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Thursday, December 5, 2013

neither here nor there

I was talking to a friend the other day--she was sharing about being at that spot where you are just in between. You know where you need to be, you are okay where you are--but you are waiting, focused on the goal while trying to maintain a good, peaceful attitude in the meantime. I told her, "I know! I always hate feeling like I'm in limbo..."

I thought about how often Rey and I have been "in limbo". When we felt called to join up with my aunt and uncle in their missions work--there were months between that decision and the day we moved. It was hard to live fully during those months, not to just throw them away since: "I'm not staying here anyway..."

When we felt called to return home to Illinois, again there were months between the decision and the actual fulfilling of that decision. Big decisions, big moves like that take lots of time, lots of prayer, lots of investigating and organizing. It is so easy for the decision to become so all-consuming that you forget to live fully in the in between.

And again, we find ourselves in an "in between". We feel we are being led in a certain direction--but we are most-certainly in limbo. Not here, not there. Leaning, but not sure. Directed, but lacking detail. I felt myself chafing at being at that point again. Just wanting to be there, or here, but not in between.

Then the thought came: Really... we are called to live our whole lives in limbo. We are living for the promise of being unified with our Love. We are constantly pulled between the heavenly and the earthly--longing to be with our eternal Father, but loving our life here. Yearning to be where our feet are leading us, but striving to enjoy the journey as we are walking. It made me reflect on the yearning of generations for their Messiah... the waiting remembered in these days of Advent.

I am *finally* delving into the great book "One Thousand Gifts", and in my last reading this phrase jumped out at me: "It's the in between that drives us mad." Wow. Exactly what I'd been contemplating.

Further, I had been realizing that this irritated feeling I'd been having with being in between, was also combining with my utter abhorrence of Illinois winters. Ever since the bitter cold and long, grey weeks have blown in, my overall mood has also been grey and dreary. I have been lacking energy, impatient with the kids and generally a real treat to be around. ;) I have been feeling actual anger towards the weather, towards being stuck indoors when we'd rather be out playing, towards the world being pitch-black by 5 pm... you know, anger. Because it helps so much.

Slowly, though, I feel as though God has been breaking through the irritation, despondency, and anger... and calling me to return to fully living where I am, how I am. Saying things like, "Buck up" and "Get over it" and other kind things. In a gentle voice, because I am a sensitive soul.

In this time, I was reading Luke 21 and came to this verse: "By your patience possess your souls". This can mean many things to many people, but to me in the time I read it, my eyes read: "If you can choose patience in these in-between times of life, you will possess your soul. If you choose patience when the kids are being kids, you will possess your soul. If you wait for Me patiently during your years on earth, you will possess your soul."

Then, I read a smidgen from My Utmost for His Highest I stumbled upon, relating to this passage:
"Luke 21:19 means that we take possession of our souls through patience. But many of us prefer to stay at the entrance to the Christian life, instead of going on to create and build our soul in accordance with the new life God has placed within us. We fail because we are ignorant of the way God has made us, and we blame things on evil that are actually the result of our own undisciplined natures. Just think what we could be when we are awakened to the truth!
There are certain things in life that we need not pray about— moods, for instance. We will never get rid of moodiness by praying, but we will by kicking it out of our lives. Moods nearly always are rooted in some physical circumstance, not in our true inner self. It is a continual struggle not to listen to the moods which arise as a result of our physical condition, but we must never submit to them for a second. We have to pick ourselves up by the back of the neck and shake ourselves; then we will find that we can do what we believed we were unable to do. The problem that most of us are cursed with is simply that we won’t. The Christian life is one of spiritual courage and determination lived out in our flesh."

Good old Oswald. I guess if I didn't hear that whole, "Get over it" message before, I should now right?

All of this to say, I'm learning I need to be okay with in between. I need to learn to fully live, in patience, in limbo. Because, our entire existence is a thread stretched between here and another place, the perfect tension between two places that both hold such portions of our heart and time--yet must compliment each other instead of competing with each other.

In the meantime... I am especially loving this hymn of longing and expectation:

"Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
Oh, come, our day spring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!
 
Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!"

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

expressing love...

It was during one of our last weeks in Mexico. The decision to leave was bearing heavily on our hearts--although we felt convinced that it was the right choice.

Many of our friends there, although motivated by love, were saying things that weren't making the leaving any easier. When we stated we needed to get help for Noah, they said there wasn't anything wrong with Noah. And then gave us all kinds of other options. "I went to a man who is so good with aligning the personalities of people. He can sense things... Like, maybe when Noah was in your womb, he didn't feel love from you. So, you can go and this man does hold therapy. Where you can hug Noah tightly and heal that rift that happened..." 

Or, when we stated that--plain and simple--we weren't even close to making it financially, some criticized our faith. "You just need to believe harder!" When we said, "What if God is purposefully shutting that door to guide us back Stateside?", they would shake their heads emphatically.

I also struggled with feeling misunderstood. The times were few and far between that I was able to travel out to the communities with Rey, and I often felt that was not well-looked upon by many.

So, it was hard. Jumping into a lot of unknowns... dealing with the really hard place we were in with Noah and our finances... trying to sell off everything and work out all the details of moving to a different country--I was feeling completely drained. On less than empty, really.

We were invited to a small house church a friend of ours helped to pastor. Rey shared a sermon that day. Towards the end of the service, people were going to the front for a time of prayer. I stood near my seat, praying silently and listening to the music.

Suddenly, I felt gentle hands press on my back. I heard the voice of a dear, older woman who faithfully served in the outreaches to the communities. She prayed loudly, as the music pounded around us, that God would wrap me in his arms. That he would uphold me as I upheld my husband. That he would give me wisdom as I mothered our children. "Because, father, we all see she really is a wonderful mother..." That he would give me peace as I went into an unknown situation. And, then, she said: "God, we place Noah into your hands. May they find the help they need for this precious boy. Heal his mind and body and give his parents what they need to raise him...." And then, folks, it was all over. Hot tears ran down my cheeks and I began to sob uncontrollably. To hear such words of affirmation, comfort and love spoken over me was like water onto parched soil.

As other women in the church saw my state, more encircled me... placing their hands on me and lifting high prayers for God's comfort, strength and healing. It was an amazing, unforgettable moment. A moment that I so felt God's love for me through the hands and prayers of these women. A moment that taught me... that I need to be like that one woman who acted on what I can only imagine was God's whisper to her: "Go pray for Liz."

Who do I need to be praying for today? Do I need to pray for them from my home? Or face to face with them? What about you? Who is someone in your circle that could be so renewed by truly being seen by you?

I pray we don't hold back from expressing love when we have the opportunity.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

moments in time

I was out running errands the other night, and pulled into a parking spot. I soon realized an area junior high school was having their homecoming dance dinner at a restaurant in this shopping center, as I saw little, tiny babies dressed in suits and frilly dresses walking in groups. Of course, they weren't really babies, they just looked that way to my momma-eyes.

Out of the car next to me emerged a tall, thin boy in a shirt and tie, looking awkward, nervous and eager to escape his parents. He stood outside the car while his dad took a picture of him with his phone. He looked determinedly away, obviously not wanting to be delayed. After the picture was taken, with his dad's comments of how great he looked falling un-received to the ground--the boy began to stride away from mom and dad toward the shopping center. His shoulders were bunched up, his hands either shoved into his pockets or adjusting his tie or patting down his mop of brown hair.

I looked over at the mom. She stood away from the car--one hand on her chest, one hand waving. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. She looked to be on the verge of tears. I felt tears spring to my eyes, too. Will my boy have this same moment?

As I walked through the shopping center, groups of junior high kids passed me. Their electric energy was palpable; the level of glam they each were exhibiting was mind-numbing. They were so young! I thought about how hard those ages are, how high school is even harder. I imagined my own kids in that crowd. In that awful, awkward age where you are between child and adult. Where no one knows who they are and there is a lot of "mean" going around. I said a prayer for my babies, and these, to be strong.

Those moments are seared into my memory. I don't know what junior high and high school will be like for my babies, but I pray they make a safe passage. I pray that today I can be instilling in them the things they will need to make it through those years...

But, mostly...it makes me adore today even more.

Today, my boy grabs my face and insists we kiss on the lips when I drop him off at school. In front of his friends. With a big, big hug.

Today, my girl insists on wearing combinations of clothing that leave me equal parts embarrassed and pleased that she can feel so good in such an eye-watering array. "Aleni boot-a-full." Yes, you are.

Today, my boy wrestles me to the ground and makes me laugh until I cry when he says, "Don't worry about it, dollface." (Thanks, Penguins of Madagascar)

Today, my girl stealthily sneaks down the stairs at night after her brother is fast asleep... her freshly-bathed hair hanging in her eyes, thumb in her mouth. She tiptoes into my room, wanting just a few more moments of mommy-girl time before going off to sleep.

Today, my girl whispers to me her secrets, my boy asks me to snuggle him....they find me to tell me they love me.

And... they tell me--there truly is no way to freeze time? Maybe not, but in writing about it... at least it can be remembered.


Saturday, March 2, 2013

growing pains...

The day has been absolutely filled... from start to finish... with God's calls--yet again--on my heart. Filling my heart with what can only be the tiniest glimpse into the pain that must fill his as he sees the suffering of his creations on this earth.

So many thoughts have run through my mind this day. So many tears have been shed. So much to be done. So few hours in the day. So many things to distract us from what is important.

But, for now. As my mind struggles to understand the enormity of it all... I cling to this verse:
"He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."

And, to this simple application of this verse, that lofty word: "justice":

Understanding that "justice" means "to make right".

It is seeing things that aren't right... Realizing that if it wouldn't ever be right for me, wouldn't ever be right for my children, my family--then it isn't right for anyone else. And to ask God to be part of the righting of that wrong. To see the injustice, and to act out justice.

I sense God calling me to small obediences. Small against the extreme suffering and pain I see, but perhaps costly to my comfort and convenience. I resist the obeying, knowing that it will bring "disorder" into my schedule, upheaval to my routine...

But, I sense I can do nothing less than say "yes", and... "yes".

Sunday, February 10, 2013

the why...





So. We only have ONE MORE CLASS left in our training to become foster parents!

I haven't written much here about our decision to go into fostering. It must be one of those things that is SUCH a big deal to us that I don't even have the words to write about it. But, as our classes draw to a close, and our paperwork steadily winds to an end, I am realizing the space of time between "before fostering" and "after fostering" is rapidly closing....and it gives me a sense of urgency to try to share about our journey, our hearts.

Ever since I was a young girl, I have always been sure I would adopt. I would pass hours imagining the circumstances leading up to the adoptions, the moments following. However, as my husband and I would talk about adoption, we just never came to a place of agreement or peace about it.

A little over a year ago, I was browsing through my Facebook page, and came across a horrifying image of a baby's body, moments after being aborted. While tears rolled down my cheeks at the thought of life ending in such a torturous way, I also found I was feeling a sense of--could I call it anger? Perhaps an emotion between frustration and anger... as I realized how easy it is for all of us to just hit the "share" button, and sit back self-righteously--having our lives in "perfect order", undefiled by "those sins".

I wondered what those images did to the already-wounded souls of women not so different from us who one day decided that was the best option they had. Who, perhaps feeling pressured into it, perhaps believing the lies so smoothly fed to them... made a decision that has haunted them ever since. Do those images, those words of pious uprightness, minister the love of our Savior to them?

I began thinking then about how often we are guilty of sitting around in our comfy circles, gripping our coffees and talking on and on about what should be happening. What is wrong with the world. How right we are. Endless talking... with no action. "Faith without works is dead."

We are so good about sighing-- "wishing" we could do something... and convincing each other that "there's really nothing we can do". The problem is too big. I am too busy already. "Let's say a prayer for that..."

While I know that not all of us are to do the same things as the other... I also know (from living inside my body) that it is sooo easy to just avoid service so as to remain comfortable. I don't want comfort to become a god.

As I pondered these things, I began thinking--what can be done about the sacredness of life? And, immediately I thought: "Honor the lives that are right now here with us in this world." 

As I thought of orphans and children in the foster care system--I realized: These lives are perhaps the very ones that the "learned" of the world would have advised should have been aborted. That thought shook me to my core. I realized that--setting aside whatever caused each child to be placed for adoption or fostering--at least their mom decided to give them the chance to live. What a gift life is--and what a gift it is to be used to show love to each life.

So, Rey and I began talking about looking into opening our home to foster children. We both felt pretty quickly that this is where God was leading us and began taking steps to educate ourselves on what was involved in fostering.

A lot of that information you can find for yourself online... but the classes to become foster parents has really just opened our eyes to the tragedies that thousands (I believe it's over 50,000 kiddos in the US) are suffering at the hands of those who are supposed to be protecting them.

It is an ugly truth. The glaring awfulness of it is enough to make you want to turn away from it. Shield your face from the knowledge, turn your back because it's easier to ignore it than it is to face it. But, how can we not face it? How can we not educate ourselves?

I know that the honest truth is that not everyone can--or should--foster/adopt. But, I know there is a WHOLE lot more that we can each be doing for our youth. Educate yourself on the situation. Call some adoption/foster agencies in town and ask them how you can help. Maybe even painting/decorating the family visiting room at the agency. Perhaps they will tell you about a program you can offer your services as a after-school tutor. See if your church has a ministry for the parents who are adopting and fostering--maybe you could offer to bring them supper.

We all need each other on this. We really do.  
I must now share that as the time grows closer, I have felt myself growing more tense and nervous. We have stated we are willing to foster a child between the ages of 0-24 months, but that's the only specifics we think we have. It's like being pregnant, but not having any idea when you're due--or if you're having a newborn baby boy--or a toddler girl. I also know that we could be receiving the gift of a child with special needs--or the gift of an easy-going baby. I know schedules will change, family dynamics will shift. It's a lot going on!

As I was in church this morning, I realized that my anxiety was really rooted in a whole lot of fears about the "what-ifs" of our situation. I also know that we will find ourselves under the scrutiny of many and in roles we haven't been in before and grow tense just thinking about it. Recognizing my emotions being based in fear was a big help for me--because I was really able to.... again... open my hands and surrender this to God.

From a song in service this morning:
"...Oh, my God, He will not delay 
My refuge and strength always 

I will not   fear, His promise is true 

My God will come through always, always...
.....I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord "

  

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

hope

This isn't news to anyone: Things are looking pretty dark "out there". New reports seem bleaker. Common sense seems to be less and less common. Darkness seems more oppressive.

Adding on to this, I have just sensed more of this feeling of "doom" from many of those I come in contact with. Like, we are just all resigned to our fate, waiting for whatever horrible thing is around the corner.

I hear dismal reports of what our generation is choosing, I see things that depress even the most optimistic of us. Why are we--the young adults of our nation--seemingly so without backbone? So without the pride of a job well-done, so without the determination and strength of will that typified those who built this nation? Why do we seem "fine" with just drifting downstream? Why do strong, able-bodied people just sit back and watch TV, waiting for the government to pay for their lifestyles and whining all the while? What would it take to shock a little life back into this generation--cause them to stand up as responsible adults, full of passion and fire?

I grow sad seeing us young adults--right at that place where we are definitely adults, but still young enough to have a lot of life in front of us--I tire of just seeing us wanting to be invisible. Of not wanting to stand for any one thing (unless we already know its a majority thing). I can often even see it in myself.. Not possessing that... what else can I call it? Passion for living! Zest! Fullness of purpose and healthy drive! Assurance. Determination. Calling. Conviction.

I see a much higher percentage of us young adults who almost appear to just wish to blend in: "Please don't call me out! I am happy being in my own comfort zone!"

All of this can combine into a sense of hopelessness, pessimism for what the future holds. Passivity.

And yet.

I know God has his hand on us.

I know God is calling out his leaders once again. I know that from the shapeless, shadowy masses, his voice is drawing out bold voices, bright lives that will rise for his glory.

I know God has dreams for us. That where the darkness is the greatest-- there light is made even more visible.

Just a couple weeks ago, at church, my heart was stirred as a young man, around my age, made his way to the front of the church during worship. With great conviction, his voice rang out in a passionate cry to God's people. He pleaded with us to draw close to God, to proclaim his name without fear. While his words spoke to me, it was his passion that moved me. He stood. He moved. He became visible. He raised his voice. It gave me hope. I felt God whispering to my spirit: "There is still hope for this generation. I still have dreams for you."

And that, my friends, makes all the difference.

It means that it's not enough to sit silently while wrong is proclaimed in the streets. It awakens me--why would I want to blend in to something that is dying, something that is without hope, something that has given up long ago? It gives me purpose and confidence: we can handle mockery when we have God's guiding light in our souls.

Let's stand up and be counted. Let's lift our voices, clear and bright as a trumpet's call. Let's be light, let's be hope.

Lord, move in this nation.

Lord, move through me.




Monday, January 7, 2013

remembering...and thankful

 Noah getting a bucket bath outside, when we ran out of water inside


I hesitate to post this... afraid that my rememberings will in some way appear like I am saying what we had before was bad and what we have now is good. Not at all. In both places, we were/are above and beyond blessed and held in God's hand.  Every experience plays a part in the tapestry of our lives, and I feel that remembering is a part of contentment, gratefulness. I don't want to forget what it was like... nor what it may be like again if/when God sees fit to take us back where we were....

Every time I bump the temperature button up or down a few degrees, I remember. I remember living first in a climate that the highs reached to 104 much of the year... the nights that cooled down to the 80s. I remember the house was made of cement, hemmed into a row of other cement houses and that there was hardly ever a breeze I could get to come through the windows. I remember not having an air conditioner there for several months, at the end of my pregnancy. Keeping the curtains pulled shut all day long, hoping to keep the house cooler. Dragging the mattress out to the living room floor at night, hoping for more of a breeze. Sweating all the time, cold showers in the middle of the night to try to cool down. I remember filling a bucket with water and ice, sitting with my feet in the water--thinking cold thoughts. We did finally get an air conditioning unit, used from Rey's boss, and installed it in the bedroom. The bedroom was a glorious cold. We kept that poor machine on high day and night most of the time. It managed to keep the rest of the house a tepid temperature.

I remember the cold, how it came with the rain... causing the wall to pour down with condensation. Hot cement meeting with a rapid temperature drop. One wall unit blasting on Noah's crib, keeping him bundled, his crib swaddled in thick quilts.

I remember the next house we lived in, much more comfortable. It was 3rd floor, so there was much more of a breeze. The cold months were a little harder, but not bad with a large, gas heater we were given.

The third house, we found, would burn like a toaster oven as the sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling (uninsulated) windows. Noah would wake up from his nap with nose bleeds from the heat. In the cold months, those same windows made keeping it warm a near impossibility. I remember trying (highly dangerous) inventions involving metal piping from the gas heater to the kids rooms. Sleeping in several layers of clothes, a bathrobe, socks.

I remember basically dealing with living in a house just about the same temperature as it was outdoors. So now, as I adjust our family's temperature comfort with a mere pressure of my fingertip, I stop and say "thanks". Not because it is better, because it is so much easier.  

I also am grateful for insulated windows and doors that don't gap open at the bottom. The houses I lived in never had insulated windows and hardly ever had screens. The doors leading to the outdoors usually had about an 1" gap between the floor and the door. One time, as I was reading, I looked up to see a mouse run in under the door. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Keeping a clean house was pretty much a laugh with the dust blowing in from everywhere.

I have it so easy now.

Every house I lived in before had roof issues. The rain would discover leaks in the roof, and we would wander around the house placing buckets, emptying others. No such problems now.

In the first house we lived, we didn't have a water heater for several months. Hot showers are quite possibly the "thing" I can't live without, so it was sad there for a while ;) When we did have a water heater, we conserved gas by only lighting it about 20 minutes before a shower. As soon as we were done, we would go turn off the flame. The water heaters were always located outside, so it would involve a quick check to make sure no neighbors were lurking around to catch me with crazy bed hair and in pajamas. It also meant that if I needed to do an "emergency" bath with the kiddos (think spit-up, mud, whatever kids do), it was often quicker to just boil up a pot of water on the stove and add it in to their cold bath water. I also washed dishes in cold water..... Now, every time I turn the hot water faucet, hot water comes out. Glorious.

In the houses I lived before, there was always "issues" with the water and electricity supply. In some places, the electricity would go off for a couple hours every week, without warning. Sometimes for days at a time. The same with the water. Most houses have a water tank attached to them. Some fill constantly, some once a day. Sometimes the water would be out for days at a time. Just disappear mid-shower or while running a load of laundry. Haven't had that happen yet here.

The clothes dryer! On sunny days, I often miss hanging out the laundry (a clothesline was one of the first things we installed at this new house)... but, when the weather is bad--or even just for convenience--how nice it is to, again, just push a button and--voila: dry clothes.

There were big stretches of time that I didn't have a vehicle. That made for long days with nowhere to go! And, speaking of places to go... I often struggled with finding places to take the babies even when I did have a vehicle. Things definitely were not as "kid-friendly" and even playgrounds often looked like attempts to get rid of children (broken glass, broken equipment, holes). Now, I have a vehicle...and places to go!

Also, I was often warned against going out "alone". Sometimes, it wasn't the safest thing to be an American girl out and about. Sometimes it wasn't a safety issue as much as an "annoyance" issue (read: drunk guys trying to get chatty). So, even if I had a place in mind and a way to get there, I would usually be trying to make sure it might be at a "safe" time of day to be able to get out and enjoy it. Now, such thoughts don't even cross my mind.

I guess my point in remembering all these things is--I don't ever want to forget what it was like. I don't ever want to become dependent on "easy". I don't want "easy" to become my idol. I don't want comfort to become a god. I want to be content--in plenty and in lack. I want to be grateful--for the central heat/air...and for the drafty doors. I love being able to experience such different things in life. And I want them to remain that way-- experiences. Not good or bad. Not rights or necessities. Not curses or badges of honor. In both places, I am in God's will.... and I love how He carries us. I love His adventures.


Thursday, January 3, 2013

whispers



The words were whispered forcefully. Whispered with confidence--as if the whisperer already knew their power: "If you don't, I won't be your friend."

And I... watched. Watched my little boy's face change from the shine of easy play to the trembling of acquiescence.

My boy. We've worked so hard on the idea of cooperative play. Of being a good friend. Of going along with other people's ideas. Of sharing and being kind. And yet, I see that this is not all I need to teach. My boy is about the best kind of friend there is. Fiercely loyal. The kind of friend that--when separated from his them--talks about them, dreams up things they could do together, makes them notes and art projects.
What to do when our friends--people--don't treat us right? What should my tender boy do? I watched tears well up in his eyes as he struggled to find the right action, relieved when an adult stepped in.

Today, I took advantage of a quiet moment to pull him aside and talk.

"Noé, look at mommy. What do you think you should do if someone says: 'I won't be your friend'?"

Semi-distracted, Noé looks at me and shrugs, "I don't know."

I asked him to really look at me. Focus. "Noé, how about if Noé has a toy in his hand. And someone comes to Noé and says," I lean in towards him, "Noé, give me the toy now or I won't be your friend!"
And, my heart shattered into a million pieces. Because in that second, my boy's precious face crumpled up and tears began pouring down his face.

My throat closed up and I said, "Oh, baby. That person is being so mean to Noé, aren't they? Those are mean words, right?"

Noé nodded, tears still rolling down his sweet cheeks, little gasping breaths.

"Noé, if someone says mean words, it's ok for Noé to say, 'Don't be mean to me!' Because my Noé is a good friend. He is kind and gentle. Aren't you?"

A strangled, "Yes!" came out and he hugged me hard. Then, embarrassed at himself, he scrubbed the tears off his cheeks and sucked in a deep breath of air.

"I love you so much, Noé. Don't ever be afraid to tell me or another daddy or mommy if someone is saying mean words to you."

"Ok."

Ah, my darling first-born. Life's lessons are hard. Now that you are not here, seeing me, I can let my own tears fall, feeling your pain. It is hard to keep a tender heart...and yet be strong. Hard to forgive, but require respect. I think we can learn, you and I.