Snapshots

I should have known better as soon as the slightly smug smile crossed my lips. "I really don't need a Bible study on forgiveness," I told my friend, explaining my absence from our Tuesday morning study. "I've wrestled that beast and come out the other side."

Should have known better than to think I didn't need God anymore in that struggle.

It didn't hit me that day, or the next. It didn't come in a slow realization or a meditation on God's Word. It came in the form of a series of pictures that I unearthed from the basement.

"Before" pictures of my oldest son. Smiling, happy, engaged. Holding up a toy for me to see. (Do you know how many years it took us to teach him how to do that when "after" happened?)

In a millisecond, it crushed me. As if a physical weight had been tossed on top of me, my breath rushed from my lungs. Guilt. Awful, terrible, ugly guilt.

"He was fine!" I moaned aloud, touching the picture lovingly with my finger as if I could reach out and caress my twenty-month old son from the past. And just like that, all the old thoughts came tumbling through my brain...accusing me of not being there, not being good enough, not knowing enough, not getting help fast enough. WHY couldn't YOU SEE?!?! the voice screamed in my mind.

As I doubled over with emotional pain, my husband lovingly took the pictures from my hands. "It was God's plan for Joseph to have autism," he told me as he folded his arms around me.

And just like that, the physical photos that seemed to be seared into my mind were replaced with different snapshots. Snapshots of my After Joseph that I wouldn't trade for all the typically-developing memories in the world:

The first time he looked me in the eye and said, "I love you, Mom." Click

Sitting, in shock, across a hospital table from my practically non-verbal son as he clearly met my gaze and miraculously said, "Thanks, Mom, for helping the doctors fix me." Click

Joseph and I crying together in the bowling alley parking lot after I had carried him kicking and screaming from a birthday party that had too much noise, too many lights, too many people...my little boy feeling broken, but clinging to me because somehow he hoped I held the answers. Click

Defying every human statistic and praying with my son as he accepted Christ as his Savior. Click

"What will I do when you're too old for this?" I asked him as we walked across the parking lot of his favorite restaurant this week. "Don't worry, Mom," he answered, squeezing his fingers around mine. "I'll always want to hold your hand."

Click. Click. Click.

Pictures of love. Snapshots of Grace. Memories that took the guilt I'd felt and exposed it for the fraud that it is.

God doesn't make mistakes, and He doesn't punish our children with autism when WE make mistakes. When he knit Joseph in my womb, He knew and loved him just as he was, just as he would be.

When He created my son, He knew that all those snapshots were coming. And He knows the ones that we haven't seen yet...the future that will become memories that we will cherish forever.

I know now that I probably won't ever have the beast of forgiveness defeated. But the truth is, I don't have to.

Because Jesus died so that he could slay that monster for me. I just give it all to Him, and He takes care of the rest.

Leaving me with plenty of time to flip through my snapshots.

Jesus Freak

There she was sitting at the table alone. Again. Music pumping through her iPod, pen scratching away through a notebook of paper. It was supposed to be "family time" and my twelve year old had done everything she could to get out of it.

I marched up the deck steps to confront her. As I started my mother-tirade, tears filled her eyes. When I finished, she handed me the letter she had written. "I'm sorry," she said before I could start reading, "but last night as I was going to sleep I just had the strongest feeling that I needed to write this letter to my friend. I didn't want to wait."

I still today stand firm that family time should not involve iPods and teenager self-alienation. But my fury that moment faded quickly as I read the letter she had written. I wanted to share it here, because it had a profound effect on me:


Please, please don't throw this letter away, 'cuz whether you think so rite now or not, it is prob the most important letter you will ever get.
I just want to let you know that now, I'm a "Jesus Freak." And I'm not ashamed of it.
I know what you're thinking rite now, "OMG she's gone off her rocker," or something. But for me, being a Christian isn't just a "religion" or some other crap.
It's having a super-close friendship with the dude who's in control of EVERYTHING, the good AND the bad. He made everything from scratch, even me and you, even the freaky guy who lives next to you.
He loves all the people He made, too, even the druggers, rapists, and prostitutes. All that bad stuff.
He watches over everything, and he's watching me write this letter, you reading it, what the new terrorist plans are, even.
Pretty cool. ;)
The next thing is, the fact that we're both bad people. Maybe not the worst, but still bad people.
So is every person in the world that's alive, dead, or going to be alive later. Every single one.
Admit it. You got caught doing bad stuff. Ha, I can't even start counting the bad things I've done.
My point?
None of us are perfect. Not even close.
Which means, we're all going to hell to be tortured FOREVER. Basically, our sin is a one way ticket to death.
Or at least it should be.
My next point is, it doesn't have to be a ticket to hell. Right now, you're prob thinking one of two things: 1) Why the heck am I listening to this? 2)How do I get saved?
Hopefully the second one.
Answer to the first one: Because you love me. :)
Answer to the second: So, thousands of years ago there was this guy named Jesus. He was born from a virgin named Mary. Which, I know, is pretty much impossible.
Not if you're REALLY the son of God, the head honcho, put inside a human body.
Which he was.
So this guy, Jesus, lived on earth for like 30 years.
During these years, he did all kinds of cool and otherwise impossible stuff. Like, bring a DEAD person back to life, and way more!
But, for some weird reason, the leaders of the town where Jesus lived decided to hate him. They began to make plans to destroy him and win back the spotlight.
They paid another dude named Judas to betray Jesus.
In the end, they tortured him, then hung him from a cross. Ouch! He had nails pounded through his hands, and feet, and had to HANG from the cross until he died.
Back in those days, only the evilist bad guys had to die like that. But Jesus was and will be the ONLY perfect person EVER.
After lots of pain, Jesus died.
The REALLY, REALLY cool part?
Three days later, he came back to life!!! How crazy is that?!
Anyway, here comes my final point: Jesus died for your sins. For all the bad stuff you've done, and will do. Not just for you, but the whole WORLD! He took all our bad stuff into HIM when he died so that we don't have to go to hell for sure.
If we believe that Jesus was God's son, and that he died for us, then we don't have to be scared or embarrassed anymore.
God will actually come INTO you, and promises that he'll never, ever leave you.
That we don't have to spend 4ever in hell.
That we can go to heaven, forever!
That's all you have to do. God's not asking you to be perfect, or pay a million dollars.
He just wants you to love him and believe in him.
And he'll forgive you, and it will be like you never did anything wrong.
I love you, too, and that's why I want you to be a "Jesus Freak" just like me.
I love you too much to just sit on my butt and watch you screw up and go to hell.
I love you too much to give up.

I was really impressed. The way she had written about her faith so that a teenage friend with no background in what she was saying could understand it was amazing to me.

But you know what my first thought was? What I almost said?

Don't send it.

Through my mind flashed images of her being laughed at, teased, mocked, and socially stranded. All I could think about was the worldly ramifications that a letter like this could cause her.

I thank God that I didn't open my mouth, that those words never left my lips.

My daughter, perfectly aware of the social world she lives in, feels conviction that God is asking her to write this letter to her friend, and *I* am going to tell her not to? What would that have said to her? What would that have shown her about my faith and my constant teaching that we have to stand up for Christ even if it means we stand alone? What message would that have etched on her heart?

I am proud that she is proud to be a Christian. She taught me a lesson that day. God loves her even more than I can imagine, and His promises of a hope and a future are the same for her as they are for me.

It isn't every day that a twelve year old shows you what being "All in for Him" truly means. I'm grateful for the lesson.

The Voice of God

It's a feeling...a knowledge that doesn't come from my thoughts. It's seeing something that I didn't see before; discovering the harmony to a melody I've sung a hundred times. It's a whisper on the wind, the skip of a heartbeat. So soft I don't always know if it's me or Him.

(You need to talk to her. Your child needs you, do you see the look in her eyes? Have you opened your Bible today? Be careful.)

This is how He taps me on the shoulder.


It's a persistent reminder that shows itself all over my life. It's a friend saying the very words I'm thinking. It's opening my Bible to a verse that speaks directly to my heart. It's a solution that presents itself while I'm still wrestling with the problem.

(You don't have to be "good enough." Wait on My timing. Be anxious for nothing. Use the gifts I've given you. You are never alone.)

This is how He guides me.


It's a flush in my cheeks, a heat within me. It's the sudden racing of my heart. It's a conviction so strong I can think of nothing else. It has brought me to my knees before Him. It feels like being filled. If I don't move, it moves me.

(Tell that woman that I love her. Do you hear what he just said...he is asking you for your testimony. It is time. She needs you right now. Pray for him.)

This is how He speaks to me.


It's one more breath. It's living when I was dying. It's taking one more step when I have nothing left to give. It's Scripture I didn't even know I had memorized that tumbles relentlessly through my mind. It's feeling broken and knowing He has made me whole.

(I can't breathe, Lord! I will breathe for you. I can't handle this pain! Give it to Me. I've done everything I can do to help her, I can't do it anymore. You can. (Phil. 4:13) I can't sleep, God, I'm so worried about this. "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything with prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:4-8) I can't do this on my own!)

My Son died so that you don't have to.

This is how He carries me.

Three Kids and a Dog

The first phone call came in April. It was the first of two calls that answered a prayer that Steve and I had fervently prayed for more than three years:

Our daughter was coming home.

In February of 2007, three children (Breanna, Nate, and Hailie) who lived with us through foster care reunited with their birthmother. But this was no ordinary foster care case. For many reasons, including the fact that they had lived with us for over 21 months, these children felt like they were our own. We stayed in contact with them, helping their mom by taking them on alternating weekends and on family vacations, making sure they knew that we were still a mom and a dad to them.

A year passed, and Kayanna, Aliegha, and Shaylee came to live with us...ultimately becoming our children in heart and law. But we weren't complete. Our prayers remained the same: "Lord, if it is Your will, bring our children home."

And in April, He sent Breanna home to us.

Two months later, another phone call; another answered prayer.

Nate and Hailie were coming home. Not for forever, but for now. Now is good.

I am still raising my eyebrow at the third phone call. After all, I do not remember praying for Breanna's dog to join us. In fact, I am certain that I didn't.

Apparently, Breanna has been praying for her dog. And so, at 4:30 in the morning, we got another phone call. The dog needed an emergency home. Steve and Breanna were delighted...I was skeptical.

So far, though, everything is going well. And the truth is, I would have taken in an elephant if it meant I could have the opportunity to raise my three children for a while.

I'm counting my blessings; they multiply faster than I can number them.

Illuminate

I walked smack into the middle of a crossroads this week.

I didn't see it coming.

My path had been nice and straight for a few years...diapering babies and chasing toddlers a reliable companion. Somehow as the babies became toddlers and the toddlers became children, more babies came. When the babies stopped coming, it didn't seem to alter my path, because God expanded our family through adoption and guardianship. (Thank you, Lord.)

And yet this week new roads appeared: branching to the left, veering to the right.

My beloved Precept Upon Precept teacher is unable to teach this fall. Guess who "happens" to be taking the leadership training next month? The same person who feels completely inadequate when she thinks of possibly leading an amazing group of women who have more wisdom in their little fingers than she has in her entire body. Yep, that would be me. Do I step forward?

My daughter needs a Christian school to go to in 2011. She needs a seventh grade teacher, and she needs to attend class in our town. The Christian school where my other children attend, the school where I taught for four years, does not currently have a seventh grade teacher. I have felt God calling me back to teaching, but when?

Out of nowhere, I was asked to consider applying for a part time position working with children. The job description fits my passions and for some reason they felt led to personally invite me to apply, but is that what God wants for me?

Then there is my straight forward road. The road that sees me raising my youngest children to school age and then ministering to them and to my home by being available and unencumbered by the responsibilities of a job. I know that God calls me to be the best mother and wife I can be. I know that if I stay on this path I will have no regrets. But, will I miss something God is calling me to do?

Crossroads. We all reach them. Sometimes the decision is life altering, like walking away from earthly possessions and going into a life of ministry. Sometimes they just take us through an unexpected detour and we come out on the other side blessed by our obedience.

"In the natural" as my friend Rebecca says, I want to start making lists of pros and cons and ifs and buts and whens and wherefores. I want to plow ahead and ask questions and secure decisions.

But life is not about what I want. Life is not about my plans. I've lived that life, the one where I trudge forward by myself, putting God on a shelf in my mind so I can take Him down and dust Him off when I am done being so busy. I don't want to do that anymore.

I learned a valuable lesson in my Precept class in January. One of the ladies was talking about the verse, "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path." (Psalm 119:105) She reminded us that in old times there were no street lights or flashlights to guide people as they walked. Instead, they carried a small lantern that illuminated only the step right in front of them. Truly, that's all they needed...as long as they knew the ground was sure before them, they could take the next step in confidence.

The verse tells us that God's word is our lamp and light. It doesn't promise that God is going to reveal the next five hundred steps, but only the next one. He promises that if we are in Him, He will guide [us] in paths of righteousness for His name's sake. (Psalm 23:3)

This knowledge definitely takes the anxiety out of our crossroads. The truth is, the best thing we can do is pray. We need to pray that He will show us the path He wants us to take. We need to make sure that we don't make big life decisions based on selfish desires or motivations. Sometimes we have to step out in faith, knowing that He will not let us fall. This might mean taking a different path, or it might mean staying on the one we're on.

I don't know what the answers are going to be, and I'm okay with that. I'm just putting one foot in front of the other and watching for the path that God has for me. Because wherever that road takes me, He's going to work it out for good.

"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." (Jer. 29:11)

Emotional Hunger

So I am dieting, again.

Yeah, I know.

It's a radical diet. I'll spare you the details, but it basically entails one real meal of protein and vegetables a day, and protein/fiber bars and shakes for the rest of the day. It's all supervised by a clinic, so it's safe, but it's definitely radical.

But even though I may be running the same road I've run before; the "I'm never going to fail again" road that for thirteen years has taken the "oh just this one little cheat and I'll go right back to it" detour, this time something is different.

The diet is definitely doing what it promised in that I'm truly not physically hungry. My stomach doesn't rumble, I don't feel lightheaded or faint. But I'm finding that wasn't the root of my problem in the first place.

Because even though I'm not physically hungry, I'm emotionally hungry. I miss food. Well, I miss my comfort food. I miss chocolate and bread, I miss french fries and spinach dip.

When I'm bored, stressed, angry, and sad...that's when I miss them. When I'm lonely (hard to believe with eight kids!) or in a hurry, when I'm tired or wanting a "pick me up", I long for them.

Never before have I craved those foods without physical hunger. It has really shown me how much I relied on them in my times of trouble, and it has proven to me that my life-issues troubleshooting is pretty messed up.

God doesn't tell us to turn to food when we need solace. He didn't provide food so that we could temporarily satiate our emotional problems. Matthew 11:28 says, "Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Food is a quick fix that doesn't last. We throw ourselves into a sugar high that feels really good until we come crashing down lower than we were in the first place. We end up riding that roller coaster all day long once we climb aboard. It isn't the answer.

God is the answer. He isn't temporary. "Trust in the LORD forever, for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal." (Isaiah 26:4) Yesterday, today, and for every tomorrow, God will be there for us. There isn't one problem we have that He doesn't care about.

We need to go to Him. When we feel that overwhelming need to eat something sweet, we need to ask ourselves why. If we aren't physically hungry, we need to fill our emotional hunger by turning to Him.

Steve went to Mexico on a mission trip a couple weeks ago. He didn't want to leave me with all the kids, but I really wanted him to go, so he went. The six days he was gone, even though I wasn't dieting yet, I consumed no sugar. Why? I told my friends that I wanted to watch eight kids for six days and in the end be able to say that I did it on Christ alone. Not because I stocked my pantry beforehand in anticipation of the stress, but because I knew that God was going to bring me through it. And He did. Despite the fact that huge issues erupted with two of our children, I managed beautifully. He got me through it, just as He promises. I saw His hand on me so clearly as I walked more than one behavioral minefield calmly and with a clear mind. And in the end I was able to proclaim that not only did I do it through Him alone, but I did it so much better than I had even imagined.

It doesn't mean we have to go sugar-free. Let's just pledge to leave the sweet stuff for what it's meant to be instead of giving it the role God should have in our lives.

I know we'll find that life is so much better.

The Story of James

Days have passed again.

I've gotten to the point where I am finger-typing blog ideas into my yellow lined-paper iPod Touch notebook app, desperate to keep a hint of my experiences with God in the midst of what has been a chaotic month.

I hate it. I hate it when I allow life to overshadow the One who gave me this life. And so it is that even as the three loads of freshly-washed-and-needing-a-home laundry sit piled behind me, I am choosing to break my blogging silence. I wish it was the fact that I finally slowed down that made me realize that it had been too long since I had written, but the truth is that I was going at 90 miles an hour through my house when the deciding thought struck me.

I didn't write about James.

I wrote about Kahlan, Joseph, and Aimee. I wrote about my three girls who as of April 16th I can legally claim as mine. (That's one of the notes scrawled on my fake paper, "blog entry on adoption....")

But I didn't write about James.

My baby who completed us. My little boy whose very existence is a testament to why we must listen for God's voice.

And so I had to stop everything. I put my two daughters that I am homeschooling (another future entry) and little Aimee down with a cartoon. The little boy whose face flitted across my craziness was sleeping soundly, wrapped in blankets and clutching his favorite stuffed pig.

His story is simple. It isn't about abortion, or autism, or infertility, like the other three I carried within me. His story is purely a lesson about listening to God.

James' story starts long before he was conceived, more than a year before, in fact. It began in a booth at Dana's Restaurant, where Steve and I had stopped for lunch. Aimee, just a tiny baby at the time, slept soundly in her carseat as we talked.

Though the day and the restaurant were random, the purpose was not. We knew we needed to talk, and we knew what we needed to talk about. The time had come to decide if we were ready to take what might be one of the biggest steps in child-bearing: the vasectomy.

Those of you who have read Aimee's story know that after years of infertility, we'd come to the place where we were more than content with our family size. Then Aimee was born, a gift from God, and between our three children and the three foster children we had in our home at the time, our life was full.

So the decision should have been easy. My husband was ready for the vasectomy...he'd been willing to do it after our first child. We'd always dreamed of a large family, but in our dreams the family grew mainly by adoption. Increasing our family size delayed the adoption dreams (we thought at the time), and we were so happy with our two daughters and our son.

But, me, I felt uneasy. I couldn't put my finger on it at first. We discussed it that day, rational and irrational, pros and cons, facts and feelings. Everything pointed to the vasectomy being the wisest and best choice. But, when I prayed, I truly felt God telling me to wait. Not that He would give me another child, but that I needed to wait.

I truly wasn't too concerned. Steve and I didn't use birth control anyway because of my fertility issues. Aimee was a chance in a million if you wanted to look at worldly statistics. So the months passed quickly, and even though my mind didn't change, I still felt that strong feeling when I prayed. I was supposed to wait.

I can't go into the whole story here, but during the summer of 2007 Steve and I hit a bit of a rough patch. For the first time in our marriage, we were having a hard time communicating. We both at times felt angry and separate. We'd been together for ten years at that point, and we weren't used to being at odds. It was a difficult season.

In August, we had a breakthrough. Actually, I had a breakthrough. It was my stubborn pride that kept us from the fullness of marriage that we had always had. I had to get on my knees before God and ask forgiveness for letting my desire to "win" arguments soar well above who I knew His Word called me to be. In humbling myself before Him, and apologizing to my amazing husband, I felt joy that had been absent from my heart that entire summer. Joy and peace.

Six days later, even before I took the test, I knew. The pregnancy test just confirmed it; I was pregnant.

God knew I was supposed to have that baby. He knew that my son was growing within me when I tearfully gave my life back to Him, and He knew what James would forever represent to me.

I don't think vasectomies are wrong. In fact, Steve did get one after James was born. The answer to our prayers was very different that time, and we felt complete peace with our decision. But it would have been wrong for us to go ahead when God was so clearly leading me to wait. And looking at my son eight months later, I knew exactly why.

My now two year old little boy is a testament to saying Yes to God. He is a testament to the power of reconciliation, and his life right now represents the power of God's hand on marriage. I may have been pregnant already when I put my priorities back in order that day so long ago, but who knows what James' life would look like if I hadn't. Would he have been born into a marriage filled with angst and stress? Would he have his three new sisters that came into our life just four months later, or would we have turned that opportunity down in order to focus on our fractured relationship?

My son reminds me that God's power and strength is real. He is tangible evidence of the fact that God loves us intimately, and that His plan for us is the best. We just have to be willing to say Yes when He calls.

We'll never know what blessings He has for us unless we do...

"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)

Sometimes We Just Have to Get In the Pool

I am embarrassed to tell you how many months have elapsed since I used my gym membership. I don't even want to tell you how much I am paying each month for the ability to not go to the gym just because I don't feel like it. It's pretty ridiculous, really.

But yesterday, suddenly I got the urge to strap on my tennis shoes and head to the YMCA. After all, my experiment on calorie-burning-while-couch-sitting had failed miserably.

Not only did I go to the gym, but I did something even crazier. I brought my bathing suit.

I hit the treadmill first, staying on it just long enough to show the very fit old man behind me that I have no endurance at all. "Ha!" I thought to myself as I saw his smirk from my peripheral vision, "You think I'm all done, don't you?"

But, no, I wasn't done yet. I sauntered over to the stationary bike. Hoping that the seat was already at the right level for my 5'4" self, I mustered up the confidence to hop on.

Exercise has never really been my thing. As many times as I've longed for the desire to get my heart pumping, I just haven't been able to get passionate about it. The stationary bike was no exception. I pedaled for 3.3 miles (which isn't really very far on a bike, I've found) and tossed a big smile over my shoulder before heading out into the hallway. My biggest hurdle was in front of me; it was time to swim.

Only one thing remained between me and my intended laps in the pool: the big picture window complete with chairs and tables for the viewing pleasure of all the people who don't want to get in the pool themselves.

Step one: Check the status of the spectator area. Thankfully, it was empty.

Step two: Look to see how many people are in the pool. Are there super-in-shape-with-perfect-bodies swimmers gliding up and down the lanes? I was grateful that the pool was pretty empty.

So I changed into my suit and walked into the pool area. I slid in quickly and took a few breaths to acclimate my body to the cool temperature of the water.

"All right," I thought. "This is it. Remember everything from your 10th grade swim class in gym and you'll be fine."

I started off well. My front crawl felt strong and the water was soothing.

About half way across the pool, I found out why swimming is classified as one of the best types of exercise. It is HARD!

But you know what? I did it. I swam 28 lengths of the pool in a little over thirty minutes. I did the front crawl and the breaststroke, the back crawl and the sidestroke. It wasn't pretty, I can tell you that. I'm sure I amused the lifeguard, though I couldn't tell because my goggles were all fogged up. Sometimes I hit the plastic lane dividers and sometimes I had to stop and cough all the water out of my lungs, but I did it.

Reading and studying the Bible can feel a lot like that. It doesn't seem appealing, so you don't really find the time to start. It's intimidating, even harder to do with people watching or around Christians who have studied for years. When we open the Bible, sometimes we get nervous not knowing where to start or how much to read of a certain passage. We can find ourselves cruising through only to come to a complete stop at a verse that we just don't understand.

Perseverance and dedication are the key to exercise, and they are the key to our Bible study. We just have to decide to do it, not worrying about whether or not it's going to be perfect. The only way to get better is to do it in the first place, and there is always something more that we can learn.

I felt so good after swimming. I had accomplished my goal and couldn't wait to do it again. I've had the same feeling when I dig into God's Word...though I'm the one who has to make the initial decision, the beauty and depth of His Word draws me back time and time again.

Sometimes we just have to get in the pool.

In This Season

It struck me this morning that I am always looking forward to something other than what I have. Longing to have the days of diaper changing and toddler tantrums behind me, I forget to appreciate the beauty of this season of my life.

In this season:

I have a sink full of dirty dishes, but I have a table filled with children;

I have laundry exploding from the rafters, but I have little girls changing their clothes ten times as they put on a fashion show for their siblings;

I have hand prints all over my windows, but I have baby-hands banging on the glass in a display of pure excitement that Daddy is home from work;

I have to make seven sandwiches for lunch, but all my kids still live at home;

I have to take an appointment with my oldest daughter so she can schedule me between her phone calls and text messages, but she still comes to me first when she needs advice;

I have to wait until 8:00 to have any alone time with my husband, but during the day the house is alive with the result of our love for each other;

I have toddlers sitting on me and children pulling me in every direction, but some day there won't be anyone left who longs to snuggle in my arms singing lullabies.

This season is so precious, and as difficult as the days may be, it is so short.

I don't want to sit on the fence anymore. I don't want to alternate between wishing I'd done more in my past and longing for the future.

I'm going to love every today.

She Speaks Scholarship

Growing up, I always wished I could go back and change things in my life; choices I made, mistakes I stumbled through, things that happened to me that I longed to profess ignorance of. The pain and guilt threatened to overwhelm me.

I couldn't understand why God would allow my past to be riddled with so many potholes, so I tried blocking everything out. I was a new creation, the old is gone and the new has come. As far as the east is from the west, so far was that person from who I am now in Christ.

But there was a problem. As hard as I tried, I couldn't forget. I asked for forgiveness, I gave forgiveness, but I couldn't forget.

It was in one of my darkest, most difficult moments that I realized there was a reason I couldn't black out who I used to be.

That lonely, hurting girl...the child who lied and hurt others in order to mask her imperfections; the teenager who put a knife to her skin in a vain effort to bleed out the emotional pain...her journey from darkness to light is who I am.

God created me. He doesn't like the things I've gone through, and He doesn't cause my pain, but He gave me life and purpose.

He knew that I would tutor at-risk teenagers in college. He knew that I would have a child with autism. He knew that I would become a foster parent, just as He knew the names and faces of all twenty two children who passed through my home. He knew that we would adopt three children who needed a mother who understood grief and pain.

He knew that there were people out there who needed to know they weren't alone.

I am grateful every single day for the desire God has given me to write and speak. When I am standing in front of a group of women and sharing my teachings and stories, I see God's hand on every aspect of my entire life.

I've gone from being depressed about my difficult periods to being thankful. God got me through them, and now I can stand as a testimony to His forgiveness and grace. I can stand and say that He held me in the palm of His hand until I was ready to stand in His presence.

I want to give back.

A few months ago, I bookmarked the site for the 2010 She Speaks Conference. I checked it weekly all through December and into January. When the information finally came out, I was ecstatic. This was my opportunity to learn more about something I am so passionate about; my opportunity to be among women who share one of my deepest desires.

The cost was more than I thought it would be. And though I felt God was leading me to attend, I couldn't reconcile the cost of the travel and conference with the daily costs of raising seven children. And so I prayed..."Lord, if it is Your will that I go, show me the way."

Yesterday my friend emailed me to tell me that there are three scholarships available through Lysa TerKeurst's site. To apply, you need to write a blog entry describing why you wish to attend the She Speaks conference.

It was the doorway I was praying for. Now I pray that the Lord will open or close the door as is His will. For there is no door He has opened for me that did not contain blessing, and there is no door He has closed that didn't have a reason.

Thank you for reading. God bless you.

Peanut Butter on my Shoulder

I was getting ready for Bible study this morning, flittering around the house and trying to get everything organized as Aimee and James finished their breakfast. I gathered my son's small shoes and bent down to slip them on his feet. As he pressed his little face into my arm for balance, I remembered what my study today had taught me...and I took just the smallest second to be thankful for my son.

As I stood to repeat the task for Aimee, I noticed that James' huge smile was covered in the peanut butter from his toast.

The peanut butter that was....yep, now on my shoulder.

Any other morning it would have been enough to send my world spinning. I didn't want to change my clothes, I was ready to go! Any other day, my mood would have shifted. I would have gotten impatient in my frustration, and I would have watched as my beautiful boy's smile melted into tears. Any other morning I would have wondered why everything always has to happen to me.

Not this morning. With the lesson on being thankful for the little things so fresh in my mind, I stayed calm. I didn't panic; I didn't get angry. In fact, I found out that warm little-boy peanut butter washes right off happy-mommy shirts.

As I ran a warm washcloth over James' sweet face, I thanked God for my little boy.

Thank You that he is here. Thank You that he is healthy. Thank You that he has been given a life free from the complications of autism. Thank You that his smile makes me forget all the little frustrations in my life.

Sometimes we get peanut butter on our shoulders.

Sometimes it wipes off without a fuss and we go on about our day.

Sometimes we're left with a little smudge that only we can see.

Sometimes we have to change our clothes completely, replacing them with an outfit that doesn't match the image we always dreamed we'd have. But, in time, our perspective changes. It isn't about who we were before the peanut butter anymore; it's about how thankful we are to be able to move forward with our new dreams. I think of Joseph, I think of some of my friend's children...CiCi, Luke, Kieran, Jessi, and Jared. Families who have days where they are swimming in peanut butter.

We all have these moments. It's how we handle them that herald our successes or disappointments. I hope I remember the feelings that bubbled inside me as I calmly walked Aimee and James to the car. I hope I remember to be thankful for all things.

Because happiness, contentment, and gratitude are so worth throwing away the quest for perfection.

Glimmer Shine

So I got a call yesterday. In the middle of one of the worst days of a very long time, my friend Angie wanted to know if I could do her a favor. More specifically, she wanted to know if I could replace her MOPS speaker who had canceled, and by the way, she was supposed to speak in six hours.

My day was kind of already a mess. Literally and Figuratively.

It was the kind of messy day that resulted in the florist knocking on my door with a dozen roses from my husband who really, really doesn't like it when I am sad. They were beautiful; I was not so pretty.

But I really like Angie. She's a sweet friend and I wanted to help. So I said yes.

And promptly thereafter, I panicked.

My kids were crabby, the baby didn't nap, the house was a mess, I was irrationally sad about being irrationally angry about some stupid point I had tried to make when arguing with Steve that morning, I had to bring Shaylee to therapy, I needed to drop Kayanna and Aliegha off at church, I had a meeting to attend....and I couldn't find my speaking notes from a year ago, which I thought was the only hope I had of any semblance of sanity.

So as I was running around the house looking like the comedic relief on some sitcom, my friend Rebecca called.

I love Rebecca. There are many things I like about her, but one of the most beautiful things about her is her love for the Lord.

I think I talked to her for thirty two seconds, enough to get out that I needed to speak at the last minute and had no idea what I was doing, before she started praying.

I don't think I've ever prayed on the phone before. Why have I never prayed on the phone before???

It was my glimmer.

We only talked for three or four minutes. But those few moments gave me the foundation for the rest of the day. The building looked pretty horrible, but the foundation was rock solid.

For most of the rest of the afternoon, I sulked and groaned. I couldn't find my notes. I had no idea what to talk about without those notes. I didn't want to cancel, but I didn't want to look like a complete moron either. I didn't want to cancel, but I didn't want to look like a moron...I didn't want to cancel, but...well, you get the idea.

Steve reassured me that everyone would understand if I couldn't follow through. They knew I only had a small amount of time to prepare, I could tell them that I just couldn't find my notes. Everything would be okay, he promised.

But I didn't have peace. Something Rebecca had prayed during that phone call kept ringing through my mind. "God, we know that this was Your plan, that You have a reason that You want Crystal to speak tonight."

And so I found myself standing in front of my old laptop whose documents I had already searched a hundred million times. My wonderful, sweet husband took the baby in the back room so I could concentrate. In that moment before the computer flickered to life, I realized that I needed to stop trying to be in control of everything.

"All right, God," I prayed. "I feel like You want me to do this. Please help me find my notes."

It was short and simple. It was a cry of desperation.

But that glimmer from earlier in the day started to shine. I felt calm physically and spiritually.

And just as I came to the realization that God would get me through my speaking engagement even without my notes, I found my notes.

My topic entitled, "Overcoming Guilt" was in a file labeled "Devotion." How appropriate that I would find it there.

The rest of the night was wonderful. Everything came together, I enjoyed speaking to a wonderful group of ladies, and I went to sleep smiling.

It's those glimmer-to-shine moments that remind me that God loves me. Even when I feel ugly inside, He reminds me that I have the privilege of reflecting His beauty.

Aimee's Story

Looking at the current size of my family, most people would never guess that I once struggled with secondary infertility. The truth is that from 1998 through 2004, my life was consumed with everything that had anything to do with having a baby.

I scrutinized my temperatures, rejoicing when it jumped more than .4 degrees and feeling devastated when it came crashing back down. I knew all about fall back rises, cervical fluid, ovulation predictor kit tests, and how often Steve and I should be intimate and when. Terms like OPK, BD, DPO, EWCM, HPT and PCOS rolled off my tongue with ease. I belonged to several message boards dedicated to natural family planning and infertility. I knew every brand of pregnancy test, which were the best, which were famous for having "evaporation lines" that offered false hope, and how soon someone could reliably test. I squinted at hundreds of pregnancy tests, turning them upside down and sideways, even taking them out of the cassette and holding them up to the light in the hopes that a second line would miraculously appear.

In March of 2000, two years after we started trying to get pregnant with our second child, we used a fertility drug called Clomid to help my body regulate itself. Two cycles later, I was pregnant. Joseph was born eight months later.

Though I had always thought that having another child would end my desire to increase my family, a year later I found myself just as driven as I had been before. I longed for another baby in a way that only women who have longed for a child understand.

So I started it all again. Romance took a backseat to timing, and as the years started to pass without a pregnancy, I knew something had to give. But how do you turn off the desire for a child? How do you make the decision to stop wanting something that permeates your every thought?

Somewhere around March of 2004, I had an experience that changed everything. That morning, I had taken a pregnancy test that showed the faintest hint of a second line. After experiencing a couple chemical pregnancies (pregnancies that typically end right around the end of a cycle and are normally only caught by women who are paying close attention and testing early) and a huge host of evaporation lines, I didn't have a lot of hope that this test was going to end in a bundle of joy being placed in my arms.

I was teaching back then, and I entered the school to find a good friend of mine standing in the hallway. I could tell something was going on from the look on her face, and moments later she confided in me that she was pregnant. It wasn't planned, in fact she and her husband were taking measures to prevent pregnancy. Though she was happy, she was completely shocked.

I can't explain the feeling I had when I went home that day. I took another pregnancy test, and the test was negative, confirming my suspicions that the first test hadn't been a true positive.

"How can this make sense?" I prayed aloud. How could I try, and try, and try, and try, and not get pregnant, when my friend got pregnant trying not to? It was as if all the emotions I had gone through for the past three and a half years came crashing upon me.

And so I turned to God. I took my Bible, and looking up to the ceiling I asked God to lead me to an answer. I opened my Bible to a random page, and my eyes fell upon this verse:

"Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain." (Psalm 127:1)

It was as if the clouds parted and allowed the sun to shine upon my face. I GOT it. Why didn't I get pregnant when I was doing everything in MY power to do so? Why did my friend get pregnant when she was doing everything in HER power not to?

Because it isn't up to us. Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.

It wasn't up to me.

That day, I let go of my obsession. I stopped charting my temperature, taking ovulation tests, and being intimate with my husband based on a calendar. Most importantly, I became happy with what God had blessed me with. Instead of living each day hoping for more, I just lived each day.

The story could end here, and I can honestly tell you that it would be a happy ending. Fourteen months passed after that day and not one of those days included the longing for another child. The doctor had told me that without medical intervention, my family was complete. And I was content with my family.

But this is Aimee's story, isn't it? And it couldn't be her story without her.

Fourteen months after God led me to that Bible verse, I woke up one morning with a "feeling." Sure enough, a pregnancy test turned positive instantly. I didn't need to turn it upside down, sideways, or hold it up to the light. I was pregnant.

My first reaction was to burst into tears. "I was done!" I remember saying aloud.

But the Lord built another house. It didn't matter that the statistics said it was virtually impossible. It didn't matter that I wasn't charting, or timing, or obsessively testing. When it was time, He made it happen.

Eight months later I held my sweet baby girl in my arms.

That day and every day since, looking at my Aimee Elizabeth reminds me that God is in control.

Thank you, Lord.

God's Will Be Done (It Just So "Happened")

How can time slip away from me so swiftly? Somewhere between the good-morning kisses and the good-night hugs there is a time stealing portal that whisks my day away. And so each day tumbles into the next one and the one hundred and five blog entries that swirl through my brain never seem to make it into blogland.

But I had to make this story a priority. Because God is SO COOL, and the events of February 18th totally prove it.

I think I was nervous before I even woke up that morning. My dreams were filled with tummy frolicking butterflies. You'd think I was getting ready to go under anesthesia, or give a big speech. But my nerves were for something that actually had nothing to do with me.

My oldest daughter was competing in the regional spelling bee. She had won her middle school spelling bee, and had the awesome opportunity to compete at the next level. Kahlan was pretty cool about it. I was a wreck.

We had two specific prayers. The first was that Kahlan would be eliminated from the competition on a word that she truly didn't know. She has a photographic memory, so we hoped that if she misspelled a word, it was a word that she had never seen before. That way she would never have any, "I meant to say 'S' and I can't believe I accidentally said 'C'" regrets. Our second prayer was that she would make it into the top eight. This would enable her to at least be an alternate, and I knew that would completely thrill her. And I love it when my baby is thrilled.

And thus started a long string of, "It Just So Happened's" more accurately titled, "God Has Everything Under Control's."

It started with my nerves. I couldn't eat breakfast, because my stomach was doing somersaults.

Then Steve decided not to drive separately after all, and we all piled into the van together.

Steve took an unexpected detour through McDonald's so that we could get some protein in Kahlan before her big day.

I was quizzing Kahlan on her words, so she sat on the opposite side of the van that she normally does.

I couldn't hear her very well, so I asked her to move to the seat right behind Steve, even though she didn't want to.

As Steve started ordering, I stopped quizzing Kahlan on her words.

Though I almost never order fruit and yogurt parfaits, I ordered one because my nerves were still spinning my stomach and anything else felt like too much.

All of these things seem meaningless, don't they? Or at least they don't seem like what they really were - God's hand all over my daughter's day.

Because, you see, it came about that Kahlan was in the seventh round of the spelling bee a couple hours later. Twenty one students had been eliminated already, nine remained.

Each time she came up to the microphone, I prayed. "Dear Jesus, You have her in your hand. Give her calm nerves and a fresh mind. If it be Your will, Lord, let her spell this word correctly."

And each round had gone smoothly .....formula ....guitar ...ingredient ...colonial ...auctioneer...hypothesize...

parfait

I saw her open her mouth, then pause, then a flicker of recognition before she spelled the word correctly.

I knew what had happened. She confirmed it for me later, but I knew. She almost spelled the word P-A-R-F-E-I-T. Then her photographic memory flashed the image of the McDonald's order screen from that morning. She says she zoomed in on that word in red and read it right from that picture in front of her. "Correct!" the judge proclaimed.

You can't tell me it wasn't God. Had Steve driven separately like we were supposed to, Kahlan would have sat in the passenger seat and would have been unable to see the McDonald's screen if we would have even gone. Had he not gone to McDonald's, she never would have seen the word. Had she sat in her normal seat in the van, she wouldn't have seen the word. Had I not told her to move up two rows, she wouldn't have seen the word. Had I not stopped quizzing her as he ordered, she wouldn't have seen the word. Had I not been nervous, I never would have even ordered the parfait in the first place. God made sure that word was right in front of her eyes that morning.

Had she spelled it incorrectly, she would have gotten ninth place. Just one spot short of the top eight we had prayed for.

Round eight came quickly. Her word was viscous.

Once again I prayed the same prayer. This time she spelled the word incorrectly.

She had never heard of the word before, had never seen it.

And God, who is so amazing, so faithful, so wonderful, answered our other prayer. She sat down next to me and whispered, "I have never heard of that word." She was disappointed, but still she smiled. She knew what we had prayed before the spelling bee. There would be no "If I hadn't made that mistake" regrets for my little girl.

She went out in sixth place. Second alternate to the four champions, she earned her name in the newspaper and the opportunity to watch the state competition.

Before the Spelling Bee, I told her this: "If God wants you to win, you will win. If it is not His will that you win, you won't." When we talked about how many things God orchestrated so that she would see the word "parfait," all we could do was marvel.

The truth is, if He'd wanted her to compete at the state level, He would have given her "viscous" too.

How amazing it was to see God answer our prayers so clearly that day.

"Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you shall receive, and your joy will be complete." (John 16:24)

Sand, Snow and Me (A Beautiful Disaster)

Have you ever wondered how something beautiful could become such a disaster?

Beautiful

Disaster

Beautiful

Disaster

God created us. He formed us as individually as snowflakes and as numerous as the grains of sand. Does He wonder at the beautiful disaster His creation has become?

Beautiful

Disaster

Thank God for grace.

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins, and purify us of all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:9)


(Photo credits forthcoming)

Return

I've been through many dark periods in my life.

There was the darkness that was the first 21 years of my life.
Punctuated by the torch lights of happy childhood moments, the blackness nevertheless was the darkest it would ever be. It was my Before.

There was the darkness that was my battle with panic disorder.
This shadowy time was different than before, because though the pain was real, I was carried through it by the One I knew would never let me fall.

There was the darkness that was the beginning years of my fight for my son.
There is a scene in the Neverending Story where Bastian and the princess sit in complete blackness, save for the one remaining grain of sand that sits in the princess' hand. That light lit the area between their faces, a warm glow that radiated between them. This was how I fought for Joseph in the first few months. Alone in my battle, everyone around me faded from my view. I lived as if I was sitting face to face with God, the Light emanating from His hand being His promise of hope and a future.

Years passed, and the darkness was a memory, a shadow I kept far from within my reach.

Then there came a new darkness.

My words began as His. Every blog entry I wrote was written with the knowledge that the words were not from me.

Then pride crept in. And oh, the blackness that it carries with it.

And I knew. I stared at it and I knew what it was. And the Holy Spirit within me demanded that I deal with it.

But pride is intoxicating, and the words I prayed for God to take it from me were empty.

So when I stopped acknowledging that the words were His, He solved the problem for me.

He took the words away.

Daily I stared at a blank computer screen. The ideas that had tumbled through me like water were now still and lifeless.

Aimee's birthday passed and I tried to sit down and tell the story of the miracle that God blessed us with when He created her. The story was burning within me, but the words wouldn't come. Time after time I closed out the window and walked away.

January came to a close. February began with its cold winds and glistening snow. One day I noticed that I had stopped trying to create stories in my head.

Two days ago, thinking about the glory of God and His amazing grace in my life, I realized that ideas were flowing unbridled through my mind.

When I let go of them, He gave them back.

In the NeverEnding Story, Bastian had to take that little grain of sand and recreate Fantasia through his own wishes and dreams. In our world, wishes and dreams come true when we acknowledge that we are not the Creator.

It isn't to be about us.

We are to be for Him.

Once Upon a Fever

It was years ago...my oldest daughter was only four.

She had a febrile seizure just a week or so before that had caused her to stop breathing for more than a minute, a moment in my mothering life that I will never, ever forget.

And now, just a small number of days later, another fever appeared.

My body shook with the force of the fear that coursed through me as I felt the heat radiating from her body.

What if it happened again? What if we lost her this time?

I called to Steve to let him know she was sick, and that I was going downstairs to get the thermometer. Every step I took, down the stairs and to the kitchen, I prayed.

"Dear Lord, take the fever from her body. Please, God, heal my baby girl."

Back up the stairs, my prayers continued. Tears welled in my eyes, my heart hammering within my chest.

Walking into her bedroom, I had no sense that anything had changed. It wasn't until I sat next to her small form that I realized that the heat I had felt so easily just moments before was gone.

Placing my hand on her forehead, I felt only a light sheen of sweat. No fever, no unnatural warmth.

Just because, I slipped the thermometer in her mouth.

97.9

Less than average.

I ran into my bedroom, the thermometer clutched in my fist.

"Were you praying?" I asked Steve.

He looked at me strangely. "Yes," he said slowly. "I was praying for Kahlan's fever to break."

"I was too," I responded. "And it did."

It was one of the few times in my life that I truly feel I witnessed a miracle. Though God doesn't always answer our prayers in the way we expect or hope for, that night He did.

Kahlan didn't have another fever for years. Years.

God is so good.

"Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete." (John 16:24)

The Battle with Fear

It has been a difficult and yet blessed season in my life over the last few weeks.

On one hand, my Christmas morning was beautiful and serene. The children add so much joy to my life, and seeing their excitement brought back so many good memories of my own childhood Christmas mornings.

We were supposed to leave later that day to drive six hours to Chicago and board the train to Rochester so that we could spend the remainder of the time with my family. Unfortunately, weather got the best of us and we had to turn around after hitting a particularly bad blizzard.

I don't know if that is what sparked it, or if it just the stress of the holidays in general, but I have definitely been dealing with some anxiety lately.

Tonight, my two youngest children are sick. Stomach flu I can handle...it might be gross, but it is predictable. But my weakness in the "my child is sick" anxiety department is definitely any illness that involves breathing. Coughing, wheezing...anything that leaves my poor little babies gasping for breath.

I've done the dance so many times. We've sat in hot, steamy bathrooms, we've stood in the cold. We've done the vaporizers and the doctor runs. And in all those times, through all those children, nothing tragic has happened.

Then why do I fear? Why do I fear when I know that God, the Ultimate Physician, is in charge?

I hate fear. It is my weak point, and the enemy knows it well. So tonight I am repeating Philippians 4:6-7 to myself, resting in the knowledge that God loves my babies even more than I do.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

I pray peace for all of you, as well.