrow; we just have to have eyes to see it, to unearth what is hidden and bring it into the light where it can shine like the stars, ever twinkling, ever lighting the way for others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> I am embracing this sacred pause between the waiting and the homecoming. Beauty and clarity unfolds as I take time to slow down and embrace the journey. My hungry heart is being awakened to the feast that is before me and I long to partake of every morsel, no matter how bitter at the time; because with Jesus, every bitter thing is sweet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> Nesting isn't all physical; my heart and mind are being prepared as well. And as I began writing this morning, a mind-grenade went off: The adoption process isn't the hardest part; it's what comes after.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-36230008536590086352017-02-04T05:27:00.001-08:002017-02-04T05:27:12.094-08:00Not Fine<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When did it become wrong or even a sin to say you're not fine? Why is it fine to lie about being fine when you're not fine, but it's wrong to be honest and tell the truth? What the what?!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> I'm not fine having my heart torn into pieces as I pull my son kicking and screaming off of my body because I have to hand him back to a nanny in the orphanage...and then walk away from him for months upon months. I'm not fine with being "pregnant" for 4 1/2 years and counting when I was told it would be half that time and my heart is heavy for the longing of giving "birth." I'm not fine when I see apathy and greed trump children and families. And I'm certainly not fine when people expect me to be fine with all this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Jesus wasn't "fine" the moment He was sweating drops of blood as He came face to face with the reality of His situation. He wasn't "fine" when He was carrying His literal cross on the way to Calvary. I don't recall Scripture saying that Jesus flashed His best Ken smile as He passed by the crowd, dripping blood with every step, and reassuring everyone He was "Fine, just fine." So don't expect me to flash my Barbie smile as I'm carrying my own cross. And besides, Barbie smiles hurt, so why add to the pain?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> (And an FYI to all the Pharisaical people out there that are dying to scream, "Contentment, contentment, contentment!": I'm human, not perfect. So you can just ride your high horse off into the sunset. "Content Pharisee" is an oxymoron anyway. Get over yourselves.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> The fact is that we live in a fallen world that will sometimes--and excuse my King James--sucketh. I'm owning it. I'm NOT fine right now. So if you ask me how I'm doing, don't expect a Barbie smile and a "Fine, thank you." I'd rather be real. Authenticity is what the world needs, not "fine." Whatever happened to entering into another person's suffering and taking it on as your own? Whatever happened to joining that person in the ashes and sitting quietly by their side?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> I'm not always going to be a happy clappy Christian. And you know what? I'm fine with that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-13981051307851044322016-10-27T07:37:00.001-07:002016-10-27T07:37:17.753-07:00Sunshine and Roses<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Sunshine and Roses</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Some days hope breathes slow and shallow; other days it is bursting with excitement and expectation. When out of the blue God miraculously provided the means for us to go to Haiti to celebrate our son's 5th birthday <em>with </em>him, tears of joy fell like rain on our dry and weary souls. Sometimes the answers to our prayers come in a form and time that we least expect; and we are humbled beyond measure as a result.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> We have learned that when you ask God to move in your situation you relinquish all rights to your own understanding. It's all or nothing. Either we trust God or we don't. There's no halfway meeting point; no "I'll go this far, but no farther." And so I agreed to go all the way. And even on those days when I feel like quitting, I resolve to trust instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we turtled our way through the Haitian streets, I found myself feeling quite at home. Waves of weariness washed over the broken bits and pieces of my life, a life battered and bruised by the constant storms that seem more there than not. The debris left behind in the wake hardly seems worth the time and effort to shift through, and yet there is great treasure to be found, even in brokenness. Where the depths of heartache threaten to become a personal tsunami, I know pearls of wisdom and beauty are being formed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> The brokenness of the world has become my own. No longer am I so self-absorbed that I cannot see beyond my own pain and suffering. I once was blind, but now I see. I see the hurting hearts, the hearts longing to be loved and made whole. I see the depths of depravity in the hearts of others, as well as in my own heart. I see the hate, the intolerance, the lack of love. I see all too well some days. I never knew broken could be so ugly and so beautiful simultaneously; for it is in our brokenness that we become whole.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> The real beauty is that God is drawn to our brokenness, to our weaknesses, for grace is His passion. The butterfly is proof that you can go through a tremendous amount of darkness and emerge bright and beautiful. And when I saw my son again for the first time in over a year, he was indeed bright and beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The changes in our son brought us to tears. He is now more outgoing and playful, full of hugs and kisses and laughter. The vacant look in his eyes has been replaced by an awareness of the life before him. He has been bathed in countless prayers; he has been kept by his one true Father.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Things don't always look like we think they should. I thought my son would be home for his 5th birthday. Sometimes the conditions of our miracle are not obvious until we surrender our preconceived notions of how things should go. Life is not all sunshine and roses; sometimes the sun will burn you and roses have thorns. Beauty is revealed and healing comes when we recognize that there is value in both serenity and suffering and that peace can coexist with pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Love is our deepest longing, and yet the fear of it being absent is sometimes too great to bear, and so we hide in our self-made shells in a feeble attempt to love from afar. And while love can penetrate many things, it cannot penetrate our own fearful hearts if we continue to hide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Love is a choice. Sometimes it hurts to love; love requires risk and vulnerability and death to self. But love never fails to bring life. And our son is beginning to know that he is loved and in turn is taking the risk to love back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Be the bread. Be the bread that feeds hungry souls and you will find your own soul miraculously nourished.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-21580618313123572592016-06-06T06:16:00.001-07:002016-06-06T06:16:29.196-07:00In the End <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What do you do when the silence becomes deafening, when every report of praise brings heartache to your own soul, when talk of a breakthrough causes you to break down in tears, when you can't breathe because your heart is so heavy? What do you do when you believe in the impossible...for everyone except for yourself?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The joy of adopting and the pain of the process make a sweet and salty mix, a combo that's not always easy to swallow. While with God every bitter thing is sweet, the bitter can sometimes overshadow the sweetness when the mixture seems to be such an unequal concoction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Intentional or not, people can be cruel. Personally, I'd like to smack down the next person who tells me that my son will come home "all in God's timing." While true, for someone who's been waiting for nearly four years, this is the equivalent of quoting Romans 8:28 to someone who's just lost a loved one. It stings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Or even worse, "Your son's not home yet because God still has things He wants to work out in you first before you're ready for him to come home." Yes, I was actually told this. And even though God <em>is</em> still working on me (and will continue to do so even when my son is home), I know this statement is not true. And yet it is painful. And cruel. And so very un-Christlike. As Proverbs 27:3 says, "Stone is heavy and sand a burden, but a fool's provocation is heavier than both."</span></div>
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Our lives are not always a picture of stained glass perfection; sometimes the glass has jagged edges that can cut you. The heat of God's refining fire? It burns before it purifies. And so even though you are passionately pursuing the One who relentlessly pursues you, you may find yourself facing far more heat than you ever thought you could withstand.</div>
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Though my faith sometimes flounders, the struggle will not destroy my faith, but will instead strengthen it. The very thing that the enemy intended to destroy me with will be the very thing that plants a powerful seed within me that will grow...and blossom...and produce unimaginable fruit that will in turn destroy the works of the enemy.</div>
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So, what do I do in the face of all this? I choose to believe. I choose to believe God is who He says He is and will do what He says He will do. I <em>do</em> believe...but like the nameless man in the New Testament, I too must add, "Help my unbelief."</div>
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There's nothing like an adoption to cause you to abandon your pretensions and posturing, to let go of your carefully constructed image and trade it all in for a richer, deeper, below-the-surface life...a life hidden in Christ where real growth and intimacy occurs. And in those depths you will be cut off from your very self and grafted into Christ. It is there you will find that, truly, nothing can separate you from the love of God.</div>
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I didn't sign up for all the heartbreak and pain I've endured, but I wouldn't trade the person I've become through it all for anything. On the other side of the storm the sun shines again, the rainbow appears, and new growth is evident to all who have eyes to see. </div>
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In the end, I will live without fear, I will love with abandon, and I will ultimately become something infinitely more beautiful than the woman I was before I started the adoption process. And even though my journey is not yet complete, the scars I've accumulated serve to remind me that I showed up for the game; and one day I will joyfully proclaim that I fought the good fight, I finished the race, I kept the faith.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-35226681006326925712016-05-18T09:52:00.003-07:002016-05-18T09:52:50.136-07:00One Greater<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> My heart is torn between two countries. It beats for my family in America and for my son in Haiti. But for all the love I have for my family, for a son yet to join us, there is One greater still.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> A love so deep, so wide, so uncalculable. A love so giving, so unconditional, so consuming. Like a fire raging out of control, is the love of the Father for me. And in the depths of my wondering, my questioning, He pursues me still.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> His is a love that never fails--how can this be? I fail daily, yet I am made in His image. No mistake is too big, no sin so great that the Father would turn away from me...ever. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">And yet, He turned away from His Son once...on my behalf. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Abba, this is a love I must have, a love that I want to wash over me and pull me under. I want to be swept away by the sheer force of Your passionate love for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> In the midst of sorrow, silence rings hollow in my ears. Ears straining, ever listening, ever waiting, for news that just won't come. And in this moment of sadness, of threatening despair, my heart dances for You alone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-41953908917919597332016-03-29T07:37:00.000-07:002016-04-07T13:15:03.001-07:00Revealing Beauty Beauty is more than aesthetic pleasure; it goes deep to the heart of who we are. We were designed to reveal beauty--beauty from within and from without. <br />
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Beauty is all around us. In the soft cry of a newborn baby. In the blossoming trees of early spring. In the tears of the brokenhearted. In the joy of a child not yet awakened to the troubles of the world. Beauty is everywhere; we need only to look with fresh eyes. Look around you right now: There's a beauty bomb just looking for a place to detonate.<br />
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According to Psalm 19:1, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands." All of Creation is an expression and extension of God's love. It is a living mosaic, an explosion of imagination, beauty, and wonder.<br />
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Sometimes Creation simply defies logic: God didn't have to put 228 distinct muscles in a caterpillar's head, but He did; He didn't have to give every created star a name, but He did; and He didn't have to create you and me, but He did. Sometimes we just need to let go of logic and breathe in the beauty all around us...and breathe out our praise to the One that created it all.<br />
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Revealing beauty is so important because it reveals God, the One who <em>is</em> beauty. We are only able to reveal beauty, however, when we are living with our senses fully engaged. What do you see, hear, taste, smell, and feel that needs to be revealed?<br />
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As our lives move endlessly from season to season, from trial to trial, beauty never ceases to fade. Even when the winter season of our lives lingers longer than we'd like, beauty is buried just beneath the surface; it's only a matter of time before the new growth is revealed.<br />
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Can a cemetery be classified as a thing of beauty? I believe that it can when viewed with the proper perspective. A child in a casket; a child in the arms of Christ. Painful? Absolutely. Beautiful? Most definitely.<br />
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Our most powerful work comes when we reveal beauty in the midst of disappointment, rejection, pain, or tragedy. It is possible; with Christ, all things are possible.<br />
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When the world drives you to your knees, find the beauty. It's there; I promise. Discover it for yourself and then reveal it to the world.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-80439187836113387022015-10-24T04:17:00.000-07:002015-10-24T04:17:05.306-07:00Happy Birthday What is a birthday with no presents, with no candles to blow out, with no "Happy Birthday" song to acknowledge you were ever born? Four years and not a birthday celebration to be had. I never thought I'd see the day; I was sure he'd be home by now--home unwrapping birthday gifts from his forever family for the very first time, home blowing out four colorful candles on a cake even more colorful, home listening to the birthday song sung in his honor. Instead, the day passes for my son like any other day. He doesn't know it's a special day. But I do.<br />
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And so I will celebrate my son's birth without him. I will thank God for His hand of protection over my son as he lay abandoned not long after being born. I will be grateful for the man who took him to the orphanage, where my son has lived ever since. I will pray blessings over those who provide for his care, peace for his parents--if they are even still alive. And I will rejoice that God chose our family to be his family.<br />
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While the day is full of sadness, it is also mixed with joy. For with God, every bitter thing is sweet. There will come a day when there is no more sorrow, no more tears, no more orphans; today is not that day. Today I celebrate my son's birthday...without him.<br />
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Happy Birthday, baby boy. Next year, we'll rock it.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-91126409170860971342015-10-05T17:13:00.000-07:002015-10-05T17:13:03.284-07:00Soon When I last left my son in Haiti, I told him I'd be back "soon" but what does that look like to a nearly 4-year-old? To a little boy who's probably never heard those words before, I'm sure the meaning was lost to him. All he knows is that the ones whom he has been told are his mama and papa walked away from him. Left him crying. Said they'd be back "soon"--whatever that means.<br />
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What do you do when the financial well has run dry and you can't afford to visit your own child? How do you function when the wheels of injustice continue to run over you? What do you do when "soon" feels like forever?<br />
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Time and time again my heart has been shattered. Time and time again I've picked up the pieces and given them to the Lord, the only One who can bring beauty from brokenness.<br />
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And so with David I continue to cry out, "How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?" (Psalm 13:1-2).<br />
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"It will be all worth it in the end," they say. Yes, I'm sure it will be. But I don't live "in the end." I live in the here and now where my heart is 1,500 miles north of my son, where my children write "my brother home" for their Christmas list...four years in a row, where tears don't yet taste sweet.<br />
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And so Baby Boy, mama <em>will</em> be back soon; I just don't know if it will be my soon or God's soon. Hopefully the two collide in the very near future. For now, Sweet One, "soon" is the best this mama can do.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-45950947821216600722015-09-08T07:55:00.001-07:002015-09-08T07:55:07.880-07:00Home from Haiti<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For years I ran after uncatchable winds. Meaningless, says Solomon. Now I know just what he meant. The things I've pursued, worthless; the priorities, pointless. I'm home from Haiti, but I'll never be the same. And that's a good thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> As we turtled through the traffic in Haiti, I had much to take in. Sensory overload doesn't even begin to describe the tsunami of emotions that threatened to overcome me. It leaves you speechless, really. It takes time to process such beauty and brokenness, such injustice and ingenuity, such poverty and priceless people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> An old crippled man begging on the street. A woman washing off in a mud puddle. A man sifting through sewer muck...for God only knows what. A one-legged man on crutches painstakingly trying to walk up a <em>very</em> steep hill. Two men, each with a plastic bag, digging through a heap of trash, collecting "valuables"--something to sell, use, or even eat. Children scrapping up dropped crumbs with their hands from the orphanage floor and eating them...with the biggest smiles you could ever imagine--crumbs; a treasure in the hands of an orphaned child. These images will forever be burned into not only my mind but my heart as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Daily I was haunted by the sight of invisible chains heavier than I could ever bear. The strength of Haitians is a sight to behold. And not just physical strength, but a mental and spiritual stamina I'm not sure I've ever possessed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> While in Haiti I came face to face with my own depravity. Joy that can transcend circumstances; laughter in the midst of suffering; patience in pain; perseverance that refuses to surrender. Countless Haitians possess these things on a daily basis to a degree greater than most Americans ever have...myself included.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> In the eyes of Haitians I saw hope and heartache, tiredness and tenacity. These eyes held countless untold stories; stories untold because not many care to listen. I would love to hear every single story--every heartache, every victory, every sorrow, every joy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> To love as I have been loved--<em>am </em>loved--is now my highest goal. I was once told that Jesus will one day ask me how well I loved. "Not much" and "Not well" would surely have to be my honest answer. I want that to change. I want to love with abandon, to love whether or not I am loved back, to love the least of these. I want to actively and passionately love those society turns a blind eye to. Only we're not blind. Not really. We just don't like that which makes us uncomfortable. We place boundaries on our love; Jesus never did and I want to be like Him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> My life is more beautiful since returning from Haiti and not because I recognize how blessed I truly am, although that is certainly true. It is because my definition of love and beauty has been expanded; my capacity to love <em>everyone</em> has increased.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Now that I'm home from Haiti, I am embracing my new normal; I've discovered a new flavor of love. It's called unconditional. The least of these. The marginalized. The outcasts. The unwanted. I want to love them all--unconditionally.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> How do you walk away from a country that is making you what you are? Haiti, I will miss you, but you will forever be a part of my heart.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-65359364027606924522015-01-21T09:12:00.000-08:002015-01-21T10:58:12.278-08:00Struggling Faith<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I've experienced seasons of struggling faith but never like this. When people told me that adopting is hard, I had no idea what they meant. Now I'm living it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The longer the adoption drags on, the more my faith takes a hit. I <i>never</i> thought it would snail along this slow...and it's far from over. Some days I struggle to believe in the goodness of God. I wonder what God is doing...or if He is doing anything at all. My file has been waiting for a single signature for 15 months--that's <i>no movement</i> for 15 months and counting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Turns out, my faith was fashioned on my own expectations. When things didn't happen according to my time frame and according to my sense of fairness and justice, my "faith" faltered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When I realized what my faith was built on, I was broken. Peter, too, was convinced of the strength of his faith. Peter wept when he came face to face with the weakness of his faith (see Mark 14). I wept as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sometimes life leaves us at a loss for words. Nothing makes sense. We worry. We despair. We question. From the hidden depths, these moments reveal more about our faith than we like.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Oftentimes what causes the struggle is that we are expecting our faith to bring clarity. But faith won't make things clear because faith is a matter of trust not certainty. And trust requires a certain amount of unanswered questions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And that was my problem. I wanted all my t's crossed and all my i's dotted. Timelines our agency gave us, I actually expected them to happen. I can see now that my faith was being placed in others, and when timelines came and went with no movement my faith was rocked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> With my true faith revealed, I came to see that God couldn't part my Red Sea because I was too busy placing my faith in man. Only when I stop relying on myself and on others and learn to rely on God alone will I be able to build my faith to a level where my trust in God carries me through any storm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Faith is not an event; it's a journey full of overwhelming disappointments, sorrows, and seasons of waiting, as well as countless joys and victories. But the beauty is that every obstacle is an opportunity to grow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The fact is that following God's plan doesn't always produce the results we hoped it would. Just because we apply Biblical principles doesn't mean we'll get what we want. Walking by faith just doesn't work that way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> If I believe that my temporary desires, in this case for my son, matter far more than God's glory, then I am deluding myself. And my faith will suffer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The truth is that I'm selfish. I want life a certain way. I want my son home. I've begged. I've pleaded. I've cried buckets of tears. All to no avail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When our heart's longings are not satisfied, the pain deepens and we may begin to question God. We find ourselves coping instead of overcoming, languishing instead of thriving.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I've had to face the fact that I've been expecting God to behave or perform in a certain way. Now that the source of my faith struggle has been discovered, I am working my way out of the pit my expectations threw me into.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The first step is repentance, for I wasn't truly allowing God to be God. I have surrendered my desires to Him and have accepted the fact that this adoption will not happen as soon as I'd like it to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I am placing my hope in God alone. If my happiness is rooted in the hope of my circumstances, my faith will fail. My hope is in the Lord (see Psalm 39:7).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'm looking at the big picture. There's more to this adoption delay than meets the eye. God is doing things behind the scenes that I just can't see. His every move is meticulously orchestrated; His timing, crucial. God alone knows every facet of this adoption that must come together to complete His perfect plan.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I am learning that my faith struggles are not about my personal failures any more than they were about Peter's. God is out to transform my <i>heart</i>. He makes all things new, not merely better.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Every day I am reaffirming my trust in God. If I can trust God for my salvation, certainly I can trust Him for this adoption.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'm also changing my perspective. Whether or not I understand it, there is a component to this adoption that I can't quite see and it just may be a blessing in disguise. I am trusting God that this pathway of pain is actually a journey to joy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I overestimated my ability to handle this adoption and found my faith floundering as a result. My faith struggle no longer discourages me though, because now I see it as an opportunity to encounter God. The more I press into Him, the more my trust and faith grows. And for that, the struggle is worth every moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-82579301336107097242014-09-26T14:40:00.002-07:002014-10-29T16:19:17.180-07:00My adoption and how you can help me through it Two years into the adoption process and some days I question whether I'll be able to hang on until the end. You see, I am a <em>mama.</em> And I cannot go on day after day as usual. Because instead of carrying this child in my womb, I am carrying him in my heart. And my heart is becoming heavy. I cannot feel him kicking. I cannot see his growth via a sonogram. I cannot hear his heart beating. But from the moment we started the adoption process, he has become a part of me.<br />
Adoption isn't an easy process, but you can help me through it. Here's how:<br />
<strong>Let me vent</strong>. The adoption process is <em>hard</em>; the waiting, agonizing. Sometimes I just need to let loose. Days upon days with no word or movement on the adoption front can build up until I feel like I'm going to explode. If faith can move the mountains, this pent up frustration could rock the continent. And "hope deferred makes the heart sick" is spot on; some days I feel like my heart is breaking.<br />
I need to know that it's okay to let it all out. So, be my sounding board, please. Let me rant about the waiting, the delays, and the obstacles. And please know that my rants are not directed at you but that I simply need to get some things out and know that you'll still be there for me. I truly do feel better afterwards<strong>.</strong><br />
<strong> Don't try to "fix" it</strong>. You can't. If I even thought for a single moment that you could, I would be all over you like a flea on a dog. Some things just can't be fixed. And that's okay. I'm not expecting you to supply me with all the right answers.<br />
So when I talk about the adoption struggles, please don't feel that I'm expecting you to make it all better. A hug, a prayer, or a word of encouragement or Scripture goes a long way<strong>.</strong><br />
<strong> Help me live in the present</strong>. I need this reminder, because so often I find myself living for <em>that day--</em>that day when I meet my son for the first time, that day when we get the call that it's time to pick him up, that day when we bring him home.<br />
Living in the present makes me face some hard realities that I don't want to deal with. The fact is that every moment, every day that our son is in an orphanage is time that is lost to us. Memories that cannot be made as a family. Milestones that are missed and can never be shared. Moments that tick-tock away without him. And so I need you to remind me that <em>this </em>is the day that the Lord has made and that it is in <em>this </em>moment that He meets with me, not in some distant moment in the future.<br />
<strong>Make me have fun. </strong>Knowing that our son is in an orphanage in Haiti, surviving on two small meals per day and experiencing few hugs, snuggles, and kisses sometimes makes me feel guilty for enjoying myself. This, combined with the everyday ache in my heart to bring him home, makes it doubly difficult.<br />
I know that our son is in God's hands and that He has a marvelous plan that I just can't fully see through the fog of waiting, and so I need you to reassure me that it's okay to have fun while I'm separated from my son, and in fact, make sure that I do. Remind me also how much there is to laugh about--right here, right now, in this very moment.<br />
<strong>Ask me what I need. </strong>The truth is that sometimes I get so caught up in the whole adoption process that I don't really know what I need until I stop and think about it. So ask me.<br />
I may need a listening ear. Maybe a specific prayer. Sometimes I just need a hug and the reassurance that one day my son<em> will</em> be home. Ask me.<br />
<strong>Remind me that it will all be worth it in the end.</strong> I've been "pregnant" for over two years now, and some days I don't feel like I'll ever give "birth". And even though you don't know when our son will be home, I need frequent reminders that one day he will be. I need to know that there's light at the end of the adoption tunnel and that I'll give "birth" before my four daughters do.<br />
On my good days I know without a doubt that this adoption process will all be worth it in the end. Other days, I wonder. I doubt. I lose hope. It is those days especially that I need the encouragement that it will be worth it all when at last our son joins his forever family.<br />
Some days I question my ability to keep moving forward and to see the adoption process through to completion, but I know that ultimately I will. I will because even when I am weak, my God is strong. I will because I know that I have you to help me through it.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-46494436005706549392013-07-09T10:56:00.001-07:002014-10-29T09:49:11.704-07:00Well of Wonder<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>The Well of Wonder</strong> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A crackling campfire with flames reaching for the stars stirs up thoughts of a God who led the Israelites by fire at night. I am reminded that the fire would have provided benefits similar to a physical fire--light to see, warmth, and protection from wild animals.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Photographing myriad clouds on a beautiful summer day makes me wonder what the "cloud by day" in Exodus 13:21 looked like. A large, strong hand guiding perhaps? Or maybe the cloud resembled a cross, a foreshadowing of the deliverance to come.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> This pondering of the intricacies of creation causes my heart to overflow with thanksgiving. My lips seek words to describe such a God, but my mouth often remains silent as the cry of my heart takes over, expressing what I cannot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Wonder leads to worship. How can it not? Beauty fills our lives even in the vortex of pain and suffering. A child in a casket; a child in the arms of Christ. A dying mother; memories that never fade.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> The faithfulness of our God cannot be denied. He is always faithful, always good. When heartache hits like a hurricane, these truths enable us to worship God in spite of the howling wind and lashing rain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Wonder keeps us looking up, away from ourselves, away from the entrapments of the world to the God that created our very hearts--hearts that long for and thirst for His glorious presence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <strong>Wonder lost</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> As dreams and adventure give way to careers and busyness, wonder is the casualty. We are injured but don't know how or why. We struggle to praise on those days when we haven't all but won the lottery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Whether we realize it or not, we miss our sense of wonder. More than we know. Like the lazy days of summer gone by, we long for one more lap around the pool, one more fresh flower bouquet to grace our table at mealtime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. We would all stay up to gaze in wonderment of course. But the fact that the stars do come out every night doesn't make them any less spectacular. Instead of gazing at the stars in apt wonder, we watch television.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Become like a little child," says Jesus (Matthew 18:3). In the eyes of a child, beauty is rampant, mystery is just around the corner, and wonder is a never-ending playground. For a child, a caterpillar on a leaf, a puddle in the driveway, or the moon in the night sky evokes a sense of wonder that for many of us has long since passed. Though we aspire to worship with abandon, we wonder why we can't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> When the wonder is gone, the backyard that hold a day's worth of adventure for a child is nothing more than a lawn to be mowed for us. The tragedy of lost wonder is worship that diminishes like the evening sun. And it's a slow fade, one we seldom notice until the warmth of the day leaves us chilled and in the dark.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> We become so focused on the problems of life that seem to have no end and consequently miss out on the nearness of God in the moment. When we seek the Why we often miss the Who. God weaves eternal truths and glimpses of His glory throughout our days, but too often we pass by them unaware and overlook the razzle-dazzle of our days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> The well of wonder never runs dry though. G. K. Chesterton wrote, "The world will never starve for want of wonders, but for want of wonder." Do you <em>want</em> to wonder? Do you <em>want</em> to worship? The two are indubitably linked, you know. Do we seek to understand the world we live in as a means to draw closer to God? When we do, worship won't be far behind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <strong>Wonder lust</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Wonder is not just an attribute, like calling a lilac purple, but an undergirding attitude, a compass pointing toward God. Wonder, rightly understood, always directs us to the God of all creation. The Artist of the majestic dawn is also Author of the lightening in the vast open sky. The God who creates such splendor wants us to celebrate it at every turn. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Beauty is all around us. Sometimes it's impossible to ignore, but more often beauty requires intentionality that only a sense of wonder can unearth. Beyond mere aesthetics, beauty directs us to the God whose abiding presence and character pours forth from every rock, every tree, every ant. All of creation is an invitation to worship the God of the universe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Creation does not serve its purpose if we admire the flickering night sky only to return to our darkened homes and lives. By dipping into the well of wonder, we can live our daily lives with a delicate balance of trembling awe and childlike amazement, leading us into an eternity of worship. Draw from the well of wonder and drink in the God that is beyond description.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-43788931947744650792013-01-15T10:15:00.000-08:002013-01-15T10:15:06.220-08:00Walking Barefoot <span style="font-size: large;"> I spent little time in shoes as a kid. I would walk, and even run, nearly everywhere barefoot. Stones lined the driveway to my dad's garage and the area surrounding it, but the stones didn't bother my naked feet or even slow me down.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now walking barefoot outside the cushioning of my carpeted home is "hard," "uncomfortable," and frankly, it "hurts." These are all words I think of when I consider the lack of humble service today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Yes, serving can sometimes be hard, uncomfortable, and may even hurt. But it's also rewarding, exciting, and commmanded by God.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Walking barefoot also tends to be "messy." With four kids of my own, I now know why my mother got so frustrated when I came running into the house after a full day of going barefoot outdoors!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Serving too can be "messy." Dealing with people very unlike ourselves creates situations that aren't always ideal. We may be ridiculed, rejected, or have to deal with myriad misunderstandings.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> People are scattered along the ditch of life, yet we walk right by. Too often we view service as an event or program we sign up for, an occasional add-on, time permitting. Viewed rightly service is a way of life, an act of love, in gratitude, for the love we have been given.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Service is hard-wired into our DNA, yet how often we fight it. We forget what Jesus lived: "Even as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many" (Matthew 20:28).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Jesus doesn't expect anything from us that He wasn't willing to do Himself. Even with the sandals the disciples wore, they might as well have been barefoot. Endless walking on dusty roads makes for one messy act of servanthood. Dry, dusty feet plus a little water equals <em>mud</em>. The act of service got messier before it made an impact.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> When we serve like Jesus, lives will be changed, not the least of which will be our own<em>. Is this perhaps what we're afraid of</em>?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I recently encountered an anonymous quote that ironically could probably be attributed to every one of us. The quote is this: "Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice when He could do something about it. But, I'm afraid He would ask me the same question."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> It leads me to wonder<em>, why do I live the way I live? Why do I do the things I do? Why do I not do what I do not do</em>?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I think it all comes back to my reluctance to walk spiritually barefoot; I don't want to be hurt or uncomfortable--it's just too <em>hard</em>. In a broken world in need of hope, it's disheartening to consider the details that often take priority in my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Increasingly, however, I am realizing that beauty is not found in the vastness of the service but in the position it takes in my life. Big or small, God is in every act of humble service performed from a heart that beats for His. </span> <br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-27775970083220589492012-12-12T09:30:00.001-08:002012-12-12T09:30:32.625-08:00Jesus Freak <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was in high school I ran with the popular crowd. But I was "popular" by association only. Nothing in my life pointed to popularity, success, or any other similarly related word.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> In fact, I spent four years of my elementary school time attending a special speech class. Those "r" words just wouldn't come out the way they were supposed to. The stuttering didn't help either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> I developed a complex early on, convinced I was doomed to remain forever a dork. And then I got connected with Jesus. I was convinced He was my one-way ticket out of Dorkville.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> My confidence soared. I began to understand that I am a beautiful creation of God Himself. I now had a true friend, a confidante that wouldn't betray me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> The more my relationship with Christ grew the more I realized that my ticket out of Dorkville had landed me right smack in the middle of Freak Town. That's right, I went from being a child dork to an adult freak. More specifically, a Jesus freak.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Labels are a peculiar phenomenon. Wear a particular clothing label and you're tagged as "rich." Wear something from Wal-Mart and you'll be labeled as "poor." It matters not that the designer label came from a resale shop and you only paid $3.00 for it because you could never actually afford to buy it new.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> So when I'm called a "freak," I'm okay with that. Put "Jesus" in front of that label (as some have), and I'll wear that label proudly and consider it all a part of suffering for Christ's sake (Philippians 1:29).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> My husband, by association (to Christ, not me), has been labeled a freak as well--among other things. His zeal for the Lord once led his grandmother of ninety-plus years to brand him a "religious fanatic."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Being a follower of Jesus Christ has taken us down some pretty remote roads, roads the rest of the world cannot fathom traveling, thus the subsequent "freak" label.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> My husband and I first realized we were freaks when we announced our decision to homeschool our first-born who was quickly approaching Kindergarten age. "You mean you're not going to let her go to school? <em>Ever</em>?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> My first impulse was to respond to this concerned citizen with, "No, we're going to hide her away from society in seclusion and raise her as the village idiot." Instead, I ever so deliberately told her the truth: "God told us to."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> <em>Freak</em>. Yes, that was the defining moment, the moment that my husband and I first realized we were living in Freak Town, population: 2.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> The you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me looks and remarks have continued ever since. Giving when we have nothing to give. <em>Freak</em>. Daring to administer discipline as the Bible prescribes. <em>Freak</em>. No cable, Dish Network, or Direct TV. <em>Freak. Freak. Freak.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> Our latest freak slapping came as the result of our decision to adopt. "Why would you want to do <em>that</em>?" I'd like to just say, "Because we're freaks, that's why." But I know our latest adventure is too good an opportunity to pass up. Our God-led decision to adopt is an awesome testimony of God's presence in our lives, of His command to care for the orphans, of His love for each one of us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"> I can't wait to see what God will have us do next that will lead to such a label. So go ahead, call me a "freak"--just don't leave out the "Jesus" part.</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-81025903970612526242012-11-30T12:22:00.001-08:002012-11-30T12:22:57.003-08:00He is yours It all started with a dream. Like Kevin Costner in the movie <em>Field of Dreams</em>, it was a dream that set me on a life-altering course with radical implications.<br />
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<em>Sitting in a lone rocking chair, the room's sparse furnishings did nothing to diminish my sense of well being. I was at peace, at peace in an unknown country holding an unknown child. As I closed the book I was reading to him, he closed his big brown eyes as he hesistantly laid his dark-skinned head against my chest.</em><br />
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<em> </em>It was then that I heard the words, the words that would forever change my life.<br />
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<em>He is yours.</em><br />
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Upon hearing those three simple words, I awoke from my dream. <br />
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Currently I'm about fifty miles from normal. And that's okay; I'm just so tired of normal. Tired of suffocating financially. Tired of self-absorption. Tired of being a spiritual consumer--an observer, not a participant.<br />
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And so after four daughters, three miscarriages, and one emergency complete hysterectomy, I know that our family is not yet complete.<br />
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<em>He is yours.</em><br />
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Although the dream was a couple of years ago, we know the timing is "now." We have begun the adoption process; we've applied for a young boy from Haiti. Our girls are thrilled and regularly ask, "When is my brother coming home?"<br />
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I know I was created for so much more than the American dream. I no longer desire to live in comfort. I want to participate in what's real, what's lasting, what matters.<br />
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I'm living in a new reality, living an adoption story that will climax when I meet my son face-to-face. I don't know how or even when, but our son will join us for our family will not be complete without him. My heart aches to hold him as I did in my dream, to gaze into his beautiful brown eyes, to discover his uniqueness that God created especially for him. How can you miss someone so much that you've never even met?<br />
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There is a constant echo in the back of my mind, an echo that will ring out for all eternity. <em>He is yours.</em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8203305389624221758.post-44952125106137432082012-11-16T11:29:00.000-08:002012-11-16T11:29:50.456-08:00Eyes Wide Open<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Who knew eyes could hold so much? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <em>Eyes desperate and pleading, hopeful and thankful all at the same time. </em></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Her walk, though silent, spoke volumes. Although quite young, she moved slowly with a stride that was more struggle than strength, as though every footfall was a step of faith she wasn't sure she had. </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I have seen but a small part of how the suffering world lives. But what I have seen is enough. I can no longer ignore the suffering or pretend it doesn't exist.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> This year I've had to face a hard but beautiful truth: I am no longer content to build a safe, comfortable life for myself where the pros outweigh the cons, where the reality of this world remains a distant phenomenon, a reality that can be ignored if I try hard enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> For all the "reality" shows on TV it seems we have lost touch with true reality. The reality is that we live in a world where people are dying before they truly get to live, where multitudes live in an airtight cage of poverty, where over 140 million are labeled "orphan."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I want to live with my eyes wide open, awake and mindful of the suffering around me and in the world--a world where reality surpasses reason. This is what it means to bear one another's burdens, to lay down your life for your brother, to die to self. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Suffering is real. And it's all around us. We'll see it--if we're willing to live with our eyes wide open. <em>Are you willing?</em> I am. I hope you'll join me.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06008267458242580639noreply@blogger.com0