Fighting for Joseph (Part One: Before)

This is the first of three blog entries that will focus on my almost 9 year old son, Joseph, looking at our journey through his autism diagnosis and how God held our family in His hand as we fought for our son.

Joseph was born on November 2nd, 2000. We had tried to get pregnant for two years before conceiving him, and even though the pregnancy was full of complications, every difficult moment was erased when we held him in our arms for the first time.

Staring into his baby brown eyes, we couldn't help but envision his future. Toads in his pockets, football games, rough-housing with friends, all the way to asking for the keys to the car so he could take his date to the dance. The possibilities were endless and we couldn't wait to experience the ride.

Joseph developed normally. He wasn't born with autism, so he hit every milestone on time. He crawled at 10 months, walked at 13 months, and patted my leg with an affectionate, "Mama," at 14 months. He loved to play peek-a-boo, and anytime we pulled out a camera he became the star of the show. Every ounce of attention we gave him he sucked right in. Because he hardly ever cried, we nicknamed him our "angel baby".

Back then, autism was what Rain Man had. That's all I knew. Amazing toothpick counting and inflectionless words. I didn't need to know about it, because it wasn't ever going to happen to me. My children were Just Fine.

Just Fine ended on September 22nd, 2002.

In a way, my son died on that day. It took me another year to come to terms with the fact that the son I had known was gone. Toads in pockets and football game dreams turned into fantasies about what his voice would sound like and how it would feel if he told me he loved me.

But that's tomorrow's story.

Parading About

I spent a good portion of today doing something that I really wish I didn't do at all: complaining. My verbal ire was especially directed to one particular thing on today's calendar. Being the day before Halloween, it was time for the annual Halloween parade at my son and daughter's school.

Why would I complain about a parade? Well, it's more the hassle of getting there, finding a babysitter or taking the other children, finding a parking spot, finding a chair (or a spot on the wall), and waiting for fifteen minutes just to enjoy approximately 3.2 seconds of seeing each of my children prance by me in costume. To make matters worse, the parade falls right in the middle of nap time, which happens to be the one time during daylight hours when I can get something done.

So I whined. I groaned. I mumbled. Pretty much anyone who was within earshot of me today heard how much I didn't want to go to the parade.

Steve ended up working from home so that I wouldn't have to bring the children. This should have put an end to my sullenness, but it really didn't. I tried to convince him to go instead, but apparently he doesn't think his job would have wanted to hire me for an hour or so that I could replace him.

It was up to me. And so I soldiered on to do my parental duty with all the energy I could muster.

As I entered the gymnasium, I felt very convicted. I opened the book I had brought along to read as I waited, an autobiography by Pastor Greg Laurie. As I read the words, my conviction grew to the point where I felt tears pooling in my eyes.

Who was I to complain about taking a very small portion of my day to devote to something that meant so much to my kids? How God has blessed me through them! Has He not provided everything I ever prayed for in my children? Am I not thankful every day that I am able to be here to love them?

A minute or so before the children came in, the tears started flowing. I'm sure people were wondering why a mother was crying before the parade had even started, but I didn't care. I prayed right then and there for God to forgive me for my poor attitude and my careless words. I thanked Him for the opportunity to be there for Joseph and Kayanna. I praised Him that they both have teachers that care for them, and a school where they are supported and nurtured.

I had myself under control by the time the parade started. I watched eagerly as the children filed by, waiting for a glimpse of my zookeeper and baby. My heart lept as I found them and watched their faces fill with joy at seeing their mom in the crowd.

I kept thinking, "I wanted to miss this?"

When it comes time for the Christmas sing-a-long, there will be no complaints from me.

Roundabout

We recently had a new roundabout constructed in our city. The idea behind it was good: keep the traffic flowing and reduce accidents by removing tricky merges and stoplights. But for a long time it caused problems, and many people (including myself) ended up choosing the wrong exit and heading in the opposite direction.

Why all the trouble? Well, the roundabout itself was built very nicely, but the signs directing traffic were either misleading, not well placed, or missing entirely.

In fact, I just read in the newspaper a day or so ago that a young man, having missed his exit thanks to a missing sign, decided instead to drive across the middle section. His truck had to be towed out. In an effort to correct his path, he'd gotten hopelessly stuck.

Isn't that just like walking in the world? If we attempt to live our lives by putting our faith in what the world has to offer, we're going to have problems. We're going to end up going the wrong direction, or we'll have to go around in circles a few times to reach the right path, or we'll get frustrated and try to forage out on our own...possibly making things worse if we get mired in the mud. Even if we enjoy success, we have to hope that our achievements are repeated the next time we reach one of life's roundabouts.

Today I noticed that the sign issue had been fixed. I entered and exited the roundabout with no problems. In fact, it was so smooth that I finally experienced what the engineers had envisioned when it was designed.

God is the engineer of our lives. His Word is the signposts. By putting our faith in Him, and by reading and keeping His Word in our hearts, we're never going to wonder which way we should turn.

"In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." (Proverbs 3:6)

Laundry Days

With seven children, every day should be laundry day. Actually, it should probably be an all day, every day event. Especially when said seven children decide to change their clothes two or three times a day.

Saying that I hate doing laundry would be an understatement. I actually detest doing laundry. I'm one of those people who loves mowing the lawn because you can watch as, strip by strip, your job is accomplished. With laundry, I don't ever feel like I get to the point where I can sit down and say, "It's done!"

I've tried many different things in battling this monster. I've tried only saving seven outfits for each child and giving the rest of them away. I've tried laundry marathons where I don't do anything but laundry until the entire mountain is gone. I've tried throwing away the "sock bag" of mismatched socks and just buying new socks that all match each other (sorry, Joseph, that you've had to wear socks with purple heels!).

I've tried everything. And yet, week after week, life gets busy and soon the laundry room resembles Mount St. Helens.

Then in my Bible study yesterday, we read these verses: "And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown in to the furnace, will He not much more clothe you?" (Matthew 6:28-30)

Now those verses are illustrations as to why we should not worry or be anxious, but today they struck me in a different way.

Why am I whining about the fact that I have so many clothes to wash? Why do I look at the gigantic pile of laundry and stomp back up the steps in defeat?

How many mothers in this world would give everything they own to be able to clothe their children every day? What I see as a drudgery, mothers who struggle through extreme poverty would see as a blessing.

And that is what it is. God has blessed me with the ability to provide clothing for our family. I need to see that for what it is.

Now my laundry isn't just going to disappear. It's going to be something I simply have to do. But instead of dreading the thought of walking downstairs, I'm going to look forward to the opportunity to see an example of God's blessings bursting right in front of my eyes.

My chores won't change, but my heart will.

In a Minute

After about two months of watching it gather dust on my dresser, I decided to strap on my calorie and step counting armband this morning. Renewing my commitment to diet and exercise, I wanted to make sure that I could gauge exactly how I was doing at any moment throughout my day.

One of the most exciting things that I realized when first purchasing this system was that the experts really are correct, doing exercise burns calories long after the actual physical exertion is over. For example, when I am at rest, I am typically burning 1.7 calories per minute. When I go for a 30 minute run, I get up to somewhere around 12 calories per minute. This adds up to a really nice burn! But the best thing is, when I stop running and collapse on my couch in heap of exhaustion, my body is still working. Even two hours later, my digital display reflects the fact that I am still cruising along at a nice 4.2 calories per minute.

That thirty minutes of dedication and determination turns into hours of results.

The same is true of the time we spend in God's Word. How many times have I told myself that I don't have "enough time" to sit down and open my Bible? How many times have I stood in a group of moms nodding my head as we all agreed that someday, when the kids were "older," we'd be able to really dig deep, to memorize and truly study the Word of God? Many times.

What I am learning is that we DO have time now. The problem isn't actually how much time we do or do not have, it's our concept of what it takes to study the Bible. We envision ourselves sitting in a quiet room devoid of distractions and taking a good hour or two to envelop ourselves in the lessons God has laid out in front of us. But we all know that that scenario is almost impossible for those of us who have young children. And even those of us who aren't yet blessed with a family, or whose children have grown and gone off into the world, you are still hounded by the pressures of work, and friends, and the telephone ringing, and the myriad of responsibilities that leave you running from moment to moment.

Guess what? It would be great to have a solid block of time to devote to God's Word, but we don't have to have it to do it. It only takes thirty minutes to read through a chapter of the Bible. It takes maybe ten minutes to study a Psalm. And sometimes, when we truly have only one minute, we can open our Bibles and just read whichever verse God places in front of us.

Our study of God's Word doesn't have to be perfect in order to affect our hearts. Just like the calorie burning system has shown me that the effects of physical exercise last for hours, taking a few minutes here and there throughout my day to open my Bible and soak in God's lessons has shown me that the effects of spiritual discipline last all day.


"I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you." (Psalm 119:11)

Sacrifice

I will never forget the expression on their faces as they looked up at me. A mixture of trust and excitement tumbled through their eyes. Something was up, and they knew it.

My hands trembled as I placed my Bible on the podium in front of me. I was taking a risk, and I knew it. I hoped that I had earned enough of their trust to make the experiment reflect what true sacrifice looked like.

I loved every single one of them. I wasn't looking forward to what I was about to put them through, but I hoped that the lesson it taught would carry with them long after I stopped being their third grade teacher.

"I asked all of you to bring something to the classroom today," I began. "I asked you to find something in your house that could never be replaced, something that holds special memories for you. I'd like you all to come up one by one and show the class what you chose."

I stepped to the side as I called the first student up front. One by one they filed toward me, each turning and showing off their prized possession. Many of them brought stuffed animals that had obviously been well loved. One brought a tattered blanket, clutching it in her arms as she told of the day she'd been brought home from the hospital wrapped snugly in its softness. Others brought beloved toys, another a guitar.

My voice caught as I asked the final student to sit back in his desk. I took a deep breath, catching the eye of the parent volunteer that I had requested. She knew what was coming, and she picked up a tissue box as she smiled reassuringly at me.

"I asked you all to bring your special belongings today for a reason," I said quietly, looking in their eyes that twinkled from the excitement of the activity. "I want you each to bring your item up here and set it on the table."

Excitement was replaced by questioning looks. They knew me well enough to know when I was being serious, and I was more serious in that moment than they had ever seen me.

"You are going to put it on the table," I continued, "and I am going to give these things to the children who need them the most."

I can't begin to describe the wave of emotion that slammed into my precious students as my words began to sink in. Almost all of them took their special toy or blanket or stuffed animal in their arms, holding it tightly as they stared at me.

"Will we get it back?" one boy asked, his voice cracking.

"I am going to give them to the children who need them the most," I repeated with a hitch in my voice.

"But will we get it back?" a little girl echoed desperately.

I repeated the same answer back to her.

The looks they gave me still stand with me today. "How could you do this? Who do you think you are? I TRUSTED you!"

A few children stood up, giving me a glance that said they were only doing this because my standing as their teacher outweighed what they desired to do. They placed their items on the table, walking with slumped shoulders back to their desks. Each one of them placed their heads down on their arms in defeat.

More children followed, tears rolling down their cheeks. My entire body was shaking, my tears mirroring their own. Doubt laced through my mind. Was I doing the right thing?

Finally only one little boy remained. He held a stuffed animal that he had cuddled with every night since he could remember.

"I can't do it!" he screamed at me.

"Yes, you can," I answered brokenly.

"I won't do it!" he yelled again.

"You will," I said, forcing strength into my words. "You will do it because I am your teacher and I am telling you that you have to do it." How I longed to take him in my arms. How I yearned to stop this whole thing. But I knew that this sweet child was embodying the exact point of everything I was trying to do.

He glared at me for a long time. The parent volunteer walked up and down the aisles handing tissues to the children who were crying. Finally, with a loud, guttural cry, he walked up to the table and put it down.

A few steps in front of his desk, he collapsed on his knees.

I buried my head in my hands as I waited for him to pick himself up and sit at his desk.

As I pulled myself under control, I opened my Bible and read aloud:


Some time later God tested Abraham. He said to him, "Abraham!"

"Here I am," he replied.

Then God said, "Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about."

Early the next morning Abraham got up and saddled his donkey. He took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac. When he had cut enough wood for the burnt offering, he set out for the place God had told him about.

Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, "Father?"

"Yes, my son?" Abraham replied.

"The fire and wood are here," Isaac said, "but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?"

Abraham answered, "God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." And the two of them went on together.

When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood.

Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. 11 But the angel of the LORD called out to him from heaven, "Abraham! Abraham!"

"Here I am," he replied.

"Do not lay a hand on the boy," he said. "Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son."

Abraham looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son.

So Abraham called that place The LORD Will Provide. And to this day it is said, "On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided."

The angel of the LORD called to Abraham from heaven a second time and said, "I swear by myself, declares the LORD, that because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, and through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed, because you have obeyed me." (Genesis 22:1-3, 6-22)

The students were familiar with the story of Abraham and Isaac, having heard it many times through their Sunday School years. You could see relief and understanding dawn on their faces as I began to read.

By the time I finished reading, they knew that they would not have to give away their special belongings. But though they were relieved, I saw exactly what I had hoped to see in their expressions: understanding.

At eight years old, they could never comprehend what it would be like to be asked to sacrifice their only child. But they could now understand what it would feel like to sacrifice something that was truly special and unique to them.

That year as we studied the life of Abraham, the children listened and responded in a way that none of my previous students had.

I don't know if the lesson carried with them, but it carried with me. It emphasized to me the value of making God's Word personal.

I will never forget those children. Though I had thought the lesson through many times, experiencing it with them taught me more than I could have imagined.

It brought me to a new understanding of what ultimate obedience to God would look like. It gave me a small glimpse of what makes Abraham a hero of the faith.

Most of all, it reminded me that even when we are asked to sacrifice to our Lord, His intent and reasoning is always based in love. And when we cry because we can't see His reasoning, He grieves with us.

Purpose

Though I am no longer surprised at the way that God weaves seemingly unrelated things together, I still find myself humbled and awed when I see a painting emerge from different colors He's placed in front of me.

The brevity of our time on earth has been heavily on my thoughts lately. I wasn't sure why this kept surfacing, but I've learned enough to know that there was a reason.

I received a message today from my best friend. We have been friends since meeting in seventh grade, and I spent a lot of my adolescence with her family. Her news wasn't good. She was writing to tell me that her father had passed away suddenly. He was only 68 years old.

My friend and her father had a very close relationship, and I know that this brings great comfort to her right now. It's just another reminder to me that there is no better time than the present to mend fractured relationships.

God has a purpose for everything. Every time He reveals something to us, there is a purpose. Every time He asks something of us, there is a purpose. We may never know what it is, but we can be assured not only that it exists, but that our lives will be blessed if we follow through.

There are many scary things going on in our world. From whether or not to vaccinate, to hearing about the abductions of young children, to economic uncertainty. It is hard sometimes to trust that God knows our paths. He has a purpose for us, no matter what events unfold in our lives.

And when horrible things happen, we need to open our hands to God and say, "Let me do Your will."

Tonight I am in prayer for my dear friend. I pray that God will use me to bring His comfort to her.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." (Psalm 23:4)

Breathing Thanks

Waking up this morning feeling even worse than my recent stuffy-nose-aching-body days, I resigned myself to spending the day in bed. Normally this would sound heavenly, but as we all know, resting in bed is the pits when all you have energy for is staring blankly at the wall and waiting for time to pass.

Waking for the third or fourth time, my thoughts turned to my daily blog topic. For the past few months, I've taken each day to live life with my eyes and ears tuned to what God wants to teach me. When a lesson comes along that I think would be remotely interesting, I cheer inwardly to know that I have my blog topic for the day. But what could possibly be interesting about my light blue bedroom wall? Certainly no lessons seemed to be contained in my ceiling fan, or my ever-increasing laundry pile.

"Maybe I'll have to skip today," I thought regretfully, already missing what has become one of my favorite parts of the day. "That's what happens when all you can do is breathe."

Instantly, memories of a particularly difficult season in my life began to assault me.

During the summer of 2000, I began to have complications in my pregnancy. Between 24 and 25 weeks gestation, I was admitted to the hospital three times for pre-term labor. With contractions only two minutes apart, I was warned that there was a good chance that my son would be born too soon. They had tried a mild medicine to stop the contractions, which didn't work. As they inserted an IV into my arm, the nurse told me what to expect from the next medicine, magnesium sulfate. The drug was serious enough that a nurse would sit by my bedside for the first four hours to determine my body's reaction.
And, oh, did my body react. Magnesium Sulfate, from what I understand, is designed to significantly relax muscles. This is why it works to stop contractions, because the uterus is a muscle. But it doesn't just relax those muscles, it relaxes all of them. Because of this, the very act of taking a breath felt like a choice instead of a guarantee.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Please, Lord, save my baby. I need to breathe.

A little more than a year later, the little boy who didn't come too soon was crawling across the living room floor. It was a typical evening, though Kahlan, four years old at this time, was sick. Life sometimes turns unexpectedly, and the turn it took that night was swift and frightening.
Our beautiful angel girl went from sitting wrapped in a blanket to limp and lifeless on the floor as a febrile seizure coursed through her body. Before we knew what was happening, her skin paled and her breathing stopped. I ran for the phone to call 911 as Steve picked her up and did everything he could to help her. The seizure had clamped her jaw shut, making the task of clearing her airway impossible. Steve kept trying to pry Kahlan’s mouth open, the muscles in his forearms bunched together with the force he was using.
“Please, God,“ he whispered. “Kahlan,” he said, his voice shaking. “Kahlan this is your daddy! Kahlan open your mouth! If you love your daddy, open your mouth!”
Watching as I waited for more instructions from the 911 operator, I realized I was holding my breath, almost as if I were trying to give it to my little girl.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Please, Lord, save my baby girl. She needs to breathe.


A few months later, I was driving with Steve, Joseph, and my precious girl whose every breath counted my blessings. Drinking hot chocolate and watching the city lights pass my window, I realized that something was very wrong. Trying to take another breath, I began to panic. My airway was closing. My heart began to race, my skin grew clammy. "Is this it?" I remember thinking. "Is this the end?"
That night was the beginning of my experience with panic attacks. Before going through them myself, I had always assumed that an attack of anxiety was a mental crisis. I had no idea that it also heavily involved our physical self. For three months I battled my invisible monster, finally becoming bedridden from the terror and pain that constantly assaulted me.
I remember one particular day with complete clarity. I was in bed, gasping for every breath as my airway stayed tightly clenched. I knew at this point that I was in the grip of a serious panic disorder, but I didn't know how to stop it. I remember listening to my husband and kids playing downstairs, and coming to the decision that I couldn't live with the pain anymore. I hated what I had become. How could I live knowing that this might be who I was forever? So as tears coursed down my cheeks, I made the plan that would take me away from my broken body. "I can't do this, God!" I cried.

"Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. I am with you. Just breathe."

We underestimate the gift that each breath is. I've written in previous blogs about not being guaranteed tomorrow, but the truth is that we aren't even guaranteed our next breath. Every breath is God given.

Paul writes, "He Himself gives to all people life and breath and all things." (Acts 17:25b)

When we get in a situation where each breath is important, we truly glimpse the enormity of God's blessings.

How thankful I am that I serve a God who cares about every breath I take.

The Way Out

"Mom, there's something pawing at my window," my oldest daughter, Kahlan, informed me this morning when she came upstairs to eat breakfast.

Now this is not the news you want to hear first thing in the morning. I especially didn't want to hear it on this particular morning, since Steve had left early for work. I looked around me, but it looked like I was the only one left who could take "something pawing at the window" duty.

"What kind of thing?" I asked, hoping it was something larger than a rat and smaller than a bear.

"I don't know. It kind of looks like a mouse, but it has a short tail and it's nose is funny," she concluded, effectively confirming my worst fear. (Okay, maybe a bear would have been my worst fear, but this was a close second.)

So I headed downstairs to take a peek. Sure enough, a little rodent face was peering at me through the window. "Ugh," I moaned, looking around for a solution.

My cat was sitting on my daughter's bed, all but raising a little paw to volunteer for the job. It would be so easy...but I just couldn't do it. Having done some pretty crazy things to save little creatures in the past, I was very familiar with the "it's really gross, but I have to save it" feeling.

So I put together a cozy little container. A warm washcloth, a Tupperware container, and the most important thing - a lid. Hoping that what friends helped me to realize was a vole would not decide to leap inside the window, I eased myself onto the ledge. Sliding the glass carefully to the left, I got ready to spring my trap.

But I missed. And the vole, not realizing that I was actually there to save it, scurried under the leaves to hide.

Frustrated, I closed the window. "Why couldn't it just trust me?" I thought, irritated.

After all, it's plaintive window scratchings were a call for help. It wanted to get out of the hole it was in. It couldn't get out on its own, that's for sure. And here I was, not only wanting to give it a lift out to a better life, I'd even prepared a cozy bed for it to travel in.

I should understand it, though, shouldn't I? Because I have been in that little vole's place.

I've had so many times where I've been stuck in an emotional or situational hole with no obvious way out. What's the first thing I do when I realize I need help? I cry out to God. "Help me, Lord. I need to get out of this and I can't do it on my own."

How many times have I run to hide when He presented a solution? How many times have I said, "I can't do that," because I can't see what the end of His path holds?

How many times have I chosen to stay in the cold, dark pit instead of climbing into His hand?

Too many times.

I want out, but I want to be in charge of the terms. I want to know what I need to do, how I'm going to get there, and who I'm going to meet on the way. But God doesn't work that way.

That's why it's called a leap of faith. When we choose to jump, we're telling God that we trust Him to catch us, carry us, and journey with us to safety.

If that vole could know that I mean him no harm, he'd have let me help him. Right now he'd be frolicking in a huge gully instead of panicking in a cold egress window. But there is no way for him to know.

We are so much more blessed. God tells us that all we have to do is ask, and we shall receive. "Until now you have asked for nothing in My name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be made full." (John 16:34)

"Dear Heavenly Father, help us to trust You when we are scared. Help us remember that You know the paths in front of us, and that even though they won't always be easy, You've promised that they will all work together for our good. Thank you for being patient with us. Amen."

If We Only Had Today

I was thinking yesterday about what I would do if I ever received the devastating news that I only had hours to live. What would I choose to do with that precious time? Who would I call, who would I see? What items on my "someday" list could I accomplish?

I would call my parents and my grandmother, I decided, and thank them for all they have done for me. I would tell them that I never understood how much they loved me until I had children of my own.

I would call my closest friends and laugh about silly times we'd had together. I would let them know that their friendship kept me going on days when I wanted to lay down.

I would take my family and do something that none of us had done before. Something we had always put off, thinking we had years to accomplish it.

I would make sure that every member of my family sat down to dinner at the same time. I would listen to each of my children's prayers, and echo them as my own. I wouldn't get frustrated if someone spilled their milk, or if the phone rang three times, or if someone didn't want to eat the mashed potatoes.

At the close of the day, I would take time to tuck each child into bed in a special way. I would hug them and pray with them before kissing their little foreheads. I would let them know that their mommy loved them very, very much.

And finally, before I closed my eyes, I would curl up in the arms of my husband. Those things that had seemed so important to argue about in the previous days would no longer matter. I would make sure that before we slept, he knew how thankful I was that God had blessed us in marriage.

What would you do if you only had a twelve hours left? Who would you touch? What unfinished things would you complete? How would your attitude about life change?

As I sorted through my thoughts, I suddenly realized what I think God was trying to teach me. Because I don't have a terminal illness, and I haven't been told that today is my last earthbound day.

But I only have this day one time. And no matter how I feel or what my plans are, I am not guaranteed another day.

"Now listen, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.' Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." (James 4:13-14)

It probably isn't possible to truly live every day as if it were our last. But we can make sure that we do our best to be able to say at the end of the night when we close our eyes to sleep, "If the Lord sees fit to take me now, I leave with no regrets."

It will all have been said. It will all have been done. And those who love us will be able to say, "She was ready."

My Pinata

I had so many different feelings while writing yesterday's blog entry. This whole idea of going after the prize with everything we had just to realize that what we got in the end was one thrilling moment and a bag full of candy we aren't that interested in rattled around in my head for a couple weeks. As we all know, when we start thinking about something like that, examples start popping into our minds like crazy. And they aren't always pretty!

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a published author. I had so many ideas in my mind of different books and story lines. I even wrote a few chapters here and there. But you know what I spent the most of my time on? The dedication page.

Steve still teases me about that. After all, it is much more important to write the contents of the book than to write a page that won't ever be seen without a book to put it in, right?

Looking at it closely, though, it completely exemplifies the whole pinata problem. I was more excited about seeing the reaction of the people who I chose to dedicate my book to, than I was about writing the book itself. I wanted someone to put their hands on my shoulders and say, "Wow, it really means something to me that you acknowledged me like that."

What I try to do now when I feel like I might be picking up my pinata-whacking stick is ask myself a simple question. Am I doing this for honor from people, or am I doing it to honor God?

I still sometimes find myself blindfolded, spun around, and swinging wildly into the air. I check myself many times to make sure that I am thinking of the ministry I am doing instead of the recognition that sometimes comes from it.

It's kind of like what happens after a woman has a baby. She's been uncomfortable and sick for 40 weeks, she's been in labor for who knows how many hours, she's endured pushing or a surgeon's knife, and finally the baby is born. She doesn't need anyone to tell her that she has done a great job, because the work she did doesn't really matter to her anymore. The pain doesn't even matter anymore. It's all about the enormity of her love for this precious little baby.

When we enter heaven's gates, the struggles and difficulties of this life will be mere afterthought. It will no longer be about the earthly recognition we received or didn't receive. When we feel the magnificence of God's love for us unhindered by our personal sin, that's all the riches and fame we'll ever need.

Pinata Candy

Children love pinatas. The entire experience of being blindfolded, spun around, and given a large stick is exhilarating to a child.

Depending on how many kids are waiting in line to take their turn, you'll see a wide range of expression. The children toward the front of the line are really excited, even giddy. It's almost their turn, and they are hoping really hard that they will be the one to smash the pinata to pieces, showering candy across the room. The kids in the back of the line are in a battle between excitement and nervousness. What if the pinata breaks before they even get a turn? What if the other kids race to the candy first, scooping up the good stuff before they can get there?

As each child takes his or her turn, the pinata starts giving in. First the nose might be knocked off, dropping a tootsie roll and a peppermint. Then, the leg flies to the floor, ten or eleven hard butterscotch candies and cellophane wrapped caramels scattering among the crowd. Finally, a child walks up and with one hard thump breaks open the pinata, which explodes in a shower of sweetness. The kids throw their hands in the air and cheer as the candy rains down upon them. Then the madness truly begins as everyone pushes into each other to insure the best spot for looting.

We don't realize it, but we involve ourselves in society's pinata process. I recently saw a little girl wearing a shirt that proudly stated, "Someday I'm going to be famous." That common childhood dream to be an actress, a rock star, or a nationally known sports player is a real life illustration of the desire to be under that candy shower.

That yearning doesn't end with our childhood. We long to be recognized. We crave the respect of our peers. We fantasize about having someone we look up to place his or her hand on our shoulder and say, "You've made it. Well done."

And so we beat on that pinata. We ride that roller coaster of emotion that comes with working really hard only to receive a passing nod, of giving our best swing and sometimes missing completely. Always longing for that perfect moment where our hands are the ones that cause the shower of accolades that, in society, symbolizes success.

We get so caught up in the desire to be recognized that we forget to take off the blindfold and really look at the target we're trying to hit. Have you ever looked closely at a pinata? Sure, they look pretty, but they aren't made with quality in mind. In fact, they're built to be disposed of fifteen minutes after their used. That shower of candy that the entire anticipation is built around? No one puts expensive candy in a pinata.

These are the rewards of men. This is frequently what we measure the quality of our life against. But God has promised so much more for those who follow Him.

If society's reward is pinata candy, then God's reward is the entire contents of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians, "Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you might win. Everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air; but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified." (1 Cor. 9:24-27)

Those things we do on earth that gain us moments of recognition are not without worth. Just as a runner self-disciplines to train for a race, hard work results in positive rewards. But society's ultimate rewards of fame and fortune are rare and temporary.

We need to aim instead for the ultimate reward, which is eternity in heaven. We need to keep our eyes focused on the moment when He will say to us, "Well done, good and faithful servant!" That is the only recognition that we should build our identity around.

If we act for the response of man, then the response of man is our reward. "So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full." (Matthew 6:2)

Society's rewards may feel really good, but they are pinata candy compared to the promised rewards of God.

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(I want to talk about how I have personally struggled with this, but since the entry has gotten pretty long, I will save it for tomorrow. So if you're interested, please stay tuned. :) )

Replacement

I rarely get my hair cut. Not because I don't want to cut it, but more because it hardly ever moves far enough up my priority list to sound appealing on the evenings where I can declare myself kid-free. Normally so many months pass between my visits to the salon that I can donate to locks of love every time I go. I figure that makes it totally worth sitting through the "you wouldn't have split ends if you came in every three weeks" lecture that comes right before I tell the stylist how many children I have.

So when Steve and I were walking through the mall the other day while waiting for our movie to start, I figured I might as well get a trim. The girl who called my name was pretty energetic in a pixie kind of way, within five minutes I knew more about her plans for the weekend than I knew about my own.

Absentmindedly, as I listened to her big dilemma about what food to bring to the salon potluck, I ran my fingers through my curls.

There it was. My arch enemy: a long white hair. Not gray, mind you, because I've apparently just jumped straight from brown to white. So I did what any woman does when faced with a physical reminder of her age: I got rid of it.

"Ack!" my stylist interrupted herself. "Don't do that!!"

"Why not?" I asked, completely dumbfounded. I mean she of all people should know why I would want to pull my white hair, right?

"If you pull it out, it just comes back thicker," she cried, putting her hands up to her face in horror.

Well, that was interesting news. "I had no idea," I replied, wondering if I would now have to reconsider my staunch anti-hair dye stance.

I soon realized that this phenomenon didn't just apply to eradicating white hair. After all, I have frequently been on the "take chocolate completely out of my life" to "binge all night on chocolate cake with chocolate frosting" pendulum.

I've learned that I can't just take something away without replacing it with something else. If I do, it ends up coming back bigger and bolder than before. So when I felt God leading me to spend less time in front of the TV, this time I didn't take drastic measures. Instead, I replaced a portion of that time with more time with my spiritual antenna. I prayed, I dug deeper into God's Word, and I spent time just sitting silently in His presence. The amazing thing was that I was able to ration my television time without feeling like I was cutting off my right arm.

I have a long way to go, but I've found that saying Yes to God first is so much easier than saying no to sin later.

Totally worth a few white hairs.

Rain in the Pond

I should have known better. I did know better, in fact, and I told myself as I balanced two bowls of cereal and a glass of juice between my fingers that it was a really bad idea. But moms so far haven't grown six extra arms, and as usual I was trying to do five things at once with the two hands I did have.

I felt them slip milliseconds before they fell. Not enough time to do anything but watch it all smash against the floor, spilling milk, juice and broken glass across the kitchen. I remember screaming in frustration as I hammered my fist against the side of the refrigerator.

It was 2001. My four year old daughter and my one year old son sat patiently at the table waiting for breakfast. I remember hot tears running down my face as I wondered how to explain to my children that there was nothing else to eat.

We were dead broke in those days. Paycheck to paycheck didn't even describe our life, it was more like paycheck to three days before the next paycheck. Those two bowls of cereal and that glass of juice represented so much more to me than breakfast. I'd been so proud of the fact that I had rationed our groceries so well that we had just enough food to last us until Steve came home with his check that afternoon.

So when I cried, the tears were for so much more than the mess.

"It's okay, Mommy," my little girl said quietly. I turned to face her, wiping my eyes as I thought of how to explain to her how not okay it was.

"It's all just rain in the pond, Mommy," she continued, her wide eyes shining with understanding.

The power behind those words struck me with physical force. What is one storm to a pond? Nothing. Insignificant. It might seem like a big deal in that moment, but when the clouds part, the great big pond will sit as if unchanged.

In 2001 I had no idea what was coming down the road at us. I didn't know that my sweet baby boy who called me Mama and giggled through peek a boo games was going to lose his voice to a monster called autism. I didn't know that my world was going to seem so dark and overwhelming as I fought for my son that the blackness would threaten to consume me.

But thanks to my four year old daughter, I did know this: No matter how awful those storms felt when I was standing within them, they would pass. I might be different after passing through them, but the core of who I was as a child of God would be unchanged. And I would never have to weather them alone.

(Matthew 8:23-27) "Then He got into the boat and His disciples followed him. Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, 'Lord, save us! We're going to drown!'

He replied, 'You of little faith, why are you so afraid?' Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.

The men were amazed and asked, 'What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey Him!'" (NIV)

Black and Gray

"I have a problem," I told my friend Ann tonight as I was getting ready to leave AWANA.

"What's that?" she asked, turning to give me her full attention.

"My cell phone and keys were taken from my coat pocket," I replied, digging my hands around my empty pockets as if to emphasize my point.

She launched immediately into action. I'm telling you, based on the team that was assembled within three minutes of my complaint, our church's AWANA is the place you want to be if you're the victim of a crime.

Soon there were five or six people in brightly colored AWANA shirts ready to help. We looked through coats in the coat rack, we scanned the teens milling in their Youth group, we even called my cell phone to see if the perpetrator would pick up.

There was no trace of my phone or my keys. I was already not feeling well, and this was not looking like it was going to end on the top ten list of nights I'd like to relive.

Then someone made a suggestion. Was it possible that I had put on the wrong coat? I was willing to be open minded. After all, it was Steve's coat that I was wearing, and I wasn't all that familiar with it. I knew it was gray (check), I knew it zipped (check), I knew it fit me and it was lightweight (check, check).

But wait a minute....I think the zipper was a little different...

Okay, so now I realized that I had the wrong coat. Hanging someone else's coat back on the hanger, I scanned the rack again. I felt a little more than slightly embarrassed at this point, but I continued my search.

I looked one way, and my friend Vicki looked the other. No gray coat on my end. No gray coat on her end.

"Okay," I said. "Now we're looking for my stolen keys, my stolen phone, and my stolen coat." I was joking around, but I was more than a little nervous.

"I think your coat is black," my daughter piped in, watching the show.

"No, it's gray," I corrected her. But a seed of doubt was planted...

I looked through the coat rack one more time, and sure enough, I found my coat with my keys and phone right where I left them.

"Um, I found it!" I said sheepishly.

"Crystal," Ann said sweetly, "That coat is black, dear."

"Looks gray to me!" I responded back, thanking them profusely for their time and effort on my behalf as I scuttled out the door.

When I got to the van, I took my phone and called Steve to tell him about my embarrassing adventure. "So I told them to look for your gray coat," I began before getting interrupted.

"You mean my black coat," Steve said.

"It's gray, isn't it?" I asked with much less conviction than before.

"Crystal, that is the blackest a coat could ever be," he answered.

So there it was. An entire AWANA manhunt (or should I say coathunt) all based on my inability to distinguish shades of color. The difference between black and gray meant ten minutes of time to six people, and could have been much more than that had we gone the next step and started putting kids under bright lights to find the perpetrator.

As I drove home reflecting on this whole adventure, I thought of the book that just arrived from Amazon today. I ordered it a couple days ago after my pastor recommended it during his sermon. The title of the book is, Respectable Sins by Jerry Bridges, and though I haven't read it yet, the back of the book promises that it deals with those sins that sometimes get ignored as we concentrate on the bigger, bolder sins of life. The sins that we sometimes pass on as "not so bad," like vanity, greed, worry, and pride.

As I learned very well tonight, people can see shades of color very differently. But God doesn't see sin in shades. There is not a degree of sin ladder in God's eyes. In His Word, He says, "For the wages of sin is death." (Romans 6:23) It doesn't say the wages of big sin is death, it says sin. All sin.

We need to be on the lookout for sin in our lives that has taken on a shade of gray. Sin that we have turned around and upside down and placed under rose-colored glass until we make it so it looks okay. We need to identify those areas and ask God to help us change them.

The good news is that, "For the wages of sin is death" isn't the end of the story. The conclusion is the best part. "For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." Through Christ, we can be as white as snow.

Removing the black and gray will make our life on earth better. Accepting the white that Christ offers through His sacrifice on the cross makes our eternity heavenly.

Before Tomorrow

Carrying a baby, a toddler, and a backpack, I boarded the train. It was early July of 2003, and I was heading out to see my parents in New York for a week. Steve had decided to stay home and work so that we could save his precious few vacation days for later in the year.

We had boarded at ten o'clock at night, so after the novelty of the train whistle wore off, the kids rubbed their eyes and buried themselves under the covers. Thankful that I had spent the extra money for a sleeper car (even if it was about the size of a coat closet), I pillowed my blanket beneath my head and watched the city lights dance past my window.

"Oh, shoot!" I clearly remember thinking, "I forgot to make that call again!" I knew that a relative of mine had been struggling lately, and God had laid that phone call on my heart weeks earlier. But time after time and reminder after reminder, I had chosen to Do It Later.

I didn't have a cell phone at that time in my life, so I resolved to finally make the call when I got back to Wisconsin.

I was in New York for only a day or two before getting the news. He was gone. The depression and anxiety that he had battled for years had brought him to a desperate place.

I was beyond crushed. I remember stretching myself across my mother's bed and letting the grief crash through me. I couldn't believe the finality of it.

The pain of the phone call that never happened was agonizing. It wasn't that I thought I could have changed anything. It wasn't that I thought that he was gone because I didn't call. It was that God had clearly led me to reach out and touch this man who I loved so much, and it had never been important enough to me to make it to the number one spot on my priority list.

What if I had followed through? Most likely the events would not have changed, but I would have. I would have known that I had told him how much he meant to me. I would have known that he knew he was important to me.

And most importantly, I would have been obedient. Obedient, and blessed because of it. God didn't ask me to call him so that I wouldn't do it and would feel bad about it later. He asked me to call him so that I would call him. I chose not to. Because of that choice, there is a regret within me that did not have to be there.

Has God laid it on your heart to say something to someone you love? Has He asked you to contact someone, or write a note of encouragement? Has He asked you to mend a broken relationship? Don't wait until you have nothing better to do. Do it now.

None of us are guaranteed tomorrow.

Slow to Speak

I love half empty restaurants. Actually, the emptier it is, the happier I am. I never used to pay attention to these things, back in the "have as many kids as I have hands" days, but now that I'm at the point where bi-minute headcounts are necessary, I love knowing that we'll be able to find a table quickly and easily.

Tonight was no exception. We filed into our favorite kid-friendly restaurant around supper time, a little skip to my step as I realized that there was no line in front of us. I held Aimee's hand on one side, and in the other I clutched the key to our ability to eat out: six neatly clipped "Kids Eat Free" coupons. This awesome buffet is the only place within a 20 mile radius that we can justify, because all nine of us manage to eat for approximately $24.00. You just can't beat that deal.

Managing to quiet the kids, I waited patiently for the cashier to arrive. Once she got there, I read through my well-memorized script. "Nine people, two adults, seven kids, here are my six kids eat free coupons, the baby is under two." I smiled brightly and handed her my check card, waiting for the beautiful $24.37 to appear on the cash register screen.

My expression changed quickly, however, when instead of taking my card, she handed back two of my precious coupons.

"It's two each," she said quietly.

I could feel anger building in my chest as I retorted, "They always have taken them before!" Who was she to tell me that I could only use four of my six coupons? This was not The Way It Was Supposed To Work.

"Some people do it differently," she acknowledged softly, nodding her head and taking my card.

"Well," I snipped, "That is good to know." Man, I was mad. So I'd just had the misfortune of getting the one employee who didn't feel like taking all my coupons? Did she used to work at one of the restaurants that love to put in bold letters, "Kids Eat Free" while writing in tiny letters, "Two children per adult"? I might have managed not to go on a wordy tirade, but I'm sure she could tell from my expression that I was upset.

Imagine my confusion, then, when the cash register popped up my favorite $24.37. For a split second, I was elated. "See what speaking up gets me?" I thought proudly. "She went ahead and gave me the deal I deserved! Sometimes we just have to speak our mind quickly in order to get what we want."

Boy was I happy as I left and walked into the eating area....for about seven steps. That's how many steps it took for my brain to catch up with my ego.

"Oh, shoot!" I thought, literally hanging my head as I got to our table.

The cashier hadn't been trying to cheat me, she'd been trying to *help* me. "It's two each," she'd said, reminding me that the fine print at the bottom actually says, "Two children per coupon." She had handed the last two back to me because I didn't need them...all seven of my children had been covered by the first four.

"They always have taken them before," I'd snapped, completely misunderstanding her.

Sweetly, she'd responded, "Some people do it differently." Yeah, she was right. Most people took all my coupons, not going to any length to show me that I could save a few for later.

This lady had gone out of her way to help me, and what did she get in response? Anger. Bitterness. Attitude. All because I opened my mouth before I used my brain.

Our pastor spoke on this very subject last Sunday. He talked about James 1:19: "This you know, my beloved brethren. But everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger." (NASB)

Slow to speak. Slow to Anger. I did neither of those things tonight. And as a result, Christ's light was not reflected from me. Maybe I didn't rant and rave, but I made it obvious that I was angry. Undeserved anger.

I decided as I sat at the table that I need not only to be slow to speak, I also need to be quick to shut up. I need to take a breath before I take action. As God's Word says, I need to be quick to hear.

And we all know we can't hear anything if we're the one talking.

These are Your Daughters

I have pretty significant "Yes" moments associated with each of my children. I thought that since I committed to writing this blog for a year, that I would journal about each of these times on the birthday of that child. I already spoke about the Yes moment that I had with Kahlan, which began my motherhood journey. Today it is Kayanna's birthday, and the Yes experience I had with her had just as much of an impact on my life.

Around January of 2007, I was sitting on the third floor of the courthouse in the Child Protective Services waiting room. I currently had a placement of three children who we had foster parented for almost two years. It was a difficult time in the placement; we had been told a few months before that the social worker would be filing for termination of parental rights on the parents of our three foster children, but we weren't sure whether that would actually happen.

(I need to do an entire blog entry some night on my experiences as foster mother, but I just need to say here that my goal as a foster parent is always to help reunite children with their birthparents. I feel very strongly that no one should become a foster parent if adoption is his/her main goal. Foster parenting may lead to adoption, but that is the worst case scenario, as the best ending to a case is to successfully bring a family back together.)

As I sat looking through an old copy of Good Housekeeping, the door opened. A lady who I knew from my foster care parent training class came in with two little girls and a baby boy. One of the little girls smiled at me, and I returned the gesture. "What sweethearts, I thought, noticing how much the two girls looked alike.

"These are your daughters." It was not an audible voice, but a feeling. Not a question, but a calm knowledge that came from nowhere. Certainly it was not something that came from me, I knew that. After all, I had three birth children and was possibly adopting the three foster children who lived in my home.

"That's really weird," I remember thinking before shaking away the thought and continuing on with my magazine article.

Four months passed in a blur. The three children who I still love as if they were my flesh and blood ended up returning to their birthmom, and we accepted a case that involved a four year old girl (who I blogged about previously in the entry "Nursery Rhymes and Popsicle Sticks) and her baby sister. Life was definitely busy, but when I was asked to co-teach the course that trains people to become foster parents, I jumped at the opportunity.

Somewhere around the eighth session out of twelve, we have a birth parent come in and speak to the class. Our goal is to "debunk" the stereotypes and myths that the average person believes about birthparents. This first year, we had a mom come in who had recently been reunified with her three daughters. They had spent four months in foster care, but their mom had gotten her life back together and the girls had returned home to her. Imagine my surprise when that same lady I had seen in the waiting room came to sit next to her as the former foster mother!

"Wow," I thought, thinking of those two girls I had seen in the waiting room. "What a coincidence!"

"These are your daughters." There it was again! That calm, certain feeling that I had completely forgotten about. I remember feeling completely shocked and confused. I had never had this feeling about any other children who I didn't know, why would I have it about these same girls twice? I didn't even get to hear most of what the birthmom had to say as I battled the thought that I was probably going crazy. After all, these girls weren't even in foster care anymore! They were home! I determined to put the thoughts out of my head for good.

We had quite a few placements come and go over the next year. By the time January of 2008 rolled around, we had fostered 19 children, and I was unexpectedly pregnant. Since we were going to have the baby in April of that year, we let our foster care coordinator know that we would not be taking any more foster children until after the baby was born.

The phone rang one Friday night in early January. I answered quickly and was surprised to hear my coordinator on the other end of the line.

"I know this is really bad timing, what with the baby coming and all, and I know that you and Steve said that you didn't want to look at adoption until your birth children were teenagers, but...."

Uh oh.

"We have a sibling group that is currently placed in foster care and potentially is going to need an adoptive home," she finished.

I am not sure I even responded for a full minute or so. This was completely shocking to say the least.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to just do a few weekend respite sessions and see if you would be willing to pursue something permanent if the children can't return to their birthparents."

I remember asking some questions, like how old the children were, what their behavioral needs were, and asking some information about their current placement, but I really was only making conversation. After all, there was no way that we were going to adopt three children when we were about to give birth to our fourth! This was not in "Our Plan".

I ended up saying yes to one weekend respite session, mostly because my coordinator indicated that the foster parents really needed a break and that there wasn't another family available to help out on that particular weekend. "No harm in two days of work," I thought.

As the weekend loomed near, however, I started having second thoughts. The pregnancy was difficult on me, and I was tired and feeling sick. "Do I really want to do this?" I asked myself. I really didn't.

I picked up the phone to call my coordinator, when suddenly a strange feeling washed over me and I just knew that if I made that call, I would regret it. "All right, God," I prayed, "I'm listening. You know how crummy I feel, but it's Your call."

I placed the phone back in its cradle and started preparing myself for the task ahead. "It's only two days," I kept reminding myself.

Soon Friday dawned and it was time for the children to arrive. We anxiously watched out the window for the headlights to turn into our driveway.

Moments later I opened the door and stood stunned. There in front of me were the two girls I had seen a year before in the courthouse waiting room, along with their older sister. I had known that we would be watching three girls, and that they had been in foster care previously, but I hadn't for a moment thought that it would be these three girls who I thought had been safely reunited with their mom.

"I'm Kayanna," the oldest girl said, holding her coat for me to take.

"Hi, Kayanna," I responded, still shaken.

"These are your daughters," the feeling spread through me again, making so much more sense than before.

I managed to get them all tucked in bed before really sitting down to think through all the events that were now connected. I remember taking a moment to praise God that I had listened to Him instead of canceling the respite weekend.

He knew, even though I didn't even know at that time, that those three girls would be my children. He was there with me as Steve and I truly did everything we could to support the birthmother so that she could get her daughters back; He was with us when the girls suddenly needed a new foster home (that's another blog altogether); He was with us when we made the decision to move them into our home; He was with us as I testified in court and as the judge made the decision that the best thing for the girls was for them to be adopted.

He knew, way back in 2007, that on October 11th, 2009 Kayanna was going to turn eleven years old in our home. He knew that I would love her and her sisters as I love the children born from my body. He knew.

I can't bear to think of how different my life would be if I had said No instead of Yes. I am so grateful that I listened to Him.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

God is so good.

Big White Van

We purchased a new van a few months ago. There wasn't anything wrong with our old van, we just ran into a small problem when it came to fitting all of us in it. Once we knew that the adoption was going to go through, we headed over to a local dealership to see if we could find something that would allow all of us to have our very own seat.

We finally settled on a fifteen passenger van. I had been hoping for a nice "blending in to the cars around it" color, like camouflage green or something, but when you need a van that big, they only come in one color: white. A big, white van. No hiding for us as we drive down the road, that's for sure.

As I was coming home from a shopping trip yesterday, I realized that I want to be just like my vehicle when it comes to my relationship with Christ. I want to be so passionate for Christ that everyone can see it as they pass by. Maybe they won't know what it is, but I want them to think, "Whatever she has, I want it."

Jude 1:21 tells us that those who are the beloved of Christ should, "keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting anxiously for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to eternal life."

Think of a time that you have been anxious in a positive way. For example, think of a time you were looking forward to visiting with a loved one you hadn't seen in a long time, or a time you were a child and waiting with baited breath for your birthday party. When we live anxiously, we are passionately excited. It's all we can think about; it fills our mind and heart. This is how God wants us to live for Him.

Living anxiously for God is like driving a big white van. People all around you can see it.

(And we're filled and fueled for free!)

Parasites

Moving from a suburb in upstate New York to a suburb in Western Wisconsin was really not much of a culture shock. The populations are the same, the weather is pretty much the same (trading colder weather for less snow), and the people talk the same (except for the pronunciation of "root"). So, of course, when I moved out here and a few weeks later noticed a little black speck on my husband, I assumed it was a spider.

It looked like a spider. It was dark, and had some number of legs, and seemed a little creepy. Must be a spider.

Except it wasn't. It was something that, to me, was much worse. Steve explained that they were called ticks. I had never heard of them. We didn't have ticks where I grew up, and believe me I crawled through many a forest as a child. Had there been ticks in my neighborhood, I would have found them.

So for those of you who haven't had the lovely tick experience yet, I'll give you a little hint. They are a lot like spiders, except they also stick their little heads into your skin and suck your blood. And to make matters worse, they are difficult to remove, and almost impossible to kill. Actually, your best bet at killing them with your bare hands (versus a lighter, a toilet, or tape) is if they have been feeding on you or your loved ones for a while. Then, they'll squish very easily. Might want to have a tissue on hand, though.

Now that I have thoroughly grossed out many of you, I'll get to my point.

It's been many years, and many ticks, since that first experience. I have gone from screaming for Steve when I see one, to volunteering to be the one to pull the pesky things off the kids. So today, when Kayanna told me that Aliegha had a tick on her back, I grabbed a roll of tape and headed to the rescue.

This tick really meant business. Normally I can remove them pretty easily, but this one was pretty cozy. I got most of it in the first swipe, but its head was definitely left behind. My fingers couldn't get it to budge.

Armed with a little knife, I went to work. It took about three minutes, but I was finally able to pry it out and declare Aliegha tick-free. It was important that I get the head out, because we are well schooled out here to know that while the head is in the skin, disease can still be transmitted. We must remove the entire parasite.

Sin is a lot like a tick. When it gets a hold of us, it isn't easy to remove. We might do a quick swipe at it by identifying what is causing it, but if we don't remove it by changing our actions, thoughts, or choices, we are susceptible to becoming diseased.

Just like some ticks can spread Lyme disease, sin spreads spiritual disease. The best way to protect ourselves is to make sure that once we identify an area of sin in our life, we do everything we can to kill it.

In the movie Fireproof, the main character who is played by Kirk Cameron is dealing with the sin of pornography. At first, he tries turning his computer off and busying himself with other things. Soon enough, he finds himself sitting in front of it again. So what does he do when he realizes that just a "quick swipe" isn't enough? He takes a baseball bat to his computer and throws the whole thing in the garbage. This may sound extreme, but we want to do whatever it takes to remove anything that is tempting us to sin.

"If your right eye makes you stumble, tear it out and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to go into hell." (Matthew 5:29-31)

For me, one of the things I have struggled with is putting things above my family in priority. This has taken many forms, but I'll give you an example. I love to read. It is one of my favorite things to do. But I can't just read one page, or a chapter, of a fiction book. Once I'm hooked, I might as well be a carved statue instead of a mother. I don't hear what my children say, I don't clean the house, I don't cook supper. I just read. And not only was I hooked until the very final page, I'd find myself longing to escape into another one soon after. For a long time I went back and forth, but I finally decided that if I couldn't read a little, then I couldn't read at all. So now I just pick up a fiction book once a year or so, and I'll take it with me on vacation, or read through it quickly in a night. Because even though I love to read, I love my family more. And mama isn't pretty when she's in the middle of chapter eight.

Do you have something in your life that you've been swiping at, only to leave the head of it still buried underneath your skin? These two verses together have been helping me immensely as I continue to deal with stubborn sin:

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9 NASB)

and

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it. (1 Corinthians 10:13 NASB)

We are promised that we will be forgiven the sins of our past if we confess them to God. We are promised that He will not tempt us beyond what we can bear. Notice that He does not say that we will not be tempted at all. We will be tempted. But if we keep our eyes on Him, He will provide a way out for us so that we will not fall beneath its weight.

He gives us the perfect pair of tweezers to pluck the head of that sin right out of our skin. All we have to do is ask.

I Think I Just Said No

All day today I bumped into different messages about saying Yes to God in difficult situations. The song on the different Christian radio station I happened to try out today was about obedience, my Bible study talked about it, it was all over the place. I even teared up when listening to a radio broadcast on my way home from church, because guess what the message was about? Following God's prompting in difficult or embarrassing situations. I have been doing so well with saying Yes, and that was what the tears were for; I was just so excited that I finally "got it".

So, enter 2:00. It's time for me to go get my five year old from Kindergarten. For some reason I grabbed my iPod Touch from the top of the refrigerator. I hadn't even touched it in probably a week, but I grabbed it. As I was walking out the door, I thought to look to see if Kay Arthur had podcasts that I could listen to on my iPod, but quickly realized that you kind of need the internet in order to do that, and I kind of can't access the internet while walking down the street. So, I basically carried it in my hand and rotated it around every once in a while, wishing my pants had pockets.

A minute or so later I was standing in the school waiting for Shaylee to appear. A lady walked past me to wait also. I immediately had the feeling that I should give her my iPod. My response was kind of like this:

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Now this was not a Random Thought. This wasn't like thinking that your Uncle Fred needs a new couch and absentmindedly wondering if you should give him yours before remembering that he doesn't like the color blue. This was like being told that I needed to give this woman my iPod and then feeling my heart race and my face flush as I struggled with it.

You'll notice that my thoughts all started with the same word...

"But it's MY iPod! But Steve gave it to me! But he inscribed the back of it with my name and the sweetest little sentiment on it! But she wouldn't even have a charger for it, what good would it do her? But it has my kids' pictures on it and I don't even know this woman, that's a big deal! But I am logged on to Facebook on it, she'd have all my information, and my emails!"

(I'm going to write this one in parentheses, because we all know that guys tend to skip over stuff in parentheses, right? But ladies, it even had my menstrual cycle information in it!!! This is personal stuff!)

No matter what I said, no matter how much I whined in my head, I could not get that feeling to go away. So I kind of sort of thought about it. I looked for a quick way to reset it, but couldn't figure it out. I thought about giving it to her and asking her to reset it, but couldn't make myself be okay with the fact that she might not do that. I thought about giving it to her and then telling her that I can't imagine why God would ask me to do that, and then ask for her to give it back, but I figured that wasn't exactly what God probably had in mind. I even thought about giving it to her with the HOPE that she would just give it back, but what if she didn't?

All these thoughts were racing through my head as I walked out of the school. When I looked up for a quick second, guess who was walking in front of me? Yep. I followed her down the sidewalk, even crossing the street when she did, giving me time to wrestle my thoughts around.

In the end, I just didn't do it. I want to say that I couldn't do it, but of course I could have. I just didn't.

The fact is, it isn't good for a stranger to have information about you. Steve might very well have been upset that I gave it away. But if God was truly telling me to give that lady my iPod, then I was disobedient. I may have missed out on something wonderful that God had in store for me, or missed out on the opportunity to be a witness for Christ. After all, how many people have walked up to you and just given you a $300 item? If they did, you'd probably take a minute to find out why, wouldn't you? I would.

In her book, What Happens When Women Say Yes to God, Lysa TerKeurst says, "One thing you can be assured of is that God has already worked out all the details of what your obedience will accomplish - and it's good. We need not fear what our obedience will cause to happen in our life. We should only fear what our disobedience will cause us to miss."

I don't know if God wanted me to do this to benefit the lady he chose, or me. Maybe both of us would have been blessed because of it. It might have been that He just wanted to give me an opportunity to show my obedience to Him. Whatever it was, I won't know what the result would have been.

Maybe the lesson in all this is that I can't ever think I have this journey all mapped out. This morning I thought that I really had a handle on saying Yes, and this afternoon I realized that I never will. Why? Because if saying Yes was easy, it wouldn't be a big deal.

And it is.

Full Service

I was in the DMV a few weeks ago to renew my driver's license. Normally just the thought of that busy place gives me shivers, but this time was different. I walked in with six of my seven kids, and after sitting them down, proceeded to the first counter. A stern looking gentleman asked me what my purpose was. Fighting the urge to respond sarcastically about my general life purpose, I stated my business. He printed out my ticket and an amazing thing happened. As he gave me the paper, my number flashed on the screen. I was dumbfounded. No wait at the DMV? That is just unheard of!

So I headed up to the counter and met a very nicely dressed employee. As he was asking me a series of questions to determine why I had waited three months to renew my license (he was happy to hear that I had not been pulled over and forced to comply with the law, and not so amused to hear that I just procrastinate a lot), another man approached behind him.

"Sir, I just wanted to inform you that the vehicle is filled and ready for your departure," he said.

Wow. I was quite impressed. Obviously this guy was much higher on the DMV chain than I had assumed when he began helping me. I had never seen someone addressed in such a professional manner, and he didn't even have to fill up his own gas tank! As I gathered the kids and headed back out the van, I couldn't stop thinking about how intriguing that exchange had been.

So now it is weeks later and I am driving to my Tuesday morning Bible study. Ten million things seemed to go wrong as I was getting everyone ready to go out the door, and I was pretty frazzled.

I remembered the DMV official with envy and maybe a touch of resentment. "I wish I had someone who would come tell me that I was all filled up and ready to go," I thought.

I don't think even a second passed before I thought, "Oh."

I do have someone who fills me up. In fact, He doesn't just fill me up when I have a long trip ahead of me. He doesn't just fill me up when I have an important meeting, and He doesn't just fill me up because my company pays Him to.

He fills me up every morning. He even tops me off throughout the day. What Full Service attendant not only gets you ready for your journey, but rides along with you as your guide?

Ours does.

How grateful I am that though I have done nothing in my own power to deserve it, God loves me so much that even when I'm feeling empty, I'm full.

When the Answer Is No

If you're anything like me, you have a really hard time saying, "No." After all, we want to make people happy, right? And if that means that we suddenly have fifty things on our calendar for the next ten days, well, we'll just have to get through it.

But does God want us to say, "Yes," all the time?

Long ago, when I began my Christian walk, I thought that saying yes to ministry opportunities was what I was supposed to do. I wanted to help, desired the friendships that blossomed when I was able to assist someone in need. So, sometimes, I committed to things that I really didn't have the heart for.

My world got a little bit crazy. I was rushing from one place to another, constantly thinking of the next pencil scratched appointment on my calendar. In all the chaos of trying to be everyone, everywhere, all the time, I started to lose who I really was.

It was the wisdom of my friend Beth that finally made me slow down. She told me that I was replaceable in almost every role I was playing in my hectic-don't-sit-down-for-a-minute life. Someone else can teach Sunday School, someone else can help a young mother clean her house, someone else can write the school newsletter. Maybe I have a talent for those things, but if I didn't do them, someone else would.

"But," she said, "No one else can be the wife to your husband. No one else can be the mother to your children. No one else can be in charge of enriching your relationship with God." Only me.

What happens if someone doesn't show up for a job that only she can do? You already know, don't you? Because you have been there, too. Things start to fall apart. When we take on too much, our families carry the burden with us. The crazy thing is that often we don't see how fast we're going until we slow down.

It's still hard for me to say no sometimes. The big difference now is that I take the time to pray before answering. It's amazing how many things don't seem as urgent after a quiet time spent in prayer. And guess what? Those times I've said, "No, thank you"? Nothing fell apart. The world didn't end. Someone else stepped up.

Sometimes someone else is *supposed* to step up. It doesn't always have to be that the answer to every problem involves us. That was a hard thing for me to figure out, but my important one-and-only roles have been blessed because I did.

Remarkably, learning how to say no to the things I don't feel led to do has enabled me to find so much more joy in the ministries and obligations that I do commit to. I look forward to seeing what is in store for me each day.

Little Yes

This morning, I was playing with my toddler and suddenly thought that I should grab my camera and take pictures of him. No big deal, right? I wasn't sure why I was picking that exact moment to do a photo study, but I went with it. I didn't think to myself, "Oh, this is God talking, I better listen," but I didn't know that it wasn't. So I took the pictures...not just one, but around 15. Different angles, different expressions. Beautiful close-ups of his face as he turned to look at me; rapid shots of him toddling away. When I put the camera down, I felt satisfied for no reason at all.

About two hours later, we went to the mall so my oldest daughter could get her ears pierced. While my husband and I were waiting for the girls to be done shopping, I had an idea. James had been referred to as a girl probably about six times in just one day. I had until this point refused to cut his hair, because he had the most adorable ring of curls around his head. Steve placated me for a while, but I could tell that he thought it was getting a little silly, especially when one of my girls surprised him by putting James in pig tails.

"All right," I thought, "Enough is enough. I'll just walk down the hall and take him to the salon. We'll get his little boy haircut that everyone's been telling me about."

I was about halfway to the hairdresser when I realized that I was forgetting a crucial part of the first-hair-cut ritual: my camera. So I went to Coach House Gifts...no disposable cameras. Sears, same thing. Radio Shack, ditto. I was so sad. Here I had gotten myself all geared up to make my baby into a little man, and I was going to have to wait because I would have no way of documenting the beautiful curls I had caressed for a year.

That's when I remembered the pictures I had taken earlier. I remembered the urge I had felt to take photo after photo of my little boy. I didn't need a disposable camera, because the pictures were already taken.

It was an amazing realization. That still, small feeling I'd had? God knew my day. Would I have had heartbreaking consequences if I hadn't listened? Not this time. But I would have been frustrated and disappointed. How amazing is it that God cares about even the small moments of our life?

Sometimes a little Yes blesses you in a big way.

Planting the Seed

I do not have a green thumb. Actually, putting myself in the same sentence with the words, "green thumb" is an insult to plant enthusiasts. And believe me, it is not for lack of trying that I fail in this department. I would love to have a garden full of blossoming flowers to walk through in summer afternoons, it just hasn't ever really worked out that way. There are too many variables for me to keep track of: soil that can't be too rocky, weeds that seem to grow in my yard just fine (sure, these I can grow!), water that has to be just enough but not too much, seeds that can't have sat in my kitchen drawer for five years. The list is endless.

While thinking of my gardening woes, I happened to come across a Bible verse about a totally different type of seed:

Matthew 8:5-8 says, "The sower went out to sow his seed; and as he sowed, some fell beside the road, and it was trampled under foot and the birds of the air ate it up.

"Other seed fell on rocky soil, and as soon as it grew up, it withered away, because it had no moisture.

"Other seed fell among the thorns; and the thorns grew up with it and choked it out.

"Other seed fell into the good soil, and grew up, and produced a crop a hundred times as great."

Okay, well this certainly sounds like my personal planting dilemma. So I read on:

Matthew 8:11-15 says, "Now the parable is this: the seed is the word of God.

"Those beside the road are those who have heard; then the devil comes and takes away the word from their heart, so that they will not believe and be saved.

"Those on the rocky soil are those who, when they hear, receive the word with joy; and these have no firm root; they believe for a while, and in time of temptation fall away.

"The seed which fell among the thorns, these are the ones who have heard, and as they go on their way they are choked with worries and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to maturity.

"But the seed in the good soil, these are the ones who have heard the word in an honest and good heart, and hold it fast, and bear fruit with perseverance."

Now this type of planting has always caused me a bit of stress. It is hard to talk with strangers or loved ones about God when you aren't sure what their responses will be. Yet we are commanded by God to be a light for Him, certainly we should desire to be a witness for His kingdom.

In talking about this with my husband, he really brought something to light for me that has eased my hesitation. He asked me what I was worried about when entering a situation where I feel led to share the gospel.

"Well, I'm worried that I won't do well enough and I will fail."

"And what does it mean to fail?" he asked.

"The person I am witnessing to won't accept Christ as his or her Savior," I replied.

His next words changed the way I view evangelism. He said, "That's not your job."

What? What do you mean not my job? I'm supposed to sow the seed, water it, give it the right soil, prune it, take away the weeds, remove the insects, and then hope I get to watch it grow into a beautiful plant, right?

Wrong. That might be what we are supposed to do when gardening, but it isn't what we are supposed to do when planting for the Kingdom.

God calls us to deliver His message to the people, but He doesn't call us to change their hearts. That's His job.

"So then neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but God who causes the growth." (1 Corinthians 3:7 NASB)

If we witness to a hundred people, and only two of them accept Christ as their Savior, we have done our job as well as if all of them accepted Him. He calls us to spread His gospel. We are rewarded when we obey.

It's amazing how much this truth has freed me to share my faith with people. Before, I would wait until I knew I had a good relationship with someone before broaching the subject. Now, I find ways to insert God into conversations with cashiers, telemarketers, anyone who has a moment of time. Because by doing that, I planted a seed, and that's what my Father asks of me.

So this year, I took a different approach with my gardening. I didn't wait for the perfect conditions, I just did my best.

Guess who has a beautiful orange pumpkin growing in her backyard?

Hunger and Thirst

So I decided to switch up my dieting adventure today. In case you haven't heard of my previous dieting plan, it was called the "lose all your excess weight and then get pregnant and gain it all back again" plan. It's great. Hey, it's a wonderful plan if you are trying to get pregnant...just get down to a size 8, wait about three weeks, and voila!

Well, my quiver is full and we are done with the pregnancy scene. So I figure now is the time to lose my "thank you, baby James" weight and get off this dieting roller coaster once and for all. So my day went kind of like this:

7:00 - Breakfast (Hooray! I'm starving and that cereal tastes really good!)
7:05 - Hmmm...only two hours and 25 minutes until my snack. I'm hungry.
9:26 - Close enough! Oh man, food is awesome.
10:30 - I wonder what I am going to eat for lunch. Just thinking about all the possibilities makes my mouth water.
12:02 - (The phone rings as I am about to take my first bite of food.) What??! Oh, man, now I have to talk to someone? Don't they know it's lunch time????
1:45 - I don't think it counts as real calories if you are sharing a cracker with your baby.
5:30 - Supper time! And my stomach echoes the sentiment of my son Joseph's prayer before we ate, "Dear Lord, please don't let me starve to death while waiting for this prayer to be done."

All day. Constant thoughts about food. Drinking water to fill my stomach so that I can think of something OTHER than food. Opening the cupboards to see if new food has magically appeared.

It was in the middle of one of those mental food-binges that I realized that I want to crave God like I crave meal time.

I want to long for Him. I want to hunger for Him. I want to thirst for His Word. I want to count down the minutes until I have my next quiet time with Him.

Instead of opening a cupboard, I want to open my Bible and see what He has in store for me.

I want my day to be like this:

7:00 - "He awakens me morning by morning, He awakens my ear to listen as a disciple." (Isaiah 50:4 NASB)
9:30 - "For this is the love of God, that we keep His commandments; and His commandments are not burdensome." (1 John 5:3)
12:00 - "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Phil 4:6-7)
2:30 - "Call to Me and I will answer you, and I will tell you great and mighty things, which you do not know." (Jeremiah 33:3)
5:00 - "I am the bread of life, he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst." (John 6:35)
7:30 - "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)

Millions of people across the world are caught up in the diet and binge cycle; it consumes our time and our thoughts. Imagine if we spent even half of that energy on feasting with God.

I bet we'd find our hunger is finally satisfied.