Soon

   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.

   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?

   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.

   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).

   "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.

And so Baby Boy, mama will 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.

 

 

 

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Home from Haiti

   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.

   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.

   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 very 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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   To love as I have been loved--am 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.

   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 everyone has increased.

   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.

   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.



  

  

Struggling Faith

   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.
   The longer the adoption drags on, the more my faith takes a hit. I never 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 no movement for 15 months and counting.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   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).
   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.
   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 heart. He makes all things new, not merely better.
   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.
   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.
   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.
   

My 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 mama. 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.
   Adoption isn't an easy process, but you can help me through it. Here's how:
   Let me vent. The adoption process is hard; 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.
   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.
   Don't try to "fix" it. 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.
   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.
   Help me live in the present. I need this reminder, because so often I find myself living for that day--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.
   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 this is the day that the Lord has made and that it is in this moment that He meets with me, not in some distant moment in the future.
   Make me have fun. 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.
   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.
   Ask me what I need. 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.
   I may need a listening ear. Maybe a specific prayer. Sometimes I just need a hug and the reassurance that one day my son will be home. Ask me.
   Remind me that it will all be worth it in the end. 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.
   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.
   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.
  
  

Well of Wonder

The Well of Wonder  

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   Wonder lost

   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.

   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.

   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.

   "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.

   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.

   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.

   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 want to wonder? Do you want 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.

   Wonder lust

   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. 

   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.

   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.

  

    

Walking Barefoot

    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.
   I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing today.
   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.
   Yes, serving can sometimes be hard, uncomfortable, and may even hurt. But it's also rewarding, exciting, and commmanded by God.
   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!
   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.
   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.
   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).
   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 mud. The act of service got messier before it made an impact.
   When we serve like Jesus, lives will be changed, not the least of which will be our own. Is this perhaps what we're afraid of?
   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."
   It leads me to wonder, 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?
   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 hard. In a broken world in need of hope, it's disheartening to consider the details that often take priority in my life.
   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.  

Jesus Freak

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

   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).

   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."

   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.

   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? Ever?"

   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."

   Freak. Yes, that was the defining moment, the moment that my husband and I first realized we were living in Freak Town, population: 2.

   The you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me looks and remarks have continued ever since. Giving when we have nothing to give. Freak. Daring to administer discipline as the Bible prescribes. Freak. No cable, Dish Network, or Direct TV. Freak. Freak. Freak.

   Our latest freak slapping came as the result of our decision to adopt. "Why would you want to do that?" 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.

   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.