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.

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.

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.